#mafia wilbur

[lildevyl]

FebyWhump Day 6: Secrets Revealed

DSMP Mafia AU

Summary:  After his interesting encounter with the young blond, Wilbur decides to do a little digging on the young Tommy Innit.

Mafia/Superpower AU.  Inspired by Fate of Mortality by SPooKZSTARZ and 12AM? No, Never W1sh111

TW: Mention of Violence, Minor Character Death, Character Death, Mafia AU, Crime, Mentions of Murder, Mafia like Violence Mentioned,

It was strange.  Normally someone who was in the Severing Industry never acted or talked like that to someone like Wilbur and his family.  And yet the kid acted like he didn’t know who they were, which was weird considering their family business and who the kid’s boss was.  Clementine was the manager of the Wait Staff of the Casino and  her nephew, Tommy was a waiter.  And yet it appeared that Clementine tried to keep her nephew in the dark about who Wilbur and his brother and father are.

But what was it about the kid?  He was bold, brash, loud, annoying at first and didn’t seem like he had a filter.  And yet he was not so afraid of talking to a lot of the people that did nothing but shady businesses.  The kid, Tommy even laughed and said how dumb their plan was to try and get any intel.  Truth be told Wilbur kinda forgot the kid was even there when he was talking to his father Phil on what to do next.  Tommy scuffed and said, “If you really want to know how to get the true dirt on someone. Then go undercover as a staff member.”

They all looked at each other with raised eyebrows.  “Seriously?”  Tommy asked.  “How many times have you ever noticed any of your staff members when they’re coming and going?  How many of the maids know your combination locks to the safes?  Your passwords to your computers?  The code to the alarms?  When you're talking business on the phone do you stop talking when a staff member comes and starts cleaning or delivers a message?  How many times have you even noticed any of the wait staff until now?”

Silence.

“My point exactly!”  Tommy said.  “So, let’s do an experiment then.  You’re Siren right?”  Wilbur nodded.  “Okay, then let's get you dressed up a staff member and see how much dirt you manage to find out about your clients”

“And if I don’t?”  Wilbur challenged.

“Then I’ll be your personal waiter every time you stop by then,” Tommy offered.

They shook on it and Wilbur got ready for his first undercover job as a waiter.  Tommy even took one of the name tags off of the board and put on Wilbur, reading Henry.  And boy was Tommy right!  He found out so much info it wasn’t even funny!  Although Wilbur did feel bad for that one girl Sally.  Her Mom was trying to marry her off to anyone rich to keep living the lifestyle since her business was starting to go under.  When Wilbur got back to his family and gave his report, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the blond.

There’s something about Tommy but what?  Wilbur knows that he’s seen that kid before but for the life of him.  He honestly just can’t put his finger on it.  Wait  .   .   .   Didn’t Clementine have a brother?  What was his name again?  The sound of the keyboard clicking away was heard from Wilbur’s Office.  After about an hour of searching, Wilbur found what he was looking for.  Clementine’s brother Timith Actias.  Wife Clara Actias and son Thomathy Actias.  The family they had gotten rid of years ago.  The Actias decided that they didn’t need to pay back the money they were owed and ghosted Wilbur’s father, Phil for months at a time.  To be fair they give the family plenty of time to pay it all back.  But just decided to ignore paying their debt until they came knocking.

Wilbur was staring at his computer screen with three death certificates of the Actias family.  Wilbur wasn’t sure what he was going to find.  Clara and Timothy were both murdered, Wilbur knew that since he committed the murder himself.  And their son Thomathy died by drowning.  A swimming accident that happened at the pound near their backyard.  All of it matched up.  But the more Wilbur stared at the screen the more he realized that there was something off about one of the death certificates.  He just couldn’t figure out what though.  The name, date of birth, date of death, the cause of death.  It all seemed to line - wait was it just him or did it look like the date of death was a little out of line?  It was supposed to line up with Date of Birth and yet it’s slightly off center.  At a first glance you wouldn’t see, not if you didn’t know what to look for.

Wilbur typed the serial number on the bottom of the death certificate into the search bar on the website he was using to look at the digital copies of the death certificates.  The name popped up was the same Thomathy Theseus Actias but the dates didn’t match at all.

Date of Birth:  April 30th 1880

Date of Death:  October 31st 1975

So, someone faked Tommy’s death certificate.  And but the looks of it, Tommy was named after his Great Grandfather.  Oh this was gold!  The assets of the Actias estate couldn’t be touched until after the kid turned 25.  If Tommy never claims them before he turns 25 or after he turns 25, then on midnight of January first the entire estate and assets go into public domain for buying, selling, and auctioning.  Well, now, Wilbur always wanted a little brother and this will surely pay the Actias debt and then some without having to deal with greedy money shark lawyers and investors.

Now, the question is, how was Wilbur going to convince his father and brother?

****

Tagging: @weirdmixofweirdness, @tracobuttons, @a-humble-narcissus, @isa-ghost, @febuwhump

[toiletwipes]

to prove myself to you | mafia!wilbur

~1.8k words / back at it again! this time with a mafia au! The hoes were talking about him and when they brought up this gem of an idea- I couldn't help myself. Again. Lmao. Anyway! Tagging these hoes @consequencesbylovejoy @lillylvjy @drop-of-void @tr1ental1s-boreal1s

[Wilbur is tasked with getting information from a rat from their local rivals. You, being the bartender, happen to be the rat. Try not to get killed.]

