#dr3 this was the BEST idea omg i have such brainrot now

[dreamsclock]

crack au where dream and wilburs big plan goes like this: wilbur has been doing nothing but play card games for nine years in the afterlife, dream is an emotionally repressed bastard with a brilliant poker face and the skill to fight if things go south - and quackity is building vegas

naturally, they work together to rob the server blind

- dr3 on twt, i haven’t figured out my tumblr yet lol

dr3,,, DR3,,, this has been giving me such brainrot for the longest time and combines all my favourite characters to write in one incredible scenario,,, this is Peak ,,, the comedy and villainy,,, i’m in love with this au PLS

it’s tagged as -> vegas team au because i’ll probably write more for this soon !!

warnings: blood, trauma, implications of abuse, starvation mention, capitalism, manipulation, injuries/wounds, mental deterioration, dissociation

“So let me get this straight,” Quackity says, slow, suspicious, “you want to work together.”

He eyes his two new potential allies like one might a crocodile and its equally violent owner, and can’t help but feel doubt squeeze his chest. Both of them look like they’ve been through hell - well, he supposes it’s not far from the truth - and he’s not sure how they’re even still standing. Dream sways on his feet, shadows under his eyes more prominent than ever, and even Wilbur’s perfect smile is marred from the blood trickling out of gashes on his face. Breaking Dream out of prison, Quackity gathers, had been harder than they’d expected.

“We do!” Wilbur agrees cheerfully, arm looped around Dream casually. “I think it would be incredibly beneficial for the three of us - each of us have a skill or quality the others lack. Together, we could really get this server in shape.”

Quackity arches an eyebrow. “What skills and qualities would they be?”

“Well, naturally, I’m the charismatic one.” Wilbur lifts his free hand when Quackity goes to interrupt, smile never wavering. “Yes, I know you’re also charismatic, but people also think you’re unhinged.”

“You’re the one who blew up your own fucking country.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “I know, but I succeeded. You tried to kill Technoblade - who, needless to say, is still alive and on all three lives, unlike you, sorry not sorry.”

Affronted, gritting his teeth at the reminder, Quackity scowls. “Go on, then.”

“And we have you,” Wilbur presses on, flattery oozing into his voice - Quackity can sense it a mile off, but it’s still hard not to preen - “you’re resourceful, Big Q. You’re good at business and you’re cunning and you’ve built a whole fucking country and kept it lucrative. Dream and I had something of a struggle keeping our countries in one piece, if you remember correctly.”

Quackity snorts. “Yeah, I remember. And...” His eyes travel to Dream, who looks to be a thousand miles away, whose eyes are faded and unfocused, who really, Quackity thinks, has looked a hell of a lot better and more stable. “What about him?”

“Well, right now, he’s currently walking around on a shattered leg, two broken ribs, no hunger bars, seven days worth of sleep deprivation and a concussion,” Wilbur explains, bright when Quackity goes pale, “not to mention the bucketloads of trauma and mental illness. I honestly don’t know how he’s still standing. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t be. Turns out he’s got quite a good poker face, wouldn’t you say?”

Quackity stares at Dream. “Jesus Christ.”

“I say we’d make a great team.” Wilbur leans closer, grinning. “You’ve got the country and business side of things, I’ve got the charisma and stability - or, well, apparent stability - and Dream has the best fucking poker face I’ve ever seen. Not to mention, he killed eight zombies on the way here while taking hardly any damage. I reckon you need us both.”

“And what do you get out of this?” Quackity asks, because he’s not naïve, and he’s proven correct when Wilbur chuckles in delight and approval. “You’re not just doing this out of the kindness of your hearts.”

Wilbur nods in agreement, eyes sharp as a knife. “Well, we want protection,” he says, like it’s obvious, maybe it is, “we want shelter from the rest of the server and we could do with being a part of a country like yours for the time being. Dream needs somewhere to recover and rest, I need somewhere to lay low for a while, and, well...”

He trails off for a moment, before resuming.

“Well, Big Q, if I’m going to be entirely up front with you, I played card games in the Void for nine straight years, and frankly, I’ve grown fond of them. And what better way than gambling to destroy the server?”

Quackity can’t help amusement curling into his smirk. “You’re fucked up, Wilbur Soot. You’re a fucked up man.”

Wilbur grins. “So you’re on board?”

“Yes, I’m on board, Jesus,” Quackity agrees, running a hand over his face and glancing around, “let’s get you two inside before anyone fuckin’ sees.”

Dream offers him an empty smile that makes his skin crawl. “I don’t suppose you have any health potions, do you?” He asks, like he’s asking about the weather rather than asking for assistance for his crippling health. “I’m on half a heart.”

Quackity winces. “Half a-- yeah, man, we got some health potions. But- I’m gonna need you guys to sign a contract or two first.” Because he’s not an idiot, Wilbur and Dream aren’t idiots, and he doesn’t trust them as far as he can throw them.

“Brilliant!” Wilbur looks pleased. “I have a contract too. Great minds think alike, ey, Quackity?”

Great minds indeed. Quackity rolls his eyes, turning his back and beginning to head in the direction of Vegas. Wilbur hums low under his breath, and begins to follow, with Dream following behind him silently. “This is gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs.

“Or the start of something beautiful,” Wilbur says, something sinister in his voice, “the SMP won’t know what hit them.”

“I’ll be praying for them.” Quackity pauses, turning to Wilbur in bemusement. “You died, right? Does God exist?”

Dream speaks up, voice hoarse. “I’m basically God. I brought him back, you know.” He giggles, and Wilbur looks delighted. “I’m God, Wilbur.”

“Dream is the closest thing to God we have,” Wilbur says, and Quackity can’t help but feel horrified at that thought, “so prayer is pretty much useless.”

“Right,” Quackity says, mildly regretting his decision already, because teaming with a manipulative dead man and a shattered man who thinks he’s God can’t in any world be a good thing, “right, yeah, okay. Does God want a golden apple while we’re signing contracts.”

“If you’ve got one,” Dream says brightly, and Quackity prepares himself for a long couple of months of this team. This is going to go perfect, or it’s going to be the death of them all. Either way, at the very least: things will definitely be interesting.

#> my asks !! #> my writing !! #-> vegas team au #(my tag for this au because i'm Thinking About It) #dr3 this was the BEST idea omg i have such brainrot now #tw trauma #tw injury #tw starvation #tw manipulation #tw abuse #(only mentioned/implied) #tw capitalism #tw dissociation #tw mental deterioration #-> dr3 :]