#i had A Scene™️ in my head and i just had to get it out

[in-my-loki-feels]

Indianapolis Bones and the Very Annoyed God of Mischief

In this post I proposed the idea of a President Loki + Mobius variant based on Owen's Dr. Indianapolis Bones SNL skit, and then I couldn't stop thinking about it so here's a bit of flash fiction based on that. Enjoy!

ETA: There's now a 4+1 expanded version of this on AO3!

--

“It’s such an honor to have you here, sir.”

Since Loki had walked in, the restaurant's manager had been practically falling over himself with praise. He'd nearly wept when Loki handed out "Vote Loki" pins for the staff to wear. The Midgardians were finally treating him as he deserved, even if he wasn't their king...yet.

A woman ran up to whisper something in the manager's ear and he brightened. 

“Your table is ready, sir. Right this way.” 

Loki followed the man deeper into the restaurant, smirking as every head in the place turned to watch him and his collection of black-suited bodyguards. He didn’t need their protection but it amused him to think of humans throwing themselves at other humans at his behest. 

Loki caught the eye of one elegantly dressed woman and winked, causing her to flush prettily. Her date seemed entirely unamused at the “come hither” look she was sending Loki’s way. The only people who didn’t turn to watch Loki’s entrance were a group seated at a long table at the center of the room. They appeared to be in a heated discussion.

The manager paused by a small table next a window with what looked like a decent view of the river, even if Loki found Midgard’s scenery somewhat lacking compared to Asgard. Before Loki could sit, there was a clatter of dishware and both he and the restaurant's manager turned to see the source. 

An extremely nervous-looking waiter had dropped the stack of dishes they were collecting onto a nearby table. Their attention was focused on a different waiter, or at least someone dressed as such, who stood at the far end of the long table, holding a gun. Loki raised an eyebrow. This was an interesting development. 

The waiter with the gun was pointing it at an unassuming man seated at the end of the table. The man’s blonde hair was on the long side and, paired with his beard, gave him an unkempt look in Loki’s opinion. The horrible beige plaid blazer he wore wasn’t helping. 

Loki blinked and suddenly everyone else at the table had a gun out, all pointed at the man, who only smiled in response. Everyone in the dining room seemed to be holding their breath as the man took a brown fedora out from under the table and settled it on his head. 

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty." His voice had a pleasant drawl to it. He held his hands up as he stood slowly. 

“Just give us the map!” snapped one of the women at the table. 

“Sorry, can't do that,” the man replied and winked. He was either incredibly brave or very stupid given the circumstances. 

When the man slowly lowered his hand to his hip, Loki felt a brief spike of excitement. Was he about to witness a bloodbath? Unexpectedly, the man freed a long whip. With two quick cracks, he took out the light on the table and the chandelier overhead, bringing it crashing down and plunging the room into darkness. 

At least two of the guns went off after that, which made Loki roll his eyes. For how frail they were, Midgardians were always so reckless with their weapons.  

“Sir! Get down!” That was one of his men. They knew better than to grab him and simply lunged past, likely intending to tackle and disarm the gun wielders. Loki heard the sound of scuffling and was about to fling up a light—waiting in the dark was tedious—when someone did bump into him. 

“You look important and I'd hate for you to get hurt, so probably best to come along with me.” The easy drawl was recognizable, though the man with the whip sounded slightly winded now. Then he wrapped an arm around Loki's waist and hurried them both away from the sounds of fighting. 

Loki was so stunned at the audacity of being manhandled, he was outside before he fully registered what had happened. He tried to shove the man off but he’d already stepped away. Inexplicably, the man now wore a leather jacket instead of the plaid blazer. Now able to get a better look at the man, Loki was dismayed to find the bright blue eyes and lopsided smile were annoyingly attractive.

“Hey, are those a family heirloom?” the man asked, gesturing to Loki’s golden horns. “They look pretty good for an antique.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki snapped. “Do you have any idea who I am?!”

“Of course! How could I forget with the horns and all.” The man waved again and a long silence followed his words. Then a huge grin split his face. “Actually, I don't, but hopefully you won’t hold it against me. I’m Indy by the way, short for Indianapolis. My parents were kind of kooky.”

Before Loki had a chance to inform this ridiculous Midgardian that he didn't care what his name was, or what his parents were like, the back door of the restaurant slammed open.

“There he is!” 

It was the diners who’d pulled guns in the restaurant. 

“Oops, gotta go. See you around, friend!” The man—Indy, apparently—clapped a hand to his hat to keep it from flying off and ran into the night. Gunshots rang out in response and the bullets whizzed by Loki, close enough to further annoy him. He gestured at the gaggle of people spilling out of the restaurant and, with a flash of green light, they vanished. Seconds later, Loki's bodyguards came rushing out. 

Loki wasn't impressed by their delay in finding him, but he had something more important to address. 

He pointed at the fleeing man in the fedora. “Find that man—Indianapolis…something—and bring him to me.” 

The people who’d been chasing Indy might have been able to answer his questions, but Loki had sent them elsewhere without giving much thought as to where. As half of the bodyguards took off in pursuit, Loki stalked back inside, followed by the rest. He would get his answers one way or another.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hogwarts Robes (From Quotes)

So, I decided as a sequel to this post and as part of my (and @wisteria-lodge's who I talked to about this) quest to understand wizard fashion, I collected all quotes referring to their school robes (and some that don't, but have implications™️ about their robes) to once and for all have the most definitive, book-canon image I could make for their school robes.

(Quidditch robes will be coming at a later date)

They aren't worn with trousers

I previously established that Hogwarts robes don't seem to be worn with trousers. Snape, Harry, and Ron are all implied to not be wearing trousers under their robes, along with everyone else:

James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.

(OotP)

He got up and pulled on his jeans because he didn’t want to walk into the station in his wizard’s robes — he’d change on the train.

(PS)

Everybody except Harry was riotously happy and talkative as they changed out of their robes into jeans and sweatshirts

(OotP)

Below the robes, there will be a long undershirt/shift and modern underwear (explained in more detail in the post linked above).

The length

Hogwarts robes are long. They billow around the student's feet:

He [Percy] had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes

(PS)

Their robes billowed and swirled around them as they splashed across the flooded vegetable patch to double Herbology

(OotP)

And cover your shoes, and are floor length:

Ron’s showing much too much ankle in his school robes

(HBP) - said by Molly.

Ron’s were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.

(PS)

Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly.

(GoF)

It means students need to get used to moving in a floor-length garment and not step over the hems constantly — which is probably a struggle for first-year muggleborns.

(The scene where Harry stepped on his robes is when he's called up as a Triwizard Champion — so in a moment of high stress, he might step on his robes)

(Another note, not all robes are floor length. Dumbledore is often described as wearing "full-length wizard robes", meaning they are floor-length, but some characters have robes that leave their shoes visible for Harry to describe)

The collar

Hogwarts robes are cut similarly to some men's dress robes. This makes sense, the way school uniforms are formal-looking and a person unfamiliar with the culture could think a dress suit and a school uniform look similar.

In some trepidation, Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected, however; his dress robes didn’t have any lace on them at all — in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were bottle green instead of black.

(GoF)

We know robes come in different cuts and not all are considered "dress robes" and it isn't just a matter of color & fabric (though it is that too. Dress robes tend to come in nicer fabrics such as velvet. (Dumbledore is practically always wearing dress robes)):

Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you got over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her ears. […] “You look smart. I told Daddy most people would probably wear dress robes, but he believes you ought to wear sun colors to a wedding, for luck, you know.”

(DH)

Pansy Parkinson in very frilly robes of pale pink was clutching Malfoy’s arm.

(GoF)

There was just no getting around the fact that his robes looked more like a dress than anything else. In a desperate attempt to make them look more manly, he used a Severing Charm on the ruff and cuffs. It worked fairly well; at least he was now lace-free, although he hadn’t done a very neat job, and the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.

(GoF)

“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low-cut.”

(DH)

And we know, thanks to Draco, a high collar on a black robe is considered formal dress robes cut for men:

Malfoy was in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, which in Harry’s opinion made him look like a vicar.

(GoF)

And Hogwarts robes have a similarly high collar that keeps it's shape:

Turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air

(OotP)

This collar is wide enough to be pulled on like a dress over their heads:

Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

(PS)

And for Hermione and Marriatta to hide their faces in:

They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head

(CoS)

and Marietta gave a wail and pulled the neck of her robes right up to her eyes

(OotP)

But it still needs to keep its form (as mentioned before).

We know there are no buttons, since Harry mentions buttons on other outfits, but not on his school robes:

“Now then,” said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off

(HBP)

The beaded bag containing all of their possessions (apart from the Horcrux, which Harry was wearing around his neck) was tucked into an inside pocket of Hermione’s buttoned-up coat. 

(DH)

Nor do they have laces, since Harry would probably mention fiddling with them or tugging on them if they were there.

So I concluded the collar is held in place by a single small metal hook/clasp like this:

That is swen onto the robes themselves.

The belt

The billowing, loose-fitted robe is held in place with a sturdy belt:

Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took hold of the back of Harry’s robes

(CoS)

That can hold wands, swords, etc, easily.

This belt is the only thing that gives the robes their shape, as the only things that Madam Malkin seems to be tailoring/adjusting are the sleeves' hems and the length of the garment:

Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

(PS)

So, there is a lot of access fabric, and the robes aren't tailored to the body. They are barely tailored at all, which explains why all students are expected to get them; they are very simple, very simple garments.

The Pockets

Their school robes come with multiple large pockets. They are either actually big, or they are enchanted to make them big, as when Harry is wearing his school robes, he puts everything in his robes' pockets.

His wand:

Harry took off his black school robes, removed his wand from his pocket

(GoF)

Choclate Frogs:

Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

(PS)

His knife:

“Sirius’s knife!” said Harry, and he pulled it out from inside his robes and slid it into the crack between the door and the wall.

(OotP)

The Mauraders Map:

“Mischief managed!” The map went blank at once. He folded it carefully, tucked it inside his robes

(PoA)

He folded the map and tucked it inside his robes. 

(PoA)

And even the Invisibility Cloak on occasion:

There was a knock on the door. Harry hastily stuffed the Marauder’s Map and the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket.

(PoA)

The pockets have a lot of space.

And there are multiple pockets per robe (it seems):

“No idea,” said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry’s robes. All the pockets were hanging out.

(CoS)

The Sleeves

Contrary to popular interpretations, the sleeves are not wide, as they can be rolled up or pushed up to their elbows, and they stay there:

Harry felt a lurch of fear. He wasn’t ready. How could you make a dementor less frightening? But he didn’t want to ask for more time; everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves. […] They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready.

(PoA)

Which implies they are tighter around the wrist at least, but not overall tight. As they are large enough for Ron to slip his wand into:

“Now, don’t forget, it’s Locomotor Mortis,” Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

(PS)

If the sleeves were very tight, Harry would mention it. He would also mention if the sleeves were particularly wide, which is why I think the sleeves look something like this:

Tighter around the wrist to allow pushing them up to the elbows or be rolled up, but wider above to make them look like a robe, but not super billowy, so they don't get in the way.

The color

Hogwarts robes are black:

pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.

(PS)

Harry took off his black school robes

(GoF)

Harry noticed that Ron kept moving his prefect’s badge around, first placing it on his bedside table, then putting it into his jeans pocket, then taking it out and laying it on his folded robes, as though to see the effect of the red on the black.

(OotP)

And they look the same for all houses. In the books, there is no house indicator on a person's robes beside their prefect badge if they have one or a scarf/rosette.

In PoA, when all the students are in identical sleeping bags, Harry can still tell the house and year of the speaker:

“It’s very lucky he picked tonight, you know,” said Hermione as they climbed fully dressed into their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk. “The one night we weren’t in the tower. . . .” “I reckon he’s lost track of time, being on the run,” said Ron. “Didn’t realize it was Halloween. Otherwise he’d have come burst- ing in here.” Hermione shuddered. All around them, people were asking one another the same question: “How did he get in?” “Maybe he knows how to Apparate,” said a Ravenclaw a few feet away. “Just appear out of thin air, you know.” “Disguised himself, probably,” said a Hufflepuff fifth year.

(PoA)

In CoS, Harry doesn't know Myrtle is a Ravenclaw; that information is from tertiary canon and not the books. This implies there is nothing on their robes to give them away.

Harry can tell who's from what house because he recognises students' faces/voices and knows what house they are in, not because their robes have a marking of their house — they don't. The fact that he tends to know other students years often, supports this:

The following day, two more girls asked him, a second year and (to his horror) a fifth year

(GoF)

“Hold it!” said Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand.

(HBP)

He knows random students' year, not just house. He just recognises them because Hogwarts is a small school.

Shoes

They don't have school shoes. Shoes are not mentioned in the school supply list before first year. They wear socks with their shoes of choice:

He and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron’s were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.

(PS)

narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry’s feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks. 

(GoF)

and laced up Goyle’s boatlike shoes.

(CoS)

Fabric

Since Hogwarts is in Scotland, where it is cold, the material is kind of important. We know the material is sturdy enough to hold the high collar in place (as mentioned above).

And we know it isn't silk and is warmer than that:

They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. 

(GoF)

Though, not that warm:

The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him

(CoS)

(Nor does it seem to have warmign charms)

As Harry always puts on a cloak when he's cold.

My assumption is that Hogwarts robes are made of wool. Wool is a natural fibre that has been common for clothes since humans started making them, basically. It's great at insulation and regulating body temperature (both in warm and cold climates), breathable, and durable. It should be washed by hand, though, as they wash it with magic, it's probably alright. In addition, I believe they wear an undershirt/shift under their robes, which means there isn't skin contact and won't need to be washed often.

The cloak

The robes come with a black winter cloak:

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

(PS)

They have a high collar fastened with a silver clasp/pin:

their cloak collars turned up against the wind.

(OotP)

Yeah, Hogwarts cloaks have a high collar that can be turned up, not a hood. Harry mentions hooded cloaks a lot — Hogwarts robes/cloaks do not have hoods.

It has pockets like the robes:

"Hermione looked very cross indeed and stuffed her box of badges back into her cloak pocket."

(GoF)

It is long (floor-length) and billowy:

their socks and the hems of their cloaks soaked and freezing

(PoA)

Drawing their cloaks more closely around themselves

(GoF)

Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak

(GoF)

As Hermione keeps Crookshanks in it, and the hems reach the floor like the robes.

Other Accessories

They have Hogwarts house-themed accessories such as scarves, gloves and rosettes:

Three-quarters of the crowd was wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion upon them

(PoA)

Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red-and-gold scarves, gloves, and rosettes.

(OotP)

She [McGonagall] was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode toward them, looking livid.

(OotP)

walking down to the Quidditch pitch with Ron, Ginny, and the others. It was almost unbearable to turn away from the mass of students streaming out into the sunshine, all of them wearing rosettes and hats and brandishing banners and scarves

(HBP)

Students and professors both own these items. Maybe there is a shop in Hogsmead for them, though, I'm pretty sure some of them are homemade by students.

Prefect badges:

and Harry noticed a shiny red and gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it

(PS)

A large P was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy’s chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.

(OotP)

A boy [Tom] of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect’s badge was glinting on his chest.

(CoS)

And Quidditch captain badges:

“Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of these,” said Ron, examining the badge with glee. “Harry, this is so cool, you’re my Captain — if you let me back on the team, I suppose, ha ha. ...”

(HBP)

Along with any other jewellery or accessories, students make or buy for themselves. (Such as Luna's radish earrings or Parvati's butterfly hairpin)

The Hat

They have a pointed black wizard hat that comes with their uniform:

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

(PS)

They seem to be wearing it in the opening feast:

Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Harry saw a long line of scared-looking first years filing into the Hall.

(CoS)

It was a sea of pointed black hats; each of the long House tables was lined with students, their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of candles, which were floating over the tables in midair.

(PoA)

But it is optional most of the time. Though we do see them wear it:

A boy [Tom] of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect’s badge was glinting on his chest.

(CoS)

“Maybe I’ll skive off Divination,” he said glumly as they stood again in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of robes and brims of hats. 

(OotP)

So the hats are black, pointy, and have a brim (unlike the movie version we see). I headcanon that in British public school fashion, the hats are mandatory for the start of term and end of term feasts, along with a few other occasions and optional the rest of the time.

Aesthetics

AKA, the style - how does all of this come together?

Since Harry doesn't think the robes look like anything other than robes (not vicar robes like Draco's dress robes, nor a dress like Ron's dress robes) it means they look unmistaknly like something Harry would think of as wizard robes — which means they look like 1980s Hollywood wizard robes since this would be Harry's frame of reference. In general, the Wizarding World fashion seems to be 19th century, doing a Renaissance fair, if we want to give the style a name. Which leads to a garment that look like this:

For what Hogwarts robes probably actually look like in the books. Sleeves that widen out (though, not as much as the image, probably), a lot of fabric only kept in a shape thanks to a belt, reach the floor, collar held up by a single small metal hook — and wouldn't look like a dress to 11-year-old Harry, but like wizard robes.

And because I couldn't help myself, I took some old artwork of the golden trio and drew the robes and cloaks according to the aforementioned evidence on them like dress-up dolls:

(This is a quick sketch and the prefect badges aren't accurate to the books except for their color and the fact that they exist. Also, the cloak's collar is turned down, because it gives some flare to an otherwise not very interesting outfit and they did say "their cloak collars turned up against the wind", so I think it's canonically plausible)

[saveahorserideaneddie]

thinking about the possibility of eddie’s sexuality crisis coming after buddie canon like…

he and buck start dating and in eddie’s mind he’s justifying it like “i’m not really into men im just into buck” and buck is the supportive boyfriend bc obviously eddie’s the only one who knows himself, and eddie labeling himself doesn’t matter to buck bc all that matters is that they’re the happiest they’ve ever been together

but then they have sex for the first time (obviously we don’t see anything bc this is abc not hbo) but while buck is in this perfectly blissed out state, eddie is panicking bc holy shit… is that what sex is supposed to feel like? like i thought i enjoyed sex before because i got off and that was that but this was…. what the fuck?????

and we get this sort if spiral moment where eddie wonders if he’s been gay this whole time and has just been lying to himself and is wondering what that means for him and shannon? like yeah he moved on from her but… looking back did he ever really need to? were the feelings for his girlfriends just misplaced feelings for buck this whole time? has he always felt this way?

and it gets to a point where buck thinks eddie is pulling away from him, and he gets really in his head about it remembering when eddie said that sex just complicates things, and how eddie had that whole crisis over marisol, and then buck had broken up with temu and chris was in texas so both of them were in weird places mentally and oh my god did i force myself on him? is he miserable bc he realized im not actually what he wants? is he going to leave me like everyone else does?

and meanwhile eddie is in therapy telling frank that he’s never felt this way about anyone before and that he thought he was enjoying sex before but it had never been anything like what it was with buck- that before it had been a means to an end but with buck it just felt right… and then frank has a really deep conversation about sexuality and eddie’s catholic guilt and explains that only eddie can decide if labeling himself is important or not

then we get eddie making a choice to either label himself or to not label himself (bc all that matters is that bucn is who he wants to be with; im not picky bc i have always been a gay/demi eddie truther, but unlabeled eddie has so much playing room and they could explore so much with that but i also know that realistically they probably wouldn’t put that much thought into the actual label but i digress)

and then we get a Kitchen Scene™️ where they are both super quiet and eddie tells buck they need to talk; buck automatically assumes eddie’s breaking up with him and starts apologizing to eddie and telling him he will give eddie some time and space, telling eddie that he will move on eventually like he has from everyone else. eddie is like “what?” and buck is like “aren’t you breaking up with me?” and eddue is horrified bc oh my god have i really been that distant? has my crisis really pushed me away that much that i made him think i wouldn’t tilt the earth on its axis for him if he asked??? and eddie explains his side of things, ending his little speech by saying “i love you” for the first time, and buck gets teary eyed and says it back and they share a soft kiss and eddie is like “it’s never felt like that before” and buck admits “it’s never felt like that for me either… but i think that’s what being in love does” and the episode ends with a fade to black of eddie leading buck out of the kitchen and down the hallway

[thatdeadaquarius]

Topic: Genshin impact.

au: Sagau.

idea: So what if you had the powers of every character you played as in every game you played and then get isekaid into genshin impact with imposter au. I imagine it goes smth like

Zhongli: “I will have order!”

reader, Who played Roblox as someone who lagged the game (explanation: I’m pretty sure ping is also how time works in games. If you can control the flow of ping you can control the flow of time in games.): “ZA WARUDO!”

Heyyy!! Thanks for waiting for the reply/response from my slow ass :0

So they did clarify what they meant/expand so imma just copy paste that here!

“k now I remember. So basically imma write it here since it’s easier: Basically you don’t have to (but you can) transform into the character that has those set of powers but if you do those powers are enhanced.”

