#mentioned Death of the Endless

[rosaren2498]

Warnings: Angst, blood, torture in the name of science (like the Augustine Society from The Vampire Diaries), implied past rape (it also almost happens but is interrupted before it can go that far), past captivity/imprisonment, reader wishes for death, organ removal

Please be careful and let me know if I missed anything!!! I want to tag the warnings properly but I never know what might trigger someone.

Also, I usually write in Fem 3rd Person and then edit it to be 2nd Person so it's more gender neutral so please inform me if I missed anything during my editing process, I do this on mobile.

Nightmare or Memory

It was cold.

So cold that you had long stopped shivering. So cold that you had accepted long ago that you might never know warmth again.

It was cold, and you wished you could say it was dark, but the lights shining in your eyes never went away; never dimmed, darkened, nor turned off. At least not while you were conscious.

You minutely flinched at the sound of metal scrapping on metal; you knew by now what that sound meant. You caught a flash of metal out the corner of your left eye, the scalpel reflecting the bright white fluorescent lighting.

"How are we doing today?"

You bared your teeth even as you felt the warm press of the blade against the naked skin of your chest. It had used to be cold to the touch, but now it was warmer than you. "Go to hell," you hissed.

His laughter seemed to echo around you; it was almost as if he'd laughed directly into your ears. It was dark, twisted, almost aggravated. The way the blade dug into your skin reflected it; cruel and aggressive, not as precise as usual.

Your breath hitched at the sharp bloom of pain. You think you'd be used to it by now, after all this time, but the first kiss of the blade never failed to steal your breath. You bit back cries, screams, and pleas for surcease that you knew would fall on deaf ears and do nothing, save for make him smug. However, you could not withhold your tears. As you squeezed your eyes shut and prayed for your life to finally end, tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, running into your hair.

The scalpel was eventually exchanged for something to keep the y-shaped cut -now on your chest and bleeding- open and you choked on a sob as it was forced open further. Seconds later, the first scream tore from your throat as his hands rooted around inside you.

"Ah, here we are."

You choked again as a hand grabbed one of your lungs and began pulling, the scream that was building in your throat abruptly cutting off when the lung ripped free. You tasted copper and you couldn't breathe; your vision was rapidly darkening.

"Oh, come now, don't pass out on me just yet." The voice was distant, cold and disappointed. It was also the only warning you got before blinding pain lit up your every nerve-ending and you let out an unearthly scream that seemed to echo in the room. "There you go."

You gasped desperately for breath as the pain slowly began to subside, and you were almost too distracted to realize where his hands were now; almost. You stiffened at the press of fingers on your thighs, another choked sob slipping out. Your lung had already grown back and you took a deep breath to speak.

"Please. Please kill me," you begged.

He laughed cruelly, forcing your thighs further apart. "Why would I do that? You're so beautiful like this. Chest open, blood and tears all over, spread open for me..." His voice had taken on an almost desperate edge and you shuddered in revulsion.

You closed your eyes again as your breathing sped up. 'Please don't,' you thought. 'Please make it stop.' You gagged when something blunt and thick pressed against you, then everything went still. It was an unnatural stillness, accompanied by a preternatural silence interrupted only by your quick breathing, until someone suddenly spoke.

"Enough."

Your eyes snapped open at the deep voice that you did not recognize. The ceiling had been eclipsed by dark storm clouds that swallowed the bright fluorescent lights. It plunged the room into shadows, interspersed with flashes of lightning. The doctor that had been positioned between your legs was gone, as were all his tools, including the one keeping the cut on your chest open. Instead, there was a dark figure standing to the right of the table you were strapped to. You flinched when he moved, but he only unfastened the buckles of your restraints.

You eyed him warily, slowly sitting up when your hands were free; your wrists were bruised and bloody from your thrashing. Your thighs twitched with the urge to snap shut when his fingers brushed your ankle while he undid the restraints there too; as soon as you were free, you were curling up in an attempt to hide yourself. You weren't sure whether to thank him, or ask who he was. Your mouth opened, but it quickly shut with an audible click of teeth when he removed his coat and held it out to you. You hesitated only a moment, terrified he would snatch it back the moment you reached for it, before taking it and slipping it over your naked body.

"Thank you."

Your voice was quiet, rough and hoarse from your screams. You adjusted the coat to be tighter around you and were abruptly stunned by the scent that smacked you in the face. It was rich, ozone and thunderstorms, plus something you couldn't quite identify, though your mind whispered stars, as if they had a scent; it settled something inside you.

