#sorry i just. want schlatt on the qsmp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nefkyology · 3 months

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THIS IS A GANG AU TNTDUO ONESHOT

Sorry I didn't come up with a name in time, but it's exactly that. it's both qsmp and dsmp characters and there's guns and homosexuals. enjoy

They walk through the house in silence. This is one of those rentals Schlatt has been tethering around a whole lot, it's strategically close to the Sunday markets and, maybe not coincidentally, to the turf border. Cheap furniture, expendable evidence. "Now listen," the man starts off once they've all walked in a single file line, "we're all gonna sit down and discuss some very critical information." he says, rubbing his hands as he lets them all get comfortable wherever there's space in the living room. There's only one couch and an armchair, Quackity walks around but all the seats are filled with a snicker, Jack basically leaps into his as long as he doesn't get it. “Really funny, asshole.” he groans. When he remains to stand, Schlatt orders him to sit down again, so he's forced to go and retrieve a chair from the dining room. "There's no time to waste here, the meeting will be in an hour." "Who are we meeting?" Tubbo asks naively. "We're meeting the Watsons at the rental shop. It'll be a quick affair." Fit reveals. Quackity scoffs in annoyance then, just as he's returning with the chair. "Are you serious? Why did we have to dress up so well then, I can't even fit my clips in these suit pockets!" "It's going to be a formal agreement of peace between our turfs." "Are you kidding? The eldest Watson wants me dead and we're going in there all together, no formation!?"

“We won't need one.”

Then he's surrounded. They close him into a circle and pull him in all directions. Someone starts pulling at his hair to tie it into a braid, someone dust him off and buttons his shirt, fixes his tie. "Hey, hey! What the fuck is--" "You're the centerpiece of this operation, you'll have to look good." "Why? Get off, Christ, stop!" "Sit still, Q!" Roier tugs his hair back slightly, and when the other tries to grab him to land a punch to the side of his head, Tubbo breaks them up. "Big Q, come on, you just have to let us." "Why??? Can someone please tell me what the deal is??"

Schlatt walks forward now, hands behind his back. "Listen, Watson has three sons, alright? The eldest hates you, the youngest is a little brick-slinging shit. But the middle brother, luckily for us, is a little backwards, and they've agreed they want him married off and childless. You see where I'm going with this?" "You want me to seduce him?!" "I don't want you to, you'll have to. I've already promised you to them." "WHAT?! FUCK THAT." he's kicking and screaming now, trying to get away before Roier can start putting flowers in his black hair. He doesn't get far, not even out of the door. Jack trips him and he goes forward on his hands and knees. "We need something that'll bury the hatchet and buy us some time to become friendly with the Watsons. Obviously we've got no ladies to offer to the youngest, but technically you are still my pupil." Schlatt explains. Quackity replies with a series of not very gentle words, so Schlatt forces him to look up with gritted teeth that translate to a restraint from violence.

"Listen, this could be good for you. He's not an impulsive ass, he's got a few vices, you'll be set if you just please him a little." "You seriously think he won't try to finish the fucking job once he looks at me?" Quackity cries out, looking over to someone, anyone who's not also gone completely mad. But nobody defends him. "He has notoriously refused to participate in quarrels unless his direct family was involved, so I think he lacks the trigger discipline to just shoot point blank." Fit interjects, which only makes Quackity scoff in bewilderment. That's it, that's his insurance?? Schlatt forces his shoulders forward and instructs him some more. "Look, just sit on his right, he'll see your left and it'll be too late to back out when you have to look at him!" Schlatt laughs then "Come on Q, smile! It's a wedding!"

Quackity's head spins, he doesn't want this, he was ready for anything but this. Now there's beads of sweat around his forehead and he has to keep drying them off with his handkerchief until he's given a clean one. They put a flower in his buttonhole and dust him off, powder his scar up with the first thing they found in the ladies room, let him have a drink before he's walking back out - a long swing, it's only fair.

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They reach the parked caravans, the Watsons are sitting on the front porch of the rental shop. "That's gonna be your ride." Schlatt points him to one stationed a few feet ahead, a clean wagon with flowers and boxes, supposedly gifts, already packed inside. Mrs Watson watches them from her rocking chair, her black veil gone just for today, but maybe it's not a good thing. Her eyes are more piercing than ever. Mr Watson stands at her side with his cane, holding her hand patiently. Blade and his brother Tommy stand on the other side, stiff and quiet. "Good morning mates." Mr Watson says with the most gentle smile he can manage. It's nice, though equally as terrifying. "Good morning. Madam." Schlatt bows to her slightly from the bottom step, but she doesn't seem in a talking mood. "Well go on, show us the groom." the man of the house cuts the chitchat before it even starts.