Sun: Reader (”you”/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, Light Imposter AU (as in, NOT Yandere/Dark), mild crossover elements bc Shapeshifter Shenanigans™️

Stars: bro idek

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing, genshin typical mild violence, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

so fair warning,, ive never seen jojo bizarre, but i appreciate i come off well-read/watched? LMAO

so im just gonna kinda,, guess? like just cycle thru diff. random media, and im hoping both me and you reading this will have a fun time (as this is a little challenge, but i like it so ill give it a shot, dont kno if its a good one but- 😅)

so to set the scene, of how u got to this point, ykno of running like ur life (maybe?) depends on u running around different teyvat countries,

u thought it was weird everyone knew a little too much about you?? (ofc theyve heard u during gaming, they know u the same way we all know Markiplier, get it?)

then a bunch of NPCs/Vision users/Archons?? were REALLY invested in talking to you, which freaked u out even more

and by the time you saw Zhongli, yknow, just the oldest god in game, making a fast-walk towards you, ykno the retired god who didnt move an inch when an old water god attacked Liyue for a test, is now hurrying to you???

ur logically get so fucking scared sm shits abt to go down, u just start running

it isnt until ur reaching for a ledge and some webbing shoots out of ur arm (from a glitchy little spot on ur arm, where it could be coming out of ur skin, but sometimes its a blue and red bracelet)

it latched onto the nearest building, and thats how u find out u can grapple ur way, literally Spiderman style, out of the harbor

and bro, idk if it would be fun, or confusing and stressful, or maybe both?? to just find out u can use any video game power from any game youve played before as you go running from countries bc for some freaky reason they know too much abt you/are pursuing you-

dUDE- they had small statues of you in like every little section of their cities

u head to Mondstadt and as Venti comes screaming and flying at you (in excitement, but ur freaked), u go to hold a hand up and suddenly ur holding a heavy stone tablet that unleashes some holographic yellow chains that freeze him in place-?? why is this familiar-

oh my god u have the sheikah slate from Breath of the Wild,

and as ur booking it out of there, u manage to get ahold of a sword, and u know exactly how to use it to knock back favonius knights trying to stop you (they are concerned for their god who is just unleashing random powers on ppl, pls let Grandmaster Jean just talk to you Your Majesty-!!)

by the time you teleport ur way to Inazuma, (bc u still have this worlds access to ur player/traveler’s powers), ur trying to find a nice place to stay for a little bit

at least in that sweet spot of the Raiden not noticing/finding you, while things cool down on the main continent, before moving on,

and u get some tools to help fashion just a little shelter, bc u dont have any money/mora rn, and ur able to literally build a house???

a mailbox pops up and thanks you for renting with Tom Nook???? As in Animal Crossing-

and rlly if the BOTW/slate thing didnt clue u into video game powers, then this definitely would tbh lmao

right as u see Yae Miko circling ur house, with an armful of books? ..is she planning to thru them at you??, u get the hell out of dodge before her favorite god can follow along

(she knows ur prefrences in books and got authors/trends to start so youd have plenty to read, and she was making sure it was ur house before politely dropping them off! how was she to know thatd spook their favorite God, Ei?!)

u get to Sumeru and think ur safe, hiding in an abandoned forest watcher outpost (1 person treehouse rlly) when Nahida shows up in ur dreams,

and u just,

walk out of the dream, into reality, and possess a nearby ruin guard so u can sleep in peace, bc she cant access a robot,

that one baffled u as you re-possessed ur own body before realizing-

Five Nights at Freddy’s. 💀

U cant do that forever, so u try Fontaine, hoping Neuvillette/Furina wont rlly give af abt you, plus theyre the latest region, so maybe they have the least exposure to whatever the other archons didnt like abt you??

u get there and are immediately summoned to court, and right as the mekas show up to escort you, jfc they have a mecha army

(meanwhile, theyre thinking, yknow. high profile guest/our god of gods. ofc we need state of the art mekas to escort them, its only polite-)

meanwhile ur cape has now become wings, and a mask covers ur face as you glide and fly ur way over the city in an attempt to get to where u assume Snezhnaya is

it doesnt occur to you the game until ur running out of stamnia and catch ur reflection in the waters of fontaine, Sky: Children of the Light

u hope the Tsaritsa’s dislike for other gods/Celestia doesnt extend to ur otherworldly presence so ur just hoping for the best atp tbh

tbh youd forget what all powers you have, and the absolute chaos ur causing urself as u try to desperately rememeber what games youve played thru ur entire life is NOT helping to reduce confusion when u randomly wake up with elf ears (legend of zelda/botw) or get dragged into another ruin machine when u fall asleep/faint/do smth u guess mimics death lmao- (fnaf) 💀

…

(meanwhile the Tsaritsa does get wind ur coming this way, and just, makes the people have a parade/festival to celebrate you coming,

she did also have to get Pierro/Captaino to physically restrain some of them from going ahead to meet/escort you to the palace, she’d heard how the others scared u off, and was, ironically, hoping the warm welcome would clear things up)

☆

well that was, something. 😃🫠

sorry lil car, that was such a fun idea idk if i did it justice!! i thought itd be too op to include every media youve consumed ever, so i kept it to video games, (which, could u cheat the system if youve played smash bros??)

i hope it was at least a decent read, and sorry im half asleep so i was not v funny this time around, but, again, hope u got smth out of it 😭

</3

on another note, im having my wisdom teeth surgery this friday, send whatever u got my way, prayers, blessings, good vibes, ill take anything im nervous 🙃

have a good week guys!

Safe Travels Lil Car,

💀♒

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[gullemec]

Cross the Line

Golden Cage - Chapter Five

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Truth or Dare, Murder, and Sex. Or, you and Butcher go on a road trip.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, nipple play, dirty talk, creampie, discussions of previous murders, language, unsafe driving, attempted flashing, One Bed Trope™️, reader has poor self esteem and is Going Through It, straight up vehicular manslaughter, brief description of dead bodies

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Here she is!! My first ever f/m smut scene! Please be kind. Also a very action-packed chapter. Please read the tags before diving in because there's a LOT happening here.

Monday morning rolls around with an alarming speed, the pace of your days having taken a decided turn toward the speed of light. 

It had nothing to do with your apprehension around being with Butcher again, you were sure. 

Certain. 

The plan, not unlike the last plan, is supposedly simple. As the CytoGenix van carrying the vials of V2 makes its way upstate, you and Butcher will tail it at a distance, waiting until the time is right to strike and run the van offroad using a spike strip.

You've thought up about two thousand ways this could go wrong. You could probably think of a thousand more, but your brain started to hurt when you tried.

You pull your bag over your shoulder, every step to Butcher’s van downstairs weighed down by a strange mix of adrenaline and dread. He’s waiting for you, leaned against the driver’s side door with his usual cocky smirk, dark aviators shielding his expression.

“Look alive, sunshine,” he says as you climb in. “Big day ahead.”

You settle into the passenger seat, forcing yourself to play it cool. The hum of the engine fills the silence as you pull away, but within moments, the tension in the van feels as suffocating as the thick summer air.

The first two hours crawl by. Small talk feels like dragging a boulder uphill, each attempt to bridge the gap between you met with curt, monosyllabic responses. Weather. Traffic. A half-hearted quip about a roadside diner that doesn’t even earn a smirk from Butcher.

It’s maddening. Days ago, this man had kissed you like the world was ending. Now, he's talking about the possibility of impending rain. You feel insane.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

“Truth or dare,” you say, throwing it out like a grenade

Butcher glances at you, his brow furrowing beneath his sunglasses. “The fuck did you just say?”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath about it being a child's game. “And how exactly do you suppose we play truth or dare in a moving vehicle, hm?” He asks. 

“I don't know, but what I do know is that we have a four and a half hour drive ahead of us and if this awkward silence is going to continue, I'm going to jump out of the window right now.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “What are you, twelve? What’s next, a round of bloody ‘I Spy’?” He shoots you a look of bemusement before returning to the road, ignoring your request. 

He's not getting away that easy. 

“Look, it's either truth or dare, or we talk about the k—”

“Jesus Christ, alright I'll play your fucking game,” he relents. 

Success. 

You nod toward him expectedly. 

“What?” He asks 

“Truth or dare? You have to pick, it's kind of how the game is played.”

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “Fine. Truth.”

You pause to think for a second, racking your brain for a good question. You could, of course, go straight for the jugular, asking him why he pulled away from the kiss, why he didn't push you down on the couch and take everything you were willing to give him right then and there. But you think that might be a little intense for a first question, so you settle on something easier. 

“How many people have you killed?”

His reaction is instant, an incredulous laugh that’s more bark than humor. “Straight for the jugular, eh? You don’t muck about.”

“I’m curious,” you say, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole point of the game?

“Sweetheart, if knowing how many people I've kidnapped is a second date question, this has gotta be a fifth date question.”

“Okay,” you say thoughtfully. “Well, if you count all the late night stake outs, and if you count our first date, the one where you kidnapped, me as three dates, which I do, I think we're well past the fifth date by now.” You raise your eyebrows at him, laughing.  

“Alright, alright,” he huffs. The smirk on his face betrays the fact that he kind of wants to play, but his tough facade necessitates that he put up a valiant fight about it first. 

But once your laughing subsides, his grin falls, and you realize that this was perhaps not the best question to ask. His eyes are fixed on the road when he answers you. 

He exhales sharply, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I lost count. Got to twenty-five, maybe thirty, last time I bothered to keep track.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, but there’s no pride in it. “You happy now?”

His admission is like a shock to your system. You knew that he'd killed before, having tossed the idea around in your mind, considering the things you knew about the man you were unquestionably attracted to. He has killed, yes, but he has also lost. He has lost everything, and he has helped, and he has been kind, too. And yet, hearing the words from his mouth, putting a number, if only estimated, on the amount of times a life has been lost at the same hands that were wrapped tenderly around your body only days ago, sends a painful jolt to your heart. 

“I know what you might think,” he starts, his voice faltering. “You think I'm cold and evil, or whatever.” His fingers readjust around the steering wheel, an anxious tic you're picking up on. “But I had to do it. I believed it was for some… greater purpose, I guess. I believe that, but maybe because I have to.”

You're speechless. You weren't expecting this sudden moment of vulnerability in Butcher, this emotional nakedness. If you're honest, it scares you, because it causes the sand beneath the already unsteady foundation of your relationship with him to shake. You have to say something, anything. 

“How do you feel about potentially killing two more people today? Does it make you nervous?” You ask. You're vaguely aware of the van driving ahead of you, a pinprick dot of white on the endlessly winding highway. 

He sighs, then smirks, looking entirely too pleased in comparison to his somber expression only moments ago. “Uh–uh, your turn now.”

He's got you there. 

“Truth,” you say, and it's only fair that he throws you a hardball too. But he doesn't. 

“What’s your favorite memory with your mum?”

The question throws you for a moment, its tenderness blindsiding you. You have so many, you could almost argue that this isn't an easy question at all. All the same, your mind wanders to the same memory that always pops up when you ask yourself this question. 

“My seventh birthday,” you begin, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “Dad was off in the Bahamas for some meeting, and I didn’t have any friends because we’d just moved. So it was just me and her. She took me to Coney Island, and we spent the whole day there. Rides, games, cotton candy. It was the best.” A tear twinkles in your eye, but you wipe it away before it comes to fruition. 

He looks like he's about to say something, maybe offer some comfort or ask a follow up, but you're too quick for him. 

“Now you, truth or dare?”

He picks dare, following your lead and ignoring what you shared about your mom. You appreciate his ability to pick up on your nonverbal cues. 

You resist the urge to reach across the console and brush your fingers through his wild, wind-tousled hair. You let yourself imagine for a moment a scenario in which the two of you are out for a drive on a beautiful day for pleasure rather than business, where you might entwine your fingers with his on the center console. But these thoughts are dangerous, and you need a distraction. 

“Drive in the oncoming lane for ten seconds.”

“Are you bloody mental?” he snaps, glaring at you. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, and you want me to pull a stunt like that?”

You shrug, and you relish in the utter frustration that Butcher exudes, the way his accent comes out in full-force when he's this worked up. 

“You said dare,” you counter, your tone teasing. “A dare’s a dare.”

He groans, muttering a string of expletives as he slows the van. “You’re a bloody pain in my arse, you know that?”

“Slow down a bit, so they won't see us,” you suggest, your voice low to control the giggles that threaten to peek out. “Come on, Butcher.”

He hesitates. It's a sick kind of satisfaction knowing that, if it was anyone but you, Butcher would have probably just let you jump out the window at this point. 

“One, twooo… Threeeee…” You exaggerate your words, giving him every opportunity to acquiesce to your demands. 

Finally, you feel the van slow and dip to the left as Butcher careens into the oncoming lane. 

This is getting too easy. 

You count out the next ten seconds slowly, agonizingly. 

Ten. 

Nine

Eight. He shifts his eyes between you and the road, imploring you to call off the dare. Absolutely not. 

Seven. 

Six. 

Five. A speck materializes on the horizon. An oncoming car. 

Four.  The speck transforms into a white sedan. 

Three. “I'm switching lanes,” he yells. “Three more seconds!” You argue back. 

Two. You can tell now that there are two passengers in the sedan. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

One. The driver of the sedan lays on the horn, the loud bleat sending shockwaves through your system. 

Butcher swerves back into the right lane, a chorus of curses spilling out, the sedan’s honking fading out behind you. Your laughter spills out, obnoxious and loud and absolutely drowning out Butcher’s string of profanities. Shortly after he course-corrects, the white van falls back into your line of sight. 

No harm, no foul. 

Butcher’s breathing evens. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you retort, still grinning.

“You better pick dare this turn. I didn't realize we weren't playin' fair,” he smirks, and you're knocked back again. It's criminal how this man speaks, so deep and yet so melodic, his accent and charm breaking down whatever defenses you still had standing. 

“Do your worst,” you dare, and he smiles widely. For a moment, you feel a real flare of heat in your chest. You don't want to think about what you'd realistically do for this man right now, but the thought crosses your mind, sending a pang to your core. 

“Flash the next car that drives past us.”

Now it's your turn to blanch at the request, your face scrunching up in response. 

“You can't be serious,” you say. 

He simply nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead in feigned concentration. 

Well, the best way out is always through. 

You pull your seatbelt off, balancing on your seat and the console as you pull yourself through the van’s open sunroof. You pretend not to notice Butcher's right arm snaking protectively around your left leg. 

You watch as a dark green truck materializes before you, a lone cowboy hat wearing man inside. You pinch your fingers around the edge of your shirt. The truck speeds by as you begin to lift it up. Suddenly, the arm wrapped around your leg pulls down, forcing you back into the van. 

“Hey! What was that for?!” You exclaim, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion. 

“You weren't seriously going to flash that truck, were you?” He asks. 

You nod. “I mean, yeah? You dared me to do it. A dare’s a dare.”

He huffs and puffs, shaking his head intermittently. He's frustrated with you, and it's pissing you off. 

Time to turn the tables. 

“Okay, well it’s your turn now I guess. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he says smugly, and you laugh, because you know what you say next is going to shake him. 

You take a second to stare at him, an unabashed good look at him. The way the breeze tousles his dark hair, the angle of his jaw catching the golden hour light. The warmth in the glow softens him somehow, makes him seem almost human, almost kind. You can't deny that you want him, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

"Did you like it?" you ask abruptly, your voice low but clear.

Butcher furrows his brow, clearly puzzled. "Like what?"

"When you kissed me," you clarify, your heart pounding in your chest. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

The silence that follows is deafening. You hear him inhale sharply, see the slight hitch in his posture as the words settle between you. His face shifts, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. He stares straight ahead, jaw tightening, fingers curling around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

Your pulse quickens. Oh, God. Why did I say that? The weight of your own recklessness presses down on you. Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity as he struggles with something unspoken, his lips parting as if to say something—

Your heart stops.

—and then, with a sharp gasp, his hand slams the horn and his foot hits the brake.

"Oi! Cunts!" he shouts, jerking the van to a sudden halt. Both of you lurch forward, your seatbelt biting into your shoulder.

Your head snaps toward the road just in time to see the CytoGenix van swerving off into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

The spell is broken. The tension you’d built up between you vanishes, replaced by adrenaline and a sinking sense of inevitability.

At least he'd stopped you before you'd shown your tits to some unsuspecting cowboy. 

Butcher’s face hardens, his attention fully back on the road as he mutters a string of curses under his breath. He keeps driving for another mile, the air in the van heavy and stifling. It’s as though the cracks you’d glimpsed in his armor have sealed up entirely, leaving only the impenetrable man you met at the start.

Finally, he pulls off just past a mile marker, the van grinding to a halt on the side of the road. He throws it in park and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

"Out," he orders, his voice clipped.

You blink at him. "What?"

"Get out of the van," he repeats, this time more firmly.

Despite every instinct screaming at you not to trust him, you obey. He follows you out, slamming the door behind him, and gestures toward the dense line of trees. "Start walking. Don’t stop ‘til you’re deep enough in that you can’t see the road anymore."

“Now wait a goddamn minute,” you fight, “I want to be a part of this. You're not exiling me to the woods while you do the dirty work. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, his tone cold and final. “You don’t want this blood on your hands, love. Trust me.”

Your temper flares. "You’re such an asshole, you know that?" you spit, heat rushing to your face.

You're all bite, all fight, until you see the look on his face. The harsh lines of his face are softened, his eyes weighed down with something heavier than anger. Guilt? Regret? He doesn’t want to do this, you realize. He thinks he’s protecting you.

And maybe you just don't have much of a fight left in you anymore.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "But don’t think for a second I’m letting this go."

Without waiting for a response, you storm off into the forest, branches snapping underfoot as you push past ferns and brush.

You find a mossy rock and sink down beside it, hugging your knees to your chest. The familiar ache of being abandoned washes over you, pulling you back into yourself. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, closing your eyes and imagining the comforting embrace of your mother. The memories come easily, like they always do. Her laugh, her warmth, the way her hand always found yours when you were scared.

You lose track of time sitting there, flipping through those memories like pages in a well-worn book. Hours could have passed, or maybe it’s only minutes. You don’t know, and for a while, you don’t care.

It’s the crunch of heavy footfalls that pulls you back to the present. You blink up to see Butcher looming over you, his expression grim and drawn.

"If a van crashes in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it even make a noise?" you quip, smirking despite yourself.

He scowls. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"Either that was the quietest car crash in history, or you lost them," you say, crossing your arms.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "They never came through. They’re holed up at the motel for the night. We’ll head back, stake it out, and wait for them to move on." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the road.

He extends a hand to help you up, but you ignore it, pushing yourself off the ground and brushing dirt from your clothes. Without a word, you start walking ahead of him, back toward the van.

"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, falling in step behind you. 

The short drive back to the motel is silent, the energy between the two of you having soured considerably. You stare out the window, arms crossed, seething. You're pissed and you want him to know it, to feel it. The mission feels like a joke, like you’re a joke. No matter what you do, you’ll always be the inept kid getting in the way.

The Piney Point Motel comes into view just as the sun dips behind the pines, the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. You spot the CytoGenix van immediately, parked conspicuously by the entrance of the motel. As far as you can tell, it's empty. 

“Did they really just… leave it there?” You ask, incredulous. 

Butcher chuckles. “Your old man really should stop cuttin’ corners on security.”

A flurry of hope stirs in your chest. “So we could just break into the van and steal the vials, right? And then no one would have to get hurt?”

He gives you a look, one that’s half pity, half impatience, before gesturing to the motel’s facade. Security cameras dot the walls, floodlights primed for motion. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like your dad could learn a thing or two from Piney Point.”

And just like that, the spark fizzles. 

Butcher pulls the van into a shadowed corner of the lot and kills the engine. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed.

You stare at him. “Well, are we going in?”

“Nah. You can crawl in the back if you wanna sleep. I'll take first watch.”

He can't be serious. 

“You want me to sleep back there?!”

He shrugs. “Or up here, but I don’t reckon it’s any comfier.”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Or—and hear me out—we could sleep in the motel right in front of us?”

“And risk losin’ ‘em? Yeah, no thanks.”

You argue back and forth but the man is an infuriating, unflinching wall of stubbornness. Eventually, you give up, arms crossed as you glare at the moonlit motel. You consider going and getting a room just for yourself, but you reason that Butcher won't hesitate when he sees the men leave and you'll be left behind. Sleep tugs at you, but you refuse to crawl into the cramped backseat. Not after this.

The moon begins its arc across the starlit sky. Stars scatter above you, brighter and clearer than anything you’ve seen in years. You step out of the van, stretching stiff legs, the cool night air brushing against your skin. For a moment, you forget your frustration, gazing up at the wide, sparkling sky. It reminds you of Muskoka, your last vacation with both parents—before the office bedroom became your dad’s permanent home.

The ache of the memory lingers as you climb back into the van, only to find Butcher slumped in the driver’s seat, snoring. His chin tucked into his chest, a low rumble filling the space. You burst into laughter before you can stop yourself.

Butcher jerks awake, eyes darting wildly until they land on you. His expression shifts to a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Alright, laugh it up,” he grumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “Your turn to keep watch. Good luck stayin’ awake.”

You plant your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “I’m dead tired, and so are you. We need actual sleep, Butch. I’ll pay for the rooms. Final offer.”

He pretends to consider your offer like the thought of a bed, even a springy motel bed, doesn't sound downright heavenly right now. After a moment of feigned thoughtfulness, he pulls himself from the driver's seat and stalks toward the motel. 

“Don't look so pleased,” he mutters as he stalks past you. “We’re up at 4:30, no later. Understand?”

You trail behind him, hiding your grin. Right now, you’d agree to anything.

~~~

The reception area of the Piney Point Motel looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. The wood-paneled walls are warped in places, lined with crooked shelves cluttered with knick-knacks, miniature ceramic animals, a faded “World’s Best Grandma” mug, and a jar of mints that looks more like a trap than an offering.

Behind the counter sits a bespectacled woman in her sixties, a paperback romance novel in one hand and a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside her. The air smells like pine-scented cleaner and stale smoke. She looks up as you and Butcher enter, giving you both a thorough once-over.

“Hourly or overnight?” she asks flatly, like she’s heard every excuse in the book.

The question hits you like a slap. Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Butcher doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll take two rooms for the night,” he says, ignoring your mortification.

The receptionist shakes her head with a lazy shrug. “Only got one room left. One bed. Last two-bed went to a couple of truckers about an hour ago. It’s that time of year.”

You and Butcher exchange a look, sharp and synchronized.

“No,” you and Butcher say in unison, your sharp tone and immediate refusal surprising the older woman. 

But your mind wanders back to the van, it's aging leather upholstery and stiff cushions and lingering coffee smell. The weight of your eyelids expands tenfold at the thought. No way in hell are you going to be prepared for what tomorrow brings if you have to sleep in there. 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the key from the receptionist’s outstretched hand, replacing it with a stack of bills.

“What d’you mean, fine?” Butcher asks, trailing after you as you head to the room. His boots echo dully on the cracked linoleum floor. “We’re better off in the van. Safer, too.”

You ignore him, jamming the key into the lock and twisting hard. The door creaks open to reveal a shoebox-sized room with peeling wallpaper, a squeaky ceiling fan, and a bed that looks like it’s seen more fights than rest.

Still, it’s a bed.

Without a word, Butcher follows you inside, closing the door behind him. For a man so determined to sleep in the van, he seems strangely reluctant to leave now. You glance at him, confused but unwilling to ask.

“You’re not staying, are you?” you finally say, half-turning to face him.

“’Course I’m stayin’,” he replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not leavin’ you alone in some dodgy motel where the closest weapon’s probably that broken lamp in the corner.”

You blink at him, torn between irritation and a flicker of gratitude. Before you can respond, he smirks and brushes past you toward the bed.

“Dibs,” he declares, flopping onto the mattress with all the grace of a drunk elephant. The springs groan in protest, but he doesn’t care.

“No, no! Absolutely not!” You shout, but he's already stretched his arms behind his head, feet crossed. “You're not taking the bed, you didn't even want this room!”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, tucking his hands behind his head. The smugness radiating off him is enough to set your teeth on edge.

“You're an asshole, you know that right?”

“Yeah, you keep remindin’ me,” he says with a grin. “Now are you gonna stand there gawkin’ all night, or are you gonna make yourself comfortable?”

You grab the pillow out from behind his head and secure it alongside yours down the middle of the bed, creating a makeshift wall between your bodies. 

“What’s this, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Great Wall of Don’t-Touch-Me,” you deadpan, climbing onto your side of the bed and glaring at him over the makeshift divider.

He chuckles, low and amused. “You think I’m gonna bite?”

“More likely that I’d be the one biting you,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

The second the words leave your mouth, your cheeks flush hot. You busy yourself adjusting your pillow, pretending you don’t see the way his grin widens.

“Noted,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make you shiver.

You roll over, facing the wall. The bed creaks as Butcher shifts, and you’re hyper-aware of his presence. His scent, the warmth radiating off him, the way the air seems heavier when he’s near.

Neither of you bother crawling under the covers, facing away from each other to make it extra-clear that this is a no-nonsense, all-business sleepover. 

“Goodnight, asshole,” you mutter, hoping the bite in your tone masks the thrum of nerves in your chest.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice softer than you expect.

You want to savour this moment, but you're out in seconds. 

