#please someone take this from me and run with it

[actuallysaiyan]

Just What I Needed(Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader)

warnings: handjob, ball/testicle play, softness, fluff, Nanami is a bit of a sub here, gentle loving word count: 1k pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: it's been a long week for Kento, so you surprise him with a handjob in the bath. a/n: The artwork of Nanami in the onsen isn't mine, I couldn't find the proper credits! If someone knows who made this lovely pic of Kento, plz lemme know so I can properly credit them!!! Dividers by the lovely benkeibear!

Taglist: @beneathstarryskies @an-ever-angry-bi @seireiteihellbutterfly @namikyento @benkeibear

@kenpachisbrat @adharadotcom @heyitsd1yaa @darkstarlight82

Kento feels the weight on his shoulders. It’s been a very long day at work on top of a very long week. Everything that could go wrong ended up being catastrophic. He found himself in all kinds of problems and issues. Gojo had often leaned on him for a lot of things this week as well, and Itadori-kun had been eager to learn so many new things.

So by this point in Nanami’s week, he is quite exhausted. The only thing he’s looking forward to is spending the evening with you. That thought alone is what keeps him going. He takes the train home, wishing to be close to you as soon as possible. His mind is filled with thoughts of greeting you at the door, covering your face in kisses and hugging you tight.

The minute he walks through the door, he’s bombarded with soft kisses from you. His heart flutters at the familiar scent of your perfume, the way your lips seem to soothe his weary soul.

“Welcome home, Ken!” You cheerfully greet him.

His tired eyes meet yours and he feels himself coming back to life. “Good to see you, darling.”

You gently help him out of his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles before hanging it up on the peg at the door. Then he removes his shoes, slipping on the comfortable and well-worn house slippers. You lead him towards the bathroom, and this surprises him. He smiles and lets out a contented sigh when he notices the tub all prepared for him.

“I know you had a really rough week,” you explain as you help him out of his blazer. “I wanted to spoil you tonight. I’ve even prepared your favorite meal, it’ll be ready after your bath.”

Nanami swears he’s gone to heaven. He allows you to undress him, and he watches in awe as you make sure to properly fold all his clothing. Then you start kissing him, your soft hands caressing him all over. You’ve always made him feel weak in the best way possible.

Then once he’s completely undressed, you help him into the bath. You sit on a stool next to the tub, grabbing a soft cotton washcloth. Nanami sighs as the warm water and bubbles are already soothing him. His sore muscles begin to loosen as the water does its magic.

“Feeling a little better?”

Kento looks over at you, smiling shyly. “I am. You always know how to spoil me.”

You take your time washing and cleaning him. You use your fancy body wash, the one that smells like sandalwood, jasmine and vanilla. It invades his senses, making him feel so secure and safe in this bath. He doesn’t remember the last time he even allowed himself to feel comforted like this.

“You’re so precious to me, Ken.” You press a kiss to his temple as your hand wanders further down his body. “I need to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

He gasps the minute you caress his thighs. He feels his cock twitching to life. His amber eyes fill with softness and lust as you begin to gently begin to wash his dick. You smirk softly, letting out a girlish giggle.

“Does my sweetheart need a little TLC?” You tease him, but you’re already wrapping your fingers around his throbbing length.

“P-please, darling. Please don’t tease me,”

You lean over and begin to kiss him. He’s moaning as your hand strokes him slowly. The way you squeeze the tip gently every time your hand goes up, makes him shudder. Shivers run down his spine from the exquisite pleasure. He arches his back, desperate to feel even more pleasure.

The soap coats your hand so perfectly, giving it the most sensual glide. The bubbles cover his body, making him feel like he’s enveloped in the most cozy and warm hug. Then your other hand joins the other. First you stimulate the tip, making him moan. Precum dribbles from the slit, making things even more slippery. Then you drift down to his heavy balls that are just begging for attention.

“Poor sweetheart, you’re all pent up.”

Kento all but sobs the minute you begin to massage his balls. His cock twitches a few more times in your hand, reminding you of your first task. Slowly, you continue to stroke him. Kento lets out such cute moans and whimpers for you.

Your fingers tighten ever so slightly, and you speed up just a little more. His hips begin to buck up into your touch, begging and pleading with you not to stop. His cheeks and the top of his ears are flush and pink, his eyes are half-lidded and pupils blown with lust.

“You wanna cum?” you ask him, leaning in to kiss his lips.

“Please baby. Please please please,”

You continue to kiss him, your tongue gliding against his bottom lip. He parts his lips, groaning as your tongues touch. You don’t falter in your rhythm. It’s so perfect right now.

“Such a good man, you work so hard. You deserve some spoiling.”

Kento whines, “I’m—fuck, I’m close.”

You don’t slow down. You ever so gently tug on his balls, massaging them. Kento’s whines reverberate against the walls, and they grow in decibels as he gets closer and closer. You kiss him hungrily once more, praising him for being such a good boy for you. The minute you nip at his bottom lip, that’s all it takes for him to cum hard.

“Fuck! I’m cumming!” His eyes roll back in his head and his hips jerk with every spurt of hot cum.

Ropes of his seed begin to coat your hand. You feel every throb and jerk, and you even get to feel his balls draw up. You stroke him to completion, kissing him softly. You slowly pull away, giving him a few moments to breathe and relax before you wash him once more.

“You always know just how to make me feel better,” Kento says, smiling shyly at you.

“It’s because I adore you.”

#bacon.writes #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #anime smut #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami fluff #jjk nanami #kento nanami #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #kento x reader #nanami imagine #jjk imagine

[littlestarconch]

Sense of Longing

Pairing : Xavier , Zayne , Rafayel x Reader

→ Hurt/Comfort ; Headcanon form ; Separate ; Established Relationship

🪄 :: Cruel 😭 , Now I feel guilty for even thinking about leaving.

Xavier

Literally turning the world upside down trying to find you.

Sleeping away his desires.

Sometimes he would even hallucinate that you're in front of him.

There are days where he dreamt about you, but then he woke up— making him felt even more lonelier than before.

Fighting wanderers even more aggressively due to his mind is only filled with you, who did not respond to his texts, nor read them!

It left him devastated, though he may not show them physically.

But his actions are getting more and more reckless each day that passes without you.

There are also times where he got injured because of this recklessness.

And you know what he did? He left it as it is, just letting it heal by 'itself'.

Your return— feels unreal for him

It feels like it's a dream, he was sleeping like usual, but hearing your voice woke him up.

It took him a good minute to realize he's not dreaming.

He would talk to you like how he usually is in his dreams, that is until he felt your warmth on his skin.

He stared at you, his hand unconsciously reached out to your arms.

When he' sure enough that it's actually you— be prepared because he will pull you into his arms.

Heavens! He will refuse to let go even! You have to push him away if you want to breathe.

But I believe y'all won't push him away.

Ever since your return, your first week is filled with Xavier just clinging onto you everywhere you go.

Not quite literally, but you get me.

Sleeping, with you in his arms, is a must.

If not, he will not be able to go to sleep.

Also please comfort him, he had been sleep deprived ever since the day you left without saying anything </3

He longed to be comforted in your arms, feeling your fingers running through his hairlocks.

He longed for listening to your heartbeat, listening to your voice.

He missed them, too much that it hurts.

He didn't realize how much he missed you until you appeared again in front of him.

Zayne

Working.

Doing his thing like usual, though, he will unconsciously look over his phone to see the long waited notification from a certain someone.

When he did not see anything, he, felt quite, weird at first.

Is it worry? Is it sadness? What is it??

At first he will simply shook the feeling away.

But he will no longer able to ignore them after a week have passed.

A week without any news from you left him confused and worried.

He will also not show this feeling, he is literally so stoic no one would be able to figure out he's actually missing you.

Even he, himself, didn't realize he missed you.

He buried himself in his work, staying up late. Even went as far as pulling an all nighter.

There are days where he accidentally fell asleep in his office due to the lack of sleep he gets.

He will still, unconsciously look over his phone to see if there's anything news coming from you despite him burying himself in work.

Other doctors and nurses is definitely worried about him, he had not left the hospital for a long time.

They literally had to send him home to make him go take a proper rest.

Since your disappearance, he would try do things that you usually do.

But everytime he did so, his mind wander off to the memory of being together with you.

Your smile, your voice, your touch.

He missed them.

A lot.

And he is well aware of how much he needed to see your smile, to hear your voice, to feel your touch once more.

Your return— made him want to immediately pull you into his arms and never let you go.

Upon seeing you in front of him, he wanted to just engulf you into his hold, and just stay like that till he let go and probably will be more than 30 minutes.

But he kept the feeling down by checking if you have any injuries while you were gone.

If you confirm there are no injuries, he will let out his desperation.

Of how much he missed you, slowly approaching you.

His hand on your waist, pulling you closer. His other hand brushed against the lines of your cheek.

Do the same to him, holding his face with both of your hands.

You will see how he just melt into your hold, kissing your palm as he pulled you even closer to him.

Soon he finally engulfed you into his arms, burying his face to the crook of your neck.

Whispering how much he missed you.

Make sure you spare some time for him now, because he will not let you go.

Rafayel

Good God.

He is very worried. Like literally. But on the first week, he would be quite grumpy of how you're not even reading his messages.

But after 2 weeks of no news from his favorite bodyguard turned his angry thoughts to worry.

He had stopped painting after a week have passed without any texts coming from your side.

His mind could not think of any inspiration, all he could think about is just,

Where are you? Are you hurt?

So many thoughts coming through his mind, but he tried to push them off by telling himself that you can handle yourself without any help from him.

But even so, that did not calm his mind at all.

There are days where he went to the beach at late night.

Watching the seas as his mind wanders off thinking about you.

The studio felt so cramped despite the large size, is it because of the messiness in it?

He refuses to clean up the mess, since he thought that no one will come to visit anyway.

You are literally just, disappeared without a trace, and not even saying a single word to him.

It left him devastated.

He is not aware how much he missed you, he thought that he can handle by being himself like how he used to be.

But you proofed him wrong.

Your return— made him realize how much he missed you.

He couldn't even get angry at you because of how much he longed to see you.

Hearing your voice alone washes the worry away and replaced them with relief.

If you ever ask about him being angry, he will immediately say he's not.

He couldn't.

Not when this feeling of longing overtakes him.

He wants to hold you, and will ask if he can hold you.

Once he gets a yes, he will pull you into his arms.

And let out a shaky breath, feeling you in his arms felt surreal for him.

Hearing your voice, feeling your warmth engulfed his figure.

He realized how much he needed this.

The world no longer colored in grey, the colors have returned, along with his inspiration.

Everything has gone back to it's place, because his muse have returned into his arms.

©littlestarconch

🪄 :: This is messed up bro 😔

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace #xavier lnd #lnd xavier #love and deepspace xavier #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #love and deepspace zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne lnd #lnd zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lnd rafayel #rafayel lnd #rafayel x reader

[pomefioredove]

Hi! This is very very specific, but…I've had a rough start to my day today, kinda relating to the topic of my request…

So I was wondering, would it be alright to request HCs of Jamil, Ruggie, Leona, Floyd and Rollo with a Reader who runs into an emotionally abusive/manipulative parent they haven't seen in a long time? The kind of subtle abuse that's hard to tell (from the inside, at least) is even abuse at all, and makes you doubt yourself a lot. Kinda narcissistic abuse

Kind of a hurt/comfort thing? Like how they'd deal with the bad parent and the Reader opening up a bit about it. Romantic or platonic, either one is good

Feel more than free to ignore if this kind of request isn't your thing: that's totally fine, I understand it's a bit heavy, not to mention very specific, so please do what makes you feel best. I hope you have a good day!

ahhh of course! I relate to this sort of thing a lot (although I don't use terms like narcissistic abuse since abuse is just abuse to me) and I know exactly what you mean. I love hurt/comfort and you're well within my boundaries since the only thing I wouldn't write pertaining to this topic is intimate partner abuse (like with an s/o). so you're perfectly fine! I enjoyed writing this <3

summary: comforting a reader with an abusive parent type of post: short fics characters: jamil, ruggie, leona, floyd, rollo additional info: reader is not specified to be yuu ("shrimpy" is used as a nickname during floyd's part tho), reader is gender neutral, food mention (ruggie's part), actual interaction w the parent happens during leona and rollo's parts, mentions/descriptions of emotional abuse, although reader is kinda vague about it

Jamil Viper

Jamil knows what it's like to feel stuck.

That's really all he has to know when he recognizes that look on your face.

Perhaps you usually wear your heart on your sleeves, or perhaps you're better at keeping your emotions to yourself, like him, but either way he can tell something is very wrong the second he sees you.

It's a bit strange, isn't it?

Surrounded by people in the cafeteria and yet no one seems to notice the shadow cast over you.

He tries to talk himself out of it for the rest of the day. He has enough on his plate as it is, and it's not his problem. He's Kalim's keeper, not yours.

But that sense of unease doesn't go away.

He drags himself out of bed and somehow finds himself at your door in the dead of night.

And even though it takes you a moment to answer, he can tell you were already awake.

"Here," he says, handing you a warm meal in a container. "I noticed you didn't eat today. We had leftovers."

You don't feel very much like eating, but you accept the gift, anyway. It smells amazing. His cooking always does.

"Thank you," you mumble.

You can't think of anything else to say.

"Are you... well, Kalim sent me to ask if you're feeling unwell," he lies through his teeth.

"I'm fine,"

Another lie, this time of your behalf, which annoys him ever-so-slightly.

"You're clearly not. Are you sick?" the question is vague enough, said in such a way that leaves you with the impression that he wasn't exactly referring to a physical illness.

"I've... had a rough day,"

Jamil is quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. And then: "Do you mind if I come in?"

He's always so careful with his words that such a direct (yet polite) request almost catches you off guard. You step to the side, letting him in your room.

"I don't mean to pry. I know it's not my place," he says, watching you close the door. "But... Kalim is worried. Yes."

You shake your head. "It's fine. I'll get over it,"

It.

What did "it" mean? Surely this couldn't just be a lousy day.

"Did something happen?"

You hesitate.

"Have you ever... ran into someone who made your life miserable? That you thought you moved on from... and it starts to feel like you're stuck in that place all over again?"

Of course. Of course he knows what that feels like.

He has to live through that exact experience every day, without even being able to move on.

But he can't just say that. And this is about you, after all.

"I'm familiar with the feeling. I suppose that's what's ruined your day, then?"

"That's one way to put it," you sigh, sitting at the edge of your bed. "Sometimes it feels like all the progress I've made is just... null. Like I'll never really move on."

He hates how much he's relating to you. How much you're affecting him, now, too.

He follows you to the bed and sits beside you.

"Someday, though, you will. It may feel hopeless now, but... you won't stay stuck forever,"

Unlike me, he thinks.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't be. But you don't strike me as someone to give up after hardship,"

Like me.

You're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what he told you. And then you hug him.

A nice, soft hug. Not abrasive or sudden like the ones Kalim gives. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Thank you, Jamil,"

He hugs back. "Of course,"

Ruggie Bucchi

It was almost painful, watching you fumble with your wallet like that.

You couldn't seem to get the proper amount out, shaking like a leaf and apologizing profusely. Sam keeps telling you it's okay, but the line forming behind you is starting to grow restless.

Ruggie included.

He has places to be, after all, and he's got two whole crates of energy drinks to lug back to Savanaclaw.

He has half a mind to ask what the holdup is.

And so, he peers over your shoulder, ready to- oh, no. You're crying.

Damn it. Why can't things ever be easy for him?

He can't even chew someone out for taking up all his precious time without being thrown a curveball. And now he feels bad.

Sigh.

"Hey, I got this," he says, setting his heavy crates down on the counter and flashing a card.

Your eyes widen. "Oh, no, Ruggie, you don't have to-"

"Relax, it's Leona's money, not mine," he offers a grin, ignoring the tears trailing down your face. "He won't even notice it's missing."

The line behind you two breathes a collective sigh of relief (much to your embarrassment) and Ruggie shoots them a glare.

"I... I still can't accept this-" you start, before he quickly shushes you.

"Hey, if you wanna make it up to me, you can help me carry these things. I'll call it even,"

You're silent for a moment as Sam finishes ringing you both up, and then you take a crate. As quiet as ever. It's unnerving.

You're walking back to the Hall of Mirrors when Ruggie breaks that silence by bringing up your purchase. "So, what's up with the afternoon snack? Not that I'm judging- I'm jealous. I skipped lunch, shishishi,"

"Oh, it's nothing," you mutter. "Comfort food, I guess."

The concept of comfort food is extremely appealing to him. "Huh. Long day?"

"Something like that... Why'd you skip lunch?"

Trying to change the conversation topic? Clever. But he'll bite, anyway.

"Leona forgot some of his class stuff, so I had 'ta run and get it. Too bad he forgot where he left it... I was all over campus,"

"Did you find it?"

"Eventually. Or else I'd be busy getting my neck wrung instead of 'bein here with you,"

You nod, and the conversation swiftly dies.

After another awkward beat, he clears his throat. "So you... you wanna talk about it, or something?"

"What?"

"You know, your... your day," he mutters, shrugging. He's desperately trying to remember all of the things his grandma did for him when he was upset as a child. "Talking about it might... make 'ya feel better, y'know?"

You're quiet again, and for a moment Ruggie is worried he said something to offend you.

Then, much to his relief, your voice picks up. "I ran into someone today,"

"What? Like someone was giving you trouble?"

"No, not a student. Someone I don't see very much anymore. Um... I guess it just threw me off,"

He tilts his head to the side. "Why?"

"I don't... well, we don't get along very much. Something about them just makes me feel... very... small. Insignificant,"

You don't ask if he understands what you mean, but he does. Not that he'd ever admit that so openly to you at a time like this, but being small and insignificant is basically his job.

And as much as he likes the perks, he can imagine how rough it would be to deal with that and not get to use a bottomless credit card whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He struggles to respond for a moment.

"That's rough,"

Definitely not the sympathetic response he was going for. At least you don't seem to mind.

"I-I mean, sometimes we have to act small to survive. It's a part of life, 'ya know? But that doesn't mean you are small. Just surviving on its own is an accomplishment," he recovers from his earlier blunder, trying to smile. "You should be proud of yourself, if anything."

"That's..." you say. "That's one way of looking at it."

He sighs. "I'm not expressing myself very well, am I? What I'm trying to say is that you're not small or insignificant, and living life feeling like you are is a survival tactic at best,"

The both of you stop in front of Savanaclaw, and he offers another grin.

"And if you ever wanna talk about this stuff... well, I'm around... And you can come inside now, if you want. I could definitely find more stuff to carry!"

Leona Kingscholar

Leona Kingscholar is very, very much enjoying parent weekend alone, thank you.

Of course his folks don't want to attend a school event for their disappointment of a second son. Why would they care? And on Cheka's birthday weekend, no less...

But that didn't bother him. Not at all.

As long as he slept through the weekend without being bothered by any happy-go-lucky nuclear family units, he'd live.

That plan lasts about five hours.

"You'd be better off doing something more useful with your time. Sports, or science, or... something that might help your future. But if you're so sure... I suppose it's better to cut our losses now than put any more faith in you. You just can never decide, can you?"

That voice. Unfamiliar, but drawling, laced with poison. Aggravating enough to stir Leona from his nap in the botanical gardens.

And it's getting closer.

"I just don't understand. Why get accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the world just to spend your time goofing off?" a long sigh. "But as long as you're happy... we just want what's best for you."

Leona grumbles, turning over and trying to drift back to sleep.

"I'm trying,"

This voice is different. No- he recognizes it. It's yours.

"Are you? You know I know what's best for you, right?"

Sevens. This is your parent speaking to you? No wonder you've been acting all jittery lately.

He sits up, giving up on his nap, and continues listening in.

"I know," you say. "I really am trying, though."

"Did I say you weren't? Don't speak for me,"

This is getting ugly. Leona stands, stepping out of the shrubbery and clearing his throat behind the two of you.

You're the first to turn. "Oh- Leona! Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you,"

"You're fine," he snaps, sharp eyes turning to your parent beside you. "Who's this, then?"

"This is-"

"Their parent," they go ahead and introduce themselves, cutting you off as if you weren't speaking at all. Like you're a piece of furniture hanging in the background. He's not a fan.

"Really? From the way you were talking, I would have guessed that you were their coach. Or boss,"

Your eyes dart between the two. "Leona-"

"You're fine," he reaffirms. "I was just looking for you, anyway. We really have to talk."

You pause, raising an eyebrow. He? Wants to talk to you? Now?

"Is it important?" your parent asks. The question is directed at you, although he answers.

"Very. I was just coming to ask you, very politely, I might add, to reconsider my offer,"

"Your... offer...?"

Your parent looks down at you. "What's he talking about?"

"Can't blame you for forgetting. I'm sure you're busy with all your... school... things. But I do have to ask you to rejoin the spelldrive club. We're in shambles without you,"

He gives you a certain look, one that clearly reads "Go along with it."

Leona Kingscholar offering an olive branch to someone is a rare occurrence. So you take it.

"Oh! Right, I have been busy with school. I've been meaning to get back to you..."

Your parent looks between the two of you with just the faintest hint of confusion, and then frustration. "You've been playing spelldrive? When was I going to hear about this?"

"They haven't been playing with us," Leona says, a small smirk already forming. "They're the team manager. They're way too smart to be out on the field- no, they're running the team, they're organizing everything, their strategy is like nothing we've ever seen. If only they were in Savanaclaw, we might have a chance at winning one of these years."

"Uhhh..." you start, looking between your parent and the oddly friendly and receptive clone that's replaced Leona. "...Yeah, right."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we really have to discuss official club matters," he says, shooing away your parent until they eventually give in and leave.

As soon as they're out the door, you turn to him. "What w-"

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Stunned would be an understatement. "I'm fine,"

"Really? Cause you're looking at me like a gazelle caught in headlights,"

"I-I guess it's just been hard... having them here,"

Leona nods, closing his eyes as he thinks to himself. Then, he sighs.

"Yeah. I get that. Come on, then,"

You raise an eyebrow as he starts off in the opposite direction. "What? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet and warm to nap. Being around that person sucked all the energy right out of me, I can't imagine how exhausted you feel,"

He turns to look over his shoulder with a smile. "With any luck, we'll avoid them for the rest of the weekend,"

Floyd Leech

Of course, he can tell something's up right away.

Well... maybe it takes him a little while to tune into the conversation, but once he does, he notices you've been... awfully quiet throughout it.

His favorite little shrimpy? All sad? Moping around like a kicked puppy?

Now this catches his attention.

"Bored?" he asks. It's his first guess.

"Hm?" you ask, looking back at him. "No, I'm fine."

"But you're not,"

"Okay, I'm a little distracted,"

Now that, he can understand. But there's still something very off about the whole thing that he can't quite put his finger on.

"You're not telling me something," he states, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

You raise an eyebrow. "...And?"

"And I wanna know. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me,"

Your thought process is probably ranging somewhere between "oh, no," and "oh NO," by now.

"I sweaaar, it's nothing," you insist. "I just had a bad day, okay?"

"Why?"

There's no turning back now. He's invested, and until he loses interest, you're stuck here.

"It was... just... long. Can I go now? I have things to do,"

He frowns, and stands, and then puts you in a headlock. "Alright, where're we 'goin?"

"FLOYD!"

He drags you along with him, remembering not to be too rough as he takes you from place to place on his dailies. You begrudgingly learn to accept it.

When you walk back into the Mostro Lounge, Azul and Jade don't even bat an eye.

"You're thirty minutes late- ah, why do I bother?" Azul says, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. He only looks up when he catches a glimpse of you. "Oh. Hello, there."

You wave half-heartedly. "Can I get some help?"

"Floyd. What is the meaning of this?" he asks.

Floyd pouts. "There's 'somethin wrong with them and they won't tell me what,"

"Are they ill?"

You lower your eyes at the two as they speak like you're not even there. "Hello?"

"Nah, they feel fine. They're all mopey, though,"

Azul hums to himself, lost in thought. And then: "Well, figure out what it is, and get to work, if you please,"

"Azul!" you shout. He ignores you.

Floyd drags you back outside the office and sits down with you at one of the tables, waving to concerned lounge-goers as they pass by.

"Now will you tell me?"

"Geez, alright, alright. I give up, you win," you sigh. "I... well, my parent was here earlier. At school. And we talked, and they... said some not-very-nice things to me. That's why I've been upset, okay?"

Floyd's smile immediately drops. "I win? But that's not a very good prize,"

"Tell me about it,"

"Why would anyone be mean to you, anyway? You're the best shrimpy I know!"

You avert your eyes. "It wasn't... mean... per se. Just... not nice,"

"Sounds mean to me," he mutters. "I don't get it."

"Well, sometimes these things just... don't make sense. It's my fault, anyway," you sigh.

His gaze sharpens at that. "'An who told you that? You didn't do anything! I'm starting to really dislike this parent of yours,"

His sudden mood swing doesn't phase you, but it does lift your spirits... just the tiniest bit. Even if you wouldn't admit that to yourself. "Hey, it's fine. I'm over it,"

"You sure you don't want me to squeeze 'em?"

"Heh. No, that's okay. I would like you to let me go, though,"

His eyes widen at the sudden realization he still has you in a headlock and he quickly releases you.

You sit up, stretching and rubbing the back of your neck. "Thanks,"

"My arm was starting to hurt, anyway..." he thinks for a moment, looking back to the office door. "Ya think I can use that to get out of working? I wanna spend more quality time with my favorite shrimpy. You could use it!"

You look to the door and shrug. "Hey, worth a try, right?"

Rollo Flamme

Out of all the things to ruin the day, of course it had to be your parent.

The disappointment between the two of you was palpable. And even though it was only a brief encounter, it was enough to sour the rest of the afternoon for the both of you.

The first thing Rollo noticed, of course, was the manner in which they carried themselves. As an authoritative, important figure, puffing out their chest and towering over you. What gave them the right...?

They were not a leader, nor a public figure, nor anyone of interest, if your earlier mentions of them gave him any idea. Nothing but an adult who spoke to the both of you as if you were tiny children.

He loathed being talked down to.

Perhaps he should have said something sooner than he did, and perhaps he should have said something more than the interruption he used to excuse you from the conversation.

And now you're just quiet.

"Are you well?" he asks, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

You shrug.

"I apologize for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I did not want to be rude,"

No response at all.

Your silence was driving him mad. He couldn't get a good read on what you were feeling when you kept looking away like that.

"If you'd like to return home early, I would understand and escort you promptly,"

"No,"

A response. Not a good one, but a response nonetheless.

"May I ask you a question?" though he doesn't really wait for your permission to go on. "Why do they speak to you like that?"

That comment seems to jolt you, and you turn to look at him with wide eyes. "What? Speak to me like what?"

He struggles for the right words.

How could he describe it? It was so... odd. The words they spoke to you didn't sound cruel, but there was something sinister lurking beneath them. And not even in the typical "polite for the sake of it" sense.

Each response they gave was laced with a sort of venom that seemed to sting you. You had grown quiet, distant, as if you weren't really there at all.

Of course he was familiar with such tactics. He could weave his own words with ease. But you had done nothing wrong- you were guiltless. Why were you being punished?

He couldn't quite come up with an answer.

"You seemed uncomfortable," he finally says, looking away again. "I apologize for such an experience happening to you under my watch."

"It's not your fault,"

"It certainly isn't. And it's not yours, either,"

A blanket of silence falls over the two of you until he speaks again.

"You have nothing to feel bad about," he reaffirms.

Another pause.

"And I don't mean to intrude. But if you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil viper x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #floyd leech x reader #rollo flamme x reader #can't believe this is the first time I've written for rollo on this blog... bby I've missed u

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Catstarion

Sorry for the slow uploads, been going out with friends and working for a bit but here's the next one, inspired by @bg-brainrot's post here. Thank you for the idea!

As you set your cup down, ready for another round of wine, you sense something, no, someone staring intently at you. Turning around, you find Astarion standing at the stairs leading up to the rooms, ruby red eyes piercing into your very soul as he stares, arms resting on the banister.

You’ve known him long enough to know what this means so with a sigh, you thank the bartender for his hospitality, excuse yourself from your increasingly drunk group of companions and head over to the stairs.

The vampire grins when he sees you approaching, gently pulling you to one side by your arm.

“Already turning in for the night, my sweet?” His fingers trail up your arm, lips whispering in your ear. The tips of your ears burn, feeling his words ghost over them.

“So it seems,” you reply. “Care to join me?”

The corners of his lips curve upwards, a sparkle in his eyes as he takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers and gently takes the lead, thumb running over the back of your palm. His wordless answer brings a small smile to your face and you let him guide you, annoyance left at the bar counter.

He turns the corner and opens the door to his room, ushering you in before closing the door behind him. He remains standing at the door as you make your way to the bed, getting comfortable before patting the spot next to you but he doesn’t move.

Raising an eyebrow, you tuck yourself under the covers before patting the pillow next to yours and yet he refuses to budge. Well, third time’s the charm, right? You open your arms and he immediately shoots over, burying himself in your embrace. Amused, you chuckle, which sends reverberations through him. He happily hums in response, shifting so that you have easy access to the entirety of his hair and grabs one of your hands, dropping it on the top his head.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten,” you snort as you begin to run your fingers through his soft white curls. He lets out a sigh of contentment, basking in the familiar rhythm of your fingers combing his locks, massaging his scalp along the way. The gentle movements start to lull him into a trance and he feels his eyes begin to close, his grip on your clothes loosening but then you do the unthinkable.

You shift.

Immediately his eyes snap open and he turns to glower up at you. You raise your hands in surrender, eyeing him warily as he scowls.

“My love, please do not interrupt my trance again.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

With a huff, he turns, stretching out across your legs like a cat before curling back up, feeling your fingers continue their movements through his hair. He loves it when you do this, when you let him trance whilst resting on you without making a single fuss even though you have little to no intention of going to sleep yourself. He loves how you don’t mind carving out time for him amidst your busy schedule, you could always ignore him until you were done drinking but you always responded to his call, putting aside your own needs and wants for him. He knew he could ask anything of you and you would do it, without crossing the boundaries the both of you had set at the start of your relationship of course.

To him, you always had something better to do than attend to his petty whining but to you, he always came first and he still couldn’t fathom why. Maybe one day he would, perhaps if he sat you down and talked to you about it, he would understand, but that would be after The Absolute was defeated and the worms were removed. He was becoming more positive about the party’s prospects in a fight against The Absolute, although he preferred hiding such feelings.

As your fingers continue to work their magic in his hair, his thoughts drift to the many ways you’ve upended his life. You’ve shown him what it means to love, what it means to be genuine, what it means to care about others. You’ve added to his life, and changed things that were already in his life. You’d made it your whole mission to help him associate actions that once caused him pain and misery with something more pleasant, the only reason why he could slip into a trance whilst you ran your fingers through his hair. Back then, such an action always came with —

Cough.

Astarion groans, reaching up to poke your cheek, “I’m trying to trance here, love. A little peace and quiet would be nice.”

“Sorry,” you pout, giving him the puppy dog eyes he can never resist and he lets the matter slide, returning back to his thoughts and attempt to trance.

You’re always careful to not pull his hair, with knots always being gently untied either with your fingers or a comb should one be nearby. You’re also the only one he trusts to take care of his hair, whether it be washing or helping to maintain it.

He feels you rest your free hand on his waist, the warmth from your palm spreading through his cold undead body and feels the urge to slip into a trance wash over him once more. Knowing he is safe in your arms, for nothing will be able to hurt him when you’re around, he lets the urge take hold, readying himself for whatever nightmares could plague his rest.

That is if you didn’t sneeze right there and then.

Astarion clicks his tongue, refusing to even open his eyes and exclaims, “Gods, how am I supposed to trance in these conditions?”

He buries his face into your thighs, putting up a dramatic show of angrily muttering under his breath while you apologise, struggling to hold in your laughter.

“Come on Astarion. If you want to trance properly, you should’ve just told me to go to sleep!”

“But then you wouldn’t be able to do…this!” He gestures vaguely in the direction of your hand which is still buried beneath his white curls, letting out yet another huff.

“You’ll have to choose one then, Star. I can’t seem to do both.” There’s mirth in your voice and for a moment Astarion wonders if you’re just toying with him but then the look in your eyes reassures him and he lets out a sigh of resignation, sitting up so that you can get into a comfortable position to sleep.

“Fine. Sleep next to me, my love.” He wraps you in a cocoon made from his arms, nuzzling into your neck and feels his fangs press against your skin — the only barrier between him and your blood. Yet you don’t flinch, trusting that he will only bite after asking you for permission and snuggle against him under the covers.

“Stop spending so much time with them,” you hear him mumble. So that was why he was acting so weirdly all night.

“You have me all to yourself every night, don’t you worry.” You press a peck to the top of his head, tucking him tighter against your body.

“And you’ll have me for all eternity too.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #durgestarion #bg3 fluff #bg3 fic

[munv]

𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡 𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗦𝗬

𝗜𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗦𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗲𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂? 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗶𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼?

I MISSED YOU GUYS SO MUCH MWAH MWAH MWAHH

P8

It was a wednesday, and the day was going perfectly fine, before you were called over into the principals office.

"Itoshi [name], please report to the office. Itoshi [name]" hushed whispers spread out throughout the classroom and in the midst of it your best friend leaned over from her seat to whisper in your ear. "psstt..did you piss someone off?" you turned around to face the girl before letting out  a sigh, "not that I know of..see you at lunch?'

"right!

Quickly, you made a beeline to the main office. The last thing you wanted to be was late, and then find out that you really did something wrong. The urge to crawl into a hole was all consuming not to mention, you mean, why the hell do these kids stare so much? They are such certified gossipers..

By the time you reach the office door you take a deep breath, this could either be your demise or your biggest accomplishment on the planet yet. There is no in between, only gratitude and pain. Raising a hand, you make a move to knock on the door. "Hello?". From within you could hear a voice call out in response, "come in!!" she yells out. 

Sounds like she's busy you guess. Might as well make this one quick.

Opening the door, you walked into the room to face the woman in front of you. She was pretty, sure, but she was mainly soft whenever she didn't need to be. It was unnecessary considering how unruly most of the kids in this school were. "Itoshi-san! there you are,." "yes, is there something you need from me ms?" it was better to get to the point rather than some small talk right?. "Right right, i've gotten a call from your parents and it seems like an emergency of some sort popped up. They want you home immediately."

An emergency?..Did the house burn down or something? But either way if this is an "emergency" then they must've already picked up Sae to go home. "thank you for having me ms, I'll go pack my bag now." You bowed your head a little before walking out the door. Making sure to close it behind you. 

What a pain..

First of all. What the fuck. 

There were some thoughts here and there as to what the so called emergency could be. With Sae tightly hanging on to you, basically squeezing the bloodstream out your hand in the process, there was no way to say that this wasn't reality. Your mother was pregnant, yes, it was very obvious from one glance. But to think that she would be having the baby TODAY? your own father was ready to pass out. 

The only thing that kept you grounded from running into that room was Sae. You weren't there for his birth now that you think about it, but what if someone bad happened? What if something happened to the baby? There have been some sorry instances that mothers made it but the baby didn't. If something happens to her, will your father really be able to take care of all three of you by himself? 

what happens if this turns out like your past life?

Everything feels like everything is spiralling down on you, and it takes common sense to realize that this isn't just a game, this is real. The life you are living right now is real, the people beside you are real, and so are you. This isn't just some fantasy you've had after death, this isn't paradise. Everything around you is living and breathing, and this might be your last shot at having a proper life. So no matter what happens you have to take care of your family. 

"nee-san."

A voice calls out to you. That's right. You have Sae, and he takes priority. You squeezed back his hand once again for the day. "I'm here, Sae." You assure him. "I know you are." he squeezes back with more force. 

"But does nee-san know that I'm here to?" This takes you by surprise and you can only turn to look at Sae with shock plastered on your face. "stop taking on everything yourself.." he mumbles. But you're still able to catch it. It feels nice to not be alone, you realize. Usually you would take on everything on your own and shoulder everyone, but even sometimes you need to take a break for yourself too.

"so..you DO know how to be kind?" you teased. "I was just comforting you, you rude bum!" "who taught you that?!" "YOU" "TO HELL I DIDN'T" "THEN TO HELL YOU GO"

From a distance your father watched with a small chuckle. "they never really change..do they?" he said shaking his head.

It was three hours before they sent a nurse into the waiting room to inform your family that your mother and baby were completely stable. They let your father into the room first before anything. It made you a little nervous now that you were really thinking about it, but to have siblings, and a real family above all else made you happy.

It was a while before the doctors let you and sae in but it was worth the wait. On your way to the room he made small talk with you. "How does it feel to be an older sister kid?" 

"It's a bit troublesome, but I think I can handle two of them." He then started to question Sae as well. "And how does it feel to have another boy in your family?" "lukewarm." 

