#but that’s what he’s doing in the ‘getting his life together’ one. he’s reaching enlightenment bcuz he meditated so much LMFAO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heavenlyvision · 6 months

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When hell freezes over

Word count: 5.1k

Pairing: Bi-Han x afab!Reader

A/N: I make no apologies for what I’ve written, I do however, apologise for this coming out before part four of the Crushing series. I saw God (Bi-Han in mk 1) and got possessed by the Holy Spirit (horniness). I’ve noticed tumblr is lacking in fics for my mk cravings, which resulted in this. This fic was initially going to be 1k of only smut, but I got carried away and added a minor plot line :3

Summary: Bi-Han keeps staring at you and you don’t know why but it really starts to get on your nerves, especially when he won’t even admit that he is doing it.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering, creampie, voyeurism (they fuck outside but they don’t get caught), strong language, pure filth, minor plot, mean Bi-Han, Bi-Han is ooc prolly but he’s also a bitch still, so not completely ooc

Staying at the fire temple means you’ve seen Bi-Han around, always with a scowl on his face and that’s if he’s taken his mask off, but you can always tell he’s scowling under the mask too, with the way his eyebrows pinch. You’ve never actually held a conversation with him, he’s a bit unapproachable and when you do speak, he usually grunts in response. His way of acknowledging you without actually acknowledging you.

Lord Liu Kang has been bringing all of Earth Realms potential heroes together and training them at the Fire Temple, you just so happened to be one of the first heroes he came looking for. You have power, you’re not disillusioned though, you can see in the way Lord Liu Kang moves and speaks, that he already knows who his hero is and it’s not you, which you’re fine with. The idea of fighting against Outworld’s warriors is, to be blunt, scary. You mean to say, that the idea of fighting Sub-zero frightens you, you cannot imagine what kind of formidable opponents live in the other realms.

The other’s Liu Kang has managed to gather are all very kind but also intimidating, you’re surrounded by powerful men all day and that sets you on edge a bit, as a result you tend to be spending more time by yourself in the quieter areas of the temple. They’re not hard to find if you look for them, and the temple has a sense of tranquillity. Ever since you’ve been here, you find yourself meditating now, more than you ever have in your whole life.

On this particular day, you’re sitting on a large rock away from the temple facing all the greenery surrounding the area. Footsteps approaching you bring your awareness back to your environment, but you don’t move or open your eyes, you aren’t really in the mood to be disturbed at this current moment, for all they know, you could be really close to reaching enlightenment.

The person moves to stand in front of you but doesn’t say anything, you try to hold steady and focus but their breathing is disturbing you. In the end your resolve gives in and your shoulders slump as you look up at the perpetrator of disturbance.

You feel a bit silly as you realise that the disturbance is Lord Liu Kang himself, “I could’ve been close to enlightenment only to be disturbed by you at the last moment.”

He looks amused but only slightly, “If you had been that close to enlightenment, I doubt my presence would’ve disturbed you.”

“You can’t know that,” you pout a touch.

He gives you a polite smile in return, “Dinner is going to be served soon, will you grace us with your presence?”

He’s giving you a light ribbing; you’ve been here a while and like to think you’ve gained rapport with him. The way he will indulge you slightly makes you think you’ve succeeded in landing on his good side, though you’re not certain he has a bad side, and if he does, you don’t want to be anywhere near it.

“I hadn’t realised it had gotten this late,” looking up at the sky you can see the sun setting, you’ve been out here far longer than you had expected.

Suddenly, you feel eyes on the back of your head and a shiver runs down your spine in response, without turning around you acknowledge the secondary presence you didn’t initially register.

“Good evening to you too, Sub-zero.”

“Mmmf,” he grunts in your direction as a response.

You address Lord Liu Kang, “he seems gruntier than usual.”

“Perhaps, he is the one who disturbed your enlightenment,” he dips his head towards you as he says this, in an attempt to keep the joke between the two of you.

You chuckle in response before leaping down from the rock, “Alright, let’s eat!”

❆˖°

Dinner with everyone is always a touch rowdy, it never used to be, it used to be quieter but with the additions of Kung Lao, Raiden, Kenshi and especially Johnny Cage, it has gotten livelier around the temple. You find that Kuai Liang, Tomas and Bi-Han frequent dinners here now too, you suspect that them never actually leaving anymore is due to the fact that Lord Liu Kang has gathered all his potential warriors.

Everyone has bets on who they think it is and most of them are betting on themselves but you’re certain Lord Liu Kang has his pick and you’re betting it’s Raiden, the way he looks and considers him makes you think he’s his top pick.

You feel his eyes on you again from across the table, the shiver he sends through you running down your spine again. You aren’t sure why your body reacts to him like that, and you aren’t sure how to feel about it either. Preferably, he would stop staring at you so your body would stop reacting, but he is such a starer, and an angry starer too.

Looking up you lock eyes with Bi-Han, but he doesn’t look away, typical, you think, you look away instead and attempt to stay engaged in the conversations happening around you. But you know he is still staring at you and to be honest, it’s starting to get on your nerves. Taking a deep breath, you look back over at him again and he is still staring at you, you’re getting pissed now, what is his problem. He can be scary but scary is only scary until you’re annoyed.

“What is your problem?” You direct at him quietly; you don’t want everyone at the table seeing you starting a fight with the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei.

He looks a little taken aback by your bluntness but only for a second, “nothing.” He shrugs.

His voice is stupid and deep, and you’re annoyed at him because why is he still fucking staring at you. People normally have enough humility to look away when confronted but he looks nonplussed by your angry confrontation.

“Well, then stop staring at me,” you shoot back, trying to remain unnoticed by the rest of the table.

“I am not staring,” he replies coolly.

What the fuck? “You definitely are though; I can feel your eyes stabbing me.”

He purses his lips in response, “My eyes are not capable of stabbing you.”

You’re frowning now, deeply, “Well… they are!” Your voice raises a bit with your increasing annoyance. Why won’t he just admit that his eyes are stabbing you.

Unfortunately, everyone has caught onto your little argument now, which prompts Lord Liu Kang to interject.

“Is everything okay?” He directs the question at you.

“Tell your guard dog to stop stabbing me with his stupid eyes,” you reply, completely exasperated with how dumb all of this is.

From the other end of the table, you hear Johnny start laughing, thud, and that was Kenshi kicking him under the table in response, attempting to get him to stop.

Johnny exclaims, “Ouch, what the fu–”

“– I am not his guard dog!” Bi-Han is angry now, he was mildly amused before, you suspect you’ve managed to hit a nerve. “I am the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei!”

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re the Grandmaster of stabbing me with your eyes!” You’re not quite sure why you’ve picked this hill to die on, but you’re committed now.

He looks pissed and you feel like you should be intimidated but you’re so irked by his behaviour that you wouldn’t care if he was God itself.

Lord Liu Kang clears his throat from the head of the table, “Maybe you should both apologise to each other and move past this.”

“No.” Both Bi-Han and you reply at the same time.

“Just admit you were staring, and I will apologise to you,” you direct this at Bi-Han.

“I wasn’t staring,” he leans back with his big stupid, defined, arms crossed over his chest.

You feel like you’re going to have an aneurysm, why is he committed to lying about this. “I know you were staring.”

“How would you know that?” He asks.

Is he being intentionally dense, “how could I not know?” You’re glaring back at him.

Lord Liu Kang clasps his hands together, a loud clap sound ringing out across the silence that had fallen over the group. Well, it was almost silent, Johnny is still muffling his laughing down the other end of the table.

“Thank you for dinner, Lord Liu Kang, I’ll be returning to my quarters early tonight.” You stand up and walk out of the room.

You miss the completely confused and exhausted look Kuai Liang gives his older brother.

❆˖°

Tonight, you find yourself tossing and turning, the evenings usually leave you a bit restless and you will fairly regularly leave your quarters to wander the grounds. Though, this evening you are restless for a separate reason, the result is the same, you’re leaving your quarters and wandering the Fire Temple aimlessly, inspecting things you’ve seen daily for months now.

You have got to be kidding, you think to yourself as you feel the all too familiar shiver run down your spine and set of eyes on the back of your head.

Your head drops in defeat and a deep sigh is pulled from your chest, “if I tell you to stop staring, would you? Or would you say you weren’t staring?”

You can feel him come up beside you, “Guess…”

“…I wasn’t staring,” you both say it in tandem, but you attempt to drop your voice as low as it can go to mock him.

He grunts in disapproval at you.

You aren’t sure why he’s come up to you, you’ve sequestered yourself off to a private area of the temple specifically so you could remain undisturbed, but not only did he find you, he fucking stabbed you with his stupid pretty, stupid angry eyes again. You feel like you’re not going to win whatever this battle is against him.

“Genuinely, why do you keep staring at me, and you can’t say you don’t because I know you do, I can feel when your eyes are on me,” you’re getting tired of this now, you just want an answer from him.

He doesn’t speak for a long moment; he’s probably considering how to word what he’s going to say next. All you know is if he says he doesn’t stare at you, you’re literally going to hit him in the face.

“Consider your words carefully, I am tempted to punch you right now,” you relay your feelings to him as a warning.

“I don’t stare–”

That does it, you swing around at him and go to throw a forceful punch aimed square at his nose, you’re aiming to break it. Unfortunately, for all his ego, he is indisputably more skilled than you and easily dodges your punch by moving his head to the side before he catches your forearm with one of his hands. His other hand reaches out to grab at your other arm and pulls you closer to his body, both your arms being held between your bodies. His strength keeping you in place, with his stupid well-defined arms.

You’re a little annoyed at yourself for bothering to warn him at all, you probably could’ve at least grazed him if you hadn’t.

Scowling at him you say, “I shouldn’t have given you a warning.”

“Your hit wouldn’t have landed either way, it was sloppy.”

“It was not!” Your punch was fine, he’s just being rude.

“I was trying to say I don’t stare at you,” you try to wiggle free of his grip, you swear he’s looking for a fight. His hands grab you tighter and pulls your forearms to rest on his chest, you’re forced to look up at him, “Stop, struggling, you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

You gawk at him, “Are you kidding me? You’re the one who won’t admit the simple fact that you’ve been staring at me!”

He looks exhausted with you as he rolls his eyes, when did this switch? He is the unreasonable one, you were willing to apologise hours ago!

“I gaze at you.” He says it like he doesn’t have to explain further.

“I’m almost certain that is the exact same thing as staring at me.” You’re confused.

He grunts and turns his head to the side sharply, “You make everything difficult.”

“ME?” You. Are. Confused.

His head snaps back to stare you in the eyes, “YES! I look at you, I gaze at you, I find you interesting and that makes me mad. This is your fault, take responsibility.”

Oh. My. God. Does he have a crush on you? He likes you and is mad at you about it. Talk about emotionally stunted.

“I am not responsible for how you feel about me.”

“You should be.”

There’s a beat of silence between the two of you, he’s still holding you close.

“You undo me.” He says it quiet, like he’s ashamed of the confession but it’s the highest form of flattery you have ever received.

Your eyes are round in shock as you look at him, you won’t lie, you find yourself drawn to him. Not in spite of his intimidating, stoic nature but because of it, he’s a force of nature to be reckoned with and you think without even realising you walked headfirst into the eye of his storm. You want him and you hate that you do, but you suspect he feels the same way.

“Let me go, please.” You ask him.

He obeys your will, immediately dropping your arms but neither of you make a move to step away from the other. Your heart is racing in your chest as you continue to look up at him, you want to kiss him, but you don’t know how he’ll react to your hands reaching for him after you just tried to deck him.

You don’t have to wonder for long, his hands reach for your face, both of them landing on either side of it. He has such large hands.

“I want to kiss you and you’re going to have to tell me not to, if you don’t want me to.”

You say nothing because you really want him to kiss you and he does; he leans down towards you and when your lips meet you feel like your knees might give out.

His kiss is gentler than you would’ve expected him capable of, he holds you like you’ll break, like he’s all too aware of his strength and is making a conscious effort to not hurt you. One of his hands moves from your face, down your body and grabs at your hip, the other moving behind your neck. Your own hands move to grab at the material on his chest, holding on.

He pulls away from you, only enough to talk, his lips still brushing against yours as he speaks “Fuck, open your mouth more.”

His words shoot straight through your body, you feel like you’re shaking. You do as your told and he moves your head with the hand on the back your neck slightly. When he moves to kiss you again it’s at an angle; his mouth slotting against yours, the kiss deepening. You’re feeling lightheaded as he starts to kiss you with urgency, less gentle. His tongue licking into your mouth has a whimper leaving you against your will. He smirks against your mouth at the sound and pulls away from you.

No one has ever kissed you like that in your life, he’s so much more skilled with his mouth than you would’ve thought. You blink tears away from your eyes as you both stand close together his lips brushing against yours, teasing you.

“Kiss me again, please.”

“mmm, you’re so much more agreeable like this.” He’s smug, you don’t like that his words make your pussy throb.

Opening your mouth, you go to put up a fight, but he puts his mouth back on yours causing you to whine in response. His hands grab you tighter at the sound, and he begins walking you backwards until your back rests against the building you were standing behind.

His other hand moves from behind your neck and down your body, stopping at your tit and pawing at it. You let out a gasp at the feeling, your hands move from his chest to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. His hand leaves your breast and travels the length of your body, landing on your thigh, he pulls your leg up to rest on his hip.

He won’t move any closer, and you think he’s trying to be polite and not push you further than you want, but you want him so badly. Whining against him you use your leg to pull his hips into yours and he grunts against you.

Parting your lips again he looks at you, he seems pleased with the look on your face, “You look so pretty, eyes all glazed over from a kiss.”

The words are mocking but your reactions to him seem to inflate his ego, not that he needs the boost.

“I’ve never been kissed like that,” you find yourself admitting to him.

A faux pity look falls across his features, “Poor, sweet, girl, never been kissed properly.” He noses at the side of your face before his lips rest against your ear. He blows cool air against it and an involuntary shiver runs down your spine.

“mmf, not fair, you’re teasing me.” He’s mean but its turning you on to no end.

“Yeah, but I think you like it,” he pulls back to look you in the eyes again, “isn’t that right?”

A blush breaks out across your skin in response to him, you can tell it’s not a rhetorical question, but you don’t answer him.

Your lack of a response displeases him, his voice comes a little firmer, “I want an answer when I ask a question.”

“Yes, I like it.” Being forced to admit that you like how mean he is to you is embarrassing.

“I know you do.” He’s smug again, not that he ever stopped.

His lips are so close to yours, you lean forward slightly to kiss him, but he pulls away at the last second. Your head drops back against the wall, and he chuckles at you. Leaning forward again, he kisses your neck, before lightly sucking marks into it.

He mouths at the length of your neck, savouring the way you twitch and try to contain the noises you make in response. The hand holding your hip moves under your robe to cup your pussy through your panties, a whine louder than you would’ve liked is pulled from you, your blush deepening at the sound.

He talks into your neck as his fingers trace the seam of your cunt through your underwear, “You’re so sensitive, react to the smallest of my touches.”

His fingers continue to touch you through your panties, two of his fingers moving to part your lips through them. An embarrassingly wet squelching sound results from his actions. A strangled noise comes from deep in his chest and he moves his head back and looks up for a second, “Fuckin – you are so fucken, wet and I’ve not even touched you properly.” He’s looking you back in your eyes, his gaze dark, he looks like he’s being eaten alive, or wants to eat you alive.

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, he talks so much, in fact, you think this is the most he’s spoken to you without you having to reply.

“Bi-Han, please –”

“Mmm say my name again.” He’s lightly grazing the seam of your pussy, never touching your clit.

“Bi-Han,” you repeat his name for him.

His voice sounds strained, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

The nickname he’s graced you with makes your heart skip, “please, touch me… properly.”

“Since you asked so sweetly.” His hand leaves you temporarily to slip down the front of your underwear, his fingers slide through your cunt, and he can feel just how wet you are now. “Jesus – ” He curses at the feel of you.

His mouth captures yours in a heated kiss again as his middle finger slowly enters you, you clench around it and you both moan into the kiss. His thumb slowly rubs circles on your clit, you jump at the contact, sensitive from neglect and desire. You’re trying to hold back whines and moans, still aware that you’re out in the open. Bi-Han doesn’t seem to care and if he does, he isn’t letting on.

He pulls back from your mouth, “God, you’re fucken – how am I gonna – fuck, look at you.”

You’re trying to grind down on his hand, desperate for more, anything he’ll give you; you’ll take; you just need more.

Gasping you say, “more Bi-Han, please.”

“Always asking so sweetly,” He slips his ring finger inside you, filling you up more. One of your hands moves from behind his neck to cover your mouth, attempting to muffle the moans trying to come out.

Both of his hands are occupied, one on your thigh holding your leg to his hip and the other stuffing your dripping wet cunt full, the sounds coming from you are making him feral and he wants your hand off your mouth. Now.

“Remove your hand, now.” He shoots you a fierce glare and you comply straight away, hand removing from your mouth and grabbing onto the arm of the hand inside you. His fingers move quicker inside you, reaching deep, hitting something that’s never been touched, your head falls back, and a whine comes from deep in your chest.

“Fuuuck, thas it, thas what I was looking for,” Bi-Han seems overjoyed at your reaction, your eyes wet and glassy from pleasure.

You aren’t sure if your hand is trying to push him away or pull him closer, your breaths are coming faster and another moan is pulled from you as he speeds up his thumb on your clit.

“fff – Bi-Han, I can’t, is too much.” It feels too good, it’s never felt like this before.

“Shuddup, you’re fine,” He leans forward so his mouth is by your ear again, “You’ve been doing so well, baby, come for me and then I’ll stuff you full of my dick, mmm?”

“ah ah, it’s different, too much – ngh –”

“Poor baby, never been finger fucked this good, mmm?” He doesn’t slow down; it feels like he speeds up.

Your moans hit a higher pitch and you feel like you’re falling apart into the palm of his hand, “thas it, doing so good,” he keeps whispering praise into your ear and then he blows cool air against your ear again. The shiver that runs through your body has your eyes crossing as you cum all over his fingers and palm with a shout of his name. He moans at the feel of your cunt spasming around his fingers.

“Thas fucken it, good girl, shit –” His fingers continue pumping into you until you start flinching away from him.

He removes his fingers from your pulsing pussy, and sucks both of them clean before shoving them in your mouth. You suck his spit and your cum from his fingers, his eyes glazing over as he watches you suck on his fingers.

He retracts his fingers from your mouth slowly and traces them down your chin, neck and chest, leaving behind a wet trail as he goes.

“Can we have sex now, please?” You ask him, you feel insatiable, he makes you insatiable.

He looks like he might melt into a puddle on the floor at your words, “yes, fuckin hell, you have beautiful manners, sweet thing.”

He pulls his pants down enough for his dick to be released from its confines, and, he was right before, how is he going to fit. “Bi-Han, you might be too big.”

“Jesu – you really know how to inflate a mans ego,” you aren’t meaning to, you are genuinely concerned he might not completely fit, “we’re gonna fucken make it fit, you okay with that?” he asks you.

You nod your head instantly, you can take it, you want to take it.

“Fucken, eager,” He states, if anyone else had said it you’d feel offended, but you know he means it as a compliment.

He spits on his hand and grabs his dick, lubing it up to make the glide easier. The display is filthy and has you wanting to get on your knees for him.

“You ready?” he asks you, and every time he checks on you it has you going dizzy.

“I’m ready,” you smile up at him, as he moves your panties to the side.

“Fuck, alright, try and relax.” He guides his cock through your slick folds, rubbing the head of it against your clit.

Slowly, he begins to push the head of his dick into your pussy hole, it’s already a tight fit. You reach out and place your palm on his shoulder, indicating to him to hold still for a minute. He stops moving forward with just his tip in you, a pinched look on his face, like he’s in pain.

“Goddamn, you’ve got such a – ngh, tight little cunt,” he sputters out, he’s doing deep breathing exercises as he waits for your okay to keep going, “mmph, trying not to cum like a fucken teenager, you’ve got a – ngh – beautiful pussy.”

You involuntarily clench around him at his words, and he grunts in response, “please, keep going, Bi-Han.”

He nods his head and continues to slowly inch into you, pausing every now and again to give you time to adjust to him. When he’s finally fully seated inside you, he lets out a deep guttural groan, you can feel his chest rumble with it. He’s so fucking big and you feel so full of him.

“Got the tightest pussy I’ve ever been in, Jesus – ngh – such a perfect – ” your cunt flutters around him at his words, “mph, you fucken like that don’t you?”

You don’t fully register that he’s asked you a question because he’s started fucking you now, and it nearly has you going cross eyed.

“Hey! I fucken – mph – asked you a question,” you make eye contact with him, eyes glazed as you look at him, “ffffucken beautiful, you look perfect, just, like, this, split open on my – ngh – cock.” He’s barely keeping it together as he starts fucking up into you.

“I said, you fucken like it when I talk to you, mmh?” He asks you again and you understand him this time.

Nodding your head you reply, “Yes I – ah – I love it when you talk to me.” You’re practically a whimpering mess at this point, “Can you go faster, plea- ah –”

Your question is cut off by his immediate acceleration in thrusts, he wanted to fuck you faster as much as you wanted him too, maybe more. Looking at the pinched look on his face you can guess he’s still holding himself back, still too aware of his own strength.

“Hah – harder, please, Bi-Han.” You can feel his dick twitch at the sound of his name coming from your lips.

“Fffff, like it rough, do you, sweet girl?” He huffs.

You agree, you think you’d agree to anything he asked of you right now.

“You are so sweet, compliant when you’re filled with my dick” he chuckles at you, but his words have your pussy clenching around him, breaking his laugh into a broken moan.

You’re gonna come, “Bi-Han, mm gonna come, please.”

“go on then, fucken – nghf – good girl, sweeeet fucken cunt. Cover my dick in your cum, go on.” Your eyes prickle with tears, you don’t think you’ve ever been this aroused in your whole life.

He’s staring down at where you’re connected, obsessed with way your cunt is creaming on his cock, forming a ring around the base of his dick, has him almost feral.

“Fuck, fuck, Bi-Han, I’m – mmph – ” He cuts off your words with a deep kiss, tongue in your mouth, taking your breath away. Bi-Han’s thumb reaches for your clit and starts rubbing harsh and fast circles into it, his precise movements and unrelenting thrusts has you coming on his dick, hard. You throw your head back, removing your lips from his, your vision cuts off dark and you can barely hear anything with the force of which you cum.

Your mouth opening in a silent scream and then a series of whimpers spill from your lips. When you can speak, you’re praising Bi-Han, wet slapping sounds continuing, he’s not stopped thrusting chasing his own peak.

“you look fucken perfect when you cum, look – ngh – so fucked out, such a good girl – taking my cock, mph,” He’s close you can tell, his dick is twitching inside you, “the sounds you make are – sshit – mmph – angelic.”

He’s such a flatterer, your cunt jumps in after shock, you decide you wanna try something. You pull his head towards you, moving your lips to his ear to tell him, “made me feel so good, Grandmaster, never cum that hard in my – ngh – life.”

You were right, he liked that, loved being called Grandmaster, his grunts and groans get louder, tailing off into whimpers. His head drops to your shoulder, resting there for a bit.

“Where – hah – where do you want it?” He asks.

“Inside please, Grandmaster, I want it, in – mmph – me.”

He whimpers at your words, “Ahh – fuck you’re gonna fucking kill me, sweet girl – nngh.”

And then he’s coming, he fills you, both of you moaning at the feeling of him releasing all of his cum inside of you, he turns his head into your neck and bites you, the shock of it has your cunt clenching on his dick.

He’s making the most amazing noises, grunting and groaning at the feel of you wrapped around him. His own cum dripping down the sides of his cock, he’s staring at it now, watching the way he moves in and out of you, the way his cum leaks out of you, down your thighs, and down his cock.

You both stay connected for a bit afterwards, basking in your highs before parting. When Bi-Han does pull out, his fingers move to shove the cum leaking out of you back inside before shifting your panties back in place. He gently places your leg back down, before tucking himself back in his pants.

You stay resting your weight up against the wall, you’re not certain you can walk, your legs feel like they might cave in if you try to move.

“I like you,” Bi-Han says simply.

“I’d hope so,” you reply, smiling brightly at him. He looks soft for you. “I suppose, I like you too, even if you do stare at me.”

“I don’t stare.”

❆˖°

Part two

A/N: The end, I’m interested in making a second part for this if people want it, I’m also willing to write for almost every mk1 character. I disappeared because I inhaled the new game, long time mk whore over here. Requests are open if anyone wants to ask for someone specific. And if any of my Crushing series peoples read this, I am writing the fourth part, and it will definitely come out this month!

#subzero #subzero x reader #subzero smut #subzero x reader smut #bi han x reader #bi han x reader smut #fanfic #bi han x you #smut #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk1 smut

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superblysubpar · 2 months

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The Boy Is Mine (Taylor's Version Edition):

eddie munson x fem reader

summary: a romantic night in at your trailer full of fluff, a dash of spice, and an..."Alien invasion"? | main menu | this is fairly SFW, but my blog is 18+

the song: The Boy Is Mine by Brandy & Monica

1675 words

This is my submission for @carolmunson The Boy Is Mine Challenge! The scene, props to include, and dialogue to use as well as all the details on how to participate can be found here - come join in and write your version of Eddie and celebrate everyone else's. 💛

“Son of a-” Your shoulders tense beneath palms that soothe. The chuckle beneath your ear rumbles deep in the chest your cheek is pressed to when you whine, “Gets me every fucking time.”

Despite the eerie music and the jump scare on the glowing screen, you dare someone to tell you this isn’t the most perfect night, the most perfect life.

A pizza box with a few slices left sits on your new - well new to you - coffee table next to shitty horror and gore VHS tap - wait, doll, how’d Pretty in Pink get in the stack? There’s a candle burning, its warm orange glow competes for a chance to light up the space with the small flickering TV.

Activities from earlier in the day litter the room that’s meant for living, but barely able to be made out in the growing darkness. His acoustic guitar next to loose pages of doodles and lyrics, dragons and elves and stories and songs about fighting and finding love erratic and unorganized next to your small notebook, a stack of books and several applications.

There isn’t much else, not yet anyways. A collection of records and a stereo, cassettes un-alphabetized strewn about the wobbly bookshelf and milk crates. A few boxes with labels for unimportant things that haven’t found their new home yet. The rain that falls outside the open window above the couch and onto the roof of the metal trailer pings and echoes in the sparse room, making you snuggle deeper into the black cotton beneath you, squishing your cheek to a firm, but comfortable chest.

The most perfect night, the most perfect life.

The most perfect guy.

“Do you think,” he starts softly, his fingers running down your spine and back up before he asks, “I’m as much of a badass as Ellen Ripley?”

“No.”

The noise of protest he makes beneath you at your immediate and confident response has your lips twisting, fighting a smile as his legs close around you tighter. Bunched tube socks brush your calves, thighs and hips covered in soft gray sweats shift beneath you as he grumbles something about showing you just how wrong you are.

One arm stays relaxed behind his head against throw pillows propping him up, the other restless but content to fiddle with and roam over your body that’s draped across him.

The rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you and the scent of old spice around you, everything Eddie, has you humming at his “threat”, eyelashes fluttering from the peace. His fingers massage over the back of your neck, lighting up the skin beneath it and you huff out of your nose, upset about the bubble that’s about to break. Your whine lost in his worn band t-shirt.

“I have to pee.”

“So go pee.”

Your head shakes, chin resting on his chest so you can look up at him with narrowed eyes.

“If I get up and go pee, you’re gonna do something stupid when I come back out.”

Eddie looks down at you, innocent doe eyes blinking as his hands rub over your shoulders.

“I’m always gonna do something stupid, so enlighten me, what is it you think I’m gonna do this time?”

Your hand reaches up and pulls at a dark brown curl that frames the cheeks his dimples are trying not to show in.

“Oh, I don’t know, turn off all of the lights, jump out from around the corner, attack me from behind…”

“Baby, I always wanna attack you from behind.”

That earns him a fake stern look and a smack to his chest with the back of your hand.

Pink lips pout and twist in the fight of a mischievous smirk, his eyebrows bunch together and wrinkle his forehead as he tries to scoff around a laugh.

“Aw, don’t be like that. I would never scare you.”

“That’s not even remotely true,” you counter.

“Sweetheart,” he catches your chin with thick fingers, cradling your jaw as he vows, dramatically, “I promise I would never, ever let the aliens get-”

You catch his other wrist before fingers could find their target just below your ribs. Raised eyebrows to his big, brown eyes that glint with trouble, not even pretending to be ashamed he was caught.

The eye contact you’re sharing pulses, accompanied by the musical score of the thriller on screen. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip as his tongue licks over his own. The seconds of time slowly ticking by aren’t a luxury, but big, pounding, booms of your imminent fate right on your tail.

“Eddie,” you warn, lips fighting a smile. “Don-”

He screeches like the aliens, fingers digging into your sides and legs, grabbing at your thighs and pulling you closer so his mouth can pretend to bite at you as you give a shriek worthy of a Ridley Scott flick.

You can’t help but laugh though, as explosions happen on screen and Eddie gets louder, yelling your name dramatically like he’s fighting off the aliens, trying to save you despite it being his own fingers that have you wheezing and gasping for air.

“Eddie! If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a real problem!”

“Oh honey, I know! This thing means business! But don’t worry! I’ll save you, Ellen Ripley’s got nothing on me!”

He doubles down his tickling efforts, screeching and grunting out a “Not my girlfriend you monster!” dramatically into your neck before he nips at it. Quick bites and kisses mingled with alien noises until you’re swatting at his chest and wiggling off of him, shouting about how he’s the monster on your way to the bathroom.

It’s suspiciously quiet while you're gone. And when you open the bathroom door, you take a timid step out into the dark hallway and call out, “Eddie?”

“Baby,” he laughs from the living room, “I swear on Jonesy that I’m sitting on the couch, and I’ll keep my hands to myself for the rest of the movie.”

And well, swearing on Jonesy’s life is like swearing on Henderson’s mom, so you’re satisfied and confident enough to travel through the dark to return to the menace you call your boyfriend.

He sits, cross legged on the couch now, smiling. You kind of can’t believe this boy exists, that he’s yours.

Eddie gestures to the bottle of wine that’s replaced the pizza box, the large Garfield and Snoopy mugs joined by a bag of pretzels and a tub of vanilla frosting. “We don’t really have like, nice cups, this okay?”

Is it okay? Is this guy real? He’s straight out of a TV show, a favorite movie, the thing all the songs are trying to tell you about but just don’t seem possible.

He blinks at you, cheeks growing pink as you continue to stand at the edge of the living room and stare at him. His smile relaxes down to a shy, tight lipped thing as the silver metal on fingers that tap on his knees glints in the TV’s glow.

“Doll?” Eddie coughs, eyebrows raised at you when you still don’t say anything.

“Sorry,” you make your way to the couch finally, “Yeah. Really okay.”

“Cool,” he says quietly as you sit, ears peeking out through thick waves turning as pink as his cheeks.

He grabs the pretzels and you grab the frosting, popping open the lid with a grunt, and managing to get a decent amount of it in the curve of your thumb and forefinger.

Before you can scoop it up with a pretzel, Eddie’s fingers are tugging on yours, bringing your hand up to his mouth. His lips mold around the space, sucking before his tongue traces it and the room turns unberably hot despite the cool breeze and rain drifting in.

Eddie clocks the way your hips shift and thighs press together, the way your mouth parts and head tilts. The way your eyes turn a little glassy when he looks up at you.

He removes his mouth from your hand slowly, grinning and absolutely pleased with himself as he murmurs, “Oh, we like that, huh?”

Words escape your clutches just as Ripley does the Alien’s, and Eddie drops the bag of pretzels back onto the coffee table. He keeps eye contact as he grabs the tub of frosting from you, and dips his finger into it, slowly.

“Eddie, I-”

He’s smearing it on your collarbone and up your neck, your jaw and cheek as your fingers grip the couch cushion. Your chest heaves with quick breaths, a gasp slipping past your lips as he leans forward, tongue sweeping over your throat.

Eddie licks over your skin, slow, patiently, weight falling over you as you fall backwards on the couch and arch underneath him. The way his mouth travels over you is nothing like the quick nips and fast kisses from earlier. It’s slow licks, soft presses of his mouth, open and wet and breathy and dirty as he travels higher and higher.

His path leads him over your jaw and cheek now, both of you gasping for air as his fingers dig into your hips that roll against him and yours curl in the soft material on his shoulders.

He pulls away when he reaches the corner of your lips, smiling at the whine that leaves them when you don’t get the kiss you’re aching for.

“Guess you were right afterall,” he whispers, the tip of his nose tracing up yours as he does.

“Wh-what?”

Eddie grins, his mouth hovers over yours, sweet and sticky vanilla flavored lips just close enough to almost taste.

“That I was gonna do something stupid.”

“The only thing that’s stupid is that you haven’t kissed me yet, Munson.” Your eyes roll as his grin grows even wider.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs, reaching for the frosting again. “I’m just getting started.”

Rain falls, and Aliens are killed and the candle flickers on a perfect night. Your new favorite flavor of anything is vanilla because of the perfect guy.

Eddie Munson gets you every fucking time.

#eddie munson #eddie munson × reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #the boy is mine challenge #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut

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lunarmoves · 10 months

Text

your couch pillows are missing.

you noticed practically immediately after stepping foot into the living room, hair still damp from the shower you'd taken not too long ago. your couch looks so bare without them—a skeleton of the fluffy, comfortable glory it used to be. you find yourself frowning as you walk up to it and place your hands on your hips in suspicion. you're sure they were there before you'd taken your shower.

"hey sun?" you call out, knowing he's somewhere around your apartment doing who-knows-what. tidying, probably. he'll hear you no matter how far away he is. "where are the couch pillows?"

you don't have to wait long to get a response. "what did you say, dearest?" his voice calls back merrily from the kitchen. you hear some shuffling that gets a bit louder, coming from the open archway to your right. one of your eyebrows raises at his words, but you oblige and repeat yourself.

"i said, where are the couch pillows??" you say louder, then look up when a tall figure suddenly steps into your line of sight. you bite your lip to hold back an abrupt, sharp laugh.

"whatever do you mean?" sun asks innocently as he shuffles into the living room. grey sweats long enough to cover his lanky legs and an orange hoodie neatly cover his body. his arms are stuck out slightly at his sides as he waddles closer to you.

you eye his torso—the strange lumps that it consists of that you know had not been there before. "i think you know exactly what i mean."

"we don't," sun responds with all the sweetness of an angel. "care to enlighten us?"

you roll your eyes and take the two steps towards him until you're standing right in front of him. you have to crane your head back to be able to look up at his faceplate, making direct eye contact with pale, white eyes as you reach a hand out to poke at one of the lumps. your finger sinks into it.

sun lets out a gasp and gently swats your finger away. "rude!"

you finally let out that laugh you've been holding back. sun's rays do a delighted little spin around his head at it. "uh huh. say, what's that you've got under your hoodie?"

"i'm afraid i don't know what you're talking about," sun tells you, crossing his arms over his chest as best as he can. he feigns an indignant look. "there isn't anything under my hoodie apart from little ol' me!"

"suuure," you say, unconvinced. after watching him for a careful moment—exaggerating your observation with loud 'hm's and 'huh's, finger tapping at your chin—you eventually hold out your arms widely at your sides. an innocuous look plasters itself across your face. "can i have a hug?"

sun practically leaps in joy, white eyes upturning. "we thought you'd never ask!"

you're immediately scooped up into eager arms, your entire body pressed against the soft plushness of his torso as he swings you around and around. you laugh loudly and hold onto him for dear life, feeling the way his hands and arms have carefully wrapped themselves around your back. you can hear the gentle whirr of his servos and a steady click-click-click that you know is from his rays spinning about. a fuzzy feeling ignites itself in your belly that grows warmly with each passing minute.

you're dizzy and rumpled when he finally sets you down after what feels like hours, and you have just enough awareness in you to reach a sneaky hand under his hoodie to pull one of your missing couch pillows free.

sun immediately squawks and covers himself with his hands. his grin is wide, offended tilt to his voice as he says "why i never! at least take a robot out to dinner first!"

you smirk at him and hold the pillow up as though to say gotcha! "we have dinner together practically every night. admit it, the jig is up!"

sun cocks his head at you, then lets out the most dramatic sigh you've ever heard. one of his hands raises to press the back of it against his forehead. "alas, i am no match for you, my love. but! in my defense— it was moon's idea."

you let out a snort when one of his arms twitches in offense. "somehow i doubt that."

sun chuckles and gives your head a little pat. it makes you grin lopsidedly up at him. "yes, yes, too smart for your own good."

"what spurred this on anyways?" you ask as you toss the pillow in your hold back onto the couch. "feeling silly goofy tonight? hm?"

sun shrugs and reaches under his hoodie to pull the remaining pillows free. he makes haste to organize them properly on your couch—including the one you'd haphazardly tossed atop it. whoops. "i suppose! just wanted to add in some more comfort to our hugs! robots aren't exactly squeezable material, you know."

you pause and find yourself staring at the back of his head, gaze softening at his quiet admission. "aw bud, you're plenty squeezable, don't worry!"

"if you say so!" sun hums and spins around once he's done nitpicking your couch to his metal heart's desire.

"hey! none of that!" you wag a finger at him, and after a moment, spread your arms out wide again, bracing yourself for the incoming onslaught. sun perks up, looking at you with a steadily widening smile. "come on, i'll prove it!"

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createdbytragedy · 2 months

Text

LOVE

Pairing: Lee Minho x reader Warning: A few curse words, mostly in Minho's pov , Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Minho hasn't found the right word to explain his feeling to you yet, so in the meantime love will have to do.

