#i hope you enjoy this one tumblr!!

[revidenant]

Going Ghost

[caffichai]

More art for Coldshot's Called Shot by my friend @fishing-lesbian-catgirl! If you like spicy content, go give it a read!

The final piece, at least for now! Somehow I did these in reverse chronological order, but I guess it worked out in the end

Hey, if you're here, check this out!

[swampybogg]

[wuntrum]

2025 horror pin up calendar!!

print version | digital (/print it yourself) version

a labor of love, truly <3 prepare for the new year with 12 suggestive (and silly) horror characters :) featuring characters from: american psycho, bride of re-animator, the evil dead, hannibal, jason x, frankenhooker, alien, an american werewolf in london, jennifer's body, saw, the thing, and scream! to see the full specs of the calendar, check out the pages above!

[ominouspuff]

I Can Despair No Further / From Here Each Step is Defiance

REQUESTS / BLOG EVENT

Request from @husborth - Palette #1 - Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker - Death of the Cynic in Me

[duskerus]

⚠️TMA S4-5 SPOILERS ⚠️

One way or another. Together.

[themisterhip]

Is my birthday today, so now is his birthday too lmao

[stubbyartist]

have this izutade comic… or whatever. tch

[nachobsns]

Hello - I was impressed and extremely relieved by what you wrote in the post about the cult mentality of the Left RE Israel and accusations of genocide. You mentioned that you bought into the mindset until recently. If it's all right for me to ask, what was it that helped you break out of it? (Please feel free to delete/ignore if you'd rather not answer!)

thank you!! and no worries about asking— i think i put something in my pinned post about how people are welcome to send asks about this stuff, although my story isn’t super interesting. i fell down the typical online rabbithole, a couple weeks after october 7; i knew what had happened, at least vaguely, but the posts trickling onto my dash were all about the (undeniably tragic) loss of life in gaza, with little to no acknowledgment of the hamas atrocities that had started the war, so my narrative was pretty one-sided from the beginning. it just continued to snowball as the months went on and people became more radicalized, calling into question the reality of the 10/7 attacks and the humanity of all israelis. i never went all the way down the pipeline to full-on endorsing hamas or justifying their attacks, at least on a personal level, thank god, but i would reblog other people’s posts referring to hamas as a “resistance movement” and calls to boycott starbucks and mcdonald’s and condemnation of the “zionist media” etc etc etc. what pulled me out of it wasn’t any one thing— if someone had directly called me on my flawed logic and antisemitic biases while i was in this mindset, i doubt it would have done much, just reinforced my belief that i was on the “right side of history” and zionists were aggressors who couldn’t be reasoned with. it was mostly just passive observance and a slow exposure to other perspectives. i’m pretty sure the first post that led me to question my thinking was an ask on jewish-vents, which popped up on my dash in like, late july. this led me down another rabbithole, first scouring every single post on jewish-vents, then moving on to more popular jewish blogs that i had seen on “zionist blocklists” (applesauce42069, xclowniex, and spacelazarwolf were probably some of the blogs that influenced me the most, though i told myself i was just hate-scrolling at first, lol). i felt incredibly guilty seeing all the harm the movement i was a part of had caused to random jews and israelis just trying to live their lives and i realized how it went against everything i believed about how minority groups should be treated. from there, the aspect of actually undoing my thinking and changing my behavior for the better still took several weeks. denial of jewish indigenity to the levant in the face of tantamount archeological and cultural evidence was the first to go, as well as any ambiguity in my feelings about hamas. after that, it’s mostly been a slow process of redefining the idf’s actions from a “genocide” to a “war.” i still believe that what’s happening in gaza is unconscionable and horrific, and that too many innocent civilians have died, but i also understand how difficult it is to fight against a terrorist group that systematically embeds itself in civilian populations, and that the ratio of militant to civilian deaths is incredibly low compared to most urban warfare. i quietly deleted my old blog in early august— if i had directly engaged in harassment against jews, i likely would have kept it to make amends to the harmed parties and put a face to my actions, but as was, i had just contributed to the larger atmosphere of antisemitism on this site, and i felt uncomfortable knowing that i had a blog full of sentiments that no longer matched my values and beliefs. i decided i would be better if i took my endorsement out of the equation entirely, because when you’re looking through the notes of a post, it obviously doesn’t matter if someone who’s reblogged it no longer agrees with what was said— their notes still count as tacit approval, and i did not want approval of this “activism” attached to my online presence. i still have unwanted kneejerk reactions that crop up sometimes, particularly around the fundraiser posts from people “in gaza”; even though i know logically that they have all the markers of scams, there is still a part of me that really wants to believe i could help.