Title from Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance

I'll be doing a part 2 when I get home <3

~~~

He's fresh out of a job, blood staining the better part of his shirt but his blazer covers what the dimmed lights don't. He usually doesn't come in here, especially with the way he can feel eyes being trained on him.

It's not his territory, this club. However, Phil put him on this job- and the job calls for him to be here. At this club. That belongs to one special, sicko. Luckily, if the rumors are true, he doesn't come down from his office.

Still. Right now, even with the music pumping through his veins and the bass vibrating through his chest, he's got to stay focused. Find the girl. Get the info. Get out. That's all it is. And if that's all he's got to do after removing various body parts from the other sad fucks in the underbelly of this godforsaken town, then that's what he'll fucking do.

So, with the lights dimmed, and with other lights flashing and creating a dizzy sight, he heads straight to the bar, his sights set on the person tending it. Weaving his way through the crowd, he doesn't mind the additional jab to his ribs and stuff. Hisses at the contact but moves on. He's on thin ice being here, he's not about to get himself killed getting some information.

With the lights both dim and bright somehow, he only has one thought when it comes to the bartender, reaching one of the free spots up front. The bartender is quiet. Aside from sliding the drinks to the patrons, flashing a smile, all they're doing is making drinks as fast as they can. Wearing a black button up, sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons undone, showing off skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. And when they notice him, quiet as they are, they don't stop, but their eyes never leave him.

"Can I get you anything?" Their voice breaks through the pulsating music, eyes trailing down his face, down his shirt and past the blood that peaks from his collar.

"Looking for Lionel, have you seen him?" The phrase he was given to use, to make sure nobody gets any ideas that somebody is trading industry secrets in their fucking house.

And it's then, he knows it's you. You're the informant, your body stops moving so fast, eyes locked permanently on him. "He's not here, can I offer you something on tap?" There it was, your hand lands on the slick surface, so close to his and if he didn't know you, or need the information you have on these people, he'd slam the knife that sits delicately in the inside, jacket pocket, straight through your hand, through the tendons and bones and tissues and right into the bar.

He doesn’t do that, especially when your eyes are as lit up as yours, biting on your lip like that. He's on a job and this is an act, a cover for your ass, specifically. And he'd do well to make sure the cover works. Especially for someone as… appealing as you.

(He's not immune to a pretty face. He can hold himself back from indulging in a night of fun, but this is a mission that can turn sour very quickly. And if this wasn't as delicate as it was, tonight would turn out very differently.)

"Nothing on tap, you have something light?" His hand twitches from beside yours, as he waits for something, anything. Phil told him he could get a file, whether that's a USB or a literal manilla file, or it's just a slip of paper. But the information is crucial, vital enough it could take their order down if the information is handled properly. And Wilbur is nothing but a proper handler.

Your lips twitch up into a smile, "I just might have something, yeah." Pulling bottles down, cups here and there, portioning it out, you slide a drink his way on a napkin. "If you don't mind waiting, I get out in five." Your expression reads flirty but when you slide your hand down his bare arm, your skin is not only cold but tense.

Definitely the informant.

So, turning around, he eyes the crowd that weaves and bobs like water, bouncing and moving and crashing to the beat of the music. It's a cesspool of life and crime, waiting to pounce in the folds of these clubs. He's all too aware of it.

"Wilbur, didn't expect to see you here." He hears his name and he almost loses his cool. Some guy, Jared, he used to know. Until he became a rat and joined someone else's ranks. He didn't matter the moment they found out.

He matters now, though.

"I'd say it's good to see you, Jared, but ah, it's not." He flashes a quick, all teeth, smile, a glare coming down fast after.

"Look, it was nothing personal. And besides, that's all in the past." Jared waves off the threat like it's nothing. Like Wilbur couldn't kill him and get away with it, in here. On someone else's turf. But, sure, nothing personal. "Have you met Baby?" Jared turns toward the bartender and this could not possibly have gone worse.

When Jared and him are turned back towards you, you send them a confused smile, "Jared? I thought you were out of the city?" He can see the panic underneath the mask you wear, see the anxiety budding underneath your fingers.

A beer almost slips from your hands as you hand it over to Jared, and he sees the irritated, angry skin on your forearm. Bad habit of scratching, especially under stress. This doesn't spell good news for you, maybe him if Jared doesn't leave before you.

"They called me back, said they needed me to take care of an infestation. You know how it is." And Jared takes a swing, and in the second his eyes close, your mask slips and you're begging him for help. Fucking christ.

"Sounds like you shouldn't be drinking on the job." Wilbur says, pulling Jared's eyes away from you. He sees the relief in your mask but he keeps his gaze focused on the man in front of him. Jared shrugs, turning away from them entirely, sighing through his teeth.

"I just got back in tonight, they said I can start tomorrow. So, if you'll excuse me," he turns fully back to him, pulling out a fist full of crumpled notes, slapping them on the bar. "Tonight's on me, hope we can forget about our grievances." His eyes flit to you, mindlessly wiping glasses. "Take care, Baby."

When he leaves, Wilbur scoffs, sipping from the glass. Grievances. Like he didn't get his entire family almost killed.

Finishing the drink, he stares down the glass for a second before placing it down, watching you take that and the money too. He waits two more minutes before you untie the apron around your waist, shoving it in a cubby under the bar and barreling through the door beside the wall of liquor. He doesn't hesitate, finding his way out of the club, more eyes than ever fixated him. At least five more heads than before. He breathes in the stuffy club air before pushing the door with a little more punch than necessary, it bangs against the wall outside and the line of people give him dirty looks. He holds up a hand, half apologizing and walking away. Heading to the other side of the club. He walks three blocks before making it to his car, and in the back seat, he finds you.

"How did you know?" He asks, turning the key in the ignition.

"Jared complained about your car all the time when he first came around. Couldn't get him to shut up about you. Did you two have a thing going on?" Your eyes light up with mirth, one of your hands reaching down and lightly scratches at the skin of your forearm.

"He was a close friend before we knew he was a rat." And the silence that overcomes the cab of the car is nearly deafening. "So, what-" he wipes under his nose, pulling out from beside the curb, "-do you have?"

"Rufus has a son, nobody knows who it is. But he's planning on celebrating the kid's birthday with only a handful of his most entrusted members. Here's the location, blue prints, the fucking schedule. All of it. Everybody you need gone? They'll be there. Two days from now."

Wilbur watched as you pulled out a folded band of papers, watched as your hands shook holding them out and watched your hand scratch as he took them from you. He places them neatly in the passenger seat. He continues to drive. "Thank you." If they get the details sorted out within the hour, their rivals will be nothing but a memory this time next week.

"What about your side of the deal?"

"My side?" He repeats, eyes flickering to the rear view mirror and he finds yours in a desperate squint.

"Phil said if I gave you the information, you'd get me out of here." He lays a foot made of lead on the brakes and the car, thankfully miles away from the club and anybody that mattered, screeches to a stop. He hears you curse as you latch onto the headrests before he turns around. You're panting as your eyes lift up to his. "What the fuck?" You gasp and he doesn't say anything. Not yet.

"My job was to take the information and get it to Phil. Now, considering you're probably known as Baby, and not just Jared referring to you in a sick, sort of pet name, you're not just some bartender. Are you?"

He can hear your teeth grind as you growl out in frustration.

"Even if I was some bartender, if they found out I was telling you this, they'd kill me."

"But you're not some bartender." You're trying so hard to maintain eye contact but in the end you bite the bullet and turn your eyes down.

Your voice is small, shaking, "are you gonna take me somewhere safe or not?"

"Are you going to tell me the truth?"

You laugh wetly, turning in your seat to look out the back of the cab. Wiping your eyes before you spoke, "the truth is Rufus… owns me. He finds out I ratted him out- he'll-" your choke on your tears, gasping for air as you think harder on a fate worse than death.

He faces the front. He taps the wheel before cursing under his breath.

"Fine. I'll get you somewhere safe." They only had one place safe enough where you could make it out alive by the end of this. He takes you to his house. "If you rat us out-" he begins, parking the car in a spacious garage but you shake your head.

"I promise I won't." A promise didn't mean much from a rat, but from someone who's desperate to get out? He turns the car off and turns in his seat again, your face streaked with tears and a shuddering breath.

"Okay. Let's go."

He couldn't resist a pretty face in the end, after all.

[peekaboo-icyou]

hehehe

head cannons for boyfriend!mafia!wilbur? OR for crush!mafia!wilbur (where he has a crush on the reader and what he would do for her even though they’re not dating. Is he subtle about his affections toward her? Is he loud and obnoxious? Does he get jealous? dhudhhjs)

MAY EVERY SUNSET YOU SEE BE AS BEAUTIFUL AS YOUR SOUL ❤️❤️❤️

Mafia!Wilbur having a crush on you

———————————

He know everything about you where you work, your favorite places, you live, what you do in your spare time, any past partners that may have hurt you, your favorite color, flowers, books and movies

He’s always worried you think he’s a creepy stalker

He changes himself for you and goes from a merciless killer who kills anyone who is a threat to his business to giving multiple chances to everyone and going flower picking and book shopping for you

He’d probably almost pass out every time you smile or laughed because of him he loves to see you happy especially because of him

He loves going on coffee shop dates with you because it takes him mind off the mafia biz

He’d try to be as calm as he can and not show his feelings toward you but he can’t help it when you smile so cutely at him

If you had problems sleeping he’d rush to your house and read or sing to you while cuddling you

He’d give you cute nicknames

Since hes so tall he rests his arms on your head

He’s always take you for fancy dinner dates just saying that he likes to talk to you about his business (which is a fake business he doesn’t want you to know he’s a cold blooded killer)

He’d be surprised when you didn’t know who he was when you first met

He hates to see you even talk to another man he hates it even when your just standing by one

He’d get bodyguards for you that you wouldn’t know about because he wouldn’t live with himself if you got hurt for hanging around a mafia boss

If he were to confess he’d probably do it in a flower field or old fancy restaurant

He gets really loud and obnoxious when he’s excited but you would never think he’s obnoxious you think it’s cute

He loves to play with your hair or you play with his hair

He’d buy you little gifts like a bracelet or necklace and hide them somewhere in your apartment

He loves to kiss your forehead because he thinks it’s adorable how you look up at him and plus he doesn’t have to bend down as low

He’d try to be subtle about his feelings but completely fail, so he’ll be about to walk in your apartment to pick you up and he’ll tell himself to act cool but as soon as he see you he melts and turns into a stuttering mess

He secretly takes some of your things like hoodies, bras, panties, he’d put them on a pillow or something and cuddle with it or do some dirty stuff

He’d often have dreams about you

He’d dream about the day he finally makes you his and he can actually kiss you like in his dreams

[scrumptioustyphoonpainter]

Grumpy music teacher and sunshine art teacher

Mr soot pov: while l was walking down the hall l hear singing down the hall it sounds like it was coming from the art room the door was open l lean on the doorframe she was painting and l listen to har singing

Mmm‚so this love‚mmm‚ so this is love

So this is what make life divine

I'm all aglow all heaven is mine

The key to all heaven is mine

My heart has wing and l can fly

I’ll touch every star in they sky

That I've been dreaming of

Mmm mmm‚ so that is love Mmm‚mmm

So this is the miracle that l‘ve been dreaming of

Mmm‚mmm‚ so this love

I‘ll touch every star in the sky

So this is the miracle that l‘ve been dreaming of

Mmm‚mmm so this is love~

Mr soot though💭“hmm she's very good"( end though) l clear my throat she jump turn around and saw me she smiled

Miss l/n- oh good heavens you nearly give me heart attack! uhmm how long you been they for?

Mr soot- long enough when l hear you singing

Miss l/n- oh sorry didn't mean to be loud l promise to be quiet next time

I shacked my head

Mr soot- oh no don't be sorry you were kinda uhhh sound kinda good

I have can feel my face was turning red while l was looking away form har l saw har tilt har head with a smiled god l can't not stop blushing

Miss l/n- oh ok

Mr soot- uhmm yeah anyway uhmm it was nice seeing you well bye

Now l was speeding to get to my classroom l hear miss l/n said

Miss l/n- it was nice seeing you too Mr soot come anytime if you want

I smiled this was so new to me and l felt something it was.........love

[issybettyx]

TECHNOBLADE MAFIA BOSS AU

Did i say this was coming yesterday? Yes. Do i care? Not really, deal with it >:)

Tldr; Techno’s a feared mafia boss that even the government and police actively decide not to try intervene with, associates of his group (The Syndicate) being The Antarctic Empire (led by Philza), and L’Manberg (led by Wilbur Soot). No one interferes with any of them because of their relations to The Syndicate.

Everyone except a powered vigilante dubbed ‘Theseus’, better known as Tommy Innit, who people decide is either stupid or stronger than he looks. Little do they know, it’s a little bit of both.

Family ensues

Tw: cult (they call it a gang because they don’t know any better), mafia, weapons, manipulation, murder mention

Long one today boys, enjoy :D (i spent like three hours writing this it was so fun)

——

The first time Techno had heard the name ‘The Blood God’, he’d laughed so hard it was heard three levels below. It was spoken in such a shaky voice, sobs overtaking their body as they begged for forgiveness.

“Please, I have family, I never wanted to hurt any of your people, I promise.” They plead, and something about the way their hands shook and their head stayed bowed down told him they were scared. But he stayed deadly silent, keeping his eyes trained on them as they shook even more. “I’m sorry Blood God, I beg, I just-“

“What did you just call me?” He asked quickly, voice a little too quiet with shock, and they finally looked up, meeting his red eyes gaze for less than a second before looking away, taking a few steadying breaths.

“The Blood God, sir, that’s what they call you.”

Techno showed no emotion on his face for a solid five seconds, before he burst into laughter, wiping away the tears in his eyes as the victim stared up with wide eyes, not entirely sure what to do with themselves.

After a good two minutes of laughing, Techno managed out an order to kill them, and sent them off as he snickered.

Wilbur had understood him, sitting at their next meeting as he howled beside him. Phil didn’t quite understand the sentiment, finding it a little horrifying that the man had earned such a title, but laughed quietly along anyways. It’s not like he could say much, knowing he was nicknamed the ‘Angel of Death’, not that the other two would ever find out anyways.

The next time he’d heard the nickname, it was with more bitter context. He was on his way to do his shopping for the week, humming a tune as he flicked a penny in between his fingers. It so happened that when he walked past two teenagers on the side of the road, they were talking about him, not even noticing his presence as they snickered to themselves.

“I could take The Blood God, the police are such pussies, he’d be so easy.” The other nodded in agreement.

And maybe the first kid had collapsed as he rounded the corner, pretending not to hear pained screams from his friends as they called for help, humming a tune with a smile.

And from then on, most people didn’t know him as ‘Technoblade’, but rather ‘The Blood God’, and he found he wasn’t completely against it.

The Syndicate operated as always, but simply addressed him differently.

“Blood God, would you like us to add a Starbucks to floor 3?” He’d thought the idea was fantastic, coffee was extremely important for a working man.

“Blood God, what are your thoughts on hiring younger recruits?” No younger than 16, kids deserved to live happy lives before going into the world of crime.

“Blood God, why does Wilbur’s face look so funny?” It always had, most people were simply too afraid to admit it.

“Blood God, there’s this vigilante in the city, should we add him to the radar?” No it’s probably fine, vigilantes were as much as a threat to him as ants.

“Blood God, the same vigilante from a few weeks ago just took down Las Nevadas by himself, are you sure he’s not a threat?” Las Nevadas wasn’t built to survive, but to look pretty, anyone could take them down if they had the willpower to.

“Blood God, Philza’s defences were taken down last night by that vigilante.” Techno paused, staring at his employee - and maybe, possibly friend - Ranboo with his eyebrow raised.

“That same one you first told me about two months ago?” He asked cautiously, watching for any sign of amusement in the person’s heterochromatic eyes, but there was none.

“Yes Blood God.”

“Just call me Techno, that name is getting old.” Techno sighed out, pinching the bridge of his nose as Ranboo sighed. “What’s his name?”

“Theseus.”

He paused again, thinking it over.

Theseus was a Greek Legend. The story of Theseus was mainly about how he’d defeated the Minotaur. For years, the Minotaur had demanded seven kids and seven women every year, and no one was able to get through the maze and slay this beast.

That was until Theseus came along, and with the help of Ariadne (who gave him a ball of thread so he could find his way back out of the maze) was able to slay the Minotaur, and he became an Athenian hero.

However, Theseus was exiled, and found himself at an island named ‘Skyros’, where a man named Lycomedes threw him off the cliff, and he fell to his death.

The story of Theseus is tragic, and yet he showed strength when no one else could, he defeated the un-defeatable and saved Athens.

Everything about this vigilante, how he took down Las Nevadas single handedly, how he destroyed Philza’s defences (of which are some of the best in the country, despite his own), how his name perfectly correlated with the story of taking down something so massively feared by many.

Maybe it scared Techno a little.

And Techno was never scared.

“What’s his ability?” He asked, spinning in his chair as he chewed his nails, Ranboo looking unsure as they looked at the tablet in his hands.

“No one really knows, people only have theories.” Ranboo tried, but Techno’s silence was enough for him to continue. “Some people believe he can manipulate opinions, they say he can make them think he’s trust worthy and lure them into his trap.” Techno had never heard of anything like that before, but only furrowed his brows. “Some people think he can speak to people in their heads, convince them to turn themselves into the police.”

“So it’s some kind of controlling ability?” Techno asked cautiously, and Ranboo nodded, because what else could it possibly be? “Do we know why he broke down Philza’s defences?”

At this, Ranboo smiled, typing into their tablet before hopping to stand next to the boss, pressing play on the video and turning it to him.

There stood a kid, his face covered by a red mask shaped to cover his mouth, his hair covering the upper half of his face; blue eyes could be seen through the golden blonde, shimmering with a horrible amount of determination. His suit was red, that much was clear by the pant legs and red boots, but he wore a red hoodie over the top of the suit.

To the outside eye, he seemed harmless, almost as if he was asking someone to shoot him in the chest. However, the kid having been powerful to destroy a nation, Technoblade knew better.