"I love you." For him, meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time and realizing instantly that it will become his favorite. You came into Minho's life like a fucking savior in your white dress and halo. You looked at him like there was anything in him worth looking at. You made him feel so many things he can't explain.

You understood his feelings when he didn't understand his own. That's why you were the one to confess to him under the moonlight that day. "I love you, you know," you said so casually while looking at him with a smile on your face. Like it didn't make his heart thump so loud and fast he swore you could hear it, like it wasn't what he was longing to hear all those years. When Minho just stared at you with eyes you couldn't actually read just this time, you smiled. Taking his hand. "You don't have to say it back. I didn't tell you that to hear it back. I only said it so you know. That I'm always here for you. " If only you knew what goes through his mind that night. The look you couldn't read in his eyes were because no one has ever looked at you with so much love and adoration. It was love, different than the rest. Minho didn't love you. Oh, no. He feels things for you much beyond what love can explain. So, he stayed quiet that night. It was the same night he laid in bed, tossing and turning with nothing but you on his mind. Your eyes, where he sees all the stars shining together . Your hair that blows along with the wind the day he first met you. You had a smile worth dying for but, oh, when you laughed. Minho remembers reaching under his pillow for his phone that night, staring at your contact before gaining the courage to click it. The brightness on his phone illuminate the dark room and the call echoed through the quiet room. His heartbeat paced up and he feels this immense feeling he never felt before. "Hello?" your voice made his brain go fuzzy, he sprang up, feet touching the cold floor as he sit on his bed, holding the phone to his ear as he struggled to control his heavy breathing. "(y/n)," he called, your name sounding so divine and celestial on his tongue. He heard you shift. You were probably in bed. Obviously it's 3:00 in the morning. Only an idiot in love would be up at this hour. "Minho?" your voice sounded groggy and a little bit concerned, " what's wrong, min?"

Minho tried. He tried to find a word stronger than love that could explain his feelings. A word that could enlighten you the things you do to him and how much he loves it. A word that could capture the beauty he sees in you or at least come close to it. But, he found none. So, he guess, love, is the word this world has to offer to such a divine and ethereal beauty like you. "I love you, too......" he breathed out. His heart was beating so fast and loud it almost hurt. You went silent for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't say it back earlier but I -" "Don't tell me that through a phone, you coward," you had said half laughingly. He could feel the joy in your voice and it made a smile crept on his face," Meet me at the bridge and tell me that right at my face." Minho has never gotten to his feet as fast as he did now. A full on smile gleaming on his face as he did so. "On my way, my love. " he heard you laughing through the phone, probably getting ready too. The most beautiful sound in the world.

With that he threw a jacket over his white tee and dashed to the door. For once, he didn't stop to pet his cats as he wore his shoes and slammed the door shut.

That night, he ran. He ran for love. He ran for you. He ran to you. The bridge wasn't far and the chilly winds of October hit his senses. It seemed like all his days spent at the gym was for this moment. To run to you. He feels himself breathing heavily but he didn't stop. The fast beating of his heart was from either the tiring race he was running right now or the fact that he was racing to you. Both seemed like a valid reason. His feet come to a halt when he sees you already standing there. You smiled at at, looking at him, panting and hair disheveled from the wind. And he looked at you, standing under the moonlight once again like a fucking angel in your grey sweatshirt and plaid pyjama pants. He feet took slow steps towards you, breathing returning to normal but his heart was full of a catastrophic whirlwind of emotions – overwhelming love that may be unbearable. With each step, the growing pain in his heart started to intensify.

Before he knew it, you opened your arms and he fell into them like the snowfalls in December.

It felt warm. You felt warm and it felt like home, right between your two arms. The blowing wind and the occasional passing of vehicles filled the short silence of the night as Minho bathed in your warmth. You were there and that was all he needed for the rest of his life. Hesitantly, he pulled away to look at your gorgeous face, adorned with the smile he'd die for. He couldn't help but return it. And now he knew why there were no stars in the sky that night because they were all inside your eyes, shining at him. And he knew why the moon always looked so beautiful, it was because the moon is just a reflection of your beauty. "I love you," Minho tells you while looking into your eyes, just the way you tell him to and he didn't need you to say it back. Your eyes already told him so, that's why his arms pulled you closer and attached your lips with his. He kissed you. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it but simply because he couldn't have done anything else to make up for the lack of love his words needed. He closed his eyes and so did you. His left hand held your face with tender hands and his other hand held your palm to his chest. Right where his heart was located. And you can feel it beating trough your palms, telling you all the things words can't say. And he held your waist as you snaked your arms around his neck and said," I love you too." He smiled. Contently. Happily and purely.

Then, you stood at the bridge, looking at the moon while he was looking at you.

#lee know #skz #moonlovers #fluff #leeminho #stray kids #love #poem #angst #poetry #ff #fanfiction #kpop #korean #yn

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safination · 16 days

Text

Partners in Death…and Life.

Part 6: Radio’s Last Broadcast

|Part 5: Gimpse of Me and You: Part ii| |Part 7: Me and You In Eternity| |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 boy.”

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…

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w̵̅̈́͜h̷̼̾̉ỷ̶̪͔w̵̖̕h̴͇̚ỵ̸̝̔w̸͎͖̔̈́h̶͔̺̉͑y̸͉͝w̸̹̟͌͘h̷͎͍̐̄ý̴͔w̷̳̻̎h̶̻͊y̷̥̾w̵̻͚͝h̶͉͌ý̶̖w̸̛̘h̶̦̚͝y̷̫̌w̸̝̐̽ͅḫ̵̲̈́̓y̷̫͛̽w̷͚͝h̴̢͉͗ỵ̵̨̀̋ẘ̵͕͝ḧ̶́͜y̵̩͋ẃ̴͉̐h̸͖͐͒y̵͈͆͜ẃ̷̼̯h̴̘̟̒y̷̱̾̔w̶͍̣̐̒h̸̫̉̚ͅŷ̵̧͍ŵ̴̩ḣ̵̫̚y̴̹̙͆̽w̴̖̆̽h̷̼́y̴͔̍̈w̵͚͒͘h̵͚͊̽ͅy̴̙͝ẘ̵̛̗͜h̶͚́̒ý̴̡̹̍

w̷̹̎̐h̵͚̊͆y̴̫̞͛͊w̷͔͑ḣ̷̯y̵͍̎̍ẇ̷͓̹h̸͍̀y̶͇̕w̴̦̆h̵̰͖͑ý̵͍̯ẇ̶̧̹h̵̝͙̿y̶͖͠ẘ̷͓̠h̶͉̜͋̈́y̵̬̘̅w̸͔̥̄ḣ̴͉̼̓y̸̡̙̓̈ŵ̷̗̗h̵̨̜̐y̴̥̌̋͜ŵ̶̮h̶̖͖͑y̴̝̘͐͘w̵͕̉̕ͅh̶̼̅y̴̰̋ẁ̴͔͠h̸͍͋͘y̷̻̯̾w̶̫͆h̶͔͛y̴͕͌ẃ̴̖̈́ḣ̵̼͝y̷͇͉̏w̸̭̬͂h̶̭͝y̴̘͚̅̍w̸̱̟͝h̶͓̿ý̵͉̬͠w̵̙̽̚h̵͕͗y̸̳͌w̵̯̻̅h̶̘͍͆̐ÿ̶̰́w̸̲̆

ḥ̸̙̓͝ỳ̸̳w̴͍͎͆̑h̷͔͗͂ȳ̸̜̠w̴͓͖͂͘h̶͎́̒y̴̲̌w̴͓̣̍̃h̵̙͛ỳ̸̭̙̐w̷͕͛h̸͉̬̚y̶̙̣̋w̷̟͂̕h̸͎̀̿y̷͕̗͆̋w̶̱̌͝h̵̜͘ỵ̵͆ẅ̸͔ͅh̶͙͊y̶̰̅ẘ̵̹͉h̴̦̙̏ỵ̴̘͌w̷̛̠h̶̲̬͋͆y̷̹̒̕w̶͙̽͊h̸͎̺̓͝ỷ̶̺̠ẇ̴̯̱h̶̜̠̾̔ý̶͍w̸͚̽͘ḣ̸̩̘̕y̸̟̑ẃ̴̞̫̏h̵̦͚̀̀y̸̩̜͊̀w̶̡̥̱̼̩̻̮̖̎́h̸̝̖̱̺̞̻͔͉́̀͌̉̈͝y̶̹͇͓͘w̷̡̛̱͚͉̦͎̗̅̎̓̈́ẖ̵͚̒̉̈́̃͋͛y̵̘̮̣̭̙̼͐͐́͊͆͗̚͝w̴̬̖̻͉̬̞̘̄̀h̸̢̼̐̄̂͂̅́̑ÿ̶̢͖͉̖́w̶̤̖̣̝̙͖̰͑̊͘ͅh̶̨̛̞̞̼̥̯̺̭̓̀̏̃̋̅͠y̶̡̼͚͙̓̆̐̉̆͆̄͝w̴̧͈͎̬͆̏̿̑̋̒͘h̶̛̹̭̳̺͖̪̙̗̀̅͂͂̂̋ÿ̸̜̥̠͕́w̴̬̪͓̰͎͍̘̔͊ḧ̷̗͊ŷ̴̭͒̾̄͆w̸̟̯̟̑͌̑̉̀́͜͝ͅh̸͓̣͓̉͆̏͝ẙ̵͓͓̙̫̟͊̔̃̈͜w̸̨̪̲̬̟͉͍͌͂̌̌͌́̚ͅh̶̗̘̔̀̿́́̒̅y̶̙̻̯̙͗w̸͓̯̟͔͚̲̤̼̓̈́h̷͔̘͚̦̔̏̿̇͋̄̚͝y̸͖̝͠w̴̜̣͔̹̙̪̲̱̽͒̃̑͒h̴̲͂͌̔̀y̴̧̪̍̀͋́͋͘w̴̺̉̽ḩ̷̱͖̣̂̍͊̋͛͘ỳ̸͙̹̘̮̈́̏̀͐͂̐w̶̡̥̻̘̘͚̅͐̏̕h̶̻͔̯̥̀̆̃̔̏́͝ỷ̷̧̟͔̳̗̹̮͠͠w̷̺͕͋͑ẖ̷̡̺̼̥̂̈́̀͜y̴̝̲̼̖̋̄͒̀͝w̷͔̏͐̆̆̄h̶͓̞͉̩̭̬̓͂͌̃y̵̡͓͇̍͑̐̔̊͌̕w̵̡̿̀̃̔̕͝h̷̨̦̒̊̇̏̇̆̌y̷͕̖̒̀ŵ̵̢̢̨̯̤̯̜̄͘ͅh̵̨̢̛͖̩̀́̉ÿ̸́̈̈́̀͆̓̏͜w̵̛̟̬͌̈́͛͜͜ḩ̴͕̻̫̒͗͆y̷͈͉̗̏̓̿̈́͆̂͠w̶̨̟̺͉͖̰̒͋̄̉̉̔̍́͜ͅh̴͍̖͕̆̌́̌͊͑̚y̵̛͙̩͇͇w̵̝̖̉̎ͅh̸̭̠̗̺̤̀͑ͅy̸͕̾̿͋̅̕w̷͍̠̖̾̃́h̶̡͖͉͓͑ͅy̴̛̩͍͇̖͔̋̽̆͋̉̕͝ͅͅw̸͔̖͎͇̞̦̺̉̃̎̀́̚h̶͓̝͔͙̼̓͐́̈͘y̴̘̘̦͔̥̽̈́́̆̑w̷͍̉͒̿͝h̸̳̬̱͗͗̉̀y̷̨̜̠͎͊͘w̴̢̛̩̌̀̐̄̕̚h̸̡̠̯̝͋͛̄̈́̈͘͜͜y̵̪̔w̶̫͖̟͛̒͌̋͝ẖ̸́y̷͎͉̦̮̝̦̼͋̍̀̇͌̐͜͠w̷̰̮̪̣̐̿͝ĥ̶̗̦̳̺̜̜̃͑y̵͕̱̜͔̝͉̍̅w̵̩̲̼̘̹̮͌̎̓͆̈́̚͘͜h̷̳̣͈͈̩̝̣̽̄̐̓͗̒̚͜y̴̟͑͗̕ẘ̶͈ẖ̶̨̡̡̘̎̑̐̌͌̇͘y̷̹̝͈͔͔͓̻͌̽w̵̨͕͖̺͙̆̂́h̴̨̩̞̓y̴͇̲̼͇̠͇̟͚̓̌̃̈̈́̈͗͒w̷̨͎̼̫͖̗̰͆h̶̨̳͖̋̾̇̚͝y̶̱͖̗̯̪͓̑̍̀͗͑͜w̶̝̱͛̚h̵̳̀̌̽̐̊̽͝y̴̹̔w̶̳̫̪̰̟̲͚̚̕ḥ̴̛̥̼̠̤̼̣̥͐̍͐̈́̾͑͛y̴̛̗͎͊̒w̵̧͔̰͔͝h̶̗̱̻͉̘͆͌͂̚y̷̮̭̾̌͆͠w̵̨̡̛̝̓̾̈̂h̷͙͙̻̤̼̅͌̊y̷̧̞͕̩̼̞͒̆̃̏̄̈́͝w̷͓̠͌̋̃́̎̕h̶͓̻̝͚̾͜ỵ̶̬͈̹̙̭͚̅̑̔͝ŵ̸̢̖̙͖̣͕͂͊ẖ̴̭̭̂̽̑́͌̔y̴̡̲̲͐̌̏̒̈́w̷̭̳̖̝̍̀̽̊͐͊̅͜h̸̺̘͔̻̼͍̑̆̓̈́͝y̷̭͈̳̺͎͕̻̎w̶̧̞͈̃͜h̷̼͂̄̏̾y̴̡͇̤͕̰͗͝w̸͓̰̙͎̻͈͆̏h̷͚̹͋̊͜y̸̡̧̡̛̤͕͖͊͊̀ŵ̴̮̠̫̼͓̳͖̓ḩ̴̢̘̹̣̝̘̟̔̎̀̄̊̀̕y̵̞̹̽̓̓w̸̳͈̘̣͇͆h̵͔͕͒͝ỵ̶͍̱̳̭̆͆̄w̶̙̼̟̼͓͇͊̌ȟ̴̳̳̰̩̜̂͑́͘y̴̛̺͎̲̘̔̎̆͝͝w̸̦͓̒̆h̵͚̪͚͚̯͍̺͎͋́̄͐̽̎͝y̵̻̪̆͆̍̂͐̅w̵̧̙̮͛h̸̗̜̏̀̔y̶̩̪͊̀́̓̈́̎͌ẅ̴̜̜̰͑̿͆̚͝ͅh̶͚̲͎̗͘y̵̯̦͈̥͂͒͐̄̌͘w̸̡̹̤̩̱̹̤̯͝h̵̨̗̭̊͆̏͗͊̈́̈͝y̶̺̣̖̹͐̆̓͑̏͠w̷̡̟̽͛̋̈́͌̑̕͠ḫ̸̝̼̤͈̹̟̩́̓́̽y̷̢̤͈̱̟̓̍̍̒̊͌̂͘w̶͈͔̲̱̆̄͌̅́̓͝ͅh̶̟͎͙̰̝̮̑̓̋̾̈̓̃y̸̘͌̀͂̑͋w̵͉̱̳͔̌h̶̲̩̰̣̟̪͘͠y̸̮̙̬̥̲͙͊̆̌͐̓ẅ̵̳́͠ḫ̸̙͔̣̼̓̔̉͆͋͝͝y̸̢̝̖̯̬̗̣̟͇̐̔̎̀̃w̷͌̚͠ͅḧ̴̢̜͕̘̮̥̺̤́͗͆̄̀̋̈́̔y̷̢̻̭̰̝̭̽̓̿̎̂͆̾̍̚͝w̴̙͖̠͉͇̘͑̓͐͒̾́͝͝h̴̠̳̱̜͈͙̩̥͚̗͒̑̃̕ý̴̛̟̎̎̑̈͋̆w̸̗̲̪̲̳̱̦̻̻̪͒h̷͕̤͎̦̦͕̀̉͌̀͋̔̎̉͜ỹ̴̭̖̝̆w̶͓̲̋h̸̨̢̬͖̣̬̓̈̌͌͜y̷̹̻͕̰̔̑̊w̷̢̱̼̘͔̘̯͋̋̒̂͒ͅh̷̯̑͐̅̕͝y̴̙͑w̷̛̲̥̟̣̩͕̘͇̍̉̎̓͗͌h̵̢̹̼̺͎̠̬̼̆̔̎̏ỷ̵̨͎͍̘̞̍́̈͒̓̓̈́͘̕͜w̸̙̺̠͊̓̈́̎h̴͉̗͈͖̙̜̤͎́̌̇͗̓̇̇̌̽̆ͅ

ẙ̴͔̺̦̺̫̮̳̿́͛̌̈́́̕w̸̡̯̺̼̰̲̱̥̹͐ḥ̷̩͚̟̖͓̪̮͍̠͂̈́̌͂͘̚͝͝ẏ̸̛̬̳̺̺̜̯̈̉̾̇̌͌͝w̴̦͔̱̣͔͍̄̋͗ĥ̸͓̻̠̪̬͕̻̝͆͜y̵̯̤͕͉̗͔̘͂͠w̷̡͎̪̓͂̈́h̸̳̬͎̦͈̺̟̳͙̏̎̽͌̈́̄́͠y̵͉̱̘̓̈͌͂͗̎̀̏͝ẉ̶͊́h̵͉̳̀̓̌y̸̨̡̧̰̻͓̭̳̑͘ͅw̴̡̨̬̥͚͍̟̱̯̄͗͑̿̈́̍͠ͅh̷̞̊y̵̡̢̟̝͙̫̫̗͜͠ͅw̶͎͖̝̭̙̆̽̑͋h̸̡̞͖͕̹̖̟̪̪͊̂̾͒y̶̝̳͇͖̹̪͗̈́̀̂w̴̳̻̯̞̱̳̘͚̔̄͊̒̃̽̌̑̕̚ͅḧ̸̰̺͔͓̘͇͙͕̱́̀̌̈̒͐̀͘̕ÿ̷̛̗̻̱̞͔̠̙̘̯́̾̀͗͗͗̕͘ẅ̸̲͕͚͕̱̟̩͂̌͌̈́͆̄͠ͅh̸̻̝̭͖̜̱̀̿y̷͕̋͑̉͛̅͂̾̎̕͠w̵̨̗̻̤͕̯̻̻͕̜̅̋h̷̢̝̞͎̙͔͋̃̍͆̋͒y̸̢̠͙͚̫̫͇̍͊̒̊̀̔̅͐ͅw̴̛̘̞̦̘͕̼̳̠͖͐̃̔͌̀̈̐͘͝h̸̨͕̼͕̝̘̫͙͓͛͒̕͜ȳ̶͕̝̝̥͝w̶̰̜̫̖̬͕̺̽͆̊̃̀̒̿͌h̷̢̑͐̽̓́͊̒̈́̈y̶͍̬̽ẁ̸̥̤̅̑̌́́͐̏͝h̶̜̺̗̋̀͆̊͐̿̄̏̑͐y̴̻͎͙͆̿͌̏̀̇͐̚͝w̸̡̰̻̪̲̘̪̣̪̹̽̿̿́̉̐̇̚̕ḧ̸̰́ÿ̷̭͓̗͎̻̄͐̔͜w̷̺͈̝̝̰̫͓̿́̈́̊̅̑́̑̕͝h̷͚̖͕͈̊̽̍̊̃̋͒ȳ̸̛̲̰͋͛͊͘ẅ̸̡̦̤̠̣̮́̀̋͐̓͑͒͌̓͊h̸̢̛̻̪͙̞͙ý̵͓̙̺̺̻̈́̓͂w̷͖̹̗͖̜̥̱͗̒͜h̴̝̙̩̣͗̽̈́̂͐̈͋y̶̡̲̠̬͓̥͙̐̑̐̍͆̎̍̒͘ẅ̴̢̧̢͖̯̻̜͇̲̩́͋̋͘ȟ̷̛͉̬̗̞͖ÿ̷͎͕̠́̄̈́̑̋̾͝

w̶̲͖̰̫͚̻̲̋̋͘͝h̶̨͎̣̠̰͎̤͔͊̈́͆ͅy̴̨̬̣̼̯̣̪̙̬̲͒̈́̈́̈́̐w̴̧̦̲̲͋̾̾̐͒̿̈́ḧ̸̢̫͌̈̏̓͌̐͝y̵̨̲͙͙̣͎͍̟̿̂͂̄ͅw̵̥͔̜͓̹͐́̋ĥ̸̛̳̟̠̱̹̱͔̿͐ỳ̴̡̧̭͎̣͙̗w̵͕̦̬̘̳̻̉̿͗̆͛͘͝͠h̸̢͉̙͉̯̠͈͕̋͂ÿ̴̝̙̙̹̤̻͍̀w̴̛̭̟̰̟̥̻͓̗̅̓̐̂́̀́̈́ḧ̶̛̛́̔̎̋͊͠͝͠ͅy̸̡̫͍͔̣̣̟̝̝̦̓̑̐w̴̹͕̖̗̦͑h̵̖̩͉͐̔̆̊͘͠y̴̝̹̻̩͉͂̿͜w̴̧̜̻̩̔̍̕h̵̖̳̼̪͚̮̥͂͘y̵͎̰͐͜ẁ̵̧̜͎͈̖͕͇͊́̅̑͠͝͠ḧ̷͖͖͍̈̔̓̑̋͒͘ỵ̶͚̱̰̹̫̆́̈́͋͒͊͑ͅw̶̨͎̯̣̰̭̕ͅh̵̻̘̭̐̒͐͒̊̀͐̿̏͝ÿ̵͓͍̼̪̖̣̤̮̍̋͊̉̅͑̈w̸͙̻̬̱͖͝h̸̟͉̩͍̾̀̾͘ý̷̘̯̚̚w̸̧͙͔͎̣̠̤͎̾̓͑̄̓͋h̸̨̡̙̮̹̻́̈́̈́͛̑̀̀̕͠y̷̦̘͒̚ẅ̷͎̮̩̺̙̮͖́̄̐ḧ̶̤̭͕̝͚̅̃́̚̕͝y̵͕̻͎̗̺͈̆̐͜͜ͅw̶̪̱̙͙͓̋̈́͋͆̈́̅h̶̛̖̣̹̋̈̈̑́̃̎y̴̧̟̬̘̆̇̋͒̒̉̐ẅ̷̨̧̢͕̜̼̯͎̗̣́̓̽̑́̍͘ḫ̵̛̯̲͍̺̦͕͖̅̎̓̍̊̿́͘͠y̶͎̓͐͜w̶̡̮̭̙͔͚͍̺̄̑̇́͗̈́̾͝͝h̴̡̨̢̛͈͎̰̱͈͒͋͂͂͗̃̈́͊̔ẏ̴̧̢̹͖͑̐̇̑̽́͆̃͠w̷̛͙̬̪̹̞̍́͒̒̀̾́̌͠h̴̠̱̐̀y̶͓̿̐ŵ̶̖̭̄͂̓̂̈́̂̋̈́͜h̷͔̼͔̄́̂̄̋͋̕͘͜ͅy̴̰̱̱͈̏̏̍́́͠͝w̷̡̜̦͖͕̤͍̆̽͂͂̄͊̃̄͒͠

h̶̨̫̜̠̪͚̺̐͌̓͛͒̓̈̔͘͝ͅy̷̥̘͍̥̙̻̫̮̎̏͐̒͝ͅw̷̢͖̘̲̟̦̝̟̹͝h̷͖̣̪̳̯̝͍̿͐̍͊̅y̴̘̯͉̪̫͔̺̳̌͆̈w̵̧̧̞͚̗̙̗̓̂͋̐͌̍h̴̛̠̼̟̯͎͕̩̖̒̀̌͑̃͠͝͝y̸̥̜͍̣͚̟̤̟̰͓͒̿̍̀̈͘w̸̼͉̘̙̘̩̯͕̠͉͎̱͎̑̏h̸̻̻͓̆̑̄̆̿̌̓̉̂͂̐͛̆̓̓͘̕͝y̵̧̛̯̜̬̤͍̬̪̟͉̞͓͒̏͗͊̈́͗̿͆̽́͂̀͐̍́̚͘ͅw̴̧̡̟̣̠͉̮͕̥̤͎̱͒́̿̈́͋̽̈́͂͛̄͜h̴͇͖͓́̏̅̉̄͋̿͌͜͝y̷̨̺̩̲̟̰͈̩̻͔̺̹͉̜̔̎̃̄̀͌̍͜͝w̵͙̘͍̻̰̥̹̲̰̪̪̿̃̆̀͆̾̒̋̓̐̏͊͘̕͜h̶̭̬̹̘̝͖̭̭̗̎̏̾͂y̵̨̰̗̳̱̹̘̭̹̦̼̗͍͕̠͖͙͉̩̠͕̜͍̰̆͗͑̽̂͒̆̈́̓̀̓͑́̄̈́̈́̽͘w̵̛̥̼͉̅̊͑̿̾̀̐͗̅̓͐͘̚͝h̶̡̛̻͉͖͎̪̻̬̮̜̥̞̫̤̬͎̜̹̒͒̿͐̓̌̚ý̴͉̫͂͒͝ͅw̷̨̢̡̙̼̗̜̼͈̘͍̺̲͎̰̥̬̺̲͛̑̈́͊͂ͅh̴̡̨̻͍̤͙̤͇̞̉̄̒̑͆̔̅̾͐͛̉̉̿͋̏̌̈́̔͛͝y̶̨̨̳̪̲̺̟̣͕̥̱̼̝̮̳̻̦̯̺̼͒͑̔͊͌̂̑͊̿̾̉̌͌̒̇̏̓̅͘͜͠͠͠ͅw̸̡̡̦͓̣͙̠͙̮̯̱̬͍͔̤̩͓̤͆͑̀̂͆̈́̅͑͘̚͜͜͜h̵̡̢̖͇̜̘̗̤͔̣͎̟̟̱̫̳̘̜͚̣͇̖͊̕ͅͅy̸̡̢̧̟̭͕̺̪̜̩̤̺̯̘͉͖̭̥͉̐̄ͅw̷̨̻̱̮͇̪̤͎̰̲̯̪͊̓̒̓̏̒̾͋̍̈́̾̋̐͒̓͘͜͝ͅh̵̨̧̻̲̺̬̦̞̮̮̝̫̻̳̮͕̰̤̩́̈̔̓͛̉̈́̀̀̓̀͐̔̍͒̿͝͝͝͠͝ͅy̴̡̖̝͎͇̣̥̪̭͎̼̭̫͋̔̌͆̆̋̈́́͋́̔̈̏͆̃͗̇̍̒͘͝͠ẘ̷̢̢̢̥̩̙̙̝̞̞̜̟̼̩̘͎̆̾̆̾͗̔͌́ḧ̶͓̯̳̝͙͚̟͕̣̥͉͚́̍̏̀͊̎͛̍̾̅́̓͂̿͠͠͝͝y̸͓͖̙̣͚̳͓̭̺̩͈̭͉̟͛̃̇̍͌̃̎̄̀̌͑͐̄̃͋̌̐̚̕͝w̴̢̯̹͓̺̳̹̩̣͍̪͚͖̻̻̮̯͐͊̀͊̕͜͝h̵̢̢̧̺̠͓̬͈̼͙͙̦̼̮̩͙̙̩̬̫͙̞̓͐̋́͆̌̃̄̌̚͘y̶̗̯͉̪̖͙͚͈̫̝̪̣͉͉͚̞̮͉͚̹̎̽̾̔̅̐̒̇̀̉̽̔͑͑̑̚͜͜͝͠ẁ̸̡̗͇̩̠̭̪͎͍̽̑̂͐̈́͒̈͘h̵̢̗͚̠͉͙̥͎͎̦̻̮̞͕̳͔̳̭̥͙͆̄͑̿̒̆̈́ỷ̸̨̡̰͖͇͙̜̭̣̗̯̳̠̦͎̦͔̤̽̓̔́̈͂͂̃̀̿̒͑̅̏̇̕͜͠w̷̡̡̹̩͈̹̺͇̗͇̦͙̦̭͕̟̪̲̅͛̔͆̑͂́̍̾̐ḧ̴̨̠͕̖̭͎͚̝́́͊͗̂͌̉̓̓̀͋̚y̷̨̡̧̢͎̺͈̲̪̻̥̹̲͐͊̍͋̓͒̏̋̂́͗͆̒̔̈́͒̔̓͜͝͝͝w̵̢̧̗̩̹̦̬͕̤̰̫̳̻̮̥̖̦̖̟̼͎͒̈̆̆́̌̑͛͜͠͠͝͝ḩ̷̛̜̗͎̙̦͙̲̱́̿̎͛̽̋͌̄̕͠y̵̛͍̟̞͎̟̯̲͙̞̻̗̤̬̼͑̍̅̈̆́͋̌̉̈́̓̍ͅẅ̵̨̨̛̼̫̭̜͈̪̘̳̖͍̳̤̲̽̎́̍̇͋̇̆͑͌̒́͂̈̽̂͛̑͜͝h̸̨̨͙͕̘͍̤̱̣̣͈́̔̈́̅̌͝ÿ̷̡̬͕̣͓͇̖̱̤͈̟̙͔��̞͚̿̅̊͋͝w̷̳̤̦̦͙͕̯̍̋̊̔͌̂͊͐͝h̵̡̢̢̧̘̪̼̰̤͎̪͍͉̭̜̞͈͕̲̺̮̠̐̿͑͛̀̏̍̋͜͜͝͝ŷ̶̧̱̲͍̀́̅̾̍̀̌͛̓͠ẅ̷̢̛̻͑̈̏̋̅̃͋̆̏̓̈́̇̒̿̋̏͋͐̾̚͘͝h̷̥͍͓̲̓̽͊̿̾̈́

y̷̘̙̮̩̌̃̉̓͊̓̂̽̌̆͛̅̃̅̎̚͠w̶͇̼̠̙̮̟̗̳̽͒̓̊̍̓̍͜ḩ̷̢̝͎̫͔̟͚͚̺̲̺͍̜̤̳̯͕̰̔̇̃̑͆̓̅̀͌́͋̾̒͘͝͝ͅỹ̸̧̨̨̧̘̳̱̮̹̳̼̫̼̗̻̝̰̝̠͈̱̞͓̭̾̊͑̔̔̄̉͛̾̈́͊̏̚͠͝ẃ̶̨̨̲̭̻̮̣̯͖̰̳͚̖͚͓͕͕̹͜h̸̡̦̪̗͙͎͓̞̺̝͈̗̦̭͔̘̤͎̆̿͌̈́͂̇̇̒͋̊͒̑̀̓͋͌͂̑͊̉̒͜͝͠ͅy̶͍̏́w̵̛̛̬͎̤̦̼̬̼̯͖͈̬̳̜̰̞͚͎͈͗́̅̽̀̓̏̇̓́̈́̑̒͋͐͌͑̉͐͝͝ͅh̶̨̢̢̗̜͇̳̺͍̰̳̫͉̫͍͖͎̥̭̪̮̯͆̈́͆̊̽͌̎̓̽̑̒͐̚̚ỷ̶̨̛̩̻͍̺̽̇̋̃̇̀̐͌̇̈́͗͆̋̊̒̕͝͝w̵̯̭̥̜͉̤̱̦̮͔̦̲̅̄̎̿̀́͑̏̀͆̇̂͆͝ḩ̴̢̡̛̛̫̳̘̞̟͍͎͇̮͇̥̬̬̣̩͇́̇̔̆̊́̿͗͋̈́̅̀͋̇̇̽́̒̎̇̚̕ͅy̴̨̧̢̛͖͉͇̞̖̣͎͇̼̫̻͇̮̙̼̳͈̐͌̋͂̊̈́̄͐̌͐̄͗͜͝͝ͅw̸͈̬͈͈͈̺̳̘͈̥̪͖͈̹͙̣̖̱̙͈̏̍̀̉̎̍́̿͗͌͒̀͋́͊̀̋̇͋̕͜͠͠͠h̸̨̧̩̲̹͙̼͚̥͑͌̿͜͠y̴̡̪̲̟̗̣̘͉̘̘̥̣͙̣̯̦̱̖͔͗̅̌̓̋̓̏͌̎̅̏̿̚͘͜͝w̷̡̡̙̪̱͖̰̭̯̯̘͇͚͙͇͎̝̗̺̬̍̀̐͌͛̇̔̐͋̈̀̅̍̋́̂̆̂͊̓̍͑̚͠ḣ̸̢̢̢̦̹̱̥̖̻̫̱͙̝͌͗̀̓̾͊͐́́̓̿̄́̋̏͋̚̕͘͜ͅy̴̧̛̛̳͍̩̱̖͇̹̺͚͈̺͚̖̰͑̓̈́̒̄̅́͌̐̾͛̆̂͠w̵̧̡̠̦̗͕̩͔̃͛̾̋̀͊̆̇̔͂͘ͅh̸̢̛͖̟̠̗̜̥̰̙̱̀͂͌́͋͌̍̇͌̓͑͌̈y̶̨̢̨̡̫̺̝͈̩̰̼̘͖̮̥̦̬͉͕̯̼̹̋̈̇̐̓̏̐͛͛̀͝w̷̨̛͉͇̜̱̞͈̮̞̮̜̞̲͎̺̲̌̒̍̀͋͑̄̿̄̒̃́̌͛̋̕̕̚͜ͅḩ̴̡̻͎̼͖͓̬͈̬͔͈̹̙̖͖̂̇̆̌̓̀͊́̆͛̅̐́̇̄͜ÿ̸̨̢̠̖̰͔̝̠̦̮̩͖̖́̃̓ẁ̵̛̳̥̥͇͌͑̓̈́͌̒̾̂̐̈̿̉̋̔̈́̚͝h̵̡̟̭̟͇͇̬̅̄͑̏̇̍́́̓̔͛̓̈́̌͒̄̅̈́̽̈́̚͝͠y̷̡̩̲̲̘͎͗̏̌͒͝ẅ̷̰͉́̾̒̆͛̌͑̔̏̽̀̅͛̂͝͝͝͝͠ḩ̶̢̛̛̩̳̜̠͈̫̩̞͍͕̻̙̳̹̫̞͓̱̊̏̈́̂̏͌̾̑̋͊̏̑̈́̔̀͒̈́͆́͋͘͘y̸̡̱̩̘̭͙͕͚͍͆́̈́̾̓̌̿͊̌̀̅͊w̸̼͉̘̙̘̩̯͕̠͉͎̱͎̑̏h̸̻̻͓̆̑̄̆̿̌̓̉̂͂̐͛̆̓̓͘̕͝y̵̧̛̯̜̬̤͍̬̪̟͉̞͓͒̏͗͊̈́͗̿͆̽́͂̀͐̍́̚͘ͅw̴̧̡̟̣̠͉̮͕̥̤͎̱͒́̿̈́͋̽̈́͂͛̄͜h̴͇͖͓́̏̅̉̄͋̿͌͜͝y̷̨̺̩̲̟̰͈̩̻͔̺̹͉̜̔̎̃̄̀͌̍͜͝w̵͙̘͍̻̰̥̹̲̰̪̪̿̃̆̀͆̾̒̋̓̐̏͊͘̕͜h̶̭̬̹̘̝͖̭̭̗̎̏̾͂y̵̨̰̗̳̱̹̘̭̹̦̼̗͍͕̠͖͙͉̩̠͕̜͍̰̆͗͑̽̂͒̆̈́̓̀̓͑́̄̈́̈́̽͘w̵̛̥̼͉̅̊͑̿̾̀̐͗̅̓͐͘̚͝h̶̡̛̻͉͖͎̪̻̬̮̜̥̞̫̤̬͎̜̹̒͒̿͐̓̌̚ý̴͉̫͂͒͝ͅw̷̨̢̡̙̼̗̜̼͈̘͍̺̲͎̰̥̬̺̲͛̑̈́͊͂ͅh̴̡̨̻͍̤͙̤͇̞̉̄̒̑͆̔̅̾͐͛̉̉̿͋̏̌̈́̔͛͝y̶̨̨̳̪̲̺̟̣͕̥̱̼̝̮̳̻̦̯̺̼͒͑̔͊͌̂̑͊̿̾̉̌͌̒̇̏̓̅͘͜͠͠͠ͅw̸̡̡̦͓̣͙̠͙̮̯̱̬͍͔̤̩͓̤͆͑̀̂͆̈́̅͑͘̚͜͜͜h̵̡̢̖͇̜̘̗̤͔̣͎̟̟̱̫̳̘̜͚̣͇̖͊̕ͅͅy̸̡̢̧̟̭͕̺̪̜̩̤̺̯̘͉͖̭̥͉̐̄ͅw̷̨̻̱̮͇̪̤͎̰̲̯̪͊̓̒̓̏̒̾͋̍̈́̾̋̐͒̓͘͜͝ͅh̵̨̧̻̲̺̬̦̞̮̮̝̫̻̳̮͕̰̤̩́̈̔̓͛̉̈́̀̀̓̀͐̔̍͒̿͝͝͝͠͝ͅy̴̡̖̝͎͇̣̥̪̭͎̼̭̫͋̔̌͆̆̋̈́́͋́̔̈̏͆̃͗̇̍̒͘͝͠

