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@wilbursootings
Tag Directory
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any threads will be tagged with the first letter of that person's name. if there are two of them, it'll be the first two letters.
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I drew this last year and it’s still a favourite:3
On the one hand, that fuckin' sucks and is awful, just like everything happening right now. On the other hand, Wilbur is fae and warns him all the time about shit he's supposed to do and not do-- pins? bread? something about names? (No fuckin' worries about that one, Tommyinnit doesn't have a real name, he got to make one up, because he's just that poggers.) So probably this is just another fae thing.
Tommy nods, wipes his nose on his hand, flinches back from absolutely nothing, and pulls his knees to his chest. "Okay."
@dreamwasinthevents
Dream barely represses his snort at Wilbur's dramatic de-cursing. Yeah, sure. That'll do it. He leans back and grins oh so sweetly at Tommy. "I know from experience that following Wilbur's orders while you're cursed is the best way to make sure you'll be cured. You'll be juuuuust fine."
It's not even a lie. Not really. He remembers the bad trip he had over some gummies he snagged last year. God, that was hell. At least now they don't have to worry about broken glass. He dumps the glass into a bag, then puts that bag into the trash.
@wilbursootings
Wilbur wasn't expecting Dream to back him up, and it wasn't really necessary, but he did appreciate it. A little more credibility, even if he was pretty sure he could tell Tommy anything about fae magic and he'd believe it. It was kinda funny, most of the time. A little worrying, how gullible he was.
"All right, first thing....touch your nose," Wilbur says the first thing he can think of. He's very much expecting Tommy to curse him out.
"I bet you think real life hacking also consists of glowing green text on a black screen." Purpled gives it another twist and it clicks open. "Hah. Easy."
He has no idea what he'd want for a favor, but...well. Wilbur seems like a man with connections. That could be useful later. Very, very useful.
"Does it not?" Wilbur asks, the very picture of innocence. He applauds quietly when the mailbox pops open. "Very good, I'm very impressed by your prowess." he says, and it only sounds a little sarcastic.
He pulls out his mail; mostly bills, with one postcard, and flips through it before digging into his pocket and pulling out one of the charms he was planning on selling later. It's got a bit of luck rubbed into the surface, or so he tells people. He flips it through the air to Purple, winks at him. "Your favor."
"No, I'm not high, people fuckin' get high for fun," Tommy says, eyes darting around. "I'm cursed." There's a pause where the second part of Wilbur's sentence penetrates and you can see neurons firing in his brain. "Am I cursed because I ate your fuckin' gummies?" His eyes well up with tears. "I'm sorry." He reaches out abjectly towards Wilbur.
@dreamwasinthevents
Dream returns to probably the worst scene in the world: Tommy crying over dumb shit. Again. Dream huffs, but scoots around Wilbur and grabs a broom. "I'm cleaning up the mess," he explains before Wilbur can ask what the hell he's doing. There's glass on the floor from the broken lamp and he'd rather not be the one that has to drive them to the hospital.
Plus maybe this way, Wilbur will let him off the hook for when it eventually comes out that he initiated this chain of events. If you can't plausible deniability your way outta situations, then being remembered for good deeds (or favors) is close enough! He starts cleaning up the glass.
@wilbursootings
Wilbur stares at Tommy for a long moment. A better man would assure the kid he wasn't cursed, just high, and would put him to bed after making him drink some water.
Wilbur has never claimed to be a good man.
He steps out of Dream's way and scoffs under his breath. He's not going to forget that this happened on Dream's watch, but he takes Tommy's hand anyways, arranging his expression into something sympathetic. "They were cursed, and there's only one cure," he pauses for dramatic effect. "You have to do whatever I say for the next..." he does some quick math in his head. "Eight hours. Then you'll be back to normal."
@s-tier-redditor
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Impulse is in a dead-eyed stare down with the broken coffee machine when he hears the shout. There’s no telling who committed such a warcrime; Zed trying to mod it by combining it with the roomba, Tango supercharging and short-circuiting the thing when his coffee doesn’t come out boiling hot enough, Skizz’s general hilarious bad luck. Impulse is pretty sure he didn’t try to transmute it in his sleep again given the lack of extra shiny bits.
Impulse turns to eye his potion brewing stand. There’s swiftness potion in there now but surely add some coffee grounds and…
The shout almost wakes him up. Almost. It echoes out of the (heavily trapped) vent. That’s not the voice of the usual unwanted (an important distinction) trespasser. But Impulse doesn’t recognize it either. Clucking echoes after, not pained but not altogether happy.
Effie.
Oh no. That wakes him right up. He’s too big a guy to fit in those vents himself - no clue how Dream does it. Impulse dumps the finished swiftness potions in his empty mug and rushes out the door. He doesn’t look as he steps onto the elevator and presses a floor, his fingertips still faintly sparkling from yesterday’s order of luck potion.
It takes forever and a half for the doors to ding and open. As soon as they do, Impulse stumbles out only to get a face full of fowl as Effie comes flying at him. The potion effect on her sparkles as she lands ruffled but safe in his arms. There’s a man Impulse has never seen before looking like he got mugged by a feather pillow and lost standing in the communal laundry room.
