#EUROPE IS STEALING ALL THE SUN

[windvexer]

Book Review: The Witch's Art of Incantation, 2nd ed. by Roger J. Horne

10/10, I'd buy again for what it is: but you should know what it is before you buy it

This is a review of the second edition, which is about 100 pages longer than the original and contains 55 additional incantations.

What's it about?

This is a book of translated and edited historical and folk incantations to be used in syncretic folk witchcraft or any form of witchcraft. These incantations are grouped into 9 categories:

Seeking the Old Ones

Calling to the Green World

Love and Spurned Love

Coinage and Prosperity

Curses and Maledictions

Spirit Flight and Second Sight

Blessings and Benedictions

Heretical Psalmistry

Miscellaneous latinate charms

Besides a brief introduction, the book is just incantations.

It's not a spellbook. It doesn't tell you to collect candles or herbs, or what day of the week to work them on, or the moon phase, or whatever. Just as it says on the tin, it's a book of incantations.

However, Horne does have a very handy section at the beginning called Approaches to the Art of Incantation.

Here he describes methods and techniques to help empower incantations (I recommend not skipping it), a framework for understanding the power of words, and folk magic actions that may be combined with incantations, such as the burning of candles with pins stuck in, or speaking over poppets.

If you've skipped Folk Witchcraft, definitely check out this section.

(As Horne explains in the introduction, the first ed. of this book was a companion book to his other text, Folk Witchcraft. Apparently, Folk Witchcraft provided a great deal of context and lore surrounding the use of the incantations themselves.

The second ed. has been developed into a standalone text, but Horne still recommends looking to Folk Witchcraft if you want more context.)

Where do these incantations come from?

Horne makes it clear that he primarily sourced incantations from Europe and America (primarily Appalachia) not because they're particularly better in any way, but because these are the areas his ancestors and practice stem from. He makes an outspoken statement against any perceived Eurocentric authority, and warns people to not take his area of focus to mean there is more power within those cultures than within others.

That being given, these incantations are sourced historically from at least the first century onward, from a wide variety of sources, including Greco-Roman, Irish, Scottish, Cornish, Welsh, French, German, Appalachian, Icelandic, and more.

When possible, Horne notes where the incantation originated from, and in what manner he edited it.

All of these incantations have been edited for use by the modern reader; they are Horne's original adaptations. This is not a historical reference.

An example?

To give you an idea of the contents, this is one of the shorter incantations in the book, "A Call to Fire."

A Call to Fire Fire untamed, lustrous, and bright, power behind the sun, moon and every star. Aetherial fire, source of life, most splendid flower, heat-bringer, light-bringer, hear me, radiant fire. [Origin: 3 BC - 1 AD. Greco-Roman. Adapted and rearranged with poetic license after The Hymns of Orpheus. pg. 100.]

This incantation may be used to charm offering candles, to consecrate sacred fires, to call forth salamanders or fire elementals, to honor a god or spirit of fire, and so forth - the application is up to you.

Is the variety solid? Are they versatile enough for use even if you don't consider yourself to be a folk witch?

A big reason I recommend this book so highly isn't just because it's handy for me, but because I think it is very versatile.

The variety of what's presented is exceptional; there are charms to hail the seasons and the moons, the Old Ones and plant allies, to cure grief and wrath, to call a lover, to steal wealth, to conjure all varieties of helpful spirits, to reveal a thief, to hag-ride, to skin-change, to induce second-sight, to charm your cards for better readings, and I could go on and on.

In addition, because Horne sources everything where he can, it's a wealth to look not only at his adaptations but compare the charms to the historical originals, and thereby gain inspiration for developing your own incantations.

The best part for me is that they're all usable. It's not a spellbook where you can't get some ingredients so you can't use some spells. They're incantations that you pair with whatever spell elements you want to include, including just using them on their own.

But are they sexy? Will I feel like I'm living deliciously?

Yes. You will feel like you are living deliciously. You will feel like ye olde wytche who feeds blood and honey to their familiar, and steals the potency of men at night as you roam in your second skin; you will believe you may only be harmed with a silver bullet when you take the form of a hare to rob milk from cows.

Real quick, what's up with those 'heretical psalms' and latinate charms?

The last (and smallest) portion of the book more heavily leans into syncreticism. Horne's attitude in the book is that folk witchcraft is by practicality and oftentimes necessity a syncretic one, and that witches use what's on hand in order to get the job done. He references the importance of the influence of the Church on modern cunning traditions, including both the adoption of psalms and also of latinate language.

Twenty-three psalms are printed in the book along with recommended magical uses, along with a list of the magical uses of psalms (which you'd have to look up yourself).

Finally, Horne has a fifteen incantations in Latin. Or, latinate, as he keeps clarifying. He hasn't taken charms and translated them into Latin, rather he's edited historical folk charms that were recited in liturgical Latin by the people who used them - again emphasizing syncreticism in folk magic.

If you're not into Christian syncreticism, I doubt this section would be of use to you. This section constitutes 80 total pages out of 319, or about a quarter of the book. Personally I'd still get it for the more pagan incantations even if I didn't want the more syncretic ones, but it's certainly not to everyone's tastes.

(Be advised that there is a lot of Scottish folk magic in this book, plenty of which calls on Mary as divine authority. Obviously you can change the incantations as you please, but if you're allergic to these things, be aware they are peppered throughout the text.)

Chicken, who would you personally recommend this book to?

I would recommend this book to a practitioner who is:

Ready to start seriously investing in their personal repertoire of spells

Confident enough to experiment with spellcrafting

Sick and tired of spellbooks that recommend inaccessible ingredients, and just want building blocks to make their own full-format spells

Wanting a resource that helps with getting practical magic done within their current paradigm, without having to adopt a lot of new ritual aspects or theories

Looking for inspiration to expand their current practice without having to restart their practice

Looking for resources on Christian or heretical witchcraft

Anyone seeking resources on the power of words in practical sorcery

I'm a pagan, not a witch, and I love hymns and incantations. Would I like it?

To be honest, I doubt it.

Yes, the book starts with incantations to the Old Ones, who are ostensibly gods; but anyone with an eye to see can tell that the incantations all either relate to the Devil or the Queen of Witches. Also, one for Fenris ("darkling wolf") and one for the Sun.

Like 5 of the incantations may clearly be associated with Greek gods, but those gods are not named and the association appears to be selected based on their relevance to witchcraft.

A vast majority of all incantations in the book are related to spellwork and conjuring nature spirits. These incantations were designed for use in magic, which includes calling spirits and compelling action; not so much veneration or worship.

Readability and Accessibility

The physical quality of the book is disappointing. And that's not the author's fault and has no bearing on the actual contents, but right out of the box I was afraid the poor thing was going to fall apart. However it was cheap as hell so I have nothing to complain about, this thing was like $15 for a paperback. It has the quality you would expect from such a cheap purchase.

The text is sort of an artsy one? It's a serif font that's not too out there, but it's smaller than I was expecting, and my eyes don't love it. You will have to find your reading glasses for this one. All his books I bought are published in this typeface so I assume it's a choice.

Horne loves big paragraphs and long sentences. I find his writing style to be clear and easy to follow, but it's not a lower grade reading level. You may expect a maximum of two paragraphs per page in the prose portions.

The incantations themselves are broken up into much more manageable parts, always containing no more than 2 lines per paragraph break.

I believe Horne did this on purpose to compel the reader to find their own cadence in the incantations. But, it has the added effect of contributing to readability. The way each incantation is split up makes it very easy to follow and not lose your place.

6/10 for physical manufacture; I really wish the typeface was less artsy and more standard, but I could still read it through, especially once I got used to it.

[nottivagos]

CALLING ALL SINGLETONS! ARE THOSE LONELY NIGHTS FEELING LONGER THAN USUAL? THEN THIS AMAZING GETAWAY IS JUST FOR YOU! Come join us on a Singles Cruise tour around luxurious Europe for a week!

Introducing... Singles Cruise AU : DR3

Being freshly out of a divorce is awkward for anyone. The wedding ring still tight on your ring finger as you stand in the port, nervous about the adventure you were about to embark on. You didn't understand why your friends wanted you to go on this little week away, you thought you were coping fine with your rather abrupt divorce until now.

Then Daniel came along. Divorced for over a decade, he was looking to rekindle that flame that burnt deep inside of him whilst he was with his ex. However, being a CEO of a rather large corporate business, ‘settling down’ hasn't exactly been his strong suit. He's no stranger to these little week-long getaways, and is pretty friendly with the staff aboard, so he's gained a reputation for being a heart-throb and player with many of the ladies on deck.

What makes it any different for you?

Divorced CEO!Daniel who notices you nervously waiting around the cruise foyer after boarding the ship. His thick Australian accent noticeable whilst he flashes a large smirk on his face when he introduces himself almost instantly, obviously taking a liking to yourself, before offering you a handshake which lasts a little second too longer than it should've.

Divorced CEO!Daniel who's physical image has stayed unchanged even after his divorce. Linen shirts that fit his figure ever so easily, face cleanly shaven, with maybe a little stubble visible. His hair isn't unruly, it's nicely trimmed and styled, despite the harsh gales you could sometimes experience on the boat’s outside deck.

Divorced CEO!Daniel that just has to be your neighbour on the cruise. He greets you every morning from his balcony as you lounge on your own, cup of coffee in your hands whilst you watch the world go by as the boat sails on. He's taken an interest in you, the ring still on your finger peaking his interest first, before the small talk becomes more casual as the holiday goes on.

Divorced CEO!Daniel who becomes more friendly with you as you start to open up to you. On a day when you're in port, he spontaneously tells you that he's booked a wine tasting experience that he wants to take you on. The whole experience is magical, making you feel alive again in some way, as his arm wraps around your waist uninvited but welcomed by you at the end of your shared day not at sea.

Divorced CEO!Daniel that despite his divorce being due to him prioritising work over his ex, doesn't prioritise work over you. During the duration of the getaway, you have his full attention, watching as his eyes light up or when he lets that iconic laugh fall from his lips as you tell him about yourself over a coffee or something more strong at one of the cafés or bars on deck.

Divorced CEO!Daniel who steals a kiss from you underneath a romantic sunset after a lovely meal in the cruise’s most luxury restaurant on board. He makes sure that you're treated like a queen, before taking a stroll with you hand in hand around the deck, before sealing the night with a loving kiss that you just melt into, the ring around your finger (which is quickly discarded the next day) not even serving as a barrier between you both.

Divorced CEO!Danny who's quite the exhibitionist. He's got the staff wrapped around his finger, so who is he to not break a few rules with you? One late night, you both share a hot tub on deck, sipping cocktails as the sun sets on the sea after a long day sailing. He swims closer to you, hands coming to grope your bikini top whilst he kisses your neck, stubble grazing the skin, murmuring how beautiful you looked all evening— how you were teasing him. Before you know it, you've melted into the hot kiss, his tongue deep in your mouth, suffocating your moans as his calloused fingers are pumping deep into your cunt whilst under the water.

Divorced CEO!Daniel who gets off to the sight of you desperate whilst he's on a business call. On one lazy morning, he'd invited you into his cabin, to which it had escalated dramatically. You were soon hopelessly riding his cock, whining and whimpering into his neck, pleading eyes coming to meet his stern own, as he had his phone pressed snugly to his ear, talking about costs and other business things you didn't understand whilst drunk on the sensation of his cock splitting you open. What didn't help was the cruel smirk he flashed before answering the person on the other end, unbothered by you struggling and begging for a release.

