#fordxreader

The idea of magic had always held an appeal to you, although you knew with certainty that there was no such thing.

And indeed, the unexpected letter in your mailbox did not seem particularly magical or supernatural- simply strange. A case of misplaced mail, though you thought it was weird that there was no address or stamp attached to the envelope. It was like it had just been placed randomly in your mailbox.

Greetings! You don’t know me, but that’s not important. I’m a researcher conducting an experiment, so, to whoever receives this letter, please reply with the following information; The location of and the current date you receive this. Any additional information is not necessary, but you’re welcome to add any other addendum you’re comfortable with! Just place your reply into this envelope and into your mailbox.

-Dr. S.F.P.

Weird. And a little disturbing. Who the hell dropped this in your mailbox? You looked over the message again, quirking your brow at the name at the bottom. 

Normally, you’d throw something like this away. However… it’d been so long since you’d gotten a letter in the mail. Even if this was some prank, or a mistake, it was kind of entertaining. So, you decided to play along. You scribbled down your own message and stuck it into the envelope. 

Hi there, Doc.

How about you give me your information first? It’s a little rude to communicate without proper introductions.

With a cheeky grin, you put your note into the envelope, not expecting anything to come of it.

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The next day, however, when you checked your mailbox, you found the envelope amidst the assortment of junk mail.

To the recipient:

I suppose you have a valid point, but I’d prefer to keep my name to myself for now. I live in Gravity Falls, Oregon. It’s crucial that you tell me where this envelope is going. How is it getting into your hands? And if you would tell me the date as well, I need the information for my research.

Dr. S.F.P.

Well then.

That was… interesting. Where the hell was Gravity Falls? It didn’t sound like a real place. But upon some research, you found it, a teeny tiny little place on the map.

… If he was really there, sending you mail… how was that possible? … This had to be a joke of some kind. For some reason, some psycho was tampering with your mail.

And you were going to catch him in the act.

So, you wrote your reply, keeping your thoughts to yourself as you once again replied with more banter, avoiding his questions yet again.

What a weird thing to ask. Just what kind of research was he pretending to be doing?

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You did not like the evidence that you collected. 

No one apart from the mailman had been near your mailbox… and furthermore, you caught the sight of your mailbox flag moving on its own.

After further investigation, you reached three separate conclusions; 1. Either you’d become the protagonist of a weird sci-fi story, 2. You had finally snapped and gone off the deep end, and therefore you couldn’t trust yourself or 3. Somehow, your mailbox had been imbued with supernatural properties.

Well… may as well keep playing along, right?

“Well, Doc, I guess I can tell you that I’m reading this in the year of our lord 1981. You wanna find out where your letters are ending up? I can tell you it's a long ways from Gravity Falls, but if you want a more precise answer, you're gonna have to tell me something else about yourself, because I’m so curious as to how your letter managed to get in my mailbox without postage or an address.”

Within the next hour, you noticed your mailbox flag back down, and you went out to check the box.

“I can see that you’re going to be uncooperative, but I suppose I can forgive your skepticism. Gravity Falls is a hotspot for scientific anomalies, and I highly suspect that the reciprocal of my letters is amongst them. I’m merely documenting my findings as they come, although, I confess that it’s been amusing to converse with you. The mystery you present just adds to the excitement I feel in uncovering the answers around this strange mailbox. 

The distance that lies between us, assuming you are telling me the truth and not playing a prank, is certainly enough to convince me that I have indeed found another oddity within this town. Thank you for your cooperation, whoever you may be.

-Dr. S.F.P.”

Well… that felt like a goodbye. Somehow, you couldn’t bear the thought of the correspondence being over. On a hunch, you flipped the flag up and down, making it wave.

Flip, flip, flip, flip-

You paused after a moment, waiting. One minute passed, then two, five-

The flag went down.

You reached in to find a new note, hastily scribbled.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

You scrambled into your house and quickly scribbled your own note.

“How do you feel about being penpals?”

