#john constantine isn't stupid

[ghestie93]

What if John Constantine moved to Derry, Maine to lay low for an extended period of time?

Hiding from creditors and debt collectors, not to mention whatever entity or new enemy he made, that small town that is perpetually in the 80s that just so happens to have a huge population of missing children.

Strange.

He notices it, and he would poke and prod people about it, but the townspeople aren't exactly warm to an Englishman that drinks, smokes, and swears like John does. He knows that something is fishy when he sees how children act like there is no consequences for their actions and violence is startlingly high amongst teens, something is feeding off of the fear and trauma this tiny town just seems to pump out daily.

IT sees John as a threat. And IT makes sure to leave little signs that IT knows what John is.

Bonus points if John has some adopted kid that sees IT and doesn't know how to express what they see to John. Make it his biological kid or some apprentice, its fair game. Just like how IT sees the kid as fair game, smelling the trauma from the kid that makes the kid an absolute once in a life time delicacy for merely being associated with the Hellblazer.

Possible x-over:

if Danny Phantom just so happens to be a kid that is lying low there and IT uses the definite miscommunication and makes John think Danny is making children disappear.

Any fic recs? I may write this.

[its-maemain]

Maribat Prompt:

Bio dad John Constantine AU where John sold his firstborn (or their soul) in a deal. (ya know under the belief he won't have a child)

At [Age] the entity he sold her too comes to collect, but the Kwami ain't letting that happen and Marinette is making sure she gets answers.

[97keanu]

Keanu characters + couples Halloween costumes:

John Wick:

John wants to say he doesn't do costumes. He complains, gently, saying he's too old to dress up anyways, but he can't say no to you in the end. He thinks you're funny when you suggest being a nurse since you're always patching him up all the time, but he also can't deny the image of you being a sexy nurse either. You also joke about him being a literal baba yaga and he finds that less funny. In the end, you two go as something that's actually as far from his work as possible, something simple and cute that ends up leaving John feeling happy he can have a moment of fun. Even if that is just staying in, watching cheesy horror movies, and giving out candy with you.

Kevin Lomax:

Unlike John, Kevin would totally go for the obvious with an angel/demon couples costume. He might even ask to be the angel just to throw people off, not to mention seeing you in a sexy devil's costume (especially if you're typically an innocent!reader) would really turn him on. He also likes to keep the costumes a bit higher class, so what you're wearing is not coming from the corner store or the mall. No, Kevin is buying you louboutin red bottoms to match a skin tight Alexander McQueen red dress. And, well, maybe the devil horns and tail do actually come from the mall...

Neo:

Neo doesn't want to admit how badly he loves dressing up. He likes being able to be someone else from time to time, just to get away from his typically boring on the surface life. He likely is asking you to be in 90s nerdy pop culture cosplay for Halloween, maybe even leaning onto the more goth side of media. He would take inspo from movies like: The Crow, Blade, Underworld, and maybe even end up asking you to be the Sally to his Jack.

Ted Logan:

Ted would love any outfit that he could easily pull off being stoned in. Think Shaggy and Velma (bill might even tag in as Scooby). Another great one you two cook up is Garfield and Hello Kitty, but Ted also adds that, Garfield is also, of course, stoned. There's also a possibility for you two to get into a lot of silly innuendos costumes as well, but with Ted's mind they would likely not make much sense. Possibility for you to convince Ted on a historic costume and getting him to take you back in time for period accurate clothing. Also, don't be surprised if it turns into a thrupple costume with Bill.

Evil!Ted Logan:

He would think couples costumes are stupid at first, and maybe even berate you about it (crybaby!reader watch out!). His mind would change when he sees there's slasher Halloween costumes at the mall, and he decides he and evil!bill can probably get away with more mischief if they're masked. He would probably try to talk you into being either the final girl from a slasher to reenact some fantasies, or ask you to be a sexy ver. of Ghostface or Freddy.

Constantine:

Constantine doesn't do costumes. He will likely not even end up breaking like Wick, and instead is a meanie about the whole thing. He shows up in that damned suit he always wears while you're out here in your cutest sexy girl outfit (think angel, playboy bunny, cat woman) and only ends up feeling bad about the whole thing after you storm off and cry. He apologizes the best he can, and ends up trying to make it up to you by being more social at the party, and telling your friends that he's dressed as "Vincent from Pulp Fiction" or some other character that comes to mind that wears a suit. Next year, you make him promise to actually dress up, and when you two do it's totally cheesy ones he hates but allows for you, such as Joker and Harley Quinn-esque.

Jonathan Harker:

This ones fun because you two are going to a masquerade! You get the most gorgeous gown with all the frills you please, with a gothic touch of course. Jonathan isn't usually one who dresses overboard, but tonight he has dressed to the nines for you! He looks sleek and dark, stunning in an illusive mask that for some reason has you feeling more of his dom side. Jonathan actually ends up really getting into it, and he charms you all night long as if he's almost another man entirely. The beauty of the masqurade conceals and invites freedom to be someone you're typically not, and by the end of it, you can't wait to take him home. He can keep the mask on tonight.

♰ Please send any costumes you think would work for keanuverse characters, I'd love to hear them! Especially anyone I missed ʚ♥︎ɞ

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - Chapter 3

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, brief mention date rape, domestic violence, not reader oh make me over, i'm all i wanna be, a walking study, in demonology - celebrity skin, hole

3. for the life of the flesh is in the blood 

It is both a relief and a disappointment, that you find your first experience of feeding on John Constantine was quite singular. No one since has inspired the same brand of heady lust when you break a vein. You think about him often, but you've done your best to give the demon hunter a wide berth. You're sure the last thing he wants is some needy little leech following him around, begging for his attention. 

You're sure he only saved you out of pity, anyway. 

It still hurts, so you try not to think about it anymore.

You have taken to hunting your meals amongst the evil doers of the city—of which there is no shortage, in the City of Angels. Your favorite method has become playing the party-going damsel in a bar not watching her drink. When the inevitable asshole drops a dose of something in it, a thing you have found does not affect you at all, you play drowsy and accompany him to the inevitable alley or sometimes even his car, where you pounce.

You can't say you feel too terrible about removing such trash from the population. You're not sure how God feels about your methods, but then you're not sure it matters any way. It helps pay your rent too. Holding down a job as a vampire kind of went out the window, so you help yourself to whatever cash you find in your criminals' wallets with little remorse. 

The fact of the matter is, as time goes on...you don't exactly hate being a vampire. It took some adjustment, sure, but you have power you'd only dreamed of as a human woman. You can go anywhere you want now without fear. You are fast. You are strong. You haven't figured out flying yet, but even that seems like it might be possible down the line. 

Maybe you could ask a fellow vampire about what is and isn't possible, but you have yet to actually meet one. 

You've sensed them around the streets of LA—but in the end you always chicken out and flee the scene. The vampires who made you were not exactly shining examples. You're not in a hurry to fall in with their ilk. You'd observed there was a definite pecking order in the coven that took you, and you're not exactly eager to become some asshole's toady again, a little cog in some evil plot or another. You’d played that game in corporate America in your old life, and you're not going back to it. 

One evening when you are heading out for the night you run into John in the hallway again. 

You are astounded when he is first to greet you. "Y/n."

"Hi, John." You can't help but feel the contrast to the way you used to play this game. You feel the loss of innocence, of your humanity, so keenly when you see him. You'd be a liar if you said the sight of his stupid, handsome face didn't still move you. The loss of what might have been...hurts, like a half-healed wound with a finger in it. You haven't been avoiding him, per se...but seeing him still ties you up in knots in a way you don't necessarily like. 

"You look...nice." You glance down at your dark low-cut dress and leather jacket. Bar bait chic. It's quite a shift, from the sweet floral sundresses and bright colors you once favored. 

"I was just popping out for a bite to eat."

"Yeah?" He is looking at you with an intensity that makes you squirm a little inside. A look that a vampire does not like, on the receiving end from a demon hunter. "How's that...going for you?" 

"Fine."

He looks around the hallway for potential eavesdroppers. You already know it's vacant. Your hearing was excellent on the night you were Born to Darkness, and it's only improved from there. 

"Fine?"

You cross your arms with a look of what the fuck else do you expect me to say out here?

Constantine makes an annoyed sound that's almost a growl. 

You shouldn't find it as endearing as you still do. 

“Come talk to me a minute?” he invites, nodding towards his apartment. 

Remembering all the crosses and weapons he has stashed in there, you're not too keen to go, in case he's decided letting you live your undead life was an oversight. 

You wrinkle your nose like you’ve smelled something bad. "You can come talk to me in here," you counter, nodding towards your own space. 

He smirks at you, as though he knows very well the cause for your caution. “Sure,” he agrees, cocky as ever. John Constantine isn’t afraid to walk unarmed into the lair of a baby vamp like you.

You unlock your door again, ushering him in with a wave. As he steps inside you are struck again by how big he is in your tiny apartment. A wave of nostalgia hits you, for a night when you'd still been human, and he'd made you feel like you were the most desirable woman in the world.

Suddenly, your throat is tight.

Wow. Who knew you could still feel these things as a creature of the night? You’ve been so focused on your day to day, or night to night, as it were. You never really allowed yourself to process everything that had happened. You were too busy figuring out how the fuck to survive.

"Do you...want something to drink?" you ask, looking in your pantry. “Or perhaps can I interest you in some whole kernel corn?” Your perishable options have long gone by the wayside, but you still have alcohol, canned goods, and dry cereal. All together, not the most appetizing combination.

