“who do you think you’re impressing with this stuff?”
“everyone. you wouldn’t understand.”
after adjusting his tie, pacifica looks up from dipper’s neck, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. it’s the very first time she sees him without that lame pine tree cap on, so naturally, her eyes aim a little higher.
upon inspecting the brunette’s tufts of hair, she thinks to herself, he definitely doesn’t shower much, trying her best to not react too visibly to the accumulation of sweat. who knows, making him feel more awkward will just make things worse—after all, that suit must be stuffy enough as it is.
so, she remains indifferent as she continues inspecting his hair. despite a lack of showering, she thinks, he’s lucky to have fluffly hair… for a nerd, i guess.
before she backs off completely, walking back into the party to the ‘problem room’, pacifica notices something about dipper’s forehead. a blemish, perhaps? or maybe, a hint of acne.
acne makes sense for him, trying very hard to roll her eyes at the thought, obviously not the type to spare time for proper skin care, geez.
for all she knew, pacifica soon came to the conclusion that from all that sweat… the pores on his forehead being clogged thanks to his brown hair and that hat of his, she wouldn’t worry much about giving away some facial cleanser, mosturiser, and a trip to pick up some ointment (since she never needed any).
yet, before she could start on a list—first, she needed to know how bad it was.
pushing his hair back, dipper feels his whole body go stiff in a flash. what the heck was she doing?
“i don’t have time to give you a total makeover, but the least i can do is advise you on better personal hygiene.”
pacifica answers, which meant that dipper was definitely thinking out loud.
stupid! now that, he whines in thought, but refrains from physically face-palming himself.
when pacifica fully pushes dipper’s hair back, his forehead now bare to her, she observes it, her face remaining indifferent as she focuses on what lies before her. it’s… a big dipper?
behind that poker face of hers, she’s laughing inside; trying desperately to not let the corners of her lips twinge up and succumb to her amusement.
clearly embarrassed, dipper’s face flushes red, but finds himself staying still as he feels frozen under pacifica’s gaze. his doe-brown eyes are only glued to her diamond-hued irises, then glances a bit down to her glossed lips, awaiting the inevitable mean-girl cackle.
“so that’s why people call you dipper.” pacifica points out softly, showing the smallest hint of a grin on her face.
only, it isn’t malicious—dipper notes to himself. amused, yes, but not in a cruel, insulting way.
feeling awkward enough as it is, dipper breaks away from pacifica’s touch, backing himself away and heading towards the door; laughing inorganically.
“yeah, it’s just a dumb birthmark, started going by dipper so no one could tease me about that anymore, heh,” he tries to explain in a single breath, pulling out the third journal to avoid being further burned in her gaze, “anywaysweshouldgoaheadandfindtheroomwheretheghostwaslastspottedright?”
“i don’t think it’s dumb.”
the confession slips pass pacifica’s lips almost instantly, unable to stop the words from spewing out.
now, they’re both pink in the face, both in disbelief of the blonde’s admission.
stormborns
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
janainaart
yousharknotpass
dededos
