who? (Trans Wilbur)

five | impostor syndrome, that fucker

warnings: ~impostor syndrome~, internalized transphobia, mentions panic attack, self-deadnaming/self-hate ouch, mentions suicide, eating disorder, mentions self-harm scars

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Tubbo managed to pause his sadism for long enough to drag Ranboo out of the room. The three brothers left in Tubbo's room looked between one another.

"Shit." Techno dropped his plastic sword. "That wasn't meant to happen."

Wilbur nodded as he took off the dress.

and here you are, complaining about wearing a dress.

"Maybe we should leave," Tommy suggested quietly.

"Yeah. You tell Tubbo's dad, we'll convince Dad to let us get out of here," Wilbur replied. "Text Tubbo and tell him when we're gone. We don't want him to think we just disappeared."

The three quickly made their way downstairs. Wilbur approached Phil, half-way stuck in conversation, and tapped his shoulder. Phil turned around, only minorly annoyed.

Technoblade quickly whispered the situation to his father, who grabbed his keys and said his goodbyes to Tubbo's father. Everyone managed to escape the situation in a record time of about three minutes.

After arriving home, Wilbur promptly shut himself in his room. He returned to the mirror, running his hands along the button-up to fix some rumples. He heaved a sigh.

why do i ever act like any of this matters? he asked himself quietly. clearly there are worse things out there. why am i letting myself be fucked up when other people should be getting help and care for their issues instead? i'm a damn waste of time and a faker.

Wilbur pressed his palm to his head. He was caught between taking the shirt off to stop faking his shit and keeping it on to make him feel better about faking his shit. He decided he didn't care enough to go to the trouble of unbuttoning the shirt, so he left it on.

Wilbur threw himself at his bed. He burrowed his way under the comforter, meanwhile crying his eyes out. His throat hurt with the weird way he breathed when crying.

and why the fuck am i crying? there's nothing wrong here. you don't have trauma. you're just a quirky girl, trying to be special, trying to get pity and attention. ranboo should be fucking crying, not you, quirky bitch. fucker little shit asshat faker woman

"Wil?" a face peered into the room, but Wilbur didn't care much to look at it. "Fuck, the dress really got to you, then?"

"The dress shouldn't fucking matter to me," Wilbur muttered in the vague direction of the voice, which was now Tommy plopping onto the bed and causing a dip in the mattress.

"Why not? You've always hated them." Tommy peeked at Wilbur's face, which he was trying to hide. "Hell, you've got a right to."

"Because I'm a fucking woman, a quirky girl, not like the other girls, just trying to be special," Wilbur replied. "You know who should actually be upset right now? Ranboo. Fucking- even Technoblade. Ranboo's shit is real. Techno is gonna feel really bad about sending the kid into a panic attack."

"Okay, firstly, that's really fuckin' shitty to say about trans men," Tommy said. "Really. If you're a trans man, then calling yourself a quirky girl is kind of an asshole thing to say about trans men in general. Don't be a prick."

"Real fuckin' funny," Wilbur hissed.

"No, fucking apologize to yourself," Tommy growled. "Do it. Do it. Do it. Be a trans ally."

Wilbur rolled over in bed. "Sorry, Winnie!"

"Wilbur! Intentional deadnaming is such a dickhead move!" Tommy pulled his older brother's ear. "Apologize like you mean it."

"Big problem, I don't fucking mean it." Wilbur shrugged Tommy off.

"Wilbur, of course your shit is real," Tommy said, sitting in front of Wilbur. "It may just be a clothing preference, but I saw how happy you were in that shirt! I see how happy you are when we call you our brother! I see how awful you feel when you get deadnamed on accident. That doesn't just happy to quirky girls."

"I shouldn't even fucking be here."

"Shit, shit, no, no, don't kill yourse-" Tommy panicked.

"No, Tommy. I'm not suicidal. I just meant that I want to move out so badly." Wilbur rubbed his face. "I'm out of here by the end of the month. We're turning eighteen, and I've been saving for forever, supposedly for a college fund, but fuck it, I want out of this house and I want to transition and shit. I'll get a retail job or something."

"Okay, so if you want to transition, why are you doubting that you're trans?" Tommy asked.

"I'm not anymore. My shit just doesn't matter in the first place." Wilbur shrugged. "Hell, maybe I deserve to let myself be misgendered for ever thinking I was worth anything."

"Damn, you really have a way with finding a path to hate yourself, huh?" Tommy draped himself over his older brother.

"Get your fat ass off of me." Wilbur tried to push the younger off, but failed.

"It's not fat, it's muscle, bitch!" Tommy grabbed the sheets, effectively tenting over Wilbur. "Where's yours?"

good question. dad always said estrogen gives you more fat and makes it harder to get rid of. i need to channel the testosterone and be the skinny bastard. no more woman thighs, bitch.

"I don't have any," Wilbur replied. "Let's go check on Techno, okay?" He quickly switched the attention off of himself. As much as it felt nice to give his family hints on how fucking broken his mental state really was, he didn't want to overwhelm his little brother.

"But I'd have to get off of you to do that," Tommy complained.

"Little shit." Wilbur sat all the way up, throwing the small blonde tumbling to the floor. Luckily, it was carpeted and not hardwood.

"Gosh, you always have to use force, huh?" Tommy pouted, pushing himself to his feet. He glanced behind him to make sure his brother was following before they went and knocked on Techno's door.

The man himself opened the door, rubbing his eyes and revealing the strained red color afterwards. His face was stiff with dry tears.

"Damn, man, you good?" Tommy brushed past Techno into his room, checking for signs that his brother had panicked. Often times, the oldest would accidentally knock things over or mess up his comforter in an attack, but his room seemed kept together alright.

"Tommy, you could be a bit more discreet about it," Techno said tiredly.

"It's been a shitty day for everyone, I don't give two flying fucks if you're embarrassed that I care." Tommy smirked. "If you don't mind, I've already comforted one sobbing brother and would like to help the other before it reaches midnight."

Tommy, yes, youngest brother Tommy, was the one who always comforted the other brothers and helped them through their struggles. It might've been because he cared, it might've been because he simply wasn't mentally ill, or it might just be because he ignored his own problems. Either way, the twins were grateful for his ability to listen and argue their minds to rest.

As far as said twins, both had their share of shit. Techno's anxiety was bad enough to send him into hysterics sometimes. Both of the younger boys had seen his scars, too, but chose not to mention it for fear of their powerful, protective Technoblade breaking down. Nobody knew how they would react if their rock shattered. Wilbur, of course, was in deep shit that could more or less all be tracked down to the monster that was dysphoria.

Wilbur was only halfway paying attention to Tommy coaxing the problem out of Techno. Instead, he figured a stain on the wall's faded pink paint was far more interesting that confronting how he really felt; terrifyingly fucking threatened. He kept asking himself one question over and over.

Why do other people's troubles threaten me?

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