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sardonic-the-writer · 1 year

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—a text away

SUMMARY | in which you have a habit of blowing up wilburs phone

PAIRING | wilbur soot x reader

REQUESTED | no

WARNINGS | none

WORD COUNT | 1.2k+

AUTHORS NOTES | long distance fic. tagging @lyssys @zooone @beep-beep1

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Technology is everywhere these days.

It's the one thing that's almost impossible not to notice anymore. From the stoplights that direct traffic, to the earbuds nestled tight in pedestrians ears as they go about listening to music. Even our microwaves have been a product of humanities thirst for creation. Or maybe it was the thirst for power that spawned that one. You can never decipher the difference between the two these days.

But, you think your favorite bit of technology might be the ability to text your partner. Even when you're sat hundereds of miles away, watching as he livestreams.

"Alright chat—no. No that was not funny. I don't know why I even turned on media share."

Wilbur sat in his studio, cheek smushed up against his foam covered mic as he glanced at the speedy chat screen, looking for a coherent group to words to string together.

"I thought today was a chill day yeah?" He pretended to chastise the people on the other end of the screen, smiling as he went for a sip of water. A bit spilled from his mouth as he attempted to speak again, laughing it off before swallowing this time.

"No making fun of that. An—hold on! Yes it was a laugh, but we're not doing you laugh you lose. I already explained this. It's just a talking day. Don't—don't boo me you hooligans. I could end stream, do you want me to end stream?"

Sometimes being a twitch streamer, eyes constantly looking and expecting you to do something, or slip up, was enough to wear down everyone. Wilbur has had his fair share of bad days, a few of them ending in the thought of him ending streaming completely. But then there were moments like this that countered it, where the heckling didn't really feel like heckling and he could just be comfortable.

"Mods, I gonna need you to ban the next person who says babybur. I am not being a baby. This is—hey! This is not a tantrum! Ban them too!"

It was the times like these, where his face felt sore from smiling for so long, that he really appreciated being able to do what he did for a living. And the best part of it? He had met you along the way.

"No, (Y/n)'s not with me here today." Wilbur was quick to change the topic from everyone spamming babybur to his partner currently overseas. Chat always loved to pester him about you. Not like he cared. After finding out you were okay with him talking about you on stream, he found every excuse in the book to include you into each and every conversation he had, proudly boasting about how much he loves you.

"You guys want to see them again? Yeah, me too. Maybe if their okay with it next time their here, I'll bring em back on for a bit, yeah?" Wilbur already knew the answer before he had even asked it, watching as his chats speed broke the frame rate on his monitor after mentioning it.

A few more minutes of talking passed before he felt the days hours catching up to him. Normally he knew when he was getting tired enough to sign off, but this time it had taken his legs cramping up for him to take the hint.

"Chat I've got to go. And don't say five more minutes becuase the last time that happened you tricked me into staying for an hour more and I was late to a wedding." Wilbur began his wave at the screen, smiling warmly at his camera before clicking the end stream button.

Pushing his chair out, he was quick to stand up and stretch his legs. The office he worked in was great. Most of the time. It would be perfect if not for the fact he was just a little above the height average that the room seemed accustomed to holding.

"Bloody fuck." He sighed.

His phone was quick to be picked up. Wilbur liked to keep it a couple arms lengths away as he streamed. He had most of what he needed at his computer, and his insesent need for doom scrolling was sure to get in the way if he didn't limit himself while live.

However this did seem to get in the way of your equally peristant need for blowing up Wilburs phone like it was the last thing you would ever do.

The line only rung once on your end before you picked it up.

"Really darling?" That was the first thing you heard, your boyfriends warm chuckle following it shortly after. "Fourty eight messages? That's a new record for you."

"I missed you Wil. Plus I was watching this time from my computer. Chat was funny today." Your smile was audible to him, only resulting in him shaking his head with a laugh.

