John Constantine Is Seventeen, Angry And Entirely Ready To Lose Himself In The Occult.
John Constantine is seventeen, angry and entirely ready to lose himself in the occult.
The open book in front of him details a particularly nasty ritual, but not one he’s unwilling to pay the price for. He bought the book from the shop on Eaton street, ‘Occult Exposition’. It’s not a nice shop. The clientele tend to be even dodgier than John and the owner always goes out of his way to make him as uncomfortable as possible.
John supposes that that’s just the price of authenticity.
The book is authentic. He knows that. One of the first things John learned was that the fakes always do well when it comes to flair but never quite catch the essence of a true ritual.
Fully set up in the back garden, John begins his ritual.
He chants and moves and shifts his thoughts in all the right directions. He slits the throat of a rabbit and cuts out the eye of the hawk that caught it. He spins a web of spider silk around the remains and watches it turn into a spun glass cage that contains something entirely different.
John lifts the same knife he used to cut out the hawks eyes and slit the rabbits throat, ready to plunge it into the beating heart the glass now contains.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” a voice calls out from behind him.
John spins around with his knife at the ready to defend himself. Instead if someone attacking him all John sees is a beautiful girl leaning against the dirty wall of his garden shed.
“Are you sure you want to stick around until the police come arrest you for trespassing?” he snarls, caught off guard.
The girl has the gall to roll her eyes. “As if you would call the police.” Considering the garden stinks of weed John supposes that the girl may have a point. “And anyway, I’m just giving you some sound advice. Nothing malicious about me at all.”
John narrows his eyes. “There aren’t many people who offer advice for free.”
“Well maybe I’m just feeling generous today.” the girl says with a grin. The smile drops promptly. “The blood rune won’t work, so you’re just going to be compelled to rip your heart out and eat it. Do you want to rip your heart out and eat it?”
John scoffs even as he sends the blood rune an uncertain look. “The rune is fine.”
The girl shoots him a withering look. “It has to be virgin's blood.”
“It is vir-“ John pauses. Resets. “Oh shit.”
“What? Are you still feeling lucky?”
“Fuck off.” John says on reflex. Then, “Thanks for telling me though. That could’ve been nasty.”
The girl finally smiles properly. Broad and shining and even John is forced to admit to himself that it’s a beautiful smile. “You’re very welcome. My name's Zatanna.” she says, sticking her hand out for him to shake.
“John.”
“I know,” she says with a wink as they clasp hands. “If you ever want a little more sound advice then just give me a call. Promise I’m a better option than you ever you got that book from.”
John raises an eyebrow. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but what’s put you in such a sharing mood?”
“I said I was feeling generous.” Her expression softens. “I think you’re going to be powerful. The kind of powerful that’s going to get people killed if you don’t know how to handle it. Call me when you’re in trouble.”
When she finishes speaking a wind summons itself up around her. Twisting and twirling until she’s stood in the centre of a spinning tornado. The speed of the wind reaches a climax and dissipates all of a sudden, leaving behind no sign of Zatanna.
John takes a step towards the space she used to occupy and spots something on the ground. It’s a business card. Pristine white with edges sharp enough to cut through flesh. On the card is a name, ‘Zatanna Zatara’, and a phone number.
There are two ‘x’s handwritten below the number and they make John feel oddly warm.
“Fuck.” he says to empty air. “Fuck.”
He turns back to his aborted ritual and starts cleaning up the blood.
More Posts from Elowenp and Others
I just watched the Batman
people arguing over fanon vs. canon batfam is so funny considering the comics wouldnt know character consistency if it hit them over the head with a steel bat
“Y’know, sometimes I get jealous of you.”
Bruce hopes that the look on his face communicates what a ridiculous notion that is. From the way Clark snorts a little he’s sure he manages it.
“I know, I know, it’s silly. It’s just.” He licks his lips. “Your secret identity is just so not you. I feel like Superman and Clark Kent get further away from each other every day, but they’re both still me. Is that dumb?”
“No.”
“Okay. That’s good. It’s just that it’s getting harder, y’know? But it’s also getting easier. Well I guess you don’t know. You’ve probably never had an issue with separating Batman and Brucie Wayne.”
Bruce looks at Clark, “I have trouble separating my identities. Just not those two.”
He frowns before catching himself. “Oh right. Sorry, sometimes I forget you have three. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one.” He pauses, looking at Bruce as if asking permission to continue. Bruce doesn’t give it but Clark goes on anyway. “You have problems splitting up Batman and Bruce then? They’re both you?”
“Of course.” He says, answering the second question. That’s a fact he’s always been sure of. Then, in reference to the first, “I know what you mean about being able to feel the two people you are drift further and further apart.”
“Really?”
Bruce smiles and it’s full of self loathing. “Bruce is a father, Batman’s a partner, a mentor. There was a time when those things all meant the same to me.” He pauses, thinking. “It’s strange, I can barely see the overlaps any more.”
Morgana and Merlin are in a cave together and they’re not fighting.
Neither of them are quite sure why. They’re definitely supposed to be fighting, but maybe that’s a reason in and of its self. Both of them have always been terrible at doing what they’re supposed to.
“We used to be friends.” Merlin says.
“You used to have a crush on me.” she snorts.
“Well you had a crush on me too.”
“I did not!” Morgana snaps. She manages to inject just enough offence into her voice that Merlin smiles at her a little like he used to before she learned how to hate.
“Well you would have if you’d known me.”
And, well, Morgana can’t say that he’s wrong exactly.
They keep not fighting. Morgana wonders if flirting is another word for truce.
New fic oop-
If you like the young justice one shots I have on here it’s just more of them but compiled better. Also I’m trying to keep them all in the same continuity so you might get some followups to previous ones.
continuation of this
It’s honestly ridiculous for her to be so floored by the sight of Catra in a suit.
Adora is the most powerful being in the universe. She’s made of starlight, her past lives span eons, Gods would bow to her and pray she stayed nice enough to deign that they live on.
But one look at Catra in that stupid suit and that stupid bow tie that isn’t even done up and that’s the whole point of them what the fuck Catra. One look at all of that and she’s practically incapacitated.
“Cat got your tongue?” leers Bow.
“Fuck you.” Adora says, more seriously than she meant to. Bow takes a step back, surprised at her vehemence, but seems to get it because he touches her arm and whispers a quick ‘sorry’ as he leaves.
She tries to brace herself for Catra’s approach. It doesn’t work. When she purrs “Hey Adora” in that smug voice she does when she’s feeling powerful Adora can’t help her face scrunching up in annoyance the way it always does. It makes Catra laugh which just makes Adora’s face scrunch up even more and the worst part is that she still kind of likes the sound.
Adora prays for the stars to give her strength. It doesn’t work. In fact, she thinks they might be laughing at her too.
Image description: it's a drawing of Batman. His head is framed by a yellow moon. He's pulling his cape up as he's kneeling on top of a stone structure. The stone structure is mostly hidden by his cape with only the letters M and A showing, along with a star of David symbol on the top corner. In the background there's mist and some trees. End of description.
Bat drawing cause Halloween 🎃
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