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

summary: he struggled to fall in love while you struggled to value your life the way you valued others, entire fic is inspired by one line from nandemonaiyo by macaroni empitsu

warnings: not suicidal acts but it is very selfless behaviour from the reader, reader does not exactly fear death, hoshina calls you "darling"

wc: 1500

Hoshina Soushirou struggled to fall in love, to accept that he was in love without feeling so terribly vulnerable, and you knew this. On the other hand, you struggled to value your own life the way you valued others, and he knew this. And surprisingly, or perhaps unfortunately, this combination pieced together your relationship far better than one would expect.

You were a platoon leader in the 3rd division, and you’ve been for quite a while now. You were good at what you did, bringing people together and livening up the mood when times got dark. Still, you were strong enough to not only get the job done, but also to cover for your officers when things got tough. While you enjoyed what you did, and took pride in the position you were given, you weren’t exactly fond of it anymore.

You were sick and tired of seeing your officers die, and the thought of them gone kept you up at night. Not to mention there was nothing could get rid of the guilt you felt when you had to inform their loved ones of their passing. Well, perhaps you didn’t have to inform them personally, but to you, it was the least you could do. But it hurt you so much, no matter the number of times you’ve gone through it through all these years. Even if it was inevitable considering your job, and even if it wasn’t something you had much control over, you just couldn’t get used to it— nor did you really want to. So a few years back, you had sworn that you’d protect your officers, even if it meant you’d lose your life. If risking your life was going to save theirs, there wasn’t even a need to hesitate, you’d do it every single time.

And Hoshina knew this. He knew you would and he also knew there was no stopping you at this point, because he agreed. He was the vice-captain of the 3rd division, he knew exactly how you felt and couldn’t agree more. He also knew that you took these passings to your heart. He knew the thoughts kept you up at night, and he knew just how much they broke your heart. So subconsciously, he tried not to get attached. He had locked up his feelings after a while and so he loved you a little— just a little. He was good at this too, because he naturally struggled to fall in love in the first place. He struggled to accept he was in love.

And as horrible as this sounded, you knew this and you wanted him to, because when it comes down to it, if you were to leave him behind, what you were doing would be no different. And that was the last thing you wanted to do— leave someone who loved you behind.

While this sounded like nothing more than a broken relationship, at the end of the day you were undeniably in love with him and he was as well— there was no doubting that. Although he didn't believe in being with someone while constantly on the brink of death, he still loved you and he still wished to be by your side, the same way you were absolutely in love with him. So this was just the way it was.

It was obvious whenever one of your officers passed, it was always all over your face. As soon as you walked into your shared unit, even if you put on a smile and laughed, he’d see it in your eyes right away. He’d sense it in the way you walked and the way you talked. The way you’d be a little zoned out, and sounded terribly exhausted.

Every time this happened, he made you a warm cup of tea and squeezed your cheeks as he gave you a warm kiss, and you’d realize that he caught on again. Today was one of those days again.

“It’s not your fault, darling,” he said. “You did everything you could, I know this. You know this.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to mope around and ruin your day,” you said, and he shook his head. “I’m just a little tired of myself, for watching my coworkers who followed my lead and trusted my orders to just… die. Also, horribly ashamed to face their family— I could never apologize enough.”

“Yeah, that’s probably the hardest part,” he said.

“I know they don’t blame me, nor do they show how lost they are when they’re in front of me,” you said. “But when they’re alone, at night, they’ll start to think. It’s always harder for those left behind.”

“I won’t ever leave you behind,” he said as he kissed your forehead.

“Oh, don’t say that now,” you said. “When I’m gone you better not mope around. You're going to go find someone who won’t go dying on you any moment. You better not miss me.”

“Oh, don’t you say that. We’re not trying to jinx anything over here,” he said, flicking you on the forehead, which you quickly put your hand over. “Besides I’ll be fine. You know this.”