The doctor sweatdropped in response. "alright.." You walked a bit more before arriving to the room your mother is in. "alright, we're here" he took the courtesey to open the door. Inside laid your mother in a hospital gown on the bed, and to behold, was something wrapped in cloth in her arms. 

Your father sat on the chair right to her bedside and waved you two over after watching the doctor leave. 

"the family seems to be complete huh?" he laughed out. 

  ITOSHI OMAKE

"why is it looking at me like that?" currently sae was looking at his newborn baby brother. "did I look like that okaasan?" 

Your mother let out a giggle at sae's cluelessness. "of course you did! you were the cutest baby!" she pulled on his cheeks a bit. "eugh..it looks weird."

"It's a bit odd how [name] never cried as a baby. Gave us a whole lot less work than expected." You sat on the bed directly next to your mother holding the baby. He didn't really open his eyes but you could tell it would be the trademark teal eyes. The eyelashes were already there anyways.

"Does he have a name yet?" you questioned. "Sadly no." your father sighed. "Your mother was out cold for a while so we're yet to name him anything." 

your mother hummed while playing with your hair, soon starting to braid it before someone spoke up. 

"Rin." 

all eyes turned to the second youngest Itoshi in question. "his name will be Rin." he said poking a finger at the baby. Rin looked at sae before holding onto his finger, a smile then broke out on both the Itoshi's faces. Your smile followed after. 

"alright then! its settled."

"welcome to the family little rin!" your mother announced. Laughter broke out into the room and you looked at your two younger brothers. "yeah..welcome rin."

#{-muxis writes #x reader #x y/n #headcanons #headcanon #oneshots #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #sae itoshi #rin itoshi #itoshi siblings #itoshi brothers #itoshi reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock sae #blue lock rin #blue lock x sibling reader #older sister reader #blue lock series

[disasterfandoms]

Sick Buckley || An Evan Buckley Imagine

Request: “Can you do one please where buck is sick and you take care of him please.”

A/N: hi! This is my first imagine I’ve written in a long, long time, so I’m sorry that it’s short! I hope everyone enjoys it!

TW: mentions of puke/gagging

If you’d like to be tagged in my stories, shoot me a message! I’ll eventually remake a taglist form and re-set up everything for this blog, might just take me a minute. 



It was never a good thing to hear the sound of your boyfriend, Buck, running to the bathroom at three in the morning. You sigh and rub your face as you hear the gags and sounds of his groans echoing through the apartment.

Getting up, you patter your way to the bathroom, silently rubbing his back as he continued to be sick, grimacing as it started to sound particularly painful. You moved away from him after a few moments, going to grab a wet wash cloth to place on the back of his neck, and then another so he can wipe his face after he was finished.

”Sorry,” Buck whispered, as he hadn’t wanted to wake you. He gratefully took the washcloth, wiping his face, but didn’t make a move off of the bathroom floor.

Shaking your head, you mutter, “No apologizing, you’re sick.” Giving him a small smile, you run a hand through his hair. You wish you could take the illness from him, but for now the best you could do was try and help him through it. “Now,” you continued, “Bathroom floor, or back to bed?”

”Floor,” he grumbled, resting his head against the toilet seat. He could feel his stomach churning, and he knew it was going to be a long night.

Nodding, you go and grab his pillow and his favorite covers, as well as some water for him for when he felt ready to take a few sips. You brought them back to him, rubbing his back as you got him settled into the makeshift bed.

“Thank you,” you heard Buck whisper as you had started to go back to bed.

”For what?”

”Taking care of me,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

”Always, Evan,” you smiled, “I love you.”

”I love you too,” he murmured, watching as you went back to bed, happy to have someone who would always help him.

#9-1-1 #Evan Buckley #Buck #Evan Buckley imagine #buck imagine #9-1-1 imagine #911 #911 imagine #evan buckley x reader

[aliidarling]

i need to purge my urges, shame shame shame pt. 2

RICK GRIMES x fem!reader

part. 1

nsfw content — please scroll if uncomfortable

summary: rick has been slowly trapping you with him, but someone comes up which ends in him having to remind you who u belong to

warnings: nsfw, p in v, fingering, noncon pretty much, manipulating, gaslighting, toxic rick, creampie, baby trapping, rough sex

i took inspo from an anon who requested baby-trapping :3

dark content below !!

You thought after a few days or weeks of being a B at the CRM would fill the void in your heart, the need to go back home and reunite with your friends and family. You could only imagine their smiles and faces, as now you had no way of contacting them. Rick was watching you like a hawk, eyes always on you even when he wasn’t in the room.

The sound of Judith’s laughter echoed in your head as you sat in your new apartment, his. He had just recently asked you to move into his commander suite, which you really couldn’t say no to, who would? The chance to be closer to your husband? You would be crazy to reject such an offer.

Every day of the last week had gone the same. You’d wake up in his arms, make love, eat breakfast, and split ways, Rick off to command and you on your way to stab walkers at the gate for hours in the heat. The thick uniforms were annoying but you were starting to get used to it.

What didn’t sit right with you was how *casual* Rick was with this whole thing. You had made the mistake of trying to reason with him a few weeks ago, which now was a reminder in your head not to anger him.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” He says angrily, glaring at you. He was livid, frustrated, and mostly offended. He had been so gentle and kind with you, and you go off and try and run away.

“I was trying— I was, I just got lost, Rick.” You plead quickly, your words a mess as you look up at him pleadingly. Your lips tremble as you see his fists clench and his nose flare. He was pissed off.

“You’re trying to leave me, aren’t you?” He scoffs, turning away to shake his head in disbelief. “Un-fucking-believable.” He sighs to himself. You shrivel up, tears pricking at your eyes. You didn’t want him to be angry at you, why was he angry? You loved him.

“I swear, I swear I’m not. I won’t try to leave, Rick.” You step forward and pull him into a hug, burying your face into his chest as you whimper. He lets out a dramatic groan, rolling his eyes and reluctantly wrapping his arms around you.

“You can’t keep doing this, sweetheart. You know I care about you. How am I supposed to take care of you when you’re not with me, hmm? You’re so small, someone else could just,” He initiates a pew pew sound, making you flinch and curl up further into him. He holds back a mean snicker.

“Say, why don’t you start staying with me? I’ll keep you safe. You’ll wake up in my arms every day and I can stuff that needy pussy whenever you want.” He coos lovingly into your ear, gently picking you up.

The rest was history. Shortly after, you moved in with him, and now you woke up every morning in his arms and fell asleep in them. He would manage to sneak into some of your shifts as the Commander to keep watch, but you could feel his eyes burning through your uniform, you knew you were the only reason why he was there.

But today, something felt off. You were talking with one of the friends you had made in the past month, Micheal. He was one of the B’s as well, you saw him from 8 am to 6 pm every day and during meal breaks. He was sweet, fluffy hair with a killer smile and dimples to die for.

“Did you know one of the a B’s broke into the cafeteria last night and stole a bunch of food? The commanders were all talking about it this morning, they’re pissed.” He innocently gossips. He smiles at you, turning to face you slightly as he stabs a walker right in the face.

You remember Rick slightly talking about it earlier. You give Micheal a nod, politely smiling back at him.

“I dunno who did it, but I hope they got enough for me. I’m starving.” You joke softly. He chuckles and nods, his hands at work but his eyes on you.

As the two of you continue talking happily, relieved at the small distraction from the labor you were forced to do, you feel a pair of eyes burn onto your back. Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly knew who it was. You could recognize that grumpy aura from anywhere.

Peering behind you, you made quick eye contact with a tall commander. Even with the mask on, you knew it was him, you could tell. He was staring right at you, arms crossed and body language annoyed.

You shrink slightly and glanced back at Micheal, taking a small step back. You cough to yourself.

“Sorry, I’ve been kinda sick recently so.. We should keep some space, don’t wanna get you sick, do I?” You laugh softly.

He blinks in surprise before nodding quickly, a small blush coming over his cheek as he realizes his close he was to you. It was cute how giddy he was when it came to you, it was obvious the boy had a crush.

“Of course! What do you have? A cold? Fever? Do you want me to bring something over later? I have some medicine at my place.”

It was as if Rick had heard those words because next thing you know you’re getting shoved back into a hard chest.

“Consignee, you’re being called.” A rough voice says. You look up behind you to see the tall commander you already knew who was gazing down at you coldly. He diverts his attention to Micheal, and his gaze goes angry. You can see the dents between his brows that he has when he gets angry.

“Yes, commander.” You salute, glancing at Micheal and giving him a weak smile before walking off.

Rick stands there for a moment, glaring at Micheal, before following you.

Once you’re inside the building and in a private hall, he doesn’t waste a second and shoves you against a wall, his mask already off and his face all up in yours.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Flirting with others in front of my face like I’m some fuckin’ idiot.” He snapped. His rough hands go to hold your shoulders flush to the wall, his eyes narrowed with a glint of menace in them. He was angry, pissed off, and confused.

Why would you go and flirt with someone else when you have him? He was the perfect husband— talk, handsome, sweet personality, and amazing bed skills, something he was sure Micheal didn’t have. Stupid Micheal probably didn’t even know how to be a real man. Rick was a real man.

“What are you talking about?” You gasp. “I wasn’t flirting with him— what?! Me and him are just friends!” You counter immediately, getting defensive and offended.

“Like hell you are,” He scoffs, pushing you closer. His eyes gaze down at you coldly, narrowed and furious. He stares at you before pressing his nose against you, his hot breath on your face. You shiver and try to lean back but the wall has you trapped.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill him right there, would have painted the gates with his blood. Would you of liked that?” He sneers. You go still momentarily, thinking over his harsh threat, your heartbeat racing.

“No, no Rick. You don’t need to do all that— I won’t talk to him.” You say quickly, reaching to gently cup his face with your shaky palms. You gulp nervously and attempt to soothe him, rubbing gently and pressing a little peck to his lips. He growls against your lips, pulling you back in when you attempt to part. He doesn’t want to be away from you right now, he wants all of you and your loyalty entirely.

It had been a few days since then. Everything was supposedly fine, you guessed. Rick was still watching you like a hawk. You could feel the glare on your back whenever Micheal goes anywhere near you, so you make sure to come up with excuses to leave the young man alone for the sake of his safety.

You didn’t want anything to happen to him. You knew Rick. You used to, that is. You had no idea why he had changed so much, but you couldn’t just leave him. No— You loved him. You wouldn’t leave. Maybe you could help him go back to his old self, maybe he was just damaged.

Yeah. That’s it. He needs you. You have to help him. Aid him in returning to his old self so you can have *your* Rick back.

You were out by the lake when you heard leaves crunching next to you. You turned to face the disturbance, your heart skipping a beat when you thought it was Rick— but the sight of the blonde boy had you relaxing for some reason.

“Micheal.” You greet with a polite smile, shuffling on the bench to make room for him. He smiles back at you and sits down, a few inches between your thighs.

“You alright? I’ve uh, noticed you’ve been a little distant recently.” He frowned, leaning back on the bench and gazing at the beautiful lake in front of the two of you. It was fall, the leaves were falling and the sidewalk was covered in a variety of red, orange, and yellow.

Your smile twitched as you picked at your hair.

“It’s nothing, just haven’t been feeling well. I think I caught a cold.” You chuckle softly, facing him slightly. You put your arm on the back of the bench, leaning on your palm. You gazed at him closely.

Knowing Rick wasn’t here, you felt oddly comfortable. You weren’t scared of accidentally angering him by being friendly with Micheal like you could breathe clearly for once.

He gives you a concerned look, brows furrowing innocently.

“Oh, that’s not good. How do you feel today?”

A small sigh left you as you squirmed in your position, not sure what to say. Pressing your lips together for a moment, you pondered.

“…Peachy.”

A small giggle left the both of you as you sat and conversed freely, no commanders breathing down your neck or glaring daggers.

You should have known that the peace never lasted long when it came to being married to a ticking time bomb. The second you entered your apartment, the air was tense and you could tell by the way Rick was looking at you that you did something wrong.

“What’s wrong?” You said immediately, rushing forward to him. You gently place your hands on his forearms, frowning up at him innocently. What did you do? Why is he angry?

He grunts lowly and grabs you by your shoulders, pushing you back until your back is against the wall. You failed to speak as your throat went dry, your heart stopping for a good second.

“Rick—“ Your voice cracked, a yelp leaving you as his fist landed on the wall just inches from your face.

“Shut the hell up, you ungrateful little,” He inhales deeply before he says something he knows he’ll regret. One hand next to you clenched in a fist, the other rubbing his jaw in a stressed manner, he finally looks down at you with a harsh glare.

“Do you even love me?” He chokes out, blinking. His voice was scratchy, the southern accent from years ago a subtle hint now.

You blink in surprise, lips parting as you stand there confused and fearful.

“W-What? Of course, I do! You're my husband, I searched for you for years,” You were once again interrupted by him as he raised his voice at you, making you flinch and cower in his presence.

“The hell were you doin’ with Micheal, huh?! That skimpy little boy— Out there by the lake, talking like you’re two little love birds, who the hell do you think you are?!” He snaps.

His hands come up to your face aggressively, making you flinch as you think he’s gonna hit you. He instead cups your cheeks and leans down so he’s breathing down your cheeks.

“You thought I was gon’ hit you? Is that how low you think of me? What the hell?” His raised voice has you practically trembling in fear, legs wobbly and bottom lip quivering pathetically.

“N-No Rick, you know I don’t think of you like that. You’re scaring me, please.” You whimpered out, attempting to squirm out of his hold. He tightens his grasp on you, pressing his body against yours.

“You shut that pretty mouth of yours, baby, before I do something you really won’t like. I’ll give you a reason to cry, got that? Huh?” He shakes you, making your eyes burn with humiliation and tears.

“Y-Yes.” You nod, your hands shakily reaching for him as you weakly attempt to push his hands off your face. In response, he slightly slaps your cheek as a warning, a pressurized pat.

You blink hard, trying to hold back the tears. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

He stares you down, thinking silently in his head. He was quiet, and his silence was more threatening than his words for some reason. He was unrecognizable when it came to reading him. He used to be easy to calm down, but not anymore.

“Y’know, I never got to see you with a baby bump. Saw you raise Carl with me, but never saw you pregnant. Never.” He mumbles. His eyes narrow as he looks you up and down. His words send goosebumps down your spine, the dark reasoning behind them known to you. You attempt to push him off more firmly now, sniffling.

“Don’t do this,” You choke out. He ignores your pleas and grabs you, manhandling you into his bed and pressing you down. His body was big and muscular, he had grown a lot. Small pleas leave your throat as you squirm and thrash, but it’s all useless to him.

“Shhhh, I’m not gonna hurt ya’, is it so bad I wanna see my wife pregnant? You’d look so cute, belly full of my babies.” He whispers, smiling down at your form. He pushes his hands under your shirt and pulls it up over your head. It gets stuck on your head because of your thrashing, making him roll his eyes in annoyance.

He slaps your thigh once he has the shirt off you, scowling down at you.

“Behave, or I swear to god.” He hisses. He watches as you start to let tears stream down your cheeks, and he holds back the smile as he reaches down and gently kisses them away.

“Don’t cry baby, you’re gonna be the prettiest mama I know.” He mumbles as he starts to kiss up your belly, pampering you with affection that only makes you feel worse. Every kiss has you sniffling and hiccuping under him, your body trembling.

“Can’t run from me when you’re pregnant with my child, right?” He chuckles darkly, large hands cupping your belly. He squeezes it gently and smiles at your reaction.

He pulls you in for a kiss, hands tugging down your pants and panties, not wasting any time. He was impatient, he’d admit it. He didn’t want another second to go where you weren’t stuffed full of his seed.

Spreading your thighs was hard with the way you were squeezing them shut. He rolls his eyes at your fight but easily holds them apart, the other hand going down to your pussy.

He clicks his tongue as he feels how barely wet you are. “Whatever, it’ll do.” With that, he shoves his fingers into your mouth. He glares at you, waiting for your saliva to coat his fingers before he pulls out and shoves them knuckle-deep into your cunt.

“A-Augh!” You gasp at the sudden burn in your lower region, your body tensing and eyes fluttering. Even with your salvia around the fingers currently thrusting deeper into you, it still hurt like a bitch to be stretched open so suddenly. Rick’s fingers were thick.

“Shhh, take it, c'mon.” He mutters, eyes narrowed as his fingers keep sliding in and out roughly, not giving you a chance to breathe as he makes scissoring motions.

Your moans are forced out of your throat. Even with how hard you were trying to hold them back, Rick knew exactly how to make you feel good, knew which spots make your toes curl and which ones made you cum the hardest.

He ignores your shaky cries and how you begged him to stop, his fingers only going harder. You curl up at the feeling, gasping. You were already feeling close to cumming to your embarrassment.

“So close already?” He snickers meanly, pulling out swiftly and rushing to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans. He was in a hurry, a hurry to get balls-deep in you and fuck you until you’re leaking cum. “Poor baby.” He tsk’s at your whimper.

“No, don’t— Rick,” You beg desperately as he pulls out his hard cock and positions himself on top of you, tip against your opening and his hands holding you down. You feel more tears coming as your legs are forced open and your thighs are pressed against your chest, knees almost touching your chin.

You sob under him as he slowly thrusts inside, his eyes rolling back at the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing him. Even with how he stretched you open, it still felt like he was ripping you open whenever he slid himself into you.

He presses his chest down onto your thighs, legs over his shoulders, and his hands grab yours to hold them above your head. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, trembling in a mix of fear, pain, and arousal. You didn’t k is what to do.

“Please—“

“Shut up, shhh.” He starts to thrust, and you immediately start to moan at how deep his cock hit inside you. Gasping for air as you choked on your tears, his grunt grew louder as he picked up a smooth pace.

“Gonna stuff this pussy full of my babies, you’re gonna be so pretty pregnant, baby, don’t cry, don’t cry.” He soothes you, thrusting harder into your wailing hole.

Even with how good it felt to have him thrust into your body, his body pressing against yours with his lips pressing gentle kisses all over you, you couldn’t focus on any of it. All you could think of was how much he had changed. The Rick you knew would never do this to you.

Your body was being pleasured, but your heart was being stabbed over and over again, aching and throbbing painfully. You just wanted this all to stop and for him to hold you close and comfort you. Was that too much to ask for?

He groans and reaches down to get as close to you as possible, saying, "Fuck, fuck." He intended for you to feel every single inch of him, the depth of him being there in your tiny little pussy, and every feeling he gave you.

“Ya’ feel that? Yeah? Can you feel how deep I am in that pussy of yours? I can feel you gripping me, my love; must feel so good, doesn't it?” Your cries are muffled as he successfully presses his cock further, his fat head grazing your tender region and making you clench up.

“Gonna cum inside you and force you to take every drop, knock you up, and then you can’t leave me. You’re not going anywhere, all mine sweetheart.” He rambles into your ear as his thrusts continue, your eyes rolling back at the force and pace. You sobbed under him for mercy but he didn’t listen, instead tightening his grip on your wrists.

“Fuckkkk, feels so good,— Take every bit of it, kay? Gon’ make you cry so much harder if you don’t,” He groans. He buries himself as deep inside you as he can, hugging you tightly to his chest as he releases his thick load in your walls. It takes him a moment to part from you, sweating and panting. You had him whimpering on top of you, still holding you down. He starts to sloppily thrust again, making you flinch at the feeling.

“No, please stop! I can’t take anymore, please!” You plea, whining shakily as he rams into your sensitive hole over and over again. You already had his cum dripping out of you, the squelching sounds making you blush in embarrassment as he kept going. He invokes your words and continues his torturous pace.

“We’re gonna be here for a while, sweetheart.” He chuckles darkly. With a raspy groan, he grasps your waist, letting your wrists go finally and holding your waist as leverage to batter your insides easier.

“If you think I’m goin’ to sleep tonight without a shit load of cum inside you, then you’re stupider than I thought.”

Yeah, you were definitely getting pregnant after this.

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x reader smut #rick grimes smut #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead x reader smut #the walking dead smut #twd #towl #twd towl #the ones who live #twd the ones who live #Spotify

[safination]

Partners in Death…and Life.

Part 6: Radio’s Last Broadcast

|Part 5: Gimpse of Me and You: Part ii| |Part 7: Coming soon!| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Asexual! Alastor, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, dishes, being a simp for your partner Warning: blood, dead bodies, stitches Good luck.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1933

There are too many dishes in the sink. Bowls and saucer plates stack together in one organized pile. On the counter, spoons and kitchen knives are arranged by height. Well…at least Alastor has the decency to sort this whirlwind of dishes for you.

The first bowl lines the edges with streaks of mystery sauce. You open the tap, rinsing it with your fingers to wash away the stubborn spots. A mixture of sliminess and wet wet wet wet harass your hands. It’s a bad night to have all five senses. It’s pure and plain…ew. Just ew, and ew, and another ew, and a dash of yuck. Someone please end the suffering.

“There’s like a thousand dishes here!” you exclaim, discarding the bowl for what seems like a million others. “Why do we even have so many bowls? It’s doubled ever since we got married. Do you just go around buying every bowl you see?”

Alastor reaches out for your face, holding you with both of his hands. He smoothens your scowl with the soft pads of his thumbs. Water runs out the faucet…but the heat of his palm warms your cheeks. “You’ll get wrinkles all over this pretty face of yours if you keep scrunching your nose.”

You pull away to continue rinsing.

Heh…hehehehe…pretty. (You need to get it together.)

Against your best efforts, a dopey smile replaces your scowl. It was a good try, though. “Did you do this on purpose?” A sigh escapes you when you notice the softness in your tone. Get it a grip! At least try and keep the bite in your tone. “Please tell me you did—it would give me a great reason to decorate your head with this bowl.”

Alastor places a hand on his chest with the fakest offended expression lathered on his face. It’s so fake it has a masters degree in fakeology. “You think that I would take time out of my very busy life to meticulously use different types of dishware, and trouble myself with using each and every single one to force my wife to wash them?”

…Somehow, that dopey smile manages to get dopier.  Heh…hehehe…he said the words. ‘My wife’.

You cringe into your shoulder. Oh my God! Stop!  This is so embarrassing.

With a deep breath, you make it a point to show off how you roll your eyes. “I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

Alastor shows you his most innocent smile.

With a long and painful deep breath, you continue the dishes. There’s a smile on your lips even as your fingers feel the absolute horror of soggy food. There isn’t a life out there better than washing the dishes right here with Alastor.

Alastor stares into you with the brownest of eyes. His sleeves are folded into his elbows, arms crossed together. Sleeve garters. That’s it. There isn’t much to say except… well… sleeve garters.

The bowl threatens to slip from your grip.

Alastor reaches from behind you, placing his hand over yours to tighten your grip on the bowl. “Careful,” he says in a voice so low that it almost brings you to enlightenment. “This would be your fourth broken bowl this week, and the week just started.”

You blink at his hand a bit idiotically. It’s warm—he’s warm. “Oh…uh…,” you say because there’s nothing else running through your mind, not when every breath Alastor takes brushes your ear. “…I’m not at fault here.”

Alastor squeezes your hand. “Really now? And it’s somehow my fault that you break ten bowls a week?”

“Well, dearest, you can’t really expect me to focus when you’re standing there…looking all …uh … looking quite … nice…?”

‘Nice’ was the safest option your pride would allow you to give him. You might not be a poet, but even you knew that ‘nice’ was at the very bottom of the list of words you would use.

Alastor pulls away, laughing like you said a joke. “Funny,” he says. “And you still wonder why I buy so many bowls.”

You laugh as well as if you did say a joke.

Alastor bumps your shoulders with his. “How was your day?”

“You first.”

“I received the most delicious cup of coffee today,” he says, humming. “The flavors were so rich that I couldn’t help but gulp it down.”

You accept the smile that his words put on your lips. “Oh, shut up.”

“It was less than a dollar as well!” There’s a grin on his face that tells you he’s aware of exactly what he’s doing. “I bought it at this little café that just opened. Should I take you? I think you would like it.”

The grip you have on the bowl tightens, and you show him the widest smile you could summon. “It’s so lucky you think I’m pretty.”

Alastor laughs into the air, breathy and light. He inches closer and plants a hand on your cheek, thumb brushing up and down your skin.

The bowl slips from your grip when he steals a kiss.

Alastor catches the bowl, and secures it back in your grip. “I had a typical work day—played some songs, swooned some hearts, and all the usual,” he says, smiling from ear to ear. “Then, I made dinner with exactly twenty-one dishes, minus the pots and pans.”

“Oh my God!” you exclaim, glaring. “You did do it on purpose.”

“What a preposterous accusation to make!” Alastor inches closer once more to press a kiss on your cheek. “Can I hear about your day now?”

There’s an urge to swing the bowl at him…but…well, Alastor presses a second kiss on your other cheek. “I made coffee today,” you tell him. “And I was driven to work by a man who swoons hearts with every step he takes.”

Alastor hooks his chin on your shoulders, snaking his arms around your chest for a hug. It makes washing the dishes a bit more tedious. There are hundreds of reasons to push him off. You ignore each and every single one of them.

His nose nudges your neck. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

“Maybe, but you aren’t hearing it from me,” you say, wiggling your ring finger. “After work, I went home, got called pretty, shared some kisses, and some asshole decided to cook dinner with exactly twenty-one dishes.”

“Minus the pots and pans,” Alastor adds, pulling you tighter into his chest. “You mustn’t forget that.”

“Yes, minus the pots and pans,” you echo. “I mustn’t forget about how some asshole made dinner using exactly twenty-one dishes…minus the pots and pans.”

“Such vulgar words.”

You meet his eyes, showing off your teeth as you smile. “For you, dearest? Always.”

Alastor releases his hug, and takes his place beside you. He grabs the bowl from you, and soaps it with the sponge.

These blasted eyes of yours glance at him. You have to pull your eyes away to return to the task of washing the dishes. Alastor’s hair is getting longer. Should you offer to cut it for him? Although, the longer strands frame his face quite handsomely. Give it a year and he would be sporting a small bob. You could braid it for him. Alastor would look amazing with neat braids.

Egg whites cling to the surface of the plate. It takes absolutely every ounce of your self-control not to shudder at the mixture of water and egg whites touching your skin.

“Dad called me,” you say. “He’s going to close the shop for a few days—something about wanting to go into the woods.”

Alastor tilts his head, and a portion of his bangs shift to the side. “What exactly does he do there?”

You hand Alastor the plate, and your fingers brush together. Soap transfer to your hand. It takes even more self-control not to intertwine your fingers. It would be difficult to wash the dishes with one hand…hmmm, difficult but not impossible.

Alastor sponges the plate, and the chance to hold his hand disappears. “Are you listening to me?”

“I don’t know?” you say. “My father does whatever men like to do in the forest. Just woods stuff—camping or hunting or fishing. He does his own thing.”

Alastor glances at the calendar behind you.

You hand him another plate. Should you just grab his hand? He would complain, but you want to feel the mixture of calluses and warmth against your own. You should just take it. Come on, take it! It’s easy. All you would need to do is reach across and slip your hand in his hold.

Alastor glances back at you for a second, then filters his eyes back to the calendar.

With a sigh, he reaches out, eyes still planted on the calendar, and intertwines his fingers with yours. “You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles. “Just take it if you want to.”

Ridiculous giggling escapes your mouth. School-girl type of type or ridiculous giggles. You press your face into his arm. Alastor stumbles as you hide your big and stupid grin into his shirt.

“Stop laughing like that.”

You laugh harder, pressing deeper into him. “Oh, you are so foul!” you exclaim, squeezing his hand. “What an unfair thing to say to me. How dare you, honestly. It’s like you want me to drop this bowl.”

Alastor tugs on your hand. “I’m going to pull away.”

The grip you have on his hand tightens, and you stick out your tongue. “Too late! This is mine now!”

Alastor smiles at you, and once more you think you’ve reached enlightenment.

You cringe into yourself. …Please… just keep it together for one second.

This man…this husband of yours. He’s unfair. Too unfair. How dare he say the most ridiculous words that tug on the strings of your heart. How dare he look at you with those too brown eyes like you’ve hung the sun and the moon and the stars when he’s the one who does so. How dare he smile at you with a look that is oh so soft.

You will never be able to compose yourself when his very presence drives you to an insane type of bliss. Nope! Not at all. Not for one second. And you won’t have it any other way.

It’s difficult to wash the dishes with one hand. Neither you or Alastor complain.

Alastor caresses your hand with his thumb, moving it up and down your skin. He brings it to his lips and presses a kiss on your ring. “It’s been almost five years since we got married.”

You smile to yourself. “We should do something special.”

“Like what?”

“Use less dishes.”

With one hand, you grab a spoon, holding it out as Alastor uses the sponge to soap. What a sight to behold. Such impeccable teamwork deserves an award.  

Alastor glances at the clock, then shuts off the faucet mid rinse.

He reaches for a kitchen cloth and wipes your hands dry. Now, both of your hands are intertwined in his. “I should go before it gets too late,” he says. “Is Jasper in pieces yet?”

You pull one hand off his hold, and open the faucet. Alastor closes it again.

“Let’s just finish the dishes first, and I’ll have him ready in a few minutes.”

Alastor squeezes your hand. “Let’s do it now.”

You squeeze back. “The dishes—”

“Can be done later,” he says, tugging on you. “I’ll help you finish it when I get home.”

Alastor pulls you to the basement, fingers still intertwined. It’s significantly less creepy now. Lightbulbs illuminate the space. You forced Alastor to add more lights with a promise that you wouldn’t step a single foot back inside his basement. (Well, it’s your basement now as well.)

Alastor twists the knob of the radio, and music fills the air. It’s just a simple piece of hardwood, but he leaves it in the basement for you and only you. Well, the music certainly lessens the creep factor.

Your fingers brush when Alastor releases his hold to hand you a butcher’s knife. It’s one specifically for chopping people in your shared murder-basement (Hehehe….shared.) Afterall, it would be unsanitary to use the same knife for the food you eat.

The knife lies heavy in your hold. You alight that shard edge between the joints of Jasper’s elbow. One slice is all that’s needed to halve his arm.

Was his name actually Jasper? Maybe.

It would be a funny coincidence if his government name was actually Jasper. He looked like a dog, so you gave him a dog’s name.

Alastor’s staring at you. He’s leaning on the table with his arms crossed …and well… you’re not going to go back into it again.

(But… but… like…  the way the shadows paint his hair does something to you that your pride isn’t willing to voice. And he’s looking at you with those dangerous brown eyes again. And that fucking smile of his. It’s the warmest thing in this cold basement. Second to the heat growing on you if he keeps staring at you like that. Sleeve garters.)

“You’re staring,” you mumble. “Stop it—staring is my job.”

Alastor laughs and it’s better than the music playing from the radio. “Is it now?”

“Yes! Stop staring and distracting me. Go turn around or something,” you say, waving the knife in the air. “I could accidentally cut myself.”

Alastor raises his hands, and turns his back to you. “We wouldn’t want that.”

Well, that was a mistake. You forget how nice his back is. (Hint: it’s really nice...like unfairly nice.) Should you just kick him out?

That’s a really nice back…You continue cutting.

It takes a few minutes longer to cut Jasper into pieces. It would take significantly less time if you were alone, but eh.

Alastor takes an arm and places it into the cadaver bag. What a weird night this is. It went from dinner to washing the dishes to stuffing a man into a bag. Alastor takes his feet, and you take the legs.

You try to grab the other end of the strap to help carry Jasper up the stairs, but Alastor swats your hand away. Okay then, suffer. A dead body, no matter how many pieces, are still bound to be quite heavy.

The both of you still at the front door.

You grab the edge of his pinky finger, tugging on it a bit. “Spare me a second?”

Alastor slips his hand into yours as he drops the bag containing Jasper. It lands with an audible thunk. “Always.”

The strands of his hair brush through your fingers. Its softness tickles. You let it linger for a second as you smoothen his hair. The lapels of his coat are next. You adjust the fit, securing it around him.

His bowtie is crooked.

Alastor inches lower, and you straighten it for him. How ridiculous of him to wear his favorite bowtie even in the comfort of the home he’s building with you.

“It’s going to be cold tonight,” you say. “Be quick. I’m not going to nurse you back to health if you get sick.”

Alastor knows that was a lie. You know it as well.

“Well,” he begins, smiling at you, “who am I to refuse the request of such a lovely lady?”

You smack his arm. “Be serious.”

Alastor brings your hand to his lips, pressing a single kiss on the back. “I am being serious,” he says, staring directly at you. “I think you’re pretty, remember?”

A small giggle escapes, but you kill it with a couch. “Funny.”

“Don’t touch the dishes without me.” Alastor drops your hand, and opens the door. Cold air rushes into the warmth of your home.  “Let’s finish it together.”

You lean on the doorframe, smiling as you stare. “It’s a date, then.”

He stills by the entrance, crossing his arms. Jasper lays forgotten in his bag. “You’re staring.”

“I am, indeed,” you say. “You have such great observation skills.”

“You have the face on again,” he says, snorting. “You know, the one that says you’re just desperate for me to kiss you.”

It’s your turn to snort. “I think you’re just describing my everyday face.”

“You’re flirting with me again.”

“With you? Always,” you say. “But if you’re willing to permit me a taste of you, I’m not going to deny it. After all, doting husbands kiss their wives all the time.”

Alastor brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. He lets his hold linger for more than a few seconds. “And you’re the expert on what a doting husband entails.”

“I am, actually.”

Alastor laughs at you, smiling. “Alright, fine.”

“Really?” You slip from the doorframe, stumbling into a trip. Not your finest moment. Probably one of your most embarrassing moments actually, but oh well.

Alastor catches your shoulders, steading you with his hold. “You are too excited for this.”

“Nope! No, no, no! You can’t take it back anymore. You already said yes!” You close your eyes and inch closer. “Come on, pucker up, pretty body.”

There’s a finger where his lips should be.

Alastor presses his finger on your mouth, pushing you back a little. He kisses your cheek instead, lingering on your skin. “I’ll be distracted the whole night,” he says. “I’ll give you a proper one when I come home to you.”

“My dearest husband, is that a promise?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, and grabs Jasper’s bag. Right…you forgot about the dead body currently stuffed into a bag. He finally walks out the door with a small wave. “Don’t touch the dishes!”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The door closes with a click.

Alastor stands outside the entrance, counting until five whole minutes pass before he slides down the wood. He’s sitting outside a door, leaning his head on the wood. It’s been a while since he’s done this.

It’s indeed cold, but the air doesn’t bite him at all.

He presses his face into his arm, hiding a smile you couldn’t see. You were ridiculous. He was ridiculous, and a very…very silly man. …Silly for you…

Fuck! Alastor runs a hand over his hair. What is wrong with him? But…ha…you said the words. ‘My dearest husband.’

His head bangs on the very solid wooden door. Alastor clutches his head, hissing. He’s been acting embarrassing all night. The foolishness he displays around you borders on painful.

…Please…. Please, just keep it together.

Alastor touches his lips. It wasn’t a lie to say a kiss would distract him the whole night. When did he become the type of man who steals kisses left and right? He wasn’t even the type to enjoy a kiss either, but each press of his lips on you felt like a conversation instead of a chore.

An intimate language translated by the rings on your fingers.

There were words he was telling you, whether you understood them or not. Alastor’s not even sure he understands what he’s trying to say either.

He groans into his palms.

All traces of composure leave the window at the sight of you. He’s such an idiot for you. There isn’t a thing you could do that doesn’t drive him into the brink of insanity.

When it comes to you?

Oh, he’ll gladly be a bumbling idiot for the rest of his life.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

That one

right there.

Him.

He who likes to leave presents.

He who brings me gifts he thinks I will enjoy.

He who is a fool, for I am not his wife.

To you, who thinks he can do a god’s job.

To you, who decides for others.

To you, who loves to smile.

I, too, have a present.

A joke.

You might not laugh, but she will.

It goes like this:

A father takes his gun,

and the hunter becomes hunted.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

A knock sounds on the door.

Alastor never knocks, because why would he? There’s no sensible reason to knock on the door on the home you’re building.

Cautiously, you peek out the window, moving the curtain as the drum of heartbeats echo in your ear. It’s your father…oh…it’s your father. With closed eyes, you take one single deep breath.

You rip the door open before the question could fully form in your mind.

There’s a smile on your father’s face, even as mud cakes the edges of his pants. (It’s mud. It’s nothing else but mud. It’s water and soil, and nothing less and nothing more. Mud is supposed to be brown. It’s mud. Nothing less and nothing more.)

It’s funny. How have you never noticed you and your father have the same smile?

He reaches out, and you stay frozen as he smooths your hair with a pat. “Hello, sweetheart,” he says. “I apologize for knocking so late.”

