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#I really like the one in the very bottom right

buckleysbitch · 19 hours

Note

Okay kind of out there ask, dom reader teasing and topping Abby while Ellie is a little perv and watches from behind them. maybe it's not that out there idk, i just like bottom Abby its so fun

summary - what was supposed to be a chill night in with your roommates takes a hard turn.

warnings - 18+. FILTH. this is FILTH. lowkey dubcon if you squint REALLY hard, intro is cheesy asf so i won’t blame you if you skip it

authors note - i did not proof read this bc i needed to rub one out after writing this jesus chriST anyways requests are open again finally . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“okay, okay,” abby chuckles as she gets the perfect idea. “so we think we know everything about each other right?”

you and ellie turn to each other, both curled up on opposite ends of the couch, and nod in agreement, as ellie passes you her neatly rolled joint, both of your eyes following your cocky roommates detailed arms.

“so,” ellie coughs, “where’s this going then abby?”

“jesus give me a second, williams!” abby shouts, that rare, adorable smile that makes you absolutely melt appearing. “let’s play hot seat.”

ellie rolls her eyes unceremoniously, and peels herself off the couch. “okay, okay!” you notice her ears burning pink underneath her auburn hair, pondering to yourself what an innocent game such as this would make her such a mess.

“okay okay, who wants to go first?” abby asks, as ellie turns away slightly, avoiding eye contact, biting back a smile. her chiseled features glowing in the moonlight through the window. “well, i suggested the game, so how bout you, sugar?” abby gestures to you. your hands start to get clammy, ellie’s odd energy throwing you for a loop.

“cool, yeah.” you agree, making your way over to abby’s chair in the corner of the room.

“okay, els, you know how this works right?” abby questions, as ellie quickly interjects.

“d’you think i’m five? gimme a break dude!” she laughs, playfully punching abby’s shoulder.

“okay, okay….” abby chuckles again as she sets a one minute timer on her phone. “and time starts….now.”

“okay coming in hot, filthiest fantasy.” ellie’s eyes widen with desire as she asks you her question.

“no doubt, wanna have someone watch as i put a girl in her place. sounds so fuckin fun.” you explain nonchalantly as the two girls watch you take the final drag of the minuscule joint between your plush lips.

abby and ellie give each other a quick look before abby blurts out “do you wanna make that come true now?”

you cough, waving the smoke out of your face, laughing. “the fuck, anderson? like….” the girls eyes widen, eyeing you in your workout shorts and tank top. “oh, you’re serious.”

“what is it angels, you wanna see this?” you creep up from the chair, confidence building with every motion. pulling off your tank top and throwing it in ellie’s face, your nipples perk up at the sensation of the cool air.

“fuck….” abby whispers breathlessly, using every fiber of strength to not palm her clit at this very second.

“c’mere abs…lemme take care of you.” you murmur sultrily, running your hand down her braid as you straddle her thigh. “wanna watch, els?” you motion to the stunned girl, her nimble fingers already down her boxers. “ah, ah, ah…..” you whisper to her, pulling her fingers out and sucking on the wetness from her digits. “you’re gonna wanna save that. just getting started.” her breath hitches, wide eyes taking in the warmth of your mouth around her fingers.

as you’re finishing up, you feel abby brushing up against your ass, and going to grope it. “don’t even think about it anderson. you do what i say, yeah?” you ask, pinning her muscular arms up above her head. the blondes expression goes soft, submitting to your energy. “stay.”

“that’s a good girl.” you whisper, before locking your lips in hers. she tastes just how you always imagined; coffee and cherries. she can’t help but buck up her hips into yours, desperate for any friction. “was that….your….plan…all along?” you ask, one hand around her throat while your pouty lips leave tender kisses on her collarbone.

“m-mhm!” she nods, ellie’s faced flushed in awe, scanning the two of you.

“yeah? i could tell from the second you suggested that game….sluts. both of you.” you chuckle, before nearly tearing her muscle tank off her toned body and connecting your gooey mouth to her petite nipples. the moan that comes out of her at this stage is guttural; you smile to yourself knowing you can make these girls fold with a simple kiss. “tell me what you want angel….” you coo, circling her ribs with your nails. without warning, she gets too impatient and starts rubbing her clothed cunt against your thigh. “well….if you can’t behave, maybe i’ll just play with ellie for a bit.” abby whines as you peel yourself off her, as ellie’s eyes darken.

“let’s see how wet you are…”

ellie quickly rips her boxers off, allowing you to spread her pale thighs. her cunt is quite literally dripping. thank fuck you have a leather couch.

“may i?” you ponder from between her thighs. she bobbles her head yes uncontrollably, only stopping to throw her head back in pleasure when you lick a thick stripe up her puffy pussy. “god, y’taste so fuckin good….” you mumble, looking back to abby for a moment. “learned your lesson yet?” your eyes taunting her, before diving face first into ellie’s pussy, no hesitation. the poor girl can barely get a moan out before-

“i know you bought that strap….saw the box.” she sighs out, relieved.

“sorry els…” you giggle, a thin web of spit connecting your drenched lips to her pussy. “i’ll get you later. gotta take care of that slut first. be good and watch, and i’ll reward you again.” she gulps in response, giving you a light kiss.

you motion for the girls to wait, and scurry off to your room to get yourself ready. soon you’re back, bottle of lube in hand, rubbing the cool gel on your 7 inch length. abby’s eyes widen, likely not realizing how big your dick really was.

“this okay?” you ask, hovering over her neatly trimmed pussy. she nods, whimpering. “words, angel….”

“y-yes!” she gasps out, desperately rutting her hips against the tip of your dick. anything, anything for a taste of that delicious friction.

“good girl….” kissing her forehead, you sink into her with ease, her eyes rolling back sinfully as you bottom out in one stroke. “look so pretty like this…s’fuckin obedient….”

her veins melt back into her freckled shoulders as her senses succumb to all of you. her moans are fucking pornographic, you almost wish you got it on video….

in which ellie already has her phone shakily pointing at the two of you, her hand back between her now bare thighs, rubbing lazy circles over her clit. all that’s left of her is her flannel, her breasts poking out from in between the the buttons. because let’s be real, she never wears a damn bra so she can whip them out easily.

“jesus abs….s’fuckin tight.” you moan out, lightly scratching at her biceps. “takin me so pretty….never thought i’d get to have you like this.” the blonde sobs out your name in reply, desperately flailing to close her legs to relieve the pressure in her stomach as you pry her open. “you better stop, or i’ll take you from behind instead.”

“promise?”

and that’s how you ended up with abby andersons back arched for you, ass up, with your cock so deep in her cunt ellie can see the silouhette of you in her abdomen.

“yeah? you wanted this, huh?” you pant, the only sounds that echo through the room are simultaneous moans from the two girls and the squelching of their juices. abby’s noise more prominent as she shrieks in pleasure while you yank her braid so far back she has to stare at ellies glazed over cunt just out of reach while you ruthlessly thrust into her.

“answer or you won’t fuckin cum.” you bellow, tightening your grip on her locks.

“yes! y-yes! need to cum…hah…hah….hah….s’bad!”

“atta girl.” you groan, spreading her pussy to watch her cream a perfect white ring all over your strap, your own high peaking, your thighs shaking in pleasure.

the three of you collapse onto the couch, all going silent for a moment to catch your breath….before bursting out into uncontrollable giggles.

“gotta do that more often, huh?” abby smirks, with the satisfaction of knowing her stupid little plan worked.

“mhm….” you agree, brushing your hands up against the two girls. “gonna put els in her place next time though…”

you shoot a glance at the lanky girl, and her eyes go hazy.

part 2….?

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hyukaslvr · 1 day

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strong enough | J. Jungkook (3)

<series masterlist

pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

genre/tags: idol! Jungkook, idol! reader, idiot exes to lovers, slow burn ; k-drama feels (our beloved summer but not at the same time), angst, drama, fluff, smut

warnings: foul/explicit language, alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters, panic attacks, reader is harsh towards Jungkook, Jungkook is a meanie!, mentions of old abuse (major trigger warning!!), talk about blood and wounds

w.c: aproxx 11.2

series summary: you and Jungkook have too many personal problems, during and after your relationship and it keeps getting brought up. you both had tried multiple times to ignore the fact you were both struggling mentally and physically due to your workplace, but you always run back to each other. maybe one day, one day you'll get back to each other, with all your problems handled, maybe not. all you want is for him to shine like he always does, all he wants is you.

a/n at very bottom!

To my love, my forever. You will soon find out the reason why I am the way am I. Give me some time, my love, I will express everything and more to you. Soon, you’ll have everything once I am able to love and care for myself the way I want to do to you. You deserve everything and more than what I could ever give you, and I will be there for you always. I may never give you this, I may never allow you to read this. But just know, you mean so much to me. Even if I’m a pain in the ass, or if I piss you off, you will always be the person who helped me want to change for the better. I know it may seem like i’m leaving you behind, but pushing you away is the best way for me and you to be able to find ourselves. Once we are settled and ready, I will never let you go, ever again. Mark my words, use them against me, but I know that once you let me in, I’ll never leave your side ever again. You’re my one and only, forever. You are my future, my light, the person who drags me to be right. You mean so much to me and more. But for now, let me go to become the one that deserves your love and wellbeing. Take care of yourself, Jungkook, you will do many good things in life, with or without me.

“i think you should give it to him,” one of your members slur out, making your already wobbly head tilt up to her as she hiccups for the 5th time that same hour, you sighed and your head pounded as your squinted tightly to look at her, “seriously! i think he would want closure that way,”

Jungkook definitely did. he knew that when you wrote letters, you meant every little thing. he knew something happened between you and your ex, his name is like a slap in the face to you, and he could always notice.

his hands started to shake as he continued to read your note, he didn’t know how you came all the way to his house just to ring the door bell and drop it off. he was even shocked to notice his name in your handwriting on the top of the note. he wasn’t mad about it, he was just so, so sad. his eyes burned as another drop fell onto his lap. Jungkook knew it was for the best, but why does it hurt so bad and why does he feel like he’ll never get better while you do?

Jungkook didn’t want to think that way, but he did. he always did, he hurts to see you go but hurts even more to see you shine without him. he kept all your little notes in a box, he was really considering giving it back to you since it was at some of your most vulnerable times. he wouldn’t want to keep these just in case he snoops through them, like he’s doing right now as he was putting the other note in there along with the tons of others.

one of them wrote a song that you made about him, him never leaving you and the way you love him. it breaks his heart more, knowing that you’re no longer around, and that he just keeps fucking up.

when you wake up the next morning, your hungover member told you about a box she found outside the door step with your name on it, your ears ring as you stand in front of the box sitting on your bed, biting the inside of your cheek because this was Jungkook’s box. it had a polaroid of the two of you with shots in your hands on his balcony last summer. it was his favorite picture of you both and wanted to keep it with all the letters you even written him.

you pace around your room for like and hour, biting your lip and running your hand through your hair to calm yourself down. it finally felt like you guys were officially over, no matter how many times you’ve broken up. when you opened it finally, there was a new one, one you definitely didn’t write. you don’t even remember going to his house and giving him the one you were gonna keep for your sake.

it was Jungkook’s hand writing, you knew it from the back of your palm, literally as you have a tattoo that he gave you himself. it read,

forever

and looking at it makes you sick. you felt like crap anytime you thought of him, what you had put him through, all the stuff he doesn’t know about you. you knew him so well, but did he actually even know you, truly? it made you want to cry, the tears lining your waterline and you fight the urge.

you give yourself time before opening up his letter, preparing yourself for the worst or to cry. when you start reading it, you felt like he was there with you. it felt as if he was pacing around your room, looking you dead in the eyes and telling you everything you’ve been wanting to hear, but at the wrong time.

I miss you a lot, I know I say that a lot, but it’s true. I’m glad you wrote me this, I’m glad you’re trying to find ways to open up to me, I’m glad you love me. You are my everything, I want what’s best for you, and if it’s not me then so be it. You deserve the whole fucking world, and I hope you know I tried so hard to give it to you. Maybe, in the long run, we can be happy together. Maybe we can be able to know each other truly, I always wanted to. I believe in right person, wrong time, because you’ll forever be my person, even if i’m not in the picture. I love you, ______, I always will.

you wanted to sob, you didn’t even know what to do. you had dropped the note off not expecting anything back, but getting everything back? even a letter from him, confessing how much he loves and cares for you. you didn’t know how to feel, if it was closure or not. to you, yours was supposed to be. his, his was a love letter, you’ll never let go of it.

you had one more promotion for you group, and you had to prepare in so many ways. you had to practice tons, and practing handling your emotions until you’re a zombie to what you truly feel, you couldn’t handle being around Jungkook for long. it’s crazy, how much you used to look at him thinking you’d never do anything to hurt him, yet you’re over here making him suffer because you are in your head. it tears at the deepest parts of you, and it makes you feel so much at once.

so when it came to the event, you felt your knees lock when you saw him sitting with his team. he looked breathtaking, and it sucks that you can’t look at him for long before you cry because he looks too good. Jungkook always looked good, but whenever you wanted to ignore him, it’s like he knows and wants to look that fine. you gulp hard because walking to over your assigned seats, a couple seats back behind them but at an angle to a way that you can see every part of Jungkook, his hands and thighs especially.

ones that put you through hell, sent you to another universe is what he would of said and has said before, smoking off your balcony as you sat on his lap with your legs shaking trying to not fall off. he laughed as he smacked your thighs, watching them shake more as you practically whine in soreness.

he took another puff off his cig before putting it down on his designated ash tray, but even knowing you didn’t smoke, he kissed you hard, forcing the hot smoke into your mouth and through your pipes, allowing him to do anything to you because you were obsessed with everything he did.

“fucked you out, huh, princess?” he said against your ear as he gave you a second to breathe, making you almost choke as his hand started to move down and between your thighs, giving them a squeeze before going deep between them to touch you where you shook the most.

let’s just say, the memory had your legs close tightly together. the thought of how much have gave you that night, it made you miss him even more for just taking care of you like he said he would. you could feel it starting to stick against your skin, immediately wanting to go to the bathroom.

you thought you were stable enough to walk down the stairs in front of all the idols and fans including, instead you almost dropped face first into the steps instead someone’s hand wrapped around your waist and around the inside of your thigh, gripping it hard as they held you from falling to your death infront of thousands of people.

“your shoes too big for you, baby?”

you really thought you were going crazy, that his presence was just teasing you. but as your eyes dragged themselves down to the hand around the inside of your thigh, you weren’t going crazy. the tattoos proving who the man really was and how his thumb was very close to your throbbing clit. you shivered before quicking bowing at him once you leave his grip and speed walking towards the exit.

the moment you got alone in a hallway, you looked around before pulling out your phone to text your leader where you were going to be, the bathroom, before you hear a door open behind you. you go to put your phone away, but a tight grip around your waist turns you towards the person, your phone falling on to the floor and your mouth to open up, perfect for the attacker to kiss you hard.

another hand grabs your hair and you immediately knew who it was based on the way he was holding you. he knew, and knew it was because of him. that’s all your thought about when his lips were softly against yours, until you felt his hands creeping up. he just knew how to distract you from the facts and knows how to get you to enjoy his attack.

“can we talk soon, princess?” he whispers lowly in your ear once he pulls away from your now desperate lips trying to reach his. you whimper at the nickname, one that just rolls off his tongue in such a degrading way, he grabs your chin softly, turning your face to face him. his eyes invited yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more you felt entranced by him.

“talk about what?” you sighed into his hold, which he notices and gives you your favorite smile in the whole world. it hard to ignore his hands gripping your waist, your hands clinging onto his dress shirt as he holds you, you didn’t expect to be in this position.

“we will talk later tonight, i’ll pick you up?”

“how, with what car-”

“i’ll figure it out, anything for you,” he presses his forehead against yours, making your eyes squeeze shut as he lets out a little chuckle because of your reaction to his proximity being so close to you, you could almost feel his breath against your lips. “you know i’ll do whatever i need to do to see you, i will figure out a way to see you later tonight, bunny, i promise,” he kisses your nose softly before letting you go without your even realizing he picked up your phone for you, a smile across his face as you nodded your head for him.

Jungkook didn’t give you a time, or a place to when he was going to pick you up. before you left the event, you had asked him what he was planning on doing with you and he just told you that you’ll have to wait and find out. Jungkook knew how to make you worry about what could happen. what should you even wear? is he taking me somewhere to eat? it’s kinda late for that-

doink

something just hit your window as you were pulling your pants up, you almost tripped in shock but managed to pull them up and fix yourself before going to your window. there he was, the man of your dreams, the love of your life, standing down there searching for more rocks to toss at your window.

you cracked your dorm room window open, not even wanting to question how he managed to get over the brick wall to get into the dorms, and he smiles when he sees your head peaking from the bottom of the window. he pats his hands on his thighs while you watch him with curiosity.

“get down here bunny, we have a lot to do tonight,” he stood up straight, hands put in his pockets as he stared off at you. you would of jumped right there into his arms after that nickname, you almost whined before nodding your head like an idiot and shutting your window.

you managed to sneak out, grabbed your shoes at the front and headed out from the back blind spot and running to where Jungkook stood, his hands tucked in his pockets to stay warm. his left arm raised so you could wrap your arm around it, a habit of the both of you. you just ignored the bad feelings and wrapped your arm around his, feeling his arm tighten around yours as you both started to walk to the car.

“you gonna tell me where we’re going, Jeon?” you tilt your head, your left knee against his center console as your left side rested on his passenger seat. his hand slid up to your knee, leaving you in shock as he gripped it in warning.

“stop asking questions, baby,” he tapped his finger on your knee, not even bothering to look your way. you huffed as you closed your eyes, trying to ignore his thumb moving against your thigh now, his hand resting against it too.

“Jungkook, you know we can be doing this again. i know you remember what happened last time,” you warned, your head felt like it was spinning, none of this felt real. Jungkook bit his lip ring in thought, he just wanted to talk to you and apologize. he always wants to talk to you even if he’s been rude.

“______, what do you think i’m going to do to you tonight?” he spoke deeply, it sent waves through your spine, and down to your poor kitty. it’s crazy, what this big eyed man can do to you with only his hand on your thigh while he speaks to you like your his.

“i- i don’t know, what are you asking me? i’m just confused why you’re doing this-”

“what do you want me to do to you tonight, baby? is there something else bothering you that only i can fix?” his hand rubs your inner thigh, occasionally softly squeezing the skin closest to where you needed help the most. “i’ll do whatever you want me to do to you, you just have to speak up, darling. is that okay? can you do that for me, princess?”

you almost moaned, gasping at his eagerness to help you with whatever you want, and you knew he meant that. “Jungkook, we can’t be doing thing again, as much as we want to-”

“fuck that and fuck no contact, we were doing good as fuck the last time we were friends. can we not be friends, baby?”

“that’s why! you keep calling me my favorites, you can’t do that to me..” you whined, you wanted to hide away as he giggled at how you whined. when the car slowly starts to come to a stop, you got reminded that the whole time you were talking to him, getting teased by him, he was driving. “Jungkook… where are we?”

“let me help you out and show you,” he smiled, and you just knew that you had to trust him, why? because he’s Jeon Jungkook, why wouldn’t you trust the love of your life?

when he open your door, hand already reaching for his as he helped you out of the car, the smell of salt hit your face in a whiff, making you smile at the moment you had at this beach with Jungkook. but why here? why did he want to talk here?

you didn’t trust your voice, watching his open his back door to grab a blanket and cigs, which you thought he quit, with a lighter and a flashlight. you didn’t say a word as you hugged onto his arm as he walked to a specific place, your guys place. the place where he gave you head for the very first time, you found sand up there for at least a day after that.

“do you trust me, sugar?” Jungkook asked you, tugging you to sit next to him on the blanket over the cold sand at the dark lonely beach. it’s like he knew what you were worried about, could you trust him again? it’s not like he broke your trust, it’s about you trusting yourself around him. if anything besides talking happens tonight, and you guys become exactly what you were afraid of becoming, you won’t know what to do with yourself.

it’s a bit selfish you thought, as his hand rested against your shoulder as you snuggled against his neck, breathing in only Jungkook and a little bit of salt. you loved this, but it couldn’t get any farther than this. just small, and slight, touches and sometimes kisses, only at certain times. the sound of the waves crashing tingled your ears, debating if you should listen to his heartbeat or not.

“do you know why i want you out here with me tonight, baby?” his voice vibrated your cheek as he spoke, his fingers gliding against the thin fabric of your long sleeved shirt. you hummed, you felt him swallow before you moved your head to face him.

“i wouldn’t have asked you that a million times in the car, Jungkook,” he smiles when your eyes finally reach his. he used to ask you, what did you see when you looked into his eyes? you usually just laughed it off or ignored the question, but now you think you know the questions answer. Home. in other words, Jungkook was your confort, the one you would go to, the one who makes you feel the safest, the one who keeps you feeling warm. Jungkook was your favorite.

Jungkook leans in, you can almost feel his breath against the wind, you almost forget where you are when you look deeply into his eyes. he leans so close to you that you could almost kiss him. you feel his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer- and closer to him, until your hovering above him.

you looked down at him, his hand sliding down your waist and on to your thigh to swing your leg over his body. he’s got you now, almost spread wide for him as his eyes glazed your entire body, making your shiver.

“let’s that about why you were so wet when i caught you from eating shit in front of everyone today, huh? or maybe… why you’re so wet right now, was it from the car ride? you just couldn’t wait, hm? baby?” he smacked your thigh, and you almost whimper at his words, “sit down on me, love. you know you want to. i’ll do anything you want me to, just let me in this one or more times and you won’t regret it this time,”

oh boy, you were in for a ride. baby, princess, sugar, darling, bunny, love. hearing that one burned, deeply in two places. your poor heart as you feel his hands grip your sides, and your poor throbbing cunt that it about to get slammed onto his hard on resting below you. either or, you know you’re safe and whatever happens can be dealt with. why? because you’re with Jeon Jungkook, why wouldn’t it be fine?

a/n: holy shit, this took forever and i sincerely apologize!! i love how this episode turned out and i will give you guys a slight warning! spicy scenes are coming up and I’m not backing down from this. it will be the dirtiest, most greatest- yeah! anyways, thank you for your patience, i love you all🥹

taglist: @loumin908 @heartjiminie @cuntessaiii @parkinglot-nights @minsoa97kor @jkgirlfr @lavendersugarplum @gaebestie @whoa-jo @kp0pficdump @yunholuv @skzthinker @shwkoqp18 @veemegatron @kaiparkerwifes @alextgef @nerdycheol @nightappple @nlr1606 @chl0buggy

if your tag isn’t gray, please fix your settings so i can tag you next time love!

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safination · 2 days

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Partners in Death…and Life.

Part 6: Radio’s Last Broadcast

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

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1933

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

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

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

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

You pull away to continue rinsing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alastor shows you his most innocent smile.

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

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

The bowl threatens to slip from your grip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such vulgar words.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alastor glances at the calendar behind you.

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

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

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

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

“Stop laughing like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

“Use less dishes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squeeze back. “The dishes—”

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

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

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

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

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

Was his name actually Jasper? Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The both of you still at the front door.

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

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

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

His bowtie is crooked.

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

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

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

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

You smack his arm. “Be serious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re flirting with me again.”

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

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

“I am, actually.”

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

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

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

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

There’s a finger where his lips should be.

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

“My dearest husband, is that a promise?”

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

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The door closes with a click.

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

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

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

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

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

…Please…. Please, just keep it together.

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

An intimate language translated by the rings on your fingers.

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

He groans into his palms.

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

When it comes to you?

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

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

That one

right there.

Him.

He who likes to leave presents.

He who brings me gifts he thinks I will enjoy.

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

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

To you, who decides for others.

To you, who loves to smile.

I, too, have a present.

A joke.

You might not laugh, but she will.

It goes like this:

A father takes his gun,

and the hunter becomes hunted.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

A knock sounds on the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door swings wider.

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

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

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

The first thing you grab is a bowl…

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

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

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

There’s only fifteen tonight.

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

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

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

His mug goes into the trash.

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

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

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

“Is that what I am?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight.”

You don’t say it back.

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

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

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

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

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

The photo goes into the trash as well.

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

Just a second…

You only need a second.

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

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

All that trouble, just to pull your frown away.

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

Alastor lays on the table.

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

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

You squeeze his hand.

He doesn’t squeeze back.

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

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

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

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

…You shouldn’t cry.

Not yet.

Not now.

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

He isn’t smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alastor’s still wearing his ring.

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

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

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

You trace the wood of his radio.

A blink.

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

How did that happen?

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

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

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

What are you doing?

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

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

Why aren’t you crying?

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

The bookshelf happens to be your next victim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft waltz fills the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You burn the memories.

You burn the traces of you and him.

You burn everything and everyone inside.

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

Alastor, look at me.

Look how I cry for you.

Look at me.

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

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

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

The fire that holds your rage is the only reply.

“Alastor.”

The howl of the wind.

“Alastor.”

He doesn’t answer you.

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

Why?

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y̷w̵h̸y̸w̴h̵y̴w̴h̴y̷w̶h̵y̵\whywhyw̶h̸y̷w̷h̴y̵w̵h̴ y̸w̷h̷y̷w̵h̸y̸w̴h̵y̴w̴h̴y̷w̶h̵y̵w̶h̵y̵w̶h̷y̵

w̷h̷y̷w̸h̴y̵w̴h̷y̷w̵h̶y̶w̵h̵y̴w̴h̵y̷w̵h̶y̵w̶h̷y̴w̵h̷y̸w̶h̴y̷w̸h̵y̷h̵y̵w̶h̷y̵w̷h̷y̷w̸h̴y̵w̴h̷y̷w̵h̶y̶

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w̵̅̈́͜h̷̼̾̉ỷ̶̪͔w̵̖̕h̴͇̚ỵ̸̝̔w̸͎͖̔̈́h̶͔̺̉͑y̸͉͝w̸̹̟͌͘h̷͎͍̐̄ý̴͔w̷̳̻̎h̶̻͊y̷̥̾w̵̻͚͝h̶͉͌ý̶̖w̸̛̘h̶̦̚͝y̷̫̌w̸̝̐̽ͅḫ̵̲̈́̓y̷̫͛̽w̷͚͝h̴̢͉͗ỵ̵̨̀̋ẘ̵͕͝ḧ̶́͜y̵̩͋ẃ̴͉̐h̸͖͐͒y̵͈͆͜ẃ̷̼̯h̴̘̟̒y̷̱̾̔w̶͍̣̐̒h̸̫̉̚ͅŷ̵̧͍ŵ̴̩ḣ̵̫̚y̴̹̙͆̽w̴̖̆̽h̷̼́y̴͔̍̈w̵͚͒͘h̵͚͊̽ͅy̴̙͝ẘ̵̛̗͜h̶͚́̒ý̴̡̹̍

w̷̹̎̐h̵͚̊͆y̴̫̞͛͊w̷͔͑ḣ̷̯y̵͍̎̍ẇ̷͓̹h̸͍̀y̶͇̕w̴̦̆h̵̰͖͑ý̵͍̯ẇ̶̧̹h̵̝͙̿y̶͖͠ẘ̷͓̠h̶͉̜͋̈́y̵̬̘̅w̸͔̥̄ḣ̴͉̼̓y̸̡̙̓̈ŵ̷̗̗h̵̨̜̐y̴̥̌̋͜ŵ̶̮h̶̖͖͑y̴̝̘͐͘w̵͕̉̕ͅh̶̼̅y̴̰̋ẁ̴͔͠h̸͍͋͘y̷̻̯̾w̶̫͆h̶͔͛y̴͕͌ẃ̴̖̈́ḣ̵̼͝y̷͇͉̏w̸̭̬͂h̶̭͝y̴̘͚̅̍w̸̱̟͝h̶͓̿ý̵͉̬͠w̵̙̽̚h̵͕͗y̸̳͌w̵̯̻̅h̶̘͍͆̐ÿ̶̰́w̸̲̆

