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nightmares--child · 8 months

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The First Years

Since his first thoughts, Terry had been able to sense the fears of those around him. His first senses picked up on the fear that he would die in the process of child birth from his mother, or that she would die in the process from his father. He retained his memories from infancy, recalling the strange ways his parents would look at him, and the hushed whispers they would say around him. They still made every attempt to try and live as a normal family, but he knew there was always something strange about him. He was never able to dream like other children or people, only floating in the darkness of a void every night.

Eventually his baby brother, Stephan, was born, and he cared deeply for the boy. However, he and his father were never able to get close – not as close as Stephan could. For a while, Terry had wondered why, but would soon discover for himself. When he was twelve years old, he and his mother got into a heated argument about his gender identity. As he insisted he was a boy, his mother insisted he was a girl. In anger, he went through his first shift, picking up on her fears. He watched himself change in the mirror behind her, seeing the visage of a demonic man he’d never seen before, but knew with the depths of his heart. Pale skin, black eyes with piercing light coming through them like a single star in the night sky, talon like fingertips, and a laugh so wretched it made him feel sick to bellow. His mother’s mind cracked from the horror, and she was sent away to a psychiatric care facility for treatment. She would stay there for the rest of her life.

After she was taken away in the ambulance, his father sat him down to fill in the blanks, revealing to him that he was in fact his stepfather, and not blood related. The resemblance Terry had grown to have of his father was a by-product of his powers. He was born from an occult union of his mother with a man possessed by the entity known as Nightmare, and his stepfather had rescued her from the cult she’d been inducted into afterward. He was not human, at least not entirely.

The Thought Collective

The next years of his life were difficult, as he chose to hide his nature from Stephan at his father’s request. Several nights, when his brother would have nightmares and seek him out for comfort, Terry had to lock his door and shoo him away, because he had uncontrollably turned into the monsters from those very dreams. As much as he loved Stephan, he had to distance himself to keep the boy safe. He had emotional problems in school, as well as trouble controlling his powers. When he was kicked out of classes for triggering a suicidal student by mistake with his powers, it became clear he needed help.

One day when he was sixteen, his father revealed to him that he was planning to send him off to a new-age camp known as The Thought Collective, for metaphysically gifted kids to learn how to use their powers for the betterment of others. Terry knew he was being sent away, and demanded to know the real reason. As he asked, a knife materialized in his chest. It was the one his father was holding to cook. It became clear that his stepfather was afraid he would have to kill him. Horrified by the prospect, and hurt that it had gotten this bad, Terry agreed to go to the camp.

The camp turned out to be a front for a government shadow project, studying and training metahumans with psychic ability or service to the interests of national defense. For Terry, this meant years of study and meticulous mental training to control his abilities. Eventually, he was able to suppress the shifting that came from sensing others fears, something which he does unconsciously. Eventually, however, upon turning 18, Terry escaped the camp and lived in hiding.

The Dreaming Wish

During his travels, Terry began to learn of the metaphysical world outside of the constraints of the Thought Collective's information. He ran into various people and entities in his cross-country journey to escape to California. One of these people was an aged woman named Zed, who taught him about the balance of energies and the details of Dreamwalking. Though he tried, even with her help, he still found himself in an empty void.

When he learned of the world of the Dreaming, he realized it was the world everyone else seemed to go to when they slept, but not him. A deep desire grew within him to be part of that world, or to at least see it instead of an empty void every night. He wished so deeply to dream.

One night, his wish was answered by a being known only as ‘Desire’. They spoke so softly to him, their voice like cold velvet against his skin. They offered him a choice, to burst the bubble he’d been trapped in. When he asked for an explanation, a whole new revelation was given to him. Not only was he a child of Nightmare, but by proxy, he was a child of a being known as Morpheus, or rather, Dream.

Dream had created Nightmare as an outlet for the most disgusting and petrifying horrors dreams could bring, and as a reflection of the parts of himself he hated most. Desire had then allowed this reflection to escape into another world, where Terry would then be conceived. Dream, realizing this new creation of unique life, sealed Terry into a bubble of darkness, severing him from the Dreaming so that he could not be used by Nightmare so readily.

Desire told him that now that Morpheus was dead he was ready to explore the world without constant threat. What they didn’t tell Terry was that Nightmare was waiting for him to dream for the first time, in order to take the body he had while trapping him in a realm of nightmares. Terry agreed, and Desire sent him to sleep, then bursting the bubble he had been contained within.

