SENTENCE STARTERS: GHOSTBUSTERS (2016)

“I know God makes no mistake. But he must have been drunk when he made Gertrude’s personality.” “Well, books can’t fly and neither can babies.” “Is it even more funny if I tell you it came from the front?” “How are you eating right now?” “Try saying no to these salty parabolas.” “Ain’t no bitches going to hunt no ghosts.” “Oh my gosh, did you hear that thing? It might be a ghost…no it is a bird.” “You want to use the bathroom? There is a perfectly good bathroom upstairs at Starbucks.” “It is not about the end result, it is about the journey.” “I thought the floating hot dog implied a ghost was holding it.” “An aquarium is a submarine for fish.” “I don’t have a cat. I have a dog named Mike Hat.” “Whatever they are no one should have to encounter that type of evil. Except your girls.” “I am joining the club.” “I can borrow a car from my uncle.” “Stonebrook theater. There is a goat on the loose.” “This music is so terrible it is making him angry. Play something gentle!” “Charge the lights. Create the vortex. Break the variables.” “Why are you pretending to catch ghosts?” “That man went through the wrong door.” “If it is a crime to look good, guilty as charged!” “If the cat is out of the bag, you can’t put it back in.” “Please don’t be like the mayor in Jaws.” “I don’t drive to Chinatown.” “I don’t drive wackos.” “I ain’t ‘fraid of no ghosts!” “Who is the flying beef cake?” “I feel like the slime is after me personally.” “Forgot about my new toys.” “I guess he’s going to Queens - he’s going to be the third scariest thing on that train.” “Why am I operating the untested nuclear laser?” “It’s 2040. Our president is a plant!” “You guys, this is exactly how I pictured my death!” “Sorry. I can’t buy you another one.” “That’s where I saw that weird sparking thing.” “Do you have any idea how many federal regulations you are breaking on a daily basis?” “Okay, room full of nightmares.” “Whoa, nobody called for a Clark Kent strippergram!” “I’ve heard terrible things about you.” “Ma'am, can you tell us where you got the world’s tiniest bowtie?” “It’s really easy sit there and be the naysayer when you don’t actually do anything.” “Safety lights are for dudes.” “Okay, but we’re talking about relocating. No one’s being killed here. Right?” “I’m just gonna go ahead and take off. How about that?” “Come out, come out, wherever you are…” “Booyah! Emphasis on the boo.” “Is it the boobs you don’t like? Because I can make them… bigger.” “Okay, I don’t know if it was a race thing or a lady thing, but I’m mad as hell.” “Charge the lines, create the vortex, break the barriers.” “I’m not good in a fight.” “It’s on books on tape, too. Only, I know how to read.” “Well, that thing is having the time of its life.” “The hat is too much, right? Is it the wig or the hat?” “I will kick the unliving crap out of you, and you, and ESPECIALLY you!” “That stuff went everywhere, by the way. In every crack.” “Oh my god, you killed a pilgrim!” “I would have used aluminum but I’m crazy.” “I’m smelling both electrical discharge and isotopic decay.” “It smells like burnt baloney and regrets down here.” “We just gave a ghost a nuke, we should probably run.” “I’m just looking for a reasonable ratio of wontons to soup, this is madness!” “I’m sorry you’re having a soup crisis.” “It’s always the sad, pale ones.” “We like him, despite his many, many frustrating quirks!”

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@vxctorx

                 “Calm your tatas.”

          It’d been a long day. One of those days that Jack thought would never end. He’d spent it doing house calls, paying his usual weekly visits to patients. God, they whined so much. It took great strength for him not to take a scalpel to their necks. It wasn’t as if they’d be missed - Half of them were near death anyway. But no. He’d refrained, choosing instead to overcharge them for his service and using that money to fill himself with whiskey after his last house call.

       He loved bars. You could just sit, watching people as they slowly drank away their troubles and lost all inhibition. Men that were usually quiet and refined suddenly thought they could take on the world simply because they’d had one too many shots of gin. Women started viewing the world differently - Men that they would usually have turned their noses up at were suddenly gods. It was animalistic and it was absolutely incredible to watch.