"You think so? All they talked about this entire time was a really sweet and adorable sounding person. Said they wanted to see them again soon. Couldn't recall their name though. Did you happen to catch it?" He teased you, sinking into his desk chair while wiping the edge of his fake glasses on his shirt.

"Did it happen to be (Y/n)." You answered with false curiosity.

"That's it!" Wilbur snapped his fingers even though you couldn't see him. "And honestly I think they're onto something. They sound amazing and I'd really like to see them. Preferably soon?"

You rolled your eyes. He always did this when you were on call. Well, he always did this anyways, not just on calls. You didn't like being away from him anymore than he did. But Wilbur had always been the more antsy one out of the two of you.

"Just a week more Wil and I'll be back at your flat in no time."

"Promise?"

"When have I ever lied to you love?"

"Well—" Wilbur cleared his throat. "—there was that time on Halloween when you said you were going to dress up with me, and when you lied about getting McDonald's without me, and don't even get me started on all the lies you said just to get that suprose party for me organized last year."

"Wow. You must be really proud of yourself for remembering all that Wil."

"I am, actually."

"Do you want a gold star."

"I know you're making fun of my but yes. Yes I would."

He listened as you laughed from the other end of the phone. He couldn't help falling in love with you. It was too perfect, the two of you. Like something out of his own songs. Wilbur wasn't one for the whole soulmates shtick, but he'd be damned if he said you were anything but that. His soulmate.

"I love you so much (Y/n)." He whispered. "And I hate I can't hold you right now. I hate that I can't kiss you and feel you in my arms."

Your laughing had ceased with a soft sigh. You knew what he meant and more. Too many a night you had laid awake, unable to sleep without the feeling of his hands around your waits and hoodie around your torso.

"I know Wil. Just seven more days and I'm all yours."

"Don't forget my gold star." It was quiet, but you still found yourself gently smiling.

"Seven more days, then me and that gold star are all yours."

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soup--champ · 2 years

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Deeply amused by quackity and wilbur's conflicting opinions on /r c!tntduo and i think they should now be applied to how we read their character's dynamic.

c!wilbur is just out here saying the most accidentally homoerotically charged bullshit all the time, not a thought in his head about how it could be interpreted, thinking he is simply just being a cool and suave rival, and then c!quackity is just over here losing his mind because he is yearning and has to keep dealing with increasingly conflicting messages.

#soup speaks #dsmp #quackity #wilbur soot #tntduo #for those lost quackity said on todays dsmp panel that his favorite headcanon was 'the one wilbur shot down last convention' aka /r tntduo #god fucking C!QUACKITY being the one fucking losing his mind over their interactions and not c!wil 'how can i make quackity notice me' bur #is so funny to me

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lanaxoxoxoxoxox · 10 months

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guitar strings, darlin'

musician!bur x afab reader

warnings: none, just a silly lil blurb with some silly lil fluff

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wilbur and I were in a weird stage of friendship. We hang out almost every day (every other day at the very least), but if we separate for whatever reason, when we finally meet again, its as if nothing came between us. Many people, including the other members of Lovejoy, say that we're lucky to have that. Though, I don't think much of it. That's just Wilbur and I.

Wilbur and I first met at one of their first live gigs. They were playing at my local bar, so I decided to help out a local band near me. My thoughts then were, "Not like it's gonna hurt me! Nothing will come out of it for me anyways." And those thoughts? 100% wrong. Turns out, Wilbur has seen me play at the gigs I play, and happened to notice me in the audience at their gig. They asked me if I wanted to join, and I was starstruck. I was starstruck by not only getting asked to be part of Lovejoy, but by Wilbur. I mean, what can I say. He's practically an angel. He's sweet to everyone he meets, even if they're a total prick. He's funny, and god, he's pretty. Like, top tier level pretty. His eyes remind me of old brick libraries and the smell of burnt out cigarettes.

