simpforpeterp

[simpforpeterp]

Schroeder x Lucy

Ever Thine, Ever Mine, Ever Ours

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Daydream Believer

summary: After a semester abroad and a broken engagement, Lucy van Pelt returns to her college in California and finds herself living across the hall from her childhood crush, Schroeder, the boy who never looked twice at her unless she was singing something off-key. Now he's older, quieter, and somehow still manages to get under her skin. He’s also suddenly interested in her...which would be great, if she hadn’t stopped waiting around for him.

warnings: none!

word count: 4.05k

September

Lucy tried and tried not to wait up for a call. She watched an episode of The Brady Bunch, made dinner, and sat by herself while wistfully staring out the window just like she always does. But through all of that, she’s been looking at the phone, waiting for it to ring.

She knows he’s gonna call. He’s curious by nature and it’s only a matter of when it eats away at him too much and he wants to know more about what she’s been up to. She paces back and forth in her apartment for a while before hearing a racket just outside of her door.

She rolls her eyes and walks over to look through the peephole and admittedly be nosy. She leans down to see and sees someone scrambling to pick up a bunch of things that fell out of a crate.

Lucy just sighs and opens the door.

“Need help with- oh, Schroeder, you’re here,” she says, more uninterested than he could’ve predicted.

He recognizes her voice immediately and turns to realize that he is right, it’s Lucy.

“Did you seriously find my apartment? Just because I haven’t called you yet?” he asks, tossing things back into his crate.

“What? No. This is my apartment, the place I just walked out of,” she gestures behind her. “Wait- you don’t live here, do you?”

“I do now. 2203.” he points to the door right across from hers.

“2204.” she breathes out her number.

They stay in silence as she bends down to help him put everything back in the crate. He looks up at her from his kneeling position on the floor. A part of him wanted her to have found him there to prove something to himself but he doesn’t know what it is.

She doesn’t say anything else as she picks up a stray composition book and slides it into the crate without comment.

Schroeder watches her from where he’s still crouched, one knee on the floor. Her sweater slips off her shoulder a little as she moves, and he remembers when she used to do that on purpose back in high school when she wanted his attention but played it off like she didn’t care. Now, it’s just a sweater. It’s not for him.

He swallows hard.

She’s right here. Knees inches from his, hair falling forward as she leans down, and still, it’s like he’s watching someone through a window. Like whatever version of her once looked at him like he was the center of the room like he mattered more than anything, that version’s gone.

And she doesn’t even seem mad. She’s not cool or detached in the way that invites a fight or begs for an apology. She’s just...indifferent. Casual. Like she doesn’t expect anything from him.

Like she doesn’t want anything from him.

The thought makes something in his chest twist, sharp and unfamiliar. It’s not heartbreak, exactly. It’s worse than that. It’s the ache of no longer being held in someone’s mind the way you used to be. It’s absence.

For a second, he’s fourteen again, sitting backstage with her in some stuffy gymnasium, and she’s holding his hand too tightly while whispering that he’s going to do great. For a second, he’s convinced if he says her name the right way, she’ll remember all of it.

But she just grabs the last pencil off the floor, sets it in the crate, and stands.

“There,” she says. “I don’t want to stalk you any more than you already think I have. Welcome to the building.”

And with that, Lucy turns around and disappears into 2204, the door closing with the softest click.

Schroeder stares at the crate for a long time before reaching in and pulling out the cigarette with her number. He doesn’t throw it away. But for the first time, he realizes he might not be the one who gets to decide what happens next.

Lucy gets comfortable on the couch again, sinking into the cushions and crossing her arms as she watches the TV. Schroeder living across from her feels funny. Almost like a slap in the face. This would’ve been the best thing to happen to her as a kid but after everything, after feeling so many bad things she never thought she’d feel, she can’t bring herself to care.

She’s gonna try and pretend it’s a self-worth thing. That she doesn’t care about a man who was indifferent to her a lot for the majority of her childhood. Even if he is cute and blonde. That doesn’t make her un-heartbroken because of her ex-fiancé who she sees around campus like a ghost. Or the fact that she had a slightly embarrassing summer fling with a tan Parisian boy who she made the mistake of telling Frieda about.

She reaches for the remote, thumbing the volume up absently. She’s not even watching the show. Just using the noise to drown out whatever stupid thing her brain is trying to feel. The phone rings.

Her heart jumps, but she doesn’t move right away. She waits for the second ring, then the third. By the fourth, she sighs and reaches over to pick it up, cradling it between her cheek and shoulder.

“Hello?”

“Why are you acting strange?” Schroeder’s voice cuts in immediately, no greeting, no hesitation, like the words have been pressing against his teeth all night.

“Excuse me?” She blinks.

“You’re being...different,” he says. “Towards me. Oh! This is Schroeder Felton, by the way.”

She lets the silence stretch out for a moment. As if he needed to tell her who it was, as if she didn’t know that voice anywhere.

“What do you mean, Schroeder?”

“You’re just- I don’t know, you’re not...”

She tilts her head and lets the quiet hang just long enough to make him uncomfortable.

“You mean because I’m not following you around like a puppy anymore?”

There it is.

“I- what? No, that’s not what I-” He falters. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, I- look, I just...it used to be easy. With you. And now you’re just... I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“Maybe that’s the point.” She lets out a short breath of a laugh.

He doesn’t say anything. For a moment, all she hears is the faint rustle of the phone line and the muffled echo of her TV in the background.

“You thought I was gonna fall all over you just because you showed up, didn’t you?” she says softly. “You thought I’d still be that girl.”

“I didn’t-” His voice lowers. “I didn’t expect anything. I just thought maybe you’d be...happy to see me.”

“Schroeder, come on. I- I am happy to see you. I don’t have a lot of close friends here and it’s nice to see a familiar face but we haven’t talked in so long. And anyway, you used to hate me! You thought I was so annoying and now what? You think of me as a friend?” She asks.

“Yeah. I do. I never hated you. Seriously.” He tells her.

She sits for another moment. He’s one confusing guy. Lucy breathes out as she tangles the phone chord around her finger.

“Wanna watch TV? My favorite show is about to come on after another Brady Bunch episode.” She breathes out.

He pauses for a minute before looking around at his empty apartment.

“I should probably unpack first.”

“Need help?”

The next thing he knows, Lucy van Pelt is welcoming herself into the bland apartment. He shuts the door behind her and she only sees the crate on the counter and a suitcase on the floor.

“Is this…is this all you have?” She asks.

“Well, my piano is getting delivered tomorrow. But other than that, yeah. My bed is in there though! I just…don’t have any blankets. But I’ll live.” He shrugs, trying to smile as Lucy just stares blankly at him.

She lets out another large sigh as she turns to his crate.

“Good grief, Schroeder. You’re in your twenties and this is all you’ve got?” She accidentally laughs.

“Hey! Pianos are expensive. And anyway, I’m barely in my twenties,” he says, half-defensive, half-grinning. “I’m a minimalist.”

“You’re a disaster,” she mutters.

She walks past him into the bedroom like she owns the place. He follows behind slowly, watching her take in the bare mattress pushed up against one wall like it’s offended her.

“What size is your bed?” she asks, spinning on her heel to look at him.

“Uh…full?”

“Okay. Don’t move.” She nods once, decisive.

“What? Where are you-“ He blinks.

“I have spare sheets. And a throw blanket. And probably an actual mug that isn’t chipped.” She’s already halfway to the door. “Do you even have a toothbrush?”

“Yes?” He sounds unsure.

She stares at him.

“Okay, yes, but it’s still in my suitcase.”

“Unpack your toothbrush and clear off that counter. I’ll be back.” She tells him.

He watches her disappear into 2204 with the same stormy efficiency she always had when she decided something was going to be done her way. And maybe it should bother him, how quickly she slipped into this version of herself, the caretaker, the fixer, the girl who once carried Advil in her purse for other people’s headaches but all it does is make his chest feel full.

Ten minutes later, she’s back. Arms full. Sheets slung over one shoulder, a folded blanket hugged to her chest, and a bag of things dangling from her wrist. She kicks the door shut behind her with her foot like she’s been doing this her whole life.

“This doesn’t mean I like you again,” she says, brushing past him.

“Okay.” He tries not to smile.

She tosses the sheets on his bed and gets to work like it’s second nature. He stands in the doorway, useless, watching as she fluffs a pillow she brought and folds the blanket at the edge of the bed.

“Why do you even have all this?” he asks eventually as he moves to help her make the bed.

“My fiancé was getting ready to move in and he left all of his old bedroom stuff here. He never took it back.” She tells him.

“You’re engaged?” He asks.

“Was.” She says quietly as she smooths out the flannel sheets.

He doesn’t say anything else as they finish making the bed. It’s nothing fancy, just basic sheets and a throw that doesn’t match anything but suddenly the room looks like someone lives here. Like he lives here.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“You’ll owe me.” She shrugs.

“I always do.”

She doesn't reply, just drops the bag on his counter, inside is a clean mug, a travel-size toothpaste, and a roll of paper towels.

Schroeder looks at it all, then at her.

“You’re still kind of a hurricane,” he says.

Lucy pulls her sweater sleeve down over her hand and reaches for the doorknob.

“So…TV?” She asks and he accidentally nods too fast. He tries to play it cool, but it’s already out there.

Lucy smirks and leads the way back across the hall like she’s done it a thousand times. Her apartment is small but cozy, full of mismatched throw pillows and candles in various states of use. The kind of place that looks like someone lives in it and has for a while.

She flops onto the couch, grabbing the remote, and curling up like she’s been waiting for this moment all day. Schroeder hesitates for half a second, then takes the other end of the couch. He sits stiffly.

She notices.

Without even asking, Lucy shifts and stretches out her legs, socked feet finding their way into his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Schroeder looks down at her legs, then up at her, like she’s just casually set a time bomb in his lap. She doesn’t seem to notice or she pretends not to.

“Don’t get weird about it,” she mumbles, flicking through channels. “You’re the only one here, so you get to be the footrest.”

“Right.”

The Monkees theme starts playing, loud and peppy, and Schroeder visibly recoils.

“Oh no,” he mutters. “This again?”

“Yes. This again,” Lucy says, wiggling her toes at him.

“This isn’t real music.”

“Of course it is,” she counters immediately, not even looking away from the screen. “Look at how cute Davy is.”

“That’s your metric for music? Cuteness?” He makes a sound of deep offense.

“No,” she says, smiling, “but it helps.”

Schroeder slouches lower into the couch, glaring halfheartedly at the screen as Davy Jones flashes his signature grin and starts singing something overly cheerful.

Lucy laughs quietly, shifting just enough to nudge her knee against his side.

“You’re so snobby. You play one Rachmaninoff concerto and suddenly everything else is trash.” She looks at him.

“I don’t think it’s trash,” he lies. She turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Okay, fine. It’s catchy. But it’s also objectively ridiculous.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” she says, softer now. “It doesn’t have to be deep to mean something.”

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s watching the screen again, face half-lit by the flicker of black-and-white television, and he wonders how he ever forgot how loud she laughs when she’s not trying to impress anyone.

The weight of her legs in his lap is warm. Familiar. Dangerous.

He presses his palm against her ankle under the blanket, like it means nothing. Like he’s not sitting in her apartment, watching The Monkees.

They watch absentmindedly, Lucy slowly sinking further and further into the couch. Schroeder’s hand rests on her knee and it suddenly feels like they’re kids again.

Lucy’s eyes are slowly shutting as the channel changes to reruns of I Love Lucy. Schroeder doesn’t notice though, deciding to ask her a question.

“So…you were engaged, then?” He asks quietly and her eyes flutter back open.

Her eyes flutter back open, hazy with sleep and something else. She blinks up at the ceiling for a second before turning her head slightly toward him.

“Mm. Yeah,” she says softly. “I was.”

Schroeder doesn’t say anything at first. His fingers press just a little firmer into the curve of her knee, grounding both of them.

“What happened?” he asks after a beat.

Lucy exhales through her nose, slow and quiet.

“He was nice. Safe. The kind of guy you’re supposed to end up with.” She shrugs one shoulder beneath the blanket. “But I think we were both pretending. He wanted someone softer, less...me. And I wanted someone who wouldn’t leave.”

Schroeder doesn’t move. Just listens.

“It got messy at the end,” she adds, voice low. “France was a good excuse to run.”

Silence stretches between them, filled only by the laugh track of I Love Lucy and the quiet hum of the city outside her window.

“Sorry,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “I asked.”

Lucy nods. She shifts again, her legs sliding slightly in his lap as she curls onto her side. Her hand finds its way to the edge of his sweatshirt.

“You ever been in love?” she asks suddenly, almost absently. “Real love. Like…so much so that it made you feel nauseous and like your head would explode if you even looked at the person for one more second?”

Schroeder’s throat tightens.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully.

“That’s not a no.” She hums.

He looks down at her, at the way she’s half-asleep and still managing to ask him things he’s never said out loud.

“I think maybe I was once,” he says after a moment. “I think I was just too young to understand what it was. What it meant.

Her eyes flicker open again, meeting his. Something heavy passes between them, an echo of a past they never quite figured out how to name. But she just nods once, closes her eyes again, and whispers,

“Don’t let me fall asleep here. I’ll slug you if I wake up with a crick in my neck.”She hums.

“Got it.” He smiles, just a little.

But he doesn’t wake her up. Not for a long time.

October

Lucy van Pelt was not ready for classes to start. Not ready for people to ask why there’s no ring on her finger anymore. So she tried to enjoy her last day of freedom to the fullest. She rearranged her entire apartment and made a smoothie, all while blasting The Locomotion.

Schroeder was more than ready. With him finally getting his shot at doing something big with his music, it feels like the stars are aligning.

“Spread out your fingers just a little more,” He leans down to try and move the fingers of the bratty kid he’s teaching. “We only have a few minutes left for this session, do you want to try and play the whole thing by yourself?”

The kid scrunches her face in protest.

“But my fingers don’t go that way.”

“They will if you practice. Like we talked about.” Schroeder exhales slowly through his nose.

“But I did practice!” the kid insists. “For, like, twenty minutes! That’s a lot!”

“You told me last week you practiced for five.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, I got better !” the kid says proudly, then slams both hands down on the keys to play something that sounds like Chopsticks if Chopsticks had fallen down the stairs. Schroeder visibly flinches.

“Okay,” he says calmly, standing up. “That’s all for today.”

“But we still have-”

“I said that’s all for today .” He’s already collecting his sheet music. “Tell your mom I said hi.”

The kid hops off the bench and zips out the door, clearly thrilled. Schroeder drops onto the bench and rubs a hand down his face, just before the rotary phone on the side table starts ringing.

“Are you done yet?” Lucy asks without a greeting.

“Yeah. Last lesson for the day:” He nods.

“I need music that won’t distract me, I need to write this article last minute for the newspaper and I’ve got nothing.” She tells him.

“Are we gonna relive the past if you come over and sit on my piano?” He asks.

“Mm, I probably won’t sit it on it. I don’t want it to break.” She tells him.

“Are you kidding? You won’t break the piano.” He tells her.

“Anyway, I’ll be over in a jiffy.” She tells him before the line goes dead.

He turns around and finds his place at the piano and his fingers rest on the keys. There’s something so easy about talking to her that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was and he just wasn’t as lonely as he is now.

When the door opens, Lucy doesn’t waste a second to set her typewriter down and get to it. Schroeder doesn’t need another second to start playing.

He notices the way she tries to casually interview him for this as if he won’t notice. She asks him questions about the Spring Arts Showcase and his role in it before quickly typing up his quotes. He doesn’t say anything though because he doesn’t mind it.

His mind is more at ease playing and hearing the typing noise.

The rhythm of the keys and her typewriter syncs into something strangely melodic, clicks and chords, the two of them building something quiet together.

For a while, that’s all it is. The music and the soft clatter of her fingers.

“You hungry?” Schroeder asks, letting a final chord linger.

“Starving. I skipped lunch for a meeting that could’ve been a nap.” Lucy pulls the paper from the typewriter and folds it in half.

“Takeout?” He laughs lightly and swivels on the bench to face her.

“Only if it’s Chinese,” She points a finger at him. “I want egg rolls.”

“You’re very demanding.”

“And you’re very agreeable.” She grins. “We make a great team.”

Thirty minutes later, they’re sitting cross-legged on the floor beside his hand-me-down couch, a brown paper bag spread open between them. The room smells like sesame oil and soy sauce, and Lucy’s already unbothered by the lack of plates, picking at the carton of lo mein with her chopsticks.

Schroeder pulls out a corkscrew from the drawer and opens the cheap bottle of red he bought weeks ago on a whim. He pours them each a glass in mismatched mugs. Hers says “#1 Grandpa.”

“You really go all out,” she teases.

“I’m a man of culture,” he says, toasting her with it.

They eat in the flickering glow of the old floor lamp, knees brushing now and then without either of them pulling away. The window’s cracked just enough to let in a breeze, and for once, Lucy doesn’t seem in a rush to fill the silence.

Eventually, Schroeder leans back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, wine half-finished.

“You really think anyone’s gonna read that article?” he asks.

“Of course.” She flicks a noodle at him. “People are obsessed with you.”

“No, they’re not.”

“They are,” she insists. “You’re like this mysterious piano prodigy who only speaks in brooding metaphors and stares into space dramatically.”

“I do not.”

“You kind of do.”

He shoots her a look, but there’s no heat behind it.

“You ever miss how simple things used to be?” He asks quietly.

Lucy takes a sip of wine, eyes on the string lights above the window.

“All the time,” Her voice is softer now. Less biting. More honest. “But I also think things feel more real now. Even if they’re messier.”

He looks at her like he’s trying to memorize the way her face looks in this light.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

“Being in France for a semester made coming back feel like I’m coming back to the real world after being in…Barbie-land or something.” She admits.

“Hey, what’s Frieda tell me about your ‘hot Parisian boy’?” He asks.

“Ugh,” She rolls her eyes. “Summer fling. Doesn’t matter much.”

“So,” Schroeder says, leaning back on his hands. “Did you actually learn any French while you were over there, or did you just eat croissants and break hearts?”

“Excusez-moi, I did both. I didn’t go through Paris, Lyon, Annecy, Strasbourg, Dijon, and not learn anything.” Lucy grins.

“Prove it.” He says before she tilts her head dramatically, then slips effortlessly into perfect French.

“J’ai passé mes après-midis dans les musées, et mes soirées à me demander pourquoi je suis tombée amoureuse d’un idiot.” She says before taking a sip of her wine.

“Wow. Okay. I have no idea what you said.” Schroeder blinks.

“Good.” She smirks.

“You wanna hear real foreign language skills? I learned German.” He shakes his head.

“Let me guess, Beethoven?”

“Obviously,” he deadpans.

“Alright then, what’s your line?” Lucy leans forward, curious.

“Ich habe viele Jahre Klavier gespielt und-” He straightens up a little, and tries to summon a sentence.

“Do you know any German,” she interrupts, “or are you just faking it with musical vocabulary?”

“Do you know any German?” He glares at her.

She pauses, raises an eyebrow, and then, without missing a beat, clears her throat.

“Willkommen, meine Damen und Herren, Guten Abend, wie geht’s-“

“Cabaret?” He stares at her.

“I hate you.” She accidentally laughs.

“No, you don’t.”

“I really, really do.” She just grins and tosses a fortune cookie wrapper at his chest.

But before she can gloat, he lifts his chin a little, almost smug.

“Well then. Check this out.” He clears his throat and says almost too smoothly: “Bienvenue, étranger, je suis enchanté, reste bienvenue au Cabaret, mesdames et messieurs, bonsoir, comment ça va? Je suis votre compère.”

“You like Cabaret?” Lucy’s jaw drops.

“No. Not really.” He shrugs, already turning away.

“You’re such a liar.” She grabs a pillow and throws it at him.

“I appreciate the orchestration. That’s different.” He catches it mid-air, grinning.

“You learned a whole intro monologue for the orchestration?” She lowers her eyes.

“I was bored.” A beat. “Also it’s a good tonal exercise.”

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, but she’s trying not to smile.

He tosses the pillow back onto the couch, barely hiding his own grin.

“Willkommen to my tragic little life.”