Divorced CEO!Daniel that doesn't mind letting the whole cruise know who you're owned by. If anything, he's proud that he's created a bond with you. (Yes, he's definitely even thinking of proposing), as love bites and bruises blotch your collarbone and exposed skin when you're forced to wear your flowy, revealing summer dresses when it's warm. His arm wrapped snugly around your waist as he pressed more kisses to your neck, especially over the marks on your skin, smirking as he does so, feeling accomplished by the marks he's left behind.

Divorced CEO!Daniel who is definitely an ass man. He loves grabbing it at any given opportunity, especially when you're not expecting it, watching you squirm, face flushing with embarrassment or when you gasp slightly whenever he pinches, grips or slaps it without any warning. But Divorced CEO!Daniel who's also a tit man. He loves playing with your boobs, cupping them with ease in his palms, watching you moan as he toys with your sensitive nipples, rolling them in circular motions with his thumbs whenever he's got you alone in his cabin.

bon voyage, my dearest followers! like the singles cruise au? fancy sending me an ask in my ask box so divorced ceo!danny can be brought to life even more! - notti <3

[robinsno1lesbian]

𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬༄｡°

-r.b. x reader

summary: robin buckley summer headcanons!

warnings: lots of fluff!! some (hinted) 18+ content, oral sex, vaginal fingering (fem!receiving obviously), mention of weed, non-sexual nudity & skinny dipping (let me know if i missed anything!)

a/n: send me your requests for my summer fics & find my guidelines here!

❀ in summer, robin takes you to lover’s lake right after work to cool down (after spending your shift sorting in vhs tapes in sweaty uniforms, it’s a pleasant way to spend the afternoon)

❀ she sunburns so easily! the fact that she constantly forgets to apply her sunscreen doesn’t make it better either.

❀ so she always has a slight sunburn on her rosy cheeks.

❀ “i’m not sunburned at all! this is a tan”

❀ she loves to apply your sunscreen though, regardless of how careless she can be herself: she always helps you in the places you cannot reach. she’ll draw random shapes and patterns on your skin before spreading it.

❀ robin’s freckles are even more prominent in summer and you spend hours counting them as you lie close to her.

❀ robin will never not insist on buying you a sweet treat: mostly ice cream that she’ll later kiss from the side of your mouth.

❀ she also frequently goes to hawkin’s public pool with you and the rest of the group (where she will act like a kid)

❀ she’s in the water 24/7, constantly begging someone to join her.

❀ “come on y/n!! the water isn’t thaaaat cold! i’ve been in there!”

❀ if you decline, she’ll get out just to give you a tight hug while the water is still dripping from her.

❀ when she’s not bothering you, she’s splashing water at steve or busy having a canon ball contest with him. (again: literal kids.)

❀ but if you do join her, she’ll pull you close under the water or carry you around on her back, enjoying the possibility of being close like this in public without catching anyone’s attention.

❀ later, you’ll lie in bed with her, the two of you sharing kisses that taste of sunscreen and the last remains of pool water she’s soaked in all day.

❀ falling asleep is hard with the summer heat threatening to suffocate the two of you, but comes much easier when you’re home alone and don’t have to bother to wear clothes.

❀ her bare body pressed against yours, her chest rising and falling with even breaths, is enough to soothe you to sleep, regardless of the heat.

❀ this often leads to wandering hands in the morning though…

❀ …when the sun is still rising and a comfortable breeze is going through the room. when you wake up to soft kisses peppered down your back and robin’s hair tickling your neck.

❀ …when robin’s voice is still raspy from sleep as she asks you if you’re okay with it and instead of answering verbally, you pull her on top of you and taste the laughter from her mouth.

❀ …when she grinds down against you, and you move back up against her and you have to stifle your moans because she left the window open.

❀ “that’s my girl. so good. i wish i could hear you. you’re so pretty”

❀ so you end up coming with your face pressed against her pillows and her head buried between your thighs.

❀ her savings are not enough to take you to europe just yet, but she insists on taking you to a beach town for the summer vacation. somewhere where no one knows the two of you and you have a place for yourself.

❀ she loves to talk you on long walks along the shore, where she holds your hand and steals quick kisses when there’s no one around to see.

❀ robin brings french and spanish books that she’ll read to you while you’re sunbathing. you don’t understand what she’s saying, but there’s something comforting about the way she pronounces each syllable, while she runs her fingers through your beach waves.

❀ one night, she convinces you to go skinny dipping with her:

❀ it’s nearly 3am, you’re both a little high from a joint you’ve shared and there’s no one around to see.

❀ she’s giddy when she sheds her clothes for no one else but you to see and races you to the shore.

❀ the water is cold, yet robin’s body warm, when she wraps her arms around you from behind and pulls you into the waves of the sea.

❀ she holds you over the surface with ease so you can wrap your legs around her and cover her in salty kisses.

❀ you can kiss her openly that night, and enjoy being close and affectionate with her without having to worry that someone might catch you.

❀ robin collects the prettiest rocks and shells for you while you’re sunbathing.

❀ she’s constantly moving, walking along the shore as she’s looking for new things to find among the seaweed and sand.

❀ she then sorts them on your back and puts them down along your spine while you’re still dozing in the sun.

❀ robin definitely brings watercolors to the beach and paints the scenery.

❀ but she also has a camera she brings along to capture the moments, constantly snapping pictures of you when you’re not paying attention.

❀ after a long beach day, you can’t wait to wash the sand and salt off of your skin. you untie your bikini the moment you step through the door, letting it drop to the floor as you step to the bathroom with robin watching you.

❀ you beckon her over, then, and she stumbles over her own feet in an attempt to rush to the shower with you.

❀ she washes your hair under the shower, runs her gentle fingertips up your body, and traces your curves under the steam.

❀ only when you’re both clean and no longer covered in sea salt and sweat, she lowers herself down on the shower tiles until she’s kneeling between your legs.

❀ “so pretty. such a pretty girl”

❀ she doesn’t stop talking, not even when she puts her mouth on you and licks through your wet folds.

❀ “hmm such a pretty pussy too. taste so good for me.”

❀ you love to braid her hair, when she’s got her head in your lap and you’re listening to the soft sounds of the waves meeting the shore.

❀ when it’s your head in her lap, she’ll feed you the food she’s brought along; dropping grapes and apple slices into your mouth while she rambles on and on.

[maximummaximoff]

If Pietro Maximoff was your boyfriend: SFW

NSFW VERSION

1. Constant Movement, Constant Attention:

Pietro is everywhere—one second he’s grabbing your favorite snack from a shop three cities over, the next he’s sprawled on the couch, pretending he wasn’t just gone. He’s fidgety and restless, but he always makes time for you. When he’s still, it’s only because you’ve grounded him.

2. Protective but Playful:

He’s fiercely loyal. The guy would literally take a bullet for you (he’s already done it once before). But he’s also a tease—messing up your hair with a gust of wind, stealing kisses before you can react, whispering sarcastic comments about the rest of the team just loud enough for them to hear.

3. Physical Affection is His Love Language:

He’s touchy. An arm slung around your shoulder, fingers brushing your hand, head in your lap during movie nights. He gets grumpy when he hasn’t had a chance to hold you in a while. He acts like it’s no big deal, but when you pull him close, he melts.

4. The Nicknames Are Constant:

You’ll never hear your real name again. It’s “Printesa,” “Lapin,” “Zaya,” “Speedy’s Girl”—and half of them don’t even make sense but somehow fit when he says them with that Sokovian accent and crooked grin.

5. Chaos-Fueled Dates:

Romantic dinner? Sure—if you count racing through Europe, stopping for crepes in Paris, and watching the sun set from a rooftop in Madrid, all in one night. Slow isn’t in his nature, but he’ll slow down for you, especially when he sees you need it.

6. Unexpected Vulnerability:

Every once in a while, you’ll see the flicker of trauma behind the smirk—flashes of Sokovia, of loss, of HYDRA. On those nights, he doesn’t need words. He just needs your hand in his, your presence anchoring him.

7. Fierce Devotion:

He might flirt with danger (and occasionally with Natasha just to rile you up), but he never leaves you in doubt about who owns his heart. When Pietro’s in, he’s all in—fast, loud, messy, and real.

[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!!)

[queenlytheeastrobabe]

Black History Month Astro Observations:

Art, Music & Dance shown in the Natal Chart

Astro Content created by @queenlytheeastrobabe copyrights reserved to QueenlyDelights. PSA: Don't. Be. A. Dick, Don't plagiarize or steal my work. You may share, like, & comment on this post. Give credit where credit is due! Thank you For Black History Month,

I've collected a sample of black female artists and their placements that I enjoy listening to from the Neo-Soul, Rap, Afro-beats, R&B, and Alternative genres.

Amber Mark

Photo by Nelson Huang

Birth Number 2: Balance, communication, romantic, justice, Moon, Lover girl Life Path Number 9: Mars, Jupiter, expansion, connection to the masses/foreign cultures, humanity, teacher & student Amber's Sun, Venus, Mars, Mercury in Capricorn: Amber's music has a detailed structure and her voice is earthy and intentional. The visuals for her album and music videos are ethereal and reflect the spiritual expansion & trust within. Amber's Cancer moon explains her strong connection with her maternal roots and raw emotional depth. North Node in Sagittarius: Her childhood of being raised in Europe, Asia, and New York has influenced her connection to various cultures in her music.

Chaka Khan

*Photo courtesy of Ridgefield Playhouse

Birth Number 5: Sun, Solo artists, Music, Dance, Art, Children, Self Expression, Mercury Life Path Number 8: Saturn, Karmic duty, Wealth, Legacy, and becoming a Household name, Powerhouse. Aries Sun in 6th House: Chaka's Martian persona is heavily prominent in the service to her community & amongst her audience. She was a former Black Panther and was the sole female singer in her former band, Rufus. Her music will continue to stand the test of time for generations to come. Pluto conjunct Leo MC 17th°: Brought synergy in her art making her stand out in her career and the music industry. She was a member of the funk band, Rufus in the early 70's that brought amazing hits from that era. Pisces Mercury in 5th House: The way she expresses herself in music is romantic, soulful, and passionate. Taurus Jupiter , Mars & Venus : All ruled by Venus. Chaka is a lover girl that embodies romance and sensuality.

Doechii

*Photo source: Michael Buckner / Getty

Birth Number 5: Music, dance, theater, sports, creativity ( She participated in gymnastics, dance, cheerleading, and tap dance in school) Life Path Number 8: Wealth, Saturn, karmic lessons, discipline, powerhouse. Ambitious. Leo Sun, Mercury, Venus: Made a name for herself with her boisterous, humorous nature. Sexual, cat-like features. Drive & hunger to succeed. Also known as " The Swamp Princess". Cancer MC & Mars: Healthy expression of anger, emotions, and self reflection in her art. Listen to "Wait" Her new album "Denial is a River" is a reflection of the shadow work and the reality of being an artist drumming to her own beat. Jupiter in Pisces: Music is her sanctuary and religion. She writes empowering music that can be used as affirmations & mantras. Spiritual liberation and relatable storytelling.

