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darkspine10 · 14 days

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GF Fanfic - Return to the Roots

Tangled Roots (36,063 words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 7/7

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Mature

Preston Northwest had just sat down in his kitchen to enjoy his french toast and omelette when the doorbell rang and interrupted his tranquillity. He considered ignoring it until the bell rang a second time, and then incessantly. Sighing, he abandoned his breakfast and morning newspaper. The local Gossiper had never been an outstanding example of journalism, but he was still mildly offended that his daily ritual had been interrupted.

He sometimes wondered why he stayed in this town after all the humiliations he’d endured. It was his ancestral seat, yes, but no-one would blame him for getting away from all the reminders of the ways his pride had been dented. The locals were ignorant, the rustic, rural air didn’t agree with him, and the less said about ‘the mystical side’ of the valley the better.

Preston unlocked the door, ready to give a thrashing to whatever two-bit salesperson, teenager with a petition for him to sign, or lost tourist happened to present themselves. What he was not expecting was a figure out of an abattoir.

Standing in his doorway was a woman covered from head to toe in hot, dripping blood. Preston had to suppress the urge to heave from the tangy stench, before he had a flicker of recognition. “Pacifica?”

“Hey, dad.” His daughter weakly grinned. “Long time no see.”

“Are you-”

“It’s not my blood. Mostly.” In one hand his daughter was carrying a giant woodcutter’s axe, and for a split second he thought this was some karmic punishment come to take retribution. Then Pacifica grimaced and asked to come in. She had to repeat herself, so dazed was he by the question. “I said we need somewhere to rest and clean up.” She gestured to a queue of strangers lined up on the pathway leading from the wall around the front garden. They were a shabby and tired looking bunch, covered in dirt and their clothes ragged.

Preston raised his nose in a sneer, but his daughter’s insistent look wore him down. It was such a rare opportunity to even see her these days that he felt obliged to accept her bizarre request. “Oh, very well. As long as they-” The column of invaders charged past him into the house and up the stairs towards the shower. “-wipe their feet,” he lamely finished. “Care to come in?” he tentatively offered to his daughter.

Pacifica thought about it, seeming to give it genuine consideration. That was a change from the frostiness with which she’d treated him and her mother on the occasion of their last meeting, at the wedding with whatshisname, that Pines lad. “Yeah, why not,” Pacifica said, hefting the axe and plodding inside.

She walked straight through and sat down, right in his minimalist white kitchen. He winced; that seat cushion would be stained forevermore. She leant the axe against the table, her eyes gazing hungrily at his breakfast. “Can I have something to eat? I’m famished.”

“Why yes,” he said politely, “don’t mind if you-” She grabbed his french toast and tore into it like an animal. When she noticed his offended glare, she said, “sorry, I’ve had a busy night and not eaten much.”

Preston was about to act deferential and excuse her minor savagery, but baulked on seeing that Pacifica’s retinue even included two of those bumpkin lumberjacks, the Corduroys. They were wandering in like they owned the place, gawking at his neatly arranged shelves and modern furniture. They made their upstairs with the rest of the rabble.

Stepping around the muddy footprints and trying to ignore the heavy footfalls from above, Preston slid into the kitchen. “What exactly has been going on?”

“Demon, at the graveyard, I killed it.” She seemed too tired to explain further. Preston dropped vacantly into the opposite chair and awkwardly drummed his fingers on the table.

“Nevertheless, it’s… good to see you.”

Pacifica pursed her lips, finding it equally awkward to respond. “I wanted to put some things to rest. After last night I think I realised there was no point blaming you two for anything. Sure, a lot of my issues stem from the way I was raised, but dwelling on it won’t help me fix anything.”

Preston’s mind whirred, trying to keep up with what she was saying. “Are you trying to say you forgive us?”

Pacifica pondered it, tapping her chin, then shook her head. “Nah. Not really. I’ve been carrying around a lot of hate and I wanted to get rid of it. It’s not forgiveness, but I accept the way you were and I feel like I can move on. I hope.” She shrugged. “That’s one source of my major life issues dealt with, only like half-a-dozen left.”

“Well, you always did enjoy coming in first place. I’m sure you can handle whatever comes at you.”

For reasons he couldn’t put his finger on, Preston found Pacifica’s crooked smile ever-so unsettling. “You don’t know the half of it. Nice catch-up anyway,” The bedraggled strangers had cleaned themselves up lightly and the Corduroys were leading them down the stairs and out into the daylight. Pacifica lifted up the axe and made for the door along with them.

Preston reached out for her. “You don’t have to leave so soon. If you wait, your mother will be back from the store.”

“I’d rather not linger. I want to get home to my own shower, but first I’ve got to get these people back to their homes and families.” Pacifica shared a fond grin with the elder Corduroy as he left. He was evidently proud of something she’d done. It was an expression Preston had never teased out from his daughter himself.

As she turned to leave, Preston forced out, “I’m… pleased to see you happy. Good luck with the children, I’m sure they’ll be missing you.”

Pacifca stopped and her shoulders seemed to relax fractionally. “Well. How about that,” Preston heard her mutter. “Bye dad. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” She lifted the axe in salute as a way of waving goodbye, then walked out the door shutting it behind her.

Preston sat there, too stunned to react. After ten minutes, he quietly smiled to himself.

“I know why I named my daughter after you.”

In the cold January afternoon, Pacifica held a single purple flower over her heart and stared down at the unadorned stone slab with Wendy’s name inscribed on it.

“It wasn’t affection,” she said. “I was guilty, pure and simple. You saved my life, you’d already made up for your mistakes. It could have easily been me who died that day. If it wasn’t for your sense of duty…” She took a deep breath. “I think it was more than that. Last night when I faced down that monster and was inches from death I felt a sort of relief! That sounds mad. But it’s true. It was an opportunity to let go of all the negativity, all the bad deeds, and just slip away. Redemption through sacrifice. I nearly gave in. Maybe that’s what was going through your head too, when you made us leave and stayed behind with Eli. I guess I’ll never know.”

She held the violet between two fingers, gazing out across the valley. Though large patches of white remained, green leaves were already sprouting. Colour and life were returning to the forest. “I said I nearly gave in. Because I suppose that’s the difference. Dying there in the dirt wouldn’t have achieved anything. No blaze of glory, no resolution. I realise now that I want to be in control of my life again. I took my body back from that beast and that was the first step. I’d like to find out what the next step is, and the step after that.”

Pacifica’s fingers lightly brushed the still-healing scratches on her arm. “It’s been a long journey to get this far. I had my old body, but it was broken. I couldn’t have kids and I used to think that made me worthless. Then I got ‘fixed’, and for a while I was happy. Except it didn’t feel like my body anymore, I didn’t belong, it was too clean and tidy. I was a foreign agent in a hostile land. Now I’m living with the constant reminders of the pregnancy. This time I think I understand. Third time luck, right? These stretch marks and imperfect shape may not be the familiar scars I used to carry, but they’ve made this body my own.”

She looked over to where her family was waiting. Mason stood respectfully, with Leah in arm, though Merrise, holding his hand, was fidgeting. She could only expect the ten year old to care so much about adult concerns, or reminiscing over someone who was basically a stranger to her.

“If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have this family. You never were fazed by all this soul-searching stuff. Wendy Corduroy, always cool and in control. A girl who knew exactly what she wanted, who dated over a dozen guys before she was 16. I guess I was envious, subconsciously perhaps. After my family was disgraced you had something no amount of money could buy, reputation. Social capital.” She gave a hollow laugh. “Listen to me. I still sometimes sound like my parents. Treating having a lot of friends like it’s a transaction. Maybe in another life we could have been friends. Properly, I mean, not friend-of-a-friend casual acquaintances. If only we hadn’t been so tangled up in our separate lives.” The flower slipped through her fingers and rested beside the gravestone. “Goodbye, Wendy.”

She turned away, back to her family and didn’t look back. As she approached, Mason handed the baby over to Merrise, who took this as her cue to smile and skip away. Mason embraced Pacifica in a hug. “You could have told me all along.”

“I know.” Pacifica snuggled against her husband’s chest. “I was caught up in my own head.”

“Never like to cede a fight, eh?” He slyly grinned at her, then cupped her cheek. “Please don’t feel like you need to hold it all in like this again.”

Pacifica solemnly nodded. “We can have loads of fun talking about it together later. Maybe with a therapist in the room too. First, we’ve got an appointment, with the living this time.”

The blade of the axe swung down and split the chunk of wood into two even pieces. Mason wiped sweat off his brow. “Is this really necessary?”

“Oh yes,” Pacifica said from where she was reclining on the Corduroys’ porch. She had her journal open on the table, writing up her recent adventure, while Leah slept in a nearby rocking chair. “You’re making the view nicer. All those rippling muscles of yours.”

Mason blushed and placed another wooden log on the tree stump. He raised the axe again and brought it neatly down.

Next to him, his sister was still struggling on her first log, swinging the axe wildly and only making an incision about halfway in. “So why am I here too?” Zera handed another log over from the pile, staying clear of her wife’s wide swings.

“Payback for letting me wander all over the valley unsupervised, high as a kite,” Pacifica said with a smirk. “You’re not wimping out, are you? C’mon, let’s see some of that famous May Pines grit and determination.”

“Abso-tively poso-lutely!” Mabel gritted her teeth and made another useless chop, while Mason was already on his third log.

Laughing, Merrise ran through the clearing with the two Corduroy boys in pursuit. “Not so fast,” Pacifica called out, “You don’t want to trip over.” Merrise saluted and started jogging off again before the boys could tag her. Kids, Pacifica thought, smiling.

Manly Dan came from inside the cabin carrying a tray of drinks. “Another lemonade, Mrs Pines?”

“Don’t mind if I do. Thank you, Dan.” She sipped through a straw, while Manly Dan sat contentedly beside her on the porch. He kicked back and drank a lemonade of his own, enjoying watching someone else do his job for once.

Pacifica put the finishing touches on her journal entry, having sketched a likeness of the Unshriven from memory. Closing the cover, she sat back in her chair. Shutting her eyes, she felt the warm sun on her skin. In the afternoon sky a single star shone amidst the blue. Pacifica looked from it down to her sleeping daughter. “Thank you,” she whispered to the air. “For showing me that I have a future.”