He’d been underestimated once, and he wasn’t keen on following in the footsteps of those who doubted him in the first place.

“Why are you doing all of this, Theseus?” A reporter asked, holding out the mic to the vigilante who coughed almost as if to catch everyone’s attention.

“This country has been under The Syndicate’s control for too long, the FBI have given up taken them down, so I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.” He explained, a grin clearly planted on his face despite the mask covering his mouth.

“What makes you think you can take them down when others couldn’t?” She asked, and Theseus scoffed, rolling his eyes under his mess of hair.

“Because, Linda-“

“My name isn’t-“

“I have something they don’t.” The vigilante stared directly into the camera, making eye contact with Techno. A part of him knew it was directed at him, another part wished it wasn’t. “I have something to prove.”

Techno held down his grimace.

It was all too familiar.

The video ended, and Ranboo pulled his tablet to his chest, a steady smile on their face as they studied Techno’s expression, of which the latter kept perfectly apathetic.

“Wishing he was on your radar when I first suggested it?” Ranboo teased, Techno finally groaning as he rolled his eyes, turning in his chair to look at the picture frame behind him. Some said it was stupid to find comfort in something so insignificant, some being his parents and the people from his gang when he was only eleven.

The picture was of him, Phil and Wilbur. Techno was hunched over, a controller in hand with his tongue stuck out. Wilbur’s face looked a lot more upset, brows furrowed as he glared at the screen Techno knew was there despite it not being in frame. Phil’s face was closest to the camera, a wide grin on his face as he took a selfie of them all.

So yeah, maybe he did keep a picture of his family in his office as a constant reminder to do what was best, who was anyone to judge?

“If Theseus has gone after Philza, he’s bound to go for L’Manberg next, correct?”

“Unless he’s stupid enough to approach The Syndicate, yes, however we aren’t sure when he’s planning to do so.” Ranboo returned, moving his tablet into only their right hand and holding it beside his leg. “The dude has no documents of anything, it’s almost as if he’s acting impulsively.” Techno frowned, mainly from the unsureness that came with impulsivity. Either it was someone’s downfall, or their greatest strength. For Techno, it had been both.

“Is he working alone?” Techno asked, leaning back and looking at the roof, hoping it would hold the answer to all his problems.

“Most people believe so, but we’ve got camera footage of some kind of earpiece being attached to his right ear.” He’s right-handed, he’s not working alone, he’s impulsive, no one knows his ability, he’s powerful. Yeah this wasn’t sounding great. “Would you like me to schedule a meeting with Philza and Wilbur?”

Techno could only manage a nod, pressing two fingers to his temples in an attempt to loosen in the incoming headache. Work wasn’t meant to be this difficult.

“Meeting is at 11pm tonight at The Syndicate’s main meeting room, they’ve both been notified.” Ranboo informed, and Techno managed a smile.

“Thanks Ran, can you send in the next deviant?” He asked, receiving a hum in return. But when Techno eventually opened his eyes, the other was still stood there, an unsure look on their face.

“Don’t stress too much over this, if worse comes to worse you need to be calm to do your best, alright?” Ranboo said eventually, and Techno couldn’t help the warm smile on his face, eyes softening at the person in front of him.

“I’ll try my best.” And with a nod and a reassuring smile, Ranboo left the room.

—

“So, let me get this straight.” Wilbur started, hands clasped in front of him. “A vigilante who first appeared three months ago, who took down Las Nevadas a month ago, has only just been noticed?” Wilbur asked, and Techno groaned.

“Yes, Wil! What’s so hard to understand?”

“Why wasn’t this kid on your radar before he took down Phil’s guards and his fucking lazars!” Wilbur yelled, and Phil winced slightly. “How did he even manage to take down those lazars?! Aren’t they deeply encrypted with code to make sure they can’t be turned off by outside sources?”

“That’s why I’m so concerned, Wil.” Phil managed out, somehow managing to have a smile on his face despite the terrible situation they’ve found themselves in. “He wasn’t on Techno’s radar because no one has ever been this big of a threat before, we didn’t expect a vigilante of all people to be able to do such things.”

“What’s this kid’s power anyway?” Wilbur spat, and Phil and Techno shared a knowing glance. “Oh my god, you don’t know.”

“Well, we know he can make people do certain things, like mind control but also… not.” Techno drifted off, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Apparently some of my people even saw him drive a car that didn’t have a wheel.” Phil explained, and that only puzzles them more. “So unless the car somehow had a form of autopilot, I think we have some strange ass power on our hands.”

“Not stranger than Wilbur’s.” Techno scoffed, and the man immediately started to defend himself, Phil hiding his laughs behind his hand.

Techno had never had a true family.

His parents never paid enough attention to him, they taught him to be emotionless and silent whenever guests were around, they taught him that learning a musical instrument was a waste of time and his time would be better spent studying. And then, aged 11 he joined a gang who named themselves ‘The Blades’.

That’s where he had gotten his name, ‘Technoblade’.

The names of his associates were long gone with the hazy memories, but he did remember one person teaching him how to accurately hold a gun, another teaching him not to shake whilst doing so.

One person had spent days going over Greek Mythology with him, making sure he knew every fact and every retelling.

Another had taught him that family should be left behind, family meant weakness and weakness meant death.

Aged 15, Techno realised that maybe they were wrong. Maybe he was capable of more than what The Blades had to offer. And that’s how The Syndicate was born.

When Techno was 17, he met Phil through official business, and the man had been shocked at how young he was. Phil was the first person to show that he cared, and it was because he was concerned that Techno was throwing himself into the business too soon. When he’d found out just how young Techno was thrown into it, the man had cried.

The Great Philza, a man who’d seen empires fall and strong men weep.

Philza had cried in front of him, purely because of Techno’s life.

And then, it was on Techno’s 19th birthday that he’d met Wilbur. It was at the latter’s 19th birthday party, at the dawn of L’Manberg when the group itself was only small. Wilbur had been shocked at first that they were born on the same day, but by the end of the night had his arm slung over Techno’s arm as he called them twins (Techno didn’t stop him, sipping Pepsi max through a straw. His indifference definitely wasn’t because of the warmth forming in his chest at the idea of having a brother.)

And that was how the Sleepy Boys Incorporated began.

Except it was a little more illegal than an incorporation, but who was going to tell them to change the name?

Plus, it’s not like the public knew their alliance was called that, more-so they knew it as the ‘SBI’, admittedly a lot more terrifying than what it stood for.

The SBI were rumoured to be family, some even said by blood. Techno wished that was true, that Phil was truly his Dad and that Wilbur wasn’t just his twin by coincidence. However, that didn’t take away from how he truly saw them.

Blood or not, they were his family. And Phil had taught him a valuable lesson once, and that was that family always stick together, and they protect each-other no matter the cost.

No matter how large Theseus’ determination was to take The Syndicate, and the SBI, down, Techno knew his will to keep his family safe was stronger.

No Theseus was going to kill him, no matter how much effort it took.

—

As it turned out, Theseus was stupid.

“Unless he’s stupid enough”, Ranboo had said, “He won’t come for The Syndicate” they said.

Techno was enjoying a moment of silence with his caramel macchiato when he got a notification from the entrance security cameras, and immediately checked them. The sight that met him was Theseus, eyes creased as if he was smiling, giving the guards a short wave.

“Go away kid, vigilantes aren’t welcome unless affiliated with The Blood God himself.” One of them, Hannah was her name, told him, her eyes sharp with something fierce that usually put people off. But Theseus just hummed, looking around them for a moment before moving his hands behind his back. If it wasn’t for the camera angle, Techno would’ve missed it.

The kid’s hands moved in such an elegant, calculated way, and as he did so that fierce look in Hannah’s eyes changed to something warm and almost endeared. “I think that The Blood God has made an exception for me, didn’t he tell you to let me in?”

The other guard must’ve noticed something was off, glaring at Theseus as he spoke. “What did you do to her?” Puffy spat, hands curling tighter around her sword as she held it up to Theseus’ neck. Surprisingly, Theseus simply smiled again, using his other hand and copying the same elegant movements as before.

“The Blood God ordered you to spar, and ordered that I meet with him, he told you this.”

And it was like a switch was flipped.

They both simultaneously smiled, moving to the side and motioning to the doorway. “Well,” Hannah started, chuckling to herself, “Who are we to disobey the boss’ orders?”

“Well, who knew the Technoblade hired such sweethearts.”

Hannah continued to smile, but Puffy’s smile turned back into that sharp powerful thing it usually was, bringing her sword down onto Theseus’ back without giving him a moment to block, yelping as he fell to the ground.

Kid. Fully dependant on ability. Overestimates his ability. Underestimates members of The Syndicate. Didn’t go for L’Manberg. Didn’t invade The Antarctic Empire after taking down their defences. Had head guard Puffy in a headlock-

Wait what?

“Ranboo.” Techno called, the person immediately appearing in front of him with a hum. “Teleport me to the front gates.”

Without a second question, Ranboo sent a puff of particles to Techno’s chest, and after a moment of pure terror, Techno appeared in front of Theseus, his own sword flicking beside him.

“Nice to meet you too.” Techno welcomed, the kid’s head shooting up immediately, a grin gracing his face as he held Puffy tight. Hannah still seemed to be in a trance.

“Ah, Technoblade.” No one calls him Technoblade but his family and his mortal enemies, but Theseus definitely wasn’t family. “Was expecting you to show up some time soon.”

“Please let my guard out of your grasp before I make you.” Techno commanded, and despite his kind words the tone it was spoken with was nothing but deadly.

It seemed Theseus heard the threat, releasing his arms and holding them by his head, keeping that same wicked grin on his face as Puffy huffed out as she hit the floor.

“Take Hannah out of that trance.”

Theseus clicked his fingers, and Hannah blinked, looking back with confusion. “What the-“

“Take me inside your institution, Blood God.” Theseus demanded, and Techno could only frown, raising an eyebrow at the other. “Let me see what I’m up against.”

“I mean, I was planning to invite you inside for a friendly cup of Starbucks coffee, but it’s quite rude to demand entrance in a place where you’re not welcome.” Techno spat back, and Theseus continued to smile.

“And what made me, of all people, exiled from The Syndicate?” Theseus asked, his amused tone only making that fire inside Techno grow. Oh how he wanted to slit this vigilante’s throat, but he wasn’t taught patience for nothing. But his patience was running incredibly thin.

“You messed with my family.” Finally, finally, Theseus faltered, and Techno took this moment of weakness to let the kid’s blood thrum under his own veins, tugging it towards him. “And people who mess with my family, mess with me, but you knew that didn’t you?”

“I knew Philza was part of the SBI alliance,” Theseus admitted, a dark glint to his eye that was much different to the amusement it once held. “But your family? If I knew he was family I would never had messed with him.”

Techno scoffed. “Please, I don’t believe that for a second.” He scowled as he rolled his eyes. “Ranboo.”

“Yes Techno?” Theseus’ eyes went wide as he looked at Ranboo.

“Take us to my office, please.” He asked with a small smile towards the man, and they were off in a puff of particles.

—

Being in an office alone with Theseus was unbearable. He’d taken the first chance to handcuff the kid to the chair across from his desk, but he didn’t stop talking.

“So one day, like, I woke up with this epiphany that I could be so poggers and just be epic.” He chattered on, and Techno was hardly listening as he messaged several help calls to the SBI group chat - they were mafia bosses, not weirdos, they have a group chat - who laughed but promised they were on their way.

“So is Wilbur Soot, like, your brother or something?” Theseus asked, spinning mindlessly as Techno hummed.

“Twin.”

“That’s poggers.”

“What does that even mean?”

Theseus said a lot of strange things in the time it took for Phil and Wilbur to arrive.

Something something kill something something control something something boring something something The Blades-

“The Blades?” Techno asked, his curiosity showing before he could mask it, and Theseus paused, giving him a strange look before slowly nodding.

“They found me when I was 9, taught me everything I know, and most specifically that you’re a massive dick!” Tommy expressed, and Techno simply stared, pinching his noses and rubbing his eyes.

Well that explained a lot.

“What did they tell you, Theseus?” Techno pressed, hearing a knock on the door that neither of them paid attention to.

“That you’re a traitor, that you abandoned them for your own selfishness- hell, you went against every rule they teach you in there!”

The knock came again. No one commented.

“I did what was best for me! What they teach is all a calculated lie, and you know it.”

“Techno?” Wilbur’s voice called from outside. No one opened the door for him.

“The Blades teach you how to control your abilities, you took their teachings and created a brutal empire with zero credit.”

“Credit? They want credit? They did nothing good for me, and I’m sure they never did anything good for you-“

“They saved me.”

“No, they saw a powerful ability and wanted it for themselves, you’re just a kid.”

The door was slammed open, and Philza stood on the other side, his dark black wings having been retracted likely for intimidation purposes. The man’s eyebrow was raised, blue eyes shimmering dangerous as they flickered between the two sat at the desk.

“I sure hope you’re insured on this building, Technoblade.” Philza scoffed, smiling before relaxing at the sight of the handcuffs, tugging Wilbur in by his upper arm. “Who’s this fantastic guest we have here?” He asked, but a type of anger coated his words that made Theseus sink in a little on himself, before immediately righting himself, likely smiling with pride.

“Theseus, pleased to meet your acquaintance Philza.” Theseus introduced, going to offer his hand before frowning, tugging at the cuffs before groaning. Philza smiled at this, Wilbur huffed at the kid’s annoyance. Techno saw through the facade.

“Phil, do you have any way to restrain his fingers, I have no doubt he can break out of these things if he tried.” There was a warning written between his words, as he stared at Theseus sat in front of him. A warning that said ‘if you even try I will make sure you don’t get out of this room alive’, and the kid seemed to understand, his smile dropping from his face.

“Uh, yeah, give me a sec.” Phil replied, shoving his hands deep in his pockets before pulling out two very strange metal contraptions, walking over and taking the boy’s hands carefully in his own.

“Who knew the Angel of Death was such a sweetheart?” Theseus scoffed, watching closely as the metal slotted onto his fingers. Wilbur’s face was full of confusion, Techno managed a smile, and Phil shot the kid the dirtiest look known to man.

The Angel of Death? Is that what they call Phil? That’s so much cooler than the Blood God.

No matter how much Theseus preached The Blades had saved him, they both knew better. Techno knew the look of longing in the kid’s eyes too well, as Phil’s warm hands held his own with unseen care. Techno had been there once, in a similar situation, and it made him question the authority in his life and how they’d never been so kind. It made him want a father, and he knew Theseus felt the same.

“There, he shouldn’t be able to move-“

“Do you have terrible parents or dead ones?” Techno asked before he could stop himself, Wilbur’s face going absolutely distraught as Phil’s went shocked. Surprisingly, Theseus gave him a small smile behind his mask.

“Died when I was nine, The Blades found me before the police arrived at the scene.” He returned, almost challenging.

“The Blades?” Phil asked quietly to himself, waiting for the shock on Techno’s face that never came.

“Right. And how long ago was that?”

The kid paused, a thoughtful glint in his eye as he stared Techno down, the man in turn returning it full force.

“Seven years ago.”

He leaned back in his chair, leaning his legs on the desk and crossing one leg over the other.

“And they prepared you to come after me? Didn’t they?” Techno asked, and Theseus for once stayed absolutely silent. “They saw your ability and knew you were their best chance at taking The Syndicate down, a small vulnerable boy with a manipulative ability.”

“They took me in because I needed help, I needed saving, this is just me repaying the debt-“

“Keep telling yourself that kiddo.”

The room was in silence for a moment, and it was Wilbur who eventually broke it.

“You think they raised him for the soul purpose of killing you?” Wilbur asked slowly, silence being enough confirmation. “What kind of sadists would do that?”

When Techno looked at Theseus, he saw exactly what he’d felt eight years ago. Worry, realisation, and yet resignation to the truth. Acceptance of the difficult, in simpler words.

“You can stay here, if you’d like.” Techno offered, and everyone in the room turned to him in shock, even Ranboo who stood with a tray of four Starbucks drinks in hand, jaw slightly ajar. Understandably, Theseus was wary.

“There’s a but.”

“But,” Techno continued, smiling when the kid sighed. “You have to tell me your name and tell me your ability.”

His quiet consideration was shocking enough.

His answer was even more so.

“My name is Tommy, and I know this will sound so dumb but I can rewire anything.”

“Like TV’s?” Phil asked, cocking his head as Tommy smiled, nodding.

“Oh! And, like, can you rewire lightbulbs to make them brighter?”

“Bit dumb but yes.”

“And brains.” Techno finished, looking at Tommy closely as he froze, looking back at Techno with a careful eye. “That’s how you control people, you rewire their brains with that weird finger motion.”

“The Blades taught you well, quite perceptive you are.” Tommy teased, and Techno would he lying if he said he didn’t feel a little pride from the statement.

After all, you can leave The Blades.

But The Blades never leave you.

“Welcome to The Syndicate, Tommy.” Techno said with a smile, walking over and tugging his mask down, a young but scarred face staring back at him with a hopeful smile.

Tommy was too young, taken too young, melded because of his own selfishness.

The least he could do was take him in and love him like a brother, because he knew Wilbur would grow a liking to him in the first few days, and Phil’s fatherly tendencies would forgive him even sooner.

“It’s a pleasure to be here, Blood God.”

“Call me Techno.”

Tommy’s smile was bright, and Techno was shocked to find his brighter.

—————

Sbi sbi sbi sbi

Fun facts about this au:

- Techno has a pig mask to cover his face, but instead of it being pink it’s black and has glitter because he’s fancy like that

- Tommy knew The Blades influence was bad, but never had anyone better to look up to - hence, Technoblade, which was why he accepted the help

- Phil had wanted to adopt Wilbur and Techno, but they were both too old by the time he’d even suggested it. He adopts Tommy before his 18th.

- The Blades get pissy that Tommy gave in so easily and literally fall out with each-other; Techno’s kindness was the fall of the organisation that had shaped him (and also traumatised him). In English teacher terms, this shows how they no longer have any power over him at all, going against their ideals and taking them down in the process

- Wilbur finds Tommy rewiring his own guard’s minds and tells him off, only to find he was sneaking in to hear him play his guitar because Techno said he could play

- Since Twinsduo’s first meeting, they used to go places and just preach how they were twins - more so Wilbur did and Techno went along with it. They did this so often that sometimes Techno forgot they weren’t actually related.

Hope you all enjoyed :D

[angelf1re]

Undercover Care

as a young, broke senior in high school, you take up a babysitting gig, not knowing you’d be babysitting a mafia bosses sons.

You sighed quietly, looking over the job listings on the website one more time. Most of the jobs wanted people with experience, something you didn’t have, so finding a job was…a little difficult to say the least.

