Although there are a few exceptions, such as people she forces to work as a janitor to pay off a debt, if you swear loyalty to her you will be treated with respect and kindness.
Haven’t eaten in a few days? She’ll cook you up a meal to get you back to health, can’t rob a bank if you’re malnourished
Don’t have a place to go back to when you’re done with work? She’ll let you stay at her club’s backrooms rent free, need a good night’s rest to interrogate rival gang members properly
Got a bad injury from a heist? She’ll let you work on the back lines for a bit at the club or stakeout duty. Need people acting their best for this line of work
She also earns enough money from both her club and gang business that you’ll be given a more than modest pay for your work. Wiggle may be absolutely ruthless in the field and has a body count nearing hundreds, but if you’re part of the family, you’re family.
After all, if you wanna put on a dazzling show, you gotta make sure the entire cast has their hearts into it as well
So yeah, I came up with the idea of Wiggle being a mob boss a few days ago and I succumbed to the brain rot. Wrote an entire fic for this idea, introducing her and what she's like.
I got flustered myself writing the tall crime lady. Enjoy!
Mafia Boss Wiggle
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF’A ME YOU MEATHEADS!!” A lanky, roughed up grumpus struggles in the beefy arms of two well-dressed goons. They grip his arms tight with their paws, dragging his body along behind it like an afterthought. “You have any idea what my family will do when-?!”
“Shut your trap already,” the purple goon groaned. They adjust their ornate mask, brushing the sunset and emerald colored feathers out of their eyes. “Honestly, you’re lucky we caught you before openin’ hours, else we’d have to knock your teeth in to keep you from disturbin’ the patrons.”
“Don’t act like yer better than me!” The red grump kicks over a velvet chair from a nearby table as they pass. It clatters against the polished wood floor, echoing through the well-lit nightclub. A bartender--wearing a similar feathered and jeweled mask to the goons--gets up from polishing glasses to set it right. “Don’t you know who I am?! I’m from the Turnpipe family!! My boys’ll storm this place once they hear what you’se done to me! They’ll roast you all over open flames until every last strand of your fur is singed to the flesh!! You’ll be nothing but a naked mole rat for the rest of your lives!!!”
“Heya Cold-Brew, how was your kid’s party last night?” The blue goon holding Turnpipe’s other paw waves to the bartender as he sets the chair upright.
“Went okay. Park got rained out midway through the picnic, so we went to Slaker’s for ‘shakes.”
“Ah, shame. Need any help after I’m done here?” He gestures to their victim as if it were a sack of potatos. The red grump wiggles and yells while scuffing the floor they’re dragged across.
“Nah, should be good here, thanks ‘Stein. Fifteen until the doors open.” Cold-Brew waves back to the goons as he returns to his station, both wave back and smile.
“I SAID LET ME GO YOU INVERTEBRATES!!!!”
“Ugh, honestly why can’t you all say anything original?” The purple grump shakes their head. “Always just ‘let me go,’ ‘I’m with this family,’ ‘You’ll pay for this,’ if you’re gonna keep yappin’ at least say something interesting.”
“I’LL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!!!”
“Hehey, he tells jokes!”
The nightclub’s attendants laugh together under the neon spotlights as the intruder’s yells fall on uncaring ears. Past the bar lined with high class alcohol and the grand stage lined with spotlights and the band pit, the three grumps make their way to a door labeled “BACKSTAGE: EMPLOYEE’S ONLY.” With a quick knock and faint response from the other side, the two gently push open the door and leave the main area behind.
“Heya boss,” the purple goon speaks, his voice much more formal. “Found this one tryin’ to bash the front lock open with a brick. Got him before any major damage was done, don’t worry.”
Both grumps lift the intruder up by the shoulders, leaving his legs kicking in the air. It takes the Turnpipe a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting and he coughs from the lingering cigarette smoke in the air.
“Thank ya’ darlings,” a sultry voice speaks, facing away from the three. The grump thinks that the boss is some shade of pink, but poking above the large mass of pink fluff a sort of golden orange pokes out. Despite being held in the air, the orange grumpus sitting at the table in front of them reaches just below the Turnpipe’s height. “Wouldn’t want him making a mess before our loyal customers come in.”