You did, and it made you smile. While even you thought it’d break your heart to hear the man you loved say he’d be fine without you, it was still a bit of a relief to you. This was okay.

“But really, you’d better not leave me behind,” you said.

“I would never,” he said.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He’d be lying if he said this didn’t break his heart a little, but he did find strange comfort in it. Or he used to at the very least. He had always been this way, it had always scared him to fall in love, to find someone important to him, and become someone important to someone. So being in a relationship came with a large sense of guilt for him, because he was never able to let go of himself and love, and he feared how unfair this was. But now, he could just love you a little, and detach himself from the rest. It was easier for him to do so.

It was supposedly, exactly what he wanted.

Yet, every time there was a mission he thought about you. He thought about whether you’d do something reckless today, or whether you’d come home injured. He prayed that none of your officers would be in danger, because he knew you’d be fine alone. He wished that you’d come home that night and scold him again for staying up too late or drinking coffee at 3 in the morning. He hoped that you’d laugh if he were to crack the stupid joke he came up with just now, and you’d make him laugh in the morning over some silly mistake you'd complain about.

He hoped that you wouldn’t leave him behind.

“Oh,” he said.

“What is it, Hoshina?” Okonogi asked.

“Sorry, nothing,” he said. “I’ll stop spacing out.”

“Rather unlike you, to be,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I fear it is.”

It truly was rather unlike him to be hopelessly in love, and to know that he was. He was hopelessly in love with you.

This just wasn’t the right time to realize, because he had a horrifying number of kaiju to deal with in front of him. Each one of them separately would not have been a problem for him, but there were just so many— not to mention they were working together. He’d be fine though, because he promised he wouldn’t leave you behind, and who was he to be breaking a promise with you?

Soon after, Okonogi had made the decision to call people over to support him, and immediately you rushed over. You knew you had your platoon to be watching over and you weren’t the closest to him, but none of that mattered. If he was gone, you’d truly be nothing, even if that wasn’t the same for him with you.

Yet, by the time you had made it he had already neutralized every last kaiju.

“Soushirou!” you yelled, rushing over to him. He was so beaten up as he lay on the ground, absolutely still, it took everything in you to not think about the worst. Until he raised his arm to give you a weak thumbs up. “You absolute asshole. You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind.”

He smiled as you reached his side.

“You’ll be okay,” you said, sounding more like you were trying to convince yourself. “The ambulance is coming.”

“You know, I was thinking,” he said, and immediately you shot him a glare as if to warn him that this better be good if he’s wasting his breath on it.

But it was.

“Darling, I’d die if you left me behind.”

[1hellofacookie]

Her job

is...

Beach?

and kissing women

kenjoy

[brainworms-all-night-long]

Jumpscares you, it is brothers angst time >:]

3,979 Words

Part one: Outsider's interference

Once upon a time Two brothers left all of their suffering behind A little smile Oh brother join me, please just stay a while — [Under the apple tree | original song by xXtha on YT]

The portal closed and Dream was left there standing on the green grass alone. 

The fox's words took hold in his mind and finally allowed him to connect the loose pieces of a puzzle already he had already mostly solved, but stayed in futile denial over what it formed.

Something in the hedgehog cracked.

The entire village be damned, this is his little brother we're talking about, and Dream just had enough of cleaning and dressing the endless wounds the younger gets when he "trips and falls" because he knows for sure Night barely leaves the damned tree anyway. 

The tree.

Dream looked up at the hill. The tree's unmistakable might loomed over him with the duo color of apples shining just like the stars above, hundreds of tiny specks of light blending into the vast void.

There was guilt for the disdain he began to feel when pointing to it as the only reason he was stuck here, but he let it fester anyway. If anything, it helped him steel his resolve. There was a very loose plan held trapped at the back of his head since he saw a scratch on Night's face he didn't see happen when they were playing for the first time, and perhaps it would be partial to revisit it.

Thoughts of running away and making his home wherever and whenever he wanted that used to be but a distant daydream now felt tangible, and he grabbed onto them.

The hedgehog wasn't even sure why though. Today was barely any different than yesterday in terms of routine, could the traveler fox really have left such an impact? Was it the confirmation of all his worries by an unknown outsider to their situation? Being able to see that yes, getting out of here is possible? That there exists someone out there who can come an go as they please with no responsibility tying them down?

