#my soul is separating itself from every atom of my body | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dailyanarchistposts · 5 months

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[1] Ie-hovah, and in composition Iah, the Being; Iao, ioupitur, same meaning; ha-iah, Heb., he was; ei, Gr, he is, ei-nai, to be; an-i, Heb., and in conjugation th-i, me; e-go, io, ich, i, m-i, me, t-ibi, te, and all the personal pronouns in which the vowels i, e, ei, oi, denote personality in general, and the consonants, m or n, s or t, serve to indicate the number of the person. For the rest, let who will dispute over these analogies; I have no objections: at this depth, the science of the philologist is but cloud and mystery. The important point to which I wish to call attention is that the phonetic relation of names seems to correspond to the metaphysical relation of ideas.

[2] The Chinese have preserved in their traditions the remembrance of a religion which had ceased to exist among them five or six centuries before our era. (See Pauthier, “China,” Paris, Didot.) More surprising still is it that this singular people, in losing its primitive faith, seems to have understood that divinity is simply the collective me of humanity: so that, more than two thousand years ago, China had reached, in its commonly-accepted belief, the latest results of the philosophy of the Occident. “What Heaven sees and understands,” it is written in the Shu-king, “is only that which the people see and understand. What the people deem worthy of reward and punishment is that which Heaven wishes to punish and reward. There is an intimate communication between Heaven and the people: let those who govern the people, therefore, be watchful and cautious.” Confucius expressed the same idea in another manner: “Gain the affection of the people, and you gain empire. Lose the affection of the people, and you lose empire.” There, then, general reason was regarded as queen of the world, a distinction which elsewhere has been bestowed upon revelations. The Tao-te-king is still more explicit. In this work, which is but an outline criticism of pure reason, the philosopher Lao-tse continually identifies, under the name of TAO, universal reason and the infinite being; and all the obscurity of the book of Lao tse consists, in my opinion, of this constant identification of principles which our religious and metaphysical habits have so widely separated.

[3] See, among others, Auguste Comte, “Course of Positive Philosophy,” and P. J. Proudhon, “Creation of Order in Humanity.”

[4] I do not mean to affirm here in a positive manner the transmutability of bodies, or to point it out as a subject for investigation; still less do I pretend to say what ought to be the opinion of savants upon this point. I wish only to call attention to the species of scepticism generated in every uninformed mind by the most general conclusions of chemical philosophy, or, better, by the irreconcilable hypotheses which serve as the basis of its theories. Chemistry is truly the despair of reason: on all sides it mingles with the fanciful; and the more knowledge of it we gain by experience, the more it envelops itself in impenetrable mysteries. This thought was recently suggested to me by reading M. Liebig’s “Letters on Chemistry” (Paris, Masgana, 1845, translation of Bertet-Dupiney and Dubreuil Helion).

Thus M. Liebig, after having banished from science hypothetical causes and all the entities admitted by the ancients, — such as the creative power of matter, the horror of a vacuum, the esprit recteur, etc. (p. 22), — admits immediately, as necessary to the comprehension of chemical phenomena, a series of entities no less obscure, — vital force, chemical force, electric force, the force of attraction, etc. (pp. 146, 149). One might call it a realization of the properties of bodies, in imitation of the psychologists’ realization of the faculties of the soul under the names liberty, imagination, memory, etc. Why not keep to the elements? Why, if the atoms have weight of their own, as M. Liebig appears to believe, may they not also have electricity and life of their own? Curious thing! the phenomena of matter, like those of mind, become intelligible only by supposing them to be produced by unintelligible forces and governed by contradictory laws: such is the inference to be drawn from every page of M. Liebig’s book.

Matter, according to M. Liebig, is essentially inert and entirely destitute of spontaneous activity (p. 148): why, then, do the atoms have weight? Is not the weight inherent in atoms the real, eternal, and spontaneous motion of matter? And that which we chance to regard as rest, — may it not be equilibrium rather? Why, then, suppose now an inertia which definitions contradict, now an external potentiality which nothing proves?

Atoms having weight, M. Liebig infers that they are indivisible (p. 58). What logic! Weight is only force, that is, a thing hidden from the senses, whose phenomena alone are perceptible, — a thing, consequently, to which the idea of division and indivision is inapplicable; and from the presence of this force, from the hypothesis of an indeterminate and immaterial entity, is inferred an indivisible material existence! For the rest, M. Liebig confesses that it is impossible for the mind to conceive of particles absolutely indivisible; he recognizes, further, that the fact of this indivisibility is not proved; but he adds that science cannot dispense with this hypothesis: so that, by the confession of its teachers, chemistry has for its point of departure a fiction as repugnant to the mind as it is foreign to experience. What irony!

Atoms are unequal in weight, says M. Liebig, because unequal in volume: nevertheless, it is impossible to demonstrate that chemical equivalents express the relative weight of atoms, or, in other words, that what the calculation of atomic equivalents leads us to regard as an atom is not composed of several atoms. This is tantamount to saying that more matter weighs more than less matter; and, since weight is the essence of materiality, we may logically conclude that, weight being universally identical with itself, there is also an identity in matter; that the differences of simple bodies are due solely, either to different methods of atomic association, or to different degrees of molecular condensation, and that, in reality, atoms are transmutable: which M. Liebig does not admit.

“We have,” he says, “no reason for believing that one element is convertible into another element” (p. 135). What do you know about it? The reasons for believing in such a conversion can very well exist and at the same time escape your attention; and it is not certain that your intelligence in this respect has risen to the level of your experience. But, admitting the negative argument of M. Liebig, what follows? That, with about fifty-six exceptions, irreducible as yet, all matter is in a condition of perpetual metamorphosis. Now, it is a law of our reason to suppose in Nature unity of substance as well as unity of force and system; moreover, the series of chemical compounds and simple substances themselves leads us irresistibly to this conclusion. Why, then, refuse to follow to the end the road opened by science, and to admit an hypothesis which is the inevitable result of experience itself?

M. Liebig not only denies the transmutability of elements, but rejects the spontaneous formation of germs. Now, if we reject the spontaneous formation of germs, we are forced to admit their eternity; and as, on the other hand, geology proves that the globe has not been inhabited always, we must admit also that, at a given moment, the eternal germs of animals and plants were born, without father or mother, over the whole face of the earth. Thus, the denial of spontaneous generation leads back to the hypothesis of spontaneity: what is there in much-derided metaphysics more contradictory Let it not be thought, however, that I deny the value and certainty of chemical theories, or that the atomic theory seems to me absurd, or that I share the Epicurean opinion as to spontaneous generation. Once more, all that I wish to point out is that, from the point of view of principles, chemistry needs to exercise extreme tolerance, since its own existence depends on a certain number of fictions, contrary to reason and experience, and destructive of each other.

[5] Chemists distinguish between mixture and composition, just as logicians distinguish between the association of ideas and their synthesis. It is true, nevertheless, that, according to the chemists, composition may be after all but a mixture, or rather an aggregation of atoms, no longer fortuitous, but systematic, the atoms forming different compounds by varying their arrangement. But still this is only an hypothesis, wholly gratuitous; an hypothesis which explains nothing, and has not even the merit of being logical. Why does a purely numerical or geometrical difference in the composition and form of atoms give rise to physiological properties so different? If atoms are indivisible and impenetrable, why does not their association, confined to mechanical effects, leave them unchanged in essence? Where is the relation between the cause supposed and the effect obtained?

We must distrust our intellectual vision: it is with chemical theories as with psychological systems. The mind, in order to account for phenomena, works with atoms, which it does not and can never see, as with the me, which it does not perceive: it applies its categories to everything; that is, it distinguishes, individualizes, concretes, numbers, compares, things which, material or immaterial, are thoroughly identical and indistinguishable. Matter, as well as spirit, plays, as we view it, all sorts of parts; and, as there is nothing arbitrary in its metamorphoses, we build upon them these psychologic and atomic theories, true in so far as they faithfully represent, in terms agreed upon, the series of phenomena, but radically false as soon as they pretend to realize their abstractions and are accepted literally.

[6] The passage quoted may not be given in the exact words used by Malthus, it having reached its present shape through the medium of a French rendering — Translator.

[7] “The principle which governs the life of nations is not pure science: it is the total of the complex data which depend on the state of enlightenment, on needs and interests.” Thus expressed itself, in December, 1844, one of the clearest minds that France contained, M. Leon Faucher. Explain, if you can, how a man of this stamp was led by his economic convictions to declare that the complex data of society are opposed to pure science.

[8] “History of Public Credit.”

[9] In France, the sale of tobacco is a government monopoly. — Translator.

[10] A subtle philologist, M. Paul Ackermann, has shown, using the French language as an illustration, that, since every word in a language has its opposite, or, as the author calls it, its antonym, the entire vocabulary might be arranged in couples, forming a vast dualistic system. (See Dictionary of Antonyms. By PAUL ACKERMAN. Paris: Brockhaus & Avenarius. 1842)

[11] “Treatise on Political Economy.”

[12] Tocqueville, “Democracy in America.”

[13] Meeting of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences, September, 1845.

[14] Journal des Economistes,” April, 1843.

[15] “The Liberty of Labor,” Vol. II, p. 80.

[16] In spite of the most approved authorities, I cannot accept the idea that serf, in Latin servus, was so called from servare, to keep, because the slave was a prisoner of war who was kept for labor. Servitude, or at least domesticity, is certainly prior to war, although war may have noticeably strengthened it. Why, moreover, if such was the origin of the idea as well as of the thing, should they not have said, instead of serv-us, serv-atus, in conformity with grammatical deduction? To me the real etymology is revealed in the opposition of serv-are and serv-ire, the primitive theme of which is ser-o in-stro, to join, to press, whence ser-ies, joint, continuity, Ser-a, lock, sertir, insert, etc. All these words imply the idea of a principal thing, to which is joined an accessory, as an object of special usefulness. Thence serv-ire, to be an object of usefulness, a thing secondary to another; serv-are, as we say to press, to put aside, to assign a thing its utility; serv-us, a man at hand, a utility, a chattel, in short, a man of service. The opposite of servus is dem-inus (dom-us, dom-anium, and domare); that is, the head of the household, the master of the house, he who utilizes men, servat, animals, domat, and things, possidet.That consequently prisoners of war should have been reserved for slavery, servati ad servitium, or rather serti ad glebam, is perfectly conceivable; their destiny being known, they have simply taken their name from it.

[17] A comparison of this passage, as given here, with the English translation of “What is Property” will show a marked variation in the language. This is explained by the fact that the author, in reproducing the passage, modified it considerably. The same is true of another quotation from the same work which will be found a few pages farther on. — Translator.

[18] This extract from Scott, as well as that from a parliamentary report cited a few paragraphs later, is here translated from the French, and presumably differs in form somewhat, therefore, from the original English. — Translator.

[19] The spinning-wheel is silent in the valley: family feelings are at an end. Over a little smoke the aged grandsire spreads his pale hands; and the empty hearth is as desolate as his heart. — Translator.

[20] Possibly these paragraphs will not be clear to all without the explanation that the form of association discussed in them, called in French the commandite, is a joint-stock company to which the shareholders simply lend their capital, without acquiring a share in the management or incurring responsibility for the results thereof. — Translator.

[21] Hunting, fishing, mining, — in short, the gathering of all natural products. — Translator.

[22] Little bones taken from the joints of animals and serving as playthings for children. — Translator.

[23] A tax whose total product is not fixed in advance, but depends upon the quantity of things or persons upon whom it happens to fall. — Translator.

[24] This sentence, as it stands, is unintelligible, and probably is not correctly quoted by Proudhon. At any rate, one of Garnier’s works contains a similar passage, which begins thus: “Given a levy of one on the area of the land, and lands of different qualities producing, the first eight, the second six, the third five, the tax will call for one-eighth,” etc. This is perfectly clear, and the circumstances supposed are aptly illustrative of Proudhon’s point. I should unhesitatingly pronounce it the correct version, except for the fact that Proudhon, in the succeeding paragraph, interprets Garnier as supposing income to be assessed instead of capital. — Translator.

[25] Thank heaven! the minister has settled the question, and I tender him my very sincere compliments. By the proposed tariff letter-postage will be reduced to 2 cents for distances under 12 1/2 miles; 4 cents, for distances between 12 1/2 and 25 miles; 6 cents, between 25 and 75 miles; 8 cents, between 75 and 225 miles; 10 cents, for longer distances.]

[26] The new law regarding service-books has confined the independence of workers within narrower limits. The democratic press has again thundered its indignation this subject against those in power, as if they had been guilty of anything more than the application of the principles of authority and property, which are those of democracy. What the Chambers have done in regard to service-books was inevitable, and should have been expected. It is as impossible for a society founded on the proprietary principle not to end in class distinctions as for a democracy to avoid despotism, for a religion to be reasonable, for fanaticism to show tolerance. This is the law of contradiction: how long will it take us to understand it?

[27] The crime makes the shame, and not the scaffold. — Translator.

[28] See volume II, chapter IX.

[29] Ibid., chapter X.

[30] Ibid., chapter XI.

[31] Date of the Napoleonic coup d’Etat, according to the revolutionary calendar.

[32] The Metaphysics of Morals [1.11]

[33] The Metaphysics of Morals 1.15. (Editor).

[34] “I possess because I possess”; “I possess because you possess” (Editor)

[35] A coupon is the amount of interest paid per year expressed as a percentage of the face value of a bond. A bond is, in finance, a debt security in which the issuer is the borrower (debtor) and the holder is the lender (creditor). (Editor)

[36] Proudhon writes “Il était le courtisan de la terre.” Courtesan historically referred to a courtier. However, these were often considered as insincere, skilled at flattery and intrigue, ambitious and lacking regard for the national interest and so, in French, courtesan figuratively means “sycophant.” (Editor)

[37] Proudhon is alluding to the Latin phrase “conubio iungam stabili propriamque dicabo” from Virgil’s epic, The Aeneid (4.126), in which the goddess Juno proposes to “consecrate” the passion of Dido for Aeneas through marriage, turning unstable passion into a stable bond of property. (Editor)

[38] Artaxerxes I was king of the Persian Empire from 464 BC to 424 BC. After Persia had been defeated at Eurymedon, Artaxerxes began to weaken the Athenians by funding their enemies in Greece. (Editor)

[39] Vincent de Paul (1581-1660) was a Catholic priest dedicated to serving the poor. He was canonised in 1737. (Editor)

[40] Harpagon was the name of the miser in Molière's comedy L'Avare (The Miser) (Editor)

[41] Perrin Dandin is a simple citizen in François Rabelais’ Third Book. He seats himself as a judge and passes offhand judgements in any matter of litigation. (Editor)

[42] Bertrand du Guesclin (1320-80), known as the Eagle of Brittany, was a Breton knight and French military commander during the Hundred Years' War. (Editor)

[43] This is an allusion to tradesmen who owned their own tools and took them in a bag or sack (“sac”) when they were dismissed from employment. Hence the expression “get the sack” which is derived from the 17th century French expression “On luy a donné son sac.” (Editor)

[44] There is a play-on-words in Proudhon’s “Chacun de vous porte dans son sac la verge qui sert à le corriger, et qui peut lui servir un jour à corriger les autre.” Corriger as well as meaning “to correct” also means “to give a good hiding to” or “to punish.” (Editor)

[45] Proudhon wrote: “Vous ne serez libres qu'après vous être rachetés, par l'asservissement de vos maîtres, de la servitude qu’ils font peser sur vous.” Racheter as well as meaning “to atone for” or “to redeem” also means “to buy” and he plays with this dual meaning. (Editor)

[46] “Thus I wish. Thus I command” (Editor)

[47] Licitation is sale to the highest bidder. (Translator)

[48] From the Latin Bible: “Jesus said to him: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole heart and with thy whole soul and with thy whole mind. This is the first and greatest commandment.” (Matthew 22:37-38). (Editor)

[49] A form of long-term lease that was an institution of Roman law (although derived from the Greek law) and found in French law. An owner of poorly cultivated land granted such leases so that a tenant would take on the task of improving the land. The tenant paid a small rent or canon for this right and the owner regained the land in its improved condition after a number of years. (Editor)

[50] See [Raymond-Théodore] Troplong, Contrat de Louage [Rental Contracts], volume 1st, in which he argues, alone among all the jurisconsults who are his precursors and contemporaries, and with reason, as we think, that in renting, the tenant acquires a right in the thing, and that the lease gives way immediately to a real and personal share.

[51] “even as though some force tearing earth apart should unlock the infernal house, and disclose the pallid realms abhorred of heaven, and deep down the monstrous gulf be descried where the ghosts flutter in the streaming daylight.” (Virgil, The Aeneid of Virgil [MacMillan and Co. Ltd: London, 1920], Translated by J. W. Mackail, Eighth Book, 178). (Editor)

[52] In Kantian philosophy, a thing as it is in itself, as distinct from a thing as it is knowable by the senses through phenomenal attributes. (Editor)

[53] Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations, Volume 1, Book I, Chapter 5, 34-5. The original text is used where appropriate, although Proudhon quotes a French translation which differs somewhat from the original. (Editor)

[54] Smith, Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter VI, 54-5. (Editor)

[55] Smith, Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 6, 56. As before, Proudhon is quoting from a French translation and this ends with the words “Il faut qu'il paie pour avoir la permission. de les recueillir; c'est-à-dire qu'il paie au propriétaire une portion de ce qu'il recueille ou de ce qu'il produit, sans lui, par son travail”: “He must pay to have permission to collect them; that is to say, he pays the landlord a portion of what he collects or produces, without him, by his labour.” (Editor)

[56] A combination and slight re-organising of selections from The Wealth of Nations. The first sentence is from Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 6 (57) while the rest is from Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 9, with the second sentence originally appearing at the end of the rest of the passage. (110, 109-10). (Editor)

[57] In chapter VII, Proudhon writes of “great family of preventive, coercive, repressive, and vindictive institutions which A. Smith designated by the generic term police.” In other words, State power. (Editor)

[58] A paraphrase of Adam Smith: “the law, besides, authorises, or at least does not prohibit their combinations, while it prohibits those of the workmen […] Masters are always and everywhere in a sort of tacit, but constant and uniform combination, not to raise the wages of labour above their actual rate. To violate this combination is everywhere a most unpopular action, and a sort of reproach to a master among his neighbours and equals […] The masters upon these occasions are just as clamorous upon the other side, and never cease to call aloud for the assistance of the civil magistrate, and the rigorous execution of those laws which have been enacted with so much severity against the combinations of servants, labourers, and journeymen.” (Volume 1, Part 1, Chapter 8, 74-6). (Editor)

[59] Smith, Volume 1, Book I, Chapter VIII, 72. Indicators of missing sentences have been added. (Editor)

[60] Hodgskins, Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter X, Recherches sur la nature et les causes de la richesse des nations (Paris: Chez Guillaumin Libraire, 1843), 132. (Editor)

[61] Smith, Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 8, 88. (Editor)

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cosmicwavelength · 2 years

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#gets reminded i’ve met the actor man (the other one too) and #i’d like to lobotomise myself #he touched my face!!!!! how dare #i mean I asked but get fucked anyway #looking at the scene where Cas touches Deans face #my soul is separating itself from every atom of my body

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Can you do part 2 of chandelier?

Chandelier

This is part to to this imagine, find it here

Pairing | dark!Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary | the suburban life that you have been locked in soon takes a turn whence another being, with radiating power is revealed to be causing such destruction. Perhaps Wanda isn’t the bad guy, or at least, not the worst villain that has you under their thumb. Witches, and their possessiveness!

Warnings | mentions of death, violence, witches, magic, imprisonment, angst, spoilers for Wandavision. I fixed the Ralph Bohner plot because I could

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Time had surpassed, and continuing to live under the restrictions of Wanda hadn’t been so bad. She was your wife, the Maximoff that owned your heart, a red beam of scarlet that floated around in the depths of your head. Her influence left a pressure inside of you, a mark and a reminder to her that you belonged to her.

One thing that you knew for certain, was that you needed to escape these red restrictions, and break free of this place that you were forced to call home. It was tough to slip from the penetrating gaze of the possessive redhead, but to your luck, your nosey neighbour had decided, on this fine evening, to walking into the kitchen, and stir up some gossip with your partner.

Agnes, as she went by. It always seemed like she wanted to be away from that husband Ralph of hers, but you couldn’t blame her, you wanted nothing more than to escape the possessiveness of your wife. She was no longer the same woman that you had met, she was crafted by loss, that tormented her into being a captive. Using the excuse of protecting you to her advantage, claiming that you would not appreciate what lay on the outside of Westview.

Party girls don't get hurt

Can't feel anything, when will I learn?

I push it down, push it down

I'm the one "for a good time call"

But you couldn’t help but feel completed as you reached the borders of the town. It was surreal, you felt ecstatic to leave this little prison, that was in deep disguise to convince all residents that their home was real, and not all an illusion painted by a certain redhead. She saw you as a new canvas, which she kept overlapping with white paint to make blank for another piece of mindful artwork.

Turning once more, to ensure that the woman of your nightmares hadn’t decided to appear behind you, within a second, you lurched forward, pushing your body through her borders, feeling each atom in your atom tug apart and put itself back together, as you fought with just your own body to break through the access and exit point of her false reality.

That’s all this was, an illusion, masked in amounts of power that could possibly kill you. But death by attempted escape was better than remaining here, in this vast plain, that was all meant to occupy the mind, fooling it into thinking that this was a normal life. Instead, you knew how absurd it was, there were tweaks every now and then, until you were transferred into a different time.

Right now, you were in the 2000s, but you needed to get back to 2023, the real time line, the universe outside of these red orbits that stood strong, and pained your skin, pushing a power that you did not know that you could feel beneath your flesh, making your body burn from your withdrawal from its sharp contents.

Phone's blowin' up, ringin' my doorbell

I feel the love, feel the love

One, two, three, one, two, three, drink

One. Two. Three. A yell bellowed from your throat as you fell out to the other side, collapsing on the ground, as your fingertips dug into the surface below. For a moment you frowned, before you glanced behind you, seeing the grand gesture of magic in its place, and you out of your own. You picked dirt up with your hands, it felt real, not like molecules that had been wedged together to create the appearance of such a natural substance.

The sound of footsteps had you rolling over, preparing to attack whomever had decided to disturb your peace, crouching on your knees as you glared up. It was a woman, one that you vaguely remembered, before your ever so loving wife had informed you that she had moved away, something about her mother not feeling well. All though, that may have been an illusion too, for all you were aware.

Nobody escaped Westview, until you. There was no route out, you were sure the chase wasn’t over, Wanda would come after you, numbing your mind with her tugging hands, that swirled with her red essence. The woman emitted grave power, and you far well knew that she would use it for when the time came. She would make you her prisoner once more, a dull and empty shell that would be ordered to do nothing more than return her affections with a plastered smile.

“Geraldine?” You asked nervously, realising that the woman appeared far different than the version of her within the Hex. She had portrayed nothing more than a fine friend to the deluded woman, supporting her magic show and coming over for tea in the morning, until she mentioned... Sokovia. Sokovia, her home, that had fallen against the battle with Ultron! You remembered!

Throw 'em back 'til I lose count

I'm gonna swing from the chandelier

From the chandelier

I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist

Like it doesn't exist

“Geraldine doesn’t exist.” She smiled softly, holding out a hand so that she could assist you to your feet. With sly eyes, you took it, untrusting of anyone at the moment. “My name is Monica, I have the intent of stopping your wife, she’s dangerous. She’s expanding these borders, and soon, I have no doubt that she will eat up the whole world, turning it into her playground.”

Playgrounds. They had been another thing that you noticed specked around the town, though there never seemed to be any children to play in them. That gave you some relief, unless they were locked up, stowed away to be kept of the suburban life. Wanda didn’t want children anyway, she wanted you, her baby, her fine darling, her pet. You were nothing more than a decoration within her false realm, a means to keep a smile stretched upon her sinister face, and a stopper to her darting red eyes.

And thus you stood on your own feet, no scarlet shadow behind you, whispering thoughts that were not your own in through your ear. Gulping, you looked Monica up and down, nervously seeing if she were to fade into the air, as many things did when the times changed, as they converted into more modern alternatives. A part of you had wished that you would grow with the changes, become stronger, become a free woman.

“I am not her wife.” You admitted aloud, feeling a heavy weight roll off your chest. There, you had said it, and for the first time, you hoped that the redhead heard you, you could imagine her scowl right now. That, that would be something that was sure as hell real, and not a part of her sketch script, her sitcoms were curtains.