ẘ̷̢̢̢̥̩̙̙̝̞̞̜̟̼̩̘͎̆̾̆̾͗̔͌́ḧ̶͓̯̳̝͙͚̟͕̣̥͉͚́̍̏̀͊̎͛̍̾̅́̓͂̿͠͠͝͝y̸͓͖̙̣͚̳͓̭̺̩͈̭͉̟͛̃̇̍͌̃̎̄̀̌͑͐̄̃͋̌̐̚̕͝w̴̢̯̹͓̺̳̹̩̣͍̪͚͖̻̻̮̯͐͊̀͊̕͜͝h̵̢̢̧̺̠͓̬͈̼͙͙̦̼̮̩͙̙̩̬̫͙̞̓͐̋́͆̌̃̄̌̚͘y̶̗̯͉̪̖͙͚͈̫̝̪̣͉͉̎̽̾̔̅̐̒̇̀̉̽̔͑͑̑̚͜͝͠w̷̢̧̯͚͇̺̹̪̫͚͛̔̋̔̂͑̀̀̋̒̆̈́̉̋͋̃̅̀́̚͘̚ḩ̶̢͙͙̞̖͔̥̙͇̣͉̲̣̞̅̇͛͊̑̿̏̀̽̄̄̈́̅̉̏͊̓̚͝͝ÿ̷̨̛̼̫̰̮̱̝͔͉͙̻̰́͋̂̌̂͐̾̈́̄̈́͂̀̅̽̈́̊̆̕̕͠w̶̨̡̡̛̛̛͈̠̝̣̗̹͛̍͂̈́̐̋̋́̿̋̇̏̾̉͋̕͠͠ͅh̵͕̏͆̓y̸̢̧̹̠͇̩̩̙̥̱̪̰̗̙̦̤̟̖͓̤͓͙̼̔͒̋̆̌͑́̅͝w̶̛̛̭̺̮̮͙̮̹̩̻̏̈̋̃͒̂͊̈́̑̏͊͊̍̈́͜͠ḩ̵̡̹̤̫͔̭̼̓͂̓̊̉͘͘y̴̨͎͙̻͈͓̩̰̮͓͍͔͈̭͍̳̯̙̹̍͐͑̓́̋̌͋͗͑̈́̒͝w̷̖͍̫̋̊̇ḧ̴̛̬̥̖̜͖̫̖̗͕̻͎́͗̆̎̑̈̐͐̂̔͗͝͠ͅy̸͖̜̣͖̫̰͚̺̠̥̩̿̔̃̋̈́̎͆͊̄̋̓w̴̨̻̪̗̙̙̣̾̓̉̉̉̇̓̅̈́̒̄̚h̷̢̡̞̱̰̘͙͍̪̼͈̲̤̞̹͖̯̦͖̟̞͛̾̓̈̀̒̀̚͜y̴̧̨̧͈͈̺̮̦̯̺̪̙̩̞̥̱̻̾̏̈́̊̉́ͅẘ̵̢͈͈̱̺͍̳̟̝͒̆̂̍h̵̛̜̠̪͓̙̯̹̖̼͛̇̓͆́̊̀̀͋͐̃̓͌̆́̕͝͝ͅy̶̞̗̺̤̫̙̤͖̺͈͕͇̙͒̔̇̐̾͛͋͗̀̔͊̆͊͐̎̆͆̈̓̃͛̇̅̚w̴̨̛̛̺̖̳̤̤͈͛͌̑̿̋̎̀̊̋̏͆͌͐͛̌͂̚͠͠ȟ̸̤̫̤͙͓͈̏̉̎̔̉̽̓͛̑͐̌̿̆̐͗̋̏͆͂̆y̷̡̧͔̗̩͙̻̜͔̪̹̮̼̲̋̈́̓͊̇̒̓̽̾͗͋̐͊͘͘͘͝͝͠ẘ̸̧̼̻͈̖̩͖̖̜̜̠̹͓̯̞̝̹̼̗́̅̔͐̄͘ḩ̴̮̩̥̦̎̀̈́̕͝ỷ̵̨̧̛͎̱̰̝̟̗̳̠̯̳̭̥̖̱͖͔̖͉̝̞̘͒̔̐̈̊̋̔̔̑̃̉̿͐͑̔̿͗̔̍̎̎͘ẅ̷̛͉̇̑͊̓̀̽̑̄̅̑̀̎̍̆̀̌̚̕̕͝͠ḣ̵̢̧̜̯̦̪͉̿̈̈̿̿̒̿̆̍͒͋͒͒̇̔̈́̕̕͘͝͝ÿ̸̡̨̢̛̮̥͉̩̩̦͍̼̞̥͎̼́͛͋̂͛̔͊̆́̈͘̕ͅw̴̨̼̰̝̳͔͔̖̘̣̖͖̒͘͝h̵̨̨̥̯̟͓̺̞̟̮̜͕̩̯̜̠̪͂̋̓̆͆͌̐͐̏̆̌̎̊͌̅̕͝ͅy̴̨̛̟͔̪̣̠̹̖͔̲̺̹̟̖̼̯͍̖̱̜̍́͗̈́̈́͐͗̀̌̑̔͒̂̍͠͝ẅ̶̢̠͍̱̺̫́̐̄͌͋̒ḧ̶͉̙͚̥́̈́͂͌̆̂̑̑̚̚͜͝y̵̡̟͍̻̝̮͕̖̼̌͆̆͐͆͌̆̽̂̆̓ͅw̸̨̟̭͈̖̬̝͂̀́̃̈́̔̿͝h̴̛̳͔͇͍̑̾̋́̽̿̈́́̑͊͌̎̋̄́̕y̶̦̪͍͇̮̥͎̌͜ẃ̵̢̠͔̭̹̮̊̓̂̈̎͆ḧ̵̢͖̹̮̜͙̪̳̖̟̟̩͚̹̳̰̳̤̠̯̗̲͙́͋̓̒̈́̓̓̒̽̄̆̀͐̽̃̅͛̚͘̚͝ͅy̷̡͕̩͚̞̑͐͑̚̚ẉ̴̢̛̘̖̞̳͍͎̥̭̟͎̳̣̗̦̝͔̮̓͂̂̾̊̽̽͊͗̊͠ͅh̶̫̲̟̜̭͙͓͉͇̗̤̑̍͊͐͒͋͋̊̏̒̚͝y̷͖̙̬͈͙̻̥͙̻̺̙͕̳̼͍̦͆́͊̑͌̈́̒̈͗̔̈̓̈́̇̀̇̆͗̑͐͊͋͘͝w̷̘̜̌́̆͊́͌̆͌͒͗̎̚͘͠͝ḥ̶̢̢̡̣̲͖̜̰̭͚̰̣̯͈̟̜̈́̔͗͜͜ͅͅy̸͉̖̹̹̲͉͓̠̗̜̿̒̇͜ẉ̷̨̥͇̺̘̭͕̠̦͔̥̥̀̆̆̓͊͊͗̍̈̈́̈́̐̐̐̉͜͠

h̵̡̢̲̺̮̲̱̰͙̭̲̖̜̣̭̩͈͛̒̎̆͆̋̐̑̒̉̎̕ỳ̵̨̳̭̜̻̳̝̻̳̹̒͐̈́̉̆͑̅̍̿̀̎͜͠w̶̨̪͈̤̟̰̳̫̖̗̙̤͚̺̳͌̾̀̍̎̔͊̅́͐̾̽̌͌͌̈̃̔̅̌͝ȟ̴̤̀̌̉͋͆y̴̞̦̥̮̝͍͓̻͇̪͖̳͍̬̏́̎̄̇͋̎̆̈̋͋̈́w̷̨̡̨̧͖̝̹̣̯̬̺͈͉͓̙̗̗̒̊̏̈́̀̆̈̓̒͐́̄̈́̚͜͜͠h̵̨͖̙̩̲̣̭̹̠͔̙̖͕͓̭̅͌͌̈́́͌̿̄̄͐̑͊̏́͘ÿ̷̖̬͇̺͍̻͇̞̩̫̪̻̥̼̜̗̟̞̙̲̼͔̫́́̆̍̎͑̇͗̇̾̋̕ẇ̷̧̪̤̱̘̩̯̣̠̘̍́̓̓́͌̀̇͘ḩ̸̢̺̘̰̙̰̭͈̬̻̦̰̜͙̰͚̤̩͍̳̖͚̝̂͊́̃̒̀͊͌͌͂y̶̢̨̧̼̟͖̱͙̳͚̹̰͇̺̪̘̻̱̼̼̼̬͓̱̌̅̉ŵ̶̧̜͉͎̖̩̙̰͈̪̣͚̮̲̞͓̙͕̰̇͊̀̑͋̊̈́͗̓̌̍͂̊̓̇̊ḩ̵̛͈̜͚̱͉̼̗̹̼͚͖͍̩͌̆̈́̇͂́̒̌̒̌̌́̅͊̆̀̋͗̎͌̑̒͝y̵̢̢̨͇̙̜̪̺͇̭͙̔w̵̨͉̣̭̟̫̘̝̳̻͎̣͖̯̠͖̳͛̍̇̇̓̀̋͊̈́̅̾́̏̃̄̄̕͘͠͝h̶̢̞͈͉̯̦̟̤͇̙͈̫̟͎̜̗̮̤̪̖͙̉͌̅̉̽̾́͐̋̄̌̉̿̓͑͐̚͘ͅy̸̨̢̨̧̢̮̭̹̻͍̞̪̦̞͔̺͚̰̞͊̈́͜͝w̸̧̨̡̱͙̰͔̹̫̖̭̖͔̞̹͒͂́͒͒̂͗̓̓̓̊̽̅͝ḩ̸̛̛̹̜̪͚̯͚̠̤̪̭̿̍̇̂̑̀̐̍̂̅͌͂̐͒͊̈́̒͘͝y̵̨̦̮͍̹̯͖̦͍̠͎̠͓͓̘̐̽͐̓̔̎̀̿̂̓̀̒̆̅̚͠ͅw̴̨̡͇̪̳̲̬͚͎̼̺̟̩̣̭̯̭̳͔̺̜̅͌̉̿́̑̓͊͆̈́̈́͑̄̈̌̄̃͠h̴̢̧̫̲͚̼̹̯̩͈̳̲͉͈̹̙̺̬̪̘́̈͊͌́͊̌͒̌̓̎̄̔͒̽͂̀͆͝͠͝y̸̢̢̡̥͉͓̠͓̰̤̻͉̠̩͉̹͚̞̮͉͚̹̋̇̇̋͌͊̊͌͋͒͗̊̏͜ẁ̸̡̗͇̩̠̭̪͎͍̽̑̂͐̈́͒̈͘h̵̢̗͚̠͉͙̥͎͎̦̻̮̞͕̳͔̳̭̥͙͆̄͑̿̒̆̈́ỷ̸̨̡̰͖͇͙̜̭̣̗̯̳̠̦͎̦͔̤̽̓̔́̈͂͂̃̀̿̒͑̅̏̇̕͜͠w̷̡̡̹̩͈̹̺͇̗͇̦͙̦̭͕̟̪̲̅͛̔͆̑͂́̍̾̐ḧ̴̨̠͕̖̭͎͚̝́́͊͗̂͌̉̓̓̀͋̚y̷̨̡̧̢͎̺͈̲̪̻̥̹̲͐͊̍͋̓͒̏̋̂́͗͆̒̔̈́͒̔̓͜͝͝͝w̵̢̧̗̩̹̦̬͕̤̰̫̳̻̮̥̖̦̖̟̼͎͒̈̆̆́̌̑͛͜͠͠͝͝ḩ̷̛̜̗͎̙̦͙̲̱́̿̎͛̽̋͌̄̕͠y̵̛͍̟̞͎̟̯̲͙̞̻̗̤̬̼͑̍̅̈̆́͋̌̉̈́̓̍ͅẅ̵̨̨̛̼̫̭̜͈̪̘̳̖͍̳̤̲̽̎́̍̇͋̇̆͑͌̒́͂̈̽̂͛̑͜͝h̸̨̨͙͕̘͍̤̱̣̣͈́̔̈́̅̌͝ÿ̷̡̬͕̣͓͇̖̱̤͈̟̙͔̖̞͚̿̅̊͋͝w̷̳̤̦̦͙͕̯̍̋̊̔͌̂͊͐͝h̵̡̢̢̧̘̪̼̰̤͎̪͍͉̭̜̞͈͕̲̺̮̠̐̿͑͛̀̏̍̋͜͜͝͝ŷ̶̧̱̲͍̀́̅̾̍̀̌͛̓͠ẅ̷̢̛̻͑̈̏̋̅̃͋̆̏̓̈́̇̒̿̋̏͋͐̾̚͘͝h̷̥͍͓̲̓̽͊̿̾̈́y̷̘̙̮̩̌̃̉̓͊̓̂̽̌̆͛̅̃̅̎̚͠w̶͇̼̠̙̮̟̗̳̽͒̓̊̍̓̍͜ḩ̷̢̝͎̫͔̟͚͚̺̲̺͍̜̤̳̯͕̰̔̇̃̑͆̓̅̀͌́͋̾̒͘͝͝ͅỹ̸̧̨̨̧̘̳̱̮̹̳̼̫̼̗̻̝̰̝̠͈̱̞͓̭̾̊͑̔̔̄̉͛̾̈́͊̏̚͠͝ẃ̶̨̨̲̭̻̮̣̯͖̰̳͚̖͚͓͕͕̹͜h̸̡̦̪̗͙͎͓̞̺̝͈̗̦̭͔̘̤͎̆̿͌̈́͂̇̇̒͋̊͒̑̀̓͋͌͂̑͊̉̒͜͝͠ͅy̶͍̏́w̵̛̛̬͎̤̦̼̬̼̯͖͈̬̳̜̰̞͚͎͈͗́̅̽̀̓̏̇̓́̈́̑̒͋͐͌͑̉͐͝͝ͅh̶̨̢̢̗̜͇̳̺͍̰̳̫͉̫͍͖͎̥̭̪̮̯͆̈́͆̊̽͌̎̓̽̑̒͐̚̚ỷ̶̨̛̩̻͍̺̽̇̋̃̇̀̐͌̇̈́͗͆̋̊̒̕͝͝w̵̯̭̥̜͉̤̱̦̮͔̦̲̅̄̎̿̀́͑̏̀͆̇̂͆͝ḩ̴̢̡̛̛̫̳̘̞̟͍͎͇̮͇̥̬̬̣̩͇́̇̔̆̊́̿͗͋̈́̅̀͋̇̇̽́̒̎̇̚̕ͅy̴̨̧̢̛͖͉͇̞̖̣͎͇̼̫̻͇̮̙̼̳͈̐͌̋͂̊̈́̄͐̌͐̄͗͜͝͝ͅw̸͈̬͈͈͈̺̳̘͈̥̪͖͈̹͙̣̖̱̙͈̏̍̀̉̎̍́̿͗͌͒̀͋́͊̀̋̇͋̕͜͠͠͠h̸̨̧̩̲̹͙̼͚̥͑͌̿͜͠y̴̡̪̲̟̗̣̘͉̘̘̥̣͙̣̯̦̱̖͔͗̅̌̓̋̓̏͌̎̅̏̿̚͘͜͝w̷̡̡̙̪̱͖̰̭̯̯̘͇͚͙͇͎̝̗̺̬̍̀̐͌͛̇̔̐͋̈̀̅̍̋́̂̆̂͊̓̍͑̚͠ḣ̸̢̢̢̦̹̱̥̖̻̫̱͙̝͌͗̀̓̾͊͐́́̓̿̄́̋̏͋̚̕͘͜ͅy̴̧̛̛̳͍̩̱̖͇̹̺͚͈̺͚̖̰͑̓̈́̒̄̅́͌̐̾͛̆̂͠w̵̧̡̠̦̗͕̩͔̃͛̾̋̀͊̆̇̔͂͘ͅh̸̢̛͖̟̠̗̜̥̰̙̱̀͂͌́͋͌̍̇͌̓͑͌̈y̶̨̢̨̡̫̺̝͈̩̰̼̘͖̮̥̦̬͉͕̯̼̹̋̈̇̐̓̏̐͛͛̀͝w̷̨̛͉͇̜̱̞͈̮̞̮̜̞̲͎̺̲̌̒̍̀͋͑̄̿̄̒̃́̌͛̋̕̕̚͜ͅḩ̴̡̻͎̼͖͓̬͈̬͔͈̹̙̖͖̂̇̆̌̓̀͊́̆͛̅̐́̇̄͜ÿ̸̨̢̠̖̰͔̝̠̦̮̩͖̖́̃̓ẁ̵̛̳̥̥͇͌͑̓̈́͌̒̾̂̐̈̿̉̋̔̈́̚͝h̵̡̟̭̟͇͇̬̅̄͑̏̇̍́́̓̔͛̓̈́̌͒̄̅̈́̽̈́̚͝͠y̷̡̩̲̲̘͎͗̏̌͒͝ẅ̷̰͉́̾̒̆͛̌͑̔̏̽̀̅͛̂͝͝͝͝͠ḩ̶̢̛̛̩̳̜̠͈̫̩̞͍͕̻̙̳̹̫̞͓̱̊̏̈́̂̏͌̾̑̋͊̏̑̈́̔̀͒̈́͆́͋͘͘y̸̡̱̩̘̭͙͕͚͍͆́̈́̾̓̌̿͊̌̀̅͊w̶̨̨̡̨̨̦̼̼̪̘̣̦̥̲̣̺̗̜͆̏̌͆͂̉́͊͆̅̃̎̽́̽̒͐͛͊̈́̈̕̕̕̕͝͠͝͝ḧ̴̡̧̹̰̦͕̝̝̻̜̘̗͈̦̭͎̫̞̼̹̺͓̞͓͔́͒̊̆̈́̃͑͘͝͝y̵̨��̻̯̭̺̫̬̙͉̌͋̑͌͐̒͐̒̐̽̿̔̽͋͝͝͠w̸̡̡̧̧̧̛̩̠̮̩̰̼̯͍̤̘̻̲̦̙̭͍̥͖͚̘̥͉̃̐̀̀̒̒̐͒̕͜͝͝h̵̛̞͙͓̖̞͎̱̿͆͛̌͋͗̅̒̑̅̔̀̏͛͌͌̉̆̀̊͊̕͜y̴̭̹̞͓̞̥̬̓͂̓̌͐̔w̷̢͓͇̭̺̟͇̩͖͉̹͇̲̪͕̝̫͙̰̪͓͕̪̻͗̈́̽̂̌͆̋̄͌͒̉́̄͌̃͑̅̍͒̾͒̐́̄̆̅̓͛̾͗̚̕̕̚͜͜͝h̷̨̦̻̝̖͝ẏ̸̛̰̹̦͚͔́̋̆̈́̔͆̑͌͂̈́̓̉̂͐͗̌͐̈̅̏̇̉͌̀̀̊̍̕͘͝͠͝͠ẃ̸̧̞̰͙͈͓̦͈͇̘̯͖̱͎̰͇̲̥̮̭̤̀̽̈́̍̉̈̌̈́̀̎̆̚̚͘͠͝ḧ̵̡̢̨̺͍̪͇̟͍̯͍̩̜̘͎̞̟̼̠̮̮̹̥̠̼͙̫̤̙̰̻̗̺̄͒̈̌̓͛̐͑̀́͛̓͊̿̀̀̈́̉̆̚͝ͅy̴̛̗̻̙̫̞̹̬̬͓̖͖̼̘̟̬̬̘̬̳̜̦̫̥͇̖͒̈̋̑̕ͅͅͅw̴̨͈͉̝̫̻̥̯̦̜̱͕̗̫͙̩͇̳̱̘̟͕̫͔̜̘̥͖̲̘̺͈̺̦͗͒́̇̎̌͆͊͘͜h̸̢̛̖̖͍͓̳͖̥̻̝̪̬͇̱̺̠͙̗͙̗̐͌̀͜͜͠ͅỵ̴̨̧̧̧̝͚̥͍̜̞̩̳̺̭̩̜̳̺̮͇̻̦̙̃̄̇̂̒͗̾̄̚ẅ̶̨̢͇͚̞͇͇̫̫̫͉̖̮̯́͊̈̀̓̊̋̐̓̆͑̊̎̄͛͒̂̂̊͒͆̈́̋͘̕͝͠h̶̨̨̛̯͚̳͉͓͔̲̮͈̥̦̻͎̖̮̹̅͋͌̇̈́̀͂́͌̐̄͋̀̄́̄̿̈̉̈́̍͂̅̃͌̈́̕͘͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅẏ̵̢̢̧̧̡̛͍̫̫̱͈̪̝̥̹͈̗̻̟̞͖̯͔̙͔̜̦̳̪̀̇̈̓͛̂̓͑͋̒̔̊̈́͛́̊̈́̕͜͜͝͝w̸̧̡̧̨̡̢̜͎͈̹͍͔̯̖̟̱͕̬͇͉̠̺̭͇̞̻̌͗͌͊̇̓h̴̨̖͎̝͚̔̓̆̒́͐̂́͗̀̓̂͊̃̓͌̈́̾͂̋̓̄̑̕̚͝ŷ̴̡̡̭̮̼͉̹̘̦̳̘̼͚̩͎̞̃͌̊̏̽̉̎̈́̍̉̈́͒̑̀̐́͑̿͗̉̓̉̐̈́̃̑̅̇͗͘͘̕͜͝͠ͅẅ̸̡̤̱̲̙̞̤̼́͋̓̀̄̉́̋͒̚͘͝͝͝h̶̛͈̫̬̿̀̄͌̍̏̅̏́̓͆̄̄̈́̀̾͂̀̂̏̂̅̕͘y̷̧̢̛͇̘̥̘̩͙̤̠̠̬̻̥̬͚͖̲̭̦͎̳̒͑̄̒͗́̎͌̋̇̅̀̍̎̒̔̈͝ẁ̶̩̠̼͖̙͓̊̒̾̋̔͌̚h̷̛͖̠̑̂̈̀͌̅̂̊̌͂͋͛͗̂̇͠ý̶̡̨͉͈͓̻͕̠̘̤̳̤̫͖̣̟͊͝ͅw̵̢̧̡̮̣̤͓̯̩̖͈̯̠̬̤̫̞̬͉̣̥͋̍̀̽͑͌͗͂́̍͌̐̊͒̍̋̐̾̑̓̓͊̍̆̅͐̚͘̚͘̕͜͝ḩ̵̧̨̢̲̯̝̪̥͇͎̙̦̫͕̝̼̻̙̮̞̞͙̱̬̮̘͙͕̲́̅̓̄̏͗̈͆͋͌̐͗͊̈́͑͗͌͒̓̾̓͂̈̀̿̈́͗̇̈́͐̚̕̚͜͜͝y̷̡̧̨̢͚̗͕̪̙͉̤̮̝͙͈̞̪̝̝͖̭̱̖͚͈̥̣̳̩̞͐͐͗͗̅̓̈́̂̈̾̋̏̂̓͛̿̍͂̆͗̕͝w̵̠͙͕̅̈͐̄͛̈̊͊͆͘h̵̡͖̣̪͍͎͍̘̳̺̩̥͇͋͆y̸̨̧̹̮͚̩͎̰̥̞͎̞̬̯̲͙̝̭̯͚̰͔͈̣̪̟̪͉̙̻͋̒̐̽͑̄̈̓̍̀͂̍̿̂͘͜͠

w̶̡̡̨̙̞͕̬̣̯̮̤̖̣̗̘͍͎͚̔̊̓̿ḣ̴̨̨̨̖̺͖̞̞̫͈̳̞̻̜̪̬̰̖̥͇͚̗̺̥̳͉̪̙̜̄̀͑̓͛̾̓͋̈͒͊̊̃̾̇̋̐̒͝͝͝y̸̰̬̜̺͉̙̤̻̜̼̬̥̩͉̟̲̫̞̕ͅw̵̨͓̭̩̩̳̟͖̰̠͓̘̫̘̱͙̱͈̮͓͙͓̣̱͚̰̠̟̣̹͗͜ḩ̸̢̘̘̝̙͎̫̞̟̫͓͖̣̬̘̹̆̐y̴̧̳̯͙̺̙̞̯̩̭̫̾̄͛̓́̌̑͒̂́̓̒̈́̅̀̐̌̅̓̕͜w̴̨̢̢̮͓͙̹͉̬̤͔̺̪̪̥̘͒̍̆͋̎͐̓̍̓́̽̾̀́̎͂͘͘͝ͅh̸̨̧̢̩͈͈̤͚̫̫̼̯̱̝̠̯̲͎͇̖̟̫̼͖̗̒́̄̈́͛̈͆͒̔̊̐͜͝͝y̶̧̧̻̼̩̻̦̬͓͈͇͛̃̾̀̿̾͒̿̓̈͆͊̈͆͑̆̂̆̂́͂͂̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅẅ̸̫̱̮̪̖̣̑̈́̚ͅḩ̶̧̨̡̘̞̬͔̱͓͕͙͉͙̝͚̺̤͉̦͇̋͐̓̇̂̈̃̃̈́̌̆̂̆̏̓̃̀́̒̎̊̈́́̌͘͘͝͠͠ͅÿ̴̨̭̝͓́̔̆͑̑̈̂̋̐̽͑͒̋̔̇̍̑̈͘͠w̴̨͙̱͉̫͖̹̻͈̪̮̆ḧ̷̡̬̬͈̗̲͕͚̯̩̬͚̺̖̞̹̫̥͔̩ͅy̸̨̢̮̳̟̰̣͚͇̤͛̉̐͒̋̈́̅͆̉͗͊̐͘͜͠w̸̨̨̛̤̮͓͎̪̞͔̦̖̪̜̗̻̤̣̥̫̬̰̯̤̦͎̮̟͌͑͛̈̄͐͋̒͌̓̉͐̍̌̈́̒̋̈́̀͌̓͘͝͠͝ͅͅh̵̨̢͎̖̘̣͔̺̱̗̘̳̥̘̖̘̳̘̻̻͔͙̩̥͙̫͉͎̏̄̇̇̐̏̽̓͂̾͌͂̾̽̍̌͂̏̉̌̐͛̊̚̕͠͠ỳ̶̢̡͚̳̟̦̟̀̅̓͋̋̒̈́̋̿̑̅͊͑̈́͛̎̀̎͒͘͝͝͠͝w̶̡̨̧͙͇̲͍͚̞̞̠̦̠̻̯̬̣̩̬̬̼̏̈̿̔̾̋̈́̀͆̄̆̎̐̎̽͛̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅĥ̴̡̡̤̥̯͈̦͔̼̟̱̻̪̭̝̎͂̈́̑̕y̷̨̨̧̢̡̡̱͎̯͇̭͚̲̗̞̻̬͚̞̳͍̭̯̣̞̾̈̐́͛̽͊͊̕̕ͅw̷̢̨̢̡̦͕̥̖͉̞͍̱̮̪͍̱͇̪̘̬͕̤̟͇̭͎̟̩̝͉̞͊͗́̆̎̇̈́͒̆̐͆̀́͛͛̐̎̔̑̋͌́̈͘̚͜͝͝͠͝h̸̢̟͓̲̦͖̞̤̫̹̲̟̠̱̯͓̘̭͕̊͑́͊̍̂͛͗y̴̢̡̡̢͇̖͚̹̭̗̝̙̜̭̯͇͈̯͌͒͌̓͊͗̔͂̓͊̀̔͐̾́̍̀̇́̊͋̽̓̿͑͘͝͠ͅw̶̨̛̘͇̘̺̥̖̥͚̦͇̱͈̩̳̤̤̰̤̮͙̬̫̓̏͊̃̀̏̇̏̔̋͆̎̒̈̏̏̆̀͗͛́̔̈͆͊͂͒̇͘̚͜͠ͅh̷̡̧̡̫͚̲̣̹̘͓͙͕̼͓̩̻̪̥͓͎̣͚͇͖͙̟͈̳͚̻͆̐̈́́̑͆̃̎͗̃̃̈͛̀́͐̓͗̈̌͋̉̄́̂̚͠͝͝͝ý̶̧͖̄͑͊w̶̢̡̯̳̭̘̲͓̞̳̻̗͔͉͙̤͎͖̥̲̥͆̀̅̐̓̒̈́̏̔̋̓̿̌͒̊̊͒̚͜͜͠͝͝ḩ̷̨̦͖͓̣͎̭̰̰̞͖̹͎̫͔̮̩̪̩̖͚̘͔̟͔͎̝̼̲̙̐̏̑̓̒͊̐̉͆͒͐̅͆̃̄͂͊̕͜ͅͅͅy̶̧̛̛̗̝̞̽͆̑̓͋́͊͒͊̐̈́͐͊̒̾̐̈̊̈́͂͘͘͘͘͜͝ẘ̸̨̧̨̡̢̡̳͔͙̹̲̟͓͎̥̼͇̫̤̺̜̝̼̦͍̼̠̩̝͌̐̎͊͊ͅh̸̡̧̗̝̣̺͚̞̟́̀̽̎͌̏̃͋͑̌̃̑̏͆̓̀͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝y̴̡̧̡̩̤͚̱̮̦̹̰̫̜̩͕̪͙͓̦̟̹̟̲͍̥̮̳̗̐͒̾̽̉̓̇̇̏̇̊̏̍̔͊̚͝͠ͅw̷̢̢̠̬̩̭̝͙̯̙͎̥͎̙̯̣̠̓̅̌̇̊̓̾̂̽͑̌̈́̂̽͠͠h̸̛̲̮͚͍͒̇̒̀́͌͐̿͒̔̎̓̌̇̃͘͝͝͠͝ẏ̴̧̨̖͚͙̹̥̣̗̝͚̯̣͓͉̞͖̣̬̬͚̳̘̞̫ͅw̴̧̢̛̥̰̬͙͇͓͙̏̓̌̋̄̒̓̿̊̈́̎̂̾̄͊͗̀̉́͛̈́̈̽̃͠h̷̢̝̪̦͖̬̣̜̰̱̜͎̘͖̹̲͍̠̥͖̩̓̏͒̀͒̌̐̓͗̈́̋ͅy̸̡̢͕̹̎̿̀̋̀̈́̍͐̂͆͑͐͂̆͌̋̀̏͜͝ͅw̸̧̪̣̬̹̟͈̲̗͙̤̰̩̼̞̥̭̲͉̮̖̫͒͐́͒͆̔̄̀͋͜͝ḩ̶̢̝̘͖̤̼̞̙͔̙͎̻̖͙̖̺͚̱̫͈̹̄͊͋͌̍̋̈́̍͊̈́̊͂͐̑͆̋̿̐̔̌̂̚̕͜͜͝y̵̧̘̰̥̩̠̬̥̦͂́͒̉w̴͉̒̑́́͛̈́ͅh̵̛͙̥̊̊̌̽͊̉̏̇̀̉͗̋̄͋̈́͐̾̅̒͌̿̑̑̋̽̌̃̾̆̈y̵̡̢̨̢̧̗̤͎̜̬̤̩͓̠̘̖̬͚̣̣̤͖̯̺̩̤̥̜̳̙̠̗͂̔̏̇͗̈́̌͗̎̋̚w̶̛̯̋̽͛̏͑͆̊͋̒̂̽͋͒̋̆̂̋̐h̷͇͈̞͔̤͎̿̄͜͜y̷̨̨̡̨̛̻͙̞̩̩͚̹̠͕̖̻̝̯̥̖͇̜̱͕̪͕̘̘͎̓̿͐͑̈́͌́͋̈́̌̿̾̒̓͘͘̚͜͜͜ͅw̴̧̨̨̛̭̮̮̙̼̮̭̗̗̺̠̉̏̔͆͌̀̚̚͜ͅͅh̷̨̨̦̪̙̜̞͓̗̹͕̤̮͉̺̤́ͅͅỳ̶̧̡̢̺͕͕̺̻̳̂͂͆̍͛͛̉̈́̀̎͗̆͒͂̈́̈́̀̂̆͑̾̇̋̚͝ẇ̸͓͇͍͕̣́͆

h̶̨̡̼̲͍͙̖̩̰͓̤̝̺͇͕̘̓͆̈́̈́̔̀̈́͒̓͑̇͋̚̕͘͝͝y̷͇̼͍̞̦̲̯̝̤͔̹͆͊̑́͋̐̈̂́̕͠͝ͅw̴̡̗̳͑̌͗͊̒̽͌͝h̷̨̨̧̨̛͍̤͉̼͖̫̜̤̗̭̻̠̱̻͚̞͈̮̫͍͓̙̖̣̮͗̅́̿̉̉̑͜y̸̲̗͙̮͙̤̗͍̱̋̎̏̀̆̄͌̂͐͑͛̉͗̌̈́̒̎̚̕̚͠͝ẅ̴̡̘͖̱̱̲̖̖̣͍͈̥̙̮͖̥̹̼̈̒͒̒̀͛͋͂͗̀͆̈́̓̉̓̑̔̋͛̅́̆͗̚̕̕͜͠͠͝ḧ̸̨̛̛̺̰̞̹̬̪̮̗͙̫͖͔͚̻̖̱̯̳̫̩́͗́̓́͐͊̽̋̉̈́̈́͆̋̒͂̂͗́͛̅̍̌̾̌͝͝͝y̵̦͇͎̰̭̦̬̥̤͗͊ͅẃ̷̢̛̦̠͙̱̯̟̣̜͕̰̼̺̤̮̗̹͉̙̙̝̗͌̓͐̑͜ẖ̷̦̳̬͉̳̬̳̰́̑͒̈́͛̓͜ͅỹ̴̡̨̢͓̠̩̫̙̠͉̙͖̟̳̞̲̞͈̘͖̓͋̏̔̔͛̍̉̒̈̓̑̉̐̐̄͐̋̋̊̅͆̊̇̈̕̚̚͜͝w̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̛̦̬̥̙͓̥̣̰͎͎̗̲̗͍̟̖̠͇̞̦̟̫̲̺͑̆̏͛̃͛̈́̐̃̉̓̈́̒̉̌̅̐͊̒̔̓̆͘͠͝h̸̲͒y̷̡̧̨̡̞̣͕̞͖̖̬̦͉̜̤̬̖͕̫͚̺̭̦̙͇͎̹̍̏̔̅̈̀̒͒̆̓̿̍̀́̚̚̚͝ͅẃ̴̡̢̧͙̻̪̮̩̲͕̙̬̯͇͔̠̝͍͖̪̝̹̣͉̝͈̻͊̐͊͗̆̈́̄̑̒̕ͅh̷̡̻̰̮͓̩͖̮̣̫̻͍̞̾͋̂̅̓y̶͍̬̙͉̍͐͗̆͗̿̒̔̓͠w̴̡̛̼̳̙̭͔̮̠̤͖͈̘͔̗̫̦̙̬͚̦̼̳̺̓͋̆͌̿̀̊̈́̉̌̀̇̎̍̓͒̀͒͋͌̇́͐̋̈́̑̉́̉̔͊͠͝͠ͅḩ̴̢̧̛͙͍̰̤̦͓̜͚̱̖̮͔̤̩̰̜͓̎̍͗̓̃͆̆̒̀͛̔̀̀͘͝y̷̧̨̨̫̬̼̥͕̯̤͓͕͍̟͉̫̖͔̙̱̰̯͓̬͚̠̤͛̽̍̅͂͗͌̈́́̋́̃̈́̇̀͋͐͊͆̐̾̇̔͘̕w̵̫̓̈́̅̊͊͗̓̋́̋̈́͊̒́͆͌̑̾̒͛̚h̴̨̫̯̫̻̞͍̯͙̤̜̯͙̣̮̬̣̍͒̓̽͘͜͜y̵̡̛̞̤̰͎̜͚̯̺͍̻̲̖̠̞͕̩͓̰͙̰͚̗͖͋͗͊͒͑́͆́̐̂͒̊͛̋͝͠͝ͅw̸̧̭̲̩̗̳̜͚͉͔̪͕͇̬̰̙̻̙̬͖̱̠͇̱̦̦͈̥͇͎̯̅͆̑̇̈́̃̅͛́̌́͂̚ͅͅͅh̸̛̛͈͍͉̉̾̆͋̈́̊̇̃͆͒̅̌̿̀̋̋̎̈̿̀͛̐́͒̈̏͂̎̏͗͌̚͝y̸̨̨̢̨̫͙̼̻̜̞̼̝̦̬̦̫̺̱̯̯͚̲̳̫̱̹͚̠̖͇͔̮͛̄̓͌͒̏̄͐̾̿̏́̆̐̀͌̚͝ͅw̶̡̡̨̙̞͕̬̣̯̮̤̖̣̗̘͍͎͚̔̊̓̿ḣ̴̨̨̨̖̺͖̞̞̫͈̳̞̻̜̪̬̰̖̥͇͚̗̺̥̳͉̪̙̜̄̀͑̓͛̾̓͋̈͒͊̊̃̾̇̋̐̒͝͝͝y̸̰̬̜̺͉̙̤̻̜̼̬̥̩͉̟̲̫̞̕ͅw̵̨͓̭̩̩̳̟͖̰̠͓̘̫̘̱͙̱͈̮͓͙͓̣̱͚̰̠̟̣̹͗͜ḩ̸̢̘̘̝̙͎̫̞̟̫͓͖̣̬̘̹̆̐y̴̧̳̯͙̺̙̞̯̩̭̫̾̄͛̓́̌̑͒̂́̓̒̈́̅̀̐̌̅̓̕͜w̴̨̢̢̮͓͙̹͉̬̤͔̺̪̪̥̘͒̍̆͋̎͐̓̍̓́̽̾̀́̎͂͘͘͝ͅh̸̨̧̢̩͈͈̤͚̫̫̼̯̱̝̠̯̲͎͇̖̟̫̼͖̗̒́̄̈́͛̈͆͒̔̊̐͜͝͝y̶̧̧̻̼̩̻̦̬͓͈͇͛̃̾̀̿̾͒̿̓̈͆͊̈͆͑̆̂̆̂́͂͂̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅẅ̸̫̱̮̪̖̣̑̈́̚ͅḩ̶̧̨̡̘̞̬͔̱͓͕͙͉͙̝͚̺̤͉̦͇̋͐̓̇̂̈̃̃̈́̌̆̂̆̏̓̃̀́̒̎̊̈́́̌͘͘͝͠͠ͅÿ̴̨̭̝͓́̔̆͑̑̈̂̋̐̽͑͒̋̔̇̍̑̈͘͠w̴̨͙̱͉̫͖̹̻͈̪̮̆ḧ̷̡̬̬͈̗̲͕͚̯̩̬͚̺̖̞̹̫̥͔̩ͅy̸̨̢̮̳̟̰̣͚͇̤͛̉̐͒̋̈́̅͆̉͗͊̐͘͜͠w̸̨̨̛̤̮͓͎̪̞͔̦̖̪̜̗̻̤̣̥̫̬̰̯̤̦͎̮̟͌͑͛̈̄͐͋̒͌̓̉͐̍̌̈́̒̋̈́̀͌̓͘͝͠͝ͅͅh̵̨̢͎̖̘̣͔̺̱̗̘̳̥̘̖̘̳̘̻̻͔͙̩̥͙̫͉͎̏̄̇̇̐̏̽̓͂̾͌͂̾̽̍̌͂̏̉̌̐͛̊̚̕͠͠ỳ̶̢̡͚̳̟̦̟̀̅̓͋̋̒̈́̋̿̑̅͊͑̈́͛̎̀̎͒͘͝͝͠͝w̶̡̨̧͙͇̲͍͚̞̞̠̦̠̻̯̬̣̩̬̬̼̏̈̿̔̾̋̈́̀͆̄̆̎̐̎̽͛̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅĥ̴̡̡̤̥̯͈̦͔̼̟̱̻̪̭̝̎͂̈́̑̕y̷̨̨̧̢̡̡̱͎̯͇̭͚̲̗̞̻̬͚̞̳͍̭̯̣̞̾̈̐́͛̽͊͊̕̕ͅw̷̢̨̢̡̦͕̥̖͉̞͍̱̮̪͍̱͇̪̘̬͕̤̟͇̭͎̟̩̝͉̞͊͗́̆̎̇̈́͒̆̐͆̀́͛͛̐̎̔̑̋͌́̈͘̚͜͝͝͠͝h̸̢̟͓̲̦͖̞̤̫̹̲̟̠̱̯͓̘̭͕̊͑́͊̍̂͛͗y̴̢̡̡̢͇̖͚̹̭̗̝̙̜̭̯͇͈̯͌͒͌̓͊͗̔͂̓͊̀̔͐̾́̍̀̇́̊͋̽̓̿͑͘͝͠ͅw̶̨̛̘͇̘̺̥̖̥͚̦͇̱͈̩̳̤̤̰̤̮͙̬̫̓̏͊̃̀̏̇̏̔̋͆̎̒̈̏̏̆̀͗͛́̔̈͆͊͂͒̇͘̚͜͠ͅh̷̡̧̡̫͚̲̣̹̘͓͙͕̼͓̩̻̪̥͓͎̣͚͇͖͙̟͈̳͚̻͆̐̈́́̑͆̃̎͗̃̃̈͛̀́͐̓͗̈̌͋̉̄́̂̚͠͝͝͝