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Thus began your strange correspondence with “The Doc” as you referred to him. You still refused to give him your name, cheekily telling him to make up his own name for you, in which he very cleverly referred to you as “Pally”, short for penpal, he claimed.

The Doc had a way of writing that was charmingly frustrating. He said so much while revealing very little, and you took delight in returning the favor when he tried asking you personal questions.

Sometimes his replies would take days, or weeks, and you’d find yourself worrying about him. You did know that he was quite isolated, save for the presence of two other individuals whom he was very vague about.

Six months into your correspondence, and you found yourself attached in a way you’d never expected. You shouldn’t have been surprised at yourself, afterall, you knew you were prone to getting easily attached. This was a situation completely out of the ordinary and yet, it felt all too natural to feel Doc inserting himself into your thoughts unprompted. The longing for more was entirely selfish and greedy and you were more than aware of it, but you couldn’t stop it from crawling and curling into your thoughts like an outbreak of kudzu vines.

One evening as you wrote, you were feeling morose, and it slipped into your letter. You were surprised when he replied almost immediately, with one sentence.

“What’s caused your tonal shift?”

You stared at the note, emotions churning. How had he known? And… what would you say? It would be so easy to open up to this perfect stranger- you were sure you’d never meet him, not in any of the imagined scenarios you’d thought about. 

“Well, Doc, this correspondence has been nice, but… you’re the only person who I look forward to hearing from, and I guess that makes me a little upset. The best part about our relationship is how distant it is, and at the same time, it’s the worst. I wish there was more to it.”

The instant you put the note into the mailbox, you immediately regretted it and tried taking it back, but the envelope was gone.

Anxiety twisted in your gut at the ensuing silence.

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A whole day passed and you didn’t hear from him. Of course. Why had you let yourself open up like this? Sure, it’d been six months, but you still had no idea who he really was. For all you knew, this was still in your head.

In the absence of friends and family, he was all you had.

God, Y/N, you’re pathetic. Why don’t you get a life? Maybe then you wouldn’t be going crazy like this-

However, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking outside, eyes landing on the mailbox. The flag was down.

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“Dear Pally, 

I apologize for the delay. I’ll admit, your response caught me off guard. Undoubtedly, you’ve noticed that my focus has been rooted in the pursuit of furthering my research. I’ve never given myself time for extracurricular friendships, but… our exchange has admittedly become important to me. I don’t know if we’ll ever meet, but your written words are stored in a box in my office, along with the findings for the research I conducted on the connection that exists between us.

That is to say… you’re in my thoughts as well. In many ways, our correspondence is like a tether to me, and I cannot stress how much I look forward to your banter.

I’m afraid there is no more than this, but for my part, I’ve grown incredibly fond of our communication. Well, maybe there is something I can give you.

-Ford”

You felt your heart leap into your throat at the change. Ford. His name was Ford.

You took the letter and placed it with the others. Your heart was pounding. It made sense that he was keeping every letter and note you wrote to him but the fact that it seemed to be in a separate category from his research… well, that made you feel all kinds of things you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

There was certainly a tonal shift in the way his communication evolved after that. He was still incredibly elusive, but… there was a subtle affection in the way he wrote. 

You were less subtle, but tried to keep your words teasing. Couldn’t go telling him that you were falling in love, right?

Oh fuck. Oh no. 

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“You know, you never shared any of your findings about the anomaly that lets us write to each other. Did you figure out the source? Or how it works?

-Pally”

“Dear Pally,

I’m so glad you asked! However, my research regarding the apparent connection between the reciprocal on my end and the mailbox on your end has been inconclusive. I’ll admit… I became distracted by my main project. I can’t wait to reveal it to you, I’m sure you’ll be quite impressed! Once that’s complete, I may return my attention to the anomaly that enables our correspondence.

-Ford”

“How do you know I’m not already impressed? It’s pretty damn cool that you investigate and study these kinds of things. If I told anyone about you, they’d probably lock me up in the loony bin. All that to say… I think you’re pretty special, Ford.