[simpforpeterp]

Schroeder x Lucy

Ever Thine, Ever Mine, Ever Ours

Chapter 2

Summary: After a semester abroad and a broken engagement, Lucy van Pelt returns to her college in California and finds herself living across the hall from her childhood crush, Schroeder, the boy who never looked twice at her unless she was singing something off-key. Now he's older, quieter, and somehow still manages to get under her skin. He’s also suddenly interested in her...which would be great, if she hadn’t stopped waiting around for him.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 3.7k

Chapter 1: California

California is rarely cold and rarely scalding hot. The leaves are never crunchy or brown, even in September. Students are still surfing before class and walking around shirtless as the sun beats down with the wind contrasting to the heat. It’s very different to France, where Lucy van Pelt had just spent the last semester and summer.

It rains there more often than depicted in movies and books or even songs. But it was beautiful and now she’s back on campus and everything feels different.

The walk to her barely off-campus apartment is just as sunny and bright as she remembered. Her shoes click against the sidewalk as she lifts her sunglasses to rest perfectly on her head.

She’s barely home and there’s already so much to do.

Like hand out flyers and find her megaphone for the rally she’s throwing tomorrow. Step one, after putting her bags in her apartment and heading straight back out, is to head to the library to make copies of the poster she made on the plane.

Her Mary Janes makes her stride feel quicker and much more academically charged as she walks into the library.

“Lucy!” Her Vice-President, Monica, calls. “Got the flyer?”

“It’s finally finished, now all we have to do is hand them out.” she breathes out, placing the paper on the table with the rest of the student government around her.

“This is pretty last-minute. What’s the deal?” Another member asks.

“I have a lot to say. Things are so much different in France right now. With the war and-“ Lucy starts.

“Were you really observing the political climate of France when you were with that cute Parisian boy?” Freida speaks up and Lucy tries not to grow her smile too much.

“Anyway-“ Lucy sighs with that same smile as the meeting goes on.

The student government meeting is chaotic, but she’s used to it by now. Posters get passed around, Monica talks a little too loudly about their supplies, and everyone tries to get in one last word before they have to leave for class. But Lucy is only half-listening. She’s already moving and organizing her thoughts for tomorrow.

“Come on, I already told you! I need this, I already moved out of my dorm. I have the down payment, I have everything I need.” Schroeder sets his crate down on the front desk counter, his voice evidently frustrated.

“Look, buddy, it wasn’t there when I looked.” The wannabe landlord front desk guy laughs.

“Yeah, it’s not exactly on my bank statement, your boss said-“ Schroeder groans.

“My boss isn’t here, man.”

“I have all of it right here, in this box. I have the down payment, the security deposit-“ He starts rambling. “Look, I don’t care if your boss is on the moon, I was promised a lease.”

“Then talk to the moon,” the guy shrugs, flipping through a folder like Schroeder’s not even there.

He leans on the counter, exasperated, hair falling into his face. He mutters something under his breath about dropping out and moving to Canada.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Schroeder?” A voice says from behind. Schroeder turns around with his eyes half-lidded and annoyed.

The last person he expected to see so far from home was Charlie Brown. He’s taller now but still not as tall as Schroeder. None of their old friends are after Schroeder sprouted and outgrew everyone as if the world wanted him to fit a musician stereotype.

“Charlie Brown?” He’s still holding the crate, still standing under the flat, uncaring light of the housing office.

“It’s been forever. I didn’t know you lived here. You go to-“ Charlie Brown starts.

“Yeah, yes! I do, I just moved out of my dorm and now this is what I get for thinking that I could move out with the finances of a musician.” He sighs.

“You, uh…got a place to stay tonight?”

Schroeder lifts the crate again in answer. It’s all he’s got. Charlie Brown sighs and jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

“Come crash with me. Couch isn’t great, but it’s better than arguing with Moon Guy all night.”

“You sure?” Schroeder asks.

“You’d do it for me.”

Schroeder follows him out of the housing office, the crate knocking awkwardly against his leg and his suitcase in his other hand as they step into the golden haze of late afternoon.

“So,” Charlie Brown says as they cross the quad, “you still composing, or are you just surviving?”

“Is there a difference?” Schroeder huffs a laugh. Charlie Brown doesn’t push. Just gives him a look that says he’s not surprised. “I’m in the music department. Composition. Classical. They say ‘modern theory,’ but it’s mostly pretentious arguments about dissonance.”

“Do you like it?”

“I like playing,” Schroeder shrugs. “Everything else just comes with it.”

“Still playing every day?”

“As much as I can.” He pauses. “Sometimes I book practice rooms just to sit and not talk.”

“That sounds about right.” Charlie Brown grins a little.

They cross into the residential area just off campus, the smell of someone grilling drifting through the air. Schroeder adjusts the crate in his arms again, it’s heavier than he wants to admit.

“What about you?” he asks. “Still a philosophy guy?”

“Technically undeclared,” Charlie says. “But yeah. I guess I’m chasing a degree in overthinking.”

“That fits.” Schroeder snorts.

“And Lucy?” Charlie Brown adds quickly before he can think better of it.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah…you guys don’t talk?” He asks.

“I haven’t seen her since…sophomore year of high school, man.” Schroeder sighs.

“Really? I really thought that you two would…anyway, I think she goes here. I haven’t talked to Linus in a bit but I’m pretty sure he mentioned it.” Charlie Brown tells him.

“Jesus, does everyone go here?” Schroeder quips.

“Feels like it. Half our graduating class is probably in the quad right now pretending they’ve changed.” Charlie Brown laughs. Schroeder shakes his head, squinting as the sunlight filters through the trees.

“Lucy van Pelt,” he mutters. The name tastes strange out loud, like something he used to say all the time but forgot the meaning of. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“Why don’t you talk anymore? I thought you guys started to actually get along?”

They reach a narrow building with ivy crawling up the sides. Charlie leads them around back and up a rickety flight of stairs to the second floor. He unlocks the door and nudges it open with his shoulder.

“It’s not glamorous,” he says, flipping on the light to reveal a cluttered but cozy apartment, hand-me-down furniture, records in crates, and a half-read book face-down on the armrest of the couch. “But it’s something.”

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Schroeder steps inside, setting his crate and suitcase by the door.

“I wouldn’t’ve offered if it wasn’t,” Charlie says, tossing his keys in a bowl. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Couch pulls out if you feel ambitious.”

“Thanks, man.” Schroeder nods.

Charlie gives him a small smile, then disappears into the kitchen. Schroeder stands still for a second, letting the quiet sink in. Then he moves to the window, peering out over the neighborhood.

He doesn’t know it yet, but Lucy’s apartment is just a floor away. The group is buzzing from the meeting, but Lucy stays behind with Monica to finalize a few plans, paperwork, last-minute banner fixes, and Monica's handwriting being “too bubbly for a war rally.” They split up just as the sun dips low and the flyers crinkle from the breeze.

She tucks her last stack under her arm and walks past the quad where the housing office sits. A boy with a crate passed her in the crowd, but she didn’t look twice. She didn’t realize it was him.

It’s hard to sleep that night. She plans on lying and saying it’s because she’s excited for the rally but honestly? She’s antsy and not because of a protest. She left so abruptly as soon as the spot to study abroad in France opened up last minute because she felt so disillusioned. She went from an engaged student buying an apartment to share with her fiancé to now, living in it alone.

He never lived there but might as well have, he was going to. And then everything just exploded before she had the chance to take a breath. The place still looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. She painted the bedroom walls herself, he picked the color. His books are gone, but the shelf still sags where he once stacked them. There’s a hook by the door he installed for his coat. She uses it anyway, even though it stings every time.

Lucy sits at the tiny kitchen table, barefoot in her oversized shirt, flipping through her annotated speech. Her tea’s gone cold. The room is too quiet, but she doesn’t want music either. Every song reminds her of something.

She tells herself she’s fine. France helped, in some ways. It distracted her, pulled her into something bigger than herself. But it also made the silence sharper when she came back. Now that she’s here, back on the campus she left mid-semester, surrounded by people who didn’t know the whole story, she’s haunted by everything she almost had.

She presses her forehead against the table and lets out a groan.

She doesn’t miss Warren as much as she probably should, she misses not being constantly in her head and trying to drown out the noise. And then she realizes that she misses the music.

Schroeder woke up late with no alarm clock to help. Schroeder woke up late with no alarm clock to help.

The couch cushions are uneven and the blanket’s too thin, but he’d slept worse. Practice room benches, train stations, and the floor of his freshman dorm the night his roommate hosted an unannounced jam session. He blinks up at the ceiling, squinting against the light that leaks in through the blinds, and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is.

Then the faint smell of burnt toast reminds him. Charlie Brown’s already up, clattering around in the kitchen. There’s a record spinning softly in the background, Todd Rundgren, maybe? Schroeder stretches, slowly pushing himself upright. The blanket falls off his shoulders and the air is cool against his skin. His hair sticks up at strange angles.

He rakes a hand through it and grumbles, standing to pad barefoot into the kitchen.

“You look like a man who lost a fight with a pillow,” Charlie Brown says over his shoulder, flipping something in a skillet.

“Feels about right,” Schroeder mumbles.

Charlie slides a plate onto the counter, eggs, toast, something vaguely breakfast-adjacent, and Schroeder stares at it like it’s a peace offering from a world that hasn’t given him much lately.

“Thanks,” he says, surprising himself with how much he means it. They eat in companionable silence. Schroeder glances at the clock.

“What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Shit,” He rubs his eyes. “I was supposed to check in with my department chair today.”

“There’s time,” Charlie says. “Unless you’re planning on joining the protest crowd?”

Schroeder looks up and Charlie Brown nods toward the window.

“Big rally on the quad. Vietnam stuff. Student Government organized it.” He shrugs.

“They’re probably gonna block my path. I better head out before the rioters show up. Or worse, Bob Dylan,” Schroeder quickly stands up. “Thanks, Charlie Brown.”

“You know, you can just call me by my first name. You don’t have to say the full thing every time.” He laughs.

“It feels wrong not to say the whole thing.” Schroeder shrugs.

Charlie Brown shakes his head, amused.

“You’re a weird guy, Schroeder.”

“I play classical piano for fun,” Schroeder deadpans, grabbing his bag. “Weird is the baseline.”

He quickly slips out the door and tries to walk as fast as he can to avoid the rally. Though, that’s nearly impossible once he sees the amount of people there.

Lucy’s already outside, her clipboard tucked under one arm, hair pulled back in a rushed ponytail as she directs someone on banner placement. There’s tension in her shoulders she’s trying to hide, but it shows in the way she chews on her pen cap and scans the growing crowd like she’s bracing for something, though she’s not sure what.

“Do it now, make your speech!” Monica gently shoves her to stand on top of a table. Lucy hesitates for half a second, then climbs onto the table.

The crowd quiets around her. There’s a moment where all the sound is just wind and distant music and the shuffle of papers. Then she raises the megaphone.

“My name is Lucy van Pelt,” she begins, voice steady despite the slight shake in her hands. “I’m a student here. I’m also a sister, a daughter, a friend, and a citizen of a country that keeps sending people my age into a war we didn’t start and don’t believe in.”

A murmur of agreement rolls through the crowd. Cameras flash. Someone cheers. She finds her rhythm.

“I don’t think it’s brave to die for a cause you don’t understand. I think it’s brave to question it. I think it’s brave to say, ‘No more.’”

Applause now. Loud. Angry. Energized.

“They call us un-American. But what’s more American than standing up and saying, this isn’t right? What’s more patriotic than caring enough to want better?” She paces the table a little, letting the feeling rise in her chest.

“How many more names will go on that wall in D.C. before they realize they’re not fighting for freedom, they’re fighting to survive? How many more kids have to come home in a box before someone listens?” She raises a flyer high in one hand.

The crowd is loud now, shouts, clapping, and fists raised. Monica yells something in support. A few students push forward, climbing onto benches, waving signs higher.

“We’re not violent. We’re not the enemy. But we are done being silent. And if you won’t listen to us when we speak, then you’ll hear us when we scream!” Lucy’s voice lifts above the noise.

That’s when someone throws a smoke bomb. A homemade one, probably, but enough to set off panic. The crowd shifts, some students coughing, others screaming. Someone knocks over a trash can. A sign splinters against the pavement.

“Shit,” Monica mutters, grabbing Lucy’s arm. “Get down, Lucy, get down!”

Blue lights flash at the edge of the quad.

“Campus security,” someone shouts. “No- cops! Cops are coming!”

Lucy jumps off the table just as two officers push into the crowd, hands already on their batons. They yell for dispersal, for IDs, for people to back away. But the students are too riled up now, too angry, too scared. One of the cops grabs a boy trying to run and slams him against a bench.

“We can’t back down! Stand up for what’s right!” Lucy shouts over the microphone, her voice cracking with effort.

The crowd is chaos now, with students pushing, shouting, and some scattering as the police form a perimeter. A second smoke bomb goes off, and someone pulls the fire alarm in the dorm across the quad. Sirens and static fill the air.

A cop breaks off from the others, heading straight toward the makeshift stage.

“Miss, step away from the microphone. This is an unlawful assembly!”

“I’m exercising my rights!” Lucy yells, stepping forward defiantly. “We have every right to be here!”

The officer grabs her arm. She jerks back instinctively, but he’s faster, twisting her wrist behind her.

“Hey!” Monica screams, trying to pull Lucy free. “She didn’t do anything!”

But Lucy’s being restrained now, the cop barking orders as he yanks her other arm behind her back, cold metal brushing her skin.

Across the quad, Schroeder pushes through the edge of the dispersing crowd, irritated and confused until he hears her voice. That voice. He stops in his tracks.

For a second, he thinks he’s hallucinating it. The shouting, the sirens, it’s all blending together. But then he sees her.

Hair a mess, eyes blazing, face flushed from adrenaline and fury. Her arms pulled behind her, a cop’s grip too tight on her wrists. She’s yelling something, maybe still protesting, maybe just trying to be heard over the chaos but all Schroeder can think is, it’s Lucy.

His heart drops out of his chest. And then he’s moving.

“Hey- HEY!” he yells, shoving forward, weaving through students and scattered signs. “Get off of her! That’s- let her go!”

Lucy’s fighting the hold, not violently, just shocked, breath coming fast, trying to keep her footing. Their eyes lock for one split second, and the shock registers on her face too.

Schroeder’s here. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so alone.

“Schroeder?” She says, not yet regulating her volume.

“You know her? Is this your wife, sir?” The police asks after seeing the look in Schroeder’s eyes. Schroeder’s brain is working overtime to analyze the situation and what he should say.

“Uh- yeah. Yes, sir, this is my wife. Can you please let her go?” Schroeder looks to the officer and watches Lucy’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as she looks between the two men.

The officer thinks about it for a moment before letting her arms go.

“Take her home. Watch this one, she’s loud,” he says, and Lucy nearly launches into a tirade about how he only let her go once she was suddenly someone’s wife, but Schroeder knows her too well. He grabs her arm and steers her away fast before she can escalate anything else.

She stumbles in her heels as he pulls her through the crowd, still fuming, still trying to make sense of what just happened. Once they’re far enough from the flashing lights and raised voices, she yanks her arm free and whirls on him.

“Schroeder Felton? What are you doing at my school?” she asks.

“You mean at my school? I was just trying to go meet with someone and then I see you about to get arrested, what the hell was that about?” He asks.

“You go here? Since when?”

“Since always!” Schroeder snaps, just short of exasperated. “Well, since freshman year. Transferred after one semester somewhere else, but yeah, this has been my school for a while.”

“How did I not know that?” Lucy stares at him, stunned.

“Don’t know,” he mutters, stuffing his hands in his pockets and starting to walk off, only half-turning to see if she follows. “How did I not know you were here? Oh and by the way? You would’ve talked my ear off about the ‘wife’ thing if this were ten years ago.”

“Yeah, well. I haven’t seen you since high school.” Lucy huffs a breath, half a laugh, half a scoff. He turns around to face her, walking backward as she begins to follow.

“I had to start getting serious, you know? If I wanted to make it out of the Midwest, anyway,” he shrugs. “I’d say ‘look at me now’ but I’m late for a meeting with the chairman of my department. So…”

“Wait, hold on-“ she holds her hand up before turning to dig in her purse.

The longer dark hair, tied back by a little blue headband. The fitted blue sweater, and sharp black pants. She’s shorter than he remembered, maybe always was, but somehow she seems even louder, her presence, her posture, her everything. Her hair’s bigger. So are her opinions. She still talks with her whole body. Still commands space like she owns it.

She pulls a cigarette out of her pack and a pen, suddenly unable to find any paper. Without knowing what else to do, she scribbles her phone number on it and hands it to him.

“I can’t- we have to talk about this later, so call me, or else I’ll have to find you myself,” she tells him.

Schroeder stares at the cigarette in his hand, then back up at her. She’s already walking away, turning back just once to toss him a look over her shoulder, a look that says ‘don’t forget’.

As if he could. He tucks the number into his coat pocket and watches her until she’s out of sight, her silhouette swallowed up by the thinning crowd of protestors and campus security.

For a moment, he just stands there. Lucy.

She was supposed to be gone. Just someone he’d remember once in a while when he thought about his youth. She had such a big crush on him and he distanced himself before he got to tell her that he thought he was starting to feel the same way.

And now here she is. Hair bigger, mouth sharper, still somehow managing to unearth pieces of him he thought he'd left behind in high school band rooms and late-night piano practices. And it’s a good thing he didn’t tell her because it went away fast once he stopped sleeping and spent every minute working on an audition piece.

He exhales hard, rubbing his hands over his face before turning on his heel and jogging toward the music building. He’s already ten minutes late.

The chairman’s office is on the second floor, tucked in the corner behind the recital hall. Schroeder knocks once before stepping inside.

“Ah, Mr. Felton,” the chairman says, standing to greet him. “We were just talking about you.”

“Sorry, I’m late, sir. There was…chaos. Outside.” Schroeder forces a polite smile.

“Ah, yes, the protest. I heard,” The chairman waves it off like a mild thunderstorm. “No matter. You’re here now.”

He gestures for Schroeder to sit, then slides a folder across the desk.

“We’re putting together this year’s Spring Arts Showcase, and your name came up more than once. I’d like you to take the lead on composing the central piece.” he requests.

“Me? But that usually goes to a senior.” Schroeder blinks.

“You’re one of- if not our strongest composer, and you’ve proven yourself as a performer. I want this year’s program to be memorable and bold. Political, even, if that’s what speaks to you.”

Schroeder opens the folder slowly. There are timelines, venue details, and a list of featured performers. It’s…a big deal. Bigger than he expected.

He nods, trying to stay focused but Lucy’s voice keeps cutting through the memory, defiant and electric, the way it did when she was fourteen and yelling at a judge for giving Schroeder a B rating at regionals.

“Thank you,” he says finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Good. I trust you’ll bring something meaningful to the table.” The chairman smiles, satisfied.

Schroeder leaves the office with the folder tucked under his arm and Lucy’s number burning a hole in his pocket.

[simpforpeterp]

me and that one twink that does NOT want me

[simpforpeterp]

sam sdv x OC

The Dugout

summary: an excerpt from my story on AO3 Get It Right the First Time! a story in which the most famous woman in the world suddenly disappears to move into her grandpa’s old farm and reunite with her best friend from kindergarten to high school (this excerpt is from sam’s eight (???) heart event with the band)

warnings: mentions of alcohol/addiction

word count: 4.5k

“Hi, everyone. We’re from Pelican Town…er- and we’re called Xenon Chip 3.0,” Sam announces, his voice cracking slightly. He scratches the back of his neck, glancing nervously at the crowd, and Lainey can’t help but smile. She laughs under her breath, watching him fumble for a second before he adds, “Here we go.”

The first chords of the song hit, and Lainey’s grin spreads wide as Sam’s voice carries over the noise.

“Woohoo! That’s my best friend!” She shouts, jumping up and down in the front row. Her voice cuts through the cheers, and for a moment, Sam glances her way, his lips twitching upward in a shy, fleeting smile.

But as she cheers again, she catches Penny’s unintentional glare from her left, quick and subtle, but sharp enough to leave an impression. Lainey falters, her hands dropping to her sides as heat rises in her cheeks. It’s stupid, she knows, Penny probably didn’t even mean it, but the look lingers in her mind. It feels like a reminder that she doesn’t quite belong here anymore, that no matter how many nights she spends in Stardew Valley, part of her is still the pop star who doesn’t know how to blend in.

She forces herself to shake it off, turning her attention back to the stage. Sam is moving now, falling into the rhythm of the music. His hands glide over his guitar with practiced ease, his voice gaining strength with each note. He’s in his element, and it’s breathtaking to watch.

