funeral.

trigger warnings: blood, hallucinations/derealization (?), manipulation and severe abuse

HI I DONTHAVE TIME TO WRITE A RLLY LONG NOTE RN CAUSE IM GOING TO BED AND ITS LIKE SEVEN IN THE MORNING IM VERY TIRED BUT HELLO HI HOPE U GUYS R DOING WELL HOPE U ENJOY THIS

ALSO IF UR CONFUSED ABT FUNDY'S AGING CHECK OUT THESE RLLY COOL FANARTS THATS WHAT IM GOING FOR

https://twitter.com/Kitsuneisi/status/1398375199851036675?s=20

https://twitter.com/undeadcartilage/status/1401632284826951682?s=20

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Fundy had never had… the most normal relationships with people.

In his defence, however, it was hard being the only fox hybrid on the server. One moment he was getting piggybacks from his uncle Tommy, and the next he was tall enough to heft the kid over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He’d gone from terrible twos to terrible twenties without anyone really ever… changing. From his experience and his grandpa’s knowledge, there weren’t many other hybrids who aged the same as fox hybrids. That being said, it was extremely difficult maturing from newborn to the age of an adult in the same time it took your uncle to progress from pre-teen to teen.

So… yeah. Things had always been a bit tense between Fundy and Tommy. And it probably had something to do with the fact that the three year old got his growth spurt before the fourteen year old and just… the unnatural essence of it all.

Still, Fundy could remember the short period where he really had been a little kid, and his uncle Tommy had been the best . With Sally so sick and Wilbur constantly at her side, Tommy had stepped in, and many of Fundy’s fondest memories were moments with the blond.

Sally hadn’t wanted Fundy to see her like that, and Tommy had been more than willing to whisk him away so that she and Wilbur could have more time together.

She hadn’t wanted Fundy to remember her sickly and pale, but to be honest, because of the time he spent away from her he ended up never really remembering her at all. There’d be times that he’d walk in a room and be overwhelmed, floored by the fact that it smelled like mom, but he could never narrow the source down, and was always left feeling a bit emptier. He could remember her hugs and her smile, and the way she’d hold him in the air and rub their noses together, making them both giggle.

But more than anything, he remembered Tommy.

His uncle who was loud and angry and who brought him to the park and pushed him so hard on the swings that he ended up falling off. His uncle who bought his silence with ice cream. His uncle who tended to his scrapes and scratches with globs of polysporin and colourful band aids, claiming he was a pro at it.

His uncle who one day was younger than him. His uncle who was loud and angry and annoying. His uncle who was suddenly too busy for him, dressed head to toe in a uniform that reeked of blood and grime. His uncle who was a child.

His uncle Tommy.

Along the way, Fundy had stopped referring to Tommy as an uncle; mostly because it just felt wrong, but he’d also stopped seeing Tommy as one. It was hard to pinpoint where, but it was almost as if he’d woken up one day and their roles had reversed. It was sudden and jolting, but one day Fundy looked over and was hit with the realization that his ‘uncle’ was a kid .

And things had never really been the same.

After gaining their independence, the two had grown apart, and really, Fundy hadn’t actually talked to Tommy in what felt like forever. There’d be small talk, sure, or moments of tense political debate; moments of him trying his hardest for just one second to please god understand his uncle and understand what he was thinking, but they were brief.

But watching everything on the screen, having a front row ticket to Tommy’s innermost secrets and troubles, it was… well there were too many words to describe it and maybe not enough.

The things he saw were purely nauseating, and he didn’t know how to cope with them. Classy, right? Fundy was watching Tommy’s memories and worrying about himself and how he could cope.

Still, the only comfortable solution he’d managed to think of was making a mockery of it all. If he treated it like some sitcom or some shitty CW show he wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that it was real. It was easiest to just make his little jabs and comments, amusing himself while annoying most of the others.

He didn’t think he’d be able to handle taking it seriously.

When he looked over at Tommy and saw a little kid who’d been knocked down so many fucking times and still got up every time, no matter how tired and beaten down, it made him hurt. You’d think you’d be filled with admiration or respect, and sure, Fundy did feel those things, but more than anything he was just blatantly disgusted. No one should have to do that. No one should have to go through that.