“Are you these goons’ boss?!” The Turnpipe screams, pointing at the grumpus. “You fucked up now! When the Turnpipes hear of this-”
“They’ll tear us limb from limb, yes hun I know.” The boss speaks calmly, comfortably while applying purple eyeliner via pocket mirror. “I could hear you all the way backstage, making me consider sound proofing.”
The red grumpus blinks. Despite the goons disregarding his threats earlier, for some reason his mind expected her to take him seriously. He takes a moment to look around the employee’s area, finding various other grumps of size and stature. Some more fancily-dressed grumps put on makeup and practice vocal exercises in large vanity mirrors, while toned tux-wearing grumps check their suits before walking out to the main club area. All of them are wearing the same mask and haven’t given him so much as a glance.
“Now tell me darling,” the boss angles the pocket mirror to address her intruder. Her ice blue iris gives off a sharp, cold gaze that clashes with the warm and comforting atmosphere before. “Why were you trying to break into our lovely establishment? Just couldn’t wait to have some fun, wanted to steal some of our booze perhaps?”
“Wh-no I’m, I don’t care about your stupid club!!” The Turnpipe yells, finding his fury again. “One’a your meatheads shook down my brother! They were on my family’s turf, and I don’t take these insults lyin’ down!”
“I can see that. So you’d rather take it in the air instead?”
Some of the other staff members chuckle as they check themselves for the third time over.
“Du-buh?!” Did you even hear what I said?!” The turnpipe explodes, his enemy’s eyes narrowing in the mirror. “YOUR goons-”
“I heard you clearly.”
The CLICK of the pocket mirror cuts through the smoky air. She places it on the table alongside the bills, fan letters and knives and begins spinning her chair around. It swivels as she sweeps her long legs along with the momentum, poking out of her dark emerald dress. The dark emerald dress’s frills flutter from the sudden movement, draping the boss from her knees to the straps on her shoulders, hidden under her flowing pink mane. With a CLACK of her deep purple heels on stone she sets her crossed legs down and stops the chair in place. Her previous playful gaze is now replaced with one of annoyance, both her icy and greyed eyes narrowed in contempt.
With her clean scar sweeping across her right eye, the boss of the Gilded Dahlias, Wiggle Wigglebottom, sits up fully and rests a paw on her chin while gazing down at her prey.
“I’m just curious as to how you thought you could barge in here and get revenge against my boys, my gang, even me, all by yourself. You certainly don’t have the physique or firepower to do the job, so my first guess is that you’re either full of yourself, or just plain dumb.”
The performers all “ooooooooh~” between them, like a class of 8th graders hearing their fellow classmate called up to the principal’s office.
“I mean-well, I…” The red grumpus searches the floor for the right words, then balls his fists and puffs out his chest. “I’d assume YOU would pay us with respect! Us Turnpipe’s been around longer than you newbies have, so we outrank you!”
“It’s stupidity folks!!” Wiggle cheers and flicks up a paw to announce the results. A few goons groan and dig into their jacket pockets, handing their smiling associates a fat wad of bills. Turnpipe’s hot air dissipates and he deflates once more.
“Damn, third in a row… I’ll treat you to a drink later Wiggle.” A brown-furred performer in a glittery red dress crosses her arms.
“Maybe a milkshake,” The boss peeks over her shoulder, “I overheard Brew talking about Slakers and my sweet tooth’s been acting up lately! Them icy sweets are ‘Callin my naaaame~’.” She sings in a wide vocal range with complete ease, giving her paw a flourish and leaning back as she hums.
“You… You know, just because you’re new it doesn’t mean you’re better than us! Don’t act like you’re a hotshot just because you did a few successful heists!”
“A few? Oohohoho!!” Wiggle peers back, sitting up straight once again. “Goodness darlin’, you are not helping your case right now. Tell me, how many bank heists has your little family done in the past year?”
“Uh… twenty five?”