She’d seen him like this before, all those years ago, when they were teenagers and he’d play her his rough demos in his room. He’d sit on the floor, cross-legged, his hair sticking out at odd angles, strumming his guitar like it was the most natural thing in the world. She’d sit on his bed, half-listening, half-distracted by how his hands moved over the strings or the way his voice cracked in a way that was somehow perfect.

He hasn’t changed much since then. But she has.

She isn’t just the girl next door anymore, the one who spent summers running through the fields and sneaking out to the forest with Sam. She’s been on stages like this herself, looking out at seas of strangers, feeling the weight of their expectations. She knows what it’s like to stand where he’s standing now, and somehow, that makes watching him all the more surreal.

Because she knows how much this means to him. She knows how hard he’s worked, how much he’s doubted himself. And she also knows that no matter how good he is tonight, he’ll never believe it’s enough.

Her heart twists as she watches him, her cheeks flushing again for an entirely different reason. She feels it like a knot in her chest, a mix of pride and longing that she can’t quite unravel.

She’s never felt this way about anyone before, not even Adam, not even during her so-called glory days. With Sam, it’s different. It’s quieter, steadier, deeper. It’s in the way he looks at her, the way he tries to hide his nerves but always fumbles just a little when she’s around. It’s in the way she knows him better than anyone else, and still, she wants to know more.

She wants to tell him how good he sounds, how proud she is, and how much it means to her that he’s letting her be here for this. She wants to tell him that the reason she’s here, the reason she came back to Stardew Valley at all, has everything to do with him.

But for now, all she can do is watch, her hands clasped in front of her as if holding them together might stop her from falling apart.

And when Sam looks her way again, his eyes scanning the crowd and landing on her for just a moment, her heart skips. Because in that moment, it feels like the whole world has disappeared, and it’s just the two of them, like it’s always been.

She looks up at Sam with starry eyes. She knows now without a doubt that liking the boy in the band can still apply to famous artists. Because her face is flushing more and more as she watches Sam on stage.

The skyline of the city is perfectly in view behind them so she pulls out a little camera from her bag. She turns it on and immediately angles it up to see all three of them with the skyline behind them. Sam sees and feels pain rip through his chest because he’s never wanted anyone more than the girl smiling so wide as she takes a picture of them. How did he ever kiss her and not just tell her how he felt right then and there?

Sam’s fingers stumble over a chord, and he bites down hard on his lip to recover before anyone notices. But Lainey notices. She always notices. Her head tilts just slightly, and for a second, their eyes meet again, and it feels like the air between them crackles with something neither of them can name.

Lainey lowers the camera, her lips curving into a smile so radiant it almost hurts to look at.

Sam’s heart twists painfully, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks about the night they kissed. He can still feel it sometimes, the press of her lips against his, the way her hands trembled just slightly when she touched him, the way everything in the world had gone silent except for the pounding of his heart.

It was perfect, wasn’t it? And yet, somehow, it hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t said the things he wanted to say. He hadn’t told her the truth about how he felt, about how she made him feel.

And now she’s standing there, looking up at him like he’s the center of the universe, and it’s breaking him apart because he knows he can’t have her.

The song builds to its final chorus, and Sam tears his gaze away from her, pouring everything he’s feeling into the music. His fingers press harder into the strings, his voice rising with a rawness he can’t contain. He doesn’t know if anyone else in the room can hear the difference, but he knows Lainey can.

She always can.

When the song ends, the applause is thunderous, but all Sam can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. He glances toward Lainey again, hoping she’s still looking at him, hoping for something he doesn’t even know how to name.

She’s clapping, her camera hanging loosely from her wrist, her face glowing with pride. And in that moment, Sam swears he sees something in her eyes—something soft and warm and achingly familiar.

But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her playful grin as she holds her camera up again and snaps another photo.

“Thanks, everyone!” Sam says proudly into the microphone before his eyes fall on her again. Everyone can tell he’s looking at her from the lovestruck look on his face as she obliviously smiles and waves at him. “But you should really be clapping for Lainey. Without her help, we would've never decided what kind of music to make in the first place.”

There’s more applause and cheers as her cheeks go pink. Penny smiles softly before swallowing and turning to her.

“So you're like an honorary member of the band, then?” She nudges Lainey.

“Not really, they’re all the brains and I’m just happy to be here.” She laughs to Penny before looking back up at Sam.

“Oh! And don't forget to pick up one of our demo cassettes on the way out... Only 10g!” Sam adds and the crowd cheers again.

The crowd’s energy still buzzes in the air as the band files off the makeshift stage. Sam pulls his guitar strap over his head, letting the instrument hang loosely in his grip. His hands feel clammy, his heart pounding from more than just the performance.

“You good, man?” Sebastian asks, his voice low as they shuffle backstage.

“Yeah,” Sam mumbles, not meeting his eyes. “I’m fine. Let’s just get out there.”

Sebastian doesn’t respond but Sam already feels off. He leads the way to come back around where the audience once even though they’ve already dispersed. Some are by the bathrooms, some are by the bar, and some are just chatting around.

When they walk out, everyone from town is waiting for them happily. It’s shocking how excited they all are. Jodi tosses herself around Sam and sways for a moment so happily. Lainey rushes to Abigail first, pulling her into such a tight hug. Pierre and Caroline didn’t bother to show up so Lainey makes sure she has someone to go to right after.

“You are one hell of a drummer, Abby.” Lainey smiles as she holds onto her so tightly.

“Thank you, Lainey,” She squeezes back. “That was so much fun!”

“You have got to see the pictures I got later, they are incredible.” Lainey finally pulls away and tells her.

After that she sees Sam and Sebastian talking to Robin and Demetrius but she walks over anyway. She gently grabs Sam’s arm and slowly pulls him her way because Robin was telling Sebastian something anyway.

“Sam! Oh Yoba, if I could pick you up right now and spin you around, I would.” She tells him happily before quickly pulling him into a hug.

Sam freezes for a fraction of a second, her sudden embrace catching him off guard. But then his arms find their way around her, squeezing her back just as tightly. He rests his chin lightly on top of her head, letting himself get lost in the warmth of her hug for just a moment too long.

“You’d totally drop me,” He murmurs, trying to keep his voice light, but there’s a tremor there and something he’s sure she doesn’t miss. Lainey pulls back just enough to look up at him, her hands still gripping his arms.

“Don’t underestimate me. I’m stronger than I look,” She teases, her smile so genuine it makes his chest ache. “If I had enough adrenaline I could carry you for a good bit.”

“Yeah,” He says quietly, his voice almost swallowed by the lingering hum of the crowd. “I know. You’re strong but not strong enough without the adrenaline.”

“When we’re in the zombie apocalypse, you’ll see how tough I am.” She flashes him that smile again where her eyes crinkle and she looks completely and utterly happy.

“Sam! We’re heading over to the bar. You coming?” Sebastian calls as he’s walking away.

Sam glances over his shoulder, the spell between him and Lainey breaking.

“Yeah, give me a sec!” He calls back.

“Go celebrate with your band,” Lainey lets go of him, stepping back with a soft laugh. “I’ll still be here after. Probably dancing but most definitely sober for when you’re ready to go home.”

Sam hesitates, his gaze lingering on her as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and flashes him that patient, glowing smile. Part of him wants to stay right here, just the two of them, away from the noise and the crowd and the mess in his head. But another part, the louder, messier part, pushes him toward the bar, toward the night that’s already waiting for him.

“Yeah,” He says finally, forcing a grin. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

As he turns and follows Sebastian, he feels her eyes on his back, and he wonders if she sees through him, if she knows just how badly he’s unraveling.

Lainey watches him go, her smile fading as a strange, gnawing sensation settles in her chest. It’s not jealousy, not really. It’s something deeper, something that’s been building ever since she came back to Stardew Valley. She shakes it off, telling herself it’s just the adrenaline from the show.

The music playing in the area is picking up and people from Pelican Town are already dancing in the middle area. It’s funny to see people let loose in a way they haven’t before.

“That show was incredible,” Harvey sneaks up behind Lainey as she watches the people dancing. “It’s been a minute since me and you have really talked.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” She tells him honestly. “Things have been so hectic on the farm, there’s hay coming out of my ears. And then I have these farm half-dreams half-hallucinations when I’m in that stage between awake and asleep. I know I’m in my bed but for some reason, I’m also doing farm work in the hallucination and I ask myself why I’m doing farm work when I’m in bed but I don’t stop because it’s piling up in front of me. Sorry, you didn’t want to hear all that, Harvey. Let’s dance. You probably danced a lot in college, huh?”

“I don’t talk about those first four years a lot because I don’t remember half of them, I partied too hard.” He smiles, holding a hand out to her.

“Oh, come on, we are so dancing!”

“What is going on with you?” Sebastian asks as Sam gets comfortable at the bar with a drink in his hand.

“I’m a musician! Let me be.” Sam tells him.

“Whatever, dude. You’re doing too much.” Sebastian sighs and turns around to face the crowd.

He sees Lainey and Harvey and her face is totally lighting up. She looks happy. It’s been a while since she’s been around any of this and it’s clear to them she’s handling it well.

“Lainey’s having a good time.” Sebastian hums.

“What do you mean?” Sam asks but Sebastian just points and he sees Lainey with Harvey. She’s laughing and holding onto his arm as she does because she’s laughing so hard. Sam just rolls his eyes. “Oh, Harvey, you’re here. This fucking guy.”

“Hey, what’s your deal? We just had our first show and you’re being negative.” Sebastian complains before immediately walking off.

Sam sits there for a moment as the sun begins to set completely, darkening the area. It’s getting harder to focus on one thing as he anchors himself to the bar.

“Hey, you were great out there,” A voice says from beside him. He turns to see this girl with red hair who’s smiling at him like she’s trouble. “You’re cute. You should buy me a drink.”

Sam thinks for a moment. This is weird. But he also doesn’t really care when the girl he’s sure he loves is dancing with his doctor.

“Sure, why not?”

After an hour of having more fun in the city sober than she had in a long time, Lainey and Harvey step to the side. Elliott and Leah could definitely give them a run for their money.

“They could be cute together, don’t you think?” Lainey gestures to them.

“I don’t know. Don’t they seem more like friends?” Harvey asks.

“See, that’s what I thought at first but after doing some research I think it could make sense.” She tells him.

“What kind of research?” He laughs.

“I was talking to Leah and giving her a lot of goat cheese and eventually she told me all about her ex from the city. She opened up about a lot of things with her art too. See, she does physical art with her sculptures and stuff and he writes poems and stories and he’s definitely a lover, not a fighter like her ex. He’d probably worship her, which she probably needs right now.” Lainey tells him before reaching into her bag.

“How do you connect with people so easily? You’re so observant and easy to open up to, I don’t think I could ever be that w-“ Harvey starts before she loudly gasps. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my lipstick. Fuck, it must’ve fallen out of my bag when it was laying on the couch backstage to joke around. Sorry, I’ll be right back.” Lainey places a hand on his arm before turning that way.

Lainey moves quickly toward the backstage area, weaving through the clusters of people still chatting and lingering around the festival grounds. Her mind is half-focused on the missing lipstick, but there’s also a lingering warmth in her chest from the evening, the music, the laughter, the fun. It feels like she’s finally settling into something she hasn’t felt in years.

But as she pushes open the door to the backstage room, that warmth freezes into something cold and sharp.

Lainey stands frozen, the scene in front of her hitting her like a sucker punch. Sam, HER Sam, is tangled up with some girl on the couch with him on top of her, his hands on her waist, their mouths pressed together like they can’t get enough. The vodka bottle sits abandoned on the table, half-empty, but the sight of it feels full. Full of everything she thought she’d left behind.

Her chest tightens, her pulse hammering as the memories flood in of late nights, half-drunk laughter, strangers whose names she didn’t care to remember, kisses she didn’t want but went along with anyway because she was too out of it to care. The couch Sam’s on could’ve been in any one of those dressing rooms. It’s all too familiar. Too much.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” She chokes out, her voice barely recognizable to her own ears.

Sam stumbles back, his eyes wild and unfocused as they lock on her.

“Lainey-”

“Don’t.” Her hand flies up, her voice cracking under the weight of the moment. “Just don’t. What the hell are you doing, Sam? What is this?”

The girl shifts awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable now, but Lainey’s not looking at her. Her gaze is locked on Sam, who looks every bit the deer in headlights.

“I-” He falters, his words slurring slightly, and Lainey lets out a bitter laugh.

“You’re drunk,” she spits. “Of course you are. Yoba, this is so-” She breaks off, her breath catching in her throat as the past and present blur together. “This is exactly what my life used to be like. The drinking, the making out with strangers on disgusting couches- this is why I left, Sam! This is what I was running from!”

Her voice cracks again, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she throws her hands up in frustration.

“And you’re supposed to be better than this. I thought you were better.” She says, her voice like poison. Sam’s face falls, his jaw tightening as her words hit him.

“Lainey, please, I-”

“Don’t follow me,” She snaps, already backing toward the door. “I can’t, I can’t do this. Not again.”

The cool night air slaps her in the face as she pushes through the venue gates, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The parking lot is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos in her mind. She presses a hand to her chest, trying to ground herself, but it doesn’t work.

Her whole body feels like it’s vibrating, the memories swirling in her head like a storm she can’t escape. The parties, the mistakes, the emptiness, all of it rushes back, suffocating her.

She thought she left this behind. She thought she was done with this. It’s all so familiar in a way that makes her mouth sour and her body shake.

Her legs give out, and she sinks onto the curb, her head in her hands as the tears finally spill over. She doesn’t even hear the footsteps behind her until Sam’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Lainey.”

Her head snaps up, and the sight of him only stokes the fire in her chest. He’s still flushed from the alcohol, his hair messy, his eyes filled with something that might be regret or maybe she’s just hoping it is.

“I told you not to follow me,” She says, her voice low and raw.

“I know,” He says, running a hand through his hair. “I know, but- I couldn’t just let you leave like that.”

“Why not?” She stands, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “So you could give me another excuse? Another ‘I’m sorry’? Because I’m so tired of hearing that, Sam. I’m tired of all of it.”

Sam’s mouth opens, then closes again, like he doesn’t know what to say. And for the first time, Lainey doesn’t wait for him to figure it out.

“You have no idea what it took for me to come back here,” She says, her voice rising. “To leave everything I worked for and try to start over. And I thought, you made me think, it was worth it. That you were worth it.”

The words hang in the air between them, and Sam looks like she just punched him in the gut.

“Lainey, I-”

“You’re drunk and making out with random girls while I’m out there cheering you on? That you’re turning into exactly the kind of person I thought you weren’t? This is all so familiar in the worst ways and my chest hurts, I feel like I can’t breathe. Seeing someone I love so much in that same position is too much, too much for all the healing I’ve been trying to do.” She shakes her head.

“Lainey, come on-“

“No,” She cuts him off, her voice trembling. “Don’t. Just don’t. I can’t keep doing this, Sam. I can’t keep pretending that you’re the same guy I grew up with if you’re not, if you’re-”

She breaks off, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

“That’s not fair! For those five years you were gone, you called me five times! Five!” Sam tells her but she stands up so quickly.

“It’s not fair? What’s not fair is me running around like an idiot all day for you! Going with your dad to the city to get you a stupid cake and running around all year, going out of my way to make you happy because you were the one person who never made me feel like shit about anything until now,” She says as her eyes gloss over and his heart pulls because she looks so heartbroken. It kills him. “You don’t think I’ve felt bad about that? I’ve felt horrible! I cry about it like all the time because you deserved better but I try to be gentle with myself because it’s not like you called me either.”

“Lainey, I’m sorry,” He says, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I just-“

“I can’t even look at you, Sam,” She breathes out, the lump in her throat growing as tears finally spill. “I am…such an idiot.”

“Lain-“

“No, I am. Sam…I’ve been in love with you since middle school. Probably since before that too but I don’t remember clear enough before middle school,” She tells him and his ears immediately start ringing and his stomach falls to the floor. “I didn’t move back here for you specifically but you were a big reason because no one else has ever felt like home the way you do. And now…I am so dumb. I’ve never felt so stupid, I’m an idiot. And I don’t want to be around you right now when I feel so embarrassed and so fucking stupid- I’m gonna go home. Take the bus with everyone else.”

Lainey storms toward her car, her breaths shallow and uneven, her face wet with tears she can’t seem to stop. Every part of her aches, like her heart is breaking in real-time, and her hands tremble as she digs in her bag for her keys.

“Lainey, wait!” Sam’s voice calls out behind her, but she doesn’t stop.

“Don’t, Sam!” She shouts over her shoulder, finally yanking her keys free. “Just leave me alone!”

She throws herself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind her and jamming the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and for a brief moment, she sits there gripping the steering wheel, her chest rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths.

But then she sees Sam out of the corner of her eye, standing in the middle of the parking lot, looking lost and broken and so much like the boy she used to know that it physically hurts. She tears her gaze away, putting the car into drive and pulling out before she can change her mind.

As she turns out onto the main road, the tears spill faster. She feels so dumb, she’s never felt so idiotic before. She should’ve known better than thinking Sam was too good to be true because when has anything ever worked out for her like that? Behind her, Sam is already running.

“Wait!” He yells, his voice hoarse and desperate. He stumbles onto the street, waving his arms at the first car he sees, a bright yellow taxi idling near the venue entrance.

Thankfully, it stops and Sam quickly climbs in. He’s already pulling his wallet out and shoving a wad of cash toward the man.

“Take me to Pelican Town. All of this, just- please. Don’t ask questions, just drive and all the cash in this wallet is yours.” Sam tells him.

“Pelican Town, huh?” The driver mutters as he pulls onto the road. “That’s a bit of a drive.”

“I have more than enough,” Sam says, leaning forward, his voice urgent. “Just go. Please.”

The car speeds off into the night, the city lights fading into the background as they head toward the valley. Sam’s mind races, his chest tightening with every mile that separates him from Lainey.

Her words replay in his head, over and over, until they’re all he can hear: “I’ve been in love with you since middle school. No one else has ever felt like home the way you do.” He knows now without a doubt that he loves this girl because seeing her like that has broken his heart into pieces. He loves her, fuck, he’s so in love with her.

It could only ever be Lainey. He couldn’t even enjoy kissing that girl because she wasn’t Lainey. She didn’t run her hands through his hair the way Lainey did, her lips didn’t cause him to spiral in the way Lainey’s did. Sinking into her didn’t feel like coming home the way Lainey did.

He presses his hands to his face, groaning softly. He’s messed everything up. He’s ruined the one thing that’s ever really mattered to him, and the only thought keeping him sane is the hope that maybe, just maybe, he can fix it.

[simpforpeterp]

[simpforpeterp]

stanford pines x reader

I Believe in a Thing Called Love

summary: on the road trip to bring the kids back to california, you have to keep ford awake!

warnings: none!

word count: 749

After deciding to drive the kids back to California this year for a road trip, Ford was unlucky enough to be picked to drive overnight. Stan, Mabel, and Dipper are asleep in the backseat despite the music you were blaring to keep you awake so you can keep Ford awake.

After all, if you had fallen asleep in the passenger seat, it’d only make Ford more tired. So, you’re night driving buddies. He has a lot of catching up to do music-wise so you’ve been playing your favorite songs going up from each year.

He, to be honest, doesn’t give a shit about the music. He’s not a music person, it takes up too much time and can be distracting. He especially hates when songs are over three minutes because he thinks the singers are being selfish by taking so many minutes of his life.

But watching you while it plays? Singing and having such a great time? His heart could explode any minute now. This thing between you two hasn’t been spoken about yet. It’s only been stolen glances and a silent yearning. Neither of you believe that the other would be interested because of the slight age difference.

Nonetheless, you can flirt with him in very small ways through the songs you play.

“Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel. My heart's in overdrive and you're behind the steering wheel,” You place a hand on his arm that gets a smile out of him before you jokingly snake it up to his shoulder. “Touching you, touching me

Touching you, God, you're touching me.”

You sit up straighter for the chorus so happily and in shock that the people asleep in the back are still asleep.

“I believe in a thing called love. Just listen to the rhythm of my heart. There's a chance we could make it now. We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down. I believe in a thing called love, hoo, ooh-hoo.” You tap along the windows as you sing, the wind moving your hair perfectly.

“He’s not singing, he’s yelling.” Ford tells you through laughter, speaking over the music.

“You totally suck. You’re no fun.” You laugh with him as he slightly turns the volume down.

“You totally suck.” He jokingly mocks your voice and then realizes what just happened. He just acted childish for the first time in decades.

“And what do you listen to?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not THAT boring.” You laugh and the sound is music to his ears as you slightly turn your body to face him even more. He desperately tries to keep his eyes on the road but it’s so hard when it comes to you.

