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introvert-no-chameleon · 4 years

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Of Monsters and McGuckets

Fiddleford just wanted to have his morning coffee in peace, but Gravity Falls and the Stan brothers had other plans.

AO3

Fiddleford Hardon McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual. One had to be if they ever hoped to survive Gravity Falls, and, even more daunting, live with Stanford and Stanley Pines. Keeping them in line was an occupation in itself. His co-workers were two of the most chaotic and morally questionable people he’d ever met in his life. (Then again, as someone who had once made a giant robot to terrorize his ex-wife in an admittedly misguided attempt to get her back, maybe he shouldn’t be throwing stones in that last department).

The point is, when it came to dealing with uncommon and frustrating situations, he usually managed to keep a straight head. But on one deceivingly lovely morning, just when he’d went out to the porch to sit back with a nice cup of coffee and the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon, he saw two large monsters sprinting towards the shack, and. Well.

It was only reasonable that he’d react the way he did.

The first thing he did was spit out his early-morning coffee, ruining his only clean tie in the process. The second thing he did was dash into the shack like the Devil Himself was on his heels. Lastly, he slammed the door shut, locked it, and began combing the living room for the shotgun he knew for a fact Stanley kept around. He thanked the Lord Stanford wasn’t here, lest he’d be chastising Fiddleford for “harming” (defending himself against) a perfectly healthy specimen. Never mind the fact that half of these subjects of study had tried to eat him, no sir. Scientific discovery was always more important.

(Sometimes, Fiddleford wondered how on God’s green earth Stanford Pines hadn’t fallen to his death into a ravine or some other nonsense in pursuit of an anomaly. Heaven knows the man, while undeniably brilliant, was severely lacking when it came to common sense).

A bang rattled the wooden door of the shack. Fiddleford yelped, dropping the pile of books he’d been in the process of moving in his scramble to find the gun. He eyed the secret lab entrance and wondered if the door would hold them back long enough for him to make a dash for it.

“Fidds, we saw you run in, will ya just open the door?”

Fiddleford froze. That voice, while even more gravelly than usual (a thing he hadn’t thought possible) was definitely familiar.

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he said, dazed, as he walked over to the door and unlocked it. “Stanley?”

Upon closer inspection, he couldn’t deny that the square-jawed face that peered down at him belonged to Stanley Pines. There were some…notable…differences, such as the fact that he had glowing orbs for eyes, all his featured seemed to be carved from stone, he had ridiculous pointy ears and fangs to boot. He’d be right at home next to the gargoyles from those pictures of cathedrals he’d studied for his History of Western Art course.

“Took ya long enough,” said Stanley, ducking his head under the doorway and lumbering inside. Each step made the floorboard groan loudly, and for a few seconds Fiddleford thought the man would break through the wood floor. “Thought we’d never get back.”

“Stanferd, do ya have…fur?” said Fiddleford, stepping away from the door to let the other man in.

Stanford—it couldn’t be anyone else, not with that straight-backed posture and furrowed brow peering over thick-rimmed glasses—walked in behind him, hands behind his back.

Hearing the question, Stanford adjusted his glasses, with a large, six-fingered paw. His facial features were lion-esque, as was his entire body, save from the colorful green, blue and red feathered wings that trailed behind his body. He even had a cute little lion tail poking out from a hole in his pants. “It appears so, yes.” He cleared his throat. “We may have a…problem.”

Stanley, who had gone to the fridge to get a beer, came back glaring at Stanford with those bright yellow orbs. “No shit, Sixer. I hadn’t fucking noticed.”

Stanford’s ears flattened against his skull. Fiddleford would’ve found it amusing if Stanford wasn’t now 7 feet tall and didn’t have large, sharp teeth. “Language, Stanley.”

Fiddleford considered grabbing some alcohol as he took in the situation. After a few attempts at forming words, he finally settled for the question he found himself asking on a near-daily basis. “What in tarnation did ya two get yerselves mixed up in now?”

“Oi, don’t look at me,” said Stan. He jerked his clawed thumb at Stanford. “Mr. Science here was the one who just had to walk right into a mysterious, glowing lake that he almost drowned in.”

Stanford’s tail twitched, and he growled. “We almost drowned, Stanley, because you turned into 300 pounds of moving stone.”

“I was only in the lake because you started flailing around growing a tail and screamin’ for help!”

Ford sniffed, chin held up in that way it got whenever he’d start getting defensive. “Swimming with wings is incredibly difficult.”

“Yeah, I would know, I have them now.” Stanley stretched out his bat-like wings for emphasis.

Judging by Stanford’s bloodshot eyes and Stanley’s slouched posture, along with the fact that they seemed even more short with each other than usual, Fiddleford guessed that they’d been arguing on and off about this for a while. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now see right here, the two of ya best calm down, you’ll tear the shack apart if you start fighting bein’ like this.”

The two of them, while far from calm, quieted down.

“Right,” said Fiddleford. “So ya discovered some magic water that turns folks into monsters?”

“Yup,” said Stanley. “We found it in some hidden path behind some bushes and a couple of boulders.”

It’s almost as if it was hidden away for a reason. “Did ya at least remember where the path is?”

“Of course,” said Stanford, having the audacity to look indignant. “What do you take me for?”

“An idiot who got us turned into two walking Summerween costumes because he couldn’t just collect the water in a cup and some gloves like a normal scientist?” said Stanley.

“As if you would know what a “normal” scientist does,” said Stanford, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, fellas. Let me just get some food in me and then we can go back out and get some samples,” said Fiddleford. “I need me some caffeine to deal with this.”

Stanford opened his mouth but Fiddleford stopped him with the same withering glare he’d give his son whenever he tried to step out of line. “Stanferd Pines, if ya think I’m gonna run around the woods with the two of you, in this here state, on an empty stomach, yer sorely mistaken.”

“Fidds has got a point,” said Stan. “You probably haven’t had anything other than that piece of toast since you woke up.”

“I suppose some food wouldn’t hurt…” said Stanford. “I did have an incredibly strong urge to maul a deer we spotted on the way over.”

Fiddleford was getting some bacon out of the fridge when he heard the end of the sentence. He straightened up and slammed the door with more force than strictly necessary. “Y-ya did?”

Stanford seemed to come to the same conclusion Fiddleford had, because he raised his paws up. “Oh, n-no, rest assured. I don’t have any inclination to eat you.”

“Thank the Lord…”

“After all,” said Stanford, rubbing his chin. “According to mythology, sphinxes only consume humans if they are unfortunate enough not to know the answers to their riddles.”

“Don’t I feel better,” said Fiddleford, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do ya reckon ya can still have some bacon and eggs?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” he said. “Oh! I must write down our findings in my journal. Now, where did I put it…” Stanford went up the stairs, muttering to himself the entire way.

“Ya know, he actually started running on all fours at least twice on the way over.” Stan grinned through another sip of beer. “was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Fiddleford sighed. That would explain the fighting. He rolled his eyes as he saw Stanley reach in the fridge for another can and shut it before he could. “Stanley Pines, it is 8 o’clock in the morning.”