A smile forces itself on your lips because Alastor doesn’t like it when you frown, and there’s no reason to frown. There’s absolutely no reason for the ringing in your ears. “Who did you kill this time?”

His smile wobbles and it becomes apologetic. Why does it look apologetic? What does he need to apologize for? It’s only mud that stains his fingers. “Oh, my sweet girl, I think you already know,” he tells you, forcing you to confront that no, it’s not just mud staining his nails. “Alastor’s in the trunk.”

A part of you expects to crash to the floor, knees weak, and sobbing as you choke on your tears because your husband is stuffed into a trunk. There’s none of that. Alastor would be a bit disappointed.

Is there something you should say? He needs a response. What do you say to the man who birthed your past when he has the blood of your future on his boots?

“I thought he was a deer,” he says, plain and simple. It’s how you would have said it as well. “Some dogs got to him before I found him.”

The door swings wider.

“Bring him down the basement,” are the first words that come out of your mouth. Were you smiling? It seems like you are. Alastor would be proud. “It’s down the hall—first door you see.”

He turns back to the car, whistling a tune as he walks. You don’t watch him pop open the trunk.

There’s weight anchored to your feet. It makes the trudge to the kitchen longer that it should be.

The first thing you grab is a bowl…

You exchange it for a plate.  There’s some slimy film coating the surface. You use your fingers to scrub out the slime. It doesn’t feel gross because it doesn’t feel like anything. The next couple of minutes are spent washing the dishes. Porcelain clinks when you stack the dishes to the side. At least you think it does. It’s easier to rinse with two free hands, and just as easy to soap when there’s nothing tying your hold.

The dishes are completed. Quickly? Not so quickly? Not at all quickly? You don’t know.

It takes a moment to count how many dishes Alastor used tonight, minus the pots and pans, of course, because you mustn’t forget about that.

There’s only fifteen tonight.

That liar…he used less dishes today. What happened to twenty-one dishes minus the pots and pans?

It was sixteen with the pots and pans. Alastor didn’t even use a pot, just a singular pan.

Alastor’s mug sits next to your own. You skip over his, grabbing yours to make coffee. It’s a matching mug set—it’s a stupid little thing you saw while you were in the city. It’s ugly, and it’s neon colors, a total eye-sore. Yet, he was determined to purchase it because you said it looked funny, and even more determined to use the matching set. It’s not funny anymore.

His mug goes into the trash.

You think you’re in the living-room now, a warm cup in your hands. There’s a book in your father’s hand as he lounges on the couch, skimming through the pages of Alastor’s book.

His eyes turn to the coffee. “Can I have some of that?”

“I never make coffee for guests,” you say. “The beans are in the kitchen. Go make your own if you want one.”

“Is that what I am?”

“Would you like to be called something else?” The mug warms your hands. It’s not enough. “The beans are on the counter.”

He stands, walking over to press a kiss on your forehead. “Alright. I’ll leave you here for a minute.”

The couch cushion presses on your legs. It’s soft and lumpy. Lumpy? When did you start feeling the lumps? You stare at your hands, feeling the way your muscles contract and stretch as you open and close your fingers. It’s weird. You feel absolutely everything and absolutely nothing.

There’s a mug in your father’s hand when he returns.

He clasps your hand. The warmth of the mug transfers to you. It’s all wrong wrong wrong wrong. The wrong kind of warm. These wrong hands were thick with roughness.

Alastor’s hands are smoother. They’re longer and daintier, and held your world.

The hand that grasps your own holds the blood of your world. “Time will heal you,” he says, searching for your eyes. “…Eventually.”

The heat of the coffee scorches your tongue. It should burn. Logically, it should but it doesn’t. “We were supposed to have a lifetime together,” you say. “The only time we have now is lost time.”

He pats your head again. “I’m truly sorry.”

You stare at him, and the same set of eyes stare back into you. It’s still all wrong. “It’s late,” you tell him. “There’s a guest room upstairs. I’ll take care of him, and we can feed him to the neighbor’s pigs tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

You don’t say it back.

There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. The walk to the basement door is a familiar one. It still takes longer than it should. The hallway isn’t even that long.

There’s a picture of you and Alastor hanging on the wall.

It’s the only photograph in this house that’s framed. All other pictures are stored in a box, carefully hidden. Alastor hates having his picture taken, but he’s smiling in this one with a hand placed over your shoulders.

You didn’t even want the picture. It was just a silly little thing you suggested because you wanted to know how far he would entertain your requests.

It only took one ask, and he agreed to the photograph like it didn’t cost him the last fee dollars in his wallet. You stopped asking for things you knew he would hate ever again.

The photo goes into the trash as well.

The doorknob to the basement twists easily, and you have to take a seat on the steps. What happened to not delaying it?

Just a second…

You only need a second.

Alastor hates your frown. It’s something he’s never said out loud, but you know. You’ll always know.

It’s not exactly a secret. There’s always some kind of ridiculous story or some lame joke. The worst distractions are the absolutely annoying stunts he likes to pull. It gets on your nerves. It ranges from mild to thirty dishes in the sink.

All that trouble, just to pull your frown away.

You run a hand through your hair, summoning the courage to take the remaining steps. There’s the smallest of smiles on your lips. It’s nothing compared to the ones Alastor hangs on your face, but it’s better than nothing.

Alastor lays on the table.

His glasses are nowhere to be seen. He needs those to see. How is he going to see if his glasses weren’t here?

You approach him, taking one step after the other. The weights on your leg grow heavier. Alastor allowed you to hold his hand whenever you wanted. You grip the very edge of his pinky finger, playing with it until you find the courage to intertwine your fingers with his. The texture was all correct, but this is nothing but a cold hand now.

You squeeze his hand.

He doesn’t squeeze back.

You stand in this cold basement, holding his hand even when he doesn’t hold you back.

The back of your fingers caress down his cheek. His eyes are closed. He wouldn’t be needing his glasses after all. Where are those too brown eyes that shine brighter than starlight? They don’t look at you anymore. They won’t be looking at you anymore.

Dirt sticks to the edges of his jaw. It clings to him tighter than the grip you have on his hand. His clothes are ripped, some fall split at the seams. Those nasty dogs really devoured him. His favorite bowtie is missing, and that’s all you’re willing to say about that subject.

You take a cloth, dampening it a bit with some water. The dirt wipes away easier than you thought. A memory taunts you. Didn’t Alastor do something like this for you once? Ah…but you were in a bathtub, not in a basement.

…You shouldn’t cry.

Not yet.

Not now.

Not in front of him. Alastor would hate it. If you cry now, there would be no ridiculous story or lame joke or annoying stunts. There would be no one to pull your frown away.

He isn’t smiling.

You drop the rag, reaching for your bag to grab a needle instead. It takes three tries to fully thread it. You squeeze his hand, and still, there’s no one there to squeeze back. “A frown doesn’t suit you, my love.”

Rigor mortis hasn’t fully set into his muscles yet. Good. It means there’s still time. You push up his lips until his cheeks resemble a smile. The needle pierces his skin easily. You pull on the metal, letting the tension pull on his cheek until half a smile paints his face.

You turn towards the other cheek, sewing a permanent smile on his lips.

“Did you think of me?” you ask, not bothering to expect a reply. “I hope you did. Some selfish part of me hopes I was the last thing in your mind.”

The silence stings, even when you didn’t expect him to answer your question.

“I hope you thought about me,” you tell him, tracing the scar on his arm. It’s the very same scar that brought him to your clinic. The very same scar that began the story of you and him. “I hope you thought about how you’re breaking your promise. About how I would have to wash the dishes alone.”

Alastor’s still wearing his ring.

It was you who placed it around his finger, and it’s you who removes it as well.

You place one final kiss on his cheek. “Goodbye, Alastor,” you say. “You were correct—it was a pleasure to meet you.”

And huh…you’re in the living-room again, curling into Alastor’s chair. It’s no longer a mystery why he enjoys sitting here. The window opens directly to a view of the garden. It makes sense why he would enjoy a cup of warm coffee and the soft tunes of his radio right here.

You trace the wood of his radio.

A blink.

Suddenly, you find the radio lying broken on the floor. The wood split open, spilling the contents like a broken egg.

How did that happen?

You stride to the shelf of knick knacks. There’s so many now. It’s filled to the brim with rows of key chains, postcards from places he’ll never be able to visit with you, stuffed toys, and weird statues. Every single items is unique and chosen for you and only you because…because it’s you who wears the ring that matches his.

There’s a bat in your hand. And since when did you own a bat?

You raise it, letting its hard wood smash through the shelf. All your presents scatter on the floor with an audible crack. It doesn’t stop with one swing.

What are you doing?

The piano catches your eyes. The jumble of keys scratches the air when you smash the bat over it.

There are no tears. There are no screams. It’s just the sound of the bat smashing over the keys over and over and over and over again.

Why aren’t you crying?

The bat tightens in your grip when you knock the legs of Alastor’s piano. It crashes to the ground. He would be furious. He took good care of this thing, and here you are destroying it. You would destroy a thousand pianos to hear him scold you.

The bookshelf happens to be your next victim.

There’s a tiny box on one of the shelves. You open it, staring at the paper ring. Alastor gave this to you. He made it out of the paper of his notepad. The same notepad he uses to write his future ideas. There’s probably a metaphor somewhere there. You can’t find it. Maybe Alastor would.

The paper ring owns obviously fold-marks. A testament to its age. Would Alastor be happy to know you’ve taken such good care of this ring?

It’s funny how a single piece of paper changed the course of your lives. A single piece of paper holds so much joy. It held the promise of so many tomorrows.

The box goes into your pocket, safe from your bat. The books don’t get the same treatment.

It’s easy to see the traces of Alastor between these walls.

It’s the traces of you that have you bring out the gasoline cans from the garage.

If Alastor was in the radios, then you were in the artworks. If he was in the dents of the chair, then you were in the stains of the couch. The traces of him combine with the traces of you. Time will make it so that it will only be you. The traces of you and him will disappear until this will be a home that holds nothing but a glimpse of you.

There’s a radio that managed to escape your bat.

A soft waltz fills the air.

You raise an arm, one shooting into the air and the other to your front. Waltzes were danced with a partner. Yours is lying in the basement with a bullet in his head after being mistaken for a deer. It shouldn’t make you laugh. You do so anyway.

The music captures you in a frenzy, and you dance in the middle of the carnage, filled to the brim with the ruins of your love.

If you close your eyes, you can feel the whisper of his arm ok you. It’s all still there. The memories of how Alastor twirls you, pulling you closer to him with an ever present smile. The tips of his fingers play with yours before he finally intertwines them. Alastor places a hand on your face, swiping his thumb up and down. It forces you to lean into the embers of his touch.

The gasoline scatters as you twist and turn with nothing but the flickers of Alastor as your partner.

It goes absolutely everywhere and absolutely nowhere. You dance and you dance and you dance and you dance and you dance and you dance and you dance until the cam empties.

The waltz ends, and you bow to an audience of emptiness.

It takes half a box of matches to finally get a decent flame. You stare at the house, at the home you’ve built, and drop the match.

It’s plain and simple, even when it shouldn’t be.

There’s a gentle smile on your face as you walk away. There’s no need to look back at how the flames char the wood.

You burn the memories.

You burn the traces of you and him.

You burn everything and everyone inside.

Ah…finally. The tears refused to be held back any longer. That’s good. Tears are good. Alastor deserves these tears. It means the words he’ll never get to hear aren't a lie.

Alastor, look at me.

Look how I cry for you.

Look at me.

You place a hand over your mouth, stifling your laughter. The irony pains your side. That could also be the laughter paining your side. “I’m sorry, my love,” you say into the sky. “It’s too funny. It’s all too funny. A deer, my love. You were mistaken for a deer!”

The roaring blaze of the fire mixes with the sound of your laughter.

“Alastor…” His name leaves your lips oh so gently.

The fire that holds your rage is the only reply.

“Alastor.”

The howl of the wind.

“Alastor.”

He doesn’t answer you.

You offer a small apology to Alastor. A better wife could build him places out of paragraphs. All you can offer are cathedrals of…

Why?

Why?

Why?

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywh

ywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhyw

hywhywhywhywhywhydidinevertellyouilovedyouwhywhywhywhywhy

whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywh

ywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhyh̷y̵w̷w̴h̵y̴w̴h̴y̷w̶h̵y̵h̷y̵w̷h̷y̷

w̸h̴y̵w̴h̷y̷w̵h̶y̶w̵h̵y̴w̴h̵y̷w̵h̶y̵w̶h̷y̴w̵h̷y̸w̶h̴y̷w̸h̵y̷w̵h̸y̵w̶h̸y̴w̴h̶y̶w̶h̸y̷w̷h̴y̵w̵h̴y̸w̷h̷

y̷w̵h̸y̸w̴h̵y̴w̴h̴y̷w̶h̵y̵\whywhyw̶h̸y̷w̷h̴y̵w̵h̴ y̸w̷h̷y̷w̵h̸y̸w̴h̵y̴w̴h̴y̷w̶h̵y̵w̶h̵y̵w̶h̷y̵

w̷h̷y̷w̸h̴y̵w̴h̷y̷w̵h̶y̶w̵h̵y̴w̴h̵y̷w̵h̶y̵w̶h̷y̴w̵h̷y̸w̶h̴y̷w̸h̵y̷h̵y̵w̶h̷y̵w̷h̷y̷w̸h̴y̵w̴h̷y̷w̵h̶y̶

w̵h̵y̴w̴h̵y̷w̵h̶y̵w̶h̷y̴w̵h̷y̸w̶h̴y̷w̸h̵y̷w̵h̸y̵w̶h̸y̴w̴h̶y̶w̶h̸y̷w̷h̴y̵w̵h̴y̸w̷h̷y̷w̵h̸y̸w̴h̵y̴w̴h̴y̷w̶h̵y̵w̶h̵y̵w̶h̷y̵w̷h̷y̷w̸h̴y̵w̴h̷y̷w̵h̶y̶w̵h̵y̴w̴h̵y̷w̵h̶y̵w̶h̷y̴w̵h̷y̸w̶h̴y̷w̸h̵y̷w̵h̸y̵w̶h̸y̴w̴h̶y̶

w̵̅̈́͜h̷̼̾̉ỷ̶̪͔w̵̖̕h̴͇̚ỵ̸̝̔w̸͎͖̔̈́h̶͔̺̉͑y̸͉͝w̸̹̟͌͘h̷͎͍̐̄ý̴͔w̷̳̻̎h̶̻͊y̷̥̾w̵̻͚͝h̶͉͌ý̶̖w̸̛̘h̶̦̚͝y̷̫̌w̸̝̐̽ͅḫ̵̲̈́̓y̷̫͛̽w̷͚͝h̴̢͉͗ỵ̵̨̀̋ẘ̵͕͝ḧ̶́͜y̵̩͋ẃ̴͉̐h̸͖͐͒y̵͈͆͜ẃ̷̼̯h̴̘̟̒y̷̱̾̔w̶͍̣̐̒h̸̫̉̚ͅŷ̵̧͍ŵ̴̩ḣ̵̫̚y̴̹̙͆̽w̴̖̆̽h̷̼́y̴͔̍̈w̵͚͒͘h̵͚͊̽ͅy̴̙͝ẘ̵̛̗͜h̶͚́̒ý̴̡̹̍

w̷̹̎̐h̵͚̊͆y̴̫̞͛͊w̷͔͑ḣ̷̯y̵͍̎̍ẇ̷͓̹h̸͍̀y̶͇̕w̴̦̆h̵̰͖͑ý̵͍̯ẇ̶̧̹h̵̝͙̿y̶͖͠ẘ̷͓̠h̶͉̜͋̈́y̵̬̘̅w̸͔̥̄ḣ̴͉̼̓y̸̡̙̓̈ŵ̷̗̗h̵̨̜̐y̴̥̌̋͜ŵ̶̮h̶̖͖͑y̴̝̘͐͘w̵͕̉̕ͅh̶̼̅y̴̰̋ẁ̴͔͠h̸͍͋͘y̷̻̯̾w̶̫͆h̶͔͛y̴͕͌ẃ̴̖̈́ḣ̵̼͝y̷͇͉̏w̸̭̬͂h̶̭͝y̴̘͚̅̍w̸̱̟͝h̶͓̿ý̵͉̬͠w̵̙̽̚h̵͕͗y̸̳͌w̵̯̻̅h̶̘͍͆̐ÿ̶̰́w̸̲̆

ḥ̸̙̓͝ỳ̸̳w̴͍͎͆̑h̷͔͗͂ȳ̸̜̠w̴͓͖͂͘h̶͎́̒y̴̲̌w̴͓̣̍̃h̵̙͛ỳ̸̭̙̐w̷͕͛h̸͉̬̚y̶̙̣̋w̷̟͂̕h̸͎̀̿y̷͕̗͆̋w̶̱̌͝h̵̜͘ỵ̵͆ẅ̸͔ͅh̶͙͊y̶̰̅ẘ̵̹͉h̴̦̙̏ỵ̴̘͌w̷̛̠h̶̲̬͋͆y̷̹̒̕w̶͙̽͊h̸͎̺̓͝ỷ̶̺̠ẇ̴̯̱h̶̜̠̾̔ý̶͍w̸͚̽͘ḣ̸̩̘̕y̸̟̑ẃ̴̞̫̏h̵̦͚̀̀y̸̩̜͊̀w̶̡̥̱̼̩̻̮̖̎́h̸̝̖̱̺̞̻͔͉́̀͌̉̈͝y̶̹͇͓͘w̷̡̛̱͚͉̦͎̗̅̎̓̈́ẖ̵͚̒̉̈́̃͋͛y̵̘̮̣̭̙̼͐͐́͊͆͗̚͝w̴̬̖̻͉̬̞̘̄̀h̸̢̼̐̄̂͂̅́̑ÿ̶̢͖͉̖́w̶̤̖̣̝̙͖̰͑̊͘ͅh̶̨̛̞̞̼̥̯̺̭̓̀̏̃̋̅͠y̶̡̼͚͙̓̆̐̉̆͆̄͝w̴̧͈͎̬͆̏̿̑̋̒͘h̶̛̹̭̳̺͖̪̙̗̀̅͂͂̂̋ÿ̸̜̥̠͕́w̴̬̪͓̰͎͍̘̔͊ḧ̷̗͊ŷ̴̭͒̾̄͆w̸̟̯̟̑͌̑̉̀́͜͝ͅh̸͓̣͓̉͆̏͝ẙ̵͓͓̙̫̟͊̔̃̈͜w̸̨̪̲̬̟͉͍͌͂̌̌͌́̚ͅh̶̗̘̔̀̿́́̒̅y̶̙̻̯̙͗w̸͓̯̟͔͚̲̤̼̓̈́h̷͔̘͚̦̔̏̿̇͋̄̚͝y̸͖̝͠w̴̜̣͔̹̙̪̲̱̽͒̃̑͒h̴̲͂͌̔̀y̴̧̪̍̀͋́͋͘w̴̺̉̽ḩ̷̱͖̣̂̍͊̋͛͘ỳ̸͙̹̘̮̈́̏̀͐͂̐w̶̡̥̻̘̘͚̅͐̏̕h̶̻͔̯̥̀̆̃̔̏́͝ỷ̷̧̟͔̳̗̹̮͠͠w̷̺͕͋͑ẖ̷̡̺̼̥̂̈́̀͜y̴̝̲̼̖̋̄͒̀͝w̷͔̏͐̆̆̄h̶͓̞͉̩̭̬̓͂͌̃y̵̡͓͇̍͑̐̔̊͌̕w̵̡̿̀̃̔̕͝h̷̨̦̒̊̇̏̇̆̌y̷͕̖̒̀ŵ̵̢̢̨̯̤̯̜̄͘ͅh̵̨̢̛͖̩̀́̉ÿ̸́̈̈́̀͆̓̏͜w̵̛̟̬͌̈́͛͜͜ḩ̴͕̻̫̒͗͆y̷͈͉̗̏̓̿̈́͆̂͠w̶̨̟̺͉͖̰̒͋̄̉̉̔̍́͜ͅh̴͍̖͕̆̌́̌͊͑̚y̵̛͙̩͇͇w̵̝̖̉̎ͅh̸̭̠̗̺̤̀͑ͅy̸͕̾̿͋̅̕w̷͍̠̖̾̃́h̶̡͖͉͓͑ͅy̴̛̩͍͇̖͔̋̽̆͋̉̕͝ͅͅw̸͔̖͎͇̞̦̺̉̃̎̀́̚h̶͓̝͔͙̼̓͐́̈͘y̴̘̘̦͔̥̽̈́́̆̑w̷͍̉͒̿͝h̸̳̬̱͗͗̉̀y̷̨̜̠͎͊͘w̴̢̛̩̌̀̐̄̕̚h̸̡̠̯̝͋͛̄̈́̈͘͜͜y̵̪̔w̶̫͖̟͛̒͌̋͝ẖ̸́y̷͎͉̦̮̝̦̼͋̍̀̇͌̐͜͠w̷̰̮̪̣̐̿͝ĥ̶̗̦̳̺̜̜̃͑y̵͕̱̜͔̝͉̍̅w̵̩̲̼̘̹̮͌̎̓͆̈́̚͘͜h̷̳̣͈͈̩̝̣̽̄̐̓͗̒̚͜y̴̟͑͗̕ẘ̶͈ẖ̶̨̡̡̘̎̑̐̌͌̇͘y̷̹̝͈͔͔͓̻͌̽w̵̨͕͖̺͙̆̂́h̴̨̩̞̓y̴͇̲̼͇̠͇̟͚̓̌̃̈̈́̈͗͒w̷̨͎̼̫͖̗̰͆h̶̨̳͖̋̾̇̚͝y̶̱͖̗̯̪͓̑̍̀͗͑͜w̶̝̱͛̚h̵̳̀̌̽̐̊̽͝y̴̹̔w̶̳̫̪̰̟̲͚̚̕ḥ̴̛̥̼̠̤̼̣̥͐̍͐̈́̾͑͛y̴̛̗͎͊̒w̵̧͔̰͔͝h̶̗̱̻͉̘͆͌͂̚y̷̮̭̾̌͆͠w̵̨̡̛̝̓̾̈̂h̷͙͙̻̤̼̅͌̊y̷̧̞͕̩̼̞͒̆̃̏̄̈́͝w̷͓̠͌̋̃́̎̕h̶͓̻̝͚̾͜ỵ̶̬͈̹̙̭͚̅̑̔͝ŵ̸̢̖̙͖̣͕͂͊ẖ̴̭̭̂̽̑́͌̔y̴̡̲̲͐̌̏̒̈́w̷̭̳̖̝̍̀̽̊͐͊̅͜h̸̺̘͔̻̼͍̑̆̓̈́͝y̷̭͈̳̺͎͕̻̎w̶̧̞͈̃͜h̷̼͂̄̏̾y̴̡͇̤͕̰͗͝w̸͓̰̙͎̻͈͆̏h̷͚̹͋̊͜y̸̡̧̡̛̤͕͖͊͊̀ŵ̴̮̠̫̼͓̳͖̓ḩ̴̢̘̹̣̝̘̟̔̎̀̄̊̀̕y̵̞̹̽̓̓w̸̳͈̘̣͇͆h̵͔͕͒͝ỵ̶͍̱̳̭̆͆̄w̶̙̼̟̼͓͇͊̌ȟ̴̳̳̰̩̜̂͑́͘y̴̛̺͎̲̘̔̎̆͝͝w̸̦͓̒̆h̵͚̪͚͚̯͍̺͎͋́̄͐̽̎͝y̵̻̪̆͆̍̂͐̅w̵̧̙̮͛h̸̗̜̏̀̔y̶̩̪͊̀́̓̈́̎͌ẅ̴̜̜̰͑̿͆̚͝ͅh̶͚̲͎̗͘y̵̯̦͈̥͂͒͐̄̌͘w̸̡̹̤̩̱̹̤̯͝h̵̨̗̭̊͆̏͗͊̈́̈͝y̶̺̣̖̹͐̆̓͑̏͠w̷̡̟̽͛̋̈́͌̑̕͠ḫ̸̝̼̤͈̹̟̩́̓́̽y̷̢̤͈̱̟̓̍̍̒̊͌̂͘w̶͈͔̲̱̆̄͌̅́̓͝ͅh̶̟͎͙̰̝̮̑̓̋̾̈̓̃y̸̘͌̀͂̑͋w̵͉̱̳͔̌h̶̲̩̰̣̟̪͘͠y̸̮̙̬̥̲͙͊̆̌͐̓ẅ̵̳́͠ḫ̸̙͔̣̼̓̔̉͆͋͝͝y̸̢̝̖̯̬̗̣̟͇̐̔̎̀̃w̷͌̚͠ͅḧ̴̢̜͕̘̮̥̺̤́͗͆̄̀̋̈́̔y̷̢̻̭̰̝̭̽̓̿̎̂͆̾̍̚͝w̴̙͖̠͉͇̘͑̓͐͒̾́͝͝h̴̠̳̱̜͈͙̩̥͚̗͒̑̃̕ý̴̛̟̎̎̑̈͋̆w̸̗̲̪̲̳̱̦̻̻̪͒h̷͕̤͎̦̦͕̀̉͌̀͋̔̎̉͜ỹ̴̭̖̝̆w̶͓̲̋h̸̨̢̬͖̣̬̓̈̌͌͜y̷̹̻͕̰̔̑̊w̷̢̱̼̘͔̘̯͋̋̒̂͒ͅh̷̯̑͐̅̕͝y̴̙͑w̷̛̲̥̟̣̩͕̘͇̍̉̎̓͗͌h̵̢̹̼̺͎̠̬̼̆̔̎̏ỷ̵̨͎͍̘̞̍́̈͒̓̓̈́͘̕͜w̸̙̺̠͊̓̈́̎h̴͉̗͈͖̙̜̤͎́̌̇͗̓̇̇̌̽̆ͅ

ẙ̴͔̺̦̺̫̮̳̿́͛̌̈́́̕w̸̡̯̺̼̰̲̱̥̹͐ḥ̷̩͚̟̖͓̪̮͍̠͂̈́̌͂͘̚͝͝ẏ̸̛̬̳̺̺̜̯̈̉̾̇̌͌͝w̴̦͔̱̣͔͍̄̋͗ĥ̸͓̻̠̪̬͕̻̝͆͜y̵̯̤͕͉̗͔̘͂͠w̷̡͎̪̓͂̈́h̸̳̬͎̦͈̺̟̳͙̏̎̽͌̈́̄́͠y̵͉̱̘̓̈͌͂͗̎̀̏͝ẉ̶͊́h̵͉̳̀̓̌y̸̨̡̧̰̻͓̭̳̑͘ͅw̴̡̨̬̥͚͍̟̱̯̄͗͑̿̈́̍͠ͅh̷̞̊y̵̡̢̟̝͙̫̫̗͜͠ͅw̶͎͖̝̭̙̆̽̑͋h̸̡̞͖͕̹̖̟̪̪͊̂̾͒y̶̝̳͇͖̹̪͗̈́̀̂w̴̳̻̯̞̱̳̘͚̔̄͊̒̃̽̌̑̕̚ͅḧ̸̰̺͔͓̘͇͙͕̱́̀̌̈̒͐̀͘̕ÿ̷̛̗̻̱̞͔̠̙̘̯́̾̀͗͗͗̕͘ẅ̸̲͕͚͕̱̟̩͂̌͌̈́͆̄͠ͅh̸̻̝̭͖̜̱̀̿y̷͕̋͑̉͛̅͂̾̎̕͠w̵̨̗̻̤͕̯̻̻͕̜̅̋h̷̢̝̞͎̙͔͋̃̍͆̋͒y̸̢̠͙͚̫̫͇̍͊̒̊̀̔̅͐ͅw̴̛̘̞̦̘͕̼̳̠͖͐̃̔͌̀̈̐͘͝h̸̨͕̼͕̝̘̫͙͓͛͒̕͜ȳ̶͕̝̝̥͝w̶̰̜̫̖̬͕̺̽͆̊̃̀̒̿͌h̷̢̑͐̽̓́͊̒̈́̈y̶͍̬̽ẁ̸̥̤̅̑̌́́͐̏͝h̶̜̺̗̋̀͆̊͐̿̄̏̑͐y̴̻͎͙͆̿͌̏̀̇͐̚͝w̸̡̰̻̪̲̘̪̣̪̹̽̿̿́̉̐̇̚̕ḧ̸̰́ÿ̷̭͓̗͎̻̄͐̔͜w̷̺͈̝̝̰̫͓̿́̈́̊̅̑́̑̕͝h̷͚̖͕͈̊̽̍̊̃̋͒ȳ̸̛̲̰͋͛͊͘ẅ̸̡̦̤̠̣̮́̀̋͐̓͑͒͌̓͊h̸̢̛̻̪͙̞͙ý̵͓̙̺̺̻̈́̓͂w̷͖̹̗͖̜̥̱͗̒͜h̴̝̙̩̣͗̽̈́̂͐̈͋y̶̡̲̠̬͓̥͙̐̑̐̍͆̎̍̒͘ẅ̴̢̧̢͖̯̻̜͇̲̩́͋̋͘ȟ̷̛͉̬̗̞͖ÿ̷͎͕̠́̄̈́̑̋̾͝

w̶̲͖̰̫͚̻̲̋̋͘͝h̶̨͎̣̠̰͎̤͔͊̈́͆ͅy̴̨̬̣̼̯̣̪̙̬̲͒̈́̈́̈́̐w̴̧̦̲̲͋̾̾̐͒̿̈́ḧ̸̢̫͌̈̏̓͌̐͝y̵̨̲͙͙̣͎͍̟̿̂͂̄ͅw̵̥͔̜͓̹͐́̋ĥ̸̛̳̟̠̱̹̱͔̿͐ỳ̴̡̧̭͎̣͙̗w̵͕̦̬̘̳̻̉̿͗̆͛͘͝͠h̸̢͉̙͉̯̠͈͕̋͂ÿ̴̝̙̙̹̤̻͍̀w̴̛̭̟̰̟̥̻͓̗̅̓̐̂́̀́̈́ḧ̶̛̛́̔̎̋͊͠͝͠ͅy̸̡̫͍͔̣̣̟̝̝̦̓̑̐w̴̹͕̖̗̦͑h̵̖̩͉͐̔̆̊͘͠y̴̝̹̻̩͉͂̿͜w̴̧̜̻̩̔̍̕h̵̖̳̼̪͚̮̥͂͘y̵͎̰͐͜ẁ̵̧̜͎͈̖͕͇͊́̅̑͠͝͠ḧ̷͖͖͍̈̔̓̑̋͒͘ỵ̶͚̱̰̹̫̆́̈́͋͒͊͑ͅw̶̨͎̯̣̰̭̕ͅh̵̻̘̭̐̒͐͒̊̀͐̿̏͝ÿ̵͓͍̼̪̖̣̤̮̍̋͊̉̅͑̈w̸͙̻̬̱͖͝h̸̟͉̩͍̾̀̾͘ý̷̘̯̚̚w̸̧͙͔͎̣̠̤͎̾̓͑̄̓͋h̸̨̡̙̮̹̻́̈́̈́͛̑̀̀̕͠y̷̦̘͒̚ẅ̷͎̮̩̺̙̮͖́̄̐ḧ̶̤̭͕̝͚̅̃́̚̕͝y̵͕̻͎̗̺͈̆̐͜͜ͅw̶̪̱̙͙͓̋̈́͋͆̈́̅h̶̛̖̣̹̋̈̈̑́̃̎y̴̧̟̬̘̆̇̋͒̒̉̐ẅ̷̨̧̢͕̜̼̯͎̗̣́̓̽̑́̍͘ḫ̵̛̯̲͍̺̦͕͖̅̎̓̍̊̿́͘͠y̶͎̓͐͜w̶̡̮̭̙͔͚͍̺̄̑̇́͗̈́̾͝͝h̴̡̨̢̛͈͎̰̱͈͒͋͂͂͗̃̈́͊̔ẏ̴̧̢̹͖͑̐̇̑̽́͆̃͠w̷̛͙̬̪̹̞̍́͒̒̀̾́̌͠h̴̠̱̐̀y̶͓̿̐ŵ̶̖̭̄͂̓̂̈́̂̋̈́͜h̷͔̼͔̄́̂̄̋͋̕͘͜ͅy̴̰̱̱͈̏̏̍́́͠͝w̷̡̜̦͖͕̤͍̆̽͂͂̄͊̃̄͒͠

h̶̨̫̜̠̪͚̺̐͌̓͛͒̓̈̔͘͝ͅy̷̥̘͍̥̙̻̫̮̎̏͐̒͝ͅw̷̢͖̘̲̟̦̝̟̹͝h̷͖̣̪̳̯̝͍̿͐̍͊̅y̴̘̯͉̪̫͔̺̳̌͆̈w̵̧̧̞͚̗̙̗̓̂͋̐͌̍h̴̛̠̼̟̯͎͕̩̖̒̀̌͑̃͠͝͝y̸̥̜͍̣͚̟̤̟̰͓͒̿̍̀̈͘w̸̼͉̘̙̘̩̯͕̠͉͎̱͎̑̏h̸̻̻͓̆̑̄̆̿̌̓̉̂͂̐͛̆̓̓͘̕͝y̵̧̛̯̜̬̤͍̬̪̟͉̞͓͒̏͗͊̈́͗̿͆̽́͂̀͐̍́̚͘ͅw̴̧̡̟̣̠͉̮͕̥̤͎̱͒́̿̈́͋̽̈́͂͛̄͜h̴͇͖͓́̏̅̉̄͋̿͌͜͝y̷̨̺̩̲̟̰͈̩̻͔̺̹͉̜̔̎̃̄̀͌̍͜͝w̵͙̘͍̻̰̥̹̲̰̪̪̿̃̆̀͆̾̒̋̓̐̏͊͘̕͜h̶̭̬̹̘̝͖̭̭̗̎̏̾͂y̵̨̰̗̳̱̹̘̭̹̦̼̗͍͕̠͖͙͉̩̠͕̜͍̰̆͗͑̽̂͒̆̈́̓̀̓͑́̄̈́̈́̽͘w̵̛̥̼͉̅̊͑̿̾̀̐͗̅̓͐͘̚͝h̶̡̛̻͉͖͎̪̻̬̮̜̥̞̫̤̬͎̜̹̒͒̿͐̓̌̚ý̴͉̫͂͒͝ͅw̷̨̢̡̙̼̗̜̼͈̘͍̺̲͎̰̥̬̺̲͛̑̈́͊͂ͅh̴̡̨̻͍̤͙̤͇̞̉̄̒̑͆̔̅̾͐͛̉̉̿͋̏̌̈́̔͛͝y̶̨̨̳̪̲̺̟̣͕̥̱̼̝̮̳̻̦̯̺̼͒͑̔͊͌̂̑͊̿̾̉̌͌̒̇̏̓̅͘͜͠͠͠ͅw̸̡̡̦͓̣͙̠͙̮̯̱̬͍͔̤̩͓̤͆͑̀̂͆̈́̅͑͘̚͜͜͜h̵̡̢̖͇̜̘̗̤͔̣͎̟̟̱̫̳̘̜͚̣͇̖͊̕ͅͅy̸̡̢̧̟̭͕̺̪̜̩̤̺̯̘͉͖̭̥͉̐̄ͅw̷̨̻̱̮͇̪̤͎̰̲̯̪͊̓̒̓̏̒̾͋̍̈́̾̋̐͒̓͘͜͝ͅh̵̨̧̻̲̺̬̦̞̮̮̝̫̻̳̮͕̰̤̩́̈̔̓͛̉̈́̀̀̓̀͐̔̍͒̿͝͝͝͠͝ͅy̴̡̖̝͎͇̣̥̪̭͎̼̭̫͋̔̌͆̆̋̈́́͋́̔̈̏͆̃͗̇̍̒͘͝͠ẘ̷̢̢̢̥̩̙̙̝̞̞̜̟̼̩̘͎̆̾̆̾͗̔͌́ḧ̶͓̯̳̝͙͚̟͕̣̥͉͚́̍̏̀͊̎͛̍̾̅́̓͂̿͠͠͝͝y̸͓͖̙̣͚̳͓̭̺̩͈̭͉̟͛̃̇̍͌̃̎̄̀̌͑͐̄̃͋̌̐̚̕͝w̴̢̯̹͓̺̳̹̩̣͍̪͚͖̻̻̮̯͐͊̀͊̕͜͝h̵̢̢̧̺̠͓̬͈̼͙͙̦̼̮̩͙̙̩̬̫͙̞̓͐̋́͆̌̃̄̌̚͘y̶̗̯͉̪̖͙͚͈̫̝̪̣͉͉͚̞̮͉͚̹̎̽̾̔̅̐̒̇̀̉̽̔͑͑̑̚͜͜͝͠ẁ̸̡̗͇̩̠̭̪͎͍̽̑̂͐̈́͒̈͘h̵̢̗͚̠͉͙̥͎͎̦̻̮̞͕̳͔̳̭̥͙͆̄͑̿̒̆̈́ỷ̸̨̡̰͖͇͙̜̭̣̗̯̳̠̦͎̦͔̤̽̓̔́̈͂͂̃̀̿̒͑̅̏̇̕͜͠w̷̡̡̹̩͈̹̺͇̗͇̦͙̦̭͕̟̪̲̅͛̔͆̑͂́̍̾̐ḧ̴̨̠͕̖̭͎͚̝́́͊͗̂͌̉̓̓̀͋̚y̷̨̡̧̢͎̺͈̲̪̻̥̹̲͐͊̍͋̓͒̏̋��́͗͆̒̔̈́͒̔̓͜͝͝͝w̵̢̧̗̩̹̦̬͕̤̰̫̳̻̮̥̖̦̖̟̼͎͒̈̆̆́̌̑͛͜͠͠͝͝ḩ̷̛̜̗͎̙̦͙̲̱́̿̎͛̽̋͌̄̕͠y̵̛͍̟̞͎̟̯̲͙̞̻̗̤̬̼͑̍̅̈̆́͋̌̉̈́̓̍ͅẅ̵̨̨̛̼̫̭̜͈̪̘̳̖͍̳̤̲̽̎́̍̇͋̇̆͑͌̒́͂̈̽̂͛̑͜͝h̸̨̨͙͕̘͍̤̱̣̣͈́̔̈́̅̌͝ÿ̷̡̬͕̣͓͇̖̱̤͈̟̙͔̖̞͚̿̅̊͋͝w̷̳̤̦̦͙͕̯̍̋̊̔͌̂͊͐͝h̵̡̢̢̧̘̪̼̰̤͎̪͍͉̭̜̞͈͕̲̺̮̠̐̿͑͛̀̏̍̋͜͜͝͝ŷ̶̧̱̲͍̀́̅̾̍̀̌͛̓͠ẅ̷̢̛̻͑̈̏̋̅̃͋̆̏̓̈́̇̒̿̋̏͋͐̾̚͘͝h̷̥͍͓̲̓̽͊̿̾̈́

