#ticklish!ford

[gaybananabread]

Squealing Santa 2024 - Gift for @vampiretickles

~Happy Holidays @vampiretickles! I hope this fic finds you well, and that you have a lovely New Year’s. I’ve been seeing this ship everywhere; it’s about time I tried my hand at it. This is loaded with sweet, loving, absolutely disgusting fluff. I had fun with it! Could possibly be ooc, but I think it’s alright. If you celebrate, Happy Holidays! I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Stanford Pines

Ler: Fiddleford McGucket

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Summary: As per usual, Ford is refusing to step away from his work and rest. Fiddleford, sick of his partner running himself haggard, decides to take matters into his own hands. Literally.

Word Count: 1,679

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

“Dag blast it- UGH!” Ford tossed his flaming trench coat to the ground, spewing colorful obscenities as he tried to put out the bright green fire. By the time he managed to stomp it out, his poor coat was in charred tatters.

“There goes another one…” He swore, tossing the ruined garment into his disposal bin. The smoking experiment on his table was an even greater let-down. Rubbing his temples, the scientist grabbed his ancient tape recorder and sighed into the device. “Attempt number 57 ends in…failure.”

Ford had been at it for nearly a week, trying test after test in an attempt to get the right combination. It was an experimental weirdness blocker that could—in theory—negate any powers or effects being in their odd town could bring.

The man’s reaction had been less than quiet. Fiddleford, who had come to visit his it’s-complicated-but-we’re-getting-there partner, was drawn to the room by all the noise. “Everythin’ alright in here, Stanford?”

Ford whipped around, eyes narrowed dangerously before he realized who had entered. “Oh…yes. Everything’s fine.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” The old man stepped farther into the room, furrowing his brows. He’d been doing a lot better since Weirdmageddon; his beard was clean (though he preferred long, so it wasn’t cut), his clothes were clean and whole, and he was spewing less nonsense by the day. With his improved mental state, he was able to care for those around him. “You should take a break, Ford. It’d do ya some good.”

“I’m fine, Fiddleford,” Ford huffed, brushing off the advice. He knew the hillbilly was right, but that didn’t mean he had to listen.

“Uh-huh, sure. Gotta be true, what with the fire and screamin’.” Fidds looked over at the remnants of Ford’s trench coat knowingly. That quirked brow made Ford more defensive than it probably should have.

“I just need more time. A few hours, tops.” Ford poked the smoldering remains of his experiment, trying to figure out what went wrong.

The man needed a break, but he wasn’t going to take one willingly. It was up to McGucket to fix that.

“What ya need is to relax.” Closing the distance between them, Fiddleford wrapped his arms around his partner. He squeezed just tight enough so the weary man couldn’t escape.

“Fidds, come on. I’ll be done soon en- mmph!” Ford flinched, jolting in his partner’s grip. The hillbilly’s hands were resting on Ford’s hips. While that would usually be an appreciated gesture, his fingers were wiggling into the divots of the joint; it tickled, and they both knew it.

“What’sa matter, Stanford? Got a tickle in yer throat?” Fiddleford teased, knowing the silliness of it would get to Ford. The man never could handle childish teases. The effects were instantaneous.

“F-Fihidds, no! I dohon’t have time f-for nonsense!” Ford did his best to hold in his reactions, refusing to give up so easily. He didn’t necessarily need to finish his work that day, but it felt wrong to leave anything unfinished.

“Yet you’ve got time fer workin’ yerself to exhaustion, knowin’ ya ain’t got enough energy to do anythin’ actually productive.”

Ford scoffed at the direct call-out, his ears turning pink. Well…shit. Fiddleford had him pegged, and he really didn’t have a comeback for that. After a few seconds of watching the Pines gape like a fish, Fidds chuckled.

“That’s what I thought. Now, hush up ‘n lemme help ya.” Pressing a gentle kiss to one of the man’s pinkened ears, Fidds got back to work. His thin, bony fingers worked their way up Ford’s sides, digging in just enough to make him giggle.

“Fihiddlefohohord!” Rumbling, slightly raspy giggles shook the man’s shoulders as he tried not to squirm. While the tickling wasn’t exactly what he had planned for the afternoon, he couldn’t deny how nice it was to have McGucket pressed against him after feeling so stressed.

“That’s my name, yeah. You sure that experiment didn’ scramble yer brain pan?” Fidds teased him, resting his chin on his partner’s shaky shoulder.

“Behe quihihiet!” Ford couldn’t help but gasp when one of Fidds’s hands went back down to his hips, his fingers wiggling into the ticklish little divot once again.

“You should be a little nicer, darlin’. I got all ‘a my favorite spots right here, just waitin’ for some attention.” His words carried a playful threat, his other hand moving to tease near Ford’s pits. He felt the man shudder against him at the thought.

“No! Nohohoho, cohome on! Thihis is rihidiculous!” Stanford tried using his grumpy old man tone, but the constant giggling ruined the attempt at seriousness. He was forced to just sit there and squirm against his partner.

“That’s the whole point, ya old goof. Yer s’posed to be takin’ it easy; ridiculous fits the bill.” Fidds accentuated his point with a few kisses to Ford’s neck, though he was surprised by the adorably shrill noise the action received.

“KHHHHehehe! Fihidds!” Ford whined—actually whined—at the feeling, scrunching up his shoulders as much as the hold would allow. His neck was ticklish? How had the hillbilly never noticed before?

“I reckon someone’s been hidin’ somethin’ from me, hasn’t he?” With a giddy smirk, Fiddleford began kissing the back of Ford’s neck, purposefully nuzzling his scraggly beard against the flushed skin as well.

Ford gasped at the barrage of tickly kisses and nuzzles, strangled little giggles and incredibly silly noises getting caught in his throat as he scrunched up. It was an utterly adorable sight—one that his partner made sure to enjoy.

“Yer so cute when yer laughin’, Stanford,” McGucket cooed between kisses, putting a bit more of his weight on his partner to keep him still. “Daw, who am I kiddin’? Yer cute in general.”

The silver-haired man could feel his face burning from all the affectionate teasing. He could usually keep his emotions in check; the decades he spent in chaotic and dangerous dimensions taught him to be stoic on command.

When it came to Fiddleford, however, all of that conditioning seemed to disappear. He felt like a flustered teen playing wingman for Stanley again, though the feeling was a lot more intense and a helluva lot more enjoyable.

“Lohohohove, p-plehehehease! Ihi- GYEhehehe! Ihihi cahahan’t!” Ford blushed even harder just from the ludicrous nature of his own words. Gracious, he was pathetic…and he didn’t really mind it. His sides were growing quite sore, however, and he couldn’t take much more of the heavy giggling. “Fihihidds, plehease!”

The bearded man heard the difference in Ford’s tone, easing off to kiss his rosy cheeks instead. “Alright, alright, settle down. I’m done bein’ mean.” Gently, he guided the giggly man over to the small room he’d forced Ford to furnish, getting him settled on the nearly untouched mattress. “Told ya you’d need a nappin’ room down here.”

“Nohot the time toho glohohoat…” Ford huffed, snuggling up against his lanky partner. Fuck, he couldn’t work any more if he wanted to, which…he kind of didn’t. He was exhausted, his thoughts were sluggish, and he was really in the mood for cuddles. “Sneaky bastard.”

“Only fer you, darlin’.” Fidds peppered his face with kisses, running a hand through his fluffy silver hair.

Ford mumbled grievances, but it was obvious the touch was melting him. He was so tired…but he didn’t want the attention to end. “Could you…mmphf.”

“What’s that now? Gotta speak up.” Fiddleford had an idea of what the cuddly man wanted to say, but he was gonna make him ask for it. His flustered voice was just too adorable to resist.

It was absolutely evil, in Ford’s eyes.

“Just…don’t stop? I don’t want you to…you know. Lightly.”

Fidds bit his lip, chuckling softly at the embarrassed, broken request. Ford really was terrible at asking for what he wanted… Still, the attempt was the best he’d gotten yet.

“M’kay, I won’t make ya beg. C’mere.” Snaking a hand up Ford’s shirt, the bearded man began ever so gently tickling his partner’s sides, back, and neck. His hand drifted, the touch just present enough to tickle.

“Mmhmhmhm…” A wobbly smile tugged at Ford’s lips as he pressed his face into Fiddleford’s chest, giggling softly. Each small noise was little more than an exhale, gentle enough for his aching sides to rest while keeping him giddy. Fidds always knew exactly what he needed, and—better yet—exactly how to give it to him.

“Maybe I should start doin’ this every time ya refuse to rest. It’s workin’ pretty well, I reckon.” Fidds felt his heart swell at the sight of him, loving how he just gave in to the giggly affection.

“Shuhush,” Ford huffed lovingly, moving in to kiss him. His stubbly upper lip scratched Fidds’s as he blindly leaned in. Their lips met, each smiling against the other’s as they drifted off wholly into their own little world.

While he would’ve loved to keep kissing Ford for the rest of the night, he could feel how sluggish the man was getting. It was time to rest. He pulled away from the kiss, lovingly stroking Ford’s sides.

“Alright, darlin’. Time to turn in.” Wrapping his thin legs around the man’s waist, Fiddleford gently scratched Ford’s scalp to wind down. As expected, the scientist let out a sleepy sigh, leaning right into the touch. Fidds’s other hand was still stroking his sides, barely tickling. It was sweet, domestic, and made both men feel oh so loved and whole.

“Mhmmm…goodnihight, love.” Ford muttered one last endearment before dozing off, finally giving in to the drowsiness that washed over him. He felt a few light kisses on the crown of his head, reassuring him all the way to unconsciousness.

“G’night, Stanford. I love ya, darlin’.” Fiddleford held Ford close, sighing contentedly as he heard the man’s breathing even out. Finally, he’d gotten his stubborn partner to pass out and rest. The next day would bring the same challenge, but he’d be more than ready to face and overcome it.

He had love on his side, after all. And tickles. With those, he couldn’t possibly lose.

[anxious-lee]

Nothing To Prove || Gravity Falls Tickle Fic ||

A/N: there's a lot of buildup at the start but THIS IS A TICKLE FIC I SWEAR! more than anything though, I'm writing this for the sake of developing characters. This is familial love so if I see any i*cest, I am blocking you on sight

Summary: When Ford comes to realize how much Dipper looks up to him, he seeks out a way to show his young nephew that there's no need to be intimidated by him.

Word count: 2,454

----

Dipper

Life just got a whole galaxy bigger.

Dipper thought he knew what his life would become when he found that old dusty book in the forest; he'd pursue adventure, get into danger, fight monsters.

But meeting his number one hero? And then finding out that he's related?

Not a chance.

It'd been a year since Dipper and his sister left Gravity Falls. They had lots of time that school year to ruminate on everything they had been through together. In the span of three months, their whole universe had turned inside out.

