Chapter Text
It’s a bright and shiny day in late August, and it’s gonna be a good one.
Or at least, Tommy has decided it will be.
It’s all about attitude.
That’s what he read, anyway. Attitude, the expectation that the day would be good, as opposed to simply hoping things would work out for you. It was about having agency in your own life, and not simply letting the wind take you wherever it pleases.
He read it in one of those Self Help for Men magazines at the grocery store, and had been suitably impressed with the gravitas of the advice hidden in its cheap, shiny paper pages.
Attitude. It really was the key.
And at the moment, he was less than impressed with the attitudes of his partners in crime.
“Tubbo, I swear to the goddess AND the god, if you don’t leave some of the coffee in the pot for me, I will divorce your ass, leave you for broke, and take the coffeepot on a romantic beachside vacation just to spite you.”
Tommy sipped his own cup of coffee as he very pointedly ignored the peons arguing behind him like a bunch of un-pog losers. He was doing Big Man Shit that simply should not – nay, could not – be interrupted.
He’d seen other magazines of various notable Big Men staring out their kitchen windows dramatically, brooding with a smoky smolder, and he felt sure that replication of this technique – well, it simply must be the key to his own success.
Or at least it would be, if his roommates would stop killing his vibe.
“Just get your own coffeepot if it bothers you so goddamn much! This one is mine! We’ve developed a psychic link, a close bond if you will, and any outside parties getting invested would leave it irreparably damaged, now you wouldn’t want that would you? To leave this sweet, innocent coffeepot abandoned and alone, left to rot by villains who seek their own satisfaction over all else?”
“I will chuck you and the coffeepot out the fucking window if you don’t give me that—!”
“No—fuck you—give it—!”
“Oh for Lady’s sake—” Tommy finally snapped, whirling around.
Ranboo and Tubbo froze, the taller one’s long limbs wrapped in an extremely alarming looking pretzel around his partner’s, Tubbo leveraging his smaller size but superior strength to try to plant his foot into Ranboo’s stomach, and honestly the rest of them was such a mess of limbs it was a bit difficult to discern what exactly was going on.
The spell broke almost immediately, and there was a brief scuffle before the coffeepot went flying, smashing onto the ground with a great crash, glass shattering and coffee spraying everywhere.
Tommy would almost swear the poor thing heaved a great sigh of relief before giving up the ghost entirely.
Tubbo shrieked, and went to chug his mug of extremely hot coffee, but forgot that the coffee was still extremely hot, resulting in hisses and gasps as he very nearly spat it back out.
Ranboo, seeing an opportunity, grabbed the mug out of Tubbo’s hand and chucked it clean out the window.
They all held still as they heard it whistle through the air, before hearing it crashing with a rather pitiful series of cracks, followed by the indignant yelling of some poor chap just down on the sidewalk below them.
“I…” Ranboo started. “I honestly don’t know what I intended to do there.”
Tommy sighed, chugged his own hot coffee, burned mouth be damned, and decided a Big Man needed to act like it when everyone around him was acting like a bunch of Small Men.
“Anyone keen on a trip to Puffy’s?”
000
Finally.
He was here.
Standing at the gates of L’manberg, it took a long moment for Wilbur to get his feet to listen to him and get to moving.
As much as he’d like to gape at the country he hadn’t been to in far too long, there was a line of tourists impatiently shoving behind him to get their own view of the great nation’s main street.
Any other day he’d say fuck ‘em, he’d waited too damn long for this, they could wait as long as he needed to stare. But this time, his goal was subtlety, and going with the flow of the crowd was necessary to keep himself from standing out too much, so he swallowed his temper and his pride and let himself be swept along with the throngs of people moving through the gates.
Gods. His L’manberg.
It really had been too long.
Whisking his way down the streets, he marveled at all of the new buildings and public art and streets – well, not really new, but new to him – and taking careful note of all of the new things he came across.
Businesses. Signs. Sounds. Plants. People.
Gods, the people.
So many new people in this small nation, growing up peacefully and happily and oh-so-tiny and absolutely fine with their place in the world as they went about their tiny lives. It was one of the most precious things he’d ever seen. He wanted to hold them so gently and protect them with his life.
And he would have, if that fucking—
He caught himself. He breathed in. He breathed out.
It was fine. He was here now.
And he was going to take it all in, calmly.
He caught a few varied temples and churches here and there, none quite the same even if they worshipped the same gods, and despite everything he mostly managed to keep himself from twitching too hard at any of the displays, which he was rather proud of.
He could be civil. He could. No need to lose his temper. He’d kept a streak of patience thus far, surely he could keep it up.
Unfortunately, his streak ended a quick death upon coming across one building in particular – it must have been a newer church because he’d never heard of it, but the large gold letters spelling out “The Church of Balance” made quite clear what the religion called itself.
