#hellblazer fic
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Fodder for Dreaming
John is in between stays at Ravenscar. Weirdness finds him no matter how hard he tries to toe the line and when two skinheads proposition him to get rid of a demon infestation, they're really not asking. John goes along but get's a whole lot more than he bargained for at the worst time.
The gate slams behind him and John opens his eyes.
He's laying down and there's thunder outside his windows.
Bad weather and bad dreams again.
He's in his bed.
He's in a bed.
Another nameless motel.
Another stained ceiling.
He reaches for his cigarettes and already the thoughts come tumbling back to him.
He's a month out of Ravenscar, mind frayed and bed sweaty from another nightmare. Another memory he can't chase away.
More bad dreams he can't help.
He's trying this time. He really doesn't want to go back and he's being good. No friends, nothing weird.
Not even any drugs. . .
His hands shake as they light his cigarette and he's faced with another aimless day.
Bad weather and bad dreams all day and all night.
He has nothing to do and nowhere to go, nothing but to think and no one to take him from his thoughts when he can't stop them.
Cheryl has a baby and Chas is in London.
His other friends are in the wind.
No band and no guitar, not that he was really good at it. He'd just been pretending. . . like with everything else.
He get's up and goes to the store, spends some of his last few quid on another pack of Silk Cuts and walks around with his hands in his pockets and his head full of broken glass.
It's been like this for a month.
Nowhere to go, no one to see.
No one that visits and no one to visit himself.
Just him and his head.
Him and his glass.
He ends up at a pub.
He always ends up at the pub these days.
He want's to get drunk.
Wants to forget but never can.
He drinks and drinks and doesn't hear the music.
Someone puts on ABBA and he doesn't hear it.
Doesn't hear it when the song changes and Barbara Streisand takes over.
He stays, sits, drinks and braces for another night all the same as the rest. The same thoughts and the same dreams all in the same putrid, little room.
Nothing changes and he's only just holding it together.
He's not sure he wants to live like this and the cracked bar in front of him is screaming that this is as low as it get's.
No faces he knows in the crowed, no voices shouting over the din and the music. . . no one to call and nothing but the thoughts in his head to keep him company.
They scream at him.
He doesn't think he's ever been so alone.
He can't hear the music over the screaming. . .
Astra's screaming. . .
He can't hear anything any more except her.
So he doesn't hear when two men call out to him and he jumps when they sit down on either side of him. He isn't used to people any more.
They slide onto stools and smirk, heads shaved and shining.
"Evening, mate." One of them say's and his heart hammers between them.
One is gangly and tall and the other is broad and dense.
They're both skinheads.
"Don't think I know you." He say's, trying to play it cool. Whatever it is they want it isn't going to be good.
They order their drinks and they order one for him too, pushing it towards him like they're old friends.
The gangly one lights up.
"You're Constantine, right?" He asks.
John hesitates. "You wanna tell me your name first?" He asks.
"Nigel." The man say's.
Nigel.
Right.
He snorts but the man doesn't thump him for it.
Warning sign number one.
"This is Tom, we've been looking for you." Nigel continues. "Heard about you and some friends of yours having a gig in Manchester some years ago." He reads John's face. "Now we don't want music you understand. . . we want the other thing. We've heard you know about the Arcane. Heard you know a lot, actually."
John feels himself break out in sweat . "Lot's happened since Manchester." He say's. "I'm not sure I'm the man you want."
Nigel nods and Tom say's nothing. "Well now that's not what we've heard. We've heard you're the guy to talk to. You're the guy who knows stuff."
He thinks of Newcastle and suddenly almost can't see.
He's blind and deaf and flailing.
"We've got a problem. One of our friends was. . . well he wasn't the careful type, you know? He brought something into the house but. . . it won't leave. Won't bloody get out. Do you understand?"
John thinks of all the arrogant, somehow lucky stuff he's done and shakes is head. "Can't help you." He say's, voice shaking more than he'd expected.
He tries to get up but Tom plants his hand in his chest and pushes him back onto his stool.
"Drink your pint." He say's.
John drinks his pint. "Look I can't help you." He say's again.
He can barely help himself.
They don't blink. "We're not asking." Nigel say's, mouth turned down in a frown yet somehow still smiling.
He has a freckle under his left eye.
John stares at it. "I'm telling you I can't help you." He say's again, feeling strained.
There's smoke in the air and Nigel doesn't listen. "Anyway, it's small time but Paul, that was the poor chap- he got eaten. Since then it's been wrecking the place. You can't even go into the drawing room."
John stares at him wildly.
It doesn't sound that tough.
He's dealt with weirder shit. . .
It's only fucking up a drawing room. . .
He stops himself and shakes his head. "Mate, I'm telling you. I can't do anything about it." He say's, desperate for them to listen.
They shake their heads.
They don't listen.
"See you keep saying that but you took care of that thing in Newcastle, I heard."
John think's he's going to vomit but he doesn't. "Heard that did you?" He asks, voice horse.
Voice cracking.
Nigel shrugs. "Dunno what I heard but I heard something. Anyway, we need it gone and we need the proper sort to do it. You know what we mean?"
He doesn't and Tom grunts.
"Don't fucking make a problem." He say's.
John looks around the pub and considers splitting but they're right next to him and he doubts he'll make it. "Look. . . maybe you tell me what it is and I can help you from here." He says, hopping Nigel think's it's a good offer.
Nigel shakes his head. "No deal." He say's.
They drain their pints and he finishes his as he plots his escape.
He has to get away.
He can't do this shit again.
He isn't ready.
He never was.
His mind is already running through what the hell they could have summoned.
They usher him out, Nigel standing close, too close and Tom lighting a cigarette.
They take him to a car.
A beat up Admiral with a dented driver's door.
He want's a cigarette too.
He frowns and get's in the back, feeling like a prisoner or someone in a movie, ready to make a run for it.
"Don't do it." Tom say's, lowering his head to look in at him like he knows what he's thinking.
John thinks of the orderlies who beat him and the nights in Ravenscar and doesn't run.
Tom nods his head.
He nods too.
The car starts up.
The seat is cracked and old.
Nigel is humming.
John can't name the tune.
They head out of town, away from the city and into farm land but it isn't so far and they pull off at a black hulk before he's calmed down.
John's eyes adjust and he see's it's not a black hulk after a moment.
It's a manor house.
He looks around uncertainly and there's no lights showing from within.