#Gravity Falls #gravity falls fanfic #pacifica northwest #preston northwest #dipper pines #mabel pines #manly dan #wendy corduroy

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ticklishraspberries · 1 year

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Experience (Dipper, Mabel, Pacifica)

Summary: Pacifica feels out of her element when she watches the twins roughhouse. Lucky for her, Dipper doesn’t mind showing her how it’s done. (Based on a prompt by the lovely @veryblushyswitch!! This could be interpreted as Dipcifica, I do hint to a bit of crushing but the fic could be read as totally platonic too. Hope you enjoy it!)

Pacifica Northwest had not had a normal childhood. Well, that was selling it quite short. She had grown up as a rich, spoiled child who was cared for by nannies rather than her own parents. All of her friends were hand-picked and approved, other children who were trained to smile and look pretty, to obey. And, as the only heir to the Northwest name, she had no siblings to play with, leaving her to use her imagination as she played with expensive, porcelain dolls.

Most of the people in Gravity Falls were terrified of her, or treated her as some sort of celebrity. They were desperate for her approval and attention, but only knew the most basic, textbook facts about her. Yes, it was a privileged and comfortable life, but it was lonely in its own special way.

It wasn’t until Pacifica met Dipper and Mabel Pines that she realized all that she had missed out on. She watched the way that the two of them interacted with one another, or with their great-uncles, or their friends, and a wave of jealousy went through her.

Although their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, Pacifica quickly grew to view the Pines twins as the friends she had always longed to have. Their chaos, creativity, and genuine kindness were all traits that she had rarely seen in the people her family allowed her to socialize with. It was a very welcome change of pace.

Speaking of chaos, it was rare to be around Dipper and Mabel and not be drawn into the madness of their everyday life if Gravity Falls. When they weren’t getting into trouble with the various creatures around, they were causing trouble around the Mystery Shack.

Pacifica had come over to join the twins for a double-feature of two terrible films for the sole purpose of making fun of said films, and the afternoon had ended with Mabel pinning Dipper to the floor and tickling him until he swore that she could pick the movie next time. Pacifica had sat to the side, watching them with the curiosity of the sheltered child that she was.

She couldn’t even remember the last time someone had tickled her, or if she was even ticklish herself. As she watched Mabel shriek when Dipper’s hands struck a counter-attack on her sides, she couldn’t help but feel left out of the fun. Despite becoming friends, she felt that Dipper and Mabel still had an image of her in their heads, the untouchable and spoiled girl she used to be (and still slipped back into the act on occasion) and therefore, she was left out of the roughhousing. Was it strange that she wanted to experience that?

After Dipper had agreed to Mabel’s terms, he looked flustered beyond belief, and he was winded as though he’d run a marathon. Pacifica would almost dare to say he looked cute. Before she could entertain the thought further, Mabel was grabbing her hand and dragging her upstairs to read the new magazines she’d gotten, complete with boy band posters and makeup tips galore.

She was allowed to spend the night, and Dipper, likely traumatized by all the long nights with Candy and Grenda, had gone to sleep on the couch downstairs for the night.

For such an energetic girl, Mabel was quick to fall asleep, leaving Pacifica alone with her thoughts for just a few minutes, and she tentatively ran her own dainty fingers over her stomach beneath the blanket, and felt no urge to laugh or twitch away. She remembered reading somewhere that it was impossible to tickle yourself, but she figured it was worth a shot. She drifted off to the sound of Mabel’s breathing shortly after.

***

The next morning, Mabel shook her awake with unnecessary urgency, with the excuse that Stan was making pancakes for breakfast, and they needed to stack their plates before Dipper went back for a second helping.

The two girls made their way down the creaky stairs of the Mystery Shack, Mabel humming to herself the whole way. Pacifica was surprised to see how much energy she had in the mornings, but followed without comment.

As they entered the kitchen, Mabel grabbed two plates and began tossing pancakes onto them both while Pacifica took a seat next to Dipper at the table. Stan offered her a toothy grin, and Ford gave her a polite nod over his newspaper. Dipper gave her a little smile before shoveling another forkful of pancake into his mouth. Mabel held most of the conversation at the table, and once they were all finished eating, the twins got to helping their great-uncles with the dishes.

Pacifica wasn’t sure how to be helpful, having never really done her own chores before, but Dipper seemed to notice her hesitation and asked her to help him dry off the plates and hand them over to Mabel. She did so, forming a nice assembly line that got the kitchen clean quickly, letting the kids run back up to the attic to plan their activities for the day.

“Oh, I totally forgot!” Mabel suddenly exclaimed. “I’m supposed to go to Candy’s house today! She wants to show Grenda and I the stuff she made at robotics camp!”

Pacifica really didn’t want to go home yet, but she barely had time to accept that fate before Dipper spoke up.

“That’s alright Mabel, Pacifica and I won’t go on any cool adventures without you,” he promised.

Mabel grinned before running off to the bathroom to get dressed and ready for the day, leaving Pacifica sitting on her bed, feeling Dipper’s eyes on her.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dipper flushed. “Oh, sorry, I just…I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without any makeup, or jewelry. You actually look like we’re the same age when you aren’t all dressed up.”

Pacifica had honestly forgotten that she had washed off her signature purple eyeshadow and removed her earrings and bracelet before bed last night, and her own cheeks went a little pink as she realized she had been seen by the whole Pines family with a messy ponytail, and wearing a pair of Mabel’s baggy sleep shorts. “Thanks, I think?” she said.

“Don’t get used to me complimenting you,” he replied, but his grin told her he was joking.

Mabel returned shortly after, telling Pacifica that she could raid her closet for whatever she wanted, before giving her a hug and leaving again, the sound of her calling goodbye to Stan and Ford echoing throughout the house.

“So,” Dipper said. “Since I promised we wouldn’t do anything exciting without Mabel, I don’t really have any good ideas for the day. I wanted to show you something cool, y’know, but I don’t want to do anything too crazy for your first time, but I still want it to—”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I don’t need to hunt down some weird creature to have a good time, you know. We can just…I don’t know, watch another movie?”

Dipper’s nervous expression softened at that. “Okay!”

Pacifica took Mabel’s offer to borrow some clothes, taking a pair of denim shorts and a purple sweater which boasted a puppy playing basketball on it, and took the borrowed outfit into the bathroom to change and give Dipper the privacy to do the same.

They met up back in the living room, with Dipper already flipping through a stack of DVDs.

“Now that Mabel isn’t here, I don’t have to sit through a rom-com,” he said cheerfully, but then frowned. “Unless you want to, that is. I picked yesterday, so if you have something else you’d rather watch, we totally can watch that instead.”

The mention of his promise to Mabel only reminded her of the thoughts she’d had the night before. Still, Pacifica chuckled at his rambling. “Pick whatever you want. I liked the ones we watched last night, they were cool.”

Dipper’s face lit up once again, and plucked a DVD out of the pile, popping it into the player before joining her on the couch.

Pacifica had already swallowed her pride so many times recently: Dealing with the significant drop in her family’s wealth was a good example. So, there was really no reason to hold back what she was thinking. Besides, while Mabel was probably her best friend, it felt easier to talk to Dipper, after he’d seen her vulnerable, crying in a closet at a party, or covered in dirt and grime during a battle with a triangle demon. What did she have to be nervous about?

“Sorry I didn’t like, help you when Mabel was bothering you,” she said. “I’ve never really…had a tickle fight before? So I didn’t know if I should try to intervene.”

Dipper, who was still digging for the remote amongst the couch cushions, raised an eyebrow. “It’s okay, I mean, there really is no etiquette to it…But you’ve never had a tickle fight before? Like, ever?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have siblings, and none of my friends were the touchy type.”

“But, it’s…That’s just, like, a rite of passage in life!” Dipper said. “I don’t think I’ve gone a week of my life without Mabel tickling me.”

“Well, you seem really ticklish, so I guess it’s hard to resist,” Pacifica replied, smirking.

Dipper’s cheeks went red, but he narrowed his eyes. “Well, maybe it’s time you experience it, since you want to talk all confidently.”

Pacifica didn’t say anything, just widened her eyes in anticipation as Dipper’s hands reached out and grabbed at her sides, fingers wiggling.

The surprised, genuine laughter that burst from her lips was foreign even to her; she couldn’t remember if she had ever laughed that hard. The sensation was overwhelming, and although her body was screaming for her to escape, she was…having fun.

She brought her knees up to her chest, a poor attempt at defending her torso, and Dipper just gleefully began squeezing her knees, making her squeal. It was surely the most undignified sound to ever leave her lips, and she couldn’t even be bothered to care.

Not quite knowing what she was doing, she reached her hands out and poked her fingers into Dipper’s stomach, and felt proud when he began to giggle too.

While Pacifica was clearly quite ticklish, Dipper was apparently absurdly sensitive, and so his laughter quickly overpowered hers, making her feel mischievous and proud, a grin stretching across her face.

Dipper was quickly backed into the corner of the couch, Pacifica hovering over him and using one hand to scribble at his neck while the other snuck behind his knee, making him cackle. It was actually pretty cute, but that was a thought to analyze another time.

She assumed that she had won the tickle fight, a victory on her first try, but she wasn’t expecting Dipper to suddenly regain enough strength to push her back against the cushions and launch a new attack on her tummy and sides, making her kick her legs and shriek like some creature from Ford’s journals.

“Okay, okay!” she cried. “I can’t—”

Dipper stopped immediately, letting her sit up and catch her breath, arms wrapping around her torso to try and make the phantom sensation of his fingers go away.

When she met his eye, he was smiling, his cheeks flushed and his hat crooked on his head. “So, how was that for your first tickle fight?” he asked.

She couldn’t help but smile too. “It was fun. But, I think it’ll be better next time, when I win.”

Dipper raised his eyebrows. “Oh, is that a challenge?”

“Yup. And I’m not above asking Mabel for pointers,” she replied.

“That’s so not fair!” Dipper said.

Pacifica just giggled.

It had been a weird experience; being tickled was a lot different than she had imagined it, childhood memories of it still foggy, the whole fight-or-flight aspect having slipped her expectations. But regardless, letting loose and laughing like that had been fun. Refreshing, even. It made her feel like Dipper didn’t see her as some expensive, fragile item that would shatter in his hands, and then sue him for the damages.

Before either of them found something else to say, Mabel came bounding through the front door of the house, and peered into the living room. “What did you guys do while I was gone?” she asked in her usual bubbly manner.

Dipper caught Pacifica’s eye and grinned. “Wanna see what it’s like to win 2-against-1?”

Pacifica returned his grin. “Definitely.”