Hemlocke Springs

*Photo by Angella Choe

Life Path Number 9: Mars, Jupiter, expansion, connection to the masses/foreign cultures, humanity, teacher & student Birth Number 7: mystery, intuition, healing, and wisdom. I discovered in an article, her stage name "Hemlocke" came from a name generator and she added the "e" at the end to pay homage to Lorde. Hemlock is a plant and tree used for medicinal purposes. Scorpio Sun & Venus: Her music is centered around processing her intense emotions dealing with awkward phases, growth, love & heartbreak, depression, and lack of control. She places those feelings on upbeat, quirky, synth-pop melodies, adding depth from a playful and humorous space in her music. Jupiter in Pisces: Connecting to music is also a spiritual & emotional release for her. The lyrics of her song "pos" verse, "I was made for the war, fix eternal scars, But here I am rockin' with my flimsy camisole". I associated these lyrics with her plutonian/martian nature. Online Source: https://nbhap.com/blog/hemlocke-springs-parallel-universe

Lion Babe/Jillian Hervey

*Photo Source: Wikipedia/ photographer Ralph Arvesen

Birth Number 1: Natural leader, Sun, Leo, solo artist, ambitious, creativity, independent. Life Path Number 7: Mystery, intuition, knowledge, wisdom. Gemini Sun & Jupiter in the 11th House: Versatile, able to cross over into the Neo-soul & Dance/House genres. Taurus MC: Child artist, ballet, modern dance, and singer. Vanessa Williams introduced Jillian and her siblings to music & dance at two years old. Venus in Cancer in 12th house: Private family and love live. Her pregnancy & partnership with her bandmate, Lucas Goodman were a secret to the public until she announced it a month after giving birth to her son. Generational gifts passed from maternal lineage. Motherhood brought her closer to her mother. Jillian's Mars is 1° Leo and AS 29°: Critical degree. Her vitality is dedicated to the creation of music and family. Her voice is unique, like a lioness's roar. Known for her signature golden mane and melodic voice.

Noname/Fatimah Warner

*Photo sourced from genius.com

Birth Number 9: connection to humanity, global reach, spiritual, social issues, education. Jupiter, Mars. She uses her platform to bring awareness to social issues that include the injustice and exploitation within the black community. Life Path Number 2: Voice, collaboration, harmony, justice, Moon Mars in Libra in 11°, Sun & Mercury in Virgo: Witty storytelling with blunt lyrics. Her music reminds me of spoken word. I feel like Fatimah's lyrics are love letters to the community.

Ravyn Lenae

*Photo sourced from FADER/ photographer Brendan George Ko

Birth Number 4 : Stability, Saturn, hardworking, disciplined, attention-to-detail. Life Path Number 6: Venus, HARMONY, care, protection, collaboration, art, music, dance. Aries Moon & Jupiter in Pisces: Her beautiful red hair is very Arian. She tends to have hairstyles with red hair. Ravyn has no problem expressing her true and raw emotions. She repackages her experiences in a soft symphony of fluid, whimsical, soul touching melodies. She is classically trained in opera and a singer-song writer. She grew up with a church background singing as a soloist in her church choir. Pisces is comfortable in Jupiter which focuses on the expansion of spiritual wisdom and connection to authentic self. NN in Leo, Mars in Libra: Ravyn gracefully switches between various genres and collaborate with various black artists from the alternative/indie, electronic, and hip-hop scene. Online source: https://www.thefader.com/2024/05/15/cover-story-interview-getting-lost-with-ravyn-lenae-birds-eye-2024

Shay Lia

*Photo sourced from FADER/ photographer Cary Tauben/Press

Birth Number 8: Wealth, Saturn, karmic lessons, disciplined, ambitious. Life Path 3: Mercury, communication, intellectual, creation with hands, childhood fulfillment Virgo Sun & Mercury - naturally uses hands to express themselves when they dance, sing, or talk. Her debut demo is "Virgo" which caught the eye of fellow Virgo DJ, Kaytranada who reached out to collaborate. Jupiter & Mars in Libra, Venus in Leo- Playful, cat-like, bold movements, wears colorful vibrant patterns. Her natural hair is a statement to embrace her roots. Shay's as an artist is sultry, flashy, and chic. She is a skilled dancer and her native language is Djiboutian French. France just so happens to be ruled by the signs Libra(Venus)&Leo( Sun).

Tems

*Photo sourced from GQ/ photographer Danny Kasirye

Birth Number 2: Collaboration, balance, intuition, Moon, going with the flow, compromise. Life Path 5: - Art, Music, Dance, creative self expression, play, children, adventure. Gemini Sun, Venus, MC, and Mercury RX:- She mentioned in her GQ interview that she was shy when she was young and didn't speak until later in her childhood. Her playful, sensual, coy nature is heard in her music when she sings. She comes out of her introverted shell and embodies her twin personality as a confident performer, similar to Beyonce & Sasha Fierce(Virgo sun/ruled by Mercury). NN & Scorpio moon: Her Sultry tones come from an origin of rich cultural & religious background (Nigerian & Christian). Pluto rules transformation, power, and isolation in a planet ruling her emotions.

Stay tuned for part II!

[flowery-mess]

Honeymoon with Noah

MATCHING SWIMMING SUIT

You thought you would have to beg him to match, but surprisingly he gave in very soon

That's because he secretly loves it

He loves showing that you're his and he loves seeing you happy, that's both in one

You wanted to go to explore a new country, like somewhere in europe or in asia

But then you decided for the basic Maldives honeymoon, because with your work and his work, you don't really have time to relax this way

So you agreed on 10 days full of sea and beach and sun

Noah wanted to stay at thise little houses above water, but that would send you into a coma

Water scares you and you wouldn't sleep for the whole 10 days, thinking that some bigger wave could splash your house down

So you agreed on little house apartment close to the beach

There is something about traveling with your partner and you just love it

Sleepy drive to the airport, sleep some more on the flight and then yay you're in heaven

Sunscreen

I repeat, SUNSCREEN

Have you seen videos of Noah from festivals? Cause he was RED

And so are you, easy to get sunburned

So you both apply lots of sunscreen, looking funny

But you'd rather look funny then be in pain the next day

You spend lot of time in water too

You're snorkeling

Or you're racing like little kids, " I bet I can get faster to that rock than you"

Or you're just hugging each other, stealing little kisses once in a while

It's just easy to do these things when the beach is almost empty and most of the people don't know who Noah is

You do activities like going on a cruise or snorkeling lessons

Noah told staff of the complex you're in that you're newlyweds and that it's your honeymoon, so one night they surprise you with private dinner

There are candles, flowers, wine, lights and anything else you would want on a romantic dinner

There is also lots of different kinds of lingeries, different colors... do I need to say more

All of those things make the honeymoon feel like it lasted just 10 seconds, not 10 days

Before you know it you're on a flight back home

Sad it came to an end, but like happy sad?

You left just a few days after the wedding, now you were in your own bubble, so you're excited to see what marriage in everyday life will be

You're also both very happy with the way you live your life, so you're happy to come back to your home, to your jobs and friends

But you also agree that vacation like this every once in a while isn't bad idea

[nariism]

sea, swallow me

pair. itoshi sae x gn!reader

content: hurt/comfort, exes to friends (?)

synopsis. you and sae have a conversation by the ocean

wc: 2.6k

"do you believe in the saying 'right person, wrong time'?"

sae blinks, looking toward the water when you ask the question. it's getting cold outside - his fingers are red and numb and his cheeks hurt a little from the wind. the sun set what feels like eons ago, but when you're sitting next to him in the flesh he can't find it in himself to move.

he turns slowly to look at you. you, with your head resting on the knees pulled into your chest. you, with your hair blowing softly in the ocean breeze. you, with that stupidly hazy look in your eyes. distant. it makes his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. he might be ill.

"i don't know. maybe."

your gaze shifts to him suddenly and he nearly jolts out of his skin at the eye contact. you'd been refusing to look at him for the last while, not that he can blame you.

"maybe?" you repeat, looking away again and focusing on the little hole you're digging into the sand with your feet.

he doesn't respond to that, unable to acknowledge your words without the fear that the lump growing in his throat would turn into a sob. the silence stretches long and thin between you as you both sit there in the sand, listening to the waves crashing against the shore.

your relationship was always like that, too. pushing and pulling, water meeting the shoreline and then retreating again. over and over and over.

you notice his quietness, uncharacteristically heavy even for a man so stoic and blunt like him. "sorry. forget i asked."

sae nods, but the question still burns in his mind. he dares to look at you again, this time taking in everything that had changed about you. it'd been nearly a decade, after all. you had grown, matured, maybe gotten just a hair taller. you're still beautiful in a way that steals the air from his lungs and refuses to return it. he has to tear his eyes away from you again when he feels the desire to reach out and touch you, just to see if you're really there beside him. instead, he just sits still with his fingers twitching where they rest in his lap.

"how was your flight home?" you ask him, but you're not even sure if he would call japan home anymore with how long he's been gone.

"it was fine."

"that's good."

another awkward silence.

"did you have a good time in spain?" there's a bitter twinge in your voice. he's not surprised.

he nods again, even though he knows you're not looking. you continue anyways, because you know him so well. regardless of the years you have his every response mapped out.

"how was football? i saw some of your games on tv. it looked like fun. you were really amazing."

he swallows down the thickness in his throat at your words, still supportive even though he was chasing his dream instead of being with you. he still remembers the day he left, the day he stepped onto that plane and couldn't bear to look you in your eyes as he did so. he didn't even watch the airport disappear into the distance from the window. he couldn't. not knowing you were down there.

when he landed in europe he thought he only had two choices: the first was to break your heart gently, softly, delicately. break your heart in a way that would give you hope for his return home. break your heart in a way that would keep you loving him, clinging to the threads of your relationship despite the distance. his other option, of course, was to break your heart cruelly.

he didn't decide which he needed to do until he read his contract for royale and realized he would be in spain for much, much longer than anticipated.

and so he was merciless when he broke your heart. he didn't even spare you a goodbye, just blocking your number and severing all ties with you after giving you a prompt, underwhelming text explaining how he had fallen out of love with you. how you meant nothing to him. he thought he knew you. he thought this was the best for the both of you. he was just a stupid fucking teenager.

you and sae had grown up together. for as long as he could remember you were side by side. and so that night he closed his eyes, pictured the face you must be making as you read his text, and turned his phone off. being a childhood friend had its perks, but right now it was a heavy burden on his heart.

what followed was complete and utter radio silence. eventually you stopped counting the days, the months, the years, and gave up on contacting him ever again. it hurt. more than he would ever know, it hurt. it's why your first instinct when he showed up unannounced at your front door was for you to slam it in his face.

he's back in japan now and nostalgia claws at his throat until he can't breathe, just by simply being in your presence.

"yeah, it went well." and he doesn't elaborate any more than that. he doesn't know how much longer you'll tolerate sitting next to him, after all. he's not going to waste time talking about what he did in spain when you're so clearly irritated about it.

sae watches you carefully. your stare lingers on him for a moment too long before you're turning to face the sea again. "why'd you have to leave me behind?" you ask him with your voice low and eyes misty. a breeze blows the hair into your face and he can no longer see the expression you're making. that's better, he thinks. better for the heart pulsing weakly in his chest.

"i had to," he tells you matter-of-factly, like he always used to.

"i know. fuck, i get it. you went to go follow your dreams or whatever. i just wish i was a part of them." you sound frustrated beyond reason.