"Alright, we're here." Nigel say's, fishing a copy of 'Candour' out from under the seat, glancing at it and throwing it in the back where John think's his heart is finally going to explode.
"I can't do it." He say's again, more weakly this time.
Even if he could he isn't prepared.
Nigel tuts and then suddenly there's a fist in his hair, dragging him over the back of the seat in front of him and Nigel is in his face, nose touching his cheek, breath foul.
"You're gonna fucking do it." He say's.
John isn't right in his head and he starts to shake but then the hand lets go and only a few hairs leave with it.
He sits back, bile twisting in his throat.
"Right then, out you go." Nigel say's.
They get out and he looks up at the manor house. It's crumbling front steps and boarded up windows. The missing masonry and the broken bricks littering the front walk. . . It looks derelict.
Tom pushes him and Nigel laughs.
He walks and they take him inside.
Maybe if he does what they want they'll take him back and he can go to bed.
Maybe the same every day isn't so bad.
He wants to see his stained ceiling again.
He stares around and then see's lights down hallways and knows suddenly that there are people here. His one hope that the place is abandoned. . . that somehow Nigel and Tom brought him to the wrong fucking house is dashed.
They pass rooms with collapsed floors and ceilings.
John doesn't like the holes that lead to nowhere, up and down. . . promising things and pains he can imagine only too well.
He looks at Nigel.
The man has stopped humming.
"It's in here." The man say's, stopping at a closed door.
John stares at him.
He stares at the door.
What the hell is he supposed to do?
He doesn't even know what's on the other side of the door.
Tom raises his eyebrows. "Well?" He asks.
John shakes his head. "What the bloody hell do you want me to do?" He asks. "You brought me all the way out here. . . I don't. . ."
But Nigel is smiling.
He puts his finger to his lips and then opens the door.
There's light inside.
There's fire in the grate and people all around.
Tom shoves him and John stumbles inside, raising a hand to shield his eyes for a moment before turning wildly and seeing a room filled with people.
There's a red banner with a black double S hung over the mantle. Back on red on hate.
SS.
He see's a dozen shaved heads and black boots and people are laughing all around. Girls with their hair bleached and faces hard. . . men and boys with smirks and brown bottles in their hands.
He turns to Nigel and Tom and opens his mouth.
Nigel hits him. "We needed the right kind." He say's. "Proper English lad. Figured that was what it'd want."
It?
There's a table laid out and John stares and see's food.
There's cake even.
He turns and balls his fists. "What the hell is this?" He shouts but they all laugh and he think's maybe he's gone round the bend again except he's definitely here and this isn't his usual brand of crazy.
"A worthy sacrifice." A figure say's rising out of the masses, his head nicked and shaved.
His eyes triumphant.
John's are bulging out of his head.
"We summon a god tonight. A god of the ancient Britons. We who call ourselves British, English, we here have taken pains to reclaim the glory that was our England! To take back our jobs and our government from outsiders. From Pakis and Nogs. . ." The man looks around as the others clap and cheer. "Is this not our homeland? Is this not our place? Is this not our fucking land?" He points downwards and receives cheers.
It's a lot of bullshit but one word stick's in John's ears: sacrifice.
He has a sudden, horrible feeling that he knows what they're sacrificing.
Who they're sacrificing.
He tries to run for the door then but Nigel catches him and drags him back, laughing.
The crowed closes in on him.
He turns again, wild this time and scared.
He's a cornered animal so he lashes out.
People are laughing, black boots and shaved heads.
Bleached blondes with their hard faces.
Nicks along their lovers' scalps.
Hate in their hearts.
People are pointing at him.
He's thinking of Astra.
When is he not?
He puts his hands over his head and cowers.
They grab him and drag him along, Nigel singing.
"When I was a lad, I hadn't any sense. I bought a flute for fifty pence. The only tune that I could play was-"
He stares ahead as they drag him to a circle they've drawn on the floor.
White chalk on ancient brown wood.
He doesn't know what it's supposed to be.
Maybe he doesn't know enough, maybe they don't.
He looks up and the man who'd risen from the crowed is there. He's older but not by much and his head looks like a skull.
There's a black, double S hanging behind him.
An evil herald.
"Blood of an Englishman. Proper red." He say's.
John stares up, heart hammering painfully.
Nigel is grinning.
Tom watches.
They're all watching.
Hungry and waiting.
His eyes water over and he tries to draw air, looking again for an exit that isn't there.
Nigel is in his ear.
"We sacrifice you and we get what we want. You see? Heard about that botched job in Newcastle." He clicks his tongue while John's heart does a somersault. "Don't reckon anyone will miss you."
There's candles burning around them.
People watching.
He can't breath and Nigel and Tom are on either side of him again.
Even Tom looks pleased for once and he's holding tight.
Hurting him.
John thinks this might be it and almost accepts it.
Almost except he doesn't want to be murdered by these people.
The cake has a red 88 on it.
Enough candles that he can't count them.
Who's birthday is it?
No.
Not here.
Not like this.
He struggles and they hit him, Tom's fist is big and meaty against his ribs.
He gasps for air and Nigel coos and takes over, holding him up. He wipes away his tears. He smiles and looks into his eyes and John feels his whole body shake.
Nigel searches his eyes and see's what he wants.
Nigel nods and let's go of his face.
John panics and kicks, desperate this time.
He hears an 'oof' and hits something soft.
Nigel doubles over, hands flying to his balls.
It isn't enough and the rest of them don't pause.
A knife joins them and he's still in the circle and blood get's out.
It sears when the knife cuts and he can't stop it or what follows.
Something changes.
The air changes and his breathing. . . he's only just started again but suddenly everything tastes bad.
The air around them is putrid and stale.
The others sense it too and something shakes the house.
They're on the ground floor but everyone looks uneasy.
The knife has stopped moving and John is just as uneasy as all of them.
The shaking stops and when nothing happens he and Nigel both go for the knife.
He grabs it but Nigel rips it away again, lashing out with his little cutter.
John throws them to the floor and Nigel screams out, yelling for the second time that night.
He's fallen on the knife and John stares in horror as the house begins to shake again.
Collapsed rooms finally devour the caverns above them.
Rot taking hold.
Rot winning.
He braces himself like a crab against the floor.
People are shouting.
"It comes! He comes!" The leader shouts, head shaved and nicked, arms waving frantically.
The SS overhead flutters.
The fire flares.
Something large is in the room.
Large and taking up space nothing can possibly fill.
John can't make sense of it and crawls away into a corner.