Immediately, Nightmare seized his body, and Terry was locked within Nightmare’s realm of Terror. It was left to Daniel(Morpheus’ successor), and Dr. Fate to help capture Nightmare before his reality warping destroyed the world. Daniel, once the task was done, released Terry from the realm of Terror, bringing him to Castle Dream and placing him within one of the towers. Nightmare was again cast into the Dreaming, trapped away from the Waking world.

In the Waking, Terry had been found by the Thought Collective, who captured him in Arizona. He was taken back to their headquarters in Gotham, and was put back into training. However, the mood of the organization had shifted. They were now far more focused of Terry's shifting powers, and his consumption of fearstuff. They began to bring him subject, drugging him into losing control and feeding off of them within a technological henge.

In the Dreaming, Terry sought help from a dreamer by he name of John Constantine, who he had heard stories of from Daniel and the other Endless. He reached out to him through his nightmares, pleading for rescue from his captivity, and to prevent the summoning of Nightmare to the Waking world.

#☽ the other side #dc/vertigo backstory

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nightmares--child · 8 months

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𝕋𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕖 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕒.𝕜.𝕒. ⲦⲈꞄꞄⲞꞄ or ⲦꞄⲀⴑⲘⲀ

GENERAL INFORMATION

Aliases: Terr, Terry, Dae, Dae-Dae, Terr-Bear Species: Metahuman/Mutant Endless Spawn Age: 20 Apparent Age: Late-teens Place of Birth: Pittsfield, Massachusetts, USA Date of Birth: April 30th ♉︎ Hair: Pure Black Eyes: Coppery Red Race: Korean-Jewish Nationality: US Citizen Height: 5’7” / 170cm Weight: 135 lbs / 61.2 kg Gender: Transmasc

DESCRIPTION Terrance is a young asian man with shaggy black hair and uniquely red-coppery eyes. His skin is extraordinarily pale, almost porcelain white, not matter how much time he’s made to stand in the sun. He commonly dresses in black clothes, with a somewhat goth aesthetic. His nails are always painted black, and he wears smudged black eyeliner. It looks like he’s put it on without a mirror.

In the Dreaming, Terry appears physically similar to his Waking form, though his clothes are replaced with far more draping, ornate mantles and dresses. On his chest is a skull, framed by extended wings that spread across his collar bone.

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Sexual Orientation: Panexual Relationship Status: Single Occupation: In school for Criminology and Criminal Psychology Religion/Practice: Agnostic, raised Jewish

OTHER INFORMATION

Mental Health Status: Depressed & Repressed, Isolated Disorders/Mental Illnesses: Depression, Panic Disorder Alignment: Neutral Good Personality: Quiet, Contemplative, Stern, Caring, Observant, Lonely Special Traits: Endless Spawn, Fear-Empath, Dreamwalker, Fear Stuff-Feeder

Likes: Alt Music, Emotive Painting, Hamster Care, Criminal Psychology Dislikes: Government, Authority, His Father(s), Destiny/Fate

POWERS & ABILITIES

Fear Sense

Terry can sense the ambient emotions of fear from those around him. If focused, he can sense the specific fears of his target. The deeper the fear, the more focus it takes to sense. He can use this power to track targets by their specific fears, instinctively intuit the pathology of their expression of fear, or sense the level of fear a person is currently feeling. When using his powers, the surroundings drain of all color and grow cold, while his eyes glow white-red. His voice shifts to one that doesn’t leave his lips, but already echoes within the minds of those around him as his lips move.

Fear Hunger

Due to his nature, Terry craves and hungers for ‘fear stuff’, a metaphysical compound created by mundane fears. If someone is afraid, they exude this stuff, and Terry consumes it through touch or oral consumption. According to him, the stuff tastes like ozone smells, and fills him with a sort of electrifying energy. Sometimes, if the fear stuff is potent, it can cause a bit of a ‘high’, where his body shudders and he acts a little inebriated.

Fear Shifting

Terry’s most notable power is being able to shapeshift and assume the powers of his target’s worst fears. This could be a direct transformation into a powerful being like Thor or the Hulk, with all their powers, or a personification of an abstract fear, like loneliness or aggression. His bright white-red glowing eyes persist in all forms, as does the effect of his voice.