“Ooh,” Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Two last names in less than five minutes, it’s a new record.”

“Stanley.”

Stanley pouted, and even with his new…physical features, Fiddleford still found it endearing. “Aw, come onnnn, Fids, I’m emotionally distressed!”

“Yer no such thing.” He smiled a soon as back turned to the other man. He took out their skillet and placed it on the stove.

“Y’know, I gotta hand it to ya. You’ve gotten a lot more assertive since we’ve met, it’s kinda hot.”

“Yer flattery will not sway me into lettin’ ya get another drink.”

Stanley laughed behind him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still bein’ serious. Ford didn’t even try to fight you about getting breakfast. If it was me, he’d be yelling at me by now about how we were wastin’ time and crap.”

“It doesn’t take much for the two of ya to get at each other’s necks.” Fiddleford cracked an egg on the edge of the skillet. Anyhow, that’s because he’s hiding away scribblin’ field notes. The moment he’s done, he’ll be tryin’ to drag us on out of here.”

“Eh, true.”

For a moment, the eggs sizzling and snapping on the pan filled the warm silence. His stomach grumbled as the savory smell of cooking food reached him. “Stanley, can ya hand me the coffeepot?”

The floorboards creaked behind Fiddleford. A shadow loomed over him. “Stanley?”

“…You’re not, uh, scared of me or nothin’?” Stanley’s voice had gotten so quiet Fiddleford had hardly heard him.

Fiddleford glanced back at Stanley, who despite his size was hunched over, looking mighty small for someone who was now a literal boulder.

“Why on earth would I be?”

Stanley blinked meekly. He gestured towards his entire body. “Uh…’cause I look like this?”

Ah. He did try to threaten them with a shotgun. Some of the unease he’d gotten rid of returned, but he tried his best not to show it. He swallowed down his fear as best as he could. “Should I be?”

Stanley frowned. “Eh, I mean, I feel different, but not in a “eat somebody” kinda way. I do have a very strong urge to perch on the roof and attack pigeons.”

“Fascinating.” Even without his caffeine, his scientific curiosity was finally starting to get the best of him. “Well, gargoyles are known as guardians meant to ward against evil. Perhaps you’ve developed some sorta protective instinct…”

He stopped mid-ramble. Even without eyes to speak of, Fiddleford could tell Stanley was avoiding his gaze.

Fiddleford brought his hand to Stanley’s cheek. It felt warm, to his surprise, like rock that had baked under the afternoon sun. Stanley peeked up at him. “Darlin’, the only thing I’m afraid of is the damage you’ll cause around the lab if we don’t turn ya back. Yer like a bull in a china closet as it is.”

Stanley chuckled, leaning into Fiddleford’s touch. “Somebody has ta make things interesting around here.”

Something crashed overhead, quickly followed by a string of curses. A series of heavy objects thumped against the wood overhead.

“I’m alright!” called Stanford’s voice. “I simply knocked a bookshelf over my person, but this new form is surprisingly durable!”

“Things are interestin’ enough as it is,” said Fiddleford, his brief moment of curiosity gone as soon as it came. “Where in tarnation is the coffeepot?”

“Relax, Fiddlenerd, I’ll make ya a fresh one.” He went over by his side, giving him a playful shove that sent Fiddleford to the ground. “…Oops. Sorry, uh, forgot about the whole…stone thing.”

Fiddleford glowered up at his boyfriend, taking his hand as he helped Fiddleford back up. “Yer lucky a got a soft spot fer ya, else I’d be mighty cross.”

Stanly gave him the gentlest peck on the top of Fiddleford’s head. “Once I have my human body back, I’ll make it up to ya.”

Stanley gave him a cup of his precious lifeblood, black with two sugars, just as he liked it. Smirking, Fiddleford took a sip, getting warmed by more than just the coffee. “I’ll hold ya to that.”

Somebody please give Fiddleford a raise.

Comment on what monster you all think Fidds should be, and I may do a second part. I've read some people make him a scarecrow, and I considered making him a centaur.

#mystery trio au #mystery trio #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #young fiddleford #young stanley pines #young stanford pines #young stan bros #fluff #fiddlestan #monster falls #gargolye!stan #sphinx!ford

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if-found-return-to-gusu · 3 years

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Happy Birthday to Me Pt. 1

(Disclaimer. This took me a WEEK to type up in its entirety. I started it while Lan Zhan was sick and finished it... Now. I’ll separate by posts and use readmores this time. It’s a LOT)

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Okay. Okay Lan Zhan is tucked in (he’s doing much better) but I’m positively vibrating. I want to talk about this weekend so bad.

To be honest, Saturday didn’t start well. I’d worked myself up so much that I thought I might be sick. I remember I was pacing around my apartment so much that Wang LingJiao next door banged on the wall and yelled at me to relax. I yelled back a sorry and told her I was just nervous.

So clearly that meant she immediately invited herself over (I’d given her a key to my apartment in case she needed to hide from her slimy ex once upon a time and never got around to getting it back. )

“Now what’s all the fuss about?” she asked, holding a freshly extinguished cigarette in her manicured fingers. “Tell Jiao-Jie all about it.”

I gave her the same look I always do when she tries to get me to call her Jiejie, but then relented and told her about.. Well not everything but some of it. I told her that I was nervous about seeing Lan Zhan later for my birthday.

She seemed to go a couple directions at once right there, stuck between why are you nervous and WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY????

“Now, that Lan Zhan. That wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Tall and Stoney would it? Who was here the other day?”

“Uh.. yeah I guess that’d be him, yeah.”

“Now you two seemed pretty close when I saw you before. Why the fuck would you be nervous now?”

I sighed and told her it was complicated. Which of course didn’t work as a deflection. She needled me until I finally fessed up about how I thought he was probably interested in someone else so I was trying to give him space and blah blah blah. You’ve heard me say it before.

I haven’t seen that “my god you’re an idiot’ look from her in a while. Didn’t miss it.

“So you think that Mr. Dream-Boat-Bubble-Butt likes someone else, so instead of continuing to try to climb that mountain, you are what… bowing out gracefully?”

“Uh… yeah pretty much. I just want him to--”

“I swear to God if you say “to be happy” I am going to kick you.”

And then she kicked me anyway.

“OW!! What the fuck!?” I said. As you can see I’m always eloquent.

“You don’t just stand by and watch someone go steal your man!” “He’s not my man!”

“And he ain’t gonna be with that attitude!”

“Yeah that’s kinda what I was sa-- OW FUCK STOP!”

She kicked me again.

“If he ain’t got eyes for you, then you gotta make him turn his head!” she snapped. I must have looked confused because she sighed exasperated. “You want him to look at you, you gotta give him a reason to look! You’re giving up on a battle you haven’t even fought yet! Sometimes if you want happiness you gotta take it!”

I’m paraphrasing but that’s more or less the jist of it.