A tuxed grumpus snorts as he walks out.
“Oh darling…” Wiggle places a palm against her cheek with a pitiful smile. “That’s not even cute, it’s just... sad.”
“Yeah?! Well, I’d like to see you-”
“Fifty three.” Wiggle interrupts. “In the past three months.”
“...wha-”
“Around… how much was it Abra?” Wiggle calls behind her.
“Passed the million mark just last week!” A green grumpus, wearing more casual clothing, peeks out from around a corner leading to an employee hallway.
“Got so much excess profits that even after giving everyone a bonus, I got to turn the rest to my own personal bed!” She waves a paw in the air. “Certainly wasn’t the comfiest experience, but I at least got to check it off my bucket list!”
“I… I don’t…” The Turnpipe’s words do their best to try and search for any rage or anger to grasp onto, but any attempt to feel above her hasn’t worked, not helped by the fact he’s still being held up by the shoulders like a small child. After around ten seconds of stammering, Wiggle sighs and shakes her head.
“You don’t gotta try and act tough anymore darlin’, I think I get what you’re about now…” The sunset grumpus uncrosses her legs and lets her other heel clack on the floor. The Turnpipe’s gaze goes from eye level to slowly upwards, and upwards, and upwards; the boss’s body obscuring the light from one of the vanities. She wraps one of her paws around the grip of a knife lodged into the table and yanks it out. Her prey freezes up in the arms of her trap.
“You didn’t come here so you could avenge your brother or any sappy nonsense like that.” Wiggle circles around the Turnpipe, her heels echoing their clicks with each step while fiddling with the knife in her paws. “You came here so you could try and make yourself feel big and stwong, flaunting your family name as if it were a gun in of itself.”
“I…” Clack. Clack. Clack. It becomes hard to think as each step feels like a hammer and chisel against his brain. Wiggle looks the red grump up and down, drawing invisible lines up and down his torso.
“Since you came in you’ve been talking about your little gang as if you ran it. ‘My boys,’ ‘My gang,’ ‘My my my my my.’ But all that time, being caught up in your own head? It just made your skull more dense. All you are is just some lowly lackey that probably joined, say…” She plants an elbow on the Turnpipe’s head, checking her makeup one last time in the reflection of her knife. “A month ago? Maybe less?”
The frog in her armrest’s throat nearly leaps out of his mouth. His head shrinking down is the only confirmation Wiggle needs.
“You’ve been so caught up in that little bubble of yours, thinking you’re the hottest grump on the block, just because you’re part of a gang. Think just because you have a name to flaunt around and access to guns it makes you powerful. But I’m gonna let you in on a secret little man.” The Turnpipe’s body clenches as Wiggle stands back up and Clacks her way back to his front, eyeing the knife she paws in her hands as intensely as possible.
“Having a name to flaunt around doesn’t bring you power.”
Clack.
“Having guns and knives to hold against people’s throats doesn’t bring you power.”
Clack.
“Having enough money to buy out all of Grump Vegas doesn’t bring you power.”
Clack.’
“But you know what does?”
Wiggle towers above the Turnpipe, patting her razor-sharp knife in her paw. All different rays of light are obscured by her roaring mane, leaving the grump to cower in the arms of her two goons. She Clacks forward, and her goons take a step back. Not out of fear or trepidation though; a quick glance to both of their faces shows the same devilish smile that their boss wears. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Every single step is like a jolt of ice to his heart, dragging every last little step for an eternity as his entire being trembles in the arms of the two goons. Just the slight bump of the wall on his back knocks out every bit of air in his lungs and he fights to just inhale as his natural predator CLACKS just inches away from him, casting a toothy, ecstatic smile. Her single, silver iris seems to glow in the limited light.
Wiggle grips the knife in a reverse grip in her left hand and begins to raise it. The grumpus tries to close his eyes and look away but she grabs his chin with her other paw and forces his gaze back to her. His attempts to shake his head in a desperate plea are pointless, her paw digging into his fur and keeping him from moving even a centimeter out of place. The glinted metal shines as it finally reaches the zenith of its arc, hungry to tear through red grumpus fur. With nothing left to do all the Turnpipe can do is let tears stream down his face.
