prompt: In your old London loft, you find an old spoon, and a letter from 1897 claiming the chimney makes objects vanish. When you drop the spoon and a note down the chimney as a joke, they disappear without a sound. The next morning, a bewildered reply arrives from 1897, demanding an explanation.
prompt credits to: @writing-prompt-s
The afternoon had gone grey and miserable in that classic London way: fog thick enough to chew, rain pelting the cobblestones, and wind rattling every window frame loose. It was the kind of day meant for staying indoors with a pot of tea and pretending the world wasn’t on fire.
At least, that’s what John would have been doing if he were any normal bloke. And unfortunately for him he wasn’t.
Instead of enjoying anything warm or remotely comforting, he was knee-deep in old boxes, rummaging through years’ worth of forgotten shite, praying that something in there might be worth a few quid. Rent was due in three weeks. Normally he’d skip town, vanish into the smoke, and let the debt collectors tear their hair out. But that was hard to do when several of them were already sniffing around, and this dump was the only temporary lodging he’d managed on short notice.
So here he was, Constantine: occult expert, chain-smoker, part-time con man, full-time disaster, sorting through crap like an exhausted charity shop volunteer.
Tonight he was supposed to investigate a few “mysterious deaths” which could be anything from a demon to a poltergeist to some particularly pissed-off spirit, and the case of a certain elevator that people entered and simply… didn’t come back out of. Temporal rift, he thought. Probably. If the universe was in a good mood, the missing folks were alive in some alternate dimension. If the universe was feeling like its usual petty self, they’d gone back in time. And at that point? Not much John could do, aside from sealing the rift. If it was a dimension, he knew a few tricks to yank the unlucky bastards out.
By late afternoon he’d sorted most of the antique rubbish into piles: “somewhat profitable,” “garbage,” “garbage I can con someone into buying,” and “sentimental shite.” There was one last pile , “cursed shite” and a final pile he labeled “super cursed - deadly shite”, he stared at it with a long, tired sigh.
“Right,” he muttered to no one at all.
The entire floor of the living room was drowning in his clutter. Constantine grabbed a black trash bag and started shoving anything even remotely pawnable into it. The news droned in the background, rambling on about how the world was going to hell.
John barely heard it. His world had been there for years.
…
John sighed as he stood up surveying his work, everything was in garbage bags, at least the profitable shit was in garbage bags. The rest? Just tossed back onto any hard surface tables, chairs, counters, his desk, you named it, it was covered. John might have been a mess but he didn’t care for tripping over his own useless crap. He shoved a few trashbags out of the way a few rustling as if protesting the motion. “Yeah yeah fuck off”, he grumbled at the objects kicking the shite to the side. As he finally got his floor back he noticed something odd sticking out of the floor board.
Now he had two options, leave it the fuck alone, or investigate.
Right he thought to himself wouldn’t be John Bloody Constantine if i started leaving shite alone now, would I?
He crouched down low to get a better look the worn hardware floor creaked beneath his weight. As he got closer he noticed something shiny poking out of the floorboard, or more accurately he noticed the floor board just one not quite laying flat. John stood and trudged into the kitchen ignoring the cold of the hardwood or how the cold was bleeding into his socks. He wrenched open the middle drawer near his stove and grabbed the flathead screwdriver, it was likely left behind by who ever lived here before him. John didn’t really care he was just happy he didn’t have to go prying up a loose floorboard with his damn hands or a butter knife. He had one too many scars from such ventures he didn’t need another and he sure as hell wasn’t going to a hospital because he sliced himself bloody because of a floorboard. No way in hell was he explaining that to a nurse. He had better shite to do or at least thats what he liked to believe.
He went back to the mess in the living room and whatever weird little mystery that waited beneath hardwood. John sighed briefly hoping that the damage he was about to make to the floor wouldn’t cause him to lose his damned security deposit he was already short on cash. He really couldn’t afford to lose that as well.
Some days it really felt like he was hemorrhaging money more then the average drunk or addict. Even when he tried to do good hell even when he did do good it rarely if ever paid. Oftentimes john was stuck wondering if its even worth it continuing his line of work when it often left him penniless and usually friendless. And the few friends he did have have were often ghosts, had there foot halfway in a grave, or no longer wanted anything to do with him. Which he couldn’t really blame them for that he knew he was a bloody mess and oftentimes a difficult bastard with questionable morales its usually better that they bugger off that way no new deaths could linger against his conscience.