A snort of laughter escapes him at your attempt at humor, and he seats himself in one of your surviving kitchen chairs like he owns the place. "Sure. To the drink. Hold the vegetables."

You produce a bottle of Scotch that you may have bought with him in mind after your little tryst, and pour him a couple fingers.

"What about you?" he asks with a glitter of something in those obsidian dark eyes. Even with all your vampire senses, this man is still hard to read as a brick wall.  

You cant your head to look at him, curious what he’s about. That is when you realize... you smell desire. You hear the spike of his heartbeat, see the dilation of his pupils almost lost in the black of his irises. 

His only outward tell is the corner of his mouth curled up, but blood never lies.

You yourself would be a liar if you said you hadn't thought about the way he'd tasted that first night with a sharp longing. 

The sound of his pulse hammering in your ears makes you bold enough to ask, "Why, are you offering, John?"

He lifts one eyebrow nonchalantly, though the sound of his racing heart is sweet sweet music to your ears. 

"Maybe."

Cautious as a cat, you dare approach, a finger sliding along the surface of the table as you regard him curiously. Cool as ever, he leans back in his chair, man-spreading as he looks up at you. You stand between his legs, looking down at him with a new confidence, armed with the knowledge of his blood rushing double-time through his veins. 

He certainly hadn’t sought you out before this. Not once in the past few months has he even tried to check on you. At least, as far as you know.

He tilts his head up, returning your gaze. It’s impressive, really, how little he manages to show on the outside, while you can sense the rising roil of something brewing within him. Lust, you tell yourself. Anything more…would be wishful thinking, on your part.

You really should know better by now, but you still can’t help but carry a torch for this man, stupid little vampire that you are.

“A little warning: I’ve heard some hot shot High Table vampire hunter is in town from New York. You should be careful where you go to hunt.”

Your own heart thumps in your chest. Just the once. You don’t have a regular heartbeat anymore, unless you’ve just fed on someone.

“You worried about me, John?”

“As far as I've heard, you're keeping your nose clean, but I thought you should know."

So he has been keeping track of you. 

"I’m not exactly feasting on the blood of newborn babes."

He winces a little at that, as though you have invoked some long-buried memory. You suppose you cannot fathom the horrors this man has seen in his time battling the Darkness.

"Who are you feasting on?"

"Mostly assholes who deserve a lot worse than what I give them."

It's his turn to tilt his head as he looks up at you, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. "What does that mean?"

"Do you really want to know?" you ask, propping a hand on your hip. What you really want to do is insinuate yourself into this man’s lap, but some sense of self-preservation holds you back.

"It's why I asked."

"Ok.” You start to tick your recent exploits off on your fingers. “I saved a girl from getting mugged and maybe worse the other day while she was walking to her car at night. Before that, I snacked on a date raper who tried to drug my drink. Before that, I broke up a domestic dispute and made the piece of shit husband disappear. Before that—"

Both of John’s dark eyebrows shoot up.

"Ok, Miss Vigilante Vamp. I get the picture." There's a gleam in his eye, and you almost think he might be proud of you? Or at least, amused. You should not care, of course, but his approval definitely tickles some long-buried little pleasure center in your brain. You always were a teacher’s pet type, for better or for worse. "You should be careful though. You could get hurt."

"By who?” you counter, knowing you sound cocky as hell. “This vampire hunter?” 

“I think you missed the part where I said he’s  High Table?”

“What does that mean?”

He gives you a look like you should know that, but you don’t know how or why you would.

“It means you don’t want to mess with him. I heard he’s here for the Master, but you don’t want to attract his attention.”

“The Master?” You are so confused.

Seemingly exasperated, he lifts his eyebrow at you. It kind of starts to piss you off. “I don’t know any other vampires, John.” And he certainly made no efforts before now to fill you in. 

“Look, just be careful, ok? Just because you’re a vampire now doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

It’s almost touching, that he’s worried about you. It would be, at least, if it didn’t sound so fucking much like mansplaining.

“A girl’s gotta eat, John.”

“Well…you coulda asked.”

You narrow your eyes down at him, knowing they flash a molten orange with your annoyance. The thing he said when you’d first woken as a vampire echoes in your mind, the way it has every night since. I guess they thought you meant something to me.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I told you I’d help you. You kinda disappeared on me after that.”  

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Thinking some distance might be a good thing after all, you turn to go, just to have his long fingers wrap around your wrist. “Wait—” 

You try to pull away, and he doesn’t let go, so you jerk him out of the chair like he’s a ragdoll. You find yourself in a pile on the floor with John Constantine’s solid weight half on top of you—not a horrible arrangement, truth be told, but the context is less than ideal.

“Jesus. Easy there, tiger.”

The fact that this man has the gall to needle you, after everything that has happened, suddenly fills you with white-hot heat, like gasoline on a fire. You’ve been bottling it up for months, just shoving it down so you can do what you have to do, but now everything bubbles to the surface with a vengeance. Suddenly, you are sitting on him, a clawed finger pointing into his chest. “You asshole. I got turned into this thing that I am because of you, because I was stupid enough to care about you, but I was supposed to be the one knocking on your door for a handout? I bet you would have just loved it, if I came crawling back to you for another taste.”

It’s just so fucking unfair.

That you can still feel so much for this man, and maybe he desires you back, but outside of that there’s just nothing. You’re sure of it. It shouldn’t matter to you anymore but it does and it hurts. Jesus fucking Christ it hurts.

You feel too much.

You’ve always felt too much, as a human, and now as a monster, apparently, and it sucks. You feel the sting of tears filling your eyes, and you know they look like blood to him and it’s just so gross you could scream.

“Tell me how to do it,” you hiss through the aching lump in your throat. “How do I feel nothing like you, because I’m so tired of this.”

Constantine’s frown is utterly thunderous below you. You guess it’s a real buzz kill, when people—monsters—emote all over you. He says nothing, just glares back up at you, breathing heavily through his nose.

Only later will it occur to you what a miracle it was, that he didn’t go for his cross, or a holy gun, or gold knuckles, with a spitting mad vampire perched on top of him. He really does have nerves of steel.

Only when you notice a small dot of blood blooming on his white shirt beneath your razor-sharp fingernail you let up, clenching your clawed fists at your sides.  

“Sorry,” you half-snarl, closing your eyes against everything. But now the scent of blood is in the air. His blood, and it is just as intoxicating as you remember from before, and a powerful, prickling heat rises within you, spreading out to him too. Every hair on his body lifts, and you wonder if he reacts to you this way because of his psychic abilities, or if…it’s just the chemistry between you. Some of the tension in his frame softens—other parts of him decidedly do not.

“My life is dangerous, y/n. What happened to you is exactly the reason I don’t have many friends.”

Or lovers, hangs unsaid in the air.

“Yeah. Well…too late for me, I guess. What’s the worst that can happen now?”

“You never want to challenge God like that. Believe me.”

“Why do you sound so certain it’s God who makes bad things happen?”

He snorts derisively. “Because as far as I can tell, he’s an even bigger asshole than I am.”

You look away, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “I’m sorry I called you that.”

Surprisingly he turns your gaze back to him with a finger on your chin. “It’s ok. The shoe fits.”

You get the sense that this is his way of apologizing…maybe, and the last of your anger leaks from your body. You nod, and close your eyes, and one of those bloody tears escapes to make its way down the curve of your cheek. No one is more surprised than you, when he reaches up to wipe it away.

“For what it’s worth…you’re not bad, for a vampire.” Coming from him, that’s quite the declaration. Again, you’re not proud of what it does to you, to receive praise from this man who usually keeps so aloof. 

You dare to open your eyes, your vision sharpening upon him, your vampire senses keen to detect a lie. You can tell he’s a little excited beneath his cool façade, but it doesn’t feel like he’s lying to you. That has a certain smell. A pheromone maybe, or a stink of fear of getting caught.

“Yeah?”

He sits up, so that you are cradled on his lap, nearly nose to nose, and you can’t help but be painfully aware, groin to groin. He’s so tall, and broad, and you still want to climb him like a tree. Another wave of that titillating energy rises in you, a mix of hunger and desire. You know he feels it too. You can tell by the way his eyelids half-close, his grip tightening momentarily on your thighs.

It’s not a horrible development, truth be told.  

“Yeah.”

“Even though I scare you?”

“Let’s go with…yes and no, on that,” he answers with a quirk of the side of his mouth.

“Hmm. You know, it’s hard to lie to a vampire?”

“Can’t say I usually spend much time conversing.” He cups your cheek, his fingers sliding into your hair—and you’re not sure you really want to converse anymore either. “I was giving you space—guess I should have kicked down your door.”

“You could have just…knocked,” you tell him with narrowed eyes, smiling in spite of yourself. You feel your teeth pressing into your lips—and you shut your mouth again.

“I know they’re there,” he teases you, surprisingly gently, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. “You don’t have to hide them.”

You close your eyes again, sighing. “I just…feel like such a monster.” 

Again his long fingers slide through your hair, like he’s petting you. It does things to you, to be stroked like a favored pet by this man. 

“You’re not a monster.” You clench your fists, so moved to hear him say it. And as you do, you can feel your claws biting into your palms. You lift your hands so he can see them. 

“No?”

He examines them, seemingly nonplussed. You guess he’s seen bigger and sharper. “No,” he asserts again. 

Your eyes flick down to the little bloodstain upon his nice white shirt. “I made you bleed.” 

“I probably deserved it,” he excuses with that smirk that pulls at your undead heartstrings. “Keep going like you are, you might get to Heaven before I do.”