"Are you alright?"

His voice was as quiet as yours had been and you shuddered at how deep it was, curling further into his coat. You could still feel your own blood on your chest, could feel it sticking as it dried; you hoped none of it ended up on his coat.

"It's not the first time this has happened." Your eyes fell to the ground, your voice taking on a bitter tone. "It won't be the last." With your gaze on the ground, you missed the twitch and twist in his expression.

"This was not an ordinary nightmare."

It was not a question, but you shook your head and answered anyways. "Not a nightmare; a memory."

"How long has this plagued you?"

You looked up at him now, a frown marring your features. You felt your defensiveness rise up, but what you'd been about to say died in your throat when you met his eyes. Twin stars, burning, endlessly burning, stared out at you; you found yourself answering his question without thought and with complete honesty.

"130 years, give or take. 'Course, that's what happens when you spend well over a century held captive by a secret society hellbent on discovering your secret to immortality so that they may replicate it to 'better the world.' "

His expression darkened once more, but you did not find yourself afraid of him, even as the very shadows seemed to stretch out from him; something told you he wasn't angry with you.

"Who are you?" The words did not come out as demanding as you had meant them too, instead coming out more curious than anything. Though that was, perhaps, for the best. Just because he wasn't angry with you doesn't mean he couldn't be.

He eyed you as if debating whether or not he should answer your question. You shifted in your spot, a little uncomfortable with his intense gaze on you, as you waited; you could be patient, but the silence stretched on. Just as you were beginning to think he simply wouldn't answer, he spoke.

"I am Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares."

You stiffened once more, your grip on his cost tightening. An Endless. He was an Endless. "You... Fuck, you're an Endless. And not just any Endless. No, you just so happen to be the second most powerful Endless, and the King of Dreams and Nightmares. Wonderful."

Dream seemed startled by your knowledge of him. He stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing. "You know of me?"

You snorted at the understatement, unable to help it. "Know of you? Just about everyone in the Supernatural Community knows of you, and your family, Lord Dream. Not everyone believes, of course, but I suppose you could call me a... special case. I've dealt with your family before. Plus, I believe you and I have a mutual friend: Hob Gadling."

Dream frowned. "What do you mean you've dealt with my family before? How do you know Hob?"

You shifted in place, tightening his coat around you once more. "Easy question first. I met Hob about 350 years ago, at that tavern that has since closed down. We spent most of the night drinking and talking. Actually, he spent the night talking about you, though he clearly had no idea who you were." You don't even try to hide fond smile on your face. "I knew right away that he wasn't normal, but it took him about 50 years to realize I wasn't human." You snorted, then startled when you realized there was the barest hint of a smile on his face. The tiny smile made his entire face seem to shift, becoming more open and inviting; it stole your breath.

"And how do you know of my family?"

The smile was wiped from your face as you abruptly tensed. You gave a heavy sigh, but were determined to be honest. "I've not met them all. I often speak with your older sister, Teleute, just about every time I see her. But I was originally introduced to your family when..." You trailed off, hesitating as one of your hands absentmindedly traced at your chest where you had been cut open. "Let's just say, I became intimately familiar with your younger sister's realm while I was held captive; I still keep in contact with her sometimes, though her twin is no longer welcome in my presence."

He raised an eyebrow at your vagueness. "You have something against Desire. What?"

You grit your teeth in remembrance. "That is extremely personal and I'd rather not discuss it. Let's just say I was foolish once and they took advantage, hm?" You can still remember their laughter, the look in their golden eyes when you had confronted them 130 years ago... No, you could not tell Dream that Desire was the reason you had been imprisoned, even if it had not been entirely intentional on their part; you still weren't convinced that it hadn't been.

His expression twisted, clearly irritated with the lack of a concrete answer, but, surprisingly, he did not push; perhaps he could tell how you would shatter if he did? He gazed at you for a silent moment before he spoke once more. "This nightmare won't trouble you any longer."

You blinked a few times, startled. You opened your mouth, planning on saying something, anything. Perhaps planning to ask if you heard him correctly, or maybe to ask him why he would bother, but his next words seemed to echo around the room and vibrate in your very bones.

"This dream is over."