Instead of looking at Tommy and praising how resilient he was, all Fundy could do was be appalled that he’d needed to be that resilient in the first place. Why did everyone always act like it was some huge statement and achievement that someone had persevered against the odds instead of focusing on the fact that the odds had been against them?

There was nothing wrong with commending someone’s strength, but there was something off about using it as a means to dismiss the true atrocities they’d battled against.

Fundy had seen it happen a million times over. A soldier comes home tired and weary and broken and to avoid what had really happened, a general or collective will slap a medal on his chest and brand him a hero and then shove him in the corner to inspire others to follow that same path.

The title of ‘Hero’ had always felt dirty to Fundy.

He had never really thought of it until he’d heard Technoblade say it, but Tommy was often branded the hero without another thought. Fundy was concerned people didn’t realize what that really meant.

When you declared someone a hero it was a weight placed on their shoulders. It was a ball and chain. It was something to be feared . Someone deemed a hero was no longer a person; at least not before they were a savior. To be judged as a hero was something Fundy would never want for himself.

Because a hero’s actions are constantly scrutinized. A hero is put on a pedestal, a hero is held to standards they could never actually live up to. Any action not heroic is villainous. Any action not for the greater good is selfish.

And Fundy could see that very thing happening to Tommy.

For the longest time he’d been jealous of Tommy. He hadn’t understood. Because Fundy needed attention, and he didn’t care if it was negative. Which is why he was so envious of the server’s youngest. It was always Tommy this and Tommy that; it was never about Fundy.

But sitting there in that stuffy room with no room to stretch out his legs in the dark, he’d seen that there was nothing desirable about Tommy’s life.

He didn’t want to deal with that, though. It wasn’t his problem. Knowing it was enough for him. It wasn’t like someone was going to go “well no, I want to hear Fundy’s opinion on this”, so it didn’t really do much to dwell on it. His opinion and his observations were basically useless.

So, yeah, he’d stick to making his snide remarks and sarcastic comments.

The screen flickered slightly, and Fundy sighed, sinking into his seat.

Dream sighed softly, picking up the unconscious teen and laying him on a patch of grass under the trees, far from the blood. He brushed some of Tommy’s hair away, staring down at the crimson staining his face.

Ranboo felt his skin crawl at the sight, shuddering.

He had work to do.

It was easy enough digging a hole for the body. He was strong and tall, and it didn’t take much out of him. When he walked back over to Mexican Dream he paused, debating whether it’d be easier to drag or carry him.

Many of them stared intently, both intrigued and perplexed as to why Dream would bother doing the dirty work. It seemed like something he would have loved to make Tommy do.

Eventually he settled on dragging the corpse. It’d be easier to wash blood from the ground than from his sweater.

Within minutes he was gently patting down the dirt on the grave, a small sheen of sweat covering the face behind the mask.

It was genuinely nauseating to watch, almost none of them ever having seen a body be disposed of.

Karl Sapnap and George were at a loss for words, horrified as they watched the body of their missing friend be covered up.

Tommy still had yet to wake, which gave him more time. The blood washed from the grass like magic, and before he knew it he was leaning down at the blond’s side, a bucket of water and a washcloth in hand.

Some of Mexican Dream’s blood had gotten on Tommy’s clothes, but with a little rubbing with the dry cloth it looked old and dry enough to be his own.

Quackity felt sick at the realization of what Dream was doing, having to bite his tongue to avoid screaming.

Phil paled drastically.

Dream gently began to wash all the blood from Tommy’s skin. He was soft in his touch, carefully lifting the blond’s hands and scrubbing away all the grit. He combed his fingers through Tommy’s hair as he delicately washed the blood from Tommy’s face, careful to not wake the boy.

Puffy was absolutely repulsed by the sight, rearing away from the screen.

Tubbo cringed, frowning deeply.

And just like that, once he’d changed his clothes and given the mask a good wipe down, it was like there’d never been any blood to begin with. And with Mexican Dream’s body six feet under, Tommy would have no way of seeing the wound.

It was perfect.

So that’s how he did it… Tommy thought, eyes wide.

When Tommy came back to consciousness, it was with a pounding in his skull and a dull ache throughout his entire body. Before he’d even opened his eyes, he could hear the chirping of crickets and the sound of the waves lapping at the shore. He could feel the grass beneath him.

