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It is 11pm. Wilbur doesn’t have time for this shit. He is honestly wasting his time even sharing his internal monologue throughout the night with you.
Wilbur sighs as he reflects on all the decisions that have led up to this moment of feeling like death while making a shitty eggs and bacon breakfast sandwich that is definitely a rip-off from Starbucks. Definitely great decisions that’s for sure. Mhm. You should honestly pay for even sharing the same air as Wilbur. The best barista of all time. Please do actually he needs the money. I don’t know how the fuck you’d get the extra money considering you’re a Wilbur Soot fan (or even worse a… TommyInnit fan… and god forbid BOTH) but you can manage.
Anyways, the dumbass brunette works at a 24-hour cafe called Latte.
“Wow,” you will be thinking (this is both a promise and a threat). “What an original name that isn’t just named after what they sell. That idea has never been done before.”
And while you are so right in your thinking with your amazing big inflamed swollen brain (you should get that checked out), the experience as a worker there was not particularly the… best.
No worker in the customer service field of work will tell you they love their job. That is just a fact of the world along with how it is impossible for people to lick their elbows. (Haha I bet you just tried it didn’t you. Reflect on how you probably looked at that moment. Just really take a moment.)
Except Latte seems to just push it a little bit further. Especially when you are a bitch named Wilbur Fucking Soot. Yes, Fucking is his middle name. Don’t judge him. What if your name was Fucking huh? How would you feel then? Hmmmm? That’s what I thought.
Anyways usually the nights were mundane. A few regulars show up, maybe a musical theatre group who seem to have complete disregard to everybody surrounding them, and usually a few shady characters. Except the universe hates Wilbur and his crusty musty axe body spray and decided to make tonight a living hell.
As I was saying, 11pm. Night shift. It ends at 6am and there is a severe lack of co-workers helping him out. He was in the back in the kitchen when he hears the chime of the forbidden bell echo throughout the cliché café walls.
He sighs and puts on the best customer service smile possible as he walks towards the counter. Except you try putting on a smile when your lack of sleep makes it feel as if you have to physically drag your muscles by using other nonexistent muscles to make yourself move. He looked like the Grinch if he was constipated.
Luckily nobody had to see that horrid excuse of a facial expression as he saw just somebody absolutely covered in blood. Like head to toe, dripping onto the floor. Crimson was splattered on every single feature that could have given away he was human besides his shape. He looked more of a humanoid red drawing than a person.
Wilbur responded like any normal human being would in that situation.
“Hey man, can you get some blood off you on the mat outside first. I just mopped. Thanks.”
Listen this man is minimum wage and calling emergency services is just… too much work. Like making an excuse, going to the back, reaching towards your pocket, grabbing your phone AND pressing three buttons? He’d rather take his chances
“Oh yeah sure no problem. Sorry about that.”
The man went outside and appeared to stomp his feet around a bit before walking back in. Still looking like a literal living red blob that smelled of metal but at least Wilbur wouldn’t have to mop again.
“So.. I assume that isn’t red paint.”
“Nah.”
“That’s nice,” Wilbur awkwardly nodded. Damn. He is not getting a certificate for small talk that’s for sure.
“How can I help you?..”
“Oh the names Tubbo. Can I have a uh.. latte?”
“No,” Wilbur said blankly as he just stared right into his eyes not really knowing if he was going to get killed tonight but honestly being too tired to care.
“What really? Your shop is literally called Latte. Why call it Latte if you WON’T SELL LATTES,” Tubbo yelled, being very rude for the time of night might I add.
“Outta milk.”
Tubbo just stared at him. His glare was laced with a sinister type of undertone that seemed to scream, “I will find out where you live, and I will make you personally companioned with the 748 torture methods I have inevitably memorized.” He was expressive like that y’know.
Wilbur sighed, “There’s a camera in the corner. Don’t know if it is actually of the highest caliber regarding video quality but still. I mean at least wait until I’m asleep or something. I kinda just wanna take a nap until I get stabbed.”
Tubbo seemed to hesitate at that for a moment before deciding on just accepting that answer and moving on.
“Fine. Just get me whatever I guess.”
Next thing you know Tubbo is out and about back in the world except this time with a little cup of coffee.
This is great. Mmm. Skiurlaub. I don’t know what that word means. It kind of just popped up. Take it as you please.
Wilbur thought that would be the end of whatever bad luck has been cast upon him today except nope. Apparently raccoons can smell his axe spray too because a certain blonde came running on into the store. His mask looked like it would simply crumble the minute Wilbur touched it and he had an odd emerald knife in his left hand.