And to be honest, I didn’t know how to respond to that. Still don’t really. I don’t know how to fight for my happiness except by making those I love happy. Didn’t say that because two bruises on my shin was enough to be getting along with.

Instead I sighed and hung my head and asked “What would you suggest then?”

“Well, you wanna sweep him off his feet, first you gotta be a knockout!” she said.

“I’m not dressing up,” I said. “We’re not doing anything for Halloween.”

“Well ain’t that twice the shame,” she deadpanned, her expression looking just as impressed as her tone. “I’m not tellin’ you to dress up. It’s about attitude…. Well and a little about dressing up.

“When’s the party?”

“Not till later. Like 5? 5:30?”

“Hmm…. not much time. Okay I can work with this.”

And she just got up

And started tearing through my ‘closet’. She kept picking up shirts and holding them in my direction and ignoring me when I asked what she was doing. Eventually she apparently found something that satisfied her and told me to get dressed after throwing her selection at me.

“You’ve got decent style,” she admitted. “And we want to be subtle. Those jeans are a must but let’s see how the shirt works.”

The thing with Wang LingJiao is that once she gets something in her head there’s nothing you can do but hold on for the ride. So I went along for the ride and got dressed. It was simple. Just my favorite black jeans (the ones that make my butt look slammin) and a red shirt with a dark-gray jacket. Not a bad outfit. But I wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. It wasn’t anything different than I’d usually wear.

“Alright. I know you feel sexy in those jeans. And even if your goal isn’t to get out of ‘em by the end of the night, you still can put on some swagger.”

“Some swagger?”

“C.o.n.f.i.d.e.n.c.e numbnuts.”

“Nice.”

“I know. I am. Now you want a shot with this Wan Xian guy (Me: Lan Zhan. Her: Whatever) you gotta at least act like you’ve got a shot. I’m not asking you to ford the river here. I’m just askin that you don’t push away that possibility. If you act like you ain’t got a shot, then you don’t. Plain and simple. So I got you in an outfit that I KNOW you know works. So let it work and give yourself a shot.”

“That’s a little… fortune cookie, don’t you think?” I asked, trying to joke it off like I always do.

“Mmm maybe. But you know I’m right,” she said. She actually reminded me a bit of Wen Qing there. Which is ridiculous. But I don’t know… maybe not as ridiculous as I would have thought before.

She did my hair for me. She had a nice red ribbon that she let me keep ‘as a birthday present’ and she stayed with me until it was time to go. I think she was keeping me company to keep me calm.

It worked.

I’ll need to thank her later. She’s a bit crude and a bit rough, but she’s a good person under it all.

She kissed my cheek as I left and wished me a happy birthday no matter what happened.

#wei wuxian #wei ying #wang lingjiao #mo dao zu shi #Long Post #(Modern AU!)

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sirkkasnow · 5 years

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09 Catch Your Breath When You Can

Ao3 link

07/17/13 Wednesday evening

Stan was shoulder deep in the Fairlane’s engine compartment when the kids finally made it home late that afternoon. Dipper waved and headed straight inside; Mabel came over to lean casually against the front fender. “So?”

“There’s a meatloaf in the fridge for dinner an’ we’ve got potatoes, and I guess the fixins for salad if you’re into that kinda thing.”

Mabel pressed both hands over her eyes and groaned in protest. “Nooooooo. I mean did you call her? Did you get to do your something nice whatever it was? You’ve gotta be almost done with the car!”

“Yep, almost done.” Stan straightened up with a sigh and latched the hood. “Gonna fire it up in the morning, see where we’re at. Probably a day, day an’ a half to finish up, then she’s free t’go.”

“You’re not just gonna let her walk out of here, right?” She was peeping out at him between fingers now, looking horrified. “I know you’d both regret it.”

Stan pinched his lips against a smile - his poker face was cracking. “Well, I maybe mighta lined up a flick after dinner. So if you could help keep the nerd brigade occupied that’d be great.”

Mabel produced a whistle-shrill hypersonic squeal of delight and flung herself at him for a hug. “I knew you could do it! Consider the nerd brigade well and truly distracted! You report to me on everything, got it?”

“Mabel, c’mon, it’s just a movie.” He was grinning anyway as he swiped down his hands.

The five of them gathered for what proved to be a noisy meal. One tiny nudge from Mabel was enough to derail the conversation into DD&MD worldbuilding. “Clary’s about to leave,” she said firmly, “she hasn’t gotten to play one game and we need to fix that.” Within fifteen minutes the rulebooks were scattered across the crowded kitchen table and both Ford and Dipper were talking scenarios and taking notes.

Clary had spent most of the afternoon napping. She looked crisp and refreshed, a froth of peony pink silk knotted off-center at her throat, tossing an occasional suggestion into the chaos. Mabel vanished for a minute or two as the plates were cleared. When she returned it was with arms full of scrapbooking supplies and an unsubtle jerk of the chin towards the living room.

Stan took the hint and slipped out unnoticed, setting up a dinette chair next to the recliner. He tracked down a couple of pillows and a light blanket to make the whole thing a little more comfortable. Clary showed up a few minutes later, hands in pockets, still smiling to herself. “I’ve been banished,” she murmured over the background conversation from the kitchen. “So they can surprise me in the morning.”

“Damn shame, too bad, movies are under the TV.” He punched the pillows in a mostly-futile effort to fluff them up as she knelt to sort through the cabinet. He’d tracked down the remote and gotten comfortable in the recliner by the time she waved a worn black-and-white cardboard sleeve at him: Captain Of Her Heart.

“Old-school okay?”

“Um. It’s mushy.”

“I can handle mushy.”

“It’s sad.”

“I can handle sad and I’m not in the mood for nature documentaries.” Clary slotted in the tape, fiddled with the channels until trailers for twenty-year-old New Releases! began to play, and collected a box of tissues before settling into her seat.

“You a crier?” Stan nudged her tissues with a knuckle and she gave him a dirty look.

“Insurance. Settle down.” Clary stacked pillows against the recliner’s back corner, propped her elbow on the arm near his and made herself at home. He’d seen this one a million times, an obscure classic in his opinion with some really good on-location seaside shooting for its era. Familiarity never seemed to make this one hit any less hard.

He found that it was hitting maybe a little harder than usual. The bookish harbormaster’s daughter and the rough-edged first mate she’d spent the last hour falling improbably in love with walked the shoreline under a spotlight moon, switching to closeup against a painted backdrop for their wrenching scene of farewell.

Stan stole a couple tissues while she wasn’t looking. Clary already had one clutched to her lips, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes in resolute silence. Maybe she was a bit of a crier after all, though she held it together pretty well through the last ten minutes or so.

Once the ship had departed and the harbormaster’s daughter had slipped down to the docks in the night, dressed in a man’s traveling clothes and bound for parts unknown, Clary blew her nose in an undignified honk. He would have teased her if he weren’t busy trying to do the same without her hearing him. At last she settled close to watch the brief credits. When the tape ran out and the screen went to static he grumbled and jabbed at the remote until the TV snapped off.

