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#impulsive writing I did.

hcdragonwrites · 9 months

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Thunderstorm

(a @jttw-monkeybusiness inspired Drabble)

It was hot today and we have a thunderstorm warning so I wrote something really quick! Enjoy another one this one is short.

A heat wave.

It was the only way to describe the sudden shift in temperature from the last week of travel to now.

Sophie turned her head upward, blinking against the sweat rolling from her face. The last of her sunscreen had been used now, to prevent her skin from cracking beneath the sun's attention. The hat Wukong had snatched from a while back was the only protection she had against the hungry rays of light that drove knives of pain into her skin.

This is a miserable business. She could feel the beginnings of a burn on her arms, from where the sleeves of her tunic didn’t cover her wrists.

It was midday, the heat blistering against the companion's skin. Pigsy complained at every step, at every rock in the road, at every breath. He was drenched, his robes dark from his body perspiring. He waddled at the back of the group, bemoaning his pain to the point that even Sophie was beginning to feel it grate on her nerves. It wasn’t like the rest of them weren’t also suffering in this insufferable heat.

Sandy simply stayed quiet, the only sign of suffering beneath the heat was that the demon had emptied seven water skins- ones he had carried himself. Sandy was closer to Pigsy, getting the brunt of his complaints.

Wukong kept his discomfort silent from what Sophie could see except when he would pointedly look back at them from the head of the group, staring at Trip as if waiting for him to say something. When the monk just kept walking, Wukong would turn back around and look upward to the column of thunderclouds beyond.

The heat seemed to suck all the moisture from the world, sending it up into the dark clouds that were beginning to grow in the mountains ahead of the group. It was a day that promised burning warmth and teased the relief of a downpour. A storm born of the heat. At least it was a reprieve of sorts from yesterday's typical shenanigans of Tripataka being almost devoured for the seventeenth time. At least Sophie thought it was seventeen. Was it actually eighteen?

Sophie and Trip were both walking side by side in the middle of the group, leading Yulong behind. The poor dragon horses' sides were slick with sweat, the white fur turned brown with the road dust. Wukong was carrying the saddle, the great leather contraption held easily in one arm to give their silent companion some relief.

“The gods are punishing us.” Pigsy groaned, rolling his pack from shoulder to shoulder. “Maybe they are punishing us for the wanton murder Wukong had committed just a bit ago.”

Pigsy please… Sophie groaned silently, as she saw the Monkey King whip his head around, teeth bared.

“I didn’t see you helping any to save our master.” Wukong shot back. “The last I saw was you running away from that battle when you got cut by the centipede women!”

Sandy rubbed his face, just as annoyed that these two were picking now to start something.

“I thought I would die of poison!” Pigsy gallantly said, hand to the cloth bound scrap on his arm. “I did not want my fellow companions to have to protect me and save our dear Monk.”

“Centipede's poison only hurts insects and smaller beings. Not demons like you.” Wukong countered. He had paused at the head of the group to swing his gaze on the pig demon. “You just wanted an excuse to get back and have the first taste of the sake we grabbed from those merchants at the festival!”

“You know drinking is forbidden on our holy quest!” Pigsy tried to piously counter but Wukong cut him off with his words and a savage slash of his hand.

“DIDN'T STOP YOU FROM DOWNING TWO CASKS OF IT AND LEAVING US TO EXPLAIN TO THE MONASTERY WHY THEY HAD LESS SAKE!”

“Oh for Pete’s sake.” Sophie muttered quietly. She was too tired, too sticky with road dirt, to care much for the beginnings of this argument. And it was shaping to be a big one. Pigsy wanted to take out his discomfort on someone and it didn’t take much to get the Monkey Kings hackles up. Blaming him for the heat? That would rankle his pride.

Trip also looked between the two, face begging silently please not now.

“Stupid Monkey!” Spat Pigsy.

“Shitty Swine!” Snarled Wukong.

The storm clouds ahead cracked with thunder, the noise temporarily pausing the quarrel.

The monk took advantage of the pause.

“Let’s rest.” Tripataka called, wiping his own forehead free of the sweat clinging there. The monk's eyes looked just as relieved as Sophie felt at the excuse to both rest and to stop a full blown argument from starting again. This had been the third one today, and soon it would come to blows or to Tripitaka using the charm to put the Monkey King to heel.

If that could be avoided it would be in everyone’s favor to avoid it. Wukong usually sulked after such uses and he and Tripataka would get into their own argument.

Tripataka and Sophie both beelined for a small copse of trees, Yulong snorting in relief. They left their companions behind without a second thought, both of them tired and sweating. For all Pigsys complaining, he wasn’t being baked by the sun as badly as their mortal companions. Tripataka had a red patch of skin beginning to form on the back of his neck despite the protection of the hat. Sophie could feel the beginning of a blister at her heel. She hoped it wouldn’t burst.

The immortals only took a moment before they too joined the rest of their company beneath the trees. Sandy set to making tea, already propping a fire up faster then Sophie could follow with her eyes.

Pigsy simply just fell against a rock beneath the shade, complaining loudly, grousing about how hungry he was and how he had a pain in his back that may need looking at. No one paid him any heed.

Trip and Sophie dropped their packs in an unceremoniously heap. Tripataka pulled out a curry brush and passed a flat brush to Sophie who took it wordlessly and set to work.

The two humans had fallen into a habit of helping to strip down and tend to the dragon horse, both taking to brushing the flanks. When Sophie had first been asked by Trip, she had been eager and a bit apprehensive. She didn’t have much experience with horses (let alone shape shifted magical dragon ones) to be confident in this task. But Trip had smiled and taught her the basics of care- from brushing his coat to checking his hooves for rocks that could threaten lameness, and bring discomfort.

“You're a patient teacher Trip.” Sophie had said.

“Thank you. It was actually Wukong who taught me to tend to Yulong.” The horse had nipped fondly at the sleeve of the monk in thanks.

“Wukong?” That surprised her. “He knows about horses?”

“Before he rebelled against Heaven he had been given the position of Stablemaster. It was his duty and job to tend to the celestial beasts of Heaven. He showed me what to do to take care of Yulong.” Trip rubbed at the horse's poll, earning a happy snort from the dragon horse. “You should ask him about it! He has seen so many fabulous beasts in the Heavenly stables to rival any lord or Emperor of earth.”

Of course Sophie had. She had bothered and questioned and asked everything she could of the Monkey King about what the Heavenly court looked like, what beasts he had tended, how he had taken care of them, and much more. Wukong, if in a good mood and not acting aloof or having been reprimanded by his Master, was always willing to boast about himself. Of course that usually meant an exchange of sorts. Yesterday it had been for her to sit with him as he answered her questions, rifling through Sophie’s bag and asking questions of his own on what these were and insulting them- he particularly had taken to insulting her makeup which Sophie had, of course, taken the bait on. She had only realized it was a trap until after she was halfway through the reason why her brand of makeup and mascara was perfect and made her look and feel like a goddess that she saw that shit eating grin and had shoved at him.

Today she wouldn’t ask him her typical questions. She had something else she wanted to do.

Wukong brought the saddle up and set it at the base of the tree, tail flicking back and forth. He glared at Pigsy, opening his mouth to finish the argument when Trip, without having to look up, stopped him.

“Leave him Sun Wukong.” He ordered. There was patience still in the monks voice. “He means none of what he says.”

“He means all of it, Monk.” Wukong retorted. Sophie saw Pigsy look up and grin at them, egging the demon monkey on.

“Go.” Tripataka pointed away from Pigsy to another shaded patch. “Cool your temper and yourself. Let us have a moment of peace until we must embark into the heat again.”

The Monkey king sniffed and turned on his heel angrily, leaving Sophie and Trip to their task. As he walked past Pigsy he curled his middle finger up and away from the rest of his hand, flipping the pilgrim the bird.

Of course Pigsy didn’t understand what that statement meant. Yet.

Wukong had pestered and bugged her about the hand signal she had given when one particularly shitty day finally had gotten beneath Sophie’s skin and she had reacted silently. It had been an unusually rough day when finally, her headphones (may they rest in peace) had died in the middle of Gustav Holst Jupiter.

