rabeimwald
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His eyebrows shot together, eyes going dark. It was an odd shift in tone, really. Made Tubbo have to hold back a laugh. Not because he thought it was funny, but because he didn’t like being afraid and humour was easier than fear.
“You like pretty cars, little boy? You like them fast and light, and smashed like soda cans?” A smile spread across his face, but it didn’t reach the danger in his eyes.
Tubbo, allowing a certain blond’s confidence to make a map on his own face, simply nodded. He was feeling cocky, even if it was the worst time for it. If it was any other sort of setting, if he wasn’t digging stolen hot pink hello kitty brass knuckles into his palm, if he couldn’t feel the sting of the brick wall on his back, he would have laughed now.
The man grabbed him by the jaw, pulling his head up harshly. His breath smelled like Budweiser and cigarettes. “I’ll give you a fast car. And you’ll drive it’s tires shiny, you hear? You’ll make back every cent of that car, and then some.”
OR
Tubbo fucked up, and now it seems to be everyone else's problem.