#oh fuck i stayed up until seven watching sandman

[klarion-the-witch-boy]

Thrilled, man, thrilled! Thrilled to be looking up words I don't know while watching Sandman! It's not really meant as a brag, but I seldom encounter words I don't know (or can't guess) out in the wild, and Morpheus dropped two in the span of like a minute.

For the record, the words were:

Vavasor

Annulet

But I'm not convinced Annulet was used correctly, tbh, lmao. I'm means, literally, "small ring" and, dictionary-wise, a band around a column (architecture) or a charge in the form of a small ring (heraldry) (a charge being an emblem/device on a heraldic shield; yes I had to look that up, too).

I am. I'm thrilled. Almost as thrilled as when someone commented on my fic to tell me they got to experience new words from me. (The only thing better than receiving a gift of new words is being able to give a gift of new words, in my opinion.)

#out of context shit #nightblogging #lmao #oh fuck i stayed up until seven watching sandman

[xadoheandterra]

Series: still waters run deep Title: Transitive Existence Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix + Comics semi-fusion), Danny Phantom Chapters: I Enablers: @demigodorion @azthedragon @kbobrian (because you three litereally went “do it” soooooo....) Characters: Death of the Endless | Teleute, Time, Clockwork, Danny Fenton (as a baby) Pairings: Night/Time (historical) Tags: How Not To Talk To Your Children, Time is an A+ Parent (sarcasm), Death is a good Big Sister, Baby Danny is Love, The Observants Are Assholes (with the occasional exception), Fucking With Canon For Fun, Fandom Fusion Summary: A New Endless is born, a new sibling of the Seven, a new child of Night and Time. This, predictably, has consequences. Not that Danny really cares. He’s just here to live his life and maybe make friends with these people who’ve been at this whole ‘Endless’ thing longer than he has. And okay maybe the idea of older siblings that aren’t Jazz is an interesting prospect and maybe being accepted by someone who understands is on that list somewhere.

Oh, and there might be something about rescuing a cosmic entity in there but whose counting?

...

Teleute was not sure what she expected when she felt the new-birth bloom in the back of her mind, but it certainly was not this. Baffled, silent, she stared down at the blue eyed dark haired babe that stared back up at her from his crib--his human crib, with his human parents, in this oh-so-human world--although the babe himself did not stay silent. He cooed instead, reached up to grasp at the strands of her hair that drifted free and left Teleute wondering. This boy was incomplete, a half-thought, half-finished little idea unsure of its own nature, own designation, and yet somehow so utterly human and whole in the same moment. She could feel the edges of her father and mother that hovered there, the shape of form that was to come--but at the same time she couldn't parse it. She was not Destiny; Potmos had always been the better at them in reading souls, even the 'souls' that comprised of them and their siblings. Death was merely the comforting sight, the friend at their side all their lives until their ends--and the psychopomp who guided them thereafter.

Quietly, reservedly, Teleute reached out her hand to the babe and watched as pale fingers grasped at her tight. Already so strong, already beyond the human ability and yet only hours old...she sighed, heavy and quiet in the air. Softly, gently, Death whispered to the infant, "Do not call for me unless you area ready, little one, and even then...even then, hesitate." Carefully she pulled her finger back, watched as the babe stared at her as she backed away--as his eyes scrunched up with tears, as he began to bawl. She said as she faded from all human sight, "I will watch you, little brother to be," before she left in a flutter of wings.

For the longest moment Teleute settled herself into her role of Death and guided soul after soul to the Sunless Lands. For a moment she put out of mind the little new-birth that heralded a new brother and focused on her work and role and Function. She did not need to, Teleute knew this. She could honestly say fuck it just like the Prodigal and step away from her position and let the souls guide themselves. It is not like the world would devolve into senseless, unending, undying life if she had. Teleute was not fool enough to believe that without her life, and death, would not find a way. Once, a long, long time ago she had even debated it, back in that moment when she realized the dichotomy of her existence meant even without her direct interference it would not end. Now she worked and guided and walked among the living with passion and purpose in her role to provide some measure of comfort to those lost. She could choose to be where she wanted, after all, and she knew every soul as well as she knew herself.

When the last soul that needed a friendly face had found their way, Death settled herself down on a park bench to stare up at the stars in the sky. She did not tell her siblings that often she slipped away after a day of work to just relax and enjoy herself. She had human friends and human interactions aplenty; she took time to herself, breaks to recenter, to resettle before she went back to work. In those hours sometimes she would try to see if she could unearth her brother's whereabouts, where the Prodigal had gone and vanished off to in an effort to drop him the latest invite to dinner. Sometimes she thought back on the petty squabbles she and her siblings got into, other time she would think of those long early days when Time and Night were there and tried to act as parents to new-found concepts. They had never been good at it, but Death considered that they were the first parents to any newfound thing, really, and long decided that since they had no one else to set the bar or to learn from, perhaps they did alright in the end.