They rested together in the near-dark. Stan listened as the rhythm of her breathing steadied. “Good flick,” she murmured at length, in no apparent hurry to move.

“One of my favorites,” he admitted, equally quiet. “I did warn ya. If, ah, if it’d help, there’s a sequel...or I could maybe get Soos to write some kinda fix-it, he’s good at that fanfiction stuff….” He felt rather than saw the subtle shake of her head. “What, no?”

“It’d be cheating.”

“C’mon, now, there’s nothin’ wrong with chasin’ a happy ending - “

“They’re hard to catch.” He heard her swallow thickly and felt her shift to turn a little more into him. “Why the heck don’t you have a couch? I don’t want to move yet but this is uncomfortable as hell.” Stan considered bolting to leave her some privacy, then held his breath and wriggled his arm free to lay it lightly around her.

“This a little better?”

Clary drew up her legs and nestled into his side without hesitation. “Much.”

“So - we don’t have a couch because we didn’t need one until everyone was leavin’ at the end of last summer, anyway - “ He was cursing the lack of a couch right now, because the arm of the damned recliner was wedged between them and this would be a very nice post-movie snuggle without it. “I’m not sure Ford an’ I ever really thought we’d be back for more’n a quick visit. Soos hasn’t had time to update the place much.”

“You said you’d been running the Shack for thirty years. Alone?”

Stan hissed softly, dragging his free hand through his hair. “Yep,” he said just before the pause went beyond recovery. “More or less. Kids first visited last summer an’ that changed a whole lot.”

“From what I’ve gathered in town last summer was pretty lively.” He felt her smile against him. “Funny, no one really wants to talk about it.”

“It was, uh.” He groped for the right word and finally said, frustrated, “Weird.” Clary laughed softly. “Listen. I am not the one who should be givin’ pep talks, you get that? But I can promise that sometimes y’catch the happy ending.”

The house had gone quiet around them, the kids retreated to bed, Ford probably downstairs. Stan flinched in surprise as her cool hand covered his at her shoulder. “I’ll take your word for it,” Clary murmured. “And thanks. For today. Not everyone handles - “ She tugged at her silk scarf with a fingertip.

“We both got history, kid, I got no right t’pry.”

“I’ve been preemptively dumped over this, you know.”

“Hah! Just as well. You don’t strike me as the type t’date idiots.”

“No. I’m not.”

A minute or two drifted by like that, comfortable, the warmth of contact something he hadn’t slowed down to enjoy in an eternity. Stan had about found the perfect angle to pillow his cheek against her hair when she stirred. He rumbled in protest before he could stop himself, arm tightening for a second then relaxing as she sat up straight.

The wan wash of light from the hallway gilded the slope of her cheek; her shadowed eyes held a determined glint. “I’m in too good a mood to talk about ancient history, but I’d like to trade stories with you sometime.”

“Sure, but I don’t know when - “ She tilted her head in reproach and any further protest stalled in his throat.

“Stan. You made the fatal mistake of giving me your phone number.” Stan cracked a crooked grin and she went on, low-voiced and all velvet persuasion. “Let me know when you hit a port I can get to. Anywhere in the north Atlantic’s fine. If you end up someplace warm, like say Gibraltar or the Azores, so much the better. Drinks are on me.”

He almost barked out a laugh, a startled little huff like she’d just sucker-punched him. “You askin’ me out? Your treat?”

“Yes.” The practiced look of light amusement on her face faded by degrees into something more apprehensive. “If you’d like. I’d hate to never see you again.”

His brain locked up hard, spinning off into logistics and complications and the overwhelming desire to not fuck up the good thing he had going. Mercifully his mouth got out ahead, as usual. “Yeah. Definitely. I’d - really, really like that.”

She lit up in a split second of unguarded happiness for maybe the first time since they’d met. Clary leaned in too quickly to intercept, her lips grazing the stubble of his cheek as a fleeting whiff of her faded peony perfume curled into his nose. “Great. So would I.”

Stan’s hands twitched once with the sudden impulse to snag her by the waist and drag her into his lap before common sense shut that down. She couldn’t quite look him straight on as she withdrew and this time he laughed in earnest. “Oh, c’mon, counselor, y’can’t make a pitch like that an’ then go all shy on me.”

“Sure I can.” Clary’s fingers tightened in his, then slipped away as she rose. “I’d better go to bed before I say anything else incriminating. See you in the morning.”

“What, alone?”

“Stan.”

“It’s gonna be chilly, want me to drop off a couple extra blankets - “

“Stanley.”

“I got a sideline in personal furnace services - “

“Oh my god. Don’t make me regret saying anything.” The chuckle she was trying so hard to suppress laid a husky note under the words as she headed for the hallway.

“G’night, sweetpea.”

She slipped through the door with a last backward glance. He sat back to think it over, eyes closed, horrified and delighted all at once.

Mostly delighted, he decided, pressing fingers to his cheek where she’d kissed him.

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“I’d hate to never see you again.” She looks anxious, jittery with anticipation and a little sad all at once.

Definitely.

Maybe.

I just can’t.

#Gravity Falls #gfdatingsim #DDtMMW #Swooning Over Stans #Stanley Pines #OClicious #fanfic

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yourjughead · 7 years

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Speak

Requested: Archie x artsy,shy,quite reader.

Pairings: Archiexreader

Warnings: fluff, idk if there's swearing but maybe

A/N: this is cute.

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3rd POV “Town with pep?” “Trust me yn, you're going to love it here, have a good day at school!” your mom smiled, meeting your eye in the rearview mirror. You didn't want to move but yet you found yourself hoping out of the back seat of the battered Ford Focus. Archie pov “Hey bets who's that girl?”

“Oh yn? She’s new, showed her around this morning, she doesn't speak much...or at all” Betty shrugged and joined Veronica on the couch opposite from me. Hmm. Yn pov Id spent the whole day avoiding eye contact and conversation with numerous people. This is the town with pep but all the town with intense curiosity.

I’d made it the end of my first school day, just my favourite class left. Art. Yay.

I walked into the clearly underfunded art room and was greeted by the smell of acrylic paint. Bliss. Through all the turbulence in my life a consistency had been the inconsistency of art. Beautiful.

I sat down the back and hunched over my sketch book trying to make myself as small as possible, specialty of mine. Don't want to be seen or heard. Bliss. A glint of beautiful fire red hair caught my eye causing me to lazily gaze up to find a tall, athletic guy in his letterman jacket in front of my work bench.

“Umm hi...yn right? I know you're new and I'm not trying to be rude but I kinda usually sit there….” He seemed genuinely sorry, that's refreshing. I could feel my hands begin to tremble at the unplanned social interaction. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

“But you can sit there next to me, my buddy Jughead switched electives so it'll be nice to have someone to talk to” the red head beamed at me...well he isn't going to get much chat out of me that's for sure.

Without a word, I moved my things over one space and return to my doodle of a little alien in a space ship. If only he could take me with him.

“Aw that's so cute” his voice caught me off guard. If i keep ignoring him, he'll go away. Hopefully?

