#woo constructive criticism

[charlie-shmarlie]

Here's some writing practice for two of my ocs, Aurel and Delia. They belong to a gothic-romance story I've been kicking around in my drafts for a while :)

Never in my life have I ever felt such love. None living, nor dead had ever treated me with such tenderness as he. No. No other could possibly compare.

There I stood in his grand and elegant castle. The curtains behind every tall, needle-like window drawn closed, cutting off all light save for the flickering glow of candles scattered throughout. Their warmth a clear contrast to the darkness and chill that settled in the air.

He was at his knees. His decayed face buried into the puffy fabric of my white dress that reached down to my ankles. A cold set of arms wrapped around my torso. A hand resting on my back and another lower on the back of my thigh.

His touch was most gentle, as if he feared that he may tear me like a delicate flower petal.

I could tell he was hurting again. I wanted to help, but there wasn't much that I could do for him yet. Not yet.

The only thing I could think to do was to simply stay with him and embrace this peaceful silence that encapsulated us.

I allowed a hand down to his shoulder. My other upon the fabric that covered his rotted spine.

If he had any breath to release, I believe he would have.

"I grow so very tired of never feeling your touch." He muttered into my clothes. His voice like silk; smooth and rich, and deeper than ever.

"I despise never knowing the sweet caress of your hands. The softness of your hair as I run my fingers through it. Or the sensation of your lips brushing against mine, that I know I would fall addicted to if I could only feel them."

He pulled away from my torso enough to gaze up at my face. I stared back at him.

When I did, I was met with the pitiful eyes of a sorrowful man. His pools holding a deep, pure desire and yearning.

He carefully cleared his throat and trailed a hand down my arm. The feeling of his cold bone against my skin causing goosebumps to surface.

"Oh, my heart, I am sorry," He began again, "Please forgive my impatience. I will wait for an eternity if I must. Simply being in your presence is enough to satisfy me."

What was visible of his expression shifted. His longing eyes softening and filling with contentment once again.

"Possessing the ability to look upon you, hear your voice, and smell the sweet scent of your living skin is enough for me. You are more than what any man could hope for, and more than what any immortal could ever desire."

He rose to his feet. His figure now looming over mine, casting a shadow over my form as I followed his gaze upwards.

A hand reached out to graze my cheek. I shivered at the gesture. His eyes searched my features, scanning over each one before reuniting with my own pools once again. A fond smile tugging at the corners of his colorless lips.

"My heart, I wish for nothing else. I only wish that one day I will be able to love you fully and completely. That my appearances will no longer stir up fear in your heart.  Perhaps then, you could come to truly understand the extent of my love for you. Perhaps..." He paused. The thought making his undead heart swell, "Perhaps then, you could come to love me. Even the most monstrous of creatures."

"I already do."

[matchbox-fires]

Write a poem about the power of forgiveness and its ability to heal.

It heavies the heart-

aching, pulling, hurting.

Weighs down the limbs, wrapping around every joint.

Patiently waiting in the recesses of your mind.

One cure, plenty in abundance but hard to acquire.

Time.

Time lightens the load, soothes the hurts

turns it from a ball of pain into a nugget,

harmless, forgivable.

once forgiven, fades into dust

No more heavy heart

no more hurts or aches

no more pained joints or heavy limbs.

[ms-demeanor]

This is a good faith/genuine ask. Sorry if you’ve posted this already on your blog! My parents were big into medical woo when I was growing up. My dad’s a chiropractor and while he doesn’t think it’ll cure autism or asthma, I’ve learned a lot over the past few years about its origins and how it’s a pseudoscience. Do you have resources about the pseudoscience or lack of evidence for spinal manipulation? I feel a bit like I’m trying to leave a cult with how embedded some of these claims are from my childhood.

thanks for all your posting about medical woo and pseudosciences! It’s made a huge difference for me.

sorry about formatting, I’m on mobile

Quackwatch has a very good introductory article that links to lots and lots of other articles. That page has been up a long time, so many of the links are broken, but you can find the references at the bottom of the page by searching the full name and title of the articles (which, for the record, is a really great reason to include full citations even when writing for the internet!)

Two of the articles that had broken links that I'd suggest looking at are by Edzard Ernst, who is a researcher focused on CAM who has published a *ridiculous* amount of information analyzing the efficacy of alternative therapies. Both of these are available as free fulltext articles online, they are:

Chiropractic: a Critical Evaluation

Adverse Effects of Spinal Manipulations: A Systematic Review

Like most alternative medicine, it is hard to find "fair" research on chiropractic because most of the people who are reporting on outcomes are the people performing the treatments. There are dozens of "peer-reviewed" chiropractic journals that do little more than function as advertising for the industry and that churn out lots of studies that sound good but are badly constructed and are poor evidence for the efficacy of the treatment.

Even "fair" research that finds that chiropractic is largely ineffective often gets misinterpreted and held up as a win for chiropractic; a 2019 paper found that spinal manipulation therapy was as effective as other recommended treatments for low back pain - the issue is that other recommended treatments for low back pain aren't very effective. Ernst did a write-up on that study too, which provides a good basic model for how to look at research reviews.

Thanks for reaching out and asking, it sounds like you've been dealing with a lot through this and I hope you have a good day.

[angels-fantasy]

Sweet Confessions

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Description : After a night out with friends, Bakugou decides to tell you something while you two are eating sweet pastries.

Details : 1.8k words, friends to lovers, cussing, reader and bakugou are over 21! readers looks are not specified in any way, but she is a woman. small mention of alcohol.

this is my first fanfic ever, so please be kind! constructive criticism is welcome :)

When Bakugou received a text message from Kirishima inviting him out to eat with the bunch of other idiots, he immediately declined. Though this was nothing new, and it was something his red-haired friend was already expecting. Which is why he had Mina execute plan b.

Raccoon Eyes

Yo Bakugou! Come out with us tonight. You're always locked away in your apartment. Let loose a little!

Bakugou glared at his phone and typed out a message.

Hell no.

UGH BAKUGOU!! You're literally no fun. I can't believe you'd miss out on the opportunity to see this cutie -.-

A few seconds later, a picture was sent. When Bakugou opened it, he saw that it was a picture of you. He brought his phone closer to his face and looked it over carefully. He noticed you were dressed for the occasion, like everyone else in the background, and you were smiling widely at the camera. Mina probably told you to pose.

He must've been looking at your photo for too long because another text from Mina came in.

You drooling or what lover boy? Hurry up and get here so you can make a move already. We all know you like her 🙄.

Bakugou felt his face flush. It was true, he did have a crush on you. And though he never verbally admitted it to anyone, they all saw right through him. Except you, of course.

He clicked his tongue and typed up a quick response before beginning to get ready.

Shut up. I'll be there in 30.

"Woo! We got him!" Mina cheered, leaning across the table to high-five Kirishima.

You looked between them suspiciously, "What are you guys plotting?"

The pink woman had the audacity to look nervous. "Nothing! Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, okay."

As Mina and Kirishima kept whispering to each other, you squirmed in your seat. You knew the other pro heroes at the table fairly well, but not enough to just strike up a conversation like you would with Mina.

"Hey pretty, what do you look so nervous for?"

You turned to the left and were faced with a yellow haired man.

"Oh, hi Kaminari. I'm not nervous, just hungry. They're taking a little long to bring out the food. Don't you think?" You lied.

Thankfully he was kind of an airhead. "Oh yeah I know right! I'm starving. I'm gonna go ask how much longer!" He said and got up out of his seat, leaving you alone again.

You sighed and took a sip of your drink. Since Mina and Kirishima were too busy talking to each other, and you didn't want to bother talking to anyone else you decided to scroll mindlessly on your phone.

Some time later, the empty seat next to you was pulled out and sat in by Bakugou himself.

Your ears got hot at the sight of him. It wasn't the first time you'd met him, you two were good friends after all. But you never got used to how handsome he was. It was like he got better looking everyday. You began to wonder what he looks like under that button up-

"Hey nightlight, what're you staring at huh?" He asked, snapping you out of your trance.

"Shut up! I told you to stop calling me that." You said with false annoyance.

"It ain't my fault your quirk makes you a nightlight." He smirked. You scrunched your nose to hide your laugh, but unknowingly failed since Bakugou still saw it.

His nickname for you was completely harmless, and came from your quirk which allowed you to produce light from your hands. It wasn't anything comparable to a pro hero's quirk, but it did have its uses.

"Kacchan you made it!" Midoriya exclaimed with his big smile.

Bakugou clicked his tongue, "Shut it nerd, or else I'll leave. Give me a menu, yeah?"

Midoriya laughed off his words and passed him a menu, used to his harsh way of speaking.

Dinner went on without any problems, and the food was delicious. Everyone around the table cracked jokes, brought up old memories, and some people had even began drinking alcohol, including you.

Your drink wasn't very strong, but the few you had was enough to have you a little tipsy. Thankfully, you took an uber to the restaurant, so you didn't have to worry about driving.

During dinner, you and Bakugou engaged in a conversation. Mostly about his hero work and the villains he had caught recently.

Once everyone finally finished their food and drinks, they had all begun to leave. Slowly leaving one by one, some in pairs as well.

While you grabbed your stuff, you got on your phone to call for an uber but got interrupted by Bakugou talking to you.

"How you gettin' home nightlight? You better not even think about driving after drinking." He warned.

You brushed him off, "I'm taking an uber, don't worry!"

He grunted in agreement and was silent for a moment before saying, "I'll give you a ride home. C'mon."

"No it's okay! I can just take the uber home. Besides, didn't you drink too?"

"Hell no I didn't. It's not my thing. Just hurry up and accept my offer alright? This is the only time I'll be this nice."

You smiled at his words, knowing he was lying when he said this was the only time he'd be nice.

"Alright then, let's go!"

He smirked and held out a hand for you to hold, which you did while he walked you to his car. He made sure you didn't fall on the way there, and even opened the door for you.

"Wow what a gentleman you are. Do you open doors for all the ladies?" You teased.

"Nah, so consider it special treatment for you Nightlight."

You smiled shyly and wiggled your feet a bit after he shut your door and got into his own seat.

The ride to your house was quiet, except for the occasional small talk. But it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. It was a comforting feeling for the both of you.

When he pulled up to your place, you turned to him to say goodbye, but instead you said "Um, do you wanna come inside with me? I have some pastries I made earlier..."

He laughed lightly at your words, "Sure, but be ready for me to critique the hell out of those pastries."

You led him inside where you both took off your shoes and coats. You ushered him to sit on the couch and relax while you went to go prepare some drinks and the pastries for the two of you.

While you were gone for a few minutes, Bakugou couldn't help but think about how he was actually inside your house. It wasn't the first time he'd been there, but it was the first time he'd been there alone. Just you and him.

In the midst of his thinking, he felt his phone buzz and he looked at it to see a message from Kirishima.

Shitty Hair

I see you left with your little nightlight ;) Better make a move while you have the chance!!

Bakugou huffed and sent a middle finger emoji, then silenced his phone. He didn't need any distractions.

Finally, you came from the kitchen with a tray in your hands and placed it on the coffee table.

"Here they are! My babies. I hope they're still good, considering they're not as fresh as they were this morning." You said nervously while sitting down next to him.

Bakugou hummed and grabbed a pastry, biting into it. You watched silently as he chewed and swallowed it, anticipating his reaction.

He bit it again, "S' good."

You smiled, "I'm glad you like it. That means a lot coming from you, Bakugou. Your cooking is so good!"

He turned away with a red face, "Of course it is. I'm the best at everything. And why don't you call me Katsuki? We've known each other for years now."

"Oh, I didn't realize you felt that way. Sorry Baku-erm, Katsuki. I just thought you didn't want anyone to call you that, especially since Kirishima doesn't even call you that..."

"Tsk, I feel a lot of ways. You just don't know about it."

Your interest peaked at his words. "Oh yeah? Then would you do the honors by telling me how you feel Katsuki?" You teased.

Bakugou felt himself hesitate before speaking, which is something he never did. Gosh, he couldn't believe this is how he was going to confess to you.

"I like you, idiot."

Your smile fell and your expression formed into one of pure confusion. "What?"

Damn. Maybe that wasn't the right move.

He began to panic and sat up quickly, "Ugh, nothing. Forget about it-"

"No! I'm not forgetting about that." You said while grabbing his hand, pulling him back down onto the couch.

As he sat down next to you in silence, you kept his hand in yours. "You like me Katsuki?"

He huffed and turned away. "So what if I do? It doesn't matter-"

You grew frustrated at his words. "Of course it matters! Stop acting like this is nothing. I need you to talk to me seriously, because I don't want to get my hopes up..."

