*Eating disorder centric*
"PHILLLLLLLLLLLL-"
"What's up Tommy?"
"Wilbur's acting funny." He blurted.
In truth Wilbur was acting funny. He wouldn't sit at the table and eat. He refused to have movie nights and snack on popcorn. When they were little they would have competitions on who could eat the most, now he barely eats.
Anxiety filled Tommy to the brim, and was now spilling over.
Yesterday, Wilbur hadn't eaten his waffles. Just picked at the berries on the top, not even eating them.
The day before he skipped all meals and only ate a half a granola bar.
Phil's voice came through the phone, "Tommy do you mean annoying funny, or worrying funny because I swear if you called me because of some stupid thin-"
"He's not eating."
Caught off guard, "pardon?", Phil responded.
"Well," Tommy began but Wilbur walked into the room, "uh just come home please? I stubbed my toe."
Phil sat in his office chair stunned. Tommy had used their code phrase for dangerous situations.
"Yeah, I'm coming home Toms see you in 10."
The call ended with a click and a sigh.
What the fuck was wrong with Wilbur.
Tommy decided to take a moment and think thoughts. He needed to plan his Big Man Plan.
Oh yes, this a fantastic idea.
I believe this is what you would call a pro-gamer™ move.
He chuckled darkly, this was going to go great.
~not even five minutes later~
ABORT ABORT!!!! IT WAS NOT GOING GREAT!!!!!! REPEAT! PLAN, NOT GOING GREAT!!!
"TOMMYYYYYYYYY!!!!"
Tommy screamed and ran down the stairs, Wilbur following close behind.
Perhaps snatching Wilbur’s guitar was, maybe, not a great idea.
Pftttttttt nahhhhh he only comes up with the greatest, poggiest, biggest man plans.
He continued to clutch the guitar holding on for dear life. Turing around momentarily, he saw Wilburs eyes flash with unspeakable anger.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH-"
The front door burst open and poor Philza minecraft, creator of minecraft, God even, was met with the site of Tommy on top of the refrigerator screeching while Wilbur screamed bloody murder at him.
He loves his boys, but he swears sometimes he might just craft a belt.
"What the fuck is going on in here."
Tommy stared at him like a raccoon in headlights while Wilbur just sighed, not even turning to greet Phil.
"Well I came up with the most pog plan to figure out what was wrong with Wil."
"Tommy this does not seem to be in your favor."
"-just listen, I thought that if I stole Wilbur’s guitar he would answer me!"
Phil sighed and put his arms out for Tommy to place the guitar. Tommy did so and hopped down from the fridge.
"Okay Toms go to your room for a moment."
"But-"
Phil shushed him, "Nope! Not this one buddy, I need to talk to him okay? I've got it now."
Tommy sulked, but did as Phil said, trudging up the stairs to his room.
"Hey Wil."
"Hi dad. Why are you home early?"
"Tommy called me, said that you weren't eating like you normally do. He's scared Wil."
Wilbur ran his hands threw his hair and breathed in deeply.
"I'm Fine dad, Toms just gets worried easily."
Phil raised an eyebrow. "So you wouldn't mind me getting an appointment with an ED specialist just to make sure?"
Shit.
YOU ARE READING
Wilbur Centric Oneshots With Quackbur
FanfictionThere just is not enough fluff/angst Quackbur. It's all smut. So here's a book for when you're sad, or maybe happy, that doesn't have smut at all. This book does however center around mental health, so if you don't like that I've got little thingys...