Quackity steps forward, head up high, as per order. Blade never takes his eyes off of him, not when he fixes his glasses, not when he bows his head forward to answer a whispered question from his little brother. The whole house stares at him in silence. "My eldest over there respects you, son." Mr Watson says, and Quackity would laugh if it felt like a joke. He feels his skin start to sting along wherever the white powder has seeped into the flesh and he's forced to close his bad eye. The madam notices, "Can you see well, son?" she asks. Her voice is so crisp and clear in comparison. "Yes madam." he answers. She raises her hand still clasped in her husband's and he reaches around for something.

Quackity braces, Schlatt is ready behind him. But the man is not armed, he shows them what's underneath his jacket as he puts his hand behind his back. "We're just gonna test him." he says, and then he tosses him something. He catches it fast, without taking a step forward, it's a bouquet of simple wild flowers. Madam and Mister laugh, Schlatt sighs with relief and does as well. "Yeah, you'll do." the madam says, and quickly he's dragged inside while his mates cheer. The lady of the house fixes the poor powdering job with a sponge as they sit down in the back of the shop. Madam Watson looks almost like a nice woman when up close. "You know, my maiden name is Gold." she says while she's got his chin in her grip "You'll be inheriting that, for safety." "T-Thank you, madam." His own is officially a forgotten last name now, he realizes, but he doesn't say anything. He's always been called something else anyway. He opens his bad eye on her command and she doesn't tell him to close it again, just makes him stand up and go to the bathroom and cautions him to wash his hands.

He's back out in one piece and carted off to the ceremony. Outside a small communal chapel there's some three, four rows of straw seats being filled up by family friends and business associates. The groom is already there, kneeling, luckily he took the praying bench on the right. But he's tall, he's way taller than him. Taller than Blade too. Thinner, but probably not harmless either. Quackity starts sweating again. "If he's ugly I'm killing the entire hall." he whispers to Schlatt, who just shoves him forward to go sit in front of the pastor, an old dog who's probably not even sure where he is unless he's been paid enough. He walks along the chairs and he knows there's no way this will go smoothly.

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The pastor starts his long winded speech and Latin-verse sputtering with his hands on the book and his eyes over the crowd. Quackity stares at his crucifix the whole time, he can't look at this guy, he won't. But he does. The groom whispers. "Hi. Uhm, I'm Will. People call me Wilbur." British accent, of course the sons who are bound to Mr Watson by blood never lost that. "I-I've heard some things about you, but I didn't know you were so pretty." this moron breathes nervously into his general direction. He doesn't sound older than forty though, unlike some other terrible dates. It's definitely hard to call this a date in general, but he's trying to keep at least a bit of his sanity in check here. So he spares him a look, just one. Holy shit (quite literally) he's not bad at all. Eyes like oak tree bark, the likes that squint when one laughs and get buried into bright red cheeks, clean face, slick jaw, just a pretty one overall. Quackity snaps back at Schlatt on the other end of the hall, Schlatt grins. Now he has to keep looking forward, not say anything, keep looking at his cross. God likes to mess with him like this. Wilbur sounds a little disappointed, but not discouraged. "I'm really nervous, sorry." he admits in the anxious struggle, and he goes back to silent prayer. Well, he couldn't have been perfect, Quackity thinks.

They say yes to each other quickly and clearly, the mixing of blood is maybe the only part Quackity would've rather skipped if he knew his hand was going to be so tense at the cut. It bleeds a lot. “Are you alright?” Wilbur whispers to him, “I'll live.” he chuckles. At the proper exchange of the rings he keeps his head as low as it can be and only looks up for the kiss. Wilbur looks taken aback for a second and stops halfway. The fairytale is over, isn't it? But they've already been declared married and this old priest just wants them to get it over with so he won't have to look. Quackity smiles grimly, if he's not going to get a move on he will, and he raises his hand to kiss his knuckles instead. Luckily it counts and cuts through the tense awkwardness. His groom seems to just hum.