Whatever it is, it grabs up jackboots and devours them whole.
it eats and it feasts and it kills.
It licks the things it calls fingers and tears flesh and leather alike.
John cowers, everything he's recovered gone and then the thing looks at him.
It sniffs.
It waits.
He waits.
"Kon-stan-tyn." It breaths.
He opens mad eyes, not knowing if he's even alive still.
He wants to grovel.
The thing has horns.
Too many to count.
"No. A Constantine. A different one." It say's.
He doesn't know what it means.
It has no mouth.
He doesn't know how he's hearing it speak.
He can hardly look at it.
"A debt is paid. I spare you."
He stares back and then it's gone.
Ancient and primordial.
Some forgotten deity he doesn't want to know the name of.
He can't feel his legs and all around him is carnage.
It's like Newcastle all over again and he screams but there's no one left to hear him.
No one to care.
He wants to die.
He claws at his face and shakes his head against it but there's red everywhere.
The house is weak and he hears it creaking around him.
He get's up and tries to find the way out, slipping and sliding in what were once people. Bleached blondes and shaved heads.
There are lights down hallways just out of sight.
He doesn't know what he's seen.
No one left to tell him.
No money.
He closes his eyes and makes it outside, vomiting among the crumbling masonry and broken bricks.
He's in the middle of nowhere now and shivers in the night.
The beat up Admiral is in the grass but the keys are inside, mired in puddles of what were once the shapes of human beings.
His mind is shattered glass.
Blood and cities that aren't the same. . . little girls and skinheads. . . he can't sort it out.
Screams sounding all the same.
People all the same.
Blood everywhere and all of it red and just the same.
He wanders his way back to civilization.
There's a score of dead neo-Nazis behind him.
They had mothers too once. . . probably.
Not like him.
He's seen their mangled corpses.
He can't get it out of his head and he can't get Newcastle or Astra or Nigel's freckle out either.
He walks and mutters to himself, trying to make sense of it.
Trying to understand why it's all happened again.
Over and over.
Everything going wrong and him walking out. . . unscathed. . .
Nigel dead. . . Tom dead. . . their leader dead. . .
Astra and all the rest. . . all dead.
A siren eventually stops him and the police take him for a crazy.
He is and they take him back to the nick and process him and in just a few days time he ends up back in Ravenscar even though he tried to do the right thing.
Even though he stayed away from the drugs and the magic and all his friends who've disappeared.
He ends up back in the padded cell with the orderlies who hate him and the doctors who don't care.
He has new nightmares now.
New horrors to keep him up and play before his eyes, over and over and over.
The gates locked behind him.
#hellblazer#fanfiction#ao3#archive#fanfic#fanfiction.net#fic#john constantine#angst#hellblazer fic#ravenscar#hurt#hurt no comort#ancinet gods#demons#rituals#horror#gore#mild gore#violence#canon typical violence#blood#intimidation#skin heads#nationalism#john has a very bad time#drinking#monsters#complete#one shot
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exactly one person asked and i’ve been DYING to make this, so here are all of my favorite long batman fanfics in general and for new readers @twisted-tales-told :)
cards on the table by @wesslan ! 69k, completed. this is one of my all time favorite fanfictions, it’s so funny and tim is a mastermind genius and a little liar <3 he basically pretends to be a fortune teller and gives scarily good predictions and advice by stalking the upper class and eventually gets involved with the batfam and has to maintain his lies while dealing with his issues :) 10/10, very found family, good angst, so much lying
Dark Matter by @mysterycyclone , 221k, ongoing. this is a batman fanfic rec, of course my bbg dark matter is going to be here <3 this is a MCUxDCU crossover where after infinity war (spoilers for that if you haven’t seen it!) peter parker gets sent to the DCU dimension with part of the soul stone and basically is haunted by the ghosts of the avengers while trying to survive in gotham and get back to his dimension. this is so well written i’ve read it at least three times, it’s still ongoing but trust me it is SO GOOD. i can’t properly describe it, but if you like spider-man and you are interested in batman, you’ll love.
Red is the Color of Sinners by @bluelotuswrites , series, 120k, ongoing, M. i want you to look me in my eyes when i tell you this is my favorite series on ao3. it is set after under the red hood and daredevil 3 where jason and matt meet in a church after jason loses his ability to speak following the events of UTRH. they keep running into each other both as matt and daredevil and eventually jason begins helping matt out with injuries and tech. it’s not finished yet, but there is something so compelling about their dynamic in this series as well as jason’s overall character and how he is portrayed. i’m a sucker for mute jason after UTRH and this series does so well giving him a fresh start and a place away from gotham to heal and build relationships. i cannot recommend enough.
buy back the secrets by @vinelark , 71k, ongoing, T. THIS!!! oh my god, so this is a timkon fic where kon still doesn’t know tim’s civilian identity, but whenever he’s in trouble tim calls for superboy which leads to them meeting without kon knowing. shenanigans ensure when kon starts spending more time with tim! it’s still ongoing but the author is currently working on the next part and it is so so worth the wait. chapter 4 ends on a cliffhanger though so be warned :))
Sales People Know (listening is the most important part) by Mayhem10, 77k, completed, T. this has the coolest urban magical realism ever. tim basically runs this magic shop that shows up places and people who need something find it in his shop :) it’s kinda a slow burn found family fic with magic themes and a smidge of angst!
Retrograde Motion by Lysical, 112k, completed, T. this is best de-aged kid fic ever. jason gets turned into a 7 year old and basically the outlaws, artemis and biz, join forces with the batfam to take care of him. but trust me when i say this is worth your time, it might sound tropey but in the best way possible!! and jason’s relationship with artemis is sooo important to me in this!