“You really don’t listen to anything?” You ask, glancing over at him, curiosity in your eyes and he shrugs, trying to play it off.

“I…never made much time for it,” He admits, his voice soft. “Always had too much on my mind. Music felt like…well, like a distraction.”

“You’re allowed to be distracted every now and then, you know. Life isn’t just about… equations and discoveries and whatever else goes on in that brain of yours,” You shake your head, amused. “I’m distracted ninety percent of the time. Music is rarely the cause. It actually helps me focus sometimes. It drowns out the noises that drive me crazy like if I’m in a library, it feels like my senses are amplified. I hate hearing every push in and out of everyone’s chairs and pens writing, I need my headphones.”

“Maybe so. But I don’t think I’d ever be good at it the way you are.” He hums.

“Good at music?” You laugh, incredulous. “Ford, it’s not about being good at it. It’s about feeling it.”

Ford watches you, captivated. The way you let yourself be so free, so uninhibited—it’s something he envies, a part of life he’s never quite understood but longs to experience.

“I’m not the type of guy to ‘feel’ the sound of a bunch of different instruments.” He chuckles.

“Maybe you’re just lame then.” You gently nudge him.

“Lame? How many degrees do I need to get to not be lame?” He asks.

“Negative ten. You need to loosen up.” You tell him.

“And how do I do that?”

“I don’t know. Listen to some music.” You tell him with a small smile pulling at your lips as you lean on the window and look away.

[simpforpeterp]

stanford pines x reader

Look Me in the Eye

summary: based on a daisy jones and the six scene! a one shot in which ford comes home from a crazy night with bill, pushing you to your limit

warnings: a slap from reader to ford. gender neutral reader! this one shot came from a chapter of my actual oc story about ford but i made it gender neutral x reader because i’m so proud of this scene.

word count: 4.4k

With Fiddleford back home for Thanksgiving and the portal on a brief hiatus, you’d think Ford would take that chance to be home. But he doesn’t; he keeps working. So, you decide to try and get some work done too. Writing hasn’t come easy, though.

Ford is God knows where, and you’re sitting at your piano, staring at the keys, waiting for the words to come. At this point, a part of you has accepted that the Ford you married is somewhere deep in the back of his brain. He said he would do better, but he hasn’t. You think back to your cousin and how you swore that you wouldn’t let yourself end up like that—in a small town with a deadbeat partner and a baby.

The only thing you don’t have out of those things is a baby, which you don’t want. When you were younger, you always saw yourself having kids. But when you marry a human, it’s a little strange to think about. It’s unknown if you could even have kids together. There were legends back home about two humans in the demon realm, and one of them married and had a baby with a witch.

You do a mini birth control spell that you’re not even sure works. Well, it’s worked so far—you haven’t gotten pregnant yet. Ford wouldn’t give a damn about a baby anyway, so why even put it at the forefront of your mind? And you’re fine without kids. You’re not one of those people who craved kids their whole life and dreamed about what life with children would look like.

You always assumed it would happen if it happened. And with Ford, it’s not happening. These past few months have proven that more than ever because he’s rarely home. The way most couples go out to dinner at the end of a long day, you and Ford go out to breakfast two or three times a week. But he’s usually trying to hide the fact that he’s rushing to get back to work.

His attempt at spending time with you is noted but not necessarily accepted.

The door creaks open, and you hear the unsteady shuffle of Ford’s footsteps before you see him. He stumbles into the room, shirtless, his hair a tangled mess, eyes glassy, and reeking of alcohol. He stands there in the doorway, looking at you with a mix of shame and regret, unable to meet your gaze for long. He tries to speak, but the words fumble out, barely coherent.

“Ford,” you breathe, your voice wavering between anger and concern. You step closer to him, looking at how droopy and tired his eyes look. “What happened to you?”

“I… I know Bill took it too far this time, but it doesn’t… it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not—” He’s almost nonverbal, his normally sharp mind dulled by the alcohol and Bill’s lingering influence. When you see new tattoos on his body, you lose it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ford? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand. He doesn’t even look at you; his mind is completely somewhere else. It’s as if Ford isn’t even in there right now.

Before he can respond, you close the distance between you, and your hand connects with his face in a swift, stinging slap. Given that you’re smaller than him, it doesn’t do much other than make him look at you. Ford looks at you, stunned, his hand moving slowly to his cheek where your slap left its mark and a slight stinging pain.

“You come home like this,” you say, your voice breaking as tears well up in your eyes. “After everything, you think you can just brush it off? You think you can say it doesn’t mean anything and that’s supposed to be enough?”

Ford’s lips tremble, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how much he hates himself for what he’s become, but the words won’t come.

“What happened to the man I married?” you continue, your voice softer now, though no less pained. “Where’s the Ford who would move mountains for me, who promised we’d get through anything together? Because this…” You gesture at him, tears finally spilling over. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

Ford’s eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. He knows he’s the cause, knows that he’s pushed you to the edge, but he still can’t let go of the work, of the promises he made to Bill. But none of that matters now—not when he sees how much he’s hurting you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “I… it’s Bill, but I—”

“So, who do I blame?” you ask, and he doesn’t have an answer. “Who the fuck do you think you are, acting like this? You come home from doing God knows what, God knows where, and have the nerve to try to defend Bill? After all of this bullshit, you still think he’s someone worth putting up with?”

You look at him, your anger slowly giving way to a deep, aching sadness. You still love him—God, you love him so much—but this version of Ford, the one who’s been consumed by his work and Bill’s influence, is breaking your heart piece by piece.

“I love you, Ford. I love you so much it hurts, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself… and us.” Your voice trembles as you take a step back, the space between you feeling like a chasm.

“Please… I don’t want to lose you. I love you more than anything. I’m sorry.” Ford reaches out to you, desperation in his eyes.

You hesitate, looking at the man you married, the one you’ve been trying to hold on to, but you can’t shake the fear that he’s already slipping away.

“You’re losing me, Stanford.” You shake your head as another tear falls, and it’s like everything comes bubbling over all at once.

Ford reaches out, desperate to close the distance between you, but you step back, gently pushing him away. Your hands, though soft against his chest, carry the weight of all the anger and hurt you’ve been holding in.

“Go take a shower, Ford,” you say, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m not going to talk to you again until you do.”

Your words hit him like a cold splash of reality. He can see the resolve in your eyes, the line you’re drawing in the sand. You’re not just angry; you’re done—at least for now. Ford hesitates, wanting to say something, anything to make this right, but the look on your face tells him that words won’t fix this. Not this time.

He nods, defeated, and turns away, heading for the bathroom. The sound of the door closing behind him feels like a finality he’s not ready to face. He lingers for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob, hoping you’ll say something—anything—to stop him from leaving the room. But you don’t.

As he steps into the shower, the hot water cascades over him, washing away the grime and sweat from the night, but it does nothing to ease the weight on his chest. He leans against the tiled wall, water mingling with the tears he’s been holding back.

His heart breaks. He knew after every other little crack in your relationship that this was coming. But nothing could’ve made him ready for the day you finally snapped. And he knows you don’t believe he loves you as much as he does, which kills him.

Meanwhile, you watch him disappear into the bathroom, your heart heavy with the love you still feel for him, mixed with the deep-seated pain of watching him spiral. You turn on your heel, walking away, needing the space to gather yourself before you can even think about facing him again. As you move through your home, every room feels colder and emptier, and you can’t shake the fear that the warmth you once shared might be slipping away for good.

After all that, you feel like you need a shower too. You can’t believe you said all that and exploded. It felt like it was a long time coming and this was the final straw. His coming home like that, completely shameless, made you feel an anger you hadn’t felt before. Anger because you always said you could do better than your family, but he’s making you feel the same as they did.

When Ford finally emerges, clean but still burdened, he heads into your bedroom. He notices you sitting there with red, puffy eyes. He doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, but you have to know how pissed I am,” you speak first as he takes a seat beside you on the bed. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it. You’re never around anymore, and when you are, it seems like you just want to get away from me. It’s fine if you don’t love me anymore; I’d be heartbroken, but I’d be okay. I’d be even more heartbroken if you kept me hanging around here when it’s just me who still loves you.”

Ford feels his throat tighten at your words, guilt and sorrow gnawing at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat. How can he make you understand that his distance has never been about a lack of love? How can he convince you that despite everything, you’re still the most important part of his life?

“I always promised myself I wouldn’t be this,” you start. “Sitting around as if I need someone. I never wanted to be the person stuck at home, trotting around at the genius’ heels. Especially not with someone who doesn’t—who might not—” your voice trembles, and he quickly jumps in.

“I do love you,” he finally whispers, his voice hoarse. “I love you more than anything. I’m just… lost. This work, everything I’ve been doing—it’s consumed me, and I know I’ve let it come between us. But please, don’t ever think that I don’t love you. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

You listen, your eyes searching his face for sincerity. You can see the regret there, the deep sadness in his eyes, but you’ve heard apologies before. You need more than just words. Ford reaches out, taking your hand in his, holding it like a lifeline. He can feel your fingers trembling, and it breaks his heart all over again.

“I know I’ve been terrible,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work that I’ve neglected you, neglected us. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I’ll do better—I promise I’ll do better.”

“How many times have we had this conversation, Ford? I—I’m getting tired,” you breathe out.

“I mean, what do you want me to tell you here? Do you want me to say I’m never gonna work with Bill again? Because I can’t! I need him.” Ford tries.

“No, you don’t!” you slightly raise your voice before sighing.

“Do you want me to just stop working so you can be making money and supporting me while I do nothing? I mean, fuck, you’re not exactly writing or anything right now,” he breathes out.

“I’m trying,” you say firmly.

“I can’t… I can’t lose so you’re comfortable! I can’t lose because you can’t win,” he raises his voice.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. Neither of you speaks, but Ford instantly regrets it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” your voice breaks.

He’s failed you in so many ways, and he’s terrified that it might be too late to fix things. But as he looks into your eyes, he knows he has to try.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right,” he says, his voice trembling with conviction. “Just… please don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

“I don’t believe you,” you cry, and he slightly stiffens. “I mean, did you hear what you just said? I need to go for a drive or something.”

“Wait, please,” he starts, but you’re already standing up and trying to leave. “I’m so in love with you it feels like I can’t breathe when I’m not with you!”

As you try to walk out as quickly as possible to hide your tears, he sees your hand come up to wipe them.

“Please don’t go,” he begs, finally catching up with you and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Please, just hear me out.”

“I’ll hear you out later, I just need a minute. I don’t want to give up on this, but I just… I need a coffee or something,” you look him in the eyes, and everything in him softens.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “Just… please, come home to me.”

“I will. I’ll be back soon,” you nod.

Ford watches helplessly as you leave. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. His heart aches with a pain he can’t describe, but he doesn’t have the time to wallow. The moment you’re gone, something snaps inside him, and he storms back into his office.

Once inside, Ford slams the door shut and collapses into his chair, his body shaking as the tears finally break free. He buries his face in his hands, the sobs wracking his body with a force he hasn’t felt in years. All of the pain, the regret, the self-loathing—it all comes pouring out in a way that feels like it could tear him apart.

But before he can even begin to regain control, he senses a familiar presence. The air in the room changes, becoming thick with an ominous energy that Ford knows all too well.

"Why the long face, Sixer?" Bill’s voice cuts through the silence. "Having a little lover’s quarrel?"

Ford lifts his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Bill’s glowing form. Rage surges through him, raw and untamed.

"This is your fault," he yells. "You’ve ruined everything!"

"Me? Ruin? Oh, come on, Fordsy. You know this was bound to happen. You’re the one who’s been pushing them away, not me." Bill laughs, the sound echoing eerily off the walls. Ford’s fists clench at his sides, the anger building to a boiling point.

"I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!" he shouts, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. "My marriage is falling apart because of you!"

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," Bill taunts, his voice dripping with condescension. "You think I made you neglect them? Do you think I made you ignore all those signs? That’s all you, pal. I see everything, and they’ve been telling you how they feel like every day. It’s not my fault you don’t care enough to do anything about it."

"I- why did you have to go so crazy in my body? I respect you, and I’m still finishing the portal, but what the hell? At the end of the day, I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you." Ford glares.

"You think finishing that portal is going to fix your problems? Oh, Fordsy, you’re in way over your head. Stop blaming me. It’s not my fault you want to see me more than your own spouse." Bill laughs.

"Maybe you can’t process emotions like this, but they’re the love of my life. Before them, I hadn’t really dated anyone, and I wasn’t even sleeping around or anything; I was a loser. The only reason I ended up with someone as incredible as them without ruining it, like usual, is because I saw them as an anomaly at first. I didn’t think I was flirting or anything. I don’t know what I’d do if they left me. I wouldn’t even know what love is without them. You need to think about what your actions can mean for other people, Bill." Ford turns back to Bill.

"Clearly, you’re the one that needs to think about your actions. Isn’t it crazy that if you neglect someone’s feelings, they won’t want to be with you anymore? Even I can understand that!" Bill laughs, and Ford just stands up.

Ford sits there for a moment before he decides he can’t take it anymore. He stands up and heads to the music room. Bill yells things as he walks away, but Ford doesn’t hear it. He heads straight for a notebook full of songs they’ve written. His heart is racing as he opens it and sees so many that he hasn’t even heard yet.

In fact, this is a new notebook almost full of songs he hasn’t heard except for a few at the beginning. Have they not tried to show him, or has he not tried to listen? He reads the sad lyrics of almost every song, lyrics about feeling lonely when with someone you love and waking up alone. Songs about how they try to convince themselves that they’re a part of his life but not feeling like it. When did he start pulling away from them?

You sit in your car with a to-go cup of coffee, unsure if you should drive home yet or simmer for a little while longer. Your fingers tap on the warm cup as you try to think clearly. Your love for Ford is swarming every inch of your mind. But you know you shouldn’t accept what you don’t deserve, and you know you haven’t done anything to deserve this.

The version of you before Ford would’ve threatened a divorce already to try and scare him. You don’t want to do that now, but you want him to realize that you can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep following in his stride instead of walking beside him. You’ve won ten Grammys; it’s not as if you’re unaccomplished with no other options but to stay with him.

But you want to stay with him. Ford is so loving and warm. No one has ever loved you the way he has. Hell, no one other than Ford has seen you as more than a one-night thing. And you love him so much. You can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s something here for you to try to understand that you don’t already.

You look at the ring on your finger—his ring. And you don’t feel like other people have described, like it’s a handcuff or a jail cell that’s keeping you locked to him. You love being married to Ford. Saying you don’t and never did would be a complete lie. You just don’t love being mostly ignored by the man you love.

For someone so smart, he can be such an idiot sometimes. Letting some kind of entity possess his body whenever it pleases is a new low. Is that my problem? Bill? you think. It’s not right to you that his weakest self gets to decide how your life is going to turn out; you get to decide that. And what you want is a life—a beautiful marriage, a home—with him. With the man you know he truly is. And you’re going to get it, hell or high water.

You take a deep breath, your eyes still fixed on the ring as you turn it around your finger. The thought of a future without Ford makes your heart ache, but you know you deserve better, and you know Ford is capable of giving it to you—if he just realized how much you mean to him, how much you mean to each other.

You sip your coffee, the warmth grounding you, giving you the clarity you need. You know you have limits. If Ford can’t see the toll his actions are taking on your marriage, then you have to make him see it. You have to stand up for yourself, for what you want, and for the life you could have together.

You start the car, the decision made. You’re going to drive home and talk to him—not in anger or frustration, but with the love that’s still there, burning so fiercely in your heart. You’re going to make him understand what’s at stake—not just your marriage, but everything you’ve built together.

As you drive, the road blurs slightly through your unshed tears, but you blink them away. You can’t afford to lose focus now. Ford needs to know that you’re serious, that this isn’t just another fight that will blow over. This is your future, and you won’t let it slip away without a fight.

When you pull up to the house, your resolve only strengthens. You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car, the ring on your finger feeling like a lifeline rather than a chain. You walk into the house, finding Ford sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looks up as you enter, and the relief in his eyes is almost overwhelming.

“Ford…” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but you hold up a hand to stop him as he tries to respond.

“Ford, I need you to listen to me,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles slightly. You sit down beside him, taking his hands in yours. “I love you more than anything in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep being the one who’s always trying to catch up to you, to your work, to everything else that seems to matter more than me or my feelings.”

His eyes widen in panic, and he starts to speak, but you squeeze his hands, stopping him again.

“No, Ford. Let me finish,” you continue, your voice soft but steady. “You’ve always been so loving, so warm, and I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. But you know me, and you know I’m not the type to ignore the fact that I’ve felt more like an afterthought lately. And it hurts. It really, really hurts.”

“Please, I—” Ford’s face crumples, and you can see the guilt and regret swirling in his eyes.

“I don’t want to threaten you with divorce or give you an ultimatum,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “But I need you to understand that if we’re going to make this work, you need to start seeing me as your partner again, not just someone who’s here to support you while you chase after your dreams. We need to be in this together, walking side by side—not with me always trying to catch up.”

Ford looks at you with such intensity that it nearly takes your breath away. His eyes are red and puffy too, his fingers nervously moving his ring in circles on his finger.

“You’re right,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve taken you for granted. But I swear to you, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make me want to be better, not just for you, but for us. And I’m going to prove it to you. I don’t want to lose this with you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. Just… please, don’t go. I’m still yours. My heart is always gonna be yours. You are the one I want.”

“I just want you to see me, Ford. Really see me. I’m not asking you to give up your work, but I need you to find a balance, to make room for us in your life. Because I can’t keep doing this if things don’t change.” You nod, tears spilling over your lashes as you squeeze his hands.

“I see you. I promise I see you,” Ford whispers, pulling you into his arms. “And I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me. I won’t let you down again. And those aren’t just empty promises—I mean every word I say to you.”

As you hold each other, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by the hope that you can find your way back to each other. It won’t be easy, but you know it’s possible. And for the first time in a long time, you believe that you can make it work. Ford pulls back slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t date anyone in high school or college—I was too focused on my work. Hell, I’ve only slept with four people in my life, and you’re the only one who wanted me after that. You’re the only one who stayed the morning after and kissed me and smiled at me. You looked so perfect then, and it would’ve been impossible not to want more with you. You’re the reason I want to be better, the reason I want to wake up every morning. And I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you in my life, but I’m not going to take it for granted anymore. I promise you that.”

“Okay.” You nod for a moment before bringing his lips to yours.

He sinks into you, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of you on the couch. Both of your hands are desperate as your lips talk. And he thinks, while this is happening, that you are worth everything to him. He didn’t think any of this would be happening when he first got out of high school and his life was in front of him. He never thought he would even have a spouse, let alone be kissing you with his body between your legs in your home on a quiet November night.

And the further things go, he realizes that he hasn’t touched you like this since your most recent talk about him neglecting you before tonight. Seasons changed, months passed, and he was too wrapped up in whatever he was doing to just exist with you, which is what he loved doing when you first met.

[simpforpeterp]

stanford pines x reader

Holidays

“I should’ve had kids with you.”

summary: in which ford reminisces and thinks about what could’ve been and what once was

warnings: gender neutral reader mostly but there’s a line about you having his kids so take that as you will

word count: 1.2k

notes: halloween is over which means some festive ish things like this are coming!!

The words fell from his lips as if they held less weight than his usual late night words he shared with you.

“I should’ve had kids with you.”

He breathed the sentence into your neck as he got comfortable in the bed you share. It was a warm sigh that made your eyes widen as his arms moved around your waist.

You snap out of the tired trance you were in as you look at him. He’s an older version of the man you fell in love with at nineteen. The wrinkles by his eyes and slight signs of aging almost make you happy because he just looks so cute growing old with you.

After everything with the portal, you never thought your husband would come back to you. When Stan took over his identity, you were fake married to Stan. You didn’t kiss or do anything married people do other than taxes so it obviously didn’t fill the Ford-shaped hole in your heart.

When Ford came back, you were a wreck. Things hadn’t exactly ended well. You snapped just days before the portal incident. He had pushed you away and you saw him less and less so seeing him again brought back all the feelings of neglect and abandonment. But he slowly crept his way back into your heart, how could he not?

He still has that same sweet smile and the same eyes. So you worked it out. And now he spends more time with you because being away from you proved to him even more than before that he loved you. God, he loved you. His heart beats for you. He married you, for fucks sake.