~~~

Suspended in a haze of warm sunlight, the cool edge of unreality covers you like a blanket of fresh snow. Strong arms wrap securely around your waist, across your chest, their weight pressing into you like a protective cocoon. The scratch of a beard grazes your neck, and the faint warmth of breath tickles your skin. Gentle snores vibrate against your back, a low, steady rhythm that lulls you further into the dreamlike state. You fight to stay there, curling deeper into the embrace, savoring the rare, fleeting serenity.

But serenity never lasts. A creeping discomfort nags at the edges of your mind, like an itch you can’t quite reach. The illusion splinters. The sunlight grows sharper, the weight around you heavier, the awkward press of something hard on your ass undeniable.

Your eyes snap open, reality crashing in. It’s blindingly bright, far too bright for what should be the early, predawn hours. Panic spikes through your system as you take in the scene, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You thrash instinctively, and Butcher’s grip loosens just in time for him to tumble unceremoniously off the bed.

“Bloody hell!” Butcher groans from the floor, rubbing the back of his head.

Your voice comes out in a frantic rasp. “Butcher, wake up! We slept in!”

The words are like a starter pistol. He’s up and moving in an instant, yanking on his boots while simultaneously reaching for the door.

“Shit! Goddamn it, move! Move!” he barks, his voice sharp and commanding.

The two of you are a blur of motion, grabbing, stumbling, swearing. Your bodies move on autopilot, faster than your sleep-addled minds can process. In seconds, you’re in the van, Butcher slamming the door shut and peeling out of the motel parking lot with reckless urgency.

Anxiety builds in your chest, each erratic swerve of the van feeding the dread coiling tighter inside you. As you glance back at the motel, the sight of an empty parking spot—a lone Mustang where the CytoGenix van had been—confirms your worst fears. They’re gone.

Butcher’s jaw tightens as he accelerates onto the highway, weaving through lanes with a focus that’s almost terrifying. The towering pines blur into streaks of green on either side of you as the van hurtles forward. You scan the horizon frantically, desperate for a glimpse of white metal that refuses to appear.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before Butcher finally slows the van, pulling into a deserted roadside gas station. It’s eerily quiet, the pumps sitting idle, the building dark and lifeless.

“This is the last stop for miles,” Butcher says, his voice low and grim. “That's the last stop they would've made before going to the lab.”

The weight of his words slams into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, panic tightening its grip. This was it, the window of opportunity to intercept them had closed. It was all your fault. You’d fought tooth and nail for the motel room last night, insisting you both needed the rest, convincing yourself it was a small indulgence that wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.

You were wrong.

Maybe he was right, maybe your father was right, maybe they're all right, everyone who's ever doubted you. It's cruel, the way that the frayed threads of meaning in your life seem to continually fall from your grasp. 

Shame and guilt crash over you in waves, heat rising in your face as your chest constricts painfully. You blink back tears, but they gather stubbornly at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Butcher, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your voice trembling. “I—I screwed up. This is all my fault.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he stares out the windshield. The silence stretches, unbearable. Fear claws at you, the thought of him cutting you loose from the Boys—or worse, giving up on the mission entirely—hitting like a punch to the gut.

“Please,” you continue, desperation creeping into your tone. “I know I fucked up, but don’t… don’t give up on this. Don’t give up on me.”

Butcher’s head swivels toward you, his eyes softer than you expect. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost unrecognizably so.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand. “Breathe. It’s okay. Hold your apologies, yeah? We’re not done yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, not the anger, the harsh words, the fury you thought you deserved. Instead, his calm confidence throws you off balance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Butcher…” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“Just wait,” he says, lips quirking into a faint, reassuring smirk. “Keep it together. We’ve still got work to do.”

With that, his foot presses down on the gas pedal, the van lurching forward and pinning you back against the seat.

You're certain you've never driven this fast before, not even during those rare joyrides with your father in his Bugatti. The van rockets forward, moving like a bullet out of a gun, the world outside warping into a blur of trees and sky as the tires scream against the asphalt. Your grip on the door handle tightens with every jolt, the tension in the cabin as visceral as the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Despite the chaos of the day, the abrupt wake-up, the panic, and Butcher’s uncharacteristic gentleness, the unbridled anxiety screaming inside you speaks only of the lives of the two men in the CytoGenix van, unknowingly hurtling toward their end. Anxiety claws at your chest, raw and unrelenting. You shut your eyes and try to focus on breathing, but it’s no use.

“Oi, cunts!” Butcher’s voice explodes, and your eyes snap open.

Thirty feet ahead, the CytoGenix van comes into view, its white exterior glaring against the green blur of forest on either side. To your right, the trees abruptly fall away, leaving nothing but a battered guardrail and a steep ravine beyond.

“Hold on tight,” Butcher orders, his tone calm but edged with a manic sort of energy.

Before you can question him, he floors the gas pedal. The van lurches forward, barreling into the oncoming lane to overtake the other vehicle. Butcher twists the wheel expertly, positioning your van just ahead of the CytoGenix one. Then, in one brutal motion, he jerks back and rams into the side of it.

The impact is bone-rattling. Your body slams against the seatbelt, the van shuddering violently as both vehicles swerve erratically. For a moment, you lock eyes with the other driver, his face contorted in a mix of rage and confusion. But Butcher’s already at it again, pulling back just enough to ram the CytoGenix van a second time.

This hit sends the other van wobbling wildly, the driver fighting to regain control. Your ears ring, blood rushing so loudly that you’re not sure if the scream you hear is yours or simply imagined. And then, with a final, sickening crunch, the CytoGenix van plows through the guardrail and plunges down the ravine.

Butcher swerves hard, narrowly avoiding the gaping hole in the guardrail. The side of your van scrapes against what remains, metal shrieking as sparks fly. He brings the van to an abrupt stop on the shoulder a hundred yards ahead, slamming the gearshift into park. The engine dies, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the cabin.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Holy shit,” Butcher echoes, his grin wide and reckless.

You both sit there for a moment, staring straight ahead, before the tension breaks. Anxious laughter bubbles out of you, and to your surprise, Butcher joins in. The two of you volley expletives back and forth between bursts of laughter, the absurdity of the situation sinking in.

When the laughter subsides, Butcher reaches for the door handle. “Stay put,” he says firmly. “You’re not gonna want to see this.”

That sends your adrenaline spiking all over again. You throw your door open and stomp after him, slamming it behind you. “No. You’re not doing this. Not again.”

He turns to face you, brows furrowed. You jab a finger into his chest. “I’m capable of this, Butcher. And if I’m going to be part of the Boys, I need to prove it. No more babying me.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. The tension between you is almost unbearable as you silently plead with him to understand. To let you have this. To understand just how important this is, how this transcends the circumstances you currently find yourselves in. Finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he gives a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

Together, you make your way down the ravine, the incline steep and unforgiving. Butcher offers his arm to steady you when you stumble, and you grudgingly accept. At the bottom, the wreckage comes into view. The CytoGenix van lies on its side in a shallow creek bed, its back doors hanging open.

You rush to the driver’s side, heart hammering in your chest as you peer inside. For the past week, nightmares have plagued you—visions of Adam and Emily lying lifeless in the wreckage. But when you see the two men slumped in their seats, necks twisted at unnatural angles, neither is familiar. Relief washes over you, mingling uneasily with guilt.

“They’re nobodies,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Butcher. “Collateral damage.”

His hand falls heavy on your shoulder. “The hard part’s over,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “It gets easier from here.”

You desperately want to believe him. 

You both turn your attention to the back of the van. Butcher grips one of the broken doors and yanks it free with a grunt. Inside, a sleek black lockbox gleams ominously. Without hesitation, Butcher brings his boot down on it, cracking it open.

Inside are rows upon rows of vials, their green liquid glowing faintly in the fading light. You pick one up, holding it between your fingers and marveling at its beauty. The liquid seems alive, swirling and shimmering with an otherworldly energy.

And then, without thinking, you hurl the vial at a nearby tree. You watch in awe as the glass shatters, the glowing substance splattering across the bark and dripping onto the forest floor.

“Shit—I don’t know what came over me—” you start, but Butcher is already laughing, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” he says, grabbing a vial and smashing it under his boot. You both gape at the way it explodes under his foot, staining his boot like a glow stick, before you burst into shared laughter. 

You both fall into a wild, unhinged rhythm, smashing vial after vial. The forest around you glows eerily, the remnants of V2 painting the trees and ground in streaks of neon green. Laughter bubbles out of you, uncontrollable and cathartic, as the absurdity of your destruction takes hold.

When only one vial remains, Butcher reaches for it, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. We should keep one. For testing. Just in case.”

He looks at you, then smirks. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You keep me around for more than that.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something darker, more intense.  The air shifts between you, the laughter forgotten as your proximity feels suddenly charged. Whatever force is behind the constant push and pull of your attraction to Butcher is now pushing in full force, the glowing green crime scene around you fading into nothing. It's just you and him and the screaming urge inside of you to untether. 

Butcher advances toward you, pulling your face into his hands, crashing his mouth into yours. This time you get the chance to react, the opportunity to reciprocate. And you do, wholeheartedly. You pull at the lapels of his jacket, fingers fumbling for purchase in his wild hair. His hands move over your body, down your back and across your ass, squeezing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are wild. “Someone’s gonna notice the skid marks and the guardrail. We’re gonna have company soon if we don’t move.”

“Back to the motel?” you ask, bold and breathless.

His answer is immediate. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he grabs your hand, practically pulling you back up the ravine toward the van.

You had a taste of Butcher's penchant for speeding earlier, but something about the way he races down the road back to the motel now has butterflies erupting in your stomach. His right hand is placed firmly on your left thigh, your own hand keeping his there. You're ashamed to admit that his touch alone is driving you crazy. 

Thank god you never had time to return the key this morning, because you both race back to the room, his mouth in your ear, arms encircling your waist as you fumble to unlock the door. The second the door closes behind you, he has you pushed up against the door, his tongue parting your lips and hands digging into your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lets a hand fall to your ass, squeezing tightly. He lifts you up, wrapping both of your legs around his middle. You moan at the way his hands explore you, the closeness of your bodies. 

“Do that again,” he instructs. 

“Make me,” you dare. 

He throws you down on the bed, both of you using the opportunity to work your shirts off. He spends an unabashed moment staring directly at your tits, chest heaving. Like you're a work of art he can't wait to defile. You unbutton your pants before Butcher pulls them off of you, leaving you bare before him, save for your underwear. He crawls up onto the bed, knees nudging your legs open, his imposing frame towering over you. 

“You have no idea how goddamn much I've thought about this,” he admits. Your eyes search his face, hands combing through his hair. He kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth, before moving down to place licks along your collarbone. He moves down to your nipples, your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up in silent request. 

“Please,” you beg. “Don't stop.”

And, with your permission, he practically rips the soft cotton as he pulls them down, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. You share a glance, both with bated breath, before he finally puts his mouth on you, eating you like a man starved. 

Your head tilts back involuntarily as he licks at you, alternating between languid, savoring strokes, his wide tongue exploring deep inside of you, and quick, tight little circles over your clit. You've never been the kind of woman to be particularly loud or vocal in bed, a complaint you'd heard from lovers in the past. But now the moans fall freely as you fall apart on Butcher's tongue. Your sounds only serve to egg him on, his fingers digging deeply into your plush inner thighs, his growls reverberating through your pussy, matching your low moans. You barrel embarrassingly quickly toward the edge. 

“‘m so close,” you whimper. 

He doesn't stop, every determined movement a silent encouragement for you to chase your high. 

Your hands reach down, tangling in his messy hair. He responds, deepening the push of his mouth against your core, rhythmically drawing his fingers back and forth against your inner thighs. Your fingers clench around the tendrils of his hair, pulling so hard you know it must hurt him. He doesn't seem to notice, his rhythm never stalling. Then, starbursts exploding behind your eyelids as you fall over the edge, legs clamping involuntarily around his head. 

Dizzying, pure, unadulterated bliss.

Head falling back against the pillow, you're sure you've never come this hard before. Your limbs are absolutely weightless, cheeks flushed. A euphoric smile on your lips stretches so wide you're certain you look deranged. 

But not to Butcher. 

“You're so bloody beautiful,” he says from between your legs, and you can do nothing but laugh deliriously in response. 

He gazes up at you, working his way back up between kisses to your stomach and swirling his tongue over your pert nipples. You grasp a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him up to kiss him on the mouth, your other hand reaching down to encircle his hard length. 

You're pleasantly surprised at how much of him there is, pumping his thick length several times before you position him at your entrance. 

You feel his body jolt involuntarily as his cock makes contact with the wetness he just created.

“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, words refusing to form on your lips. 

He shifts his hips forward and you gasp sharply as he breaches you. You reach your other hand down to caress his ass cheek, pulling him in deeper, desperate for more.

“Fuck yes,” you moan. “Yes, Billy, just like that.”

That's all he needs before he's driving himself deep, stopping only when he's fully seated inside of you. You gasp as he stretches you out, like he's splitting you right down the middle. He pulls your knee up, hooking it over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper. You whine at the fullness, earning a growl from him. 

“You like this, baby?” he asks as he pulls back, looking down to where your bodies connect before plunging himself back into you. “Fuck, because I really like this.”

“R‒really like this,” you manage to sputter out. “P‒please, please, fuck me Billy.”

“I got you, love,” his voice is raw. He sets a punishing pace, his cock filling you over and over and over again, pushing you toward the brink of something you've never experienced before. 

Your hands wander over him, tracing every scar, fumbling through his hair, squeezing his ass as you pull him in even deeper. You want to memorize everything about this, the sweet aroma of his sweat, the weight of him atop you, the stream of consciousness filth that flows from his lips as he falls more and more pussy drunk. 

He reaches down, thumb on your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His mouth explores your chest, dividing his attention between your nipples and sensitive, open neck. You bound toward your release, fingers scraping down his broad back. 

“Fuck, fuck, Billy, I'm gonna come,” you moan between huffs. He continues, pace unrelenting. 

Then, stars. 

Expanding blooms of light, full-body eruption. Sweet release, a dynamite stick in your core, exploding out your mouth in a silent scream. You heave around him, bucking your hips, impaling yourself deeper on his cock. He fucks you through it, half words falling from his lips into your mouth. 

Tha's right. 

Mm, baby. 

You go’ it. 

It's all too much, the soft moans escaping your mouth, the image of you in ecstasy before him, falling apart on his cock. He's too close behind you to stop now. 

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come. Where d’you want it?” he asks frantically. 

You can't help yourself. “Inside,” you beg. 

He really doesn't try to make it a habit of denying you, and he certainly won't start now. He groans, spilling himself inside of you. You moan at the heat that grows between your legs. 

He collapses atop you, the weight of him pushing you I to the cheap, springy mattress. You feel the wetness spill out onto the bed beneath you. 

“Holy shit,” you manage to get out between gasps for air. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit is right,” he agrees. 

Over the next eight or so hours, you and Butcher acquaint yourselves with each other, very, very, closely. On the bed, on the floor, against the dresser, in the shower, on the bed, again. You speak only a few times in rushed half sentences, too preoccupied with finding out just how many orgasms you can achieve in one go to think about much else. All of the tension that has stewed since the day Butcher first laid eyes on your dazed face has been unleashed in Room 206 at the Piney Point Motel. You stop only long enough for Butcher to drive twenty minutes down the highway to retrieve a bag of greasy fast food, hastily devoured fuel to allow you both to continue at least a few more times. 

By the time you both succumb to your utter exhaustion, you're sweat-sticky and bone-tired, with a soreness between your legs you know is going to have you walking funny tomorrow. You don't notice it though, because Butcher has you pulled in his arms, lips on your ear, your heart firmly in the palm of his hand. 

@bluemerakis@mystic-writings@imherefordeanandbones

[playstation-dreamcast]

The Gods (AO3 writer curse) have struck me down (given me strep) for my hubris (babysitting) so I've been like- dying dying. Still working, but in the meantime here a commission I did!

Physical touch headcanons with Wesker that got outta hand, pure fluff here. A little angst, but that just comes with the Wesker territory. Rated T for suggestive themes

Okay, so Wesker is actually a velcro captor boyfriend who always wants to cuddle with you- but he wasn’t always like that. You had to unlock that DLC. Before, any sort of physical touch was commonly initiated by him, and often led to the bedroom. He was under the impression that that was simply the sole purpose of physical touch. It was the only time he had ever experienced it at least

He was never really sure what to do when you were struck by The Emotions™️. He hardly knew what to do on the rare occasion when he was struck by The Emotions™️. So, he typically treated you the way he wanted to be treated, which is to say he left you the fuck alone. He knew he liked about a mile and a half worth of space on the yearly occasion that his heart decided to beat, so naturally you did too. Right?

Wrong, absolutely wrong. You found him, eyes glossy and rimmed in red, sniffling softly. And he felt that annoying clench in his chest, that unbearable need to protect you from whatever had upset you. But, he still couldn’t quite find it in himself to be soft. “What?” It was cold, and harsh, but also exactly what you were used to from him at this point.

“Look, I just…I’m having a really bad day, will you just hold me?” you asked through choked back tears. Odd. He genuinely couldn’t imagine you wanting to be intimate while crying, and honestly while he was in no way above dacryphilia, he preferred it to be from overstimulation as opposed to…whatever it was that had you upset now. The man hadn’t even thought to ask, my god. Still, He could be a good sport if you genuinely thought it would help.

Wesker was notoriously a man of few words. He doesn’t just out right tell you to crawl into his lap. Instead he would just lean back in his chair and you just kinda gotta get the message. And he’s fully prepared for things to get weird. It’s physical touch, getting weird is a requirement- it’s why it exists at all. Right? He was bracing himself for salty, tear filled kisses and sloppy sobs in between thrusts. He was almost tense thinking about it.

He was going to let you take the lead here- a rarity for him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest as you sniffled. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close and resting his head on the top of your own. It was shockingly soft. A tender moment that caught him a little off guard if we’re all being honest here.

Wesker was typically pretty good at reading into people’s ulterior motives. He was quite literally trained in it. But, he was a little lost here. He was fully expecting this whole ordeal to lead to sex, but the entire scene was just so…innocent. You seemed to genuinely just want to curl up in his arms for…fucking reasons, he guessed??? It went against his entire view of physical touch. Could you really just want to be held?

If you were paying attention, You would have seen the moment of breakthrough. The moment his eyes got a little wider as he realized what he had been missing out on this entire time. You weren’t paying attention though. You were too lost in his comforting warmth and familiar scent. Maybe you truly had lost it, but you did find safety in Wesker's arms, even if he was the most dangerous creature in the room at any given moment. He had told you once that he would never hurt you intentionally, and you believed him- no matter how foolish that might have been.

He let out a soft sigh, releasing some of his own tension from his shoulders. His hand slowly ran up your spine, comfortingly rubbing your back. You found yourself softly crying again. A part of you expected him to push you off his lap. Hell, a part of himself expected him to push you off his lap. You were both shocked when he softly rocked you instead, kissing the top of your head. You were safe to fall apart in his arms, he’d hold you together

Slowly you started to calm down. You adjusted in his arms, correcting your posture to better hold him as opposed to him holding you. Of everything in this world that Wesker understood perfectly, he’d never truly understand how you always seemed to know exactly what he needed. Slowly he melted right back into your arms, hiding from the rest of the world in the little bubble of delusional safety the two of you had made both with and for each other

You shifted, and you felt his grip tighten- silently begging demanding that you stay longer. So you got comfortable instead, far preferring this gentler (if you could call it that) side of Wesker that was at this point so often kept from you over his normal ice. You were sure Wesker had some sort of feelings for you, but where exactly you stood with him was an internal mystery. At least with moments like these it felt a little clearer. 

He wasn’t sure when you fell asleep, he wasn’t sure if he had joined you in sleep or not. But at some point twilight turned to night, and you were softly snoring in his arms. He rubbed your back, taking a moment to feel the weight of you against his chest. To take in the full gravity of the situation he found himself in and how hopeless it was. How dare his human heart still beat, and how dare you hold it as if it was never his to begin with. Maybe it wasn’t. Actually it definitely wasn’t, there had to be a reason it had only ever stirred for you and like- two other people ever. (Oh Birkin. Oh Chris.)

That was different though. Birkin was his equal on all fronts, and Chris was just so fucking pristine Wesker felt like he had to dirty him; to own him and possess him then drag him through the mud to bring him down to Weskers level. You didn’t fit into either of those categories. You were something that defied categorization itself. It was no wonder you had captivated him so much more than they had. You had- quite literally- crawled into his lap and showed him that human touch, with zero sexual promise, was not only possible but in some cases preferable. He was not going to be normal about this information, he was never going to stop holding you. 

Finally he stood up, still holding you in his arms as he took you to your shared bedroom. He laid you down, put a blanket over you, then had to take a second to realize what the fuck he was doing. Wesker had long since accepted that at some point you stopped being just an experiment and became something more when he wasn’t looking. But it was nights like these when he wondered what life with you could have been like if he was different. If he could access this caring side of his on command rather than it having to be slowly coaxed out of him.

Oh well. No use getting lost in what ifs now. He wasn’t that man, and he had no desire to be that man. Your current reality suited him just fine, and he’d make it suit you eventually.

That next morning was the first morning you woke up to find him in bed with you, arms wrapped around you and holding you tightly to him. It would remain a rare occurrence, Wesker often working long into the night and waking up early to get back to it. Bio terrorism never rested, so therefore he never rested either. Still, it was always a nice surprise when it happened.

[soft-husbands]

i don't know anything about robron (but have been very entertained by everyone freaking out). would you mind giving a rundown of their story? what's the show about?

Oh anon… you’re in for a treat here strap in it’s gonna be a bumpy ride

Okay so first off robron is from a British soap opera called Emmerdale which has been running for a long while Robert Sugden was born on the show and had a few actors play Robert in his kid and teen years until Robert left (I’m not sure when I’m sorry) but in 2014 he came back with Ryan Hawley as Robert

And he was engaged to Chrissie White and they moved up to Home Farm where he did things and stuff (I can’t remember off the top of my head) then he meets Aaron Dingle (Livesy at the time)

a grumpy mechanic (who has been played by Danny Miller since 2008?? he is a gay man his coming out story is so good) they meet they wind each other up there’s alot of sexual tension (we don’t know at the time but Robert is bisexual he comes out in 2016) anywho they have the most Epic first kiss I’ve ever seen

An affair begins they fuck in barns in garages everywhere and anywhere lol then Katie, Roberts sister in law catches Robert and Aaron sneak a kiss on the day of Robert’s wedding to Chrissie things happen and somehow she falls through a faulty floorboard!! Anywho Robert gets married, Aaron crashes the wedding there’s alot of staring at each other, Katie died it’s all a good dramatic time.

