DSMP/OSMP/MCYT One Shots

Revived |wilbur|

Everyone has moved on from Wilbur.

Even the people of L'Manberg, who were once Wilbur's friends, ally's, citizens. He built the country for them and they try to erase his name from their history books, they try to forget he existed.

It's so frustrating, having so many people you used to know still think of you as dead. As if you don't exist and you're still gone. Wilbur hated it.

The musician gripped his hair tightly and walked through a small forest. He wanted to get away from everyone for a bit.

He was back, he was back after so long and he was happy to be back (maybe that was a lie). No one seemed to acknowledge him in any way. It was like he was still Ghostbur, only a select few interacted with him.

Wilbur felt like a worse version of Ghostbur. Ghostbur was so kind so people liked the blue ghost. Everyone seemed to think Wilbur was still the same Wilbur who blew up L'Manberg.

He wasn't.

He had 13 years to himself and he's changed, for better or worse. Wilbur thought he was more stable now. He could control his impulses and not act on intrusive thoughts. No one understood this.

"THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY SUNRISE!" He cried out.

The tree beside him suffered his anger with a fresh dent in the bark.

Tommy.

Tommy was the only one to always come back. No matter what it was always Wilbur and Tommy in the end through everything. L'Manberg, Pogtopia, Tommy's exile, death, and now when Wilbur was revived.

Somehow, Tommy was always there even if Wilbur didn't want him to be. Now Wilbur was grateful for the company. After so many years in solitude, it was welcoming. Being able to hear other voices other than his own.

That wasn't the best part. No no no. There was something Wilbur wished he would have appreciated more when he was alive. Senses.

The feeling of your heart beating, no matter how fast or slow was so comforting. He was really alive and his heart was proof of that.

The feeling of air going in his mouth and his lungs expanding and taking the oxygen in. The smell of pine trees entering his nostrils when he breathed in.

Breathing.

Such a small thing to miss.

You do it all your life. When not needing to for 13 years, when not being able to for 13 years. It makes you miss the little things. When he spun around with his arms out he could feel the wind. When it rained he could feel the water and he could smell the rain.

All such little things but Wilbur loved them all.

Then there was touch. It was so overwhelming yet so comforting. Leaning against and tree and running his hand over it. Being able to feel the bumps in the bark. Being able to touch the soft grass, still moist from the rain the night before.

Wilbur couldn't get enough of it.

The textures, softness, roughness, spiky. Even the ones that made Wilbur want to cringe and sob, they were still nice in a strange way.

He wanted to remember this moment forever. The almost childlike wonder he was experiencing was beautiful and fresh. Nothing was quiet like he remembered. Being alive was so freeing from what he originally experienced. Perhaps life wasn't shit, it was the situation and the people.

Al by himself,  a secluded forest near her far away from the SMP and Snowchester, it was peaceful. Calming, serenity, but most of all the atmosphere was filled with curiosity and life. Not filled with war and hatred like it had been when Wilbur left the earth.

Still, something was tugging at his heart.

Once Wilbur was told a fairy tail, probably one of Phil's, or maybe even Technos. It was about a prince and a princess who were brought together by a string connecting their two hearts. It hurt them to be far away from the other, so one day they decided to follow the red string attached to their heart. They met in the middle and the heartache stopped.

Such a lovely story. Wilbur used to pray to Prime for a red string to guide him to his soulmate. He wanted to be happy like the prince and princess.

"Maybe I did find that string. Though instead of thread it was a trail of blood leading to nothing to but destruction." Wilbur mumbled to himself. His heart tugged within his chest again.

Everyone he knew hated him (for a reason of course) but he still felt for them. He wanted redemption. He wanted to be angry with them. For what though? It was him who started the cycle of violence (realistically it was bound to happen with it without L'Manberg. The Dream SMP was not kind to its citizens). Wilbur was still angry, L'Manberg was built on false hope and true promises that turned up empty.

It was supposed to end with Wilbur, he wanted it gone so the cycle could be broken and they could all regain their humanity after the wars. The people brought it back still.

"What hurts is that they still have L'Manberg," Wilbur started. "They still fight for it, it's still there! I'm just a stain on its reputation, a charred corner of MY nations legacy. Everyone hates having me around, thinking I'm going to fuck something up again." He took a breath and blinked frustrated tears from glossing his vision before continuing.

"Have they forgotten I made that nation for them? Have they forgotten thats its my unfinished symphony, my creation?! It was always MINE. They can make their own petty nation! But they can't have my l'manberg." He punched the tree again as emotion steeped out of his voice. So many emotions laced and swirled within those words, so many Wilbur probably wouldn't be able to name them all. Frustration, anger, resentment, heartache. There was one more he was missing. Some key emotion that stabbed into his heart like the sword did 13 years ago.

Betrayal.

An emotion he was very familiar with. It always stung, it burned your heart and was so much worse than what people described as a stab in the back.

It was a thousand tiny needles puncturing every microscopic piece of his heart and then squeezing it.

It was broken promises and false trust woven into honey sweet words only for them to ripped apart as easily as paper, only then to be burned to ash and soot.

Betrayal was a lot of things. Wilbur could stay in the forest and make comparisons all day if he had the time (he did) but he lacked the energy to do so.

Living was also more tiring then he remembered.

Everything was more tiring then he remembered.

His vocal cords ached from the lack of use or for over use (he couldn't tell as he didn't have them for 13 years).

His body ached from all the movement.

His head was pounding and his mind was numb from thinking too hard.

His heart hurt too, but not from physical exhaustion, but because this is what it was like to care again.

Maybe, if he closed his eyes for a bit it would easy any of the pain.

Living was freeing, but his mind and body were constricted to human limitations.