ý̶̧͖̄͑͊w̶̢̡̯̳̭̘̲͓̞̳̻̗͔͉͙̤͎͖̥̲̥͆̀̅̐̓̒̈́̏̔̋̓̿̌͒̊̊͒̚͜͜͠͝͝ḩ̷̨̦͖͓̣͎̭̰̰̞͖̹͎̫͔̮̩̪̩̖͚̘͔̟͔͎̝̼̲̙̐̏̑̓̒͊̐̉͆͒͐̅͆̃̄͂͊̕͜ͅͅͅy̶̧̛̛̗̝̞̽͆̑̓͋́͊͒͊̐̈́͐͊̒̾̐̈̊̈́͂͘͘͘͘͜͝ẘ̸̨̧̨̡̢̡̳͔͙̹̲̟͓͎̥̼͇̫̤̺̜̝̼̦͍̼̠̩̝͌̐̎͊͊ͅh̸̡̧̗̝̣̺͚̞̟́̀̽̎͌̏̃͋͑̌̃̑̏͆̓̀͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝y̴̡̧̡̩̤͚̱̮̦̹̰̫̜̩͕̪͙͓̦̟̹̟̲͍̥̮̳̗̐͒̾̽̉̓̇̇̏̇̊̏̍̔͊̚͝͠ͅw̷̢̢̠̬̩̭̝͙̯̙͎̥͎̙̯̣̠̓̅̌̇̊̓̾̂̽͑̌̈́̂̽͠͠h̸̛̲̮͚͍͒̇̒̀́͌͐̿͒̔̎̓̌̇̃͘͝͝͠͝ẏ̴̧̨̖͚͙̹̥̣̗̝͚̯̣͓͉̞͖̣̬̬͚̳̘̞̫ͅw̴̧̢̛̥̰̬͙͇͓͙̏̓̌̋̄̒̓̿̊̈́̎̂̾̄͊͗̀̉́͛̈́̈̽̃͠h̷̢̝̪̦͖̬̣̜̰̱̜͎̘͖̹̲͍̠̥͖̩̓̏͒̀͒̌̐̓͗̈́̋ͅy̸̡̢͕̹̎̿̀̋̀̈́̍͐̂͆͑͐͂̆͌̋̀̏͜͝ͅw̸̧̪̣̬̹̟͈̲̗͙̤̰̩̼̞̥̭̲͉̮̖̫͒͐́͒͆̔̄̀͋͜͝ḩ̶̢̝̘͖̤̼̞̙͔̙͎̻̖͙̖̺͚̱̫͈̹̄͊͋͌̍̋̈́̍͊̈́̊͂͐̑͆̋̿̐̔̌̂̚̕͜͜͝y̵̧̘̰̥̩̠̬̥̦͂́͒̉w̴͉̒̑́́͛̈́ͅh̵̛͙̥̊̊̌̽͊̉̏̇̀̉͗̋̄͋̈́͐̾̅̒͌̿̑̑̋̽̌̃̾̆̈y̵̡̢̨̢̧̗̤͎̜̬̤̩͓̠̘̖̬͚̣̣̤͖̯̺̩̤̥̜̳̙̠̗͂̔̏̇͗̈́̌͗̎̋̚w̶̛̯̋̽͛̏͑͆̊͋̒̂̽͋͒̋̆̂̋̐h̷͇͈̞͔̤͎̿̄͜͜y̷̨̨̡̨̛̻͙̞̩̩͚̹̠͕̖̻̝̯̥̖͇̜̱͕̪͕̘̘͎̓̿͐͑̈́͌́͋̈́̌̿̾̒̓͘͘̚͜͜͜ͅw̴̧̨̨̛̭̮̮̙̼̮̭̗̗̺̠̉̏̔͆͌̀̚̚͜ͅͅh̷̨̨̦̪̙̜̞͓̗̹͕̤̮͉̺̤́ͅͅỳ̶̧̡̢̺͕͕̺̻̳̂͂͆̍͛͛̉̈́̀̎͗̆͒͂̈́̈́̀̂̆͑̾̇̋̚͝ẇ̸͓͇͍͕̣́͆h̶̨̡̼̲͍͙̖̩̰͓̤̝̺͇͕̘̓͆̈́̈́̔̀̈́͒̓͑̇͋̚̕͘͝͝y̷͇̼͍̞̦̲̯̝̤͔̹͆͊̑́͋̐̈̂́̕͠͝ͅw̴̡̗̳͑̌͗͊̒̽͌͝h̷̨̨̧̨̛͍̤͉̼͖̫̜̤̗̭̻̠̱̻͚̞͈̮̫͍͓̙̖̣̮͗̅́̿̉̉̑͜y̸̲̗͙̮͙̤̗͍̱̋̎̏̀̆̄͌̂͐͑͛̉͗̌̈́̒̎̚̕̚͠͝ẅ̴̡̘͖̱̱̲̖̖̣͍͈̥̙̮͖̥̹̼̈̒͒̒̀͛͋͂͗̀͆̈́̓̉̓̑̔̋͛̅́̆͗̚̕̕͜͠͠͝ḧ̸̨̛̛̺̰̞̹̬̪̮̗͙̫͖͔͚̻̖̱̯̳̫̩́͗́̓́͐͊̽̋̉̈́̈́͆̋̒͂̂͗́͛̅̍̌̾̌͝͝͝y̵̦͇͎̰̭̦̬̥̤͗͊ͅẃ̷̢̛̦̠͙̱̯̟̣̜͕̰̼̺̤̮̗̹͉̙̙̝̗͌̓͐̑͜ẖ̷̦̳̬͉̳̬̳̰́̑͒̈́͛̓͜ͅỹ̴̡̨̢͓̠̩̫̙̠͉̙͖̟̳̞̲̞͈̘͖̓͋̏̔̔͛̍̉̒̈̓̑̉̐̐̄͐̋̋̊̅͆̊̇̈̕̚̚͜͝w̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̛̦̬̥̙͓̥̣̰͎͎̗̲̗͍̟̖̠͇̞̦̟̫̲̺͑̆̏͛̃͛̈́̐̃̉̓̈́̒̉̌̅̐͊̒̔̓̆͘͠͝h̸̲͒y̷̡̧̨̡̞̣͕̞͖̖̬̦͉̜̤̬̖͕̫͚̺̭̦̙͇͎̹̍̏̔̅̈̀̒͒̆̓̿̍̀́̚̚̚͝ͅẃ̴̡̢̧͙̻̪̮̩̲͕̙̬̯͇͔̠̝͍͖̪̝̹̣͉̝͈̻͊̐͊͗̆̈́̄̑̒̕ͅh̷̡̻̰̮͓̩͖̮̣̫̻͍̞̾͋̂̅̓y̶͍̬̙͉̍͐͗̆͗̿̒̔̓͠w̴̡̛̼̳̙̭͔̮̠̤͖͈̘͔̗̫̦̙̬͚̦̼̳̺̓͋̆͌̿̀̊̈́̉̌̀̇̎̍̓͒̀͒͋͌̇́͐̋̈́̑̉́̉̔͊͠͝͠ͅḩ̴̢̧̛͙͍̰̤̦͓̜͚̱̖̮͔̤̩̰̜͓̎̍͗̓̃͆̆̒̀͛̔̀̀͘͝y̷̧̨̨̫̬̼̥͕̯̤͓͕͍̟͉̫̖͔̙̱̰̯͓̬͚̠̤͛̽̍̅͂͗͌̈́́̋́̃̈́̇̀͋͐͊͆̐̾̇̔͘̕w̵̫̓̈́̅̊͊͗̓̋́̋̈́͊̒́͆͌̑̾̒͛̚h̴̨̫̯̫̻̞͍̯͙̤̜̯͙̣̮̬̣̍͒̓̽͘͜͜y̵̡̛̞̤̰͎̜͚̯̺͍̻̲̖̠̞͕̩͓̰͙̰͚̗͖͋͗͊͒͑́͆́̐̂͒̊͛̋͝͠͝ͅw̸̧̭̲̩̗̳̜͚͉͔̪͕͇̬̰̙̻̙̬͖̱̠͇̱̦̦͈̥͇͎̯̅͆̑̇̈́̃̅͛́̌́͂̚ͅͅͅh̸̛̛͈͍͉̉̾̆͋̈́̊̇̃͆͒̅̌̿̀̋̋̎̈̿̀͛̐́͒̈̏͂̎̏͗͌̚͝y̸̨̨̢̨̫͙̼̻̜̞̼̝̦̬̦̫̺̱̯̯͚̲̳̫̱̹͚̠̖͇͔̮͛̄̓͌͒̏̄͐̾̿̏́̆̐̀͌̚͝ͅ

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h̴̢̧̛̠̻̪̫̖͎̗̬̝͈̟̖̙̼͕̙͙̹̼͇̰̦̭̖̠̤̞͙̭̬͙̼̥̹̖̜̝̉̈́̉̋̎̌́̀̊̾̇̈̊̏̋̀̓̅́̇̃̽͌͂̊͐̓̒̉̒̈̈͛͛̇͑͑͒̐̌̾͗͊̎̚̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅy̸̨̢̛̳̯͕͚̤̺̹̜̘͔̤̱̯̠̮͍̬͔̥̤͙̘̗͇̻̅̆͛̾̽́̎̑͆̈́̈́̆͂̀̅͊͌̈́̊̌͌͒̔̍̈́̾̍͘̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅẃ̶̧̛̮͇̹̱̪͕͈͉̙͔͂̈́̈̆̓͂̀̒͋̓̓̓̋̀́̽́̎́̎̓̈̇́̓̈́̓̆̎̕͝͝h̵̛̛̘͔̱͖̳̪͍̟͖̯̽̾̇̆͌̓̑͑͂̐͂̈́̈̂͐̃̀̋̇̾̊̈́̆͗̐̈́̿̒̈́͒͋͐̈́̈́̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅẙ̸̢̡̧̡͚͍̬̠̖̮̙̳̹͖̉̀̀̒͑͂̿̌̍͂̈́́̕͜͜w̶̧̢̢̨̡̨̛̥̥̥̜͇̙͎̭̥̜̰̱̗̼̩̳̤̼͔̼̘̦̲͖̣̮͔͇͙̖̝̱̦̠̲̫̳̝̽́͆̊͐̏̈́̊̑̊̾͒̅͐̇̾͒̈́͆̊͋̈͑̃͌̀̈́̿͑̓̑͋͒͑̚̕̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͝h̶̨̡̡̡̨̛͕̤̜̤͚͚̗̱̖͓͇̬̺͕̖̗͈͈͚̱̺̰͙͓̪̻̜͎̠̳̦̥̞̟̼̼͈̫̹̹̔̅̍͊̌̿͋̌̃̔̽͛̓̌̿̚̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅy̸̨̢̢̳̩̘̥̺͇͇̳̮̗͔̤̤̘̠͙̼̣̘̜̺̰͇̣͕̦̜̙̣̫̳͈͓̗̜̘͕͍̥̲͋̎̐̽̑͒͋̅͌̇͊̌͊́̈́̒͐̓̌̅̍͊̈͛͂̉̅̉͐̈́̈́̑̉̃͛̕̕͘͝͝ͅẅ̸̢̡̨̖̻̞̹̺̹̣̮͚̣̣̳̗̼̭͔́̋̆̐͝h̵̨̛̤̳̹̦̯͈̱̺̺̞̤̪̣̞͖͖̳̤͎̦̼̭̪̼͚̖̀̓͊̄̅͂̓͌́̂̎̒̒͛̈́̌̿͊͌́̏̾̕͘̚̚͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅỹ̷̨̬̩̯͚͚̠͙̻̗̞̫̎̓̃͐͆̓̈́̀̊̈́̅̌̐̇́̀͊̊̌̐̍̈́̂̀̔̽̎̅̃̋̈̇̕͝͠͠͝͝͠w̶͇̭̠̞̲̯̐̆̂́͛̃̇̈͋̎̓͋͑̈́͂̅͑̋̀͒́̅͑̓̓̌̋̉́͆͘̚̚̕͘͘͝h̸̢̡̻͚͇̰̫̞͖̝͓̥͖͚̦̤̞͉̠̥̞͎̦͖̦̺̗̗̰̞̤̜̗͑͛̌͋́̾̎̈́̐̀̀̈̄̒̽͗̓̿̚̚͜͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅý̴̢̢̨̱̫̼͎͙̮̥̤̲̰͙̱̪̥̼̭̗̥̪̲͓͉̹͎͚̮͔̦͚͉̱̰̱̗̔̈̃̍̀́͌̇̐̔̊̆́̋͆̆̂̕͝ͅw̶̘̱͕̲̻͉̠̐̄́̽͆́̈́͐̈́͌͗̿̓̍̃̅̊́̿̔̀̏̋̋̀̕̕͘͠ḩ̸̧̖̱͍̬̼̼͎͚̙̗̮̰̰̫͓̠͖̞̩͚͈͖͈̬̖̭̩͔̺̱̌̈͂͗̿̎̏͊̈́̐̽̀͆̅̒̍͆̒̎̀͘̕͜͝ͅy̶̨̮͈̳̼͍̥̟̹̘̬̝͍̺̻̠̳͙̜̆͂̓̉̿̎̈͌͊̌͑͒̉͌̄̀͑̈́̊̿͐̇͌̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅw̴̡̧͉̼̦̲͙̠͉̫̭͍̖̮̼̦̠̹̼͈̬̮̹͔̲̝͔̥̱̹̜̝͍̯̱̲̳̺̝̣͂́̆͊̍̑̔̔̓̅̏̎̀̌͒̈̏̅̀͘̚͜͝ͅḧ̵̨̘̞͈̭̘̱͙̲̤̥̯́̌͂̈́̿̆͝ͅy̷̢̢̢̡̨̢̛̙̼̘̜̗̫̘͉̗̝̩̩̱̱͓͚̖̪̯̮̼̘͓͉̰̬͕̙̰̋̎̊̈́̔̐͂̈̏̒̊̓̒̾͒̎͋́͊́̀͗́̑̀͗͐̓͋́̄̓̐͌̏̃̾̈́̐̒̂͠͝ͅw̵̧̡̢̨̱̘͉̖̗̮̼͚̗͚̝̠̳̥̗̻͍͔̱̩̤̹̼͚̗̙̠̦̜͉̼͔̓̈́͆͛̽̉̆͛̾̐́́͒͒̇̓̌̆̃̎̿͊̾̀̈̈́̇̕̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̢̢̡̢̨̹͍͓̣̣͙̣͕̟͎̬̪͉̳̝̰͎͖̘̣̘̪́͗͐͠ͅy̵̢̡̛̛̛̩͓̪͇͓̻̻̙͍̠̜͓͎̲͎͈̩͚̯̠̱̪̮̻̳̲͂͗̎̊̈̿̌͛̾̀̔͗́̓̎̀̈́̀͋̀͐̈̄̓̓̾̋̀̄͗̀̋͐̃̊͊͆͗͛͊̊̓̚͠w̴̢̡̟͙̹̫̖̼̠͚̙̤̳̼͍͉̦̤̣͓͖̬̫̳̠̫̯̮̰͆̀͂̄͊̏̅̊͗́̿̈́̓́̎̆̓̊̄̈̅̉̐̍̿͑̕͜͝͝ͅḩ̵̡̢̨̛̙̗̯̞̫͔͖͈̭̫̖̩̗͈͔̜͇͙̟̦̼̦̦̖͔̞̦̹̝͇͖̠͎̈́̃̀̐̿̍̐̍̒̽͐̈͗̃́̉͒̎̿̏̈͗̓͌̐̉̽̑͜͠͝͝ͅy̸̋̈̽̾̆̍̒̓́͐͆̈́̕͝ͅw̵̧̧̧͇͎̭̻͔̰̲̖̻͎͎̺̙͓̲̎̅̾̌̓̔̄͒̈̀͋͆̍̀̀̎̒̄́͑̃̈́͑͆̏̈́̍͆̓̔̾̂͂͋͗̈́̚̚̕͠͠͠͠͝h̸̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͍̙̫̮͎̲͉̠̜͈̝̠͍̰̺̬͇̦̰̤̦̲̫͕̟̰͚̝͍̱͔̯̙̞̰̤̫͙͊̀͑̏̅̃̎̿̉̃͐̎͋͂͋̈́͑̉͒̿̒͑̌͌͆̇́͌̒̀͒̏̿͊̏͑̈́͑̈́̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͠y̵̡̨̢̻͓̥͔͙͈͚̬̩̞͕͔̘̳͖̠̙̞͇̪͐̀̑͊̽̀͋̐̓̽̂͊̿̎̉̓̀͌́͂̈́͛̓͂̒̅̚͜w̴̺͋́̓͋͑́̌͂̂̆̋̈́͋̾̔́͗̿͗̾̈̋͌̀̔̽͆̓͘͘͘͝ḧ̷̡̧̡͔͙̣̜̳̟͈̤͖̪͉̦̙̘̥̮̹̩̺̱̖̮̼̗͓̪͎̙̯̺̠̹̜̩̹͖̪̬̤̼̹͚́͊͒̀̀͗͋̂̒̆̀̅̾͒͐̃̅̉̑̀̕͠͝͝͝ͅͅy̸̧̨̨̛͖̫̙̖̺͎̣̘̹͕̟̖̦̭̱͕̺͈͚̤̟̭͎̜̦̳͓͕̝̳̰̝͕̬̮̟̩͉͊̌͒̈́͋̀͆̍͗̉̈́͑́͘͝ͅw̴̛̻̯͎̝̠̲̣̲̹͓̝̹̱̳̭͔̐̂͑̓̉̑̐̽͛̔̓̀̽̋̈́̽̎̌̈̏̈̍̓̄̽̅́̈́̀̈́̈́̽̓̀̂̓͋̎͑͂̋͊̕͝͝ͅͅh̵̨̨͖̯̤̞̩̹͓̲̠͎̟̫͙͉̠̒̃̅̈̀́̈́̈́͜ͅy̷̨̡̢̟͔̺̥̞̪͍̩̻̥̫̘̤̹͖͍̦͇̼̲̘̼̫̗̻̹̹̲͎͉̺̭̆̐͗̓̋͂͋̏̐̊͑̂͗͐̉̀̀͒̔̓̉̓́͒͑͂̿̐́̊̈́̀̏̌͆͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅẁ̵̡̧̧̦̖̯̠̞̳̠̼̩̲̗͉̼̬͖̯͖̪̥̞͙̹̯͕̮̯͎̹̻͈̤̪̘̰̇̒̌̈̄̂̈́̀̒̄́̈́́̏̈́̀͑͆̽̆̐͝ͅͅẖ̴̡̢̧̛̻̦̗̭̜͕̮͇̯̝̬͕̣̗̙̖̣̤̄̐̅͊̐̃̈́̊̿̄̇̃̔̈́̃͌̈̓̊̀̈́̈͑̃̈́͆̏̑̃̎͐́̄̎̓̒̆̈́͐͂̓͘̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̴̧̡̧̰̯̯̖̞̣͕̥͎̥̙͔͕̜̯̹̰͖̥͕͇̞͉̬̫̻̮͋͗͒̀͐̍̆͒͋̎̀̓̌̔̈́̉̌͑͋̍̔͛̓͋͐͂͊̈̽̅͒̏̂́͗̇̈̎͘̚̕̕͘͠͠͠͝͝ẅ̴̡̟̱͇̙̲̱̙̼̤͓͍̭̼̣̭̜͕̦͕̙̬̜͇̥̣̲͚̥̰́̇̀̃̔h̴̥̙͚̝͔̺͕̦̠̰͒́͊̉̔̅̿͊̓̆͑̂͌͆̀̎͛̐̓͌̊̑̑̀̈́͋̀̂͑̾̿̽̿̋͊̏́̃̓̅̐͊̈́̑̕̚̚̚͘͜͜͝y̷̝̭̗͇̳̲̟͍̤̤̩̜̮̫̗̝̰̬̖̥͂͌͂̀́̒͆̇̈́̔͌̃̓͑̈́̊̚̚̚͠͝͠w̷̨̧̧̢̮̟͙͎̗͖̤̙̖͙̱̦̳̦̱͎̮͉̅̔͆̏̂̄̉̂̐̄͑̓͛͋͜ͅh̵̛̰̫͉̜͓͇̻̠̦̓̃̀̀̊̃̐͐͆̏̈̍͗̃̋̒͆͌͗̔̒͋́̉̉̾͐̅̈̒́̊̋̋̔̌̂̂̚͝͝͠ͅy̵̧̨̨̤̹̠͖̖̮̹͙͎͎̦̫̖̭̼͍̳͍͙͔̻͙̥̪̝͎̘̪̮̯̯͚͉̪̣̬͖͇͎͗̅̈̋̊̎̚ͅͅͅw̸̢͍͇̯̼̭̥͔̥̭͆́̿͛̌̈̈́̂̈̈́̄̎̿͌̎̚͝ḥ̶̙̹̿̽̌͒͊̄̇́̓͐͊̋͋̓̈́̀̇̍͂̉̌̎̐̈́̏̆̐͒̒̚͘̕͝͝͠͝y̴̢̢̡̡̛̘̱̦͎͚̳̰̼̪̩̱̞͓̖̜̰͍̭̦͔̞̗̯͙̭̘̤̲͍̱̭͓͇͇̥̭̒̔̈́̽͗̔͜ͅͅẉ̶̢̧̛̞̣̣̦̟̰̺̥͙͉̦̻̮̭̩̠͔͓̼̬͖͒̈̾͒̌̊̉̆̕̕ͅh̶̡̢̢̦͓̫̪̟̻̮͔̥̗͈̼̳̘͇̪̼̦̤̣͍̱͈̬̥̙̮̘̳̰̘̞͚̼̭̞̱̻̫̪̙̙̥̖̿̐͛̏̾̾̌͛̈́͆͂͆̈̈́̿̈́̔̉͑̈́̽̇̕̕̚͝͝y̵̅̆͛͐́̓̉͌̆̓͂͜͠͝w̴̢̢̡̨̮͓̝̤̝͓̘͓̲̖̼͖͖̱̘͓̞͔̦̱̞̬̹͚̙̰̼̹͕͙̥͕̓̆̅̀́͒͜͜͠ͅh̸̢̧̢̡̨̧͙͍͙̩͇̼̯̠͉̲͎͚̯͔̤͈̠̺͇̗̼͇̗̦̘̹̯̬̳̣̟̤̩̾̎̈̌͜͜͠ͅͅ

y̸̢̨̨̡̛͇̳͖̥͕̬̠͉͓̠̩̫̩͕̼͕̞͈̪̺̹̱̺̝̘̮͍̘̞̬̓̾͋̐̋͌̅̒̀́̀̄͛̓́̊̈͜͝ẇ̴͍̳̖̯̣̣̩͉̩̻̲͙̘̩̜̳̭͓͕͔̖̪̀̈́̂̍̉͋̍̏͒̅̽̀͛̀̂͌̊̈́̐̂̚̕͜͝ḧ̵̨̦̼͚̙͔̜͔̫͕͚̙̻̰̲͍͖̪̝̪̱͖̭͔̗͈̩͇̞̘͉͍͕͓́̾̓́̈̂̂͗̐̈́̽̃̈́̓̉̈́̒͌͛͒͋̿̀̔̃͊̉̕͘͜͜ÿ̴̢̛͈̟͔̬̺̖̹͇̻̗͓͔̺̮̲̫̜̹̻̠̯̣̤̬̳̈͊́͗̽̽͆̐́̕̚͝͠w̶̨̧̢̛̛̛̩̟̝̬̫͕̯͇̳̝͍͔̭͉̣̻͍̹̘̜͕͇̪̾̿̀̏̈́̏́̀̎̅̌̊̆̈́̄̌͛̓̈́̓̿̈́̽̓̚̚͝͠͝h̶̛̛͖̙̳̫̻̜̲̝̦͓̬̀͛͂̓̒̿̏̈́̏͋̐̾̋̄͒̅̈̎̍̾̇́̈́̐͗́̎͛̅͐̓̏̍̄̅͗̈́͋̕͘͘̕͝͠y̶̪͕̰͛̀̌͗̄̓̏͌̐̆͆̾̓̌̓̌͝w̴̧̡̙̪̟̪͉̭̹̤͈͚͕͔̫̦̱̯̝̭͉̠̺̟̯̜̠̼̘͙̣̬͙̳̜̞̺̯͉̜̜̻͕̒̑̈́̏͗́̀͐̀̓̔̿̿͒͂̀̉̐̈́̋̈̅̍̔̆̂̂̋̽͒̏̔͛͋̌̎̐̅̌͑͑̒̿̚͝h̶̨̢̡̭̜̘͖͍̮͇̝͓͕̱͉̼̭̭̼͔̯̃̏̈́͗̒͛̈́̀̌̒͌̾̃̓̂̇͛̔̂́̋̿̇̓̒̀̀̈́͊͗͊͌̑̐̓͂͘͘͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅý̵̢̛͍̰̠̖͖̩͎̙̼̣̦̮̻͚́̀̌̊̊̈̑̃̓̓w̶̡̥͓̻̟̳̟͎͇̹̣̤̪͕̝͎̺̱̣̺͈̱̝̪̻͉̻͔̦̺̱͚͚̜̏̂̽̓̈́̑̔͌͗̑̂̏̄̀̀̾̓̊̓̆̀̿̋̍̀̌̈͛͌́̈̿̆̋͆̊̾̐̓̔̍̑̊̚͜͠ͅh̵̡̡̧̛̛͎̜̠̮̗͉̠̰͔̹̣̼͍͖̫̘̰͎̘̙̟̞̬̫̻͚̘͖̽̄͗̆̇̇͑̾̋̓̄̑̈͘̚͝y̴̡̡̛͙̰͉̰̮̙̗͍̼͍͓̭͓̫̩͔̠̱͖͎̱̮̙̫͖̹̻̜̖̖͙̜̳̮̠͗̏̈́̾̔͋͊͒͆͂̂̎͋͆̀͂̽͜͝ͅw̴̛̛̛͙͊͂̂̄̔̍̇̏̆̈́̒̄͂͗̍́͋͊̎͒̅̿̑͗̉̓̓͂̌͋̇̆́̌͋̿͋̾̎͌͛͛̽͠͝͝͝h̵̨̨̢̢̢̻͔͇̜̳̹̳̰̺̪̹͎̞̱̞̭͓͖̬͕͈̭̹̟͖͔̖͕̙͉̺͍͉̪͍̝͔̲̭͍̘̗̾̉͊͂̀̑́̅̔̌͐̍̇̃̀̔̐̈́̍̀͊͐̽̐̕͜͜͝͝y̵̨̧̧̻̦͎͇̦̣̖͚̝̞̙̗̟̮̭͎̫̠̼͕̖̙̗̜̗͇͕̳̺̤̠̥͓̝̑̃̈́̊͒̅̄̒́̽̔̍́̃̆̅̋̈͆̀̀͐̄͂͂̀̀̚͜͜͜͠͝͠ŵ̴͈͈̮̙͉͖̣̩̬̻̜̌̀̊̎̓̏͝h̷̛̛̹̗͑̇̈́̿̋̈͂̇͐͌̏̈́̇͑͌̍̿̈͐̃͂̆̔̌̚ý̴̨̛̛̘̭̻̰̬͙̙̠̺̘̯̪͕̝̹̱͉̼̲͖̤͇̩̥̮̰͕̃̇̉͊̈́̏̽̀̿̋́͛͊̈́̂̔̿̀̇̅̔͂͆̏̽̿́̀͗̎̉̏͊̔͆̈͘͘͘͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅẇ̵̢̧̙͙͎͉̲̪̘̹̙̫̲̖̮̮̭̰͕͉̘̱̻̲̤̤̰̙̭̘̯̰͚̤̟̙͑̈́̅͑́̒̾̅̀̏̚̚͘h̵̡̢̧̨̢̛̛̞̰̞̪̬̲̜͉̮̙͖̣͉̦̫̪̭̙̤̯͚̤̠̩͉̬̼̫̥͉̪̗͓͖̠̯̻̱̅͒̑̏̂̑̒̓́̋͗͐̍͆́͆͐͛̑̊̓̍̕̚͘̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͝ÿ̵̨̡̡̧͍̤̪̭͖̺̠̻̠̬͖͕͔͎̺̠̣͕͚̠͔̹̬̲́̾̆́̐͒̊̈́̈́͐͋͗̽̐́̐͛̐͒̽́͂͋̃͛̇͒͋̎̀̔͗̾͋́́̿͒̾̉̎͌̊͊̕͘͜͝͝ͅw̷̢̧̧̨̖̭̜͍̟͓̳̻̤̪͈̰̯͙̜̭͉͔̭̖͇̤̻͇̗̬̠̥̼̫̦̤̰̠̖͈̣̰̻͗̈́̍͂͛̓͊̉̋͋̂̂̔̾̾̅͛̔̈́͌̓̄̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅh̵̨̛͇̞͈̫̟̼͍̪̟̝̗̮̰̻̱̟̖͑͒́̈́̄̾̉̀͊̀͐̅̋̉̔̕͜͜͠ÿ̷̨̛̤̪̟͈̰̹̗̗̫̳̺̳̖̯̲̱̮͍͖̤̻̣̹̥͖̥̗̺̥̬̟́̿̃͊̔̀̄͋̀͛͐̎͊̍͌̈́̔̃̎̔́̓̅̃̃̀̀͋̀̕̕͘̚͘͘͜ͅͅͅw̵̡̛͎͙̱̺̹͌͆̆͋̇̅̏͆͌̉͑́͒̍̓̃͐̑͛̐̈́͒͐̑̋͆́̒̚̚͠͝͝ͅh̸̺͈͒̈͌̂̅͐͗̉̓͛͋̏̉̐̎̌̾́̓̈́̽̕͝y̸̢̨̢̨̛̛̲̪͖̹̖̞͙̗͉͓͈̮̻̫̥̞̬̱̦̣̘̱̙̩̯̓͌͂͒̏̏̑̃̆̈́́̀̊̄̂́͌̉̆͌̕̚w̴͍̠̙̑̈́̍̀͑͐̇̆̇̋̈́͆͒͌͗̀̂̓̀̀̇̏̍͒̏́̾̓͠͝ḧ̸̨̧̛͈̲̘̻̞̳͇͓̭̻̪̘̘͍͚̳̬̼̯͖̝̠͈̈́̔̎͊͆̅̋͋̇͐͆̊̉̓͒̿́̈̅͗͆͝ͅy̸̧̧̢̨̧̢̟̱̼͖̯̦̲͉̼̪̬̣̭͖̟̩̝͓̝̮̠͇̳̙̖̯̽͂̎́̆͌͐̏̉͌́̆̅̀̐͋̓̓̑͆̈̄̈́̅́͒̓̅͋̀̎̀̃͑́̉̑́̃͗̓̕̚͘͠͝ͅw̷̡̢̡̮̰̣͚͍̪̝̤̟͕͇̻̺̘̺̖̝̯̪͇͇͍̭̭̖̦͈͉̄͑̏̾̒̈́̈́͋͐͌͘̚͜ͅͅh̷̢̡̘̰̳͉͖̯̮̬̥̪͚̜̞̱̺̝̼̳͓̪̮̩̝̤̣̠̗̯͎̦̘͎̳̮̬̖͖̺͇̯̞̬̗̲̃̈́̐͂͗̾͗́̓̋̓̔̐̽̎͌̄̿͌̏̊̈̀̔̚̚ͅͅỹ̷̧̨̧̡̡̢̡̦̞̜͚̪̺̗̳̗͖̠͇̣͕̭̞̹͙̪̼͚̫̳͕͍̪͕̘̀̓̇͂̏̓̈́̄͗̌͋̍̕͝w̶̢̢̛̯͓̬̝̤̺̹̲̱̻͊͂̈͛̉͆̈́̄̍̓͋̑̀͠ḫ̴̱͓͙̣̱͙͙͉̮͓͚̹̼͍̲̦͇̫̻̮͖̥̩̀͌̈́̍̓̅͑̿̐̉͑̐̉̑̏̊͌̓͌̽͆̀̎̈́̀̐͆͂͋̕̚̕ÿ̴̧̨̧̡̡̧̛̛͈͙̱͎̜̠̝̬͈̠͉͓͖͖̰̫͚͙̟̳͕͖̥̥̜̺̲̟́̈́́͛͒̏̌̓͛̍̽̌̆̈́̃̂̽̎̽̇͌́̿͂̈́̈̒̌̓̇́͑̃͐̌͐̃͊͘̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͠w̸̡̞͕̦̯̥̘̖̲͈̳̔͑̆̈́̀̊̓̉͠ḧ̶̗̞̹̥́̄͌̓̈͂͋̑́̌̑̽̔͋̽̒̎͑̿͂͘̚͘̚͠y̸̨̧̡̨͈̗͙͍̦̦͔̬͔̥̻̪̳͎̳̬̮̲͈͈̘̯͇̫̜̅̾̌̾̽͑̓̀̎̈́̀̈́̏̄͑̌̀̈́͂̿͆̔̏͆͐̑̔̋͑̒̃̏̈́̔̓̕͘͜͠ͅw̶̢̡̳̜͓͍̞͚̼̱̫̟̜̫̟̣̙͉̫̹̪̖̠̮̎̒͜͝͝h̷̢̨̨̨̨̼̱͚̹̼̲͓͉̪̯͉͓͕̮̤͖̝͓͖̫̗̞̼̜͓̖̲̮̟̗̹͚̜͙́̍̿̐̈́̓́͆̅͐̚͝͝͝ͅy̴̧̢͔̝͎̮͚͍̮̮̰̤̘̰͔̖̣̣͉̩̠͔͈̯̰̣̙̤͋̓̄̔͐͌͐̍͑͑͒̑̚̕w̸̢̨̢͈̜̱̲͚̹̰͓̘̙̞̰̪̯̤̦͍͖̲͖̣̼̘͕̖̣̯͇̟̄̌̈́̇̌͊̊̀̔̔͛͛̂̈́̊͋̔͊̇̿̀̔̒̀̾̂͛͘͘͜͠͠͝ͅͅh̶̡̨̡̛̭͖͔̙̺͚͔͓̝̘͇̤̦̞̗͇̝̖̙̲͇̲͔̹̥̪̥̹͖̪̞̪̪̺̤̣͙͖̿͊̇̆̅̏̓̅͑̄͗͐̍̇̋͐̐̀́̌̀̽͋͗̔̀̒̀͆̀͑̌̏̋̆͊̎͐̈̏̚͘͘͘͝͝͠y̴̢̝̲̙͈̞͖̼̫̖̝̋͊̎͑͊̎̃̓̑͗̎̋̔̈̒̄̀̒̃̔͒͜͠w̶̡̛̼͙̫̩͔̘̠̲̰̼̮̳͔̠͔̣͎̃͛̽̿̒̆̓̓͑͛̄͐̀̍́̀̉͌̈́͊̆͗͑̇̔̉̊͂̊̑̾̚͜͜͝͠͝h̵̡̨͙̘͍̹̠̯̲̯̐̎͛̏̂̄̀̈́̈́̈́̎͌̔̉̅̓̉̾̆̌͒̍̽̈́͑̄̿̈́̑͌̄̈́͂̄̏̎͌̀̕͘͝͝͝͠y̶̢̼͙̩̲̱͚͇̲͈͍̝̹̣̰̘̘͔͉͔̼͔͔͎̩̗͔͇̥̥̓̾̀̀̋̆̊̏̑̏̐̒̋̓̌̊̎͊̂̊̍͌͛͆́̽̋̚͘̕͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅw̸̨̧̛̯̩̤̫͔̫̬̤͍̝̹̹͖̞͍̝͓̲̜̫̠̪̜͓͈̞͔͖̌̈́̃̔̑̿̓̊͋̈́́͛̈́̉̐̋̊̍͐̑̿̔̈̔̓͆̅̓̊̀̚̚͜͜͝͝͠h̷̡̛̰̜͈͇̪͕̱̘̲̲̬͛̎͘͜ý̴̧̧̢̛̭͖̫̭̗̣̲̺͓̗͔̹̹̪̻̘̞̝̗̘͚̲̼͕͔̜͔̦̘͚̞̦̝͖͛̋̆̀̒̅͒̔̔͗͂̐͐̓̇̽̒̽̌̐̅̊̾̂̍͗͋͒́́̈́̃͘͘̕͘͘͘͜͝ͅ