---

You jerked awake in bed, sitting up and panting heavily. Your hand flew up to your chest, tracing the y-shaped scar that had rested there for over 200 years now; as your heartrate decreased, you took stock of the rest of yourself. Your hair was a tangled mess and you ran your fingers through it in a futile attempt to tame it. Your room was dark, though that was more due to your blackout curtains than it being late; the light peaking out underneath them and the clock on your bedside table told you that it was almost 1 o'clock in the afternoon. Hob would be expecting you at the New Inn soon.

You leveraged yourself out of bed, freezing the moment you looked down at yourself. You were still wearing your typical wine-colored tank top and black shorts that you always wore to bed, but over top them was a long black coat; the inner-lining was made of a veritable night sky. The end of your nightmare came back to you and you had to practice slow breaths so as not to hyperventilate; well, you had quite the story for Hob when you saw him at work... and Teleute the next time they saw each other too. Although... how were you supposed to return his coat?

[tiabritana]

Hob Can’t Handle The Club Right Now (isn’t that how the song goes?…)

Hob stumbles feeling a wave of dizziness come over him. He can’t remember where or when his colleagues wandered off to or where he left his keys or his coat. At this point he feels like that might be for the best as he’s absolutely boiling under the black lights of the club. The perspiration slides down his forehead into his eyes. He raises his hand, revealing a sweat-soaked circle under his arm, to his face to wipe it away. He can’t remember how long he’s been here for, but he has the niggling feeling he needs to get out soon.

The immortal sighs and looks around, searching for the bar to hopefully find some water to help his parched throat. Turning his head to the right he stops and blinks the sudden lightheadedness away. He thinks the heat might be effecting more than he thought. His gaze finally lands on a figure no one else seems to be able to see; jumping up and down on top of the bar counter and waving at him.

Hob wades unsteadily through the crowd, slowly making his way over in a daze, careful to keep his eyes locked onto her form in case she disappears. When he finally stops in front of the bar, Delirium jumps down, and stumbles slightly. Hob reaches out to steady her and distantly notes his reflexes aren’t as sharp as they usually are. She beams back at him, but her eyebrows crinkle a little a second later.

He scans her over and notes everything about her, from her wild curls, to the paint smeared all over her body, to the neon fishnets she wears, shining luminously under the black light hypnotizing him for a moment. He startles out of his hazy thoughts when Delirium cocks her head to the side almost bird like, similar to Dream, the wrinkling between her eyes becoming more pronounced the longer she stares at him. The immortal comes to the belated realization that she must’ve been talking to him, and shakes his head trying to clear the fog that has started taking over his mind.

“What?” He shouts over the music. He feels the bass beat in time to his own heart. The moving bodies around him feel suffocating all of a sudden. The way they brush against him is setting off his fight or flight instincts though he’s not sure why. He doesn’t remember having had that much to drink.

His wife’s hand on his arm brings everything to a halt. The haze clouding his mind is instantly cleared and he can make out the worry in the Endless’ mismatched gaze.

“Come on.” She says, leading him through the throng of dance club goers. Hob does his best to keep up with her, eager to escape the sudden claustrophobic feeling that’s been building up inside of him, but seems to have gone away at the first touch of Delirium’s hold on him leaving him feeling out of sorts.

She leads him to a side door and pushes it open with the hand not holding his arm. The immortal sags into the cool night air, leaning against the brick of the building as he regains his equilibrium. The Endless leans against the wall next to him, hand still on his arm, though now she’s drawing soothing shapes; colorful splashes appearing where her fingers trace.

“What the hell just happened Del?” Hob asks as he takes deep breaths. The rubbish bins off to the side sours the air just a bit, but still makes him feel better than he did in the muggy atmosphere of the club. He shivers a little as the night air cools down his clammy skin and feels the adrenaline starting to leave his system.

“Someone wanted you to experience wonderland without any white rabbits to show you the way.” She says as she places his coat around his shoulders.

Used to reality bending to this particular Endless’ whims, Hob shrugs on the coat, hearing his keys jingle inside one of his pockets. As he looks closer he notices the inside of the lining has changed colors and has been given an intricate embroidered design that he can’t quite make out in the dim alleyway light, before the meaning behind his wife’s words finally untangle in his brain enough causing him to freeze.