You wanted something simple too, just something to get you off your feet, not some crazy over the top job that drained you more often than not. You ran a hand through your hair, jumping slightly when you got a notification about a new job being posted. You hover your mouse over the listing before clicking.

The notification took a second to load but once it did you started reading. A babysitting gig. You hummed, looking over the details. 3 kids, ages 21, 22, and 16, access to food while working, $8,000 a week, bedroom if need- $8,000 a week!? You blinked, rubbing your eyes to see if they were playing a trick on you. Nope. $8,000 a week. What kind of rich fucker was this guy? $8,000? For three kids? Scratch that, two of them weren’t even kids anymore, and they still needed to be watched?

You looked over the details one more time. “I mean…it’s not a bad option…” you mumbled to yourself, clicking on the contact number. You copied it down into your phone, dialing and calling as soon as you did. You took a deep breath, listening as your phone rang. Tragically, you couldn’t help but hope the guy wouldn’t pick up. Awful, you know. But you were a nervous wreck. You were only 19, so what if he didn’t hire you? What if he wanted someone with experience? Or someone older? What if-

you were cut off by the sound of the phone being picked up. “Hello? Who is this?” The man on the other side asked. “Um, hi. My names Y/n and I was um…looking at the babysitting position?” You winced slightly at how awkward you sounded, although it probably sounded worse over the phone. “Ah yes! I didn’t expect someone to respond so quickly!” The man said cheerfully. “My names Philza Minecraft. It’s lovely to meet you, mate.” He said. You smiled, at least he was a nice guy. “Uh yeah. Nice to meet you too.” You said, feeling a bit less awkward.

“Now, my boys can be…how do I put this…rough. They don’t really like new people, so you will have to win them over. If they don’t see you fit within a month, sadly I would have to let you go.” The man, Philza, explained. You nodded before remembering he couldn’t see you, so you just let out a hum. “First question, how well do you deal with high stress situations?” The question caught you slightly off guard. “I’d say I’m pretty good?” You said, shrugging to yourself. “And what about cooking? Can you cook well?”

You thought to yourself for a second. “Yeah I’m a pretty good cook.” You and your mom used to spend two nights a week learning a new recipe together, you even still have her old cookbook that she gave you before the divorce. “Wonderful! Now, how old are you?” He asked, making you panic slightly. “I-I’m 19, sir.” You said nervously, biting your lip. “Perfect! You’re hired.” Your jaw dropped slightly. That easy? “O-okay. When should I come in?” You asked, getting over the shock quickly. “Come in tomorrow at 9. I’ll have a schedule for you by then. I’ll text you the address.”

You smiled to yourself. “Thank you so much sir.” “Please, call me Phil, mate.” He said, his tone cheerful. “Before you go, what are your boys’ names?” You asked curiously. “Ah, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy.” He told you. You smiled. “Alright. I can’t wait to meet them tomorrow.” You said happily. “Well it was nice talking to you, but I have got to go to a meeting soon.” He said, the sound of rustling on the other side of the phone. “I understand. Have a good day Phil.” You said, pulling the phone away from your ear as you hung up.

You say there for a second, processing the fact that you, a 19 year old, now had a job. A really, really good paying job. You cheered to yourself, standing up from the chair quickly. “Hell yeah! I’m employed!” You said happily, spinning around a little bit. It took you about 5 minutes to calm down, but excitement was still running through your veins. You had a job now! You smiled to yourself, going to the kitchen to make food before you started getting ready for bed. You made something simple, just some chicken tenders and sweet ‘n sour sauce. You sat down on the couch, placing your plate on your lap and you grabbed the remote, flipping to a random cartoon channel. You ate in peace, going through all the possible outfits you could wear tomorrow.

You say there for a bit, almost just snacking on your now somewhat cold food. Once you finished, you turned the tv off, going to the kitchen to wash your plate before going to bed. You hummed to yourself as you cleaned, still going through all your possible outfits you wanted to look professional but also not too professional, you were only 19 after all. You set the plate on the drying rack and dried your hands, jogging slightly as you went to your room. You quickly changed before going to the bathroom to brush your teeth, looking yourself over in the mirror. After getting fully ready you finally got in bed, the buzz under your skin finally going away. You fell asleep peacefully, excited for tomorrow.

(This is going to be a series! I’ve had the idea in my mind for a while so I thought it would be nice to write it out!)

[peninkwrites]

Lines Drawn in Sand & Concrete - Ch 13 of ?

Quackity and Tubbo slowly become what they swore they never would be.

[CW: kidnapping, referenced abuse, suicidal ideation]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 12

Ch 14 (all updates going forward will be posted to ao3)

Mafia AU

~ Quackity & Tubbo ~

Quackity almost confesses to the whole ordeal the night Sapnap drives him home.  He’s drunk enough, but even then he’s not weak enough.  Not quite.  Sapnap leaves, and Quackity keeps resting his forehead against Karl’s chest, arms wrapped around him and holding onto fistfuls of his hoodie.

“Babe?” Karl asks softly.  “You’re, uh.  You’re kinda koala-ing me right now.  You okay?”

“H-How the fuck-” Quackity mumbles.  He’s sniffling now, and he knows tears are sure to follow.  “How the fuck are you– are you even with me-?”

“What?  Dude, what the heck are you talking about?” Karl pulls him away from his chest, cupping his cheeks.  “Really, Q, what’s goin’ on, huh?  You haven’t said stuff like that in… in years.  Something happen?”

Quackity stares up into those big brown eyes of his and cannot bury a sob.  “I t-think– I think I’m a bad person…” Quackity chokes out, eyes scrunched up tight, his chest feeling even tighter.

“What?” Karl is completely thrown, not that Quackity blames him.  “Quackity, Quackity, look at me,” he brushes a tear from Quackity’s cheek, until he opens his eyes again.  “You’re… you’re not a bad person.  You’re not.”

Karl blurs in his vision as tears well up further.  “I… I dunno how you put up with me…” he mumbles again.

“Is this about the– Is this about the coming home late thing?  Or the… or the smoking thing?  Shit, babe, I didn’t think he’d… I didn’t know Sapnap was gonna tell you, it’s not like, actually that big of a deal,” Karl says sheepishly.

Quackity sees a lifeline and he jumps for it.  “He didn’t… he didn’t tell me, I sorta guessed…” Not quite a lie, but smoking and coming home late hadn’t been at the top of Quackity’s list of sins.  “I said I was gonna quit, and I haven’t…”

“Hey, not too late to quit now, right?” Karl says gently.  “I know this has been like, crazy stressful for you.”

“Right…” Quackity feels guilt like a vice tightening around his heart.  “I promised you, though.  That’s… that’s supposed to mean shit, right?" Quackity is too much of a coward to tell him outright what he plans to do, so he offers this pleading instead, praying somehow Karl will read through and realize what Quackity is warning him of.  "What if… what if it doesn’t?”

“But it does mean something, right?  You feel bad, and you’re gonna fix it!”  Karl kisses his forehead like it's the simplest thing in the world.  “You’re home now.  That’s the important thing, I think.  Let’s just… let’s just go to bed.”

Quackity nods blearily, still holding on tight as Karl half carries him into their room.  Quackity doesn’t want Karl to leave him.  From his previous experience, the only surefire way to prevent that is to put a gun to his head.  Instead, Quackity will have to risk losing him, forever knowing this is teetering on some threshold until Karl has had enough and realizes he doesn’t want to be with someone like him anymore.

~

ONE DAY UNTIL THE GRAND OPENING OF LAS NEVADAS…

Tubbo has sold most of Schlatt’s cars, but he’d kept a few.  Growing up, he’d been obsessed with mechanisms.  He loved taking things apart and putting them back together, creating something whether a chemical reaction or a battery.  He’d never been allowed to get near his father’s cars, though.  Now they were his cars, and he could do as he pleased.  It was almost therapeutic.  Maybe financially it would have been smarter to put his dwindling funds elsewhere, but when he's sunk this deep in debt, an extra seventy dollars a month feels like a small price to pay for somewhere to work.  He had rented out a four car garage for his remaining ones, and when it all got to be too much, Jack would check there for him.  More often than not, he’d find Tubbo’s legs sticking out from underneath one of them, a mess of grease and grime, but usually calmer than he had been before.

It was a more recent development.  He’d spent the past months in a state of constant anxiety until Jack warned he was going to give himself a heart attack at the ripe old age of eighteen, so he’d found a hobby.  Jack frowned upon him learning how to build more elaborate bombs after he'd tried to figure out how to recreate the last one, so this was a compromise.  The stress had only increased the closer they’d gotten to the grand opening of Las Nevadas.  Quackity hadn’t yielded, and on the one hand, Tubbo cannot blame him, but on the other, that doesn’t mean Tubbo can hold back.  He has to do this.  To get some money to throw at Twitch, and to make sure no one thinks Quackity is a vulnerability of his.

“Hey.  Tubbo.”  Jack speaks up and Tubbo almost hits his head on the transmission.

“Fucking hell, Jack!  Stop… stop giving me a heart attack!” He wheels out from underneath on the lying board, giving Jack an irritable look.  It’s perhaps a bit ironic that his hobby of choice is working on something he barely knows how to drive, but again, Jack said no bombs.  He still doesn’t have his license, unless the one he bought of Ponk should count.  Other than his panicky driving after Schlatt’s funeral and a bit in a parking lot with Quackity, he hasn’t done much driving.

Jack smirks, amused, before offering him a hand off the ground, despite the grease.  Tubbo accepts.

“Tell me you have good news,” Tubbo sighs, wiping his hands on a rag.

Jack laughs dryly.  “In what fucking world, Boss?”

“Well, tell me the bad news quickly, then,” Tubbo huffs, gathering scattered tools, Jack following close behind.

“We don’t have the numbers.  Not anymore,” Jack says, not quite apologetic, but something close.  “The ones that aren’t dead, they’ve been scared off.”

“Yeah, Badlands will do that to you,” Tubbo says mildly.

“So, what the fuck do you actually want to do, man?  We’re not exactly equipt to lay siege to Las Nevadas Casino by tomorrow.”

Tubbo washes the grease from his hands and tries desperately to think.

“I mean, really.  Why are we even doing this, Tubbo?”

“Doing what, Jack?” Tubbo says coolly.

“I dunno, maybe bullying the guy who looked out for you for eight years?”

Tubbo pauses, but only for a moment.  “And what exactly would you know about that?  No, actually, what would you know?  You weren’t there, were you?”

Jack falters.  “No, I wasn’t.  And I dunno Quackity’s thoughts on that whole thing, and I guess I dunno yours, but what you told me, what I saw from you?” Jack shrugs.  “I dunno, you blew up a guy for him.  Maybe that’s why every dickhead in the city thinks he’s your weak point.”

“Which is exactly why I have to do this, Jack,” Tubbo snaps icily.  “For all of our sakes, even if he won’t thank me for it.  Nor should he, to be fair.”

Jack nods, expression solemn.  “Alright.  What then, huh?  Somehow we get enough bodies on our side in the next 24 hours, and we make a big show of ruining Quackity’s day, and then we make an homage to Schlatt by extorting him for all he’s worth just like the old bastard would’ve done.  What then?”

“I pay off the men who threatened to blow your brains out, and then we move on to the next debt,” Tubbo says coolly.

“And Quackity?”

“What about him?”

“I mean, don't tell me you haven't thought…” Jack laughs a little helplessly.  “Even if you act all scary and like you’re not with Quackity tomorrow night, when you’re still mooching off of him six months down the line, that’s just… he’s your weak spot again.  Everyone will think you made up and the target is back on his back.  Only way to keep up the facade would be… to actively and publicly continue to fuck with him.  You know, ala JSchlatt.”

Tubbo finally doesn’t have a retort.  He pauses, calculating, and Jack briefly thinks he’s won.

“I can’t back down now, Jack,” Tubbo finally says.  He sounds troubled, but not persuaded.  “It costs too much.”

Tubbo knows he cannot tell Jack that his plan is not to be mooching off of him six months down the line, because ideally by then, Quackity or some other bastard will have taken him out of commission.  In whatever form that takes.

It would be far simpler, far cleaner, if he could simply shoot himself and be done with it, but if he did that, he has an awfully long list of people he’s clung to that will suffer the consequences instead.  It is only once he cuts away all the people who have not yet realized he is a tumor, that there’s no one for them to go after.  So instead of a nice, clean end, he will die so fucking messy and surely bloody too, and he will not be remembered well.  Really, killing himself was never his style.  Waiting for something else to kill him, however, much more feasible.

“You know what else is gonna cost us a lot?  Figuring out who the fuck is actually gonna help us fuck with Las Nevadas,” Jack says wearily, and it’s clear Tubbo has won this round.

“Ideally, not too much.  I just… I need time to think,” Tubbo hops up onto the work bench, legs swinging over the edge as he mulls it over.  Tubbo knows his numbers have dropped significantly.  He’s starting to become the head of a puppet organization, where he and reputation are the only threat left.  Those not dead have cut ties with him.  He regrets that he told them to either be loyal, disappear, or die.  He has no chance of of least getting help from some of them for a one off job.  They’ve also disappeared because the Badlands are apparently hunting them down one by one.

“Do you know… literally anything about how the Badlands are feeling about Las Nevadas?”

“Um, no fucking clue, but I’d argue, statistically, the Badlands might not like you,” Jack points out.  “Considering they keep killing your lot.”

“At first it was just the really bad ones…” Tubbo mutters irritably.  “I’d hope the issue isn’t with me personally, otherwise, surely, I should be dead now too.  We haven’t exactly been in hiding.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” Jack sighs heavily.

“Can you… can you contact anyone, Jack?  How dire are things, really?  What about… what about Morelli?  He wasn’t a nutcase.”

“Dead in the river.  Washed up over a week ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?!” Tubbo says exasperatedly.  Things are getting darker and all the more hopeless.  Jack still hasn’t told him who is still alive.  He might be entirely on his own at this point, no longer a mob boss, and instead a helpless kid about to be crushed under the weight of a dead man’s debt.  He’s no good to anyone that way.  “God, this is so fucked…”

“Well, if I told you every time a body turned up, it’s all we’d bloody talk about!” Jack says, voice high and irritable.  “And I still don’t see why we have to do this at all!  Tubbo, really man, the other day, the shit you pulled at Las Nevadas, what you said to Quackity, that’s not you.  You don’t do that shit.  Are we really-?”

“Jack!” Tubbo claps, smiling far too wide, something manic there.  Whatever calm working on the cars had garnered for him has disappeared rapidly.  “I really need to do this.”  A heavy pause, Jack waiting, and Tubbo continues.  “I need to. Okay? Okay, it doesn’t mean as much to anyone else as it means to me.”  Tubbo hops down from the counter and begins to pace the garage.  “It doesn’t mean as much to anyone else as it means to me! This is– This is my grand opening!” Tubbo spreads his arms, gesturing grandly to the dingy garage. “They all think this is for them, they all want it! But they don’t need it!”  With each word, Tubbo steps closer, pointing to himself with a trembling hand.  “I need to have this!”

Tubbo finally reaches him, and it takes conscious effort for Jack not to step back.  Tubbo’s smile softens, and he reaches out to fix the ruffled collar of Jack’s shirt, not looking his old friend in the eye.  “You just don’t understand. When someone like myself, gets into a little bit of trouble, they... You know!” Tubbo laughs, patting Jack’s shoulder in a way that’s hard not to take as a threat, he stares into Jack’s eyes and Jack has trouble recognizing him.  “There’s no telling what that does to someone, you know? And if I- And I’m not in trouble yet!  I mean, you know exactly how much trouble I’m in, don’t you, Jack?  So I need to have this.”

“You… you don’t sound like yourself, Tubbo,” Jack says it outright, voice forced into an uneasy measure of calm.

“I really need this. I really - I really - I really need this to work,” Tubbo steps back, still grinning too wide, something so feverish in his meandering.  His hands clasp together, as if in prayer.  “I really need for it to work. You know, I’ve been thinking about it a lot: what’s gonna happen if it doesn’t go to plan. And... I’m scared! I’m scared. I need for this to go right. I don’t even know what I’m gonna do if it doesn’t!”

“You think I’m not scared?!  I– I had a gun put to my head!”

“So, you should understand then.  Shouldn't you?  Surely, you must.  Are you prepared, Jack? Are we going to do this?  You and me, together?”  Tubbo is emphatic, beyond reason.  “Are you with me, Jack?”

A loaded question, but one with an easy answer, even as Tubbo seems to be slipping off some precipice.  “Yeah.  You know I am.”

“Good!  Good.  Because we’re going to show them all what we’re capable of. Even if… even if it’s just me.  You know, I have to do this! You understand that, don’t you?  I don’t- I don’t even wanna think about if this fails. Failure is not a possibility for us right now! If this goes bad, we are– we are fucked, Jack Manifold.  Completely and utterly.  Any other day, any other job, it would’ve been fine!  Not this one though. Not this one.  I am… I am running out of time, Jack.  And if I’m running out of time, I’m afraid that means you are too.”

Tubbo still talks with his hands, gesturing emphatically as if reaching out to strangle someone.  “We have to show them we're not weak! No one else needs this! No one else’s life depends on this like mine does.  We cannot fail.  I know you feel bad for Quackity, Jack.  I know you do, but desperate times.  Las Nevadas, the others, the church, they’ll feel sorry in the end, if they cross us. They made their bed.  I don’t- I don’t think- I don’t think spreading violence is what I’m looking to do, but... you know, if someone gets in our way,” that eerie grin, eyes almost gleaming.  “My god are they gonna know they step in our way.”

Every word out of Tubbo’s mouth makes Jack want to wrestle him to the ground and maybe have him committed just until the weekend is over.  Nonetheless, he gives the only reply he can.  He swore he wouldn’t leave this kid.  He doesn’t intend to, into hellfire or not.  “Got it, Boss.”

A long pause, Tubbo staring at him, smiling, somewhere between manic and serene.  “What about a bomb?”

Jack understands immediately, and the horror is soon to follow.  “Tubbo…”

“I know your thoughts on the matter, but desperate times, Jack.  If we don’t have the men there to do damage, we’ll need artillery instead.”

Jack looks at him differently, and for a moment Tubbo might even think he looks like he doesn’t trust him, not from Tubbo clearly crumbling at the edges, but from what Tubbo views as nothing but practicality.  “But a building full of civilians, though?  Fucking hell, Tubbo, are you–”

“Not while anyone is inside!” Tubbo’s own horror rises, snapping him out of it.  “Good god, did you really think I’d-?” Tubbo stops, that manic grin finally falls and he looks like himself again, burdened and afraid.  He feels nauseous.  That Jack would even think he’d consider it, even a remote possibility.  “I meant before the grand opening.  We pull a fire alarm, wait for it to clear out, and then blow up the main hall.  That’ll… that’ll be cruel enough as is, Jack.  I’m not… I’m not doing that again.”  It hits Tubbo all at once.  I’m not doing that again.  Tubbo should never have had to use the word again for that kind of act, that kind of risk, that kind of undeniable harm.  He doesn’t know if there’s a way back from it at this point.

~

FOURTEEN HOURS UNTIL THE GRAND OPENING OF LAS NEVADAS…

Quackity has a plan to do something terrible.  He’s probably done worse, but he doesn’t think he’s done it like this.  Wholly of his own volition and carefully premeditated.