The two of them chased Mabel all the way up to the attic before they caught her, but it wasn’t long before laughter filled the Mystery Shack once again.

#gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls tickle fic #gravity falls ticklefic #dipcifica #dipper pines #ticklish!dipper #ticklish dipper pines #mabel pines #pacifica northwest #ticklefic #tickle fic #gravity falls #raspberry writes #fic

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the-math-hatter · 1 year

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Hello Tumblr and the critters upon it. I have a fanfic of Gravity Falls, which can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31286522 For Chapter 2, I have received this stunning piece of art by @spectralfineries, who has their commissions open, go throw money at them I beg of thee.

#Gravity Falls #Gravity Falls fanfic #Gravity Falls fanart #post canon #Fiddleford Hadron McGucket #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Dipper Pines #Mabel Pines #Pacifica Northwest

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cacowhistle · 10 months

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Things have been different since the twins got back. Something changed over the summer. Something drew them closer than Adina thought was possible for them—just thirteen years old, but the look in their eyes when she catches them whispering in the kitchen late at night is much, much older. She'd like to believe she's imagining things. But she sees it in the way that Mabel has matured and Dipper has gained confidence. If she's uncertain at all about the change, all of that is thrown out the window when she gets a call from school one day in the spring telling her the twins are in the office and need to be picked up after getting into a fight.

me? posting gravity falls fanfiction in 2023? yeah <3 go read the first fic of my new series deconstruction, all about my take on the post-canon events of the lives of the pines family.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls fic #dipper pines #mabel pines #stan pines #ford pines #my writing

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i-prefer-base-twelve · 10 months

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Supplies Party

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ford Pines/Reader Additional Tags: Fluff, haunted office depot