This, though--and her mind drifted back to her newest little brother--was the first time that Death had felt the touch of Time and Night since they left long before Delight became Delirium. Mania, after the remaking, had not met their parents. She did not know them the way her siblings did despite remembering them, and a part of Death hurt with the thought. Neither their mother nor father had deigned to appear when the youngest of them had been broken, twisted, and left to rot until the newest aspect of herself had reformed from the ashes. To be fair, neither did Death or her siblings either. None of them had known. Somehow, in some way, Delirium-that-was-no-longer-Delight had kept the truth of it not just from Death who should have felt it, should ha r been there, but also from Destiny, and that realization burned.

It burned with the same intensity of the Prodigal's absence, with now Dream's absence from the family dinners. Now this, a new baby brother and the fresh feel of parents that Teleute had not felt in an age. For a long moment she tilted her head back and stared at that starless expanse of a sky and wondered what this meant--should she seek out her older brother and beg him for portents? Would he even bother to tell her? Destiny had grown more and more distant in the years, and even this past dinner he did not even bother to speak as his siblings bickered around him. He sat there, nose in his book, eyes unseeing as he ate the meal that Teleute and Mania had created. She could feel Potmos draw away from them, like Dream drew away from them, like the Prodigal--like Destruction, Olethros. Their family of Endless breaking apart at the seams--or already broken. Teleute, Death, clasped her fingers tight and closed her eyes against the pain of it; she breathed.

Time settled beside her, the world held still in a moment. She didn't speak as he rested hand upon her knee. She didn't look to him, look upon him, or even move as her father grasped tight. She felt that hand upon her knee shift from impossibly ancient and thin-boned, to barely able to cover the entirety of her with his palm.

"I ask that you keep this to yourself, my little death," Time said, and Death swallowed heavily at the epithet. "He is young, right now. Too young for the machinations of your siblings."

Death's hands didn't shake, but she wished they would. Her voice remained steady as she said, soft and perhaps on the edge of bitter, "We have not seen you in an age, and this is what you ask of me?"

"Teleute...."

"Does Destiny know?" Death raised her head and stared at their father's infant-ancient face, wrapped tight in hooded cloak of the deepest shades of the night sky--rich purple hues that bordered upon black, with nebulae in their folds. A gift, he once said, from Night in the early days of their courtship.

Time stared back at her, hair aged white instead of the bright red of his youth. He said a soft, "No."

Death searched his face, lips pressed thin. She asked, "Were you even going to tell me, if I had not felt him?"

"...no," Time acquiesced, and it felt like Despair's ring had hooked into her navel to spill all that she was upon the ground. Death closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. "Teleute...."

"I do not want to hear it, father," Teleute said, and pulled her knee out of his grasp as she stood. "You will have my silence," she added, then breathed slow and measured. "I have work to do." Her wings beat at her back, and Death readied herself back to work when Time spoke up again with soft and heavy words.

"I had not meant to bring another into this life after what happened to your sister," Time said with slow words, "to my daughter. I had no intentions of ever seeing your mother again after that."

"You weren't there," Teleute said shortly.

"I am always there," Time countered softly. "I was there as Delight shattered, and there as she rebuilt herself alone. Just as I am there for Olethros, and my little Morpheus." Death stilled.

"You know where Dream is?" she asked, and her voice broke. "Has he..." she shook herself, the question burned, but then she decided she did not want to know. She was not certain she could handle the thought that Dream had decided to go the way of Destruction. With a push of her wings, Death vanished.

...

Time frowned as Teleute ran from their conversation. He felt that tightness in his chest that had been ever-present since the youngest of his seven children had such a shattering and reforming that had echoed across all time. It had driven even him to his knees, he who kept his distance in the realms between. For a long, long moment Time stayed upon the bench that Teleute had seated herself and stared out into the park just outside the hospital that housed the small form of his youngest-oldest, the eighth that his children had never known of and yet always knew--or so Time had thought, once. Perhaps that paradoxical nature of this child of his had affected more than he thought.

