mesmiranda replied to your post: ☠ ?
Ohhhhh I thought it was the opposite! How we would kill you. Not that she ever would willingly, but… you get the idea. I’ll go stand over here awkwardly now and creep on this fresh perfection. ♥
((and now I’m going to make you write one for john because of reasons. ))
John Constantine is not dying in bed, hooked up to any kind of machine. Fuck that.
“Where do you want to go?” Messy asks, her throat very tight. Anywhere, anywhen.
“Just f’r a walk,” is the answer.
They go out for a walk. It’s conducted mostly in silence. The conversation, when it comes, wouldn’t make sense to anybody listening in.
They disappear off the street a handful of times. One time John reappears and goes and stands in a doorway, his face turned away, while Messy waits under a lamplight. One time he’s cackling, and doesn’t stop for a long time. It grows dark.
Messy buys him the pint. She gives the bartender Andorvan money by accident and has to mindwipe him while she substitutes a bill. He smokes the last few cigarettes in his pocket.
And, at last, standing outside in the London air: “Now,” says John clearly. “B’fore they ‘one in like fuckin’ vultures.”
There is so much—Messy’s heart is full, her throat is full, her skin feels too tight and her eyes are going to spill over. She can’t contain anything. She tries to smile, one last time: ” ‘Unable are the loved to die / For love is immortality.’ “
“Immortality is immortality, Mess,” he corrects her, cracking a grin. “Nothing t’do with love. Just sheer bloody-mindedness.”
“Yeah, that too,” she says, looking down, and takes his hand and leans forward.
A kiss, and John dissolves outwards into gold and disappears into nothingness. The TARDIS disappears, too, a long time later, and the street stays empty.