Tommy and Tubbo's Survival Guide to the End of The World

Interlude

previously on: tommy and tubbos unsurvival guide to the end of the world bc its been a year

tommy and tubso get helped by dream and gogy, but gogy dies and dream goes apeshit so this run and end up in a city where skeppy 'helps' them, but he leaves tommy to die and tubbo runs away

wilbur tries to help tommy who's still being an angsty teen, but hes struggling and that recurring character tells him not to go in the black valley bc it is a Bad Place™ and he will die. anyways, tubbo goes to the black valley and gets his arm chopped off and quite frankly, should be dead

AND MYSTERY BOY!! ??? has been reading tommy's survival guide and is trying to find tom and tub about a year after they wrote it, and this chapter,,, , , he's finally revealed :]

but really, thank you for sticking around so long for those that have!! it really means a lot to me, and i cant stress enough how happy it makes me knowing ppl really like my work!! here yall go - after an entire year of waiting - is the next chapter [hope its up to expectations!!]

enjoy :]

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??? POV - Eleven Months after the Earthquake

There was a bird on the surface of the water.

Its wings were made of glossy ruffled feathers, shining a stark black against the high afternoon sun as water dripped down the tips. The rays bore down on the thin layer of water that coated the cracked asphalt below; It reflected a lazy white when it was stilled, which it hardly ever was, with the bird flapping its wings and causing quiet ripples as it situated itself on its perch.

The swamp was hotter than ever, showing no signs of cooling. The air was musty, the humidity thick and muggy in the air as it settled onto me in the dreary summer haze. Thick sweat dampened my shirt, clinging to my skin, tinted a permanent shade of red over the tan flesh charred by the overbearing sun. Still, I remained where I rested against the hood of a broken car in its unrelenting warmth that had become my company, staring with dull, unfocused eyes at my entertainment.

The vulture's head dipped, cautiously nipping at the dog's ear as though it would awaken at the movement, trying again with its cheek. The dog, of course, did not move, and the vulture's beak snapped against its cheek, exposing the muted crimson underneath. The bird tilted its head back as it swallowed. A humorless exhale passed my nostrils as I watched, the vulture returning to take a bigger, more confident chunk out of the partially rotted muddy carcass. Upon hearing the slight disturbance, the bird tilted its head so that its gaze paused on me, taking in my bloody clothes and broken, disheveled state. Perhaps it thought I wasn't worth its time, instead returning to the dog unbothered.

"I'm not dead yet, you know." My gruff voice was raspy against the lingering dryness that coated my throat, a grim reminder of how infrequently I used it. The bird seemed displeased with a secondary pause in its meal, turning to face me.

If a bird could be incredulous, I'd wager that this one would raise its brow and scoff at me. It must have determined my presence wasn't concerning enough to warrant the effort of finding another perch farther away. In fact, the vulture hardly seemed to register me as a threat at all, instead bouncing on its talons lightly to situate itself with little regard to its onlooker as it continued with its meal. I grunted; The bird ignored me.

"Fucking scavenger," I grumbled, leaning back to relax as much as I dared against the scalding yet dry surface of the dented car's hood. The bird made a cawing sound before its beak snapped dangerously close to the lackluster eye. My lips pursed closed, wondering for but a moment if the vulture somehow knew how hypocritical my statement was. Perhaps I was finally going as delusional as I feared.