“What?” He asks again, eyes going wide as he turns to look at her. Her form has shifted into something he’s never seen before. The neons and paint and fishnets are replaced with a solid red color scheme. Close cropped red curls grace her head down to a red glittered army coat to red ripped jeans and red combat boots on her normally bare feet. She looks to be in that moment the living embodiment of the horsemen of war; or what he pictures Destruction might look like if he was punk and hadn’t abdicated his function. A dark curl of arousal unfurls low in his belly that he hurriedly shoves to the side. ‘Now is not the time.’ He mentally scolds himself.

The first thing Hob notices when he collects himself and she turns to look at him is that besides the change in Delirium’s appearance, she also looks older than she normally prefers. Late twenties if he had to guess. The second thing he notices is her eye color is going from green to red to blue and silver to fast for his human brain to process before settling on blue. Matching blue. The madness no longer present under her suddenly unsettling clear gaze.

Hob’s struck with a thought he rarely likes to dwell on. He knows his loves are all powerful personified concepts in unassuming human guises most of the time. And he’s grown rather fond of their inhuman traits when they present themselves, that it doesn’t really faze him anymore. But the one who shape-shifts when something goes wrong is usually Dream, and Hob has gotten used to that eldritch horror as the years passed that he finds it a comfort that his husband trust him enough to allow his otherness to be seen by him. Delirium on the other hand, is always shifting into a kaleidoscope of clothes and colors that the solid look she has on now along with the pair of blue irises in her eyes really hits home that she’s angry. And Hob’s starting to realize that that is far scarier than the nightmare Dream turns into is.

“The co-worker you tell us stories about all the time switched your drink with the nice lady who tries to figure out how many partners you have after the man in the purple shirt slipped something into it.” Her voice when she finally speaks is clear, no longer sounding like it’s on the edge of madness, but is holding back suppressed rage and is solidly bound in the here and now. Hob takes one last deep breath, no longer trying to clear the fog in his mind, but now trying to wrap his head around the fact that one of his colleagues gave him a spiked drink. Nausea claws up the back of his throat as he recalls how he’s been feeling the past while before he chanced upon his wife.

Did Martha think he knew, and knew not to drink it? Did they intentionally let him drink it? Did they purposely leave him at the table by himself? The questions buzz around his mind. The last half hour or so are still blurry. On one hand he’s glad Addie didn’t drink the laced alcohol, but the fact he did causes a sinking feeling in his gut. The immortal swallows thickly forcing the nausea back down.

He’s been around long enough to know the darker sides of humanity. His own past surges to the front of his mind for a second before he shoves the memories away. He knows the other professor doesn’t like him, and as Del mentioned he often regales his spouses with Martha stories. But he doesn’t want to think they could have purposefully orchestrated this to happen.

He straightens from his slouch and reaches out to touch the Endless’s hand. She’s still staring at him with a much to clear gaze, and he knows it must be excruciating for her. The immortal remembers Delirium telling him once that she could pull herself together enough to be coherent and for lack of a better word ‘sane’, but it came at the cost of great pain. The immortal didn’t want her to hurt herself unnecessarily for his sake. “Del, love, I’m okay now.” He gently squeezes her hand.

“But if I weren’t here you wouldn’t have been. And who knows what could have happened. I don't want you to leave like Dreamy almost did.” Her pained voice whispers the last part causing his heart to pang sharply.

Hob steps further into Delirium’s space and reaches for her other hand, grasping both in his own. He leans forward letting his forehead rest on hers realizing now what she has done for him. His wife’s function rules over madness yes, but on the flip side she also rules over sanity. She must have absorbed the drugs that were in his system. He opens his mouth to say something before he’s interrupted by the door slamming open.

A figure emerges from the shadow of the door wearing a leopard print skirt, brogues, turtleneck and blazer dangling over one shoulder. They straighten when they spot Hob and Del and takes in the intimate scene, a sneer quickly darting over their face before it smooths out.

“Isn’t she a bit too young for you Gadling?” They asks, faux concern dripping with the question. The infamous Martha.

‘We’ll speak of the devil and they will appear.’ Hob mentally tells himself. “Martha.” He greets as he straightens back up, though he doesn’t release his wife’s hands. He’s not sure he wants to get into it with his co-worker in the middle of an alleyway behind a club. Regardless if she knowingly or unknowingly tried drugging him.

Martha steps out into the light of the alleyway and lets the door slam close. The noise and music once again muffled behind thick steel. They open their mouth, probably to say another scathing comment before their jaw clicks shut with an audible sound, their eyes widening. Hob looks back down to see what caused that reaction. Delirium has drawn herself up to her full height and locks eyes onto his co-worker. The overwhelming aura surrounding her like a shroud of madness makes the hair on his arms stand up and the arousal he fought down to come crashing back. “Del-,” he tries before he’s cut off.

