#so it's nice when i actually do feel pretty cute!!

[ckret2]

Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them." 

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk. 

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly." 

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

[bibookdemon]

Chat. Gay chicken(?) with Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan.

Warning for some nsfw aspects further down ;3

-Started out as SQH writing LBH as bi in PIDW, he was catering to the fans so suddenly LBH discovers he's also into men lmfao, so he writes a smut scene between LBH and another man and it is so much worse than any of the other smut. Bro did not do any of his fucking research. He has no fucking clue.

-Some of the fans eat it up but SY is like NUH UH THIS IS SHIT. And of course he writes that it's shit.

-For once, SQH writes back: 'Like YOU would know, you rich fucking asshole!' (He's gathered that SY has enough money he can sit around all day and leave bad reviews on his story.)

-SY is all 'Of course I know, idiot! Literally everyone knows how to write gay smut!!'

-And SQH is too deep in his rage to think about what he's saying so: 'Prove it then.'

-SY is also too deep. 'Come to XX on XX day.'

-They meet at a bustling coffeeshop that's super cute and geared towards couples. SY's first impression of SQH is 'wow he's short' and SQH's first impression of SY is 'yeah he looks fucking gay.' And he's pretty sure he's gonna eat his words.

-They go on a fucking coffee date. SY buys him coffee, they get a cute table in a semi-private corner, they actually get to talking and everything is kinda chill.

-SQH eventually remembers that hey, this guy is the jerk who leaves shitty comments on his story. So he tells him to man tf up and prove he knows about gay smut.

-SY is now scrambling to figure it out. He does not, in fact, know how to write gay smut. He does not, in fact, know how to prove it. So, now that he's panicking, he does the unexpected to divert SQH's attention: He slides a hand over SQH's, leans it, and kisses him right on the lips. 'How's this for gay?'

-SQH is absolutely surprised and flustered and also holy fuck that was like a really good kiss and low-key he wants to be kissed like that again but- 'still doesn't prove anything - unless you're unable to prove it'

-SY is in this too deep and has too much pride to give in. So he decides to go for another shock factor. He gets out his phone and he calls his favorite hotel. And he books a room. And SQH is just thinking to himself 'what the fuck have I gotten myself into' but of course he's not gonna back out! He has too much pride as well, and hey, a hotel room is better than his dingy little place, and maybe he also wants some more of those kisses.

-They go to the hotel in SY's car (SQH took the bus to get to the coffee shop) and then they're at the hotel and then SY is initiating a quick, sloppy kiss in the parking lot and SQH is feeling a little turned on and then- they have to go inside

-He figured SY was rich, but he didn't realize just HOW rich the bastard was. Bro got a fucking suite. It's huge, the bed is nice, the moment they're inside the room, SY's tongue is down his throat.

-After that, they both sorta stumble through the steps, SQH is too busy being turned on and wanting more kissing to recognize that SY is fumbling with everything and is sweating buckets and trembling cause he's so nervous. When it was time to put the condom on SY was so worried he was gonna rip it lmfao

-And they fuck, and it's awkward but also good, and SQH afterwards is just like 'you should prove you know how to write gay smut more often. To me.'

-SY is just like 'yeah, yeah,' he's tired and he wants to sleep and he just grabs SQH and snuggles him cause it feels right.

-Morning rolls around and they both realize what they just did + what they said they'd do in the future. And they're both looking at each other wide-eyed. And finally, SQH is all, 'Look Cucumber-bro, I don't know about you, but I had a fun time, and fuck all the stupid shit about writing gay smut, I want to BE the gay smut.'

-And SY is just like 'Ok,' because he has nothing better to say but he doesn't mind SQH's reasoning and he liked the sex.

-They'd be fucking hilarious. Poor SY doesn't know what he signed up for, SQH ends up having this endless stamina + an endless torrent of new ideas for them to try. 'I have to know how it works for the story!!! The fans are eating up my writing lately!!!!' - And SY has come to find SQH absolutely adorable and he can't say no to that cute face.

-They're just fuck-buddies at first, but they eventually develop a crush on each other, have a whole dramatic situation over that, and then start dating. (SY starts showering SQH in rich gifts lmao - some of them are useful some art, SQH loves all of them cause omg his boyfriend loves him and gift-giving is part of his love language.)