Obviously, I accepted the offer. And that's where I was brought to at this current moment. Sitting alone in the recording room with Wilbur, recording and trying out different stupid lyric ideas, with the light of an old lamp in the corner besides a burning candle.

"We need a good adjective to describe what the singer is feeling that still goes along with the rhythm of 'One Day'." I stated. Wilbur nodded his head in agreement, playing with the strings on his guitar.

Will's head looked back at me. "What if we make the chord using these notes?" I looked at his fingers, observing the notes he was demonstrating. I looked back at the guitar in my hands, struggling to find the right positions that he was in.

"How do you manage to put your fingers in that position?" I laughed. Wilbur laughed back at me, placing his guitar to lean on the desk besides us. He leaned over to me, and grabbed my hands and adjusted my fingers to the right strings. I looked up at him as he did so, getting lost from admiring the small features on his face.

I didn't even notice when Will was done with my hands until he made eye contact with me. I quickly looked away and fixed my hair. Wilbur chuckled, and lifted my chin up. He looked at the moon necklace displayed on my collarbone.

"That's a pretty necklace you got there." he said, playing with the metal. I blushed in response. He seemed to notice, but sighed, and sat back down. He then pulled his chair closer to mine.

"Can I tell you something, Y/n?" he asked. I nodded.

"I think I'm in fucking love with you."

My eyes widened at his words. Those were the words I have been waiting to hear for months at a time, and they finally came.

"I think I'm in love with you too, Wilbur." I smiled.

Wilbur looked at me and pulled my chin up slightly. "Can I kiss you?"

Instead of responding, I closed the space between us first. I could feel Wilbur smiling into the kiss. His lips were soft and slightly parted. Wilbur was the first one to pull away and he laughed. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that."

I giggled and wrapped my arms around his neck, giving him one more peck on the lips and sliding my face into the crook of his neck, giving him a hug.

"LET'S FUCKING GO! I knew it was gonna happen! Ash owes me £50 now!" Mark yelled outside the door.

Wilbur scoffed at Mark and Joe standing outside the door. "Oh fuck off!"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

ahhh i love this fic so much 😭

likes reblogs and any sort of feedback is very appreciated

love ya!! <3

#fanfiction #teen fanfic #mcyt #dream smp #wilbur soot #wilbur fanfic #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot imagine #imagine #female reader #one shot

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cantbe-thecaptain · 6 months

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Hear me out on this: Lovejoy on Celebrity Family Feud

#lovejoy #ash just has a lil whiteboard #Wilbur is genuinely playing the game the way it’s supposed to be played #Joe is like 50/50 with sensible answers and out of pocket nonsense #mark is just happy to be here #they totally lose btw not even a close game #every time ash is even in the shot he’s either showing off a little drawing or has written ‘help’#I just really find this concept funny please tell me I’m not the only one #Will gold #mark boardman #ash kabosu #Joe goldsmith #wilbur soot

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yawnzzznnn · 11 months

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owlwithatypewriter · 11 months

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Flower Bud 🌻

AO3 Link

Warnings: Minor injuries, fae-adoption (aka kidnapping), possessive Wilbur Soot

"You look like a wrong'un."

It probably wasn't the best thing to say, considering the look that was returned, but Tommy didn't care - he didn't have the time or patience for manners, not in the middle of the forest, not when he was reeling with a concussion and cradling his broken fingers to his chest. He glared right back at the brunette beanpole, widening his stance so the soft spring breeze wouldn't topple him.

"Pardon," the beanpole said, chocolate-gold eyes wide in surprise, "I'm a what?"

"A wroh-ung-un," Tommy emphasized the word, giving it an additional syllable to make his point. He really was - looking the man up and down, he could see that his clothes, though appearing to be common (a trench coat in summer, really?) were made of high-quality silks and leathers, and his oddly-large ears hung with silver and gold chains that dangled priceless gems. Something stirred in the back of his mind, something about jewels and unknown people in the forest, but it was quickly squashed by the ache in his skull.

