Tommyinnit One Shots

An Angel Named Tommy 💔

Characters: Platonically married Bench Trio

He/Him pronouns for Ranboo

TW: Panic attacks, scars, self harm, and graphic descriptions of wing amputation

Michael is a little older in this story, which is why his speech has gotten much better.

There used to be a point in time when Tommy still believed in happy endings, a time when he still believed the world was good and could be fixed if he gave up enough of his blood, sweat, and tears.

A time when he believed after giving up everything over and over again, the world would give him back his dues. That he would be rewarded for his efforts.

Childish dreams, of course, spun from make-believe fairytales. But Tommy wasn't as naive as he was back then. He knew first hand how cruel the world was, how it would continue to kick you over and over again even when you were still down, crying into the dirt. Good things didn't really exist, and heroes didn't get happy endings.

These are the thoughts that went through Tommy's head nowadays. He didn't exactly like being so pessimistic, but it was better than having his hopes brought up then crushed all over again. Sighing, Tommy leaned back in his chair, dull gray eyes looking out into the sunset.

Sunsets were his favorite time of the day, watching the Sun, the source of life and warmth, disappear for hours on end. But the colorful display of the last remnants of sunlight promised it would be back in the morning.

Tommy idly played with the golden ring on his finger, scarf that he was knitting long forgotten on his lap. Someone such a long time ago, he couldn't remember when or who, had compared him to the Sun. Fiery and full of life. Ready to conquer the day, and jump back up when he was pushed down again and again. He wondered if they would still think the same if they saw him now.

He wouldn't call his life unfulfilled per say, nor could he say he hated it. He was married to his two best friends who would do anything for him (why? How could they love someone like Tommy), a garden he kept up every day (he wasn't allowed near sharp tools), and warm home he was able to come back to whenever he grew weary. (He didn't deserve it.)

So, why, why did he still harbor the burning urge to die? Ceasing to exist would be better than having to live the way he was. Barely functioning, going through the motions robotically, being kept alive because of Ranboo and Tubbo's insistence.

He's pretty sure the only reason he hadn't offed himself by now was because he was unsure how they would react, and he would never want them to blame themselves for Tommy's mistakes.

(Tommy thinks he resents them for forcing him to keep himself alive)

"Uncle Tommy?" Tommy blinked, snapped out of his musings by the shy voice of his nephew (son?), Michael. The small piglin was twisting his hands, a nervous tic he got from Ranboo.

A smile tugged on Tommy's lips at the resemblance. It was gone as soon as it appeared though, as a memory of another person who resembled the piglin flashed through his mind.

Shaking the image from his head, he raised an inquiring eyebrow, forcing himself to look surprised at Michael's presence. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be getting ready for bed, Big Man?" he asked. "You know how your dads' get when you're still sleepy in the morning. Of course, awesome Uncle Tommy would let you stay up, but I don't feel like getting in trouble."

Why was he defending himself to a child? It was habits like this that made a fresh wave of hatred for himself drown him again.