#constantine x bts crossover

[jungkookiebus]

Hellblazer  pt. 1 | jjk

Genre: demon!au, smut Rating: M  Pairing: demon!Jungkook x FemConstantine!reader Warnings: demonic possession, wounds that would correlate with a “possession”, minor character death, mentions of suicide, rough sex, hair pulling, face sitting, multiple orgasms Summary: “Few people really think about dying... paranoids worry about it without really understanding it. Victims of fatal accidents and murder don't have time to think. You only really think about it if you take the time to. And you only take the time if you know it's going to happen.” -John Constantine, Dangerous Habits Pt. 1: The Beginning of the End, Issue #41. Author’s Note: You can blame the concept photos from today. Also, a kind anon requested it. :D

The girl’s deep, otherworldly screams filled the room as you secured her hand to the headboard.

“Hold her down!” you yelled.

Three men were on each corner of the bed trying to hold the frantic young woman down as she thrashed and threatened to rip everyone’s balls off.

Just your run of the mill demonic possession.

Sweat began to roll down your brow as you fought her. You were strong and equally strong willed, but these men were either scared to hurt her or scared of her. Probably both. She gnashed her teeth in your direction, spit flying, and her black eyes were focused on yours.

“You’ll never fucking get me out of here, Hellblazer,” she growled.

“Oh yea? Then how come you’re letting me tie you to this bed?” you struggled out as you planted your foot on the edge and pulled with all your strength on the rope.

“Your blood is just like mine. Why fight us?” her growls filled the room.

The priest that was residing over this possession was tucked away in the corner, clutching his Bible as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did. The girl’s mother cried in the arms of her husband begging the demon to let her little girl go. Apparently, she had been possessed for months and when the priest was at a dead end, he contacted you.

Little did they know was that you were doomed to fail. You always tried, though, to redeem yourself for your sins; hoping that helping others would make up for what you had done.

When she was sufficiently tied down, you moved to your leather bag to pull out the relics you had brought. You always moved through the same motions, knowing what you were doing was right, but never quite getting there; a punishment in which you wish you could be freed.

The cross you held out in front of you pissed off the demon as it should since it was made from the same wood from Christ’s crucifixion, having been passed down through your family for thousands of years. Or so your dad had said.

“Sancte Michael,”

Saint Michael,

“defende nos in proelio”

Defend us in battle.

The demon writhed against its bindings as you continued the prayer.

“ut non pereamus”

That we might not perish.

“You’re going to hell with me, you bitch!”

She was pulling so hard now that the bindings were beginning to cut into her skin. Her eyes fluctuated from solid black to her natural green and back again. The veins were black and blue against her paper white skin, her hair was sparse where she had been pulling it out, and her body was covered in bruises. The demon was essentially killing her from the inside out.

“in tremendo iudicio.”

At the dreadful judgment.

Two hours later and the girl was gone. Yet another failed exorcism. As if you felt like this would go any differently. You told the uncle who was there to help it was probably because the demon had been inside of her for so long. At least it was half true.

You shielded your hand as you lit a cigarette, took a long inhale before holding it and releasing it into the air. Standing outside on the cobblestone street, you squinted up past the dim streetlights and up into the night sky. The stars sparkled above you, ever present and totally oblivious to the shit show going on down here. You suddenly wished that you were among them, burning until you exploded and became part of the universe once more. Maybe then your stardust would land on some other planet that didn’t see shit like that. But maybe there was a Hell there too.

Your boots clicked on the uneven, wet stone. Looking down at your watch you saw it was three a.m. The night was cool, it had just rained, and you breathed in deeply the fresh air. Your lungs expanded appreciatively, with no sickness, not anymore at least. You took another drag of the cigarette, noticing you were burning through it quickly. Your nerves were still on edge from the exorcism and you knew you’d be thinking about it for weeks before the nagging feeling of failure went away.  

“Hello, little demon hunter,” you heard from the shadows of an alley you were passing.

You stopped, frozen in your tracks, but it wasn’t uncommon for you to meet unwanted people…or creatures for that matter from time to time. You made a mental checklist of every weapon and talisman on your body as you swiveled on your heel. Clicking the safety off your handgun, you pulled it from under your coat and pointed it into the darkness. You heard the click of a tongue in the darkness.

“That won’t do much.” It was a male voice, smooth as silk but layered in heat. Hell had a certain dialect and you knew that lilt anywhere. You were the only human that you knew that could travel through Purgatory, Hell, and Earth.

You saw the shine of his eyes even though none of the streetlamps reached into the darkness and you knew the dreadful darkness was made even darker by him.

“Then come out if you’re so tough,” you challenged.

He was a beautiful sight, as were most demons you had encountered, but this one was different. Based on his clothing; black turtleneck underneath an equally black blazer, dark jeans, and shiny boots, he was one of the higher denizens of Hell if not a general. One you had never met at that.

“What’s your name?” you asked, not lowering the gun.