ẇ̵̨̡̛͉͎̊́͛́̐͐̍̊̑͒̃̍̀̉͆̽̐̉̽̀̂̋͌̌̏̽̄̄̀̍͊͑̎́̕̚̕͝h̶̞̜̯̬̬͙͇̤͋̀́͂̌̔̇͌̕̚͘͜͜y̶̨̡̨̧̛̛̙͚͉͖̻̞̘̤͇̺̝͉̲̞̝͉͇̻̰̻͚̮͉̙̜̰̳̝͕͕̙͍̥̞̤̜̥̏̾̾̐͒͑̐̓̇̔͌́̈̐̓̐̀̀̆̒̍̃̓̈́͊͐͆͊̐́̎̚͘͝ͅẅ̴̨̡̨̡̧͎͉̬̙̱̩͍̥̲͈̭̺͚̫̦̙̰̯̩͎͖͓͍͇͙̻̻̯̹̜̲̩̜͍̘̪͈̼̖̣̑̒̌̄͛̚͜ͅͅh̵̨̧̢̭̟͍͈̺͓̻̙͚͍̮̱̫̮̠͍̙͖͍̹͔̆̃́͗͌̇̎͐̈́̋̓̅͜͜͜͝ͅͅỵ̶̢̨̘̱͔̲̖̳̖̰̞̯̞̼͚͈͔̣͎̩͙̮͓͕̲̭̟̱̟̤̯͇͛̀̑̍̀̍̌̽̋̾̿͌͑͗̃͑̉̒̍̇͛̏̂̇̆̐͋́̓͋̄͐͑̇̏̑͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͝w̴̡̼͈̰̰̙̙̦̘͇̠̲̝̯͔̳̹͎͇̜̪̗͙͉͕͉̮̣̾̈́̃̆͗̅̽̿̓͋͑͜͝͠͝ͅͅĥ̵̨̛̛̬̳̭͉̾͗̊̋̊͒͂̈͑̓̐̓͛͐̑͂̊̈͗̈̏̈́̕̚̚͜͠͠y̷̨̨̨̡̛͓͈͉͍̳̝̝͔̣̟͚̯̤͕̠̞̥͔̘̩̫̼̥͕̤̝̔̏́̔̐̋̽͒͑̋͋̌̉̔̀͂̇̾̓̎̃͊̈́̈́̂̀̋͝͝͝w̵̡̡̡̧̳̼̭̗̙̘̥̘̞̱̙͇̗͖̯̺̣͉̣͉̭̠̙̳͚̘̐̓̿̃̅̋̾͂͒̎̓̃̒̀͐͒̑̿̎̋̾̈́͒͐̓̐̆̊̚͝͠ͅh̶̻̲͓͕̣̯͎̪̟̦̬͇̠̯̍̇͆̈́̓͑̂͌̽̃̏̏͗̅͋̄̿͐̈́̏̈́̋̈̐̀̍͂̽͂̑̇̆̽̂̍͘͘̕̕͘͝͠͠ͅy̷̨̢̦̗̩̟̭̞̟̪̱̭̬̗͔͕͉̬̳͚̥̫̌̄͐̆̀͛̓̓̂͐͑̑̈́͆͆͐̉͋͛͒̎́͆́̃͑̇̿́̍͂̐̈́̃͋͛̓̃͜͠͝w̷̧̢̨̡̛̤̗̯̣͍͎͈̮͙͓̰̤͙͙̜̜̥͕͔̖̗̯͋͐̆͊̿̑̾͒͌̇̐̇̍̀̽͆͆̉͊̓̓̈̐͋͊͗̀͋̄͛̉̐̇̾̈̑͘͘͠͝͝h̷̢̡͉̗̥̲̞͎̦̖̼̥̘̩̠̘̫̼̱̮̬̩̦̱̘͓̠̒̍͌̈́͂̃̎̔̈́̅̊͌̈̍͆̋̃̇͑̓͂̋̃̊͆́̃̑͆̃̆͛͊̿̔͐̆̒͐͗̈͘͜͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅy̴̧̢͙͕͕̭̳̳͚̥̝̱͙͈̥̹̤͈̙̗͕̝͚͓̥̘̫̜͓͙̩̕w̸̨̢̛͚̦̻̦͇͍̟̠̪͇̰͖̲͔͙͚̪̰̱͎͉̳̜̦̬̤̮̬͖͓̻͖͕̼̥̥̯̪̼̜͓̤͖͙̣͓̃͆̈̐̎̇̉̀̑͊̌̀̀̐̿̒̽͗̍̽̄͒̑͋̊̅͗̉̾͛̋̀̇̇̈́̕͘͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅh̴̢̧̧̛͇̫̤̱̺̞̹̮͇̦͊̀̄̽͐̏̐̇͒̐̂̀̈̅͐̑́̉̇̓̎̉̉̎̔̂̊̏̌̑͘͘͘̕͜͝͠͠͝ͅÿ̵̡̲̳̬̞̣̗͙͕̫̟̦́̽̓͋̈́̓͊̉̃͗̑̇͆̀̾̂̈́̎͐̂̐̽͝w̷̡̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̨̯̰͉̖͚̙͕͈̞̫̼͍͕̞̭̯̫̗͚͓̩̱̠̹̺͙̲̃̔͜ḩ̷̢̛̛̖̰̭̣͉̦̤͕͕̟̻̪̞̱̗͖̫̼̫͔̠̩̪͇̩̝̮̘̝̮̠͊̋̓͑̒̏̿̎̌̎̃̂̌̓̈́̊̽̓̃̾̀̀͆͒̀̉͂̄̈́̊̊̆͂̉͛͌͗͊̆̀͂͗̓̈̽͘͜͝͠y̵̡̮̼̙̥̬͇̤̭̝̲̲̼̘̼̥͕̼͂̍̀͑̽̎̑͛͋̚͝͠w̸̨̭̩̌͗͌̿̈͒̚͝h̶̢̖̺̯̝̝͍̭̝̭̪͕̯̺̥̘̱̹̤͚̞̪͉͔͈̻͈̟̠͍͖͚̦̤̫̻̱́͂̾͂̈̃̔̐̃͛̒̇͂̑̂̓͂͐͘̚͘͜͜͝ͅy̷̨̢̧̡̛̭̙͚͙̬̣̟̻̻̼̦̺̲̫͙̝̠͓̦̺͚̞͍̮̹̬͚͋͋̒̊̈̈̀̈́̍͋̽̀̉̐͊̿̑͂͗̓͑̇̽̈́̑̿͆͋͆͌͆͘̚͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅw̶̢̡̛̪̱̪̻̲͕̞̓̀͐̌̈́̄̿̾͆̈̉̂̊̄̎͂̂̈́͂̐̈́͒̇͊̆̄̌̾͒̈́̌̓̏͒̓̊͑͂͑̎͗̕͘̚͘͠͝͝͝ḩ̴̨̢͚͍̗̣͎͙͖͉̣̘̻̮̳͚͙̞̦̭̱̥̯͈̤̮͍͇͚̱̭̤͉̹͖̞̘̘͇͍͖̗̯͙͖͇́̃́͛͊͗̀̍́̒̉̒̍̑̈́͗̿̏̉̅͌̋̐̄̄̐̋̚͘͘̕͘͝͝͠ͅͅy̵̧̡̧̛̼͎̫̣̬̟̰̙̠̬̤̠̩̤̝̜̠͈͖̰̙̳̹͐̀͗͆̈́̃̃͒̓̿̏̓̆̅̀̌̌̐͌̿͂̅̌̾͜͜ͅͅw̸̭̝̩̬͇̋̍̀h̵̨̡̨̡̧̳̺̯̼̬̖̝̖͍̘͖̬͎̮̲̣̲̮̲̥͗̓́̀̑̂̃͂̄̈́̾́̒̋̒̄̈́̓̈́͐̐̀̆͛̄̕͜y̷̨̨̛̹͍̼̲̲̫̜̜̞͖̥͍̤̬̳̰̱̩̰̦̗̑͂̈́͊̐͂̀̔͗̒͋͒̇̌͊̎̈͐̒͆̄̅̅́̓͊͑̑̍̀̊̅̾͋̆͐̀̎̆̈́̅̈͘̕͜͠͝͝͠ͅw̶̡̨̡̛͉̪͖̻̝͓̪̯̯̱̫̮͎̪̘͉̲̗̜̣̦̼̯̹̰͚̪̫̗͇̬̌̍͛̑̅͑͌̈́͆͗͐͑̌̎̈̏̀͑́̅͂̈́̐̇̄̎͊̚͘̕̚̚̕͜h̶̲̱͉̩̰̠̻̞̺͊́̌̓̍͂̍͐̋͜͠͝y̵̡̦̖̹̦̤̺̪̻̜̝̟̖̦̳͔͚͉͖͉̝͓̤͎̰͙̼̠̼̩̬͇̒̀̉̐͐͠ͅw̷̡͎͇̝̘̖͓͔̭̣̜͗̏͛̐̃̀́͒͌͂̾̉̅̆͌̚͠h̸̨̧͓̜̲͖͈̪̲̫͔͍̩̗̀̋̀̾̋͋́̉̊̐̿̋͆̎̀͋̿̚͘͝͝͝y̸̧̨̢̡̡̨̛͇̣̹͔̭͈͍̹̞̭̻̪̬̺̠̖͈̤̗̝͎̫̯͎̞͍̳͚͚͇͖̥̲̻̮̞̣̓̃́̈̒̏́̒̃̈́̇̉̀̊̒͗͜͝͠͠w̷̧̢̨̡̨̡̛̪̼̩̮͉̜̬͓̦̪͍̫͍͙̣̜̫̼̲̫̲̼͕̜̪̦̲̖̖͋̈́́̈́͋̅̍͆̅̓̃̎̀̍̽̈́̾́͋̊͒́̿͆̈͜͜͠h̷̨̧̛̯̳̘͔͕̤̪̣͙̱͙̮̬̻͖͉̥̝̏̈́̑̋͂̓̅̉̌̽̌͋͛͋̐̈͋̏̏̌̌͂̑̏́̑́͐̐͘͘̕͝͝y̸̡̧͇̠̪̪̯̗̲̖̩̜̺̞̯̘͙̯͚̜̻̰̜̥͇̬̟̯̣̣͔͒̃͆͗͊̍̃́͗̌̀̄͆̔͑̇̽͋̈͊́͜͠ͅẁ̶̨̢̧̢̲̪̙͙̯̯̜̞̠̘͙̘̱̤̬̲̞̗̘͕̞̰̦̺̝͎̙͕̻̬̼̮̥͙̗͎̠̼͊̏̐͒̑̓̿̓̅͊̽̽́̒̈͌͆̈́͗͗͜͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅh̴̢̧̛̠̻̪̫̖͎̗̬̝͈̟̖̙̼͕̙͙̹̼͇̰̦̭̖̠̤̞͙̭̬͙̼̥̹̖̜̝̉̈́̉̋̎̌́̀̊̾̇̈̊̏̋̀̓̅́̇̃̽͌͂̊͐̓̒̉̒̈̈͛͛̇͑͑͒̐̌̾͗͊̎̚̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅy̸̨̢̛̳̯͕͚̤̺̹̜̘͔̤̱̯̠̮͍̬͔̥̤͙̘̗͇̻̅̆͛̾̽́̎̑͆̈́̈́̆͂̀̅͊͌̈́̊̌͌͒̔̍̈́̾̍͘̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅẃ̶̧̛̮͇̹̱̪͕͈͉̙͔͂̈́̈̆̓͂̀̒͋̓̓̓̋̀́̽́̎́̎̓̈̇́̓̈́̓̆̎̕͝͝h̵̛̛̘͔̱͖̳̪͍̟͖̯̽̾̇̆͌̓̑͑͂̐͂̈́̈̂͐̃̀̋̇̾̊̈́̆͗̐̈́̿̒̈́͒͋͐̈́̈́̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅẙ̸̢̡̧̡͚͍̬̠̖̮̙̳̹͖̉̀̀̒͑͂̿̌̍͂̈́́̕͜͜w̶̧̢̢̨̡̨̛̥̥̥̜͇̙͎̭̥̜̰̱̗̼̩̳̤̼͔̼̘̦̲͖̣̮͔͇͙̖̝̱̦̠̲̫̳̝̽́͆̊͐̏̈́̊̑̊̾͒̅͐̇̾͒̈́͆̊͋̈͑̃͌̀̈́̿͑̓̑͋͒͑̚̕̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͝h̶̨̡̡̡̨̛͕̤̜̤͚͚̗̱̖͓͇̬̺͕̖̗͈͈͚̱̺̰͙͓̪̻̜͎̠̳̦̥̞̟̼̼͈̫̹̹̔̅̍͊̌̿͋̌̃̔̽͛̓̌̿̚̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅy̸̨̢̢̳̩̘̥̺͇͇̳̮̗͔̤̤̘̠͙̼̣̘̜̺̰͇̣͕̦̜̙̣̫̳͈͓̗̜̘͕͍̥̲͋̎̐̽̑͒͋̅͌̇͊̌͊́̈́̒͐̓̌̅̍͊̈͛͂̉̅̉͐̈́̈́̑̉̃͛̕̕͘͝͝ͅẅ̸̢̡̨̖̻̞̹̺̹̣̮͚̣̣̳̗̼̭͔́̋̆̐͝h̵̨̛̤̳̹̦̯͈̱̺̺̞̤̪̣̞͖͖̳̤͎̦̼̭̪̼͚̖̀̓͊̄̅͂̓͌́̂̎̒̒͛̈́̌̿͊͌́̏̾̕͘̚̚͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅỹ̷̨̬̩̯͚͚̠͙̻̗̞̫̎̓̃͐͆̓̈́̀̊̈́̅̌̐̇́̀͊̊̌̐̍̈́̂̀̔̽̎̅̃̋̈̇̕͝͠͠͝͝͠w̶͇̭̠̞̲̯̐̆̂́͛̃̇̈͋̎̓͋͑̈́͂̅͑̋̀͒́̅͑̓̓̌̋̉́͆͘̚̚̕͘͘͝

h̸̢̡̻͚͇̰̫̞͖̝͓̥͖͚̦̤̞͉̠̥̞͎̦͖̦̺̗̗̰̞̤̜̗͑͛̌͋́̾̎̈́̐̀̀̈̄̒̽͗̓̿̚̚͜͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅý̴̢̢̨̱̫̼͎͙̮̥̤̲̰͙̱̪̥̼̭̗̥̪̲͓͉̹͎͚̮͔̦͚͉̱̰̱̗̔̈̃̍̀́͌̇̐̔̊̆́̋͆̆̂̕͝ͅw̶̘̱͕̲̻͉̠̐̄́̽͆́̈́͐̈́͌͗̿̓̍̃̅̊́̿̔̀̏̋̋̀̕̕͘͠ḩ̸̧̖̱͍̬̼̼͎͚̙̗̮̰̰̫͓̠͖̞̩͚͈͖͈̬̖̭̩͔̺̱̌̈͂͗̿̎̏͊̈́̐̽̀͆̅̒̍͆̒̎̀͘̕͜͝ͅy̶̨̮͈̳̼͍̥̟̹̘̬̝͍̺̻̠̳͙̜̆͂̓̉̿̎̈͌͊̌͑͒̉͌̄̀͑̈́̊̿͐̇͌̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅw̴̡̧͉̼̦̲͙̠͉̫̭͍̖̮̼̦̠̹̼͈̬̮̹͔̲̝͔̥̱̹̜̝͍̯̱̲̳̺̝̣͂́̆͊̍̑̔̔̓̅̏̎̀̌͒̈̏̅̀͘̚͜͝ͅḧ̵̨̘̞͈̭̘̱͙̲̤̥̯́̌͂̈́̿̆͝ͅy̷̢̢̢̡̨̢̛̙̼̘̜̗̫̘͉̗̝̩̩̱̱͓͚̖̪̯̮̼̘͓͉̰̬͕̙̰̋̎̊̈́̔̐͂̈̏̒̊̓̒̾͒̎͋́͊́̀͗́̑̀͗͐̓͋́̄̓̐͌̏̃̾̈́̐̒̂͠͝ͅw̵̧̡̢̨̱̘͉̖̗̮̼͚̗͚̝̠̳̥̗̻͍͔̱̩̤̹̼͚̗̙̠̦̜͉̼͔̓̈́͆͛̽̉̆͛̾̐́́͒͒̇̓̌̆̃̎̿͊̾̀̈̈́̇̕̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̢̢̡̢̨̹͍͓̣̣͙̣͕̟͎̬̪͉̳̝̰͎͖̘̣̘̪́͗͐͠ͅy̵̢̡̛̛̛̩͓̪͇͓̻̻̙͍̠̜͓͎̲͎͈̩͚̯̠̱̪̮̻̳̲͂͗̎̊̈̿̌͛̾̀̔͗́̓̎̀̈́̀͋̀͐̈̄̓̓̾̋̀̄͗̀̋͐̃̊͊͆͗͛͊̊̓̚͠w̴̢̡̟͙̹̫̖̼̠͚̙̤̳̼͍͉̦̤̣͓͖̬̫̳̠̫̯̮̰͆̀͂̄͊̏̅̊͗́̿̈́̓́̎̆̓̊̄̈̅̉̐̍̿͑̕͜͝͝ͅḩ̵̡̢̨̛̙̗̯̞̫͔͖͈̭̫̖̩̗͈͔̜͇͙̟̦̼̦̦̖͔̞̦̹̝͇͖̠͎̈́̃̀̐̿̍̐̍̒̽͐̈͗̃́̉͒̎̿̏̈͗̓͌̐̉̽̑͜͠͝͝ͅy̸̋̈̽̾̆̍̒̓́͐͆̈́̕͝ͅw̵̧̧̧͇͎̭̻͔̰̲̖̻͎͎̺̙͓̲̎̅̾̌̓̔̄͒̈̀͋͆̍̀̀̎̒̄́͑̃̈́͑͆̏̈́̍͆̓̔̾̂͂͋͗̈́̚̚̕͠͠͠͠͝h̸̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͍̙̫̮͎̲͉̠̜͈̝̠͍̰̺̬͇̦̰̤̦̲̫͕̟̰͚̝͍̱͔̯̙̞̰̤̫͙͊̀͑̏̅̃̎̿̉̃͐̎͋͂͋̈́͑̉͒̿̒͑̌͌͆̇́͌̒̀͒̏̿͊̏͑̈́͑̈́̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͠y̵̡̨̢̻͓̥͔͙͈͚̬̩̞͕͔̘̳͖̠̙̞͇̪͐̀̑͊̽̀͋̐̓̽̂͊̿̎̉̓̀͌́͂̈́͛̓͂̒̅̚͜w̴̺͋́̓͋͑́̌͂̂̆̋̈́͋̾̔́͗̿͗̾̈̋͌̀̔̽͆̓͘͘͘͝ḧ̷̡̧̡͔͙̣̜̳̟͈̤͖̪͉̦̙̘̥̮̹̩̺̱̖̮̼̗͓̪͎̙̯̺̠̹̜̩̹͖̪̬̤̼̹͚́͊͒̀̀͗͋̂̒̆̀̅̾͒͐̃̅̉̑̀̕͠͝͝͝ͅͅy̸̧̨̨̛͖̫̙̖̺͎̣̘̹͕̟̖̦̭̱͕̺͈͚̤̟̭͎̜̦̳͓͕̝̳̰̝͕̬̮̟̩͉͊̌͒̈́͋̀͆̍͗̉̈́͑́͘͝ͅw̴̛̻̯͎̝̠̲̣̲̹͓̝̹̱̳̭͔̐̂͑̓̉̑̐̽͛̔̓̀̽̋̈́̽̎̌̈̏̈̍̓̄̽̅́̈́̀̈́̈́̽̓̀̂̓͋̎͑͂̋͊̕͝͝ͅͅh̵̨̨͖̯̤̞̩̹͓̲̠͎̟̫͙͉̠̒̃̅̈̀́̈́̈́͜ͅy̷̨̡̢̟͔̺̥̞̪͍̩̻̥̫̘̤̹͖͍̦͇̼̲̘̼̫̗̻̹̹̲͎͉̺̭̆̐͗̓̋͂͋̏̐̊͑̂͗͐̉̀̀͒̔̓̉̓́͒͑͂̿̐́̊̈́̀̏̌͆͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅẁ̵̡̧̧̦̖̯̠̞̳̠̼̩̲̗͉̼̬͖̯͖̪̥̞͙̹̯͕̮̯͎̹̻͈̤̪̘̰̇̒̌̈̄̂̈́̀̒̄́̈́́̏̈́̀͑͆̽̆̐͝ͅͅẖ̴̡̢̧̛̻̦̗̭̜͕̮͇̯̝̬͕̣̗̙̖̣̤̄̐̅͊̐̃̈́̊̿̄̇̃̔̈́̃͌̈̓̊̀̈́̈͑̃̈́͆̏̑̃̎͐́̄̎̓̒̆̈́͐͂̓͘̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̴̧̡̧̰̯̯̖̞̣͕̥͎̥̙͔͕̜̯̹̰͖̥͕͇̞͉̬̫̻̮͋͗͒̀͐̍̆͒͋̎̀̓̌̔̈́̉̌͑͋̍̔͛̓͋͐͂͊̈̽̅͒̏̂́͗̇̈̎͘̚̕̕͘͠͠͠͝͝ẅ̴̡̟̱͇̙̲̱̙̼̤͓͍̭̼̣̭̜͕̦͕̙̬̜͇̥̣̲͚̥̰́̇̀̃̔h̴̥̙͚̝͔̺͕̦̠̰͒́͊̉̔̅̿͊̓̆͑̂͌͆̀̎͛̐̓͌̊̑̑̀̈́͋̀̂͑̾̿̽̿̋͊̏́̃̓̅̐͊̈́̑̕̚̚̚͘͜͜͝y̷̝̭̗͇̳̲̟͍̤̤̩̜̮̫̗̝̰̬̖̥͂͌͂̀́̒͆̇̈́̔͌̃̓͑̈́̊̚̚̚͠͝͠w̷̨̧̧̢̮̟͙͎̗͖̤̙̖͙̱̦̳̦̱͎̮͉̅̔͆̏̂̄̉̂̐̄͑̓͛͋͜ͅh̵̛̰̫͉̜͓͇̻̠̦̓̃̀̀̊̃̐͐͆̏̈̍͗̃̋̒͆͌͗̔̒͋́̉̉̾͐̅̈̒́̊̋̋̔̌̂̂̚͝͝͠ͅy̵̧̨̨̤̹̠͖̖̮̹͙͎͎̦̫̖̭̼͍̳͍͙͔̻͙̥̪̝͎̘̪̮̯̯͚͉̪̣̬͖͇͎͗̅̈̋̊̎̚ͅͅͅw̸̢͍͇̯̼̭̥͔̥̭͆́̿͛̌̈̈́̂̈̈́̄̎̿͌̎̚͝ḥ̶̙̹̿̽̌͒͊̄̇́̓͐͊̋͋̓̈́̀̇̍͂̉̌̎̐̈́̏̆̐͒̒̚͘̕͝͝͠͝y̴̢̢̡̡̛̘̱̦͎͚̳̰̼̪̩̱̞͓̖̜̰͍̭̦͔̞̗̯͙̭̘̤̲͍̱̭͓͇͇̥̭̒̔̈́̽͗̔͜ͅͅẉ̶̢̧̛̞̣̣̦̟̰̺̥͙͉̦̻̮̭̩̠͔͓̼̬͖͒̈̾͒̌̊̉̆̕̕ͅh̶̡̢̢̦͓̫̪̟̻̮͔̥̗͈̼̳̘͇̪̼̦̤̣͍̱͈̬̥̙̮̘̳̰̘̞͚̼̭̞̱̻̫̪̙̙̥̖̿̐͛̏̾̾̌͛̈́͆͂͆̈̈́̿̈́̔̉͑̈́̽̇̕̕̚͝͝y̵̅̆͛͐́̓̉͌̆̓͂͜͠͝w̴̢̢̡̨̮͓̝̤̝͓̘͓̲̖̼͖͖̱̘͓̞͔̦̱̞̬̹͚̙̰̼̹͕͙̥͕̓̆̅̀́͒͜͜͠ͅh̸̢̧̢̡̨̧͙͍͙̩͇̼̯̠͉̲͎͚̯͔̤͈̠̺͇̗̼͇̗̦̘̹̯̬̳̣̟̤̩̾̎̈̌͜͜͠ͅͅy̸̢̨̨̡̛͇̳͖̥͕̬̠͉͓̠̩̫̩͕̼͕̞͈̪̺̹̱̺̝̘̮͍̘̞̬̓̾͋̐̋͌̅̒̀́̀̄͛̓́̊̈͜͝ẇ̴͍̳̖̯̣̣̩͉̩̻̲͙̘̩̜̳̭͓͕͔̖̪̀̈́̂̍̉͋̍̏͒̅̽̀͛̀̂͌̊̈́̐̂̚̕͜͝ḧ̵̨̦̼͚̙͔̜͔̫͕͚̙̻̰̲͍͖̪̝̪̱͖̭͔̗͈̩͇̞̘͉͍͕͓́̾̓́̈̂̂͗̐̈́̽̃̈́̓̉̈́̒͌͛͒͋̿̀̔̃͊̉̕͘͜͜ÿ̴̢̛͈̟͔̬̺̖̹͇̻̗͓͔̺̮̲̫̜̹̻̠̯̣̤̬̳̈͊́͗̽̽͆̐́̕̚͝͠w̶̨̧̢̛̛̛̩̟̝̬̫͕̯͇̳̝͍͔̭͉̣̻͍̹̘̜͕͇̪̾̿̀̏̈́̏́̀̎̅̌̊̆̈́̄̌͛̓̈́̓̿̈́̽̓̚̚͝͠͝h̶̛̛͖̙̳̫̻̜̲̝̦͓̬̀͛͂̓̒̿̏̈́̏͋̐̾̋̄͒̅̈̎̍̾̇́̈́̐͗́̎͛̅͐̓̏̍̄̅͗̈́͋̕͘͘̕͝͠y̶̪͕̰͛̀̌͗̄̓̏͌̐̆͆̾̓̌̓̌͝w̴̧̡̙̪̟̪͉̭̹̤͈͚͕͔̫̦̱̯̝̭͉̠̺̟̯̜̠̼̘͙̣̬͙̳̜̞̺̯͉̜̜̻͕̒̑̈́̏͗́̀͐̀̓̔̿̿͒͂̀̉̐̈́̋̈̅̍̔̆̂̂̋̽͒̏̔͛͋̌̎̐̅̌͑͑̒̿̚͝h̶̨̢̡̭̜̘͖͍̮͇̝͓͕̱͉̼̭̭̼͔̯̃̏̈́͗̒͛̈́̀̌̒͌̾̃̓̂̇͛̔̂́̋̿̇̓̒̀̀̈́͊͗͊͌̑̐̓͂͘͘͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅý̵̢̛͍̰̠̖͖̩͎̙̼̣̦̮̻͚́̀̌̊̊̈̑̃̓̓w̶̡̥͓̻̟̳̟͎͇̹̣̤̪͕̝͎̺̱̣̺͈̱̝̪̻͉̻͔̦̺̱͚͚̜̏̂̽̓̈́̑̔͌͗̑̂̏̄̀̀̾̓̊̓̆̀̿̋̍̀̌̈͛͌́̈̿̆̋͆̊̾̐̓̔̍̑̊̚͜͠ͅh̵̡̡̧̛̛͎̜̠̮̗͉̠̰͔̹̣̼͍͖̫̘̰͎̘̙̟̞̬̫̻͚̘͖̽̄͗̆̇̇͑̾̋̓̄̑̈͘̚͝

y̴̡̡̛͙̰͉̰̮̙̗͍̼͍͓̭͓̫̩͔̠̱͖͎̱̮̙̫͖̹̻̜̖̖͙̜̳̮̠͗̏̈́̾̔͋͊͒͆͂̂̎͋͆̀͂̽͜͝ͅw̴̛̛̛͙͊͂̂̄̔̍̇̏̆̈́̒̄͂͗̍́͋͊̎͒̅̿̑͗̉̓̓͂̌͋̇̆́̌͋̿͋̾̎͌͛͛̽͠͝͝͝h̵̨̨̢̢̢̻͔͇̜̳̹̳̰̺̪̹͎̞̱̞̭͓͖̬͕͈̭̹̟͖͔̖͕̙͉̺͍͉̪͍̝͔̲̭͍̘̗̾̉͊͂̀̑́̅̔̌͐̍̇̃̀̔̐̈́̍̀͊͐̽̐̕͜͜͝͝y̵̨̧̧̻̦͎͇̦̣̖͚̝̞̙̗̟̮̭͎̫̠̼͕̖̙̗̜̗͇͕̳̺̤̠̥͓̝̑̃̈́̊͒̅̄̒́̽̔̍́̃̆̅̋̈͆̀̀͐̄͂͂̀̀̚͜͜͜͠͝͠ŵ̴͈͈̮̙͉͖̣̩̬̻̜̌̀̊̎̓̏͝h̷̛̛̹̗͑̇̈́̿̋̈͂̇͐͌̏̈́̇͑͌̍̿̈͐̃͂̆̔̌̚ý̴̨̛̛̘̭̻̰̬͙̙̠̺̘̯̪͕̝̹̱͉̼̲͖̤͇̩̥̮̰͕̃̇̉͊̈́̏̽̀̿̋́͛͊̈́̂̔̿̀̇̅̔͂͆̏̽̿́̀͗̎̉̏͊̔͆̈͘͘͘͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅẇ̵̢̧̙͙͎͉̲̪̘̹̙̫̲̖̮̮̭̰͕͉̘̱̻̲̤̤̰̙̭̘̯̰͚̤̟̙͑̈́̅͑́̒̾̅̀̏̚̚͘h̵̡̢̧̨̢̛̛̞̰̞̪̬̲̜͉̮̙͖̣͉̦̫̪̭̙̤̯͚̤̠̩͉̬̼̫̥͉̪̗͓͖̠̯̻̱̅͒̑̏̂̑̒̓́̋͗͐̍͆́͆͐͛̑̊̓̍̕̚͘̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͝ÿ̵̨̡̡̧͍̤̪̭͖̺̠̻̠̬͖͕͔͎̺̠̣͕͚̠͔̹̬̲́̾̆́̐͒̊̈́̈́͐͋͗̽̐́̐͛̐͒̽́͂͋̃͛̇͒͋̎̀̔͗̾͋́́̿͒̾̉̎͌̊͊̕͘͜͝͝ͅw̷̢̧̧̨̖̭̜͍̟͓̳̻̤̪͈̰̯͙̜̭͉͔̭̖͇̤̻͇̗̬̠̥̼̫̦̤̰̠̖͈̣̰̻͗̈́̍͂͛̓͊̉̋͋̂̂̔̾̾̅͛̔̈́͌̓̄̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅh̵̨̛͇̞͈̫̟̼͍̪̟̝̗̮̰̻̱̟̖͑͒́̈́̄̾̉̀͊̀͐̅̋̉̔̕͜͜͠ÿ̷̨̛̤̪̟͈̰̹̗̗̫̳̺̳̖̯̲̱̮͍͖̤̻̣̹̥͖̥̗̺̥̬̟́̿̃͊̔̀̄͋̀͛͐̎͊̍͌̈́̔̃̎̔́̓̅̃̃̀̀͋̀̕̕͘̚͘͘͜ͅͅͅw̵̡̛͎͙̱̺̹͌͆̆͋̇̅̏͆͌̉͑́͒̍̓̃͐̑͛̐̈́͒͐̑̋͆́̒̚̚͠͝͝ͅh̸̺͈͒̈͌̂̅͐͗̉̓͛͋̏̉̐̎̌̾́̓̈́̽̕͝y̸̢̨̢̨̛̛̲̪͖̹̖̞͙̗͉͓͈̮̻̫̥̞̬̱̦̣̘̱̙̩̯̓͌͂͒̏̏̑̃̆̈́́̀̊̄̂́͌̉̆͌̕̚w̴͍̠̙̑̈́̍̀͑͐̇̆̇̋̈́͆͒͌͗̀̂̓̀̀̇̏̍͒̏́̾̓͠͝ḧ̸̨̧̛͈̲̘̻̞̳͇͓̭̻̪̘̘͍͚̳̬̼̯͖̝̠͈̈́̔̎͊͆̅̋͋̇͐͆̊̉̓͒̿́̈̅͗͆͝ͅy̸̧̧̢̨̧̢̟̱̼͖̯̦̲͉̼̪̬̣̭͖̟̩̝͓̝̮̠͇̳̙̖̯̽͂̎́̆͌͐̏̉͌́̆̅̀̐͋̓̓̑͆̈̄̈́̅́͒̓̅͋̀̎̀̃͑́̉̑́̃͗̓̕̚͘͠͝ͅw̷̡̢̡̮̰̣͚͍̪̝̤̟͕͇̻̺̘̺̖̝̯̪͇͇͍̭̭̖̦͈͉̄͑̏̾̒̈́̈́͋͐͌͘̚͜ͅͅh̷̢̡̘̰̳͉͖̯̮̬̥̪͚̜̞̱̺̝̼̳͓̪̮̩̝̤̣̠̗̯͎̦̘͎̳̮̬̖͖̺͇̯̞̬̗̲̃̈́̐͂͗̾͗́̓̋̓̔̐̽̎͌̄̿͌̏̊̈̀̔̚̚ͅͅỹ̷̧̨̧̡̡̢̡̦̞̜͚̪̺̗̳̗͖̠͇̣͕̭̞̹͙̪̼͚̫̳͕͍̪͕̘̀̓̇͂̏̓̈́̄͗̌͋̍̕͝w̶̢̢̛̯͓̬̝̤̺̹̲̱̻͊͂̈͛̉͆̈́̄̍̓͋̑̀͠ḫ̴̱͓͙̣̱͙͙͉̮͓͚̹̼͍̲̦͇̫̻̮͖̥̩̀͌̈́̍̓̅͑̿̐̉͑̐̉̑̏̊͌̓͌̽͆̀̎̈́̀̐͆͂͋̕̚̕ÿ̴̧̨̧̡̡̧̛̛͈͙̱͎̜̠̝̬͈̠͉͓͖͖̰̫͚͙̟̳͕͖̥̥̜̺̲̟́̈́́͛͒̏̌̓͛̍̽̌̆̈́̃̂̽̎̽̇͌́̿͂̈́̈̒̌̓̇́͑̃͐̌͐̃͊͘̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͠w̸̡̞͕̦̯̥̘̖̲͈̳̔͑̆̈́̀̊̓̉͠ḧ̶̗̞̹̥́̄͌̓̈͂͋̑́̌̑̽̔͋̽̒̎͑̿͂͘̚͘̚͠y̸̨̧̡̨͈̗͙͍̦̦͔̬͔̥̻̪̳͎̳̬̮̲͈͈̘̯͇̫̜̅̾̌̾̽͑̓̀̎̈́̀̈́̏̄͑̌̀̈́͂̿͆̔̏͆͐̑̔̋͑̒̃̏̈́̔̓̕͘͜͠ͅw̶̢̡̳̜͓͍̞͚̼̱̫̟̜̫̟̣̙͉̫̹̪̖̠̮̎̒͜͝͝h̷̢̨̨̨̨̼̱͚̹̼̲͓͉̪̯͉͓͕̮̤͖̝͓͖̫̗̞̼̜͓̖̲̮̟̗̹͚̜͙́̍̿̐̈́̓́͆̅͐̚͝͝͝ͅy̴̧̢͔̝͎̮͚͍̮̮̰̤̘̰͔̖̣̣͉̩̠͔͈̯̰̣̙̤͋̓̄̔͐͌͐̍͑͑͒̑̚̕w̸̢̨̢͈̜̱̲͚̹̰͓̘̙̞̰̪̯̤̦͍͖̲͖̣̼̘͕̖̣̯͇̟̄̌̈́̇̌͊̊̀̔̔͛͛̂̈́̊͋̔͊̇̿̀̔̒̀̾̂͛͘͘͜͠͠͝ͅͅh̶̡̨̡̛̭͖͔̙̺͚͔͓̝̘͇̤̦̞̗͇̝̖̙̲͇̲͔̹̥̪̥̹͖̪̞̪̪̺̤̣͙͖̿͊̇̆̅̏̓̅͑̄͗͐̍̇̋͐̐̀́̌̀̽͋͗̔̀̒̀͆̀͑̌̏̋̆͊̎͐̈̏̚͘͘͘͝͝͠y̴̢̝̲̙͈̞͖̼̫̖̝̋͊̎͑͊̎̃̓̑͗̎̋̔̈̒̄̀̒̃̔͒͜͠w̶̡̛̼͙̫̩͔̘̠̲̰̼̮̳͔̠͔̣͎̃͛̽̿̒̆̓̓͑͛̄͐̀̍́̀̉͌̈́͊̆͗͑̇̔̉̊͂̊̑̾̚͜͜͝͠͝h̵̡̨͙̘͍̹̠̯̲̯̐̎͛̏̂̄̀̈́̈́̈́̎͌̔̉̅̓̉̾̆̌͒̍̽̈́͑̄̿̈́̑͌̄̈́͂̄̏̎͌̀̕͘͝͝͝͠y̶̢̼͙̩̲̱͚͇̲͈͍̝̹̣̰̘̘͔͉͔̼͔͔͎̩̗͔͇̥̥̓̾̀̀̋̆̊̏̑̏̐̒̋̓̌̊̎͊̂̊̍͌͛͆́̽̋̚͘̕͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅw̸̨̧̛̯̩̤̫͔̫̬̤͍̝̹̹͖̞͍̝͓̲̜̫̠̪̜͓͈̞͔͖̌̈́̃̔̑̿̓̊͋̈́́͛̈́̉̐̋̊̍͐̑̿̔̈̔̓͆̅̓̊̀̚̚͜͜͝͝͠h̷̡̛̰̜͈͇̪͕̱̘̲̲̬͛̎͘͜ý̴̧̧̢̛̭͖̫̭̗̣̲̺͓̗͔̹̹̪̻̘̞̝̗̘͚̲̼͕͔̜͔̦̘͚̞̦̝͖͛̋̆̀̒̅͒̔̔͗͂̐͐̓̇̽̒̽̌̐̅̊̾̂̍͗͋͒́́̈́̃͘͘̕͘͘͘͜͝ͅẇ̵̨̡̛͉͎̊́͛́̐͐̍̊̑͒̃̍̀̉͆̽̐̉̽̀̂̋͌̌̏̽̄̄̀̍͊͑̎́̕̚̕͝h̶̞̜̯̬̬͙͇̤͋̀́͂̌̔̇͌̕̚͘͜͜y̶̨̡̨̧̛̛̙͚͉͖̻̞̘̤͇̺̝͉̲̞̝͉͇̻̰̻͚̮͉̙̜̰̳̝͕͕̙͍̥̞̤̜̥̏̾̾̐͒͑̐̓̇̔͌́̈̐̓̐̀̀̆̒̍̃̓̈́͊͐͆͊̐́̎̚͘͝ͅẅ̴̨̡̨̡̧͎͉̬̙̱̩͍̥̲͈̭̺͚̫̦̙̰̯̩͎͖͓͍͇͙̻̻̯̹̜̲̩̜͍̘̪͈̼̖̣̑̒̌̄͛̚͜ͅͅh̵̨̧̢̭̟͍͈̺͓̻̙͚͍̮̱̫̮̠͍̙͖͍̹͔̆̃́͗͌̇̎͐̈́̋̓̅͜͜͜͝ͅͅỵ̶̢̨̘̱͔̲̖̳̖̰̞̯̞̼͚͈͔̣͎̩͙̮͓͕̲̭̟̱̟̤̯͇͛̀̑̍̀̍̌̽̋̾̿͌͑͗̃͑̉̒̍̇͛̏̂̇̆̐͋́̓͋̄͐͑̇̏̑͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͝w̴̡̼͈̰̰̙̙̦̘͇̠̲̝̯͔̳̹͎͇̜̪̗͙͉͕͉̮̣̾̈́̃̆͗̅̽̿̓͋͑͜͝͠͝ͅͅĥ̵̨̛̛̬̳̭͉̾͗̊̋̊͒͂̈͑̓̐̓͛͐̑͂̊̈͗̈̏̈́̕̚̚͜͠͠y̷̨̨̨̡̛͓͈͉͍̳̝̝͔̣̟͚̯̤͕̠̞̥͔̘̩̫̼̥͕̤̝̔̏́̔̐̋̽͒͑̋͋̌̉̔̀͂̇̾̓̎̃͊̈́̈́̂̀̋͝͝͝w̵̡̡̡̧̳̼̭̗̙̘̥̘̞̱̙͇̗͖̯̺̣͉̣͉̭̠̙̳͚̘̐̓̿̃̅̋̾͂͒̎̓̃̒̀͐͒̑̿̎̋̾̈́͒͐̓̐̆̊̚͝͠ͅh̶̻̲͓͕̣̯͎̪̟̦̬͇̠̯̍̇͆̈́̓͑̂͌̽̃̏̏͗̅͋̄̿͐̈́̏̈́̋̈̐̀̍͂̽͂̑̇̆̽̂̍͘͘̕̕͘͝͠͠ͅy̷̨̢̦̗̩̟̭̞̟̪̱̭̬̗͔͕͉̬̳͚̥̫̌̄͐̆̀͛̓̓̂͐͑̑̈́͆͆͐̉͋͛͒̎́͆́̃͑̇̿́̍͂̐̈́̃͋͛̓̃͜͠͝