The man tilted his head to the side, earrings jingling like wind chimes as he looked Tommy up and down. His mouth quirked, as though he found the boy's rumpled appearance amusing, and his shoulders relaxed. Folding his arms behind his back, he asked, "And what must one do to be a 'wrong one'?" The phrase fell oddly from his lips, as though he was tasting it as he spoke.

Something - probably self-preservation, or basic street smarts - told Tommy not to answer, to turn around and walk away, but he'd never been one for thinking twice in a situation. "Y'know," he said, waving his unbroken hand about, "like, wrong stuff. Luring kids with candy. Vandalizing public parks. Kidnapping innocent children. Being a - a wrong'un ."

The man - Beanpole, Tommy decided, since despite his posh mannerism he had yet to introduce himself - Beanpole blinked, and there was something amused in his gaze now. "Well, I can assure you, I haven't been luring any children about with candy, or vandalizing any public parks. I don't believe I am one of those 'wrong-ones' you are looking for."

Tommy snorted. "You don't look for wrong'uns, they just find you." He huffed.

"Hmm." Beanpole tapped his chin, looking Tommy up and down as he considered his words of wisdom. "Well, I am not a wrong'un," he stumbled a bit at smooshing the words together the way Tommy had, "and you don't seem to be one either-"

"O'course I ain't!"

"-so, may I have your name?"

A voice screamed in Tommy's head, telling him no-no-no-no-no, blasting past the building migraine. He wavered a bit on his feet, and Beanpole tilted his head but didn't move to touch him. More thoughts crowded his mind, trying to push past the ache, screaming about the significance of pointed ears and mushrooms in fields, but he battered them back.

"Nah." He said, shaking his head (and immediately regretting it). "I don't give my name to randos in the woods." A quick glance around showed they were standing in a clearing, a small babbling brook nearby, and a hawthorn tree twisting behind Beanpole. It was a nice spot - he couldn't remember ever having been here before, despite years exploring the forest while dodging his chores. Beanpole opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off. "What're you doing here anyway? Kind of a weird place for a noble to hang out, innit?"

"A noble?" Beanpole shoved his hands in his coat pocket, rocking back on his heels a bit. Tommy risked a glance down and took note of the fancy and oddly-clean leather boots he was wearing. "What makes you say that?"

The teen snorted. "Nobody dresses like that," he gestured to all of Beanpole with his unbroken hand, "in the woods unless they have money to burn." He took another look around, trying to spot a horse grazing in the surrounding trees, but there was nothing more than a curious squirrel rummaging through the flowers curling around the base of the hawthorn.

There were a lot of flowers, actually, of all kinds, in all colors - some that Tommy had never seen before. They overtook the tall grass, heavy heads bobbing in the gentle breeze. Alliums, tulips, wild roses, lavender, asters, Queen Anne's lace, oxeyes - even some water lilies bobbing near the edge of the brook, and a cluster of sunflowers taller than either of them near a break in the trees, large disc florets reaching towards the sun as it lingered overhead.

"Wait, is this…?" Tommy glanced at his feet and saw a few clutches of mushrooms hiding beneath the grass, sparkling oddly in the sun. His head snapped up and he stared at Beanpole, who looked smug. "Holy shit, are you a fairy trapper?"

Smug was exchanged for shock. "A what?" Beanpole sputtered, eyes wide in disbelief.

"A fairy trapper - y'know, those stupid bastards who go around planting flowers in forests and trying to trick fairies out of their name!" Tommy snorted, kicking at a daisy sprouting by his feet. "Damn, you must have wasted a ton of Magi-grow to get these so big. Fuckin' rich folk…"

Beanpole still looked slightly baffled, but he brought his wits back enough to ask, "Why would anybody think they could trap a fae with flowers?"

"It's what the fuckers like, innit?" Tommy shuffled back a step, nearly knocking over a large toadstool. "They live in 'em and shit."

