#so y'all have to deal with this for a bit

[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.)

[curly-fry-3]

𖦹An Old Friend - Part Two𖦹

summary𖦹 Sam learns listening to Ruby was bad a bit too late and you drive out to help him and dean fix their mess

pairing𖦹 Sam Winchester x Reader (eventual romantic)

word count𖦹 1,198

notes𖦹 I wanted it to be a slow-burn but Its moving faster than anticipated (they just need to get together asap) whatever hope y'all like it also hope that I didn't mischaracterize Sam (there's more focus on how he's feeling)

part 1

It had been a couple months. A couple months of worrying about Sam while he destroyed himself. Dean would update you every week or so and nothing had changed, Sam was still not listening and Dean had to deal with it. Except this call was different, Sam had killed Lilith, but it wasn't a good thing. Her death had released Lucifer from his cage. Ruby knew it would happen, she planned everything, and Sam took the bait. You knew she was no good. So here you were driving back out to see them and help them fix the mess they made. 

You didnt wanna be mad at Sam but he was a dick, you deserve to be angry–with both of the brothers. You were mad that they dragged you back into hunting, mad that sam didn't listen, mad that they only called you now that the needed help (seriously y'all have phones, why couldn't you have stayed friends after you went to collage), but you were especially mad that you don't have the time to be mad cause the world is kinda ending. It all just sucks. And the worst part is you have to talk to Sam again (awkward). You don't even know what to say to him–you know you won't say anything until he apologizes. 

So here you are outside another busted motel room, waiting for one of the brothers to let you in. Dean quickly cracks the door open, gun in hand, and pulls you into the room–making sure nobody followed you (kinda extra if you ask me) and splashes you with a bit of holy water.

“Seriously” you say, wiping your face dry.

Dean shrugs with his signature smirk “can never be too careful”

“Sure whatever” you roll your eyes in response and pull Dean into a hug. “Long time no see” you joke.

“Don't remind me” he says with fake annoyance in his tone

Sam comes out of the bathroom and immediately the mood shifts. He walks up to you awkwardly and you defiantly avoid his gaze.

“Hey Y/N” Sam says cautiously 

You refuse to respond but instead look at him with anger, making sure he understood how much he messed up.

“Look, I know I was a dick–”

You scoff “you were” 

Sam pauses to find the right words “you have every right to be mad at me–”

“Oh i'm pissed” You interrupt 

“Will you just let me talk…”

You roll your eyes and motion for him to continue

“I messed up and I should have listened to you, you were right–you always are–and I'm sorry for being so rude to you, I didn't mean it, I'm truly so sorry…you can say ‘I told you so’ and you don't have to accept my apology, I just wanted you to know that I know I was wrong.”

You sigh in resignation when he finishes his apology “sam…I don't wanna say I told you so–it doesn't change anything or make me any happier…I know your sorry and I don't wanna stay mad at you forever (its kinda hard to stay mad when he gives you those puppy dog eyes) it's just gonna take some time to get back to normal”

“Of course” sam quickly responds and nods his head in agreeance “thank you, really, i'm so sorry–”

You put your hand up to stop him “stop, I get it”

“Sorry” Sam replies and you give him a look that says ‘seriously’ and he corrects himself “right, no apologies”

You and sam stood staring at each other a lot less awkwardly that before until you gave in and hugged him “I can't resist, I missed you”

“I don't deserve this, I was a dick” he says in protest but hugs you back with no hesitation.

“Shut up and let me be nice to you, this is the first time we've really hung out since we were 18, I miss my best friend” you playfully scold and pull away from the hug. You glance up at Sam with a fond look in your eyes and a small, bashful smile on your face. 

Dean cuts through the tension and clears his throat from the other side of the room. You and Sam quickly break eye contact to look over at him. 

“Ok, now that we're one big happy family again…who wants a beer?” Dean asks, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

A grin spreads on your face, “Oh, now we're talking…i'll take one, thanks”

Dean nods “Coming right up” he turns to Sam, silently asking for his response.

“Sure, thanks” Sam quickly replies.

Dean heads to the small kitchen in the dingey motel and you start to follow him “let me help” you offer.

The second you step away from Sam he feels like he can breathe again. Have you always had this effect on him���I mean, he always cared what you thought–but this is different, like he needs your approval. Is that healthy? He doesn't have time for this, he has to focus on fighting Lucifer, but all he can think about is your smile and how easily you forgave him. You've always been such a sweetheart, he doesn't deserve your friendship (aren't you just the best)

Before Sam could get too lost in his thoughts, you and Dean are back with three opened beers. You move back to your spot next to sam and hand him one”

“Thanks” he mutters quietly

You give him a look that says ‘it's no problem’ and turn to Dean. “So, what have I missed these last couple years, I need to get caught up.”

The night goes on and you and the brothers talk about anything and everything, staying away from serious topics (just let my homeboys be relaxed for one night). Soon all three of you grow tired and Dean starts getting ready for bed. 

