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they went to in-n-out (spiritual followup to the last post)
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History Reeks
An ancient man, doomed to live forever was cursed by one of John's ancestors. Four thousand years later he meets John and becomes convinced that at last his story will have an end.
I, Piper Caith.
I once played my flute for the people I knew but I no longer know them now. Those people are long since dead and their names and faces have been forgotten to all but me.
I find sometimes it grows harder to recall the faces of the people who have come before. My mother's face is a blank void in my mind. I remember warmth and hair and that she was but not the color of her eyes nor the shape of her nose. My father was tall. I remember that and I remember that I had siblings and a woman I loved but they are all so long ago that now they do not come back to me when I call them.
Only him.
Only he comes back.
The laughing magician. The cruel fool I once called friend comes back though I try not to call him. His blue eyes and face. . . His golden hair and lies. . . I can't forget them though he has been long dead also.
When I sleep he returns to me, spinning yarns and telling stories. We once called him legend maker for he could make even the most simple of feats into a tale of adventure but they were lies and stories and nothing more.
Now when I remember his stories I clench my fists for he made me what I am now. It is because of him that I am still here. Because of his cowardice.
Because of him I could not fulfill my role in life. Because of him I have no role in life but that which he gave to me and I hate him for it.
Him who stole from the gods. . . Him who died an ugly death. My closest friend and most hated enemy.
Back when we were friends the world was younger, not young but younger than it is now and we lived in huts and drank from rivers and streams. We danced and made love and I played my flute.
My friend laughed.
People still dance and fuck and listen to music though it has been years since I last put my wooden flute to my lips and he has not laughed in many more years.
My friend was vey clever, Eliud was his name and he was always better with the girls than I was. They liked his yellow hair and his smile. They liked the stories he told, his lies and his half truths. Eliud was not a man of honor. He was wild and he had respect for no one and nothing. Only later would I learn how deep that lack of respect ran. Only when it was too late would I know.
Eliud and I were inseparable. I would have swam the ocean for him but he would not have done the same for me. I knew it then and I convinced myself that I did not care.
I played my flute and he seduced woman after woman, his smile bright and their eyes keen. I was a good friend even when he was not and then there came Cuna who was lithe and very beautiful. She was the first woman I ever saw Eliud take seriously. Perhaps that was the first omen for it was so unlike him.
In this modern age I find it had to reconcile with the past. There are gleaming towers of steel and glass and automobiles that travel faster than any horse I have ever known. The earth has been paved over and yet she is not conquered. Perhaps she never will be. . . I live my life now as any man. I work and toil and then drink and at night I sleep alone. Occasionally a woman will come to bed with me but my heart is in the grave. It has been for along time. . . perhaps since my first love.
Eliud had her as well, the bastard couldn't help himself. He must have seen that we were happy but she is no more and neither is he and he ruined any chance I might have had with her anyway when he did what he did to me.
What woman wants a husband who cannot grow old with her? For a few fleeting years she might enjoy it but when time comes for her and he is not along side, she will feel differently and so it was with my love. I never again tried to play husband.
No, I keep my head down and I play what part I can, always an outsider and always alone. I have accepted that I am something other.
When i sit and drink among the mortals I feel it the least for when has a man lived that did not enjoy the fruits of the earth? What man would weep at a glass of bitter set before him?
No, drink warms me though I have not had a true friend to share it with in many years. Because of that I sometimes miss Eliud.
He was after all my dearest friend and I once loved him.
I think these thoughts as I sit in the smokey pub that has taken the place of wayside inns and taverns in my life. I like this place and I have come here often.
I think of the past that is always with me and the days and people I have known and across the room I hear a laugh from far off days.
A laugh I have heard many times before and yet not in many years.
My heart skips and begins to hammer in my chest and I scan the crowd of drinkers for the mouth that spat it forth.
There. . . Among a group of friends he sits.
The laughing magician.
