Dsmpember - Fanfiction challenge

10. Photos

Wilbur traced his fingers along the burn frames. They where all singed and smelt of gunpowder, but something about them put a homely feeling into Wilburs fingertips. He didn't let it touch him any farther.

The portraits had been saved from L'manburg's final moments. Three of them. Something about it felt right, made L'manburg feel more real and less like a distance memory.

In the beginning, Wilbur had imagined L'manburg having president after president. Years living into decades for his forever country. A unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. Forever changing and growing.

But now it was over, he knew that it had to finish. What had Eret said? It was never meant to be, as much as it seemed to tear the past citizens up. And the three presidents felt right. Three president, three lives. It felt touchable, almost human.

Wilbur wasn't a citizen of L'manburg. Shlatt, even Tommy had managed to be a citizen in L'manburg's final moments. Nobody ever declared Shlatt not a citizen, he died before they could. And Tommy had grasped onto the country in its final day.

But Wilbur died exiled. As much as he had once clung to it, he had made Tommy president not out of citizenship or authority. He had known they would except it. But he had no authority to make himself a citizen again, and Tommy hadn't had a chance to. And if he had been made a citizen, he would have denied it.

But that was where the first problem was. It was meant to be Tommy. Tommy who rebuilt the country, Tommy who had been trained and raised and perfected. Wilbur had molded him so well, building him and breaking him just right. Sure he may have made some mistakes in the beginning, letting Tommy speak over him and run free in the beginning. But he had fixed it all in Pogtopia.

And the new Tommy that Wilbur had returned to was perfected more then Wilbur could have imagined. Dream had done better then Wilbur ever could. Taking his young grasping mind and molded it into such a perfect specimen.

The first frame reflected Wilbur's face, bright and young. His L'manburg hat tilted on his head, hair ruffled and eyes shining. He was so naive, so childish.

The next held Shlatt, eyes dulled with achohol and a drunken smile on his face. His suit was stained and messily done. His horns scuffed and dirty. Wilbur almost envied how unashamed the man was.

Finally was Tubbo. Tubbo, who was just a kid. Tubbo who wasn't supposed to be there. Tubbo who looked thin and drained, yet he was standing tall (as tall as he could) and proud. He wasn't the kid he was supposed to be, he was the president.

Tommy stood in 2/3 of the photos. At the side of the president, who had insisted he stand there. He looked prideful, a childish grin on his face, standing next to Wilbur. Next to Tubbo he looked to old for his age, broken down yet still smiling. The tension between the two was clear, yet Tubbo had still insisted Tommy was there. Because they where a pair, never one without the other. No matter the situation.

Quackity at Shlatt's side was a far contrast, tired and drooping. Yet Quackity still smiled bigger then anyone else. If his eye bags and failing wings hadn't given it away, Wilbur would have thought it was real. He was still amazed by how well the man could fake a smile.

Wilbur replaced the final photo on the wall, and stood back.

It really was never meant to be.

I was listening to cavetown well I wrote this.