Tommyinnit Oneshots

Oh, Raven, Won't You Sing Me A Happy Song?

He was miles above the ground, making everything look like toys to a child. Maybe they were toys. Everything down there was merely a backdrop to Dream's puppet show. It wasn't real. It was a cleverly disguised prison with chains of loneliness and betrayal to hold his favorite puppet up. Traitorous tears fell from his graying eyes, falling down like raindrops as he realized the truth that he had desperately wanted to deny. He couldn't bear to face that he wasn't anything but a puppet. Everyone told Tommy he was the hero, the main character that life centered around, but it was wrong. He was a figurehead, falling prey to the puppet strings of Wilbur and Dream. Why didn't anyone realize that he wasn't in control of his life?

Tommy slipped off his feet onto the hard ground that comprised the top half of his tower. It wasn't a tower to assert dominance or power or whatever the hell he always told people. This tower was much more sinister in nature. It was a symbol of Tommy's suffering. It was an ugly spot on the horizon in the same way Tommy was an ugly spot of the Server. This tower would be the one thing that he would create that could never truly be destroyed. It was his own unfinished symphony.

Oh, what would Wilbur think of him now? Well, it depended on at what point in time the Wilbur he was asking was in. The Wilbur from his childhood, his not-quite brother, would be crying and panicking and not much help overall. The charismatic leader of the growing L'Manberg would give him a soft, sad look as he whispered empty promises about how life will get better to Tommy. The real Wilbur from the ravine would laugh at him, telling him he should have done it sooner and mocking him by requesting he do a flip. No matter what, Wilbur wouldn't have been able to do anything to get him off that tower.

Tommy didn't care what anyone else would have done. They hated him. They ignored him and lived perfect lives only once he was gone. It was like being around Tommy is what made them fight within each other, even if Tommy wasn't responsible. Tubbo- No, Tommy thought. He refused to think about Tubbo. That boy was a traitor worse than Eret and Niki and Wilbur combined. The worst part is that Tubbo still had Tommy's heart. Tommy cared more than anything about Tubbo, and he hated that. Why should he spend hours making excuses for someone that didn't care? Tommy would toss and turn in bed as all the good memories with Tubbo were bleached with the recent distance between them. A whole salty ocean between him and his home, and a compass mocking him when he gazed at the surface.

Tommy screamed. A heart wrenching shriek that pulsated in the air, tearing at Tommy's throat as it was pushed out like an exhale. Tommy didn't stop until he was nearly choking on blood and had gone mute. His body felt numb afterwards, the cold winds from above the clouds not phasing him in the slightest. He shivered despite not feeling the temperature. At least the air helped the pain in his throat, the only thing grounding him to reality. The tears started up again, falling down with deafening thuds to Tommy's ears. He pushed his hands against his ears as more and more tears created the sound. Somewhere along the line, this noise was accompanied by flashing lights in Tommy's vision. He squeezed his eyes shut. The next sense to go was smell, the scent of gunpowder mixed with a touch of grass brought rushing memories to the forefront of Tommy's mind. He started to feel the burning caress of fire touching his skin. Smoke filled his mouth, the bitter flavor of the air making him cough.

What was he thinking about? L'Manberg's destruction? Eret's button room? Logstedshire that was far below him? Tommy hated all of those memories, and their common thread of TnT and misery. How come everyone betrayed him? Why was he stuck with sensory overloads of memories that caused panic to swell from deep within his heart?

When he opened his eyes, he was focused on the ground miles below. He relaxed as the memories had faded, the tears no longer hurting him. He couldn't speak because of his scream, and he couldn't cry anymore. He was merely sitting on a large tower that was too, too high to be on without a water bucket prepared. Worst of all, night was rapidly approaching if the setting sun was anything to go by. The last of the light was reaching high above the world, the orange turning into red that transitioned into blue and finally black. It was a lovely sight. Tommy reached his hand towards the sun. It reminded him of Tubbo. Brilliant and pure and leaving him.