ḥ̸̙̓͝ỳ̸̳w̴͍͎͆̑h̷͔͗͂ȳ̸̜̠w̴͓͖͂͘h̶͎́̒y̴̲̌w̴͓̣̍̃h̵̙͛ỳ̸̭̙̐w̷͕͛h̸͉̬̚y̶̙̣̋w̷̟͂̕h̸͎̀̿y̷͕̗͆̋w̶̱̌͝h̵̜͘ỵ̵͆ẅ̸͔ͅh̶͙͊y̶̰̅ẘ̵̹͉h̴̦̙̏ỵ̴̘͌w̷̛̠h̶̲̬͋͆y̷̹̒̕w̶͙̽͊h̸͎̺̓͝ỷ̶̺̠ẇ̴̯̱h̶̜̠̾̔ý̶͍w̸͚̽͘ḣ̸̩̘̕y̸̟̑ẃ̴̞̫̏h̵̦͚̀̀y̸̩̜͊̀w̶̡̥̱̼̩̻̮̖̎́h̸̝̖̱̺̞̻͔͉́̀͌̉̈͝y̶̹͇͓͘w̷̡̛̱͚͉̦͎̗̅̎̓̈́ẖ̵͚̒̉̈́̃͋͛y̵̘̮̣̭̙̼͐͐́͊͆͗̚͝w̴̬̖̻͉̬̞̘̄̀h̸̢̼̐̄̂͂̅́̑ÿ̶̢͖͉̖́w̶̤̖̣̝̙͖̰͑̊͘ͅh̶̨̛̞̞̼̥̯̺̭̓̀̏̃̋̅͠y̶̡̼͚͙̓̆̐̉̆͆̄͝w̴̧͈͎̬͆̏̿̑̋̒͘h̶̛̹̭̳̺͖̪̙̗̀̅͂͂̂̋ÿ̸̜̥̠͕́w̴̬̪͓̰͎͍̘̔͊ḧ̷̗͊ŷ̴̭͒̾̄͆w̸̟̯̟̑͌̑̉̀́͜͝ͅh̸͓̣͓̉͆̏͝ẙ̵͓͓̙̫̟͊̔̃̈͜w̸̨̪̲̬̟͉͍͌͂̌̌͌́̚ͅh̶̗̘̔̀̿́́̒̅y̶̙̻̯̙͗w̸͓̯̟͔͚̲̤̼̓̈́h̷͔̘͚̦̔̏̿̇͋̄̚͝y̸͖̝͠w̴̜̣͔̹̙̪̲̱̽͒̃̑͒h̴̲͂͌̔̀y̴̧̪̍̀͋́͋͘w̴̺̉̽ḩ̷̱͖̣̂̍͊̋͛͘ỳ̸͙̹̘̮̈́̏̀͐͂̐w̶̡̥̻̘̘͚̅͐̏̕h̶̻͔̯̥̀̆̃̔̏́͝ỷ̷̧̟͔̳̗̹̮͠͠w̷̺͕͋͑ẖ̷̡̺̼̥̂̈́̀͜y̴̝̲̼̖̋̄͒̀͝w̷͔̏͐̆̆̄h̶͓̞͉̩̭̬̓͂͌̃y̵̡͓͇̍͑̐̔̊͌̕w̵̡̿̀̃̔̕͝h̷̨̦̒̊̇̏̇̆̌y̷͕̖̒̀ŵ̵̢̢̨̯̤̯̜̄͘ͅh̵̨̢̛͖̩̀́̉ÿ̸́̈̈́̀͆̓̏͜w̵̛̟̬͌̈́͛͜͜ḩ̴͕̻̫̒͗͆y̷͈͉̗̏̓̿̈́͆̂͠w̶̨̟̺͉͖̰̒͋̄̉̉̔̍́͜ͅh̴͍̖͕̆̌́̌͊͑̚y̵̛͙̩͇͇w̵̝̖̉̎ͅh̸̭̠̗̺̤̀͑ͅy̸͕̾̿͋̅̕w̷͍̠̖̾̃́h̶̡͖͉͓͑ͅy̴̛̩͍͇̖͔̋̽̆͋̉̕͝ͅͅw̸͔̖͎͇̞̦̺̉̃̎̀́̚h̶͓̝͔͙̼̓͐́̈͘y̴̘̘̦͔̥̽̈́́̆̑w̷͍̉͒̿͝h̸̳̬̱͗͗̉̀y̷̨̜̠͎͊͘w̴̢̛̩̌̀̐̄̕̚h̸̡̠̯̝͋͛̄̈́̈͘͜͜y̵̪̔w̶̫͖̟͛̒͌̋͝ẖ̸́y̷͎͉̦̮̝̦̼͋̍̀̇͌̐͜͠w̷̰̮̪̣̐̿͝ĥ̶̗̦̳̺̜̜̃͑y̵͕̱̜͔̝͉̍̅w̵̩̲̼̘̹̮͌̎̓͆̈́̚͘͜h̷̳̣͈͈̩̝̣̽̄̐̓͗̒̚͜y̴̟͑͗̕ẘ̶͈ẖ̶̨̡̡̘̎̑̐̌͌̇͘y̷̹̝͈͔͔͓̻͌̽w̵̨͕͖̺͙̆̂́h̴̨̩̞̓y̴͇̲̼͇̠͇̟͚̓̌̃̈̈́̈͗͒w̷̨͎̼̫͖̗̰͆h̶̨̳͖̋̾̇̚͝y̶̱͖̗̯̪͓̑̍̀͗͑͜w̶̝̱͛̚h̵̳̀̌̽̐̊̽͝y̴̹̔w̶̳̫̪̰̟̲͚̚̕ḥ̴̛̥̼̠̤̼̣̥͐̍͐̈́̾͑͛y̴̛̗͎͊̒w̵̧͔̰͔͝h̶̗̱̻͉̘͆͌͂̚y̷̮̭̾̌͆͠w̵̨̡̛̝̓̾̈̂h̷͙͙̻̤̼̅͌̊y̷̧̞͕̩̼̞͒̆̃̏̄̈́͝w̷͓̠͌̋̃́̎̕h̶͓̻̝͚̾͜ỵ̶̬͈̹̙̭͚̅̑̔͝ŵ̸̢̖̙͖̣͕͂͊ẖ̴̭̭̂̽̑́͌̔y̴̡̲̲͐̌̏̒̈́w̷̭̳̖̝̍̀̽̊͐͊̅͜h̸̺̘͔̻̼͍̑̆̓̈́͝y̷̭͈̳̺͎͕̻̎w̶̧̞͈̃͜h̷̼͂̄̏̾y̴̡͇̤͕̰͗͝w̸͓̰̙͎̻͈͆̏h̷͚̹͋̊͜y̸̡̧̡̛̤͕͖͊͊̀ŵ̴̮̠̫̼͓̳͖̓ḩ̴̢̘̹̣̝̘̟̔̎̀̄̊̀̕y̵̞̹̽̓̓w̸̳͈̘̣͇͆h̵͔͕͒͝ỵ̶͍̱̳̭̆͆̄w̶̙̼̟̼͓͇͊̌ȟ̴̳̳̰̩̜̂͑́͘y̴̛̺͎̲̘̔̎̆͝͝w̸̦͓̒̆h̵͚̪͚͚̯͍̺͎͋́̄͐̽̎͝y̵̻̪̆͆̍̂͐̅w̵̧̙̮͛h̸̗̜̏̀̔y̶̩̪͊̀́̓̈́̎͌ẅ̴̜̜̰͑̿͆̚͝ͅh̶͚̲͎̗͘y̵̯̦͈̥͂͒͐̄̌͘w̸̡̹̤̩̱̹̤̯͝h̵̨̗̭̊͆̏͗͊̈́̈͝y̶̺̣̖̹͐̆̓͑̏͠w̷̡̟̽͛̋̈́͌̑̕͠ḫ̸̝̼̤͈̹̟̩́̓́̽y̷̢̤͈̱̟̓̍̍̒̊͌̂͘w̶͈͔̲̱̆̄͌̅́̓͝ͅh̶̟͎͙̰̝̮̑̓̋̾̈̓̃y̸̘͌̀͂̑͋w̵͉̱̳͔̌h̶̲̩̰̣̟̪͘͠y̸̮̙̬̥̲͙͊̆̌͐̓ẅ̵̳́͠ḫ̸̙͔̣̼̓̔̉͆͋͝͝y̸̢̝̖̯̬̗̣̟͇̐̔̎̀̃w̷͌̚͠ͅḧ̴̢̜͕̘̮̥̺̤́͗͆̄̀̋̈́̔y̷̢̻̭̰̝̭̽̓̿̎̂͆̾̍̚͝w̴̙͖̠͉͇̘͑̓͐͒̾́͝͝h̴̠̳̱̜͈͙̩̥͚̗͒̑̃̕ý̴̛̟̎̎̑̈͋̆w̸̗̲̪̲̳̱̦̻̻̪͒h̷͕̤͎̦̦͕̀̉͌̀͋̔̎̉͜ỹ̴̭̖̝̆w̶͓̲̋h̸̨̢̬͖̣̬̓̈̌͌͜y̷̹̻͕̰̔̑̊w̷̢̱̼̘͔̘̯͋̋̒̂͒ͅh̷̯̑͐̅̕͝y̴̙͑w̷̛̲̥̟̣̩͕̘͇̍̉̎̓͗͌h̵̢̹̼̺͎̠̬̼̆̔̎̏ỷ̵̨͎͍̘̞̍́̈͒̓̓̈́͘̕͜w̸̙̺̠͊̓̈́̎h̴͉̗͈͖̙̜̤͎́̌̇͗̓̇̇̌̽̆ͅ

ẙ̴͔̺̦̺̫̮̳̿́͛̌̈́́̕w̸̡̯̺̼̰̲̱̥̹͐ḥ̷̩͚̟̖͓̪̮͍̠͂̈́̌͂͘̚͝͝ẏ̸̛̬̳̺̺̜̯̈̉̾̇̌͌͝w̴̦͔̱̣͔͍̄̋͗ĥ̸͓̻̠̪̬͕̻̝͆͜y̵̯̤͕͉̗͔̘͂͠w̷̡͎̪̓͂̈́h̸̳̬͎̦͈̺̟̳͙̏̎̽͌̈́̄́͠y̵͉̱̘̓̈͌͂͗̎̀̏͝ẉ̶͊́h̵͉̳̀̓̌y̸̨̡̧̰̻͓̭̳̑͘ͅw̴̡̨̬̥͚͍̟̱̯̄͗͑̿̈́̍͠ͅh̷̞̊y̵̡̢̟̝͙̫̫̗͜͠ͅw̶͎͖̝̭̙̆̽̑͋h̸̡̞͖͕̹̖̟̪̪͊̂̾͒y̶̝̳͇͖̹̪͗̈́̀̂w̴̳̻̯̞̱̳̘͚̔̄͊̒̃̽̌̑̕̚ͅḧ̸̰̺͔͓̘͇͙͕̱́̀̌̈̒͐̀͘̕ÿ̷̛̗̻̱̞͔̠̙̘̯́̾̀͗͗͗̕͘ẅ̸̲͕͚͕̱̟̩͂̌͌̈́͆̄͠ͅh̸̻̝̭͖̜̱̀̿y̷͕̋͑̉͛̅͂̾̎̕͠w̵̨̗̻̤͕̯̻̻͕̜̅̋h̷̢̝̞͎̙͔͋̃̍͆̋͒y̸̢̠͙͚̫̫͇̍͊̒̊̀̔̅͐ͅw̴̛̘̞̦̘͕̼̳̠͖͐̃̔͌̀̈̐͘͝h̸̨͕̼͕̝̘̫͙͓͛͒̕͜ȳ̶͕̝̝̥͝w̶̰̜̫̖̬͕̺̽͆̊̃̀̒̿͌h̷̢̑͐̽̓́͊̒̈́̈y̶͍̬̽ẁ̸̥̤̅̑̌́́͐̏͝h̶̜̺̗̋̀͆̊͐̿̄̏̑͐y̴̻͎͙͆̿͌̏̀̇͐̚͝w̸̡̰̻̪̲̘̪̣̪̹̽̿̿́̉̐̇̚̕ḧ̸̰́ÿ̷̭͓̗͎̻̄͐̔͜w̷̺͈̝̝̰̫͓̿́̈́̊̅̑́̑̕͝h̷͚̖͕͈̊̽̍̊̃̋͒ȳ̸̛̲̰͋͛͊͘ẅ̸̡̦̤̠̣̮́̀̋͐̓͑͒͌̓͊h̸̢̛̻̪͙̞͙ý̵͓̙̺̺̻̈́̓͂w̷͖̹̗͖̜̥̱͗̒͜h̴̝̙̩̣͗̽̈́̂͐̈͋y̶̡̲̠̬͓̥͙̐̑̐̍͆̎̍̒͘ẅ̴̢̧̢͖̯̻̜͇̲̩́͋̋͘ȟ̷̛͉̬̗̞͖ÿ̷͎͕̠́̄̈́̑̋̾͝

w̶̲͖̰̫͚̻̲̋̋͘͝h̶̨͎̣̠̰͎̤͔͊̈́͆ͅy̴̨̬̣̼̯̣̪̙̬̲͒̈́̈́̈́̐w̴̧̦̲̲͋̾̾̐͒̿̈́ḧ̸̢̫͌̈̏̓͌̐͝y̵̨̲͙͙̣͎͍̟̿̂͂̄ͅw̵̥͔̜͓̹͐́̋ĥ̸̛̳̟̠̱̹̱͔̿͐ỳ̴̡̧̭͎̣͙̗w̵͕̦̬̘̳̻̉̿͗̆͛͘͝͠h̸̢͉̙͉̯̠͈͕̋͂ÿ̴̝̙̙̹̤̻͍̀w̴̛̭̟̰̟̥̻͓̗̅̓̐̂́̀́̈́ḧ̶̛̛́̔̎̋͊͠͝͠ͅy̸̡̫͍͔̣̣̟̝̝̦̓̑̐w̴̹͕̖̗̦͑h̵̖̩͉͐̔̆̊͘͠y̴̝̹̻̩͉͂̿͜w̴̧̜̻̩̔̍̕h̵̖̳̼̪͚̮̥͂͘y̵͎̰͐͜ẁ̵̧̜͎͈̖͕͇͊́̅̑͠͝͠ḧ̷͖͖͍̈̔̓̑̋͒͘ỵ̶͚̱̰̹̫̆́̈́͋͒͊͑ͅw̶̨͎̯̣̰̭̕ͅh̵̻̘̭̐̒͐͒̊̀͐̿̏͝ÿ̵͓͍̼̪̖̣̤̮̍̋͊̉̅͑̈w̸͙̻̬̱͖͝h̸̟͉̩͍̾̀̾͘ý̷̘̯̚̚w̸̧͙͔͎̣̠̤͎̾̓͑̄̓͋h̸̨̡̙̮̹̻́̈́̈́͛̑̀̀̕͠y̷̦̘͒̚ẅ̷͎̮̩̺̙̮͖́̄̐ḧ̶̤̭͕̝͚̅̃́̚̕͝y̵͕̻͎̗̺͈̆̐͜͜ͅw̶̪̱̙͙͓̋̈́͋͆̈́̅h̶̛̖̣̹̋̈̈̑́̃̎y̴̧̟̬̘̆̇̋͒̒̉̐ẅ̷̨̧̢͕̜̼̯͎̗̣́̓̽̑́̍͘ḫ̵̛̯̲͍̺̦͕͖̅̎̓̍̊̿́͘͠y̶͎̓͐͜w̶̡̮̭̙͔͚͍̺̄̑̇́͗̈́̾͝͝h̴̡̨̢̛͈͎̰̱͈͒͋͂͂͗̃̈́͊̔ẏ̴̧̢̹͖͑̐̇̑̽́͆̃͠w̷̛͙̬̪̹̞̍́͒̒̀̾́̌͠h̴̠̱̐̀y̶͓̿̐ŵ̶̖̭̄͂̓̂̈́̂̋̈́͜h̷͔̼͔̄́̂̄̋͋̕͘͜ͅy̴̰̱̱͈̏̏̍́́͠͝w̷̡̜̦͖͕̤͍̆̽͂͂̄͊̃̄͒͠

h̶̨̫̜̠̪͚̺̐͌̓͛͒̓̈̔͘͝ͅy̷̥̘͍̥̙̻̫̮̎̏͐̒͝ͅw̷̢͖̘̲̟̦̝̟̹͝h̷͖̣̪̳̯̝͍̿͐̍͊̅y̴̘̯͉̪̫͔̺̳̌͆̈w̵̧̧̞͚̗̙̗̓̂͋̐͌̍h̴̛̠̼̟̯͎͕̩̖̒̀̌͑̃͠͝͝y̸̥̜͍̣͚̟̤̟̰͓͒̿̍̀̈͘w̸̼͉̘̙̘̩̯͕̠͉͎̱͎̑̏h̸̻̻͓̆̑̄̆̿̌̓̉̂͂̐͛̆̓̓͘̕͝y̵̧̛̯̜̬̤͍̬̪̟͉̞͓͒̏͗͊̈́͗̿͆̽́͂̀͐̍́̚͘ͅw̴̧̡̟̣̠͉̮͕̥̤͎̱͒́̿̈́͋̽̈́͂͛̄͜h̴͇͖͓́̏̅̉̄͋̿͌͜͝y̷̨̺̩̲̟̰͈̩̻͔̺̹͉̜̔̎̃̄̀͌̍͜͝w̵͙̘͍̻̰̥̹̲̰̪̪̿̃̆̀͆̾̒̋̓̐̏͊͘̕͜h̶̭̬̹̘̝͖̭̭̗̎̏̾͂y̵̨̰̗̳̱̹̘̭̹̦̼̗͍͕̠͖͙͉̩̠͕̜͍̰̆͗͑̽̂͒̆̈́̓̀̓͑́̄̈́̈́̽͘w̵̛̥̼͉̅̊͑̿̾̀̐͗̅̓͐͘̚͝h̶̡̛̻͉͖͎̪̻̬̮̜̥̞̫̤̬͎̜̹̒͒̿͐̓̌̚ý̴͉̫͂͒͝ͅw̷̨̢̡̙̼̗̜̼͈̘͍̺̲͎̰̥̬̺̲͛̑̈́͊͂ͅh̴̡̨̻͍̤͙̤͇̞̉̄̒̑͆̔̅̾͐͛̉̉̿͋̏̌̈́̔͛͝y̶̨̨̳̪̲̺̟̣͕̥̱̼̝̮̳̻̦̯̺̼͒͑̔͊͌̂̑͊̿̾̉̌͌̒̇̏̓̅͘͜͠͠͠ͅw̸̡̡̦͓̣͙̠͙̮̯̱̬͍͔̤̩͓̤͆͑̀̂͆̈́̅͑͘̚͜͜͜h̵̡̢̖͇̜̘̗̤͔̣͎̟̟̱̫̳̘̜͚̣͇̖͊̕ͅͅy̸̡̢̧̟̭͕̺̪̜̩̤̺̯̘͉͖̭̥͉̐̄ͅw̷̨̻̱̮͇̪̤͎̰̲̯̪͊̓̒̓̏̒̾͋̍̈́̾̋̐͒̓͘͜͝ͅh̵̨̧̻̲̺̬̦̞̮̮̝̫̻̳̮͕̰̤̩́̈̔̓͛̉̈́̀̀̓̀͐̔̍͒̿͝͝͝͠͝ͅy̴̡̖̝͎͇̣̥̪̭͎̼̭̫͋̔̌͆̆̋̈́́͋́̔̈̏͆̃͗̇̍̒͘͝͠ẘ̷̢̢̢̥̩̙̙̝̞̞̜̟̼̩̘͎̆̾̆̾͗̔͌́ḧ̶͓̯̳̝͙͚̟͕̣̥͉͚́̍̏̀͊̎͛̍̾̅́̓͂̿͠͠͝͝y̸͓͖̙̣͚̳͓̭̺̩͈̭͉̟͛̃̇̍͌̃̎̄̀̌͑͐̄̃͋̌̐̚̕͝w̴̢̯̹͓̺̳̹̩̣͍̪͚͖̻̻̮̯͐͊̀͊̕͜͝h̵̢̢̧̺̠͓̬͈̼͙͙̦̼̮̩͙̙̩̬̫͙̞̓͐̋́͆̌̃̄̌̚͘y̶̗̯͉̪̖͙͚͈̫̝̪̣͉͉͚̞̮͉͚̹̎̽̾̔̅̐̒̇̀̉̽̔͑͑̑̚͜͜͝͠ẁ̸̡̗͇̩̠̭̪͎͍̽̑̂͐̈́͒̈͘h̵̢̗͚̠͉͙̥͎͎̦̻̮̞͕̳͔̳̭̥͙͆̄͑̿̒̆̈́ỷ̸̨̡̰͖͇͙̜̭̣̗̯̳̠̦͎̦͔̤̽̓̔́̈͂͂̃̀̿̒͑̅̏̇̕͜͠w̷̡̡̹̩͈̹̺͇̗͇̦͙̦̭͕̟̪̲̅͛̔͆̑͂́̍̾̐ḧ̴̨̠͕̖̭͎͚̝́́͊͗̂͌̉̓̓̀͋̚y̷̨̡̧̢͎̺͈̲̪̻̥̹̲͐͊̍͋̓͒̏̋̂́͗͆̒̔̈́͒̔̓͜͝͝͝w̵̢̧̗̩̹̦̬͕̤̰̫̳̻̮̥̖̦̖̟̼͎͒̈̆̆́̌̑͛͜͠͠͝͝ḩ̷̛̜̗͎̙̦͙̲̱́̿̎͛̽̋͌̄̕͠y̵̛͍̟̞͎̟̯̲͙̞̻̗̤̬̼͑̍̅̈̆́͋̌̉̈́̓̍ͅẅ̵̨̨̛̼̫̭̜͈̪̘̳̖͍̳̤̲̽̎́̍̇͋̇̆͑͌̒́͂̈̽̂͛̑͜͝h̸̨̨͙͕̘͍̤̱̣̣͈́̔̈́̅̌͝ÿ̷̡̬͕̣͓͇̖̱̤͈̟̙͔̖̞͚̿̅̊͋͝w̷̳̤̦̦͙͕̯̍̋̊̔͌̂͊͐͝h̵̡̢̢̧̘̪̼̰̤͎̪͍͉̭̜̞͈͕̲̺̮̠̐̿͑͛̀̏̍̋͜͜͝͝ŷ̶̧̱̲͍̀́̅̾̍̀̌͛̓͠ẅ̷̢̛̻͑̈̏̋̅̃͋̆̏̓̈́̇̒̿̋̏͋͐̾̚͘͝h̷̥͍͓̲̓̽͊̿̾̈́

y̷̘̙̮̩̌̃̉̓͊̓̂̽̌̆͛̅̃̅̎̚͠w̶͇̼̠̙̮̟̗̳̽͒̓̊̍̓̍͜ḩ̷̢̝͎̫͔̟͚͚̺̲̺͍̜̤̳̯͕̰̔̇̃̑͆̓̅̀͌́͋̾̒͘͝͝ͅỹ̸̧̨̨̧̘̳̱̮̹̳̼̫̼̗̻̝̰̝̠͈̱̞͓̭̾̊͑̔̔̄̉͛̾̈́͊̏̚͠͝ẃ̶̨̨̲̭̻̮̣̯͖̰̳͚̖͚͓͕͕̹͜h̸̡̦̪̗͙͎͓̞̺̝͈̗̦̭͔̘̤͎̆̿͌̈́͂̇̇̒͋̊͒̑̀̓͋͌͂̑͊̉̒͜͝͠ͅy̶͍̏́w̵̛̛̬͎̤̦̼̬̼̯͖͈̬̳̜̰̞͚͎͈͗́̅̽̀̓̏̇̓́̈́̑̒͋͐͌͑̉͐͝͝ͅh̶̨̢̢̗̜͇̳̺͍̰̳̫͉̫͍͖͎̥̭̪̮̯͆̈́͆̊̽͌̎̓̽̑̒͐̚̚ỷ̶̨̛̩̻͍̺̽̇̋̃̇̀̐͌̇̈́͗͆̋̊̒̕͝͝w̵̯̭̥̜͉̤̱̦̮͔̦̲̅̄̎̿̀́͑̏̀͆̇̂͆͝ḩ̴̢̡̛̛̫̳̘̞̟͍͎͇̮͇̥̬̬̣̩͇́̇̔̆̊́̿͗͋̈́̅̀͋̇̇̽́̒̎̇̚̕ͅy̴̨̧̢̛͖͉͇̞̖̣͎͇̼̫̻͇̮̙̼̳͈̐͌̋͂̊̈́̄͐̌͐̄͗͜͝͝ͅw̸͈̬͈͈͈̺̳̘͈̥̪͖͈̹͙̣̖̱̙͈̏̍̀̉̎̍́̿͗͌͒̀͋́͊̀̋̇͋̕͜͠͠͠h̸̨̧̩̲̹͙̼͚̥͑͌̿͜͠y̴̡̪̲̟̗̣̘͉̘̘̥̣͙̣̯̦̱̖͔͗̅̌̓̋̓̏͌̎̅̏̿̚͘͜͝w̷̡̡̙̪̱͖̰̭̯̯̘͇͚͙͇͎̝̗̺̬̍̀̐͌͛̇̔̐͋̈̀̅̍̋́̂̆̂͊̓̍͑̚͠ḣ̸̢̢̢̦̹̱̥̖̻̫̱͙̝͌͗̀̓̾͊͐́́̓̿̄́̋̏͋̚̕͘͜ͅy̴̧̛̛̳͍̩̱̖͇̹̺͚͈̺͚̖̰͑̓̈́̒̄̅́͌̐̾͛̆̂͠w̵̧̡̠̦̗͕̩͔̃͛̾̋̀͊̆̇̔͂͘ͅh̸̢̛͖̟̠̗̜̥̰̙̱̀͂͌́͋͌̍̇͌̓͑͌̈y̶̨̢̨̡̫̺̝͈̩̰̼̘͖̮̥̦̬͉͕̯̼̹̋̈̇̐̓̏̐͛͛̀͝w̷̨̛͉͇̜̱̞͈̮̞̮̜̞̲͎̺̲̌̒̍̀͋͑̄̿̄̒̃́̌͛̋̕̕̚͜ͅḩ̴̡̻͎̼͖͓̬͈̬͔͈̹̙̖͖̂̇̆̌̓̀͊́̆͛̅̐́̇̄͜ÿ̸̨̢̠̖̰͔̝̠̦̮̩͖̖́̃̓ẁ̵̛̳̥̥͇͌͑̓̈́͌̒̾̂̐̈̿̉̋̔̈́̚͝h̵̡̟̭̟͇͇̬̅̄͑̏̇̍́́̓̔͛̓̈́̌͒̄̅̈́̽̈́̚͝͠y̷̡̩̲̲̘͎͗̏̌͒͝ẅ̷̰͉́̾̒̆͛̌͑̔̏̽̀̅͛̂͝͝͝͝͠ḩ̶̢̛̛̩̳̜̠͈̫̩̞͍͕̻̙̳̹̫̞͓̱̊̏̈́̂̏͌̾̑̋͊̏̑̈́̔̀͒̈́͆́͋͘͘y̸̡̱̩̘̭͙͕͚͍͆́̈́̾̓̌̿͊̌̀̅͊w̸̼͉̘̙̘̩̯͕̠͉͎̱͎̑̏h̸̻̻͓̆̑̄̆̿̌̓̉̂͂̐͛̆̓̓͘̕͝y̵̧̛̯̜̬̤͍̬̪̟͉̞͓͒̏͗͊̈́͗̿͆̽́͂̀͐̍́̚͘ͅw̴̧̡̟̣̠͉̮͕̥̤͎̱͒́̿̈́͋̽̈́͂͛̄͜h̴͇͖͓́̏̅̉̄͋̿͌͜͝y̷̨̺̩̲̟̰͈̩̻͔̺̹͉̜̔̎̃̄̀͌̍͜͝w̵͙̘͍̻̰̥̹̲̰̪̪̿̃̆̀͆̾̒̋̓̐̏͊͘̕͜h̶̭̬̹̘̝͖̭̭̗̎̏̾͂y̵̨̰̗̳̱̹̘̭̹̦̼̗͍͕̠͖͙͉̩̠͕̜͍̰̆͗͑̽̂͒̆̈́̓̀̓͑́̄̈́̈́̽͘w̵̛̥̼͉̅̊͑̿̾̀̐͗̅̓͐͘̚͝h̶̡̛̻͉͖͎̪̻̬̮̜̥̞̫̤̬͎̜̹̒͒̿͐̓̌̚ý̴͉̫͂͒͝ͅw̷̨̢̡̙̼̗̜̼͈̘͍̺̲͎̰̥̬̺̲͛̑̈́͊͂ͅh̴̡̨̻͍̤͙̤͇̞̉̄̒̑͆̔̅̾͐͛̉̉̿͋̏̌̈́̔͛͝y̶̨̨̳̪̲̺̟̣͕̥̱̼̝̮̳̻̦̯̺̼͒͑̔͊͌̂̑͊̿̾̉̌͌̒̇̏̓̅͘͜͠͠͠ͅw̸̡̡̦͓̣͙̠͙̮̯̱̬͍͔̤̩͓̤͆͑̀̂͆̈́̅͑͘̚͜͜͜h̵̡̢̖͇̜̘̗̤͔̣͎̟̟̱̫̳̘̜͚̣͇̖͊̕ͅͅy̸̡̢̧̟̭͕̺̪̜̩̤̺̯̘͉͖̭̥͉̐̄ͅw̷̨̻̱̮͇̪̤͎̰̲̯̪͊̓̒̓̏̒̾͋̍̈́̾̋̐͒̓͘͜͝ͅh̵̨̧̻̲̺̬̦̞̮̮̝̫̻̳̮͕̰̤̩́̈̔̓͛̉̈́̀̀̓̀͐̔̍͒̿͝͝͝͠͝ͅy̴̡̖̝͎͇̣̥̪̭͎̼̭̫͋̔̌͆̆̋̈́́͋́̔̈̏͆̃͗̇̍̒͘͝͠