Dream envied him. 

Being able to come and go not just within the same world but to others as well whenever he felt like it was something he'd let his arm be cut off for. He hoped the fox enjoys his travels.

Speaking of limbs though, the guardian's legs were already halfway to where his barely thought through plan had led him, his head finally catching up.

Leaving the tree unguarded is something he couldn't do, and picking all of the apples would simply be too time consuming and there were but few hours left until dawn.

There was no question of waiting until tomorrow least he chickens out and lets his brother get hurt again.

It simply couldn't be allowed to go on for any longer. His mother must forgive him for this, but it's for Night's and his own good. 

The destination of his unconvincing conviction was the always halfway opened window of the seamstresses' shop that he snuck through. There, he grabbed a bigger bag for himself and stuffed it with a pair of ordinary clothes and boots that would loosely fit the two of them.

They couldn't function on just one set out in the wild that was for sure, even if their clothes were magic or whatever. Variety was the spice of life as they say.

After leaving a few rings on the counter and making sure he kept as quiet as possible, he slid the window into the position it was before disturbed and thanked for Saturn not being outright on the reception table as she sometimes favors being.

With the bag over his shoulder, he ran to the back of Oakley's, where the carpenter was sure to keep his heavier, more dangerous woodworking tools. 

After almost knocking down a set of planks, Dream found what he was looking for. 

Grabbing the axe's handle and using one leg for support, he wrestled it out of the scarred stump and gave a long pacing exhale.

All necessary things acquired, Dream ignored his heart beating in his throat while making his way uphill. 

He reached for the closest apples with the full intent of placing them along with the clothes into the bag.

He never saw them decay or be damaged by any means your average apple would, and while he also wasn't exactly privy to how the whole "emotional balance" thing worked, two of each should be enough right? Before he even managed to touch one of the apples though, he felt blue eyes intently staring at him.

"What are you doing?" 

Night was peering at him from one of the thick branches with a suspicious expression.

Dream didn't answer as he ripped the golden fruit off the branch and threw it into the open bag.

"Where's Nine, what are you doing?" 

The fox hopped down, asking more insistently this time, exchanging bewildered glances between Dream and the tree. 

"He left. And we're about to as well." 

Internally cursing himself, Dream went to pull on another apple.

He should've known that he'd have to get through to Night on this first, and explain his point of view. Maybe they should've pre-planned something. But it was whatever now, too late.

"What's gotten into you what-" 

The fox grabbed onto his hand to stop him, but all it did was pluck the fruit right off its stem as Dream refused to let go of it.

Night grasped and immediately took a step back. The hedgehog resumed his work towards the other side of the tree as if that distraction didn't even happen, with the younger trailing behind.

"We are not allowed to pick the apples for no reason Dream, stop!"

He flailed his arms around, trying to place himself between his brother and the next fruit in his crosshairs, but was effortlessly pushed away. 

It was when the hedgehog went for the dark apple he realized one of the (very definitely many) holes in his plan.

It was said they cannot interact with the apples from their opposite side but Dream never bothered to come up with or figure out a reason why. It unfortunately became abundantly clear that if he touches one, it changes color, therefore nullifying the whole balance aspect.

"Dream!!" 

Night all but screamed to get his brother's attention, only for the hedgehog to click his tongue and turn to him with a frown.

"What, I think it's pretty obvious what I'm doing here." Time for plan B then. "But I'll need your help, so go grab two apples from your side of the tree and a your books into this bag." He nonchalantly motioned his hand and the bag swung gently with its weight.

"What do you mean we're about to leave- and why did you bring an axe!?" 

The kit exclaimed, pointing behind them where the tool stood stuck in the ground for later use.

Dream grit his teeth. Not out of anger, he could never be angry at the little fox, especially not when he was right. But this... complicated things.

He needs the other on his side as quickly as possible if they want to disappear before the dawn, but something told him that is gonna be near impossible to accomplish in amount of time.

Dream sighed, those baby blue eyes looking at him with all the confusion and ferocity in the world as he gently placed his hand on the little guardian's shoulder.