y̷̘̙̮̩̌̃̉̓͊̓̂̽̌̆͛̅̃̅̎̚͠w̶͇̼̠̙̮̟̗̳̽͒̓̊̍̓̍͜ḩ̷̢̝͎̫͔̟͚͚̺̲̺͍̜̤̳̯͕̰̔̇̃̑͆̓̅̀͌́͋̾̒͘͝͝ͅỹ̸̧̨̨̧̘̳̱̮̹̳̼̫̼̗̻̝̰̝̠͈̱̞͓̭̾̊͑̔̔̄̉͛̾̈́͊̏̚͠͝ẃ̶̨̨̲̭̻̮̣̯͖̰̳͚̖͚͓͕͕̹͜h̸̡̦̪̗͙͎͓̞̺̝͈̗̦̭͔̘̤͎̆̿͌̈́͂̇̇̒͋̊͒̑̀̓͋͌͂̑͊̉̒͜͝͠ͅy̶͍̏́w̵̛̛̬͎̤̦̼̬̼̯͖͈̬̳̜̰̞͚͎͈͗́̅̽̀̓̏̇̓́̈́̑̒͋͐͌͑̉͐͝͝ͅh̶̨̢̢̗̜͇̳̺͍̰̳̫͉̫͍͖͎̥̭̪̮̯͆̈́͆̊̽͌̎̓̽̑̒͐̚̚ỷ̶̨̛̩̻͍̺̽̇̋̃̇̀̐͌̇̈́͗͆̋̊̒̕͝͝w̵̯̭̥̜͉̤̱̦̮͔̦̲̅̄̎̿̀́͑̏̀͆̇̂͆͝ḩ̴̢̡̛̛̫̳̘̞̟͍͎͇̮͇̥̬̬̣̩͇́̇̔̆̊́̿͗͋̈́̅̀͋̇̇̽́̒̎̇̚̕ͅy̴̨̧̢̛͖͉͇̞̖̣͎͇̼̫̻͇̮̙̼̳͈̐͌̋͂̊̈́̄͐̌͐̄͗͜͝͝ͅw̸͈̬͈͈͈̺̳̘͈̥̪͖͈̹͙̣̖̱̙͈̏̍̀̉̎̍́̿͗͌͒̀͋́͊̀̋̇͋̕͜͠͠͠h̸̨̧̩̲̹͙̼͚̥͑͌̿͜͠y̴̡̪̲̟̗̣̘͉̘̘̥̣͙̣̯̦̱̖͔͗̅̌̓̋̓̏͌̎̅̏̿̚͘͜͝w̷̡̡̙̪̱͖̰̭̯̯̘͇͚͙͇͎̝̗̺̬̍̀̐͌͛̇̔̐͋̈̀̅̍̋́̂̆̂͊̓̍͑̚͠ḣ̸̢̢̢̦̹̱̥̖̻̫̱͙̝͌͗̀̓̾͊͐́́̓̿̄́̋̏͋̚̕͘͜ͅy̴̧̛̛̳͍̩̱̖͇̹̺͚͈̺͚̖̰͑̓̈́̒̄̅́͌̐̾͛̆̂͠w̵̧̡̠̦̗͕̩͔̃͛̾̋̀͊̆̇̔͂͘ͅh̸̢̛͖̟̠̗̜̥̰̙̱̀͂͌́͋͌̍̇͌̓͑͌̈y̶̨̢̨̡̫̺̝͈̩̰̼̘͖̮̥̦̬͉͕̯̼̹̋̈̇̐̓̏̐͛͛̀͝w̷̨̛͉͇̜̱̞͈̮̞̮̜̞̲͎̺̲̌̒̍̀͋͑̄̿̄̒̃́̌͛̋̕̕̚͜ͅḩ̴̡̻͎̼͖͓̬͈̬͔͈̹̙̖͖̂̇̆̌̓̀͊́̆͛̅̐́̇̄͜ÿ̸̨̢̠̖̰͔̝̠̦̮̩͖̖́̃̓ẁ̵̛̳̥̥͇͌͑̓̈́͌̒̾̂̐̈̿̉̋̔̈́̚͝h̵̡̟̭̟͇͇̬̅̄͑̏̇̍́́̓̔͛̓̈́̌͒̄̅̈́̽̈́̚͝͠y̷̡̩̲̲̘͎͗̏̌͒͝ẅ̷̰͉́̾̒̆͛̌͑̔̏̽̀̅͛̂͝͝͝͝͠ḩ̶̢̛̛̩̳̜̠͈̫̩̞͍͕̻̙̳̹̫̞͓̱̊̏̈́̂̏͌̾̑̋͊̏̑̈́̔̀͒̈́͆́͋͘͘y̸̡̱̩̘̭͙͕͚͍͆́̈́̾̓̌̿͊̌̀̅͊w̸̼͉̘̙̘̩̯͕̠͉͎̱͎̑̏h̸̻̻͓̆̑̄̆̿̌̓̉̂͂̐͛̆̓̓͘̕͝y̵̧̛̯̜̬̤͍̬̪̟͉̞͓͒̏͗͊̈́͗̿͆̽́͂̀͐̍́̚͘ͅw̴̧̡̟̣̠͉̮͕̥̤͎̱͒́̿̈́͋̽̈́͂͛̄͜h̴͇͖͓́̏̅̉̄͋̿͌͜͝y̷̨̺̩̲̟̰͈̩̻͔̺̹͉̜̔̎̃̄̀͌̍͜͝w̵͙̘͍̻̰̥̹̲̰̪̪̿̃̆̀͆̾̒̋̓̐̏͊͘̕͜h̶̭̬̹̘̝͖̭̭̗̎̏̾͂y̵̨̰̗̳̱̹̘̭̹̦̼̗͍͕̠͖͙͉̩̠͕̜͍̰̆͗͑̽̂͒̆̈́̓̀̓͑́̄̈́̈́̽͘w̵̛̥̼͉̅̊͑̿̾̀̐͗̅̓͐͘̚͝h̶̡̛̻͉͖͎̪̻̬̮̜̥̞̫̤̬͎̜̹̒͒̿͐̓̌̚ý̴͉̫͂͒͝ͅw̷̨̢̡̙̼̗̜̼͈̘͍̺̲͎̰̥̬̺̲͛̑̈́͊͂ͅh̴̡̨̻͍̤͙̤͇̞̉̄̒̑͆̔̅̾͐͛̉̉̿͋̏̌̈́̔͛͝y̶̨̨̳̪̲̺̟̣͕̥̱̼̝̮̳̻̦̯̺̼͒͑̔͊͌̂̑͊̿̾̉̌͌̒̇̏̓̅͘͜͠͠͠ͅw̸̡̡̦͓̣͙̠͙̮̯̱̬͍͔̤̩͓̤͆͑̀̂͆̈́̅͑͘̚͜͜͜h̵̡̢̖͇̜̘̗̤͔̣͎̟̟̱̫̳̘̜͚̣͇̖͊̕ͅͅy̸̡̢̧̟̭͕̺̪̜̩̤̺̯̘͉͖̭̥͉̐̄ͅw̷̨̻̱̮͇̪̤͎̰̲̯̪͊̓̒̓̏̒̾͋̍̈́̾̋̐͒̓͘͜͝ͅh̵̨̧̻̲̺̬̦̞̮̮̝̫̻̳̮͕̰̤̩́̈̔̓͛̉̈́̀̀̓̀͐̔̍͒̿͝͝͝͠͝ͅy̴̡̖̝͎͇̣̥̪̭͎̼̭̫͋̔̌͆̆̋̈́́͋́̔̈̏͆̃͗̇̍̒͘͝͠

ẘ̷̢̢̢̥̩̙̙̝̞̞̜̟̼̩̘͎̆̾̆̾͗̔͌́ḧ̶͓̯̳̝͙͚̟͕̣̥͉͚́̍̏̀͊̎͛̍̾̅́̓͂̿͠͠͝͝y̸͓͖̙̣͚̳͓̭̺̩͈̭͉̟͛̃̇̍͌̃̎̄̀̌͑͐̄̃͋̌̐̚̕͝w̴̢̯̹͓̺̳̹̩̣͍̪͚͖̻̻̮̯͐͊̀͊̕͜͝h̵̢̢̧̺̠͓̬͈̼͙͙̦̼̮̩͙̙̩̬̫͙̞̓͐̋́͆̌̃̄̌̚͘y̶̗̯͉̪̖͙͚͈̫̝̪̣͉͉̎̽̾̔̅̐̒̇̀̉̽̔͑͑̑̚͜͝͠w̷̢̧̯͚͇̺̹̪̫͚͛̔̋̔̂͑̀̀̋̒̆̈́̉̋͋̃̅̀́̚͘̚ḩ̶̢͙͙̞̖͔̥̙͇̣͉̲̣̞̅̇͛͊̑̿̏̀̽̄̄̈́̅̉̏͊̓̚͝͝ÿ̷̨̛̼̫̰̮̱̝͔͉͙̻̰́͋̂̌̂͐̾̈́̄̈́͂̀̅̽̈́̊̆̕̕͠w̶̨̡̡̛̛̛͈̠̝̣̗̹͛̍͂̈́̐̋̋́̿̋̇̏̾̉͋̕͠͠ͅh̵͕̏͆̓y̸̢̧̹̠͇̩̩̙̥̱̪̰̗̙̦̤̟̖͓̤͓͙̼̔͒̋̆̌͑́̅͝w̶̛̛̭̺̮̮͙̮̹̩̻̏̈̋̃͒̂͊̈́̑̏͊͊̍̈́͜͠ḩ̵̡̹̤̫͔̭̼̓͂̓̊̉͘͘y̴̨͎͙̻͈͓̩̰̮͓͍͔͈̭͍̳̯̙̹̍͐͑̓́̋̌͋͗͑̈́̒͝w̷̖͍̫̋̊̇ḧ̴̛̬̥̖̜͖̫̖̗͕̻͎́͗̆̎̑̈̐͐̂̔͗͝͠ͅy̸͖̜̣͖̫̰͚̺̠̥̩̿̔̃̋̈́̎͆͊̄̋̓w̴̨̻̪̗̙̙̣̾̓̉̉̉̇̓̅̈́̒̄̚h̷̢̡̞̱̰̘͙͍̪̼͈̲̤̞̹͖̯̦͖̟̞͛̾̓̈̀̒̀̚͜y̴̧̨̧͈͈̺̮̦̯̺̪̙̩̞̥̱̻̾̏̈́̊̉́ͅẘ̵̢͈͈̱̺͍̳̟̝͒̆̂̍h̵̛̜̠̪͓̙̯̹̖̼͛̇̓͆́̊̀̀͋͐̃̓͌̆́̕͝͝ͅy̶̞̗̺̤̫̙̤͖̺͈͕͇̙͒̔̇̐̾͛͋͗̀̔͊̆͊͐̎̆͆̈̓̃͛̇̅̚w̴̨̛̛̺̖̳̤̤͈͛͌̑̿̋̎̀̊̋̏͆͌͐͛̌͂̚͠͠ȟ̸̤̫̤͙͓͈̏̉̎̔̉̽̓͛̑͐̌̿̆̐͗̋̏͆͂̆y̷̡̧͔̗̩͙̻̜͔̪̹̮̼̲̋̈́̓͊̇̒̓̽̾͗͋̐͊͘͘͘͝͝͠ẘ̸̧̼̻͈̖̩͖̖̜̜̠̹͓̯̞̝̹̼̗́̅̔͐̄͘ḩ̴̮̩̥̦̎̀̈́̕͝ỷ̵̨̧̛͎̱̰̝̟��̳̠̯̳̭̥̖̱͖͔̖͉̝̞̘͒̔̐̈̊̋̔̔̑̃̉̿͐͑̔̿͗̔̍̎̎͘ẅ̷̛͉̇̑͊̓̀̽̑̄̅̑̀̎̍̆̀̌̚̕̕͝͠ḣ̵̢̧̜̯̦̪͉̿̈̈̿̿̒̿̆̍͒͋͒͒̇̔̈́̕̕͘͝͝ÿ̸̡̨̢̛̮̥͉̩̩̦͍̼̞̥͎̼́͛͋̂͛̔͊̆́̈͘̕ͅw̴̨̼̰̝̳͔͔̖̘̣̖͖̒͘͝h̵̨̨̥̯̟͓̺̞̟̮̜͕̩̯̜̠̪͂̋̓̆͆͌̐͐̏̆̌̎̊͌̅̕͝ͅy̴̨̛̟͔̪̣̠̹̖͔̲̺̹̟̖̼̯͍̖̱̜̍́͗̈́̈́͐͗̀̌̑̔͒̂̍͠͝ẅ̶̢̠͍̱̺̫́̐̄͌͋̒ḧ̶͉̙͚̥́̈́͂͌̆̂̑̑̚̚͜͝y̵̡̟͍̻̝̮͕̖̼̌͆̆͐͆͌̆̽̂̆̓ͅw̸̨̟̭͈̖̬̝͂̀́̃̈́̔̿͝h̴̛̳͔͇͍̑̾̋́̽̿̈́́̑͊͌̎̋̄́̕y̶̦̪͍͇̮̥͎̌͜ẃ̵̢̠͔̭̹̮̊̓̂̈̎͆ḧ̵̢͖̹̮̜͙̪̳̖̟̟̩͚̹̳̰̳̤̠̯̗̲͙́͋̓̒̈́̓̓̒̽̄̆̀͐̽̃̅͛̚͘̚͝ͅy̷̡͕̩͚̞̑͐͑̚̚ẉ̴̢̛̘̖̞̳͍͎̥̭̟͎̳̣̗̦̝͔̮̓͂̂̾̊̽̽͊͗̊͠ͅh̶̫̲̟̜̭͙͓͉͇̗̤̑̍͊͐͒͋͋̊̏̒̚͝y̷͖̙̬͈͙̻̥͙̻̺̙͕̳̼͍̦͆́͊̑͌̈́̒̈͗̔̈̓̈́̇̀̇̆͗̑͐͊͋͘͝w̷̘̜̌́̆͊́͌̆͌͒͗̎̚͘͠͝ḥ̶̢̢̡̣̲͖̜̰̭͚̰̣̯͈̟̜̈́̔͗͜͜ͅͅy̸͉̖̹̹̲͉͓̠̗̜̿̒̇͜ẉ̷̨̥͇̺̘̭͕̠̦͔̥̥̀̆̆̓͊͊͗̍̈̈́̈́̐̐̐̉͜͠

h̵̡̢̲̺̮̲̱̰͙̭̲̖̜̣̭̩͈͛̒̎̆͆̋̐̑̒̉̎̕ỳ̵̨̳̭̜̻̳̝̻̳̹̒͐̈́̉̆͑̅̍̿̀̎͜͠w̶̨̪͈̤̟̰̳̫̖̗̙̤͚̺̳͌̾̀̍̎̔͊̅́͐̾̽̌͌͌̈̃̔̅̌͝ȟ̴̤̀̌̉͋͆y̴̞̦̥̮̝͍͓̻͇̪͖̳͍̬̏́̎̄̇͋̎̆̈̋͋̈́w̷̨̡̨̧͖̝̹̣̯̬̺͈͉͓̙̗̗̒̊̏̈́̀̆̈̓̒͐́̄̈́̚͜͜͠h̵̨͖̙̩̲̣̭̹̠͔̙̖͕͓̭̅͌͌̈́́͌̿̄̄͐̑͊̏́͘ÿ̷̖̬͇̺͍̻͇̞̩̫̪̻̥̼̜̗̟̞̙̲̼͔̫́́̆̍̎͑̇͗̇̾̋̕ẇ̷̧̪̤̱̘̩̯̣̠̘̍́̓̓́͌̀̇͘ḩ̸̢̺̘̰̙̰̭͈̬̻̦̰̜͙̰͚̤̩͍̳̖͚̝̂͊́̃̒̀͊͌͌͂y̶̢̨̧̼̟͖̱͙̳͚̹̰͇̺̪̘̻̱̼̼̼̬͓̱̌̅̉ŵ̶̧̜͉͎̖̩̙̰͈̪̣͚̮̲̞͓̙͕̰̇͊̀̑͋̊̈́͗̓̌̍͂̊̓̇̊ḩ̵̛͈̜͚̱͉̼̗̹̼͚͖͍̩͌̆̈́̇͂́̒̌̒̌̌́̅͊̆̀̋͗̎͌̑̒͝y̵̢̢̨͇̙̜̪̺͇̭͙̔w̵̨͉̣̭̟̫̘̝̳̻͎̣͖̯̠͖̳͛̍̇̇̓̀̋͊̈́̅̾́̏̃̄̄̕͘͠͝h̶̢̞͈͉̯̦̟̤͇̙͈̫̟͎̜̗̮̤̪̖͙̉͌̅̉̽̾́͐̋̄̌̉̿̓͑͐̚͘ͅy̸̨̢̨̧̢̮̭̹̻͍̞̪̦̞͔̺͚̰̞͊̈́͜͝w̸̧̨̡̱͙̰͔̹̫̖̭̖͔̞̹͒͂́͒͒̂͗̓̓̓̊̽̅͝ḩ̸̛̛̹̜̪͚̯͚̠̤̪̭̿̍̇̂̑̀̐̍̂̅͌͂̐͒͊̈́̒͘͝y̵̨̦̮͍̹̯͖̦͍̠͎̠͓͓̘̐̽͐̓̔̎̀̿̂̓̀̒̆̅̚͠ͅw̴̨̡͇̪̳̲̬͚͎̼̺̟̩̣̭̯̭̳͔̺̜̅͌̉̿́̑̓͊͆̈́̈́͑̄̈̌̄̃͠h̴̢̧̫̲͚̼̹̯̩͈̳̲͉͈̹̙̺̬̪̘́̈͊͌́͊̌͒̌̓̎̄̔͒̽͂̀͆͝͠͝y̸̢̢̡̥͉͓̠͓̰̤̻͉̠̩͉̹͚̞̮͉͚̹̋̇̇̋͌͊̊͌͋͒͗̊̏͜ẁ̸̡̗͇̩̠̭̪͎͍̽̑̂͐̈́͒̈͘h̵̢̗͚̠͉͙̥͎͎̦̻̮̞͕̳͔̳̭̥͙͆̄͑̿̒̆̈́ỷ̸̨̡̰͖͇͙̜̭̣̗̯̳̠̦͎̦͔̤̽̓̔́̈͂͂̃̀̿̒͑̅̏̇̕͜͠w̷̡̡̹̩͈̹̺͇̗͇̦͙̦̭͕̟̪̲̅͛̔͆̑͂́̍̾̐ḧ̴̨̠͕̖̭͎͚̝́́͊͗̂͌̉̓̓̀͋̚y̷̨̡̧̢͎̺͈̲̪̻̥̹̲͐͊̍͋̓͒̏̋̂́͗͆̒̔̈́͒̔̓͜͝͝͝w̵̢̧̗̩̹̦̬͕̤̰̫̳̻̮̥̖̦̖̟̼͎͒̈̆̆́̌̑͛͜͠͠͝͝ḩ̷̛̜̗͎̙̦͙̲̱́̿̎͛̽̋͌̄̕͠y̵̛͍̟̞͎̟̯̲͙̞̻̗̤̬̼͑̍̅̈̆́͋̌̉̈́̓̍ͅẅ̵̨̨̛̼̫̭̜͈̪̘̳̖͍̳̤̲̽̎́̍̇͋̇̆͑͌̒́͂̈̽̂͛̑͜͝h̸̨̨͙͕̘͍̤̱̣̣͈́̔̈́̅̌͝ÿ̷̡̬͕̣͓͇̖̱̤͈̟̙͔̖̞͚̿̅̊͋͝w̷̳̤̦̦͙͕̯̍̋̊̔͌̂͊͐͝h̵̡̢̢̧̘̪̼̰̤͎̪͍͉̭̜̞͈͕̲̺̮̠̐̿͑͛̀̏̍̋͜͜͝͝ŷ̶̧̱̲͍̀́̅̾̍̀̌͛̓͠ẅ̷̢̛̻͑̈̏̋̅̃͋̆̏̓̈́̇̒̿̋̏͋͐̾̚͘͝h̷̥͍͓̲̓̽͊̿̾̈́y̷̘̙̮̩̌̃̉̓͊̓̂̽̌̆͛̅̃̅̎̚͠w̶͇̼̠̙̮̟̗̳̽͒̓̊̍̓̍͜ḩ̷̢̝͎̫͔̟͚͚̺̲̺͍̜̤̳̯͕̰̔̇̃̑͆̓̅̀͌́͋̾̒͘͝͝ͅỹ̸̧̨̨̧̘̳̱̮̹̳̼̫̼̗̻̝̰̝̠͈̱̞͓̭̾̊͑̔̔̄̉͛̾̈́͊̏̚͠͝ẃ̶̨̨̲̭̻̮̣̯͖̰̳͚̖͚͓͕͕̹͜h̸̡̦̪̗͙͎͓̞̺̝͈̗̦̭͔̘̤͎̆̿͌̈́͂̇̇̒͋̊͒̑̀̓͋͌͂̑͊̉̒͜͝͠ͅy̶͍̏́w̵̛̛̬͎̤̦̼̬̼̯͖͈̬̳̜̰̞͚͎͈͗́̅̽̀̓̏̇̓́̈́̑̒͋͐͌͑̉͐͝͝ͅh̶̨̢̢̗̜͇̳̺͍̰̳̫͉̫͍͖͎̥̭̪̮̯͆̈́͆̊̽͌̎̓̽̑̒͐̚̚ỷ̶̨̛̩̻͍̺̽̇̋̃̇̀̐͌̇̈́͗͆̋̊̒̕͝͝w̵̯̭̥̜͉̤̱̦̮͔̦̲̅̄̎̿̀́͑̏̀͆̇̂͆͝ḩ̴̢̡̛̛̫̳̘̞̟͍͎͇̮͇̥̬̬̣̩͇́̇̔̆̊́̿͗͋̈́̅̀͋̇̇̽́̒̎̇̚̕ͅy̴̨̧̢̛͖͉͇̞̖̣͎͇̼̫̻͇̮̙̼̳͈̐͌̋͂̊̈́̄͐̌͐̄͗͜͝͝ͅw̸͈̬͈͈͈̺̳̘͈̥̪͖͈̹͙̣̖̱̙͈̏̍̀̉̎̍́̿͗͌͒̀͋́͊̀̋̇͋̕͜͠͠͠h̸̨̧̩̲̹͙̼͚̥͑͌̿͜͠y̴̡̪̲̟̗̣̘͉̘̘̥̣͙̣̯̦̱̖͔͗̅̌̓̋̓̏͌̎̅̏̿̚͘͜͝w̷̡̡̙̪̱͖̰̭̯̯̘͇͚͙͇͎̝̗̺̬̍̀̐͌͛̇̔̐͋̈̀̅̍̋́̂̆̂͊̓̍͑̚͠ḣ̸̢̢̢̦̹̱̥̖̻̫̱͙̝͌͗̀̓̾͊͐́́̓̿̄́̋̏͋̚̕͘͜ͅy̴̧̛̛̳͍̩̱̖͇̹̺͚͈̺͚̖̰͑̓̈́̒̄̅́͌̐̾͛̆̂͠w̵̧̡̠̦̗͕̩͔̃͛̾̋̀͊̆̇̔͂͘ͅh̸̢̛͖̟̠̗̜̥̰̙̱̀͂͌́͋͌̍̇͌̓͑͌̈y̶̨̢̨̡̫̺̝͈̩̰̼̘͖̮̥̦̬͉͕̯̼̹̋̈̇̐̓̏̐͛͛̀͝w̷̨̛͉͇̜̱̞͈̮̞̮̜̞̲͎̺̲̌̒̍̀͋͑̄̿̄̒̃́̌͛̋̕̕̚͜ͅḩ̴̡̻͎̼͖͓̬͈̬͔͈̹̙̖͖̂̇̆̌̓̀͊́̆͛̅̐́̇̄͜ÿ̸̨̢̠̖̰͔̝̠̦̮̩͖̖́̃̓ẁ̵̛̳̥̥͇͌͑̓̈́͌̒̾̂̐̈̿̉̋̔̈́̚͝h̵̡̟̭̟͇͇̬̅̄͑̏̇̍́́̓̔͛̓̈́̌͒̄̅̈́̽̈́̚͝͠y̷̡̩̲̲̘͎͗̏̌͒͝ẅ̷̰͉́̾̒̆͛̌͑̔̏̽̀̅͛̂͝͝͝͝͠ḩ̶̢̛̛̩̳̜̠͈̫̩̞͍͕̻̙̳̹̫̞͓̱̊̏̈́̂̏͌̾̑̋͊̏̑̈́̔̀͒̈́͆́͋͘͘y̸̡̱̩̘̭͙͕͚͍͆́̈́̾̓̌̿͊̌̀̅͊w̶̨̨̡̨̨̦̼̼̪̘̣̦̥̲̣̺̗̜͆̏̌͆͂̉́͊͆̅̃̎̽́̽̒͐͛͊̈́̈̕̕̕̕͝͠͝͝ḧ̴̡̧̹̰̦͕̝̝̻̜̘̗͈̦̭͎̫̞̼̹̺͓̞͓͔́͒̊̆̈́̃͑͘͝͝y̵̨̬̻̯̭̺̫̬̙͉̌͋̑͌͐̒͐̒̐̽̿̔̽͋͝͝͠w̸̡̡̧̧̧̛̩̠̮̩̰̼̯͍̤̘̻̲̦̙̭͍̥͖͚̘̥͉̃̐̀̀̒̒̐͒̕͜͝͝h̵̛̞͙͓̖̞͎̱̿͆͛̌͋͗̅̒̑̅̔̀̏͛͌͌̉̆̀̊͊̕͜y̴̭̹̞͓̞̥̬̓͂̓̌͐̔w̷̢͓͇̭̺̟͇̩͖͉̹͇̲̪͕̝̫͙̰̪͓͕̪̻͗̈́̽̂̌͆̋̄͌͒̉́̄͌̃͑̅̍͒̾͒̐́̄̆̅̓͛̾͗̚̕̕̚͜͜͝h̷̨̦̻̝̖͝ẏ̸̛̰̹̦͚͔́̋̆̈́̔͆̑͌͂̈́̓̉̂͐͗̌͐̈̅̏̇̉͌̀̀̊̍̕͘͝͠͝͠ẃ̸̧̞̰͙͈͓̦͈͇̘̯͖̱͎̰͇̲̥̮̭̤̀̽̈́̍̉̈̌̈́̀̎̆̚̚͘͠͝ḧ̵̡̢̨̺͍̪͇̟͍̯͍̩̜̘͎̞̟̼̠̮̮̹̥̠̼͙̫̤̙̰̻̗̺̄͒̈̌̓͛̐͑̀́͛̓͊̿̀̀̈́̉̆̚͝ͅy̴̛̗̻̙̫̞̹̬̬͓̖͖̼̘̟̬̬̘̬̳̜̦̫̥͇̖͒̈̋̑̕ͅͅͅw̴̨͈͉̝̫̻̥̯̦̜̱͕̗̫͙̩͇̳̱̘̟͕̫͔̜̘̥͖̲̘̺͈̺̦͗͒́̇̎̌͆͊͘͜h̸̢̛̖̖͍͓̳͖̥̻̝̪̬͇̱̺̠͙̗͙̗̐͌̀͜͜͠ͅỵ̴̨̧̧̧̝͚̥͍̜̞̩̳̺̭̩̜̳̺̮͇̻̦̙̃̄̇̂̒͗̾̄̚ẅ̶̨̢͇͚̞͇͇̫̫̫͉̖̮̯́͊̈̀̓̊̋̐̓̆͑̊̎̄͛͒̂̂̊͒͆̈́̋͘̕͝͠h̶̨̨̛̯͚̳͉͓͔̲̮͈̥̦̻͎̖̮̹̅͋͌̇̈́̀͂́͌̐̄͋̀̄́̄̿̈̉̈́̍͂̅̃͌̈́̕͘͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅẏ̵̢̢̧̧̡̛͍̫̫̱͈̪̝̥̹͈̗̻̟̞͖̯͔̙͔̜̦̳̪̀̇̈̓͛̂̓͑͋̒̔̊̈́͛́̊̈́̕͜͜͝͝w̸̧̡̧̨̡̢̜͎͈̹͍͔̯̖̟̱͕̬͇͉̠̺̭͇̞̻̌͗͌͊̇̓h̴̨̖͎̝͚̔̓̆̒́͐̂́͗̀̓̂͊̃̓͌̈́̾͂̋̓̄̑̕̚͝ŷ̴̡̡̭̮̼͉̹̘̦̳̘̼͚̩͎̞̃͌̊̏̽̉̎̈́̍̉̈́͒̑̀̐́͑̿͗̉̓̉̐̈́̃̑̅̇͗͘͘̕͜͝͠ͅẅ̸̡̤̱̲̙̞̤̼́͋̓̀̄̉́̋͒̚͘͝͝͝h̶̛͈̫̬̿̀̄͌̍̏̅̏́̓͆̄̄̈́̀̾͂̀̂̏̂̅̕͘y̷̧̢̛͇̘̥̘̩͙̤̠̠̬̻̥̬͚͖̲̭̦͎̳̒͑̄̒͗́̎͌̋̇̅̀̍̎̒̔̈͝ẁ̶̩̠̼͖̙͓̊̒̾̋̔͌̚h̷̛͖̠̑̂̈̀͌̅̂̊̌͂͋͛͗̂̇͠ý̶̡̨͉͈͓̻͕̠̘̤̳̤̫͖̣̟͊͝ͅw̵̢̧̡̮̣̤͓̯̩̖͈̯̠̬̤̫̞̬͉̣̥͋̍̀̽͑͌͗͂́̍͌̐̊͒̍̋̐̾̑̓̓͊̍̆̅͐̚͘̚͘̕͜͝ḩ̵̧̨̢̲̯̝̪̥͇͎̙̦̫͕̝̼̻̙̮̞̞͙̱̬̮̘͙͕̲́̅̓̄̏͗̈͆͋͌̐͗͊̈́͑͗͌͒̓̾̓͂̈̀̿̈́͗̇̈́͐̚̕̚͜͜͝y̷̡̧̨̢͚̗͕̪̙͉̤̮̝͙͈̞̪̝̝͖̭̱̖͚͈̥̣̳̩̞͐͐͗͗̅̓̈́̂̈̾̋̏̂̓͛̿̍͂̆͗̕͝w̵̠͙͕̅̈͐̄͛̈̊͊͆͘h̵̡͖̣̪͍͎͍̘̳̺̩̥͇͋͆y̸̨̧̹̮͚̩͎̰̥̞͎̞̬̯̲͙̝̭̯͚̰͔͈̣̪̟̪͉̙̻͋̒̐̽͑̄̈̓̍̀͂̍̿̂͘͜͠

