A Wilbur Soot Short

:D

I don't know what to call this.

Standing on the podium and hearing the old wood creek under his weight, he knew he finally did it. He's won. Smiling to himself, he brushed his curly hair out of his face to see more clearly (without the help of his glasses however). Looking over the area of which he practically had power over, this was the first time he's smiled genuinely for a while. Sure, winning independence gave out a grin, but this one was a more calm and not so forced muscle tension.
His boots carried him as he stepped foot into his brother's home, dust on a music vinyl could be heard in the other room. Though, it seemed too much like an out of tune rather than a music disc like his younger brother's. Who plays piano in this household? He didn't even react to take off his shoes, moving closer towards the music. There. A lonely record player. He moved closer to get a better look, no luck with losing his glasses in the morning. Sitting on the side table is the cover. "Wet Hands''. Didn't really seem wet, it didn't even have hands. Though, if your hands were wet I guess this is what it would sound like.

Even being in his brothers room felt illegal. He was already on the run to begin with, having been exiled away from his own country that he deserved to be apart of. His mental health wasnt doing too well, either. The first war surely granted him some mental damage, but he didn't know it would go this far. Anger at the others then accepting them moments later, hearing voices and seeing people with blurred faces. They all seemed like they had to be somewhere.
"Wilbur!" A penetrating grating sound broke him from his thoughts, giving him a headache. "What do you want?" The taller brown haired man yelled, rubbing his temples. "You look lost in thought. What are you thinking about?" A blonde came into the room, leaning on the doorknob. Wilbur looked at the boy with a groan, observing the kid in front of him. Blonde messy hair, a red and white baseball tee with a white long sleeve shirt underneath. "Jesus you kids have no style nowadays, do you?" Wilbur turned to face the ceiling, blocking out the child. "HEY! FUCK YOU, BITCH! You shouldn't even be in the Tommyinnit Embassy on the L'Manburg Embassy." The blonde spat at the tallest, storming off to go outside. Tommyinnit? Tommy? Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. Who- who's Tommy? Oh. Oh! That's right! His little brother! Though, he could've probably looked better with brown hair instead of blonde like his father. Maybe he should apologize to his brother. Loud muffled screaming filled his ears. Maybe not.

It seemed like a decade- no, a whole century since he first stood on the podium. He gave out the same grin he had when he won independence, this time more forced. He looked into the crowd below him like little ants. Some looked like they were talking but he couldn't hear their voices. Not the type it belonged to anyway. Though, he couldn't fuck this up. If he did, it wouldn't satisfy himself for being known as a weak boy who had no courage. "I'm going to hand the presidency to someone," He swallowed, fully accepting his actions. "I need to hand off the presidency. It's important to know how to say goodbye to a nation, to my L'Manburg, and I know, and I want to, and there's only one person who could possibly be the president," He threw many darts at the targets the board before landing on one right in the center. "Tubbo. I want you to the stage." The crowd smiling and clapping at the name. Though nothing was heard. Like an explosion way too close for comfort. Everything after that came and went like a blur, the only thing snapping out of making eye contact wasn't the best, but it still held something in the air for him. The noises surrounding him became way to much for him to bear. Backing away from the crowd was the best thing, but not the only thing.

He moved some rocks to reveal a tunnel he mined himself, and at the end of it, lights with a wooden chair right in the middle of it. He sealed up his corridor and made his way down cold hard stone hallway, finally arriving at the faintly warm room with with aid of glowstone. It was mocking him. The writing on the walls, in front of him, himself. All of it was mocking, and he was sick of it. The innocent and gullible man, the royalty traitor, and a broken man trying to help everyone. It's basically over.

"What are you doing?"

Eyes widen. This wasn't supposed to happen. This didn't go as planned. Oh fuck. Shit. Shit. Shit. "Phil?" "What are you doing?" He reapted. This wasn't the way. No, no ,no. Leave, leave. Stop bothering him. "There was a saying, Phil." His fashed back to that time of his life, being so gullible, "By a traitor." Phil's eyes widened as his son turned to face him with a tear down his face and the most happiest he's ever looked.

"It was never meant to be."

He finally did it. He won.

WilburSoot was slain by Philza.

A/N !

Hey everyone! Thanks for reading, i dont plan on creating anymore stories in the future, i dont have much motovation at the moment! But i hoped you enjoyed!

(edited:
ignore the top A/N, im literally gonna make a huge fukin series.)