"Look." The hedgehog started slowly. He could at least try, "Neither me nor you are happy in here. There's no point in staying. So I'm taking the apples and we're leaving." 

"Leaving? But, but to where?" Nightmare insisted pushing his brother's hand away, with his confusion quickly morphing into fear, "We can't just leave the tree here, you know that! You're not gonna cut it down, are you?"

Dream was silenced quickly. Yes. Yes, that was the plan. And the reasoning for the plan.  

He tightened his brushed off hand into a fist and looked away.

It sounded completely outlandish when said out loud by someone else outside of his head though, and he found himself hesitating.

But he always hesitated, always put things off for later, and always let others have a say in what he does. 

And he was tired of that. Tired of himself for being like that.

He hates that it's his little brother of all people that has to suffer his newfound stubbornness first, but it has to start somewhere, no? 

"I know we can't just leave it standing while we're no longer here to guard it, but we also don't have time or a way to just take every single apple off and take it with us, so I'm doing the second best thing." He could at least explain his reasoning. "We can't stay here anymore, I can't allow them to hurt you again."

Night's ears dropped flat against his head with tails curling around his legs. The hedgehog found it impossible to keep his aloof attitude up.

"You can't just cut down the tree! That's- you realize that would kill our mother right?"

Dream refused to phrase it like that at any point in his head, yet the other served it to him as bluntly as possible. 

And again. The distraught fox was right.

The guardian sucked in a deep breath.

Quite frankly, he didn't see a difference between the tree standing and it being down in regards to his mother's influence. If anything he barely heard her anymore, and she definitely didn't do anything to protect Night while he was away, so it really wasn't hard to come to terms with it.

She felt pretty much dead to him for a long time. 

"I know. But if I had to choose between seeing you smile genuinely again, just once, or sitting idly underneath that stupid tree while being eaten alive by the itch of being literally anywhere else but here, I think the answer is obvious." 

Dream was unable to meet his brother's face anymore, this whole ordeal turning out to be much heavier than he could ever expect being. 

The one thing turning out exactly how he predicted though, was Night not being convinced in the slightest.

"Stop! Did you think about the consequences of this, like at all!? What if the apples we take will rot anyway once the tree is cut, what if we die if the tree does, what if it can't even be cut with a regular axe, what if- what-" The kit stammered, so many thoughts swarming and falling over each other in that big little head of his as he tried to wrap it around his brother's seemingly sudden 180°.

He was always such a worry wart, going over and catastrophizing any and all possibilities, and normally Dream would find it endearing, jokingly wave him off, assure him all would be alright eventually. But now he wasn't so sure of it himself

"Why are you just so ok with cutting it down in the first place!?" 

Nightmare finally barked out, and while his concerns were justified, Dream couldn't afford them.

Maybe he shouldn't have been burdened with such a responsibility in the first place, then. If it was so easy for him to flip on his duty. Did anyone ask him if he wanted it? No. So why should he have to get permission to rid of it.

"Maybe not, but tell me, do you feel happy here. Like, at all? Getting kicked around like a play ball and then having a blackeye for seven days while hiding in the tree? Where you won't even talk to me? Where you keep lying to my face for no reason?" 

The last question appeared to shoot right through Night's heart and the hedgehog regretted the irritated tone that seeped into his words. Unfortunately that didn't even scratch the surface of how he felt about his brother closing off to him at every turn.

Night grabbed onto the cape draped around his shoulders and shook his head.

"Well, obviously not... b-but! This is our only home! And where would we even go, we can't just leave to nowhere."  

Suddenly, the little guardian's face lit up with a realization.

"Wait. He told you, didn't he. That's why you're–" 

"That the villagers are relentlessly bullying you behind my back?" Dream tried to not let it get to him, the fact that his brother was more willing to confide in a stranger he knew for a couple of hours instead of him, "Don't worry I already knew, and trust that I feel horrible and like an idiot for not doing anything about it sooner. But hey, better late than never Eh?" that they barely talked to each other anymore.

He shrugged at the end, trying to shake off some of the icy sweat trickling through his bristled spines and fur. He felt sick just thinking about it, let alone hearing himself admit it out loud like that.

He needed this to be over already. 

"You can't be serious." 

His brother's demeanor completely dropped after that. 