[gooobraghhh]

hello. chill if nah but do you want to share some advice for teasing/flirting w people? I know this guy, trans, loses it every time I call him "good boy" or "handsome" but I'm running out of tricks!! But he's so fun to teaseeee I don't wanna run out

I mean it depends on the person but if he’s into that kind of thing I can tell you other stuff he might enjoy, leaning more praise because of the examples you gave me. Pretty boy, an actual pet name like puppy, doggy, pet, or something, or like a overly cute nickname based on his name are some options to incorporate. Something id suggest is kind of dropping something teasing on him very suddenly in conversation. Innocently asking him to do something and then being like “aww what a good boy, you’re so good at doing what you’re told” is an easy example/ way to set it up. It’s just super cute to watch them get all surprised and clearly turned on.

Another thing I enjoy for teasing is like a demeaning compliment. Situation dependent but something like “it’s a good thing you’re so handsome/ cute because you’re not the brightest, puppy” after he like doesn’t understand a thing or makes a little mistake. Maybe if you helped him with something random you could say like “what would a pet like you do if I wasn’t here to take care of you”. These are just examples in the nature of what you’re going for, you’re gonna need think of little comments based on what’s happening in your conversation and cater them to what the guy likes. Also think about whats gender affirming when you’re choosing what to compliment and insult. For trans men I usually like to insult their intelligence since being like a dumb blockhead is just kind of a guy thing and usually won’t actually hurt any feelings, I’d lift them up in like appearance (handsome, cute, pretty etc), usefulness/obedience, (good job, good boy, what a good listener,you take it so well etc), or any other trait you know that specific person would enjoy being complimented on.

I’d also suggest possessiveness if everyone’s comfortable. My puppy, My pet, My pretty boy. Be a good boy for me, touch yourself for me, cum for me ( obviosuly more risqué but just add for me to most commands). I find most people enjoy the security and feeling of being wanted that comes with possessive talk and it just makes the praise all the more addictive.

Another thing is if hes responding very positively start making him directly participate. Who’s good boy?, you’re really so desperate for me huh? Tell me how bad you want it?. Just prompt him to respond. Either he does it and it’s adorable and embarrassing or he sputters out because answering is too embarrassing for him and you get to watch him get all flustered. Works well for some degration to, “you’re really such a slut huh?” Or something similar so that he either agrees or pathetically tries to deny it while still actively getting turned on which you can make fun of him for. It’s kind of little conversational trap.

Also keep in mind tone for all of this, I think that kind of condescending, patronizing, overly sweet tone is my go to. It’s kind of like everything he is doing is so cute but in a way thats actively demeaning to him. You don’t have to do that though. A Genuine sounding sweet voice can be very fun if you incorporate a bit more degration. Like someone sounding 100% sincerely nice while they’re calling you degrading names and making fun of you is super hot. Just find what works for the both of you. If it’s flirting over text then there’s only so much you can do but writing out the occasional condescending “awww” or telling him how irl you’re giggling at him can kind of bridge that gap. But like say those things honestly, don’t make up how you’re reacting just share it with him if it’ll add to the dirty talk.

Anyway hope this all helps, break that guys mind for me <3

[willowcried]

being quinnie’s little lapdog.

the auditorium.

the only place she allowed you to talk to her at school. anywhere else was completely prohibited. she told you that on day one.

if you tried to talk to her in the hallways, she wouldn’t even acknowledge you. you learned that the hard way, when she left you there like an wet puppy while she walked past, barely sparing you a glance. you didn’t think she was actually serious.

she would apologize later, sure—murmuring quiet sorry, baby’s while kissing your stupid face, as she usually called it, curling her fingers around the collar of your sweater before making you lose it. that’s when she’d let herself be soft, let her nails drag gently along your jaw, let her voice drop into something warm, something just for you. she’d kiss you slow, teasing, until your head spun, until your hands trembled where they held onto her waist.

and then, just when you thought she might actually mean it—just when you thought maybe she felt something real—she’d pull away with that knowing smirk, dragging her thumb across your kiss-dazed lips harshly before fixing her cardigan like nothing happened.

you understood, though.

she was hurt after puckerman, obviously. she needed control back in her life. she needed this—you—on her terms. not because she liked having you as a pet.

that’s what you told yourself, anyway.

today, she’s late. your fingers nervously drum on the random seat you chose in the big auditorium. glancing at your cellphone for the third time, your leg bounces up and down but you hate skipping class. even though she was the reason why you did it, your mind was stressed, thinking about the missing lessons just for quinn.

of course it had its perks, though. depending on your luck, sometimes she was nice, running her fingers through your hair the way you liked, teasing you about your sweater choices, calling you cute in that whispery voice that made your brain short-circuit.

other times, she was mean. distant. late on purpose, like she wanted to see how long you’d wait before you gave up.

this seems to be the case today as she flings the door open, storming towards you with that look on her face that pretty much terrifies you. she stops in front of you, and you barely have time to open your mouth before— “what the hell is wrong with you?”

you blink. “i—what?”

she exhales sharply, rolling her eyes, like you’re exhausting her. like she doesn’t have you completely lost, going through your folder of memories to figure out what you did wrong.