He never thought he’d ever even get married. When his father gave him his suit for his wedding, he assumed he’d wear it to accept a nobel prize. Then there he was in that suit, promising you forever in front of all of your friends and family.

He missed you so badly while he was gone and he swore he would find his way back to you. To your arms, your lips, that smile that could kill him. He loves you.

“I should’ve settled down with you instead of going along with Bill. I should’ve given you babies and built you a bigger house. I wish I gave my life to you in more apparent ways.” He says, pressing a soft and quick kiss to your neck to really feel your presence. Your skin is soft and he breathes in again, feeling like his heart is completely and utterly safe with you.

You don’t know what to say. Your fingers freeze in his hair as you think about his words. His soft and quiet confession about what he wishes happened. And then you both begin silently thinking about what did happen. And that leads to mourning what could have been.

“I know it might be dumb but I think about it a lot. You know, what it would’ve been like to settle down with you. I think about picket fences and kids and holidays. I like Mabel’s philosophy on holidays. I like to think that’s how things would be at our house. We celebrate all holidays. Winter would’ve been especially fun for our kids, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, every holiday.” He muses.

You’re silent for a moment, just listening to him talk, feeling his words wrap around you like a warm blanket. His voice is softer than you’re used to, almost reverent, as he talks about the life you could have had together. And with each word, you feel that old ache start to surface, the one that you thought you’d buried years ago.

Being completely honest, there was a point in your life where the baby-fever overtook you. You wanted a baby with your husband. You wanted the life he described. But then you came to your senses. Ford isn’t that kind of man and you didn’t want him to be. You loved the man he was. You still do. And your heart was never swayed completely one way or the other. So you let it go and you never came back to it because you were happy.

Even now, there’s no bitterness. Just that quiet sadness, a gentle ache that’s soothed by the feeling of his arms around you, his hand gently rubbing your back as he continues.

“I can picture it so clearly, a little girl with your eyes and my stubborn streak,” He says, his voice catching on the thought. “Or maybe a boy who’d want to be just like you. Who’d look at you the way I do—like you’re the whole world.”

You can’t help but wonder if he thinks about this often, if he lets these thoughts creep in late at night, the way you sometimes do. There’s something both comforting and heartbreaking about knowing you’re not alone in that.

After a moment, you brush a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence beside you, grounding you.

“Ford,” You whisper, gently tracing the lines on his face, “You don’t mean that. It’s a nice thought. It really is. I would’ve loved to have that life with you. Kids, Christmas, fences. I would’ve had your kids in an instant if you wanted that. But you didn’t because you love your job and that’s enough for you. And you being happy was enough for me.”

He leans into your touch, eyes closing as if he’s absorbing the truth of your words.

“I know,” He murmurs. “I just…I wanted to give you so much more. More than this little cottage, more than my late-night ramblings and scars and regrets. You deserved a quieter life, one without…all the running, the danger. You deserved a less flighty husband who finds god in a cave and causes the end of the world.”

“But this is the life we have,” You remind him, gently tilting his chin up so he has to look at you. “And you’re here. That’s all I ever wanted. All those things you’re talking about—the picket fences, the holidays—they’re nice. But this is what we have, and it’s enough for me.”

His hand finds yours, fingers threading through with a familiar warmth. He looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening, as if seeing you for the first time all over again. And he feels it again going through his heart that he’s so in love with you. His heart is always gonna belong to you.

“You’re enough for me too,” He says, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, you both lay there in a comfortable silence, each lost in your thoughts, holding onto each other as if to prove that you’re here, that you found your way back from everything that tried to tear you apart.

“You know, maybe it’s not too late to have some of that. Maybe we don’t need the picket fence, but we could still make our own traditions. We could…we could still have holidays like Mabel would. Just you and me, celebrating everything.” He speaks up.

“Well, then, Happy Holidays, my love.” You press a quick kiss to his nose and everything in him warms for you.

“Happy Holidays, my darling.”

[simpforpeterp]

harvey x farmer

Coolest Place in the World

summary: it’s her first day in town (be nice!)

warnings: she/her farmer. i didn’t have a character in mind or anything so it’s up to you whether you are the farmer or if she’s a character or if she’s a figment of my imagination

word count: 1.09k

Coolest Place in the World

“I can’t believe I just introduced myself to 27 people.” She mumbles to herself as she approaches the saloon before pushing open the door.

The room is already lively and filled with music. Looking around, she remembers most people from earlier today. Well, all except one. He sits by the bar, seemingly by himself. Maybe she’ll see him around but it feels weird to introduce herself at a bar without seeming like she’s flirting.

“Farmer! I’m glad you came, I was just telling my husband about you. This is Demetrius.” Robin introduces.

“Nice to meet you, maybe we’ll come check out your farm sometime.” He smiles.

“It looks like a mess right now but hopefully I can fix that soon.” She smiles back at the couple.

“So, have you met everyone already?” Robin asks.

“Most people, yeah.” The farmer shrugs.

“Good, good, there are some good people here.” She assures with a warm grin.

“Really good people. But it isn’t always easy living here. I mean, we only have one doctor,” Demetrius sighs. “I like him though, he’s a man of science like me.”

“Is that him?” She discreetly points to the man sitting at the bar, looking around.

“Yep, Harvey. You should introduce yourself if you haven’t already before this place closes.” Robin suggests.

“At a bar though? I don’t wanna seem creepy.” The farmer nervously crosses her arms.

“He won’t take it that way, I promise.” Demetrius assures her but gives Robin a quick look.

“Let’s dance, honey. I love this song.” Robin gently pats his arm as they stand up.

Harvey noticed her as soon as she walked in. How could he not? But he’s climbing the age latter and he’s single, alone in a bar. He can’t get caught looking at her. Just to avoid that, he looks everywhere but her. Until eventually, he has to stare straight ahead while drinking. But then the unimaginable happens.

“You’re Harvey, right?” A voice says from behind him. He turns around to see her. The prettiest girl he’s ever seen with the prettiest voice he’s ever heard.

“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m the local doctor. Sorry, I’ve heard about you but I’m blanking on pretty much everything I’ve heard about you.” He admits as embarrassment flushes his cheeks.

“I guess I’m a farmer now. I’ve never been that before. I almost feel like Barbie with the way I’m switching lifestyles. I just moved in to the Valley. Well, not THE valley, but this valley. Sorry, that was stupid. You know where we are, I didn’t have to specify. I don’t have to explain myself either, shit. I’m not usually this…scattered. Sorry.” She rambles nervously. He can’t help the smile that goes across his face. She’s so cute.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m usually too un-scattered. I perform regular check-ups and medical procedures for all the residents of Pelican Town. It’s rewarding work.” He explains as she takes a seat beside him.

“That’s great, I get too nervous in Doctor’s offices for that.” She admits.

“Hopefully, I can change that.” He smiles, way more charming than he has ever been. So much so, he surprises himself.

“Maybe.” She laughs and shakes her head. In that moment, he swears he can feel his heart glowing.

“You have a great smile.” He accidentally blurts out.

“Thank you, Harvey. Seriously, I haven’t really laughed all day,” She tells him. “But I should get going, it’s getting late.”

“Me too. Do you want me to walk you home? My clinic isn’t too far.” He offers.

“Oh, you don’t have to. It’s just one long straight road to my house and no one else lives right there. But thanks. Maybe I’ll pop in for a visit soon.” She smiles as she stands up. She gives him one last look before turning around to walk away.

“Swooning?” Pierre asks with a loud chuckle as he sits beside him.

“What? We just met.” Harvey laughs nervously.

“You guys looked good together.” Pierre nudges him.

“You think so?” He asks quickly.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t lie to you. I know you’ve been wanting to settle down with someone. She doesn’t have to be the one but, you’ve gotta start looking for what you want. Instead of sitting here alone. I’m just saying, there are new opportunities every day. I should know, I sell fresh produce every day except Wednesday.” He smiles.

“Did you have to throw in an advertisement at the end? I already know what you do.” Harvey sighs.

“It’s just instinct at this point.”

“Morning!” The farmer greets as soon as the door opens. His heart skips twenty beats as she walks in with a drink carrier of coffee.

“Good morning.” He says with a smile.

“I’m going around bringing people coffee!” She says, picking up one of the cups and walking over to him. “I figured that since you’re a doctor, it’s probably best you don’t fall asleep on the job so, here you go.”

"It's for me? This is my favorite stuff! It's like you read my mind." He says happily.

“I want to make a good impression on this town, I really want to make it work here, you know? So, I’m stepping up my game. And now that I think about it, I probably shouldn’t have told you that if I’m trying to impress you too.” She starts to ramble again.

“You’ve already made a great first impression on me. And now a great second impression.” He leans against the counter.

“That’s good, I have a bad habit of talking to much so I feel like maybe I’ve made some people uncomfortable. I wanted t- whoops, I’m doing it again,” She sighs.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t talk enough so feel free to ramble whenever you want.” He tells her happily.

“Well, I should get going but maybe I’ll talk your ear off another time.” She winks and he feels his knees go weak.

“Thanks again. You know, for the coffee.” He clears his throat.

“No problem. Have a good day!” She waves with a wide grin before shutting the door behind her.

“Wow.” Harvey whispers to himself before hearing a throat clear.

“I’m here too.” Pierre jokingly rolls his eyes.

“She’s so…I have no words.” Harvey mindlessly babbles.

“Are you gonna ask her out or give her googly eyes whenever she’s around?” He asks.

“I’ve done no such thing! Also, there’s no way she feels anything towards me that isn’t strictly platonic.” Harvey sighs.

“She was so blatantly flirting with you.”

“Maybe she’s just naturally flirtatious.”

[simpforpeterp]

Stanford Pines x OC

Daydream Believer

summary: BASED ON LEGALLY BLONDE

After one year of college, Stanford Pines and Fiddleford Mcgucket are living in a car. Luckily, at the same time, a girl follows her ex-boyfriend to Backupsmore University and needs roommates.

warnings: none

word count: 3.9k

“Eleanor, where’s Brighton?”

“I don’t know, why would I know?” She asks as her father runs his hands through his hair, the stress from the big party getting to him.

“That boy is gonna kill me.” She grumbles as he wanders off.

The clinking of champagne glasses and the murmur of high society chatter filled the foyer of her family’s glamorous West Coast house. Ellie floats through the crowd like a vision from a fashion magazine. Her sleek brunette curls frame a face that’s both effortlessly beautiful and meticulously polished.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” Her boyfriend, Simon, asks.

“Yeah, of course.” She nods as he takes her hand and begins to lead her to a quiet corner away from the guests.

He takes both of her hands as he turns to her with a small smile.

“You look so beautiful, you know that?”

“Stop it,” She rolls her eyes with a wide grin as she places a hand on his chest.

“Baby, I have to talk to you about something,” He starts before taking a deep breath. “Well, you know I’ll be going to college soon and it’s gonna take up a whole lot of my time. This is something I’ve wanted for so long. It’s time to start thinking about my future- our future, you know? I mean, look at you. You’re so…unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a brunette Malibu Barbie. It’s time for us to get serious, Ellie. I think we should break up.”

“WHAT?”

“Look, let me just-“

“You’re breaking up with me? Me?” She raises her voice before bursting into tears.

“You’re breaking up with me right now? At this party? After everything?”

Simon tries to reach for her, but Ellie steps back, her hands trembling.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Ellie. I just think this is the best decision for both of us. I need to focus on my career and—” Simon’s face is a mix of guilt and resignation.

“I knew you were gonna do this! I knew it!” She hits his chest with not a lot of force. “You are an asshole.”

“El-“

“I love you,” She breathes out. “That’s not enough?”

“I… I have to focus if I’m gonna be-“

“Just stop.” She sniffles.

“Baby,” He sighs. “I’m going home, alright? I’m sorry.”

She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, sliding down until she’s sitting. Ellie sits against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. Her brother, Brighton, storms into the alcove, his face lit up with mischief.

“Ellie!” He exclaims, barely pausing as he pulls out a small, colorful canister. “You have to see this.”

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in your room.” Ellie asks, her voice hoarse from crying.

Before he can answer, he puts his plan into action. He shakes a canister in his hands, and a mischievous sparkle lights up his eyes. Brighton twists the canister open, and a burst of glitter erupts into the air. It sparkles and floats down like confetti, landing on the guests and the expensive decor.

A few gasps and shrieks punctuate the chaos as the glitter covers everything in sight. Ellie watches in a mix of horror and amusement as her father, looking horrified, rushes over, his eyes scanning the room for the source of the disturbance.

“Brighton!” He shouts, spotting his son. “What have you done?”

“Just adding a bit of sparkle to the party.” Brighton shrugs innocently, though his smirk betrays his amusement.

“This is a disaster! Get out of here, both of you! Ellie, go fix your face. Don’t come back until you look presentable!” Her father’s face turns a deep shade of red.

Ellie’s heart sinks as her father’s anger cuts through her fragile state. She nods, standing up slowly, her mascara streaked and her eyes puffy from crying. She takes one last look at the chaotic scene and then heads for her room, her brother trailing behind.

In her room, Ellie looks at her reflection in the mirror, the glitter on her dress and the tear-streaked makeup only amplifying her distress. She doesn’t bother to take off her makeup or change as she lays down on her back and shuts her eyes.

A few days have passed since the party. Ellie remains holed up in her room, her reflection in the mirror shows a weariness that no amount of makeup can conceal, her eyes still puffy from the tears she’s shed.

Ellie sits on the edge of her bed, flipping through a stack of magazines she hasn’t had the energy to read until now. She absently scans the glossy pages, trying to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

The sound of her father’s muffled voice from downstairs breaks the silence, and Ellie’s thoughts are interrupted. She sighs and glances around her room, feeling more trapped than ever. Simon’s words replay in her mind over and over. She loved him. She did everything right, didn’t she? But now, she has nothing. No future with him, no direction.

As she stares blankly at the pages, something catches her eye—a brochure for Backupsmore University. It’s tucked between the magazines, a forgotten relic of an idea she never seriously entertained.

Until now.

A thought begins to take shape in her mind. She picks up one of the brochures and flips through it, her eyes catching on the descriptions of campus life and the opportunities available. The idea of starting fresh somewhere new begins to appeal to her, not as a way to win Simon back, but as a chance to reinvent herself.

Ellie’s heart races as the idea forms. She could apply to Backupsmore herself, follow Simon, and get him back. It’s a bold move, but things to regain control over your life are rarely a safe bet. She could apply. She could make this work. She could prove that she’s more than just a pretty face at high society parties.

With a sense of determination, she begins to search through the brochures and gather information. As she writes down notes and makes plans, everything feels lighter.

When she’s done, she sees that her parents are sitting by the pool through her window. She doesn’t need another moment to quickly make her way down the stairs. Ellie stands in front of the glass doors for a moment to think about what she wants to say.

Her father is rarely difficult but always condescending. Her stepmother is a raging alcoholic.

She watches her parents lounging by the pool, her father with a newspaper in hand, and her stepmother sipping on a martini. Ellie, still in her sundress from earlier, straightens her posture and strides toward them, determined to make her case.

“I need to talk to you,” She says, folding her arms. Her voice is soft but purposeful.

“About what?” Her father lowers the newspaper, raising an eyebrow.

“I want to go to Backupsmore University.” She tells them and her stepmother glances up, startled.

“Eleanor, darling, where is this coming from?” She asks.

“I’ve thought about it a lot. I need to start over, and Backupsmore is the perfect place. I can learn and…and figure out what I really want to do with my life.” She pauses, her gaze steady. “And I need your support.”

“Support, as in... financial support?” Her father narrows his eyes.

“I want to make this work. Please, just give me this chance. I know it sounds sudden, but I’ve never been more sure about anything.” She nods.

“What would you even study?” Her stepmother asks.

“Psychology,” El answers almost too quickly. “It’s practical.”

“Backupsmore? Isn’t that the place Simon is going to? And isn’t he studying psychology?” Her stepmother takes a long sip of her martini, considering.

“That’s not why. This is about me. I need to prove I can stand on my own and be more than what people expect.” Ellie's heart skips a beat.

“Eleanor, darling, Backupsmore is for poor, sad, nerds. Why on earth would you want to go there?” He asks.

“Because I need change. I don’t want you to buy my way into a better school or anything, I can figure it out there.”

“If this is what you really want, El... fine. We’ll support you.” He sighs.

“Thank you, thank you! I won’t let you down.” Relief floods through her as she runs over to hug him, him barely returning the hug.

Ellie steps onto the bustling campus, her new Mary Janes clicking against the pavement. The manicured lawns, towering buildings, and swarms of students moving to their next orientation session overwhelm her senses. She clutches her campus map in one hand, sunglasses perched on her head. She isn’t sure what exactly she’s looking for here, other than the love of her life, but whatever it is, it has to be better than the glitter-stained disaster she left behind.

The campus is lively with groups of students lounging on the grass, others rushing to class, and some looking just as lost as she feels. Ellie walks past them, chin held high as she tries to adopt the same confident attitude she had back at home. But this place is nothing like home. Here, no one knows who she is—or more importantly, who she’s supposed to be.

She’s more uncertain than she’s ever been as she walks up to the table with slightly older kids sitting. The school is surprisingly huge and she realizes just how different these California people are from other California people.

"Hey! You new here?"

She looks up to see a tall, gangly guy with tousled hair and thick glasses standing in front of her, a bright blue lanyard around his neck. She nods nervously, trying to put on a smile. He’s standing next to a large banner that reads “Welcome Freshmen!” and holding a clipboard.

“I’m Fiddleford McGucket,” He introduces himself with a slight Southern twang, offering a hand. “Orientation leader for today. I’ll be helpin’ you get acquainted with Backupsmore.”

Ellie blinks, caught off guard by his upbeat demeanor and casual appearance. He’s wearing a tattered plaid shirt and jeans, his hair a bit wild, like he just rolled out of bed. He looks nothing like anyone she’s ever hung out with before.

“I’m Ellie,” She says, sticking her hand out to him. He takes it, shaking it rather aggressively.

“So, Ellie,” Fiddleford says, squinting at her. “What brings you to Backupsmore?”

"A new chapter, I guess.” Ellie shrugs, her smile light but determined.

"Well, welcome! Follow me; I'll show you around. So, what’s your major?” He asks.

“Psychology. Is that hard?”

"Osychology? Well, uh, yeah, it can be challenging. Lots of reading, cases, all that." Fiddleford scratches his head, glancing sideways at her.

"Reading? I mean, I like reading, but more like scripts and plays, you know? I figured psychology was more about...figuring people out, and maybe some light paperwork." She grins, half-joking, but there’s a flicker of genuine confusion in her eyes.

"Uh, not exactly. It’s mostly books and lectures on the different perspectives." Fiddleford laughs awkwardly.

"Oh. That sounds... fun,” She hesitates. "Well, I’ve always been more of a…let’s say, performer. But psych is a safer bet, so… here I am. Hey, has a boy named Simon Wellerstein checked in yet?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He shakes his head.

As they walk, Fiddleford talks her ear off about classes, campus life, and the strange architecture of the buildings. Ellie barely listens. She’s already scanning the faces in the crowd, wondering if she’ll spot Simon.

First, she has a philosophy class. Fiddleford shows her the way and she realizes even more that she has no idea what she’s doing. She’s not too far from home but she’s in an apartment that’s so empty she’s gonna scream, with no friends.

She’s not helpless but she’s starting to feel like it. You can tell immediately who’s out of state and who’s lived here as you walk around. It’s weird. When she steps into her first class, there are two seats left. One, next to a girl who’s very obviously on drugs and shaking and the other, next to a man in a little sweater with these thick glasses.

Ellie hesitates for a moment, glancing between the trembling girl and the man in the sweater. Despite everything, she wants to make a good impression, so she straightens her posture, smooths out her white sweater, and takes the seat next to the guy in the glasses.

“Hi,” She says, offering a small smile as she sets down her bag.

The man glances up from his notes, blinking a few times before offering a nod. His dark hair is neatly combed, and those thick glasses make his eyes appear slightly larger than they actually are. He’s scribbling something down—formulas, maybe?—in a notebook that looks like it’s been through a few years of hard use.

“Stanford Pines,” He says, almost absentmindedly, as if introducing himself was more of a formality than something he was interested in.

“I’m Ellie,” She takes a seat beside him and immediately leans forward and rests her chin on her hand, her elbow up on the table. “I like your outfit, it’s so fatigue-chic.”

He looks up at her as if she had three heads. Stanford adjusts his glasses, clearly puzzled by her comment. He glances down at his sweater, a plain, worn-out piece he’s had for years, and then back at Ellie, brow furrowed.