He crouched back in front of the floor board and carefully shoved the screwdriver into the small crack working it back and forth. The wood let out a long croaking sound as if protesting against the force he was using. He held the screw driver like a chisel, “right to hell with the security deposit then”, he murmured and grabbed the nearest heavy object which happened to be a random stone statue he got from a buddhist years ago as thanks. Yeah john accepted it but he would’ve preferred cash but whatever bit hard to demand cash payments for saving someone’s life. What was he supposed to do go “hey so your about to be swallowed whole by a demon that’ll be 100 quid would you like to pay in cash or check?” Yeah that’d go over great he thought bitterly, as he slammed the statue hard into the driver the wood immediately splintered slightly the floorboard immediately popped loose. He set the screwdriver and statue aside and moved the floorboard over and ofcourse it was a faulty board some sort of secret opening inside.
He reached inside and vaguely hoped nothing would try to bite and otherwise kill him. He really didn’t have time today and he was fairly certain if he did it right he could get his deposit back if he replaced the board just right. His hand brushed against old paper and what he guessed was likely dust bunnies. And then something metallic he scooped up both things and gently pulled them out.
He blinked at his now grime covered hand in vague surprise and confusion. Someone really went out of there bloody way to hide a old spoon and a letter. John stared at the contents looking betrayed and just done. He nearly lost his security deposit for this?!
Still he already committed to it he might as well bloody see what the hell it said he walked over to his small kitchen pulled out a cheap wooden chair that screeched every time he dragged the thing back to sit at the table. He sat down and turned on the desk lamp, yes he kept a desk lamp in his kitchen for his work there often wasn’t enough light. Upon further examination the letter was dated November 1897, the fuck john thought. How the hell did this bloody thing survive this long in the damned floorboards with a spoon which he guessed was from the same date? Again who the bloody hell hides a letter and a spoon in the damn floorboards?! Which if you asked john that was a question he never thought he’d have to ask muchless even think. To be honest it wasn’t something he ever thought would happen but here he is with a perfectly sealed letter from november 1897.
He grabbed a letter opener from the table and gently popped the seal on it.
It read as follows.
"Dear tennant or whomever stays or lives in this loft.
You may have noticed already that this loft is very very very weird. Odd occurrences keep happening here please take this letter as a warning, if you have anything of value or anything you value yourself keep it away from the fireplace and chimney. Things that fall down the chimney disappear without a trace once a chimney sweeper, kind fellow really fell down the damn chimeny and we never heard from him again. It caused our family much grief as people claimed we killed him we most certainly did not we even rushed down the stairs to help the fellow even searched the chimney see if the man got stuck inside as he did have a wide bottom. But alas he was gone truly no blood, just a yelp and poof.
As for the fireplace whenever you leave anything near it that too disappears and i have no doubt this letter will also be one of those things that mysteriously poof as well. I am going to do an experiment tonight with a spoon i will drop it down the chimney in hopes it finds wherever it is things go. This letter im leaving near the fireplace on our good sitting chair perhaps it will also land in the same place as my favorite silver teaspoon. I did so have it since i was a child if you do find it perhaps it is you that is stealing things and people. Either way do take care and if possible please return the chimney sweeper with the round bottom, and my spoon thank you."
....
John read the damned letter once then twice he blinked slowly, a laugh escaped him this had to be a fucking prank from some bloody teenager with an aptitude for creative writing. But still johns curiosity was peaked. And honestly it made him want to learn about whatever family lived here in 1897 and what the fuck was going on.
He couldn’t help it he found himself walking over to the old fireplace that the landlord said he hasn’t used in years mainly because the cost for upkeep and repairing it was too much. He pretty much told john that if he’s cold he’ll install some extra space heaters just dont touch the fireplace. Now john wondered if the landlord somehow knew? Or if something weird was really happening with the fireplace and chimney.
a/n: i'd just like some feedback on this so far this fic will probably be 1 chapter maybe 2 at most give me thoughts and feedback but be kind and respectful if you dont like this fic thats fine just scroll on
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Which Hellblazer fanfiction should I focus on finishing first?