More drama happens Robert and Aaron’s affair went on a pause for a good month or two but then they get right back on it more drama happened fast forward to July 2015, Aaron wants to expose Robert so he lures him to a lodge so he can record etc etc we get The Lodge™️ scene, Robert’s tied Aaron to a radiator whilst holding a gun declaring his love for him <333 very romantic if ask me

Things happen they get out Aaron goes to Chrissie and still exposes their affair in the most delicious scene ever absolute perfection if you ask me. Things go pretty crappy for Robert he starts being a real nasty menace then he gets shot in oct 2015, Aaron was a suspect because when you love someone so much but you don’t want to death is the only option :) (news flash he didn’t shoot Robert)

Flash forward to 2016 Aarons has a very powerful and special storyline of being sexually abused by his father. Truly this storyline is very close to my heart Danny did it beautifully. Robert helps him and comforts him eventually his father gets sent to prison and in April Robert and Aaron get together for real

They’re cute boyfriends for a while and then in oct 2016 Robert wants to propose and sets up this cute proposal but Aaron ruins it by kidnapping a kid and keeping him in the boot! Romantic comedy for sure!

They share a moment Robert doesn’t propose they get in the car but there was a big crash and they landed in the water they have a romantic scene where Aaron’s telling him to go Robert saying ‘I’m not leaving you’ it’s just *chefs kiss* beautiful they get out they get engaged flash forward to 2017 Aarons beats some guy up (there’s alot to unpack here but we’d be here all day) he gets arrested sentenced to prison Robert makes a surprise wedding the day before he goes to prison is beautiful it’s amazing it’s perfect.

The next day they have to say goodbye it’s PAIN prison is not fun for either one of them Aaron lashes out and pushes Robert away Robert gets drunk and ugh has sex with Rebecca White (yes his ex wife’s sister) she gets pregnant (there’s also a lot to unpack with all of this but I just can’t) Aaron gets out of prison things are okay for a bit Robert comes clean about sleeping with Rebecca and the baby it’s a beautiful ep tbh they try to make it work and get through the problems but eventually Aaron has to break up with Robert in July 2017 (after wrench throwing) a lot of other stuff happen in 2017 but it’s alot and this post is already getting too long lol

2018! Robert and Aaron share a moment on Valentine’s Day they almost kiss it’s beautiful eventually they get back together the next week in such a beautiful special episode!!

They get together again they move in they coparent together it’s really beautiful. They repropose to each other it’s cute then they get remarried in October 2018 fast forward they decide they want to have kids of their own so they try for surrogacy but then Vic (Roberts sister) gets raped and that got put on hold. Robert does a Hero move hits the rapist on the head with a shovel as he should the guy dies Robert gets charged and is sent to prison.

That brings us to today obviously there’s a lot that happened that I cant even remotely try to tell you or explain lol but just know that this is the greatest love story ever told and the best part is is that it isn’t over!!!

[yup-thats-me]

—taken • Iguro. O

pairing; barista!Iguro x mean!gf!reader | modern au summary; people can be so blinded by love. so much so that they had paid not attention to the fact that the girl beside them was his darling girlfriend. warning; mean!reader, badly written.

“Look, he’s even more cute today,” the small group of girls sitting beside Y/n giggled. “Oh no! I think we just made eye-contact; I’m going to pass out!”

A mischievous smile adorned Y/n’s lip. She walked across the counter, taking the free tool beside them. “Hey~” she greeted with a cheery smile. “What are we planning? I’m a regular here, so maybe I can help,” she winked, instantly winning over the group.

The group squealed in joy. Making Y/n sit in the middle, they started. “The barista over there,” one of them pointed at Iguro Obanai. “We want to ask for his number.”

Y/n nodded in acknowledgment. She held her chin as if thinking hard for a way out. “We have frequented here everyday with that motive. However,” the girl trailed off. “He’s unapproachable?” Y/n finished for her. The girls shook their heads, looking at Y/n as if she was their saviour.

When Iguro came at last to deliver the group’s coffee, Y/n sat more poised, her back straight. “Um, excuse me?” She called out.

“Hmm?” The man replied. A grin crept onto her lips unable to hold it in. But she tried; she gave him the most normal face she could make at the moment and said, “You’re so cute. Can she get your number?” She pointed at one of the girls. The girl’s face was entirely red. Y/n almost felt bad for doing this.

Iguro gave Y/n a tired look. “I’m sorry. I’m taken.”

The girl wished she could just run and hide. Her friends consoled her saying something along the lines of “Don’t worry. You deserve better,” and “He’s not that pretty, too.”

Oh, but Iguro is very pretty. Y/n thought.

She turned to the group, a defeated look on her face. “I’m so sorry, guys. I thought I could help.” They just nodded, happy that Y/n took the initiative for them.

“Y/n your drink.”

Iguro called. As she was about to take the drink from his hand, Iguro snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close, kissing the girl breathless. “Stop joking around,” the man said as he booped his girlfriend’s nose.

The group almost made a racket at the scene. “What? You’re his girlfriend? You took him?”

Y/n could only nod, sighing. “Then why did you do that?”

“Apparently, you guys did not witness me kissing him every day even though you came here everyday?,” she mocked, irritated. “Thought I’d teach you a lesson.”

“He’s mine.”

do not steal, copy or translate my work on any other site. all belong to yup-thats-me™️ on tumblr

pic's from pinterest, header by me!

[lazorbeanz]

Here's a list I made of random thoughts and reactions I had during and after watching STH3 hehehrmrr why did I make this…

(Part 1 🫠)

!spoilers ahead duh!

- damnit Kyle

- ACOUSTIC LIVE AND LEARN?! it’s so peaceful

- Did flashbacks of past trauma just jolt shadow out of a 50 year stasis?-

- bro really took the “woke up (from a 50 year coma) and chose violence” saying literally HDHDHHSD

- Movie Shadow is so cool I LOVE

- Still silly as always hehe 🤭🤭🤭

I just love how that iconic level completed/victory tune played during that last scene ^

- HAHA OZZY GET SUBTITLES!!

DOGGY TRANSLATOR :D

“You stole my hoomans” IM WHEEZING

- okay is it coincidence that where their camping site was, was in the same area as Sonic’s old cave orrr…

Anyways nice lil trip down memory lane! ^-^ also interesting to see that not everything of Sonic’s got moved from the cave into Tom and Maddie’s house

- Omg the ✨stateoftheartsecuritysystem✨ made a return xD good to see he can still master them nunchucks…

- I swear this kid could draw better at like 3 yrs old then I could at 16 🥲

- Tom: *trying to have a wholesome father to son conversation*

Sonic: “yah…iN mA LuNgS”

Tom (in his head probably lmao): “where is this kid’s braincells-“

- “I don’t know what I’d do without ya…*scene switches over to shadow* I’d probably be a totally different hedgehog”

BYE I’m sobbing that was just a SAD move. WHYY DID YOU DO THAT😭😭

- You heard him…leave the lil guy alone :(

- “peace…” “quiet…” STOPPP YOUR GONNA JINX- aaaand yep called it. Here come the uninvited guests 🚁

- *Neon starts playing during the helicopter scene* AWW HELL YEAAAA BANGER SONG + BANGER SCENE = PEAK CINEMA RRRAAAHHHHH

- look at Tails being the copilot HES SO ADORABLE I LOVEEEEE🥹🥹🥹 the little detail of the helmet shifting forward as he looks down..still too big on him but he looks so happy wearing it AAAAAAA

- ONE MILLION PERCENT MUSCLE™️ MENTIONED!!!!

- THE SKYDIVING SCENE WAS AAAAARGH SO COOL I WAS FLAT OUT JAMMING TO THE SONG ATST AKBDJABDJAND I LOVED THEIR SMOOTH AS FORMATIONS AND THEN THE HEROIC LANDING GRAAAAHHHHH

- Tails: “woah…these energy readings are off the chart…”

Meanwhile my sonic boom brainrotted ass: “FORTUNATELY WE HAVE A BIGGER CHART-“

- ONE MILLION PERCENT MUSCLE™️ MENTIONED!!! (AGAIN)

- “excuse me?! Why do you look like me?!”

“I don’t look like you…you look like me!”

- sonic refuses to listen to his team strike one

- ugh shadow and motorcycles >>>>>

- BABYYYYYY 🥺😭

- i am literally squealing, crying and laughing over this one scene

Okay so ofc we got tails just BEING A KID ENJOYING THE CONCERT AWWWW AGAIN MORE SMOL DETAILS LIKE THE HAND CLAPPING AND THE WAGGING TAILS AND SWINGING THE LEGGIES HES LOVIN IT!! 🥹💛

Then we got sonic who you can see IS subtly vibing along…and then he glances over at Tails AND HIS FACE KINDA LIGHTS UP?! LIKE HIM JUST SEEING THE SHEER JOY HIS LITTLE BUDDY IS HAVING RN HES HAPPY FOR HIM I CAN TELL

Knuckles just looks annoyed lmao

And the Commander looks like he’s literally having second hand embarrassment HSHDHDHDHD

That’s what ya get for tryna having a meeting in the Chao Garden ig 🤣

- I-is Commander Walters really dead?… ;-;

- STONE RIDING A MOTORBIKE HELLO?!

[thecreelhouse]

tramps like us

Paring: Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

Summary: You finally marry your best friend, and it’s more than you could ever dream of.

Includes: tooth rotting fluff, language, alcohol & weed mentions, no y/n- reader is still affectionately called Sunshine by her friends and Darlin’ by Gator, some hurt/comfort (heavy on the comfort), pre-wedding antics, The Big Day™️, honeymoon, smut (mostly soft), and a few surprises in the wedding scene 🥰

WC: 17.8k (not sorry)

〘 series masterlist ✧.┊this is a sequel to part time soulmate, full time problem ✧.┊listen to the series playlist ✧. wedding playlist┊read on AO3〙

A note regarding details, characterization, etc. (since some of y’all can’t be fucked to ignore fics you don’t care for)

A/N: When I started writing TLU a year ago, this was the chapter that kinda kicked it all off. This fic was only supposed to be a sweet lil’ one shot, but I couldn’t stop writing, couldn’t stop adding to this. It’s bittersweet, but this is the second to last chapter of this series! these last two are my sickeningly fluffy take on a happy ending for Gator, and I’m so glad I wasn’t the only one who wanted some kind of positive outcome for him. I don’t want to say too much more and spoil anything, but thank you to anyone who has stuck with this from the start, or even if you’re a new reader— I appreciate all y’all and all the love and support you’ve given this fic. love y’all sm, happy reading 💖🥹

chapter 11 ✧.┊

I don’t mind - defeater

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

⋆｡♪ and I don’t mind / if we take our time / ‘cause I’m all yours / if you’re all mine ♬₊˚.

“Y’know, we don’t have to drink tonight.”

Gator throws a puzzled look over his shoulder from his spot by the stove; he insisted on waking up early to make pancakes for everyone, which meant you were dragged downstairs to help.

“Huh? Why not? It’s New Years Eve.”

“Uh, your eye?” Frowning, you sit up from your spot at the kitchen island. “I know it’s okay sometimes, but is— would it bother you? ‘Cause I can totally stay sober tonight— actually, scratch that, I will be sober tonight. Ain’t fun leavin’ you out.”

“S’okay, haven’t drank in awhile, ‘member?” He softens over your concern when it doesn’t fade. Turning the burner off, he turns to face you. “I’ve been careful, I promise.”

You nod blankly, distracted by how cute he looks; gaze still shrouded in sleep, with a reassuring smile and bed head, untying the apron over his sweats—  hell must’ve frozen over for him to even wear one.

“Darlin’, you good?”

“Just never thought I’d see the day where you’re wearin’ an apron,” You tease, wandering over to him to wrap your arms around his waist. “S’cute. You tryin’ to be my house husband, or something?”

“Fuck off, I didn’t wanna get batter on my clothes!” He grumbles into a laugh, returning the hug. “You’d like that, huh? Me bein’ your stay-at-home trophy husband?” The two of you fall into a fit of giggles and snickers. “Gotta marry me first, I think.”

“Next year sounds good, I think. You free?”

“Think so,” He grins sleepily down at you. “Next year’s right around the corner, anyway—“

“Oh my god, you two are disgusting.”

Gator’s face drops into annoyance, while you bury your face into his shoulder, muffling more noises of amusement.

“Yeah, mornin’ to you too, Ty.” He flips the younger man off, but you pull his hand down.

“Be nice!”

“Nah, s’all good,” Ty mumbles tiredly, grabbing cold brew from the fridge. “Your fiancé is a shitbird, anyway.”

“Hey, that’s my insult—“

“Not anymore,” he sing-songs with a grin.

“This might be worse than when Ivy tried making ‘girlie pop’ a thing,” you mutter.

“It is, just ain’t a thing for you old farts.”

Now you’re the one flipping Ty off, but he just snickers, shuffling away to the table with his coffee. Gator glances at you, holding a finger up to wait a minute while he slips away from your grasp. 

You already know where this is going; Gator had something important to ask Ty, just never found the time or place for it. Now seems like a good time as any, before everyone else wakes up. So, you back off, give them space, busy yourself with gathering tableware for breakfast.

“Got a question for ya’,” He sits in a chair next to Ty, whose eyes grow wide.

“Should I be worried?”

“Huh? No, s’good— Jesus, did you already drink all that?” Gator nods to the empty coffee cup in front of Ty, and the younger man shrugs. 

“Yeah, probably shouldn’t have, ‘cause it makes my brain feel like it’s vibrating with all that caffeine—“ Ty snorts, waving his hands. “Anyway, what’s up?”

Gator avoids making eye contact, weirdly nervous to ask, even has a second guess or two; he leans back in the chair, slumping slightly, hands folded over himself while twiddling his thumbs. “Would you, uh,” He rubs his nose; a nervous habit he’s picked up over time, since you were kids. “So… for the wedding… you wanna be my best man?”

Ty cocks his head, narrowing his eyes at Gator, who dares to look back. “Is this a prank?”

“What? Dude, no way, m’serious.”

The younger of the two’s insecure side begins to creep out, “Why me?”

Without skipping a beat, Gator answers with a shrug, “‘Cause you’re my bro.”

A snort slips out of Ty, though it isn’t in mockery, more in disbelief. “Like your bestie, or an actual brother?”

Gator huffs out a laugh, brows scrunching together. “Both?”

“This ain’t like… a pity thing, is it? You’re not doing this to absolve your guilt for being a shithead back in the day, right?”

The older man can’t even be upset with Ty for asking; based off past stories Gator’s opened up about, his instinct to be cautious is understandable.

“Nope. M’askin’ ‘cause I trust ya’, and aside from Sunshine over there, who’s definitely listening—“

“I am not!” You holler from the room over, cringing at the way you give yourself away.

“Uh-huh, anyway.” The two men snicker as Gator finishes his thought, “You’re my best friend, too. Ya’ also didn’t need to give me a chance to turn shit around, but you and everyone else did—“

“Oh, christ, you really got soft moving out here,” Ty grins, like the little shithead he is, hopping out of his chair to tackle Gator in a bear hug. He huffs out an “Oof!” but hugs back with a relieved smile. Ty finally responds, “Hell yeah I’ll be your best man.”

“Yeah?!”

“There’s one problem though,” Ty backs off, with a grimace and a shrug. “I dunno how to tie a bowtie.”

Throwing his head back against the chair, Gator laughs heartily; it’s a sound you’ve grown to adore since he’s moved in with you, never hearing it back home.

“Man, I don’t fuckin’ know how to either.”

“You’re both lucky I know how to,” Miles snarks with a grin, strolling into the dining room. 

Gator smirks, “You wanna be a fancy ass groomsman?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He pulls out a chair for himself across the other two. “I’m all in.”

Gator overhears Ivy in the kitchen, quietly scolding you, “Girl, don’t— ew— don’t cry over the pancakes, you’re gonna make ‘em all damp, and shit.” 

The beautiful sound of his genuine laugh echos through the house.

•·················•·················•

Twenty minutes to midnight, Bea’s annual New Year’s Eve party began to wind down; you and your friends are cozied up in the living room, watching the livestream on TV as it displays waves of tourists crammed together in Times Square. Bea, Opal, and their friends were scattered throughout the kitchen and dining room.

Drinks in hand, uncomfortable shoes kicked off and long forgotten, everyone’s still dressed nicely while cuddling pillows and curled up under blankets. The broadcast drones on as background noise, until Gator is mesmerized by the televised joy, realizing how close he is now to the place he always watched on New Year’s Eve growing up.

Well, more like when the two of you had sleepovers as kids, staying up past bedtime to watch. You’d stare in awe at the fuzzy, black and white image of the ball dropping with the countdown, tucked under one blanket with his portable TV; the antenna poked upward, almost pitching a tent shape under the fabric, while he kept the volume barely audible as you’d both pretend to already be asleep. It was one of your little shared traditions, a lifeline to reality while you both were drowning in closed-minded, abusive, religious bullshit. 

“So…” he clears his throat before asking curiously, “y’all don’t go to see the ball drop at midnight?”Everyone stares at him like he’s grown three heads. “Why are we watchin’ it on TV instead of watching it there?”

Bless his sheltered, midwestern heart.

“Oh…” You shake your head, cringing. “Sweetheart, no—“

“What? Ew, fuck no,” Jinx grimaces from her spot on the floor, while Ty, who’s sprawled out on the infamous green couch, barks out a sharp laugh.

“I’d rather be straight than ever deal with that touristy disaster.”

You shoot a bewildered stare at him. “Those two things aren’t even related—“

“But it’s true!”

Ivy gags, “If I were to ever set foot in Times Square, it’d be against my own damn will.”

“Heard,” Miles nods over to her. “Couldn’t fuckin’ pay me all the money in the world to stand out in that cold for hours.”

“In one spot, mind you.” Flor adds, “If you leave to find somewhere to piss, you’re screwed.”

Gator slumps next to you, muttering, “S’gotta be fun when they throw all that confetti though…”

“Until someone’s gotta clean it up,” you sigh, glancing over at him, watching the childlike wonder drain from his face. You can’t blame him for wanting to experience life, even through the tourist traps; your lives were bleak with not much to look forward to growing up.  

There’s an urgency split between making up for lost time in his earlier years, and the challenge to squeeze as many memories as possible in the limited amount of time he might have before losing his eyesight completely. 

 A compromise crosses your mind; you bump your shoulder into his, nodding to the stairs. “C’mon, the view’s not so bad from the roof.”

•·················•·················•

By no means is it quiet on the roof; the city is alive, buzzing with parties inside and out; laughter echoing out of windows while drunk resolutions are being made, most likely ditched when the morning comes, noisemakers already going off before the clock strikes into the new year.

You stumble up a few steps, definitely drunk, tugging Gator to the door where he holds you upright.

“M’cuttin’ ya’ off,” Gator swipes the champagne flute from your hand, finishing the drink off while you grumble in protest. 

“Now I got nothin’ to toast with,” you frown, exaggerated by the warm, bubbly alcohol in your body. He sets the empty glass near the door, thankful it’s plastic. “New year’s is cancelled.”

“Can’t cancel a whole year, Darlin’,” he quips, hand in yours as you lead him to the edge of the roof, leaning against the railing. “Glad there’s a fuckin’ guardrail, your clumsy, drunk ass should not be up here right now.”

“What time is it?” You ignore his comment, giddy with excitement to show him something new. 

“Got three minutes,” Gator’s arms wind around from behind while he sways in his spot with you. “What’re ya’ showin’ me?”

“Wait for it!” You scold him, giggling. “Okay, so I know it’s not the ball drop, and maybe someday we can go— on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“We book one of those fancy-ass hotel rooms with a view, and watch it from inside.” You turn in his embrace, giggling as you feel warmth from the champagne flood along your face. “I promise, you do not want to watch it from Times Square on the ground.”

“Alright, alright, I hear ya’,” he softly laughs, hand reaching out to caress your cheek before pinching it. You swat it away, playfully glaring at him. “Think you should give up bein’ a brat for the new year.”

“Oh, please, you’d miss it too much.” You step closer, shivering from the cold. “Anyway, this view’s pretty alright. First year I was here, I came up on my own,” you turn back to face the city, lights glittering with celebration in nearly every window. “All I could think of was how I wish I could show you this. I wished you were here with me. It reminded me of the sleepovers we had, sneaking off with your lil’ TV—“

“I was just thinkin’ ‘bout that earlier!” Gator chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “We were pretty sneaky.”

“Dunno how we never got caught,” you snort, smiling warmly as his embrace strengthens around you. “I know it ain’t the same, but…”

Countdowns begin pouring out of homes and bars, from the street to rooftops, joining in a symphony of anticipation throughout Brooklyn.

“Ten… nine…eight…”

“I hope we can make a new tradition,” your hands reach up to cup his face.

“Seven… six… five…”

“We can make as many of ‘em as ya’ want, Darlin’.” Gator gently moves your hands away, falling to his shoulders while he pulls you in close. His nose brushes against yours, licking his lips when he realizes this is about to be a first for you two— a New Year’s Eve kiss.

“Four… three… two… one…”

“Always wanted t’do this, even when we were kids,” he murmurs against your lips, while a chorus of cheers ring out through the neighborhood.

“Happy new year!”

Gator loses himself in the kiss, because there’s no rush, there’s no limit— you’re his, he’s yours, with a shared life ahead, hopefully one that is long, and happy.

Thunderous booming sounds startle the two of you apart as fireworks are set off throughout the city.

“Holy shit…” He scans the skyline; fireworks spark up near the Brooklyn Bridge on the water, across the neighborhood, and over to Prospect Park. It’s not long until more illumination follows, scattered throughout various parks and along the river. The city is brighter than he’s ever seen it, glittering with celebratory bursts of light.

You turn back around with a big grin, glancing back to see that childlike wonder back on Gator’s expression. 

One year ago, Gator was regretting his decision to stay behind, while you moped and worried over him during the entire party. You can’t help but compare moments as time passes, grateful he’s here, he’s alive, and not just alive, but living. You’ve never seen such genuine happiness in him the way you have this past year.

“Hang on,” his hands slide over your ears, explanation muffled, “Don’t wanna hurt your ears.” Gator takes a huge breath, shouting over your head at the top of his lungs, “Happy new year!”

A few distant shouts around the block return the sentiment, leaving Gator in a bright grin.

You never want to go another New Year’s Eve— or any holiday, for that matter— without him ever again.

•·················•·················•

While counting down the days to your wedding, it’s frustrating how quickly and slowly time passes at once. The slower days, without much planning, go by far too slow; the days spent picking a venue, a dress, sending invites out, deciding on a theme, cake, and little details in between— you’re desperate for more hours to not feel so crunched for time.

So when it came time to plan for a bachelorette party, you weren’t interested, nor did Gator find the idea of a bachelor party very appealing, either.

Your friends, on the other hand, couldn’t let this go for either of you.

“You only get married once!” Flor protests, arms out with fervor as she paces the sidewalk in front of the house’s stoop.

“Well, if you stay married, that is—“ Gator jokingly shoves Ty, narrowing his stare at the younger man while they share a step. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sheesh, why do y’all love pushing me ‘round after my jokes? I sense a pattern of abuse here.”