"maybe you could have been."

you laugh at this, dry and humourless and bitter. "yeah, right."

you hear him shuffle around a bit before he stands, towering over you. his hand extends out, a silent offer for you to take it. you, horrifically, do.

with the chilly wind of dusk growing wilder, the waves roll loudly onto the sand. you can hear as they crash rhythmically against the shore, even over the screaming of your heart in your ears. being beside him again is surreal, the warmth of his hand inviting you to crawl back into his arms.

"i missed you," you blurt out before you can even stop the words from tumbling. it's mortifying, the expression you make. if he weren't grieving what he lost right now, sae might have laughed. he makes a funny face at you instead, twisted up with guilt and an indescribable amount of anguish.

"i missed you, too. every day. every moment i was thinking about you," he finally lets out the words he'd been refusing to acknowledge for the better part of his adulthood. he says them so quietly, the statement carried away by the breeze.

you look unconvinced as you step away from him. one step back, then two, then you're standing out of reach from him. his heart aches dully in his ribcage.

you may (unfortunately still) love him, but you're not sure you can forgive him. not for leaving like he did. not for never calling. not for breaking your heart. not for showing up at your door without warning and dragging you out of the house on the first day he's back in japan.

his mouth opens and closes as you watch him wearily, unsure of what to say. unsure of how to make things right. unsure how he could ever forgive himself. emotion swims in his expression, though he does a better job at hiding it than a normal person would. nothing about itoshi sae is quite normal.

he stands there for a moment, allowing the rejection to sink in. he's torn between accepting your rejection or screaming into the night sky that he still loves you, that he wants to hold you and beg and grovel on his knees for your forgiveness even though he knows he doesn't deserve it. it's overwhelming and eventually he cracks, a choked sob leaving him.

he flushes partly in embarrassment and partly in shame while he allows himself to fall apart in front of you. he's always so level headed, cool and calm and collected and you're not sure you can vividly remember a time he cried other than when he fell off his bike when you were both nine and he scraped his chin on the pavement.

you hate seeing him cry. watching sae cry is like taking a dagger to the heart. you can feel the remorse in every sob that leaves his mouth, because he never does this - not for himself and certainly not for other people. you would feel flattered if it were any other circumstance.

so you sigh, swiftly stepping back into his arms and gathering his face into your hands. you guide him to your shoulder where you let him cry, just like you used to when you were kids.

he leans into you, arms staying by his side in fear that you might scurry away again if he tries to hold you. he lets out deep, shaking breaths as he tries to compose himself. he breathes in the smell of you, of your shampoo, of the spray you're wearing. it's intoxicating.

"i'm sorry."

"i know," you tell him. it doesn't go unnoticed that you leave out any signs of forgiveness.

"i regret it every day. i still do, even after all this time."

"do you?" you hum. your fingers run gently through his hair, brushing out the tangles that you used to scold him for not combing when you were younger.

your touch is driving him crazy. he wants to kiss you and hold you close and never let you go again. he loves you so much, it almost feels as if it'll consume and drown him like tides in the ocean if he doesn't tell you now. he doesn't, for his sake and yours.

"i never stopped thinking about you. i wanted to run back to you so many times - run home - but i couldn't. i was too much of a coward. so much time has passed now and i-..."

he's rambling and he knows it. you were the only person in the world that he could talk to about things like this. his best friend. not that the sentiment really held up after a decade apart. to your credit, you never did love another person the way you love sae. how can you just forget your first love?

he's silent for some time so you ask him quietly, "was it lonely?"

"yes," his answer is instantaneous. his voice shakes with grief, the realization of everything he lost crashing down on him like waves in the sea. he wants to grab you and scream in your face that some part of his soul still yearns for you. instead he just cries. "maybe i deserved it, though. for treating you the way i did."

you huff with what sounds like laughter, and for the first time in almost a decade his poor heart races in his chest. "rin always did badger me about that. asking why i was dating you when you were a jerk," you muse. there's not an ounce of malice behind your tone, no hidden sting. you're just reminiscing, he realizes. "that's okay. he didn't know his scary big brother was such a softie."

he grumbles a little in weak protest, face buried into your neck where his nose pokes into the skin. your body is so warm, the same way he remembers dreaming about it in spain.

"i'm sorry," he says again.

another sigh escapes you as you lightly pry him off your shoulder. you're frowning as you fret over him, taking his cheeks into your hands and twisting him around so you can examine him closely. your eyes drag all over his face, drinking in how much he's grown, how tired he looks and the bags under his eyes. he can't find it in himself to feel embarrassed anymore.

"come on, i'm here. don't cry," you coo at him, and he melts. you've never been good with sae when he cries, fumbling over what to do in these rare situations. your thumb grazes his cheek, wiping away the wetness that stains it. then it wipes at his lashes, drying the tears gathering in his eyes just from being touched by you again.

"how could i not? i messed up so bad."

sae feels like every moment in his life leading up until now has been nothing more than a series of failures. he crumbled in spain, changed his dream from being a striker to a midfielder, lost contact with rin, and most of all he hurt you. again and again, countless times.

most people would take one look at sae and think he has his whole life together. but you know him, sanity stitched loosely together every time he tries to pick himself back up again. he always thought that keeping his head high and loving forward despite his regrets would never catch up to him.

he was wrong. fuck, he was dead wrong. because now you're standing in front of him and he can't help but look back at all his mistakes and have his soul crushed. he was so selfish - taking from you whatever he could and you would always give everything to him, every part of you; soul and heart and flesh. he's surprised you aren't stripped bare to the bone with how much he's allowed himself to take without really having anything to return.

he can do better. he knows he can. he just had to lose you first to see it.

"i don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly.

"it doesn't have to be all at once. you can make it up to me little by little, y'know?"

you were always too nice to him. too good to such a selfish spoiled brat. you deserve better. he'll make sure to be everything you deserve this time around. to be loved and cherished and worshiped. hell, he'll kiss the ground you walk on just to prove it.

"okay..." he nods with his face still in your hands. "okay."

you're still his best friend after all these years apart. no matter the distance. no matter the time. how he couldn't see that when he was seventeen makes him want to go back and punch himself square in the jaw.

"so when is the right time?" he asks, "if i'm the right person."

you smile at him, for the first time since he's seen you, and he's falling apart all over again. there's a little amusement glimmering in your eyes. "how about we just catch up for now?"

"yeah, that..." sae swallows thickly. "that sounds great."

you're dragging him into an embrace faster than he can handle. he feels like he might turn to dust right now, or wake up back in spain like this was all some distant dream.

he holds you like the sea hugs the shore. like the horizon meets the sky. like he can finally breathe again.

"so tell me," your voice is sweet and kind in his ear, "is your spanish any good?"

he laughs.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[after-hours-art]

White Party and not so white lies

Pairing: Chuck Bass x plus size f!reader

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: language

Every relationship comes across some run-ins. Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf are no exception. Especially when their 'relationship' wouldn't be called a relationship per se. Spurned Blair brought herself a little English souvenir from Europe. And Chuck Bass didn't stay behind. So when they meet again in Hamptons before the start of the new academic year, both of them are torn by strong feelings. And the presence of you only adds the oil to the fire.

//

Hamptons isn't your go-to place to spend summer. You much prefer Italy. However, you let Chuck persuade you to join him and his step-siblings' friends there for the last week of summer vacation. Who would've thought that one night at the bar could spark a feeling in your local womanizer? Yet, it did. For two months, he was very much involved in the stirring of the relationship that grew between you two. 

You are resting on the lawn chair, pastel pink bikini with small daisy prints only adding character to your soft curves, when you suddenly hear sounds of the argument coming from the main house. You don't think much of it, after all arguments are fine between friends. The noises get louder and, therefore, closer, allowing you to unintentionally eavesdrop a big part of the heated conversation.

- You left me at the fucking airport! You can't expect me for like your new bitch.

- Don't call her that!

- So then you get to call James a British fraud?!

- The conversation is over, Blair. I hoped you two would like each other. She's literally another version of you but in Upper East Side. Classy, good student, knows her fashion. You two should click like freaking Siamese twins. She has more in common with you than you have with Serena.

- Screw you, Bass.

Loud sounds of heels hitting the wooden floor make you guess that you won't start a loving friendship with Blair. A shadow in the shape of cocky billionaire's kid falls on you.

- You're stealing my sun. - you say, tilting your head back a little to be able to look at shadow's owner.

- My apologies, but I can't have you burned in this sun. - soft, low voice works calming on you as Chuck leans down to kiss you, his hand automatically sliding down your arm in a soothing manner.

- So... I guess I'm not invited to the White Party anymore? - you ask once he breaks the kiss and sits on the lawn chair next to yours.

- And who told you that? - ha asks, his hand absently tracing small shapes on your outer thigh, enjoying feeling of your soft skin under his fingers.

- Well... told as much as I heard. 

Chuck smirks, scoffing a little.

- So you heard the whole... conversation? - he asks gently.

- You two were very loud and clear. - you murmur.

- And despite how loud and clear and hateful Blair Waldorf can be, she's also not the host. And Celia Rhodes loves you. And you're staying. I didn't suffer all those hours on shopping for your white dress for nothing. 

The last sentence makes you laugh. Chuck smiles himself, too. He loved your laughter from the moment he met you at the bar. His hand goes higher on your thigh as he leans closer to you, kissing you, his tongue gently nudges your lips, encouraging you to part them. Once you do so, his tongue slides in your mouth, tasting you, letting out slight moan. His hand moves to the edge of the bottom of your bikini. He breaks the kiss once you two need to breathe. His lips now travel along your jawline, moving how to your neck, delicately kissing all the sensitive spots. 

- God, you're divine - he murmurs against your collarbone, using all his willpower to not leave a hickey, as you forbidden him from doing so for the sake of the White Party. Showing up with a love bite, even when in a relationship, would be considered a bad taste in the eyes of older guests. His kisses travel across your collarbones, slowly down to your sternum when...

- For the love of... get a damn room. - Serena says as she and Blair walk out from the house. - Oh, hi Y/N. - the blonde smiles when she spots you as she throws her towel on the lawn chair. Blair's gaze sends daggers in your direction as she walks past you to join her friend. Chuck pulls away from you and sighs.

- Hello to you too, sister dearest. - Chuck mutters, still looking pisses at Blair, who pretends that you both are not here.

- Hey, you coming to the party? - Serena asks you.

- Y-yes... - you say, looking at Chuck as if searching for his support, which you get in the form of kiss on the cheek.

- Come. - Chuck says as he gets up, offering you his hand to help you get up. - We'll 'get a room' like ladies here suggest. 

You sigh and nod. You never intended to fight with Blair. You didn't even know that she and Chuck had some unfinished business until he told you that when you got to Hamptons. You get off the lawn chair, following Chuck as he leads you in the house. Blair looks over her shoulder, glancing how you wide hips sways as you follow her... your Chuck. Her stomach twisting with jealousy at the sole thought of you and him in bed. 

- God, that he had to bring her with him. - Blair scoffs and turns to Serena, getting back to the conversation they had.

- So, you didn't you anything whole summer? 

//

You stand in front of the mirror at the hallway, waiting for Chuck to join you. As you adjust your hair, suddenly, a reflection of Blair appears in the mirror.

- You know... James is just the best. - she says, playing with her hair.

- That British guy?

She rolls her eyes when you call her newest love interest that. 

- Yeah... 'the British guy'. - she says, in her mouth, making it sound like an insult.

- Well... good for you. - you say, adjusting the strands of your hair before you put on Harry Winston's silver necklence that perfectly puts your outfit together. Blair makes a disgusted face. 