Immortality

As a child of the Endless, the only thing that could effectively kill Terry would be another Endless. However, as the rules of the Aspects say, no Endless may harm another without harm coming to themselves, and thus, they do not attempt. Terry also maintains a good enough rapport with them to not incite such wrath. Traumatic deaths may take up to a week to fully heal from, and non-lethal injuries heal slower. It is only upon temporary death that the immortality sets in.

Personal Fears

If Terry, himself, is too afraid, his powers cease to work. He won’t be able to sense fears around him, shift into different forms, or consume fear stuff. His healing will even be affected if the wounds were inflicted in a time where he was feeling extreme fear.

Mirrors

Terry has a severe aversion to sharp reflections and mirrors. He will only look at himself in a photo that has already been taken, not even in his phone camera. This is due to the fact that if he looks into his own eyes, he will sense his own fears, sending himself into a panic.

Possession Target

As the child of Nightmare, and his only son, Terry is the only one who Nightmare has the ability to possess. If he does this, Nightmare can enter into the waking world and effect reality itself. This is another reason Terry avoids mirrors, because if he does manage to shift, it is always into Nightmare’s form.

BACKSTORY (dc/vertigo ver here.)

The First Years

Camp Hammond

One day when he was sixteen, his father revealed to him that he was planning to send him off to a camp known as Camp Hammond, for metaphysically and mutagenically altered kids to learn how to use their powers for their country. Terry knew he was being sent away, and demanded to know the real reason. As he asked, a knife materialized in his chest. It was the one his father was holding to cook. It became clear that his stepfather was afraid he would have to kill him. Horrified by the prospect, and hurt that it had gotten this bad, Terry agreed to go to the camp.

In the first week of training, a power assessment was held, during which Terry transformed into one of the other cadet’s fears as a demonstration. He took on the form of a giant spider, and she began to fire wildly. One of her shots hit another Cadet, Michael Van Patrick a.k.a. MVP, who was killed instantly. MVP had been a nice person to Terry, covering for him as he used the mens lockers, and advocating for his pronouns and placement in the male bunks. He grieved his loss deeply, perhaps even as a crush. He blamed himself for MVP’s fate, and relied on the camp counselor, Vance Astrovik.

Eventually his care was outsourced off-base to Dani Moonstar and Dr. Steven Strange, as consultants to Hammond. Strange discovered the connection between Terry and his nemesis, Nightmare, warning the teen about the possibility of possession. Terry had a hard time believing it until he saw a depiction of the entity in one of Strange’s books. It was the man he had turned into that horrid night that his mother was sent away. Desperate to prevent this, he underwent magical training to control himself, as well as power training from Dani Moonstar, to better manage his abilities.

When he returned to Camp Hammond, legitimately in a better place mentally and physically, the head of Camp Hammond, Agent Henry Gyrich, was disgusted. He saw this as the dulling of a powerful weapon, and instead sent Terry to a shadow ops group called the Shadow Initiative. According to Gyrich, this would set him back on the path of learning a proper offense, and be turned from a ‘pansy pacifist liberal’ to an omega level threat.

The Shadows of Dreams

Within the Shadow Initiative, Terry’s first mission went horribly. During a confrontation with the Hulk, his fear got the better of him, and his powers stopped working for the first time. The Hulk didn’t go easy, slamming the vulnerable eighteen year old into several cars. He sustained serious injuries, but didn’t die. After recovering, Terry was transferred to the investigations department of the Shadow Initiative, where his powers were instead geared toward tracking and fear pathology.

Over time, Terry sought out more training from Strange, in order to try and understand the world Nightmare came from. When he learned of the world of the Dreaming, he realized it was the world everyone else seemed to go to when they slept, but not him. A deep desire grew within him to be part of that world, or to at least see it instead of an empty void every night. He wished so deeply to dream.

Immediately, Nightmare seized his body, and Terry was locked within Nightmare’s realm of Terror. It was left to Dr. Strange, at the request of Daniel(Morpheus' successor), to help capture Nightmare before his reality warping destroyed the world. Daniel, meanwhile, released Terry from the realm of Terror, bringing him to Caste Dream and placing him within one of the towers. Nightmare was again cast into the Dreaming, trapped away from the Waking world.

Now, while receiving some education in criminology and criminal psychology, Terry works as a criminal profiler and consultant for the Shadow Initiative. In his sleeping hours, he remains in Tower Dream of Castle Dream, looking out over an entire kingdom he’s not allowed to freely traverse without company/protection.