Sophie had at first pulled the headphones out in disbelief and then tried to pop them back in. Maybe they just need to reconnect. She tried them again. No use. Her music was finally gone. So she of course reacted silently and, with what she thought at the time, was appropriate. Sophie had regretted losing her temper that way and regretted even further to having caved to Wukongs questions.

Soon all of them would know what the middle finger meant and that may also lead to further arguments. Sophie could see Pigsy using it the most to get a rise from Wukong. For now, only the Monkey King knew. She hoped it stayed that way for as long as possible.

Or at least till we get out of this heat.

Between Sophie and Trip, they had Yulong brushed down, feet picked clean and a small bucket of water set before the great white stallion. Once his needs had been tended Sophie looked back up at the sky. The thunderstorm was tall and black, staining the blue sky wherever it crossed. A blessedly cooled breeze blew into her face carrying the scent of water and damp earth. She dragged her backpack a bit away from Trip who was meditating now, to a bit of shade a few lengths away from the rest of them where she could watch the storm unfurl.

Sophie would catch up on some reading, having been lucky enough to snag a book. It was a book of poetry by a scholar of the name Li Po, and whatever magic had cast her into the past had also given her an ability to understand and read the languages here too. A small blessing, that.

Sophie hadn’t had anything new to read in what felt like ages and was eager to crack open the little book and read its contents. She craved it.

She settled herself down, setting her backpack behind her and crossing her legs. As she crossed her legs, and turned to dig into her bag, she felt something heavily land in her Lap. She peeked down and beneath her arm.

Wukong stared up at her, face set in a scowl.

“Yes? Can I help you?” Well. This was new. Wukong would sit with her when they had time to silently rest during their travels. Usually it was side by side, usually it was Sophie joining the Sage to ask him questions. But- never him resting on her. That was new.

Wukongs head was resting squarely in her lap, arms crossed behind, shoulders on her legs.

“You aren’t going to ask me questions.” He didn’t say it like a question. More of a statement. He sounded glum.

“I was going to read this book I snagged in the last town we were in.” Sophie pulled it from her bag, showing him the simple black embossed cover. She was too tired to complain about Wukong not at least respecting her boundaries or asking permission before he settled himself on her person. If I brought it up he would just say he was a king and it was his right to any person's space. To keep peace, she wouldn’t voice her thoughts. The heat had made all of them tired and she would rather have a calm monkey resting in her lap than a monkey that would rise eagerly to argue. Even if said monkey had come uninvited.

Wukong wasn’t demanding anything of her - at least not yet. Which meant he was in a … better mood ? It was hard to tell. Some days she felt like she and the Monkey King were as thick as thieves, dodging demonic creatures, bandits and the like with an ease that was comforting in this strange world. Other days it was like walking around a scalded cat, Wukong picking and poking and snapping at things Sophie didn’t understand fully. He was a prickly monkey but …

She looked down and saw that his face, though set in his typical apathetic scowl, had none of the stormy look he usually wore when something was bothering him.

When he acted like this it made Sophie want to be his friend all the more.

Wukong pulled one of his hands free from behind his head and held up a hand, asking silently. Sophie passed him the book. The Monkey King squinted at the words, turning the book and it’s pages in his hand with a disinterested air.

“I guess that’s suitable.” He said and snapped it closed.

“Suitable?”

“To read aloud.” Wukong said, passing it back to her. He closed his eyes, breathing out as another cool breeze shook the tree leaves above them.

“We may have an hour or two before that storm will be upon us.” He lifted his chin up, gesturing at the storm.

“I don’t think you want your little book to get wet in that downpour so if you want to get a good deal into it, best to start sooner rather than later.”

“You want me to read aloud to you?”

Wukong opened one glowing eye and stared at her. “Yes. It will be a welcome change to that monkey stalker crap you have.”

“It’s not crap it’s science!”

“Sounds like crap to me.”

“If you want me to read to you, you better not call this book crap either or I will drop it on your nose.” Sophie threatened.

Wukong opened both his eyes to fix her with an upside down glare.

“You wouldn’t dare.” But there was a hint of a grin about his face, a tugging of humor to his lips.

Sophie kept his stare, unblinking.

“Watch me, monkey boy.”

She shook the book in threat. She would drop the book on his nose. Sophie had a suspicion that Wukong would then take that book and either chuck it away or keep it away from her.

Wukong grinned up and then closed his eyes again, tail curling up and onto his waist.

“I wouldn’t. It’s poetry. I want to hear what this pompous Li Po has to prattle about.” With that Wukong settled back into Sophie’s lap, getting comfortable.

Sophie felt a touch of affection for her friend, something that may have struck a different cord with her if this had been earlier in their relationship (and before Wukong had squashed that very early crush). Wukong may be an ass- pompous and self important himself- but he was genuine in a sense. He may dance around things that made him turn moody and broody but he really couldn’t hide that, despite being hot and cold at times to her, Sophie and Sun Wukong had a friendship. One born of arguments and teasing, questions and prodding. Maybe he had scared her into falling into a river. But he had stolen her clothes to replace the ones soaked. Maybe he had poor communication skills and liked to get her attention by kicking walls or suddenly jumping up in front of her or taking her things and holding them at ransom. But it was friendship. A friendship so very strange and bewildering at times that It confused Sophie as much as rewarded her.

The snap of thunder had her stare back up into the sky. The storm moved closer, already a sheet of rain visibly pouring down onto the mountains beyond. It would be a bit before it reached the pilgrims but it was making its steady way toward them all the same.

Sophie opened the book, flipping to the first poem. Quite appropriately it was about storms.

As the thunder rolled closer, promising a reprieve from the heat, Sophie felt a peace settle in as she read. Even as the sky broke apart before them, she felt a calm and grounding. She may be from another time, another place. Adrift she could have felt. Reading aloud she felt an anchor settle in her. She belonged. Even if it was only to a very angry stone monkey, she belonged.

#hcwrites #writing stuff #for jttw monkeybuisness #hope you like it !#sun wukong #jttw au #jttw tag #it’s so unbearably hot here #and this kinda popped in my head and I caved and wrote it #it’s shorter then the others so I hope it still makes y’all smile.#I had Sky Full of Song when I was writing this #poor pilgrims they are all dying in the heat #I DONT blame em for snapping at eachother #I CANT stand the heat either #impulsive writing I did.#I Hope I did. this well! it was kinda just a fast spontaneous writing #drabbles #hcfanfics

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the-witchhunter · 1 month

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I’ve had an interesting thought swimming around my head that I swear I’ve been meaning to write

You know what would be an interesting combination of characters?

Jazz and Harvey Dent/TwoFace

Specifically a Dent just getting back on his feet, released from Arkham and trying to learn how to exist in the world with his condition

I’m thinking a reveal gone wrong, Danny has disappeared to ancients know where, so Jazz cuts ties and Stays with her Uncle Dent, or maybe her bio dad if that’s more your game. Just an soaking wet and miserable Jazz showing up at his crappy apartment saying she’s his daughter or niece and him resisting the urge to flip a coin because he has enough on his plate as is, only to let her in telling her they’ll talk about it in the morning and point her to the shower so she can clean up and dry off

Why do I think this would be an interesting combo?

