#get married on a whim

[nachosncheezies]

The Bet

Yoooo, so I said I was taking a break, but, the words! I saw the prompt fly across my dash earlier and I am not the one who received it and I do not know who sent it but this is the kind of thing that happens when I attempt menial labor! So, with apologies for stealing and without any proofreading, here's a little M+S "pilot wedding" ficlet.

~~~~~

They were going to pay a visit to Billy Miles. They were drenched, completely soaked through from the cold cemetery rain. Scully sat shivering audibly in the passenger seat. 

Mulder pulled off at the diner. “Our rooms and our clothes are gone. At least it’ll be warm,” he said.

The graveyard-shift waitress took one look at them and took pity. “You look like a coupla drowned rats,” she remarked. “Think we got some towels around here somewhere.” 

Soon they sat across from each other in a booth, stripped down to their trousers and tees, two cups of coffee steaming on the table between them. The waitress had scrounged up a pair of blankets from somewhere too, and they each wore one around their shoulders. Scully’s hair still clung heavily to her ears and down her neck in damp clumps. For all that, she was smiling.

“I gotta say, Scully, I’ve had a couple different partners over the years, but you’re not like anyone the Bureau has tried to send me." 

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "How’s that?”

He glanced both ways and then leaned forward across the table, beckoning her closer. She leaned forward too, putting her face close to his. He glanced around conspiratorially one more time.

“You’re fun,” he whispered. She straightened and blinked at him several times, unspeaking. He wondered if he’d been a little too inappropriate, until she once again burst out in the goofiest cackle he’d ever heard. It was even better without the background din of the pouring rain. 

Pleased, he relaxed back against the bench. “You’re a hell of a lot smarter, too,” he complimented.

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m here, because I don’t think Chief Blevins is going to accept ‘alien mind-control implants’ as an explanation for those murders or the graverobbing,” she teased.

“Well they’ve sent you for a reason. If anyone can find some other rational explanation, Scully, I’m sure it’ll be you.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, playing with a spoon in her coffee.

“…Bet ya won’t, though.”

She pursed her lips. “What’s the wager?”

He had been teasing, rhetorically, but decided to see where it might go. “Loser buys lunch when we get back to DC?”

She sized him up over the rim of her cup as she took a long and thoughtful sip, then smirked as she put it down. “Deal,” she said.

Hours later, dry and fed, he made to lead her from the diner. “Mulder?” she called from just behind him. He stopped with the door halfway open and looked down at her. “You’re fun, too.” He caught the briefest glimpse of her cheeky grin as she brushed past him, ducking under his arm, and led him out into the humid morning.

~~~~~

Another lunchtime in the diner, and she was blushing furiously.

“I had no idea crackpots were your type,” he breathed with over-exaggerated delight. 

She rolled her eyes at him. “I only meant that… if I were to settle down some day, I’d want him to be fun, and- and engaging to talk to. It’s hardly on my radar now. I’m just getting started with my career, I haven’t taken much time for that sort of thing.”

Mulder shrugged, leaned back and slung his elbows over the back of the bench on either side of himself. “Whaddya say we raise the stakes?" 

"Huh?”

“On our bet.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Marry me.”

She dropped her chin and her brows flew up and together in the most incredulous expression he’d ever seen. It was almost worth the risk just to see that face. “Uhhh huh,” she said, drawing out the first syllable.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to worry about finding a 'guy like me’ then.” He threw up air quotes.

“And what do I get if I win?" 

"Bragging rights?” She arched one brow at him again. “I’ll tell everyone that you run the department….” She pinned him with a look that suggested he must be joking. “…And you can have whatever you want. And I mean anything. Blank check. If it’s mine, it could be yours. You don’t even have to decide today. Non-transferrable, no expiry. Just let me know when you figure it out.”

She was delirious with exhaustion. No, that wasn’t enough. There was definitely something in the water in this town. She was compromised. That was the only explanation for why her mouth started moving before her brain in that moment. “I won’t do it in a church,” she said.

He blinked at her, a little stunned that she was testing his bluff. “I’m an atheist,” he hedged.

“I’m Catholic,” she answered.

“Right, so behind God’s back, then.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and his heart hammered in his chest as he realized that she might actually, really be considering calling him on it. As he realized that he might actually, really want her to. “Annulment will remain on the table at all times,” he offered, just to see what she would do.

