They could have had a spring wedding. With flowers freshly blooming after the winter, with warm sun shining on them. With their guests dressed in spring as well - pastels, joy and flowers.
They could have had a summer wedding. With laughter as warm as the summer sun. With ice cream instead of a wedding cake. With their guests holding parasols over them while they walk the aisle.
They could have had an autumn wedding. With golden leaves on the trees and a bit of rain. With warm smiles. With their guests happy despite the weather.
They could have had a winter wedding. With snow making the venue look like a fairytale. With snowball fights and warm cocoa. With their guests keeping warm with hugs (just like they would).
you’re literally so mean and evil and messed up to tell me this . (/pos) this was written ages ago but i FINALLY managed to respond and finish my section so HERE YOU GO :D the c!fiances make me so SO SO sad…. when do they get to be happy :(
warnings: angst (no comfort), dissociation, blood, torture, prison arc themes, loneliness, emotional distress, amnesia
Tommy brings along his cow to the wedding, chest puffed out proudly when he opens his bag to reveal to little calves, mooing timidly at the people clustered round curiously. “It’s spring, bitch,” he declares, grinning toothily, “stop the wedding. Everyone come and look at my cows.”
Quackity stares in abject disbelief as Tommy joins Tubbo as flower-boy, sitting on top of his cow and showing off the little baby cows to people instead of throwing flowers. “What the fuck,” he whispers, but squawks when Sam nudges him disapprovingly, “listen, Tommy’s great, but I didn’t give his whole farm an invite.”
“Look how happy he is,” Sam protests, “focus on your fiancés and stop complaining about Tommy. Mushroom Henry is well behaved. Don’t be mean to the kid, Big Q.”
Grumbling, but softening at Tommy’s beaming smile, Quackity shuts up, and is immediately distracted by the sight of his fiancés walking down the aisle towards him, breath catching in his throat. They look radiant, both of them accompanied by Bad and by George respectively, while Dream sits in the front row, grinning proudly—
Except when Quackity looks closer, there’s blood running down his mask. And he’s backing away, he’s sobbing, the guests are disappearing and Sam’s proud hand on his back turns stoic and cold, and when Quackity blinks, he’s in the prison, not his wedding area, and The Warden’s mask shows no warmth or delight. Only discomfited approval of Quackity’s actions, heavy silence broken only by Dream’s ragged sobs.
“Good job, Quackity,” Sam says, and Quackity tears his eyes from Dream, lying prone across the lava, “see you tomorrow?”
Quackity checks the date. He’d been due to get married today.
“Yeah,” he says, at last, “yeah. Yeah, see you tomorrow, Sam.”
—
Sapnap had always wanted a summer wedding. Or fall, he hadn’t been picky. Having it on the day of the split between summer and fall had been Karl’s suggestion, fervently backed up by Quackity.
He hadn’t been able to picture how perfect it would be. Their wedding goes entirely according to plan, all their guests showing up on time, no accidents happening, no countries destroyed or traitors uncovered… Dream apologises to him two days before the wedding and they reconcile like they’d never been mad at each other, and his brother and George sit front row, grinning.
Quackity cries. Karl cries. Sapnap sucks it up—
“Okay, okay, I’m only crying a little,” Sapnap grumbles, wiping away tears from his eyes when Karl points them out, “it’s just— this has been a long time comin’, you know? It’s crazy that… I don’t know, that it’s actually happening.”
Quackity wraps his arms around him, pliant and comfortable and smiling. “Tell me about it,” he scoffs, “I didn’t think we were ever gonna make it here.”
“Course we were,” Karl says brightly, offering both his hands out playfully, “now c’mon. Married couple get the first dance, remember?”
Sapnap’s eyebrows raise as the summer sun slowly begins to set. “How are we all gonna dance?” He prods. “That’s not gonna work, Karl.”
…Karl Jacobs, being Karl Jacobs, makes it work. It’s stumbley and it’s awkward and Sapnap trips over his feet more times than he likes to admit, but they’re laughing, laughing and free and in love, and the wedding ends as the sun sinks behind the mushrooms of Kinoko Kingdom, guests bidding them cheerful goodbyes as they clamber up to their home.
Their home, Sapnap thinks, giddy, their home now, for the rest of their lives.
Quackity drags them down to the couch, sprawling over the two of them dramatically and closing his eyes. “Too tired to walk anymore,” he says, theatrically, stifling a yawn behind his hand, “we’re sleeping here.”
“The bed is like, two rooms away,” Sapnap says with a laugh, “you’re so lazy.”
Quackity opens one eye to shoot him an offended look. “I’m your lazy, baby.”
“…That doesn’t even make any sense.” He’s grinning, anyway, and turns to Karl with a snort. “Why did we marry a loser, Karl?”
“Marry a loser?” Karl asks, blankly. “Who got married?”
And Sapnap’s half awake brain catches up to reality, and his heart shatters anew. “Oh,” he says, lamely, sitting up in bed. The sun is rising, cold and lonely in the approaching-winter sky, and Sapnap feels his chest tug. “Oh, you’re back.”
Karl’s smile is empty and numb. “Didn’t leave, James,” he mumbles, falling into bed and wriggling his shoes off under the blankets, “was always right here.”
He’s asleep before Sapnap can reply, not that he’d been going to. Sapnap stares at his fiancé, one of his fiancés, and doesn’t think about his dream, or his second fiancé in Las Nevadas, the city that never sleeps.
Instead, he gets out of bed, and goes downstairs slowly to make breakfast for him and Karl. It’s a nice morning.
Karl never shows.
He’d like to have got married today.
—
Karl is in the snow.
It takes him a minute to remember his name — Karl, like it’s some far off fantasy he can’t quite put his finger on. A childish daydream. With a jolt, he realizes just how cold he is, the tips of his fingers an odd blue color he knows means staying out longer is foolish.
(Foolish. He knows that name, right? What is he forgetting?)
Names and faces blur together in his mind, dates jumbling along with events. A country blows up. A country does not blow up. He has a country. He does not have a country. Karl Jacobs has someone he loves. Karl Jacobs…
Fuck. His head throbs.
Instead of thinking, he focuses on his surroundings. He’s stumbled across an ice rink, the frost layering trees in white and snow softly skating across the scene. It’s undisturbed, except from him, a smudge of color in an otherwise white wonderland. Karl is struck by its beauty, stunned into silence, and, for a fleeting moment, a thought dashes across his mind—
This would be the perfect place, he thinks, unbidden, to get married. I’ve always wanted a winter wedding.
But it’s easy to shake off. He doesn’t know anyone that’s getting married. Certainly not him. What an odd thought.
With a shiver, Karl turns his back on the scene, and hurried away in search of home.
(He won’t remember it by tomorrow.)
18 notes
·
View notes