i'm glad his hair is back to normal

“Why did you fight them?! These guys were twice your size!”

“I’m not a child, Wirt, I can handle myself!”

Request from colorfullyminded, who asked for Wirt patching up some of Dipper’s latest bruises, or Dipper making Wirt try on his jacket. Dipper’s hair are back to normal, because Wirt ordered him to take a shower to wash away some of the blood and dirt. They don’t say it out loud, but Wirt was really worried and Dipper is truly sorry

assbutt-of-the-readers  asked:

Okay, so i'm terrible at coming up with normal prompts. But how about Septiplier and the words falling, drowning, and moon? (Also, welcome back! :D Glad to see you more active. I've missed you!)

He could hear it.  His heartbeat.  He could feel every inch of his body crying out in pain, begging for oxygen.  

Mark was drowning.  

He had been propped up against a crate on the ship, just staring out at the unforgiving moonlit sea when it happened.  His feet dangled in the cold air, his hair tumbled in the chilled breeze.  He missed the feeling of dry land under his feet, fresh food, and the peace of his home.  He wanted to go home, he didn’t want to be out at sea anymore.  

A simple shift of the crate, and he was shoved forward and flung into the icy depths.  The shock of the freezing water on his body felt like having every inch of his skin stabbed with sharp little knives.

He spasmed and scrambled back to the surface, fighting with the waves and the ice in his body to stay afloat.  He reached out toward the ship, almost disappointed but not surprised to find it still moving, ignorant to his gargled cries for help and his angry thrashing for life.  

It sailed on, cruel and uncaring. 

Eventually, after struggling for what felt like hours, he gave in.  The waves were too high, the current too strong, and he too weak to win the war. 

He let his limbs fall weak, he let his lungs fill with water, and he gave in. 

He could hear it.  His heartbeat.  He could feel every inch of his body crying out in pain, begging for oxygen.  

Mark was drowning.  

His body, weak and tired as it was, jerked violently as something brushed up against him. 

His vision was starting to fade, meaning that we would pass out and die, but before life slipped away completely, he felt the gentle press of hands on his cheeks.  They lifted his head toward the moon above the surface and held him in place. 

The only thought he had in the moment was: “I’m actually dead, this must be the touch of an angel.” 

As the thought crossed his mind, a pair of soft lips met his own. 

He could breathe he could breathe he could breathe. 

His body was still weak, but it jumped into action regardless of the searing pain it caused.  He took a deep breath and pressed harder against the face against his, assuming that it was the source of his divine salvation. 

He took another deep breath as the face pulled away from his and Mark cracked his eyes open to see a handsome man smiling down at him. 

The face before him looked pale, almost translucent, the eyes were as blue as the ocean around them, and his hair reflected the moonlight from the surface beautifully. 

Wait.  The surface. 

He was still underwater.  

Mark’s brain was having trouble processing things at the moment.  How could he breathe?  How could the handsome man breathe? He could clearly see his chest moving easily as if he was taking calming breaths, but how? 

He had to be dead.

The man before him smiled and swam back, yanking on Mark’s arms to follow him. 

Mark was still a bit too weak from his experience, but allowed himself to be tugged along, only slightly bothered by the tail that kept hitting him as they moved deeper into the ocean. 

Wait.  Tail? 

A mermaid?  Of course

He didn’t think they actually existed, but could it be true?  Could the old stories be true?  Could a kiss from a mermaid save a drowning man? 

“Apparently so,” he thought as he was dragged deeper and pulled closer to the blue eyes beauty that saved his life.