Everyone claps, some with restraint, some with actual sincerity, and the newlyweds stand up to be announced. "Mister and Mister Gold-Schlatt." Schlatt seems satisfied. Quackity doesn't interject. It's the other groom who looks back at the pastor, "Sorry, wait, it's Gold-Maldonado now, is it not?" he asks, and the priest corrects himself with disgruntled patience. A proper, shorter applause now. "That's alright with you, right Alexis?" Wilbur asks. "Oh, y-yes. Thank you." he answers with rushed appreciation to look back at his guardian. He's not as contempt as before, but he just shrugs at him and doesn't say anything. Maybe because Tubbo is there to put a hand on his back and keep him in place.

They briefly walk in the chapel to let the couple sign the papers. To their delight, and maybe to the pastor's horror, the two don't burst into flames. Wilbur signs his name first, with ease. It's clear he's been using the last name Gold for a while. Right as he gets to the hyphen, he looks briefly back at Quackity to ask him if he's spelling his right, and uncharacteristically, he laughs. He appreciates it, the honest uncertainty rather than trying to wing it. “Yes, yes it's Mal-do-na-do. Same syllable twice.” “I like it.” his now husband says as he hands him the pen.

The wedding feast is a pretty simple yet loud affair. Lots of neighbors have come along, most are yet to realize there's no bride because the grooms have separated into their own groups. Some just don't care and either add or subtract from the food and wine. Quackity hasn't met anyone of the Watsons and has got no blood bonds to share except Schlatt, who's just watching from the side and coming in to whisk away unattended bottles. Wilbur won't introduce him to them, he respects that, in a way. His groomsmen enjoy themselves, but Tubbo hugs him and hypes him up more than the others, who just offer him drinks and pat him on the back. "Is he rich? Is he rich Big Q?" he asks while shaking his shoulders.

"I-I think so, the band isn't copper." Quackity says while he fidgets with it. Not too bad, he must admit, it's almost his size.

"Yes!! Ask him for more next time!"

"Toby."

"What, it's free money! You can ask him for more rings that look like your wedding band and sell the old one every time."

"Tubbo, I'm not scamming my husband!" Quackity shakes his head, just in time for the aforementioned to appear behind him. "You guys enjoying yourselves?" he asks as if they were guests, a hand tentatively on Quackity's shoulder. Quackity looks up at him and nods, "Yeah, it's very nice out here." he mutters. Still has to get used to this. "Good, good. Uhm, listen, my brothers would like to talk to you." he says.

Quackity feels his heart stop. They're going to finish the job, aren't they? He steps back carefully. "I-I don't really... Maybe let's leave that for tomorrow and focus on the party first." "They insist." Wilbur states. Some ten feet behind them, the two are waiting next to one of the tables, arms crossed. Tubbo urges him not to go with a simple tug at the back of his coat. "Please, it'll only take a minute." Wilbur pleads again. And though he doesn't mind the sweet little voice he’s using, he's not going to follow him anywhere. So they have to walk to him. Quackity scans their hands, their stance, their jackets for any bulges. They wouldn't kill him in public, right? That would lead to a shootout, too many witnesses, too much blood. They're not a mile from the shop, this chapel is a sanctuary for the farmers in the area, they wouldn't do this, no. They'll just put the fear of God in him.

Wilbur puts a hand around his side and introduces him to one who definitely isn't his arch nemesis. “Alex, this is… Alex! You guys never knew you had the same name, I'm guessing.” he chuckles as he points him to his brother, then to the other, who doesn't wait for an introduction, “I'm Big Toms.” he says with a forced cold demeanor. He is neither big nor plural, Quackity finds, and just saw him running around with the other kids a second ago. But he indulges him anyway.

“Hi. I'm Quackity.”

“Weirdo name. Your name's Alexis.”

“On paper it is.”

Blade, or Alexander on paper, reaches over and pinches the shorter one's ear. “He's just Tommy. Please ignore him.” he says, and the blonde boy tries to punch him, which also doesn't work. “Oi, fuck off! I can't be ignored, I'm the best man.” he retorts. “You're the groom's brother, no one gave you the title of best man.”

“Wilbur said I was the best man this morning!”

“Wilbur?”

“I said you're the best, man. There was a comma, Tommy.” the middle brother explains, which makes Quackity snicker and giggle into his hand. Seems they're too busy disciplining this wild card to get on with any plan that wouldn't involve him yelling it out immediately. Tubbo seems interested in this guy, so when he finally scampers off to play soccer with a leather ball, he follows.