“Did you just throw my bird?”
Wilbur attempts to push the fucking attack bird away from his face, still shouting as he does. Why do they have an attack bird in their laundry room. Are their washing machines really that special? Was it in the vents? That's Dream's thing, he's pretty sure Dream copyrighted it and everything. He could sue.
The bird goes flying, flapping it's wings, and lands in the arms of a man who probably lives in the building. Apparently the owner of the bird, and Wilbur is pretty sure he has to be neglectful, or why would the thing be traversing the entire building? He should report him to PETA or something.
"I did not throw your bird, I defended myself," he says, crossing his arms. There are definitely feathers in his hair. He doesn't bother to do anything about it. "She landed on my head while I was innocently trying to do my laundry."
"Favor for a favor it is." Purpled steps forward and tugs out the lock picks. He closes his eyes and fiddles with the locks, tapping the pins. When they're where he wants them, he uses a bit of gravity magic to hold them in place. "Oooh, there's your problem. One of the springs in the back broke. You'll wanna let management know."
He twists the lock and prays that it'll still open, even with the busted pin. If not, he'll look. Real dumb.
Wilbur likes the wording of that deal, it gives him some wiggle room, which is always fun.
"Like management will do anything about it," he snorts, watching Purpled mess with the lock. "Is it supposed to be opening? I just ask because normally in movies it takes like, a few seconds."
"Fuck. No. Nope." Tommy is shaking his head. "Shit can fuckin' get me out there." He nods to Dream. "He's a wrongun, but if he's saying there's shadow people, there's probably fuckin' shadow people, and there's no fuckin' edges in here for the shadows to hide in." He pulls at the neck of his shirt. He's sweating.
@dreamwasinthevents
"I'll get him some more water." Dream considers pointing out the shadows in Tommy's own clothing, but he's not that cruel. He leaves the two of them to go raid Wilbur's fridge for water.
@wilbursootings
Damn Dream for making him be the responsible one here. It would be so much funnier to make Tommy think there were shadow people or maybe that gravity was constantly shifting, or that up was down and the floor was actually the ceiling, or that he was fighting a thousand duck-sized horses, but no, he has to be the responsible one.
Also he would like to get his bathtub back. He uses that.
"Dream is an asshole," he says as Dream walks out. "There are no shadow people, Tommy. You're just high as fuck because you ate something you shouldn't." Again.
@s-tier-redditor
Impulse stares and tilts his head. Effie (short for Effie-Nugget-Henrietta-Doomclaw, destroyer of couches, the first of her name, queen of the fire escape, second freeloader of apartment 204) tilts her head in turn. Freshly washed, dried, and spoiled with treats by the entire apartment, she’s looking much better than the waterlogged bird he found.
Zed has officially won this argument, the conniver. He wormed Effie right into their hearts. Good thing Impulse didn’t find a sheep or he’s certain they’d be starting a farm.
There is the matter of where to house her though. Tango helped him set up a “mini portable indoor magickified grass field” in their guest room while Zed and Skizz built her a tiny coop. Tango also tampered with the window hinges to let her in and out of their balcony garden. But Impulse doesn’t want her to be restrained to the small four walls of their apartment. She deserves the chance to wander, to stretch her legs and explore. They all have half a dozen ways to track her down so losing her isn’t an issue. But where would be concealed from the landlord enough and safe enough to let a chicken free roam?
A soft ding from his brewing stand distracts Impulse. His potions are ready! His pest control prank potions…
Well there’s a thought! His traps aren’t deadly. And it’s nothing a few drops of luck potion won’t help her avoid until he thinks up an alternative.
Impulse watches Effie’s feathery behind disappear around a bend in the vents, gold sparks of luck haloing her head, a small bottle of light around her neck brightening the dark space as she goes.
Wilbur doesn't usually venture into the Hermit building. It's not the sort of place you should go into lightly, especially if you're a friend of Tommy Innit. Mostly because he will shout at you for fifteen minutes about his nemesis who apparently lives in the building.
Wilbur has a feeling the so-called nemesis probably doesn't feel the same, much like the barista Tommy had declared his nemesis a month ago.
But the Hermit building has a laundry room that is clean and machines that don't somehow dye his white shirts pink, so he can sneak over here to do his laundry and leave before anyone notices he's there. Usually it works perfectly.
Usually.
He carefully ignores the weird noises from the vents when he first hears them; used to it from hearing Dream crawl around. Granted, this sounds different. There's more. Clucking?
He tilts his head, looking at the ceiling just in time for a blur of feathers and claws and a beak to descend on his head, shimmering faintly with magic, and he shouts loud enough he's pretty sure the entire building can hear him.
"What the fuck?"
"Could trade you for a favor instead. I am always in the business of accepting favors." He pauses. Thinks about what was said. "Wait. Hold on. You have Tommy eat through solid metal? How does that not hurt his teeth?"
He perks up at the offer of a favor. Most fae would hate to be in debt, but he thinks it makes life interesting. Besides, there's more opportunity for it to come out his way when it's a favor. "I don't mind owing a favor," he agrees, then shrugs. "I mean, it's Tommy. Even if he doesn't actually chew through it, he'll find some sort of destructive way to get it open."
