My Sibling Is Seasoning Their Grass With Trees And Cow Liquid.

My sibling is seasoning their grass with trees and cow liquid.

(it's buttered toast with maple sugar and cinnamon)

Father Mulcahy is a beautiful and gentle soul, and is perfectly capable of putting someone on their back end if it becomes necessary.

father mulcahy has gotta be one of my favorite fictional characters of all time. just imagine. you're a priest in the middle of a war. you're surrounded by doctors and nurses working day and night to patch up hordes of wounded soldiers. everyone knows how futile it is - at the end of the day, these soldiers, these children, are just being fixed up so they can be sent right back into combat again. and what is your place in all this? you were sent here to heal the soul rather than the body, but few people in camp attend your sunday services, and confessions are sparse. the doctors have a nice clear number to tell them how good they're doing - 97.8%, the highest survival rate of any army hospital in the country. but there's no such way to measure spiritual healing, and so your invisible work weighs on you. you question whether you're even helping at all. and you become so lost in your feelings of inadequacy that you can't see the good you're doing. you can't see how much everyone depends on you. you can't see that in the middle of this violent, nonsensical theatre, your soft words, open ear, and quiet optimism are what gives everyone the strength to make it through each day. your mere presence has shaped this mess of a camp into a brilliant parish, and you're too humble to ever realize it.

"Capitalism breeds innovation" girl there are only five websites left and they all look the same

This is why you don't sleep with the Tyrant King - The consequence is children

Constantine avoids involvement with the Infinite Realms for two reasons.

Who wants to deal with all those Ancients in the first place?

He’s avoiding yet another unhinged ex of his.

Of course, hooking up with Pariah Dark wasn’t really an actual relationship, more like a one night stand via dream walking (Nocturn owed Pariah, but seeing as it would be insane to release the Tyrant King from his endless sleep, he’d give him a dream partner every couple centuries) - regardless, Constantine doesn’t want to deal with that.

So yeah - the fact that the Justice League is attempting to summon the High King into the Watchtower has him wanting to drink more than usual.

Of course he gave warnings, but they’re dead set on doing so. A green folder had appeared in the secure “cursed artifacts” vault with no trace of whoever left it there. How else were they gonna find out how it got there?

So Constantine’s stuck there to set up wards, and is trying to find his way out of this one.

When the summoning circle worked, no one expected the teenager to pop out of it. 

Instead of Pariah Dark, or even the sarcophagus showing up, there was a white haired ghost boy with glowing green eyes the same color as the flames of the Crown of Fire. Except he didn’t look exactly like the others ghosts. He had a human skin tone, his proportions were exactly like a human teenager’s, and he was wearing a black and white hoodie with black sweatpants, for God’s sake. 

… Were ghosts able to reproduce with humans?

Before any of the Justice League can get into questioning, Constantine speaks up:

“You’re not the Ghost King.”

Green eyes settle on him, lighting up with recognition - Danny knows exactly who this is, with the amount of complaints on his desk about the blonde. Clockwork also informed him (he didn’t want to know but now he does) of the man’s stint with Pariah. 

Daniel “Commit to the bit” Fenton chooses to do just that.

“Of course not,” The confusion crosses the face of the heroes present- “That’s just because I haven’t had my coronation yet! I’m the Crown Prince, it’s practically the same thing!”

Oh, and the dread and realization crossing Constantine’s face is almost enough to make his core purr in amusement. 

“Now I will gladly answer all your questions, but first!” His eyes swept over the heroes before raising his hand and pointing accusingly at the British warlock.

“John Constantine,” his voice boomed, the temperature of the meeting room dropping as his face stretched with a smile too big and too pointy, “You owe me fifteen years of child support.”

((The ability to appreciate and evaluate human aesthetic is not determined by your sexuality))

my turn signal is being stupid, and I'm about ready to try using blinker fluid. It might help!