You turn to sam “I need some shut eye, i'm gonna go book a room, i'll text you the room number” 

Sam shakes his head “i'll come with you”

You smile in appreciation “prince charming, making sure I don't get snatched in the parking lot” you tease

He playfully rolls his eyes “sorry for being decent, next time i'll just let you go outside of a sketchy motel in the dark all alone”

“I never said it was a bad thing” You defend

He sighs, playfully exasperated “sure” 

You pat sams knee and stand up from your seat on the edge of sams bed“If your gonna come with me to book my room then get off your ass and lets go” you say while putting on your jacket

Sam is frozen for a second, a little flushed from the contact you made with his thigh, but quickly recovers and stands up with you “ok–ok, geeze”After Sam drops you off and makes sure you're settled, he heads back to his room. When he walks in he notices Dean already racked out on his bed drooling away. Sam quickly gets ready for bed and falls asleep thinking about you. He forgot how much he missed you–did he already mention how much he loves your smile. Why does he keep thinking of you? 

I hope this is good and I'm sorry if there are any typos

thanks for all the love on my first part

@jaybbygrl @uranometrias

[stressed-sock]

hi hello it's a small ghost fire au art dump \o/

some of y'all have seen these already but whatever lol ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ no longer gatekeeping at least xD

anywho, some infodumping here as well under the cut! establishing who's what and so on :D there are some differences from what i've said in older posts for this au bc this is very much still in the works lol

i'm definitely down for suggestions for characters and plot ideas btw!

to give some background info, this au's world is pretty much like our own but with yokai thrown into the mix. some interact with (and/or are malicious towards) humans, so a government agency was formed to document them, with specially trained agents to subdue/defeat yokai causing trouble.

this is where raidou comes in! officially, he's one of those agents that do documentation. unofficially, he also helps defeat yokai because they hate him especially for whatever reason. he's a bit of a yokai magnet, if you will. half-thought-out plot right there but we might get back to that eventually. he can also spot yokai even if they're purposefully staying hidden, which is partially why he's so good at his job.

anywho, part of raidou's current team is kakashi! kakashi is from a long line of powerful exorcists, and his left eye has the ability to pinpoint yokai weaknesses, among other things. said eye also lends a little more power to his talismans and charms so yay for that. obito and rin are still alive in this au, but sakumo isn't, with mysterious circumstances surrounding his death. another half-thought-out plot right there.

next, part of raidou's former team was genma! genma used to work with raidou as a fellow documentation agent, going more into initial scouting/assessing than actual recording. unfortunately (as you could probably tell from the art and fics involving this au), he's not quite alive anymore (rip). it was initially assumed that he'd disappeared on a one-off solo mission, but after his body was discovered washed up on a beach, he was declared officially dead. now he's a funayurei (ghosts of those that died at sea) - i originally had him as a shiranui (a type of onibi (demon fire/wil o' wisp) found on a sea i forgot the name of) bc of his last name but i think this works out a little bit better - he just has a pair of hitodama (onibi-like things that are basically kind of like a yurei's (ghost's) soul detached from the body) hovering around, to give a similar vibe haha. depictions of yurei are typically white clothes, long black hair, etc. etc. but i did read that they can appear in the clothes they died in, so i'm going with that. but hey on another note - now that they're reunited, genma's back on the yokai documentation grind. just. as a yokai himself xD

anywho, these two have been the most consistent in raidou's team. he has definitely worked with other agents before, but those agents were more like specialists assigned for specific missions. more on that eventually.

izumo and kotetsu don't really fit into any of the categories i've described so far. they're two among many undercover agents established all over the country, often in somewhat more remote areas, responsible for reporting yokai threats in their assigned sectors. izumo and kotetsu specifically are undercover as convenience store employees, with said convenience store also working as a safe house. any agents assigned to that area can restock supplies/weapons, get some rest, or establish contact with hq. and like i said in previous posts about them, they are able to deal with yokai to a certain extent. not powerhouses by any means, but they can usually hold their own until reinforcements arrive. izumo favors talismans and dart guns that usually contain a tranquilizing substance. kotetsu, meanwhile, favors larger bladed weapons (and ofc they're both proficient in other weapons xD) as such, they're a good combo of long range and close combat

overall, the jounin would probably be the higher-ranking all rounders, tokubetsu jounin would be the specialists, and chuunin would be the undercover agents i mentioned earlier. as for anbu, they'd probably be the ones dealing with large scale threats. ofc there are exceptions, especially those at the agency headquarters. (this is def formatted similarly to canon xD)

moving on to the yokai! while i have done research, this definitely isn't fully fleshed out yet. here's what i do have though!

hayate and yugao: the two are a pair of sword and scabbard tsukumogami, which are yokai generally agreed to be objects that have gained life and sentience after reaching 100 years of age. they busted out of a museum ages ago and have since lived together, passing relatively well as normal people. i will admit i took artistic liberties though; most art i've seen of tsukumogami look distinctively more like the objects they used to be. for my own sanity i've made them more humanoid xD

anko: she is a bakeneko, a type of mischievous cat yokai that is sometimes said to come from cats that became yokai after being raised for a certain number of years (exact number varies) or to exact revenge against cruel humans. i don't have much else on her so that's about it for now :3

and uh. that's all i have actually. i thought i had more tbh but oh well. like i said before - feel free to give suggestions, ideas, or questions! and if you made it this far, thanks for reading :3

link to fic series ^still vaguely shy abt this lol (also provides context for the first two images o7)

oh and speaking of context, the third image (bright blue background) is for another vague plot line i haven't talked about yet. maybe more on that later.