“Why would I tell you that? Just so you can banish me?”

You scoffed as you squared the gun right between his eyes from that distance.

“I told you that won’t work.”

“Yea? Maybe I have special demon killing bullets since you seem to know me so well.”

“It’s not like I can possess you.”

“But you can kill me.”

“I can ensure you that I do not want to kill you.” He held his hands up defensively.

You examined his face. His hair was pushed to the side, exposing his forehead and the smooth expanse of his skin. You noticed a few tattoos on his fingers and hands as he raised them, but you still couldn’t figure out who he was, and you usually prided yourself in knowing everyone and everything from Hell. It was the smaller demons, the ones that possessed humans, that you didn’t know. The generals and Princes of Hell didn’t lower themselves to possession unless it was someone they desperately wanted. You knew of one Pope that was possessed for his entire career.

“Are you scared, ____?” he smiled.

“I’m never scared of your kind.”

He made a face like he was hurt by your words, clutching one of his hands to his heart. You saw a crown on one of his fingers and a few other odd shapes you couldn’t make out. Who was he? Then you saw the sigil when he moved a little closer. It was a small brooch on his lapel, and you didn’t need to make out the rest when you saw the gold glint of goat horns. He was of blood in the House of Satan, but who?

“Please lower the gun?” he asked innocently. His eyes softened as he looked at you and he dropped his other hand to his side, the other still firmly planted over his heart.

For some reason your resolve deflated. Slowly, you lowered your gun and by the time it was by your side, the man wore a wide smile.

Such a pretty smile…

You shook your head, bringing up the hand still holding the gun to press the ball of your palm into your temple. Eyes screwed shut, you willed yourself to think logically.

“What are you doing to me?” Your breath came out a little more erratic than you would have liked.

He looked even more innocent, eyes almost on the verge of watering as he stepped just a little closer to you. The tension between your brows relaxed and your hand dropped once more. He looked a little more satisfied this time as he approached. The clatter of your gun hitting the stones didn’t make it to your ears. Around you, the world seemed muffled. It felt as if cotton had been stuffed into them. A passing car, a person’s laugh, and crickets sounded around you, but you were deaf to everything but him. You still heard his footfalls the closer he walked. His grin was turning up at the corners and for a second he seemed wicked and a trickle of fear ran down your spine.

“Poor little demon hunter.” His voice dropped an octave as he stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That exorcism didn’t work. They never do.”

This time his smile was wicked, and you felt exposed. He looked at you as if you were something to eat while still exploring your face for any change in your expression. You tried to not let your emotions show. You knew exactly where this was going.

Now, he was right in front of you. Dangerously close as your chest heaved in mild panic. You felt rooted to the ground. The world was no longer muffled, it was hauntingly silent. He leaned in closer and he smelled like a freshly burned out campfire with just the slightest hint of sulphur. His cheek was a hairsbreadth away from yours when he spoke again.

“That little suicide of yours will never be redeemed. You’re too selfish for that.”

Heat flushed through your body as the panic set in. He placed his hand over your heart now, pressing into your skin as he felt your heart beat furiously in your chest.

“And I know your soul is no longer in here.”

Your mouth was dryer than a desert by this point.

“But your blood is just like mine. It sings to me and I’ve never felt that before.”

His hand slowly slid up your chest and to your neck where he let his hand lay loosely there. His skin burned hotly on yours, further providing evidence that he was more than likely higher than a general. The higher you got the hotter the fire burned.

“And I’m not so sure I like that quite yet.”

His voice contained a mild threat. You had encountered many a demon and even Satan himself, been through the circles of Hell many times, and heard the cries of those stuck in Purgatory; but this type of fear was different. You were in awe of him, but at the same time completely repelled. You weren’t interested in seeing him in his demon form any time soon either.  

His lips brushed your cheek as he turned his face. He wet his lips as he paused against your skin.

“But I’m more than willing to find out,” he breathed.

His grip on your neck tightened and you felt your body flush with a different kind of heat as your eyes fluttered shut. Why? you asked yourself. Why were you doing this? The rational part of your brain was starting to be overpowered by the irrational.

“You want to as well,” he whispered. “I can feel it in that soulless body of yours. You’re just as empty as me.”

You grabbed his wrist and he gasped at the coldness of your skin. Your eyes came open to meet his as he leaned away from you. They were no longer human, no, those baby brown eyes were now replaced with a solid black with a deep red burning within. A quick rush of wind surrounded you, enveloping you so tightly that you couldn’t breathe, your lungs constricted as you fought to take a breath, and right as your eyes started to burn, air filled your lungs as your back hit a soft surface.

You gasped for breath, enjoying the burn of oxygen flooding your lungs, before a pair of lips were on yours. He was over you and you felt an expensive silk blanket beneath your fingers. His tongue slipped passed your teeth and he moaned as he got his first taste. You dared to explore as yours brushed passed a suspiciously sharp tooth.

“Hmmm, careful,” he smiled as he pulled away from you.

