seen from China
seen from Brazil
seen from South Korea
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from Maldives
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Argentina
seen from Germany
seen from Indonesia
seen from Canada
seen from Japan
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
it is uncanny how much Eva Green captures the beauty of the Fallen Angel.
Please don't hurt me
October arrived... and my heart began to whisper love stories again...
— Unknown (the tales of october)
Powerpuff Girls mourn the Professor. I myself couldn’t believe Tom Kane passed away this month. I knew he retired but I didn’t think he’d pass on soon and at the age of 64.
Dustcember 2025: Requiem/Scarf
“I have a new job assignment for you three, and this time, you had better not fail me.”
Nightmare was standing in front of his throne addressing the Trio who were all in varying states of disarray.
Killer and Horror were both twitching on Dust’s sides, clearly nervous of another possible failure. After all, Dust still aches from his lashing, no telling how they feel.
Dust himself now had a permanent thin scar of a crack starting from just beside his right socket down to his right cheek bone.
“Your task is to disrupt the peace and cause as much chaos as possible. I trust this won’t be hard for you to accomplish.”
The three nodded in sync as Nightmare grinned big with a gleam in his eye. He waved his hand and created a portal to what Dust assumed was that world’s Snowdin town.
“Well go on then, I’m not very patient as you know.”
Killer stepped forward first with Horror and Dust trailing behind them. Dust was unnerved by how eerily happy Nightmare seemed. Something must be wrong.
They wandered into the town to be met with nothing but silence. Dust kept looking around, but not a soul could be seen.
This pattern continued through all of Snowdin and into the woods, causing further alarms to ring in Dust’s head.
It finally started to click what was going on when they found THE spot. A small bundle of red was left deserted on the ground between Snowdin and Waterfall, softly stirring with the occasional wind.
“That’s why this place is so weird, must have just gone through a Genocide,” Killer spoke as they paused to observe the scene.
“Makes ya wonder why Boss sent us here if he knew that, which I’m sure he did,” Horror grumbled back. He wasn’t too familiar with the different runs as such, but that didn’t really matter to Dust.
All Dust could see were the endless times the very same thing happened in his world. All he could hear were Papyrus’ last words echoing in his head.
“Dust!”
Dust snapped to attention at the sound of Killer’s voice. He and Horror had moved away in the time Dust had been trapped in his head, now both giving him a strange look.
“You gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna follow us?” Killer didn’t wait to see what his reaction was, instead turning back around and continuing to walk. Horror glanced at him again before doing the same thing.
Dust stayed silent as he moved to follow, but hesitated and glanced back at the scarf. He slowly approached where it laid and picked it up. It’s so similar to his own brother’s scarf, yet so different. Same color, but different fabric and texture. It helped to further break the illusion Dust was trapped in.
He bent down to dig a small hole in the snow and a little in the dirt. Deeming it big enough, he laid the scarf back down and then just stared for a moment.
“I ain’t a saint, so I can’t sing you a requiem to help your soul, but I hope you can rest now. Even if the Human of this world might just reset soon, you deserve it. Angel knows I should have done the same for my brother a long time ago.”
He stood silent above the small hole for a moment longer, then pushed the snow atop the scarf and stepped away. He slipped shaking hands into his hoodie pockets as he found and followed the tracks Horror and Killer had made.
The wind seemed to pick up and wrap around him as he walked, until he came to the edge of the wood and it crept away once more. He took one short glance behind him before stepping all the way into Waterfall.
Nightmare must have known the AU was like this. He always seemed to know these things. That must have been what the look was for when they stepped through. Must have known how it would affect him.
Dust was really starting to hate the guy. He clenched his fists in his pockets as he finally caught up to the other two. They glanced at him, but didn’t say anything.
The three of them kept walking and checking every spot in Waterfall, but even the echo flowers had nothing to say. The place was starting to seem like one big graveyard, and the familiarity of it was starting to itch at Dust.
The only place like this that he’d ever want to be in would be his own AU. This place only gave him a pervading feeling of wrong.
He could tell it was getting to Horror as well, and Killer, though he’d never admit to such.
“This place is completely empty. There’s nothing for us to do here,” Killer muttered.
“I don’t think Nightmare actually intended for us to do anything. I think he just wanted to see us squirm,” Dust spoke so lightly it was almost as if the wind had blown through his bones to make the sound.
This place was only making him feel worse on a day that already sucked, which must have been Nightmare’s plan.
“Yer prolly right. Wonder what we do now?” Horror spoke. Even he had a softer tone of voice than usual.
“I’d say we’re probably stuck waiting until he comes back for us.” Dust nodded slowly at this while moving to settle down against one of the walls.
The room they ended up in was the one with the statue that sings. The melody he played now was not one of joy, but of reminiscence. It seemed to echo with the tone of a requiem, fitting for a time like this. One long endless prayer for the lost souls in this Underground.
Horror moved closer to Dust but didn’t sit down. Killer stayed where he was at the entrance to the hall, facing away from the other two. All the same to Dust, he didn’t care what the others did.
He took one hand out of his pocket and clasped his brother’s scarf with it, feeling for the now familiar rips and tears in the fabric.
He settled fully against the wall and truly let the song flow over him. Nightmare would show up eventually, probably with a smug grin like he accomplished something. Dust didn’t care. He wrapped himself in memories long gone and let go of reality.
The Song of the Dead would continue to echo even after they leave, with a chorus of voices singing along for the final rest they sought and could finally achieve.
A Melody of Mourning.
New clothes :3 (yes I’m standing like an NPC)
The fact my passion won't pay the bills kills me a bit every day. I hate how I have to pursue something "meaningful" in society's eyes and work a 9-5 to survive. If it didn't matter, id be an artist. I'd paint and draw until my hands ache and my skin is covered in graphite and pastels, I'd make mosaics with my brushes to convey the words that I cannot speak. Art sees into me more than any scientist or psychologist can. My shaky hands begin to steady as soon as I draw a singular line on paper, my mind quiets and my hands don't sweat. I feel content when I create. But I don't have the privilege of being able to pursue it. I'll always have shaky hands and sweaty palms. I won't ever be able to capture the bliss of creativity with any science or math.
My first love and biggest heartbreak will always be art.