ẘ̷̢̢̢̥̩̙̙̝̞̞̜̟̼̩̘͎̆̾̆̾͗̔͌́ḧ̶͓̯̳̝͙͚̟͕̣̥͉͚́̍̏̀͊̎͛̍̾̅́̓͂̿͠͠͝͝y̸͓͖̙̣͚̳͓̭̺̩͈̭͉̟͛̃̇̍͌̃̎̄̀̌͑͐̄̃͋̌̐̚̕͝w̴̢̯̹͓̺̳̹̩̣͍̪͚͖̻̻̮̯͐͊̀͊̕͜͝h̵̢̢̧̺̠͓̬͈̼͙͙̦̼̮̩͙̙̩̬̫͙̞̓͐̋́͆̌̃̄̌̚͘y̶̗̯͉̪̖͙͚͈̫̝̪̣͉͉̎̽̾̔̅̐̒̇̀̉̽̔͑͑̑̚͜͝͠w̷̢̧̯͚͇̺̹̪̫͚͛̔̋̔̂͑̀̀̋̒̆̈́̉̋͋̃̅̀́̚͘̚ḩ̶̢͙͙̞̖͔̥̙͇̣͉̲̣̞̅̇͛͊̑̿̏̀̽̄̄̈́̅̉̏͊̓̚͝͝ÿ̷̨̛̼̫̰̮̱̝͔͉͙̻̰́͋̂̌̂͐̾̈́̄̈́͂̀̅̽̈́̊̆̕̕͠w̶̨̡̡̛̛̛͈̠̝̣̗̹͛̍͂̈́̐̋̋́̿̋̇̏̾̉͋̕͠͠ͅh̵͕̏͆̓y̸̢̧̹̠͇̩̩̙̥̱̪̰̗̙̦̤̟̖͓̤͓͙̼̔͒̋̆̌͑́̅͝w̶̛̛̭̺̮̮͙̮̹̩̻̏̈̋̃͒̂͊̈́̑̏͊͊̍̈́͜͠ḩ̵̡̹̤̫͔̭̼̓͂̓̊̉͘͘y̴̨͎͙̻͈͓̩̰̮͓͍͔͈̭͍̳̯̙̹̍͐͑̓́̋̌͋͗͑̈́̒͝w̷̖͍̫̋̊̇ḧ̴̛̬̥̖̜͖̫̖̗͕̻͎́͗̆̎̑̈̐͐̂̔͗͝͠ͅy̸͖̜̣͖̫̰͚̺̠̥̩̿̔̃̋̈́̎͆͊̄̋̓w̴̨̻̪̗̙̙̣̾̓̉̉̉̇̓̅̈́̒̄̚h̷̢̡̞̱̰̘͙͍̪̼͈̲̤̞̹͖̯̦͖̟̞͛̾̓̈̀̒̀̚͜y̴̧̨̧͈͈̺̮̦̯̺̪̙̩̞̥̱̻̾̏̈́̊̉́ͅẘ̵̢͈͈̱̺͍̳̟̝͒̆̂̍h̵̛̜̠̪͓̙̯̹̖̼͛̇̓͆́̊̀̀͋͐̃̓͌̆́̕͝͝ͅy̶̞̗̺̤̫̙̤͖̺͈͕͇̙͒̔̇̐̾͛͋͗̀̔͊̆͊͐̎̆͆̈̓̃͛̇̅̚w̴̨̛̛̺̖̳̤̤͈͛͌̑̿̋̎̀̊̋̏͆͌͐͛̌͂̚͠͠ȟ̸̤̫̤͙͓͈̏̉̎̔̉̽̓͛̑͐̌̿̆̐͗̋̏͆͂̆y̷̡̧͔̗̩͙̻̜͔̪̹̮̼̲̋̈́̓͊̇̒̓̽̾͗͋̐͊͘͘͘͝͝͠ẘ̸̧̼̻͈̖̩͖̖̜̜̠̹͓̯̞̝̹̼̗́̅̔͐̄͘ḩ̴̮̩̥̦̎̀̈́̕͝ỷ̵̨̧̛͎̱̰̝̟̗̳̠̯̳̭̥̖̱͖͔̖͉̝̞̘͒̔̐̈̊̋̔̔̑̃̉̿͐͑̔̿͗̔̍̎̎͘ẅ̷̛͉̇̑͊̓̀̽̑̄̅̑̀̎̍̆̀̌̚̕̕͝͠ḣ̵̢̧̜̯̦̪͉̿̈̈̿̿̒̿̆̍͒͋͒͒̇̔̈́̕̕͘͝͝ÿ̸̡̨̢̛̮̥͉̩̩̦͍̼̞̥͎̼́͛͋̂͛̔͊̆́̈͘̕ͅw̴̨̼̰̝̳͔͔̖̘̣̖͖̒͘͝h̵̨̨̥̯̟͓̺̞̟̮̜͕̩̯̜̠̪͂̋̓̆͆͌̐͐̏̆̌̎̊͌̅̕͝ͅy̴̨̛̟͔̪̣̠̹̖͔̲̺̹̟̖̼̯͍̖̱̜̍́͗̈́̈́͐͗̀̌̑̔͒̂̍͠͝ẅ̶̢̠͍̱̺̫́̐̄͌͋̒ḧ̶͉̙͚̥́̈́͂͌̆̂̑̑̚̚͜͝y̵̡̟͍̻̝̮͕̖̼̌͆̆͐͆͌̆̽̂̆̓ͅw̸̨̟̭͈̖̬̝͂̀́̃̈́̔̿͝h̴̛̳͔͇͍̑̾̋́̽̿̈́́̑͊͌̎̋̄́̕y̶̦̪͍͇̮̥͎̌͜ẃ̵̢̠͔̭̹̮̊̓̂̈̎͆ḧ̵̢͖̹̮̜͙̪̳̖̟̟̩͚̹̳̰̳̤̠̯̗̲͙́͋̓̒̈́̓̓̒̽̄̆̀͐̽̃̅͛̚͘̚͝ͅy̷̡͕̩͚̞̑͐͑̚̚ẉ̴̢̛̘̖̞̳͍͎̥̭̟͎̳̣̗̦̝͔̮̓͂̂̾̊̽̽͊͗̊͠ͅh̶̫̲̟̜̭͙͓͉͇̗̤̑̍͊͐͒͋͋̊̏̒̚͝y̷͖̙̬͈͙̻̥͙̻̺̙͕̳̼͍̦͆́͊̑͌̈́̒̈͗̔̈̓̈́̇̀̇̆͗̑͐͊͋͘͝w̷̘̜̌́̆͊́͌̆͌͒͗̎̚͘͠͝ḥ̶̢̢̡̣̲͖̜̰̭͚̰̣̯͈̟̜̈́̔͗͜͜ͅͅy̸͉̖̹̹̲͉͓̠̗̜̿̒̇͜ẉ̷̨̥͇̺̘̭͕̠̦͔̥̥̀̆̆̓͊͊͗̍̈̈́̈́̐̐̐̉͜͠

h̵̡̢̲̺̮̲̱̰͙̭̲̖̜̣̭̩͈͛̒̎̆͆̋̐̑̒̉̎̕ỳ̵̨̳̭̜̻̳̝̻̳̹̒͐̈́̉̆͑̅̍̿̀̎͜͠w̶̨̪͈̤̟̰̳̫̖̗̙̤͚̺̳͌̾̀̍̎̔͊̅́͐̾̽̌͌͌̈̃̔̅̌͝ȟ̴̤̀̌̉͋͆y̴̞̦̥̮̝͍͓̻͇̪͖̳͍̬̏́̎̄̇͋̎̆̈̋͋̈́w̷̨̡̨̧͖̝̹̣̯̬̺͈͉͓̙̗̗̒̊̏̈́̀̆̈̓̒͐́̄̈́̚͜͜͠h̵̨͖̙̩̲̣̭̹̠͔̙̖͕͓̭̅͌͌̈́́͌̿̄̄͐̑͊̏́͘ÿ̷̖̬͇̺͍̻͇̞̩̫̪̻̥̼̜̗̟̞̙̲̼͔̫́́̆̍̎͑̇͗̇̾̋̕ẇ̷̧̪̤̱̘̩̯̣̠̘̍́̓̓́͌̀̇͘ḩ̸̢̺̘̰̙̰̭͈̬̻̦̰̜͙̰͚̤̩͍̳̖͚̝̂͊́̃̒̀͊͌͌͂y̶̢̨̧̼̟͖̱͙̳͚̹̰͇̺̪̘̻̱̼̼̼̬͓̱̌̅̉ŵ̶̧̜͉͎̖̩̙̰͈̪̣͚̮̲̞͓̙͕̰̇͊̀̑͋̊̈́͗̓̌̍͂̊̓̇̊ḩ̵̛͈̜͚̱͉̼̗̹̼͚͖͍̩͌̆̈́̇͂́̒̌̒̌̌́̅͊̆̀̋͗̎͌̑̒͝y̵̢̢̨͇̙̜̪̺͇̭͙̔w̵̨͉̣̭̟̫̘̝̳̻͎̣͖̯̠͖̳͛̍̇̇̓̀̋͊̈́̅̾́̏̃̄̄̕͘͠͝h̶̢̞͈͉̯̦̟̤͇̙͈̫̟͎̜̗̮̤̪̖͙̉͌̅̉̽̾́͐̋̄̌̉̿̓͑͐̚͘ͅy̸̨̢̨̧̢̮̭̹̻͍̞̪̦̞͔̺͚̰̞͊̈́͜͝w̸̧̨̡̱͙̰͔̹̫̖̭̖͔̞̹͒͂́͒͒̂͗̓̓̓̊̽̅͝ḩ̸̛̛̹̜̪͚̯͚̠̤̪̭̿̍̇̂̑̀̐̍̂̅͌͂̐͒͊̈́̒͘͝y̵̨̦̮͍̹̯͖̦͍̠͎̠͓͓̘̐̽͐̓̔̎̀̿̂̓̀̒̆̅̚͠ͅw̴̨̡͇̪̳̲̬͚͎̼̺̟̩̣̭̯̭̳͔̺̜̅͌̉̿́̑̓͊͆̈́̈́͑̄̈̌̄̃͠h̴̢̧̫̲͚̼̹̯̩͈̳̲͉͈̹̙̺̬̪̘́̈͊͌́͊̌͒̌̓̎̄̔͒̽͂̀͆͝͠͝y̸̢̢̡̥͉͓̠͓̰̤̻͉̠̩͉̹͚̞̮͉͚̹̋̇̇̋͌͊̊͌͋͒͗̊̏͜ẁ̸̡̗͇̩̠̭̪͎͍̽̑̂͐̈́͒̈͘h̵̢̗͚̠͉͙̥͎͎̦̻̮̞͕̳͔̳̭̥͙͆̄͑̿̒̆̈́ỷ̸̨̡̰͖͇͙̜̭̣̗̯̳̠̦͎̦͔̤̽̓̔́̈͂͂̃̀̿̒͑̅̏̇̕͜͠w̷̡̡̹̩͈̹̺͇̗͇̦͙̦̭͕̟̪̲̅͛̔͆̑͂́̍̾̐ḧ̴̨̠͕̖̭͎͚̝́́͊͗̂͌̉̓̓̀͋̚y̷̨̡̧̢͎̺͈̲̪̻̥̹̲͐͊̍͋̓͒̏̋̂́͗͆̒̔̈́͒̔̓͜͝͝͝w̵̢̧̗̩̹̦̬͕̤̰̫̳̻̮̥̖̦̖̟̼͎͒̈̆̆́̌̑͛͜͠͠͝͝ḩ̷̛̜̗͎̙̦͙̲̱́̿̎͛̽̋͌̄̕͠y̵̛͍̟̞͎̟̯̲͙̞̻̗̤̬̼͑̍̅̈̆́͋̌̉̈́̓̍ͅẅ̵̨̨̛̼̫̭̜͈̪̘̳̖͍̳̤̲̽̎́̍̇͋̇̆͑͌̒́͂̈̽̂͛̑͜͝h̸̨̨͙͕̘͍̤̱̣̣͈́̔̈́̅̌͝ÿ̷̡̬͕̣͓͇̖̱̤͈̟̙͔̖̞͚̿̅̊͋͝w̷̳̤̦̦͙͕̯̍̋̊̔͌̂͊͐͝h̵̡̢̢̧̘̪̼̰̤͎̪͍͉̭̜̞͈͕̲̺̮̠̐̿͑͛̀̏̍̋͜͜͝͝ŷ̶̧̱̲͍̀́̅̾̍̀̌͛̓͠ẅ̷̢̛̻͑̈̏̋̅̃͋̆̏̓̈́̇̒̿̋̏͋͐̾̚͘͝h̷̥͍͓̲̓̽͊̿̾̈́y̷̘̙̮̩̌̃̉̓͊̓̂̽̌̆͛̅̃̅̎̚͠w̶͇̼̠̙̮̟̗̳̽͒̓̊̍̓̍͜ḩ̷̢̝͎̫͔̟͚͚̺̲̺͍̜̤̳̯͕̰̔̇̃̑͆̓̅̀͌́͋̾̒͘͝͝ͅỹ̸̧̨̨̧̘̳̱̮̹̳̼̫̼̗̻̝̰̝̠͈̱̞͓̭̾̊͑̔̔̄̉͛̾̈́͊̏̚͠͝ẃ̶̨̨̲̭̻̮̣̯͖̰̳͚̖͚͓͕͕̹͜h̸̡̦̪̗͙͎͓̞̺̝͈̗̦̭͔̘̤͎̆̿͌̈́͂̇̇̒͋̊͒̑̀̓͋͌͂̑͊̉̒͜͝͠ͅy̶͍̏́w̵̛̛̬͎̤̦̼̬̼̯͖͈̬̳̜̰̞͚͎͈͗́̅̽̀̓̏̇̓́̈́̑̒͋͐͌͑̉͐͝͝ͅh̶̨̢̢̗̜͇̳̺͍̰̳̫͉̫͍͖͎̥̭̪̮̯͆̈́͆̊̽͌̎̓̽̑̒͐̚̚ỷ̶̨̛̩̻͍̺̽̇̋̃̇̀̐͌̇̈́͗͆̋̊̒̕͝͝w̵̯̭̥̜͉̤̱̦̮͔̦̲̅̄̎̿̀́͑̏̀͆̇̂͆͝ḩ̴̢̡̛̛̫̳̘̞̟͍͎͇̮͇̥̬̬̣̩͇́̇̔̆̊́̿͗͋̈́̅̀͋̇̇̽́̒̎̇̚̕ͅy̴̨̧̢̛͖͉͇̞̖̣͎͇̼̫̻͇̮̙̼̳͈̐͌̋͂̊̈́̄͐̌͐̄͗͜͝͝ͅw̸͈̬͈͈͈̺̳̘͈̥̪͖͈̹͙̣̖̱̙͈̏̍̀̉̎̍́̿͗͌͒̀͋́͊̀̋̇͋̕͜͠͠͠h̸̨̧̩̲̹͙̼͚̥͑͌̿͜͠y̴̡̪̲̟̗̣̘͉̘̘̥̣͙̣̯̦̱̖͔͗̅̌̓̋̓̏͌̎̅̏̿̚͘͜͝w̷̡̡̙̪̱͖̰̭̯̯̘͇͚͙͇͎̝̗̺̬̍̀̐͌͛̇̔̐͋̈̀̅̍̋́̂̆̂͊̓̍͑̚͠ḣ̸̢̢̢̦̹̱̥̖̻̫̱͙̝͌͗̀̓̾͊͐́́̓̿̄́̋̏͋̚̕͘͜ͅy̴̧̛̛̳͍̩̱̖͇̹̺͚͈̺͚̖̰͑̓̈́̒̄̅́͌̐̾͛̆̂͠w̵̧̡̠̦̗͕̩͔̃͛̾̋̀͊̆̇̔͂͘ͅh̸̢̛͖̟̠̗̜̥̰̙̱̀͂͌́͋͌̍̇͌̓͑͌̈y̶̨̢̨̡̫̺̝͈̩̰̼̘͖̮̥̦̬͉͕̯̼̹̋̈̇̐̓̏̐͛͛̀͝w̷̨̛͉͇̜̱̞͈̮̞̮̜̞̲͎̺̲̌̒̍̀͋͑̄̿̄̒̃́̌͛̋̕̕̚͜ͅḩ̴̡̻͎̼͖͓̬͈̬͔͈̹̙̖͖̂̇̆̌̓̀͊́̆͛̅̐́̇̄͜ÿ̸̨̢̠̖̰͔̝̠̦̮̩͖̖́̃̓ẁ̵̛̳̥̥͇͌͑̓̈́͌̒̾̂̐̈̿̉̋̔̈́̚͝h̵̡̟̭̟͇͇̬̅̄͑̏̇̍́́̓̔͛̓̈́̌͒̄̅̈́̽̈́̚͝͠y̷̡̩̲̲̘͎͗̏̌͒͝ẅ̷̰͉́̾̒̆͛̌͑̔̏̽̀̅͛̂͝͝͝͝͠ḩ̶̢̛̛̩̳̜̠͈̫̩̞͍͕̻̙̳̹̫̞͓̱̊̏̈́̂̏͌̾̑̋͊̏̑̈́̔̀͒̈́͆́͋͘͘y̸̡̱̩̘̭͙͕͚͍͆́̈́̾̓̌̿͊̌̀̅͊w̶̨̨̡̨̨̦̼̼̪̘̣̦̥̲̣̺̗̜͆̏̌͆͂̉́͊͆̅̃̎̽́̽̒͐͛͊̈́̈̕̕̕̕͝͠͝͝ḧ̴̡̧̹̰̦͕̝̝̻̜̘̗͈̦̭͎̫̞̼̹̺͓̞͓͔́͒̊̆̈́̃͑͘͝͝y̵̨̬̻̯̭̺̫̬̙͉̌͋̑͌͐̒͐̒̐̽̿̔̽͋͝͝͠w̸̡̡̧̧̧̛̩̠̮̩̰̼̯͍̤̘̻̲̦̙̭͍̥͖͚̘̥͉̃̐̀̀̒̒̐͒̕͜͝͝h̵̛̞͙͓̖̞͎̱̿͆͛̌͋͗̅̒̑̅̔̀̏͛͌͌̉̆̀̊͊̕͜y̴̭̹̞͓̞̥̬̓͂̓̌͐̔w̷̢͓͇̭̺̟͇̩͖͉̹͇̲̪͕̝̫͙̰̪͓͕̪̻͗̈́̽̂̌͆̋̄͌͒̉́̄͌̃͑̅̍͒̾͒̐́̄̆̅̓͛̾͗̚̕̕̚͜͜͝h̷̨̦̻̝̖͝ẏ̸̛̰̹̦͚͔́̋̆̈́̔͆̑͌͂̈́̓̉̂͐͗̌͐̈̅̏̇̉͌̀̀̊̍̕͘͝͠͝͠ẃ̸̧̞̰͙͈͓̦͈͇̘̯͖̱͎̰͇̲̥̮̭̤̀̽̈́̍̉̈̌̈́̀̎̆̚̚͘͠͝ḧ̵̡̢̨̺͍̪͇̟͍̯͍̩̜̘͎̞̟̼̠̮̮̹̥̠̼͙̫̤̙̰̻̗̺̄͒̈̌̓͛̐͑̀́͛̓͊̿̀̀̈́̉̆̚͝ͅy̴̛̗̻̙̫̞̹̬̬͓̖͖̼̘̟̬̬̘̬̳̜̦̫̥͇̖͒̈̋̑̕ͅͅͅw̴̨͈͉̝̫̻̥̯̦̜̱͕̗̫͙̩͇̳̱̘̟͕̫͔̜̘̥͖̲̘̺͈̺̦͗͒́̇̎̌͆͊͘͜h̸̢̛̖̖͍͓̳͖̥̻̝̪̬͇̱̺̠͙̗͙̗̐͌̀͜͜͠ͅỵ̴̨̧̧̧̝͚̥͍̜̞̩̳̺̭̩̜̳̺̮͇̻̦̙̃̄̇̂̒͗̾̄̚ẅ̶̨̢͇͚̞͇͇̫̫̫͉̖̮̯́͊̈̀̓̊̋̐̓̆͑̊̎̄͛͒̂̂̊͒͆̈́̋͘̕͝͠h̶̨̨̛̯͚̳͉͓͔̲̮͈̥̦̻͎̖̮̹̅͋͌̇̈́̀͂́͌̐̄͋̀̄́̄̿̈̉̈́̍͂̅̃͌̈́̕͘͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅẏ̵̢̢̧̧̡̛͍̫̫̱͈̪̝̥̹͈̗̻̟̞͖̯͔̙͔̜̦̳̪̀̇̈̓͛̂̓͑͋̒̔̊̈́͛́̊̈́̕͜͜͝͝w̸̧̡̧̨̡̢̜͎͈̹͍͔̯̖̟̱͕̬͇͉̠̺̭͇̞̻̌͗͌͊̇̓h̴̨̖͎̝͚̔̓̆̒́͐̂́͗̀̓̂͊̃̓͌̈́̾͂̋̓̄̑̕̚͝ŷ̴̡̡̭̮̼͉̹̘̦̳̘̼͚̩͎̞̃͌̊̏̽̉̎̈́̍̉̈́͒̑̀̐́͑̿͗̉̓̉̐̈́̃̑̅̇͗͘͘̕͜͝͠ͅẅ̸̡̤̱̲̙̞̤̼́͋̓̀̄̉́̋͒̚͘͝͝͝h̶̛͈̫̬̿̀̄͌̍̏̅̏́̓͆̄̄̈́̀̾͂̀̂̏̂̅̕͘y̷̧̢̛͇̘̥̘̩͙̤̠̠̬̻̥̬͚͖̲̭̦͎̳̒͑̄̒͗́̎͌̋̇̅̀̍̎̒̔̈͝ẁ̶̩̠̼͖̙͓̊̒̾̋̔͌̚h̷̛͖̠̑̂̈̀͌̅̂̊̌͂͋͛͗̂̇͠ý̶̡̨͉͈͓̻͕̠̘̤̳̤̫͖̣̟͊͝ͅw̵̢̧̡̮̣̤͓̯̩̖͈̯̠̬̤̫̞̬͉̣̥͋̍̀̽͑͌͗͂́̍͌̐̊͒̍̋̐̾̑̓̓͊̍̆̅͐̚͘̚͘̕͜͝ḩ̵̧̨̢̲̯̝̪̥͇͎̙̦̫͕̝̼̻̙̮̞̞͙̱̬̮̘͙͕̲́̅̓̄̏͗̈͆͋͌̐͗͊̈́͑͗͌͒̓̾̓͂̈̀̿̈́͗̇̈́͐̚̕̚͜͜͝y̷̡̧̨̢͚̗͕̪̙͉̤̮̝͙͈̞̪̝̝͖̭̱̖͚͈̥̣̳̩̞͐͐͗͗̅̓̈́̂̈̾̋̏̂̓͛̿̍͂̆͗̕͝w̵̠͙͕̅̈͐̄͛̈̊͊͆͘h̵̡͖̣̪͍͎͍̘̳̺̩̥͇͋͆y̸̨̧̹̮͚̩͎̰̥̞͎̞̬̯̲͙̝̭̯͚̰͔͈̣̪̟̪͉̙̻͋̒̐̽͑̄̈̓̍̀͂̍̿̂͘͜͠

w̶̡̡̨̙̞͕̬̣̯̮̤̖̣̗̘͍͎͚̔̊̓̿ḣ̴̨̨̨̖̺͖̞̞̫͈̳̞̻̜̪̬̰̖̥͇͚̗̺̥̳͉̪̙̜̄̀͑̓͛̾̓͋̈͒͊̊̃̾̇̋̐̒͝͝͝y̸̰̬̜̺͉̙̤̻̜̼̬̥̩͉̟̲̫̞̕ͅw̵̨͓̭̩̩̳̟͖̰̠͓̘̫̘̱͙̱͈̮͓͙͓̣̱͚̰̠̟̣̹͗͜ḩ̸̢̘̘̝̙͎̫̞̟̫͓͖̣̬̘̹̆̐y̴̧̳̯͙̺̙̞̯̩̭̫̾̄͛̓́̌̑͒̂́̓̒̈́̅̀̐̌̅̓̕͜w̴̨̢̢̮͓͙̹͉̬̤͔̺̪̪̥̘͒̍̆͋̎͐̓̍̓́̽̾̀́̎͂͘͘͝ͅh̸̨̧̢̩͈͈̤͚̫̫̼̯̱̝̠̯̲͎͇̖̟̫̼͖̗̒́̄̈́͛̈͆͒̔̊̐͜͝͝y̶̧̧̻̼̩̻̦̬͓͈͇͛̃̾̀̿̾͒̿̓̈͆͊̈͆͑̆̂̆̂́͂͂̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅẅ̸̫̱̮̪̖̣̑̈́̚ͅḩ̶̧̨̡̘̞̬͔̱͓͕͙͉͙̝͚̺̤͉̦͇̋͐̓̇̂̈̃̃̈́̌̆̂̆̏̓̃̀́̒̎̊̈́́̌͘͘͝͠͠ͅÿ̴̨̭̝͓́̔̆͑̑̈̂̋̐̽͑͒̋̔̇̍̑̈͘͠w̴̨͙̱͉̫͖̹̻͈̪̮̆ḧ̷̡̬̬͈̗̲͕͚̯̩̬͚̺̖̞̹̫̥͔̩ͅy̸̨̢̮̳̟̰̣͚͇̤͛̉̐͒̋̈́̅͆̉͗͊̐͘͜͠w̸̨̨̛̤̮͓͎̪̞͔̦̖̪̜̗̻̤̣̥̫̬̰̯̤̦͎̮̟͌͑͛̈̄͐͋̒͌̓̉͐̍̌̈́̒̋̈́̀͌̓͘͝͠͝ͅͅh̵̨̢͎̖̘̣͔̺̱̗̘̳̥̘̖̘̳̘̻̻͔͙̩̥͙̫͉͎̏̄̇̇̐̏̽̓͂̾͌͂̾̽̍̌͂̏̉̌̐͛̊̚̕͠͠ỳ̶̢̡͚̳̟̦̟̀̅̓͋̋̒̈́̋̿̑̅͊͑̈́͛̎̀̎͒͘͝͝͠͝w̶̡̨̧͙͇̲͍͚̞̞̠̦̠̻̯̬̣̩̬̬̼̏̈̿̔̾̋̈́̀͆̄̆̎̐̎̽͛̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅĥ̴̡̡̤̥̯͈̦͔̼̟̱̻̪̭̝̎͂̈́̑̕y̷̨̨̧̢̡̡̱͎̯͇̭͚̲̗̞̻̬͚̞̳͍̭̯̣̞̾̈̐́͛̽͊͊̕̕ͅw̷̢̨̢̡̦͕̥̖͉̞͍̱̮̪͍̱͇̪̘̬͕̤̟͇̭͎̟̩̝͉̞͊͗́̆̎̇̈́͒̆̐͆̀́͛͛̐̎̔̑̋͌́̈͘̚͜͝͝͠͝h̸̢̟͓̲̦͖̞̤̫̹̲̟̠̱̯͓̘̭͕̊͑́͊̍̂͛͗y̴̢̡̡̢͇̖͚̹̭̗̝̙̜̭̯͇͈̯͌͒͌̓͊͗̔͂̓͊̀̔͐̾́̍̀̇́̊͋̽̓̿͑͘͝͠ͅw̶̨̛̘͇̘̺̥̖̥͚̦͇̱͈̩̳̤̤̰̤̮͙̬̫̓̏͊̃̀̏̇̏̔̋͆̎̒̈̏̏̆̀͗͛́̔̈͆͊͂͒̇͘̚͜͠ͅh̷̡̧̡̫͚̲̣̹̘͓͙͕̼͓̩̻̪̥͓͎̣͚͇͖͙̟͈̳͚̻͆̐̈́́̑͆̃̎͗̃̃̈͛̀́͐̓͗̈̌͋̉̄́̂̚͠͝͝͝ý̶̧͖̄͑͊w̶̢̡̯̳̭̘̲͓̞̳̻̗͔͉͙̤͎͖̥̲̥͆̀̅̐̓̒̈́̏̔̋̓̿̌͒̊̊͒̚͜͜͠͝͝ḩ̷̨̦͖͓̣͎̭̰̰̞͖̹͎̫͔̮̩̪̩̖͚̘͔̟͔͎̝̼̲̙̐̏̑̓̒͊̐̉͆͒͐̅͆̃̄͂͊̕͜ͅͅͅy̶̧̛̛̗̝̞̽͆̑̓͋́͊͒͊̐̈́͐͊̒̾̐̈̊̈́͂͘͘͘͘͜͝ẘ̸̨̧̨̡̢̡̳͔͙̹̲̟͓͎̥̼͇̫̤̺̜̝̼̦͍̼̠̩̝͌̐̎͊͊ͅh̸̡̧̗̝̣̺͚̞̟́̀̽̎͌̏̃͋͑̌̃̑̏͆̓̀͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝y̴̡̧̡̩̤͚̱̮̦̹̰̫̜̩͕̪͙͓̦̟̹̟̲͍̥̮̳̗̐͒̾̽̉̓̇̇̏̇̊̏̍̔͊̚͝͠ͅw̷̢̢̠̬̩̭̝͙̯̙͎̥͎̙̯̣̠̓̅̌̇̊̓̾̂̽͑̌̈́̂̽͠͠h̸̛̲̮͚͍͒̇̒̀́͌͐̿͒̔̎̓̌̇̃͘͝͝͠͝ẏ̴̧̨̖͚͙̹̥̣̗̝͚̯̣͓͉̞͖̣̬̬͚̳̘̞̫ͅw̴̧̢̛̥̰̬͙͇͓͙̏̓̌̋̄̒̓̿̊̈́̎̂̾̄͊͗̀̉́͛̈́̈̽̃͠h̷̢̝̪̦͖̬̣̜̰̱̜͎̘͖̹̲͍̠̥͖̩̓̏͒̀͒̌̐̓͗̈́̋ͅy̸̡̢͕̹̎̿̀̋̀̈́̍͐̂͆͑͐͂̆͌̋̀̏͜͝ͅw̸̧̪̣̬̹̟͈̲̗͙̤̰̩̼̞̥̭̲͉̮̖̫͒͐́͒͆̔̄̀͋͜͝ḩ̶̢̝̘͖̤̼̞̙͔̙͎̻̖͙̖̺͚̱̫͈̹̄͊͋͌̍̋̈́̍͊̈́̊͂͐̑͆̋̿̐̔̌̂̚̕͜͜͝y̵̧̘̰̥̩̠̬̥̦͂́͒̉w̴͉̒̑́́͛̈́ͅh̵̛͙̥̊̊̌̽͊̉̏̇̀̉͗̋̄͋̈́͐̾̅̒͌̿̑̑̋̽̌̃̾̆̈y̵̡̢̨̢̧̗̤͎̜̬̤̩͓̠̘̖̬͚̣̣̤͖̯̺̩̤̥̜̳̙̠̗͂̔̏̇͗̈́̌͗̎̋̚w̶̛̯̋̽͛̏͑͆̊͋̒̂̽͋͒̋̆̂̋̐h̷͇͈̞͔̤͎̿̄͜͜y̷̨̨̡̨̛̻͙̞̩̩͚̹̠͕̖̻̝̯̥̖͇̜̱͕̪͕̘̘͎̓̿͐͑̈́͌́͋̈́̌̿̾̒̓͘͘̚͜͜͜ͅw̴̧̨̨̛̭̮̮̙̼̮̭̗̗̺̠̉̏̔͆͌̀̚̚͜ͅͅh̷̨̨̦̪̙̜̞͓̗̹͕̤̮͉̺̤́ͅͅỳ̶̧̡̢̺͕͕̺̻̳̂͂͆̍͛͛̉̈́̀̎͗̆͒͂̈́̈́̀̂̆͑̾̇̋̚͝ẇ̸͓͇͍͕̣́͆