Jazz’s interest in psychology. A lot of times, as a fandom we depict her as an expert, and in a future timeline where she went to school and has been practicing psychology maybe, but default Jazz? She’s not an expert

Jazz wants to be a brain surgeon, psychology is an interest of hers but her understanding is very limited. She quotes Freud and Jung and has some amount of academic knowledge of the field, but she clearly doesn’t understand that psychoanalyzing friends and family and offering unwanted psychiatric advice is actually rude and something she shouldn’t do. She lacks understanding of actual therapy and is clumsy in applying her knowledge to people she knows

And I find putting her in proximity of someone with DID and probably PTSD would really be an eye opening experience for her

Because Dent might humor her, TwoFace will call her out. They both have hung around Harley to know enough to tell her, “maybe don’t take Freud so seriously” because man does everything go back to sex with Freud, and maybe quoting a guy that says she wants to boink her dad is not as strong of a point as she thinks it is

And the thing is, Harvey would likely still be receiving therapy as an outpatient, potentially taking meds to help deal with his conditions, likely a mood stabilizer or anxiety med to manage PTSD symptoms, so she’s front seat of him learning to live as a regular person in Gotham with his condition. She’s gonna see his good days, his bad days, the side effects of his medication, and it’s going to change her idea of what psychology is. It’s not just quoting things at people, it’s not just saying “this is good for people” but she’d see what it being put into practice would look like

Maybe that’ll push her away from the subject. Maybe it’ll make her more inclined to study, to learn not just about it as an abstract but how to actually apply it to help people. Learning about actual therapy practices. Maybe living first hand with mental illness would be the push to switch from neurosurgery to clinical psychology in her future plans

Also I just think that Dent would be empathetic and do what he could to help her, meanwhile TwoFace would help her cut loose a little, get a little chaotic and have some fun

You can’t tell me there’s not something fun about her and “Uncle Two-y” having a night on the town that only results in a little property damage. Relax Harv, they didn’t do anything too illegal, because they didn’t get caught or nothing

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #writing #writing prompt #jazz fenton #two face #harvey dent #I spend a lot of time thinking about Harvey dent and two face #and how his DID affects his character #because it’s beyond there being a good side and a bad side #two face is a lot of Harvey’s anger and ‘base impulses’#Freud would call him the Id while Harvey is the ego #base impulses and the arbitrator between impulses and the rules society creates #the judge would likely be the superego if this version has him #all rules

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txmxkis · 2 months

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Rinii, what do you think kuroo would say or react when reader starts feeling self-conscious about readers body, like if reader asks "am i getting fatter" or "do you think im fat?"

ohhhhhh i did not plan to do this but this is something that is so personal to me

warnings. gn!reader, fluffy and probably cheesy as always, chubby!reader is implied but i tried to keep it as inclusive as possible, reader is insecure. again, apparently i can only write self indulgent things my bad

you were supposed to be ready to leave the apartment half an hour ago. you weren't usually one to be late to anything, in fact it made you incredibly anxious when you were. however, today your insecurity outweighed your need to be punctual, and you just couldn't leave while looking like this.

actually, today you couldn't leave looking like anything. pieces of clothing lay strewn across the room, hangers discarded on the floor next to the closet. you had tried on every single one, and still there were none that looked flattering on you.

"oi! are you ready yet? i mean, take your time 'n everything, but technically we're late."

kuroo's voice calling from the other room pulls you out of your thoughts momentarily. he never rushes you, which is something you appreciate greatly. it helps that he knows you well enough to know that you would never be late without good reason.

"is there something i can help with orrrr?"

you could hear his voice getting closer and you really didn't want him to see you in this state right now.

he pokes his head past the doorframe and makes a noise of astonishment.

"a tornado go through here while i was gone or somethin'? or are you just trying to spontaneously reorganize things again."

you roll your eyes at that second thing.

"noooo, i just can't decide what to wear. nothing looks good on me today."

he's standing fully in the doorway now, hands in his pockets as he raises an eyebrow and looks you up and down.

"then wear nothing, it looks great on you."

he smirks and you make a futile attempt not to crack a smile as you feel your face start to burn. suddenly you're even more self conscious, so you grab the nearest piece of clothing to hold in front of you.

"tetsurou, i'm being serious! we needed to leave like forty minutes ago and i can't wear any of these clothes without looking-"

you stop yourself just before you could say fat. you hate giving the word a negative connotation. there's nothing wrong with being fat, nothing that should make you feel like this, anyway. like you wanted to crawl out of your skin. usually you were pretty neutral about your body, on very rare occasions could even love things about it. sometimes, it all catches up to you, though.

all the whispers in your head that come from no one but yourself, degrading you and making you feel worthless because of how you look. logically, you know those thoughts are complete and utter bullshit, but it's so hard to continuously fight against them. today, you're slipping a little.

"i know exactly what you're thinking over there. something about your clothes not fitting quite right and that somehow it makes you unloveable."

you don't even have time to pretend to be shocked that he knows you so well before he just keeps on going.

"well i've got news for you, babe, i've never seen you manage to look bad. i actually think it's impossible for you or something."

for a few moments too long, you just stand there gaping at him. he takes that as his cue to walk towards you, remove the sweater that you've been using as a shield, and toss it off to the side.

"there. better."

you finally snap out of it and smack him on the arm, but before you can pull away, he catches your wrist. he brings it up to his lips slowly, and kisses right where your pulse is probably hammering away at the moment, locking eyes with you as he does.

how are you ever supposed to argue with him if he keeps stunning you into silence?

"i don't think you'll ever understand how much i love you, doesn't matter if you change physically or not. and it doesn't matter what you wear either, so can you pleaseeee put on something so we can go. we both know you'll look perfect in anything."

"ugh, fine! but you get to help me pick."

he rubs his hands together with a devious grin, and you know he'll be grabbing the most revealing thing he can find. you know him well, too, after all.

"something appropriate."

"awww, damn."

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kingofpeacows · 9 months

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TimKonBart fic where Kon and Bart are dubiously together and get invited to a big superhero wedding hosted by the Justice League funders, The Waynes....

Except no one ever told them that The Waynes are The Bats because everyone assumed it had gotten back to them at some point (it didn't, no one tells Young Justice anything) so they meet a civillian Tim and instantly fall in love with his cringe and fail behavior not knowing its their OTHER CRUSH, Robin.

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bipbopdepmop · 9 months

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short boatem summer fic

based on this post -> (link) by @applestruda

Picture this:

It is the hottest day of the year. The sun beats down relentlessly upon any poor sap that gets caught out in it. The heat can only be described as ‘being hit in the face with a sack full of bricks that have somehow been set on fire.'

We see the Boatem crew going about various activities as the very same sun spills into an overly warm room onto well-worn floorboards. The room is small and neat. There is a crooked green carpet on the floor and pictures on the wall of five laughing people. It is a room that has seen lots of love.

A fan whirs steadily in the background. Impulse turns the page of his book, letting out a long sigh. Mumbo waters his plants, mumbling to himself and occasionally making a noise that is either pleased or disgruntled as he inspects his plants. So far, he has said “Ah!” in a pleased way fourteen times and “oh!” in a displeased way twelve times. Scar began counting an indeterminate amount of time ago out of sheer boredom. He’s been sitting in front of the fan for what feels like forever. It’s only been five minutes. Jellie meows. Impulse turns another page. Time drips by like honey. Every heat-filled second seems to take an hour to pass.

Footsteps. Enter Grian, bright wings flashing at the edge of Scar’s vision. He would look over, call out a greeting but that would mean exposing his face to the heat. Grian is not worth braving the heat, he decides.

“I am never going to move again,” Grian complains. “I am just going to lay here and melt.”

“That seems like a good plan,” Impulse agrees with a small chuckle from the only shady corner in the room. A foot prods Scar’s side.

Poke. “Scar, move over.” Another, more insistent poke.

He turns his head, just a little. The right side of his face is now uncomfortably warm, exposed to the Void-forsaken heat. Grian really does look terrible, hair plastered to his forehead, face red and sunburnt and ear-feathers limp.

“I was here first!” Scar says, a bit indignant. First dibs, right? “Go get your own fan. There’s one somewhere around here.” He ducks a little, but not enough to avoid the wing that whacks him in the head.

“Ow!” he says halfheartedly, turning his head to face Impulse. Ah, sweet, sweet relief for the right side of his face, not so much for his left. “Impulse, Grian hit me!”

“Grian did nothing of the sort,” Grian interjects, tone bright and innocent-sounding. Another wing whacks Scar again. “Scar’s the one hogging the fan.”

With a long suffering sigh, Impulse looks up from his book. The glare that Scar receives is just short of withering. Got it. Don’t interrupt Impulse. Scar yelps as he is rudely pushed over onto the floor and into the sun. The floor burns to the touch. His poor, poor, super muscle-y arms. Betrayal! Blood! Trauma! Death! He will never forgive Grian for this. He will pay.

