☁︎ 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 » 𝖬𝖢𝖸𝖳 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌 ☁︎

ᴛʀɪɴɪᴛʀᴏᴛᴏʟᴜᴇɴᴇ ( ᴛɴᴛ ᴅᴜᴏ : ǫᴜᴀᴄᴋɪᴛʏ + ᴡɪʟʙᴜʀ sᴏᴏᴛ (+ ᴛᴏᴍᴍʏɪɴɴɪᴛ) )

a/n: I wrote this quite a bit ago, so it's not entirely accurate to the lore
also, slightly suggestive moments between c!wilbur and c!quackity (which is technically canon, don't attack me-)

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Wilbur Soot was comfortably seated near the edge of L'manburg, or rather what remained of it. A crater.

He chuckled slightly at the memory, finding joy reminiscing in the sounds of screaming and crackling flames.
A gust of wind pushed his hair, causing it to fall infront of his now red-brown eyes.
The red orbs focused on the hair that had fallen infront of his face; instead of brushing it away, he examined it... more specifically the pure white pieces that stood out against the brown. 

Wilbur didn't now how or why these changes occurred, but he assumed it was due to his resurrection. He couldn't be so sure though. 

The white streak in his hair however reminded him of his brother, Tommy; who had a similar one in his own blonde hair. 
His red eyes made him think of Technoblade, the Blood God, and someone he also saw as his brother. 

Wilbur subconsciously reached within his trenchcoat's pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighter. He wouldn't be able to tell you when he took up smoking, but it had happened; probably at some point during the seemingly endless afterlife years he spent with Schlatt.

Wilbur stopped in his tracks when a thought crossed his mind. 

'How the fuck did they have cigarettes in-'

However he didn't let the thought linger for long, because it didn't matter. Dream had brought him back for a reason, and on his dead mother he swore that he would NOT be returning any time soon. 

To calm himself, he brought the now lit cigarette to his lips, and inhaled.

His peace lasted only a few more moments until a familiar, annoying blonde rounded the corner.

"Wilbur!?", he screamed in his usually loud voice.

Tommy seemed to grin when he noticed Wilbur, walking up to him,, but stopped dead in his tracks when he processed the objects held in Wilburs hands.

Hurt flashed across the younger's face, and Wilbur almost felt bad for a split second, before irritation replaced the guilt.

The world had changed, with all the wars and death; but Wilbur would not allow himself to be made to feel that he had done something wrong for changing with it. 

"Do you need something?", he casually asked, hoping the conversation would not linger on Wilbur's newly discovered smoking habits.

"Uh- oh yeah.. I got the stone you asked for", Tommy said, averting his gaze to the ground, unable to make eye contact with Wilbur.
Tommy would never admit it, but Wilbur's red eyes struck a deep, dark part of the young boy.

He loved his brother, but he still felt the unaddressed, residual fear. He hated that his mind couldn't move past Wilbur's behavior during their Pogtoptia exile; how much Wilbur's every movement caused Tommy to flinch, and even hearing a slight volume raise in Wilbur's voice could have sent him spiraling into a panic attack. 

He had been forced to watch his brother, as if he was purely the main character of a psychological horror.
Only then, Tommy lived it too. 

"Hello? Wake up Tommy-"

Tommy jumped, not realizing that while he was dozing off, Wilbur had clearly said something and was expecting an answer.

"S-Sorry Wil, what were you saying?"