- As if you could bring any more attention to your cleavage... - she mutters, putting on transparent lip gloss. You turn your head and glance at her.

- As if you could act more jealous. - you talk back, your voice dripping with a mixture of sarcasm and kindness, and put on a smile when you see Chuck coming from the upstairs. - Have fun at the party. And please, Blair, try to behave civil. I didn't steal your boyfriend, I merely was in the right place at the right time. - you add and walk over to your boyfriend, leaving Blair with parted lips and expression of disbelief. She sees red when Chuck greets you with a kiss, his hand travelling to your hair, then your cheek. 

- Damn that mother-chucker... - she scoffs, walking out to the garden with the most charming smile, as she looks for James.

You stand with a glass of white sweets wine next to your boyfriend as you and his step-grandmother are having a delightful conversation about the garden designer. Cece goes on and on about the flowers, the prices, and costs of maintaining. You feel Chuck's hand gripping tightly on your waist. You look at the white rose bush that Cece is showing you, and over it spot Blair kissing her date right in front of two of you and Chuck. James leaves once he sees you two he realises why she has done it. You look up at your boyfriend, seeking any signs of jealousy, but you don't find any. Instead, he leans to your ear and whispers.

- I told you not to worry about Blair. - he says in low voice, the kind that drips with desire and makes you shiver. - I love you. And I thought I made it pretty clear in bed this morning... - he says, kissing the nape of your neck when Cece turns to call Serena over to you. You don't answer, putting your hand over his in acknowledgment of his words as you watch Blair run after James, partially feeling bad for her, but after all she's just using the poor guy to make Chuck jealous. Feel Chuck take your glass from your hand.

- I'll go refresh your drink, princess. - he says and disappears in the crowd.

You walk over to Jenny and Erik with whom you connected pretty well, given that they're similiar age to your younger siblings who unfortunately couldn't make it to Hamptons as they are doing mini tourne around Western Europe as your sisters wants to go to boarding school for high school. You feel a pang of jealousy in your stomach when you see Chuck talking to Blair. Million thoughts run through your head as you see them. What seems like an argument between them two might be as well a conversation or some form of a twisted foreplay. 

- You okay, Y/N? - Jenny asks and looks in the same direction that you do, her smile slowly fading as she spots Blair with whom she still has tense relations. 

- Yeah... I'm okay. - you say. - Excuse me... - you say and put the glass on the bar when you see Blair walk past you and walk through the house. You follow her to the front of the van der Woodsen's summer house. You walk to the door, stopping halfway when you see her with Chuck again. You swallow nervously, leaning against the door frame. You're too far to hear, but you can only try and read the expressions. At least for a moment before a car stops in front of the entrance and covers your view. Minutes pass when she spots you, walking in your direction. 

- He lied. - she says as she passes you. - He loves me. You are just... a summer fling.

You grab her and stop her mid-step.

- What do you mean? 

- That Chuck and I are meant to be. All this time with you, he was just licking his wounds.- she says as she yanks her arm out of your grip. You stare blankly, your eyes following her.

You rush to catch up to her when you accidentally hit against someone's chest.

- Oh my.. I'm so sorry... - you look up to see who you bumped into. - James

- No need to, dear. And.. my name is actually Marcus. - he smiles and looks at you. - Have you perhaps seen Blair? She vanished into thin air when I went for refreshments. 

- I think I know with whom... - you say, your glare telling it all as you see Marcus clenching his jaw.

- She told me that it's over between them. - he says, visibly pissed.

- He told me he loves me so I know how you feel. - you murmur. He looks at you. 

- You'd look like young Queen Victoria if you'd tie your hair up. - he smiles. - Allow me... - he gently touches your hair and tries to recreate for the memory how the queen had her hair styled in the painting. He carefully holds your hair in place, nudging you to look in the mirror. You chuckle and smile seeing your reflection, as your generous figure and put-up hair now really makes you resemble Queen Victoria when she was young. 

- You aren't wrong, Marcus. - you smile at your reflection. - I'm sorry Blair is... well, Blair. You don't seem like a bad guy.

- And you don't seem like a woman that should've been left alone. Someone might want to steal you. - he let go of your hair, letting the strands fall freely on your shoulders. He reaches his hand out to you. 

- Mind if I'll keep you company? 

- Two abandoned lovers? - you chuckle and take his arm. You are hurt indeed that Chuck has been playing a perfect boyfriend whole summer only to tell his ex lover that he loves her. But you can't be angry, feelings aren't to be controlled. You just regret that he can play two fronts so well, make passionate love to you, and then confess love to her. You let Marcus lead you as he starts talking about England. You smile seeing how you two partners shoot confused gazes when you and Marcus step in the garden. You see Chuck walk directly at you two, his expression at least pissed.

- What the hell you're doing with her? - he asks.

- Did you lose Blair in the crowd? I simply assumed you two are each other plus ones by now. - you say, still holding the Englishman's hand.

- What the hell? Y/N, what crazy idea was born in that pretty head of yours?

- Idea? You should tell us why you and Blair are sneaking around confessing love. 

- We didn't confess anything! Y/N, don't make things up.

- I'm not making anything up. And don't yell. People are starting to stare. - you scold your... your still boyfriend.

- Then what gave you that idea? Haven't I spent summer with you? Haven't I brought you to Hamptons? Haven't I bought you this dress? Did I spend a moment away from you? 

- You did. - you say and let go of Marcus's forearm. - You met Blair in front of the house. You said that you love her. End of story. 

- You met... Dear God... - he scoffs, now looking purely mad. He takes a sip of whiskey from his glass. - I fucking told her that I don't want her anymore. That I have you. That the Birt can have her.

You and Marcus stare at Chuck dumbfounded as you try to connect the dots.

- Why would she lie? - you murmur, feeling a hand landing on your waist. You look up to realise that it's Chuck's.

- Because she's Blair. What other reason do you need? - he scoffs and looks at Marcus with glare that unequivocally says to get the hell away from you. 

- Blair! - Marcus looks agitated as she makes her way to your little gathering. Brunette walks to you with a smile that slowly disappears. 

- What? - she asks, confused by your faces.

- Did you tell my girlfriend that I love you? - Chuck asks. - Right after I told you that I'm no longer interested in you?

Blair shrugs her shoulders. 

- You do. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? You look at me like a lost puppy. - she says and then looks at you. - Besides, he'd cheat on you sooner or later. I wanted to save you the humiliation and trouble. A little white lie in a good cause. - she smiles innocently.

- I wouldn't cheat on Y/N. - Chuck looks offended, though fidelity isn't his strongest forte. He never really had a girlfriend, more of a collection of one-night-stands.

- Chuck. You would. - she says, walking away. Marcus follows behind her, leaving you and Chuck alone. You turn to him, letting go of his hand. He looks confused by your action. 

- Y/N. Please. I wouldn't cheat on you. Ever. 

- Yet she said that you would. She knows you her whole life. Two months are like nothing next to that. 

- Y/N... - he tries to take your hand, but you slide it from his fingers. - Y/N, please. 

- Did you love her? - you ask quietly. 

- In past tense. In past tense, yes, I did love Blair Waldorf. But now I love you Y/N Y/L/N. Get that in your pretty her of yours. - he says, looking more pissed off than before, apparently not being a fan of talks of this kind. 

- Just... leave me alone for now. - you say and turn around to make your way back to the house. Chuck sighs and looks behind you, keeping an eye on your till you disappear behind a corner. He finds the bar and pours himself a glass of whiskey, already wondering how to fix the situation that he has never had before. He loves you. He's sure of that. Wanting to introduce you to his father and Lily. He takes a sip of the brown liquid, letting the alcohol burn his throat and hopefully also the knot in his stomach. He closes his eyes, recalling everything her had shared with Blair, past two months with you, every 'relationship' he ever had. The conversation with Blair plays in his head replays in his head. Hearing the sound of heels in the hallway, he walks there, hoping to find you, but he finds Blair. 

- Why did you do this? - he asks. 

- You think your girlfriend would be happy if i said that I asked you for 'I love you' and you just froze instead of saying that you love her? - she asks. - Now, at least, you saved your face. I don't mind being the bad guy. 

- Why did you do that? - he asks again. His gaze finds hers, the tension in the air cumulates with each second. 

- A sweet girl like Y/N doesn't deserve an unsure relationship. And I hope she'll realise it soon. 

- She just did. - you say softy, your voice filled with a feeling of betrayal.

Blair and Chuck jump away from each other as you emerge from the start behind the wall. Your expression looks broken. 

- Y/N... - Chuck starts, but you raise your hand, signaling him to stop. You look at Blair, her heart clenching as she recognises the look. It's the same that she had when she realised that Chuck had left her at that handicap. She finally sighs, pushing the strand of brown hair behind her ear.

- I... I gotta go. Marcus is waiting for me. You two... figure it out, I guess. - she puts her hand on your shoulder as he passes you. - I tried to save you from this. - she says before walking to the entrance, walking out to the red car. 

Your eyes are locked on Chuck's. His body yearns to you. He'd fall on his knees if that would make you forgive him.

- Y/N... 

- I asked if you love her. You said that it was past. Past lovers don't look at each other like that. 

He grabs your hand. 

- Y/N. I love you. Please, believe me.

- She just lied for you. How am I supposed to believe you? 

He pulls you closer. His lips naturally find yours, his right hand holding your cheek, his left hand gripping gently on his waist, his fingers digging in the soft flesh. When he finally breaks the kiss, he doesn't let go of you. 

- I love you. I do. I'm sorry for the lie, I'm sorry for Blair's jealousy, I'm sorry that I acted somehow jealosu of Marcus when I was supposed to worship the goddess I have in my arms right now. Please, Y/N, if you give me a second chance, I swear I won't let you down. - he says, emotions pouring from his words, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. - Please.

Chuck Bass is begging you. Not that he isn't capable of begging it's just... it's not an everyday sight. Begging Chuck Bass. You stare blankly at him. You gently grab his wrists and push his hands away from you. 

- If you love her... - you start.

- I don't. - he interrupts you.

- ... then go after her. 

Chuck's breathing becomes a little heavier, his mind not able to wrap around the idea of leaving you and going after Blair. You slowly take a couple of steps back, ready to leave to your room and start packing. 

- Thanks for the summer, Chuck.

You start walking up the stairs. He stands at the first step and watches you go upstairs before he rushes after you. He finds you in your room, and your luggage opens on your bed as you start packing. He grabs your wrist and spins you around so you face him.

- Y/N, listen. - he says, his voice low and filled with heavy emotions. - I want you. I love you.

- You can't love two people in the same ti-

- You are second. - he says, cutting off your words. - You can't love two people because if you fall in love with the second one, you never loved the first person to begin with, I know that. And I fell in love with you. Not in a twisted way. We don't need games. I love you for you. Please, believe me. - his thumbs caress your soft cheeks. 

- You can't have it all, Chuck. - you warn him.

- I already have it all. Here. In my arms. - he says, pulling you into a gentle kiss, slowly deepening it. At first you don't return the favour but second later you give in the feeling. You kiss him back, biting onto his lower lip, earning a low, deep moan from him. You finally break the kiss, your eyes a little red from a couple of tears you shredded before. He gently holds you, his forehead resting against yours.

- I love you. Stay with me, I will serve my redemption however you'll like. I'll be just like during summer. 

- Chuck... - you gently push him away. - I think we should take a break. Reevaluate.