They could be opened or closed, but often of a night, were shut to keep the silhouettes of monsters out. She was the monster, hiding from herself and the reality that she had came from. Though, the woman could not accept that she was the villain here. The creator of the dialysis that was affecting the lives of many, but for what purpose.

I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night

Feel my tears as they dry

I'm gonna swing from the chandelier

From the chandelier

But I'm holding on for dear life

“We have to stop her.” Monica spoke, getting out of the vehicle, you following behind her, as she moved closer to the collateral red veil that reached high up into the sky. Sounds from Jimmy insisted that she remain, and that another way in could be found, but all of you knew that was a long shot. And there was no time to wait around, not as purple grates were seen through the crimson walls of her boundaries, bursting like fireworks against her protection system.

And thus, you, gulping down the sensations of fear prickling at your fingers, followed after Monica, whom walked through the moulded fire, stepping into the plain that digressed your body, pulling it as though it were trying to reform your genes, affecting your DNA. As you succumbed to the sensations, you felt a burst in your chest, an ignition of something greater deep inside you.

But unlike Wanda, you were not going to use it for your own sinful convenience, you were going to stop her. You gasped as you fell out the other side, your limbs feeling like they were aflame, askew with treacherous fire. Turning to Monica, you saw that her eyes had transformed into an ambient blue, piercing your soul.

Won't look down, won't open my eyes

Keep my glass full until morning light

'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight

Help me, I'm holding on for dear life

Won't look down, won't open my eyes

“Your skin.” She spiked, raising her hand to her own cheek as she looked upon you. It was separated into sections, adjoined by the bone, as neon orange kept it attached, like cracks that had yet to be partitioned. There was no time for idly finding a mirror to squalor through at your own appearance though, no. You had returned to this hell for one reason only, and that was put an end to all this consuming madness.

And so, the pair of you walked through the town, not having to go far until you saw the ongoing battle. Agnes, as you had known her, was in the sky, along with you alleged wife, purple robes floating from her body, her hair crazed and wild, much like her eyes. She was no friendly neighbour, she was a reaper coming out to play, throwing lilac bursts of power towards Wanda, whom returned the favour with her own red energy.

“How do we get to them?” Rambeau asked, frowning as she watched their exchange with worried irises. To answer her question, your body aligned itself to rise, transcending towards the two warriors, your eyes hot and fiery as they flared remarkably at the sight of the bewitched competition.

At your presence, Agnes smirked, and Wanda’s face paled, soaking in the sight of your skin glowing with your own source of power. “If it isn’t your wife, just on time to join us for the main course.” Your nose curled at the sound of her distorted voice, as your head raised itself, glaring upon the scene. “There’s something different about you, I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Keep my glass full until morning light

'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight, on for tonight

Sun is up, I'm a mess

Gotta get out now, gotta run from this

Here comes the shame, here comes the shame

To emphasise her point, she emitted a pulse of her magic towards you, it hitting deep in the pit of your chest. Though, it didn’t explode, or send you hurtling back, instead it grew brawlingly in your chest, brewing like a potion, and expanding every human structure that you could feel kept your skeleton upright.

As your head fall, and you remained in your place, Wanda frowned, head tilting as a crown appeared upon her forehead. She could not understand how you had changed so clearly. You were definitely not her wife, you were an image of her enemy, floating alongside her, standing for your cause. That was to end her, and this place she had formatted to become her home; your home.

When she had learnt of your betrayal, escaping whilst she was distracting by this opposer of hers, she had been filled with various emotions. Angry was one definition of how she had felt, but another had been determined. She was determined to get you back, and wash away all thoughts of ever leaving her again. But as she looked upon you, for some reason, she knew that her tricks wouldn’t work.

One, two, three, one, two, three, drink

Throw 'em back 'til I lose count

I'm gonna swing from the chandelier

“What are you?” She asked in that distressed accent of hers. What were you? It was unknown, or at least to your own knowledge, you were a vision, a bird set free, no longer trapped behind the bars of a cage. Wanda tried to thrust your to the side with her elegant will, but instead of obeying her technical whim, you tilted your head.

It came as a shock to you as well, having expected to be thrown around by her wishes, but instead, you remained, only absorbing her tainted force, your hair blowing from the sweeping of the stormy wind as you poised the two witches with your amber gaze, keeping your pupils locked on them, as a hurricane rounded through the air, grabbing every form of their power.

The walls of the Hex slowly faded, swirling in the air before coming on command towards you, roping around your limbs before sinking into your flesh, leaving Agatha with a studying from onto her trialed face. She was watching, rather than fighting with you, picking out the little details like she had done with Wanda.

From the chandelier

I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist

Like it doesn't exist

I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night

Feel my tears as they dry

She was the scarlet witch, the most powerful sorceress of all, but you indeed were something else. Monica squinted from below, as she saw a streak of blue oncoming towards her, his willpower transcending through her, as he crumbled mistakenly to the ground.

He was a fake, or was he. As he tripped, Monica caught sight of the flaring purple beads around his neck, and thus, she knelt upon his chest, as she looked at them. This Pietro was being controlled, and she assumed it was through the ancient jewellery, and so, she pulled it from around his neck, scattering the beads upon the street.

As the man looked up, he was astounded. There was a fiery bird igniting in the sky, its wingspan spreading far, as it reigned terror upon all. He was amazed to see the sight once more... she was supposed to be dead. She had sacrificed herself, turned into particles within the universe. But it seemed as though the winged creature, pardoned by great force lived on.

I'm gonna swing from the chandelier

From the chandelier

But I'm holding on for dear life

Won't look down, won't open my eyes

Keep my glass full until morning light

'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight

Help me, I'm holding on for dear life

“Jean?” He whispered to himself, with a frown, his hand covering his mouth as he thought of his old friend that had facaded into meandering smithereens. Monica sighed at the man, walking closer, as she crossed her arms, looking down upon where he had crashed, and was laying upon the ground.

“Ralph Bohner?” She asked, watching as the stranger frowned at the title that she assumed of hun. With speed, he assisted himself up, brushing his hands on his legs, as he kept blinking up at the apocalyptic sky.

“No, I feel sorry for a dude with that name.” He lightly chuckled, finding the boner joke rather hilarious. “Peter Maximoff is the name, my fine lady.” She shook her head at his efforts but... Maximoff? What about Pietro?

Won't look down, won't open my eyes

Keep my glass full until morning light

'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight

On for tonight, on for tonight

“She’s the dark Phoenix.” Agatha gulped, her face contorting into one of fear and worry as she looked on at the way your arms spread like an eagle, igniting with their flame like aura. She had heard ancient stories, but they were not from this time. And here you were, facing off against her and the scarlet witch.

They had no chance against you, but Wanda did not know that, and as she readied to face off with you, she found herself being pushed to the ground, by nothing more than your stern gaze. Agatha too was pulled in by your sway, as you forced both to descend, and be grounded.

With a curve of your neck, they found themselves trapped against telephone lines, lines of their own magic pulling at them like strands. They were tied up, like the witches of old, powerless to those that stalked them.

'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight

Oh, I'm just holding on for tonight

On for tonight, on for tonight

'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight

All of a sudden, Wanda felt overcome with regret, as she was put in this position. She tried to escape, but Agnes as she had called herself priorly shook her head at the silly girl, understanding that this was the end.

“We are no match for her Wanda. She is not a witch, she is being far more powerful. Fall to her mercy, or you will receive the brunt of it.” Westview had fallen, and thus, Wanda realised that by taking you, you had taken everything right back from her, reciprocating the notion that she had described to be love.

She held on, wanting the night to be over, as she saw Monica, the woman that had tried to help her, behind you. And the man that had posed as her biological brother. There was no hope left for her, no saving her. In the end, she had became the villain. Her and Agatha were not so different after all.

'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight

Oh, I'm just holding on for tonight

On for tonight, on for tonight

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adsosfraser · 3 years

Text

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Six

Read on AO3

Before Claire could journey up to Inverness, she had to settle some matters first in London. The first thing she did was walk up the grand steps of her parents’ bank and walk through the marble columns of the main entrance. A little over two-thirds was left in her account, and she withdrew it all. She walked out, two hundred pounds heavier. The pound notes were neatly stacked into piles of twenty in her suitcase. It was all that remained of her inheritance which had been pretty substantial; the rest had been spent on various celebrations in her life and her travels with her uncle. In total, her trip up to Inverness would be very comfortable, and she would have some to spare for a mockup dress, with guidance of course as Mrs. Graham had assured her.

The first thing she did was purchase a train ticket at King’s Cross Station to Edinburgh for the next day. She was almost giddy when she felt the smooth surface of the ticket and her receipt shoved into her hands.

The pawn shops in London had infinitely more variety than Inverness, she was certain. There was practically one on every corner in London, but only one she could remember in the general area of Inverness. She couldn’t very well bring a banknote with her into the past. But she could find something to trade. No matter what century, gold, silver, and jewellery always held value.

She glanced through the miscellaneous items dotted throughout the store and finally assumed a stance before the jewellery counter. Dainty rings laid within velvet boxes and chains strung across the shelves enclosed in glass carefully haphazard. Her eyes paused on an emerald. Jamie’s birthstone. Next to it was a ruby, much like the ring meant for her baby, set into a gold necklace. She pointed at the different necklaces, bracelets, and rings for the attendant to put aside for her. With one final point, she was ready at the register with her money. At the last minute, she spied a stack of pictures and postcards depicting the world’s modern marvels. An airplane, skyscrapers, tug boats, telephones, even the atom bomb were included in the stack. She added it to her items and smiled up at the cashier. She left, with little less than half of what she had withdrawn that day from her purchases at the train station and the pawnshop. She could always purchase more in Inverness.

Claire hurried over to her next stop; the sun would be sinking soon. Her body stopped before the small metal door. A locker in the storage facility. It contained mementos from her childhood. Pictures of her parents and notes from the various friends she had made across the world with her uncle. It was the only tangible thing that anchored her to one spot. While she constantly left for new places, it had been reassuring to know that the locker would always be there for her to remember. She shuffled through the items and pulled out some of her baby pictures where she screamed with cake smeared over her face, her parents’ smiles shining brightly behind her. One with her mouth covered in ice cream on a pier at Brighton with her parents, months before the accident. The rest were her dirty and dusty with her uncle, beaming with curiosity at various excavation sites. Claire glanced slightly at the envelope that contained things pertaining to her time with Frank and shoved it back deep into the locker. There was a final one of her during the beginning of her nurse’s training, smiling optimistically for the camera in her uniform at the train station, oblivious to the gruesome years to come sewing back shattered men and hiding from the sky itself.

She boarded the train without fuss the next morning. No one was travelling during the New Year. They were all settled in with their families enjoying their feasts. So Claire enjoyed the luxury of an empty compartment within the train and patted her suitcase reassuringly.

The Reverend would be away for the week to substitute for a minister who had taken ill on short notice. The house was left to Roger, Claire, and Mrs. Graham.

“Och, Claire, it’s sae fine seeing ye again.” The short woman gathered her in her arms, bringing her down to her level. “Would ye like a cuppa?”

“That would be wonderful Mrs. Graham, thank you.”

She puttered about in the kitchen and instructed Claire to place her luggage in the second room to the right up the stairs. The door creaked open to a light room covered in a rosey wallpaper. Claire was glad it wasn’t the same room she had stayed in months ago. She set her things on the bed and returned downstairs to where the elderly woman had already set up the cups with tea on the small circular table. Tarot cards were strewn all over the tablecloth. Claire presumed Mrs. Graham wanted to take a peek into her future once again. Seeing no use in delaying the inevitable, Claire launched into her questions.

“What do you know about the stones Mrs. Graham?”

“Och, please call me Mairi, lass. I’m sae glad ye called over before ye arrived here, didna want ye to be disappointed. I looked through some of my mother’s old things, and there were many journals passed down through the matrilineal line. It would have been a mess to try to find them in short notice, but I managed to find the box just in time. One of them details the subject of powerful stones holding the Earth’s energy itself within them. Ye can read through dear and I’ll wait fer any questions.” She stood up to fetch something from the counter near the oven and returned with a smooth brown book.

She looked closely over the scribbled notes and drawings in the small leather-bound book. It most likely could fit into her coat pocket and she was amazed at the artistry of something so old. The pages were weathered yellow like they had been soaked in tea and there were tears in some spots, but it didn’t hinder the journal’s abilities to instruct. Within it contained certainties, speculations, doubts, and even contradictions coming back to scribble that human sacrifice was indeed not necessary and strongly discouraged from the earlier statement regarding it as a necessity. Different hands amended the pages, added different textured paper when the pages ran out, and ripped out some to little stubs close to the spine.

A calendar was sketched into the very first page, listing fire festivals at each point of a star. Imbolc. That was the closest date. She had missed Yule while in the ward and cursed herself. She would have to wait a month more, if the information written down in the battered book was to be believed. After months of separation, what more was one month? But her soul agonised over the fact that she was so close to the stones, but their strange attributes limited her. Would the nagging feeling of anxiety for her son ever waver? Or did this new sabbatical mean she would be too late?

“So Imbolc, a fire feast?”

“Aye, most all o’ the journals in my grove ha’ something similar. It’s always, a gem and a fire feast. Many other suggestions have been quite unsettling.”

“So when I came through, on April the 16th, I was two weeks away-”

“Lass dinna work yerself up o’er that jes now. Ye canna blame anyone, it’s jes,” the kind woman squeezed Claire’s hand in comfort, “jes the way things went.”

“But, I put my baby in danger, and it killed him.” She couldn’t help the wobble of her lip and the big fat tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Ye dinna even ken if he could ha’ gone through at the proper time anyway.” Mrs. Graham hooked her weathered finger under Claire’s chin and brought her gaze towards her. “I know it might not be what ye want to hear right now, but perhaps yer baby saved ye. Ye couldna ha’ travelled alone, even wi’ yer wee gem.”

“But why take my baby? Why not me?”

“The way I see it, the stones only wanted one tae live that day. And if yer baby survived while ye died, weel it wouldna ha’ survived anyway wi’out ye. It doesna do well to dwell on the past lass. The only thing ye can do is look to the future and move forward. Go to yer lad. Yer soul kens what yer brain refuses to. The boy needs ye.”

“What if I’m too late? The death certificate-”

“Have faith, Claire, yer- Frank researched tirelessly to find his fate. If he wasna going to make it, yer soul wouldna be in overdrive to return to him.”

“Yes, of course. Faith.”

“Fer now we bide, and I’ll help ye prepare. These are lean years yer returning to, ye’ll need all the help ye can get.”

The greying woman stood up to leave but Claire placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “Thank you Mairi, for everything.”

For the next month, Claire helped Mrs. Graham tidy the manse and watch after Roger. Her heart had warmed to the small boy instantly and she played planes with him whenever he asked, mimicking the noises and spreading out her arms wide to fly across the garden. Reverend Wakefield, much to his own chagrin, helped Claire smuggle some supplies from the hospital, during his visits to the ailing and injured who couldn’t attend church. He even found a set of knives that were close to being pitched before he intervened and saved them from the dumpster. Claire passed those weeks amongst pleasant company in the manse, and knew she would miss her friends dearly. To her surprise, Graham Munro, the kind boy who had brought her to the hospital from the stones, visited the manse occasionally and would take up a game of cards with her and Roger. The seven-year-old won almost every game they played; Claire and Graham had made the mistake of having him lose and much to their dismay he had started a tantrum that lasted for four hours. One evening, he had sulked into Claire’s room, his cheeks tracked with fresh tears from a nightmare and she pulled him close, murmuring to the young boy. Yes, she would miss them all terribly.

Mrs. Graham worked on the logistics of Claire’s dress; she was impossible at sewing, knitting, and practically any other domestic task. A plain white slip dress was transformed into a shift, extra yards of wool were donated through her druid friends which turned into her various layers of skirts, and an old blue raincoat fit for a giant was found in the closet and transformed into a cloak of sorts to cover the fact of missing stays.

On the First of February, close to midnight, Claire, Roger, Mrs. Graham, and Reverend Wakefield climbed into the Reverend’s black car. Roger was bouncing off the back seat next to Claire, excited at being awake way past his bedtime. Reverend Wakefield had driven them to the stones to humour them, still not quite believing in the absurd story. A leather messenger bag sat on Claire’s lap, practically bursting from the contents within it. She had already dressed into her new clothes that would not be so conspicuous in the eighteenth century. Her heart raced as the headlights from the car illuminated the grey stone at the top of the hill.

Claire offered a short sentence of gratitude for the Reverend’s hospitality and then moved on to her fast friend Mairi. He lingered back behind the line of the stones with his arms around Roger. Claire shared a heartfelt goodbye with Mrs. Graham and thanked her profusely. Tears clung to her eyelashes and she pecked the small woman on the cheek. Roger was inconsolable when he felt the atmosphere shift. He thought it was a fun adventure with his new friend, not the finality of a goodbye.

“No Miss Claire! I dinna want ye to leave!” He slobbered into her stomach and held tight to the buttons of her cloak.

“I’m sorry, Roger. I’ll miss playing pilot with you terribly. Will you keep this safe for me?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a toy rocket, the new fascination of young boys. Planes were old news, but space was exciting.

“Aye!” He tried to be brave like his father said his parents had been. She shoved back the hair from his eyes as he looked up at her with glassy eyes and a snotty nose.

“What do ye say, Roger?”

“Thank ye, Miss Claire!” He hugged her tight.

He took the plastic object from Claire’s hands and skipped over to his father. His mood had instantly changed and he was happily distracted from the severity of the moment. They all walked slowly towards the stones, Roger hand in hand with his father. The buzzing swarmed through Claire’s ears and she was standing near the centre cleft now.

“Father, what’s that noise?”

“Stay put Roger.” He tightened his grip on his son’s shoulders, fear laced into his voice.

With one last tearful glance of goodbye, Claire vanished. The group was left stunned, even Mrs. Graham. Hearing certainly was not seeing.

“Mama?” She felt the soft curiosity of a child’s mind amongst all the screams of anguish and hopelessness. “It’s okay. You can go home now.”

She pulled her towards her, guiding her mother gently.

“I love you, mama. Tell da I love him too.”

Was it really the child she had lost, or a delusion her mind had conjured? One thing she was certain of though deep in her bones. She had been a girl. A beautiful soul.

#jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #adsofraser writing #craigh na dun #fergus fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #canon divergence #frank randall #roger mackenzie #brianna fraser #mrs graham #reverend wakefield #lol i'm really vomiting out these words quickly #outlander fanfic

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tetsuwan-atom · 3 years

Text

Holy Grail War - Fate

(So, this is basically something I’ve been meaning to write for weeks. It’s in a specific verse about a specific event that had unfolded, that was plotted out between a few people. I have decided to give this event a bit of a ‘conclusion’ from the perspective of my muse and canon, to show how the story could have gone, how it could have ended.)

A tribute to Fate/Nuovo Guerra.

UNRAVELING <------------------------------------------------------------------------>???

And so... here he stood.

The fight against Adachi Shiro, a battle unlike anything Bowen Chuuno had ever faced before. It wasn’t a one-on-one fight between two people. This was between two of the most powerful multiversal entities. The Holy Grail itself was an embodiment you could not underestimate.. and it was that of a fight where all of one’s wits and abilities were to come into play. Very few people, if many at all, could have survived this the way Bowen did.

Of monsters, of demons, vast armies of all sorts, giants, behemoths, shadows and illusions. One foot wrong and he might have been consumed forever. A task of survival, while staying on target, the maker of those threats, the extension of the Grail. Adachi himself. The body that pulled the strings, that cast the magic, the connection that allowed the Grail to function in ways previously thought unimaginable.

All for Bowen’s soul, his body, his life.

Who knew that the fight was won with an ability Bowen hadn’t tried before. Indeed, that of an ability.. that wasn’t even his to begin with?

To shatter the illusion, to separate master from slave.

How he managed to get the body to safety just in time, but coming back to finish the job. It was all done so quickly. He was sure the original owner, the original soul, will wake up eventually. That was a thought he could not entertain, not when there were other matters pressing.

This matter, the final task of this long and arduous adventure.

There Bowen stood before the Grail. It was just him and it. There was no other person in the area. No-one standing.

It was how it was meant to be.

This, was his duty.

And yet, as he stood before it, a gaze of analysis. Maybe even a hint of realisation, as he steps forward.

"...I see what you were doing all along..."

How he started at the abomination, feeling both calm and unnerved.

"This fight, you knew from the get go that my intention was to destroy you. Yet you still sought me out, you still brought me here."

Breathe in, breathe out.

"The fight against Adachi, against you, your monsters, your illusions. That wasn't an attempt to subdue me. You didn't need to subdue me, to kill me... you didn't need that for what you wanted, did you?"

The blonde approached closer, he could see something was happening, the way the 'tower' began to morph. It was like a transformation was happening before his very eyes.

"You just needed me to exhaust my energy, so you can absorb it. I could feel that I was having to use twice my stamina, twice my power, than what I had needed to. At first i wondered why, why was I using more than what I should be... but now I see it."

Something was forming in the grail. Body parts began to emerge.

"You just had to take what you could because you knew no matter how hard you tried I'd still be standing. You're desperate to be complete, to reach your end goal. There was never any wish, was there? Not this time? Every single war was a false start just to bring you to this moment?"

A tilt of the head.

"So many people who were in the same league as me. The Camellian Girls, Violent Violet, Kamijou Touma. Yeah, Touma. I knew exactly why you didn't want him to win the war. You knew he would have ended you in minutes."

Then he tilted in the other direction.

"The Mighty Atom is a phenomena that has existed for generations, for millennia. Maybe you would have known about it right when you were created.

Or was it when you gained sentience? A rumoured God that created the multiverse, with the power to change anything and everything? Beyond worlds, beyond realms? People have had the power to change one world before, but they've never had such an ability to change anything and everything for all infinity.. have they? You wanted the same power, to wreak that havoc? No regard for life... or... maybe there's a need for that life. For your own gain, to cover the world and beyond in your own form of filth."

And then his head returned to the middle, watching the beast form inside.

...What a grotesque creature. How high would it stand if it formed? How putrid, how catastrophic would it be? Could it even be stopped, if it was to come alive?

"You saw at the very end, how I managed to get out of having to fight to exhaustion. You didn't think that was possible, did you? How can Bowen Chuuno possess an ability that should in theory only belong to one person? I don't think I needed to tell you why I did it, but how? Well... the ability to copy isn't one I've tried before... I just wish I didn't have to break Touma's arm to do it."

The beast stared at him, eyes blinking.

"But... when you were there as Adachi... did you notice I broke it.. in two places?"

Now those eyes of the grail were beginning to widen, pupils shrinking, as Bowen raised his right hand.

"Rule of Medicine, always carry at least a second dose!"

The whole area was beginning to rumble now. Bowen would grin, only he chose not to. The Grail now knew what Bowen had done to. What he was planning to do.

And the beast was growing scared.

The ground was shaking at such a violent rate, but the blonde was not fazed, concerned. No. Instead, he brought his right hand back to his side, his familiar trademark expression of closing his eyes, only to open them immediately after, glowing, sparking.

"Let's see who can win this race.. shall we?"’

Already he was dashing towards the grail.. and the ground immediately gave way. Rocks and dirt flying through the air.. and the resulting earthquake sending Bowen all the way to the edge! His right hand he kept close to himself as he landed.. but immediately he dashed again towards the beast, at immense speed!

Submerging from the ground, beasts of several eyes, of miasma, of immense height and size. Even they rumbled the ground as they stood, as they formed. Their purple eyes boring deep into the blonde's soul, even as he ran. The closest using it's might and size to try and reach out and grab Bowen from under his feet!

Prompting him to dodge and roll out of the way immediately!

Now there’s more of them forming! Several at once! All coming up from the ground! There’s smaller ones with flexible arms, almost like whips. It seems like they can’t move from their spot, but with how many there are, they could easily cover every single area!

The pathway’s becoming difficult, having to avoid both the ones that tried to take him.. and those who just tried to attack him in general! Quickly fishing out his IDND, he tries blasting a few of them! The familiar sound of it’s energy shots reverberating through the whole area!

...But they aren’t doing anything!!

They aren’t even affected!

More beasts appear, this time normal sized.. but they carry blades, strange weapons. Their bodies are made of the same miasma as the giants. And with how fast those blades can be, it was an added complication....