He looked back at you, only to see your eyes watering. "Hey wait-don't cry. Shit. I'm real fuckin' bad at this, ain't I?"

You laughed and sniffled, "Yeah, a little."

He sighed and squeezed your hand that was holding his.

"I uh, I do really like you. I have for a while. I just didn't wanna fuck up what we already had-" He was cut off by you throwing your arms around his neck tightly.

"You big dummy. I can't believe you thought you'd mess things up."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he still wrapped his arms around your waist. He stayed quiet to listen to what you had to say.

"I actually like you too, y'know. I have for a while now."

He smirked and hugged you tighter. "Thank god. I was almost afraid you'd run out on me."

You snorted and pulled away slowly. "No way in hell would I do that. I just didn't know how to tell you..."

He threw an arm around you and said, "Well I'm glad ya did. 'Cause you're my girl now."

"Don't I get any say in this?" You asked jokingly.

"Nah, you agreed when you said you liked me back."

Extra:

That night, Katsuki decided to sleepover at your place since you two had already made it official. You lent him some mens pajamas you had since you were sure they'd fit him, which he fussed about because he assumed they belonged to another man.

"No Katsuki, these are actually mine believe it or not."

"Tsk, good. If I ever find any other loser's shit in here I'll blow it up."

[wtfaniii]

Masterlist

Hi! I'm Ani and this is a little space where I'll post one shots about my favorite characters and that way feed my daydreaming.

I will also accept requests so feel free to make them!😸

╰┈➤ About me

You can make requests to me and rest assured that I will respond. It will take a while because university sometimes consumes me, but I will write to you as soon as possible!

I rarely write smut, the reader is usually female and you keep in mind that english is not my primary language but I try and will always accept constructive criticism 😸

╰┈➤ List of characters, series and movies:

✎ 「Squid Game」

「 ✦ Hwang In ho ✦ 」

● I can do it alone, but he can also save me Part 1 - Part 2

● Paparazzi Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

● Letters of destiny

● ¿What if...? a little girl entered the games

● A better show

● Old Love

● Tough Decisions, Strong Wills

● My boy only breaks and repairs

● Curiosities, observations and other small qualities

「 ✦ Hwang Jun ho ✦ 」

● I can do it alone, but he can also save me Part 1 - Part 2

● Best Friend's Brother

「 ✦ The Salesman ✦ 」

●Sweet but Psycho

「 ✦ Lee Myung gi ✦ 」

● Escape To The Bathroom

「 ✦ Cho Sang-Woo ✦ 」

● My boy only breaks and repairs

「 ✦ Guard Square ✦ 」

● Breaking the rules

「 ✦ Se-mi ✦ 」

● I Wanna Be Yours

「 ✦ Thanos/Choi Su-bong ✦ 」

● Little Cheater

「 ✦ Nam Gyu ✦ 」

● From love to hate

「 ✦ Reactions ✦ 」

● Reaction to your death

● Paternal Instinct

● Squid game characters reaction to strange food

● Squid game male characters x little girl reader

✎ 「Goblin; The Lonely and great god」

「 ✦ The Grim Reaper/Wang Yeo ✦ 」

● The Other Woman

✎ 「Strangers From Hell」

「 ✦ Goblin/Kim Shin ✦ 」

● Lotus Flower

「 ✦ Seo Moon-jo ✦ 」

● Ultraviolence

「 ✦ Yoon Jong-woo ✦ 」

● Ultraviolence

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Series and Movies

◇Marvel

◇DCcomics

◇Squid Game

◇Junji Ito Maniac

◇The Boys

◇The Law And Order UVE

◇Once Upon A Time

◇Harry Potter (and Marauders)

◇Twilight

◇IT

◇Hazbin Hotel

◇Goblin

◇American Horror Story

◇Lucifer

◇The Big Bang Theory

◇Now You See Me

◇Duskwood

[ckret2]

Chapter 31 of human Bill grudgingly enduring being the Pines' prisoner because the Henchmaniacs won't take his call: Summerween night! Everyone gets ridiculous costumes!

The Summerween Trickster's buddies are attempting to resurrect him. Robbie's making a music video. Bill's attempting to woo Ford back into friendship, to terrify Dipper with cursed knowledge, and to recover his dignity from THE most gentle chastising imaginable, and he only succeeds in 1 out of 3 of these endeavors:

It's not this one. He's just gotta process these emotions while wearing that stupid wig.

####

Soos was putting the final touches on his cosplay (the suave and mysterious Masked Guy In A Suit, love interest of the heroine from the classic anime Teenage Planetary Soldier Girls) when he heard the phone ring in the office. "Hold on, I'll get it!" He hurried downstairs, ducked under a construction paper chain Mabel had strung over the door, picked up the phone, and said, "Hello?"

A mysterious voice droned, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

"Oh, no thanks, we don't want any." Soos hung up, sighed happily, and said, "Ah, Summerween. Always brings out the weirdos."

"Hey Soos!" Mabel ducked into the doorway. "Where's the candy bowl?"

"Oh, hey Hambone. It's in my bedroom." He put on a stage whisper. "I put it in there so Bill couldn't steal it."

"Thanks Soos!" She ran upstairs.

Dipper and Bill waited downstairs, the tension thick between them (on Dipper's side, anyway; Bill—watching a black-and-white horror movie, sipping at a can of cider, and brooding over going to voicemail—didn't notice). Dipper was waiting by the door in a folding chair; but he kept glancing toward Bill in the living room. When the silence got too much to bear, he asked, "Okay, what are you dressed as?"

Bill was wearing a brown bedsheet toga (the most historically-accurate part of his costume); a cheap wig of a teased mullet that had ended up mostly red with yellow streaks, forming a plume of hair right over his head and then a long straight tail he'd draped over his shoulder; and a bunch of paper faux-Greek homes taped all around the hem of his toga, forming a ring around his calves.

"And are those my sandals?" Dipper asked.

"Take it up with Mabel, she loaned them on your behalf," Bill said. "I'm not telling my costume. You have to guess it."

"Seriously?" Dipper sighed. It had to be a god, gods towered over their mortals' temples. What god would wear brown? "I don't know—Demeter?"

"What? No. Do I seem like the Demeter type? Pathetic." Bill waved off his guess. As Mabel ran downstairs, Bill said, "Hey, Shooting Star, you haven't made your official guess yet."

Without hesitation, Mabel said, "A time-traveling hair metal singer touring the Roman Empire and trying to find a way home before his hair dye runs out."

"Wrong, but I would love to live in the world you've dreamed up." He meandered into the entryway to join Mabel as she plopped down in the second chair by the door.

Dipper screwed up his face. "Are you helping us answer the door?"

"No, you're helping me answer the door. I'm cursed, remember?" Bill leaned over Mabel's shoulder, dug into the candy bowl, and popped a lollipop in his mouth. "But you're not getting rid of me, if that's what you're asking."

Soos headed to the door, cape billowing dramatically behind him. "Hey dudes. Hey Bill." He paused in the door, studying Bill. "Hey! Is that a Bobo the Uncouth Berserker cosplay?"

Bill blinked. "Who?"

"Bobo the Uncouth Berserker! You've gotta read Bobo. He's this primitive hero descended from lost Lemuria who goes on daring adventures through the lush impenetrable jungles of Central Europe. He's got this comic that was so popular it spawned an anime, which got an American movie adaptation, which formed the basis of a second comic continuity that isn't as critically acclaimed as the original but has drawn in a lot of new fans... and..." Soos petered out. "You're not Bobo, are you."

Bill shook his head. "Thanks for playing."

"Aw." Soos's shoulders slumped. "Anyway—me and Melody are gonna be at the cosplay contest at the theater. I'll keep my phone on in case of monsters."

"We'll be fine!" Mabel said. "Go have fun!"

"You too!" With a dramatic flourish of his cape, Soos disappeared into the night.

Bill watched Soos go enviously. He could have been given a human body that looked that good in a suit and top hat, but was he? No. It wasn't fair. And Soos didn't even wear the right hat size.

Dipper glanced sideways at Bill. "Hey. Is... Lemuria real?"

"Not anymore." Bill perked up as Stan passed by, dressed like Frankenstein's monster. "Hey, Stanley! You haven't guessed yet. What am I?"

Stan surveyed him. "White columned buildings, Statue of Liberty dress, and a red clown wig. I dunno, the American government?"

Bill squawked in laughter. "That's my favorite wrong answer so far. I like you, Stanley." He fished a chocolate bar out of the bowl and held it out.

Stan grunted in disapproval, but accepted the candy. "If any of you need me, I'm gonna be up on the roof, terrifying kids." He held up a boombox and a cassette that said "Spooky Sound Effects of Halloween". "If you hear screaming children, don't worry: that means I'm winning."

"Where's your brother?" Bill asked.

"Avoiding you." Stan passed through the living room and left.

Bill's shoulders slumped; but he just dug into the candy bowl for more chocolate. Then the first trick-or-treater knocked on the door, and Dipper jumped up in relief to answer it.

The shack didn't attract quite as many trick-or-treaters as the houses closer to the center of town, but they got a steady stream of children, and more than they'd gotten the year before. Between visitors, Bill dug into their candy stock, gleefully ignoring Dipper's complaints. After the fourth or fifth visitor, Dipper and Mabel realized that Bill was covering up the amount of candy he'd pilfered by meticulously re-folding the empty wrappers and putting them back in the bowl.

"It's fair play," Bill said. He untwisted one end of a Twisty Roll tube, squeezed out the candy, blew into the wrapper to re-inflate it, and twisted the end shut again. "The kids are trick-or-treating, right? Sometimes they get treats and sometimes they get tricks."

"Come on, seriously?" Dipper said. "Even for you this is low. You're literally taking candy from babies."

"The babies are trying to take candy from us. I have no sympathy." With the precision of an origami master, Bill refolded a paper fruit chew wrapper into a box and dropped it back into the bowl.

"They're supposed to take candy from us, that's how the holiday works." Dipper looked at Mabel for support.

But she was holding up an empty 3 Fencers wrapper and squeezing it lightly between her fingers. "Wow. How did you make the wrapper puffy again? It's so convincing."

Bill shot Dipper a nasty smile, then turned to Mabel and said magnanimously, "I'll teach you everything I know." He twirled a glue stick between his fingers.

Another trick-or-treater knocked, and Dipper answered.

"Trick or treat! Please give us the worst candy you have."

Mabel blinked, leaning around Dipper to see who was outside. "Wait, what?"

Outside stood a purple-furred monster with a dozen limbs from a dozen different creatures. He gasped in surprise. "Ohhh, twin costumes! That's so cute! What are you two, haunted dolls?"

Dipper took a surprised step back. "Limby Jimmy?"

The monster was silent a moment, taken aback. He took off a bear mask he'd made out of a paper plate. "Is it that obvious?"

Mabel asked, "Have we...?"

Dipper said, "Oh! Sorry—Mabel, this is Limby Jimmy, I ran into him last year in the Crawlspace under town when I was trying to get your face back—"

Helpfully, Bill threw in, "He's Gravity Falls' most accomplished arms dealer. And legs dealer, and tails dealer, and ears dealer..."

"Limby, this is my sister Mabel. Actually, I don't know if I ever introduced myself—"

Limby Jimmy cut in, "Ohhh, yeah, I remember you! You're Troll Boy, right?"

Dipper winced. "It's—it's Dipper, actually." He paused. "Wow. We meet a lot of weird people."

"Nice to meet you, Jimmy!" Mabel held out a hand. After a moment of thought, Jimmy elected to shake it with a tentacle and a dog's paw.

"What are you doing up here?" Dipper asked. "Is Summerween the one night of the year that Gravity Falls' monsters can walk among humans without fear?"

"Oh no, I'm terrified. I wouldn't be out here if I wasn't collecting donations," Jimmy said.

"Donations?"

Jimmy hesitated, then lowered his voice. "You've been in the Crawlspace, so, you and your sister are cool, but is the lady...?" He wiggled a hoof toward Bill.

Coolly, Bill said, "I'm actually an ancient interdimensional energy being cursed to wear a human form."

Dipper and Mabel flinched in alarm and rounded on Bill, hissing, "Bill!" "Shhh!"

Ignoring them, Bill said, "So, continue."

"Oh," Jimmy said brightly. "That's all right then, yuk yuk." He wiggled his multitude of right arms. "I don't know if you humans have heard yet, but the Summerween Trickster got eaten to death last summer! It's really sad!"

Dipper and Mabel, who had watched as he was eaten to death, stayed quiet.

"But probably happy for him?" Jimmy mused. "Since I think that's what he wanted? But it's sad for the rest of his poker group, we all miss him! So I'm out here with Doug—"

"Who?" Dipper asked, looking around the porch for a second monster.

