Comments | lanterncast: [meme] i love these so much

lanterncast

[meme] i love these so much

Mar 12, 2010 02:44

Get me to write, for you, a drabble detailing how one character of mine and one character of yours hook up and produce spawn. You choose both characters, and maybe throw in a prompt/additional request, and I will spin you SUCH A TALE. You can ask for up to three drabbles, go crazy.

what: meme, what: out of character

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i no longer know who is prompting whom here antisaint March 13 2010, 05:31:02 UTC

John and everyone ....except Tucker.

LADY lambentstar March 13 2010, 05:31:48 UTC

Tucker already has a baby, John

antisaint March 13 2010, 05:33:05 UTC

Exactly.

[john & cat] that's when she said "i don't hate you, boy" lambentstar March 13 2010, 05:35:05 UTC

When you're as attached to your local 24-hour greasy spoon as John Constantine, the John Constantine (the beginning of the end, and the bitterness is already settling in) is, you notice when a new waitress turns up, especially if she's buxom and breathy and has short-cropped hair like the down of ravens and has an accent with no business being in LA. Cat becomes a fixture of the night shift, and one night they even share a cigarette, huddled in the cold glow of a streetlight, mutual exiles of a country that knows better. He was half-seeing someone at the night, so when the point came he could have taken her home, he let it slip past, and that should have the end of it ( ... )

[john & cat] "i just want to save you while there's still something left to save" lambentstar March 13 2010, 06:58:22 UTC

"So I hear this is the place to go looking for an exorcist, these days," she says, four years almost to the day later, when he opens the door and finds her standing there, faintly damp from the drizzle outside and sporting two black eyes over a bright, familiar smile.

"You grew your hair out," he notices, because it's impossible not to, and she laughs and walks inside like she has every right to be there--it helps that he stepped aside to let her in, of course. Someone else might ask what happened to you? and imagine an outcome involving, say, a pair of brass knuckles, but if there's one thing John remembers about Cat it's that she knows how to ask for help when she needs it; it's the kind of trait he can admire, and not envy. "I like it ( ... )

[john & cat] that's when i told her "i love you girl but i'm not the answer" lambentstar March 14 2010, 05:59:41 UTC

"That better be the last time I have to kill you, you son of a bitch," Cat murmurs, when they're moping up the mess that the exorcism left on the floor; ectoplasm sets if you leave it to sit, he found that out when he lost one of his first suits. It's at this point John determines that she's probably coming out of this week still swinging and light on her feet. It's nice to see that some people can still survive contact with him, or this is what he tells her before she flicks dirty water at him and doesn't laugh at the joke ( ... )

[john & cat] "to the questions that you still have" lambentstar March 14 2010, 10:42:33 UTC

Los Angeles is short on the kind of fairy godparent who can grant the kind of protection John establishes they'll need - he and Cat came up with a list of the things they'd have to do before what he keeps referring to as D-Day. Her contributions tended towards the material; his didn't, and with that in mind he started comparison shopping early.

"You know that's not how it works, John," Uriel tells him, gently, "The fate of your child is in the hands of God, as it should be - but would you like to know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Of course, John," Hezbat laughs, tucking her legs up beneath her, "He'll be safe as houses once you make the deal--trading you for your son is the kind of irony the big guy will just love, you know how he is about symmetry. You knew it's a boy, right ( ... )

[john & cat] send your lifeboats out lambentstar March 14 2010, 10:43:53 UTC

David's grip on his hand tightens when they're at the park, and when John follows his gaze he sees the thing looking back at them with a faint smile; David at seven isn't too big to be picked up and carried, so this is what John does.

"Dad, is that--"

"Yes," John says, and he's never hated God more than he does in that moment, when David shivers and makes a small, fragile sound, like something breaking; David, who rarely cries, and was never afraid of the dark.

"You won't let it get me, right? Because that's your job?"

"Never," he says. So much for no promises.

Cat glances back to them, Sarai on her hip, and the look he gives her sends her hurrying to their side to put her hand on David's back--Sarai mimicks her, after a moment of confusion, because she's always trying to make everyone feel better.

"Oh, honey," Cat says, kissing all three of them in turn: David, John, Sarai. "It's gonna be okay."

And somehow that's enough to make it true.

[john & rose] the kind of affection you only see in the movies selfconsuming March 15 2010, 02:05:08 UTC

Rose doesn't go to a lot of parties, in spite of her reputation - she has a job, she has homework, she has to keep the apartment and her mother running like a set of spinning plates, then there's Melissa, and all of this means she has to keep her slut gig part-time. But she goes to this one, because she knows the guy who owns the house, and she figures she deserves one fucking night off, ever ( ... )

[john & rose] i know you never meant to do everything you put me through selfconsuming March 15 2010, 03:42:08 UTC

She comes to him with the dirt of her shallow grave still clinging to her torn dress, blood and other substances dried black around her mouth, between her legs, splattered across her chest, the evidence of violence around marks that disappeared when her heart failed to start beating again. He doesn't know where to touch her (so cold) or what to say (and so fair); she doesn't understand, not then, standing in bare feet on gravel. There is glass under her skin, but it doesn't hurt ( ... )

[john & rose] but it's okay i forgive you selfconsuming March 15 2010, 04:18:21 UTC

Her name keeps falling from between her fingers, and when she finds herself on some quiet straight line under a blank and shiny disc, hemmed in by boxes, she doesn't quite know what she's doing ther except that she is so cold, cold past shivering or sleep's ability to redeem.

His name is John. She remembers: he kissed her, like ashes. There is a cherry red flicker on her tongue that is his name, and she says it.

"Fuck," is what he says, pressed up against some shape that giggles, twisting narrow hands into his hair, and--

She's not stupid. She doesn't need someone to spell it out for her.

"You asshole," she spits, (when did he get that tall? when did he cut his hair? why can't she remember?), and turns to run, green glass buried in the soles of her feet ( ... )

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