w̶̡̡̨̙̞͕̬̣̯̮̤̖̣̗̘͍͎͚̔̊̓̿ḣ̴̨̨̨̖̺͖̞̞̫͈̳̞̻̜̪̬̰̖̥͇͚̗̺̥̳͉̪̙̜̄̀͑̓͛̾̓͋̈͒͊̊̃̾̇̋̐̒͝͝͝y̸̰̬̜̺͉̙̤̻̜̼̬̥̩͉̟̲̫̞̕ͅw̵̨͓̭̩̩̳̟͖̰̠͓̘̫̘̱͙̱͈̮͓͙͓̣̱͚̰̠̟̣̹͗͜ḩ̸̢̘̘̝̙͎̫̞̟̫͓͖̣̬̘̹̆̐y̴̧̳̯͙̺̙̞̯̩̭̫̾̄͛̓́̌̑͒̂́̓̒̈́̅̀̐̌̅̓̕͜w̴̨̢̢̮͓͙̹͉̬̤͔̺̪̪̥̘͒̍̆͋̎͐̓̍̓́̽̾̀́̎͂͘͘͝ͅh̸̨̧̢̩͈͈̤͚̫̫̼̯̱̝̠̯̲͎͇̖̟̫̼͖̗̒́̄̈́͛̈͆͒̔̊̐͜͝͝y̶̧̧̻̼̩̻̦̬͓͈͇͛̃̾̀̿̾͒̿̓̈͆͊̈͆͑̆̂̆̂́͂͂̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅẅ̸̫̱̮̪̖̣̑̈́̚ͅḩ̶̧̨̡̘̞̬͔̱͓͕͙͉͙̝͚̺̤͉̦͇̋͐̓̇̂̈̃̃̈́̌̆̂̆̏̓̃̀́̒̎̊̈́́̌͘͘͝͠͠ͅÿ̴̨̭̝͓́̔̆͑̑̈̂̋̐̽͑͒̋̔̇̍̑̈͘͠w̴̨͙̱͉̫͖̹̻͈̪̮̆ḧ̷̡̬̬͈̗̲͕͚̯̩̬͚̺̖̞̹̫̥͔̩ͅy̸̨̢̮̳̟̰̣͚͇̤͛̉̐͒̋̈́̅͆̉͗͊̐͘͜͠w̸̨̨̛̤̮͓͎̪̞͔̦̖̪̜̗̻̤̣̥̫̬̰̯̤̦͎̮̟͌͑͛̈̄͐͋̒͌̓̉͐̍̌̈́̒̋̈́̀͌̓͘͝͠͝ͅͅh̵̨̢͎̖̘̣͔̺̱̗̘̳̥̘̖̘̳̘̻̻͔͙̩̥͙̫͉͎̏̄̇̇̐̏̽̓͂̾͌͂̾̽̍̌͂̏̉̌̐͛̊̚̕͠͠ỳ̶̢̡͚̳̟̦̟̀̅̓͋̋̒̈́̋̿̑̅͊͑̈́͛̎̀̎͒͘͝͝͠͝w̶̡̨̧͙͇̲͍͚̞̞̠̦̠̻̯̬̣̩̬̬̼̏̈̿̔̾̋̈́̀͆̄̆̎̐̎̽͛̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅĥ̴̡̡̤̥̯͈̦͔̼̟̱̻̪̭̝̎͂̈́̑̕y̷̨̨̧̢̡̡̱͎̯͇̭͚̲̗̞̻̬͚̞̳͍̭̯̣̞̾̈̐́͛̽͊͊̕̕ͅw̷̢̨̢̡̦͕̥̖͉̞͍̱̮̪͍̱͇̪̘̬͕̤̟͇̭͎̟̩̝͉̞͊͗́̆̎̇̈́͒̆̐͆̀́͛͛̐̎̔̑̋͌́̈͘̚͜͝͝͠͝h̸̢̟͓̲̦͖̞̤̫̹̲̟̠̱̯͓̘̭͕̊͑́͊̍̂͛͗y̴̢̡̡̢͇̖͚̹̭̗̝̙̜̭̯͇͈̯͌͒͌̓͊͗̔͂̓͊̀̔͐̾́̍̀̇́̊͋̽̓̿͑͘͝͠ͅw̶̨̛̘͇̘̺̥̖̥͚̦͇̱͈̩̳̤̤̰̤̮͙̬̫̓̏͊̃̀̏̇̏̔̋͆̎̒̈̏̏̆̀͗͛́̔̈͆͊͂͒̇͘̚͜͠ͅh̷̡̧̡̫͚̲̣̹̘͓͙͕̼͓̩̻̪̥͓͎̣͚͇͖͙̟͈̳͚̻͆̐̈́́̑͆̃̎͗̃̃̈͛̀́͐̓͗̈̌͋̉̄́̂̚͠͝͝͝ý̶̧͖̄͑͊w̶̢̡̯̳̭̘̲͓̞̳̻̗͔͉͙̤͎͖̥̲̥͆̀̅̐̓̒̈́̏̔̋̓̿̌͒̊̊͒̚͜͜͠͝͝ḩ̷̨̦͖͓̣͎̭̰̰̞͖̹͎̫͔̮̩̪̩̖͚̘͔̟͔͎̝̼̲̙̐̏̑̓̒͊̐̉͆͒͐̅͆̃̄͂͊̕͜ͅͅͅy̶̧̛̛̗̝̞̽͆̑̓͋́͊͒͊̐̈́͐͊̒̾̐̈̊̈́͂͘͘͘͘͜͝ẘ̸̨̧̨̡̢̡̳͔͙̹̲̟͓͎̥̼͇̫̤̺̜̝̼̦͍̼̠̩̝͌̐̎͊͊ͅh̸̡̧̗̝̣̺͚̞̟́̀̽̎͌̏̃͋͑̌̃̑̏͆̓̀͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝y̴̡̧̡̩̤͚̱̮̦̹̰̫̜̩͕̪͙͓̦̟̹̟̲͍̥̮̳̗̐͒̾̽̉̓̇̇̏̇̊̏̍̔͊̚͝͠ͅw̷̢̢̠̬̩̭̝͙̯̙͎̥͎̙̯̣̠̓̅̌̇̊̓̾̂̽͑̌̈́̂̽͠͠h̸̛̲̮͚͍͒̇̒̀́͌͐̿͒̔̎̓̌̇̃͘͝͝͠͝ẏ̴̧̨̖͚͙̹̥̣̗̝͚̯̣͓͉̞͖̣̬̬͚̳̘̞̫ͅw̴̧̢̛̥̰̬͙͇͓͙̏̓̌̋̄̒̓̿̊̈́̎̂̾̄͊͗̀̉́͛̈́̈̽̃͠h̷̢̝̪̦͖̬̣̜̰̱̜͎̘͖̹̲͍̠̥͖̩̓̏͒̀͒̌̐̓͗̈́̋ͅy̸̡̢͕̹̎̿̀̋̀̈́̍͐̂͆͑͐͂̆͌̋̀̏͜͝ͅw̸̧̪̣̬̹̟͈̲̗͙̤̰̩̼̞̥̭̲͉̮̖̫͒͐́͒͆̔̄̀͋͜͝ḩ̶̢̝̘͖̤̼̞̙͔̙͎̻̖͙̖̺͚̱̫͈̹̄͊͋͌̍̋̈́̍͊̈́̊͂͐̑͆̋̿̐̔̌̂̚̕͜͜͝y̵̧̘̰̥̩̠̬̥̦͂́͒̉w̴͉̒̑́́͛̈́ͅh̵̛͙̥̊̊̌̽͊̉̏̇̀̉͗̋̄͋̈́͐̾̅̒͌̿̑̑̋̽̌̃̾̆̈y̵̡̢̨̢̧̗̤͎̜̬̤̩͓̠̘̖̬͚̣̣̤͖̯̺̩̤̥̜̳̙̠̗͂̔̏̇͗̈́̌͗̎̋̚w̶̛̯̋̽͛̏͑͆̊͋̒̂̽͋͒̋̆̂̋̐h̷͇͈̞͔̤͎̿̄͜͜y̷̨̨̡̨̛̻͙̞̩̩͚̹̠͕̖̻̝̯̥̖͇̜̱͕̪͕̘̘͎̓̿͐͑̈́͌́͋̈́̌̿̾̒̓͘͘̚͜͜͜ͅw̴̧̨̨̛̭̮̮̙̼̮̭̗̗̺̠̉̏̔͆͌̀̚̚͜ͅͅh̷̨̨̦̪̙̜̞͓̗̹͕̤̮͉̺̤́ͅͅỳ̶̧̡̢̺͕͕̺̻̳̂͂͆̍͛͛̉̈́̀̎͗̆͒͂̈́̈́̀̂̆͑̾̇̋̚͝ẇ̸͓͇͍͕̣́͆

h̶̨̡̼̲͍͙̖̩̰͓̤̝̺͇͕̘̓͆̈́̈́̔̀̈́͒̓͑̇͋̚̕͘͝͝y̷͇̼͍̞̦̲̯̝̤͔̹͆͊̑́͋̐̈̂́̕͠͝ͅw̴̡̗̳͑̌͗͊̒̽͌͝h̷̨̨̧̨̛͍̤͉̼͖̫̜̤̗̭̻̠̱̻͚̞͈̮̫͍͓̙̖̣̮͗̅́̿̉̉̑͜y̸̲̗͙̮͙̤̗͍̱̋̎̏̀̆̄͌̂͐͑͛̉͗̌̈́̒̎̚̕̚͠͝ẅ̴̡̘͖̱̱̲̖̖̣͍͈̥̙̮͖̥̹̼̈̒͒̒̀͛͋͂͗̀͆̈́̓̉̓̑̔̋͛̅́̆͗̚̕̕͜͠͠͝ḧ̸̨̛̛̺̰̞̹̬̪̮̗͙̫͖͔͚̻̖̱̯̳̫̩́͗́̓́͐͊̽̋̉̈́̈́͆̋̒͂̂͗́͛̅̍̌̾̌͝͝͝y̵̦͇͎̰̭̦̬̥̤͗͊ͅẃ̷̢̛̦̠͙̱̯̟̣̜͕̰̼̺̤̮̗̹͉̙̙̝̗͌̓͐̑͜ẖ̷̦̳̬͉̳̬̳̰́̑͒̈́͛̓͜ͅỹ̴̡̨̢͓̠̩̫̙̠͉̙͖̟̳̞̲̞͈̘͖̓͋̏̔̔͛̍̉̒̈̓̑̉̐̐̄͐̋̋̊̅͆̊̇̈̕̚̚͜͝w̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̛̦̬̥̙͓̥̣̰͎͎̗̲̗͍̟̖̠͇̞̦̟̫̲̺͑̆̏͛̃͛̈́̐̃̉̓̈́̒̉̌̅̐͊̒̔̓̆͘͠͝h̸̲͒y̷̡̧̨̡̞̣͕̞͖̖̬̦͉̜̤̬̖͕̫͚̺̭̦̙͇͎̹̍̏̔̅̈̀̒͒̆̓̿̍̀́̚̚̚͝ͅẃ̴̡̢̧͙̻̪̮̩̲͕̙̬̯͇͔̠̝͍͖̪̝̹̣͉̝͈̻͊̐͊͗̆̈́̄̑̒̕ͅh̷̡̻̰̮͓̩͖̮̣̫̻͍̞̾͋̂̅̓y̶͍̬̙͉̍͐͗̆͗̿̒̔̓͠w̴̡̛̼̳̙̭͔̮̠̤͖͈̘͔̗̫̦̙̬͚̦̼̳̺̓͋̆͌̿̀̊̈́̉̌̀̇̎̍̓͒̀͒͋͌̇́͐̋̈́̑̉́̉̔͊͠͝͠ͅḩ̴̢̧̛͙͍̰̤̦͓̜͚̱̖̮͔̤̩̰̜͓̎̍͗̓̃͆̆̒̀͛̔̀̀͘͝y̷̧̨̨̫̬̼̥͕̯̤͓͕͍̟͉̫̖͔̙̱̰̯͓̬͚̠̤͛̽̍̅͂͗͌̈́́̋́̃̈́̇̀͋͐͊͆̐̾̇̔͘̕w̵̫̓̈́̅̊͊͗̓̋́̋̈́͊̒́͆͌̑̾̒͛̚h̴̨̫̯̫̻̞͍̯͙̤̜̯͙̣̮̬̣̍͒̓̽͘͜͜y̵̡̛̞̤̰͎̜͚̯̺͍̻̲̖̠̞͕̩͓̰͙̰͚̗͖͋͗͊͒͑́͆́̐̂͒̊͛̋͝͠͝ͅw̸̧̭̲̩̗̳̜͚͉͔̪͕͇̬̰̙̻̙̬͖̱̠͇̱̦̦͈̥͇͎̯̅͆̑̇̈́̃̅͛́̌́͂̚ͅͅͅh̸̛̛͈͍͉̉̾̆͋̈́̊̇̃͆͒̅̌̿̀̋̋̎̈̿̀͛̐́͒̈̏͂̎̏͗͌̚͝y̸̨̨̢̨̫͙̼̻̜̞̼̝̦̬̦̫̺̱̯̯͚̲̳̫̱̹͚̠̖͇͔̮͛̄̓͌͒̏̄͐̾̿̏́̆̐̀͌̚͝ͅw̶̡̡̨̙̞͕̬̣̯̮̤̖̣̗̘͍͎͚̔̊̓̿ḣ̴̨̨̨̖̺͖̞̞̫͈̳̞̻̜̪̬̰̖̥͇͚̗̺̥̳͉̪̙̜̄̀͑̓͛̾̓͋̈͒͊̊̃̾̇̋̐̒͝͝͝y̸̰̬̜̺͉̙̤̻̜̼̬̥̩͉̟̲̫̞̕ͅw̵̨͓̭̩̩̳̟͖̰̠͓̘̫̘̱͙̱͈̮͓͙͓̣̱͚̰̠̟̣̹͗͜ḩ̸̢̘̘̝̙͎̫̞̟̫͓͖̣̬̘̹̆̐y̴̧̳̯͙̺̙̞̯̩̭̫̾̄͛̓́̌̑͒̂́̓̒̈́̅̀̐̌̅̓̕͜w̴̨̢̢̮͓͙̹͉̬̤͔̺̪̪̥̘͒̍̆͋̎͐̓̍̓́̽̾̀́̎͂͘͘͝ͅh̸̨̧̢̩͈͈̤͚̫̫̼̯̱̝̠̯̲͎͇̖̟̫̼͖̗̒́̄̈́͛̈͆͒̔̊̐͜͝͝y̶̧̧̻̼̩̻̦̬͓͈͇͛̃̾̀̿̾͒̿̓̈͆͊̈͆͑̆̂̆̂́͂͂̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅẅ̸̫̱̮̪̖̣̑̈́̚ͅḩ̶̧̨̡̘̞̬͔̱͓͕͙͉͙̝͚̺̤͉̦͇̋͐̓̇̂̈̃̃̈́̌̆̂̆̏̓̃̀́̒̎̊̈́́̌͘͘͝͠͠ͅÿ̴̨̭̝͓́̔̆͑̑̈̂̋̐̽͑͒̋̔̇̍̑̈͘͠w̴̨͙̱͉̫͖̹̻͈̪̮̆ḧ̷̡̬̬͈̗̲͕͚̯̩̬͚̺̖̞̹̫̥͔̩ͅy̸̨̢̮̳̟̰̣͚͇̤͛̉̐͒̋̈́̅͆̉͗͊̐͘͜͠w̸̨̨̛̤̮͓͎̪̞͔̦̖̪̜̗̻̤̣̥̫̬̰̯̤̦͎̮̟͌͑͛̈̄͐͋̒͌̓̉͐̍̌̈́̒̋̈́̀͌̓͘͝͠͝ͅͅh̵̨̢͎̖̘̣͔̺̱̗̘̳̥̘̖̘̳̘̻̻͔͙̩̥͙̫͉͎̏̄̇̇̐̏̽̓͂̾͌͂̾̽̍̌͂̏̉̌̐͛̊̚̕͠͠ỳ̶̢̡͚̳̟̦̟̀̅̓͋̋̒̈́̋̿̑̅͊͑̈́͛̎̀̎͒͘͝͝͠͝w̶̡̨̧͙͇̲͍͚̞̞̠̦̠̻̯̬̣̩̬̬̼̏̈̿̔̾̋̈́̀͆̄̆̎̐̎̽͛̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅĥ̴̡̡̤̥̯͈̦͔̼̟̱̻̪̭̝̎͂̈́̑̕y̷̨̨̧̢̡̡̱͎̯͇̭͚̲̗̞̻̬͚̞̳͍̭̯̣̞̾̈̐́͛̽͊͊̕̕ͅw̷̢̨̢̡̦͕̥̖͉̞͍̱̮̪͍̱͇̪̘̬͕̤̟͇̭͎̟̩̝͉̞͊͗́̆̎̇̈́͒̆̐͆̀́͛͛̐̎̔̑̋͌́̈͘̚͜͝͝͠͝h̸̢̟͓̲̦͖̞̤̫̹̲̟̠̱̯͓̘̭͕̊͑́͊̍̂͛͗y̴̢̡̡̢͇̖͚̹̭̗̝̙̜̭̯͇͈̯͌͒͌̓͊͗̔͂̓͊̀̔͐̾́̍̀̇́̊͋̽̓̿͑͘͝͠ͅw̶̨̛̘͇̘̺̥̖̥͚̦͇̱͈̩̳̤̤̰̤̮͙̬̫̓̏͊̃̀̏̇̏̔̋͆̎̒̈̏̏̆̀͗͛́̔̈͆͊͂͒̇͘̚͜͠ͅh̷̡̧̡̫͚̲̣̹̘͓͙͕̼͓̩̻̪̥͓͎̣͚͇͖͙̟͈̳͚̻͆̐̈́́̑͆̃̎͗̃̃̈͛̀́͐̓͗̈̌͋̉̄́̂̚͠͝͝͝

ý̶̧͖̄͑͊w̶̢̡̯̳̭̘̲͓̞̳̻̗͔͉͙̤͎͖̥̲̥͆̀̅̐̓̒̈́̏̔̋̓̿̌͒̊̊͒̚͜͜͠͝͝ḩ̷̨̦͖͓̣͎̭̰̰̞͖̹͎̫͔̮̩̪̩̖͚̘͔̟͔͎̝̼̲̙̐̏̑̓̒͊̐̉͆͒͐̅͆̃̄͂͊̕͜ͅͅͅy̶̧̛̛̗̝̞̽͆̑̓͋́͊͒͊̐̈́͐͊̒̾̐̈̊̈́͂͘͘͘͘͜͝ẘ̸̨̧̨̡̢̡̳͔͙̹̲̟͓͎̥̼͇̫̤̺̜̝̼̦͍̼̠̩̝͌̐̎͊͊ͅh̸̡̧̗̝̣̺͚̞̟́̀̽̎͌̏̃͋͑̌̃̑̏͆̓̀͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝y̴̡̧̡̩̤͚̱̮̦̹̰̫̜̩͕̪͙͓̦̟̹̟̲͍̥̮̳̗̐͒̾̽̉̓��̇̏̇̊̏̍̔͊̚͝͠ͅw̷̢̢̠̬̩̭̝͙̯̙͎̥͎̙̯̣̠̓̅̌̇̊̓̾̂̽͑̌̈́̂̽͠͠h̸̛̲̮͚͍͒̇̒̀́͌͐̿͒̔̎̓̌̇̃͘͝͝͠͝ẏ̴̧̨̖͚͙̹̥̣̗̝͚̯̣͓͉̞͖̣̬̬͚̳̘̞̫ͅw̴̧̢̛̥̰̬͙͇͓͙̏̓̌̋̄̒̓̿̊̈́̎̂̾̄͊͗̀̉́͛̈́̈̽̃͠h̷̢̝̪̦͖̬̣̜̰̱̜͎̘͖̹̲͍̠̥͖̩̓̏͒̀͒̌̐̓͗̈́̋ͅy̸̡̢͕̹̎̿̀̋̀̈́̍͐̂͆͑͐͂̆͌̋̀̏͜͝ͅw̸̧̪̣̬̹̟͈̲̗͙̤̰̩̼̞̥̭̲͉̮̖̫͒͐́͒͆̔̄̀͋͜͝ḩ̶̢̝̘͖̤̼̞̙͔̙͎̻̖͙̖̺͚̱̫͈̹̄͊͋͌̍̋̈́̍͊̈́̊͂͐̑͆̋̿̐̔̌̂̚̕͜͜͝y̵̧̘̰̥̩̠̬̥̦͂́͒̉w̴͉̒̑́́͛̈́ͅh̵̛͙̥̊̊̌̽͊̉̏̇̀̉͗̋̄͋̈́͐̾̅̒͌̿̑̑̋̽̌̃̾̆̈y̵̡̢̨̢̧̗̤͎̜̬̤̩͓̠̘̖̬͚̣̣̤͖̯̺̩̤̥̜̳̙̠̗͂̔̏̇͗̈́̌͗̎̋̚w̶̛̯̋̽͛̏͑͆̊͋̒̂̽͋͒̋̆̂̋̐h̷͇͈̞͔̤͎̿̄͜͜y̷̨̨̡̨̛̻͙̞̩̩͚̹̠͕̖̻̝̯̥̖͇̜̱͕̪͕̘̘͎̓̿͐͑̈́͌́͋̈́̌̿̾̒̓͘͘̚͜͜͜ͅw̴̧̨̨̛̭̮̮̙̼̮̭̗̗̺̠̉̏̔͆͌̀̚̚͜ͅͅh̷̨̨̦̪̙̜̞͓̗̹͕̤̮͉̺̤́ͅͅỳ̶̧̡̢̺͕͕̺̻̳̂͂͆̍͛͛̉̈́̀̎͗̆͒͂̈́̈́̀̂̆͑̾̇̋̚͝ẇ̸͓͇͍͕̣́͆h̶̨̡̼̲͍͙̖̩̰͓̤̝̺͇͕̘̓͆̈́̈́̔̀̈́͒̓͑̇͋̚̕͘͝͝y̷͇̼͍̞̦̲̯̝̤͔̹͆͊̑́͋̐̈̂́̕͠͝ͅw̴̡̗̳͑̌͗͊̒̽͌͝h̷̨̨̧̨̛͍̤͉̼͖̫̜̤̗̭̻̠̱̻͚̞͈̮̫͍͓̙̖̣̮͗̅́̿̉̉̑͜y̸̲̗͙̮͙̤̗͍̱̋̎̏̀̆̄͌̂͐͑͛̉͗̌̈́̒̎̚̕̚͠͝ẅ̴̡̘͖̱̱̲̖̖̣͍͈̥̙̮͖̥̹̼̈̒͒̒̀͛͋͂͗̀͆̈́̓̉̓̑̔̋͛̅́̆͗̚̕̕͜͠͠͝ḧ̸̨̛̛̺̰̞̹̬̪̮̗͙̫͖͔͚̻̖̱̯̳̫̩́͗́̓́͐͊̽̋̉̈́̈́͆̋̒͂̂͗́͛̅̍̌̾̌͝͝͝y̵̦͇͎̰̭̦̬̥̤͗͊ͅẃ̷̢̛̦̠͙̱̯̟̣̜͕̰̼̺̤̮̗̹͉̙̙̝̗͌̓͐̑͜ẖ̷̦̳̬͉̳̬̳̰́̑͒̈́͛̓͜ͅỹ̴̡̨̢͓̠̩̫̙̠͉̙͖̟̳̞̲̞͈̘͖̓͋̏̔̔͛̍̉̒̈̓̑̉̐̐̄͐̋̋̊̅͆̊̇̈̕̚̚͜͝w̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̛̦̬̥̙͓̥̣̰͎͎̗̲̗͍̟̖̠͇̞̦̟̫̲̺͑̆̏͛̃͛̈́̐̃̉̓̈́̒̉̌̅̐͊̒̔̓̆͘͠͝h̸̲͒y̷̡̧̨̡̞̣͕̞͖̖̬̦͉̜̤̬̖͕̫͚̺̭̦̙͇͎̹̍̏̔̅̈̀̒͒̆̓̿̍̀́̚̚̚͝ͅẃ̴̡̢̧͙̻̪̮̩̲͕̙̬̯͇͔̠̝͍͖̪̝̹̣͉̝͈̻͊̐͊͗̆̈́̄̑̒̕ͅh̷̡̻̰̮͓̩͖̮̣̫̻͍̞̾͋̂̅̓y̶͍̬̙͉̍͐͗̆͗̿̒̔̓͠w̴̡̛̼̳̙̭͔̮̠̤͖͈̘͔̗̫̦̙̬͚̦̼̳̺̓͋̆͌̿̀̊̈́̉̌̀̇̎̍̓͒̀͒͋͌̇́͐̋̈́̑̉́̉̔͊͠͝͠ͅḩ̴̢̧̛͙͍̰̤̦͓̜͚̱̖̮͔̤̩̰̜͓̎̍͗̓̃͆̆̒̀͛̔̀̀͘͝y̷̧̨̨̫̬̼̥͕̯̤͓͕͍̟͉̫̖͔̙̱̰̯͓̬͚̠̤͛̽̍̅͂͗͌̈́́̋́̃̈́̇̀͋͐͊͆̐̾̇̔͘̕w̵̫̓̈́̅̊͊͗̓̋́̋̈́͊̒́͆͌̑̾̒͛̚h̴̨̫̯̫̻̞͍̯͙̤̜̯͙̣̮̬̣̍͒̓̽͘͜͜y̵̡̛̞̤̰͎̜͚̯̺͍̻̲̖̠̞͕̩͓̰͙̰͚̗͖͋͗͊͒͑́͆́̐̂͒̊͛̋͝͠͝ͅw̸̧̭̲̩̗̳̜͚͉͔̪͕͇̬̰̙̻̙̬͖̱̠͇̱̦̦͈̥͇͎̯̅͆̑̇̈́̃̅͛́̌́͂̚ͅͅͅh̸̛̛͈͍͉̉̾̆͋̈́̊̇̃͆͒̅̌̿̀̋̋̎̈̿̀͛̐́͒̈̏͂̎̏͗͌̚͝y̸̨̨̢̨̫͙̼̻̜̞̼̝̦̬̦̫̺̱̯̯͚̲̳̫̱̹͚̠̖͇͔̮͛̄̓͌͒̏̄͐̾̿̏́̆̐̀͌̚͝ͅ

ẃ̷̢̢̱̝̤̗̭͓̖̯̰̪̰͎̺͈̙͇̦̝̞̤̹͚̫͜͜h̷̢̧̨̨̧̡̧̫̺̟̫̘͉̜̖̼͓͕̜̥͚͓͓͇̳̹̲͔̩̳̱̹̉͐͋̍́͌̾͌̿̌̋̑̽̊̒̈́̇̄̍̃́̓̿͒̃̄̚̕͝͝͠͝y̴̨̧̨͈͎̗͉͕̥̬̻͔͎͚̣̞̭̳̻͖̻̬̮̼̖̩̱̲̹̑͛͛́̑͋̓̀͗̐̏̊̒̌͑̊̈́͠ͅw̶̢̧̢͖̜͎̮̬͓̗̝̹̓̿̉͌̏̇̀̇͗̓̕͜͠ͅh̵̡̧̧̛̥̠̝̭͚̗̩̼͔̐͐̅͒͛̈́͛͌̌̏̆͊̒̃̌̈́̄̆̅̈͑̌̀̚͝͝ỷ̴̧̡̫̜͈̹̳̺̖̟͛̈́͊̔̽̇̏͌̈́͘̕̕͝ͅẅ̶̛̪̙͔͉̪̣̝́͌̇̀͛́̍̃̎͛͐͆̌͊̀̀̍͐̃̊̐̍̑̚̕͠͝h̶͔͔͇̘͔̝͓̻͈̖͇͙̠̺̺͉͎̰̰̊y̸̧̢̧͓̭̺̖̯͎͔̝̰̼̳͓̝̯̟͖͇̞̯͋̓̋̽̾͊͂͛̀̓̿̊̇̈́̌̊̌̋́̃̔́̾̀̄͆̕͝͠͠͝ͅw̶̟̺̺̣̼̮̯̖̱̖̬̳̜̖͉̲̉͑́̄̄͑̌̽͊͂̈́̉̋͒͛̓͒͐̓̄̓̀̐͝͝͝͠ĥ̵̢̢͓̻̰̱̼͎̗̬͚��̘̝̘̮̮̗̾̌͜͜͝ͅy̷̧̢̯̻̮̞͓͔̮̮͚̭̞͕̹̥͎̼̋͒̽̒̔̓̐̈́͑̂͊͋̈́̓̈́̽̎́̌̋͐͗̑̓̍͌̊̓͑͊̚͝͝ͅẇ̷̡̡̦̫̼̲͙̜͙͓͎̩̱͗̌̄̃̀͆̓̒́̌̈́̉͂̓̈͆̽̄̒̅͆̉̕̚͜͝͝ͅḩ̴̦̺̣͍̹̜̫̺̎̇̌͑̈́̏̒̓̓͋̈́͊̅̎̈́͋͐̎̓͂̓̄̉̇̾́̚̚̚̚͝͠͝ỷ̴̧̨͍͚͖̠͕̮̱̻̳̂́͋͊̀̐́̍̏̆́̈́͋̊̎̀͗̌͑̅̄̄̌̈́́͐̂͗͛̂͠w̷̨͎͖̗̰̻̟̲͉̲̬̲͖͔̘̜̙̻̼̱̗̼̩͉̖̔̎̃͝h̶̢̯̠̩͚͈̥̺̥̬͚̰̦͌y̷̢̢̢̢͙̲̙̤͍̲̲͍̺͓̦̥̝̤̗̩̻̻͇̦̲͐̓̅̓͛̐͊͒͋̀̏̐̀̊͘͘͜ͅw̴̦̘̝̗̘͒͊̓́͂̿̎̿̆͑̈͒̀̓͆͘͜ḩ̷̡̧̡̨̫͈͎͕͓̯͇̞̳͍̺̺̲͕͙̮̯͕͙̭̗̘͕̻͒̔̍̇̐͊́͜͝͝ͅͅͅÿ̵̧̘̫̝̰̯̬͚̤̼̜͓͎̞̪̮̉̇̌̐̂̒̓͑̿̈̉̎̍̓̈́̈́̆̽̅̾̉̆̚͜ͅw̷̨̢̛̭̮̠̩͎̗͙͈͖̯̲̳̯̪͉̱̬̪͚͙̤̩̞̦̖͖̙̣̙̦̺̑̑͆̇̿̒̋́̍͐̓̎͊̉̽̊͌̓͊͑̔̔́̋̀̌̐̽̚͝͝͝͠͝ͅḥ̸̡̛̠͍̗̞͔͖͓̮͓͔̳̝̺̻͍͍͕̬̂̀̏́͆̍̅̑͊̇̋̌͐͐͂̉̚͘͜͝͠ͅͅy̷̧̢̨̨̻̰͎͙̝͔̻̙̣̺̝̿̄͛͝ẉ̸̧̨̨̨̛̖̮͙͙̲͚̤͍̤̬̲̜̖̼̞̰͚̞̘̞͓͚̤͖̠̳̦̥͋̉̌̆̔͛͑͌̏̈̓̿́́̈́͌̊͒͂̒̏̉̆͘̚̕͝͝͠͝ḩ̸͎̗̝̟̦͈̦̬̜̌̈́̇͐͂̏̄̈́͝y̴̧̡̧̡̢̘̞̗͍͈̥̣̠̥͓̩̤͕͖̻͍͇͙̗̼͍̱̅̌̋͊͆̿̒̀̏͛͗̾͌̎͒͗̌̈́̒̐̀̏̎̚͜͜͝͠͝͠͠ͅw̷̛̬̠̪̭̩̉̎̽͑͆ȟ̸̨̙͚̳̜̟̺̻̻̣͙̤̜͓͓̞̺̙̠͉͔̺̀͑́̊́͛̃̑͒͂͆̋͐̈́̏͂̋̊̉͋̀͆̿͂͊̽̆̈́̀̕̕͘̚̚͜ỳ̴̧̛͔̥͎̲͕̠̞͙̣͔̤͚̰͔̹̯̫͎̤̫̮̮͚͉̭̖͚̄̎̄̉̍̋̆̌̈́͒̈́͑͂͆͒͒͝ͅͅw̴̬̩̻̋̃̓̓̈́̊̆̈́̏̀͂͘͘͘͘h̸̛̜̬̗͖̬̲̺̯̀̔͗̔̎̚͜y̶̛̩͎̞͙̼͑͊͑͗́̀́́̓̒̾̕͠͝w̸̨̭̩̌͗͌̿̈͒̚͝h̶̢̖̺̯̝̝͍̭̝̭̪͕̯̺̥̘̱̹̤͚̞̪͉͔͈̻͈̟̠͍͖͚̦̤̫̻̱́͂̾͂̈̃̔̐̃͛̒̇͂̑̂̓͂͐͘̚͘͜͜͝ͅy̷̨̢̧̡̛̭̙͚͙̬̣̟̻̻̼̦̺̲̫͙̝̠͓̦̺͚̞͍̮̹̬͚͋͋̒̊̈̈̀̈́̍͋̽̀̉̐͊̿̑͂͗̓͑̇̽̈́̑̿͆͋͆͌͆͘̚͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅw̶̢̡̛̪̱̪̻̲͕̞̓̀͐̌̈́̄̿̾͆̈̉̂̊̄̎͂̂̈́͂̐̈́͒̇͊̆̄̌̾͒̈́̌̓̏͒̓̊͑͂͑̎͗̕͘̚͘͠͝͝͝ḩ̴̨̢͚͍̗̣͎͙͖͉̣̘̻̮̳͚͙̞̦̭̱̥̯͈̤̮͍͇͚̱̭̤͉̹͖̞̘̘͇͍͖̗̯͙͖͇́̃́͛͊͗̀̍́̒̉̒̍̑̈́͗̿̏̉̅͌̋̐̄̄̐̋̚͘͘̕͘͝͝͠ͅͅy̵̧̡̧̛̼͎̫̣̬̟̰̙̠̬̤̠̩̤̝̜̠͈͖̰̙̳̹͐̀͗͆̈́̃̃͒̓̿̏̓̆̅̀̌̌̐͌̿͂̅̌̾͜͜ͅͅw̸̭̝̩̬͇̋̍̀h̵̨̡̨̡̧̳̺̯̼̬̖̝̖͍̘͖̬͎̮̲̣̲̮̲̥͗̓́̀̑̂̃͂̄̈́̾́̒̋̒̄̈́̓̈́͐̐̀̆͛̄̕͜y̷̨̨̛̹͍̼̲̲̫̜̜̞͖̥͍̤̬̳̰̱̩̰̦̗̑͂̈́͊̐͂̀̔͗̒͋͒̇̌͊̎̈͐̒͆̄̅̅́̓͊͑̑̍̀̊̅̾͋̆͐̀̎̆̈́̅̈͘̕͜͠͝͝͠ͅw̶̡̨̡̛͉̪͖̻̝͓̪̯̯̱̫̮͎̪̘͉̲̗̜̣̦̼̯̹̰͚̪̫̗͇̬̌̍͛̑̅͑͌̈́͆͗͐͑̌̎̈̏̀͑́̅͂̈́̐̇̄̎͊̚͘̕̚̚̕͜h̶̲̱͉̩̰̠̻̞̺͊́̌̓̍͂̍͐̋͜͠͝y̵̡̦̖̹̦̤̺̪̻̜̝̟̖̦̳͔͚͉͖͉̝͓̤͎̰͙̼̠̼̩̬͇̒̀̉̐͐͠ͅw̷̡͎͇̝̘̖͓͔̭̣̜͗̏͛̐̃̀́͒͌͂̾̉̅̆͌̚͠h̸̨̧͓̜̲͖͈̪̲̫͔͍̩̗̀̋̀̾̋͋́̉̊̐̿̋͆̎̀͋̿̚͘͝͝͝y̸̧̨̢̡̡̨̛͇̣̹͔̭͈͍̹̞̭̻̪̬̺̠̖͈̤̗̝͎̫̯͎̞͍̳͚͚͇͖̥̲̻̮̞̣̓̃́̈̒̏́̒̃̈́̇̉̀̊̒͗͜͝͠͠w̷̧̢̨̡̨̡̛̪̼̩̮͉̜̬͓̦̪͍̫͍͙̣̜̫̼̲̫̲̼͕̜̪̦̲̖̖͋̈́́̈́͋̅̍͆̅̓̃̎̀̍̽̈́̾́͋̊͒́̿͆̈͜͜͠h̷̨̧̛̯̳̘͔͕̤̪̣͙̱͙̮̬̻͖͉̥̝̏̈́̑̋͂̓̅̉̌̽̌͋͛͋̐̈͋̏̏̌̌͂̑̏́̑́͐̐͘͘̕͝͝y̸̡̧͇̠̪̪̯̗̲̖̩̜̺̞̯̘͙̯͚̜̻̰̜̥͇̬̟̯̣̣͔͒̃͆͗͊̍̃́͗̌̀̄͆̔͑̇̽͋̈͊́͜͠ͅẁ̶̨̢̧̢̲̪̙͙̯̯̜̞̠̘͙̘̱̤̬̲̞̗̘͕̞̰̦̺̝͎̙͕̻̬̼̮̥͙̗͎̠̼͊̏̐͒̑̓̿̓̅͊̽̽́̒̈͌͆̈́͗͗͜͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅ

h̴̢̧̛̠̻̪̫̖͎̗̬̝͈̟̖̙̼͕̙͙̹̼͇̰̦̭̖̠̤̞͙̭̬͙̼̥̹̖̜̝̉̈́̉̋̎̌́̀̊̾̇̈̊̏̋̀̓̅́̇̃̽͌͂̊͐̓̒̉̒̈̈͛͛̇͑͑͒̐̌̾͗͊̎̚̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅy̸̨̢̛̳̯͕͚̤̺̹̜̘͔̤̱̯̠̮͍̬͔̥̤͙̘̗͇̻̅̆͛̾̽́̎̑͆̈́̈́̆͂̀̅͊͌̈́̊̌͌͒̔̍̈́̾̍͘̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅẃ̶̧̛̮͇̹̱̪͕͈͉̙͔͂̈́̈̆̓͂̀̒͋̓̓̓̋̀́̽́̎́̎̓̈̇́̓̈́̓̆̎̕͝͝h̵̛̛̘͔̱͖̳̪͍̟͖̯̽̾̇̆͌̓̑͑͂̐͂̈́̈̂͐̃̀̋̇̾̊̈́̆͗̐̈́̿̒̈́͒͋͐̈́̈́̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅẙ̸̢̡̧̡͚͍̬̠̖̮̙̳̹͖̉̀̀̒͑͂̿̌̍͂̈́́̕͜͜w̶̧̢̢̨̡̨̛̥̥̥̜͇̙͎̭̥̜̰̱̗̼̩̳̤̼͔̼̘̦̲͖̣̮͔͇͙̖̝̱̦̠̲̫̳̝̽́͆̊͐̏̈́̊̑̊̾͒̅͐̇̾͒̈́͆̊͋̈͑̃͌̀̈́̿͑̓̑͋͒͑̚̕̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͝h̶̨̡̡̡̨̛͕̤̜̤͚͚̗̱̖͓͇̬̺͕̖̗͈͈͚̱̺̰͙͓̪̻̜͎̠̳̦̥̞̟̼̼͈̫̹̹̔̅̍͊̌̿͋̌̃̔̽͛̓̌̿̚̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅy̸̨̢̢̳̩̘̥̺͇͇̳̮̗͔̤̤̘̠͙̼̣̘̜̺̰͇̣͕̦̜̙̣̫̳͈͓̗̜̘͕͍̥̲͋̎̐̽̑͒͋̅͌̇͊̌͊́̈́̒͐̓̌̅̍͊̈͛͂̉̅̉͐̈́̈́̑̉̃͛̕̕͘͝͝ͅẅ̸̢̡̨̖̻̞̹̺̹̣̮͚̣̣̳̗̼̭͔́̋̆̐͝h̵̨̛̤̳̹̦̯͈̱̺̺̞̤̪̣̞͖͖̳̤͎̦̼̭̪̼͚̖̀̓͊̄̅͂̓͌́̂̎̒̒͛̈́̌̿͊͌́̏̾̕͘̚̚͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅỹ̷̨̬̩̯͚͚̠͙̻̗̞̫̎̓̃͐͆̓̈́̀̊̈́̅̌̐̇́̀͊̊̌̐̍̈́̂̀̔̽̎̅̃̋̈̇̕͝͠͠͝͝͠w̶͇̭̠̞̲̯̐̆̂́͛̃̇̈͋̎̓͋͑̈́͂̅͑̋̀͒́̅͑̓̓̌̋̉́͆͘̚̚̕͘͘͝h̸̢̡̻͚͇̰̫̞͖̝͓̥͖͚̦̤̞͉̠̥̞͎̦͖̦̺̗̗̰̞̤̜̗͑͛̌͋́̾̎̈́̐̀̀̈̄̒̽͗̓̿̚̚͜͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅý̴̢̢̨̱̫̼͎͙̮̥̤̲̰͙̱̪̥̼̭̗̥̪̲͓͉̹͎͚̮͔̦͚͉̱̰̱̗̔̈̃̍̀́͌̇̐̔̊̆́̋͆̆̂̕͝ͅw̶̘̱͕̲̻͉̠̐̄́̽͆́̈́͐̈́͌͗̿̓̍̃̅̊́̿̔̀̏̋̋̀̕̕͘͠ḩ̸̧̖̱͍̬̼̼͎͚̙̗̮̰̰̫͓̠͖̞̩͚͈͖͈̬̖̭̩͔̺̱̌̈͂͗̿̎̏͊̈́̐̽̀͆̅̒̍͆̒̎̀͘̕͜͝ͅy̶̨̮͈̳̼͍̥̟̹̘̬̝͍̺̻̠̳͙̜̆͂̓̉̿̎̈͌͊̌͑͒̉͌̄̀͑̈́̊̿͐̇͌̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅw̴̡̧͉̼̦̲͙̠͉̫̭͍̖̮̼̦̠̹̼͈̬̮̹͔̲̝͔̥̱̹̜̝͍̯̱̲̳̺̝̣͂́̆͊̍̑̔̔̓̅̏̎̀̌͒̈̏̅̀͘̚͜͝ͅḧ̵̨̘̞͈̭̘̱͙̲̤̥̯́̌͂̈́̿̆͝ͅy̷̢̢̢̡̨̢̛̙̼̘̜̗̫̘͉̗̝̩̩̱̱͓͚̖̪̯̮̼̘͓͉̰̬͕̙̰̋̎̊̈́̔̐͂̈̏̒̊̓̒̾͒̎͋́͊́̀͗́̑̀͗͐̓͋́̄̓̐͌̏̃̾̈́̐̒̂͠͝ͅw̵̧̡̢̨̱̘͉̖̗̮̼͚̗͚̝̠̳̥̗̻͍͔̱̩̤̹̼͚̗̙̠̦̜͉̼͔̓̈́͆͛̽̉̆͛̾̐́́͒͒̇̓̌̆̃̎̿͊̾̀̈̈́̇̕̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̢̢̡̢̨̹͍͓̣̣͙̣͕̟͎̬̪͉̳̝̰͎͖̘̣̘̪́͗͐͠ͅy̵̢̡̛̛̛̩͓̪͇͓̻̻̙͍̠̜͓͎̲͎͈̩͚̯̠̱̪̮̻̳̲͂͗̎̊̈̿̌͛̾̀̔͗́̓̎̀̈́̀͋̀͐̈̄̓̓̾̋̀̄͗̀̋͐̃̊͊͆͗͛͊̊̓̚͠w̴̢̡̟͙̹̫̖̼̠͚̙̤̳̼͍͉̦̤̣͓͖̬̫̳̠̫̯̮̰͆̀͂̄͊̏̅̊͗́̿̈́̓́̎̆̓̊̄̈̅̉̐̍̿͑̕͜͝͝ͅḩ̵̡̢̨̛̙̗̯̞̫͔͖͈̭̫̖̩̗͈͔̜͇͙̟̦̼̦̦̖͔̞̦̹̝͇͖̠͎̈́̃̀̐̿̍̐̍̒̽͐̈͗̃́̉͒̎̿̏̈͗̓͌̐̉̽̑͜͠͝͝ͅy̸̋̈̽̾̆̍̒̓́͐͆̈́̕͝ͅw̵̧̧̧͇͎̭̻͔̰̲̖̻͎͎̺̙͓̲̎̅̾̌̓̔̄͒̈̀͋͆̍̀̀̎̒̄́͑̃̈́͑͆̏̈́̍͆̓̔̾̂͂͋͗̈́̚̚̕͠͠͠͠͝h̸̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͍̙̫̮͎̲͉̠̜͈̝̠͍̰̺̬͇̦̰̤̦̲̫͕̟̰͚̝͍̱͔̯̙̞̰̤̫͙͊̀͑̏̅̃̎̿̉̃͐̎͋͂͋̈́͑̉͒̿̒͑̌͌͆̇́͌̒̀͒̏̿͊̏͑̈́͑̈́̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͠y̵̡̨̢̻͓̥͔͙͈͚̬̩̞͕͔̘̳͖̠̙̞͇̪͐̀̑͊̽̀͋̐̓̽̂͊̿̎̉̓̀͌́͂̈́͛̓͂̒̅̚͜w̴̺͋́̓͋͑́̌͂̂̆̋̈́͋̾̔́͗̿͗̾̈̋͌̀̔̽͆̓͘͘͘͝ḧ̷̡̧̡͔͙̣̜̳̟͈̤͖̪͉̦̙̘̥̮̹̩̺̱̖̮̼̗͓̪͎̙̯̺̠̹̜̩̹͖̪̬̤̼̹͚́͊͒̀̀͗͋̂̒̆̀̅̾͒͐̃̅̉̑̀̕͠͝͝͝ͅͅy̸̧̨̨̛͖̫̙̖̺͎̣̘̹͕̟̖̦̭̱͕̺͈͚̤̟̭͎̜̦̳͓͕̝̳̰̝͕̬̮̟̩͉͊̌͒̈́͋̀͆̍͗̉̈́͑́͘͝ͅw̴̛̻̯͎̝̠̲̣̲̹͓̝̹̱̳̭͔̐̂͑̓̉̑̐̽͛̔̓̀̽̋̈́̽̎̌̈̏̈̍̓̄̽̅́̈́̀̈́̈́̽̓̀̂̓͋̎͑͂̋͊̕͝͝ͅͅh̵̨̨͖̯̤̞̩̹͓̲̠͎̟̫͙͉̠̒̃̅̈̀́̈́̈́͜ͅy̷̨̡̢̟͔̺̥̞̪͍̩̻̥̫̘̤̹͖͍̦͇̼̲̘̼̫̗̻̹̹̲͎͉̺̭̆̐͗̓̋͂͋̏̐̊͑̂͗͐̉̀̀͒̔̓̉̓́͒͑͂̿̐́̊̈́̀̏̌͆͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅẁ̵̡̧̧̦̖̯̠̞̳̠̼̩̲̗͉̼̬͖̯͖̪̥̞͙̹̯͕̮̯͎̹̻͈̤̪̘̰̇̒̌̈̄̂̈́̀̒̄́̈́́̏̈́̀͑͆̽̆̐͝ͅͅẖ̴̡̢̧̛̻̦̗̭̜͕̮͇̯̝̬͕̣̗̙̖̣̤̄̐̅͊̐̃̈́̊̿̄̇̃̔̈́̃͌̈̓̊̀̈́̈͑̃̈́͆̏̑̃̎͐́̄̎̓̒̆̈́͐͂̓͘̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̴̧̡̧̰̯̯̖̞̣͕̥͎̥̙͔͕̜̯̹̰͖̥͕͇̞͉̬̫̻̮͋͗͒̀͐̍̆͒͋̎̀̓̌̔̈́̉̌͑͋̍̔͛̓͋͐͂͊̈̽̅͒̏̂́͗̇̈̎͘̚̕̕͘͠͠͠͝͝ẅ̴̡̟̱͇̙̲̱̙̼̤͓͍̭̼̣̭̜͕̦͕̙̬̜͇̥̣̲͚̥̰́̇̀̃̔h̴̥̙͚̝͔̺͕̦̠̰͒́͊̉̔̅̿͊̓̆͑̂͌͆̀̎͛̐̓͌̊̑̑̀̈́͋̀̂͑̾̿̽̿̋͊̏́̃̓̅̐͊̈́̑̕̚̚̚͘͜͜͝y̷̝̭̗͇̳̲̟͍̤̤̩̜̮̫̗̝̰̬̖̥͂͌͂̀́̒͆̇̈́̔͌̃̓͑̈́̊̚̚̚͠͝͠w̷̨̧̧̢̮̟͙͎̗͖̤̙̖͙̱̦̳̦̱͎̮͉̅̔͆̏̂̄̉̂̐̄͑̓͛͋͜ͅh̵̛̰̫͉̜͓͇̻̠̦̓̃̀̀̊̃̐͐͆̏̈̍͗̃̋̒͆͌͗̔̒͋́̉̉̾͐̅̈̒́̊̋̋̔̌̂̂̚͝͝͠ͅy̵̧̨̨̤̹̠͖̖̮̹͙͎͎̦̫̖̭̼͍̳͍͙͔̻͙̥̪̝͎̘̪̮̯̯͚͉̪̣̬͖͇͎͗̅̈̋̊̎̚ͅͅͅw̸̢͍͇̯̼̭̥͔̥̭͆́̿͛̌̈̈́̂̈̈́̄̎̿͌̎̚͝ḥ̶̙̹̿̽̌͒͊̄̇́̓͐͊̋͋̓̈́̀̇̍͂̉̌̎̐̈́̏̆̐͒̒̚͘̕͝͝͠͝y̴̢̢̡̡̛̘̱̦͎͚̳̰̼̪̩̱̞͓̖̜̰͍̭̦͔̞̗̯͙̭̘̤̲͍̱̭͓͇͇̥̭̒̔̈́̽͗̔͜ͅͅẉ̶̢̧̛̞̣̣̦̟̰̺̥͙͉̦̻̮̭̩̠͔͓̼̬͖͒̈̾͒̌̊̉̆̕̕ͅh̶̡̢̢̦͓̫̪̟̻̮͔̥̗͈̼̳̘͇̪̼̦̤̣͍̱͈̬̥̙̮̘̳̰̘̞͚̼̭̞̱̻̫̪̙̙̥̖̿̐͛̏̾̾̌͛̈́͆͂͆̈̈́̿̈́̔̉͑̈́̽̇̕̕̚͝͝y̵̅̆͛͐́̓̉͌̆̓͂͜͠͝w̴̢̢̡̨̮͓̝̤̝͓̘͓̲̖̼͖͖̱̘͓̞͔̦̱̞̬̹͚̙̰̼̹͕͙̥͕̓̆̅̀́͒͜͜͠ͅh̸̢̧̢̡̨̧͙͍͙̩͇̼̯̠͉̲͎͚̯͔̤͈̠̺͇̗̼͇̗̦̘̹̯̬̳̣̟̤̩̾̎̈̌͜͜͠ͅͅ

y̸̢̨̨̡̛͇̳͖̥͕̬̠͉͓̠̩̫̩͕̼͕̞͈̪̺̹̱̺̝̘̮͍̘̞̬̓̾͋̐̋͌̅̒̀́̀̄͛̓́̊̈͜͝ẇ̴͍̳̖̯̣̣̩͉̩̻̲͙̘̩̜̳̭͓͕͔̖̪̀̈́̂̍̉͋̍̏͒̅̽̀͛̀̂͌̊̈́̐̂̚̕͜͝ḧ̵̨̦̼͚̙͔̜͔̫͕͚̙̻̰̲͍͖̪̝̪̱͖̭͔̗͈̩͇̞̘͉͍͕͓́̾̓́̈̂̂͗̐̈́̽̃̈́̓̉̈́̒͌͛͒͋̿̀̔̃͊̉̕͘͜͜ÿ̴̢̛͈̟͔̬̺̖̹͇̻̗͓͔̺̮̲̫̜̹̻̠̯̣̤̬̳̈͊́͗̽̽͆̐́̕̚͝͠w̶̨̧̢̛̛̛̩̟̝̬̫͕̯͇̳̝͍͔̭͉̣̻͍̹̘̜͕͇̪̾̿̀̏̈́̏́̀̎̅̌̊̆̈́̄̌͛̓̈́̓̿̈́̽̓̚̚͝͠͝h̶̛̛͖̙̳̫̻̜̲̝̦͓̬̀͛͂̓̒̿̏̈́̏͋̐̾̋̄͒̅̈̎̍̾̇́̈́̐͗́̎͛̅͐̓̏̍̄̅͗̈́͋̕͘͘̕͝͠y̶̪͕̰͛̀̌͗̄̓̏͌̐̆͆̾̓̌̓̌͝w̴̧̡̙̪̟̪͉̭̹̤͈͚͕͔̫̦̱̯̝̭͉̠̺̟̯̜̠̼̘͙̣̬͙̳̜̞̺̯͉̜̜̻͕̒̑̈́̏͗́̀͐̀̓̔̿̿͒͂̀̉̐̈́̋̈̅̍̔̆̂̂̋̽͒̏̔͛͋̌̎̐̅̌͑͑̒̿̚͝h̶̨̢̡̭̜̘͖͍̮͇̝͓͕̱͉̼̭̭̼͔̯̃̏̈́͗̒͛̈́̀̌̒͌̾̃̓̂̇͛̔̂́̋̿̇̓̒̀̀̈́͊͗͊͌̑̐̓͂͘͘͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅý̵̢̛͍̰̠̖͖̩͎̙̼̣̦̮̻͚́̀̌̊̊̈̑̃̓̓w̶̡̥͓̻̟̳̟͎͇̹̣̤̪͕̝͎̺̱̣̺͈̱̝̪̻͉̻͔̦̺̱͚͚̜̏̂̽̓̈́̑̔͌͗̑̂̏̄̀̀̾̓̊̓̆̀̿̋̍̀̌̈͛͌́̈̿̆̋͆̊̾̐̓̔̍̑̊̚͜͠ͅh̵̡̡̧̛̛͎̜̠̮̗͉̠̰͔̹̣̼͍͖̫̘̰͎̘̙̟̞̬̫̻͚̘͖̽̄͗̆̇̇͑̾̋̓̄̑̈͘̚͝y̴̡̡̛͙̰͉̰̮̙̗͍̼͍͓̭͓̫̩͔̠̱͖͎̱̮̙̫͖̹̻̜̖̖͙̜̳̮̠͗̏̈́̾̔͋͊͒͆͂̂̎͋͆̀͂̽͜͝ͅw̴̛̛̛͙͊͂̂̄̔̍̇̏̆̈́̒̄͂͗̍́͋͊̎͒̅̿̑͗̉̓̓͂̌͋̇̆́̌͋̿͋̾̎͌͛͛̽͠͝͝͝h̵̨̨̢̢̢̻͔͇̜̳̹̳̰̺̪̹͎̞̱̞̭͓͖̬͕͈̭̹̟͖͔̖͕̙͉̺͍͉̪͍̝͔̲̭͍̘̗̾̉͊͂̀̑́̅̔̌͐̍̇̃̀̔̐̈́̍̀͊͐̽̐̕͜͜͝͝y̵̨̧̧̻̦͎͇̦̣̖͚̝̞̙̗̟̮̭͎̫̠̼͕̖̙̗̜̗͇͕̳̺̤̠̥͓̝̑̃̈́̊͒̅̄̒́̽̔̍́̃̆̅̋̈͆̀̀͐̄͂͂̀̀̚͜͜͜͠͝͠ŵ̴͈͈̮̙͉͖̣̩̬̻̜̌̀̊̎̓̏͝h̷̛̛̹̗͑̇̈́̿̋̈͂̇͐͌̏̈́̇͑͌̍̿̈͐̃͂̆̔̌̚ý̴̨̛̛̘̭̻̰̬͙̙̠̺̘̯̪͕̝̹̱͉̼̲͖̤͇̩̥̮̰͕̃̇̉͊̈́̏̽̀̿̋́͛͊̈́̂̔̿̀̇̅̔͂͆̏̽̿́̀͗̎̉̏͊̔͆̈͘͘͘͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅẇ̵̢̧̙͙͎͉̲̪̘̹̙̫̲̖̮̮̭̰͕͉̘̱̻̲̤̤̰̙̭̘̯̰͚̤̟̙͑̈́̅͑́̒̾̅̀̏̚̚͘h̵̡̢̧̨̢̛̛̞̰̞̪̬̲̜͉̮̙͖̣͉̦̫̪̭̙̤̯͚̤̠̩͉̬̼̫̥͉̪̗͓͖̠̯̻̱̅͒̑̏̂̑̒̓́̋͗͐̍͆́͆͐͛̑̊̓̍̕̚͘̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͝ÿ̵̨̡̡̧͍̤̪̭͖̺̠̻̠̬͖͕͔͎̺̠̣͕͚̠͔̹̬̲́̾̆́̐͒̊̈́̈́͐͋͗̽̐́̐͛̐͒̽́͂͋̃͛̇͒͋̎̀̔͗̾͋́́̿͒̾̉̎͌̊͊̕͘͜͝͝ͅw̷̢̧̧̨̖̭̜͍̟͓̳̻̤̪͈̰̯͙̜̭͉͔̭̖͇̤̻͇̗̬̠̥̼̫̦̤̰̠̖͈̣̰̻͗̈́̍͂͛̓͊̉̋͋̂̂̔̾̾̅͛̔̈́͌̓̄̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅh̵̨̛͇̞͈̫̟̼͍̪̟̝̗̮̰̻̱̟̖͑͒́̈́̄̾̉̀͊̀͐̅̋̉̔̕͜͜͠ÿ̷̨̛̤̪̟͈̰̹̗̗̫̳̺̳̖̯̲̱̮͍͖̤̻̣̹̥͖̥̗̺̥̬̟́̿̃͊̔̀̄͋̀͛͐̎͊̍͌̈́̔̃̎̔́̓̅̃̃̀̀͋̀̕̕͘̚͘͘͜ͅͅͅw̵̡̛͎͙̱̺̹͌͆̆͋̇̅̏͆͌̉͑́͒̍̓̃͐̑͛̐̈́͒͐̑̋͆́̒̚̚͠͝͝ͅh̸̺͈͒̈͌̂̅͐͗̉̓͛͋̏̉̐̎̌̾́̓̈́̽̕͝y̸̢̨̢̨̛̛̲̪͖̹̖̞͙̗͉͓͈̮̻̫̥̞̬̱̦̣̘̱̙̩̯̓͌͂͒̏̏̑̃̆̈́́̀̊̄̂́͌̉̆͌̕̚w̴͍̠̙̑̈́̍̀͑͐̇̆̇̋̈́͆͒͌͗̀̂̓̀̀̇̏̍͒̏́̾̓͠͝ḧ̸̨̧̛͈̲̘̻̞̳͇͓̭̻̪̘̘͍͚̳̬̼̯͖̝̠͈̈́̔̎͊͆̅̋͋̇͐͆̊̉̓͒̿́̈̅͗͆͝ͅy̸̧̧̢̨̧̢̟̱̼͖̯̦̲͉̼̪̬̣̭͖̟̩̝͓̝̮̠͇̳̙̖̯̽͂̎́̆͌͐̏̉͌́̆̅̀̐͋̓̓̑͆̈̄̈́̅́͒̓̅͋̀̎̀̃͑́̉̑́̃͗̓̕̚͘͠͝ͅw̷̡̢̡̮̰̣͚͍̪̝̤̟͕͇̻̺̘̺̖̝̯̪͇͇͍̭̭̖̦͈͉̄͑̏̾̒̈́̈́͋͐͌͘̚͜ͅͅh̷̢̡̘̰̳͉͖̯̮̬̥̪͚̜̞̱̺̝̼̳͓̪̮̩̝̤̣̠̗̯͎̦̘͎̳̮̬̖͖̺͇̯̞̬̗̲̃̈́̐͂͗̾͗́̓̋̓̔̐̽̎͌̄̿͌̏̊̈̀̔̚̚ͅͅỹ̷̧̨̧̡̡̢̡̦̞̜͚̪̺̗̳̗͖̠͇̣͕̭̞̹͙̪̼͚̫̳͕͍̪͕̘̀̓̇͂̏̓̈́̄͗̌͋̍̕͝w̶̢̢̛̯͓̬̝̤̺̹̲̱̻͊͂̈͛̉͆̈́̄̍̓͋̑̀͠ḫ̴̱͓͙̣̱͙͙͉̮͓͚̹̼͍̲̦͇̫̻̮͖̥̩̀͌̈́̍̓̅͑̿̐̉͑̐̉̑̏̊͌̓͌̽͆̀̎̈́̀̐͆͂͋̕̚̕ÿ̴̧̨̧̡̡̧̛̛͈͙̱͎̜̠̝̬͈̠͉͓͖͖̰̫͚͙̟̳͕͖̥̥̜̺̲̟́̈́́͛͒̏̌̓͛̍̽̌̆̈́̃̂̽̎̽̇͌́̿͂̈́̈̒̌̓̇́͑̃͐̌͐̃͊͘̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͠w̸̡̞͕̦̯̥̘̖̲͈̳̔͑̆̈́̀̊̓̉͠ḧ̶̗̞̹̥́̄͌̓̈͂͋̑́̌̑̽̔͋̽̒̎͑̿͂͘̚͘̚͠y̸̨̧̡̨͈̗͙͍̦̦͔̬͔̥̻̪̳͎̳̬̮̲͈͈̘̯͇̫̜̅̾̌̾̽͑̓̀̎̈́̀̈́̏̄͑̌̀̈́͂̿͆̔̏͆͐̑̔̋͑̒̃̏̈́̔̓̕͘͜͠ͅw̶̢̡̳̜͓͍̞͚̼̱̫̟̜̫̟̣̙͉̫̹̪̖̠̮̎̒͜͝͝h̷̢̨̨̨̨̼̱͚̹̼̲͓͉̪̯͉͓͕̮̤͖̝͓͖̫̗̞̼̜͓̖̲̮̟̗̹͚̜͙́̍̿̐̈́̓́͆̅͐̚͝͝͝ͅy̴̧̢͔̝͎̮͚͍̮̮̰̤̘̰͔̖̣̣͉̩̠͔͈̯̰̣̙̤͋̓̄̔͐͌͐̍͑͑͒̑̚̕w̸̢̨̢͈̜̱̲͚̹̰͓̘̙̞̰̪̯̤̦͍͖̲͖̣̼̘͕̖̣̯͇̟̄̌̈́̇̌͊̊̀̔̔͛͛̂̈́̊͋̔͊̇̿̀̔̒̀̾̂͛͘͘͜͠͠͝ͅͅh̶̡̨̡̛̭͖͔̙̺͚͔͓̝̘͇̤̦̞̗͇̝̖̙̲͇̲͔̹̥̪̥̹͖̪̞̪̪̺̤̣͙͖̿͊̇̆̅̏̓̅͑̄͗͐̍̇̋͐̐̀́̌̀̽͋͗̔̀̒̀͆̀͑̌̏̋̆͊̎͐̈̏̚͘͘͘͝͝͠y̴̢̝̲̙͈̞͖̼̫̖̝̋͊̎͑͊̎̃̓̑͗̎̋̔̈̒̄̀̒̃̔͒͜͠w̶̡̛̼͙̫̩͔̘̠̲̰̼̮̳͔̠͔̣͎̃͛̽̿̒̆̓̓͑͛̄͐̀̍́̀̉͌̈́͊̆͗͑̇̔̉̊͂̊̑̾̚͜͜͝͠͝h̵̡̨͙̘͍̹̠̯̲̯̐̎͛̏̂̄̀̈́̈́̈́̎͌̔̉̅̓̉̾̆̌͒̍̽̈́͑̄̿̈́̑͌̄̈́͂̄̏̎͌̀̕͘͝͝͝͠y̶̢̼͙̩̲̱͚͇̲͈͍̝̹̣̰̘̘͔͉͔̼͔͔͎̩̗͔͇̥̥̓̾̀̀̋̆̊̏̑̏̐̒̋̓̌̊̎͊̂̊̍͌͛͆́̽̋̚͘̕͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅw̸̨̧̛̯̩̤̫͔̫̬̤͍̝̹̹͖̞͍̝͓̲̜̫̠̪̜͓͈̞͔͖̌̈́̃̔̑̿̓̊͋̈́́͛̈́̉̐̋̊̍͐̑̿̔̈̔̓͆̅̓̊̀̚̚͜͜͝͝͠h̷̡̛̰̜͈͇̪͕̱̘̲̲̬͛̎͘͜ý̴̧̧̢̛̭͖̫̭̗̣̲̺͓̗͔̹̹̪̻̘̞̝̗̘͚̲̼͕͔̜͔̦̘͚̞̦̝͖͛̋̆̀̒̅͒̔̔͗͂̐͐̓̇̽̒̽̌̐̅̊̾̂̍͗͋͒́́̈́̃͘͘̕͘͘͘͜͝ͅ

ẇ̵̨̡̛͉͎̊́͛́̐͐̍̊̑͒̃̍̀̉͆̽̐̉̽̀̂̋͌̌̏̽̄̄̀̍͊͑̎́̕̚̕͝h̶̞̜̯̬̬͙͇̤͋̀́͂̌̔̇͌̕̚͘͜͜y̶̨̡̨̧̛̛̙͚͉͖̻̞̘̤͇̺̝͉̲̞̝͉͇̻̰̻͚̮͉̙̜̰̳̝͕͕̙͍̥̞̤̜̥̏̾̾̐͒͑̐̓̇̔͌́̈̐̓̐̀̀̆̒̍̃̓̈́͊͐͆͊̐́̎̚͘͝ͅẅ̴̨̡̨̡̧͎͉̬̙̱̩͍̥̲͈̭̺͚̫̦̙̰̯̩͎͖͓͍͇͙̻̻̯̹̜̲̩̜͍̘̪͈̼̖̣̑̒̌̄͛̚͜ͅͅh̵̨̧̢̭̟͍͈̺͓̻̙͚͍̮̱̫̮̠͍̙͖͍̹͔̆̃́͗͌̇̎͐̈́̋̓̅͜͜͜͝ͅͅỵ̶̢̨̘̱͔̲̖̳̖̰̞̯̞̼͚͈͔̣͎̩͙̮͓͕̲̭̟̱̟̤̯͇͛̀̑̍̀̍̌̽̋̾̿͌͑͗̃͑̉̒̍̇͛̏̂̇̆̐͋́̓͋̄͐͑̇̏̑͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͝w̴̡̼͈̰̰̙̙̦̘͇̠̲̝̯͔̳̹͎͇̜̪̗͙͉͕͉̮̣̾̈́̃̆͗̅̽̿̓͋͑͜͝͠͝ͅͅĥ̵̨̛̛̬̳̭͉̾͗̊̋̊͒͂̈͑̓̐̓͛͐̑͂̊̈͗̈̏̈́̕̚̚͜͠͠y̷̨̨��̡̛͓͈͉͍̳̝̝͔̣̟͚̯̤͕̠̞̥͔̘̩̫̼̥͕̤̝̔̏́̔̐̋̽͒͑̋͋̌̉̔̀͂̇̾̓̎̃͊̈́̈́̂̀̋͝͝͝w̵̡̡̡̧̳̼̭̗̙̘̥̘̞̱̙͇̗͖̯̺̣͉̣͉̭̠̙̳͚̘̐̓̿̃̅̋̾͂͒̎̓̃̒̀͐͒̑̿̎̋̾̈́͒͐̓̐̆̊̚͝͠ͅh̶̻̲͓͕̣̯͎̪̟̦̬͇̠̯̍̇͆̈́̓͑̂͌̽̃̏̏͗̅͋̄̿͐̈́̏̈́̋̈̐̀̍͂̽͂̑̇̆̽̂̍͘͘̕̕͘͝͠͠ͅy̷̨̢̦̗̩̟̭̞̟̪̱̭̬̗͔͕͉̬̳͚̥̫̌̄͐̆̀͛̓̓̂͐͑̑̈́͆͆͐̉͋͛͒̎́͆́̃͑̇̿́̍͂̐̈́̃͋͛̓̃͜͠͝w̷̧̢̨̡̛̤̗̯̣͍͎͈̮͙͓̰̤͙͙̜̜̥͕͔̖̗̯͋͐̆͊̿̑̾͒͌̇̐̇̍̀̽͆͆̉͊̓̓̈̐͋͊͗̀͋̄͛̉̐̇̾̈̑͘͘͠͝͝h̷̢̡͉̗̥̲̞͎̦̖̼̥̘̩̠̘̫̼̱̮̬̩̦̱̘͓̠̒̍͌̈́͂̃̎̔̈́̅̊͌̈̍͆̋̃̇͑̓͂̋̃̊͆́̃̑͆̃̆͛͊̿̔͐̆̒͐͗̈͘͜͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅy̴̧̢͙͕͕̭̳̳͚̥̝̱͙͈̥̹̤͈̙̗͕̝͚͓̥̘̫̜͓͙̩̕w̸̨̢̛͚̦̻̦͇͍̟̠̪͇̰͖̲͔͙͚̪̰̱͎͉̳̜̦̬̤̮̬͖͓̻͖͕̼̥̥̯̪̼̜͓̤͖͙̣͓̃͆̈̐̎̇̉̀̑͊̌̀̀̐̿̒̽͗̍̽̄͒̑͋̊̅͗̉̾͛̋̀̇̇̈́̕͘͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅh̴̢̧̧̛͇̫̤̱̺̞̹̮͇̦͊̀̄̽͐̏̐̇͒̐̂̀̈̅͐̑́̉̇̓̎̉̉̎̔̂̊̏̌̑͘͘͘̕͜͝͠͠͝ͅÿ̵̡̲̳̬̞̣̗͙͕̫̟̦́̽̓͋̈́̓͊̉̃͗̑̇͆̀̾̂̈́̎͐̂̐̽͝w̷̡̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̨̯̰͉̖͚̙͕͈̞̫̼͍͕̞̭̯̫̗͚͓̩̱̠̹̺͙̲̃̔͜ḩ̷̢̛̛̖̰̭̣͉̦̤͕͕̟̻̪̞̱̗͖̫̼̫͔̠̩̪͇̩̝̮̘̝̮̠͊̋̓͑̒̏̿̎̌̎̃̂̌̓̈́̊̽̓̃̾̀̀͆͒̀̉͂̄̈́̊̊̆͂̉͛͌͗͊̆̀͂͗̓̈̽͘͜͝͠y̵̡̮̼̙̥̬͇̤̭̝̲̲̼̘̼̥͕̼͂̍̀͑̽̎̑͛͋̚͝͠w̸̨̭̩̌͗͌̿̈͒̚͝h̶̢̖̺̯̝̝͍̭̝̭̪͕̯̺̥̘̱̹̤͚̞̪͉͔͈̻͈̟̠͍͖͚̦̤̫̻̱́͂̾͂̈̃̔̐̃͛̒̇͂̑̂̓͂͐͘̚͘͜͜͝ͅy̷̨̢̧̡̛̭̙͚͙̬̣̟̻̻̼̦̺̲̫͙̝̠͓̦̺͚̞͍̮̹̬͚͋͋̒̊̈̈̀̈́̍͋̽̀̉̐͊̿̑͂͗̓͑̇̽̈́̑̿͆͋͆͌͆͘̚͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅw̶̢̡̛̪̱̪̻̲͕̞̓̀͐̌̈́̄̿̾͆̈̉̂̊̄̎͂̂̈́͂̐̈́͒̇͊̆̄̌̾͒̈́̌̓̏͒̓̊͑͂͑̎͗̕͘̚͘͠͝͝͝ḩ̴̨̢͚͍̗̣͎͙͖͉̣̘̻̮̳͚͙̞̦̭̱̥̯͈̤̮͍͇͚̱̭̤͉̹͖̞̘̘͇͍͖̗̯͙͖͇́̃́͛͊͗̀̍́̒̉̒̍̑̈́͗̿̏̉̅͌̋̐̄̄̐̋̚͘͘̕͘͝͝͠ͅͅy̵̧̡̧̛̼͎̫̣̬̟̰̙̠̬̤̠̩̤̝̜̠͈͖̰̙̳̹͐̀͗͆̈́̃̃͒̓̿̏̓̆̅̀̌̌̐͌̿͂̅̌̾͜͜ͅͅw̸̭̝̩̬͇̋̍̀h̵̨̡̨̡̧̳̺̯̼̬̖̝̖͍̘͖̬͎̮̲̣̲̮̲̥͗̓́̀̑̂̃͂̄̈́̾́̒̋̒̄̈́̓̈́͐̐̀̆͛̄̕͜y̷̨̨̛̹͍̼̲̲̫̜̜̞͖̥͍̤̬̳̰̱̩̰̦̗̑͂̈́͊̐͂̀̔͗̒͋͒̇̌͊̎̈͐̒͆̄̅̅́̓͊͑̑̍̀̊̅̾͋̆͐̀̎̆̈́̅̈͘̕͜͠͝͝͠ͅw̶̡̨̡̛͉̪͖̻̝͓̪̯̯̱̫̮͎̪̘͉̲̗̜̣̦̼̯̹̰͚̪̫̗͇̬̌̍͛̑̅͑͌̈́͆͗͐͑̌̎̈̏̀͑́̅͂̈́̐̇̄̎͊̚͘̕̚̚̕͜h̶̲̱͉̩̰̠̻̞̺͊́̌̓̍͂̍͐̋͜͠͝y̵̡̦̖̹̦̤̺̪̻̜̝̟̖̦̳͔͚͉͖͉̝͓̤͎̰͙̼̠̼̩̬͇̒̀̉̐͐͠ͅw̷̡͎͇̝̘̖͓͔̭̣̜͗̏͛̐̃̀́͒͌͂̾̉̅̆͌̚͠h̸̨̧͓̜̲͖͈̪̲̫͔͍̩̗̀̋̀̾̋͋́̉̊̐̿̋͆̎̀͋̿̚͘͝͝͝y̸̧̨̢̡̡̨̛͇̣̹͔̭͈͍̹̞̭̻̪̬̺̠̖͈̤̗̝͎̫̯͎̞͍̳͚͚͇͖̥̲̻̮̞̣̓̃́̈̒̏́̒̃̈́̇̉̀̊̒͗͜͝͠͠w̷̧̢̨̡̨̡̛̪̼̩̮͉̜̬͓̦̪͍̫͍͙̣̜̫̼̲̫̲̼͕̜̪̦̲̖̖͋̈́́̈́͋̅̍͆̅̓̃̎̀̍̽̈́̾́͋̊͒́̿͆̈͜͜͠h̷̨̧̛̯̳̘͔͕̤̪̣͙̱͙̮̬̻͖͉̥̝̏̈́̑̋͂̓̅̉̌̽̌͋͛͋̐̈͋̏̏̌̌͂̑̏́̑́͐̐͘͘̕͝͝y̸̡̧͇̠̪̪̯̗̲̖̩̜̺̞̯̘͙̯͚̜̻̰̜̥͇̬̟̯̣̣͔͒̃͆͗͊̍̃́͗̌̀̄͆̔͑̇̽͋̈͊́͜͠ͅẁ̶̨̢̧̢̲̪̙͙̯̯̜̞̠̘͙̘̱̤̬̲̞̗̘͕̞̰̦̺̝͎̙͕̻̬̼̮̥͙̗͎̠̼͊̏̐͒̑̓̿̓̅͊̽̽́̒̈͌͆̈́͗͗͜͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅh̴̢̧̛̠̻̪̫̖͎̗̬̝͈̟̖̙̼͕̙͙̹̼͇̰̦̭̖̠̤̞͙̭̬͙̼̥̹̖̜̝̉̈́̉̋̎̌́̀̊̾̇̈̊̏̋̀̓̅́̇̃̽͌͂̊͐̓̒̉̒̈̈͛͛̇͑͑͒̐̌̾͗͊̎̚̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅy̸̨̢̛̳̯͕͚̤̺̹̜̘͔̤̱̯̠̮͍̬͔̥̤͙̘̗͇̻̅̆͛̾̽́̎̑͆̈́̈́̆͂̀̅͊͌̈́̊̌͌͒̔̍̈́̾̍͘̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅẃ̶̧̛̮͇̹̱̪͕͈͉̙͔͂̈́̈̆̓͂̀̒͋̓̓̓̋̀́̽́̎́̎̓̈̇́̓̈́̓̆̎̕͝͝h̵̛̛̘͔̱͖̳̪͍̟͖̯̽̾̇̆͌̓̑͑͂̐͂̈́̈̂͐̃̀̋̇̾̊̈́̆͗̐̈́̿̒̈́͒͋͐̈́̈́̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅẙ̸̢̡̧̡͚͍̬̠̖̮̙̳̹͖̉̀̀̒͑͂̿̌̍͂̈́́̕͜͜w̶̧̢̢̨̡̨̛̥̥̥̜͇̙͎̭̥̜̰̱̗̼̩̳̤̼͔̼̘̦̲͖̣̮͔͇͙̖̝̱̦̠̲̫̳̝̽́͆̊͐̏̈́̊̑̊̾͒̅͐̇̾͒̈́͆̊͋̈͑̃͌̀̈́̿͑̓̑͋͒͑̚̕̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͝h̶̨̡̡̡̨̛͕̤̜̤͚͚̗̱̖͓͇̬̺͕̖̗͈͈͚̱̺̰͙͓̪̻̜͎̠̳̦̥̞̟̼̼͈̫̹̹̔̅̍͊̌̿͋̌̃̔̽͛̓̌̿̚̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅy̸̨̢̢̳̩̘̥̺͇͇̳̮̗͔̤̤̘̠͙̼̣̘̜̺̰͇̣͕̦̜̙̣̫̳͈͓̗̜̘͕͍̥̲͋̎̐̽̑͒͋̅͌̇͊̌͊́̈́̒͐̓̌̅̍͊̈͛͂̉̅̉͐̈́̈́̑̉̃͛̕̕͘͝͝ͅẅ̸̢̡̨̖̻̞̹̺̹̣̮͚̣̣̳̗̼̭͔́̋̆̐͝h̵̨̛̤̳̹̦̯͈̱̺̺̞̤̪̣̞͖͖̳̤͎̦̼̭̪̼͚̖̀̓͊̄̅͂̓͌́̂̎̒̒͛̈́̌̿͊͌́̏̾̕͘̚̚͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅỹ̷̨̬̩̯͚͚̠͙̻̗̞̫̎̓̃͐͆̓̈́̀̊̈́̅̌̐̇́̀͊̊̌̐̍̈́̂̀̔̽̎̅̃̋̈̇̕͝͠͠͝͝͠w̶͇̭̠̞̲̯̐̆̂́͛̃̇̈͋̎̓͋͑̈́͂̅͑̋̀͒́̅͑̓̓̌̋̉́͆͘̚̚̕͘͘͝

