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Tommy wasn’t going to last long.
He had always known from the start, didn’t he?
Of course he had, he wasn’t dumb. When Dream first exiled him into the wilderness, he knew they were going to mutilate him. He was under his strings, and nowhere in sight were scissors; a puppet string-bound as they were forced to dance for the puppeteer’s entertainment.
Sometimes, during the nights when only crickets were all he heard, he wondered how Dream would do it.
Would he chop him up with an axe? Rip him limb from limb until he begged for mercy? Would he graze Tommy’s throat with his sword, before slowly sawing it off as blood crept down onto the ground?
So, so many possibilities but so little time.
Tommy let out a blissful sigh, residing in the ashes of Logstershire helped him fantasize better in the most gruesome ways. He huffed out a hollowed laugh, eyes closing slowly as the wind breeze hit his scathed face.
Phil would’ve chided him for being so ‘moled out and sunken’ , but the fact was true.
Logstershire helped him imagine how he would die.
Cathartic really, dying in the ashes of something you built.
Wilbur had taught him that.
He wheezed out a groan, lungs constricting as he rolled over, eyes looking over the wreckage with dulled emotion.
Is this what Tubbo felt like? Watching the thing you poured so much love into it, built with your two hands, crumble? He would have to apologize for being so inconsiderate of him.
He felt the soot cling to his legs, trailing up his upper body as he basks in it, this wrongness that wouldn’t release its hold. The remaining structure beams holding up the blue shack groaned, slamming into the ground with a loud thump behind him, dust sinking onto his very being.
He cracked open his eyes, sun beaming onto the harshness of his skin as he lied unmoving. Tommy felt like a puppet without strings, and even if it was supposed to be freeing, he never felt more useless. The beach stared at him, the sand beckoning him to run away from this putrid purgatory. He should get up before Dream arrived and he was bound tightly again, the thought should’ve repulsed him, but it felt…..comforting.
He turned onto his back, staring up at the heavens above as he pondered one singular thought.
Is this what love feels like?
Was it Wilbur’s harsh words as he smiled with widened eyes? Was it Phil’s disregarding glare as he berated him? Was it Dream’s blood-tinged words, promises to kill him?
Was it Tubbo’s mantra of selfish selfish selfish selfish selfishselfishselfishselfishSELFISHSELFISHSELFISH -
Tommy jolted up, his hands stretched out in front of him as short breaths racked through his body. He willed his impulses to stop, but they never did stop buzzing before.
This was love, and Tommy would have to get used to it.
He wandered around Techno’s house, red cape slinging behind him as he marched up the steps triumphantly. Techno saw him as an equal, as someone who could stand by his side through everything. He leveled with him and Phil, like peas and a pod, and they were so generous to him.
That’s what confused him.
If love was Dream (onlydreamonlydreamonlydream-), why aren’t they hitting him? Oh god, did he misread this entire situation?
Tommy let out a sharp breath, cold tears prickling at his eyes as he stopped on the stair’s railing.
Did they not love him?
Tears cascaded down his face as he fell to the wooden floor, knees aching red as he sobbed into the blankets of snow on the porch. He clawed at it desperately, as if it were a person’s warmth he oh so craved.
He faintly heard Techno open the door, which means he would probably find Tommy.
Fuck.
“Uh, Tommy? What are you doing down there?” A voice echoes from above, ascending down to where he was.
Double fuck.
Tommy scrambles up, his breath in pained whispers as he furiously rubs his eyes. His eyes unfocus from the black dots clouding his vision, and he talks with no sense of direction.
“The snow got in my fuckin eyes and I faceplanted, no big deal big man.” Andddd he just said big twice, he’s so utterly screwed.
Techno looked at him with a skeptical glance, ears flicking in amusement as he snorted. He leaned in, examining Tommy as he bit down a sigh.
“Alright kid, what happened,” Tommy was starting to speak, but he was so rudely interrupted. “, for real this time."
Tommy was going to tell the truth, he was crying, but then an idea struck. Dream’s affection always was caused by riling him up too much, so he would do just that! He mentally patted himself on the back and placed a hand cockily on his hip, lips forming into a sneer.
“I killed every dog in a mile’s distance.”He says while the hand in his pocket tremors.
Techno looks at him flabbergasted because Tommy knows that he has a soft spot for dogs. His nostrils flare, and his eyes are manic as he searches Tommy’s for something.
“You didn’t - you couldn’t have -” He stampers, his eyes narrowing as his fists clench. It was a strange sight, to see the self-proclaimed Blood God stammer over their minuscule words. Techno looked mildly pissed off, and Tommy was sure he could see the pig working up the urge to hurt.
He just needed a push in the right direction.
Tommy inwardly applauds himself, a warmth nuzzling into his chest. He contains his full smile and lets out an obnoxious (Dream had told him, Dream was always right) laugh as he throws his head back.
“Oh ho, yes I did. They yelled so loud-” he was interrupted as Techno’s fist collided with his cheek, sending him to the ground below him.
Techno seethes and turns harshly with a sway of his coat, shoulders tightening as he walked up the steps.
