acrocephalidae

[acrocephalidae]

a goodbye letter to a wildfire

I couldn’t put it into words until recently the feeling sitting in me, the all consuming that left me completely lost without words left to write. The raging inferno of a blaze untamed, the subtle candle light I watch when I cannot sleep, The ocean of waves that drowned me when I was a kid and the rain puddle that I jump in at the top of my driveway. These are the things that feel similar, the common in the unknown you left me to lie with. 

Maybe I spent too much time hoping you would be something you're not, to even meet you to begin with. Maybe I was a beautiful useless fool who let you use me until you found the replacement, I begged not to be. You were ugly and hurtful and hateful and lovely but you changed everything and then moved on fine. You are a wildfire, and you left me burnt from the inside out.

Maybe I shouldn't write you anything anymore, let myself fade into the blissful haze of forgetting. Not allow you to have anything to remember me by. Become a memory that you cannot remember. But I want you to know how much it hurts to be hurt by you. How many times you cross my mind and remind me that I was nothing to you. I folded a piece of paper to keep the table still but you kicked the leg out. You made me tape holding together something that needs screws. 

I could've been loved, I could have been truly loved by someone, now I sit and wonder how do you rebuild a seared house. Mornings I blame myself for being the reason that we didn't last, and in the evenings I condemn you for it. I’d like it to be my fault, to blame myself for it, and let it be done. I think of you and, I wonder if you even told me anything true to begin with, and I hate myself for letting you lie to me. 

I think back and cannot bring myself to know what is true. Then I worry I was some sick joke to you. Like a race you wanted to run but not win. I think back and I wonder when it ended for you, if it even began. You get to live, you get to keep going like you didn’t strangle something in me. Maybe it's too much power to give you. That you hurt me. But it is your power. 

I’d like to believe that goodbye only means you get another hello.  Leaving means another meeting. A reason goodbyes don’t hurt. There will be no hello after this. I cannot look at you anymore. I cannot think of you anymore. I must mourn you, the person I knew, and kill the piece of the person that I knew that lives in me, my memories. I hope you are completely happy, and I hope you rot in hell. This goodbye must mean torment.

A scorched blackened house

[acrocephalidae]

thinking about dreamsmp hockey au... thinking real hard

[acrocephalidae]

Need to knows- 

asks are open and no need to feel weird about asking anything I’m 18+ and will never judge anyone! (unless its spit, I will not write spit!)

ill write for anyone, unless its against their boundaries. I will only write minors in platonic only. no romance no smut!

fandoms ill write for dsmp (my fav), teen wolf, harry potter, starwars, tvd, twilight, some dc, marvel, my hero academia, haikayu, regin, and lots more. (genuinely if you ask ill probably write it.)

Master list

DSMP

niki

an argument between niki and will

quackity

man of mystery and money

badboyhalo

the secret keeper/the delivery of fire-born

tommy

the searcher

The Last Man on Earth prolog

The Last Man on Earth chapter 2

dream

car rides

[acrocephalidae]

The Last Man on Earth chapter 2

ao3 link    not edited!

Tommy was an orphan. And as an orphan, it was unbelievably odd to be with someone and yet feel alone. In the sense that  loneliness could creep in through cracks in the pavement and sink into the cold pale skin, like it was only inches behind him. Over looming never appearing. But always there. It made Tommy wonder whether there had been life to begin with at all. Had Tommy envisioned it, the golden laughter of having friends, the classes he hated to take,  only to be taken from him. It was a blessing until it wasn't. Suddenly nothing felt like a blessing. Irony, Tommy would’ve learned about it in his English class this spring. Now Tommy learned through life, and life wasn’t much of a teacher. 

 Tommy and Will had taken off in the early morning just as the sun rose. Will slips secrets about how to live with the BEDs, or zombies as Will called them, as they descend to the main lobby. The shaky elevation ride down spent staring awkwardly at each other through the mirror.. They had stripped the clothing off one of the zombies itself, now a brown matching coat covered Tommy’s red mushroom sweater, (what it’s cute and warm.) Tommy now reeked of dead man, just as Will did. Something Tommy hadn’t realized about Will until he matched him. 

They had taken to the streets, Tommy running in the middle of the road, always the center of attention, and Will slowly walking, watching. They stayed together, side by side, or far apart but always together. Will had taken to humming music that Tommy had never known. A song that might have been familiar had Tommy not been where he was, how he was. The melody was slow and changed per Will’s mood. IT was a flow of notes and hums, something stitched together with lack of knowing the premade chorus.