With a whisper-sigh Time got to his feet, and with a twist of his cloak he vanished from the park entirely. It took only a breath, a twist of the hands of a clock to appear in the room with the babe in question. He leaned against his staff, heavy hearted as he stared down into the crib to the slumbering babe. He reached with one hand and gently stroked his finger down the child's cheek, a small, bittersweet smile on his face. He could remember his other children when they were like this--small, half-formed concepts of the universe. None of them remembered the age, so assured that they had come into this world fully formed from Night's loins. Time felt no reason to disabuse them of the thought; it was amusing, and always a fond memory to look upon. He may present himself as aloof and uncaring in the way he kept from them these eons, but Time loved each of his children uniquely. He always did, even if it baffled him sometimes.

The room was filled with the smell of ozone as a tear ripped its way through Reality. Time withheld the grimace, in part thankful that Morpheus currently was incapable of feeling such a thing, even if he rarely paid attention to what he called 'the Waking' so focused on his Dreamers when they slept. It was the smallest of blessings, his third eldest child's current predicament--a blessing, in that he would be kept from this knowledge for some time yet, but also a curse. Time glanced to the side, eyes alight on Morpheus' curled up and naked form in a place far from here but here all the same. He watched the way his chest twitched with a breath it could not take given stagnant air even as Time stroked a finger down the cheek of the babe in the crib in front of him.

It was long practice that allowed him to split his attention in two ways, technically three given the sound of booted feet behind him that held just as much important as his children if only because it kept his children safe.

"Your time is up."

Time pulled his gaze from Morpheus, and then from the infant before him to glance to the figure at his back. The hood of his cloak tumbled into his eyes as he did so, narrowed as they were on the familiar and apologetic form of the creature that stood there.

"I know," Time said and slowly closed his eyes.

"I am sorry," they said back, words soft, and Time hummed a response. "Come."

For a moment Time dithered, hand pressed to the child's cheek. Then, he said almost as a whisper, "Our arrangement?"

There was no response, and Time felt something in him stutter. He had hoped he had chosen right with this one; that given they were not born to the rest, but acquired in ancient times past. He had hoped to cultivate something to aide him in the years to come--someone who would listen instead of order--

"I will not tell the Council of the child." The voice of the one-eyed, pale-skinned creature cut through Time's racing thoughts enough to calm him. "They will not hear of him, or his Endless nature, from me." There was just the slightest edge of impatience to the other, enough to pull Time away from his child with a soft breath. "We need to leave now, or else I cannot guarantee they won't discover the news as it is...."

Time bowed his head, murmured a soft, "Yes." He looked for the last time at his youngest-oldest, the child that had always been there, yet was only just-born. Heavy was the crown that would settle upon his head if all went well, and yet--and yet. Time leaned over, pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, and whispered softly, "Rest well, Daniel. We will see each other again one day."

"Clockwork."

"I am coming, Grias," Time--Clockwork--uttered and turned to follow his Observant-attendant through the portal back to the Infinite Realms. Back in the vast emptiness of a realm just-born and as old as Clockwork himself he rolled his shoulders and looked over to Grias who scrubbed clawed hands through a head of hair with a huff. For a moment Clockwork watched them, watched how they stood there and muttered to themself for half a moment, and then sighed in relief.

Grias straightened; their silver hair fluffed up as they turned to regard the 'Master of Time' and one of the few 'Neverborne' -- cosmic entities that had long taken residence in the vastness that was the Realm Between. "We made it back just in time. They are not aware of our trip."

Clockwork nodded his head. He did not say thanks, although he felt thankful all the same. To be given that chance to see his child, to speak with another of his children he had not seen in eons--it meant more than Grias possibly knew. He let the other being settle into themself and the energies of this place and busied his attention with the clocks upon his wrist. He twisted them each so that he could return his gloves to his fingers, and then so that they were properly placed for him to see--seven, in total. He let his fingers linger upon the third of the watches before he moved on.

"Lady Nocturne is also not aware of our trip, so I will count that as a success," Grias spoke up into the silent after a moment. They glanced over to Clockwork with their single good eye, the one not hidden behind the black cloth wrap meant to hide its mangled nature.

Clockwork raised his head, lips pressed together as he stared with fathomless red eyes. "Grias, your help...."

Grias shook their head. He said a short, "You have had that child for as long as I have known you. It is...if this was to happen now of all times, then so be it."

"You did not have to agree to keep it from Nocturne," Clockwork countered softly, just the slightest bit hesitant as he stared at the other.

With a snort Grias shook their head and muttered a short, "I am not getting in the middle of whatever it is going on between you. You want to keep it secret? Fine." Clockwork inclined his head a moment later in understanding and acceptance of the words and Grias let off a heavy breath before he clasped his hands together. "Now, enough dallying, Clockwork. The Council has convened and demands your presence. Something about the Physical that needs attending. Come."

Clockwork grasped his staff and drifted off after Grias who turned and stared in the direction of the Tower. He said a soft, near placid, "As you say."