[spoonfulofmilo]

this is such a throwback, but ages ago, I made this moodboard

and now i've written a fic about it

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

susie wolff x mercedes driver!male!reader x toto wolff

“So, Y/N, straying away from your stellar on track performances…” Y/N could tell where this was going, but he was contractually obligated to stay and hear her out so he forced a grin and a nod towards the interviewer

“Yeah?”

“You obviously recently announced your relationship with your team boss, Toto Wolff and his wife Susie, congratulations by the way, I’m sure you’ve had a lot of questions surrounding it…”

“Yeah…” Y/N relaxed a little bit, this interviewer didn’t seem to be questioning the ethics or morality or team disputes in it, which was a welcome relief.

“I’m just wondering how the three of you avoid excluding someone, as this is quite common in trios and…”

“Sorry?”

“I just meant… well, there seemed to be a lot of events I can think of, just off the top of my head, such as the Mercedes gala last year, which Toto and Susie attended, obviously Lewis didn’t, but neither did you, which is a little surprising, and…”

Y/N’s mind immediately knew which event she was talking about as his mind flashed back to it…

—

“Hey, Liebe, we’re just heading out, we’ll be back.” Toto nodded at the kitchen as he straightened his tie in the hallway

“Oh, where are you going?” Y/N looked up from the data he’d been studying on the kitchen table. He was surprised to see Toto and Susie nicely dressed up. Surely he hadn’t forgotten about a date.

“Just some sponsor function.” Toto paused as he watched Y/N’s face fall. “They didn’t want to see the drivers, saw you guys as ‘too angry and irrational and stuck up’, otherwise you would be coming darling.”

“But… I- I could come, give me 10 minutes to get changed and i’ll be ready. Not as a driver, just as a Mercedes ambassador, surely?”

“Oh, sorry, darling. It’s not that kind of function. No Mercedes ambassadors are gonna be there, just bosses and partners…” Susie paused as Y/N tried to interject “I know, I know, but you’re not publicly out as our partner, and it would be odd of us to drag you along, as a driver.”

“Oh…it’s okay, yeah that’s fine… I’ll stay here, and get this work done…”

Y/N did not finish his work. He sat at the kitchen table staring at his work, thinking about where it all went wrong. He’d wanted to come out about their relationship since it began, but since it began not too long after he had signed for Mercedes, there were always going to be comments about him ‘sleeping his way to the top’. He thought he could deal with that.

But because Toto and Susie were older and supposedly knew better, and they had insisted that Y/N get settled at Mercedes, win a few championships, and then maybe the relationship could go public.

But…this gala wasn’t the first time this had happened. Y/N couldn’t even think to count the amount of dates he had missed out on because they’d been going out and he couldn’t be seen with them,

They made up for it, sure, and he had agreed to a private relationship, when he was young and cared more about people’s opinions than he did now.

—

“Sorry Y/N?”

“Um, y’know we manage, as I’m sure you’re aware, we wanted to keep our relationship private for a reason and attending galas that my other driver was not would have arised suspicion, I’m sure. Sorry. I’ve just checked the time, I think because of all the questions I’ve gotten, I’m running late for debrief, apologies.”

Y/N could tell that his press officer was looking at him oddly, knowing that debrief didn’t start for half an hour as Lewis had only just entered the media pen. But she could tell that something had agitated the driver and let him run off towards his driver room.

—

“Darling…where are you?”

Toto and Susie wandered through the hotel room, searching for any signs of Y/N in there.

They’d heard that Y/N had been spotted leaving the paddock an hour ago, backpack on, hood up, not talking to interviewers or taking photos with the kids.

And he hadn’t turned up to debrief. He called in and added a few hmms here and there on his engineer’s phone, but no face, and no real contribution to the conversation.

And now they were searching through the, initially welcome, now hindering large hotel suite they had for the weekend, trying to find their partner.

Jack was also helping the search, checking under all the couches and tables, until he went into the closet and loudly exclaimed “Y/N!”

Susie walked into the bedroom, seeing Y/N with tears still falling down his face, with his hood up, and a half packed open suitcase next to him, as he embraced Jack. He looked up, and Susie could see his red-rimmed eyes from here, and sobbed and held on tighter to Jack, burying his face in the little boy’s shirt.