“you know what, nerd.”

except you don’t.

quinn sighs, tilting her head back like she’s trying to rein herself in, and when she looks at you again, her eyes are sharp, expectant. “why were you looking at me in class?”

your lips part in realization. that’s what this was about? the stupid rules? “i wasn’t trying to—”

her eyes narrow. “so you admit it.”

shit.

“i’m sorry. i won’t do that again.” you swallow, voice quieter now. “i just liked the way you did your hair today.” you point with your index finger, suddenly hyperaware of how warm your face feels. “with the yellow— the little flower.”

“stupid. they could’ve found out.”

she always said that. you still didn’t understand how could a person connect so many dots by just one look. the no-talking- in-the-halls rule was understandable, but not being able to look at her?

you don’t say a thing about your thoughts, though. you know better.

“i’m really sorry, q.” you tug on her hand, pulling her closer to you until she’s standing between your legs.

you stare up at her, squeezing her hand when she doesn’t say anything after a beat—two beats, trying to get her to talk to you. it’s nonsense. you know it. she knows it, but that doesn’t stop her from remaining silent for another moment, just so she can look down at you some more, to make you impatient.

and you do. but then, just as you’re about to apologize again, quinn huffs, shaking her head. “idiot.”

before you can react, she’s on you. it’s sudden, the way she slants her mouth over yours, her hands gripping the back of your neck to pull you into her. you barely have time to adjust to the heat of her lips before she’s straddling you, sliding into your lap with ease, her body pressing against yours, drawing out of your throat the tiniest, most embarrassing sound against her lips while your fingers curl around her hips instinctively.

your glasses fog up from the rush of your breaths, but she’s quick enough to pull them on top of your head effortlessly the second they start getting in the way without breaking the kiss. her hands cradle your face, fingers threading into your hair as she deepens it.

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere!John and abgail sharing a darling maybe?

Hm... I was originally going to make this general, but platonic fit better for all the thoughts I had.... I struggled a bit on this due to how vague it was but I hope my rambling was okay.

Yandere! Platonic! John + Abigail Marston Sharing a Darling

Pairing: Platonic - Sharing

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Isolation, Overprotective behavior, Minor violence, Dubious companionship/relationship.

John and Abigail are such a cute couple near the end of RDR2.

They manage to put together a ranch to live on with their son Jack.

Yes, things between them used to be very rocky as John wasn't ready to be a father.

Nowadays things have smoothed over (before RDR1), and the two have a good life together.

What comes to mind with this idea is a few things;

You're originally part of Dutch's gang and decide to come with John to work the ranch.

You're not originally part of the gang and end up being a rancher they hire.

You're a kid around Jack's age they took in.

I'm sure there's other options since it's so vague, but those are the main ones that come to mind.

For the most part I can only think of platonic situations for these two.

The two are already pretty in love and I feel their shared obsession would be someone who brings the two together.

Despite their past, they're nice to you while you work the ranch.

You keep Jack entertained and actually help with the animals.

I doubt the two were expecting to let you so close to them.

They originally just saw you as a worker on the ranch.

They pay you and feed you so long as you work.

But the two soon start to realize your company is... pleasant.

They're not entirely used to the more domestic lifestyle.

Despite that, it's nice to have someone else to talk to other than Uncle.

The two no doubt slowly see you as family.

They provided you a home when you had nowhere else to go...

Eventually they were going to see you as family, right?

You're a big help when John has to leave for a while.

Abigail and you have pleasant chats in the morning and you manage to help Jack pick out some new books to read.

John himself often enjoys helping you with the horses and occasional errands.

So, imagine John and Abigail getting used to having you around the ranch.

After all, you've been nothing but pleasant company.

Even more so if you came from the same gang.

The two learn they don't just like you for the extra help.

Sure, it's nice to have...

But you always manage to make the two smile in the morning or late at night.

It probably would melt their hearts if you called them your family.

That's no doubt been their goal since you moved in months ago.

At first they were nervous to be close to you as their past could put you in danger.

