enderino

[enderino]

Inktober time, but with my own prompts and animated ^^

[enderino]

octo-bur but i only remember three days in and only do watercolor studies of photos.

[enderino]

techno: *doing sick bow tricks while flying at top speed with his elytra*

phil: *engaging in full worried dad mode*

[enderino]

[image ID: a black and white line comic titled Broken Cups about Wilbur and Schlatt in the afterlife.

Page 1 (P1): Wilbur pours liquor into Schlatt’s mug from a flask. Schlatt asks him: So. Why’d you do it? A hand touches a crack as W says: You know how when there’s a crack in something, you can’t help but pick at it? Two panels of Schlatt and Tubbo, neck down, on the podium. W continues: Like there’s no use in patching it up, and the best course of action is to -

P2: Hands break a pencil. W: Break it beyond repair? Alivebur is jumping into frame, away from an explosion, rifle on his back. He looks like he’s about to kick dead Wilbur in the head, as Schlatt looks up at him. W: Give in to destruction? Or…

P3: Pogtopia Wilbur grimaces, trying to look happy. W: If you stumble, nobody notices. Alivebur falls forward, shock in his eyes. W: If you trip and fall, everybody does. A trio of panels show Wilbur’s hand dismissing his flask and summoning a teacup.

P4: Two silhouettes of L’manburg Wilbur and Pogtopia Wilbur. L Wilbur has chips in him, while P Wilbur is covered in cracks. W: A chipped cup stays chipped. A shattered cup gets put back together. Schlatt leans over to Wilbur in silhouette and asks, So you blew up a country… as a cry for help? Wilbur leans back. I couldn’t tell you if it was a cry for help, Schlatt.

P5: Wilbur’s hands hold Chekhov’s gun, a hunting rifle, lightly. W: Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Pogtopia Wilbur stands above L’Manberg. W: People don’t always remember their reasons. Schlatt looks ahead and says, Broken cups get tossed more often than they get fixed. Was your cup fixed?

P6: Wilbur holds a fist to his mouth. Arm extended, he drops the teacup. The final panel is a low shot. He looks at Schlatt, arm still out, with the teacup in pieces at his feet.

end image ID]

you’re the only one with a grave.

[enderino]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 11,592)

(first part) (second part) (third part)

——————–

Part Four

He blinks awake, and he isn’t sure what he’s looking at.

A ceiling, to be sure, but it’s not the ceiling that it should be. It’s paler, more uniform, and the light illuminates it more evenly. His eyes drift across it, catching on a few hairline cracks near the wall, and he wonders, vaguely, if this is something he needs to be concerned about. This isn’t his room. He ought to be in his room, if he was sleeping.

And then, he comes to full awareness, because he is suddenly very cognizant that there are other people nearby. Breathing, clothes rustling, quietly conversing, even, and panic bursts in his chest. He sits bolt upright, casting about him for a weapon, anything he could use to defend himself, because he’s not going to let Dream’s men get the drop on him, not going to let him take down their revolution so easily—

He’s greeted by the sight of his friends, staring at him, visibly startled.

That’s right. The war is over. And he can relax, because none of them are likely to stab him in the back. Though that doesn’t mean he can let his guard down entirely, of course—not likely is not the same as impossible, after all, and he learned long ago that nothing is impossible, no loyalty guaranteed. And why are they here in the first place?

He scans the looks on their faces and simultaneously tries to figure out what they’re doing. They’ve got paperwork, it seems like. All of them. Is that his paperwork? Why are they doing his paperwork? And why are their expressions like that, varying between vaguely guilty to concerned to glad to—

His gaze lands on Niki. And just like that, he remembers.

Keep reading

[enderino]

my own personal sunrise

a c!wilbur playlist

🎵 spotify link🎵

1. An Ode to L’Manburg - Beetlebug (and make a land that is good / and a land that is free / for the better of you and of me)

2. In Our Bedroom After The War - Stars (all the living are dead, and the dead are all living / the war is over, and we are beginning)

3. Starchild - Ghost Quartet (i will become the next big thing / i will light myself on fire)

4. One More Time With Feeling - Regina Spektor (you thought by now you’d be / so much better than you are / you thought by now they’d see / that you had come so far)

5. When Somebody Needs You - Will Wood (so we come and we go / we know and are known / there’s too many people to trust)

6. Ashtray - Matt Pless (a house of cards about to fall / and a peace of mind i can’t recall / but man, the worst thing that i saw / was clearly the reflection of / a boy who said, “i think i’ve seen it all”)

7. Ship in a Bottle - Steffan Argus (’cause you’re popping the cork, you get lost in your brain / and you lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane)

8. Liar - The Arcadian Wild (’cause i’m not in a right state of mind / i just wish i had strength to admit it)

9. Be Nice To Me - The Front Bottoms (there’s no meaning to the words / but we still sing these songs well)

10. Brave as a Noun - AJJ (and it’s sad to know there’s no honest way out)

11. Goodbye - Cage the Elephant (my pretty bird, my favorite lullaby / how’d i become the thorn in your side)

12. Jubilee Line - Wilbur Soot (shout at the wall / ‘cause the walls don’t fucking love you)

13. Rounds - The Oh Hellos (be the sun as my witness / better prophets could pen / a thousand words for every chord / i could ever begin)