A Battalion of Geezers
Rock n' Roll Fantasy
Apostate
Pause, Stranger
A Bad Penny
Living On A Thin Line
Voting ended onMar 30
Vague summaries:
A Battalion of Geezers: John's neighbor dies and comes back as a ghost to ask him to help him reunite with his old war buddies for one last hurrah.
Rock n' Roll Fantasy: A good-natured former roadie for Mucous Membrane disappears and John investigates, contemplating the many years since he first played on a stage how time and life have changed them all.
Apostate: A monk from Britain's far past returns to life through unfortunate circumstances and bitterly searches for a place in the modern world. John can offer him little guidance and even less help.
Pause Stranger: An elderly John get's a second chance at youth when a young sorcerer seeks to take advantage of him in his twilight years.
A Bad Penny: Family dysfunction and misery lead to a series of innocent if bitter acts. Years later Cheryl hasn't forgotten them and they haven't forgotten her either.
Living On A Thin Line: A man once cast a spell similar to the one John put on Chas. He took the lives of his battalion in WWI and was the only one to make it back alive. As his natural life span comes to and end he becomes fixated on Chas in his efforts to prolong his life.
To the shock of no one, a Constantstar Treat is request >:D
One word suggestion prompt would be bound but I also trust your creative genius if something else tickles your fancy.
Ahh, my first Trick or Treater! And what better way to start off the festivities than with a bit of devil fuckery?
Read on below, or on AO3.
Damned If You Do, So You Might As Well Go For The Gusto
“Oh, come here.”
John had to bite his tongue from hissing out something stupid like ‘Fiiinally,’ or ‘About damn time,’ or even ‘Yessir.’
Then he let it go, because it was about to be put to much better use when Lucifer grabbed a handful of the front of his shirt and tugged him forward.
Arms went around him, holding him close, and John was only slightly horrified to find that his heel was kicking up like he was some romcom heroine getting her first real taste of her handsome prince in a warm summer rain at a train station after deciding not to get on the next departure for Dorking.
Instead of a drunk magician in the bog of a pub that probably hadn’t had a good scrub down since Hatcher was in power.
“You are a handsome prince, at least,” he mumbled when Lucifer broke the kiss to come up for air, then grinned sloppily up at him.
“I’m… What?” A look of confusion crossed Lucifer’s face before he worked out that it was a compliment that probably made perfect sense to John. His tail flicked behind him, the only sign that he was moved by it. “Yes. Well.” He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the door. “Best be going.” His traitorous tail snaked between his legs to wind around one of John’s, and when he shifted awkwardly, he could feel that his tail wasn’t the only part trying to make an utter fool of him. The front of his trousers were already starting to tent out and his other hand had gotten a hold of John’s arse with no sign of wanting to let go any time soon.
“Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble there,” John waggled his eyebrows and rolled his hips before leaning back in to nip at Lucifer’s bottom lip. “Must be that animal magnetism I’ve got. Dick magnets. I’m sure that’s a thing.” He rose on one toe then the next and dropped back down a few times in something that might have been a dance to the beat coming from the jukebox out in the pub, but it was just as likely he was having some kind of spasm. When he put his shoulders into it and swayed from side to side, Lucifer was sure it was a spasm.
“You know you can’t get enough of me. I’m always right… here…” John tried to place a finger in the centre of Lucifer’s forehead, but missed by two inches and nearly jabbed him in the eye. “I fucked you over one too many times and now you’re obsessed. That’s why you stuck around. Wanted to spend a bit more time with me. It’s kinda cute, really. What was that you said?” He dropped his hands to the devil’s hips and used them to coax him into moving with his words. “I twisted you. Turned you around, and woke you up. You must’ve been so fucking bored before I came along. You keep coming back for more and more and more. You just want-”
“For fuck’s sake!” Lucifer drove John backwards until he hit the sink and snarled down at him. “If I fuck you, will that get you to shut the hell up?” His wings had burst out, spanning from stall to wall and blocking the light behind him.
And John just beamed with delight. “Only one way to find out, Sunshine.”
“Should’ve just let one of my brothers take your sorry arse to Hell and be done with you,” muttered Lucifer as he grabbed John by the thighs and hauled him up onto the sink where he tugged down his trousers and pants in one smooth motion.
“Sure you could handle that? Knowing one of them was making me their little play thing instead of you?”