You take Ford shopping for his birthday.

~~~~

Just a fun piece of fluff to celebrate. Enjoy!

#gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls fanfiction #ford pines x reader #reader character is established but you can read it as a standalone #also I tried not to mention reader character's gender and I think I succeeded?#so I hope you like it!

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the-orion-scribe · 16 days

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Two final chapters uploaded!

Episode V: Who let the Knives Out?

Summary: The Pines prepares and hosts a major event at Pacifica’s former family home, but as could be expected, disaster strikes. The family must navigate through a web of secrets and lies to uncover the true mastermind trying to sabotage Pacifica’s efforts of reconciliation.

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: G

Chapter 10: Murder on the Orion Express

Chapter summary: Things come to an end as Pacifica rescues her children.

Chapter 11: Their First Bow

Chapter summary: While the mystery is over and the Blue Star has been recovered, the Pines have to prepare for new threats ahead.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fanfic #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #dipcifica #gravity falls next generation #my fic

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leosagi-real · 1 year

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“Use some company?”

Stanley jumps, stumbling to grab his cigarette before it falls into the slushy grass. The lit end hits his finger, and while he doesn't have too many nerves there anymore, it still smarts, and he lets out a curse as he sees the red mark form.

Fiddleford watches with a mix of exasperation and amusement, closing the door behind him as a gust of wind rushes by. “Sorry t’ startle ya.”

“Eh.” Stan leans his back on the railing, sticking the cig in his mouth to leave it there. “Was lost in my thoughts anyhow. No harm done.”

this is a fic inspired by @slayfordpines‘s comic !! idk why it took so long lmao

(fic under readmore if you don’t want to use link)

Stanley Pines is a lucky guy.

If someone ever asked him about his past, the past ten years especially, lucky wouldn't exactly be the first adjective they'd think of. Lucky to be alive, perhaps. Kicked out at seventeen over an honest mistake? Living out of his car for a decade? Getting banned in half of the entire U.S and parts of other countries? Not exactly most people's definition of lucky.

Honestly, Stan himself had a similar outlook for a long time.

(like after he got shoved up against an alley wall with a gun to his skull. like after he nearly drowned in the trunk of a car, and lost a chunk of his teeth getting himself out. like after he had to run like hell to get away from Rico, from Jorge, from Jimmy.)

Now, though, Stan would definitely say he's lucky. Because here he is, with his brother, his twin, in a nice house, in a nice town, even if they are somewhat secluded from the townspeople. He's not running anymore. Well, maybe from all the strange creatures they meet on a near-daily basis, but that's a good kind of thrill, because he has Ford with him.

And Fiddleford, of course.

Stan’s heart jumps at the thought of the engineer. He's never met anyone quite like that man. Soft jawline, dark blue eyes usually obscured behind comically small glasses, long hair that just barely brushes his shoulders, delicate but calloused hands, hands that could make someone feel so good with just the right—

Stan blows out the cigarette smoke in a wistful sigh, leaning his elbow on the railing of the shack’s back porch and putting his cheek in the heel of his hand. The woods beyond the yard are calm, an occasional wind rustling the trees and sending a few birds flying. With winter coming soon, they're becoming more scarce, but he still sees some here and there.

“Use some company?”

Fiddleford watches with a mix of exasperation and amusement, closing the door behind him as a gust of wind rushes by. “Sorry t’ startle ya.”

“Eh.” Stan leans his back on the railing, sticking the cig in his mouth to leave it there. “Was lost in my thoughts anyhow. No harm done.”

“The Stan Pines gettin’ snuck up on?” Fidds laughs, not noticing how Stan lights up at the sound. “What could’a been so entrancin’ that you didn't hear me comin’?”

Stan doesn't answer for a moment, inhaling and then blowing smoke out through his nose. “Nothin’ much. You know me. Never too much goin’ on up here.” He taps his temple with a bandaged finger, giving a lazy grin.

“Aw, now, Stanley, you know that ain't true.” Fiddleford gives another chuckle, this time more reserved, like he's trying not to say something else. Stan tilts his head, but the inventor continues. “Let me see that hand’a yours. Cigarette burns are no fun no matter how numb ya already are.”

Right. Sometimes Stan forgets just how much he's confided in this man, prompted with little more than gentle questions and a few drinks on a quiet night. He's told Fiddleford some of the less… exciting, for lack of better word, stories about the near decade he was on his own. Which somehow ended up including detailing a few of his smaller physical scars, visible or not.

Stan holds back a flinch when his hand is grabbed—so gently, how is it possible to be so tender with such calloused hands—and Fiddleford brings it up closer to his face, one hand coming up to readjust his glasses.

Stan pretends his face is not heating up right now, their close proximity making him suddenly self-conscious about how he hadn’t shaved this morning, and his hands are probably dirty, and his hair is probably greasy, and—

“Ah, looks like it barely scrapped ya.” Fiddleford lets go of him (far too quickly, in Stan’s opinion) and reaches into his pocket, bringing out his own cigarette. “Can I get a light?”

His companion obliges, grabbing his lighter out of his pocket. Fiddleford puts the cigarette in his mouth, allowing Stan to light it for him. Once that’s completed, they both move to look back towards the woods as Stanley had been.

“Stanford’s goin’ on some expedition tomorra’,” Fidds informs him after a while, looking over at his companion.

“Yeah? Don't want us goin’ with ‘im?”

“Nah, says it's simple enough he can stay safe. Means we got the house to ourselves, though.” Stan misses the look Fiddleford gives him, eyes focused on trying to blow out a double ring of smoke.

“Hell yeah. Movies and drinkin’ and babes.” The younger one grins when he achieves his goal. “Or, y'know, just the movies and drinks.”

Fidds snorts.

It turns out that their time alone includes movies, drinks, and Stan sitting on the ground and trying not to let out embarrassingly girly screeches as Fiddleford braids his mullet.

“Ow, ow, hey—!”

“Now, you quit actin’ like a kid, huh? My ma did this to me all the time when I was li’l—” Fidds tugs a tad harder, and Stanley squeaks. “And you ain't hear me cryin’ like an infant!”

“It don't need to be so damn tight, Fiddlesticks!” the younger of them practically roars, grasping blindly at his friend's hands in a futile attempt to get him to leave him be.

He isn't even sure why he agreed to this. They'd been perfectly fine watching Columbo on the little TV in the main room of the cabin. Had even been right next to each other on the couch, arms occasionally brushing and sending shivers up Stanley's spine.

But no, they couldn't just enjoy their time and watch the old bugger unravel another murder on the screen; Stan just had to bring up a particular woman's hairstyle, and Fiddleford just had to offer to do Stan's hair.

And Stan Pines, ever whipped for this lanky, charming man, had taken no more than a single glance at Fiddleford’s hands, imagined so briefly what they'd feel like tangled up in his thick hair, and had immediately agreed.

“Ye-OWCH!” Stan finally gets a grip on one of Fidds’ wrists, not bruising but not loose enough for him to escape, either. The engineer huffs, pausing in his braiding.

“Y’know, if you'da just let me do it without strugglin’, we'd be done by now. I'm makin’ it tight so it don't fall out too soon.” Fiddleford starts up again, but Stanley notices he's being just the slightest bit gentler this time. He still doesn't let go of his wrist. “‘Sides, yer ma never did this for ya as a kid? Or even yer dad?”

Stan snorts. “As if my old man would let me have long enough hair for this. ‘If you think you're gonna be a boy, you're sure as hell gonna look like one!’, ‘s what he'd always say when he had my ma cut my hair,” the younger of the two explains, voice switching to do a pretty good impression of his dad, if he does say so himself.

Fiddleford’s hands slow for a second, and Stan lets go of his wrist with an awkward cough. “Sorry.”

“Ah, no worries. ‘S just every time I hear somethin’ about yer ol’ man I feel like flyin’ a plane up to Jersey and kickin’ his ass myself.” Fidds sighs wistfully, earning a quiet snort. “Ford never lets me, though.”

“T’ be fair, my pa’s almost double your size. Even if he is, like, senile.”

“I could take ‘im. Was a hog wrestler in my day.” Fiddleford forgets he has a hand in Stan's hair and attempts to flex his muscles, earning a shout. “Sorry. But did I ever tell ya about that?”

Stanley doesn't answer for a second, and Fiddleford glances down at him. The boxer flashes him an almost sheepish grin. “I honestly thought hog wrestling was a made up thing.”

This earns Stan a snicker. “No, me ‘n my siblin’s would have our own li’l tournaments around it. You've got a five-time hog wrestlin’ champion doin’ your hair, Stanley; you should feel honored!”

“Ha!” Stanley leans his hands back on the rug, stretching one leg out in front of him. “As if I need more reason to think you’re great.”

He freezes, eyes wide as he stares at the muted television in front of him, face stuck in a grimacing smile. The engineer doesn’t even pause this time, going on as if Stan hadn’t just aired out a bit of his sappy inner thoughts to him by accident.

“But—no, this is my first time gettin’ my hair braided.” Stanley pauses to make sure he's back on the right track of thought, nodding in content when he confirms it in his own head. “Better be the best damn braid I ever seen, Fiddlesticks, or else you're payin’ when we go out for lunch later.”

“We’re goin’ to lunch?” Fiddleford hums as he pulls a hair tie taut around the end of the braid.

Stan reaches up to tenderly feel the full thing, making sure not to disturb any of the loose strands in fear of ruining all of it. “Yep. That alright? Figured it'd be better’n whatever we have around here. ‘Specially since I haven't gone shopping too recent.”

Fiddleford grins, putting his hands on Stanley's shoulders to balance himself as he leans over the younger one’s head, looking him upside-down in the eyes. “Sounds fun. D’ya reckon I'll be payin’?” he asks, grabbing a handheld mirror Stan hadn't noticed and offering it to him.

The boxer grabs it, squinting and making a show of inspecting his hair. He hums and nods sagely to himself. “No, I think I've got this one. This is, without a doubt, the best damn braid I've ever seen.”

The engineer glows under his friend's praise, and Stan feels his heart melt just a bit when he sees the expression in the mirror.

The duo end up in Greasy’s Diner about an hour later. After Stan had taken some time to admire the braid some more—much to Fiddleford's delight—he’d grabbed the walkie talkie and his wallet off the counter and driven them to the restaurant.

Stan winks at Susan as she sets down his burger and Fiddleford’s chicken fingers, earning himself a laugh and a wink back. He doesn’t notice Fiddleford staring after Susan, too occupied on slathering his burger with ketchup.

“Yer barely gonna be able to taste that, Stan, let up a bit,” Fidds laughs.

Stanley glances up at him, then at the burger. “Ehn. Old habit; my ma made the worst burgers. Me’n Ford always put so much ketchup on ‘em we were basically just eating ketchup with some bread’n meat.” He sticks his tongue out in a very mature manner. “‘Sides, we came to a diner and you decided to get chicken fingers?”

“Hey!” Fiddleford cries out indignantly, earning a glance from one of the chefs through their little window. “You ever had one of these? Best damn chicken I ever ate, other’n the ones off my farm.”

Stan just laughs, taking a bite and pointedly ignoring the red glob that falls into his plate. He pushes back the single braid that's made its way in front of his shoulder, though, not wanting his hair to get in the ketchup or something.

Fiddleford blinks, as if having forgotten his friend's mullet was styled. “You didn't have to wear that out, y'know. I know ya like to keep up your “tough guy image,”” he makes air quotes, offering a nervous smile.

“Bah!” Stanley waves a hand. “Nothing manlier’n keeping your hair outta your face. Plus, I went through my fair share of pain to get this thing in, and it's not coming out for at least the rest’a the night.”

The grin on his companion turns much more genuine.

They make idle chatter as they eat, their plates slowly but surely emptying the longer they do so. Occasionally Lazy Susan comes over to check on them, and Stan always assumes that same flirty persona whenever she does, always dropping it as soon as she’s out of earshot. At Fiddleford’s questioning after this happens a few times, Stan just laughs, remarking that they may get a discount on their meal if he keeps it up.

As they’re getting to the last bites of their food, and Stanley is telling a greatly exaggerated account of how he broke one of his opponent’s ribs in a boxing match, something catches Fiddleford’s eye.

“And so I send him a left hook, knocks him right outta the—” Stan pauses his mini-demonstration with his fist up in the air when the engineer’s hand starts coming into view, directly towards his face.

He pauses; logically, he knows Fiddleford isn’t about to hit him, which is likely why his freeze mode activates instead of fight or flight, but living on the streets for nearly a decade doesn’t exactly have a person welcoming this situation with open arms.

Fiddleford pauses as well when he notices the tenseness in his friend’s shoulders. He offers a smile. “You got some ketchup on your cheek, ’s all.”