“Martha Jane Evans, born March 18, 1987, they/them pronouns, suffers from schizophrenia and was institutionalized for most of their childhood. Released in their late teens after showing signs of successful treatment. Highly knowledgeable in linguistics and can speak thirteen languages, but keeps mostly to themselves and lacks any real passion for life and teaching. Only accepting a university professor job to please their parents. Jealous and envious of Hob Gadling once he started working in the History department. The delusions started becoming more volatile so you decided to quit taking your medications, also blaming this on Hob. Your mental health has taken a swan dive, but instead of seeking help you delved deeper into the madness and decided everything wrong in your life right now is also Hob’s fault. You tell you if only he didn’t come, none of this would have happened. If he wasn’t here, you wouldn’t see how you’ve been wasting your life, letting it listlessly float on by while watching Hob living his to the fullest. So you came up with this idea to have a get together at this club, paid the man in purple to slip something into Hob’s drink and panicked with it was placed into the wrong one” Delirium’s words starts rushing together, gaining in speed. The coherency she has kept together for Hob’s sake cracks. Madness spiraling back into her speech as her form vibrates. Butterflies and fish pop into existence around her, swirling in colors to fast for him to name.

She releases herself from Hob’s hold and takes a step towards Martha, her form changing. Changing into how Martha perceives her in this moment after the revelation about them is spilled into the silent night. Her image shifting into two dimensional, abstract, shades of blacks shrouding her in shadows that blend into the darkness around them. The sight hurts his eyes, his rational human brain not able to perceive this level of insanity. His heart twist, and it becomes harder to look at his wife.

The world around them starts being affected. The sides of the building is melting, the ground starts growing fur. He’s not used to seeing her like this. Not in control and slipping further into her realm than he’s ever seen. Becoming a swirling vortex of angry insanity.

Martha turns, one hand clawing desperately to open the door, but his wife is faster. She instantly appears in front of them, hand outstretched and grasping her forearm. “Love.” Hob’s voice is calm as he too reaches out. His reflexes back to normal now that the drugs are gone. His hand catches hers other one again and she turns and levels him with the weight of her mad stare. Her eyes back to their mismatched hue.

“She. Hurt. You.” Comes the garbled speech. More creatures are popping into existence, mixing together forming shapes of creatures he’s never seen before.

“I know love, I know. But you need to calm down. I don’t want you hurting yourself further.” The immortal doesn’t bother sparing a glance at the shivering mess his colleague has become. Just keeps his focus on his distraught wife. He gathers her in his arms forcing the Endless to let go of the other professor. Her form shifting again, becoming more familiar as it’s wrapped in her usual prism of technicolor and mesh.

The storm around them seems to settle and reality rights itself as Delirium snuggles further into his embrace and tucks her head under Hob’s chin. He can feel wetness on his neck and feels himself struggle to get his own emotions under control. Taking a deep breath and silently counting to ten he releases it and finally lets himself look over to the door where the other professor once stood.

They’re on the ground now, rocking back and forth and their eyes stare into the darkness of the alleyway. Flinching as they see things he can’t. It seems like the crux of the storm latched onto them when Delirium lost control, madness seeking out madness.

He sighs and closes his eyes letting his forehead rest on the top of his wife’s unruly head. The Endless has stopped shaking by now. The immortal doesn’t know how long they stand like that, being soothed by each other’s presence, when the peace is shattered for a second time that night.

Addie sticks her head out, bass bumping music shattering the fragile quiet. “Oh, there you are Prof, I was wondering where you’ve gone off to.” She pauses as she takes in the scene she’s walked into. Glancing down she notices the other professor still rocking back and forth on the ground, tears are now streaming down their face and they have started to mumble incoherently. Addie looks back up raising a judgy eyebrow at the immortal who can do nothing but shrug as best he can while his arms are still wrapped around the figure of his wife.

“Another one of those mysterious spouses of yours or are you babysitting their kid sister?” Her dry tone asks. Looking down Hob notices Addie’s perception has altered Delirium’s age. Her appearance now taking on the indefinite age of maybe late teenager-early 20’s. Yelping he jerks away as the Endless blinks up at him.

“Oops!” His wife shrugs, before deciding to climb onto his back and hanging from him like a baby monkey. Hob sighs for the umpteenth time that night.