The song carried them down countless roads and turned round buildings Tommy once had known. It was an ever changing field of new and old, of new and known. Buildings turned to skyscrapers, and town turned to city. It became clear that Will knew where they were going. So Will walked faster  half because of  the height he had on Tommy and the other half with the excitement of getting closer to something you know, something you love. The same way the drive somewhere feels much longer on the drive there then on the way back.

With a double tap of his pointer and middle finger on Tommys shoulder Will was rounding it itself. Making his way to an underground train station. Tommy was more than just confused. 

“Why the fuck are we going to a subway, dipshit.?”

In reply to Tommy’s sweetheart question Will only seemed to increase his volume of the melody he was singing. 

“Oi, dumbass I'm speaking right now.”

Will continued his rampage of musical ignorance over tommys innocent naive questions and when Will had reached an apex of a note in the underground stairway. Tommy nearly screamed. 

 Tommy bounded two steps at a time. Making a flourish every jump and land, despite everything, Tommy was bright. Even as Will grew frustrated with the energy the child had, however he couldn’t seem to ever truly be angry. In what sense would anyone be angry at the sun for shining, it simply does, without need for others. Tommy was someone easy to love, and even easier to like. Will was ;picky and never liked someone very long; it had been something he was working on for a while, before the end of the world.

 Will had gone quiet, his brow furrowing, thinking of something bigger than Tommy himself. So the younger one gathered the courage to dig, to be nosy about will, and what caused the crease lines on the older boy's forehead.  “Had this snot happened, ya know that whole , death of the world shit, what would you have done?”

An olive branch, to be something. Will might have extended his hand to pull Tommy out of his self made grave, but Tommy extended the olive branch to be something more. To know each other rather be known by one another. Will seemed to be a bit confused, they had spent the whole walk in silence and now, Tommy was trying. The brunette ran his finger along the subway tiles, following the creases as he descended the stairs himself. “Done?”

“Like career and shit.”

If Tommy could share light then that is what he had done, without even meaning to, Tommy knew what to say to make people glow. And as Tommy turned at the bottom of the stairs to wait for Will to catch up, they met eyes and Tommy realized that Will knew how to live in another way other than surviving. “I was i =n a band, we only had an album out, but I guess that's what I would have done.”

“That makes sense only cunts are musicians” any air of seriousness ventilated out. The two stood, Will looming essentially tall with the two stairs between them. 

“Ah says the shield”

“I am not a child, I am a big man.”

“No”

They stood tommy upper eyeing will with everything in him. They stood and stood. To people made out to be more, forced to survive, determined to live. They had more in common than the other new, and less than the world had given them. Some things you aren't given, you take. They had taken more than they had been given, this time and many others. Will under any circumstance was never given to Tommy, Tommy had to be found. In one way more than one. 

They stood, more than what they were, less than they will be. 

“Where are we even going?”

“To my brother.”

“But do you know where this is physically? Or are we just walking nowhere?”

“Yes”

“What, no where are we going.”

“Mind your business child.”

“My business is this.”

He was locked in an arms race with his friends. Being the blonde in the middle of two young brunette boys was an odd feeling, but not one Tommy would ever think of. Looking up and down at his friends he realized how his family was made, how little he chose it to be, how he loved it that way. The boy was smothered by the simple friendship. They had all come to love another through ease and looseness. They had formed a friendship known by others. Sharing matching lunches in matching uniforms at the same bench daily, until slowly they were the bench tiro. A name unknown to them themselves but known to many. Unknown to even more. 

Barreling through the bright packed subway platform, the green tiles making the place feel bigger and happier than it truly had ever been, they pushed the shoulders of strangers that they would never know the face of. Packed a train car and laughed, uncaring of the noise it created, of the man in the dark blue three piece suit having a heated conversion, whom upon the boys laughed crushed about teenagers. They were obnoxious and angry. They loved each other enough so that the hurt that came from everything didn't seem to bite the way it should have. They were kids, who did not have a care in the world, just each other just now,

They were kids.