“My more mentally sound brother wanted to say something.” Wilbur presses on the conversation, but neither are going to talk for or with the other. Quackity stares at him with the usual spite, maybe a little highlighted by the fact he's in the family now and there's nothing he can do about it. He's quite proud of being able to shove that in his stoic face. He adjusts his glasses after another beat of silence and clears his throat, raising his glass. Oh, he's going for a speech. People start looking at them, quieting down, the soccer ball rolls away into the wet grass and the children are told to retrieve it in silence. “Good evening everyone.” he starts, his voice a little booming. This is true cold, Quackity thinks, vigilant eyes and straight shoulders. He continues, “As much as I despise public speaking, I do want to share my congratulations with my brother and his husband.” his glass points towards Wilbur. “Will, as much as you have been a consistent annoyance to me, you’ve at least graced me of not being like Tommy forever and actually got your life together. You are too a lover of the fine arts and I admire that. Only that, not much else.” “Love you too.” Wilbur chuckles. Now it's his turn, he feels it on his skin, the breath he takes before he moves his glass towards someone else. “Alexis,” he says, "we have not met in friendly circumstances. I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you and I'm sure you're sorry for the pain you've caused me.” Quackity is stunned. He hasn't even said anything to him to prompt this, not threatened or bribed him either. No, his father must've ordained this. “We have been loyal to our fraternities and in turn, we were pinned against each other. From here on out, I don't want any more animosity between us. I will protect what is rightfully yours, you will protect what is rightfully mine.”

Blade puts his other hand forward. He's putting his left hand out for him to shake with his cut one. Wilbur looks down at him expectantly. “You're serious?” Quackity asks under his breath. Everyone is watching, Schlatt is watching. “For a limited time only. I'm not gonna keep this hand up forever.” the other cautions in the same volume. This will be good for you. We need something to bury the hatchet. Quackity reaches out and grabs his hand. It's warm and grips like a vice for a few tense seconds. “Now let's all get back to enjoying ourselves for the newlyweds.” he announces as he finally frees him, and once everyone has clapped and cheered and clinked their fresh drinks, the music picks up again.

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Quackity just stares at his hand. “Does it still hurt?” Wilbur asks him as they step back into the crowd again. “A little. I'm more surprised by the whole thing, really.” “Yeah, my brother told me he would've wanted to do this. His way of apologizing is having me or Tom standing by him, accounting for his wording and everything.” “Is that so?” he scoffs, not out of malice, but he's still a little taken aback.

They sit at their own table for a while now, left basically untouched as they instinctively avoided sitting together. But at this point nobody's thrown a knife or holy water in their general direction, they can act like two people who just got married to each other for five minutes. Wilbur pours them both wine. Quackity splits a loaf of bread, crumbs spill over the tablecloth and he tries to brush them off quickly, he hasn't eaten anything the whole time and he's not going to start having table manners now, but come on man. Wilbur just stops him with a chuckle and picks the crumbs off to snack on. This is their compromise until they can find something to talk about.

Thank goodness it doesn't take long. Once one starts, the other follows and doesn't stop. They talk about everything, barely touching the food as they go, more playing with it than anything. They start with complaints about Tommy and Tubbo playing and getting their good dress shoes caked in dirt, what it's like being the middle child but feeling like the oldest. Then they talk about the wine, whether or not they should take a bottle away with them (the answer is yes); the stars as they look up at them, astronomy, astrology and if it's truly based on anything, religion, race, politics. Turns out they both would've loved to do something with that last one, if only Quackity had money to spare or Wilbur any time to waste. “Journalism? I would've tried my hand at Law, personally.” Quackity tries to guess, leaning back into his seat with glass in hand. “I think I would've rather studied History really, then taken up something of a path from there.” Wilbur sighs wistfully, elbows on the table, how improper. “I'm not too shallow on American History as of right now, but that's just because I got a library card under Gold rather than Watson.” “Why’s that?” Quackity asks “I haven't heard of any Watson-ordained fire in a library.” “It wasn't the library itself, it was the librarian. My uncle and my father robbed that old lady so many times as kids and they always got away, so now that the name has a certain weight on this town…”

“Right. Well, good on you for not using that to your advantage.”

“How could I have used that to my advantage in a library?”

“Y'know, when she told you the fee for the books, you could've just… Slid a knife over the desk very, very quietly…”

Wilbur bursts into laughter then, pushing his head back. Squeezing his eyes tight exactly like Quackity imagined him to, he looks beautiful, the way his curls compliment his stretching grin. When the laughter dies down, they look back at each other and break into childish giggles again. And again, and again. This could've gone worse, he figures.