“John…” you sigh, a wave of emotion sweeping through you that you can’t even name. “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

“Me? Nice?” Again, that barely discernible purse of lips, the suppression of a smile that would give him away. 

You find yourself staring at his mouth, before forcing your eyes up to meet his once again. You don’t do it on purpose, but the power of your hunger fills you like a cup, spilling over into him where your bodies touch. This time he gives in to that tingling wave of treacherous pleasure, closing his eyes and letting it wash over him without a fight. Longing throbs in your loins, and hunger in your belly. They really feel one and the same, in this man’s arms.

“You’re…getting good at that,” he tells you, his voice low and gravely with desire.

“It just…happens, with you,” you’re almost reluctant to admit.

He smirks, the way you just knew he would, the smug bastard. “Just with me, huh?”

You roll your eyes to the ceiling. This man.

His low chuckle should not inspire such a thrill inside you. His strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you harder against him, does not help either.

Your claws have retracted again, and you run your hand up the flat of his chest, fingering the starched collar of his white shirt. You are gratified to receive a shuddering sigh as your touch moves higher, caressing the jumping pulse in his neck longingly.

“Bar’s open,” he offers.

It’s your turn to sigh, and you go about undoing his tie, carefully loosening the knot, resisting the urge to tear it off of him. You’ve learned a little bit more about how to control your hunger now, but it’s all still so new. You wonder if you can use it to make this, whatever this is, last longer than the frenzied chaotic rush it was last time.

“Did you miss me, John?”

He doesn’t answer you, just makes a sound low in his throat and leans in to kiss you instead, and with his soft mouth on yours you are content to let it go for now.

Maybe if you read between the lines, it’s answer enough anyway.

It’s a little funny, that the two of you never really make it up off the floor. Wrapped up in the wonderful, heady power that is your hunger, amplified by mutual desire, you are content to shed clothing and trade appreciative caresses there on the rug. You had not forgotten how beautiful this man is, the feeling of his warm muscled flesh beneath your questing hands, and yet still it somehow surprises you.

He makes a face as he pushes your jacket from your shoulders, tossing it unnecessarily far across the room. “You don’t like it?” you tease breathily.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he admits, and goes for your dress next, pulling it up over your head. He stares down at the skin he bared, your lacy push-up bra. He’s kinder to the dress, but maybe just because he’s distracted, ducking to kiss the soft mounds of your breasts.

The glitter in his dark eyes as you extricate his belt from between your pressed bodies should be illegal, it’s so intoxicating. With a hand on his bare chest you press him down to lay back on the floor. He does not fight you, looking up at you with that signature smirk that makes your blood boil. Rolling your hips against his straining erection between you wipes some of the smug off his expression, replacing it with a raw need.

With careful fingers you unbutton his pants and extricate him into the palm of your hand, his velvety length almost searing hot against your cool grip. Your undead body hungers for the warmth of his life, absorbing it anywhere you touch. His nerve falters a little, as he watches your fanged mouth descend towards his swollen manhood, his eyes widening just a bit. It’s your turn to smirk up at him.

“I haven’t tried this yet, John. I’d be very still, if I were you.”

He doesn’t tell you to stop, and the sound he makes as you descend on his hard cock with your silken tongue isn’t pain. In fact, it’s extremely gratifying. You are careful, and as you work him up and down with your mouth he trembles with the effort not to move beneath you. When his fingers tangle in your hair you moan against him, winning a twitch of his hips that would have made you smile, had your mouth not been so very full. You withdraw with a pop that makes him growl with pleasure beneath you. “Fuck, y/n...”

He tries to sit up to reach for you, but you pin him down again with one hand, tilting your head with a playful look down on him. The heated frustration in his narrowed eyes is rather priceless. Maybe you’ll pay for this later, but the predator’s instinct in you is enjoying this immensely.

Too impatient to take them off, you pull your panties to the side to sink onto his beautiful cock, his thick head pushing past your entrance rocking your head back with ecstasy. “John…” you sigh, moving your hips up and down, until he’s seated fully inside you, bottoming out against your cervix. It doesn’t hurt, like it once did. You are learning all kinds of things about your new vampire body.

“I would have returned the favor,” he rasps, his head rocking back hard into the floor as you carefully squeeze him inside you, conscientious of your new strength. It wins you a gratifying moan, his eyes drifting closed.

“Next time,” you answer cheekily. If he can’t admit that he missed you—then you’ll be damned if you say it first, even if it is the truth.  

You look down, fascinated by the sight of his big hands on your thighs, his strong fingers pressing into your flesh. The whip-cord muscles of his forearms draws your eyes, to the curve of his bicep and the sweep of his collarbone—your attention fixes on the jumping vein in his neck like a laser. 

You lean down to lick his pulse and he tilts his head, baring his neck for you. You know that part of it is him riding the power that crackles between you, but another part–it feels like a gesture of trust, and somehow that warms your undead heart. The razor-sharp tips of your fangs brush his pulse, winning you a sigh. “Do it,” he moans, surging inside you, lifting you with his hips. It’s all too much to resist, and with trembling caution you slide your fingers into his hair, and press your teeth into his pale skin.

The resulting rush of blood filing your mouth is intoxicating–by the sounds he makes, not just for you. The rush of pleasure across your tongue and in your loins is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, an exhilarating bliss that spreads warmth through every nerve across your skin.  

You’ve always thought of lovemaking as some kind of small miracle–a gift the laughing gods bestowed upon you poor mortals to make all the drudgery of life somehow bearable. A scientist might argue it is a trick of hormones and synapses played by nature, to encourage the endless march of procreation. You wonder what Constantine thinks about it, this man who so clearly believes in The Almighty God, but also seems to find the deity an insufferable asshat. 

A less than charitable philosopher might argue this beguiling euphoria is just the lure a vampire could use to secure a good meal–but like this, with this man–you cannot help but think it’s more. Whatever ancient magic that animates you, and maybe his own powers mingled too, it grants you this boon in what could be a life of infinite nights of lonely darkness, this undeniable connection with a special human whose lifeblood nourishes you. 

You are not even sure what to call the pinnacle of this pure shining ecstasy you share–orgasm seems too paltry a word. Pleasure, pale by comparison. John insists you are no creature of God, but you cannot help but reason that what you share together is nothing less than divine rapture.

The challenge is when to stop. 

For as long as you pull draught after draught of his delectable hot blood into your mouth, this bliss goes on and on. 

He starts to fade beneath you, his heart slowing. You could drain him dry like this, and maybe not care until the moment you realized he was dead in your arms. This is the thing that throws you back from your latchpoint upon his neck, woozy from the delight of it all, yet scared that you may have hurt him. 

He too seems drunk beneath you, looking up at you through hooded dark eyes. “Why’d you stop?” he asks dreamily. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen this man. You touch his cheek; you are not sure if the coolness of his skin is due to blood loss, or the fact that you feel almost feverish at the moment, riding the high of the blood magic you invoked with him. 

If you hurt him you are walking out into the sunlight, you promise yourself with panic. 

“I’m afraid I took too much,” you admit, wide-eyed. 

Of course, he scoffs at the very idea. “I’m fine. C’mere.” He pulls you down on top of him, to snuggle, you presume. The wonders of this evening do not cease. It is lovely, to curl up in his arms, your thighs slick with the excess of his seed. But as he dozes, you are wide awake, the world come even more alive around you. A potent meal, the magician makes. You feel as though you can sense the whole city in your head. The comings and goings of all the people, and all the creatures, and the planes and trains and cars. 

What a marvel, is this modern age. 

You sift through them all as an amusement, catching snatches of thoughts and bits of conversations, eavesdropping on their lives. 

You realize that you have never been able to read John Constantine’s thoughts. You wonder if it’s because of his psychic abilities–or just a result of his abnormally hard head. 

As you make this little psychic tour around the inhabitants of L.A.--something senses you back. You feel it push against your mind, holding you at arm’s length. Something old, and seething. For a flash you see it–him. Definitely a him, tall and forbiddingly handsome, bearded and raven haired. His eyes flash molten orange–right before he strikes you. It is only a psychic blow but you feel it like a fist between the eyes. It makes your physical body jolt in John’s arms. This stirs him from his bliss-induced coma; the demon-hunting magician blinks and looks up at you, taking in your wild-eyed look, your fangs bared to some invisible threat. 

“You ok, baby vamp?” he grumbles, not too happy to be disturbed from his deep rest.

“Fine,” you answer, unsure if it’s true. “I think I need to get you something to eat.”

“Not hungry,” he grouses, closing his eyes again. “Tired.” 

��Would you like to lay down in the actual bed?” you ask, thinking he will regret this hard pallet tomorrow. 

“No.” Now you can tell he’s just being stubborn. You would like to stay and cuddle with him, but you really are afraid he needs to eat and drink. Fluids and iron rich foods, is what you googled for after-care of donating blood, a while ago.

Funny, until now, you hadn’t had occasion to use the knowledge. 

You dress and pop out to the 24 hour market, obtaining red meat and dark leafy vegetables. When you return John has reclaimed his boxers and stretched his long body out on the couch, his big feet hanging off the end. It’s ridiculously endearing, to see him so relaxed in your space like this. 

When you are nearly done preparing his stir fry dinner, he finally rises to a sitting position, scrubbing at his face with his hands. 

It’s silly, how much it pleases you, when he wraps his arms around you from behind at the stove, his chin resting on your head.  “A vampire who cooks. This is one for the record books.”

“It’s not like I’ve forgotten how,” you fire back over your shoulder, amused. “It just…doesn’t really smell like food to me anymore.” The bloody bits of raw steak had seemed more appetizing than the ingredients in their current form.  