A thump. Grian’s sigh of sheer relief is almost pathetic. Sure enough, Grian’s face is now inches from the fan, eyes closed in pure joy. Scar groans dramatically.

“Grian, how could you? My very own brother-in-arms!”

Grian scoffs. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.”

“Me?” Scar gasps. “I would never.”

“Oh you absolutely would,” Mumbo says with a snort.

“Fine, fine! I see how it is around here. No love for good ol’ Scar! C’mon Jellie, we can go join the Big Eyes Crew. I bet they have a fan. I bet their fan is bigger than ours. After all, Bdubs’ smile is the biggest there is. He’s probably got the biggest fan too.” Impulse snorts and turns the page. Grian’s wings rustle. Mumbo makes his fifteenth “Ah!” His plants must be doing well.

Scar sighs, pulling himself into an upright position and drapes himself over Grian’s shoulders. “See, this way we can share the fan!”

“Scar,” Grian whines, dragging his name out exasperatedly. “You’re too warm! Go away.”

“Come on Grian, you can say it,” he teases, smiling. “I’m too hot. I’m too hot for you.”

Scar grunts as Grian elbows him in the side, throwing him off his shoulders. Huffing, he leans against Grian’s back instead. If he can’t get the fan, a nice backrest will do. Even if that backrest has really, really pokey bony wings that dig into his back. Maybe he’ll take a nap and when he wakes up, it’ll all be over. He closes his eyes.

After what barely seems like ten minutes, he hears Pearl say “What’s all this? You guys look absolutely pathetic.” Cracking his eyes open a little and turning his head to face her, he sees her in all her moth-y glory, standing over them. She has a shopping bag in one hand. Slowly, she reaches in and pulls out-

A freezer pop.

Scar might cry. He’s never seen such a beautiful sight. He might pick Pearl up and twirl her around in joy if it weren’t so dang-blasted hot.

---

#hermitcraft #boatem #grian #pearlescentmoon #impulsesv #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft fic #mumbo jumbo #hope its ok #never written boatem before #anyways i saw the art and just had to write a little silly thing about it #hopefully its not too stiff or weird or ooc idk #just realised impulse does not. say anything #whoops #hope i tagged everything right #i. did not tag everything right #my writing

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andthebeanstalk · 1 year

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PENIS PENIS PENIS PENIS PENIS

PUSSY.

BIG FLAPPY WET JESUS PUSSY.

JESUS' SOPPING WET PUSS-PUSS

[Edited months after posting to discourage catholics from replying to this post after finding that both the nice and much funnier not-nice responses to this were equally bad for my mental health. I didn't wanna delete it bc I was quite proud of some of my responses and it helps to have a visual reminder of why I left an abusive organization. Also, this means that any catholic who has reblogged this in an attempt to convert me, has now reblogged a post that, if clicked, links back to this. Use MY post for propaganda, will you!]

Thinking about how it was never made clear to me in Catholic school exactly WHY Jesus died for our sins. I just remembered that I was literally never clear on who the dying helped??

I've heard theories as an adult, but basically what I'm saying is pointless martyrdom seems a little pointless, and also with enough propaganda the big logical gaps in a belief system get really hard to see. Especially if questioning anything is blasphemy.

I would have gotten in so much trouble for insisting the teacher explain how Jesus helped us by being tortured to death by Romans even when God could have prevented it! God sent his only Son, they would have said! Be grateful, they'd say! Be guilty! Stop asking why he did that!!!

#original #religious trauma #<- what's up guys why did he do that??? for real i was raised catholic and it is FUCKING UNCLEAR but also the basis of a huge chunk of #my childhood?? like WHY though? my friend madeleine said it was related to animal sacrifices with the lamb of god stuff and all #this was NEVER mentioned in my school. i thought he was the lamb bc he followed god but maybe not #no wonder my impulse as a person is to constantly sacrifice myself unnecessarily #i think martyrdom is a bad gift. but i guess torture your son to death or whatever dude. but it's weird to do that and say it was for me #like...... thanks?? you're literally omnipotent but this is like the worst possible version of a cat leaving a dead mouse on my bed #Christianity #thank goodness i was too much of a fag to stay. i was so unhappy there.#the good place actually addresses a lot of my issues with Christianity as a whole while also not being all about Christianity #like what does it mean to condemn a person capable of change to eternal hell?M #*hell??#the good place #god pays the devil's rent y'all. like in that post that made my long beautiful essay about this irrelevant by #summing it up with 'girl they are in cahoots.' i think about that post all the fukn time nothing i can write longform is as punchy as that

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pathetic-gamer · 4 months

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I do love that canonically Alan Wake is an asshole with a famously bad temper who parties too hard and gets arrested for assaulting paparazzi but who everyone thinks is very cool and hot because it means the jazzy dance solo on Mr Door's show is 100% true to character, but also because it means when Tom Zane shows him the clips of them partying it up together, the discerning fan may say "Well, Tom, you must be trying to deceive me! that is clearly Mr Scratch doing his silly little freak dance like in Alan Wake's American Nightmare," but I, an even more discerning fan, am here to tell you that Alan is a smart guy ok he wasn't deceived bc of the absurdity, he was deceived bc of the fact that yeah he would absolutely 1000% do that lmao

You think the sad confused terrified fella wandering around in the rain is the real alan wake? that guy ain't shit, he can't remember anything. he's a pale imitation. the TRUE alan wake, as he was before coming into contact with the dark presence, is on the surreal dreamscape talk show circuit talking shit about the movie adaptation of his old books right in front of the star of those movies.

#alan wake 2 spoilers #alan wake #alan wake 2 #scheduled post so i dont keep going on and on about this damn game tonight #btw i actually think alan *did* write Return. like giving in to despair and his darkest impulses and turning it into a vindictive #horror story with no care for anyone but himself and alice and tom? that's not much of a stretch tbh #it's like how the scratch who killed him while he was editing Return was actually fully just Him #being trapped in the dark place has forced him into these extremes in all directions but its all still Alan

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anonbinaryweirdo · 10 months

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Childe is honestly such a child (<- very well known fact)

Scratch that, Ajax is such a child.

I feel like if you were out together, and the streets of wherever you are were busy, his hand would always be seeking yours out--scratch that, it doesn't even leave yours. He definitely pouts a little when you have to let it go for something,,, and will try and urge you to hold his hand again

I can imagine him going all wide eyed and excited when he sees something, tugging on your hand and pointing obnoxiously at it, "[Name], [Name], look!" asking a thousand and one questions at once with wide blue eyes, and you could have sworn in that moment you saw a sparkle form in the corners,,, could have just been your imagination, thou

"Do you know what this is?" "What does it do?" "I haven't seen any of these in Snezhnaya before..." (assuming you're not already there) "Can I touch it? I'm gonna touch it." "What do you think about it? Pretty neat, isn't it?" "Can we take it back with us? Please?" "Can I use it to fight?"

It's honestly so cute,,, he may be this harbinger with an ongoing, unsatisfied lust for battle, but these moments are always ones to be cherished,,, does he know how adorable he is? Maybe, maybe not.

I also feel like he likes the sound of your heartbeat! Laying on your chest is a must; it's one of the moments where he's so unfamiliarly quiet and vulnerable, and not constantly on his guard, waiting for an excuse to fight something. The soft beating of your heart against your rib cage is so soothing to him, it's like a recharge. He'll keep his freckled cheek pressed against your chest for as long as he wants you let him. Play with his hair, too, and his eyelids will be getting heavy in no time :D

You're a teddy now. You did this to yourself when you first let him really hold you. His strong arms are always going to be wrapped so tightly around you,,, you might want to go pee beforehand. There's no guarantee he'll let you go. "Ajax, I have to pee-" "Mmmm, no you don't." "???"

No one to blame but yourself (<- Ajax probably)

You are his safe place, even when he's away from home--hell, even if/when you do go to Snezhnaya together, you're still his anchor, the peace to all the chaos, the person to unconditionally clean his wounds and take care of him

He hasn't truly gotten to be a child since he was fourteen, but with you? He can make up for it all, even if he is a grown ass man, just as long as you let him :D He loves you sm it's unreal <\3

this is a childe hate page btw i hate him ewwww gags barfs

#hes literally my wife wdym #we're living our happiest lives in hell #we rule it actually.#i came up with this all on impulse while trying to draw #so i did this all from the top of my head if it seems poopy no it doesnt youre crazy *gaslights*#oli selfships #🖋 oli writes stuff #should i tag this.#im gonan do it #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 6 months

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So the brand FIGS sells scrubs, and this morning they dropped a limited edition Star Wars set, ✨Mandalorian themed✨.

