Tainted Perception | Wilbur Soot Angst (ORIGINAL)

Not Bad

TW: Swearing, anxiety

A/N: In my time, it is still Saturday, therefore, I am not late. You are just in the wrong time zone.

Wilbur walked slowly, his feet dragging on the ground as he tried not to think about all of the ways that this could go wrong. How he could be kidnapped by some random person just wanting some free money, or beaten up by some local gang on the street. He was just a nine year old, alone, with nothing but a guitar and some half developed self defense skills that couldn't help him in 90% of situations.

Swiping at a tear as it trickled down his cheek, he quickened his pace, reminding himself what he was doing this for. Why it was worth it. Techno, Tommy, and Tubbo were at home, probably waiting anxiously for him to come back. Wondering if he would even come back at all. Taking a deep breath, Wilbur slowed to a stop, allowing himself to take in the town in front of him. It seemed so big.

Walking up the pathway slowly, the boy wandered for a bit, trying to figure out what the heck he was supposed to be doing. Finally, however, the boy sat down, setting up his station with shaky hands. He felt so out of place. Like he didn't belong. What if law enforcement came? Shaking the thought off, the boy brought the instrument into position, giving it a quick test strum.

Glancing around for any responses, the brunet watched with both relief and disappointment as no one even looked down, ignoring him completely. It was fair, he supposed. He was a nobody. Just another street performer asking for money. Well, that was a good and bad thing, he supposed.

Giving the old strings one more stroke, he shakily positioned his other hand, arranging his fingers in a simple chord. He could do this. Readjusting his pick, he slowly began a simple pattern. Down, down. Up, down, up, down, down. Smiling slightly at the familiar beat, he easily started to move onto the chord progression, occasionally adding in some percussive hits to make the music sound more interesting.

The song was a familiar one to him, one of the first he had ever written. Greatly improved on, as the years went by, however, with more complex rhythms and chords added in. Opening his mouth, he quickly dove into the lyrics, his voice hoarse and scratchy, yet, somehow honest and raw.

It was a quick paced song, the tune upbeat, yet nostalgic. Wishing for times that had passed too soon. Plucking the final strings, he expertly connected the ending to the beginning of a new progression, a more mournful one. Like something that had once been part of his life had left. As if his childlike naivety had left him. Leaving him with an exposed heart, covered only with a mask of fake emotions conjured up by a traumatized boy seeking protection and finding none.

Before he knew it, though, the day was over, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the light fading fast. Almost everyone had left the streets by now, probably hoping to get home before the cold set in. Lucky them.

Wilbur packed up slowly, dreading the moment where he'd have to see how much money he had earned, if he had gotten any at all. Shaking the thought off, the boy peered cautiously into his guitar case, his hands shaking as he pulled out the few coins and bills that had piled up. Counting it slowly, the boy had to smile slightly at his success. Sixty-seven dollars. He wasn't quite sure what that was compared to any of the other various street performers, but for him, it was enough. Starting the trek home, he couldn't suppress the surge of pride that flowed to his chest. He did that. He got that money.

Shaking his head slightly, he picked up his pace slightly, racing the fading sunlight as it moved slowly across the pavement, the shadows creeping up the walls ominously as he hurried home. He hoped Techno, Tubbo, and Tommy were alright.

-

Tubbo stared blankly at the server IP sent to him by Ranboo, debating whether or not he should copy it into Minecraft. Sighing, he slowly clicked on the application, watching the progress bar move up and down, feeling oddly detached from what was happening.

Finally, the game opened, and the boy copy pasted the IP into the textbox, before naming it absentmindedly, not quite sure what it was.

Tubbo_ joined the game.

<Tubbo_> hello?

<TommyInnit> ayup

<Tubbo_> what si this

<Ranboo> honestly no idea

<Ranboo> just kinda happned

They boy shook his head, smirking as he repeatedly crit Ranboo with a wooden axe, not caring at the obvious objections that were coming off of the boy's body language as he ran away.

Ranboo was slain by Tubbo_

<Ranboo> you suck

<Tubbo_> <3

<TommyInnit> good job tubbo

<Tubbo_> :D

Tubbo_ was slain by Ranboo

<Ranboo> AHAHAHAHAHA

<Tubbo> rude

Tubbo and Tommy proceeded to spawn kill Ranboo for five minutes until the boy realized he had OP and put himself into creative mode, then teleported both brits to -9999999, -9999999.

<TommyInnit> im sorry

<TommyInnit> plz teleport us back

<Ranboo> no <3

<Tubbo_> fuck you

<Ranboo> thats rude

<Ranboo> i will not teleport u

<TommyInnit> i will give u stuff if you teleprot me back

<Ranboo> ...

<Ranboo> i am literally in creative

<TommyInnit> fuck u

Hi, it's me, the sleep deprived author. Take care of yourselves, okay? Ima go to sleep, and if it's late, you should too. Please be kind to yourself, and have a wonderful day/night! 'Cause you guys deserve it!