Whatever it was, though, it had covered itself from top to bottom in amulets, protection spells and wards that felt remarkably pinpointed, as if they were targeted specifically at him.
Closer inspection revealed this to be an accurate depiction of what was happening.
Fury boiled under his skin, sparking and crackling, and while he composed himself externally, he couldn’t help but send a flick of magic down to the base of the Church, letting out his anger a little bit before walking away as calmly as he could manage.
He only got to three blocks away before a huge BOOM shook the ground.
Crashing debris, creaking metal, shattered glass, and shrieking whistled sirens looping like a dying animal’s cry.
He didn’t look back, but he did allow himself a small smile.
It was good to be home.
All he had to do was fix the place up a bit.
000
Tommy was at the end of his tether, he really was.
This was like wrangling cats.
Except he’d almost prefer it to be wrangling cats, because at least they were small and cute and cuddly, unlike these absolute rapscallions.
Puffy – of Puffy’s Café – had clearly been blessed with some sort of divine patience or at least had a customer service façade that would make bank at a poker table in order for her to deal with Tubbo and Ranboo being totally unable to decide on drinks, with decidedly opposite energies.
Tubbo had forgotten again that he was a poor retail employee and was attempting to buy every drink that Puffy offered in his quest to deal with a truly out-of-control caffeine addiction, with Puffy trying hard to talk him down from a tab he could not pay off, while Ranboo was almost obsessively counting his coins and calculating sales taxes in order to figure out which order would get him the most coffee at the lowest price.
The latter should be tolerable. The latter would be more tolerable if they hadn’t been standing in front of the register for twenty minutes.
There was a line forming. A line of hungry, slavering wolves with their own caffeine addictions and jobs, some of which were looking more and more like they believed that their addiction would be sated by the blood of those fucking teens holding up the line.
Tommy refused to be associated with them any longer, and made his grand escape while they were still distracted.
He ignored Puffy’s pleading face, for his own wellbeing.
It was every man for himself now.
He found a booth and made himself comfortable, pulling out a checklist for himself.
First on the list: Find a girlfriend.
Sadly, that had been consistent to-do for many months and didn’t look to be changing any time soon. He mourned briefly, then moved on.
Secondly: Practice Big Man things.
He checked it off the list. Despite the interruptions, he did get some good Big Man time to himself that morning, and considered that as good as it was going to get.
Baby steps, baby steps.
Thirdly: Get rich beyond wildest dreams.
He had plans for that this afternoon, so not yet, but soon.
Fourthly: Find something else important to do.
This bullet point was more so he could fit in other various tasks that needed to be done, like if it were laundry day or his turn to do the dishes. It was neither of those, so he wracked his brain for whatever else could be done.
“You look deep in thought.”
Tommy jolted, head shooting up to look up at the originator of the new, unfamiliar voice.
The man was tall, very tall, but in a lanky way, with fluffy brown hair poking out of a beanie, large round glasses over warm brown eyes, and soft dark-yellow sweater hanging loosely over his frame, with skinny jeans and boots to complete the look.
He looked fashionable. He looked pretentious, in an artsy way. But most importantly, he looked rich.
Excellent.
Time to get started on Task Three.
“Just thinking of Big Man things,” Tommy said imperiously. With men like these, it was necessary to carry oneself with a sense of self-importance – it’d make them recognize him as one of them, a rich and cultured individual who could be trusted to hold your wallet for you.
At least, that’s what the Self Help for Men magazine told him, which surely meant it was true.
“Oh really?” The man said, a warble to his voice that sounded like a laugh being swallowed down. “Such as what?”
“Well,” Tommy blustered, closing his notebook with a snap, “you would know if you were a Big Man, wouldn’t you?”
Insulting his manhood, a great way to express dominance in the conversation. This was going marvelously so far.
“Well, I’m bigger than you are, aren’t I? Wouldn’t that mean that you’re not big enough for your big man thoughts to even register with me?” The man said, in a voice that sounded like it was trying to be reasonable, even as it uttered words that were anything but.
Blast. The man was using his own tactics against him!
Great googly moogly, it’s all gone to shit.
Tommy sputtered indignantly. “Why you—how—absolutely not! It’s not about one’s physical size, you heathen, it’s about one’s spiritual size! The power one wields within their very soul! You absolute bastard – I bet you think you need to be a man to be a Big Man, don’t you, you misogynistic prick? You fucking transphobic bastard!”
The man blinked hard. “You just reached a number of extremely questionable conclusions in the span of five seconds. I would be genuinely impressed if I weren’t also feeling like I should be very offended.”
“Feeling impressed is a normal side effect to being in my presence. As is being offended.”
“Duly noted,” the man said with a tilt of his head and a twist to his lips that was far too close to an amused smile for Tommy’s taste. Before he could respond, the man spoke again. “Do you know how long those two at the front of the line have been there?”
Tommy looked at the register, hoping against all hope that it wasn’t Tubbo and Ranboo still, but as usual the universe decided to disappoint him.
