Tommyinnit Oneshots

Familiars

Witchcraft? No. Witchcrack. Also Raccooninnit.

TW: Swearing, light threatening

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A city can be an ode to the greatness of man, but it is also a reminder of constant suffering. No matter how staggering its horizon or how glittering its buildings are, the grandeur doesn't fully cover the reminders of what life really looks like within for most of its inhabitants.

One such example of reality and its suffering would be Tommy. He was sat on a ratty couch in an alley, chowing down on a donut he'd found in the dumpster opposite his couch.

Tommy was lonely. He had been, ever since Tubbo had been found. Once upon a time, he and Tubbo had been attached at the hip since they were both witch-less familiars with strange forms.

Tubbo would strut down alleyways, unworried about the clip-clop of his hooves, and people would look at him strangely—it's not often you saw a flamboyant miniature goat making their way through the dirty streets of L'Manburg.

Tubbo had stood out against the alley cats and dirty rats; subsequently, he had been found. His witch had felt the pull, located him in the alley, and their bond had solidified, opening communication between their minds.

Tommy still remembered the roll of jealousy through his hungry gut when this half-and-half witch had crept down their alley and been able to understand Tubbo without suffering the way they had suffered or growing together the way they had grown together. Tommy was the only one who was supposed to understand Tubbo; they were meant to be familiars, without witches, facing the world with nothing but each other.

Tommy hoped Ranboo and Tubbo were happy, wherever they were. He just wished it hadn't meant he would have to be alone.

Sometimes he longed for a witch, someone who had his back so he could rest for a while. Someone who could understand his thoughts and, if nothing more, provide him food and warmth in exchange for some of his magic to pull on.

Tommy shook his head to dispel the thoughts. He didn't need a dumb witch to treat him like a pet; he had Spoon. Spoon was all he needed.

The sun was setting over the buildings in the distance, so he made his way back home.

'Home' was actually just a hole in the same couch he had been sitting on, but he had too much pride to admit that.

He snuggled into the scratchy polyester fur, appreciating the insulation even if it was such an uncomfortable texture.

He held Spoon tightly in his hands. Nothing would separate them.

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"My familiar is a fucking raccoon?"

Tommy woke up abruptly to a hand tugging on his leg, and he chose violence.

He kicked and hissed and scratched, chittering curses all the while at the evil hand attempting to separate him and Spoon.

"Just- get out! I just wanna talk!" Some bitch said from outside his couch. Pussy's name was probably Wilbur or something.

"NO! Fuck off! Leave me alone, bitch, I just wanna sleep!"

"You can sleep after, I just wanna talk to you! Will you stop scratching me for two seconds?!"

Hold the fucking phone. "You can understand me?" Tommy asked, halting all movement. "Yeah dipshit, you're my familiar and I'm your witch. Will you come out and talk to me?"

"...Can I bring Spoon?"

"...I'm not sure what that means, but sure."

With confirmation that he could bring Spoon, he crept out of the hole in the couch, sliding onto the arm of his chair, a slight dent in the place where he always perched.