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safination · 1 day

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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.

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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!”

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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.

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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.

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A knock sounds on the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door swings wider.

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

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

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

The first thing you grab is a bowl…

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

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

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

There’s only fifteen tonight.

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

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

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

His mug goes into the trash.

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

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

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

“Is that what I am?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight.”

You don’t say it back.

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

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

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

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

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

The photo goes into the trash as well.

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

Just a second…

You only need a second.

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

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

All that trouble, just to pull your frown away.

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

Alastor lays on the table.

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

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

You squeeze his hand.

He doesn’t squeeze back.

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

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

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

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

…You shouldn’t cry.

Not yet.

Not now.

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

He isn’t smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alastor’s still wearing his ring.

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

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

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

You trace the wood of his radio.

A blink.

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

How did that happen?

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

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

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

What are you doing?

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

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

Why aren’t you crying?

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

The bookshelf happens to be your next victim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft waltz fills the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You burn the memories.

You burn the traces of you and him.

You burn everything and everyone inside.

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

Alastor, look at me.

Look how I cry for you.

Look at me.

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

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

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

The fire that holds your rage is the only reply.

“Alastor.”

The howl of the wind.

“Alastor.”

He doesn’t answer you.

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

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w̷̹̎̐h̵͚̊͆y̴̫̞͛͊w̷͔͑ḣ̷̯y̵͍̎̍ẇ̷͓̹h̸͍̀y̶͇̕w̴̦̆h̵̰͖͑ý̵͍̯ẇ̶̧̹h̵̝͙̿y̶͖͠ẘ̷͓̠h̶͉̜͋̈́y̵̬̘̅w̸͔̥̄ḣ̴͉̼̓y̸̡̙̓̈ŵ̷̗̗h̵̨̜̐y̴̥̌̋͜ŵ̶̮h̶̖͖͑y̴̝̘͐͘w̵͕̉̕ͅh̶̼̅y̴̰̋ẁ̴͔͠h̸͍͋͘y̷̻̯̾w̶̫͆h̶͔͛y̴͕͌ẃ̴̖̈́ḣ̵̼͝y̷͇͉̏w̸̭̬͂h̶̭͝y̴̘͚̅̍w̸̱̟͝h̶͓̿ý̵͉̬͠w̵̙̽̚h̵͕͗y̸̳͌w̵̯̻̅h̶̘͍͆̐ÿ̶̰́w̸̲̆

ḥ̸̙̓͝ỳ̸̳w̴͍͎͆̑h̷͔͗͂ȳ̸̜̠w̴͓͖͂͘h̶͎́̒y̴̲̌w̴͓̣̍̃h̵̙͛ỳ̸̭̙̐w̷͕͛h̸͉̬̚y̶̙̣̋w̷̟͂̕h̸͎̀̿y̷͕̗͆̋w̶̱̌͝h̵̜͘ỵ̵͆ẅ̸͔ͅh̶͙͊y̶̰̅ẘ̵̹͉h̴̦̙̏ỵ̴̘͌w̷̛̠h̶̲̬͋͆y̷̹̒̕w̶͙̽͊h̸͎̺̓͝ỷ̶̺̠ẇ̴̯̱h̶̜̠̾̔ý̶͍w̸͚̽͘ḣ̸̩̘̕y̸̟̑ẃ̴̞̫̏h̵̦͚̀̀y̸̩̜͊̀w̶̡̥̱̼̩̻̮̖̎́h̸̝̖̱̺̞̻͔͉́̀͌̉̈͝y̶̹͇͓͘w̷̡̛̱͚͉̦͎̗̅̎̓̈́ẖ̵͚̒̉̈́̃͋͛y̵̘̮̣̭̙̼͐͐́͊͆͗̚͝w̴̬̖̻͉̬̞̘̄̀h̸̢̼̐̄̂͂̅́̑ÿ̶̢͖͉̖́w̶̤̖̣̝̙͖̰͑̊͘ͅh̶̨̛̞̞̼̥̯̺̭̓̀̏̃̋̅͠y̶̡̼͚͙̓̆̐̉̆͆̄͝w̴̧͈͎̬͆̏̿̑̋̒͘h̶̛̹̭̳̺͖̪̙̗̀̅͂͂̂̋ÿ̸̜̥̠͕́w̴̬̪͓̰͎͍̘̔͊ḧ̷̗͊ŷ̴̭͒̾̄͆w̸̟̯̟̑͌̑̉̀́͜͝ͅh̸͓̣͓̉͆̏͝ẙ̵͓͓̙̫̟͊̔̃̈͜w̸̨̪̲̬̟͉͍͌͂̌̌͌́̚ͅh̶̗̘̔̀̿́́̒̅y̶̙̻̯̙͗w̸͓̯̟͔͚̲̤̼̓̈́h̷͔̘͚̦̔̏̿̇͋̄̚͝y̸͖̝͠w̴̜̣͔̹̙̪̲̱̽͒̃̑͒h̴̲͂͌̔̀y̴̧̪̍̀͋́͋͘w̴̺̉̽ḩ̷̱͖̣̂̍͊̋͛͘ỳ̸͙̹̘̮̈́̏̀͐͂̐w̶̡̥̻̘̘͚̅͐̏̕h̶̻͔̯̥̀̆̃̔̏́͝ỷ̷̧̟͔̳̗̹̮͠͠w̷̺͕͋͑ẖ̷̡̺̼̥̂̈́̀͜y̴̝̲̼̖̋̄͒̀͝w̷͔̏͐̆̆̄h̶͓̞͉̩̭̬̓͂͌̃y̵̡͓͇̍͑̐̔̊͌̕w̵̡̿̀̃̔̕͝h̷̨̦̒̊̇̏̇̆̌y̷͕̖̒̀ŵ̵̢̢̨̯̤̯̜̄͘ͅh̵̨̢̛͖̩̀́̉ÿ̸́̈̈́̀͆̓̏͜w̵̛̟̬͌̈́͛͜͜ḩ̴͕̻̫̒͗͆y̷͈͉̗̏̓̿̈́͆̂͠w̶̨̟̺͉͖̰̒͋̄̉̉̔̍́͜ͅh̴͍̖͕̆̌́̌͊͑̚y̵̛͙̩͇͇w̵̝̖̉̎ͅh̸̭̠̗̺̤̀͑ͅy̸͕̾̿͋̅̕w̷͍̠̖̾̃́h̶̡͖͉͓͑ͅy̴̛̩͍͇̖͔̋̽̆͋̉̕͝ͅͅw̸͔̖͎͇̞̦̺̉̃̎̀́̚h̶͓̝͔͙̼̓͐́̈͘y̴̘̘̦͔̥̽̈́́̆̑w̷͍̉͒̿͝h̸̳̬̱͗͗̉̀y̷̨̜̠͎͊͘w̴̢̛̩̌̀̐̄̕̚h̸̡̠̯̝͋͛̄̈́̈͘͜͜y̵̪̔w̶̫͖̟͛̒͌̋͝ẖ̸́y̷͎͉̦̮̝̦̼͋̍̀̇͌̐͜͠w̷̰̮̪̣̐̿͝ĥ̶̗̦̳̺̜̜̃͑y̵͕̱̜͔̝͉̍̅w̵̩̲̼̘̹̮͌̎̓͆̈́̚͘͜h̷̳̣͈͈̩̝̣̽̄̐̓͗̒̚͜y̴̟͑͗̕ẘ̶͈ẖ̶̨̡̡̘̎̑̐̌͌̇͘y̷̹̝͈͔͔͓̻͌̽w̵̨͕͖̺͙̆̂́h̴̨̩̞̓y̴͇̲̼͇̠͇̟͚̓̌̃̈̈́̈͗͒w̷̨͎̼̫͖̗̰͆h̶̨̳͖̋̾̇̚͝y̶̱͖̗̯̪͓̑̍̀͗͑͜w̶̝̱͛̚h̵̳̀̌̽̐̊̽͝y̴̹̔w̶̳̫̪̰̟̲͚̚̕ḥ̴̛̥̼̠̤̼̣̥͐̍͐̈́̾͑͛y̴̛̗͎͊̒w̵̧͔̰͔͝h̶̗̱̻͉̘͆͌͂̚y̷̮̭̾̌͆͠w̵̨̡̛̝̓̾̈̂h̷͙͙̻̤̼̅͌̊y̷̧̞͕̩̼̞͒̆̃̏̄̈́͝w̷͓̠͌̋̃́̎̕h̶͓̻̝͚̾͜ỵ̶̬͈̹̙̭͚̅̑̔͝ŵ̸̢̖̙͖̣͕͂͊ẖ̴̭̭̂̽̑́͌̔y̴̡̲̲͐̌̏̒̈́w̷̭̳̖̝̍̀̽̊͐͊̅͜h̸̺̘͔̻̼͍̑̆̓̈́͝y̷̭͈̳̺͎͕̻̎w̶̧̞͈̃͜h̷̼͂̄̏̾y̴̡͇̤͕̰͗͝w̸͓̰̙͎̻͈͆̏h̷͚̹͋̊͜y̸̡̧̡̛̤͕͖͊͊̀ŵ̴̮̠̫̼͓̳͖̓ḩ̴̢̘̹̣̝̘̟̔̎̀̄̊̀̕y̵̞̹̽̓̓w̸̳͈̘̣͇͆h̵͔͕͒͝ỵ̶͍̱̳̭̆͆̄w̶̙̼̟̼͓͇͊̌ȟ̴̳̳̰̩̜̂͑́͘y̴̛̺͎̲̘̔̎̆͝͝w̸̦͓̒̆h̵͚̪͚͚̯͍̺͎͋́̄͐̽̎͝y̵̻̪̆͆̍̂͐̅w̵̧̙̮͛h̸̗̜̏̀̔y̶̩̪͊̀́̓̈́̎͌ẅ̴̜̜̰͑̿͆̚͝ͅh̶͚̲͎̗͘y̵̯̦͈̥͂͒͐̄̌͘w̸̡̹̤̩̱̹̤̯͝h̵̨̗̭̊͆̏͗͊̈́̈͝y̶̺̣̖̹͐̆̓͑̏͠w̷̡̟̽͛̋̈́͌̑̕͠ḫ̸̝̼̤͈̹̟̩́̓́̽y̷̢̤͈̱̟̓̍̍̒̊͌̂͘w̶͈͔̲̱̆̄͌̅́̓͝ͅh̶̟͎͙̰̝̮̑̓̋̾̈̓̃y̸̘͌̀͂̑͋w̵͉̱̳͔̌h̶̲̩̰̣̟̪͘͠y̸̮̙̬̥̲͙͊̆̌͐̓ẅ̵̳́͠ḫ̸̙͔̣̼̓̔̉͆͋͝͝y̸̢̝̖̯̬̗̣̟͇̐̔̎̀̃w̷͌̚͠ͅḧ̴̢̜͕̘̮̥̺̤́͗͆̄̀̋̈́̔y̷̢̻̭̰̝̭̽̓̿̎̂͆̾̍̚͝w̴̙͖̠͉͇̘͑̓͐͒̾́͝͝h̴̠̳̱̜͈͙̩̥͚̗͒̑̃̕ý̴̛̟̎̎̑̈͋̆w̸̗̲̪̲̳̱̦̻̻̪͒h̷͕̤͎̦̦͕̀̉͌̀͋̔̎̉͜ỹ̴̭̖̝̆w̶͓̲̋h̸̨̢̬͖̣̬̓̈̌͌͜y̷̹̻͕̰̔̑̊w̷̢̱̼̘͔̘̯͋̋̒̂͒ͅh̷̯̑͐̅̕͝y̴̙͑w̷̛̲̥̟̣̩͕̘͇̍̉̎̓͗͌h̵̢̹̼̺͎̠̬̼̆̔̎̏ỷ̵̨͎͍̘̞̍́̈͒̓̓̈́͘̕͜w̸̙̺̠͊̓̈́̎h̴͉̗͈͖̙̜̤͎́̌̇͗̓̇̇̌̽̆ͅ

ẙ̴͔̺̦̺̫̮̳̿́͛̌̈́́̕w̸̡̯̺̼̰̲̱̥̹͐ḥ̷̩͚̟̖͓̪̮͍̠͂̈́̌͂͘̚͝͝ẏ̸̛̬̳̺̺̜̯̈̉̾̇̌͌͝w̴̦͔̱̣͔͍̄̋͗ĥ̸͓̻̠̪̬͕̻̝͆͜y̵̯̤͕͉̗͔̘͂͠w̷̡͎̪̓͂̈́h̸̳̬͎̦͈̺̟̳͙̏̎̽͌̈́̄́͠y̵͉̱̘̓̈͌͂͗̎̀̏͝ẉ̶͊́h̵͉̳̀̓̌y̸̨̡̧̰̻͓̭̳̑͘ͅw̴̡̨̬̥͚͍̟̱̯̄͗͑̿̈́̍͠ͅh̷̞̊y̵̡̢̟̝͙̫̫̗͜͠ͅw̶͎͖̝̭̙̆̽̑͋h̸̡̞͖͕̹̖̟̪̪͊̂̾͒y̶̝̳͇͖̹̪͗̈́̀̂w̴̳̻̯̞̱̳̘͚̔̄͊̒̃̽̌̑̕̚ͅḧ̸̰̺͔͓̘͇͙͕̱́̀̌̈̒͐̀͘̕ÿ̷̛̗̻̱̞͔̠̙̘̯́̾̀͗͗͗̕͘ẅ̸̲͕͚͕̱̟̩͂̌͌̈́͆̄͠ͅh̸̻̝̭͖̜̱̀̿y̷͕̋͑̉͛̅͂̾̎̕͠w̵̨̗̻̤͕̯̻̻͕̜̅̋h̷̢̝̞͎̙͔͋̃̍͆̋͒y̸̢̠͙͚̫̫͇̍͊̒̊̀̔̅͐ͅw̴̛̘̞̦̘͕̼̳̠͖͐̃̔͌̀̈̐͘͝h̸̨͕̼͕̝̘̫͙͓͛͒̕͜ȳ̶͕̝̝̥͝w̶̰̜̫̖̬͕̺̽͆̊̃̀̒̿͌h̷̢̑͐̽̓́͊̒̈́̈y̶͍̬̽ẁ̸̥̤̅̑̌́́͐̏͝h̶̜̺̗̋̀͆̊͐̿̄̏̑͐y̴̻͎͙͆̿͌̏̀̇͐̚͝w̸̡̰̻̪̲̘̪̣̪̹̽̿̿́̉̐̇̚̕ḧ̸̰́ÿ̷̭͓̗͎̻̄͐̔͜w̷̺͈̝̝̰̫͓̿́̈́̊̅̑́̑̕͝h̷͚̖͕͈̊̽̍̊̃̋͒ȳ̸̛̲̰͋͛͊͘ẅ̸̡̦̤̠̣̮́̀̋͐̓͑͒͌̓͊h̸̢̛̻̪͙̞͙ý̵͓̙̺̺̻̈́̓͂w̷͖̹̗͖̜̥̱͗̒͜h̴̝̙̩̣͗̽̈́̂͐̈͋y̶̡̲̠̬͓̥͙̐̑̐̍͆̎̍̒͘ẅ̴̢̧̢͖̯̻̜͇̲̩́͋̋͘ȟ̷̛͉̬̗̞͖ÿ̷͎͕̠́̄̈́̑̋̾͝

w̶̲͖̰̫͚̻̲̋̋͘͝h̶̨͎̣̠̰͎̤͔͊̈́͆ͅy̴̨̬̣̼̯̣̪̙̬̲͒̈́̈́̈́̐w̴̧̦̲̲͋̾̾̐͒̿̈́ḧ̸̢̫͌̈̏̓͌̐͝y̵̨̲͙͙̣͎͍̟̿̂͂̄ͅw̵̥͔̜͓̹͐́̋ĥ̸̛̳̟̠̱̹̱͔̿͐ỳ̴̡̧̭͎̣͙̗w̵͕̦̬̘̳̻̉̿͗̆͛͘͝͠h̸̢͉̙͉̯̠͈͕̋͂ÿ̴̝̙̙̹̤̻͍̀w̴̛̭̟̰̟̥̻͓̗̅̓̐̂́̀́̈́ḧ̶̛̛́̔̎̋͊͠͝͠ͅy̸̡̫͍͔̣̣̟̝̝̦̓̑̐w̴̹͕̖̗̦͑h̵̖̩͉͐̔̆̊͘͠y̴̝̹̻̩͉͂̿͜w̴̧̜̻̩̔̍̕h̵̖̳̼̪͚̮̥͂͘y̵͎̰͐͜ẁ̵̧̜͎͈̖͕͇͊́̅̑͠͝͠ḧ̷͖͖͍̈̔̓̑̋͒͘ỵ̶͚̱̰̹̫̆́̈́͋͒͊͑ͅw̶̨͎̯̣̰̭̕ͅh̵̻̘̭̐̒͐͒̊̀͐̿̏͝ÿ̵͓͍̼̪̖̣̤̮̍̋͊̉̅͑̈w̸͙̻̬̱͖͝h̸̟͉̩͍̾̀̾͘ý̷̘̯̚̚w̸̧͙͔͎̣̠̤͎̾̓͑̄̓͋h̸̨̡̙̮̹̻́̈́̈́͛̑̀̀̕͠y̷̦̘͒̚ẅ̷͎̮̩̺̙̮͖́̄̐ḧ̶̤̭͕̝͚̅̃́̚̕͝y̵͕̻͎̗̺͈̆̐͜͜ͅw̶̪̱̙͙͓̋̈́͋͆̈́̅h̶̛̖̣̹̋̈̈̑́̃̎y̴̧̟̬̘̆̇̋͒̒̉̐ẅ̷̨̧̢͕̜̼̯͎̗̣́̓̽̑́̍͘ḫ̵̛̯̲͍̺̦͕͖̅̎̓̍̊̿́͘͠y̶͎̓͐͜w̶̡̮̭̙͔͚͍̺̄̑̇́͗̈́̾͝͝h̴̡̨̢̛͈͎̰̱͈͒͋͂͂͗̃̈́͊̔ẏ̴̧̢̹͖͑̐̇̑̽́͆̃͠w̷̛͙̬̪̹̞̍́͒̒̀̾́̌͠h̴̠̱̐̀y̶͓̿̐ŵ̶̖̭̄͂̓̂̈́̂̋̈́͜h̷͔̼͔̄́̂̄̋͋̕͘͜ͅy̴̰̱̱͈̏̏̍́́͠͝w̷̡̜̦͖͕̤͍̆̽͂͂̄͊̃̄͒͠

h̶̨̫̜̠̪͚̺̐͌̓͛͒̓̈̔͘͝ͅy̷̥̘͍̥̙̻̫̮̎̏͐̒͝ͅw̷̢͖̘̲̟̦̝̟̹͝h̷͖̣̪̳̯̝͍̿͐̍͊̅y̴̘̯͉̪̫͔̺̳̌͆̈w̵̧̧̞͚̗̙̗̓̂͋̐͌̍h̴̛̠̼̟̯͎͕̩̖̒̀̌͑̃͠͝͝y̸̥̜͍̣͚̟̤̟̰͓͒̿̍̀̈͘w̸̼͉̘̙̘̩̯͕̠͉͎̱͎̑̏h̸̻̻͓̆̑̄̆̿̌̓̉̂͂̐͛̆̓̓͘̕͝y̵̧̛̯̜̬̤͍̬̪̟͉̞͓͒̏͗͊̈́͗̿͆̽́͂̀͐̍́̚͘ͅw̴̧̡̟̣̠͉̮͕̥̤͎̱͒́̿̈́͋̽̈́͂͛̄͜h̴͇͖͓́̏̅̉̄͋̿͌͜͝y̷̨̺̩̲̟̰͈̩̻͔̺̹͉̜̔̎̃̄̀͌̍͜͝w̵͙̘͍̻̰̥̹̲̰̪̪̿̃̆̀͆̾̒̋̓̐̏͊͘̕͜h̶̭̬̹̘̝͖̭̭̗̎̏̾͂y̵̨̰̗̳̱̹̘̭̹̦̼̗͍͕̠͖͙͉̩̠͕̜͍̰̆͗͑̽̂͒̆̈́̓̀̓͑́̄̈́̈́̽͘w̵̛̥̼͉̅̊͑̿̾̀̐͗̅̓͐͘̚͝h̶̡̛̻͉͖͎̪̻̬̮̜̥̞̫̤̬͎̜̹̒͒̿͐̓̌̚ý̴͉̫͂͒͝ͅw̷̨̢̡̙̼̗̜̼͈̘͍̺̲͎̰̥̬̺̲͛̑̈́͊͂ͅh̴̡̨̻͍̤͙̤͇̞̉̄̒̑͆̔̅̾͐͛̉̉̿͋̏̌̈́̔͛͝y̶̨̨̳̪̲̺̟̣͕̥̱̼̝̮̳̻̦̯̺̼͒͑̔͊͌̂̑͊̿̾̉̌͌̒̇̏̓̅͘͜͠͠͠ͅw̸̡̡̦͓̣͙̠͙̮̯̱̬͍͔̤̩͓̤͆͑̀̂͆̈́̅͑͘̚͜͜͜h̵̡̢̖͇̜̘̗̤͔̣͎̟̟̱̫̳̘̜͚̣͇̖͊̕ͅͅy̸̡̢̧̟̭͕̺̪̜̩̤̺̯̘͉͖̭̥͉̐̄ͅw̷̨̻̱̮͇̪̤͎̰̲̯̪͊̓̒̓̏̒̾͋̍̈́̾̋̐͒̓͘͜͝ͅh̵̨̧̻̲̺̬̦̞̮̮̝̫̻̳̮͕̰̤̩́̈̔̓͛̉̈́̀̀̓̀͐̔̍͒̿͝͝͝͠͝ͅy̴̡̖̝͎͇̣̥̪̭͎̼̭̫͋̔̌͆̆̋̈́́͋́̔̈̏͆̃͗̇̍̒͘͝͠ẘ̷̢̢̢̥̩̙̙̝̞̞̜̟̼̩̘͎̆̾̆̾͗̔͌́ḧ̶͓̯̳̝͙͚̟͕̣̥͉͚́̍̏̀͊̎͛̍̾̅́̓͂̿͠͠͝͝y̸͓͖̙̣͚̳͓̭̺̩͈̭͉̟͛̃̇̍͌̃̎̄̀̌͑͐̄̃͋̌̐̚̕͝w̴̢̯̹͓̺̳̹̩̣͍̪͚͖̻̻̮̯͐͊̀͊̕͜͝h̵̢̢̧̺̠͓̬͈̼͙͙̦̼̮̩͙̙̩̬̫͙̞̓͐̋́͆̌̃̄̌̚͘y̶̗̯͉̪̖͙͚͈̫̝̪̣͉͉͚̞̮͉͚̹̎̽̾̔̅̐̒̇̀̉̽̔͑͑̑̚͜͜͝͠ẁ̸̡̗͇̩̠̭̪͎͍̽̑̂͐̈́͒̈͘h̵̢̗͚̠͉͙̥͎͎̦̻̮̞͕̳͔̳̭̥͙͆̄͑̿̒̆̈́ỷ̸̨̡̰͖͇͙̜̭̣̗̯̳̠̦͎̦͔̤̽̓̔́̈͂͂̃̀̿̒͑̅̏̇̕͜͠w̷̡̡̹̩͈̹̺͇̗͇̦͙̦̭͕̟̪̲̅͛̔͆̑͂́̍̾̐ḧ̴̨̠͕̖̭͎͚̝́́͊͗̂͌̉̓̓̀͋̚y̷̨̡̧̢͎̺͈̲̪̻̥̹̲͐͊̍͋̓͒̏̋̂́͗͆̒̔̈́͒̔̓͜͝͝͝w̵̢̧̗̩̹̦̬͕̤̰̫̳̻̮̥̖̦̖̟̼͎͒̈̆̆́̌̑͛͜͠͠͝͝ḩ̷̛̜̗͎̙̦͙̲̱́̿̎͛̽̋͌̄̕͠y̵̛͍̟̞͎̟̯̲͙̞̻̗̤̬̼͑̍̅̈̆́͋̌̉̈́̓̍ͅẅ̵̨̨̛̼̫̭̜͈̪̘̳̖͍̳̤̲̽̎́̍̇͋̇̆͑͌̒́͂̈̽̂͛̑͜͝h̸̨̨͙͕̘͍̤̱̣̣͈́̔̈́̅̌͝ÿ̷̡̬͕̣͓͇̖̱̤͈̟̙͔̖̞͚̿̅̊͋͝w̷̳̤̦̦͙͕̯̍̋̊̔͌̂͊͐͝h̵̡̢̢̧̘̪̼̰̤͎̪͍͉̭̜̞͈͕̲̺̮̠̐̿͑͛̀̏̍̋͜͜͝͝ŷ̶̧̱̲͍̀́̅̾̍̀̌͛̓͠ẅ̷̢̛̻͑̈̏̋̅̃͋̆̏̓̈́̇̒̿̋̏͋͐̾̚͘͝h̷̥͍͓̲̓̽͊̿̾̈́

y̷̘̙̮̩̌̃̉̓͊̓̂̽̌̆͛̅̃̅̎̚͠w̶͇̼̠̙̮̟̗̳̽͒̓̊̍̓̍͜ḩ̷̢̝͎̫͔̟͚͚̺̲̺͍̜̤̳̯͕̰̔̇̃̑͆̓̅̀͌́͋̾̒͘͝͝ͅỹ̸̧̨̨̧̘̳̱̮̹̳̼̫̼̗̻̝̰̝̠͈̱̞͓̭̾̊͑̔̔̄̉͛̾̈́͊̏̚͠͝ẃ̶̨̨̲̭̻̮̣̯͖̰̳͚̖͚͓͕͕̹͜h̸̡̦̪̗͙͎͓̞̺̝͈̗̦̭͔̘̤͎̆̿͌̈́͂̇̇̒͋̊͒̑̀̓͋͌͂̑͊̉̒͜͝͠ͅy̶͍̏́w̵̛̛̬͎̤̦̼̬̼̯͖͈̬̳̜̰̞͚͎͈͗́̅̽̀̓̏̇̓́̈́̑̒͋͐͌͑̉͐͝͝ͅh̶̨̢̢̗̜͇̳̺͍̰̳̫͉̫͍͖͎̥̭̪̮̯͆̈́͆̊̽͌̎̓̽̑̒͐̚̚ỷ̶̨̛̩̻͍̺̽̇̋̃̇̀̐͌̇̈́͗͆̋̊̒̕͝͝w̵̯̭̥̜͉̤̱̦̮͔̦̲̅̄̎̿̀́͑̏̀͆̇̂͆͝ḩ̴̢̡̛̛̫̳̘̞̟͍͎͇̮͇̥̬̬̣̩͇́̇̔̆̊́̿͗͋̈́̅̀͋̇̇̽́̒̎̇̚̕ͅy̴̨̧̢̛͖͉͇̞̖̣͎͇̼̫̻͇̮̙̼̳͈̐͌̋͂̊̈́̄͐̌͐̄͗͜͝͝ͅw̸͈̬͈͈͈̺̳̘͈̥̪͖͈̹͙̣̖̱̙͈̏̍̀̉̎̍́̿͗͌͒̀͋́͊̀̋̇͋̕͜͠͠͠h̸̨̧̩̲̹͙̼͚̥͑͌̿͜͠y̴̡̪̲̟̗̣̘͉̘̘̥̣͙̣̯̦̱̖͔͗̅̌̓̋̓̏͌̎̅̏̿̚͘͜͝w̷̡̡̙̪̱͖̰̭̯̯̘͇͚͙͇͎̝̗̺̬̍̀̐͌͛̇̔̐͋̈̀̅̍̋́̂̆̂͊̓̍͑̚͠ḣ̸̢̢̢̦̹̱̥̖̻̫̱͙̝͌͗̀̓̾͊͐́́̓̿̄́̋̏͋̚̕͘͜ͅy̴̧̛̛̳͍̩̱̖͇̹̺͚͈̺͚̖̰͑̓̈́̒̄̅́͌̐̾͛̆̂͠w̵̧̡̠̦̗͕̩͔̃͛̾̋̀͊̆̇̔͂͘ͅh̸̢̛͖̟̠̗̜̥̰̙̱̀͂͌́͋͌̍̇͌̓͑͌̈y̶̨̢̨̡̫̺̝͈̩̰̼̘͖̮̥̦̬͉͕̯̼̹̋̈̇̐̓̏̐͛͛̀͝w̷̨̛͉͇̜̱̞͈̮̞̮̜̞̲͎̺̲̌̒̍̀͋͑̄̿̄̒̃́̌͛̋̕̕̚͜ͅḩ̴̡̻͎̼͖͓̬͈̬͔͈̹̙̖͖̂̇̆̌̓̀͊́̆͛̅̐́̇̄͜ÿ̸̨̢̠̖̰͔̝̠̦̮̩͖̖́̃̓ẁ̵̛̳̥̥͇͌͑̓̈́͌̒̾̂̐̈̿̉̋̔̈́̚͝h̵̡̟̭̟͇͇̬̅̄͑̏̇̍́́̓̔͛̓̈́̌͒̄̅̈́̽̈́̚͝͠y̷̡̩̲̲̘͎͗̏̌͒͝ẅ̷̰͉́̾̒̆͛̌͑̔̏̽̀̅͛̂͝͝͝͝͠ḩ̶̢̛̛̩̳̜̠͈̫̩̞͍͕̻̙̳̹̫̞͓̱̊̏̈́̂̏͌̾̑̋͊̏̑̈́̔̀͒̈́͆́͋͘͘y̸̡̱̩̘̭͙͕͚͍͆́̈́̾̓̌̿͊̌̀̅͊w̸̼͉̘̙̘̩̯͕̠͉͎̱͎̑̏h̸̻̻͓̆̑̄̆̿̌̓̉̂͂̐͛̆̓̓͘̕͝y̵̧̛̯̜̬̤͍̬̪̟͉̞͓͒̏͗͊̈́͗̿͆̽́͂̀͐̍́̚͘ͅw̴̧̡̟̣̠͉̮͕̥̤͎̱͒́̿̈́͋̽̈́͂͛̄͜h̴͇͖͓́̏̅̉̄͋̿͌͜͝y̷̨̺̩̲̟̰͈̩̻͔̺̹͉̜̔̎̃̄̀͌̍͜͝w̵͙̘͍̻̰̥̹̲̰̪̪̿̃̆̀͆̾̒̋̓̐̏͊͘̕͜h̶̭̬̹̘̝͖̭̭̗̎̏̾͂y̵̨̰̗̳̱̹̘̭̹̦̼̗͍͕̠͖͙͉̩̠͕̜͍̰̆͗͑̽̂͒̆̈́̓̀̓͑́̄̈́̈́̽͘w̵̛̥̼͉̅̊͑̿̾̀̐͗̅̓͐͘̚͝h̶̡̛̻͉͖͎̪̻̬̮̜̥̞̫̤̬͎̜̹̒͒̿͐̓̌̚ý̴͉̫͂͒͝ͅw̷̨̢̡̙̼̗̜̼͈̘͍̺̲͎̰̥̬̺̲͛̑��́͊͂ͅh̴̡̨̻͍̤͙̤͇̞̉̄̒̑͆̔̅̾͐͛̉̉̿͋̏̌̈́̔͛͝y̶̨̨̳̪̲̺̟̣͕̥̱̼̝̮̳̻̦̯̺̼͒͑̔͊͌̂̑͊̿̾̉̌͌̒̇̏̓̅͘͜͠͠͠ͅw̸̡̡̦͓̣͙̠͙̮̯̱̬͍͔̤̩͓̤͆͑̀̂͆̈́̅͑͘̚͜͜͜h̵̡̢̖͇̜̘̗̤͔̣͎̟̟̱̫̳̘̜͚̣͇̖͊̕ͅͅy̸̡̢̧̟̭͕̺̪̜̩̤̺̯̘͉͖̭̥͉̐̄ͅw̷̨̻̱̮͇̪̤͎̰̲̯̪͊̓̒̓̏̒̾͋̍̈́̾̋̐͒̓͘͜͝ͅh̵̨̧̻̲̺̬̦̞̮̮̝̫̻̳̮͕̰̤̩́̈̔̓͛̉̈́̀̀̓̀͐̔̍͒̿͝͝͝͠͝ͅy̴̡̖̝͎͇̣̥̪̭͎̼̭̫͋̔̌͆̆̋̈́́͋́̔̈̏͆̃͗̇̍̒͘͝͠