Jinx rolls her eyes, turning to you on the bottom step, legs outstretched across the concrete. “Seriously, you don’t want to do anything before the wedding?”

“Well… I don’t know. I don’t wanna be hungover the day we’re getting married,” You scrunch your lips as your brows furrow in disapproval. “Not much fun in that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Miles chimes in, perched at the top step, mischief written all over his face. He turns to the other men, “Gator, we’re celebrating, don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“A stick in the— what are you, some grandpa?” Ty snarks, dodging a playful elbow thrown his way. “See! Abuse! I’m being hate crime’d.”

Ivy calls out as she walks down the sidewalk, coming home from a long shift at the hospital, “That’s not a hate crime, Tyler—“

“And now the full name shit? I’m reporting you all.”

You snort, “To who?”

“Uh, your fiancé? Mr. I am the law—“

Gator grimaces, snarking, “Like cops give a shit about hate crimes.”

Ivy cackles, applauding with a golf clap, “Damn, Sunshine, you really corrupted him, huh?” 

You shrug, “Maybe. Anyway… yeah, I’m good on not having a party.”

“What if we had the party two days before?” Flor offers, while Ivy gasps and high fives her, as if that’s the most brilliant idea she’s heard all day. “That way no one’s hungover for the wedding!”

“I’ll kill y’all,” you grumble.

“Like fuck you will,” Jinx snickers with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “We’re doing it.”

•·················•·················•

Two days before the wedding, the group splits up into their respective parties, off to celebrate before the big day. 

You had no clue what trouble Miles and Ty had planned for Gator, but he promised many times the night before to behave, much to your amusement.

While you brushed your teeth before bed, Gator continued to ramble nervously, trying to prove he’d behave for whatever the guys had planned. He paused, toothbrush in his mouth, waving his hands, “Oh, and I told ‘em, no strippers—“ “Gate, babe, I don’t care what y’all do.” You rinsed your mouth out, bumping your hip into his teasingly. “Just don’t, like, get arrested for being dumbasses somehow. I’d rather not reschedule the wedding to bail you out of jail.” Gator snorted, spitting into the sink.“It’d be kinda funny though. Me bein’ in jail.” “You say that like you were ever a good cop,” you retorted, grinning in the mirror at him. You backed out of the room, watching as his jaw fell to feign offense.  “You’re such a brat. C’mere,” he chased you out into the living room, tackling you on the couch to pin you down while you laughed and squirmed beneath him. 

By sunset, the week’s never-ending heatwave was finally easing up a bit; you and your bridal party decide to end the night on the rooftop.

They surprised you with a manicure, followed by some shopping, and bar hopping; despite your initial protests, you had a good time, appreciating the time and effort they put into celebrating with you.

“It’s not too late to go back out, Sunshine.” Ivy’s got a joint in hand, sinking into the massive bean bag she dragged up the stairs. “You sure you’re okay with a quiet rest of your night?”

You shrug, relaxed while reclining on a beach chair. Ivy passes the joint to you, and you gratefully accept it. “I’d rather hang here, if it’s cool,” you take a hit, exhaling up to the sky’s hues of oranges and pinks. “I’m just kinda antsy I think over the wedding.” She nods in understanding while you pass the joint over to Jinx, who’s cozying up next to Ivy.

Everyone in the house has been holding their breath over those two, impatiently waiting for one to admit their feelings to the other. Flor shares a knowing glance with you, observant over your two lovesick friends.

You’ll worry about it later. Right now, you’re going over excessive and unnecessary lists in your mind for the wedding.

“It’s gonna be great, Sunshine, everything’s gonna work out,” Jinx assures, voice stiff before she exhales the smoke from her lungs. She’s about to hand it back to Ivy, when Flor clears her throat dramatically. “Oh, my bad, Flor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Flor snatches the joint away from Jinx with a harmless eye roll. “You two are somethin’ else.”

“Thanks for today, y’all.” You feel the tension leave your body as the high sets in. It’s not too much, just enough to relax. “I needed it more than I wanted to admit. M’lucky to call y’all my best friends.”

The door to the rooftop bursts open before anyone can reply, and the sight of Gator and the others stumbling through like idiots grabs everyone’s attention.

His face lights up when he spots you, murmuring something along the lines of “hey, s’my wife!” dragging his feet with the dopiest smile you’ve ever seen on him. 

“Safe to say you had a good time?” Gator attempts to squish himself next to you on the chair, but when that fails, he lazily flops over onto you instead. Chuckling, you ask, “How drunk are you?”

“M’not drunk, you’re drunk” he mumbles, face buried in your shoulder. “Missed ya’, Darlin’.”

“Uh-huh, sure you’re not…” You snort, running your hands through his hair. “I missed you too, Gate.” The motion causes him to sit up, intending on smiling your way, when you notice how red his eyes are. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

When he grins, his eyes are practically shut from how stoned he is, eliciting giggles out of you.

Gator tries shushing you, but it comes out loudly, rendering it useless. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Can’t believe your first time getting stoned wasn’t with me,” you exaggerate a gasp. You’re not mad at all, far from it actually; if anything, it feels good to know he trusts his new friends enough. He feels comfortable here. “S’okay, I’m a lil’ high too,” you whisper, giggling.

He grins, yet quickly loses track of the conversation, glancing around the rooftop in search of something. “Where’s the… the bed?”

Your brows furrow with a bewildered laugh, “… Our bed? It’s in the apartment—“ 

“No, the fluffy one.”

“The… the fluffy one…. What?” Stifling yourself from falling into a fit of giggles, you realize he’s too stoned for words right now.

“Yeah, s’the one that you plug in, and it gets bigger— you know! Like the one back home, when you sat on—“

You slap a hand over his mouth, grateful your friends are too caught up in their own conversations.

“Christ, I can only imagine how much shit you’ve said tonight,” you sigh, gently pushing him off of you. “I’ll get the air mattress, don’t talk for like…. A minute. And don’t move. I don’t need you tumbling off the roof, or something.”

Once the bed’s set up, you gently roll Gator off the chair and onto the mattress, curling up next to him. He sighs, content, body melding against yours as he relaxes. 

“I only got one problem with this place,” he murmurs while his arms wind around you. He’s pretty cuddly with you on a regular basis, now that his guard has been down for ages, but he’s clingy while stoned, and it’s amusing, at the very least.

You kiss the top of his head before resting your chin on it, while he ducks into your neck. “Hm… And what would that be?”

“Can’t see the stars out here,” he mutters, pouting against your skin. “I love this place though. Love you. I love our friends—“

“Oh, you’re a real sap when you’re high, huh?”

Gator drones on happily, “I even love the mail guy, he’s great, deadass—“

You sit back, narrowing your gaze, “Hang on, did you just say dead—“

“And I love the bookstore, and the cats, and I love not bein’ angry all the time, and I love you, really fuckin’ do— hey, hey, we’re gettin’ married in two days, y’know that?”

“Shit, that soon?” You tease, and he sits up in a panic, but eventually realizes you’re joking; he melts back into a dopey smile, chuckling.

“You’re a brat,” Gator blows a raspberry on your neck, tickling you. You swat at him, but he holds you close. “My favorite brat.”

“If anyone’s a brat right now,” you giggle, grateful the tickling is short-lived. “It’s you.” 

“Mhm, s’true.” He settles against you again, sighing happily. “Can’t wait to give you a surprise. A few of ‘em.”

Your eyes jolt open, “Surprises? Plural? What surprises?”

“Can’t talk ‘bout it.” Gator mumbles, cheek squished against your shoulder. “Can’t ruin it. S’gotta be perfect for my girl.”

“But you just—“

“You gon’ tell me ‘bout your day?” He’s the worst at switching subjects, but you sigh, and let it slide. Worrying about the wedding is enough stress, you’ll just ignore what he said about these so called ‘surprises’ and move on.

“Fine, fine…”

Gator sits up, damn dopey smile still plastered on his face while he listens intently, looking at you with all the love in the world.

You feel the tension finally fall away, like always, when you’re with him.

•·················•·················•

The Picnic House in Prospect Park, though a little big for your tiny gathering, is a pretty venue. You would’ve gone with a rooftop wedding somewhere smaller, but Gator insisted on having that damn bouncy house.

It was a relief to have the outdoor ceremony start at dusk, but getting ready in the heat was driving you nuts. Thankfully, your friends in both parties set everything up, like the disposable cameras for the guests; though you had a photographer booked, it wasn’t for long, and you preferred the idea of candid shots from your friends and family. They had the vintage handkerchiefs placed neatly on the chairs, for tears of joy. Celestial-esque fairy lights hung down from the tree branches nearby, matching the theme. You even had burnt CDs with yours and Gator’s favorite love songs as party favors, relishing in the nostalgia of sneaking playlists back and forth on CDs as kids.

Every little detail planned was ready to go, and should have you feeling at ease, but this heat is getting to everyone.

“Jesus,” Ivy groans, fanning herself aggressively. “Why couldn’t the heatwave start tomorrow?”

“Hopefully it’ll settle when the sun sets, like last night,” Jinx groans, collapsing into a chair nearby. “I fuckin’ hate this.”

Even with the air conditioner on, the humidity is out of control today.

Pair the extreme heat with the joy, excitement, and rush of knowing you’re about to marry your childhood best friend, it all makes you lightheaded. You reach out to steady yourself against the wall, catching Ivy’s attention. 

Rushing over, she slides a chair from the vanity over to you, pushing you to sit. She checks your forehead immediately, and you swat her hand away, “I don’t have a fever,” you gasp.

“I’ll grab some water,” Jinx runs out of the room.

“Well, someone’s gotta be that guy and check.” Ivy crouches down, searching your expression. “What’s goin’ on, Sunshine?”

Avoiding the question, you admire how stunning your best friend, and maid of honor, is. Neither you, nor Gator, cared about uniformity among bridal party outfits, deciding as long as it was a deep, navy blue, everyone should wear what they felt best in.

“You look incredible, Ives,” Your voice wavers, face scrunching as you stave off tears. “Flor and Jinx, too. I have the prettiest friends in the world.”

You sound similar to a drunk girl complimenting strangers in the bathroom, but you’re sober; the rambling helps keep away the anxiety from dragging you under.

“Oh, shush, look at you!” Ivy beams, hands grasping yours, gently shaking them for a moment. “Love and happiness looks good on ya’, Sunshine.”

The silly comment breaks you; your breaths are shallow, tears are beginning to build in your eyes, lost for words as you resort to shaking your head.

Returning with a water bottle, Jinx hands it over, but you push it away. “Babe, it’ll help.”

Flor comes back in and immediately notices your tears threatening to fall, “Don’t you dare cry yet, we just finished that eyeliner—”

“Flor! Not now!” Ivy scolds her, leaving Flor with an apologetic look. Without thinking much into it, Ivy demands the two of them as she stands, “Someone get Gator, please?”

“Ives… isn’t that bad luck to see one another before the big reveal, or whatever?” Jinx has always been wary of superstitions, despite her name; she’s not taking any risks on your special day.

You hiccup as you try holding soft cries back, tilting your head up to the ceiling, hoping that’ll help keep the tears at bay, but you just look like the world’s most ridiculous bride instead.

 “Ty?” You didn’t see Flor dial Ty, but you can hear the conversation, and her shitty attempt at keeping her voice hushed. “Are you guys done getting ready? Cool, awesome, uh… Can you tell Gator to come here? Ye- yes, here, where our wonderful bride-to-be is— ”

That cracks a tiny smile on your face, but only for a moment, before panic takes hold again. 

“Give me that,” Ivy plucks the phone out of Flor’s hand, “Tyler, if you and Miles don’t bring Gator over, you’re- yes, we know it’s supposedly bad luck, just- she’s not feeling well, so fuck bad luck, the two of them can close their eyes or something, but—  oh my god, little fucker hung up on me.”

The three of them vent and rant between comforting you, too.

Flor comes over, tilting your head gently forward. “Sunshine, you’re gonna get your neck stuck like that and miss your vows.” The tiniest, briefest laugh escapes you, but a sniffle overshadows it.

You hate how worked up you have everyone, hate to break a silly tradition over your tears, but you can’t pinpoint what’s wrong, and other than yourself, the only person who knows you best is Gator.

Caught up in your spiraling thoughts, you don’t hear Gator rush in, asking what’s wrong. Nor do you see the hilarious sight of Miles’ hands slapped over Gator’s face, to which he grumbles, “Miles, man, I have one eye. There’s nothin’ to cover on this side.”

That begins to pull you out of your panicked daze with a pathetically sad laugh, but Ivy turns you to face away from Gator; Ty and Miles help him into a chair behind you, so the two of you are back to back.

“No peeking!” Ty warns, taking the superstitious tradition seriously. “We’ll be back, okay?”

Gator leans his head back onto yours as the group shuffles out, shutting the door behind them. “What’s goin’ on, Darlin’?” His voice is soft, soothing, and you can feel your heartbeat begin to slow, ever so slightly.

“Hi, baby,” Your response comes out shattered and raspy. He reaches his hand back to find yours; it takes a moment while grabbing at thin air, but once he feels your hand, he laces your fingers together. You shudder a sound between a laugh and a soft, breathy cry. 

“Are you okay?” His thumb rubs against yours slowly. “I wanna hold ya’ right now and say fuck it, but they all got me believing this damn superstition.”

“Even Jinx won’t take any chances,” You murmur, sniffling. “It must be serious.” Gator laughs softly, and your heart melts at the familiar sound. “You got no clue how bad I wanna see you right now, too. This is so fuckin’ stupid.”

“If either of us were better liars, I’d say let's go for it, but y’know someone’s gonna notice.” Gator jokes, squeezing your hand. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You’re quiet for a moment, because what were you upset about? Mouth moving faster than your mind, you blurt out, “What if you regret this?”

It’s almost enough to make Gator spin around, but he restrains himself. “Regret what? Marrying you? Darlin’, there ain’t a doubt in my mind about us.”

 “You’re not s- scared?”

Gator laughs nervously. “I’m scared outta mind, I panicked earlier thinkin’ you’d be the one regretting this.” You shake your head wildly, so comically, he reaches back to try holding your head still. “Hey, don’t ruin your hair, or Flor’s gonna kill us both.”

You laugh as another cry slips through, unable to joke back when another thought takes over. “What if you end up hating me? What if we fall apart?” The question stems from a shared fear, it seems. One he asked the the night he came home. “Or if we become miserable after the honeymoon phase wears off? What if you feel stuck, or—”

“Hey, deep breaths for me. C’mon, in…” Gator encourages you to put your thoughts on pause as he breathes with you, tone gentle, soothing. “… Out. That’s it, Darlin’, you’re okay. We’re okay.”

He guides your breath a few more times before responding to your snowballing thoughts. 

“Remember what I told you in the nurs—” He catches himself quickly, avoiding the sensitive language,“— in the spare room? If it’s somethin’ we both want, I’ll take the risk in a heartbeat, ‘cause it’s worth it when it’s with you.”

“God, Gator, I was trying not to cry so much before our vows,” The end of your sentence makes your lip wobble. In the softest, smallest voice, you state the obvious “We’re getting married.”

“Yeah, we are.” You can hear the half smile in his gentle response, but then he falls silent for a moment.

“Gator? Are you alright?”

He doesn’t answer, focus elsewhere while he scrolls on his phone, “Okay, I don’t know who started that fuckin’ superstition and which one of our friends believed it, but this one article says— ”

 “Are you fucking— are you looking this up right now?” You burst into a fit of laughter, feeling your tears slow down.

“I had to know! It’s just a dumb tradition some folks stick with.” He laughs with you, shifting in his chair. Knowing the truth, he’s even more antsy to see you. “… Should we wait?”

“Oh, fuck no,” you sniffle, “Get up.” 

Bunching up your dress, you’re careful to make sure you don’t step on the tulle and rip it as you get up; Gator laughs and stands with you.

In some sort of corny, cliche fashion, the two of you turn around at the same time, smiles of admiration appearing on both of your faces.

Your breath hitches in your chest at the sight of Gator, your Gator, dressed in the classiest black tuxedo, dark navy blue dress shirt, and a boutonnière made up of black, dark navy, and white flowers pinned on his jacket. His hair is slicked back, almost like he used to wear it,  but with far less gel. Finally, you notice the simple, small constellation lapel pin opposite of the flowers. Your birth constellation.

“Did we really—” You tug your necklace, matching his pin, but with his birth constellation. 

The two of you laugh together again, Gator making some comment about how “This is definitely Ivy’s idea,” while you roll your eyes playfully, “She fucking would.”

Gator’s gaze is locked on you with overwhelming adoration; whether you’ve just rolled out of bed, or you’re dolled up how you are now, he thinks— he knows— you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.

With a celestial, cream colored, sleeveless dress, overlaid by dark navy tulle, scattering of sparkling thread in golds and silvers, woven to look like stars in the sky— it all accentuates the way you’ve always shone so bright to him. 

You look Gator over again, noticing his shoes, “You wore your boots?” He blushes, second guessing his choice, until you tug your dress up to show your favorite pair of combat boots included in your outfit, too. 

“Jesus, we’re so corny,” He laughs, shaking his head. He can’t look away from you, wouldn’t want to look away. With tears welling up, he softly says, “You look beautiful, Darlin’.”

You’re just as teary-eyed, smirking, “You don’t look half-bad yourself, Tillman.”

He huffs out a soft laugh before opening his arms, “C’mere.”

You throw your arms around him, resting on his shoulders, muttering, “I gotta watch where I put my face, or you’ll be wearing it, too.” 

Ivy flings the door open— because of fucking course she would— snapping a photo on a disposable film camera, startling the two of you apart.

“I knew you’d turn around—“

“It’s not real!” Gator shouts in defense, sending you into a fit of giggles.

“Huh?”

“That shitty superstition. We’re fine, and I hate that y’all had us believing it too,” You grumble, flipping her off. Gator pushes your middle finger down.

“Don’t be a dick, Darlin’.”

“Oh my god, since when are you the kindness police?”

“Anyway, glad I left my phone behind, at least one of us got your first reactions on camera.” Ivy marches past the two of you to grab her phone, nestled away on the vanity, among Flor’s makeup strewn about. She stops recording, smirking at the two of you. “I know you both way too well by now.”

You snort, looking up at Gator. “See? You’re doomed forever now. She’s never gonna let either of us live this down.”

“Damn right I won’t.”

“Hey, Sun—“ Bea stops in her tracks at the sight of you and Gator together before the ceremony. She points between the two of you, “Isn’t this bad luck?”

“No!” You cackle, “Oh my god, why did y’all believe this?”

“You kids had Opal and I worried about it before our wedding!” 

“Okay, after tonight,” You shove your hands on your hips, narrowing your eyes, “We’re getting to the bottom of whoever the hell believed that superstition in the first place.”

“Alright, sure, kid.” Bea laughs it off before holding her arm out to you. Confused you glance down before back at her. “C’mon, Sunshine, there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

Your brows scrunch together, puzzled, as you hesitantly hook your arm into hers. You look back at Gator, who gives a knowing nod. He waits a beat before following the two of you out, wanting to give space.

The hallway is quiet, empty. It feels as if the oxygen in your lungs is sucked out immediately, finding the last person you ever thought you’d see ever again; your biological mother, anxiously waiting on a bench in the main hallway. 

You freeze, just feet away from her, heart torn between swelling with joy, or dropping into the pit of your stomach as you lock eyes with her. Bea gives you a quick side squeeze, whispering, “It’s okay, I’ll be right over here if you need.”

Bea’s arm slips out of yours while you can’t tear your gaze away from your mother.

“You… you’re here?” Your voice sounds so small— you feel so small as trauma creeps up, like you’re a kid again, in trouble for god knows what; you’re waiting for your father to appear somewhere, ready to hurt you one way or another as your mother turns away, just like she always had.

But he’s miles away, behind bars, for good. Seeing your mother without him is bizarre, surreal; you’re unsure if you’ve ever had a moment alone with only her.  

As you step towards her, you pause, still giving her space as your breaths run shallow. She stands with tears in her eyes, restraining her emotions, holding back tears of relief to see you again, and on your wedding day, no less.

She reaches out to your face cautiously, ghosting a maternal, soothing touch on your skin; your name is whispered in disbelief with a tiny smile, one with hope for forgiveness. 

“Ma…” Your bottom lip wobbles as tears build in your eyes once more. You push her hand away, startling her with rejection at first, but you wrap your arms around her in a bone crushing hug. She relaxes into your embrace, completely shocked by your reaction.

“M’so sorry, sweet pea,” Her body shakes as she speaks, doing her best to suppress sobs. It had been years since she called you that, in the rare moments she actually showed her love. It twists your heart in more ways than one. “I was awful to ya’— you and Willow both. I’m so sorry for everythin’. That’ll never take that hurt away, but you deserve an apology at the very least. You deserve to know none of it was ever your fault.”

“If you make me cry this makeup off, Flor’s gonna kick my ass—“ 

You pull back, hand over your mouth out of habit when saying any word your parents disapproved of. Preparing to be scolded, your mother just gently reaches for your face, letting a sweet giggle slip away from her. 

Your emotions tug every which way, and you almost land into anger, but put your shoulder to the wheel and let go of the hurt.

Trauma’s one hell of a drug, but forgiveness is a hell of a lot stronger.

“Can’t remember the last time I heard ya’ laugh, Ma.” You sniffle through a smile, taking in the rare warmth of her own.

“Honestly, me neither, sweet pea.” She steps back, holding your hands in her frail ones as she takes a better look at your attire. “Look at you, kiddo. Ain’t ever seen a bride as stunnin’ as you.”

Bashfully, you grin, fanning at the tears begging to spill over from your eyes. “Who… who told you ‘bout the wedding?”

“Who do ya’ think?” She glances over your shoulder, and without even turning, you know she’s looking directly at Gator. “I’m sorry for showin’ up without tellin’ ya’—“

So that’s where the unsent invitation for your mother went.

“When we… when we heard about Linda, he wanted you here in the worst way, Ma. I wanted you here, I just was afraid. He encouraged me all the time to reach out, but I wasn’t sure if it was right—“

“You were protectin’ yourself, and I don’t blame ya’ for a second for leaving, cuttin’ me off, any of that.” She pulls a crumpled tissue from her pocket, blotting at her tears. “Shoulda’ left that rotten bastard the first chance I had. I was scared, for all of us, but that’s no excuse for what I said or did to you and Willow. You needed safety and love, and I don’t ever expect to be forgiven, but—“

“Ma, it’s okay. It will be okay.” There’s so much to talk about, so much to catch up on, to hash out, but not today. That can all be put on pause for yours and Gator’s special day. “One step at a time, alright? Right now, I- I’m just so happy you’re here.”

She wraps her arms around you tightly, embracing you and the moment of peace between you both.

“I am too, kiddo. I wish Lo was here, too.”

You nod, but a calm washes over you; long, long ago, you accepted the reality of your sister no longer on this earth. But there’s something new that fills your heart, a reassurance that things are in the right direction, on all fronts.

It feels ridiculous, but for a moment, you swear you can hear Willow’s voice, happily teasing you, “That damn wish finally came true, huh?”