Stanley releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, giving a lighthearted smile of his own. Fiddleford continues in his movement, his thumb gently but firmly sweeping over the red liquid next to Stan’s lips.

The appendage lingers for a second or two longer than is likely appropriate; Stanley’s face heats up as he stares into Fiddleford's blue eyes.

The engineer blinks at him, brain short-circuiting when the heterochromic gaze meets his own.

“Um…” Stan finally murmurs. “Did y—”

The moment is shattered by the walkie talkie crackling to life, causing them both to jump. “Stanley!—n the woods—nomaly!—stole my—need—”

“Slow down, Sixer, you need us to—”

“—GET DOWN HERE!”

“Son of a—” Stanley trips over himself getting out of the booth, grabbing Fiddleford's hand and bolting from the diner, leaving the crumbs of their unpaid meals in a cloud of dust behind them.

As it turns out, Ford has managed to have a run-in with what are possibly the most aggressive of the humanoid anomalies any of the trio have encountered so far. They call themselves manotaurs, and they had found themselves entertained with roughing Ford up when he accidentally stumbled upon them.

Stan and Fiddleford had found the scientist in the woods being thrown around like the beasts were playing monkey in the middle, ignoring his indignant shouts. He’d gotten his journal back by that point, at least.

Within not even five minutes, the manotaurs are scrambling away from a screaming, cursing Stanley, brass knuckles still poised to fight.

“Yeah, you better run! Flea-bitten, flat-ass pieces’a…” Stan groans and trails off, spitting some blood into a pile of leaves. “They got a few good hits in.”

Ford and Fiddleford stare up at him from their position on the ground, the engineer having placed himself at Ford's side to check his employer's injuries while Stan took over the fight. Fiddleford's cheeks are tinted pink as he watches Stan stretch his shoulder out, torn shirt riding up a tad. His hair has fallen out of its braid, the broken hair tie caught in his thick knotted hair still.

Fidds is broken out of his reverie by Ford stumbling out of his hold to stand. “Stanley! Are you alright?”

Stan looks over his shoulder at them, eyes trailing over Ford’s scuffed but otherwise uninjured form. “Yeah. Just nailed my cheek, it’ll prolly bruise.”

“Oh, good.” Ford puts his hands on his brother’s shoulders in relief.

And then proceeds to shake him until his head rattles a bit. “Are you insane?! Why would you run into a situation like that, you could’ve been severely injured!”

“Whoa—Hey, F—Aye!” Stan grabs Ford’s hands, stilling them. He’s careful to not dig the metal on his knuckles into his brother’s. “I’m fine. ‘Sides, I’ve been doin’ this since we were kids! Scarin’ off the bullies, keepin’ you safe, yknow? Plus, you called me here.” The younger twin easily maneuvers them so his arm is around Ford’s shoulders, earning a grumble. “C’mon, Fidds, tell ‘im. I’m fine.”

Fiddleford stares up at them, eyes lingering too long on the reddening of Stan’s right cheek. “Actually… I think you were a bit too brash for this havin’ been our first encounter with these creatures. You really could’ve been hurt real bad.”

Stanley’s showman smile falls, schooling to a halfhearted scowl. “Whatever. Let’s get back to the shack, I wanna grab a shower.” Slipping his brass knuckles back into his pockets, he drops the snapped hair tie in the grass and yanks Fiddleford into a standing position, then heads towards the house.

“It’s a cabin!” Ford huffs after him.

Fiddleford grabs the discarded hair tie from the disturbed grass and follows.

Stan gets to the house a minute or so before them, but doesn't hop into the shower like he'd previously mentioned; Ford decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth and grabs it for himself.

Fidds grabs an old bag of peas from the freezer on his way to the back porch.

Stan is in the same position as the night before, leaning on the porch railing and staring out at the woods. This time, though, the larger man notices Fiddleford's presence before he speaks.

With a small pang of anxiety in his chest, Stanley turns toward his friend. His eyes flick towards the bag of peas in Fiddleford’s hand, and he leans his back on the railing as he silently holds his hand out.

The engineer seems happy he’s even accepting the help, handing over the makeshift ice pack easily. The cigarette between his lips is spat out into the wet grass so as to not burn a hole in the bag, which is slapped onto his cheek, followed by a hiss from both parties.

Stan swallows as Fiddleford continues to stare at him, glancing off to the side to see a gnome scurry away and then looking back at him. “Sorry your braid came out. You can do it up again, ‘f ya want.”

“The braid doesn’t matter, Stanley. Are you alright? You’re sure there’s no cuts or anythin’?” Fiddleford fidgets with his fingers, but keeps eye contact with Stan. Even with his nervous energy, the expression on his face is serious; Stan feels a need to get that usual charming smile back on his face.

“Don’t worry, Fidds!” He opts to remove the pea bag and plop it on the bench so he can throw his arms out in both a display of casualness and to show that he’s not any more injured than they’d already thought. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It was just some bruises, really. You can even check, if ya want. And even if there were anythin’, I know yer too smart to let somethin’ like those stupid testosterone-reekin’ freaks get the best’a one of us. You’d be able to fix me up real good. ”

Fiddleford sighs, looking towards the ground; he’s still twiddling his fingers. Stan takes a hesitant step towards him, letting his offer float between them.

They’re barely a foot and a half apart, now. Every second Fiddleford stares at him with furrowed brows, as if picking him apart, Stan feels himself deflate. He’d already been tired even before this whole escapade, but the prospect of having the day with his brother’s employee had kept him going strong.

And so, when Fiddleford finally cups his cheeks in his gentle hands, he just… slumps into his warm grasp, releasing a breath without even thinking about it.

His eyes close when Fidds finally speaks. “If you keep goin’ on like this, Stanley…” he chides, adjusting his grip slightly as he moves Stan’s face to inspect it better, “there’s not gonna be anythin’ left fer me to fix.”

Stan opens one eye, but looks to the side instead of facing his friend’s piercing blue gaze. The words float lazily around his head, but he doesn’t really register them, concentrating only on the heat radiating from the hands on his cheeks. He reaches up to grasp them gently with his own, humming.

“Your hands are warm.”

Later, he'll blame the way his cheeks heat up on his friend's warmth seeping into his skin. It certainly isn't the way Fiddleford huffs affectionately at him, or when his thumbs shift slightly in almost a stroking motion.

“Well, I guess you are alright,” Fidds smiles. Almost hesitantly, he lets go of Stan, who frowns slightly, but straightens up. “Let's getcha inside. You prolly need some sleep after that whole ordeal.”

Stan just nods once, grabbing the ice pack and following his friend inside the shack. His free hand comes up to rest on his cheek in an attempt to replicate the floating feeling he’d felt a moment ago.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #stan pines #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #ford pines #stanford pines #mystery trio #fiddlestan #mine

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the-cosmic-blogger · 4 months

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Taking a break from ONE posting to give you yet another port and collab from FF.net! :3

Be warned: it's pretty dark.. the tags have all you need to prepare yourself. Proceed wisely.

Enjoy!!

#cosmitalk #gravity falls #gravity falls au #oneshot #gravity falls fanfic #alternate sock opera #what if #tw “suicide”#mabel pines #dipper pines #bill cipher #bipper #stan pines #stanley pines

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callipraxia · 6 months

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Things I Learned This Morning:

1) Using print instead of script, which would be faster but less tidy, I may hand-write not far under 1300 words per hour when things are going well. (The exact number was 1267 words)

2) My brain harbors an irrational hatred for the number 4 apparently? (I kept almost skipping it and having to go back and erase the little number above fourth words because I wrote 4 as 5, for instance, going straight from 223 to 225 before I caught myself.)

3) Taking a pencil and individually numbering every word you wrote takes a really long time.

4) Apparently my brain also cannot handle writing a series of numbers that consistently go above two digits. I transpose digits, forget the first digit, write 8 instead of 3, write 5 instead of 8, write 2 instead of 9….I made it through the first 1000 but counted the remainder in blocks of 1-100 in the interests of staying tolerably sane.

5) My print is indeed much more legible than my script, but also, oww, my elbow feels like it’s about to crack right now and my hand feels all twisted up inside, ow ow ow.

(Backstory: I’ve been stuck in a rut for a while, so I decided to say “what the heck” and try to force myself to write a rough draft of one of my fanfic ideas for NaNoWriMo. I’m printing because I am currently Resolved to write a complete rough draft and then revise it, all before posting anything. Then, in theory, I’ll post it by chapter on an actual *posting schedule*. However, since I have never managed to muster the kind of discipline needed to keep working on a project nobody has seen and praised some part of for that long in my entire life…we’ll see. Plus, it might be easy enough to make it to the word count minimum today, but I only just finished the setup phase of the first scene, getting Pacifica from “the alarm clock rang” and through “Pacifica reflects on what mornings in Northwest Manor were like compared to her new life” to the point of “Pacifica has gotten out of bed.” That kind of writing is super-easy for me, but the kinds where things actually happen can be…much slower going. Which means I’ll have to apply even *more* discipline to make quotas on some days. So basically I, a deeply scattered and undisciplined person, am basically attempting to overhaul my personality for at least a month, lol. Wish me luck, folks….

For my GF peeps, I hope that you’ll enjoy the results if this project does amount to anything, even though it is a bit of a departure from my ‘usual’ material. You see, I have a lifelong, deep-seated love for books set in schools/based around school years, and I have decided to combine that with my desire to write some post-canon material. We’re picking up very shortly after the finale, with the first day of school in Gravity Falls - the Pineses should have some involvement, here and there, but mostly via phone and Internet. I’m sufficiently addicted to the “greater scope” that I don’t think I‘ll end up with something that is purely YA or a “girls’ book,” but it will involve focusing on more girls and therefore “girl stuff” than canon/anything I have written previously - Pacifica, Wendy, and Candy are all projected to be narrators, with Grenda also at least being an important character and possibly a fourth narrator. Compare to FWJB, where the narrators consisted of ten dudes, Bill, and Mabel…and although I put him in his own category, Bill does seem to use he/him pronouns when interacting with English-speaking mortals, and so one could very reasonably argue that the narrators consisted of eleven dudes plus Mabel. Soos may well get some narrator time, but this one also seems on course to primarily focus on the kid characters. Gulp. We’ll see how it goes….)

#writing #writing life #writer problems #nanowrimo #nano 2023 #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fanfic #fanfic #fanfic problems #fanfic writing #wish me luck I’m gonna need it

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brightdrawings · 1 year

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Reminisce

inspired by this piece by @stephreynaart

It was almost a year now. Their world wide trip had taken longer than he had first planned. Or maybe he had extended it on purpose. Staying at each port for an extra day, taking in sights, picking out gifts for his family. Taking more detailed notes than necessary, observing the world with a slower pace than he normally would. Trying to enjoy as much of his life as he could.

"It's what he would have wanted." Stanford would tell himself.

It was almost a year now, but walking into town, knowing that he couldn't hear his laugh anymore. that he wouldn't have his old friend's wild ramblings, impressive inventions or admittedly enjoyable banjo playing to return to made his heart feel like stone. Weighing down in his chest until it felt too difficult to take another step. He missed him dearly, and a world without him felt wrong. A gravity Falls without Fiddleford McGucket felt like perverse reality he didn't want to live in. No living would be too kind a word. He wouldn't be living in a world like that. he'd be enduring.

The thoughts in his head began to form a maelstrom of pain and sorrow, of memories that he couldn't relive. Of Relationships he couldn't build. It felt like a big cruel joke. But as the thoughts began to take hold in his mind, the familiar sound of banjo strums echoed through the woods. It wasn't the same, the tune too modern to be something Fiddleford would play. Despite this, Stanford found himself following the plucked strings until he found himself at the Shack.

Sitting on the porch was a familiar long nosed man, with bushy hair and ball cap covering his eyes. Tate McGucket was steadily plucking away at a banjo, playing a tune from the radio. Beside him were Mabel, Wendy and Grenda, cheering him on. On the grass in front of them were Dipper, Soos and Candy, working on a new machine together. Stan stood aside, laughing his usual gruff laugh at what nerds the former trio were.