w̷̧̢̨̡̛̤̗̯̣͍͎͈̮͙͓̰̤͙͙̜̜̥͕͔̖̗̯͋͐̆͊̿̑̾͒͌̇̐̇̍̀̽͆͆̉͊̓̓̈̐͋͊͗̀͋̄͛̉̐̇̾̈̑͘͘͠͝͝h̷̢̡͉̗̥̲̞͎̦̖̼̥̘̩̠̘̫̼̱̮̬̩̦̱̘͓̠̒̍͌̈́͂̃̎̔̈́̅̊͌̈̍͆̋̃̇͑̓͂̋̃̊͆́̃̑͆̃̆͛͊̿̔͐̆̒͐͗̈͘͜͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅy̴̧̢͙͕͕̭̳̳͚̥̝̱͙͈̥̹̤͈̙̗͕̝͚͓̥̘̫̜͓͙̩̕w̸̨̢̛͚̦̻̦͇͍̟̠̪͇̰͖̲͔͙͚̪̰̱͎͉̳̜̦̬̤̮̬͖͓̻͖͕̼̥̥̯̪̼̜͓̤͖͙̣͓̃͆̈̐̎̇̉̀̑͊̌̀̀̐̿̒̽͗̍̽̄͒̑͋̊̅͗̉̾͛̋̀̇̇̈́̕͘͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅh̴̢̧̧̛͇̫̤̱̺̞̹̮͇̦͊̀̄̽͐̏̐̇͒̐̂̀̈̅͐̑́̉̇̓̎̉̉̎̔̂̊̏̌̑͘͘͘̕͜͝͠͠͝ͅÿ̵̡̲̳̬̞̣̗͙͕̫̟̦́̽̓͋̈́̓͊̉̃͗̑̇͆̀̾̂̈́̎͐̂̐̽͝w̷̡̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̨̯̰͉̖͚̙͕͈̞̫̼͍͕̞̭̯̫̗͚͓̩̱̠̹̺͙̲̃̔͜ḩ̷̢̛̛̖̰̭̣͉̦̤͕͕̟̻̪̞̱̗͖̫̼̫͔̠̩̪͇̩̝̮̘̝̮̠͊̋̓͑̒̏̿̎̌̎̃̂̌̓̈́̊̽̓̃̾̀̀͆͒̀̉͂̄̈́̊̊̆͂̉͛͌͗͊̆̀͂͗̓̈̽͘͜͝͠y̵̡̮̼̙̥̬͇̤̭̝̲̲̼̘̼̥͕̼͂̍̀͑̽̎̑͛͋̚͝͠w̶̨̭̎͠h̶̼̖͙̓̑͘

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Part 7: Me and You in Eternity| 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

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lostinhisworld · 5 months

Text

who else, if not her - JJ MAYBANK

warnings: none really, fluff, y/n x jj maybank, she/her pronouns, mention of potential jiara (just y/n being suspicious), overthinking?, happy ending, friends to lovers trope, y/n being dumb? jj being dumb?? them both being dumb??? pure brainrot and mindless writing (i was half asleep when i came up with this idea lol) unedited

words count: 734

hope you enjoy xx

The boy's fingers drummed against the counter as he rolled his eyes, feeling like it was the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. "I've told you already, Y/n, there's nothing going on between me and Kie."

Sighing deeply, she turned to scrutinize his face, a pout on her lips.

For the past half-hour, she'd been pressing him, convinced a love story was unfolding between her two best friends. From her perspective—decided after a long night of overthinking and staring at her wall—the two "friends" had been spending extra time together, whispering secrets away from the group and sharing inside jokes with only their eyes.

And this could only mean one thing—true love.

"Come on, Jay," she huffed, stalking closer to his position on the kitchen counter. "I've known you for over a decade. I know when you have feelings for a girl."

"Clearly, you don't," he declared, hands braced on the girl's shoulders to emphasize his statement. "Because I am not in love with Kiara."

Narrowing her eyes, she thought harder, a crease forming between her brows.

Reaching forward, JJ used his thumb to calm her expression, a teasing smile on his lips. "Don't do that; you'll get wrinkles," he joked, hoping to end their previous conversation.

"Fine," Y/n concluded. "You're not in love with Kie."

"That's what I've been saying," the boy mumbled, relaxing against the wall behind him.

"But you are in love with someone," Y/n announced, earning another eyeroll from him. "No, don't do that. It makes sense why you've been spending so much time with Kiara now. You've been asking for advice," she rambled, eyes lighting up with discovery.

"But who else, if not her?" she suddenly wondered aloud after a moment of silence.

JJ chuckled, shaking his head at Y/n's persistence. "You've got an imagination, but it's not as complicated as you're making it out to be."

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him to spill the secret. "Enlighten me then. If it's not Kiara, who's the lucky one? Someone from school?"

He sighed, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Alright, detective, since you won't let this go. I may have been seeking advice, but it wasn't about someone from school. It's about someone else."

Her eyes widened with curiosity. "Someone else? Who?"

He leaned in conspiratorially, his tone hushed. "It's a secret, Y/n. Can't spill all the beans."

She crossed her arms, feigning offense. "After all these years of friendship, you won't share your secrets with me?"

He grinned, playfully tapping her nose. "Some secrets are meant to be kept, but I promise, it's nothing dramatic. Just life stuff."

Y/n rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "Fine, keep your secrets, Jay. But one day, you'll spill the beans, willingly or not."

He chuckled, pulling her into a quick hug. "Deal. Now, can we drop the detective act and get back to normal conversation?"

She nodded, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "For now, Jay. But the mystery isn't over."

As they resumed their conversation, the lingering question of JJ's secret continued to dance in Y/n's mind, ensuring that this little mystery wasn't going to be forgotten easily.

Later that evening, Y/n walked into the Chateau’s spare bedroom to find JJ and Kiara deep in conversation, their heads close together. Suspicion ignited once again, but before she could intervene, John B and Pope burst into the room, excitement radiating from their expressions.

"Guess what, guys! Keggar at the beach tonight!" John B announced, a wide grin on his face.

Kiara's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and JJ shot Y/n a quick, relieved glance, grateful for the timely interruption.

As they all geared up for the beach party, the night unfolded with laughter, music, and the sound of waves crashing on the shore. The atmosphere was lively, and Y/n couldn't resist the chance to tease JJ once more.

Amidst the party chaos, she sidled up to him, a playful smirk on her lips. "So, Jay, any progress on that secret of yours?"

He feigned innocence, feigning ignorance. "Secret? What secret?"

Y/n leaned in, lowering her voice. "You know, the one about the person you're in love with. Any revelations?"

JJ chuckled, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. "You're persistent, Y/n. But no, no revelations yet."

She arched an eyebrow. "Hmm, I don't buy it. I bet you're just waiting for the right moment."

He smirked, catching onto her playful banter. "Maybe, or maybe I'm enjoying the mystery."

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible, Jay."

As the night wore on, with waves crashing and the bonfire casting flickering shadows, Y/n couldn't resist one last playful jab.

"Come on, spill the beans. Who's the lucky person?" she teased.

JJ sighed dramatically. "You won't let this go, will you?"

She grinned, eyes sparkling. "Not a chance."

Finally, unable to resist her persistent charm, JJ leaned in, his expression serious. "Alright, Y/n, you win. The secret is..." He paused, drawing out the suspense.

Y/n eagerly waited for the revelation, only for JJ to say, "I'm in love with someone special. Someone who's been by my side for years."

Her eyes widened, anticipation building. "Who is it?"

He looked into her eyes, a warm sincerity in his gaze. "It's you, Y/n. I'm in love with you."

The revelation hung in the air, the beach party swirling around them as the truth finally came to light.

JJ's eyes widened in a mix of panic and anticipation as he awaited Y/n's response. The seconds stretched, and he began to nervously babble, attempting to play it off.

"Ha! Gotcha, right? I mean, who would actually say something like that at a party? Classic joke, JJ, classic joke. You know how I am—always kidding around."

He forced a laugh, trying to gauge her reaction. Y/n, however, remained silent, her expression unreadable. The tension hung in the air until, unexpectedly, she cut through his rambling with a deep and passionate kiss.

Caught off guard, JJ initially froze before responding with equal fervor. Their lips moved in sync, the world around them fading into the background. When they finally pulled away, foreheads resting against each other, Y/n spoke in a soft, sincere tone.

"You know, JJ, you don't have to hide behind jokes. I've been in love with you for years too."

JJ's eyes widened again, this time in disbelief and joy. "Wait, really?"

She nodded, a tender smile on her lips. "Yeah, really. I just never thought you'd feel the same way."

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing against her cheek. "Well, surprise! I've been trying to find the right moment to tell you, and I guess a beach party was it."

Y/n chuckled, the warmth of the moment settling between them. "I guess it was. So, what now, JJ?"

He grinned, his eyes filled with affection. "Now? Now, we stop hiding behind secrets and jokes. We give this a real shot."

As the waves crashed on the shore and the party continued in the background, JJ and Y/n stood on the beach, hand in hand, ready to explore the new chapter unfolding in their longstanding friendship.

#netflix #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank x you #outer banks #jj maybank x reader fluff #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x best friend

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formulaforza · 1 year

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furniture-- c.leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 750 a/n: thank u dani for snapping my writers block. art imitates life fr fr here

Are you busy? You texted him, tossed your phone onto the ground next to you and assessed the situation in front of you for the hundredth time. Pieces of wood everywhere, harware everywhere, a cordless drill your dad had given you when you moved out years ago–one he didn’t show you how to use.

What had started as a simple Friday evening project, rearranging your apartment living room, had transformed into an all-consuming weekend of furniture and clutter shopping. The Ikea box–boxes–sit torn apart on the floor and the instruction pamphlet is disheveled amongst the mess somewhere.

Never for you, he replies, you roll your eyes.

You reach for your phone, quickly type out your response. Come over? You text, and immediately follow it up. Not for the reason you think.

He’s knocking on your door twenty-five minutes later, three knocks, pause, and then another. Just like always. You try to manuver your way out of the maze of wooden boards and dowels and hardware and the dreadful drill to get to the door. He’s on his phone when you open it, quickly shuts it off and shoves it in his pocket and smiles at you like an idiot. “Hi.”

“Help.” You say, straight-faced and serious because you’re in so over your head it’s not even funny. He laughs, you swing open the door nad mumble out a preemptive apology.

He chokes your name out through a laugh as soon as he sees the mess. “What have you done?”

“Can you help me?” You say over his shoulder, over his shaking head. Disbelief, amazement, fear, probably all of the above because you’ve truly created a monster.

“Cherie, what am I looking at, even?” He scratches the back of his head, his neck, just inside the collar of his t-shirt.

“Entertainment center.”

He tries not to laugh. Fails miserably. “Are you sure?”

“I think.”

“Oh, mamma mia.” He shakes his head, looks at you and reflects your pout. “You’re so cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to help me, or not?” You are so far beyond help, mon amour, he sighed, told you to get something to drink and that he would figure out how to undo whatever you’d done and build the furniture the way it was originally intended to be built. “You don’t want my help?”

“I am scared of your help.” You would be offended if everything you’d managed to put together looked even a little bit like what the end goal was, but, he was probably right to be scared by what you could do. You were a little scared by how badly you’d managed to screw it up. It felt like maybe someone should take away your rights to adult if you couldn’t built a simple peice of furniture. “If I teach you, you won’t have to ask for my help next time.”

“This is truly an enlightening experience,” you say, pop another piece of fruit into your mouth. “Dinner and a show.” Who knew watching your guy-who-isn’t-your-guy play with high stakes Swedish legos could be so attractive. It’s just furniture, you’d try to remind yourself, and then he'd use your drill like his dad taught him how to use one instead of just giving him one as a gift.

“Who gave this to you?” He asked about the drill the first time he picked it up. “I don’t think they liked you much.”

You laughed. He laughed at your laugh. “My dad,” you answered, and he shrugged his shoulders, didn’t confirm or deny his previous claim. You don’t know if he plays it safe because you’ve told him too much–or too little–information.

Despite a few of the screws angled just a bit awkwardly, the only real victim of the entertainment center debacle of 2023 is a single wooden dowel that snapped clean in half. “Do you have super glue?” He asked when the two of you finally stopped laughing about it. I have nail glue, you told him, and only time will tell if the cosmetic solution actually worked.

“My hero!” You joked, stood up on your tip-toes to throw an arm around him, admired your–his–work now that the console had been set in it’s forever home. “I could not have done it without you.”

“You would’ve figured it out.” He says, smiles down at you like he isn’t a liar. “It just would have been…”

“A disaster?”

He chuckles. “Abstract.”

“Oh.” You laugh, kiss him because how can you not? “You’re sweet.”

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 2023 #f1 fandom #cl16 #mack's 10 days of fluff #day 8

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reunionatdawn · 3 months

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My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 6: Ferdinand/Dorothea)

(Normal): Thanks but no thanks, Mr. Noble. I already have my heart set on someone else. (Ferdinand & Dorothea support level B reached): I suppose I can settle for you just this once, Ferdie.

The writers obviously put a lot of love into this ship, as it's one of the rare times that the main story dialogue changes depending on Support level between two characters. Plus, since he asks her out on a date outside of their Support chain, it shows that Ferdinand is canonically interested in Dorothea. And this is true in Hopes as well. He fears his mind will "wander to other things" while training with her.

Dorothea: Song and dance live on in our memories, but there's no real record of them. Even memories fade over time. Will anyone remember me when I'm gone?

Dorothea is a Libra, an air sign. Air signs are masculine, but not as much as the fire signs. Libras are extroverted, cozy, and friendly people. Libras, like the Scales that symbolize the sign, are often concerned with attaining balance, harmony, peace, and justice in the world. Dorothea had the motivation to join Edelgard's cause to dismantle the corrupt nobility. But she was also compassionate and hated the idea of fighting people she knew.

Ferdinand: I will do what I'm called to do, even if no mark of me remains in the history books.

Ferdinand bears the Crest of Cichol, which is associated with the Justice Arcana. Justice is a signifier of legal matters being resolved in a fair and balanced manner. It represents the power to distinguish between what is fair and what is unfair, in an impartial way. Ferdinand's dream was to lead the Empire to an age of enlightenment and hold his father accountable for his crimes. The downside to his ambitions was that his life revolved around being recognized for his achievements.

Ferdinand: That is true nobility! Acting in accordance with the people's needs and wishes. As war drags on, those living near the front lines inevitably get the worst of it. Still…Edelgard will not give in. She will push to complete her mission, no matter how many people die. Not everyone with noble blood has noble ideals.

His character arc was about exemplifying true nobility, defined as, "having or showing fine personal qualities or high moral principles and ideals." Not just being noble, defined as, "belonging to a hereditary class with high social or political status." And I would argue that opposing Edelgard was vital to his character arc.

Dorothea: Oh, Ferdie. You opposed Edie for so long… I had real hopes for you, you know? Now you're following her. Is that your duty as a noble? Follow your master when they say to heel? Ferdinand: I will not try to explain my duty or hers. You would not understand. I wish you could.

Dorothea is one of the few non-lord characters that will actually react to another non-lord character's death. If you don't recruit Ferdinand, he will die at the Great Bridge of Myrddin so that his name goes down in history as "the legendary Ferdinand of Adrestia".

If Ferdinand does not complete his arc, Dorothea will be the one who is most disappointed. She will say she had high hopes for him, a reference to their B-Support where he made her treats, and she reconsidered him as husband material. His memory will not live on in the history books, but it does live on in her heart. It was hard not to think of this pairing as "canon" after I saw this dialogue.

Dorothea: Though we only knew each other briefly back at the academy, you were still my friend—but now our paths have diverged forever.

There's even a Hopes version of this dialogue available in Record Keeper. Similar to Edelgard and Byleth in Silver Snow, if Ferdinand and Dorothea's paths diverge, it is treated as a great tragedy of fate. It shows how much the writers favored this particular ship.

(Normal): Yes… I have met someone quite charming recently. I'm hoping we can spend more time together soon. (Dorothea has reached Support Rank A with a male): I am. There is someone whose company I have come to enjoy.

While Dorothea is bisexual, she did seem to have a preference for men. The dialogue in her B-Support with Edelgard only changes if Dorothea has attained A-Support with a male character.

Linhardt: You've probably overcome a lot of tough times, haven't you? I think that's incredible, really, but why not just let go of the suffering and run away from the memories that cause you pain? I suspect you'll find it a better way of living. I know I do. Dorothea: That's not living, Lin. It's running away. If I leave my hardships behind, then all of that means nothing.

She only got into the academy by buttering up some noble, which suggests that she may have had to perform sexual favors. She had a poor self-image, despite her physical beauty. And that is why I think she pursued men so adamantly, even when she was not truly attracted to them. She was running away from her past.

Dorothea: What's important isn't how someone looks, it's their true nature. I don't pretend to know your true nature. I don't even have a very good understanding of my own. But I suppose you see mine just fine, don't you? Just a silly girl with no thoughts in her head except for marrying a noble, yes? Good-bye, Felix.

Dorothea had to hone her masculine energy while living on the streets and performing in the opera. She despised the goddess (although she has a hidden talent for faith). Her paralogue with Ingrid showed how the two had contrasting views on marriage. Dorothea wanted to play the traditionally feminine role of housewife, with a noble husband fulfilling the traditional masculine role of provider and protector.

Dorothea: But if you and I were devoted to one another… maybe we could strive for the future you believe in. Maybe I'd finally understand your path and be able to think about more than just myself. Hubert: Seems it's my turn to not understand. Did you just propose marriage as a way to get to know me?

She was always looking for a wealthy husband to take care of her into her old age, and often came across as nothing but a shallow gold-digger. Because she was afraid of living in poverty, she would settle for a nobleman regardless of whether or not she knew him very well or was actually in love with him.

Sylvain: You know, even when I was a kid, I never had trouble with girls. …But thinking about it now, I wonder what they liked about me back then. They didn't know everything about me… It's just confusing. Dorothea: Oh, where did that come from? No one can know everything about you.

She was at first dismissive of the idea that people need to know each other fully to get married. But she did commiserate with Sylvain about how people wanted to marry her without even knowing anything about her. However, she flirtatiously makes plans to grow old with him immediately afterwards. Even though they still barely knew each other.

Dorothea: I never had much to begin with in life, and I worry that one day, I'll be that way again… That's why I keep searching for someone who will love me. Someone unaware of the songstress, who can love a girl that used to be scared and alone on the streets of the capital… I wonder if such a strange person can even exist.

But what she really wanted was to spend her life with someone who did know her true self. Several of her endings depict her giving up on her goal of finding a rich husband. She is able to find love with Petra and Manuela and those are happy endings for her. But I still think the happiest ending for her is to find her dream man. A rich provider and protector who would know and love her as the scared orphan girl.

Dorothea: Oh, really? You're something different? That's not how I remember things… It was the very day that I was discovered…

I think Ferdinand offered the best closure to her character arc. There was a palpable sexual tension between them in both games, with Dorothea pushing him away yet secretly desiring to be closer. I'd argue she has more far chemistry with him than any of her other potential partners. At the academy, Dorothea did not flirt or make advances on Ferdie, despite him being the exact type of wealthy noble she was after. But in the end, she was more open, honest, and emotionally vulnerable with him than she was with anyone else.

Dorothea: Maybe I can believe you. I've wanted to ever since the day you made me those treats… I thought then that maybe you weren't like the others, but… There's a lot I have to let go of, Ferdie.

The tagline for the game was, "Sweet memories twisted by time's cruel hand". By getting closure with Ferdinand, Dorothea could reclaim a sweet memory and let go of some pain from her past. Ferdie considered Edelgard his rival and prided himself on being better than her. But with Dorothea, he said he wouldn't mind a life of being a simple drone, circling a queen. So, they both find a new way to live with each other. This pairing is a more wholesome alternative for Ferdie than Ferdibert. But Ferdie still is kind of a sub.

Ferdinand & Dorothea Ferdinand reclaimed the position of Duke Aegir and initiated reforms within his domain. Through his political methods, which closely aligned with the needs of the common people, the Aegir Duchy swiftly underwent reconstruction. Behind this success story was the significant contribution of Dorothea, the former songstress who became the Duchess, who dedicated herself to serving the commoners. Ferdinand, recognized for his achievements, was entrusted with governance across all of Fódlan. Despite being busy with his duties, he prioritized spending time with his family. He and Dorothea raised their children together, and their home was always filled with the sound of cheerful singing.

This feels like the picture-perfect ending for both of them. Dorothea achieves her life plan of marrying a rich provider and protector, overcoming her prejudice towards nobles. Her children carry on her legacy, and her memory will live on in their hearts.

And thanks to her experiences as an orphan, Ferdinand's policies benefit the commonfolk. He actually renounced his nobility and lived as a wanderer for five years because he did not believe in Edelgard's ideals, and he wanted to make up for his father's wrongdoings in his own way. He was prepared to leave no mark on history, but he is recognized for his achievements in the end.

#fe3h #fe3h meta #ferdithea #ferdinand von aegir #dorothea arnault

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yahoodarling · 1 month

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Diluc X GN Guardian Angel Reader (Snipbit)

Diluc X guardian reader whos a little late on the whole ‘helping out’ part. Expect some good ol angst from both parties, enthusiastic reader and Diluc in denial. Reader gives off ‘dad thats been absent for your developing years and shows up in your 20s’ vibe.

Word count: 3k (full fic around 10k)

Warnings: none in this extract but warnings will be added in the final fic

You are holy. You are divine. You are perfection incarnate. You have a duty.

In your hands held the fate of a mortal, someone desperate and in need of your guidance and as an official of Celestia it is both an honor to guide them and an honor bestowed, to be favored and seen by the gods for their struggles and in turn given the gift that is yourself. Admittedly you filled the application for this position a little late but surely your mortal is just fine as they are, you were just… a little preoccupied is all. You smile as you think of the future journey ahead, a new start of healing and recovery for a poor soul. Your… your new mortal…

Mondstadt, you haven't been here for a while but the smell of fresh brew in the air and tugging of the wind in your hair will always welcome you. You set off to find your dear human, your existence tied to his the moment you fulfilled the proper application of acceptance. He's in the city, a short distance away. The night was crisp, winter is around the corner but with your light you shall guide this mortal through and reach the warmth he so desperately needs. You open the door to a tavern, a further welcome of cheer and joy from its patrons and there standing in such joyous potential is your dear! Crimson hair bundled high, gaze focused and frown evident, such ache surely lies within him.

“Greetings Diluc of Mondstadt! Its a pleasure to finally meet you!” you speed walk up to the counter and lay on your finest smile, first impressions are important if you'll be spending the rest of his life together.

He didn't seem pleased with your manner, perhaps you were too much? Either way he sighed, “Right, and what would you like this evening?”

“You~☆”

His frown further lowered and brow crinkled, lines all too familiar with this exchange.

“Order a drink or get out, i am not accepting courting attempts”

“Courtship? Oh no no no! Haha you're mine in a different way! I'm here to give you a surprise alright?” You stood up straight, opened your arms out wide to him, beamed a smile as welcoming as possible and with as much joy and enthusiasm as possible declared,

“Diluc of Mondstadt I am your official Guardian Angel! Tremble no longer! Fret no fear for I as one of Celestians chosen have come to bring you peace in your times of need!”

…

He looked at you with blank tired eyes, not the ones of enlightened hope you were expecting

“Right well i think this joke has played its course. I'll ask you either leave or buy something.”

Huh? That's not what you were expecting. Shouldn't he be enamored? Shouldn't he be fulfilled with hope and respond in such a manner befitting of a life changing event? What's different here? What have you done wrong? You've done what you usually do, introduce yourself, have a good first impression, positive attitude, state your position as an official of Celestia, your previous mortals were overjoyed when you first met but this one is different, he doesn't look happy or relieved he just looks… tired.

Perhaps it's because the situation isn't right. In the past when you met your previous mortals it was in an immediate sense of danger whilst here he's just at his job but would something like that really affect his response? He still needs you after all, why isn't he overjoyed?

“Haha, there is no humor here other than the joyful future we are to embark on! Umm- haha, ah, you aren't in awe or anything right? This is the start to a new life for you! No more suffering or pain, you have I, your benevolent guardian, to guide and support you! Haha- um, you don't look all that greatful haha, i'm not usually this uncomposed it's just you don't seem very grateful and, yeah…” he's really throwing you off here, its like you don't even exist with the way he looks at you.

“Diluc! We need another round of 8 ales for the second floor!”

“Coming up Charles.”

He turned away and got on preparing the drinks. How awkward. You stand unmoving, simply blinking along and watching your mortal- Diluc, right, Master Diluc of Mondstadt, get glasses and fill them. Eventually your legs felt a little odd having to stand, you sit down on an available stool and continue to watch the men prepare drinks.

Is this really the reception you get for being a little late? Nothing serious could have happened in the time so why is everything so different now compared to how it's meant to be.

Your mortal finished his task and returned to his position, when his gaze laid on you he had to sigh but still approached.

“Will you order something now?”

“Oh no, i need not drink.”

“Right then what are you doing here other than to play this prank of yours?”

“Prank? Oh I'm serious about my position, Diluc of Mondstadt i am serviced to guide you.”

“I don't need any ‘guiding’ but if you are indeed of any i can help guide you out the door if we are done here.”

You can't help but laugh, he's being rather silly, of course you don't need help walking out the door but maybe he's confused or doesn't believe that someone could be blessed an angelic guardian.

“Diluc of Mondstadt-”

“‘Master Diluc’ is just fine, thank you.”

Oh? Weird, you could have sworn you read that he introduced himself as ‘Diluc of Mondstadt’, it's his title right?

“Right! So Master Diluc, going forward i will be joining you in you daily-”

“No you will not.” oh how blunt! You cringe a little inside, being treated like this is so odd, your previous mortals were never like this.

“ahaha- um yes i will, its my job. Worry not! I do not have to be physically present like i currently am, i just figured our first introduction would be best if i took a mortal form, you lot find great comfort in those you can identify yourself with and i will respect that! See!” you lift your arms out and display your form as if he hadn't taken a good look of it, you were rather proud of your visage, you always received praise from your fellow guardians when it comes to your human designs. “See, I put quite a bit of effort into this one! Haha but again, I can take on a spiritual form in the times you need to be ‘alone’. Not alone alone, you'll never be alone! But rather when you need other humans to perceive you are alone. I can do my duties both in and out of form! There is more to guidance than just protection after all! I am here as your new voice to lead you down your-”

“Okay that's enough.”

Please! Dear mortal, stop interrupting me! This is important! you shut your eyes and release an unseen tear, this hurts.

Diluc of Mondstadts’ frustration seemed to grow, his appearance did not change, his eyes still narrow and frown rested easily on his cheeks like before but you could easily sense his annoyance. How. HURTFUL!

“I'm done with your ‘guardian of celestia’ nonsense. Please leave my tavern before I have to escort you out, and I will so do not take this statement lightly.”

“Oh you couldn't even if you tried haha, different phases of mass and all that. I know it may seem ‘annoying’ to you for whatever reason but I am here with you for the rest of your life. It may be different from what you are used to but i can swear on my pledge that i will do all i can to accoustum into your life in a way befitting of your personal needs all whilst helping you out your sadness!”

He sighed, pressed his fingers to his brow and took a moment to recompose. Once he was done his frown wasn't so harsh but he still looked tired.

“Right well, I cannot deny you are a Celestial being. I've had all manner of entities in my tavern but none have gone so far as to claim they are supposedly my ‘guardian’. I do not know why you claim this, if you take a look into my life you will see I am well settled and content with my present so I am not indeed of your services. I thank you for your offer but please, take it to someone who may actually need it.”

“ha… haha silly, it's not an offer system, that's not how things work, haha. I am tied to you now. I can't just leave and you do need me! Your submission wouldn't be in the files if you didn't. Celestia knows when a mortal is deserving of their attention and you are! I'd say you are especially special considering you have a vision as well. Well done! Good job! You are already on the path of healing! Now with my help you'll reach a lovely new future.”

“Well I'm rather happy with what I currently have. Enough of this talk, you will confuse my customers.”

“oh? Oh you are worried about confidentiality? Not a worry! Our discussion is filtered, they cannot hear information they are not allowed to. They are likely hearing us chat on about the weather haha.”

“What?” his frown turned into confusion, how cute.

“oh yes! Being your guardian means dealing with personal stuff for you, it wouldn't be right if someone could just listen in to our conversation. There is also the fact that I hold knowledge that should not be heard by mortal ears and luckily the filter works to block it all! No secret spilt or your personal feelings uncovered.”

He looked concerned for a moment before huffing out and directing his attention elsewhere.

“Of course the gods work in ‘mysterious ways’”

“oh, I'm not a god, I'm an angel.”

“I'm not talking about you.”

“ah…”

He simply ignored you after that, tavern goers came and went and when he wasn't attending to them or greeting familiar faces he busied himself checking lists, stock and otherwise keeping things in order. You found your spot on the bar bench and hadn't moved since, only watched, you tried to start up another conversation but he had shut you down rather quickly so you were once again left in silence to sit. It had been a while since you surrounded yourself with mortals and the distinction was clear, they easily made merry and got on with life none the wiser of the world yet still all too eager to enjoy their lives, it was refreshing. Their simple lives were so cute, it was moments like this that made you fall in love with your job all over again, only pity is your current mortal doesn't seem as pleased. Humans are both simple and complex and your dear mortal was complexing to the core. You felt the hurt in him and yet he did not want help, you stated you were of Celestia and he refused you, why? Perhaps you'll need to try out some different methods to get close.

The early night turned late and Diluc finished his tasks leaving the few stragglers for Charles to close up after. He took his coat and disappeared out the back door. It took a moment for you to register he had left, so engrossed in your own thoughts and your surroundings you had actually stopped monitoring your mortal, not that you'd admit to doing that of course. Quickly you got out of your seat and ran after him, a few moments later you were at his side as he trudged on Mondstadts roads.

“soooo~ Mondstadt huh? Pretty place.”

He said nothing

“Last time I was here was ages ago, the winds really have flattened out the hills, it's nice!”

...

“I'm still not so happy about the smell in the air, you'd think that would have cleared out by now.”

“What?” he finally looked at you and it was in total confusion. “What are you going on about?”

“oh haha! I was just thinking aloud, I actually can't say. Hmmm… how could i word this… you've killed people right?”

All you saw was his back as he sped walked forward, eyes ever on his depressed past and not on you, his future.

“Diluc of Mondstadt halt! I did not mean to be offensive, I just wanted to link a connection you would recognise. That smell of death lingers in- it-” haha filters… you need to recompose yourself. “Haha nevermind! Topics of the past are not fun. How about we talk about you? You work at a bar? Oh no i believe i read you owned a winery, very impressive. But it being your fathers is no achievement of your own, we shall create your very own success in our journeys to come!”

“What?” his speed walking stopped, he held his stance firm, much like the form you need to take in the scene of battle, no sign of weakness displayed even in a simple action such as standing. Too bad for him you knew he was just playing, there is no way he could actually hold himself so well when he's so in need. And yet it didn't feel that way and he looked genuinely angry for some reason, you've only been encouraging.

“What right do you have to claim The Dawn Winery is not an achievement of my own?”