His expression looks broken, but seeing your serious expression, he only nods. 

- So... you wanna get back to New York now? - he asks gently. Once you nod, he starts folding clothes on your bed.

- I'll help you pack. And I'll have Arthur drive you. - he says, helping you pack, his eyes locked on you the whole time.

// October

Summer faded, and world turned red, orange and brown. It's officially autumn and start of your senior year in high school. But even the coldest days aren't scary to you, especially when you get a good warm-up running around the stylish, expensive stores with your unlikely best friend.

- Retail therapy is the best. - Blair chuckles as you two walk out of Chanel store, your maids behind you carrying bags from your 6th Avenue shopping spree. After the summer in Hamptons, you bumped into Blair at the Fashion Week, and just like Chuck had predicted before, you two somehow clicked. Now you see each other at least once a week to gossip, study together, or just for lunch. It's definitely not a lie that the best people come unexpectedly.

- Speaking of the best... - she grabs your arm, making you stop. She points at your car against which leaning is no other but Charles Bass. His head is slightly lowered as he smells the bouquette in his hands - your favourite flowers. You stop breathing for a second. 

- Go. You have no idea how much he missed you. - Blair says, clearly excited at your reunion.

- Missed me? - you ask confused. - He never called nor texted me.

- He gave you the space you asked for. Instead, he gained all information from me once he saw us on Gossip Girl together. It's like a daily interrogation, and questions are all about you. - she gently pushes you forward. - Go get your Bass back so he'll get off my back. 

Chuck lifts his head, turning in your direction. His eyes instantly lighten up, his expression softening as his eyes take in all of your persona, from the lovely autumn coat to the rose from the cold wind cheeks. You stare at him for a longer while, unsure what to do, finally choosing to walk in his direction. 

- Hi - you say hesitantly once you're few steps from him.

- Autumn is your time of the year. - he says, admiring the way beige sweater matches, the dark orange skirt hugs your hips, and your soft thighs are covered with burgundy tights. - This colour scheme on you could only compete with that pink bikini and white dress you wore this summer. - he says softly and hands you the flowers. - Blair probably told you already that I asked her about your favourite flowers. I hope you like them. - he smiles when you bury your nose in the flowers. You smile as soft petals touch your face. His hand gently goes to your hand, his thumb caressing top of your palm.

- Thank you. - you say and look at him. - But why?

- Because I can't give you space for more than two months. It has been hell keeping myself away, having Blair and Gossip Girl as my only source of information about you. - he gently squeezes your hand. - I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm sorry for what happened at the White Party. I love you. I never stopped loving you. And I promise that I will be the best boyfriend you'd ever have. 

You stare at him, turning your head to look over your shoulder at Blair. The brunette nods her head, and so does Dorota and your maid to encourage you to say 'yes' to Chuck. You turn back to the man and sigh.

- You mean it? - you ask hesitantly.

- I do. I love you. - Chuck says softly, his right hand finding your cheek, his left slightly squeezing your waist as he gently pulls you closer, your foreheads almost touching. - I never loved anyone or anything as much as I love and adore you, Y/N. - he says, leaning closer to you, his lips hovering over yours. Your eyes remain locked on his, his gaze soft and adoring. You lean closer and kiss him, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you closer, wishing that he won't even have to let you go. You deepen the kiss, pouring into it all the feeling that you kept hidden for the past two months. 

- I love you... - Chuck murmurs against your lips once you break the kiss to catch a breath. - Come with me. I'm sure Blair can finish her shopping on her own.

You turn to your friend, who shows you a big smile and thumbs up. You nod and turn to Chuck.

- Okay. - you say, not controlling how wide and happy your smile is. Chuck's heart swells with love at this sight. He opens the door to his limo for you.

- Ladies first, princess. - he smiles, his eyes never leaving you as you get inside. He follows you, shutting the door. He takes his seat next to you and hands you a glass with your favourite wine. 

- No tell me all about those two boring months when you wanted space. - he smiles, sipping on his whiskey as the car enters the traffic on busy New York streets.

[esoteric-chaos]

ELVES - History & Personal Experience

(This post is cross posted from The Cobalt Athenaeum. My personal post)

Some of this is UPG as there's not much accounts of people working with Elves. All historical information is linked within sources.

“An elf (pl.: elves) is a type of humanoid supernatural being in Germanic folklore.” - Wikipedia However, it is important to note that elves do not just exist within Germany, but we will get into that later. Elves generally seem to have been thought of as beings with magical powers, and were very beautiful, on the fence towards humans, and capable of helping or hindering people. However, these beliefs have varied over time and have been altered in both pre-Christian and Christian cultures.

Appearance

Elves are seen as humanoid, in some folklore either being seen as tall, small and/or even invisible. Light elves (who were fair) and dark elves (who were darker than pitch) in Norse mythology. It was explained that Light Elves were "fairer than the sun to look at" and Dark Elves dwelled within the earth and have a dark complexion. These specific descriptions strike similarity to the Scottish Seelie court and the Unseelie court. From my accounts with them, in my mind's eye, I see Light Elves a bit different as stated in folklore. However, “fairer than the sun to look at” is extremely accurate for Light Elves. Light Elves have hair pure white, that shine you get when the sun hits snow or they have blond hair, the colour of molten gold. Eyes pupilless, grey or blue. Skin is made up of light, shining bright yet does not hurt the eyes. While I have not been in contact with Dark Elves as they live underground, I have been told by these Elves what they look like. Dark Elves have hair blueish black in most cases, I have heard stories of some having brown but I have not come across such yet. Eyes are also pupilless, grey or blue, a contrast to their skin being an inky darkness like the night sky. Somehow, it also still radiates out. Mind you Elves while being humanoid in appearance, do not appear as a true human. With sharp pointed ears, long hair, tall and genderless, they are more of a silhouette to me, a glowing one. A glowing humanoid light, with no features but their eyes. A very interesting experience.

Behavior

The notable characteristics of elves were mischief and volatility, people even feared them. While often known to be sociable and even friendly with humans, but were still greatly feared because of their temperament. Quick to punish if felt wronged or harmed in a way. Punishments included disease, night terrors, and cruel tricks and attacks directed toward the victim. However, It is noted that elves sometimes helped cure diseases in some myths. They are similar to the nymphs in this case in folklore. Stemming from Germanic Folklore, they were believed at various times and in various regions to cause diseases in humans and cattle, as they sit upon the chest of a sleeper and give them bad dreams (the German word for nightmare is Alpdrücken, or “elf-pressure”), and to steal human children and substitute out changelings (weak elf or fairy children).

Elves Lore

The name elf is found throughout the Germanic languages and may have originally meant 'white being'. However, reconstructing the early concept of an elf depends largely on texts written by Christians, in Old and Middle English, medieval German, and Old Norse. The Norse associated elves variously with the gods of Norse mythology, with causing illness, with magic, and with beauty and seduction. After the medieval period, the word elf tended to become less common throughout the Germanic languages.

Elves were talked about less in German folklore over time. Elfish beings appear to have been a common characteristic within European folklore. In the Celtic-speaking regions of northwest Europe, these beings that were most similar to elves were referred to by the Gaelic term Aos Sí.

The equivalent term in modern Welsh is Tylwyth Teg. In the Romance-speaking world, beings comparable to elves are widely known by words derived from the Latin Fata ('Fate'), which came into English as a fairy. This word became partly synonymous with elf by the early modern period. Elves appear in Asia and Oceania folklore, potentially as some scholars draw parallels between the Arabian tradition of Jinn.

Khmer culture in Cambodia includes the Mrenh kongveal, elfish beings associated with guarding animals. In Māori culture, Patupaiarehe are beings similar to European elves and fairies. Orang bunian are supernatural beings in Malaysian, Bruneian and Indonesian folklore, invisible to most humans except those with “spiritual sight”. While the term is often translated as "elves", it translates to "hidden people" or "whistling people". Their appearance is nearly identical to humans dressed in an ancient Southeast Asian style. In the pre-colonial beliefs of the Philippines, the world can be divided into the material world and the spirit world. All objects, animate or inanimate, have a spirit called anito.

Non-human anito is known as diwata, usually euphemistically referred to as dili ingon nato ('those unlike us'). They have natural features like mountains, forests, old trees, caves, etc, as well as abstract concepts and natural phenomena. They are similar to elves in that they can be helpful or hateful but are usually indifferent to humans. Spanish colonizers compared them with elves and fairy folklore.

There are stories in Christian tales as well but I’m running out of space. As you can see there's a rich history all over of accounts of Elves. There is no singular account for Elves or the location where they originated.

Are Elves Fae?

If we are looking at my personal account, they are either fae or fae equivalent. They certainly have a likeness to fae. Especially coming from the word Fata, which was translated to Fairy. While maybe they are not fairies themselves (or maybe they are), they most certainly are at least a branch of the fae. However, that is my own opinion.

How do I work with Elves?

Treat them with caution as you would with working with Fae. I mean this seriously. They follow the same rules as such and will severely cause ill will to your life if you cause them any sort of disrespect. Treat them with the respect they deserve and you’ll be fine. I will be making a general post on working with Fae, any dangers and proper procedures for respect.

They can be worked as they know alchemy, glamours, healings, disease magic, domination work, elemental magic and much more.

They can aid you in confidence and how to steel your resolve while being able to let loose your mischievous side.

Where Can I Find Them?

You can find them wherever nature resides, either on land or around caves. They roam cities where the grass is green and where the cracks are in concrete with life pushing through. You’ll find them in lush forests of the country side, roaming forests and watching over wildlife.

You’ll find them while caving, watching from the dark. You can call upon them by simply putting it out there that you’d like to interact. They can be curious, but not all will approach as some are hesitant about humans. When they do, follow the similar rules of our working with the fae channel. You can speak to them through divination methods or clairsenses, they are quick to respond.

Sources

Dökkálfar and Ljósálfar. (2024, July 14). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dökkálfar_and_Ljósálfar Elf. (2024, August 27). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elf Encyclopædia Britannica, inc. (2024, July 26). Elf. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/elf-mythology Atlas MythicaAtlas Mythica is a publication written by a collective of scholars and educators in the field of history. (2023, October 13). Light & Dark Elves Norse mythology (Ljösalfar & Dökkalfar). Atlas Mythica. https://atlasmythica.com/ljosalfar-dokkalfar-alfheim-norse-elves/ More Images to Reference

[onecornerface]

Flat Earth community - rife with scandals & assholes

Many of the high-profile flat-earthers are awful people, and the community more generally is horrendous and filled with scandals. I'll discuss several examples.

cw: rape, child abuse

David Weiss sells a flat earth “friend finder” app–he has sold thousands of copies. The app also pretends to use flat-earth assumptions to predict the locations of the sun, moon, and constellations at all times. But in fact, the app just takes this information from sources that use the *globe* to make these predictions.

This is a consistent pattern: Flat-earthers make predictions only by stealing from the globe. Steven Alonzo also does this constantly. They can’t make *any* accurate predictions on flat-earth assumptions.

And for several months, David’s app has been wildly insecure. It is possible for you to *easily* obtain the usernames and passwords and specific GPS locations (!!!) of everyone who has used the app. This is likely illegal, or at least against European law (given that some users are in Europe). David knows this, and he has refused to fix the problem. This is an ongoing situation that I’ve been following.

One of the biggest flat-earth podcasters, Nathan Oakley, has made thousands of episodes. He constantly yells at people on his podcast, especially when they know basic math better than him. He even yells maniacally in front of his children, and appears to have slapped his child on stream (audio) at least once.

