#gravity falls fluff

something important to recognise about ford is that he grew up in a very different time — he was never bigoted, nothing of the sort, but he didn’t really know all that much about non cishet people, identities and communities (he was much too focused on his research to even consider dating anyone himself, let alone who anyone else dates) — so him meeting you may very well have been his first experience getting to know someone who wasn’t, well, cis or het

all of those factors (never dating/exploring his sexuality, never being exposed to non cishet people, etc) meant that when he started to fall for you, ford started to have a mild panic — he’d never felt this way about anyone else before and didn’t even realise it was ‘love’ and ‘attraction’ until stan started bullying him for his crush, and the first person he’s ever fallen for is another man which would be especially confusing for him as he’d just assumed he was straight his whole life

(which, naturally, was quite a long time to be blatantly incorrect about something — which further adds to the mess he’s gotten himself into)

so then ford does what ford does best in a time of personal crisis and locks himself away from everyone in his lab, using his research to distract him from his confusing feelings and shooing everyone away using a half dozen excuses about ‘dangerous materials’ and ‘hazardous experiments’ — which stan knows is complete bs so he tells you the truth the moment you ask (after all, you and ford had become quite good friends at this point and it was only natural you’d worry about him in a situation like this)

and that leads to the brothers getting into an argument because ford was very much so not ready for you to know about his feelings, he’s just been outed by his brother to his crush, and he’s still trying to process everything whilst a new stressor has been thrown into the mix — and you’re trying to calm him down whilst stan is rolling his eyes and telling ford to ‘thank me later’ before walking away to continue watching whatever was on the television

which leaves the two of you alone just outside of his lab — no stan to fight, no great grand niece or nephew to use as an excuse, just you and him and the silence between you as he refuses to look you in the eye and tries to find any excuse to leave (mind drawing a blank every time — for once the brilliant scientist/stubborn old man is out of his element and he just doesn’t know what to do)

what happens next depends on if you return his feelings or not.

if you don’t then he’ll accept your answer and back off (honestly he never had any intention of confessing in the first place) — withdrawing for a while to sort out his feelings so that you can go back to being close friends again

if you do then you get a grumpy, awkward, old scientist of a boyfriend who is both incredibly protective over you and so unsure of himself that even the slightest bit of physical affection or verbal reassurance can leave him looking visibly more relaxed and calm — even if he struggles to call you his ‘boyfriend’ and instead refers to you as his ‘life partner’ (he just feels it’s a bit silly for someone his age to be using that term)

dipper pines

initially dipper had brushed off your superstitions as a matter of upbringing

he’d met many people over the years who absentmindedly threw leftover salt over their shoulder or who veered around ladders out of habit — so, to him, you were far from abnormal in that regard

granted your superstitions were a bit more specific than most and you were a bit more insistent on him abiding by them (at least when you were together) than most — but he just brushed it off as one of your eccentricities

i mean he spends most of his days studying the supernatural so far beyond him to judge someone for trying to protect themselves

then you sat him down and told him about your gift and that’s when everything clicked into place

the knocking on doors before entering any room — even the ones you knew were empty

the refusal to whistle at night — and your scolding of him for doing so

the refusal to enter older buildings

you could see the dead and didn’t want to disturb them — it made so much sense now

he’d question you about your abilities — limits, experiences and what exactly you can and cannot do — and write them all down in his own notebook

and he’d default to you and your experiences when dealing with hauntings going forwards to minimise any upsetting of the dead

but beyond that he wouldn’t treat you any different

he’d just be more open with you about his studies, share in your superstitions and occasionally ask for your help or guidance where needed

and unless you want him to do something else with your gift, he won’t, and things will stay largely the same

stanford pines

your relationship likely only happened because of your gift — with the two of you meeting and becoming colleagues in studying the supernatural after ford heard of your talents and specifically tracked you down

of course for most of the time you knew him ford had been relatively dismissive and business oriented — not forming much of a personal bond so much as he was looking for your insight as a partner, as an equal, in his studies

and you hadn’t minded, merely insisting that he follow your instructions and doesn’t go against your superstitions when with you

it was a small ask and he readily complied, valuing the input of a medium far more than any pride or similar stigma that would have prevented him from going along with your instructions

you were effectively a coauthor for his journals, helping him gain the trust of these creatures, these entities, these communities to aid in a more thorough observation

helping him cross barriers in language and existence with lots of patience and your talent as an underlying foundation to it all

and, as time went on, the two of you inevitably got close enough to form the very beginnings of a romantic relationship

so close that your routines and habits start to mesh together so closely that you memorise his coffee order by heart and he never thinks twice about tossing that handful of salt over his shoulder or broadening his step so he avoids a crack in the pavement

closely intertwined and in love and awkward but it’s perfect for you both — you with your superstitions and him with his sciences

and you’re perfect for each other, sticking by for as long as you can — and returning to that old routine even after those years spent apart when he was lost in that void

but, still, you can recite his formulae off by heart and he pauses at the sight of a black cat or a leaning ladder — avoiding them no matter how much his brother and grandniblings tease him for it

holds your hand whenever he’s stressed or anxious, always feeling much safer and more confident once he’s made contact with you