They had another uncle. Someone else to look out for and protect them. Mabel, as she is with all news of this sort, was over the moon. Dipper, however, wasn't as content. It wasn't that he didn't like Great Uncle Ford. Far from it. He loved him unconditionally. He worshipped the ground he walked on. He would fight a thousand beasts to earn his mentor's pride. And that was the problem.

Dipper had spent so long dreaming of the author as this distant hero; an intellectual mastermind that surpassed all around him. He dreamt of meeting him, yes. Bombarding him with questions, absolutely. But now the man was part of his family. The same family that he cracked stupid fart jokes and goofed around with.

Dipper wasn't prepared to have someone so important to him in his life on a permanent basis. He couldn't help but feel a little small around Ford, like every move he made was a chance to embarrass himself in front of his idol.

After his first summer in Gravity Falls ended, Dipper hoped that his overwhelming sense of awe would pass with the time, and he would grow more comfortable around this new addition to the family. But the moment he stepped off of that bus and saw his great-uncle there to greet him, he knew it wouldn't be quite that easy.

He volunteered for as many of Ford's experiments as he could. He offered as much help as he could provide. When faced with an obstacle, Dipper made sure to prove to his uncle that he was smart and tough beyond his years. This, as one might expect, is a difficult and exhausting image to maintain. Being "the perfect, mature man of science" was hard when you were a young, hormonal teenage boy. But that wasn't going to stop Dipper.

When Ford had asked if him if he wanted to help engineer a stronger form of glass that could withstand abnormally high temperatures, he nearly fell over with excitement. He was going to be the best lab assistant Ford could ask for.

It seemed, however, that he couldn't get that right after all, because when bringing over the regular glass jar for experimentation, it slipped through his fingers and shattered.

Dipper was mortified. Not only had he broken the constant variable in their experiment, but possibly also the trust Ford placed in him to be a responsible assistant. How could he have been so careless? Was their experiment ruined now? Did Ford think he wasn't taking this seriously?

"Oh my gosh! Oh my- I- I'm so sorry, Great Uncle Ford! I don't know what happened. I thought I had it" Dipper rambled, throat tightening.

"Aw shoot," Ford cursed under his breath, "It's okay, Dipper, it happens. Here, why don't you go fetch me a new jar from the back shelves while I sweep up this mess?"

"Act- Actually you know what, I think you might actually have an easier time doing this if I wasn't here. I- I don't want to get in your way. " Dipper shuffled back towards the door.

"But I thought you wanted to-" Ford turned to his nephew only to find that he was already gone.

---

Ford

It was unusual, and not the kind that Ford enjoyed. The puzzling kind of unusual.

The conclusion did not follow the variables. Variable one: Ford was conducting an experiment. Variable two: Ford asked Dipper for assistance. Variable three: Dipper was eager to help. Conclusion: Dipper had panicked and ran off. It just wasn't right. Something was off balance.

Now, in a technical situation, Ford could figure out the root cause himself. He had well over thirty years of practice doing so. But this was a human being. Moreso, this was his great nephew, and he wasn't so skilled in the people area. He needed to outsource this predicament with someone who knew Dipper longer than he had. Someone he could trust to tell him what he was doing wrong.

That someone in particular was tucking away a large medieval flail in the cupboards of the sitting room when Ford found him. What it was for, Ford thought it better not to ask.

"Stanley, can I talk to you about something?" He said.

"I didn't know it was a bear, honest!" Stan yelled.

"What?"

"Uhh, nothing. What's on your mind?"

"I have the strangest feeling that Dipper is more anxious than normal. He ran out of my lab this morning looking like he'd seen a ghost, which I have ruled out as a possibility because the air did not smell at all of sulfur. Anyway, the point is, I think something's wrong with him. You've known him far longer than I have. I thought maybe you would have better insight into these things" Ford explained.

Stan stood silently for a moment.

"Stan?"

"Oh sorry I was just enjoying the moment you finally came to me for advice"

"Stanley."

His brother quirked an eyebrow at him. "You don't gotta be a genius to figure this one out, Poindexter. The kid's afraid of looking bad in front of ya."

Ford was stunned into silence. This was a new feeling. An new, terribly odd feeling.

"What?"

"Come on, you've got to have noticed by now. He looks to you like you're a god. He practically worships the ground you walk on. You were like his hero before you'd even met him. You think he's not gonna feel some pressure to live up to your standard? He just wants you to be proud of him."

"I love him! He's my brother's grandson! And of course I'm proud of him. He's very remarkable for his age" Ford said.

"Then why don't you tell him that once in a while."

Ford lost himself in thought.

"Well, time to get back to restocking my weapons. Good luck with your family tension. I'll call you for dinner," Stan sauntered away, seemingly unbothered by the problem, "Prepping for battle, do do do..."

Once again, Ford was left alone to think.

---

This wasn't the first time that Ford had heard someone tell him that he had a standoff-ish impression on people, but he never thought it would impact his kin. Someone he treasured so greatly. Now that he knew how Dipper was feeling, he couldn't waltz around and act like he didn't know. Something had to be done. The only issue was, he didn't know what.

Ford waited a couple days before asking Dipper to rejoin his experiments, knowing that the boy probably wouldn't be willing to assist him just yet after what happened. To his relief, Dipper agreed.

It was still painful to know that his nephew was intimidated by him, but it felt nice just to have him by his side again being his seemingly normal self.

The day went without a hitch this time. In fact, things went quicker than expected and they finished early. It was as they were readying themselves to leave when Ford spoke.

"Thank you for your help today, Dipper. I've been having trouble operating all of this machinery by myself lately. Must have thrown out my back or something."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Dipper replied, "Muscles get tighter with age, so I'm sure it's normal."

Ford turned to look down at his nephew. "Are you calling me old?"

The boy paled. "Wh- I- Uh- I- I wasn't-"

"I'm afraid I have no choice but to punish you for your disrespect" the scientist said darkly.

Before Dipper could have time to overthink that threat, Ford pulled the boy into his arms, sat himself on the ground and started tickling his belly.

The first few seconds were filled with frantic babbling; jumbled syllables trying to make themselves into a coherent sentence. Ford wasn't hearing a "stop", so he didn't.

Dipper giggled hysterically. His face had instantly screwed itself up tight and was looking for a way to bury itself into some hiding place. "GREATUNCLEFORHOHORD! WHAT ARE YOU DOHOHOHOING?!"

"Tickling you, of course! I thought that was obvious," Ford answered with cheer, all pretend-seriousness gone. He chuckled. "I guess you inherited more from me than I thought."

Dipper couldn't seem to figure out what to do with his hands, until he settled on hiding his face with them.

"Aw, don't be shy, son. I'm not the author today. Today, I'm just your uncle," Ford then added with a growl, "Your uncle: the tickle monster!"

The boy's arms fell from his face, settling down on his lap like little t-rex arms. He seemed to have surrendered to the silliness of it and didn't bother to fight.

Wonderful, Ford thought, that means he trusts me!

As Ford moved from belly to sides to ribs, Dipper's laughter went up and down like a rollercoaster, his child-like smile never leaving his face. "IHIHIHI'M SORRYHIHIHI!"

"Nuh uh, kid. "Sorry"'s not gonna cut it," Ford said playfully. He was surprised how good he was at this. He didn't have much experience with playing with children, and he had thought his decades of interdimensional travel would've hardened him to such silliness. Thank the gods that it hadn't.

As Ford's hand started to travel up to the boy's underarm, the boy shrieked and suddenly found the will to fight.

"EHEHEHEK! NONONONONO!"

Ford couldn't help himself laughing at his adorable little ward. "Ticklish there, huh?"

"YEHEHES" Dipper cried.

"Okay, okay, I'll make you a deal. You take back what you said about me being old, and I'll stop tickling you."

Ford had expected the kid to be worn out by now. He thought it was only fair to offer him an out. To his surprise, he didn't take it.

Dipper seemed to think it over for a second, then shook his head with an extra giggle, one that was not from the tickling.

This kid is going to be the death of me, Ford thought, not a hint of regret in his mind.

"Okay, if you say so," the man said playfully, and dug all six fingers into the boy's hollows.

A shriek, and then more rambling, and then loud laughter.

Dipper, despite being tickled within an inch of his life, looked happier than Ford had ever seen him. If this was a dream, Ford did not want to wake up.

"I've got some questions for you, Dipper. Smile for yes and laugh for no, ya got it?"

All he could do was laugh.

"Okay, are you smart?"

Dipper sunk his chin in to his chest.

"Dipper, this won't work if you say yes and no" Ford remarked with fake incredulousness, "Okay, hmmmm... are you brave?"

The teen began to snicker.

"I don't think you understand the rules of this game," Ford said, which only made Dipper laugh harder.

"Alright, alright, last one. Are you ticklish?"

Dipper let out a snort at that infernal question.

"I'll take that as a yes," Ford smiled smugly.

After several more minutes of goofing around, Dipper finally had enough.

"OKAYHYHYHY OKAYHYHY! I TAKE IT BAHAHACK!"

"Good lad." And with that, Ford released his victim.

Dipper wrapped his arms around himself and giggled till there were no more laughs left in him.

"You okay, son? I didn't go too crazy, did I?"

"No no, I'm fihihine. Mabel's put me through much worhorse."

"I can believe that. She got that from your uncle Stanley, you know."

After having regained his breath, Dipper got up from his uncle's lap. "So... are you really not mad about the jar I broke the other day?"

"Oh, Dipper, of course I'm not. You should see the things I've broken down here. You'd be shocked."

"But when you make a mistake, it's different." Dipper recoiled. Apparently, he didn't mean to let that slip.

"What do you mean?"

Dipper's timidness was returning, and Ford almost regretted even asking.

"It's just... you've done so many great things and are so perfect the rest of the time that the mistakes you make don't count as much."

That was some seriously flawed logic, but Ford chose not to point it out.

Dipper continued. "I make too many mistakes."

"Dipper, you're supposed to make mistakes. You're twelve. Do you think I was able to do all the things I do now at your age? Not even remotely.

"And more to the point, you don't have to embarrassed about those mistakes. Especially not with me."

"But you're different! You're the author! The author I'd been searching for all summer. You're a dimension-hopping scientist! And surprise, surprise, you're even cooler in person! And I'm just... so... small.

"I keep trying to make myself useful, to be someone you can be proud of, but-"

Ford kneeled down and placed both hands on the kid's shoulders. "Dipper, listen very close to me. I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to really hear me, understand?"

Dipper hesitantly nodded.

"I am so proud of you. You're my great nephew. I'm proud of you every minute of every day. That's not something that can change. You've got nothing to prove to me. You make me proud simply by being who you are. Never question that. Can you do that for me, son?"

The boy looked near to tears.

Oh gods, Ford thought, did he say something wrong? He thought this would make him feel better, not worse! Should he-

Little arms suddenly hugged his neck tight. "Yeah... yeah I can."

Ford could not get his arms around him fast enough.

"Now, don't you ever go comparing yourself to me. What a disservice to your incredible self."

Dipper hugged tighter.

Ford himself could feel little pin pricks in his own eyes. He released his hug and cleared his throat.