With an unsteady groan he opened his eyes, being met with the sight of trees towering above him. He sat up, looking around with a confused expression.

“Tommy!” Dream called, racing over. He crouched at the blond’s side, checking him over, “thank god you’re awake! I was getting worried!”

Fundy found himself taken aback by the pure animosity present in his anger when he saw Dream rushing over. He had to avert his eyes to the Tommy in the room, reassuring himself that it was all in the past.

Tommy said nothing, looking around quietly. “...What happened?”

Dream went quiet, but he turned his head in the direction of the dirt mound behind them. The teen went very still, eyes widening and glossing over, before collapsing into sobs. He fell directly into the older man’s chest, holding on tight as Dream wrapped his arms around the boy.

“I’m so sorry, Tommy.” Dream whispered, rubbing circles into Tommy’s back, “I know he meant a lot to you.”

Sapnap bared his teeth at the screen, a fire lighting beneath his skin.

Tommy couldn’t reply, gasping for air between sobs.

Niki frowned.

And they stayed like that until Tommy was able to pull away, eyes red rimmed and puffy, sniffling quietly. He looked down at his hands, and then to where the body had been.

“Guess I really was imagining things,” he muttered, “I’m sorry, Dream.”

“Tommy…” Quackity began, eyes creased sadly.

Tommy refused to reply, angrily staring ahead.

“Oh,” Dream tilted his head, sounding sad, “Tommy no,” he reached out, cupping the younger’s cheek gently, “you don’t have to apologize. I was just worried about you, okay? I could never be mad at you for something like that.”

Tecno raised a brow, unimpressed by the man’s antics. He denied whatever was brewing in his stomach.

Tommy nodded, leaning into the man’s touch. He closed his eyes, a few stray tears slipping down his cheeks. And for just a moment, if he pretended hard enough, he was back in the walls of Pogtopia, and the hand on his cheek was Wilbur’s.

Phil’s heart broke, and he felt as though he could physically feel the pain.

When he opened his eyes, however, he was met with the emotionless slate of Dream’s mask. Perhaps earlier in his exile that would have disappointed or enraged him, but by then it did nothing if not make his heart swell with both fear and excitement.

“We need to have a funeral.” He rasped out, clearing his throat.

“Of course,” Dream hummed, placing a tentative hand on his back and guiding him over to the burial, “whatever you need, Tommy.”

“It was a shitty funeral.” Tommy muttered angrily, “we did a shit job.”

“I’m sure Mexican Dream appreciated it a lot, Tommy.” Puffy smiled sympathetically.

Tommy was pretty sure MD would’ve actually fucking hated his funeral for more than one reason.

The screen shifted to the sun rising over the horizon, shining down on the ocean. Tommy stood morosely beside the mound of dirt, a lump in his throat as the wind blew through his hair.

Dream was standing idly by, watching quietly.

Tommy took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Mexican Dream was… my friend.” He began hoarsely, “I know I didn’t know him for very long but he was always there for me and he made me feel… I dunno… better I guess.” he sniffled, wiping messily at his nose with his forearm, “I just… I wish I could have known him for longer.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” Sam offered his condolences.

“Thanks… I guess.”

Blue scurried around in his messy bed of hair, chittering quietly.

“I hope he’s okay, wherever he is,” Tommy smiled sadly, “m-maybe with Wilbur or something.” He laughed quietly.

Niki bit the inside of her cheek as Phil frowned.

Well I suppose he’s not doing all that bad actually...and he is with Wilbur. So that was a pretty good guess. Tommy tilted his head, staring at the screen.

“That’s a nice thought, Tommy.” Dream affirmed, listening closely and paying apt attention. “I’m sure Mexican Dream would really appreciate what you’re doing for him right now.”

“I’m sure Mexican Dream would really appreciate being fucking alive.” Fundy muttered.

Tommy tried to keep smiling, staring down at the uneven dirt with glassy eyes. His bottom lip trembled, snot dripping from his nose.

Without much warning he dissolved into sobs, falling to his knees beside the grave. Dream didn’t hesitate to close in, kneeling at the boy’s side and holding him close. He wrapped his arms around Tommy.

For some reason it never got easier watching Tommy cry, but it also didn’t feel as bad as it could’ve.