“She’s always with us, Ma.” You give your mother a warm, knowing smile. You can’t resist adding an eye roll, hoping it staves off any emotional tears, “Plus, the lil’ bugger’s got the best seat in the house.”

“Whoa!” 

Pulling you and your mother from your reunion, you find Gator nearly tackled over by a small child. He’s laughing as he stumbles a bit, arms thrown around her; it’s Scotty.

“Tryin’ out for football or somethin’?” He jokes as she lets go with a shrug and a grin. 

“Hockey.”

“No shit?”

“Gator.”

The voice lightly warning him comes from Dorothy, warm smile growing along her features. This is the first time seeing her, her little family, since leaving home.

Wayne gently leads Scotty back, chuckling, “Hey, lets not kill your uncle on his wedding day, eh?”

Gator embraces Dot into a bear hug, one she gladly returns as she murmurs, “It’s good to see ya’, kid.”

Don’t cry yet, don’t cry yet, Flor will kick your ass before you’re married—

A hand on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts; you turn, facing your mother again. “Sweet pea, I got somethin’ for ya’.”

She opens her purse, handing over a photograph of you and Gator as kids; your hand covers your mouth while you gasp, joyful tears springing to your eyes. Gator breaks away from the others, coming up behind you to look over your shoulder, laughing at the memory.

“Holy shit…”

You’re no older than 7, running up the porch steps before you shoved a messy bouquet of wildflowers at Gator. Dirt crumbles off the fresh roots.“Here.” Puzzled, he pulls away from a picture he was drawing. He frowned, hesitantly grabbing the bundle of flowers from you. “Wha’s this for?” “You,” The response slipped out as a giggle; Gator didn’t follow.  “But… flowers aren’t for boys.” He looked torn as he blushed over the sweetness you exuded, while fighting it with his father’s usual ‘men don’t like ___’ speech echoing in his head. “I’m s’posed t’get them for you.” “S’okay, I won’t tell anyone.” As if on cue, your mothers spotted the two of you from inside the house before rushing out with a camera— they loved shoving those dang things in your faces, always chiding with a “You’ll be glad we took these someday!” Gator panicked as they came outside, pushing the flowers back to you. “Oh, honey, did you pick those for her? That’s so sweet.” “What a gentleman!” Gator blushed as your hand overlapped his, and you took the flowers back to save him from another lecture about masculinity. Even as a child, you knew something was off about the way his father tried raising him as a “real man”, and the way your mothers both bought into that nonsense.  When your eyes met, he smiled softly, silently thanking you. A flash went off, and the two of you turned to your mother, taking the photo, while Gator’s mom gushed over how cute the two of you were, and how excited they were to get that photo developed. As they walked back inside, Gator leaned close to your ear. “I’ll keep ‘em forever.” He threw his arms around you, squeezing tightly before putting a finger up to his lips in a “shhh” gesture; with the flowers under his jacket, he ran them up to his room, tucking them away in an old shoebox. 

Glancing at Gator, your mom adds, “Your mama always joked to keep that photo, then bring it out when the two of ya’ get married someday. I couldn’t help saving it.”

While your stare fixates on the photo, you’re interrupted by your mother handing you a small gift bag, with a giddy grin; you’ve never seen her this happy before. Puzzled, you shoot a perplexed expression.

“Ma, we don’t— that’s sweet of ya’, but we got the gift table—“

Gator leans in to your ear, murmuring, “This is one you’re gonna want before you walk down the aisle, Darlin’.” He kisses your temple, adding, “Oh, and don’t rip it open like ya’ do with Christmas presents.”

Bea’s snickering nearby, but you’re focused on giving Gator that same confused stare his way.

You’re cautious as you take the gift bag, opening it with even more meticulous care, to which Ivy, also near Bea, teases, “This century would be great, Sunshine.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’, I’m—“ Your words hitch in your throat as you find a small bouquet of wildflowers— the flowers, from the photo of you and Gator as kids— dried and tied with a simple, silky, navy blue ribbon.

“How…” They’re in great condition, considering how much time has passed. “When you said you’d keep ‘em forever—“

“I meant it.”

“How did you keep them safe for so long?”

“In a hidin’ place so good, I nearly forgot about ‘em ‘til right before movin’ out here.” Gator soaks in your awe-struck expression. “Turns out, I stuck ‘em in a shoebox with some newspaper, and shoved that under a floorboard. I found ‘em on accident at the ranch.”

Your vision warps quite quickly with tears, happy ones, ready to fall—

“Sunshine, don’t you dare cry yet,” Flor hisses, breaking everyone into bursts of laughter, while you roll your eyes, fanning your face with your hand.

“I- I don’t understand… wasn’t the ranch taken over for evidence? How’d you get away with this?”

Gator gently nods towards your mother, who admits, “He asked me to keep ‘em safe for you, sweet pea.”

It settles in that Gator found these over one year ago. He reached out to your mother, while you weren’t on speaking terms, while you thought your bond was forever destroyed, and asked her to keep them safe.

And she did, for all that time, until today.

Never leaving your mother’s kind stare, the one you always longed for as a child, you ask with a wobbling voice, “Flor? How waterproof is this makeup?”

“Not waterproof enough for you to weep like a baby before the ceremony.”

“Flor, you might wanna invest in some heavy duty, waterproof makeup if you’re gonna keep working weddings,” Ty snarks, to which Flor elbows him.

As the excitement floats down, Bea reads the room with ease, gently shooing everyone out the door. “C’mon, you guys should find your seats. We gotta get things goin’!” She grins warmly at you, Gator, and your mother, following the others out. 

“… Where was dad during all of this?”

“Sucked up in Roy’s downfall,” Gator mutters smugly. “So I—“

Ty pokes his head back in, waving Gator over, “Man, c’mon!”

While your mom steps back, Gator grabs your hand, squeezing gently. “See you on the other side, Darlin’.” He lifts your hand to his lips, leaving a gentle, lingering kiss before letting go.

Bea returns, “Ready to hit the aisle?”

 Your mother takes the hint to find her seat, and gives a quick hug, “I’ll let you get ready—“

“Wait,” You glance between your Ma, and Bea— both so important to you. Both motherly figures, one by blood, the other, fate. 

There’s so much to unravel with your birth mother, trauma to unpack for years to come. Tonight, though, that all can wait. You feel safe, since your father’s nowhere near here; there are no ulterior motives with your mother. She never had any. She was just held under the toxic weight of your abusive father, and that doesn’t excuse the hurt she left behind, too, but for tonight, you can forgive.

For right now, you can forget the suffering; you’ve lived enough of your life in pain. There are much more important memories to be made, and life is too short to spend this special day wallowing in the past.

“Can you… will you both walk me down the aisle?”

While Bea warmly smiles, your mother is caught off guard.

“Oh I— I don’t think I have the right to— this is your big day, sweet pea—“

“If Sunshine’s asking, I’d say, you have every right to.” Bea backs you up, adding, “If you’re comfortable, of course.”

You’re led down the aisle by both motherly figures, arms linked with one on either side of you while you gingerly clutch the bouquet of dried flowers Gator saved for you.

For us.

How lucky you are, to walk down the aisle with your birth mother, one who came back to make things right, even if better late than never; even luckier, to have the mother of your present, the one you crossed paths with by sheer fate, the one who encouraged you to find your true self, and rebuild your life.

And how incredibly lucky you must be, to find at the end of the aisle, your best friend, the love of your life. How damn lucky you feel, surrounded by your closest friends, your family— though untraditional on both your side, and Gator’s, still family, all the same.

When Bea and your mother find their seats, you glance back to the small crowd, where two empty chairs sit in the immediate front, one on either side. The chair near your mother holds a portrait of your sister, while the empty chair on the other side of the aisle holds one of Gator’s mom. 

Each has a sign draped over the chair:

“We see you in every sunrise, sunset & within all the stars. You’re watching from the best seat in the house Still wish you were here.”

“Oh, no one warned me about that,” You murmur, tearing up already. They’re not tears of grief, rather, they’re filled with some sort of peace; the visual is just a reminder that they’re both here among everyone.

Gator runs a knuckle under his eyes, one at a time, chuckling softly. “Yeah, I wasn’t ready for that.”

“Flowers for a tissue?” Ivy whispers over your shoulder, making you both giggle.

You turn to her, making the exchange, “Thanks bestie.”

“Anytime, bestie.”

Facing Gator again, he takes your hands in his with a fond smile. 

“We are gathered here on this gorgeous summer day to witness the union of…” Opal begins the ceremony to officiate the wedding, but her words fade away as reality settles in— you’re actually marrying your best friend. Today. Right now. Holy shit.

“Your written vows express your irrevocable promises to love, honor, and cherish one another. I invite you now to face each other to profess your intentions.”

Vows. Right. We’re at this part already? Oh, god. Why is this so nerve-wracking?

Telling Gator your feelings has become easy. You’re not even shy telling your friends, your family.

Anxiety starts to wind around you, tightening your joy in worry. Bracing yourself mentally for the spiral, Gator catches on quickly, feeling your hands trembling within his own; he softly squeezes, a little gesture that you’re not alone.

And it’s true; with him, you’re never alone.

With a deep breath, you speak up, “As cliche as it is to say I can’t imagine life without you, it’s true.” It’s so quiet among everyone, you could hear a pin drop; you pray no one can hear how much your breath shakes as you inhale, or how your voice wavers. 

“When I moved out here all those years ago, I never thought we’d see each other again. I was convinced our story was over, convinced this was for the best, tried convincing myself and everyone else it was better off this way.

“Yet with every little milestone, I wished deep down I was sharing it with you. And though we can’t go back to re-do everything right, I’m grateful we’re making up for lost time. For the first time in life, everything feels right. It’s exactly as it should be.”

The world falls away as you speak from your heart, leaving just you and Gator while your anxiety fades away. “Thank you for trusting me, for taking the leap to join me here. For opening your heart to new experiences, new people, and a re-written future neither of us expected. It’s been a gift to watch you reclaim your life, and even more precious to be able to share it with you. I’ll never take that, your love, or you, for granted.

“I promise to love you endlessly, and stand by your side, cheer you on through everything, even if it all goes dark.” It’s not only the promise you’ve continued to reassure him of when it comes to his vision loss, but you mean it metaphorically, too. 

He squeezes your hands tight, smiling softly as tears build.

“When we stargazed the night before I flew back home, you asked if I’d tell you what I wished for…” The cicadas singing into the sunset usher out your final thoughts, “Guess I can say it, now that it came true; I wished for you, Gator.”

Gator’s gaze is glassy, staring at you like you’ve hung the damn moon for him. He sniffles, “Well, shit. I can’t top that.” Soft laughter floats among the small group. 

“I, uh…” His hands tremble as he reaches into his pocket for his written vows, shaking the wrinkled sheet of paper between his fingers. You shoot a reassuring, gentle smile; his gaze holds your own before he crumples the paper in his hands. “Screw it, I ain’t the best with words, but readin’ some planned speech just doesn’t feel right.”

Gator tosses the balled up paper over his shoulder, and comically, Ty catches it in his hands behind him, making everyone chuckle.

Carefully, Gator’s hands rest over yours. He’s got a smile brighter than the city’s skyline, one you wish you could bottle up, save the joy he radiates for your rainiest days.

“Saying I love ya’ is an understatement, Darlin’. Everyone here’s familiar with our past— to an extent,” He quirks his brows with a glint of mischief in his eyes, just for you to notice. It sends you both into giggles, like you’re sharing a secret. No one but the two of you need to know the truth, front to back, about your story.

“To be blunt, I’d be dead without ya’. Entering one another’s lives when we least expected it, when we didn’t want it, it all turned into a blessing in disguise. Never expected us bein’ snowed in together would bring us both to our senses… but I’m glad it happened. You’re the only one who’s ever given me a real chance, shown genuine love, even when I was at rock bottom.

“I’ll love you, always. At your highest, lowest, and everything in between, ‘cus that’s what best friends do, they have each other’s backs. I’ll do anything, and everything, to protect you the way you always protected me. I’ll be brave for ya’, just like you’ve always been for me.”

Your surroundings have already fallen away; it’s just you and Gator, but that promise only strengthens the love you have for him even more— as if that were even possible.

“We grew up to be pretty alright, huh? I wouldn’t have made it this far without ya’, though, and I couldn’t have turned my life around without your help. I’m…” Gator’s emotions catch up to him, but he’s happy. He’s honestly, unapologetically happy— with you, with both of your odd end families here to witness this moment— he wouldn’t trade it for the world. “Never, ever imagined, not even in my wildest dreams, we’d go from best friends, to partners, to this…

“And y’know… all those nights we spent stargazing, searching for shooting stars to wish on… maybe they worked.” Gator squeezes your hands, eyes glassy with tears of joy. “‘Cause I wished for you, too.”

Between both of your vows, there’s not a dry eye among the tiny crowd.

“Whew, you kids got me weepy over here,” Opal fans her teary eyes with her hand, earning your laughs. She clears her throat, “May I have the rings, please?”

Ty reaches past Gator, handing the wedding bands over to Opal. 

“With these rings, the love you have for one another will be symbolized. May they forever be a reminder of the vows you have just given, and your eternal, unconditional love for one another.”

She hands you Gator’s ring, “As you place this on his finger, repeat after me. ‘May this ring be a reminder of where our love began as best friends, and lives on endlessly as lovers.’”

With a delicate hold, you grasp Gator’s hand in yours, sliding the ring onto his finger as you repeat the promise. “May this ring be a reminder of where our love began as best friends, and lives on endlessly as lovers.”

This is the first time you’re seeing the rings, colors unmistakable; inlaid around the gold band is the friendship bracelet you made him long, long ago.

Your heart soars.

“Gator,” Opal turns to him, handing over the matching band, yours in rose gold, with the bracelet he made you as children, too. “As you place this on her finger, repeat after me. ‘May this ring be a reminder where our love began as best friends, and lives on endlessly as lovers.’”

He cradles your hand softly in his, slipping the band onto your ring finger, mirroring the same promise.

No one dares to scold you for the tear that slips down your face; probably for the best Flor is behind you and Ivy. Gator winks at you with his trademark smirk, but it’s filled with softness.

“We all wish you a long life together, one filled with happy days and precious milestones.” Opal grins cheerfully, “By the authority vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you both husband and wife. You may now—“

Gator can’t wait, like the impatient bastard he is, swooping in to kiss you softly as everyone gleefully cheers. Opal claps and chuckles over his eagerness, while your smile grows against his own.

The weight of anxiety is overshadowed by adoration for your best friend, your husband, but it doesn’t completely fade; there’s just one more vow you’d like to make to him, when the time is right.

•·················•·················•

Let's talk about the old days Let's talk about your friends Let's talk about the summer And how you wished it wouldn't end

As the music fills the air around you, everyone else fades away while you and Gator dance to your wedding song. No other sounds or sights, just the music, the once sweet nothings- now ‘cherished everythings’ that Gator promises you, the two of you cracking inside jokes softly. You finally understand what a married couple is constantly smiling and laughing about together during the first dance; the fond glances to one another that say everything without words. Even the comfortable pauses of silence shared, swaying along the dance floor with him, it all feels perfect.

Did I forget to tell you How pretty you looked in that dress? And the first time that I saw you You cleaned the mess from my head

You’re shielding yourselves away from the rest of the world, basking yourselves in one another’s euphoric and unconditional love. To you, it’s just a reminder set in stone that the two of you will always have each other. No matter what.

It’s you and Gator against the world. It always has been. Always will be.

And I don't mind If we take our time No I don't mind

“Where’s your two left feet, Tillman?” You tease, and Gator just shakes his head with a lighthearted laugh, shooting a dramatic eye roll your way. “Leave ‘em at home?”

Let's go walkin' on the boardwalk Dip our feet into the sea Let's find ourselves lost for hours Until we find ourselves a drink

“First of all, Mrs. Tillman, ya’ can’t pull that last name shit when we share it now.” He points out while you shrug, giggling. “Second, you can thank Miles for givin’ me a crash course in how to move my damn feet without tripping and breaking my neck. Or yours.”

“I’ll send him a thank you card,” You laugh, resting your head on Gator’s chest for a moment, until you hear Flor scold across the dance floor, “Don’t ruin your makeup!” 

“I wonder if she does this with the other brides she does makeup for,” Gator mutters, snickering. You pick your head up with a dramatic sigh, still grinning.

When you lock eyes with him, there’s a small, yet brave voice in the back of your mind, echoing out “now’s the time”.

Let's talk that sun into setting Just need the sound of your voice Need that calming and the comfort Something to drown out the noise

The intensity of your feelings overwhelms you, causing you to tear up. It’s not unheard of to cry on your wedding day, in fact, it’s expected, almost encouraged. You’re not looking away from Gator like you usually do when you’re tearing up, and he notices instantly.

Gator’s immediately concerned, “Darlin’, what’s goin’ on?” You’re not sad, you don’t look sad, but there’s something so certain, so concrete in the emotions behind your glassy gaze.

You can’t help the short, yet soft laugh that slips out, nervous, but excited. “Earlier, you mentioned the— you brought up the day you were trying to clear the nursery out, and told me if I ever changed my mind, you’d take that risk in a heartbeat… remember that?”

“Of course I do, I mean that with everythin’ in me, really do.” His reassurance draws your smile wider. “It goes for anything, I’d take any risk with ya’.”

And I don't mind If we take our time ‘Cause I'm all yours If you're all mine

You inhale, courage building with the oxygen in your lungs, reminiscent of the seconds before asking Gator to move home with you.

Deep breath.

Dive in.

“Even with the risk of tryin’ again to have a baby?”

The music is still playing, but Gator stops dead in his tracks, catching the attention of some of your friends and family.

“Are you— is this a— do you—”

“Pick your feet back up, freak, people are staring,” You tease, face starting to hurt from how much you’ve smiled today. He continues dancing with you, moving at bare minimum with his attention hyper-focused on your words.

Something I've been meanin' to tell you About three years and a day I'd very much like to get married Maybe have kids and move away

“You- you mean it? You’re serious?”

Nodding ecstatically, you softly reply, “Serious as a heart attack, love.”

Gator laughs through his own hopeful, happy tears, resting his head on top of yours. The two of you can hear Flor in the distance yelling, “Don’t wreck her hair!” You shoot her an affectionate middle finger, while Gator snickers before tugging your arm down.

“When did you change your mind? And why?” His questions aren’t accusatory, they’re just in disbelief, but he knows too, you’d never joke about something like this. “Am I dreamin’?”

“Nope, you’re wide awake, babe,” you tease. “Been on my mind for awhile, but you talkin’ about that day earlier made me realize I’m not so scared anymore... Not if this happens with you.” Reaching your hand out, you rest it on his cheek with your heartfelt admission. 

Gator leans into your touch, and you can’t help the way your heart swells over the sight of him being so soft and vulnerable, in front of others, too. 

Cause there ain't nothing like your smile Your legs and those eyes And I will beg and steal and borrow To keep you safe your whole life

As he takes your hand, kissing it before placing it back on his shoulder, he’s immediately hit with worry, and his eyes widen as he asks, “You’re not… y’know…” He shoots a quick glance to your stomach, then back to you, “… now, are ya’?”

Another pure laugh escapes you as you shake your head. “Pregnant? Gator, it ain’t a dirty word.” You tease, and he shrugs with a sheepish smile. “I’m not, don’t worry. I wanna take our time, y’know? Live our lives a lil’ longer, just the two of us. We don’t have to keep talkin’ ‘bout it… but when the time comes, I’ll take the risk, if you want to, too.

And I don't mind If we take our time 'Cause I'm all yours If you're all mine

“You fuckin’ kidding me? F’course I do,” he passionately reassures you. For good measure, he adds with sincerity, “An- and you know, if you change your mind, it’s okay, right? If you decide it ain’t right, if ya’ gotta put your health first, wanna adopt instead—”

“My mind’s made up,” you affirm as the song winds down. You lean in to kiss him, whispering first, “You were right, the future will be good, no matter what, ‘cause we got each other.”

•·················•·················•

The celebration rolls on, with speeches from your maid of honor and Gator’s best man, and cutting cake, with that silly tradition of smushing cake in one another’s faces— even the most overdone of traditions felt right with your best friend, now husband.

Dancing, tipsy smiles and laughter, squishing as many of you as possible into the rented photo booth, 

Throughout the night, you hear the faint clicking among the small crowd, film advancing forward as the dials are turned on the disposable cameras. Each time you catch the sound, your smile grows; you couldn’t wait to get them developed, to see everyone’s perspective on such a special day.

“Ten bucks they kiss tonight,” Ty bets, scoping out his friends shamelessly flirting with one another across the dance floor. 

Flor shakes her head, also observing Ivy and Jinx carefully. “Nah, they’re such lil’ chickenshits about it, they won’t—“

“I dunno, I think Ty’s right,” Gator cuts her off.

Miles chimes in, “Make it twenty that they don’t kiss. I’m with Flor on this one.”

“I bet they kissed already,” you break the bets, causing everyone to look at you. Shrugging, you say, “What?”

“Oh, c’mon, there’s no way that happened.” Gator argues, scoffing at you. “They’re so obsessed with each other!”

“Yeah, bet you know what that’s like to be obsessed and lovesick with someone, huh, Gator?” Ty snarks, snickering when Gator glares at him.

“To be fair, we kinda jumped like… twenty steps ahead, it went 0 to 60 real fast—“

Gator heartily laughs while Miles throws his hands over his ears, “La-la-la, can’t hear you!”

“Ew, Sunshine, keep it to yourself,” Flor grimaces teasingly. You shamelessly shrug.

“Oh my god…” Ty gasps, redirecting everyone’s attention to the flirty pair— finally fucking kissing. “Oh my god!”

Flor shakes your arm excitedly, while you shout “About damn time!”

Gator high fives Ty, while Miles grumbles with a small smile, digging into his pocket for his wallet. He hands Ty a $20 bill, and the younger man quirks his brow. “I believe you owe Gator, too.”

Miles barks out a laugh, “Split it, jerks.”

All of the commotion breaks the bubble Ivy and Jinx were in, and Jinx blushes while flipping their friends off, while Ivy rolls her eyes,  smirk pulling along her face.

When the excitement dies down, Gator rests his head on your shoulder, arms winding around your waist. “Bouncy house is free…” He murmurs into your ear, “Wanna try it out?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you hold a stare with him for a few seconds before breaking out of his grasp. Bunching the end of your dress up to your knees, you take a running start, yelling back, “Race ya’!”

While you run towards the inflatable structure, you hear your husband’s footsteps gaining on you with ease. 

Curse his long fuckin’ legs.

“Ya’ snooze, ya’ lose, Darlin’!” 

Darting past you, in one swift movement, he kicks his shoes off while flinging himself into the bouncy house. You huff over your loss, grumbling and playfully glaring as you step out of your own shoes. He grabs hold of your arms, tugging you inside, sending the two of you into stitches of laughter.

It’s moments like these, rewriting the small joys you should’ve had as kids while you’re all grown up, that are so precious to you.