They had made it to the subway, the ugly underbelly of the city that had raised Tommy, the gray black subway only illuminated by the red emergency lights. Gone were the kids Tommy was, gone was the bench, the matching lunches in matching uniforms. Now Tommy stood in the red subway, mourning the loss of the green one, the boy he had been in it, and the boys he had known in it. Memories were the curse of the living, it was one he had to bear alone. Tommy had been with many people but a driver hadn't been one on his list until now. He had never been hit with a loss of something that he hadn't already lost before. Maybe that's why it hurt, maybe it hurt because he cared. Too much, Tommy was a big heart, one made for spreading love, one that took hurt and felt it, in a way that people who make something out of it would never understand. Tommy was an orphan. 

[acrocephalidae]

The Last Man on Earth prolog

He had spent hours crafting an image, in all the movies he’d seen there was the spunky outspoken boy who survives. He could do that. Hell he knew how to be loud and wild. It was his best feature. All his features were unbecomingly good but his talent for disturbing the peace was truly a shot out of the park. Lucky for him the brain-eating-dickbags or BEDs, were seeming deaf. Discovered after many nights of screaming. 

Tommy was tall, growth spurts had pushed him out of old tee shirts and fall had convinced him to try sweaters, I mean what’s he got to lose. No ones alive to tease him about the colorful flowers of the cashmere cardigan. The loss of people had made him turn to books and books had given him papercuts, so they’re not quite his favorites. Too tight green bandaids on too thin fingers. Tommy was finally what he wanted to be, too bad everyone had to die for him to finally have the courage to be himself. 

Don’t get him wrong he had friends, the mannequin on fourth street and the atomtronic dog were very happy to converse with him. But you cannot consider these things friends, because they are in fact things. Once Tommy had human friends, a few of them, Tubbo and Ranboo, the greatest big men he had ever met. He had not heard from them in months. Safier to assume their dead then hold out hope. Hope gets you killed. 

Tommy had rules, No hope, No friends, No possessions he couldn't carry. It was simple and it would keep him alive. Time could be his friend, it would pass, as it always does and Tommy has no intention to fight that. Because if there was one thing the end of the world had taught him was that time takes its gifts. Without remorse the present gets taken, and Tommy couldn't wait for today to be gone. He was in fact the last man on the earth. 

With nowhere to go he had taken housing at a small apartment with a fire escape on the third floor, high enough to jump, low enough to live. The apartment was the farthest to the front, with no sea view. The person who originally lived here must've hated it because of the constant traffic noise. For the end of the world/zombie apologies it was prime seating. 

There Tommy sat, long thin legs slotted through the rusted poles of the fire escape. Face pushed onto one of the bars, it mauled his cheek and forced him to squint his left eye. It  didn't matter that the text of his book wasn’t large enough he could read it with one eye. The book itself sat on his knees held open by one hand at the bottom of the spine. If someone had taken a picture right then and there, it would have been perhaps pretty.

Maybe he'd dropped on purpose, maybe it really was the wind, but the book fell from his hand down, down down. Right into a horde of BEDs, in fact in quite a comical way it got one in the back of the neck. In the other uncomical way they now knew where he was, and even if they weren’t looking directly at the fallen book. He knew if he didnt move within the next moments they would spot him, alive and brain non eaten. He would not survive the night if he did not move. 

Then one reached down, straight into a squat, gloved hands picked the book up, letting it fall back into the correct form of a book. It was like a little ripple in the water without the ripple itself. Either the BEDs didn’t care that they’re was a situation arising, or they didn’t know. Tommy was no scientist, no chemist with answers to the important questions. He was a poet, a friend, a librarian on occasion. So he chose to ignore it, everything it was in total. Dissection had kept him alive and it would too now. The BED looked at the title and let out a laugh. Tommy had never seen one laugh, let alone move or look the way it had, and when it turned its head inclining to look at tommy. He realized this BED was alive. The man clad in a dark brown ankle length jacket raised the book and gestured to him. As if asking if the book was his. Tommy had no intention of giving the man an answer, but the opportunity for something he had not done in so long had fallen so perfectly into his lap.

 He wanted to talk.

“The dipshits are deaf”

The man laughed again and dropped the outstretched arm that held his book. “I know”

“Then why didn't you say something?”

“I didn't know if you knew”

“Why the fuck wouldnt I know” This man was getting on his nerves, he deserved a good sock to the face. “I just spoke to you, how would I not know that the yanks are deaf.”

“I don't know, I don't speak like a child.”

Tommy was not a child, until a few seconds ago he was the last man on earth. This was no longer deemed a repulatple response in Tommy’s eyes.So, the silence sat for a little too long for a normal conversation to be comfortable. The man seemed to be trying to think of a response, the obvious lack of social interaction evident to both of them now. 