She straightened, turned her torso a little bit sideways, as if having her shoulder angled partway between them might allow her a better perspective on his character and sanity. She continued to squint at him.

“You’re on,” she finally said, and he wasn’t sure whether the ground fell out from beneath him, or whether it had launched him into space.

~~~~~

She probably could have found a more comprehensive explanation for it all, but the truth was, she didn’t try that hard. Definitely something in the water.

They went to the magistrate on their last afternoon in Oregon. She looked at him and wondered who the hell carried their birth certificate around with them on a case, before reminding herself that she did, too. He looked at her and wondered who this gutsy little firecracker was, if she might actually be as crazy as he was. Each looked at the other and wondered if one of them would blink.

Neither did.

They both left town hall with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a deep, newfound respect for the nerves of absolute steel on the person beside them.

In DC, he accompanied her to HR and then to the Bureau’s legal advisory department so she could make the customary arrangements recommended for all new field agents. Neither made mention of their new marital status. His name was added beside her mother’s as an emergency contact, her name was added beside his father’s. He witnessed her living and final wills, the latter leaving whatever she had at the time of her passing to her parents, with one other line reading “For Fox W. Mulder, Moby Dick.” He didn’t ask.

He went to his own lawyer the following week, and updated his will to bequeath her an amount that could not be called paltry, but which he deemed not to be overly extravagant either, and a sealed note that just said, “Don’t lose that laugh.”

[lesbianwyllravengard]

No but Astarion wanting to be valued for more than sex and seen for something that's not just sex regardless of who romances him and Wyll wanting a chaste and genuine romance with sincere and committed courtship with no sex regardless of who romances him is insaneeeeee. I know everyone's talked about this before but everytime I stop to think about it I lose my mind. They couldn't be more narratively bound I'm clawing at the bars of my cage

[poebrey]

probably for the best that we’re likely never going to see Michael and Book get married on screen because I would’ve been lowkey annoyed if I had to watch her get married in her dress uniform or worse and not like, the Iris Van Herpen fungi collection, or a Gersha Phillips original

[solar-halos]

odesta week. day #1: modern au monday

summary: annie and finnick engage in some crazy funky shenanigans after a concert

3k, odesta fluff, modern au. also some johannie in the beginning (as a treat) but obv this is odesta endgame. concert they attended isn’t explicitly mentioned but know in ur heart it’s chappell roan

“Wanna do something fun?”

Annie was not expecting Johanna to say anything, so her next opened mouth kiss lands directly on her chin. Oops. The club lights bathe them in swathes of purples and pinks, which complements the lipstick stains on Johanna’s neck. 

“Huh?” Annie asks. It’s a fair question—she thought all this making out they were doing was the fun part. 

In Annie’s opinion, it couldn’t get better than this. It’s not everyday you get to see your favorite artist’s favorite artist live and in concert, and it’s also not everyday that hot people choose to strike up a conversation with her.

Johanna and Finnick are hot. And, even better, they were the ones who turned around and started asking her questions right after they caught her eye in line. Maybe they just really liked her vibes. Peeta and Katniss were accompanying Annie, too, but anyone with a sixth sense could tell that they weren’t really down with throuples.

Annie would be so down for a throuple. Need she remind you that Johanna and Finnick are fucking hot.

Annie had no idea what the fuck a man was doing at this concert, but she already knew she was a goner as soon as Johanna offered Annie a vape she procured from her tits. Annie was ready to dive in. 

And she did—kinda. Eventually. The concert venue was crackling with sick beats and (courtesy of Johanna) simmering sexual tension. Hands on hips, bustier against bustier—it was like they’d known each other for a thousand lifetimes (Annie didn’t even know Johanna’s last name). Then the concert ended, and they were walking out together, and that was all the flirting time Johanna needed to convince Annie that they should start locking lips. 

Speaking of locking lips, how come they’re not doing that right now?

Right. Johanna wanted to do something fun. Annie pulls away and gives Johanna her undivided attention. Well—as undivided as it can be with all the pulsing lights and upbeat music and enthusiastic dancing going around all around them. 