Watching his new family, Stanford felt his chest grow lighter. They weren't the same as Fiddleford. But they didn't have to be. His old friend was dead. Stanford accepted this long ago, he missed him dearly, but he knew he was dead. He wasn't looking for a replacement or something to fill the void in his heart. His family was already there. Alive, well and ready to support him no matter what.

However, in this instance they might need his help as he watched Dipper and Candy's robot catch on fire.

#Gravity Falls #Writers on tumblr #Stanford pines #Stanley Pines #Dipper Pines #Mabel pineGrunkle Ford #The Author of the Journals #GF #Gravity falls fanfic #Ficlet #GF fanfic #idk what els to tag this with #I wrote this in a spur of the moment whisp of inspiration #Read the comic that the piece is a conclusion to. It's really good

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grunklejam · 1 year

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My Gravity Falls Fanfiction Series, a Return to the Falls, is now coming up to its final few updates. The end of the series is nigh.

It’s really weird. Over the course of three years writing RTTF I’ve:

Written over 450,000 words of stories across twelve episodes

Drawn 23 comic strips

Created 63 original pieces of art for the title cards

And the result is that as it stands, RTTF has developed...

Over 3,550 kudos on Archive of our Own

Over 1,085 total comments

Over 120,000 views

As well as a fan-created TVtropes page, a little Discord community, its own Wiki and a dedicated following that comes back after every update.

It’s arguably become one of the most popular ‘recent’ Dipcifica fanfictions out there. Which is crazy to me. Almost every comment says that the series has become their personal season 3. I’ve created entirely new ships, I’ve developed characters and plot points only vaguely hinted at in the show’s canon, and I’ve seen through my own version of a cartoon I am still utterly hyperfixating over - with exactly the same passion as I have my music magazine, my novel, you name it.

It’s been an incredible ride. And I can’t believe that in less than 20 chapters, it’s all going to be over. I actually think I’ll get quite emotional. And then probably start work on some spin-offs.

As an aside, here’s the latest piece of title art, because I’m super proud of it. If you haven’t read my surprisingly acclaimed Dipcifica fanfiction, feel free to check it out. I’m super, super proud of how much people enjoy it, and I’ve genuinely worked so hard on it.

A RETURN TO THE FALLS ON AO3

#A return to the falls #Gravity Falls #Dipcifica #Gravity Falls Fandom #Gravity Falls Fanfic #Gravity Falls Fanart #Gravity Falls Fanfiction

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darkspine10 · 23 days

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GF Fanfic - The Deepest Roots

Tangled Roots (33,970 words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 6/7

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Mature

The sensation of real pain felt almost flat and dull. Yet when Pacifica jolted awake her sore muscles complained and resisted her stretches. The dry earth beneath her was rough against the skin, but that told her that the dirt was tangible. She ran her hands down her body, finding it intact. Her mind less so, but it would have to do for now.

Sitting upright, she could make out the curved walls of a tunnel, roughly hewn through the ground in an oval shape. Placing a palm on the surface she found bare soil. This was a natural cave. She had no idea where she was, nor any recollection of how she’d got here.

The last solid memory she had was of sitting cross-legged in Mabel’s occult annex, before it all became a blur of negative associations and uncomfortably vivid apparitions. Surely she should be sprawled out on Mabel’s floor, spaced out of her mind.

She was startled when a drip of water caught her on the top of her head. That was real enough. The soreness had faded to be replaced by an equally stark absence of heat. She greatly regretted her lack of sleeves, though she’d hardly been expecting to end up underground. Wendy’s hat once again proved its worth, insulating some of the cold. Maybe it really was a lucky charm, she sardonically thought. By some fluke the bandage on her arm remained firmly attached. It had kept her injuries safe from further harm during her bad trip.

Some of her LSD-induced visions, those of travelling across the valley, must have been real enough for her to end up outside and alone. Mabel was meant to have been looking out for her, keeping any unruly symptoms controlled. So much for that. Pacifica groped for her pocket and took out her phone. Switching it on, the screen provided only a weak luminance, enough to show that the cave stretched on in both directions before terminating in inky blackness.

Despite the barrage of lurid imagery she’d endured in rapid succession, evidently the actual time elapsed was longer than she’d assumed. The time listed on her phone showed 3:26am - it had taken her over an hour to make it to wherever she was. She had a stream of missed texts, 17 in total. She scrolled back to the oldest unread message.

“Paz, don’t be alarmed,” Mabel had written in a way that couldn’t help but make her more alarmed. “You kinda burst out of the study so fast I couldn’t stop you!” Pacifica rolled her eyes. It hadn’t taken much to elude her vigilant guardian. “Really sorry! I couldn’t catch you after you ran outside, trust me. You acted like you knew what you were doing though! There was this look in your eyes, you know, a look.” Pacifica didn’t know. “Anyway, good luck with the monkey ;-)” Mabel had probably chosen to call it that to rile her up. Scowling, she was about to fire off a cutting rejoinder when she noticed her phone had absolutely no signal. Not even half a bar could penetrate the soil and rock piled above.

“This is what I get for trusting one of Mabel’s concoctions,” she grumbled.

Faced with no other options, she started walking down the tunnel, choosing a direction at random. For all she knew her path led deeper into the bowels of the Earth. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. If her hallucinations had in fact attuned to the Unshriven then perhaps she was in the right place to find it. Better to accept her predicament than wallow in despair.

She didn’t feel much different as a person after the voyage into her subconscious. Aware of a headache akin to a hangover perhaps, but otherwise unchanged. She still harboured a deep resentment towards her innocent daughter, plus there was her unresolved relationship with Wendy Corduroy, not to mention being plagued with body issues. Those could all wait. Important as it was to try and find meaning imparted by the drug’s imagery, survival was all that mattered until she got out of this freezing hole in the ground. She may have shed some pretensions from childhood, but shivering in a dark pit wasn’t something she could tolerate. Missing her soft bed and silk sheets, she got to her feet and set off in a random direction down the passage.

Walking for a few minutes she assumed she was making good progress through the tunnel, though it was impossible to judge for sure. Though she wasn’t thrilled by this damp, slimy tunnel, every step forward felt important, moving her towards freedom. Then she tripped. She came down on her knees, swearing and sore. Her jeans weren’t ripped but the friction burn would linger. She turned back to see what had caught her off guard. It was the handle of a metal axe.

Pacifica’s eyes widened and she reached the weapon. The design of the handle was unmistakable, fashioned from a sturdy branch and varnished until it shone. The fearsome blade also glinted in the dull light, sharp enough to cut through the darkness. She pressed a finger to the blade, recoiling when she drew a tiny inch of blood. She’d already lost enough of that for today, thank you very much.

This was a Corduroy axe, she was sure. What on Earth was it doing down here? Was Manly Dan prowling about somewhere, in an elaborate game of hide and seek? She was certain she’d seen, or sensed him in her hallucinations. In any case it was wise to arm herself. She lifted the handle and tested the axe’s weight in her grip. It was heavy and would slow her down, there was no getting over that. Yet it could be advantageous. She swung the axe, letting its weight naturally carry it in a wide arc. Yes, this would do for protection in a pinch. It wasn’t the first time she’d wielded an axe. There had been one of Mabel’s endless sentimental keepsakes, a supposed reminder of one of the twins’ earliest adventures. Pacifica had never quite believed the story behind it, of wax figures coming to life, but could admit she’d seen stranger things since then.

Stranger things like the sight that she came upon ten minutes later as her wanderings took her ever onwards. The path through the tunnel had branched out, widening into a cavernous open space. The ground beneath her sloped downwards into a bowl. As far as the light from her phone screen would penetrate it showed a cavern roof 30ft over her head. Freedom was not yet in sight.

Instead she came upon something that told her she was definitely in the lair of the Unshriven. She’d almost walked straight past it, camouflaged in earthy browns along the cavern wall. A hollow, about as tall as she was, in the cave wall. It was overgrown with twisted branches. Using the axe like a crowbar to lever the flimsy blockage out of the way, she recoiled, discovering that the hollow was occupied.

A woman of indeterminate age was wedged into the bedrock, staring out with unflinching eyes. Pacifica found it a disconcerting reminder of how Leah had appeared in her hallucination, flayed and judgmental. But the eyes were the least worrying facet of the imprisoned stranger. Her skin was melding with the bark of the ensnaring roots. These roots grew in an endless sprawl from the cavern base to its apex.

Pacifica had seen people turned into wood before. A twinge of guilt passed briefly over her as she acknowledged that the event on the night of the Northwest part had been her fault. Back then the transformation was terrifyingly static. A brief crying-out before cessation of all life. It had at least been swift. There was a cleanness to the transition, alive one moment, posed for eternity the next. She could have mounted the wooden statue Mason alongside the equally lifeless animal heads lining her parents’ walls and he wouldn’t have looked out of place.

What she was witnessing in front of her right now was entirely different. This was a process, one that was only partially completed. The skin wasn’t a clean wooden varnish, it was a mottled cedar that coated the skin in patches. She could still detect the tiniest muscle movements beneath the surface, though where human body ended and wood began was hard to identify. The hair and clothes remained untouched, as did those staring, vacant irises. Vines crept around the body like a vice, keeping it cocooned against the cave wall.

If there was life left in the poor woman it was only the weakest flicker. It was the life of a plant, creeping towards a strip of sunlight for the barest sustenance.

Shining her light back into the cave, Pacifica realised she was high on the periphery of this open chamber. She slid down the slope into the centre of the space and found that the woman wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by other trapped people. Over a dozen hollows contained men and women, some of whom Pacifica recognised. She’d passed some of them casually in the street, or delivering mail, or at the town pool. In a town as small as Gravity Falls it would be impossible not to become familiar with the majority of the population.

There were other lifeforms too. Shin-high hollows held captured gnomes, their red pointy hats the only splash of colour against ceaseless woody browns. One oversized hollow contained an insectoid creature with a bulbous orb-like head that Pacifica didn’t recognise. The eight spindly legs and a pair of immobile pincers it possessed showed how powerful the Unshriven must be, if he could entrap even this menacing beast. These poor individuals could have been sequestered down here in the dirt for days, or perhaps even weeks.

At the centre of the vast round hall was a tree which supported the entire cavern. It wasn’t like the one in Corduroy’s cabin. This tree was ancient, its bark drained of all colour except ashy black. Gnarled branches snaked across the vaulted roof, while the roots were sunk into the ground on account of the immense weight. Vestigial brown leaves hung in small clumps, decaying or dead.

Amidst the meandering eaves at the top of the cave Pacifica saw in places stone rectangles, embedded. The branches curled around these intrusions. At first she was confused, unable to understand what purpose these structures could serve. Then she noticed one where the soil within the rectangle was fresher, water dripping down off the surface. Mulched bones jutted down into the open space, threatening to hurtle down and shatter. Pacifica swallowed to resist bile at the back of her throat.

Of course. They were beneath the Gravity Falls cemetery. This entire cavern sat innocuously under every coffin and headstone, slowly providing a constant supply of new meat to feed the Unshriven. Of the hideous creature itself there was no sign, for which Pacifica was grateful. This was utterly obscene. If there was any greater intelligence behind the ape’s intentions then it was a cruel and malicious mind.

From down a different passage than the one she’d travelled along Pacifica heard raised voices. She ducked down beneath one of the support tree’s roots. Her hand wrapped around the axe. She wasn’t ready to wield it yet, still unsteady from the lingering high. On hearing the voice more clearly however she stood up, knowing there was nothing to fear.

“Come out! I’ll finish you off once and for all.”