“Can I come up?”

“ I don't know, can you?”

“Oh I'm sorry I didn't know that grammar was important in the zombie apocalypse. May I come up, your highness?”

“Yeah I guess you can.”

The man made no move to pull the ladder, he just stood book in hand waiting for Tommy to go let the ladder down. Like the last form of permission, he knew they both knew he could pull the ladder down with ease, but he didn’t. After a huff and a puff from Tommy, he moved to let the ladder down. He’d make sure to secure it back into place after the man was up. 

Then the jacket clad man moved, wading through the stream of BEDs like the wind through his hair. He stood under the ladder slightly out of line with the group of disembodied zombies. He turned his head sky high and reached his long arm and hand out and clasped the lowest ring. Tommy realized he was taller than the boy himself. Only by a few inches so it seemed so had to be the shoes, no one was taller than tommy. It was definitely the shoes. He watched the grown man haul himself up and clasp the rung with another hand, he seemed to be doing it gracefully and yet struggling at the same time. However once he aligned himself fully with the ladder, it was clear that it was all struggle, no grace. This made Tommy let out a big bright laugh, one that might have once lit a room up.

They stood together now, as the man had pulled himself up all the way and was now looking down in slight scorn, surprise and adoration. He held that look as Tommy hauled the ladder all the way up, not at the half latch it usually sat, can't be too careful with the incident he just had. Tommy took one last look around, as the sun began to set, this world had made him cautious, then he turned on the move to go one more floor up, back to his apartment. 

“Wilbur, my name is Wilbur, I'm just now realizing that I never told you my name.’ “Okay, William, I'll take my book and you can go.” 

The two ducked into the window and the small apartment registered to their eyes. A cinnamon apple candle came into view along with piles of books, and a small hammock. The books learned from the odyssey to jane austin, to captain underpants. It was not clear how long Tommy had lived here but it was clear it had been a while. WIlbur laughed, just like he had outside, it was the first time Tommy had heard someone other than himself laugh in months. 

Willbur had seen this room before, the stacks of literature and the loss of interest in anything else, the boy he realized would have a lot in common with his brother. The clothes thrown haphazardly all along the floor differed the boys, Will's room never seeing the floor, wardrobe never in use, the blonde seemed to be something of a mix. None of this particularly mattered to Will, because clasped in his hand was the call of the wild, A horrendous book that he intended to burn before he saw that it had a particular owner. That last sentence might have misled you, the thing that was found so curious about the blonde, long enough to risk being caught to have one more second with the kid, was the eyes. Bright and blue, lost and found, they seemed to scream, every letter and wail every note Will have ever heard. This child was going to be heard, was going to be something. Will realized he might happen to want to be a part of that. 

“You should come with me, I'm going to find my brother and father, you're obviously bored, it's perfect.” he said with a tune, and Tommy could have seen his future with that sentence, a singer, a guitarist, a star. Now that all sat 6 feet under with the dreams Tommy himself had. The dreams which reminded him how he was still alive. Kill your hope. Kill your dreams. Live.

“I don't trust you”

“You trusted me enough to let me up here.”

“You held my child hostage”

“No, I kindly asked if you wanted your book back, this is not a child.”

“It is to me, and you are its captor as of this moment.”

“Then allow me to return it.” With that he reached slowly as if Tommy was a wild animal, and he was the zookeeper meant to soothe it. He returned the hardback book to the closest pile to himself. His fingers lingering upon the top like the book still had a secret to tell him, a whisper to return. He stood tense, shoulders tight, neck in need of a good crack, and�� straight not sulking at his height, not hiding rather trying to show he was the taller male. While Tommy was a pure dialect in of itself, Will was a one way one road.. 

They stood, a little tense and a little uncomfortable. They shared a moment, something neither was truly sure they would get again, a moment of silence with another person. All human and flesh in this moment, a difference in the sound, the evidence was the sounds of their breathing, collecting and releasing. Tommy watched as Will looked around the room, as if he could find out everything he needed to know just by looking at the room, tommys room. He felt insecure for a second, as if he didn't want his heart splayed out in front of another person, with little regard to regulation. 

