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"Fear Me, Dammit"
Revivebur
Tw: None
Notes: Made this for a friend lmao. Not my best work
Song: "Blood" By My Chemical Romance
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When Wilbur had been revived, he had expected a different welcome.
He had wanted them to cower. For everyone to stare at him with uncontrollable fear as he watched the sun rise for the first time in thirteen years. For all of them to squirm underneath his pointed gaze as he greeted them once more.
But instead he was celebrated. Warmly glanced at, high fived, smiled at, baked a cake and given hugs.
It infuriated the zombie to no end. Didn't they know what he'd done? What he could do? Any exactly how he could do it? Didn't they know that behind that carefully crafted facade of thin glasses and a warm accent was a mad man with a lust for blood? Haven't they figured out he would do it all over again at the snap of a finger?
Yet Tommy had welcomed him with a smile. Albeit a wobbly one, but still a smile. Eret had patted him on the back and "welcomed him home". Phil, the man who had stabbed a diamond sword straight through a maze of Wilburs intestines, had wept tears of joy at the sight of his late son.
Technos was perhaps the most insulting of them all. He had barely glanced at Wilbur before shutting the door in his face. It was like he had interrupted him.
Needless to say; Wilbur was pissed.
His wrinkled lip sneered with the ferocity of a forest fire anytime he dared to look in the direction of Tommy. He pushed down the urge to curse at Tubbo with an unmatched gusto every time he visited the boy.
Loath, loath, loath, l̸͙̑̐̏͊͂̃̓̎̍̃ȍ̵̙̯̻̰̱̠̩͇͇͕ą̷̺̳̘̱͙͚̫̎̃́̈́̄̚t̵̨͉̪͔̫̦͈͓̱̒̒̓̆͒͘̚ͅh̵͎͊̐͑̀
Anger, anger, anger, a̸̝͓̦̗̙̩̻̳̻͋̇ͅṅ̸̢̡̢̼̙̪̭͕̌̏̌̏̒̈̋ͅğ̵̖̩̳̙͖͕̒̽̽ę̸̢͕́̏̄r̴̫̝̜̍̓̓͗̆̃̔̕̕
Hate, hate, hate, h̶͇͙̥͎͙͖͎̉̀̓̾̈́̃̓̊͒̚ͅà̵̞͚̊̓̔͐̈́̔̓͒ţ̷̗̳̉́͘̚͜͝ê̷̇̅̍̇̇͒͜
He loathed them. His anger only rivaled the zombie man's hate.
When will he finally get the reaction his reputation deserves?
When will he make someone break before him with a mere flick of his wrist?
When will he finally have his puppets back.
---
The brown haired man found himself walking the trail back to the crater of his former nation. Kicking up dust and dirt along the way in a petty attempt to tame his anger. It wired around him like a dust storm, some of the grains clinging to his trench coat that dragged along the floor.
Wilburs brow was set in a permanent crease of frustration. It started to form the moment he had gotten back and had only increased in size as the days went on. As did the pent up tension in his chest.
It was as if his feet were doing the walking for him. Muscle memory took over Wilburs lower body as his brain was swamped with thoughts.
He knew why he was heading back to the off-skirts of his crumbled and detonated country. Wilbur knew exactly why.
(Y/n).
You see, Wilbur was a force of nature. A dark grey stormy sea that threatened to bubble over. His salty attribute only being tainted further by the twister that would warp his mind. The stubble on his chin and unruly hair memberants of his insanity prominent with every crack he would allow you to see.
Accept the fact it, Wilbur enjoyed the storm. He let it thrive; feeding the festering feeling with hatred and poisoned thoughts.
He took pride in when people noticed his insanity. Wilbur practically writhed in ecstasy when others would call him "sick" and stumble off.
Which is exactly why he loved (Y/n).
The nomadic trader was a peculiar little one. They had a bold personality, but rarely showed it to anyone. Wilbur would often find himself wondering if that was because they were simply reserved, or if something had happened to them to make them this way.
He was not one of those people that would get to see their genuine smile. Instead, the few times the ex-president had met the fellow, (Y/n) had hid their discomfort and anxiety with expertly time laughter and smiles.
Wilbur smirked, the stitches around his eye crinkling as he recalled the image. A chuckle slipped past his chapped lips, the breathy noise being the only sound he could hear.
It was refreshing to remember that he still affected some people. That not everyone was all hunky dory with him. Hix was afraid of him before his demise. He couldn't help but wonder what they would feel about him now...
Wilburs thoughts were interrupted as his foot stepped on something with a loud crunch. He looked down and lifted his limb off of it slightly to peer down. Underneath his large leather boots was a piece of rubble that looked as if it had come from a burned building.
Wilbur snapped his head up with a smile. Laid out before him was the outskirts of L'manburg. The only place that hadn't changed while he was away for 13 years.
It had been a small section of his former country when still alive. Only about a dozen folks resided there in the time that it was alive and well. The only reason Wilbur had even known about that small slice of the town was because Tommy had lit a house on fire there once and he had gone down to apologize. (Tommy claims it was an accident.)
But nonetheless, it was certain that there would be no people there now. Just hollow skeletons that used to be full of life.
Cracks spread across the cement walls in a spiderweb pattern as Wilbur slowly strolled into the quiet area. Crumbling roads and dusty piles of soot had mingled together in an ancient smelling aroma that cast a foreboding aura. It got stuck in his nose and he resisted the urge to sneeze into his elbow.
And then he saw them.
Sitting down by a small messenger bag with their head in their hands. Some hair blew loosely around their face and he caught their eye twitch every once and a while from the tickle on their cheek. (Y/n) was looking down at their feet with a hard set face, as if they were thinking about something.
Wilbur noticed the change from the last time he had seen them. They had a couple new scars and bruises on their legs; their hair was a little bit longer and matted. As if they had been tossing and turning all night trying to sleep.
He wondered if they had sensed his return. If they had been thinking about him. If they even knew he was standing directly above them.
"Hello."
"FUCK!"
Well they certainly knew now.
(Y/n) nearly jumped out of their skin. They snatched their denim satchel up and spun round to prepare for a fight.
But they froze when looking directly into the face of a monster. A monster that's been dead for years and still should be.
Their own personal monster himself.
"There is no need for profanity (Y/n)." Wilbur chided condescendingly at their previous choice of words. As if he were speaking to a child who had just called someone stupid. Flicking the end of his cigarette butt out, Wilbur fake pouted at their shocked expression.
"What? Not happy to see me?" He stuck out his bottom lip farther and bit back a smile. "You wound me."
(Y/n) sneered with terrified eyes and stepped backwards. But Wilbur just laughed.
He had found his puppet again.
—
Happy new years!
Im tired as fuck
1200 words
-WayToSarcastic