       He’d spent the evening watching one woman in particular as she weaved her way through the bar. She was impressive, really - Clearly a whore, but high class enough that the bartender didn’t immediately toss her out onto the street. She was less ragged than the usual types - More sophisticated looking. She’d make an excellent addition to his - collection. He watched as she approached him, her lips lifting into a flirtatious smile. He could feel the disgust and loathing burning up in his chest as he thought about the many men she’d probably been with. Repulsive. Pushing all of it down, he curled his lips into his most charming smile, hand lifting to gesture to the seat beside him. “I’d love some company. These dark nights can be terribly lonely for a single man in London.” He nodded to the bartender, summoning him over before ordering two drinks. “I’m Jack. Pleasure, I’m sure.”

(  💋  ) — @fromhelljack is looking for company

                          It was not turning out to be a good night. There was a certain level of customers that Seba expected herself to get each week — anything less than that level was a failure, and not worth considering. Not worth allowing herself to go home. She had been slacking off for a significant portion of the week, and it left herself with two nights to meet her personal quotas. As such, she was desperate. Not quite desperate enough to reduce her prices - such an idea was laughable considering the service she provided - but it was fast approaching that. Fortunately, the bar she found herself in that night had several patrons with fat wallets and wandering hands, and chatting up the men of the bars was a talent Seba had had to develop in order to survive in the profession she found herself in.

                              “Well hi there, handsome.” The words were spoken softly, a gentle but sultry tone escaping the girl’s berry painted lips. The signs of being an escort — a lady of the evening, a whore, whatever word you cared to use — were subtle in her appearance and her demeanor, but still could be seen for those looking for them. A lot of skin was obviously on show, but not enough to be considered trashy. Bold makeup, but not so bold that it could be considered tacky. Just… enough. “You look lonely. Want me to keep you company?”

@thefreaksdaughter​

         “A bit late to be wandering the streets, don’t you think? All sorts of strange folk around the place these days - You don’t know who you could end up running into.”

      Her scent was different. More expensive. Certainly nothing akin to the piss-water that those other women seemed to be dabbing on their necks. There was also a distinct lack of desperation and poverty - In fact, she seemed to hold herself in a way that was quietly confident. Definitely not a woman of the night.

Which brought Jack to his next train of thought - Who was she? And why was she concerning herself with him? Whitechapel wasn’t the friendliest place, most people chose to mind their own business. And yet here she was, talking to him as if she knew him. She wasn’t an officer of the law, that much was obvious - There was something almost unlawful about her. And he definitely hadn’t met her before - He would’ve remembered her eyes.

                ‘I’m just as dangerous’ - Her words clung to the air, a silence descending as they sunk in. For a moment Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or walk away. He didn’t have time for folly. He had far more important things to be doing.

     “I’m sure you are.” His tone dripped with sarcasm, his hands moving to clasp together as he looked over at her. “I’m not sure who you are or what right you think you have to question how busy I’ve been, but I can assure you, I don’t plan on entertaining this conversation for much longer. Now, are you going to tell me your name?”

{ ⨁ }

The East End of London - A cesspool of misery, the air dank with desperation and filth. Some viewed it as ‘quaint’. Tourists. They came during the day, took photos of ‘the real side of London’ and then left, safely back to their hotels in Notting Hill or Primrose. No. After 9pm was when the East End started to show it’s true colours.  The w h o r e s took to the streets, their cheap perfume clinging to the air, wafting in every direction.                         After 9pm was the time that Jack loved the most. He’d been particularly busy lately, cleansing the streets of Whitechapel. He’d turned it into a fine art. No-one suspected him - Scotland Yard were running around in circles, trying to pin the blame on anyone. It was pathetic really. He’d even started sending them letters. However something about this evening was different. As Jack was out walking, he’d noticed a woman. Pretty little thing. But far too expensive looking to be a prostitute. A woman who’d begun to follow him and who was now standing in front of him, giving him what could only be described as one of the most severe glares he’d ever been subject to.

    “Interesting. I’d make a comment about women being seen and not heard but something tells me you’re one of those ‘equal rights’ types.” A pause as his lips twitched upwards. “Busy - Yes, I’m remarkably busy. Too busy, in fact, for this conversation. Now, I’d run along, if I were you - Whitechapel’s a dangerous place after 9pm, sweetheart.”

                    I’m not a butcher, I’m not a Yid,                     Nor yet a foreign skipper,                     But I’m your own light-hearted friend,                     Yours truly,                                          Jack the Ripper.