Wobbling onto your feet, you grip the hem of your dress again, beginning to bounce on the inflated floor. It takes a few attempts, but you finally gain some momentum.

“Je-sus—“ You huff, mid-air. “Was this shit—“ Another huff. “—Always so—“ A laugh puffs out of you, “— Fucking challenging?”

Gator’s still relaxing on the surface below you. “I mean… we went to like, two parties as kids that had these?”

“Don’t forget—“ Now you’re getting the hang of it, but only if you throw your arms out to balance; your dress drops from your grip, long forgotten. “— That one— church thing— they— had one—“

“Oh, that fuckin’ retreat that was more like a cult meeting?”

“Yeah!”

“They bribed us with that fuckin’ bouncy house,” He murmurs, gaze fixated on you— the way your dress flounces with each jump, the grin on your face, despite being worn out. “Ain’t very Jesus like if ya’ ask me.”

You kick your legs out, landing on your backside with a few extra bounces as you catch your breath. “This is a bouncy house, not a fuckin’ ‘lounge around and be boring’ house.” He can’t take his stare off of you, just fond and warm; the Gator you’ve always known, and by luck or fate, got to reconnect with. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just married my best friend, I’m fuckin’ great,” He breathily laughs, arm winding around you to hook you in closer. The two of you look out to the party, still going strong, overflowing with joy; the sounds of laughter, off-key singing, and crickets fill the air. “I didn’t get to say it during our vows, but, uh, thanks for entertaining silly shit like this.” He gestures around the bouncy house. 

You offer a quirked brow, so he continues, “‘Cause all that ‘healing your inner kid’ shit is actually kinda… healing.” The two of you snort over his words. “But I’m serious, and I wouldn’t want to heal with anyone else but you, Darlin’.”

All those childhood nights spent wishing and praying you and Gator would find happier, loving families, and homes that never felt like a prison, they might’ve come true a little later than either of you would’ve liked, but it’s reality now.

The reality you’ve always dreamed of, motivating you to survive the worst of it all growing up, it’s true; the roads leading here weren’t on the map you drew in your head as a child, but somehow you made it anyway.

Maybe it wasn’t as specific as a heart to heart with your best friend, now husband, in an inflatable castle, somewhere in the middle of Brooklyn, but you’ll take it.

Sitting up, you reach for his face with both hands, resting your head against his with a smile. 

“Likewise, Tillman.”

You gravitate towards one another for a sweet kiss, when someone clears their throat loudly at the entrance of the inflatable structure.

“You heathens, this is for bouncing, not smooching!” Ty teases as you pull apart. He turns around, shouting, “Scotty, it’s safe to come over now!”

Gator thunks his head on your shoulder, groaning in embarrassment. “Oh my god, I just got this kid to trust me, now I ruined the bouncy house too.”

“Babe, we didn’t even kiss, quit actin’ like we fucked around,” You giggle. “C’mon, let’s give the others a chance to fling themselves around in here.”

There’s a small thud, sending a wave of pressure through the bouncy castle, making Gator flip over with a yelp. Scotty grins from the entrance with mischief; for a small kid, she’s got some strength.

“Oh, kid, you’re in trouble now,” Gator scrambles to his feet, jumping high to let himself flop back down against the surface. Scotty is thrown up into the air, giggling wildly as she lands back down. You roll out of the way when Gator begins chasing her, and you can’t tell if he’s pretending to be clumsy and let her get away, or if he really can’t keep his balance; either way, it fills the castle with nothing but laughter and playful yelling.

It doesn’t take long for Dot to climb in, and Wayne, too; one by one, your friends and family end up shoving themselves into the inflatable house, jumping all around, chasing one another, grinning ear to ear. It’s loud, chaotic— two things that once scared you, coming from a toxic environment, now loving the pure joy in a moment like this.

Ty’s trying to teach Scotty how to do a front flip, with the adults around cheering her on when she succeeds. Flor and Miles just jump around mindlessly, enjoying a break in their busy lives to just be. Jinx wobbles on the floor, with Ivy patiently holding her up, whispering something sweet enough to make the other woman blush and playfully swat at her. Bea and Opal just watch from the entrance, giggling amongst themselves over everyone’s antics.

You need a breather, allowing yourself to flop onto the floor, when your mother climbs in; you have to do a double take, unable to believe your eyes.

“You ever been in one of these?” You ask as she crawls next to you, overwhelmed with happiness. 

“No! I always wanted to go in the ones at those church retreats, ‘cause you, Lo, and Gator loved ‘em, but your father—“ She rolls her eyes and huffs, waving away the mention. “Well, he’s not here, so I think it’s time I start living, huh?”

Someday, the two of you will dissect the suffering family trauma has brought upon you both, and her hand in it all, but you’re still proud of her for getting away. Better late than never.

You get back on your feet, smiling warmly at her as you extend a hand. “No better place to start than a bouncy house at your kid’s wedding.”

She’s got a childlike joy laced in her grin, taking your hand to regain her balance. You begin showing her how easy it is to jump, and the first time she does, she breathes out a shocked laugh before bouncing again.

There’s gotta be some sort of deep, cheesy meaning about healing here, when it comes to a group of people with interwoven traumas, from all walks of life, sharing a bouncy house— something about keeping your balance, or trust, or some shit— but you don’t care to dig deep for it.

Sharing a knowing glance with Gator, you have to admit that he’s right about healing your inner child. Judging by the overflowing happiness and amusement among your friends and family, you’d say everyone needed a little moment of healing, too.

•·················•·················•

“Wait, wait! Gotta find somewhere safe to put these.” You rush around the apartment, still dressed up with the precious bouquet secure in your grip. 

Gator hangs back with a smirk, leaning against the closed door while his eyes follow your excited self, buzzing around your home. Dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, bow tie long gone— who knows where that damn thing ended up. A few strands of hair falls in his face, now that the gel’s hold has worn off.

“Aha!” You grab an empty vase off the bookshelf, gingerly placing the dried flowers inside. “I’ll have to get a pretty display box for ‘em, but this works for now, right?”

There’s no answer, not verbally, at least; the glow and contagious joy you’ve radiated all day has him entranced. Like a moth to a flame, he’s drawn to you and your light. From behind, his arms wind around you in an embrace, leaning down to kiss your neck lazily.

Eyes fluttering shut, you hum, content. “Keep this up and we’re not makin’ it to the hotel any time soon.”

You feel Gator shrug against you, hands wandering from your hips to your chest, “S’okay, we got time.”

“That’s what you always say.”

He spins you around, backing you against the kitchen counter. One hand gently slips under your chin, lifting your face to his, he smirks. “And have I ever been wrong, princess?”

You know this tone, the way he mixes it with that pet name— and that damn smirk. Eyes narrowing, you ask with suspicion, “What are you up to?”

“Nothin’,” he replies gravelly, locking his lips against yours in a teasingly slow kiss. The kind that’s too slow, with the speed of molasses pouring out of a jar. Open-mouthed, dizzying kisses that make you squirm, just how he likes to torture you. “Be patient, angel,” he murmurs against your lips. “Be good for me.”

You nod, leaning in to kiss Gator, but he moves swiftly, kissing your jaw, down to your neck, hands working in tandem to caress your sides before lowering down to his knees. He leans down, kissing from your ankles upward as he rucks up your dress, chuckling as he feels your skin prickle with anticipation against his lips.

“This is why you wanted to come home first, huh?” Giggling, you run your fingers through his hair, while he nuzzles against your thigh.

“Fuck yeah, always wanted to do this,” he kisses up your thigh, head disappearing under your dress. “S’fuckin’ hot seeing ya’ like this.”

“What, in my wedding dress?”

“Mhm,” Gator hums against your heat, fingers hooking under your panties. He tugs them down to your ankles, hands splaying out to explore the expanse of your skin as they make their way back up to your hips. “One of my biggest fantasies with ya’… get on my knees for my angel…” You shiver as he kisses your core lightly. His breathy confession fans out over your skin, “Bury my face in this sweet, pretty tang—“

“Gator!” Your face heats up, giggling hysterically; you hate when he says that, but with his touches and kisses, he could say anything he wanted right now, and you’d let it slide.

“What?” He pulls back, throwing the fabric of your dress away from his face with a taunting smirk. “Can’t a guy worship his wife in her wedding dress?”

You trail your fingers down to cradle his face, admiring Gator’s mischievous stare, the lust filling his stare, how handsome he is—

It’s a good thing the two of you are married now, because you are positively, absolutely fucked up with love for this man.

Your lips curl into their own grin, giving silent consent as you nod and bite your lip.

“Thank fuck,” Gator sighs dramatically, diving back under your dress. He presses another kiss to your slit, tongue flitting out to part your folds. “‘Cause I don’t think I can wait ‘til we get to the hotel.”

“You— a- ah—“ You gasp, leaning against the kitchen counter, gripping onto its edge. Regaining composure, you add, “Y’say that like it’s far away.” 

“Well, Darlin’,” you feel Gator’s thumbs spread you wide, lapping at your clit a few times before pulling back. Lewdly, he spits onto your cunt, thumb mixing that with your slick, toying with your sensitive nub. “We got a flight to catch in a few hours, and if ya’ thought I wouldn’t play with ya’ before we leave—“

“Wh- huh? We’re— where we goin’?” He suckles on your clit, causing your eyes to roll back in a heady daze. Your hips jerk forward as he begins to sloppily eat you out, indulging in the sinful moment. “Thought we were waiting on a- a— honeymoon… stay out in the city tonight instead…”

Your knees give out, betraying your body, but Gator’s firm grip keeps you upright. It’s still baffling to you that he’s only had a few partners before you, and actually knows how to work that all-talk-no-action mouth of his.

“Thought we could use a tiny getaway before the real deal,” he murmurs against your skin, tongue dipping into your hole, tasting your arousal with a heavy grunt. You yelp as he throws one leg over your shoulder, while the other stays planted on the floor. Gator shifts, mouth still toying with your cunt, when he— Jesus Christ—

This man, your goddamn husband, straddles your leg, rocking his hips against it with reckless abandon. 

Throbbing against you through his pants, he releases some kind of raw, gravelly noise against your core. The sound trembles against your clit, and you gasp, clutching over the tulle of your dress onto his head, desperate to touch him, to watch him until you unravel at the seams.

Predictably, the first moment together as a married couple wouldn’t be soft and sweet like one would assume; honestly, it wouldn’t feel right, with how filthy you usually are with one another.

“The… huh?” Thoughts clouded with lust, you can’t form a coherent thought to ask what the hell he’s talking about. “But I’m n- not— oh, god—“ One of his long, thick fingers slides into you with ease, gently pumping in and out. “Gator, I- I’m not— I need to pack if we’re goin’ somewhere—“

Another finger slips inside, and you cut yourself off with a cry. 

“Already taken care of, angel.” He flicks his tongue at your clit before sucking on it again, rutting against you every so often for relief. You can feel him proudly smirk against your skin as your knees shake. “Now shut up, and let me take care of you, too.”

•·················•·················•

In the past year and a half, you witnessed Gator become so… organized. He was never like this, even as kids, but the loss of perpetual rage and depression seemed to clear his mind with a lot.

With that organization— and Ivy’s help to secretly pack for you, of course— he managed to plan a weekend trip to the Bahamas. This is the same man who was hesitant and terrified of the ocean last summer, but now? He was just thrilled to celebrate with you and relax.

Despite the heatwave during your wedding, the warm getaway was refreshing. The crystal clear waters certainly helped his fear of the ocean, too.

“It ain’t all … murky, like the beach back home,” he shrugged, happily pulling you in waist deep into the water without hesitation. “M’never gonna want to go to Coney Island ever again—“ “Hey!” You playfully splashed him, “No Coney Island slander!” Gator rolled his eyes teasingly, grabbing you by the waist to drag you into the waves with him while you giggled, wrapping yourself around him in the water.

For the two of you, growing up in a landlocked, miserable state, with some of the harshest winters, there was something about the constant sunshine, perfect blue waters, and carefree moments that were healing about this trip, too.

Early November is when your real honeymoon occurs. Once you arrive to the airport, Gator reveals the destination he’d been so secretive about: Iceland.

Wait… huh?

At first, your brow quirks, puzzled; it was a stark difference from the ‘mini honeymoon’, as he called it, right after the wedding. There had to be a reason for the destination, but you were too excited to question it; any adventure with your best friend would be a good one.

Gator blindfolded you after arriving to the hotel lobby, wanting to keep some of the surprise still.

One damn sleigh ride later, one you couldn’t even enjoy the view on, you step into the hotel room, a wave of comforting heat washes over you; you hum, delighted by the instant coziness.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

With a quick kiss to your cheek, Gator loosens the blindfold from your eyes.

It’s not just a room— it’s a small dome structure, yet majority of the walls and ceiling made of a crystal clear glass. Directly outside the walls are countless pine trees, branches weighed down with the fluffiest snow piles. The sight through the ceiling is completely clear, offering a perfect view of the clear, blue skies. 

“You know why we’re here?” He helps you out of your thick winter coat before you wander around the tiny home.

Slipping out of your boots, you shuffle your socked feet across the smooth hardwood floors; there’s a fireplace across the king-sized bed, some cozy recliners, and a teensy-tiny kitchenette. It’s so cute and welcoming, except something’s missing.

You poke your head through a narrow doorway, frowning at the shower inside the bathroom. “There’s no tub to fuck in.”

Gator snorts, nodding to the space behind you, “No, but there is a hot tub.”

Whipping around with a gasp, you stumble into the doorway, “Ow!”

“Try to avoid gettin’ a concussion while we’re here, please.”

“Shut up— oh my god, this hot tub is huge!” Your jaw drops, face shoved against the glass door leading to the porch. “We gotta fuck like, five times at least, in this.”

“Is that all you can think about?”

“Excuse me for wanting to have fun on my honeymoon with my husband.”

His arms wind around your waist from behind, burying his face into your neck, lips tickling along your skin as he speaks between kisses. “Didn’t even let me explain the best part yet.”

“Which is…?”

He asks again, “Do you even know why we’re here?”

“‘Cause you missed freezing your ass off for fun?”

Gator scoffs with an eye roll; you know him well enough by now to notice, even with his dark shades on.

Too jet-lagged to think, you shake your head.

“Oh, c’mon, angel. It’s been on your bucket list since we were kids.”

Open space… huge, clear windows… out in the snowy wilderness of Iceland…

You’ve been so exhausted and giddy from the high of the wedding, it never even occurred to you why you were here— aside from being on your honeymoon, of course.

“… You’re kidding.”

You spin around to face Gator, who can’t suppress a sweet grin.

“This ain’t anythin’ to joke about.”

“We’re gonna…” You’re speechless just thinking about this long time dream coming true, and with your favorite person in the world. “The northern lights? We’re gonna see ‘em? Up there?” 

He quirks a brow, squinting behind his glasses, up through the ceiling; the bright, blue sky is completely void of clouds today.

“They’re gonna be in the sky? Huh… Thought we might find ‘em in the lake over there—“ You pinch his face teasingly, “Hey!”

“You said this isn’t something to joke about!” You admire the glass dome, but the sunlight pouring through the curtain-less windows sends you into a delayed panic. “Wait, are you gonna be okay? Shit, you can’t sleep with those sunglasses on, babe, that’s not safe, please tell me you got somethin’—“

Reaching around you, Gator presses a button on the light switch panel, and in a blink of an eye, the windows become frosted. You freeze, glancing around, then narrowing your stare at your husband.

“…. Did you break something? What the hell did you do?”

He snorts as you crane your neck to inspect the windows, now muting the light enough where it’s not pitch black, but it’s dark enough that it’s safe for his eyesight.

“It’s that fancy, smart glass shit, or whatever—“ He pauses, shaking his head at you. “Are you really gonna make me explain the fuckin’ windows on our honeymoon?”

“I dunno, babe, they’re kinda cool—“ You lose your words as he softly pushes you back onto the bed; as you sink into the down comforter and endless mountain of pillows, your eyes flutter shut as you giggle. “M’kay, g’night!”

Gator climbs on top of you, snuggling close with his face hidden in your neck. A sigh of contentment leaves him as he relaxes against you. “I love you.”

You hum happily, exhaustion finally catching up to you. “Love you, Gate.”

“We’re not gonna crawl under the covers at least?”

“Mmm’nope.”

“Always makin’ shit difficult, huh, princess?” His playful jab doesn’t earn a response; you’re already drifting deep into slumber. He takes a moment to admire you, so relaxed and at ease by his side; leaving a kiss on your forehead, he reluctantly leaves bed, taking care of you first.

Knowing you’ll eventually get cold, Gator gently tugs the covers out from beneath you, eventually succeeding while you briefly stir. He climbs back in next to you, pulling the down comforter and covers up, finally tangling himself around you and falling fast asleep.

•·················•·················•

A jarring, shrill alarm jolts you up out of bed.

“Holy shit…” Hand over your heart, you feel it pound fiercely as the alarm rings in your ears. Gator jumps, startled out of sleep and thrown headfirst into the waking world.

“Wha’the fuck’s that?” 

On the nightstand lays a box with the words “Aurora Alarm”, and it takes a few seconds to register what’s going on.

That’s a thing?

“Wait—“ You throw the covers off, onto an unsuspecting, still half-asleep Gator, who grunts as the comforter pushes him against the bed. 

“The hell you doin’?”

Looking up through the glass ceiling, you gasp at the ethereal view dancing above.

“Gator…” You pull the covers off him, and he groans, still jet-lagged. “Gator, get up!”

He pouts, turning over, away from you, “S’nighttime though…”

Grabbing his arm, you shake him excitedly. “That’s the point! Look!”

Sighing, he rolls onto his back. Peeking his eye open, he takes in the colors swirling over your heads, “No fuckin’ way…”

“C’mon, I wanna watch!” You roll out of bed, stumbling around to find your winter gear, eyes glued to the light show in the sky. You bump into the bed, flopping back onto it. 

“You’re a danger to yourself,” Gator mumbles with a smirk, finally sitting up. “We can see ‘em here just fine—“

Tugging at his arm, you attempt to pull him out of bed with you. “Get up, get up, get up—“

“Christ, okay, m’goin’!”

Shaking the sleep from your bones, the two of you bundle up, venturing out into the freezing cold.

•·················•·················•

“The whole point of renting this place was to see the sky and stay warm, angel.”

You spin around, though it’s not very graceful as you wade through the knee-high snow in multiple layers. “Yeah, but we should see them outside at least once.”

It’s decided the two of you won’t wander very far, so when you find a spot feet away from the little glass house, you throw your arms out  before falling back into the fluffy snow. A plume of loose snow puffs out around you as you giggle over the simple joy. He’s not too far behind you, mimicking you as he falls next to you.

Laughter dies down quickly once you and Gator gaze up at the breathtaking sky; the night sky is crystal clear here, with dreamy stars you’d never see back home. His heavily gloved hand flops around the snow, eventually finding your own, grip as existent as it can be among the weatherproof fabric.

“This kinda feels like that time we laid in the snow, after ya’ pulled me down next to ya’.”

“The day you were supposed to teach me some gun safety?” He hums, agreeing. “For the record, I pulled you down ‘cause you made fun of me for fallin’.”

“You had it comin’ to ya’, Darlin’.” Gator snorts a little as you scoff. “But, yeah. That day.” He contemplates his words, trying to speak from the heart without killing the moment with the gritty retelling of events that followed. “I kept lookin’ at ya’… kept thinkin’ how lucky I was to even hold your hand. The sunset was real pretty, too, made you all glowy, and shit.”

You giggle, “You got such a way with words, Tillman.”

“You’re never gonna stop with that last name shit, huh? Even if we share the same one now.”

“Never.”

He grins, though you can’t see it from where you lay. The world around you is quiet, serene; it’s just you and Gator, sunken into the fluffiest snow known to man, staring up at the aurora borealis as it blankets each of you in an illumination of spectacular, shapeshifting colors.

“I was gonna tell ya’ first, before— well, you know.” He grimaces, pushing past the darkest details. “It hit me there. Well, it hit me before that, too, but it just felt like it was you and me in that moment. No shitty families, no big, scary world around us; just you and me. Like it felt when we were together growing up.

“I ain’t mad about the way we said I love you the first time,” He admits, leaning up on his elbows to glance down at you. “But if I had the chance to go back, tell ya’ right there while we were freezing our asses off in the snow, I think I would.”

Frowning a bit, you sit up, “Why? It’s still the same no matter where you told me— and technically, I said it first.”

Gator rolls his eyes; you’re still so impressed with how seamlessly his prosthetic flows with the motions of his real eye, but that’s not important right now.

“Yeah, yeah. I’d still do it over if I could. I wish I said it to you before all of that shit went down with your dad.” He’s about to wipe away building tears, but remembers his entire being is covered in snow dust. “Hadn’t seen you that scared since we were kids…” His voice cracks as he loses his train of thought.

You shift closer to him, and it’s almost comic relief— the way you wobble on your knees crawling closer under all these layers— if the timing were better. Awkwardly, you sit in his lap, earning weak chuckles from you both as you kiss his cheek.

“I take it back; you said it first.”

“Huh?” He shakes his head, “Don’t remember sayin’ it first. N- not that it’s a competition, I just… you said it, after that nightmare, remember?”

“I do. And maybe you didn’t say it with words, but your actions that night made it clear.” Your faces are so close, warmth radiates off one another; it’s familiar, comfortable, both to your body and heart. 

It’s like the heat that was shared between you, in the sleeping bag, that only lasted a few minutes; you were emotional, drunk, as was he, and both of you deflected and ran from your feelings— but that warmth stayed with you all night.

It’s reminiscent of the next night, when the sexual tension finally broke, landing you cuffed to his bed; while deciding on a safe word, he was so close, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him right there, pouting when he told you to earn it. 

And moments later, the tender warmth he radiated— shocking the hell out of you— showering you in praises, kissing your shoulder as he reassured you while coming down from one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

His “earned kiss” offered an unexpected warmth which bloomed from within, one beyond arousal, melting your heart into familiar feelings, once buried for over a decade, finally breaking the surface.

Really, anytime there was aftercare, you felt it; an intimacy that tickled your skin in the way only sun rays can, with the same, constant warmth. 

Beyond that, too; you felt it when he grabbed your hand the moment your families came home, reassuring you: “M’not leavin’ your side, darlin’.” Felt it in the way he protected you from your father’s wrath, the way he put your safety above anything, and anyone, else.

That same warmth was a security blanket in his unexpected voicemail, while you worried and waited back in Brooklyn, fearing the worst; though his voice and spirit were broken, his love was louder.

Now, waking up every day next to your best friend, your love, your protector, your husband— there’s not a cloud in the sky, even on the stormiest days; the sun always shines with Gator by your side.

Funny, how your nickname of ‘Sunshine’ now feels like it rightfully should belong to Gator; once one the grumpiest, miserable people you’ve known, now soft, ice long gone after melting away from his heart.