Nathan Thompson (a different Nathan) has also yelled at children. He posted a video of himself berating a school yard full of children, telling them about flat earth. He was arrested later for this. Thompson has also been tricked by fake “Harvard scientists” in chicken suits into taking part in an obviously fake experiment, in which Thompson himself had to wear a chicken suit. Other flat-earthers made fun of him for getting trolled, but Thompson insisted the “Harvard scientists” were legit for days afterwards. He also insists the Jews are in charge of the conspiracy to hide the true shape of the earth.

Austin Witsit has also been arrested at least once. He got arrested for shouting at bystanders about flat earthism at Mount Rushmore. The whole ordeal is on video. The police-interaction watchdog channel “Audit the Audit” reviewed the footage–and this is a rare incident where the police are given a perfect score for how they handled the situation. Austin made the police look good–an incredible achievement.

For years, all the top flat-earthers have said they wanted to go to Antarctica. Austin Witsit was one of the few flat-earthers who finally went there, in December 2024, in “The Final Experiment” (which I’ve made many posts about). Austin has not renounced flat earth, but he’s been rejected by the community simply for going to Antarctica–the thing that all flat-earthers have always said they wanted to do. Many other flat-earthers, including Nathan Oakley, now treat Austin like shit. Oakley’s treatment of Austin on his podcast is, frankly, disgusting.

Patricia Steere has been one of the few people who seriously tried to make the flat earth community warmer and kinder. A few flat-earthers appreciated her efforts (such as Mark Sargent and David Weiss, at least for a while), but many others did not. The flat earth community is *extremely* sexist, which is likely part of why there are so few women in it (and possibly vice versa). Patricia has been constantly attacked for being a woman–and has often been accused of being trans (“really a man”). There have been years of intense transvestigation against her by other flat-earthers.

Eric Dubay, one of the most popular flat-earth YouTubers, has made several videos in which he wears a dress to make fun of Patricia and repeatedly accuse her of being a trans woman. Let that sink in: Eric is a cis man who wears a dress as his way of accusing a cis woman of being a trans woman. (As Jeran said on a different topic: “Hm, interesting.”)

And when another flat-earther (Antonio Subirats) raped Patricia, many flat-earthers sided with the rapist. The flat-earth community is toxic, vicious, and bigoted in pretty much every way.

Lastly, Jeran Campanella was one of the few intellectually honest flat-earthers (but was still an asshole). Now, after ten years of flat earth advocacy, he has finally recognized the evidence for the round earth, and has denounced flat earthism. In response, many flat-earthers, including former friends of his, are calling him a shill, a “globetard,” and a “globecuck.”

[mariana-oconnor]

His Last Bow

Hey Tumblr,

I have 0 idea what happens in this story. Kind of hoping it's a bit like Curtain, the last Poirot story, because that's a bop. Well, it's very depressing, but I love the solution. Although I also really hope it isn't, because then Agatha Christie would have copied that and I really don't want that to be the case.

I also really want ACD to have done something insanely over the top and decisive to make it really clear that this time there would be no retconning. Like... idk, the world being invaded by aliens. Sherlock Holmes stealing the crown jewels and being executed for treason. Mycroft turning out to have been a double agent all along and destroying the entire British Empire.

I'm no longer feverish, although my lungs are still trying to propel themselves out of my body in a way that keeps leaving me a little asphyxiated, so that's fun. But no jellyfishifters this time I expect. Or sea turtles... Yeah, Idk either.

It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August—the most terrible August in the history of the world.

Oh Watson, you sweet summer child. I bet I've seen worse Augusts. Even if Holmes does die in this one.

The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west.

London... is now... a hellmouth?

Are we not in London? Is that the city from a distance. Where are we? Why is the sky split open? What is going on?

The two famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk...

The only two famous Germans. Ever. You know... those two.

Oh, so we're actually in the 'Sherlock is a spy' period. Weirdly I assumed that that was only going to be referenced. But no, we're actually going there.

So the red line is... the war front?

One of these was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to London.

Is the Baron compensating for something? Maybe.

But we're not in London and we're not near the war front, so... what is that red slash in the sky. Is it London?

This is probably not the mystery I am meant to be trying to solve. I should pay more attention to the espionage and less to the environs.

“They are not very hard to deceive,” he remarked. “A more docile, simple folk could not be imagined.”

Someone has not been down the pub when the home team is playing. Hoo boy. Docile is not a word I would use...

"One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact."

That is, indeed, what she said.

“Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations."

Oh boy. I don't think you mean what I'd mean by those words, but yet you have still brought upon me a great sense of national shame and wincing.

"I was invited to a week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversation was amazingly indiscreet.”

Given the general level of OpSec shown by government workers, bankers, and just... everyone within these stories, I cannot say that this surprises me. I'm disappointed, but not surprised. The majority of government people we have met have been entire and total imbeciles in the matter of privacy, data protection and general best practices regarding secrecy.

“No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it.”

Ugh, I hate this guy.

“And all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork—genius!”

I will say, they're commenting on other people not being discreet, and here they are just laying out everything without even a hint of subtlety. Using people's names. confirming their identities, confirming their true purposes. Unless this, in itself, is a subterfuge... They're not at a party, at least, I suppose.

“You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four years in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?”

This all feels very Cask of Amontillado, don't you think?

Is Van Bork Sherlock?

He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. Only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest.

Oh. My. God. Did someone just use basic security protocols to prevent someone from listening or looking in on them? Be still my beating heart. I might faint.

I am so confused about who is speaking right now. I need more dialogue tags. I have lost track. These two have merged into one very confused spy with multiple personalities. Or maybe just two heads. I don't know.

“Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed."

If that wasn't Sherlock or Mycroft, then I don't know who it was because every time the Admiralty has been in these stories they have been incompetent to the point of deliberate treason.

Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. — —Altamont.

Is Altamont Holmes?

“You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”

I take back that gif from earlier. Don't tell people the code words. Good grief, man! You've just compromised all of those phrases. I get that you're providing exposition for the audience, but still. STILL.

"I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American.”

Fair.

...at a touch from the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled.

Is the car alive? I don't like this description.

“Those are the lights of Harwich, I suppose,” said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat.

THANK YOU!

It's Harwich... No hellmouth, just Harwich. Mystery solved.

"The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good Zeppelin promises us comes true."

Oh, you mean the bustle in the hedgerow? No... don't be alarmed about that. It's just a spring clean for the May Queen. Or if you're talking about the piper, he's just leading us to reason. It's really nothing to be worried about.

...beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her. “That is Martha, the only servant I have left.” The secretary chuckled. “She might almost personify Britannia,” said he, “with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence."

Is Martha Holmes?

Honestly, that makes a lot of sense.

Or Holmes could be the kitty cat.

It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself.

DANCE PARTY TIME

“You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister,” he cried. “I'm bringing home the bacon at last.”“The signals?”“Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi—a copy, mind you, not the original."

No. No. No.

This is not how you do a treasonous handover of government secrets. I don't care how empty you think the goddamned house is. You don't say the actual thing. YOU USE THE CODEWORDS. THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE CODES. YOU UTTER NUMPTIES!

Fuck you both. You're morons. What even is this? This isn't espionage. This is slapstick.

Good lord.

I... I despair.

I guess if you're this good at it, then it's no wonder that even the bloody Admiralty managed to get a clue.

Mycroft's probably been feeding you information for years, you muppets.

It's the incompetence that gets to me, it really is. If you're going to be moustache twirling evil German spies then at least have the self-respect and decency to be good at it.

This is pathetic.

The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it.

Oh yeah, this is Holmes, isn't it?

You couldn't even pretend to be good at being a traitor?

“So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that I had it made, and what do you think I chose for the word and figures?”

O

h

m

y

g

o

d

Tell me you're not about to do what I think you're about to do.

Please.

Tell me you have one braincell in your tiny head. PLEASE. You cannot be this dumb. YOU CANNOT BE!

“Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and here we are.”

And you're being dumb by trying to show off how smart you are. That's the worst kind.

“How could they have got on to Steiner?” he muttered. “That's the worst blow yet.”

You literally just told a man your safe combination. I don't know what to tell you, my dude. Maybe you're just bad at this.

Then he sat dazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face.

“Another glass, Watson!” said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended the bottle of Imperial Tokay. The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushed forward his glass with some eagerness.

Didn't call the chauffeur being Watson. Discounted him as Holmes for being too thickset. I guess since it's indicated Watson might have written this one I should have thought about Watson as well. Genuinely didn't think he'd be in this one, though.

"There is no one in the house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration."

So Martha was working for Holmes this whole time. I think she wins the prize for being the best spy in the story.

"I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to-morrow as I was before this American stunt—I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled—before this American job came my way.”

Oh no! Holmes used the word 'stunt' how scandalously unEnglish of him!

"The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people."

Guess the Admiralty is worse than even I gave them credit for.

The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion.

No... no... Holmes. You're not monologuing in front of the enemy prisoner. Don't do that. I believed in you.

"And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs.”

...don't tell him where you live...

I give up.

“And most of that information came through you,” he cried. “What is it worth? What have I done? It is my ruin forever!” “It is certainly a little untrustworthy,” said Holmes. “It will require some checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster.”

god fucking dammit

Why are you telling him about the misinformation? The misinformation is meant to misinform. That's why it's called misinformation. You're undoing half of the work you did.

I... guys... guys, I just can't.

“My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us ‘The Dangling Prussian’ as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far."

Did he just threaten Van Bork with hanging. By referencing a possible pub name? A+ threat, but yikes.

The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him.

They just... they just left him alone.

And went and had a chat.

I don't even know why I thought they'd drive him away immediately. Why would they?

"I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can.”

Such a weird line to end this on. OK then Holmes. Go cash your cheque.

And that was the last of the short stories... It didn't quite have the same poignancy as Curtain. But it certainly gave me a lot to talk about.

This has been a really fun year and I've loved writing these up - and spending far too long finding gifs and sometimes making my own memes when I couldn't find the precise thing I needed to say.

If you've read all of these, I have no idea why, but Hi! 2023 was certainly a year, wasn't it? Thanks to all of you. It's been really fun reading comments and learning things when people added to the notes to answer questions I'd asked.

I hear we're doing the novels next year. I have definitely actually read all of those. But I do get them all mixed up, and I will have forgotten a lot of them. I think I also signed up for another substack, but right now I can't even remember which one. That'll be a fun surprise.

Hope you all had a good, or at least not terrible, 2023. And I hope we all have a better 2024.

Happy (almost) New Year!

[stellacartography]

So @fluffbruary is almost over but time is meaningless and I don't have enough of it so here we go.

This doesn't have a title yet but it will when it moves to ao3.

Day 1 - dark

The early evening dark closed in on the windows of his office at the Diogenes Club. There was a little more daylight every day, the sun stealing back the evening hours in increments of minutes.

Mycroft had retired to the club when his task list had doubled in length at the end of a particularly trying day, which fell at the end of a busier than average week in an interminable month. He longed for a break. He would gladly contract an inconvenient illness if it meant he could justify a week in bed at this stage.