"Live in - how would a fae fit inside a flower?" Beanpole sounded torn between amusement and exasperation.

"They're tiny, ain't they?" Tommy held up his hand and stretched his thumb and pointer finger apart, showing off a length of about six inches.

"Faeries are, but fae aren't, and a trapper would never find a faerie in the overhill." Beanpole was staring at him as though he had said something incredibly stupid.

"They're the same thing, aren't they? Faeries and fae?" That little niggling in the back of his mind was getting louder, whispering frantically about the mushrooms in the field and how they were planted.

"No, not at all." Beanpole sighed and leaned back against the hawthorn tree, running a hand through his dark curls. He looked oddly exasperated at being questioned on this knowledge. "Faeries are, basically, baby fae. When a faerie reaches maturity, they are considered a true fae."

"Maturity?" Tommy quoted, ignoring the mushrooms at his feet.

Beanpole crossed his arms over his chest as he rolled an answer around in his mind, finger of his left hand tapping against the elbow of his right. "Yes. I believe it would be around…a hundred and eighty years to a mortal, give or take a decade or two."

"Holy shit."

The man snorted as Tommy gaped at him. "Yes, that must seem like a long time to you," he hummed in thought. "How old are you anyway? You don't look to be more than a child."

"Oie, dickhead! I'll have you know I'm a man!"

Beanpole doesn't look convinced. "How old?"

Tommy puffed out his chest as best he could. "I'm fifteen, practically an adult already!"

"Aw!" Beanpole pushed off the tree and beamed at Tommy, taking a step closer and stooping a bit so they were at eye-level. "You're just a kid! A little child. An itty-bitty baby man!" He jeered, bright amusement in his odd eyes.

If his hands were in tip-top condition (and his head wasn't swimming like a fish caught in a whirlpool), Tommy would have lashed out, maybe land a not-quite-serious punch on the man's shoulder in rebuke of his words. Instead, he just took another step back, lips pulled back in a snarl, the familiar rebuke on his tongue. "I'm not a fuckin' child!" He sniffed, tilting his chin up haughtily. "Besides, you're wrong. Baby faeries are called changelings."

Beanpole snorted. "No, they're not." He corrected, though there was amusement coloring his tone. "Changelings are an entirely different thing. The Aos Sí in the northern isles are the only ones near here who use them."

Tommy tilted his head in confusion. "The Is-She?" He copied. "Is she what?" He took a large step forward, past the mushroom clusters, shoving a finger in his face. "You better not be disrespecting women! I'll have you know my many, many wives-"

Beanpole didn't let him finish - he grabbed Tommy's wrist, long, thin fingers wrapping tightly around bruised skin, and tugged him closer. Unsteady on his feet, the boy pitched forward, stumbling against the taller man's chest. He yelped, pain shooting through his broken hand as it was squished between them. Beanpole didn't let up his grip at the sound of pain - instead he wrapped an arm around Tommy's back, forcing him to stand flush with the older man.

"You're not nearly as smart as you make yourself seem, hmm?" The man's voice was taunting, something sharp in it that unsettled Tommy's mind, shaking loose those squashed thoughts from earlier. Mushrooms…pointed ears…unknown forest clearings… "Such a big voice for such a little boy - you're no more than a babe, really." A hand carded through his golden curls, pausing at the crusted blood from where the guard had landed a hit with the butt of her axe. Tommy pressed back against Beanpole's arm, tilting his head back so he could see his face.

The man was looking down at him, but that wasn't right - he wasn't a man. His ears were long and pointed at the tips, dripping with gems and jewels that sparkled with something beyond sunlight. His eyes were a swirling miasma of brown and gold, flecks of otherworldly knowledge embedded deep in the iris. He was smiling widely - too widely, and his teeth were just on the other side of sharp to be human. And there was something in his gaze - something wanting. Something needing. Something dangerous and at the same time soft, sharp but compassionate.