“You’re so cuddly,” Johanna says. Annie is suddenly hyper aware of the fact that she’s not even sitting in her bar stool anymore. Oops. She had no idea that she was trying to drape herself over Johanna, so she pulls away. “I think my friend Finnick would really like that.”

My friend Finnick. As if he needed an introduction. That was the guy who was standing by Johanna’s side in line the entire time they were waiting for the concert to start. In an ideal world, Annie would have been sandwiched between their locked lips, but she had to play it cool. Chances are he’s just one of the girls. 

Or maybe not. They looked like they were having a pretty intense argument the moment the concert ended, making pointed gestures at Annie, but Annie’s own friends were pretty good at distracting her from their (hopefully) platonic lovers quarrel. 

Katniss and Peeta tapped out after the first club. Annie kept going, especially when Johanna’s hands kept wandering lower and lower and lower until Finnick stopped shooting her weird-looking glances altogether. 

“Does Finnick like me?” Annie demands, excitement blooming in her chest. That’s so hot. “Like, does he wanna be with me?”

“Probably,” Johanna replies. She fixes Annie with a glare that looks almost wistful, then gives her a hard kiss on the mouth as a parting gift. “I need post-coital cigarettes. Not cuddles.”

“Oh.” She starts nudging Johanna away now, too, because she doesn’t even smoke. “Good thing you figured that out about us. I would’ve never guessed.”

Johanna raises her pierced eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Annie leans back and studies her. She has pink hair that’s molded into spiky tendrils and a glittering constellation of nose piercings. Annie’s eyes flick down to her bustier and leather pants.

“I don’t like making assumptions about people,” Annie says, as if she hadn’t been thinking with her dick the entire time. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Johanna replies good naturedly, her own lipstick smeared all across the dimples on her cheek. 

Annie stumbles out of her seat. She’s not even drunk. Not since the first club, at least, but they’ve cycled through so many that she finally registers that her feet ache in her stilettos. Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about the psychological repercussions of serving so much cunt all the time?

She starts her search for Finnick. It was harder to pick him out in the first couple clubs—and not just ‘cause Annie was preoccupied with Johanna—but they’ve officially transitioned out of Las Vegas’ queer scene and landed in dudebro territory. Finnick’s dark eyeliner and chipped red nail polish is really starting to stick out in the-only-club-that’s-still-open Nevada. 

Nevada. Road tripping from California with Peeta and Katniss hadn’t been ideal—Peeta’s car was probably never gonna fully recover from this—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Annie would have attended that concert if it was hosted in the middle of the goddamn ocean, wetsuit and chunky goggles and all.

“Finnick!” She finally finds him, and when she does, she does not hesitate to sit down next to him at the booth he’s at. She’s never been very good at figuring out what the fuck a social cue is, but he seems pretty happy to see her, so she takes that as her sign to keep going. “Hi!”

“Hi,” he says, so softly that the music nearly eats his reply whole. His cheeks flush.

He’s pretty. The dark liner dragging across his under eye would look harsh on anyone else, but she’s suddenly obsessed with all this eye contact he’s making with her. His coppery hair drapes over his shoulders, the soft waves curling right over the knot of his Adam’s apple.

Hot. 

Annie already knows so much about him. They spent a lot of time in line together, so she knows when he graduated high school (he’s only one year older, so the age gap won’t be very hard to defend at all) and where he’s from (California, too—good, ‘cause Annie didn’t wanna do long distance) and how he found out about the concert in the first place (Johanna was obsessed with the music first, then he followed in her footsteps, which Annie doesn’t really mind. She’s already compiling a playlist in her head that she thinks he’ll really like).

“Have you heard of this song?” Oh. It’s like he read her mind. He pulls out his phone, shuffling closer to her. Annie knows that he’s getting so close as an excuse to drown out the blaring music. She cuddles even closer, but she doesn’t have an excuse. She just likes cuddling—Johanna clocked that from a mile away.

Finnick does, too. He slides an arm around her waist and she sets her head on his shoulder the entire time they carefully curate playlists for each other. Annie can’t wait to listen to all the stuff he picked out for her on the way home.