On the day of the grand opening of Las Nevadas, Quackity wakes up early.  They’ve got one shot to do this, and it has to be early.  Quackity sits up, wincing, one hand going to bruised ribs he has yet to treat gently.  He’s had more important things to do as of late.  His bare feet touch down on the cold of the hardwood, and Quackity wishes he could go back to sleep.  Quackity hears Karl murmur a complaint from beside him, reaching out and tugging on his sleeve, an attempt to get him back into the easy warmth of their bed.

“I’ll see you later, mi amor,” Quackity turns back and kisses his forehead.

Karl smiles drowsily, eyes barely open.  “M’kay, good luck out there, babe…”

Quackity ignores the pang of guilt and gets dressed in the dark, buttoning up his shirt is a particular nuisance, as his left hand has three broken fingers.  There are still these small differences in his day to day life now he can’t help but think of.  Before, Quackity got dressed silently in the dark, slipping out the door for work as quickly as he could, because waking Schlatt up would be more trouble than it was worth.  It had been at its core fear disguised as annoyance.  Now, he does so because he wants Karl to sleep as long as he wants.

Quackity is getting tired of his current life living only in parallel to his old one.  He’s tired of being reminded of Schlatt, even if only by his absence.

He knows his planned course of action does the opposite of freeing himself of Schlatt’s impact, but what else can he fucking do?  He didn’t fire first.  There were fucking consequences to Tubbo acting completely out of character.

Quackity straightens his tie in the bathroom mirror, always keeping it a little loose, and heads for the door and then down the stairs.  He screams, jumping back as he steps out of his building to the sight of Sam leaning against the bricks beside the door, knee in a brace, but otherwise functional.  Sam raises an eyebrow at him.

“Fucking christ, man, why’re you– why are you lurking?” Quackity stammers out.

“You told me to be here at six in the morning,” Sam says flatly.  “It is currently…” he glances at his watch.  “Six fourteen.”

Quackity smiles at him. “In that case, thank you, Sam, for your punctuality,” Quackity says sarcastically.

“Let’s get this over with,” is Sam’s only weary retort.

Sam is the only person he has asked to join him on this little venture.  He knows he doesn’t need much muscle for it, and it felt like a waste to bring in Punz or Purpled, even if their moral proclivities would’ve made them fine candidates.  Sam pretends he finds the idea repulsive, but Quackity knows him.  He knows him from his Badlands days and he knows exactly what sort of behavior he condoned while working as a cop.  This is downright sweet compared to what Sam is truly capable of.  Regardless of his protesting, Sam is still here.  Even as he seems to argue that Quackity demanding he assist holds real authority over him.  If Sam had truly been against it, he wouldn’t have come.

Yet, here he is.  Deny it as he might, Sam needs Las Nevadas to succeed maybe as much as Quackity does.  It’s not like he has anything else to hold onto these days.

“You got the car?” Quackity asks.  He digs a cigarette out of his pocket, holding it carefully between his two unbroken fingers while he lights it with his good hand.  He’s starting early, but sue him, it’s going to be a stressful day.

“Yeah.  Do you know where we’re going?” Sam asks, getting into the driver’s side.  Quackity lets him drive.  He’ll pity the bastard, it gives him a sense of control.

“We’re gonna follow him,” Quackity is also polite enough to roll down his window, continuing to smoke.  “Until the last delivery.”

“We’re gonna follow him?  Like, through the whole delivery route?  You really think that’s gonna go unnoticed?” Sam asks, exasperated already.

“He’s a full on civilian, Sam.  He’s not paranoid.  Not like us.” Quackity smirks.

“Guess that’s about to change…”

Quackity ignores the slight.  “And, yes, we’re going to follow him through his whole delivery route.  I told you, this is gonna be as painless as possible, and that includes fucking up their business, got it?” Quackity says sharply.

“Right,” Sam says coolly.  “Painless,” there’s a hint of mocking there, but Quackity lets it slide.

Sam parks down the block adjacent to the alleyway behind the building.  The sun hasn’t even come up yet.  It takes twenty minutes for the back door to open, and for their mark to start loading up the van.  It’s a slow, arduous process which Sam and Quackity watch in bored silence.   What do he and Sam have to talk about besides this?

“He’s leaving,” Sam mutters at ten past seven.

“Okay, so fucking follow him.  Morning rush should give us some cover,” Quackity says, tapping ash out the window and onto the pavement.  He’s moved on to cigarette two for the day.  He hasn’t eaten anything.  He hasn’t even had coffee.

Sam nods curtly, before pulling out of the opposite end of the alley, getting on main street about a block behind the van marked City Bakery on the side.  “When he stops for deliveries, what do you want me to do?  Just keep driving?  He’s going to notice if we stop and park right there every time.”

“Try to turn before then, so we don’t pass him.  Then we’ll try to find an alley near the place, so we can see when he leaves again, alright?” Quackity says.  So far everything has gone to plan.  That could change very fast.  They turn into another side street after Ranboo parks behind a restaurant, unloading goods with impressive efficiency.  They can’t see the van, but they can see the exit to the lot, so they wait for Ranboo to leave.  He’s done and moving on in less than ten minutes.

Sam and Quackity follow.

This repeats.

“How do we know when it’s his last stop?” Sam asks.

Quackity pauses, puzzled.  “Um.”

Sam sighs.  “And… you’re not stupid enough to try and grab him when he gets back to Niki’s, right?  All it takes is a scream and we’d both have shotgun shells in our backs.”

“Fuck no,” Quackity scoffs.  He considers it.  “It’s… it’s about a quarter til 8, most places open then, so Ranboo has gotta be done before then, right?”

“Sure..?”

“So, next stop, we grab him.  And if there’s still deliveries to be made, I dunno…” Quackity grimaces.  “We, uh, make the deliveries?”

Sam looks over at him, baffled and almost pitying.  “And… how do you think we’ll do that, Quackity?” Sam says delicately.

“Shut the fuck up and keep your eyes on the road,” Quackity mutters, irritated to be reminded of the fact that Sam has probably more experience engaging in organized crime than he does, especially with this part, getting his hands dirty.

In theory, Quackity could have not gone to this part at all, let Sam handle it, but Quackity doesn’t trust Sam to do this gently, and despite the necessary evils, Quackity needs this to be gentle.  He’s not gonna sink any fucking lower than he already has.

Once more, Ranboo parks behind a coffee shop, unloading boxes of baked goods.

“And, how do we know when he’s done with this delivery?” Sam points out dryly.

“He’ll come back with the receipt from the joint after the last one,” Quackity is proud to have a practical answer to something.

“So, once we see that receipt, we, what, sprint for the van?” Sam says wearily.

Quackity pauses, considering this thoughtfully.  “Fuck.  Come on, let’s… get out, just fucking go,” Quackity gets out of the passenger side irritably, Sam following closely.

“You’ve… you’ve never done this before, have you?” Sam asks curiously.  “Even though…” Sam knows better than to bring up Schlatt.  He stops himself.

“What of it, Sam?” Quackity snaps.

Sam ignores the question.  “You’re driving, right?  I’ll be the one in the back seat to get him?”

“Yes, obviously,” Quackity huffs.  They wait on the opposite side of the van to the coffee shop, Quackity just barely leaning forward so he can see through the passenger side window to the shop’s back door.

Sam shifts from foot to foot, as discontent as Quackity feels.  He’s holding a rope in one hand, and a cloth in the other.  “You’re gonna need to help me.  Before we take off.  We’re too public for me to risk him screaming, so I'll have to hold him pretty tight.  Can you do that?”

Quackity doesn’t look him in the eye.  He thinks of the tall, gangly kid who had let Schlatt’s boyfriend inside the speakeasy, just because he must’ve looked fucked up and scared.  He doesn’t want to do this.  “Yeah, no problem.  Not a… not a problem.”

Quackity flinches when he hears a door bang shut and Sam at least pretends not to notice.  Quackity is startled when Sam disappears from his sight; he quickly scrambles to get in the driver’s side.  He wanted to be cool and collected right now, calm and efficient and emotionless.  It just got harder all of the sudden.

He hears a familiar voice cry out in surprise before being quickly stifled and he gets into the back of the van, the smell of bread overwhelming.  He doesn’t look directly at them yet.  First, he just shuts the van’s doors behind Sam.  He turns around.

Ranboo is struggling viciously, apparently with surprising strength for a beanpole, but Sam keeps one arm around his chest, keeping his arms pinned to his sides, and his other hand is clasped tightly over Ranboo’s mouth, and Ranboo is staring at Quackity and he looks so scared.  Quackity feels almost embarrassed.

“Get the gag, Quackity,” Sam grunts, all of his focus on keeping Ranboo from wriggling free.

Quackity nods and grabs the cloth from the floor.  He’ll have to look at Ranboo’s face again.

“I’ll let go and take the mask off.  Can you get that over his mouth quickly?” Sam asks sharply.

Ranboo struggles harder, kicking frantically at the air and trying to pull himself away from Sam, kicking a remaining box of goods across the van.  From what Quackity can see, he’s trying to shake his head.

“We’ll leave the mask on,” Quackity says and he sounds so calm.  He doesn’t understand why.  “We’re not gonna hurt you, Ranboo.  Okay?  You have my word.  Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.  Ideally not at all, and at the very fucking least, not for the foreseeable future.”

Ranboo stares at him.  His eyes are watering.  He’s still struggling, but not as panicked as before.

“Just do it fast, okay?!” Sam snaps.  “Ready?”

Quackity nods.

“HEL–” Ranboo starts to scream, but Quackity gets the cloth over his mouth before he can get out anything beyond that, tying it on tightly so the fabric tugs slightly at the black and white mask covering his face, but it stays over the kid’s scar, which Quackity supposes is the important thing.

“Do you… can I take it off your nose?  Just so you can breathe a little easier?” Quackity asks carefully.

Ranboo glances at Sam behind him, before back to Quackity, gauging something.  Finally, he gives a shaky nod.

“Okay–” Quackity reaches out slowly and pulls the mask off of his nose.

“Oh my god, Quackity, just hurry up!  We are still outside a goddamn café.  Get the rope!  Does this look easy to you?!” Sam cuts him off, shouting and making Ranboo flinch, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Fuck!  Fine!” Quackity snaps back, grabbing the rope from the ground as well.  He holds it.  He stares at Ranboo’s hands, tense and white-knuckled into fists as he still tries to get free, and Quackity feels a bit like he’s watching this scene a few feet back from his body.  He is trying very hard not to think about the last time Schlatt had tied him up.  It isn’t quite working.  He has trouble getting it around the kid’s wrist from his struggling and an even harder time tying a knot with his broken fingers.  He forces himself to make it tight.  He can’t afford to let Ranboo get away just because he doesn’t want to hurt him.  Quackity knows how much it can fucking hurt, his experience is more with handcuffs and particularly one dreaded weekend he spent with his wrist cuffed to the radiator.  He still has the scar.  He cannot fucking think about that right now.  Quackity goes to tie his other wrist.

“No,” Sam says curtly.  “Behind his back.”

Quackity ignores how unnerving it is that Sam is good at this.  He nods, and Sam grabs Ranboo’s other wrist, pinning him to the floor with a muffled yelp, Sam keeping him down with just a firm hand pressing on the kid’s back, until Quackity can grab his other wrist and finally bind them together.  He’s fumbling with the knots before Sam reaches out and finishes it for him.  

“Go drive!  Now!” Sam says exasperatedly.  Quackity clambers past him and up to the driver’s seat, pulling out of the alleyway quickly.  He looks back when he hears movement to see Ranboo give Sam a well aimed kick to the chin.  “Ow!” Sam hisses as he’s knocked back, sitting up sharply and grabbing onto Ranboo’s shoulder, forcing him to stay on his knees, and Ranboo shuts his eyes tightly, bracing.

“If you fucking hit him, Sam, I’m busting in your fucking kneecaps again, do you hear me?!” Quackity snarls.

“I wasn’t going to hit a civilian!  Are you serious?!” Sam says irritably.

“You don’t exactly instill confidence, man!” Quackity says with a high, frantic laugh.

He heads for Las Nevadas.  He needs Ranboo close.  It gets too quiet in the back and Quackity glances behind him.  Ranboo has settled in, slumped against the wall, staring at Sam intently.  Sam sits opposite him, arms folded over his chest, rubbing his chin moodily as it’s sure to bruise.  Okay.  Peaceful so far.  Quackity pulls into the loading bay behind the bank.  It was designed for far more serious deliveries than bread, so the van can pull completely inside and Quackity can lower the rolling door behind them to hide their current activities.

Sam doesn’t bother with trying to escort Ranboo inside and has instead thrown the kid over his shoulder.  Ranboo has deigned not to keep struggling and instead hangs there limply like a wet cat.

Quackity gets the interior door, and Sam walks ahead toward the basement, Quackity avoiding Ranboo’s gaze as they pass.  Downstairs, behind iron bars and a thick metal gate, is a vault door.  Before the vault, in the antechamber, there is a chair waiting, alongside a stack of magazines and a bottle of water.  Not exactly a five star hotel, but not a torture chamber either.  Sam sets Ranboo down on the chair and Quackity walks past him and unties the gag.

“HELP!” Ranboo screams.  “Somebody help me!”

“Ranboo!” Quackity shouts over him.  “Ranboo, there is no one else inside this building right now, and once they are, they cannot hear you down here.”

Ranboo gives Quackity a look that isn’t afraid or even angry, more so offended.  “Well, sorry for trying,” he says scathingly.

“Sam, cut him loose.”

“What?”

“Fucking cut him loose.  What, are you scared he’s gonna kick you again?” Quackity snaps.

Sam obliges irritably, and Ranboo hunches forward, rubbing his wrists before fixing his mask with what Quackity sees are trembling hands.  He glances at the open gate behind the two of them, but he knows he’s not going to make it past Sam.

“You’re only gonna be here for a day.  Ideally, less than 24 hours, alright?” Quackity says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone.

Ranboo is quiet, staring at Quackity, thinking carefully.  “Why am I–” His voice breaks, and once more the truth of how terrified Ranboo is bleeds through.  “Why am I here?”

Quackity debates over explaining.  What he decides is at least a little malicious.  “See, your very good friend Tubbo has threatened to destroy my opening night, and see, that’s very important to me.  You’re just… my emergency insurance, Ranboo.  Nothing more.  No one’s gonna hurt you here, and we’re gonna treat you just fine, but I can’t allow you to leave until my opening night is over.”

Ranboo looks surprised.  “Tubbo said…"  A pause, cogs turning.  "Why would he do that?”

Quackity grins, all shark-teeth.  “Because, he couldn’t strong arm my business into giving into his demands, giving him a cut of our profits.  Said he’d fuck this up for me if I didn’t, and you’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Ranboo remains sobered, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the ground.  “That… that doesn’t make any sense.  That can’t be right.  It can’t be.  Why would he do that?  He said– He said when he took over he was going to stop doing that.”

Quackity shrugs.  “I dunno.  You’ll have to ask him that.  Why the hell would I be lying to you?  This is serious enough I fucking kidnapped you over it, and who else would I need to hold you over?  Tommy? Niki?  It’s bullshit, but it’s bullshit Tubbo made happen.”

Ranboo doesn’t reply, still staring at nothing in weary confusion.

Quackity sighs.  “If all goes to plan, you won’t be harmed, Ranboo.  I am… truly sorry about all this.”

There’s quiet for a time, and Ranboo finally looks up at him, through him.  “Tubbo will forgive you, you know.  Eventually he will.  And…” Ranboo’s pale eyes are so careful, worse, almost pitying.   “I want him to.”

Quackity doesn’t know how to cope with such a biting insult.  So he turns to leave.  “Check in on him in an hour, Sam, alright?”

“Got it, Boss,” Sam locks the gate behind them, and they turn to leave Ranboo to his solitude.

“What happens…” Ranboo starts before faltering.

Quackity turns back to face him, sitting hunched forward on that chair, looking pensive.

“What happens…?” Quackity gauges.

Ranboo looks at him, eyebrows furrowed.  “What happens if he still does it?  He still… still ruins your opening night or whatever?  What happens to me?”   A weighted pause, Ranboo staring him down, daring him to say it.

“Let’s… let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Ranboo nods, looking back to the concrete floor below him.  He glances back at them, as if about to say something, but he just nods again.  He doesn’t look back up, instead remaining fixated on the concrete floors, hands wrung together.

They leave him.

[calmthefuckdownalright]

Villain Pool AU

guess what! I'm still on my shit and I was thinking about the different groups in the Dream SMP. The Syndicate particularly. The big 4 would be Phil, Technoblade, Niki, and Ranboo. That's them.

They're our beloved mobsters and with that thought I circled back to the MANY supervillain au's where the Syndicate is made up of basically all of SBI, Beeduo, Jack is there with Niki, and then our lovely Las Nevadas bois Q and Slime. I have yet to see Foolish there but he's an honorable mention

ANYWAY

The Dream Team and their various comrades are commonly seen as "heroes" so-

This got me thinking. The real Syndicate, the og 4 mentioned above is a mafia group. They're mean and exclusively do things themselves. They have money, they have power, but it's all their own and no one has dared take it from them. Except for our lovely rival mafia that was founded out of spite by the Syndicate's head honchos oldest son who basically stole his youngest son to keep him from being influenced.

L'manberg. Aka The Revolutionists. They specialize in causing havoc without hardly lifting a finger or revealing who the hell they really are. They're great at expressing their intentions without being seen. Some call them cowards, and those people are quickly snuffed out.

Now, who is L'manberg you might ask.

Well obviously Wilbur is the eldest son I mentioned and he took Tommy when he was young to get away from Phil's violent business before Tommy got drug into it as a child as Wilbur did. Wilbur tries to convince Technoblade to join them but his brother craves violence and is forever loyal to their fierce father.

In a habit of taking in those who he wishes to keep out of Phil's violent path, Wilbur finds Fundy and takes him in as well. Then along comes Eret, and eventually Tubbo. Others come and "help" L'manberg but they never get close enough to find out who exactly is a participant in the Revolutionists.

There are a few that get in but go through a process to leave as long as they promise to help when called for, and L'manberg will extend their protection to them as well.

These people are few and far between, most of them never being heard from again. But one man...one man causes issues for both the Syndicate and L'manberg.

Quackity Nevadas forms a vigilante group called the Butcher Army where both people from L'manberg and the Syndicate join in. This causes issues and under an alliases of Orpheus and Theseus, Wilbur and Tommy meet with Phil and Techno (who is the Army's target) to get their men back. Of course, everyone from L'manberg is require to keep their identities secret under any and all circumstances. Fundy, Eret, and Tubbo are not real names. They're covers. Even Wilbur doesn't know their real names and they don't know his. They call him Mr. President, and Tommy is Vice.

In the Butcher Army they keep their identities secret as well, Quackity being one of the only ones who flaunts his. In L'manberg he was known as Q which was short for his new allias Quackity but people don't know this and assume that Quackity's parents were just odd since it was weird for a villain to go by two names without one of them being their real one.

With time, Techno dismantles the hunting party for his head without much trouble and both Fundy and Tubbo return to L'manberg with a thourough scolding from their President. Fundy is particularly affected by this because at this point he has considered Wilbur a kind of father figure, or at least a big brother.

(Side note: Everyone in L'manberg doesn't know Wilbur and Tommy are actually brothers. Phil and Technoblade don't know Wilbur and Tommy are Orpheus and Theseus.)

I've gotten a little off track here and forgot to explain in depth how the Syndicate/L'manberg meeting went.