#fic: still waters run deep #fic: transitive existence #danny phantom #the sandman #fanfic #time of the endless #clockwork #death of the endless

[createuntiltheendoftime]

Okay so this is that fic/one shot i wrote all night. here i guess. its inspired by @discocritic’s post and also gokarting yesterday godammit don’t judge me

im so sorry, this is terribly formatted and there are so many poorly written sentences, its basically word vomit. I'm so disappointed but so not surprised.

“Party, the race is gonna start and we don’t have much time!”

Of course. Of the seven word quota Kobra spoke per day, it had to be complaining that Party was taking too long.

 “Phoenix Witch, Kobes, cool your jets.” Secretly, Party wished his brother would stop racing. He loved the fact that Kobra found something he loved, but it was so damn dangerous, and their lives were already filled with enough of that.

But Party walked out the door with him again and again.

And again today, to Kobra’s insistent hand waving and gesturing to the Trans Am. “Any longer and I woulda left without you, asshole. Ghoul’s already at the Track, Jet’s... somewhere. He’s with the Kid.”

Even more words. Weird day.

Luckily, the two of them weren’t all that far from the Crash Track, only an hour or so, and they got there and hour before the race started.

“You’re paranoid, Kobes. You have all the time in the world.” Party grinned as he stepped out of the car

Kobra pulled off his helmet and glanced down. “Phoenix Witch, Party, I wanted to hang out with Sand.” Kobra said grudgingly.

“Ya shoulda said so.” Party winked. “You know where I’ll be.”

Kobra grunted and turned away. He took his bike down to the track, into his stall he claimed for himself, when he first became a Motorbaby. Surprisingly, you didn’t have to worry much about sabotage, unless some really nasty asshole was racing that day, which Kobra had checked the roster, and that was a hard no.

“Bettin’ on ya!” a ‘Joy called out, and Kobra half waved in response.

Betting wasn’t really betting. You bet the amount of carbons you wanted. Half went between the people around you, like normal betting, half went to the racers, which was how they made their carbons. On one hand it was great, the better you got, the more people were willing to bet on you. The downside was a single bad race, a single crash could throw you back to the bottom, and you had to pay back a quarter of what everyone bet on you. When you’re good, a quarter is a lot of carbons.

“Kobra!” Sand waved him over to where a group of racers were standing in a circle, holding coveted cans of Monster, and chatting about the race to come.

“Hi Sand.” Kobra said quietly.

“Damn. I have got a feeling in my bones, this race is going to be a good race.” Sandman grinned, and leaned against the wall.

Kobra nodded, even though he was only half feeling it. He was excited to race, of course, but Party never had the greatest attitude toward his racing. Maybe he was right. Wouldn’t stop Kobra.

“Hey y’all Motorbabies, we got five minutes til race time so get your asses on the track and get ready to eat shit!” Some Race Runner was yelling up and down the lounges.

Kobra smiled wanly, and walked back to his stall, checking his bike for problems. Trust, but verify.

Slowly, he made his way to the starting line, and pulled on his helmet.

The hum of his bike settled him, and the anxiety he felt about the race turned into excited apprehension.

“Three!” Kobra tightened his grip on his handles. “Two!” He licked his lips and tensed. This was so familiar. He knew this. Understood it. Lived it. “One!” Kobra shot forward, throwing himself to the inside and causing four or five racers to skid and swerve. It was a dangerous move, and Kobra was oh-so good at it. It made him giddy, the feeling of racing against other people. He loved racing, even against Sandman. And he loved racing with Sandman.

Speaking of the Motorbaby, Sand pulled up just behind him, having just cut off another racer, who had barely recovered from her skidding swerve enough to stay upright.

Kobra grinned, and poured on speed, pulling ahead of Sand and the others. This race was almost ten miles long, and would take almost five minutes. Kobra glanced around in a half-second, relishing the blurred gold and brown of the Crash Track.

There was a roaring behind him, a massive jolt threw him off balance, and he was flying.

Everything happened slowly, and he heard Sand yell “are you fucking suicidal!?” And when he noticed what was happening, his scream of Kobra’s name, carried away by the wind. Then he hit the ground, and his bike landed on one of his legs, and searing pain burned into his whole body. After a moment, Kobra tried and failed at pushing the bike off him, only succeeding in moving it further down his leg as he tried to stand. He dropped back into the sand, and the last thing he remembered was that thought he had, right before the race. What if Party’s right?

Party watched as the first bike crossed the finish line. First Sandman, to a round of enthusiastic cheers and shouts. The someone he recognized, but didn’t know the name of.