He sat up, bringing you with him, and was slipping your jacket from your shoulders before you knew what was happening. He then reached for the hem of the sweater you wore underneath and pulled it up and off. Your mind could barely keep up as he examined you. His eyes focused on exactly what he was looking for. A scar. The sigil of Lucifer was burned into your skin over your heart. He ran his finger gingerly over it and you took his distraction as a chance to look around. You were sat on a large, four poster bed in an opulently decorated room. But it was so, so dark and not in just a way that you were standing outside at night, but the feeling was there as well. The shadows were omnipresent and seemed to be teeming with some dark fear. You could tell that there was a large fur rug before a roaring fire, but there seemed to be a dark gray film over everything. The only thing you could see in full color was him. He seemed to almost glow in the darkness, his alabaster skin absorbing any light it could.

“A deal’s a deal, huh?” he asked rhetorically.

He leaned down again, capturing your jaw in his palms and kissed you, inhaling deeply as he lowered you back down. He kissed hotly along your neck, suddenly desperate for more.

And you were more than willing to give it to him.

You grasped tightly at his jacket, feeling the metal of the brooch dig into your finger. He smoothly pulled the jacket off and broke away from your skin just enough to pull the last layer over his head. Blearily, you looked at him and noticed his chest was covered in tattoos, there were some runes you recognized, but beyond that you weren’t sure. They seemed to wrap underneath his arms and disappear behind him as well.

“Don’t look too close, angel,” he said as he dipped low, flicking the front clasp of your bra open, and attaching his lips to your nipple.

You moaned, chest arching, as he sucked on the sensitive nerve endings. His hand was on your stomach, fingers splayed across your skin as he pushed you further into the mattress.

Dread seeped through your bones when at the same time he was pouring warm honey into you. You were in the deepest depths of Hell. No normal human could survive here, but when you didn’t have a soul the effect wasn’t so bad. Regardless, you had feelings and right now they were so mixed that you didn’t know which way was up.

Somewhere in the mix of his wet mouth trailing across your chest to the other side, he had disposed of everything below your waist without having you notice.

Fucking demons, you thought to yourself.

His splayed hand was travelling downwards, and he was just on the crest of dipping his fingers under your hood when he stopped. He nuzzled his nose on your neck and breathed deeply.

“My sweet, little demon hunter. I’ve been wanting to taste you for so long.”

Your hips came off the bed, wanting him to touch you, but he kept his hand in place. He rose above you again, moving swiftly as he stepped off the bed.

“Up,” he demanded, motioning you to get off the bed.

He then took your place but this time he let his head hang from the bed.

“Ride by face, baby,” he said, hands reaching for your waist.

Whether he had planned this, or this was another one of his tricks, you were at perfect height.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you were the other way?”

“I want you to stand.” He was forceful as he grabbed your hips and pulled them, easily slotting you over him.

You gasped loudly as his tongue made contact with your clit. He pulled you harder against him as he sucked loudly on your clit before releasing it and laving his tongue over it. His mouth felt divine against you as you caught yourself on your hand. Your hips seemed to move on their own volition as you started to rock against him. He moaned loudly in approval the same time you looked between the two of you. With every other rock you exposed his glistening chin and strong jaw and you felt yourself getting more turned on. You ground harder against him mouth, rotating as he switched from stiffening his tongue to licking you sloppily. He sucked, licked, and moaned against you until you were shaking above him. You were on your tip toes, him chasing your pussy so that his mouth never left. You could see the prominent bulge in his jeans and you felt your mouth salivate at the prospect. Closing your eyes, toes curling as much as they could, and fingers digging into the silk, you came on his face. His moans almost matched yours as you continued to ride out your orgasm and he was licking up all your had to offer.

When your body began to shake with aftershocks and you flinched every time his tongue hit your clit, he pushed you off him. You landed on your back against the silk. He swung his legs around, stepping off the bed again and quickly disposed of his jeans. Weakly, you sat up and you physically felt your eyes bulge.

There was that wicked grin again.

“All fours,” he said, rotating his finger, demanding you turn around.

You flipped over but not fast enough for his liking as he yanked you to the edge of the bed by your ankle.

“You need to move like you want it,” he seethed between his teeth.

Your knees were almost at the edge as you got on your hands, shins and feet hanging off the edge. He ran his left hand slowly, soothingly down the middle of your back, hand creeping in your hair and you were about to lean into the touch when he grabbed your hair by the roots harshly and pulled back. At the same time, you felt the slam of his cock inside of you, and to the hilt. There was more pain right now that there was pleasure as he pulled you back against him, still holding you by your hair.

“Shhhh,” he whispered as he brought his fingers to your sensitive clit. “It’ll feel good soon.”

He cooed as you melted a little, pleasure coming back into your system as he rubbed small circles on the swollen bundle of nerves. He pulled out until he was barely in, bit down on your neck, and slammed back. Then, he started to move slowly, circling his hips every now and again to hit you a little differently while still rubbing slow circles on your clit. The skin of your shoulder burned as he bit and sucked, his sharp teeth surely leaving scars. His grip in your hair tightened as his pace quickened.