“Favorite color?” Finnick asks, after they got all the soul-binding stuff out of the way, but he keeps giggling because Annie finally found the perfect angle to dot kisses to the underside of his chin. “Wait, let me guess,” he adds, and Annie thinks the only reason he even tacked that on in the first place is because he doesn’t want her lips off his skin. 

“Okay. Guess,” she says, punctuating the demand with another kiss.

He takes his time. Annie progresses to the corner of his mouth, but she doesn’t know if they’re ready for that yet, so she focuses her efforts on his cheek. He ducks his head to the side so that they’re looking each other in the face. No one’s ever looked more kissable.

“Blue,” he says. “Your favorite color is blue.”

“Kinda.” Now it’s his turn to start kissing her. He has a lot of skin to choose from—her bustier is teeny—but he keeps it nice and respectful at her jaw. Annie drags him down to her neck, butterflies erupting in her tummy. “Cerulean.”

“That counts. It’s blue.” He’s getting bolder. He crosses over to sternum territory, green eyes flicking up to hers, which would be sexy if it didn’t look like he was being charged with a crime. 

“Kiss me, please.” Maybe he was waiting for a verbal cue. Hot.

That’s apparently all it takes for him to get cocky. He smiles into her skin, lips dragging over her pulse in another hypnotizing kiss. “Don’t you wanna know my favorite color?”

She knows he doesn’t really mean it. She answers him anyway—she was in the mood to be played with.

“Red.” Like the color of his nails. Like the sky before a storm. His grin broadens, so she knows she’s right, but he obviously intends on teasing her. Two can play at this game. “Am I wrong? Maybe Johanna can give me a hint.”

His eyes get as stormy as his nails. He darts up from her chest, so Annie’s hands fly up to his cheeks to meet him in the middle. Their lips tangle together in a messy blur of spit and tongue, trying their best to map each other out. But, when Annie gets acclimated to the touch and heat and feel of him, she gets acclimated. 

So does he. They’re climbing into each other’s bones in no time.

Annie’s on top—on his lap, raking her acrylics through his waves—but she savors the pressure of his ringed fingers on her hips. Hard enough to bruise.

She angles her neck to the side. He gets the hint. She surveys the area while he gets to work, his chapped lips leaving goosebumps on her skin. She feels restless sitting still like this, even with all the friction his patchwork jeans have to offer. 

“Wanna dance?”

Once again, he takes the words straight out of her mouth. Annie leads the way, with Finnick trailing behind her so he can press more kisses to her neck. The intensity and intimacy of it all has her leaning back into him. Her skin tingles where his hands linger—her bustier, her hips, the whale tail peeking out of her skirt, then all the way back to her bustier again, his fingertips whispering all sorts of promises over her skin.

Annie’s never felt so respected. She feels secure, all tucked up between his arms and his lips. They move as one, united in heart and soul.

“Okay, everyone! Get the fuck out!”

The disco lights disappear, replaced by blinding fluorescents. The security guard up front is already ushering people toward the door. Is it seriously 2am already?

Finnick and Annie glance at each other. Lipstick stains on his neck, ring-shaped indents on hers. There’s no questioning who she’s going home with tonight, so she slips her hand into his and fishes her phone out of her purse with the other. Katniss was okay with leaving Annie with Johanna and Finnick under one condition: Annie had to send her frequent updates about her night.

you can’t fuck some rando you just met, Katniss replies, but it’s so much more than that. They weren’t just gonna fuck—they were gonna exchange souls. 

They pass by Johanna on the way out. She’s walking with someone else, a new layer of lipstick slathered over her face. She salutes them both as she and some girl climb into an Uber. 

Finnick and Annie look at each other again. And then they burst out laughing.

Anyway, Finnick isn’t a rando. He’s someone she knows on a personal and metaphorical level. He’s the sugarcubes in her coffee (he likes sweet drinks) and the training wheels on her bike (he never learned how to ride). She knows him more than she knows anyone on earth—including herself.

Annie doesn’t make it very far in her stilettos. They collapse on the curb so she can take a moment to rest. She takes this time to stare at him some more, absolutely in love with the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw.

She has her feet in his lap in no time, his fingers rubbing the tension out of her muscles. She has no idea how it happened, or who initiated the contact—it was as natural as the progression of their relationship. Taking care of each other is second nature by now. 