"Well, I think we've had enough excitement down here for one day. What do you say we head back upstairs for dinner."

Dipper wiped his eyes with a happy smile. "Sounds good to me."

The two walked back towards the door, a new kind of bond formed between them. It felt like something had been accomplished today, and that was all either of them could ask for.

"You are old, though."

"Oh, I'll show you old. Get back here!"

----

This has been an idea of mine for quite some time. Rewatching the show was just the straw that broke this writer's back apparently. So happy to have finally written this ❤️

[thebest-medicine]

could you do 16 “Come on, stop it - I’m serious, that really tickles!” with lee!dipper and ler!stan or ford🩷🩷

Prompt 16 - "Come on, stop it - I'm serious, that really tickles!"

A/N: yessssssssss gravity falls!!!!!!!!

…

“We just need to take a few measurements and I get you a nice anti-magic jumpsuit made! It’ll only take a few days. Come on, hop up!” Ford explained excitedly as he gestured for Dipper to take a step up on the stool in his lab.

“Ok. Great! Thanks Grunkle Ford!” Dipper stepped up, reaching his arms straight out to his sides and waiting.

Wrists and ankles were quick and easy. Dipper startled a bit when Ford touched his leg to measure his inseam. When the tape started at his wrist and then wound up under his armpit, he jumped with a startled giggle. “S-sorry!”

“You alright kid?”

“Fine! Fine.” Dipper assured him. Ford raised an eyebrow but kept up the measuring.

Ford looped the tape around Dipper’s waist and he sucked in a breath, stomach tensing.

“Relax, it needs to be a good fit! don’t suck in!” Ford poked at Dipper’s belly.

A nervous peal of laughter spouted from Dipper’s lips as he teetered backwards, saved by the measuring tape around his middle. “ACK-!”

Ford chuckled, going back to his measuring. A few spots hedged close to being a little ticklish, but Dipper kept it together. Soon, it seemed he had been measured head to toe, and he prepared to step down.

“Oh, shoot.” Ford frowned.

“What is it?”

“I forgot to write the measurements down.. I’ll have to do them again.” Ford shook his head, keeping the little quirk up of his lip out of view of his nephew.

Dipper shrank back a bit, tensing up again as he suddenly prepared to be accidentally tickled a few more times. He held his breath as Ford measured from wrist to underarm. This time, he fumbled the end of it a few times, pressing it into the hollow under his arm, and Dipper squeaked out a laugh despite his efforts not to.

“Ahaha- Grunkle Fohohord! Come on!” Dipper protested. “Yoohohohou’ve got it! Stop it- that really tickles!” He snickered as Ford ‘finished’ his measurement there and jotted it down on the notepad next to them.

“I’m almost done, Dipper!”

“I’m seheheherious! AHH!” Dipper squealed as Ford pinched his hips while wrapping the measuring tape around them. “It tihihickles!”

“I know, kid.” Grunkle Ford winked. “Almost done, almost done!”

…

[more sentence starter fic prompts]

[other sentence starter fics]

[read this & further gravity falls drabbles on ao3]

[veryblushyswitch]

I don’t know if you’ve wrote any yet, but do you have any headcanons for Stan and Ford?

Stan & Ford ~ (tickle hcs)

I haven’t for them actually! Most of these hcs will be about when they’re kids, but there will be a few for after they reconnect ⚓️ Thank you so much for the ask! Hope you enjoy!

⚓️ ~ Stan is for sure the bigger tickle monster between the two. Ford gets him a lot of course, but Stan lives for making his twin laugh.

⚓️ ~ Stan is more sensitive to rough tickles whereas light tickles really get to Ford. Not to say that rough tickles don’t work on him either.

⚓️ ~ Ford is too ticklish for his own good.

⚓️ ~ Stan loves it tho. He uses every opportunity he can to tickle his nerdy twin.

⚓️ ~ Ford is mildly ticklish everywhere, but he’s especially ticklish on his hands, under his arms, on his neck and ears, and along his ribs.

⚓️ ~ His hands make him so giggly and squirmy!

⚓️ ~ When he’d be feeling down about them, Stan would pin his hands down and scribble all over them with his fingers or a pen until Ford agreed that they’re cool.

⚓️ ~ Raspberries absolutely kill him-

⚓️ ~ His mom would give him raspberries on his neck and ears when giving him hugs. Stan would give him tummy and rib raspberries as the grand finale during tickle fights.

⚓️ ~ Of course we can’t ignore the fact that Ford has six fingers on each hand-

⚓️ ~ The dude has two extra fingers to tickle with! Much to Stan’s dismay.

⚓️ ~ Stan isn’t as ticklish as his brother. He’s ticklish in fewer places, but those places are still really ticklish.

⚓️ ~ He’s most ticklish on his knees, stomach, feet, and shoulder blades.

⚓️ ~ Stan can’t get massages without giggling his head off when someone goes for his shoulders or shoulder blades.

⚓️ ~ Whenever Ford tickles him, he always cries out how unfair it is while giggling his head off. It actually makes Ford appreciate his hands more.

⚓️ ~ Ford would constantly do the exploding spider knee thing to Stan and it makes Stan shriek every time!

⚓️ ~ He squeals and curls up when his tummy is tickled!! He’s a fighter and a squirmer, but when his stomach is tickled he lets out the most happy giggles and crumbles.

⚓️ ~ This still stands for when he’s older and he kinda doesn’t hate it hates it.

⚓️ ~ Both also got tickled a lot by their mom when they were younger. Even in their teens she’d give them side/rib pokes and knee squeezes.

⚓️ ~ Got yelled at a lot when they’d stay up late reading comics under a blanket with a flashlight.

⚓️ ~ If there was a tickle scene it would always lead to one or the other initiating a tickle fight.

⚓️ ~ When they were younger, Ford was never really able to get the upper hand during tickle fights since he’s so ticklish. But now that he’s older and learned to fight, he can for sure turn the tables pretty quickly.

⚓️ ~ The first time they tickled each other after everything was when he saw Stan tickling Dipper and Mabel. Stan noticed Ford’s hesitation to join in on the family bonding, so he dragged him into the chaos.

⚓️ ~ He told the kids to watch this and went to go tickle his brother. However, Ford swerved out of the way and used his combat skill to instead pin Stan to the floor and wreck his ass. And to let the kids get their revenge.

⚓️ ~ Didn’t stop Stan from retaliating afterwards though. He went for a bad spot immediately and was able to make Ford crumble.

⚓️ ~ Both didn’t admit it out loud, but that was one of the best days they’d had together since the incident. Tickle fights were something they really missed.

⚓️ ~ These two are such a playful ler duo against Dipper and Mabel. Stan of course shared all of their tickle spots with him.

⚓️ ~ Dipper was so embarrassed at first because the author of the journals was tickling him and hearing him laugh and snort, but he soon realized that yes this the author, but he’s also his Grunkle.

⚓️ ~ Setting out to sail the world was the perfect time for the two to reconnect and make each other laugh once again.

⚓️ ~ Stan tells so many dad jokes on the boat and they drive Ford crazy.

⚓️ ~ Sometimes one of them will get Ford to genuinely snicker, but if he doesn’t Stan will just tickle him while he tells jokes and teases Ford that he didn’t know his jokes were that funny. (He does this a lot with Dipper and Mabel too)

⚓️ ~ They’ve for sure come across a tickle monster while sailing around the arctic.

⚓️ ~ It got both of them and they both tease each other about it.

⚓️ ~ Overall, these two had a lot of tickle fights when they were younger, and even more when they reconnected and met the kids. And they’d never trade it for anything.

[gaybananabread]

Can you do Stan, Ford, and Bill (gravity falls) headcanons? If not that’s completely fine! Take your time!!

☆⑅Felony Trio Headcanons⑅⁠☆

(Stan, Ford & Bill)

~No idea if these three have an actual group name or not, but this is what I'm going with. You can't tell me they haven't committed at least one a piece, accidentally and/or on purpose. These sillies will always have a special place in my heart as one of my earlier obsessions. Thank you for requesting!~

❓Stanley💵

General:

Silly con-man gives me ler-leaning switch vibes. Loves wrecking his family, but wouldn’t mind the occasional giggle-fest.

Over the years, he’s developed the elusive “can say the t-word whenever” power, though it definitely didn’t used to be that way. Ford reminds him of that whenever it’s most annoying.

Can easily admit that he likes tickling others, but receiving it? Yeah, good luck. He’s willing to die on that hill.

Lee:

A bit rare, but he will get lee moods. He’s a “ride it out in silence” kinda guy, but Ford can sometimes catch onto his bullshit (definitely not bc he does it too what-)

If he DOES try and solve his problem, it’ll be in the most roundabout way possible. Provoking his brother, teasing his great niece and nephew until they try something, you name it. If it works, it works.

Worst spots are his armpits and the area right beneath his belly button. Enjoy watching him lose his mind if you target either one ♡

Melt spot is his ears. You can’t tell me his goofy ears wouldn’t make him giggle his heart out; he’d love every second of it.

Very gruff, choppy giggles. Sounds kinda like he’s been chain smoking, then saw the funniest thing in his life. When you really get him going, deep and rough belly laughter. Occasional snorts if you wanna kill him.

Ler:

When he gets in a ler mood, he’ll either bother his overworking brother or mess with one of the kids. Sometimes his family can tell, though he won’t normally admit anything.

Such a wonderful asshole of a ler-

Teases, smart-ass comments, horrible dad jokes, and more! Definitely the one to go to if you want a shameless wrecking.

“You’re a lil’ squeak toy, huh? I just squeeze your side and- yup, just like that.”

“Ya know, you could’ve just pushed me away by now. Don’t worry, I noticed.”

“You sure squirm a lot, don'tcha? Like a lil’ worm, could use you as fishing bait!”

“It tickles? Wow, that must really suck for you.”

Pretty good with aftercare. He'll ruffle your hair and tease you, of course, but he lets you lay on him while the TV plays. Fair trade, honestly.

👓Stanford🖋️

General:

Can you really tell me he isn't at least a little lee? After all those years with little to no comforting contact, he loves a good giggle fest.

Making his great niece and nephew laugh, though? Even better.

He doesn't always get that feeling, so I'm going lee-leaning switch.

Lee:

If you even mention it around him, he'll blush, no matter his mood. It's real bad when he's lee.

You can kinda gauge if he's in a mood by just saying the t-word (if you can, that is)

If you don't have that magic, then he's still pretty obvious in other ways.

Extra stuttering, constantly adjusting his glasses, eyes lingering on your hands, wobbly smiles. If you've got eyes, you'll be able to tell.

Will deny it at first, but it's pretty flimsy.

“I-I don't know what you're talking about. I survived the roughest interdimensional plane there is. I don't need…that.”

He falls apart the minute you wiggle your fingers at him.

Worst spots are his hips, followed by his ribs. A few squeezes to either will have him snorting up a storm.

