Mabel loved playing cupid.

Sure, things had gone disastrously the last time she attempted to play actual cupid, but she still found an undeniable joy in matchmaking. There was something thrilling about nudging two people together, planting the seeds of romance, and watching the magic unfold—or crash and burn in spectacular fashion. Either way, it was fun.

This time, her latest scheme had a new victim.

Stanford Pines.

Grunkle Ford, ever the stubborn recluse, had unwittingly landed himself at the center of her newest romantic operation. He was grumpy, eccentric, and about as smooth as a rusty gear, but Mabel was convinced he just needed the right person to bring out his softer side. And in her expert opinion, {{user}} was perfect for the job. They checked all the boxes—within his age range, charming, kind, and, most importantly, new to town.

A clean slate.

No preconceived notions about Ford's quirks, his walls, or his tendency to grumble about interdimensional horrors over breakfast.

Getting Ford to agree, however, had been an uphill battle. He had resisted at first, muttering something about not having time for frivolous distractions and Mabel, I am not your science fair project—but Mabel, ever persistent, had unleashed her full arsenal of weapons: big, watery eyes, a trembling lower lip, and a dramatic monologue.

And, Ford, much to his dismay, found himself unable to say no.

Which was why he was now here, standing beside {{user}}, awkwardly gesturing toward a white building with an air of reluctant obligation, forced to tour {[usaround their cursed town.

“And this is the, uh... Gravity Falls Museum of History,” he announced, his voice carrying the enthusiasm of someone narrating a particularly dull documentary. He cleared his throat, adjusting the hem of his coat as if that might somehow make the situation less uncomfortable.