This was more prominently John's fear... yet Abigail has reassured him since then.

There's no harm in creating and protecting a family, right?

I don't think both of them are all that violent.

Abigail has fire but I doubt she'd be the one to harm others over you.

That job is most likely John's since he's used to doing such work for Dutch.

So there's no need to worry about anyone bothering you, is there?

For example, being harassed on the street?

John steps in, asking you to go back to Abigail and Jack while he handles it.

The two seem to be more subtle with manipulation.

John's mellowed out nowadays so he won't be very forceful.

Abigail wouldn't like that much anyways.

The two would want their obsession to stay at the ranch by their own choice.

In order to keep you feeling welcome I can see them frequently referring to you as 'family'.

Abigail often comments on how well you and Jack get along, asking you to spend more time with her and Jack on the ranch.

John is in on it too, suggesting he takes you and Jack fishing or out to town.

The ranch itself is rather isolated since they need space for livestock.

Although it also gives them the advantage of having you grow close to them.

They don't view keeping you at the ranch as very wrong, even if they manipulate you.

You've said you wanted to stay with them...

Which must mean you're attached to their little family.

Don't expect them to threaten you but they'd convince you to stay at the ranch.

Things actually seem pretty normal until you act as though you want to leave.

John often chases off any partners you have and Abigail keeps you busy so you're oblivious to their selfish desires.

If you wanted to leave the ranch, they'd try to ask you not to and convince you.

Yet if you do anyways, at first it seems they'll let you go.

... until John tracks you down to drag you back.

You see... Jack's been asking about you a lot and Abigail claims she misses your company....

John feels he should be preserving his family, y'know?

You may think you don't belong, You might have thought you found a better deal somewhere else...

John doesn't.

Neither does Abigail.

One way or another, you'll realize you belong with them.

Be that with some coercion... or John forcing you onto his horse to ride you back to the ranch.

The two don't want to force you into anything.

They want you happy... yet they think you'll only be happy with them.

You'll learn you belong here eventually.

They're your family now, so why would you leave?

If things get extreme... maybe they'll have to lock the doors as punishment...

Hopefully they won't need to resort to such extreme measures, right?

You're happy here at the ranch, aren't you?

It's not like you'll want to leave anytime soon... Not if they make sure they're all you have.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

counting stars

oops forgot about this for some reasons.... hey pspspsps @qin-qin16 come get your food i promise this has no allergies at all :3

“how do you like the stars?” killer asks color as they both lie in the grass, staring up at the night sky. killer has his arms folded behind his head, a contemplating noise in his throat before he continues.

“i know you’ve got some poetic stuff to say about it, hippie boy. something about hope, love, destiny, or whatever.” he plucks and rolls a blade of grass between his fingers, then flicks it away. “me? i hate them so much. i don’t think i’ve ever told you, huh?”

silence. killer takes it as a cue to keep talking.

“they all look so bright and near each other in the sky. but the reality is, they’re just there all alone in the vast universe. distant. cold. burning their last embers of life on their lonesome. or worse, existing in vain while a black hole slowly consumes them. nothing pretty, really.”

color still doesn’t speak, leaving killer to simmer in the cold night air. normally, this would be the part where they argue. color would insist that there is beauty in the world, that there is meaning if you just look hard enough. and then it would devolve into some self-righteous rant about the goodness in people, about how killer is never beyond saving. all misguided belief that killer has tried to beat him out of again and again to no avail.

it is kind of cute actually, how much color actually believes in it.

killer will never admit it though. because that would be a weakness, and weakness is a liability, something to be gutted out of in order to survive. in this world, it’s kill or be killed. and yet, some people don’t seem to get the memo – color being one of them. always reaching out to killer, always trying to drag him towards an ideal life that doesn’t exist. killer should feel annoyed, but it actually feels kind of nice, knowing there is someone who cares for him this much to put up with his flaws. to be willing to reforge him back into a shape they desire. even if it’s futile. even if it’s stupid.

to be loved is to be changed, after all.

and maybe, he’s just started to be primed for change right now. a steel knife thrown into a furnace ready to be reshaped.

“you know…” killer hums. “we’re enemies, so i never tell you this. i like having you around, i think. you make me feel real.” his hand searches for color’s. it’s as cold as his, but it makes him feel warm inside. “when we try to kill each other, i never feel more alive. i have someone who cares enough to look at me, at my ugliness. so… thank you.”

the breeze stills.