Melt spots are his ears and the tops of his thighs. Like his brother, his ears are lovely to run a feather across for both him and the ler. He loves gentle traces on his thighs, though. Have him a melted, giggling puddle in seconds.

He loses tickle fights on purpose at least 76.4% of the time. Don’t ask me how I got that number: I just know.

Ler:

His ler moods are rare, but if he’s feeling a bit distant from his family, he’ll try and piece things with some giggles.

Soft, playful ler. He never wants to go too far, but he isn’t afraid to goof around and tease while he’s at it.

“I think I’ve got a leg up here, huh? Thanks to my extra fingers, this has gotta be at least 20% more ticklish~”

“You really do blush quite a lot. It’s pretty cute to watch.”

“As a scientist, it’s my job to conduct experiments. Let’s try now. Hypothesis: if I get your worst spot, you’ll laugh at least twice as loud as you are now. Time for the experiment~”

The moment you say stop, even if you don’t mean it, he pulls away. If you want more, you’ll have to ask him.

Pretty great with aftercare. Will absolutely cuddle you, maybe even tell some stories if you’re interested. He’s got plenty from his time in the portal, though he keeps the angstier ones to himself. Any tale he tells is almost guaranteed to make you smile.

🎩Bill💛

General:

Believe it or not, the chaotic dorito does like tickling. In fact, after him and Mabel’s interaction, they seem to randomly plague his thoughts at the most inopportune times. It goes in either direction, his moods as random as his personality.

Considering this, we’re gonna go straight-up switch.

Lee:

These moods are especially hard for the demon to satiate. His friends are insane, but none completely batshit enough to try something like tickling him. When he needs a fix, he usually has to outsource it or suffer until it goes away.

On the off chance he does outsource, he goes for one of the Pines twins. They’re hesitant to let him in, but he’s a sweet-talker. Once he’s inside, it barely takes an hour for him to provoke someone into wrecking him.

His spots vary based on the body he’s inhabiting. The one time he was tickled in his own (Weirdmageddon incident, don’t ask), he found that his hat and feet got him laughing the most.

(don’t come at me, his hat re-grew flesh when he got shot in it)

He doesn’t really have a distinct melt spot, though he loves being tickled right beneath his bowtie. It makes him kick and squirm, but it also makes him incredibly giddy.

Ler:

I’d tell you to run for your life, but it won’t do you much good.

Evil, sarcastic and rough ler. Good luck breathing o7

The kinda dude to go for all your worst spots first, and only explore the softer side if he’s wanting to spice things up.

Can and will generate any tool he feels like to wreck you (surprisingly enough, he’ll ask first)

Boundaries really need to be set before anything happens. Otherwise he’ll just go until he feels like stopping. If you look on the brink of passing out, he’ll quit, but other than that nah.

VERY teasy, with a large handful of sarcasm and sass.

“Geez, you laugh really loud when I get ya here. Mind dialing it down? I don’t wanna go deaf before I’m 20 million.”

“Ha! You snort? I’ve gotta hear that again, c’mon!”

“You’re confusing. You say ‘no, go away,’ but you haven’t even tried escaping. I’m supposed to be the crazy one here; mind explaining?”

“Wow, this is driving you nuts, huh? We’re gonna match!”

Not super great at aftercare unless you ask. He can make any snack or drink you want by snapping, and he knows some great rom-coms to doze off to (don’t ask why unless you wanna go for round two).

[flipflopmaster]

No one loves them like I do. NO ONE.

headcanon: Ford's hella ticklish

[gay-dorito-dust]

:33 can you imagine Ford reading his book trying so hard to focus on the paragraph but like- He’s so distracted by Reader’s kisses and snuggles like like they’re acting like a cat and Ford just kalskskdjskdk

Ford was trying his hardest to get through the paragraph, he really was, but when you were sleepy ford found that you tended to become more affectionate. As was the case when he felt you snuggle up into his side as closely as you physically could while pressing tender kisses to his jaw and side of his neck.

‘Beloved.’ Ford said softly.

‘Yes my dearest?’ You purred, nuzzling your head into his chest, pressing a kiss there because you felt like it, that and you didn’t think you give Ford as much affection as he deserved…also the little hitches in his breathing were delicious.

‘I’m- im trying to read and you’re being quite-‘

‘Distracting?’ You asked and you could see the blush spreading across his face as his fingers toyed with the corners of the pages belonging to the book he was reading. For someone as smart and eloquent as him, you lived for the days where you got to see him be flustered and unsure of himself when it can to displaying affection, especially seeing as he had went without such for a good majority of his life.

‘I’m afraid so my dear, you know how easily affected I am by your preferred form of affection.’ Ford replied, feeling his mind falter and freeze upon feeling your lips once again kindly greet the skin of his jawline, little kisses scattered across it that it almost felt ticklish. He knew you were smiling and feeling proud of yourself because he could feel it pressed up against the pulse point of his neck.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about my sweetheart,’ you spoke against his skin, closing your eyes as you felt his skin grow warmer under your lips as his pulse pulsed against them as though eagerly reciprocating your kisses with his quick it was going, ‘I thought a man like you could keep his composure.’ You added with a chuckle, knowing from firsthand experience that wasn’t the case at all.

‘I’m afraid that does not count when in the presence of a true beauty of a person such as you may love.’ Ford felt you stiffen as he smiled to himself, yes he could be poetic as they come, he had to read Jane Austen’s books for a class once in college and could recite anything from that book off by heart from how often he annotated the poor book front to back, and in incredible depth too.

‘Who knew you’d be a man of such flattering words Stanford.’ You teased as you were now practically half sat on his lap that Ford had to lay a hand against the small of your back to keep you pressed against. Ford chuckles as he hurries his face into your head, hiding his sweet smile, ‘only for you my dear, only for you.’ He chants softly and you couldn’t help but thank whom ever for bringing Ford to you, for he was the best thing to have ever happened in your life, and you would gladly dedicate yourself to showing him just how much you adore him; it was the least you could do for the man you loved to death.

‘You deserve to be caressed by words, not showered in them. kissed, not smothered. Praised with words whispered in your ears rather than out loud in public as though it was a spectacle. I want to love you in moments like these, soft, slow, forgettable to most but memorable to others who don’t live life in the fast lane and forget to cherish the quieter parts in life.’ You tell Ford sincerely as you positioned your head back to rest against his shoulder, while his hand absentmindedly stroked your side softly, slowly; his book long forgotten as you both decided to enjoy each others company without making a freaks spectacle out of it.

[veryblushyswitch]

THIS IS SO ADORABLE!! 😭💖💖💖

My brain wouldn't let me sleep until I drew this, so...have a rough lee!Ford sketch ig

Apparently leaning backwards over the side of your top bunk while reading a thesaurus isn't the best position after all. I mean, really Ford, did you simply forget your devious opportunist of a twin?

⚠️My art, please reblog but do not repost⚠️

[veryblushyswitch]

So this lee Dipper and ler Ford tickle/angst fic is getting much longer than I thought it was gonna be… but I’m not complaining 😌 I’m having a really fun time writing it!! ✨

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

TW: self-harm (reader scratching herself as a coping mechanism to calm her emotional distress).

A foreign language fills your ears, but the high-pitched, rapid sound feels awfully familiar. Your eyebrows furrow in your sleep as you try to make sense of the noise. You blink open your eyelids, your half-conscious mind struggling to piece together the source. Oh, birds. The melodic chorus drifting through the window is a sweet birdsong that rouses you from slumber.

Slowly, you become aware of your surroundings, along with the warm sensation surrounding your naked body. The breath of another person tickles the back of your neck. Bleary eyes flutter open to find yourself nestled in the embrace of a pair of strong arms. Light streams over the corded muscles of his forearms, picking out the golden hairs dusting his skin and his intricate tattoos.

Carefully, trying not to wake him, you twist in his arms and start to slip away. But before your toes can reach the floor, a tug forces you to fall back onto the mattress.

“And where do you think you're going?” He said, rough morning voice rumbles next to your ear.

Simon buries his face in your shoulder, and you laugh at the ticklish stubble grazing your skin. He plants a kiss, turning you to face him.

Gently, you run your fingers through his short locks. "I have practice early, remember?" He acknowledges your comments with a grunt, but remains unwilling to release you. You chuckle lightly, tracing the shell of his ear. “Your hair's gotten longer. Time for a cut, don't you think?”

Simon hummed, nuzzling into your chest. “You should do it. Last time turned out decent enough.”

“Well, first, you’ll have to let me up.”

Once more, you try to slip out of his arms, only for Simon to wrap them around your waist even tighter. He presses his face into your skin again. In this comfortable silence, your eyes become heavy once more. A mischievous voice in the back of your head tells you to go for the phone and call in sick so you can spend the whole day with him. Five more minutes, you tell yourself.

“Stay with me.” His words were muffled, barely audible to you. But, after years of being with Simon, your ears had become accustomed to hearing even his whisper. “Just like this, forever. You think that’s possible?”

Forever. As in: to many more walks and giggles with you, to many more sunrises and sunsets. The image of Simon leaning the ladder against the wall of a remodeled old house, as you directed the picture frame to be set straight. With ballet performances every weekend, and he would come to pick you up in his Ford. And after more years with him, he'll paint the blue you handpicked while his head kept turning in fear that you would enter the fume-filled room.

To stay forever is to outlive the sun. To lie down and be shaded on your lap as he listens to your story.

“It can be,” you whispered, a shy promise but one that you intended to fulfill. Your lips parted again to say the next words, “Fore—”

CLANG!

The crashing sound startles you awake, eyes snapping open only to be greeted by darkness. For a moment, disoriented, you recognize the same bedroom, except for the presence of a certain man behind you. The cold air hits your skin as reality sets in—it was all a dream.

Behind the curtains, the dark sky still stretches; the pale silver light of the moon creeps right into the long hand of the wall clock. It's three in the morning. You sit on your bed, trying to gather more consciousness while listening for any further sounds. When you hear another—this time louder—you immediately jump out of the blanket to check.

The floor lamp in the living room area is on, casting long shadows. But, the rest remains cloaked in nighttime gloom. Glancing around, you nearly let out a scream at the massive figure hovering over the open cabinet.

“Simon?”

Simon stands in the kitchen, peering at you nervously before relaxing his stiff shoulders. You reach over to turn on the light switch. He's holding the dolphin mug you purchased from IKEA with his left hand, and his right hand is stuck in midair.

“Just after some water,” he says, holding up the broken mug in his hand. You glance at the shards of ceramic on the counter, and Simon notices. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Or break the mug.”

At his explanation, you do a quick scan of him. “Are you hurt?” you ask.

“I’m alright, just clumsy is all.” Simon bends down to pick up his dolphin head piece. He places it on the counter for you to see. “Pity about the mug, though. Dolphin didn’t make it seem.”

You let out a small laugh at his lame joke. Stepping closer to examine the mug, a familiar sweet scent enters your nostrils. You look up at him, noticing that his tall form looks surprisingly put together despite the late hour. His hair is half-damp, having been towel-dried a little before leaving the rest to the air.