ẘ̷̢̢̢̥̩̙̙̝̞̞̜̟̼̩̘͎̆̾̆̾͗̔͌́ḧ̶͓̯̳̝͙͚̟͕̣̥͉͚́̍̏̀͊̎͛̍̾̅́̓͂̿͠͠͝͝y̸͓͖̙̣͚̳͓̭̺̩͈̭͉̟͛̃̇̍͌̃̎̄̀̌͑͐̄̃͋̌̐̚̕͝w̴̢̯̹͓̺̳̹̩̣͍̪͚͖̻̻̮̯͐͊̀͊̕͜͝h̵̢̢̧̺̠͓̬͈̼͙͙̦̼̮̩͙̙̩̬̫͙̞̓͐̋́͆̌̃̄̌̚͘y̶̗̯͉̪̖͙͚͈̫̝̪̣͉͉̎̽̾̔̅̐̒̇̀̉̽̔͑͑̑̚͜͝͠w̷̢̧̯͚͇̺̹̪̫͚͛̔̋̔̂͑̀̀̋̒̆̈́̉̋͋̃̅̀́̚͘̚ḩ̶̢͙͙̞̖͔̥̙͇̣͉̲̣̞̅̇͛͊̑̿̏̀̽̄̄̈́̅̉̏͊̓̚͝͝ÿ̷̨̛̼̫̰̮̱̝͔͉͙̻̰́͋̂̌̂͐̾̈́̄̈́͂̀̅̽̈́̊̆̕̕͠w̶̨̡̡̛̛̛͈̠̝̣̗̹͛̍͂̈́̐̋̋́̿̋̇̏̾̉͋̕͠͠ͅh̵͕̏͆̓y̸̢̧̹̠͇̩̩̙̥̱̪̰̗̙̦̤̟̖͓̤͓͙̼̔͒̋̆̌͑́̅͝w̶̛̛̭̺̮̮͙̮̹̩̻̏̈̋̃͒̂͊̈́̑̏͊͊̍̈́͜͠ḩ̵̡̹̤̫͔̭̼̓͂̓̊̉͘͘y̴̨͎͙̻͈͓̩̰̮͓͍͔͈̭͍̳̯̙̹̍͐͑̓́̋̌͋͗͑̈́̒͝w̷̖͍̫̋̊̇ḧ̴̛̬̥̖̜͖̫̖̗͕̻͎́͗̆̎̑̈̐͐̂̔͗͝͠ͅy̸͖̜̣͖̫̰͚̺̠̥̩̿̔̃̋̈́̎͆͊̄̋̓w̴̨̻̪̗̙̙̣̾̓̉̉̉̇̓̅̈́̒̄̚h̷̢̡̞̱̰̘͙͍̪̼͈̲̤̞̹͖̯̦͖̟̞͛̾̓̈̀̒̀̚͜y̴̧̨̧͈͈̺̮̦̯̺̪̙̩̞̥̱̻̾̏̈́̊̉́ͅẘ̵̢͈͈̱̺͍̳̟̝͒̆̂̍h̵̛̜̠̪͓̙̯̹̖̼͛̇̓͆́̊̀̀͋͐̃̓͌̆́̕͝͝ͅy̶̞̗̺̤̫̙̤͖̺͈͕͇̙͒̔̇̐̾͛͋͗̀̔͊̆͊͐̎̆͆̈̓̃͛̇̅̚w̴̨̛̛̺̖̳̤̤͈͛͌̑̿̋̎̀̊̋̏͆͌͐͛̌͂̚͠͠ȟ̸̤̫̤͙͓͈̏̉̎̔̉̽̓͛̑͐̌̿̆̐͗̋̏͆͂̆y̷̡̧͔̗̩͙̻̜͔̪̹̮̼̲̋̈́̓͊̇̒̓̽̾͗͋̐͊͘͘͘͝͝͠ẘ̸̧̼̻͈̖̩͖̖̜̜̠̹͓̯̞̝̹̼̗́̅̔͐̄͘ḩ̴̮̩̥̦̎̀̈́̕͝ỷ̵̨̧̛͎̱̰̝̟̗̳̠̯̳̭̥̖̱͖͔̖͉̝̞̘͒̔̐̈̊̋̔̔̑̃̉̿͐͑̔̿͗̔̍̎̎͘ẅ̷̛͉̇̑͊̓̀̽̑̄̅̑̀̎̍̆̀̌̚̕̕͝͠ḣ̵̢̧̜̯̦̪͉̿̈̈̿̿̒̿̆̍͒͋͒͒̇̔̈́̕̕͘͝͝ÿ̸̡̨̢̛̮̥͉̩̩̦͍̼̞̥͎̼́͛͋̂͛̔͊̆́̈͘̕ͅw̴̨̼̰̝̳͔͔̖̘̣̖͖̒͘͝h̵̨̨̥̯̟͓̺̞̟̮̜͕̩̯̜̠̪͂̋̓̆͆͌̐͐̏̆̌̎̊͌̅̕͝ͅy̴̨̛̟͔̪̣̠̹̖͔̲̺̹̟̖̼̯͍̖̱̜̍́͗̈́̈́͐͗̀̌̑̔͒̂̍͠͝ẅ̶̢̠͍̱̺̫́̐̄͌͋̒ḧ̶͉̙͚̥́̈́͂͌̆̂̑̑̚̚͜͝y̵̡̟͍̻̝̮͕̖̼̌͆̆͐͆͌̆̽̂̆̓ͅw̸̨̟̭͈̖̬̝͂̀́̃̈́̔̿͝h̴̛̳͔͇͍̑̾̋́̽̿̈́́̑͊͌̎̋̄́̕y̶̦̪͍͇̮̥͎̌͜ẃ̵̢̠͔̭̹̮̊̓̂̈̎͆ḧ̵̢͖̹̮̜͙̪̳̖̟̟̩͚̹̳̰̳̤̠̯̗̲͙́͋̓̒̈́̓̓̒̽̄̆̀͐̽̃̅͛̚͘̚͝ͅy̷̡͕̩͚̞̑͐͑̚̚ẉ̴̢̛̘̖̞̳͍͎̥̭̟͎̳̣̗̦̝͔̮̓͂̂̾̊̽̽͊͗̊͠ͅh̶̫̲̟̜̭͙͓͉͇̗̤̑̍͊͐͒͋͋̊̏̒̚͝y̷͖̙̬͈͙̻̥͙̻̺̙͕̳̼͍̦͆́͊̑͌̈́̒̈͗̔̈̓̈́̇̀̇̆͗̑͐͊͋͘͝w̷̘̜̌́̆͊́͌̆͌͒͗̎̚͘͠͝ḥ̶̢̢̡̣̲͖̜̰̭͚̰̣̯͈̟̜̈́̔͗͜͜ͅͅy̸͉̖̹̹̲͉͓̠̗̜̿̒̇͜ẉ̷̨̥͇̺̘̭͕̠̦͔̥̥̀̆̆̓͊͊͗̍̈̈́̈́̐̐̐̉͜͠

h̵̡̢̲̺̮̲̱̰͙̭̲̖̜̣̭̩͈͛̒̎̆͆̋̐̑̒̉̎̕ỳ̵̨̳̭̜̻̳̝̻̳̹̒͐̈́̉̆͑̅̍̿̀̎͜͠w̶̨̪͈̤̟̰̳̫̖̗̙̤͚̺̳͌̾̀̍̎̔͊̅́͐̾̽̌͌͌̈̃̔̅̌͝ȟ̴̤̀̌̉͋͆y̴̞̦̥̮̝͍͓̻͇̪͖̳͍̬̏́̎̄̇͋̎̆̈̋͋̈́w̷̨̡̨̧͖̝̹̣̯̬̺͈͉͓̙̗̗̒̊̏̈́̀̆̈̓̒͐́̄̈́̚͜͜͠h̵̨͖̙̩̲̣̭̹̠͔̙̖͕͓̭̅͌͌̈́́͌̿̄̄͐̑͊̏́͘ÿ̷̖̬͇̺͍̻͇̞̩̫̪̻̥̼̜̗̟̞̙̲̼͔̫́́̆̍̎͑̇͗̇̾̋̕ẇ̷̧̪̤̱̘̩̯̣̠̘̍́̓̓́͌̀̇͘ḩ̸̢̺̘̰̙̰̭͈̬̻̦̰̜͙̰͚̤̩͍̳̖͚̝̂͊́̃̒̀͊͌͌͂y̶̢̨̧̼̟͖̱͙̳͚̹̰͇̺̪̘̻̱̼̼̼̬͓̱̌̅̉ŵ̶̧̜͉͎̖̩̙̰͈̪̣͚̮̲̞͓̙͕̰̇͊̀̑͋̊̈́͗̓̌̍͂̊̓̇̊ḩ̵̛͈̜͚̱͉̼̗̹̼͚͖͍̩͌̆̈́̇͂́̒̌̒̌̌́̅͊̆̀̋͗̎͌̑̒͝y̵̢̢̨͇̙̜̪̺͇̭͙̔w̵̨͉̣̭̟̫̘̝̳̻͎̣͖̯̠͖̳͛̍̇̇̓̀̋͊̈́̅̾́̏̃̄̄̕͘͠͝h̶̢̞͈͉̯̦̟̤͇̙͈̫̟͎̜̗̮̤̪̖͙̉͌̅̉̽̾́͐̋̄̌̉̿̓͑͐̚͘ͅy̸̨̢̨̧̢̮̭̹̻͍̞̪̦̞͔̺͚̰̞͊̈́͜͝w̸̧̨̡̱͙̰͔̹̫̖̭̖͔̞̹͒͂́͒͒̂͗̓̓̓̊̽̅͝ḩ̸̛̛̹̜̪͚̯͚̠̤̪̭̿̍̇̂̑̀̐̍̂̅͌͂̐͒͊̈́̒͘͝y̵̨̦̮͍̹̯͖̦͍̠͎̠͓͓̘̐̽͐̓̔̎̀̿̂̓̀̒̆̅̚͠ͅw̴̨̡͇̪̳̲̬͚͎̼̺̟̩̣̭̯̭̳͔̺̜̅͌̉̿́̑̓͊͆̈́̈́͑̄̈̌̄̃͠h̴̢̧̫̲͚̼̹̯̩͈̳̲͉͈̹̙̺̬̪̘́̈͊͌́͊̌͒̌̓̎̄̔͒̽͂̀͆͝͠͝y̸̢̢̡̥͉͓̠͓̰̤̻͉̠̩͉̹͚̞̮͉͚̹̋̇̇̋͌͊̊͌͋͒͗̊̏͜ẁ̸̡̗͇̩̠̭̪͎͍̽̑̂͐̈́͒̈͘h̵̢̗͚̠͉͙̥͎͎̦̻̮̞͕̳͔̳̭̥͙͆̄͑̿̒̆̈́ỷ̸̨̡̰͖͇͙̜̭̣̗̯̳̠̦͎̦͔̤̽̓̔́̈͂͂̃̀̿̒͑̅̏̇̕͜͠w̷̡̡̹̩͈̹̺͇̗͇̦͙̦̭͕̟̪̲̅͛̔͆̑͂́̍̾̐ḧ̴̨̠͕̖̭͎͚̝́́͊͗̂͌̉̓̓̀͋̚y̷̨̡̧̢͎̺͈̲̪̻̥̹̲͐͊̍͋̓͒̏̋̂́͗͆̒̔̈́͒̔̓͜͝͝͝w̵̢̧̗̩̹̦̬͕̤̰̫̳̻̮̥̖̦̖̟̼͎͒̈̆̆́̌̑͛͜͠͠͝͝ḩ̷̛̜̗͎̙̦͙̲̱́̿̎͛̽̋͌̄̕͠y̵̛͍̟̞͎̟̯̲͙̞̻̗̤̬̼͑̍̅̈̆́͋̌̉̈́̓̍ͅẅ̵̨̨̛̼̫̭̜͈̪̘̳̖͍̳̤̲̽̎́̍̇͋̇̆͑͌̒́͂̈̽̂͛̑͜͝h̸̨̨͙͕̘͍̤̱̣̣͈́̔̈́̅̌͝ÿ̷̡̬͕̣͓͇̖̱̤͈̟̙͔̖̞͚̿̅̊͋͝w̷̳̤̦̦͙͕̯̍̋̊̔͌̂͊͐͝h̵̡̢̢̧̘̪̼̰̤͎̪͍͉̭̜̞͈͕̲̺̮̠̐̿͑͛̀̏̍̋͜͜͝͝ŷ̶̧̱̲͍̀́̅̾̍̀̌͛̓͠ẅ̷̢̛̻͑̈̏̋̅̃͋̆̏̓̈́̇̒̿̋̏͋͐̾̚͘͝h̷̥͍͓̲̓̽͊̿̾̈́y̷̘̙̮̩̌̃̉̓͊̓̂̽̌̆͛̅̃̅̎̚͠w̶͇̼̠̙̮̟̗̳̽͒̓̊̍̓̍͜ḩ̷̢̝͎̫͔̟͚͚̺̲̺͍̜̤̳̯͕̰̔̇̃̑͆̓̅̀͌́͋̾̒͘͝͝ͅỹ̸̧̨̨̧̘̳̱̮̹̳̼̫̼̗̻̝̰̝̠͈̱̞͓̭̾̊͑̔̔̄̉͛̾̈́͊̏̚͠͝ẃ̶̨̨̲̭̻̮̣̯͖̰̳͚̖͚͓͕͕̹͜h̸̡̦̪̗͙͎͓̞̺̝͈̗̦̭͔̘̤͎̆̿͌̈́͂̇̇̒͋̊͒̑̀̓͋͌͂̑͊̉̒͜͝͠ͅy̶͍̏́w̵̛̛̬͎̤̦̼̬̼̯͖͈̬̳̜̰̞͚͎͈͗́̅̽̀̓̏̇̓́̈́̑̒͋͐͌͑̉͐͝͝ͅh̶̨̢̢̗̜͇̳̺͍̰̳̫͉̫͍͖͎̥̭̪̮̯͆̈́͆̊̽͌̎̓̽̑̒͐̚̚ỷ̶̨̛̩̻͍̺̽̇̋̃̇̀̐͌̇̈́͗͆̋̊̒̕͝͝w̵̯̭̥̜͉̤̱̦̮͔̦̲̅̄̎̿̀́͑̏̀͆̇̂͆͝ḩ̴̢̡̛̛̫̳̘̞̟͍͎͇̮͇̥̬̬̣̩͇́̇̔̆̊́̿͗͋̈́̅̀͋̇̇̽́̒̎̇̚̕ͅy̴̨̧̢̛͖͉͇̞̖̣͎͇̼̫̻͇̮̙̼̳͈̐͌̋͂̊̈́̄͐̌͐̄͗͜͝͝ͅw̸͈̬͈͈͈̺̳̘͈̥̪͖͈̹͙̣̖̱̙͈̏̍̀̉̎̍́̿͗͌͒̀͋́͊̀̋̇͋̕͜͠͠͠h̸̨̧̩̲̹͙̼͚̥͑͌̿͜͠y̴̡̪̲̟̗̣̘͉̘̘̥̣͙̣̯̦̱̖͔͗̅̌̓̋̓̏͌̎̅̏̿̚͘͜͝w̷̡̡̙̪̱͖̰̭̯̯̘͇͚͙͇͎̝̗̺̬̍̀̐͌͛̇̔̐͋̈̀̅̍̋́̂̆̂͊̓̍͑̚͠ḣ̸̢̢̢̦̹̱̥̖̻̫̱͙̝͌͗̀̓̾͊͐́́̓̿̄́̋̏͋̚̕͘͜ͅy̴̧̛̛̳͍̩̱̖͇̹̺͚͈̺͚̖̰͑̓̈́̒̄̅́͌̐̾͛̆̂͠w̵̧̡̠̦̗͕̩͔̃͛̾̋̀͊̆̇̔͂͘ͅh̸̢̛͖̟̠̗̜̥̰̙̱̀͂͌́͋͌̍̇͌̓͑͌̈y̶̨̢̨̡̫̺̝͈̩̰̼̘͖̮̥̦̬͉͕̯̼̹̋̈̇̐̓̏̐͛͛̀͝w̷̨̛͉͇̜̱̞͈̮̞̮̜̞̲͎̺̲̌̒̍̀͋͑̄̿̄̒̃́̌͛̋̕̕̚͜ͅḩ̴̡̻͎̼͖͓̬͈̬͔͈̹̙̖͖̂̇̆̌̓̀͊́̆͛̅̐́̇̄͜ÿ̸̨̢̠̖̰͔̝̠̦̮̩͖̖́̃̓ẁ̵̛̳̥̥͇͌͑̓̈́͌̒̾̂̐̈̿̉̋̔̈́̚͝h̵̡̟̭̟͇͇̬̅̄͑̏̇̍́́̓̔͛̓̈́̌͒̄̅̈́̽̈́̚͝͠y̷̡̩̲̲̘͎͗̏̌͒͝ẅ̷̰͉́̾̒̆͛̌͑̔̏̽̀̅͛̂͝͝͝͝͠ḩ̶̢̛̛̩̳̜̠͈̫̩̞͍͕̻̙̳̹̫̞͓̱̊̏̈́̂̏͌̾̑̋͊̏̑̈́̔̀͒̈́͆́͋͘͘y̸̡̱̩̘̭͙͕͚͍͆́̈́̾̓̌̿͊̌̀̅͊w̶̨̨̡̨̨̦̼̼̪̘̣̦̥̲̣̺̗̜͆̏̌͆͂̉́͊͆̅̃̎̽́̽̒͐͛͊̈́̈̕̕̕̕͝͠͝͝ḧ̴̡̧̹̰̦͕̝̝̻̜̘̗͈̦̭͎̫̞̼̹̺͓̞͓͔́͒̊̆̈́̃͑͘͝͝y̵̨̬̻̯̭̺̫̬̙͉̌͋̑͌͐̒͐̒̐̽̿̔̽͋͝͝͠w̸̡̡̧̧̧̛̩̠̮̩̰̼̯͍̤̘̻̲̦̙̭͍̥͖͚̘̥͉̃̐̀̀̒̒̐͒̕͜͝͝h̵̛̞͙͓̖̞͎̱̿͆͛̌͋͗̅̒̑̅̔̀̏͛͌͌̉̆̀̊͊̕͜y̴̭̹̞͓̞̥̬̓͂̓̌͐̔w̷̢͓͇̭̺̟͇̩͖͉̹͇̲̪͕̝̫͙̰̪͓͕̪̻͗̈́̽̂̌͆̋̄͌͒̉́̄͌̃͑̅̍͒̾͒̐́̄̆̅̓͛̾͗̚̕̕̚͜͜͝h̷̨̦̻̝̖͝ẏ̸̛̰̹̦͚͔́̋̆̈́̔͆̑͌͂̈́̓̉̂͐͗̌͐̈̅̏̇̉͌̀̀̊̍̕͘͝͠͝͠ẃ̸̧̞̰͙͈͓̦͈͇̘̯͖̱͎̰͇̲̥̮̭̤̀̽̈́̍̉̈̌̈́̀̎̆̚̚͘͠͝ḧ̵̡̢̨̺͍̪͇̟͍̯͍̩̜̘͎̞̟̼̠̮̮̹̥̠̼͙̫̤̙̰̻̗̺̄͒̈̌̓͛̐͑̀́͛̓͊̿̀̀̈́̉̆̚͝ͅy̴̛̗̻̙̫̞̹̬̬͓̖͖̼̘̟̬̬̘̬̳̜̦̫̥͇̖͒̈̋̑̕ͅͅͅw̴̨͈͉̝̫̻̥̯̦̜̱͕̗̫͙̩͇̳̱̘̟͕̫͔̜̘̥͖̲̘̺͈̺̦͗͒́̇̎̌͆͊͘͜h̸̢̛̖̖͍͓̳͖̥̻̝̪̬͇̱̺̠͙̗͙̗̐͌̀͜͜͠ͅỵ̴̨̧̧̧̝͚̥͍̜̞̩̳̺̭̩̜̳̺̮͇̻̦̙̃̄̇̂̒͗̾̄̚ẅ̶̨̢͇͚̞͇͇̫̫̫͉̖̮̯́͊̈̀̓̊̋̐̓̆͑̊̎̄͛͒̂̂̊͒͆̈́̋͘̕͝͠h̶̨̨̛̯͚̳͉͓͔̲̮͈̥̦̻͎̖̮̹̅͋͌̇̈́̀͂́͌̐̄͋̀̄́̄̿̈̉̈́̍͂̅̃͌̈́̕͘͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅẏ̵̢̢̧̧̡̛͍̫̫̱͈̪̝̥̹͈̗̻̟̞͖̯͔̙͔̜̦̳̪̀̇̈̓͛̂̓͑͋̒̔̊̈́͛́̊̈́̕͜͜͝͝w̸̧̡̧̨̡̢̜͎͈̹͍͔̯̖̟̱͕̬͇͉̠̺̭͇̞̻̌͗͌͊̇̓h̴̨̖͎̝͚̔̓̆̒́͐̂́͗̀̓̂͊̃̓͌̈́̾͂̋̓̄̑̕̚͝ŷ̴̡̡̭̮̼͉̹̘̦̳̘̼͚̩͎̞̃͌̊̏̽̉̎̈́̍̉̈́͒̑̀̐́͑̿͗̉̓̉̐̈́̃̑̅̇͗͘͘̕͜͝͠ͅẅ̸̡̤̱̲̙̞̤̼́͋̓̀̄̉́̋͒̚͘͝͝͝h̶̛͈̫̬̿̀̄͌̍̏̅̏́̓͆̄̄̈́̀̾͂̀̂̏̂̅̕͘y̷̧̢̛͇̘̥̘̩͙̤̠̠̬̻̥̬͚͖̲̭̦͎̳̒͑̄̒͗́̎͌̋̇̅̀̍̎̒̔̈͝ẁ̶̩̠̼͖̙͓̊̒̾̋̔͌̚h̷̛͖̠̑̂̈̀͌̅̂̊̌͂͋͛͗̂̇͠ý̶̡̨͉͈͓̻͕̠̘̤̳̤̫͖̣̟͊͝ͅw̵̢̧̡̮̣̤͓̯̩̖͈̯̠̬̤̫̞̬͉̣̥͋̍̀̽͑͌͗͂́̍͌̐̊͒̍̋̐̾̑̓̓͊̍̆̅͐̚͘̚͘̕͜͝ḩ̵̧̨̢̲̯̝̪̥͇͎̙̦̫͕̝̼̻̙̮̞̞͙̱̬̮̘͙͕̲́̅̓̄̏͗̈͆͋͌̐͗͊̈́͑͗͌͒̓̾̓͂̈̀̿̈́͗̇̈́͐̚̕̚͜͜͝y̷̡̧̨̢͚̗͕̪̙͉̤̮̝͙͈̞̪̝̝͖̭̱̖͚͈̥̣̳̩̞͐͐͗͗̅̓̈́̂̈̾̋̏̂̓͛̿̍͂̆͗̕͝w̵̠͙͕̅̈͐̄͛̈̊͊͆͘h̵̡͖̣̪͍͎͍̘̳̺̩̥͇͋͆y̸̨̧̹̮͚̩͎̰̥̞͎̞̬̯̲͙̝̭̯͚̰͔͈̣̪̟̪͉̙̻͋̒̐̽͑̄̈̓̍̀͂̍̿̂͘͜͠