The celebrations go on all night. Wilbur dances with him just enough before his head spins and they sit down again. Not exactly a sport loving guy, but he doesn't mind that. They haven't noticed yet, but Schlatt has been talking with Mr Watson for a while, and they seem to be enjoying themselves a lot too. Tommy and Tubbo have become friendly, Madame Watson has brought over to their table two slices of mushroom pot pie. “You two have barely eaten anything. Don't you guys get hungrier after talking so much?” she scolds her son politely. “Alright, thank you mum.” Wilbur waves her off again. She'll always try to take care of him. Quackity instead is more taken aback by the pronunciation of the title.

“Mum? With a u, that's how you say it?”

“Yeah? It's not mom, with that annoying “o” sound.”

“English is so fucking dumb.”

“Oh yeah, welcome to this debate, I reckon we'll have one of these at least once a month.”

“The hell's a reckon??”

“And I'm not gonna lose the accent either.”

“Good to know.” Quackity sighs dramatically while he stabs the pie with his fork.

They're dizzy with liquid courage in their systems but not enough to not walk to their designated cart once the party's over. “Where are we headed again?” Q asks while he pats the horse, a very patient mare who's probably used to being handled much more roughly rather than just being cuddled by a tipsy groom. “It's a nice cabin not too far from here, you'll like it.” Wilbur says while he's already climbed up on his seat. “Come, don't coddle Ramone too much or she'll ask for more and won't go.” he laughs, and Quackity obliges after patting her one more time. His groomsmen have already loaded the stuff that was in his bunk and drawers inside a chest in the wagon. Before he climbs on though, he walks back to Schlatt. “You're off?” the older man asks with a sigh. “Yeah. What's- with your face?” he asks, honesty seeping through him a little more than usual. “Aren’t you happy? Today went well and you were just chatting up the Watsons, this seems pretty ideal.” “Oh no no, I am happy, Q, just… Don't want you letting your guard down too much yet, alright? Let's not call it a win until I see a white flag and you're back in one piece.” “I'll be fine, boss.” Quackity reassures him, and he pats him on the shoulder. “Come back as soon as the honeymoon phase is over. And for God's sake don't take it up the ass.” “Oh fuck off!”

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They're sent off with shouts of good luck and cheers as Ramone takes her sweet time carrying them off along the dimly lit dirt roads. The wagon travels while the two lanterns, one set up carefully inside and the other next to Wilbur's arm, swing and creak, breaking the almost complete silence. “Hey, uhm… I'm sorry for not kissing you.” the taller one says suddenly, leaning back into the seat while loosely holding the reins. Quackity was not expecting this apology, so he simply sighs and answers quietly “It's okay.” but that doesn't seem to satisfy him.

“No, I– I swear it wasn't about the scar.” he elaborates pointlessly. Now Quackity just wants to hide it. “I was just...” he makes a vague hand gesture in the air, like he's out of words to explain. “Look, it's okay, you're not the first person to feel skittish about it, I should've shown you–” “No no no, I'm serious, the scar doesn't scare me!” now he tries again. Rather than make a strange signal, he pushes himself to look him in the eye properly, the reins held in one fist. Ramone seems to know where she's going anyway, over a grassy hill and heading towards a stone bridge. “I wasn't scared of kissing you. I was afraid of people's reaction.” he admits. Quackity cocks his head at that. “They were there knowing you would marry another man. It wouldn't have made a difference at that point.” “It-it would've. The kiss would've made it real.” he says, but the way he says that last word makes them both pause.

This isn't real, then? The truce, Blade's peace, the party, is that all not real until they kiss? Well it's too late to think about that, isn't it. They've signed the papers, they have the rings, there's witnesses. The kiss would've just been a decorative affair. “I… Uhm… I know you've been dragged into this as well.” Wilbur adds some more as the caravan makes its way over the bridge. “I knew you existed, just nothing else.” Quackity chuckles into the crackle of the stone under their wheels. Wilbur turns his body back to face the front and hold the rope properly. “I was the only one home when Blade came back with that scar across his chest. He called you a little monster, you know.”

“Hah! I deserved that."

“But he did cry when he cut you.”

There's a beat of silence. Wilbur always knew about the accident. “He wanted it to be fair. He was aiming for your shoulder.”

“It's really too late to tell me that.” Quackity tries to play it off, but the air’s grown tense now. “I know, and I'm sorry to bring it up now. I just felt you deserved to know since he'd never admit to it himself.”