I stare at him and drink him in, the wretched sight of him. . . He is smiling as he always smiles and yet I frown for I can see it is not him. There are differences in his face. In his mouth and manner and he is taller than the man I knew. . . Taller than his ancestor.
He laughs and smokes and I am taken back to outdoor fires and another laughing man.
This one is a child compared to his years but just the same. I know this face. I know those eyes and I know his most distant father. It could be no one else. This is Eliud's line I am looking at. Nothing else.
My blood boils and I hate him as he lifts his glass to his mouth and drinks. I hate him so very deeply and yet he is not the man who has wronged me.
When I can bare it no longer I drain my glass and leave. My hands are shaking outside and I have to cover my mouth with them.
I am shaken.
A child of Eliud in this age. . . To think that he could live on in the blood of the modern world. . . It angers me. It isn't right and I am hurt. I have no offspring to be proud of. . . What good could his have been when they spring from the loins of a liar and a thief? This one that laughs as my Eliud did. . . How I despise him already.
I know it is not fair to him. I do not know this laughing man. The one inside the tavern. . . I know his hated ancestor and I let my anger direct my feelings. I am only a man. . . Only human despite what he has made me.
I feel small looking at him.
Time has forgotten me and I tear my eyes from the window so that I do not have to see what remains of my dearest friend.
I cannot look and so I run home. I hide in my flat as I once did in my hut. I pull blankets over my head like a scared child and I weep for all of the years that have happened and all that threaten to come next.
When sleep takes me I dream of shifting waves and a small boat, too little to save me.
It is him who pulls the prow forward.
Him and his lies and his magic.
I am helpless before him.
His laugher is like thunder in my ears and his eyes are like lighting and they scare me.
Then he is struck down and some great hand scoops up my little boat and rescues me from certain death. I am dried and loved and saved and I can feel only relief.
The gods that HE forsook have spared me. I am connected to them now. We are not friends but we do not hate each other. They know I am not the one who has wronged them.
I warm myself, free from my boat only to open my eyes and see him there. . . The man from the pub.
He looks at me with cool and merciless eyes. He does not know what he looks at and yet he looks and I hate him for it. I want to put out his eyes with my thumbs. I want to press them back into his head until he quakes and bleeds and bends under me. I want him to suffer as I have suffered.
Hatred makes my heart hurt and the hands that saved me ferry me away once more, sheltering me from his hateful gaze.
A voice whispers to me, a voice I have heard only a few times before.
"Kill this man and you will be free.
It will only take one more death.
His.
End his wretched line and free yourself.
We hate him."
The voice is loud and harsh and I quake as it speaks to me yet it makes sense. Something in my chest unwinds and I understand. Killing him will spare me more pain.
"You must kill him where this began."
Where Cuna died and where Eliud betrayed his makers. . . Where I was changed.
I seize this information and wrap it around my heart.
I will do as I have been told.
It will be like killing Eliud.
I will find this man and I will set right what was made wrong so many years ago.
I awake with a tune I have not played for many a year between my ears and I let it slip forth on my tongue. It sounds in the world for the first time in a millennia and with it I make my vows.
I will kill the laughing man who so resembles my dear old friend. I will hurt him for that which his ancestor did to me.
I stalk him after this, as I would have once a deer or some prey beast. The man is no better than his ancestor.
He smiles and lies and talks his way out of things he's talked his way into.
I hate him.
He reminds me of Eliud and yet I am comforted by his similarity to my old friend. He is not the same but at times I see poor Eliud in him. In his eyes and the muscles of his face. . . Perhaps I miss my friend though I do not want to.
The man's name is John Constantine. Perhaps that is fitting. The constant one. The constant problem. I have known many men, both good and bad but I have never known one like Eliud.
This one is close and yet he is older than Eliud ever was. Back then we did not live so long and thirty was elderly and decrepit. This man is past that and so older than my friend grew to be.