“I think I have some band aids in here,” he says, scrounging around his pockets. “Johanna’s platforms give her nasty blisters, even if she never says anything about it.”

He carefully smooths out a couple bandaids over the curve of her ankle. She sighs, snuggling into the warmth of his chest. He drapes an arm around her bare shoulders. 

“I left my extra shoes with Peeta. I knew I should have changed into them before he left.”

Finnick has her covered. He carries her around on his back, her strappy shoes dangling from her fingertips. She grins into his neck the entire way to the gas station.

The guy at the cash register throws them a weary look as they buy a bottle of tequila. They also throw in some chips and nacho cheese. All that dancing made Annie hungry. 

There’s a glob of cheese stuck to the corner of Finnick’s mouth. Annie knows her falsies must be horribly crooked by now, so she peels them off. Usually, she thinks littering sucks, but there’s something in the air tonight that’s making her feel silly. 

“Wanna make a wish?” she asks. 

He takes her seriously. He stares at the clump of falsies in her hand for a long moment. He kisses her knuckles, informing her that he made his wish, so she lets the lashes go.

“What’d you wish for?”

“You,” he says. “Can’t get more specific, or else it won’t come true.”

It’s just the right blend of sappy and secretive that makes her heart melt. Loving and being loved has always been an intense, cosmic ordeal for Annie. She’ll never look at the color red the same way, will never pick up black eyeliner without thinking of him first. 

Finnick keeps rubbing over the ring on his finger—the one with the blue, glowing center—and Annie bets it’s because she mentioned it’s her favorite. His cheeks are perpetually rosy pink, even without the tequila. He even stares at her like she’s responsible for the stars aligning. 

“I love you,” he says, as softly as the fingers he has in her hair.

Her breath catches in her throat. He loves her.

“I love you,” she replies. She can’t imagine a time where she didn’t. “You’re not on anything, are you? ‘Cause I’m not.”

He holds up the barely tapped into tequila. Annie shrugs. “That doesn’t count,” she tells him. “I’m on that, too. And I loved you way before.”

He smiles at her. Annie’s never felt prettier. “Okay. If I do something weird, promise you’ll hear me out?”

Annie nods. She’s not even worried.

He nods back, extracting his hands from her hair. His knee suddenly bounces up and down and up and down. “Okay,” he repeats, then unstacks all of his rings so he can slide the blue one off his finger. Annie’s favorite. 

He holds it out to her, the bejeweled part facing her.

“Think of it as a promise,” he says. Annie brushes a stray piece of hair out of his face. “I mean—I can’t stop thinking about how perfectly this fell into place. Even when we go back home, you’re less than an hour away.”

“It’s like we were destined to meet,” Annie agrees. She accepts the ring, slipping it onto her finger. There’s a bit of wiggle room, but that’s perfect for her. She doesn’t like feeling trapped. “I want to get married.”

“So do I,” he replies, almost cautiously. Oh—Annie thinks she finally managed to freak him out. “Should we?”

Or maybe not. Annie smiles at him, suddenly feeling shy. “You don’t mean it.”

He shows her how much he means it. He stands up, offers her his hand, and scoops her right into his arms. She’s in charge of navigation, leading them straight to the nearest chapel. 

“You don’t mean it,” she repeats into his neck, because he can’t. It would be too good to be true. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“Neither am I,” he replies, trying to coax her back out, but she doesn’t budge. He kisses the crown of her head. “We’ll have another one. In California. And we’ll do it exactly the way we want.”

That’s exciting enough that Annie practically leaps out of his arms. They have to sign a whole bunch of papers stating that they’re completely, honestly sober, so Annie flings the tequila into the trash to get rid of any incriminating evidence.

It doesn’t matter how high their blood alcohol content is. Haven’t you heard that drunk actions are just sober thoughts?

A lady waiting behind them clips a veil onto Annie’s head when it’s finally their turn. Annie wasn’t gonna pretend that she wasn’t excited on her wedding day, so she allows herself to stumble a bit as they rush to the altar.

“You’re not gonna,” Annie whispers to him.

He leans over and catches her lips in another kiss. She doesn’t hesitate to drape herself over him. “Watch me,” he whispers back.

Annie does. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop. She watches him the entire time they’re pronounced husband and wife, she watches him when the guy officiating their wedding tells them to get the fuck outta there (he did not appreciate Finnick launching into some impromptu vows), and she watches him the entire Uber drive over to her hotel.

