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“Oh my god, you can’t do that,” Ranboo’s eyes widened. “Aren’t these, like, explosive or something?”
“Oh my god, you have to do that,” Tommy grinned.
Tubbo was never one to back down from a challenge. He took the pocket knife Tommy offered him and stabbed the side of the spray paint canister, jumping back when it started spurting out violently, the glowing yellow shooting into the sky. Tubbo instinctively turned his head away, but part of the paint got on the right side of his face anyway, looking like a neon blast scar. Miraculously, it didn’t get anywhere else on him. Tubbo grabbed his gas mask. It was very personalized, with the inhalation filters designed to look like honeycombs. Tubbo had modified them himself. This made them very useless, but very cool. Tubbo took the canister and directed it into the gas mask’s interior, watching as the paint built up until it dripped out of the honeycombs as well as the three slits in the exhalation valve.
Ranboo groaned. “I can’t believe you did that. How are you supposed to wear it now?”
Tubbo blinked and shrugged, turning the mask over to pour out most of it. When he flipped it again, enough paint had stuck in the various pathways that it was still dripping out of the different openings. The paint itself was, as previously mentioned, glowing. Not the average glow-in-the-dark dull glow, either, but bright enough to attract attention. That was the point, after all - none of their work was meant to go overlooked, be it Tubbo’s yellow, Ranboo’s purple, or Tommy’s red.
“Wait, Tubbo-” Ranboo moved, but he wasn’t quick enough to keep Tubbo from securing the mask back on his face. He yanked it down, fearing for his friend inhaling toxic fumes, and Tubbo grinned despite the paint now all around his mouth. Tubbo licked his lips and Ranboo gave up.
“You’re gonna get some terrible poisoning from this,” Ranboo warned, returning to his own work, spraying out his glowing purple on the wall they’d chosen.
“Holy shit Tubbo, your tongue is glowing.” Tommy pointed.
Tubbo stuck out his tongue, and went cross-eyed trying to look at it. He could indeed see a faint glow, but also a whole chunk of his face was glowing, so it didn’t mean much.
“What’s it taste like?” Tommy asked.
Tubbo mused a bit. “Like ass, big man.”
Tommy snorted. “’Course it does, it’s fucking paint. It’s not supposed to be watermelon-flavored.”
“Ooh, that would be so cool though!” Tubbo beamed.
“I’d be worried the toxins got to your head already, but you’re always like this,” Ranboo rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the uptick of laughter in his voice.
Tubbo was about to quip back, but he stopped to watch Ranboo’s work. Whereas Tommy and Tubbo stuck to spray cans, Ranboo always preferred to get his hands dirty - literally. His fingertips dripped with purple as he spread his design across the canvas. Tommy watched too, a bit bored as he fidgeted with the black choker around his neck.
Tubbo giggled as he noticed something. Ranboo paused, looking back at him.
“What?”
“We’re matching.” Tubbo cheekily pointed to the paint on the side of his face. Ranboo looked confused, and Tommy laughed as he noticed what Tubbo had.
“You got a bit of purple on your cheek,” Tommy explained. Ranboo attempted to wipe the splatter onto the back of his hand, but it only worked a little. Tommy and Tubbo laughed at him a bit more.
“Oh come on, you’ve got paint on you too!” Ranboo pointed to Tommy’s hoodie, which did indeed have a red splatter dripping from Tommy’s left shoulder, underneath his hood, and on top of the hoodie’s pocket.
Tommy shrugged. “Stylistic choice.”
“ Stylistic- you wear all black, Tommy. You look like a low-budget goth.”
Tommy bristled. “Black goes with everything!”
“Not if everything is black ,” Ranboo insisted.
“My hoodie is white and red!”
“The sleeves zipper off, Tommy, and they zipper off just above the elbow. That should really not be your defense.”
Tubbo chimed in. “The 2000’s called, MCR wants its aesthetic back.”
Tommy had never looked so offended in his life.
Ranboo choked a bit on laughter. “ Goodness , Tubbo.”
“Oh, oh, coming from you, Tubbo? With your fuckin’-” Tommy looked up and down at his shorter friend, who only bared a toothy grin, daring him to continue. “Your whole outfit is a nightmare! High-waisted leggings?”
“The oversized sweater really clashes with the fingerless gloves,” Ranboo admitted.
Tubbo scoffed. “Why are you ganging up on me? I thought we were making fun of Tommy!”
“Yeah, but you’re the one wearing a harness.” Tommy pointed to the accessory in question, which was really just a glorified belt with shoulder straps that were so large they fell off Tubbo’s shoulders. Tubbo had modified it - he modified everything, really - to hold 30ml paint refills, and the little bullet-like canisters were clustered together on his hip, the labels glowing to show the color they held.
“And your sweater sleeves are, like… really stretched out. How old is that, anyway?” Ranboo raised an eyebrow. “I can see your stitching on the shoulder.”
Tubbo shrugged. “It’s warm.”
“If you’re cold, then don’t wear freaking leggings, Tubbo!” Tommy rolled his eyes.
Tubbo huffed. “Well, Ranboo’s wearing a skirt.”
This was true. Ranboo was wearing a simple light purple maxi skirt.
“Hey, I look great in this.”
“Yeah Tubbo, he looks great in that.”
“Thank you, Tommy.”
“’Course, Ranboob.”
Ranboo sighed, and Tommy smirked.
“Now, your fucking tie- ” Tommy started.
“IT LOOKS COOL!” Ranboo’s hands hovered over the ridiculously loosened tie that dangled from his neck, fingers still dripping with paint that he didn’t want to get all over his clothes.
“Sorry boss-man,” Tubbo plopped onto the pavement, crossing his legs and propping his chin up with one hand so he could inspect the black nail polish on the other. “Doesn’t really go with the whole white turtleneck and jacket thing.”
Tubbo’s eyes wandered to Ranboo’s other accessories. “The cuff bracelet and barrette are cool, though.”
Ranboo mumbled something under his breath, but they all knew none of them were really upset. They had shit fashion choices, and they owned it.
“The little crown hair clip is cool, yeah,” Tommy agreed.
“I like your choker,” Ranboo admitted.
“Your gas mask is stupid,” Tommy turned to Tubbo, “but it’s also kind of badass.”
“You should let me paint your nails. All I have is black, so it’d match your aes-thet-ic.” Tubbo emphasized each syllable comically.
Tommy chuckled. “Alright, well, are we done here?”
Ranboo looked back up to the brick wall before nodding. “Yeah, I’m done.”
“Hmm,” Tubbo tapped his chin, sticking out his glowing tongue a bit as he considered their work. “Oh! Guys, we forgot the white!”
Ranboo gasped. “Oh, yeah!”
“Ah, here it is.” Tommy pulled out the fourth and final paint can from his hoodie pocket, handing it to an eager Tubbo.
A few minutes later, they vacated the premises, the glowing evidence of their presence left behind, a damning signature scrawled in white-
“BENCH TRIO”.