“So are all the girls where you're from this cold or?” He laughed

“Well it was Northern Alaska so…” I deadpanned and he looked at me confused. He doesn't get my sarcasm, fabulous.

A slow smile grew on his stupid adorable face and I found my plain stupid face mirroring it. Shit.

“Oh sarcasm? My bud Jughead would like you” I bit my lip and quickly return to my drawing as class begins around me. We spent the next few weeks like that, him making jokes and being sweet to me while I just nodded and smiled in returned. It got to the stage where I think he thought I didn't speak any English. Sometimes it felt as if I had no English. Archie, or Arch as he insisted I call him...won't be doing that, had demanded I spend lunchtime with himself and his friends. I was quietly grateful, quiet being the key. I liked them, they didn't push for conversation too much after awhile. He was so sweet to invite me so openly into his group, I got the sense, especially from that Jughead guy, that that didn't happen to often.

“So will you do me yn?”

“Uhh wait what?” I was snapped out of my daze.

“We have to do partner work...is it okay if we're partners” ah partner work, almost as awful as group work. Who thinks of these things. I nod in reply.

Archie whips out a large sketch pad and busily gets to work as I watch him. He glances up every now and then and it as at that moment I realised he's drawing me. Badly. Really badly.

I couldn't help but laugh at the jock. Red rose to his cheeks.

“I know, I know I can't do your beauty justice, I'm much better at clay I swear” he laughs.

“It's okay" I allow my voice barely above a whisper. My voice startling us both.

“I could be trying this all day, you should just make a start” he offered before leaning too hard on the pencil, breaking it. I cringe to the sound.

“Oh sorry! Id do the same if you popped a football ((American football all my fellow Europeans)) in front of me” he grinned. Stupid adorable face. I sheepishly start to draw the jock and it is only then I realise just the Adonis I have had before me all this length of time. He's perfect, in every sense of the word, with features that are perfectly proportioned. His little jokes all the way through as he mangles the drawing of me makes me smile and I hate it. He's perfect. I finally finish and reluctantly turn the page so Archie can see.

“Wow” he glances between me and the drawing. My turn for red to rise in my cheeks.

“I especially like the little green alien in his spaceship at the top” he chuckles. Shit I forgot I doodled on this, ugh he thinks I'm an idiot. Before I could continue the mental defamation of my work as usual, it was whipped from my hands by the teacher and held up for all to see. Shit. This isn't happening this isn't happening this isn't happening. Oh God oh God. Archie could tell I was uncomfortable, offering a gentle smile and a warm hand on my knee. PANIC STATIONS! The teacher begins to go about explaining all the things I've done right in my drawing as I waited for her to start the criticism that never came. I'm going to collapse. This is my end. I jet off out the door past the teacher and into the empty halls before my mind could catch up with my body. After walking...running some distance from the classroom I throw myself against some lockers before sliding down them to reach the floor. Tucking my knees to my chest I bury my face in them. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I feel a familiar warmth next to me as I look to find Archie there. “Hey yn…i just thought I'd come look for you” yup he definitely thinks I'm an unstable idiot.

“I really like your drawing of me”

“I really like drawing you” I let slip, instantly squeezing my eyes shut in regret. Whyd I say that?! Why?! He chuckles softly at me.

“you can draw me any time you want...Maybe I need an art tutor….would you do it? I'll teach you then how to sculpt with clay, my forte” my turn to laugh at him. I give a low nod and he grins to me.

“You don't talk much” I squeeze my eyes shut again to this. I knew it, he thinks I'm a weirdo. ((resisting all urges to go into Juggy lil monologue)) “That's okay too, I guess people might say we don't really know each other much….id like to get to know you though yn...I mean if that's okay” I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

“I'll take that as a yes…Ms.Houston said we didn't have to go back to art unless you want to...we could go for a walk around campus if you'd like?” “Okay” I say louder than a whisper. “Oh so you do have a voice?” He laughs and I look away. “Maybe then we can go to Pops or something?” “Sure” “Oh wow I've gotten 5 words out of you, new record” he bumps me playfully with his shoulder. “Yanno yn I saw you on the very first day way before art class and I knew I wanted to be around you more, I just knew you'd be important in someway…...I really like you yn, and I know you don't talk much and like I said, people...or even you might say I don't know much about you but yet I feel like I do? I don't know” I could feel him hesitate but I wanted more than anything for him to keep speaking. I glance back at him and he takes it as a sign I want him to continue. Good. “I know what and how you draw and I see all your little reactions to things around you, your sly sense of humor that anyone else would miss but I hear...I hear you even though you don't speak much…. and i guess I know you better than if we talked for hours because of that..... Don't get me wrong, I'd still eventually like to talk to you for hours” his soft voice was encouraging in every way.

“I want to talk to you for hours too…”

“So...do you like me too? I mean as maybe more than that weird dude in art who doesn't stop talking” I laugh to this and he knows I mean yes. He knows this because he knows me. “Oh thank God.” He sighs in relief throwing his head back against the locker. “Maybe we could skip strolling campus grounds and just go straight to pops’” I offer. “Oh my God shut up you're talking the ear off me you're such a chatterbox” he jokes as I shove him. He's perfect. He's bliss.

-------------------------------------------------

Much love Xx

#archie x reader #archie #archie andrews #archie comics #archie andrews fluff #archie andrews imagine #archie andrews x reader #archiexreader #riverdale fic #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale imagines #riverdale #riverdalexreader

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donutpwns · 7 years

Text

Journey to the Roots Part 3

Part 2 - Part 4

“Mabel, this is a bad idea!”

“Do you have a better one?”

“No, but--”

“Then come on!”

Static. Screams. Their Grunkles will be so mad. This was a bad idea, such a bad idea.

WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL

----------

She hits her head on the door when she wakes up with a jolt, a whine escaping her at the pain. There’s a terrible pounding against the back of her eyes which sting with the threat of tears. What was…she felt even worse than when she’d first woken up in the front seat of Stan’s car. Which she now was in the backseat of? When had she moved from the front seat again? Her and Stan had been snacking and listening to some of the awesome pop songs from the 80s that he liked to pretend to hate but she knew he really loved. When had she moved to the backseat?

Slowly she sits up; the movement combined with the rocking of the car doing her stomach no major favors. Stan’s still in the driver’s seat, humming to himself and tapping offbeat against the steering wheel. Mabel originally thought his issues with keeping a rhythm was due to his poor hearing in the future, but now she was starting to realize that he may in fact be tone deaf.

He notices her and their eyes meet in the rearview mirror. “Look who decided to wake up. You feeling any better after that nap, sweetheart? You’re still looking pretty green. Maybe we should’ve lifted you some medicine along with the food.”

“Younkle Stan?” she curls up a little more in the seat, leaning against the door and tugging the collar of her sweater up to her nose. Not quite Sweater Town because she wants to see Stan but enough to help ease a bit of her anxiety. Was she losing more memories? And that dream… “Do you ever...feel like you might've done something really bad?”