“You’re staying somewhere else for the night.” He pronounced with a slam of his door, followed by the click that locked it.
Tommy laughed in bliss, touching his damaged cheek as if he had just been caressed by his father. He laughed and laughed, even as the night got colder and tears poured out of his eyes, he didn’t move. His hand twitched on his hip, and Tommy let a smile creep its way onto his features.
Techno loved him.
The lights in the night sky danced over his face as he curled in on himself, the cape not providing the warmth the sting on his cheek did.
(He didn’t move from that spot during the night, he didn’t want to disappoint Techno more than he already has. More than he already will. )
. .
Techno loved him.
So when Techno said he had plans for L’manberg, who was he to deny him? He trusted Techno, he would never do anything to hurt him. They were buddies, Phil had said it himself (THE Philza Minecraft!)
Tommy would play for the fool, for it runs in the family. Phil and Techno would see what he wanted them to see, the golden boy, not the festering monster he was. The cards were in his favor this time around, but he wouldn’t play them, for their sake.
He had finally found a family again, and he couldn’t give them up, even if it would cause him pain. He needed them, or he would fall apart.
. .
Techno loved, he had to.
His actions were out of love! He was trying to protect Tommy!
The burn in his chest said otherwise, a matching firework scar with Tubbo now implanted on his skin. The colors had invaded his vision, white creeping into his eyesight as all he could feel was painpainpainpainpainpainpainitwasrippinghimapartpleaseHEDOESNTWANTTODIEPLEASEPLEASEPHILHELPMEINEEDYOUIALWAYSHAVE-
He was alone again. He didn’t want to be, the essence of it was oh so numbing.
He scrambled out of the rumble of L’manberg, breath caught in his throat as Tubbo neared him and looked up. Dream, mask perched on his porcelain face as the thunder roared. Tommy let out a shuddering breath, smile down turning slightly as Tubbo clung to him urgently.
He should be happy to see Dream, Dream only wanted to help him. The others never did, could never compare to the man behind the mask. Maybe if the server were to see exile, they would see how nice Dream was to him.
In the end, not even Techno could compare to Dream.
Tubbo didn’t love him.
He sees it in his eyes, the murth and warmness reserved for felons. He sees it in the way Tubbo calls him ‘boss man’, a nickname for tyrants like Schlatt and Techno. And maybe he is a tyrant, polluting Tubbo’s heart with his wrongness, infecting Tubbo’s brain with his crimes.
He wonders that if he tore his skin off, shredded his confining shell, would Tubbo love him then? Without the skin and blood and bone, a puddle of festering darkness trying to melt into anyone, would he? Would Tubbo ignore the feeling in his bones as Tommy seeps in, clouding the contradictory with murk?
Tommy likes to think he wouldn’t mind the intrusion, as he’s already filled with seclusion in his every step.
He and Tubbo were the two sides of the same pendant, the sun and the ocean; different, but not contrasting. While Tommy couldn’t remember exile, Tubbo relived his execution every night. Tubbo took quiet moments and short sentences as clarity, Tommy took them as unnerving. How different they were, but brothers in every way nonetheless
Tubbo was the smarter one, the logical component, the brains to Tommy’s irrationality.
Tommy was just the add-on. The asset. Like the sun showing in the night, useless.
. .
Through the nights, Tommy always has the urge to blow the mansion up.
Not out of malice or hatred to Tubbo or Micheal (Ranboo not so much), but just to see the look of malice on Tubbo’s face towards him turn into the brimming love Dream had looked at him with. His expression twisting into one of delight, eyes wide and smile too stretched to be considered normal as he voiced Tommy’s darkest fears with crazed red eyes, yourescaredpeoplewilllookatyoudifferentlyyourescaredpeoplewilllookatyououdifferentlyyourescaredpeoplewilllookatyoudifferentlyyourescaredpeoplewilllookatyoudifferently-
He doesn’t go through with the impulse, Tubbo would look at him differently.
. .
Tommy wants to be needed by Tubbo.
He craves it, an insatiable desire to be wanted by someone of high status like his brother.
His feelings seem to differentiate, two conflicting concludes stuffed in one, doll-shaped body.
Of course, as stated, he needs to be needed or he feels useless, expendable.
But when people actually need him, he feels put on a pedestal far above the rest, and he knows he won't live up to those heights.
Maybe it's because he's a mistake-riddled teen, but he refuses to feel this way. He was not a child.
Maybe if Tubbo saw how grownup he could be, Tubbo would love him enough to leave a mark across his face, a sign of his undying love.
Maybe if he allowed himself to love like the others do, he would be bombarded with the affection he craved.
He could never win in the long run.
. .
Sometimes, he still dreams about the day Tubbo exiled him, the look on his unusually stoic face as he banished Tommy, tears in his eyes ducts as he looked down on him. Tubbo was his brother, yet at that moment all he could see was Schlatt staring at him with pity-riddled eyes, judging him as their eyes scraped into his back and clawed him out, leaving nothing but the gooey black mess under the golden exterior-
He hates Schlatt, he hates Ranboo, he hates that bastard Wilbur, he hates everything on this shit-riddled server.