Susie had a feeling she knew where this had come from. She slowly approached the boys and tried to extricate Jack from Y/N’s ironclad grip on the young boy. She felt Toto enter the room and come to the same conclusions that she had.

Y/N without speaking tried to plead with her, until he finally let go of Jack, and curled up in himself in a corner, hiding his face.

“Who said something, I’ll blacklist them from the paddock, liebe.” Toto immediately was pulling out his phone.

Susie didn’t think that was the way this conversation needed to go.

“Can’t blacklist the entire paddock Toto.” Y/N looked up and Susie got a first full proper look at his face, which was blotchy and red, and he’d clearly been crying for a while. He averted his eyes and started grabbing more clothes and haphazardly shoving them in the suitcase again.

“Darling, darling where has this come from? We know most of the paddock were gonna ask about the ethics of our relationship, and I don’t think that would’ve gotten you like this. We talked about how to call them out.”

“I’m leaving.”

“What?”

“Liebe, do you mean the team, because I really think that someone should’ve been in touch…”

“No, no, I’ll stick by the team if you still want my shitty results, I’m leaving the relationship.”

“What, liebe, you can’t just leave…”

“Why not? It’s not like you care about me anyway…” Y/N furiously wiped at the tears that were continuously falling down his face as he continued. “You’re always leaving me at home while you get to go on dates, and be seen together as a couple, meanwhile, I’m stuck at home…It’s…It’s like you don’t want to be seen with me cause you’re ashamed of me.”

“Oh, baby, we’re not ashamed of you. We could never be ashamed of someone so talented, and kind and open and passionate as you are. We were worried about how you would be treated if this relationship came out.”

That was all it took for Y/N to launch himself into Susie’s arms, sobbing, and clinging onto her. Susie rubbed his back, whispering soothingly as he sobbed, repeating over and over again ‘i’m sorry, i’m sorry’ and she soothed him reminding him again and again how much they loved her.

Toto crouched down, also, embracing his 2 partners “And liebing, your results are not shitty. I actually was contemplating making you the lead driver cause youre so close to challenging Max for the championship. I spoke with Lewis about it after the debrief and he agreed.”

“What? No, no. Lewis has won 7 world championships, Lewis, Lewis should be challenging Max. Getting revenge for 2021.”

“Lewis wants to support you. I was going to discuss it with you after debrief but you didn’t come.”

“I’m sorry, being a bratty driver.”

“We all have our off days. I think it’s part of being a driver, maybe Toto likes it and thats why he’s dating 2 of us.”

Y/N couldn’t help but crack a smile, thinking through everything.

Despite the challenges, they would always be there for him.

Although Toto would always say that if he ever moved to Red Bull, they may not be. But a slap on the arm from Susie would shut him up.

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @anicega, @badblondebisexualboy, @ghostking4m, @koalapastries, @camelliaflow3r

[sunflowerandstrawberryspice]

What up y'all! I return bearing what was originally gonna be survival!shipping fluff (I sketch the face first and drew young Garmadon instead of his full Oni version) but morphed into this because my ass was listening to Ethel Cain and Flower Face while drawing. Honestly I took it and wound up playing rendering/color and quite frankly I'm actually pretty happy with how it turned out!

Translations: Vertical word- Destruction, bottom text- "You are no man, men don't have claws they can't cut."

Garmadon is my favorite character to use for these more painterly metaphorical art studies because:

A) He's my babygirl and favorite character, this is very well established lol

B) He's a fundamentally tragic character. He's doomed by the narrative in every sense of the word, he was a child when he was bit and after that he was left to deal with the fact that there was this evil snake in his head and his father as well as his brother (seemingly the only people he interacted with as a child) were now somewhat afraid of him. By his young adulthood his relationship with his family begins to strain due to their belief he's "turning evil" especially when going on the quest for tea leaves in Spinjitzu Brothers which shows he actually feels rather upset/angry that his brother and father believe he's turning evil simply because he experiences negative emotions (you know like a normal person) but then after he see's himself in the mirror in book three he goes on a downward spiral believing he's doomed to turn evil and be alone. We don't really know what happens after book four since the fifth and final book never came out but it's easy to assume that the tea didn't work and Garmadon is left all the worse for it coming out of the trip with his mental health in the gutter. We don't know to much about what happens in-between then and when he goes to Chen's Island but we do know that he doesn't seem to have gotten better since in Shatterspin he's still pretty self sacrificing and other people have begun to notice his less than stellar mental state.