No one has met President and Vice. No one's seen their faces, no one even knows if they exist really besides the ones in L'manberg and even then the both of them stay behind screens during meetings. Wilbur has made sure of that because he knows that if Phil wants to, he can find out who is running the show with the smallest bit of information. Fundy is the closest one to Wilbur and all he knows is that he's tall and has brown hair.

This leads to Phil (who is known on the street as Zephyrus) and Technoblade (The Blood God) not having a clue that their forgotten family is right in front of them. (who they think either left the city or were killed in one of the many villain hero fights (Wilbur totally didn't plant evidence of their bodies to get Phil off their tracks when they first left or anything))

Wilbur knows, Tommy doesn't because he was too young and Wilbur never exactly told him who Zephyrus and The Blood God really were. Anyway here's the little scene I cooked up from the POV of Wilbur:

"I was told we were meeting with the heads of L'manberg. Not some two bit lieutenants." The Blood God snarled. Technoblade. Wilbur itched to punch him, it was always like that when they met. Only one of them knowing everything.

"Who are you calling two bit Tusks?" Tommy spat and Wilbur held back his little brother from lunging forward. Tommy's temper was vital and it made Wilbur smile underneath the carefully crafted mask. The voice modulator distorted Tommy's voice to a much lower pitch which didn't fit his height, but then again Tubbo sounded like a fucking smoker of 30 years some days with hardly even a surgical mask on.

"Easy Theseus." Wilbur warned.

"Get your dog under control." Technoblade demanded and that hurt. That made Wilbur's blood burn in confliction. If only he knew it all.

"Zephyrus if you would refrain your comrade from insulting mine that would be appreciated. This is business, not pleasure." Wilbur said cooly. His voice sounded so smooth, no cracking from dusty rooms and cheap cologne. Ivory keys in a symphony.

"Blood." Zephyrus obliged. Phil, oh Phil made Wilbur angry. All he saw in the glimpses of his face behind the veil was the violence of his own childhood. Phil wasn't abusive, he was rough when he needed to be and overall it was fairly normal. But his expectations...they crushed Wilbur even now. Good thing he thought he was dead.

"Blood God is right, we were told we were meeting with President and Vice of L'manberg. Not their subordinates. We don't even know who you are." Phil was careful in his tone. Cold and daring for aggression.

"We're who they send to do their business. I'm Orpheus and this is Theseus." Wilbur kept a steady hand on Tommy's shoulder. The tight leather gloves over his hands flexed as Tommy tensed to move. Impatient as always.

"Cowards." Technoblade scoffed and Wilbur snapped his head to the one he used to call his brother. If there was one thing he couldn't stand to be called, it was coward. Bastard, fucker, idiot, two bit trash. A burning ship drowning everyone around him. Call him anything but coward. He was just trying to protect those he loved.

"Say that again." Wilbur said low and the voice modulator almost didn't pick up his voice correctly and there was a fault. A glitch and the illusion of Orpheus' voice was ruined.

"You use voice modulators?" Zephyrus inquired and Wilbur cleared his throat. Tommy was practically begging to jump at Technoblade, but Wilbur knew he'd be skewered before he even moved an inch.

"Our identities are sacred if you couldn't tell." Wilbur lifted his chin to reveal just how high his turtleneck went and a dark beanie fully covered his hair. The mask he wore took up his entire face and another mask under it covered his lower jaw and anything on the side that might show. Tommy had his hoodie and similar ski mask material covering his features. The hood over his hair was secured to the mask, so any possibility of it coming off was unlikely.

"Right." Zephyrus examined them and Wilbur could feel those bright blue eyes running alone every crack and crevice of his body to try and find something to use. A description of his hands, a fault in his stance or posture. A habit. Anything.

"Orpheus and Theseus. Mythological heroes. Interesting choice." Phil noticed and Wilbur's blood ran cold.

"Don't analyze, don't analyze, don't analyze." He begged in his head and tore the conversation away from the topic.

"Orpheus wasn't a hero, and Theseus killed his father technically. I wouldn't call them heroes." Wilbur hissed and he saw Phil's eyes blink knowingly. There was his information. All he needed. Wilbur knew his greek fairytales. In a city full of crime, those who were educated enough to even think of those stories were few. Let alone be well versed in them enough to know the technicalities of them all.

"We're not here to chat over aliases." Technoblade cut in and Wilbur clenched his fist, removing his hand from Tommy and folding them neatly behind his back.

"Right. The Butcher Army is after your head and it consists of both our people." Wilbur smiled behind his mask. Force of habit to appear charming and all.

"No habits. Stop it. Phil will notice." He reminded himself and dropped the smirk. He didn't know if there was anything in his body language to show the grin but he didn't want to risk it.

"Your men are leading it." Technoblade reminded him and Wilbur felt the sting of Quackity's betrayal. And just after losing Eret. It hurt like a bitch to remember.

"Quackity is not one of ours. He completed President's exit trial." Tommy had stilled his temper apparently and Wilbur sent a silent thanks to the heavens.

"I wasn't aware people could leave L'manberg." Phil observed curiously and Wilbur bared his teeth behind the mask.

"It's a difficult task, like everything else and if you'll notice, Quackity isn't exactly untouched." There was an ugly scar running down the man's chest where Wilbur had sliced him. Quackity had earned his keep, and his silence, so Wilbur was forced to send him to a healer known as Ponk. Ponk was in a duo with a technician Wilbur knew as Warden. Warden made all their technology at a costly price, and his loyalty was undecided. He was a neutral party and Wilbur had reluctantly agreed to offer them protection in exchange for services.

"That doesn't change the fact that two more known L'manberg members are in the Butcher Army." Phil reminds him and Wilbur straightens his back at the threatening tone.

"Doesn't change the fact that one of your trusted members is as well." Wilbur looked to Technoblade. "I wonder what violence you must've done to him to make Ranboo hate you enough to join your own murder gang."

Technoblade growled. Oh he growled and Wilbur growled back.

"Prince doesn't hate me." Technoblade growled the code name and Wilbur chuckled, stepping in front of Tommy and facing his brother.

"Ranboo, has met with us a few times himself. He's taken a fondness to-" Tommy kicks Wilbur in the calf and Wilbur blinks. The enchantment vanishes and Wilbur steps away.

Adrenaline; that was part of Technoblade's powers. Causing so much of it to go through a person they don't think clearly until its too late. Perfect for hunting down those who've crossed him and the Syndicate.

"Fond of who? Go on." Technoblade dared and bared his fangs in an ugly smirk. Wilbur scowled.

"This was supposed to be peaceful." Wilbur muttered, lacing his Influence into his tone. Technoblade blinked away the magic quickly, it was weak, only meant to suggest the idea of calming things down. nothing that would alert Phil at whose powers his own were so similar to.

"It is." Phil said, Wilbur's voice had never worked on him. Probably something to do with those damn bird traits of his.

"You've done nothing but threaten and accuse." Tommy stepped back to Wilbur's side.

"Allegedly." Phil said and flared his black wings. "You take care of your own, and we'll handle ours. how's that sound?"

There was something ominous. Something warning and teasing and something that told Wilbur that Phil knew something he shouldn't. A habit of presenting himself as charming and intelligent surely couldn't be enough to narrow it down. Phil did like the hunt though.

That much Wilbur knew for a fact.

Hehehehe

Anyways, I'm working on maybe making an A03 account and publishing this fic there. I need a title though. I didn't expect this to turn into something. This started as an AU rant...now I need titles and I'll figure out a proper name for the AU later

[2am-cursed-fanfic]

Quack, Quack, Can Break Your Back

A TNT duo fanfic, a goose soulmate au, mafia au, everyone is dead except them au, SMUT. For basille: Happy Late Birthday 

Being paranoid was always his strong suit, maybe that’s why he survived so long in the mafia.

He loved his friends there, more like brothers at this point, the PG2020 was a good place to be when you had family with you.

Not that any of that mattered now,

The violence they rage at the SW2020 mafia, it started with a little misunderstanding. Just some land blocks 5 and 6 on seventh Street. Maybe there could’ve been a better way, a peaceful way, but when you are raised with guns and blood you believe them to be your friends.

No, Wilbur sees they truly were his only enemy.

He stood knowing that his family in the mafia was dead, it’s been two weeks, the cops look for anyone who is involved, but hiding in the shadows saved his very skin.

The funny part about it was, the place that was saving him was the abandoned building on the sixth block of seventh Street.

The sky is gray, it was all the Wilbur could think of all the other darkness that swirled in his mind for a moment felt calm. He didn’t want them to die in vain, but revenge was for someone who felt like going on for years.

A year was the longest time he could think of living before he lost himself to his own madness.

Then he heard it tapping at the window,

He looked out and saw no one, perhaps his paranoid mind had already lost.

But then again, it tapped once more.

He still saw nothing.

But every time he looked away the tapping began all over again, and again, and again, until finally-

He swung open the window

“OKAY WHO IS EVER OUT THERE THIS BETTER BE A THREAT BECAUSE I WILL COME TO CUT OUT YOUR TONGUE WHEN I FIND YOU”

Than

“Quack”

The fuck was that- Wilbur thought, but before he could finish his thought, IT flew in.

“Quack, Quack”

It was a fucking hell-

“You're just a goose, and I threaten that I would- I would-“ and for the first time in two weeks he was laughing.

He laughed and giggled. He must of sounded like a madman to the streets below but he didn’t care because something he couldn’t really explain was happening.

“I can’t- even-“ he laughed more,

The goose stood still understand his roars of laughter were over.

“We’ll I guess I have a pet goose now,”

He watched the goose ruffle it’s feathers,

“Now what should I call you-“ he said reaching for its head, but than

“OW BLOODY HELL!!”

It bite him,

“OUCH, OW, THE FUCK,”

At this point the goose looked downright furious, and to be completely honest Wilbur was downright terrified.

He started sprinting for the door, unlocking all 3 of his protective locks and an angry goose chased after him.

But the goose didn’t stop it’s hunt,

It chased him out the door, to the stairs, than down to the 3rd floor, and the 2nd, and also the 1st, all the way until he was out of the building entirely, running out of breath to the alley between the buildings.

And for the unluck of god, Wilbur found himself cornered,

By a goose,

In a alleyway,

Fearing for his life,

His family was laughing from beyond the grave and he could hear them.

And than,

“OW, THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME YOU DAMN BIRD-“

Another man with black hair, red glasses, and a cigarette burning at his lips, and in Wilbur’s opinion with pretty brown eyes at a glance, was also getting chased by another goose, to the same alley way, what are the chances.

“I SWEAR TO GOD I AM NOT ABOVE SHOOTING A BIRD, YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I HAVE KILLED YOU LITTLE BI-“ And this other goose bite him, right on the nose.

The man stumbled back, not seeing Wilbur behind him also in the alleyway.

Wilbur, wanting to help a stranger in similar conditions, reached out to catch him.

And that was it, it felt like a sparkler was lit on the bottom of his tail bone straight to the top of his spine, like the world had freezed and heated both at the same time, he felt…hopeful for the first time in years.

Oh,

He knew what this meant, and judging by the way the stranger stiffed the same way he did, he was guessing he knew too.

They were soulmates.

Destined to love each other no matter what, to hold each other in the other’s arms sweeter than any embrace, to never let go like the fated Romeo and Juliet.

… and perhaps something that Wilbur needed the most at that moment, a companion.

Someone to keep his mind away from nightmares and kept his bed warm lying next to him, someone to love him through his worries and keep him safe, and Wilbur would return the favor he knew, ten times if they needed.

He loved them.

Who ever he was holding in his arms,

He knew that as simply as the sky is opposite of the earth.

He was going to love them until the day he died.

“Um..” the man in his arms mumbled,

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he tumbled, letting go of the man-his soulmate, and letting go of that contact felt like a torturous thing to do.

The other man straighten himself, and turned around without warning, with still a bleeding nose.

And brown eyes meant brown eyes,

And they realized the horror that they’ve seen each other before.

He was Quackity, part of his family’s warring mafia of SW2020.

A month ago they could have murdered each other.

A heat of anger rushed over him, the universe put him with his sworn enemy that helped kill his family…

But at the same time he had probably helped kill his…

The anger rushed away as quickly as it arrived, but the heat of the anger stayed, morphing into something else.

Quackity was part of the SW2020 mafia.

Wilbur was part of the PG2020 mafia.

But that didn’t matter now, because they were soulmates, destined to choose each other despite all obstacles, and because there was no one else left that they loved.

The war of the mafias is over, they both decided in that second.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to give you the world well I had it, my soulmate” Quackity says dropping to his knees,

There was a Silence,

“I’m afraid a I’m a simple man,” Wilbur says dropping to his soulmates level

“I don’t need the world,” he touches Quackity’s face gently like it was the most precious thing in the world,

“Maybe I just want someone to love me, is that too much to ask,” he says with a daring look the other in the eyes.

And all hell breaks looses, the moment they look into each other’s eyes, they can’t stop themselves if they tried.

Their lips meet, heated, they waste no time letting the other explore their mouths, getting tangled and untangled so quickly it could feed the fire raging in their souls.

And yet it wasn’t enough, nowhere near enough.

Quackity wasted no time after realizing this he pushed his soulmate to his building door, not stopping the kissing, as if he would ever want the other to stop anyways.

In the building his room was close but they both had been trying to combine so tightly waving fingers in hair and pulling the other towards them like they needed them to breathe.

Quackity’s broken nose was starting to turn their kiss metallic, but Wilbur couldn’t care for the life of him, all he knew was he didn’t want it to stop.

In Quackity’s humble room, a mattress and a lamp, they fall onto the bed naturally, Wilbur hitting his back against the mattress was a moment he would never forget.

Before he knew it he had his shirt off, so did Quackity, it was just too goddamn hot to have it on. Then the kisses stopped, Wilbur almost whined at the sudden lack of contact.

“Do you want more, my lovely?”

Quackity asked as he played with the button of Wilbur’s pants, smiling at the rise in the fabric that was holding up.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Wilbur begged, too desperately for Quackity’s contact to be proud.

“Okay than let’s make this the best thing you have ever felt,”

And with that Quackity tore off his pants, and then his underwear.

Leaving him bare to his soulmate, and damn, he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world at that moment.

“Now turn over,” Quackity asked and Wilbur did graciously panting.

Then Quackity let his dick go inside Wilbur and Wilbur screamed, but it wasn’t near the end, Quackity started moving, and Wilbur couldn’t stop himself; he moaned so loud he didn’t care if the cops found them right now.

The best part was the more he moaned the more his soulmate was trying to pleasure him more, and more, and more, until

“AAAohah!”

The climax one they could both get off to for years.

They fell side by side, still tangled together.

They breathed, they breathed the same breath, and let the other’s warm feed their hunger.

That was the moment everything ended and everything started.

The war was over.

The SW2020 and PG2020 mafias were over and overtaken by a beautiful inseparable pairing.

They would take the world by storm, they wouldn’t be able to leave their mafia lives behind, but they couldn’t go back to being enemies, no, now they became something stronger together.

And they would be known as the TNT Mafia.

[oil-bh]

ughff… HELLO Tumblr.. I am trying this “blog” think again..!! This was a Like 15 minute doodle?? Of a silly guy..! Parrotbur Soot.. he is from this “mafia” au think that I started writing a few years ago and I think he is very silly.. I WILL MAKE AN INTRO POST!! EVENTUALLY.

[lildevyl]

FebuWhump Day 7:

DSMP Mafia/Superpower AU

Summary:  Tommy's parents are visited by the Syndicate, the biggest and most powerful Mafia Crime Family in all of L’Manburg.

TW: Violence, Mention of Guns, Minor Characters Death.

L’Manburg was a country built on Truth, Justice and Freedom.  Freedom for those who were used, abused, osteria size, outed, shunned, shamed for being different, being a hybrid, having hybrid powers but not the hybrid traits, for being able to do magic.  From the time that the Founders were able to gain their independence and establish their own country.  Many “Outsiders” quickly flocked to L’Manburg to start over again with a brand new clean slate.  Over the centuries, L’Manburg flourished into something so grand that not even the Founders of this great country could have dreamed of.

But like all dreams, many things change over time and soon a dream can turn into a nightmare.  That is what happened with L’Manburg.  Many people came to L’Manburg and search of a home and being able to start a business or looking for a job.  As the country itself grew, the lines in itself started to be drawn.  You have Upper Districts that are closer to the center of the country where places like Las Nevadas, Pogtopia, and the Esempi are.  Where the rich and wealthy flourish with so much that it’s impossible for any of the business owners up there to be where they are without some kind of shady to borderline illegal type of business deals.

Then you have Lower Districts where places like Logstedshire (the Slums) and the Badlands reside.  The place where the “common folk” and the “poor people” live.  It’s also where so much crime is that it’s utterly ridiculous!  If it weren’t for the Vigilantes then the crime rates wouldn’t be so bad.  Except for one particular reason.  The Syndicate.  The Syndicate is said to be the family of the most powerful Villains in the Underground World.  

Oh, I’m sorry did I forget to mention the Heroes and Villains?  OOPS!  Let me backtrack a bit.  See remember when I mention that back during L’Manburg’s Founder’s Years, where we had people that are hybrids, have hybrid powers but not the hybrid traits, people that can do magic?  Well, over the years, people have been born with what people call superpowers, powers or enhancements.  Some even still have their hybrid traits and talents, others, well they look human but have the hybrid powers, others just never have been a hybrid or any family member but they did wind up with some sort of power or enhancement.

As you can imagine with all that going in the country and with the divide between the Social Economy becoming the normal and being the who’s who.  You can see that many people will either result in some people have decided to try and to actually do some good with the gift that they were born with.  And try to make a difference in the world.  Become a Hero for all to see and aspire to be.

Or they rather go down a different path, doing shady deals to get to the top and stay at the top.  To get rid of their lying cheating husband, to make sure that their daughter married the “perfect man.”  This is where the Syndicate comes to play in this story.

The Syndicate is a  Mafia family like business.  Their Headquarters is the upper part of the Lower Districts where they can easily get business for all kinds of jobs.  What kinds of jobs you may ask?  Anything from needed to get rid of someone, staging an accident, to auditioning illegal items and/or people for service, to lending out business loans for those who want to start their own business and most important of all.  They offer protection to any business that will pay their fees from any crime.

All you have to do is agree to their terms and make sure to pay on time.  Otherwise, they will have no problem in showing up to collect their debts.  This is where our story begins.

(Actias House, The Garden)