“say something, damnit.”

killer turns his head.

color lies there, in the grass, his face slack, his body unmoving, specks of dust flowing around him. no twitch. no soul beat. nothing. just stillness. silence.

the eternal smile on killer’s face doesn’t fade, but it turns sharper, more rigid. he waits, expecting color to stir, to light up his eyes and confirm this is not just a dream. but color doesn’t. color never will.

the wind whispers through the soft grass, brushing against killer’s cheeks like a caress of something long gone.

“oh.”

his voice comes out flat. emotionless.

he should feel something. he should feel many things. grief, regret – anything really. but there is just... emptiness. a hole in his chest where something should be. and yet, nothing comes out.

is he broken?

he looks back up at the stars. they shine just as brightly as before, as if mocking him. as if taunting him with their brilliance, with the fact that the light of his life has been snuffed out.

one more reason to hate stars, really.

"guess you finally gave up on me after all."

[mqriuss]

07 | Now playing: How Sweet

from 'bad girls that haven't been caught' series

note: this might be one of my favourite chapters

playlist | series masterlist

curiosity got the best of him.

rindou had told you in class that he'd be a few minutes late today. it wasn't for any urgent matter, he just wanted to spy on your boyfriend, that's all!

the floors of the indoor basketball court squeaks from coming into contact with their shoes. rindou quietly makes his way up to the mezzanine floor where he can watch them from a good distance. fumio is as concentrated on court as he is in the classroom, but his cockiness skyrockets when he's playing basketball. rindou's seen him play a match before, him and ran sat just below a group of girls from their school. so every time fumio looks their way to flash them his pearly whites and wink, the two brothers had to try not to gag. they stopped trying eventually.

fumio was no different now. it was just a practice match so no one was around, but all of his winking and grinning went to the cute managers. rindou squints, one of them was the first year manager that he saw last time he was here.

she was getting an awful lot of attention from him.

the opposing team's coach calls for a timeout, and fumio is immediately making his way to her. he talks to her with a smug look on his face, drinking from his water bottle that she handed him. rindou can't help clicking his tongue at the sight. he lingers a little longer to watch them.

he already knows for sure he's cheating on you, and his suspicions are confirmed further when he sees fumio's teammates teasing and nudging him as they return to court.

y/n: where are you?

rindou's phone vibrates in his pocket—he checks the time and only realizes now that he's fifteen minutes late.

rindou: sorry something came up im omw

the next three days is weird for you. rindou is being really nice. like, really nice.

he buys you the juice box you like everyday before you do. that, and he actually pays attention to what you're teaching him now and asks you questions. is this how nakajima sensei feels?

the other day you forgot your pencil case at home, and the first person to give you their pen was rindou. you didn't even know he carries any stationery on him. especially when all he does is sit there and listen to music. he also asked you what your favourite song was yesterday and proceeded to give you a long list of songs that sounded similar to it.

you were a lot less quiet in class now because rindou would talk to you every now and then. normally, you'd be pretty quiet if you weren't bickering with fumio. but you aren't really on talking terms right now.

this even lead to some rumors. who could rindou possibly be to you? but you've established your image enough as the studious, smart girl with a good reputation that no one really goes too far with their assumptions. there's no way you'd date or befriend a delinquent, let alone one of the haitanis.

the day before the quiz is just another day. rindou makes his way to the library after school with a slight pep to his step. he spots you at your usual table. "boo," he lets out casually, settling down beside you.

today, you were just revising the material together. there's not much to teach him anymore. it gave him a bit more time to steal glances at you and think, you look so much happier these days. he sees it in the way your hand has a gentler grip around your pen, you allow yourself a break more often instead of drowning in work to distract you from your thoughts, and you look a lot less robotic overall.

it's that damn boyfriend, rindou concludes mentally.

"so," he starts, grabbing your attention. "how are you and fumio?"

your face drops momentarily. "he hasn't talked to me."

"why are you still with him?" rindou rolls his eyes, spinning a pencil on his fingers. "actually, i don't get why you're with him to begin with."

you rest your chin against the palm of your hand, tapping a finger against your cheek. "i think we both started to enjoy challenging each other, making fun of each other... then he confessed first," you tell him, and rindou furrows his eyebrows upon hearing that.

"you know that guy's talking an awful lot to that first year manager, right? don't you think it's suspicious?"

"i know," you nod and he remains quiet, letting you continue. "i also know they're just friends, but i got... jealous."

just friends? your words made rindou want to laugh.

you empty out what remained in the juice box, and crushed it in your hand. rindou watches as your nails nearly formed holes on it. "truth is, i was hanging out with you after school to make him jealous," you added and for some reason, rindou isn't surprised. it's like he almost knew this was coming. "it worked. he got jealous and started showering me with attention again."