“Put your hands up bitch!” the little raccoon yelled. Wilbur sighed.
“Damn. You’re left handed?” Wilbur said as he looked at the knife that was currently being pointed towards him.
“SHUT UP AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP.”
What time was it now? 12am and he is being robbed by a feral teenager who probably had rabies. Seriously, was that drool?
“Look man. I get paid minimum wage and I am tired. You’re really not helping me here”
“This is a robbery, Does it look like I give a shit?”
“Yes,” Wilbur groaned, tone exasperated as if him being held at knife-point was nothing more than an inconvenience. To be fair, it was in a sense. I mean what else was he supposed to do? Comply and then call the police? Boring.
The boy kind of paused at that answer, his face went from confident to confused to angry to confused to angry. This man really needs to figure out his emotions. Not implying that he is a man. Honestly 1 years old at best.
“Well you’re wrong. I do not give a shit,” the teenager said, although his tone was laced with some sort of hesitation.
“Yes you do. Also, are you a toddler?”
The raccoon stared at him, eye twitching. Wilbur felt a sense of pride in this until he saw the boy’s mouth start to move. Something told Wilbur there would be no stopping him once he started.
“HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ME YOU ABSOLUTE DICKHEAD PIECE OF SHIT BITCH PUSSY-“
Damn the ceiling looks pretty cool actually. It is kind of underrated with all of the white marble tile pattern it has going on.
“THIS IS GASLIGHTING EXCEPT INSTEAD OF A GIRLBOSS YOU ARE MERELY A MANSPLAIN, MANIPULATIVE, MANSLAUGHTERER. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT ONE BI-“
Hm. I wonder what this situation would taste like if I could taste words. Maybe like peanut butter? Ooh or maybe bacon. How would bacon taste with peanut butter?
“ARE YOU IGNORING ME? I TAKE SO MUCH TIME OUT OF MY DAY TO SHARE THE SAME AIR AS YOU LIKE THE AMAZING PERSON I AM AND YOU JUST FUCKING DON’T EVEN LISTE-“
Wilbur walked out to the back and grabbed some chamomile tea that he was waiting to cool off. When he returned to the front there was a furious looking blonde staring daggers. Literally haha there was a dagger flying towards him. Wait shit wha-
“Hey, throwing stuff isn’t very nice. Neither is murder. Anyways continue,” Wilbur says after narrowly avoiding the knife and taking a very long comedic sip out of his tea.
Slurp.
The raccoon literally tried to bite Wilbur and then snatch his tea from his hands. Does he know how annoying it’d be to remake the tea? God, have some respect.
Slurp.
“Damn chill. If you wanted the tea you could have just asked. What’s your name?”
Slurp.
The boy looked at Wilbur as if his words physically made him disgusted, “STOP SLURPING.”
Wilbur sighed at that. “I want to write your name on this cup because cafés do that y’know.”
“It doesn’t seem like sharing drinks is very up to health-code policies,”
Wilbur couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Do you see an inspector? Didn’t think so bitch. You look like a Bartholemew. I’m going to write down Bartholomew.”
Bartholomew almost seemed to gag at that, “WHAT? What kind of a name is that, At least give me the name Chad or something. That’d be more accurate to my manliness and girl-attracting looks.”
“Honestly you emanate more of an awkward teen who would scream at a girl in the face on a date when she tries to kiss you and not know why you don’t have a girlfriend, Bartholomäus.”
“THAT IS NOT MY NAME.”
“Berthelet.”
“WHAT.”
“Bat murder.”
“FINE. It’s Tommy. Jesus man. That was torture.”
Wilbur smiled a bit and wrote down “Bathroom” on the cup before handing it to Tommy. He shoved him out of the door before another word could be said and locked it.
If there was suddenly a certain little rabid teenager banging on the door and staring directly at Wilbur until his eyes seemed to burn into his skin, Wilbur didn’t notice. Instead what he noticed was the knife stuck in the wall that would be hard to explain in the morning. Eh that’s a future Wilbur problem.
Turns out Past Wilbur is a bitch and now Current Wilbur had to deal with his bullshit.
You see it was rather peaceful with the hour seeming to go by in an actual serene manner. Until this big ass dude with an even BIGGER knife came in. Not even a knife this bitch was holding a whole ass SWORD.
The entire blade was probably bigger than Wilbur’s entire body span. The man had a hood that covered the majority of his face but Wilbur could still sense when their eyes locked. Next thing you know the sword is pointed at Wilbur.
“Where did you get that knife behind you?” the man said, his voice seeming monotone and yet somehow still fierce as it pierced Wilbur’s ears.