Y'ALL.

Not me out here buying the Nevarro colored scrubs feeling like reader from AFS 😩 my wallet hurts so bad this morning oh God send help.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #a fresh start #did someone say impulse buy?#i also bought the hoodie with Mandoa writing on the sleeve #it's a din djarin themed morning guys

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essektheylyss · 4 months

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so often I consider adding footnotes to my writing projects just for vibes but at no point is the urge stronger than when I go to use a word like 'herculean' in a fantasy setting and my brain goes, "who the fuck is hercules"

#literally the impulse to respond 'IF TERRY PRATCHETT DID IT SO CAN I' but I am so tethered to my existing structures #I don't wanna complicate things they're already complicated enough here #there are definitely instances of it in my fic but I'm more precious about it here #megs is writing

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rearranging-deck-chairs · 5 months

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yaz voice: i keep thinking,,, i keep thinking abt the.....future affecting the past of it all. the "if he runs out of time the hostile action would end and a time machine would know", "im fine because you fixed yourself", and "because it's not a grave"

like if it were me. if it were me. i still would have gone with the villa diodati conundrum. "save the poet, save the universe" what do we do when the poet IS the universe. "watch people burn now or tomorrow" like the distinction exists? like tomorrow isnt yesterday?

so we make them face the child. the doctor loses this one, right? too beholden to their rules. lost with shelley, will lose with the child. because there is no way to win it. not with the rules of the universe theyve clung to up to this point. not without play

so theres a child that needs to be saved but the doctor cant do it because it will take the foundation out from under the universe. she Can Not interfere. she fails to be the doctor when it comes to herself. but yaz is there. doctor's doctor. wont accept this. saves the child

the universe crumbles, but this or tecteun's revenge the outcome is similar except. the universe that crumbles if you save the child is the timelords' universe, their imposed histories, their laws, their logic. nothing makes sense anymore. it's terrifying. gotta let go gotta let go gotta let go. you HAVE to play. play or perish. please it's not that serious. it's just identity! funniest game there is. listen to the master; tag, youre it

#i admit theres a lot of details to work out #a lot of details ive forgotten about also #but give me a minute and a rewatch of every episode since 2019 and i'll be good to go #hdfkjhgj #i Would like to write my own version of idk everything since halfway s12 i guess #but it'd be so much work man #and for who #well me i suppose #maybe one day #also now that ive written it out loud a 'future affecting the past' theme seems inevitable if youve got a writer #responding to his own old work #but i really do need to rewatch to remind myself of all the details i need to fill in and check off here #theres a lot im missing #but if it were me!#if it were me the scene where yaz stops the doctor and runs off to save the child would echo the end of 12x10 #the aftermath of it would be brutal i think #13 would be torn apart by conflicting impulses #YOU SHOULDNT HAVE/yes you should have it was the right thing to do/but ILLEGALIMPOSSIBLE/you did what i coudlnt (shamepride)/#it was done for love/how dare you/it was done for ME/the universe cant suffer for me i cant bear that/#you had no right to make that choice/i wanted to protect you from it/you had no right to put the end of the universe on me like that #she would break open completely it'd be messy as fuck #and incredible to see #and then i havent even imagined yazs responses yet

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tswwwit · 1 year

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Could we get a taste of that new work you started…👀

Heck, have the whole thing! This is for that AU of an AU where Ford captured Bill/Bill was his familiar, and Dipper freed him, like an idiot. Here's the first fic and here's some needed backstory.

---------------------------------------

Dipper leans over to let his fingers trail through the water. It’s oddly warm to the touch. Bill’s voice carries, weird and echoing, over the river and through the empty city.

Which Dipper’s ignoring, for the moment.

Not like he’s missing much; he can't understand the lyrics anyway. Bill’s demonic singing continues over his inattention.

This dream is distinctly… not a good one. On the surface, at least; Dipper’s not terrified, but only because of his company.

He also might be a little jaded at this point.

Truth be told, he’s visited a lot of dreams at this point. They’re Bill’s go-to meetup spots. Though Dipper hasn’t really been the biggest fan, so far, he’s never been in any danger. That he knows of. Bill’s made sure of that.

Bringing Dipper to a dream that lacks his idea of 'pizazz', or gore, or immediately evident monsters is a new tactic - but at least it’s not a bad one.

It’s eerie, for sure. The silence beyond Bill’s yodeling adds an extra layer of ‘creepy’ - but the boat is nice, the company’s familiar. Even the water’s warm against the tips of his fingers, leaving clean, bright lines in the river -

Dipper yanks his arm back with a start, and he shakes the water off rapidly. Some of the red drops leave spots on his shirt and pants..

The broken surface of the water bleeds bright red. Like wounded flesh.

Dipper grimaces. He’d back up, but there’s no space in the gondola.

And - as a bonus - it looks like it’s attracting more glimpses of half-formed shadows. Of course. Dipper can only catch them out of the corners of his eye - dim, too-lanky shapes he never fully sees through the fog in the alleyways - but maybe it’s best to ignore those, too.

Still not a bad dream, necessarily. Things could be way worse.

But like everything to do with Bill, it’s unnerving. With a side of ‘constantly feeling you're being watched’.

“Ahem,” Said triangle clears a nonexistent throat. Bill thumps the stick on the bottom of the river, the one he’s been using to guide them along the city canals. “Hello! Listen up, sapling, I’m serenading here.”

Dipper shuffles around until he finds a shaky seat back in the gondola. Bill doesn’t bother. He doesn’t have to worry about balance, with his floating in midair thing.

“This is… interesting.” Dipper says. Bill brightens up, lower eyelid rising. So that’s a start - but he’s not sure how to follow it. He tucks his arms around his legs instead. “Why are we-”

“Vide stellas quae tremunt!” Bill continues his song without any notice of the question. Dipper tries waving at him, but he’s already closed his eye.. “Amoris et spei!”

No explanation, then. Dipper rolls his eyes.

God forbid Bill not have attention on him for ten seconds.

“I sense,” Bill says, tapping under his eye thoughtfully. “That you might not be appreciating this, kid.” Said eye rolls in its golden socket. “Why am I not surprised!”

At Dipper’s shrug, Bill grumbles something under his breath, and pushes the gondola along. Silent, for a moment.

Dipper shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Absent the music, this place is extremely eerie. There’s a light fog on the canals, and he doesn’t dare look into the alleys.

In a way, he understands why Bill’s like this. Needing company. Demanding attention. Being demanding is part and parcel of his demonic nature, and he was also stuck in a prison for thirty freakin’ years. That alone would make someone deranged.

Bill was just insane even before that.

Thankfully, irrepressible as always, Bill starts humming some other tune. Dipper’s glad he started again; he must be in a better mood. Bill’s huge eye narrows slightly in contemplation.

Then he lets out a low, self-satisfied cackle, and rubs two hands together. A third arm keeps steering the boat.

Dipper rolls his own eyes.

Yeah, this is definitely going to pan out like Bill expects. Because everything Bill’s done has worked out great for him.

Bill said he had plans for Dipper, but he’s taking his sweet time getting to them. It barely seems like there is one, most nights.

Whatever he’s after, it might work better if he focused on his goal.

Instead, he’s making Dipper focus on him.

Every time they’ve met up - and it’s been months - Bill’s clearly making some kind of effort. He’s hinted at a deeper truth, dozens of times. He taunts, and he talks, and even teaches on a whim. His methods are obscure and bizarre, they seem out of place - but Dipper gets the sense that Bill genuinely thinks it’s important.

He must really be distracted by his ego, because so far? His ‘plan’ doesn't seem all that sinister. It’s like he’s barely started it, or it’s genuinely not-terrible - which is why Dipper willingly joins Bill in his dreams.

