bee and boo (platonic ranboo and tubbo oneshots) [DISCONTINUED]

love, tessa

a/n

hello there everyone! italics isnt working for some reason but thats fine ig

im really sorry I havent been updating, ive been super busy

this was actually originally gonna be continued as a book buy things change sooo

TWS: suicide, depression, overdosing, achohol, puking, hospitals, sickness, transphobia, mentions of drugs and being high (UGH NOW FUCKIN ITALICS ARE WORKING)

a/n over 

The fucking bottle wouldn't open.

No matter how much Tubbo tried- the childproof cap stayed closed. It most likely didn't help that his hands were shaking (along with the rest of his body,) but that was besides the point. The point was that Tubbo was trying to fucking kill himself and the bottle of liquid Benadryl wouldn't open.

He set down the plastic container and took a long drink from the bottle of whiskey sitting next to him. It burned his throat as it slid down and tasted awful, but the warmth he felt afterward made it worth it. He hoped that's what his death would be like (when it finally happened.) Slightly painful, but when he got past the pain, the warmth would spread through his body and he'd fall into the soft cushions of death. And then it'd all be over, finally.

There was a crumpled up note on the floor next to the shaking boy. It was an apology- an apology that poor Ranboo had been dealing with Tubbo the past two years and never got a break from his selfishness and his ranting and his stupid fucking problems. An apology that Tubbo had held Ranboo from achieving happiness because he was always brought down by the dead-weight of Tubbo's existence. And how, thank fucking god, it was finally over.

Finally.

Tubbo managed to open the bottle, realizing the instructions on the top and pushing down while twisting the cap, and he took a deep breath. This was it. Relief. Tubbo gulped, and brought the bottle up to his mouth.

He closed his eyes, and downed the whole fucking thing.

Relief. Painful, but relief nonetheless.

Tubbo grimaced at the taste of the bubblegum-pink liquid, and when he finally set it down, he sighed. It was time for the whiskey to make a longer appearance.

He took a swig of the amber colored liquid, feeling the warmth spread through his belly and down to his toes. He realized that he was still wearing his binder (he would've gotten top surgery, but his parents had cut him off when he came out and he had to pay for college-although he realized now that he wouldn't even need that money,) and the thing hurt. It was good pain, though. He knew he deserved it and he knew he'd relish it, so he kept the binder on.

Another swig of the whiskey.

~~~~~~

Around a half hour later, Tubbo was beginning to wish he'd just slit his wrists like he first thought he'd do. He was so fucking nauseous and he'd thrown up in the toilet almost four times and his heart was beating so fucking fast and holy shit the hallucinations had started and honestly, he was pretty much high at this point.

Hooray.

Tubbo had never been one for drugs. He quite disliked the feeling of being high- well, he disliked it after he'd sobered up. Mostly. It was quite disorenting to know that anything you could be seeing while high could be fake.

And then there's also the nausea. Speaking of which- he felt the urge to throw up once again. Tubbo put his head in his hands and groaned as he leaned over the already barf-covered toilet, pulled his brown hair back out of his face and waited. He would stick his finger down his throat to trigger his gag reflex, but he really didn't feel like doing that.