w̶̡̡̨̙̞͕̬̣̯̮̤̖̣̗̘͍͎͚̔̊̓̿ḣ̴̨̨̨̖̺͖̞̞̫͈̳̞̻̜̪̬̰̖̥͇͚̗̺̥̳͉̪̙̜̄̀͑̓͛̾̓͋̈͒͊̊̃̾̇̋̐̒͝͝͝y̸̰̬̜̺͉̙̤̻̜̼̬̥̩͉̟̲̫̞̕ͅw̵̨͓̭̩̩̳̟͖̰̠͓̘̫̘̱͙̱͈̮͓͙͓̣̱͚̰̠̟̣̹͗͜ḩ̸̢̘̘̝̙͎̫̞̟̫͓͖̣̬̘̹̆̐y̴̧̳̯͙̺̙̞̯̩̭̫̾̄͛̓́̌̑͒̂́̓̒̈́̅̀̐̌̅̓̕͜w̴̨̢̢̮͓͙̹͉̬̤͔̺̪̪̥̘͒̍̆͋̎͐̓̍̓́̽̾̀́̎͂͘͘͝ͅh̸̨̧̢̩͈͈̤͚̫̫̼̯̱̝̠̯̲͎͇̖̟̫̼͖̗̒́̄̈́͛̈͆͒̔̊̐͜͝͝y̶̧̧̻̼̩̻̦̬͓͈͇͛̃̾̀̿̾͒̿̓̈͆͊̈͆͑̆̂̆̂́͂͂̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅẅ̸̫̱̮̪̖̣̑̈́̚ͅḩ̶̧̨̡̘̞̬͔̱͓͕͙͉͙̝͚̺̤͉̦͇̋͐̓̇̂̈̃̃̈́̌̆̂̆̏̓̃̀́̒̎̊̈́́̌͘͘͝͠͠ͅÿ̴̨̭̝͓́̔̆͑̑̈̂̋̐̽͑͒̋̔̇̍̑̈͘͠w̴̨͙̱͉̫͖̹̻͈̪̮̆ḧ̷̡̬̬͈̗̲͕͚̯̩̬͚̺̖̞̹̫̥͔̩ͅy̸̨̢̮̳̟̰̣͚͇̤͛̉̐͒̋̈́̅͆̉͗͊̐͘͜͠w̸̨̨̛̤̮͓͎̪̞͔̦̖̪̜̗̻̤̣̥̫̬̰̯̤̦͎̮̟͌͑͛̈̄͐͋̒͌̓̉͐̍̌̈́̒̋̈́̀͌̓͘͝͠͝ͅͅh̵̨̢͎̖̘̣͔̺̱̗̘̳̥̘̖̘̳̘̻̻͔͙̩̥͙̫͉͎̏̄̇̇̐̏̽̓͂̾͌͂̾̽̍̌͂̏̉̌̐͛̊̚̕͠͠ỳ̶̢̡͚̳̟̦̟̀̅̓͋̋̒̈́̋̿̑̅͊͑̈́͛̎̀̎͒͘͝͝͠͝w̶̡̨̧͙͇̲͍͚̞̞̠̦̠̻̯̬̣̩̬̬̼̏̈̿̔̾̋̈́̀͆̄̆̎̐̎̽͛̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅĥ̴̡̡̤̥̯͈̦͔̼̟̱̻̪̭̝̎͂̈́̑̕y̷̨̨̧̢̡̡̱͎̯͇̭͚̲̗̞̻̬͚̞̳͍̭̯̣̞̾̈̐́͛̽͊͊̕̕ͅw̷̢̨̢̡̦͕̥̖͉̞͍̱̮̪͍̱͇̪̘̬͕̤̟͇̭͎̟̩̝͉̞͊͗́̆̎̇̈́͒̆̐͆̀́͛͛̐̎̔̑̋͌́̈͘̚͜͝͝͠͝h̸̢̟͓̲̦͖̞̤̫̹̲̟̠̱̯͓̘̭͕̊͑́͊̍̂͛͗y̴̢̡̡̢͇̖͚̹̭̗̝̙̜̭̯͇͈̯͌͒͌̓͊͗̔͂̓͊̀̔͐̾́̍̀̇́̊͋̽̓̿͑͘͝͠ͅw̶̨̛̘͇̘̺̥̖̥͚̦͇̱͈̩̳̤̤̰̤̮͙̬̫̓̏͊̃̀̏̇̏̔̋͆̎̒̈̏̏̆̀͗͛́̔̈͆͊͂͒̇͘̚͜͠ͅh̷̡̧̡̫͚̲̣̹̘͓͙͕̼͓̩̻̪̥͓͎̣͚͇͖͙̟͈̳͚̻͆̐̈́́̑͆̃̎͗̃̃̈͛̀́͐̓͗̈̌͋̉̄́̂̚͠͝͝͝ý̶̧͖̄͑͊w̶̢̡̯̳̭̘̲͓̞̳̻̗͔͉͙̤͎͖̥̲̥͆̀̅̐̓̒̈́̏̔̋̓̿̌͒̊̊͒̚͜͜͠͝͝ḩ̷̨̦͖͓̣͎̭̰̰̞͖̹͎̫͔̮̩̪̩̖͚̘͔̟͔͎̝̼̲̙̐̏̑̓̒͊̐̉͆͒͐̅͆̃̄͂͊̕͜ͅͅͅy̶̧̛̛̗̝̞̽͆̑̓͋́͊͒͊̐̈́͐͊̒̾̐̈̊̈́͂͘͘͘͘͜͝ẘ̸̨̧̨̡̢̡̳͔͙̹̲̟͓͎̥̼͇̫̤̺̜̝̼̦͍̼̠̩̝͌̐̎͊͊ͅh̸̡̧̗̝̣̺͚̞̟́̀̽̎͌̏̃͋͑̌̃̑̏͆̓̀͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝y̴̡̧̡̩̤͚̱̮̦̹̰̫̜̩͕̪͙͓̦̟̹̟̲͍̥̮̳̗̐͒̾̽̉̓̇̇̏̇̊̏̍̔͊̚͝͠ͅw̷̢̢̠̬̩̭̝͙̯̙͎̥͎̙̯̣̠̓̅̌̇̊̓̾̂̽͑̌̈́̂̽͠͠h̸̛̲̮͚͍͒̇̒̀́͌͐̿͒̔̎̓̌̇̃͘͝͝͠͝ẏ̴̧̨̖͚͙̹̥̣̗̝͚̯̣͓͉̞͖̣̬̬͚̳̘̞̫ͅw̴̧̢̛̥̰̬͙͇͓͙̏̓̌̋̄̒̓̿̊̈́̎̂̾̄͊͗̀̉́͛̈́̈̽̃͠h̷̢̝̪̦͖̬̣̜̰̱̜͎̘͖̹̲͍̠̥͖̩̓̏͒̀͒̌̐̓͗̈́̋ͅy̸̡̢͕̹̎̿̀̋̀̈́̍͐̂͆͑͐͂̆͌̋̀̏͜͝ͅw̸̧̪̣̬̹̟͈̲̗͙̤̰̩̼̞̥̭̲͉̮̖̫͒͐́͒͆̔̄̀͋͜͝ḩ̶̢̝̘͖̤̼̞̙͔̙͎̻̖͙̖̺͚̱̫͈̹̄͊͋͌̍̋̈́̍͊̈́̊͂͐̑͆̋̿̐̔̌̂̚̕͜͜͝y̵̧̘̰̥̩̠̬̥̦͂́͒̉w̴͉̒̑́́͛̈́ͅh̵̛͙̥̊̊̌̽͊̉̏̇̀̉͗̋̄͋̈́͐̾̅̒͌̿̑̑̋̽̌̃̾̆̈y̵̡̢̨̢̧̗̤͎̜̬̤̩͓̠̘̖̬͚̣̣̤͖̯̺̩̤̥̜̳̙̠̗͂̔̏̇͗̈́̌͗̎̋̚w̶̛̯̋̽͛̏͑͆̊͋̒̂̽͋͒̋̆̂̋̐h̷͇͈̞͔̤͎̿̄͜͜y̷̨̨̡̨̛̻͙̞̩̩͚̹̠͕̖̻̝̯̥̖͇̜̱͕̪͕̘̘͎̓̿͐͑̈́͌́͋̈́̌̿̾̒̓͘͘̚͜͜͜ͅw̴̧̨̨̛̭̮̮̙̼̮̭̗̗̺̠̉̏̔͆͌̀̚̚͜ͅͅh̷̨̨̦̪̙̜̞͓̗̹͕̤̮͉̺̤́ͅͅỳ̶̧̡̢̺͕͕̺̻̳̂͂͆̍͛͛̉̈́̀̎͗̆͒͂̈́̈́̀̂̆͑̾̇̋̚͝ẇ̸͓͇͍͕̣́͆

h̶̨̡̼̲͍͙̖̩̰͓̤̝̺͇͕̘̓͆̈́̈́̔̀̈́͒̓͑̇͋̚̕͘͝͝y̷͇̼͍̞̦̲̯̝̤͔̹͆͊̑́͋̐̈̂́̕͠͝ͅw̴̡̗̳͑̌͗͊̒̽͌͝h̷̨̨̧̨̛͍̤͉̼͖̫̜̤̗̭̻̠̱̻͚̞͈̮̫͍͓̙̖̣̮͗̅́̿̉̉̑͜y̸̲̗͙̮͙̤̗͍̱̋̎̏̀̆̄͌̂͐͑͛̉͗̌̈́̒̎̚̕̚͠͝ẅ̴̡̘͖̱̱̲̖̖̣͍͈̥̙̮͖̥̹̼̈̒͒̒̀͛͋͂͗̀͆̈́̓̉̓̑̔̋͛̅́̆͗̚̕̕͜͠͠͝ḧ̸̨̛̛̺̰̞̹̬̪̮̗͙̫͖͔͚̻̖̱̯̳̫̩́͗́̓́͐͊̽̋̉̈́̈́͆̋̒͂̂͗́͛̅̍̌̾̌͝͝͝y̵̦͇͎̰̭̦̬̥̤͗͊ͅẃ̷̢̛̦̠͙̱̯̟̣̜͕̰̼̺̤̮̗̹͉̙̙̝̗͌̓͐̑͜ẖ̷̦̳̬͉̳̬̳̰́̑͒̈́͛̓͜ͅỹ̴̡̨̢͓̠̩̫̙̠͉̙͖̟̳̞̲̞͈̘͖̓͋̏̔̔͛̍̉̒̈̓̑̉̐̐̄͐̋̋̊̅͆̊̇̈̕̚̚͜͝w̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̛̦̬̥̙͓̥̣̰͎͎̗̲̗͍̟̖̠͇̞̦̟̫̲̺͑̆̏͛̃͛̈́̐̃̉̓̈́̒̉̌̅̐͊̒̔̓̆͘͠͝h̸̲͒y̷̡̧̨̡̞̣͕̞͖̖̬̦͉̜̤̬̖͕̫͚̺̭̦̙͇͎̹̍̏̔̅̈̀̒͒̆̓̿̍̀́̚̚̚͝ͅẃ̴̡̢̧͙̻̪̮̩̲͕̙̬̯͇͔̠̝͍͖̪̝̹̣͉̝͈̻͊̐͊͗̆̈́̄̑̒̕ͅh̷̡̻̰̮͓̩͖̮̣̫̻͍̞̾͋̂̅̓y̶͍̬̙͉̍͐͗̆͗̿̒̔̓͠w̴̡̛̼̳̙̭͔̮̠̤͖͈̘͔̗̫̦̙̬͚̦̼̳̺̓͋̆͌̿̀̊̈́̉̌̀̇̎̍̓͒̀͒͋͌̇́͐̋̈́̑̉́̉̔͊͠͝͠ͅḩ̴̢̧̛͙͍̰̤̦͓̜͚̱̖̮͔̤̩̰̜͓̎̍͗̓̃͆̆̒̀͛̔̀̀͘͝y̷̧̨̨̫̬̼̥͕̯̤͓͕͍̟͉̫̖͔̙̱̰̯͓̬͚̠̤͛̽̍̅͂͗͌̈́́̋́̃̈́̇̀͋͐͊͆̐̾̇̔͘̕w̵̫̓̈́̅̊͊͗̓̋́̋̈́͊̒́͆͌̑̾̒͛̚h̴̨̫̯̫̻̞͍̯͙̤̜̯͙̣̮̬̣̍͒̓̽͘͜͜y̵̡̛̞̤̰͎̜͚̯̺͍̻̲̖̠̞͕̩͓̰͙̰͚̗͖͋͗͊͒͑́͆́̐̂͒̊͛̋͝͠͝ͅw̸̧̭̲̩̗̳̜͚͉͔̪͕͇̬̰̙̻̙̬͖̱̠͇̱̦̦͈̥͇͎̯̅͆̑̇̈́̃̅͛́̌́͂̚ͅͅͅh̸̛̛͈͍͉̉̾̆͋̈́̊̇̃͆͒̅̌̿̀̋̋̎̈̿̀͛̐́͒̈̏͂̎̏͗͌̚͝y̸̨̨̢̨̫͙̼̻̜̞̼̝̦̬̦̫̺̱̯̯͚̲̳̫̱̹͚̠̖͇͔̮͛̄̓͌͒̏̄͐̾̿̏́̆̐̀͌̚͝ͅw̶̡̡̨̙̞͕̬̣̯̮̤̖̣̗̘͍͎͚̔̊̓̿ḣ̴̨̨̨̖̺͖̞̞̫͈̳̞̻̜̪̬̰̖̥͇͚̗̺̥̳͉̪̙̜̄̀͑̓͛̾̓͋̈͒͊̊̃̾̇̋̐̒͝͝͝y̸̰̬̜̺͉̙̤̻̜̼̬̥̩͉̟̲̫̞̕ͅw̵̨͓̭̩̩̳̟͖̰̠͓̘̫̘̱͙̱͈̮͓͙͓̣̱͚̰̠̟̣̹͗͜ḩ̸̢̘̘̝̙͎̫̞̟̫͓͖̣̬̘̹̆̐y̴̧̳̯͙̺̙̞̯̩̭̫̾̄͛̓́̌̑͒̂́̓̒̈́̅̀̐̌̅̓̕͜w̴̨̢̢̮͓͙̹͉̬̤͔̺̪̪̥̘͒̍̆͋̎͐̓̍̓́̽̾̀́̎͂͘͘͝ͅh̸̨̧̢̩͈͈̤͚̫̫̼̯̱̝̠̯̲͎͇̖̟̫̼͖̗̒́̄̈́͛̈͆͒̔̊̐͜͝͝y̶̧̧̻̼̩̻̦̬͓͈͇͛̃̾̀̿̾͒̿̓̈͆͊̈͆͑̆̂̆̂́͂͂̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅẅ̸̫̱̮̪̖̣̑̈́̚ͅḩ̶̧̨̡̘̞̬͔̱͓͕͙͉͙̝͚̺̤͉̦͇̋͐̓̇̂̈̃̃̈́̌̆̂̆̏̓̃̀́̒̎̊̈́́̌͘͘͝͠͠ͅÿ̴̨̭̝͓́̔̆͑̑̈̂̋̐̽͑͒̋̔̇̍̑̈͘͠w̴̨͙̱͉̫͖̹̻͈̪̮̆ḧ̷̡̬̬͈̗̲͕͚̯̩̬͚̺̖̞̹̫̥͔̩ͅy̸̨̢̮̳̟̰̣͚͇̤͛̉̐͒̋̈́̅͆̉͗͊̐͘͜͠w̸̨̨̛̤̮͓͎̪̞͔̦̖̪̜̗̻̤̣̥̫̬̰̯̤̦͎̮̟͌͑͛̈̄͐͋̒͌̓̉͐̍̌̈́̒̋̈́̀͌̓͘͝͠͝ͅͅh̵̨̢͎̖̘̣͔̺̱̗̘̳̥̘̖̘̳̘̻̻͔͙̩̥͙̫͉͎̏̄̇̇̐̏̽̓͂̾͌͂̾̽̍̌͂̏̉̌̐͛̊̚̕͠͠ỳ̶̢̡͚̳̟̦̟̀̅̓͋̋̒̈́̋̿̑̅͊͑̈́͛̎̀̎͒͘͝͝͠͝w̶̡̨̧͙͇̲͍͚̞̞̠̦̠̻̯̬̣̩̬̬̼̏̈̿̔̾̋̈́̀͆̄̆̎̐̎̽͛̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅĥ̴̡̡̤̥̯͈̦͔̼̟̱̻̪̭̝̎͂̈́̑̕y̷̨̨̧̢̡̡̱͎̯͇̭͚̲̗̞̻̬͚̞̳͍̭̯̣̞̾̈̐́͛̽͊͊̕̕ͅw̷̢̨̢̡̦͕̥̖͉̞͍̱̮̪͍̱͇̪̘̬͕̤̟͇̭͎̟̩̝͉̞͊͗́̆̎̇̈́͒̆̐͆̀́͛͛̐̎̔̑̋͌́̈͘̚͜͝͝͠͝h̸̢̟͓̲̦͖̞̤̫̹̲̟̠̱̯͓̘̭͕̊͑́͊̍̂͛͗y̴̢̡̡̢͇̖͚̹̭̗̝̙̜̭̯͇͈̯͌͒͌̓͊͗̔͂̓͊̀̔͐̾́̍̀̇́̊͋̽̓̿͑͘͝͠ͅw̶̨̛̘͇̘̺̥̖̥͚̦͇̱͈̩̳̤̤̰̤̮͙̬̫̓̏͊̃̀̏̇̏̔̋͆̎̒̈̏̏̆̀͗͛́̔̈͆͊͂͒̇͘̚͜͠ͅh̷̡̧̡̫͚̲̣̹̘͓͙͕̼͓̩̻̪̥͓͎̣͚͇͖͙̟͈̳͚̻͆̐̈́́̑͆̃̎͗̃̃̈͛̀́͐̓͗̈̌͋̉̄́̂̚͠͝͝͝

ý̶̧͖̄͑͊w̶̢̡̯̳̭̘̲͓̞̳̻̗͔͉͙̤͎͖̥̲̥͆̀̅̐̓̒̈́̏̔̋̓̿̌͒̊̊͒̚͜͜͠͝͝ḩ̷̨̦͖͓̣͎̭̰̰̞͖̹͎̫͔̮̩̪̩̖͚̘͔̟͔͎̝̼̲̙̐̏̑̓̒͊̐̉͆͒͐̅͆̃̄͂͊̕͜ͅͅͅy̶̧̛̛̗̝̞̽͆̑̓͋́͊͒͊̐̈́͐͊̒̾̐̈̊̈́͂͘͘͘͘͜͝ẘ̸̨̧̨̡̢̡̳͔͙̹̲̟͓͎̥̼͇̫̤̺̜̝̼̦͍̼̠̩̝͌̐̎͊͊ͅh̸̡̧̗̝̣̺͚̞̟́̀̽̎͌̏̃͋͑̌̃̑̏͆̓̀͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝y̴̡̧̡̩̤͚̱̮̦̹̰̫̜̩͕̪͙͓̦̟̹̟̲͍̥̮̳̗̐͒̾̽̉̓̇̇̏̇̊̏̍̔͊̚͝͠ͅw̷̢̢̠̬̩̭̝͙̯̙͎̥͎̙̯̣̠̓̅̌̇̊̓̾̂̽͑̌̈́̂̽͠͠h̸̛̲̮͚͍͒̇̒̀́͌͐̿͒̔̎̓̌̇̃͘͝͝͠͝ẏ̴̧̨̖͚͙̹̥̣̗̝͚̯̣͓͉̞͖̣̬̬͚̳̘̞̫ͅw̴̧̢̛̥̰̬͙͇͓͙̏̓̌̋̄̒̓̿̊̈́̎̂̾̄͊͗̀̉́͛̈́̈̽̃͠h̷̢̝̪̦͖̬̣̜̰̱̜͎̘͖̹̲͍̠̥͖̩̓̏͒̀͒̌̐̓͗̈́̋ͅy̸̡̢͕̹̎̿̀̋̀̈́̍͐̂͆͑͐͂̆͌̋̀̏͜͝ͅw̸̧̪̣̬̹̟͈̲̗͙̤̰̩̼̞̥̭̲͉̮̖̫͒͐́͒͆̔̄̀͋͜͝ḩ̶̢̝̘͖̤̼̞̙͔̙͎̻̖͙̖̺͚̱̫͈̹̄͊͋͌̍̋̈́̍͊̈́̊͂͐̑͆̋̿̐̔̌̂̚̕͜͜͝y̵̧̘̰̥̩̠̬̥̦͂́͒̉w̴͉̒̑́́͛̈́ͅh̵̛͙̥̊̊̌̽͊̉̏̇̀̉͗̋̄͋̈́͐̾̅̒͌̿̑̑̋̽̌̃̾̆̈y̵̡̢̨̢̧̗̤͎̜̬̤̩͓̠̘̖̬͚̣̣̤͖̯̺̩̤̥̜̳̙̠̗͂̔̏̇͗̈́̌͗̎̋̚w̶̛̯̋̽͛̏͑͆̊͋̒̂̽͋͒̋̆̂̋̐h̷͇͈̞͔̤͎̿̄͜͜y̷̨̨̡̨̛̻͙̞̩̩͚̹̠͕̖̻̝̯̥̖͇̜̱͕̪͕̘̘͎̓̿͐͑̈́͌́͋̈́̌̿̾̒̓͘͘̚͜͜͜ͅw̴̧̨̨̛̭̮̮̙̼̮̭̗̗̺̠̉̏̔͆͌̀̚̚͜ͅͅh̷̨̨̦̪̙̜̞͓̗̹͕̤̮͉̺̤́ͅͅỳ̶̧̡̢̺͕͕̺̻̳̂͂͆̍͛͛̉̈́̀̎͗̆͒͂̈́̈́̀̂̆͑̾̇̋̚͝ẇ̸͓͇͍͕̣́͆h̶̨̡̼̲͍͙̖̩̰͓̤̝̺͇͕̘̓͆̈́̈́̔̀̈́͒̓͑̇͋̚̕͘͝͝y̷͇̼͍̞̦̲̯̝̤͔̹͆͊̑́͋̐̈̂́̕͠͝ͅw̴̡̗̳͑̌͗͊̒̽͌͝h̷̨̨̧̨̛͍̤͉̼͖̫̜̤̗̭̻̠̱̻͚̞͈̮̫͍͓̙̖̣̮͗̅́̿̉̉̑͜y̸̲̗͙̮͙̤̗͍̱̋̎̏̀̆̄͌̂͐͑͛̉͗̌̈́̒̎̚̕̚͠͝ẅ̴̡̘͖̱̱̲̖̖̣͍͈̥̙̮͖̥̹̼̈̒͒̒̀͛͋͂͗̀͆̈́̓̉̓̑̔̋͛̅́̆͗̚̕̕͜͠͠͝ḧ̸̨̛̛̺̰̞̹̬̪̮̗͙̫͖͔͚̻̖̱̯̳̫̩́͗́̓́͐͊̽̋̉̈́̈́͆̋̒͂̂͗́͛̅̍̌̾̌͝͝͝y̵̦͇͎̰̭̦̬̥̤͗͊ͅẃ̷̢̛̦̠͙̱̯̟̣̜͕̰̼̺̤̮̗̹͉̙̙̝̗͌̓͐̑͜ẖ̷̦̳̬͉̳̬̳̰́̑͒̈́͛̓͜ͅỹ̴̡̨̢͓̠̩̫̙̠͉̙͖̟̳̞̲̞͈̘͖̓͋̏̔̔͛̍̉̒̈̓̑̉̐̐̄͐̋̋̊̅͆̊̇̈̕̚̚͜͝w̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̛̦̬̥̙͓̥̣̰͎͎̗̲̗͍̟̖̠͇̞̦̟̫̲̺͑̆̏͛̃͛̈́̐̃̉̓̈́̒̉̌̅̐͊̒̔̓̆͘͠͝h̸̲͒y̷̡̧̨̡̞̣͕̞͖̖̬̦͉̜̤̬̖͕̫͚̺̭̦̙͇͎̹̍̏̔̅̈̀̒͒̆̓̿̍̀́̚̚̚͝ͅẃ̴̡̢̧͙̻̪̮̩̲͕̙̬̯͇͔̠̝͍͖̪̝̹̣͉̝͈̻͊̐͊͗̆̈́̄̑̒̕ͅh̷̡̻̰̮͓̩͖̮̣̫̻͍̞̾͋̂̅̓y̶͍̬̙͉̍͐͗̆͗̿̒̔̓͠w̴̡̛̼̳̙̭͔̮̠̤͖͈̘͔̗̫̦̙̬͚̦̼̳̺̓͋̆͌̿̀̊̈́̉̌̀̇̎̍̓͒̀͒͋͌̇́͐̋̈́̑̉́̉̔͊͠͝͠ͅḩ̴̢̧̛͙͍̰̤̦͓̜͚̱̖̮͔̤̩̰̜͓̎̍͗̓̃͆̆̒̀͛̔̀̀͘͝y̷̧̨̨̫̬̼̥͕̯̤͓͕͍̟͉̫̖͔̙̱̰̯͓̬͚̠̤͛̽̍̅͂͗͌̈́́̋́̃̈́̇̀͋͐͊͆̐̾̇̔͘̕w̵̫̓̈́̅̊͊͗̓̋́̋̈́͊̒́͆͌̑̾̒͛̚h̴̨̫̯̫̻̞͍̯͙̤̜̯͙̣̮̬̣̍͒̓̽͘͜͜y̵̡̛̞̤̰͎̜͚̯̺͍̻̲̖̠̞͕̩͓̰͙̰͚̗͖͋͗͊͒͑́͆́̐̂͒̊͛̋͝͠͝ͅw̸̧̭̲̩̗̳̜͚͉͔̪͕͇̬̰̙̻̙̬͖̱̠͇̱̦̦͈̥͇͎̯̅͆̑̇̈́̃̅͛́̌́͂̚ͅͅͅh̸̛̛͈͍͉̉̾̆͋̈́̊̇̃͆͒̅̌̿̀̋̋̎̈̿̀͛̐́͒̈̏͂̎̏͗͌̚͝y̸̨̨̢̨̫͙̼̻̜̞̼̝̦̬̦̫̺̱̯̯͚̲̳̫̱̹͚̠̖͇͔̮͛̄̓͌͒̏̄͐̾̿̏́̆̐̀͌̚͝ͅ

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h̴̢̧̛̠̻̪̫̖͎̗̬̝͈̟̖̙̼͕̙͙̹̼͇̰̦̭̖̠̤̞͙̭̬͙̼̥̹̖̜̝̉̈́̉̋̎̌́̀̊̾̇̈̊̏̋̀̓̅́̇̃̽͌͂̊͐̓̒̉̒̈̈͛͛̇͑͑͒̐̌̾͗͊̎̚̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅy̸̨̢̛̳̯͕͚̤̺̹̜̘͔̤̱̯̠̮͍̬͔̥̤͙̘̗͇̻̅̆͛̾̽́̎̑͆̈́̈́̆͂̀̅͊͌̈́̊̌͌͒̔̍̈́̾̍͘̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅẃ̶̧̛̮͇̹̱̪͕͈͉̙͔͂̈́̈̆̓͂̀̒͋̓̓̓̋̀́̽́̎́̎̓̈̇́̓̈́̓̆̎̕͝͝h̵̛̛̘͔̱͖̳̪͍̟͖̯̽̾̇̆͌̓̑͑͂̐͂̈́̈̂͐̃̀̋̇̾̊̈́̆͗̐̈́̿̒̈́͒͋͐̈́̈́̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅẙ̸̢̡̧̡͚͍̬̠̖̮̙̳̹͖̉̀̀̒͑͂̿̌̍͂̈́́̕͜͜w̶̧̢̢̨̡̨̛̥̥̥̜͇̙͎̭̥̜̰̱̗̼̩̳̤̼͔̼̘̦̲͖̣̮͔͇͙̖̝̱̦̠̲̫̳̝̽́͆̊͐̏̈́̊̑̊̾͒̅͐̇̾͒̈́͆̊͋̈͑̃͌̀̈́̿͑̓̑͋͒͑̚̕̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͝h̶̨̡̡̡̨̛͕̤̜̤͚͚̗̱̖͓͇̬̺͕̖̗͈͈͚̱̺̰͙͓̪̻̜͎̠̳̦̥̞̟̼̼͈̫̹̹̔̅̍͊̌̿͋̌̃̔̽͛̓̌̿̚̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅy̸̨̢̢̳̩̘̥̺͇͇̳̮̗͔̤̤̘̠͙̼̣̘̜̺̰͇̣͕̦̜̙̣̫̳͈͓̗̜̘͕͍̥̲͋̎̐̽̑͒͋̅͌̇͊̌͊́̈́̒͐̓̌̅̍͊̈͛͂̉̅̉͐̈́̈́̑̉̃͛̕̕͘͝͝ͅẅ̸̢̡̨̖̻̞̹̺̹̣̮͚̣̣̳̗̼̭͔́̋̆̐͝h̵̨̛̤̳̹̦̯͈̱̺̺̞̤̪̣̞͖͖̳̤͎̦̼̭̪̼͚̖̀̓͊̄̅͂̓͌́̂̎̒̒͛̈́̌̿͊͌́̏̾̕͘̚̚͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅỹ̷̨̬̩̯͚͚̠͙̻̗̞̫̎̓̃͐͆̓̈́̀̊̈́̅̌̐̇́̀͊̊̌̐̍̈́̂̀̔̽̎̅̃̋̈̇̕͝͠͠͝͝͠w̶͇̭̠̞̲̯̐̆̂́͛̃̇̈͋̎̓͋͑̈́͂̅͑̋̀͒́̅͑̓̓̌̋̉́͆͘̚̚̕͘͘͝h̸̢̡̻͚͇̰̫̞͖̝͓̥͖͚̦̤̞͉̠̥̞͎̦͖̦̺̗̗̰̞̤̜̗͑͛̌͋́̾̎̈́̐̀̀̈̄̒̽͗̓̿̚̚͜͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅý̴̢̢̨̱̫̼͎͙̮̥̤̲̰͙̱̪̥̼̭̗̥̪̲͓͉̹͎͚̮͔̦͚͉̱̰̱̗̔̈̃̍̀́͌̇̐̔̊̆́̋͆̆̂̕͝ͅw̶̘̱͕̲̻͉̠̐̄́̽͆́̈́͐̈́͌͗̿̓̍̃̅̊́̿̔̀̏̋̋̀̕̕͘͠ḩ̸̧̖̱͍̬̼̼͎͚̙̗̮̰̰̫͓̠͖̞̩͚͈͖͈̬̖̭̩͔̺̱̌̈͂͗̿̎̏͊̈́̐̽̀͆̅̒̍͆̒̎̀͘̕͜͝ͅy̶̨̮͈̳̼͍̥̟̹̘̬̝͍̺̻̠̳͙̜̆͂̓̉̿̎̈͌͊̌͑͒̉͌̄̀͑̈́̊̿͐̇͌̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅw̴̡̧͉̼̦̲͙̠͉̫̭͍̖̮̼̦̠̹̼͈̬̮̹͔̲̝͔̥̱̹̜̝͍̯̱̲̳̺̝̣͂́̆͊̍̑̔̔̓̅̏̎̀̌͒̈̏̅̀͘̚͜͝ͅḧ̵̨̘̞͈̭̘̱͙̲̤̥̯́̌͂̈́̿̆͝ͅy̷̢̢̢̡̨̢̛̙̼̘̜̗̫̘͉̗̝̩̩̱̱͓͚̖̪̯̮̼̘͓͉̰̬͕̙̰̋̎̊̈́̔̐͂̈̏̒̊̓̒̾͒̎͋́͊́̀͗́̑̀͗͐̓͋́̄̓̐͌̏̃̾̈́̐̒̂͠͝ͅw̵̧̡̢̨̱̘͉̖̗̮̼͚̗͚̝̠̳̥̗̻͍͔̱̩̤̹̼͚̗̙̠̦̜͉̼͔̓̈́͆͛̽̉̆͛̾̐́́͒͒̇̓̌̆̃̎̿͊̾̀̈̈́̇̕̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̢̢̡̢̨̹͍͓̣̣͙̣͕̟͎̬̪͉̳̝̰͎͖̘̣̘̪́͗͐͠ͅy̵̢̡̛̛̛̩͓̪͇͓̻̻̙͍̠̜͓͎̲͎͈̩͚̯̠̱̪̮̻̳̲͂͗̎̊̈̿̌͛̾̀̔͗́̓̎̀̈́̀͋̀͐̈̄̓̓̾̋̀̄͗̀̋͐̃̊͊͆͗͛͊̊̓̚͠w̴̢̡̟͙̹̫̖̼̠͚̙̤̳̼͍͉̦̤̣͓͖̬̫̳̠̫̯̮̰͆̀͂̄͊̏̅̊͗́̿̈́̓́̎̆̓̊̄̈̅̉̐̍̿͑̕͜͝͝ͅḩ̵̡̢̨̛̙̗̯̞̫͔͖͈̭̫̖̩̗͈͔̜͇͙̟̦̼̦̦̖͔̞̦̹̝͇͖̠͎̈́̃̀̐̿̍̐̍̒̽͐̈͗̃́̉͒̎̿̏̈͗̓͌̐̉̽̑͜͠͝͝ͅy̸̋̈̽̾̆̍̒̓́͐͆̈́̕͝ͅw̵̧̧̧͇͎̭̻͔̰̲̖̻͎͎̺̙͓̲̎̅̾̌̓̔̄͒̈̀͋͆̍̀̀̎̒̄́͑̃̈́͑͆̏̈́̍͆̓̔̾̂͂͋͗̈́̚̚̕͠͠͠͠͝h̸̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͍̙̫̮͎̲͉̠̜͈̝̠͍̰̺̬͇̦̰̤̦̲̫͕̟̰͚̝͍̱͔̯̙̞̰̤̫͙͊̀͑̏̅̃̎̿̉̃͐̎͋͂͋̈́͑̉͒̿̒͑̌͌͆̇́͌̒̀͒̏̿͊̏͑̈́͑̈́̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͠y̵̡̨̢̻͓̥͔͙͈͚̬̩̞͕͔̘̳͖̠̙̞͇̪͐̀̑͊̽̀͋̐̓̽̂͊̿̎̉̓̀͌́͂̈́͛̓͂̒̅̚͜w̴̺͋́̓͋͑́̌͂̂̆̋̈́͋̾̔́͗̿͗̾̈̋͌̀̔̽͆̓͘͘͘͝ḧ̷̡̧̡͔͙̣̜̳̟͈̤͖̪͉̦̙̘̥̮̹̩̺̱̖̮̼̗͓̪͎̙̯̺̠̹̜̩̹͖̪̬̤̼̹͚́͊͒̀̀͗͋̂̒̆̀̅̾͒͐̃̅̉̑̀̕͠͝͝͝ͅͅy̸̧̨̨̛͖̫̙̖̺͎̣̘̹͕̟̖̦̭̱͕̺͈͚̤̟̭͎̜̦̳͓͕̝̳̰̝͕̬̮̟̩͉͊̌͒̈́͋̀͆̍͗̉̈́͑́͘͝ͅw̴̛̻̯͎̝̠̲̣̲̹͓̝̹̱̳̭͔̐̂͑̓̉̑̐̽͛̔̓̀̽̋̈́̽̎̌̈̏̈̍̓̄̽̅́̈́̀̈́̈́̽̓̀̂̓͋̎͑͂̋͊̕͝͝ͅͅh̵̨̨͖̯̤̞̩̹͓̲̠͎̟̫͙͉̠̒̃̅̈̀́̈́̈́͜ͅy̷̨̡̢̟͔̺̥̞̪͍̩̻̥̫̘̤̹͖͍̦͇̼̲̘̼̫̗̻̹̹̲͎͉̺̭̆̐͗̓̋͂͋̏̐̊͑̂͗͐̉̀̀͒̔̓̉̓́͒͑͂̿̐́̊̈́̀̏̌͆͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅẁ̵̡̧̧̦̖̯̠̞̳̠̼̩̲̗͉̼̬͖̯͖̪̥̞͙̹̯͕̮̯͎̹̻͈̤̪̘̰̇̒̌̈̄̂̈́̀̒̄́̈́́̏̈́̀͑͆̽̆̐͝ͅͅẖ̴̡̢̧̛̻̦̗̭̜͕̮͇̯̝̬͕̣̗̙̖̣̤̄̐̅͊̐̃̈́̊̿̄̇̃̔̈́̃͌̈̓̊̀̈́̈͑̃̈́͆̏̑̃̎͐́̄̎̓̒̆̈́͐͂̓͘̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̴̧̡̧̰̯̯̖̞̣͕̥͎̥̙͔͕̜̯̹̰͖̥͕͇̞͉̬̫̻̮͋͗͒̀͐̍̆͒͋̎̀̓̌̔̈́̉̌͑͋̍̔͛̓͋͐͂͊̈̽̅͒̏̂́͗̇̈̎͘̚̕̕͘͠͠͠͝͝ẅ̴̡̟̱͇̙̲̱̙̼̤͓͍̭̼̣̭̜͕̦͕̙̬̜͇̥̣̲͚̥̰́̇̀̃̔h̴̥̙͚̝͔̺͕̦̠̰͒́͊̉̔̅̿͊̓̆͑̂͌͆̀̎͛̐̓͌̊̑̑̀̈́͋̀̂͑̾̿̽̿̋͊̏́̃̓̅̐͊̈́̑̕̚̚̚͘͜͜͝y̷̝̭̗͇̳̲̟͍̤̤̩̜̮̫̗̝̰̬̖̥͂͌͂̀́̒͆̇̈́̔͌̃̓͑̈́̊̚̚̚͠͝͠w̷̨̧̧̢̮̟͙͎̗͖̤̙̖͙̱̦̳̦̱͎̮͉̅̔͆̏̂̄̉̂̐̄͑̓͛͋͜ͅh̵̛̰̫͉̜͓͇̻̠̦̓̃̀̀̊̃̐͐͆̏̈̍͗̃̋̒͆͌͗̔̒͋́̉̉̾͐̅̈̒́̊̋̋̔̌̂̂̚͝͝͠ͅy̵̧̨̨̤̹̠͖̖̮̹͙͎͎̦̫̖̭̼͍̳͍͙͔̻͙̥̪̝͎̘̪̮̯̯͚͉̪̣̬͖͇͎͗̅̈̋̊̎̚ͅͅͅw̸̢͍͇̯̼̭̥͔̥̭͆́̿͛̌̈̈́̂̈̈́̄̎̿͌̎̚͝ḥ̶̙̹̿̽̌͒͊̄̇́̓͐͊̋͋̓̈́̀̇̍͂̉̌̎̐̈́̏̆̐͒̒̚͘̕͝͝͠͝y̴̢̢̡̡̛̘̱̦͎͚̳̰̼̪̩̱̞͓̖̜̰͍̭̦͔̞̗̯͙̭̘̤̲͍̱̭͓͇͇̥̭̒̔̈́̽͗̔͜ͅͅẉ̶̢̧̛̞̣̣̦̟̰̺̥͙͉̦̻̮̭̩̠͔͓̼̬͖͒̈̾͒̌̊̉̆̕̕ͅh̶̡̢̢̦͓̫̪̟̻̮͔̥̗͈̼̳̘͇̪̼̦̤̣͍̱͈̬̥̙̮̘̳̰̘̞͚̼̭̞̱̻̫̪̙̙̥̖̿̐͛̏̾̾̌͛̈́͆͂͆̈̈́̿̈́̔̉͑̈́̽̇̕̕̚͝͝y̵̅̆͛͐́̓̉͌̆̓͂͜͠͝w̴̢̢̡̨̮͓̝̤̝͓̘͓̲̖̼͖͖̱̘͓̞͔̦̱̞̬̹͚̙̰̼̹͕͙̥͕̓̆̅̀́͒͜͜͠ͅh̸̢̧̢̡̨̧͙͍͙̩͇̼̯̠͉̲͎͚̯͔̤͈̠̺͇̗̼͇̗̦̘̹̯̬̳̣̟̤̩̾̎̈̌͜͜͠ͅͅ