"Fatigue-chic?" He echoes, unsure if she's teasing him.

"Yeah, like...you look like you're ready for a study marathon but still stylish in that intellectual, vintage way." Ellie flashes a bright smile, clearly unbothered by his confusion.

"I, uh, wasn't exactly going for a look. This weather here is confusing." Stanford clears his throat, clearly unused to this type of conversation.

“Oh, you’re not from here!” She smacks a hand on the table and he nearly jumps. “I’ve lived here my whole life, well, not here. But around here. Where are you from?”

“New Jersey. Glass Shard Beach.”

“Wow, that is so cool. I’ve always wanted to go live out east but I’m too chicken.” She tells him.

“So, did you do the reading?”

“What reading?”

“The…one for this class.”

“Who assigns a reading for the first day of class?” She giggles before realizing he’s not laughing.

“El?” A voice says behind her and she whips her head to see Simon.

“Simon! Hi.” Her voice immediately shifts.

"You're here?" Simon's tone is full of disbelief, his eyes scanning the room as if he can't quite grasp what he's seeing. "At Backupsmore?"

"Yeah, surprise!" Ellie forces a light-hearted laugh. "I decided to apply last minute. I thought... well, why not? Fresh start, new experiences." Her voice cracks a little as she tries to keep her composure.

"I didn’t know you were interested in Backupsmore or...being smart." Simon frowns, clearly not buying the casual explanation.

Ellie swallows hard, feeling Stanford’s silent gaze beside her and the weight of Simon's judgment.

"Yeah, well, I thought I'd try something new." She shrugs.

“Oh. Okay. Well, wanna talk after class?” He asks.

“Yeah, okay.” She smiles so widely.

The door shuts as Simon sits next to the tweaker and in walks the professor. He’s a man in his early sixties with an obvious complex. The professor steps up to the podium, adjusting his glasses and scanning the room with an air of authority. His graying hair and furrowed brow make it clear that he's been doing this for decades and takes no nonsense from anyone. He clears his throat and begins with a booming voice.

"Good morning, class. I hope you're all prepared because we'll start right away with a question for one of you." His eyes sweep the room, and Ellie, still distracted by Simon's awkward exchange, doesn’t notice when his gaze lands on her.

"You there," The professor points directly at Ellie, "Miss…"

“Clemente,” She says, sitting up straighter, trying to appear as if she’s been paying attention. “Ellie Clemente.”

“Right, Miss Clemente. Can you tell us what Socrates said about the unexamined life?” His eyes gleam with the expectation of catching someone off guard.

She doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Before she can open her mouth to blurt out something, she hears a low whisper from beside her.

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” He whispers.

She glances at Stanford, who’s leaning slightly toward her, his face still buried in his notebook. He doesn’t look up but repeats the phrase, just loud enough for her to catch.

“The…unexamined life is not worth living,” Ellie says quickly, almost stumbling over the words.

“Correct.” The professor nods, unimpressed but satisfied. He turns to the board and starts writing, moving on as if nothing happened.

Ellie lets out a quiet breath of relief, her heart still racing. She leans toward Stanford, whispering a quick thanks. He barely glances up, offering a quick nod in return before returning to his notes.

“Now, let’s go back to the kiddy stuff for a moment. I don’t do icebreakers unless they relate. So, discuss the trolley problem with your neighbor and swap answers.” The professor says as he writes something on the board.

“The trolley problem is-“ Stanford starts.

“Wait, I know what this is!” She says quietly but excitedly.

Stanford pauses, caught off guard by Ellie’s sudden burst of excitement. She’s leaning in, her face lighting up in a way that’s both endearing and unexpected.

“Oh, you do?” He asks, honestly having no idea of another way to respond.

“Yeah! It's the one where you have to decide if you’d let a train hit four people or pull a lever and make it hit one person instead, right?” She says, clearly proud of herself.

“Exactly. So, what would you do?” Stanford nods, a bit more interested now.

Ellie leans back in her chair, tilting her head to the side as she considers it. Then, with a playful smile, she turns back to Stanford.

“I’d let it hit the four people.”

“You’d…what?” Stanford’s eyes widen. He’s clearly horrified, expecting a typical answer.

“Yeah, I mean, why not? Everyone’s going to choose to save more people. I don’t want to have the same answer as everyone else,” She explains nonchalantly as if it’s the most obvious reasoning in the world. “That’s how you get people to notice you.”

Stanford stares at her, completely baffled. It’s not just the answer—it’s the casual way she says it, like she’s already moved on to the next thought. Yet, something about her unpredictability intrigues him. It’s not that she doesn’t understand the problem; she’s just chosen to answer it in the most unconventional way possible.

“That’s…certainly one way to look at it,” He mutters, still processing.

He’s immediately a little lost. She doesn’t seem completely clueless, maybe just a little odd. Her interactions with that other man and the way she seems like she’s just floating through this class is almost appalling.

Stanford shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his pencil hovering over the notebook as he glances back at her. Ellie, on the other hand, seems perfectly at ease, leaning back in her chair with that same bright smile. She’s already moved on, her gaze wandering around the room as if the whole conversation had been an afterthought.

“I guess you’re not really worried about the moral implications, then?” He clears his throat, unsure of what to say next.

“Nah,” She shakes her head. “I mean, I get the moral thing. But in life, people remember you for standing out. Being different. That’s what matters.” She shrugs like it's the simplest truth in the world.

Stanford’s brain nearly short-circuits at her response. He’s spent his whole life overthinking every possible outcome, every decision, weighing the consequences. And here she is, casually throwing away logic in favor of being noticed?

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your major?” He asks.

“Psychology. Why? Is that bad?” She asks, facing him again and he quickly shakes his head.

“No, no. That was quick though, do you not like it?” He asks.

She doesn’t answer as the professor begins to speak again, her head shifting back to the front. The professor’s voice drones on, filling the room with a lecture on Socratic ethics and moral theory. Ellie remains silent, occasionally glancing at the clock, her attention drifting in and out.

Stanford, on the other hand, is fully engaged, scribbling furiously in his notebook, clearly enthralled by the discussion. Ellie tries to focus, but the material seems to slip right past her, and she occasionally glances over at Stanford, watching him work with an intensity she can’t quite relate to.

Every now and then, the professor calls on students to answer questions about the reading. Ellie holds her breath, relieved when she’s not picked again. As the minutes drag on, she finds herself tapping her fingers on the desk, eager for the class to end. Stanford barely notices; he’s too absorbed in the lecture, nodding along to each point as though the professor were speaking directly to him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the professor dismisses the class. Ellie is on her feet almost immediately, gathering her things as quickly as possible. She’s halfway to the door before she pauses, glancing back at Stanford, who’s still packing up his notes with meticulous care.

"Hey, uh, thanks for earlier," She says, her voice softer and more sincere than before. “Seriously, Stanford, I appreciate it a lot.”

Stanford looks up, momentarily caught off guard.

“Oh, no problem,” He replies, a little stiffly. “Also, you can just call me Ford.”

She flashes him a brief smile, one that feels more genuine than her earlier, breezy attitude.

“Okay, Ford,” She smiles sweetly. “I owe you one.”

Before he can respond, she’s already turning toward the door, her focus shifting as she spots Simon waiting just outside.

Stepping into the hallway, she approaches Simon, who’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed and looking a little distracted. Ellie jogs up to him, her mind already moving past the classroom and onto whatever comes next.

“That class was incredible, right? Just so interesting.” She smiles as she stands in front of him.

“Yeah, very interesting.” He nods absentmindedly.

As Ellie stands in front of Simon, eagerly waiting for him to engage, he seems distracted, his eyes darting toward something—or rather, someone—further down the hall. Ellie follows his gaze and feels her heart drop for a split second when she sees her.

A girl, probably around their age, with long, wavy blonde hair and an outfit that looks like it was picked out straight from Jackie Kennedy’s closet, is making her way toward them. El’s stomach tightens as she watches the train crash into her and not them.

“Hey, babe,” The girl says brightly as she reaches Simon, placing a hand casually on his arm before turning to El. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, um, this is El, this is Natalie,” Simon says, his voice awkward as he gestures between the two girls. “Natalie, this is Ellie. We, uh, used to—” He stops, clearly unsure of how to finish that sentence.

Ellie feels like she’s been hit in the gut, but she forces a smile, refusing to let her discomfort show.

“Well, we should get going,” Simon adds quickly, already inching away. “We’ve got plans.”

“Yeah,” Natalie chimes in, smiling up at him as she loops her arm through his.

Ellie can only nod, her throat tightening as they walk away together, leaving her standing in the hallway alone.

[simpforpeterp]

Stanford Pines x OC

Gold Dust Woman

summary: In the summer of 1977, Stanford Pines meets a captivating woman in Gravity Falls. Long backstory short, she’s a witch from the Boiling Isles.

warnings: none

word count: 6.9k

Following along a winding road through the dense forests of Oregon in a convertible would normally draw attention. The sun is beginning to set, casting a golden glow over everything, and the wind whips through her hair as she speeds down the road. The soft hum of a Billy Joel song plays on the radio, blending with the rustle of the trees and the roar of the engine.

She sings along, not a care in the world with her sunglasses on and a scarf in her hair because of the wind. Celia Thorncroft, better known in the music scene under a different name, is looking to escape from the pressures of her music career and the exhaustion of being constantly in the spotlight.

It’s a lot of fun and it seems like the drinks and the drugs and the parties just keep roaring on but the longing for a simpler, quieter life is stronger. So, she’s driving until she finds somewhere to settle, at least for a while. Although, the more she drives the more she’s wondering if this spontaneous road trip will give her the peace she craves or if she’s just running from herself.

But it’s too late for that now, she’s sold her house and packed up everything she owns in her car. And with the smell of the pine trees filling her senses like the smell of freedom with the sun warming her skin, it’s hard to think that this could be a mistake.

She came to the human realm at 15, running away from home. Celia grew up in the Boiling Isles, where she developed her love for music amidst the chaos of wild magic. Her departure from the Isles was due to the ban on wild magic, which left her feeling stifled and yearning for freedom. Her parents along with the world tried to force her into a coven so she got out.

What else is there to do for a young kid to do in California but mess around? She hid her ears and headed to the strip where she instantly fit it. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. That got her into some deep shit she shouldn’t have been in. But it also helped her get big in music. Now at 19, she’s taking a break from it all. With two hit records, she has enough money to hold her off for a whole.

The road twists and turns and the sun dips lower, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. Celia keeps her eyes on the winding path ahead, her mind drifting between the exhilaration of her impromptu escape and the shadows of her past. The music playing on the radio fades into the background as her thoughts become more reflective.

That’s when she passes a sign for a small town ahead, Gravity Falls. She decides to stop there for the night. She slows the convertible and takes the turnoff, the engine rumbling softly as she enters the quaint town.

Gravity Falls is a stark contrast from Los Angeles. The streets are lined with charming, old-fashioned storefronts and cozy, dimly lit cafes. The town has a peculiar, almost timeless quality, with an air of enchantment that feels oddly familiar to Celia.

She pulls into a small gas station, the kind with a vintage pump and a weathered sign that says “General Store” hanging overhead. As she steps out of the car, she’s greeted by the faint smell of freshly cut grass and the distant chirping of crickets. Celia stretches, savoring the simplicity of the moment, before putting an illusion to cover her ears and heading into the store.

The bell above the door jingles as she enters and heads straight to the refrigerators. It’s almost empty in here so she drops the illusions on her ears and sighs. She doesn’t realize that she’s naturally an attention grabber in this small town.

She catches the attention of Stanford Pines, who’s buying cheap salty snacks behind her. Surprisingly, he hadn’t even seen her ears. Just her teeny tiny crochet top, and baggy shorts, perfectly embodying her carefree spirit. She has an effortless beauty, sun-kissed skin, and a smile that hints at a world of secrets. Little does he know, she’s smiling because her song is playing on the store’s radio.

Especially when she immediately rolls her eyes and shuts the refrigerator before putting the illusion back on her ears, which he does see. His eyes waver across her as his mouth slightly widens as she stomps over to a shelf that’s at the end of his aisle. She grabs a bottle of tequila before walking by him. He doesn’t know what to do and he watches in silence as she stops right beside him and looks around before leaning down to grab a metric ton of Pop Rocks.

“Um, Miss-“ Ford starts before clearing his throat.

“Oh, sorry, just grabbing dinner. I’ll get out of your way.” She smiles before turning to walk away. Dinner? Since when do tequila and Pop Rocks classify as dinner? He thinks.

He grabs whatever else he is gonna buy before silently following her as she places them on the counter. His mind is racing and he still doesn’t really know what to do but his feet move faster than his brain.

“Got an ID?” The man asks but he’s instantly distracted by her striking eyes and beauty as she slides her fake one across the counter.

“The song playin’ right now is mine,” She hums and he looks up from her ID, having barely looked at it.

“You’re…y- wow!” He laughs. “Gosh, I should’ve known from the second you walked in here. You’re good to go.”

“No, no, here.” She smiles so perfectly as she slides twenty-five dollars to the man. Her smile is enchanting as she grabs her stuff and begins to head out after paying way too much for her stuff.

She walks out as Ford places his stuff

on the counter before realizing she could be gone before he was out.

“Um, here, keep the change.” Ford groans, wasting a twenty on what was probably five dollars worth of stuff before running out the door.

Luckily enough, she’s putting the bottle on her trunk with the rest of her stuff along with all of the Pop Rocks bags but one that she brings her to the front.

“Hey, lady, stop!” Ford calls just before he trips over himself and falls face-first to the floor.

“Oh, shit, man,” She covers her mouth to hide her laughter at his tumble before she goes to help him up. Her eyes waver for a moment at his six fingers before looking back to his face. Six fingers, nice, she thinks. “Are you okay?”

“Y-you, how did you- what are you?” He asks mindlessly.

“I’m a singer.” She shrugs.

“No, I mean, your ears were just-“

“Birth defect, sometimes they point out when I’m stressed.” She interrupts him.

“No! I saw you draw a little circle of light or something with your finger and then your ears turned normal again. What are you?” He asks again.

“Look, man, I’m just passing through here.” She wearily walks to the other side of her car, leaving him to follow slowly behind her.

Ford watches Celia cautiously, his curiosity burning brighter than his embarrassment from falling. The twilight shadows stretch long as the sun sets further, casting a soft glow over the car and the two of them standing beside it. Celia’s casual demeanor contrasts sharply with Ford's mounting confusion.

“I’m not- I’m not trying to upset you or anything I just need to know. Seriously, what was that? I’ve seen some strange things in Gravity Falls, but that was something else. You look so…human.” He tries again.

“What are you talking about? I mean, do you hear the shit that comes out of your mouth?” She laughs awkwardly as she opens her door and takes a seat.

“Please, don’t go. I am knee-deep in my research into the paranormal and supernatural, which has made me somewhat of a recluse but I’m not a stalker. I’m not gonna follow you but it’s not beneath me to fall to my knees and beg,” He walks to stand just beside her door as she turns the car on. “I know what I saw. And maybe you disguise whatever you are with your pretty hair and your eyes and your smile but I just saw you do something insane and I need to know more.”

“You think I’m pretty?” She turns to look at him and he just sighs. Ford looks a bit sheepish but maintains his earnest gaze. Celia, sensing his sincerity, softens. “Look, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just...I’m not in the mood for more questions right now. I’m here to get away from everything and this is a small enough town that maybe I’ll choose to stay here. But I don’t want this to be just a copy of what my old life was like with people wanting to know every single thing about me for superficial reasons.”

“I understand. And if you’re not up for talking about it, I won’t press. But, if you’re staying in town for a bit, I’d like to offer you a proper meal. It’s the least I can do for someone who’s had such a weird night.” He offers, trying desperately to not let her go.

“You’re stubborn.” She pulls her sunglasses off of her head and sets them down. He puts a smug smirk on his face as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before clasping his hands.

“Please?”

“Beg a little harder and you’ve got yourself a deal.” She laughs.

“I need to know your name to beg better.” He smiles.

“Celia.”

Ford looks up at her from his kneeling position, the gravel digging into his knees, but he doesn’t care. There’s a flicker of something unnameable in his eyes—part desperation, part admiration, part fascination. He’s not sure if it’s because of what he saw or because she’s the most captivating person he’s met in a long time. Probably both.

“Celia,” He repeats as if testing how it feels on his tongue. “Celia...please, don’t leave. I’ll do anything. I’ll even throw in dessert.”

“Dessert, huh?” She smiles this beautiful smile that makes his heart feel warm. “You really know how to sweeten a deal.”

“I’m nothing if not resourceful,” He says, getting back on his feet. He brushes the dirt off his pants and grins at her, his usual seriousness softened by a playfulness that surprises even him. “Come on. You’ve got to be hungry for something other than Pop Rocks and tequila. That’s no dinner, that’s a crisis.”

“You know, you’re a strange guy, whatever your name is.” She laughs, the sound genuine and warm.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. My name is Stanford but just call me Ford.”

“Alright, then. I’m driving though. Hop in.” She unlocks the doors with a small grin.

“Can’t argue with that.” He shrugs.

Ford walks around before opening the door. He awkwardly tucks his lanky frame into the passenger seat, looking somewhat out of place in the low-slung car, but Celia just finds it endearing.

“Here, let me help you out.” She says, drawing another circle with her finger in the air and doing his seatbelt for him before childishly laughing as he freaks out.

“Y- you just-“ He starts as he looks at her with wide eyes.

“Tell me where to go, I’ve never been to this town before.” She giggles.

Ford takes a deep breath, trying to process the casual display of magic he just witnessed. Her laughter and the sparkle in her eyes make it difficult for him to stay too shocked, though. There’s something undeniably captivating about her, something that goes beyond the mysterious magic she wields so effortlessly.

“Well, there’s a diner just a couple of miles down the road,” He says, finally managing to pull his thoughts together. “It’s not fancy, but the food’s good. Turn left up ahead.”

Celia gives a nod and the car roars to life as she presses the gas. The convertible smoothly glides back onto the road, the wind catching her hair again as they drive towards the diner. Ford sneaks glances at her, still curious about the woman beside him, but now also genuinely intrigued by the person she is beyond the magic.

It felt more casual when he took this on as a sort of challenge to gain her trust to know more about her but things feel weird now. He’s never been the type to flirt or chase after anyone but when he was on his knees in front of her car, he felt that same vulnerability.

“So, Ford,” Celia starts, her voice light as she navigates the road, “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Research, mostly. Gravity Falls is…well, it’s unlike anywhere else. There are strange things here, things that defy explanation. I’ve been trying to uncover the mysteries of this town for years.” Ford tells her, leaning back in his seat as Celia glances at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And you’re telling me that you’ve never met anyone who can do what I just did? It’s basic shit, everything you’ve seen so far is like what you learn in the baby classes.” She laughs.

“Not exactly. I’ve seen some bizarre things, but- um, nothing quite like you.” He clears his throat.

“So, I’m not from around here. But you already figured that out, didn’t you?”

Ford nods, the gears in his mind still turning as he considers what she might mean by that.

“I did, but there’s more to you than just that, isn’t there?” He sighs, turning to look at her.

“Maybe,” She says with a teasing smile. “But you’ll have to earn those answers, Ford.”

She turns up the radio as they make their way to the diner and he’s still stuck observing her. He shamelessly takes out his journal and begins his first attempt at drawing her. She looks over and notices the drawing before shrugging it off and turning back to the road.

Her fingers tap on the wheel as she seems to effortlessly maneuver the vehicle. Despite her singing and wild eyes often looking back to the man in her passenger seat. And then the song changes and she’s singing again.

“Ugh, I wish my name was in a song,” She hums before going to sing. “The sailors say Brandy you're a fine girl. What a good wife you would be but my life my love and my lady is the sea.”

“This song is depressing.” Ford looks up from his journal.

“Yeah, but it’s so catchy.” She shrugs.

“She can’t be with the guy she loves because he loves the sea more than her? Shoot me,” He jokes. “You know, I’m not much of a music person.”

“How can you not be a music person? Music is the foundation of pretty much everything.” She tries.

“That is most definitely not true.”

"Oh, come on! Music is like... the soul's language. It can express things words just can't. Especially if you’re too chicken to say what you mean out loud like me.” Celia giggles.

"I’ve always thought science is more the foundation of everything. The universe doesn’t run on melodies, it runs on laws and equations." Ford tries.