"Oh, he's back there." Jimmy pointed toward a tree at the edge of the clearing around the Mystery Shack. The tree chittered unnervingly. "We're going around collecting donations to resurrect the Trickster! Or... re-summon him? Or however this works. We never really asked him how he came to exist, it seemed rude."

"Naturally," Bill said. "You can't just ask a freak what made him so freaky. It's a sensitive topic."

"Right! You understand," Jimmy said. "Anyway, we need a lot of crappy candy!" He looked at their bowl. "Which pieces have the kids been ignoring this year?"

Mabel had started bouncing on the balls of her dusty Victorian ghost shoes; and the moment she had a turn to speak, she squealed in excitement. "You're the Summerween Trickster's friend! That's perfect! Stay here, I'll be right back!" She shoved the candy bowl into Bill's arms and zoomed up the stairs. "I've got some stuff for him!"

Bill looked at the bowl, looked at the stairs, shoved the candy in Dipper's arms, and followed Mabel. "Hey, Shooting Star? What are you doing?"

Her voice drifted down the stairs: "Getting a donation! I'll be just a minute!"

"Hold on, you're actually helping that guy?" Bill laughed. "Why?" He climbed high enough to poke his head above the attic floor  and lowered his voice so Jimmy couldn't hear. "I wasn't paying that much attention last Summerween, but I got the impression from your little costume store brawl that the Trickster was trying to kill you kids. Am I missing something?"

"I mean, yeah, he was—but he was in a really bad place back then, that doesn't mean he deserves to be dead for it. And now he knows someone out there wants to eat him, so maybe he'll be less insecure and evil." Mabel laughed, "Anyway, the Trickster isn't that bad! He didn't try to kill me half as hard as you did!"

Bill froze a couple of steps from the top of the stairs. He didn't move for a few seconds; and then wordlessly, he slunk back downstairs.

Dipper watched as Bill, face beet red, trudged into the living room. "Hey. What's Mabel...?"

"How should I know." Bill curled up on the couch, picked up the can of cider he'd been drinking earlier, shotgunned it, and glowered at the horror movie on TV.

Dipper considered Bill—all alone in the living room and not doing anything important—and considered Mabel, upstairs; and said, "Hey, Jimmy. Do you mind waiting out here until Mabel gets back."

"Sure! I don't have any plans." Jimmy rocked back on his many heels.

"Cool. Thanks." Dipper shut the door.

He sidled oh so very casually into the living room and leaned against the TV. "Guess it's just the two of us right now."

Bill's gaze didn't waver from the TV. "Terrific counting skills, Troll Boy." He popped open another cider can.

Dipper grit his teeth. Let it go. "Sooo! You're from the second dimension, huh? What's that like?" (His voice cracked embarrassingly on "that.") "Just—just curious. Making friendly conversation. Caaasual conversation." He flashed a pair of finger guns at Bill, to underscore just how casual he was. "Yyyep." Witness the junior paranormal investigator in action.

Bill turned the cold, empty eyes of a killer on Dipper. He took a long, slow sip from his cider. And he asked himself: what can I say that will make this stupid boy regret ever daring to speak to me?

Bill smiled. "Yeah. Sure. Okay," he said. "You wanna know what it's like? Have you ever read the Allegory of the Cave?"

Dipper hesitated. "By... Plato?"

"That one. You know—ignorance is like being a prisoner chained in a cave, watching shadow puppets being cast on a wall, and thinking they're reality; and having knowledge is like being outside the cave in the sunlight, seeing the real shapes that are casting the shadows—"

"I have read it, actually," Dipper said, a tad defensively. "It was for extra credit in—"

"English class, I know."

Dipper frowned; but he soldiered on. "So... living in the second dimension is like being chained in a cave, staring at the shadows on the wall, and thinking that's reality? Bleak."

Bill laughed so loudly that Dipper started. "Wow, you're so dumb! Use your brain, kid: it's the second dimension. You're not the prisoner: you're the shadow on the wall." Bill's lip curled in a sneer, "An illusion in somebody else's allegory. And the only one who can see the cave's exit... is you. That's what the second dimension is like!" He laughed again. It sounded forced.

"Oh," Dipper mumbled. He tried to wrap his head around the idea of being a living metaphor for ignorance. "Sounds... pretty bad?"

"Awful," Bill agreed. "Doesn't hold a candle to what your dimension has going on, though."

"Wh... why, what's going on in the third dimension?"

Bill gave him a malicious smile, and Dipper had the sinking feeling he'd just walked into an obvious trap. "You idiot, you still think you're in the third dimension? Really?"

Was that a trick question? What answer was Bill looking for? What could this be if not the third dimension? "Nnooo?"

"Wow. I can really see why you're a straight-A's honors student," Bill said. "You're so good at figuring out what answer the test wants and regurgitating it—even if you don't actually understand it at all." He heaved himself back to his feet; and Dipper was sure there was something threatening in the movement—something that reminded Dipper that he was talking to a dangerously unstable extinction level event precariously packed into an unsteady human body. "Although copying the year of the Louisiana Purchase off of Brandon's test in fifth grade  probably didn't hurt, did it."

Dipper's stomach dropped. The secret shame buried beneath the foundation of his honors roll-worthy record. Pull that out and his entire academic career came toppling down. He'd get kicked out of the honors classes. He'd go to jail. Was cheating against the law? "H... how did—?"

"What year was the Louisiana Purchase?"

Dipper's brain immediately went blank. He was silent, trapped in the paralyzing intensity of Bill's gaze. After several terrifying seconds, he croaked, "1803?" and hoped he was right.

"Attaboy. Too bad you couldn't have learned that a little sooner, isn't it?" As he spoke, Bill had closed in on Dipper until he'd backed him into the corner behind the TV set, filling Dipper's exit route with one hand on the TV and the other on the wall. "But we were talking about dimensions, weren't we! Whaddaya like to read, kid," Bill asked too casually, "do you like cosmic horror? Do you know what real 'cosmic horror' is?"

Dipper regretted this conversation completely.

"It's having an eyeball on the inside of your body, and seeing another dimension through it. And ohoho, I think you'd be amazed at the things I can see from here—"

Dipper got the distinct impression that if he didn't get out of this conversation, he would only hear things he'd be telling his therapist about for months. "Cool! Good talk, man. Hey Mabel?" (That was an absolutely humiliating voice crack.) "How's it going?"

A pause. "I think I need help!"

"Coming!" Dipper ran behind the TV to escape Bill and gratefully bolted upstairs.

The kid had caved so fast. And Bill had only just been getting started. He smirked, sat, and turned back to the movie.

A moment later, Mabel and Dipper came back downstairs, carrying four bulging plastic grocery bags. Mabel set one by her feet, opened the door, and shoved the first bag into Jimmy's arms. "Here! You can give these to the Trickster!" She shoved over the second bag.

Jimmy stumbled back under the weight. "Whoa there! What is this?"

"Candy chalk-hearts! I completely bought out the leftovers after Valentine's Day," Mabel said. "I wanted to make sure that if we met the Trickster again, I could let him know he's loved and appreciated as the terrifying avatar of spooky holiday spirit that he is! And that I also respect that he's made out of gross candy nobody likes to eat." She picked up a chalk-heart box and waved it in Jimmy's face. "So here's a gross candy that expresses love! See, the little hearts say things like 'You smell nice' and 'I heart ur face,' but they taste like if dehydration was a flavor."

Dipper handed his bags to Jimmy. "Wait—Mabel, that's why you got all these? You've been planning to help the Trickster since February? I thought you were gonna build a chalk-heart house or something."

"Oooh, that's such a good idea. I should do that next year!" To Jimmy, she said, "I was gonna give these to him personally, but if he's still dead, I guess you can add it to his candy sacrifice pile or whatever? And make sure he gets this!" She handed Jimmy a store bought Shimmery Twinkleheart Valentine's card. It read, "I BELIEVE in our friendship! Happy Valentine's Day!" Mabel had scratched out "Valentine's" and written "Summerween".

Choked up, Jimmy said, "Oh—wow. That's the nicest thing anyone's done for us all night. I'm sure the Trickster will really appreciate it when he's not dead anymore."

Dipper was a little more vengeful. Dipper didn't want to do anything for one of the many guys that had tried to kill them last year. But, on the other hand, Mabel had just gone all in on this, and Jimmy seemed nice enough, so... Dipper sighed. Whatever, it was Summerween and this was a trick-or-treater. "Hey," he picked up the candy bowl. "There's really only one bag of good candy in here. The bottom of the bowl is filled with after-dinner mints our great uncle's been stealing from restaurants for the last six months. The Trickster would probably love that, right?"

"Aww—thanks so much, you guys! We'll have the poker group back together in no time!" Jimmy dug past the good candy and started scooping mints into his bag. "Oh—since I'm here, can I ask about our other poker buddy? Do either of you know Mr. What's-His-Face? He disappeared around the time you were visiting the Crawlspace, maybe one of you saw something? Any information would be helpful." Jimmy looked at them with weird, plus-shaped, but very hopeful eyes. "Between the Trickster's death and Whatsis disappearing, the local paranormal community's been hit hard. Especially us guys in their friend group. I'm—I'm not gonna lie," Jimmy heaved a sigh, "It's been a really hard year."

Dipper and Mabel, who were directly and personally at fault for Mr. What's-His-Face's disappearance and knew he was frozen in stasis in Ford's bunker at that very moment, exchanged a look and came to a silent agreement.

"Nope, don't know anything," Mabel said.

"Sorry, buddy," Dipper said.

Like the Summerween Trickster, Mr. What's-His-Face was a weird faceless shapeshifty monster that had tried to kill them. But they felt like that was where the similarities ended.

By the time of the Trickster's death, Mabel and Dipper had realized that his deepest inner longing was to be called good enough to eat. Mr. What's-His-Face's deepest inner longing was to steal innocent people's faces. If Mabel and Dipper helped resurrect the Trickster, he'd probably go back to ensuring everyone displayed sufficient holiday spirit, while hopefully mellowing out about eating people now that he'd been consumed once. On the other hand, if Mabel and Dipper helped free Mr. What's-His-Face, he'd probably just keep stealing faces.

And on top of all that, they could help resurrect the Trickster without admitting they knew the guy who ate him. They couldn't really lead Jimmy to Mr. What's-His-Face without admitting their great uncle was keeping him captive. And that would be a problem for the whole family.

"Oh," Jimmy said. "Okay, that's fine. Thanks for all your help. You know where to reach us if you hear anything."

Mabel shook her head. Dipper nodded. "Yeah, we'll let you know."

Jimmy hopped off the porch, shouted, "Hey Doug, can you help me carry these?" and chucked a couple of bags of chalk-hearts toward the tree line. Dipper and Mabel stared. Nothing emerged to pick the bags up.

They shut the door.

"Man," Dipper said. "We kinda devastated the paranormal poker group last summer, didn't we?"

"Yeah." Mabel sucked in a breath between her teeth. "Wow. Feels... kinda bad."

Dipper offered her the candy bowl. "Drown our feelings in chocolate?"

"Please."

They grabbed a piece of candy each, tore open the wrappers—and frowned. Mabel stomped a foot. "Dang it—Bill!"

"Hm?"

"How many of these wrappers are empty?!"

Bill poked his head out of the living room and said, smugly, "Like candy from a baby!"

####

A knock, and Dipper opened the door. "Wendy! Hey! Good timing—"

"Hey." Wendy lowered her voice. "Quick question—this is super important—is Goldie here?"

"Uh—yeah, why—?"

"Yello?" Bill carefully wove his way out of the living room, already less steady on his feet than when he'd sat down. "I heard my name, who's summoning me?"

Wendy pointed over the twins at Bill and turned to shout into the dark, "Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you! Live and in person... Toga Lady!"

A half dozen teenagers immediately went bananas. Hooting and hollering and cheering and whistling: "To-ga! To-ga! To-ga!"

Bill's entire face lit up. Without missing a beat, he pushed past the baffled twins out onto the porch and spread his arms wide, basking in the cheering. "That's right, keep it coming! Worship me! I'm the greatest!"

"Yes!" Robbie pumped a fist in the air. "The legends were true!" Nate immediately added, "The prophecy! The prophecy!" Tambry snapped photos of Toga Lady's fresh look as fast as her phone could save them, muttering, "Everyone's gonna flip when they find out you're still in town."

Wendy waited, grinning, until her friends' faux hysterics had died down. "Okay—okay, after getting you hyped up, I should probably say that Toga Lady is actually Toga Guy." She glanced questioningly at Bill. "I think?"

"Eh, I'm not picky."