{ I’m wrecked and half asleep so I need bed, but I’ve taken tomorrow off cause we’ve family over from London so I’ll do my replies tomorrow, promise! }

@ofcleaversandblood​

The East End of London - A beautiful disastrous mess of misery, desperation and sheer f i l t h. During the day it seemed like any other overcrowded area of London - Filled with immigrants, beggars, and traders attempting to sell cheap (and probably stolen) wares. But at night - After 9pm was when the East End showed her true self. She undressed herself like the cheap whores lining the streets and revealed herself to the world. It was a cesspool filled with debauchery and degradation.

Whitechapel was the worst borough in the East End. And it was also Jack’s playground. It was far too easy. The s t e n c h of their perfume practically led him to them, the sounds of their heinous giggling acting as a siren call, luring him into the chase. They were almost begging to be punished for the disgusting life they’d chosen to lead.

That night, he found himself walking a different path as he allowed his mind to wander, giving him some clarity whilst he decided on his moves for the night. The police were being far more vigilant - Those fools thought they could actually frighten him into stopping just by putting more officers on the street.

                                                  Completely farcical. 

Jack was pulled out of his thoughts by a woman suddenly appearing on his periphery, his eyes moving to focus on her. “A bit late to be wandering the streets, don’t you think, madam? All sorts of strange folk around the place these days - You don’t know who you could end up running into.”

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(1-146) mix of angst, nsfw-ish, crack, randome, fluff, all the good stuff. All depends on how you interpret it!)

BONUS POINTS for reblogging without looking.

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         “I suppose you could say that - Although I’m a firm believer in creating my own luck. If I were to rely on fate or circumstance then I fear I’d be far worse off.” Jack’s eyebrow arched upwards, taking a moment to carefully scan the man standing in front of him. “Sebastian? Exotic name. Are you from London?”

   “Ah - A gambling man. What is it they say about it - The better the gambler, the worse the man.”

  “Never been much of a gambler myself - I don’t have the temperament for it. The name’s Jack, pleasure I’m sure.”   

{ Okay so I’m not going to really be here during the weeks because I’m currently doing a research postgrad and my time’s taken up with that. However I will be here on the weekends so that’s when I’ll be mostly active. If anyone would like to plot anything however, feel free to send me an IM, I really want to get more threads going on here :) }

                    I’m not a butcher, I’m not a Yid,                     Nor yet a foreign skipper,                     But I’m your own light-hearted friend,                     Yours truly,                                          Jack the Ripper.

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~ @rosie-harper ~

    “Good lord, Whitechapel’s miserable looking enough without that scowl of yours. Now, I’m not one for unnecessary smiling but at least try and look like you’re not the most dispirited woman in the world.”

London Street by Phuoc Quan

The East End of London - A cesspool of misery, the air dank with desperation and filth. Some viewed it as ‘quaint’. Tourists. They came during the day, took photos of ‘the real side of London’ and then left, safely back to their hotels in Notting Hill or Primrose. No. After 9pm was when the East End started to show it’s true colours.  The w h o r e s took to the streets, their cheap perfume clinging to the air, wafting in every direction.                         After 9pm was the time that Jack loved the most. He’d been particularly busy lately, cleansing the streets of Whitechapel. He’d turned it into a fine art. No-one suspected him - Scotland Yard were running around in circles, trying to pin the blame on anyone. It was pathetic really. He’d even started sending them letters. However something about this evening was different. As Jack was out walking, he’d noticed a woman. Pretty little thing. But far too expensive looking to be a prostitute. A woman who’d begun to follow him and who was now standing in front of him, giving him what could only be described as one of the most severe glares he’d ever been subject to.

    “Interesting. I’d make a comment about women being seen and not heard but something tells me you’re one of those ‘equal rights’ types.” A pause as his lips twitched upwards. “Busy - Yes, I’m remarkably busy. Too busy, in fact, for this conversation. Now, I’d run along, if I were you - Whitechapel’s a dangerous place after 9pm, sweetheart.”

{ ⨁ } — @fromhelljack​

This had been a long time in coming. Several months ago, Jim had begun to notice the disappearance of a number of his workers who catered to … the baser needs of those willing to part with money for services. He’d asked his precious Tiger, an assassin as proud as the animal her nickname titled her, to look into it. It had taken time to gather the whispers on the streets had told of a man, not very tall but not remarkably short either, who had visited the women who had — for lack of a better idea — all but vanished off the face of the Earth. It had taken even longer to decipher those whispers into finding a name, a place, anything at all to lead her to who or what may have been taking those women. Finding the women was important, and if they had been hurt, she’d hurt the assailant twice as bad. But for now, she followed her lead.

                         “ Well, well, haven’t you been a busy boy? ”