She sees Stan’s eyes focus on her for a moment through the rearview mirror, his mouth twitching from the friendly smile he’d been wearing. He gives a weak, forced laugh, showman smile in place instead. “Pumpkin, I've done all kinda bad in my life.” The smile disappears when he looks back to the road. When he speaks again his voice is a bit softer, “Why? You do something bad?”

A shiver runs through her, clenching her stomach and sending a new stab of pain behind her eyes. “I think I made Dipper do something.” She closes her eyes, trying to think past the pain. Her whole body hurts when she tries to chase down the dream. She can hear both her and her brother screaming, remembers being afraid. Remembers the sound of—

WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL

“Oh god, I’m gonna be sick.” She opens her eyes, clamping her hands over her mouth to try to force down the bile that she can taste in the back of her throat. Her vision blurs as her eyes water. She hears Stan swear and the car jerks to the side of the road. She looks out the window to see that they’re on the side of the highway, cars speeding past them.

“Breathe, kid. Hey, it’s okay.” Stan’s turned around in his seat so he’s looking right at her, face pinched in worry. Then he’s climbing out of the car and moving around to the side that’s facing the ditch beside the road. “Please don’t puke in my car. C’mere.”

He reaches out his arms to pick her up, probably to carry her to puke into the grass, but she instead takes it as an invitation to latch onto him. She gets her arms around his neck and presses her face to his throat as she trembles. “I think I did something really bad and what if Dipper is mad at me? What if I’m wrong and I got sent back alone because Dipper doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore? What if—” what if they were going to be like Stan and Ford, is what she thinks and then feels even worse for thinking it.

Stan is hunched super awkwardly from how she’s clinging to him while still in the backseat and he’s standing beside the car. She feels him sigh before his arms wrap around her. He picks her up and shifts her a bit before sitting in the seat himself, one leg out of the car, one in. One of his arms hugs her about her shoulders while his free hand rubs small circles into her lower back. It makes her think of her mom, which just serves to make her start crying harder into the collar of Stan’s shirt.

“Listen, uh, Mabel…I don’t really know you or your brother. Not right now. And I don’t know what you did or didn’t do, or how Dipper feels about it,” He clears his throat and grabs her shoulder, forcing her to lean back to look him in the face. His face softens when she looks at him, “But I do know a thing or two about making the people you love mad at you. And know what it took me a really long time to learn?”

She shakes her head, biting her lower lip hard enough to taste copper despite feeling no pain from it.

Stan rubs her mouth with the sleeve of his new jacket. “I learned that you gotta be sorry and want to make up for it, but they gotta love you enough to give you the chance.” His smile is sad and breaks her heart, because she knows that he doesn’t think Ford loves him enough. “So, yeah, Dipper might be mad. He might be mad for a long time. And it might hurt having him be mad at you, but if he loves you as much as he should, he’ll realize that he needs to forgive you. So you just gotta be ready for that day.”

Mabel sniffles, leaning forward to rest against his chest and be hugged. She slips her hands into his jacket to hug him as much as she can with how much wider than her arms he is. “…are you scared to see him again, Younkle Stan?”

A laugh shakes through his chest and it sounds like his heartbeat goes a little funny for a moment. “Sweetheart, I’m terrified.” She hears a telltale sound of sniffling above her but purposely ignores it. If she sees him crying, she knows he’ll shut down and make an excuse about getting something in his eye.

They sit like that for several minutes until Mabel’s tears slow to a stop. She still feels wrung out and her head still hurts, but she does feel a little better having cried. Plus hugging it out always made her feel better. She leans back, making sure not to look Stan in the face when he hurriedly rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes.

His showman grin is back in place when she does finally look up at him, though his eyes are ringed with red. “But, hey! We’re gonna be heroes, right? Save my idiot genius brother from that Bill guy!” he musses her hair, which doesn’t help with the headache but does help her feel less like emotional garbage. “That should get both of us some good points, even if they’re both mad at us.”

Oh, right. They were going to save the day. Save the day and fix things with Ford. Even if Dipper was mad, once he saw Stan and Ford acting the way twins were supposed to act there was no way he wouldn't be her best friend anymore. And she'd finally apologize for being so mean all the time and maybe actually try to play his nerdy board game when they got home.

“Um, Younkle Stan? I kinda have another problem, other than the maybe being a bad person.” She shifts in his lap, scraping her teeth against the torn skin from where she'd bit her lip earlier. “I don't… really remember getting in the backseat?”

Stan lifts a brow at her, “Like ya blacked out? Shi-oot. You might be sicker than we thought.” He presses a hand to her forehead, frown deepening. “You don't have a fever. Is this, like, a time sickness?”

“I don't know. This didn't happen any of the other times we traveled through time.” She scowls; this whole thing was weird. She still didn't understand how she'd ended up with Stan, not that she was complaining. Her Younkle was the best. “And my body is all achey and my head keeps hurting if I try to remember. But I feel like I gotta because it's important.”

Stan shrugs, “If it's real important you'll remember when you need to. I'm sure Ford will be able to figure it out once we get there. We're still a few hours out from what I can figure.” He stands up with her and carries her to the front seat. “Don't sweat it, kid. I'm sure whatever's the issue it's not as big a deal as you think.”

Mabel reaches into the backseat to grab the blanket, and then she snatches the knitting project she'd started from the floorboards. By the time Stan is back in the driver's seat, she's made the front seat into a Knitting Nest. A neighbor city to Sweater Town with a booming export business. “You're probably right. I'm just being silly; Younkle Ford will be able to figure it out. And then we'll save him from Bill and the after.”

Stan frowns harder as he pulls back onto the highway, resuming his steering wheel tapping. “...you keep talking about an after. What exactly does Bill do to Ford other than trick him?” the leather of the steering wheel squeaks with how hard Stan grips it. “Does he hurt him? Like, physically?”

Mabel squirms a bit in her seat; she'd told Stan all about Bill and living with her and Dipper and Ford, but not about the portal accident. It felt wrong to talk about, a story that wasn’t hers to tell. She also realizes that she doesn't know everything Bill did to Ford, only what Dipper had shared with her. She knows Bill tricked Ford like he'd tricked Dipper and Gideon. But if he'd hurt him...well, she can remember the bruises and small cuts that covered Dipper after Bill had possessed him. Had he done that to Ford too? The thought makes her hate the jerk even more.

“Grunkle Ford…wasn't okay after. I don't know everything that happened, but I know he needs help now so he can be okay later.” She grumbles out a Grunkle Stan style swear when she drops a stitch. “Bill is a jerk.”

WHO'D SACRIFICE EVERYTHING THEY'D WORKED FOR JUST FOR THEIR DUMB SIBLING?

And she'd almost given him the book! All because of a stupid boy. Bill brought out the worst in their family. She still felt bad about it. Maybe the unicorn was right; maybe she wasn't a good person. Dipper forgave her for that but sometimes it felt like she couldn't stop herself from screwing up. From being selfish and demanding and rude. The longer she thought about it, the more reasons she found that Dipper had to not forgive her. She didn't know how to function without Dipper as a counterbalance. They'd always been together, and even though it had been less than a day, she’d never missed him as much. It felt like she really hadn't seen him in thirty years.