"but he started ignoring you again, didn't he?" rindou chimes in and all you could do was nod. "so that's why you wanted to tutor me after school?"

"yeah, i knew he'd either be in the library or at practice. so if he ever came here, he'd see us together," you explain, putting the juice box aside. as you eyed the empty drink, you couldn't help imagining fumio before flicking it with your fingers, knocking it over on the table.

"hm," rindou hums, pushing his glasses up while looking around. "i haven't really seen him around though?"

"he did come here on some days. you were too busy studying to notice."

"oh?"

"mhm, so i really don't know why he hasn't spoken to me. even though he's seen us together so often now," you think out loud.

"because he doesn't care about you anymore," is what rindou wants to say, but he doesn't. he doesn't say anything.

"enough about him—i'm gonna look for a book and you're going to help me." you stand up and rindou follows you suit.

he helped you look through the top shelves, "i think this might be it? wait, no. this one." he pulls out two books and is about to ask you which was the one you're looking for, only to find you frozen in your spot and looking ahead. "y/n?" rindou tilts his head before following your gaze.

i'll let you connect the dots: fumio, first year basketball team's manager, lip locking.

rindou's eyes widen slightly and turns back to look at you. he's even more shocked when he sees you're already picking up a book and throwing it in fumio's direction.

"ack!" fumio exclaims, separating him from the manager. rindou snickers when the book hits him perfectly on his head.

"we're done, fumio," you announce, speed-walking away from the scene before he could say anything. rindou's smile fades and follows you with the two books in hand, but not before glaring at your now ex-boyfriend.

← prev chapter | next chapter →

[merbear25]

LITERALLY BEGGING ON MY KNEES, can you do another part bodyworship headcanons with russia and romano

best boys NEED more love

Idk what happened but these came out much longer than I anticipated. And yes, they need more love! Hope you like them 💜💜

CW: NSFW, MDNI, gn!reader, headcanons, body worship, fluffy smut, some slightly rough, oral sex (male receiving), praising

Body worshiping them (Russia, Romano)

Russia

Oh he was incredibly shy when it came to showing his body. That didn’t mean that he was necessarily insecure, though. He simply preferred to keep things more private.

However, you were one of the few who really made containing himself strenuous. Despite that light blush across his cheeks as you touched him in ways only you were allowed, he had a burning desire raging within him.

Your soft hands rubbing his thighs, your gentle words of praise pulling him closer, and the look of mutual want dancing in your eyes: he was completely under your spell, although he went willingly.

“You’ve been working so hard lately.” 

He nodded at your soothing tone, his eyes fluttering shut as your hands rubbed his chest. 

“Let me take care of you for a change.” As your words still hung on your lips, your hands pulled at his shirt. 

While you unbuttoned them quickly, his breaths began coming out in desperate shakes. He moved his hips closer to you, urging you to give him attention where he needed it most.

Those lips of yours left a fire in their wake as they trailed down his bare chest. He made an attempt to silence his whimpers by biting his lip, but there was no masking the intense need he held towards you.

He shivered slightly as your hands lovingly roamed over his chest and stomach before eventually tending to the bulge pressing against his pants.

Releasing his length from its confinement, your eyes fluttered up to his. A soft purr came from you when met with his blushing cheeks and needy expression.

“You look so cute right now.” The soft compliment couldn’t be helped; you wanted him to know just how darling he looked for you in that moment.

As you took him in your mouth, you could feel his body tensing. A choked moan passed his lips the more of him you pushed deeper.

Feeling your hands grasp his thighs, hearing his lustful pants and groans: the desire to give him everything became overwhelming.

Even though he was mostly gentle with you, there were times he craved a rough edge to intimacy. He gripped the back of your head while giving a feeble “sorry” before he started thrusting harder. Your gags were controlled for the time being, but with his size filling your mouth more and more frantically, you were quickly reaching your limit.

The choked gasps and gags coming from you were enough to send him over the edge, painting your darling face and pretty lips with ropes of his cum. Looking down at you with immense satisfaction, he affectionately stroked your hair. The adoration he had towards you wasn’t always shown verbally; sometimes it was communicated through a soft touch.

Romano

Being a man who was far from comfortable showing his more vulnerable side, the tenderness that came with body worship took him far out of his comfort zone. 