“That’s fair.”

They've fallen into silence again while the cart drags on through a short patch of the woods and makes a turn at the cobblestone well on the side of the road. “I do think the scar makes you prettier than I imagined, if it's worth anything.” Wilbur starts again suddenly. “What?” Quackity snorts, but he actually seems serious. His thumb presses over his own cheekbone and drags down. “Your muscles don't overtighten the skin when you speak, so every expression you make is actually true. They're maybe more honest than some people…” “You find honesty attractive?” Quackity teases the man, and he nods after a pause of self reflection. “It's the bare minimum, I know. What’s your standard?”

“They do have to be taller than me.”

“Not charismatic, or handsome, or…?”

“I’m enough of those things for both actually, as you can see.”

“Boy do I.”

Ramone carries on towards this fabled cabin. Looking out over the treeline and standing up slightly from his seat, Quackity can see this hill looks above the town, some spasm of the shopping district still dimly lit. Then it's all fields. Nice, isolated though. Maybe too isolated. He's looking around with caution now. They're crossing a dark wood fence, the gate already opened for them by someone else. That's the first signal. “This is just a small patch of land,” Wilbur explains calmly as he looks out through the thickness, “but everything within that fence is our small estate for now.” “I've never owned land before.” Quackity comments, still trying to show some interest while he scans around. He's looking for anything out of place, chalk on the tree bark or on the dirt Ramone stomps on, quiet dogs waiting for a signal. “We definitely should've cleared more of this out when I was a kid, but we never really got to it.” Wilbur comments, only now noticing Quackity hasn't sat back down yet, and his eyes hover towards the ground. “Are you…? Do you need to throw up?” he asks, but he doesn't get an answer. Quackity would say something, but right now, he can't move. He just saw something, a long stick out of place behind a tree that looked too much like a badly hidden hunting rifle. And if he's right, if he's about to be ambushed, all he can do is either sit back down, act like he didn't notice and cover his head in time, or jump inside the wagon and then back out. He sees escape routes, but he can't act upon them. He's completely frozen, from the tip of his hair to his toes, he's too scared to turn his body and look back at his husband. “Quackity? Here…” Suddenly behind him he hears a click, a swing of something metal, he draws his pistol as fast as he can, pressing it right in between Wilbur's eyes, Ramone yelps at the tug and halts but Quackity doesn't lose his balance, he doesn't care, he's not dying tonight!

“I knew this was too good to be true.” Quackity sputters with melancholy. But Wilbur doesn't seem to be anywhere near ready for a fight, his own breath is erratic, unprepared. Actually he looks plain terrified. “Wait, wait, wait! I didn't do anything!” he cries out, now moving whatever he was holding to show him. The lantern swings in his hand, the light inside flickering. “I was going to shine it towards you, I thought you weren't feeling well–” “Don’t bullshit me, I know the sound of a revolver.” Quackity presses the barrel in, scanning him again. His jacket seems void, what about his belt, nothing around it? Nothing in his left hand either, though he was quick enough to pull the reins and make the mare stop. Who does that if not a getaway driver. “I don't have a revolver! I-It was the musket! The musket makes that sound–” Wilbur tries to defend himself. “Are you calling me stupid?” Quackity decides to threaten him a little more, just to see if he'll crack and try something, but he doesn't. His voice just rises in pitch, the lantern shakes. “No, no, you're not stupid! Please put the gun down!”

Alright, this is starting to get pathetic. Even Ramone is becoming impatient, looking around with a huff and a thump in her hooves. Nobody has come forward to save Wilbur either. The usual henchman would fire a warning shot now, or at least shout some monosyllabic warning, but nothing happens, the forest remains silent. “Q? Come on, I don't want to hurt you.” Wilbur whispers meekly up at him as he tries to slide backwards, slowly, carefully. And he has to admit he's almost sold, except there's some questions he still hasn’t heard a viable explanation for. “Who's waiting for us?” he asks. “What?” “Someone left the gate open for the wagon to come through. Who's waiting for us at the cabin? Who's watching?” he asks again. And he pulls back the safety this time. Wilbur answers quickly though, no need to pressure him more. “My father sent two of his men and two of yours ahead of us so they can unload the wagon and check the perimeter. I thought someone had told you!” he says, and he actually seems honest. But Quackity just blinks a few times rather than relax, this still seems too well-orchestrated, too convenient. “W- No, no one told me about it!” “Well now I'd really like for you to not shoot me over a misunderstanding!” “I just saw someone in the woods, obviously I'm not going to take chances.” “I-I get it, but can you please put the gun down?” Wilbur condescends. Quackity just scans him again, a little mockingly, “Are you seriously unarmed?” he asks. And he knows it's a stupid question, of course this guy won't be honest and will just say– “Of course I'm armed, just not against you.”

