Iris . Blindinnit AU [DSMP]

Weeping Willow

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Weeping Willow
Grief
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Tommy inhaled, before stepping into the corner that Technoblade prepared for him. The anarchist handed over a heavy glass, corked full of blackness. Tommy couldn't see the scary sight, but still felt dread.

"This is the right one?" He stalled, not really wanting to drink this.

Techno nodded, before remembering. "Yes, Tommy. Whenever you're ready."

It tasted like squid ink, spilling down his throat and into his digestive system. He could feel his insides burning; his eyes burning. He wanted to open them further and further. He wanted to scratch them out. Get them out. He wanted it all to stop.

Tommy fell to his knees, scratching at his eyes with screams of agony. Philza ran forward, attempting to hold him back.

"How long?" Philza asked urgently.

"I'm not sure! Maybe two— three minutes?"

Tommy wanted to cry, but the tears hurt him only more. His blue eyes swirled with inky darkness, and suddenly the world was so cold. Make it stop. Make it stop.

"Get him milk!"

His heavy breathing was abruptly ended by a glass of milk being shoved down his throat. The cold refreshment stopped the burning sensation, and he melted into the glass cup.

Ghostbur scratched at his neck from across the room, watching nervously. "I'm sorry, Tommy. It was my idea." He wouldn't remember this later.

"It's okay, Ghostbur," Tommy sighed, having finished the milk. He slumped into the corner walls, worn out.

Philza ran fingers through the blonde's hair.

"Did it work?" Technoblade queried, nervous to talk.

"I can't see, Blade... It did nothing."

"Shit."

Tommy's once more blue eyes looked towards Technoblade's agonised voice. "It's okay. I wasn't expecting it to." He was hopeful, but not expectant.

Tommy used to be very hopeful. Back when Wilbur started a little business with Tommy, and the two planned to run the potions on the server. Tommy was hopeful when Wilbur showed him sketches of a flag, and Tommy knew that this would work. Tommy was hopeful when Tubbo joined, and Eret, and Jack. Tommy was hopeful when Wilbur showed him a child, a ray of light for the nation, Fundy.

Tommy was hopeful.

But he lost that hope when bombs crushed the Earth. Or when a friend turned sly, in wish of a crown. Or when two bright young men lost a fun game, and had everything torn away. When L'manburg dropped the L. When Tubbo blew up. When Wilbur ruined everything. It was all fine before the election. Before L'manburg.

But when Tommy watched his brother die, blood spilled by his own father, Tommy lost hope.

Tommy lost his youth.

He found joy in little things, like the discs or Tubbo. But he knows now, to never trust a happy front. There is always a joyless back.

The young boy wiped the milk from his chin, suddenly in a bad mood. His tired feet stood, disturbing Philza's peace, and he took himself to the ladder.

"Tommy?"

"Whatsup Phil?" He blinked, worn.

"It will get better."

He was more than tired physically; he was tired of the lies. No response given, but an mm let out, he carried on down the rope and into the bed that they had made for him. They added a lower room, below a bunch of villagers, just for Tommy. It was cold being so close to the floor, being away from the fire.

He huddles into his blankets, knowing he will only dream bad dreams.

He was used to it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Tubbo hung a light, red and white glistening from the bulbs, strung across an arch. The arch was oak, and made of fences. In between the lights and wood was flowers of all kinds, primarily red poppies and white roses. Niki had grown the flowers herself. Ranboo suggested Alliums.

Quackity collected things from Tommy's home, sifting through chests. He found an array of suiting objects that would be buried to symbolise Tommy.

No one seemed happy to be decorating. A dark gray cloud hung over L'manburg.

Ranboo was setting up something at the beach. According to Tubbo, everyone would be invited to the ceremony on Friday, even Dream.

It was nothing like JSchlatt's grave. There wasn't any blackstone, instead, mostly wood and cobble. The wasn't any fire, instead, water ran out from the wall, into a circular basin.

Fundy was working on getting a picture of Tommy. He smiled softly, shuffling through old memories. In every picture, Tommy either wasn't paying attention, or was smiling so wide.

Tubbo was right. Fundy did blame him for Tommy's death. A swirl of guilt settled in for blaming the president. Something inside whispered that either way, there would've been blood, exile or not.

Unsure of what to pick, he grabs the all, leaving his not so secret home on the hill and going towards L'manburg where they set up. It was where the van used to be, is where they were building his shrine. Ghostbur helped, smiling softly at them all.

"This is fun," The dead man chuckles, putting his hands under the streaming water.

"Sure, Ghostbur," Tubbo frowned, shrugging it off.

Fundy handed over the photos to Tubbo, dropping a few as he did.

"It's Tommy!"

"Yes, Ghostbur."

Tubbo shuffled through them, smiling. He grabbed a line of string and some clips, hanging them all. Hard to choose.

The string of photos went above the water, and Ghostbur helped get them higher. Quackity came down  from the path. They collectively called it a day, seeing Tubbo practically sway from exhaustion.