h̸̢̡̻͚͇̰̫̞͖̝͓̥͖͚̦̤̞͉̠̥̞͎̦͖̦̺̗̗̰̞̤̜̗͑͛̌͋́̾̎̈́̐̀̀̈̄̒̽͗̓̿̚̚͜͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅý̴̢̢̨̱̫̼͎͙̮̥̤̲̰͙̱̪̥̼̭̗̥̪̲͓͉̹͎͚̮͔̦͚͉̱̰̱̗̔̈̃̍̀́͌̇̐̔̊̆́̋͆̆̂̕͝ͅw̶̘̱͕̲̻͉̠̐̄́̽͆́̈́͐̈́͌͗̿̓̍̃̅̊́̿̔̀̏̋̋̀̕̕͘͠ḩ̸̧̖̱͍̬̼̼͎͚̙̗̮̰̰̫͓̠͖̞̩͚͈͖͈̬̖̭̩͔̺̱̌̈͂͗̿̎̏͊̈́̐̽̀͆̅̒̍͆̒̎̀͘̕͜͝ͅy̶̨̮͈̳̼͍̥̟̹̘̬̝͍̺̻̠̳͙̜̆͂̓̉̿̎̈͌͊̌͑͒̉͌̄̀͑̈́̊̿͐̇͌̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅw̴̡̧͉̼̦̲͙̠͉̫̭͍̖̮̼̦̠̹̼͈̬̮̹͔̲̝͔̥̱̹̜̝͍̯̱̲̳̺̝̣͂́̆͊̍̑̔̔̓̅̏̎̀̌͒̈̏̅̀͘̚͜͝ͅḧ̵̨̘̞͈̭̘̱͙̲̤̥̯́̌͂̈́̿̆͝ͅy̷̢̢̢̡̨̢̛̙̼̘̜̗̫̘͉̗̝̩̩̱̱͓͚̖̪̯̮̼̘͓͉̰̬͕̙̰̋̎̊̈́̔̐͂̈̏̒̊̓̒̾͒̎͋́͊́̀͗́̑̀͗͐̓͋́̄̓̐͌̏̃̾̈́̐̒̂͠͝ͅw̵̧̡̢̨̱̘͉̖̗̮̼͚̗͚̝̠̳̥̗̻͍͔̱̩̤̹̼͚̗̙̠̦̜͉̼͔̓̈́͆͛̽̉̆͛̾̐́́͒͒̇̓̌̆̃̎̿͊̾̀̈̈́̇̕̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̢̢̡̢̨̹͍͓̣̣͙̣͕̟͎̬̪͉̳̝̰͎͖̘̣̘̪́͗͐͠ͅy̵̢̡̛̛̛̩͓̪͇͓̻̻̙͍̠̜͓͎̲͎͈̩͚̯̠̱̪̮̻̳̲͂͗̎̊̈̿̌͛̾̀̔͗́̓̎̀̈́̀͋̀͐̈̄̓̓̾̋̀̄͗̀̋͐̃̊͊͆͗͛͊̊̓̚͠w̴̢̡̟͙̹̫̖̼̠͚̙̤̳̼͍͉̦̤̣͓͖̬̫̳̠̫̯̮̰͆̀͂̄͊̏̅̊͗́̿̈́̓́̎̆̓̊̄̈̅̉̐̍̿͑̕͜͝͝ͅḩ̵̡̢̨̛̙̗̯̞̫͔͖͈̭̫̖̩̗͈͔̜͇͙̟̦̼̦̦̖͔̞̦̹̝͇͖̠͎̈́̃̀̐̿̍̐̍̒̽͐̈͗̃́̉͒̎̿̏̈͗̓͌̐̉̽̑͜͠͝͝ͅy̸̋̈̽̾̆̍̒̓́͐͆̈́̕͝ͅw̵̧̧̧͇͎̭̻͔̰̲̖̻͎͎̺̙͓̲̎̅̾̌̓̔̄͒̈̀͋͆̍̀̀̎̒̄́͑̃̈́͑͆̏̈́̍͆̓̔̾̂͂͋͗̈́̚̚̕͠͠͠͠͝h̸̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͍̙̫̮͎̲͉̠̜͈̝̠͍̰̺̬͇̦̰̤̦̲̫͕̟̰͚̝͍̱͔̯̙̞̰̤̫͙͊̀͑̏̅̃̎̿̉̃͐̎͋͂͋̈́͑̉͒̿̒͑̌͌͆̇́͌̒̀͒̏̿͊̏͑̈́͑̈́̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͠y̵̡̨̢̻͓̥͔͙͈͚̬̩̞͕͔̘̳͖̠̙̞͇̪͐̀̑͊̽̀͋̐̓̽̂͊̿̎̉̓̀͌́͂̈́͛̓͂̒̅̚͜w̴̺͋́̓͋͑́̌͂̂̆̋̈́͋̾̔́͗̿͗̾̈̋͌̀̔̽͆̓͘͘͘͝ḧ̷̡̧̡͔͙̣̜̳̟͈̤͖̪͉̦̙̘̥̮̹̩̺̱̖̮̼̗͓̪͎̙̯̺̠̹̜̩̹͖̪̬̤̼̹͚́͊͒̀̀͗͋̂̒̆̀̅̾͒͐̃̅̉̑̀̕͠͝͝͝ͅͅy̸̧̨̨̛͖̫̙̖̺͎̣̘̹͕̟̖̦̭̱͕̺͈͚̤̟̭͎̜̦̳͓͕̝̳̰̝͕̬̮̟̩͉͊̌͒̈́͋̀͆̍͗̉̈́͑́͘͝ͅw̴̛̻̯͎̝̠̲̣̲̹͓̝̹̱̳̭͔̐̂͑̓̉̑̐̽͛̔̓̀̽̋̈́̽̎̌̈̏̈̍̓̄̽̅́̈́̀̈́̈́̽̓̀̂̓͋̎͑͂̋͊̕͝͝ͅͅh̵̨̨͖̯̤̞̩̹͓̲̠͎̟̫͙͉̠̒̃̅̈̀́̈́̈́͜ͅy̷̨̡̢̟͔̺̥̞̪͍̩̻̥̫̘̤̹͖͍̦͇̼̲̘̼̫̗̻̹̹̲͎͉̺̭̆̐͗̓̋͂͋̏̐̊͑̂͗͐̉̀̀͒̔̓̉̓́͒͑͂̿̐́̊̈́̀̏̌͆͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅẁ̵̡̧̧̦̖̯̠̞̳̠̼̩̲̗͉̼̬͖̯͖̪̥̞͙̹̯͕̮̯͎̹̻͈̤̪̘̰̇̒̌̈̄̂̈́̀̒̄́̈́́̏̈́̀͑͆̽̆̐͝ͅͅẖ̴̡̢̧̛̻̦̗̭̜͕̮͇̯̝̬͕̣̗̙̖̣̤̄̐̅͊̐̃̈́̊̿̄̇̃̔̈́̃͌̈̓̊̀̈́̈͑̃̈́͆̏̑̃̎͐́̄̎̓̒̆̈́͐͂̓͘̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̴̧̡̧̰̯̯̖̞̣͕̥͎̥̙͔͕̜̯̹̰͖̥͕͇̞͉̬̫̻̮͋͗͒̀͐̍̆͒͋̎̀̓̌̔̈́̉̌͑͋̍̔͛̓͋͐͂͊̈̽̅͒̏̂́͗̇̈̎͘̚̕̕͘͠͠͠͝͝ẅ̴̡̟̱͇̙̲̱̙̼̤͓͍̭̼̣̭̜͕̦͕̙̬̜͇̥̣̲͚̥̰́̇̀̃̔h̴̥̙͚̝͔̺͕̦̠̰͒́͊̉̔̅̿͊̓̆͑̂͌͆̀̎͛̐̓͌̊̑̑̀̈́͋̀̂͑̾̿̽̿̋͊̏́̃̓̅̐͊̈́̑̕̚̚̚͘͜͜͝y̷̝̭̗͇̳̲̟͍̤̤̩̜̮̫̗̝̰̬̖̥͂͌͂̀́̒͆̇̈́̔͌̃̓͑̈́̊̚̚̚͠͝͠w̷̨̧̧̢̮̟͙͎̗͖̤̙̖͙̱̦̳̦̱͎̮͉̅̔͆̏̂̄̉̂̐̄͑̓͛͋͜ͅh̵̛̰̫͉̜͓͇̻̠̦̓̃̀̀̊̃̐͐͆̏̈̍͗̃̋̒͆͌͗̔̒͋́̉̉̾͐̅̈̒́̊̋̋̔̌̂̂̚͝͝͠ͅy̵̧̨̨̤̹̠͖̖̮̹͙͎͎̦̫̖̭̼͍̳͍͙͔̻͙̥̪̝͎̘̪̮̯̯͚͉̪̣̬͖͇͎͗̅̈̋̊̎̚ͅͅͅw̸̢͍͇̯̼̭̥͔̥̭͆́̿͛̌̈̈́̂̈̈́̄̎̿͌̎̚͝ḥ̶̙̹̿̽̌͒͊̄̇́̓͐͊̋͋̓̈́̀̇̍͂̉̌̎̐̈́̏̆̐͒̒̚͘̕͝͝͠͝y̴̢̢̡̡̛̘̱̦͎͚̳̰̼̪̩̱̞͓̖̜̰͍̭̦͔̞̗̯͙̭̘̤̲͍̱̭͓͇͇̥̭̒̔̈́̽͗̔͜ͅͅẉ̶̢̧̛̞̣̣̦̟̰̺̥͙͉̦̻̮̭̩̠͔͓̼̬͖͒̈̾͒̌̊̉̆̕̕ͅh̶̡̢̢̦͓̫̪̟̻̮͔̥̗͈̼̳̘͇̪̼̦̤̣͍̱͈̬̥̙̮̘̳̰̘̞͚̼̭̞̱̻̫̪̙̙̥̖̿̐͛̏̾̾̌͛̈́͆͂͆̈̈́̿̈́̔̉͑̈́̽̇̕̕̚͝͝y̵̅̆͛͐́̓̉͌̆̓͂͜͠͝w̴̢̢̡̨̮͓̝̤̝͓̘͓̲̖̼͖͖̱̘͓̞͔̦̱̞̬̹͚̙̰̼̹͕͙̥͕̓̆̅̀́͒͜͜͠ͅh̸̢̧̢̡̨̧͙͍͙̩͇̼̯̠͉̲͎͚̯͔̤͈̠̺͇̗̼͇̗̦̘̹̯̬̳̣̟̤̩̾̎̈̌͜͜͠ͅͅy̸̢̨̨̡̛͇̳͖̥͕̬̠͉͓̠̩̫̩͕̼͕̞͈̪̺̹̱̺̝̘̮͍̘̞̬̓̾͋̐̋͌̅̒̀́̀̄͛̓́̊̈͜͝ẇ̴͍̳̖̯̣̣̩͉̩̻̲͙̘̩̜̳̭͓͕͔̖̪̀̈́̂̍̉͋̍̏͒̅̽̀͛̀̂͌̊̈́̐̂̚̕͜͝ḧ̵̨̦̼͚̙͔̜͔̫͕͚̙̻̰̲͍͖̪̝̪̱͖̭͔̗͈̩͇̞̘͉͍͕͓́̾̓́̈̂̂͗̐̈́̽̃̈́̓̉̈́̒͌͛͒͋̿̀̔̃͊̉̕͘͜͜ÿ̴̢̛͈̟͔̬̺̖̹͇̻̗͓͔̺̮̲̫̜̹̻̠̯̣̤̬̳̈͊́͗̽̽͆̐́̕̚͝͠w̶̨̧̢̛̛̛̩̟̝̬̫͕̯͇̳̝͍͔̭͉̣̻͍̹̘̜͕͇̪̾̿̀̏̈́̏́̀̎̅̌̊̆̈́̄̌͛̓̈́̓̿̈́̽̓̚̚͝͠͝h̶̛̛͖̙̳̫̻̜̲̝̦͓̬̀͛͂̓̒̿̏̈́̏͋̐̾̋̄͒̅̈̎̍̾̇́̈́̐͗́̎͛̅͐̓̏̍̄̅͗̈́͋̕͘͘̕͝͠y̶̪͕̰͛̀̌͗̄̓̏͌̐̆͆̾̓̌̓̌͝w̴̧̡̙̪̟̪͉̭̹̤͈͚͕͔̫̦̱̯̝̭͉̠̺̟̯̜̠̼̘͙̣̬͙̳̜̞̺̯͉̜̜̻͕̒̑̈́̏͗́̀͐̀̓̔̿̿͒͂̀̉̐̈́̋̈̅̍̔̆̂̂̋̽͒̏̔͛͋̌̎̐̅̌͑͑̒̿̚͝h̶̨̢̡̭̜̘͖͍̮͇̝͓͕̱͉̼̭̭̼͔̯̃̏̈́͗̒͛̈́̀̌̒͌̾̃̓̂̇͛̔̂́̋̿̇̓̒̀̀̈́͊͗͊͌̑̐̓͂͘͘͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅý̵̢̛͍̰̠̖͖̩͎̙̼̣̦̮̻͚́̀̌̊̊̈̑̃̓̓w̶̡̥͓̻̟̳̟͎͇̹̣̤̪͕̝͎̺̱̣̺͈̱̝̪̻͉̻͔̦̺̱͚͚̜̏̂̽̓̈́̑̔͌͗̑̂̏̄̀̀̾̓̊̓̆̀̿̋̍̀̌̈͛͌́̈̿̆̋͆̊̾̐̓̔̍̑̊̚͜͠ͅh̵̡̡̧̛̛͎̜̠̮̗͉̠̰͔̹̣̼͍͖̫̘̰͎̘̙̟̞̬̫̻͚̘͖̽̄͗̆̇̇͑̾̋̓̄̑̈͘̚͝

y̴̡̡̛͙̰͉̰̮̙̗͍̼͍͓̭͓̫̩͔̠̱͖͎̱̮̙̫͖̹̻̜̖̖͙̜̳̮̠͗̏̈́̾̔͋͊͒͆͂̂̎͋͆̀͂̽͜͝ͅw̴̛̛̛͙͊͂̂̄̔̍̇̏̆̈́̒̄͂͗̍́͋͊̎͒̅̿̑͗̉̓̓͂̌͋̇̆́̌͋̿͋̾̎͌͛͛̽͠͝͝͝h̵̨̨̢̢̢̻͔͇̜̳̹̳̰̺̪̹͎̞̱̞̭͓͖̬͕͈̭̹̟͖͔̖͕̙͉̺͍͉̪͍̝͔̲̭͍̘̗̾̉͊͂̀̑́̅̔̌͐̍̇̃̀̔̐̈́̍̀͊͐̽̐̕͜͜͝͝y̵̨̧̧̻̦͎͇̦̣̖͚̝̞̙̗̟̮̭͎̫̠̼͕̖̙̗̜̗͇͕̳̺̤̠̥͓̝̑̃̈́̊͒̅̄̒́̽̔̍́̃̆̅̋̈͆̀̀͐̄͂͂̀̀̚͜͜͜͠͝͠ŵ̴͈͈̮̙͉͖̣̩̬̻̜̌̀̊̎̓̏͝h̷̛̛̹̗͑̇̈́̿̋̈͂̇͐͌̏̈́̇͑͌̍̿̈͐̃͂̆̔̌̚ý̴̨̛̛̘̭̻̰̬͙̙̠̺̘̯̪͕̝̹̱͉̼̲͖̤͇̩̥̮̰͕̃̇̉͊̈́̏̽̀̿̋́͛͊̈́̂̔̿̀̇̅̔͂͆̏̽̿́̀͗̎̉̏͊̔͆̈͘͘͘͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅẇ̵̢̧̙͙͎͉̲̪̘̹��̫̲̖̮̮̭̰͕͉̘̱̻̲̤̤̰̙̭̘̯̰͚̤̟̙͑̈́̅͑́̒̾̅̀̏̚̚͘h̵̡̢̧̨̢̛̛̞̰̞̪̬̲̜͉̮̙͖̣͉̦̫̪̭̙̤̯͚̤̠̩͉̬̼̫̥͉̪̗͓͖̠̯̻̱̅͒̑̏̂̑̒̓́̋͗͐̍͆́͆͐͛̑̊̓̍̕̚͘̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͝ÿ̵̨̡̡̧͍̤̪̭͖̺̠̻̠̬͖͕͔͎̺̠̣͕͚̠͔̹̬̲́̾̆́̐͒̊̈́̈́͐͋͗̽̐́̐͛̐͒̽́͂͋̃͛̇͒͋̎̀̔͗̾͋́́̿͒̾̉̎͌̊͊̕͘͜͝͝ͅw̷̢̧̧̨̖̭̜͍̟͓̳̻̤̪͈̰̯͙̜̭͉͔̭̖͇̤̻͇̗̬̠̥̼̫̦̤̰̠̖͈̣̰̻͗̈́̍͂͛̓͊̉̋͋̂̂̔̾̾̅͛̔̈́͌̓̄̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅh̵̨̛͇̞͈̫̟̼͍̪̟̝̗̮̰̻̱̟̖͑͒́̈́̄̾̉̀͊̀͐̅̋̉̔̕͜͜͠ÿ̷̨̛̤̪̟͈̰̹̗̗̫̳̺̳̖̯̲̱̮͍͖̤̻̣̹̥͖̥̗̺̥̬̟́̿̃͊̔̀̄͋̀͛͐̎͊̍͌̈́̔̃̎̔́̓̅̃̃̀̀͋̀̕̕͘̚͘͘͜ͅͅͅw̵̡̛͎͙̱̺̹͌͆̆͋̇̅̏͆͌̉͑́͒̍̓̃͐̑͛̐̈́͒͐̑̋͆́̒̚̚͠͝͝ͅh̸̺͈͒̈͌̂̅͐͗̉̓͛͋̏̉̐̎̌̾́̓̈́̽̕͝y̸̢̨̢̨̛̛̲̪͖̹̖̞͙̗͉͓͈̮̻̫̥̞̬̱̦̣̘̱̙̩̯̓͌͂͒̏̏̑̃̆̈́́̀̊̄̂́͌̉̆͌̕̚w̴͍̠̙̑̈́̍̀͑͐̇̆̇̋̈́͆͒͌͗̀̂̓̀̀̇̏̍͒̏́̾̓͠͝ḧ̸̨̧̛͈̲̘̻̞̳͇͓̭̻̪̘̘͍͚̳̬̼̯͖̝̠͈̈́̔̎͊͆̅̋͋̇͐͆̊̉̓͒̿́̈̅͗͆͝ͅy̸̧̧̢̨̧̢̟̱̼͖̯̦̲͉̼̪̬̣̭͖̟̩̝͓̝̮̠͇̳̙̖̯̽͂̎́̆͌͐̏̉͌́̆̅̀̐͋̓̓̑͆̈̄̈́̅́͒̓̅͋̀̎̀̃͑́̉̑́̃͗̓̕̚͘͠͝ͅw̷̡̢̡̮̰̣͚͍̪̝̤̟͕͇̻̺̘̺̖̝̯̪͇͇͍̭̭̖̦͈͉̄͑̏̾̒̈́̈́͋͐͌͘̚͜ͅͅh̷̢̡̘̰̳͉͖̯̮̬̥̪͚̜̞̱̺̝̼̳͓̪̮̩̝̤̣̠̗̯͎̦̘͎̳̮̬̖͖̺͇̯̞̬̗̲̃̈́̐͂͗̾͗́̓̋̓̔̐̽̎͌̄̿͌̏̊̈̀̔̚̚ͅͅỹ̷̧̨̧̡̡̢̡̦̞̜͚̪̺̗̳̗͖̠͇̣͕̭̞̹͙̪̼͚̫̳͕͍̪͕̘̀̓̇͂̏̓̈́̄͗̌͋̍̕͝w̶̢̢̛̯͓̬̝̤̺̹̲̱̻͊͂̈͛̉͆̈́̄̍̓͋̑̀͠ḫ̴̱͓͙̣̱͙͙͉̮͓͚̹̼͍̲̦͇̫̻̮͖̥̩̀͌̈́̍̓̅͑̿̐̉͑̐̉̑̏̊͌̓͌̽͆̀̎̈́̀̐͆͂͋̕̚̕ÿ̴̧̨̧̡̡̧̛̛͈͙̱͎̜̠̝̬͈̠͉͓͖͖̰̫͚͙̟̳͕͖̥̥̜̺̲̟́̈́́͛͒̏̌̓͛̍̽̌̆̈́̃̂̽̎̽̇͌́̿͂̈́̈̒̌̓̇́͑̃͐̌͐̃͊͘̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͠w̸̡̞͕̦̯̥̘̖̲͈̳̔͑̆̈́̀̊̓̉͠ḧ̶̗̞̹̥́̄͌̓̈͂͋̑́̌̑̽̔͋̽̒̎͑̿͂͘̚͘̚͠y̸̨̧̡̨͈̗͙͍̦̦͔̬͔̥̻̪̳͎̳̬̮̲͈͈̘̯͇̫̜̅̾̌̾̽͑̓̀̎̈́̀̈́̏̄͑̌̀̈́͂̿͆̔̏͆͐̑̔̋͑̒̃̏̈́̔̓̕͘͜͠ͅw̶̢̡̳̜͓͍̞͚̼̱̫̟̜̫̟̣̙͉̫̹̪̖̠̮̎̒͜͝͝h̷̢̨̨̨̨̼̱͚̹̼̲͓͉̪̯͉͓͕̮̤͖̝͓͖̫̗̞̼̜͓̖̲̮̟̗̹͚̜͙́̍̿̐̈́̓́͆̅͐̚͝͝͝ͅy̴̧̢͔̝͎̮͚͍̮̮̰̤̘̰͔̖̣̣͉̩̠͔͈̯̰̣̙̤͋̓̄̔͐͌͐̍͑͑͒̑̚̕w̸̢̨̢͈̜̱̲͚̹̰͓̘̙̞̰̪̯̤̦͍͖̲͖̣̼̘͕̖̣̯͇̟̄̌̈́̇̌͊̊̀̔̔͛͛̂̈́̊͋̔͊̇̿̀̔̒̀̾̂͛͘͘͜͠͠͝ͅͅh̶̡̨̡̛̭͖͔̙̺͚͔͓̝̘͇̤̦̞̗͇̝̖̙̲͇̲͔̹̥̪̥̹͖̪̞̪̪̺̤̣͙͖̿͊̇̆̅̏̓̅͑̄͗͐̍̇̋͐̐̀́̌̀̽͋͗̔̀̒̀͆̀͑̌̏̋̆͊̎͐̈̏̚͘͘͘͝͝͠y̴̢̝̲̙͈̞͖̼̫̖̝̋͊̎͑͊̎̃̓̑͗̎̋̔̈̒̄̀̒̃̔͒͜͠w̶̡̛̼͙̫̩͔̘̠̲̰̼̮̳͔̠͔̣͎̃͛̽̿̒̆̓̓͑͛̄͐̀̍́̀̉͌̈́͊̆͗͑̇̔̉̊͂̊̑̾̚͜͜͝͠͝h̵̡̨͙̘͍̹̠̯̲̯̐̎͛̏̂̄̀̈́̈́̈́̎͌̔̉̅̓̉̾̆̌͒̍̽̈́͑̄̿̈́̑͌̄̈́͂̄̏̎͌̀̕͘͝͝͝͠y̶̢̼͙̩̲̱͚͇̲͈͍̝̹̣̰̘̘͔͉͔̼͔͔͎̩̗͔͇̥̥̓̾̀̀̋̆̊̏̑̏̐̒̋̓̌̊̎͊̂̊̍͌͛͆́̽̋̚͘̕͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅw̸̨̧̛̯̩̤̫͔̫̬̤͍̝̹̹͖̞͍̝͓̲̜̫̠̪̜͓͈̞͔͖̌̈́̃̔̑̿̓̊͋̈́́͛̈́̉̐̋̊̍͐̑̿̔̈̔̓͆̅̓̊̀̚̚͜͜͝͝͠h̷̡̛̰̜͈͇̪͕̱̘̲̲̬͛̎͘͜ý̴̧̧̢̛̭͖̫̭̗̣̲̺͓̗͔̹̹̪̻̘̞̝̗̘͚̲̼͕͔̜͔̦̘͚̞̦̝͖͛̋̆̀̒̅͒̔̔͗͂̐͐̓̇̽̒̽̌̐̅̊̾̂̍͗͋͒́́̈́̃͘͘̕͘͘͘͜͝ͅẇ̵̨̡̛͉͎̊́͛́̐͐̍̊̑͒̃̍̀̉͆̽̐̉̽̀̂̋͌̌̏̽̄̄̀̍͊͑̎́̕̚̕͝h̶̞̜̯̬̬͙͇̤͋̀́͂̌̔̇͌̕̚͘͜͜y̶̨̡̨̧̛̛̙͚͉͖̻̞̘̤͇̺̝͉̲̞̝͉͇̻̰̻͚̮͉̙̜̰̳̝͕͕̙͍̥̞̤̜̥̏̾̾̐͒͑̐̓̇̔͌́̈̐̓̐̀̀̆̒̍̃̓̈́͊͐͆͊̐́̎̚͘͝ͅẅ̴̨̡̨̡̧͎͉̬̙̱̩͍̥̲͈̭̺͚̫̦̙̰̯̩͎͖͓͍͇͙̻̻̯̹̜̲̩̜͍̘̪͈̼̖̣̑̒̌̄͛̚͜ͅͅh̵̨̧̢̭̟͍͈̺͓̻̙͚͍̮̱̫̮̠͍̙͖͍̹͔̆̃́͗͌̇̎͐̈́̋̓̅͜͜͜͝ͅͅỵ̶̢̨̘̱͔̲̖̳̖̰̞̯̞̼͚͈͔̣͎̩͙̮͓͕̲̭̟̱̟̤̯͇͛̀̑̍̀̍̌̽̋̾̿͌͑͗̃͑̉̒̍̇͛̏̂̇̆̐͋́̓͋̄͐͑̇̏̑͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͝w̴̡̼͈̰̰̙̙̦̘͇̠̲̝̯͔̳̹͎͇̜̪̗͙͉͕͉̮̣̾̈́̃̆͗̅̽̿̓͋͑͜͝͠͝ͅͅĥ̵̨̛̛̬̳̭͉̾͗̊̋̊͒͂̈͑̓̐̓͛͐̑͂̊̈͗̈̏̈́̕̚̚͜͠͠y̷̨̨̨̡̛͓͈͉͍̳̝̝͔̣̟͚̯̤͕̠̞̥͔̘̩̫̼̥͕̤̝̔̏́̔̐̋̽͒͑̋͋̌̉̔̀͂̇̾̓̎̃͊̈́̈́̂̀̋͝͝͝w̵̡̡̡̧̳̼̭̗̙̘̥̘̞̱̙͇̗͖̯̺̣͉̣͉̭̠̙̳͚̘̐̓̿̃̅̋̾͂͒̎̓̃̒̀͐͒̑̿̎̋̾̈́͒͐̓̐̆̊̚͝͠ͅh̶̻̲͓͕̣̯͎̪̟̦̬͇̠̯̍̇͆̈́̓͑̂͌̽̃̏̏͗̅͋̄̿͐̈́̏̈́̋̈̐̀̍͂̽͂̑̇̆̽̂̍͘͘̕̕͘͝͠͠ͅy̷̨̢̦̗̩̟̭̞̟̪̱̭̬̗͔͕͉̬̳͚̥̫̌̄͐̆̀͛̓̓̂͐͑̑̈́͆͆͐̉͋͛͒̎́͆́̃͑̇̿́̍͂̐̈́̃͋͛̓̃͜͠͝

w̷̧̢̨̡̛̤̗̯̣͍͎͈̮͙͓̰̤͙͙̜̜̥͕͔̖̗̯͋͐̆͊̿̑̾͒͌̇̐̇̍̀̽͆͆̉͊̓̓̈̐͋͊͗̀͋̄͛̉̐̇̾̈̑͘͘͠͝͝h̷̢̡͉̗̥̲̞͎̦̖̼̥̘̩̠̘̫̼̱̮̬̩̦̱̘͓̠̒̍͌̈́͂̃̎̔̈́̅̊͌̈̍͆̋̃̇͑̓͂̋̃̊͆́̃̑͆̃̆͛͊̿̔͐̆̒͐͗̈͘͜͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅy̴̧̢͙͕͕̭̳̳͚̥̝̱͙͈̥̹̤͈̙̗͕̝͚͓̥̘̫̜͓͙̩̕w̸̨̢̛͚̦̻̦͇͍̟̠̪͇̰͖̲͔͙͚̪̰̱͎͉̳̜̦̬̤̮̬͖͓̻͖͕̼̥̥̯̪̼̜͓̤͖͙̣͓̃͆̈̐̎̇̉̀̑͊̌̀̀̐̿̒̽͗̍̽̄͒̑͋̊̅͗̉̾͛̋̀̇̇̈́̕͘͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅh̴̢̧̧̛͇̫̤̱̺̞̹̮͇̦͊̀̄̽͐̏̐̇͒̐̂̀̈̅͐̑́̉̇̓̎̉̉̎̔̂̊̏̌̑͘͘͘̕͜͝͠͠͝ͅÿ̵̡̲̳̬̞̣̗͙͕̫̟̦́̽̓͋̈́̓͊̉̃͗̑̇͆̀̾̂̈́̎͐̂̐̽͝w̷̡̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̨̯̰͉̖͚̙͕͈̞̫̼͍͕̞̭̯̫̗͚͓̩̱̠̹̺͙̲̃̔͜ḩ̷̢̛̛̖̰̭̣͉̦̤͕͕̟̻̪̞̱̗͖̫̼̫͔̠̩̪͇̩̝̮̘̝̮̠͊̋̓͑̒̏̿̎̌̎̃̂̌̓̈́̊̽̓̃̾̀̀͆͒̀̉͂̄̈́̊̊̆͂̉͛͌͗͊̆̀͂͗̓̈̽͘͜͝͠y̵̡̮̼̙̥̬͇̤̭̝̲̲̼̘̼̥͕̼͂̍̀͑̽̎̑͛͋̚͝͠w̶̨̭̎͠h̶̼̖͙̓̑͘

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Listen, Listen okay. If you’re not a massive simp for your partner then what’s the point? These two are such idiots for each other that it’s almost painful. There’s actually more to this chapter. There’s supposed to be like a whole scene underneath the wall of whys, but it took away from the vibes. I’ll just add it to the next chapter lol. If it’s any consolation, at least Alastor and Reader are still married in death? And thus, we end the saga of human! Alastor. Next chapter will go back to hell. I’ll make it up to you guys, I promise :D Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @slaggylemon @reikamasama @obessivlyonline @okay-babe @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @tobyisher3 @sooha-neul

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel headcanons

[bymarara]

Will and the Boys Don't Cry.

Remember the picture when we were first shown Will on his birthday? In case anyone hasn't noticed, there were headphones in the picture and let's think, who else was wearing headphones and under what circumstances? Uh, Max! Max wore them so that she wouldn't fall under the full influence of Vecna and become his victim, music helped her so called survival.

Now let's get to why Will carries them around. I have two suggestions.

Everyone on the team has headphones now just in case Vecna decides to face someone.

Will is scared. Will himself realizes that he can feel Vecna's presence, in addition he will probably hear him, his voice and his thoughts, which will be very frightening to Byers. Because of the fear, he may choose his favorite song and walk around with headphones on at all times, so that if anything happens, he won't be influenced by Vekna and Vekna won't take over Will's mind. I also think that there will be a similar situation as with Lumax, that Mike will have to turn on these headphones in case of anything, I think Will will warn him alone about it all, thus trusting Mike.

Now something I've been thinking about very, very hard. Most people, and I think or thought that Will's song would be “Should I Stay or Should I Go”, but if you notice the details, you can see the poster in Will's room! “Boys don't cry”, this song references Will in a lot of ways, and if it's in season 5 in his headphones, it will be very symbolic, and will show the meaning of everything we've seen.

Let's take Max as an example. She has “Running Up That Hill” in her headphones. The lines from the song literally refer to what Max is feeling and it also shows how she feels about Billy and how she regrets what happened at the end of season 3 and how she would take it all back. The chorus from her song, literally speaks to Max's morale and what she wants. -And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God, And I'd get him to swap our places, Be running up that road, Be running up that hill, Be running up that building. If I only could, oh These lines literally refer to the fact that if Max had known what would happen, she would not have stood still, but would have tried to help her half-brother. She would have been ready even for the same death as her brother, as long as he did not die. Also, there are very interesting lines like.

“You don't want to hurt me,but see how deep the bullet lies.” which refers to their relationship while Billy was alive. The guy hurt his sister, which she hasn't forgotten, and that deep down inside of her, she wished him dead inside of her, which she now regrets.

What about Will? I know most people have already figured this out, but for those who haven't and don't know the context - this song is about the inner thoughts that guys have when they're going through an unpleasant/transitional moment in their lives. It's also popular in the LGBT+ community. Let's go through the parts that I find most interesting and start from the beginning. -I would say I'm sorry, If I thought that it would change your mind. But I know that this time, I have said too much. Somehow it reminds me a lot of Will helping Mike with his relationship with Al, while ignoring his feelings and even confessing his feelings while hiding under his sisters name. Also, I think there's a season five reference here. I mean, Will could talk about the painting and the speech, but not say what he meant about his feelings! And the lines “I would say I'm sorry if I thought that it would change your mind.” show that Mike could have left with some anger and it left a mark on Will and that he can't even apologize now, and that apologizing won't change anything. (Yes, I know I sound creepy, please.) Now let's get to the chorus. -I tried to laugh about it,

Cover it all up with lies. I tried to laugh about it, Hiding the tears in my eyes. Cause boys don't cry. Boys don't cry. Sounds like Will's confession to Mike to me. He's not showing his real feelings, he's hiding everything under the “Al” mask. and underneath the mask, he keeps his feelings hidden, not showing them. He himself, quietly crying, quietly suffering, realizing for himself that his feelings will never be reciprocated, that he will have to live with it and come to terms with it, and he buries it all by himself and tries to cope with it all by himself. -I would tell you, That I loved you, If I thought that you would stay. But I know that it's no use, That you've already, Gone away… Again he says that he has buried all his hopes and feelings, he sees Mike pulling away from him and as if he is walking away from him, so talking about feelings, about declarations of love is useless in his opinion. Literally the whole song shows Will, shows a guy who in his opinion has already missed his chance, he realizes that he can't change anything and hides himself and his feelings only deeper into himself.

I hope that Will will have this song in season 5, but I will also say that there is a possibility that in case of anything, Mike can play this song, so much in this song refers to Mike.