h̶̨̡̼̲͍͙̖̩̰͓̤̝̺͇͕̘̓͆̈́̈́̔̀̈́͒̓͑̇͋̚̕͘͝͝y̷͇̼͍̞̦̲̯̝̤͔̹͆͊̑́͋̐̈̂́̕͠͝ͅw̴̡̗̳͑̌͗͊̒̽͌͝h̷̨̨̧̨̛͍̤͉̼͖̫̜̤̗̭̻̠̱̻͚̞͈̮̫͍͓̙̖̣̮͗̅́̿̉̉̑͜y̸̲̗͙̮͙̤̗͍̱̋̎̏̀̆̄͌̂͐͑͛̉͗̌̈́̒̎̚̕̚͠͝ẅ̴̡̘͖̱̱̲̖̖̣͍͈̥̙̮͖̥̹̼̈̒͒̒̀͛͋͂͗̀͆̈́̓̉̓̑̔̋͛̅́̆͗̚̕̕͜͠͠͝ḧ̸̨̛̛̺̰̞̹̬̪̮̗͙̫͖͔͚̻̖̱̯̳̫̩́͗́̓́͐͊̽̋̉̈́̈́͆̋̒͂̂͗́͛̅̍̌̾̌͝͝͝y̵̦͇͎̰̭̦̬̥̤͗͊ͅẃ̷̢̛̦̠͙̱̯̟̣̜͕̰̼̺̤̮̗̹͉̙̙̝̗͌̓͐̑͜ẖ̷̦̳̬͉̳̬̳̰́̑͒̈́͛̓͜ͅỹ̴̡̨̢͓̠̩̫̙̠͉̙͖̟̳̞̲̞͈̘͖̓͋̏̔̔͛̍̉̒̈̓̑̉̐̐̄͐̋̋̊̅͆̊̇̈̕̚̚͜͝w̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̛̦̬̥̙͓̥̣̰͎͎̗̲̗͍̟̖̠͇̞̦̟̫̲̺͑̆̏͛̃͛̈́̐̃̉̓̈́̒̉̌̅̐͊̒̔̓̆͘͠͝h̸̲͒y̷̡̧̨̡̞̣͕̞͖̖̬̦͉̜̤̬̖͕̫͚̺̭̦̙͇͎̹̍̏̔̅̈̀̒͒̆̓̿̍̀́̚̚̚͝ͅẃ̴̡̢̧͙̻̪̮̩̲͕̙̬̯͇͔̠̝͍͖̪̝̹̣͉̝͈̻͊̐͊͗̆̈́̄̑̒̕ͅh̷̡̻̰̮͓̩͖̮̣̫̻͍̞̾͋̂̅̓y̶͍̬̙͉̍͐͗̆͗̿̒̔̓͠w̴̡̛̼̳̙̭͔̮̠̤͖͈̘͔̗̫̦̙̬͚̦̼̳̺̓͋̆͌̿̀̊̈́̉̌̀̇̎̍̓͒̀͒͋͌̇́͐̋̈́̑̉́̉̔͊͠͝͠ͅḩ̴̢̧̛͙͍̰̤̦͓̜͚̱̖̮͔̤̩̰̜͓̎̍͗̓̃͆̆̒̀͛̔̀̀͘͝y̷̧̨̨̫̬̼̥͕̯̤͓͕͍̟͉̫̖͔̙̱̰̯͓̬͚̠̤͛̽̍̅͂͗͌̈́́̋́̃̈́̇̀͋͐͊͆̐̾̇̔͘̕w̵̫̓̈́̅̊͊͗̓̋́̋̈́͊̒́͆͌̑̾̒͛̚h̴̨̫̯̫̻̞͍̯͙̤̜̯͙̣̮̬̣̍͒̓̽͘͜͜y̵̡̛̞̤̰͎̜͚̯̺͍̻̲̖̠̞͕̩͓̰͙̰͚̗͖͋͗͊͒͑́͆́̐̂͒̊͛̋͝͠͝ͅw̸̧̭̲̩̗̳̜͚͉͔̪͕͇̬̰̙̻̙̬͖̱̠͇̱̦̦͈̥͇͎̯̅͆̑̇̈́̃̅͛́̌́͂̚ͅͅͅh̸̛̛͈͍͉̉̾̆͋̈́̊̇̃͆͒̅̌̿̀̋̋̎̈̿̀͛̐́͒̈̏͂̎̏͗͌̚͝y̸̨̨̢̨̫͙̼̻̜̞̼̝̦̬̦̫̺̱̯̯͚̲̳̫̱̹͚̠̖͇͔̮͛̄̓͌͒̏̄͐̾̿̏́̆̐̀͌̚͝ͅw̶̡̡̨̙̞͕̬̣̯̮̤̖̣̗̘͍͎͚̔̊̓̿ḣ̴̨̨̨̖̺͖̞̞̫͈̳̞̻̜̪̬̰̖̥͇͚̗̺̥̳͉̪̙̜̄̀͑̓͛̾̓͋̈͒͊̊̃̾̇̋̐̒͝͝͝y̸̰̬̜̺͉̙̤̻̜̼̬̥̩͉̟̲̫̞̕ͅw̵̨͓̭̩̩̳̟͖̰̠͓̘̫̘̱͙̱͈̮͓͙͓̣̱͚̰̠̟̣̹͗͜ḩ̸̢̘̘̝̙͎̫̞̟̫͓͖̣̬̘̹̆̐y̴̧̳̯͙̺̙̞̯̩̭̫̾̄͛̓́̌̑͒̂́̓̒̈́̅̀̐̌̅̓̕͜w̴̨̢̢̮͓͙̹͉̬̤͔̺̪̪̥̘͒̍̆͋̎͐̓̍̓́̽̾̀́̎͂͘͘͝ͅh̸̨̧̢̩͈͈̤͚̫̫̼̯̱̝̠̯̲͎͇̖̟̫̼͖̗̒́̄̈́͛̈͆͒̔̊̐͜͝͝y̶̧̧̻̼̩̻̦̬͓͈͇͛̃̾̀̿̾͒̿̓̈͆͊̈͆͑̆̂̆̂́͂͂̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅẅ̸̫̱̮̪̖̣̑̈́̚ͅḩ̶̧̨̡̘̞̬͔̱͓͕͙͉͙̝͚̺̤͉̦͇̋͐̓̇̂̈̃̃̈́̌̆̂̆̏̓̃̀́̒̎̊̈́́̌͘͘͝͠͠ͅÿ̴̨̭̝͓́̔̆͑̑̈̂̋̐̽͑͒̋̔̇̍̑̈͘͠w̴̨͙̱͉̫͖̹̻͈̪̮̆ḧ̷̡̬̬͈̗̲͕͚̯̩̬͚̺̖̞̹̫̥͔̩ͅy̸̨̢̮̳̟̰̣͚͇̤͛̉̐͒̋̈́̅͆̉͗͊̐͘͜͠w̸̨̨̛̤̮͓͎̪̞͔̦̖̪̜̗̻̤̣̥̫̬̰̯̤̦͎̮̟͌͑͛̈̄͐͋̒͌̓̉͐̍̌̈́̒̋̈́̀͌̓͘͝͠͝ͅͅh̵̨̢͎̖̘̣͔̺̱̗̘̳̥̘̖̘̳̘̻̻͔͙̩̥͙̫͉͎̏̄̇̇̐̏̽̓͂̾͌͂̾̽̍̌͂̏̉̌̐͛̊̚̕͠͠ỳ̶̢̡͚̳̟̦̟̀̅̓͋̋̒̈́̋̿̑̅͊͑̈́͛̎̀̎͒͘͝͝͠͝w̶̡̨̧͙͇̲͍͚̞̞̠̦̠̻̯̬̣̩̬̬̼̏̈̿̔̾̋̈́̀͆̄̆̎̐̎̽͛̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅĥ̴̡̡̤̥̯͈̦͔̼̟̱̻̪̭̝̎͂̈́̑̕y̷̨̨̧̢̡̡̱͎̯͇̭͚̲̗̞̻̬͚̞̳͍̭̯̣̞̾̈̐́͛̽͊͊̕̕ͅw̷̢̨̢̡̦͕̥̖͉̞͍̱̮̪͍̱͇̪̘̬͕̤̟͇̭͎̟̩̝͉̞͊͗́̆̎̇̈́͒̆̐͆̀́͛͛̐̎̔̑̋͌́̈͘̚͜͝͝͠͝h̸̢̟͓̲̦͖̞̤̫̹̲̟̠̱̯͓̘̭͕̊͑́͊̍̂͛͗y̴̢̡̡̢͇̖͚̹̭̗̝̙̜̭̯͇͈̯͌͒͌̓͊͗̔͂̓͊̀̔͐̾́̍̀̇́̊͋̽̓̿͑͘͝͠ͅw̶̨̛̘͇̘̺̥̖̥͚̦͇̱͈̩̳̤̤̰̤̮͙̬̫̓̏͊̃̀̏̇̏̔̋͆̎̒̈̏̏̆̀͗͛́̔̈͆͊͂͒̇͘̚͜͠ͅh̷̡̧̡̫͚̲̣̹̘͓͙͕̼͓̩̻̪̥͓͎̣͚͇͖͙̟͈̳͚̻͆̐̈́́̑͆̃̎͗̃̃̈͛̀́͐̓͗̈̌͋̉̄́̂̚͠͝͝͝

ý̶̧͖̄͑͊w̶̢̡̯̳̭̘̲͓̞̳̻̗͔͉͙̤͎͖̥̲̥͆̀̅̐̓̒̈́̏̔̋̓̿̌͒̊̊͒̚͜͜͠͝͝ḩ̷̨̦͖͓̣͎̭̰̰̞͖̹͎̫͔̮̩̪̩̖͚̘͔̟͔͎̝̼̲̙̐̏̑̓̒͊̐̉͆͒͐̅͆̃̄͂͊̕͜ͅͅͅy̶̧̛̛̗̝̞̽͆̑̓͋́͊͒͊̐̈́͐͊̒̾̐̈̊̈́͂͘͘͘͘͜͝ẘ̸̨̧̨̡̢̡̳͔͙̹̲̟͓͎̥̼͇̫̤̺̜̝̼̦͍̼̠̩̝͌̐̎͊͊ͅh̸̡̧̗̝̣̺͚̞̟́̀̽̎͌̏̃͋͑̌̃̑̏͆̓̀͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝y̴̡̧̡̩̤͚̱̮̦̹̰̫̜̩͕̪͙͓̦̟̹̟̲͍̥̮̳̗̐͒̾̽̉̓̇̇̏̇̊̏̍̔͊̚͝͠ͅw̷̢̢̠̬̩̭̝͙̯̙͎̥͎̙̯̣̠̓̅̌̇̊̓̾̂̽͑̌̈́̂̽͠͠h̸̛̲̮͚͍͒̇̒̀́͌͐̿͒̔̎̓̌̇̃͘͝͝͠͝ẏ̴̧̨̖͚͙̹̥̣̗̝͚̯̣͓͉̞͖̣̬̬͚̳̘̞̫ͅw̴̧̢̛̥̰̬͙͇͓͙̏̓̌̋̄̒̓̿̊̈́̎̂̾̄͊͗̀̉́͛̈́̈̽̃͠h̷̢̝̪̦͖̬̣̜̰̱̜͎̘͖̹̲͍̠̥͖̩̓̏͒̀͒̌̐̓͗̈́̋ͅy̸̡̢͕̹̎̿̀̋̀̈́̍͐̂͆͑͐͂̆͌̋̀̏͜͝ͅw̸̧̪̣̬̹̟͈̲̗͙̤̰̩̼̞̥̭̲͉̮̖̫͒͐́͒͆̔̄̀͋͜͝ḩ̶̢̝̘͖̤̼̞̙͔̙͎̻̖͙̖̺͚̱̫͈̹̄͊͋͌̍̋̈́̍͊̈́̊͂͐̑͆̋̿̐̔̌̂̚̕͜͜͝y̵̧̘̰̥̩̠̬̥̦͂́͒̉w̴͉̒̑́́͛̈́ͅh̵̛͙̥̊̊̌̽͊̉̏̇̀̉͗̋̄͋̈́͐̾̅̒͌̿̑̑̋̽̌̃̾̆̈y̵̡̢̨̢̧̗̤͎̜̬̤̩͓̠̘̖̬͚̣̣̤͖̯̺̩̤̥̜̳̙̠̗͂̔̏̇͗̈́̌͗̎̋̚w̶̛̯̋̽͛̏͑͆̊͋̒̂̽͋͒̋̆̂̋̐h̷͇͈̞͔̤͎̿̄͜͜y̷̨̨̡̨̛̻͙̞̩̩͚̹̠͕̖̻̝̯̥̖͇̜̱͕̪͕̘̘͎̓̿͐͑̈́͌́͋̈́̌̿̾̒̓͘͘̚͜͜͜ͅw̴̧̨̨̛̭̮̮̙̼̮̭̗̗̺̠̉̏̔͆͌̀̚̚͜ͅͅh̷̨̨̦̪̙̜̞͓̗̹͕̤̮͉̺̤́ͅͅỳ̶̧̡̢̺͕͕̺̻̳̂͂͆̍͛͛̉̈́̀̎͗̆͒͂̈́̈́̀̂̆͑̾̇̋̚͝ẇ̸͓͇͍͕̣́͆h̶̨̡̼̲͍͙̖̩̰͓̤̝̺͇͕̘̓͆̈́̈́̔̀̈́͒̓͑̇͋̚̕͘͝͝y̷͇̼͍̞̦̲̯̝̤͔̹͆͊̑́͋̐̈̂́̕͠͝ͅw̴̡̗̳͑̌͗͊̒̽͌͝h̷̨̨̧̨̛͍̤͉̼͖̫̜̤̗̭̻̠̱̻͚̞͈̮̫͍͓̙̖̣̮͗̅́̿̉̉̑͜y̸̲̗͙̮͙̤̗͍̱̋̎̏̀̆̄͌̂͐͑͛̉͗̌̈́̒̎̚̕̚͠͝ẅ̴̡̘͖̱̱̲̖̖̣͍͈̥̙̮͖̥̹̼̈̒͒̒̀͛͋͂͗̀͆̈́̓̉̓̑̔̋͛̅́̆͗̚̕̕͜͠͠͝ḧ̸̨̛̛̺̰̞̹̬̪̮̗͙̫͖͔͚̻̖̱̯̳̫̩́͗́̓́͐͊̽̋̉̈́̈́͆̋̒͂̂͗́͛̅̍̌̾̌͝͝͝y̵̦͇͎̰̭̦̬̥̤͗͊ͅẃ̷̢̛̦̠͙̱̯̟̣̜͕̰̼̺̤̮̗̹͉̙̙̝̗͌̓͐̑͜ẖ̷̦̳̬͉̳̬̳̰́̑͒̈́͛̓͜ͅỹ̴̡̨̢͓̠̩̫̙̠͉̙͖̟̳̞̲̞͈̘͖̓͋̏̔̔͛̍̉̒̈̓̑̉̐̐̄͐̋̋̊̅͆̊̇̈̕̚̚͜͝w̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̛̦̬̥̙͓̥̣̰͎͎̗̲̗͍̟̖̠͇̞̦̟̫̲̺͑̆̏͛̃͛̈́̐̃̉̓̈́̒̉̌̅̐͊̒̔̓̆͘͠͝h̸̲͒y̷̡̧̨̡̞̣͕̞͖̖̬̦͉̜̤̬̖͕̫͚̺̭̦̙͇͎̹̍̏̔̅̈̀̒͒̆̓̿̍̀́̚̚̚͝ͅẃ̴̡̢̧͙̻̪̮̩̲͕̙̬̯͇͔̠̝͍͖̪̝̹̣͉̝͈̻͊̐͊͗̆̈́̄̑̒̕ͅh̷̡̻̰̮͓̩͖̮̣̫̻͍̞̾͋̂̅̓y̶͍̬̙͉̍͐͗̆͗̿̒̔̓͠w̴̡̛̼̳̙̭͔̮̠̤͖͈̘͔̗̫̦̙̬͚̦̼̳̺̓͋̆͌̿̀̊̈́̉̌̀̇̎̍̓͒̀͒͋͌̇́͐̋̈́̑̉́̉̔͊͠͝͠ͅḩ̴̢̧̛͙͍̰̤̦͓̜͚̱̖̮͔̤̩̰̜͓̎̍͗̓̃͆̆̒̀͛̔̀̀͘͝y̷̧̨̨̫̬̼̥͕̯̤͓͕͍̟͉̫̖͔̙̱̰̯͓̬͚̠̤͛̽̍̅͂͗͌̈́́̋́̃̈́̇̀͋͐͊͆̐̾̇̔͘̕w̵̫̓̈́̅̊͊͗̓̋́̋̈́͊̒́͆͌̑̾̒͛̚h̴̨̫̯̫̻̞͍̯͙̤̜̯͙̣̮̬̣̍͒̓̽͘͜͜y̵̡̛̞̤̰͎̜͚̯̺͍̻̲̖̠̞͕̩͓̰͙̰͚̗͖͋͗͊͒͑́͆́̐̂͒̊͛̋͝͠͝ͅw̸̧̭̲̩̗̳̜͚͉͔̪͕͇̬̰̙̻̙̬͖̱̠͇̱̦̦͈̥͇͎̯̅͆̑̇̈́̃̅͛́̌́͂̚ͅͅͅh̸̛̛͈͍͉̉̾̆͋̈́̊̇̃͆͒̅̌̿̀̋̋̎̈̿̀͛̐́͒̈̏͂̎̏͗͌̚͝y̸̨̨̢̨̫͙̼̻̜̞̼̝̦̬̦̫̺̱̯̯͚̲̳̫̱̹͚̠̖͇͔̮͛̄̓͌͒̏̄͐̾̿̏́̆̐̀͌̚͝ͅ

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h̴̢̧̛̠̻̪̫̖͎̗̬̝͈̟̖̙̼͕̙͙̹̼͇̰̦̭̖̠̤̞͙̭̬͙̼̥̹̖̜̝̉̈́̉̋̎̌́̀̊̾̇̈̊̏̋̀̓̅́̇̃̽͌͂̊͐̓̒̉̒̈̈͛͛̇͑͑͒̐̌̾͗͊̎̚̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅy̸̨̢̛̳̯͕͚̤̺̹̜̘͔̤̱̯̠̮͍̬͔̥̤͙̘̗͇̻̅̆͛̾̽́̎̑͆̈́̈́̆͂̀̅͊͌̈́̊̌͌͒̔̍̈́̾̍͘̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅẃ̶̧̛̮͇̹̱̪͕͈͉̙͔͂̈́̈̆̓͂̀̒͋̓̓̓̋̀́̽́̎́̎̓̈̇́̓̈́̓̆̎̕͝͝h̵̛̛̘͔̱͖̳̪͍̟͖̯̽̾̇̆͌̓̑͑͂̐͂̈́̈̂͐̃̀̋̇̾̊̈́̆͗̐̈́̿̒̈́͒͋͐̈́̈́̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅẙ̸̢̡̧̡͚͍̬̠̖̮̙̳̹͖̉̀̀̒͑͂̿̌̍͂̈́́̕͜͜w̶̧̢̢̨̡̨̛̥̥̥̜͇̙͎̭̥̜̰̱̗̼̩̳̤̼͔̼̘̦̲͖̣̮͔͇͙̖̝̱̦̠̲̫̳̝̽́͆̊͐̏̈́̊̑̊̾͒̅͐̇̾͒̈́͆̊͋̈͑̃͌̀̈́̿͑̓̑͋͒͑̚̕̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͝h̶̨̡̡̡̨̛͕̤̜̤͚͚̗̱̖͓͇̬̺͕̖̗͈͈͚̱̺̰͙͓̪̻̜͎̠̳̦̥̞̟̼̼͈̫̹̹̔̅̍͊̌̿͋̌̃̔̽͛̓̌̿̚̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅy̸̨̢̢̳̩̘̥̺͇͇̳̮̗͔̤̤̘̠͙̼̣̘̜̺̰͇̣͕̦̜̙̣̫̳͈͓̗̜̘͕͍̥̲͋̎̐̽̑͒͋̅͌̇͊̌͊́̈́̒͐̓̌̅̍͊̈͛͂̉̅̉͐̈́̈́̑̉̃͛̕̕͘͝͝ͅẅ̸̢̡̨̖̻̞̹̺̹̣̮͚̣̣̳̗̼̭͔́̋̆̐͝h̵̨̛̤̳̹̦̯͈̱̺̺̞̤̪̣̞͖͖̳̤͎̦̼̭̪̼͚̖̀̓͊̄̅͂̓͌́̂̎̒̒͛̈́̌̿͊͌́̏̾̕͘̚̚͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅỹ̷̨̬̩̯͚͚̠͙̻̗̞̫̎̓̃͐͆̓̈́̀̊̈́̅̌̐̇́̀͊̊̌̐̍̈́̂̀̔̽̎̅̃̋̈̇̕͝͠͠͝͝͠w̶͇̭̠̞̲̯̐̆̂́͛̃̇̈͋̎̓͋͑̈́͂̅͑̋̀͒́̅͑̓̓̌̋̉́͆͘̚̚̕͘͘͝h̸̢̡̻͚͇̰̫̞͖̝͓̥͖͚̦̤̞͉̠̥̞͎̦͖̦̺̗̗̰̞̤̜̗͑͛̌͋́̾̎̈́̐̀̀̈̄̒̽͗̓̿̚̚͜͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅý̴̢̢̨̱̫̼͎͙̮̥̤̲̰͙̱̪̥̼̭̗̥̪̲͓͉̹͎͚̮͔̦͚͉̱̰̱̗̔̈̃̍̀́͌̇̐̔̊̆́̋͆̆̂̕͝ͅw̶̘̱͕̲̻͉̠̐̄́̽͆́̈́͐̈́͌͗̿̓̍̃̅̊́̿̔̀̏̋̋̀̕̕͘͠ḩ̸̧̖̱͍̬̼̼͎͚̙̗̮̰̰̫͓̠͖̞̩͚͈͖͈̬̖̭̩͔̺̱̌̈͂͗̿̎̏͊̈́̐̽̀͆̅̒̍͆̒̎̀͘̕͜͝ͅy̶̨̮͈̳̼͍̥̟̹̘̬̝͍̺̻̠̳͙̜̆͂̓̉̿̎̈͌͊̌͑͒̉͌̄̀͑̈́̊̿͐̇͌̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅw̴̡̧͉̼̦̲͙̠͉̫̭͍̖̮̼̦̠̹̼͈̬̮̹͔̲̝͔̥̱̹̜̝͍̯̱̲̳̺̝̣͂́̆͊̍̑̔̔̓̅̏̎̀̌͒̈̏̅̀͘̚͜͝ͅḧ̵̨̘̞͈̭̘̱͙̲̤̥̯́̌͂̈́̿̆͝ͅy̷̢̢̢̡̨̢̛̙̼̘̜̗̫̘͉̗̝̩̩̱̱͓͚̖̪̯̮̼̘͓͉̰̬͕̙̰̋̎̊̈́̔̐͂̈̏̒̊̓̒̾͒̎͋́͊́̀͗́̑̀͗͐̓͋́̄̓̐͌̏̃̾̈́̐̒̂͠͝ͅw̵̧̡̢̨̱̘͉̖̗̮̼͚̗͚̝̠̳̥̗̻͍͔̱̩̤̹̼͚̗̙̠̦̜͉̼͔̓̈́͆͛̽̉̆͛̾̐́́͒͒̇̓̌̆̃̎̿͊̾̀̈̈́̇̕̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̢̢̡̢̨̹͍͓̣̣͙̣͕̟͎̬̪͉̳̝̰͎͖̘̣̘̪́͗͐͠ͅy̵̢̡̛̛̛̩͓̪͇͓̻̻̙͍̠̜͓͎̲͎͈̩͚̯̠̱̪̮̻̳̲͂͗̎̊̈̿̌͛̾̀̔͗́̓̎̀̈́̀͋̀͐̈̄̓̓̾̋̀̄͗̀̋͐̃̊͊͆͗͛͊̊̓̚͠w̴̢̡̟͙̹̫̖̼̠͚̙̤̳̼͍͉̦̤̣͓͖̬̫̳̠̫̯̮̰͆̀͂̄͊̏̅̊͗́̿̈́̓́̎̆̓̊̄̈̅̉̐̍̿͑̕͜͝͝ͅḩ̵̡̢̨̛̙̗̯̞̫͔͖͈̭̫̖̩̗͈͔̜͇͙̟̦̼̦̦̖͔̞̦̹̝͇͖̠͎̈́̃̀̐̿̍̐̍̒̽͐̈͗̃́̉͒̎̿̏̈͗̓͌̐̉̽̑͜͠͝͝ͅy̸̋̈̽̾̆̍̒̓́͐͆̈́̕͝ͅw̵̧̧̧͇͎̭̻͔̰̲̖̻͎͎̺̙͓̲̎̅̾̌̓̔̄͒̈̀͋͆̍̀̀̎̒̄́͑̃̈́͑͆̏̈́̍͆̓̔̾̂͂͋͗̈́̚̚̕͠͠͠͠͝h̸̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͍̙̫̮͎̲͉̠̜͈̝̠͍̰̺̬͇̦̰̤̦̲̫͕̟̰͚̝͍̱͔̯̙̞̰̤̫͙͊̀͑̏̅̃̎̿̉̃͐̎͋͂͋̈́͑̉͒̿̒͑̌͌͆̇́͌̒̀͒̏̿͊̏͑̈́͑̈́̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͠y̵̡̨̢̻͓̥͔͙͈͚̬̩̞͕͔̘̳͖̠̙̞͇̪͐̀̑͊̽̀͋̐̓̽̂͊̿̎̉̓̀͌́͂̈́͛̓͂̒̅̚͜w̴̺͋́̓͋͑́̌͂̂̆̋̈́͋̾̔́͗̿͗̾̈̋͌̀̔̽͆̓͘͘͘͝ḧ̷̡̧̡͔͙̣̜̳̟͈̤͖̪͉̦̙̘̥̮̹̩̺̱̖̮̼̗͓̪͎̙̯̺̠̹̜̩̹͖̪̬̤̼̹͚́͊͒̀̀͗͋̂̒̆̀̅̾͒͐̃̅̉̑̀̕͠͝͝͝ͅͅy̸̧̨̨̛͖̫̙̖̺͎̣̘̹͕̟̖̦̭̱͕̺͈͚̤̟̭͎̜̦̳͓͕̝̳̰̝͕̬̮̟̩͉͊̌͒̈́͋̀͆̍͗̉̈́͑́͘͝ͅw̴̛̻̯͎̝̠̲̣̲̹͓̝̹̱̳̭͔̐̂͑̓̉̑̐̽͛̔̓̀̽̋̈́̽̎̌̈̏̈̍̓̄̽̅́̈́̀̈́̈́̽̓̀̂̓͋̎͑͂̋͊̕͝͝ͅͅh̵̨̨͖̯̤̞̩̹͓̲̠͎̟̫͙͉̠̒̃̅̈̀́̈́̈́͜ͅy̷̨̡̢̟͔̺̥̞̪͍̩̻̥̫̘̤̹͖͍̦͇̼̲̘̼̫̗̻̹̹̲͎͉̺̭̆̐͗̓̋͂͋̏̐̊͑̂͗͐̉̀̀͒̔̓̉̓́͒͑͂̿̐́̊̈́̀̏̌͆͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅẁ̵̡̧̧̦̖̯̠̞̳̠̼̩̲̗͉̼̬͖̯͖̪̥̞͙̹̯͕̮̯͎̹̻͈̤̪̘̰̇̒̌̈̄̂̈́̀̒̄́̈́́̏̈́̀͑͆̽̆̐͝ͅͅẖ̴̡̢̧̛̻̦̗̭̜͕̮͇̯̝̬͕̣̗̙̖̣̤̄̐̅͊̐̃̈́̊̿̄̇̃̔̈́̃͌̈̓̊̀̈́̈͑̃̈́͆̏̑̃̎͐́̄̎̓̒̆̈́͐͂̓͘̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̴̧̡̧̰̯̯̖̞̣͕̥͎̥̙͔͕̜̯̹̰͖̥͕͇̞͉̬̫̻̮͋͗͒̀͐̍̆͒͋̎̀̓̌̔̈́̉̌͑͋̍̔͛̓͋͐͂͊̈̽̅͒̏̂́͗̇̈̎͘̚̕̕͘͠͠͠͝͝ẅ̴̡̟̱͇̙̲̱̙̼̤͓͍̭̼̣̭̜͕̦͕̙̬̜͇̥̣̲͚̥̰́̇̀̃̔h̴̥̙͚̝͔̺͕̦̠̰͒́͊̉̔̅̿͊̓̆͑̂͌͆̀̎͛̐̓͌̊̑̑̀̈́͋̀̂͑̾̿̽̿̋͊̏́̃̓̅̐͊̈́̑̕̚̚̚͘͜͜͝y̷̝̭̗͇̳̲̟͍̤̤̩̜̮̫̗̝̰̬̖̥͂͌͂̀́̒͆̇̈́̔͌̃̓͑̈́̊̚̚̚͠͝͠w̷̨̧̧̢̮̟͙͎̗͖̤̙̖͙̱̦̳̦̱͎̮͉̅̔͆̏̂̄̉̂̐̄͑̓͛͋͜ͅh̵̛̰̫͉̜͓͇̻̠̦̓̃̀̀̊̃̐͐͆̏̈̍͗̃̋̒͆͌͗̔̒͋́̉̉̾͐̅̈̒́̊̋̋̔̌̂̂̚͝͝͠ͅy̵̧̨̨̤̹̠͖̖̮̹͙͎͎̦̫̖̭̼͍̳͍͙͔̻͙̥̪̝͎̘̪̮̯̯͚͉̪̣̬͖͇͎͗̅̈̋̊̎̚ͅͅͅw̸̢͍͇̯̼̭̥͔̥̭͆́̿͛̌̈̈́̂̈̈́̄̎̿͌̎̚͝ḥ̶̙̹̿̽̌͒͊̄̇́̓͐͊̋͋̓̈́̀̇̍͂̉̌̎̐̈́̏̆̐͒̒̚͘̕͝͝͠͝y̴̢̢̡̡̛̘̱̦͎͚̳̰̼̪̩̱̞͓̖̜̰͍̭̦͔̞̗̯͙̭̘̤̲͍̱̭͓͇͇̥̭̒̔̈́̽͗̔͜ͅͅẉ̶̢̧̛̞̣̣̦̟̰̺̥͙͉̦̻̮̭̩̠͔͓̼̬͖͒̈̾͒̌̊̉̆̕̕ͅh̶̡̢̢̦͓̫̪̟̻̮͔̥̗͈̼̳̘͇̪̼̦̤̣͍̱͈̬̥̙̮̘̳̰̘̞͚̼̭̞̱̻̫̪̙̙̥̖̿̐͛̏̾̾̌͛̈́͆͂͆̈̈́̿̈́̔̉͑̈́̽̇̕̕̚͝͝y̵̅̆͛͐́̓̉͌̆̓͂͜͠͝w̴̢̢̡̨̮͓̝̤̝͓̘͓̲̖̼͖͖̱̘͓̞͔̦̱̞̬̹͚̙̰̼̹͕͙̥͕̓̆̅̀́͒͜͜͠ͅh̸̢̧̢̡̨̧͙͍͙̩͇̼̯̠͉̲͎͚̯͔̤͈̠̺͇̗̼͇̗̦̘̹̯̬̳̣̟̤̩̾̎̈̌͜͜͠ͅͅ