Not as much as he hates himself, his name painted in red, bold letters on his wall of enemies.
. .
“Hey, Tubbo!” the enderman yelled, straining Tommy’s ears as the lanky figure neared them. He spared a glance at Tubbo, nausea hitting him in lengths as he saw the same look they gave him on their face.
He didn’t understand why he yearn for that gaze when it was reserved for bad people, but he allowed himself to be impulsive just this once.
“Ranboo.” It was confusing, how Tubbo’s tone held no edge or exhaustion behind it, only an undying warmth spilling into his cinnamon-laced words.
Cinnamon disguises poison under its surface, his mind prodded. That tone was for criminals.
Ranboo swiftly pranced over to where Tubbo stood by their wooden house, legs lanky and agile that it looked like he had danced over. Tommy would never say it to the bastard’s face, but he envied him and his stupid professional stride. The half-breed seemed to be happy in all its definitions (gay fucker) as he lit up, tail swinging slightly and ear twitching as he was a cat.
Tubbo found it endearing, reaching over and softly gazing one of his fingers over his husband’s ear, the domestic feel of the scene made him sick. Ranboo seemed to take it in kind, nuzzling into the touch as snowflakes cascaded around them. Tommy grimaced and brushed them off, his sour mood spreading to his core like poison. His poison.
“Ranboo, how’s Micheal?” Tubbo whispered with thick honey, a giggle singing behind his words.
Tommy hated their interactions severely.
Their conversation meant nothing in his ears, a loud ringing only existing to annoy him. He gritted his teeth, fire tinging up in his gut as he looked away from the cause of his pain. Tears stung at his eyes, but he didn’t allow them to fall as snowflakes fell on his shoulders.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Tubbo didn’t love Tommy like he loved his family.
. .
Tubbo didn’t love Tommy like he loved Foolish, and that made him resent the shark golem.
Why did he get all of his attention, while he drifted away in the background? Who was he to intrude on Tommy’s ideal family so carelessly, not even wondering how he would react? Foolish was on his wall for that, Tommy had worked for Tubbo’s love and still only got scrapes, it wasn’t fair. Tommy could do all the things Foolish could do but better, all Tubbo had to do was hint at his incompetence at least once.
Tubbo never did.
Tubbo never loved him.
Sam was a tricky one to see into, his mask obscuring his facial expressions. Tommy had found this information endearing, mind ticking with how to read Sam’s expressions in a different way. This made the cogs in his mind reel, clicking with adequate focus as he zeroed in on Sam with a glare.
Tommy was always one to make creepers tick.
Sam was a tricky case, his emotions didn’t vary, only staying on one neutral expression. Tommy was enraged at first, but then he saw it as an opportunity, he could be the one to make Sam have an explosive reaction. He wanted the creeper to yell, to scream, to hit as the emotions boil to the surface like a cauldron stalled for far too long.
Maybe he was projecting on someone who probably didn’t even feel how he described them, but someone had to have the external emotional capacity in their duo.
Tommy watched Sam like a hawk, studying their habits as he pinpointed every single tic and flaw in his system. Sam was like a cognitive function to a steam train, always reeling with thoughts and impulses in their limited space.
He and the creeper shared that in common, always moving and never stopping.
Maybe that’s why when Sam asked for his thoughts, he answered.
. .
Sam cut their time short, his dull headiness leaving him bare, but only to his work.
They were so far apart, so contrasting that it would’ve never worked. Maybe if Tommy was more of a hugger, Sam would’ve let him stay alongside him. As Sam was the train, Tommy was just another useless piece of coal to be chunked in and burnt out.
How silly of him, to think this would’ve lasted.
Maybe if he burnt himself, shriveled up into nothing but a flame, they would care. If he was a burning star in the night, another life lost, would they finally stare at him in awe? Would they watch him every night, watch as he hurtled himself to the ground for their eyes only? maybe it would help if he was just another star in the sky for the earth to shrivel up, to eat away at until he was nothing but the golden dirt fire left behind.
Sam wouldn’t have liked him talking like this, as if he was just some jester for amusement. But Sam’s not around anymore is he? He didn’t need Sam, he only needed himself.
Tommy found that his betrayal hurt the most, smudging Sam’s name off on every sign he saw. Maybe if Sam had punched him themselves, they would’ve had a better connection.
And here Tommy was now, writing this letter. His hands shook with giddy anticipation as the ink smudged against his words. He let out a sigh, getting up and neatly sealing the letter shut with red wax as he placed it on his bed. He looked to the night sky, the air calming his senses, and thought back to what Ranboo (Ghostboo? Boo?) said.
Death is so calming!
He grabbed the orange bottle from off his desk.
Yes, maybe it will be.
.
.
They never found the letter, how sad it must’ve been. To know Tommy is dead, yet there be no words to explain why.
How exhilarating, to know you’ve vanished into the planes they can’t reach.
Tommy felt his body contort until he felt the familiar sound of a train screeching, trains tracks straining against the weight. A smile spread across his dull features, and he clung to the seat.
Ghostbur would be happy to see him.