Bed of Roses

Hell on Earth

          Tommy's asleep, finally getting the rest he most certainly deserves. He rolls himself over, to lay on his other side, a soft snore escaping from his lips as he does so.
      The next thing to escape his lips a loud 'Oof' which was brought on by Tubbo and Ranboo throwing things at him. Ranboo is a pacifist when it comes to fighting his friends, and as such, threw a pillow.
     Tubbo... threw a whole ass book at Tommy. It was a hardcover book. A hardcover, Dark Truths of Essempi, textbook to be exact. If Tommy were wide awake, he'd have sworn he had a concussion. Unfortunately he has the pain tolerance of a tank and is completely unsure of what exactly constitutes as a concussion.

"Is there a reason I'm being ambushed?" I received no reply from either of the offending forces, unless you count Tubbo's maniacal grin, that is. "Are you hungry? Is it time to patrol? Is this because I bought a cat without permission?" Again, no response. "Great, real helpful answers here guys," if anything else, they'll respond to sarcasm, like they normally do, right?
       Apparently not, because no one said a fucking thing, which isn't good. "Uh guys...? Are you two okay? Do I need to call the ambulance," no response. I do a once over of their outfits. No blood. I look over their arms and what little bits of their legs or collarbone that might be exposed. Again, no signs of injury.
        I wish that we actually had money, so that way I could calm an ambulance or something to help them. Or that we weren't technically minors, or vigilantes, so that way I could call the heroes. Everything about this situation is fucked.
      Maybe what I'm seeing isn't real. Maybe, whatever is wrong with Tubbo and Ranboo is part of a nightmare I'm having, and I need to be woken up for real this time. Or maybe this is real, and something or someone has kidnapped my best friends, replacing them with really intricate and well made look-alike robots.
      So many possibilities, all of which are either fucked up, or fucking wrong. I hate it. I don't handle bad situations that involve the possibility of my friends being in danger all that well. By this point I have passed the point of panic and anxiety, I am mere inches away from hyperventilation. I have also begun pacing around the incredibly small living room, a clear sign of my worry.
I think this is hell. I have finally died and this is a specially crafted hell that was made for me, personally. There's no other explanation, no matter what I come up with the most logical is the idea that I'm dead and stuck in hell. Or maybe it's Purgatory. I've heard Purgatory is much worse than hell.

"Uh Tubbo? Are you sure that he's fine? I mean he looks faint to me," Ranboo smacks him twice, just to check. Tubbo only laughs in response. Ranboo's face creases with worry, his frown growing deeper with each second. Tubbo takes note of this.
"He'll be fine. Just keep hitting him until he comes to. Watch this," he throws another book at Tommy, which startles him out of the fogginess of his mind. With his panic induced haze over with, he cycles through his usual reactions of cursing, and maybe a few things were thrown.

    "YOU MOTHERFUCKERS, DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING SCARED I WAS? I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD OR KIDNAPPED OR SOMETHING," which in all honesty, I did think that. "Aw bossman, you care for us," Tubbo's using his smug little bitch face.
    "I never said that. I said I was scared and thought you had died. Not the same," and you know what? It isn't. The day I let them know that I'd die without them is the day the world ends.
Ranboo's mask crinkles in a way that tells you they know I'm lying.
       "Sure..." he says sarcastically. How dare they read me like an open book! I'll just have poison his pasta later, simple as that. I could always grow Lillies of the Valley in my garden, and I could have sworn that copious amounts of foxglove can be poisonous as well. I'll have to do more research on that one.
     
   "What is he planning," Ranboo whispers into Tubbo's ear. Tubbo just shrugs, "Your guess is as good as mine." Ranboo is left a spluttering and confused mess. "That's not helpful," they call after Tubbo, who has gone god knows where. "I know," he cheerily yells back.
   "Both of you stop yelling," Tommy shouts. "Oh the irony," he hears Ranboo remark. "YEAH BOSSMAN HOW IRONIC," Tubbo yells from his spot in the apartment. Seriously, how does he seem to go ten feet deep in a shabby barely even eight foot apartment?
     Nobody has a clue how he does it, they just know that he does. He doesn't think any explanation is needed, and loves the ambiguity of it all. Tubbo is a little shit, and he knows it. Whether or not he cares, we'll never know.