He gambles the same and lies and flirts and at times I am amused by his antics yet each time I think of it I see Eliud again and my certainty is renewed.
This man must die.
Chapter two is up!
#fanfiction#hellblazer#fanfic#comics#ao3#archive of our own#ill put it on ff.net when its finished#john contstantine#chas chandler#renee chandler#immortals#immortality
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It's up!
They're all completed and they'll all get posted eventually but I'm dragging my feet. One and two are chapter fics. Some of these I wrote a while ago but haven't gotten back to to actually revise. Help kick my ass into gear!
#if you can figure out where the name came from i'll kiss ya#hellblazer#fanfic#john constantine#chas chandler#fic#ao3#archive of our own#renee chandler#archive#hellblazer fanfic
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Looks like we have a winner!
"An immortal, wronged by one of John's ancestors wants revenge- featuring Chas!"
I kept an eye on this while I waited for the week to pass and started revising a few days ago. I'll start posting this weekend! It'll be called "History Reeks" and I'll post the first chapter here and all of it it to archive of our own! There are six chapters. Thanks so much to everyone who voted!
SUMMARY: An ancient man, doomed to live forever was cursed by one of John's ancestors. Four thousand years later he meets John and becomes convinced that at last his story will have an end.
They're all completed and they'll all get posted eventually but I'm dragging my feet. One and two are chapter fics. Some of these I wrote a while ago but haven't gotten back to to actually revise. Help kick my ass into gear!
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lawyer stuff
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they saw you from across the bar and liked your vibe
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Canonicity is a fickle thing. Especially for something as comic books.
If you pick anything other than option A, please put in the tags what writers/runs/books you don't consider to be canon. Especially if you consider writers from the original run to be non!Canon.
Most of the people I talk about Hellblazer with share the same general opinion, but I'd still like to know :)
Please reblog after voting for a wider audience and go nuts in comments or tags!
#original 300 run is pure canon to me#everything else is surplus#don't really care for milligans run although there are some descent stories#Azzarello is hit or miss#I do like Spurier's stuff though#but i consider it its own thing#jamie delano's run is my fav
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X-MEN COMIC
gambit nearly loses a prized posession
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They're all completed and they'll all get posted eventually but I'm dragging my feet. One and two are chapter fics. Some of these I wrote a while ago but haven't gotten back to to actually revise. Help kick my ass into gear!
#hellblazer#john constantine#fanfiction#help kick my ass#into gear#or just in general#ao3#archive of our own#archive#my first poll#hope im doing it right lol#motivation#don't know which one to pick back up#gemma masters#chas chandler#fan fic
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#john constantine#wesley wyndam pryce#hellblazer#meme#angel ts#ats#buffy the vampire slater#btvs#just a meme#alexis denisof#comics#tv#memes#accidentally sending kids to hell
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My friend never understood my love of Gambit until she saw him in that crop top in X-Men '97. It was like an explosion had just taken place behind her eyeballs. She looked at me and in the most serious voice went: "No, listen I fucking get it. I fucking get it now." This is what solidarity is all about.
#gambit#this is all i ever wanted#i love this show#so much already#xmen#x men#x men 97#remy lebeau#she yelled wtf and hit rewind#i think stranger things really opened her eyes to#slutty 80s/90s mens fashion#too bad her husband only wants to dress like its 1600
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@ratblazer for the dtyis!
I'm not much of an artist but I wanted to contribute!
#john constantine#hellblazer#fan art#i kinda got the expression i wanted#might try drawing this again
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You know, I bet the Ferengi have someone like Ea-Nasir and he's like. a saint or something
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Finally watched The Old Guard and it was great!
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Come get your drinks at QUARK’S!
unfortunately, Quark is understaffed this evening and has to run tables himself. he’s not happy, but at least he’s fabulous.
(prints in progress!)
So, whatcha having?
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My heart 🥲🥲🥲
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