He gasped loudly as he detached his lips from your skin, eyes closed, cheek against yours as he gripped you tightly, thrusting into you faster and with more purpose.

There were so many sensations inside of you, pain, pleasure, fear, euphoria. The mix was intoxicating, and you found yourself losing yourself to him again. You were pushed over the edge and you felt a growing wetness as he pushed harder against your clit, rubbing and thrusting faster.

“Fuck, hng, ______,” he muttered as you tightened around him.

He was sweating and the slap of his hips against your ass was wet and loud, his chest seemed to stick to your back, but god was it hot.

You were slipping further and further. You wanted to beg him not to touch you, but he wouldn’t even hear you now. His breathing was heavy, uneven, and loud in your ear. His fingers dug into your scalp, skin burning as he pulled harder at your hair. His fingers, relentless, were throwing you into another orgasm that had tears streaming down your face. You no longer had the strength to hold yourself up, cry, or speak. His breath caught in his throat suddenly as he stilled, toned body rigid behind you as he came. All at once, his breath came out in a loud exhale as he moaned, body shuddering, cock still inside of you and filling you up to the brim. His cum mixed with yours, leaking out and down around his cock as he thrust a few more times. The sticky liquid dripped down your thigh and to the bed below you. After a few moments, he stopped. His chest still heaved behind you, but his hand in your hair loosened while his other wrapped around your waist. He kissed tenderly the bruises and small punctures on your shoulder, and you shivered at the contact.

“My little, demon hunter,” he breathed. “The taste of you is so sweet.”

You awoke to your alarm. Confusion settled in and you weren’t sure where you were. Pulling the covers from your face you squinted as the sun assaulted your eyes. You moaned as you rolled over, suddenly regretting the action as every muscle in your body protested. Every part of you ached in a way you had never felt before. Your neck burned and there was a slight headache between your eyes.

Was that some illusion leftover from the exorcism?

Fear, disgust, and a little of something else you didn’t want to admit washed over you as you turned to silence your alarm. Your heart stopped in your chest as your hand grazed across something cold. He had left his signature. Once again, turning the brooch in your hand, you didn’t need to examine it further to know there would be the golden goat horns.

He had been real. A demon of Hell had taken you as his own.

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Firefly, Lou Antonelli, Nintendo 1985, Robot Anime

T.V. (Medium.com): Every generation has their white whale of a concluded series. Baby boomers got hooked on Star Trek and made a big noise about it until they got movies, spinoff shows, more movies, more spinoff shows… Generation X kept the love of Star Wars alive until they got novels, video games, comics and, err, prequels. Milennials got Firefly. And three years later, Serenity, a movie that, while excellent, reminded us that the story worked better on TV.  And then nothing.

Author Interview (Liberty Island): It was four months of Hell for the Sad Puppy finalists– from the announcement of the ballot in April until the WorldCon in August – and essentially a left-wing lynch mob. In the end, the whole fiasco can be considered useful because it made the secret manipulators come out of the closet. Larry Correia has been completely vindicated.

Fiction (Paperback Warrior):  “East of Desolation” was Jack Higgins’ (real name: Henry Patterson) 22nd novel, published in 1968 by Berkley and then reprinted dozens of times using different cover art. The book arrived seven years prior to Higgins becoming a mega-bestseller and household name with his 1975 novel “The Eagle Has Landed”. While booming sales never supported the material, the 1960s produced some of Higgins’ finest literary work, evident with this ice-capped adventure starring brush pilot Joe Martin.

Westerns (Mostly Old Books): A taut and violent short western that finds young Jess Remsberg, consumed with avenging the rape and murder of his wife, scouting for an Army wagon train that finds itself outnumbered in a brutal cat-and-mouse battle with a band of merciless Apaches. The tension remains high as the brilliant Apache warlord Chata matches wits step for step with young and ambitious Army Lieutenant McAllister who is close friends with Jess.

Book Review (Pulp Fiction Reviews): New Pulp writer Derrick Ferguson is best known for his action packed adventures, be they the exploits of Dillon, Fortune McCall or Sebastian Red. All of these should already be on your reading list. But back in 1914, Ferguson wrote this truly amazing novella, “The Madness of Frankenstein” that is his homage to the great Hammer horror flicks of the 60s and 70s. Having finally picked up a copy, we were eager open its pages and discover what special grisly treats Mr. Ferguson had whipped up for his unsuspecting readers.

Cinema (Scifi Movie Page): Disney+ has officially arrived, with all the force and weight that Uncle Walt’s 600 lb. entertainment gorilla can muster. The Mouse plays for keeps, and the buzz around event releases like The Mandalorian and the various MCU projects immediately put their streaming service in the top tier alongside Netflix and Amazon.