Hand in Unloveable Hand (a chokehold) by britishparty, 54k, completed, M. this is one of the best psychological torture/grooming fics i’ve ever read. pretty much what if while our taking photos of batman and robin, little tim gets kidnapped and black mask gets his hands on him and decides he’s the perfect size for a protege. years of psychological abuse and insane mind games ensue. also tim is a Badass™️
If He Had Come by bronwe_iris, 45k, completed, T. so i’m a little freak and i love the angst of arkham knight jason, but more specifically the aus where bruce saves jason before he becomes the arkham knight! this is an au where bruce finds jason and saves him from the joker after 9 months of torture and brings him home. focuses on his healing mentally and physically and rebuilding his relationship with his family
Banshee in a Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee), 43k, completed, T. veeeery good angst. basically what if tim couldn’t die? 43k of tim drake whump where he just dies a bajillion times and eventually his family notices <3
The Birds: Hatching a Family by Oceanera12, 81k, completed, T. this is like “what if the batkids weren’t adopted by bruce, but instead they were all foster siblings who can’t seem to stay out of gotham at night and batman happens to find them and decides obviously he can’t leave these kids to their own business, he has to stick his nose in it” and there’s some angst and heaps of found family
The Hellblazer’s Apprentice by @bluelotuswrites, 29k, ongoing, M. what can i say, im a simple woman, i love to see jason with literally any older male mentor :) basically in UTRH what if he took up an apprenticeship under constantine to learn magic to piss off batman! so good, i really love constantine so seeing him and jason interact in a long fic is so good. also ALL BLADES JASON TODD SAVE ME… ALL BLADES JASON TODD-
something in the static by bonerot19, 101k, ongoing series with three main completed works, T. this is a jason centric series where jason still lives in crime alley with his mom and dad and never stole the batmobile tires. it follows his life in crime alley with an addict mom and an abusive dad and one night when his dad is whaling on him nightwing finds him and the bats just can’t seem to leave him alone after that. steph is his neighbor and best friend also and their relationship is so good. this is a “what if jason took a different way home to the wayne’s” fic series and i love it so much <3
catch the asteroids that come your way by ThePackWantsTheD, 54k, completed, T. i don’t read a lot of ships in the batman fandom i’m sorry, but this kyle/jason one is sooo lovely. basically the two of them growing up together and falling in love and then dealing with the aftermath of A Death in the Family and finding each other again :) really sweet and nice!
hope you find something you like! i realized the majority of these are tim or jason centric, and i love them all dearly, but if anyone has any recs for long fics focusing on any of the other batkids lmk! and any other recs in general, i am a fiend for new fics
#batman fanfiction recommendation#batfam fic rec#batman fic rec#fic: cards on the table#fic: dark matter#fic: red is the color of sinners#fic: buy back the secrets#fic:salespeople know (listening is the most important part)#fic: retrograde motion#fic: hand in unloveable hand (a chokehold)#fic: if he had come#fic: banshee in a well#fic: the hellblazers apprentice#fic: the birds: hatching a family#fic: something in the static#fic: seventeen going under#fic: catch the asteroids that come your way#timkon#jaykyle#timkon fic rec#batman#batfam#jason todd#tim drake#dick grayson#damian wayne#bruce wayne#stephanie brown#duke thomas#cassandra cain
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Constantine-centric fic reccomendations pls?
Here’s some from my personal collection, just for you! (most of these are John/Zee because I’m a sucker):
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Drew some art for Hellblazer fanfic Gimmie Shelter (by NAOA on AO3)
#NAOA#john constantine#hellblazer#gimmie shelter#horror#art#fanfiction fanart#trigger warnings in the description of the fic#id say dont read if you arent used to / familiar with the old VERTIGO hellblazer runs and its fragged up content#John and his no good very bad times after the flashback events from Vertigo HELLBLAZER Special#sketches
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During his free time, Alfred meets with (shockingly) John Constantine. Often times the two would have dinner at a restaurant or a drink at a bar where Alfred always insists on paying. During their meeting, Alfred often talks about Bruce. Both his frustration and concern for his ward. John would light a cigarette and quietly listens only interrupting to deliver a joke or two.
When not discussing the bat family, the two talk about the UK. Alfred express how he misses him home and wishes he could visit more often, while John complains about UK politics and social issues. On special occasions Alfred tells stories about his time in the secret service. No matter the topic of conversation, they both leave laughing and smiling.
Every month, John would send a whole crate of tea from London, to Alfred’s displeasure (after all, he has enough money to buy his own tea). Not wanting to be upstaged, Alfred often sends a bottle or two of the best liquor on John’s birthday.
Alfred Pennyworth and John Constantine are two different people. Alfred is often unamused by John’s antics, even so, he knows that the younger man has a good heart. In some ways, he sees himself in him. John on the other hand often gets annoyed by how posh and square Alfred could be, but can’t help but respect the man. He would never admit it but in many ways, the older man has become like a father to him.
#dc comics#john constantine#dc#constantine#hellblazer#batman#bruce wayne#headcanon#batfam#alfred pennyworth#i couldn’t resist#i need this fic
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Rating
Explicit
Relationship:
John Constantine/The Corinthian (The Sandman)
Additional Tags:
Switching, Love Bites, The Corinthian is His Own Warning (The Sandman), Bottom John Constantine, Blood Kink
Summary:
Corinthian wanted to kill him. John wanted one-night sex.
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Hi sorry to bother, I saw you said you had 2 fics on Cheryl Masters’ and John Constantine’s relationship and was wondering if you could link them. If not that’s cool!
No problem!!
Lessons Learned technically features Chas and Cheryl, but the focus is on John and Cheryl's relationship.
Another Fence We're Mending is a scene between John and Cheryl taking place after Hellblazer #100 Sins Of The Father. (Mind the tags on this one, but there's nothing worse than the comic)
Chapter 7 in my ficlet collection Never Mind The Bollocks also features John and Cheryl (and Gemma).
I do also have a WIP which features our OC Amon, John's son, which again has a lot of focus on Cheryl and John's relationship which I.... should really fucking finish lmao. If you're interested, I could drop a little preview of that.
Hope you enjoy!!
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I just saw that you wanted to try your hand at writing and I can’t wait to see your stuff.
I know this technically wasn’t one of the options. But what do you think would happen if John Constantine shared the same universe as The Lost Boys? Would they get along? Would he try to kill them? Would they fight over the reader?
@immortal-velociraptor
Thanks for the request! I certainly don't mind people suggesting crossovers or even things not on my list. I mainly made that as a quick guide I guess you can say.
You know I've actually thought about his before and it's a crossover I really love the thought of!
I think Santa Carla could easily be a place that makes it onto John's radar; a lot of possible jobs ya know? As far as how well he'd get along with the boys, I think it would depend on the situation. They'd probably give him a hard time, play games with him especially if he starts getting into their territory too much. A sort of frenemies situation. Unless of course John goes after one of them or even the reader if they're associated with the boys. The boys are not only protective of themselves but reader as well.
If the reader is part of the boys' little coven, I could see them trying to get reader to take a bote of him as part of initiation/becoming a full fledged vamp. Of course that's not an ideal situation considering the demon blood that's been mixed with his own. In that case, John's blood probably could act as a vampire repellent.