Okay. That, plus a certain amount of sheer, idiotic curiosity. Dipper’s not perfect.

But he knows Bill’s trying to show him something.

Maybe if Dipper got it - whatever ‘it’ is - then he’d be able to thwart the plan. But until he finally gets it, or it comes to fruition or… Until something really evil happens, he guesses, then they’re just going to keep…

Meeting up? Hanging out? Dipper’s not sure which phrase fits right.

Judging by how it’s gone so far, that ‘until’ might be a while.

So long as Bill’s just reveling in attention, though - there’s no reason to stop him screwing himself over. Freedom seems like a big deal to him, and if the last few months are any indication? He’s been enjoying it immensely.

Feeding Bill’s ego a little can’t hurt, and it’s. Not bad, really.

Dipper just. Doesn’t have a lot of people to talk with who aren’t family, and Bill’s always up for a conversation. Even if it mostly devolves into bickering about stupid things, and Bill’s awful, awful jokes - Dipper’s finding he doesn’t mind that much. Bill’s quick-witted, weirdly charming for a person who’s a shape, and his magical knowledge has a depth that’s breathtaking. Even if it comes in an annoying golden package.

Whatever works, works, though. As long as Bill’s eager to hang out, then Dipper might as well indulge him.

After all, Bill could be up to worse things than bothering Dipper. And when it comes right down to it - he’s kind of fun. In an insane, demonic way.

Dipper’s still cautious. He’d be an idiot not to be.

But so far, Bill’s keeping his word.

Come to think of it, the plan must be one of the reasons Bill’s still here, in this dream. He’s making sure this isn’t a nightmare, while he tries to convey his… something. Possibly in a manner that won’t completely chase Dipper off. But if he can figure it out, before Bill manages to be super evil -

Dipper tucks his arms around himself tighter in the chill of the fog. He shakes his head to clear it.

This is novel, and interesting -

And very, very dangerous.

He’s got to stay wary. Reminding himself that Bill is absolutely insane.

“What, you chilly or something?” Bill sets fists on his angles. He was humming for a while, but now he looks curious. He even floats in a bit, while the stick keeps steering the gondola without a pilot. “This is what you get for having a crappy endothermic system.”

“Shut up.” Dipper tucks his legs together too. The temperature, if anything, seems to have dropped by a few more degrees. “Didn’t you make this dream? Can’t you control the-”

“Ahem. Unlike some amateurs, I know how to set the atmosphere.” Bill shuts his eye, somehow managing to look self-assured without a face. He wags a chiding finger at Dipper, floating close enough to flick his nose. “You wanna keep your empty nightmares on refrigerator settings. Fits the whole ‘eternally preserved’ theme.”

“And how does singing bad opera fit the ‘theme’?“ Dipper smacks Bill on the side. Dumb move, it only hurts his fingers - though Bill's not cold, like the air. It makes him pause. “...Hey. That wasn’t in Italian.”

“When in Rome, speak as the Romans do! And they were chatting in Latin before your forebears had forebears.” Bill shrugs, nonchalant. “It's the source of Romance languages!”

A minor detail. One Bill’s using to avoid the question - and he only resorts to being a pedant when he’s caught.

Dipper narrows his eyes -

Then seizes the opportunity.

And the triangle.

As Bill thuds against Dipper's chest, he wraps his arms around him tight. Bill flails a bit, muttering something impossibly muffled against Dipper's chest. How does that happen, he doesn't even have a mouth. Dipper decides to ignore the impossible, yet again. Squeezing Bill a little harder, like he could crumple him like tinfoil. Knowing that he won't.

Man Bill’s warm; radiating off him like a personal, annoying space heater. Dipper can already feel the sensation returning to his fingers, gripped tight on Bill's edges.

And frowns. “Wait. I thought this was supposed to be nightmare Venice, not Rome.”

“Cripes, what a pedant.” Bill groans, the hypocrite. Dipper can’t see his eye - he’s rotated it around to face forward - but he’s sure he’s rolling it as well. He floats lower in Dipper’s lap, and one raised finger jabs the soft underside of Dipper’s jaw. “I bet you’re a real hit at parties. I couldn’t take you anywhere!”

Bullshit, Bill’s arrogant enough to take anyone anywhere, and be smug about it.

And if he’s trying to pretend he’s not in a good mood, maybe he should stop glowing so bright.

Dipper squeezes him a little tighter. Bill’s been caught, he can’t escape - and while he hasn’t totally settled down, he’s letting his legs dangle over Dipper’s and only kicked him once. It was barely a tap.

“I get it. You’ve never spent much time in Italy.” And Dipper smiles. This’ll get to him. “Bill Cipher claims to be the dream demon extraordinaire - but he never managed to bother a Pope.”

The sharp, indignant noise Bill makes is so, so sweet. Dipper jostles the top hat with his cheek, just to bug him more, and listens to the ensuing weird burble with a grin.

In the end, Dipper gets a thoroughly informative rant about the intricacies of both Italy and Rome and parts of an empire that he’s pretty sure never existed. Bill’s alight with indignance - and amusement. Possibly at his own bullshit.

Dipper really, really wishes he had a notebook with him.

Talking with Bill is always fascinating, and infuriating. Half of this has to be bullshit. Some of it might be true. Dipper… should really check out more history books. Maybe then he’d have more chances to call out Bill’s bullshit, with facts. For the moment, questioning him on every aspect pokes enough holes to help sort out the fiction.

It’s an easy conversation, and a long one. Bickering with Bill takes ages, makes Dipper struggle for words, he’s usually a little annoyed - and it’s oddly pleasant. In that Dipper doesn’t have to be pleasant. Or even nice. Bill absorbs it all with infinite confidence, and shoots back with pointed ripostes.

“-And that’s why garum was crappy, and ya shouldn’t miss it.” Bill finishes. He pats Dipper’s arm twice, and, reluctantly, is released. He floats up above the gondola as it drifts, slowly towards a dock. “But I think we’re getting off topic.”

“How? We-” Always argue, Dipper was about to say. That was before he stood up; now he’s thinking better of it. “Shit.”

He tries to balance as the gondola shakes; some of the blood-water laps over the sides. Crap, arguing with Bill is one thing, but he didn’t want to literally rock the boat.

Bill floats up further, watching the sloshing - and starts laughing.

Dipper glares, but the stupid tiny canoelike thing is shaking under him, he grips the sides. Since they’re next to the dock, he smacks a palm on it. It steadies things, barely.

“Pfft, loser.” Bill’s lower eyelid is raised in amusement. He watches Dipper struggle for another moment - then laughs harder, before holding out a hand. “C’mon already!”

Dipper takes the offer, absurdly grateful. Bill’s hand is very warm, like the rest of him.The black void of the not-flesh is a strange non-texture under his palm, steadying him before he falls. Dipper fumbles for a moment before holding onto it tight. Even though the boat is about to capsize, Bill’s got him.

Bill brightens up and squeezes his hand back. Not hard, surprisingly, maybe a little teasingly, and it makes something flip around inside Dipper’s chest.

Bill hauls Dipper bodily up onto the dock, with surprising strength and a cackling laugh. Dipper feels a quick slap just above his hip as he briefly stumbles.

Crap, that was fast. He almost backpedaled into the canal again from sheer surprise - but his grip on Bill means he only lent back for a moment.

Bill, the asshole, thinks it was amazingly funny. He’s leaning forward, another sixty degree angle in the air.

Dipper flips him off, heart racing fast. He wonders how Bill managed - but, right. He’s a demon, of course. Physics don’t matter. Those weird, noodlelike arms defy them on the daily.

One of said arms prods Dipper in the stomach. “Man, kid, talk about clumsy!” Bill’s still chuckling. His surface flickers with amusement, eyelid raised in a smile. “I shoulda let you go for a dunk!” Then a thoughtful rub under the single, narrowed eye. “Though I do like you less dissolved. At the moment.”

Dipper narrows his eyes. His valiant attempt to crush Bill’s hand in his own fails at the complete lack of bones inside.

Bill’s insane and weird and clever. He’s the strangest being Dipper’s ever met - but whatever his motives are? It’s - so far - been fine.