-Pally”

“Dear Pally,

Once again, I must apologize for the delay in response. I’ve hit a few roadblocks in my research and it’s been incredibly frustrating. Your regard also left me admittedly flustered. I’m not used to any kind of open admiration and… it was unexpected. I echo your sentiment, if I were to tell someone about the nature of our correspondence, I’d likely be met with disbelief and mockery. I’ll be frank, the fact that you accept my ramblings and the stories I’ve shared with such open mindedness has been refreshing. That alone makes you quite special in my book.

-Ford.”

“Doc, you got me blushing. Better cut that out. (actually don’t, I kind of like it).

-(Y/N)”

“(Y/N)... that’s a nice name. It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance. I needed to hear this today- I had another setback… To be frank, Y/N, I’m losing time. I fear I may have put my trust into the wrong people and… There’s been days where I question whether or not this correspondence between us is real. If I ever… If I ever write to you, and I don’t sound like myself, please forgive me. Real or not, you’ve been a true constant friend.”

“Doc, what do you mean? You realize that your last letter is concerning, right? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Doc, you’re scaring me. It’s been three weeks since I heard from you. Please send me anything to let me know you’re alright.”

“Ford, I don’t know what to say. I’m going insane wondering what happened to you. I reread all your letters and I know this was real, but your silence is scaring me.”

“I’m not going to give up on you. I’ll keep writing to you until you respond. Maybe that’s insane, but it’s all I’ve got.”

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It was almost 30 years later before you heard a reply. You'd stopped writing him almost five years prior... and you could hardly believe when you found the empty envelope full with a thick letter.

The story penned there filled you with incredulity. And yet, you knew it was him. You'd know that handwriting anywhere. The top line filled your heart with an ache you couldn't quantify.

"Dear (Y/N),

You awoke slowly, the unfamiliar noises of the woods filtering in through your consciousness like the morning sun through the curtains. Birdcalls, mostly. Were crows really that loud? You’d never been able to pick them out of the background before in the city, but here where they were one of the only sounds... They were kind of annoying, actually. 

You stretched, rolling up to sit before standing. The bare pine boards beneath your feet made you shiver and want to crawl back under the blankets, but you couldn’t afford to sleep any more than you already had. Today you were going to the library. You needed to find out some things before you started any field work and Google had surprisingly little on Gravity Falls. Thankfully, you loved the library. You had passed the building last night but you were excited to get another look at it in daylight. In a town this small you were sure it wouldn’t be very large, but it should have all the information you needed.

After a quick breakfast you’re dressed and ready to go. The weather this morning is much nicer than yesterday’s, and the morning dew glints off the pine boughs as you speed past. When you pull into town it seems like everyone is just waking up. A few people are walking down the sidewalk and you see signs flipping from “Closed” to “Open” in several windows. You park on the near-empty street before the library and climb the dark wood steps. 

Inside it’s silent and shadowy. Dust rises from the plush red carpet as you make your way silently between the shelves to the back. There are a few wooden tables with green glass banker’s lamps, and you find a spot under a high window to set your things down.

The library is much larger than it looks from the outside, and after several minutes of searching you still aren’t able to find a librarian. (You don’t even try looking for a digital directory.) However, you do find someone else. He’s slightly older than you, wearing glasses and a red turtleneck sweater under a beat-up trench coat. Though you can only see his side profile from where you’re standing, you can tell he has thick silver hair and a strong cleft jawline. For whatever reason, he looks vaguely familiar.

You step up to him and clear your throat. “Excuse me?” The man straightens up from the book that he was perusing and turns to face you. This close, you have to tilt your head back slightly to look at him. 

“Can I help you?” He asks in a smooth baritone, regarding you with clear, sky-blue eyes. As you hear him say this it hits you: he’s one of the men from the diner last night!

Realizing this, you smile. “I was just wondering if you know where I can find the books on the town’s history?” You look around. “I couldn’t find the librarian anywhere.”