“Maybe," Celia concedes, but her eyes twinkle with a challenge. "But music is what makes life worth living. It’s what turns those laws and equations into something you can feel. It connects people and stirs up emotions, even memories. Like right now—I bet you’ll remember this drive whenever you hear 'Brandy' from now on. And you’ll think of me and how we just met and probably how beautiful I am."

“You’ve made yourself unforgettable without the song.” He chuckles.

“But in thirty years when you hear it again, it’ll feel like you’re right back in this car with me.” She smiles.

She’s still smiling as she pulls the car into a spot near the entrance of the diner. It’s a simple and cozy place, nothing too alarming. As the two step out of the car and start walking up to the diner, Ford gets more nervous. He holds the door open for her and things feel different again.

That’s amplified as he sits across from her in a booth. When he looks at her, it’s like he knows that he’s in trouble. Like there’s something special about this girl that led him to her. Other than the fact that she’s magical in the most literal way possible.

A few locals are scattered throughout, quietly enjoying their meals, but the place is far from crowded. The soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of dishes create a comforting background noise.

Their drink orders get taken, hers being an iced tea, no sugar, three lemon slices. His eyes drift to her again after the waitress walks away.

“What?” She asks.

“You’re very particular about your drinks, huh?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Iced tea, three lemons. Club soda, two limes. Martini with two olives and an onion. I'm particular about a lot of things that don’t really matter.” Celia sets the menu down and leans forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So, tell me more about this research of yours. What kind of mysteries are we talking about here?"

Ford leans back against the booth, considering how to frame his answer.

"Gravity Falls is a magnet for the strange and unexplained. Cryptids, paranormal events, anomalies in the fabric of reality itself. I’ve dedicated my life to uncovering these mysteries, trying to understand what makes this place so...unique." He speaks and Celia listens intently, clearly intrigued.

"That sounds incredible. And a little dangerous, no?" She asks.

"It can be," Ford admits, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I’ve always believed that understanding the unknown is worth the risk. Knowledge is the greatest reward."

“You’re a nerd,” She tells him. “A cute nerd but a nerd nonetheless.”

“I haven’t been called a nerd in so many years.” He shakes his head with a small smirk growing.

“Maybe not to your face.” She laughs.

“I’m an anomaly myself. I’m sure you’ve noticed my extra finger,” He shows her his hand in an attempt to make her tell him something about herself too. “I was made fun of for most of my life but now I live alone so, there’s that.”

“I didn’t notice,” She lies, no wedding ring, she notices. “Wait, no one ever liked your fingers?”

“No, they called me Freaky Ford. I guess they couldn’t think of a better nickname.” He shrugs.

“Not even in college? You didn’t have girls around the corner for you? With an extra finger?” She asks, in disbelief.

“What? No, why would they?” He asks, obliviously.

“I think six fingers is cute. It’s special. Important people always have something weird about them anyway.” She tells him.

“Cute? You think my fingers are…I’ve never-“ He gets nervous before clearing his throat.

When the waitress comes by, they place their orders and settle into a comfortable silence, the buzz of the diner creating a pleasant backdrop. Celia looks out the window, her thoughts drifting as she absentmindedly taps her fingers on the table.

He’s still nervous, tangling his fingers in his coat and tapping his foot over and over again. She makes him so nervous and he doesn’t know why. But he hasn’t been able to converse with any other anomaly or weird thing like this. Let alone have it call him cute.

“So, Celia,” Ford begins, breaking the silence. “Why Gravity Falls? Why now?”

“I just needed a break from everything. I’ve been on the road for a while, trying to clear my head. When I saw the sign for Gravity Falls, something just...called me here. Maybe it’s the weird energy of this place, or maybe I just needed a change of pace. And also, I don’t like driving in the dark.” She tells him nonchalantly. Ford nods, understanding the need for change all too well.

“Where are you from, really?”

Celia hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching his before she answers.

“I’m from a place called the Boiling Isles. It’s...not exactly on any map you’d find here.” She says quietly.

Ford’s curiosity piques again, but he can tell this is something important to her, something she’s not used to sharing.

“The Boiling Isles... sounds intriguing. And definitely not anywhere near Oregon.” He tries to lighten the air and she laughs softly.

“No, definitely not. It’s...well, let’s just say it’s a place where magic isn’t just something you read about in books. But it’s a lot more complicated than it sounds. I left because...well, I needed more than what that world could offer me. I wanted to be free to make my own choices, to live my own life. So I came here, to this world. The place went to shit after they banned the use of wild magic and tried to shove every witch into a coven where you could only use one type of magic. It’s fucking stupid.” She sighs as Ford’s mind races, trying to comprehend the magnitude of what she’s telling him.

“And you’ve been here ever since? Living among humans, hiding what you are?” He asks.

“Pretty much,” She nods, her expression bittersweet. “I’ve had to blend in, keep a low profile. But sometimes it’s hard to keep everything hidden, especially when people start asking questions.”

“Like I did,” Ford realizes, feeling a pang of guilt.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind, really. You’re different. You actually seem to care about what’s behind the magic, not just the spectacle.” Celia smiles reassuringly and Ford returns the smile, feeling a strange sense of connection with her.

“Well, I’ve always been more interested in the why and the how of things. And you, Celia, are definitely something worth understanding.” He says nervously.

The rest of the dinner passes in a blur of comfortable conversation and shared laughter. Celia and Ford find themselves effortlessly navigating from one topic to the next, their connection deepening as they learn more about each other. The food is delicious in that simple, comforting way that only diner food can be, and for a while, the worries of the world outside fade away.

Ford watches Celia with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. There's something magnetic about her, something that draws him in despite his usual cautious nature. He’s always been focused on his work, driven by a singular purpose, but now, sitting across from her, he feels something shift inside him—something he can’t quite name.

He pays the bill, and they both slide out of the booth, making their way to the door. Outside, the night has fully settled in, the stars twinkling above them in the clear sky. The cool air is refreshing after the warmth of the diner, and they stand there for a moment, basking in the quiet of the small town.

“So…need a ride home?” She asks.

“I walked to the store so I’m good walking back to my place, it’s not too far.” He shrugs.

“Oh, come on, man. I’ll drive you home.” She laughs.

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You’re not,” She shakes her head as she steps into the car and shuts the door. “Hop in.”

The drive is mostly silent as Ford directs her to his home, a cozy cabin on the outskirts of town. The drive is short, but the tension in Ford’s chest grows with each passing minute. It feels like there’s still so much to know about her but she keeps throwing him off and doing things he’d never expect.

She turns off the car and immediately picks her legs up on the seat when they arrive. With magic on her side, the bottle of tequila drops on her lap and she puts it beside her.

“So, I guess I should probably find a place to stay for the night. Do you know any good motels around here?” She asks and Ford hesitates, his protective instincts kicking in. The thought of her staying alone in some run-down motel doesn’t sit well with him.

“Actually…if you’d like, you could stay at my place. It’s not much, but it’s safe, and I’ve got a spare room.” He offers.

“Are you sure, Ford? Inviting a girl you just met back to your place? Isn’t that how horror movies start?” She smiles teasingly.

“I promise, I’m not a serial killer. Besides, it’s the least I can do after you let me interrogate you like a criminal.” He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Alright, then. I’ll take you up on that offer. I’m opening this now though.” She picks up the bottle again, pulling off the lid.

She leans back in her seat as she takes a sip straight from the bottle and he watches in something between awe and horror. She pulls it away from her lips before holding it out to him. Drinking tequila outside of his own house in a girl’s car would be a new experience for him.

“What are you?” He asks as he takes the bottle from her hands before bringing it up to his lips.

“I’m a witch,” She says as she takes the illusion off her ears. “Lucky for me, I look mostly human.”

“That you do, Celia,” He chuckles, handing her the bottle back.

“I’ll try to answer whatever I can but there’s a lot I don’t know about myself or my people.” She tells him, looking at Ford and giving him her full attention.

“Where does magic come from?”

“Well, every witch has a sort of bile sack attached to their hearts which is where magic comes from. But the broader answer is the Titan,” She explains and he quickly fumbles for his book. “But honestly, Ford, none of this matters. I’m not some strange oddity that inhabits this place, I’m just rolling through.”

He puts the book down as he looks at her. She brings the tequila bottle back to her lips and turns to face him more.

“I’m just a girl, even if I have pointy ears. I mean, I guess I am an oddity to you but I’m just…Celia.” She shrugs and he closes the journal. She offers him the bottle once more and he surprises himself when he takes it.

He’s never been one to invite people into his personal space, let alone someone as captivating as Celia. The thought of having her in his home, sharing his space, sends his nerves into overdrive. But the tequila cools that all down. They start talking about normal people things.

He explains to her more things about his work and what he’s found here and to his surprise, she listens. She rests her head on her hand, her elbow pushed against the back of her seat with her body turned to face him. That gets him talking more about his life, how and where he grew up. The only detail he leaves out is his twin brother. He doesn’t want to dump that on the pretty girl listening to his ‘nerd talk’ so early.

Then they start talking about the world and pop culture, Ford feeling like there’s so much he doesn’t know. For the first time, he feels like there’s something about the world that he’s missing that everyone else can see, not the other way around. But with her, it starts to make more sense. And to his surprise, she starts conversations about books she’s read in her time here and she understands them in a way he doesn’t.

“No, don’t even get me started on Gatsby. It’s a flowery love story disguised as great literature.” Ford rolls his eyes, taking another sip of the tequila and realizing he’s feeling buzzed out of his mind.

“Have you even read it?” She asks.

“Once a long time ago, but I remember enough to know that it’s a bullshit love story about a rich guy and a girl he lost.” He laughs.

“No, it’s not!” She shrieks with a wide grin as she sits up more. “Gatsby doesn’t love Daisy and Daisy doesn’t love Gatsby. If anything, Nick Carraway was in love with Gatsby. No man who’s not in love with another man spends pages describing the other man’s smile. Daisy isn’t just a girl Gatsby lost. She represents the American Dream—the idealized version of success and happiness that everyone’s chasing. But Gatsby doesn’t really love Daisy for who she is. He loves her because she’s the embodiment of everything he’s been striving for. She’s not a person to him; she’s a symbol.”

Ford listens intently, captivated by her intensity. She is so different from anyone he has ever met and he can’t help but hear her.

“Gatsby didn’t build his life on anything real. He built it on the image of Daisy’s dreams, on this idea that if he could just have her, he’d finally have everything he ever wanted. But that’s the tragedy of it—what he’s chasing isn’t real. Daisy’s not the perfect, pure vision he thinks she is. She’s flawed, just like the American Dream itself. And Gatsby’s so blinded by his obsession that he can’t see it,” Celia pauses, letting her words sink in, before taking another sip from the bottle. “The whole story is about the emptiness of that chase. Gatsby’s life, his wealth, his parties—they’re all just distractions, illusions to cover up the fact that he’s desperately trying to reach something that doesn’t actually exist. And in the end, it’s that illusion that destroys him.”

Ford is silent for a moment, processing what she’s said. He’s always dismissed The Great Gatsby as a superficial love story, but the way Celia describes it makes him see it in a new light. There’s something profound in her interpretation, something that resonates with his own understanding of life’s complexities.

“Maybe I need to re-read the book.” He chuckles.

“Smart people are sometimes the ones who never see what’s in front of them.” She laughs.

“You think I’m smart?” His eyes fall on her again.

“Come on,” She jokingly pushes his shoulder and he smiles.

“Show me something, what else can you do?” He asks, his words beginning to slightly slur.

“What do you want to see?” She smiles and slightly tilts her head.

“Anything you’re willing to show me.”

“Wanna see what you’re gonna look like at sixty?” She giggles.

“Sure, if I even make it to sixty.” He jokes.

There’s purple light surrounding the magic as she shows a projection of him at sixty years old. They both observe in silence for a moment, he doesn’t look bad.

“Not bad.” Celia hums as she drops the projection.

“You are something else.” He smiles at her as she quickly leans over to grab his left hand.

He watches as she just looks at it for a moment. Her hands are soft, softer than his. And she carefully holds his hand with both of hers as she observes him.

“If you have six fingers, how do you know which one your wedding ring would go on?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess…the fourth one still? But it would look strange,” He shrugs as he wiggles the fourth finger. “No one would have me anyway with my extra fingers.”

“That’s not true, I’m sure a lot of people would have you.” She leans her head to rest on the headrest all while turning to face him again.

“That’s easy for you to say, I’m sure everybody wants you. You’re famous, you’re probably stupid rich, and you’re gorgeous.” He tells her.

“That’s not enough to marry someone.” She shrugs.

“But then talking to you is so easy and so…fun? I’ve never felt like this talking to someone. I get stuttery and I say the wrong things but I haven’t messed this up yet,” He says honestly. “And you aren’t even human. Of course, the girl I can actually talk to without saying something stupid is a witch.”

“I promise you, you are a catch. The quiet nerdy types make the best boyfriends because they, usually, won’t go chasing after every pretty girl in sight.” She tries. Ford laughs softly, his nerves easing just a bit as they continue to talk.

“You’re probably just saying that to be nice,” He says, half-joking, half-hopeful. God, this tequila is messing with my mind, I could almost think she likes me, he thinks.

“Not at all. You’ve got this whole silly little genius vibe going on. It’s cute, six fingers or five.” She smiles, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“Silly little genius, huh? That’s a new one,” He chuckles, feeling a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the tequila.

“Yeah, and it’s kinda hot,” Celia teases, giving him a playful nudge. Ford feels his face flush, a mix of embarrassment and excitement bubbling up inside him.

“You’re just full of surprises,” He murmurs, almost to himself.

“Hey, life’s too short to be predictable.” She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “You know, you’re really fun to be around. I wasn’t expecting that when I walked into that store today.”

Ford’s breath catches in his throat as he meets her gaze. There’s something about the way she’s looking at him—like she’s seeing right through all his layers of self-doubt and insecurity. Before he can overthink it, she’s leaning in, closing the distance between them. And he wants to let go, to just exist with her in this moment and forget about everything else.

“Wanna know something else that’s fun?” Celia says, her lips curving into a mischievous smile.

“W-what’s that?” Ford stammers, feeling his heart pound in his chest. That’s when he starts hoping and praying she’s gonna do what he thinks she’s gonna do.

“This,” She laughs so softly as she gently pulls him closer to her by his jacket before kissing him.

To Ford, it’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through him. His mind races, trying to process the fact that this is really happening—that this incredible, magical woman is kissing him. He leans into her completely, having never experienced anything quite like this. Her hands run along his shoulders and he feels everything in him suddenly turn to her.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands as she kisses him so perfectly. He places his over hers as she sits up ever so slightly.

“Can I-“ She whispers against his lips, gesturing to his seat.

“Yes.” He breathes out, nodding.

She sits up and puts one knee on the side of his legs before using that to help her bring her other leg around. She slowly sits down, now straddling his lap. Her hands cup his face as she leans down to kiss him again. His hands find her waist as he desperately holds onto her.

“You are-“ He breathes out before she leans down to place her lips on his jaw.

His breath is taken away from him as soon as she drags her lips down his neck. No one has ever felt so good on his skin. The kiss is hungry and desperate, his hands gripping at her shirt.

Celia pulls back after a moment, still smiling as if nothing monumental just happened, but Ford is left stunned, staring at her like she’s just turned his world upside down.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” She teases as if this was all just another casual moment in her day. She’s still smiling at him as she gently brings her hands up to fix his glasses.

“I…you…” Ford’s lips tingle from the kiss, and he can barely find his voice to respond.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite…unless you ask nicely.” She winks, and he swears his heart might actually stop.

To Celia, it’s just a fun, spontaneous moment—an expression of the instant connection she feels with this quirky, endearing guy she’s just met. But for Ford, it’s something much more. It’s like the world has shifted on its axis, and suddenly, nothing will ever be the same.

“What do you want, Ford?” She asks quietly, placing her hands on his shoulders, his hands falling to her hips.

“It’s been a long time, Celia.” He says nervously.

“I’m sorry, I can go.” She leans back the slightest bit but his hands don’t let go of her hips and hers don’t let go of his shoulders.

“Don’t be sorry,” He says quickly before softly chucking. “I just…you’re so out of my league.”

“I promise you, I’m not.” She smiles.

Celia studies Ford's face, her eyes twinkling with that playful mischief again. He’s still trying to catch his breath, still trying to make sense of everything that just happened. Her smile softens as she takes in his expression, a mix of awe and disbelief.

She gently pushes his messy hair back and he feels like he’s gonna burn into ash if he pulls away from her.

“You’re thinking too much.” She says before gently leaning to place another kiss on his jaw.

“I can’t help it. All I do is think.” He breathes out from her kiss.

“Just let go for a while.” She shrugs with a mischievous grin.

Ford swallows hard, nodding slightly as if he’s trying to convince himself to follow her advice. But she can see the hesitation, the way he’s grappling with the fact that this—this amazing woman, this magic, this connection—is all real.

“Hey, wait,” She smiles again as she looks behind her for a moment. “I totally learned a bit of construction magic before I left.”

“C-construction magic?” Ford stumbles through the sentence.

“Yes!” She says like it’s obvious with her smile widening.

Celia grins and glances around, then turns her attention back to the empty space behind her. She closes her eyes for a moment, and with a simple gesture, her fingers weave through the air, orange light swirling around them. Within seconds, a small, cozy cottage materializes, complete with a softly glowing fireplace, plush seating, and windows that overlook the starry sky. Ford’s jaw drops as he watches the house appear out of nowhere, perfectly crafted, as if it had always been there.

“You…you just…built that?”

“It’s only temporary, I can destroy it as quickly as I built it.” She assures.

Ford blinks, still trying to process what’s happening. He looks from the cottage to Celia and back again, his mind struggling to catch up.

“That’s- it’s incredible,” He finally manages to say.

“Come on, let’s check it out.” Celia gives him a playful nudge.

She starts to slide off his lap, but before she can move away completely, Ford finds his courage and, with a burst of determination, gently grabs her hand to stop her.

“Wait,” He says, his voice shaky.

“Yeah?” Celia turns back to him.

Ford’s heart pounds in his chest as he looks up at her, the realization finally settling in that this is real, that she’s real, and she’s here with him. It’s overwhelming, but there’s something in him that refuses to let this moment slip away. He takes a deep breath, summoning all the bravery he can muster.

“I…I want to kiss you again,” He stammers, his face flushed. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course, it is,” She whispers.

Ford’s hands tremble slightly as he reaches up to cup her face, his movements awkward and hesitant, but the earnestness in his touch makes Celia’s heart skip a beat. He leans in, slowly, almost nervously, as if afraid he might do something wrong. His lips brush against hers, tentative at first, but then he presses in a little more, and the kiss deepens.

She holds her hands over his, leaning into it. To him, it’s like stepping off a cliff and finding that instead of falling, he’s floating—weightless, free. But his nerves get the better of him, and he accidentally bumps his nose against hers, which makes him pull back, flustered and embarrassed.

“I-I’m sorry,” He mutters, looking away, his face burning with mortification.

But Celia just laughs softly, a sweet, melodic sound that eases his anxiety.

“Hey, it’s okay,” She says, tilting his chin up so he’s looking at her again. “You’re doing great.”

Ford hesitates, still feeling a bit awkward, but her reassurance gives him the confidence to try again. He kisses her once more, this time with a little more certainty, even though his hands are still shaking slightly as they rest on her waist.

Celia smiles against his lips, her fingers threading through his hair as she leans into him, deepening the kiss. She can feel the way he’s pouring everything into this moment, how it means so much more to him than just a simple kiss, and it makes her heart swell.

Ford’s nervousness starts to melt away as he loses himself in the kiss, his world narrowing down to just the two of them. When they finally part, he’s breathless, his mind spinning with a mix of emotions he’s never felt before.

“You’re amazing,” He breathes out, almost in disbelief, as if he’s trying to convince himself that this is all really happening. Celia grins, her thumb brushing over his cheek as she whispers back,

“You’re amazing and adorable.”

[simpforpeterp]

Stanford Pines x Reader

Movin’ Out

summary: ford gets a job at the very grocery store you work at to pay for college. lucky for you, you get to train him! enjoy

warnings: none

word count: 1.23k

“Hey, kid, feel comfortable training someone?” Miranda, the store manager, asks as your last customer walks away.

“Not at a-“

“Great! This is Ford.” She pushes a young man toward you as you slowly turn that way, not realizing he was right there.

“Hi. I would ask your name but it’s right there.” He points to your name badge.

“Hi,” You nod politely before realizing your manager is quickly walking away. “What am I training you in?”

“I don’t know, everything?” He says and you let out a sigh.