Ghoul voiced his thoughts. “Where’s Kobra?”

“Maybe something happened with his bike and he’s coming soon.” Party said, his voice shaking. But the race ended, and there was still no Kobra. Sandman sprinted up to Party, face worried.

“No.” Party said. “No no no.”

Sand looked at him with an apologetic expression. “It’s Kobra. Some dumb fuck tried to get past him an’ me an’ flipped him off the track. I woulda stopped but if I tried Ida ended up right next to him.”

Party’s breath caught in his throat and Ghoul saw him pale.

“Where?” Party’s voice cracked.

“Roundabouts mile three.”

“Whose the asshole?” Ghoul asked, but Party was already gone. Party shoved past the race runners, who tried to stop him from running onto the track, and he punched one out before the other backed off.

The breath in his chest was burning by mile two, and the third mile passed far too slowly for his liking.

Finally he saw a mangled bike, and someone lying underneath it. Party sprinted the last twenty feet, and made sure Kobra wasn’t caught in the bike before shoving it away. “Hey,” he said softly, choking on a salty lump in his throat. Three people came up to him, slowly, as if worried by what he’d do.

“As soon as Sandman reported what happened we got down here and tried to help him. We left him there cause we didn’t wanna hurt him further.”

Party heard them, but didn’t acknowledge their existence. “C’mon, Kobra.” He muttered. Party didn’t shake him, scared it would hurt him. “C’mon, Kobes, I told you this was a bad idea!” Party shouted. That wasn’t true, Party had never told him that about something he loved so much. “I told you, and now look at us! Kobra, wake up! Wake up, goddammit!” He was practically screaming now, his voice hoarse, and the people around him unsure of what to do. Party looked up angrily. “Radio!” he snapped.

Someone put a radio in his hand, and he tuned into Ghoul’s frequency, one of the only people he knew that carried a personal radio, something he and the Missile had been working on.

“What do you want.” Ghoul’s voice answered.

“I-I need Jet down here. Right now. Keep Missile with Sand or someone up there, she shouldn’t see—“ Party broke off.

“You got it, Crash Queen.”

“We have medics.”

“Then get them down here!” Party snapped. Kobra looked like he shouldn’t have survived the crash, with his arms twisted at horrifying angles, one of his wrists swollen black and blue. One of his jeans legs was burned away from the heat of his motorcycle, and the skin was red and shiny from the burn. It looked like his bike cut him across the chest, and there was blood blooming on his shirt. “Please wake up, Kobra. Please, please.” After a moment, Party shook his head. “This is taking to long.” Party moved to pick up Kobra, ready to take him back to the starting line.

“You shouldn’t do that, you could hurt him further!” Someone protested, but Party shrugged them off.

“If I don’t, he’ll die from heat stroke, so shut up.”

Kobra was heavy, and about an inch taller than Party, so carrying him was a bit awkward. “C’mon Kobra, just a little further.” Kobra’s blood smeared on Party’s jacket, contrasting violently with the blue leather. Party heard him take a shuddering breath, the deepest one so far, and he relaxed, just slightly.

It took him and hour to get back, with Kobra’s added weight, and the three Race Runners following him up the track, offering to take his weight for a bit. Party snapped a no at them each time.

“Kobra!” Party heard Sandman yell across the lounges. Ghoul ran up with him, with noticeably bloody knuckles. “Please tell me he’s alright.” Sand said.

“Where’s Jet.” Party said shortly.

Ghoul jerked his head behind him, and Jet ran up. “Missile’s hanging with a couple other kids who came to watch the race... Ghoul, you didn’t tell me it was Kobra.” Jet’s voice shook. “Put him down.” After a second, he continued. “He broke his wrist, and a couple ribs, and his leg’s burned real bad. When he wakes up he’s gonna have a nasty concussion, and’ll be out of it for a while, but he’ll survive, thank the Witch.”

Kobra groaned and slowly blinked his eyes open, glassily staring at the four ‘Joys crowded around him.

“Wha’ ha’end?” Kobra slurred quietly. Party turned away as Sand started explaining.

Party’s torn mind churned over a paradox. On one hand, if this happened again, and Party wasn’t there, what would happen to Kobra? On the other, Party wasn’t sure he wanted to know until it was over, one way or another.

One thing he knew for sure was he never wanted to be at this track again.

#danger days the true live of the fabulous killjoys #kobra kid #party poison #jet star #fun ghoul #headcanon #i'm so sorry for my existence #Crash Track #why did i write this #this is literally the worst #why do i do this to myself #i apologize for my inconvenience #tw blood #tw injury #i don't think this is how tags work #1659 words #1000+ words #here goes nothing