𝕊𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪~ 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕓𝕦𝕣 𝕤𝕠𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥

ℕ𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟

°•◇3𝕣𝕕 ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕧:◇•°

Wilbur used to say he wasn't a weak man. He would pride himself on his large ego that only got boosted when someone got upset. He'd never take it too far, yet he'd go far enough to piss most people off. His family just had to deal with it. Well, that was a rude way of putting it, the Minecraft family was special. And Wilbur wasn't an exception.

Now after years of abuse he was a shell of his past self. It would take years upon years of self-work to gain back all his long-lost confidence. All the arrogance, all the pride that he used to stay afloat, in a world which he deemed, 'boring as fuck, like everyone collectively thought. "Let us all wear greyscales!" And they wore them, inside and out' True be told, his brothers and father had no clue how to respond. Though they all knew one thing, they didn't want that energy to fade out one day.

So Tommy was secretly hoping for his bother to knock down his door and ask questions that most certainly didn't need to be asked. He was hoping for his old brother. The one that would flick water at him once he was done washing his hands. He missed him, this new reformed Wilbur made him angry.

It made his eyes see red, he could practically feel the bubbles of pure furry radiate off him.

Tommy kept quiet. Tommy was praying for the day he'd witness his bother get into stupid trouble.

That day never really came.

He still prayed, the youngest out of the duo still had hope.

Fundy, on the other hand, didn't pay too much attention to it. He didn't get to experience a father that would barge in with tubs of ice cream and sweat on his face. No, he got the stone face father. The serious one, the one that only spared him a half pity smile and a pack on the back.

Fundy didn't like hearing stories of the past Wilbur. For that same reason, he buried himself in his phone. Had sleep calls with Dream, George, and Sapnap. He rarely came out of his room, and no one wanted to bother him.

————

[APRIL 10TH, 2024. 11:46 PM]

There was no way the freakishly tall man would be able to sleep. There were only 14 minutes left until his fate would be decided. He sat and wondered how many years Sally would get if he won.

Wilbur was constantly reassured that there wasn't a chance he would lose, yet the feelings were still there. They lingered in his chest. Bubbling up and sometimes they would overflow, the anxiety would come in flash floods. Most of the time it came gradually, like the tide rising as the world revolved.

His dumb piece of wood still stayed latched in his mind. His ocean of life would still rock and crash onto the corners of his mind. Sure, he had learned to deal with it after a while. But sometimes it just became too much, which lead him to his current situation.

The sun had long set, its harsh gaze was now resting, waiting for the time to come so it could reappear again.

His curtains were pushed close, papers littered his desk. Though it wasn't uncommon. His shoes still were flung around and random shirts were still hanging from various spots. It was how he liked it, he was a bit proud he managed for his room to not stink.

There sat a man. On top of a bed, a bed that belongs to him. In clothes that felt like sandpaper against his skin. He sniffed, his head rested in his hands. While his elbows dug into his knees. He felt- No he was feeling too many things. So much at once, it can't be good for tomorrow.

He doesn't have to do much, just sit next to his lawyer and pray. Answer a few questions and sit back down, and repeat until the jury rules in favor of someone.

Someone.

That's the thing. He doesn't know who.

Sure he knew he'd most likely win (after long meetings with Mr. Quackity for reassurance) but what was Sally preparing? She could be doing anything, be anywhere.

And again, Wilbur's mind went into a dissociative state. Cotton filled his ears and all of a sudden everything didn't feel so bad anymore all the noise became muffled and all his worries got pushed behind the cotton. So he stayed there, unmoving. In fear that if he shifted the cotton would fall out his ears and he'd have to face the vile thoughts that were always there.

Sometimes he wished he could gouge out his brain with wire so he wouldn't need the cotton.

But the cotton felt safe. It felt comforting. He finally had some quiet and that piece of wood finally stayed still after so long of it crashing through storms.

He felt peaceful.

Maybe he could find a way to live with the cotton. Befriend it and make it home.

He certainly needed it.

—

You guys should thank
@dreamswapink because I saw this in my email and said. "You know what fuck it."

I'll answer any questions in the replies if y'all got them!