Oh. Wilbur reaches underneath the wooden bar and unsheathes a hunting knife tucked safely above his seat. He doesn't handle it gently, he knows exactly how to put his fingers around the handle to show it. “I wasn't going to tell you tonight, clearly it's a bit of a mood killer to pull weapons on each other, isn't it?” he says. Quackity lowers the gun now, but he chuckles nervously. “A knife.” “You think that's everything?” Wilbur continues, he sounds more sure of himself now. He tucks the knife back into the hidden compartment and shows him the second, which was right above his lap this whole time. There's a pheasant gun hanging right there, wooden handle to once again blend it well with what's supposed to be a safety bar. “Just know that's not everything. If I wanted to kill you, I could've shot your dick off an hour ago.” the man cautions "So put that thing down.”

Is he flustered? Obviously. So much for insurance, he thinks, this guy might just be a Watson. He falls back down into his seat, staring right at the hidden weapon while he slides his own back into his belt. “I'm sorry.” he sighs, and Wilbur just picks the reins back up, spurring a little to not have Ramone wander off and stop munching on the grass along the road. “Come on missy, back on track, come on.” he tells her, and she follows. He sounds kinder to her than him now, not that he deserves anything less. Now Quackity is cursing at Schlatt for telling him so ominously to keep an eye out, he must've set this up. “I'm still not quite sure how you weren't told. You're Schlatt's understudy, right?” Wilbur shakes his head. Quackity only speaks again once he's not sulking in embarrassment anymore. “I'm his right hand man, not his understudy. He wouldn’t just marry off a nobody.” “Exactly what he said when he came to our door last month.” Wait, seriously? That makes him sit up a little better. “He came to your house with this plan a month ago?” Is this what girls feel like when their fathers set these arrangements? Like cattle, being handed over on a leash? His stomach turns. He hopes his sister never has to feel this.

“He knew you would've said no.” Wilbur nods vaguely as he stares forward. “I didn't want to marry you either. At least not without seeing you, but Schlatt didn't have pictures. It was my father who sat me down and told me I'd never get the chance to tie the knot with another man otherwise, that it was for the family, my good deed.” “Fucking priceless!” This has just soured the mood even more. Wilbur chuckles beside him then. “Well cheer up, I do like you enough and you get a patch of land to call your own. One less problem for you.” “I've got plenty more.” Quackity huffs.

“Such as?”

“I dunno, I smoke and I deal cards.”

“Hm. I smoke too. I've switched to herbs, they're not clean either but they taste nicer.” The word “clean” makes Quackity scoff. Nothing clean about his line of work. His husband continues. “As for card games I only play solitaire, but I can learn other ones if we don't wager off my whole dowry. What else?”

“I'm a gunslinger.”

“That I've noticed. But, as long as you don't hide the evidence inside the house…”

“I almost shot you a minute ago!”

“Oh I was expecting you to do that eventually. I'll just have to figure out what calms you down.”

“How are you gonna achieve that?”

“Trial and error. I've been told this is how marriage works.” Wilbur shrugs.

----------------------------------------------------------

Alas, the cabin finally comes into view, dimly lit from the inside. Now he's seen cabins in the woods in picture books and mundane cafe paintings: just wooden logs stacked on top of each other, a roof, two windows, a door. But this isn't a cabin, this is a place, a castle in comparison. There's a front porch, two floors, copper shingles. “You like it?” Wilbur asks, “I know it looks a bit of a mess, but we’ll clean it up as we go.” “It's kinda small.” he jokes, but maybe it doesn't get across, because Wilbur actually nods.

There are people waiting for them, they're familiar faces too. Not heavily armed with pointy hunting rifles, he finds. They're sitting on the steps, mingling with bottles they must've helped themselves to as well. “Missa!” Wilbur calls him from the caravan and he stands up quickly to start unloading it. “Rubius, what the hell man? I thought you were still at the party.” Quackity says as he climbs off. “I was! But I felt like surprising you.” is the reply he gets, followed by a laugh. One bag after the other is unloaded and carried on inside. Most of them are gifts from the family and the respectful neighbors; fine china, cooking books, tablecloths and whatever one could usually find in a wedding trousseau. Quackity feels it a bit strange to not have to move all this stuff in himself. “You wanna come take a look inside?” Wilbur snaps him out of his daydreaming while he lets Missa and Fit walk between them with some light luggage Quackity recognizes as his own. He nods.