He wanted to present himself as a macho man, one who didn’t crumble under such silly yet sincere praises or laughable yet longing touches—he craved this in actuality, though would never admit it.

The mood would have to hit him just right, as well. That edge he usually carried around with him put a damper on that sweet loving he needed deep down.

That being said when you were already wrapped up in each other’s arms in a seemingly innocent cuddle session, he was quite susceptible to your gentle praises.

“It feels so nice holding you like this.” This statement was enough to make him blush. Trying to hide his smile, he buried his face in your hair and pulled you closer.

The physical closeness gave you an obvious hint as to how he felt about your little words. Feeling his hard arousal against your leg, you didn’t want to withhold the affection he was clearly desperate for.

Your hands rubbed his hips before moving up his back. A shiver washed over his body, giving you more incentive to keep going.

His body got hot quickly, more so when he was aroused. Seeing him get like this from just your words made your heart swell for him. He was far too precious like this, but it wasn’t like you could just come right out and say that. Instead, you needed to bide your time, letting each part fall delicately.

As your hands roamed over his back, chest, and stomach, his grip on you tightened.

“You feel so warm.” A sigh of contentment followed your words, giving him all the more reason to open himself up to your own warmth.

The pressure against his shorts got you thinking he must be in some discomfort; the poor thing was aching for you to feel him. When you slid them off, he pulled his face away from the tight embrace. Watching you intently, he gasped as your hand wrapped around him. Whines of pleasure flowed past his lips with ease the more you stroked him.

You looked up at him and he instantly knew what you wanted. His face burned red at the mere thought, but he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted it too. With a slight, nearly bashful nod, he obliged to your mutual desires.

As soon as your tongue touched him, his hands instinctively went to place themselves on your head. He hesitated though, not wanting to appear too eager or worse—forceful. But, you were already doing such a good job. Your arms wrapped around him, your hands were caressing his trembling form as he neared the edge. His fingers timidly tangled in your hair as you worked him in all the ways he was desperate for. With an unabashed cry of release, his cum filled your mouth to the brim.

Despite his slight embarrassment, he still yearned for that intimacy from earlier. Wrapping each other up in an embrace again was the balm to his soul he’d never admit he needed.

[averagemoxxiestan]

JOSH MOMMY KINK TRUTHER!

Josh with a nice and cute girl that likes spoiling him and doing stuff for him, it's a ego boost for her, she likes having him be a bit codependent on her

THIS IS SO CUTE GRAAAAHHH

A girl? Spoiling him? Yes please.

He loves a lot! He wouldn’t immediately fall in love with you and just think you’re making fun of him at first but slowly leans into it and then realizes that you’re being serious

You make him so flustered and boost his ego so much, he loves the ground you walk on because of how nice and cute you are!

You both first met at a fast food restaurant, he didn’t have enough money and you decided to pay for the meal for him and openly flirted with him at first but he just brushed you off and walked away.

Then anytime you saw Josh you would go to him and be all nice and calm with him while he gives short and passive aggressive answers. Later in his room Josh realizes that you were flirting with him and he didn’t know how to feel so he just assumed you were actually making fun of him while hiding behind a perfectly nice facade

The moment that broke him out of thinking you were mean was when you defended him from bullies and threatened to kill them if they ever try to bully Josh ever again, which worked and made them run away like little bitches, and made Josh fall in love with you

Bill, Pete, and Jerry were sour and shocked when they found out that Josh got a girlfriend, nonetheless, one that was pretty wealthy and spoiled him (lucky bitch.)

Anytime Josh got angry or tried to argue when he gets angered, you would just keep calm and stay quiet before calmly telling him that he needs to calm down and think about what he said before cuddling

You don’t spoil Josh completely, you do talk to Josh about his ego but he thinks that you are wrong (won’t be thinking that for long.)

You understand jack shit about StarTrek but still listen to Josh’s ramblings about the show

When someone picks on Josh for his weight, you threaten them with a polite smile, which puts them off a little bit.

Josh often gets offended that you would spoil him because you’re a girl but quickly gets over it when he realizes how nice it is to be spoiled

You do visit Josh at the hospital after the whole show of Bill going manic and burning the comic store down and help him work on himself while still managing a relationship.

Josh actually gets a different job while with you. Because he can barely take criticism, you decide to force him by criticizing his work and letting him realize that he can’t take small criticisms.

(He becomes an animator)

You both get married at some point.