But Disney’s strengths go beyond their acquisition (and undeniably strong shepherding) of hot IPs such as Marvel and Star Wars. Their library stretches back over 80 years, and a large amount of it is available for streaming.

D&D (Walker’s Retreat): You know you’ve got something worth watching when you get a comment like this: “Yes. Monotheism is the missing link that D&D needs for a medieval authentic feeling in your game. I use it. In addition it does one of two things. It either keeps SJWs away from your game, or it attracts them because they want to break your game or be an antichurch outsider. In those cases they always end up quitting because they don’t get what they want.”

Gaming (RMWC Reviews): The Nintendo Entertainment System represented a sea change in what video game consoles could do and how they were received at home. Released in 1985 in North America, the NES came out at a time when the American market was still reeling from the great industry crash of 1983. Compared to the Atari 2600 which was the previous home console of choice, the NES had better graphics, sound, processing power, and yes, gimmicks. The 1985 launch was actually limited to New York City for the holiday season, and was then expanded in 1986 when it was clear to be a success.

Anime (Wasteland and Sky): As anyone who knows anime knows, there are two kinds of mecha series. First there were the originals, the super robots, then there were those created with Mobile Suit Gundam, the real robots. The former were pulp heroes that went on adventures to stop the villains while the latter were based on soldiers fighting in wars. Different approaches and aims allowed for very different legacies.

Book Review (Matthew Constantine): The second book in The Prydain Chronicles by Lloyd Alexander, The Black Cauldron is somewhat more complex and more interesting than The Book of Three.  Having already been introduced to many of the characters, we don’t need to go through that again and can instead jump right into the action.  Taran and friends are tasked with finding and destroying the Black Cauldron aka the Crochan, the magic item used to create near invincible Cauldron Born, undead warriors.

Tolkien (BBC): A pub made famous as a meeting place for fantasy authors CS Lewis and JRR Tolkien is to be made into a hotel. The Eagle and Child in St Giles’, Oxford, has a plaque inside commemorating the writers’ get-togethers. Known as The Inklings, they would regularly meet up with other academics at the Grade II listed pub. The application was approved by Oxford City Council’s west area planning committee on Tuesday.

D&D/Cinema (Tenkar’s Tavern): Comicbook.com shared an article about the upcoming Dungeons & Dragons movie (due Summer of 2021) – Thanks to Luke Gygax for sharing the article on Facebook. The upcoming Dungeons & Dragons movie will feature at least one character with ties to the Forgotten Realms and will focus on a quest for an iconic magical object. ComicBook.com can exclusively report that the upcoming Dungeons & Dragons movie currently in development by Paramount will focus on a group of adventurers looking for the Eye of Vecna, a powerful artifact that dates back to the earliest days of the game.

Pulp Hero (Black Gate): I have to confess that writing The Spider is a completely different experience for me than writing the Wild Adventures of Doc Savage, Tarzan, John Carter, or any of the other classic pulp heroes I’ve been privileged to bring back to life in new novels. With these other pulp heroes, it’s largely a matter of concocting a logical plot and having the heroes go through their customary pieces, although I seem to have quickly become an accidental king of crossovers since I’ve managed to convince the various license holders to permit me to have a few of them collide, such as Doc Savage and The Shadow, Tarzan of the Apes and King Kong.

Review (Porpor Books Blog): Men of Violence: All Review Special’ ($5.99, 93 pp) features reviews (limited to 250 words for an individual book and 500 words for a series) of over 100 paperbacks and comics published from 1953 to the present day, that fall (more or less) into the genre of ‘Men’s Adventure’ fiction. Needless to say, we live in an era in which men rarely read for pleasure, the genre of Men’s Adventure is regarded as affront to a Woke society, and any adolescent who brings a copy of Torture Love Cage (Jack Savage, 1959) to school probably will be expelled, and obliged to receive Counseling before being readmitted.

Book Review (Rough Edges): Almost a year ago, I read the first book in the Casca series by Barry Sadler and really enjoyed it. I didn’t mean for so much time to go by before I got back to the series, but that’s the way it happened. I’ve finally read the second book, GOD OF DEATH, which picks up the story of Casca Rufio Longinus, former Roman soldier who was present at the Crucifixion and was cursed with immortality because of it. Wounds or illness that would kill a normal man can’t claim him, and he’s doomed to wander the world, always making his way as a mercenary soldier.

Novel Excerpt (DMR Books): Wulfhere and Eanhere and their army of bears crept down the valley silently. From a cliff they could see Penda’s men as they sat in a little grove eating their midday meal. Eanhere took half the bears and crept round to the other side of the grove while Wulfhere waited on this side with the rest. Wulfhere crept quietly closer till only a small knoll stood between the Mercians and himself, and he could hear their loud talk and laughter. “Ha, we will root this bear out of his den, and he will go the way of his people!” one said as he emptied his horn of mead.