“Well simply you're not the one who developed it but that's okay! We have other chances, we can-”

“Not ‘we’, ‘I’ and it has always been ‘I’. I am the one that has gotten myself up to this point and have no need for a ‘we’. I do not need your confirmation nor your support which consists of empty notions and insensitive remarks. Leave before I force you to.” He took out his blade. He actually took out his blade on you, proof he'd follow through with his words.

What have you done wrong? Why is he so confusing? The others weren't this confusing. They were just sad and depressed and you comforted them but this one is just angry, your comfort feeding the flames but he wouldn't have had an application made for him if he wasn't in despair. Just what is this mortal's problem?

“Diluc of-”

“Do not even speak my name if you cannot say it correctly. I understand you may be an inhuman being but that does not exempt you from working by human standards when speaking with one. And typically human standards will not have one creating a false narrative of some guardian angel you are trying to play. Again, leave me be. That is your final warning.”

“But- but I am! It is not a false image, I am an official of Celestia, i am here to help.”

He lowered his blade but still his eyes remained sharp. His claymore could never harm you anyway yet the sting of his look was felt.

“Then tell me, if you truly are sent from Celestia why is it that you come now once my life is content? Why now when your ramblings prove nothing but eer and not in the time when I truly could have needed Celestia's help?”

It hasn't been that long though…

“I cannot answer that. See-”

“If you cannot answer, it means I cannot accept. To say Celestia sent help yet failed means to lose all respect for the gods. It is easier for me to say the gods work in unknown ways, that I faced my hardships without their guidance for a reason then to be told they failed, that I could have had an easier past if not for the incompetence of others whom are meant to be superior to us mortals. It is for that reason that I hold some semblance of respect for them that I cannot accept you as an agent of theirs.”

How? But that's not- what? His words held no meaning, no meaning you could understand anyway, they were only a collection of words that could not fit together. You could not understand them, you could not comprehend them. Is this how mortals feel trying to comprehend the higher plane? But his words are not a superior entity to you, you are superior, you should understand! But his words… What could he mean? Of course he respects Celestia but how does that differ to accepting you are one of theirs? It's not like Celestia could do anything wrong to garner disrespect. Right? No, it's unquestionable. Its- its-

You feel the strange tingle, you should move on from this subject. Right! Yes, move onto a new subject and respect the mortal, feed into their understanding if it means they can progress.

“haha i see i see. Well you do not have to see me as an official of celestia then! You can see me as a helpful spirit that has decided to join you in your adventure!”

“i refuse”

DAMN HUMAN LISTEN

“ahaha ha… um how about as-”

“The only thing I see you as is a malignant being whom pesters me for their own satisfaction.”

Ouch… but you could work with this!

“I see! Yes yes, your dismay gives me joy so in order for me to not ‘pester’ you you must not fall into dismay but rather develop and progress a more healthy future, yes okay! Human! I shall follow you and ‘pester’ you from this point onwards!”

He did a physical rolling of the eyes, rolling his body along as well as he turns himself away from you and continues walking.

“If you do so quietly I might reconsider impaling you on my blade.”

Its progress! Okay, you need to listen to him.

“right right, i shall only speak when absolutely needed oh or to say something to agitate you considering i am a malevolent being. In all honesty though, I find it hard to say disparaging things. I usually work as a supportive and helpful being but I will try to be vexatious.” You hear a faint ‘you don't even have to’ come from him, silly human, you can still hear him even at this distance.

A little bit more of a filler introduction to the fic im working on! If the dialogue feels awkward, good, its meant to be. As always angst shall follow but i find the dynamic rather fun. Let me know your thoughts and opinions of what youd like to see in the future!

#yahooworks #diluc x reader #diluc x gn reader #diluc x male reader #diluc x fem!reader #diluc x female reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x gn reader

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swmmi-kti · 10 months

Text

One of a kind

Pairing: Kokushibo x Reincarnated Fem!Y/n

-*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*-

When he was still human he had found life boring and stale, and that was no secret at all. Time passed far slower and painfully dull. But when he married it was as if the gods had finally enlightened him. His wife was one out of many and in those many years he has never forgotten you. How the moons passed and every time he got slight glimpses of it he remembered how no greater glow lived in this world since you had passed.

But Gods always were cruel. Had he come back to you any time when you still graced the earth with your soul then he would have asked if you would have joined him too. However the one time he had found your old home. You had been slaughtered. At the fellow hands of his brethren.

Your kids are nowhere in sight. It eased his mind but a bit. However for many nights he had stayed next to your decomposing corpse. His hunger subsided as he held you. Cradling you as he had done nights where your pregnant belly was too much to bare.

He would much rather live in a world where you rested peacefully than forever tied down to a world that forced you to kill.

After almost nothing remained he had buried you. Finally at ease and with it you took his heart. His heart no longer had that burning passion it had before. It emptied and the glass was half full. When he had killed his brother it felt as if all of it was finally gone.

He was just upper moon one. And that is all he would be. Vague memories lived on in the depths of his mind, stashed away was the flute he made for his dearest brother and next to it a hairpin that he had bestowed on you before your wedding. His two most prized objects.

And they were laying out far from his reach. How did he get here? How on earth did it end this way?

Tonight he knew he would have encountered a slayer. He knew that but he needn’t frighten himself. No greater power known to man could make him fear.

But those same eyes that had watched him with nothing but adoration and then hatred when he had abandoned them. Now haunted his very core. The gods are cruel and they tortured him since he could remember.

He didn’t care for slayers. Didn’t care enough, just ended their lives and that was all that they got from him.

However those eyes that had once stared at him were here once again. A different kind of hatred now stared back at him. One of disgust. Perhaps even fear too. Somehow, Someway your figure stood before him.

Your hands how calloused over as it held onto the handle of your blade, Those eyes piercing right through his very core.The once elegance you had the poise it all vanished as he stood as your enemy.

It was then he realized he would rather prefer you be his enemy than have to kill you and have to live in a world where you didn’t exist at all.

He knew he was crazy, mad perhaps and he wondered did you remember too.

“..what is your… Name?” He asked speaking after so long of not sparing his breath.

Your eyes widened a little. The hold on your blade never loosening but the pattern of your heart elevated.

“I’m Y/n.” You speak with the voice he has never forgotten

Oh how awful of a crude joke this was. Standing as enemies when years ago you stood together as each other’s

Yes. There was obvious differences in you of the past and you of the now. But beneath all that you were still the same. He wanted to say his sorrys for abandoning you, abandoning his family. Wanted to say some apology and in hopes that somehow you remembered it all.

If he were any less than sane he’d probably turn you into a demon be at his side as you always should have been. But those eyes never held any recollection.

Did you cry when he left? How hard did you cry? Did you really hate him or want him back? Did you suffer when you died? Did you know where his children were? Did you go down protecting them? Or did you have a quick death?

“Do you…remember who i am?” He asked hand now resting on his own handle.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before”

He knew that was going to happen. He did. And it didn't make it hurt any less than it does.

“You are the upper moon one. And I may not be able to kill you. But i'd rather go down trying than never knowing i had a chance”

Fights always bored him. They always ended far sooner than he would have hoped. But this was taking too long. He knew why. His own hesitance withheld him and he didn't know why.

Why did he not want to kill you? Why on earth were you the only thing that kept him the least bit happy when nothing ever seemed too. What was so special about you in the first place?

For the first time ever he felt a shiver run up his spine and for the first time ever he let a slayer live.

#kimetsu no yaiba #Kokushibo #kokushibo x y/n #kokushibo x reader #x reader #female reader #kny x reader

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mylove-iv · 1 month

Text

❝where the shooting star falls, meet me there.❞

ʚ aged up, botw! link x half fairy, fem! reader ɞ

synopsis: two lovers are torn apart by a calamity and death’s approaching embrace. one wakes, heart bearing a crown of thorns riddled with love and pain, whilst the other sleeps, memories of their love and life before the calamity’s fall lost to the throes of time, appearing only as fleeting dreams.

genres: angst, romance, fluff. | set pre and post calamity.

rating: mature, 18+ (mdni).

content warnings: mentions of near death (in multiple instances) and injuries, implied intercourse (barely), slight spoilers (slight canon divergence).

word count: 3.5k words.

―originally posted on @mydarling-iv, nov. 22, 2022.

ʚ masterlist ɞ

Where had it all gone wrong? You wonder to yourself as you sobbed over the limp body of your dearly beloved.

You screamed and cried, begging for him to do anything, a twitch of his finger or whatever you could get to signal that he’s alive.

But you had gotten nothing and despite using your healing magic, you heard no thud of his heart—you heard nothing and it was deafening as is.

Zelda sat a bit away from her knight and beloved best friend, heart breaking into two, your pained cries shattering whatever pieces were left of Zelda’s heart.

Anxiety and fear bubbled up in you before spilling over as a chilling numbness settled in your chest and somehow the hurt and pain you’ve felt intensified in a silent yet deadly way.

Through your tear-marbled lashes, you see the faint glow of the Master Sword and the pain sharpens in your chest causing you to gasp and stagger. “Y/n!” Zelda cries as she catches you in her arms.

“Enlighten me.” You begged brokenly as you unravel yourself from the princess’s arms and grasp onto the handle of the master sword.

You hear its murmurs and despite the chances, relief floods your body but it’s short-lived as the agony burning through your chest extinguishes any positive emotions you could barely even muster to feel.

Letting go of the Goddess Blade so haphazardly, you cup your lover’s cheeks before pressing your forehead against his. The rain pelts against you both and the rain’s dew mixes with the tears running down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, my dear,” Your voice cracks with sorrow as your thumbs brush the debris on his cheekbones. “But come find me again—where the star falls, please?” The words tumble from your lips as a broken whisper lost in the rain’s pitter-patter to everyone but you and Link.

You lock your lips with his and you pour every remaining bit of your healing magic into your lover, to heal, to soothe, and to reassure. His pale complexion brightens a tad bit but he still lies motionless.

You faintly hear Zelda speaking to a Sheikah warrior about the shrine you had finally found and setting in motion the very plan you had devised to keep your lover away from death’s cold embrace.

“I love you, my darling.” You say as you bring his left hand to cup your cheek, kissing the very ring that is to bound your souls together as it temporarily glows a hue similar to that of your eyes before you pull away, your fingertips brushing against his skin one last time.

Hand grasping the very sword your lover wielded, you and Zelda parted from the Sheikah soldier who hoisted Link on his back.

You then embrace Hyrule's princess tightly and through the rain’s chilly onslaught, you let your warmth mingle with Zelda’s as a parting gift. Tears land on each other’s shoulders as you feel each other’s bodies shake, not from the cold, but from the fear and pain consuming your souls of what is to come.

No words are exchanged besides a heartbreaking gaze between you both before you part ways, one walking to the lost woods and the other where the calamity resides.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Once you had successfully navigated through the foggy maze of the lost woods, you reach the silent Korok forest.

After the Calamity's arrival, all forests seemed to cease all of their songs and as you trekked through the Korok forest, a painful numbness settled all over your body, stopping your tears at once.

No koroks chirped with mischievous laughter nor did the wind sing with the tunes of rustling leaves. The damaged Master Sword feels heavier in your hand as you step atop the stone platform.

Your vision blurs with a new layer of fresh tears, ready to fall from your eyes as a wave of exhaustion crashes into you unexpectedly, like waves upon waves crashing onto the surf.

Collapsing into the lush, cool grass beneath the great Deku tree, a tired and pained sigh tumbles from your lips as you settle your back against the ancient tree’s bark.

You hold the sword protectively as you look at the concentrated malice engraved into the blade before you lean the butt of the sword’s handle against the bark, resting right next to your head.

A lone tear slips past your lashes and your eyes close, resigning yourself to the darkness that swallows your vision.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

You awake, vision blurry as you take in the forest, seeming to have grown more lush, either due to the passage of time passing or your nature magic seeping into the flora and fauna surrounding you.

“How many years have passed?” You question quietly, fixing yourself in a comfortable position as your arms hug the goddess blade protectively.

You hear the murmurings of the forest around you and your body freezes at the answer you get.

A decade.

Anguish wracks your entire being, tears stinging your eyes yet refusing to break through the dam that was unwittingly created through the massive amounts of trauma and grief you had to experience.

The mixture of your magic pool overflowing and your sudden flare of emotions causes blooms of blue nightshade to spring to life around you.

The overwhelming pain and sadness prevents you from moving as the scent of blue nightshade slips into your nose and you’re thrown into a dreamless slumber.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

You wake up throughout the decades that pass, rooted to your spot as you pitifully hope that your lover would have awoken to grab the Master Sword to finally defeat the evil poisoning Hyrule.

But to no avail, time still cruelly passes and the numbness covering your pain and grief grows. “I’m scared, Link.” You whisper into the night as you lean your cheek against the smooth, flat part of the Master Sword’s blade.

They both could be dead. The treacherous thought moves into your mind quickly, just like how shadows grow and dance under the moon’s domain, causing your heartache to intensify.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

“Why am I still here?” the question tumbles from your lips as you awake from your slumber yet again, losing count of how many times you’ve awoken and fallen asleep.

Your grief and pain seem to freeze you in time whilst the world continues to spin through the day and night cycles, time passing despite how you so badly wish it could stop.

You look to the skies as sunlight leaks from the Deku tree’s leaves and branches before spilling onto your face. “Is it stupid of me to patiently wait for someone who won’t even arrive?” You lament to yourself softly.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

As dusk transforms into dawn continuously, your hope dwindles as the years pass by. The idea of Link awakening grows dimmer and dimmer before you finally face the harsh truth as tears finally make their way down your cheeks.

Every instance your eyes flutter open and in the back of your mind, you continuously kill the traitorous hope of your lover being alive and as with killing your lover, you kill a part of yourself every time.

Awakening once more, you finally decide enough is enough, sick of the hollowing ache embedded so deeply within your chest.

You bring the back of your palm to your lips, gently kissing the golden band adorning your dominant hand’s ring finger before you weakly reach for a blue nightshade bud.

Crushing the bud into your palm, you force a pool of your power to liquefy into your palm to mix with the crushed blue nightshade petals. The tonic in your hand bleeds into vibrant blue before you bring the liquid to your lips.

“I’m sorry, my darling.” Your whispers are carried by the winds to lands beyond as your eyelids fall shut, hand falling limply on the ground against the Master sword’s tip and you’re blanketed with a painless sleep.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Link feels a swirl of emotions as his shattered memory is finally pieced together, he remembers Zelda, the champions—everyone yet why is there a phantom ache in his chest that hurts so much it’s hard for him to breathe?

It feels as if there’s something—someone important to him missing, seeming so close yet so far.

He shuts his eyes, hoping to get sleep before he’s to travel yet again and he’s engulfed in a sleep so comforting yet so terrifying.

“I’m scared, Link.” A soft voice whispers and Link’s heart shatters at how broken the voice sounds. “I’m sorry, my darling.”

Link feels the sudden urge to seek out the person behind the voice and comfort them with his entire being that everything would be alright but the person’s whispers are already lost to the wind.

Color fills his dream and the scenery changes. His eyes suddenly clash with beautiful e/c orbs that send his heart racing as a smile graces the woman's face and Link suddenly feels so starstruck as if he’s been placed under a love spell.

The unknown yet familiar woman cups his cheeks and Link’s heart nearly bursts at the close proximity. Her nose brushes against his and he feels swarms of butterflies wildly flap in his stomach.

Her eyes curl as she smiles yet again, “I love you, my darling.” She whispers, lips teasingly brushing against his.

Link finds himself sealing the gap between his lips and the woman’s and despite it feeling slightly foreign, her lips against his felt so painfully familiar.

It feels so heart-wrenchingly right.

But as per usual, he wakes with a start from the dream as the pain intensifies in his chest. Tears threaten to spill from his orbs as massive waves of grief wash over him, the image of the woman is immediately lost to him and he bites his lip to prevent a pained cry from escaping his lips.

He winces suddenly as light is reflected off something shiny before bouncing to his eyes. Moving his head, Link finally notices the ring adorning his left hand’s ring finger.

From his waking till now, he’s never paid much attention to the ring or even noticed it during his travels as he moved quickly, hoping to regain his strength and bearings to finally defeat Calamity Ganon once and for all.

He’s struck with a sense of nostalgia before his body moves on its own accord. Letting the muscle memory take over, his fist clenches, and the ring is brought to his lips before he delicately places a soft kiss against the cool metal.

It glows a familiar e/c hue and his thoughts take hold of Link. Eyes bearing a similar color flashes within his mind as the full image of the woman in his dreams fully make its presence known in his mind.

A soft e/c glow hugs Link and a myriad of lost memories quickly flash through his mind. His body relaxes as he inhales the comforting scent of sweet honey and floral nectar, causing everything to crash into him all at once.

Memories of you and him and the strong love you both shared for each other.

The woman in his dreams, guiding him and providing him with constant reassurance was you, the woman he had loved so much a century ago and still dearly loved now.

He remembers the moment you both met, standing on opposite sides of a fallen star fragment you both had chased as young teens, how the yellow glow of the fragment casted an ethereal glow on your stunning features that it had taken his breath away.

He remembers the night he caught you in a hidden corner of the palace gardens, flora blooming around you before you caught him looking at you so ardently. The moment you invited him to sit with you and talk about the most random of things made him feel as if he was just a regular hylian boy without the world’s weight on his shoulders.

Nights thereafter held a similar routine of basking in each other’s presence. One night, he had come to meet you with bruises from training, and for the first time in his life, his heart ached at the way your eyes filled with hurt and worry.

You then had cupped his cheek and a soft colored glow matching your eyes emanated from your palms before you told him of you being half fairy as a comforting and healing warmth filled his being, thus explaining your affinity with nature and healing magic.

Another memorable night was when he had brought you a small bouquet of gypsophila and you had tackled him in a hug, taking you both to the ground in a fit of hushed laughter and bright smiles. He sat up and found himself so close to you, your noses brushing against each other as your breaths and body warmth mingled in a tight hug.

He had eyed your lips before meeting your dazed orbs. He swallows his nervousness and musters the courage he and the heroes before him are known for. “May I?” He whispers.

Your answer was immediate, “Please.”

He then pressed his lips against yours and you quickly followed with kissing him back. It was a soft, quick kiss that sent both of your hearts beating so wildly, both of your minds reeling before you both had pulled away.

A shiver danced its way down his spine as he felt your fingers tangle with his locks on the nape of his neck, licking his lips and seeming in sync with your thoughts, he surges forward and meets your lips again in a loving kiss.

He then remembers a moment in the dead of night, when the full moon reached its apex, and you both laid next to each other, your bare skin brushed against his in the utmost alluring way as your hair spread around you almost like a halo.

You looked up at him as your cheek pressed against his bare chest and sent him a sweet yet dazzling smile that made his soul shiver in happiness—that made every part of him ache with an overwhelming amount of love for you.

He sent a small smile to you and reached over to the nightstand before grabbing your dominant hand and slipping a small golden band over your ring finger. He then placed a bigger ring in your palm, patiently waiting.

“Marry me?” He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours and cupping your face with his hands as his thumbs brushed away the tears leaking from your stunningly beautiful eyes.

His smile had widened as you abruptly sat up, holding the sheets to cover your bare body as your eyes sparkled with tears and love. A wobbly yet bright smile graced your features once more, his left hand gently being cupped by your smaller ones as you slipped his ring on.

“Yes,” You choke through your tears as you also cupped his face. “I love you.”

He smiled at your admission that seemed to always make his heart stutter. “I love you so much more.” He hummed softly as he pressed his lips against yours.

He held you tightly in his arms, and during that very same night, he realized he held a miracle.

An overwhelming wave of longing and a lovelorn sadness washes over Link as the hollowed ache in his chest sharpened into an intense pain that pricked every fiber of his being.

He had nearly died before and was on the brink of entering death’s cold embrace but yet, the pain he’s experienced before his new revelation could never compare to the brutally raw pain he now feels because there was a large possibility of you being lost in the throes of time.

It hurts. Link thinks quietly to himself as he grips the fabric situated above his heart so tightly his knuckles turn white.

How does he live? How does he breathe? When you’re not here, he’s suffocating and he realizes this is where he’d give it all up, everything he’s worked so very hard for. For you, he’d have to risk it all just to see you once more.

Hurriedly, Link gathers the small remains of his temporary camp and leaps upon his trusty steed before he prays to whatever higher power is willing to hear his prayers. And if his prayers had gone unheard, he’ll try and tear both heaven and earth apart just to get back to you.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Twisting his horse’s reins wildly, Link has the sudden urge to scream as his mind comes up with nothing regarding your location. Or where you remains rested. The haunting thought curls around his heart and squeezes harshly causing his breath to abruptly hitch.

He urges his steed to stop as a sudden wetness falls on his hands, he thinks it’s rain but when Link finally snaps out of his miserable daze, he realizes it’s his tears that are falling onto his hands.

“Where are you, my love?” Link questions hoarsely to himself and before he can curl himself to sob the grief and pain taking hold of his heart, a twinkle of gold catches his eye causing him to raise his head.

A shooting star fragment.

His mind shifts to his memory of meeting you, it was a shooting star fragment that had originally led you to each other. But yet, another memory envelops the hero, one that intensifies the longing bubbling over in his chest.

It was a warm night and he laid soundly in your embrace as you ran your fingers through his locks before you cup his face ever so sweetly. He had been sleeping, waking up to the soothing motions of your nails gently brushing against his scalp and he decided then to continue to pretend to sleep in order to enjoy your comforting touch.

He feels your thumb brush against his cheek ever so softly as you place a saccharine kiss on the tip of his nose. “Darling, do you recall of the first time we met?” You sing softly, almost as if you’re terrified of breaking the tranquil air blanketing the space around you and him.

“Because I do. I recall of our meeting a lot—you stood there, almost frozen in shock at seeing another person chasing the very same star you were. And goddesses, you looked so pretty it hurts. How the starlight cupped your face and painted it in such a celestial glow. You took my breath away the moment I glanced at you and my heart suddenly decided to beat for you.” His heart skips a beat at your confession.

“Maybe in another life, or whenever we’re lost and apart from each other, just like how we had first met, where the shooting star falls, wait there. For I will be waiting for you besides a fallen star fragment, my heart longing for you. I love you, my darling.” You finish before you kiss his forehead.

Link gasps painfully as he snaps out of the memory and before he knows it, he’s quickly urging his horse in the direction the shooting star fragment flew.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

He eyes the pillar of light the fragment created and he finds himself in front of the lost woods, the pillar of light seemed to emanate from the central portion of the forest, and without thought or reason, Link throws himself into the foggy maze of the lost woods.

Despite the wild urgency and intense adrenaline flooding his body, he somehow navigates his way through the maze-like paths of the lost woods and finds himself at the entrance of the Korok forest.

Link’s azure eyes are immediately drawn to the empty raised pedestal of rock that holds no Master Sword and a sense of alarm envelops him in an unwanted hug.

His chest convulses unexpectedly as panic sets in, no matter the Master Sword, Link could still find a way to defeat the Calamity with regular weapons but, where were you?

He’s on the brink of losing himself to the raging storm within his mind but the wind rustles the trees’ leaves and branches in a gentle dance, causing a blinding light of blue and gold to flash in his eyes.

Head turning automatically and body lurching forwards in the direction of the two-toned light, the base of the Deku tree comes into view and he sees what his heart most yearned for through the hundred of years he’s slept through and the years before that.

You, sat at the base of the great Deku tree, seemingly enveloped by sleep.

Your eyes are closed as an air of tranquility blankets the space around you, a myriad of flowers blooming with life around you. Link notices vines growing along the Master Sword you embrace, gleaming proudly at its wielder as if it wasn’t drained of light nearly a century ago, as the said vines also caresses the skin of your limbs almost delicately.

Tears blur his ultramarine eyes and Link falls to his knees in front of you. He then gently removes the vines adorning your body as his eyes scan your body.

You’re still as beautiful as day the calamity had fallen and he feels the familiar warmth and happiness you always bring hug him the most spectacular ways that’d make his cheeks flush a rosy hue and his stomach flutter sweetly.

His tears finally fall as Link painfully musters a wobbly smile. He cups your face with his calloused hands, seasoned with danger and adventure, a stark contrast to your unsullied, pure skin.

Thumb rubbing against your cheekbone, Link leans his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long, my love.” His voice cracks as pain and vulnerability seep into his tone. “But I’m here—I found you yet again where the shooting star fell.”

“Please, my love, come back to me.”

#𝐢𝐯'𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.°♡༉‧₊#legend of zelda: gallery of the wilds ༉‧₊˚✧#legend of zelda #breath of the wild #loz #botw #legend of zelda link x reader #breath of the wild link x reader #loz link x reader #botw link x reader #botw link #botw link angst #botw link fluff #botw link smut #link #link x fem reader #link x you #reader insert

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justanamesstuff · 1 year

Text

All I Need

Chapter 8

A/N: I'm just going to say, don't hate me...and I love you guys!! Thanks for reading :'))

Warnings: a pinch of fluff, ANGST, hate, possibilities of someone cheating, baby crying, typos.

Word count: 10 k

Blog masterlist Series MASTERLIST

Morning of the 1st show of ‘The 1975 on tour’.

The sun peaking through the curtains –of Matty’s room– enlighten the place enough to wake Y/n up. She blinked her eyes open, staring at the wall a few meters further from the bed. Y/n rubbed her cheek on Matty’s chest, feeling it rise and fall rhythmically. He was still asleep, keeping her safe and close to him.

Y/n couldn’t help to smile, enjoying the last minutes before they had to start the day; a busy day, specially for Matty and the band.

She lifted her head from his chest, choosing to look at him. Matty moved his head to her side as a subconscious response to her actions. His long eyelashes resting on the top of his cheeks, his curls a mess around his pillow. Y/n’s smile grew fonder.

The last month and a half with Matty felt like a dream. Her dream. Y/n felt her chest contract to the feeling of having to say goodbye to Matty for a few weeks. The show was the first one of a long list around the UK. The band was going to be closer, but Matty wasn’t going to be close enough. She wanted him right there, all the time, but life had other plans. Y/n tried to get rid of those thoughts. She glanced at the vintage clock Matty had on his bedside table.

Y/n let her hands touch the skin of his right cheek. “Matty.” She started sweetly.

“Mmm.” Matty mumbled following her touch.

“You need to wake up.”

“Mmm.” He let out again, reaching –still with his eyes close– for the back of her head. “We still have time-” Matty’s voice was deep due to sleep. He tried to bring her closer.

“We don’t, babe.” Y/n let him know, preventing the sadness to slip away, tinting her words.

Matty groaned, opening his eyes only a quarter to look at Y/n. “I don’t want the day to start.”

Y/n couldn’t help to laugh at his lie. He had been excited to be back on stage, with the guys and the fans in the same room. He was static for Amelia to watch daddy perform for the first time in her short life.

“That’s a lie, Healy.”

Y/n let him brought her towards his face this time. She let their noses touch on a sweet caress. Matty let his lids fall again, sensing her, imprinting the moment in his head for the next few weeks until they could repeat it.

“I’m going to miss you.” Matty said, acknowledging the elephant in the room.

Y/n swallowed thick, trying not to cry. “Mmm.” She could only let out, which called Matty’s attention. He stared at her face, searching for her eyes, although Y/n kept them close.

“Oh, baby!” Matty was fully awake now. His heart broken at the sight of her suffering because he had to leave. “It’s going to go by so quickly…and we’ll be back together in no time, okay?”

“Yes.” Y/n let their foreheads touch.

“Come here.”

Y/n rested her head once more on top of Matty’s body, hiding her head on his neck. She breathed him in; his aftershave mixed with the smell of the –horrible– camels he smoked, his essence. Instead of suppressing what she was going through, Y/n let herself actually feel everything. That was the thing with Matty, she felt safe enough –when it was him and her– to just be herself. Y/n knew Matty would be there to support her if she needed him.

The sound of Amelia waking up came from behind Y/n. The baby call resting on her bedside table announced the actual start of the day.

“Can you get her?” Y/n asked Matty.

He let some breath out, similar to a laugh. “It’s your turn…” He reminded her.

“No, it’s yours!” Y/n protested, without wanting to leave her place on the bed. “Please!” She softly begged.

“What do I get?” Matty played it suggestively.

It was a game that could be played by the both of them. Y/n shoot back, “I’ll do anything you ask…”

“I like the sound of that, baby.” Matty let his hip buckled up, making her sense his morning arouse.

“Healy, your daughter is waiting…and you have your head deep in the gutter-” Y/n shook her head as a way to let him know she was disappointed.

Matty smiled wide, “I’d like to have it deep in yours, if you ask me.” Y/n gasped out loud, lifting her head from his body.

“And thinking you’re her favourite!” She told him, coming to rest her back on the headboard of Matty’s bed.

“‘Course I am…I’m daddy!” He answered proudly.

Y/n looked at him stood up –grabbing his sweatpants– and teased him, “Mhm, you’re daddy…”

Matty turned around with his trousers half up his skinny legs. He looked at her stunned, protesting, “Don’t say it like that!”

“What?” Y/n exclaimed innocently.

“You make it sound weird…” Y/n laughed about it. “Anyway, I’ll get our baby…” He informed her, marching to the door.

“Matt?”

“Yes?” He turned around after he heard her talk.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Matty looked around, trying to figure out what could it be. “What?” He stared at her blankly.

“Kiss.” Y/n only pronounced, gaining a big smile from Matty.

On a quick movement, Matty jumped on the bed, pinning her on the mattress. “Now Mel has to wait because of you-” He breathed on her lips.

“What a horrible parents we are.” Y/n joked, grabbing his cheeks.

Matty let all his body weight rest on Y/n, connecting their lips. Y/n felt his hard on restricted between their bodies. She wished Amelia had slept longer that morning, but it was a dead wish. The little girl was bubbling away at the other end of the baby call.

“Okay, go.” Y/n indicated with their lips still connected.

“One more…” The singer requested breathless. “I can’t get enough of you.” Matty admitted with his mind fogged. He let his nose lead the way, drawing a path from her lips, down her chin and onto her neck.

“I hope you never get enough…” Y/n ran a hand through his curls, tugging a little.

“Rude!” Matty protested.

Y/n rolled her eyes, “You know how I mean it…”

“Fine. You know what? I’ll go and get a girl that values me-” Matty continued his fake annoyance, proud of himself when she smiled brightly at him.

“Your own daughter doesn’t count, Healy.” Y/n warned Matty, joining the joke.

“‘Course she counts. She’s the person I love the most, and she loves me equally back.” Matty dramatically presented the facts for her.

“Oh, I know!”

Matty looked at Y/n from the end of the bed, placing his hands on his hips, showing her his broad chest in all its glory. “Jealous, Y/l/l?”

“Nope, she loves me a great deal.” Y/n reply, ogling his naked skin.

“Who doesn’t?”

Matty’s delicately words took her out of her entrance. Y/n look up, founding he was staring at her with heart eyes.

“Stop! Our daughter is waiting!” A very blushed Y/n scolded him.

Matty threw his head back, slightly annoyed she was resisting his affection. He left the room. Y/n heard –thanks to the caller– his happy greeting to Amelia, and the reply to it. The conversation was full of ‘baby’ and ‘daddy/dada’. Y/n smiled, content with her family. She was for sure going to miss him, although she was sure they could manage.

“Look who’s here!” Matty made his appearance with Amelia, still in her PJ’s, in his arms.

Amelia grew excited when her soft brown eyes fell on Y/n. “Mommy!”

“Good morning, my mel-mel” Y/n waved from her place on the bed. “Come to mommy!” She lifted her arms, asking for her.

Matty left Amelia on the bed, so she could crawl towards Y/n. He stood at the end of it, looking at his girl's greet.

“Who’s going to see daddy sing today?” Y/n looked at the girl in her embrace, while Amelia nestle on her chest.

Matty complained once more, “Stop saying-”

“I made you a DILF, I have the right to call you ‘daddy’.” Y/n shut him up.

“Touché.”

“Dada...” Amelia interrupted her parents bickering, calling for him to be close.

Matty returned to his place on his bed, at the other side of Amelia. The little girl following every single one of his movements. Daddy was indeed her favourite person in the world.

“Hello baby, did you sleep well? Nice dreams?” Matty bumped her nose. He loved to interact with her sweet girl.

“Yes.” Amelia answered, showing him his cute smile.

“About daddy?”

She laughed, blushing, hiding her face on Y/n’s chest. Matty felt a sore feeling inside his heart. Amelia was growing too fast for his liking. He looked at Y/n admitting, “I don’t want her to keep growing.”

Y/n nodded in agreement. “Right?”

“I miss the days she was this little,” Matty measured in the air the size of Amelia during her first few weeks. “Resting on my chest. Those first months went by so fast…” Matty felt rather nostalgic that morning, looking at her daughter. He tried not to think of how much he was going to miss her.

“Yeah.” Y/n agreed, staring at Amelia play with her bracelets.

Matty’s questions took her by surprise, “Have you ever thought about having more kids?”

“Have you…?” Y/n arched her eyebrow. Was he proposing…?

Matty blushed, he had though about it, “Mhm, multiple times.”

“Matty-”

“I’m not-”

“Okay.” Y/n breathed again with relief. She didn’t know if she was ready for all of it again, she wasn’t sure she wanted more kids.

“I just think it would be amazing to grow the family, Amelia can have a sibling to play with… It’s nice to imagine another baby.” Matty talked with his mind replaying the scenarios he thought about so many times, specially during the last month.

“A boy or another girl?”

“I don’t care, I would be over the moon with either…imagine a little boy running around, following Amelia. He would impatiently wait to play with her…being so small, still expecting for his big sister to like him, to include him in her imaginary games. Same with another girl.”

“That’s so sweet, Matty.” Y/n reached out to touch his hair. He could be so tender and adorable when he wanted.

“Would you like to be a big sister?” Matty included Amelia back into the conversation.

“Daddy!”

“She wouldn’t be happy with daddy’s attention elsewhere.” Y/n teased him.

“I bet…”

Matty was too embarrassed about bringing the subject, he decided to change the course of the conversation. “Okay, who wants breakfast?”

“Me!” Amelia stood up on the bed, Y/n rest her hands at both sides of her chest, preventing her from falling.

“Let’s go!” Matty took her in his embrace, lifting her little body into the air. The singer started to make sounds of flying, manoeuvring her body —carefully— around. Amelia giggles filled the entire house.

*******************************************

Y/n was brewing tea for her and Matty, meanwhile him and Amelia talk on the big table. He had been, from a time being, trying to teach her sounds and words.

“What sound does a cow make?” Matty tested her knowledge.

“Muuu!” Amelia repeated what she had learned before.

He rewarded her with a big kiss on her cheek. “Well-done baby!” Matty screamed.

“And a dog?”

“Guff, guff!”

“That’s right, mel!” He clapped this time, trying to encourage her.

“Amelia Healy, you’re so smart!”

“She’s your daughter, Healy….of course she’s a smart kid.” Y/n told him, bringing the full cups to the table.

“I thought she got the looks from me.” He teased Y/n.

Y/n couldn’t deny it.“Yes, that too!”

“Baby-” Matty felt his cheeks blushing with her compliments.

Y/n took a bite of her breakfast, continuing with her praising, “Handsome and smart.”

“Stop!”

“Oh, shush!”

Y/n’s face changed instantly, “Fuck…” She whipped her hands fast.

“What?” Matty panicked.

Although, Y/n was out of sight in seconds; leaving a confused Matty seated beside Amelia.

He looked at her daughter, “Do you know something about it?” The singer asked her. Amelia lift her hands in a signal of not knowing. Matty chuckled.

Y/n appeared, after a few minutes of confusion, through the laundry’s room door with a big bouquet hiding her face.

Matty got quite emotional about it. “Baby…”

“For you…from us.” Y/n extended the bouquet of marigold’s for him to grab. “Mel picked them.” Y/n shared with him.

Amelia was looking at the flowers, so Matty inquired her, “Have you, missy?”

“Yes!” She replied.

“Thank you, mel-mel!” He left a kiss on her rosy cheeks. “This is so thoughtful…” Matty admired the bunch on his hands.

Y/n brushed her hair back, without looking at him, expression her idea, “We thought it was a good idea to wish you good luck for today.”

Matty stared at her, completely in love with the girl in front of him. He felt the urge to say it but stopped. “Thank you, baby!” He whispered instead.

His phone vibrate with a message from George, distracting the man for a second. He had to leave now to make it on time for everything they had planned.

“Shit, I’ve to go now…” Matty felt awful to break the sweet bubbled they had been in for the last hour. Reality was knocking on their door.

Y/n felt her body deflated. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you two tonight, right?” Matty examinated her features, he wanted to find something to say or do to cheer her up at least a little.

“Yes, babe. We’re going to be there…cheering for daddy, right, Mel?” Y/n forced herself to appear more happy than she felt. Matty needed to focus on the show and no on her, as she well knew he would do if Y/n let him really see she wasn't happy with him leaving the house.

“Yes!” Amelia clapped from her high sit.

“Perfect.” Matty said, leaving a kiss at the top of Amelia’s head. Rounding the table, he came face to face with Amelia's mother.

He lowered his face, closer to hers. Y/n still felt nervous to show that type of affection around Amelia, she didn’t want to confuse her.

“Matt-”

“I need it, please.” Matty begged, lowering the bouquet on the table.

Y/n checked Amelia. She was playing with her food, messing with it and not giving attention to his parents.

Matty waited for Y/n. She looked at his welcoming eyes, saying, “Sir-”

“I can beg.” He reminded Y/n, half serious, half not.

Y/n brushed his hair out of Matty’s forehead. “I know that.”

“Baby- my baby…”

“Mmm…” Y/n faked not being affected by his pleading tone.

“Please, please, please!” Matty touched the exposed sides of her thighs, feeling her skin.