Let's say you have some sort of relationship with John. Be it friends or more like coworkers. You've been around the block. You know about magic, the supernatural and paranormal. The longer you're with him/around him, the less certain things surprise you anymore. Yet meeting the boys will give you butterflies. Even if you know there's something up with them, you just can't resist their charms. Sure, John's charming and good looking in his own way. These mysterious guys though? Talk about heart throbs. The minute the boys catch a hint of your interest it's hook, line and sinker for you. They'll try and reel you in. John's having none of it however.
I could see there being a scenario where John and the boys begrudgingly work together. Say one night the reader gets attacked and turned by another vampire. Now there's a lot of vamps in Santa Carla --- too many even. In exchange for helping find and kill the head vampire so you can become human again, David and the boys may want something magic related from John in return.
I've got a small little something under cut. Whether it would turn out to be anything or not is up in the air.
Santa Carla, California. Murder Capital of the World. The tag line you had seen painted on the charming sign as you, John and Chas had driven into town. The easiest explanation could have been just a bunch of teenagers tagging it for shits and giggles. After all, if this beach side town was truly a murder capital wouldn't it have been more well known? Sure, it seemed like tourists flocked to the city but otherwise you had never heard of it. When you had asked John if he knew anything about the area. The answer was no, but the name had sounded familiar.
The two of you had spent the day investigating the area. So far the only clues you found were a shit ton of missing persons posters posted around town and a couple of kids at a comic store insisting the place was overrun with vampires. You're not sure why the idea seems absurd considering some of the things you've encountered while with John.
By now the sun has set, welcoming in the night time. You and John have decided to visit the boardwalk. You noticed it during the day, and while it was filled with people during the day now it seemed even more lively.
"How likely is it that those kids were right and the only things here are bloodsuckers?"
John hums, leaning against one of the wooden rails. "I'd say pretty bloody likely." He lights up a cigarette and smirks. "No pun intended."
You laugh anyways. "Well then it should an easy job. How hard is it to find a demon in a sea of vampires?"
"Oi, bite your fuckin' tongue, love." He snorts before taking another drag of his cigarette. He holds it out to you, offering to share.
He starts rambling on but your attention is caught elsewhere. There's a group of guys whooping and hollering as they come out of what seems to be a record store. They're each so unique in their appearance. And absolutely gorgeous. There's the tall, shirtless brunette. There's a blonde that's just an inch shorter than him but he looks like he's part of a glam rock band. The shortest of the four had such an angelic face coupled with beautiful, golden ringlets. Lastly there was the bleach blonde whom had such icy blue eyes they could freeze a person on the spot. And that's exactly what happened.
You had made direct eye contact with the bleach blonde. He grinned and soon three other sets of eyes were on you. Each of the guys gave a smile that could stop your heart. These guys were trouble. But the kind of trouble that was exciting. Trouble that would make you feel alive.
You're snapped out of your daze when the ciggie is snatched from your grip when you failed to pass it back. John's mumbling about wasting a perfectly good cig. Even still you can't help but look at the spot where the rabblerousers had been. They're gone now; vanished in the blink of an eye. You face has grown warm.
John has taken notice of your intense stare and leans closer, his expression a bit more serious now. "Aye lass, wot you see? Somethin' worth checking out?"
"Oh! Um no. Just....a lot of strange people." It's not a complete lie. You finally glance at John. He squints his eyes at you a moment then shrugs, relaxing his body.
"Maybe we should walk around more. If nothing else, enjoy the local sights?" You suggest, putting on an innocent smile. "I do really want to ride the carousel."
#the lost boys fanfiction#crossover fanfiction#John Constantine x reader#lost boys x reader#Hellblazer fanfic#Tlb fanfiction#the lost boys fic#John Constantine#The lost boys
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I Saw a River Rise (in the corner of your eye)
Charlie is having trouble coping with the new reality she finds herself in. John is having trouble coping with life and death. Set after Hey, World! and Hellblazer #35, Dead Boy's Heart.
Chapter 1 of 2 - friendship, childhood trauma, anxiety, ill advised time travel, recreational but not very fun drug use
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A Failure of Modernity
Portrait of a man on a road, no destination, no goal. He's simply following along in the well trodden footsteps made by a million men before him, making his way across the south of England and towards a special kind of hell. The hell John Constantine is headed towards is a very nasty piece of modernity. It's a kind of psychic scar left on the earth and her peoples and found in the dead towns and vanished hamlets across the world and while it might not be his scar, for a night, John Constantine will bare the marks of industry and the wounds of progress. Tonight he shares a familiar kind of pain and he will find it in a little town called Bretby, in a forgotten corner of the world.
John's footing it after a fight with a lorry driver. Nothing serious, just politics but he'd had his fill of listening to the man complain about foreigners and Labour and so off on foot he'd gone, taking in what was an unusually sunny day in the open and thinking that maybe he aught to travel on foot more often.
He'd seen a sign a few miles back for a town ahead and so he's not too worried about finding a place to put up for the night. He throws his coat over his shoulder and feels the breeze. Somerset is green and picturesque in the midday light and he's got few worries on his mind as he hikes onward.
Somerset is a land of out of the way history, Romans and Paleolithic caves. He thinks about them as he walks and enjoys the sun on his head and the smell of the trees and grass around him.
Then of course, things change. A cloud passes over the sun and then another and before he can curse it's growing dark, a freak, evil little storm coming and John hurries on, hoping against hope that he can reach the village before the rain starts.
He doesn't but it's a close call and he's only drenched a little by the time he reaches the edge of the village.
If it wasn't pissing out the village would have looked picturesque too. Little, thatched cottages, timeless and post card worthy.
He passes them and finds the inn, looking for a dry place to change and something to drink.
As luck would have it, there's a girl behind the bar. Blond hair and a glass in hand.
He smiles when he sees her, thinking of flirting.
She smiles back. "Afternoon." She say's.
He glances back out the windows. "Is it?" He asks. "It looks a damn sight more like night than day."
She laughs. "Got you into our inn though, didn't it?" She say's. "Want the room or a pint first?"
He takes the pint and settles himself onto a stool opposite her, giving her his best smile. "So you'd be the innkeeper?" He asked.
She beams. "I'd be his daughter." She said. "But he leaves me to run the bar."
He takes his pint and looks around. There's no one else in the little inn and yet she seems happy enough.
He shrugs. "Where are the other day drinks?" He asks.
She points through the rain and across the village, up the hill. "Working." She say's.
