Posted in Headcanon

Don’t Dream It’s Over

There is a thin line between missing someone in earnest and yearning for their presence out of habit. And Elsa Bloodstone had learned the hard way that after years of being alone and carving a crag fortress around her heart, the line is easily blurred once she became emotionally invested.

Because she knows that somewhere along these past few months, she and him had not only walked that line: they’ve crossed over.

It was a wildfire that spread through their desolate souls and smothered them, consumed them so thoroughly they no longer know where she ended and he began. The moment they reached for the other’s fingers, they intertwined their lives and since then, somehow, they’ve lived vicariously through each other. She knew that should she counted the days, she’ll find that they’ve spent more days together than apart. And she could still vividly recall how they missed each other merely hours after they said goodbye, how they invaded each other’s minds so much he’s the only thing she spent her time contemplating about, and how she shared almost every of her waking moments with him. How she shared the things she loved and distorted them so he can be a part of it, how she had abandoned some aspects in her life to make place for him and how they have practically became an entity conjoined on the hip.

They were interdependent, and though he said it was okay as long as it didn’t disturb their lives and they were happy, she knew deep down that it was unhealthy.

Seeing how much they preferred to sealed the Bloodstone Manor’s door shut so they can holed up in her bedroom, away from the grating presence of everyone else. And how often they actually did so.

In hindsight, maybe it was their attempt to evade the harsh reality and took refugee in a quiet room where they can fabricate a peaceful life under the paper moon. Maybe they were making the best what little time they had before it run out, sooner or later. Maybe they were imprinting as much memories as possible so it’ll be preposterous to even attempt to forget each other. Or maybe they were just desperately, truly, madly, deeply in love – the kind that kills and rip hearts apart.


All she knew is that those first few days when he wasn’t there in arms reach, she was on withdrawal. Like an addict who got cut off of her drugs, she crashed down from the high and everything hurts. The loud silence of his absence, the suffocating emptiness of her too-large Manor, the transgression of not waking up next to him – it all hurts. They turned her into an unstable emotional mess, something that she could never afford and though it shamed her, she’d admit that was the lowest she had been in years.

Yet as everything’s good inevitably end, the agony eventually passed. Or she had once again upgraded her pain threshold and now it’s just a dulled ache. Either way, she’s all good now. Though she’d never admit that she may still be prone to fall victim to another breakdown.


She learned, though, that this time apart had put her feelings in moderation.


She’s no longer neck deep in the quicksand that is their psychotic love with incessant need that stemmed from their interdependence. Nor is she craving his presence just because she has been too used to have him around and can no longer stand being alone.

She’s back on her own two feet, perfectly capable to live without him because she don’t need him to be with her all-the-time. She found, once again, the joy of doing those she love to do without him. Things that made her Lady Elsa Bloodstone and old habits she had somehow abandoned during her time with him. She is herself, a separate entity from John-Bloody-Constantine.


That does not mean she wished for them to cease to be, though.



Because she do want him, still. And still is in love with him.



For she clearly know now, that despite all that, despite being able to go on with her life and enjoy every second of it without him…


She do like it better with him around. And she’d still like to share all these wonders with him.



Even if his predicament would only allow him to be someone she can only love from time to time,

She’d still long to live their own lives, together. Her heart on his sleeves, and his on hers.






À la mort,

Prompt: Sixpence None The Richer’s Don’t Dream It’s Over.
“They come to build a wall between us, but you know they won’t win.”



An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

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