When he arrived he'd called for the vegetable soup and the bowl sat empty as his stomach felt on the corner of the desk. He couldn't explain the hunger that had been plaguing him for the last few weeks. Normally when he was occupied with work, his body's cries for attention went unnoticed –sometimes for days before he deigned to heed them. Yet, recently, it was as though its clamourings had been amplified. Every craving for sweet, rich food, every longing for rest or respite, every yearning to fill the nameless unfathomable emptiness in the back of his mind were now so augmented, he could scarcely ignore any of them.

He'd been working excessively nearly every day in the past month. He had resolved to cut back, swore on his most beloved books that he would increase delegations to Anthea, but the pressures of the role and his long-standing presence in the halls of power made it impossible to escape the eternal parade of requests and questions beginning with "Just one more thing."

At least he had less to concern himself with in regards to Sherlock. His brother had restored his relationship with Doctor Watson and the two were once again cohabiting at Baker Street. Mary's numerous betrayals had continued to reverberate after her death. The child's parentage was questioned and subsequently resolved in favour of her true father and his family in Leeds. Doctor Watson had taken it in his stride and appeared relieved to close that particular chapter. He and Sherlock had taken on a number of cases that sent them all over the United Kingdom and Europe in the wake of the upheaval. Mycroft rejoiced that Watson's instinct was to turn towards Sherlock in his time of need, but kept those thoughts to himself.

Mycroft steered his attention once more to his ever growing collection of unread emails. He psyched himself up to respond to three of the most pressing and was just firing off the last response when a gentle tapping sounded at the door. He pressed the button to signal the awaiting parties should enter and a young club employee entered with DI Greg Lestrade in tow.

Lestrade was visibly agitated, face flushed, shifting uneasily from side to side. Once Mycroft had dismissed the young staffer with a grateful nod, Lestrade let out and audible sigh and let his posture sag.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, so I can speak in here. Thank god." He strode towards the desk, reached into his coat and produced a mostly full bottle of small batch single malt. He placed the bottle on the desk with a pointed thunk and with a steely expression demanded, "Drink with me."

Next

[sirowsky-stories]

The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 1 - Welcome Home

Description: As you came home from your vacation in Europe, you knew something was wrong. Hoping it was merely jet-lag, you tried to ignore it, but that was a mistake.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Author's Note: This was my third ever series, and I've learned so much as a writer since then that I wanted to take another stab at it and make these characters richer and the writing easier to follow. The original posts seem to be trapped in the past, however, so if I want to use the updated editor I have to re-post them, which means there might be a minor Marcus Moreno spam on this account for a while. Sorry about that in advance. (Not that one could ever have too much MM...)

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 811 (133 words added) Masterlist (this story)

   Somewhere in Egypt, a woman sits strapped to a chair. She’s clearly been tortured and is bleeding from her nose, ears and a multitude of cuts and abrasions. She’s connected to several machines by tubes as well as wires, and a dark figure moves through the shadows around her, waiting and hoping that his experiment will succeed this time.

-=¤=-

   The sun seemed brighter than usual when you stepped out of the airport.    Normally, you loved basking in the sun, feeling that heat going all the way into your bones and seeming to soften you from the inside out. But right then, it felt so bright it was blinding. Almost as though you could feel the rays burn your skin in mere seconds, even though you knew they weren’t.

   You wanted to get away from it as quickly as possible, so you ducked into a cab, stealing it from what looked like a banker, who was just about to get in when you all but wrestled past him through the door.    You didn’t even bother apologizing as you closed it in his enraged face with a loud bang, and sank into the mercifully dimmed backseat as you gave the address of your home to the driver.

   God, what was wrong with you? When had you ever stolen anything from anyone? You let people ahead of you in the que at the grocery store, for fuck’s sake.

   Once home, you dashed inside and hurried around the house to close all the blinds and curtains. You’d never done that before, not since buying the place six years earlier, so little puffs of dust were disturbed as you roughly yanked at the fabrics, making you cough.    You had changed the curtains, of course, but you weren’t the most prolific duster of a person, so the curtain-rods had never been cleaned despite the swaps of fabrics.

   Not that you cared about the dust now either. You were more concerned with why the daylight was suddenly bothering you so much, since you weren’t a damned vampire.    With the entire house plunged into a wearisome gloom you stepped into your bathroom intending to take a shower, hoping that washing the hours of travel off your skin might make you feel less sensitive somehow.    But you stopped on the threshold, suddenly worried that even the bright light of the bathroom ceiling lamp was gonna hurt you.

   “Stop it, girl. Light doesn’t hurt you,” you admonished yourself, and then flipped the switch.

   You were relieved when the artificial light didn’t seem to bother you at all, but then you caught your reflection in the large mirror above the sink, and flinched when you almost didn’t recognize yourself.    You were pale. And not just pale but slightly grey as well, to the extent that your veins were visible through your skin. The whites of your eyes were bloodshot, and your irises seemed to be the wrong colour, turned deeper and darker than they should be.    Even your hair looked completely lifeless, and somehow, the roots had turned grey.

   Suddenly you understood why the light was bothering you so much, as you seemingly had no pigmentation left to protect you from it. But how did that even happen? And especially considering that you’d been alright less than twenty-four hours ago.    Something had happened to you in Egypt, you knew that much. But unfortunately, you had no recollection of it, and therefor couldn’t guess at the severity of it.

   You’d just woken up in a hospital the day before you were meant to leave, and the doctors had told you how you’d most likely suffered heat-stroke, since they hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with you.    You had found it strange that you seemed to be missing two whole days of time, but since the doctors had given you a clean bill of health, you’d decided not to worry about it. And yesterday, when you’d left for the airport, you’d felt fine.

   This was not fine. You were not fine. You needed to go to the hospital.    But the thought of going outside again while the sun was still up felt so distressing to you, that you decided to wait. You’d have your shower and then try and eat something while you waited for it to get dark.    But you did make a stern promise to yourself to call an ambulance if it got any worse.

   It was strange how you could look so abhorrently ill, and yet not feel all that bad. You were tired, sure, and your appetite could have been better, but you didn’t feel anything close to as bad as you looked.    Although, if you’d had any idea of just how bad things were about to get, you’d have slapped yourself silly, and gotten your scrawny fucking ass to the hospital the moment you saw your reflection.

[marvelshifter111]

💌 — who confessed first and how did it happen?

🦢 — what do you see in the future for you and your s/o?

🗒 — who is your s/o and what are some photos you really like of them?

💋 — what are you most excited to expirience with your s/o and why?

🍷 — what do your s/o and you like to do together?

I was so happy when I saw that you sent me an ask and then I opened it and saw that you had more questions and I wanted to scream, thank you so much!

Also i haven't shifted yet so everything is just how i imagine it

This is also a bit long, everything is under the cut

💌 - Who confessed first and how did it happen?

Basically we were at one of Tony's parties a few months ago, and we decided to take a break from the party so we went out on balcony. And we were just talking, the atmosphere was really nice with the music coming from party and the evening was fresh and the sky was clear, it was sunset so the view was really pretty. And we just kissed. After the kiss he confessed then i did and we made it official.

And of course our dear Avengers were spying on us from the inside and now i have a bunch of photos of our first kiss, and it's my background on my phone.

Our whole relationship was like a really slow slow-burn.

🦢 - What do you see in the future for you and your S/O?

Well i doubt we'll leave the Avengers anytime soon, i doubt we'd retire, we'd definitely help in on some missions from time to time even when we get older. So maybe we'd get married and maybe have kids, we'd probably move somewhere in Europe. Maybe in the Balkans cuz I'm from there or England, or maybe in New Asgard.

🗒️- Who is your S/O and what some photos you really like of them?

He's Loki Laufeyson, and i have a lot of photos

💋 - What are you most excited to experience with your S/O and why?

Quiet mornings.

I just want to wake up on any day with him next to me. Maybe we have training that day and we gotta wake up early or it's just a nice quiet morning, I don't care.

I know for a fact that he is not a morning person, so him being grumpy is a amazing and adorable bonus.

I just want nice sleepy cuddles with a lot of "five more minutes", just stealing eachother's warmth under the covers with the sun shinning in.

🍷- What do you and your S/O like to do together?

Read, either to eachother or just both of us reading our own books together in silence.

I think we'd train a lot together too, i think it would be fun to do that with him

Cook probably. I mean i know he does not know how to cook at all but it would be fun to teach him or it would be nice to have him around while i cook.

If someone has an ask feel free to send it to me

[goffilolo]

Adramelech theory time

Does anyone want to know a theory I have? no? Well, that's too bad you're getting it anyway.

Based on demonology Adramelech tried to gain worship as a sun god, alongside his sibling Anamelech who was considered a moon diety.

Does that sound familiar? Does that sound perhaps like Spade's royal family magic? Am I implying that all royals are shit regardless of the country and have a hobby of boosting their own power by stealing it from others? I sure am.

So here's the situation. Grinberyalls pulled the exact same shit as Silvamillions, except with devil magic. It's implied that the spade people know more about devils than they initially let on, Ciel included, so I wouldn't be surprised if they did some fuck ass ritual to steal Adramelech and his brother's attributes specifically.

But wait, you may say. Haven't we seen in canon that Adramelech can resist Lucifero's gravity and still has supreme devil levels of magic? He sure does and here's the catch. What he initially lost is an ATTRIBUTE, not mana itself. Kinda like Ladros who was born with no attribute at all.

Also the timing of WHEN the Grinberyalls became the ruling family with their magic is a little unclear. I'm even willing to go out on a limb and imply that it was around the time of when the first Qlipoth happened. Either they caught Adramelech and his brother during the 2nd gate opening and obtained his magic then OR the first Qlipoth was the responce to having their supreme devil's magic stolen by humans sometime before.

(Also not fully related to this theory, but I imagined that the first Qlipoth failed because it was sabotaged from the inside by Astaroth, who did not wish for human's extermination).

How does any of that relate to Adramelech working with Lucius? Well what if Lucius promised him to get rid of all of Grinberyalls in his grand plan, knowing that Adramelech and Anamelech would not get their full attributes back until the last Grinberyall is dead and thus the attributes can no longer be passed on to any further relatives?

My other idea was that Astaroth is tied into it more closely than initially shown. Maybe even having initally contracted Lucius, allowing him to use the power of prophecy as much as he pleases, on the condition that he can arrange the sun and moon magic to be returned to their original owners. If that is the case, then the spade coup may have been orchestrated by him before his disappearance, as killing all royal family members would release the attributes.

This brings me to my final point, the one that I think will result in Yuno stans hunting me down for sport, but here we go. Yuno is like the british empire, the culmination of stolen shit.

Wind magic? doesn't belong to him, it belongs to a soul of dead half-elf fetus that sits in his body and I'm pretty sure Bell was asleep for so long because she was supposed to be guardian spirit to that fetus when it grew up, but instead was in time out for 500 yeas until a twink shows up who just so happened to have the fetus soul living in him rent-free.

Star magic? Literally a result of stealing 2 devil attributes, followed by centuries of royal incest to ensure the celestial magic stays in the family. Sorry to burst your bubble, all royals are inbred, yes even your favourites. If Tabata wants to play loose canon with borrowing vague references from medieval Europe, so will I.

And you know what? From storytelling perspective it would be hysteric! The dude beloved by mana? The skinny legend that is stacking up magical buffs like a jenga tower? To reveal that all of his 'blessings' were not in fact blessings but came at the expense of somebody else? ALL OF THEM? This would be delicious. This would finally give us the relevant narrative parallel to Asta who has acknowledged long time ago that the power he wields is not his and did not even hesitate to try and give his grimoire away to the original owner.