The sun’s low, casting long shadows on the red-gold sands. The wind carries the scent of desert lilies and gun oil. A modest arch of scrap metal and polished bones stands at the center of the ceremony, decorated with threadbare lace and scavenged jewels.
Devlin stands at the altar, practically vibrating in his stiff black coat. His hair’s tamed (miracle), and his hands are only shaking a little. He glares lovingly into the horizon, where a golden silhouette begins walking toward him…
It’s Wildfire. She glows like her nickname—desert wind in her hair, long coat fluttering behind her like wings. She looks like heaven descending for a sinner, and Devlin? Looks like he might faint.
Faith sobs softly in the front row, gripping Albus’s hand.
“Do you think they’ll be okay?” she whispers.
Albus, dressed in a surprisingly well-fitted suit (he had to be held down to put it on), just shrugs. “They’ve survived four shootouts, two ambushes, and one possessed outhouse. If that ain’t marriage material, nothing is.”
Karmor sits behind them, adjusting the tie Hipswitch tied way too tight. Hipswitch is pouting.
“I wanted to wear the suit with the horses embroidered. I looked good.”
“You looked like a sexy landmine,” Karmor mutters, blushing.
Hipswitch beams. “So you did notice.”
Mahatma is dabbing his eyes while Sibren tries to discreetly hand him a hip flask. “I’m proud of them,” Mahatma whispers.
“You just like weddings.”
“I like love, you robot-armed hooligan!”
Kerano walks down the aisle throwing flower petals with dramatic twirls like it’s a ballet recital meets action movie. Kipp follows, clutching the rings like they’re made of flesh and TNT. He waves at Wildfire. She winks. Kipp dies a little.
Blanche is threatening to kill anyone who talks during the vows. Wyvern is live-tweeting it anyway, despite not existing in photos.
Sakura is filming Rosella crying silently (and murderously) into a lace handkerchief. “Shh, you look so majestic, babe,” Sakura whispers.
Colt has Meeka asleep on his lap. Rowen is massaging his shoulders with one hand while polishing a knife with the other. “I give it five minutes before someone pulls a gun,” Rowen mutters.
“I give it three,” Colt grunts.
(They’re both wrong. It’s two.)
Raf and Laz are whispering in the back. Laz is crying softly. Raf’s stealing wedding mints. Plus they were the bartenders.
🌵 MEANWHILE, IN THE BUSHES 🌵
Sol is whispering into a headset: “Target: Vow Exchange. I repeat, Vow Exchange. All units stand by to cry.”
Neeto is ignoring the wedding entirely, hyper-focused through binoculars. “Karmor just scratched his neck. That’s his tell. He’s nervous. What’s he hiding? WHO’S HE KILLING NEXT? Why is his ass look so good in that suit???”
Nex is holding a sign that says “WE’RE JUST HERE FOR THE DRAMA”. He’s wearing shades. No one invited him. No one’s stopping him.
Cupio is sitting on a throne of velvet pillows and pettiness, sipping sparkling wine from a goblet shaped like a screaming skull. “My wedding had pyrotechnics, a blood moon, and Mad Crow crying. This? This is cute, I guess.”
Zeke is laying in a beanbag chair with ketchup all over his face. “Guys… this burger… it heals. It’s like God kissed a cow and then grilled it.”
Kit is just offscreen, nervously typing. “I THOUGHT YOU COULD FEED YOURSELF, I’M SORRY—”
Alliyh is quietly taking inventory of everyone’s outfits like a red carpet commentator.
Caz is probably pickpocketing the officiant.
CreatorTool is glitching in and out of reality muttering “insert heart emoji here.”
Rey is braiding Cupio’s hair while stealing champagne flutes. Nobody questions it.
💍 THE VOWS 💍
Devlin takes Wildfire’s hands, voice rough but steady.
“You saved me. Not just from dying, or being hunted, but from believing I didn’t deserve peace. With you… I want to be good. I want to be whole.”
Wildfire smiles, brushing tears from his cheek.
“And I want to be with you. Even if we fall, or burn, or lose everything again. You’re my home. My fire.”
There’s silence. Then sobbing. Loud, messy, ugly sobbing.
It’s Rosella. Blanche gives her a tissue and whispers, “If you ruin your eyeliner, I will redo it.”
They kiss. The sun hits just right.
The whole desert cheers—loud, chaotic, overlapping screams and laughter. Guns fire into the sky in romantic celebration (and one misfire that takes out the cake topper).
Cupio sighs. “Fine. It’s cute. I give it four hearts out of five… and one bonus ghost.”
UGH! Sweet fanfics? I swear, I think I love more angst gut punch, me ripping my oc’s teeth out is more fun. But I think these two need more love! @solzticesoulz and @bookwor-mmm
Warmth That Stayed
The city had quieted. That rare Springrock hush—the kind that only came when no one was dying, arguing, or setting fire to something in the distance—hung like a soft blanket over the rooftop. And inside the loft above The Breach, it was even quieter.
Raf was asleep. Or maybe pretending.
He was curled up against Laz’s side on their old patched-up couch, breathing slow and steady. One arm draped lazily across Laz’s chest, like he owned the spot, like he always had.
Laz didn’t move
He never really slept when Raf was like this. Not because he was uncomfortable, but because… he was still memorizing it.
Still getting used to the idea that this warmth was his now.
His hand drifted into Raf’s hair, tangling idly in curls that had a mind of their own. Messy, like their lives. Like the first night they landed in Springrock, shivering and bruised and half-starved from a teleport spell that almost unraveled their atoms.
That night, Raf had wrapped himself around Laz in a collapsed shed with holes in the ceiling, and whispered, “Well. Still breathing. Guess you’re stuck with me.”
He hadn’t said it like a promise. But it was.
Laz blinked, slowly, gaze unfocused as he stared at the ceiling beams above them.
There had been so many points where it could’ve gone differently. Manas could’ve eaten them alive. They could’ve been caught, sold out, burned by a deal gone wrong. Raf could’ve fallen for someone louder, easier, less complicated.
Instead, Raf fell for him.
Laz had never asked for it. Never dared to.
Raf shifted against his side, brow furrowing slightly in his sleep. A quiet, instinctive huff left him. “You’re thinking too loud again,” he mumbled, voice thick with half-dreams.
Laz smiled—small, crooked. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Raf’s eyes didn’t open, but his hand tightened at Laz’s shirt. “You get this look. That ‘if I breathe wrong, it’ll disappear’ look.”
Laz let his hand stroke along Raf’s back. “Old habits.”
“You’re not dreaming. I’m here, dumbass.”
“I know.”
A pause. Raf cracked one eye open, just barely. “Then stop looking at me like I’m a ghost.”
Laz didn’t reply right away.
Then he said, voice low and barely audible, “I just never thought I’d be loved this long… by anyone. Let alone you.”
That opened both of Raf’s eyes.
He blinked, then, with a groggy grunt, shifted to properly face Laz. One leg tossed over Laz’s lap, arms looped around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. His nose nudged Laz’s cheek.
“Yeah? Well. Sucks to be you. I’m gonna keep doing it.”
Laz’s throat tightened.
He tilted his head just enough to rest against Raf’s. “Good.”
They stayed like that—messy, warm, half-blanketed, with a mug of cold tea on the floor and warding crystals glowing faint and lazy on the window ledge.
Laz still didn’t sleep.
But for once, it wasn’t out of fear. It was because Raf was here, and safe, and in love with him.