14. Keep - Mother Mother (yes, i’ll keep falling, i’ll keep falling apart / until i’m whole again / and i’ll keep scratching at the cracks on the wall / until i make it again)

15. Welcome Home, Son - Radical Face (peel the scars off from my back / i don’t need them anymore)

16. Eight - Sleeping At Last (i’m all in, palms out, i’m at your mercy now, and i’m ready to begin)

[enderino]

you’ve got big shoes to fill kid! ( get it because. because a baby goat is called a kid. g. get it. )

[enderino]

Hope y'all are handling the tubbo lore better than I am lmao

[enderino]

c!Wilbur: I don't feel like I was punished enough for what I did

Me, watching him re-engage in a series of behaviours that he understands brought him his desired punishment the first time around: Oh fuck

[enderino]

and no one came

[enderino]

“It hurts.”

[enderino]

thoughts on ponks hair

[enderino]

youve been dead for thirteen years and you came back a little bit wrong now what

[ID: One page introspective comic of Wilbur Soot ft. Ranboo. There is a drawing of Ranboo smiling sheepishly in the top right, a panel in the middle of Wilbur looking down and to the side at a Windows XP error message which reads, “ARE YOU ALIVE?” With the two buttons being “YES” and “NO.” There are three broken hearts floating by him. At the bottom right, there is Wilbur again in profile with his hair obscuring his eyes; he is smoking a cigarette. There is text in the image that reads as follows:

“He says, ‘I don’t think you’re a bad person!’ Which is funny for two reasons: 1. It necessitates you be a person first. 2. It’s a fucking lie.” There is also light cracks in the dark background. End ID.]

[enderino]

Word’s sexiest absent father

[enderino]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,249)

(first part) (third part)

——————–

He tries to pen a letter to Phil. It’s more difficult than he remembers.

Dear Phil, he starts, and that’s good, that’s fine. All is well here in L’Manberg, he continues, and that’s good too. But from there, he’s stumped. What next? What does he tell him about? This is the part where he’d launch into a cute story, something Fundy got up to, or some trouble Tommy caused. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing recent, anyway. But the last letter he sent to Phil was—a month ago? Two, now? So he needs to write, because Phil’s far from a helicopter parent, but he still likes to know what he’s up to. Will still worry, if he gives him a reason to.

So, he needs to finish a letter. Needs to stop procrastinating.

He could write about Niki’s bakery. He can’t remember if he told Phil about it or not. He probably hasn’t, not if it’s truly been that long since his last missive. So he sets his pen to work, scratching out a few more sentences, and he reminds himself that he doesn’t need to be overly verbose. Phil doesn’t need an essay. Just a paragraph or two to assure him that he and everyone else are well, that he’s having fun, that he’s thriving.

Afficher davantage

[enderino]

Hey. Hey. You ever think about this line?:

“I don’t even know if it works anymore, Phil. I don’t even know if the button works. I could, I could… press it, and it might-” (Wilbur’s smithereens: 1:15:29, 16th Nov)

You ever think about how it sounds like, on some level, c!Wilbur was almost hoping it wouldn't work? You ever think about how he probably wondered whether anyone dug the tnt up or otherwise disconnected the redstone-- he described the location of the tnt to Tommy and brought him and Quackity to the button room so they knew, they knew, and maybe just maybe they did something. Maybe they made this choice for him. Stopped him.

And then he pressed the button and it worked. Still it worked.

Do you wonder, if for a split second, he realized that that meant they honestly trusted him? That they trusted him to not press it, even after all he said and did?

Do you think that hurt?

[enderino]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 5,039)

(second part)

——————–

He first notices it because he chances a glance in the mirror. Not something he does often, these days, because he dislikes looking at his appearance for longer than necessary. The mirror only tends to show him his flaws and imperfections: the bags under his eyes that he can never quite hide, the way his cheekbones jut out in too-telling prominence, the way his uniform never seems to fit right lately, and not just because he almost never finds the time or energy to give it a proper wash.

So, he doesn’t look in the mirror beyond a cursory glance in the mornings as he’s dragging himself out of bed, just long enough to be sure that his veneer of professionalism is holding, because frankly, he has nothing if he doesn’t have that. No one’s called him on his slowly slipping standards just yet, and he intends to keep it that way. He is president, after all; he must lead by example, and if the nation is to be a success then he must be as well. Or at least, his citizens must believe that he is.

But this morning, his gaze lingers just ever-so-slightly longer than he normally allows. And then, his vision catches on—something. He thinks he must be mistaken, and he hasn’t the time to figure it out, really, but he can’t help but lean in closer, searching his own reflection. What he sees makes dread beat out a two-timed rhythm in his chest.

There is white in his hair.

Keep reading