A pair of fingers snaps in front of her face, startling her out of her thoughts. She rubs at her eyes that had been watering and tries to give Stan her best grin. Now she was making Stan feel bad, she was the worst. This is why she needed Dipper, he--

“You're thinking too much, kid.” Stan grunts, sparing her just a glance before resuming his focus on the road. He's gone back to tapping the non-rhythm against the steering wheel. “Listen, for what it's worth, I don't think Dipper is going to hate you or whatever. You seem like a good kid and from what you’ve told me, you two are a kinda world class team. See, Ford and I were just dumb kids that thought we only had each other. But you two actually have friends and sh--stuff, but you're still best friends who have actual adventures.”

Mabel sniffs, slowly working on her line of stitching. She thinks about Grenda and Candy, about Dipper and Wendy. About the stupid gnomes and her brother promising to trust her always no matter what the journal said. “I miss him a lot, Younkle Stan. Like a lot a lot. And it's only been a little while but it feels like forever and I just wanna see him.”

“You will, sweetheart. I promise I'll do whatever I can to get you back with your brother, even if it means dealing with mine.”

She smiles softly; she might not have Dipper, but at least she has Stan. “Thank you, Younkle Stan.” She burrows into the blanket and resumes knitting. She has Stan and soon she’ll have Ford and Dipper too. Even if Dipper is mad at her, Stan is right, he’ll forgive her. She’ll do whatever she has to for it.

She doses off again at some point in the drive; when Stan wakes her up her knitting needles have left angry red lines where they were pressed up against her palm. She shakes the hand out while she yawns and stretches. She feels much better this time, having had no dreams. Then she looks out the window and feels her throat close up.

There’s two cars parked outside the Shack that she doesn’t recognize, and signs telling people to go away rather than step up. With the signs and the snow, it looks so lifeless compared to the place she’d called home all summer. It reminds Mabel of being at school at night; creepy and with a sense of wrong. But that’s where Ford is. And hopefully Dipper.

“Ready to go into the unknown, Younkle Stan?” she looks over at him, where he’s fidgeting with the sleeve of his new jacket. He’s got that ‘Ford-just-stepped-out-of-the-portal’ nervous smile on his face again and she really hopes this reunion goes better than that one.

“Nope.” He turns to look at her, smile vaguely manic. “But let’s do it.”

------------------------

Dipper awakes with a start, bile climbing up his throat as his skull pounds with a vengeance. He swallows it down and tries to will himself to not lose the small breakfast he'd had. When had he fallen asleep? He remembers the drive back to the not-yet Shack, McGucket following with the excuse of ‘can't trust Stanford with a child’. What had happened after that?

More blackouts in his memory? Dipper had thought it was just from how he'd been sent back in time but...okay, so this was a little scary. He looks around; he's back in the room that'll be Soos’s break room and then Ford’s room. He snatches his hat from where he’d left it on the floor, letting himself feel comforted by the familiarity of it on his head. The pain was passing quicker so long as he didn't try to chase the memories down. What was going on with him? What could Ford’s tests have missed?

He'd been dreaming something, something he feels was important for him to remember. Something to do with an idea Mabel had had and—

Huuuurk. Okay, dream also equals urge to vomit. Noted.

He lets himself take a few minutes to breathe, to let his stomach and head settle. The goal is to not vomit as it often is in life. Vomit free zone, that's what he is. He vaguely wishes Mabel was around to pat his back the way she had when he’d been so excited to meet Ford, the way their mom did back home when they got sick. That thought sends a stab of longing straight to his heart. The feeling passes enough for him to stand and leave the room.

“I knew ya were the stupidest genius ever, Stanford, but this takes the whole flabnabit cake!” He hears Old Man—well, it's just McGucket right now, isn't it— yelling from the living room so he goes towards the sound. “Ya wanna doom the world with yer damn thing in the basement an’ now yer doing it with a child sleepin’ upstairs.”

Dipper peeks around the doorframe; McGucket is seated on a section of the couch that has been cleared by shoving a lot of books to the floor while Ford paces paves the length of the living room. Neither seems to have noticed him. He figures it won’t hurt to listen a bit; adults have a nasty habit of keeping things from kids no matter how capable said child—almost practically a teenager in fact— was, and this Ford wasn’t as ready to trust Dipper as the one in the future.

Ford shoots an exasperated look at his former partner. “I know, alright? I admit that—that I was wrong about the portal. You were right, it's too dangerous, but—”

“Holy cow, someone call the paper; Stanford Ego Pines admits he was wrong. It'll be a national holiday.” McGucket crosses his arms, leaning back in the couch like a petulant teenager and giving Ford a look that would have Wendy whistling impressed.

Dang, McGucket. Dipper shakes his head. Was this what he was like before he started erasing his memory? Though Dipper’s not sure when that started happening; just that it happened after he’d seen the other side of the portal. Was this a McGucket with his memories or one with holes all through his mind? He winces at the thought; that was a very harsh way of putting it.

“Listen, I know you're angry with me, but surely you have to see the big picture here.” Ford sweeps a hand in front of him, clenching the other at his side. His hair is sticking out in all directions again like he’s been tugging on it. “I can’t stop what I’ve done and take care of a child. You helped me build it, you can help me take it apart safely and—”

“I will never, not on m’ damn life, Stanford, go back down there.” McGucket’s voice is dark, there’s a shake to his hand when he moves to grip the arm of the sofa white-knuckle tight. He sighs and leans forward, one hand going to cover his eyes. “I—I get why yer asking me fer help, Ford. An’ I get why it’s important. But I ain’t ever going down there again. I can’t. I ain’t ever want to…remember what we did. And God forgive me fer ever helpin’ ya with it in th’ first place.” His hand drops from his eyes to his knee and he looks up at Ford.

Well, so he’s probably started on the memory gun at least. Maybe he can help answer questions about Dipper’s lost memories.

The look seems enough to deflate Ford, who sinks down to sit on top of some books on the coffee table. He shakes his head, “Fidds…fine. If you won’t help me then I’ll just do it alone. I still have all your notes to help me.” He moves his fingers through his hair, furthering mussing it up. Dipper realizes he looks like an owl with over fluffed feathers. “If you won’t help me with the portal, will you at least—”

McGucket nods, waving a hand as if to brush away the remainder of the question. “Yeah. That…won’t be a problem. I have some other things ‘m workin’ on, but they can wait. Kids come first.”

Wait, what?

Ford’s shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you. It’ll just be while I get everything taken care of here, and then I’ll come get him.”

Ohhh. Oh no.

McGucket nods again. “Once he wakes up, I’ll take him back to my place.”

“No!” Dipper yells, giving away that he was eavesdropping and not caring. He tries to rush into the living room but trips over his own feet. He grunts when he hits the floor before shoving back up to his feet. He points a finger at Ford, “You’re not going to send me to stay with Old M—I mean, McGucket! Young Man McGucket! I’m gonna help you!”