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ẇ̵̨̡̛͉͎̊́͛́̐͐̍̊̑͒̃̍̀̉͆̽̐̉̽̀̂̋͌̌̏̽̄̄̀̍͊͑̎́̕̚̕͝h̶̞̜̯̬̬͙͇̤͋̀́͂̌̔̇͌̕̚͘͜͜y̶̨̡̨̧̛̛̙͚͉͖̻̞̘̤͇̺̝͉̲̞̝͉͇̻̰̻͚̮͉̙̜̰̳̝͕͕̙͍̥̞̤̜̥̏̾̾̐͒͑̐̓̇̔͌́̈̐̓̐̀̀̆̒̍̃̓̈́͊͐͆͊̐́̎̚͘͝ͅẅ̴̨̡̨̡̧͎͉̬̙̱̩͍̥̲͈̭̺͚̫̦̙̰̯̩͎͖͓͍͇͙̻̻̯̹̜̲̩̜͍̘̪͈̼̖̣̑̒̌̄͛̚͜ͅͅh̵̨̧̢̭̟͍͈̺͓̻̙͚͍̮̱̫̮̠͍̙͖͍̹͔̆̃́͗͌̇̎͐̈́̋̓̅͜͜͜͝ͅͅỵ̶̢̨̘̱͔̲̖̳̖̰̞̯̞̼͚͈͔̣͎̩͙̮͓͕̲̭̟̱̟̤̯͇͛̀̑̍̀̍̌̽̋̾̿͌͑͗̃͑̉̒̍̇͛̏̂̇̆̐͋́̓͋̄͐͑̇̏̑͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͝w̴̡̼͈̰̰̙̙̦̘͇̠̲̝̯͔̳̹͎͇̜̪̗͙͉͕͉̮̣̾̈́̃̆͗̅̽̿̓͋͑͜͝͠͝ͅͅĥ̵̨̛̛̬̳̭͉̾͗̊̋̊͒͂̈͑̓̐̓͛͐̑͂̊̈͗̈̏̈́̕̚̚͜͠͠y̷̨̨̨̡̛͓͈͉͍̳̝̝͔̣̟͚̯̤͕̠̞̥͔̘̩̫̼̥͕̤̝̔̏́̔̐̋̽͒͑̋͋̌̉̔̀͂̇̾̓̎̃͊̈́̈́̂̀̋͝͝͝w̵̡̡̡̧̳̼̭̗̙̘̥̘̞̱̙͇̗͖̯̺̣͉̣͉̭̠̙̳͚̘̐̓̿̃̅̋̾͂͒̎̓̃̒̀͐͒̑̿̎̋̾̈́͒͐̓̐̆̊̚͝͠ͅh̶̻̲͓͕̣̯͎̪̟̦̬͇̠̯̍̇͆̈́̓͑̂͌̽̃̏̏͗̅͋̄̿͐̈́̏̈́̋̈̐̀̍͂̽͂̑̇̆̽̂̍͘͘̕̕͘͝͠͠ͅy̷̨̢̦̗̩̟̭̞̟̪̱̭̬̗͔͕͉̬̳͚̥̫̌̄͐̆̀͛̓̓̂͐͑̑̈́͆͆͐̉͋͛͒̎́͆́̃͑̇̿́̍͂̐̈́̃͋͛̓̃͜͠͝w̷̧̢̨̡̛̤̗̯̣͍͎͈̮͙͓̰̤͙͙̜̜̥͕͔̖̗̯͋͐̆͊̿̑̾͒͌̇̐̇̍̀̽͆͆̉͊̓̓̈̐͋͊͗̀͋̄͛̉̐̇̾̈̑͘͘͠͝͝h̷̢̡͉̗̥̲̞͎̦̖̼̥̘̩̠̘̫̼̱̮̬̩̦̱̘͓̠̒̍͌̈́͂̃̎̔̈́̅̊͌̈̍͆̋̃̇͑̓͂̋̃̊͆́̃̑͆̃̆͛͊̿̔͐̆̒͐͗̈͘͜͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅy̴̧̢͙͕͕̭̳̳͚̥̝̱͙͈̥̹̤͈̙̗͕̝͚͓̥̘̫̜͓͙̩̕w̸̨̢̛͚̦̻̦͇͍̟̠̪͇̰͖̲͔͙͚̪̰̱͎͉̳̜̦̬̤̮̬͖͓̻͖͕̼̥̥̯̪̼̜͓̤͖͙̣͓̃͆̈̐̎̇̉̀̑͊̌̀̀̐̿̒̽͗̍̽̄͒̑͋̊̅͗̉̾͛̋̀̇̇̈́̕͘͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅh̴̢̧̧̛͇̫̤̱̺̞̹̮͇̦͊̀̄̽͐̏̐̇͒̐̂̀̈̅͐̑́̉̇̓̎̉̉̎̔̂̊̏̌̑͘͘͘̕͜͝͠͠͝ͅÿ̵̡̲̳̬̞̣̗͙͕̫̟̦́̽̓͋̈́̓͊̉̃͗̑̇͆̀̾̂̈́̎͐̂̐̽͝w̷̡̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̨̯̰͉̖͚̙͕͈̞̫̼͍͕̞̭̯̫̗͚͓̩̱̠̹̺͙̲̃̔͜ḩ̷̢̛̛̖̰̭̣͉̦̤͕͕̟̻̪̞̱̗͖̫̼̫͔̠̩̪͇̩̝̮̘̝̮̠͊̋̓͑̒̏̿̎̌̎̃̂̌̓̈́̊̽̓̃̾̀̀͆͒̀̉͂̄̈́̊̊̆͂̉͛͌͗͊̆̀͂͗̓̈̽͘͜͝͠y̵̡̮̼̙̥̬͇̤̭̝̲̲̼̘̼̥͕̼͂̍̀͑̽̎̑͛͋̚͝͠w̸̨̭̩̌͗͌̿̈͒̚͝h̶̢̖̺̯̝̝͍̭̝̭̪͕̯̺̥̘̱̹̤͚̞̪͉͔͈̻͈̟̠͍͖͚̦̤̫̻̱́͂̾͂̈̃̔̐̃͛̒̇͂̑̂̓͂͐͘̚͘͜͜͝ͅy̷̨̢̧̡̛̭̙͚͙̬̣̟̻̻̼̦̺̲̫͙̝̠͓̦̺͚̞͍̮̹̬͚͋͋̒̊̈̈̀̈́̍͋̽̀̉̐͊̿̑͂͗̓͑̇̽̈́̑̿͆͋͆͌͆͘̚͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅw̶̢̡̛̪̱̪̻̲͕̞̓̀͐̌̈́̄̿̾͆̈̉̂̊̄̎͂̂̈́͂̐̈́͒̇͊̆̄̌̾͒̈́̌̓̏͒̓̊͑͂͑̎͗̕͘̚͘͠͝͝͝ḩ̴̨̢͚͍̗̣͎͙͖͉̣̘̻̮̳͚͙̞̦̭̱̥̯͈̤̮͍͇͚̱̭̤͉̹͖̞̘̘͇͍͖̗̯͙͖͇́̃́͛͊͗̀̍́̒̉̒̍̑̈́͗̿̏̉̅͌̋̐̄̄̐̋̚͘͘̕͘͝͝͠ͅͅy̵̧̡̧̛̼͎̫̣̬̟̰̙̠̬̤̠̩̤̝̜̠͈͖̰̙̳̹͐̀͗͆̈́̃̃͒̓̿̏̓̆̅̀̌̌̐͌̿͂̅̌̾͜͜ͅͅw̸̭̝̩̬͇̋̍̀h̵̨̡̨̡̧̳̺̯̼̬̖̝̖͍̘͖̬͎̮̲̣̲̮̲̥͗̓́̀̑̂̃͂̄̈́̾́̒̋̒̄̈́̓̈́͐̐̀̆͛̄̕͜y̷̨̨̛̹͍̼̲̲̫̜̜̞͖̥͍̤̬̳̰̱̩̰̦̗̑͂̈́͊̐͂̀̔͗̒͋͒̇̌͊̎̈͐̒͆̄̅̅́̓͊͑̑̍̀̊̅̾͋̆͐̀̎̆̈́̅̈͘̕͜͠͝͝͠ͅw̶̡̨̡̛͉̪͖̻̝͓̪̯̯̱̫̮͎̪̘͉̲̗̜̣̦̼̯̹̰͚̪̫̗͇̬̌̍͛̑̅͑͌̈́͆͗͐͑̌̎̈̏̀͑́̅͂̈́̐̇̄̎͊̚͘̕̚̚̕͜h̶̲̱͉̩̰̠̻̞̺͊́̌̓̍͂̍͐̋͜͠͝y̵̡̦̖̹̦̤̺̪̻̜̝̟̖̦̳͔͚͉͖͉̝͓̤͎̰͙̼̠̼̩̬͇̒̀̉̐͐͠ͅw̷̡͎͇̝̘̖͓͔̭̣̜͗̏͛̐̃̀́͒͌͂̾̉̅̆͌̚͠h̸̨̧͓̜̲͖͈̪̲̫͔͍̩̗̀̋̀̾̋͋́̉̊̐̿̋͆̎̀͋̿̚͘͝͝͝y̸̧̨̢̡̡̨̛͇̣̹͔̭͈͍̹̞̭̻̪̬̺̠̖͈̤̗̝͎̫̯͎̞͍̳͚͚͇͖̥̲̻̮̞̣̓̃́̈̒̏́̒̃̈́̇̉̀̊̒͗͜͝͠͠w̷̧̢̨̡̨̡̛̪̼̩̮͉̜̬͓̦̪͍̫͍͙̣̜̫̼̲̫̲̼͕̜̪̦̲̖̖͋̈́́̈́͋̅̍͆̅̓̃̎̀̍̽̈́̾́͋̊͒́̿͆̈͜͜͠h̷̨̧̛̯̳̘͔͕̤̪̣͙̱͙̮̬̻͖͉̥̝̏̈́̑̋͂̓̅̉̌̽̌͋͛͋̐̈͋̏̏̌̌͂̑̏́̑́͐̐͘͘̕͝͝y̸̡̧͇̠̪̪̯̗̲̖̩̜̺̞̯̘͙̯͚̜̻̰̜̥͇̬̟̯̣̣͔͒̃͆͗͊̍̃́͗̌̀̄͆̔͑̇̽͋̈͊́͜͠ͅẁ̶̨̢̧̢̲̪̙͙̯̯̜̞̠̘͙̘̱̤̬̲̞̗̘͕̞̰̦̺̝͎̙͕̻̬̼̮̥͙̗͎̠̼͊̏̐͒̑̓̿̓̅͊̽̽́̒̈͌͆̈́͗͗͜͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅh̴̢̧̛̠̻̪̫̖͎̗̬̝͈̟̖̙̼͕̙͙̹̼͇̰̦̭̖̠̤̞͙̭̬͙̼̥̹̖̜̝̉̈́̉̋̎̌́̀̊̾̇̈̊̏̋̀̓̅́̇̃̽͌͂̊͐̓̒̉̒̈̈͛͛̇͑͑͒̐̌̾͗͊̎̚̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅy̸̨̢̛̳̯͕͚̤̺̹̜̘͔̤̱̯̠̮͍̬͔̥̤͙̘̗͇̻̅̆͛̾̽́̎̑͆̈́̈́̆͂̀̅͊͌̈́̊̌͌͒̔̍̈́̾̍͘̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅẃ̶̧̛̮͇̹̱̪͕͈͉̙͔͂̈́̈̆̓͂̀̒͋̓̓̓̋̀́̽́̎́̎̓̈̇́̓̈́̓̆̎̕͝͝h̵̛̛̘͔̱͖̳̪͍̟͖̯̽̾̇̆͌̓̑͑͂̐͂̈́̈̂͐̃̀̋̇̾̊̈́̆͗̐̈́̿̒̈́͒͋͐̈́̈́̚̚͘͜͠͝ͅẙ̸̢̡̧̡͚͍̬̠̖̮̙̳̹͖̉̀̀̒͑͂̿̌̍͂̈́́̕͜͜w̶̧̢̢̨̡̨̛̥̥̥̜͇̙͎̭̥̜̰̱̗̼̩̳̤̼͔̼̘̦̲͖̣̮͔͇͙̖̝̱̦̠̲̫̳̝̽́͆̊͐̏̈́̊̑̊̾͒̅͐̇̾͒̈́͆̊͋̈͑̃͌̀̈́̿͑̓̑͋͒͑̚̕̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͝h̶̨̡̡̡̨̛͕̤̜̤͚͚̗̱̖͓͇̬̺͕̖̗͈͈͚̱̺̰͙͓̪̻̜͎̠̳̦̥̞̟̼̼͈̫̹̹̔̅̍͊̌̿͋̌̃̔̽͛̓̌̿̚̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅy̸̨̢̢̳̩̘̥̺͇͇̳̮̗͔̤̤̘̠͙̼̣̘̜̺̰͇̣͕̦̜̙̣̫̳͈͓̗̜̘͕͍̥̲͋̎̐̽̑͒͋̅͌̇͊̌͊́̈́̒͐̓̌̅̍͊̈͛͂̉̅̉͐̈́̈́̑̉̃͛̕̕͘͝͝ͅẅ̸̢̡̨̖̻̞̹̺̹̣̮͚̣̣̳̗̼̭͔́̋̆̐͝h̵̨̛̤̳̹̦̯͈̱̺̺̞̤̪̣̞͖͖̳̤͎̦̼̭̪̼͚̖̀̓͊̄̅͂̓͌́̂̎̒̒͛̈́̌̿͊͌́̏̾̕͘̚̚͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅỹ̷̨̬̩̯͚͚̠͙̻̗̞̫̎̓̃͐͆̓̈́̀̊̈́̅̌̐̇́̀͊̊̌̐̍̈́̂̀̔̽̎̅̃̋̈̇̕͝͠͠͝͝͠w̶͇̭̠̞̲̯̐̆̂́͛̃̇̈͋̎̓͋͑̈́͂̅͑̋̀͒́̅͑̓̓̌̋̉́͆͘̚̚̕͘͘͝

h̸̢̡̻͚͇̰̫̞͖̝͓̥͖͚̦̤̞͉̠̥̞͎̦͖̦̺̗̗̰̞̤̜̗͑͛̌͋́̾̎̈́̐̀̀̈̄̒̽͗̓̿̚̚͜͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅý̴̢̢̨̱̫̼͎͙̮̥̤̲̰͙̱̪̥̼̭̗̥̪̲͓͉̹͎͚̮͔̦͚͉̱̰̱̗̔̈̃̍̀́͌̇̐̔̊̆́̋͆̆̂̕͝ͅw̶̘̱͕̲̻͉̠̐̄́̽͆́̈́͐̈́͌͗̿̓̍̃̅̊́̿̔̀̏̋̋̀̕̕͘͠ḩ̸̧̖̱͍̬̼̼͎͚̙̗̮̰̰̫͓̠͖̞̩͚͈͖͈̬̖̭̩͔̺̱̌̈͂͗̿̎̏͊̈́̐̽̀͆̅̒̍͆̒̎̀͘̕͜͝ͅy̶̨̮͈̳̼͍̥̟̹̘̬̝͍̺̻̠̳͙̜̆͂̓̉̿̎̈͌͊̌͑͒̉͌̄̀͑̈́̊̿͐̇͌̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅw̴̡̧͉̼̦̲͙̠͉̫̭͍̖̮̼̦̠̹̼͈̬̮̹͔̲̝͔̥̱̹̜̝͍̯̱̲̳̺̝̣͂́̆͊̍̑̔̔̓̅̏̎̀̌͒̈̏̅̀͘̚͜͝ͅḧ̵̨̘̞͈̭̘̱͙̲̤̥̯́̌͂̈́̿̆͝ͅy̷̢̢̢̡̨̢̛̙̼̘̜̗̫̘͉̗̝̩̩̱̱͓͚̖̪̯̮̼̘͓͉̰̬͕̙̰̋̎̊̈́̔̐͂̈̏̒̊̓̒̾͒̎͋́͊́̀͗́̑̀͗͐̓͋́̄̓̐͌̏̃̾̈́̐̒̂͠͝ͅw̵̧̡̢̨̱̘͉̖̗̮̼͚̗͚̝̠̳̥̗̻͍͔̱̩̤̹̼͚̗̙̠̦̜͉̼͔̓̈́͆͛̽̉̆͛̾̐́́͒͒̇̓̌̆̃̎̿͊̾̀̈̈́̇̕̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̢̢̡̢̨̹͍͓̣̣͙̣͕̟͎̬̪͉̳̝̰͎͖̘̣̘̪́͗͐͠ͅy̵̢̡̛̛̛̩͓̪͇͓̻̻̙͍̠̜͓͎̲͎͈̩͚̯̠̱̪̮̻̳̲͂͗̎̊̈̿̌͛̾̀̔͗́̓̎̀̈́̀͋̀͐̈̄̓̓̾̋̀̄͗̀̋͐̃̊͊͆͗͛͊̊̓̚͠w̴̢̡̟͙̹̫̖̼̠͚̙̤̳̼͍͉̦̤̣͓͖̬̫̳̠̫̯̮̰͆̀͂̄͊̏̅̊͗́̿̈́̓́̎̆̓̊̄̈̅̉̐̍̿͑̕͜͝͝ͅḩ̵̡̢̨̛̙̗̯̞̫͔͖͈̭̫̖̩̗͈͔̜͇͙̟̦̼̦̦̖͔̞̦̹̝͇͖̠͎̈́̃̀̐̿̍̐̍̒̽͐̈͗̃́̉͒̎̿̏̈͗̓͌̐̉̽̑͜͠͝͝ͅy̸̋̈̽̾̆̍̒̓́͐͆̈́̕͝ͅw̵̧̧̧͇͎̭̻͔̰̲̖̻͎͎̺̙͓̲̎̅̾̌̓̔̄͒̈̀͋͆̍̀̀̎̒̄́͑̃̈́͑͆̏̈́̍͆̓̔̾̂͂͋͗̈́̚̚̕͠͠͠͠͝h̸̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͍̙̫̮͎̲͉̠̜͈̝̠͍̰̺̬͇̦̰̤̦̲̫͕̟̰͚̝͍̱͔̯̙̞̰̤̫͙͊̀͑̏̅̃̎̿̉̃͐̎͋͂͋̈́͑̉͒̿̒͑̌͌͆̇́͌̒̀͒̏̿͊̏͑̈́͑̈́̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͠y̵̡̨̢̻͓̥͔͙͈͚̬̩̞͕͔̘̳͖̠̙̞͇̪͐̀̑͊̽̀͋̐̓̽̂͊̿̎̉̓̀͌́͂̈́͛̓͂̒̅̚͜w̴̺͋́̓͋͑́̌͂̂̆̋̈́͋̾̔́͗̿͗̾̈̋͌̀̔̽͆̓͘͘͘͝ḧ̷̡̧̡͔͙̣̜̳̟͈̤͖̪͉̦̙̘̥̮̹̩̺̱̖̮̼̗͓̪͎̙̯̺̠̹̜̩̹͖̪̬̤̼̹͚́͊͒̀̀͗͋̂̒̆̀̅̾͒͐̃̅̉̑̀̕͠͝͝͝ͅͅy̸̧̨̨̛͖̫̙̖̺͎̣̘̹͕̟̖̦̭̱͕̺͈͚̤̟̭͎̜̦̳͓͕̝̳̰̝͕̬̮̟̩͉͊̌͒̈́͋̀͆̍͗̉̈́͑́͘͝ͅw̴̛̻̯͎̝̠̲̣̲̹͓̝̹̱̳̭͔̐̂͑̓̉̑̐̽͛̔̓̀̽̋̈́̽̎̌̈̏̈̍̓̄̽̅́̈́̀̈́̈́̽̓̀̂̓͋̎͑͂̋͊̕͝͝ͅͅh̵̨̨͖̯̤̞̩̹͓̲̠͎̟̫͙͉̠̒̃̅̈̀́̈́̈́͜ͅy̷̨̡̢̟͔̺̥̞̪͍̩̻̥̫̘̤̹͖͍̦͇̼̲̘̼̫̗̻̹̹̲͎͉̺̭̆̐͗̓̋͂͋̏̐̊͑̂͗͐̉̀̀͒̔̓̉̓́͒͑͂̿̐́̊̈́̀̏̌͆͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅẁ̵̡̧̧̦̖̯̠̞̳̠̼̩̲̗͉̼̬͖̯͖̪̥̞͙̹̯͕̮̯͎̹̻͈̤̪̘̰̇̒̌̈̄̂̈́̀̒̄́̈́́̏̈́̀͑͆̽̆̐͝ͅͅẖ̴̡̢̧̛̻̦̗̭̜͕̮͇̯̝̬͕̣̗̙̖̣̤̄̐̅͊̐̃̈́̊̿̄̇̃̔̈́̃͌̈̓̊̀̈́̈͑̃̈́͆̏̑̃̎͐́̄̎̓̒̆̈́͐͂̓͘̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̴̧̡̧̰̯̯̖̞̣͕̥͎̥̙͔͕̜̯̹̰͖̥͕͇̞͉̬̫̻̮͋͗͒̀͐̍̆͒͋̎̀̓̌̔̈́̉̌͑͋̍̔͛̓͋͐͂͊̈̽̅͒̏̂́͗̇̈̎͘̚̕̕͘͠͠͠͝͝ẅ̴̡̟̱͇̙̲̱̙̼̤͓͍̭̼̣̭̜͕̦͕̙̬̜͇̥̣̲͚̥̰́̇̀̃̔h̴̥̙͚̝͔̺͕̦̠̰͒́͊̉̔̅̿͊̓̆͑̂͌͆̀̎͛̐̓͌̊̑̑̀̈́͋̀̂͑̾̿̽̿̋͊̏́̃̓̅̐͊̈́̑̕̚̚̚͘͜͜͝y̷̝̭̗͇̳̲̟͍̤̤̩̜̮̫̗̝̰̬̖̥͂͌͂̀́̒͆̇̈́̔͌̃̓͑̈́̊̚̚̚͠͝͠w̷̨̧̧̢̮̟͙͎̗͖̤̙̖͙̱̦̳̦̱͎̮͉̅̔͆̏̂̄̉̂̐̄͑̓͛͋͜ͅh̵̛̰̫͉̜͓͇̻̠̦̓̃̀̀̊̃̐͐͆̏̈̍͗̃̋̒͆͌͗̔̒͋́̉̉̾͐̅̈̒́̊̋̋̔̌̂̂̚͝͝͠ͅy̵̧̨̨̤̹̠͖̖̮̹͙͎͎̦̫̖̭̼͍̳͍͙͔̻͙̥̪̝͎̘̪̮̯̯͚͉̪̣̬͖͇͎͗̅̈̋̊̎̚ͅͅͅw̸̢͍͇̯̼̭̥͔̥̭͆́̿͛̌̈̈́̂̈̈́̄̎̿͌̎̚͝ḥ̶̙̹̿̽̌͒͊̄̇́̓͐͊̋͋̓̈́̀̇̍͂̉̌̎̐̈́̏̆̐͒̒̚͘̕͝͝͠͝y̴̢̢̡̡̛̘̱̦͎͚̳̰̼̪̩̱̞͓̖̜̰͍̭̦͔̞̗̯͙̭̘̤̲͍̱̭͓͇͇̥̭̒̔̈́̽͗̔͜ͅͅẉ̶̢̧̛̞̣̣̦̟̰̺̥͙͉̦̻̮̭̩̠͔͓̼̬͖͒̈̾͒̌̊̉̆̕̕ͅh̶̡̢̢̦͓̫̪̟̻̮͔̥̗͈̼̳̘͇̪̼̦̤̣͍̱͈̬̥̙̮̘̳̰̘̞͚̼̭̞̱̻̫̪̙̙̥̖̿̐͛̏̾̾̌͛̈́͆͂͆̈̈́̿̈́̔̉͑̈́̽̇̕̕̚͝͝y̵̅̆͛͐́̓̉͌̆̓͂͜͠͝w̴̢̢̡̨̮͓̝̤̝͓̘͓̲̖̼͖͖̱̘͓̞͔̦̱̞̬̹͚̙̰̼̹͕͙̥͕̓̆̅̀́͒͜͜͠ͅh̸̢̧̢̡̨̧͙͍͙̩͇̼̯̠͉̲͎͚̯͔̤͈̠̺͇̗̼͇̗̦̘̹̯̬̳̣̟̤̩̾̎̈̌͜͜͠ͅ��y̸̢̨̨̡̛͇̳͖̥͕̬̠͉͓̠̩̫̩͕̼͕̞͈̪̺̹̱̺̝̘̮͍̘̞̬̓̾͋̐̋͌̅̒̀́̀̄͛̓́̊̈͜͝ẇ̴͍̳̖̯̣̣̩͉̩̻̲͙̘̩̜̳̭͓͕͔̖̪̀̈́̂̍̉͋̍̏͒̅̽̀͛̀̂͌̊̈́̐̂̚̕͜͝ḧ̵̨̦̼͚̙͔̜͔̫͕͚̙̻̰̲͍͖̪̝̪̱͖̭͔̗͈̩͇̞̘͉͍͕͓́̾̓́̈̂̂͗̐̈́̽̃̈́̓̉̈́̒͌͛͒͋̿̀̔̃͊̉̕͘͜͜ÿ̴̢̛͈̟͔̬̺̖̹͇̻̗͓͔̺̮̲̫̜̹̻̠̯̣̤̬̳̈͊́͗̽̽͆̐́̕̚͝͠w̶̨̧̢̛̛̛̩̟̝̬̫͕̯͇̳̝͍͔̭͉̣̻͍̹̘̜͕͇̪̾̿̀̏̈́̏́̀̎̅̌̊̆̈́̄̌͛̓̈́̓̿̈́̽̓̚̚͝͠͝h̶̛̛͖̙̳̫̻̜̲̝̦͓̬̀͛͂̓̒̿̏̈́̏͋̐̾̋̄͒̅̈̎̍̾̇́̈́̐͗́̎͛̅͐̓̏̍̄̅͗̈́͋̕͘͘̕͝͠y̶̪͕̰͛̀̌͗̄̓̏͌̐̆͆̾̓̌̓̌͝w̴̧̡̙̪̟̪͉̭̹̤͈͚͕͔̫̦̱̯̝̭͉̠̺̟̯̜̠̼̘͙̣̬͙̳̜̞̺̯͉̜̜̻͕̒̑̈́̏͗́̀͐̀̓̔̿̿͒͂̀̉̐̈́̋̈̅̍̔̆̂̂̋̽͒̏̔͛͋̌̎̐̅̌͑͑̒̿̚͝h̶̨̢̡̭̜̘͖͍̮͇̝͓͕̱͉̼̭̭̼͔̯̃̏̈́͗̒͛̈́̀̌̒͌̾̃̓̂̇͛̔̂́̋̿̇̓̒̀̀̈́͊͗͊͌̑̐̓͂͘͘͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅý̵̢̛͍̰̠̖͖̩͎̙̼̣̦̮̻͚́̀̌̊̊̈̑̃̓̓w̶̡̥͓̻̟̳̟͎͇̹̣̤̪͕̝͎̺̱̣̺͈̱̝̪̻͉̻͔̦̺̱͚͚̜̏̂̽̓̈́̑̔͌͗̑̂̏̄̀̀̾̓̊̓̆̀̿̋̍̀̌̈͛͌́̈̿̆̋͆̊̾̐̓̔̍̑̊̚͜͠ͅh̵̡̡̧̛̛͎̜̠̮̗͉̠̰͔̹̣̼͍͖̫̘̰͎̘̙̟̞̬̫̻͚̘͖̽̄͗̆̇̇͑̾̋̓̄̑̈͘̚͝

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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dark-frosted-heart · 2 days

Text

From a Mean Lie, Love Begins - Roger Barel

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. Secondhand embarrassment ahead.

