1) I want to get back into fanfic writing. I actually want to work on original writing, but first I'd like to get back into the swing of things with some fic
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It wasn't to stay. They wouldn't have let me if I'd wanted to. Which I didn't. Lovely place to visit, wouldn't want to live there.
It was a bit of an adventure, as a matter of fact. There I was on the ground, trying not to choke on my own blood--oh, it's not all fluffy clouds up there, all right. Marble's a bugger to fall on. Especially the holy kind.
The mad angel what'd pushed me onto it--I'm not getting into him, but all you need to know? The moment I went down, he thought he'd have a go at one of the classic cackling villain mistakes. He thought he'd bloody gloat.
"Did you really think you could stand between me and the human race, Constantine?" he asked me.
"Course not, mate," I told him, bright as you please as I spat blood all over the shiny floors of Heaven. "Me trying to stop your fucking psychotic plans, that was all a bit of a lark."
And I knew what I had to do then. Sorry, that was trite, wasn't it?
"Impudent," he said (and I tipped him a wink). "But I should count myself fortunate that you are the one who holds the sword. You could never use it on me."
Aha, and there's the catch: the one weapon that could strike him down, and it had to be wielded by the pure of heart. And I was the one whose soul it was hanging onto.
He lifted a hand, and I could see the holy blade in it. "This world is well rid of you, Constantine," he began.
I closed my eyes. He must have thought I was cowering in the face of death. Hah! All right, so I've been known to cower in the face of death, but not this time. I was concentrating.
Pure of heart's about as close to me as Alaska, the difference being I've been to Alaska. But I had to try, didn't I? Maybe we could reach an agreement, the sword and I. A lot of things depended on it. Humanity, my own sorry life--you know, the important things.
I closed my eyes, and I thought of the sword, and I tried to summon it to my hands. I tried to find the center of me, the place where I could at least pretend to be whole and right, if not exactly pure.
"You're trying to get the sword," the angel said suddenly. "And you called me mad. Give up, Constantine!"
He didn't throw me off. I reached down deeper--
--and that's when I found what did throw me off, for one horrible moment. As the shadow of his wings fell over me, something stupid and plaintive welled up in my idiot heart:
I wish he'd do what he's meant to and protect us instead of trying to tear us apart. I wish angels, the good kind, were real.
The sudden longing--for justice, for virtue, for a world where the strong sheltered the weak--nearly brought me down right there, it did.
But I held on, and what I found on the other side was what I needed.
I opened my eyes, and the sword was in my hands. The angel's eyes were wide and disbelieving.
"You couldn't," he said. "You're a shattered vessel, not fit to touch heavenly ground, much less--"
"Yeah, well," I said. "Turns out you don't need to be a saint or a virgin or even a particularly nice bloke to wield the sword. All you've got to do is believe."
He stared down at me. "What could you possibly believe..."
"Right now," I said, staggering to my feet, "I believe that you're a right bastard, and that I'm the one about to hand you your arse."
And I drove the sword into whatever twisted lump passed for his heart, and I wiped my hands off on my coat, and I walked all the way home. Yeah, from Heaven. Posh place, not for me.
But I'd almost let myself be taken in, there. Hah! Thinking that angels ought to do humanity some good. That we should be protected. Not me at all.
Yeah. If you ever tell anyone, I'll bloody kill you.
re: Here's a laugh, lads--I was in Heaven once.hohaiyeeMay 20 2010, 18:01:00 UTC
I wish he'd do what he's meant to and protect us instead of trying to tear us apart. I wish angels, the good kind, were real.
...and that's the soft spot that got me to have a soft spot for John Constantine. I like that he's a badass, I love that he has that spot, that vulnerability, the one that got him the shell in the first place.
I love it that he reacts so strongly, protects so fiercely, those vulnerable to the greater forces that he's been trodden under when he was younger, that he won't admit.
It wasn't to stay. They wouldn't have let me if I'd wanted to. Which I didn't. Lovely place to visit, wouldn't want to live there.
It was a bit of an adventure, as a matter of fact. There I was on the ground, trying not to choke on my own blood--oh, it's not all fluffy clouds up there, all right. Marble's a bugger to fall on. Especially the holy kind.
The mad angel what'd pushed me onto it--I'm not getting into him, but all you need to know? The moment I went down, he thought he'd have a go at one of the classic cackling villain mistakes. He thought he'd bloody gloat.
"Did you really think you could stand between me and the human race, Constantine?" he asked me.
"Course not, mate," I told him, bright as you please as I spat blood all over the shiny floors of Heaven. "Me trying to stop your fucking psychotic plans, that was all a bit of a lark."
And I knew what I had to do then. Sorry, that was trite, wasn't it?
"Impudent," he said (and I tipped him a wink). "But I should count myself fortunate that you are the one who holds the sword. You could never use it on me."
Aha, and there's the catch: the one weapon that could strike him down, and it had to be wielded by the pure of heart. And I was the one whose soul it was hanging onto.
He lifted a hand, and I could see the holy blade in it. "This world is well rid of you, Constantine," he began.
I closed my eyes. He must have thought I was cowering in the face of death. Hah! All right, so I've been known to cower in the face of death, but not this time. I was concentrating.
Pure of heart's about as close to me as Alaska, the difference being I've been to Alaska. But I had to try, didn't I? Maybe we could reach an agreement, the sword and I. A lot of things depended on it. Humanity, my own sorry life--you know, the important things.
I closed my eyes, and I thought of the sword, and I tried to summon it to my hands. I tried to find the center of me, the place where I could at least pretend to be whole and right, if not exactly pure.
"You're trying to get the sword," the angel said suddenly. "And you called me mad. Give up, Constantine!"
He didn't throw me off. I reached down deeper--
--and that's when I found what did throw me off, for one horrible moment. As the shadow of his wings fell over me, something stupid and plaintive welled up in my idiot heart:
I wish he'd do what he's meant to and protect us instead of trying to tear us apart. I wish angels, the good kind, were real.
The sudden longing--for justice, for virtue, for a world where the strong sheltered the weak--nearly brought me down right there, it did.
But I held on, and what I found on the other side was what I needed.
I opened my eyes, and the sword was in my hands. The angel's eyes were wide and disbelieving.
"You couldn't," he said. "You're a shattered vessel, not fit to touch heavenly ground, much less--"
"Yeah, well," I said. "Turns out you don't need to be a saint or a virgin or even a particularly nice bloke to wield the sword. All you've got to do is believe."
He stared down at me. "What could you possibly believe..."
"Right now," I said, staggering to my feet, "I believe that you're a right bastard, and that I'm the one about to hand you your arse."
And I drove the sword into whatever twisted lump passed for his heart, and I wiped my hands off on my coat, and I walked all the way home. Yeah, from Heaven. Posh place, not for me.
But I'd almost let myself be taken in, there. Hah! Thinking that angels ought to do humanity some good. That we should be protected. Not me at all.
Yeah. If you ever tell anyone, I'll bloody kill you.
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...and that's the soft spot that got me to have a soft spot for John Constantine. I like that he's a badass, I love that he has that spot, that vulnerability, the one that got him the shell in the first place.
I love it that he reacts so strongly, protects so fiercely, those vulnerable to the greater forces that he's been trodden under when he was younger, that he won't admit.
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