“Of course.” He points to a shelf in the back of the library and as he does, you see that he has six fingers. Polydactyly! Your eyes widen fractionally, but you try not to stare. The last thing you want is to be rude. “All the municipal documents are there, along the south wall. And the librarian should be near the door, but Janet likes to come in late on Mondays so she might not be here yet.”

You nod and thank him, making your way to the spot he pointed you to. You peer up the south wall, shelves full of various books and manuscripts. Reaching up, you gingerly tug out the thickest book in the section, as well as one about the local native species and one with maps of the area. You drop all three of them at your spot, boot up your laptop, take a sip of coffee from your thermos, and begin.

Hours later your eyes are beginning to ache from squinting at the tiny, faded print on one of the town maps. The one you’re currently looking at says that it was drawn by the town founder himself and shows Gravity Falls in the early 1840s, just after its official founding. Admittedly, it has nothing to do with your thesis and everything to do with the fact that the map seems to be hand-drawn by a “President Sir Lord Quentin Trembley III, Esq.” But the map is too odd to look away from. Maybe it’s a prank or a fake? The person’s title certainly must be. You didn’t excel in history class, but you’re pretty sure there was never a President Trembley. And the longer you stare at the map, the weirder it becomes. Heavily detailed, it seems largely accurate to the other maps you’ve seen of the area, except that there are some extra places you’re sure can’t be real. Places like the “Gnome Forest” in the west and a picture of what looks to be an alien spaceship to the south of the town. You sigh and rub your eyes, folding the map back into the book it came from. While interesting, you were getting nothing done by staring at it. Time for lunch, you decide.

You step out of the library, blinking away the sunspots in your vision. The town seems more alive now that it’s nearly lunch. Leaving your car where it’s parked, you start walking and eventually reach the town center. It’s a large plaza, hemmed in by an old church and several shops. It was bustling with the midday rush, or as bustling as a small town could get. This was nothing compared to your city during lunchtime, but you’re glad. You had come here to escape after all. 

You settle on a small food cart in one corner of the square. After paying, you wander over with your burrito to sit on the edge of the statue there. As you eat, you inspect the oxidized brass plaque set into the pedestal. It says that the man above was Nathaniel Northwest, the founder and first mayor of the town of Gravity Falls. Wait... that doesn’t make any sense. According to the map in the library, the founder of the town was that Trembley guy. Maybe the map really was a prank? But why go through all the effort? You were sitting by a statue that said Northwest was the founder. And although it was certainly embellished, most of the locations were accurate and the paper had certainly felt old. But old enough to be from 1842? You didn’t know, but maybe Google would. Into your phone’s search bar you typed “Gravity Falls founder.” You skimmed the results, all pointing towards Northwest. When you tried searching “Quentin Trembley,” nothing relevant came up either. You finished your food and got up to toss the wrapper. The map must be a fake. But you wondered why... 

You started walking back towards the library. On the way there you passed a small group, recognizing them as the two teens and one of the men from last night. 

“Dudes!” The man yelled, laughing. “I’m so glad you’re back, I gotta catch you guys up on everything you missed!”

The girl next to him spoke up, skipping along the sidewalk and wearing a purple sweater with the face of a chubby cat on it. “I know! How have you and Melody been doing?” She asked, grinning up at him. He blushed.

“Uhh-”

“Mabel, leave Soos alone! You know he’s shy about her.” The other boy scolded, though he was also grinning. The conversation faded as you got out of earshot. 

Back at the library, you kept studying. Time passed unnoticed until the loudspeakers announced that the library was now closed, and would all patrons please vacate the premise, and thank you for visiting. The noise startled you out of the trance you’d been in since you got back from lunch and you began packing away your things. Balancing your checked books in one hand and your thermos and car keys in the other, with your backpack slung over your shoulder, you carefully made your way out the front doors and to your car. 

As you buckled in, you saw the man who had helped you earlier- you still didn’t know his name- jogging up the front steps. You hadn’t seen him leave the first time. And didn’t he know the place was closing? Maybe he does actually work there. You wonder if you’ll see him again. Something about him piqued your interest, but you couldn’t put your finger on what. 

