dream smp oneshots

The Lava Below

Ayeeee leaving an author's note again because this actually DOES have a trigger warning! Definite suicidal thoughts man,,, based on Tommy's stream called "Depressed" very short and to the point name huh

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Tommy sighed as he stared down at the swirling lava beneath him from his position on the built-out logs. Beautiful in a way, but taunting, calling for his body. He imagined it sinking into the flames, the smell of his own burning clothes and flesh surrounding him, heat overwhelming him.

Ranboo's voice was background noise at this point. He was too involved in his own thoughts to realize that the man was talking.

"Is it- is it worth it?" he asked suddenly, interrupting Ranboo. And he was really asking. Was life really worth it if no one would come to see him, except for Dream and Ranboo, who hadn't even come to his party? Was life worth it when they didn't care about him now that he wasn't in L'manberg? He knew that anyone who came to his island was usually just trying to get attention from everyone else. They were manipulating him. They didn't care, no one did.

He had become useless to them, so they didn't come to see him.

He thought about what he had said earlier, that if the roles were reversed and Tubbo was exiled, everyone would come to see him every day, he himself would come to see him every day. He knew it was true; Tubbo had always had higher value compared to him. He was just some guy with some stupid discs, so no one really cared if he was gone or not.

"Is it worth it, Ranboo?" he asked again. His face had gone completely blank. He had no way to express the emotions he was feeling, so his face was a blank canvas.

"Is... is what worth it?" Ranboo replied cautiously. Tommy knew that Ranboo knew what he meant. He supposed that he had just wanted to make sure, though.

There was a deafening silence. Tommy listened to the boiling lava and watched the embers jump out of the mass of orange below him.

"Is this even worth it?" He murmured dejectedly. He knew he wasn't thinking rationally, but he didn't care. Being mostly alone for a week was painful, cruel, and he didn't want to endure being alone anymore. He didn't want to feel so disconnected. It was like he was in the middle of an ocean, and there was a distant island that he couldn't seem to reach, no matter how hard he tried.

"I'd say it is." Ranboo's voice was filled with a mixture of sadness, love, and some attempt at comfort. "I mean, it's gonna be tough... I couldn't even imagine, but... it's definitely gonna be worth it in the end, when you come back."

Tommy let the corners of his mouth turn upwards weakly in amusement. Ranboo said that like it would end, but it had only been a week and it felt like months, years, even. He didn't know how much more loneliness he could take.

"In the end," he repeated softly. What if there was no end? What if he was stuck in the middle of an ocean for eternity, destined to drown?

He turned around and maneuvered his way back onto the netherrack, his feet hitting the ground softly as he made his way towards the nether portal back to his home, back to his isolated ocean.

"I mean, at the end of your exile." Tommy sighed again. He had thought that the meaning was obvious. "When you can come back."

'When' was not the word Tommy would have used. He would have used 'if'. Who was to say that he could go back to L'manberg?

Tubbo, Tommy's brain whispered. He pushed the name away. He didn't want to hear that name, he didn't want to say it. He was torn between feeling anger at him or missing him so much his chest ached. Maybe he could do both. For now, he wouldn't do either.

"It's never going to end," Tommy muttered, and he meant it. It felt like it was going to drag on until the end of time until he was only a pile of bones on a beach, his last moments spent looking longingly at the chairs in front of him, wishing that they could have been with him.

Ranboo went entirely silent. Tommy wondered if he had left him alone too, running back to L'manberg to tell everyone that he had been brave and gone to see the exiled little 16-year old who wallowed in self-pity.

As the nether setting swirled into purple and became his home again, he said the words to himself again, solemnly. "It's never going to end."

He walked back to his tent in silence, listening to his own footsteps and the leaves on the trees brushing against each other quietly.