“Hmm. Smells good to me.” You thought he’d come round to food. “This does too though,” he teases, kissing your neck with a playfulness that leaves you dumbfounded. When he nibbles you can’t help but squirm, laughing out loud. 

“John!”

He must still be power drunk from earlier. He’d barely touched his glass of Scotch.

You feel his body shake with mirth behind you, more than hear it out loud. Then he stills against you, resting his chin on you again while you stir the meat and vegetables, the rice steaming on the back burner. You know it won’t last past tonight, but the scene is so damn near domestic it makes your heart ache. 

“What did I feel, earlier?” he asks. “Like, a gust of air in here. Did I dream it?”

You honestly aren’t sure how to answer that. It’s not that he wouldn’t believe you. You just…don’t have the language–and you don’t want to worry him. 

“I don’t know, I was half asleep,” you say, so smooth in your white lie, craning your neck back for a kiss. “Sit down. It’s your turn to eat.” 

As you bring John his plate of food your attention is drawn to the window, by what you’re not really sure. Nothing is there, you see nothing, you feel nothing present–and yet…you cannot shake the sensation that you are being watched. 

Almost as though to assure yourself, you reach out to brush an unruly dark lock of John’s hair behind his ear. He looks up at you with a lazy, almost boyish smile. It squeezes your heart. “Thanks.” You’re pretty sure he means for the food, but maybe…the rest too. 

You smile, and you know it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He seems to sense something is up, but maybe he doesn’t want to wreck the moment yet either. He catches your hand, kissing the back of it, before picking up his fork and tucking in. 

Again, you look to the window, and the mean city beyond it, and wonder how many malevolent things out there could mean the two of you ill.  You don’t think you have too many enemies of your own yet–but in John’s case? 

The number could be infinite.

[laswells-ashtray]

Hello I hope you’re doing well ^^

You mentioned how Kate knows a freakish amount of muppets lore, has this ever lead to Laswell going off on a tirade after Shepard and or Price say something about the felt and fabric creatures.

I’m especially interested because we know that Price commonly calls folks muppets, I also just want Kate to scold Shepard for being an uncultured swine.

I really hope I’m not bothering with all these asks, I’m personally happy that someone sees Kate the same way I do. Just tell me if I’m ever annoying you, I fear being annoying to strangers online who I think are radically tubular.

=^.,.^=

You are never annoying me, I love asks especially Kate Laswell related asks. Also, I always look for an excuse to talk about the Muppets.

Making John work with an incredibly professional follow-all rules French man is probably not Kate's smartest idea but neither was the drunken karaoke she did in college so she moves on. John can't.

"Fuck sake, he talks like that stupid fucking frog from that bloody Muppets movie Soap kept playing the other night."

She barely restrains a snort, she'd heard about the sergeant's antics. He'd put on a Muppets movie in their common room and bolted with the TV remote to ensure that neither of the other three men could turn it off. It had been an act if protest of some kind, she hadn't bothered listening that much.

"Frog was Russian." She corrects him without thinking. She's an aunt, of course, she's seen Muppets Most Wanted.

John's head whips around to her with a speed that had to have hurt his neck. "What?"

"The frog was Russian." She repeats.

"Why do you know that?" He asks almost instantly.

She answers him with the same voice she uses to deliver intel of high importance. "His name was Constantine and he was serving time in a Siberian gulag. The frog was Russian."

"That's not what I- Nevermind. The frog was Russian. Frenchman is still a cunt."

"Noted."

Also, because I think I'm funny:

She doesn't like eating her lunch in the vicinity of Shepherd but this is the only time to eat with everything they have at stake right now, they can't leave in case John makes contact. And Shepherd is doing a fucking crossword. A crossword.

She watches Shepherd squint at the newspaper on the table in front of him, muttering under her breath. "The fucking Muppets? Jesus."

She glances over, reading the question as she swallows a bit of pasta. Country guest star on season five, episode 21 of The Muppet Show. Well, it isn't exactly a hard hint, is it?

"Johnny Cash."

Shepherd looks up at her with an uncharacteristic confusion, "What?"

"Answer is Johnny Cash, he was the guest star."

The man looks down at the crossword and she can see him mentally filling in the letters to see if she's correct. She is.

"Huh." The general fills in the answer before looking back to her with a curious expression that he fails to hide. "Would've thought it was Willie Nelson, how'd you know?"

"Willie Nelson never appeared on The Muppet Show, he only showed up in The Muppets in 2016. Cash did The Muppet Show in 1980." She answers, returning her attention to the half-decent pasta in front of her.

"How'd you remember that?" His tone is almost accusing, as if she was lying or being honest to spite him. Bald prick.

"He sang Ghost Riders in the Sky with Mrs Piggy, one of the nieces likes rewatching the show." That's a lie, Kate rewatched it on the rare occasions she indulged in a joint with Sarah.

"Your kids never watch it?"

He didn't talk to either of his kids, they both knew that.

"Hmph."

[prismuffin]

Heyo! How do you think Wally West, John Constantine, Hal Jordan, Dick Grayson and Conner Kent, react to accidentally falling asleep on their crush?

I feel like a lot of them would be a flustered mess!

Reader (He/Him)

- OwO

Ahhh I remember you, you requested that Steve Rogers fic huh? Well welcome back to my inbox- sorry it took me a minute I was out way longer than I thought I'd be! Anyways I think-

Wally would definitely be flustered when he wakes up. It'd just slowly dawn on him as you wake him up because he'd be so tired. Like he'd just stare at you with his eyes slowly widening and once he finally realizes he'd shoot so far away from you. His face would be completely red, his blush reaching his neck even and he'd just apologize while refusing to look at you. He'd decline any help on getting to his room and once he's in there he just screams into his pillow while kicking his feet. He just fell asleep on his guy crush. It's all he can think about. He definitely probably has a dream about it.

John wouldn't even be phased. Pfft, yeah he did just fall asleep on you, what are you gonna do about it? Exactly. He has a stone cold expression but fuck is he freaking out inside. He'd probably mumble something about being overworked and if you ask if he's getting enough sleep he'll almost drop his façade at the worry in your voice. He says he's fine, and begrudgingly allows you to help him to his room after you wouldn't let it go. He'd jokingly tell you to tuck him in, and you do. After you leave and he's alone he'd sigh dreamily before catching himself in such a love sick state. He'd smack both of his hands over his face, grumbling about how this random boy makes him feel like some stupid teenager in love. He'd also have dream about you and when he sees you the next morning he can't look you straight in the eye.

Hal would apologize while trying not to stutter too much. He'd feel pretty flustered about it but he wouldn't try and make it a big deal. When you ask if he's getting enough sleep he'd wave you off saying that he was fine but the way your concerned about him has his heart fluttering. He'd allow you to walk him to his room but he wouldn't let you inside, he'd tell you goodnight before he retreated to his sleeping chambers and the minute he shuts that doors his whole calm façade drops. He's cursing at himself for acting like such an idiot and falling asleep on you. It'd be on his mind all night and now he can't go back to sleep. No seriously, the embarrassment is keeping him awake god someone save him. When you see him the next morning and notice he somehow looks even more tired than the night before- you start fawning over him again and it only makes it worse.

Dick would probably be similar to Wally, in the sense that it doesn't immediately hit him. He'd be so tired that after you wake him he'd stare at you for like five seconds before cursing and mumbling an apology. He'd just slowly move off of you and would smile awkwardly while he tries to handle the situation without completely freaking out. When you ask him if he's been getting enough sleep he'll crack a joke about how he isn't and how he's very sleep deprived all the time. He does in fact let you walk him to his room but he's really flustered when you follow him inside to make sure he lays down. After you leave his heart would be pounding as he laid in his bed and similar to Hal he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep immediately. Though, over time he does get there. He to has a dream about you and it only makes him fall deeper in love.

Conner would try and play it off, key word is try here alright. His expression is stoic as he apologizes but they way he refuses to meet your eye and the way his face is practically glowing red is not helping his case. He'd be very embarrassed and would try and leave this situation as quickly as possible. When you ask if he's getting enough sleep he'll say he's fine and would excuse himself to go back to his room so he can get some sleep. But then you suggest walking him there to make sure he's alright and god damn his heart can't take the way you're worrying for him right now it's so god damn cute. Favoritism would take over and he'd allow you to walk him back to his room though he'd be hesitant on letting you inside. Once he's in bed he doesn't necessarily fall asleep easy but it's not cause he can't he just chooses not to as he replays the previous interaction over and over in his mind.

( this was unintentionally in rainbow order but I kinda love that )

———

Directory

[fractualized]

I just had the idea of a comic where batman is investigating the joker cause he was quiet for a while and batsy is ~suspicious~ and when he finds him it looks like uho! The joker is dead! But how could it be? Ensue a very serious investigation by batman with an add of tragic obsessive homoerotic undertones!

Meanwhile joker wakes up in hell (bcs ofc he does, hell is fucking canon in the dcu) and suprise! He actually wasn't killed in any epic way, just fucking, idk slipped on a banana peel and died. So joker is like "Nah fuck this. The only acceptable death is to die by my Batsy's hands." And proceeds to just, try to fucking get out of hell (and let him have fun while he's at it).

I kinda want john Constantine to make a cameo bcs I love him

Oh and I want it to be played like a black comedy

This would be a good companion story to Batman: Damned, only it's Joker we follow and it's funny and it's actually good. (And I guess instead of having full frontal nudity that later gets censored, there could first be censored nudity and then in reprints SURPRISE NAKED JOKER.)