He nods, he'd seen the mill looming in the distance as he'd gotten close to the village, a black, hulking thing in the rain now.
"They'll be back soon though, everyone want's a pint after work."
He drinks to that and looks back out the window at the torrential down pour. "Get storms like this a lot, do you?" He asks.
She just blinks and he supposes he's asking stupid questions and instead holds out his hand to her.
She smiles and shakes it, grip warm and hearty.
"John Constantine." He say's.
Her smile widens. "Mary."
"Well, Mary the barmaid. . ." He say's. "I don't suppose I could get a room for tonight? I'm on foot as it happens."
She nods and goes and get's him a dusty key.
"Been a while?" He asks, cheeky as ever.
She winks. "Not so long." She say's, just as cheeky.
He grins into his pint but behaves.
And then the door opens and in comes the rain and the unwashed masses. They flood in like water themselves, filthy from the mines and wet from the rain.
John finds himself cramped up at the bar as they clamor round for pints and whiskies.
Mary however seems to be in her element and is passing out glasses with expert precision, happily, joyfully, filling their empty hands and mouths.
He watches with some amusement but the amusement is short lived for a second wave enters the bar, women this time from the mill, their hands hard and their hair faded. They come and join their men and drink their pints around him.
Mary looks happy as ever and soon the room is filled with the sounds of conversation and the beating of rain on the windows and roof.
There's a pint in every hand and wouldn't you know it, one in his and he drains it before skipping up to his room to change.
He can still hear them all below, angry bodies just off the clock, wanting food and drink and more.
How Mary does it he doesn't know but she looked like she was where she wanted to be and so he only shakes his head and thinks that he'll go down and have another pint in a little while.
He rests up instead, laying back and taking a moment to relax after his walk. The storm is raging outside and he can hear the clink of glasses down below.
It lulls him to sleep and he dreams of shadowed mills, towering over blond haired barmaids and hands reaching for pints. He dreams of picks and shovels and of men disappearing into the earth. Great, black holes that swallow years and lives and spit out a pittance of coal in return. He dreams of men and boys, ageless and dirty- black faces and straining eyes and he awakes, heart hammering and skin clammy to only the sound of the storm outside.
He can hear it screaming, lashing the windows and walls of the inn and for a moment he just lays and listens to it.
The wind is fierce and the gale sounds sad to him as it whips through the village below.
He gets up after a while and goes to the window, looking out on the cobbles and the lights that have been knocked out in the storm.
The little village is almost buried in the rain, washed out and ready to float away and yet in the distance he can see the mill and. . . his eyes strain and he can make out a steady trickle of people going up the hill.
They're small and black in the darkness, tiny ants on their way up to work.
Another line is making its way down towards what he can only guess is the entrance of the mines, somewhere past the edge of the village.
Strange to think they're all going to work so late but he shrugs it off and heads back downstairs, finding Mary where he left her.
She smiles, teeth bright, eyes sharp.
He smiles back. He likes her, he thinks and he orders another pint and some supper.
She makes it up and he wonders where her father is.
"You looked hungry." She says When she puts the plate in front of him and slips him another pint. "No charge for the extra." She winks and he feels actually caught off guard by her. She's flirting more than he is.
"Ta." He says, digging in. "What's all the fuss outside about? Night shift?"
She glances towards the windows, eyes far away before she smiles again. "Night shift?" She asks. "The mill has to run or the village will go."
He stops eating for a moment, digesting her words and the pudding shed made. "Oh, or the village will go." He repeats, digging back in.
She laughs like chimes and grabs a glass, wiping it down. "And we have to dig or the mill will close." She says. "If the mill goes the village will go."
He nods slowly, a creeping sensation because no mines should be open this late, no mill spinning wool.
She doesn't seem concerned however and she keeps wiping her glass, humming softly.
He eats his meal and the door opens again and a new wave of miners enter, dirty and reaching for their pints. He wonders why they agree to work like this. Its inhuman, its fucked up.
And when he looks around he sees men and boys, not a one of them whole. Missing arms, mangled hands, crutches and worse. His own father had lost an arm in a mine.
His stomach turns and he sees Mary smiling and handing out pints, the happiest face in the place.
The others are dirty and worn, crippled and used up.
He steps outside for a smoke, sheltering under the eves and failing miserably.
His cigarette falls victim to the down pour and he puffs hard, trying to burn through the wet spots. It doesn't work very well but when it comes to cigs he's no quitter.
The rain is awful though and he feels it beat him through his coat as he turns this way and that, seeking shelter.
In the distance he can see the mill, orange windows and smoke stacks like watch towers. Guard towers. The place looks evil against a black sky, darker yet and menacing.
He feels it in his bones, the place is evil and it knows he's there. Knows he's watching.
Its choking when he realizes it. The mill knows. The mill is watching him, watching them all and then he sees the women coming down from the hill. Sees the girls walking with them and they're as bad as the men and boys, all worn and faded out, mangled and raw.
He watches them and is afraid and then the inn door opens and the men are spilling out, taking up their picks and shovels from the street, everything wet and ready to destroy.
"Come on then!" One of the men calls out to him, waving a joyless hand.
He presses back against the inn and shakes his head but the women are coming in now and they're pushing him, forcing him to walk with the men as they return to the mines.
He sees a boy, black faced and jumper torn, the kid's pick is too big for him and he grabs the child.
"What are you doing?" He asks, shouting over the wind and the rain.
The boy is limp in his hands and just blinks at him. "Its my first day." He says but it can't be because his arm is mangled and ruined already, his little face bruised and dirty.
John let's him go, feeling hot panic in his chest and tries to stumble back and away from the mass of mangled men and bodies but they shove him back, cajoling him along, all of them marching, forcing him towards a fate he's escaped.
Liverpool lads make great miners.
He shakes his head and they're near the edge of the village. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to be part of it.
"Come on then, John!" Someone else calls to him. "Everyone goes into the earth eventually. Come with us and you'll get to come back out a time of two before it's permanent."
The sea of bodies is forcing him on and he's clawing desperately, fighting against their masses and the torrents of rain.
Someone is trying to force a pick into his hands and he's shaking them, trying to keep from grasping the handle. He doesn't want this.
He breaks with speed that hurts him and he tears away from the men and boys, seeing one with his head crushed, still whistling.
He screams and fights his way free, the wind and rain lashing his skin and beating his head.
He's running full tilt away from his father's fate and then horribly he sees the women and girls, streaming back up the hill and towards the mill, a mass of soggy dresses and wasted lives.