With the speed of a bullet and barely giving the Turnpipe a moment to flinch, Wiggle swings down the dagger. Her victim closes his eyes and blurts out a whimper and-
THUNK!!!
…
He’s not dead. His eyes are still fuzed shut but he’s still not dead, he can hear the sounds of the backstage area around him. The Turnpipe forces an eye open to peek at the knife and his skeleton nearly leaps out and books it at the sight. The knife is only a hair’s length away from his cheek embedded into the wood beam he’s pressed against. A sting in his cheek and the running of a warm liquid helps him fill in the gap of what happened. But just a little bit away, the Turnpipe finds something else that makes his body completely shut down
It’s Wigglebottom’s face, just as close to his as the knife.
Her icy and greyed eyes peer into the Turnpipe’s irises, flickering around while high on adrenaline and terror. Her gaze looks past his false-bravado exterior and reaches further, deeper inside him into a dark pit he had tried so desperately to hide. A black, slimy, jittering piece of disgust comes out. Letting the grip on his chin go she traces his chin and speaks in a tone fitting of her now-sultry gaze. Wiggle leans in close, so close that the Turnpipe can smell her rich floral perfume, and whispers into his ear.
“Fear~”
“...”
The Turnpipe’s mind has gone blank. Despite the pounding jackhammer in his chest, the final whisper and breath of hot air from the Gilded Dahlia boss erases his mind, leaving him a whimpering and stuttering mess. A few of the remaining employees from backstage snicker and point at her latest victim, though he isn’t able to process the fact that he’s being mocked. Seeing that the usual routine has worked yet again, Wiggle leaves the knife implanted in the wall and pulls back with a satisfied smile.
“Boys,” she snaps a finger in the air, her tone returning to the playful nature it was before, “drop our newest employee. He won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, should be good to leave him back here for the day.”
Both goons do as they’re told without question, letting the grumpus slump to the floor, his knees having completely given out. He continues to stare at the ground and shake his head, crying as he trembles from the terror just inflicted.
“So what’re you gonna make this one boss?” The purple grumpus asks with a playful smile. “Waiter? Bartender?”
“Nah.” She shrugs with little effort. “He doesn’t really have the looks for either of those. Probably’ll make him our new janitor, been needing a new one after our last one squealed. Feel free to give him the old guy’s uniform, I feel it should fit pretty well.”
The purple goon nods and takes out a sketchpad, writing “Find old janitor’s uniform” at the bottom of the list as they walk past and out towards the main area.
“Alright everyone, hopefully this little show of mine was able to help you get fired up! We got five minutes ‘till the doors open, get those finishing touches done!” The boss claps her hands in the air to her employees, resuming business as usual. “If we’re able to double our profits today I’ll treat everyone to Slakers at the end of our shift tonight! Let’s make tonight a good one darlin’s!”
The warm and familiar chatter of the backstage area continues once more. As every last well-dressed employee strolls out to prepare for the afternoon they pass by their new coworker, neither giving the other a glance. As the front door opens and the excited clamoring of a new audience begins to fill the club, Wiggle peers down at her latest victim, slumped up the hole-ridden wood post on his back. She smirks and gives a content sigh.
“Maybe one day you’ll all surprise me… but until then, I suppose this is just as fun~”
Wiggle ruffles the head of the former Turnpipe like an affectionate puppy, and then walks back to her main office, her heels Clacking and echoing throughout backstage and the red grumpus’s empty mind.
1) Writing a small Mafia!Wiggle fic with Gramble
2) Editing the Skatey/Lazloo fic
3) A list of what I think the grumpus tails would look like
4) A Mafia!Wiggle drawing with one of her rivals/enemies
5) A Lazloo drawing of him kicking ass with Skatey's bat
6) A scholarship essay that's due in about 3 weeks
At yet despite all this my brain just decides to go
"hey what if we made a multi-chapter long fic about Skatey and the rest of the team in the aftermath and have her question her identity and everything about herself"
