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In Evan's life, there are Moons and Summers, a decrepit house at the threshold of the Door that leads There. Regularly, he sends his improvised lab rat through it to collect samples and report what he'd seen. But no matter how strange There is, or how transfomed Barty is each time he comes back, maybe there is still time to understand, well, everything.
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There is an hour, hidden in the folds of night's veil, that belongs to magickind. Ghouls, ghosts, magicians (and other, meaner things) revel in cemetaries and play tricks on each other. On such a dark, stormy night, lonely magician Evan Rosier will discover that he is not as isolated, or safe, as he had always thought.
Someone is, in fact, in great need of his help.If this fic had a label like the ones on poison vials, it would read "may contain traces of: lavender, sage burning, obliviousness, silver crucifix, meta-textuality, and many, many occurences of the word 'fuck'..."
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Magic is simple, love is complicated, and in the middle of it all Evan Rosier has to find the courage to not simplify what has to stay complicated.
In other words: the universal experience of having a crush and being so pissed about it
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Nothing much has changed in Gravity Falls, Oregon.
The blonde rich girls are snobby as ever, the nerdy boys live on sass and paranormal documentaries. Sure, strange things are happening, as an unknown shadow begins its slow but definite descend over the valley. Nothing to be scared about, right, folks?
But as something starts to make its home in Pacifica Northwest’s mind, she is left with no choice but to call for help.
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It's Halloween, and you know what that means?
Well if you're Lance, it means going on your usual ghost hunt with your friends, hoping to catch some chills and a little adrenaline rush.
If you're Hunk, it mostly means a fair share of screaming and whimpering, and maybe a few cool shots.
If you're Pidge, it means rolling your eyes a lot and having a blast insulting ghosts you don't believe in anyway.
And if you're Keith, it means trouble.