After finishing dinner, I had some free time and so I decided to help Roger with his research.

As I descended the stairs leading to the basement like usual, I heard two people talking and stopped in my tracks.

(Roger and…Harrison?)

Their expressions were so serious that I couldn’t find the right time to call out to them.

Harrison: …In such a bad shape?

Roger: Yeah. Heard from experts that it can’t be returned to its original state. Spine’s so wrecked and can’t stand without support.

Harrison: So caught up in research that you can’t even take care of yourself. What a laugh. …Could’ve done something about it if it was caught sooner.

(What does he mean…? Roger, are you in such a bad state that you can’t stand…?)

He looked fine last night while happily drinking.

(But…there are some illnesses out there that are invisible)

(Was he self-destructing by drinking so much because he couldn’t save himself…?)

Roger: Well, I’ll see what I can do for now. I got a reputation of not being a quitter. Just gotta hang in there ‘til the end. If you can’t…then we’ll deal with it when the time comes.

As I secretly peeped at them, I saw Roger give a weak smile.

(Roger’s body really is wrecked…)

(He couldn’t have been lying if Harrison’s there…)

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything and quietly left before they could notice.

–

(I wasn’t aware that Roger’s condition was that bad…)

(But now that I know…I can change my behavior)

(Tomorrow, I’ll do my best to support Roger so that he doesn’t suffer)

The day after learning about Roger’s condition, I secretly made a decision. I’ll immediately start helping him out.

–

Kate: Here, Roger. Open your mouth please.

After cutting the meat on the plate into bite-sized pieces, I held it up to Roger’s mouth.

Roger: …? I can eat by myself, lil’ lady.

Kate: Please don’t overwork yourself! I’ll be supporting you throughout your life!

Roger: The hell’s gotten into you?

Roger tried to stand up with a puzzled look on his face, and I rushed to stop him.

Kate: Ah, please don’t force yourself to stand!

Roger: I just wanna get a drink…

Kate: I’ll get it for you!

I stood up instead and got Roger a glass of water.

Kate: Here you go Roger.

Roger: Thanks…

Alfons: Good grief…Stop worrying about that muscle-headed, research-obsessed idiot and feed me, little robin?

Kate: …You’re feeling fine, aren’t you Alfons? You don’t need help, do you?

Alfons: I’m certainly feeling rather energized this morning, however…

With the way you’re speaking…You make it sound as if Roger’s not well.

Kate: …

I became depressed as I thought back to yesterday’s conversation.

Roger: …Lil’ lady?

Kate: I heard it yesterday. The conversation between you and Harrison… That your body was so wrecked that you couldn’t stand…!

Roger: Hm? That’s…

Alfons: Oh? I knew you wouldn’t live long but is it finally time to kick the bucket?

Roger: …

At the question, Roger exchanged glances with Harrison and then let out a sigh.

Roger: …Everyone’s gonna wind up six feet under eventually. It just depends on when.

(If you’re not denying it, then it’s true…?)

Kate: Please don’t talk about giving up like that…! I may not understand your condition, but I’ll be supporting you from today onward!

Roger: That’s helpful. Well I got some research I’d like you to help me with now…

Kate: Please leave it to me!

–

I was helping Roger out with his research like he’d asked and it was approaching midnight.

Roger: It’s getting late. Why don’t you get back to your room, lil’ lady?

Kate: What about you?

Roger: …I’ll get some rest too.

Kate: Liar. You’re going to keep working, aren’t you?

When I glared at Roger for that impromptu lie, he just shrugged.

Roger: …I got some interesting data so I wanna work on it for a bit longer.

Kate: It’s not like the data’s going anywhere tomorrow and the numbers won’t change. Take it easy and look after yourself.

I forced Roger out of his chair and onto an infirmary bed.

Roger: Are you planning on helping me not just today, but the next day onward too?

Kate: Yes. I’m worried about your health so that’s my intention.

Roger: Heh, your thoughts never fail to surprise me. You’d agree to anything I’d ask you right now, wouldn’t you?

Kate: Is there anything else you want me to do?!

Roger asked me to help with his research today, but…that’s just an extension of how I usually help him.

(If I could do anything for Roger since he’s not physically well…I’d do it)

Roger: Yeah…How about this. Kiss me. Roger grabbed my hand as he sat up in bed.

(Why a kiss…ah)

(If you don’t feel well, then you’ll feel even more lonely or hopeless…)

No doubt the kiss wouldn’t have any special feeling behind it…rather, it’d just be some physical contact to fill the loneliness.

(Roger’s selfishly kissed me numerous times before)

(No point in rejecting him at this point)

(More importantly, I’d like to help Roger when I can…)

Because I’m standing, I don’t have to go on my tiptoes to kiss him today.

To keep it from getting in the way,I tucked my hair behind my ear with the hand not being held by Roger.

Kate: Nn…

I gave Roger a light peck.

Though it was just a brief, I filled Roger’s heart with all the compassion I could muster.

Roger: Ha…it’s still not enough.

Roger tugged hard on the hand he was holding.

Kate: …Oof

Roger was pushed down onto the bed as he pulled me toward him.

Kate: A-are you alright?! Does it hurt anywhere?

Roger: Nothing hurts so just leave it. That aside, do it again.

Kate: …

At his begging, I pushed Roger down and kissed him again.

This time, his hand went up to the back of my head to keep me from pulling away too soon.

Kate: Nn…haaa…

Roger’s tongue slid into my mouth and tangled with mine.

Breathtaking kisses were something Roger had shown me.

(I don’t know how many more kisses like this I’ll get…)

The thought of it made my heart ache…I continued to kiss Roger to make him happy.

Roger: …You’d really do anything, wouldn’t you?

Roger mumbled as our lips parted.

Roger: Do you do this with anyone you know is weak…?

(I tried to imagine it but…it’d be difficult to do this with anyone but Roger)

(Roger’s touched me before, so it’s a different set of obstacles from others…I think)

Kate: I think it’s normal to want to do things for someone who’s suffering.

Roger: …If that’s the case, then I can’t just go quietly.

Kate: …Huh?

Roger: Who’ll take care of Crown when I’m gone? They could call in a doctor from the outside, but it’d be hard to respond at my speed. And if that does happen, you’d have a lot of weak men lying around you. Don’t wanna put you in a situation where you’d be compassionate toward weak men besides me.

(Are you saying this to protect me…? But…)

Kate: But even if you say that, your body’s already…

Roger: Ah…Think it’s time I cleared up this misunderstanding.

Kate: Misunderstanding…?

Roger: That conversation you heard between Harrison and me was actually about—

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: …?

Harrison: What’s up?

Roger: Nothing, just heard the lil’ lady’s footsteps…But she turned back.

Harrison: She probably read the air when she saw how serious we looked.

Roger: We weren’t talking about anything important so she could’ve just come in.

Harrison: Not important…Roger, do you really understand the value of this book? It’s a book signed by Edgar Allan Poe and it got ruined by chemicals…! The spine’s falling apart and the chemical’s made the text fade so much it’s unreadable. It couldn’t even stand on its own when I put it on a bookshelf…

Roger: It was a gift, but I got so caught up in my research that I got careless.

Harrison: *sigh*...This is why people only interested in research are nothing but trouble.

~~ End flashback ~~

Roger: So…It wasn’t me that got wrecked but a book.

Kate: Really…?

Roger: Yeah, really. As you can see, I’m healthy as a horse. Sorry for playing around with you without clearing it up right away. Thought it’d be a good excuse to get you to help with some research. I’ll take all your complaints.

Kate: Y-you’re the worst!!

With a singular curse, I ran out and to my room.

After closing the door, I collapsed on the spot.

Kate: That’s a relief… At least Roger isn’t dying…!

Feeling relieved, uncontrollable feelings spilled out in the form of tears.

I ran from Roger because I didn’t want him to see me cry.

Roger’s voice: …Lil’ lady.

Roger’s voice could be heard from out in the hallway.

Kate: W-what is it? I’m mad at you right now…!

Roger’s voice: I wanna apologize, so open the door.

Kate: Don’t want to…

Roger’s voice: That so. …With the lie I told, I don’t blame you.

I thought Roger would give up once I refused him, but he showed no signs of leaving.

Kate: Um…You’re not going back to your room?

Roger: I’m gonna wait ‘til you open the door for me.

(If you say that, then i have no choice but to open the door…)

I wiped my eyes and opened the door.

Roger: …

Kate: D-did you by chance…hear anything when I came back to my room?

Roger’s curse gave him supernatural hearing.

“At least Roger isn’t dying…”

If he heard me say that as I cried, then my angry act would be all for nothing.

Roger: No? Didn’t hear anything. Anyway, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that misunderstanding about my life go that far.

Kate: … …You said you lied to get me to help you. So why the kiss?

Roger: You were worrying so much over taking care of me that it was endearing. I wanted to dote on you.

Kate: That wasn’t doting?! I’d call that making things difficult for me!

Roger: Really? I always thought you enjoyed the kisses. If I got the wrong idea then sorry. Let’s try again to be sure.

Kate: Why are you always taking things in that direction! Do you even actually feel sorry at all?

Roger: I think so…Sorry.

Roger’s sudden, touching apology distracted me from my anger.

Roger: I won’t lie to you anymore. If me living longer makes you happy, then I’ll do just that.

Kate: I-I knew it. You did hear what I said when I got back to my room!

Roger: Whoops, that’s right. I didn’t hear a thing.

Kate: If you’re going to lie, then go through with it…!

Roger: Pfft…Haha.

Kate: …What are you laughing at?

Roger: Though I love how you look when you cry, I think I also love the way you yell with so much energy. Sorry for worrying you the whole day.

Roger roughly patted my head.

As I begrudgingly looked up at him, I realized that my heart was racing again.

(Roger already heard me say that I was relieved that he wasn’t going to die, but…)

(...I hope he doesn’t notice the sound of my heart racing as he pats my head)

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #roger barel #ikevil roger

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remediesremedy · 13 hours

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hazbin hotel characters with a partner with mental health problems

GENDER NEUTRAL READER

WARNINGS: depictions of harm to self, drugs, alcohol, depression, anxiety, burns, crying, self deprecation, sad stuff but there’s lots of comfort and love.

features: lucifer, alastor, vox

comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated <3

LUCIFER

“and then she hugged me! Charlie actually hugged me, oh it felt so nice to see her smile and she was happy to see me. it was so awesome you should’ve been there to see it, and then there was this pesky radio dem-“ Lucifer paused mid sentence, the words that were about to spout from him abruptly stopped. the door he had just opened, inhabited a lump under the covers who hadn’t yet moved.

their shared bedroom had always had happy memories, but it seemed your mind had followed you home this time, and refused to let up on tormenting you behind the closed doors of your’s and lucifer’s residence.

“Love? has something happened?” The fallen angel whispered gently, moving forward to your side of the bed, peeling away the covers from your face to reveal dull eyes.

depression had followed you all throughout your time of being alive, and even with death it had stuck to you like glue, chains bound to you for eternity. As if being in hell wasn’t enough.

“Honey? can you look at me f’me please?” He rasped, a clawed hand cupping the full cheeks of your face, feeling the lack of warmth that rested beneath your skin. Lifeless eyes dragged themselves to gaze upon the king of hell, and they almost phased straight through him. “Oh sweetie.” his heart ached, he had been aware of everything about you when you were living, never bringing up how you died or what you suffered with. and he had no reason to, you hadn’t showed any signs of falling back into depression or struggling mentally, until now.

“I’m here, i’m here for you.” Lucifer mumbled as he scooted forward to place a tender kiss on your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then both your cheeks. “can i come into bed with you?”

a small nod, devoid of any energy.

Lucifer scrambled under the covers, immediately going to scoop his lover into his arms, his strength made it easy to manhandle you as tenderly as he could into a position where your head laid softly on his broad chest. “y’know.” the devil hummed, opting to stroke his partner’s hair, “out of the billions of years of being alive. i have never, ever met someone like you.”

as if by reflex, you had scoffed, almost turning your head away from him.

a part of him panicked, his hand stilling and dipping down until it cupped your chin. “i’m serious.” he had mumbled, quieter than before, before regaining his confidence. “after i fell, i found it hard to love things around me anymore. a part of me was lost in that garden, i- the point is, i met you and my heart.” he breathed a little laugh.

“oh my dear, my heart, it has never been fuller.” he admitted honestly, his hand moving once again to caress your skin, his fingers touched you like you were porcelain. a doll, precious and fragile, but he’d have you no other way. “you are the most wonderful being i have ever met, nothing could compare to you.”

tears that had been welling up began to shed, to unashamedly trickle down his face. “nothing.”

the hands that were drawn into your body to almost cradle yourself moved swiftly, they snaked around whatever they could get their fingers on and squeezed thrice, a simple indication of ‘i love you.’

things would be alright after all.

-is very caring during episodes, finds himself almost sick with worry the more you get worse or if you don’t get better

-helps you with cleaning yourself, brings you meals if you haven’t eaten for a while, cradles you at night.

-will hide away with you until you’re ready to go out anywhere. will chaperone you everywhere if he can, stick to you like glue, always has to be touching you in some sort of way to let you know he’s there

-tries to stay awake with you when insomnia hits you, reads to you, will even sing.

-if you can’t take care of your hygiene, he takes his time washing your hair, hands massaging your scalp, humming as he drags the faucet over your head to get the shampoo and conditioner out. puts on face masks with you, showers with you, even if he has to haul you up (it’s not much effort to carry you). he lathers you up and caresses every part of you, you are his everything. will just smother you in his deodorant, you smelling like him always eases his little protective brain for some reason.

-celebrates every good day with you, a part of him breaks when good days get fewer and far between. he fears losing you, or that you’ll never get better. but he doesn’t know that being with him grounds you more than he could ever know.

ALASTOR

“hey alastor!” Charlie itched to talk to the demon, something in her eyes gave him the impression that it was urgent. Her pale hands waved at him a little too aggressively for his liking.

something was up.

he did not like that one bit.

“Charlie! what can i do for you?” His smile stretched impossibly larger, an arm sweeping to courteously gesture for the princess of hell to continue talking. he fought the urge to grit and ground his teeth, anxiety was never one of his favourite emotions to experience, for others it was.

“Alastor! Hi! Hi.” Charlie jogged to him, standing in front of the demon with a little nervousness in her step. she cleared her throat before sighing, “look i just, i noticed something off about your partner today. i don’t think they’re doing okay, and i was worried and i thought you should know so that you would have a heads up-“

“thank you Charlie.” Alastor’s words came out borderline grateful, softer than his normally charring static voice. “is that all?”

“yes! i- uh, i hope they’re okay!” She beamed, lingering for a second longer than alastor liked before getting the message to leave. As soon as Charlie’s back was turned, Alastor phased through the floor, becoming one with the shadows, after a moment of plunging into an abyss, he rose back up from the depth into his room. Nothing seemed awry, until he picked up on the sound of the shower running, the water spewed out rhythmically.

and then the radio demon noticed the noise behind the water hitting the shower floor.

crying.

The buck’s whole body froze at the foreign sound, the sobs that wracked through the air caused his smile to instantly drop. Worry clouded his senses and without feeling it, his form expanded, antlers growing larger and sharper and his eyes shone bright as he all but busted through the bathroom door, scouring the place for you. “Dear?” his voice cracked, frenzied state shrinking to his normal size as he found you curled into a ball while water hit your back.

his hands itched to scoop you up and take you to bed, but he didn’t want to make you more upset.

you had looked at him with wobbly lips and swollen eyes, “don’t look at me.” you whimpered, a fresh set of tears crashing down your red face, “i’m disgusting, i’m ugly, i’m fucking putrid to see.” you had humourlessly laughed, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth before another sob was pulled from the depths of your chest.

for a second time, Alastor felt himself froze, conflicted with you insulting yourself. insulting his perfect partner. disgusting? absolutely not. ugly? what a lie. putrid? how far from the truth could you be?

his claws reached to envelop your body, he almost hissed at the temperature of the water, boiling hot, enough to burn. you had been sitting there, getting sprayed by alarmingly warm water. “come now.” he started, an unusually soft tone coming from him, “you’ll get hurt if you stay under that water my love.”

“that’s the point.” you mumbled, “maybe if i’m damaged enough on the outside you’ll see how ugly i am on the inside too.”

“nonsense.” Alastor cut through your speech with an edge of anger, without another word, the demon’s hands wrapped around you, dragging your sore body from the wrath of the water. “we are going to bed, yes? and you will tell me why you think this so horribly about yourself my dear.”

“what? why aren’t you yelling at me? why aren’t you telling me i’m right?” your voice began to raise, and your face, already branded with a waterfall of tears, housed some more, fat globs of tears raced down your cheeks. “why won’t you hate me like i hate me?”

“i could never see anything apart from perfection in you my darling.” the deer murmured honestly, shimmying a towel up and down your body as quickly as possible, he wanted to cradle you as soon as he could. “you are more than i deserve. i would do anything for you.” he finished drying your body, swiftly changing you into dry and warm clothes. “and doing anything for you, entails loving you when you can’t find it in yourself to do the same. my love for you will never simmer, or dull, or lose its intensity. it will never falter, not even for a second.” something cold was applied to the raw and sore skin that was affected by the water, a paste for healing supposedly.

“the moment i laid eyes on you, i promised to protect you.” the radio demon whispered, finally able to hold you properly. he pulled the covers up before sliding both of you in, absentmindedly he undid his suit buttons, letting the fluff of his chest puff out from under his dress shirt. he laid your head on his fur, content to have you smothered by him. “so let me protect you, let me help you fight these cruel thoughts.”

“i’m sorry Alastor, i’ll try be better.” you had mumbled guiltily, nudging into his fur defeatedly.

“no no darling, no apologies, no being ‘better’. be as you are, and let me fight these thoughts with you.” his head dipped down, a smile coating his features as he softly nipped at your neck.

an airy, wet laugh left you, “okay Alastor, okay okay! no apologies.” you had agreed, hands tightening around him in thanks.

but you didn’t need to thank him.

Alastor would do anything for you.

literally.

-unused to caring for someone, unused to love and relationships as a whole. had never had any interest until he had seen you, it had opened a casket full of emotions he wasn’t prepared for.

-when it comes to your hygiene and taking care of you when you can’t, he’s very methodical, brushing your teeth for exactly two minutes, washing your body and hair stiffly. overtime he does try and show his affection through touch more, enjoys cradling you, kisses anywhere he can get his mouth on, mostly chaste kisses, not fully comfortable with long kisses of any sort.

-enjoys massaging your scalp with his claws, how you’ll finally be able to sleep while he caters to you by caressing and stroking your skin or hair. if you wander outside of your shared room, he tries to be around as much as possible, always a hand on the small of your back or a watchful eye on you.

-gets his shadow forms to take care of you and check on you when he’s in the studio or busy. cooks for you everyday, will spoon feed you, even in bed (he’ll change the sheets the day after).

-sneakily gets you to do affirmations with him, makes you stand in front of a mirror with him and says what a great couple you guys look like. tells you that he loves you in front of the mirror while holding or stroking a different part of you each time. will begrudgingly do skin care and make you do it with him, after a while you begin to enjoy it and start just doing each other’s skin care in the mirror.

-sees you nothing short as perfect, even when you can’t get up or cry for hours or don’t want to eat, even when you give up and refuse to try anymore. he finds a way to motivate you and want to try again.

VOX

(disclaimer: getting tired around this point so writing from here on in may deteriorate or lessen in quality)

meetings had been long lately, plans for vox security were kickstarting. he was so busy and it was exhausting, news commercial here, press conference there, meeting here, new tv show there. Vox was tired and he missed you.

between all his schedule and stalking the radio demon unhealthily, it seemed he had almost forgotten about you, even though you flooded his mind at every instance.

he just hadn’t done a very good job at showing how much he had missed you these past few weeks. it left you in a state of loneliness you weren’t quite used to, eyes always trailing to the cameras around the building and in your room, but familiar light of Vox watching the cameras wasn’t there. he hadn’t been checking on in, maybe he didn’t even want to look at you.

self worth was at an all time low, and your anxiety had sky rocketed out of its temporary dormancy, coming back in tenfold. insecurities were on display more than ever, and Vox was nowhere to be seen, falling asleep at his desk or at Val’s and or Velvette’s place.

it was hard not to feel so utterly unwanted.

so you did what every other sinner would do, drink, go crazy on the town and snort some things you shouldn’t have. and at the end of the night, feverish and cold, shaky and nauseous, as you looked into a camera that belonged to vox security, the light didn’t flash on.

he wasn’t there. would he ever be again?

all the substances in your system caught up to you, your stomach began to bubble with pain and you no longer had it within you to keep up the charade that you were fine. you willed yourself to cry, to do something other than rot on the floor of an alleyway street, but no tears came.

instead blood trickled from out of your nose, a telltale sign that you had outdone yourself with whatever atrocities of chemicals you had put in your body. you threw your head back, an expression between a grimace and a smile graced your face, maybe if you fucked yourself up enough Vox would finally come back to you.

needles lay on the ground, no longer sterile but it did not matter. with already shaky hands you grasped one of them, putting it at an angle to inject, you brought it down and the moment it pierced your skin, a familiar hand pulled it straight out of you with a frenzied cry.

“what the fuck were you doing?!” Vox huffed, anger and concern battling to show through his words. worry etched into his features, but you didn’t manage to spot that, only the anger.

“i-i.” no words could come out, the blood from your nose congealed and dripped down onto your shirt, and the injection site pooled with crimson blood too. how could you explain to your partner that you had planned to completely self destruct in hopes he would care for you again?

“are you a fucking idiot? oh my fucking god you’re bleeding.” his palms glided across the blood on your nose and thigh, wiping it away on his skin, his lower lip trembled as he swore at you thoughtlessly. “do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” he bit back the yell, a sigh falling from his lips as he watched your expression morph from embarrassed to complete self hatred.

“i’m sorry, im so sorry.” you whispered, wanting nothing more than to be out of the way, “im sorry that im not good enough, ill be better, i promise, don’t leave me, don’t leave me-“

Vox’s heart, what was left of it, had shattered entirely at your words. regret punched him in the stomach, weeks of little attention and this is what he says in your darkest hour? “shh, shh, of course not, no, no, i would NEVER, never leave you.” his thumbs alternated between rubbing away your forming tears and beading blood.

“c’mere baby.” his voice cracked, he offered you his embrace silently. the look you gave him was utterly heartbreaking, doubtful that he would still love you, god, as if he could ever stop loving you. wordlessly you sank into him, trying to greedily cozy up into him as much as you could, to remember every inch of him. “please, forgive me.”

the words wouldn’t formulate, too drugged up and drunk to even respond, you slumped in his arms, barely able to blink. Suddenly fingers were pinching your cheeks, “hey, hey, don’t fall asleep, i need to make sure you’ll be alright.” he spoke softly, a complete contrast to before. “i’m so sorry, i should be the one saying sorry baby. i’m so stupid, mistreating my whole world.”

the more worked up and upset he got, the more static seeped into his voice. “i’m so sorry. so sorry babe. i haven’t been around and that’s unfair on you, ill book a few days off work okay? just me and you, and i promise ill make it up to you.” his head bowed down, nuzzling against you affectionately, “just stay awake f’me, we’ll get what’s out of your system, and ill make it all up to you, i promise.”

hearing his voice, feeling his touch was pure euphoria for you, a safe haven you had missed beyond anything. “anything for you Vox.”

-is a complete sweetheart, just struggles at first if you’ve done something harmful or destructive to yourself. anything he says in the moment is not thought about and is him panicking.

-makes it up to you every time, bubble baths, washing you and taking care of you like you’re his god. keeps a first aid kit on standby, one is in your room, other first aid kits in other areas of the building too. makes sure from then on in to reassure you, to let you know of his schedule, to bring you with him as much as he can. sometimes comes back from a meeting and just naps with you until he has another thing to do.

-cannot keep his hands off you, super touchy in public now, in meetings you’re new seat is his lap. will try to lessen his schedule more, will spend a lot of his time sleeping with you when you sleep a lot, you two fall asleep spooning or just completely intertwined.

-makes meals for you when he can, hires a personal chef to keep you fed when he’s working. makes a habit of checking his cameras in your shared room a lot more, doesn’t spend as much time infatuated with stalking the radio demon anymore, he’s better at figuring out his priorities now.

-kisses your knuckles when he comes back from work, and then kisses you properly, an intimate lip locking that won’t end until you get the point that he very much wants you. tries to work more remotely, practices affirmations with you and tries to work on his reactions to stressful scenarios so he doesn’t make you feel worse.

-work is important, power is important, but you are above them both, cherishes like you are the only thing to ever exist when you’re both together.

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roxygen22 · 3 days

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following this beautiful sickness ask trend...female reader fainting due to stress & her having a small argument with/getting scolded by Timothée while he takes care of her?🩷👀

Can't

You could hear the rumble of Timothée voice, but you were unable to focus on his words. While he chattered on while looking at his laptop right beside you, it sounded like he was rooms away. It took all of your energy and mental faculties to focus on just trying to breathe. Black spots crowded your line of sight as you put a hand out onto the counter to stabilize yourself. The motion caught Timothée's attention.

"[Y/N]?" he asked in concern.

"I-," was all you could mutter before your knees buckled. Timothée jumped from the bar stool to catch you as you fainted. "Whoa, [Y/N]! [Y/N]!" He gently lowered you to the ground and laid you on your back. He shook your shoulders and patted your cheeks. "Come on, [Y/N]. Wake up!"

Your eyelids fluttered and he released a shuddered breath in relief. You looked around, momentarily confused.