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ẇ̵̨̡̛͉͎̊́͛́̐͐̍̊̑͒̃̍̀̉͆̽̐̉̽̀̂̋͌̌̏̽̄̄̀̍͊͑̎́̕̚̕͝h̶̞̜̯̬̬͙͇̤͋̀́͂̌̔̇͌̕̚͘͜͜y̶̨̡̨̧̛̛̙͚͉͖̻̞̘̤͇̺̝͉̲̞̝͉͇̻̰̻͚̮͉̙̜̰̳̝͕͕̙͍̥̞̤̜̥̏̾̾̐͒͑̐̓̇̔͌́̈̐̓̐̀̀̆̒̍̃̓̈́͊͐͆͊̐́̎̚͘͝ͅẅ̴̨̡̨̡̧͎͉̬̙̱̩͍̥̲͈̭̺͚̫̦̙̰̯̩͎͖͓͍͇͙̻̻̯̹̜̲̩̜͍̘̪͈̼̖̣̑̒̌̄͛̚͜ͅͅh̵̨̧̢̭̟͍͈̺͓̻̙͚͍̮̱̫̮̠͍̙͖͍̹͔̆̃́͗͌̇̎͐̈́̋̓̅͜͜͜͝ͅͅỵ̶̢̨̘̱͔̲̖̳̖̰̞̯̞̼͚͈͔̣͎̩͙̮͓͕̲̭̟̱̟̤̯͇͛̀̑̍̀̍̌̽̋̾̿͌͑͗̃͑̉̒̍̇͛̏̂̇̆̐͋́̓͋̄͐͑̇̏̑͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͝w̴̡̼͈̰̰̙̙̦̘͇̠̲̝̯͔̳̹͎͇̜̪̗͙͉͕͉̮̣̾̈́̃̆͗̅̽̿̓͋͑͜͝͠͝ͅͅĥ̵̨̛̛̬̳̭͉̾͗̊̋̊͒͂̈͑̓̐̓͛͐̑͂̊̈͗̈̏̈́̕̚̚͜͠͠y̷̨̨̨̡̛͓͈͉͍̳̝̝͔̣̟͚̯̤͕̠̞̥͔̘̩̫̼̥͕̤̝̔̏́̔̐̋̽͒͑̋͋̌̉̔̀͂̇̾̓̎̃͊̈́̈́̂̀̋͝͝͝w̵̡̡̡̧̳̼̭̗̙̘̥̘̞̱̙͇̗͖̯̺̣͉̣͉̭̠̙̳͚̘̐̓̿̃̅̋̾͂͒̎̓̃̒̀͐͒̑̿̎̋̾̈́͒͐̓̐̆̊̚͝͠ͅh̶̻̲͓͕̣̯͎̪̟̦̬͇̠̯̍̇͆̈́̓͑̂͌̽̃̏̏͗̅͋̄̿͐̈́̏̈́̋̈̐̀̍͂̽͂̑̇̆̽̂̍͘͘̕̕͘͝͠͠ͅy̷̨̢̦̗̩̟̭̞̟̪̱̭̬̗͔͕͉̬̳͚̥̫̌̄͐̆̀͛̓̓̂͐͑̑̈́͆͆͐̉͋͛͒̎́͆́̃͑̇̿́̍͂̐̈́̃͋͛̓̃͜͠͝w̷̧̢̨̡̛̤̗̯̣͍͎͈̮͙͓̰̤͙͙̜̜̥͕͔̖̗̯͋͐̆͊̿̑̾͒͌̇̐̇̍̀̽͆͆̉͊̓̓̈̐͋͊͗̀͋̄͛̉̐̇̾̈̑͘͘͠͝͝h̷̢̡͉̗̥̲̞͎̦̖̼̥̘̩̠̘̫̼̱̮̬̩̦̱̘͓̠̒̍͌̈́͂̃̎̔̈́̅̊͌̈̍͆̋̃̇͑̓͂̋̃̊͆́̃̑͆̃̆͛͊̿̔͐̆̒͐͗̈͘͜͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅy̴̧̢͙͕͕̭̳̳͚̥̝̱͙͈̥̹̤͈̙̗͕̝͚͓̥̘̫̜͓͙̩̕w̸̨̢̛͚̦̻̦͇͍̟̠̪͇̰͖̲͔͙͚̪̰̱͎͉̳̜̦̬̤̮̬͖͓̻͖͕̼̥̥̯̪̼̜͓̤͖͙̣͓̃͆̈̐̎̇̉̀̑͊̌̀̀̐̿̒̽͗̍̽̄͒̑͋̊̅͗̉̾͛̋̀̇̇̈́̕͘͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅh̴̢̧̧̛͇̫̤̱̺̞̹̮͇̦͊̀̄̽͐̏̐̇͒̐̂̀̈̅͐̑́̉̇̓̎̉̉̎̔̂̊̏̌̑͘͘͘̕͜͝͠͠͝ͅÿ̵̡̲̳̬̞̣̗͙͕̫̟̦́̽̓͋̈́̓͊̉̃͗̑̇͆̀̾̂̈́̎͐̂̐̽͝w̷̡̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̨̯̰͉̖͚̙͕͈̞̫̼͍͕̞̭̯̫̗͚͓̩̱̠̹̺͙̲̃̔͜ḩ̷̢̛̛̖̰̭̣͉̦̤͕͕̟̻̪̞̱̗͖̫̼̫͔̠̩̪͇̩̝̮̘̝̮̠͊̋̓͑̒̏̿̎̌̎̃̂̌̓̈́̊̽̓̃̾̀̀͆͒̀̉͂̄̈́̊̊̆͂̉͛͌͗͊̆̀͂͗̓̈̽͘͜͝͠y̵̡̮̼̙̥̬͇̤̭̝̲̲̼̘̼̥͕̼͂̍̀͑̽̎̑͛͋̚͝͠w̸̨̭̩̌͗͌̿̈͒̚͝h̶̢̖̺̯̝̝͍̭̝̭̪͕̯̺̥̘̱̹̤͚̞̪͉͔͈̻͈̟̠͍͖͚̦̤̫̻̱́͂̾͂̈̃̔̐̃͛̒̇͂̑̂̓͂͐͘̚͘͜͜͝ͅy̷̨̢̧̡̛̭̙͚͙̬̣̟̻̻̼̦̺̲̫͙̝̠͓̦̺͚̞͍̮̹̬͚͋͋̒̊̈̈̀̈́̍͋̽̀̉̐͊̿̑͂͗̓͑̇̽̈́̑̿͆͋͆͌͆͘̚͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅw̶̢̡̛̪̱̪̻̲͕̞̓̀͐̌̈́̄̿̾͆̈̉̂̊̄̎͂̂̈́͂̐̈́͒̇͊̆̄̌̾͒̈́̌̓̏͒̓̊͑͂͑̎͗̕͘̚͘͠͝͝͝ḩ̴̨̢͚͍̗̣͎͙͖͉̣̘̻̮̳͚͙̞̦̭̱̥̯͈̤̮͍͇͚̱̭̤͉̹͖̞̘̘͇͍͖̗̯͙͖͇́̃́͛͊͗̀̍́̒̉̒̍̑̈́͗̿̏̉̅͌̋̐̄̄̐̋̚͘͘̕͘͝͝͠ͅͅy̵̧̡̧̛̼͎̫̣̬̟̰̙̠̬̤̠̩̤̝̜̠͈͖̰̙̳̹͐̀͗͆̈́̃̃͒̓̿̏̓̆̅̀̌̌̐͌̿͂̅̌̾͜͜ͅͅw̸̭̝̩̬͇̋̍̀h̵̨̡̨̡̧̳̺̯̼̬̖̝̖͍̘͖̬͎̮̲̣̲̮̲̥͗̓́̀̑̂̃͂̄̈́̾́̒̋̒̄̈́̓̈́͐̐̀̆͛̄̕͜y̷̨̨̛̹͍̼̲̲̫̜̜̞͖̥͍̤̬̳̰̱̩̰̦̗̑͂̈́͊̐͂̀̔͗̒͋͒̇̌͊̎̈͐̒͆̄̅̅́̓͊͑̑̍̀̊̅̾͋̆͐̀̎̆̈́̅̈͘̕͜͠͝͝͠ͅw̶̡̨̡̛͉̪͖̻̝͓̪̯̯̱̫̮͎̪̘͉̲̗̜̣̦̼̯̹̰͚̪̫̗͇̬̌̍͛̑̅͑͌̈́͆͗͐͑̌̎̈̏̀͑́̅͂̈́̐̇̄̎͊̚͘̕̚̚̕͜h̶̲̱͉̩̰̠̻̞̺͊́̌̓̍͂̍͐̋͜͠͝y̵̡̦̖̹̦̤̺̪̻̜̝̟̖̦̳͔͚͉͖͉̝͓̤͎̰͙̼̠̼̩̬͇̒̀̉̐͐͠ͅw̷̡͎͇̝̘̖͓͔̭̣̜͗̏͛̐̃̀́͒͌͂̾̉̅̆͌̚͠h̸̨̧͓̜̲͖͈̪̲̫͔͍̩̗̀̋̀̾̋͋́̉̊̐̿̋͆̎̀͋̿̚͘͝͝͝y̸̧̨̢̡̡̨̛͇̣̹͔̭͈͍̹̞̭̻̪̬̺̠̖͈̤̗̝͎̫̯͎̞͍̳͚͚͇͖̥̲̻̮̞̣̓̃́̈̒̏́̒̃̈́̇̉̀̊̒͗͜͝͠͠w̷̧̢̨̡̨̡̛̪̼̩̮͉̜̬͓̦̪͍̫͍͙̣̜̫̼̲̫̲̼͕̜̪̦̲̖̖͋̈́́̈́͋̅̍͆̅̓̃̎̀̍̽̈́̾́͋̊͒́̿͆̈͜͜͠h̷̨̧̛̯̳̘͔͕̤̪̣͙̱͙̮̬̻͖͉̥̝̏̈́̑̋͂̓̅̉̌̽̌͋͛͋̐̈͋̏̏̌̌͂̑̏́̑́͐̐͘͘̕͝͝y̸̡̧͇̠̪̪̯̗̲̖̩̜̺̞̯̘͙̯͚̜̻̰̜̥͇̬̟̯̣̣͔͒̃͆͗͊̍̃́͗̌̀̄͆̔͑̇̽͋̈͊́͜͠ͅẁ̶̨̢̧̢̲̪̙͙̯̯̜̞̠̘͙̘̱̤̬̲̞̗̘͕̞̰̦̺̝͎̙͕̻̬̼̮̥͙̗͎̠̼͊̏̐͒̑̓̿̓̅͊̽̽́̒̈͌͆̈́͗͗͜͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅh̴̢̧̛̠̻̪̫̖͎̗̬̝͈̟̖̙̼͕̙͙̹̼͇̰̦̭̖̠̤̞͙̭̬͙̼̥̹̖̜̝̉̈́̉̋̎̌́̀̊̾̇̈̊̏̋̀̓̅́̇̃̽͌͂̊͐̓̒̉̒̈̈͛͛̇͑͑͒̐̌̾͗͊̎̚̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅy̸̨̢̛̳̯͕͚̤̺̹̜̘͔̤̱̯̠̮͍̬͔̥̤͙̘̗͇̻̅̆͛̾̽́̎̑͆̈́̈́̆͂̀̅͊͌̈́̊̌͌͒̔̍̈́̾̍͘̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅẃ̶̧̛̮͇̹̱̪͕͈͉̙͔͂̈́̈̆̓͂̀̒͋̓̓̓̋̀́̽́̎́̎̓̈̇́̓̈́̓̆̎̕͝͝h̵̛̛̘͔̱͖̳̪͍̟͖̯̽̾̇̆͌̓̑͑͂̐͂̈́̈̂͐̃̀̋̇̾̊̈́̆͗̐̈́̿̒̈́͒͋͐̈́̈́̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅẙ̸̢̡̧̡͚͍̬̠̖̮̙̳̹͖̉̀̀̒͑͂̿̌̍͂̈́́̕͜͜w̶̧̢̢̨̡̨̛̥̥̥̜͇̙͎̭̥̜̰̱̗̼̩̳̤̼͔̼̘̦̲͖̣̮͔͇͙̖̝̱̦̠̲̫̳̝̽́͆̊͐̏̈́̊̑̊̾͒̅͐̇̾͒̈́͆̊͋̈͑̃͌̀̈́̿͑̓̑͋͒͑̚̕̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͝h̶̨̡̡̡̨̛͕̤̜̤͚͚̗̱̖͓͇̬̺͕̖̗͈͈͚̱̺̰͙͓̪̻̜͎̠̳̦̥̞̟̼̼͈̫̹̹̔̅̍͊̌̿͋̌̃̔̽͛̓̌̿̚̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅy̸̨̢̢̳̩̘̥̺͇͇̳̮̗͔̤̤̘̠͙̼̣̘̜̺̰͇̣͕̦̜̙̣̫̳͈͓̗̜̘͕͍̥̲͋̎̐̽̑͒͋̅͌̇͊̌͊́̈́̒͐̓̌̅̍͊̈͛͂̉̅̉͐̈́̈́̑̉̃͛̕̕͘͝͝ͅẅ̸̢̡̨̖̻̞̹̺̹̣̮͚̣̣̳̗̼̭͔́̋̆̐͝h̵̨̛̤̳̹̦̯͈̱̺̺̞̤̪̣̞͖͖̳̤͎̦̼̭̪̼͚̖̀̓͊̄̅͂̓͌́̂̎̒̒͛̈́̌̿͊͌́̏̾̕͘̚̚͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅỹ̷̨̬̩̯͚͚̠͙̻̗̞̫̎̓̃͐͆̓̈́̀̊̈́̅̌̐̇́̀͊̊̌̐̍̈́̂̀̔̽̎̅̃̋̈̇̕͝͠͠͝͝͠w̶͇̭̠̞̲̯̐̆̂́͛̃̇̈͋̎̓͋͑̈́͂̅͑̋̀͒́̅͑̓̓̌̋̉́͆͘̚̚̕͘͘͝

h̸̢̡̻͚͇̰̫̞͖̝͓̥͖͚̦̤̞͉̠̥̞͎̦͖̦̺̗̗̰̞̤̜̗͑͛̌͋́̾̎̈́̐̀̀̈̄̒̽͗̓̿̚̚͜͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅý̴̢̢̨̱̫̼͎͙̮̥̤̲̰͙̱̪̥̼̭̗̥̪̲͓͉̹͎͚̮͔̦͚͉̱̰̱̗̔̈̃̍̀́͌̇̐̔̊̆́̋͆̆̂̕͝ͅw̶̘̱͕̲̻͉̠̐̄́̽͆́̈́͐̈́͌͗̿̓̍̃̅̊́̿̔̀̏̋̋̀̕̕͘͠ḩ̸̧̖̱͍̬̼̼͎͚̙̗̮̰̰̫͓̠͖̞̩͚͈͖͈̬̖̭̩͔̺̱̌̈͂͗̿̎̏͊̈́̐̽̀͆̅̒̍͆̒̎̀͘̕͜͝ͅy̶̨̮͈̳̼͍̥̟̹̘̬̝͍̺̻̠̳͙̜̆͂̓̉̿̎̈͌͊̌͑͒̉͌̄̀͑̈́̊̿͐̇͌̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅw̴̡̧͉̼̦̲͙̠͉̫̭͍̖̮̼̦̠̹̼͈̬̮̹͔̲̝͔̥̱̹̜̝͍̯̱̲̳̺̝̣͂́̆͊̍̑̔̔̓̅̏̎̀̌͒̈̏̅̀͘̚͜͝ͅḧ̵̨̘̞͈̭̘̱͙̲̤̥̯́̌͂̈́̿̆͝ͅy̷̢̢̢̡̨̢̛̙̼̘̜̗̫̘͉̗̝̩̩̱̱͓͚̖̪̯̮̼̘͓͉̰̬͕̙̰̋̎̊̈́̔̐͂̈̏̒̊̓̒̾͒̎͋́͊́̀͗́̑̀͗͐̓͋́̄̓̐͌̏̃̾̈́̐̒̂͠͝ͅw̵̧̡̢̨̱̘͉̖̗̮̼͚̗͚̝̠̳̥̗̻͍͔̱̩̤̹̼͚̗̙̠̦̜͉̼͔̓̈́͆͛̽̉̆͛̾̐́́͒͒̇̓̌̆̃̎̿͊̾̀̈̈́̇̕̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̢̢̡̢̨̹͍͓̣̣͙̣͕̟͎̬̪͉̳̝̰͎͖̘̣̘̪́͗͐͠ͅy̵̢̡̛̛̛̩͓̪͇͓̻̻̙͍̠̜͓͎̲͎͈̩͚̯̠̱̪̮̻̳̲͂͗̎̊̈̿̌͛̾̀̔͗́̓̎̀̈́̀͋̀͐̈̄̓̓̾̋̀̄͗̀̋͐̃̊͊͆͗͛͊̊̓̚͠w̴̢̡̟͙̹̫̖̼̠͚̙̤̳̼͍͉̦̤̣͓͖̬̫̳̠̫̯̮̰͆̀͂̄͊̏̅̊͗́̿̈́̓́̎̆̓̊̄̈̅̉̐̍̿͑̕͜͝͝ͅḩ̵̡̢̨̛̙̗̯̞̫͔͖͈̭̫̖̩̗͈͔̜͇͙̟̦̼̦̦̖͔̞̦̹̝͇͖̠͎̈́̃̀̐̿̍̐̍̒̽͐̈͗̃́̉͒̎̿̏̈͗̓͌̐̉̽̑͜͠͝͝ͅy̸̋̈̽̾̆̍̒̓́͐͆̈́̕͝ͅw̵̧̧̧͇͎̭̻͔̰̲̖̻͎͎̺̙͓̲̎̅̾̌̓̔̄͒̈̀͋͆̍̀̀̎̒̄́͑̃̈́͑͆̏̈́̍͆̓̔̾̂͂͋͗̈́̚̚̕͠͠͠͠͝h̸̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͍̙̫̮͎̲͉̠̜͈̝̠͍̰̺̬͇̦̰̤̦̲̫͕̟̰͚̝͍̱͔̯̙̞̰̤̫͙͊̀͑̏̅̃̎̿̉̃͐̎͋͂͋̈́͑̉͒̿̒͑̌͌͆̇́͌̒̀͒̏̿͊̏͑̈́͑̈́̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͠y̵̡̨̢̻͓̥͔͙͈͚̬̩̞͕͔̘̳͖̠̙̞͇̪͐̀̑͊̽̀͋̐̓̽̂͊̿̎̉̓̀͌́͂̈́͛̓͂̒̅̚͜w̴̺͋́̓͋͑́̌͂̂̆̋̈́͋̾̔́͗̿͗̾̈̋͌̀̔̽͆̓͘͘͘͝ḧ̷̡̧̡͔͙̣̜̳̟͈̤͖̪͉̦̙̘̥̮̹̩̺̱̖̮̼̗͓̪͎̙̯̺̠̹̜̩̹͖̪̬̤̼̹͚́͊͒̀̀͗͋̂̒̆̀̅̾͒͐̃̅̉̑̀̕͠͝͝͝ͅͅy̸̧̨̨̛͖̫̙̖̺͎̣̘̹͕̟̖̦̭̱͕̺͈͚̤̟̭͎̜̦̳͓͕̝̳̰̝͕̬̮̟̩͉͊̌͒̈́͋̀͆̍͗̉̈́͑́͘͝ͅw̴̛̻̯͎̝̠̲̣̲̹͓̝̹̱̳̭͔̐̂͑̓̉̑̐̽͛̔̓̀̽̋̈́̽̎̌̈̏̈̍̓̄̽̅́̈́̀̈́̈́̽̓̀̂̓͋̎͑͂̋͊̕͝͝ͅͅh̵̨̨͖̯̤̞̩̹͓̲̠͎̟̫͙͉̠̒̃̅̈̀́̈́̈́͜ͅy̷̨̡̢̟͔̺̥̞̪͍̩̻̥̫̘̤̹͖͍̦͇̼̲̘̼̫̗̻̹̹̲͎͉̺̭̆̐͗̓̋͂͋̏̐̊͑̂͗͐̉̀̀͒̔̓̉̓́͒͑͂̿̐́̊̈́̀̏̌͆͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅẁ̵̡̧̧̦̖̯̠̞̳̠̼̩̲̗͉̼̬͖̯͖̪̥̞͙̹̯͕̮̯͎̹̻͈̤̪̘̰̇̒̌̈̄̂̈́̀̒̄́̈́́̏̈́̀͑͆̽̆̐͝ͅͅẖ̴̡̢̧̛̻̦̗̭̜͕̮͇̯̝̬͕̣̗̙̖̣̤̄̐̅͊̐̃̈́̊̿̄̇̃̔̈́̃͌̈̓̊̀̈́̈͑̃̈́͆̏̑̃̎͐́̄̎̓̒̆̈́͐͂̓͘̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̴̧̡̧̰̯̯̖̞̣͕̥͎̥̙͔͕̜̯̹̰͖̥͕͇̞͉̬̫̻̮͋͗͒̀͐̍̆͒͋̎̀̓̌̔̈́̉̌͑͋̍̔͛̓͋͐͂͊̈̽̅͒̏̂́͗̇̈̎͘̚̕̕͘͠͠͠͝͝ẅ̴̡̟̱͇̙̲̱̙̼̤͓͍̭̼̣̭̜͕̦͕̙̬̜͇̥̣̲͚̥̰́̇̀̃̔h̴̥̙͚̝͔̺͕̦̠̰͒́͊̉̔̅̿͊̓̆͑̂͌͆̀̎͛̐̓͌̊̑̑̀̈́͋̀̂͑̾̿̽̿̋͊̏́̃̓̅̐͊̈́̑̕̚̚̚͘͜͜͝y̷̝̭̗͇̳̲̟͍̤̤̩̜̮̫̗̝̰̬̖̥͂͌͂̀́̒͆̇̈́̔͌̃̓͑̈́̊̚̚̚͠͝͠w̷̨̧̧̢̮̟͙͎̗͖̤̙̖͙̱̦̳̦̱͎̮͉̅̔͆̏̂̄̉̂̐̄͑̓͛͋͜ͅh̵̛̰̫͉̜͓͇̻̠̦̓̃̀̀̊̃̐͐͆̏̈̍͗̃̋̒͆͌͗̔̒͋́̉̉̾͐̅̈̒́̊̋̋̔̌̂̂̚͝͝͠ͅy̵̧̨̨̤̹̠͖̖̮̹͙͎͎̦̫̖̭̼͍̳͍͙͔̻͙̥̪̝͎̘̪̮̯̯͚͉̪̣̬͖͇͎͗̅̈̋̊̎̚ͅͅͅw̸̢͍͇̯̼̭̥͔̥̭͆́̿͛̌̈̈́̂̈̈́̄̎̿͌̎̚͝ḥ̶̙̹̿̽̌͒͊̄̇́̓͐͊̋͋̓̈́̀̇̍͂̉̌̎̐̈́̏̆̐͒̒̚͘̕͝͝͠͝y̴̢̢̡̡̛̘̱̦͎͚̳̰̼̪̩̱̞͓̖̜̰͍̭̦͔̞̗̯͙̭̘̤̲͍̱̭͓͇͇̥̭̒̔̈́̽͗̔͜ͅͅẉ̶̢̧̛̞̣̣̦̟̰̺̥͙͉̦̻̮̭̩̠͔͓̼̬͖͒̈̾͒̌̊̉̆̕̕ͅh̶̡̢̢̦͓̫̪̟̻̮͔̥̗͈̼̳̘͇̪̼̦̤̣͍̱͈̬̥̙̮̘̳̰̘̞͚̼̭̞̱̻̫̪̙̙̥̖̿̐͛̏̾̾̌͛̈́͆͂͆̈̈́̿̈́̔̉͑̈́̽̇̕̕̚͝͝y̵̅̆͛͐́̓̉͌̆̓͂͜͠͝w̴̢̢̡̨̮͓̝̤̝͓̘͓̲̖̼͖͖̱̘͓̞͔̦̱̞̬̹͚̙̰̼̹͕͙̥͕̓̆̅̀́͒͜͜͠ͅh̸̢̧̢̡̨̧͙͍͙̩͇̼̯̠͉̲͎͚̯͔̤͈̠̺͇̗̼͇̗̦̘̹̯̬̳̣̟̤̩̾̎̈̌͜͜͠ͅͅy̸̢̨̨̡̛͇̳͖̥͕̬̠͉͓̠̩̫̩͕̼͕̞͈̪̺̹̱̺̝̘̮͍̘̞̬̓̾͋̐̋͌̅̒̀́̀̄͛̓́̊̈͜͝ẇ̴͍̳̖̯̣̣̩͉̩̻̲͙̘̩̜̳̭͓͕͔̖̪̀̈́̂̍̉͋̍̏͒̅̽̀͛̀̂͌̊̈́̐̂̚̕͜͝ḧ̵̨̦̼͚̙͔̜͔̫͕͚̙̻̰̲͍͖̪̝̪̱͖̭͔̗͈̩͇̞̘͉͍͕͓́̾̓́̈̂̂͗̐̈́̽̃̈́̓̉̈́̒͌͛͒͋̿̀̔̃͊̉̕͘͜͜ÿ̴̢̛͈̟͔̬̺̖̹͇̻̗͓͔̺̮̲̫̜̹̻̠̯̣̤̬̳̈͊́͗̽̽͆̐́̕̚͝͠w̶̨̧̢̛̛̛̩̟̝̬̫͕̯͇̳̝͍͔̭͉̣̻͍̹̘̜͕͇̪̾̿̀̏̈́̏́̀̎̅̌̊̆̈́̄̌͛̓̈́̓̿̈́̽̓̚̚͝͠͝h̶̛̛͖̙̳̫̻̜̲̝̦͓̬̀͛͂̓̒̿̏̈́̏͋̐̾̋̄͒̅̈̎̍̾̇́̈́̐͗́̎͛̅͐̓̏̍̄̅͗̈́͋̕͘͘̕͝͠y̶̪͕̰͛̀̌͗̄̓̏͌̐̆͆̾̓̌̓̌͝w̴̧̡̙̪̟̪͉̭̹̤͈͚͕͔̫̦̱̯̝̭͉̠̺̟̯̜̠̼̘͙̣̬͙̳̜̞̺̯͉̜̜̻͕̒̑̈́̏͗́̀͐̀̓̔̿̿͒͂̀̉̐̈́̋̈̅̍̔̆̂̂̋̽͒̏̔͛͋̌̎̐̅̌͑͑̒̿̚͝h̶̨̢̡̭̜̘͖͍̮͇̝͓͕̱͉̼̭̭̼͔̯̃̏̈́͗̒͛̈́̀̌̒͌̾̃̓̂̇͛̔̂́̋̿̇̓̒̀̀̈́͊͗͊͌̑̐̓͂͘͘͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅý̵̢̛͍̰̠̖͖̩͎̙̼̣̦̮̻͚́̀̌̊̊̈̑̃̓̓w̶̡̥͓̻̟̳̟͎͇̹̣̤̪͕̝͎̺̱̣̺͈̱̝̪̻͉̻͔̦̺̱͚͚̜̏̂̽̓̈́̑̔͌͗̑̂̏̄̀̀̾̓̊̓̆̀̿̋̍̀̌̈͛͌́̈̿̆̋͆̊̾̐̓̔̍̑̊̚͜͠ͅh̵̡̡̧̛̛͎̜̠̮̗͉̠̰͔̹̣̼͍͖̫̘̰͎̘̙̟̞̬̫̻͚̘͖̽̄͗̆̇̇͑̾̋̓̄̑̈͘̚͝