“Del, Addie- Addie, one of my wives, Delirium.” Said wife waves from her place on his back.

The immortal was hoping he could avoid this conversation, but looks like his luck has run out. He hesitantly looks back into the darkness to see if Despair is lingering close by. “Come on, this conversation is long overdue. But first, be a peach and call 999 for Martha over there. I’ve a feeling they’ll gonna need to be readmitted.”

[jaybirbie]

The first time she remembers seeing him, is when she is guiding the soul of Dr. Jazzmine Fenton. The world renowned author and psychologist.

Jazz had lived a long life, it only been a few days after her 87th birthday. She had passed gently in her sleep.

Death of the Endless was used to the people she guided having some questions or confusion.

Jazz was a rare one. She was quiet. Just giving Death an understanding nod and her arm.

At the end of their journey, before Jazz entered the Sunless lands. She stopped.

Turning to lock eyes with Death, the woman spoke.

"HELP HIM".

There was weight behind her words, this wasn't a request.

Before Death could answer, Jazz had turned and entered the sunless lands.

It was the heavy weight of the womans words that had Death returning to where she had collected the soul of Jazzmine Fenton.

There she met him.

Sitting next to the cooling body, holding her hand as tears silently ran down his cheeks.

He couldn't be more than 14. His sickly pale skin and fluffy black hair reminded her fondly of her brother.

To her surprise, the boy turned to look at her. Could see her.

The heavy sharp look behind his eyes reminded her of Dream as well.

"She's gone". He spoke quietly.

It wasn't a question, she nodded anyway.

He looked back at the body, gently placing the hand he held back on the bed. Standing up, he kissed her forehead and stepped away.

"Can you take me too?" Barely a whisper.

Her confusion continued. She shook her head. " it's not your time." She replied gently, laying a hand on his shoulder only to startle back as she felt his soul. He was dead.

The surprise must have shown on her face as the boy let out a defeated sigh. As more tears filled his eyes.

"Then when, it's been decades."

Gathering herself, she put both her hands back on his shoulders, looking down at the dead child. She didn't understand herself. The boy was one of hers, yet she hadn't given him her gift, and she couldn't guide him. There was no path for him to be guided down.

Softly she rubbed the boys shoulders and gently smiled before replying.

" I don't know," she paused, "but we'll figure it out".

She took the boys hand as she led him away from the room.

Time to cash in on the favour Dream owed her. She had a feeling her brother and his immortal lover will have a positive affect on the sad young boy, while she figures out why the boy is stuck.

Part 1??

[yardsards]

hot take but you all NEED to stop telling people to kill themselves.

yes, even *those* people. i don't care if you're talking to some monster who puts live puppies into a wood chipper for fun, don't say that shit.

because mx. puppychipper isn't gonna be affected by your words.

but you know who might be affected? some innocent third party reading the words you said on a public website.

because telling people to kill themselves says "suicide is a punishment for being a bad person. bad people, upon realizing they're bad, should simply commit suicide instead of working to atone for their actions."

and that is NOT a message you wanna be normalizing to anyone, but ESPECIALLY people with depression (who, let's be real, make up a higher than average chunk of this site's userbase). whose mental illness is already telling them that 1: they're an inherently terrible worthless person no matter what they do 2: death is an appealing option.

is reading "kill yourself" once or twice gonna make them do it? nah, probably not. but reading it multiple times a day every day is gonna make their mental health worse. it's probably not good for your mental health to be saying that kind of thing, either.

just knock that shit off. the world is already so hostile to people with mental illness, and managing mental illness and unlearning unhealthy thought patterns is already so difficult. you don't need to be out here making it worse.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was in a mall and I meet Dream of the Endless.

He played a video game were he shared an account with his sister Death.

He played it on a big screen so everybody could see it and people were laughing at him because he was lame and the game was old.

After that, purple zombies attacked and I woke up.

Also I was so happy to have Dream in my dream because I was like, "The king of dreams is in my dream! Like wow!" He was like a famous person for me and after I remembered that he is not real and I was like, "Oh..."