Then we know what happens after the war, his mind is consumed and he is left to be less than himself. Even then when he comes back from the underworld we see that he still cares about his son, he kills the Great Devourer, he still wants to be a person. At the end of season two he gets what he wants, he cured, and for the time that he is fully himself for the first time in years he begins to apologize and try to make up for all that he did (even if it lowkey wasn't 100% his fault seeing he was being controlled by an evil snake), but even that didn't last. He dies, or moreover sacrifices himself to save Ninjago from Chen's Anacondrai army, but he dies a good person, he gets a memorial and family that mourns the truest version of himself. And then he was brought back again, ripped from the afterlife but only as half of himself, only the evil side, the side he spent thousands of years repressing until he couldn't anymore and regretted the second he was himself again. Despite that despite the fact it is supposedly only his evil side left he is still trying to be good, with the Garmadon comics showing his desire for redemption and his care for his son even in what he had thought to be his dying moments.

I think this is what makes one of the beginning lines from the Garmadon comics all the more tragic "Who knows what life he may have lived had he not been corrupted by the Great Devourer and cast into the underworld." He might have gotten to live a different life, he may have gotten to be happy and not fear what he might become, he might not have had to die multiple times over, but we'll never know because that's not what happened instead his fate was twisted by something completely and utterly out of his control.

So yeah he's a little fucked up and that's why he's my favorite! Hope y'all enjoyed my long winded rant, I have so many opinions on this man and don't even get me started on how much I hate crystalized for how it fucked up his development from the comics, but uhhh I think that's it!

If you want to you can check out my fic What Doesn't Kill You it's mostly me putting him in a jar and putting him under a microscope lol, other than that I hope yall have a great day/night and I'll see you when I appear from the mist again! PEACE OUT!

[tidalsoul]

Firtha has appeared! what to do?

Brush off Kick Kill Worship

[viperwhispered]

Too Fast

Part 4 of Jamil versus feelings (aka How Not to Be Swept Under, aka the Too Much series). Let's see how Jamil's plan of action pans out. Part 1, part 2, part 3.

Jamil had a plan.

He already knew he could make you smile, even laugh. That you sought out his company - and not just to sample his cooking (or Kalim’s generosity). Like that time when Jamil had helped you with your homework - considering how little you needed the help, it seemed to have been an excuse on both your sides to just spend time with each other.

Jamil knew the foods that would bring that delighted sparkle to your eye, knew when to step in before you were overwhelmed. You often shared any news with Jamil, filling him in the little happenings of your life - and had gotten him to do the same with you, too. He’d listened to you reminisce about your childhood and your home, even knew a few embarrassing secrets you’d revealed over the course of your conversations.

In short, it was clear that you had some degree of fondness for him.

However, Jamil had yet to ascertain the exact nature of how you felt about him.

But he was certain he could pull it out of you. Nudge you to act, to talk, so that he could gather those signs to tell him if you were open for more.

He’d see if you truly didn’t speak to others the same way you did to him. If you truly didn’t give others that look which always made things so difficult for him.

There had been those times when you had blushed in Jamil’s presence. You’d flustered, stuttered, restless fingers showing your nervousness.

But Jamil needed to make sure if it was because of him, or just the situations you’d been in.

Jamil had recognized the things you were doing, how you kept on getting closer to him.

But he needed to know if it all was enough for what he wanted with you.

And if not… Well. Perhaps there was something to be done about that. Given enough time, enough attention…

He could be a listening ear, a supporting presence, get to know you further, if he needed to.

Yes, he wanted you to be his sooner rather than later, but if he had to wait and work for it, he would.

After all, it was not like him to ruin such things with haste.

When Jamil’s phone buzzed, he pulled it out without even thinking about it.

Before, he always dreaded it, his phone typically only coming to life when Kalim needed something or there was another crisis to deal with.

Yet, nowadays, there was always the hope of it being you.

Jamil hefted his gym bag over his shoulder and unlocked his phone. The basketball club had run late today, and he needed to hurry back to Scarabia - but not before checking the message.

Thankfully, you were indeed the sender.

Hey, wanna go out to the town sometime? Cater told me there’s a nice cafe that opened recently.

Another message popped in before Jamil could finish reading the first.

Like, go out as a date.

The phone slipped from Jamil’s grip, landing on the locker room bench with a thud.

“Hey, Jamil, what’s got you so clumsy?” Ace said, peering at Jamil with a teasing grin.

Jamil cursed himself internally, quickly hiding your messages from view. Normally, he would’ve been walking across campus at this time, perhaps at the dorm already, rather than under the watchful eyes of his clubmates.

But, of course, not today.

“Just fumbled,” Jamil said, struggling to school his expression back to neutral.

“You sure about that? You’re looking awfully flustered,” Ace snickered.

“Ooo, is Sea Snake getting some exciting messages?” Floyd asked, looming closer.

Jamil gave both of them a sharp glare - the effect perhaps hampered by his flushed complexion. He really did not need Floyd and Ace’s antics on top of this bombshell right now.

“Must be the effects of the practice,” Jamil said with a tone of finality.

Not that that seemed to deter the two, now that they’d gotten a taste of blood in the water.

Rather than bickering with them further Jamil grabbed his things and hurried off. He almost expected Floyd to chase after him, even half-dressed as Floyd still was, but thankfully the eel did not seem to be in that much of an inquisitive mood today.

