#I’ve got no headcanon trans name for c!Wilbur pulled from lore so come up with one if you like

[aro-throughyourchest]

I would very much like to hear your trans Wilbur headcanons!

OHHHHHHH boy I’m not on my computer so this might not be as fast as I want it to be but sit down so you can strap in I’m just getting started

(For context even pre-transition we’re gonna use she/he/it pronouns and both identifiers.)

Uhhh trans-typical trigger warnings. We’re not just getting into the “cosmetic” shit of being trans.

So C!Wilbur for years before his death: just absolute egg. I made an edit about it that which is in my bigender wilbur tag but anyway yeah. Girlie was deeep in the closet. She was envious of all the people who got to live the life they wanted and felt bad about it or completely oblivious to it. (c!Eret came out to it and bro didn’t even fucking realize just died a little on the inside and thought it was transphobic.)

She’s so attached to an outright “manhood” that she’s actively pushing herself further in the closet, because men are big and strong and tough and she’s leading a country, so if there’s any doubts about being a man there’s definitely no time for that! (Which there aren’t, so she’s good.) It’s never liked armor and always brushed the idea off, and if it visualizes itself in a dress every once in a while and would love to model one, or pretends his coat was just was a little bit longer, then no one needs to know. And he doesn’t need to understand.

Pogtopia just turns it up to eleven. Its body is wrong and that’s bad, and she keeps visualizing herself like a man, like Schlatt, and crying. But also a lot of it is also the normal crying? And this kind of crying is different from the crying she usually does, the crying that Tommy doesn’t know how to help and the crying that Techno suspiciously says nothing on. There are no mirrors in Pogtopia. For good reason. There are mirrors in Schlatt’s office.

Something is wrong he can tell, something is wrong. And she doesn’t know what it is, and it scares the living fuck out of her.

Fast forward a few years into limbo, Wilbur is fiddling with her shirt and suddenly a thought: hey, what if I had tits. Like actual ones? The thought just takes him so far off guard, it stops fiddling with its shirt entirely, dropping it in the embarrassment. What the fuck?

The thoughts continue like this and with no one to talk to, Wilbur can literally do nothing but self-reflect, and oh my God does he want to wear dresses? Does she want long hair? It’s stuck in the body and with limbo allowing no recluse, he mourns.

It suffers like this for a while, eventually concluding, “I am what I am,” but it’s still not an answer. It’s just a dismissal.

Wilbur doesn’t bring it up when Tommy follows him into to limbo, too busy occupied with having someone for the first time. And if she lets a few things slip that Tommy definitely doesn’t catch uhhhh who knows.

Revival drags him back to life. And suddenly, his body has weight again, he can feel the warmth on his skin, and the air in between his lungs, and it’s everything he ever wanted. Then crash.

All the pieces he tried to forget over limbo just come hurtling back like a bullet train. Too loose shirt, hair that doesn’t feel right, too masculine, not what he wants- What he wants?

This is all too much, he can’t figure this shit out on his own.

Despite himself (herself?), she goes to find Eret. Niki might kill her, and going to his son about this, it just simply couldn’t take. It remembers fourteen years ago, when they came out to Wilbur. Or was it a year? Fuck.

Either way.. Breathe tepid and heart racing, he knocks on the door to Eret’s museum. She opens, and God, this just isn’t worth it. It turns to run away and feels a hand on its shoulder. Something cold runs up the spine of his back, and she immediately smacks the hand away, fully ready to blow her top. Then it falters. He’s ready to walk off, call this a bust and just go home, but then Eret speaks: “Wilbur?”

God.

“…Can we talk about something?”

Surprisingly, the first thing on Eret’s mind wasn’t Wilbur’s coming out. (Crazy, right?) They talk properly about all the shit that’s happened with conversations they really needed to have, Wilbur definitely cried a few times, tried his best to not start arguments, but somehow, he went in for an explanation and came back with one of his oldest enemies her first friend in 13 years.

What he thought would be a small talk eventually blossomed into her first real reconciliation.

He’s so anxious to try on a dress, a dichotomy from the confident, suave Wilbur Eret once knew, but as she slipped it on, her eyes lit up. Eret brushed out its hair for it, pulling the lower half of it into a ponytail and talking about how fast Wilbur’s hair already grows. Its heart swells with pride.

Bigender. That was the word. She rolled it over on her tongue over and over again, bigender. It fit. Its identity wasn’t black and white, no one or the other. Because yeah, sometimes he was a guy, and sometimes she was a fucking girl. God.