Ford gives an annoyed sounding sigh, turning his head up to the ceiling. “Dipper, my work is too dangerous and you're clearly sick. You said yourself that you weren't feeling too well. I can't fix my mistakes and look after an ill ten-year-old. You'll just stay with Fiddleford until I can safely dismantle the portal. Then I can focus on getting you home.”

“I'm twelve! Almost 13!” Dipper’s face burns; this Ford doesn't think he can do it. The weird path I must walk alone. “You can’t send me away! I’m not—” not Stan, is what he nearly says, but he clamps his hands over his mouth before the words can escape him, eyes wide. Why did nearly he say that? Why think it? “We're family; I want to help. Please, Great Uncle Ford! Just give me a chance to prove myself! I'm not sick, I promise! Just-just time lagged!” the last part is a lie, but he can tell Ford about the lost memories after they were done dealing with the portal. He'd be fine until then; it was just an hour or so lost, no big deal. Getting to prove himself to Ford, to the Author, was way more important.

McGucket chuckles from his spot on the couch; Dipper gives him an awkward smile back. “If he ain't a precocious lil feller.” He pushes himself up from the couch and gets close enough to pat Dipper’s hat. “So yer the time traveler. I reckon that's one of the stranger things I ever did see, but not the strangest. So, Stanford,” he levels the dry look right back at Ford, who instantly straightens with a scowl, “what's the plan? I ain't taken nobody against their will. Especially not a kid with even half that determination.”

Ford groans, once more fisting his hair. “Why does no one ever listen to me, gosh dang it?! Everything is an uphill battle.” He shoots Dipper a serious look, “Fine. You wanna prove yourself? I need some help retrieving something to help me deal with our you-know-who problem, and since Fiddleford wants to be a child about it, you can come. And if you do good and don't get ill again, I'll consider letting you help further. Is that sufficient for you two?”

Dipper nods so fast his jaw clicks and his hands are shaking at his sides; oh what he wouldn't give for a pen. A chance to prove himself, to go on an adventure with Ford not spawned by magical dice! Ohh, wait till Mabel hears about this. She'll be so jealous. Too bad he doesn't have a camera to take pictures for her. That's one scrapbook he'd love.

“And while you two have yer adventure, I can work on the time travelin’ problem.” McGucket offers, surprising Dipper.

“You can do that?” he frowns up at him. Then again, the McGucket he knew could build just about anything.

McGucket looks proud as punch, thumbing his big nose. “I built the last time detector we had, ‘fore Stanford stupidly lost it. Yer uncle might be brilliant but he ain't able to hold a candle to my engineering. It's why he needed me to—” he freezes; proud look lost to something confused, “to…build something. The thing in the basement. I...I cain’t quiet recall the specifics but it was mighty impressive, I reckon.”

Dipper laughs nervously, uncomfortable with the reality of McGucket’s memory issues and knowing exactly where that would take him. Well, maybe they could help with that once Bill wasn't a threat, before Dipper went home. Hard for McGucket to found a cult and destroy more of his mind while he was here, right?

He turns his attention back to Ford, who has started sifting through some of the books on the table in the hunt for something. “So, uh, Great Uncle Ford. Where are we going? What do we need to get?” he moves closer and picks up on of the books closest to him. Physics and Where They Just Don’t Work. Huh.

“Where it all began, my boy. Aha!” Ford manages to slide out a folded up piece of paper from beneath the pile. When he unfolds it, Dipper can see an array of lines that make no sense whatsoever. Then Ford folds it up again differently until it’s in the shape of a triangle and when he holds it up, Dipper can see what it is. A map. “I’ve already hidden away my other journals and with the snow it would be quite difficult to get them back. So we’ll just re-gather the information from its source; the cave.”

The cave. The cave. The cave.

WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL

Dipper nearly doubles over; it feels like he was just stabbed right through the eye into his brain. The book in his hands drops to the ground as he presses his palms to his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. Oh god, it hurts so bad! He feels his legs threatening to give out under the wash of nausea, feels the bile once again crawling up his throat. No, no, no, no. What was happening to him?

A pair of hands catch his shoulders as he sways and he looks up in surprise at his uncle. Before Dipper knows what he’s doing, he’s got his fingers dug into Ford’s sweater and his face pressed into his stomach while he struggles to breathe through the vice on his skull. Ford’s awkward, one hand staying on Dipper’s shoulder while the other twists his hat away so the brim isn’t digging into him. Dipper’s embarrassed by how he’s clinging, how childish he’s being, but everything hurts. He tries to block out whatever memory is trying to surface.

“We can’t go to the cave. We can’t. It’s not—” he swallows down the bile and digs his fingers in harder. “It’s not safe. I don’t know why, I can’t remember, but we can’t go. S-something’s not right there.” Oh god, he wished Mabel was here. Even if just to give him a proper hug, unlike Ford’s uncomfortable patting. He felt stronger when it was the two of them than when it was just him alone and right now he felt weaker than he ever had. He was with the Author, he was being given the chance to do what he’d dreamed all summer and go on an adventure, but suddenly all he wants is to be with his sister.

Ford pushes him back a bit so he can kneel, putting him roughly eye level with Dipper. He looks over at where McGucket is standing to the side; Dipper’s cheeks burn at the look of concern on the other man’s face. Ford gives his shoulders a squeeze. “Listen, Dipper. Breathe. Slow, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Do that for me.”

Dipper obeys; slow deep breaths in the nose and out the mouth. It takes a few repetitions before the panic starts to dissipate and with it most of the nausea, though his head still hurts. He nods slowly at his uncle.

“Good boy. Now keep doing that and listen.” Ford frowns and adjusts Dipper’s hat, fixing where it had been pushed askew. “The cave isn’t safe; I know that. Going there is a calculated risk and one I feel that we can withstand. So long as I don’t fall asleep again, my mind is safe, and you’d have to shake his hand for him to take you. And now that I’ve finally had some coffee, I’m awake enough for this, but perhaps you should stay—”

“No!” Ford doesn’t have the plate in his head; Ford isn’t safe from Bill. Well, that would explain the way he’d screamed when he’d woken up after the five minute nap after Dipper had first arrived. How long has it been since Ford has slept? Dipper feels a chill in his spine at the thought of Ford going there and potentially falling asleep. “Great Uncle Ford, you have to listen to me! You can’t go there! It’s not—“ another stab of pain, “I don’t know why but it’s too dangerous! Even for you! Especially for you!”

Ford looks ready to argue more but McGucket speaks up. He’s moved over to the window, peaking through the blinds. “Now, I don’t mean to be interuptin’ y’all’s argument, but there’s someone here. Someone that looks an awful lot like you, Ford, but with a much better haircut.”

\lsdqfo��,*

#this is also on ao3 if anyone prefers to read it there #gravity falls #mabel pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #fiddleford mcgucket #fanfiction #fanfic #kainichivonwrites #journey to the roots

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