Fairies are territorial, he could hear his teacher reminding them as they sat on wooden benches in the small one-room schoolhouse, you must never allow yourself to get near one. If you happen upon one in the woods, be polite and leave as soon as possible. Never insult a fae. Never question them. They are easily offended and will whisk you away to be their slaves for eternity, if given the chance.

"I-" Tommy croaked, and the fae tilted his head, watching intently as Tommy tried to speak. "I don't know how to clean." He blurted out.

The fae blinked, smile dropping a bit. "What?"

"I'm shit at dusting and - and stuff. Cooking. Burned a salad once." He had - it'd been hilarious in hindsight, but the matron hadn't been pleased. "I'd make a shit slave."

"A slave?" The fae had lost his suave, darkly-mysterious aire and was now staring at Tommy as though he was talking nonsense. "What in the world are you on about?"

"That's what you folk do, innit?" Tommy pressed back against the arm again, but the fae didn't give, keeping him hugged close to his chest. "Y'know, steal humans to be slaves?"

The fae shook his head, expression softening. "Oh - oh no, we don't do that! Not anymore at least," he tacked on in a mutter, then cleared his throat. "Any humans that come to the courts are more like…indentured servants."

"En-den-tur-ed? You take their teeth?!" Tommy didn't know if that was better or worse than just being a slave.

"No!" Beanpole wrinkled his nose at the idea. "No, they work as servants for the court until the magic has embraced them, then they're welcomed into the court as proper fae." He shook his head, pulling Tommy a little closer in a hug. "Honestly, what are they teaching you humans these days?"

Tommy wasn't comforted by the explanation. "So you're gonna indenture me?" He asked cautiously. His teacher had once told them that in order for a fairy - or fae, as Beanpole insisted - to get power over a human, a few different things had to happen. They either needed to know the human's true name, the human had to step into the fairy ring the fae appeared in, or the human had to insult the fae badly enough that the laws of magic required recompense. Tommy knew he hadn't given the fae his name, but he certainly hadn't been holding his tongue while they spoke, and the mushrooms his mushy mind had taken note of earlier had been in a near-circular pattern. He was fairly certain he'd stepped on a few while arguing with the fae.

Beanpole hummed, his hand going back to running through Tommy's curls. "No," he said after a moment, "I don't believe so."

An uncertain hope grew in Tommy's chest. "You're gonna let me go?"

"Oh no," the fae chuckled, and that dark, sharp edge was back. "You're much too precious. I think you would make a perfect faerie."

The hope was snuffed out, replaced with confusion. "You - you said faeries were baby fae," he said. "Hate to tell you king, but I've already grown up."

"That may make the change take longer," the fae sighed, "but I'll be with you every step of the way."

"The change?" Tommy pushed against Beanpole's chest with his good hand and tried to shuffle back, but something was wrapped around his feet. He couldn't look down to see what it was, but when he moved, it tightened.

"Yes." Beanpole finally released him, taking a step back so he could rest his hands on Tommy's shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. "Fae aren't born, sunshine. They're made."

Whatever was holding his legs in place had begun to snake up his legs to his back. Tommy glanced down and felt his heart stop at the sight of thick, green vines winding themselves around him, holding him fast. "W-wait, no," he snapped his gaze back to Beanpole, "I don't want this!"

The fae's expression grew soft, and he reached up to cup Tommy's cheeks, paying no attention to the vines snaking their way up his chest, pinning his arms to his sides and chest. "I know it's scary," his voice had grown quiet and it wrapped around Tommy like a blanket of silk. "You'll be alright, I promise. You'll grow up in the Meadow, cherished and treasured as you should be, with all the other little faeries."

In his memory, Tommy would blame his concussion (he did have one, Wilbur would confirm decades later) for the way he leaned forward into Beanpole's palms, for the soft warmth that squeezed his heart at the thought of being cherished , of being wanted . He would blame it for the moment of calm, for the way the gentle magic Beanpole imbued in his voice overtook him, slowing his heart.