Perhaps it was because the very real present time Tommy in the room was so adamant on not crying that it didn’t feel as real.

Tommy’s bitterness and unwillingness to just react made it feel almost… fake.

“It’s not fair, Dream,” the blond managed, “he died alone! H-his friends should be here! His family should be here!”

Tubbo, Ranboo and Phil all frowned.

“You were here,” Dream pointed out quietly, “he had you. And if anything ever happens, you’ll have me.”

Those were the exact opposite of comforting reassurances. Jack glared at the screen.

Tommy cried quietly for a couple more moments, hiccuping and warbling incoherent strings of sad rambles. “But what about Tubbo?” He whispered solemnly, “what about all my friends?”

The boy in question pursed his lips.

Dream almost immediately stiffened at the words, and Tommy’s eyes went wide, already realizing the mistake he’d made. He opened his mouth to correct himself, to take it all back, but by the time it had registered in his mind he’d already been pushed back, falling roughly to the ground.

Almost everyone in the room collectively tensed. It was no longer fear or shock, it was just a desperate plea for them to not have to watch it again.

“I-I’m sorry Dream I don’t know why I said that I don’t-”

Jack didn’t like how small Tommy got during those moments. Tommy was supposed to be… well… Big. He was loud and he took up space with his aura alone.

“Do I really matter that little to you?” Dream hissed, raising to his full height as he began to circle the boy. The sun was further up in the sky by then, but large dark grey clouds had begun to show in the sky. He paced around slowly, like a predator rounding on its prey.

“No!” Tommy all but cried, shaking his head frantically. “No I-”

He was interrupted by the sound of a sword unsheathing behind him, and he whirled around, eyes wide with terror. He backed away as best he could when on the ground, breathing heavily.

Ranboo nearly choked, blinking in shock.

Tommy bowed his head in shame, cheeks growing red as he clamped down hard on his tongue. Slowly reciting things he could see and feel.

If he tried hard enough maybe he could make them think that exile had made him stronger instead of weaker. If he tried hard enough to just not fucking react maybe they wouldn’t see him as an easy target.

Dream was quiet, still walking circles around the boy. He dragged the sword along the ground, trailing it behind him. Tommy managed to catch a glimpse of his own terrified eyes staring back at him in the blade’s reflection.

The people in the room were completely silent, starring in horror.

“After everything I’ve done,” Dream paused in his footsteps, shaking his head and laughing quietly to himself, “I’m still ,” he plunged the blade down, narrowly missing Tommy’s leg but still making a rather sizeable gash in the blond’s upper thigh, “second best to Tubbo!?”

Tubbo flinched badly at the cry of his name and the violent action. His eyes widened, mouth going dry.

Phil clenched his fists tightly, screwing his eyes shut tight and trying to steady his breathing. His rage would be useless now.

Tommy let out a pained shriek, hands instantly moving to cover the wound. Blood bubbled up and out from beneath his fingers. As Dream uplifted the sword from its place in the ground, he nicked the side of the blond’s hand, causing Tommy to whine once more.

Karl’s head was already pounding from how much he’d been crying, but still, he felt tears prick at his eyes.

“Please!” Tommy sobbed, “Please Dream, I didn’t mean it!”

Sam bit back his anger, steadying himself.

“Tubbo exiled you!” Dream cried, “Tubbo did this to you! He’s responsible for all of this!” He gestured around, motioning at the area before them, “and I… I do so much for you. I visit you when no one else will, I take care of you when you’re too weak to do it on your own, I love you!”

Tubbo cringed, looking away from the screen. His name was always thrown around like that.

Because you’re Tommy’s biggest weakness, a voice chimed in the back of his head. He chose to ignore it.

There was a brief pause, Tommy staring up at the man like a deer in headlights, blood pooling in the grass and tears streaming down his face.

“But you don’t love me…” Dream whispered. His voice was laced with honey, soft and gentle and hurt.

“Shut up,” Quackity muttered, eyes wide with rage as he grit his teeth, “Shut up!”

He couldn’t do it anymore; Quackity couldn’t fucking watch it anymore it hurt too much.

“I do!” Tommy cried out, panicked, “I do! I do! I promise you I do, Dream!”