#about

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nightmares--child · 8 months

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ⲧⲁ𝓰 𝓵ⲓ𝛓ⲧ

☽ truth in fear - facts about terry

☽ reflections - comics, fan art, or artwork

☽ in your nightmare - in character

☽ in the waking - out of character

☽ glimpses into nightmares - aesthetic, a lot of horror

☽ whispers of fears - musings

☽ falling deep - roleplay starting post

☽ the winding - roleplay reply

☽ fleeting dreams - ask/prompt meme

☽ the library - dash game

☽ quoth the raven - answer to ask

☽ wandering the dreaming - drabble/solo post

☽ the other side - Multiverse AU

MOBILE UNDER CUT

#☽ truth in fear

#☽ reflections

#☽ in your nightmare

#☽ in the waking

#☽ glimpses of nightmare

#☽ falling deep

#☽ the winding

#☽ fleeting dreams

#☽ the library

#☽ quoth the raven

#☽ wandering the dreaming

#☽ the other side

#☽ truth in fear #☽ reflections #☽ in your nightmare #☽ falling deep #☽ the winding #☽ fleeting dreams #☽ the library #☽ whispers of fears #☽ quoth the raven #☽ wandering the dreaming #☽ the other side #☽ glimpses of nightmare #☽ in the waking

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nightmares--child · 8 months

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// updating my blog to be more mobile friendly and editing my about page, updates will be shared

#☽ in the waking

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nightmares--child · 8 months

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Every morning was the same routine. The doctors would come to his room in their sterile white coats and with their placid fake smiles, and they would ask him questions while giving him medicine. He didn't know what the medicine was, but it made him feel like his whole body was apart from his mind, loosely tied together by physical threads of sinew and wet flesh. He tried to fight it a few times, but that only ended up with him being held down by a gaggle of roughneck men while they pushed it into his veins by force.

After a few months, it became easier to let them do what they wanted to him.

Then, when they were done injecting him, they would put his useless body into a wheelchair and push him through a maze of corridors and doorways, none of which his drug-addled brain would allow him to remember past their vague color and shape.

The drugs would level out into a haze by the time they got him into the room and situated the center of their technological henge. They were just present enough to leave his scattered brain nice and suggestible. He was their behaved little subject, ready for his next round of tests.

"Good morning, Terry," Dr. Pachard's recognizable and gravely voice said, her tone professional but falsely sweetened as she checked his pupils with her penlight. "How are you feeling?"

He was sluggish to answer, voice soft and quiet as a sleepy door mouse. "Fantastic, Dr. Pachard. Can I go back to my room, please..?" He asked it every time, it was almost a running joke, at this point.

Dr. Pachard gave him the same smile she always did and said what she always said. "No, Terry, you can't." She attached the nodes to his head, an entire mess of wires and pads to monitor his brain activity through the session. He hated how it tugged at his messy black hair, and how it pressed down on his scalp, but he put up no resistance.

Again, after a few months, it became easier to let them do what they wanted.

She stood back up from her work, admiring the placements as she so often did. "There we are. Now please, Terry, relax and wait for the Phobic to arrive."

'The Phobic' is what they called the people they would bring in for him to break. The poor souls that entered shivering and left empty. He never wanted to do it, but they made him. The drugs made it too easy for him to lose control, just like they wanted.

Today an mature woman came shuffling in, dressed in a patients gown and wearing the same electrode cap as him. Nervous and trembling, she was sat down across from him by two of the guards. They said nothing as they strapped her to her chair, even as she asked, "Why are you strapping me down? I thought this was therapy..."

Over the intercom came Pachard's voice, "Ms. Clayton, please stay calm. This is all part of the process. Remember, this will help you."

"This will help me... This will help me, this will help me..." she repeated to herself, quiet and stammering. She lifted her gaze up from her feet to try and look at his face.

He couldn't even meet her eye, knowing what was about to happen. The room emptied, save for the two of them, and the bolt-locks engaged soon after. White, artificial light filled the room, making his photosensitive eyes squint shut. "Okay, Terry," Pachard began, "Focus on her. Focus on the energy of her fear."