Art (Karavansara): Turns out this is a Robert Maguire cover for a novel called The Deadly Lady of Madagascar, bt Frank G. Slaughter (nice name for someone writing about deadly ladies) that I will try and find somehow. If I can’t write it, I can certainly read it.

Alt. History (Enter Stage Right): Alternative history (popularly called “alternate history”) is sometimes termed “uchronia” or counterfactual history. It is important to remember that alternative history pertains to events that are in the past at the time when the narrative is being written. So, for example, the 1920s projections of Hugo Gernsback about the 1980s cannot be properly termed as being alternative history – even though his vision of the world of the 1980s is much different from what has actually occurred.

D&D (Sacnoth’s Scriptorium): So, I just got a comment on my post back in September on the new film documenting Arnesom’s role in the creation of D&D. Since the comment seems to come from the filmmaker himself, thought I’d feature it here so as to give the filmmakers a better chance to have their say. Here’s their comment.

Gaming Magazines (Silver Key): Later issues of White Dwarf introduced readers to Thrud the Barbarian. The loinclothed barbarian stereotype born in the pages of sword-and-sorcery (Brak, Thongor, Kothar and their ilk) was by then quite pervasive, and strip author Carl Critchlow had fun with a character that was literally all muscle and no brain—a tiny head upon a massive, muscular body. Issue #50 (February 1984) has Thrud invoking “the sacred jockstrap of Robert E. Howard” before hacking his way through a horde of castle defenders, whom he (mistakenly) believes are holding a princess captive in the tower.

Science Fiction (Tellers of Weird Tales): I’m going back farther now into the past, into spring when, in a week when I was sick, I read The Space Trilogy by C.S. Lewis. Things To Come (1936) was still fresh in my mind when I read these books. That freshness may have influenced my thoughts on Out of the Silent Planet (1938), Perelandra (1943), and That Hideous Strength (1945). I shouldn’t spend too much time on this, but I’m sure I will. There is a lot in The Space Trilogy and it’s hard to move past some of these things without commenting on them and applying them to issues current in this blog and in our world of today.

Weird Tales (Dark Worlds Quarterly): Seabury Grandin Quinn would begin his writing career in The Thrill Book, an early Weird Tales precursor devoted to strange and off-trail fiction. Street & Smith, the future publisher of The Phantom and Doc Savage, ran The Thrill Book for sixteen issues, from March 1 to October 15, 1919. The magazine would publish Francis Stevens’ The Heads of Cerberus, one of the first science fiction novels about parallel worlds.

Sensor Sweep: Firefly, Lou Antonelli, Nintendo 1985, Robot Anime published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[jungkookiebus]

Hellblazer 2.5 | jjk

Genre: demon!au Pairing: demon!Jungkook x FemConstantine!reader Word Count: 2.6k Rating: PG Summary: Now that the true identity of the new Prince of Hell has been revealed to you, you are left back on Earth, wandering aimlessly through life hungry for another taste of him while being repulsed by his memory. You find your health failing and in one last attempt for help, you drag yourself to the Vatican only to find yourself falling deeper into the darkness surrounding you. Ever so slowly, you’re slipping towards a death you didn’t think would come so soon.  Author’s Note: I hope you guys still find this interesting. I guess this can be seen as “filler” to progress their relationship, but I find it really starts to expose true feelings here. More to come! 

Sluggish. Languorous. Torpid. Stagnant. Those four words and more were how you would describe your life right now. It had been three months since your last encounter with him. You had woken up in your bed just as before; sore and almost lifeless. Before, he haunted your dreams. Now, he was all you wanted and your worst nightmare. You felt pushed and pulled in two directions.

Lost.

Utterly lost.

You were seeing him more and more, standing under the massive altar in the Basilica, sitting at the same table at the coffee shop, just around the corner in the bookstore, and basking in the sun at Trevi Fountain. The few people you knew, because you didn’t have any friends, were noticing your declining health. You became withdrawn and idle. Just living each day, sometimes eating, getting out of bed when needed, and spending less time outdoors as the months rolled on.

Even the Pope came to see you, worried about your health. At first, you felt good knowing someone cared but then you reminded yourself he only liked you for information. His visit didn’t go quite as he had planned when the thought dawned on you and you cursed at him, demanding he get the fuck out of your house.

You had never planned on staying in Rome this long. Yes, it was the hub of your line of work, but you didn’t want to be here, yet you felt tied. You felt as if you left then you’d never see him again, but then again, you didn’t want to see him. Not really.

You were starving, but not for food. If you had a soul it would probably yearn. This was a different kind of pain; something deeply rooted into your heart. Your body was lacking something, and you weren’t sure what.

When you were ready to throw yourself off the nearest cliff, you trudged reluctantly in the direction of the Vatican. Your limbs felt like they were filled with sand. People gave you strange looks as they passed. You knew you hadn’t brushed your hair in a hot second nor had you really been concerned about your personal well-being either. The closer you got, the worse you felt. You found yourself stopping and leaning against a wall more than once trying to catch your breath. It felt as if you had been running when you could barely walk. By the time you got to the Vatican Obelisk, you were stumbling, struggling to stay upright. A Swiss guard recognized you despite your unkempt appearance and rushed over immediately, calling out for assistance.

