《𝐌𝐂𝐘𝐓 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬》

𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝

I was thinking, "why can't I find any more good angsty shit". Then I remembered I can just fucking write it, so :)
Tw: a shit ton of gore, insanity, shit writing, death, its my normal angst.
Ship: none
Request: nope

In which Tubbo finally gives in to the voices.
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3rd person pov:

Tubbo had has it easy for most his life, he had a nice family, an okay school life, and an overall stable mental health.. for the most part.

Everyday he followed his normal routine.
Wake up.
Bathroom stuff.
Eat.
School.
Family.
Sleep.

It worked for him. Everyday he'd wake up and blatantly ignore the intrusive thoughts that attacked him the second he opened his eyes.

He'd walk into the bathroom, and ignore he imaginary blood that would come from carving shapes into his face. He'd go and eat breakfast and avoid eye contact so he wouldn't think of bashing peoples heads into the table. He would attend school and try not to think about the voices telling him to shove pencils down the teachers throats. He would watch movies and not act of the thoughts for him breaking the TV infront of his family. And he would go to bed staring at the fan that he thought of decapitating his head off with.

Tubbo thought it was fine, he thought that if he pushed it away enough he would get through the day. Hell, he even thought it was some what normal.

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He could tell today was going to be a bad day, Tubbo woke up drenched in sweat. His head pounded and his body ached in pain, the stress of life finally caught up with him. He couldn't run away from his problems anymore. Not at this moment.

The weekend had just started, for him it meant that he could just stare at the fast spinning fan for hours (until he could manage the courage to get out of bed).

So that's exactly what he did, it was only 7 am anyways. What has he to do? School didn't need attending, and breakfast would be in a couple hours.

But this time it became hard for swat away his thoughts.

His brown hair stuck to his forehead as sweat ran down the side of his face. His clothes felt sticky to his body and having a blanket over him only had it worse.

Saliva bundled in his throat, the voices only grew louder and louder in his head. They ranted about blood on the walls, about how pretty a painting out of blood would be, how beautiful it would be to watch as organs slowly slipped out of a lifeless body. The amazing texture that would come from squashing someone's brain.

It all became too much.

His brown eyes would strain of too much staring into nothing the problem was, he would never want to inflict harm onto anyone. At least not on purpose.

Today was different, he felt out of place. He didn't care if someone got hurt, in fact he was letting his horrid thoughts overtake his mind. We would describe the feeling as, 'fucking great'. He would say that it felt amazing letting his mind run free.

"Scoop out Tommy's eyes and force feed it to him, cut off all this hair and stuff his eye sockets with them and listen to his screaming."

"Bash Wilbur's guitar against his head until shards of wood stuck out from his head. Push all his guitar picks up his nose"

"Tie down Techno and slowly carve a square into his torso using his sharpest knife. Rip out his organs so painfully slow and watch as they overwork to keep his weak body alive."