DSMP One Shots and Short Stories

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

     Hello! Please be careful reading this! Content Warnings for abuse, drinking, cheating, and just a lotta stuff!

     I know I haven't posted anything in a while, but I've been super busy, and now I'm super sad! And the best way to fix that is to write horrible little angsty stories, right? Right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Please be careful, it's a bit dark. And it's very messy, I didn't edit it or anything, so don't be too harsh, especially since I haven't written anything since the last chapter here! 

      This is a Quackity x Schlatt story, during some point of Schlatt's presidency- probably somewhere towards the end. I've got a lot of little headcanons and stuff for these two, so if it's not 100% following canon, that's probably why!

      Anyway, enjoy this, gremlins!

                                         Doodle

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      Quackity sat at the bar, his wrist moving just enough to swirl the drink in his hand. The White House was quiet, all the lights turned down except for those above him, illuminating the countertop just enough for him to be able to refill his glass. It was almost one in the morning, and he'd been waiting here for hours now. He'd lost track of just how long, but the two bottles of wine- one empty, and the other almost half gone- told more time than the clock ever could.

      Schlatt had been meant to come home much earlier that evening. He'd claimed some meetings, some important business that he didn't need a Vice President for, and left. Quackity had known where he was going, but he made no effort to stop him. He was too tired and sober at the time. But now? Now he was wasted, and he was ready to pick a fight.

      Or, well, at least he had been a few glasses ago.

      Now the sadness had kicked in. He didn't understand why he wasn't enough for Schlatt. They were engaged, Prescient and Vice President, why did Schlatt feel the need to run off to someone else every night? Why couldn't he be happy with him? A few tears slipped down Quackity's face, plopping into his wine glass. They left ripples on the surface, and he found himself lost in them. He wasn't like the tears, mixing in and creating a wave. He was sinking into the blood-red glass, and he wasn't making a sound. He needed to make a sound. He had to make a sound-

      A sound. There was a creek as the familiar tune of the large front door opening filled the unsteady air. The room felt like the sky just before a storm starts, tense and uncertain. The tap of footsteps grew closer, going from the now-closed door to the end of the hallway, and then to the left, right into the open entry of the kitchen.

      "The hell are you doing awake? We've got shit to do in the morning, you know." Schlatt's voice was gruff, laced with whiskey from the flask that never left his pocket. He stepped closer, stopping next to Quackity before picking up the half-empty wine bottle and letting out an annoyed sigh, "You're drunk, aren't you? Jesus Christ."

      "You're one to talk," Quackity spat back, almost startling himself with the sound of his own voice. There was a brief pause before Schlatt sat the wine bottle back on the counter with a loud, displeased thud.

      "You wanna get sassy now?"

      Quackity didn't reply. He instead raised his arm to his face, wiping away the remnants of his earlier tears onto his white button-up before they could be used as ammunition against him. Schlatt scoffed, taking his silence as a fuck you. A hand grasped the duck's shoulder and spun him around to face his opponent.