And wolves! Strange, wolf-like beasts, with striking red eyes... and a howl that would chill even the hardest of spines, putting the fear even in the strongest of individuals, claws that could shred anything in seconds! How fast they were, so agile. You just had to put a foot wrong.. and they would pounce!

He had faced the giants before, and other attacks against Adachi, but that was hard enough. This was sixteen fold! Maybe even more! Giant hands, whips, blades, demons! And with the ground giving way in some areas too. This wasn't a straight run anymore, this was a minefield!

Everything he had to do, with absolute agility and velocity. He could blast the blades away at least with his IDND, but the bearers, the wolves, they weren't affected! He had to dodge their lunges! The blades, the hands, the open gaps in the ground!

Over and over! Giants, wolves, blades, gaps, giants, wolves, gaps, blades, wolves, giants, did he even feel any closer to the grail?

Even a little bit?

No, wait! He can see it, he is getting closer! Maybe closer than he thought! Keep it up, dodge the giants, the blades, the gaps, the wolves, over and over again, in no order at all! He had to predict everything at once! Where the next wolf was coming from, where the blade might come towards him, what giant might reach for him, what might he have to jump through.

But suddenly.. out of nowhere, a wave of.. what were they? Tentacles? Tendrils? They didn't look slimy, but they were still miasma.. flapping like a rush. This... was something he couldn't even dodge. He had no time to react... just like that, he was caught in it.

"UUUAAAAGH!!!!"

Arms close to his body, he was flung, caught in what was certainly a hundred mile an hour wave. From all sides he felt he was beaten a hundred thousand times before he hit the wall again. Hard. From the moment he was attacked to the moment he hit the wall, the bruises all over his body in a single flash! He easily slumped to the ground.

He felt pain.

He felt sore.

The wave had dissipated, but the rest of the monsters were still there... still coming at him.

...But it all was in slow motion now.

Everything slowed down. Right down. Everything was beginning to blur.

Even the sounds were beginning to dull.

I̴̝͈̥͐̈́̒̐̃͋̕͘͠t̶̨̩̻̲̤̠̗͗͝ ̴̤͓̱̘̣̜̗̝͕̆̃̐͗̃̋͌̄͠͠ͅi̸̢̨̡̱̜̓̐͆̿̅͜s̵̭̺̦̞̩̲̙̰̖̆ ̴̥̱̲̺̊͝n̷̢̧̟̗̪̺̥̙͚̼͂̓͛̉̄͛̕͠͝õ̴̢̢̢͈̦̳͔̝̖̎̂̓͒̉̑͝ ̵̨̲̪̜̭͍͉͛̀͒̓̐̃̆̂̕u̴̬̙̙͖̼͓͍̳͋̋̎̌͗̈̏͗̃͘ş̸̻̼̈̎̃̑͜ẻ̸̢̨̮͂̐͒͜

...What was that?

That wasn't a voice he heard in any particular direction. Not even from the grail?

No, it was boring right into his mind. Crystal clear... albeit... extremely unsettling

T̵̗̥͈̝̮͎͖͉̫̞͍̟̅̅͝h̶̡̡̛͍̦̙̟̪̃̇̈̄͛̃̿̀į̷̢̢̬̜̦̻̠͇̐s̷̡̛͉̯̘̮̐̂̋̌͒̒͐̋̋͒͆͠ ̶̗̲̺͓͉̭̦͈͖̫̣̮̈́͊̐͂̕͜i̵̼̮̩̜͕͔̤̦̅̈́̐͋͜s̴̡̛̩̘̫̜̖̓͗̔͜͜͠ͅ ̶̫̖̐̈́́̽ỷ̵̟̈́̀̂ơ̶̢͉̲̙͓̩̳̆̔̅̽̃̍̅͊̄̅̃̕u̶̝͓̘͑̀́̃r̸̨̭̫̻͚̞̠̋̚̕͜ ̵͉͍͔͔̮̃̈́f̸̡̢̠̳͉̺̪̼͖̟́͂͑̓̏͌̉̀̇a̴̛͔̯̐̀͊͗̆̓͋̾̀͘͝ṯ̵̨̡̺͚͇̠̞̪̲̻̭͗̿e̸̳͊̽̏

“G..geh...”

He’s struggling to move, he’s slowly moving, he’s moving to sit on his knees, but he’s trembling, he’s shaking. He can feel it now, he can feel the energy being sicked out of him. The breathing’s starting to get heavy.

I̵̢̪͔̜̱̜̭̣̯̜̰̰̮͌̿̈́̀͂͛̀̀͒͠ͅ ̶̨̝̠̼̘̗̀̉͒̒́̚ͅͅâ̴̢͈͉͙͇̰̻̟͕͇̝͙͙̽̊̒̇͠m̶̡͇͉̻̎̐ ̶̺̰̖̐̏̌͊̀̀̋́̄a̵͙͓̒͒̒́̂b̶͔͎̲̹̝͈̏̐͛̈̆̍̋ş̸̨͔̭̥̝̫͕͙̜̭̣̀̂̓͑̉̋̄̆͑̕͜͜ở̵̢̮̣̌̆̒̕͝͝r̵̨̢̛̩̝͈͍̩͍̭̦̰̜̔̑̐̎b̴̛͍̜̹͕͍̝̪͗̇̂͋͂͋͘ȉ̸̡̛̭̯̄̈́͗̂̅̕ͅn̷͈̣̠̻̜̟̪̒́ͅg̶̛̭͕̬̃̇̍̋̒͠͝ ̵͔̖͎̖̖̼̤̥̭͓̃̒̾̆͒̀͑̽̉̉̅͐̕͠ÿ̸͙͔̯͇̥̲͑͛̈͆͝ơ̵̡͔̝̞̄͐̅́̅̋́̌̓͝ų̵̼͙̮̭͉̱̣̼͈̻͙̂̓̃͗ṛ̶͕͙̟̼͉̯͔̹͖͌͗̈́̿̓̓̌͐ ̸̨̡̣̟̩̺̰͎̩̭͍̜̒͂͒̋͑̽̀̒͌ë̴̥̻̬̖͚͓̳̭̹̖͐̃̽͌͑̕̕ͅn̶̝̻͚̓̈́̒̈́͒͆͐́͠e̶͕̝̊͌̃̈̃̎͐ṛ̶̨̦̝̹̹͔̠̞͉̩͕͍̼̋́͌̀̎̉̊̚͘͘ġ̵̳̫̜̹̪͈̰͙̰̕y̶̢̨̧͈̟̫̹̝̼͗͑́͑̓̇͌͆̔ ̴̨̨̡̲̤̘̹̩͚̫̋̇͛̿͒͝͝ͅṃ̸̧̢̛̫̭̼̙̣̺̀̉̄͊̄̈́̑̕͝͝ȍ̵̠̮̭̟̕r̵̪̘̹͗̅̑͊͠ȩ̷͇͖̳̠̣͎͉̞̞͇̳͚̙͑͋͒͒̀̽ ̷̺̜͇̙̒́̈̏á̴̲̞͙̘͇̹̘̫̖̘͚̙͇ņ̵̝̦̙̦̈̄͛̂͆̌̀͌̀̋̿͋̈͘d̵̛̯͔̘̮̻̝̖̞͔̯͍̘̲̀̎͑̓͛͐̈͘͠͠͝ ̴͎͓͇͙̟̜̫͍̬̝̈́̅̏̒́̇̽͂͝͝m̴̧̟͕̤̥͈̥͙͈̹̖̤͗̈́̓̾̅͊̈́͗̂̍̃͘͠ͅǒ̴͖̙̪͝r̸̛̛̦͔̪̻͌̿̒̋̃̍͌͝͠͝e̶̡̲̍̇̈̈́͊́̽̑ ̴̡̰̳̉̈́͂̽͠b̵̡̡̢̜̥̲͚̬̮̖̭̼̃̀̐̈́͜͝ͅy̴̨̧͇̰̻͓̫̯̼̹͆̕ ̵̡͔͖̥̜͂̈͒̅̈́̎́̈͌̑͝t̴̻̥̞͉̥̣̜̻̗̲́͛͒͑͝ͅh̴͎̣̖͕̬̬̓̎̎͝ě̶̙̣̟̚͠ ̸̟͍̆͑͗s̴̺̱̗͛͛͌e̷̹̗̠̝̫͔̽̒̈́̚͜c̷̢̪͙̜̯̯̮͈̰̖̣̄̈o̶̳̟̽̏n̵̜͙̠͕̈́̔͊̃̈͌̕͘d̸̼̪̝̰̫̭̥͕͖͍̮̱͑̈́͂̄̊͒ͅ.̴̣̟̔̀͑̏̍̊ ̷̛͖̗̗̎̽̆̿̈́͑̿̏̂͑̾

He’s trying to keep his eyes open. His hands are on his knees. He feels like he’s starting to hallucinate a bit, like he can picture... people in his head, despite the telepathic voice of the grail attempting to compel him.

Ỹ̸͕́̿̆̎͌͛̆̈͊̕͘͝o̴̧̭͈̥̩̬̬̔͜͝u̵̡̢̧͍̣̪͉͍͎͚̠̻̓̉͛͌̿͂̇̓̊̇̉ ̴̧̗̱̟̱̗̖̜̪̲̞͔̭̥́͗͂̍̅͒͒̐̀̀͘w̵̧̧̡̧̟͍̭̩̟̪͈̬͍͓̒̀͐̆̎̄̓̀ḭ̸̙̬̟͖̬̬̃l̷̨̩̩̗̼̼̲̣̗̣̼̝̫̈́͛̀͗̃͝͝ļ̴̩͍̪̳͔͚͕̦̳̻̥͔̞̊̃̏͒́̈́̚͘͝ ̸͈̬̼̮͇͇̆̋̑̊́͊̌͆̔̽̈́͜n̵͖̫̫͔̹͎͐̓̆̔̋̂̕ơ̴̱͈̱̳̟̐̏̌̍̄̄ṫ̴̺͇̘̤̆̕͘͜ ̶̧̡̨̘̞͇̦͕͇͈̠̭͇͂̀ş̸̝̜̩̘̟̩̲͉̠̦̙͛̃̓͂̾͝ư̷̧̮̺̳͖̻̼̥̲̞̻̾͛̊́̿̐̒ͅȑ̶̛̥̣͚̫̦̮̭̑̓̌v̸̻̖̗͊̋͗̈́̈͒͛i̴̞̺̫̙͍̱͙͓̣̔͛͗v̸̡̫͙̟̮̪̊͋̃̅̍̒̍ͅe̶̡̨̲͍̗̭̱̩̳͖͍̫͓̺̿̌͒̈́̈́͑͛͗̓̑͒̕͠͝.̵̡̛͈̀̓͛̿̄̈́͝͠ ̵̤͎̳͔̻̚

His head hurts.

It’s hard to think.

From the voice and the pain, how can he concentrate?

Yet.. a face was forming in his head? It’s not clear.. but a brief memory calls, it calls to him.

The face of a young man. Of spiky black hair, of determination. A boy that never backed down despite the odds. You could spill the end of the world on him and he wouldn’t even blink. A boy of miracles, despite his own shortcomings.

A boy whom the blonde admired, for his resolve, his ideals, his drive, his continued journey.

“Tou...ma...”

T̵̙́͋̉̐̉͐̄̉̚ͅh̶̛̻̉͘ě̸͇̝͎̟̦͚̥̻͑̓ͅy̶̛̘̓̌̉,̴̘͉͈͍̬̥͍̫̙͓̟͝ ̵̡̡̧̢̛̤̻͎̰̩̳̥̖́̄̐̃̚̕͠ẃ̷̡̠̣̤͇̤͇̘͘i̷̙̲̝̼͚̦͚̲͖̰͒́̀͜ͅl̵̛̗̆̍̀̓̅͠l̴̨̢̗͉̪̝͙̻͎̝̊̐̓̊̒ ̶̜̈́̋̈͑̑̏́̃̋̍͌̎͠͠n̷̨̡̺͓͎̞̪͍͙̄̒̄̈̈́́̉͘o̷͎͎̣͚̤̪̬̙̰̻͎̣͊̈́̀̒́̍̃͗͌̄̌̎͜ţ̸̰̫͎̜̣́̀̄̅̒̐̓̈́̇̐̽̋̑͝ ̵̰̮͔̲͍̯́̋͊̒͛ş̶̨̫̱͕͖̦͙͑̋́̑̂͜͠ų̶̳͎͖̝̗̝̬̙̣̦͌̿͋̈́̐̎̔͐̒r̸͎̬̝͕͙̟̬̅̈́͂̏̍v̷̨̪̹̖͕̟̪̜̯͔̭̰̝̓̈́̌̃̚͠i̷̗͈̜͔̠̫͍̫̤̦̱̩͉͋̈́̌̄̆̾̒v̵̪͔̤̕͜ę̴͙̦͔̹̹͍̳̉́̿̐̋̑͘ͅͅ.̴̨̨͍̘͕̣̹̞̹̜͌̿͊̈́̆͌̆́̌̌̚͝͠ͅ ̵̡̜̱̦͕͙̤͈͓̰͎̗̖͂́̽’

He winces. It’s so hard to concentrate. Oh this hurts! This is probably the worst he has felt in a long, long time.. maybe ever?

But despite that, seeing the boy in his head, his hands clutched his knees, he’s beginning to move, but he’s struggling.

And another image soon appears into his head.

Another boy. This time, one who endured his own hell, for far longer than it looks. He isn’t young, but he looks it. He is tormented, yet he is still here, he’s still alive.

He’s alive because the blonde saved him.

He is alive because Bowen knew he could be saved.

He pulled his soul out of the darkness and gave him a new lease of life and happiness.

“Ten..ma...”

Y̷̡̘̜͎̱̜̳̹͇̭̳͉̓̿̀͆̔̿̐̊͐̿̌͘ǭ̵̖͕̋̓͗̌̍̊̂́̐̎ǘ̶̻̃̍̓̓͗͂̕ ̷͙̱̹̩̫̠̱͎͉̤̇̀̈́̀̂ẉ̶̰͐̐̋̏̍͊̌̓̓͜i̸̡͕͍͍̙̳̫̩͈̽̓̌͑̇̃͘͜l̸̮͔̘̳̯̭̮̣̝̼̈́̅͛̈́̑̈́̿̕͝ͅl̵̨͔̣͈̐̓̈̽́͊̃̑͗̉͠͠ͅ ̵̢̧͎̮̙̰̮͙̺̞̤͎͓̽̓͝d̶̢̡̘̮̹̮̤̳͙̣̘͓͓̋͗̂̄̽̔̋̕͘i̵̡̢̠͉̳̣̪͍̬̗̘̙̫̔̈́e̸̖̔͛̎̉̕.̷̝̼͙̳̩̣͚̫̓̈́̍͐̂̌̆̚͘͝

An attempt of despair, that there is no hope. The grail wants to make short work of Bowen, to ensure he gives up.

But how can he? How can he give up on Touma.. and Tenma?

The boy who would never give up in the first place... and the boy that he saved?

But in the hallucination he found himself casting even deeper, into his mind, into his heart.

This time, it's a girl.

He remembers her.

It was only two months ago he ran into her. Two months ago he found about her, knew her story, got to know her.

A girl who seemed doomed to live a sad existence, pining for the impossible.

A girl who he yearned to see smile again. To make her smile, to keep her safe.

She deserves a happy life.

"Mi..sa..ki..."

He's standing up now. He's actually doing it, he's struggling, but he's upright!

The world is becoming clearer again.

He couldn’t jeopardise that girl’s life, to let it end with the sadness, the hole in her heart from her road. He had to ensure the world was still here, so that he could give her hope, for a happiness that will come to her, it has to come!

The noises of the darkness before him, the monsters roaring, the unearthly sounds, but still the Grail bore deep.

Ỳ̸̨̢̡̨̫͖̗̬̘̣̞͗̈́̿ǫ̶̧̟̭̟͍̭͚͈̣̠̗̥̬̍́̋͑͠ų̶̨̧̛̩̳͉̼͔̰͇̻͂̌͂̅̃̿̍͑͌͒̎̉͜.̵̜̮͒̈̉̃́̌̉̃͋̊̿̕͝ ̵̭̤̹̞̯͒̎̂̑͋̒̈́͆͛͆́̐̚͘W̷͍̣̟̠̜̮̋̎̑͌̈́i̵̧͙̠̰̙̥̟̊̇̊̅͝ḽ̵͕͍̩͔̙̄̀̎l̴̨̻͉̊̽̆͑͋͌.̷̘̤̖͇̥͙̃̈̽̒͊͒̉̇̑͠ ̶̧͉̳̥̲͔̰̹̬̜̳̯͈͂̐̇́̎̓̃̕̕D̷̦̮͍͍̯͎̜̎̽̅̾͗̐̓̎̐͛͗ĭ̴͓̹̐̿̉̕e̷͔͖͎̖̅̀̏̌́͂̕.̴̳̥̔̅

He's facing it now, the mess before him, he can see it, his head still hurts, his whole body still hurts, but energy is recovering. Even just as it is, another face comes into his head.

And it's clearer than all the others.

A woman.

A woman of those shining eyes, those blonde locks.. and that smile.

She is the woman who became his everything.

She was the source of his greatest happiness. She had his heart and soul. She was the love of his life, his forever and ever. To see her smile made the world a perfect place. To hear her voice was soothing music. To hear her call him 'Darling' had him soaring to the heavens! He remembered searching for her, wishing for her.. and the moment they fell in love together, their destiny became intertwined.

One day he will marry her, to solidify their future, together.

Remembering her, his heart ached. He longed to be in her arms again. To make everything complete once more.

"...Rose!"

He almost felt a tear shed. Amongst the pain, that memory was the strongest. It brought the strongest emotional pain.

Out of the four people he thought of, Rose stood out the most. She always did, she was his shining light, even in the deepest of darkness.

He had to win, for her, to see her again.

To see her smile.

To make her happy, for all eternity.

Y̵͔͇͝o̷̧̟̖̫̱͖̭̳͔̣̳̮͍̒̾̀̀͗͑̽̈́͒̿́̕͠͝u̷̡̙͕̙̼̖̣̘̞͒̽̃̾̉̔́̈́͊̚͝ͅ ̶̖̰̟̣̻̤̹̺̮͉̪̾̒͆̄w̵̢̮̅̄̆̄͒̐̍́į̷̡͍̣̰̰̤͔͎̿̀l̵̺̩͙̪͒̃͊̐͒̑̓̊̓͗͛̍͘̕l̸̤̔͗̀̓͘͠͝ ̴̗͉̥̗̮̲̬̉͘ͅd̴̫̤̜̯͔̞̪̞͊͆̈́͘̚ͅi̸̦̫̍̓͆͒̋̀̋̑͒̈́̽e̶̢̾̑͌̃͌̍̂͑͝!̶̢̛̛̩̼͕͔̜̤͍̠̰̃̍̿̒͝!̸̧̢͓̲̲̥͉̖̻̭͕͚̾̒ͅ!̵̧̭͖͙̪͉̃̀̍̎͑͘

Still did the grail try and subdue him, it called out to try and wane his strength, his growing determination! But even as it tried, that woman, Rose, she stayed in his mind, she stayed close, just thinking of her, that was fighting against the despair.

That was fighting against everything.

His fist clenched, his face was going from sadness, to anger.