"Anyway this is Goldie, he was stuck in another dimension for thirty years, it's crazy, and now he's like my illegal backup cashier. He actually... doesn't usually wear togas?"

Bill laughed. "If you can't wear a bedsheet on Summerween, when can you?"

Lee said, "Thompson wore a bedsheet to homecoming."

"Hey."

Bill pointed at Thompson. "A man of impeccable fashion! I like it!" Thompson gave him a look of eternal gratitude.

"And Goldie, this is the gang! That's Thompson, he's the guy with the van; Robbie and Tambry, they're like, gender-swapped versions of each other, they even share their hair dye..."

As Wendy did introductions, Mabel whispered to Dipper, "Did you know she was gonna introduce Goldie to everyone?"

"No! This is bad, I told her not to trust him..."

Bill was responding to a question, "No, no, you've gotta guess, I'm making everyone guess!"

The teens considered the question. Robbie offered first, "Punk caveman?"

"Nope!"

Hesitantly, Thompson tried, "Nero fiddling over the burning of Rome?" He winced when Lee laughed.

"I like where your head's at, but no! I can't fiddle."

"The gremlin king from Huge Maze?" Tambry said.

Mabel piped up, "No, but the wig came from a gremlin king costume and I appreciate you for recognizing that!" Tambry nodded in cool approval.

Bill dispensed of Lee, Nate, and Wendy's guesses—Greek Christmas tree, that one guy who keeps painting burning banks, and hair metal Hades—before Robbie loudly cleared his throat to cut in. "Anyway, would love to stay and chat, but we've gotta move if we wanna be in position before sunset. Dipper, Mabel, you ready?"

"Ready to ghost it up!" Mabel said, squeezing around Bill with Dipper onto the porch.

Robbie surveyed their makeup—deathly white skin, ashen grey lips, and dark circles around their eye sockets. "Yeah, that's pretty good. Could use a little color, maybe. Like bloody tears?" He turned toward Tambry.

She said, "I think I've got some red eyeliner."

"'In position'?" Bill asked, giving Dipper and Mabel a questioning look.

Wendy said, "We're helping Robbie film this music video tonight."

"We're the creepy ghost twins!" Mabel announced proudly. "We get to sing the chorus."

Robbie said, "Yeah, the song's about childhood and growing up, but like, with ghosts? Because once you've grown up, your childhood is all dead? It's metal, but introspective. I'm calling the genre 'intrometal.'" He flipped his bangs dramatically. "It's a super deep song. Metaphorical layers."

"Oh yeah?" Bill stared Robbie down. "Sing some of it."

Robbie blinked. "Oh. Yeah, okay uh, I haven't warmed up my voice but, the hook is like—" He pantomimed playing a guitar and whisper-screamed, "'BABY DOLLS! BASKET BALLS! BASKET CASE! HUMAN RACE!' Like that."

Bill nodded slowly, face expressionless. "Ah, yeah, I see. Really deep stuff. Makes you think."

"Thanks." Robbie looked at Dipper and Mabel. "Anyway, if we're gonna get any footage in the graveyard before the jack-o'-melons start burning out, we've gotta move. Let's go, Creepy Ghost Twins."

"Wait, you're going out?" Bill asked Mabel. "Like out-out? Leaving me here? By myself? On Summerween?"

"Wh—yeah, we're only handing out candy for half the night," Mabel said. "I told you that."

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did!"

"When?"

Mabel thought. "No I didn't," she admitted. "Sorry!"

Wendy punched Bill's arm. "Sorry to steal them. We'll be back in a couple of hours," she said. "Or you could come help—?"

"No!" Dipper and Mabel both shoved Bill back into the house before he could accept. Dipper said, "You've gotta—guard the house." Mabel added, "And hand out candy!"

"Right," Bill said flatly. "Yes. That. Ha."

"See you later!" Mabel said, and then shut the door in his face.

The last thing he heard was Wendy explaining to her friends, "He's on house arrest for, like, academic plagiarism and war crimes or something..." and then they were gone.

Bill's shoulders slumped. Well, now what? He couldn't celebrate a holiday by himself. What was the point of wearing a costume if no one sees you in it. He picked up a piece of candy, discovered it was one of his decoys, and picked up another. 

Someone knocked on the door.

"Yeah, yeah," Bill sighed. He picked up the candy bowl, turned toward the door, and paused. Ah. Right. What was he supposed to do with this impenetrable portal-blocking slab of wood.

Who was left in the house? Stan on the roof, Ford in the basement, Abuelita probably already in bed... were any of them worth harassing to help him answer the door? Maybe Stan, he'd gotten all dressed up, he liked the holiday even if he didn't like Bill—

The trick-or-treater knocked more insistently.

Or. Or.

He could pick up the bowl, peer out the small window in the door, and make direct eye contact with the children outside while he ate candy.

As a piece of mid-tier chocolate melted on his tongue, he saw three trick-or-treaters' faces fall as their faith in a kind, caring universe died. He grinned at them and ate another chocolate.

Oh yeah. He grabbed the rest of his cider from the living room and set up post next to the door. This would keep him entertained the rest of the night.

####

He made seven small children cry.

####

Stan watched from his post on the roof as yet another sobbing kid ran away from the shack. "HA! Gottem! Sucker!" He affectionately patted his boombox. "Creepy ghoulish laughter, you never disappoint! Terrifying moochers since 1989!" He paused the cassette and rewound it a few seconds to replay the best part.

He heard a scraping sound above him, and looked up just in time to see Ford sliding down the roof to join him. "Oh, hey! I didn't think we'd see you again tonight."

"Mabel made me promise to celebrate Summerween a little."

"Good for her!"

Stan had already claimed the sun lounger, so Ford brushed some dust and leaves off the roof's cooler and sat. "So, what are we doing? Scaring trick-or-treaters?"

"Yep. This year I'm taking a more atmospheric approach." He gestured at his boombox, which by now was playing haunting organ music. "Nothing like screaming zombies and rattling chains from nowhere to freak out the kids."

Ford nodded. "Psychological torment. I approve."

"Not quite as good as getting to see the terror in their eyes, but." Stan shrugged. "Bill was hanging out with the kids. I didn't want to put up with him."

"Mm. There's a reason I was spending the holiday in the basement."

"Heh. Well, there's always Halloween."

They were silent for a moment, listening as the cassette moved on from organ music to werewolf howls. Stan asked, "Think we'll be rid of him by then? I know we were hoping to be done with him before the Fourth of July—but since I haven't heard anything lately, I figure you hit a roadblock."

Ford winced. "Guilty as charged." He was still relearning how to keep other people in the loop. Even Stan. "You're right. I have a weapon that can destroy him, but I can't find a fuel source without restarting the portal. I'm hoping Fiddleford will come up with a solution I haven't."

Stan nodded. Ford had told him he was getting Fiddleford involved; even as reluctant as Ford was to admit how little progress he'd made, he wasn't going to tell someone outside the family about Bill without letting Stan know. "Any breakthroughs on his end?"

####

During the credits between episodes of the retired samurai period drama (most recently, the samurai had been asked to use his sword to help cut flowers for a bouquet), Fiddleford leaned over and whispered to Ford, "So I've been a-lookin' at those blueprints you left me."

"And...?"

"And I've constructicated a power adaptor. Just jimmy out the fuel tank, swap it for the adaptor's cord, and you can power that weapon by pluggin' it into the wall! It'll just drain all the power from the town for a few seconds, that's all."

"Fiddleford, that's amazing—"

"Now, hold on. There's bad news," Fiddleford said. "Try as I might, I can't quite get it to draw enough power to activate those energy-destroying features what you'd need to disintegrate Bill. It'll work like a powerful laser, but nothin' else."

Ford sighed. "It's a starting point, I suppose."

"I'll send you home with the adaptor anyway. Never know when you'll need a big laser."

"Very true. Do you have any promising leads on other alternative fuels?"

Fiddleford shook his head. "It's the NowUSeeitNowUDontium or nothing. But I've got a hunch we could synthesize it under lab conditions. I'll letcha know in a few days."

And then the next episode started, and they dropped the conversation.

####

Ford let out a heavy sigh. "He's only had a partial success so far. But I'm hopeful he's on the right track."

"So, if he's working on this weapon, what are you doing?"

"Waiting, mostly. I don't know what else I can do."

Stan frowned. "What—that's it? You've been downstairs all day every day—if you're not figuring out how to destroy him, what are you doing?"

"Passing time somewhere I can be on call if he gets up to something—but I don't have to look at him," Ford said wryly. "And—as long as I'm waiting to hear back from Fiddleford, I've been... picking apart that list of spells Bill gave me. To see if any of them are tricks or traps."

Stan couldn't say he was surprised. That was his workaholic brother. A pamphlet of demon magic was like catnip to him. If anything, Stan was almost glad Ford had that letter to distract him. Over the past year...

Well, Ford was fine on land—when he temporarily had a mystery to solve, an adventure to pursue, an anomaly to study, a distraction to fill his time—but at sea, when his mind was unoccupied, he was listless. He had books he didn't read, field notes he didn't enter into his journal, games he didn't play. He fed himself and exercised and did chores around the ship like a robot programmed to take care of itself, and he stared out at the sea.

Last summer, Ford hadn't seemed happy but he'd seemed alive. Tired and angry, but alive. But after Weirdmageddon, a light in his eyes went out. Stan didn't know if it was the end of summer, or guilt over the memory gun, or the gap between finishing a thirty-year-long quest and discovering the next one. All Stan knew was the light hadn't come back on until the moment Bill Cipher, clad in a new body and a purple cartoon bedsheet, tried to cave Ford's skull in.

Ever since they were children, Ford had had a tendency to develop obsessions. It was somehow simultaneously both what made him most interesting and what made him boring. Depended on the obsession. But these all-consuming interests had always tended to last a few months, at most a year; and he'd never seemed to be without one, much less for nine months. Stan had no idea what carrying a single obsession for three decades might have done to Ford's mind.

Stan was glad something had woken Ford back up, and he worried that losing that focal point again might leave Ford permanently adrift. But another part of him worried that, this time, Ford wouldn't let the object of his obsession go. He tended to collect things related to his obsessions.

But then, he usually tended to like his obsessions. He hadn't seemed bothered to burn the contents of his creepy Bill shrine last summer. Ford wouldn't do anything stupid, Stan told himself. Ford hated Bill. "So? Were any of the spells traps?"

"Not... so far, no." Ford sounded irritated by this.

Stan shrugged. "Makes sense. He's trying to butter us up. If that idiot thinks being nice to us for a week or two is gonna make up for the years of grief he's given us—"

A loud rattle-clattering below made them both start. Stan sat bolt upright. "What the—?"

Ford inched to the edge of the dormer roof, knelt down, and leaned over the edge just far enough to see the window.

Bill's face was pressed to the glass, eye rolled up toward the roofline. He grinned in surprised delight and shouted through the glass, "HEY, STANFORD! What are you doing up here?! I thought you were downstairs!"

"Ugh." Ford turned to grimace at Stan. "Speak of the devil."

Bill pounded on the glass again. "Hey, Sixer! SIXER! Open the window!"

"Why?"

"I wanna talk!"

"No."

"Come ooon, the kids ditched me and I'm bored! There's no one in the house to talk to! The old lady's asleep and Stanley's on the roof, so—" He abruptly fell silent, squinting with deep suspicion at Ford-who-should-be-in-the-basement kneeling on the-roof-where-Stan-should-be, and said, "Wait. Are you Stanley right now? Show me your hand."

Ford did not. "Go away, Bill." He left the edge of the roof for his cooler seat.

"Get back here!" The pounding redoubled. "I don't care which Stan you are! If you don't wanna talk, I can always go wake up Dolores!"

Ford looked at Stan. "Mrs. Ramirez's name is Dolores?" He had gotten used to everyone calling her Abuelita.

Stan stomped on the roof, "Shaddup!"

Bill did not shaddup. "Come ooon!"

Stan sighed in defeat and heaved himself to his feet. "If he keeps that racket up he's gonna break that window, never mind that hex you put on him." When they'd taken out the original Bill-shaped window, Stan had replaced it with the cheapest window he could find. He didn't think it was very durable. "How much trouble can he get in with one open window twenty feet above the ground and both of us watching him?"

Ford Frowned.

"Don't gimme that look. Do you want to pay for a broken window?" Stan flipped through his keys for his key-shaped emergency lock pick, leaned over the edge of the roof, and wedged the pick into the window frame. The latch popped open. Lucky this window was so cheap, that wouldn't have worked on one with deluxe features like "airtight weatherstripping" or "a properly-fitting frame." Stan swung open the window. "Okay, you have our attention. Now what's the fastest way we can get rid of you?"

Bill clumsily climbed out to sit on the windowsill with his legs in the shack, and leaned back so he could see up onto the roof. "Hiya Fo—" He lost his balance, flailed, and yelped as he toppled backwards.

Stan and Ford lunged forward to seize an arm each. Stan snapped, "What are you doing, you maniac?!"

Bill stared up at them both in wide-eyed amazement. "You do like me."

Stan made a noise of disgust, let go, and wiped his hands on his pants like Bill had cooties.

Ford said, "We like you trapped in that body and not free to cause the apocalypse."

"I heard 'we like you'!"

"Shut up." Ford managed to haul Bill back upright. (Touching Bill felt wrong—all soft flesh and skin and the suggestion of bones underneath. Even when looking right at Bill's human body, Ford still expected him to feel like heavy shadows and heatless flames.) From this close, Bill reeked of cider. "Just how much have you had to drink?"

"Not so much I won't remember whatever you say in the morning, so be nice to me!" Bill laughed. He leaned back, this time hanging by one hand off the window frame to precariously maintain his balance, and grinned up at Ford. "So! The least fun person in the house has finally emerged from his lair? And you didn't even come into the house to join in the Summerween festivities! 'All work and no play'..."

Ford had to crouch at the edge of the roof, hovering nearby in case Bill lost his balance again. "I wanted to participate in Summerween, actually. It just so happens that the last person I'd ever spend a holiday with is in the house."

"Listen, Stanford. I know you're holing up in your study for days on end just to hurt me. But let's be honest, you're hurting yourself more! When's the last time you saw the sunlight! Look at how pale you're getting, you look like a vampire."

Stiffly, Ford said, "It's costume makeup. That's my vampire costume." Stan laughed.

"It what." Bill flipped up his eyepatch and squinted blearily at Ford's face.

Wordlessly, Ford bared his teeth to show off his plastic vampire teeth.

"Oh." Somewhat deflated, Bill said, "Nice work, it's convincing."

"Thanks," Ford said grudgingly. Giving in to his curiosity, he gestured toward Bill's (somewhat disheveled) reddish-yellow wig. "What are you."

"Oh!" Bill perked back up. "You've got to see the whole thing. Hold on—" He turned around in the window, ignoring how Ford half reached for him in case he needed steadying, until he got his legs outside to dangle on the roof. "What do you think!"

Ford looked over the brown toga flared out like a cone, the eruption of red hair, the small paper city below, and said, "Mount Vesuvius and Pompeii? Very clever."

Bill's face lit up. "Finally! You're the first person all day to get it!" He smoothed out the skirt proudly, his jerky gestures just a bit more exaggerated than usual. "Do you know how long I've wanted to go to a costume party as Vesuvius? But nobody off Earth would get it! And now that I'm finally here, I can't go to parties and I'm shaped more like a mandrake than a volcano." He flung up his hands, wobbled, and caught himself before Ford had to intervene. "But at least you got it. I knew I could count on you, IQ."

He sounded so sincerely grateful. Ford regretted calling the costume clever. It was, but Bill didn't need the ego boost.

"Oh! By the by—I didn't think you'd emerge before the day was over, so I saved this." Bill fished around in his toga until he retrieved a mini pack of jelly beans. "Here!"

Ford eyed the pack. "Why is it open?"

"Because you only like the weird-shaped jelly beans, so I ate all the normal beans and saved the weird ones in one bag."

"I don't want this. You touched every one of the beans, that would be disgusting even if they weren't coming from you," Ford said. "Anyway, this is a patently transparent attempt to buy your way into my good favor—"

"It sure is, Ford, and if you don't accept it I'll get to be annoying about your ingratitude for weeks! Is that what you want? You know I'll do it. Everyone will be on my side—"

Ford sighed, but snatched the bag from Bill's hand. "Fine. Now drop it."

"That's more like it!" Bill favored Ford with an approving smile. "Anyway, it's just about the only candy left in the house, I ate everything else—hey, have you ever been cross faded on cider and a sugar rush?"

Ford was still trying to decide whether he wanted to engage in this one-sided conversation enough to ask Bill what "cross faded" meant when Bill moved on without him: "It's—not that interesting, actually. 6 out of 10. Anyway, all that's left in the bowl is mints and wrappers. And Mabel even managed to give most of the mints away—hey, she's so nice, did you know she's helping to resurrect the Summerween Trickster?"

She was doing what? "No. Why?"

"She's so nice."

"You just said that."

"What is she so nice for. What's she getting out of it," Bill asked, more to the universe at large than to Ford. "If more humans were half as nice to freaks as she is, your rotten planet wouldn't need people like you and me to save it."

Ford didn't even know where to begin with that. He looked to Stan for help.

Stan was sitting straddling his lounger, elbow on one knee and chin in his hand, watching this exchange like he was watching a weird bug on the wall try to navigate around a picture frame. At Ford's glance, he rolled his eyes and pantomimed sipping from a drink.

He could say that again. Ford cleared his throat. "Bill, maybe you should..."

"Hey," Bill said. "Great talk, we really should catch up more sometime. And pull your weight next time, I always have to do all the talking. But right now, I'm..." He gestured vaguely off to the side. "I'm gonna lie down and try not to throw up. Ciao!" He swayed as he tried to get back in the window, tumbled backward into the shack, and thudded heavily on the floor. "Ow."

Ford gingerly shut the window.

Stan turned up the boombox. "Chatty drunk, isn't he."

"He's chatty sober, too." But in front of the kids? Neither of them saw Bill as a role model, but they still didn't need to be exposed to that kind of behavior. Especially when the responsible adults were outside or asleep... "Did we really leave Bill alone in the house with the kids?"

"W—I—" Stan shrugged defensively. "They were all right! They can take him! They're doing karate or whatever! You didn't see how Mabel flipped him at the mall! It was like David wrestling Goliath."

"David and Goliath didn't wrestle."

"You know what I mean."

Ford supposed he didn't think Bill was any threat to the children. At least, not right now, and not physically. He felt like he'd know if Bill was about to try anything.

He looked at his open bag of gross felt-up jelly beans. Speaking of trying to butter them up... Ford wound up and chucked the bag as hard as he could.

He stared into the dark after it.

A small part of him was beginning to wonder whether this wasn't all just an attempt to get Ford's guard down. The gifts, sure, that was as clear-cut a case of bribery as you could get. Nothing ambiguous there.

But the endless chatter... Back when Ford had called Bill his Muse, this was exactly how he'd wanted Bill to talk to him. Not in the flighty half-distracted way of a friendly businessman catching up on a work project's progress before hurrying on to the next meeting; but just talking for talking's sake, talking for the company.

Getting what he once had longed for made his skin crawl. And he couldn't even tell if Bill was acting.

The boombox let out a ghastly banshee shriek. Ford and Stan both jumped, then laughed awkwardly.

Ford sat on the cooler again. "Is it just me, or... did Bill completely ignore you as soon as he realized I was up here."

"Well. I wasn't gonna mention it. I didn't wanna sound jealous of the attention. But yeah—he's been doing that since he got here. If you're in the room, he tunes everyone else out."

"I thought it was in my head." And he hadn't wanted to sound like he wanted to imagine Bill was favoring him.

"And you do the same thing around him," Stan said, and laughed at Ford's flinch of alarm. "It's—it's fine, I get it. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? You've got some kind of superhero-supervillain nemesis thing."

Ford got the distinct impression that Stan was offering him a convenient excuse for the tunnel vision. He took it. "I suppose that's true." The way his jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed around Bill certainly felt like a "nemesis" reaction.

But if Stan thought Ford was a bit too preoccupied by Bill... well, maybe he was right. Once Ford had gotten over his initial wave of fear, of despair, of outrage at the injustice, at finding Bill was still alive—there was a part of him that was almost relieved. A part of him that had been on guard against nothing for the past year, twisting around looking for an absent threat. Now that it knew where the threat was, that part of him could finally settle down and watch Bill with steady, certain eyes. Having nothing to worry about made him more anxious than having one thing to always worry about.

(Maybe Shermie's kid had been on to something when he suggested Ford might benefit from therapy.)

Knowing Bill was back didn't put the old starlight and awe back in that hole Bill had left in Ford's chest. But dread could fill a hole all the same.

Ford tried to push Bill out of his mind and the conversation. "You think I'm like a superhero?"

"You run around fighting monsters with a space laser. What else would you be?"

"Huh." Well. That made his night.

"Just as long as you don't pull that 'hero spares the villain to show how good he is' shtick."

"Never." Ford laughed ruefully. "I think I left 'good' behind a few felonies back." He'd probably left "good" behind the night he accepted the portal blueprints.

"Couple stragglers," Stan said, nodding out into the dark. It took Ford a moment to spot the costumed kids and remember it was Summerween. "I recognize those costumes, I scared them off an hour ago. What are they doing back?"

Ford squinted at them. "Are those toilet paper rolls?"

"Wh—Hey! What are you little runts— Hey!" Stan leaped to his feet, shaking his fist at the kids below. "Get away from my car! Stop that! I'll have you know that's a classic— No, not the eggs!"

Ford slid out his freeze ray, turned down the power, and offered it to Stan. "Here. At this power and distance, it'll feel like getting pelted with invisible snowballs."

Stan snatched up the weapon. "Eat this, twerps!"

The Summerween night air was filled with the screams of terrified children and the evil laughter of an old man.

####

Wow. It sure sounded like everybody was having fun. Outside. Without him.

Bill was nauseous.

He stared at the spinning ceiling, flat on his back, one leg on a cushion and the rest of him on the floor. 

Bill was nauseous and alone. The loneliness tore at his throat. Even Mabel had ditched him. Of course she did—he'd tried to kill her. He'd barely even remembered he'd tried to kill her until she brought it up. Had he tried to kill her? No, surely not—he liked the kid, he'd always liked her—he'd been faking to force Ford's hand, he never would have gone through with it. He would've teleported her into another room and pretended he'd disintegrated her. She didn't know he hadn't meant it. She was just mad he'd scared her. She couldn't take a joke.

But, Ford talked to him. Ford even liked his costume. It wasn't much, but it would get Bill through the night.

When he saw Kryptos again—when, not if—he was slicing him into a jigsaw puzzle for not taking Bill's call. The nerve of that guy, hanging up on a human without even waiting a few words to see if they had anything interesting to say. 

(What if it hadn't been an accident, he wondered? What if Kryptos had realized it was Bill and still hung up?)

(No. Of course it was an accident.)

He shut his eyes. He was probably too drunk to dream tonight. Well, he could try again tomorrow. His little lucid dreaming guide was currently teaching him to influence the next night's dream by focusing on a topic before sleep. Maybe tomorrow he could dream about the Nightmare Realm.

He missed home.

####

(Congratulations to the approximately 50% of respondents who correctly figured out Bill's costume when I posted the art on Halloween, you're officially smarter than everybody in Gravity Falls except Ford. This is one of those chapters with a whole lot going on so if you enjoyed, I'd love to hear your comments!!)

[watchthisqqq]

I've been thinking about perception.

I had a conversation with @nabi-unveiled about the early episodes of Something's Not Right in which to her obviously Ji Hoon was in love with Do Ba Woo. But I did not see it. I glossed over what was actually on screen. For me that did not fit the narrative that I wanted/assumed it would be. However, after some thought I realized that I was wrong and my perception was inaccurate.

I was reading Ted Chiang's book and I feel like these quotes relate:

“Even when we’ve experienced the same events as others we never constructed identical narratives: the criteria used to for selecting moments are different for each of us, and a reflection of our personalities. Each of us noticed the details that caught our attention and remembered what was important to us, and the narratives we built shaped our personalities in turn. “

I couldn't help but think about the reactions and perceptions about Heesu in class 2 and how they are so different. I understand people have different tastes but what shook me up was the concept of this show not being a queer narrative which for me was a simple truth.

So we notice and perceive things we value. The messaging of some of the criticism has felt like this type of queer narrative is valueless. For those people that the story personally resonated with that is upsetting. What does it mean when parts of the community perceive this work as meaningful and helpful while others are stating that it's harmful?

Even outside of the show not connecting with you emotionally seeing this work as an effective tool for understanding. "What do you hate more- the atrocities or the people who commit them against you?" I fundamentally see this show as attempting to create empathy for queer people. We can shout all day long that this should not be necessary, that empathy for queer people should be innate but what world are we living in? Is QL purely entertainment or does it serve a purpose towards greater acceptance of queer people? What do we want from QL?

But I think this is were lack of cohesive perceptions comes in. The diverging thoughts of this is an authentic queer narrative or a show catering to straight people. How do you convince someone of that authenticity? If we do not agree on that I'm not sure what answers can be given.