They met eyes again, and Will seemed to have gathered everything he needed to know about the one bedroom, one bathroom, boy. They met a middle piece of their souls, recognizing that they had something in common, more than the fact they were alive. They met eyes, and realized that they shared something, something small and hidden, concealed and lost. They had  a piece of themselves in the other, Tommy could see in this moment that he would have followed Will into war had there been another life, another way he would have been his vice president, but Tommy had just met this man. Lost was that trust in others that would have allowed Tommy to be more than a stranger's face, to this stranger's face. 

The sun had reached a golden color before it was set, to set. Farming the older man in a sort of halo, casting a dark shadow in the room of glowing golden light. Tommy realized he stood foot and head in this man's shadow, his presence already looming over Tommys day. They stood in the room filled with Tommy's favorite color, and the younger boy sidestepped out of the man's shadow and into the light that sometimes kept Tommy sane. The light had been Tommy’s only friend given the circumstances. This light and goodness was the only friend Tommy had decided he wanted or needed. So with a little too much to venom to be friendly, he spat.

“It's going to get dark soon and either you need to leave now or plan to stay the night. I would choose the former because youve came up  here to do what you needed to do, and you did it,  now you get the fuck out of my house, bitch.” 

Despite the vigor that the sentence was said all it seemed to do was cause the older man to let out the biggest laugh, resting a hand on his stomach and the other stretching under his glasses to wipe his eyes, the man had become his laugh. It made Tommy want to laugh as well. Will was contagious, he realized, like a flu in highschool. You would be affected by him. 

“You sound like a middle schooler who just learned to cuss.”

Where Will had once been doubled over in laughter, he now stood hand aligned next to a stack of books, on Tommy’s tan beat up coffee table, in an effort to stabilize himself. Wills hand splayed out amongst all the wild colored coffee cups empty from one once filled with a medley of teas. (only losers drank coffee in his correct opinion.) Yet neither made a move to force the other to leave. They held a small staring contest before Tommy snatched his leather clad copy of Emma, and hosted himself into his hammock. Without another look to Wilbur who stood in the same place as he once did. 

“If you're intent on staying you’ll have to sleep on the floor.” Tommy couldn’t fight a smile, He wore emotions on his shirt sleeve, like it would keep him warm. Even in the zombie apocalypse you could trust Tommy to somehow find a person worth befriending. Tommy could make a friend out of a tree if he ever saw one again. So the man that stood in the middle of his sanctuary, who had just invited himself into his home, and insulted his precious book, would be his new friend. “Something I’m sure you’re used to”

“I’m sure there’s enough clothes on the floor, it’s like a personal mattress.”

“I hate you” Tommy did not hate Willbur.

“Back at you kid.” Willbur did not hate Tommy.

“Not a kid.”

“Small man”

“Tommy”

“No last name Tommy?”

“Don’t need one.”

“Alright Tommy no last name, Wilbur Soot, happy to sleep on your floor.”

So he did, plopping so hard onto his back, the blonde heard a small crack and a grunt. 

“Old age.”

The two boys shared a look and they knew, in the morning Tommy’s bag would be packed, by nightfall the next day they would be heading somewhere not yet seen by the blonde himself. 

[acrocephalidae]

what is sweetness but the courtship of pain

the prelude to a tragedy not yet seen by mortal eyes

to be cleansed by the hand of a unnamed, unknown god

copper the hindsight will be for the forlorn of the lost

weeds grown through cement as time gives and takes

its eternal cycle of baptizing the earth in hopes of sowing new sorrow

the stories will be born to be forgotten

[acrocephalidae]

Cc! Dream x Afab! Reader who is fucking obsessed with his thighs and hands and he’s in a suit. That’s all

I have no idea if you even like this but here it is.

You tried your hardest not to make it obvious, but he knew. It started slowly, knees pushing together. hands on your face when you kissed, but it became a little more intense lately, and in your honest opinion you loved it. Head resting in between his legs while watching television. Hands being held in his lap while he drove.

As you drove back from the anniversary dinner of his parents all of that could be seen, fingers slotted together, dress jacket thrown into the back of the car just the crisp white shirt suspenders, and dress pants put together. If he was cute before he was absolutely gorgeous now. He held a little too tight to the wheel, his anger obvious.

You knew that once he got home he’d go get in a fight on twitter, but for now he was here. Mostly he was yours. So you drew shapes on the inside of his thigh, and laid you head on the console. His hand that once held yours, pushing your hair back from and fitting strands into curls around his index finger. That is how the drive goes for the rest of the ten before arriving home.