Wilbur was at a loss for words but wasn’t about to lose his dignity just because he may or may not die. What was he? A pussy? No no no. Bartholomew needed to be proved wrong.
“Uh. I am not answering that question until you tell me who you are,” Wilbur said, voice a bit too quiet to seem confident but he has the spirit.
“If you have nothing to hide then you will answer me,” the man said once more, tone incredibly accusatory. What an asshole
“Shut the fuck up. I know my rights bitch. I watch SneegSnag. I bet you don’t watch SneegSnag. Imagine. Couldn’t be me. What a loser.”
The blade seemed to press forward more at that and if Wilbur pissed his pants a bit then nobody needed to know.
After a few tense seconds, the man sighed and went to take off his hood.
“I am the one who slayed thousands. The one who keeps you up at night. The villain that all have grown to despise. I a-“
“Oh my god shut up and take your hood off man.”
“I am the villain… Technoblade.”
He then took his hood off in the most dramatic fashion literally ever seen to mankind. Like jesus christ man. That cape looked like it swirled in a literal tornado before falling to the ground.
What remained was the most notorious villain that had ever walked the Earth. With… pink hair?
Wilbur laughed. Like full on ugly cackled. Imagine the funniest and ugliest laugh you’ve ever heard but times it by 10. That was how loud and obnoxious he was right now.
“Are you laughing due to you undermining my power? Do you think you are worthy of defeating me?” Technoblade asked as he looked over Wilbur, his hover seeming to cast a shadow of pure dread over Wilbur’s hunched over frame. It would have been more intimidating had Technoblade not said it with slight reluctance due to not knowing what to do with just how much Wilbur was laughing.
Wilbur calmed down enough just to barely be able to say, “Man really said I am the villain Technoblade and rolled out with pink hair.”
Technoblade flushed at that, and the villain never seemed to have more murderous intent in his eyes than in that moment.
“My friend dyed it in my sleep,” Technoblade said, sounding legitimately embarrassed to the point that Wilbur had actually started to pity the guy.
“Hey it looks good man it’s fine. It could be worse.”
Technoblade nodded at that and just reached towards the knife behind Wilbur and pulled it out.
“I probably should have just done that from the beginning huh. That would’ve been easier. Anyways, I will have a chocolate milk”
Wilbur groaned at that and went to go make the man his chocolate milk. He couldn’t blame him. Mass murder and anarchy just needs some chocolate milk boost from time to time.
“Wait, so why is that knife even important?”
Before Wilbur got his answer, Technoblade flew away. Damn who knew there would be some mini lore. In MY crack story? Wow no way.
It was now 3am. Wilbur was so tired that his eyes felt like bricks, and he didn’t even bother trying to keep them open until he heard another ring of that god awful bell.
He didn’t even bother opening his eyes, hoping that it was some person who would just leave when they saw him asleep.
“⟟ ⎅⟟⎅⋏’⏁ ⟊⎍⌇⏁ ⍙⏃⌰☍ ⎎⍜⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⏚⏃⍀⟟⌇⏁⏃ ⏁⍜ ⏚⟒ ⏃⌇⌰⟒⟒⌿. ⟟ ⌇⍙⟒⏃⍀ ⏁⍜ ☌⍜⎅ ⟟ ⏃⋔ ☌⍜⟟⋏☌ ⏁⍜ ⋔⎍⍀⎅⟒⍀ ⟟⎎ ⟟ ⎅⍜⋏’⏁ ☌⟒⏁ ☊⍜⎎⎎⟒⟒,” the strange man said.
(Translation at the end for anybody who doesn’t feel like opening another tab and googling it.)
Wilbur opened his eyes quickly after that. He expected to look down as usually he was the tallest among those he met but instead he was faced with a living skyscraper. Wilbur gaped but quickly caught himself.
“Uh… I can’t understand you sorry.”
“⎅⏃⋔⋏. ⟟⋏☊⍜⋔⌿⟒⏁⟒⋏⏁ ⏃⋏⎅ ⏁⟟⍀⟒⎅. ☌⍀⟒⏃⏁ ☊⍜⋔⏚⍜.”
Wilbur tried to rack up all his knowledge of former languages but still had absolutely no clue what this guy was saying.
“Uh… Do you want a coffee?”
“⊬⍜⎍ ☊⍜⎍⌰⎅ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⎅⍜⋏⟒ ⌇⍜ ⋔⎍☊⊑ ⏚⟒⏁⏁⟒⍀ ⍙⟟⏁⊑ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⍜⎍⏁⎎⟟⏁.”
“Maybe a snack?”