There was no winning him over it seemed, (not that he was in any place to try and be convincing) so Dream used that as a convenient punctuation point for him to go get the axe. 

"I am. And we're also running out of time, so if you'd just pack your things and let me do my thing, we'll be up over and gone sooner than later."

He gripped the handle, the tool much heavier in his hand than it was before and he turned back to face his brother.

"No. I won't let you go through with this." 

Dream staggered, the little guardian stood before the tree, one hand gripped the cape closed over his chest and the other held protectively outstretched in front of the tree.

"I'm doing this for us Night. For you. I can't let us stay here anymore."

Dream said through his teeth, fighting back the burn behind his eyes.

"We'll why are you pointing an axe at ME then huh? 'Doing it for me', you weren't even meaning to TELL me before it was already DONE AND OVER!" 

The fox yelled, steadily losing his own battle with years as they welled up, no matter how hard he tried to he tried to shake them away and keep up his resolute stance.

Dream's mouth grew to a thin line, grip on the handle as strong as he could hold, yet the thing began to slip through his fingers anyway. 

"Night please–" 

"You're doing this just for your own selfish sake. We are supposed to GUARD the tree, that's why we were born, and you're here just–" 

The hedgehog sneered.

"So you'd rather be bullied to death here than make one leap of faith and a sacrifice?"

Nightmare sucked in a shaky breath, looking behind him, down the hill, and then back at his brother while barely moving his head as the tears pushed over the edge and cut through the fur on his muzzle. 

"Y-yes."

Dream grimaced, trying and failing to swallow a thick lump of saliva clogging his throat. Or maybe it was his actual heart up there. Who could tell at this point.

"You don't mean that."

The little fox shook like a leaf, staring daggers into his brother's shoes.

"We were born to do this Dream, we- we can't–"

"We can't just keep waiting for one of us to drop dead or get killed Nightmare." 

The fox's eyes darted up at the mention of his full name. Dream rarely used it, if ever. He thought it sounded way too mean, and contained too many syllables, so it "took too long to say." 

Maybe on the off chances he was being a patronizing big brother and trying to poke fun at how the little guardian acted so much more mature than some adults in the village, he'd use the full name. But this was hardly a lighthearted jab and far away from a good laugh the two brothers once shared (when was the last time they did that.)

"We are meant to guard the tree with our lives if necessary, you know. You'll–" the fox swallowed thickly blinking away his tears and locking eyes with his brother properly "You will have to get through me first." 

Dream couldn't even move his facial muscles at this point, so he just gave his brother an empty stare. 

He quickly ran through the events that led the two of them to this confrontation in the first place, because where he stood now felt just so... surreal.

He could drop it here and now though. Stick the axe back in the ground and put his hands up in a surrender. They would eventually laugh it off a couple weeks later (or not talk about it at all) and everything would go back to the repetitive, mind numbing routine.

The same injuries he'd had to take care of, the same song and dance he would have to do to keep the villagers he never asked for to be here happy. 

And then slowly burn out while he watches his brother slowly die right next to him as each day slips on by.

He could do that. 

Dream sighed, surprising himself that there even was any air left in him as he did so, and he took a shaky step forward.

"Out of my way. Last warning."

Nightmare didn't waver, whether it was because of his determination or fear keeping him frozen in place didn't exactly matter.

The hedgehog could barely keep himself standing, let alone walk towards the tree and swing the axe, but he had to. He had to if he wanted to get them out of this lukewarm hell.

"NO! What you want to do is unthinkable!" The fox cried and finally moved to take a step closer to the tree, maintaining the distance between them and seeking comfort from his mother who would not respond to him. She never did.

"I can't let you–" 

Or perhaps this time she will. Except not with comfort and gentle words as a mother should to their distraught child, but an earsplitting shriek that petrified both of them in place.

Despite it being past midnight, the sky somehow grew darker along with everything else alive around them.

An unrelenting grasp of burning chill and rot bloomed from the base of the tree and the world was set to slow motion when a single twinkle of gold caught Dream's eye.

All the dreadful slag keeping his body still vanished for the moment as adrenaline took over and the axe soared through the air.

It crashed through the branches and disappeared, dropping a few dry twigs, blackened leaves and a single, golden apple in its wake that the hedgehog barely caught.

