CROOKED CANVAS

                                    

                                          
TW — DOUBTFUL THOUGHTS, PANIC ATTACK, DEREALIZATION, ❕❗️SELF HARM - C*TTING, SCR*TCHING, BL**D❗️❕
It'd been a day of recovery for Tubbo, but Ranboo's day differed quite a bit. 
When they stormed off into their room, they sat against the door, guilty for leaving their right hand man in their house alone. Poor manners, dickhead, they thought to themself. The amount of things they were guilty for is beyond a number they can remember,, 
But it didn't matter. Why would it? Everybody likes them. 
Ranboo was perfect! They did nothing wrong. Ranboo helped with everything, Ranboo is amazing, Ranboo can't do anything wrong!
Ranboo can't afford to mess up! That'd ruin everything! Bye-bye, good rep!
MAJOR TW STARTS — SKIP IF NEEDED
That's when the world that used to surround them flashed from monotone to blasting, bright colors, causing Ranboo's eyes to strain. The lighting burned; or was that just the tears streaming down their face? It had to be, as bubbling and sizzling sounds stung their ears, louder than anything else. The sound was ear-piercing, and when Ranboo tried covering their ears, it got louder.
Laughter of the ones they loved blasted their eardrums. 
A figure resembling Tommy tore at their sweater.
Tubbo pulled at their legs, strength nearly dragging them.
Wilbur held torn strings that were fringed at the ends with wooden handles, and glided them on their neck. The "tickling" caused Ranboo to tear and rip at their neck, claws digging into their soft skin. Bright purple blood that glowed similar to Crying Obsidian stained the white half of their neck, deep gauges filled with pools of gleaming blood bubbling with agony and flowing into their beautiful pastel-yellow sweater.
Their hands ached, legs giving out, eyelids heavy as leather. 
MAJORRR TW, PLEASE REFRAIN FROM READING IF YOU DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH THE WARNINGS POSTED AT THE TOP
Once they could open their eyes, they were in a flower field. Ranboo's favorite place. It smelled of fresh roses, daisies blooming in seconds. Leaves brushed against their legs, which had trails of red and purple fingermarks of Tubbo's pulling. This was Ranboo's place of comfort, and maybe things were getting a tad bit better. 
Wait. 
In a matter of minutes, the sky dimmed and filled with violent rainclouds. 
Rain. 
They were going to burn here. The one time they teleport to their favorite place in a time of need, it leads to their simmering death. 
As it poured, the rain tingled all over their body. Ranboo dug their claws into their skin on instinct, ripping at their skin. They screamed out in affliction, jaw dislocating and forming a gaping abyss where the cries originated. Their tails lashed furiously, and withering roots of sunflowers enveloped their legs that flailed out of helplessness. 
Something was ripping at their ruffled hair, tugging on their horns. The vines were all around their body, and Ranboo's lungs were unable to take in enough air. As they gasped for air, for a split second they thought they heard a terrifying SNAP, until they heard loud banging and kicking on a door behind them.
"RANBOO, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! I CAN'T LOSE YOU! YOU FUCKING BASTARD, MOVE!" Screamed Tommy's voice, violent sobbing coming from both Tubbo and Tommy outside the door.
They were back where they'd been way too long ago; upstairs in the right wing of the house. There were blood stains all over their claws and hands, and the sweater Ranboo was wearing is now stained with bright purple blood. Their legs didn't have any marks, their hair was messy only due to messing it up themself, and their horns weren't cracked. They did, however, realize that their tails were badly damaged and burned, and their horns were throbbing. 
Ranboo tried shuffling out of the way of the door, but groaned in pain and everything in their body ached.
This was becoming a frequent thing.
It isn't good.
"HOLD ON, WE'RE GOING TO GET SOME LADDERS AND GET UP TO YOUR ROOM VIA WINDOW. STAY STRONG, DON'T GIVE UP ON ME," yelped Tubbo, and footsteps were already trampling downstairs to get supplies before he ended his sentence. "HURRY, TOMMY!"
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Tubbo was sat in front of the taller, pouring a thick potion into a small cup that says "#1 DAD" on it. Tommy and Tubbo had put a good amount of bandages on them already, and their neck was treated carefully. Ranboo hadn't spoken a single word for the past two hours, and not being able to hear them breathe was nerve-wracking for Tubbo. Tommy was figuring out a way to keep an ice pack in the areas where they were bruised, and Tubbo was simply staring at the other's face. 
Ranboo had faint black and white freckles, and a few were shaped like stars and eyes. They had droopy ears, with long horns that could easily impale somebody. Their hair was always fluffy, most times letting it set over their eyes just like Tubbo's. Their eyes were easy to get lost in- a beautiful emerald eye with hints of bronze and silver, and another that was ruby and red quartz, with hints of gold tint gleaming in the dim lighting. Micheal was sat next to them, half asleep, and was leaning on them. Tubbo patted their knee, and walked off to wash his hands.
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Ranboo's pretty face had been painted over with ugly colors of emotion and bandages, most that didn't clash with one another. It was like someone took a perfect canvas, and tilted it. It was like they took it home to "fix" it but only made it worse, changing it to make it to their standards, and more and more people followed, lathering on coats and coats and coats of suffocating paint. When Ranboo thought about it, their life was really filled with metaphors and similes. 
Ranboo wasn't sure what to do- Tubbo and them had talked about what had happened, and it was a honest mistake from Tubbo's part. Tubbo hadn't realized that Ranboo was having a bad morning (since they hadn't told him) and let his usual British instincts kick in. Tubbo didn't mean to be that harsh to them. After all, it wasn't anything bad that he'd said, he was just confused. No words would be able to change their mind, however. The reaper of guilt and regret loomed over them, making them feel small and helpless. If only they'd just give up and let it take them away; it'd be so much easier. There's so many people who could honestly care less if they were gone in their opinion. Wilbur, Quackity, Dream, Sam, Tommy, Tubbo even. That's not even the whole list.
Despite the intricate thoughts of how they could leave this place, Ranboo didn't want to go just yet. Even if Tubbo hated them, they didn't give a shit. They still loved him. There was something that drew them back to him. And what about Micheal? Micheal_ Beloved. They could never leave him. He was someone they could never lose, because Micheal loved them. Micheal didn't care if they were a monster. He'd understand. Micheal doesn't judge them by their size compared to their personality. Micheal was their flower field.
Tommy was sat next to them, reading their blank expressions trying to get something out of it. Ranboo was just sitting there, knees pressed into their bandaged chest. Their legs throbbed in the position they were in, but it didn't bother them anymore. They were used to this endless cycle. They had their arms wrapped tightly around their legs, head resting on their knees. The tight pressure of the bandages wasn't new either. 
What is wrong with me?
"Hey, uhh, Ranboo . . ?" Tommy whispered. Ranboo snapped back into reality. "You're smiling. Ready to go out and see Tubbo?" He asked, gently tracing circles on their back. Tommy was always supportive and cared for them, but Ranboo had never actually believed it.
"Mm." 
"Alright, let me help you up. C'mon, I won't let you get hurt again." Tommy said with a bright grin.
Once downstairs, Tubbo enveloped Ranboo with a gentle yet meaningful hug. The boy's tail was wagging, and his ears perked up slightly.
Maybe, just maybe, two boys were going to leave this original painting be and let it be happily displayed. 
Maybe Ranboo isn't going to be a hopeless dipshit anymore.
Maybe they were going to make things the way they used to be.
Maybe.