y̴̡̡̛͙̰͉̰̮̙̗͍̼͍͓̭͓̫̩͔̠̱͖͎̱̮̙̫͖̹̻̜̖̖͙̜̳̮̠͗̏̈́̾̔͋͊͒͆͂̂̎͋͆̀͂̽͜͝ͅw̴̛̛̛͙͊͂̂̄̔̍̇̏̆̈́̒̄͂͗̍́͋͊̎͒̅̿̑͗̉̓̓͂̌͋̇̆́̌͋̿͋̾̎͌͛͛̽͠͝͝͝h̵̨̨̢̢̢̻͔͇̜̳̹̳̰̺̪̹͎̞̱̞̭͓͖̬͕͈̭̹̟͖͔̖͕̙͉̺͍͉̪͍̝͔̲̭͍̘̗̾̉͊͂̀̑́̅̔̌͐̍̇̃̀̔̐̈́̍̀͊͐̽̐̕͜͜͝͝y̵̨̧̧̻̦͎͇̦̣̖͚̝̞̙̗̟̮̭͎̫̠̼͕̖̙̗̜̗͇͕̳̺̤̠̥͓̝̑̃̈́̊͒̅̄̒́̽̔̍́̃̆̅̋̈͆̀̀͐̄͂͂̀̀̚͜͜͜͠͝͠ŵ̴͈͈̮̙͉͖̣̩̬̻̜̌̀̊̎̓̏͝h̷̛̛̹̗͑̇̈́̿̋̈͂̇͐͌̏̈́̇͑͌̍̿̈͐̃͂̆̔̌̚ý̴̨̛̛̘̭̻̰̬͙̙̠̺̘̯̪͕̝̹̱͉̼̲͖̤͇̩̥̮̰͕̃̇̉͊̈́̏̽̀̿̋́͛͊̈́̂̔̿̀̇̅̔͂͆̏̽̿́̀͗̎̉̏͊̔͆̈͘͘͘͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅẇ̵̢̧̙͙͎͉̲̪̘̹̙̫̲̖̮̮̭̰͕͉̘̱̻̲̤̤̰̙̭̘̯̰͚̤̟̙͑̈́̅͑́̒̾̅̀̏̚̚͘h̵̡̢̧̨̢̛̛̞̰̞̪̬̲̜͉̮̙͖̣͉̦̫̪̭̙̤̯͚̤̠̩͉̬̼̫̥͉̪̗͓͖̠̯̻̱̅͒̑̏̂̑̒̓́̋͗͐̍͆́͆͐͛̑̊̓̍̕̚͘̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͝ÿ̵̨̡̡̧͍̤̪̭͖̺̠̻̠̬͖͕͔͎̺̠̣͕͚̠͔̹̬̲́̾̆́̐͒̊̈́̈́͐͋͗̽̐́̐͛̐͒̽́͂͋̃͛̇͒͋̎̀̔͗̾͋́́̿͒̾̉̎͌̊͊̕͘͜͝͝ͅw̷̢̧̧̨̖̭̜͍̟͓̳̻̤̪͈̰̯͙̜̭͉͔̭̖͇̤̻͇̗̬̠̥̼̫̦̤̰̠̖͈̣̰̻͗̈́̍͂͛̓͊̉̋͋̂̂̔̾̾̅͛̔̈́͌̓̄̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅh̵̨̛͇̞͈̫̟̼͍̪̟̝̗̮̰̻̱̟̖͑͒́̈́̄̾̉̀͊̀͐̅̋̉̔̕͜͜͠ÿ̷̨̛̤̪̟͈̰̹̗̗̫̳̺̳̖̯̲̱̮͍͖̤̻̣̹̥͖̥̗̺̥̬̟́̿̃͊̔̀̄͋̀͛͐̎͊̍͌̈́̔̃̎̔́̓̅̃̃̀̀͋̀̕̕͘̚͘͘͜ͅͅͅw̵̡̛͎͙̱̺̹͌͆̆͋̇̅̏͆͌̉͑́͒̍̓̃͐̑͛̐̈́͒͐̑̋͆́̒̚̚͠͝͝ͅh̸̺͈͒̈͌̂̅͐͗̉̓͛͋̏̉̐̎̌̾́̓̈́̽̕͝y̸̢̨̢̨̛̛̲̪͖̹̖̞͙̗͉͓͈̮̻̫̥̞̬̱̦̣̘̱̙̩̯̓͌͂͒̏̏̑̃̆̈́́̀̊̄̂́͌̉̆͌̕̚w̴͍̠̙̑̈́̍̀͑͐̇̆̇̋̈́͆͒͌͗̀̂̓̀̀̇̏̍͒̏́̾̓͠͝ḧ̸̨̧̛͈̲̘̻̞̳͇͓̭̻̪̘̘͍͚̳̬̼̯͖̝̠͈̈́̔̎͊͆̅̋͋̇͐͆̊̉̓͒̿́̈̅͗͆͝ͅy̸̧̧̢̨̧̢̟̱̼͖̯̦̲͉̼̪̬̣̭͖̟̩̝͓̝̮̠͇̳̙̖̯̽͂̎́̆͌͐̏̉͌́̆̅̀̐͋̓̓̑͆̈̄̈́̅́͒̓̅͋̀̎̀̃͑́̉̑́̃͗̓̕̚͘͠͝ͅw̷̡̢̡̮̰̣͚͍̪̝̤̟͕͇̻̺̘̺̖̝̯̪͇͇͍̭̭̖̦͈͉̄͑̏̾̒̈́̈́͋͐͌͘̚͜ͅͅh̷̢̡̘̰̳͉͖̯̮̬̥̪͚̜̞̱̺̝̼̳͓̪̮̩̝̤̣̠̗̯͎̦̘͎̳̮̬̖͖̺͇̯̞̬̗̲̃̈́̐͂͗̾͗́̓̋̓̔̐̽̎͌̄̿͌̏̊̈̀̔̚̚ͅͅỹ̷̧̨̧̡̡̢̡̦̞̜͚̪̺̗̳̗͖̠͇̣͕̭̞̹͙̪̼͚̫̳͕͍̪͕̘̀̓̇͂̏̓̈́̄͗̌͋̍̕͝w̶̢̢̛̯͓̬̝̤̺̹̲̱̻͊͂̈͛̉͆̈́̄̍̓͋̑̀͠ḫ̴̱͓͙̣̱͙͙͉̮͓͚̹̼͍̲̦͇̫̻̮͖̥̩̀͌̈́̍̓̅͑̿̐̉͑̐̉̑̏̊͌̓͌̽͆̀̎̈́̀̐͆͂͋̕̚̕ÿ̴̧̨̧̡̡̧̛̛͈͙̱͎̜̠̝̬͈̠͉͓͖͖̰̫͚͙̟̳͕͖̥̥̜̺̲̟́̈́́͛͒̏̌̓͛̍̽̌̆̈́̃̂̽̎̽̇͌́̿͂̈́̈̒̌̓̇́͑̃͐̌͐̃͊͘̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͠w̸̡̞͕̦̯̥̘̖̲͈̳̔͑̆̈́̀̊̓̉͠ḧ̶̗̞̹̥́̄͌̓̈͂͋̑́̌̑̽̔͋̽̒̎͑̿͂͘̚͘̚͠y̸̨̧̡̨͈̗͙͍̦̦͔̬͔̥̻̪̳͎̳̬̮̲͈͈̘̯͇̫̜̅̾̌̾̽͑̓̀̎̈́̀̈́̏̄͑̌̀̈́͂̿͆̔̏͆͐̑̔̋͑̒̃̏̈́̔̓̕͘͜͠ͅw̶̢̡̳̜͓͍̞͚̼̱̫̟̜̫̟̣̙͉̫̹̪̖̠̮̎̒͜͝͝h̷̢̨̨̨̨̼̱͚̹̼̲͓͉̪̯͉͓͕̮̤͖̝͓͖̫̗̞̼̜͓̖̲̮̟̗̹͚̜͙́̍̿̐̈́̓́͆̅͐̚͝͝͝ͅy̴̧̢͔̝͎̮͚͍̮̮̰̤̘̰͔̖̣̣͉̩̠͔͈̯̰̣̙̤͋̓̄̔͐͌͐̍͑͑͒̑̚̕w̸̢̨̢͈̜̱̲͚̹̰͓̘̙̞̰̪̯̤̦͍͖̲͖̣̼̘͕̖̣̯͇̟̄̌̈́̇̌͊̊̀̔̔͛͛̂̈́̊͋̔͊̇̿̀̔̒̀̾̂͛͘͘͜͠͠͝ͅͅh̶̡̨̡̛̭͖͔̙̺͚͔͓̝̘͇̤̦̞̗͇̝̖̙̲͇̲͔̹̥̪̥̹͖̪̞̪̪̺̤̣͙͖̿͊̇̆̅̏̓̅͑̄͗͐̍̇̋͐̐̀́̌̀̽͋͗̔̀̒̀͆̀͑̌̏̋̆͊̎͐̈̏̚͘͘͘͝͝͠y̴̢̝̲̙͈̞͖̼̫̖̝̋͊̎͑͊̎̃̓̑͗̎̋̔̈̒̄̀̒̃̔͒͜͠w̶̡̛̼͙̫̩͔̘̠̲̰̼̮̳͔̠͔̣͎̃͛̽̿̒̆̓̓͑͛̄͐̀̍́̀̉͌̈́͊̆͗͑̇̔̉̊͂̊̑̾̚͜͜͝͠͝h̵̡̨͙̘͍̹̠̯̲̯̐̎͛̏̂̄̀̈́̈́̈́̎͌̔̉̅̓̉̾̆̌͒̍̽̈́͑̄̿̈́̑͌̄̈́͂̄̏̎͌̀̕͘͝͝͝͠y̶̢̼͙̩̲̱͚͇̲͈͍̝̹̣̰̘̘͔͉͔̼͔͔͎̩̗͔͇̥̥̓̾̀̀̋̆̊̏̑̏̐̒̋̓̌̊̎͊̂̊̍͌͛͆́̽̋̚͘̕͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅw̸̨̧̛̯̩̤̫͔̫̬̤͍̝̹̹͖̞͍̝͓̲̜̫̠̪̜͓͈̞͔͖̌̈́̃̔̑̿̓̊͋̈́́͛̈́̉̐̋̊̍͐̑̿̔̈̔̓͆̅̓̊̀̚̚͜͜͝͝͠h̷̡̛̰̜͈͇̪͕̱̘̲̲̬͛̎͘͜ý̴̧̧̢̛̭͖̫̭̗̣̲̺͓̗͔̹̹̪̻̘̞̝̗̘͚̲̼͕͔̜͔̦̘͚̞̦̝͖͛̋̆̀̒̅͒̔̔͗͂̐͐̓̇̽̒̽̌̐̅̊̾̂̍͗͋͒́́̈́̃͘͘̕͘͘͘͜͝ͅẇ̵̨̡̛͉͎̊́͛́̐͐̍̊̑͒̃̍̀̉͆̽̐̉̽̀̂̋͌̌̏̽̄̄̀̍͊͑̎́̕̚̕͝h̶̞̜̯̬̬͙͇̤͋̀́͂̌̔̇͌̕̚͘͜͜y̶̨̡̨̧̛̛̙͚͉͖̻̞̘̤͇̺̝͉̲̞̝͉͇̻̰̻͚̮͉̙̜̰̳̝͕͕̙͍̥̞̤̜̥̏̾̾̐͒͑̐̓̇̔͌́̈̐̓̐̀̀̆̒̍̃̓̈́͊͐͆͊̐́̎̚͘͝ͅẅ̴̨̡̨̡̧͎͉̬̙̱̩͍̥̲͈̭̺͚̫̦̙̰̯̩͎͖͓͍͇͙̻̻̯̹̜̲̩̜͍̘̪͈̼̖̣̑̒̌̄͛̚͜ͅͅh̵̨̧̢̭̟͍͈̺͓̻̙͚͍̮̱̫̮̠͍̙͖͍̹͔̆̃́͗͌̇̎͐̈́̋̓̅͜͜͜͝ͅͅỵ̶̢̨̘̱͔̲̖̳̖̰̞̯̞̼͚͈͔̣͎̩͙̮͓͕̲̭̟̱̟̤̯͇͛̀̑̍̀̍̌̽̋̾̿͌͑͗̃͑̉̒̍̇͛̏̂̇̆̐͋́̓͋̄͐͑̇̏̑͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͝w̴̡̼͈̰̰̙̙̦̘͇̠̲̝̯͔̳̹͎͇̜̪̗͙͉͕͉̮̣̾̈́̃̆͗̅̽̿̓͋͑͜͝͠͝ͅͅĥ̵̨̛̛̬̳̭͉̾͗̊̋̊͒͂̈͑̓̐̓͛͐̑͂̊̈͗̈̏̈́̕̚̚͜͠͠y̷̨̨̨̡̛͓͈͉͍̳̝̝͔̣̟͚̯̤͕̠̞̥͔̘̩̫̼̥͕̤̝̔̏́̔̐̋̽͒͑̋͋̌̉̔̀͂̇̾̓̎̃͊̈́̈́̂̀̋͝͝͝w̵̡̡̡̧̳̼̭̗̙̘̥̘̞̱̙͇̗͖̯̺̣͉̣͉̭̠̙̳͚̘̐̓̿̃̅̋̾͂͒̎̓̃̒̀͐͒̑̿̎̋̾̈́͒͐̓̐̆̊̚͝͠ͅh̶̻̲͓͕̣̯͎̪̟̦̬͇̠̯̍̇͆̈́̓͑̂͌̽̃̏̏͗̅͋̄̿͐̈́̏̈́̋̈̐̀̍͂̽͂̑̇̆̽̂̍͘͘̕̕͘͝͠͠ͅy̷̨̢̦̗̩̟̭̞̟̪̱̭̬̗͔͕͉̬̳͚̥̫̌̄͐̆̀͛̓̓̂͐͑̑̈́͆͆͐̉͋͛͒̎́͆́̃͑̇̿́̍͂̐̈́̃͋͛̓̃͜͠͝

w̷̧̢̨̡̛̤̗̯̣͍͎͈̮͙͓̰̤͙͙̜̜̥͕͔̖̗̯͋͐̆͊̿̑̾͒͌̇̐̇̍̀̽͆͆̉͊̓̓̈̐͋͊͗̀͋̄͛̉̐̇̾̈̑͘͘͠͝͝h̷̢̡͉̗̥̲̞͎̦̖̼̥̘̩̠̘̫̼̱̮̬̩̦̱̘͓̠̒̍͌̈́͂̃̎̔̈́̅̊͌̈̍͆̋̃̇͑̓͂̋̃̊͆́̃̑͆̃̆͛͊̿̔͐̆̒͐͗̈͘͜͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅy̴̧̢͙͕͕̭̳̳͚̥̝̱͙͈̥̹̤͈̙̗͕̝͚͓̥̘̫̜͓͙̩̕w̸̨̢̛͚̦̻̦͇͍̟̠̪͇̰͖̲͔͙͚̪̰̱͎͉̳̜̦̬̤̮̬͖͓̻͖͕̼̥̥̯̪̼̜͓̤͖͙̣͓̃͆̈̐̎̇̉̀̑͊̌̀̀̐̿̒̽͗̍̽̄͒̑͋̊̅͗̉̾͛̋̀̇̇̈́̕͘͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅh̴̢̧̧̛͇̫̤̱̺̞̹̮͇̦͊̀̄̽͐̏̐̇͒̐̂̀̈̅͐̑́̉̇̓̎̉̉̎̔̂̊̏̌̑͘͘͘̕͜͝͠͠͝ͅÿ̵̡̲̳̬̞̣̗͙͕̫̟̦́̽̓͋̈́̓͊̉̃͗̑̇͆̀̾̂̈́̎͐̂̐̽͝w̷̡̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̨̯̰͉̖͚̙͕͈̞̫̼͍͕̞̭̯̫̗͚͓̩̱̠̹̺͙̲̃̔͜ḩ̷̢̛̛̖̰̭̣͉̦̤͕͕̟̻̪̞̱̗͖̫̼̫͔̠̩̪͇̩̝̮̘̝̮̠͊̋̓͑̒̏̿̎̌̎̃̂̌̓̈́̊̽̓̃̾̀̀͆͒̀̉͂̄̈́̊̊̆͂̉͛͌͗͊̆̀͂͗̓̈̽͘͜͝͠y̵̡̮̼̙̥̬͇̤̭̝̲̲̼̘̼̥͕̼͂̍̀͑̽̎̑͛͋̚͝͠w̶̨̭̎͠h̶̼̖͙̓̑͘

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

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

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

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idk-what-youre-talking-about · 3 days

Text

Thinking about how Choso eats you out like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get to

warnings: pussy eating, porn without plot kinda, erm I think that’s it. slight dirty talk. half- proofread. just drabbles. enjoy? or don’t. Lemme know if I missed any

He’d come back home from work a little while ago, and seeing you work on something on your laptop, your reading glasses on and hair in a messy bun-

That along with some exhaustion as well as some stress he needed to burn was enough to take you right then and there.

Choso was always a needy man, very clingy and sensitive. And if there was one thing he couldn’t go a day without, it was the sweet, sweet taste of your cunt.

You don’t remember exactly how it happened, but now your sweatpants are off, somewhere on the floor. Along with your panties. He had your legs pinned against your chest tightly, you couldn’t move them even if you really wanted to.

Choso had felt shivers the immediate second he saw your pretty cunt. He couldn’t help but lick a nice stripe up your wetness, groaning at the taste as you involuntarily twitched. And now you were the one shivering.

“Missed you…” he mumbles against your clit, which makes you squirm a bit. He places a kiss on the sensitive bud and your feet wobble in the air, unable to move your legs. “Cho…” you breathe out, already feeling dizzy.

“Mhm, I know. I’ll make you feel good, mm?”

You nod, and maybe it came out a little too eager because he chuckles softly before diving in.

You can’t help the mewl that escapes your lips once he delves his tongue into your wetness. With his nose prodding at your clit, his tongue slides in and out of your sweet cunt, slurping up your juices nonstop. His tongue swirling inside your gummy walls.

Once his teeth graze against your clit, you think you might just lose it.

Your hand flies down to grip onto his hair, eliciting a groan out of himself. He always liked when you grabbed ahold of his hair like this, almost pulling his mouth closer to your pussy. Wanting- no, needing more stimulation. It made him feel like you were in control, even at a time like this.

And come on, we can all agree that Choso enjoys being a bottom at least sometimes.

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape and you try your best to avoid looking directly at him. Because he’s just staring at you. Either that or just closing his eyes, enjoying the taste. His meal, per say.

You couldn’t ever look him straight in the eyes, it was still embarrassing even after all this time.

Your legs were squirming and wobbling, shaking from the pure pleasure. It was overwhelming. Like you were about to explode.

“Ch-Cho- f-fuck… fuck!”

Choso smiled against your cunt almost every time you’d murmur curses or his name, or both.

He had moved to sucking directly at your clit and you felt tears prick at your eyes. It was all beginning to be just a little too much. But in a good way?

He sucks hard, gripping tighter on your thighs in your attempt to get away.

Your breaths got shallower and more rapid, head thrashing from left to right on your pillow beneath you.

“Fu-uck!” You practically scream. Thank god you didn’t have thin walls.

Your grip on his hair had tightened significantly, beginning to subtly ride his face, embarrassed you might come off as too eager or needy. But Choso thought it was hot, how you were so desperate to take everything he was giving you, because he was willing to give it over and over, as many times as you wanted.

And besides, the grip you had on his hair was also really hot too. At least to him it was.

“Mmm…” he groans against your clit. “Come on, you can do it. Cum for me, princess.”

And if you had a nickel for every time you came right after him saying ‘princess’ to you, you’d probably have at least a dollar. And it was about to be a dollar and five cents.

You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, forcing the small tears from out of your eyes as you let out an almost pornographic scream. And I mean scream. You were almost certain you were seeing the pearly white gates of heaven, a place only Choso Kamo’s mouth could take you, before you were cumming all over his tongue. He wasted absolutely zero time as he slurped it all up so eagerly. You were twitching and jerking your hips wildly. Because damn did you cum easily when it was him.

Your grip on his hair had slowly loosened as you came down from your high.

But Choso kept lapping at your folds eagerly, causing the little bit of sanity left in your head to vanish. You had to pry his head away to get him to stop, he was just so addicted.

“Cho… please… I- can’t…”

Once his head finally lifted up from your cunt, and you couldn’t help but blush once you saw his face. Completely drenched in your slick from his nose down to his chin.

“Choso… you’re…”

You couldn’t even get out a full sentence at this point, partly from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and partly from the view of your slick all over his face. It was almost embarrassing, but- and you’d never admit this to yourself or him- it was kinda kinky.

He licks his lips and you feel your cunt squeeze around nothing. Around what you half wish was his mouth. Still slurping and swirling inside and around your pretty-

“I’ll run a bath.” Choso interrupted your thoughts.

“Y-yeah. That- uh… yeah.”

He chuckles, standing up, using his fingers to wipe the slick off his face. You almost moan as you see him then lick the slick off of his fingers. You can see a quite prominent wet spot on his jeans, but you don’t say anything about it. He walks into the bathroom, and you start to giggle once you hear the bath water turn on.

He comes back out a moment later, his pants off and underwear assumingly changed, in his boxers and nothing else. There is a bulge in his boxers, and you flush a little again.

He crawls up the bed towards your face, and kisses you softly, and you can’t help but moan as you taste yourself on his tongue.

Choso snuggles up next to you, resting his head on your chest, drawing little shapes into your semi- sensitive thighs and stomach.

After a couple minutes he murmurs into your ear, sitting up. “Baths ready.”

#jjk smut #jujutsu Kaiden smut #Choso smut #Choso jjk #Choso jjk smut #jjk Choso #Choso kamo smut #erm idk #just a Drabble #Choso #Choso kamo #Jujutsu kaisen smut

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beekeeperspicnic · 3 days

Text

Visiting Fulworth

Today @jeremys-come-to-bed-eyes and I went on something that I might have been classified as a "research trip" for The Beekeepers Picnic, if it had happened a few years ago! As it is, there's no hiding that it was just a geeky fan trip.

I didn't invent the idea of Holmes retiring to keep bees in a village called Fulworth - it gets alluded to a few times in the stories, and there is one story set there, 'The Lion's Mane'.

We know Holmes' retirement home is either a 'cottage' or a 'villa', it's a few miles out of Eastbourne, and it's clearly somewhere where it's possible to walk to the sea for a swim. Sherlockian tradition is that the real-life place fitting this description is the village of East Dean.

So, that's where we went - walking from Eastbourne.

This area is famous for it's white chalk cliffs, which are eroding away very quickly. Here is a path to nowhere!

These cliffs are known as the Seven Sisters. They all have names but the only two I remember are Short Bottom and Rough Bottom.

The beach there is all pebbles - I knew that when creating my game, but I felt like a pebble beach just wouldn't look right all in pixels, so I made it sandy instead.

East Dean is absolutely gorgeous, basically everything I could have hoped for.

Here is the village green - flying a Ukrainian flag in solidarity!

And here is Mr Holmes' official cottage. As far as we could tell its now an office of the local estate rather than someone's house, so we didn't feel too weird taking lots of pictures! The Lions Mane implies his cottage is a little way out of the village, but I'll forgive them for putting it in the centre instead.

(I think that the dates are obviously the dates he lived there as recorded by his biographer - our last information on Holmes is from 1917. I think they made the right call not to try to invent a date for his death.)

A lot of the cottages in the area have this really distinctive mixture of pebbles and brick which I think must be a hallmark of the local area, but I was pleased to see a few whitewashed buildings like the ones I put in the game:

Thank you for reading, please enjoy this adorable foal.

#the beekeeper's picnic #sherlock holmes #sussex retirement #sussex cottage

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moodymisty · 3 days

Note

Perhaps a 40k character of your choice and someone not very comfortable in their body? Shamelessly self inserting I guess. Thanks so much! ☺️

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: Decided to do Guilliman. You didn’t specify anything (which is fine!) so I kept it vague for you. Enjoy!

Relationship: Guilliman/Fem!Reader(no pronouns are used, but reader compares themself to Fulgrim's wives and also mentions wanting a dress so femcoded one could say)

Warnings: None really

You wonder how Macaggian history can be so, boring. These history tomes Guilliman had given you while interesting, have largely been unbearably dull; Filled with little more than debate and the trials of leadership.

You had far preferred what Russ had once told you about the history of Fenris when you asked, though you’d never dare speak that to your beloved Primarch aloud.

Said primarch returns to your shared room not moments after you think of him, raking a hand through his own short blonde hair.

It’s quite late, the moon is high in the sky and has been for awhile now, and you assume he hasn’t had any rest in multiple days given you’ve seen little of him these past few. He’s been even busier than usual, since visiting Terra. Even if he has his Commanders take over a good portion of his duties while away from Ultramar, his duties on Terra tend to overtake his time and then some.

With nary a hello, Guilliman climbs onto the bed you’ve been reading in and swiftly lays down on it. The bed groans under his weight despite having been made for someone of his size.

He much larger hands reach to grip you by the waist and pull your closer, laying his face on your stomach overtop of the fabric of your nightgown. Your legs go over his left shoulder, as his left arm curls around your bottom, hip, and up your side to hold you close.

“Guilliman?”

He sighs into your belly.

“Give me a moment, if you will. I’m at my limit with these men today.” You assume he means his fellow primarchs. “Let me enjoy you for a bit now that I’m free of them for the time being.”

You want him to be happy, but you can’t help but shift a bit under him, nervous as he speaks so overtly, and touches you with so little hesitation.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” You whisper, nervously twirling a piece of his blonde and ever so slightly grey hair around your fingertip.

“Yes. You are perfect,” He says, your eyes widening at the declaration. You're so offset by it your mind wanders and can’t help but mumble:

“I find that hard to believe…”

You feel him suddenly tense, and he lifts his head to look at you.

“You do not believe me?”

He almost seems insulted by it; Like you think he’s a liar. You shake your head as you look away from his furrowed brow. You hadn’t expected him to spear you to the wall so harshly for your self-deprecating comment.

“No I just…” You grunt in frustration at not finding the right words. The Macragge tome he'd given you lays at your side, and you push it away a bit more. “I sometimes just think there are people out there far more, physically suited to stand beside you than me.” He loses some of his insulted demeanor, but his brow stays furrowed as you pick up pace and begin rambling.

“I mean, look at some of Fulgrim’s wives they-“ He cuts you off with his stoic, firm voice.

“You know how Fulgrim is. You know why and how they look the way they do.” He sighs, the wrinkles around his nose and eyes exaggerating for a moment. “Forget all of that.” He points a finger at you.

“And don’t bring him up again, I’ve had quite enough of him and his comments for quite some time.”

You smile a bit, and he softens. He’s glad you find his aggravation amusing somehow. You do wonder what Fulgrim commented about however; Though you know he has a habit of sometimes treading a bit too far into Roboute’s personal life. Into everyone's personal life honestly, though Roboute having you has made him the prime target of Fulgrim's gossip and colloquies.

His hand squeezes you reassuringly, arm continuing to awkwardly cradle you. He raises his other hand to brush his thumb across your cheek for a moment.

“You are perfect to me. You don’t need all of those lavish things.” He adds on. “Unless you want them, of course. I won’t deny you anything I can give.” Your smile gets wider, and he feels your body relax against him.

“I don’t need any of it,” You pause. “But if a dress showed up one day I wouldn’t complain, per se.”

Thankfully Guilliman can tell you’re clearly joking, and rolls his eyes. You speak up again a bit more subtly.

“Or maybe something a bit more, delicate? You could pick it.”

Guilliman takes a moment to catch your meaning before he awkwardly coughs, looks at you gentle but expectant smile.

“I’ll, see what I can do.”

Guilliman swiftly ends the topic by returning his head to lay on your stomach, and rest his eyes for a moment to the feeling of you raking your fingers through his hair.

#return of the queue #roboute Guilliman x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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clairedaring · 1 day

Text

watching ep 1 of my stand in, my impression was that the series emphasized quite a lot on joe's bottom virginity...

gif of the wonderful @supanuts

... yet they forgot to include my two most favorite little tidbits regarding this is (1) joe explaining why he's always been top his entire life and (2) joe forewarning ming before they fuck that if his sex skills is mid, he better tell him first. so here are the two excerpts from chapter 10 and chapter 11 respectively.

1. joe explaining why he's been top all his life (this happens during their meal at the restaurant together)

Yan Ming Xiu looked at him. Zhou Xiang’s attraction and desire for him is so obvious that it can’t even be concealed. Actually, there is no reason to conceal it. Between men, it’s better to be direct. Each takes what one needs. Zhou Xiang leaned close to him and softly asked, “So, have you really forgotten me?” Yan Ming Xiu gripped his chin and gently touched his lips, “Maybe I’ve only just remembered you.” Zhou Xiang burst out in laughter, “It’s quite timely.” He bit YanMingXiu’s lips, gently tugging it, “But I’ve been thinking of you every day.” Yan Ming Xiu asked softly, “Think of me? Thinking of me topping you?” “Actually, of me topping you but if you’re not willing, I can only suffer this time.” “You’ve really never been a 0?” Zhou Xiang jokingly responded, “Nope. I wanted to be (a zero) when I was young, but people wouldn’t even look at me because they thought I looked too mature. When I got older, it was even more unlikely. There are more 0’s than 1’s in the circle…so many fresh meats waiting for me; you think I’d go looking for people to top me?” Yan Ming Xiu gently reached his hand into Zhou Xiang’s clothes and pinched his slender waist, then says coarsely, “So then, if you’re going to do it with me, it’ll be your first time (being a zero)?” Zhou Xiang laughed, “Exactly. Don’t you have to be responsible?” “Haven’t topped you yet, what’s there to be responsible for?”

2. joe forewarning ming before having sex

Zhou Xiang smiled at him, “Let’s agree on something first. I still have to work the day after tomorrow. If your skills are not up to par, you better say so ahead of time, don’t dupe me.” He’s heard of people having to go to the hospital from their first time (being a 0). He just wants to have sex. That’s all. He didn’t want to be embarrassed. Although his words sound quite conservative, Zhou Xiang’s eyes have already nakedly swept at Yan Ming Xiu’s abs. His muscles are too beautiful and his skin so exquisite that it’s reflective. Yan Ming Xiu looks very thin when he’s wearing clothes but that’s probably because he’s so tall. Zhou Xiang didn’t expect that once Yan Ming Xiu remove his clothes, his body would be so firm, paired with his long legs and his face, click-click (clicking his tongue sound), his mood right now is just like a straight male having sex with an exceptional beauty.

so yea these are my two favorite bits that didn't really make the cut even though they were definitely hinting at it already. the other is probably joe was invited to a threesome (to which he declined) before getting the call from ming for that meal.

but in general, i think the series is really fast paced as opposed to the novel and i can see them being able to go through most major plot points of the novel. incredibly excited for ep 2 as everyone could probably tell from my spamming of my stand-in gifs these past two days.

#claire opens up her goddamn mouth #my stand in the series #my stand in #up poompat #poom phuripan

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autistpride · 2 days

Text

Autism Acceptance

Prompt 10: Restaurant AU

Wordcount: 600

@wolfstarmicrofic

“Sirius, could you get table three for me?” Marlene asked Sirius, “I need a smoke break.”

“Ya sure of course,” Sirius called back before walking over to the table in question and pulling out his notepad and pen. “What can I get for you?”

“I’m sorry we need a little more time,” a red haired girl said.

Sirius glanced between the two people sitting at the small table and nodded before turning on his heel. Sirius watched from across the dining floor as the red haired teen whispered to the mousy brown haired boy that Sirius assumed was her boyfriend as they looked nothing alike. She seemed worried or anxious Sirius couldn’t tell. The boy seemed to be stressed and upset despite not having even ordered their meals yet.

Sirius walked back over after a few minutes, “is there anything I can help you with?” He asked.

“No no I’m sorry but we still aren’t ready yet,” She said apologetically.

Sirius looked over at the boy who sat with his head in his hands.

“Hey, do you need some help?” Sirius asked and the boy didn’t respond.

“You don't have his usual on the menu anymore. He gets it every time. When he tried to order it earlier, the other worker said it wasn’t on the menu. So we’re just trying to find something else.”

“Ah, I see.” Sirius said softly before noticing the rainbow infinity pin. Sirius knelt down near the teen boy. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“That’s Remus and I’m Lily,” the red haired girl spoke before Remus had a chance to talk.

“Thank you Lily,” Sirius said sincerely before asking Remus, “What was your usual?”

Remus glanced over at Sirius, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. After a minute he responded quietly, “California chicken sandwich.

Sirius grinned, “One California chicken sandwich with chips coming right up.”

Remus’ jaw dropped in surprise, “really?”

“Ya really. Anything special I should make sure to tell the cook?” Sirius asked.

Remus worried his lip again and shook his head no. He didn’t want to push his luck.

“Come on Remus. I can tell you want to say something. What is it?” Sirius asked, leaning down. “You can even whisper it to me like it’s a secret.”

Remus knocked his fists together a few times and then whispered, “I like when they have a smile.”

Sirius's face scrunched up in thought and then nodded. “On it.”

Twenty minutes later Sirius brought out the plates of food. Sirius was glad James was working as the cook that day. He was always willing to make special orders when Sirius asked.

Sirius set Lily’s food down in front of her and then Remus’ down in front of him.

Remus looked up at Sirius with widened golden eyes and Sirius winked and said, “I hope you enjoy your meals”. Remus gently pried the top bun off the sandwich and made a very excited squeak.

Sirius had placed the pickles to be two eyes. He made the eyebrows, pupils, and nose from mustard and the mouth from ketchup. He carefully arranged the lettuce around the top as if it was hair and the avocado around the bottom as if it was shoulders.

“Woah,” Lily exclaimed from across the table.

When Remus looked up Sirius had vanished.

The person bringing them their check was their original wait staff and Remus frowned in disappointment.

“I hope you both had a lovely date,” she said.

“Oh! We’re not together!” Lily said laughing.

“I’m quite gay,” Remus said, “no offence Lils”

Marlene passed Remus something.

She gave him Sirius’ number.

#mauraders #actually audhd #wolfstar #my writing #autistic remus #autism acceptence month

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coryosbaby · 2 days

Note

i saw that you wrote for donnie darko a while ago and since i’m currently fixating on him i present a very intriguing concept: stepbro!donnie.

i feel like he’d love the taboo aspects of it and would have no trouble justifying it to himself bc it’s not like you’re related.

18+, MDNI !! stepcest (stepbrother x stepsister), suggestive content , kissing

No cs he literally would. In the movie he’s all about “I don’t want to fuck my family, that’s weird.” But with you, he doesn’t even view you as family— not really, anyway. Sure, your parents are together but at the end of the day there’s no blood relation, right? It’s not normal to daydream about tit fucking your sister, either, so— yeah. Definitely doesn’t view you as a relative.

He’s a total horn dog. I can imagine him making a move on you for the first time when you’re both watching a movie— some dumbass sex scene comes on and suddenly his dick is springing up and he’s subtly placing a pillow across his lap. He watches your concentration on the screen, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

“Why do they always decide to fuck in these movies?” You question. You say this because you’re both watching some random slasher with an unnecessary amount of girl on boy sex scenes. “There’s like, a killer on the loose. How stupid can you be?”

He shrugs. His hand moves to the bulge in his pants.