Above them the clouds grew darker and denser, and Blue was completely silent. Dream said nothing, staring down at the boy. He seemed so much larger in that moment, as if he were taller than the mountains. Tommy felt like an anthill.

“No,” the masked man said finally, “you don’t.”

Tommy’s eyes widened, mouth agape. His hands had relaxed, letting the wound bleed freely. Small droplets began to fall from the sky, scarcely and slowly.

“And maybe that’s my fault.” Dream mused, a hint of a smile in his tone, “maybe I’m just not good enough for you, Tommy.”

Puffy sneered at the screen.

The blond reached out, fingers dripping with blood, a pained expression on his face, but Dream turned his back, sheathing his sword.

“I guess that’s my fault.” He paused, turning back one last time. “I’m sorry.” He told the boy quietly. Saying nothing more before stalking off into the distance.

Ranboo’s eyes widened.

That was it? He was going to leave Tommy like that?

Tommy was left sitting next to the grave, blood dripping down his thigh and staining his pants, watching Dream go.

The rain began to fall harder, and for a moment he merely sat there, as if in shock. It wasn’t until Blue let out a tiny hiss at the raindrops, crawling out from his hair and over to the safety of the trees, that he snapped out of his haze.

With a wince and a groan, he pulled himself into a standing position, letting out a tiny gasp of a sob. He stared off in the direction that Dream had gone, eyebrows creased and frowning deeply, before he made a direct beeline in the opposite direction.

Yes! They cheered, Leave! Leave!

As fast as he could go, limping terribly and clutching onto his wounded leg, he made a desperate attempt to flee. He grit his teeth, sobbing as he ran. Thunder boomed overhead, lightning striking in far off places. The rain had become much denser, pelting him roughly and soaking him to the bone, but he continued on.

When he reached a field, the very one he’d found Mushroom Henry in, his leg gave out. He let out a surprised yelp, tumbling down into the mud and barely managing to brace the fall with his hands. The dirt and grime soaked into the cut on his palm, and he merely stared down at the mixture of blood and water and mud all coming together at his knees.

Jack felt sick, looking away.

George’s grip on the armrests tightened as he tensed.

He stared, face devoid of emotion, sopping wet and bleeding, bruised and battered. The rain continued to fall, thunder booming even louder.

All at once, Tommy began to cry once more. He let out a tiny whine, barely managing to breathe before it all came bursting out. His chest heaved at the gravity of the sobs as he knelt there on his hands and knees, struggling to breathe through his tears.

It wasn’t the first time they’d watched him breakdown, but for some reason it felt the worst.

It was almost as if he was so upset because he didn’t have it in him to be upset anymore.

They stared, uncomfortable.

He sobbed so violently that it came out in wails and screams more than anything, and when that became too much for his already weakened body, he began to retch onto the ground. Barely anything but water came up, and he spent a painful amount of time sobbing and dry heaving.

Tears dripped down Phil’s face as he silently cried, apologizing over and over in his mind.

But it was never enough.

And then, his body gave out, and he collapsed onto his side, managing to roll onto his back. He stared up at the sky, scrunching up his face and trying to shield himself from the endless barrage of rain.

He wasn’t sure if he sat there for minutes or months, but he was only pulled from his daze when he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye.

They watched with bated breath.

Silently, he begged for it to be a wolf, or perhaps a pack of wolves, ready to tear him apart and put an end to his misery, much like he’d watched happen that one day in the tower with Wilbur.

Instead? A familiar head of brown tousled hair and vibrant green eyes stood over him, staring down.

Tubbo went rigid, and he could see Tommy cringing to his left.

“Hallucination.” The blond muttered, “Just so we’re clear. Even I realized this one was fake when I woke up the next day.”

Tommy let out a delirious laugh, wincing at the pain in his thigh. He’d lost an awful amount of blood.

The sight made Ranboo feel sick.

“Hello, Tubbo.” He managed, voice hoarse and scratchy. The words were barely comprehensible, his throat completely ruined after the screaming and retching.

Tubbo wanted to just fucking die at the sound of his best friend’s voice like that. His throat was so raw and wounded.

The older boy offered no response, still just staring, voice devoid of emotion.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” Tommy muttered, “I don’t… you can leave, if you want.”

Never, Tubbo thought fiercely.