"You passed out. Again." Timothée looked down at your face in disapproval. "When was the last time you ate anything? Drank any water?" He helped you slowly sit up and lean against the couch.

"I'm fine. Stop fussing," you said, embarrassed.

"Stop fus- Listen here. YOU aren't the one who has to watch YOU faint. It is scary as hell. Every time I am terrified that you aren't going to wake up. One of these days I'm not going to be here to catch you before you hit the ground. Now. Answer me." He furrowed his brow and locked eyes with you. "When was the last time you ate or drank anything?"

Your eyes fell. "I don't know."

"You have to stop overworking yourself. You have to take breaks and take care of yourself."

"I know, but the success of the project I've spent YEARS of my life on comes down to getting this one thing right. I can't stop."

"Dammit, [Y/N], it's not worth your health," he shouted. "You need to slow down. The world, this project, will not collapse if you take 15 minutes here and there to take care of yourself."

"I CAN'T, TIMOTHÉE," you snapped.

Timothée recoiled slightly at your reaction. "And I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore," he said quietly. He got up, grabbed his keys and wallet, and walked out.

You stared at the door with your mouth agape in disbelief for a solid two minutes before tears clouded your vision. You and he have had heated arguments before, but never once had he walked out. He's right, you thought to yourself. You won't be doing anyone any good if you end up hospitalized.

You shakily stood, pushing yourself up using the frame of the couch for support. You slowly walked to the refrigerator and refilled your water bottle. Nauseous and lacking energy needed to make a meal, you opted to snack on crackers instead. You traipsed back to the couch and all but collapsed with your kitchen haul in hand. You hadn't stopped and relaxed in so long, you really weren't sure what to do next. Before you could grab the TV remote, you heard keys unlocking the front door. Timothée stepped through.

"I couldn't leave knowing that I just left you on the floor." He shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to make eye contact.

"I'm glad you did."

His head shot up as he gave you a questioning look, unsure if he heard you correctly.

"It was uncharacteristic enough to shock me to my senses. You were right. No job is worth my health, and certainly not worth losing you over. I'm sorry, Timothée."

"I don't want an apology. I want to see action. Shut down that laptop for the night. Relax. Be with me. Please."

"Deal," you smiled and patted the seat next to you on the couch.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List: @groovyqueer, @bluizh, @jindongdongie, @croatianprincess

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #Timothée chalamet x you #timothee x you #Timothée x you #Timothée x reader #timothee x reader #sickfic #hurt/comfort #slight angst #whump #timothée imagine #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee fanfic #reader insert

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tswaney17 · 1 day

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I Do Bad Things with You - Part 49

It's here!!! The final part of this massive fic. 😭 I can't believe we're finally at the end. I'm still in shock that I get to close the door on this fic that has taken up the last three years of my life. I have so many emotions running through me right now. 🥺

The epilogue will be posted during @elriel-month in addition to a little surprise I'm so excited to share with you. Stay tuned!! 💜💙💚

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

This part also features descriptions of birth and complications from it.

Word Count: 7,225

Elain had spent a good portion of the late morning getting ready for the baby shower scheduled for noon. At just over eight months pregnant, they were cutting close to the wire of the twins’ arrival.

She was beyond exhausted. Growing the babies was work enough, but she ached everywhere at this point. Her boobs, her hips, her ankles. Her back…that hurt the worst. She looked like she swallowed two extra large watermelons. Elain hadn’t seen her feet in two and half months and she was praying that her toenails looked well enough for sandals today.

On top of her aching body, she also slept like shit the night before, having woken up in the wee hours with Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to never want to go away. They were getting obnoxious at this point.

Oh! And her boobs had already started leaking. Aside from the contractions, Elain also woke up to a soaked sleep shirt and an attitude that poor Azriel was desperately trying to keep calm. She felt bad that her irritation got directed at him, but he took her mood swings in stride, giving her the space when she needed it, and focusing on taking care of Kaden and getting him ready for the party.

Her husband knocked lightly before entering their bedroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it when he saw her standing there in an ugly pair of panties and a strapless bra—which she had no idea how it was going to hold up her tits, but here they were. “Hello, my love. How are you doing?” he asked, striding further into their room. He was already dressed in black slacks and a white button-down rolled up to his elbows. It was one of her favorite looks on him. Casual but classy and sexy as hell.

“I’m all right. Better than this morning,” which was true. In the time she took to get ready, she felt her irritation slowly dissipate. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

He gifted her a soft smile he reserved only for her and their children. “El, you’re carrying two babies. You’re allowed to let out your frustrations. I’m here to spar if you need it, you know that.”

She knew he meant spar as in letting her yell and shout and hiss words until she felt better while he just took it. Gods, he really was the perfect husband. Elain held out her coco butter lotion towards him. “Do you mind rubbing this on me and helping me dress?”

Azriel took the bottle from her outstretched hands, dropping a sweet kiss on her plump lips before squirting some into his scarred palms and gently rubbing it all over her swollen stomach. He knelt before her, dutifully getting every inch of her covered. “You are so beautiful, Elain,” he murmured, kissing her at the fullest part of her belly.

She snorted. “I am a beached whale who ate too much.”

“You are a gorgeous woman carrying life inside of her womb. That will always be beautiful, sweetheart.”

How he always knew what to say was beyond her, but she tugged him up off the ground to kiss him thoroughly. It should’ve annoyed her with how just a few sweeps of Azriel’s tongue had every concern and irritation simply melt away. He knew when to play that card and fuck did he play it well.

But even his tongue couldn’t stop the hiss of pain as another contraction wracked her body.

He immediately pulled back at the sound, eyes scanning her face. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern etched into the tone.

She breathed through the wave that tightened in her abdomen. “Braxton Hicks contractions,” she said as an explanation.

His brows shot into his hairline. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

Elain reached up to cup his cheek in her palm, her thumb swiping over the stubble there. “No, it’s a normal thing this late in the pregnancy. I’ve had a few this morning starting before dawn. It’s why I was grouchy.”

Understanding lit his face and he carefully ran his hand down her stomach again. “Why didn’t you wake me this morning?”

She huffed a laugh. “Because I knew you’d go into full-birthing-dad-mode and neither one of us would’ve slept any longer.”

Azriel shot her an unamused glare. “You will be thanking me for that birthing-dad mode when you’re in labor and I have everything packed up within minutes.”

This time Elain laughed loud and joyfully. “Yes, you’re probably right.” She nodded to the dress on the bed. “Help me slip that on?”

He grabbed the fabric, bunching it in his large fists, and pulled it over her head. It was an off-the-shoulder, loose, pale pink cotton dress, decorated with roses. It looked vintage, gathering just under her bust, with oversized puffy sleeves that sat off her shoulders, over her biceps. Ruffles accentuated the bottom hem, emphasizing the vintage style. It was the perfect spring dress. When Elain first saw it at the store, she knew she had to buy it for the shower.

Azriel tugged her loose curls from the back of the dress, letting them brush against her spine. He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder before grabbing the rose-pendant necklace he bought to go with the dress and draping it around her delicate neck. “Perfect,” he murmured onto her skin, his smile pressing against her neck.

Elain sighed softly, reaching up to thread her fingers through his dark hair. “How am I still horny for you?”

He nipped at her throat, a rumble shaking his chest. “Because you know I can deliver what you need without even blinking.”

This time she laughed, letting his hands run across her body in possessive little touches.

Azriel brazenly cupped her sex through the dress, growling as she let out a mewling sound and began to writhe against those skilled fingers, searching for the friction she desperately craved. “Would you like to fuck my hand, love?” he murmured, mouth grazing her jaw.

Elain fell slack against him, letting his strength hold her up. “Az,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he began to rub her in earnest. “Please.”

He nipped the curve of her ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth. “You beg so prettily, El.” Bunching up the dress in a fist, Azriel slid her panties aside, swiping his fingers over her soaked pussy. “Fuck, baby. You’re so wet for me. Always desperate for my touch.”

She gripped him, nails digging into his exposed forearms. “I need—I need,” she panted out, wiggling in his hold. “Please, Az.”

Giving her exactly what she wanted—needed—Azriel sunk his middle finger into her aching cunt, pumping once before adding a second digit. “Such a good girl,” he whispered, thrusting in and out of her. The heel of his palm grazed her clit sending bolts of pleasure up her spine.

Elain bit her lip, stifling the moan that threatened to burst from her. His fingers scraped along that special spot inside of her, building her up and up and up until she teetered on the edge of bliss.

Barely conscious of her surroundings, Elain caught the sound of the door handle jiggling, followed by a “Momma!”

Azriel clapped a hand over her mouth as he continued his machinations. “Momma’s getting dressed, Kaden. We’ll be out in a minute,” he called out, pressing his palm firmly on her clit and sending her spiraling into her orgasm.

Too far gone to care, she tumbled into sweet oblivion, coming hard on his fingers. Elain moaned, only quieted by the muffling against her husband’s scarred hand.

He worked her through her release, slowing his movements when she started to come down from her high. Az peppered her skin with sweet kisses, removing his fingers from her pussy and readjusting her panties back into place before letting the dress fall back down. “Better, my love?”

“I’m gonna have to change my underwear, but yes.” She twisted in his arms, catching him sucking his fingers clean. Elain brought his mouth down to hers, tongue licking the drop of her release dotting his bottom lip. “Thank you, husband.”

He smiled into their kiss, deepening it once more. “I’ll go check on Kaden while you finish up. We’ll head out when you’re done.”

Twenty minutes later, they were in the car on their way to Rhys and Feyre’s place. It was a gorgeous day full of sunshine, the air warm with the oncoming of summer. It was as if even the Mother wanted to grace her presence on that day with her radiance. They really couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day for a baby shower.

“Momma?” Kaden called from the back seat. “Where are we going?”

His speech had improved so much since they first brought him home that the therapist they hired had told them after the end of the school year, that he likely wouldn’t need to continue seeing a specialist to catch him up. He was reading and writing the way a five-year-old should be and was on track to pass kindergarten with flying colors.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Remember how we talked about going to Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys’s for the baby shower today.”

He seemed to think about that. “What’s a baby shower?”

Her lips quirked up at his curious mind. Thankfully, he hadn’t asked about where babies came from again. “It’s a party to celebrate the upcoming arrival of your brother and sister.” Her hand came to rest on her belly instinctively.

His face scrunched up. “Will I have to take a bath again?”

Azriel let out a snort, glancing at her. “It’s a fair question.”

She laughed. “No, sweetheart. Not that kind of shower. To shower with love. The party is just to celebrate the babies before they arrive.”

“Will there be cake?” he asked, excitement lighting up his face at the prospect of sweets.

“For my sister’s sake, there better be.” Elain’s late-stage pregnancy craving was anything sweet. Cookies, cakes, pastries, whatever she could get her hands on, she was eating it. Azriel was barely able to keep the pantry stocked with desserts for her to snack on.

Her husband chuckled. “If she doesn’t, we’ll stop by a bakery on our way home and get each of you a cake. How’s that sound?” he asked, grasping her hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles.

She grinned. “You spoil me.”

He looked at her then. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

They were fashionably late to their baby shower, and Elain completely blamed her husband’s morning sexual charade for the delay in their arrival. Not that she minded at all. She had another Braxton Hick contraction in the car, Azriel eying her with worry and once again asking if they should make a pitstop at the hospital just in case.

But that would’ve made them even more late and Elain knew it was unnecessary.

All of their friends and family were waiting for their arrival. And she hated being late.

“What am I going to do with you gone for six months, Elain?” Thesan teased, taking a sip of his beer.

She shot a devilish grin at the head nurse sitting on the couch across from her. “I’m sure Viv would love to pick up all the slack.”

Viviane squawked in outrage and pointed a menacing finger in her direction. “Don’t put your work on me while you’re enjoying your babymoon, Elain Archeron-Knight.”

The group laughed as she pushed herself up off the couch. Another contraction hit her and she winced, catching the attention of the sharp-eyed nurse. But before she could ask, Kaden came bounding up to her, tugging on the skirt of her dress.

“Momma, can I have a cake pop?” He looked up at her with those damn puppy eyes he knew she couldn’t resist.

Elain ran a hand through his hair. “Sure, sweetie. Only one. You don’t want to spoil your appetite for Uncle Cassian’s good barbeque.”

Said uncle was out in the backyard tending to the grill with her husband, Rhys, and the Moonbeam brothers because, apparently, that’s where men gathered. Aelin and Rowan had joined them, the former getting an eyebrow raise from Azriel at her company’s appearance.

She made her way to the kitchen, hoping to perhaps score one of those cake pops herself—she was the guest of honor, surely she could snag one too. Feyre, Nuala, and Cerridwen had been busy putting together the final touches for lunch and were just waiting for Cassian’s proteins to serve food.

But just as she reached the breakfast bar, a wave of excruciating pain washed over her. Catching herself on the counter, Elain gripped the side of her stomach, groaning loud enough that the other room went silent. And then she felt it. Liquid surged between her legs, puddling the floor beneath her.

No. No, it was too soon. They couldn’t be coming already.

Viviane rounded the corner from the living room as Feyre and the twins approached her.

Somebody breathed her name, but she couldn’t decipher who it was over the blood rushing in her ears.

More footsteps sounded as her friends and family came from the living room to see what was going on.

“Elain.” It was Feyre’s voice that broke through the fog of fear that had clouded her, but she was too numb to respond. Too nervous. “Somebody get Azriel!”

Her panic grew and her breathing turned shallow. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared enough. The anxiety of giving birth hit her like a freight train.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t.

~~~~~

Azriel took a swig of his beer, rolling his eyes at the cad comment Rhys made. His tanned skin warmed in the sunlight even with the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows. With a glance at the large window, he caught Elain rising from her spot on the couch, Kaden gripping her dress to speak with her.

Gods, that fucking dress. Elain looked like a maternal goddess in it, emphasizing her swollen belly, brimming with the life of his children. Az never realized he had a breeding kink until he and Elain got back together. His desire to fill her with his seed, to watch her grow with life had him hardening in his pants.

Now at eight months, she had reached the stage where little things irked the hell out of her. Honestly, her temper was cute as hell, but he tried to be considerate of her exhaustion and short-fuse, offering himself up to take the heat of her ire. It was only fair—he’s the one that got her pregnant.

It may have made him a primitive, alpha-douchebag, but fuck did he love to see her waddling around, pregnant and barefoot in their home. She was already such a wonderful mother to their boy, Kaden. Cassian had been right. He was so incredibly grateful for Elain’s maternal instinct.

“Something caught your eye, brother?” Cassian taunted, grinning. His brother knew exactly what he was looking at. Or whom.

He shot him a dry look that had Cash chuckling.

“If she wasn’t already pregnant, I’d say that look alone could’ve knocked her up,” he teased. “Who knew you had such a kink, Az.”

Azriel opened his mouth to retort, but the sliding glass door opening caught his attention.

Nuala peeked her head out, a worried look on her face that had his stomach tightening in knots. “Azriel! Get in here now!”

But he was already moving, dropping his drink on the table and running after her into the house, his brothers and friends hot on his heels. He froze in the entryway of the kitchen, taking in the scene for a split second before his eyes settled on Elain bent over the counter, a puddle of clear liquid beneath her.

His feet ate up the space between them in three long strides, her name falling from his lips as he cupped her face and forced her gaze on his. Azriel prided himself in knowing exactly what Elain was feeling, what she was thinking by just the look on her face. He read her better than he did himself. So, seeing the blatant apprehension and worry written as clearly as a tattoo on her forehead had his heart racing in his chest.

Her eyes were wet with the tears he could tell she was trying to hold back.

“Love,” he said quietly, unsure how to proceed at the moment.

She blinked like hearing him cleared a bit of the fog that had washed over her. “Azriel.” Her voice cracked.

He folded her into his arms, trying to soothe whatever worries were troubling her. “You’re okay, my love.”

Elain seemed to melt in his embrace, her tension slowly ebbing away the longer he held her. He gave her whatever time she needed, ignoring the audience they had around them, but it was long enough for another contraction to hit. She cried out, gripping his hand in hers and squeezing tight.

Viviane snapped into action at that. “Azriel, her contractions are about nine minutes apart now. She’s going to have at least two more by the time you reach the hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Elain growled.

That had him pulling back to look down at her. “El, the babies are coming—”

“No. Hospitals.” He could see the wavering in her face. “I—,” she paused, hesitating. “They’re not ready. It’s too early. Too soon. They can’t come out yet…” Her head fell until she was looking at the wetness still sitting on the floor. “I’m not ready,” Elain whispered so quietly, that he almost missed it.

Azriel knew that was nerves speaking. While Kaden made them parents, the idea of giving birth to the twins was the primary source of her fear. The books he read said that many expectant mothers experienced this type of anxiety right around the time they went into labor. If they were going to have any success in her having a smooth birth, Azriel needed to get her to calm down. He glanced at Cassian. “Can you get her a chair?”

His brother grabbed one from the dining room, setting it out for Az to carefully guide Elain into. He knelt in front of her, keeping her hands clasped firmly in his. “Elain, sweetheart,” her dark eyes latched onto his, needing to hear his reassurance. He kept his voice low, wishing they didn’t have to have this conversation in front of their friends and family.

Rhys seemed to sense that and began ushering people out of the room. “Let’s give the couple a few minutes.”

He shot his brother a grateful look before returning his attention to Elain. “Sweetheart, I know you’re scared. I know it’s earlier than we were expecting. But if there is one thing that I am certain of is that you can do this.” He squeezed her hands in comfort. “You are the strongest person I know. You’ve been through so much that once all is said and done, you’re going to look at me and tell me that this was the easy part. I promise you that if anyone can do this, it’s you. And I will be right by your side for every step, holding your hand, giving you ice chips, and bearing whatever you need me to bear to bring our children into the world.”

She sniffed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re sure?”

“Without a doubt, Elain. You can do this.” He brought their joined hands up to his mouth, kissing her fingers and letting her absorb whatever confidence she needed. “So, what do you say? Are you ready to have our babies, love?”

Elain huffed a laugh, his words settling the nerves she had. “Yes, let’s go have our babies,” she breathed, her grin taking over her entire face, lasting all of thirty seconds before a look of panic took root once more. “Az, the birthing bag is still at the house.”

He let out an undignified snort. “Do you think after having that contraction in front of me this morning, I’d leave the house without having absolutely everything packed and ready to go? Come on, baby, you know me better than that. It’s all in the back of the car.”

She blinked in surprise. “The birthing bag and my pillow?”

“In the car,” he confirmed.

“Kaden’s overnight bag?”

“In the car.”

“The car seats for the twins?”

He scoffed. “You know I installed those weeks ago, try again.”

Her lips quired up at the corner. “What about the slippers I was wearing this morning?” she asked, thinking she had him.

Az rolled his eyes in playful exasperation. “I grabbed them when I snagged the birthing bag.” He kissed her hands again. “I’ve got you, love.”

And then she was leaning forward, kissing him with so much love and devotion, he felt it down to the soul she brought back to life. The sound of their family’s cheers forced them apart, a pretty blush dusting the tops of Elain’s cheeks, but she didn’t dare look away from him.

Without looking away from her, Azriel reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys, and tossed them to Rhys. “Can you grab Kaden’s bag from the trunk? The one with dinosaurs. And then Elain’s purple one as well.”

Elain’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Why is he grabbing mine?”

His lips pulled up into a knowing grin, brushing the shell of her ear as he leaned forward to whisper, “I thought you might like to change your underwear and put on a maternity pad for the ride to the hospital.”

Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, but she nodded in agreement.

A little body shuffled closer. “Momma?” Kaden murmured, looking so very worried over the state of his mother.

She held her arms out, motioning him forward. “C’mere sweetheart.” Elain tucked him into her chest, kissing the top of his head. “You’re going to stay here with Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys while Daddy and I go to the hospital to have your brother and sister.”

He looked up at her with those puppy-dog eyes and damn, the kid knew how to work them. “But I want to go with you!” His lower lip quivered and Azriel could tell he was on the verge of tears.

But his wife took it in stride, cupping his little face in her palms and swiping her thumbs across his cheeks. “I know, sweetheart. I know you do. But you’ll have a much better time here with your aunt and uncle. Momma’s not going to be fun to be around until your siblings are here.” She kissed his plump cheek. “But I promise that you will be the first to see us once they arrive. Okay?”

Feyre stepped forward, reaching out a hand for their son. “Come on, Kaden. We’ll have lots of fun eating all the desserts left over.” She shot them a wink when he finally relented, taking her fingers.

After cleaning her up as best as he could and getting her a maternity pad from her bag, he and Elain were in the car on the way to the hospital. As Viviane predicted, she had two more contractions on the way, grabbing his offered hand and the “oh shit” bar as she groaned her way through it. And then promptly went into a third one right as they arrived.

Az timed them out, still sitting about nine minutes apart. “Breathe, baby. Good, love. Just like that.” His thumb grazed the back of her hand. Her grip was tight, on the verge of painful, but he didn’t dare let his face flinch or show an ounce of discomfort. She needed his strength and that’s exactly what he was going to give her.

They were immediately escorted to their private room and Elain’s vitals were checked over. She was sitting at only two centimeters dilated, which meant they were looking at being there for a bit.

Between her contractions, he swapped out his clothes for a fitted black t-shirt and grey sweatpants to get more comfortable and then sent a text to their siblings to notify them that they were in and settled, but it would be a while before they would have any progress.

“Can you check in with Kaden?” Elain asked, taking a scoop of ice chips from her cup.

The corner of his lips curled up at the question. “I already did. Feyre said he wouldn’t leave the front window for a while and had to persuade him with his baby cousin and a lot of sweet treats.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “He’s going to have a mouth full of cavities before we get home.” Elain twisted to look at him. “Do you think we made the right decision by not letting him come with us? It sounds like he’s waiting for us to return. I know that some families let their little ones be present for the birth of their siblings and we discussed it—”

He interrupted her train of thought. “I think we made the right call, love. We’re going to be here for a while and we both know that things can upset him. I don’t know how well he’d handle watching you go through that.”

She nodded but didn’t look very convinced.

Azriel reached for her hand, covering it with his own and squeezing her fingers. “He’s safe and well-cared for. Remember that while we focus on bringing his little brother and sister into the world.” He brushed his lips over her knuckles in a sweet kiss.

Elain smiled softly at him. “Okay.”

And so, they waited.

Per his wife’s birthing plan, she wanted to attempt to go natural. Azriel admired her strength and resilience in doing so. But after over sixteen hours of hard labor, he could see her resolve fading.

He stroked her cheek, fingers brushing hair behind her ear. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Dark circles already lined the underneath part of her eyes. She looked so weary. “I’m so tired, Az.” Her voice came out nearly broken and fuck if that didn’t just rip his beating heart from his chest.

Kissing her forehead, he murmured, “Do you want to get the epidural? It’ll help you get some much-needed rest before the delivery.” As of now, she was only at seven centimeters and the doctor had said it could still be a while longer until she reached a full ten.

Her chin dipped in confirmation. “Please.”

Azriel didn’t waste time calling for the nurse. Within ten minutes, he watched as a grossly large needle was inserted into her back, sending that relief washing over her. He peppered her face with kisses during the procedure, murmuring words of praise and comfort in her ear as she gritted her teeth through it.

Elain spent the next eight hours in a fitful sleep, dosing off and waking up not long after each time. Azriel didn’t bother to try and sleep, not when she wasn’t really getting much at all.

But finally, after just past nine, she was fully dilated and ready to push.

His wife pushed and pushed and pushed for a half hour with nothing to show for it. She was in tears, frustrated, and so exhausted he was practically supporting all her weight having slid an arm around her shoulders to keep her upright.

“I can’t, I can’t,” she sobbed, half burying her face into his chest.

“You can, love. You’re so strong. Just a little bit more,” he tried to reassure her. It fucking killed him to see her like this.

“Can’t you do it for me?” she pleaded, looking up at him with wild, desperate eyes.

He gripped her cheek in his palm, kissing her temple. “You know I would, El. I would give anything to switch places with you right now. But I know you can do this. Just a few more pushes and then they’ll be here.”

Whatever she read within his words seemed to do the trick, her brows furrowing with a determination he hadn’t seen since they left the house. Elain pushed herself up, trying to get into a kneeling position, and he was right there, sliding behind her and supporting her weight.

The nurses squawked, muttering something about hospital policy, but frankly, he did not give a fuck, snarling, “Her body is telling her to push like this. Listen to your fucking patient.”

Changing the position was exactly what she needed because their son was born within the next two contractions, entering the world with a healthy set of lungs.

They sagged back against the pillows, his face wet with tears as they placed their new baby directly on Elain’s bared chest. He couldn’t stop himself from tipping her head back to kiss her softly on the lips, pausing the savor the moment.

Az traced the pads of his fingers over the curve of their boy’s cheek, just needing to touch him to prove he was here with them. Even covered in fluids, he was so beautiful. The perfect blend of the two of them.

The nurses gave them just a few minutes with the first baby before Doctor Chen said that she needed to start pushing again. She took their boy from Elain’s arms, promising to bring him back for Azriel after he was cleaned up and their daughter was born.

Delivery of their little girl went easier than with their son. But whereas their boy came out crying, their daughter came out silent.

Azriel knew something was wrong just by the silence, but it only grew the anxiety in his stomach when the doctor turned her back on them, taking their little one with her to work on.

“She’s not crying,” Elain breathed, worry clouding her voice.

He could only squeeze her shoulders in comfort, watching as they shoved things into her nose and mouth.

“Suction,” Chen ordered.

“Azriel, why isn’t she crying?”

“She’s going to be okay, love. They’re helping her. She’s okay.” The words passed his lips even as his heart dropped into his stomach when they started doing compressions on her tiny body.

No.

This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t lose her. It would kill him to lose his little girl, but Elain, fuck, he couldn’t even begin to fathom the devastation she would face at this loss. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t pay to fix this or threaten someone to save their baby girl.

So, he did what any father would do.

He prayed.

He prayed to every god, every deity, everything, and anything he could think of to keep his little girl safe and bring her back to them. To take her place if they demanded it. A life for a life. He’d pay it for his child, his family. “Come on,” he murmured. “Come on, baby. Come on.”

Elain curved her face into the side of his chest, howling in a way he’d never heard from her before.

His arms went around her, that dreaded feeling turning his blood cold. The terror he felt of their little one dead before she lived was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But still, he did not stop praying, clutching Elain’s shaking body to his. “Come on, little one. Come on!” he chanted. “Please.”

And then, a rattled cough tore from her tiny body, followed by the sweet, beautiful sound of her cry.

Elain’s wail turned into relieved sobs, as the doctor walked over their bundled little girl and placed her into his wife’s awaiting arms.

“Somebody was just so excited to meet you, she took a breath a little too early, but we cleared out her passages and lungs and she looks good now.”

His wife tucked their daughter into her chest, kissing the top of her head. “Hi sweet girl, Momma’s here,” she whispered, tears still falling down her cheeks. Tears that matched the ones running down his face.

She was here. His baby girl. Fuck, she looked just like him, with dark hair and tanned skin. He hadn’t gotten a look at her eyes yet, but already she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Here you go, Mr. Archeron-Knight,” one of the other nurses said, pulling his attention from his wife and daughter as she handed him his son, cleaned up and wrapped in a soft blanket.

The small bundle was gently laid in the crook of his elbow. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever feel the amount of love he did on Kaden’s adoption day, but sitting here with his gorgeous wife, holding their newborn twins, he felt his heart soar in his chest.

Sweaty and fatigued, Elain glanced up at his face, the sweetest, exhausted smile pulling on her lips. “I love you,” she murmured.

He let out a sound that was a cross between a chuckle and a sob. “I love you more.” And then he kissed her, sealing that moment in time with his undying love for her.

~~~~~

Elain woke to the sound of a whimpering cry, swiftly followed by Azriel’s low voice.

“Hey, sweet girl. What’s wrong, huh?” She heard some shuffling as her husband lifted their daughter from the nursery bed. “Momma needs her sleep so we need to be quiet.” He kept his voice low enough to not disturb her—fuck she loved him so much—but she was already awake, rolling over in the hospital bed to face him.

Azriel holding his children was, hands down, the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. How she could even feel the need for him after pushing two babies out of her currently aching and severely injured body was beyond her, but just watching him bounce their fussing daughter made all those desires come roaring to the surface.

Almost as if he could sense her presence, hazel eyes slid to hers. “I’ve got her, love. Go back to sleep.” His voice remained soft as night as if anything louder would disturb her.

She curled up on her side, watching him. “I think we should get used to no sleep now.”

He huffed a laugh, patting Rosalie on her back as she further settled into the crook of his elbow.

Their daughter was almost two pounds smaller than her brother, coming in right at five whereas Ryder was a healthy six pounds, fourteen ounces. The doctor was a little concerned over Rosalie’s lower birth weight, but Elain had managed to get both babies to latch and feed earlier and she ate well, so they were mainly playing it by ear.

Because of her smaller size, Azriel already placed an order for some preemie clothes and sent a photo of her with the twins to their siblings. They asked to give them a day to recuperate before coming to the hospital in the morning. After the scare with Rosalie, both she and Azriel wanted to take some time to spend with the babies. Plus, the medical team was in and out of their room, taking Rosalie for some additional tests just to be sure everything looked good.

It was just after seven that night, and they were settling in for the evening. Tired of hospital food, Azriel ordered hamburgers from DoorDash for them to eat. Elain was starving and it sounded so good that she drooled when she suggested it to him. Both babies had been fed only an hour earlier and she anticipated not having another feeding till late evening or early morning.

Elain grabbed whatever sleep she could, knowing she’d need it when they were released in a couple of days, but she was sure Azriel hadn’t slept a wink since she’d gone into labor.

She pushed herself up, reclining on her pillows. The nurses cleaned her after the delivery and stitched her up from tearing, but Elain couldn’t wait to get home and take a proper shower. “Does she need to be changed?” she asked, nodding to the now-sleeping baby in her husband’s arms.