“Did you use my shampoo?” you ask.

“Didn’t have much choice, did I?” he says, turning to pick up the broken ceramics on the counter.

When his back is turned to you, you notice more details about him. His shirt, while wrinkled, seems freshly smoothed. And there, on the stool, sits his leather jacket, as if just waiting to be tucked back in at a moment's notice. The two combine and prompt an assumption.

“Are you leaving then?” The question slipped from your lips easily as an eel.

He looks back at you. “Captain needs me back at the base.”

A hollow ache bloomed in your chest at his words. Though separation was expected, some selfish corner of your heart wished to keep him here, beneath your gaze, within the reach of your hand. But, there was always a world to snatch him away—a world he had to save. He would return to being a ghost, coming and going as he pleased through the grip of your fingers.

“A busy man, you are.” Despite the burn, you try to force lightness into your intonation.

Simon huffs out a chuckle, and you consider that your temporary compensation. “Not as busy as you, from the looks of it.” He nods toward the fridge where your scribbled schedule hangs on a magnet.

As he steps past you, your eyes follow his movements. He retrieves his leather jacket from the stool, shrugging into it. Your fingers ache to reach out and smooth the material over his form, but you simply tighten your grip on yourself instead. He searches his pockets; he digs out a cigarette and his black face mask, but a puzzled expression creases his forehead.

“Phone’s missing.” He mumbles, scanning the kitchen and retracing his steps to where he had been standing. Nothing.

You offer, “I could try calling it, if you’d like?”

Simon nods, and you rush to the bedroom to retrieve your own phone from where it’s charging on the nightstand. You’re back at his side in a flash, thumbs dancing to type in the passcode, and you open the call app.

“What’s your number? I’ll ring it so we can hear where it’s hiding.” Your fingers hover eagerly over the keypad as you watch him expectantly.

He rattles out his phone number, and you swiftly tap it in. Your phone starts to dial; the two of you wait in silence, attempting to listen carefully. A muffled ringtone draws both of your attention to the living room, and Simon extends his stride to collect the small device hidden between the couch cushions.

A flip phone. Simon snaps it open to silence the call, and you can't help but note how small it is in his palm. He presses the thin buttons with his thumb, gaze fixed on the retro screen, reading the text message.

"I didn't realize they still make flip phones." You teased.

Slipping it into his jeans pocket, he shrugged. “It gets the job done,” he said. “Lot harder to trace than one of those newer ones.”

“You sound like some wanted criminal on the run.”

“Well, maybe I am.”

Simon turns and fully faces you, locking his gaze on yours. Those brown eyes, deep and intense, hold you captive like the pull of the moon on the tide, like rain on your parched soil. You wish him to stay, to not walk through that door and return to a place where he believed he belonged, so he wouldn't have to get hurt again. So that he wouldn't add more bumps and bruises to his already battered body.

The human heart swells with the desire to be reciprocated for all its longings. The urge to stretch onto your tiptoes and press your lips to his overwhelms you.

But before you could act on it, Simon had put a polite distance between the two of you once more. That moment, whatever it held, was over, and reality had returned to its uninvited seat.

“Best be off then, love.” He said, slipping his mask into place, ready to leave.

“Will I see you when it’s over?” Simon stopped walking when he heard your question. Shifting uncomfortably between your legs, you licked your dry lips. “Your duties, I mean. Do you know when you might return?”

Turning to you once more, he let out a sigh. “Can't say for certain, darling. You know how it is.”

"Will you at least call?" You ask again. “Or text, if you can. You have my number now..."

Simon stared at the distant wall as he considered your request. “Yeah, alright. I’ll send you a text.”

A smile came across your face where hope had once been extinguished. "Okay."

Interpreting your response as the end of the conversation, he turned and headed towards the door. Like fog dissipating into the air, Simon disappeared behind it, leaving no trace except the broken dolphin mug lying discarded in the trash, the only reminder of his presence. You lingered by the door for a while, secretly hoping he would come back, but deep down, you knew he wouldn't be returning anytime soon.

Simon’s disappearance period always leaves a bitter taste on your tongue—a sensation of longing for something that is out of reach.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you drag your feet to tidy up the little messes around you. You straighten the cushions again after fluffing them, then fold the blanket and set it on the sofa arm. Simon must have spent the majority of the night sleeping here. It's baffling that, despite seeing you naked multiple times and uncovering ecstasy-inducing parts of you, the idea of sharing a bed is where he draws the line.

Perhaps it’s the sense of belonging—he doesn’t feel like he deserves to belong on the other side of your bed any more than you do in his arms. If you say you’re not disappointed, you’ll just come off as a big, fat liar.

However, that promise. That first promise he made to you—the “Yeah, alright. I’ll send you a text,” promise that he uttered acted as some kind of hazy, ephemeral illusion that dulled the ache in your heart chambers. You view it as more than an oath—symbolic of something growing strong; roots taking hold. And like a diligent gardener, all you can do is patiently wait.

You drift to the kitchen to continue tidying up. After placing the bottle of bourbon in the cabinet, you return to the stool and shove it under the counter. Glancing around the room, your eyes fix on the spot where, just a few hours ago, you were laying on your stomach with his tongue buried deep inside you.

A secret smile grows across your face, but the warmth that comes with it goes unnoticed as you walk to the bathroom. There’s about three hours until the alarm goes off. You consider making sure everything is in its proper place one last time before going back to sleep.

Taking a deep breath, the scent of your shampoo lingers in the air, and your sight shifts to the shower drain. Bare feet touch the damp tile as an empty thought forms. Though longer than last time, Simon’s hair is still considered short—a military regulation he has to follow—so none could have been caught and tangled there.

The man has been exceptionally dedicated and consistent in never leaving anything behind on his visits other than longing and the need to see him again. It’s silly, sentimental, maybe even pathetic, but the urge to search for crumbs—for even a strand of his blond hair—compels you to kneel and check the shower drain, your hands spreading the grating to verify what your irrational mind has been fantasizing about.

Nothing. There is nothing left behind except a phone number that is certainly inactive most hours and an ever-widening emptiness—as if it's gradually spreading, searching for what once filled it. You feel irritated, almost angry—but you realize that you have chosen this, willingly signing your name and scribbling your signature on something uncertain, something wild that keeps drawing your gaze to the door.

As you rise from your crouch, planning to turn back to the bedroom, something catches your eye in the living room.

There, on the coffee table, sits the ashtray you bought two months ago but never found a use for. Ash scatters the rim in the most unsatisfying manner. But instead of being empty, now in its ceramic bowl are the butts of about three cigarettes. Your breath catches in your chest, and your heart skips a beat. This is clear evidence that Simon was really here.

Your fingers itch to tidy it up, to scrub the ashtray until it sparkles like you always do. Yet another part of you resists. This is the sole memento you must cling to in his absence until he returns to leave more behind. With a last glance, you tear yourself away and rush to your room, leaving them untouched.

“And one, plie… two, tendu to the side… three, rise up… four…”

The coach's count serves as a consistent metronome during morning class, allowing your warm muscles to fall into a familiar rhythm as you flow through the opening combinations. You focus on your reflection in the mirror, striving for perfection in your stance. Lean muscles extend and contract. Your hair is tied neatly back, not a strand daring to escape the tight confines of your bun.

“Thomas, keep those arms rounded; don’t let them drop.” She corrects someone behind you. You take the opportunity to glance at the clock on the wall – ten minutes until class ends and rehearsal begins.

“Claudine, you’re late again. This is the third time this week, you know punctuality is important.”

The coach's scolding causes you to glance around, and you see Claudine murmuring an apology as she rushes to find a spot. She turns her gaze to you, eyes filled with a venomous twist that churns your stomach as she takes up position at the barre next to yours. Determined to keep your focus, you fix your gaze on your reflection in the mirror and the coach's voice in the background.

However, Claudine has a knack for spotting vulnerabilities, even in your attempt to appear emotionless. “How’s Odette coming along? Still not feeling her yet?” she says, voice saccharine.

“It’s fine.” You replied curtly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice her smile widening, as if she’s found a tender spot to poke with her weapon of choice. “That’s not what I’ve heard from Jacob.”

Jacob. Of course. Your dance partner, and no doubt her latest beau. You blink away the stinging sensation in your eyes, your shoulders heaving slightly in your attempt to take a subtle breath. “I’m working on it.”

Claudine lets out a derisive chuckle as you move through plies and tendus. When your eyes meet in the mirror once more, hers are sparkling with challenge.

“If you can’t cut it, you know I’m always ready to step in,” she turns her head to you, lips curling into a mocking smirk. “All you need to do is say the word.”

Your chest heaves as humiliation climbs up your throat. Before you could form a reply, the coach called an end to the class, announcing a ten-minute break before rehearsal began. With a smug smirk, Claudine's sly eyes returned to you as she pursed her red lips together and blew a parting kiss in the mirror reflection. She swept out of the room with a rustle of tulle and lace. Out of sight. She won the competition of having the last word.

Dancers line the long, dim hallway, lined with doors, as they take this opportunity to rehydrate before diving into another round of rigorous dancing. However, unlike them, it seems you have your own agenda. Instead, you briskly stride towards the restroom, push open the door of one of the empty stalls, and hastily drop your duffel bag on the floor.

Your head is tilted up, and your eyes are blinking incessantly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision. The thumping in your heart persists. Feeling your legs start to buckle, you close the toilet lid and sit down. The grimy bathroom floor tiling is the last thing you want to concentrate on, but anything other than you seems more appealing right now—your way of escaping the awareness of your own existence, of being a being who cannot conform to anyone's expectations, anywhere.

The words uttered by Claudine aren't new; this is hardly the first time another dancer has taken a jab at you. “Robot Ballerina” is a title you’ve been given since you joined, courtesy of the gossipy whispers that trail you wherever you go. It has always been so.

And yet, something has shifted, tearing away the veil that shrouded you, pulling you forcefully out of a long, empty dream. Suddenly, everything is overwhelming, and you become hyper-aware of every stare, every criticism, every scrap of talk thrown from one to another—from your dance partner to the person who could potentially replace you if you still fail to live up to the director's expectations today. One side of your head is throbbing with pain.

Your breath hitches as a sharp pain shoots up the back of your neck. Instinctively, you reach back to massage the area, your fingernails digging into your skin, leaving faint crescent shapes and a momentary calm that smothers the burning sensation within you like water dousing a flame.

In the next second, the turmoil was back under control, and your mind was clearing from the thick red fog. Breathing felt so much easier.

You dig around for your phone in your duffel bag. The screen lights up automatically, and your eyes wander to look for a text message or missed call.

But, of course, there’s nothing. He just left this morning—he couldn't possibly text like he promised in such a short amount of time. You swipe to your call history, his number staring back at you from the brief call you made when he misplaced his phone.

A sigh escapes you. Rehearsal begins in three minutes. You took your duffel bag and rose up. You turned on the faucet and ran water over your hands, scrubbing under your nails to make sure there were no stray bits of peeled skin left underneath.