But seriously, this is such a great idea that would work perfectly fine in an official comic. We need more Joker hijinks! Nowadays they still seem to happen mostly in comics that are their own universe (eg, One Operation Joker) or in, like, peripheral comics where maybe it's canon or maybe it isn't (eg, Batman/Superman: World's Finest #25). Whereas in the main storyline in Batman, we've got Joker pulled into grim backup personality nonsense with bonus AI art accusations.

We must end the god-mode brilliant Joker era and return to chaotic idiot Joker. It would be fantastic to see him get himself killed in the stupidest way possible, in a huge blow to his ego. The way he's able to fight his way out of hell should be stupid too, not the usual "oh he's impervious because he's the Joker and figured out a way." I was talking to @distort-opia about this, and she had the idea that it should be because Joker's name is already in the book of the dead because he died temporarily in the acid vat, and I said what if it's because he temporarily died so many times that an overworked afterlife auditor just figured he has to be dead and stamped it in. So thanks to bureaucratic confusion, Joker gets to run around looking for a second loophole that gets him back to the land of the living. And yeah, maybe he's just so obnoxious that someone calls Constantine like, "Please get this guy the fuck out of here."

Wait, oh my god. Joker is insistently pleading (haranguing) his case to everyone, going on and on about how Batman created him and they're inextricably linked, and therefore dying at Batman's hand has to be his only possible demise. And at the end, some weary afterlife Account Manager asks, "Okay, then how has this apparently amazing fighter and strategist managed to not kill you before?"

Joker's like, "Oh, that's the best part of our connection. He thinks he has a philosophical and moral obligation to never kill me. Once I'm out of here, who knows when you'd see me again!"

The Account Manager responds, "I see."

A few minutes later the Curses Department is processing a form that says Joker can literally only die if Batman kills him.

[thewitchblue]

I loved the ice skater reader btwww

Could you do a Wally west x reader fem preferably 🙏🏼 

Could you make them super strong like Sakura from Naruto. Like Wally with Someone super strong is just 🥰 fr

And can she have super strength? the kind where she kicks the ground and a hole appears.

She’s a model and well model are kinda skinny? 

So she doesn’t even look like she could lift a baby without struggling. So like the Young Justice got kidnapped and Wally c call reader to come help him. And the young Justice is shocked. Because this skinny girl just came and saved them.

English is not my first language 😔 su sorry for spelling mistakes🙍🏻‍♀️

You didn't expect to get an emergency signal in the middle of a random Wednesday afternoon, but here you were; riding a motorcycle like hell is chasing you down and muttering curses. You just got off of a photoshoot, and you had to cancel the next one because of Wally.

If Wally isn't dead when you get there, you'll kill him yourself.

Your anger was so burning hot you didn't even notice the craters you left as you stormed to the warehouse.

You kicked the steel double door open in your anger, which immediately breaks and knocks out a guard with a loud crack.

All guns were immediately aimed at you, but your blood was singing a wrathful song at that moment. You were a hurricane tearing through guards like wheat.

How the hell did your idiot boyfriend get caught by these inadequate goons? Wally was probably dared by Tim to not use his superspeed for one mission.

Actually, almost definitely that was the case. Your boyfriend, as much as you love him, isn't the best fighter or the brightest. He knows this, and he's always been a tad self-conscious about it. He wasn't even the better fighter in his own relationship. There was no other way this dare could have gone differently.

You were as graceful as you were brutal. You practically floated through the battlefield, aiming fists that threw back multiple guards at the same time. You tossed people around like they were ragdolls and even used some of them like a hammer to take out more in one swipe.

The guns were broken before they could even fire. Your shockwave punches mixed with your superstrength crushed the guns like they were clay.

You held eye contact as you took the AK-47 out of the goon's hand and turned it to dust in front of them. You called out loudly,

"Either you all turn yourselves in, or you all get ripped to shreds. Your choice."

Most of them, unsurprisingly, chose to live. One of them even cut out the team on the way out.

Wally ran up to you after buying your favourite sweets and handing it to you with a grin. You sighed at his puppy-dog eyes.

"You are so lucky I could cancel my photoshoot and that I still fit in this stupid suit."

Aqualad recovered from the shock the fastest out of the entire team. Before you could continue to rail into him, he asked with crossed arms,

"Who is this?"

Wally gave you a kiss with a big, albeit awkward smile while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He insisted on the suit when you found out he was Kid Flash. He wanted matching suits, but you told him you don't want to look like a mustard bottle and picked something else. He wrapped you in his arms and introduced you to the team,

"Guys, this is my girlfriend!"

You grumbled your displeasure at being introduced to the team under such dire circumstances.

"You are SO lucky I love you. I could and would have killed you otherwise. How did you even fall into their hands? These idiots were as tough as a wet paper towel."

Tim offered in a cheery tone,

"He made a bet and lost horribly."

You turned your glare from Wally to Tim. The kid seemed like the brains of the operation. If he's the one to hurt your Wally... Well, John Constantine would have a better fate than him.

"What's your excuse then?"

That caught Tim off guard. Your voice was silky, like a midnight caress. He vaguely recognises you, but he can't pin your face to a name or even where he found you. Was it at school? No, it couldn't be. Kon would never shut up about you. You are his type in every way. Did you meet at a gala? No, he knows everything about every rich socialite. He never came across you at any of the events he was at.

"My excuse? I was the one to warn him against it!"

The audacity Tim felt almost made you smile. Of course you know Tim. Who doesn't? The only brain to rival Bruce Wayne.

"If that's the case, how did you all get overwhelmed? Wally, no offence, isn't your get-out-of-jail-free card."

Tim agreed immediately to your amusement,

"Oh, no, that is Kon. He's our get-out-of-jail-free card."

Kon didn't look nearly as amused as you were. Wally was slightly offended, but he scored Kon's dream girl, so he didn't care too much.

Aqualad walked into the centre of the group and said,

"Nobody is a get-out-of-jail-free card. We all are important, and all are at fault."

You crossed your arms. Damn right, they are at fault. That photoshoot was important to you.

You look gorgeous even when furious. The cooling rage somehow complimented your eyes. Nobody quite comprehended the situation. You were so tiny yet so deadly. It was all shocking. Wally's SOS ace card was a tiny model? They wouldn't have believed you were at all able to fight if they didn't see you just demolish an entire warehouse full of guards. You look like you couldn't lift a twig, let alone 200 kilograms of muscle. Yet here you are, burning and devastating.

Your alarm went off before anything else could be said. Shit. You had a lunch date with an important client. You groaned while shutting off the alarm. Fine. You climbed back onto your motorcycle and said,

"Don't let there be a next time."

You sped off before anybody could offer for you to join the team or express their thankfulness. Wally watched with a dreamy expression.

"I have the hottest girlfriend."

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

How are apprentice!reader and Jason doing with their baby? Does Constantine ever come back? Can you please let us know? Hope you're having a good day!👍

Here's not that... Mostly because their baby is the least interesting thing about their relationship... And I never intended this verse! to have kids.

Zatana leaned against the railing in the House of Mystery and watched Constantine stalk towards you and correct your stance, nudging your feet into position with a staff.

"How many fucking times-"

"John!" Zatana tried. She tried real hard not to interfere. To let him train you. But. Even from a distance your eyes looked too bright and she could see you wince. The first real expression on your face.

You'd been carefully not looking at him. Trying to take your feelings out of the way. Trying not to think just do. Because if you think you'll feel and if you give into your feelings you'll crumble. The wards you were holding would break.

It was the wince that did it. "She. Is. A child," Zatana hissed, coming down the stairs.

"A useless child-"

And when you snap around, ripping the staff out of his hands and turning with a snarl that raised the hair on the back of her neck, Constantine raise his hand and just sent you sprawling. "You think you're big enough to-"

"I am," Zatana reminded him, stepping between you. "You're not doing what you think you're-"

"She can't fight if she doesn't think!" he barked.

"So what?" Zatana asked, "Why does she need to?"

"Because-"

"Because you want her to? Because that kind of power isn't good for anything else? Because her mother told you what to do?" She turned and offered you a hand off the floor, pulling you up and against her side. "Since when do you do what she says?"

John watches. Not sure what to say. Feeling oddly guilty when he notices you're trembling. Exhausted. Looking at the cracks in the wards you'd been holding, dejected.

"C'mon sweetie," Zatana said leading you out of the room. "Let's get you cleaned up, 'kay?"

And it was only as she lead you out of the room, handing you a jacket to tie around your waist that he noticed the blood on the back of your pants. And it was his turn to wince. He'd never had to deal with that- but. He couldn't imagine it was easy to focus with cramps. Especially when you'd never had to do it before.

"Still stupid," he huffed, lighting a cigarette and taking a draw before raising a hand and erasing the wards off the floor before going to find himself a cup of coffee.

[ziryana]

Cause John Constantine nerver will have happy end

" - And why I would help you ? John Constatine you’re a fucking assholl and an alcooholic who spend all his free time to do nightmares. And when there isn’t nightmares, you ruin the life of the one around you. Moreover you’re so narcissistic as I can’t support !

- You’re right love, but we both know that if we don’t work together, Klarion’s monsters will kill and destroy the everything in the world. And you perfectly know we can never clear them individually.

- If I don’t care of the world as I prefer die than work with you?

- Darling. I’m the bad boy here, not you.��"

"  - ARE YOU COMPLETELY STUPID ? YOU’VE JUST SAVED YOURSELF OF DYING, AND YOU DON’T WANT REST ?! I SWEAR, I CAN NERVER UNDERSTAND YOU ! AT FIRST YOU SAY « I DON’T CARE WHAT CAN APPEND TO YOU », AND ANOTHER TIME YOU SAVE ME !