he’s a terrible flirt: he stumbles over his words, turns bright red and isn’t able to look at you when he does it — but he tries his best

despite your first date being casual, he showed up in his best clothes because he panicked and wanted to make a good impression

immediately after your first kiss he just said ‘wow’ before stumbling over his words as he realised that it was a silly thing to say

will rant about magic and science for hours, explaining everything in such detail that he paints a crystal clear image in your mind

he gives fantastic massages and will over them alongside a cup of hot chocolate and some of your favourite sweets whenever you’re stressed

your contact name in his phone is ‘(name) 💙’ (he likes blue)

whenever you’re having a rough day and he can’t be there with you for whatever reason, he’ll order your favourite takeout to be delivered to your home and will send you a text saying something along the lines of ‘take care of yourself, i love you’ but in a much geekier way

incredibly sentimental and keeps every card you send him but you’ll never catch him admitting to it

sometimes when he can’t think of something sweet or romantic to say, he’ll send your message to mabel and ask her to brainstorm a response with him

you have matching couple jumpers (mabel made them, obviously)

loves going on walks with you but he also loves staying inside and either watching a film, playing a game or reading together

he wears reading glasses at night and this combined with his plaid pyjamas makes him look like a 20 year old grandfather — he says he doesn’t see it but you certainly do

he’s extremely ticklish on his neck and will try and hide in his shoulders if you try and tickle him

      Stan poked his head around the doorway, looking into the kitchen. A wet eyed little girl sat in the middle of the floor, the pieces of a broken mason jar scattered around her. Her eyes were squeezed shut tight, her mouth wide as she wailed, snot running from her nose.

       “Mabel?”

       The five year old sniffed hard as she blinked open her eyes, wiping at her wet nose with her bare arm. Her face scrunched up more, and it seemed clear she was deciding whether or not to keep crying.

       Kicking away the broken pieces with the edge of his shoe, Stan knelt down, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Mabel, what happened? Where’s Dipper? Are you okay?”

      Mabel violently shook her head before setting it in Stan’s lap, immediately plastering it in tears and snot. “Nuh-uh. Dipper’s not here, and I was alone and now I’m dying!” she cried, squirming in closer.

      Stan managed a tired smile, sitting her up straight. Maybe he ought to tell her to be a big girl, toughen up. That’s probably how his parents would have done it, not that he wanted to be anything like them. But something about her pleading eyes made him melt. “You’re dying, are you? How’d this happen, huh?”

      Mabel sniffed again, biting her lower lip. “I wanted to see if there were any cookies in the jar,” she said, hiccuping slightly, the worst of her crying over. “So I tried to climb up the ‘fridgererator but I fell. And there weren’t even cookies, and now my knee is making me dying.”

      Pulling away slightly, he nodded, chuckling. “Well, that’s awful, kid. Any requests for what I should put on your tombstone?”

      Unfortunately, Mabel saw the well-meant joke as confirmation that she was, indeed, going to die, which started up another round of crying.

      Swearing in the back of his mind, Stan tried to pause her. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it, it’s gonna be okay, Dipper’s gonna come back and you’re not alone anymore and you aren’t gonna die. Listen, I’ll even bake you some cookies! How does that sound? A whole plate of cookies, and you don’t have to share with anyone!” It took more bribing and cajoling, but finally, to Stan’s immense relief, she started to wind down again.

      “But Stan?” Mabel said, pouting seriously. “You gotta look at my knee, ‘cause cookies isn’t medicine. Dipper said so.”

      “Well your brother should lighten up a little. Let’s have a look here, shall we?” Stan said, gently rolling up Mabel’s pants. As she had so dramatically claimed, one of her knees, had in fact been scraped by the fall, and was bleeding lightly. He doubted it was bad enough to warrant claims of dying, but he’d learned last week what happened when he tried to contradict his little niece. “Hm. Well, based on my expert opinion, I think you’ll survive. But hows about we get you a bandaid?”

      Digging around in his suit pocket, he pulled out one of the bandaids he kept handy. It was a new habit, with five year old twins running around, especially in Gravity Falls, it was better to have something to patch the little gremlins up with. “Here we go,” he said as he unpeeled one, carefully pulling it free and smoothing it over Mabel’s knee. It didn’t cover the scratch completely, but it was enough for her, and an expression of obvious relief overtook the little girl’s face.

      “Thanks daddy.”

      Stan had half stood, planning to head back to his tour before he got any later. But he didn’t straighten any further. He could hardly blink, surprised by this.

      Mabel’s face flushed at her own slip-up, and she shrank back, looking suddenly apologetic. “I didn’t mean-sorry,” she said, picking ashamedly at her bandaid.

      Blinking, Stan managed an awkward smile. “Nah, it’s fine kiddo,” he said, ruffling her hair. “You call me whatever you want, ‘kay?”

      She looked up at him in surprise, then smiled brightly, a big innocent smile, shining with the happy inexperience that hung around her like a halo. “‘Kay!” she agreed, nodding.

      Stan offered a hand to help her to her feet, smiling. “You wanna help me take a tour through the Mystery Shack? I may be no Dipper, but I can at least keep you company til the squirt gets back from his friend’s house.”

      “Only if I get to wear your hat. And your eyepatch!”