It was Tommy’s birthday today but instead of celebrating it with his family he’s out here in the Garden with his Keeper Sam and all of his toy friends!  Having a blast with a birthday tea party.  It was a good day!  The sun was out, there was a nice breeze, Tommy saw a few birds (Tommy giggled when he saw a Raven!) and the nice lady Niki even baked some cookies for Tommy and let Tommy decorate a few cupcakes for his birthday!

Tommy was a little sad that his parents couldn’t be here celebrating with him.  They were stuck in that boring meeting with the mean business guy Charon and his two sons Orpheus and Ares.  Tommy’s not sure how he feels about them.  His parents and his Aunt say they were on their side and that they were here to protect them.  But why would his family need all the extra protection?  Tommy’s got Sam, his parents have a couple of guards as well that look after them.  Tommy didn’t get it, and might never get it.  But right now it’s not time for sad thoughts, it's time for having fun!

“Oh, what do we have here?”  A voice that Tommy didn’t recognize said.  Tommy turned his head to where the voice came and saw him.  He was extremely tall, with curly brown hair that had a white streak in it, he was wearing an ocean style dress shirt, a black trench coat, ripped jeans and what Tommy could only call it.  A Music Style Mask that Tommy had seen his parents wear during the Holidays when they go to those fancy adult parties.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said.  “May I join you, little one?”

Tommy scuffed.  “I’m not little!  I’m a big kid now!”  Tommy said proudly.  And he’s right, he is a big kid now!  He just turned six!  Which means that he’s going to be starting Primary School in the Fall!

“Oh, may I ask how old you are?”  The man asked nicely.  Well Tommy thinks he asked nicely.  He’s not sure there was something really weird with his voice.

“Six!  I just turned six today!  It’s my birthday and I’m having a birthday Tea Party!  You want to join, Mister?”

“I love, too.”  The man sat down on the bench on the other side of the table across from Tommy and Sam.  Tommy noticed that the man didn’t answer his question or maybe he didn’t realize that Tommy was asking the man for his name?  Yeah, that had to be it!  Tommy poured the man some tea and gave him a couple of cookies.

“So, it’s your birthday today?”  The man asked.  Tommy nodded.  “How come your parents are out here?”

“They’re in a boring adult meeting with that mean Sharon guy.”

“Charon,” the man corrected.  “How’s he mean?”

“Mommy and Daddy couldn’t re - re - re-ah-ange the meeting.  So, that’s why this Charon guy is mean!  It’s my birthday!  He could have had it any other day!”  Tommy sulked.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to schedule it on your birthday,” the man said.

“You never told me your name,” Tommy pointed out.

“No, I haven’t.  How about this, we both introduce each other.  I’ll go first.  I’m Orpheus.”

“Tommy.  Wait, your Or-fee-sus?”

The man - Orpheus just busted out laughing.  “Orpheus.  But close enough.”

“How about I call you something that’s a lot easier to say?”  Tommy offered.

“Okay, what do you suggest?”

“I don’t know.  Mommy said you have ‘Mind Control’ powers like the Sirens.  Hey!  That’s what I’ll call you!  Siren!”

“Siren,” Orpheus - Siren says like he’s trying the name out.  “Okay, you can call me Siren.”

“Tommy!”

“Hi, Mommy!”  Tommy waved.  “We’re having a Tea Party!”

Tommy’s Mother darts her eyes at Siren and then back to Tommy with a strange kind of smile on her face.  Why’s his Mother scared?  She said Siren and his family were protecting them?

“Oh, that good dear!  Um, Mister Orpheus, your father wants to talk to you,” Tommy’s Mom said.

“Thanks for the tea and cookie.  And Happy Birthday!”  Siren got up and followed Tommy’s Mother back inside.  

Tommy shrugged and went back to enjoying his tea party.  Not knowing that this would be the last tea party he would have in a very long time.

(Several Months Later)

Clara and Timothy Actias were on their hands and knees begging for their lives.  Siren scuffed at how predictable these welps are.

“Mister and Misses Actias, kindly restate what our deal is?”  Charon asked in a calming tone.  His midnight black wings tucked perfectly behind his back.  Talons tapping on his cane, while looking down at the couple through his Wither Skull Mask.

“Re-repay the loan that you lent us for our real estate business and for your protection against any criminals and other villains or heroes with twenty percent more.”  Misses Actias recited.

“Glad to know we’re on the same page.  Now, kindly tell us why you thought it was a good idea to ghost us for nearly an entire year when we gave you a specific deadline to return the money?”

“Sir, I request that you give us just a week!  That’s all!  I can give all the money by then!  We didn’t realize that we - we spent the money!”  Mister Actias said.

“You think that we are fools?”  Siren demanded.  “We know the minute that we give that extra time you’ll just flee the country!  Why else would you not return our calls?”

“Sire,” Charon lightly chastises.  “Let’s be professional shall we?”  Siren nodded and back down a bit.  “Let’s settle this like professionals that we are.  I’ll make you an offer, a deal if you will.”

Both Mister and Misses Actias' heads popped up with that.  Hope in their eyes that they might be able to get out of this.

“You have a son don’t you?  He would be about this tall?  Blond hair that looks like gold in the sunlight, blue eyes that look like gems?  Loves animals and from what hear tea parties?”

“What?!  What are - you can not - this is - that is” Mister Actias sputtered incoherently.

“He died!”  Misses Actias said.  Shocking everyone including her husband.

“Oh, how did he die?”  Siren asked skeptically.

“Swimming accident!  Out by the pond near our backyard.  It happened this past weekend.  We didn’t - we didn’t know that we accidentally took the money out for his funeral was the money that we needed to pay you back.  We swear it was an accident!”  Misses Actias said, her voice trembling.

“Oh, my apologies.  May you both rest in peace with your son,” Charon said tapping his cane on the wooden floor.

Just like that Siren and Ares raised their guns and fired.

(Clementine’s House)

Clementine was having a blast.  She finally got to have a weekend with her nephew.  She managed to get Tommy to bed and now is as good a time as any to start getting some of the cleaning done.  Clementin just finished washing the dishes and putting them on the drying rack when a knock came from her front door.

Clementine came to the front and flipped on the porch lights and peaked out the side windows next the door.  What was the police doing here?

“Can I help you?”  Clementine asked as she opened the door.

“Ma’am I think it’s best that we come inside,” One the officers said.  “It’s about your brother and sister in law.”

****

Tagging: @weirdmixofweirdness @febuwhump @a-humble-narcissus, @tracobuttons

[peekaboo-icyou]

“Cramps”

So you’ve been on your period for a couple days now and your cramps have gotten worse and worse. You didn’t sleep all night because of how bad you felt, so when Wilbur woke up at 4:30-5:00am to get ready for work he gently shook you awake “baby…wake up…” your eyes fluttered open and you groan “hm…” he smiles softly “do you need me to stay home today and take care of you?..” you shake your head softly “I-I don’t want you to miss work because of me plus your men have been doing your work because you’ve been staying home with me” he sighs “will you be ok?” You nod, he sighs and gets up and gets ready for work and you fall back asleep, 20 minutes later you hear him trying to quietly sneak beside you and set a few things on your bedside table “Wil?…what are you doing?…” he mutters something angrily because he woke you up “I was just getting a few things to help you feel better…” your heart melts because of this “t-thank you baby I’ll see you when you get home…” he kisses you softly and he kisses you before quietly walking away and shutting the bedroom door behind him. 3 hours later you get out of bed after suffering for 2 hours of not being able to get up without feeling like you just got stabbed 37 times in the stomach, and right after you got out of bed you got back in bed and watched movies while drinking tea and laying on a heating pad until you felt the worst pain you have ever felt before, when Wilbur got home he went up to your shared bedroom and when he opened the door he was met with you curled up in a ball sobbing, he quickly ran over to you “baby what’s wrong?” He cradles you in his arms “shhhh…it’s ok baby please calm down and tell me what’s wrong…” you sniffle “I-it hurts…” he runs his fingers through your hair “I know love I know…just let me take care of you” he Carrie’s you to the bathroom and sets you down on the counter before turning on the bath and pours bubbles and rose peddle and a bath bomb in the bath “do you need anything else my love?” “C-can you get in with me?” He smiles “of course darling” he undresses you and sets you in the tub before getting undressed and getting in the bath with you “feel better?” “A little” he smiles and lays down and you lay on his chest, after your bath he Carrie’s you to your bed even though you protest and he gets your comfiest pjs “can you please do what you need in the bathroom so I can dress you, love?” “I can dress myself” he pouts “why wont you let me take care of you” “fine” you go to the bathroom and do your business and walk back to the bedroom and Wilbur picks you up and lays you on the bed and dresses you “comfy?” You giggle “very” he makes sure you comfy in bed and puts your favorite show on “I’ll be right back darling…” he hands you your favorite of his sweaters and leaves, 30 minutes later he comes back with a tray of your favorite food and snacks “aww…” he smiles and puts it on your lap “need anything else?” You smile and tear up “no…” he cradles your face “hey hey what’s wrong…” you sniffle “I-I don’t deserve you…” “shhh never say that again you do deserve me I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you I mean I’ve killed people I’m a mafia boss and you this sweet innocent person who wouldn’t hurt a fly” you hug him “thank you Wilby” he chuckles, you both sit there and cuddle while watching movies and eating snacks until he gets a call he sighs and mutters “god dammit” he answers the phone “what do you want?” There’s talking on the other end but you can’t make out what the person is saying “you guys can handle it didnt I tell you my wife wasn’t feeling well. Thank you for taking care of my work I’ll be back tomorrow if she feels better” you frown “bubs you don’t have to stay here with me…” he smiles softly “oh your to kind for this world” you both cuddle the rest of the night and you ended up making him go to work the next day despite his protests.

This has literally been in my drafts for a month and a half

[scrumptioustyphoonpainter]

Falling more in love with the art teacher

No one pov: Mr soot was getting some coffee but he Hera some humming in the art room he walk towards the art room and he saw you was humming doing a student hair on a pony tail he felt he's face got red when he was about to leave but one of your students called he's name at loud

Random student- hey Mr soot what bring you here?

They ask him‚you turn around to the door and saw him you smiled at him he blush again he's been trying hide he's blush or smile when he around you

Miss l/n- oh it's you do you need anything Mr soot?

Mr soot- O-oh lm good lm just getting c-coffee but thanks theo

Ghosh he never get nervous right front of anyone like never in he's hole life but you they something about you like really with your beautiful e/c your body your h/c your smile and your s/c gosh everything about you was just prafact you giggle

Miss l/n- well it was nice talking to you again Mr soot if you need anything feel free to come ok

Mr soot- ok well bye

Miss l/n- bye

The hole class- Bye Mr soot

Now he was speeding to the teacher Ariel soon he got they he took a deep breath in and deep breath out he walk to the coffee machine and pull himself some coffee on he's coffee mug he sigh in took a drink of he's mug he stand up to go to he's classroom just to make sure if he's student didn't make a mess

[badmccideas]

whats m1p?

basically dc superheroes but with a mcyt twist and original settings

phil is hail razor, the batman stand in

[guacvocado]

NEW CHAPTER ALERT!!

cmon people this is not a drill! it’s up and ready to read!!

[peninkwrites]

Karl and Quackity (don't) Date - Ch 15 of ?

Tubbo is brave, Schlatt is paranoid, and Quackity is fed up with both of them.

[CW: abuse, alcohol, violence, guns]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 14

Mafia AU

~

The progression had been so gradual.  From the earliest days of their relationship, Schlatt only giving him a slap only at the peak of a heated argument, giving backhanded compliments alongside seemingly genuine ones, on bad days withholding affection even when Quackity was so obviously starved for it; to now, where Quackity is not only afraid Schlatt will kill him but has certifiable near misses to back it up, he doesn’t know how that shift had passed by so unnoticed.  Maybe he shouldn’t have been so tolerant in the beginning, like a frog in a pot of boiling water, but it’s too late for that now.

Not to say Schlatt hadn’t figured out ways to hold onto him early on, well before the need for all out death threats.  Over the course of the first six months of their relationship, Schlatt sunk his claws in deep.  He would be sweet and caring and give Quackity the attention he was so starved of; intermittently he’d cut off that attention until Quackity was panicked over what he’d done, desperately vying for affection, which Schlatt would finally give.  Then, Schlatt would threaten to leave him, and Quackity would beg Schlatt to never let go, to sink his teeth in if it would help him hold on tighter, because he was already convinced that he needed Schlatt to survive.  Not just physically, but Quackity needed Schlatt’s touch like he needed water, he needed his praise like he needed air, and he’d found he didn’t need food as much as he thought he did.

Two years on, Quackity was beginning to accept that while he had changed far more than Schlatt had, Schlatt still had a hold on him in more ways than one.

So Quackity goes to the hostage exchange, because why wouldn’t he?  Why would it be a big deal if nothing happened, right?  Fuck, Quackity is praying Schlatt lets this go.  It’s already unnerving that he’s clearly had this shred of paranoia stirring for weeks before now.  What if it’ll remain under the surface until he finds he needs another excuse to fuck him up?

The setup is typical.  Guns watching their backs, Tubbo waiting gloomily to count the cash.  One of the men ringing the room is the same one tasked with following him; Morelli.  He avoids Quackity’s gaze.  A bold choice on Schlatt’s part.  What if Quackity recognized him and connected the dots now?  That, or this is Schlatt’s way of testing how good of a job the guy was doing, staying out of Quackity’s sight.  Quackity is good at pretending not to recognize people.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Schlatt snaps his fingers for them to open the doors.  They don’t.

“No one has showed yet, Boss,” the man standing to the right of the door speaks up, and with the uneasy glances he gives his nearest comrade, he’d been nominated to give the bad news.

“The fuck do you mean no one has showed yet?” Schlatt scoffs.  “Do they think their fucking wife, their fucking mother, their apparent loved one,” he says the word mockingly, “is just feeling all nice and cosy in the cellar?!”

The man knows better than to speak, watching Schlatt with bated breath.

“Fucking hell… fine, fine, I guess we’re killing her then!  Their loss!” Schlatt says it so loudly Tubbo flinches.

“Boss, I mean, shouldn’t we wait for a minute?  Just to see?” Quackity asks.

“Why the fuck would I do that?  I gave them the time, and if they’re not here, they’re not here–” Schlatt is cut off by the front door being forced open.  “What the fuck is this?!”  He snaps as eight armed men enter, one for each of them.  Considering one of their numbers is a kid, they’re still outnumbered.

“We’re here for Jennifer Bartlet and we’re not leaving without her,” the man at the head of the group calls out as the others aim their guns at Schlatt and his following.

Fuck.  Quackity hates a shoot out.  Why the fuck would these morons waste their hostage fund on mercenaries?!

“Yeah, and I gave you a fuckin’ price tag.” Schlatt laughs, unafraid to the point of suicidality.  If Quackity were a bit more suicidal himself, he’d smack him.  There is a weighted pause wherein no one bends to Schlatt’s whim.  Schlatt seems unperturbed and shrugs.  “Fine.  Kill ‘em, then we kill the hostage.”

Quackity doesn’t know who shot first, but both sides are definitely fucking shooting now.  Quackity is well versed in hitting the ground fast.  He sees Tubbo has done the same, hiding himself behind the stairs.  Quackity sees his ingenious partner has remained on the steps, high up and an obvious target, but he’s not the one firing a gun, so the mercs are more occupied with his dogs.

Quackity thinks he’s coping relatively well.  And he thought he saw Tubbo duck behind the banister, but evidently fucking not anymore since he’s currently standing between Quackity and the barrel of a gun.

“Whoa whoa, stop!” Quackity yanks Tubbo behind him, and they get lucky.  The man hits the ground in a spray of blood from a rogue bullet, dead or alive, he won’t be doing any more damage.

“What the fuck?!” Quackity hisses frantically to Tubbo, pulling him back behind the steps.  “Are you fucking kidding me, Tubbo–?!”  Quackity is distracted by Tubbo grabbing onto his tie and dragging him around the corner into the hall, “whoa whoa whoa, what’re you–” Quackity narrowly missing a bullet piercing the wallpaper above his head.

“We should– We should get the lady out,” Tubbo says, a tremor in his voice but shockingly steady.  He’s let go of Quackity’s tie, trusting him to follow.  “While he’s distracted, we c-can–” Tubbo flinches and ducks when the sound of another gunshot echoes down the hall, but it wasn’t toward them.

“What are you talking about?!” Quackity is almost shouting at him.

“The lady in the basement!” Tubbo snaps.

Quackity laughs, high and frantic.  “Are you fucking kidding me, Tubbo?!  The only leverage against the people currently trying to–” Quackity sees someone turn the corner at the end of the hall and drags Tubbo into the kitchen.  “To kill us?!”

“If we don’t you know he’s gonna kill her!” Tubbo snaps back, rushing to the cellar door.

“If we don’t get the fuck out of here, Tubbo, something is gonna kill us!” Quackity grabs onto Tubbo’s arm, dragging him back.  He desperately tries to think.  Tubbo seems to be doing the same.  Quackity grabs a stool.

“Oh, good idea!” Tubbo grabs one as well, to Quackity’s continued bafflement.

Quackity wedges the legs of the stool between the wall and the door handle, barricading it best he can in the circumstances and spins to the back wall of the kitchen, pulling his beanie down tighter and bottling the urge to throw a fucking fit.  “Okay, okay, we get out the door into the alley and we run for it–”

Quackity is distracted by Tubbo making one stupid decision after another, as he’s taken his barstool and has started trying to bash it against the padlock on the cellar door.  Quite loudly.  “What the fuck are you doing?!” Quackity lunges to grab the stool from him before it can make another thud giving them away.  So far he thinks the gunshots have covered for them, but it’s not going to last if Tubbo keeps it up.

“Me?! What’re you doing?!” Tubbo says fiercely.  Quackity is taken aback.  Tubbo is different.  Tubbo stares up at him, affronted and unyielding, wrenching the stool back from him.  “I’m not leaving when I know what’s going to happen, and neither should you!  At least not until we get her out with us!” He nods back toward the cellar door and gears up for another swing.

Quackity flinches when Tubbo bashes the stool against the lock once more.  It’s scratched the paint, it’s starting to loosen the screws on the latch, there’s no way of them hiding this happening at all now but if they get the fuck out of here, they can blame it on the mercenaries.

Tubbo stops when there’s a dull thud against the kitchen door.  Both of them freeze, staring at the door handle as it rattles.  Rather than freezing up, rather than that meek, rabbit in a headlight panic Quackity expects, to his continued exasperation, Tubbo starts attacking the lock with far more vigor.

“What the fuck is wrong with this door?!” Of fucking course it’s Schlatt’s voice.  He’s a goddamn cockroach.  It’s like he’s allergic to bullets.

Tubbo flinches at the three sharp bangs against the door, but he remains resolutely focused on breaking the lock.  It’s starting to tear away now, the wood is splintering, at the same time, Quackity is the one frozen in the middle of the room as he watches his makeshift door jam rattle ominously against the doorhandle.

“Who’s in there?!  Unless you wanna eat lead, I’d start fucking talking!” Schlatt shouts against the wood.

“I-It’s me!  Schlatt, it’s me!” Quackity doesn’t say Tubbo’s name.  There’s no fucking hiding what they’ve done, but maybe he can shove Tubbo out the back and take the stool so Schlatt thinks he was busting the door down.  Maybe he can even lie and say he was trying to get to the hostage first.  Maybe that will even work and he’s not about to kill himself or, if he’s being optimistic, just sign himself up for some egregious harm.  It won’t fucking work if Tubbo keeps hitting the fucking door.