The vines curled around his neck, and now there were leaves, sprouting from the greenery, wrapping him up like a cocoon. Beanpole slowly pulled his hands back, grinning when Tommy leaned forward after them. "And then when you're all grown, you'll join me in the court as a prince, with our father and brother."

The panic returned as the fae and his magic stepped back, but before Tommy could open his mouth and insist this was wrong, yell again that he didn't want this, leaves snapped shut over his head, plunging him in darkness. A sweet scent filled the space - he yanked his head back, trying to catch a breath of fresh air, but his head was swimming more than ever. The scent grew stronger, choking him, and then there was nothing but darkness and quiet.

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

The changing didn't take as long as Wilbur expected, considering the child's feisty attitude. It always took longer when the human was more resistant to the idea. He hummed to himself as the cocoon solidified, slowly turning gold as it drank his magic and began the change. In only a few minutes it began to tremble, before twirling like a tornado and pulling in on itself, shrinking down to a small seed. The fae prince scooped it up and examined it closely, before turning and stepping through the trunk of the Hawthorne. The fairy tree rippled as it carried him through the barrier between Realms, allowing him to step out on the edge of the Meadow.

It was early morning in the Forest, and the young faeries were already flitting about, chasing each other about the blooming flowers or bothering the caretakers for breakfast. He spotted Puffy and Foolish on the other side of the field, chatting quietly as they set down platters of fresh fruits and decanters of nectar for the babies to eat. The latter spotted him and gave a wave, and Wilbur gave a short wave back before wading into the knee-high field and searching for a spot of clear ground.

After a moment of search he spied a spot between a pink tulip and a deep violet allium. Kneeling in the dirt, he carefully dug a small hole and dropped in the seed before carefully covering it with the displaced dirt. A careful drop of his magic soaked the mound, and after only a moment a curl of green appeared. It quickly grew, a long stem shooting up to nearly Wilbur's height, a large bud rapidly grew along the top. The fae jumped to his feet eagerly, watching as the green cover peeled back to reveal bright yellow petals. Wilbur watched expectantly as they fell open, revealing a large sunflower, a small shape curled up on the seeded center. With gentle movements, Wilbur scooped the faerie into his hands.

The boy was still a mess of lanky limbs and blonde curls, but his wounds had been healed, and his clothes were now clean (though his shoes were gone - for some reason, they never survived the change). There was a lump of thinly-furred skin against his back, still wet with fresh magic from the cocoon. Gently, Wilbur stretched out one of the wings, taking in the white crescent-moon shapes and the red highlights among the gray fuzz. A moth, then - Techno could probably tell him exactly what kind, but for now Wilbur was satisfied just seeing his new brother's wings grown and intact. Out of curiosity, he shifted the child to rest in the palm of one hand, and with his other stretched out his thumb and pointer finger.

He'd been right - faeries were no larger than the space between.

Grinning, Wilbur pressed the child to his chest and moved to the edge of the meadow, avoiding Puffy's knowing grin. He settled beneath a tree, leaning against the bark, and hummed to the sleeping boy. It would take a few hours for him to wake, and more for his wings to properly dry. Then he'd be ready to learn how to fly, how to use his magic, how to grow and laugh and enjoy life as all children should. He'd know nothing but love now, and would never stumble about in the woods bleeding and stinking of fear again. He'd be cherished, not only by Wilbur and the caretakers, but by all the fae.

Wilbur had found himself a little bit of sunshine, and he was never letting it go.

Wilbur Soot you are a nightmare to write when I'm tired.

I hope you enjoyed! Had this idea for a while, thought it would make a good little one-shot. I do have a few more ideas for this AU, so if you'd be interested in seeing more, please let me know in a comment!

#dreamsmp #dream smp #mcyt #mcyt g/t #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #dark #kidnapping #minor injuries #fae AU #fantasy AU #one-shot #giant/tiny #g/t #g/t writing

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