“Spur of the moment, I guess,” he replies. “Can’t really control it once it starts.”

“And what would you know about the art of intimacy?”

It’s a joke, an innocent little jab that usually has Donnie firing back with something like, “you’re one to talk,” and then making a joke about your empty dating history— but he doesn’t do that this time. No, you’re too pretty. He’s too horny. He needs to break the ice before he lands hard on his ass and doesn’t get back up.

“Wanna find out?”

Your pupils dilate, eyes a bit wide and freaked out when you hear the (incredibly impulsive) words spill from your stepbrother’s lips. But also— and only Donnie would notice this, seeing you all the time and all, and not because he thinks about you every waking moment— you seem to be intrigued. Your eyes scan over his body and move back up to his face.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” You tease, and let out a nervous chuckle. “You wish. I’d never fuck your virgin ass.”

“How’dya know if you’ve never tried it?” And he gives you that shit eating grin when he’s really amused, the one that makes your stomach do flips. “You could kiss me instead, then. See if you like it.”

“I’m not kissing my brother.”

“Stepbrother,” he corrects. His legs spread apart, almost like an invite. You pretend not to notice. “C’mon, kid. don’t be a pussy.”

He calls you kid even though you’re only one month younger than him. He does this because he knows it irks you. You roll your eyes, licking your plump bottom lip.

“Whatever,” you mumble, then you groan. “Come here, then. But if you slip me tongue, Darko, I swear to god I’ll tell your English professor that you cheated on your exams last year.”

He begins scooting closer, his jean clad thigh pressing against your bare one, and he seems very giddy.

“Won’t give you tongue,” he replies. “I swear it on my life.”

You give an annoyed hum. Donnie’s arm goes behind you on the back of couch, and you can smell his cologne and the dial soap he uses in the shower. When neither of you makes a move— an awkward stare into each other’s eyes, faces a few inches apart, Donnie’s eyes filling with something you can’t quite make out— you utter, “Well, are you going to do it or not?”

Instead of replying, he just.. goes for it. He presses his mouth to yours in a smooth peck. But fuck, he’s so hard, and he’s wanted this for so long. He goes back in for another, mouth opened slightly, awkward. Virginal. The two of you kiss like this because that’s exactly what the both of you are— virgins. When you pull away from him, his lashes flutter open and he grins again. You want to kiss him some more— maybe his tongue in your mouth wouldn’t be so bad. But you hold back, eyes blinking.

“This is really fuckin’ weird, Donnie.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

#Donnie Darko #Donnie Darko x reader #Donnie Darko x fem! reader #Donnie Darko fanfic #Donnie Darko blurb #Donnie Darko Drabble #Donnie Darko oneshot #jake gyllenhaal

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thestalwartheart · 1 day

Note

if you're still taking prompts from the list:

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

Hey @dude-watchin-with-the-brontes! Thank you so much for this prompt, and apologies for taking so long to get something written! Here's a short little prompt fill for you. Enjoy 💙 Read it below or on AO3.

drunk.

When they emerge from the pub, it’s still light out, which seems like madness until Q remembers the recent turn of the clock. Daylight savings. The most wonderful time of the year. The night sky is a haze of pink and orange, and if he were a different man, Q would call it romantic.

“It is.”

“Hm?” Q turns to the man beside him. Bond. The last man standing, as ever. He looks remarkably sober for having polished off an incalculable amount of hard alcohol.

“Romantic,” Bond says. “The sky. I was agreeing with you.”

“Right. Yes. I definitely—” Q swallows a small burp. “I definitely meant to say that aloud. Christ. I’m ratarsed.”

Bond laughs. Laughs. It’s such a rarity that Q closes his eyes for a moment. Tries to seal it into his memory and lock it away with everything else that should only be declassified in seventy-five years.

When he opens his eyes, the sky is even pinker, and Bond is standing in front of him. His eyes are lovely, but lovelier are the laugh lines around them.

Deep, they are. Well-worn.

Q knows it’s just genetics. DNA-sequencing. A pinch of his mother, more of his father. The creases of his face don’t mean Bond’s laughed so much in life, really, and yet he smiles easily when they’re like this: drunk under London’s sky, meandering through the city, usually while it’s raining. Thank goodness it isn’t tonight. Q hasn’t an umbrella on him, not even a dangerously experimental one.

“All right, Q?”

“Fine. Yes. Lovely.”

“And ratarsed.”

Q wobbles on a loose paving stone. Bond’s hand steadies him.

“Mm. But a merry sort of ratarsed. I think the fresh air’s helped.”

A laughing couple walk past. They’re handsy, all over each other, and their loud public affection might normally prove annoying, but it isn’t tonight. The sky is lovely, and the company is even lovelier, so why shouldn’t everyone kiss where they like?

Why shouldn’t Q?

He leans in.

But Bond’s hand moves from his arm to his chest, and Q is kept at bay.

“Q.”

“What? But we—” Q breaks off, frowning.

They’ve done this before. They’ve done this in Q’s office, and they’ve done it in Bond’s. They’ve done it in a hospital, and they’ve done it once in Cyprus amongst the olive trees. Infrequent as it is, Q’s habitual drunken snog with Bond is one of the two constants in his life. The other constant is the cats, and he can’t very well snog them.

“I know.”

“Is there someone else?”

He cringes as soon as he says it averting his eyes. He sounds like a desperate wife concerned about Bond’s mistresses—all those overseas trips, the late nights at the office. It’s nine o’clock. Where’ve you been? Absurd, if only because Q’s the one who’s always staying late.

So. They’ve snogged a few times. So what? Q shagged a man named Iain a few weeks ago. Bond’s fucked three women with three different names since. Q forgets them. He’s sure Bond hasn’t.

There’s a messy, drunken taxi line forming outside the pub. People waiting for their Ubers, give their friends one last hug, then two, then three. A weight sinks in Q’s stomach and sloshes about amongst seven pints.

“Too many people, then?” he ventures.

“Q, look at me.”

He does.

“I’d have you in front of a football stadium if that’s what you wanted.”

Q’s breath feels punched out of him.

Bond steps closer, slides his hand up Q’s jaw. Their foreheads touch; Q’s messy curls, greasy from the day, pick up the clammy sweat on Bond’s forehead. Bond’s lips are so close. They look cold. Q wants to warm them.

“I’d just prefer to have you sober,” says Bond.

“Oh. Yes.” Q digs his hand under Bond’s jacket and urges him closer. Behind them, someone lets loose a catcall. “Yes.” He bites his bottom lip. “Perhaps one for the road, though? While I sober up?”

Bond smiles. He turns his head until his lips meet Q’s cheek—or rather his jaw—and there is nothing chaste about the kiss he places there. It’s louche and incendiary in the way of all Bond’s actions. Q’s body does not know the meaning of whisky dick.

When he surfaces from the haze of the last few minutes, an MI6 driver is waiting to take him home. He climbs into the car with Bond, knowing that when he gets out, he’ll be getting out alone. The thought doesn’t smart like it might have on some other night. He creates a reminder in his phone for the following morning — CALL BOND - DATE?? — and leans back against the headrest.

Bond’s hand is waiting for him; it tangles in Q’s hair. Outside, the day disappears into a navy blue sky.

#00q #my fic #james bond #00q fic

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sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 3 hours

Text

B Plot

Isabeau still can’t confess, and Siffrin needs to clear their head. Which means it’s high time for a sidequest.

Act 1, Scene 2. West Dormont. Isa’s hand hovers near your shoulder. You try to look inviting, but you must not be very good at it. He’s already pulling away. Okay. This is it. Go time. “You can touch me,” you blurt out. “Wh— Hwhuh???” No turning back now. “It just. Seems like you think you can’t? But—you can.”

(Full disclosure, this is literally just 5k words of Siffrin trying to flirt, because he's not the only one who needed a break. Spoilers thru Act 3)

You don’t make the pun for Isa. You don’t say hi to Loop, either. You just sit on the ground and stare at the grass.

“Wow, stardust,” Loop snorts, “thanks for the warm welcome. I missed you too! But tone it down a little, will you? All that enthusiasm could get a little overwhelming!”

Near your foot, there’s a leaf growing out from a fallen branch, glossy and bright like it thinks it’s still attached to the tree. Like it thinks it’s still alive. But of course you know better. It’s already dead. It just doesn’t know it yet.

“Sooo~, what’s up? Give me the scoop! The latest and greatest, teehee!”

The leaf is always growing out of the branch, and the branch is always on the ground, splintered and slowly drying. Does the loop last long enough for the leaf to dry out, too? Does it die every day, like you do? Or will it spend the rest of eternity in a state of blissful ignorance?

“You beat the King again, right? That’s cool! You’re getting pretty tough! Keep it up and pretty soon you’ll have nothing to be scared of! Aside from, you know. All the existential dread.”

You watch your hand reach out to close around the leaf. It comes loose with a gentle pop.

“Oh, come on, at least pretend to listen. You’re good at that, teehee!” When you still don’t react, their tone sours. “The silent treatment is really not a cute look on you, you know.”

Even with nothing to hold onto, the leaf still looks offensively alive. You crumple it between your hands and then shred it into tiny little pieces. There. Now it’s just like you.

—There’s a startling clap! as Loop claps their hands about an inch from your left ear.

“Stardust,” they say firmly. “I’m a patient star, I really am, but if you keep ignoring me, I’m going to get grouchy.”

Very slowly, you look up. “She didn’t know anything.”

“...The head housemaiden?”

You nod.

“About Time Craft, you mean?”

Another nod.

“Oh,” Loop says softly. “Well. I suppose that’s to be expected. Maybe no one does, anymore.”

You shrug.

“B-But you still have leads, don’t you? Didn’t you have a few more questions for the K—”

“I don’t want to talk to the King.” The last time you tried to talk to the King, your actors looked at you like you were something monstrous. Subhuman. Like something they’d scraped off the bottom of their shoes. You wound up letting him kill you just to end the loop faster. But you’d forgotten how much the King’s final blow hurts.

“Okay, but—”

“Will you stop?” you demand. You don’t want to talk about this. You just want—

—but there’s no point finishing that sentence.

The two of you sit in silence for a while. Probably you hurt Loop’s feelings. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Stardust,” Loop says at last, unexpectedly gently. When you glance up, they’re looking away, picking at the—not skin—the gummy celestial membrane that covers the pads of their fingers. They don’t have a mouth, but if they did, it would be frowning. “I think you might need a break.”

“Haha!!!! Ahaha!!!!! Do you think???”

“I don’t mean from the loops,” Loop says impatiently. “I just mean… Ohh, I don’t know. From fighting the loops? Of course I can’t directly relate, but—from an outside perspective, I think that trying to break the loop is probably sort of… not-good. Ah. Psychologically.”

You stare at them in stony silence.

“So maybe you need a B plot!”

“…A what?”

“You know. A B plot! Like in plays? It’s what the side characters get up to while the important people are off dying and falling in love and things!”

Wait. “You watch plays?”

“I am a star of culture, you know,” Loop sniffs. “I just think you could use a win! Take a break from fixing the laws of physics to focus on something a little more achievable, hmm~? Just for a few loops! Just to clear your head!”

Your mouth scrunches to one side. Unfortunately, they’ve caught your interest. “Like what.”

“Like, ah… oh! What about your touch therapy? That was fun, wasn’t it? Here, look, I could hold both your hands!”

“It doesn’t count,” you mutter.

“Oh, no? And whyever not?”

“It just doesn’t.” You can’t really explain why Loop doesn’t count. You just know that they don’t. The first time they elbowed you, you didn’t even flinch. To be honest, it barely registered. Like knocking your elbow against something not alive, or trying to tickle yourself.

Loop rolls their eyes. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

* * *

They’re right, though. You need a break. But you’re not going to get it by holding hands with Loop.

* * *

You spend the rest of the day thinking about how to take a break from a temporal prison that is categorically, explicitly inescapable.

“Umm,” Isa whispers over dinner. “Sif? Are you, um, okay? You seem a little off.”

You probably should have expected this. Isabeau is always paying attention to what you’re doing and not-doing. But it never goes anywhere, because he’s too afraid to say it.

…Oh. Is that anything? You think it might be something. You already know that Isa wants to touch you. But he doesn’t, because he thinks you don’t want him to. Because you can’t tell him, and he can’t ask. So instead you’re both stuck here, not knowing what’s true.

What would it take to make him brave enough to say it? How obvious would you have to be before he could feel safe?

Your eyes narrow. Maybe you really do need a break.

You can read the rest on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55543246

#in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat isabeau #isat siffrin #isafrin #fluff #act 3 spoilers

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funnywormz · 1 day

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I think this shitshow with Toshiro stems from the trend of people INSISTING that interpersonal conflict must be a moral failing. Like I think there's something to be said about how people afford so much less patience to people who are autistic in the "wrong" ways, but also Laios and Toshiro just clash on a fundamental level that has nothing to do with that. Hell, you could read Toshiro as autistic as well. People related to Laios' side of the argument but instead of getting any nuance out of it they started projecting their experiences with ableist people onto Toshiro.

AGREE AGREE AGREE. i think that Fandom Brain gets people very used to thinking of conflicts in terms of "who is the bad guy and who is the good guy", so when they encounter a more nuanced conflict they don't really know what to do. i don't think toshiro is a bad person at all, in his conflict with laios he's just exhausted and starving and has been pushed to the limit and from his perspective, laios doesn't even seem that emotionally affected by the situation. i don't think what he said was right and it was pretty cruel, but i don't think he's a villain or deserves to be permanently hated as a character just bc he fucked up this time lol

also yeah you could definitely read him as autistic, and i think that highlights an issue in the autistic community in general bc like....... a lot of autistic people have conflicting needs which can lead to conflict between them/make them unable to stand being around each other. and it's not because either of them are neurotypical or bad people, they're just incompatible. like autistic people who loudly stim vocally and autistic people who meltdown when they have to be around loud noises, for example. it doesn't mean either of them is bad or not autistic, just that they have conflicting needs

i 100% agree with the last part too. i disliked toshiro at first myself bc i had been (and still do ngl) projecting onto laios hard and the conflict they had reminded me of times when people have been mean or angry at me irl for social blunders i've made unintentionally, or when someone i thought liked me/was my friend turned out to actually hate me. it's a common experience for autistic people and that scene resonates with that! but i think it also helps to take a step back from projecting our own traumatic experiences onto the scene and just look at it objectively. laios isn't perfect either and he's the one who actually starts the physical fight by slapping toshiro (i feel like i don't see many people mention this lol). i feel super bad for him in that scene but he's not a perfect victim and has done things wrong himself too

as an autistic person i've also been in situations where i can relate to toshiro too lol, like where someone is overly physically and emotionally familiar with me when we don't know each other well and i've wanted them to back off but haven't been sure how to say it without hurting their feelings. this kind of conflict is far from just being a "neurotypical vs neurodivergent" thing as a lot of people portray it in the fandom

idk i just wish people would think a little more deeply about the scene and put their own emotions and experiences aside to instead consider the conflict with the added context of the individual characters and their respective cultures + the situation they're in. people don't have to like toshiro but i wish they wouldn't paint him as a villain or make up awful shit about him just to justify their feelings when he isn't even that bad of a dude in canon yknow 😑. also we literally see him at rock bottom struggling and freaking out and i think that's important to remember. in a different context i doubt he would have ever said those things to laios

#dungeon meshi #laios touden #toshiro nakamoto #ask #tysm for the ask btw!

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lily-fics-11 · 23 hours

Text

Maybe I Just Like Seeing You Fired Up (Ellie Williams, TLOU)

This is my first time writing Ellie so I hope you like it. Lmk what you think:)

Inspired by a prompt by @remy-lupin

CW: Not beta read, profanities, sexual undertones, mention of injury, pet names

You rarely got assigned to patrol with Ellie, which was no coincidence. The two of you have a tendency to butt heads. You by no means hate, or even dislike her, you just operate in different ways. Your social circles didn’t overlap, she was a little younger than you. So the only time you had ever spent with her was on patrol, where disagreements were consistent. It only got worse over time. After many others had observed your bickering, the two of you stopped being scheduled together.

Unfortunately, a few minor injuries had been sustained when an unexpected storm rolled in during a scouting trip yesterday. You hadn’t been there, and neither had Ellie. You were more than willing to pick up the extra shift that they asked you to.

After emerging into a clearing from some densely packed trees, you look over at Ellie. Her toned arms are crossed and you can tell by the look on her face that she is also pondering what move to make. You run a hand through your hair in frustration, knowing that this would most likely cause the first of many disagreements.

Ellie is the first to share her thoughts. “That hill looks pretty rocky, we should probably dismount and check how stable the terrain is before trying to take the horses over it.”

Not what you were thinking, but you had been begged to play nice.

You nod at her, “we can do that.”

“Oh really?” Ellie asks smugly.

You dismount your horse and straighten up your posture. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m just surprised.” Ellie snickers.

You put your hands on your hips. “This shouldn’t take more than a few hours, and we are both adults. I’m sure we can manage to cooperate knowing we shouldn’t have to do this again any time soon.”

Ellie hops off her horse. “I actually agree with you for once.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way.”

The two of you approach the bottom of the hill. The incline is mild, so if the rocks aren’t loose, the trek over could actually save some time. The two of you start to kick and pull at rocks.

At the same time that you say “I’m not so sure about this,” Ellie declares “seems alright to me.” She’s always been a risk taker.

You look over at Ellie and roll your eyes which causes her to sigh. “So much for getting along,” she mumbles.

“Come on Ellie, the rocks are stable right at the bottom but there are a few loose ones as you go higher up and for all we know it could get worse.”

“Fine, give me a second to test that theory,” Ellie tells you, sounding a little annoyed as she starts to climb a little higher.

“Ellie, that's not a good idea. The last thing we need is another injury.”

She gives you a sarcastic smile. “Don’t you worry about me, darlin’, I’ll be careful.”

“Why do you always feel the need to challenge me?” you scoff, head tilted to one side, taking a step towards her. To Ellie that was a challenge, igniting a fire in her emerald eyes. She moves forwards slowly, until your faces are mere inches apart, with a cocky grin on her face. “Maybe I just like seeing you fired up.”

That was not at all what you expected so you retreat a few steps to try and recollect yourself. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire. Her statement was far more personal than anything either of you had ever said to each other, aside from the small talk before you realized that you clashed. From very early on things had been strictly business. Her mischievous eyes roll playfully. “Oh come on, I know you’re smarter than that.”

“Quit fucking around Ellie.” You check the time on your watch, getting impatient.

“I think we should clear the air,” she suggests with urgency.

“Of what?” You question, gesturing to the space around you.

Ellie mimics you, which you do not appreciate. “This tension that we have. I know we don't see eye to eye, but I think there is more to it. How else would a little stubbornness escalate to keeping us separated all the time?” Your eyes wander around, looking for where she got the audacity.

Ellie is still trying to prove her point. “Like I said, I don’t think that’s it.”

You put your hands up in the air. “I’m out of guesses here.”

“Everyone knows you like girls,” Ellie smirks, “I think you like me.”

“Oh really? I like girls so I must like you, is that it? Fuck off.” You turn away, back towards your horse but Ellie grabs your arm. You try to free yourself from her grip but it’s useless. You look at her over your shoulder.

“Alright, maybe I’m projecting, but I’ve seen the way you look at me.” She says bluntly.

You would be lying if you denied how attractive Ellie is. That her smile is endearing and you like how her eyes sparkle when she gets excited about something. You may have even had a bit of a crush on her before you met. But then you actually spoke to her. There was friction and there was another girl pursuing you, so you dropped it.

“But the only reason I’ve noticed is because I’m always looking at you,” Ellie admits, eyes softening as she bites the lips you've tried not to pay attention to. “Ellie, we don't have time for this.”

“Fine, I can wait. I’ll even make a deal with you. We do this your way, and we finish this conversation later.”

Standing on Ellie’s front porch, you hesitate to knock. This was bound to be awkward, like the rest of patrol had been. She had relinquished control and allowed you to call the shots. At least if she had challenged every call you made like she usually does it would not have been silent.

When Ellie opens the door she bites back a smile and lets you in. You follow her into the living room and sit down on her couch. You nervously try to get comfortable. Despite achieving physical comfort, you are anxious as hell. There are a lot of different ways this could go and most of them were bad. But when a girl like Ellie Williams notices you, that’s not something you can just ignore. And when a girl that looks like Ellie Williams asks you to do something, how could you ever say no?

Ellie sits with her legs spread, her elbows resting on her knees. At first she looked down at the floor, even though you were expecting her to talk first.

“So…” you say, trying to find a train of thought.

Ellie’s glances over at you, looking a little lost at first. But after searching your eyes for a moment you can see her focus on you. “I’m sorry. I invited you here. How was the rest of your day?”

“Nothing special. Just spent some time outside reading.”

“Did you eat something? If not, I can make you something.” You really aren’t used to seeing this softer side of Ellie. Her shit eating grin had seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face. But her smile is sweet, her eyes are soft, and her cheeks are flushed pink.

You know you are failing to hide your smile. “That’s actually very sweet of you, thank you, but I had dinner already.”

Ellie elbows playfully, “don’t sound so surprised.” You have to take a deep breath as you try and figure out how you feel about the physical contact.

Failing to look her in the eyes, you tell her that “you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, Williams.”

Ellie gasps dramatically. “Really? I would describe myself as a radiant beam of light. Maybe if you gave me a chance you would know that.”

You rest your chin on your hand, ready to listen. “Then let me get to know you. I came here to talk, so let’s talk.”

“One night at the bar I saw you when you came in and I did a bit of a double take. That older girl, I can’t remember her name, but she works across the way at that little shop with her family. She had her arm around you.” Ellie is referring to your ex-girlfriend. A few years older than you, so a fair bit older than Ellie.

You nervously play with your hair. “We aren’t together anymore, things just… didn't work out.”

“Oh I know.”

“You do?”

Ellie smiles and looks down at her converse. “I haven’t always, but I’ve been paying attention to you. It’s not that I had never looked at you before, I’d just never really seen you. It wasn’t until I saw you with another girl that I noticed all the little things. The way even plain colors bring out your eyes, the shadows that dim lighting create on your face. When you smile… your whole face lights up. And the way you laugh? You always scrunch up your nose and tuck your hair behind your ear. After that night my eyes always seemed to find you, in every room. I looked forward to seeing you when we still got put on shifts together, but I didn’t know how to act around you so I just ended up pissing you off and we both know how that ended. After that I had to settle for seeing you during briefs when we were working at the same time, before we got sent off our separate ways. If I got lucky I would see you when we happened to be in the same place in town at the same time. At first I thought I was crazy, until I realized you were actually looking back. You would glance over your shoulder or peek out of the corner of your eye, and smile when you looked away.”

“I guess I knew that I looked at you sometimes. But all those things that you noticed about me… I had no idea that you did. I had always assumed you never thought twice about me.”

Ellie looks deeply into your eyes when she tells you “I spend more time thinking about you then I care to admit. Ever since I found out about your breakup I’ve been wanting to talk to you. So when they told me I was going to be assigned someone different today, I asked for it to be you.

“You could have just talked to me.”

“How was I supposed to know that? You don’t like me. And you are intimidating. You aren’t just any girl. You are smart and strong-willed and passionate.”

The compliment takes you by surprise so you are unsure of how to respond to it. “It’s not that I don’t like you, I just disagree with you most of the time.”

Ellie bites her lip. “So what do you like about me?”

Unprepared for this question you mumble “um, your tattoo?”

Ellie crossed her arms, “I meant about my personality. But fine, we can start there. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that you like it. Do you have any?”

“Yeah, vines, up the side of my ribcage. Do you want to see?”

“It’s on your… you’d have to take off your…” the panic in her eyes was obvious.

You stand and slide your shirt up, just enough to show the entire tattoo. Ellie’s eyes widen and her jaw slightly drops.

“That's…”

“Hot? That’s what people usually tell me.”

“Got a bit of an ego there, don't ya. But yeah, actually. Like really hot.”

“You can touch it, if you want,” offering it up because you feel a bit mischievous.

Ellie purses her mouth as she traces her index finger over the vine, starting just above your hip bone and going all the way to the base of your breast. Her long fingers almost graze over the edge of your bra but she quickly pulls away.

You sit back down, much closer to Ellie than you had been before. Your eyes flicker between the way she is staring at you and the smile she’s failing to hide. Ellie slowly leans forwards until your noses are about to touch. You close your eyes, expecting her to kiss you, but you feel her tuck your hair behind your ear instead. She grazes her fingertips over your neck as she slides her hand around the back of it so she can pull you in. Her other arm, which feels as strong as it looks, wraps around your waist. Ellie kisses you gently at first, allowing the two of you to fall in sync with each other. But her hand creeps up and her fingers tangle in your hair. Her kisses are growing hungrier for you. You can’t get enough of her either so your hands wander over her body. One of your hands grips her upper thigh and she moans into your mouth.

Ellie pulls away from you and smirks before laying you on your back with great care. Her tenderness continues to surprise you, so you expect her to continue kissing you roughly.

Instead, she takes a moment to look over you with her dazzling green eyes. “You are… so beautiful.”

You don’t want to ruin the moment, but you can’t help but ask “is that why you bothered me, like a little kid does when they have a crush?”

Ellie’s soft disposition doesn’t falter, even for a moment. “I guess so. Never seen a girl like you in real life before. Had no idea what to do.”

Your breath hitches. This steamy encounter and that’s what gets you? Just goes to show how you had truly misjudged Ellie Williams.

“I… uh…” you are really at a loss for words.

Ellie leans in, her lips almost touch your ear. You can feel her warm breath when she whispers “you don’t have to say anything pretty girl.” She starts placing soft kisses on your neck and you moan a little. You feel her chuckle against your skin, clearly pleased with herself.

After leaving you wanting more, Ellie’s face hovers over yours and she tilts your head up by your chin and places one, seemingly shy, kiss on your lips before sitting back on her knees.

“We should stop.” Ellie sighs.

“Why?” You question, longing for more of her.

“I want to do this the right way. I respect you too much not to. I want to take you out on a date. Get to know you. I want you to know the real me. I’m really hoping something could happen between us, I don’t want to jeopardize that. That is if you are willing to give me, us, a chance.”

You sit up and cup her cheek in your hand. “Alright Williams. I’ll go home now, and you can come to my place tomorrow at 7 and pick me up for our first date.”

Ellie giggles, something you didn’t think you’d ever see her do. “Promise this will be the best date of your life.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #the last of us ellie #tlou ellie #ellie x you

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cursedvibes · 2 days

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I know you like tenken, takaken and sukume but what are some other relationships or dynamics do you like in jjk and why? Could be romantic, platonic, familial, antagonistic or just plain toxic and fucked up, anything.

Thanks for the interesting ask! These are my favourites at the moment.

Mahito & Yuuji

I think it's the best antagonistic relationship Yuuji has in the entire manga. I like them both as a ship and platonically for what we get in canon. Although considering the scene in the anime where Mahito tries to murder kiss Yuuji, you could say it's one-sidedly canon.

I miss Mahito a lot lately and come to only appreciate him more and more with time. He was very good at building up a sense of dread and he has a viciousness to him that's lacking in the current Shinjuku fight for me.

He mirrors Yuuji without literally being related to him (so far, who knows what else Gege will reveal to be in Yuuji's gene cocktail). Yuuji learns something from him, reflects upon himself, his actions, who he wants to be and why he fights. They are both still figuring each other and themselves out. Both of them grow during their fights and become more dangerous, desperate and feral any time they meet. I love how Mahito is not only able to break Yuuji, but also to break him. Yuuji's hatred for Sukuna is smouldering, while for Mahito it is a raging fire. Yuuji has nothing to learn from Sukuna and no interest to engage with him anymore, while for Mahito it was raw and personal and resulted in Yuuji embracing the disgusting and ruthless side of himself that makes him so cold against Sukuna.

It's been great to see how even now Mahito still influences Yuuji. He was the first one who really taught him about the soul and what it can be capable of. Any time the soul is brought up, Yuuji's first thought is how Mahito was able to manipulate and contort it. He is able to hurt Sukuna so much because of what he learned from Mahito. As much as I miss Mahito and his personality, it wouldn't make sense to bring him back now, so I'm glad to see his continued impact on Yuuji this way. Overall, what I like about the two is how "juvenile" their conflict is. Cruelty of a child and innocence of a child clashing and both of them improving, growing and maturing through it. I also think it's very fitting that Yuuji never got to exorcise Mahito because the message is that Mahito represents a different side of him and he shouldn't ignore or destroy that side, he has to embrace it to be able to stomach what lies ahead.

Maki & Mai

If done right, I'm always a sucker for twin relationships, especially the codependency in it. I wouldn't say Maki & Mai are my favourite example of them or the best written one, but I still like them for what they are, particularly everything in Perfect Preparation and the Sakurajima colony. It could've been better and more consistently set up, but the payoff is still emotional and impactful and that's what I like them for.

Both of them need each other, wanted to help each other in their own way, but they never saw eye-to-eye or managed to communicate properly until after Mai's death. They were holding each other back through more than just the jujutsu consequences of being born a twin. Mai wanted Maki to give up and live with her at the bottom and Maki thought she had to shoulder all responsibility and could only go on and pave a way for them alone. Even after the have "become one" in a jujutsu sense and Maki unlocked her Heavenly Restriction, they don't immediately work together and have to learn how to communicate with each other and lift each other up, make up for what the other can't do. And through understanding Mai better and learning to hold her and fight together with her, she also begins to understand herself better.

I wish we got a more in-depth look at them, their past and relationship while both were alive before the Perfect Preparation arc. I hope Maki's arc will have a satisfying end and she will find something meaningful to do with her life.

Hakari & Uraume

Every time the leaks come out, I'm hoping for at least a glimpse at these two. There's been setup for some really interesting exploration of the themes of humanity and strength here. They are also just such a funny duo and it gets more and more hilarious the more chapters pass by and we don't see them. While Sukuna plays whac-a-mole with the main group, Hakari and Uraume have been "fighting" for 20 chapters now without seemingly getting anywhere except gossiping about what happens over at the main source of action. Wouldn't be surprised if we skip back to them to see them eating ice cream while watching the others get beaten up.

On a more serious note, I really hope the little speech Uraume gave in ch 245 gets picked up again and explored upon because it was the most interesting commentary we got so far on the source of sorcerers power, what it means to be human when you are so strong and also Uraume's background. Uraume's view of humanity and strength seems to slightly differ from Sukuna's and they also seem to reflect upon it more. They say forming relationships and fear of losing said relationships is what makes you weak and yet they have no problem following Sukuna and worrying about him. They are even open to forming bonds with others like Kenjaku or even Hakari. Hakari is actually the person we have seen them be most relaxed and friendly with so far. With Sukuna there is always a remaining formality and Kenjaku annoys them, but with Hakari they chat like a normal person. They make fun of him, but it's very colloquial. It seems like they actually came to see him as a true equal. There is no binding vow or old history binding them together, they simply want to keep Hakari from interfering with the fight and through that they got to engage with him without any pretence.