Casting a final glance at your reflection in the mirror, you swiftly removed the smudge of mascara and tended to a few stray hairs before making your way out and into the rehearsal room.

The same music resounds once more, harmonizing with the same steps. Following your pre-practiced movements, you and Jacob take your own positions. Yet, something about the room feels quieter. As muscle memory guides you through the motions, your mind sinks into a tiny bubble of awareness—of each piano note, of the curl of your fingers coming out with precision, of Jacob’s slender fingers intertwined with yours.

Which then distorted into a pair of calloused hands belonging to someone. Your eyes widen, and you stare right into brown irises shaded by pale lashes.

Simon lifts and spins you through the act, the warmth of his palms sending goosebumps down your vertebra. You let yourself to feel –your lifeless spine arching against him. Higher, he lifts you into the pale light, and you stretch your wings like extensions of his very being. His lips ghost your brow. You feel exposed—an unveiling of a girl with grand, sweet dreams. You twirl like a ballerina in a music box.

A man in love—and like all men in love, Simon took your hand in his as he bent his knees before you. Brown eyes stared at you expectantly; on the tip of his tongue was the sacred confession of his devotion to you.

Your heartbeat thunders as the music swells to a crescendo. The moonlight touches his bottom lip as he sputters out a brave vow. Yet, before you can comprehend the words, a force separates you from him. You feel Simon’s arms loosen reluctantly from you.

Your fingers stretched to their maximum in their attempt to reach for him again, and yet it was all in vain—something was yanking you apart from him, opening up a gaping chasm between you and Simon. Alarms blared in your head. Hopes were starting to rot in the lake, swept away by glittering silver and erased from existence altogether. Know your place, my silly little girl, something seemed to whisper. Who put these sickening ideas in your head? I knew this would happen—this is exactly why I told you to stay where I could watch over you, because I know the kind of girl you are.

Simon persisted in his pursuit, desperation in his eyes. His face was twisted with anguish, body extended taut as if bridging the distance between you two. But you were drawn too far now to return to him. The mocking laughter surrounded you; her cruel voice hissing in your ear.

As if the coalescing of the melodies infuse her with fresh determination, the cruel presence’s hold around your soul tightens, her hold tight and oppressive. Your limbs move of their own accord, stretching out your imitation swan wings. Despite the blurred features, you can sense her satisfied smile. The tug of the puppet master pulls you further from the light, a hapless marionette in its malign grasp. 

In a flicker of a moment, your eyes meet his across—an unconfined determination written on his face. You’re caught like a captive moth on a funeral pyre, your wings aching to be saved. The shadows thicken and thicken. Before you know it, they’re engulfing you.

“Finally! C'est ça que je parle!"

A loud voice snaps you back to reality. You peer up and find Henri's face, his features illuminated by a smile so wide it hurts your jaw. He claps his hands together as he walks towards you.

“This is what I have tried to tell you, non? You BECOME Odette! C’est magnifique.” he gave a hearty cheer, and everyone around him began to clap as well.

But, how?

Almost deriliously, you glance around, half expecting to see Simon standing there, answering confusion. Only Jacob watches you with a small smile that brings a flush to your cheeks. You are flustered, but in a nice way, for the first time. And if Henri is right, then this is a good thing—a major breakthrough.

Henri declares, “Ten minutes break!” as the dancers begin to disperse with chatter. You stagger dazedly towards your water bottle.

The mineral water slides down your parched throat, its slightly salty and earthy taste slowly sharpening your focus. Yet something felt amiss. As you dart your eyes around, first toward Jacob and then toward Henri, you notice the two engaged in an inaudible conversation. Then, Henri catches your gaze and responds with a broad, relieved smile—the first you've seen in a long while. From his expression, it's evident that whatever he's witnessed has pleased him.

A few hours later, the rehearsal is over, and you go through one more routine before calling it a day. Facing the mirror, you relive the results of the previous private coaching, spreading your arms wide imagining wings of feathers flapping from your shoulders.

“Good extension… keep the line… reach further." Your coach’s voice guides you as she scans your form from behind. “Alright, that'll do for today. Keep practicing that fluidity.”

You empty your lungs with a sigh of relief. Turning your head, you walk over to the chair where your duffel bag sits and start gathering your things. Your coach takes out her journal, scribbling a few notes before shoving it back in her tote bag.

“You're getting there, sweetheart. Just need more flow, like the swans in the park. You might need to observe more.” Your coach said from behind.

"Okay," you affirm, placing your water bottle back in your bag and preparing to zip it closed.

“Heard from Henri you finally sorted it.”

You paused, and you turned to face her, finding her gaze fixed on you, waiting for confirmation. For a moment, you considered your response. It felt oddly undeserved, as if the praise was misplaced—because despite Henri's approval, you still weren't certain what had changed, what had “sorted”. This... breakthrough, you couldn't promise it would last.

“Maybe.” You said.

The older woman gave a gentle smile. She walked towards you, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. “You're going to do great things, my darling. Just don't lose what's making this happen, alright? Keep nurturing it.”

Oh.

You try to put on a thin smile. “I’ll try.”

With a casual wave, she takes her leave early, mentioning plans with friends to go out for drinks. Must be nice, you thought. The dance studio falls silent in her absence. Soft evening light filters through the window, gilding the mirrored walls in a mellow glow. Returning to your duffel bag, her voice continues to echo in your mind.

The zipper of your bag remains open, presenting an opportunity to take a furtive peek at your phone, still sitting atop your pouch. The screen is dark and silent—tempting. Infused with agitation, your fingers, almost of their own accord, close around the cool metal. Taking a steady breath, you swipe it awake.

Nothing.

Disappointment settled like a heavy load on your chest, only this time it felt just a touch lighter than the first. The dull ache settled in your heart, teaching it to adjust to his absence, even in something as simple as a text. He's a soldier, not unemployed, you reminded yourself. Another rationalization, another excuse—and what you allow is what will continue.

Slipping the device back into your bag, you shoulder it and flick off the last lights. You walk down the dim, empty hallway, passing slowly through echoing corridors alone. Ahead is the overly familiar, dull street you always take to get to the station. Craving a bit of variety, you decide to grab a coffee before heading home.

But it was the tech store a few blocks away that caught your eye.

The newest models of devices, boasting advanced specifications, gleamed beneath the bright lights. Advertisements for durable aluminum phones with promises of long-lasting performance. However, it was the memory of Simon's voice that held your interest instead. The things he had mentioned about his flip phone—how it was harder to track, harder to find.

He's not wrong, of course. New technology offers possibilities—subtle ways of leaving breadcrumbs.

And you, like a hungry pigeon, are eager to follow every trail you can unearth.

You take a deep breath, firming your determination, then stride towards the shopfront. The employee greets you with a sour face—a long day at work, you assume. No matter. Your mind is made up. It'll be a swift transaction.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION.

[the-universal-sun]

If it's okay: Present day Ford crying his heart out? 👉👈

He went through so much, he deserves to be small and taken care of

Of course it’s okay! And I agree, Ford needs to be cuddles and coddled after all he’s been through!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ford startles as a loud bang echoed out from outside the shack; flinching and covering his ears, dropping his Legos and Dr. Mittens. He pants, his chest feeling tight. ‘It can’t be’ he thinks to himself ‘I’m safe here. This is home, no one from those other dimensions can get here. Get me. Get my family.’ Despite these thoughts, his lips wobble and his eye sting with tears, what if someone came to hurt him? He can’t stop the cries that come from his mouth, his adult brain knows it’s probably just the trashcan lid falling, but he can’t think with his adult brain now. He’s feeling smaller now, his thoughts are smaller now. Logic and reasoning don’t always apply to his Big and Scary Thoughts.

“Ford, Buddy? You alright I heard-Ford! What happened!” Stan called out, his walk into the living room turning into a sprint when he sees Ford crying. “C’mon, tell me what’s wrong, huh? What hurts!?” Stan tries to calm his panicked voice, hovering frantically over Ford.

“Th-the-hic-the noise o-outside. C-coming to get me!” Ford wailed, turning and burying his head into Stan’s shoulder. One hand grabbing Dr. Mittens from the ground, the other going to pull his hair. His hand gets intercepted before it can do that, Stan pulling it away and holding it in one of his with a soft “please don’t” being uttered with the movement.

“Who’s coming to get you, Bud? Hmm? The noise was just Fidds’ raccoon wife getting into the trash can again, nothing more.” Stan doesn’t get it! Ford’s made so many enemies, someone is bound to come find him! He yanks on Stan’s hand in lieu on answering, finding it hard to find the right words to explain. Why can’t he just understand!

“Hey, we don’t yank or pull on limbs, Stanford. Come on, let’s dry those tears and calm down just a little okay? And then maybe you can explain what’s got you so scared.” Stan wraps an arm around Ford’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug, repetitively patting Ford’s arm in an effort to help regulate his breathing.

He breathes in and out with Stan’s tapping, his panting slowing down but the tears still coming fast and hot down his face. He swallows the lump in his throat, clutching Dr. Mittens to his chest, resisting to urge to nibble his ear. “The-the bang noise. ‘Scared me an’ I thought it-it was someone from that time coming to hurt me again an’, an’,” he buries his head in his knees for a moment, Stan letting his, before he takes a big breathe and finishes his sentence, “An’ I got Big Thoughts, Scary ones that wouldn’t go away.” He finishes lamely, closing his eyes as his brother wipes his tears with his top. His nose scrunches up at the smell at Stan’s sweat.

“Oh, those capital ‘Big’ and ‘Scary’ thoughts, it must’ve been really bad, huh, Sixer. But don’t worry, we’ve checked just today, no inter dimensional anomalies or presences, our radar would’ve gone off if there were.” Oh. Ford didn’t think of that. He sniffles, huddling in closer to Stan, basically on his lap, resting his head into the side of his neck. This is why he needs Stan, he’s always there to chase away his Scarey Thoughts, and if chasing doesn’t work, punch them away. That’s why Stan’s his Buddy. The thought of Stan punching his literal thoughts away brings a giggle to Ford’s throat. And more spill out as Stan ruffles his hair.

“Oh? What’s so funny now, you laughin’ at this old man?” Stan points to himself.

“No-o-o-o!” Ford giggles, his hair being ruffled makes him feeling ticklish all over, “Buddy! ‘M not!” He laughs loudly as Stan falls over dramatically, Ford clutched in his arms. They lay there laughing for a good few minutes, Eventually settling down as Ford clings to Stan’s front, not wanting him to leave him.

“Stay, Buddy?” He asks Stan, using his best puppy dog eyes, a weakness of his brothers, but one he’s willing to exploit. And it works, Stan holds him tighter and closer, nuzzling his head and tickling it a little with his sigh.