- You’ve finished ? I need help to stitch theses injuries.

- Oh God ! Ok remove this shirt, Constantine.

- I’ve saved your life, I think we are past the step of second name , do not ?

- Just remove your shirt.

- Impatient ?

- Shut up. "

"  - I can’t believe that... You’re a blody liar Constantine.

- I know what it look like but-

- Not one more words. Klarion’s monsters ? And you’ve realy thought that I’ll don’t recognise hell’s demons ? They’re definitely not the Klarion’s type. You know, the next time you do stupidity like that, just be honest, because now I don’t have any desire to help. And no matter what you will say, it’s your problem now, and only yours.

- It’s right, just return hide you in rathole, witch !

- You’re a wizzard too, Constantine...

- I’m an exorcist ! "

"  - So it’s finished?

- Yes, no more hell’s demons for a long time, I hope.

- You know I think we can’t expect this type of event of you.

- You have a so less opinion of me, I’m hurt.

- My opinion of you is complex, John.

- So it’s my first name now ?

- Maybe asshole. "

"  - You deserve so much better.

- What ?

- I’ve said «  you deserve so much better » , idiot.

- About what ?

- I’m sorry for your parents, you didn’t have an easy life. And for Astra.. It’s not your fault. Maybe I made an error about you, but you stay an narcissistic person.

- Is it a clumsy way to say you like me, I’m touched darling.

- Just a way to say I love you. Asshole. "

" - Listen, I can explain !

- Explain what, Constantine ? That you’re always force to destroy everything ? That you’re always force to lie to the people who love you ? That you will nerver change ? Or maybe explain why I found Sarah Lance naked in our bed ? You know, I don’t care of what you can say or explain, because the situation is clear. And you know what ? I don’t care of your cheat, but I so much hope that you will never find a person that love you like how I love you.

- Please let me-

- Goodbye John. "

I want thank @pimpimou for this help at the correction because english isn't my first language.

[existentialflirt]

Head Canons Crowley

Just a small list to get them out there. Some devised with @v0litioncheck.

** Crowley does eat but very rarely. It falls under a fairly common theme in some of my head canons for him as "snake tendencies". He tends toward larger meals, after which he will take a lengthy nap. Usually around two days otherwise he's extremely cranky.

** In continuing with that theme, Crowley runs fairly cold. He greatly enjoys summer and may be found on top of high buildings in London basking in the sun (beaches are too crowded and people stare too much).

** Modern times (the 20th and 21th century) have been kind for Crowley, who really isn't too interested in doing his job. At least in the way Hell likes it done. He prefers a bit of chaos and bad vibes to murder and mayhem. Oh he'll inadvertently cause a death without too much of a twinge of guilt, but being directly involved just isn't his style. Anyway, humans do quite enough atrocities on their own, and all it takes is for a clever demon to keep abreast of the news and take the credit for inspiring the nastier bits.

** When Crowley was cast from heaven, his original name was stripped from him and he had to rename himself. Astonishingly, he was very bad at this. (Sorry, it never ceases to amaze me that in the same book/tv series we have a demon creative and with a powerful enough will to keep a burning car running to his destination yet calls himself Crawley and later changes it to Crowley which is barely more than an intonation change. That's just so funny to me. Definitely from Terry ahem.)

** A large portion of classical paintings and statues of Lucifer are actually modeled off Crowley, who did it all for a laugh after frequently being mistaken for him. Obviously he got in very big trouble down below when the big boss found out, but Lucifer let him off with a warning when Crowley explained how they sewed the seed of doubt and/or lust in the hearts of the devout (because you see, many paintings and statues of Lucifer, even ones in churches, are very sexy and very nude).

** While both demons and angels have the ability to shapeshift, there is some bureaucratic nonsense involved dependent on rank and severity of the change. When Aziraphale and Crowley posed as Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth they were trying to fly under the radar of both Heaven and Hell and instead fashioned costumes (mostly Aziraphale's idea and design because he's dabbled in a bit of stagecraft). During that time, they co-habitate in a boathouse on the Dowlings' property aside from on days off, when they go to London to be themselves for awhile.

** After long consideration and a careful bit of picking through Christian study, secular, and woo (New Age) pages (not fun! I swear Google has gotten fucking worse when it comes to research), and having been given one last clue in a late episode in series two, I've settled on Crowley having been a Seraph before he fell. Most of this decision is to due to snake imagery used in how they're described and it's a pretty good reason why he's stupid powerful. Seraphs are the highest rank in the angelic hierarchy and depending on who you ask, Lucifer was a Seraph before he fell (other sources claim him as Cherub, so idek. Judeo-Christian mythology is a fucking mess). Also a very good theory about why Hell lets him fuck around and do whatever he pleases for the most part. He has been punished for doing too ostentatious acts of kindness, but apparently not so much that he is ever demoted out of temptations. Perhaps having been the snake to corrupt Eve is too big of a gold star in his file to truly justify a demotion. Or he's just such a massive, willful pain in the ass that no one likes to deal with him for much more than a decade or two.

** So...Crowley's human identity appears to be vaguely criminal and definitely dodgy hard bastard. Because all roads lead me to Hellblazer eventually, yes Crowley does know John Constantine and they DO NOT like each other. Generally the idea is that they're bullshit artists that can smell the shit on one another. However they do have an understanding not to fuck around in each other's business.

** Crowley is single handedly keeping several record shops open around London because sometimes he needs to listen to something other than Queen.

[talentforlying]

@normaltothemax: The kids brought pumpkins, John. They want to carve them, John. Give Lucy a knife, John. — HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

oh yeah, he's just going to hand a knife to the child antichrist on the spookiest day of the year. that'll happen.

. . . actually it does happen, because there's too many of them for him to carve-by-instruction one at a time, and he's got pumpkin guts up to the elbow that he desperately needs to wash the fuck off him before they start reminding him of something worse, and if he has to spend longer than an hour getting henpecked by phee for not meeting her exact jack-o-lantern specifications, he might strangle arthur parnassus in the street. but actual kitchen knives are well off the table ( and well out of sight at that, he's wise to your levitating ways, lucy ) and the rest of the arsenal is mostly switchblades and screwdrivers. those aren't so bad, right?

yeah, alright, he gave the super-powered children knives — except the one who turns into a dog when he's scared, because constantine isn't that stupid — but he's watching them like a hawk, mostly, so it's fine. the carvings will come out great. there's a handful of sweets on offer and oingo boingo on the stereo. surely he won't get a near-shave haircut from an overenthusiastic muppet with an overactive imagination and telepathic abilities before the night is out.

right, lucy?

[comicmancer]

this comic sucks

this is the worst comic I've read. The art is the worst. If I wanted to look at ps2 models I'd go ps2. This dialogue is stale and stupid. It tries so desperately to be smart buy really it makes no sense from a character since. This is so dumb. The writer can do some good stuff. He had a great hellblazer run. But maybe the guy who wrote John Constantine isn't the best choice for the flash.

I have officially dropped this comic. It's stupid and ugly.

[ladylilithprime]

Twirl Around And Take A Chance

Series: Fluff Is My Jamstiel

Fandom: Supernatural: 

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General to Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Witch Sam Winchester, Hunter Novak Brothers, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Off-Screen Character Death - Tyson Brady, Bones the Dog Returns, Slow Burn

Series Summary: When a young man dies and the grieving family loudly proclaim that their child was killed by a witch, hunters John Castiel and James Constantine Novak are on the case. What they find isn't nearly so simple as a demon-dealing witch killing for power they can gank and be done with it, nor does it make it any easier for the brothers to just move on to the next case. This is the story of how natural witch and herbalist Sam Winchester met the infamous Novak brothers and gave two weary hunters a place to finally call home... but just the fluffy parts.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 1: Hello

Read on AO3

WHEN A DEATH attributed to "complications during illness" turned up in the news with the family of the deceased blaming a witch, most people would put it down to the grief and seeking someone to blame for their loss. Most people, however, were not hunters who specialized in tracking down and putting an end to more supernatural predators. When word of the young man, Tyson Brady, and his death being attributed by the family to the work of a witch reached James Constantine Novak and his brother John Castiel Novak agreed that it sounded like their wheelhouse, off they went to Palo Alto, California. They were expecting to find the usual evidence of foul play, hex bags or sigils or even sulfur as usually accompanied cases of death by witch.

They found nothing of the sort, and the interviews only made things more confusing.

"It was pneumonia complicated by anaphylactic shock," the coroner they spoke to said, shaking her head. "More the latter than the former. Damn shame, kid would've recovered from the pneumonia if he hadn't been allergic to yarrow flower."

"Yarrow flower?" Jimmy repeated, glancing at Cas.

"The herbal remedy the kid took for the pneumonia," the coroner said, showing them the portion of the report. "Stuff works a treat so long as you're not allergic to any of the components. The kid had no idea about the allergy, either, 'cause he would've had to disclose known allergies before Wesson would mix up the remedy."

"Wesson?" It was Cas's turn to prompt for more information, returning Jimmy's glance as he did.

"Sam Wesson, the local herbalist," the coroner answered, then frowned at them. "And don't either of you go blaming him for that kid's death, either. He's the one who called the ambulance and tried to stabilize Tyson when he started seizing. Poor guy was a wreck when the kid ended up dying en route, even though it wasn't his fault."

"Family certainly seems to think otherwise," Jimmy couldn't help pointing out. The coroner scoffed.