#byler #byler endgame #will byers #finn wolfhard #mike wheeler #byler brainrot #mike wheeler fanart #noah schnapp #stranger things 3 #stranger things 4 #stranger things 5 #st #byler s5 #st analysis #st5 #st5 spoilers #st5 speculation #stranger things s5 #will x mike #will byers fanart

[jeankluv]

I love you, it’s ruining my life - Geto Suguru

Words: 1,5k

Summary: You stood besides Geto for over a decade but despite loving him so much, it was ruining you.

Tags: heavy angst, canon, set during 2017-2018, blood, mentions of death, no happy ending, a bit of Gojo x reader but not romantic, no use of y/n, gn!reader

Notes: a request and a one shot in a single day, yep 🤭

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

When he decided to leave, you left with him.

More than 10 years had passed since then, you were no longer kids, you had changed. Even though there were mornings where you looked in the mirror and still saw the 17 year old student you once were. But when you looked at him, there was nothing left of that 17 year old boy.

You still loved him and you would probably always, but that love was consuming you.

But that day, you didn't see the 17 year old girl, what you saw in the mirror was a tired young woman, with a dull face and dark circles under her eyes. You felt like all your color was completely gone.

Existing your room, you walked through the hallway until you spot Suguru’s silhouette, I was talking to Miguel, apparently there was a course that Suguru was interested in obtaining. Passing by, you walked and saw a couple of people waiting for Suguru to serve them. Your heart was squeezed when you thought about the fate they would have.

You had accompanied Suguru for all these years, but you had never been able to agree with his ideas and until that day they continued to make you nauseous.

You sighed and went outside, where you sat on one of the benches there. In the distance you could see Tokyo and the memories of when you were a teenager began to come to you. Would you be there if you had realized earlier how Suguru was? If you had tried harder? If I had supported him more? Everything was what ifs... That they would never be, you answered and you could only imagine what could have been.

“You are here.” A deep voice, spoke behind your back. “Geto is looking for you.”

You stood up and nodded slowly. Walking towards where Suguru was, you felt your heart flutter nervously. You opened the door and found him sitting on his “throne”. When you entered you could see traces of blood on the floor. You turned your head, feeling the vomit rise in your throat.

"I'm sorry." Suguru murmured from his seat. “I thought it would take you longer so you wouldn't see the blood of that dirty monkey, but you came.”

“Suguru…” You tremble. “Don't you think that's enough…?”

"What do you mean?" He rose from his throne.

“What I mean…” Your heart fluttered. “Let's go Suguru, let's go away.” You approached him. “You, the girls and me. Far from everything…”

Suguru's gaze was cold. “Do you hear yourself?” He smiled zinicly. “Do you want to run away? After all these years? Of my progress? Don’t be foolish.”

“Suguru… please…” Your eyes stung.

Suguru snorted and moved away from your touch and it was then, seeing his back, that the boy who once swore he would love you forever, died long ago.

“I know you loved me.” You looked down. “But you don’t love me anymore.” Those words were heavy on you, it felt like stones being thrown at yourself.

“That’s what you think?” Suguru asked

“I don’t think that, it’s what it is, Suguru.” You held back your tears, not wanting to cry in front of him. “The only times we are intimate it’s when you want to have sex, the rest of the time… I don’t even see you because you are to focus on killing people.”

“Monkeys, those are not people, they are monkeys.” You shook your head trying to ignore his words. “Don’t tell me you don’t agree with what we are doing.” He approached you and you took a step back.

“I don’t think I ever did Suguru.”

“Then why? Why did you follow me?” His tone was clear, he was angry.

“Because I love you!” You raised your voice. “I love you Suguru, I always did. And you needed me back then… you needed someone and I… I couldn’t leave you.”

“So you never truly believed in what I was doing…”

“That’s what matters to you?” You raised your gaze facing him. “If I agree with what you are doing?”

“Yes!” He was the one to shut this time. “You were the… the only one who stayed and I thought it was because you agreed but it was because you loved me.” A hoarse laugh came from his throat. “You thought that if you came with me and with that love of yours I was going to change?”

He looked at you and you said nothing, because yes, your foolish self really thought it was going to be able to change him, to make him go back and try to find a solution to what he did. But you were a fool and even 10 years later you were still a fool, because deep down you were still hoping you could make him understand.

“I won’t change, I will never change, I will kill all those monkeys and create a world where only sorcerers exist.” He sat down. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

The first tear rolled down your cheek. “I love you Suguru.” You said. “But it’s ruining my life.”

Suguru stayed silent, not saying a word, not saying anything. This wasn’t the guy you fell in love with, years ago, that boy wouldn’t stare at you and do nothing.

You stepped away and turned around to leave the room. Before exiting the room, you look at him one last time.

“I love you Suguru, I will always love you.” You whipped the tears away and left the room.

After that last look, the days passed and turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. Suguru never looked for you, you were alone. You couldn't go back to where you were once happy because that would doom you and you couldn't go back to the person you loved because she was long dead.

You looked up and saw the snow falling. The new year had begun with snow. You hugged your body and walked through the new streets of the small town you had moved to. There you could simply be you and help those like you who could see curses and didn't understand it.

“The ground is slippery over there.” A voice spoke behind you.

You stopped dead when you heard it, how many years had it been since you had heard that voice? You didn't even know it anymore.

You carefully turned to confirm that the owner of that voice was the one who was once your best friend. And indeed, a few meters away from you was Gojo Satoru. Taller than the last time he saw it that October afternoon. Unlike that time, his eyes were completely covered by a white blindfold.

“Satoru…” You murmured.

“You lost weight.” He simply said.

Ignoring his words, you went straight to the point. “Are you here to execute me?” You asked him, trying to pretend that your voice was shaky.

Satoru shook his head. “Why would I?” Before you could answer he continued. “There is no execution order for you, so there is no reason for me to execute you.”

“What?” You said stunned. "How is that possible? I spent years with him, they should…”

“You were never considered a threat like him and I asked them not to include you on the list of cursed sorcerers.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. "Thanks, I guess." You hugged yourself tighter, to stop yourself from shaking. “What are you doing here then Satoru?”

"He is dead."

Your breath caught and your heart skipped a couple of beats before it began to break. Suguru was dead… Suguru… You stifled a cry, not wanting to cry in front of Satoru.

“I’m sorry…” Satoru whispered.

“Why are you sorry for?” Your voice coming out like a whisper from your throat.

“It was me…”

And then a cold breeze hit your face.

You shook your head and looked up at the sky trying to stop the crying. “It’s what you had to do…” You heard Satoru's footsteps approaching you. “Did he say something before he died?”

“He gave me this.” Satoru took your hand and placed an object on it. “He told me he was sorry and that I love you until the last moment.” You carefully opened your hand, finding a ring.

You clenched your fist to your chest and began to sob. You felt Satoru's warm body wrap around you and try to calm those sobs that didn't stop coming out of you. After a few minutes, you managed to calm down and separated from Satoru.

“Thank you…” You said.

Satoru handed you a folded piece of paper. “My number and Shoko's are written down. Call us when you need it or if... if you want to come back there again. Yaga won’t care and if the old guys say something, I’ll take care of it.”

You looked at the paper and then at Satoru. “I'll keep that in mind Satoru… thank you.”

“Take care.” He said and turned around to walk off.

You saw his silhouette get into a car and then disappear. Opening your hand again, you looked at the ring again.

“I love you Suguru.” You murmured kissing the ring and letting once again your tears flow.

#geto suguru fanfiction #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #geto fluff #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #geto x you #geto x y/n #jjk suguru #suguru fluff #fanfic jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru x oc #satoru gojo x reader

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Take A Chance: Rafe Cameron

Outer Banks Masterlist

word count: 800

description: tried of seeing your heart broken by losers, Rafe decides to take matters into his hands...will you accept?

Another failed talking stage but yet you were so attached. You had been in your room rotting away for at least two days now only stepping out when no one was around to see you and how miserable you were over a talking stage. 

You were currently laying in bed softly crying thinking how you were destined to be alone at this rate. So lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear your bedroom door open until you saw him kneeling in front of you with a frown on his face. 

"He doesn't deserve your tears sunshine." He said gently wiping your tears. 

"I know but it still hurts Rafe, every time I try to start a relationship with a guy it always fails...I just wish I was good enough." You said sadly. 

"But you are good enough sunshine, someday you will find someone who show you how good enough you are." He said as you leaned into his touch. 

Rafe's heart was breaking seeing you like this...seeing you so heartbroken over some loser that clearly didn't appreciate you. 

"Rafe can you lay with me for a bit?" You asked him softly.

"Of course sunshine." He said softly kicking his shoes off. 

He climbed into your bed next to you before beckoning to come crawl into his arms which you happily did. He laid there running a hand through your hair until he heard your breathing even out and then he pulled out his phone and started planning something special for you. Rafe had been in love with you for years but due to his issues he always kept them to himself never wanting to hurt you or involve you in his mess but now he had no choice. 

"She's gonna love that, are you finally going to tell her?" Sarah asked standing by your door. 

"You think so?  I want this to be perfect for her she deserves to know that there is someone out there that truly loves her." He said placing a kiss on your forehead making you snuggle into him. 

"Yes Rafe she's gonna love it. I'm gonna go since you are here with her but let me know if you need anything." Sarah said. 

A few days later you were feeling a bit better than you had been the last two weeks. You were currently getting ready for a surprise that Rafe said he had for you unsure what he was up to. 

You had just finished putting on your shoes when you heard him knock on the door. You walked over to the door and opened it and there he was standing there looking so handsome as always, with a bouquet of sunflowers.  

"Wow sunshine you look absolutely gorgeous." He said. 

"Thank you Rafe, you look handsome as well." You said with a small smile. 

"These are for you, I know how much you love sunflowers." He said handing them to you as your heart melted. 

"You remembered?" You asked shocked as none of your past relationships did. 

"Of course I did, I remember everything about you sunshine." He said with a smile. 

You quickly put them in some water so they wouldn't die and met him by the door, where he lead you out to his truck and helped you into it. You guys made small talk as he drove to wherever he was taking you, and soon enough you guys were at the private beach that you guys liked to come to. He parked his truck and helped you out and that's when you saw a beautiful picnic setup by the beach making you look at Rafe. 

"Rafe what is going on? What's all this?" You asked him. 

"Sunshine bare with me...this is all new for me but I wanted to take you on a small date to show you that there is someone out there who cares for you and wants you and thinks the world of you." He said nervously. 

"Why now Rafe?" You asked him. 

"Because sunshine I thought I was protecting you by pushing you away but after seeing you hurt once again by some loser, I couldn't keep hiding from you any longer. So I know this is a big ask sunshine, but please take a chance on me and let me show you the kind of relationship you deserve." He said.

You were shocked by his confession let alone that he did all of this for you but deep down you had always had feelings for Rafe and that all these talking stages were attempts to get your mind off of him. 

"Rafe I would like to give us a chance." You said with a smile. 

Hearing you say that made a huge smile spread across Rafe's face as he wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss on your lips. 

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you

[0xstarzx0]

DEBT |ONE-SHOT

Rafe Cameron x Reader x Niccolò

{OPEN COMMAND}

[English is not my native language❗️❗️]

SYNOPSIS: When your friend can’t pay off her debt, someone has to.

TW: DUB-CON, NON-CON, violence, insults, rape, hair pull, alcohol, sex V, perversion, choking, threat, gun.

______________________________________________

The music was loud, much too loud for your poor ears. You were advancing with difficulty through the people.

You’re desperately looking for your friend Kiara, you had a horrible week, so to clear your head, she decided to take you to one of the stupid parties you hate to attend.

You feel a weight washing up on your shoulder, you turn and fall on your friend, completely drunk. "Hey Y/N comes, meet my new friends!" without you being able to answer, she grabs your hand and forces you to follow her into a dark corridor.

She pushes you into a room and closes the door. You frown and hit the door. "Kiara, open the door." 

She still doesn’t open it. "Fuck Kiara, I’m not kidding, open the fucking door!" You hit the door harder.

As you pounce on the door, sneers sound behind you. You stop every move and look over your shoulder.

Two men are on a sofa, the lights that illuminate little the room does not help you see them clearly.

You hardly swallow your saliva and back up to the door. "How cute, you know we don’t bite." Said one. He gets up and approaches you like a predator.

He’s tall, much taller than you, his blond hair falls on his forehead. His arms are huge, and his blue eyes pierce you. He approaches you and puts a hand on your cheek. You push it away and he laughs.

"My name is Niccolò and this is my friend Rafe, do you know why you’re here?" asks the person sitting on the couch. You don’t answer. "Your friend didn’t pay what she owed us, so she’s paying us by bringing you here." You’re shocked.

You arrived at the Outer Banks not long ago, not knowing anyone you quickly trusted Kiara because she was very positive. You didn’t think she’d do that to you.

The blond guy grabs your arm, you slap him hard. "Don’t touch me, you bastard!" you say, running to the door. "This cunt is not laughing" You try to open it but it is still closed.

Rafe grabs your hair and pulls it, he drags you to the sofas. He throws you violent before placing himself above you.

He grabs the top of your shorts and pulls it down, his gesture burns your skin. You scream but he grabs your throat. "Keep yelling and I swear I’ll choke you." Niccolò says as Rafe holds you.

Rafe takes off his shorts and his boxers, his dick is huge. He stands in front of your hole and pushes you tearing you a hiccup of surprise.

You try to struggle when the brown guy grabs your wrists. He leans in your ear. "If you try to escape while the night is not over, I will make you regret it, my sweet." He kisses the tears that flow from the corners of your eyes and watches Rafe fuck you coarsely.

Your body and your brain do not agree, one hates what Rafe makes you while the other takes pleasure. Rafe hits your G-spot several times, you moan while crying.

Rafe leans over and kisses your neck, he leaves traces of his passage on your breasts. It becomes more and more brutal so he accelerates.

Rafe pulls out, he cums on your belly and turns you around. "Ready for a second round?" he asks. "Please let me go." You’re crying. Rafe shoves your head into the couch while he shoves you from behind.

Rafe is violent, with each push he sinks further widening you. "Damn it’s so tight man!" Says Rafe as he continues to rape you.

Niccolò laughs, his bulge is clearly visible. He will never admit it but his dick hurt him so much it was hard.

You feel Rafe shaking inside you, indicating that he will arrive soon.

Rafe arrives but does not withdraw from you, there are a few seconds inside before withdrawing.

You fall back on yourself when your hair is caught, forcing you to lift your head. Niccolò takes off his belt and his pants, his boxers follow the movement. He stands in front of you. "Bite me, hurt me, and I swear you’ll regret it." He glances briefly at the table. On it is a gun. Your blood is freezing.

Niccolò forces a passage with his cock to enter your mouth, you do not struggle. Terrified by the turn the situation could take.

He grabs your head and forces you to suck it, he delicately fucks your face, as if you were both consenting.

He is gentle in his gestures, compared to Rafe. Maybe you hurt him. But for you that is impossible. These two monsters have no feelings.

Niccolò comes several times in your mouth and on your face. When he has finally finished, he wipes his face. He kisses you from the top of your head and forces you to look at him. Your eyes are glassy, full of tears. Your throat hurts and you’re not sure you can get up.

Rafe looks up at the gentle gesture of the Italian. "Rafe is stupid, doesn’t pay attention and just stays focused on me, my sweet." he says, but your eyes follow both. If your body would allow it, you would have already tried to kill one.

Rafe gets up and throws your clothes away. "We got what we wanted, she’s out now." Rafe puts on his shorts. Niccolò puts his pants back on but you don’t move.

This has the gift of driving Rage Rafe crazy. "Dress up." He orders you, you do not move. Rafe shoots you with the look. He grabs the gun from the table and with a tone he announces. "If you don’t harp now, the first bullet will be for you." Rafe." said Niccolò.

You lift your shameful head. "I can’t move half my body!" You say in tears. Rafe tightens a little more the weapon before growling and throwing it some parts in the room.

Rafe grabs your shirt and puts it on, puts your shorts back on. You cry about it, you look like shit. Rafe lifts you when Niccolò blocks him. "What again?" said the exasperated blond.

Niccolò gives him a bad look and gives you a drink. "Drink it should make your sore throat go away and it helps with aches."

You weren’t planning on drinking until Rafe forced you.

______________________________________________

You have no memory of that night, you remember going and looking for Kiara. After that, it’s nothing.

The next day you had bruises on your breasts, thighs and neck. Your legs made you suffer martyrdom and your head hurt like a dog.

Since this evening you try not to think about it too much, rout is quite weird and mix.

But apparently at this party you made new friends. 

Niccolò and Rafe. 

You get along great with them even though sometimes you feel like a few bells with them, that they are… bad.

______________________________________________

.

.

.

.

#rafe obx #rafe x reader #dark!rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey smut #rafe #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #obx #outer banks x reader #lorenzo zurzolo x reader #lorenzo zurzolo #theo nott x reader #toxic ! rafe #theodore nott smut #toxic relationship #theodore nott x reader

[xeas]

Can you please do a Norton and fool's gold with a reader where the reader has cinnamoroll personality (cinnamoroll is from sanrio)

MIND OVER MATTER IS MAGIC!

🍍 IN WHICH: drabbles (seperately) of Norton Campbell and Fool's Gold with a reader who is like cinnamoroll from sanrio (basically, shy yet sweet who will also help out their friends whenever they can)

🥥 NOTE FROM XEA!: thank you so much for your request! i love writing for norton but im wary my fools gold may ooc...haha...

🫧CONTENT WARNINGS: pre-established relationship, Norton may appear overprotective, mc may appear to be 'pure and innocent' in a fashion that may be perceived as corny to some readers. reader is referred to as "doll" in Norton's section, "babyface" in Fools Gold's. Seer is mentioned and Grave keeper is implied in Fools Gold section. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

NORTON CAMPBELL; The Prospector

NORTON swears up and down he's done nothing worthy of him deserving you.

The way your thumb grazes his knuckles in a comforting manner--whether to soothe your own nerves or his is unsure-- but the expression of innocence coated on your face both makes his heart sink to his stomach and gives him butterflies.

You have the eyes of someone who has gazed at few possible traumatic scenarios and the skin of one who not been lashed by the harsh truths of the world. He squishes down his feeling of envy when he feels he's going too far down the rabbit hole of his thoughts.

But now, as he bandages up your wound from the cold Night Watch, he can't help but realize how that weighs you down. It wasn't supposed to be you with the gash in your thigh it was supposed to be the teammate you wasted no time saving. You took a hit for them, and for what? So they could have a futile 5 seconds to run as fast as they could only for the harsh winter wind to yank them back to the hunter? You we're such a fool, having so much faith in these people.

But that's what led you two to become such a power couple. You gave him a chance.

"Norton-"

"Hush up, doll." And you do just that.

He looks angry and you feel nervous because of it.

"I'm sorry for getting injured." You mumble quietly. You don't expect a 'Its fine' or a 'Its not your fault' because this was a rookie mistake and you by no means are a rookie.

He remains silent, finishing up dressing your wound. His gloved hands go to hold your thighs as you sit in some corner of burned down building in the Arms Factory.

"Don't do that again." He states. Its not up for debate and you silently nod, moving to give his forehead a kiss as you steady yourself to get up and work on getting out of here.

NORTON CAMPBELL; Fools Gold (Hunter Identity)

"Hm, shame. Really."

Fools Gold let out a teasing laugh as he shoved you into a chair. He leaned on the wall behind it as you glared up at him. Fools gold clicked his tongue (does he even have one??) and fake pouted, most likely mocking you.

"D'aw, don't look at me like that, Babyface. You wouldn't be like this if you didn't sacrifice yourself for that silly little seer."

At least he was brutally honest.

Your muscles are screaming at you and you can feel them throbbing after you spent the last 2 minutes running and jumping and rolling to get away from him.

He traces your jawline with his pickaxe, you can feel your face heat up as Fools Gold lets out a wheezing chuckle. "All bark huh?"

You try to stutter out a response not until you see the ground beside you break. This was going to take a while.

୨🐙୧ ‧ 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝘼𝙉 𝘼𝙈𝘼𝙕𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘿𝘼𝙔! ⋆ ˚｡

🌺 𝙓𝙊𝙓𝙊,

XEA!

#idv x reader #id5 x reader #Norton Campbell x reader #Norton Campbell #idv prospector #idv prospector x reader #Fools Gold x reader #Fools Gold #Identity V x reader

[harlowhockeystick]

9 and 18 with coach!sid please <3

"without ever touching him, how can i be guilty as sin?" & "i can tell when someone wants me" | poetic prompts | warnings: smut (18+ MDNI, i can redo if you don't want smut with these prompts!)

takes place after this fic.

"girl, quit eye fucking and leave some room for the rest of us. i can tell your fantasizing, but i don't blame you."

"i'm not touching him, so how can i be guilty of anything?" y/n co-workers words snap her out of her daze as she teases back. it was the beginning of an emergency staff meeting, the meaning was unknown and it was causing quite the buzz around the gymnasium. teachers, admin, and athletic staff alike were sitting together asking each other what they'd heard, known, or if they were getting fired. there was a heavy level of anxiety sitting in the room amongst them.

"sorry," y/n mumbled and sitting up straight. her friend chuckled beside her. but she couldn't help but stare, it had been a week since their dinner together, and it was all she could think about. she'd had trouble teaching, would zone out when talking to carter, their scandalous encounter was taking over her life.

"what do you think they're gonna talk about?" the other teacher asked sitting next to her, sipping coffee out of her tumbler and scrolling through emails looking for clues. "i think they're gonna talk about staff relationships."

her words made y/n's stomach drop. did it get out? did someone see her car at his house? did carter say something? did carter find out? it's amazing how many questions can run through the brain in just two seconds.

"i heard that the boys tennis coach, thomas, is having an affair with the girls tennis coach. i think one of the players caught them in the athletic offices but they did something to keep the kid quiet." y/n feels her nerves calm down, but not all that much. her eyes met with sidney's and she felt like he was trying to silently tell her something but she couldn't pick up on it. they weren't that connected.

yet.

moments later the superintendent gets on the mic and announces to faculty that in fact, both the girls and boys tennis coach were let go due to their actions. the boys coach resigned, and the girls coach was fired due to threatening the school district since she didn't do anything wrong and she was a single woman.

she felt a ball coil up inside her stomach as the staff were reminded of the policy: relationships among staff must be brought before the board if they occur within the school year. it was a district policy, to keep drama out of the way, and to keep relationships private to the parties benefit. at least, that was the way it was explained.

-

that meeting was bullshit. sent 10:45 am

y/n's phone pings signaling a text from sidney. she reads it as her students are taking their test. she feels butterflies and anxiety at the same time. her leg bouncing underneath her desk as she plans a reply.

...but what did he mean? was he against the rule, meaning he wanted a relationship? or was it just a waste of time? yes, it was a waste of time.

i know, it could have just been an email. sent 10:48

he never responds, but she gets too busy with other class periods. she gets lost back in time once more, fantasizing about that night. during lunch break spent in her darkened classroom, a bowl of warmed up soup in front of her as she grades papers until the next class comes through.

but she gets lost, in the deep trance of the memory of him. if she thinks really hard she can still feel his tongue sliding against her slick core, she can feel herself coming undone again at the force of his skilled and talented body.

she can feel his calloused but soft hands sliding down her body, grasping at her breasts while he sucks all of the sweet juice that flows out of her. she remembers her back arching off his wooden dinner table while he lapped at her for at least ten minutes straight, before he slid his thick cock inside of her for another ten.

she's taken out of her daydream by the sound of the school bell. she has three minutes to get herself back in order to teach again. she considers assigning today a reading and catch up day...so she can continue to reminisce.

dinner at my place? sent 1:23 pm

hell yes sent 1:24 pm

-

"you're bad at hiding your feelings, y/n." sidney stated, flipping over the steak on the grill and setting his wine glass down on the granite countertop. y/n sat on the barstool across from him, drinking a cocktail she made herself.

"what's that supposed to mean?" she took a bigger swig of the alcohol this time, holding eye contact with him as he leaned onto the countertop with his hands, making himself appear bigger in front of her. it worked.

"i can tell when someone wants me. half the women in that school want me, but you're the only one who went for it." she feels like a crook who was caught. "i know you act like last week didn't happen, but it's all i've been thinking about." now he's standing just inches from her on his back patio, the smell of grilled steak and vegetables filling her brain and the firm but agonizing touch making her go weak.

"it's all i can think about too." his thumb glides across her cheek, his whiskey colored eyes staring into her soul, what it feels like for hours. he bites his lip and she thinks she's gonna pass out.

"tell me what you thought about, maybe we'll reenact it after dinner. can't have you eating cold steak, can i?"

#GIF??? HOLY SHIT #j's writing #coach!sidney #coach!sid #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby smut #sidney crosby blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl smut #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #hockey smut

[daydreams-after-dark]

What are your thoughts on fuck boy besties Felix & Jisung with fem!reader?

When I think of fuck bois Felix and Jisung… I picture them like in the following TikTok’s…

Here and Here

… fun, flirty, persuasive, attractive. It honestly stirs up my inner 18 year old when I’d go out to clubs.

↠↠↠ a/n: I've written this deliberately where the dialogue can be mostly interchangeable between the two. I'm kind of going with the half drunk feeling of being hit on and swept away in a puddle of pure lust.

You see them every weekend at the club. They set their sights on a someone. They flirt with them, dance with them, make them laugh and feel special. They whisper in their ear and breathe along their neck. Then they leave with them. Every. Single. Week.

This week, they have their sights set on you.

“We see you here every week. What’s your name?”

“Oh you’re 24! You look 18.”

You hate what it’s doing to your insides. You hate how hard you’re blushing.

“Let us buy you a drink.”

"This is our special girl, y/n. Make sure you take care of her." They tell the bartender.

"You'll come dance with us, won't you, baby?”

Somehow you end up on the dance floor, Jisung dancing awfully close to your chest, Felix slipping behind you.

"You’re okay with us grinding against you, right?" Jisung steps closer, whispering against your ear. “Let us dance with you.” He says lustfully as he presses his hips to yours. Felix presses into from behind.

You feel both their hardening cocks pushing against you.

“Feel what you do to us, love.” Felix says in your ear as he runs his hands down your sides.

"You’re so pretty. I really need to know what your lips feel like."

“Come home with us, let us make you feel good, yeah?”

“We don’t bite. Well not too hard.”

You end up sandwiched between them in the back of the cab.

"I really need to know what your pussy feels like."

"Let us touch it, y/n. I bet your pussy is wet. Can we feel? Pretty please?"

They slide their hands up your skirt and finger fuck you right there on the backseat, while they kiss you like they will lose their minds if they don’t get to touch you.

You’re so wet for them. These two sweet, deadly, charismatic, horny, men. You feel like the only girl in the world. They do this every week. You’ll get to feel them in inside you soon. They've been inside the whole club-full of people.

"I'm so hard for you right now. Feel it."

“Me too, baby. Here. Touch it. You do this to us.”

"We've gotta have you."

You palm them over their pants while they stretch your open your pussy.

“So wet for us.”

“So tight.”

"That's a good girl... letting us play with you like this."

They lay you on one of their beds and your clothes disappear.

"Your pussy tastes so good. Your dripping. Taste her."

They swap while the other sucks your nipple.

You realise Felix is eating you out, as Jisung straddles your chest. "Baby, can you take care of me? I need your pretty mouth around my cock. That's it. Let me fuck your mouth."

"I think your beautiful pussy needs to come on a cock. Let me help you with that...perfect. So tight."

They get you in variety positions, taking turns in your sopping cunt. Covering you in their cum. Pulling orgasms from you like it's their full time job.

They've got you floating. buzzing, pliable, compliant. They know exactly what to say to have you swooning and sobbing "yes, please...do anything you want."

They give each other a knowing look.

"Anything we want?"

"Yes, anything."

"Can we try fucking you at the same time?"

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha

@3rachasdomesticbanana

@palindrome969

@xxkissesforchanniexx

@chuuchuu1224

@fun-fanfics

@wolfennracha

Sorry if you’re tagged twice… my end indicates my original tag of you didn’t work properly.

#han jisung smut #felix smut #skzsmut #jilix smut #jilix x reader #skz hard thoughts #sorshas after dark ask box

[da-proti-toku-grem]

17 Jance mayhaps (if you already did it I'm sorry, I love ur style and reading your prompts!!)

Thank you so much 🥰. I think I've officially lost the battle with my “I'm keeping these short” thoughts because this is almost 1.8k oops 😅.

As always, ao3 link at the bottom if you prefer to read it there <3

(Rating: Mature)

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

17. … to distract.

“Please, Nacko,” Jan begged from his place on the couch.

Knowing that they had an interview the next morning, Nace had offered Jan to stay at his house. After all, it was no secret that the guitarist was by no means a morning person and, being the one who lived closest to where the interview would take place, it seemed only reasonable to offer him a place to sleep without the need to drive from Vrhnika to Ljubljana in the early morning.

And maybe – and just maybe – something inside his chest was also tickling under the pretext of seeing Jan's gorgeous face when Nace inevitably woke up before him, his features relaxed and his hair tousled. No one needed to know that, though. He was more than willing to take the secret to his grave. It wasn't like someone like Jan would ever look at him that way, anyways.

Once they arrived at the apartment, Nace offered Jan a glass of wine. The bassist himself didn't drink anymore, but he liked to always have something to offer to his guests – in this case, a bottle of red wine.

And that's how they had gotten to this situation, Jan sitting cross-legged on the couch, an empty glass on the small table in front of him and looking up in the direction of Nace, who was standing on the other side of the table, with his pajamas already on and holding the bottle in his hand.

“I've already told you, Jan,” he said, a hint of tiredness in his voice. “You know that on any other occasion I wouldn't mind you drinking more, but we have an interview tomorrow and we can't risk you having a raging hangover because you drank the whole bottle of wine by yourself.”

“...Please?” Jan asked again, pouting and looking up at him with those beautiful dark puppy eyes that had no right to be so adorable. That, combined with the fact that his improvised pajamas were his boxer shorts and one of Nace's old t-shirts that was definitely too big on him – the length reaching almost halfway down his thighs and the collar being so wide that it left one of his shoulders exposed, as well as a bit of his chest hair – was definitely not helping Nace keep his thoughts pure.

He thought about how his hands would feel exploring the skin under the t-shirt or pulling on those gorgeous black locks, how he'd look up at him with his big brown eyes just like that while Nace fucked his mouth, taking it all like the good boy he knew he could be; how he’d love to kiss and bite and mark that exposed skin on his shoulder and neck until everyone knew who he belonged to, how he'd beg even prettier for Nace to touch him, to make him feel good; how he'd look all sweaty and ruined with his head thrown back, moaning Nace's name at the peak of his pleasure as he pounded into that sweet spot inside him over and over and-

Nace really needed to stop his train of thoughts right there before this ended in a terribly embarrassing situation.

“I'm sorry, okay?” He smiled at him apologetically, setting the bottle down on the table as he took a seat on the other side of the couch, hoping the other didn't notice the slight blush he felt creeping up his cheeks. “I know you probably don't want to go to sleep yet so… anything else you want to-”

The question died on the bassist's lips as he suddenly felt Jan straddle his thighs, resting his hands gently on his chest.

Nace simply remained still, his body a bit tense and his eyes wide open in surprise. He still didn't look at the guitarist's face, a million questions running through his mind when all of a sudden the weight of the younger man in his lap and the burning touch of his hands on his chest clouded his senses.

Eventually, he dared to look up, finding Jan's eyes, those eyes that made Nace's knees go weak and that accompanied him in his most sinful fantasies, looking back at him with that smirk he always had plastered on his face when he had an idea. He knew exactly what he was doing and Nace had fallen right into his trap.

“Hello there, Mr. Jordan,” Jan said, his deep voice reverberating in Nace's brain, as his hands went up to cup his cheeks.

He didn't respond, his own hands moving to Jan's thighs, over his t-shirt, while his eyes were flicking from the other's eyes to his lips and then up again and oh how much he'd like to send it all to hell and close the distance between them and-

Before he knew it, Jan's lips were on his.

Nace didn't move his hands, the uncertainty of not knowing how far Jan was willing to take this surpassing the urge to touch every single part of the other's body; but he started to reciprocate the kiss, taking everything Jan had to give him and trying to burn it into his memory, almost as if he was afraid that it was all a dream product of his treacherous imagination and he might wake up at any moment.

Their lips moved slowly against each other, his mouth opening in a silent invitation that Jan didn't hesitate to take, tongues dancing together in a rhythm known only to them.

Everything was so sultry, so sensual, so… Jan. It was intoxicating. And Nace didn't think he would ever get enough of this.

All too soon, the guitarist broke the kiss, pulling away completely and taking his place back on the couch. Nace immediately missed the warmth of his body pressing against his own.

“W-what was that for?” he asked after a few seconds, trying to sound nonchalant despite the deep blush he felt covering his face.

“Nothing,” Jan shrugged. “Can't I just kiss my really hot friend?”

At that, Nace looked up, meeting that mischievous grin before his gaze finally fell on the bottle that had somehow ended up in Jan's hands. Little shit.

“Oh hell no, come here,” he tugged at his arm and in one swift motion took the bottle from him, setting it safely on the table, and took him back into his lap, making him let out a surprised gasp.

“Well, I guess this will do too,” Jan smirked, moving his arms up to wrap them around Nace's neck, tangling his hands in the soft curls at the nape of his neck and drawing him into another kiss.

Nace didn't hold back this time, all the blood he had been trying to suppress from traveling south now rushed to his cock as his hands began to caress the body of the man on top of him.

The touch of his cold hands against the warm skin of his thighs sent a shiver down Jan's spine. Nace's hands traveled up his thighs, slowly slipping under his shirt until they reached his waist, grabbing it and moving his body so they could start grinding against each other.

Deep groans escaped their mouths the moment both of their already half-hard dicks brushed against each other, making them break the kiss, their foreheads pressed against one another as they breathed heavily into each other's mouths.

Without halting his movements, Nace leaned close to his ear and whispered: “Did you just want to distract me so you could get another glass or are you just a horny little slut, baby?”, catching the lobe between his teeth to emphasize his words before starting a trail of open-mouthed kisses and little nibbles along his jaw and neck.

The sound the younger man let out and the way Jan's hips jerked forward of their own accord, beginning to grind down more desperately, told Nace everything he needed to know.

It was still fun to tease him, though.

“I need words, honey. Or do you want me to stop?” he said teasingly. As if you'd be able to stop now that you finally have what you've been dreaming about for so long, the rational part of his brain told him.

“Please don’t stop.” Jan whined. “F-fuck, God knows how long I've been waiting for this.”

That sound, that plea, the meaning those words entailed all sent an electric jolt straight to Nace's cock. He sounded so beautifully desperate and– God. Jan Peteh was going to be the death of him.

“Oh yeah? Do I make you hard, baby?” he punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust of his hips.

“So damn much, you have no idea. Fuck, have you seen yourself?”

Jan buried his face in Nace's neck, exploring his skin with his lips and teeth, careful not to leave marks in a place that would be visible during the interview and paying special attention to discover the bassist's most sensitive spots. Nace tilted his head to the side to grant him more access.

Neither of them could stop the soft little noises escaping their mouths, getting increasingly louder as Nace's hands started to roam all over the younger's back. They came to a stop at his ass, cupping Jan's cheeks over his boxers and pulling him even closer.

The increased pressure on his crotch caused the guitarist to pull away from Nace's neck, throwing his head back and exposing his throat as a sinful moan escaped his lips. It was probably the most erotic thing Nace had ever seen in his entire life.

However, as heavenly as the dry humping felt, Nace wanted – needed – more. He needed to feel skin on skin with the man that had been occupying his every thought ever since he officially joined the band.

He slowly licked a strip up his deliciously exposed throat, a smug smile spreading across his face at the shudder that ran through Jan's body.

“Shall we take this to the bedroom, kitten?” he asked, his deep voice accompanied with a little squeeze on his ass making Jan blush furiously.

Instead of answering, Jan smashed their lips together in a hungry, passionate kiss.

Nace took that as a yes, placing his hands under Jan's thighs and lifting them both off the couch to start the short walk to his room, grinning into the kiss when he felt Jan's dick twitch at the casual demonstration of strength as he wrapped his legs around his waist.

As he closed the bedroom door and threw a very flushed and now fully hard Jan unceremoniously on his bed, Nace made a mental note to treat him to all the red wine he wished for the days to come.

masterlist | ao3

#i'm actually proud of this one hehe hope you like it 🤭 #also this is the 20th prompt like WHAT :O #joker out #jan peteh #nace jordan #jance #ask #mine #maca writes #kiss prompts #i just think jan should be called kitten in fics more often and i couldn't help myself