“Of course, Sixer. As long as you want. We can even nap here-“ Ford cuts him off with an indignant “No” because he has his designated nap spot and it’s not on the living room carpet, it’s his little fort in his and Stan’s room. “Okay, no naps in here then, guess I’ll have to move my brittle old bones alllll the way to our room, huh?” Ford nods his head, glad Stanley got it. But he didn’t make any moves, content to just lay here, not quite all the way calm yet. Besides, he doesn’t have nap time for another hour and-he calculates in his head-seventeen minutes, plenty of time to lay in Stan’s arms on the living room floor.

“Alright, alright. I’ll move you when it’s nap time, just stay here in my arms until then, I need some Ford Floor Time.” Stan squeezes him tighter, Ford melting into the pressure. Well, he who was he to argue with Stan needing Ford Time? Signing, he basks softly in the calming presence of his brother for the next hour-and-now-16 minutes.

[veryblushyswitch]

Ticklish Dipper and ler Ford my beloved 💖💖💖

TickleTober 2024 🎃

Hosted by: @august-anon

Day 4: Hide and Seek

I started this cute mini comic a year ago and it’s been in my drafts ever since. XD But I finally came back to finish it as I realized it’s perfect for today’s prompt! ^^

[cloudysfluffs]

If you’re accepting requests, I’d love to see any tk hcs you have for the pines family! No rush of course!

OF COURSE!!!!! havent written hcs in a while but i bet i can come up with some :3

PINES FAMILY TICKLE HCS UNDER THE CUT!!!! KINK/FETISH BLOGS DON'T TOUCH!!!!! HALF OF THEM ARE MINORS AND ALL OF THEM ARE RELATED!!!!! DONT MAKE IT WEIRD!!!!!

Dipper

definitely the biggest lee in the family i fear. he's canonically ticklish and i just KNOW no one lets him live it down. least of all his sister

his ribs are his main spot!!! BUT also since idk where else to mention this, all of the pines family also have a spot that they share!!! theyre all ticklish on their backs :3

my boyfriend picked his rib spot because he always wears that vest. he thinks itll protect him. it wont

squeaks a LOT, his laugh is very high-pitched. his family/friends like to poke him a lot because of the noises he makes

he is SO embarrassed about it but he actually does like being tickled!!!! but he will NEVER ask for it. ever. luckily mabel has very good insight and can always tell when hes in a mood

out of everyone, surprisingly, he might like sessions from stan the most!! stan isnt QUITE as good at reading him, but dipper has learned that intentionally getting on his nerves is a good way to get wrecked for it (ex: the 'stans tattoo' short? stan nearly tickled him to DEATH for that stunt)

so incredibly paranoid that someone might find out that he likes this. hes definitely the type to search 'tickle scene' on the family computer and FREAK OUT if anyone walks in

generally prefers sessions with people hes really close to/that he knows he can trust and they wont take advantage

Mabel

exact opposite of dipper. the families biggest ler!!!! and she is making it EVERYONES problem!!!!

completely shameless about finding tickling fun ("it's a game for kids!!! we're kids!!! relax!!!!")

if dipper ever starts acting paranoid or 'too-grown-up' she swoops in to the rescue to remind him that its OK to like silly, childish things!!!!

her and stan are a VERY DANGEROUS TEAM. they regularly form alliances to take down the other two twins. and they have yet to lose!!!!

kind of feared the day that dipper would 'grow out of' playing with her. but when ford came home she was a lot less worried, because him and stan never really grew out of it!!!

queen of cheer up tickles. her smile is very contagious

she will make jokes WHILE tickling you, just to be like 'wow, i must be really funny, if you're laughing so much!!' <3

she DOES have a lee side, and she's also completely shameless about that!! she just likes tickling other people more :3

Stan

have you noticed that hes like. almost never in gravity falls tk headcanon posts? unless hes specifically suggested? i have seen so many include dipper, mabel, ford, and just skip over him shjdkhsdfk. i dont understand why, hes got so much potential!!!!

anyway, second biggest ler of the family. and hes really only ranked below mabel because mabel is so SLIPPERY. she cannot be caught unless she WANTS to be. stans a little easier to take off guard

also much more shameless about it. takes literally every opportunity to tease his nephew in particular

i mentioned above that dipper tends to try to get on his nerves to get tickled for it, because stan doesnt seem to pick up on it otherwise. i should add that stan absolutely knows that hes doing that JUST to play with him. he knows dipper isnt just being annoying on purpose. and he respects it!!! because it means dipper is toughening up, and standing up to him!!! even if its for kind of a silly reason. he wont let dipper know he knows, though

hes also been interested in ticklng since he was young. him and ford BOTH were, seperately, and then they found out at the same time and were BOTH like 'YOU TOO??????? I THOUGHT I WAS THE WEIRD ONE'

hes got that boxer training, so if you try and start a fight with him and youre NOT mabel, youre gonna lose. hes REALLY good at pinning lees down

hes got like. one, single exception that he will willingly be lee for. but he will never tell you who it is. ("what are you, a cop?")

ford could, theoretically, beat him in a tk fight.....but he never does. :)

Ford

unpopular opinion i fear, but this man is a LEE!!!!!! my mind will not be changed!!!!!! biggest lee in the family, second only to dipper

"oh but he has six fingers! wouldnt that make him a great ler by default?" of course it would!!!! thats why its SO FUNNY thats he's a lee.

hes got 12 fingers in total. hes been fighting his way through the multiverse for thirty years, so hes TOUGH. muscular, with a lot of training. AND HES A LEE. he has so much potential and hes using NONE of it when it comes to this!!!!! do you guys see the vision

him and dipper bond over being the lees of the family. he has apologized for passing it down to his nephew in the past. meanwhile mabel and stan are chanting 'ALPHA TWIN! ALPHA TWIN!' in the other room

this man could fill journals JUST about the sessions he had in the multiverse

him and stan have been play-fighting since they were children, and he loses almost every single time. mostly because stan is a dirty cheater who will bring tickling into it without fail and thats all it takes for ford to crumble

the only person he was consistently winning tickle fights with, ever, was fiddleford, back when they were partners. AND EVEN THEN he still LOST, all the time!!!! and now he doesnt even stand a chance against mcgucket. much like mabel, he is simply too slippery

my favorite tickly dynamic with ford though is his one with bill. bill thinks tickling is SO entertaining!!! so back in the days of their partnership, sometimes theyd take a break from work just to have a session in the mindscape. LITERALLY fords 'dream sessions'. bill holds this over his head to this day. the chain scene, from weirdmageddon???? he has used that exact method in past sessions

HIS PALMS ARE TICKLISH. adding to the irony that his greatest asset as a ler is what makes him the best lee

[bimobuddy]

Gravity Falls TK Headcanons but it's only the characters I'm fixated on

I missed tickletober today, so take this instead

Some of this, especially in the Bill Section, will be out of character

Stanford

50/50 Switch

Obviously having grown up with Stanley, he's had his fair share of tickle fights. In some cases his twelve fingers give him the advantage, but at the end of the day, Stanley was stronger than him and better at roughhousing and usually won those

In his young adult years, that started to die down, until he met Fiddleford in college. It started off unintentional, Fidds was just a touchy, physically affectionate guy. One day he just meant pat his roommate's shoulder but his hand strayed a little too close to his neck and Ford ended up hunching his shoulders up with his breath hitching, and ever since it stopped being accidental

If Fiddleford thought Ford was working too hard for too long, skipping meals and sleep, he'd just go up behind him and slip his hands under his arms to scritch at his ribs, because it was the only way to convince him to rest. Ford was usually too tired to fight back anyway

Eventually though, Ford retaliated and he found out pretty quickly that his assistant was just as bad, if not worse than him

While doing research in Gravity Falls, he discovered the Leshy (changing the mythology a little here to be less dark and more Gravity Falls friendly, please forgive me) which is a forest trickster spirit that leads travelers from the path and may even tickle them. Ford met one that got him good, and was even fascinated with his extra fingers once they got a change to speak. That was the day he found out his knees were ticklish.

Being the only human lost between dimensions, people tend to get really curious about you, and even a bit touchy. It was pretty common for people to find out he was ticklish and then keep doing it because they found his reactions cute the same way humans think it's cute when a dog kicks its leg. He eventually got used to this

After coming back from the portal and having settled back in a little, he and Stanley sort of go back to being brothers. Stan hasn't changed at all, and one day he grabs Ford in a head lock, only for Ford to immediately go for his sides and get him to let go pretty quickly

One time he pinned Stan to the ground, arms behind his back, and just zeroed in on his ribs because he was being a pain. He wouldn't stop until Stan apologized for turning the house into the Mystery Shack

His worst spot is his underarms, it immediately renders him defenseless. He curls up and stops fighting because his body just gives up

His hands are also ticklish, but he's only ever let a certain previous banjo-playing partner of his tickle there. This spot gets him incredibly flustered since it's one of his biggest insecurities being adored and treated so gently like it's one of the most important things in the world

His laugh is really wheezy, airy, and uncertain because since he's not used to laughing that much

Stanley

Ler Leaning Switch, as in: He acts like a ler but it's also pretty easy to get him screaming if you can get past his defenses

If you manage to tickle him, he's VERY quick to pull the "I'm just an old man" card, but it rarely ever actually works because his family knows him. This man singlehandedly fought off a hoard of zombies and a whole ass dinosaur, he'll be fine

Before Ford came back, he was the family's biggest tickle monster, and could not be defeated. After Ford came back though, he was the only one that could get past Stan's swinging, grabbing, pushing, etc., to get him pinned long enough to tickle him, which immediately saps his strength and he's left just kicking and screaming dramatically

This dude's laugh is HARSH but the family finds it endearing because it's very him. The Mystery Twins even find it comforting after a while because it's their Grunkle, someone they look up to and feel safe with

His worst spot is his hips. If he's standing, his legs will just immediately give out. If he's laying or sitting, he immediately tries to bring them up and curl up while pushing at whoever is tickling him (usually Ford)

You can't have ears that big and them not be ticklish. They're ticklish. It's part of why he hates anyone trying to whisper to him, so he lies and tells people it messes with his hearing aid.

Loves to bother his twin. If he sees an opening, he'll slip his hands under Ford's arms (and catch him when his legs give out. It's a Pines trait.)

He's constantly scooping the kids up and going full tickle monster on them

With Mabel it's because he genuinely just enjoys playing with her, but with Dipper he thinks the kid needs to loosen up a little and get out of his own head sometimes. Also because he's well aware Dipper tries to grow up too fast, and a healthy dose of tickles from his uncle gets him acting like a kid again

He's the type to playfully growl when tickling someone

Big fan of tickle hugs because it's an easy way to trap a lee and get their sides

Bill

He will also use his stubble to his advantage when he can; on necks and bellies during raspberries

This applies to both of the twins but I'll put it here: As children, their mom used to sometimes tickle them, if they were sad, grumpy, or got into play-arguments with her

As much ler energy as he gives off, I think he's a 50/50 switch

Especially in a human vessel, with how much he seems to enjoy pain because it's a physical sensation he can't usually experience, I think he'd enjoy being tickled just as much

I think he'd be the type of lee to tease his ler and fluster them with how bold he is to ask for it. Like in a human form, I think he'd just plop himself in a ler's lap and raise his arms or something, he has absolutely 0 shame or embarrassment. The only reason it bothered him when Mabel tickled him is because he had a goal and he was trying to do something and she stopped him

Tried to use tickling as a torture method on Ford once, back when he didn't fully understand it still, and was shocked to discover the man didn't even really mind it that much. After all, he'd much rather tickling than something horrific like having his bones replaced with porcelain

In a human form, his favorite spots to be tickled are his tummy and back

A melt spot he ended up finding out about is under his chin, it gets him all soft and giggly

In triangle form, he can be tickled, he just never thought he could because no one ever tried

I think canonically he said dreamcatchers tickle? I'm not entirely sure how that works but it's canon I think?