Manly Dan squeezed in through a narrow opening. In his hand was an axe even larger than the one Pacifica was carrying. He held a lantern aloft, revealing his bared teeth, and he bore a look that could have petrified any prepubescent young boy insecure in his masculinity. Pacifica smirked to herself and called out to the burly lumberjack. “Over here. Are you looking for Little Red Riding Hood?” He softened his glare and made his way across the cavern. There was a look of shock on seeing the trapped and mutated prisoners, but he quickly covered up any sign of fear.

“Pines. I thought you’d lost your nerve for the hunt. I shouldn’t have underestimated you, you’re-”

“Stubborn, that’s what I am.” Pacifica smiled. She never thought she’d be so happy to breathe in the musk of sweat and woodsmoke that permeated his clothes. Though, she’d have been happy to see any friendly face in the wake of the night’s events. “Have you seen the Unshriven?”

The lumberjack crouched beside her so they were face to face. In a low voice he said, “No, and I didn’t expect to.” He jabbed a thumb at the feathered amulet, and Pacifica remembered that no-one else would be able to properly perceive the ape. She alone possessed that delightful privilege.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s starting to make sense, perception is key. A friend of mine suggested there might be some trace elements of a psychoactive substance in the bone. I’m guessing that somehow the proximity to sweat or adrenaline brings out the chemical, allowing one’s mind to properly perceive the Unshriven. Or at least that’s my best working hypothesis.”

Manly Dan nodded, though Pacifica detected a slight glaze over his eyes. She didn’t expect him to take a scientific approach to things. “That may be so, but how on earth did you find the beast’s lair? My family has wrestled with this monstrosity for centuries and you track it back in one night?”

“I guess your family or the natives never found the right mood enhancements. A gaggle of buddhist monks high on pot might have had better luck.” Corduroy seemed baffled by her statement. “The real question is, how did you find this place? It wasn’t exactly easy to get here myself.”

Manly Dan’s eyes were cast downwards. “The beast… claimed one of my boys.”

Pacifica’s mouth flapped open. The Unshriven wasn’t only grabbing people at random. It had a vendetta of its own against the Corduroys. Her palms clenched around the handle of the Corduroy axe. It seemed an appropriate weapon in light of the circumstances. Now there were lives at stake she couldn’t back down.

Corduroy marched over to one of the hollows. Between the wooden bars of the cell Pacifica could make out red hair and a green shirt with a flannel print. That was one of the Corduroys alright, though she stamped down the urge to ask Manly Dan ‘which one?’.

“I followed its tracks but the trail went cold,” he continued, pressing a hand against his son’s cheek. The boy’s transformation hadn’t spread far, with only faint whorls of bark on his cheek giving away his inevitable fate. “Then I saw boot prints leading into this cave. Your footprints, I take it. I doubt I could have entered this space if you hadn’t already shown the way. My mind had never registered the existence of the cave mouth. Like you said I suppose, perception is key.” He stomped around, fists balled like he wanted to hit something. “I should have expected retribution. By bringing an outsider into the fray I’ve upset the balance. The Unshriven has been known to kidnap people without warning, spiriting them away in the dead of night for nefarious purposes.”

Pacifica shoved the lumberjack in the shoulder. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before?! That might have been useful context to know before you sent me out to find the scariest fucking thing in the world!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Pacifica pinched her eyelids and put aside her pride. “You can make it up to me later. Though god knows how. A free axe-throwing lesson? Teach me how to stir-fry a raccoon? Whatever. Right now we have to help your son and the rest of these people. And non-people. You know, Mason and I have got to come to a decision on that, it’s surprisingly hard to settle on terminology. Do we call them cryptids, mystical beings, or just a weird class of people?”

Corduroy shook his head, ignoring her rambling and shining his lantern at the hollows. “I don’t understand it. No-one’s gone missing for years.”

“That might be exactly how long some of these people have been down here. The ape’s sustained itself for over 200 years and I think I know how.” She pointed at the defiled stone rectangles in the roof. “We’re down under the cemetery. In Gravity Falls the graves eat people.”

“My god.” Corduroy angrily thrust his axe into the space between the roots that guarded his son, trying to wedge the boy loose. “This ends tonight.”

“Easier said than done.” Pacifica glanced around, aware that there’d been no sight nor sound of the Unshriven for the entire time they’d been down here. After the pursuit in the forest she couldn’t believe it would leave its food supply so undefended. It could be back at any moment. “You’d better watch out. This thing can hurl branches at a hundred miles an hour.”

Corduroy scoffed. “Of course, why wouldn’t it? Damn widowmaker.”

“Come again?”

“Lumberjack jargon. It refers to loose branches that fall and hit people. Fools who don’t watch their heads around snags are likely to meet an untimely fate. It sounds as if the Unshriven wants to make fools of us all.”

“You might be more right than you think.” Pacifica noticed movement above Manly Dan. One of the branches clinging to the ceiling had surreptitiously snapped in such a way that it dangled over the lumberjack’s head. From that height it would crack his skull.

Pacifica put all her weight into shoving the burly man out of the way. His mass made it a struggle, but she succeeded in clearing the area before the loose branch thudded into the spot he’d been standing. Corduroy got up off his hands and knees, but let out a gasp. Pacifica followed his eyeline towards the central trunk.

The Unshriven was there, sitting in the upper boughs in a reclined position. It couldn’t care less about the intruders. Pacifica went rigid, culled into submission by the ape’s horrifying appearance. Its breaths came out as sonorous stabs, like a foghorn in the mist.

Before their eyes the creature flitted about along the branches. One minute it was prowling towards them on all fours, the next it hung from a limb of the tree, chattering and baring its tusks. Ever closer it came, fading from sight only to reappear in a new position.

“Get ready.” Pacifica took a defensive stance and held the axe close to her chest.

“I can see it,” Corduroy said in a reverent breathless whisper. His eyes matched wherever the creature manifested. He didn’t need the amulet anymore. Not here, Pacifica sensed, not on the ape’s home turf. “After all these years… let’s have it then!” Manly Dan charged forwards, lifting his massive axe as if it weighed nothing. He let out a war cry and the Unshriven roared in return. It had a glint of malice in its vacant eye sockets, Pacifica could detect that much.

She wanted to call out, to tell Corduroy to hold back. It was too late. The Unshriven leapt from its perch at the lumberjack. Manly Dan hefted his axe and swung it in time to catch the beast mid-jump. The silver blade passed harmlessly through empty air. Unbalanced, Corduroy fell forwards. The Unshriven had been a coiled spring and now all that feral energy was unleashed. It cannoned into Corduroy’s chest, reversing the momentum and sending him sprawling on his back. The giant axe whirled through the air. Pacifica felt the force of impact as it came to rest embedded in the cave wall inches from where she stood.

In panic Manly Dan raised his fists over his chest to fight off the ape. It wasn’t there. It had already rematerialised out of reach in the high branches. A satisfied cackle echoed from its chest. There was evil in that sound, not the vocalisations of a mindless brute, but a calculated response to derive pleasure from their suffering.

Pacifica wasn’t going to stand for it. “I’m so done with you!” She lifted her axe and ran to cover Corduroy. If the beast wanted another sacrifice it would have to go through her first. “This is our town! You’re not welcome here!”

The ape took the bait gladly, breaking a piece of wood off with a snap like bones cracking. In a single whirling motion it extended its rubber-hose arms and cast down the sharpened missile. Pacifica ducked, getting out of the way just in time. The twig caught her fur hat and sent it flying. Without a moment to catch a breath she had to dodge out of the way of a second projectile. Her reflexes were slow. The projectile caught her in the side, knocking her down. She groaned in agony. Though she’d just barely avoided taking the shot head on, the glancing blow still hurt like hell. She lightly brushed under her tree t-shirt and flinched in pain. There’d be an almighty bruise on her hip if nothing else.

The Unshriven manifested on the ground, knuckle-walking towards her without apparent haste. Fighting through the pain, she picked up the axe and swung it widely at her enemy. It passed through, dissolving the ape before it reformed, no worse for the wear. It hadn’t even reacted to the swing. Pacifica feebly clutched the amulet, willing her mind to snap back into a heightened state. Whatever trace of the LSD was left in her system wasn’t enough to generate more than a light buzz. Wasn’t this stuff meant to stick around in her system for a few hours at least? Mabel hadn’t been kidding about the lowness of the dosage. Pacifica stumbled backwards and sprawled in the dirt, dropping the axe.

This was hopeless. They couldn’t hurt the beast. She’d been awake for hours, putting her body through stress she hadn’t dreamed of the day before. She was worn out, ready to expire and become another harvested body. Hot, stinking clouds of breath snorted from the creature’s nostrils as it bared its mighty fangs in preparation to penetrate her skull like ripe fruit.

Pacifica thought of her family, Mason, Merrise, and Leah, the latter so helpless without her protection and nourishment. Struck by the horrible acknowledgement that she might never see any of them again, she flashed back to the last time she’d been close to death.

A snare is coiled around my ankle, dragging me towards a waiting enemy. Wendy tosses me her sword, a jagged piece of cold metal. Momentum carried me towards a killing blow. Without that timely throw my life would have ended.

…Momentum.

That was the key. With a burst of energy Pacifica leapt to her feet, grabbing the axe handle and springing up at the Unshriven. It was surprised to see her charging so willingly into the jaws of death, but Pacifica didn’t stop for an instant, building up speed. Wincing through the pain in her hip, she cannonballed into the Unshriven… and passed straight through it without slowing. The Unshriven’s intangible nature became a liability as it clutched at air while Pacifica was already out the other side. If it couldn’t fully manifest in the mundane world then it was little wonder that its primary form of attack was using blunt instruments as missiles. However, there was nowhere she could run to in the cave that she would be safe. The ape cackled evilly at her futile attempt.

Pacifica wasn’t listening, continuing to sprint away from the beast. She hefted the axe in a backhand swing and put all her energy into a follow-through strike. The axe struck the trunk of the central supporting tree sideways on. A fearsome boom like thunder ricocheted around the cavern. Jagged cracks splintered their way diagonally up the trunk.

The Unshriven howled with anguish, loud enough that Corduroy had to plant his gloved hands over his head. Pacifica ignored it, climbing up the branches and taking another swing at the bark. This impact had less weight behind it, barely splitting the wood, so she jumped back down and held the axe out in front of her. “Come on!” she yelled at the Unshriven.

Pacifica had figured it out. The Unshriven didn’t want to eat people, not directly, not when it was sustaining this menagerie of captives. The roots were digging deep, turning them to wood to nourish the central trunk. Killing her with its tusks or claws was simply a defensive measure to protect the larder. If the trunk and the Unshriven were symbiotically linked, then maybe affecting one could affect the other. “It’s not just the ape,” she yelled to Manly Dan, “it’s this whole ecosystem!”

As if to prove her point, the Unshriven flitted onto one of the branches and hissed down at her. It faded away like mist, dissipating into the tree. The entire cavern rumbled. Manly Dan had to roll out of the way as the gargantuan roots slithered up out of the soil and pounded against the surface. The upper branches flexed and writhed. Pacifica had seen this coming and crouched as close to the trunk as she could. The wooden tendrils struck out with the force of a whip, rending out deep gashes of dirt and mud. The bark on the trunk creaked and reformed, creating a furrowed brow and turning the incision Pacifica had made into a distorted frown. Within the crack Pacifica could see a broiling mass of energy the colour of rust, aching to unleash itself.

The stories of Devil’s Lake had sounded grander than one chattering ape. Now Pacifica was seeing the true form of the monster, its limbs more like the grasping tentacles of an octopus than any plant. The light in the chamber became dappled, reflecting the abode of a true dweller of the depths.

One of its branches swung out to knock her down. Pacifica stood her ground and raised the axe, severing the attacking extremity and sending it lifelessly to the ground. The ape figure appeared again, enraged and claws raised to strike. Pacifica mirrored its pose with an aggressive grunt and lofted her axe. The beast faded away at the last second. It was only willing to strike her if it wouldn’t risk being hurt likewise. As long as Pacifica wasn’t cowed and kept up her guard there was no way the beast would attack. Buoyed up by the sense that she was indestructible, she chopped at the trunk again. It was like iron, unyielding. She needed more momentum, more weight behind the swing.