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Tommy tears the towel he's currently biting on out of his mouth. "Big man!" He says jovially. "I didn't do anyfuckingthing!" His attempt a suave and cool reaction to his friend is undermined by the tear-streaks on his cheek, the fact that he's in the bathtub, the broken lamp on the ground, and the fact that he finishes by seeing something out of the corner of his eye and full-body cowers from it, arms going over his head.
@dreamwasinthevents
At Wilbur's question, Dream grins. "Cuz you love it," he jokes. He follows Wilbur to the bathroom, unable to help the bark of laughter as Tommy cowers.
@wilbursootings
"Fuck off, Dream," Wilbur says, although he has to admit it is a little funny. His bathroom is a fucking wreck, and he considers making Dream clean it up, but he's pretty sure Dream would just put super glue on the toilet seat or something.
"Uh huh, I can see how little you've done, Toms," Wilbur agrees, slowly turning to take the whole of the bathroom in before turning back to the teenager cowering in his bathtub. "What do you say to getting out of the tub though? That cannot be comfortable."
@s-tier-redditor
There is a muffled noise from the bathroom, like someone threw a lamp, briefly fought with the shower curtain, and then screamed into a towel.
@dreamwasinthevents
"Crime," Dream says calmly, then says nothing else about that. He sticks his thumb towards the bathroom. "Told him shadow people were coming to get him--you remember that trip I had where I kept seeing them? That, that one." He returns to his phone.
@wilbursootings
Crime, Wilbur mouths incredulously, although he shouldn't be surprised. By any of this, when it comes to Tommy and Dream together. "Why are you always such an asshole," he says, but it comes out more resigned, thrown over his shoulder as he heads into the bathroom to inspect the damage.
"Tommy?"
@s-tier-redditor
"Sure. How much is easy access to your mail worth to you?" He fishes around in his pocket for his small pouch of lock picking tools. "My going rate is usually fifty but I might be willing to knock it down for a neighbor."
Wilbur sighs. Humans are never willing to offer anything fun as a deal. They just want money. Money is boring. "That wasn't really what I was thinking of, but it's fine. I can get Tommy to eat his way through it or something. He's good at that."
"Purpled would never refer to himself in the third person. That'd be silly." Purpled deadpans. He glances at Wilbur's mailbox. "And uh, you were swearing at your mailbox. Now if you want to keep struggling, that's fine. But I'd probably be able to help you out. For a small fee."
"Clearly, I must be hearing things," Wilbur agrees, clearly not convinced. He cocks an eyebrow at the proposal though, leaning against the wall of mailboxes with a grin. "So you'd like to make a deal, then?"
[if you hurt my statue i will kill you both and then myself] [normally people don't go in my bedroom and eat random shit on my nightstand] [my mistake for underestimating tommy]
Via @wilbursootings "No-- fuck-- shadow-- shit-- nope-- fuck--" Tommy stammers out, staring around wildly. A bird flies overhead and Tommy breaks and runs for the apartment building. He's heading for Wilbur's apartment. Anyone to catches up to him, assuming he doesn't eat it on the stairs, is going to find him in Wilbur's bathtub, holding a lamp.
Dream can't help but snicker at Tommy's freak out; damn him, but it's funny. Also definitely what he deserves. He follows Tommy in and takes a picture for prosperity's sake. He texts it to Wilbur, then puts the fish statue back. He supposes he should wait around too, at least until Wilbur shows up.
He grabs some water and some actual food too, leaving them for Tommy on the sink, then plops down on the couch.
Wilbur is absolutely not hurrying. He's walking at a leisurely pace, he just has long legs, so it looks like he's rushing.
And he might start rushing a little more when he sees the picture Dream sends him.
"What the fuck are you two even doing in my apartment," he asks when he walks in. Dream is sitting on the couch, which means Tommy is probably alone, which is not ideal if he's tripping as bad as Wilbur assumes he is.
@s-tier-redditor
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"Need any help with that?" Purpled unlocks the mailbox for his and Penny's mail, glances at the small stack of envelopes, and tucks them into his backpack before looking over at Wilbur. "You, uh, seem to be having a time of it. Now I'm not one to brag but Purpled is pretty good at unlocking sticky locks."
Somehow Wilbur had missed the other person standing three feet away while engrossed in his struggle, and he jumps, turning and casually leaning against the wall. "Help with what?" he asks, then frowns. "Are you referring to yourself in the third person?"
[open starter]
Wilbur would like it to be noted that he is good with locks. All sorts of locks, really. Some could say all he had to do was whisper to one and it would spring open for him. He wouldn't say that, of course, because that would be an unknown fae power, and he is a law-abiding citizen who would never utilize unknown magic without reporting it to the proper authorities.
That being said, he's good with locks! Most locks. This lock hates him. His mailbox lock hates him and his key and he's fairly certain that every time he tries to charm it, it actually gets more difficult to open.
He growls under his breath, jiggling the key. "Open, you motherfucker."
