Dream SMP oneshots (98% Dream Centric) [Closed]

Butterflies, my love is futile|🖤

Tw: Child neglect, child abuse, major character death. Be careful.

Tommy was twelwe when he realized his family never loved him.

He was a bright, loud kid, like most children. He ran in the hallways and clung to his brothers and father, no matter how many times they pushed him away. He smiled, laughed, and danced. He didn't notice the disgusted looks he got from maids or the annoyed ones from his family.

Not until he was twelwe, and seeked out Wilbur. He wanted to tell him all about how a butterfly landed on his nose. Wilbur was in his chambers, and when Tommy knocked, he opened the door.

"What do you want." He asked, voice cold, but Tommy didn't know that. He assumed this voice meant love because no one ever told him othervise.

"Wilby! Wilby, a butterfly landed on me! It was this cool black and blue-" He was cut off by a sharp laugh.

"Wilby, wilby, let me waste your time with my stupid stories." The crown prince made his voice higher, mocking Tommy.
"First, grow up. You are not six anymore." He said, and Tommy opened his mouth to talk.
"Second, don't waste my time with your dumb adwentures."

"And don't, ever again, call me Wilby."

And the door was closed, leaving a twelwe year old in the empty hallway that seemed colder than it was before.

From that moment on, the pink fog disappeared from the youngest prince's mind. He noticed the disgusted looks, the uncaring gestures, every small detail.

And he became angry. He was so, so mad that no one cared, but mostly mad at himself. For not noticing sooner, for pushing too much, for being too much, for being unlovable. Because it had to me his fault. In his pre-teen mind, the chance of his family being anything less that perfect didn't even occur.

He was angry at the world and himself, but that anger slowly faded to desperation. Maybe if he can prove himself, then they would love him more!

Technoblade, the second in line for the throne, called him to spar. Tommy went, hoping for approval, but all he got was being beaten down mercilesly. His brother broke his left wrist, and he had to wear a cast for a long time.

He was thirteen when his grades suddenly jumped to the top. He learned tiredlessly, and when he wasn't studying, he practised fighting. He was desperate for some kind of approval, and if all it takes is overworking himself? Then so be it.

Exept it's not all it takes because the royal family demands more and more. Perfect grades aren't enough. They always find mistakes.

The king started to ignore Tommy. And he doesn't know how to deal with that.

Wilbur's hurtfull remarks plant seed into his brain already torn with the weed of self loathing, and it gets worse. Technoblade doesn't go easy on him either. Every time he thinks he is getting better at sparing, he gets hurt even more.

He's fifteen, and he's exhausted.

He is invited to family dinners every month, but he can barely stomach anything. He tries, truly, but he feels full from a bite or two. He feels unmotivated, and some days, he has trouble getting out of bed. He feels happiness slipping out of his fingers as every comment from his family is a new wound on his bleeding heart.

He's sixteen, when butterflies start to flock to him.

He was lying in the garden after an exhausting beating from Technoblade when the first one appeared. He's not motivated enough to reach out, tired eyes watch as the little thing rests on his stomach. It's red and white. He closes his eyes, content to bask in the sun.