Instead she was set upon by the tendrils. A swarm of them wrapped around her in a split second, constricting her arms. Her feet left the ground as she was hoisted up. One branch the thickness of an elephant’s trunk circled her throat. Still she fought back, flailing her axe.

The tendril wrapped around her throat began to squeeze. At the same time a voice tickled at the back of her mind. It was deep and compulsive. “Give up the struggle,” She looked around dreamily, the voice drowning out her thoughts. It would be so easy just to let go. The voice sounded so compelling. A chill struck her right down to the bone. “You’d make such a delicious feast. All that misplaced resentment, all the heartache, back and forth. You don’t even want that pretty body. Let me take a hold.” The tendrils tightened, tugging on Pacifica’s hair almost hard enough to rend it from her scalp.

Pacifica gritted her teeth and whimpered, her voice barely above a croak. “Shut up! This body may not be perfect, but it’s mine!” She struck out with the axe, hitting the lower end of the branch around her neck and loosening the grip. The voice faded away, replaced with a howling moan coming from within the trunk. “Hands off!”

At the edge of her vision, Pacifica saw Corduroy was on his feet. He seemed to have picked up on the message about the tree and the Unshriven. He’d plucked his massive axe out of the wall, but couldn’t get close through the shifting tentacles that threatened to coil around him. In response he lifted the axe above his head with both hands and hurled it through the air. It struck the core of the tree, sending splinters all up the length of the bark.

Immediately the tendrils slid away, dropping Pacifica. She landed in a crouch and, coughing, hoisted the axe for another strike. She wouldn’t let this window of opportunity that Corduroy had opened go to waste.

The ape re-manifested near Pacifica, but it was wobbly on its feet, delirious from damage. Pacifica made several drunken swings at the beast, but it kept darting away at the last second, as unpredictable as sizzling oil spitting from a frying pan. The Unshriven backed away from her attack. Its morphs between solid and gaseous showed signs of fatigue, covering less distance and taking longer to transition between states. Finally Pacifica backed the ape up against the trunk of its oh-so-important tree. With all her might she took one last swing, impacting the ape as it tried to merge with the tree and inflicting a fatal blow on both. She pulled the axe out and stuck again, immensely satisfied. “Oh that feels good! Eat it!”

The structural weakness in the combined entity gave way and the cracks along the trunk split asunder. Pacifica’s victorious mood faltered when a torrent of blood gushed from the wound. She didn’t even have time to close her mouth before the onslaught of thick fluid washed over her. Choking, she coughed up as much as she could before taking yet another swing at the trunk, and another. She wouldn’t stop until she was sure this thing was dead for good, even as blood poured over her like a waterfall. Shafts of orange spit forth from the cracks in the wood.

The ape’s skull burst forth from the tree in a last gasping cry, its limbs grasping. One hand succeeded in grabbing the amulet, suffocating Pacifica. She easily knocked him away with the butt of her axe. It was the gesture of someone drowning coming up for one last gulp of air but unable to fight the current. When she’d seen the Unshriven die in her dream it had been raw, meaty. Despite the blood, the Unshriven’s real death was far from corporeal. The branches of the tree broke away from the ceiling, withering and ageing to dust in seconds. Blue strands of energy were leached from the Unshriven back to the tree, tearing chunks of fur. In their place remained spectral outlines of tendon and muscle. The skull flaked away, sucked into the vortex at the heart of the destruction, exposing brain tissue.

As the layers peeled away, Pacifica finally saw a pair of eyes emerge from beneath the empty sockets. Two leering eyes, dangling from stalks on a pulsing brain. A coiled nervous system hung below the floating organ. Devoid of gums, a jaw frozen in an unending scream completed the anatomical nightmare. The thing’s expression wasn’t one of fear of dying, but furious hatred, raging at her for defeating it. It put Pacifica in mind of a particularly bloody spaghetti dish. The metaphor became more apt as the Unshriven’s remains were slurped down into the vortex at the heart of the trunk.

All the life inside the tree vanished. Pacifica was briefly afraid the cavern roof would collapse, but the dead stump was enough to hold it up. Leaves drifted down from above like snowflakes, not dead and brown but a warm golden orange. The last trickles of blood pooled around Pacifica’s feet. As a last insult to her enemy, Pacifica grunted with effort and embedded her axe in the trunk. She left it there as a permanent reminder of her victory.

The last of the leaves settled around the roots. Glancing cautiously around the chamber, Manly Dan said, “You… you defeated the Unshriven.”

Pacifica wiped a hand over her face, trying to remove some of the accumulated blood and only succeeding in smearing more of it onto her palm. “I guess it was his time… of the month.”

“What?”

She waved it off. “Bad joke, forget about it.”

Manly Dan’s eyebrow perked up. “The necklace.”

Pacifica’s hand went to her throat. Her neck chafed but that pain would fade. Hanging limply from the torn cord, the shards of Osprey bone and sapphire had been shattered in the Unshriven’s last grasp for freedom. Pacifica slid the amulet over her hair and let the feathers and bone fragments trickle through her fingers. “It’s ok, it served its purpose. I don’t know how it did it, but if it wasn’t for this special charm we would have all been mulched. Besides, I’ve already got one enchanted pendant at home. Two would be excessive of me. I’m trying to give up excess.”

A moaning voice came from the edge of the chamber. Manly Dan’s head snapped to one side and he rushed to his son’s side. “Gus!” There was one small mystery solved.

The bars of Gus’ cell were disintegrating away, coming away soft and flaky in Manly Dan’s hands. The visible effects of the transformation into wooden statue diminished quickly once the young Corduroy was pulled free of the vines. All around the rest of the cavern Pacifica saw the previously incapacitated prisoners begin to stir and wriggle free of the hollows.

“Dad!” The boy was freed from the trap and hugged his father. Manly Dan was holding him tight, tears streaming from his eyes as he laughed. Pacifica found it heartwarming, and shed a tear of her own. She wanted to wipe it away, but her hands were still too bloody.

“NORTHWEST!”

Pacifica instantly froze. She recognised that voice. it boomed throughout the cavern. It had visited her in many dreams over the years, initially unsettling but ultimately leaving her with a feeling of contentment. The amber light that had flared so brightly within the core of the tree shone out again, before dying for good. Instead, the stone markings on the ceiling of the cavern which marked the desecrated graves began to glow an icy blue. Shafts of light shone down, illuminating patches on the floor and casting shadowy figures onto the walls.

The two Corduroys stood, unsure how to react. Manly Dan held a protective arm around his son. Pacifica hesitantly walked towards the shadow of the figure she recognised. Archibald Corduroy. Despite only being a silhouette, she could make out his flaming beard and imposing body. Even like this she could tell he was smiling and nodding towards her. There were other shadows, presumably more Corduroys from decades gone by.

Dan and Gus gravitated towards one in particular, that of a woman, half turned away. Some innate sense told Pacifica that this was the late Mrs Corduroy. She had never even thought to inquire after the fate of Wendy and the boys’ mother. She’d been absent from their lives as long as Pacifica could recall. From the heartache and joy on her family’s faces she was clearly much missed. “Thank you,” Manly Dan mouthed at Pacifica.

Pacifica wanted to smile at the sheer impossible wonder of the moment. Yet she couldn’t feel the same connection, not while a more glaring absence gnawed at her. She was about to speak when she saw more shadows cast on the opposite half of the cavern to the Corduroys. They were hidden in a patch of darkness away from the lantern, but Pacifica set her mouth in a straight line anyway. This was her own legacy. The Northwest in her.

Nathaniel Northwest and her grandpa Auldman stood haughtily, arms folded and disdainful expressions almost detectable through the faded shadows. She didn’t recognise many of the other figures, but then she’d never been a student of family history, especially after cutting ties with her legacy. She scoffed at the shadows’ dismissal. These men weren’t paragons of virtue. Why should she value their judgement one iota? She wasn’t about to let their disapproving aura ruin the mood.

Turning her back on the shadows, she lightly touched Manly Dan ob the arm, offering a sympathetic smile. He and his son gladly waved as the echoes of the Corduroy ancestors were lost in the flickering lamp light. The graves above became silent memorials once more.

“Why wasn’t she here?” Pacifica asked quietly, once she was sure there would be anymore supernatural surprises. “Wendy.”

Gus Corduroy looked down in sadness at the mention of his sister, though Manly Dan only nodded sagely “I understand. We’re beneath the cemetery. Every Corduroy - and Northwest,” he hastily added, “was laid to rest somewhere in the earth nearby. My dear Wendy was never buried, remember. Today’s funeral was only an empty gesture.”

Pacifica’s eyes drifted up across the ceiling, as if she was seeing beyond. “No, nothing quite so hollow. As Mabel would probably say it was a… ritual event. Wendy’s body might not be on Earth - hell, there likely aren’t even any traces of her real body left. What does that matter though, if the people who celebrate her memory are all here?”

“So,” Manly Dan said with a growing pride, “you did it. You succeeded in your quest. You saved the valley.”

“I didn’t save the valley,” Pacifica said flatly, and Manly Dan frowned. “I rescued a handful of people, that’s all.” A small smile crept into her lips. “On the other hand, I did put a multi-generational feud to rest. I purified this corner of the woods forever more. And there's one less demon haunting the valley. I think that counts as a big enough win for one day.”

Manly Dan whooped and hollered, and twirled his axe high above his head.

“Come on.” Pacifica was beaming now. All around them the prisoners were stumbling out of the hollows and blinking. “These people are probably disoriented. You can show us the way back to the surface. We’d better tell Sheriff Durland, there are bound to be families and friends who need to be informed.”

“Do you need any help?” Manly Dan pointed to the scratches on her forearm. The patch covering them had been dislodged in the fight and was now flapping uselessly. The wounds had reopened, and rivulets of blood dripped from the gash, indistinguishable from the stuff coating the rest of her skin. With a gentler touch than she could have imagined Dan flattened the patch against her arm until it stayed stuck on. “Better?”

“Better.” Pacifica grinned, happy to have teased out some of the old lumberjack’s paternal side. “Wait, one more thing.” She scanned the torn up ground until she spied her fur hat. A large tear ran along one of the flaps. She ran a finger along the material, feeling like she’d failed in some profound way.

“It just needs stitches,” Dan said simply and practically.

“Yeah,” Pacifica said, shaken free of her brief melancholy. No doubt Mabel could fix it up in no time. Wendy’s hat might not be exactly the same afterwards, but she’d decided that was alright. Even if she would heal from her scars, the hat would carry a reminder of tonight’s events. “Ok people,” she shouted at the dazed crowd of humans and cryptid people. “Danger’s over!”

Between herself and the Corduroys they made sure every last prisoner was exhumed from the earth and led the confused people out through one of the tunnels towards the open sky. As they started to get close to the surface, Manly Dan turned his head, noticing something painted on the cave wall. Letting the crowd flow past, he and Pacifica stopped to examine the wall.

Within a circle of ten symbols was a crude painting of a triangle in a top hat. Manly Dan shuddered. “It’s Him.”

Pacifica ran a finger along the dry paint with an expression close to fondness. She found herself oddly unfazed by the painting’s connotations. “Probably an old native warning sign. Beware: do not pass this point, monsters within.” She chuckled. “Come on big guy. There’s no point hanging around here. I’ve seen enough Zodiac wheels for one lifetime.”

Ahead of them Gus stood, lit by the rising sun at the mouth of the cave. Pacifica shielded her eyes and squinted. The view of the valley with the early morning rays took Pacifica’s breath away. Sometimes she took her home for granted, but in this pinkish-golden light the valley shone with an uncommon radiance. Most of the people they’d saved staggered out into the sunlight, cheering and celebrating. The cryptids, the ones who hadn’t vanished into dark recesses underground, took the opportunity to scamper away, giving only perfunctory thanks.

Corduroy patted Pacifica on the back. “Well if that doesn’t make it all worthwhile. Could do with a nice warm bath and some food though.”

Pacifica rubbed her stomach. “I know what you mean.” She gazed at the view and panned down, spotting that the town high street was only a short walk away. Sitting amidst the colonial wooden buildings was one more modern structure that stood out among its peers. Making a snap decision, she started off down the trail. “Come on. I know a place.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #pacifica northwest #manly dan

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