Dipper’s not dunked. Or dissolved. Hell, if anything, he should always be more terrified. With what Bill does. With what Bill is.

Best of all, that wasn’t a handshake. Even though Bill’s still holding on, it’s not in the right position for one. Interlaced fingers don’t count, he’s sure.

Dipper struggles at the touch, and gets his hand back, eventually. He wipes it on his pants, trying to shake off the thought.

It definitely wasn’t a shake, because they didn’t make a deal. If they had, Bill would be gloating about it. Dipper can put that single heartstopping moment behind him.

He’s still thinking about it as Bill leads him through the city. The conversation is mostly Bill rambling, their usual light bickering.

Dipper may be wandering around a nightmare, but with his palm flat on the warm surface of Bill’s back, at least he knows nothing else is going to freak him out. Bill would get huffy about not being the center of attention.

“So whatd’ya think of the main dream? Took the blueprint off a guy with agoraphobia.” Bill tugs one one of the passing door handles - which doesn’t move. When Dipper looks closer, it’s literally painted on. “No indoors, anywhere!”

“It’s kind of…” Dipper thinks about it. Nearly silent streets, cold and misty. Even if Bill wasn’t here, it’d be… “Empty.”

“Uh, duh, that’s the point.”

“No, I mean,” Dipper scrunches his face up, trying to think of - he isn’t much for horror movies, but exposure to Bill has shown him enough. “There’s no ominous signs of who was here, either. Like, I’d think there would be… half-eaten meals on the cafe tables, or, like.” He snaps his fingers, trying to think of remnants - “A single, empty child’s shoe.”

"Oh, very nice! I like how you think, sapling.” Bill taps Dipper’s temple, twice, before patting his cheek. Dipper leans away before he can pinch it. “Even if it’s not your thing, you always got something going on in that bonebox, don’tcha?”

Dipper just shrugs. He can’t not think. A dream demon liking what he does think is… morally questionable.

And, maybe, kind of neat.

“We don’t see enough of each other these days. A few hours at a time is nothing.” Bill continues, waving over the scenery. “Not that I’m not a fan of you letting me whisk ya off in your dreams - but what about reality?”

“Nope.” Dipper drops his arm, folding both of them over his chest. “Not happening.”

Freeing Bill was…. Arguably morally gray. Dipper doesn’t regret it, but Bill is an asshole, and Ford was convincing. The main advantage of Bill’s freedom came with their deal, Bill was in a terrible position to bargain.

The second best part is not having Bill on Earth anymore. He’s still dangerous, but not immediately so.

To reality. No so much for people hanging out with him.

“C’mon, kid. We’d have way more time together when you aren’t conked out!” Bill sidles closer. One thin arm wraps a couple times around Dipper’s waist, while the other waves broadly over the scenery. “A full Europe trip, just for two.” A brief pause. “Not that you’d get this kinda quality in your mundane version of that continent, but whatever.”

“If you say so.” Dipper hedges, that sound extremely subjective. Bill blinks at him with genuine surprise; it makes Dipper fidget for a second “I haven’t been out of Gravity Falls in-” Hell. When was the last time he went back to Piedmont. Or anywhere else. “...It’s been a while.”

Bill takes another second to stare. Then sighs. His enormous eye rolls around and around in its socket, in yet another exaggeration.

“Well, think about it, kid. One of these days, we’ll get to it. Me and you, on Earth!” Bill prods him firmly in the chest, eyelid raised in a smile. “We could take a long stroll through the streets, check out a couple cafes, crush a couple local governments- Then teleport over to a boulangerie for pastries! It’d be a great time!”

Insisting on reality. Again. Dipper holds back a sigh.

Letting Bill into the world - even with the compromises Dipper managed, is a horrible idea.

But right now Bill’s off in his own little world - literally, in a way - and that concept isn’t one he’s going to accept. Not the tactic to take to argue against it.

“I guess it’s a nice thought. Or fantasy, anyway.” Dipper pats Bill twice on the edge. “You’d stand out a little too much.”

Even Dipper needed a couple weeks before he got used to Bill. He’s a giant demonic triangle made of maybe-gold. Bill Cipher, in reality, would send pretty much everyone screaming, or reeling in horrified awe.

Probably, Bill would love that. Right up until it meant no cafe service.

“Yeah, yeah, most humans have no taste. Doesn’t mean it’d ruin the occasion!” Bill wags a chiding finger. His arm slips from its loop around Dipper so he can rest a fist on his edge. “What’d’ya think shapeshifting’s for?”

“For wha-” Dipper starts - then jerking back, as Bill’s form changes.

Dipper turns his head away, shielding his eyes against the bright light. And grimacing.

This demonic drama queen. The light isn't typical for his changes, he’s doing it for show. Whatever Bill’s turning into, he hopes this shape won’t have too many limbs, or infinite teeth - or worse, pick him up again -

Trying to smack Bill is always an option, though. Especially when he’s trying to be dramatic. Dipper lands the punch easily, operating on muscle memory -

Into something warm. And firm - but much softer than gold.

Bill starts chuckling. There’s a slow, rhythmic motion under Dipper’s knuckles.

Already, it’s far from the worst Dipper’s had to deal with. Bill’s not on fire, or scaled, and there’s no huge tongues licking out between his tiers. He’s not even slimy this time, though certainly more…. organic.

Dipper opens his mouth to tell Bill off, blinking rapidly -

“So! What’d’ya think, sapling?” Bill’s grin is wide and white and close. Too close, his sudden surge in makes Dipper lean back on instinct. “Ya like the look?”

Dipper stares.

“Eh?” Bill prompts again. Now he’s wiggling his eyebrows.When he doesn’t get a response - he sticks out a tongue - a pink, human tongue, Dipper watches it flick back in. “Where’s the insult?”

Right. New shape. Bill… wants feedback, something to stroke his immense ego. Dipper should….

Say something. Probably.

He looks again at that face. A human face. Bill’s standing there, intimidating; he has eyebrows and a nose and white teeth in a wide smile on this - Dipper looks down, then slowly up again - human form, leaning over him.

“Um,” Dipper says, eloquently. He does another once over, lacking for words, until he meets that single golden eye. And swallows, once. “...Hi.”

“Not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” Bill continues. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, smoothing back his hair - then digging a finger into his fleshy cheek, and twisting it. “I think it’s a pretty accurate translation!”

Dipper nods. He opens his hand by fractions, until his palm rests flat on Bill’s chest, then thinks better and grips the shirt instead.

Okay. This. Is a new one.

Bill’s face - he has a face - is all angles, with a pleased, smug, too-wide grin. He thankfully still has only one eye, otherwise Dipper wouldn’t know where to stare - and he's very much up in Dipper’s personal space. Warmth still radiates off him, just like before.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bill says dryly. He grasps Dipper's side, just near his hip. His hand is bigger now, and - and Dipper shakes his head to clear it. “So! You and me, strolling through the city-”

Bill rambles on, per usual. The familiarity is steadying. Dipper squinches his eyes shut - then blinks, but nope. The scenery hasn’t changed.

This is. Normal. For Bill. Because this is Bill, showing off again. They can move on.

Will move on, because Bill’s looking like he wants to continue their walk. Dipper should. Follow him. That’s the right thing to do.

The first step is turning away. Easily done, if he stops gripping Bill’s shirt so tight. Forcing himself to loosen his hold works - but now he’s touching Bill’s chest again, and that isn’t great. Though it’s very solid, like Bill - because it is Bill, in a different shape, he needs to remember that. The shirt is soft, though when he strokes it. Maybe silk? Dipper -

Should stop touching it, what the hell.

Bill keeps rambling, arm warm against Dipper’s back. Dipper nods out of habit, stepping forward as Bill leads them on through the city.

Dipper forces his arms to his sides, holding them rigidly in place. He’s keeping them to himself. Thankfully, Bill doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about that.

Not that anything is, but. It might make things weird if he did think that.

Which means Dipper can relax, if only a bit. Demonic self-absorption has some benefits after all.