Lucifer clapped one hand over John’s mouth while the other pushed his own trousers down around his knees. “Don’t. Even. Think. It.” Infernal fire flickered around his eyes at the thought of one of the other Fallen getting to touch his crooked conman, and he dropped his hand to John’s shirt buttons, thumbing a few open until he could get access to his collarbone. He bit down, his sharp fangs breaking the skin with very little effort.
And John just moaned with desire.
It was frantic. It was fast. It was clumsy and uncoordinated and loud.
It was fucking fantastic.
With only spit to ease the way, Lucifer fingered him while stroking him. Laid back over the sink that kept turning on and soaking his shirt, feet in the air and arse hanging off the porcelain, John chanted encouragement and praise and dug his nails into the Morningstar’s divinely perfect shoulders and fumbled between them to get a grip on a cock made for sin. In a mad rush of need he tried to guide it up against ring but Lucifer smacked his hand away and positioned it to rut between the cleft of his cheeks instead.
He pouted, and when they both went toppling over the edge, he was rewarded with a hot splash onto his hole that was pressed into him by two strong fingers that worked over his prostate until he was seeing sparks and shouting at the ceiling.
Just outside the door, the pub erupted with cheers and applause.
Lucifer pressed his face into the side of John’s neck and panted for breath. “I really hope… That was for… A scored goal.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 3 - Widow’s Weeds
Fandom: Hellblazer x BtVS
Ships: Spike/John Constantine, John/Zatanna, little teensy bit of Spike/Zatanna, Spike/Personal Growth
He’d always known where he stood with Darla. Admittedly that was because she thought he was barely better than something scraped off her shoe, but at least she was consistent about it. There’s a lot to be said for consistency.
For example, John makes no move to pay the driver when the taxi pulls up on Zee’s street, and at this point, Spike isn’t even surprised. He pays, because apparently where he stands with John is with his hand in his wallet, tight bastard.
Spike moves to London, figures out how to actually make friends, and gets a flat, a boyfriend, and a probably-sentient pot plant. Not necessarily in that order.
Chapters: 11/25
Fandom: DCU (Comics)
Rating: Teen and Up
Warnings: Consensual, non sexual hitting
Relationships: John Constantine/Bruce Wayne
Summary: John asks Bruce to hit him as hard as he can
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Gemma's got a boyfriend and Cheryl isn't sure what to think about him. Worried she calls her brother but Gemma's new boyfriend seems to be playing a game all of his own and neither adult knows what to think. Is John heading off against another magician or is the boy just a little smarmy? When his niece is involved the difference doesn't seem so great.
Gemma's got a boyfriend and Cheryl is concerned.
The boy is nothing but smiles and friendly comments, he helps around the house when he comes over and he's everything she should be wanting for her daughter except he isn't. There's just something off about him. Something she can't put her finger on.
Maybe if things were different and Tony. . . well fuck if things were different then she wouldn't have to feel this way all on her own.
Alan however is always smiling and charming and she wants to like him so very much except she just doesn't.
Gemma get's angry when she mentions it. She wants to live her life and she wants to make her own decisions and Cheryl remembers what that's like. She wants to let her but Alan is starting to creep her out and she can't say why and that just seems to piss Gemma off.
She never imagined her daughter ever being angry. When she was a baby she seemed so happy but like all Constantines she eventually got her share of the bad and now Cheryl just hopes she'll finish school.
She wonders sometimes if Gemma can picture her when she was her age. She does know what it's like to be young. She had a whole world of hell to live with back then. . . she doesn't tell Gemma this, let her think her grandad was a good one. Keep the demons down and the doors locked.
In the end she calls her brother, the only person left now who remembers her at Gemma's age. The only person who knows what kind of hell went on behind their own closed door.
He's cheerful when he picks up, talking animatedly until he senses something's wrong.
"It's Gemma, she's got herself a boyfriend." She say's.
He laughs but it's shallow. "You don't sound too glad of that." He say's. "What's the trouble?"
She shakes her head and sighs. "I don't know. He just bothers me. There's nothing wrong with him, he's polite, he's nice, he seems to treat her right I just don't know."
"Does she like him?" He asks.
She sighs. "I've never seen her like this. Maybe that's it. She's growing up. I don't know John I just. . ."
Maybe it's her voice but he clears his throat, reminding her of when they were kids. "You want me to come by?" He asks. "Maybe meet the lad and see what he's about?"
She nods. "Would you?"