The bright summer sun, a flash of pink, and what you had thought was him were the last things you saw before you succumbed to that falling feeling. Peace. Finally, you were able to rest.

When you awoke again, your limbs were just as heavy if not heavier. You heard the faint beep of a machine and the whir of air conditioning, but beyond that was silent. Your eyelids felt as if they had weights on them as you struggled to open them. Finally, you were able to peer into the semi-darkness. Blinking a few times, you slowly scanned the room. It was very nicely decorated, with a fireplace, and your guess was confirmed when you saw the framed picture of the Virgin Mary. An IV stand was next to you and you followed the tube of fluids to your arm. Wiggling your fingers a little, you made sure you weren’t paralyzed for some reason. As if by divine intervention, a nurse came scooting in backwards with a cart. You watched as she blissfully hummed and then turned towards you, jumping back in surprise as you looked at her.

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, holding her hand over her heart. She moved closer to the bed, first looking at the machines, and then back at you. “Hey, are you okay?”

You nodded. Your throat was so dry you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything.

“Let me get you some water!”

She turned away again and to a pitcher that was sitting on a table, filled a glass of water, and made her way back to you. She held the glass to your lips as she held a cloth under your chin. You drank gratefully and sighed as the cool water soothed your throat.

“What happened?” you finally asked once you were able to speak properly.

“The guards saw you stumbling around outside. You collapsed right in a crowd of people!” She threw her hands up excitedly as she recounted the story to you. The Pope had insisted you stay in the ”house of the Lord” in case what was happening to you was “demonic” in nature.

He knew better.

“How long?”

“Oh, let’s see,” she paused. “About a week and a few days now.”

No wonder you felt as if your muscles hadn’t been used in a million years. You still felt just as bad, if not worse than before. Before you knew it, you were slipping slowly. You wanted to stay awake, you feared falling asleep again, but your body was giving up. Slowly, darkness overtook you.

When you awoke again, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You half expected a paralysis demon to be perched atop you when you were finally able to open your eyes.

The room you were in was the same, but this time there were more machines. You looked down to see that your hair had grown a considerable amount. Panic washed through your body and you heard the rapid beat of the machine as your heart sped. A small alarm sounded as your blood pressure rose. You were being thrown headlong into a full blown panic attack. The same nurse as before came rushing into the room and was at your side, checking the readout on the machine, and then reached into a small refrigerator for a glass bottle. She pulled the cap off a syringe, pulled the liquid into it, and then pushed it into your IV line. Your body immediately relaxed. She held her hand on your forehead as she grabbed her stethoscope. After she determined that you were okay, she laid a hand over yours.

“He wants to talk to you. I’ll be right back.”

What? You had just woken up after god knows how long and she’s worried about someone wanting to talk to you? You were so thirsty.

The Pope came rushing through the door, dressed casually, and looking both distressed and surprised.

“____!” he exclaimed as he rushed to your bedside. “It’s been months.”

Months? Surely…not?

He turned his head to where you couldn’t see his face, but you saw the look of surprise on the nurse’s face as she nodded and then left the room. He turned back to you; concern written in his features.

“____,” he began again, as he pulled a chair to your bedside. “When did you meet him?”

Your brows knitted. You had already told him when you met the new Prince of Hell.

“The Archangel. God’s general.”

Your blood ran cold. How did he know?

“You have the sigil,” he said reaching out just a little, “behind your ear.”

For fuck’s sake. You were getting peed on by everybody in Hell. You wet your lips a little. Or tried to. Realizing that your mouth was probably dryer dirt, he grabbed the pitcher. Funny, one of your last memories was almost this exact same situation months ago. Once again, you were fumbling with your voice, having not used it for some time. He sat patiently as your mouth moved robotically. You were frustrated that you couldn’t just spit it out and you felt helpless as you lay there with your overly heavy limbs.

“He fell,” you finally croaked.

“What?” He didn’t believe you.

“The demons. In Rome.”

You saw him piecing things together with your minimal words. He had warned you that things were happening in Rome.

“You mean…,” he trailed off in disbelief.

“War.”

It wasn’t a secret that there was a war in Heaven before when Lucifer fell. You had met a few demons that fell with him, recounting the day in vivid detail to you. Now there was going to be another one. God’s greatest ally had betrayed him.

“But then…” He glanced towards the spot behind your ear. “Those are meant for protection.”

You half shrugged. You weren’t about to admit to him what had happened…twice.

“Get your rest, _____.” He patted the back of your hand, stood, and left from the room without so much as a backwards glance.

The Pope stood before the statue of the Archangel taking down Lucifer with his golden spear. His heart was tight in his chest as he prayed.

“Dear God,” he was at a loss for words as he gazed above him. His voice echoed in the cavernous expanse.