Peeta and Katniss booked their own separate room, which worked out very well for Annie. They strip all the way down to their rings as soon as they get inside, but not for the reason you might think. Annie always wanted a wedding by the beach, but this landlocked middle-of-fucking nowhere state couldn’t provide that for her. The hotel pool was the next best thing.

Annie throws on her bathing suit. Finnick has to go in his underwear, but they make it work. They splash around and dive under the water again and again and again until Annie feels like she’s being reborn with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns. 

They’re so exhausted when they go back to the room that they only have enough energy to collapse into bed, wet clothes and all. Finnick might be the best cuddler she’s ever seen. 

“I love you,” Annie tells him, because it was hard to stop saying it once she started. She’s consumed by it. 

She doesn’t even feel like she’s married—doesn’t even feel tied down to him, doesn’t feel trapped, doesn’t feel like anyone but herself—which is how she knows that they did it right. Katniss is going to be so happy that Annie exercised enough self control to not fuck him on the spot. 

“I love you,” he replies, already half asleep. Annie wonders if he’ll dream of her.

[anonymous-gambito]

Saw a comic where the Prince's bride falls in love with the Little Mermaid and decides to run away with her and realized that's kinda what happens in rgu

[sea-critter]

i just want everyone to know my dad wore a nine inch nails shirt to my uncle’s backyard wedding. circa 97.

[lemonyinks]

I yearn for an au where Lyle and Querl are in their late twenties-early thirties and they are both university professors (Chemistry and Physics respectively). They went to college together and are now married, but no one, either staff or students, realize they are married because they act like enemies.

[seiwas]

reader x iwa, they have both discussed getting married and both are down for it. They both hate public proposals. But neither of them know when or how they’re gonna propose.

Iwa assumes he’s gonna be the one to propose and reader assumes they’re gonna be the one to propose.

So they both have rings for the other and they just so happen to be the same generic ring box because they both haven’t decided how they’re gonna propose.

They’ve been together so long, they both just decide to propose at home during dinner on a random day.

They’re both laughing at how similar they are and play fighting about who proposed first. And just when you think you know where this is going….they open the ring boxes, neither rings in the boxes are theirs.

🥹🥹🥹

he could give me an actual rock and i would accept it

he's literally sooooo poster boy for the simple things 🥺 for no fuss 🥺 no grandeur 🥺 for "yeah wtvr goes, i have you anyway" 🥺 for just !!!! all these mishaps happening even though he's planned it and thought abt it so hard !!!!! but eventually realizing that it doesnt matter bc u love him anyway 🥺🥺🥺 without the plans and the big gestures and just!!!!!!!!!!! nonie u have taken me out with the iwa and proposal thoughts i cannot recover !!!!!!!!!!!

[merrysithmas]

i see a lot of people speculate that john lennon had bipolar disorder but i dont think this is true (i think this is maybe the unclinical laymen viewpoint) but i think he definitely had borderline personality disorder instead

[the-20th-century-girl]

There is something so funny over the fact two of my friends have started playing sims 4 cause of me. Add me and Ollie to their games as well as the mod Wicked Whim and the second the mod is added me and Ollie can't seem to stop fucking.

[rotisseries]

zelink for the ship bingo?

thanks for asking i'm well known for being super normal about them

[birdmenanime]

late night birdmen doodles

[heartbeetz]

Did you know that if you set ur sims as fiances in cas one of them can almost immediately decide they want to marry the other. Surely I will not read into this any more than necessary. :)

Jazz. Beloved s/i. You haven't even been alive for 24 in-game hours. You've done nothing except sleep (bc you spawned at 2am), make breakfast, and go fishing. And yet you want to get married right now this very second. Gay idiot.

[clueless1995]

i’m literally like. three degrees separated from james acaster our marriage is inevitable

[novadragoness]

I have 2 main styles I often pick between when customizing a videogame character

1) Cute, pink, ✨️girlie✨️

2) Goth, punk, 🦇rougish🦇

[lifefruit]

really missing sims 3 gameplay right now. one day when i have a pc that can handle her i’m converting a whole bunch of ts4 cc to 3 and never looking back