“I always felt loved by you, felt love for you, since we were little.” Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re grinning, eyes scrunching up as they become misty. “I just didn’t have a name for it ‘til that night. Hell, I knew I loved you before moving years ago, but I thought it was one sided. That night, though, when you promised you weren’t leaving my side… I knew. I felt it.

“You never once had to say it, Gator, ‘cause your heart did, first.”

Surging forward, Gator steals a kiss, passionate, but slow; between lips moving in harmony, he mumbles, “I felt it since—“ He presses his mouth to yours, sighing happily, drawing a smile across your face, one he can feel, one he knows so well by now. “— Since the day you picked those flowers f’me. I ain’t ever had a girl give me flowers since, y’know.”

“‘Cause none of ‘em knew you like I did,” you’re joking, but Gator smiles fondly, laughing a little, too.

“You’re right. No one else ever got me like you did,” he nuzzles his nose against yours, feeling you shiver against him. You feel both his response and the cold settle deep in your bones. “C’mon, let’s go back in. I’ll warm ya’ up.”

•·················•·················•

The door’s barely closed behind you before it’s a flurry of eager clumsiness; you’re ripping your jacket off, flinging your mittens across the room, while Gator’s scrambling to get his snow pants off, forgetting his boots are still on.

“Christ— why did we bother goin’ outside?” He laughs, tugging at his shoelaces, kicking his boots off, then his pants. “Shoulda’ fucked first, then went out— oof!” You’re on him in a flash, pushing him back onto the bed, tearing his sweatshirt off; he hooks his legs around your waist, flipping you over to free you from your shirt and bra.

“The experience!” You exclaim through a fit of giggles, but they die down fast, thanks to Gator kissing and biting along your neck. “Mm— god…”

“I dunno, fucking you under the northern lights might be a better experience.” He groans, hot and heavy, hips rolling into yours. 

You tug at his shirt, frowning. “The hell you still wearin’ this for?” Up and over his head it goes, thrown somewhere within the room among the other clothes; that’s a problem for future Mr. And Mrs. Tillman.

“Should be askin’ yourself that,” He yanks your leggings and panties down, relishing in the yelp you return. But he slows down, as much as he’d rather not. “Maybe we should…” He’s already panting. “First time on the honeymoon should be all sweet, and shit, right?”

You think about it, and nod slowly… then shake your head. 

“Babe, pick one,” Gator chuckles. 

“When the hell have we ever stuck by traditions and shit? Like— oh, who fucking cares.” Your legs wrap around his waist, tugging him closer. Giggling, you murmur, “My tits are cold, c’mere.”

“Can’t have that, can we?”

Any and all sounds of carefree silliness fade out as he kisses down your body.

“Gator…”

“M’yeah?” His lips drag against your skin, leaving a wet trail in their wake. Your hands reach for his shoulders, and he yelps from the sudden chill. “Fuckin-a— gimme those,” he pries your hands off of him, bundling them together in his own, breathing warmth against your skin. “Even with those thick-ass mittens you still get corpse hands.”

You laugh, “Stop callin’ ‘em that!”

“It’s the truth! You had ‘em that night we shared a sleeping bag, and they’re still just as cold,” he teases with a smirk.

You remember that night fondly— how it was a turning point for the both of you, rebuilding a bridge once collapsed into rubble. How infuriating he was, but deep down, you loved it. You loved the teasing, the flirting, even the short-lived sentimental exchange… before he became insufferable again.

Even that, though, you loved, too.

“I love you.” The small display of affection is effortless, yet you need it to survive, as much as each breath you take and return. 

Gator picks up where he left off, kisses traveling down your figure again, murmuring “I love you,” into your skin. The kisses grow sloppier the closer he inches to your heat, but you whine, tugging on his hair gently to stop him. “What? S’wrong?”

“Need you,” pouting, you tug at his hair again, eliciting a delicious, deep groan from him. 

“I know, Darlin’, I got ya’, jus’ be good for me.” Gator’s tongue flits out at your folds, and you gasp, but still attempt to pull him away. “Babe—“

“Later, just want you, need you in me,” you babble wantonly. “C’mere, please?”

“You sure?” When you nod and hum eagerly, he crawls back up your body, gently pushing your legs apart; you hold them up, whimpering while he glides the tip of his cock along your clit, dragging down to catch in your entrance every so often. “Always makin’ the sweetest noises for me, huh?”

“Please…” you whimper again, arching your hips up into him. 

Gator takes you by surprise, leaning back against the pillows while tugging you on top of him. You giggle over the quick maneuver, grinding your core against his length. His head tips back into the cushions, lids fluttering shut as his mouth falls open. He grabs your hips, lazily guiding you in the back and forth motion against him.

Under the cover of night, your bodies seamlessly blend together like the brilliant colors in the sky above. In every gasp, shiver, and moan, Gator’s blissed out expression is shaded in a kaleidoscope of hues.

From way the green illuminates in his eyes, to the blue offering you an ethereal glow, while the pink kisses his skin, dancing over each and every freckle and mole, and purple wrapping both of you together, this is the closest you’ve ever felt to Gator. 

In one final roll of your hips, you take him in, adjusting and settling against one another with sweet sighs and gasps.

“There ya’ go, angel…” Gator grunts as he sits up, restraining himself from slamming up into you. “S’what y’needed all day, huh?”

“All day… yesterday… what time zone are we in?” You giggle in a daze, languidly rising and falling onto his shaft. 

“Fuck if I know,” he chuckles huskily, kissing your neck, nipping lazily at your sensitive skin. His hands glide up your body, reaching your breasts to rub his thumbs against your piercings. You shudder with a breathy laugh as he kisses down your chest, lips ghosting over one of the sensitive buds. When one hand runs through his hair, pushing him closer to your chest, he chuckles, almost mockingly, “Don’t be greedy, Darlin’.”

Lapping at your nipple, he latches on, sucking softly while finding a steady rhythm as he thrusts deep into you. An obscene, low hum vibrates out of him against your body, adding to the pleasure you feel everywhere.

You chant his name with each thrust, whiny whispers that he responds to by picking up his pace.

“S’my good girl,” Gator murmurs, trailing his lips back up your neck. “You’re mine, yeah? All mine?”

“M’all y- yours…” Losing yourself in the bliss, it feels familiar. Like you’ve been here with him before, but something feels more complete. “And you’re… you’re all mine, right?”

The possessiveness isn’t from a toxic source, it’s one of reassurance.

Just like the night before you flew back home; exposing every inch of your heart and soul while Gator made love to you in the back of his truck, underneath an abundant starry night sky.

You hold his face in both your hands, admiring the dazed, blissed-out expression that only grows. The shades of the sky continue to paint across his beautiful face, highlighting to you what a difference in time and healing can make. 

The night before you flew back home, Gator was still beautiful to you, still handsome as ever, but he looked worn; appearing as if he was hanging on by a thread— and he was. Having you around for the first time in a decade brought some life to what he once accepted as a permanent scowl, lit a spark in his lifeless eyes. 

Tonight, he’s the Gator you’ve always known; even with his compromised eyesight— the mostly faded scar that runs from his brow bone to just under his remaining eye, the prosthetic in the other— there’s so much light in his gaze. There’s so much hope, and love, ambition to keep living, not just survive. He’s not fading into muted neutrals, there’s bursts of color and light replacing that scowl, and genuine smiles where the cocky smirk once laid.

… Well, most of the time— he saves that smirk to tease you with, at least, like right now, when he responds, “M’all yours.” The expression fades, though, when he leans in, whispering with strength and certainty against your lips, “Forever.”

[countessravengrey]

I've been seeing a lot of posts talking about how scared and terrible at being a congressman Bucky was in Thunderbolts, most often citing the scene with the reporters.

See, I have a different take on this scene and others in the movie, because before I saw the movie, his political career had me asking myself, "What the fuck was he thinking?" But it was his reaction to everything that caught my attention. I got the sense from the scenes where he's politicking, that he was 'playing dumb', if you will. Which led me to believe that Bucky's foray into politics was more pointed and strategic than it appeared.

I imagine it goes something like this:

Post-TFATWS, Bucky was concerned by the fact that not only had Walker not been incarcerated, or at the very least gotten some court-ordered therapy, but he'd been given a shiny new suit and designation. Who was this Valentina person enabling this disaster of a human?

After asking around, he realize that he wouldn't be able to bring her shadiness to light as the Winter Soldier--despite the recent acknowledgment of him as a hero (Fuck right those grunts addressed him as Sergeant at the end of TFATWS you BETTER show my boy some respect!) and not the villain he was so erroneously punished as--and attempting to do so could get him back in trouble, especially with a newly-minted President Ross (aka the Real Villain of CACW™️) ready to bring the full force of the US government down on the heads of any enhanced that even look at the line, let along step out of it. And even if he'd captured Valentina in the middle of some shady dealings, he knew she was connected enough to get out of it. He couldn't ask Sam for help, what with him being newly busy doing Cap shit and all, so...

And it was around this time that someone with Brooklyn's interests, or at least politically motivated to be allied with Brooklyn, approached Bucky. "Brooklyn still remembers what you did for this country" "You're a hero in our book" "We need someone representing us who KNOWS us" or some other such. The optics were clear: Brooklyn felt Bucky was their homegrown hero, a Brooklyn boy, and they were ready to back that up with their votes. And it hit him. Here was a potential path to bringing down Valentina.

So, he took the nomination, and then he took the win. But he couldn't look like he was going after her personally.

So he played dumb in front of the press and in the chamber. He pretended to be a newbie rep out of his depth. And in the background, he was whispering in the right people's ears, sending them in the right direction.

Remember that Bucky is a strategist and tactician, too, he just wasn't the straightforward kind that Steve was. He was the sniper, watching carefully for his moment, and then taking the shot when no one was paying attention.

And when it looked like the whole thing was going south, he turned to what he knew: the Soldier. Who cared if he lost reelection or was asked to step down afterward? None of that mattered to him. It was a means to an end, and when that end was not forthcoming, he said fuck it and went for a last-ditch effort to do things by the book by bringing in witnesses, even if the tactics to that goal were a bit off-book lol

Bucky was playing us all.

[welcometololaland]

i'm sure i'm gonna make something super emosh (sylvanian drama anyone??) after the final ep but this was such a cute game idea by @thisbuildinghasfeelings so i wanted to jump on board!

ty also for the tags @strandnreyes and @everlastingday 💜

1. THE DAY SOMEONE SENT A VIDEO OF THE PROPOSAL™️ TO THE POPCORN SQUAD AND MADE ME USELESS FOR TARLOS

i think i'm gonna blame @three-drink-amy. lives were changed (my life was changed). i played that damn video 9384209348 times. i immediately had fic thoughts. i basically didn't leave my couch for an entire day. i made my partner watch it (confusion). i cried internally. i wanted to KNOW THESE CHARACTERS!!! and even after years, i feel like i'm still untangling all the threads of tk strand and carlos reyes, and i love that <3

2. THE SEVEN CONSECUTIVE WEEKS OF WRITING 10-15K OF PURE CHAOS

looking back. we were insane for the choice to write the ring-in (@dustratcentral and @rmd-writes) on a week-by-week basis, but i'd probably do it again. it remains my third most popular fic of all time and although i don't super understand it, i feel like the people felt the chaos vibes and were drawn in. i think the mess of writing, beta reading and vibing made for some magic.

3. CO-WRITES. ALL OF THEM.

i love co-writing. i love creating magic with someone else. i love sharing in the thrill of posting, and i'm very fortunate to have had many people in this fandom trust me enough to take the wheel (partially).

4. LEARNING ABOUT TARLOS, THE FANDOM AND ALSO ME

sounds stupid but literally just getting in the HEADS of the characters. watching the eps over and over, reading through the discourse, talking and talking and talking and talking about ideas and head-canons and specific character traits with anyone who would lend me an ear. learning from people who had been in the fandom way longer than me, learning from (dare i say it) anons, learning from my own mistakes. this fandom has taught me a lot about myself, writing, tarlos, fandom and a bunch of other stuff. i know this is a cop out because it's not a single memory or a time point but!!!!!! i never said i would play by the rules!!!!

5. PEOPLE

whether we spoke for five months or five minutes, you told me a random story about your pet or we just chatted about the show, you read my fics or I read yours or whether we just co-existed, whether you consider us friends or not, honestly, thank you. the way i look at it, my life is enriched by every interaction on here, because without lone star, without fandom, without tumblr, i never would have known you at all.

(BONUS: 4 x 16. WILL GO DOWN IN HISTORY AS MY FAVOURITE TARLOS SCENE! SOULMATES BABY!)

open tag <3

@guardian-angle22 @reyesstrand @lutavero @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses

@ramblingdisaster73 @danieljradcliffe @fitzherbertssmolder @she-walked-away @liminalmemories21

@reasonandfaithinharmony @alrightbuckaroo @firstprince-history-huh @ironheartwriter @emsprovisions

@ladyknight1512 @carlos-tk @bonheur-cafe @queen-saltyfries @lemonlyman-dotcom

@actual-sleeping-beauty @herefortarlos @rangersoup @tellmegoodbye @marjansmarwani

@nancys-braids @captain-gillian @saguaroblossom @eclectic-sassycoweyes @lightningboltreader

@chicgeekgirl89 @theghostofashton @whatsintheboxmh @freneticfloetry @detective-giggles

[ghost-bxrd]

Tim going absolutely feral in his attempts to get Mockingjay away from Hood.

Sure, all of the Bats want to rescue the kid, but they don't really get the danger the kid is in, they are still under the impression Hood cares about keeping the kid safe.

But Tim SAW what Hood is like at the Titans Tower, okay? Hood is freaking insane. Doesn't matter if he cares about the kid or not, he's going to end up hurting, maybe killing, the boy in one of his 'episodes'.

And Tim will do anything to get the kid to come away, to understand what Hood is doing.

He's not going to bother with kid gloves. He's fully willing to scar the kid for life if it means the kid will at least get to live, which he's convinced won't happen if he's left at Hood's mercy.

Tim to Mockingjay on a rooftop: Hi! How's the gang war your boss started coming along? Last one was so exciting. I watched my friend - not a vigilante friend, mind you, just this civilian kid - bleed out when one of the gangs decided to shoot up my school. About two dozen civilians died in the first couple of days. Wanna bet how many you and Hood will bag this time? Have fun!

Tim, tossing Mockingjay crime scene photos of a gang shooting, showing a headshot corpse : Hi! Thought you might like a keepsake! This is Danny, he was eighteen. Dad died, three kids at home, couldn't get any job that paid enough except with these guys. I hear his sister signed up with Penguin's pimps after she got the news. Someone's still gotta feed the kids, right? Have a good lunch!

Tim, waving to Mockingjay: Hi! Sorry I'm late! Had to stay with a kid who found his mom OD'd. You should really ask your boss to show you what an OD death looks like - you'll probably find it pretty cool, all a nice blue shade, with this bloody foam spilling from the mouth, maybe twisted up a bit if they had convulsions first. The kid was crying about how he's gonna get the bastards who sold the stuff, but of course, you and Hood have pretty nice security, right?

Tim waging absolutely ruthless psychological warfare.

Ooo yes Tim would definitely try to pull something like that. What he wouldn’t expect is Mockingjay to give as good as he gets.

After the first few times you can bet Bruce is Fed Up™️ and devises his own little counter attack.

The next time he greets Robin with a merry little “Hey Rob, guess what? Frank just got out of jail again! You know, the guy you locked up in Black Gate for killing his girlfriend? Guess what! He went back to murder her sister, too! Had her spread out all over the apartment with a kitchen knife. Have a nice patrol <3”

Mockingjay, crashing a bust: “Sorry we’re late to the party! Had to take out a pedophile you guys locked up last month but was set free on parole. Guess what? He had two new victims locked up in his basement!”

Mockingjay, cupping his ear: “Sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you over the sound of a two year old screaming because he just saw his dad get murdered in front of him. Because you guys ‘Didn’t have enough evidence’ to get the guy who threatened him convicted. Should we tell Social Services to bill you the lifelong therapy bill or…?”

Mockingjay, throwing a file at Robin’s head: “Hey, Dickhead, remember Tiff? The street kid? Thanks to you sticking her in a “safe foster home” she was forced to go work street corners. Maybe you should tell your boss to do better research.”

Mockingjay is a menace, and if Tim thinks he can guilt trip/horrify the kid into condemning Jason’s work than he’s going to have a rude awakening hehe

[saveahorserideaneddie]

Unpopular opinions(?):

I don't like the dialogue in the kitchen scene. I love to watch the scene but on mute. The same with gifs. Especially the insinuation that Buck deserved to be hit, no matter how in jest it might have been said. Every time I see/hear it, I want to kick Eddie in the shins and whack him over the head with a newspaper.

I still don't think that Buck's primary emotion in 2x01 was attraction and that was what made him act like he did. Sure, he probably clocked Eddie as hot. But the fear of being replaced and losing his family was to me the main driving force.

I also didn't particularly liked Eddie for about the first 30 minutes of the episode. I was annoyed by his introduction. I think it was a clever writing choice, to introduce him as this perfection personified, to then slowly peel off the layers to the repressed mess he really was/is. But I was still not impressed.

I'm really not fond of cop!Athena and the way she acts as though she is in a remake of Dirty Harry. And we as the audience are somehow expected to root for her? I love her being a detective. But I can't recall a single cop related storyline that I enjoyed.

That's enough for now, I think.

(i love the lists that i’m getting!!!!)

1) i agree, that specific part of the interaction was a little bit too strong on the whole ‘buck thinks he deserves to be punished for what he did’ because, even though i know eddie was just joking back, in that moment i think buck actually believed he deserved to be physically harmed for what he did and eddie could have turned it into a bit more of a meaningful moment than just joking about it but i do think in terms of where their relationship was at that point, it would’ve felt a little less natural to have this bug dramatic special moment so i can understand why they made it joke-y, but i agree i still don’t like the implication that buck believes he deserves to be punched for standing up for himself (albeit in probably the worst possible way)

2) i don’t think it was his primary emotion either, but i do think there was subtext there that possibly confused buck because he had never felt that strongly about someone before (whether good or bad) and it messed with his little closeted bisexual brain and that just kinda drove him further into the whole fear of abandonment thing because he didn’t know what to do with those Weird Feelings™️ he was feeling for the first time

3) i fear i’ve loved eddie diaz from the moment he appeared on my screen and just kept falling in love with him more and more as the show went on, but i respect your opinion- i can see how he comes off as a little arrogant at first, but i do think that genuinely was only bc he could tell buck’s feathers were ruffled and he’s a playful guy anyway so he was just pushing some buttons that he didn’t fully realize the reasons why the buttons were there in the first place (if that makes sense)

i mentioned this in a another response to an ask, but when s2 was premiering live, i genuinely thought eddie was gay from the moment they introduced him and that he was actually genuinely just being flirty either buck because he could tell he made buck flustered, but then shannon showed up later in the season and…… well 💀

4) AGREED

i already talked about my feelings on cop athena in another response, where like- i understand why she acts the way she does sometimes because she’s a cop, but i also just hate cops so it’s very difficult to be an athena fan out here sometimes lmao… i genuinely wish that tim would make the decision to shift her into an actual detective position (since at this point she basically is one like damn) because that element would be so much more interesting to watch than the same copaganda storyline she gets every few episodes 😭

[lilacella]

Snippet Time

Thank you @lovelymasks @neverenoughmarauders and @arliedraws for tagging me in different versions of wip tags!💕 I have not been writing a lot recently due to The Horrors™️ but I still have some stuff laying around so it wouldn't hurt to share 😊 Maybe this will motivate me to write a bit again!

This is a loose scene from the wolfstarbucks roommate au that I have yet to get properly started on:

Remus sighed wistfully and leaned on the windowsill. "What's wrong?" He spun around. He hadn't even noticed Sirius entering the kitchen. "Oh nothing. Just not sure what to do with myself tonight." "No plans?" Remus took a sip of his tea and shrugged. "I had plans but they fell through." "Oh? What did you want to do?" Remus plucked the tickets out of his pocket. "I wanted to go to a concert..." Sirius raised one of his perfectly full eyebrows. God, he was so handsome. "What's stopping you?" Remus pressed his lips into a line. "Got noone to go with." "Aw, did you get stood up?" Remus shook his head. "Not really. I... I bought these a while ago when I thought I might go with James." Sirius frowned in confusion. "And James just ditched you for training?" He sounded quite offended on Remus' behalf, though also as if he couldn't believe James would be so rude. And of course James wasn't. Remus needed to clear that up immediately! "No, I didn't tell him." "Huh? You didn't tell him you wanted to go to a concert with him?" Remus shook his head, sheepishly. "I kind of postponed that part 'til the last minute. And now he is gone." Sirius gave him an affectionate smile. Remus did not know why. "Do you want me to go with you? What concert is it?" "Necrodeceit. You probably don't know them." But to Remus' surprise Sirius' eyes lit up. "You're into metal?!" Remus shrugged with a smile. "Yeah. I mean, I am getting into it... And they sounded cool so I thought..." "Oh you gotta take me! I love Necrodeceit! I've been to their last UK concert before I left! When does it start?" Remus was a little taken aback by Sirius' enthusiasm but couldn't help to get excited at the thought of doing something with him. "In an hour. I don't know if we..." "I am getting my jacket!" Sirius rushed out of the kitchen, only to return a second later shooting Remus a look. "Come on! Hurry up, we will miss the opening act!!"

NP Tagging @goldenlionprince @plecotusauritus @lynxindisguise @mycupofrum @neege @werewolfenthusiast and open tag for everyone else!!

[themightypuella]

Very self-indulgent Viktor & Stella comic idk, these are comfort characters for me ok? I needed some lighthearted interactions 🥲

I had this scene living rent free in my head for months where Stella is recovering from whatever the fuck Viktor made with her mind.

In my game, thanks to one of the PCs, Viktor is growing as a character and due to his mother not doing well after Vargas’s death, he’s being taking care of her and now understands the gravity of his actions. (Btw Strahd just killed Fiona in my game, so the Wachter kids are orphans now, oops) Putting his “get the fuck out of barovia” project aside, he’s been doing full time research on how to restore Stella’s mind. Like, he’s guilt ridden and dealing with a lot of new emotions idk. I guess after healing Stella and letting her recover, he would eventually confess what he did to her.

Stella is the sweetest child and one of the few truly kind souls in Barovia, but obviously she would be VERY upset about it… and go full Fiona mode (understandably) , entering her Gaslight Girlboss Gatekeep Era ™️ (which I CRAVE to happen in-game) , doing whatever it takes and using whoever she needs to control town (maybe eventually the valley), so that no one takes advantage of her ever again. I think she would keep Viktor, using his guilt to help her reach her goals.

From that on idk how their relationship would develop tbh. I want to explore the possibility of forgiveness (and taking responsibility) having them both on equal ground, working together and supporting each other. I don’t really ship them (my Viktor is on the aroace spectrum and my Stella… well I guess she does like Viktor kinda? but obviously it’s very complicated idk…), but I think they could be great partners once they sort things out, they could even be a family. Buuut that’s just me being optimistic and longing for a happy outcome.

What are your takes on these two? I’m curious 👀