“I’m definitely not the right person for this, I just got hired two weeks ago so let’s see how this goes.” You smile as you go to shut off your register.

Ford waits until you’re walking in front of him to sigh. He doesn’t even want this job. He quite frankly doesn’t have the time but he has to pay his way through school somehow. Going to Backupsmore, there was a bunch of other rejected, tortured, smart kids just like him that got scholarships more than his. He needs money. He needs money so he can start eating real food again.

And just his luck, on his first day of work, he’s stuck getting trained by someone who barely knows what they’re doing.

“I’m barely starting to know what I’m doing.” You tell him as you reach a back room with a bunch of returns and left behinds.

You go on your tiptoes to reach a rope looking thing with a hook on the end and pull another one down for him. He accepts it when you put it in his hand and begin leading him out the front doors.

“We’re starting easy with carts. Here is our map of the different parking lot sections,” You point to a color coordinated map of the sections. “On each cart corral, there’s tape that matches to each section. If a manager asks you to go outside to, let’s say, yellow, you’d exit through produce and stick to the corrals with yellow tape. Simple enough, yeah?”

“More than simple enough,” He clears his throat. “I’m a physics major, I’m capable of reading a map.”

“You should be glad I’m taking my time with this, take a look around,” You gesture to the crowded store. “It’s a Sunday. Sunday’s are the worst because everyone is trying to shop for the week. We’re getting paid to do nothing right now. Now, come on, let’s go to purple.”

He reluctantly follows you as you lead him through the parking lot to the very back. You begin to explain the way you push carts here, how you put the hook through the metal and how many carts to push at a time and where to take them. He continues to check his watch and pray this training will be over soon.

As Ford checks his watch for the third time, you notice his impatient expression, and it’s hard not to smirk.

“You’re really in a hurry, huh?” You tease, keeping your tone light. “Don’t worry, Einstein, you’ll get to the actual brain work soon enough.”

Ford’s eyebrows raise slightly, and he gives a reluctant chuckle, glancing up at you. He notices the playful look on your face and that’s when he realizes how nice your smile is. There’s that smile crinkle by your eyes that make them shine even brighter.

“Yeah, well… let’s just say this isn’t exactly where I imagined myself on a Sunday. But, hey, everyone’s gotta start somewhere.” He sighs.

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere,” You repeat, nodding. “And unfortunately, that somewhere is here in the back of the purple section, dragging carts in the heat.”

He lets out a sigh, his shoulders visibly slumping, and it hits you how worn-out he looks. He’s obviously intelligent, probably a lot smarter than the usual hires around here, but something about him seems weighed down, almost as if he’s been carrying too much for too long.

“Why are you here, anyway? You don’t exactly seem… thrilled about the job either.” As the two of you finish up with the carts, he speaks up again, almost out of nowhere.

“Why am I here? That’s a good question. I guess ‘barely making rent’ is a pretty good reason.” You laugh a little at his bluntness, pushing a stray hair behind your ear.

“Yeah… I get that. Tuition’s no joke, and the scholarships don’t cover everything.” He tells you.

“Oh, so you’re here to pay your way through school?” You ask as you both start pushing the last row of carts back toward the store.

“Pretty much. Not exactly by choice, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do.” He shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a resigned smile.

For a moment, he seems almost vulnerable, like he’s showing you a piece of himself he doesn’t usually share.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” You reply, feeling a small connection form between you two.

“You go to school out here too?” He asks as you reach the store entrance,

“UCLA,” You nod with a smile. “I’m studying anthropology. I took too long to pick a major so my dad picked for me.”

“UCLA, nice. Are you an antiquarian type?” He asks.

“Not really,” You laugh, shaking your head. “I mean, ancient artifacts are cool and all, but I’m more interested in people—why they do what they do, how cultures shape them. Plus, anthropology was the closest major to 'figuring out life' that my dad could find. I’ve never really been a school person but I like people. Most of the time.”

“I can see that. You seem pretty curious about the world. But I guess you’d have to be, working here and not losing your mind.” Ford smiles at that, and for the first time, it feels like he’s genuinely enjoying the conversation.

“Come on, let’s go do a basket pick up.” You nudge him.

After showing him how to do sweeps of the main floor, the baskets, bagging, returns, left-behinds, damages, propane exchanges, and ice purchases, you’re pretty much done.

You get him to talk more throughout and he becomes actually enjoyable to talk to. Spreading him open is the only one to know him, he doesn’t slowly open up. You have to push a little. But he eventually talks more and more. And talking turns to laughing which is even more fun.

As you head back to the registers after completing the rounds, Ford’s laughter lingers in the air—a sound that’s both rare and surprisingly warm. You can tell he doesn’t laugh like this often, maybe because he doesn’t have the time or maybe because he doesn’t think there’s much to laugh about. But today, you’ve somehow cracked through that careful, studious exterior, just a little.

“You know,” he says as you both lean against a counter, taking a breather, “I didn’t expect to actually enjoy this. I thought it’d just be another job. But… you make it interesting.”

“Well, I’m glad I could make ‘dragging carts in the heat’ slightly more bearable for you.” You smile, noticing a slight blush on his cheeks.

“So…when do you work next?” He asks almost nervously.

“Tuesday. You?”

“Tuesday.” He says with a small smile.

“Okay, Ford,” You smile back at him. “See you Tuesday. Maybe you’ll be able to help me finally memorize those produce codes.”

[simpforpeterp]

god bless anyone who comments on ao3

[simpforpeterp]

Lucifer Morningstar x OC

Just Like Heaven

summary: In the aftermath of a new accord between Heaven and Hell, Lucifer Morningstar finds himself pulled back into the past by the unexpected reappearance of an old flame from the beginning of time. In a big mess of concerts, big parties, and buried emotions, how could the King of Hell get her to not hate him?

warnings: none other than the usual hazbin stuff

word count: 3.16k

  After the battles had been won, the deals settled, Heaven and Hell had reached an agreement. Sinners can now be redeemed to Heaven. And with that, residents of Heaven are allowed to visit Hell. Most do not but there's a surprising amount that do. Especially now that Hell is coming up.

Seeing that they can get to Heaven makes a lot of sinners want to be better. But first, it's time to party. Hell has seen an economic boom with the economy having grown by 42% and everyone's looking for a good time. Everything is getting bigger and better which causes more problems for their King.

Although all of that sounds great, and it is, it also means he has to start working again. Hell is still shitty but cities expanded rapidly, spurred by a sudden baby boom among Hellborn citizens. He's been drowning in paperwork and appearances and bullshit that doesn't matter.

A lot more concerts have been happening. Music is big in Heaven so a few brave artists expand their tours to Hell in the very new arenas and stadiums in each ring. When Charlie begged Lucifer to get her and her girlfriend into the sold-out show tonight in their box, he agreed. Except he decided she deserved better than that and brought her straight to the floor.

The air in the brand-new VoxTek stadium is electric. Lights flash, music pulses, and the crowd buzzes with anticipation. Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell, stood amongst the throngs of demons, feeling out of place in his own realm. He had been reluctant to come, but Charlie insisted.

"You need a break, Dad," Charlie turns to him with a smile as security guards surround them. "This will be good for you. And me, I desperately need a break from all the new guests at the hotel."

"Yeah, they are pretty exhausting," Vaggie adds.

"Sinners suck." He whispers with a wide grin.

Despite his initial reluctance, Lucifer finds himself intrigued by the atmosphere in the stadium. The VoxTek Stadium, with its state-of-the-art design and acoustics that reverberate throughout Hell's depths, is a testament to the newfound cultural renaissance gripping the underworld.

As they make their way closer to the stage, Lucifer can't help but notice the vibrant mix of demons, angels, and redeemed sinners, all eagerly awaiting the performance.

"You're going to love this, Dad. She puts on an amazing show." Charlie nudges him gently.

"Wait, I didn't even ask, who are we seeing?" He asks.

"Oh, it's El-"

As Charlie is about to finish saying Elizabeth's name, the stadium suddenly erupts into chaos. The lights dim and the crowd begins screaming and cheering as loud as possible. Lucifer turns to the front as colors form across the stage and onto the big screen up front.

The lights cast a mystical aura over the scene. The crowd's screams and cheers reverberate through the air, increasing anticipation. Colors swirl across the massive screens flanking the stage, creating a mesmerizing backdrop that pulsed with energy.

As dancers begin to enter the stage, finding their spots around the center, people lose their minds. Lucifer stands with his eyes fixed on the stage as images flash across the screens—scenes of celestial beauty juxtaposed with fiery landscapes of Hell. Each visual goes with the rhythm of the music.

The air is filled with excitement as the music intensifies, reaching a fever pitch that matches the feeling of the audience. Then, as if summoned by the song, a figure rose from the center of the stage. She emerged slowly, bathed in a spotlight that seemed to gather all the light in the universe around her.

His stomach falls as soon as he sees her. He could recognize that face anywhere, those dark brown curls, those deep green eyes. The first notes of the song float through the air, and as she opens her mouth to sing, her voice, clear and ethereal, fills every corner of the stadium. The crowd goes wild, caught in the spell of her presence, but Lucifer remains rooted to the spot, his gaze locked onto her.

It was her—El, Lizzie, Liz, his best friend.

Memories flood back in a rush: their laughter under the willow tree, the stolen moments in Eden, when he fell. He would've never expected to see her again, not like this, commanding the stage with grace and power.

Lucifer feels a mix of emotions surge within him—longing, regret, and a desperate hope to somehow make amends for the past. He has to find a way to reach her. He immediately takes his hat off and begins to fix his hair nervously, as if it matters.

Stupid, stupid, there's no way she can even see me from here, he thinks.

She looks beautiful. She still looks just as young as she did when they met. Her eyes still have that youthful spirit and she looks exactly the same. When did he change so much? He watches her with stars in his eyes throughout the first three songs.

The only thing different is the way she's dressed. Since she's in Hell, she's wearing a red leather jacket, a red lacy top, and this little black skirt that matches with these platform black boots. Her eyes are just as striking as ever and when the first three songs are done, she walks over to a mic stand in the center of the stage. She's only a few feet in front of them now and he can really see how beautiful she is.

She takes a step back and teasingly takes off her jacket, handing it to a dancer. The crowd goes wild and it makes her laugh as she goes up to talk. And if he didn't know it by now, that laugh of hers tells him that it's still his same old El.

"Hi, everybody, I'm Elizabeth," She says and once again, everyone starts cheering. "But after tonight, we're gonna be so close, you can call me Liz."

"It's so cute that she says that as if people don't know who she is." Charlie leans over to tell him.

"And I would like to take this incredible opportunity you've given me to say, Welcome to the Long Way Down Stadium Tour." She says proudly holding her arms out.

"I know her!" Lucifer tries to tell Charlie.

"What?" She yells and he knows she can't hear him.

"A little fun fact for all of you beautiful people in the Pride Ring," She continues, her voice ringing out confidently. "This is the first time anyone has been able to play three back-to-back shows in this stadium. Thank you so much for that. And thank you for joining me for the very first show in Hell for night one in Pride!"

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, Liz smiles, soaking in the adoration and excitement.

"I've been dreaming of this moment for so long," She says, her voice softening just a bit. "To bring my music to all of you, to share this experience in a brand new setting."

Lucifer watches her intently, his heart aching with a mix of pride and sadness. This was the same Lizzie he had known, yet she had grown into someone even more remarkable. And he missed out on all of it.

"And tonight," She continues as she takes the microphone off of the stand, now having a red microphone, "I want to take you on a journey through my life, my friendships, my heartbreaks. Is everyone ready?"

The crowd roars in agreement as she turns around to walk away with a big smile and the music swells once more as Lizzie launches into the next song. The stage lights dance around her, creating a mesmerizing display that enhances the magic of her performance.

Seeing her up there shining the way she does makes this feeling go through his chest. He stands there like a ghost at the end of the hallway as he watches her. He needs to see her, he needs to talk to her. He's the King of Hell, for fucks sake, he can find a way to get backstage after the show.

After five costume changes, thirty songs, and a lot of dances, Liz reaches the end of the show. As the outro starts Liz steps back to the center of the stage with the microphone in her hand as the dancers begin to exit.

She begins introducing her band and her dancers for the second time before they all come together for a bow. She's glowing up there and Lucifer hasn't taken his eyes off of her for even a second.

"Thank you everybody for coming out tonight," She smiles widely. "You all have been an incredible crowd and once again, thank you!"

She then bows by herself just before the stage begins to lower her back down all while confetti is blasting in the stadium.

"I know her, I need to go meet her." Lucifer places a hand on Charlie's back as he talks closer to her ear.

"You know her? Since when?" Charlie yells.

"Since forever, I gotta go, you coming with?" He asks as people begin to walk out.

"Vaggie, come on!" Charlie squeals happily as Lucifer begins to walk away.

He takes the lead as he begins rushing to the side of the stage. The first couple of guards let him through because he's the King and he finds his way to the backstage door.

"I want to meet Elizabeth," Lucifer says calmly but firmly.

"I mean, I can let you back there, Your Highness, but she's already gone." The guard says nervously.

"What do you mean she's already gone? The show just ended." He says quickly.

"She has a house here in Pride and she throws these big parties after every show. I'm headed there after my shift, I can write you the address." The guard practically gulps.

"Thank you, that would be great." Lucifer immediately conjures a pen and paper before pushing it to the man's chest.

The guard quickly scribbles down the address, hands shaking slightly as he hands the paper back to Lucifer.

"Here you go, Your Highness. Just...be careful. Her parties can get pretty wild."

"Thanks," Lucifer says bluntly, taking the paper and turning back to Charlie and Vaggie.

"What's the plan?" Vaggie asks.

"We're going to this party," Lucifer replies, determination etched on his face. "I have to talk to her."

"Why are you so obsessed with this girl?" Charlie laughs. "I mean, I know she's hot but-"

"I've known her since the beginning do time, I met her before your mother was even created. She was my best friend." Lucifer tells them and they both go quiet.

"Oh...shit." Charlie coughs.

"Let's go then, let's find her." Vaggie nods and then so does Charlie.

The trio makes their way out of the stadium, dodging groups of concertgoers still buzzing from the performance. They manage to flag down a taxi and give the driver the address, settling in for the ride.

As they wind through the neon-lit streets of the Pride Ring, Lucifer's mind races. He hasn't seen El in centuries, and now she's back, more vibrant and powerful than ever. He needs to explain himself, to apologize, to make things right. But how? What can he possibly say to make up for the years of silence and pain?

She knows exactly what happened to him, she was there. And he wasn't exactly considering her in any of his actions when he should've.

The taxi pulls up to a grand, sprawling mansion, it's exterior pulsating with colorful lights and thumping music. Even from the outside, it's clear that the party is in full swing. Lucifer takes a deep breath and steps out, followed closely by Charlie and Vaggie.

"We're gonna go get a drink, you go." Charlie gently pats his back.

Lucifer nods as he turns to face the party. His eyes nervously scan the room, desperately looking for her. The scene inside is nothing short of chaotic. Demons, angels, and redeemed sinners alike fill the rooms, dancing, drinking, and reveling in the spectacle of it all. A few members of the hotel are sitting by a big table so Lucifer heads there first.

"Angel, hi." He stands beside the spider demon.

"Hey, I didn't know you'd be here." He smiles.

"Do you know where El is?"

"Who?"

"Elizabeth? The girl throwing this party?"

"Oh, I didn't know she was throwing this party. I haven't even seen her around. Apparently, she does these in Heaven too and she's rarely even there. Maybe she's here tonight though, I'm hearing a lot of whispers." Angel shrugs.

"Whispers? Whispers about what? What kind of person throws big ass parties they don't attend?" He asks.

"Who knows about that last question, but apparently, she's got a whole mystery vibe going on," Angel says, leaning back in his chair. "I've heard whispers that she's been seen in multiple places at once. Some say she's got an army of doppelgängers, others say she's got the power to teleport. There's even a rumor that she doesn't really exist, that she's just a legend conjured up by the desperate and the damned."

"Okay, none of that is true," Lucifer chuckles. "Wait, so no one knows where she is?"

"I'd ask Husk. He's upstairs gambling, money only, no souls." He shrugs.

"Thanks, Angel." Lucifer nods and Angel just hums as he walks away.

He then turns to the large staircase. It's grand and beautiful. The more he looks around though, the less the house feels like her. Not the Lizzie he knew, anyway. He turns the corner and his heart stops when he sees her right beside Husk at the table with a smile.

"Blow on my dice, Liz?" He chuckles.

"Come on, Husk, I wanna throw 'em." She giggles and he immediately hands her the dice.

Lucifer begins charging through the crowd like a bull but he can't get to her. People keep moving in front of him, trying to crowd her. They immediately block her, his height is no advantage. He tries to push through but it's no use. The crowd around her cheers and he groans as he tries to get to the front.

After a minute or so of pushing he gets to the front but she's not there. He practically falls to his knees to pray that he'll get to see her. It wouldn't work but he'd try anything at this point. When he sees Adam standing on the edge by the railing of the stairs, he cringes.

He swallows his pride as he walks up to the first man.

"Adam, hey...man." He says awkwardly.

"What do you want?" He scoffs.

"Do you remember Lizzie?"

"Of course, I do. She's hot as fuck, we've hooked up a few times." He smirks smugly and Lucifer wants to strangle him for a moment.

"Did you see where she went?"

"She doesn't want to see you."

"How do you know that?" He asks.

"She hates you."

His stomach drops for a moment. He believes it, he did a lot of stupid shit. But he still wants to see her. After all, he built his life around her and what she wanted without even thinking about it. He realized right after building this life here, building his own home, that he made it in the image of her dreams.

"I need to see her, Adam." He says more vulnerably than ever.

"Why do you want everything I want?" He turns to face Lucifer.

"It's not about that, it's just- you know our history. If you know where she is, please just tell me." He breathes out.

Adam thinks for a moment, his foot tapping as he leans on the railing again. He sighs for a moment before looking back at Lucifer.

"If she's anywhere, she's on the roof." He tells him.

"Thank you, Adam, really. Thank you." Lucifer smiles before immediately turning to the balcony.

When he pushes open the door at the top, he's greeted by a cool breeze and the sight of the city's neon lights stretching out into the horizon. He turns around and there's a small ladder that leads to the roof. He goes to climb it without hesitation and that's when he sees her. She has a water bottle in her hands and when she looks down to see him, it falls.

The small green bottle begins to roll down the roof but he catches it.

"Hey." He says softly as he places both feet on the roof and walks to sit beside her, offering the bottle.

"What are you doing here, Lucifer?" She sighs.

"I had to see you, I just saw your show. It was incredible," He says, his voice wracked with emotion. She looks stunning with the wind blowing her hair just right. "It's been too long, El. I needed to find you, to talk to you."

"Talk? After all this time? Why now?" She crosses her arms.

"Because you're important to me. And I made some dumb decisions but-"

"Don't minimize it to that. I warned you what would happen, I was stupid enough to stick by your side." She sighs. "You piss me off. You made me look stupid...weak. I loved you."

"I- El, I loved you too. I swear I did." He breathes out.

"No, you don't do that to someone you love." She shakes her head.

"Elizabeth, you knew me better than anyone." He starts.

"And now I don't. We haven't spoken in millennia, Lucifer. I'm okay with just being a part of your origin story and you being a part of mine. I'm okay with all of our memories being just stories. You should learn to be okay with that. I heard you have a daughter now— good for you." She sighs before taking a sip of her water.

"You were my first love." He turns to face her.

"Grow up, Lucifer." She laughs.

"I remember when I was 'Lu' and 'Luci' instead of just my full name." He sighs.

"I waited for you. I was convinced you'd return and tell me about the crazy journey you went through. And then I found out you got married and had a kid and I moved on. It's bad enough I had to hear about your every damn move knowing you never heard about me. You didn't have to go through that torture of watching me change." She leans back and looks up at the sky.

Before she can say anything else, she stands up and brushes herself off.

"Take care of your daughter. Don't make the same mistakes again." She says as she begins to walk away.

He watches her as she walks away with this feeling in his heart. He needs to make this better, he needs to fix this.

[simpforpeterp]

i figured it’s time to grow up and rejoin twt so if any of you care you should follow me @herefromeden13 on there!!!

[simpforpeterp]

i desperately want tumblr pookies guys trust i’m so fun i promise i like hazbin, helluva boss, toh, amphibia, adventure time, anything musical theatre, stardew valley, hades, i am cool!!! please!!!

[simpforpeterp]

i have such a problem with coming up with too many fic ideas at once and then working on none of them