Small blessings.

Jamil was barely aware of his surroundings as he walked, his heart beating a more frantic rhythm than it had during the practice.

How was he supposed to respond to you?

He had not even done anything as he planned, and you already…

Jamil shook his head, tried to keep himself together despite the turmoil your little messages had thrown him into.

Sure, he had intended to push you to act, to reveal the nature of your feelings.

Yet that had left Jamil woefully unprepared for this.

Jamil stared at his phone again, barely remembering to blink or breathe, nearly colliding head-first with some other students.

Finally, he typed out a message.

Are you serious?

Your reply was almost immediate.

Yes

Jamil fidgeted with the strings of his hood, watching the little bubble that told him you were still typing.

Sorry for being a coward and not asking in person.

If you don't feel the same way we can just pretend this never happened.

Oh how Jamil wished he could see your expression right now, could talk to you in person, get to the bottom of this.

Or would it be better to respond to you in text, without worries of stumbling over his words, or getting caught in your eyes like a deer in headlights?

Jamil started writing a reply, frowned and erased it, began to compose another.

He took a deep breath, briefly lifting his eyes from the phone to check where he was going.

What did he have planned for today, anyway? How much time could he clear for you?

Mind abuzz with plans, Jamil tried again.

Can I come over later? I’ll bring something to eat.

I’d rather talk this over in private first, if that’s okay with you.

A few more messages, setting the time, assuring you that he was not opposed to your proposal. Then Jamil shoved the phone into his pocket, reviewing his options.

He’d make something quick for Kalim’s dinner while preparing something to share with you. (What could he make with the time and ingredients he had that you really liked? What about dessert? He knew how much you enjoyed sweets, after all.)

Kalim had no homework deadlines or quizzes tomorrow, and Jamil’s own schoolwork schedule had room for adjustment, as well. They could catch up later. (He’d have to make sure he looked impeccable. Would flowers be too much? Would he have the time to visit Sam’s for them?)

Jamil might have to get up a little early tomorrow for a few things, but he’d deal with that tomorrow. (What if you’d let him stay late? How close would you let him tonight? Would you let him hold you? Maybe even kiss you?)

When Jamil realized that he was standing in front of Sam’s shop instead of the mirror to Scarabia, he simply stared at the storefront for a moment, uncomprehending.

Then Jamil shook his head, frowning.

He’d have to focus, keep his mind on target. He couldn’t afford to mess this up.

Yet, despite his best efforts, Jamil salted the food twice, having to scramble to fix the flavor. When he left Scarabia he nearly left behind the small package he’d picked up at Sam’s, forced to turn back to retrieve it.

And when he walked over to your dorm, Jamil had to consciously tell himself to slow down, lest he’d appear too frazzled by the time he made it.

Mentally, Jamil berated himself. Get a grip! After everything Kalim has thrown your way, you can definitely handle this.

Yet, Jamil still had to steel himself before he rapped on your door.

Jamil’s greeting nearly caught in his throat when he saw you.

He could see the effort you’d put in, dressing up a little, yet more than that it was all those emotions swirling on your features that took his breath away. The nervous excitement which had you fidget in place, the radiance in your smile, the way your eyes seemed to drink him in…

Jamil cleared his throat, determined to not drown in you.

“Thank you for accepting me on such short notice,” Jamil said, handing you a small, neatly wrapped box.

With a thrilling sense of satisfaction Jamil noted the way your eyes widened, how your voice wavered when you invited him in. How you smiled when you found out what he had picked out for you, the gift clearly finding its mark.

Still, you were both stepping around each other, following the scripts of a regular visit when this felt like anything but.

Jamil took out the food he’d made, insisted he’d help you with setting the table despite your protests.

It was an awkward dance, both of you trying to regain your footing.

“I just… feel like I have to say it,” you finally said as you were setting out the food. “That I like you. A lot. So…”

The way you spoke, pouring out your feelings, hesitant and nervous as you were…

Yes, Jamil had wanted to talk this over in person, had wanted to see and hear you say it. Still, now he had just as much trouble meeting your eyes as you had, both of you busying yourselves with the tableware.

You were so nervous, and Jamil felt the urge to pull you close and chase away all your worries.

But he would not push.

Not when he had his hands full keeping his own self under control.

A part of him couldn’t help but feel like he’d deceived you, somehow, for you to hold him in such regard.

And when the silence lingered… What could he even say?

Jamil had thought of it, sure, imagined how you’d react to his words… But at this moment nothing would rise to his tongue, all the carefully picked words gone from his mind.

Jamil took your hand, holding it in between both of his. He spoke your name, oh so softly, his voice cracking under the weight of it.

Hearing himself made Jamil cringe, yet he pushed on.

“I’m… I am glad to know we both want the same. That we feel the same.”

For a brief moment, Jamil hesitated. Then he raised your hand to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles. His eyes flicked to yours, full of those feelings that threatened to sweep him under.