A woman passes, holding hands with a little girl, her head scalped. Blond hair and black blood.
He nearly screams again and almost throws up looking at her but she doesn't seem to have realized she's dead and she's nothing but big, blue eyes and blood.
She smiles at him and he forces himself to smile back, the mill looming above them like a black tower of hate.
Getting closer.
He doesn't want to go inside, he thinks he'd rather die. He wants to turn and run back to the inn but the crippled masses are too many and he realizes this is a village that never sleeps. Always awake, always working. They can't stop working.
The little girl has broken from her mother and she snakes a worn little hand into his. "Are you coming to work with us?" She asks.
He shakes his head and she laughs, blood running down her face. "I'm going to get married when I grow up and then I won't have to work in the mill so much." She sounds happy but he knows she's not going to grow up.
"You do that, love, try to make it a good one." He finds himself saying, his hand slipping away from her hand.
She's lost in the mass of bodies shoving him.
Wet wool all around, wind striking, rain cutting.
He claws his way free and down the side of the hill, tripping and falling and hating the rain and the mud.
Rocks cut at him as he slips and slides, down and down until he's just breathing mud and there's water in his eyes.
The mill is hovering over him, evil and hateful. It's eyes are trying to swallow him up, just as it's mouth swallows up all of the village's women.
He cowers from it, not wanting it to see his face, not wanting to be heard and then he breaks for it back to the village and to the inn.
The door opens more easily than he'd expected and he he over balances, looking up. It's just Mary now and he doesn't understand. There were people here. They just came back. His head is spinning with visions of scalped blonds and mangled boys in jumpers.
She watches him with curiosity, heaving in the door, covered in mud. She isn't real.
"Are you okay?" She asks. "Here, sit down! Do you want a drink?"
He shakes his head. "Where are they?" It's the first thing in his mind.
She blinks. "At work." She say's. "We all have to work or the village will go."
"Go where?" He breaths, shutting the door, ears ringing from the storm outside. "Where is it going?" He asks.
She blinks a second time, eyes searching him. "The people will go." She say's. "To London and Bristol and Edinburgh or America. We keep the mill and the mine open so they stay."
"What about you?" He asks, quieter this time. She's so normal, so clean in this place of filth and death.
She just stares at him. "They'll want a pint after work. That's my job. My father leaves me to mind the bar."
He sags suddenly because she's just as much a part of it as they are. "Are they coming back?" He asks.
She looks towards the window. "It should be soon."
"But the shifts don't make sense."
They don't.
She nods. "But they'll want a drink either way." She picks up a glass and begins to wipe it and he he just stands there, dripping onto the floor.
"Right." He whispers. "Everyone likes having a pint after work."
She nods again and he looks out the window too. They're out there, working forever. Working to exist because if they stop, the village will go. They've never stopped. The village is still here.
He goes and get's his things, no longer finding her so cheeky. She's empty now, wiping her glass and humming, bright teeth and sharp eyes and meaningless.
She smiles at him. "Going so soon?" She asks.
He nods weakly. "Yeah."
She looks out the window and keeps smiling. "Too bad you couldn't stay."
He nods again. "Thank you." He say's, more sad than anything now.
She laughs. "You're welcome of course. Come back any time!"
And he's out in the rain again, seeing the angry eyes of the mill above him, it's evil still working, still drawing people in and spitting them out, it's guts still demanding coal and lives.
He sees the crowed of miners coming. The mangled boy is with them and the boy looks at him as they pass, eyes wide.
He keeps walking, walking and the mill looks bigger and bigger, angrier, nastier. It's baring down on him as he legs it down the street.
There's got to be a way out.
The women are coming and the rain is still pelting, hitting him with bullets and bombs, cold and unrelenting.
He watches them and one or two turn to look, faces grey and lined.
He keeps walking, not looking for the little girl or her bleeding head.
There's got to be a way out.
The mill is huge and gaping, monstrous even in the dark and he looks up, stomach turning. It can see all.
"What do you want from me?" He shouts at it.
The rain pelts harder and his coat isn't near enough. The damn thing has taken a beating tonight.
He turns and turns and then sees the workers all around him, ghosts in the rain. Dirty faced men and worn thin women. They're all around him, standing in the howling rain, watching him, circling him.
He shakes his head. "Get away from me!" He shouts. "I'm not going into the bloody mine!"
And then there's hands on him, grabbing, pushing, shoving, pushing him down, down, into the earth.
He's up to his eyes in it as they bury him in the mud.
It chokes down his throat and into his lungs, filling his ribs and veins, his lung and organs. . .
He can't breath but at least the rain is above him now and it's patter is almost calming.
He opens his eyes to something black in his face. Something wet and he turns over with a shout and a curse.
It's a dog, sniffing idly at him while man watches from the end of a leash.
It's stopped raining.
"What the bloody hell?!"
He's laying in wet grass, mud all over him but there's no village and the mill is in ruins above him, not gaping or spitting at all.
He looks at the man who's staring at him dumbfound and he think's he get's that all too often.
"What are you sleeping out here for?" The man asks. "You'll freeze to death sleeping like that."
He looks around, shaking slightly. "I. . . where am I?"
"Back end of Jerry's field." The man say's, as if that makes any sense and he looks around, seeing only rubble and foundations of the town he'd run through mere. . . hours. . . minutes ago?
"What happened to the village?" He asks.
The dog looses interest and the man scratches his head. "Village?"
John points to the mill. "There was a village here."
"Not in my life time there wasn't but I seem to recall my grandfather mentioning a Bretby. Sad story, the mill closed and the village went with it. Suppose that's how it goes though." The man looks around. "You a history fella?"
John shakes his head and get's to his feet. "That's me."
And the man looks interested. "Writing a book?"
He looks around and up at the ruined mill. It's still there, it's all that's left. It took and it took and it took and it's all that's bloody left.
"Something like that."
"Won't find much on Bretby." The man say's as if it's the most interesting thing he knows.
"I've found plenty." John say's looking down at his mud caked trousers and grimacing.
"Horrible things at the mill. . ." He heard the man saying. "Accidents and the children there." He shook his head. "That going to be in your book?"
He nods, ears ringing and he thinks of Mary and her glass, forever wiping and pouring. Forever waiting for them to come back from work.
"Which way to town, mate?" He asks.
The man breaks from his historical account to point. "What were you sleeping there for anyway?" He asks, evidently done.
He cracks his neck. "Must have fallen and hit my head. Thanks."