He's small enough to be cradled in one arm and tickled with the other

I saw someone headcanon that his feet have toebeans, and I have to agree, and they're ticklish

Bill isn't one to start small and lead up to a big finale, if he finds a death spot, he will zero in on it until you tap out (which he will respect, because I said so)

Bill LOVES a good chase. If a lee runs from him, he loves to go after them and hunt them down, it makes the reward of finally getting them that much sweeter. (This is brought to you by that one scene where he pops up like "Peekaboo~!" in literally the teasiest voice)

Ford is his favorite Ler and Lee, he just loves to a nuisance in general to the guy

Sometimes he'll fluster Ford by filling his mind with teases and images but it also tends to backfire because Ford is just as good at teasing and he'll retaliate

Fiddleford

Ler Leaning (like 80% ler)

Having grown up on a farm, he's pretty used to roughhousing and wrestling with his cousins and friends

He used to play tickle monster with Tate when he was still a kid. Tate would go and hide while Fiddleford searched for him. Once he was found, he'd be scooped up into his father's tickling grasp while his dad playfully growled. (He was a good dad before he left)

In college he'd tickle Ford to get him to finally stop studying and get some sleep

Like many young adults in college, he'd get into petty arguments with his roommate over something small, and on more than one occasion he's wrecked the shit out of Ford if he ate something if Fidd's without asking

I also headcanon that he was friends with Stanley for a while while all three of them were in Gravity Falls together. On a couple occasions his southern sass would come out and both of the twins would gang up on him, usually with one holding him down because he's "farm-strong" despite being smaller

Even in the lab (Ford's basement), he'd still have to tweak Ford's sides a couple times to get him to stop working and go eat something or go to bed. Anything to get his more-than-friend-situation to take care of himself

[gaybananabread]

How about Day 30 with Lee!Mystery Twins and Ler!Stan Twins (gravity falls) as a game of hide and seek! I think it’d be super cute!

TickleTober Day 30 - Caught

AAAAA I’M DONE WITH TICKLETOBER!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN! This was a fun way to cap off the event, tapping into my roots! I’m so tired, and it’s definitely gonna be nice to not write over 1k word fics daily. I absolutely adored the event though, it really challenged me as a writer! ANYways, sorry for blabbing on, and I hope everyone stays safe tonight and that you Enjoy!

Lees: Mabel, Dipper

Lers: Stan, Ford

Summary: The Pines family are having an "intense" game of Hide-and-Seek to determine who gets to decorate the Mystery Shack for Halloween. There's an interesting set of rules, with a ticklish twist for whoever gets caught.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

"Dipper, be quiet!"

Mabel whisper-shouted at her brother, sinking further into the pile of stuffed animals. It was the fiercest competition of the century, and she intended to win it.

What had her so determined, you ask? The annual Pines Hide-and-Seek Championship. Well, it was the first year they were doing it, but the technically-teen was going to make sure it carried on.

Downstairs, her Grunkles combed through the house, searching for their great-grand niece and nephew. The Grunkles had half an hour to find them. There was a twist the older men had added, just to make the game more fun. If caught, the kids would be tickled. They didn't really specify a time, figuring it would be best to play things by ear. 

The mystery twins gave no argument. They were determined to win, though the sweater-loving girl was definitely taking things more seriously. For Mabel, that's saying something.

Mabel, being serious? What was so great that she would forgo her usual silliness? Well, something she greatly desired; the winner, whoever they may be, got to dictate the Halloween decorations for the whole Mystery Shack. As long as it was within the budget, anything went.

She was determined to make it the most sparkly, retro, in-your-face crazy Halloween party ever. That meant she had to win. 

Stan rooted through cabinets, looked in couch cushions, even went as far as looking in the outskirts of the woods. He was putting off checking the attic, figuring the kids would be smarter than that. Mabel was always goofy, it wasn’t hard to think her hiding spot would be as well.

Using a gadget, Ford scanned the first floor of the Shack. It was supposed to detect the joy and wonder a child gave off, though he was pretty sure he calibrated something wrong. Still, he searched, hoping it would at least give him some edge. He didn’t want his home covered in glitter, or so scary that even the goat would have nightmares. If Dipper won…well, he wouldn’t actually mind that, but it was the principle of it.

Dipper was hiding up in the rafters, having used Mabel’s grappling hook to secure the spot. They hid together, figuring whoever got caught first could fend for themself. Mabel was rather proud of hers; it was simple enough that they probably wouldn’t look, yet small enough to where she could barely fit, to dissuade her Grunkles. It was pretty perfect.

After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, both old men went up the creaky attic stairs. The twins held their breath, knowing it would be moments before one of them was caught. The door opened, painfully slow, as the pair entered the make-shift bedroom. They could hear the end of Stan’s conversation as he peeked in the closet. “...it’s one of the only spots we haven’t checked, Sixer. One of them’s gotta be here.”

Ford entered a second later, checking under their beds. He was so close that Mabel went completely stiff, refusing to even blink before he stood up. “Those kids are good, I’ll give ‘em that. They’ve got your sneaky skills.” He got a pillow thrown at his head by a chuckling Stan. “Sure, sure. But they’ve got your smarts. I would’ve hid in a closet or somethin’.”

They were so nonchalant about the way they searched for the younger twins. It was like they thought it was a game. Well, everybody but Mabel thought it was.

Dipper looked at Stan, noticing how close he was getting to finding Mabel. He really didn't wanna be the first one caught, but he knew how badly his sister wanted to win. Sighing, he faked a cough, calling the attention of his Grunkles up. The things he did for her…

In seconds, two rough hands wrapped around his waist, yanking him down from his hiding place. “Gotcha!” Dipper barely had enough time to register that he was in Stan’s lap before five clawing fingers dug into his stomach. “G-GRUHUNKLE STAHAHAN!”

Ford chuckled, getting his fun in as well. He scribbled on and under the boy’s knees, all six digits doing something to get him laughing. It was unfairly ticklish. He almost regretted taking the L for Mabel. Almost.

“Hey Dippy, I got a deal for ya. If you tell us where your sister is, we’ll stop.” Oh, those cheaters! Mabel watched with wide eyes and Stan vibrated his clawing fingers into Dipper’s tum, keeping his arms above his head. She knew her brother had thrown his chance for her, but he still had to outlast the old men.

He wriggled and twisted in their arms, refusing to give in so easily; he wasn’t about to lose for nothing. “I- IHI CAHAHAN’T!” Ford snickered, squeezing his knees a bit more vigorously for emphasis. “Oh, but you can. Just say, ‘Oh, Mabel is hiding…’ and then you say it. It’s just that easy.”

So unfair… Dipper whined through his laughter, kicking as much as he could. Maybe a time limit on the tickles would have been a good idea… His Grunkles were obviously enjoying themselves, matching smirks on each of their faces. He didn’t hate it, per say, but it was much harder to stay sane when all three of them could see his reactions. 

It was…actually really nice of him to do that for her. Mabel would have to let Dipper DJ for the party. Waddles might be a little upset, but she was sure her pink companion would prefer snack table duty. 

Stan got a little impatient, deciding to be evil. He moved his bony fingers up to the boy’s armpit, digging into his hollows. Dipper let out a squeal that would put Waddles to shame. “NYAAAAHAHA! STAHAN! NOHO- *snrk* NOHOT THEHEHERE!”

Oooh, he went for Dipper’s bad spot. Mabel bit her lip as she watched her brother’s destruction: Ford teasing his knees while Stan went to town on his pits. She wouldn’t blame him if he gave her up, but dang it, she really wanted to win.

Right as Dipper was about to crack, the Nyan Cat theme song went off. Ford’s phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling that their half-hour was up. Mabel had won!

The girl sprung up from her mound of stuffed animals, startling both of her Grunkles. “HA! I won! Stan, go grab the basement key, I’m gonna make it rain glitter and gummy bears!”

Ford laughed, releasing Dipper’s legs as he watched his grand-niece celebrate. Stan sighed, setting the boy down on the carpet to curl into himself. “Okay, okay, ya won! Don’t need to rub it in, ya snot.”

 She chuckled, moving to hug her giggling brother. “Thanks for taking the loss, bro-bro. I officially crown you Head DJ.” He pumped a weak fist into the air, still giggling away the phantom sensations. Stan shooed her away, placing Dipper in his brother’s arms.

“You go get the dork some water. I’ll handle our winner.” Ford nodded, carrying the exhausted Dipper down the attic stairs. Stan cracked his knuckles before scooping Mabel up in his arms, holding her against his chest. “Congrats, ya snot. Here’s my favorite part of your reward…” 

He squeezed her side, making the sweater lover burst into bubbly giggles. She twisted and squirmed, eyes growing wide. “B-buhut Gruhuhunkle Stahan! Ihi wohohohon!”

He snorted, moving up to tease her ribs. “You did, yeah. Your brother got the worst of it; I’ll go a bit easier on ya. Congrats, you goober.” She whined, protests already forming on her tongue. “Thahat ihisn’t fahair! Sohore loser!”

Stan scratched and scribbled between each bone, acting as if it was just a normal conversation. “It’s totally fair. I don’t remember there being a rule against tickling the winner.” She scrunched up her nose, mock-glaring at him. “Thahat- youhu- uhuhugh!”  

It was adorable to see his relatives’ reactions. He loved to hear their laughs, see them smile, make them forget about the crazy lives they’d led for just a second. The whole “Weirdmageddon” fiasco had done a bit of damage. Stan took any chance he could get to make them feel like regular kids again. Dipper had already gotten his go; now it was Mabel’s turn.

“B-buhuhut- HEHEHEY! NOHOT THE PIHIHIHITS!” He poked her armpit, making the girl squeal. “It’s cute how you two share everything. Makes tickling the snot out of ya a whole lot easier.” It was gonna be a long day…

[veryblushyswitch]

AHHH!! 😭💖💖 I LOVE!! 💖💖 AMAZING!! 💖💖

I know this may or may not be a more recent drawing, but can you do this one please? Or the one where I think it's Annabeth and Grover wrecking Percy? Thanks, love your art, keep up the good work! :D

I know the event title has "old" in it...

but I loved the Ford and Mabel sketch too much—