He was already feeling it from the moment she had entered. Her barely quelled fright, quivering and bubbling within, was teasing at the edges of his subconscious like an animal scratching at the door. He actively resisted, most of the time, but with the drugs in his system, he found it too hard to deny. With the instruction given, he fought hard to keep himself at bay, shaking his head. "Not today, please..." he said under his breath.

"Terry, you don't have to make it harder on yourself. You're helping her by doing this. Now, focus."

Again, it tugged at his psyche -- the instinctual hunger. He swallowed and shut his eyes tight. Oh, he could see it inside of her. Such permanently echoing songs of terror nestled so deeply in her mind that he felt compelled to answer their call.

Undoubtedly, they were getting the readings they wanted from his brain, since Pachard encouraged, "There you go, Terry, like that. Now what do you see?"

The hunger seeped through with the drugs, and resistance gave way to nature. "Hay is laying in piles around her feet. Crows are cawing in the broken rafters above. There's a smell in her nose and a thumping in her heart."

"H-hey..." the woman said through a wavering voice, "What are you doing? How did you know about... Stop it..." She sank into herself and closed her eyes.

The fearstuff began to seep from her body, rolling out onto the floor like fog. No one but him could see it, but the machine henge still picked up on its presence. He heard the whirring of the monoliths, beginning to sap the fearstuff away from him. His starvation demanded more. "He's there. Long, skinny fingers. Needles and sprays. The mask is there, but there's no face. Only the mask..."

"Stop it!" she shrieked and ducked her head down, pulling hard against her restraints.

"Keep going, Terry," Pachard pressed. She didn't need to, it was instinct by now.

His eyes bolted open as the final impulses kicked in. "I know... I know what you're afraid of, Mary." He could feel it coming on, now.

The Shift.

The color of the room drained away as it began to happen. Bone stretched painfully. Muscles tore and healed and tore again. Organs relocated, popping and squelching. He stood up with a scream of pain, the last bits of his own form sinking away to be replaced by the terror-induced visage of her very worst fear.

The Scarecrow, a rogue he'd never once met, now stood in his place, dressed in burlap and flannel and rope, with needles on his fingers and holes for eyes. "Mary..." he said lowly, his voice no longer his own, but the one she remembered. "Show me your fear!"

With her guttural scream, it flooded forth from her. Fearstuff. The very thing his deepest instinct told him to consume. He fed upon it, breathing it all in with a maniacal laugh only she had heard before. Her hoarse shouts and cries went unanswered as he approached her for more sustenance and satisfaction. From then, it became a blur. She made a filling meal. By the time it was done, and his faculties were returning to him, her catatonic husk was being escorted out of the room. He was on the ground, sweaty and cold and violated. They had made him do it again.

He felt dizzy with the fill of fearstuff in his system, coursing with barely restrained energy. His body shook with the waves of power flowing through him. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Pachard's heels approaching him. Click clack click clack. The sound rattled his fragile mind. Kneeling down beside him, she began to remove the headset. "Good work, Terry. That amount of energy all at once has definitely gotten us some progress."

With disgust, he welled up a spit and launched it at her. Pachard ducked back, catching it right on the neck. As she wiped it away in stunned silence, he hissed out, "Damn you... She was a person and I..."

Pachard's calm veneer seemed chipped, and she stood up to make room for the guards to come and retrieve him. "She was part of the plan. We're closer now. That should mean something to you."

He forced himself up by his arms, attempting to drag himself toward her in an infuriated lunge until he was pinned to the ground by four, musclebound arms. "You bitch! You fucking bitch! You don't know what you're doing! He's going to tear the world apart, you idiots!" A sharp pain jabbed into his shoulder, and the woozy sway of tranquilizer began to weaken him into a pile on the floor.

As his consciousness gave way, he heard Pachard say, "Get her back to her room. We'll start again tomorrow."

#☽ wandering the dreaming #☽ the other side #tw transphobia

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nightmares--child · 8 months

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ig: iambrandon747

#☽ glimpses of nightmare

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nightmares--child · 9 months

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Oh no. Oh no.

What had started as a trickle of fearstuff, delicately tempting him to consume, had become more like a tsunami of overwhelming temptation. He was bathed in it, every pore accepting the feast so very willingly. It was overwhelming, the rush of electrifying power and energy all flowing through him at concentrated point. He trembled in its wake while doing his best to keep his focus on the man at hand.

But with great fear came even fewer moments than he was hoping for. His communication would surely end soon with the nightmare's veil slowly lifting. He could feel it coming on through John, the cool of a waking sweat and the nausea of dizzying realization. There were seconds of dreamtime, at most.