"Grief will make a perfectly rational person look for the devil under the bed when it's just a creaky floorboard," she said, shaking her head. "Tests don't lie. There was no foul play involved, just illness, allergies, and bad luck."

Bad luck did not exactly rule out foul play when one was dealing with the supernatural, so they were on to interviewing friends of the victim.

"Brady wasn't a victim of anything except his own stupidity," Jessica Moore told them bluntly as she set their ordered coffee down on the table, even managing to put Jimmy's black coffee and Cas's soy mocha with extra whip in front of the correct twin. "He could've gone to Sam ages ago when he just had a cold and gotten fixed right up, but the idiot had to be stubborn and try to power through it with alternating shots of Monster and the knock-off NyQuil because he didn't want to 'be a bother' during finals. Well, now he's dead and we're all very bothered, so great planning there, genius!"

"Mr Brady knew Mr Wesson well, then?" Jimmy asked carefully as he emptied a packet of Stevia into his coffee cup.

"Better than just about anyone else aside from his brother and maybe me," she answered with a shrug. "Those two were friends for years, ever since being assigned as roommates Freshman year."

"Oh my god, they were roommates," Cas intoned in a deadpan. Jessica snorted, then giggled, her face practically lighting up with genuine amusement at the bad meme joke.

"Maybe they could've gone there if Brady wasn't terminally straight," she said. The smile slipped off her face at the oblique reminder that her friend was now terminal in a different sense, but she shook off the melancholy quickly. "Anyway, if Brady had just gone to Sam when he first got sick, we wouldn't be having this conversation because he'd still be alive."

"Mr Brady's family seem to believe Mr Wesson is at fault for their son's death," Jimmy said leadingly, and was treated to a ferocious scowl from the young woman.

"Those people," she snarled, "are some of the worst closed-minded bigots I've ever had the misfortune to throw out of my cafe! They hated Brady attending Stanford, never called except to complain, and actually tried to override Brady's will. The moment they found out Sam's a licensed herbalist who doesn't attend church, he might as well have been Satan himself in their eyes, even though none of us had any idea Brady would have an allergic reaction to Sam's potion!"

"Potion?" Cas repeated, eyes narrowing.

"Brew, tea, tonic, whatever you want to call it," Jessica said irritably. "He knows his herbs and he knows what he's doing. Brady just had to be stubborn and wait until he was about to be hospitalized for freaking pneumonia before he would admit to anyone that he needed help, and he paid the price for it. He's the only one that's actually to blame for his own death in any way, and the sensible people around here all know that."

It was a quiet Castiel who led the way back out of the cafe to their somewhat worse for wear Lincoln Continental, Jimmy at his heels and half distracted by his notes.

"So do we go interview 'Dean Smith' next, or go straight over to Wesson's place?" Jimmy asked when they were in the car with Cas behind the wheel and he still hadn't said anything.

"I'm starting to doubt whether this really is any of our business," Cas admitted, eyes on the space beyond the windshield. "Jessica's testimony matches up with the coroner's report, and her insights into the Brady family..."

"Probably all the more reason to be thorough," Jimmy offered. "I mean, we probably aren't the only hunters who caught wind of this. We should probably get the full picture so we can put the word out one way or the other, and if it turns out there's nothing supernatural going on then we can make sure no hot-headed idiots come storming out here with guns locked and loaded for a guy who works with herbs."

"Probably," Cas agreed. "Alright. Smith next, then?"

They found Dean Smith at an autobody shop advertising a free tire rotation with an oil change. Given that the Lincoln was past due for an oil change by a couple of thousand miles, that seemed the best way to get a lead in to talk to Smith.

It was also where their investigation took a sharp left.

"Stay the hell away from Sammy," Smith growled at them when he slapped the folder with their bill down on the counter.

"Excuse me?" Jimmy blinked, exchanging an uncomfortable glance with Cas. "We're just--"

"A pair of hunters rolling into town because a couple of fundie blowhards started crying 'witch' and it made the papers," Smith interrupted, rolling his eyes at them. "I was all up in the inner workings of your car, boys, I saw the wards you got on her. I know hunters when I see 'em. And I'm telling you now, stay away from Sammy. The kid's already grieving the death of his best friend. He doesn't need you coming up here and running your mouths about witches and evil and making him feel even worse about Ty being a moron."

"We're actually hoping to prove that he wasn't responsible and there wasn't anything supernatural going on," Cas spoke up to Jimmy's surprise, his eyes steady on Smith. They narrowed when Smith grimaced. "But you already know we won't be able to do that."

"Look," Smith sighed, leaning forward on his elbows and staring them down as he lowered his voice. "I'll level with you. There was spellwork going on, what with Sammy's potion in Ty's system trying to wipe out the sickness. Hell, if it had just been a cold instead of pneumonia plus way too much caffeine and shit on top of sleep deprivation 'cause of finals, then Sammy hitting Ty with an EpiPen could've meant he'd have made it to the hospital for the allergic reaction and been cured of everything by the next morning. But it was pneumonia, and he did have a cocktail of bad decisions and no sleep beforehand, so all the EpiPen did was slow the inevitable.

"That ain't on Sammy, though he's still tearing himself up with what ifs and should've knowns no matter how many times me and Jess try to tell him it wasn't his fault," Smith huffed. "He's still hearing that harpy mother of Ty's ranting about godless heathens and bad influences because Ty's will says he wants to be cremated and his ashes planted with a tree here in Palo Alto instead of his body being hauled off to Wichita to be buried like she wants. Not to mention the shit those assholes Walker, Creedy, and Kubrick pulled last year."

Jimmy and Cas exchanged another speaking look. They weren't familiar with Creedy or Kubrick, but Gordon Walker was rather infamous for his extremist views about vampires and his bad habits of using newbie hunters as bait for the covens. There had been more than a few relieved sighs around the Roadhouse when the news hit that he'd been arrested and was being held without bail, and Jimmy was certain it was only a matter of time before he got taken out of the picture entirely.

"Perhaps," Cas said at length, "it would help Mr Wesson to hear from someone who is not a close friend that Mr Brady's death was not his fault."

"And if his - and your - experience with hunters is mainly extremist assholes," Jimmy added, "perhaps it would help for him to meet a couple who understand things like nuances, extenuating circumstances, and shades of gray."

Smith stared them both down for a long moment before he muttered something that sounded like "gonna regret this" and straightened up to his full height. It wasn't that much taller than Jimmy and Cas, but he looked plenty imposing as he folded his arms over his chest. "He won't be at the shop, not today. The funeral's tomorrow so he'll be at home getting Ty's final resting place ready in the garden. Do not take weapons into the garden, period, and if you hurt him I have a sawed off shotgun and plenty of experience of my own disposing of bodies. Capiche?"

"We 'capiche'," Cas nodded. Jimmy paid the bill for the oil change with the cash he had on him, knowing a fake card wouldn't fly with Smith, and accepted the scrap of stained paper with a scrawled out address in return.

"So what do you think?" he asked as he and Cas settled into the Lincoln and Cas turned the key.

"I think Smith did a bit more than change the oil and rotate the tires," Cas said with a head tilt as he listened to the way the engine practically purred to life. "And he undercharged us. 'Smith' probably isn't even his actual name, but he answers to it as if it is so it's been a few years at least since he changed it."

"Since he got out," Jimmy guessed. "You think he was telling the truth about Wesson?"

"I think he believes that he told the truth," Cas temporized. "So did Jessica. Whether or not they really were, I won't know until we talk to Wesson directly."

"Guess that's next?"

"Not quite. First, we should find a deli or something and pick up lunch."

Jimmy stared at his brother for a moment, but Cas didn't say anything else, so Jimmy gamely hauled out his laptop and, with the help of the autoshop's wifi, searched up a list of possible places to get lunch to go. The one Cas chose from the list wasn't one Jimmy would have picked, but then Jimmy figured that his twin knew what he was doing when, after they placed their orders, he added that they would also like "Sam Wesson's usual" to go.

"Oh, are you boys off to see the wizard?" the man behind the counter asked, grinning as if he'd told a joke. The grin faltered a little when Cas just stared flatly at him.

"We're not exactly in the mood for jokes right now, sorry," Jimmy said. "Not exactly the best time, you know?"

"Ah, got'cha," the man winced. "Real shame about Brady. He was good people. Stood up for me as best man at my wedding when my wife won the coin toss for who got Sam, even managed to pull together a decent stag night despite there being just the two of us for it."

"You knew him well?" Jimmy asked when Cas continued to stare. The man shrugged, one hand lifting to waggle back and forth.

"I know Sam, mostly. He introduced me to my wife, and Brady was their friend so we hung out sometimes, but he was pretty focused on med school," the man shook his head. "Funny how someone so dedicated to becoming a nurse could be so careless about his own health."

"Well, I've heard that doctors make the worst patients," Jimmy said with a shrug.

"Yeah, guess so," the man shook his head again, then shook himself a little. "That'll be twenty-three seventy-five. Six minutes, okay?"

The food smelled really good when it was eventually handed over and Cas gave the keys to Jimmy to take his turn driving them out of town and partway up into the mountains, not quite far enough for there to be a lot of trees, but enough that the houses were further apart than most California real estate would allow, even in northern California. Jimmy felt his heart skip a beat as they drove past a house with a covered carport that held a beautifully maintained classic black 1967 Chevy Impala, something about that car tugging at him. From the way Cas turned his head to look back at the car, Jimmy knew his twin felt it, too.