[acrocephalidae]

The searcher

He wasn’t sure when he started saying it. Mine. Ours. Tommy had never had anything, until he did. It was then he realized he might have too much. What was he but a boy, with a rough history of ownership. Youth had taught him hardship, adulthood might teach him to be alive. For now he envied the bears who sleep for months, it just might cure the fatigue that eats away at the color under his eyes. So for now rest, mark chaos down for next week, now the boy must nap, feel peace for a moment, and hate it. He’ll find it eventually, the ache in his heart, maybe it’s ownership but perhaps it’s more.

[acrocephalidae]

piss /hj

oh you've done it now, I will never get over this. you will rue the day you sent me this.

[acrocephalidae]

Just opened my requests so go ham, ill write anything, as long as its not about spit. I will not write spit. I’m 18+ so don’t feel about about smut, unless its spit in which I will judge you. ;)

[acrocephalidae]

The keeper of secrets, the delivery of fire born

He knew by tomorrow they would be dead. By the time the sun began to rise the house would be consumed to ash. He knew before everyone else, before skeppy. He especially knew before the smoke had arisun beyond the trees. He knew too much too little all combined. There would be three narratives  of the night by the time the sunset the next day. Only one man would ever know the correct one. 

The fireplace had awoken, spurring flames so big they scared the couple. The flames were making something, they were wild and dangerous. When they eventually dimmed all that was left was a boy. The ever loving couple Skeppy and Badboyhalo were so happy to have their new son Sapnap. How he emerged from the flames at birth was the pride and joy of the little boy's life. How else would he have gotten severe fire scarring. A perfect human boy born from the flames for Skeppy and Bads perfect human house. 

He was out for his walk, badboyhalo had terrible insomnia so the brisk night air always seemed to put his mind and lungs at ease. That's when he smelled it, saw it, heard it. Their nearby neighbors, the young couple with a newly welcomed baby. Screams, shrieks, so he took off following his senses to find the small wooden house unsaveable. The windows he banged and banged to get the attention of the couple, who were huddled in the corner of the kitchen. When their attention was caught, the woman only lifted a finger to point at the far corner. The babys cradle, licked with flames, sat under the window. He knew he could save the baby. Born from the flames the baby was. 

He knew the smell of gasoline, he knew how to start a fire. He was envious, and needed a saving grace. What better than a baby. Skeppy would surely love him if he brought him a child. Home made or stolen baby is a baby. No one would miss the young couple, they wouldn't have been half as good parents as Skeppy and Bad will be. So when the sun set, he knew what to do. 

[acrocephalidae]

the man of mystery and money

How can someone fail so much, how can a constant rock bottom be hit. Well just ask quackity who’s made a home at rock bottom after too many free falls. A casino of questions for the man of mystery. He’ll take your query with the thousands of others that he ignores, pile them by the paintings of ex lovers covered in dust. A history of heartbreak makes the gamemaster a walking lesson in failing love. Watch and see how the magician makes money, don't ask, never ask, you don't want an answer.

[acrocephalidae]

How I imagine an argument between c!Niki and c!Wilbur

To discuss the relationship between the two would be asking fate to never kill the loved. It was too complicated, too torn and broken. 

“I guess no one is on my side anymore.”

‘Was anyone ever.” It was a competition of glares and she had never lost. She would never lose, she never started a fight she wouldn't win. “You have to first have allies to turn them into enemies. I have never been on your side, I am purely your anthesis.” 

It may have broken his heart one not too long ago, but she had burned the tree and he blew up a nation. All friendship dwindled, any string of friendship cut by Clathos cold fingers. So they stood, surrounded by the graveyard of the souls of their past selves that they killed in their selfishness. Maybe it would be towed someday and it would grow dry corn and molded potatoes. Even the ground would remember this fight, this life. The land would forever be barren. 

He knew he was losing, it had become a common theme for him. He was callous and cruel, but he was observant, so he knew what to say to make them both lose. Better a draw than a winner. “For my arch nemesis, you sure seemed very upset when I died.”

As he’s callous and cruel, she was stubbornly sensitive. Anger, Sadness, Happiness were her teeth, and she prepared to bare them.  With the tooth she sharpened until it drew blood from her tongue, she narrowed her eyes. She screamed. Pure anger, Pure sadness, yet so much conviction the earth even seemed to listen. The voice that could command a god, spoke to the cruel man. “Because you were perfect. And I loved you.” She won the argument.