The man nods, free hand in his pocket and watches him go.
John finds his way out of Bretby and it feels good to have his back to the mill. Well. . . he glances over his shoulder just to be sure and it's still there, with all of it's victims and the tunnels below, watching and breathing, putrid.
There are scars on the world, he thinks and the people of Bretby, wherever the living ended up were better for it. The mill is evil and in the end it won.
#hellblazer#john constantine#hellblazer fic#fanfiction#fanfic#ao3#horror#weird#angst#creepy#blood and injury#blood#tw#industrialization#fever dream#kind of#nightmare#ghosts#or are they#fic#fiction#hellblazer fanfiction
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It's normal to pull a whole tarot spread for both Constantine and the reader character before writing a fic for them, right?
RIGHT??????
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Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics), Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Johanna Constantine/Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling/Lady Johanna Constantine, Dream of the Endless & Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus & Hob Gadling
Characters: Lady Johanna Constantine, Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus
Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, but more like enemies to one night stand?, 1789 AU (Sandman), Mild Smut, The Sandman (Comics) Spoilers, Hellblazer Comics Spoilers, Hint of Dreamling because I cant help it, Minor Violence, Banter, SO MUCH BANTER, there are many aspects to hob gadling one aspect is that he is a slut TM, bisexual disaster both of them, Trauma Dumping before Humping, previous tag dedicated / blamed on my best friend, Canon Related, Not Canon Compliant, But also Not Not Canon Compliant
Summary:
In 1789, Lady Johanna Constantine confronted two immortal beings at the White Horse Tavern, and paid the price for her recklessness. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to deter her from getting what she wanted.
Or, three more times Johanna confronted Hob Gadling and discovered that he had more layers than she anticipated.
as promised, this fic was born out of an epiphany after reading this post so here’s to you, @hopeful-alter-ego
#the sandman#sandman#sandman comics#sandman fic#sandman fic rec#sandman netflix#netflix sandman#johanna constantine#lady johanna constantine#hob gadling#dream of the endless#morpheus#1789 au#hellblazer comics#look this is a rarepair#i had to type the tag by hand#but i stand by it#hob/johanna not interacting more is a waste#my writing#my fic#ao3 link#ao3#dreamling#there's a hint of dreamling because i'm a simp and i cant help it
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OI, HELLBLAZER FANS!
you like Johnsmut, yes?
you like poly romance, yes?
you like exceptionally well-written fic, yes?
go RIGHT NOW and check out @treesofgreen’s John/Midnighter/Apollo fic, Make a Mercy out of Me
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I should honestly try reading into the DC side of things because damn do I feel lost when I make a go at the DP/DC fics that aren’t just BatFam or Superman.
#TFW you want to try your hand at a dp/dc fic but you know only of DCU just *from* batfam and superman#would much prefer something like hellblazer#and i can't recall if midnighter and apollo fit the bill too#spawn sure as hell doesn't count
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DP x DC: More stuff to know about Constantine
Just some facts about John Constantine that I don’t see come up in this crossover that I think people could have a lot of fun with. He’s more than just useful for consulting, though he does see himself as a detective, just one specialized in supernatural cases.
-Canonically bisexual: that’s right, canonically bisexual, and a lot of his exes have tried to kill him
-Has demon blood in his veins: this is a fun one because demon blood has ceraint properties in the Hellblazer universe. Chiefly, accelerated healing. John is shown to recover from non-fatal wounds relatively quickly. It’s even been used as a defense mechanism against the King of Vampires. It is also shown to slow down the aging process. John is actually a lot older than he looks
-Ages in real time: Okay, don’t know how this could be used in a fic but it’s fun. He has aged in real time since his first appearance and last mention of his age put him at 60. Currently he’d be turning 70 this year, so that demon blood really keeps him spry
-synchronicity wave traveling: this is his instinctual ability to manipulate coincidences. Aka, he manipulates luck. This means he can’t lose at gambling unless he wants to, and as long as he’s using this ability, he’s pretty much invincible for the duration, because he manages to avoid getting hit by bullets, and spells, as well as jinxing the people trying to hurt him. He’s not only a lucky bastard, but a magically lucky bastard. This ability even worked on the first of the fallen, aka Satan. It is OP while he’s using it.
-The Laughing Magician: He has the title of the laughing magician. There have been multiple over the ages but John is the current one. They are known for their tendency for rebuking and outsmarting Gods, Demons, Spirits and just about everything else. Some even managed to destroy or use Gods for their own purposes. Soley members of Constatine’s bloodline can achieve this title and it’s what gives him the ability to use the synchronicity wave. It also gives him resistance to literal omniscience, aka beings that know everything don’t know what he’s going to do. An argument could be made that this would work to some extent on clockwork. He is literally one of the most powerful mages in the world.
-Possession resistance: He’s resistant to many psychic attacks such as telepathy, soul and body possession, and powerful mind controls. This one has some pretty obvious uses in this crossover.
So, yeah. Constantine has more going on than just consulting about things. He’s extremely powerful, extremely lucky, though that luck doesn’t extend to other around him, a bit of a weirdness magnet that can surprise beings that know everything. He has access to a bunch of magical artifacts, and is exactly the kind of guy who can and would come out winning against the Ghost King. Not even against Danny, he could do it against Paria Dark.
So yeah, have fun with this information
#Danny Phantom#dp x dc crossover#dp x dc#dp x dc prompt#John Constantine#hellblazer#seriously#there is more to utilize with john beyond the soul selling plotline
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Another Fence We're Mending
Cheryl brings through two mugs of tea, and sets them down on the coffee table - one in front of John, and the other in front of the armchair that she carefully sinks down into. She doesn’t say anything, not wanting to press him, going about spooning sugar into her tea and stirring it while she carefully keeps her eyes off John. In her periphery she sees him shift, a moment before he speaks.
“Cheryl.” John says, voice small. When Cheryl looks over, her brother’s head is bowed, his elbows on his knees and hands clasped as his whole body hunches forwards. “Did Dad… Did he… I mean…”
John sighs, and rakes a hand back through his hair, mussing it even worse than usual. He refuses to meet Cheryl’s eyes. Finally, he comes out with
“What’s the worst thing he ever did to you?”
[WARNINGS: Discussion of topics featuring in Hellblazer #100; physical and emotional abuse, incest (father-daughter), potential CSA, general trauma. Some mention of injury.]
Read it here on AO3.
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sydneymack
Sydney Mack
purpleisdebeste
Purple is the best and so am I!