I believe this community is made up of queer people and allies. That generally we are on the same page big picture wise. Currently I am doubting that perception that we agree on the fundamentals.

[sweetlummie]

Doll

Tysm to @aurorawritestoescape for this amazing moodboard!! Ilysm my sweetest heart!!! 💗💗

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

A/n: ANOTHER PEDRO CHARACTER‼️‼️🗣️🗣️ Something soft n sweet and not smutty just to dip my toe into this pond! I hope you all enjoy!! ALSO sapphires come in different colors not just blue! :) Not proofread so any and all mistake are mine!! As always feel free to leave constructive criticism. Likes, comments, and reposts are appreciated 🫶🫶🫶💗

Warnings: Whiskey being a jerk to women, mentions of deceased loved one

W/c: 1.7k+

* ・‥…━━━━━━━ *˖◛⁺♡ ━━━━━━━…‥・

Jack Daniels, better known as Agent Whiskey, wasn't one for relationships. After his high school sweetheart died, his need or want for love died along with her. Of course like any man with needs he would often fuck around. It was meaningless one night stands, just to satiate his lust. He was sure to let whoever he was fucking know that there were no strings attached and he didn’t want a relationship. He broke countless hearts and even some women from the office quit once he rejected them, he simply didn’t care.

That’s what happened to the last receptionist. He swooped in and began to woo her with his southern charm just to get her in bed and he had accomplished his feat. They slept around for a few months before she caught feelings. One night after they had sex, she confessed and he laughed. “Sorry sweetheart, don’t want ya like that. You’re only good to me in my bed when you’re moanin’. Don’t need ya for anythin’ else. Now get.” He told her harshly, essentially laughing in her face. After that she quit, no two week notice or anything. Simply never came back.

Today the new receptionist was supposed to begin. He didn’t care who you were, he wasn’t interested in getting to know you. He would simply play nice, woo you, and fuck you. The same as he’d done with other women. As he sat in his office reviewing mission files Champ knocked on his door. “Come in.” Whiskey looked up from the files. “Ah, what can I do ya for Champ?” He spoke as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “New receptionist started today. Don’t be a jerk and make this one quit, alright son?” Champ said with a smirk even though he was serious. Whiskey laughed, “No promises. Anyway reckon I outta introduce myself to the little lady.” He said as he stood up buttoning his blazer, he made his way to the elevator to go to the first floor where you were at.

Once he reached the floor and the elevators opened, he looked up and the air was taken from his lungs. His eyes widened, his jaw nearly dropped, he swore he heard a choir of angels singing as he laid eyes upon you. He clutched his chest, this feeling was foreign. He swore he could never feel what he felt ever again.. What was happening? He had never felt this way for any other women except his wi- no. He can’t feel this way, he won’t feel this way. He knows you can only fall in love once and he already was in love, this isn’t possible.. Right? He was probably having a stroke or a heart attack, yeah, that sounds about right.

You felt the sensation of someone staring at you so you looked up from your computer and saw Agent Whiskey standing in front of the elevator, looking at you while clutching his chest. You had a look of concern etched on your face. You quickly got up and made your way over to him. “Agent Whiskey? Are you okay?” You spoke softly as you walked toward him.

He looked you up and down and internally groaned. You were so curvy and your rolls were so cute to him. You were far different from the women he used to bring home. And your voice- it was like honey, like silk, like the sweetest sugar. There was no denying it he was so fucked.

He cleared his throat and straightened out, flashing a smile. “I’m alright sugar, jus’ had a lil’ heartburn. Thank ya for checkin’ up. You’re new around here ain’t ya?” When he confirmed he was alright you smiled and nodded. “Yes sir! I’m the new receptionist!” You sure were a bubbly thing, your smile contagious. Whiskey kept his smile, but this smile was genuine and he genuinely was interested in the things you said, he clung onto the words you spoke like you were giving him oxygen to breathe. “I see, got a name lil’ lady?” He placed his hands on his hips as he looked down at you. You told him your name and chuckled. “Very pretty name, I must say you’re a pretty lil’ thing.” He flirted, which shocked you. Agent Whiskey was an attractive man and you had high confidence but men rarely openly complimented or flirted with you. “Oh, thank you! You’re not too bad yourself.” You chuckled, Whiskey was about to make a risky move but he didn’t care, he had come to terms with it. He wanted you, actually wanted you. Not for a fling, not to get in your pants, he truly wanted you. “Are uh, are ya doin’ anythin’ later tonight doll?” he asked, you shook your head, “No, why?” Now was his chance. “There’s this lil’ burger joint ‘round here that’s like a vintage diner.. Maybe ya wanted to, I dunno come out with me there for dinner?” He asked as he looked into your eyes, they were so beautiful to him. Like two sapphires shining in the moonlight. You smiled and bit your bottom lip. “Sure! I’d like that Agent..” He exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and he had the biggest grin on his face. “Alright then.. I’ll come down here after hours an’ I’ll pick ya up to take ya to the diner.”

Once back in his office Whiskey couldn’t believe what happened. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that would happen. As he sat down on his chair he thought about his deceased wife. She would’ve wanted him to move on… truth be told she was probably disappointed in how he had treated women and discarded them like they were nothing. It was time for him to start anew with you. He wouldn’t mess this up, he owes it to you and his wife to at least try to make this work.

Surprisingly the time goes by fast for both you and Whiskey. You both busied yourself in your work which made time fly. Before you knew it Whiskey was already descending the elevators on his way to your desk. You logged off the computer and collected your things. “Hey doll.” His thick, rich southern voice drew. You looked over at him, “Hi Whiskey!” He grinned, “Please doll, call me Jack.” He held out his arm for you to take, ever the gentleman.

As you both left the building he held the door open for you and when you got to his vintage Ford Bronco, he held the door open for you as well. Y’all hadn’t even gotten to the diner and already this date was going super well. Once you both were inside and buckled up he pulled out of the parking lot and drove through the Kentucky streets to take you to the diner.

After y’all arrived and he parked he helped you out of the vehicle and escorted you inside. The place was so cute, it looked like it was out of a movie in the 50’s with all the vibrant colors and lights that surrounded the area. You both were seated in a booth and you looked around in awe. Whiskey couldn’t help but smile at how adorable you looked as you took in your surroundings.

“Ya like it doll?” He asked as he leaned back in the booth, draping his arm on top of the booth he was sitting in. You looked at him with the biggest smile. “Uh huh! It’s so cute! This place is amazing!” He was pleased that you liked this place. “Glad ya think so.”

When the waitress came and took their orders Whiskey got a bacon cheeseburger with a coca-cola. You got a regular cheeseburger with a strawberry milkshake. While you waited on the food you both chatted for what seemed like hours. The conversation flowed so naturally between you both, it was as if you’ve known each other for years. Whiskey himself thought about how he could listen to you yap forever and he’d never get bored or annoyed with you. He was truly a man in love.

Once your food came you both ate, the food was so yummy! You shared your burger and milkshake with him and he shared his burger with you. Whiskey watched at how cute you looked with your chubby cheeks filled with food, he could get used to this sight every day. If there was one thing Whiskey learned today was that maybe you can fall in love more than once and that was okay. He knew he wanted to be the one that you woke up next to and would fall asleep next to as well, he wants to be the one who sees you at all hours of the day. Hell he even wants you to carry his children and carry his last name. His late wife could never be replaced but he didn’t see you as a replacement, he saw you as someone who was slowly healing him and helping him move on.

When you both finished your food, he paid and drove you home, the ride was filled with a nice comfortable silence. Once he pulled up to your place, he got out and opened the door for you so you could exit his vehicle. He then walked you to your door. Before you opened the door, you turned to look at him, a small shy smile on your face. “Thank you for everything Jack.. I truly enjoyed myself.. I hope we can do this again soon.” Whiskey looked down at you with a soft smile on his lips. “Glad you enjoyed yourself.. I did too.. Of course, this ain’t a one time thing baby. I wanna keep seein’ ya.” You nodded and leaned in, placing a soft, gentle kiss on his plush lips. He held you there for a while before you both pulled away. “Kay.. Night Jack, see you tomorrow..” You said as you entered your house. As you shut the door Whiskey stood there, bringing his fingers to his lips, still feeling the phantom feeling your lips left on his. He made his way back to his Bronco, maybe his wife sent you to come to his life and make him a better man.. He grinned and began to drive back to his place. He was hopeful that you two would create something beautiful and real together.

* ・‥…━━━━━━━ *˖◛⁺♡ ━━━━━━━…‥・

[phanfictioncatalogue]

If I asked you to rec me a single chaptered fic (any amount of words, happy ending) that's any trope, which one would you recommend?

I like to read a little something before bed :)

Oh! I’m so glad you asked! Other admins feel free to add on!!

(A few of these are dark but have happy endings I promise)

Give Yourself a Try (ao3) - analester

Summary: Phil Lester thinks he is straight. At least until he gets to uni and meets Dan Howell. Being gay is extremely frowned upon, so Phil tries his best to stay away from Dan, but it becomes difficult when his professor asks Dan to tutor him. Afraid of being shunned by his friends and family, Phil tries his best to suppress his feelings, but how can he when Dan is so pretty?

In the Light of the Moon (ao3) - rainbowchristy

Summary: Dan Howell’s never had any friends. Why? Because he has a superpower. One that he can’t control. Luckily, the new kid at his school doesn’t mind.

In Which Dan Is A Bit Of An Asshole And The Whole Story Is One Big, Fat Cliché (ao3) - obsessivechild

Summary: Dan hated school. He hated running. He hated going out. He hated homework. But above all, he hated Philip Lester.

Midnight Garden (ao3) - silentdescant

Summary: In which Phil is a gardener at the palace and Dan is a reclusive prince.

(TW) Missing (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: "So we have a new update on the serial killer running loose around London-" Dan turns the tv off, he didn't want to hear anymore. He just wanted Phil back home, safe and sound.

pastry chef attempts to steal phil's heart (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: If anyone asks, Prince Philip's sneaky morning journeys down to the royal pastry kitchen are for nothing more than the perfect cup of coffee.

(TW) See Me (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Dan gets in an accident, leaving him in critical condition. He ends up stuck in between life and death, watching his own body fight to stay alive- and watching Phil fall apart, but he can’t do anything about it in his ghostly form.

He was confused and didn’t know what to do but he was sure of one thing, he wasn’t going to let himself die.

they grew up so nicely, didn't they? (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Cornelia doesn’t just get a boyfriend when she starts dating Martyn, she gets a whole second family too. Kath and Nigel welcome her with open arms and she becomes a pseudo older sister to Phil.

She is there watching from the sidelines as a boy bolts right into Phil’s heart and sets up camp. She gets to watch as Dan and Phil build careers and an internet community and all the trials and tribulations, as well as the pride and happiness, it brings along.

the second tetris block (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Things seem to be falling into place for Phil.

The Traces We Leave (ao3) - angstangelo

Summary: AU where Dan is working in a café for uni and Phil is a customer with paint splattered arms who takes his coffee with an unnecessary amount of sugar.

The World Going By My Window (ao3) - CaibrynM

Summary: Dan is a reluctant Crown Prince, always watching the world outside his window and wondering what else is out there. As he walks through the village outside the Castle walls one day, he meets an quirky villager with a passion for nature, an oddly constructed house, and a secretive past.

Venus's Looking Glass (ao3) - auroraphilealis (peachrayne)

Summary: Shy!punk!Phil has been crushing on confident!pastel!Dan for years now, but he’s never felt comfortable enough to do anything about it until he accidentally comes out to his brother Martyn, who is nothing but supportive. It’s Martyn’s idea to woo Dan with flowers - only, he didn’t mean do it anonymously.

We'll Never Be Royals (Extended) (ao3) - phanimist

Summary: royalty au where phil's the kind handsome prince and dan's a poor commoner who dreams of becoming world class musician. phil's parents hold a ball so he can meet his suitors, but he ends up falling for the pianist instead.

-Rae

[calissto]

On Writing Every Day

Possibly the most ubiquitous piece of writing advice: write everyday. Write every day or you’re not a writer, your work has no value, you’ll never get good, you’ll never go pro. Maybe I am at a bit of a disadvantage because I’ve never published a book, but I feel like I have some place to question this motion. 

Don’t write every day. Write often.

Because I agree; writing is like a muscle; you must train it. You have to exercise your vocabulary, your voice, your prose — all as often as you can. It’s essential. But you can do all of these things without gluing yourself to the chair each and every day. Some of us just can’t do that — some of us have obligations; a job, school, sickness, or emergencies. Things come up. And some of us just don’t want to. And that’s okay, too. 

