The Lonely Ones | Tubbo and Tommy

(1) Vulture Culture

TW FROM HERE ONWARD// FUCKED UP SHIT HAPPENS, IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT LIKE-- FUCKED UP AS IN GORE- ALSO, KEEP IN MIND, I DRAW MORE THAN I WRITE SO IT'S JUST GARBAGE.

Tubbo had been with them for as long as he could remember. They never thought of much, just followed the group as they picked off animal carcasses, told stories of the old world, and listened to the chaotic melody of waves crashing against broken buildings. But it was those same sounds of chaos that gave him a sense of belonging, some place to be in an unforgiving world. Though he personally didn't enjoy scraping animal carcasses off of the ground for his next meals, Wilbur had always told him that a meal was a meal, and if no one took it, it would go to waste. Everyone trusted Wilbur, he led the group through every trial faced, be it pack fights or scavenging. Wilbur was always in the right, after all, he rescued and raised Tubbo.

As far as Tubbo knew, their way of living was normal. From the raccoons to the mice, every pack fought for their food amongst themselves, and everyone picked off of the animals who weren't so fortunate. When Tubbo was first rescued, he thought the smell was horrendous, and wished he'd been a part of that group of frozen people Wilbur had told him about, but he was here, and they were-- wherever they were. 

This way of living grew on him when he realized how much he needed his pack, his wake, his family. They were all he could trust, all he could depend on. He was quite clingy if we're being honest. 

Tubbo lived in ignorant bliss, but the days grew longer, and colder somehow, and his bones felt like twigs on the brink of snapping. It was odd, considering how Wilbur told them of how in the old world, the sun was less intense. He used to ask Wilbur each day when their next meal would be, when he realized it probably wouldn't be anytime soon, he just had to be patient.

Often, they perched on the rooftops of collapsing buildings listening to the waves. They seemed to taunt Tubbo now, with their once peaceful melodies. They'd often find themselves looking down at their now boney hands. They looked hardly like hands anymore, they now seemed like twigs forced to shape into talons. Their bodies felt unrecognizable in their eyes. How long had it been? A week? A lifetime? Tubbo couldn't tell. One grew more unreasonable, though, as they had become sick from the malnutrition.

This day, although seemingly ordinary, didn't seem to follow their new routine. Wilbur sat on the roof waiting for something to happen. When it happened, Wilbur had just about given up, but a scream rang out in the distance. He looked to the rest of his pack, and as though he had just spoken to them, they nodded in a silent agreement as they ran in that direction.