#yeah. The Final Control Room really f**ked wilbur up here!

[daandyli0n]

you know, the more i think about it, the more i can’t help but think about the Final Control Room from td!Wilbur’s perspective

(warnings: implied daddy issues, basically, mentioned stalking, war, drugs, graphically described death/murder (especially child death/murder), self-hatred, and guilt)

imagine this:

you’ve finally moved close to where your family (which contains a pair of teenagers that you consider siblings and your adult son), believing that you’re going to be able to make a name for yourself, one separate from your father’s. you feel as though your whole life, you’ve been stuck in his shadow. and you hope this place can change that.

(it will, but some days you wonder if it was ever worth it. all the trauma, the death, the loss...you constantly find yourself asking: Was it ever worth it?)

you get told by your son that your brother was getting stalked by the admin for what is ultimately a minor reason. you’re shocked, angry. and why wouldn’t you be?

you just got told that your brother got stalked.

by the admin, no less.

he’s only sixteen.

now, maybe this was where you made your mistake; not directly confronting the man himself and deciding to be petty.

your brother never truly questions why you decide to start a drug van. but s**t hits the fan way quicker and harder than you ever expected it to.

and soon, it’s not just a drug van anymore. it’s a country. a home.

you see yourself having a legacy of your own now. you can kill two birds with one stone: a legacy away from your father and a desperate way to protect your family.

everything is perfect.

until it isn’t.

maybe it’s because you were stupid, that you didn’t see the signs sooner. you and your family are lured into a small, dark box, led by someone you would consider a friend. your brother sets it in motion, albeit unintentionally. he presses a button in the center of the room.

and then all hell breaks loose.

the next thing you know, you’re pinned against the wall, and the terrified, pained screams of your family break out around you, and you feel yourself yelling too, but everything goes too fast.

the scene before you, however, is burned into your memory:

your brother, the one who pressed the button, trying to run away, only for the admin (because the universe hates all of you, apparently) to swing at him, sending your brother to the ground. you can see the blood seeping through his uniform. he doesn’t get up again.

your other brother with a sword sticking through his heart. his screams are cut short. the sword sticking out of his chest is covered in his blood. his eyes are still wide in terror.

your son backed into a corner, begging for his life. his desperate pleas are ignored, and a sword is driven through his chest. his screams, too, are cut short.

your two teenaged brothers (dear Primes, they’re children. and they were practically slaughtered mercilessly) and your son lay dead in front of you. you don’t think you’ll ever get the screaming out of your head.

you aren’t able to break free, to help them. but eventually, you feel a sharp pain in the side of your neck, and everything goes dark.

at least you don’t have to look at that anymore.

you decide that maybe you should all give up. sure, maybe you won’t go down as the man who dared go against a server admin and create a country against his wishes, but at least you’ll go down as the man who was crazy enough to try.

but then your brother demands a duel. against the admin.

well f**k.

you beg him not to. he doesn’t listen.

you’re the one that counts him up to his death, silently praying to the Primes that they’ll have mercy on you just this once. as you reach ten, they both shoot their bows.

you scream in anguish as your brother’s corpse falls into the water, an arrow lodged in his throat.

(somehow, by some miracle, it didn’t hit his voice box. maybe they heard you, to some degree)

you still get your independence, somehow. your brother offers up his discs for your independence.

but even the celebration feels hollow, even as you scream at the admin (“YOOOOOOOO SUCK IT, GREEN BOYYYYY!!”), it all feels unbearably hollow.

because even as you outwardly blame that traitor, inwardly, you can’t help but feel like this is your fault.

you should’ve been more careful.

you should’ve noticed what they were doing.

should’ve gotten out of that guys grip.

should’ve saved your family.

you feel like you were stupid for trusting them, for not asking questions. stupid for not saving all of them. stupid for letting them die.

so you throw yourself into work, so you won’t have to think about it. your brothers try to go back into their lives normally (as if that’s even truly possible). they wear bandanas now, and you know the reason why one of them is wearing it.

a therapist brings themself to your country, claiming they want to help. they’re an avian, a duck-hybrid, you believe. they seem happy, carefree. they have a bright look in their eyes. their name is Quackity. 

you turn them away. the last time you trusted someone outside of your family ended with the four of you slaughtered in a tiny, dark box. what proof is there that it’s not gonna happen again?

they seem surprised, and pissed off, and they walk away, for now. you feel like you could’ve made a better choice in this situation, but, well....

apparently, you’ve never really been one to make good decisions that will end well for you, now have you?