I say write often because it’s a promise you can keep. No matter how pressed for time, you can construct a schedule around often. You can stick to that. Practice becomes joyous instead of overwhelming. You will improve without being weighed down by guilt clouding your judgment, adding on to the already compounding series of worries and doubts you have about your identity as a writer anyway. 

Often can look like this: every other day, a few days a week, a few days a month. Often is up to you. It’s a malleable guideline, and that’s why I like it. It’s about constant practice — routinely coming to dance with your writerly spirit without letting it die nor allowing it to overshadow everything else you are. You can be a writer and other things, too. It’s essential you are other things, too, otherwise you pigeonhole yourself and dull any unique perspective you may bring to the vast, ever-broadening literary table. Have something to share with your peers. Something to bestow. Besides, some of us have dreams besides writing we would like to pursue, and we have every right to pursue them. 

I think writing (well) is so demanding we sometimes forget writing is an incredibly forgiving art. It doesn’t usually feel like it. Writing is difficult (because it is everything) and mystifying and capricious. It feels like the most unforgiving art (because it is: it can be forgiving and unforgiving all at the same time, because it is everything). The muse coquettishly woos us one day then sets us on fire the next. You can have amazing ideas and, propelled by the whirlwind it conjures in your mind, sit down to write and hate everything you put down. The inner critic can be restricting, mean, impossible to satisfy. Plots can get dizzyingly convoluted and messy (and sometimes they don’t come at all! Yay!), wips take years and decades to perfect. You can spend hours, days, weeks, months, years in confusion as to what the fuck you’re even meant to be doing in order to make your story work. Just thinking about all this makes me tired. Writing can be grueling.

But it is also forgiving. 

We can take our time. We can fix our stories again and again and again. We can wait until we're ready for the world to see it.

A contradictory mistress, writing is. The truth is your writing hands will not fall off if you choose to take some time off. You do not really forget to write creatively. Oh, you can get rusty, and it can take some time to get your groove back, but the talent you’ve accumulated (and, perhaps, have been born with) does not evaporate out of thin air just because you step away from your word processor. I, myself, have stepped away from writing for large swaths of time only to return just as strong as I was before. If this is indeed a problem for you, I suggest reading more often — just so you can remain close to writing without actually doing it. You can stay familiar and play with language and characters and plotting without actually doing anything— watch essays on movies and characters. Stay engaged. Don’t feel like your talents will be irrevocably blunted by a break, no matter how long it is.

I often think writers are their own jailers, while other writers you associate with and look up to can function as fellow wardens; what exactly is gonna happen if you don’t write everyday? I’ve come to really detest writing “rules.” There are no rules — they aren’t even rules to be broken. There are guidelines and things that have worked in the past. The trick is to learn what has worked for others, why, and what works for you. Mix and match at your own discretion. The life of a writer is often a solitary, lonesome affair. Not just because you do it yourself, but because you are your own god; a huge part of being a writer is fashioning things for yourself, coming up with your own rules, if you dare to call them as such. You conjure up worlds for your own amusement. So, the way we find ourselves chained to the so-called rules and those who espouse them has become kinda hilarious to me.

Also, go ahead and accept this: a lot of what defines good writing is completely out of your hands. What is popular and lauded as a masterpiece today may be rejected and ignored tomorrow. There are principles to help you bridge the gap of generations — compelling characters, thoughtful plotting, and, oh, idk, basic understanding of storytelling elements etc, but we all will have our own personal talents as writers. Rest assured, you’ll be an acquired taste, so go ahead and study your own talents and strengths as a word person. What are the things you love about writing? What do you like to zero in on? What do you look forward to? Focus on those things, and just try to have a basic grasp of other, essential things.

The point is this: if writing really is that important to you, it will be in your life somehow. You won’t have to make room so much as it will wedge itself into one of the movie theater seats in your mind. Your mind will wander to your wips. You’ll think of your characters at random times. You’ll picture your settings and scenes will just randomly come to you. Don’t worry about it so much! Write often, stay engaged, but if you need a break, take one.

[yallemagne]

I'm never going to be able to work on Orice in this state. Let's talk about Jack Seward. I have so much. Soooo so much to say about him.

Warning: I am going to be looking at Jack and his motives and attitudes, and I am going to be treating him like any ol' guy that you could find in the world. I'm not gonna take "it's just a fictional story, it's not that deep". I am a writer. It is that deep. This post is critical of Jack for reasons other than the obvious fact that he abuses his patients. Don't proceed if you don't want that.

And additional warning: if you ship Lucy and Jack and are going to get mad at me that it isn't book canon, you can take it up with Bram Stoker instead. This warning will seem petty, and it is. I have been yelled at simply for engaging with canon in a way that goes against other people's headcanon, and I will not tolerate that here.

I'm thinking about men and their entitlement. I don't like the idea of the story ending with Jack and Arthur being gifted two nameless, faceless trophy wives. One can explore for themselves in writing how those two got hitched and construct developed OCs to be the wives... but the truth is that the reason why those two got married is that Bram looked at two bachelors who had no women of their own and said: "that isn't a happy ending". The idea that these two men went through this entire story fighting for women, and neither "got the girl"? That's preposterous! Hence why Bram hastily adds that the two are married seven years later. I take full advantage of the vague wording -- of the fact that it is not technically confirmed that they are married separately to two women -- because the idea that these men were just given wives because that is what is expected of men gives me a weird feeling in my stomach. Or maybe I just need to eat, but oh well--

There is also the problem of Jack's entitlement in particular.

Just look at his marriage proposal. I analyzed it back then. He comes to Lucy, telling her how much this prospective marriage will do for him, how happy he will be, how she will be fixing his life, his problems. Nothing about what he has to offer. All he has to offer is himself and, it goes without saying, his wealth... but that's a given since she doesn't have her own income nor control over her assets-- he NEEDS to be able to provide fiscally for her. That is the least he can offer. But that's all that he really brings to the table. What he talks about during his proposal is all the things Lucy has to bring to the table, all the things he expects of her, and she hasn't even said yes!! Of course, she cried, hot damn.

Lucy herself lamented how good and noble men are and that women don't deserve them! And it is because of that general attitude that Jack listed all the blessings he would reap from the marriage but never focused on how Lucy would benefit-- because it's thought that all a woman needs is a man! That women are lucky to have a man regardless of circumstances! This is why I'm so damn happy that Lucy listened to her heart and chose the man that she loved regardless of all the pressure being put on her by two others. She knows herself in a way Jack doesn't know either of them.

Do I think Jack is an awful person for this? No. But I also don't think he was proposing to Lucy for the right reasons. I'm not entirely sure he was really in love with her. I know he thought he was, but with how shortly they knew each other, I believe he saw Lucy as a pretty face with good marriage prospects. And that's exactly how Lucy sees him! Just a pretty face and a good prospective marriage candidate-- but she's not in love with him. Lucy knows that love isn't the only thing that makes a marriage, but it's still very important to her. If she can find a man she loves who loves her back AND can support her? Woo! And she did with Arthur! Meanwhile, I think Jack doesn't feel love so much as fascination. That's not a bad thing, it doesn't make him bad.

Rolling this back around to the idea of just giving him a wife in the epilogue. That's part of why there's a sour taste on my tongue thinking about it. Men feel entitled to marriage because it is one of the expectations put on them -- they need to find a woman and keep her, and she needs to be a good one. She needs to make his meals to his standards, clean up after him, provide him with children, clean up after them. She also needs to love him and express that love through the previously mentioned chores and sex. If a man doesn't have this, is he really a man? Can his life ever be happy?

Jack wasn't happy with his work. He was in a very unhealthy place, and instead of addressing the issue, he thought bringing in a woman to dote upon him would brighten the place up. Like buying a new piece of furniture to make a dilapidated house feel more homey.

I think Jack is worthy of love, but the problem is that, like most men in this patriarchal society, he believes he is entitled as a man to receive it from any woman he chooses, and I don't think he ever has that worldview shaken over the course of the story. Hell, I think he kind of had his worldview validated! The happiest he ever was in his own home was when Mina made him tea, and he could pretend for a moment that she was his wife. That's cute for a fictional character. But imagine if you were a married woman and your male friend fantasized the reason you were nice to him was because you wanted him. Not so cute.

In a post-Dracula story where Jack gets a nameless, faceless bride, I don't see him ever leaving the asylum. No, instead, he stays, and he wonders why being married hasn't cured his depression. He wonders why his wife seems unsatisfied with him constantly working and neglecting her when one of the things that attracted her was his high position. God forbid she tries to drag him away from his work-- he needs this job to feel like a man!

In a post-Dracula story where Jack has instead married Arthur (yeah, not a legal marriage, but gay couples have always had ways of being together), I see him in a better place. I see him with a man who knows and loves him, who recognizes that the esteem that the insane asylum brings Jack is not worth his unhappiness, and who can actually get through to Jack because Jack respects Arthur's opinion as a man! I see Jack finally self-reflecting and eventually rejecting his faulty belief that a woman would "fix" him.

This is a lot, Jesus.

[lesuccube]

➚ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 : ᴍᴀʀᴄ ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ — ʜᴀʟꜰ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — just some waddling birds and a man waddling through his emotions .

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — fluff infection

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd , constructive criticism is welcomed . reblogs and comments are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 0.9k

marc never thought he'd find love, not after his abuse, not after layla. he found himself unlovable, there was nothing about him left to love. there was only the broken fragments of who he used to be, a shell of a man he once was.

until you came into the picture.

you showed marc that all hope isn't lost, that you'll fill in the blanks of his heart and soul with your own.

funny enough you and marc met at an aquarium. he needed to be in a place he could silence his mind. the library was out of the question, he wasn't a book person and steven might get a little too overexcited and take over. the museum wasn't even an option, he's seen enough of the place when his alter still worked there.

he could go for coffee at a cafe but it's usually crowded with boho people or teenagers so that's scratched from the list as well. the only other place he could go was his old and cold storage unit which steven absolutely loathes so the brit had kindly offered the suggestion of going to the aquarium.

it was a big place, slightly crowded but it was mostly just a bunch of families. besides there were areas in the aquatic place that plenty of people don't visit.

but funnily enough, marc finds himself staring at penguins. waddling birds diving into waters or just penguins being silly penguins. he finds the monochromatic aviators funny and calming that it soothes the ache in his mind that plagues him with memories of his past.

when was the last time he went to the aquarium? was it when he was just an only child? or one of randall's birthdays? when was the last time he gazed at the fishes and watched his reflection on water and glass without his past rearing its ugly head at him, reminding him why he can't have the luxury of doing something so simple?

marc can't remember at all. he hasn't done anything fun for himself in a very long time. not since roro died, not since his mother beat him up as a child. fun became a foreign concept to him. his version of fun was what led roro to drown in that cave, his fun is what had killed, albeit accidentally, his younger brother. so ever since, he hasn't done anything remotely enjoyable for himself.

"did you know male penguins woo females by offering them rocks?" a voice asks, interrupting his spiraling train of thoughts.

when he looks at the person talking to him, he finds you standing next to him with a friendly smile and a gentle look in your eyes. "also they're monogamous birds. but only for the season, they can still choose a different mate the next or they'd stay with the same penguin but that depends." marc raises a curious brow before pointing a finger at himself, "are you talking to me?" he asks and you laugh, a sound so soft like tiny bells ringing.

it's a pleasant sound, he thinks to himself. he doesn't mind hearing that again.

"who else would i be talking to?" you retort with a shake of your head. you lean your arms over the metal railings of the penguin enclosure as you turn your head to look at him. "you were looking at them so intently so i thought you were interested in them. apologies if you weren't though."

he was a stranger and yet you acted so nice, so warm and friendly. he wonders if you act the same with everyone else.

somewhere in the deep crevices of his mind, he wishes you don't. but that's not for him to know just yet.

it's that simple act that marc found himself listening to you as you listed down all the tiniest facts you knew about penguins, followed you down the halls of the large aquariums as you toured about every aquatic exhibit. if you weren't telling him silly things, you'd make goofy interpretations of the fish that swim by you.

he shouldn't find this funny, he shouldn't be laughing at all but he is. you were doing something so childish and yet marc was entranced, he was enchanted by your youthfulness and how you carried with you a childlike wonder that drew out that little boy in him.

you had marc in the palm of your hand, he was yours that day, hook, line and sinker.

whatever gaps he had in his childhood, you fulfilled and made true. you completed those empty holes in his life by making or recreating them so whenever he'd look back, the painful memories of his past were hidden behind the ones you made together.

you made him do things he's never done, challenged him to be better each day, whate er he had missed out on as a child and as a teen, you made him feel and experience. marc was eternally grateful for that.

marc had always thought he wasn't worthy of love, that nobody can ever love a man like him and yet here you were. you stuck by his side since that day in the aquarium, held him on nights when he's plagued with nightmares, brought out a side of him he's long since buried because he's deemed himself unworthy to be a child once more. but through time and time again you show him how wrong he is about himself.

marc spector never thought he'd love again, but now his heart only holds your name. burned to his skin like a tattoo with every kiss shared, marc knew by then that he is yours, just as you are his.

and you always will be.