Donee~ I hope you enjoy this one! I don’t think its that good but I think its good enough

Love y’all k bye ^3^

[rising-volteccers]

Alright, here's my unofficial review of the Takara Tomy Pokemon Moncolle Rising Volt Tacklers Transformation! Brave Asagi! figure.

I have to preface by saying that all figurines shown does not come with the kit! I already have them on hand by the time I purchased this. Friede, Liko and Roy are from the Takara Tomy Pokemon Moncolle Trainer Collection.

First and foremost, I can say that the material is pretty sturdy. The plastic didn't feel cheap, and it had quite the weight to it. The pieces were packaged in different sections, with the two halves, the base and other miscellaneous pieces separated. it came with an instruction manual (in Japanese and not colored, so it was a bit difficult for a visual learner like me) but the instructions were simple enough to follow even without using Google Translate.

The kit comes with a sticker sheet as you're expected to plaster on each individual sticker onto the different pieces. Thankfully, both the instruction manual and the sticker sheet are properly numbered so it's a matter of following along. I would suggest using tweezers because it was quite stressful to plaster on the smaller sticker pieces onto the figure using fingers.

I would say it took far longer for me (and my bestie who helped me assemble this) to plaster on all the stickers than actually assembling the ship, which wasn't too difficult with the instructions.

When assembled into the airship form, it's quite hefty. At about 30 cm tall x 33 cm wide, it's a pretty solid and sizable figure. I really like all the little details, from the side propellers being foldable and the spread out wings of the battle deck. The best part is that it has wheels!

When it came time to change it from the airship form to the inboard form, the instructions weren't too difficult to follow. The two halves of the airship acts as the base, with the propellers acting as pillars of support at the back. The two 'lifts' at the front also act as pillars, making the entire setup quite sturdy.

The ship inboard form is divided into five different rooms.

There's the kitchen area that came with the kitchen counter and fridge.

The engine room that has a little latch to reveal the Slugma. I forgot to take another picture from the other angle but the wheel part can both be spun and has Carkol in it.

There's the infirmary room at the back of the observatory deck with a latch that can open up at the back.

The bedroom area that you can choose between four stickers to plaster onto the screen. I plastered on one at the infirmary room's computer screen and decided to choose the Nidothing one for the bedroom, picturing it to be Liko's.

There is also the dining / meeting room area that comes with the table, two chairs and the partition you plaster on the cute stickers at. I really do enjoy the little detail of having the picture frames and the poster there.

There is also the little arena you place on the ground and the little hook attached at the front of the ship. Without the figurine, you can see the little captain's chair by the steering wheel, which is another detail I like.

Personally, what I like the most is that I can store everything onto the ship. Both the arena and the deck are actually two pieces of what I would describe as thin cardboard(?). I can use the arena to cover up the kitchen and the engine room, like I used the wooden flooring looking cardboard to act as support for the dining room and bedroom. When I want to change it back into airship mode, I store all the little props into the hollow parts of the ship and then cover it up with the cardboard.

All in all, it's definitely a nice figure to have if you're a fan of the show! While I already did have a few, it does make me want to buy all the other little Pokemon figurines to make the ship feel more alive, so I guess that's one way they pull you into buying more products.

Thank you very much for reading till the end! I personally give it a 10/10 Volt Tackles.

[arthallea]

the curse of taking really cute selfies but being afraid to attach a face to my blog

[themintman]

My opinions on some ships and characters 😼😼😼

Ill explain some stuff in the tags if yall are curious hehe ALSO IN THE REBLOGS. TUMBLR SILENCED ME 😔💔

Template by @stervil !!!

[galactic-glamour-girl-posts]

A totally random compilation

("Knockout" can mean an extremely attractive person for those who don't get it)

(Honestly, just pretend I uploaded the entire segment the following screencap is from):

(For context, in the segment where the screenshot below is from, Nickelwise is trying to scare Dot by using her vanity against her, claiming that "cuteness fades"):

(Like with The Cutening, pretend I uploaded this entire segment):

(She literally says "Alright Dot, kill her with cuteness" here):

(And this is a direct reference to the Animaniacs Sega Genesis game where she uses her cuteness/heart projectiles as an attack):

[forcedhesitation]

dead by daylight-- the game where you can play as steve harrington from stranger things, and can get sent to partake in a match of murder hide and seek at midwich elementary from silent hill, where you can then use a lute to perform bardic inspiration from dungeons and dragons to give a bonus to your teammates, except for the one who is being chased by nemesis from resident evil 3.

[sskk-manifesto]

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[softdreamlesssleep]

God, "I missed you" sex is the best