their cries were left unheard,
but still did they yearn to be
with them.
A MINECRAFT YOUTUBER ONESHOT BOOK.
RANKINGS
trio #6 || 1.3.2021
thetrio #2 || 8.27.2021
george #222 || 1.1.2021
minecraft #280 || 1.1.2021
dream #284 || 12.20...
( mentions of bombs, mention of injuries, insanity, blood, swearing )
IT HAD ALL GONE WRONG.
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DISHEVELED, DESPERATE, FRIGHTENED, CRAZED. At that moment, during those minutes of you staring each other down, you could think only of those words. They played over and over again, whispered from the lips of the many people that had broken your trust and had turned on you, muttering them behind Wilbur's back. The four adjectives that least described the man standing before you, and more described the shell he had left behind.
What was the difference between them both, really?
WILBUR SOOT.
Wilbur Soot was never disheveled. Whether he be dressed up in his L'Manburg uniform with that ridiculous, overbearingly large hat ( seriously, he must be smoldering in that thing ), or wearing his familiar mustard colored crewneck and gray beanie, you could never spot any wrinkles, you could never pick out any lint. His dark hair was always tucked under something, hidden under a hat of some sort to keep the soft, chocolate colored strands you so loved to run your fingers through from flying everywhere.
He had to crack someday though. It happens to all of us.
WILBUR SOOT HAD ALWAYS BEEN POLISHED.
Wilbur Soot was not desperate, and he damn well never will be. Chasing had never been never his strong suit. Grabbing at thin, invisible strands that slipped through fingers with each display of force shown was something he'd never done. He was used to having his words being able to move an army, to having each syllable slipping through his slips silently push his captors towards freeing him. He knew his word play. It all just depended on how he used it. Wilbur Soot, begging at someone else's feet? Never.
This time, however, was an exception. There would always be exceptions.
WILBUR SOOT HAD ALWAYS BEEN COMPOSED.
Wilbur Soot got frightened, Wilbur Soot got scared. But he'd never show it. He had always hid strong emotions, concealing them behind a mask created for the public. For his image, his reputation. Happiness was the only one that had ever slipped through this facade, and didn't have him punishing himself over it-didn't have you separating his hands from each other, gently pulling his fingers apart and stopping him from fidgeting nervously and digging his nails into his palms. Each action made; each word spoken; each twitch of the mouth or blink of the eyes; these all had always led up to him, again and again, keeping himself in check. All brave faces. No slip ups. Posture was key. Height helped.