Y/n couldn’t keep it for longer, “Fine.”

Matty pushed his face forward, connecting his lips with hers. Her mouth tasted like her breakfast and tea. He let his tongue intrude a little. Matty thought since they would be hours apart, he needed to give her a strong kiss, one that had her –and him too– satisfied enough for the time being.

Amelia broke the moment, blasting her hands on the little board making a table for her.

Matty detached himself from Y/n, looking at his daughter. He asked her, “You want kisses too?”

“Up.” She made grabby hands.

Matty took her on his embrace. “I love you.” He told her, staring at her little face.

Amelia rested her head on his shoulder, trying to repeat his words, “Ove you.” Which make Matty’s heart melt.

“Okay, gotta run now.” He started to say his goodbyes, passing Amelia to Y/n. “Put the flowers in a vase for me, please.”

“I will…bye.” Y/n said, feeling his kiss on the crown of her head.

Matty turned around, leaving Amelia and her mother in the kitchen. “I love you.” He exclaimed once more, without turning around, expecting to hear Amelia’s voice again.

Amelia waved from her place, “Ove you!” Y/n couldn’t resist kissing her fluffy cheeks.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later… Backstage at the arena.

“Where’s the princess of the house?” Denise shouted from the end of the arena’s hall. Amelia let go of her mother's hand and ran towards Matty’s mother.

The little girl shouted when her grandmother lifted her up, kissing her cheeks –it was kind of an addiction the entire family had, because Amelia owned the cutest cheeks–, which makes the toddler laugh.

“You look gorgeous, Amelia Healy!” Denise pointed to the flower dress, on top of a white shirt and black shiny shoes Matty’s child had on. “Mommy really dressed you up for the occasion!”

“Mommy…” Amelia turned inside Denise hold, looking around for her mother.

Y/n approached the pair, smiling. It was always a sweet sight to look at them together.

“Hello, darling.” Denise chanted, when Y/n was close.

“Hi.” Y/n said, with her voice shaking. She couldn’t suppress the nerves, Y/n knew how hard they had been working for months on to deliver the show of the fan’s dreams.

“How are you?” Denise brought her closer with an arm, a side hug.

Y/n shook her hands, anxiously, spitting out a strangled, “Nervous.”

“Are you playing?” Matty’s mother tried to cheer Y/n a little. She was nervous as well but trusted them, and had seen the boys enough times do it to let the feeling overtook her. Although she empathized with Y/n.

Y/n snorted. “I don’t think fans would be fond of hearing me sing!”

“I bet they would…you’re mini Matty’s version mom after all…” Denise told her.

“Just to mock me.”

“They adore you!”

“Yeah, some of them…which it’s surreal.”

“Nana!” Amelia blurbed out, gaining her attention again, interrupting the adult’s chat.

“Yes, honey?” Denise inquired her with her soft –grandmotherly like– voice.

Amelia directly asked, “Daddy?”

“She can’t stop asking for him.” Y/n warned Denise.

“I don’t know, sweetie.” Amelia’s grandmother told her truthfully.

“Daddy is rehearsing, remember?” Y/n said once more for Amelia’s information. She had been repeating it since they got there, even though Matty’s child wasn’t having it; she wanted daddy and no one else.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” She repeated, still in Denise embrace.

Y/n felt bad for her, she shared the feeling with her own daughter. Y/n was dying to see Matty, the difference was she was old enough to understand and wait a bit longer. “I know, I know…” Y/n ran her hand through her curls, she had let them be at its natural state. “You’ll see him in a bit, okay?” She promised.

“How is he?” Denise asked Y/n.

They haven't seen the boys or even Matty, they arrived just after they went to do the last few checks. Y/n shared it with Denise, “We came in just when they left to sound check and I didn’t want to distract them, more like Amelia distracting them.”

“That’s smart. You’re a show girl like dad, all the attention on you!” Denise tried to ease Amelia’s state. The little girl was looking around, expecting for his father to appear in front of her.

“She totally is.” Y/n admitted, proudly.

When all of a sudden, voices came from the other end of the hall. They weren’t at sight to see; although Y/n and Denise shared a knowing look, happy for Amelia specially.

“Where’s my favourite god-daughter?” George’s shouted when his sight fell on Denise holding Matty’s child.

“You only have one, idiot.” Matty hit him playfully on his arm.

“Org, org!” Amelia boobed up and down, excited to see them.

Once they were close enough, George stole her from Denise’s arms, wrapping Amelia with his owns. Matty stood closer to Y/n, touching the small of her back, making her feel calmer now he was close.

“Hi, beautiful!” G tickled her. “I missed you!” He went to kiss her cheeks, making the little girl blush.

“You haven’t seen her in two days…” Matty scoffed, rolling his eyes. Meanwhile, he drew circles on Y/n’s back. She was gone, letting herself enjoy his touch, until her sight fell on Denise’s face, who smiled at them. Y/n felt a little uncomfortable, but she would expose them if she moved aside. So, she chose to stay still.

“Daddy!” Matty’s face brightened, looking at Amelia calling him.

“Is this gorgeous lady asking for me?” Matty took her from G’s arms, gaining a protest from his bandmate. George’s attention changed, going to say hello to Denise and started chatting.

Matty shut him up with a singe look, after he returned all his attention to Amelia. “You look so pretty!” He complimented her, admiring her outfit, on the same vibe as he had planned for his own for the show. “She looks perfect.” Matty turned to look at Y/n.

“She looks dashing.” Denise said, instead interrupting her talking and preventing any response from Y/N. Matty looked at his own mother. “Aren’t you going to greet your mother, Matthew?” She teased him.

“Hi, mom.” He went to kiss her cheek, with Amelia resting her head on his shoulder.

Y/n focused her own sight on George standing at the other side. “Am I invisible to you, Daniels?” Y/n exclaimed, arching her eyebrow to him.

George dramatically let his tall body hang a little, comically going to engulf Y/n in a big hug. “Thought I was imagining you being here!” He joked, talking at the top of Y/n’s head.

“Ha, ha…so funny.” Y/n’s voice coming muffled by George’s chest.

“Let her breath, George.” Matty whined from her side.

George let her go, resting his right arm on top of Y/n’s shoulders. “Jealous man talking…”

“How was sound check?” Y/n freshly cut the bickering.

“Everything is ready to go.” G said excited.

Y/n looked up at him, “That’s cool. Charli is coming, right?” She asked.

“Yeah! She’s looking forward to seeing you and Ames.”

“Me too! I haven’t-” Y/n started to talk, when someone from the crew shouted.

“Matty!” Mark –the security guard– made himself visible for them; the whole group turning around to look at him. “There is a girl at the gate, asking for you.” Mark addressed Matty directly.

“I’m not expecting anyone else, must be a fan.” The frontman tried to brush it off.

Mark insisted, “She’s not…she’s on the list.”

“Fuck…can you take Amelia for a second?” Matty looked at Y/n.

She took their daughter, “Yes.” Y/n’s heart start to pound in her chest, what was going on?

“I’ll be right back.” Matty asked for her, and her only.

*************************************************************

Backstage room.

(30 minutes for the show…)

“Daddy!” Amelia was the first one to spot him, leaving Hann’s children playing alone. Matty didn’t come in alone. A girl was by his side.

When her sight fall upon them, Y/n felt her stomach sank down. Matty glanced at Y/n first, but her sight quickly changed to the floor.

Amelia collided with his legs, forcing him to pay attention to her, “Hey, baby.” Matty lift her up. “This one is Amelia, my daughter.” He introduced her to Amelia, returning his eyes to Y/n’s form sitting on the big couch, not really listening to Carly’s story.

Y/n was in fact listening every word Matty was speaking, the rest of the sounds didn’t reach her ears. She couldn’t quite place what was happening, but she didn’t like it.

“Hi, sweetie.” The voice of the girl made Y/n want to puke. She was young and pretty, she sounded innocent almost.

Amelia hid her face on Matty’s neck. “She’s shy with new people.”

“It’s fine.” The girl didn’t push, understanding, caring.

Y/n tried to focus on Carly speaking, she needed to focus on anything else than the new girl. Who is she? What is she doing there?

Realization hit her, Y/n remembered her.

The girl standing closer to Matty was the same one she saw pictures early on when he returned from New York. She was the same one walking along his side. Her heart broke. He invited that girl to the first show. Had he been in contact for that long? She needed air.

Pushed up from her sit, excusing herself with Carly. Y/n tried to make her way to the door. Bathroom was the destination. “Y/n?” Matty asked, worried before her sudden movements.

“Yeah?” She turned around. The pictured before her brought tears to her eyes. Matty, with Amelia in his arms, and the girl. They looked like one of those pictures of happy families. The air was lacking around her.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, Matty. I need to go to the bathroom. Watch Amelia for me, please.” Y/n rushed her words, wanting to leave immediately. Without more interactions or even acknowledging the pretty girl, she was out.

Once inside the bathroom, after the heavy door closed -leaving the noises at the other side-, Y/n focused on her heart pounding. She tried to breathe deeply, but the anxiety was creeping everywhere around her body. The sight of the girl entering the room with Matty came back to the front of her mind, tears strained her eyes.

Y/n tried hard to contain them. She didn’t want to mess up her makeup. The least she wanted was to look like a raccoon around that porcelain skin girl. This is not about her, Y/n thought. Her problem was with Matty.

He lied, and she believed him. ‘What about the past month and a half? All those nights together…only mean something to her? Hasn’t he felt that? Course not’, Y/n mind spiralled around.

Y/n placed her hands on the marble around the sink. She didn’t want to look at herself, at her own eyes speaking all the truth. Y/n swallowed a cry trying to break through. She needed to pull herself together and go back out; make as if anything was going on inside her mind, her heart, and continue to pretend to be his friend.

A knock distracted her.

“Y/n.” She heard Matty calling her.

“No!” She went for the door, but it was late. He was inside.

Matty took her state in, her body deflating. He exclaimed a quiet, “Baby…”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Y/n took some steps backwards, breaking his heart.

“Y/n?” He asked, expecting.

“Please, leave me alone.” She coldly responded.

“Y/n-” He protested.

Y/n shook her head from side to side, without looking at him. “Matty, I-”

“Sweetheart-” Matty came closer, he went to touch her face, Y/n sensed it. She made the space between them even bigger. Matty’s heart stopping for a second. “It’s not-”

Y/n lift her hand, stopping him. “Don’t tell me it’s not what I think it is…I have eyes. I don’t understand.” She was trying really hard to not cry.

“There’s nothing to understand, baby!” Matty desperately tried.

“Don’t call me baby! No when she’s in the other room-” Y/n bit her lips.

“This is not– She’s not–” Matty didn’t know how to explain everything, how to repair the damage he did. He wanted to push her closer, he needed Y/n. Matty felt hopeless and terrified.

“I knew it was too good to be true.” Y/n stated, regaining her coldness.

Matty felt weak on the knees, “Y/n, please listen to me! This is a mis-” He begged.

“So you can lie to me again? I’m naive, no stupid.” Y/n spat. “I need to go and check on Amelia.” She told him, starting to walk towards the door.

“Amelia is with my mom. She’s okay. Y/n don’t go.” Matty took her wrist. Y/n look at his fingers, and back at his eyes when he started talking. “I invited her way back, wasn’t expecting her to actually show up. She doesn’t mean anything!” He screamed. Matty felt like his words weren’t reaching her. Panic was filling his body, he couldn’t lose her.

“I don’t care, Matty. Let me go.” Y/n said strangely calmed.

“I can’t let you go….how could I?” Matty felt his eyes watering. “No when I’ve just got you back…” Matty spoke softly, loosing strength.

“Don’t-” Y/n protested. “Just stop. Let me go.” She insisted.

“Y/n-”

Someone knocked on the bathroom door behind them. Matty felt rage overtaking him.

“What?!” He shouted, still holding Y/n.

“Matty, are you there?” The stage manager asked.

Matty breathed in, trying to calm down, he asked, “Yes, what?”

“5 minutes!” The person informed him.

“Fuck!” He swore under his breath.

“I’ll get Mel…” Y/n took her hand out of his embrace.

Matty went to touch her again, screaming, “Y/n!” but she was gone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He started screaming without caring who could hear him.

****************************************************************************************

Y/n walked all the way to the part of the arena where the seats for the family members of the guys were. After returning to the backstage room, the guys informed her everyone already left since they had to get on stage. George tried to talk to her, but she escaped, she didn’t want to face Matty again.

She showed her pass to the guards, spotting Denise with Amelia on her arms. The girl was there too. Y/n swore inside.

Y/n didn’t have anything against her –as the same happened with Meredith a month ago– her problem was with the guy of the story.

“Hi, love.” Denise greeted her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Denise insisted, preoccupied looking at her face.

“Yes, I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

Y/n was trying to keep herself together, expecting the moment to be inside the security of her house to let every emotion out. She was going to use everything inside her to succeed.

“The show’s about to start.” The girl informed them. Denise looked at both girls, she was paying close attention when Matty’s guest came in and when Y/n stormed out merely seconds after. “Daisy, this is Y/n… Amelia’s mother.” Denise started to make the introductions.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” The girl extended her arm to offer her hand.

“Y/n, this is Daisy, Matty’s...guest.” Denise concluded.

Y/n wanted to turn around and run until she reached home. “Hello.” She shortly answered, shaking her hand in return for half a second.

The lights going off interrupted the awkward moment between them. Y/n thanked the universe for it.

“Mommy!” Amelia, scared, searched for her mother in the darkness.

“Come here, baby.” Y/n took her from Denise’s arms. “It’s okay, you don’t need to worry! Everything is going to be okay.” She tried to calm her daughter.

Amelia hid her little face on Y/n’s neck. “Daddy?” She asked, making Y/n breathing stopped.

“He’s going to appear there…” Y/n pointed towards the stage. “Tell me when you see him, okay?” Y/n was drawing strength from every part of herself. She wanted Amelia to enjoy the show, enjoy seeing her dad perform for the first time, even she was dreading the experience.

Y/n felt Daisy’s sight on her while cooing Amelia. She didn’t care what the girl was thinking about her, her child, or about herself and Matty. She was going to focus on Amelia and only her.

The lights come back on, Matty make his way to be in front of the microphone place in the middle of the stage.

“Daddy! Mommy,” Amelia screamed, looking at Y/n. “Daddy!” She pointed at him.

“I know, baby, I know.” Y/n smiled at her excitement.

“That’s your dad, Mel!” Denise joined the cheers, silence by the millions of people screaming around them. Y/n arranged the noise-cancelling headphones around Amelia’s head.

The show was going smoothly as planned, even though Matty was barely interacting with the audience.

When the break for the rest of the band was supposed to happened, Matty took the microphone, shielding his eyes from the lights.

“There’s someone special here tonight…” He started to speak, still looking on the left side of the stage. People cheered for him, screaming a lot of different things. “I don’t remember the exact place, but-” He rambled. “My little girl is here!” Matty screamed proud.

The lights around the arena came back on, so he could see better around. Although, Matty wasn’t having it.

“Turn the lights off again!” He demanded. “Please, put your phones aside…” He asked rather politely. “My daughter is watching me and the rest of the band…” Matty made a signal like that last part didn’t matter, making everyone –included Y/n– laugh. “For the first time…” He started walking around the stage, looking down at the floor. “She’s here, with my mom and her own mother-” The mere mention of her broke Y/n’s heart a little more. “So, as you can see, this is a very special night for me.”

People started screaming, and proceed to chant Amelia’s name. The girl didn’t understand at first, but when she recognized her name, she started clapping. Y/n joined the mass of people.

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” Matty spoke, bringing his free hand to his heart, looking at the fans. “Back to me now…” The crowd laughed again. “This night is special. There are some things I wish were different, but life is-” Matty stopped his sentence suddenly. “I don’t know.” He finished without making too much sense.

The rest of the band returned to the stage, Matty stared at them for a second without speaking. “Right, we’re going to play one of Amelia’s favourite songs…which obviously-” He smugly exclaimed. “It’s one written by daddy.” He gained a new round of screams from the crowd. “I hope you like it, baby. I love you!” Matty closed the moment. Y/n felt tears coming down her cheeks, which she dried quickly, so Amelia didn’t notice.

The first chord of ‘Sincerity is Scary’ started playing around the big venue. Amelia started screaming with excitement filling her little body. Maybe she wouldn’t remember the day, but the happiness was going to be storage on her mind for sure.

Y/n left the little girl on the floor, so she can dance and to rest her arms for a minute. Denise started singing, which made Amelia look at her grandmother. She grew interested and went to dance with her.

Amelia’s mother focused on Matty performing. He was dancing around, even though his sight was somehow gone. Y/n shook her head, returning her sight to her daughter. She was dancing happily with Daisy.

Her heart sunk a little inside her chest. Daisy was nice with Amelia, she was tender, which made Y/n felt worse. She wanted to hate her, but it wasn’t possible.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Almost midnight, home.

After the concert was done, Amelia had fallen asleep in Y/n's embrace. It was long past her bedtime hour. Y/n felt bad to used it as an excuse to rapidly made her way out of the arena and with the clear idea to return home.

She let her breath out after closing the front door. Tears came to her eyes. It wasn’t on her plans to return home so soon, she would have wanted to celebrate with the guys, with Matty. Thinking about him made her entire body hurt. The memory of him arriving with Daisy still fresh.

Y/n made her way up, to tuck Amelia in her crib. Y/n looked at her own room, and then at Matty’s. She was going back to hers. Another realization sinking in.

After changing Amelia, she didn’t even have to rock her back to sleep, the girl was so tired she didn’t bother to wake up even when her mother changed her clothes.

Y/n barely arrived in the kitchen area, when her phone started going off.

“Y/n, thank god! Where are you?” Matty screamed at the other side of the line when Y/n pressed the phone to her ear.

Y/n was still in enough shock to keep her cold front. “Home.”

“Fuck, Y/n! You scared the shit out of me!” Y/n felt bad to made him worried. She felt bad to wanting to give back some of what she felt during the night.

She explained, “I’d told your mom to tell you. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Bab-” Matty started to say, but hearing Daisy talk at the other end of the line made Y/n to start feeling angry. The reminder she didn’t meant anything to him.

Y/n cut him, saying, “Amelia is fine, Matty. I’m sorry. Go to your after party-”

He interrupted her this time, “Fuck, no, I’m not going to that…we need to talk! I have to finish here, and then-” Matty tried again for Y/n to listen.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Matty. Not now.” Y/n stopped him.

Matty felt panic again. “Y/n…” He begged.

“I’m going to bed, to my bed.” Y/n informed him; her voice breaking at the end. “Good night, congratulations!” She choked on her words.

Before Matty couldn’t add a single sound, Y/n hang up the phone and fell forward on the kitchen island, crying her heart out.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

One hour later…

Matty claimed up the stairs, jumping between steps to reach the first floor quicker. He needed to see Y/n, they had to talk. He couldn’t give up without fighting for them.

The house was under a complete silence. Most of the lights gone. Y/n previously informed him Amelia was sleeping. He tried to hurry without making too many noises.

When he took the last step, finally arriving at the top of the stairs, his heart sank. Y/n’s door was once more closed. A soft glow of light coming from underneath it. Matty moved forward. He pressed his ear to the door, taking the handle without twisting it.

Y/n was scrolling through some social media, the noise was clear for him. He knocked and all the sounds were gone.

“Y/n…”

Inside the room, Y/n stared at the close door. He was at the other side, he came home and didn’t go to the party.

“Baby…” The nickname brought tears to her hurtful eyes. She wanted so much to run to his arms, although she prevented herself from doing exactly that. She stayed placed on her bed, on those foreign surroundings.

“I know you’re up. I need- We need to talk, please.” Matty tried time again. Y/n felt her tears failing on the comforter.

She pushed herself up, walking until her feet meet middle ground between the door and her bed. “Go to sleep, Matty.” She whispered loud enough for him to hear.

“I can’t sleep if we don’t solve this…”

“Don’t-”

“Y/n.” Matty felt he was running out of resources.

“Go away.”

She returned to her bed. Matty decided to give her space, even with his heart broken. He walked all the way to his room with his heart on his hand, ripped.

Y/n muffled the sound of her sobbing on her hand when she heard his steps walking away.

Matty pushed his room door open, expecting to magically see Y/n there. Reality was a hard pillow to swallow. His bed felt strange, foreign, unfamiliar without her; he didn’t want to try to get in.

He moved closer to it, reaching for his pillow, and stopped in the middle of the same action. He leaned forward, reaching for the pillow Y/n used all those weeks sleeping with him. Matty brought it downstairs with him.

Matty was adamant to keep fighting. He felt asleep, after twisting around on the couch, thinking this was only a big misunderstanding. He could fix it, they were going to solve this and returned right back to normality.

Repeating history two times wasn’t a possibility, Matty reassured himself.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Matty left early in the morning only because Jaime called him with an emergency about the tour. He wanted to stay. With a last look-up to the stairs, he left the house.

Y/n felt a wave of ease when she went to wake up Amelia and figured out Matty wasn’t in his room. The door was open, and the bed was already made. She didn’t think he hadn’t slept there.

Her heart shrank when she saw her pillow on the couch but chose to ignore it as best as she could.

*******************************************

The morning was slow, Amelia was playing with her favourite toys around the kitchen and living room making a big mess Y/n didn’t mind. She didn’t have the time or energy to check her phone up to that point. Y/n felt light-headed looking at her notifications.

“Y/n Y/l/l (Matty Healy’s ex) looking cosy with new secret boyfriend”

“Who’s the boy dinning with Y/n Y/l/l?, the fans of the 1975’s lead singer are wondering.”

Y/n made the big mistake to open Instagram, a waterfall of the same blurry picture of her and Paul having dinner that first date bombarded her eyes. The comments under were beyond nasty.

Fanx1: Isn’t she supposed to be taking care of Amelia?

Possionmedaddy123: Matty deserves better!

75fan: Fucking hell, she’s ugly!

Personx: Whore.

Marrymematty: Bitch!

Fanxx75: Who’s the guy? Someone knows about him?

And worse.

Y/n with shaky hands called Grace.

“Hi, I was about to-” Grace picked the phone right away.

Y/n interrupted her, begging, “Please tell me you can come here.”

“Yes, yes…I was going to. This is madness!” Grace told Y/n. She must have seen the articles and comments as well.

“I can’t-”

“Babe, breathe!” Grace instructed from the other side of the line.

Y/n tried to breathe deeply, but it was getting harder to breathe normally. “This is too much…”

“Y/n! Stay alive until I get to your house, please!” Grace implored, scared for her friend’s panic moment.

“Hurry.” Y/n said, cutting the line.

**********

“Hi, sweetie.” Grace appeared quarter of an hour later.

Amelia brighten when she saw her godmother. “Ace!”

Y/n sat close to her kid. She was trying to distract herself and giving Amelia some attention at the same time. Her mind was racing with too many thoughts about Paul, Daisy, and Matty all together.

“I don’t understand from where all of this came from…” Y/n started the conversation with Grace.

The friend asked, leaving her coat on a chair, “You think Paul could've done this?”

“I don’t even know…” Y/n admitted.

Grace continued to think out loud. “It’s been more than a month.”

“I know, this people are horrible!” Y/n remembered all the articles she had been to read with her name on.

“What Matty said about it?” Grace asked without knowing about the events from the night before.

Y/n feared the moment to share it with her best friend. Specially because she knew she was going to finally took account of what happened and her hurt feelings.

“Matty’s calling you.” Grace said this time, looking at her phone left on the table. She went to answer, but Y/n screamed.

“Don’t answer!”

“What?” Grace stared at her like she suddenly transformed into an alien.

Y/n shortly told Grace, “It’s long to explain.”

The sound of her phone going off was getting to her nerves.

“Then do it.”

“I’m going to loss it if I add that to the mix…” Y/n spoke her mind out loud.

Grace grew impatient. “Y/n, tell me.”

“Fuck.”

The device’s sound ceasing. Matty had cut the line.

“He invited another girl to the concert.”

“And?” Grace grew confused with every part of the conversation.

“The same girl he had been seen walking around New York with, people said they were together and-” Y/n bursted into tears.

“Oh, honey.” Grace approached Y/n on the floor, hugging her.

Y/n was thankful that Amelia paid no attention to her and Grace.

“He never mean it, Grace.” She said, between tears. “I was just another hookup for him…”

“He told you that? I’m going to rip his ratty-” Grace’s promise wasn’t in vain.

Y/n cut her, “No, he didn’t…we barely talked, but what should I think if not?” Y/n turned around to look at Grace’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Grace expressed from the bottom of her heart. It wasn’t fair to Y/n all the things that were happening.

Y/n tried to give her the reason about her warnings a month ago, “I should’ve listened to you…”

“No, no…don’t do that to yourself.” Grace made Y/n’s body shake, trying to lose the guilt.

Grace’s phone going off startled them. Matty was calling Grace now.

“He’s calling me, Y/n.” Grace informed her friend, staring at the screen.

“Fuck.”

Grace wasn’t sure what to do. “I-”

“Don’t answer.” Y/n repeat her position about answering his call.

“Y/n-”

“Grace!”

They found themselves into an eye battle. Grace felt she had to answer, Y/n didn’t want her to do it. Y/n launched herself for the phone, even though Grace was quicker and ran to the back patio. Amelia called for her, blocking Y/n to go after Grace.

“Hi, Matty.” Grace greeted him, closing the backdoor.

Matty’s voice was quavering, unsure, when he asked, “Please tell me you’re with Y/n.”

“I am…”

“Tell her to answer me.” Matty commanded Grace.

She tried to keep her calm, “She’s not…ready…to talk.”

“Grace, I swear-”

Matty’s tone rubbed her off. “I’m trying to do my best to not send you to fuck yourself, for everything. I’m trying only for her, so don’t push my buttons, Healy!” She warned him.

“She’s not talking to me. I need to talk to her.” Matty was desperate up to that point.

“Matty-”

“Grace, I’m begging you!”

“Matthew…”

“I swear it’s not what’s look like…” Matty tried to play that card. If Y/n wasn’t going to talk to him, at least if Grace knew, he was sure Y/n was going to get the information.

Grace scoffed. “Paul said the same to her…”

“Don’t compare me with him.”

“I’m stating facts, Healy.”

“Yeah, your cousin is a wanker. I’d never do that to her, never.”

“Then what happened yesterday?” Grace asked, annoyed.

“I’m not with Daisy, I had never been. Grace, please put Y/n on the phone.”

“You’re in no place to demand, Matty. If you’re worried about her, don’t. I’m here, I’m staying as long as she needs. Let her breath for a minute, okay?” Grace requested this time.

“Fuck, you’re asking a lot, Grace.”

“I’m not. Do it, for her and Amelia.” Grace said and proceed to hang up the line.

*******************

Mother and daughter changed scenery since Amelia wanted to watch a movie.

“What did he say?” Y/n interrogated Grace immediately when she returned.

“He wants to talk with you, girl.”

“I’m not sure if I can face him or that conversation.”

Grace went to sit down. “Mhm.”

“This is all so confusing!” Y/n shielded her eyes, without wanting to cry.

“Yeah.”

Grace wasn’t sure if talking was doing any good for Y/n, instead she kept her silence watching Tangled with Amelia and Y/n.

After a few minutes of peace, Y/n’s phone started going off with notifications. She opened the first one, with shaky hands. A new video of the girl and Matty walking side to side after the concert.

Y/n silenced a sob behind her hand, and looked at Grace.

“What now?” Grace half screamed.

Y/n turned the device around, showing her. Tears were stringing her eyes.

“Oh, babes…” Grace left the phone aside, hugging Y/n. “Let it out, I’m here.”

*****************

After Amelia went to have her nap, Grace spoke what she was roaming around inside her mind.

“I think I should take Mel to my flat again…” she suggested.

“Yeah, maybe it’s for the better.”

“You should come too, Y/n.” Grace advised Y/n.

Y/n rational side talked for her, “No, I- Amelia can’t see me like this, and if Matty comes, and we start fighting or whatever…No, I need to protect her.”

“You need to take care of yourself, Y/n. Being here is not helping…”

Y/n didn’t want to leave the safety of her house, even when Matty was going to be back in a few hours. “I’ll stay in my room.”

“Okay, I’m not happy with this, but you do you.”

“Thank you, Grace. For everything…” Y/n took her hand.

“Don’t mention it. I love you!”

“Me too, Gracie.” she let her head fell on her best friend's shoulder.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

From Dirty Hit’s office to home (non-stop).

Matty’s first instinct once he returned home was to search for Y/n. She wasn't in the kitchen, or living room, or laundry room. Nowhere around the low level. For a second time in less than 24 hours, he ran upstairs.

He was sadly convinced she wasn’t going to be in his room, even though maybe she was in Amelia’s room or bathing their daughter. The house was spectrally under silence. Y/n is nowhere, neither Amelia. Matty felt a rush of panic. He took his phone out of his pocket, ready to call her if his last try didn’t work.

“Y/n?” He knocked on her door.

Silence was the only replied from the other side.

“Y/n, are you there? Are you okay?” Matty tried.

Y/n decided to reply, “I’m fine, go away.” Relief wash over his muscles, at least she was at home.

“Please let me in, I want to check you’re alright…”

Matty found out about the articles and all the videos, he knew very well the effect they had on Y/n. With this new situation between them, it was more than an urgency to speak with Y/n.

At the other side of the door, Y/n wasn’t panicking or even crying. Her anger was boiling at slow tempo. She marched angrily towards the door, opening it with a sudden movement that Matty didn’t expect.

“I’m doing fucking amazing, don’t you see?” Y/n shouted.

“Baby-”

It was the first time they saw each other since the fight in the bathroom, at the arena. His hands ache to hold her, to bring her closer. Y/n wanted to push his away, out of her sight.

“Don’t call me that.” Y/n folded her arms.

“Y/n…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Matty.”

“I need to tell you.”

Y/n scoffed, turning around, far from him. “Exactly what? That all the past weeks, month were noth-” She stopped, choking on a sob. “Nothing for you.” Y/n rearranged herself, looking at Matty’s eyes with her own full of tears.

Matty was taken aback from her sayings. “Nothing?”

“You were with her meanwhile…” Y/n stated as a fact.

“No!” Matty took a few steps forward into her room. “Of course not! Daisy and I- We never- It wasn’t like that between us. Y/n, we-”

“We what? Right, nothing…it meant the same as the other girls you fucked…”

“Y/n, you know that’s not true!” Matty insisted on it.

Y/n let him know, “I don’t know any more after yesterday!”

“Please, listen to me.” Matty continued making himself closer to her. “I would never do that to you, never.” He searched for her eyes, Y/n felt hypnotised by them. “You’re the mother of my baby, you’re my friend…” Y/n went to protest, but Matty stopped her. “You’re the love of my life, Y/n!” Matty finally admitted.

Y/n felt shocked by it. “You don’t mean that, Matty.”

“I do, I fucking do. I loved you since the first moment I met you…” Matty felt brave enough to hold her face between his hands. “I was a fucking coward, I still am. Well, now I’m trying to fix that. I love you, Y/n. I’ve loved you since the start and never stopped.”

“Don’t say that…” Y/n couldn’t believe it, it was impossible for her.

Matty felt more sure of himself. “It’s the truth.”

“Why you never said anything?” Y/n whined, losing herself into his eyes.

“Because…the prospect of losing you, or you hating me- Can’t do, baby.”

“Matty-”

“I mean it.” He leaned forward.

“I don’t know if I can do this- No right now…” Y/n closed her eyes. It was a lot for only one day. She was feeling quite overwhelmed.

“Why not? I know you feel it too.” He was sure of it.

“Matt-”

“Fuck, gorgeous…please.” Matty wasn’t going to stop begging if that was needed for her to returned with him.

“Stop, I need space to think!” Y/n took a step backwards, making his hands fell at his sides.

“What there’s to think, Y/n? We love each other!”

“A lot there’s to think! Saying you love me doesn’t solve things magically, Matty. My phone is bombarded by your fans telling me how horrible of a mother I am, dating some random guy. Said guy that was fucking other girls while dating me, person I don’t want to hear about, but now I have to. My name is on a handful of articles. Amelia’s privacy, my privacy, it has been violated. Add to the mix the videos of you with that girl-” Y/n let her anger took over.

Matty started to explained about Daisy, “I walked her out of the venue…that was all-”

“Well, they say other stuff.” Y/n exposed what the articles were saying. She knew she shouldn’t believe them, but it was difficult not to sometimes.

“Y/n, you know better than-”

“Do I? Matty, this is all very confusing…I need time.” Y/n begged.

“I can give you time, space…everything, but don’t leave me.” Matty reached for her hands.

“I think it is for the best, Matty. For now…”

“No.”

“Yes, we need to think about Amelia. We were okay when we stopped messing around-”

“We weren’t just-”

”Doesn’t matter now.” Y/n spat.

“It does!”

“Matty, be real.”

“I am!”

“What happens when you get bored of me, of being a…couple, ha? Where am I going to be left? Being just your friend again and the mother of your daughter? Think about Amelia…I don’t want us to mess up with her head.”

“Y/n-”

“What happens when you take onto fucking every single groupie again right where you left it?”

“I don’t want to get back to that, Y/n. Since you are in my life, I’m done with it….since we had Amelia here, I’m done with all that shit. I want the three of us…”

“And yet you kept doing it, Matty”

“You’re not being fair with me. Adam has a family-”

“Adam is Adam, you…are you, Matty.” Y/n bitter tone wounded Matty deeply.

“I would do anything to have you again.”

Y/n tilted her head.“When did you really have me, Matty? We were never…”

“Don’t say it, don’t fucking say it.”

“I’m sorry, Matty. I think it is for the better if I stay with Grace for the night…” Y/n concluded.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later…

Matty was closing his suitcase, which was placed on top of his bed; a place that stayed untouched for days. Matty had been sleeping on the couch or besides Amelia's crib. He was physically incapable of getting under his sheets.

He looked around, feeling nostalgic already. Matty had to leave for tour in a couple of hours, before that, George was going to pick him up soon. He didn’t want to leave, not when Y/n and him were barely talking. Matty did his best to give her the space and time she needed, he was sure about his intentions and his past actions. If he had to, he would wait his entire life for her. He was sure she was going to return to be his, this time was different from before. Y/n loved him, he knew. That was what kept him going. Even though, leaving for two weeks was reaping his heart from his chest.

Matty grew used to the routine of staying home, going to the studio and return to his girls. He was getting old, getting tired of all the hassle of touring. He loved the moment he was on stage, with the fans, but the rest was starting to bother him. Specially since Amelia and Y/n stayed at home.

The sound of the front door closing, the soft chat of Amelia and Y/n –mostly the mother talking–, brought him back. He took the suitcase, carrying it in one hand while he started walking downstairs.

Matty left the item close to the door, voices came from the kitchen now. He smiled hearing them interact. He walked slowly there.

“Hey.” He made himself present. Y/n turned to look at him from the kitchen, closing the refrigerator slowly.

“Hi.” She answered.

Matty twisted his hands, anxiously, “George is picking me up in a couple of minutes…” he told Y/n.

“Mhm.” she expressed shortly.

“I’m going to say goodbye to Amelia.” Matty hesitated, wanting to say more, wanting to beg.

“Sure.”

He approached Amelia, interrupting her playtime. “Mel-mel?” He called her attention.

“Daddy!” the little girl said, running to hug him.

Matty rounded her, “Baby, daddy has to go now.” He tried to explain, she looked at him trying to understand. “Daddy is going to miss you so much, Mel.” Matty felt tears coming but fought them, he didn’t want to upset her.

Amelia noticed his change, “Daddy.” she hugged him tight, hiding herself inside his embrace.

“I know, I know…I’ll see you soon, okay baby?” Matty rocked from side to side, trying to soothe her.

“No.” she whined. Y/n’s heart breaking a few meters away from them.

“Yes, you’re going to have fun with mommy and aunty Grace.” Matty tried this time.

Amelia wasn’t having it, “Daddy.”

“It’s okay, we’re okay.”

The doorbell rang, interrupting them. Y/n went to answered it.

After a short chat, she informed, “Matt, George is outside.”

“I know.”

“Come on, she’ll be fine. I promise.” Y/n approached her daughter and Matty.

He stood up, taking Amelia with him. He turned around, coming closer to Y/n. She stood there, waiting for his actions. He took her cheek on his hand, caressing it.

“Y/n-” he said, searching for her eyes.

Y/n contained her tears. It wasn’t the moment. “Not now Matt-”

He rested his forehead on her. If they were going to talk, at least he needed to be close, to touch her after leaving the house. Maybe, like that, she would understand his feelings.

“Please.” Matty couldn’t stop trying.

“Go and do your thing, Matty.” Y/n said, more sure of herself. “We’ll be here…waiting, and then we will talk, okay?” she promised.

“Mhm.” Matty agreed, without moving a single muscle.

Y/n instructed, “Go.”

Matty opened his eyes, looking at her from inches away. “I love you.” he openly expressed.

“Matty.” Y/n softly complained.

“You don’t have to say it, I need to say it.” she nodded.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Matty spoke, and turned to kiss Amelia’s head. “Bye, baby.” He proceeded to pass Amelia to Y/n.

“Daddy, no-” she struggled, reaching for the comfort of Matty’s body. His heart breaking in pieces with the idea of hurting Amelia.

Y/n lulled her, “Shh, baby…it’s okay, mommy is here.”

Matty walked away, not turning around. If he took one more look at Amelia and Y/n we would refuse to leave the house.

The front door closing down resounded around the house. Amelia started crying harder, Y/n couldn’t contain her tears and joined her.

“Daddy!” Amelia tried to call him back.

Matty was gone.

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