Azriel shook his head. “No, I think she was just fussing.” His dark hair was still mussed up from when he stripped out of his shirt earlier, taking time for skin-to-skin contact with each of the twins.

Elain had to rein in her laugh at how the nurse blushed as he revealed miles of gloriously tanned, tattooed skin and corded muscle. Her husband was a fine specimen, but he never flaunted it, so seeing another woman react to it was humorous especially since he didn’t even seem to notice her blushing, stammering state.

“You should sleep too, Az,” she said instead.

He looked at her, his lips curving up. It had been doing that a lot since the birth of the twins. The sweetest, smallest smile that crept up the corners of his mouth. Almost as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It was utterly adorable and made him look younger. “I’ll rest later. You need it more than me.”

Her shoulders shook in amusement. “You know, we can sleep when they do.”

“I just don’t want to miss a second of them.” His attention returned to his little girl who already had him wrapped around her finger. To be fair, all of their children did. “Fuck, I can’t believe they’re here already. It seems like it was only a month ago you found out you were pregnant.”

“I can’t believe our first anniversary is coming up in just a handful of weeks.”

At that, he laughed. “I guess a trip for our anniversary is out of the question?”

She grinned. “Not unless all our little ones are coming with us.” Because like hell was she going to be able to leave them so soon. Plus with her nursing, it just wouldn’t be ideal.

He seemed to consider her. “We could take the jet to the Summer District. Kaden will be out of school then and we’ll both still be out on leave. Just a thought.”

Gods, he was fucking perfect. “That might be nice.”

A knock on the door interrupted whatever he was going to say. He frowned in confusion, looking at her.

Elain shrugged, sitting up further on her bed. “Come in,” she called out.

She thought it might be a nurse or a doctor, coming to check on her or the twins. What she didn’t expect was for Rhys to peek his head into the room. Surprise lit her features and she glanced at Azriel, who looked equally as bewildered at the sudden visit from their brother.

“Hey,” Rhys said. “I apologize for dropping by unannounced, but somebody really couldn’t wait till tomorrow to see you.” He opened the door slightly, revealing Kaden clutching a teddy bear, eyes puffy and red from crying.

Her heart ached at the distress their son must’ve been in for Rhys to come all the way here. “Hello sweetheart,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “Come here, my love.”

He took a small step further into the room, Rhys’s hand guiding him at the backside of his head. Kaden took slow steps as he approached the side of her bed. “Momma, are you sick?”

She reached out to cup his cheek in her palm. “No, baby. I’m not sick. Your brother and sister decided it was time to come out of my tummy.” Her eyes found Azriel’s as he rose from his seat on the couch, moving toward them. “Would you like to meet them?” she asked, returning her gaze to Kaden’s.

His head dipped in confirmation.

Elain pushed herself back even more. “Rhys, can you help him up and then grab me that flat pillow over there.”

He set the boy on the bed between her spread legs, Kaden shuffling backward and bumping into her sensitive lower area.

She hissed out in pain before she could stop herself. A wave of agony washed over her with enough intensity that her stomach curdled with nausea.

Azriel reacted immediately. “Easy, buddy. Momma’s going to be sore for a while and we need to be extra careful with her.”

“I’m okay,” she spoke quickly, not wanting to upset Kaden any more than he already was, and kissed his plump cheek as she breathed through the pain. “Okay, Rhys. Place the pillow over our laps.”

Adjusting his arms in preparation, Azriel gently lowered their daughter until she comfortably rested on the nursing pillow.

“Kaden, this is your sister, Rosalie,” he announced, letting his finger stroke her rounded cheek.

Elain couldn’t see his face directly, but she did catch his eyes widening as he stared down at her, his fingers carefully tracing over her delicate features just as his father did.

“Rosawee,” he said, not quite catching the ending syllable. It would be something they would have to work on. When she kicked a leg within her swaddle, he pulled his hand back, startled.

She laughed, feeling the bed dip as Azriel sat down next to them, bringing over their son. “And this is your brother, Ryder.”

He reached out to trace the outline of his brows, the touch gentle and exploratory. “I’m a brother?” he asked, turning his head to look up at her.

“That’s right sweetheart. You’re their big brother, and they’re going to love you so much,” she told him, kissing the top of his head.

Elain took in her family, her incredible husband, and three beautiful children. It sounded so wild to even think about. She was a wife and a mother. Thinking back, she remembered the day that had changed the trajectory of her life forever. The bank robbery a few years back. It was crazy to think how such a terrifying moment altered her life in the best of ways. It brought her back to the love of her life.

It put her on this very path.

She’d face every one of the moments since then tenfold as long as it brought her to this point in time, sitting here with her gorgeous little family.

“Perfect.”

She looked up at Rhys, catching him with his phone out.

“Your first family photo.”

Her lips turned up and silver lined her eyes. “Thank you, Rhys.”

He waved her off. “Do you want me to take Kaden back with me?”

“No,” Azriel said, ruffling his eldest son’s hair. “He can stay here with us tonight. Can you put his booster seat in our car? The keys are in my bag.”

“You got it.” He grabbed the keys but paused on the threshold. “And congratulations you guys. Rosalie and Ryder are beautiful.”

Azriel leaned further into her side, kissing her temple. “Thank you, brother.” Once alone, he turned her head toward his, bringing her mouth to his for a slow, sweet kiss. “I love you so damn much, Elain.”

His smile was infectious, making her lips turn up at the corners. “Thank you, Azriel, for giving me this life—these babies. You have made me the happiest I could ever imagine. I love you.”

“Momma! She’s got my finger,” Kaden’s giggle interrupted their moment.

They laughed, looking at their three beautiful children.