The little fruit felt like a ton heavy weight once safely landing in his palms, and it dragged him into a collision with the ground. Blue pants scraped dry dirt and dead grass, while he held the fruit as close to his chest as possible.

He felt cold. Unbelievably so. It was like being plunged into an icy lake (not that he knew how that felt like, it used to be always pleasantly warm here) and as one would if underwater, he found it impossible to breathe.

The only thing keeping him from drowning completely was the tiny ball of golden fire clasped in his hands.

But keeping it outside wasn't nearly enough, he still couldn't breathe, he was sure to die if he doesn't figure out a way to get air back to his lungs. He doesn't want to die yet, he can't. Not here and not now. He can't leave Night alone he can't let it end like this after finally doing something he can't.

And just as thoughtless as he went to get the axe, as on instinct as he threw it — there  was no hesitation when he bit into the apple and ate it whole.

Dream felt his insides explode in an inferno. The icy water washed out immediately and he gasped.

It was hardly any lasting salvation after that split-second relief, since it just slammed him onto the opposite end of a different extreme. 

Whispers and shouts of terrified people from too far away overtook his head and he felt his head hit the ground.

The pain of his tiara digging into his skull shot him back up right after and at last, he recovered enough to comprehend the scene before him.

He couldn't name the emotion he felt once laying eyes upon the tree that used to be an oppressive behemoth with a crown of ever expansive leaves, now reduced to nothing but a wilted piece of wood, but it made him let out a dry, humorless laugh.

The negative whirlwind of voices reached its peak when his brother's voice broke through, screaming for help.

Bellow the now dried trunk, Night was shoved to the ground, a pair of pitchforks that had no business being pointed at him loomed threateningly above.

 

Bad call.

A weapon. Dream needed a weapon.

With the axe out of the question, he summoned his staff — one he created not that long ago as a part of a bit to cheer the little guardian up after one of his more visible beat downs — but quickly realized he needed something more lethal.

With the seemingly endless surge of power the apple gave him, in a flash of light, the staff turned to a sword not a second before it was stabbed through a human's chest. 

Dream paid the stuttering body no mind aside from making sure it or the pitchforks didn't fall over at his brother, and he swung to the opposite side. This time only cutting a wooden handle in half, yet still staining the person holding it with blood not of their own. 

He could barely control the force of the swing until it ended up logged in the bark of a tree. He fought to pry it out, and thankfully he had plenty of time to do so as the crowd quickly got the memo to stay away.

Stained sword still threateningly in one hand, Dream went to grab the bag left untouched despite the mob formed around them, but stopped when noticing the two black apples sitting in it. 

Pacing himself, he went for the blanket instead, rolling it up and barely managing to stuff it inside with shaking hands. Next, he grabbed Night's latest book, since that's one he definitely has yet to finish reading, and he somehow managed to shove it on the side of the bag as well.

He felt the eyes on him, the oppressive presence of the people, the poisonous sting of negativity in his soul, the silent terror of his brother, and he couldn't be more tired of it. 

Good thing all of this will be over soon, and that he won't have to ever return to this place ever again. 

A corridor of terrified people split before him after he double checked all of the stuff he gathered, let go of his sword, and finally helped Night off the ground who looked like a stunned bug rolled over on his back. 

Wordlessly and hiding under his cape that made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the darkness of the place, he grabbed Dream's outstretched hand and let him guide them both down the hill with little resistance, which the hedgehog was glad for.

No one said a word, not even a whisper was heard as the two guardians eventually disappeared on the horizon. Where were they going? No one knew, no one got to ask, and no one even thought about it enough to know.

Aside from death, there was a pair of shackles he left on that hill, and Dream was not gonna miss either.

[pokimoko]

Hello!! i just discovered your blog and firstly i wanna say that your art is gorgeous! <33 and secondly, if youre still taking requests could i get a lesbian/non binary cheetah? /nf

Thank you! Cheetahs be upon ye!

[laurrelise]

breaking: old man can’t figure out how to put on clothing that isn’t a three piece suit

also dropping the reference pic + a little bonus <3

[little-pup-pip]

May I request a masc-leaning Onceler (Lorax 2012) agere moodboard? With a focus on nature and playing outside, and no paci please!

Definitely!!