The house for the address scrawled on the dirty paper was one further, practically next door despite the wide lot between them. The lot was far from empty, either, with a low green painted fence topped with poles and trellises practically draped in climbing vines that extended from the side of the house up to barely two feet from the road and back towards what must have been the exact edge of the property line. The inside beyond the fence was an incredible riot of colors with so many different plants arranged in patterns that must only make sense from above, spots here and there where the greenery had overtaken as the flowers were out of season.

"Smith really did mean garden, didn't he," Jimmy whistled, staring at the sight as he pulled the car to a stop in front of the fence, still mostly on the street. He'd be willing to bet the Lincoln that every single one of those plants, even the ones that looked purely ornamental, had some other, more mystical meaning or purpose. Belatedly, he remembered Smith's admonishment against bringing weapons into that same garden and hastily removed his gun and knife to stash them under the seat. When he looked over at Cas, however, his brother was still sitting there staring towards the garden. "Cas...?"

"Can you feel it?" Cas asked, voice hushed to barely above a whisper. "It's so alive, so aware, reaching out beyond the boundaries imposed but so welcoming..." Cas turned his head finally to look at Jimmy and his eyes were bright with awe and wonder. "I haven't felt anything like this since Lebanon."

Well. That was hopefully not grounds for full-on panic, but it was somewhat less reassuring than Cas had probably meant it to be. Yes, the forest around that defunct bunker in Lebanon had felt incredibly warm and welcoming to the pair of them, but it had turned out that the reason for that was a dryad whose loyalty had been bound to the secret society that had once operated out of that bunker before they were wiped out. She had thought Jimmy and Cas were the new generation of her former masters, and had not reacted well to learning that they didn't know what she was talking about or have any intention of just taking up residence in some middle of nowhere bunker. As sensitive as Cas was to natural energies, it had nearly broken him when they had to kill the raging dryad whose own binding forced her to attack any perceived threat to these "Men of Letters".

After that, they couldn't have stayed there even if they had wanted to, not with the way Cas felt so sick from her death even though Jimmy had been the one who had dealt the final blow. They had used the spell marker in their bloodline keyed to the wards to get into the place and promptly turned everything over to Bobby Singer, and the last they had heard from him he'd taken to running operations out of the place while he restructured the hodgepodge of wards that had been left behind and clearly weren't as effective as the old group had thought. Jimmy hoped he had all the luck with the place, especially since he and Cas had already benefited since then from the information Bobby had found, even if they never visited anymore or talked about it beyond "Bobby's new place". For Cas to voluntarily mention Lebanon, that garden had to be something really special.

And powerful.

"Is it safe?" Jimmy asked at length, rather than remind Cas of any of the bad that had happened. The look he got almost made him wince for how knowing it was, but Cas just nodded.

"Nothing in there will hurt us unless we hurt Wesson," he assured Jimmy, which actually didn't help much. Especially with the way the back of Jimmy's neck was beginning to prickle in a very familiar way.

"He knows we're here," he said, nodding towards the house portion of the property and a large window with a crystal suncatcher in the shape of a dog and cat hanging near the top. "We probably shouldn't keep him waiting, especially since we brought him lunch."

"Maybe that and the way the garden is singing will earn us some good will," Cas sighed, quickly divesting himself of his own gun and knives.

The brothers got out of the car and, after a silent debate, headed towards what looked most likely to be the front door, Castiel carrying their bags from the deli while Jimmy followed with his hands held loosely and pointedly empty and open at his sides. He was the one to knock, knuckles rapping against the wood rather than touching the old metal door knocker that felt prickly to his senses. Then they waited, side by side, Cas projecting as much of an appearance of outward, stoic calm as he ever could and Jimmy struggling to match him as he tried to prepare himself for whoever - whatever - was about to open the door.

He was not expecting the dog.

The door opened inwards and the first figure through the door was a good-sized golden retriever who paced forward two steps and sat on the threshold, muzzle lifted to regard the two hunters and show off the silver chain and heart-shaped engraved tag. The dog sniffed at them very obviously, then gave a rather dismissive-sounding chuff and turned away to look back through the open door with a low whine.

"Bones, be nice," a tired baritone voice said from inside the doorway. Jimmy heard Cas catch his breath and tore his gaze away from the dog - a dog named "Bones", apparently - to look up at the speaker, and froze.

Oh...

Taller than Smith had been with a similar broad-shouldered build, Sam Wesson should have been even more imposing a figure than the mechanic who had given them his address. His posture, however, was not precisely slumped or hunched, but withdrawn, as if he was trying to make himself seem smaller without being obvious about it. Chesnut hair hung damply around his face and shoulders, and the eyes that peered at them wearily through rectangular-lensed glasses with silver wire frames were the most striking mix of green and gold and brown Jimmy had ever seen. They were also red as if he had been crying, and Jimmy was abruptly reminded that according to pretty much everyone they had spoken to this man was mourning a long time friend whose death he felt responsible for.

When neither Jimmy nor Cas could find anything to say, the man before them - entirely too beautiful even in his grief - began to fidget slightly. "Uh... hello?"

"Hello, Sam," Cas breathed, then flinched. "Mr Wesson. I apologize... ah...."

"We're very sorry for your loss," Jimmy said softly as Cas trailed off under the weight of Sam's uncertain stare. When that stare shifted to him, he added a little lamely, "We, ah, brought you lunch. And we've been duly threatened by Mr Smith not to hurt you."

"Dean sent you... with lunch?" Sam asked, looking between the two of them with some confusion.

"Not so much sent as gave us your address and threatened to dust off his shotgun and some, ah, 'old skills' if we weren't being truthful about our intentions being your continued safety and good health," Jimmy admitted, and was rewarded with a lessening of tension in those broad shoulders and a remarkably eloquent eye-roll.

"I am so sorry about him," Sam sighed, reaching up to remove his glasses and rub his eyes. When his hand lowered again, he didn't put the glasses back on, and Jimmy was struck again by how amazing the man's eyes were. "I swear sometimes he thinks I'll just waste away to nothing if I don't have someone babysitting me."

"Shows he cares," Jimmy said with a shrug. "And lunch was technically my brother's idea. His sense of natural energies is better than mine even if I'm usually more adept with people, so I listened when he said we should get lunch before coming here."

"Your garden is beautiful," Cas murmured in a tone Jimmy almost didn't recognize for the rarity of hearing it from his brother. "Once I could hear it clearly from the street, I realized how its song clings to your friends. They've all left pieces of themselves here with you, and carry part of you with them. The song is exquisite."

"Thank you," Sam mumbled back, ducking his head so that his hair fell further into his face like a curtain he could hide behind. It made Jimmy's fingers twitch to reach out and brush it back again. The moment faded as Sam cleared his throat. "Bones, stand down, they're friends." He looked up again through the fall of his hair and managed a weak smile. "I hope you brought lunch for yourselves as well."

[laughingmagi]

@nightvow con't from here

The Bat narrowed his eyes, lenses focusing on John's face. There's a look of disapproval before he accepts that Constantine isn't listening to him. "Fine." He turns on his heel, ready to walk away. "I'm not going to preach to you. You have your own morals, your own demons. You don't need my lecturing, but if I find out that you dragged something into Gotham, I won't let you off easily."

"Aye, I sort mine," John replied, well aware that he was being a pedantic cunt, but he hadn't appreciated being lectured to like a child. He suspected this had nothing to do with him. If the man had bothered to ask he might have found out they had a lot more in common than not. Of course he hadn't. To be fair, most didn't. His reputation always preceded him. "Y'do this with ev'ryone stupid enough t'agree to work with ye or am i just a special kinda bastard?"

[jxrm]

book log - 2021

party of two by jasmine guillory

the ballad of songbirds and snakes by suzanne collins

one to watch by kate stayman-london

the boy at the door by alex dahl

little cruelties by liz nugent

followers by megan angelo

the three mrs. wrights by linda keir

those other women by nicola moriarty

the affair by sheryl browne

influence by sara shepard

this won't end well by camille pagan

slay by brittney morris

the midnight library by matt haig

pretty little wife by darby kane

love & gelato by jenna evans welch

the prenup by lauren layne

firefly lane by kristin hannah

when you disappeared by john marrs

one year of ugly by caroline mackenzie

when no one is watching by alyssa cole

providence by caroline kepnes

the other couple by cathryn grant

musical chairs by amy poeppel

by the book by amanda sellet

all the good parts by loretta nyhan

the end of her by shari lapena

simmer down by sarah smith

there's something about sweetie by sandhya menon

over my dead husband's body by etta faire

what if? by shari low

the accidental beauty queen by teri wilson

searching for coach taylor by mindy kaling

bridal boot camp by meg cabot

the tenant by katrine engberg

meddling kids by edgar cantero

kind of hindu by mindy kaling

the last time i saw you by elizabeth berg

unscripted by nicole kronzer

dial a for aunties by jesse q. sutanto

lila by naima coster

big shot by mindy kaling

single asiactic male seeks ride or die chick by eddie huang

within these wicked walls by lauren blackwood

five total strangers by natalie d. richards

help is on the way by mindy kaling

love & estrogen by samantha allen

a touch of jen by beth morgan

instamom by cahntel guertin

second first impressions by sally thorne

the minders by john marrs

where the grass is green and the girls are pretty by lauren weisberger

undercover bromance by lyssa kay adams

the last mrs. parrishby liv constantine

if the fates allow by rainbow rowell

sweet virgina by caroline kepnes

less by andrew sean greer

the soulmate equation by christina lauren

crazy stupid bromance by lyssa kay adams

watermelon by marian keyes

graceful burdens by roxane gay

the last flight by julie clark

fly away by kristin hannah

isn't it bromantic? by lyssa kay adams

the rest of the story by sarah dessen