Just him being here with you like this… It told you enough, didn’t it?

Your blush certainly seemed to suggest so.

Jamil would make sure to cause your cheeks to burn brighter. Later.

Once his own face stopped feeling like a hot plate under the sun.

* * *

Later, you sat side by side on the couch, Jamil’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and your head resting against him.

You’d hardly stopped smiling the whole evening, and Jamil could feel the hurt in his own cheeks. 

It was strange, giving into those urges Jamil had been doing his best to hold back all this time.

Still, he had to admit that it was easier trying to move with the current rather than fighting against it.

Yes, the looks you gave him were still overwhelming, your words - and touch - sending his heart aflutter almost painfully.

When you sang his praises, looking at him like your happiness depended on him… It really was just a tidal wave, one far too large for Jamil to withstand.

Yet, finally, Jamil was beginning to allow himself to enjoy it all.

These things - your sweetness, your warmth - were only for him, after all. A heady thought, something that made him greedy for even more despite the overwhelming nature of it all.

Of course, Jamil still didn’t want to overstep.

Truthfully, he himself wasn’t ready for some of the scenarios tugging at the back of his mind.

With the wisdom of hindsight it seemed that you had always been ahead of Jamil, more aware of your feelings than he was of his.

Perhaps even more aware of his feelings than Jamil had been, considering how you’d pursued him - because that was what you had been doing, all this time.

Even if Jamil himself had been too busy contending with his own thoughts to truly see it.

Still, it was difficult even for Jamil to worry about such things with your warmth pressed against his side. Jamil played with your hair, let himself just soak up your presence.

And in that sweet moment Jamil finally stopped fighting, at least for a moment. He let go of his plans, his resistance, and allowed himself to be swept up by you.

Indeed, it hardly felt like he had a choice in the matter.

ETA: you can find the final / 5th part of this series here. This sure stayed in my drafts longer than I thought it would, but here we are. There’s still one more part coming and then we’ll be reaching the end of this particular journey. If you'd like to be tagged in my future works, do let me know! Jamil: alright I need to make sure they want to be with me and then I can move forward Reader: I’ve been trying to get with you for a while now and I can’t wait any longer or Jamil: I gotta gain control over this situation Reader: surprise :)

[egginfroggin]

Hmmmm.

Yet another meme redraw for you all this fine day

It hasn't been officiated by Nintendo yet, but frankly, I do subscribe to the theory that DMK corrupted Sectonia via the mirror; I also think that Taranza has every right to knock him out cold for it

Tell me, which bin do you think DMK belongs in, recycling or trash?

Also I did the perspective after one in the morning on this, don't mind how skrungled DMK is

Also if anyone knows the meme this is based off of and can give me its name or a link to it, please do so if you wouldn't mind, I couldn't find it and had to do this all from memory

Have a good day, everyone ^^

(Program: Krita; time: about 3 hours [same time half the effort as the last one. huh])

[ominous-faechild]

✦ Character Voice Tag ✦

Following tag from @honeybewrites!

Characters from Sun and Shadow: Freya, Crow, and Daleira Characters from the Arcane Rifts: Gene, Tazin, and Mislav

Lines to be used: - "Move over! I wanna watch too." @honeybewrites - "A little help, please?" @the-golden-comet - "Unhand me!" @the-letterbox-archives - "Okay, someone has to come up with a plan" @fractured-shield

"Move over! I wanna watch too."

Freya: "Move! Ugh--please, sorry!" *has already shoved her way past* Crow: *teleported through shadows to get to a better vantage point* Crow: "Excusez-moi!" *at the same time as slapping them aside with their wing* (note: they are not French.) Daleira: "Excuse me, please. I want to watch this too." Gene: "Uhm... ex-excuse me... please..." Tazin: "OUT OF THE WAY!" *meanwhile shoving people way more violently than necessary* Mislav: *way too quietly* "excuse me? I... excuse--vynost, I SAID MOVE!!!" *will shove if they haven't jumped out of the way of the screaming 9-year-old*

"A little help, please?"

Freya: "A little help over here!? Sooner rather than later???" Crow: "Ey! Over here! HELP!" Daleira: "Hey, could I get some help please?" Gene: *is not physically capable of asking for help* Gene: "Uhm... could-could I... please get some help?" Tazin: "Get your ass over here and HELP ME!" (note: read in a nasally, obnoxious 9-year-old's voice) Mislav: "hey, um... could I get some help? Please?"

"Unhand me!"