Tubbo’s suit and hair were completely dry, despite the rain. Tommy could feel his hair sticking to his forehead, fully soaked. Still, the goat-hybrid said nothing.

He looked so small, drenched in the rain like that.

“But if you- if you wouldn’t mind,” Tommy began, eyes welling with tears, though it wasn’t noticeable in the relentless downpour, “I’d quite like you to stay.”

Tubbo held back tears, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

He was quiet for a moment, smiling sadly.

“I don’t want to die alone.” He whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks and mixing in with the rain.

Tommy glowered at the ground, digging into his skin angrily.

Fucking Humiliating.

Almost everyone else was heartbroken.

Tubbo didn’t reply, but he sat down beside Tommy, still staring.

“I’m sorry, did you know that?” The blond questioned, eyes half lidded and teeth chattering. “I know I deserve this, I know I deserve worse. You don’t have to worry about- about if I learned anything. I did.”

“Tommy no,” Tubbo whispered, eyes red rimmed, “I…”

He didn’t even know what to say. He couldn’t think of anything to say. How could he even respond to that?

Still, he was met with silence.

“I miss Phil.” He smiled sadly, “I just… I want my dad.” He whispered, crying quietly to himself.

“Oh Tommy…” Phil muttered, tears streaming down his face. He felt like his heart had been fucking ripped out.

“And I- I miss Techno too. I know I shouldn’t but I do . He’s my brother, y’know? And I still hate him for what he did to you but I just- I just can’t let go. I’m sorry I can’t be stronger for you, Tubbo.”

Techno’s ear twitched slightly, and he narrowed his eyes at the screen.

Tommy’s stare could have burnt holes into the ground, the tips of his ears bright red.

How fucking embarrassing was that? Not even that long after Techno had basically disowned him.

Tubbo was silent as ever.

“It’s fine, though,” Tommy grinned, “because I know you’re doing better without me now, yeah? That’s fine, don’t worry. I was holding you back, you never really- really cared, y’know? D-Dream helped me see that.” The smile slipped from his face, “just promise me you’ll be- you’ll be happy, okay? You don’t have to visit me ever again, okay? Just stop putting other people above yourself, man.” His whole body was shivering, drenched head to toe as the wind blew angrily.

Tubbo bowed his head, tears dripping onto his lap. He could barely breathe, he could feel the pain in his chest, gasping for air. There was nothing physically wrong with him but it hurt so bad.

Ranboo looked over in concern.

Tommy couldn’t help but smile slightly, though it was gone as soon as it had appeared. He was glad the real Tubbo had ended up hearing those words in the end.

“You know I care,” Tubbo whispered, “please tell me you know I care about you.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment before he looked up, noticing how many pairs of eyes were on him and waiting for his answer.

“Course I do.” He snorted, rolling his eyes.

Not a single person in that room believed him.

“I just want you to be okay, Tubbo.” He sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head sink into the dirt.

Tubbo bit back a sob, burying his face in his hands.

When he opened them, Tubbo was gone, and instead there was a masked smiley face staring down at him.

Instantly, everyone tensed.

Tommy blinked, taken aback slightly, before bursting into another round of ashamed tears.

“Come on, Tommy.” Dream sighed, bending down and picking the teen up. He clutched Tommy close to his chest, cradling him securely.

Phil glared at the screen, wings hiking up. He knew it was over, he knew it was the past, but he needed to get that man’s hands off his son.

The blond latched onto him, grabbing fistfuls of the green hoodie and gripping it for dear life as he pressed his head into Dream’s collar, sobbing quietly.

Tommy grit his teeth, itching at his neck.

He was so fucking weak. And they all got front row tickets to it. All these people who wanted to hurt him were seeing his weakness so openly.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” He muttered over and over, crying earnestly.

Niki looked away.

Dream said nothing, only letting out another sigh and beginning the trek back to Logstedshire.

The screen went dark.

A silence hung over them all, weighing them down.

Tommy glared at the ground as he felt the silent judgement rolling off them all in waves.

And none of them knew what to say.

Save for one individual.

“Okay, you know what? No. I’m not doing this anymore. I’m done.”

MY TWITTER IS 47BATS COME SAY HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII :D

SORRY IF THIS ONES NOT GREAT NEXT CHAP WILL MAKE UP FOR IT