Elain knew that this perfect moment was just the very beginning of the rest of their lives.

~~~~~

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darkwolf989 · 2 days

Text

Outside The Office Part Thirty One

TW: Valentino, Drugging, Sex.

Enjoy <3

The bright lights of Valentino’s newest club flashed as we made our way across the floor. The music vibrated in my chest as I slid into the booth.

“Water for me, Val. Please.” I said quietly as the server appeared. I laid my head on his shoulder. I truly, truly didn’t feel like being out. Staying home by myself wasn’t an option. And according to my vitals, neither was the coffee I so desperately craved. So here I sat, the sober one amongst the chaos.

To his credit, Valentino gave me the choice- call Lucifer and he could come hang out with me- and by that he meant babysit, or I could go with him and the others. It was opening night of his newest club after all, and as the owner he needed to be there.

“I’m trying something- mi amore. A new business model, so to speak.” He said as he got himself ready for the night. “I need Vox and Vel by my side. And normally I would leave you behind, but giving your…difficult day, I simply cannot justify leaving you alone. And if you’d rather come with us, there is something we need to discuss.” He turned to me and caressed my cheek. “If I kiss you- harshly, roughly, and you see red trickle down from the corner of my mouth, that’s the signal for you to get close to me and stay there. Understood?”

He waited for me to nod and his tone shifted to something much more serious. He cupped my chin and locked eyes with me.

“Princessa. I will degrade you- verbally. I will speak as though you don’t matter to me. Know it’s a lie. Know that I’m doing it because if they think you’re anything more than my favorite toy, you become even more of a target than you already are. With this knowledge, are you sure you want to come with us?”

I nodded.

“Good.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “This setup is different, mi amore. If you’re not in the booth with one of us, you’re at one of our sides. Got it?”

Valentino snapped his fingers, barked an order and instantly, a server appeared with a glass of iced water. I accepted with a thank you and took a sip as I surveyed the scene. There would be no soul contracting tonight, Valentino had been clear on that. His concentration needed to be here, at the club. He had a job he needed to do.

I sank back against the seat and watched as he stood up and walked through the room. Valentino had a presence- people stepped aside as he sashayed across the dance floor. Bartenders move to be sure they took his order first and foremost. He whispered, touched, spoke and caressed without a single falter. I watched as he wrapped his arm around a demon and led her to the back. I felt that familiar twinge of envy.

“It’s not love, you know.” Velvette’s voice broke through my thoughts. “It’s lust.”

“Does he…contract souls already in hell?” I asked as I watched him vanish behind closed doors. “I mean, I’ve seen him contact souls on their way here. But…”

“Yes. Val makes his money by contacting beautiful demons to work with him in exchange for half or whole of their soul along with the souls who haven’t quite passed yet. It’s impossible to know with those souls if they’ll end up the look he requires so, sometimes he has to contact directly in hell.” Velvette answered as she sipped her drink. “Don’t overthink it.”

It was hard not to, wondering what exactly went on behind those closed doors. I stirred my water and resigned myself to waiting.

“Do you want to dance?” Velvette asked after a few moments of silence,“we can go find Vox!”

I shook my head. “No but you can. I won’t go anywhere, promise.”

She rolled her eyes and lifted her drink. “Yeah because you’ve historically done so well left unattended.”

I winced at the sarcasm in her voice, but chose to ignore her as I continued to study the club scene. Something was different from his other clubs. But I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“Care to partake?” A demon with bunny ears approached and offered me a sectioned out tray. Tiny gold jars. Tightly wrapped cigars. Longer red boxes.

Confusion washed over me. “What is it?”

“No. Now shoo. And don’t offer it to her again,” Velvette snapped. “Or Valentino will hear about it.”

The waitress bowed away. I looked at Velvette and she shook her head.

“Val’s newest idea. Drugs directly available at the primary source. Bit of an up charge, but patrons won’t mind paying when they’re a few drinks in and it’s convenient. Brilliant business plan really.” She shrugged and took another sip of her drink.

Ah. So that’s why Valentino was insistent he be here. Great business venture, but definitely had the potential to be a tricky one. Drugs, alcohol, mixed with his clientele had the potential to be a violent mix at best.

“Ah Princessa. Doing okay?” Valentino asked as he slid next to me. He leaned over and turned my face to his and kissed me roughly. Dominantly. His eyes met mine and instantly I knew.

Red saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth as soon as he pulled away, giving the impression he had drugged me. I leaned myself into him and twisted my fingers into his jacket. I watched Velvette shift her attention to where Vox was, and he quietly rejoined the table.

“Aww, too much, Princessa?” He asked in a teasing tone. “So fucked up on Daddy’s drugs, it’s almost cute,” he purred loudly, his palm resting on the back of my head.

I felt his fingers run roughly through my hair and he shoved my face against his chest as footsteps approached. Curled against his protective grasp, I felt that familiar pang of warmth in my tummy.

God, he was sexy when he was in control.

Voices I didn’t recognize. Valentino’s grip tightened its hold but his voice stayed calm. Easy going. Prices were discussed. Names of women I didn’t know. Or drugs. It was hard to tell sometimes.

“She available?” I heard one of them say. “Could cut a sweet deal for you in exchange for Lucifer’s little bimbo.”

I felt his grip tighten on me, but his tone stayed calm. Steady.

“She isn’t part of the deal, amicico,” came his cool reply. “I don’t share my most favorite toy.”

They laughed at his words as the tone of conversation shifted. Eventually I heard the footsteps recede and Valentino’s hands relax.

“Are you ready to go home, mi amore?” He purred. “Let Daddy take care of you? That’s it now, keep your head tucked in, babydoll. You’ll need a nap before we end tonight.”

I felt him lift me and pause. The volume of his voice dropped and his tone shifted.

“Vox? Take her out. Now. Vel, I need you with me.”

Wait what?

I lifted my head up as I was shoved into Vox’s arms. He set me down and took my hand in his as he pushed his way down the side, cutting a path in a hallway I didn’t realize existed. I looked back, and caught a glimpse of Valentino across the dance floor, wings out, eyes blazing red, matching Velvette’s. The music stopped and tense silence filled the air. Something stirred inside me- a mix of terror and the desire to run to Valentino. To wrap myself up in his powerful grasp and let him pin me against the wall. Vox tugged my wrist and I looked to him. His own eyes blazed the same fiery crimson. I stopped.

“Come on, move. Now.” He growled. Sensing my discomfort, his voice softened. “It’s still me, kid. I won’t hurt you.”

The sound of gunshots and I picked up the pace. An open door. I felt the cool air hit my face as the outside air surrounded me.

“What was that?” I asked once we were seated in the limo. “Is Val okay?”

“Val will be fine. The men who tried to double cross him? Meh. Not so much.” He kept his gaze down as he punched a few things in on his phone. “They’ll join us in a moment. Vel and Val I mean, not the guys.”

True to his word, the limo door opened moments later. Velvette stepped in, seeming unruffled, followed by Valentino.

“Good acting, Princessa.” Valentino said with a kiss. “I was convinced I accidentally slipped you a little something extra.”

I didn’t respond but let myself lean into him. He put a comforting arm around my shoulder and I half listened as he filled Vox in on the details of the incident.

As I snuggled into bed next to him that night, he ran a hand down my back.

“Are you okay Princessa? You’ve been quiet since we left. Talk to me, mi amore.”

“Do you three, do you feed off each other? Your power? Your energy?” I asked finally. “The Valentino in his demonic form earlier was still soft and cuddly, and fluffy and your wings made me warm and safe and sleepy and then I saw all three of you in the club and your eyes- Val, your eyes matched that same blazing red and I, I just…”

He listened quietly as I struggled to find the words that expressed the intimidation I felt.

“I know none of you would hurt me, but you…you three really are dangerous.” I finished. Unsure of what else to say, I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face into him. “It’s kind of hot.”

To my surprise, he laughed.

“Hot, Princessa? Is that what this is about?” He asked as he titled my chin up.

I saw his teeth sharpen as his grin widened. I pressed my lips back against him and buried my fingers in the fluff that appeared around his neck. He pushed me on my back and his wings sprang fourth.

“I would never hurt you in this form, Princess as. But fuck you? Would be a first for both of us. And I don’t have very many of those left.”

I let out a moan as he kissed down my neck. His tongue toyed with my nipples and I felt myself buck against him. He laughed and pulled me up, and forced me to sit on his lap as he continued to toy with my body.

“Fuck, Val!” I breathed as I pressed my hips against him. My fingers buried themselves in his fluff as he pushed a single finger into me, his teeth sinking ever so gently into my collarbone. Euphoria flooded my body and I felt myself grow wetter with each stroke.

“Fuck, Val!” I moaned. It was the most amazing feeling that flooded my body- almost as if I was floating. I felt every muscle relax. An innate desire washed over me. I needed him in me, fuck I wanted him to put his babies inside me.

“Val, I want cock- your cock!” I moaned.

A grin widened across his face. “Oh? Is that so, princessa?”I felt his fingers roughly grab my hair and he laid back as he pushed my face down towards his lip. “You want my cock so bad? Open that pretty mouth of your and get busy, princessa.

I obeyed and he slid his cock down my throat. He groaned as he listened to me choke on his length. His hands kept tension, tugging my hair as he demanded for me to go faster, yanking my head up and down his cock.

“Swallow every god damn drop,” he commanded.

The implied or else turned me on more than the actual threat. I felt him explode and hastily, I got to work on kissing, sucking and cleaning up every inch of him, being sure to leave not a single drop behind.

As soon as he was sufficiently pleased, his fingers twisted into my hair and he yanked my head up, rolling me on my back as he pinned me to the bed.

“That’s my good girl,” he purred, “ are you ready for your reward?”

He pushed himself deep into me and I arched my back as I dug my nails into his skin. His wings fluttered above us, creating a blanket of shadows. I pushed my hips against him as that innate desire flooded deeper into me. I needed him, I needed his come in my belly.

“Valentino,” I moaned. It didn’t quite sound right but I didn’t care. “Please, Val- I need you to come in me! Fill me, please Valentino!”

He stopped mid thrust. I groaned in frustration and clawed at his back as felt him pull out immediately.

“Princessa?” He asked as he grabbed my chin and forced me to look in his eyes. Concern washed over his features. “Oh, fuck.”

“Why did you stop?!” I begged as I wrapped my arms around him and ground my hips against him. “Val, come on!”

“Oh, no no no. Shit. Fuck.” He cursed as he pushed me down, his eyes carefully studying my body.

I felt myself giggle. “See something you like?”

I felt his fingers trace where he had bitten my collarbone. I looked down and saw red liquid pour down. Blood maybe? It didn’t hurt so I didn’t care. The burning in my belly needed him, demanded him, growing stronger with each passing second. I ground my hips against him roughly, hoping he would fulfill my desperate desire.

“More Val, I want you. Inside me, now!” I demanded as I bounced on his lap. “Come on, Val!”

“No, Princessa.” He said sharply. He set me on the bed and I watched as he slammed the bathroom door. When he came out a few moments later, he wore his black sweatpants.

I reached for him and he shook his head. “I’m sorry princess. I should have known better.” He kissed the top of my head and pushed me down. I felt his fingers side into me and I bucked my hips against the feeling, desperate for any satiating touch.

“Val, I want cock- your cock!” I groaned as I ground against his fingers.

“Not tonight, you’re too fucked up.” He said calmly. “And not until I get some answers. Breathe for me, Princessa.”

I groaned and pushed myself against him. “Deeper, Val!! I need you.”

His thumb pushed against my clit and I came instantly around his fingers.

“More!” I begged. “Please, Valentino, I need you.Your cock in me, please Valentino!”

Instead of answering my plead, I felt his fingers slide out of me. I groaned in frustration, but felt something slide deep into me, replacing the feeling of his fingers with a pleasant vibration. He settled me on his lap and his wings surrounded me.

“You’re not going to settle for awhile, princessa. But please, try.” He said softly as I squirmed against his chest. “I’ll take the toy out if you feel asleep.”

“Noo, I want your cock, Val” I please. Words began to spill out as I desperately attempted to convince him to fuck me. “I want you, in me. I want your come and I want to be pregnant with your babies, Val.” I reached down to touch the vibrator inside me, but his hand caught mine. “I want to be big and round and pregnant! Please, Val!”

“No. Not yet, Princessa. Someday, maybe.” He replied as he shifted me. “Not now. Not like this.”

I groaned. “but Val!!”

“Whine all you want with that sweet little mouth, but it won’t change a damn thing.”

Like hell it wouldn’t. Under his wings, I reached up and grabbed at the fluffy around his neck. He grabbed my wrist and sat up. I could hear the frustration in his voice.

“Princessa this is not you. Stop. I will leave you in bed alone tonight if you can’t get yourself under control. Come on, please?”

“Aww, Daddy, is that a command?”

“Alright, that’s enough. You’re too out of it for this.” He pushed himself up and set me down next to him and pushed me down on the bed.

“Val!” I whined.

“No. I love you too much, Princessa.”

I watched his form slowly go back to his normal self. He dug through the drawer and came up with two long silk ties. I felt my heart beat faster.

“Yes, tie me down and fuck me!” I moaned as he lifted my wrist up and tied me against the bed frame. I whined again as another hot coil of desire shot through my belly. “I want you Val!”

“I know. And I think I know why. Which is why I’m putting you in restraints. I’m not leaving you and I can’t have you completely and totally feral.” He replied as he tied the knot tighter.

I felt myself explode again around the toy at the feeling of his touch on my skin. I moaned as that feeling grew stronger and I pushed against the silk.

“Valentino!” I moaned as he covered me with a blanket. “Fuck, Valentino!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he replied softly as he laid on the bed next to me, just out of my reach. “I didn’t know.”

“Know what?” I demanded as I pulled on the restraints.

“How we can have kids someday, mi amore.”

#the vees #valentino x reader #hazbin fluff #valentino x you #valentino x wife #valentino #hazbin hotel #the vees x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino smut #valentino x female reader #valentino x vox

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xoxo-sarah · 21 hours

Text

Friendly

↝a/n: I'm just posting all my old fics in my notes app because I don't have any good ideas as of this moment.

↝pairing:Steve Harrington x reader

↝warning: angst, unrequited feelings, heartbreak, sad!reader, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own (character), or any character from (show, movie, etc.). I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 4.27.24

You shouldn't be here. You knew that, but you couldn't help yourself. The feelings you had for Steve were eating at you, keeping you up at night. All the time you spend together felt like torture when you thought back to them. The glanced you would spare him even though he wasn't looking. He was never looking, not like you were.

The laughing and jokes were friendly for him, something he also did with his other friends. It just felt different for you.

You tried to keep it to yourself, you really did. It just became too much. Your thoughts were overfilling your skull, spilling out of your tear ducts late at night, when you were alone in your room.

You knocked at the door before you could stop yourself.

Steve opened the door, his face turning into one of pure bewilderment. Before he could even say hello, your mouth was open, words spewing out of it like vomit.

"I know it's late but I couldn't go to sleep. I need to get something off my chest and I need you to just...listen."

Steve went to open him mouth but closed it when your eyes harshly shut, watching as you conjured up the guts.

"I love you and I need you to love me too. Tell me that your thoughts have been of me just like mine have been of you." But you didn't say that, 'cause that would be even more pathetic than showing up at his doorstep in the middle of the night.

"You make me feel wanted and needed in a way I haven't felt before, and that's too much for me to have as just a friend." Your eyes opened, staring at the way his hand flexed against the door he held open.

Steve stood, shell-shocked.

"Tell me that the times you made me feel seen were you just being friendly. Please-"

"Steve?"

A head of blonde hair walked behind Steve, smiling politely at you, hand moving across the extension of Steve's back.

Your breath caught in your throat.

She leaned up to whisper something in his ear. He finally moved his gaze from your pathetic silhouette. He looked at her, his jaw slack from your confession. An absentminded nod was enough for her to sway back to where she came from, leaving you two in silence.

How does one come back from this? It is humiliating.

Steve bit his lip, scratching at his forehead.

"Can we talk about this another time?"

This time, it was your turn to be gobsmacked. You felt as if your life couldn't get any sadder.

Without a word, you turned, not knowing what you were supposed to do after confessing your feelings like that. Tears fell down your face before you were out of his driveway.

You couldn't show your face anywhere he would be. There is no way in hell.

The old feeling in your chest that told you to cherish every moment with Steve- the one that told you to reach out to hold his hand- was now demolished and replaced with regret.

This whole thing is just humiliating.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

#xoxo-sarah 🩷#🕶️#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #Steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things angst #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader

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haveyouseenherlately · 3 days

Text

pov: you go to one of their gigs

old ramble written last year.

warning: 18+. follows no timeline. not proofread, so grammatical errors and typos.

masterlist here.

not. this. again.

no matter how fucking hard you tried to keep it together, you somehow always found yourself crying over the same idiot, tall boy. for nearly three years now, you’d tried to shake off your feelings for george but at this point it honestly seemed impossible. you always fell for his attention even though you knew it was a sick, toxic cycle. sigh. you couldn't do this to yourself anymore.

it was mid october. you were at a venue in london waiting for the band to take the stage. george had asked (well, more like begged actually) over the phone for you to come to their gig that night even though you were drained and exhausted. "please. i miss you." you didn't know if his plea was sincere or not, but it made your heart beat faster. you hated to admit you missed him, too.

"fine, but don't count on me for anything after." you had worked 12 consecutive shifts to stash away some money as you wanted to do some travelling around europe. you were in your early 20's. you were supposed to have fun, get lost in random cities, take drugs with strangers, all of those things you saw on films and tv. while you loved london, you wanted to visit some places with a bit more colour to them and try to forget about him for at least a few weeks or so. it wasn't too much to ask for, right?

after he convinced you to show up, you figured you might as well try to make the most of your night out. you stumbled upon him and ross when they were out for a quick smoke, george quick to plant a kiss on your cheek followed by a tight embrace that lingered longer than expected. he was warm and, to your dismay, it made you feel warm inside, too. it seemed that every chance he got, he would touch you in some way, whether a brush of your arm, a hand on your lower back, a gentle grip on your hip. you tried to not think much of it knowing you couldn't afford to get tangled up in this mess all over again. you loved him (to some extent) but the sleepless nights and ongoing fights were not worth it anymore.

when the opening band finished, you made your way to the front to watch them perform from a closer spot. you had attended many of their gigs at this point and you genuinely fell in love with their music, albeit you wouldn't tell them directly. you had too much pride for such confession.

the gig started, the fangirl in you waking up and getting excited to sing along, forgetting about your exhaustion and lack of sleep. matty noticed you, giving a small wave and blowing a kiss in your direction before diving into the next song. while george was the one who unfortunately held your heart, you had a soft spot for the front boy, even having made out with him several times before just for the hell of it. alcohol and weed might have been involved, though...

after a few more songs, you couldn't help but notice the way george effortlessly played on stage, arms moving in calculated motions, messy hair swaying from side to side. he would look straight at you, wink and bite his bottom lip, which just made you laugh. he hadn't changed one bit. you remembered him doing this same routine at your place whenever he craved your attention. and george did it because he knew it worked like a charm. you had to admit it felt nice to have his focus on you, making you wonder if maybe, just maybe, the two of you could work it out again.

when the show ended and the boys went backstage, you managed to sneak yourself back there after 20 minutes or so, in hopes of finding them and saying your goodbyes. you kept opening every door to check if it was their dressing room, but you had no luck for a while.

you twisted another handle, opening the door and your heart sank to your stomach, making you feel instantly sick. in front of you happened to be your dear drummer with another girl's head between his legs. you were not quite sure which words left your lips, but they must've been loud enough for the both of them to turn around and take notice of you. this couldn't be happening. not. again.

you shut the door and quickly walked through the corridor, trying to find the nearest exit to get some fresh air in your lungs. not again, not again is all you could repeat in your head. you couldn't believe that somewhere deep inside your gut, you hoped that this could be the time that george and you kissed once more and went back to your flat together. why did you even think that would happen? and most importantly, why did you even want it to happen? not. again.

"fuck. i'm—i'm sorry." you were staring down at the floor which made you bump into someone. "i'm sorry." you kept apologizing as you made an effort to step away without looking up. you knew there were tears streaming down your face and didn't want anyone to see the mess you were at that moment. but you felt a tight grip on your arm and heard a familiar, warm voice call your name.

this is what finally made you turn around. "i'm sorry, matty. i can't..." you tried to break free from his grasp but he continued to hold on. "what's going on, darling? are you okay?" there was genuine concern embracing his words which made you cry ever more. not right now for fuck's sake.

you looked away, embarrassed at your state and not wanting to admit to him (or yourself) why you were uncontrollably sobbing. "hey. what happened, what is—" his voice trailed off as someone else seemed to be hurrying in your direction, calling your name, too. an exasperated george now stood besides you, breathing heavily. from running or coming in that girl's mouth, you didn't want to know.

"i've been looking for you everywhere. i can explain that," he pointed behind him, "back there." he was still catching his breath and it made you feel sick once more, taking every ounce of control to not vomit at that very second. the colour drained from your face as you started to shake, the tips of your fingers and jaw numb from a dangerous mix of anger and anxiety. he tried to grab your hand but you instantly recoiled, not wanting him to be near you, let alone touch you. "george, don’t.”

you saw as he nervously ran his long fingers through his hair thinking of what to say next. nothing. no words that came out of his mouth could provide any comfort, you were sure of that. you walked away, still trying to find the damn exit out of this hellish place. fuck george. fuck him for always pulling you in so close only to break you into one million pieces.

you finally managed to step outside, feeling lightheaded, heart still pounding in your ears. you found a dimly lit patch of grass and sat down, doing your best to focus on the cold air against your skin to try and keep him out of your mind. you felt so stupid. why did you think tonight would be any different?

great. someone was walking towards you. you stood up to leave. “please talk to me.” you turned to look at him. “please.”

“what do you want me to say, matty?” your hands covered your face as you continued to cry, not caring anymore if he heard you. you felt him inch closer, eventually putting his arms around you, holding you. “why does he always do this to me? why do i always hold on to his every word hoping that things will change? that he will actually want me.”

you felt his grip tighten around your shoulders. “he’s not worth it. he’s my best mate and i care for him deeply, but he’s not worth it,” he whispered into your hair. “please trust me on this one.”

all you could do was wrap your arms around him, yearning to hold someone close, to make you feel like you were for once safe and loved.

#matty healy imagine #george daniel imagine #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #george daniel x you #george daniel x reader #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 fanfic #matty #george #the 1975

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1dmonthlyficroundup · 8 hours

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— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for April 2024! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ and so I have to say (before I go) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed [M, 27k, Harry/Louis]

Sometimes falling in love is taking a leap of faith, jumping into the unknown with your eyes closed, hoping someone will be there to catch you.

Sometimes falling in love is seeing the person in front of you, all their flaws and imperfections, and taking that leap nonetheless.

Sometimes it's both.

In Louis' and Harry's case, it's both.

＊ Pathema Proteleia by @persephoneflouwers [M, 53k, Louis/Harry]

A few years ago, Omega Prince Harry left his husband and mate Alpha Louis without any apparent reason. When enemies of the Royalty make an attempt on his life and threaten to hurt Omegas, Louis has to ask the Prince for help.

Or The Greek Tragedy AU (but with the happiest ending).

＊ I Want You Here With Me (Like How I Pictured It) by @enchantedlandcoffee [G, 345 words, Harry/Louis]

"I just- Everyone was there and- and they were all happy and in love and I just- I needed to get out of there, Lou." Harry sniffled, wrapping his coat closer to himself as he trudged down the street. "It's not fair. It's not fair that they all get to be happy and in love and have their partners with them when I can't be with you."

OR The one where Harry misses Louis

＊ A Frail Farewell by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings [M, 11k+, wip, Louis/Harry]

Louis can’t believe his luck when he is offered one of the easiest jobs he has had as a long-term house-sitter for the wealthy. He loves the money, and the peace and quiet of the empty mansions he looks after. Most of all he likes that there are no surprises until he gets the shock of his life from ex-pop star Harry Styles who isn’t supposed to be home.

＊ tell me what the hell we're feeling (if you don't do feelings) by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [M, 4k, Harry/Louis]

Harry is getting over a breakup. Louis doesn't date. Neither of them is interested in a relationship -- but they are interested in each other's bodies. It takes a global pandemic for them to admit that maybe there's more than just lust between them.

＊ April Drools! by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright [E, 1k, Louis centric ot 5 pairings]

Louis offers a particularly slobbery blow job to his clients who'd rather not be made a fool of on April 1st. Of course, he's got an option for those who don't mind being a little humiliated as well. Part 12 of Glory Hole-idays

＊ I'm Praying (that you don't burn out or fade away) by @lululawrence [NR, 74k, Louis/Harry]

“Louis,” Harry breathed happily. His smile widened as he realized he’d finally found him, and he was stood before his soulstar. This was the closest they’d been in 31 Earth years, which had felt extraordinarily long for Harry, even in his star form. He could hardly withhold his happiness at seeing him again.

“Erm, yeah,” Louis said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts with his brows furrowing and looking clearly suspicious. “And you are?”

Harry and Louis are literal stars who have known they were soulmates from their creation eons ago, however when Louis came to Earth to start the next phase of their fated future, he forgot everything. Even Harry.

This leaves Harry to break the rules and instead of waiting for Louis to call him and join him on Earth, he crashes down on his own. Without Louis there to guide him and help him learn how to adjust to having a human body and everything associated with that, Harry has no other choice but to do the best he can.

As Harry tries to correct what has gone wrong, he finds that friendship can be a light even in the darkest night, and through those bonds even separated soulstars can find their fated path once more.

＊ Love Like This by @reminiscingintherain [E, 32k, Zayn/Louis/Liam]

A Zouiam RWRB AU, featuring Louis as the First Son, Liam as the Prince, and Zayn as Liam's friend and equerry. With appearances from Lottie as Louis' helpful sister, Harry as his best friend, and Niall as Liam's golf instructor (or gardener? or something else?).

＊ Ghost of a Name by @signofcomfort [G, 35k, Louis/Harry]

Louis leaves the band in the middle of the tour and drops off the face of the earth. Five years later, they might have a chance to meet him. Harry can finally have some answers and tell the truth for the first time.

- Podfics -

＊ Finally, You and I (Collide) by @lululawrence read by @podfic-pals [NR, 14k, Zayn/Louis]

Funny how Louis could sum up everything he’d had with Zayn so easily.

Ex. One syllable, two letters. Fourteen years of friendship and marriage and everything else they had been to each other, put together and explained to anyone who asked with that one tiny word. Ex. Ex-Best Friend. Ex-Lover. Ex-Husband. Ex-everything, really. Zayn had truly become his everything, and Louis still ached in the spaces within that used to be filled by him, even all these years later.

Sometimes love was a bitch.

Or the five times Louis was accidentally wooed by cookies and the one time he was purposefully wooed by brownies.

#28th appreciation #hlcreators #hljournal #hltracks #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #ficsfor4am #cristalreads

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jm-2406 · 5 hours

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Just a ring.

Summary - “he has asked me to marry him but I had to come here first. I need to know if you feel anything… anything at all for me.”

Pairing - Theodore Nott x reader; Male OC x reader.

Word count - 2150.

Warnings - infidelity, flashbacks in italics, grown up theo & reader.

Cursive words made their way across the document as he led the pen from left to right, every movement a study in perfection. A famous business wizard like Theodore Nott who hailed from a high class pure blood family, couldn't afford anything less than perfection. He pursed his lips as he focused on getting his signature just right, reading the already typed composition. Mergers, especially one as important as this one needed to be dealt with utmost care, and a very carefully crafted ‘brown nosing’ letter never hurt anyone.

He was feeling very pleased with his efforts when a loud noise from outside his office startled him. Throwing an angry glare towards the closed door, he cursed the person who disturbed him.

“You can't go in there Miss. He's very busy.” His secretary's voice reached his ears. “To hell with his schedule. I don't care.” The other voice responded sharply and he knew who that other person was. He mentally prepared himself for the upcoming drama, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

“I'm sorry Mr. Nott, this—this Woman refused to make an appointment. Should I escort her out?”

Theodore eyed the girl in front of him; she stared back defiantly, challenging him. He wouldn't throw her out but that didn't mean that he couldn't make her sweat. The young woman in front of him started to fidget nervously the longer Theodore kept staring at her without a word. “It's okay Riya. You're excused.” The woman heaved a sigh of relief at his words.

Theodore turned to her and said coldly. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure? What is it, [Y/L/N]? Say your piece and spare me. I am too busy to hear your rambling right now.”

[Y/N] scoffed, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was trying to protect herself from his coldness. “Wow. So you can speak more than three words at a time and just my luck that you use them to dismiss me. ‘[Y/L/N]’, ‘my piece’... You are so intolerable Theodore.”

“Then why are you here, love?” He retorted flippantly but her next words made him stop his work.

“He knows…”

“Who knows what, [Y/N]?”

“Alex… he found your waistcoat under the bed… the one you forgot to put on because of some ‘important’ business.” She confessed, her voice shaky. She paused and then opened her mouth to continue, her voice cracking. “He didn't even ask who it belonged to. He said that it didn't matter. He blamed himself, you know…For being gone so often.”

Theodore kept staring at the papers on his desk, completely still. He didn't know what kind of response she was expecting but his mind went blank. He was about to say something when she dropped the final bomb. “He has asked me to marry him.”

Her eyes finally rose up from the floor. He could feel her willing him to look back at her; willing him to show any emotion. But the man kept staring at his desk, forcing himself to pick up the document and continue his letter.

“I haven't answered him yet.” She admitted, “I had to come here first. I had to see you, but you've been avoiding me and… I just need to know if you feel anything, anything at all for me.” She waited for him to respond, waited for any sign from him but he was as cold as ice and just as frozen as he signed his name at the end of his letter.

He continued his work robotically and took a breath only after hearing her footsteps shuffling closer to the door. “I meant what I said that night… I still do.” She whispered and then she was gone, missing the look that crossed his face.

After crying her heart out, [Y/N] kept staring at the end of the room blankly, her mind still stuck on everything that has happened in her life recently. “I am stronger than this.” She whispered to herself. Her head fell against the back of the couch, and she curled a leg up beside her, wrapping her arms around it as she glanced out the window.

It never should have happened, she knew that now, but she still couldn't bring herself to regret that it had. It had all started about six months ago, she and Alex had been having a lot of arguments around that time.

“You promised!” She raised her voice, fed up with his attitude.

“I know babe but this is urgent.” Alex said softly, trying to pacify her but it made her angrier instead.

“Fine. Go wherever you want to. Do whatever you want. But I am not going to keep changing my plans according to you every time. I am going to attend the Christmas Eve party… with or without you.”

“No. You can't do that [Y/N]. What will they say? My reputation will be thrashed.”

“Oh I can and I will. If you care about your ‘reputation’ then come to the event with me.” She asked one last time but only got a shake of head in return as Alex took his briefcase and apparated.

There at the party, [Y/N] found herself in the company of none other than Theodore Nott, one of the Slytherin guys from a year above her. She had never interacted with him outside of the classes. Though she didn't trust him, she couldn't disagree that the man was charming. A few drinks later, she found herself up against a wall in one of the vast deserted hallways, moaning and thoroughly enjoying herself with a man that most definitely was not her boyfriend. That was how it all started.

Secret correspondence and casual meetings followed. Every time she would receive one of his notes or calls, she would hesitate and every time she gave in. She couldn't stop herself; he made her feel passionate, naughty, and desirable. It was everything she never felt with Alex thus she became addicted.

Over time, their pattern seemed to change. It started with simple words after they were intimate and soon she found herself spending nights in his house. It went to a point where she would see Alex maybe once in two or three weeks for a date and spend almost every other day with Theodore.

After sometime she realized that her feelings for the two men had begun to change. Theodore had become her confidant and lover. On the other hand she found herself forgetting about the dates with Alex, arriving late when he called her, zoning out when he talked to her. She was figuring out what to do when the unexpected happened.

They were lying in his bed, quietly content after a night full of activity when her lips, engaged by a sleepy mind, betrayed her. “I think… I love you.” Time froze. In one swift movement, her lover had stood from the bed and had placed his robe around his shoulders, apparating away.

She remembered how she had sat there; hurt and humiliated beyond belief. It had taken all the strength and courage that she could muster to get dressed and leave that night. That was two weeks ago.

Truth to be told, when Alex had found Theodore's waistcoat under her bed, she felt relieved. Everything would be out in the open, she could move on but once again reality turned out to be quite different than her thoughts. Alex opened up to her about his behaviour and promised to work less, be with her more and that he wanted to marry her. Before she could blink, he was down on his knee, proposing to her.

“I… I need time, Alex.”

Now here she was, lamenting unrequited love and cursing her fate.

A week later -

[Y/N] pushed open the door of her flat with a tired sigh. She tossed her shoes into their space in her coat closet with one hand as she released the clip that held her hair with the other. Moving towards the kitchen cabinet, she uncorked the wine bottle and took a sip directly from the bottle.

“Long day?” A deep voice asked her.

She turned on her feet and observed the man in front of her. Theodore was sitting on the couch as if he owned the place. “What. Do. You. Want?” She asked slowly, proud of the bitterness in her voice. “Theodore…”

He didn't verbally respond; calling her to him with a gesture of his hands. She wanted to shout at him but she couldn't. He made her weak. He reached up with his fingers for her left hand, his thumb brushing over the plain gold band that sat there.

“I'm engaged…” She tried to stop the teasing fingertips from continuing their journey of exploring her body.

“Well… you're not married yet. It's just a ring.” He whispered, holding her face to make her look at him. She felt the pads of his fingertips gripping the ring on her third finger and slowly sliding it off. A metallic clink resonated in her ears as the ring fell to the floor.

The fight drained out of her as she sunk into her lover's arms. Her knees folding under her as his lips joined with hers. She knew that this night would be their final goodbye.

“Where is your engagement ring?”

“I… I must have forgotten it.”

“Forgotten it? On the night of our engagement party?” Alex questioned incredulously. They were interrupted by some other guests and they easily fell into the conversation, saving [Y/N] from trying to come up with more lies.

“How are you doing, Codnor?” Another voice interrupted the couple. Alex cursed seeing the person who disturbed his conversation with his fiancèe.

“How did you even enter, Nott? This is an invitation only party so kindly leave before I kick you out.”

Theodore smirked, raising his closed fist over [Y/N]'s glass of champagne. One by one he uncurled his fingers, dropping something small and shiny. Alex had a look of confusion and shock on his features as he realized that in the glass was [Y/N]'s engagement ring.

“I know I wasn't invited, Codnor, but I am here to collect what's mine… don't look so shocked. She hasn't been yours for a while.”

Before she could think, Alex punched Theodore, hard… and a fight started between the two. Alex's parents changed the topic and sent the guests on their way to save their image of respectful people. It wasn't until [Y/N] physically pulled Theodore back that he stopped. Even though Alex was almost as tall as Theodore, he was no match for his muscles and strength.

“When did this… this thing start? Tell me everything, [Y/N]… honestly this time.” Alex pleaded.

“Six months ago. I was angry at you and I know it is wrong but… when I did go to the party, alone, no one paid any attention to me. Didn't even greet me with a simple ‘hello’. I felt as though I was only someone if I was with you. I felt so worthless. Theodore was at the party. He annoyed me and I took my anger out on him… I don't know how but the next thing I remember is kissing him; one thing lead to another and here we are… I am sorry Alex. I don't deserve you.”

Alex scoffed. He left immediately after throwing the ring down. His mouth did not say a word but his eyes conveyed the anger and disgust he was feeling at her.

[Y/N] turned to Theodore. “Well. It was a long day. Thank you for ruining my engagement party. Now I think we should go.” She stood from her chair but Theodore pulled her back by her wrist, making her sit on his lap. “What is it?” She asked him.

“You asked me that day, if I feel anything at all for you. The answer is, I don't. I feel everything for you, Miss [Y/N] [Y/L/N].” He said cupping her face in his hands and pressed his lips on hers.

She smiled in their kiss knowing for sure that the man whom she gave her heart to would do everything in his power to keep her safe and happy now that he finally realised what she meant to him.

THE END.

Note - i have written a Tommy Shelby version of this one, you can find it here if you are interested. I thought this one screams “Theo” so why not make a Theo version too.

#theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theodore nott x reader #harry potter #slytherin boys #one shot #theo nott fanfiction #theo nott one shot #𝐣 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

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rehfan · 1 day

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La Belle Dame avec Merci: Chapter 7 - Showdown at the Pit

Eddie Munson x Unpopular!AFAB!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ readers only please - minor children DNI! – No Upsidedown; reader is technically a virgin; mutual pining; Eddie has trust issues; emotional hurt/comfort; female masturbation; male masturbation; emotional manipulation; reader is kinda shitty to Eddie; reader gets better; angst; more angst; Eddie’s mom is dead; small act of accidental physical violence; Uncle Wayne is the best; Gareth is not; fistfight; nipple play; angst angst and more angst

Tagged: @bluestuesday / @ali-r3n / @winchester-angel / @iletmytittiestitty-russ / @mewchiili / @chaoticgood-munson / @welcometohellsock /

DO NOT POST TO ANY OTHER SITE. My words are mine and mine alone.

Inspired by @/hard-candy-writing ‘s ORIGINAL POST

MASTERPOST LINK – AO3 LINK

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

Eddie felt a tad guilty when you handed over the cash from your purse and he gathered the pizza and the six-pack of soda. He’s meant to be the one who should treat you. But you explained that this was your idea and therefore your treat and he couldn’t really argue with you; the look you gave him was enough to let him know that. He had grinned at you, shyly. He sorta liked it when you were a little bossy.

You wound up back at the quarry, in his van, the vehicle backed up to face the water and the back doors open to the night. There were several blankets in the back. As he tucked one around your legs and made sure you were comfortable, Eddie explained they usually had them to wrap up the band’s equipment every week to play over at the Hideout. As you ate and drank, you talked about music and his dreams for the future. You talked about what you want to do. There are cities you’d both like to see, places you’d both like to go. You talked about life, your childhoods. Eddie skirted around his mother, but you didn’t push. Some things could wait.

The pizza was done and your tongues were tired. You sat side-by-side and watched the dark water shift in the breeze. His warm fingertips brushed your left palm, tracing fire on the surface of your skin. “Can we do this again?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” you replied.

“And what about Monday?”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Eddie shrugged. “Seems to me with nothing on the line, with this just being about us, that you might not be so willing to have all the PDA anymore.” He gave you a curious look. “You still want to meet me at your locker or me at yours? In the hallways for everyone to see? Or… is this just between us?”

“You think I’d be ashamed to be with you,” you said, “if it wasn’t fake. If we couldn't hide from everyone else. You think that I'd hide you away like some filthy secret.”

Eddie nodded and didn’t meet your eyes. Well, tonight was almost perfect, but he should have known better. He awaited the death blow with his hands gripping the van on either side of his thighs, eyes shut. Your chilled fingertips were on his chin, guiding his face back toward yours. “Why would I turn you away? Why wouldn't I be proud as hell to be with you?”

Eddie huffed a cynical laugh. “I guess we’ll just have to see.” His gaze fell to the water again.

You watched him, carefully, head tilting over toward him to catch his eyes. “You doubt me.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I doubt every good thing that comes my way,” he said, swallowing past a lump in his throat.

“And why is that?” you asked. Your hand traveled up the inside of his forearm, icy fire left in its wake. He suppressed a shiver but it translated as a stiffening of his whole body and you took it as him defending himself, blocking you from learning more. You took your hand away. “I’m sorry,” you said, “I didn’t mean to push too far.”

“It’s not that,” he said, searching desperately to explain himself without actually explaining himself. He couldn't. “Your hands are freezing, girl. Come here.” He spread out two or three blankets in layers and held out a hand for you to come sit. You obliged and settled yourself further into the van. He covered your legs up with another blanket and moved to close the van’s back doors.

He was so attentive, all you could do was shake your head. You hadn’t complained of the cold, but he protected you from it all the same. He really did have a heart of gold.

As he settled down next to you in the dark, asking you if you were warm enough, you answered him by scooting closer to him and brushing the hair away from his cheek and kissing him there. “I’m fine now. Thank you. I didn’t want to be a bother.”

He could feel his cheek burn from the kiss you had planted there. It was not his way to get his hopes up over any girl. He shifted the pizza box and the remnants of the six pack of sodas more toward the back of the driver’s seat and cleared his throat. “You’re no trouble,” he said while facing away from you. Job done, he had no choice but to settle back down next to you. Casually, he draped an arm over your shoulders with a confidence that he did not feel. As a matter of fact, you had managed to rob all his bravado from him with that one simple peck on the cheek. It had unknowingly contained just enough intimacy and tenderness to crack his resolve once again.

There was a silence that swallowed you both in the darkness of the van.

“Thanks for the blankets.” Your voice was loud in the small quiet.

“Yeah, I mean, I'd turn the van's heater on, but it's pretty shitty,” he said. “But the blankets work well. And we have plenty, so may as well put ‘em to good use.”

“Right.”

Silence again. The weight of it pulled at you both. For lack of anything better to do, you leaned in against his chest, pressing your cheek to the cold of his jacket, feeling it slowly warm.

He chuckled softly, “You really like me, huh?”

You hummed in the affirmative. “Afraid I’m pretty stuck on you, Munson.”

He huffed another laugh and dumbly stared into the darkness. He idly ran his hand over your upper arm and shoulder and mulled over what he had done to make you so damn happy. He had spent this week dreading your presence and wishing he didn’t feel used. He’s spent the rest of the week being angry at you. He couldn’t fathom it; what the hell was so attractive about that?

“And,” you began again slowly, your voice a shy whisper, “if I’m honest, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you this whole week and you haven’t been around for a chunk of it. Would you like to make it up to me?”

He looked at you with a curious sideways glance that made you melt. His eyes were devastating at the best of times; now, in the dark, they carried their own mesmerizing sparkle; they were temptation itself.

You brought your hand up and cupped his face. He moved his head downward and you nuzzled next to his ear and kissed the shell of it. Moving south, you pressed your lips to the corner of his jaw. With each kiss, he leaned bit by bit more toward you until, finally, you reached his pulse point where he closed his eyes and audibly moaned.

You were wet instantly. Slowly, you brought your head around, tracing the tip of your nose along his jawline and captured his mouth in a slow, lingering kiss. You felt his opposite hand warm on your waist as his other brought you closer to him. “You want to be my girl, princess?” he managed, his voice breathless. You nodded, your glassy-eyed look meeting his.

He went to raise his hand from your waist to your face and brushed your breast on the way. Instantly, Eddie apologized, blushing profusely. “God, I’m sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean to— I swear.”

Smiling, you unbuttoned your coat, bringing it down off your arms and exposing your simple scoop-neck blouse. You then took his offending hand, palm up, and kissed it, slow and warm. You met his amazed eyes and said, “It’s okay. I didn’t mind,” while boldly placing his hand directly over your breast, your invitation clear.

The breath left Eddie’s body. His cock twitched.

You pulled him gently toward you by the collar of his jacket. “Come here, sweet boy.” You were kissing him before he was aware of what was happening. He didn’t remember drifting back toward you. He didn’t remember your breath on his face as you hovered near before taking his lips. He didn’t remember the searching gaze you gave him seconds before your lips met. All he was aware of was your velvet tongue against his and how soft your breast was under his hand. He squeezed it carefully and you moaned into him. It didn’t take him long to locate your pebbled nipple under the layers of clothing and he kneaded the tissue there, glorying in the lascivious sounds that came from you with every movement. Sounds that he and only he was pulling from you. Him. Eddie Munson. The Freak.

You parted to catch your breath. Suddenly, you were wearing far too many clothes for Eddie’s liking. But he didn’t dare ask you. What you were giving him was miracle enough. He watched his hand as it worked your tit, fascinated by how you closed your eyes, lost to his touch. Your hand covered his. “Need more, Ed.” Jesus, you were whining.

“What do you want, babygirl?” he asked. “Tell me.”

“Need you—“ you began. Suddenly you were too shy to say it out loud. His eyes were intense on you, glistening in what little moonlight reached where you were in the van. “I, uh…”

He bent in slowly and kissed you again, his thumb idly passing over your erect nipple back and forth soothingly. “Come on, angel. You can tell me.” His words whispered over the skin of your jawline and neck where he peppered tender kisses as he moved toward your collarbone.

Eddie didn’t know what you needed, but he knew you had limits. Every person had. He bided his time enjoying the feel, smell, and taste of you while waiting for you to find your voice. He didn’t dare go beyond where you had shown him he could go. He didn’t want to break the spell, ruin the good thing that was finally happening to him. All he could do was coax you out of your shell a bit and make you feel good.

As the tip of his cold nose traced circles on your skin, you closed your eyes and found some courage. “Need you to suck on my tits, Eddie. Please. Need to feel your mouth there.”

Another verbal gut-punch. He huffed a shuddering breath on your skin. His fingers found your blouse at your waistline and pulled the material up and off of you. He watched as you unhooked your bra from behind your body and it dropped down and away in the darkness. He told you to lie down as you shivered, but not from the cold. Eddie's look did that. The blankets were cool beneath you but you barely noticed; Eddie was too beautiful hovering above you.

His dark eyes were roving all over you, luscious mouth slightly open, hair framing his gorgeous face. “You are so fucking beautiful,” he said, adding your name with a reverence that moved something deep in your soul. Slowly, carefully, watching you for any sign of objection, he slid a hand up your waist to your breast, once again cupping your flesh but with no barrier to prevent the play of the skin under his pressure, your nipple hard and erect not just from the cold, but because of the boy who was looking at you as if you created the universe.

As he ducked down, his hair tickled your skin. His breath on you was a thrilling sensation you weren’t expecting and your breath stuttered. He stopped short. “You okay? You want this, right?”

“I do, Eddie. I really really do. Please.” Your hands were in his hair and you pressed his head gently downward toward you.

Your back arched of its own accord as the heat of him found your skin. Your responsiveness was unreal. Eddie rolled the pebble of your nipple around and over his tongue, alternating suckling and licking, playing with what worked for you and when he found something you really reacted to, he happily came back to that time and time and time again.

He pulled off your nipple and blew air over it before turning to you. “How’s that, beautiful?”

“Mmmore,” you begged him through slitted eyes. “More baby, please.”

Baby? Jesus. And that whine of yours would be the death of him.

BANG! BANG! BANG! “Hey Munson! You in there?!”

The noise caused both of you to yelp and both of you to frantically cover your nakedness up. You had no idea who it was, but you prayed they hadn’t peeked into the back windows while the two of you were preoccupied. The blush on your face could probably be seen from space.

For his part, Eddie was in a straight-up panic - but only at first. Then, he was angry. “You fucks,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “Of course.”

“Eddie!” another voice came from the side door as more blows fell. A slight shadow passed over the front windshield. Another figure pressed up against the back windows, hands coming up to block out the outside light to peer in. “He’s in there. With someone else.”

“What? Who is it?” you asked Eddie at the same time the figure at the window outside said: “Shit.” The male voice was filled with regret for a grievous mistake he knew he made.

“Hey, you don’t think it’s—“ the first voice said and then you recognized it: Gareth. Another series of loud bangs against the back door and he followed it up with: “You fucking traitor! What the fuck are you doing fooling around with her? You said yourself she doesn’t give a shit about you, that it’s all an act. What the fuck man?”

“Hey maybe she really likes him,” said another voice, you thought it might be Grant.

Gareth countered: “Or maybe she’s pussy-whipped him into doing something really stupid like showing up at Thanksgiving to piss off her parents.” His next shout was directed at Eddie: “She’s using you, man. Wise up, put your dick away, and get out here.”

You looked helplessly at Eddie who looked lost himself. You could feel his gaze on you as you sat there, your blouse and part of the blanket clutched to your chest. He took up another blanket and threw it over you, almost covering your head in his haste. “Sorry,” he said, “but uh… you get dressed. I’ll go talk to them, okay?”

Another round of bangs and Gareth’s loud voice interrupted you before you could say anything. You nodded instead and gestured toward the back doors of the van with a grand wave. Eddie started to go, reached the doors, and shook his head, reconsidering. Changing tactics, he headed toward the driver’s seat. Before he got there, he draped another blanket over your legs, saying “Keep warm, sweetheart. I’ll be as fast as I can.” A swift kiss to your temple sent a reassuring feeling through you. He clambered over the console and front seat, got out the driver’s door, and herded the boys away.

After you put your bra and top back on and shoved your arms in your coat sleeves, you snuck to the front of the van and watched the boys surround Eddie out of the driver’s side window. Gareth had his hands on his hips when he wasn’t gesticulating wildly. Jeff and Gareth had their hands in their pockets, sheepishly adding to Gareth’s argument points.

Eddie stood resolute with arms crossed not saying a word.

Finally, you heard Gareth shout: “What kind of man are you that you let yourself be used like this, man? I mean, after all, she’s just some piece of pussy!”

Time stopped. For Gareth, Eddie’s eyes turned to glistening dark voids in the moonlight. He was so still, it frightened all three of them. Without warning, Eddie grabbed Gareth by his jacket and threw him down on the ground so hard, he barely had time to stumble before he hit the dirt hard, the breath leaving his body in a loud “Oof!”

Eddie leapt on him in an instant, hauling back a fist and planting it against Gareth’s face. Another came down on his stomach and Gareth convulsed with the impact. Both Jeff and Grant pulled Eddie away and he shook them off.

“Who’s next?” Eddie said, spinning on Jeff and Grant, completely furious. “Because you three have no FUCKING clue what’s going on here. That girl,” here he pointed at the van, and despite knowing that none of them could readily see you, you recoiled from it anyway. “That girl is the best thing I ever–. What I told you before was bullshit because I didn’t understand her. Now, we’ve talked and I do. And I do NOT want to tell you three anything about us because look what the fuck you’ve done tonight?! Maybe you should stop worrying about me like you’re my mom or something. Last I checked - my mom was DEAD.”

Your gasp echoed in the closed space of the van. You had known - of course you had - without him telling you outright in the shaft, but to hear him say it out loud like that - like it was a weapon - it was shocking. He was hiding so much pain from you. There was a tightness in your chest and you fought the urge to race out there and hold him.

Meanwhile, Gareth sat up halfway through this little speech and held his stomach and his face. Jeff went to him and pulled him to his feet. “We were just looking out for you, man,” said Gareth. “We’re your friends, remember?”

“I remember that you just ruined a perfectly good night and scared the shit out of the both of us. Why don’t you three just fuck off, huh? Or better yet - go find some girls of your own?” said Eddie.

Gareth huffed and tried to find support from Grant and Jeff but came up short. “What? One quick speech and you two assholes are willing to let this brainwashed pussy-whipped loser get to you? What are you? Soft?”

Eddie started toward Gareth again. “What? You think I’m scared of you, man? Huh?” shouted Gareth.

That was it. You’d had enough. These boys were best friends and falling out in a huge way and it was all your fault. The van made you suddenly claustrophobic. You headed toward the sliding door and got out. The boys were on the opposite side and couldn’t see you and your car was sitting right there so you got in, started the engine and took off as quickly as you could, the headlights giving you one last glimpse of all four boys before guiding you into the night and back to the safety of your own neighborhood.

“FUCK!” Eddie screamed. “You motherfucker! Look what you did!” He spun on Gareth but Jeff stepped forward, blocking his way, hands up in a placating gesture. His hands gripped Eddie’s jacket and he held him back, but barely. Eddie was wild with anger now. “Get off me! Get OFF! He’s going to get the beating of a lifetime!”

“Come on then, pussy-whipped little bitch!” shouted Gareth. Grant held him back by his upper arms. “Let me at him, Grant! Fuck off!”

“Look man,” Jeff said over his shoulder to Gareth, “they were obviously busy in the van when we came up. So there’s something happening here that’s real between them otherwise she’d have been arguing with him or-or- not here at all!” He regarded Eddie. “Hey! Hey! Calm down and tell me this - tell me this - tell me this: you’re sure about her, right man? I mean, really sure?”

Eddie took a couple of breaths before answering him. “Yeah, man. Couldn’t be more sure.”

“She’s not playing you? She’s cool? Totally cool?”

“Totally. For real. She’s the bona-fuking-fide genuine article. We worked it out. She’s… amazing.” His shoulders fell and he relaxed in Jeff’s grip. He looked back at where your car had disappeared into the night. “And now I’ve lost her. Fuck!” You had seen his truly violent side. Finally. Eddie's gut churned. He thought he was going to puke.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” said Gareth smugly, more relaxed, but clearly still angry. “The great Eddie Munson seduced by the dark side.” He shook his shoulders free of Grant’s grip.

“You know what Gar,” said Grant, landing one meaty hand again on the shorter man’s shoulder, “you really need to go out and get laid.” Gareth shook him off again with a huff. Grant nodded at Eddie. “If it’s real, then go after her. If it’s not, then go home. Either way, I’m cold, it’s gonna rain soon, and it’s late. And I don’t feel like fighting over a chick I have no chance of kissing anyway. If she breaks your heart, I guess I’ll help you pick up the pieces. But for right now? Guys. Let’s go.”

Grant guided Gareth away toward the car they had borrowed from Gareth’s mom to get there. Jeff took an extra second to regard Eddie at arm’s length. “You good?” Eddie nodded and ran a hand over his face. “Go get her, man. If she rocks your world? Go fucking get her.” He gave Eddie a friendly shove toward the van. “See you Monday, Romeo.”

“Fuck off,” said Eddie with a tired smile. “See you.”

Eddie lit a cigarette to help calm himself as the van moved away from the pit and toward Loch Nora. He didn’t know exactly where you lived but he had your number and he knew the color, make, and model of your car. He drove toward the nearest payphone. Short of getting you on the phone, he prayed your family didn’t have a garage and you parked outside. He didn’t care if it took him all night to track you down. He didn’t care if he woke your parents up. He didn’t care if he woke up the whole fucking town of Hawkins. He was going to find you and talk to you tonight if it was the last thing he did. He had to explain. He had to tell you that he would never - EVER - raise a hand to you. That he would never become his father. Not for anything in the world. He had to tell you.

And kiss you. He had to kiss you. He had to kiss his girl - even if it was for the last time.

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