Wilbur walks through with the lantern and sets it up somewhere ahead. The ceiling isn't too high, too low. Dark wooden floorboards, a dust filled rug catches his eye. The men are placing down whatever they've got on their hands on the right as soon as they walk in, where there's a black-stained fireplace, a bookshelf and two armchairs sitting patiently, almost looking back at him. When he hears the clutter of gently placed down plates and silverware in wooden chests, he turns around and there's a kitchen. He checks the tap, the charcoal stove, everything seems well kept. There's a small crack across one of the light blue tiles, but it takes him three or four glances over the cabinets to actually notice it. He's checking out every room, back and forth, up and down the spiral staircase that creaks a little but certainly won't fall apart with metal steps like these. He picks up the lantern and takes it everywhere with him in his exploration frenzy, not realizing the light is flickering out, but there's almost no need for it. The moonlight shines through the curtains and he's unmistakably in love with it at first sight.

Upstairs is a sort of patio area, a dusty couch facing the stairs, the window on its right and two doors on its left, one opens to a single toilet and the other to an empty closet. He steps outside the door on the right and finds himself looking out a balcony. He always thought things like these were a little useless, who would need to look outside when it's cold and dangerous at night? Someone might climb on the railing and try to come in… But not here. Here it is quiet, the moon looms over the dark trees and the hills, the wind grazes his face for a moment and he realizes he owns this view. That's incredible. He owns the tree closest to the balcony railing at the one he can barely see the top of.

He walks back inside once he notices Fit is walking out. He calls him a few times but he doesn't hear, so he has to run down and catch up to them. “You guys going home? Hey, take Ramone with you…” “Nah, it's fine, we've got someone picking us up at the bridge.” he brushes him off, but not before giving him a little nudge. “Hey, congrats. You deserve a little something to come back to, man. It's a nice place.” he says, and the others agree with similar words, both to him and Wilbur as they tredge off. “You guys be safe!” Quackity cautions, and they give him thumbs up as they get farther away. “You do care about these people, yeah?” Wilbur asks more out of curiosity. “Well we've been working together for years, it's kinda strange to let them do something for me” he shrugs.

They start talking about the house and sharing stories about backyard games when they end up checking into the bedroom, a simple and quite dusty thing, the furniture is worn but not inexpensive. And that's when they remember they can't head in different directions now. Wilbur was working on his shirt buttons and had already chosen the left as his favored side of the mattress, but suddenly he stopped to look back with a flustered grimace. “Oh! Hey, we don't have to do anything, ok? I'm just going to bed…” he gets that all out of the way before he's misinterpreted. Quackity just giggles along. “I-I know that, yeah.”

They climbed into bed silently, almost synchronized, but started laughing at each other's awkwardness as soon as they shared glances. “Can't you–?! Turn around. Please, please turn around, away!” Wilbur waves him off to no avail, because every time they tossed into opposite directions, they were back to looking at each other the next. “Don't look at me!” Quackity scolds him for the third time. “You're the one looking at me.”

“I'm not looking at you, my eye is closed, see?”

“You just closed the wrong one.”

“No I didn't.”

“Yes you did.”

“Mmmm, you have no evidence.” Quackity counters with a giddy smile, only for Wilbur to try and reach over and snap his fingers at him until he blinks. He slaps his hand away with a laugh, “I will smother you!” and other empty threats while he buries his face in the pillow. But the hand doesn't actually leave his head for a moment, actually he feels it brush in his hair, bring a strand behind his ear and then depart quickly.

“Goodnight.” Wilbur whispers as if it's no big thing, but Quackity might not sleep at all now. There's so much he wants to say, ask, see. He can't even find the words or the strength to actually look up again. So he lays there, for a second, saying nothing but silent Thank Yous to the Lord. “...Goodnight.” he replied finally.

#nefkyo can write #i did it guys #i posted it that means it's over #<- i had 7 beta readers check me this and keep telling me to stop changing stuff #<- wrote this in like 3 days #<- I think this. is what the cool kids call an episode #tntduo #qsmp #dsmp #fanfiction #ff #arranged marriage #gang au

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