“Aw, guns too scary for you, sweetheart? I thought you’d stopped being such a pussy,” Schlatt’s patronizing drawl doesn’t sound suspicious, but certainly irritable.  “Open the goddamn door.”

“One sec!  It’s stuck!” Quackity calls back.  He doesn’t even think he’s buying them time, because Schlatt is already trying to ram the door open, but anything to make Schlatt think they weren’t defying him deliberately.

Tubbo pauses once, staring at Quackity, daring him to open that door.  Quackity stares back, daring him to hit the lock again.  Tubbo maintains eye contact with Quackity as with one last hit, the lock finally clatters off the cellar door and Tubbo drops the barstool with it.  He’s opening the door now.  He’s seriously going to try to run downstairs and get that woman out the back door before Schlatt can get his dogs to break the fucking door down, which they’re bound to do any second.

So Quackity does something he hopes Tubbo will eventually forgive him for.  He grabs onto Tubbo by the collar of his shirt and yanks him away from the cellar.

“What’re you doing?!” Tubbo cries out.

Right in time for the other barstool to finally clatter loose and for the door into the kitchen to bang open.  Even then, even as Schlatt enters the room followed by four gunmen, Tubbo is still trying to get to the cellar, Quackity can feel him trying to pull away even as he cannot comprehend what’s possessed him.  Quackity grabs him by the shoulders, shoving him against the fridge.  “Stop trying to act strong!  Stop trying to act strong!”  He shakes him roughly, Tubbo’s eyes widen, stunned, mouth hanging open in wordless fear that Quackity has to ignore.  “You’re just a fucking kid!” Quackity shouts in his face, harsh as he is terrified.  He can deal with Schlatt, he doesn’t know how to cope with Tubbo being unpredictable.

Tubbo doesn’t say a word.  He doesn’t even look as Schlatt sends someone down into the cellar.  He just stares at Quackity, and once more Quackity cannot bury the thought that he needs to teach Tubbo how to have any semblance of a poker face, because right now, that kid’s miserable fucking expression bleeds hurt.  All that fear and confusion as he stares up at him, and it’s so raw Quackity feels like he needs to cut the kid’s heart out before it crushes him.

“You’re a fucking kid,” Quackity snarls again.  It’s all he can do.  And all of his terror on Tubbo’s behalf comes out vicious and cruel, his hands still pressed to Tubbo’s shoulders, refusing to let him move.

Quackity doesn’t know.  He doesn’t know that three days ago, Schlatt had told Tubbo something.  Utterly matter-of-fact, Schlatt had told his son that he’s not allowed to get out of this family alive.  It doesn’t matter when, or even if he turns eighteen, because Tubbo knows too much now.  He’s signed into this family for life and it’s over Schlatt’s dead fucking body that he runs away from this.

That changes things for Tubbo.  All he had been able to hope for was running away the moment he turned eighteen.  In four years time, it will change things even more.

Quackity lets go.  Tubbo doesn’t try to get to the cellar.

“The fuck were you two playing at?” Schlatt cuts in.

Quackity turns back to face him, and Schlatt glances between them.

“My idea, Boss.  Thought it was best we get to her first,” Quackity says dully.  There’s a gunshot in the basement and Quackity flinches.  He doesn’t look back at Tubbo.

“And you kept me locked out why?” Schlatt sneers.

Quackity shrugs and pretends his heart isn’t still pounding in his ears.  “Didn’t react fast enough.  Sorry.”

“I guess I’ll pretend to believe that bullshit, but what gives you the fucking right to go running off making decisions behind my back?  Eh?” Schlatt steps closer, towering over him like always.  “We’ve discussed this, baby!  Your job is to stand there and look pretty while me and the boys do the actual work.  Somehow I seem to find myself tripping over you instead.  When you should definitely know not to get in my way.”

Quackity is already running on too much adrenaline.  “Maybe you shouldn’t start a fucking gun fight without any fucking caution next time!” Quackity shouts in his face and he knows what happens next.  He braces, but it still hurts, Schlatt’s gaudy rings digging into his cheek when the man backhands him hard enough he stumbles.  His cheek stings and he wonders if it was enough to draw blood but he doesn’t reach up to check.  He refuses to react at all.  None of this satisfies the frustration boiling in his chest.

Schlatt tuts him.  “Why the attitude, Quackity?  If you want me to hit you so bad, how about you just ask next time?  Didn’t know you were into that.”

“Come on, Boss.  Lay off.  He’s just… he’s freaked out from the fire fight.  Maybe cut him some slack?”

Quackity looks past Schlatt to Morelli, who had dared to speak, stunned.  Schlatt scowls at Quackity’s expression, before turning back to the man.

Schlatt laughs in his face.  “You’re lucky I don’t cut out your fucking tongue.  You don’t have the fucking right.  Why the hell do you give a shit, eh?  You don’t know him,” Schlatt sneers very deliberately, a warning, daring him to fuck this up.

Morelli has the survival instinct to back down, turning on a dime.  “Sorry, Boss.  Didn’t mean to overstep.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.  Now, if you’d meant to, I’d just fucking kill you.” Schlatt says.  “You know better than to mouth off.”

Morelli just nods.  He does not acknowledge the obvious threat, nor the indignity of a grown man voicing any thought being referred to as mouthing off.

“Get this cleaned up and get out of my sight,” Schlatt waves them off.  He grabs onto Quackity’s arm tightly, dragging him back into the hall.  Quackity doesn’t look back at Tubbo.  He doesn’t want to know what that kid’s face looks like after that woman was shot.  Quackity sees only four dead in the front entryway, a couple of them are theirs, the other two from the mercenaries.  The rest must have decided it wasn’t worth it and fled.  Schlatt stops behind the stairs, cornering him against the wall.

“What was that about, Quackity?” Schlatt finally lets go, staring at him, sharp and accusing.

“I told you, I was just trying to get to her first and the kid followed, I wasn’t trying to keep you out, it just–”

“No, not that– not whatever,” Schlatt waves him off dismissively.  “You don’t think they give a fuck about you, do you?”

Quackity stares up at him, baffled.  “Uh, who?”

“The boys!” Schlatt gestures irritably toward the hall.  “My boys.”  He paces for only a moment before turning back to close in on Quackity.  “You’ve got no idea the shit they say when we’re not in the room.  You think that son of a bitch is any different?  Huh?  He’s acting like a goddamn gentleman right now, but you think he’s not laughing along with all them?” Schlatt says it like an accusation, and Quackity knows his answer matters, but he’s just so startled.  Quackity hadn’t viewed Schlatt as the jealous type until recently.  In the beginning he acted like giving Quackity any attention was a chore, like Quackity being allowed to grace his presence at all was something Quackity had to cling to like a lifeline.  This is certainly not that.  And it sure as hell isn’t better.

“I mean…” Quackity laughs, and has yet to partake in caution.  “How would you know what they’re saying if you’re not there either?”

Schlatt smiles.  “Because sometimes I am there, and I can tell them to shut the fuck up, or I can join in.”  Schlatt reaches out and pinches his cheek.

Quackity’s irritation is finally replaced by hollow disgust, which is exactly what Schlatt had been hoping for he presumes.  Quackity doesn’t want to know.  He does know they’re not all like that.  Schlatt acts like such a fucking know it all, but Quackity knows it means something when they look at him different, like he’s an actual person.  He won’t hold it against them for laughing along when Quackity has done the same thing.

“Right,” Quackity laughs and it sounds strained.  “Is that supposed to make me feel better, Schlatt?  Doesn’t exactly paint you in a very good light, now, does it?”

Schlatt startles him by grabbing onto his shoulders, not too tightly, but unnerving nonetheless.  “You know I’m the only thing standing between you and those animals?” He expects Quackity to look him in the eye, demanding he not merely listen but understand Schlatt’s point.  “You think I’m harsh, or… or demanding–” Schlatt cuts himself off with a brief, wet cough that makes Quackity shut his eyes. “Or whatever it is you bitch about all the goddamn time, do you have any fucking clue how much worse it could be?  I am the only thing keeping them off of you.  They don’t care if you fucking live or die.  I weren’t here?” Schlatt leans in closer, hissing a warning, “they’d be on you like fucking wolves.  You’d be dead by tomorrow.”

Quackity buries a shiver, hitting the wall behind him as he steps just another inch back.  He wants Schlatt to let go, so he nods.  Even if he refuses to believe Schlatt in entirety, it still makes his skin crawl.  It’s bad enough when they agree with Schlatt and just call him cute or stupid.

“Good.  I’m glad you understand,” Schlatt says, and that illusory calm returns.  He brushes out the wrinkles from Quackity’s shirt.  He continues, voice slow and measured and raspy.  “Now, we’re gonna go back in there, and the brat is gonna explain to me why he wanted to bust into the basement so bad.”

Quackity’s heart drops to his stomach.  Schlatt glances over his shoulder as there’s some well-timed shouting from down the hall; Quackity is more distracted by what Schlatt has said.

“Schlatt, that’s not–”

“You’re gonna tell me that’s not what happened?!” Schlatt cuts him off harshly, voice rough and weakened.  “Because it sure as hell wasn’t you, not from the way you were chewing him out.”

“I-It wasn’t– He–” For once Quackity can’t think of a lie fast enough.

This seems to confirm whatever suspicion Schlatt had, as he gives Quackity an almost understanding nod, and heads back toward the kitchen.

Someone else had the same idea as Schlatt.  Tubbo’s title as a mob prince gives him no authority nor apparently protection.  In the brief period out of the room, something must have gone down, because Tubbo is currently hunched over the kitchen sink and two of Schlatt’s dogs seem seconds from a brawl.

“Whoa whoa whoa, the fuck is going on in here?!” Schlatt barks.  “Which one of you fucking rats hit the kid?!”  He glares between the two of them.

Quackity goes to Tubbo, without a word getting him to turn to face him, revealing a bloodied nose still pouring into the sink.  Quackity tilts his head back so he can assess the damage.  Not broken, he doesn’t think, but Quackity sees Tubbo failing to hold back tears.  Quackity turns away from him to wad up some paper towels to stem the flow of blood.  Schlatt waits for an answer.

“Hello?!  Can you two not fucking hear or some shit, I asked who fucking hit my kid?!”

Quackity goes to the freezer to dig up some ice, glancing back at the pair of them.  He doesn’t give a shit what happens to the man responsible.  He’s for once grateful for Schlatt’s rage, because if Schlatt hadn’t started talking, Quackity would’ve gotten himself hurt doing something instead.  Morelli and some prick Quackity doesn’t know the name of stand in silence.  Quackity thinks Morelli isn’t a snitch.  He also doesn’t think the guy is the type to hit kids, hence, they’re waiting for the other man to crack.

“You saw it, Boss!  He must’ve been trying to–”

“Ah, ah ah!” Schlatt silences him with a tut and a raised hand.  There’s a long pause, and Quackity has a feeling the old man is holding his breath to dodge another coughing fit.  It’s easier to hide the other symptoms, the fatigue, even the dizziness, but that cough, that’s harder.  “I didn’t ask you what you fucking thought he did, I asked if you fucking hit him.”

“I…” The man struggles to defend himself.

Schlatt sighs, grumbling half under his breath as he gets out his revolver.

“Hold on!  Hold on a sec!” The man shouts hoarsely, backing up toward the back door.

Schlatt pays him no mind.  He snaps open the cylinder and sighs more loudly.  “Anyone got a bullet?”  A pause.  None of them are going to stop Schlatt, but maybe there’s some semblance of comradery there as no one replies.  “Quackity.  You didn’t shoot, correct?  You ran for it with the kid?” He says snidely.

Quackity nods.  He knows it makes him look weak, to immediately act as if on Schlatt’s side after the man hit him and dragged him out for a lecture, but he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s on Tubbo’s side, not Schlatt’s.  He unholsters his own revolver and feels a hand hold on tightly to his arm.

“Big Q,” Tubbo says, voice thick and muddled.

Quackity doesn’t respond.  He hands Schlatt his gun.

“Big Q,” Tubbo says again, and Quackity knows he sounds horrified behind the blood in his nose.

“I– He disobeyed you!  It was the kid!  He was the one trying to get downstairs!  Come on, Boss, wouldn’t you have done the same fucking thing-?” The man falls silent, holding out his hands as if to stop a bullet that way and flinching back as the gun goes off.  A bullet is embedded in the cabinet to the man’s left.

“Apologize.”  Schlatt says coolly.

“I’m sorry!  I– I wasn’t tryna go behind your back–”

“Not to me.” Schlatt cuts him off.

Despite the gun on him, the man still grimaces at the thought of being made to apologize to a child.  “Sorry, kid.”

“It’s fine!” Tubbo says, voice strained and high.

“See?  Was that so hard?” Schlatt sneers.  “Are we all clear, here?  Crystal?  None of you get to hit him.  None of you.”

One of the few good things to say about Schlatt is he never flat out hits Tubbo.  If Quackity thinks about it, the most he thinks he’s ever seen him do was throw something near him or shove him or hold on too tight.  For a brief, wild moment Quackity thinks that’s better.  He knows that’s ridiculous.  Harm is harm.  Schlatt is still a hypocrite.

Schlatt waits until there are a few nods of ascent before proceeding.  “Good.”  He glances back at Tubbo, and then again to the man responsible.  “Somebody break his nose.”  No one moves.  “Am I speaking fucking French?  Can you not hear all the sudden?  You, you already gave it your best shot, eh?  Try again,” he gestures with the gun for Morelli to hit him.

Morelli winces, but he does as he’s told.  Quackity sees Tubbo turn back to face the sink when there’s an awful crunch, and the man hits the ground, sniveling like a coward.  Tubbo’s nose isn’t actually broken, but he still took a punch better than this prick.  Tubbo meets Quackity’s gaze and quickly looks away, but from that glance, Quackity knows Tubbo is upset with him.  Quackity doesn’t fucking care.  He does care, but nowhere near enough to regret it.  He didn’t sign up for this shit, but he’s in it now.  Has been for years.  He keeps Tubbo safe.  From Schlatt and all else.  Quackity is startled when Schlatt turns and offers his gun back to him.  Quackity is quick to holster it, relieved that he hadn’t shot the guy if only because Tubbo would’ve taken it personally.

“Come on.  While these fuckin’ morons clean up, I want a drink.”  He nods Quackity to the door.

~

Schlatt has his drink.  Then another, then another.  Then another.  Unsurprisingly, that’s how the evening goes.  When Quackity finally drags him back upstairs, he’s all but dead weight.  Quackity thinks he might be trying to sedate the cough out of himself deliberately, but getting fucking wasted does nothing to help with the dizziness, as Quackity well knows from Schlatt leaning away from him before staggering back onto him.

Quackity finally dumps Schlatt onto his side of the bed where the man remains upright, barely.  Quackity takes a pause to catch his breath.  He’d stopped after two drinks when he realized he’d have to drive them home from the speakeasy he’d bullied into hosting them.  Not Niki’s, of course.

Quackity recovers somewhat, and sighs as Schlatt remains sitting there, making no effort to go to bed.  Giving in, Quackity leans down and undoes the laces on Schlatt’s smarmy oxfords.  He feels Schlatt clumsily try and run a hand through his hair and brushes him away, pulling off one shoe as if undressing a toddler.

“That fuckin’ kid, he’s always been scared as shit.  Freaked out by gunshots before he knew what they were…” Schlatt mutters.

Quackity pauses on the laces of the other, looking up at Schlatt.  “What?”

“The… the kid!  You know the kid,” Schlatt scoffs derisively.

“Tubbo?”

“Yeah, unless we got another one running around I don’t know about,” Schlatt says drolly.  He’s coherent enough to talk, apparently, but he doesn’t do anything to help or stop Quackity from slipping off his other shoe.

Quackity gets up, deigning not to be on the floor for the rest of this ordeal, and reaches out to unclasp Schlatt’s belt.  Schlatt starts trying to undo the buttons on Quackity’s pants.

Quackity smacks his hand away.  “Nope.”

Schlatt moodily returns his hands to his sides.  Another benefit to Schlatt’s growing weariness is he’s quicker to tolerate a firm no.  He’d always grudgingly get there eventually, but Quackity appreciates that it’s less of a fight.

Schlatt resumes his tangent like there was never any pause.  “Y’know, took him three years to say a word, and he skipped right to complete sentences!  Took me by surprise, I was about to call him a dud and have the boys put him in a sack and toss him in the river, y’know? Like a bag of kittens,” Schlatt laughs wetly, Quackity pauses, staring at Schlatt in stunned disgust.  “I’m kidding, Jesus fucking Christ, you think I’d kill my own blood?  Why d’you think I’ve kept him around this long?”

Schlatt meanders back to his original topic, while struggling drunkenly with the buttons of his shirt.  “First… first words were shut the fuck up.  Ha!  Probably heard it from me.  He didn’t say it to me, to be clear, otherwise I’d have smacked him for getting mouthy and then he probably would’ve been mute for another three years.  Made me laugh, though.  Y’know…” Schlatt seems to struggle to think something through, enough so that he has to pause with his shirt buttons to focus on it.  He lets Quackity pick up where he left off.

“I dunno who actually taught him to talk.  Must’ve just picked it up from the boys, I guess.  He had a nanny for the first two years or so, but the turnover rate was so fucking high.  None of ‘em had the guts to stick it out––Actually, one of ‘em tried to take Tubbo with them.  Some… some former military type, an old Captain or some shit and decided he’d rather deal with diapers?” Schlatt scoffs.  “Thought he wouldn’t be a pussy about my business with that kind of history, but nah.  He tried to run for it.  With the brat.  Bastard should’ve drugged him or something, you can’t smuggle out a crying baby!” Schlatt points at him intently, as if he’s offering pertinent advice before once more drifting off, hands slack at his sides.  “That was probably the last one.  Not gonna risk someone stealing my fucking blood.  So, at that point… I dunno.”  

“Wait!” Schlatt snaps his fingers.  “I remember!  I think… I think it was some British pricks, I dunno.  They thought it was funny trying to make him repeat the shit they said, especially after his first words were so fuckin’ ridiculous coming out of that tiny mouth.  They had that kid swearing like a sailor by the time he was three.  And… and they’re responsible for the fucking accent he’s got… back then I had a whole ring of Brits running around with me… probably saw him more than I did...”

“That’s how the kid learned to talk?” Quackity asks, his initial disgust traded for curiosity as he pulls Schlatt’s shirt off of him, leaving him in a white undershirt disturbingly damp with sweat.  “How does he sound like the fucking Queen now?”

“Fuck if I know, sometimes I think he started with the– the saying please and thank you and sorry, sir!” he says each phrase mockingly, “just to… just piss me off…”

“Right,” Quackity says dully, tossing the shirt to the floor and moving to leave.

“It’s his birthday soon, you know,” Schlatt actually puts a hand on Quackity’s arm to stop him, as if what he’s saying is important.  “He thinks I don’t know when it is, but it’s… it’s this month.  He’s still my kid, even if I… I didn’t really want a fuckin’ kid, y’know?”

Quackity knows when Schlatt gets into one of these rambling moods there’s no use dissuading him, better to just listen until he talks himself to sleep, but Quackity can’t help it, pulling away from Schlatt and going to the other side of the bed.  “No it isn’t, Schlatt.”

“Huh?”

“His birthday.  It’s not this month.”

“The fuck are you talking about?  How would you know?” Schlatt sneers.  “It’s… it’s the 21st.  The 21st of March,” Schlatt nods resolutely.

Quackity kicks off his own shoes and starts loosening his tie.  Maybe if Schlatt had been anywhere near close, the right month, or maybe even the right season at least, Quackity might’ve just moved on.  It’s too fucking much, all of it.  Every word Schlatt has said tonight.  “December.”

“Huh?”

“It’s in December.”

Schlatt scoffs.  “And you would know?  Like you know and I don’t?”

“Yeah, actually.  Yeah, I do,” Quackity says stiffly.  He flinches when Schlatt clumsily hits him over the back of the head, just enough to startle and sting.

“Shut the fuck up…” He mutters Tubbo’s first words and slumps over onto his pillow, and Quackity stops trying.