This is only another strange shape Bill’s taken. He’s turned into way weirder ones, for way longer - and for dumber reasons. Whatever prank he’s pulling is - Anyway, it’s only lasted maybe two minutes, it won’t be much longer. If that’s even how long it’s been.

Come to think of it, how long has Dipper been asleep? Dream time and real time never entirely track, and from this perspective they’ve been hanging out for a few hours. Longer than their typical meetup, since either Bill has ‘business’, or Dipper wakes up. Usually the latter. Eight hours real time is more like two or three in the dream realm -

…Which might be why Bill complained about it.

Bill keeps commenting on the city. Gesturing around. Possibly describing how conquerable it is, as he guides Dipper along on the midnight nightmare stroll,

Dipper isn’t sure what, exactly, the current topic is. He isn’t paying much attention.

He rubs at his forehead. He doesn’t feel much more centered, even with Bill’s arm around his waist again. Still warm, and somehow more solid. Certainly broader.

It also pulls him in and around, until he’s confronted - again - with Bill. His golden eye alight, looking him over skeptically.

“What, is this boring you?”

“I- what? No.” Dipper says. He nearly touches that chest again, and then the arm - but the biceps aren't any better. Technically speaking. He clenches his hands into fists, holding them to his own chest. “...Okay, maybe a little.”

Compared to some random nightmare city, recent developments are much more distracting.

“Yeesh, tough crowd.” Bill tuts, pulling Dipper in until their sides squish together; Dipper still doesn’t know where to put his hands, he tucks them over his stomach. “See, this is why we gotta get more hangout time!”

Bill’s other arm waves over the dream, and a space in it parts, folding up the rest of the scenery. Like opening a curtain, the city is shoved away to two sides, pleating like in a skirt.

The space opens into a void full of not-quite-stars.

Dipper leans in closer, and feels Bill’s arm tighten.

There’s a myriad of images floating in blackness. Things floating through space that’s not space, with a huge pyramid, black and ominous, somewhere in the distance.

The real heart of the nightmare realm Bill comes from, he’s seen glimpses before -

The one Ford told him never, ever, ever to take a single step into.

“You have a point, sapling. And I’ve had it with the tours of these run-of-the mill mental meanderings.” Bill never stops talking. He’s almost proud of it. “Now that I’ve cleared the squatters out, you should come crash at my place!”

Dipper yelps as he’s hauled up - damn it, he should have expected that - and braces himself on Bill’s shoulders. He nearly falls, Bill’s grip shifting, until he clamps his legs around Bill tight.

Not that he would fall - Bill wouldn’t let him - and he’s always been inhumanly, unfairly strong. The arm under his butt and the hand on his back would stop Dipper from escaping, even if he wanted to drop to the cold cobblestone ground.

“Cut it out.” Dipper kicks out from sheer indignance, anyway. Damn it, he knew he should have seen this coming - and Bill nearly stumbles to keep him in place. “What are you playing at?”

He’s done with this prank. With having to look at that face, with its. Everything. With Bill hauling him around like he’s a pet, damn it, he made that clear long ago, when Bill was still imprisoned.

Now he wants to bring him to the center of a mess of insanity and nightmares, what the hell is with that.

Maybe Bill can actually drive people insane. Because part of Dipper - the part that keeps saying ‘okay’ to their meetups has already started a horrible, insidious whisper.

Telling him everything else has been okay. Wondering if it would really be that bad.

“You clearly don’t care for the the terror atmosphere, kid. I’m fine with ditching it for the moment.” Bill jostles him in place, grinning wider at Dipper’s glare. “I got options! We can set up something else.”

“Like what.” Dipper says, flat.

“Look. Bribing you, Pine Tree? It's hard,” Bill says, with some chagrin.. “I’ve already given you power - not that you’re using it - and you got the pleasure of my company. You’ve even got some of the secrets of the universe on hand, but you keep dodging chances to hang!” His eye narrows. “What’re you really into?”

“I-” Dipper hesitates. Without a retort prepared, he’s not sure what to say.

“Name it and I’m there, kid. You did me a major favor, we’ve been walking out for a while - and I’ve been nothing but a gentleman when it comes to us.” He puts a strange emphasis on the word, one eyebrow raised. “What’s not to like?”

A lot of things, honestly. None of which Dipper can say.

Demon, for one. Dangerous, definitely. Insane, absolutely - and through all of that. Dipper has kept meeting up with Bill, even though he could use any of the dozen wards Ford has tried to foist upon him.

Bill’s hand is stroking his back, there’s an arm underneath him and it’s weird and -

God, Dipper wishes Bill wasn’t still in this shape, it’s throwing him off. For a prank, it’s weirdly well constructed, there’s no uncanny valley. Now his mind is racing

Actually, didn’t Bill say it was a translation?

Like. If Bill was a human, this would be how he looked. Still all angles, in a way. Unnaturally strong, oddly fascinating, and with amusement evident in the sharpness of his smile.

“Good! You’re thinking about it. Lemme know what’s cooking in there.” Bill’s grin is white and wild, a dangerous shape on his face. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

A smile that, now that Dipper looks at it, isn’t all that sharp. If he tugs the corner of the lips with his thumb, Bill makes a face, sticking out his tongue -

With a start, Dipper realizes he’s been staring at Bill’s mouth.

Bill snickers, but doesn’t respond. A slow smile, with his single eye half-lidded, and close enough that Dipper can feel the breath on his face. Dipper’s heart is going triple-time, and Bill’s very very close.

At some point Dipper wet his lips, involuntarily. He watches as Bill’s eye glimmers, then slowly shuts.

And -

The blare of the alarm cuts through things like a knife.

Dipper sits bolt upright in bed. Heart pounding.

For a full ten seconds, he flails at the sheets blindly, surprised - until he remembers where he is, and lets his arms drop.

He stares around his room with out seeing it. Still bleary, blinking slow.

What…?

Dipper sits there for another long moment. The sun isn’t even up, why did he set his alarm so early. He knows why he did it but. Now it seems ridiculous.

He wanted to make it less than eight hours. To make it cut off before Bill was expecting it.

Before either of them expected it, this time.

“Shit,” Dipper says.

He fumbles around for the cup on the bedside table. His mouth is dry, and he needs something to center himself, but he only manages to knock it over.

The memory of the dream - a lucid, very real event - is stuck in the forefront of his brain. Dipper can’t shake it. All of the Bill-dreams have been vivid, but this one is even more so.

He almost -

Dipper rolls over, sheets tangling around his legs, with the memory searing bright in the forefront of his mind.

Even when he pulls the cool pillow against his face, it doesn't help it feel any less hot.

That thing keeps running through his head, no matter what he does. The memory's too vivid to be anything less than real. How close he was. The warmth. How Bills eye fluttered shut, along with the vivid picture of his mouth, lips slightly parted.

He's never - but then Bill was -

Dipper hugs the pillow tighter, letting it absorb him in its comforting softness. Even the tips of his ears must be red by now.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

He should have listened to Ford. He should have taken those warnings to heart.

He’s heard so many of them.

Don’t talk to demons. Don’t get involved with their magic, don’t make any deals, don’t interact at all except to eliminate them.

And do not, under any circumstances, speak too long to Bill Cipher.

Ford's smart. He knows how to handle almost every situation, and he's cautious enough to come up with almost every eventuality.

Dipper never had a warning against wanting to kiss an evil triangle. He swears a little more into the pillow, tense and frustrated.

God, he's an idiot.

Bill’s weird. He’s insane. He’s all about every aspect of twisting a mind into absurd shapes - hell, he is a shape. Not a human. Not good.

And not into anyone, as far as Dipper can tell. On the very rare moments the topic has come up, Bill’s been disparaging at best - and even if he was, it would still be a terrible idea.

Dipper pulls the pillow tighter around him. He thunks his head-and-pillow combo against the mattress, embarrassment writhing in his chest.

He’s going to get up in a moment. First, to make some coffee - a lot of coffee -

And second, to come up with his own plan.

Bill knows about everything, or at least he claims to. He definitely likes it when people are crazy, but odds are? He won’t appreciate this kind of madness.

But with any luck - and some careful work, on Dipper’s part -

Bill Cipher will never, ever know about this.