It's selfish. John is on the other side of the country. He doesn't need to come all the way here just because she can't the number on a teenage boy.
Who could though?
Yet he does come, right as Gemma and Alan get out of school.
He's in her kitchen when they come home and Cheryl see's Gemma smile. It's not the same smile from when she was little. She used to adore her uncle but Cheryl thinks in recent years she's started to get a little cold with him.
Maybe it's just moody teenage years, lord knows she had them herself.
It was different then though, back then she'd have done just about anything she could not to stay in the house. She'd hated it there. Her drunk dad and her brother always in trouble. She'd gone out with school friends and boys who'd thought she was pretty. Left them to the stink of drink and their misery.
John shakes Alan's hand and the boy smiles, polite and charming as ever.
"You must be the uncle." He say's. "Very pleased to meet you."
John shrugs. "Gemma told you about me?" He asks.
The boy nods, pearly, white teeth showing. "She did indeed. Gemma spoke very highly of you, sir."
Her little brother who used to steal her make up and use it for paints put's his hands up. "Easy with the 'sir' stuff." He say's. "I'm not that old."
"Oh no sir, didn't mean it like that." Alan say's and there's just something Cheryl doesn't like about him.
They let the kid's go into the sitting room and stay at the kitchen table.
"What do you think?" She asks, her cup of tea cold in front of her.
There's a chip on the table.
One of Tony's leavings.
John shrugs. "Seem's like a descent kid to me." He say's. "Trying a bit hard but that doesn't make him bad."
She taps her knuckles on the table. "Maybe I'm crazy." She say's. "But John I swear it. There's something about that boy."
He softens a little. "I'll spend a few days, try and talk to him. I suppose he comes round a bit then?"
She nods. "Funny, I've never met his parents. He doesn't really talk about them but they're kids so I try not to pry. . ."
John gives her hand a squeeze. "I'll stay a few days." He say's and she's glad of him, grateful for him.
Glad and grateful she's not alone.
She wonders if John knows some of the thoughts that live in her head, the memories and the awful little things from their childhood she can't forget. The paint on their front door and the floor boards that squealed. . . the anger inside.
She's made a good life for herself, had a family even if it's turned to shit of late.
John's the last link to who she was then and she's always loved him. She thinks he might be why she did so well with Gemma. . . she got a trial run on her baby brother. Had to raise him in some ways because dad wasn't going to do it.
Now she's just a mum worried about her kid and her brother is the only one she knows she can turn to.
She worries about Alan but she'll get her brother's opinion before she makes up her mind, after all mums are supposed to worry so maybe it's all just normal.
Chapters 1-6 in the link!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Fandom: Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: John Constantine/First of the Fallen, John Constantine/Lucifer Morningstar
Characters: John Constantine, First of the Fallen, Mucous Membrane - Character
Additional Tags: Hook-Up, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Rough Sex, Rimming, safe sex practices, Internalized Homophobia, Bottom John Constantine, Mucous Membrane | John Constantine's Band, Venus Of The Hardsell, Canon Song Lyrics
Summary:
The Devil Went Down To Camden
He Was Looking For- Ugh, Just Anything To Do.
Bored, the First of the Fallen finds himself in a grimy dive pub in London where he gets caught up in the spell of a skinny, foul mouthed punk singer.
Johnnie ConJob, leader singer, songwriter, and front man of Mucous Membrane thinks this posh toff might be just what his band needs. Or at the very least, might be what he needs for the night.
“I might have a proposition for you, Johnnie. Perhaps we could speak somewhere without your entourage?”
John drained the beer and overturned the empty glass on the bar. “Perhaps we could, squire.” He hopped off the stool, almost bringing their bodies flush together. “Follow me to my office?” Ignoring Chas’ protests, John passed the man, sliding a hand across his belly before moving on into the crowd.
Lucifer dropped some cash onto the bar to pay for the drinks and turned on his heel to follow John across the pub.
They slipped out of the tradesman's entrance at the back of the pub to step out onto the towpath along Regent’s Canal. Grabbing Lu by the front of his jacket, John tugged him down the path to the relative seclusion under one of the foot bridges. Laughing party goers and tourists passed overhead as John pulled the man close and kissed him. “This that proposition you mentioned?” he asked with a grin, grinding his hips against the thickening cock in Lucifer’s trousers.
Because Marcelo Frusin's scrawny little fuck punk John is my favourite...