I just wish we actually got to see how their relationship developed over that now pretty significant amount of time and to see more of Uraume's worldview and maybe Hakari's too. He broke away from Jujutsu Tech and was left to build up his own independent existence together with Kirara. Very similar to Uraume and Sukuna. Now if we could only explore that connection between them more. On page. Not off-screen. I would've taken that any time over the pointless intervention from Geto's cult members or Kusakabe sacrificing himself.

Kusakabe & Yaga

I think this is Kusakabe's most interesting relationship and what actually gives him some depth beyond Exposition Guy. It's also where we see Yaga's more overtly caring side beyond his interactions with Panda. Unfortunately, it gets overlooked a lot, in part because Gege doesn't linger much on it beyond one or two chapters and Kusakabe's last words before getting cut down. There is literally nothing about this ship in fandom spaces. Probably because for some reason people think Yaga isn't hot enough (he's the literal definition of a dilf what more do you want?)...

Chapter 147 is interesting because it shows us the closest relationships and most hidden secrets both Kusakabe and Yaga have. We learn that Yaga not only makes autonomous puppets, but he actually has a whole Hundred Acre Wood-type of retreat full of the souls of dead people, children in particular. They aren't weapons like Panda, they don't fight, they are just allowed to live there. Protected by Tengen interestingly enough. She probably just doesn't care what he does or thinks it mildly interesting/quirky. This is also where we find out that Kusakabe has a sister (Usami?), who has been severely traumatized to the point of being catatonic and lost her son, Kusakabe's nephew. Despite the taboo, both Kusakabe and Yaga are willing to raise the dead not only to help her, but also to give Kusakabe something of his family back. It's the most vulnerable moment we've gotten of him and it speaks of their deep bond that Yaga was willing to do this. Doubt he would do this for just any jujutsu teacher (who doesn't even work for him). Creating that kind of cursed corpse isn't easy after all. But nothing strengthens a bond like necromancy. Kusakabe's last words about Yaga in ch 254 are also interesting. He fights for Yaga, knowing he wouldn't force him to do this, but reflecting on how they used to be able to fight together. They must have known each other for a long time. Kusakabe tells himself multiple times to not linger on the dead, but any time he does, it's because of Yaga.

A very interesting relationship with much potential that goes underexplored. I would've much preferred for his relationship with Yaga to be highlighted more in his fight against Sukuna than that out of place "interview" where people who barely know Kusakabe explain his character to us. If they could bring Gojo and Nanami back from the dead, they could've shown Yaga too. If you really want me to believe that Kusakabe is a kind person, show me more of how he acts around the people he actually cares about, i.e. Yaga and Miwa. He's a very different person around them, particularly Yaga and that's when he allows himself to be vulnerable.

So yeah, I think they explored each other's bodies to help each other through their grief.

#I thought about including JinKen too but I already talk a bunch about them everywhere else on my blog #plus I wanted to choose some where we already know a substantial amount about their relationship in canon #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #mahito #itamahi #uraume #hakari kinji #kusakabe atsuya #yaga masamichi #jjk spoilers

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yan-lorkai · 1 day

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hii~ can I ask for yandere vil schoenheit with P, G, O, E?) but this time with a rebellious angel mc who doesn't like to follow rules dkbdks that would be all tenkiuuu <33

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

His darling has his heart and he express it with his words and actions. He is devoted to them and love only them, so he can let his barriers down for a while. If only for a brief moment. Doesn't matter how much he loves you, he is always a little on guard around you and everyone else since he grown up in front of the cameras.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

He doesn't really take them away. But he does make you feel guilty through his words, leaving a stinging feeling right at the bottom of your stomach as you rethink what you did wrong and why you're so sad at seeing him being disappointed.

*･゜ﾟ Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Of course not. His feelings and intentions are very serious and well thought out. If he like you then he is going to show somehow, he pampers you, take you along with him to his photoshoots and let you be a little rebellious mess. Though when he says it's enough then it's enough! This whole thing is not a game and he wouldn't treat it as one. He likes to talk with you about your boundaries and stuff like this, trying always to found common ground for a peaceful relationship.

*･゜ﾟ Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

You know how he treats Epel? Yeah, that's pretty much how he treats you when you're being difficult. Though he is more patient and tolerant with you, trying to gently explain to you why he act or do something. He find your rebellious tendencies funny but not when it comes to the rules and conditions he imposed on you.

#twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere vil #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil x mc #yandere vil x yuu #yandere vil x reader #vil x mc #vil x reader #vil x yuu #vil schoenhet x reader #vil schoenheit x yuu #yandere vil schoenheit x yuu #yandere vil schoenheit x reader #yandere vil schoenheit x mc #tw yandere #event: yandere alphabet

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bitchsister · 2 days

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can we maybe get curt cockwarming bucky,, but he’s just unable to sit still and is being all bratty about it since he wants to get off but bucky won’t let him 👀

This is not the one and only cockwarming ask I’ve gotten! And anon, while there is some gentle kinda cockwarming in this… there’s a lot more happening too…. Because like I’ve said before. I need a muzzle.

(I kinda just did whatever I wanted.)

Top punk baby princess Curtie in this.

Bye

This has been very sloppily edited. It’s pure smut and filth if there’s any weird errors just ignore them and love me for my flaws.

I blame @swifty-fox for a lot of what is in this. But also I blame myself for being the one to write it. 🫶🏼

Look at their beautiful art for our baby Punk Princess Curtie!!

Here’s their art tag. They spoil me daily 🩷

☣️THIS PARTICULAR DRABBLE IS LONG AS ALL FUCKIN HELL AND IS A MESS. ☣️

Because there was no specifications made, this is yet another addition to our Lucky Charms AU!

If you’re not LOCKED IN for THESE THINGS, do not read : Curt and Rosie arguments, injuries and mentions of blood, lowkey blood play, TOP CURTIS, bottom Bucky, Sub Bucky turned Dom real quick, crying, whining, spit, kinda cockwarming? I tried for the circumstances I swear, Daddy is used a few times . Oh. And Green Day.

I definitely have more cockwarming requests. So a cute and sleepy cockwarming drabble will probably happen eventually.

Bucky’s place wasn’t close to campus, but if Curt managed to catch a lift from Rosie or one of his girlfriends, then he’d manage to bribe them into dropping him off near the skate park which was only about a fifteen minute ride away from Bucky’s, if he was really putting his back into it.

He’d gone a week without seeing either of them, and while FaceTime was certainly one of the greatest modern inventions to exist, it didn’t do anyone justice — either the bar Curt was in was too loud, Bucky couldn’t figure out how to add Gale successfully to their call or Curt was balls deep in an essay about the Navier-Stokes Equations and Computational Fluid Dynamics while the other two had free time.

“I can’t go all the way to his place, Curt. I got work in like — fuck. Twenty minutes.” Rosie stared at his watch, gaze fluttering to land on Curt who stood in front of him, batting his lashes as he held his board at his hip.

“C’mon, Rosie. You’re arrangin’ bouquets all day, not protecting the government from cybersecurity attacks.” Curt stepped forward and tapped his nose. “At least not yet, Mister Digital Forensics.” His lashes fluttered again. “How ‘bout the park, then?”

When Rosie told Curt he’d gotten a job as part-time florist downtown, he’d laughed right in his face.

Ain’t no way!

Rosie stared straight at Curt, his lips tugged into a solemn line.

Wait — yo, forreal?

“I’ll — fuck — hey, Monday I’ll get you a coffee. How’s that, hm? For your troubles.” Curt made his voice sound sweet, stood before Rosie with his headphones around his neck, a loose tshirt hanging to his thighs, cutoffs revealing his scabby knees.

He blew an obnoxious bubble with his gum into Rosie’s contemplative face.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of resignation as he realized that continuing this argument with Curt would consume more time and energy than simply giving in. "Fine," Rosie conceded, his tone exhausted. "But you owe me a muffin, too.”

Curt flashed him a smirk once he’d plopped into the passenger seat of Rosie’s old Bronco where nothing but FM sports radio played through the muddied coaxial far older than them.

They chirped at each other for a little while about sports. None of which Curt knew a thing about besides what Bucky had told him. “Well, B says they got a good season ‘head of ‘em.” Curt popped a bubble between his teeth again, fingers fiddling with the too-loose trucks of his board to tighten them.

“You listen to everything he says?” Rosie shot a sidelong glance at Curtis, a brow risen. “It’s almost like you have no singular thoughts these days.” He continued, though he shouldn’t have. “Bucky this, Bucky that.”

The radio statics, but drones on.

That’s baseball for you folks. The Kawasaki kid has ice in his veins! One swing of the bat can change everything.

“I got plenty’a thoughts of my own.” Curt grit his teeth but forced his jaw to relax the moment he heard Gale in the back of his head, reminding him right away that his first reaction is rarely ever his best.

Relax, Curt. Take a deep breath. It’s nothing to get all bent out of shape about. Tell me a few things you can see. What do you taste? What do you smell? What can you touch?

Redbuds blooming in early spring, spent bubblegum, the leak in Rosie’s busted exhaust, the textured and worn down urethane of the wheels on his board.

“Hardly.” Rosie drummed his fingers over his steering wheel absentmindedly, reducing himself to the songs in his head since the radio in his car failed to work half the time. “You think he’s gonna keep you around when you’re graduated? Or, god forbid, you turn twenty-six and Ruthie doesn’t pay for your health insurance anymore? Officially too old for Attorney at Law, Bucky Egan.”

They hadn’t talked about Gale all that much besides the fact that he and Bucky often worked on case studies together and were usually working the same if not similar court dockets — a good friend who he certainly hadn’t dropped to his knees for.

“Fuck off with that.” Curt waved his hand at Rosie, his head shaking in disbelief and his expression one of grand theatrics. “Ain’t mine or nobody else’s fault you ain’t been laid in months. Maybe if you weren’t such a fuckin’ downer, man,” he pulled his shirt up to tighten the shoelace threaded through his belt loops. “You been on my back about it now for a while.”

“Well, all you do is talk about ‘em.”

“And, so what!?” Curt tapped his board a few times over the dashboard to taunt him and make a big, loud fuss. “You goddamn leech! You suck the fuckin’ life outta me, Robbie!” Curt was huffing through his nose, red in his cheeks and far from remembering the things he could see, taste, smell and touch. “You know Nora calls you Rosie Raincloud?” He was being venomous now, his fangs deep in Rosie’s flesh. “‘Cause you fuckin’ smother us with it, Robert. We hardly know what to say to you these days.”

Rosie had stomped his foot over the brake in one of the picturesque neighborhoods, nestled in a dreamy suburban wasteland, so different from the city.

His chin wobbled and his gaze denied Curt the satisfaction of seeing it reduced to a puddle — that hurt, but he could only really blame himself.

It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a swing at Curtis Biddick and got hit back twice as hard.

“You don’t gotta say nothin’.” Curt swung the passenger side door open and jumped out, his head sticking into the window for one last twist of the knife in Rosie’s chest. “Coffee shop ain’t even fuckin’ open on Mondays.”

Rosie peeled off, leaving Curt to hop on his board and kick his legs as hard and fast as he possibly could, his headphones tugged back over his ears and the volume turned up as loud as it could go.

City of the dead, at the end of another lost highway.

Signs misleading to nowhere

He tried his hardest not to think about how he had acted, and the things he had said to Rosie — in truth, Curt was better equipped to handle what Rosie had been saying to him since after all it was his own opinion, which he’d reserved the right to.

Curt didn’t need to scream at him the way he did, or bring up Rosie’s sudden knack for draping a wet blanket over every conversation.

It didn’t get them anywhere.

His mind drifted so far away and his chest heaved with ragged breaths as he kicked his legs to the beat of the drum line in the song he listened to.

Angry, sloppy, reckless.

He stopped to take out some energy on the railings of concrete neighborhood staircases, finding his inability to make it down all the way in a front side a new irritant to focus on instead of the guilt he felt for hurting Rosie before his shift at the flower shop.

Until sunset he occupied his mind — or, until his exhausted body had failed him for the last time and sent his face into concrete. “I hear ya.” He mumbled at the sky, assuming it was all karmic as he reached into the grass nearby to grab his phone which had flown out of his pocket the first time the railing swiped him right between his ass cheeks and straight to his tailbone.

His body ached, his screen was cracked, there was glass in his thumb.

He hardly announced his presence anymore, fucking up the gate code a few times due to the shakiness of his fingers and dropping his keys to his feet while he attempted to unlock the front door, a wild and unabashed string of cocksuckingmotherfuckingpiecesofshit falling from his lips once he’d kicked the door closed with the back of his heel, limping into the kitchen to nose around for a snack, although he had really expected Bucky to be on his second glass of wine by then, his iPad an inch from his face as he browsed the internet for a new dinner recipe.

“Hey,” Bucky called from the garden where he lounged in his tightest swimming shorts — the ones that showed off the thick muscle of his thighs and the curve of his toned hips. “Hey!” He’d been calling to Curtis from the open French doors that lead to the pool, the sun still too bright to realize Curt was bleeding from an unknown source on his face with his headphones still blaring music into his brutalized eardrums.

Where have all the bastards gone?

The underbelly stacks up ten high.

“Dammit, Curtis.” Bucky got up from where he was laying, riddled with irritation that Curt didn’t come squealing into his lap like he always did, attacking him like a sucker fish on any bit of skin he left visible.

His footsteps weren’t detected by Curt that peeled a string cheese layer by layer, half of his body reaching into the fridge to find something else to eat. “If you’re gonna use my money for things like this, at least give me the satisfaction of -“ he’d reached to pull Curt’s headphones away from his ears which had inadvertently caused Curt to whip around, bright blue eyes starkly contrasted by the flow of crimson that stained his lips and neck.

This wasn’t the first time, nor the last.

Still, Bucky let out a sigh as Curt continued to feed himself strings of cheese, blinking up at Bucky as if nothing had been out of place — though, even John would admit, this got easier each time.

“What was it this time?”

Curt sighed, his shoulders shrugging. “Don’t even remember.”

He was so lost in his own thoughts about his fight with Rosie that he could hardly recall what he had landed and what he hadn’t — he had no notes to give himself and nothing he could set his intentions to improve on later.

He threw his body around for four hours and got nothing out of it. And, not to mention, he may have lost a friend.

Bucky shoved his face in Curt’s neck once he’d pulled him nearer, so damp with sweat and radiating heat like the surface of the sun. So bright, so warm, so absolutely gorgeous. “Need to keep all your braincells the way they are.” He murmured, drawing in the scent of him while his lips pressed kisses to the salty heat on the soft flesh of his neck.

Curt still felt sore about what he’d done to Rosie but with Bucky in front of him like this, his hands groping his sides to pull him closer, it grew more and more difficult to think about anything else. “C’mon, m’fuckin’ filthy, Bucky.” He whispered, his voice barely there.

“Oh, I know.”

The sun continued to set beneath the hedges in the garden and the breeze that blew through the open doors had cooled him down enough, but Bucky had done very little to stop his sweating — his palms splayed over the softness of Curt’s hips, the small of his back, the curve of his neck. “You need me to kiss it all better, don’t you?” Bucky could taste the metallic sting dance over his tastebuds. “Need me to lick you clean, hm?”

Curt had still felt the hot sting of anger in his belly, the annoyance with himself for getting it all wrong, the frustration of having no control over what he said, his emotions, and how he reacted to them.

He pushed himself forward, chest to Bucky’s until he was backed into the center island, his skin stained down to the neck of his tshirt. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” The blue of his iris had darkened like the deepest parts of the ocean — the most dangerous. “Can’t wait to have me down your throat, huh?”

Bucky could hardly suppress the expression coloring his features as a searing chill trickled over every inch of his body. “Fuck,” his palms flattened again over Curt’s sides and down to the curve of his ass where he grabbed two handfuls, pressing his body closer and closer. “Look at you.”

He looked fucked up on himself, mesmerized by his own power, his own influence — Bucky was the softest, warmest putty between his bloody fingers. “Been thinkin’,” Curt grabbed Bucky’s jaw, forcing his lips to part as his own grew inches away. “When you cut your finger. Made me think, ya know — it made your face get all screwed up, made you whine a little.”

Bucky had sliced his finger clean open on a new set of knives Gale got him for Christmas months ago, the blades still sharp as the day he brought them out of the box.

“Think you can make me whine?” Bucky’s voice had drawn itself deep into his chest, teased by Curt who leaned himself in as if he’d finally give Bucky what he wanted, a true taste of what he knew he was missing out on, just to pull away a flash him a grin with front teeth slicked with blood.

“I can do anything.” Curt chirped back.

He pressed his hand into Bucky’s chest again, the other cradling his jaw as he walked him backward and himself forward, a wall behind them eventually where Curt slotted his leg between Bucky’s thick thighs. “What’s the over under?”

Bucky liked to gamble with his work buddies on Saturdays.

Curt would sit by idly near a high stakes poker table or the screen where Bucky and his friends would bet on ponies and he’d drink boozy milkshakes and flirt with the cocktail waitresses he had no interest in for a couple complimentary vouchers for the buffet where he only used the soft serve machine or the gift shop where a collection of cute coffee mugs were sold, and he had his heart set on acquiring them all without spending a dime.

“Not a chance.” Bucky tilted his head back against the wall, his narrow gaze fixed on Curt who hooked his fingers over the waistband of Bucky’s swimming shorts. “I don’t make bets on thoroughbreds without a track record, baby.”

Curt had yet to reveal this particular side of himself.

Sure, he was tough.

He’d bust his lip, his ass or his nose and get back up giggling. He’d fall off and get right back on. He’d argue his side of the story, he’d stand firm in his beliefs.

But he’d never claimed to be dominant in the way he’s portraying now.

The fact that he could wasn’t so much a shock, it was that he chose right then to do it.

“Smart man.” Curt shoved his fingers into Bucky’s mouth, holding him still with his thumb curved beneath his jaw. “On your knees.” He hooked his fingers a little tighter and guided Bucky down to where he balanced on his haunches until his knees fell forward, forcing him to sit on his folded legs where Bucky stared up at him expectantly.

So fucking beautiful.

He already knew what to do, as he’d done it for Curt plenty — his cutoffs were shucked down to his ankles and kicked across the room, his bloody tshirt following suit. Bucky had a hard time figuring how he’d be the one whining instead of Curt until he felt the familiar sensation of tiny fingers threading through his thick brown waves, tugged a little tighter than ever before.

“Go on,” Curt whispered in a shallow breath, “Get me wet for you.”

Bucky could hardly believe his ears, the shock drawing him quickly to obey a Curtis who was typically mounting himself over Bucky right about now, spouting off about how Bucky’s cock is so big and how he can feel it in his tummy.

He worked his tongue over every curve and vein of Curt’s cock only for hips to be drawn closer to his face, his eyes brimming with a sudden surge of cock-teased tears, “Fuck,” Curt grumbled, the blood drying now over his still damp and glimmering skin. “Look so fuckin’ hot with a cock down your throat.”

Rather quickly the spot in Curt’s belly where he held his rage earlier was replaced by the butterfly feeling of having Bucky’s mouth on him — until, of course, Curt had coaxed him into position atop an expensive area rug in the living room, knelt between his thighs once he’d removed Bucky’s slutty swim shorts from his hips.

“Didn’t know how pretty ya’d look like this.” Curt took in the sight of a pink-cheeked Bucky, his thighs spread and his cock achingly hard, curved deliciously over the little trail of hair beneath his bellybutton.

He’d yet to let out a whine, but if he didn’t feel Curtis closer to him soon, he’d be waving a white flag as he went down with the ship. “Kiss me,” it came out in an almost bashful plea as his eyes scanned the lips before him, the dull dried blood brought to life again each time Curt licked his lips. “Please.”

“Ohh,” it was an almost taunting coo. “Got your manners, huh?” A dribble of spit slid past Curt’s parted lips and between Bucky’s spread thighs, his cock slicked gently past the hole that tensed at the sensation. “Relax for me.” Curt whispered, his hips grinding his length against Bucky’s which already twitched. “Show me how good you are.”

Bucky hardly knew if he was able to be good, but he’d try. “Please.” He whispered again, though he was careful not to allow his desperation to show. “Just fuckin’ kiss me.”

Curt rolled his eyes, spitting again but that time it was at Bucky’s chest, tinged pink from the blood still lingering on his tongue. “You don’t make the rules, John.” He basked again at the sight before him — glowing cheekbones, parted lips, hands reaching to spread the dampness Curt had spat onto him around his chest and into his own mouth.

“Not when I got you lookin’ like this.”

It seemed Bucky had leaned into it, his body still tense but his eyes soft as could be.

Curt rut his hips between his cheeks, a rumbled string of groans bubbling from his loins as his right hand milked a couple little pearls of precum from Bucky’s cock that throbbed beneath his grip. “Y’like this, don’t you?” He whispered softly, his usual playfulness still dripping over every word; sticky sweet.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky gasped, still willing his gaze to focus on what was before him although he was hardly able to discern if it was real or not. “Gonna fuck me?” He felt another sting of anticipation dance over each notch of his spine.

Curt grinned deviously, little body slotted between Bucky’s thighs that could easily overpower him but wouldn’t dare. At least not yet. “Need to get you ready for me,” he reached forward, his fingers slid gently into Bucky’s mouth and over his soft, warm tongue.

It wasn’t long before Curt could hardly stave off his excitement, fingers gentle but prodding against Bucky’s hole that took a finger to the knuckle easier than he’d been expecting, a gasp following suit. “Fuck,” Bucky whispered, his hips instinctively twitching at the unfamiliar sensation. “Fuck — fuck, fuck,”

A second finger, a third.

Lube from a drawer in the coffee table slicked over Curt’s thick fingers as he worked them into Bucky whose brows furrowed, pillowy pink lips parted as gentle huffs escaped them.

“Talk to me, Daddy.” Curt whispered, knelt down between Bucky’s thighs like a predator sizing up its prey that just so happened to be twice the size of himself. “Do I make you feel good?” His fingers worked Bucky open while he pressed rough and starved kisses over his thighs that twitch every now and then.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky sucked a breath between his teeth, his heart flipping in his chest once Curt’s fingers had found his prostate.

He held in a whine that crept up on him in the very back of his throat and Curtis could tell. “Such a good fuckin’ boy, Curtie. Fuck —“ Bucky threaded his fingers through Curt’s hair, chest heaving once his fingers found a rhythm.

Curt could hardly believe his eyes, falling in love again with a new version of Bucky he’d never met before — all soft hues of pink and deliciously tanned skin, lips glistening with spit and his gorgeous eyes half-hidden behind eyelids that fluttered. “You look so pretty like this.” He mouthed at Bucky’s balls and the base of his cock, pressing sweet kisses against his sensitive skin.

Bucky could hardly deny himself what he wanted anymore as he whispered a gentle plea, “Fuck me.”

Curt hummed between his legs, sitting up slowly to observe yet another angle once he’d carefully withdrew from Bucky altogether to line their hips up, his cock eventually replacing the fingers that gripped Bucky’s thighs instead to spread them wider. “Think you’re ready?” He leaned his chest over Bucky’s, chaste kisses pressed against his open mouth.

“Mhmmm.” Bucky mustered, their kisses hot and wet and sloppy — uncoordinated and needy. He’d never wanted anything more in his life than this. “Put that big cock to use for once.”

An interesting spot he was in to be making snide remarks, Curtis thought, and so he gave him exactly what he’d wanted.

He lined himself up nice and gentle before snapping his hips forward, pulling Bucky closer by his thighs once he’d abruptly buried himself within the tight, wet heat before him.

And there it was.

A long winded whine that started low and gentle had died out high-pitched and breathy right into Curtis’ mouth who continued to lick, kiss and nip at Bucky’s wet lips. “Oh, listen to you.” Curt drawled, allowing John to adjust before his hips had found a slow rhythm, watching as the man beneath him writhed.

“Gonna have you fuckin’ cryin’ for my cock all the time now, hm?”

Bucky choked back a whimper he couldn’t even pretend to hide, desperate and sweat slicked hands grasping onto Curt — anything to hold. “Feels s-so— fuck, baby - “ he could hardly form a coherent thought once Curt picked up his pace, hand hardly big enough to wrap around Bucky’s throat but he kept a tight grip, nonetheless.

Bucky still felt a little shy about this.

A little out of place.

Eventually, the unfamiliarity and pain had quickly tumbled and grew larger into an indescribable pleasure once Curt’s hips had little to hold back any longer, fucking into Bucky relentlessly who took it like he’d been meant to all along.

Uh-uh-uhs were forced out of him, his thighs spread wider and his eyes managing to focus again when he began to pant like he was reaching the finish line.

Curt was so far from done with him.

“Ah-ah,” he withdrew abruptly, watching Bucky writhe again and attempt to pull him back in. “I got you all worked up, don’t I?” His hands smoothed over Bucky’s damp curls, tugging gently. “Takin’ my cock so good, never knew you were such a fuckin’ —“

Bucky sucked in a deep breath and used his legs to flip Curtis onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

“Think you’re tough now, huh?” He still looked like a fucked-out mess, his eyes half lidded and his heart pounding in his chest. “Had your cock in me and forgot how easy Daddy can have you gagging for him.”

Curt tried to push Bucky’s hands off of him, his cheeks still slathered in dried blood turning pink beneath the mess. “Had you close-“ his rebuttal was quickly snipped once Bucky had slicked his fingers in with lube and brought them between Curt’s cheeks, hooked into him and pulling him closer.

“Get the fuck off me.” Curt tried to put up a fight but his body had been betraying him as his thighs spread for Bucky, his feet lifted from the floor as he moaned at the roughness of it, a punishment it seemed for denying Bucky the pleasure he’d been so vulnerable to receive.

“Nobody takes it like my baby does,” Bucky basked in the familiarity and the tightness around his fingers that hammered into Curt until his thighs were shaking and the back of his knees dripped in sweat. “Isn’t that right?”

Big, fat tears had once again revived the dried blood that had smeared itself over his face by then, every moan that rattled out of him tumbling into a choked sob. “Fuck you.” He whined, his white flag waved with confidence as he went down with the ship Bucky had since abandoned and yet he still managed to put up a fight. “Mother fucker.”

“Oh, that’s not how good boys behave, Curtis.”

Fingers were replaced with Bucky’s cock, Curt’s features softening at the familiar sensation, the one thing he’d ask for on death row.

This is his truest Last Supper.

There was no movement by Bucky, though.

He buried his cock deep into Curtis, swearing to himself that when they were just like this, he could see the bulge of his cock in Curtis’ little belly. “You know what happens when you’re bad, don’t you?”

“I wasnt!” Curt barked, desperately trying to withdrawal from Bucky and snap his hips back again. “I wasn’t bad - I- I wasn’t-“ he was a mess of tears again, the emotions of the day crashing down on him in a heap. “You fuckin’ cocksuckin’—“

The exam he failed, his fight with Rosie, his busted face, and now this.

“Nah,” Bucky held Curt’s thighs to his chest, his cock staying right in its place, not an inch of movement. “Gonna stay just like this until you can show me how sorry you are.”

There, Bucky realized, was his place.

He had never minded being vulnerable with Curtis — in fact, vulnerability was his strong suit.

At first, he was the worst out of the two when it came to expressing his feelings, his thoughts and his emotions.

In the end it was only ever because of the judgement he feared of receiving for loving Curtis. Someone younger than himself, more reckless, with more life to live.

“I’m sorry,” Curt sniffled loudly, a puddle of old blood, tears and a runny nose that threatened to bleed again, the drip metallic and sour in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry — I - I’ll never be bad again, I promise.”

They both knew a lie when they heard one.

“I’m so good for you.” Curt arched his back, anything for a little friction against his suddenly neglected and angry looking cock. “Look at me — I’m all yours, Bucky. Every part of me — I—“ he sobbed again, reaching down to touch himself but he was abruptly denied, his wrists held above his head. “Fuck me till I can’t fuckin’ breathe.”

Bucky felt sick for being so turned on.

A whimpering, whining, crying Curtis before him with a hot and hard cock that leaked beautifully against the little trail of hair below his bellybutton. “Oh, my pretty baby.” He cooed, reaching forward to wipe his crybaby tears away and granting him just a bit of movement when he did. “I couldn’t let you forget, honey — look what I’ve done to you.”

Curt tried again to surge forward and gain an upper hand, but it was disastrously useless.

Bucky was far stronger than he, even despite being fucked open just a moment ago. “Dunno what I’m gonna do with you.” He murmured, pulling away from Curtis at once and bringing him gently to his feet, holding him against the wall where Bucky felt he’d be doing his knees and Curt’s back a favor once he lifted him up off the ground and around his waist.

It was brutal after that, and for once Curt was unsure he could handle it. “Too much! T-too much,” he whimpered, but Bucky could hardly be bothered. “It’s too much — I can’t-“

If it was truly too much, Curt knew what he needed to say.

A safe word was set in stone the first time Curt had passed out and hit the floor, his brow split open.

All he cared about when he came to was finishing, though — even with an almost-crying Bucky and Gale in his face, worried beyond reason.

“Yes, you can, baby.” Bucky groaned, knowing full well Curt’s orgasm was dependent on the completion of his own.

Didn’t matter how much Curt was fucked.

If he wasn’t full of it, he just couldn’t get off.

A rather endearing blessing, but a curse just the same.

“I can’t Bucky, I can’t.” A wreck he was — and Bucky loved reducing him to such a state. Babbling, whining, his voice strained through the tears he choked on. “S’too much.”

Luckily, it was enough to sputter Bucky’s hips forward, hips rolling into Curt to milk his orgasm while Curt’s hole fluttered around his cock, his little body pulsing as he threw his head back against the wall where he thumped a few brain cells loose.

Bucky reached up to hold the back of his head, clicking his tongue. “There you go, honey,” he whispered gently to a Curtis whose body trembled through an earth shattering orgasm, “Let it all go, baby. Look at how much you’re givin’ me.”

Curt’s body was covered in sweat, blood, tears and now a splattered mess of his devotion to Bucky — hot and wet; sticky and so fucking sweet.

Bucky plopped them both onto the couch, Curt’s body wrapping around him and refusing to give his cock back despite it growing softer by the minute. “I love you.” He hiccuped into Bucky’s neck, the emotions flooding back to him once he’d been dumped right back into his reality — the one where he failed his test and more than likely lost a friend. “So much.”

“C’mon, Curt. Y’know I love you more than anything.” Bucky smoothed his hands over Curt’s damp curls, pulling his face away from the curve of his neck to look at him. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

He couldn’t talk about it now.

Just wanted to be here, in Bucky’s lap, the warmth of their love still burning inside him. “Later.” He whispered, sniffling loudly. “I’ll tell you later.”

#💌#yoyo writes #this was insane #I’m insane #lock me up #curtbucky #lcau

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