comics!john talking about chas has the energy of those tiktok posts that are like, "might not be the girl guy you marry, but I'II damn sure be the girl guy you'll think about in 10 years when you're sitting on the couch next to your vanilla ass stay at home wife wondering if l ever got my drinking problem under control."
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"John with daddy issues this. John woth daddy issues that" WHERES MY FUCKING CHAS WITH MOMMY ISSUES POSTS? DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE
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I was wondering why Brandon Farris and Cameron Domasky's friendship felt so familiar, and then I realised that it's just John Constantine and Chas Chandler. John and Brandon are both average hight and are beings of chaos, and Cam n Chas are giants that just go along with it because somebody has to deal with the others insanity. (This is specifically about Matt Ryan's Constantine and Charles Halford's Chas)
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Didn’t care to proper edit, because I don’t think anyone cares.
Also, I don’t want to make Books of Magick: Life after Wartime look good. Worst comic in existence.
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2: "Don't worry, I got you."
Fictober 2023
Fandom: Hellblazer
Rating: T
John wasn’t planning on lingering. He knows he should feel worse about that. But even so, he finds himself on Chas’ sofa, a hot cuppa pressed between his frigid hands, a letter folded neatly in his pocket. Chas has a sour look on his face, observing him out of the corner of his eye.
“Alright. What is it you want?” Chas drawls. John scoffs in response,
“Why do I always have to be after something?,” John snaps. But he is after something, he always is when it comes to Chas. He seems to consider this, casting a scrutinizing gaze over John’s quivering form. John meant to control that, but it's hard when you can’t keep anything down and you’re so bloody cold all the time.
“You look like shit, mate.” Chas remarks, almost light, though John identifies enough concern in his eyes to make him shift.
“I’m alright.” He grits, “Bit of a cold.” He can feel a cough wanting to rip its way from his throat, and attempts to smother it. The distinct taste of copper finds its way onto his tongue regardless.
“You’re not going to drink that?” Chas asks, sounding skeptical. John looks down at his cup.
“Yeah, mate.” He reassures, taking a tentative sip. Chas’ discomfort only seems to grow. He watches John take a few more pathetic sips before sighing. It’s a resigned sort of sigh, predictable.
“You’ve gotten into some shit haven’t you?”
“Something like that.”
“How are we fixing it?” John shakes his head, Chas is simple like that. There’s a problem, so he fixes it. Just like a broken car or an old lightbulb. But this isn’t like that.
It’s simple, sure. He’s going to die.
Still, when he forces himself to look Chas in the eyes again, and he finds the sure reliability he’s come to expect from Chas, he is overcome by affection. It smothers him, lodges itself in his already drowning chest cavity. He coughs, and then hacks so hard he nearly spills the tea. Chas is fast to react, placing both of their cups on the table and running his hand over John’s back.
“Don’t worry, I got you.” He says, as John’s hacking eases. It’s a useless sentiment, but Chas says it low and personal. Like he means it. Like a promise. John wishes he could still believe in Chas’ promises.
But as they are, he clasps a hand over Chas’ neck, bringing their foreheads together.
He wishes he could pause in this moment, suck in any warmth or comfort Chas could offer him in this fragile closeness. Instead, he takes a breath, slides the letter onto the sofa, and takes his leave of him.
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