warnings: dissociation, panic attack, eating disorder, dysphoria, a bit of internalized sex discrimination ouch, deadnaming
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Wilbur awoke to the distinct feeling of not wanting to piss the bed.
He slowly eased himself out from the comforter and then off the mattress. He navigated his room by the faded moonlight outside. He eventually found the door and somehow managed to turn the knob, open and close the door without stimulating a rattle or squeak from the mechanisms.
Wilbur slipped into the bathroom, and, needless to say, took a hearty piss. Good on 'im.
Wilbur washed his hands slowly, carefully, before drying them off on the towel nearby. He glanced up into the mirror, and in the broken, tented half-light, he didn't recognize who stared back.
The face looked so pale in the darkness, and the eyebrows were hardly visible in the quick glance he'd taken before looking away after being startled. He felt like the reflection was far too small, but still had too-long of hair. It wasn't him.
Who was staring back? It sure as hell wasn't the man who looked in the mirror.
Wilbur put his hands to his face and speed-walked back to his room. He shut the door tightly in fear that what he saw in place of his reflection might come after him. He pulled himself into a nest under the comforter, tears leaking from his eyes and feeling his breathing become more labored.
He brought his fingers to his now tear-wet face, drawing the pads and his palms across every nook, bump, and curve of the skin. He traced repeatedly the edges of his nose and eyes, the bow of his lips, the shape of his ears, even his neck. He had to memorize his reflection. He didn't even really know why; he just had to.
All the while, he continued to gasp through his mouth for ragged breath, pause for sobs between strokes of his hand, and shake. His blurred mind only focused on one thing: memorize your fucking face.
what am i
where are we
am i alone
what are all those little noises
who am i
is this a mistake
am i a mistake
As soon as any one thought came to be, it shattered and blew away in the frenzied fog of panic and amalgamated with all of the other messes of questions in Wilbur's head. He couldn't concentrate on any words, just the very idea that something was mega fucking wrong and his face needed to be mapped by his hands right now.
Wilbur startled at the sound of the door opening. He let out a shrill wheeze from behind his teeth.
fucker
intruder
little noises
who the fuck
"Wil?" If Wilbur's brain was functioning properly, he probably would have been able to tell that the speaker was Technoblade based on his voice, height, and hair length, but in the darkness, without color to hitch onto, the brunet felt helpless.
"Who?" was all Wilbur said, if it could even be defined as a word. It was more of a high-pitched inhale that sounded vaguely like a question.
"It's just me," said the figure, resting his hands on Wilbur's shoulders.
أنت تقرأ
who? (Trans Wilbur)
قصص الهواة𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛? marked mature for self-harm, eating disorders, and suicidal thoughts. trans wilbur vent fic with some sbi family dynamic au. not me venting about how hard it...
