Work Text:
I’m not one of a greedy kind,
Tommy Kraken Danger Innit Watson Craft Careful Innes was 7 years old when he figured out his family didn’t love him. Tommy was 7 years old, when he learned what the phrase ‘chasing love’ meant. Tommy would chase their love until he was successful. Until his chasing was worth something. Until he was worth something. Tommy was 7 years old, when he learned what being greedy really meant. Sure, Phil would yell at him to stop being greedy just because he wanted some attention too, instead of his older brothers, for a change, but he finally learned what it meant. Tommy was greedy.
Tommy was loved enough, really, and he just had to keep begging, such an annoying baby. He finally understood Wilbur. Tommy was greedy. Tommy was greedy because he wanted MORE love, more attention. (But all Tommy’s ever needed was their approval.) God, Tommy was going to go crazy. He was greedy. He knew, because his family was never wrong. They did no wrong. (That’s no truth, Tom-) Tommy pretended to ignore the voice that tried to ground him. His own voice. Tommy’s own voice, telling him that making Wilbur, Techno and Phil proud wasn’t worth it! Tommy’s voice saying his family was wrong! That was insane! They were never wrong. Tommy knew they weren’t wrong. So he hit himself, as punishment.
No, I’m not greedy.
Tommy was 8 years old, when he learned what validation meant. Validation. Tommy needed it. Not from anybody else. From his family. He needed them to be proud, to ruffle his hair, to kiss his forehead with familial love. Brotherly love. But they would never do that. No, no way. Tommy wasn’t worth it. He was greedy, so terribly greedy. (You’re not greedy!) If the voice in him thought that way, differently from his family, he wouldn’t listen to it. It wasn’t worth it. Only Wilbur’s songs (manipulation) were important. Only Techno’s passion (violence) was important. Only Phil’s caring nature (evilness and child abuse) was important. When his voice said something else, he ignored it. He didn’t even know half the words it spouted.
Tommy’s voice was like him. Annoying, loud, and NEVER SHUTS UP. Tommy simply was trying to do good by Wilby, when the voice said “you know, you don’t have to make him proud, right?” As if! What kind of maniac would tell Tommy he didn’t need to make Wilbur proud? Of course he did! If he didn’t, what else did he exist for?..
I’m not one of a greedy kind,
Tommy was 12 years old, when he learned hatred. Hatred perfectly described Tubbo Underscore. A whiny prick from his class who tried too hard to be his friend. Yes, Tommy was amazing, but Christ, did this kid ever stop? Whatever. Tommy decided he didn’t really care all that much.
Tommyinnit was also 12 when he found out that he’d met his best friend. Tubbo Underscore. Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t just judge people. Nope. He was going to judge, really, Tubbo encouraged it! Why should he stop? (You would be the world’s most dangerous monster for the people you love, you know, Tommy.) Tommy did not have to choose to ignore the voice this time. It was easy enough to do when he had Tubbo to distract him.
No, I’m not greedy.
Tommy was 16. Tommy was 16 when he met Ranboo. Tommy was 16 when he put knife to skin, skin that for once wasn’t his own. Tommy was 16 when Ranboo was replacement. Tommy was 16 when he plunged that knife into Ranboo’s throat, and Tommy was 16 when he stared–
I wanna be loved by you,
Tommy was 15. Tommy was not 16. Not yet. (Are you sure, Monster?) Taunting. He was no monster, he only did what he could for love. Love, what a motivator. It drove so many to the brink, it drove so many to jail, it drove so many to jealousy. And Tommy was at his brink, extremely jealous, and just a motion away from jail. Tommy was love’s victim, wrapped and tangled in vines he’d never find a way out of.
Tommy was not 14, or 16, he was 15. Fifteen. (You are sixteen.) Shut up. He was not. (You are, but you haven’t killed anyone.) He could change that real fast. A flick of a wrist and he was done. Done. Done with what? Life, jealousy, resentment? He was not done. Tommy was never done. Love. Tommy was love, so he could not be done. How else would people love?
Tommy tore the knife into Ranboo’s sleeping chest. Tommy stared blankly as he did, before cracking a grin. He would be loved.
Tommy was not loved. He realized, as Phil, Wilbur, and Techno cried. They stared at him in.. fear. Horror. Technoblade was scared. (Murderer. Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.)
No, Tommy wasn’t a murderer. He slowly glanced up at his family.
“I wanna be loved by you.”
And Tommy’s voice was his own.