You unceremoniously drop your bag as soon as you get inside the cabin. Though you’d bought enough groceries to make dinner your brain felt like it would leak out of your ears if you had to do any more thinking tonight. You settle on the leftovers from last night and unsurprisingly they don’t taste any better than they did yesterday.

Even after you shower and curl up in the cabin’s loft bed with your computer, your head feels like it’s spinning. You’d absorbed so much information today and yet still barely made a start in your preliminary research. Though you didn’t mind hitting the books, you had come here for the field work. That’s what had drawn you to ecology in the first place and why you chose to go for a master’s instead of a doctorate’s. The PhDs usually spent all of their time in academia after they graduated, and while you loved learning, you didn’t love the desk chairs or the pressure to publish. With a master’s you could be out more, getting dirt under your nails and twigs in your hair. The good stuff. 

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You’ve been in Gravity Falls for a week so far, and in that time you’ve made friends with Janet the Gravity Falls librarian, and learned that the man from the diner who helped you the first day is named Stanford "Call Me Ford" Pines. Though he doesn't work at the library, he’s a regular there like you and can often be found in the mythology section, muttering to himself and scribbling in a notebook. (You’re trying to muster up the courage to ask him what it is that he’s studying.) You’ve also been able to complete your preliminary research.

You had been keeping in touch with him through Skype on your phone while he was abroad so it wasn’t all bad. You had to teach him how to use the app numerous times on three different phones that had met an untimely end due to his adventuring before he left. You made sure this phone was strong enough, not to mention waterproof to handle his antics so you could enjoy seeing him smile and hearing his voice. He’d call around the same time your time, despite where he was and you could see things in the background as he was walking about or in his cabin on his boat. As scatterbrained as he was, he never forgot to touch base with you. Sometimes Stan would pop into the frame or hijack the phone entirely just to talk or see what has been going on in their absence but other than that, it was just you and Ford.

You stood there on the same pier in Ford’s brown trench coat. You could remember the day he gave it to you like yesterday and it made your heart ache. It was moments before he left. You were there, hugging yourself as he said goodbye, holding back tears as he walked off toward the boat with a bag over his shoulder.  When you thought he wouldn’t look back, you started to cry which prompted Ford to stop and go back to you. Instead of telling you not to cry, he slipped off his coat and wrapped it around you before taking your chin to make you look up at him.

“Take good care of it for me. I’ll be back for it.” He murmured before giving you a gentle kiss and wiping your tears away. He promised to stay in touch. He promised he’d come back. And you held him to it. Neither of you just didn’t know when.

Now, you hold the coat to you. You haven’t taken it off other than when you were back home where you buried yourself under it and used it as a blanket every night since. It still smelled heavily of him. It eased your mind some.

The ringing of your phone pulled you out of your thoughts. It was your Skype ringtone. Ford was calling. You could feel your heart flutter and your hands fumbled with the phone to answer it. You hoped each time you answered, Ford would tell you he was on his way home but you knew that was something that might not happen this time. Or the next. Or the next. When you answer, you are greeted with a familiar grin.

“Oh good! I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to connect here.” He chuckled. When asked, he says he and Stan ported somewhere hours away to pick up supplies and you can see he’s walking on a pier. Stan’s mouth could be heard in the background but you couldn’t figure out if it was happy loud or angry loud. He was just being loud and it started to fade away as Ford walked away. What you didn’t notice was Ford was purposely keeping the signs out of view and he was strolling slow enough to where his footsteps could not be heard on the hard wood. As you two talked, you started to notice feedback on your phone, like your phone was echoing. Or was that on his? When you inquire about it, you see him suddenly turn and lift his phone high enough to look down at him and you see an all too familiar figure in a brown trench coat standing behind him looking over the water and you see his face on the phone in the figures’ hands.  “Oh look! There’s someone that looks just like you here! Wow, I never knew you had a twin! Small world, isn’t it?”

It took you a moment to realize what was going on and once it clicked, you slowly turned to see Ford’s back to you but he was smirking and glancing back at you out of the corner of his eye.