(Ford x Reader) Hickory Pines

CH. 1 Library

(I'M REWRITING ALL THE CHAPTERS-- KINDA. PATIENCE!!!)

As an author, I know a lot about storytelling, fantastical beasts, big plot twists; twists and turns of which the likes have never seen. However–
Nothing compares to a small place in Oregon, somewhere quiet, quaint, and airy, filled with woods of pine and hickory; described as odd by some. A place called Gravity Falls. I, Y/N L/N, moved here for a change of pace from the big city so I could write my fiction novel.

So far, things are going smoothly. Other than the patchy internet, I guess, but it's a relatively new technology.

I furrow my brow in frustration and hammer the backspace key. "Ugh," I mutter, burying my face in my hands. "This isn't good enough..." I keep pressing until the screen is blank. Leaning back in my chair, I rub my eyes and glance around. With a weary sigh, I take in the lively atmosphere of the Gravity Falls Library. The warm lights cast a cozy glow, and soft whispers fill the air, bouncing off the old bookshelves. This is my only haven with a computer, and I can't afford anything else these days.

I try to focus again and start typing, but I'm interrupted by a commotion nearby.

"Um—sir," a teenager at the front desk says, clearly regretting her job choice. "You can't check out that many books."

A man, looking to be around my age, argues back, "I have important research to do." He adjusts his round glasses and adds, "There are paranormal things in this town, and I'm about to make a big breakthrough! You have to understand."

"And you think you'll make that breakthrough with science fiction books? You tried this last week," the teen retorts, raising an eyebrow. Her response silences him, and I lean in closer, eager to eavesdrop. With not much happening in my life, this is a welcome distraction.

Just then, a wild idea strikes me: I could start my biography with the ramblings of this eccentric man! It would capture my humble beginnings and the odd experiences I've had.

The man regains his composure and declares, "It can provide inspiration." He straightens up and clears his throat. "After all, the improbable only becomes probable when we apply it to reality."

I'm taken aback by his sudden insight. I force myself to concentrate and jot down the quote on the chunky white keys. The argument stretches on, and surprisingly, he makes some valid points that I note down. Eventually, he loses the exchange and slumps back into a beanbag, which engulfs him. I can't help but observe him from afar. He looks worn out—dark circles under his eyes, slightly stained clothes, and messy hair. Yet there's something intriguing about him, a mix of wisdom and madness that piques my curiosity.

I glance at my notes and roll my eyes at myself as I save them to a floppy disk. I must be crazy to find this interesting. I slip the disk into a deep pocket and push myself up from my chair.

Standing at the edge of a decision, I wonder if it's wise to approach him. But my curiosity wins out, and I walk over to the beanbag. "Hey..." I say, introducing myself. He flinches and sinks deeper into his seat, adjusting his glasses. "Ah! Uh, hello—do I know you?" he stammers, looking at me skeptically.

Feeling awkward, I reply, "No, you don't." I clasp my hands nervously. "But I couldn't help but overhear your argument with the librarian." He raises a hand to cut me off, his other hand hiding his eyes in embarrassment. He slumps forward, covering his face, and mutters, "If you're here to call me crazy, I've heard that enough..."

He tilts his head, clearly recalling the librarian. As I prepare to defend myself, he shifts his hand from his face to a book, and I notice something unusual. "Six fingers?" I say in surprise. His eyes widen, and he blushes, quickly covering his hand with his coat sleeve. "Yes, I have six fingers..." he admits, looking back at me with an intense gaze as if deep in thought. After a heavy sigh, he relaxes. "So, what brought you over here?"

I blink and let out a dry laugh. "I was intrigued." I twiddle my thumbs, and his expression shifts to shock as he processes my words. After a moment, a faint smile tugs at his lips. "Intrigued?" he asks, testing the word. I nod. "Intrigued..."

He glances around skeptically, but there's a hint of excitement in his eyes. He pats a spot on the carpet next to the beanbag. "I'm Stanford, by the way." He extends his hand for a shake. I sit down where he indicated and reply, "Y/N." His grip is surprisingly firm, prompting me to blurt out, "It's like a finger friendlier than normal..." He retracts his hand, looking at me strangely. "Thank you?"

I quickly wipe my sweaty palm on my clothes, feeling embarrassed. Stanford starts flipping through the book he picked up. "So, what were you intrigued by?" he asks, making me think back to his argument with the librarian. "Why sci-fi books? You mentioned you had important research."

Suddenly, his eyes light up with pure excitement, and he begins to explain rapidly. He studies the extraordinary events in Gravity Falls. As he talks, his claims grow increasingly bizarre—something about a magnetism of the macabre and gnomes. I'm surprised he isn't wearing a tin-foil hat! Yet, what strikes me most isn't his odd ideas; it's his confidence. He speaks passionately about his knowledge, making it hard to dismiss him. If anything here has a weird magnetism, it's definitely Stanford himself.

"So there's a weirdness magnetism?"

"Yes."

"And there are anomalies in Gravity Falls...?"

"Correct."

"And you're here to study them?"

"Nice to know someone actually listened for once," Stanford sighs, leaning forward. "So, I've explained my work. Why are you so intrigued by it?" He raises an eyebrow, hope in his tone. I hesitate, feeling the weight of my intentions.

"I'm an author! Well, I'm going to be," I correct myself. Stanford hums thoughtfully. "I mostly write fiction, but I'm also working on a biography—just in case I make it big!" With a light groan, I continue, "After hearing your argument with the librarian, I thought you were a bit insane. I figured it would be a good starting point for some humble beginnings..."

Stanford's expression shifts to a sour frown. "Ah, I see, an insane man," he says, sucking in air through his teeth as he leans back. "Was it entertaining to you?" His tone has completely changed.

"It actually was. It was very interesting," I reply, trying to lighten the mood with a small smile to show I'm sincere. His skeptical brow lowers, and his frown softens into a more neutral expression.

I proceed cautiously, "I suppose I'll fully believe you when I see something for myself."

He looks down at his book, clearly avoiding eye contact. Clicking a pen harshly in the hand that isn't holding the book, he mutters under his breath, echoing my words in a defeated tone: "Believe it when you see it..."

We fall into silence.