Freya: "what the--let go of me!" *will tear away from who/whatever grabbed her if she's able* Crow: *combat mode: engaged. Duck into their own shadows and teleport to get a moment to process the scene before reacting further.* Crow: *calmly, making eye contact* "you have less than five seconds to let go of me. Five. Four--" Daleira: *making eye contact, but trying to figure out if the grabbing was malicious or well-intentioned* "what's wrong." (hint: you do NOT want to be on her bad side.) Gene: *at the top of his lungs, voice cracking from under-use, and simultaneously yanking away with more strength than a 7-year-old should have* "LET GO OF ME!!!" (*panik attack*) Tazin: *insert unintelligible demonic screeching here. And imagine the grabber being set on fire. Because both will be the case.* Mislav: "LET GO OF ME!" *will yank away with, yet again, more strength than a human child should have. In fact, even more than a human adult if the grabber is intimidating. Will headbutt and leave a GNARLY bruise if necessary.*

"Okay, someone has to come up with a plan!"

Freya: "Guys??? What are we doing??? Don't tell me I have to figure something out!" Crow: *deadpan* "Don't make me break out Plan B. Trust me, you do NOT want Plan B." Daleira: *taking a deep breath and tying her hair back with a hairtie that JUST magically appeared* "alright, here's what we're going to do." Tazin: "GENE, COME UP WITH SOMETHING RIGHT NOW!!!" Gene: (regardless of whether or not ^^^ just happened) "I... I think I have an idea..." Mislav: "ohvynostpleaseno--does anyone have a plan??? Anyone??? Anything??? Ohvynostno--PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME HAVE TO USE IT!!!"

Your line: "Well, you see, Perry the Platypus, it all started on the day I (...) AND THAT'S WHY I PLAN TO CONQUER THE TRI-STATE AREA!" (in other words, if you don't want to Doofenshmirtz it, "This is why I'm about to do this No Good, Very Bad Thing. That is also why you are not going to stop me or change my mind." I thought it'd be fun with Doofenshmirtz's way, but either should work!)

Tagging (with no pressure) @darkandstormydolls @yourpenpaldee @.honeybewrites @.the-letterbox-archives (avoiding double-tags) and whoever else wants to join!

Divider from @cafekitsune

[a-lil-strawberry]

Please pray that a complicated billing situation will be sorted out and covered by my insurance. It's for an ambulance ride I had in June for a panic attack. Some of you might remember me panicking about it a few months ago when I got the statement.

[koka-mi]

vent under the cut you don't need to read if you don't want to!!!!!!!

I honestly hateee opening up or oversharing with ppl. it's kind of like eating for me where it feels okay in the moment but then afterwards I just feel awful. it feels like I'm attention seeking or saying someone else's experience isn't valid for some reason and it sucks. I don't do it at all with ppl I just met but with friends I tend to get carried away with it sometimes,,,

It hurts even more because I've been distancing myself from ppl bcz I'm scared of this exact thing happening. People have messaged me before, saying I seem cool and they want to be friends. And I get happy in the moment, but then I get really anxious about accidentally getting too comfortable and blurting out personal things, because then their opinion of me will wane and they'll think I'm annoying or ungrateful. So I subconsciously begin to distance myself and take a while when responding to messages, because I'm scared of getting too comfortable with them. But now I'm anxious that they think I'm cold or distant and that I secretly don't like them. It's just a lose lose situation mannn </3

I have so many DMs I've put off responding to, and I've stopped talking in servers as much bcz I'm scared of getting close with ppl in them. I really feel bad for it, though. I've drifted from friends bcz of that and it sucks because I genuinely love them a lot. I love everyone I talk to a lot and they always make my day better--I just wish I could be the same for them. I feel like it's a chore to talk to me. I honestly don't know what to do. It's even worse when I get close to someone bcz they like what I make/post because again, now that they've seen how I really am and I've opened up, they more than likely see me as annoying or a bad person. Like it hurts enough whenever we become friends naturally talking, but if it's with someone who's seen me at my "best" and has seen things I work on or stories I've created, they ofc associate me with those things, and their expectations of me are through the roof. So when I disappoint them it hurts a lot more. I hate getting attached to people it hurts so much

[agapestricken]

alright, yeah, manja may be kind of sly... BUT have you also considered that she's a seven foot tall partially moth-like woman with luxurious, long black hair and glowing yellow eyes? like she's honestly gorgeous and i'm tired of pretending like she's not okok (LMAO i'm just joking as i know this account is still new so i haven't talked about her much 💀 but even with the, uhhh, body horror thing's manja's got going on — she is stunning)

[imminent-danger-came]

I really need to go in depth into MK's "smartie kid" arc that starts in 1x10 and is then a consistent thread through the whole show

[mieczyhale]

just left half-price books, and it was great fun, very relaxing, but uh... quick question @ half-price:

why is there a section of three large bookcases worth of christian literature and bible related content, and the sign specifically states its the christian section, when the section just before it is a general religion section to cover everyone else - that's visibly so much smaller - and is basically blocked off bc you're using it to price books and handle books people are selling to the store??

'm just curious. t'was a little bit silly. a little goofy. that's all.

[chappellrroan]

can we go back to making anime uncool and untrendy

[thecomet-and-themeteor]

I don't know how much sense this makes but I need a Langelique Cinderella AU, I think it'd work pretty well