A low, menacing laugh filled the space as soon as his voice died out. The darkness suppressed around him and fear filled his heart. He clutched to the rosary in his hand as he turned around. The laugh seemed to be coming from every direction, bouncing off the walls, and doubling back in on itself. This type of darkness was one that he felt deep inside of him.

“There’s no point in that,” he heard whispered amongst the laughs that were slowly dying out.

Out of the darkness and through the pews of one of the service areas walked a man, dressed darkly, and even darker than the murkiness around him. The candles that had been lit on the altar went out one by one. A heat filled the basilica that had him sweating under his night robes. A smell so pungent that he recoiled filled his nose and it was soon replaced by the sickly sweet smell of roses.

He emerged into the dimly lit expanse of the area before the main altar and he was able to see his glowing eyes and pale skin contrasting against his black suit. His hands were clasped behind him as he walked slowly. His footsteps didn’t make a sound. His smile was malevolent. As he approached closer and closer, he began to faintly smell burnt wood. By the time he was within feet of him, it was as if someone had snuffed out the fire in a fireplace. The smoky smell filled the area and assaulted his senses. A usually comforting scent was now going to be reminiscent of this new fear he felt.

“Where is she?” he asked, leaning in close.

He saw the sigil on his lapel as it caught the light.

“A-are you…?” he stammered.

“You know exactly who I am. Now, answer my question, Your Holiness.”

He stared into his dark eyes and saw nothing there. Only emptiness.

“I’m not giving her to you.” He held onto his rosary tighter as he willed himself to be brave in the face of evil.

His smile spread, but then suddenly turned down at the corners. He could see where he was once beautiful, but now he was beautiful in a terrible way.

“If you want her to live, you will.”

He was shaking as he held out the hand that clutched the rosary. The Prince looked down at it in disgust before speaking again.

“Your trinkets won’t do anything to me.”

“Why do you want her?”

“She belongs to me.”

“Your sigil is meant to protect. What are you doing to her?”

He sighed as he brought his hands in front of him, intertwining his fingers and holding them to his lips. The Pope saw the tattoos that you had mentioned, and it further confirmed his fears.

“The real question is, what are you doing to her?”

He suddenly became defensive in the face of the Prince.

“I have been protecting her and keeping her alive for these last few months.”

“Have you, though?”

“Quit talking in circles, demon!” He was red faced now, utterly angry. He was angry that a Prince of Hell was here on hallowed ground and he was angry that he seemed to think he had some claim over you.

“This space you feel like you’ve created for her to heal is killing her,” he said simply.

You had no soul. Heaven couldn���t protect you and now that it was weaker, they would be no closer to doing so.

“The sigil…”

“She’s dying on holy ground. If I take her, she won’t.”

The Pope was torn. What he said made sense, but what if he were lying? He had no reason to tell the truth. But why would he want you?

He slowly removed the brooch from his lapel and suspended it in the air between them, but the Pope refused to reach out and take it.

“I promise you protection. On my word.”

“I don’t make deals with devils,” he said snidely.

“It’s in your best interest to do that now. There’s going to be a war soon and Earth will suffer just as many consequences. You’ll want to find yourself on the right side.”

The Pope walked briskly down the carpeted hallway with the Prince walking closely behind. None of the guards were around as they turned corners and he knew it was his doing. When they reached the door to your room, he looked back at him tentatively. He seemed eager for him to open the door. He pushed it open, stepping inside, and to the side. He watched closely as he crossed the room and to your bedside. You were asleep, laid back amongst the pillows, and looking as frail and drawn as ever.

“How could you let this go on for this long?” he asked as he undid the IV at your arm.

The Pope was frozen to the spot as he watched him quickly detach you from any and all machines, alarms going off left and right. The nurse came running down the hall in her robe. He held out his arm in front of her as she crossed the threshold and froze to watch the scene in front of her.

He was lifting you from the bed gingerly. You had lost so much weight that you were very easy to carry. He turned with you in his arms, curled against his chest, and the Pope saw a shadow of who he once was. His expression was soft, yet worried, giving him a glance at the Archangel he used to pray to.

“You have my protection,” he said before seeming to disappear into thin air. In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving the Pope and nurse dumbfounded.

The next time you awoke, you felt lighter. Your breathing came easier and your mouth didn’t feel as if it were on fire. The pain in your head was starting to subside and overall, you felt as if you might survive whatever was wrong with you. You moved your fingers over the sheets beneath you and felt an all too familiar silkiness. Your heart raced with both fear and some unfound excitement. Slowly, you opened your eyes and you were met with the same grey stillness of the bedroom that haunted your dreams. You were afraid to move but you desperately needed to see if you imagined the presence behind you. You quietly and gently as possible turned your head.

He looked so peaceful.

Fast asleep, mouth slightly agape, he laid beside you, hand rested on the pillow. He had saved your life, but that was only because he had marked you. You hadn’t asked for this, but you were starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it was what you wanted all along.