[delusioniste]

Hi mod, i saw that you write for Prison Playbook, thank you so mucho 😭🙏🏽 can you pls do a headcanon or a oneshot for Captain Yoo (Haein's character), i'm obsessed w that man and i can't find any fics for him 🥺 pls i beg you 🙏🏽

유대위/Captain Yoo Jung-woo | Reader (슬기로운 감빵생활/Prison Playbook)

Hi darling, thanks for requesting xxx I don't exactly enjoy writing for widely liked and conventionally attractive characters but here you gooo! Hope you enjoy! Warning(s): suggestive at times

- Yoo Jung-woo is super down to earth (the okokok to your lalala basically) and embodies rationale and logical decision-making

- he does the finances, if you want to do them he will try to help even if his help is not needed because he's convinced he takes it more seriously than you

- law and order™

- however he has a lighter side and mucks around with you frequently à la rolling around the floor laughing at some sort of meme or funny anecdote or just because he farted and you attacked him for it

- enjoys cooking with you a lot, is good at noodle dishes

- likes to eat kimchi and spicy food but is not willing to actually make it himself (so you go to the shops instead)

- workout freak, 24/7

- never, ever skips the sport (makes sense because of his military profession lmao) and when at home encourages you to participate (personal trainer at no cost)

- smiles at you often with the attitude of letting you in on a secret, even when you're at the opposite end of the room

- favourite thing is holding hands with you

- dislikes formal wear like blazers and chinos and shirts except for his service uniform, has a varied collection of t-shirts

- you are so welcome to borrow them, he enjoys seeing them on you + slipping his hands underneath to put them on your hips and send you into shock with his cold skin

- likes scaring you with his cold skin in general

- conscious of duty and honour and has an extremely strong moral sense, is not afraid to defend you from any harassment and also anyone else he encounters for that matter

- punctuality is written in capitals, will forgive you if you're late though because he's your boyfriend

- likes swimming in mountain creeks and waterfalls, you often go on long hikes with him in national parks and other mountainous areas

- is ticklish

- you wearing his uniform beret

- is a hugging person but in general less physical

- is a sweet and soft kisser, not the type to eat your mouth out (he can do so if desired but he doesn't do that on a regular basis), always smiles at you after

- sits you down on the sofa or the floor and brushes your hair with painstaking care and love as if he's doing an asmr video

- gathers the fallen hairs and makes the effort of binning them for you

- you like going food shopping together

- his brother is so glad that Jung-woo has you, you get invited to their house often

- sexy time is varied and fun, you both like to switch and try out different things, he will be serious but also smile at you like an angel sent from heaven

- eats you out with relish

- will wash your hair for you when you shower (baths at home are uncommon in korea) (I know this bc I'm a korean myself)

- sleeps like a rock, is irritated if disturbed and will ignore you and try to get back to sleep

- when you're down or struggling he will talk you through it and offer reassurance, constructive criticism, hugs and rational solutions and a neutral perspective

- has fixed routines (again owing to the army) and is not the most flexible person tbh, likes being prepared but doesn't get angry if he isn't

- generally slow to anger, is a forgiver and forgetter, but also can deliver the driest, most humiliating, holier-than-thou, withering lectures ever

- a sweet boyfriend to have

[bearriegal]

☆Attempting Himekaji Make☆

Today, I decided that I would finally try practicing some gyaru makeup again since it's a holiday weekend (no work woo!o(≧▽≦)o). I went out and bought some new makeup (nothing fancy, just some stuff from CVS) and got to work .｡.:*☆

Here's everything I used and the products in the pic:

Maybelline Volum' Express The Mega Plush mascara (very light, don't recommend if you prefer a fuller/voluminous look)

LA Girl Blush Stick Velvet Dreamy (don't recommend, this thing literally fell out when I tried to use it but imma use it regardless lol)

NYX Highlight & Contour Stick

LA Girl Pro Concealer

Maybelline Super Stay Foundation

L'Oreal Paris Colour Riche Monos Eyeshadow Petite Perle

Physicians Formula Butter Bronzer (didn't end up using this)

Kiss Lash Couture Extensions (didn't end up using these)

These aren't the exact lashes I'm wearing, but I bought them from the same shop and they look similar! I think she may have discontinued the ones I'm wearing

Taro Milk Eyeshadow Palette

I literally used some concealer dabbed with red lip liner and beauty supply store lip gloss on my lips lol (you can barely see them anyways)

Here's what I ended up with! I thought I looked super cute and took lots of selfies! If I had more energy, I'd put a co*de together (*¯︶¯*) . I followed a video from Lizzie Bee for this look although I mainly freestyled and used her as a loose guide. I think it's cute, but I also think it could be improved! Constructive criticism is welcome (pls don't be mean I'm a baby gal 🥲)

ベリーリン 🍓

[radioactive-coffee01]

Date Night Prompt

woo boy I have not wrote for fun since middle school. Also if this is bad, I blame it on being sick rn. (constructive criticism welcome)

prompt credit @sqweegee

GN reader x Spamton | 1,125 words

Second person POV

~~

You paused to look at the time on your phone, 9:35pm it read. You knew you shouldn’t be on your phone while driving but Cyber City was notorious for traffic jams, meaning you didn’t typically miss much. Setting your phone down, you took a few moments to listen to the city’s ambience, ‘A few more turns and I’ll be there’ you thought to no one in particular. You couldn’t help the nervousness that ate at you during the pause. Your friends, who were in fact well-known tricksters, had decided to set you up on a blind date. In the beginning you were completely against the idea, I mean you were plenty happy as is?! And who were these pranksters to think you’d let them encroach on your dating life?? But eventually the little brats had worked the magic and here you were… all dolled up on your way to pick up whatever suitor they had decided to pair you with. 

The click of the light pulled you back to reality as you moved forward to your destination. It was only maybe another 5 minutes before you arrived at your location. You parked your car before scanning your surroundings. The restaurant's sign read “The Red Rose,” it wasn’t the most fancy of restaurants in Cyber City’s downtown area, but it was one you were fairly acquainted with, thanks to having to pick up your friends after a few too many. You chuckled under your breath recalling the last time you were here and decided to make your way inside. 

Behind the check-in stand was a young pink addison, her name tag reading “Taffy.”

“Hiya! Can I get your reservation name?” she started, flashing you a cheerful grin.

You returned her smile and gave her your friend’s name. “It should be under Matrix M. I believe?”

You watched as the addison’s demeanor changed for just a split second before going back to a now nervous grin, “Alright! Just this way,” she motioned for you to follow her as she walked past the tables on the other side of the barrier. 

Soon you arrived towards the back of the restaurant. Sitting at the table where it seemed that Taffy was heading was a shorter, marionette-like addison. He was visibly shaking, no no, he might as well be vibrating at this point, and not to mention how disheveled he was- you’ve got to be kidding me, you thought to yourself, Matrix is so dead when I see him next. None the less you followed Taffy over and took your seat across from the addison. He looked you over while waiting for the pink addison to leave. And- “ THANK [SWEEPSTAKES] I THOUGHT YOUU WERE ANOTHER [ book of 100 silly pranks only 3.99$ GET NOW] “

The sudden loud noise had you feeling like you just stepped on a trip wire as you almost put your hands up to cover your ears.

 “N-no, not this time I don’t think-” you nervously smiled at him.

“WELL I’M [BUY HAPPY SCRUBS NOW]” his jaw snapping shut as soon as the ad-bite ended, 

“W-well are you ready to get some [good eats here]?” he started again, quieter this time. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” you responded, glad that seeing you flinch at his ..choiceful volume had paused his yelling before the staff decided to boot you both for disturbing the customers.

You take a moment to glance over the menu as he flags down a waiter that had just finished helping their table. He orders the day’s special and you pick your preferred meal. The waiter writes everything down and heads off in the direction of the kitchen. 

“So umm what do you do for a living.?” you make a poor attempt at small talk,

His eyes light up as he begins, “Well Sweets! I’m a [100% Authenticity Guaranteed] Salesman! I used to be the [BIGGEST Shot!] around this whole place until [Hyperlink Blocked]!” you swear you see his glasses lose color on that last part but he continues before you can ask, “I had great ideas! And even [ BIGGER & BETTER ] dreams!! I sold BIG cars and small cars! Even my prized [CUNGADERO™] Model!!”

“Now I just own a small storefront…” He mumbles under his breath,

The waiter arrives with both of your meals before you get to say more so you both decide to eat. You are about to take your first bite when you look up in time to concernedly watch him unhinge his jaw and shovel a good half of the plate into his mouth, not even chewing the food.

He notices you watching and sets the plate down “Ahem, S-sorry [love note], It’s been a quick [minutes! seconds! Hours!] since I’ve had anything this good! I mean.. Wow! This place sure is [Sal’s Nicecream 1.50$]” He laughs nervously and you chide yourself for finding it endearing,

“Well I’m glad you enjoy it,” you smile reassuringly before going back to your own meal.

The rest of the time is spent calmly, the two of you taking turns passing jokes and stories back and forth in between bites of your food. You tell him about your friends and he tells you (probably over-glorified) stories about his run-ins with other shopkeeps. You’re surprised at how easily the conversations have become and before you know it the waiter comes back to bring you both your bill.

“OH-oh, I didn’t realize it was [cash out] time already!” He says as you watch him frantically search himself for his money. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you state, handing the waiter your card as you start to wonder if this was all some ploy just to get free food and if he’s gonna ditch as soon as everything is paid, but to your pleasant surprise, he insists that you at least allow him to walk you to your car in return. I mean it’s the least he can do isn’t it? 

The two of you part your ways, part of you feels like he’s lying when he says he has a car just parked further down the street, but you won’t push the subject. As you get in the car you hear your phone ping and you see a text from Nattie, the one who had helped Matrix set up your date:

Nat: “ So how long did it take you to walk out lmao 😜🤣 “

You scoff at her childishness, and decide to turn the tables on her.

Y/N: “ You’ll have to let Matrix know I said thank you, I had a very romantic evening ”

You set your phone on the passenger's seat and smile to yourself at the three pings that flood in seemingly right after the other. Time to head home…

~~

[tricornonthecob]

sometimes I feel bad about having multiple primary skillsets and ping-ponging between them, but then I think about best-selling author, humanist gremlin, and unhinged ginger Thomas Paine.

More under the cut

His occupations, according to Bastion Of All Knowledge Ever, Wikipedia, included (but were not limited to:)

taxpayer-funded pirate (privateer)

bra artificer (staymaker)

office intern (supernumerary officer)

Suspiciously Disorganized Gimme-Your-Money officer (excise tax officer who was dismissed for "claiming to have inspected goods he did not inspect")

Schoolteacher

Walgreens manager (tobacconist-grocer)

Magazine editor as an excuse to write about shifting the means of production (editor of the Pennsylvania Magazine)

Best-selling Pamphlet author (Common Sense)

Number Muncher for The Office Of Wooing The French And Begging The Dutch For Money (secretary for the Congressional Committee of Foreign Affairs)

Possible Wikileaks While Being A Number Muncher

Ex-Number Muncher for The Office Of Wooing The French And Begging The Dutch For Money (dismissed for exposing corruption and being particularly rude about the whole thing.)

Not-As-Best-Selling Pamphlet That Criticized Old Rich White Guys author (Public Good)

Seriously, Fuck Off Monarchy author (Rights of Man 1 and 2)

Fuck Off, Capitalism, Lets Have UBI Pamphlet author (Agrarian Justice)

Representative of the French National Convention for Pas-de-Calais

Bridge Engineer (????? I have no words)

Smokeless Candle Engineer

Tinkerer (worked with John Fitch in developing steam engines)

12-Step Guide To Invading Great Britain (Observations on the Construction and Operation of Navies with a Plan for an Invasion of England and the Final Overthrow of the English Government and To the People of England on the Invasion of England)

Reformed Napoleon Stan

George Washington Denouncer

Look if that ginger can be a pirate, make stays, run a walgreens, not collect taxes, be a best-selling author, simultaneously court and piss off America, simultaneously court and piss off France, make plans to invade the ENTIRETY of Great Britain, be the representative of a province he doesn't speak the language of, narrowly avoid getting beheaded in the French Revolution, invent a new type of bridge, make a fancy candle, etc, then maybe my brunette ass can do anything I want, too.