“⌰⟟☍⟒ ☌⟒⋏⎍⟟⋏⟒⌰⊬. ⎅⟒⋏⟟⋔ ⍜⋏ ⎅⟒⋏⟟⋔? ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⍙⟒⍀⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⏁⊑⟟⋏☍⟟⋏☌.”
“We have some chocolate almonds? Those are nice.”
“⏃⋏⎅ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⊑⏃⟟⍀? ⎍☌⊑. ⍙⟟⏁⊑ ⌿⍀⍜⌿⟒⍀ ☊⏃⍀⟒ ⟟⌇ ☊⍜⎍⌰⎅ ⏚⟒ ☌⍀⟒⏃⏁ ⏚⎍⏁ ⋏⍜⍜⍜⍜. ☌⍀⟒⏃⌇⊬ ⏃⌇ ⊑⟒⌰⌰.”
“I’ll uhm… get you a strawberry lemonade.”
“⌰⍜⌇⟒⍀. ⏃⋏⊬⍙⏃⊬⌇ ⋔⊬ ⏁⟒⏃⋔⋔⏃⏁⟒ ⏁⍜⋔⋔⊬ ⍙⏃⌇ ⌇⎍⌿⌿⍜⌇⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ⎅⍀⍜⌿ ⍜⎎⎎ ⏃ ☍⋏⟟⎎⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒. ⍙⏃⌇ ⊑⟒ ⌇⎍☊☊⟒⌇⌇⎎⎍⌰ ⍜⍀ ⎅⟟⎅ ⊑⟒ ⎎⏃⟟⌰ ⏃☌⏃⟟⋏? ⟟ ⌇⍙⟒⏃⍀ ⊑⟒ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ☌⟒⏁ ⎍⌇ ☍⟟⌰⌰⟒⎅ ⍜⋏⟒ ⎅⏃⊬,” he said with a seemingly fond tone.
Wilbur handed him the strawberry lemonade and the tall guy just stared at him with the most unimpressed look ever. He took a sip of the drink, and you could see his eyes widen in real time as he tasted it.
“Uh… what’s your name so I can write it?”
“⍀⏃⋏⏚⍜⍜,” he said, but not really caring in his tone as he basically chugged the drink.
Once he got over the first few sips of the drink he stared at Wilbur before starting towards the door.
“By the way your outfit still sucks,” Ranboo said before walking out the building.
“…RUDE!”
It was now 5am. 6am was so close that Wilbur could basically taste it. It tasted like coal. 0/10, would not recommend.
The morning rush was beginning to kick in and Wilbur was so tired that he thought he was going to faint, but at least he had the ability to mind-numbingly serve the regular customers which was a nice little time until Philza showed up.
The literal second most notorious villain in the city. What the fuck was up with people these days. Everybody seemed to flee the building as fast as possible as Phil’s wings casted a dark looming shadow that seemed to laugh at Wilbur as he stood there.
But Wilbur could not care in the slightest. He could have a knife embedded through his brain and he would just stand there staring without a care.
“Hey, welcome to Latte. What do you want? Thanks for scaring out the customers. Less tips but less work too so who’s the real winner here.”
Phil seemed to smile at that.
“Hey mate. I wondering if you saw Techno around here somewhere?”
“Pink hair? About this tall?” he asked, hands motioning about how tall Technoblade was.
“Yep, that should be him. Some endermen stole a knife from me. He wanted to get it back.”
Wilbur looked confused at that. “There was another blonde guy with a mask on who had it though? I think his name was Tommy?”
Phil’s face looked in thought for a moment before seeming to come to some sort of acceptance for his internal conflict.
“That makes sense actually. That little gremlin always finds ways to steal our shit. I think he even got his friend to cover himself in fake blood to distract us. He gave up after like 19 seconds saying he needed a latte but still.”
“Wait! That wasn’t real blood? Oh phew,” Wilbur sighed with a bit of relief.
“Anyways yeah Technoblade was in here but he grabbed the knife.“
“That’s good to hear…” Philza said as he slowly inched closer towards Wilbur.
“But if I just so happen to hear of this situation being brought up to the public then you might as well wave your family and friends goodbye now,” Philza said, menacing not being able to describe even the half of how his voice seeped into Wilbur’s skin.
Wilbur let out a quiet giggle, “Trust me. If I can even retell this story to myself with how tired I am right now then I will be surprised.”
Phil seemed content with that answer and walked out.
In the timespan of one night Wilbur had somehow become associated with the largest villains in the world and some mini criminal group that stole from them.
Except Wilbur made some money and could sleep now that his shifts over. So who’s the real winner here?