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Huge huge huge fan of this very niche trope that I don't see NEARLY enough of! When the whumpee has the ability to reincarnate/revive to a state of perfect health, but no healing abilities, and so - when things come to a head and whumpee is mortally wounded, they're resigned to the fact that it would just be easier to die and come back. But - but don't you see??? How devastating would it be for their teammates to be desperately doing everything they can to keep whumpee alive? How traumatizing it would be for them when whumpee pries their bloodied hands off so they will hurry up and die, so the pain will stop? How sickening it would be when whumpee tells them that everything's fine, to let them go? How awful would it be for whumpee if their team refuses to let them go without trying everything in their power, which just prolongs whumpee's suffering?

Yeah? Got that in your brain?

Now imagine that again, but their teammates don't have any idea that whumpee can come back.

[dxliriumoftheendless]

Death&Dream

{death and dream from the sandman netflix, the garden party by katherine mansfield, death and dream from "the sound of her wings", hamlet act 3 scene 1, "sleep and his half-brother death" by john william waterhouse, "queen mab" by percy bysshe shelley, death and dream from "the kindly ones"}

[littledollll]

No bc I need the sandman women biblically. I NEED Lucienne and her knowing eyebrow raise and I NEED to lock elbows with Death as we walk and I NEED Calliope to just look my general direction.

I can take all three. Definitely not in a fight.

[saccharii]

Death: You know what, Dream? You need a friend.

Hob Gadling: I’m gonna live forever! :D

Death, pointing at Hob: That one. That one right there.

[comic-art-showcase]

Death by Marcio Takara

[choices-binglebonkus]

The entire world having ended the day the ES crew got on the flight to La Huerta and the crew only finding out six months later is one of the best plot twists in the whole damn app.

It’s even darker (and better) when you replay the story with the knowledge of the twist already. The whole world burned. Everything is gone. The gang’s friends and families all burned alive in the lava, and like Michelle says if you find the skeletons, they died quickly, but not painlessly. Raj’s grandma. Sean’s mother. Quinn’s parents. Estela’s tío. Craig’s 6 year old little brother. Everyone not on La Huerta is dead.

All of it is just so much more grisly and twisted when you replay and see the gang partying, drinking, laughing, having fun, totally unaware the whole world has burned and their families died screaming as they were incinerated alive.

To create something that morbid takes real talent. It was masterful.

[void-tiger]

The concept of prophetic visions and dreams in The Sandman universe is objectively hilarious when you realize it automatically involves Destiny, Dream, and Delirium, and Destiny being absolutely fed up with his younger siblings messing with his domain.

…which is probably why there are far more records of prophetic visions than prophetic dreams but the symbolism in visions is…incredibly trippy and often unsettling. But the earliest stories of either leans more in favor of prophetic dreams.

Dream doesn’t mess with his siblings domains lightly, and either asks permission, first, or has Lucienne keep a record of the tab owed to Destiny over this.

Delirium, however…

Yeah…she’s just that youngest sibling who messes with your stuff and as infuriated as you are with her it’s often as productive as shouting at a baby because she WILL cry and rip her hair out and never grasp why her actions upset you.

(so Dream gets the brunt of Destiny’s Ire. even when Desire Did It.)

[s735]

7/20/23

I got around to reading Dragon Ball and DBZ for the first time recently. Raditz, Nappa and Vegeta are my faves. I wish we saw more of them before they died.

[milfzatannaz]

this particular drawing by Frank Cho literally sends me into a blind rage bc WHAT THE SHIT is wrong with this guy

[thecruellestmonth]

I know that Steph's death was retconned to have been faked and that she only haad a near-death experience—and, yes, I prefer this version of events because while it's extremely doubtful that Leslie would ever pull this stunt, it's at least morally correct for Bruce Wayne's loved ones to lie to his face and mess with his ego—

But I'm not on board with saying that Cass reuniting with Steph in death was just a "hallucination". No, Steph wasn't among the spirits of the dead. But I like the think that rather than Cass having a close encounter with a spirit of the dead, instead Cass as a spirit of the dead visited Steph's dreams.

In dreams and death, the line between the reality where Steph survives and the almost-reality where she died is blurred. But love and comfort and bonds between souls are the only things that are truly real.

[honeyteacakes]

Johanna Constantine/Death of the Endless

---

“Strange,” the woman replied, looking at Johanna thoughtfully. “Normally I don’t meet people until they’re ready to leave with me, but you’ve got time yet.”

“Might be less time than you think. Mind phoning an ambulance, love?”

---

Recommended for those who want to see Johanna be a pathetic little meow-meow and for those who think Kirby Howell-Baptiste might be one of the most beautiful women alive. Available here on AO3.