The room began to crumble below them, parting the two of them by feet within moments. He extended his hand out in desperation, fingers outstretched for John's bound head. "You must go to Gotham!" The ground below him gave way, and he began to fall into the fathomless void below.

Desperate, he shouted out, unsure if the words would carry along the waves of the unconscious or not. "Find me! Stop them from summoning Nightmare!"

He just ate Piggy... Swallowed him like a two-quid kebab. John stiffened into a near-painful degree, the shock of it grabbing him by the nervous system and rattling his thoughts loose from his already scrambled mind. It was hard to hear the words past the surreal confusion, but the instant the intent of those words sunk through, it came to him, along with a fear deep enough to yank at his entire equilibrium.

Jallakuntilliokan.

Summoned by his recollection, it came through the walls. Past the geometry of the now wavering room crashed the tail of the unfathomably large serpent, and its wretched scream shook the barriers of the dream with violence and hatred. And here he was, tied down again, only this time there were no beautiful women to help him prevent the apocalypse through ritualistic sex and ecstasy.

John could do nothing but watch as it coiled up through the air, arcing into a path set straight for him. Its jaw opened wide, exposing innumerable rows of jagged teeth, all rotating and grating against one another with sickening screeches. He shook against the table, feeling the leather around his joints shift to winding cobras, tightening further against the skin. "No... No!" His chest and guts tightened into stone, threatening to rip themselves apart in terror.

#☽ the winding #laughing hellblazer #☽ the other side

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nightmares--child · 9 months

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Was this to be a common confusion for the few dreamers who knew the face of the original Dream? Was he truly so similar in appearance that those muddled in vision by their own nightmares would not see him, but his long absent psuedo-father? It caused him pause, but only for a moment, there were other things at hand -- far more important things. "He is gone, Constantine," was the answer he gave.

Piggy reached for the dial again, ready to bring forth the next wave of fear-inducing agony. It would not come to pass. He could not let it, no matter how tempting the fearstuff ebbing forth from such a vivid nightmare was. A less satisfactory meal would have to do. He took Piggy into his hand, the man became nothing more than a trinket in his grip, squealing and begging for freedom.

It was a pitiful little nightmare, one easily replaced by enough time dwelling in Constantine's psyche later. He crushed the small, little thing, consuming it with a single breath in. It fell past his lips like sand, drizzling into his maw. A meal, albeit small. Deliciously untouched for years of desperate repression. Satisfying enough.

To return to the task at hand, he turned his shadowy gaze back onto the man below him. "John Constantine, there is not much time!" He held onto the sides of the man's head, not allowing him freedom from the binds that held him down so tightly. He felt the tugging at his shoulders, beginning to pull him from the nightmare he had pried open. His words had to be few, but clear. "You must go to Gotham. Find me."

The walls of the nightmare atrophied to a thin, barely resistant barrier. Roofs began to crumble under the weight of oncoming consciousness. "You must remember, John. Remember Mercury. Remember the Fear Machine!"

Funny, how memories liked to rear their ugly sodding heads. Months without so much as a flicker of recollection, and now, here he was, back in it. Even after all this time, he could still recall the flashes of light that would dance across his eyes whenever the machine started up, the burn of skin pulling against leather and metal, his own uncontrolled yelps and screams tearing at his throat.

Just a dream. Another bloody nightmare. He always used to tell himself that during the sessions. Was it true? Or had the years and years of freedom all been the dream? It was hard to tell with what felt like a million jolts running through his swollen skull.

"John..."

A voice. One he didn't know. Part of the seizure? Or just another ghost to add onto the tall and ever-growing stack? Eyes flinching open, his gaze rested squarely on a face all too familiar and unfamiliar to him.

"John Constantine..."

Black shadows where eyes should be, pierced only by points of red light. Black hair, messy and hanging in jagged edges around a colorless face. Through the blur, he could think of only one name. If he didn't know better, if he hadn't heard it from a first-hand guide into the bloody nothingness of Death, herself, he would have guessed what his mouth blathered out. "M-Morpheus...?"

Wasn't he...

Dead?

No matter. He was a ticket, wasn't he? "Get me out of here!" He pulled hard against the strips of tight leather bound across his extremities.

#☽ the winding #laughing hellblazer #self rp #☽ the other side

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