“At least twenty minutes,” he gritted out, staring daggers at the two.
The man’s eyes flicked between him and the other two. “You seem familiar with them.”
“Absolutely not,” Tommy denied, turning his body away from the register and flipping his notebook back open. “I’ve never met them in my life.”
“TOMMY!” Tubbo hollered, and the teen in question felt part of his soul shrivel at everyone’s eyes turning to him at the exclamation. “Puffy has cookies on sale today, do you want any? They’re buy two get one free!”
Tommy was going to kill him. After he got his cookie.
“Yes!” He hollered back, then went right back to ignoring them, applying the age-old foolproof tactic of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’.
“Never met them in your life, huh?” The bespectacled man said, still clearly holding back laughter but at least having the decency to add a note of sympathy to his voice.
“I will not be associated with them,” Tommy said stiffly, refusing eye contact with the man who had made himself comfortable in the seat across from him. “What are you doing here? Fuck off, find your own booth.”
“How old are you, Tommy?” the man said, ignoring his words.
“Seventeen,” he said primly.
“Seventeen,” the man muttered to himself. He paused for a moment, then nodded. “Good enough for me.”
He raised his voice slightly. “Here’s the thing; I like you, Tommy—”
“That better not be a proposition, I swear on the goddess—”
The man’s eye twitched slightly. “Absolutely not, and I’m actually genuinely offended you assumed that of me. That’s not where I was going with that.”
He leaned forward onto the table, hands clasped in front of him, with his eyes locked onto Tommy. “Tell me, Tommy, what are your opinions on illegal drugs?”
“Best not to get hooked on them. Why?”
“Would you be interested in helping me sell drugs?” He asked, voice very serious.
Tommy laughed reflexively. The man didn’t.
He shifted course.
“Depends, how much would I be cut in?”
The man’s eyes had a gleam to them. “I produce and sell, you sell when you can, therefore a solid eighty-twenty in my favor.”
“Sixty-fourty.”
“Seventy-thirty.”
“Sold,” Tommy said, sticking out his hand.
They shook.
“Great, I’ll meet you back at this same café when I have all of the shit I need, I’ll meet you in like a week,” the man said.
“And your name?” Tommy said, lifting his chin up. “I can hardly join an illicit drug business with a man whose name I don’t even know. Bad business tactics.”
This time, the man actually let out a laugh. “Wilbur Soot. Pleasure to meet you, Tommy…?”
“Innit. Tommy Innit.”
“Interesting name.”
“Well, my name’s Tommy, innit? Might as well make it clear.”
There was a loud clatter at the register, drawing both of their gazes.
Tubbo and Ranboo had clearly finally left the register at some point, leading to Puffy desperately trying to catch up on the many, many delayed customers who were somehow both patient enough to remain in line and impatient enough to be bitchy to her about it.
One such customer had thrown the tip jar at Puffy in a fit of rage.
Quick as a whip, Wilbur was up by the register and sidled his way in between Puffy and the enraged customer, speaking to her lowly and calmly as she slowly became less and less aggressive, before eventually nodding and turning to leave.
Puffy looked like she was about to kiss the man.
She quickly ran through the rest of the line, sending the orders down to the other baristas before turning to Wilbur and speaking to him rapidly and intensely.
Wilbur was doing a lot of nodding and giving short answers in response, until finally he smiled wide, she did the same, and they shook hands before parting.
Tommy waited until the man returned to his seat across from him. “What was all that about?”
“She just offered me a job here,” Wilbur explained, grabbing a bag that Tommy had failed to notice and sliding it onto his shoulder. “Said I start Monday.”
Tommy nodded, impressed despite himself. “Not bad. I suppose you have the makings of a Big Man yet.”
Wilbur laughed, then reached forward and gave Tommy a condescending little head-pat. “That was almost a compliment, I feel flattered.”
“You should. Very few have the makings to be a Big Man, even less who achieve it. However, the compliment is revoked for being a condescending twat. Fuck you.”
“Duly noted.” Wilbur waved at Tommy as he went. “See you around, Tommy-boy.”
Tommy watched him go, and only once Ranboo and Tubbo came to his booth with their orders in tow did he realize that Wilbur never actually ordered anything in the shop.
He brushed it off. Whatever. The habits of the old and un-pog were unknowable to him.
All that mattered was that now, he had a chance to achieve Task Three more steadily than a few quick wallets and jewelry snatched in a week.
Things were looking up.
000
"This just in, a terrorist attack has wreaked havoc in L'manberg Main Square--"
"--Unknown who the culprit is--"
"--political ties? I think it's obvious--"
"--thoughts and prayers to the families of the victims--"
"--This is only the beginning, I'm telling you! We have to prepare--"
"--fearmongering and hateful rhetoric--"
"--and may the Gods protect us, regardless of creed--"
hisssss. click.