Y̸͚̝͎̿̃̔o̴̢̠͎͔̹͂̒͌́̾͂͑u̵̖̝̩͓͝ ̵̙̙̐̇̈́̇͗̇W̷̧̹̰̦̌̈i̶͔̹̫͍̦͊͋͘͘ḷ̶̠̬̈́̽̋̅̌̈́l̶͚̪̝̺̤̈́͗ ̷̧̯̯͖̠̫͓͎͑̾̂͘Ḑ̶̛͚̠̩̮͠ȋ̸͉̹͓̿̄͜͠͝ͅe̵̢̼̝̐͌̿̊ ̸̡̫͖͓̫̹͗̃͛̒̃̌͜Ỹ̵͓̱̪͐̒̓͑̓̅͝ǒ̸̯̜̦̜̖͓̕ͅu̶̥͆͗̈͗̍̏͐͆ ̵̞̖̀̏̐͘W̴̧̪̜̳̣͚̤͈̌̈́͒͋͝i̷̪̽ḷ̴̡̗͗̔̀̆̋̓͠͝l̸̲̝̬̻̫̰͇̏̓̈́̊͛͑͘͜ ̴͍͓̲̹̮͊̄͊Ḋ̸̠͍͍͈͕̄͒̀̓̀̏̓i̴̘̖͇̼͚͒͆͗̒̽͂e̴̢̜̤̮͙̍̂͛͐́͘ ̷̰̪͚̮̋̎̋̿͑̈̆Y̸̠̗͔̬̹̦̾o̵̠͉̳͔͂̌́u̶̡̻̥͓͋͂̓̐͆̓͗͜ ̶̨̛̑̐̊W̷̢̧̨͉̮̮͎̳͂̀͋͑͋̑̊̕ḯ̶̭̻̻̟̓̅̿l̷̳͓̪̱̾͊̿́̌̈́̂͜l̵̯̼̮͔͛̏̇̈́̊̐̕ ̸͚͕̿̋D̵̜̝̉̈̀ͅi̴̡̨̛̪̣̰ḛ̴̲̄̂͊̓ͅ ̸̮̈́Ÿ̷̮̄̌̇̇ơ̴̢͙͚̭̣̞̱͓̈́̌ṵ̵̧̲̉́̏ ̶͙̜̜̙̩̍W̶̧̢̢͓̣͒̓i̷̟͈͓̦͋̐̓͊̔̃l̸̤̗̺͖͍͍̻̐͂͐̈́̀́͝͝ͅl̵͕̱͕̤̬̩̻̈͛ ̴̪̀͂D̷͚͉͚̒́͋́́̕͠ị̷͕̺̫̇͛̏͆̓ͅé̸̐̚ͅͅ ̶̥̬̣̠͑̿̑Y̸̯̋͂͘ơ̶͕͍̰̭͚̾̈́̑̽͘̚ù̴̟̟̥̪̳̺̹̋̈́͋̓̚ ̸̩͛̋͗͌W̵̜̲̯̯͉̠͎͍̊̾į̴̞̫̬͓͍̫̉l̵̲͎̳̭̖̅̏̈̌̏͝l̵͕͖̀̀̓͌̓ ̶̯͓̰͇͔̇̿́̾͜͝͝D̴̛͙͖͐i̵͓͓̼̤̻͍͐̔e̷̘̤̊͑͂͑̽ ̵̨̼̞͕͍͖̻̏͂͒͑͜Y̷̘̺̓͝õ̷̹̥̘̊̊͋u̶͚̠̜̞̱͊͌̅̔͂ ̸̡̤͍͖̃̕͜W̵̙̣͎̖̌͗̈̎́i̵̤̰̩̳͙̲̻̩̋̃l̶̫͓̔̐̍̋͗̇ĺ̶͍ ̷̼͆̌̎́̌͝D̷͉̂͛i̸̖͙̩̲͔̔͋̎͐̒͝ḛ̴̢̻̗͈̓̈̊͌͂͌̅ ̵͍̖̠̘͓̼͎͖͝Ỳ̷̝͙̞̦o̷̟͒̿̈́̽̈̀͝ǘ̷̯̬̱͙̠͆͛̅͑̅ ̷̡̣̭̘͇̖̞̼͂̿̈́W̷̩̾͌́̊̆̄̕i̴̡̛͔͍̠̬͉̝͊̋̕͝l̴̢̢͔͚̫̣̳̊̑́́ĺ̶͓͓̝̯͕̠͉͇̊͒̈́̓͐͘͝ ̸̯̰͉̮̣̹̪̫̓̀̕D̷̩̼̖̝͋͋̒̎͑i̶̪͎̬̲͇̐͑̎̏̔̍͋ẽ̴̛͔͌̑̏̐̚͘ ̵̨͇̈́̎͛̀Y̷̪̝͔͆͗͌ǫ̸̡̻̟̇̈́̓̈́͜u̵̳͕͚̔͐͐̈͛ ̶̡̝̗̺̉̌̋͆̎W̷̤̯͑͋͠i̵̡͈̟̺͍̣̟̓͗̄͒̓́͌͑l̸̩̞̜̃̑͛̀͒͋͠l̵̫͈͚͓̺̩͍̋ ̸͚̟͕̬̔͊͜D̴̢̨̛̯̈́̆̈́̔̚i̷̡̝̺̩̣̲̭̅̈̿͝e̸̹̐́̚̕ ̶̥͉̩̄̿̑̆͂̉͝Ý̶̜̬̗̇͊̾͐͑̆̆o̸̡̱͖͎̞̹͉̥͒̒͆̓̕̕͠u̵̻̻̟̓̐͌ ̴̘̀̏̒̍̕Ẁ̸̡̧͉̪̩̆͂̚î̵̘̦̬̍̚l̵̺͎̼̭̊̒͝l̷̝̩̳̯͑ ̵̤̃D̶̨͍̈́͑͛͋̃͜͝ī̵͓̘͉̗͓͑̈́ḛ̶̺̻͈͔̦̓̊̊̅̅̕͝ͅ ̵̼̝̫̮̤̜̫̹̆̂̈Y̷̙͂̇̀͠o̵̧̧̙̳̜͐͊u̴̝̜͕͆̀̇̅̄̕͜ ̶̼̣̥̹̎͋̅͒ͅW̷̢̠͙͓̮͈̩̰̽̾̒̎̈́̄i̶̹͒̅ḻ̸̜̺̥̠͍͔̠̃̉̍̌͝͝l̵̪̓̃̓̉̓̚̕ ̷̲̯͚̺̥͐̒̓͊D̶̛̘̘̰̮̰̱͕̪̂́͆͛͛̌ḯ̷͖̰̘̐̈́͛ę̸̛̞̙̹͗́̀̓̈̔̅ͅ ̴̛͉̙̯̣͚͇̈́̇́̿͘͝Y̵̙̦̜̯̺̳͈̳̆͝͝o̷̡͚̚ú̵̘͍͚̘̪͎̱̖ ̶͈͉̙͔̺̪̫̆ͅW̵̨̰͂ì̸̥̈̈́̂ļ̷̰͙͚̦̏̔͆͊l̶̛̰̽̐̽̊̆̑͝ ̶̡̛̜͕̎̽́̋̃̽͘D̸̛̲̬͓́̌ͅi̴̤͚̾̔̀̄͌́͝ẻ̵̱̰̳̻̝̽͜ ̵̠̩͓̋͆̋͐́͘Y̶̜̥͝ỏ̵͎̬̰̹̼̹̩̤͋̉̒̈͝ȗ̷̺̟͔̩̖̉̅́͊͘͝ ̸̧̧̛̻͓͈̪̮̋̓W̸͕̠͇̝͓̗̭͊̈́̇͊͘̚̕ͅȉ̴̱͖͉̇͛̆̑̉́̕l̸͕͓͗̈́̈́̔l̶̦̮͉̏̊͆̊ ̴̛̝̱̳̫̻̮̲̻̐̉͗͘̚D̶̘̩̹̀̄̈́͛̊̕͝i̴̛̠͚̦͓̎̅͌̈͘̚ȇ̸̘̣̚ ̴̻͐̈͊̚͝Y̶̟͖͖̼̻̜̥̅̇ơ̶̢̞̮̅̉̒̒̄͜ͅu̴̲̰̎̉͆ ̶̡̛͇̲̃̽̆̍̊͘ͅW̸̛̫͎̮̺͈̠̓͆̎̆̆͘i̸̺̳͕̭̦̇̓̈͜l̶̨̙̱̯̥̲̩̲̍̿̓̽͒l̷̼͍̹͖̪̟̉͋ͅ ̶̢̡̤̟̝̰̪̕Ḑ̴̦̼̼͔̄̂͜ͅi̶͕͎̗̗̼̾́͊͂͘e̸̹̭͎̦̝̪͎̘̽̌͒̿͂̈͠͝ ̷̡̫͇̍̉̊̍̉͒͛Y̷͍͌̀̎́̅͝o̷̳̍̃͐́̇̆͌u̵͙̥̜̐̑́̃̍̓̈́̔ ̶̛͇̦̀́̎̎̌̏W̷͓͔̯̏̏̂͒i̶̫͈͚̝̘͙̝̖̇l̵̡̛̥̱̺͌͂̆́́̕͝l̸͖̞̲͋͋̽̈͗̚͜ ̵̼̯͓͖̥̂̑̈́͗͑D̸͔̼̘͙̣͔͗̔̀̐̍͜͝į̸͎̼̫̼̱̱̜́͒̓̑è̷̝̤̠͜ ̴̪̻̱͈̼̄͠Y̷̭̹̳͕̤͚̟̓̋͜o̵̰̹̮̩̺̰̐͐̔͝͝ŭ̸͉̒͆̍̃̏̏̚͜ ̶̪͑̈́̈́̂̕W̸͎̝͇̖͎̆͒̅̕i̷̛̭̤͍̘̩͍͇̦̋l̴͍̍͝l̴͎͍̜̲͖̩̉͌͂͗̑ ̷̞͇̳̬̹̘͚̎̂Ḓ̶̤͑̂i̸̲̻̙̣̙̠͑̎e̶͔͖̲̓ ̴̪̖̈́͌̐̌̒͝͝Ỹ̷̨̗̪͚͂͑o̴̙̬͔̅͌͘͝u̶͉̣͈̦̳̲͌͜ͅ ̴̤͖̬͉̗̆͊̎W̴͇͙̟͕̄̀͒̆̊̈́i̴̢̧̨͎̘͖͘l̶̳͕͖̀͌̈́̊̆͒̕͘ͅͅḷ̶̲̼̩͛͊ͅ ̷͉̤̺̳̯̠̏̋̿̿̅͝͝͠ͅD̷̡̘̖̮̱̽̉͛̊ͅǐ̵͇͂̊͂̆͘͜͝e̴̼̋ ̷̜͚̟̝̺̉Y̶̨̨̦̯͚͓̑́̋̒̿͠͝͝o̵̞̦̘͖̘̞̿͆̀ũ̸̦̰̯̥͘͜ ̸̡̼̤̰͚́̈́͒͌͋͝ͅẄ̵̛̛̺̱͖̖̱́̂̈́͂͜͝͝i̴̘̠̰̦͐͆̈́́̾̅͐l̵̫͖͍͐̂̊̄̃̀̕͠ľ̴̯͂͗͑͝ ̴̛͇͔͙̩̠̈́Ď̵͓̼͈͒i̶̢̗̤̽̐͘ę̴̻̪̳̝́̓̈̊ ̸̗̻̥̜̗͇̫̯͑̈́̉Ŷ̵͙̫̭̝̤ờ̸̧̯͙͙̳͗͒̋̑̔̚u̶̡̫̠̺͒̃̽̍͌̚ ̶͈̩̪̅͛͠W̸̳̰͈͇̼̹̔ͅḯ̴̡̦̰̳̗͉͍̯̇̾̑̌̐̒͋l̶̡̡͓̠̯̩̹͑l̵͈̪͇͇̭͈̺͚̍̀͑̚ ̵̞̀̌̾͜D̵̯̗̣͋̇̊̏i̵̠̗̪̗͙͛̒́ệ̶̢̪͘ ̵̰͉̠̤̘̦̗̔͝Y̴͕͈͓̦̬̻̍̀̆͜͠o̵̘̦͉͓̠͋u̵̹̎̈́̊̈͠ ̶̨̢̭̺̰̘͚̋́͝͝W̵̹̻̲͕̹̘̤̉͒̊̓͋͌͜͝i̴̻̯̠̮͔͈̦̹͗̿̆̑ļ̴̤͇̄͋̔ͅl̶̨͍̝̘͇͉̰͗̽͝ͅ ̶̦̝͖͙̹̲͕̊͗͒̿̌͂̓̈́D̶̫͚̟̣̽̓̀͐͑̕i̴̡̨̨̬̘̭̱͈͌̈́̇̈̿͐è̷̢̹̰̯̗̀̽̂̀ ̷̦͚̫̲̞͓̮̂͑͊́͛Y̶͓̔̊̈́͝͝o̶͔̖͓͐͛͘ȕ̶̩̙͖̪̝̯̒͌͠ ̴̲̺͋̅̾̍́̒W̵͓̩͍̅̀̚i̶̧̭̘͚̬͂̐̈̔́̌̅l̴̤̪̟̰̍̆̃̋̍ļ̸̢̛͍͍̝̯̻̻͆̉́̕ ̵̰̮̖͕͚̲̀̅̓̏D̸̨̗̰͇̫̻̓͒̐͜͜͝i̴̮̺͔͈͓̤̎̇ȇ̸̬͓̳͂̐̓̅͜͜ͅ ̵̛̹̯͚̆̄̈́͗Ỳ̴̩̹̫̰͚̉̅̃̽̎͘͠o̴̹͈̩͓̮̙̰͚͂̑́̂͘ụ̵̱̻̟͛̾̾̔̐ ̶̡͙͎̯͌̏̀̎ͅW̷̡̧̢̖͕͝͝ḭ̶̛͍̮͔̣̰̺͑̉̀l̸̠̣̤̞̤̤̳̟̔̏̕l̵̮̀̋͐̂̉ ̷̧̺̗͍̀̏̑̈́͋̉̂D̸͈͎͚̾͆̉͗͐i̶̢̯̭̺̺͇͋͝e̴̗͇̺͍̭͂ ̵̝̿͆͑̏͝Ȳ̶̘̲̯̗̼̹̞̳̒o̴͇̙̭̒͒̄̕ú̵͉̟́͌̋̈́̓͘͜͝ ̸̡̧̺͓̪̤̻̒̃̎͝W̷̡̌͌̋̈̓i̸̳̲̫͕̖͇͒͛͝l̵̬̟̼͌̓̑͝l̵̩͑̂́̽̿ ̴̖͔̽Ḍ̷͙̞̺̻̂́̔͆͝i̷̢̱͓̼͈̬̽̌͒͑̿è̵̢̫͙̹͔ ̵̦̻̅̀͒Y̴̭̭̜͔̞̽̾̔̕͠o̷͓̘̓̉̄̃̚ụ̷̭̗̟̬̯͖͉̊͗̍͋̕̚ ̸̲̟̣̼̘̹̾̄̋͌̏̔̊͝Ẅ̷̨̥͖͍̟̓͛̓͌̚i̸̺̪̩͖͑̒͝͝l̷͍̳͉̲̈́l̸̡̬̝̺͉̤̋̏͝ ̸̱̙̓̅̊̀̋̿̕D̷̬̠̰̜͐̌̂ỉ̴̧̦̳̹̩̖ę̵̙̮̈ͅ ̶̨̙̠͆̀̓͊̏͊́̌Ý̸̟̈́̅ơ̵̯̍́̿̏̀̉ü̸̪̻ ̵̰͛̎̎̂̔W̴̺̭̩̪͚̬͋͂̑͘͝í̸̱͙̦̭̺̈́͘͝͠l̷̻͔̫͙͊̈̃͐̀͂l̵͍͚͙͐́͋̃̾̑̃̔ ̵̛̬͒̒͂̑́Ḍ̷̄̌̍͝ị̶͉͎̟̊̏̀̈̀̚e̶̦̗̜͒̍͐̀͗͗͝ ̵̥̰̑͒͂̌̄Y̴̲͎̱͔͓͚̎̾̃õ̵͓͚͕̬͇̐͗̕u̶̮̬͕͎̟̬̖̒͆̈ ̴̖̿̾̈́͌W̵̡̮͇̖̩͍̘͖̽͒̿͋̓̅i̵̝̳͚̙̙̫̓̑̈́̊̒̚l̵̢̈̓̿̒̈́̕l̸̝̺͈̩͕̈̄̔̔͆͑̕̚ ̶̧̲̖̜̼̂̃̕͝D̵̘͗̒̄̅ĩ̶̪̗͆e̵͚̻̦̬̗̳͌̌́͌͝ͅ ̷̡̼̍̆̾̅̎̊Y̵̨̡͕͔̞̥̚ơ̵̳͙͉̣͔͇̏̾̇̽̂u̷͆͘ͅ ̵̗̲̝̑̓̅͜W̴̬̮̣͉̥͂̑͊͌͌͝i̷̛͕͉̰̖͐͘l̷̡̘̔̀͝l̸̬̻̼̟͕̉͋̆ ̷̞̭͓̅̔̓͊͘͝D̴̫̹̱̥̗̽̇i̸̧̡̲̼͕̤̽̿̉̇̚̚͘͜e̴̡͍̩̱̻̩̞͋͌̊͒͗ ̸̭̙̰̲̟̺̳̯͠Y̴̖͓͊̆̆̌o̶̡̦̲̮̙̼͎̼̐̆̕ṷ̷̗͉͇͍̚ ̵̨͕̖͕̊́́̈̚͝ͅẄ̸̜̤̹̥̟̬̺͂̌̂ī̸̤̀̑l̸͚̥̜̤̜̽̀̑̊͝ļ̴̯̝̠̝̣̮͂̏̉̉̌̂͐̚ ̵̖̥̦̣̲̉͂̎ͅḌ̶͑̔͆͊̎̓͠ï̷̝͙̏͜e̴͍͚̜̮̞̦͌͌͂͑͝ ̸̣̝͓͔̬͖̦̓̏̈́͒Y̵̨̪͈͕̘͙͘̕͜ǫ̶̝̣̲̘̞̂̎͐̔̚ͅͅu̵̡̖͔̯͙̲͒̎̅͌ ̵̭̈́W̶̨̗̟͚̗̻̭͆͊͊͜i̴͕̖͎̮͊l̷̡̡͔̘̱̻̫̀͋̑̍̿͘͝ͅl̵̜͚̠̜̟̜͗̿̋͋̕͘̚͝ ̶̩̎̓̊̕͝͠D̴͖̫̳̹͓̓̉̓̐̈́͜ͅi̵̼̹̯̘̙̱̹̭͑͗̐͆̔̚ê̴̫̯̞̫̞͕͙͆́͑̀̂̾͐ ̸̠̙͘Y̷̨͍̪͈͑̚ö̷̫̻͉̮̘̪́̓͌͂̉̿͂͝ü̵̙̪͉͕̯͐̽̿͆̍̈̾ ̶͉̹͔̲̆̓Ẅ̸̡̗̯͛̐î̴̦̻̫̖̖̆̿͒l̷̨̞͚̉̇͊́̓͝l̶̟̲͖̾͜ͅ ̶̨̤̤̳̼̀̽̓̃̈͗ͅD̶̡̨̯̟̘͙̬͉̀̾ḯ̵̳̰̜̬͈̭̱̤̓̕e̵̗̺̯̞̭̽ ̷̢̬̞͌̓̉̿͊̈́Y̷͍͖̥̩̲̬͙̼̊́o̴̧̭̜̝̤̽̀̅ü̴̲̘̮̆͌́͛͐̀̕͜ ̷̹̽͌̇̀̅̐͂͜ͅW̷͎̯̜̦̎͛̓͊i̸̢͚̭̫̜̬͂̐̅͛͠l̷̲͙͇̯̻͓̓̈́̓͒̅͘̚͝ļ̶̭͕̘̆̋̈̊ ̷͇̘̘̹̬̪͕̖͗͆͆̈D̴͉͚̤̬̭̖̭̊͗̚͝ͅǐ̴̛̭͖̰̤͇̜̹̹͂̐́̐͘ę̷̪͎̟͕̫͉͎̈͂͝ ̷̧̣̖̜̬̤̮̄̀̏̉̌̋̚Ỵ̵͚̲͒̿̂̏̓͊o̴͎͆̏̏̂u̶͚̬̦̪͔͐̅͂́̑̕ ̷̨̞̼̼̹͉̫͕̕͠͝Ẁ̶̤͈̈́̾͐̅͛̈́î̵̧̢̛̞͖̼̔̑̃l̷̜̜̠͎̱̘̑̐͒͝l̶̟̳̅̈̚ ̵̭͈̭̋̆D̴͕̜̥̮͋̋̃̇͊̃͘i̴̛̜̙̻̮̟͒̂̔̔͐́̿ͅé̶̡̹̠͓͌͛̒ ̸͚̝̠̞̯̞̜͌̇͘Y̸̨͍̖̺͚̪̙̯̍̕o̸̩̘͉͔͛̿͠͝ư̸̧̦̮͙̱͒̈́̎͆̀̓ ̷̞͙͖̬̥̲̒W̸̨̲̗̰̄̔̃̆̔ͅͅĩ̷̧̤̹̪͍̻̭̲̄́͗͋͛l̵̢̢̤̞͎͓͍̺͑̄͐̑̐̆ḽ̴̱͎͑̾ ̴̲͛͠D̶̨̯͇̦̟͈̺́̀i̶͙̩͌̈́̃̈́̃̋̆̽ͅe̵̻͉̺͇͂̐̄̆̆̋ ̸̥̰̓̎̄͌͌Ÿ̵̜̞͌̏o̸̬̠̖̟̤̺͊̂̄̃̃̆u̴̥̭͕͊̒̈́̿̕̕͠ ̸̡̹̀̑̀̈́͆̕̕W̸̛̱͚̅͆͋̀͋̑͠ỉ̷̳̀̑̚l̴̞̠͍̃͆͗͝l̸̫̤̘̀̿̅͊͑̒̈ ̸̞̽̈́̐͂̉D̶̨̛͈̞̣̠̭͉͊̃̋̕͜͠i̶͈͊͝e̷̟͍̘̱̳̣͔͂ ̷̧͓̙̭̈̑̂͗́̕͝Ỷ̷̪̀̄̏̔̀ö̸̡̼́̑̆̓̎̐̍̕u̷̳̤̩̪̞̤͐̇͐́͠ ̵̡̢͎͋̚͜ͅW̶̖͒̀̒͐̃̀i̷͙̱̿͛̈l̵͙̑͆̿́͛̚l̸͖̟͈̈́́̄̿ ̴̯̘̦̜̐̃̀̇͜D̶̢̧̛̫͎̻͚̩̻̓̾̀̈́͊͋į̶̫͓͖̈́̚͝ͅe̴͎̳̤͓̥̗̓̄͆͜ ̴̙͉̲̱̭͛͋Y̶̡͖͉̜̓̉͌̆̑͊̏̚o̴̥͔͚̬͐̂͘͜ͅų̶̯̥̣̲̺͙́͑ͅ ̶̧̜̑̚W̶͙͔̦̮̘̘̄i̸̤͆̅͗́͛ľ̶̛͉̺̫̞͙́̍͋̍͆͠ļ̷͚̙̣̗̰͒̊̕͝ ̸̱̜̲̩̫̻̞̈́̈́̾̄͂Ď̴͈̼̰̙̻͚̯͝ḯ̵̠̥͂̾̈́ě̸͎͉̰̅̈́̈́͋̎ ̴͙̍͛̕͝Y̷̠͉̮̜͖͈̓̐o̴̭͔͝ú̵̫̺̝̺̫̕͝ ̸͍̲̮̦̲̄̏͊̉͘͝͠ͅẈ̷̩̝̈́́̈́̈́̏͊͗̈í̷̪̪̱͚̟̻̲̣̏̈́̇͆̇̍͠l̷̰̦̅̈́͒̆̈́͝l̸̢̬͖̂͑̌̉͋̃͜ ̴͔͍͙͇̼̻̼͒͘D̷̨͍͇̱̜̝͚͓̊i̴̹̥͊̏e̶̢̞͋̒͂̂̈́̎ ̶͚̦̀̀̇̂Ỵ̷̨̨̙̱͈̘̜͂̅̈o̶̙̜̲̘̓ͅù̷͓̋̎ ̶͈̞̯͇̿̇̒͝Ẃ̵̰̗͙̭̱̹̙̀̃͐̓̑̐ị̵̱̰̹͖́̾̉͆̕͜͠͝l̸̜͚͈̞̠̱͇̲̽̔̀l̵͖͇͉̲̙̟͐̒ ̶̗͍͇͖̯̙͙͛̊̆͝D̸̤̤͎̈́̄͋͂̂͛͝͝i̸̛̛̛͕͇̰̭̮̖͈̓͗͗̄͝ę̴̺̫͇͓̓̚ ̸̣̫̭͗̽͜Y̴͙̙̓̂̏̔͆̓͝o̴̧̓́̂̓͒̒̚̕ú̷̡̘̹͚̤͕̗̭́́̏́͠ ̴̝͈̖̂͊͘͘͝Ẅ̷̖̯̼͎́̈́̈́̉i̵̙̪̹̒̂͗̆̈l̶͇̜̻̗̖͎̤̈́̑̀ĺ̸͍͋̆̈́͌̆ ̸̡̡͕̭͙͎̯̒D̷̛͈͉̼̾͆́͑͜i̶͕̦͛̍̇̈e̵̫͚͎̝͆̂̍ ̵̨̡̞̺̦́̈́̇̆̍͆̕Y̵̜̲͓̤͚̝͒̔̏ȯ̸̻̟̹̹ù̸̙͇́ ̸̜̼̹̗̻̤̌ͅW̴̨̺̪̰̋̀̌͠ḯ̴̳͔̮́̉͜ḻ̷͕̒̆̏̀̀̍̈́͜͠ľ̸̨̘̊̽̊͋̈́̑͝ ̷̩̖̬̥̦͇̃͘D̸̙̮̠͊i̷̤̠̝̠̽̈͂̎̓̍͌̏ê̷̦̠̖̇͛̿ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈Ý̴̨̙͕͉̮͌̀̃̃͝o̴̭̱̳̤͇̽ú̶̻̃͆ ̴̘̻̤͖̀̓͑̆̔W̸͇̬͖͎̤̣̲̄̀̀ĭ̵̢̡̪͇͔̬̇̈́̉̔̚l̸͙͚̻̟͇̹̋͌̇l̵̮̥̭̽͊̾̔̍̚ ̴̢̭̞̰̫̆̈́̔̈́͛̕Ď̶̡͚̦̤̰͉͊̅͂͒͒i̷͔͔͓͙̟͕͉̭͂̅̌̐́̉̂̀ḙ̷͉̯̜͋̾͑̔̈́ ̵̨͌̂̃̄̏͘̕Y̸̭̹̞͔̙̾͊o̴̧̧̦̭̰̳̳͆͌̒̂̑ù̴̻́͐̌̔̊̔ ̵̻̆̎̎̃͊̆̑W̷̧̨̩̠̟̪̹̻̉̊i̸͉̓̌̕͠l̴̗̥͙̙̻̤̺̟͑͊͗̈́̂͝l̸̞͔̺͇̞̳̤̫̔͒̑͐͆́̓͠ ̸̪̺͐̊̒͝͠D̴̢̘̘̦͚̭̩̮̀̀̀͂́i̸͖̘̗͓̖̤͆e̸��̢̻̪̣̱̭̤͚͐̃̐̕ ̶̯̣̫̓̆̈́́͊̅̄̚ͅY̸̹̠͖͙̪̹͎͋̽͑͘͜͝ǫ̸̥͎̓̀̒̕ͅů̷͍̠͙̖̯̙̇́̊͛͌͌ ̷̢̩͖̙̭̂͐ͅW̶͙̪̝͎̟͓͇͓̄͋̓̿͆͝i̷̻͐̎͛̈́̄̑̀ḷ̷͓͓̽͐̃́̓̚̕͜l̴̬͐̊͂ ̴̗̓̔̒D̴͕̗̦͔͙̔̈̅̆̔i̶̧͇̹̯̩̇͘ë̵̡͙̩͇̺̫́̑͐͋̇̍̕ ̴̨̢̠̱̘̝̘̳̅̑Y̸͚̝͎̿̃̔o̴̢̠͎͔̹͂̒͌́̾͂͑u̵̖̝̩͓͝ ̵̙̙̐̇̈́̇͗̇W̷̧̹̰̦̌̈i̶͔̹̫͍̦͊͋͘͘ḷ̶̠̬̈́̽̋̅̌̈́l̶͚̪̝̺̤̈́͗ ̷̧̯̯͖̠̫͓͎͑̾̂͘Ḑ̶̛͚̠̩̮͠ȋ̸͉̹͓̿̄͜͠͝ͅe̵̢̼̝̐͌̿̊ ̸̡̫͖͓̫̹͗̃͛̒̃̌͜Ỹ̵͓̱̪͐̒̓͑̓̅͝ǒ̸̯̜̦̜̖͓̕ͅu̶̥͆͗̈͗̍̏͐͆ ̵̞̖̀̏̐͘W̴̧̪̜̳̣͚̤͈̌̈́͒͋͝i̷̪̽ḷ̴̡̗͗̔̀̆̋̓͠͝l̸̲̝̬̻̫̰͇̏̓̈́̊͛͑͘͜ ̴͍͓̲̹̮͊̄͊Ḋ̸̠͍͍͈͕̄͒̀̓̀̏̓i̴̘̖͇̼͚͒͆͗̒̽͂e̴̢̜̤̮͙̍̂͛͐́͘ ̷̰̪͚̮̋̎̋̿͑̈̆Y̸̠̗͔̬̹̦̾o̵̠͉̳͔͂̌́u̶̡̻̥͓͋͂̓̐͆̓͗͜ ̶̨̛̑̐̊W̷̢̧̨͉̮̮͎̳͂̀͋͑͋̑̊̕ḯ̶̭̻̻̟̓̅̿l̷̳͓̪̱̾͊̿́̌̈́̂͜l̵̯̼̮͔͛̏̇̈́̊̐̕ ̸͚͕̿̋D̵̜̝̉̈̀ͅi̴̡̨̛̪̣̰ḛ̴̲̄̂͊̓ͅ ̸̮̈́Ÿ̷̮̄̌̇̇ơ̴̢͙͚̭̣̞̱͓̈́̌ṵ̵̧̲̉́̏ ̶͙̜̜̙̩̍W̶̧̢̢͓̣͒̓i̷̟͈͓̦͋̐̓͊̔̃l̸̤̗̺͖͍͍̻̐͂͐̈́̀́͝͝ͅl̵͕̱͕̤̬̩̻̈͛ ̴̪̀͂D̷͚͉͚̒́͋́́̕͠ị̷͕̺̫̇͛̏͆̓ͅé̸̐̚ͅͅ ̶̥̬̣̠͑̿̑Y̸̯̋͂͘ơ̶͕͍̰̭͚̾̈́̑̽͘̚ù̴̟̟̥̪̳̺̹̋̈́͋̓̚ ̸̩͛̋͗͌W̵̜̲̯̯͉̠͎͍̊̾į̴̞̫̬͓͍̫̉l̵̲͎̳̭̖̅̏̈̌̏͝l̵͕͖̀̀̓͌̓ ̶̯͓̰͇͔̇̿́̾͜͝͝D̴̛͙͖͐i̵͓͓̼̤̻͍͐̔e̷̘̤̊͑͂͑̽ ̵̨̼̞͕͍͖̻̏͂͒͑͜Y̷̘̺̓͝õ̷̹̥̘̊̊͋u̶͚̠̜̞̱͊͌̅̔͂ ̸̡̤͍͖̃̕͜W̵̙̣͎̖̌͗̈̎́i̵̤̰̩̳͙̲̻̩̋̃l̶̫͓̔̐̍̋͗̇ĺ̶͍ ̷̼͆̌̎́̌͝D̷͉̂͛i̸̖͙̩̲͔̔͋̎͐̒͝ḛ̴̢̻̗͈̓̈̊͌͂͌̅ ̵͍̖̠̘͓̼͎͖͝Ỳ̷̝͙̞̦o̷̟͒̿̈́̽̈̀͝ǘ̷̯̬̱͙̠͆͛̅͑̅ ̷̡̣̭̘͇̖̞̼͂̿̈́W̷̩̾͌́̊̆̄̕i̴̡̛͔͍̠̬͉̝͊̋̕͝l̴̢̢͔͚̫̣̳̊̑́́ĺ̶͓͓̝̯͕̠͉͇̊͒̈́̓͐͘͝ ̸̯̰͉̮̣̹̪̫̓̀̕D̷̩̼̖̝͋͋̒̎͑i̶̪͎̬̲͇̐͑̎̏̔̍͋ẽ̴̛͔͌̑̏̐̚͘ ̵̨͇̈́̎͛̀Y̷̪̝͔͆͗͌ǫ̸̡̻̟̇̈́̓̈́͜u̵̳͕͚̔͐͐̈͛ ̶̡̝̗̺̉̌̋͆̎W̷̤̯͑͋͠i̵̡͈̟̺͍̣̟̓͗̄͒̓́͌͑l̸̩̞̜̃̑͛̀͒͋͠l̵̫͈͚͓̺̩͍̋ ̸͚̟͕̬̔͊͜D̴̢̨̛̯̈́̆̈́̔̚i̷̡̝̺̩̣̲̭̅̈̿͝e̸̹̐́̚̕ ̶̥͉̩̄̿̑̆͂̉͝Ý̶̜̬̗̇͊̾͐͑̆̆o̸̡̱͖͎̞̹͉̥͒̒͆̓̕̕͠u̵̻̻̟̓̐͌ ̴̘̀̏̒̍̕Ẁ̸̡̧͉̪̩̆͂̚î̵̘̦̬̍̚l̵̺͎̼̭̊̒͝l̷̝̩̳̯͑ ̵̤̃D̶̨͍̈́͑͛͋̃͜͝ī̵͓̘͉̗͓͑̈́ḛ̶̺̻͈͔̦̓̊̊̅̅̕͝ͅ ̵̼̝̫̮̤̜̫̹̆̂̈Y̷̙͂̇̀͠o̵̧̧̙̳̜͐͊u̴̝̜͕͆̀̇̅̄̕͜ ̶̼̣̥̹̎͋̅͒ͅW̷̢̠͙͓̮͈̩̰̽̾̒̎̈́̄i̶̹͒̅ḻ̸̜̺̥̠͍͔̠̃̉̍̌͝͝l̵̪̓̃̓̉̓̚̕ ̷̲̯͚̺̥͐̒̓͊D̶̛̘̘̰̮̰̱͕̪̂́͆͛͛̌ḯ̷͖̰̘̐̈́͛ę̸̛̞̙̹͗́̀̓̈̔̅ͅ ̴̛͉̙̯̣͚͇̈́̇́̿͘͝Y̵̙̦̜̯̺̳͈̳̆͝͝o̷̡͚̚ú̵̘͍͚̘̪͎̱̖ ̶͈͉̙͔̺̪̫̆ͅW̵̨̰͂ì̸̥̈̈́̂ļ̷̰͙͚̦̏̔͆͊l̶̛̰̽̐̽̊̆̑͝ ̶̡̛̜͕̎̽́̋̃̽͘D̸̛̲̬͓́̌ͅi̴̤͚̾̔̀̄͌́͝ẻ̵̱̰̳̻̝̽͜ ̵̠̩͓̋͆̋͐́͘Y̶̜̥͝ỏ̵͎̬̰̹̼̹̩̤͋̉̒̈͝ȗ̷̺̟͔̩̖̉̅́͊͘͝ ̸̧̧̛̻͓͈̪̮̋̓W̸͕̠͇̝͓̗̭͊̈́̇͊͘̚̕ͅȉ̴̱͖͉̇͛̆̑̉́̕l̸͕͓͗̈́̈́̔l̶̦̮͉̏̊͆̊ ̴̛̝̱̳̫̻̮̲̻̐̉͗͘̚D̶̘̩̹̀̄̈́͛̊̕͝i̴̛̠͚̦͓̎̅͌̈͘̚ȇ̸̘̣̚ ̴̻͐̈͊̚͝Y̶̟͖͖̼̻̜̥̅̇ơ̶̢̞̮̅̉̒̒̄͜ͅu̴̲̰̎̉͆ ̶̡̛͇̲̃̽̆̍̊͘ͅW̸̛̫͎̮̺͈̠̓͆̎̆̆͘i̸̺̳͕̭̦̇̓̈͜l̶̨̙̱̯̥̲̩̲̍̿̓̽͒l̷̼͍̹͖̪̟̉͋ͅ ̶̢̡̤̟̝̰̪̕Ḑ̴̦̼̼͔̄̂͜ͅi̶͕͎̗̗̼̾́͊͂͘e̸̹̭͎̦̝̪͎̘̽̌͒̿͂̈͠͝ ̷̡̫͇̍̉̊̍̉͒͛Y̷͍͌̀̎́̅͝o̷̳̍̃͐́̇̆͌u̵͙̥̜̐̑́̃̍̓̈́̔ ̶̛͇̦̀́̎̎̌̏W̷͓͔̯̏̏̂͒i̶̫͈͚̝̘͙̝̖̇l̵̡̛̥̱̺͌͂̆́́̕͝l̸͖̞̲͋͋̽̈͗̚͜ ̵̼̯͓͖̥̂̑̈́͗͑D̸͔̼̘͙̣͔͗̔̀̐̍͜͝į̸͎̼̫̼̱̱̜́͒̓̑è̷̝̤̠͜ ̴̪̻̱͈̼̄͠Y̷̭̹̳͕̤͚̟̓̋͜o̵̰̹̮̩̺̰̐͐̔͝͝ŭ̸͉̒͆̍̃̏̏̚͜ ̶̪͑̈́̈́̂̕W̸͎̝͇̖͎̆͒̅̕i̷̛̭̤͍̘̩͍͇̦̋l̴͍̍͝l̴͎͍̜̲͖̩̉͌͂͗̑ ̷̞͇̳̬̹̘͚̎̂Ḓ̶̤͑̂i̸̲̻̙̣̙̠͑̎e̶͔͖̲̓ ̴̪̖̈́͌̐̌̒͝͝Ỹ̷̨̗̪͚͂͑o̴̙̬͔̅͌͘͝u̶͉̣͈̦̳̲͌͜ͅ ̴̤͖̬͉̗̆͊̎W̴͇͙̟͕̄̀͒̆̊̈́i̴̢̧̨͎̘͖͘l̶̳͕͖̀͌̈́̊̆͒̕͘ͅͅḷ̶̲̼̩͛͊ͅ ̷͉̤̺̳̯̠̏̋̿̿̅͝͝͠ͅD̷̡̘̖̮̱̽̉͛̊ͅǐ̵͇͂̊͂̆͘͜͝e̴̼̋ ̷̜͚̟̝̺̉Y̶̨̨̦̯͚͓̑́̋̒̿͠͝͝o̵̞̦̘͖̘̞̿͆̀ũ̸̦̰̯̥͘͜ ̸̡̼̤̰͚́̈́͒͌͋͝ͅẄ̵̛̛̺̱͖̖̱́̂̈́͂͜͝͝i̴̘̠̰̦͐͆̈́́̾̅͐l̵̫͖͍͐̂̊̄̃̀̕͠ľ̴̯͂͗͑͝ ̴̛͇͔͙̩̠̈́Ď̵͓̼͈͒i̶̢̗̤̽̐͘ę̴̻̪̳̝́̓̈̊ ̸̗̻̥̜̗͇̫̯͑̈́̉Ŷ̵͙̫̭̝̤ờ̸̧̯͙͙̳͗͒̋̑̔̚u̶̡̫̠̺͒̃̽̍͌̚ ̶͈̩̪̅͛͠W̸̳̰͈͇̼̹̔ͅḯ̴̡̦̰̳̗͉͍̯̇̾̑̌̐̒͋l̶̡̡͓̠̯̩̹͑l̵͈̪͇͇̭͈̺͚̍̀͑̚ ̵̞̀̌̾͜D̵̯̗̣͋̇̊̏i̵̠̗̪̗͙͛̒́ệ̶̢̪͘ ̵̰͉̠̤̘̦̗̔͝Y̴͕͈͓̦̬̻̍̀̆͜͠o̵̘̦͉͓̠͋u̵̹̎̈́̊̈͠ ̶̨̢̭̺̰̘͚̋́͝͝W̵̹̻̲͕̹̘̤̉͒̊̓͋͌͜͝i̴̻̯̠̮͔͈̦̹͗̿̆̑ļ̴̤͇̄͋̔ͅl̶̨͍̝̘͇͉̰͗̽͝ͅ ̶̦̝͖͙̹̲͕̊͗͒̿̌͂̓̈́D̶̫͚̟̣̽̓̀͐͑̕i̴̡̨̨̬̘̭̱͈͌̈́̇̈̿͐è̷̢̹̰̯̗̀̽̂̀ ̷̦͚̫̲̞͓̮̂͑͊́͛Y̶͓̔̊̈́͝͝o̶͔̖͓͐͛͘ȕ̶̩̙͖̪̝̯̒͌͠ ̴̲̺͋̅̾̍́̒W̵͓̩͍̅̀̚i̶̧̭̘͚̬͂̐̈̔́̌̅l̴̤̪̟̰̍̆̃̋̍ļ̸̢̛͍͍̝̯̻̻͆̉́̕ ̵̰̮̖͕͚̲̀̅̓̏D̸̨̗̰͇̫̻̓͒̐͜͜͝i̴̮̺͔͈͓̤̎̇ȇ̸̬͓̳͂̐̓̅͜͜ͅ ̵̛̹̯͚̆̄̈́͗Ỳ̴̩̹̫̰͚̉̅̃̽̎͘͠o̴̹͈̩͓̮̙̰͚͂̑́̂͘ụ̵̱̻̟͛̾̾̔̐ ̶̡͙͎̯͌̏̀̎ͅW̷̡̧̢̖͕͝͝ḭ̶̛͍̮͔̣̰̺͑̉̀l̸̠̣̤̞̤̤̳̟̔̏̕l̵̮̀̋͐̂̉ ̷̧̺̗͍̀̏̑̈́͋̉̂D̸͈͎͚̾͆̉͗͐i̶̢̯̭̺̺͇͋͝e̴̗͇̺͍̭͂ ̵̝̿͆͑̏͝Ȳ̶̘̲̯̗̼̹̞̳̒o̴͇̙̭̒͒̄̕ú̵͉̟́͌̋̈́̓͘͜͝ ̸̡̧̺͓̪̤̻̒̃̎͝W̷̡̌͌̋̈̓i̸̳̲̫͕̖͇͒͛͝l̵̬̟̼͌̓̑͝l̵̩͑̂́̽̿ ̴̖͔̽Ḍ̷͙̞̺̻̂́̔͆͝i̷̢̱͓̼͈̬̽̌͒͑̿è̵̢̫͙̹͔ ̵̦̻̅̀͒Y̴̭̭̜͔̞̽̾̔̕͠o̷͓̘̓̉̄̃̚ụ̷̭̗̟̬̯͖͉̊͗̍͋̕̚ ̸̲̟̣̼̘̹̾̄̋͌̏̔̊͝Ẅ̷̨̥͖͍̟̓͛̓͌̚i̸̺̪̩͖͑̒͝͝l̷͍̳͉̲̈́l̸̡̬̝̺͉̤̋̏͝ ̸̱̙̓̅̊̀̋̿̕D̷̬̠̰̜͐̌̂ỉ̴̧̦̳̹̩̖ę̵̙̮̈ͅ ̶̨̙̠͆̀̓͊̏͊́̌Ý̸̟̈́̅ơ̵̯̍́̿̏̀̉ü̸̪̻ ̵̰͛̎̎̂̔W̴̺̭̩̪͚̬͋͂̑͘͝í̸̱͙̦̭̺̈́͘͝͠l̷̻͔̫͙͊̈̃͐̀͂l̵͍͚͙͐́͋̃̾̑̃̔ ̵̛̬͒̒͂̑́Ḍ̷̄̌̍͝ị̶͉͎̟̊̏̀̈̀̚e̶̦̗̜͒̍͐̀͗͗͝ ̵̥̰̑͒͂̌̄Y̴̲͎̱͔͓͚̎̾̃õ̵͓͚͕̬͇̐͗̕u̶̮̬͕͎̟̬̖̒͆̈ ̴̖̿̾̈́͌W̵̡̮͇̖̩͍̘͖̽͒̿͋̓̅i̵̝̳͚̙̙̫̓̑̈́̊̒̚l̵̢̈̓̿̒̈́̕l̸̝̺͈̩͕̈̄̔̔͆͑̕̚ ̶̧̲̖̜̼̂̃̕͝D̵̘͗̒̄̅ĩ̶̪̗͆e̵͚̻̦̬̗̳͌̌́͌͝ͅ ̷̡̼̍̆̾̅̎̊Y̵̨̡͕͔̞̥̚ơ̵̳͙͉̣͔͇̏̾̇̽̂u̷͆͘ͅ ̵̗̲̝̑̓̅͜W̴̬̮̣͉̥͂̑͊͌͌͝i̷̛͕͉̰̖͐͘l̷̡̘̔̀͝l̸̬̻̼̟͕̉͋̆ ̷̞̭͓̅̔̓͊͘͝D̴̫̹̱̥̗̽̇i̸̧̡̲̼͕̤̽̿̉̇̚̚͘͜e̴̡͍̩̱̻̩̞͋͌̊͒͗ ̸̭̙̰̲̟̺̳̯͠Y̴̖͓͊̆̆̌o̶̡̦̲̮̙̼͎̼̐̆̕ṷ̷̗͉͇͍̚ ̵̨͕̖͕̊́́̈̚͝ͅẄ̸̜̤̹̥̟̬̺͂̌̂ī̸̤̀̑l̸͚̥̜̤̜̽̀̑̊͝ļ̴̯̝̠̝̣̮͂̏̉̉̌̂͐̚ ̵̖̥̦̣̲̉͂̎ͅḌ̶͑̔͆͊̎̓͠ï̷̝͙̏͜e̴͍͚̜̮̞̦͌͌͂͑͝ ̸̣̝͓͔̬͖̦̓̏̈́͒Y̵̨̪͈͕̘͙͘̕͜ǫ̶̝̣̲̘̞̂̎͐̔̚ͅͅu̵̡̖͔̯͙̲͒̎̅͌ ̵̭̈́W̶̨̗̟͚̗̻̭͆͊͊͜i̴͕̖͎̮͊l̷̡̡͔̘̱̻̫̀͋̑̍̿͘͝ͅl̵̜͚̠̜̟̜͗̿̋͋̕͘̚͝ ̶̩̎̓̊̕͝͠D̴͖̫̳̹͓̓̉̓̐̈́͜ͅi̵̼̹̯̘̙̱̹̭͑͗̐͆̔̚ê̴̫̯̞̫̞͕͙͆́͑̀̂̾͐ ̸̠̙͘Y̷̨͍̪͈͑̚ö̷̫̻͉̮̘̪́̓͌͂̉̿͂͝ü̵̙̪͉͕̯͐̽̿͆̍̈̾ ̶͉̹͔̲̆̓Ẅ̸̡̗̯͛̐î̴̦̻̫̖̖̆̿͒l̷̨̞͚̉̇͊́̓͝l̶̟̲͖̾͜ͅ ̶̨̤̤̳̼̀̽̓̃̈͗ͅD̶̡̨̯̟̘͙̬͉̀̾ḯ̵̳̰̜̬͈̭̱̤̓̕e̵̗̺̯̞̭̽ ̷̢̬̞͌̓̉̿͊̈́Y̷͍͖̥̩̲̬͙̼̊́o̴̧̭̜̝̤̽̀̅ü̴̲̘̮̆͌́͛͐̀̕͜ ̷̹̽͌̇̀̅̐͂͜ͅW̷͎̯̜̦̎͛̓͊i̸̢͚̭̫̜̬͂̐̅͛͠l̷̲͙͇̯̻͓̓̈́̓͒̅͘̚͝ļ̶̭͕̘̆̋̈̊ ̷͇̘̘̹̬̪͕̖͗͆͆̈D̴͉͚̤̬̭̖̭̊͗̚͝ͅǐ̴̛̭͖̰̤͇̜̹̹͂̐́̐͘ę̷̪͎̟͕̫͉͎̈͂͝ ̷̧̣̖̜̬̤̮̄̀̏̉̌̋̚Ỵ̵͚̲͒̿̂̏̓͊o̴͎͆̏̏̂u̶͚̬̦̪͔͐̅͂́̑̕ ̷̨̞̼̼̹͉̫͕̕͠͝Ẁ̶̤͈̈́̾͐̅͛̈́î̵̧̢̛̞͖̼̔̑̃l̷̜̜̠͎̱̘̑̐͒͝l̶̟̳̅̈̚ ̵̭͈̭̋̆D̴͕̜̥̮͋̋̃̇͊̃͘i̴̛̜̙̻̮̟͒̂̔̔͐́̿ͅé̶̡̹̠͓͌͛̒ ̸͚̝̠̞̯̞̜͌̇͘Y̸̨͍̖̺͚̪̙̯̍̕o̸̩̘͉͔͛̿͠͝ư̸̧̦̮͙̱͒̈́̎͆̀̓ ̷̞͙͖̬̥̲̒W̸̨̲̗̰̄̔̃̆̔ͅͅĩ̷̧̤̹̪͍̻̭̲̄́͗͋͛l̵̢̢̤̞͎͓͍̺͑̄͐̑̐̆ḽ̴̱͎͑̾ ̴̲͛͠D̶̨̯͇̦̟͈̺́̀i̶͙̩͌̈́̃̈́̃̋̆̽ͅe̵̻͉̺͇͂̐̄̆̆̋ ̸̥̰̓̎̄͌͌Ÿ̵̜̞͌̏o̸̬̠̖̟̤̺͊̂̄̃̃̆u̴̥̭͕͊̒̈́̿̕̕͠ ̸̡̹̀̑̀̈́͆̕̕W̸̛̱͚̅͆͋̀͋̑͠ỉ̷̳̀̑̚l̴̞̠͍̃͆͗͝l̸̫̤̘̀̿̅͊͑̒̈ ̸̞̽̈́̐͂̉D̶̨̛͈̞̣̠̭͉͊̃̋̕͜͠i̶͈͊͝e̷̟͍̘̱̳̣͔͂ ̷̧͓̙̭̈̑̂͗́̕͝Ỷ̷̪̀̄̏̔̀ö̸̡̼́̑̆̓̎̐̍̕u̷̳̤̩̪̞̤͐̇͐́͠ ̵̡̢͎͋̚͜ͅW̶̖͒̀̒͐̃̀i̷͙̱̿͛̈l̵͙̑͆̿́͛̚l̸͖̟͈̈́́̄̿ ̴̯̘̦̜̐̃̀̇͜D̶̢̧̛̫͎̻͚̩̻̓̾̀̈́͊͋į̶̫͓͖̈́̚͝ͅe̴͎̳̤͓̥̗̓̄͆͜ ̴̙͉̲̱̭͛͋Y̶̡͖͉̜̓̉͌̆̑͊̏̚o̴̥͔͚̬͐̂͘͜ͅų̶̯̥̣̲̺͙́͑ͅ ̶̧̜̑̚W̶͙͔̦̮̘̘̄i̸̤͆̅͗́͛ľ̶̛͉̺̫̞͙́̍͋̍͆͠ļ̷͚̙̣̗̰͒̊̕͝ ̸̱̜̲̩̫̻̞̈́̈́̾̄͂Ď̴͈̼̰̙̻͚̯͝ḯ̵̠̥͂̾̈́ě̸͎͉̰̅̈́̈́͋̎ ̴͙̍͛̕͝Y̷̠͉̮̜͖͈̓̐o̴̭͔͝ú̵̫̺̝̺̫̕͝ ̸͍̲̮̦̲̄̏͊̉͘͝͠ͅẈ̷̩̝̈́́̈́̈́̏͊͗̈í̷̪̪̱͚̟̻̲̣̏̈́̇͆̇̍͠l̷̰̦̅̈́͒̆̈́͝l̸̢̬͖̂͑̌̉͋̃͜ ̴͔͍͙͇̼̻̼͒͘D̷̨͍͇̱̜̝͚͓̊i̴̹̥͊̏e̶̢̞͋̒͂̂̈́̎ ̶͚̦̀̀̇̂Ỵ̷̨̨̙̱͈̘̜͂̅̈o̶̙̜̲̘̓ͅù̷͓̋̎ ̶͈̞̯͇̿̇̒͝Ẃ̵̰̗͙̭̱̹̙̀̃͐̓̑̐ị̵̱̰̹͖́̾̉͆̕͜͠͝l̸̜͚͈̞̠̱͇̲̽̔̀l̵͖͇͉̲̙̟͐̒ ̶̗͍͇͖̯̙͙͛̊̆͝D̸̤̤͎̈́̄͋͂̂͛͝͝i̸̛̛̛͕͇̰̭̮̖͈̓͗͗̄͝ę̴̺̫͇͓̓̚ ̸̣̫̭͗̽͜Y̴͙̙̓̂̏̔͆̓͝o̴̧̓́̂̓͒̒̚̕ú̷̡̘̹͚̤͕̗̭́́̏́͠ ̴̝͈̖̂͊͘͘͝Ẅ̷̖̯̼͎́̈́̈́̉i̵̙̪̹̒̂͗̆̈l̶͇̜̻̗̖͎̤̈́̑̀ĺ̸͍͋̆̈́͌̆ ̸̡̡͕̭͙͎̯̒D̷̛͈͉̼̾͆́͑͜i̶͕̦͛̍̇̈e̵̫͚͎̝͆̂̍ ̵̨̡̞̺̦́̈́̇̆̍͆̕Y̵̜̲͓̤͚̝͒̔̏ȯ̸̻̟̹̹ù̸̙͇́ ̸̜̼̹̗̻̤̌ͅW̴̨̺̪̰̋̀̌͠ḯ̴̳͔̮́̉͜ḻ̷͕̒̆̏̀̀̍̈́͜͠ľ̸̨̘̊̽̊͋̈́̑͝ ̷̩̖̬̥̦͇̃͘D̸̙̮̠͊i̷̤̠̝̠̽̈͂̎̓̍͌̏ê̷̦̠̖̇͛̿ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈Ý̴̨̙͕͉̮͌̀̃̃͝o̴̭̱̳̤͇̽ú̶̻̃͆ ̴̘̻̤͖̀̓͑̆̔W̸͇̬͖͎̤̣̲̄̀̀ĭ̵̢̡̪͇͔̬̇̈́̉̔̚l̸͙͚̻̟͇̹̋͌̇l̵̮̥̭̽͊̾̔̍̚ ̴̢̭̞̰̫̆̈́̔̈́͛̕Ď̶̡͚̦̤̰͉͊̅͂͒͒i̷͔͔͓͙̟͕͉̭͂̅̌̐́̉̂̀ḙ̷͉̯̜͋̾͑̔̈́ ̵̨͌̂̃̄̏͘̕Y̸̭̹̞͔̙̾͊o̴̧̧̦̭̰̳̳͆͌̒̂̑ù̴̻́͐̌̔̊̔ ̵̻̆̎̎̃͊̆̑W̷̧̨̩̠̟̪̹̻̉̊i̸͉̓̌̕͠l̴̗̥͙̙̻̤̺̟͑͊͗̈́̂͝l̸̞͔̺͇̞̳̤̫̔͒̑͐͆́̓͠ ̸̪̺͐̊̒͝͠D̴̢̘̘̦͚̭̩̮̀̀̀͂́i̸͖̘̗͓̖̤͆e̸̢̻̪̣̱̭̤͚̋͐̃̐̕ ̶̯̣̫̓̆̈́́͊̅̄̚ͅY̸̹̠͖͙̪̹͎͋̽͑͘͜͝ǫ̸̥͎̓̀̒̕ͅů̷͍̠͙̖̯̙̇́̊͛͌͌ ̷̢̩͖̙̭̂͐ͅW̶͙̪̝͎̟͓͇͓̄͋̓̿͆͝i̷̻͐̎͛̈́̄̑̀ḷ̷͓͓̽͐̃́̓̚̕͜l̴̬͐̊͂ ̴̗̓̔̒D̴͕̗̦͔͙̔̈̅̆̔i̶̧͇̹̯̩̇͘ë̵̡͙̩͇̺̫́̑͐͋̇̍̕ ̴̨̢̠̱̘̝̘̳̅̑Y̸͚̝͎̿̃̔o̴̢̠͎͔̹͂̒͌́̾͂͑u̵̖̝̩͓͝ ̵̙̙̐̇̈́̇͗̇W̷̧̹̰̦̌̈i̶͔̹̫͍̦͊͋͘͘ḷ̶̠̬̈́̽̋̅̌̈́l̶͚̪̝̺̤̈́͗ ̷̧̯̯͖̠̫͓͎͑̾̂͘Ḑ̶̛͚̠̩̮͠ȋ̸͉̹͓̿̄͜͠͝ͅe̵̢̼̝̐͌̿̊ ̸̡̫͖͓̫̹͗̃͛̒̃̌͜Ỹ̵͓̱̪͐̒̓͑̓̅͝ǒ̸̯̜̦̜̖͓̕ͅu̶̥͆͗̈͗̍̏͐͆ ̵̞̖̀̏̐͘W̴̧̪̜̳̣͚̤͈̌̈́͒͋͝i̷̪̽ḷ̴̡̗͗̔̀̆̋̓͠͝l̸̲̝̬̻̫̰͇̏̓̈́̊͛͑͘͜ ̴͍͓̲̹̮͊̄͊Ḋ̸̠͍͍͈͕̄͒̀̓̀̏̓i̴̘̖͇̼͚͒͆͗̒̽͂e̴̢̜̤̮͙̍̂͛͐́͘ ̷̰̪͚̮̋̎̋̿͑̈̆Y̸̠̗͔̬̹̦̾o̵̠͉̳͔͂̌́u̶̡̻̥͓͋͂̓̐͆̓͗͜ ̶̨̛̑̐̊W̷̢̧̨͉̮̮͎̳͂̀͋͑͋̑̊̕ḯ̶̭̻̻̟̓̅̿l̷̳͓̪̱̾͊̿́̌̈́̂͜l̵̯̼̮͔͛̏̇̈́̊̐̕ ̸͚͕̿̋D̵̜̝̉̈̀ͅi̴̡̨̛̪̣̰ḛ̴̲̄̂͊̓ͅ ̸̮̈́Ÿ̷̮̄̌̇̇ơ̴̢͙͚̭̣̞̱͓̈́̌ṵ̵̧̲̉́̏ ̶͙̜̜̙̩̍W̶̧̢̢͓̣͒̓i̷̟͈͓̦͋̐̓͊̔̃l̸̤̗̺͖͍͍̻̐͂͐̈́̀́͝͝ͅl̵͕̱͕̤̬̩̻̈͛ ̴̪̀͂D̷͚͉͚̒́͋́́̕͠ị̷͕̺̫̇͛̏͆̓ͅé̸̐̚ͅͅ ̶̥̬̣̠͑̿̑Y̸̯̋͂͘ơ̶͕͍̰̭͚̾̈́̑̽͘̚ù̴̟̟̥̪̳̺̹̋̈́͋̓̚ ̸̩͛̋͗͌W̵̜̲̯̯͉̠͎͍̊̾į̴̞̫̬͓͍̫̉l̵̲͎̳̭̖̅̏̈̌̏͝l̵͕͖̀̀̓͌̓ ̶̯͓̰͇͔̇̿́̾͜͝͝D̴̛͙͖͐i̵͓͓̼̤̻͍͐̔e̷̘̤̊͑͂͑̽ ̵̨̼̞͕͍͖̻̏͂͒͑͜Y̷̘̺̓͝õ̷̹̥̘̊̊͋u̶͚̠̜̞̱͊͌̅̔͂ ̸̡̤͍͖̃̕͜W̵̙̣͎̖̌͗̈̎́i̵̤̰̩̳͙̲̻̩̋̃l̶̫͓̔̐̍̋͗̇ĺ̶͍ ̷̼͆̌̎́̌͝D̷͉̂͛i̸̖͙̩̲͔̔͋̎͐̒͝ḛ̴̢̻̗͈̓̈̊͌͂͌̅ ̵͍̖̠̘͓̼͎͖͝Ỳ̷̝͙̞̦o̷̟͒̿̈́̽̈̀͝ǘ̷̯̬̱͙̠͆͛̅͑̅ ̷̡̣̭̘͇̖̞̼͂̿̈́W̷̩̾͌́̊̆̄̕i̴̡̛͔͍̠̬͉̝͊̋̕͝l̴̢̢͔͚̫̣̳̊̑́́ĺ̶͓͓̝̯͕̠͉͇̊͒̈́̓͐͘͝ ̸̯̰͉̮̣̹̪̫̓̀̕D̷̩̼̖̝͋͋̒̎͑i̶̪͎̬̲͇̐͑̎̏̔̍͋ẽ̴̛͔͌̑̏̐̚͘ ̵̨͇̈́̎͛̀Y̷̪̝͔͆͗͌ǫ̸̡̻̟̇̈́̓̈́͜u̵̳͕͚̔͐͐̈͛ ̶̡̝̗̺̉̌̋͆̎W̷̤̯͑͋͠i̵̡͈̟̺͍̣̟̓͗̄͒̓́͌͑l̸̩̞̜̃̑͛̀͒͋͠l̵̫͈͚͓̺̩͍̋ ̸͚̟͕̬̔͊͜D̴̢̨̛̯̈́̆̈́̔̚i̷̡̝̺̩̣̲̭̅̈̿͝e̸̹̐́̚̕ ̶̥͉̩̄̿̑̆͂̉͝Ý̶̜̬̗̇͊̾͐͑̆̆o̸̡̱͖͎̞̹͉̥͒̒͆̓̕̕͠u̵̻̻̟̓̐͌ ̴̘̀̏̒̍̕Ẁ̸̡̧͉̪̩̆͂̚î̵̘̦̬̍̚l̵̺͎̼̭̊̒͝l̷̝̩̳̯͑ ̵̤̃D̶̨͍̈́͑͛͋̃͜͝ī̵͓̘͉̗͓͑̈́ḛ̶̺̻͈͔̦̓̊̊̅̅̕͝ͅ ̵̼̝̫̮̤̜̫̹̆̂̈Y̷̙͂̇̀͠o̵̧̧̙̳̜͐͊u̴̝̜͕͆̀̇̅̄̕͜ ̶̼̣̥̹̎͋̅͒ͅW̷̢̠͙͓̮͈̩̰̽̾̒̎̈́̄i̶̹͒̅ḻ̸̜̺̥̠͍͔̠̃̉̍̌͝͝l̵̪̓̃̓̉̓̚̕ ̷̲̯͚̺̥͐̒̓͊D̶̛̘̘̰̮̰̱͕̪̂́͆͛͛̌ḯ̷͖̰̘̐̈́͛ę̸̛̞̙̹͗́̀̓̈̔̅ͅ ̴̛͉̙̯̣͚͇̈́̇́̿͘͝Y̵̙̦̜̯̺̳͈̳̆͝͝o̷̡͚̚ú̵̘͍͚̘̪͎̱̖ ̶͈͉̙͔̺̪̫̆ͅW̵̨̰͂ì̸̥̈̈́̂ļ̷̰͙͚̦̏̔͆͊l̶̛̰̽̐̽̊̆̑͝ ̶̡̛̜͕̎̽́̋̃̽͘D̸̛̲̬͓́̌ͅi̴̤͚̾̔̀̄͌́͝ẻ̵̱̰̳̻̝̽͜ ̵̠̩͓̋͆̋͐́͘Y̶̜̥͝ỏ̵͎̬̰̹̼̹̩̤͋̉̒̈͝ȗ̷̺̟͔̩̖̉̅́͊͘͝ ̸̧̧̛̻͓͈̪̮̋̓W̸͕̠͇̝͓̗̭͊̈́̇͊͘̚̕ͅȉ̴̱͖͉̇͛̆̑̉́̕l̸͕͓͗̈́̈́̔l̶̦̮͉̏̊͆̊ ̴̛̝̱̳̫̻̮̲̻̐̉͗͘̚D̶̘̩̹̀̄̈́͛̊̕͝i̴̛̠͚̦͓̎̅͌̈͘̚ȇ̸̘̣̚ ̴̻͐̈͊̚͝Y̶̟͖͖̼̻̜̥̅̇ơ̶̢̞̮̅̉̒̒̄͜ͅu̴̲̰̎̉͆ ̶̡̛͇̲̃̽̆̍̊͘ͅW̸̛̫͎̮̺͈̠̓͆̎̆̆͘i̸̺̳͕̭̦̇̓̈͜l̶̨̙̱̯̥̲̩̲̍̿̓̽͒l̷̼͍̹͖̪̟̉͋ͅ ̶̢̡̤̟̝̰̪̕Ḑ̴̦̼̼͔̄̂͜ͅi̶͕͎̗̗̼̾́͊͂͘e̸̹̭͎̦̝̪͎̘̽̌͒̿͂̈͠͝ ̷̡̫͇̍̉̊̍̉͒͛Y̷͍͌̀̎́̅͝o̷̳̍̃͐́̇̆͌u̵͙̥̜̐̑́̃̍̓̈́̔ ̶̛͇̦̀́̎̎̌̏W̷͓͔̯̏̏̂͒i̶̫͈͚̝̘͙̝̖̇l̵̡̛̥̱̺͌͂̆́́̕͝l̸͖̞̲͋͋̽̈͗̚͜ ̵̼̯͓͖̥̂̑̈́͗͑D̸͔̼̘͙̣͔͗̔̀̐̍͜͝į̸͎̼̫̼̱̱̜́͒̓̑è̷̝̤̠͜ ̴̪̻̱͈̼̄͠Y̷̭̹̳͕̤͚̟̓̋͜o̵̰̹̮̩̺̰̐͐̔͝͝ŭ̸͉̒͆̍̃̏̏̚͜ ̶̪͑̈́̈́̂̕W̸͎̝͇̖͎̆͒̅̕i̷̛̭̤͍̘̩͍͇̦̋l̴͍̍͝l̴͎͍̜̲͖̩̉͌͂͗̑ ̷̞͇̳̬̹̘͚̎̂Ḓ̶̤͑̂i̸̲̻̙̣̙̠͑̎e̶͔͖̲̓ ̴̪̖̈́͌̐̌̒͝͝Ỹ̷̨̗̪͚͂͑o̴̙̬͔̅͌͘͝u̶͉̣͈̦̳̲͌͜ͅ ̴̤͖̬͉̗̆͊̎W̴͇͙̟͕̄̀͒̆̊̈́i̴̢̧̨͎̘͖͘l̶̳͕͖̀͌̈́̊̆͒̕͘ͅͅḷ̶̲̼̩͛͊ͅ ̷͉̤̺̳̯̠̏̋̿̿̅͝͝͠ͅD̷̡̘̖̮̱̽̉͛̊ͅǐ̵͇͂̊͂̆͘͜͝e̴̼̋ ̷̜͚̟̝̺̉Y̶̨̨̦̯͚͓̑́̋̒̿͠͝͝o̵̞̦̘͖̘̞̿͆̀ũ̸̦̰̯̥͘͜ ̸̡̼̤̰͚́̈́͒͌͋͝ͅẄ̵̛̛̺̱͖̖̱́̂̈́͂͜͝͝i̴̘̠̰̦͐͆̈́́̾̅͐l̵̫͖͍͐̂̊̄̃̀̕͠ľ̴̯͂͗͑͝ ̴̛͇͔͙̩̠̈́Ď̵͓̼͈͒i̶̢̗̤̽̐͘ę̴̻̪̳̝́̓̈̊ ̸̗̻̥̜̗͇̫̯͑̈́̉Ŷ̵͙̫̭̝̤ờ̸̧̯͙͙̳͗͒̋̑̔̚u̶̡̫̠̺͒̃̽̍͌̚ ̶͈̩̪̅͛͠W̸̳̰͈͇̼̹̔ͅḯ̴̡̦̰̳̗͉͍̯̇̾̑̌̐̒͋l̶̡̡͓̠̯̩̹͑l̵͈̪͇͇̭͈̺͚̍̀͑̚ ̵̞̀̌̾͜D̵̯̗̣͋̇̊̏i̵̠̗̪̗͙͛̒́ệ̶̢̪͘ ̵̰͉̠̤̘̦̗̔͝Y̴͕͈͓̦̬̻̍̀̆͜͠o̵̘̦͉͓̠͋u̵̹̎̈́̊̈͠ ̶̨̢̭̺̰̘͚̋́͝͝W̵̹̻̲͕̹̘̤̉͒̊̓͋͌͜͝i̴̻̯̠̮͔͈̦̹͗̿̆̑ļ̴̤͇̄͋̔ͅl̶̨͍̝̘͇͉̰͗̽͝ͅ ̶̦̝͖͙̹̲͕̊͗͒̿̌͂̓̈́D̶̫͚̟̣̽̓̀͐͑̕i̴̡̨̨̬̘̭̱͈͌̈́̇̈̿͐è̷̢̹̰̯̗̀̽̂̀ ̷̦͚̫̲̞͓̮̂͑͊́͛Y̶͓̔̊̈́͝͝o̶͔̖͓͐͛͘ȕ̶̩̙͖̪̝̯̒͌͠ ̴̲̺͋̅̾̍́̒W̵͓̩͍̅̀̚i̶̧̭̘͚̬͂̐̈̔́̌̅l̴̤̪̟̰̍̆̃̋̍ļ̸̢̛͍͍̝̯̻̻͆̉́̕ ̵̰̮̖͕͚̲̀̅̓̏D̸̨̗̰͇̫̻̓͒̐͜͜͝i̴̮̺͔͈͓̤̎̇ȇ̸̬͓̳͂̐̓̅͜͜ͅ ̵̛̹̯͚̆̄̈́͗Ỳ̴̩̹̫̰͚̉̅̃̽̎͘͠o̴̹͈̩͓̮̙̰͚͂̑́̂͘ụ̵̱̻̟͛̾̾̔̐ ̶̡͙͎̯͌̏̀̎ͅW̷̡̧̢̖͕͝͝ḭ̶̛͍̮͔̣̰̺͑̉̀l̸̠̣̤̞̤̤̳̟̔̏̕l̵̮̀̋͐̂̉ ̷̧̺̗͍̀̏̑̈́͋̉̂D̸͈͎͚̾͆̉͗͐i̶̢̯̭̺̺͇͋͝e̴̗͇̺͍̭͂ ̵̝̿͆͑̏͝Ȳ̶̘̲̯̗̼̹̞̳̒o̴͇̙̭̒͒̄̕ú̵͉̟́͌̋̈́̓͘͜͝ ̸̡̧̺͓̪̤̻̒̃̎͝W̷̡̌͌̋̈̓i̸̳̲̫͕̖͇͒͛͝l̵̬̟̼͌̓̑͝l̵̩͑̂́̽̿ ̴̖͔̽Ḍ̷͙̞̺̻̂́̔͆͝i̷̢̱͓̼͈̬̽̌͒͑̿è̵̢̫͙̹͔ ̵̦̻̅̀͒Y̴̭̭̜͔̞̽̾̔̕͠o̷͓̘̓̉̄̃̚ụ̷̭̗̟̬̯͖͉̊͗̍͋̕̚ ̸̲̟̣̼̘̹̾̄̋͌̏̔̊͝Ẅ̷̨̥͖͍̟̓͛̓͌̚i̸̺̪̩͖͑̒͝͝l̷͍̳͉̲̈́l̸̡̬̝̺͉̤̋̏͝ ̸̱̙̓̅̊̀̋̿̕D̷̬̠̰̜͐̌̂ỉ̴̧̦̳̹̩̖ę̵̙̮̈ͅ ̶̨̙̠͆̀̓͊̏͊́̌Ý̸̟̈́̅ơ̵̯̍́̿̏̀̉ü̸̪̻ ̵̰͛̎̎̂̔W̴̺̭̩̪͚̬͋͂̑͘͝í̸̱͙̦̭̺̈́͘͝͠l̷̻͔̫͙͊̈̃͐̀͂l̵͍͚͙͐́͋̃̾̑̃̔ ̵̛̬͒̒͂̑́Ḍ̷̄̌̍͝ị̶͉͎̟̊̏̀̈̀̚e̶̦̗̜͒̍͐̀͗͗͝ ̵̥̰̑͒͂̌̄Y̴̲͎̱͔͓͚̎̾̃õ̵͓͚͕̬͇̐͗̕u̶̮̬͕͎̟̬̖̒͆̈ ̴̖̿̾̈́͌W̵̡̮͇̖̩͍̘͖̽͒̿͋̓̅i̵̝̳͚̙̙̫̓̑̈́̊̒̚l̵̢̈̓̿̒̈́̕l̸̝̺͈̩͕̈̄̔̔͆͑̕̚ ̶̧̲̖̜̼̂̃̕͝D̵̘͗̒̄̅ĩ̶̪̗͆e̵͚̻̦̬̗̳͌̌́͌͝ͅ ̷̡̼̍̆̾̅̎̊Y̵̨̡͕͔̞̥̚ơ̵̳͙͉̣͔͇̏̾̇̽̂u̷͆͘ͅ ̵̗̲̝̑̓̅͜W̴̬̮̣͉̥͂̑͊͌͌͝i̷̛͕͉̰̖͐͘l̷̡̘̔̀͝l̸̬̻̼̟͕̉͋̆ ̷̞̭͓̅̔̓͊͘͝D̴̫̹̱̥̗̽̇i̸̧̡̲̼͕̤̽̿̉̇̚̚͘͜e̴̡͍̩̱̻̩̞͋͌̊͒͗ ̸̭̙̰̲̟̺̳̯͠Y̴̖͓͊̆̆̌o̶̡̦̲̮̙̼͎̼̐̆̕ṷ̷̗͉͇͍̚ ̵̨͕̖͕̊́́̈̚͝ͅẄ̸̜̤̹̥̟̬̺͂̌̂ī̸̤̀̑l̸͚̥̜̤̜̽̀̑̊͝ļ̴̯̝̠̝̣̮͂̏̉̉̌̂͐̚ ̵̖̥̦̣̲̉͂̎ͅḌ̶͑̔͆͊̎̓͠ï̷̝͙̏͜e̴͍͚̜̮̞̦͌͌͂͑͝ ̸̣̝͓͔̬͖̦̓̏̈́͒Y̵̨̪͈͕̘͙͘̕͜ǫ̶̝̣̲̘̞̂̎͐̔̚ͅͅu̵̡̖͔̯͙̲͒̎̅͌ ̵̭̈́W̶̨̗̟͚̗̻̭͆͊͊͜i̴͕̖͎̮͊l̷̡̡͔̘̱̻̫̀͋̑̍̿͘͝ͅl̵̜͚̠̜̟̜͗̿̋͋̕͘̚͝ ̶̩̎̓̊̕͝͠D̴͖̫̳̹͓̓̉̓̐̈́͜ͅi̵̼̹̯̘̙̱̹̭͑͗̐͆̔̚ê̴̫̯̞̫̞͕͙͆́͑̀̂̾͐ ̸̠̙͘Y̷̨͍̪͈͑̚ö̷̫̻͉̮̘̪́̓͌͂̉̿͂͝ü̵̙̪͉͕̯͐̽̿͆̍̈̾ ̶͉̹͔̲̆̓Ẅ̸̡̗̯͛̐î̴̦̻̫̖̖̆̿͒l̷̨̞͚̉̇͊́̓͝l̶̟̲͖̾͜ͅ ̶̨̤̤̳̼̀̽̓̃̈͗ͅD̶̡̨̯̟̘͙̬͉̀̾ḯ̵̳̰̜̬͈̭̱̤̓̕e̵̗̺̯̞̭̽ ̷̢̬̞͌̓̉̿͊̈́Y̷͍͖̥̩̲̬͙̼̊́o̴̧̭̜̝̤̽̀̅ü̴̲̘̮̆͌́͛͐̀̕͜ ̷̹̽͌̇̀̅̐͂͜ͅW̷͎̯̜̦̎͛̓͊i̸̢͚̭̫̜̬͂̐̅͛͠l̷̲͙͇̯̻͓̓̈́̓͒̅͘̚͝ļ̶̭͕̘̆̋̈̊ ̷͇̘̘̹̬̪͕̖͗͆͆̈D̴͉͚̤̬̭̖̭̊͗̚͝ͅǐ̴̛̭͖̰̤͇̜̹̹͂̐́̐͘ę̷̪͎̟͕̫͉͎̈͂͝ ̷̧̣̖̜̬̤̮̄̀̏̉̌̋̚Ỵ̵͚̲͒̿̂̏̓͊o̴͎͆̏̏̂u̶͚̬̦̪͔͐̅͂́̑̕ ̷̨̞̼̼̹͉̫͕̕͠͝Ẁ̶̤͈̈́̾͐̅͛̈́î̵̧̢̛̞͖̼̔̑̃l̷̜̜̠͎̱̘̑̐͒͝l̶̟̳̅̈̚ ̵̭͈̭̋̆D̴͕̜̥̮͋̋̃̇͊̃͘i̴̛̜̙̻̮̟͒̂̔̔͐́̿ͅé̶̡̹̠͓͌͛̒ ̸͚̝̠̞̯̞̜͌̇͘Y̸̨͍̖̺͚̪̙̯̍̕o̸̩̘͉͔͛̿͠͝ư̸̧̦̮͙̱͒̈́̎͆̀̓ ̷̞͙͖̬̥̲̒W̸̨̲̗̰̄̔̃̆̔ͅͅĩ̷̧̤̹̪͍̻̭̲̄́͗͋͛l̵̢̢̤̞͎͓͍̺͑̄͐̑̐̆ḽ̴̱͎͑̾ ̴̲͛͠D̶̨̯͇̦̟͈̺́̀i̶͙̩͌̈́̃̈́̃̋̆̽ͅe̵̻͉̺͇͂̐̄̆̆̋ ̸̥̰̓̎̄͌͌Ÿ̵̜̞͌̏o̸̬̠̖̟̤̺͊̂̄̃̃̆u̴̥̭͕͊̒̈́̿̕̕͠ ̸̡̹̀̑̀̈́͆̕̕W̸̛̱͚̅͆͋̀͋̑͠ỉ̷̳̀̑̚l̴̞̠͍̃͆͗͝l̸̫̤̘̀̿̅͊͑̒̈ ̸̞̽̈́̐͂̉D̶̨̛͈̞̣̠̭͉͊̃̋̕͜͠i̶͈͊͝e̷̟͍̘̱̳̣͔͂ ̷̧͓̙̭̈̑̂͗́̕͝Ỷ̷̪̀̄̏̔̀ö̸̡̼́̑̆̓̎̐̍̕u̷̳̤̩̪̞̤͐̇͐́͠ ̵̡̢͎͋̚͜ͅW̶̖͒̀̒͐̃̀i̷͙̱̿͛̈l̵͙̑͆̿́͛̚l̸͖̟͈̈́́̄̿ ̴̯̘̦̜̐̃̀̇͜D̶̢̧̛̫͎̻͚̩̻̓̾̀̈́͊͋į̶̫͓͖̈́̚͝ͅe̴͎̳̤͓̥̗̓̄͆͜ ̴̙͉̲̱̭͛͋Y̶̡͖͉̜̓̉͌̆̑͊̏̚o̴̥͔͚̬͐̂͘͜ͅų̶̯̥̣̲̺͙́͑ͅ ̶̧̜̑̚W̶͙͔̦̮̘̘̄i̸̤͆̅͗́͛ľ̶̛͉̺̫̞͙́̍͋̍͆͠ļ̷͚̙̣̗̰͒̊̕͝ ̸̱̜̲̩̫̻̞̈́̈́̾̄͂Ď̴͈̼̰̙̻͚̯͝ḯ̵̠̥͂̾̈́ě̸͎͉̰̅̈́̈́͋̎ ̴͙̍͛̕͝Y̷̠͉̮̜͖͈̓̐o̴̭͔͝ú̵̫̺̝̺̫̕͝ ̸͍̲̮̦̲̄̏͊̉͘͝͠ͅẈ̷̩̝̈́́̈́̈́̏͊͗̈í̷̪̪̱͚̟̻̲̣̏̈́̇͆̇̍͠l̷̰̦̅̈́͒̆̈́͝l̸̢̬͖̂͑̌̉͋̃͜ ̴͔͍͙͇̼̻̼͒͘D̷̨͍͇̱̜̝͚͓̊i̴̹̥͊̏e̶̢̞͋̒͂̂̈́̎ ̶͚̦̀̀̇̂Ỵ̷̨̨̙̱͈̘̜͂̅̈o̶̙̜̲̘̓ͅù̷͓̋̎ ̶͈̞̯͇̿̇̒͝Ẃ̵̰̗͙̭̱̹̙̀̃͐̓̑̐ị̵̱̰̹͖́̾̉͆̕͜͠͝l̸̜͚͈̞̠̱͇̲̽̔̀l̵͖͇͉̲̙̟͐̒ ̶̗͍͇͖̯̙͙͛̊̆͝D̸̤̤͎̈́̄͋͂̂͛͝͝i̸̛̛̛͕͇̰̭̮̖͈̓͗͗̄͝ę̴̺̫͇͓̓̚ ̸̣̫̭͗̽͜Y̴͙̙̓̂̏̔͆̓͝o̴̧̓́̂̓͒̒̚̕ú̷̡̘̹͚̤͕̗̭́́̏́͠ ̴̝͈̖̂͊͘͘͝Ẅ̷̖̯̼͎́̈́̈́̉i̵̙̪̹̒̂͗̆̈l̶͇̜̻̗̖͎̤̈́̑̀ĺ̸͍͋̆̈́͌̆ ̸̡̡͕̭͙͎̯̒D̷̛͈͉̼̾͆́͑͜i̶͕̦͛̍̇̈e̵̫͚͎̝͆̂̍ ̵̨̡̞̺̦́̈́̇̆̍͆̕Y̵̜̲͓̤͚̝͒̔̏ȯ̸̻̟̹̹ù̸̙͇́ ̸̜̼̹̗̻̤̌ͅW̴̨̺̪̰̋̀̌͠ḯ̴̳͔̮́̉͜ḻ̷͕̒̆̏̀̀̍̈́͜͠ľ̸̨̘̊̽̊͋̈́̑͝ ̷̩̖̬̥̦͇̃͘D̸̙̮̠͊i̷̤̠̝̠̽̈͂̎̓̍͌̏ê̷̦̠̖̇͛̿ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈Ý̴̨̙͕͉̮͌̀̃̃͝o̴̭̱̳̤͇̽ú̶̻̃͆ ̴̘̻̤͖̀̓͑̆̔W̸͇̬͖͎̤̣̲̄̀̀ĭ̵̢̡̪͇͔̬̇̈́̉̔̚l̸͙͚̻̟͇̹̋͌̇l̵̮̥̭̽͊̾̔̍̚ ̴̢̭̞̰̫̆̈́̔̈́͛̕Ď̶̡͚̦̤̰͉͊̅͂͒͒i̷͔͔͓͙̟͕͉̭͂̅̌̐́̉̂̀ḙ̷͉̯̜͋̾͑̔̈́ ̵̨͌̂̃̄̏͘̕Y̸̭̹̞͔̙̾͊o̴̧̧̦̭̰̳̳͆͌̒̂̑ù̴̻́͐̌̔̊̔ ̵̻̆̎̎̃͊̆̑W̷̧̨̩̠̟̪̹̻̉̊i̸͉̓̌̕͠l̴̗̥͙̙̻̤̺̟͑͊͗̈́̂͝l̸̞͔̺͇̞̳̤̫̔͒̑͐͆́̓͠ ̸̪̺͐̊̒͝͠D̴̢̘̘̦͚̭̩̮̀̀̀͂́i̸͖̘̗͓̖̤͆e̸̢̻̪̣̱̭̤͚̋͐̃̐̕ ̶̯̣̫̓̆̈́́͊̅̄̚ͅY̸̹̠͖͙̪̹͎͋̽͑͘͜͝ǫ̸̥͎̓̀̒̕ͅů̷͍̠͙̖̯̙̇́̊͛͌͌ ̷̢̩͖̙̭̂͐ͅW̶͙̪̝͎̟͓͇͓̄͋̓̿͆͝i̷̻͐̎͛̈́̄̑̀ḷ̷͓͓̽͐̃́̓̚̕͜l̴̬͐̊͂ ̴̗̓̔̒D̴͕̗̦͔͙̔̈̅̆̔i̶̧͇̹̯̩̇͘ë̵̡͙̩͇̺̫́̑͐͋̇̍̕ ̴̨̢̠̱̘̝̘̳̅̑Y̸͚̝͎̿̃̔o̴̢̠͎͔̹͂̒͌́̾͂͑u̵̖̝̩͓͝ ̵̙̙̐̇̈́̇͗̇W̷̧̹̰̦̌̈i̶͔̹̫͍̦͊͋͘͘ḷ̶̠̬̈́̽̋̅̌̈́l̶͚̪̝̺̤̈́͗ ̷̧̯̯͖̠̫͓͎͑̾̂͘Ḑ̶̛͚̠̩̮͠ȋ̸͉̹͓̿̄͜͠͝ͅe̵̢̼̝̐͌̿̊ ̸̡̫͖͓̫̹͗̃͛̒̃̌͜Ỹ̵͓̱̪͐̒̓͑̓̅͝ǒ̸̯̜̦̜̖͓̕ͅu̶̥͆͗̈͗̍̏͐͆ ̵̞̖̀̏̐͘W̴̧̪̜̳̣͚̤͈̌̈́͒͋͝i̷̪̽ḷ̴̡̗͗̔̀̆̋̓͠͝l̸̲̝̬̻̫̰͇̏̓̈́̊͛͑͘͜ ̴͍͓̲̹̮͊̄͊Ḋ̸̠͍͍͈͕̄͒̀̓̀̏̓i̴̘̖͇̼͚͒͆͗̒̽͂e̴̢̜̤̮͙̍̂͛͐́͘ ̷̰̪͚̮̋̎̋̿͑̈̆Y̸̠̗͔̬̹̦̾o̵̠͉̳͔͂̌́u̶̡̻̥͓͋͂̓̐͆̓͗͜ ̶̨̛̑̐̊W̷̢̧̨͉̮̮͎̳͂̀͋͑͋̑̊̕ḯ̶̭̻̻̟̓̅̿l̷̳͓̪̱̾͊̿́̌̈́̂͜l̵̯̼̮͔͛̏̇̈́̊̐̕ ̸͚͕̿̋D̵̜̝̉̈̀ͅi̴̡̨̛̪̣̰ḛ̴̲̄̂͊̓ͅ ̸̮̈́Ÿ̷̮̄̌̇̇ơ̴̢͙͚̭̣̞̱͓̈́̌ṵ̵̧̲̉́̏ ̶͙̜̜̙̩̍W̶̧̢̢͓̣͒̓i̷̟͈͓̦͋̐̓͊̔̃l̸̤̗̺͖͍͍̻̐͂͐̈́̀́͝͝ͅl̵͕̱͕̤̬̩̻̈͛ ̴̪̀͂D̷͚͉͚̒́͋́́̕͠ị̷͕̺̫̇͛̏͆̓ͅé̸̐̚ͅͅ ̶̥̬̣̠͑̿̑Y̸̯̋͂͘ơ̶͕͍̰̭͚̾̈́̑̽͘̚ù̴̟̟̥̪̳̺̹̋̈́͋̓̚ ̸̩͛̋͗͌W̵̜̲̯̯͉̠͎͍̊̾į̴̞̫̬͓͍̫̉l̵̲͎̳̭̖̅̏̈̌̏͝l̵͕͖̀̀̓͌̓ ̶̯͓̰͇͔̇̿́̾͜͝͝D̴̛͙͖͐i̵͓͓̼̤̻͍͐̔e̷̘̤̊͑͂͑̽ ̵̨̼̞͕͍͖̻̏͂͒͑͜Y̷̘̺̓͝õ̷̹̥̘̊̊͋u̶͚̠̜̞̱͊͌̅̔͂ ̸̡̤͍͖̃̕͜W̵̙̣͎̖̌͗̈̎́i̵̤̰̩̳͙̲̻̩̋̃l̶̫͓̔̐̍̋͗̇ĺ̶͍ ̷̼͆̌̎́̌͝D̷͉̂͛i̸̖͙̩̲͔̔͋̎͐̒͝ḛ̴̢̻̗͈̓̈̊͌͂͌̅ ̵͍̖̠̘͓̼͎͖͝Ỳ̷̝͙̞̦o̷̟͒̿̈́̽̈̀͝ǘ̷̯̬̱͙̠͆͛̅͑̅ ̷̡̣̭̘͇̖̞̼͂̿̈́W̷̩̾͌́̊̆̄̕i̴̡̛͔͍̠̬͉̝͊̋̕͝l̴̢̢͔͚̫̣̳̊̑́́ĺ̶͓͓̝̯͕̠͉͇̊͒̈́̓͐͘͝ ̸̯̰͉̮̣̹̪̫̓̀̕D̷̩̼̖̝͋͋̒̎͑i̶̪͎̬̲͇̐͑̎̏̔̍͋ẽ̴̛͔͌̑̏̐̚͘ ̵̨͇̈́̎͛̀Y̷̪̝͔͆͗͌ǫ̸̡̻̟̇̈́̓̈́͜u̵̳͕͚̔͐͐̈͛ ̶̡̝̗̺̉̌̋͆̎W̷̤̯͑͋͠i̵̡͈̟̺͍̣̟̓͗̄͒̓́͌͑l̸̩̞̜̃̑͛̀͒͋͠l̵̫͈͚͓̺̩͍̋ ̸͚̟͕̬̔͊͜D̴̢̨̛̯̈́̆̈́̔̚i̷̡̝̺̩̣̲̭̅̈̿͝e̸̹̐́̚̕ ̶̥͉̩̄̿̑̆͂̉͝Ý̶̜̬̗̇͊̾͐͑̆̆o̸̡̱͖͎̞̹͉̥͒̒͆̓̕̕͠u̵̻̻̟̓̐͌ ̴̘̀̏̒̍̕Ẁ̸̡̧͉̪̩̆͂̚î̵̘̦̬̍̚l̵̺͎̼̭̊̒͝l̷̝̩̳̯͑ ̵̤̃D̶̨͍̈́͑͛͋̃͜͝ī̵͓̘͉̗͓͑̈́ḛ̶̺̻͈͔̦̓̊̊̅̅̕͝ͅ ̵̼̝̫̮̤̜̫̹̆̂̈Y̷̙͂̇̀͠o̵̧̧̙̳̜͐͊u̴̝̜͕͆̀̇̅̄̕͜ ̶̼̣̥̹̎͋̅͒ͅW̷̢̠͙͓̮͈̩̰̽̾̒̎̈́̄i̶̹͒̅ḻ̸̜̺̥̠͍͔̠̃̉̍̌͝͝l̵̪̓̃̓̉̓̚̕ ̷̲̯͚̺̥͐̒̓͊D̶̛̘̘̰̮̰̱͕̪̂́͆͛͛̌ḯ̷͖̰̘̐̈́͛ę̸̛̞̙̹͗́̀̓̈̔̅ͅ ̴̛͉̙̯̣͚͇̈́̇́̿͘͝Y̵̙̦̜̯̺̳͈̳̆͝͝o̷̡͚̚ú̵̘͍͚̘̪͎̱̖ ̶͈͉̙͔̺̪̫̆ͅW̵̨̰͂ì̸̥̈̈́̂ļ̷̰͙͚̦̏̔͆͊l̶̛̰̽̐̽̊̆̑͝ ̶̡̛̜͕̎̽́̋̃̽͘D̸̛̲̬͓́̌ͅi̴̤͚̾̔̀̄͌́͝ẻ̵̱̰̳̻̝̽͜ ̵̠̩͓̋͆̋͐́͘Y̶̜̥͝ỏ̵͎̬̰̹̼̹̩̤͋̉̒̈͝ȗ̷̺̟͔̩̖̉̅́͊͘͝ ̸̧̧̛̻͓͈̪̮̋̓W̸͕̠͇̝͓̗̭͊̈́̇͊͘̚̕ͅȉ̴̱͖͉̇͛̆̑̉́̕l̸͕͓͗̈́̈́̔l̶̦̮͉̏̊͆̊ ̴̛̝̱̳̫̻̮̲̻̐̉͗͘̚D̶̘̩̹̀̄̈́͛̊̕͝i̴̛̠͚̦͓̎̅͌̈͘̚ȇ̸̘̣̚ ̴̻͐̈͊̚͝Y̶̟͖͖̼̻̜̥̅̇ơ̶̢̞̮̅̉̒̒̄͜ͅu̴̲̰̎̉͆ ̶̡̛͇̲̃̽̆̍̊͘ͅW̸̛̫͎̮̺͈̠̓͆̎̆̆͘i̸̺̳͕̭̦̇̓̈͜l̶̨̙̱̯̥̲̩̲̍̿̓̽͒l̷̼͍̹͖̪̟̉͋ͅ ̶̢̡̤̟̝̰̪̕Ḑ̴̦̼̼͔̄̂͜ͅi̶͕͎̗̗̼̾́͊͂͘e̸̹̭͎̦̝̪͎̘̽̌͒̿͂̈͠͝ ̷̡̫͇̍̉̊̍̉͒͛Y̷͍͌̀̎́̅͝o̷̳̍̃͐́̇̆͌u̵͙̥̜̐̑́̃̍̓̈́̔ ̶̛͇̦̀́̎̎̌̏W̷͓͔̯̏̏̂͒i̶̫͈͚̝̘͙̝̖̇l̵̡̛̥̱̺͌͂̆́́̕͝l̸͖̞̲͋͋̽̈͗̚͜ ̵̼̯͓͖̥̂̑̈́͗͑D̸͔̼̘͙̣͔͗̔̀̐̍͜͝į̸͎̼̫̼̱̱̜́͒̓̑è̷̝̤̠͜ ̴̪̻̱͈̼̄͠Y̷̭̹̳͕̤͚̟̓̋͜o̵̰̹̮̩̺̰̐͐̔͝͝ŭ̸͉̒͆̍̃̏̏̚͜ ̶̪͑̈́̈́̂̕W̸͎̝͇̖͎̆͒̅̕i̷̛̭̤͍̘̩͍͇̦̋l̴͍̍͝l̴͎͍̜̲͖̩̉͌͂͗̑ ̷̞͇̳̬̹̘͚̎̂Ḓ̶̤͑̂i̸̲̻̙̣̙̠͑̎e̶͔͖̲̓ ̴̪̖̈́͌̐̌̒͝͝Ỹ̷̨̗̪͚͂͑o̴̙̬͔̅͌͘͝u̶͉̣͈̦̳̲͌͜ͅ ̴̤͖̬͉̗̆͊̎W̴͇͙̟͕̄̀͒̆̊̈́i̴̢̧̨͎̘͖͘l̶̳͕͖̀͌̈́̊̆͒̕͘ͅͅḷ̶̲̼̩͛͊ͅ ̷͉̤̺̳̯̠̏̋̿̿̅͝͝͠ͅD̷̡̘̖̮̱̽̉͛̊ͅǐ̵͇͂̊͂̆͘͜͝e̴̼̋ ̷̜͚̟̝̺̉Y̶̨̨̦̯͚͓̑́̋̒̿͠͝͝o̵̞̦̘͖̘̞̿͆̀ũ̸̦̰̯̥͘͜ ̸̡̼̤̰͚́̈́͒͌͋͝ͅẄ̵̛̛̺̱͖̖̱́̂̈́͂͜͝͝i̴̘̠̰̦͐͆̈́́̾̅͐l̵̫͖͍͐̂̊̄̃̀̕͠ľ̴̯͂͗͑͝ ̴̛͇͔͙̩̠̈́Ď̵͓̼͈͒i̶̢̗̤̽̐͘ę̴̻̪̳̝́̓̈̊ ̸̗̻̥̜̗͇̫̯͑̈́̉Ŷ̵͙̫̭̝̤ờ̸̧̯͙͙̳͗͒̋̑̔̚u̶̡̫̠̺͒̃̽̍͌̚ ̶͈̩̪̅͛͠W̸̳̰͈͇̼̹̔ͅḯ̴̡̦̰̳̗͉͍̯̇̾̑̌̐̒͋l̶̡̡͓̠̯̩̹͑l̵͈̪͇͇̭͈̺͚̍̀͑̚ ̵̞̀̌̾͜D̵̯̗̣͋̇̊̏i̵̠̗̪̗͙͛̒́ệ̶̢̪͘ ̵̰͉̠̤̘̦̗̔͝Y̴͕͈͓̦̬̻̍̀̆͜͠o̵̘̦͉͓̠͋u̵̹̎̈́̊̈͠ ̶̨̢̭̺̰̘͚̋́͝͝W̵̹̻̲͕̹̘̤̉͒̊̓͋͌͜͝i̴̻̯̠̮͔͈̦̹͗̿̆̑ļ̴̤͇̄͋̔ͅl̶̨͍̝̘͇͉̰͗̽͝ͅ ̶̦̝͖͙̹̲͕̊͗͒̿̌͂̓̈́D̶̫͚̟̣̽̓̀͐͑̕i̴̡̨̨̬̘̭̱͈͌̈́̇̈̿͐è̷̢̹̰̯̗̀̽̂̀ ̷̦͚̫̲̞͓̮̂͑͊́͛Y̶͓̔̊̈́͝͝o̶͔̖͓͐͛͘ȕ̶̩̙͖̪̝̯̒͌͠ ̴̲̺͋̅̾̍́̒W̵͓̩͍̅̀̚i̶̧̭̘͚̬͂̐̈̔́̌̅l̴̤̪̟̰̍̆̃̋̍ļ̸̢̛͍͍̝̯̻̻͆̉́̕ ̵̰̮̖͕͚̲̀̅̓̏D̸̨̗̰͇̫̻̓͒̐͜͜͝i̴̮̺͔͈͓̤̎̇ȇ̸̬͓̳͂̐̓̅͜͜ͅ ̵̛̹̯͚̆̄̈́͗Ỳ̴̩̹̫̰͚̉̅̃̽̎͘͠o̴͂̑́̂͘��͈̩͓̮̙̰͚ụ̵̱̻̟͛̾̾̔̐ ̶̡͙͎̯͌̏̀̎ͅW̷̡̧̢̖͕͝͝ḭ̶̛͍̮͔̣̰̺͑̉̀l̸̠̣̤̞̤̤̳̟̔̏̕l̵̮̀̋͐̂̉ ̷̧̺̗͍̀̏̑̈́͋̉̂D̸͈͎͚̾͆̉͗͐i̶̢̯̭̺̺͇͋͝e̴̗͇̺͍̭͂ ̵̝̿͆͑̏͝Ȳ̶̘̲̯̗̼̹̞̳̒o̴͇̙̭̒͒̄̕ú̵͉̟́͌̋̈́̓͘͜͝ ̸̡̧̺͓̪̤̻̒̃̎͝W̷̡̌͌̋̈̓i̸̳̲̫͕̖͇͒͛͝l̵̬̟̼͌̓̑͝l̵̩͑̂́̽̿ ̴̖͔̽Ḍ̷͙̞̺̻̂́̔͆͝i̷̢̱͓̼͈̬̽̌͒͑̿è̵̢̫͙̹͔ ̵̦̻̅̀͒Y̴̭̭̜͔̞̽̾̔̕͠o̷͓̘̓̉̄̃̚ụ̷̭̗̟̬̯͖͉̊͗̍͋̕̚ ̸̲̟̣̼̘̹̾̄̋͌̏̔̊͝Ẅ̷̨̥͖͍̟̓͛̓͌̚i̸̺̪̩͖͑̒͝͝l̷͍̳͉̲̈́l̸̡̬̝̺͉̤̋̏͝ ̸̱̙̓̅̊̀̋̿̕D̷̬̠̰̜͐̌̂ỉ̴̧̦̳̹̩̖ę̵̙̮̈ͅ ̶̨̙̠͆̀̓͊̏͊́̌Ý̸̟̈́̅ơ̵̯̍́̿̏̀̉ü̸̪̻ ̵̰͛̎̎̂̔W̴̺̭̩̪͚̬͋͂̑͘͝í̸̱͙̦̭̺̈́͘͝͠l̷̻͔̫͙͊̈̃͐̀͂l̵͍͚͙͐́͋̃̾̑̃̔ ̵̛̬͒̒͂̑́Ḍ̷̄̌̍͝ị̶͉͎̟̊̏̀̈̀̚e̶̦̗̜͒̍͐̀͗͗͝ ̵̥̰̑͒͂̌̄Y̴̲͎̱͔͓͚̎̾̃õ̵͓͚͕̬͇̐͗̕u̶̮̬͕͎̟̬̖̒͆̈ ̴̖̿̾̈́͌W̵̡̮͇̖̩͍̘͖̽͒̿͋̓̅i̵̝̳͚̙̙̫̓̑̈́̊̒̚l̵̢̈̓̿̒̈́̕l̸̝̺͈̩͕̈̄̔̔͆͑̕̚ ̶̧̲̖̜̼̂̃̕͝D̵̘͗̒̄̅ĩ̶̪̗͆e̵͚̻̦̬̗̳͌̌́͌͝ͅ ̷̡̼̍̆̾̅̎̊Y̵̨̡͕͔̞̥̚ơ̵̳͙͉̣͔͇̏̾̇̽̂u̷͆͘ͅ ̵̗̲̝̑̓̅͜W̴̬̮̣͉̥͂̑͊͌͌͝i̷̛͕͉̰̖͐͘l̷̡̘̔̀͝l̸̬̻̼̟͕̉͋̆ ̷̞̭͓̅̔̓͊͘͝D̴̫̹̱̥̗̽̇i̸̧̡̲̼͕̤̽̿̉̇̚̚͘͜e̴̡͍̩̱̻̩̞͋͌̊͒͗ ̸̭̙̰̲̟̺̳̯͠Y̴̖͓͊̆̆̌o̶̡̦̲̮̙̼͎̼̐̆̕ṷ̷̗͉͇͍̚ ̵̨͕̖͕̊́́̈̚͝ͅẄ̸̜̤̹̥̟̬̺͂̌̂ī̸̤̀̑l̸͚̥̜̤̜̽̀̑̊͝ļ̴̯̝̠̝̣̮͂̏̉̉̌̂͐̚ ̵̖̥̦̣̲̉͂̎ͅḌ̶͑̔͆͊̎̓͠ï̷̝͙̏͜e̴͍͚̜̮̞̦͌͌͂͑͝ ̸̣̝͓͔̬͖̦̓̏̈́͒Y̵̨̪͈͕̘͙͘̕͜ǫ̶̝̣̲̘̞̂̎͐̔̚ͅͅu̵̡̖͔̯͙̲͒̎̅͌ ̵̭̈́W̶̨̗̟͚̗̻̭͆͊͊͜i̴͕̖͎̮͊l̷̡̡͔̘̱̻̫̀͋̑̍̿͘͝ͅl̵̜͚̠̜̟̜͗̿̋͋̕͘̚͝ ̶̩̎̓̊̕͝͠D̴͖̫̳̹͓̓̉̓̐̈́͜ͅi̵̼̹̯̘̙̱̹̭͑͗̐͆̔̚ê̴̫̯̞̫̞͕͙͆́͑̀̂̾͐ ̸̠̙͘Y̷̨͍̪͈͑̚ö̷̫̻͉̮̘̪́̓͌͂̉̿͂͝ü̵̙̪͉͕̯͐̽̿͆̍̈̾ ̶͉̹͔̲̆̓Ẅ̸̡̗̯͛̐î̴̦̻̫̖̖̆̿͒l̷̨̞͚̉̇͊́̓͝l̶̟̲͖̾͜ͅ ̶̨̤̤̳̼̀̽̓̃̈͗ͅD̶̡̨̯̟̘͙̬͉̀̾ḯ̵̳̰̜̬͈̭̱̤̓̕e̵̗̺̯̞̭̽ ̷̢̬̞͌̓̉̿͊̈́Y̷͍͖̥̩̲̬͙̼̊́o̴̧̭̜̝̤̽̀̅ü̴̲̘̮̆͌́͛͐̀̕͜ ̷̹̽͌̇̀̅̐͂͜ͅW̷͎̯̜̦̎͛̓͊i̸̢͚̭̫̜̬͂̐̅͛͠l̷̲͙͇̯̻͓̓̈́̓͒̅͘̚͝ļ̶̭͕̘̆̋̈̊ ̷͇̘̘̹̬̪͕̖͗͆͆̈D̴͉͚̤̬̭̖̭̊͗̚͝ͅǐ̴̛̭͖̰̤͇̜̹̹͂̐́̐͘ę̷̪͎̟͕̫͉͎̈͂͝ ̷̧̣̖̜̬̤̮̄̀̏̉̌̋̚Ỵ̵͚̲͒̿̂̏̓͊o̴͎͆̏̏̂u̶͚̬̦̪͔͐̅͂́̑̕ ̷̨̞̼̼̹͉̫͕̕͠͝Ẁ̶̤͈̈́̾͐̅͛̈́î̵̧̢̛̞͖̼̔̑̃l̷̜̜̠͎̱̘̑̐͒͝l̶̟̳̅̈̚ ̵̭͈̭̋̆D̴͕̜̥̮͋̋̃̇͊̃͘i̴̛̜̙̻̮̟͒̂̔̔͐́̿ͅé̶̡̹̠͓͌͛̒ ̸͚̝̠̞̯̞̜͌̇͘Y̸̨͍̖̺͚̪̙̯̍̕o̸̩̘͉͔͛̿͠͝ư̸̧̦̮͙̱͒̈́̎͆̀̓ ̷̞͙͖̬̥̲̒W̸̨̲̗̰̄̔̃̆̔ͅͅĩ̷̧̤̹̪͍̻̭̲̄́͗͋͛l̵̢̢̤̞͎͓͍̺͑̄͐̑̐̆ḽ̴̱͎͑̾ ̴̲͛͠D̶̨̯͇̦̟͈̺́̀i̶͙̩͌̈́̃̈́̃̋̆̽ͅe̵̻͉̺͇͂̐̄̆̆̋ ̸̥̰̓̎̄͌͌Ÿ̵̜̞͌̏o̸̬̠̖̟̤̺͊̂̄̃̃̆u̴̥̭͕͊̒̈́̿̕̕͠ ̸̡̹̀̑̀̈́͆̕̕W̸̛̱͚̅͆͋̀͋̑͠ỉ̷̳̀̑̚l̴̞̠͍̃͆͗͝l̸̫̤̘̀̿̅͊͑̒̈ ̸̞̽̈́̐͂̉D̶̨̛͈̞̣̠̭͉͊̃̋̕͜͠i̶͈͊͝e̷̟͍̘̱̳̣͔͂ ̷̧͓̙̭̈̑̂͗́̕͝Ỷ̷̪̀̄̏̔̀ö̸̡̼́̑̆̓̎̐̍̕u̷̳̤̩̪̞̤͐̇͐́͠ ̵̡̢͎͋̚͜ͅW̶̖͒̀̒͐̃̀i̷͙̱̿͛̈l̵͙̑͆̿́͛̚l̸͖̟͈̈́́̄̿ ̴̯̘̦̜̐̃̀̇͜D̶̢̧̛̫͎̻͚̩̻̓̾̀̈́͊͋į̶̫͓͖̈́̚͝ͅe̴͎̳̤͓̥̗̓̄͆͜ ̴̙͉̲̱̭͛͋Y̶̡͖͉̜̓̉͌̆̑͊̏̚o̴̥͔͚̬͐̂͘͜ͅų̶̯̥̣̲̺͙́͑ͅ ̶̧̜̑̚W̶͙͔̦̮̘̘̄i̸̤͆̅͗́͛ľ̶̛͉̺̫̞͙́̍͋̍͆͠ļ̷͚̙̣̗̰͒̊̕͝ ̸̱̜̲̩̫̻̞̈́̈́̾̄͂Ď̴͈̼̰̙̻͚̯͝ḯ̵̠̥͂̾̈́ě̸͎͉̰̅̈́̈́͋̎ ̴͙̍͛̕͝Y̷̠͉̮̜͖͈̓̐o̴̭͔͝ú̵̫̺̝̺̫̕͝ ̸͍̲̮̦̲̄̏͊̉͘͝͠ͅẈ̷̩̝̈́́̈́̈́̏͊͗̈í̷̪̪̱͚̟̻̲̣̏̈́̇͆̇̍͠l̷̰̦̅̈́͒̆̈́͝l̸̢̬͖̂͑̌̉͋̃͜ ̴͔͍͙͇̼̻̼͒͘D̷̨͍͇̱̜̝͚͓̊i̴̹̥͊̏e̶̢̞͋̒͂̂̈́̎ ̶͚̦̀̀̇̂Ỵ̷̨̨̙̱͈̘̜͂̅̈o̶̙̜̲̘̓ͅù̷͓̋̎ ̶͈̞̯͇̿̇̒͝Ẃ̵̰̗͙̭̱̹̙̀̃͐̓̑̐ị̵̱̰̹͖́̾̉͆̕͜͠͝l̸̜͚͈̞̠̱͇̲̽̔̀l̵͖͇͉̲̙̟͐̒ ̶̗͍͇͖̯̙͙͛̊̆͝D̸̤̤͎̈́̄͋͂̂͛͝͝i̸̛̛̛͕͇̰̭̮̖͈̓͗͗̄͝ę̴̺̫͇͓̓̚ ̸̣̫̭͗̽͜Y̴͙̙̓̂̏̔͆̓͝o̴̧̓́̂̓͒̒̚̕ú̷̡̘̹͚̤͕̗̭́́̏́͠ ̴̝͈̖̂͊͘͘͝Ẅ̷̖̯̼͎́̈́̈́̉i̵̙̪̹̒̂͗̆̈l̶͇̜̻̗̖͎̤̈́̑̀ĺ̸͍͋̆̈́͌̆ ̸̡̡͕̭͙͎̯̒D̷̛͈͉̼̾͆́͑͜i̶͕̦͛̍̇̈e̵̫͚͎̝͆̂̍ ̵̨̡̞̺̦́̈́̇̆̍͆̕Y̵̜̲͓̤͚̝͒̔̏ȯ̸̻̟̹̹ù̸̙͇́ ̸̜̼̹̗̻̤̌ͅW̴̨̺̪̰̋̀̌͠ḯ̴̳͔̮́̉͜ḻ̷͕̒̆̏̀̀̍̈́͜͠ľ̸̨̘̊̽̊͋̈́̑͝ ̷̩̖̬̥̦͇̃͘D̸̙̮̠͊i̷̤̠̝̠̽̈͂̎̓̍͌̏ê̷̦̠̖̇͛̿ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈Ý̴̨̙͕͉̮͌̀̃̃͝o̴̭̱̳̤͇̽ú̶̻̃͆ ̴̘̻̤͖̀̓͑̆̔W̸͇̬͖͎̤̣̲̄̀̀ĭ̵̢̡̪͇͔̬̇̈́̉̔̚l̸͙͚̻̟͇̹̋͌̇l̵̮̥̭̽͊̾̔̍̚ ̴̢̭̞̰̫̆̈́̔̈́͛̕Ď̶̡͚̦̤̰͉͊̅͂͒͒i̷͔͔͓͙̟͕͉̭͂̅̌̐́̉̂̀ḙ̷͉̯̜͋̾͑̔̈́ ̵̨͌̂̃̄̏͘̕Y̸̭̹̞͔̙̾͊o̴̧̧̦̭̰̳̳͆͌̒̂̑ù̴̻́͐̌̔̊̔ ̵̻̆̎̎̃͊̆̑W̷̧̨̩̠̟̪̹̻̉̊i̸͉̓̌̕͠l̴̗̥͙̙̻̤̺̟͑͊͗̈́̂͝l̸̞͔̺͇̞̳̤̫̔͒̑͐͆́̓͠ ̸̪̺͐̊̒͝͠D̴̢̘̘̦͚̭̩̮̀̀̀͂́i̸͖̘̗͓̖̤͆e̸̢̻̪̣̱̭̤͚̋͐̃̐̕ ̶̯̣̫̓̆̈́́͊̅̄̚ͅY̸̹̠͖͙̪̹͎͋̽͑͘͜͝ǫ̸̥͎̓̀̒̕ͅů̷͍̠͙̖̯̙̇́̊͛͌͌ ̷̢̩͖̙̭̂͐ͅW̶͙̪̝͎̟͓͇͓̄͋̓̿͆͝i̷̻͐̎͛̈́̄̑̀ḷ̷͓͓̽͐̃́̓̚̕͜l̴̬͐̊͂ ̴̗̓̔̒D̴͕̗̦͔͙̔̈̅̆̔i̶̧͇̹̯̩̇͘ë̵̡͙̩͇̺̫́̑͐͋̇̍̕ ̴̨̢̠̱̘̝̘̳̅̑Y̸͚̝͎̿̃̔o̴̢̠͎͔̹͂̒͌́̾͂͑u̵̖̝̩͓͝ ̵̙̙̐̇̈́̇͗̇W̷̧̹̰̦̌̈i̶͔̹̫͍̦͊͋͘͘ḷ̶̠̬̈́̽̋̅̌̈́l̶͚̪̝̺̤̈́͗ ̷̧̯̯͖̠̫͓͎͑̾̂͘Ḑ̶̛͚̠̩̮͠ȋ̸͉̹͓̿̄͜͠͝ͅe̵̢̼̝̐͌̿̊ ̸̡̫͖͓̫̹͗̃͛̒̃̌͜Ỹ̵͓̱̪͐̒̓͑̓̅͝ǒ̸̯̜̦̜̖͓̕ͅu̶̥͆͗̈͗̍̏͐͆ ̵̞̖̀̏̐͘W̴̧̪̜̳̣͚̤͈̌̈́͒͋͝i̷̪̽ḷ̴̡̗͗̔̀̆̋̓͠͝l̸̲̝̬̻̫̰͇̏̓̈́̊͛͑͘͜ ̴͍͓̲̹̮͊̄͊Ḋ̸̠͍͍͈͕̄͒̀̓̀̏̓i̴̘̖͇̼͚͒͆͗̒̽͂e̴̢̜̤̮͙̍̂͛͐́͘ ̷̰̪͚̮̋̎̋̿͑̈̆Y̸̠̗͔̬̹̦̾o̵̠͉̳͔͂̌́u̶̡̻̥͓͋͂̓̐͆̓͗͜ ̶̨̛̑̐̊W̷̢̧̨͉̮̮͎̳͂̀͋͑͋̑̊̕ḯ̶̭̻̻̟̓̅̿l̷̳͓̪̱̾͊̿́̌̈́̂͜l̵̯̼̮͔͛̏̇̈́̊̐̕ ̸͚͕̿̋D̵̜̝̉̈̀ͅi̴̡̨̛̪̣̰ḛ̴̲̄̂͊̓ͅ ̸̮̈́Ÿ̷̮̄̌̇̇ơ̴̢͙͚̭̣̞̱͓̈́̌ṵ̵̧̲̉́̏ ̶͙̜̜̙̩̍W̶̧̢̢͓̣͒̓i̷̟͈͓̦͋̐̓͊̔̃l̸̤̗̺͖͍͍̻̐͂͐̈́̀́͝͝ͅl̵͕̱͕̤̬̩̻̈͛ ̴̪̀͂D̷͚͉͚̒́͋́́̕͠ị̷͕̺̫̇͛̏͆̓ͅé̸̐̚ͅͅ ̶̥̬̣̠͑̿̑Y̸̯̋͂͘ơ̶͕͍̰̭͚̾̈́̑̽͘̚ù̴̟̟̥̪̳̺̹̋̈́͋̓̚ ̸̩͛̋͗͌W̵̜̲̯̯͉̠͎͍̊̾į̴̞̫̬͓͍̫̉l̵̲͎̳̭̖̅̏̈̌̏͝l̵͕͖̀̀̓͌̓ ̶̯͓̰͇͔̇̿́̾͜͝͝D̴̛͙͖͐i̵͓͓̼̤̻͍͐̔e̷̘̤̊͑͂͑̽ ̵̨̼̞͕͍͖̻̏͂͒͑͜Y̷̘̺̓͝õ̷̹̥̘̊̊͋u̶͚̠̜̞̱͊͌̅̔͂ ̸̡̤͍͖̃̕͜W̵̙̣͎̖̌͗̈̎́i̵̤̰̩̳͙̲̻̩̋̃l̶̫͓̔̐̍̋͗̇ĺ̶͍ ̷̼͆̌̎́̌͝D̷͉̂͛i̸̖͙̩̲͔̔͋̎͐̒͝ḛ̴̢̻̗͈̓̈̊͌͂͌̅ ̵͍̖̠̘͓̼͎͖͝Ỳ̷̝͙̞̦o̷̟͒̿̈́̽̈̀͝ǘ̷̯̬̱͙̠͆͛̅͑̅ ̷̡̣̭̘͇̖̞̼͂̿̈́W̷̩̾͌́̊̆̄̕i̴̡̛͔͍̠̬͉̝͊̋̕͝l̴̢̢͔͚̫̣̳̊̑́́ĺ̶͓͓̝̯͕̠͉͇̊͒̈́̓͐͘͝ ̸̯̰͉̮̣̹̪̫̓̀̕D̷̩̼̖̝͋͋̒̎͑i̶̪͎̬̲͇̐͑̎̏̔̍͋ẽ̴̛͔͌̑̏̐̚͘ ̵̨͇̈́̎͛̀Y̷̪̝͔͆͗͌ǫ̸̡̻̟̇̈́̓̈́͜u̵̳͕͚̔͐͐̈͛ ̶̡̝̗̺̉̌̋͆̎W̷̤̯͑͋͠i̵̡͈̟̺͍̣̟̓͗̄͒̓́͌͑l̸̩̞̜̃̑͛̀͒͋͠l̵̫͈͚͓̺̩͍̋ ̸͚̟͕̬̔͊͜D̴̢̨̛̯̈́̆̈́̔̚i̷̡̝̺̩̣̲̭̅̈̿͝e̸̹̐́̚̕ ̶̥͉̩̄̿̑̆͂̉͝Ý̶̜̬̗̇͊̾͐͑̆̆o̸̡̱͖͎̞̹͉̥͒̒͆̓̕̕͠u̵̻̻̟̓̐͌ ̴̘̀̏̒̍̕Ẁ̸̡̧͉̪̩̆͂̚î̵̘̦̬̍̚l̵̺͎̼̭̊̒͝l̷̝̩̳̯͑ ̵̤̃D̶̨͍̈́͑͛͋̃͜͝ī̵͓̘͉̗͓͑̈́ḛ̶̺̻͈͔̦̓̊̊̅̅̕͝ͅ ̵̼̝̫̮̤̜̫̹̆̂̈Y̷̙͂̇̀͠o̵̧̧̙̳̜͐͊u̴̝̜͕͆̀̇̅̄̕͜ ̶̼̣̥̹̎͋̅͒ͅW̷̢̠͙͓̮͈̩̰̽̾̒̎̈́̄i̶̹͒̅ḻ̸̜̺̥̠͍͔̠̃̉̍̌͝͝l̵̪̓̃̓̉̓̚̕ ̷̲̯͚̺̥͐̒̓͊D̶̛̘̘̰̮̰̱͕̪̂́͆͛͛̌ḯ̷͖̰̘̐̈́͛ę̸̛̞̙̹͗́̀̓̈̔̅ͅ ̴̛͉̙̯̣͚͇̈́̇́̿͘͝Y̵̙̦̜̯̺̳͈̳̆͝͝o̷̡͚̚ú̵̘͍͚̘̪͎̱̖ ̶͈͉̙͔̺̪̫̆ͅW̵̨̰͂ì̸̥̈̈́̂ļ̷̰͙͚̦̏̔͆͊l̶̛̰̽̐̽̊̆̑͝ ̶̡̛̜͕̎̽́̋̃̽͘D̸̛̲̬͓́̌ͅi̴̤͚̾̔̀̄͌́͝ẻ̵̱̰̳̻̝̽͜ ̵̠̩͓̋͆̋͐́͘Y̶̜̥͝ỏ̵͎̬̰̹̼̹̩̤͋̉̒̈͝ȗ̷̺̟͔̩̖̉̅́͊͘͝ ̸̧̧̛̻͓͈̪̮̋̓W̸͕̠͇̝͓̗̭͊̈́̇͊͘̚̕ͅȉ̴̱͖͉̇͛̆̑̉́̕l̸͕͓͗̈́̈́̔l̶̦̮͉̏̊͆̊ ̴̛̝̱̳̫̻̮̲̻̐̉͗͘̚D̶̘̩̹̀̄̈́͛̊̕͝i̴̛̠͚̦͓̎̅͌̈͘̚ȇ̸̘̣̚ ̴̻͐̈͊̚͝Y̶̟͖͖̼̻̜̥̅̇ơ̶̢̞̮̅̉̒̒̄͜ͅu̴̲̰̎̉͆ ̶̡̛͇̲̃̽̆̍̊͘ͅW̸̛̫͎̮̺͈̠̓͆̎̆̆͘i̸̺̳͕̭̦̇̓̈͜l̶̨̙̱̯̥̲̩̲̍̿̓̽͒l̷̼͍̹͖̪̟̉͋ͅ ̶̢̡̤̟̝̰̪̕Ḑ̴̦̼̼͔̄̂͜ͅi̶͕͎̗̗̼̾́͊͂͘e̸̹̭͎̦̝̪͎̘̽̌͒̿͂̈͠͝ ̷̡̫͇̍̉̊̍̉͒͛Y̷͍͌̀̎́̅͝o̷̳̍̃͐́̇̆͌u̵͙̥̜̐̑́̃̍̓̈́̔ ̶̛͇̦̀́̎̎̌̏W̷͓͔̯̏̏̂͒i̶̫͈͚̝̘͙̝̖̇l̵̡̛̥̱̺͌͂̆́́̕͝l̸͖̞̲͋͋̽̈͗̚͜ ̵̼̯͓͖̥̂̑̈́͗͑D̸͔̼̘͙̣͔͗̔̀̐̍͜͝į̸͎̼̫̼̱̱̜́͒̓̑è̷̝̤̠͜ ̴̪̻̱͈̼̄͠Y̷̭̹̳͕̤͚̟̓̋͜o̵̰̹̮̩̺̰̐͐̔͝͝ŭ̸͉̒͆̍̃̏̏̚͜ ̶̪͑̈́̈́̂̕W̸͎̝͇̖͎̆͒̅̕i̷̛̭̤͍̘̩͍͇̦̋l̴͍̍͝l̴͎͍̜̲͖̩̉͌͂͗̑ ̷̞͇̳̬̹̘͚̎̂Ḓ̶̤͑̂i̸̲̻̙̣̙̠͑̎e̶͔͖̲̓ ̴̪̖̈́͌̐̌̒͝͝Ỹ̷̨̗̪͚͂͑o̴̙̬͔̅͌͘͝u̶͉̣͈̦̳̲͌͜ͅ ̴̤͖̬͉̗̆͊̎W̴͇͙̟͕̄̀͒̆̊̈́i̴̢̧̨͎̘͖͘l̶̳͕͖̀͌̈́̊̆͒̕͘ͅͅḷ̶̲̼̩͛͊ͅ ̷͉̤̺̳̯̠̏̋̿̿̅͝͝͠ͅD̷̡̘̖̮̱̽̉͛̊ͅǐ̵͇͂̊͂̆͘͜͝e̴̼̋ ̷̜͚̟̝̺̉Y̶̨̨̦̯͚͓̑́̋̒̿͠͝͝o̵̞̦̘͖̘̞̿͆̀ũ̸̦̰̯̥͘͜ ̸̡̼̤̰͚́̈́͒͌͋͝ͅẄ̵̛̛̺̱͖̖̱́̂̈́͂͜͝͝i̴̘̠̰̦͐͆̈́́̾̅͐l̵̫͖͍͐̂̊̄̃̀̕͠ľ̴̯͂͗͑͝ ̴̛͇͔͙̩̠̈́Ď̵͓̼͈͒i̶̢̗̤̽̐͘ę̴̻̪̳̝́̓̈̊ ̸̗̻̥̜̗͇̫̯͑̈́̉Ŷ̵͙̫̭̝̤ờ̸̧̯͙͙̳͗͒̋̑̔̚u̶̡̫̠̺͒̃̽̍͌̚ ̶͈̩̪̅͛͠W̸̳̰͈͇̼̹̔ͅḯ̴̡̦̰̳̗͉͍̯̇̾̑̌̐̒͋l̶̡̡͓̠̯̩̹͑l̵͈̪͇͇̭͈̺͚̍̀͑̚ ̵̞̀̌̾͜D̵̯̗̣͋̇̊̏i̵̠̗̪̗͙͛̒́ệ̶̢̪͘ ̵̰͉̠̤̘̦̗̔͝Y̴͕͈͓̦̬̻̍̀̆͜͠o̵̘̦͉͓̠͋u̵̹̎̈́̊̈͠ ̶̨̢̭̺̰̘͚̋́͝͝W̵̹̻̲͕̹̘̤̉͒̊̓͋͌͜͝i̴̻̯̠̮͔͈̦̹͗̿̆̑ļ̴̤͇̄͋̔ͅl̶̨͍̝̘͇͉̰͗̽͝ͅ ̶̦̝͖͙̹̲͕̊͗͒̿̌͂̓̈́D̶̫͚̟̣̽̓̀͐͑̕i̴̡̨̨̬̘̭̱͈͌̈́̇̈̿͐è̷̢̹̰̯̗̀̽̂̀ ̷̦͚̫̲̞͓̮̂͑͊́͛Y̶͓̔̊̈́͝͝o̶͔̖͓͐͛͘ȕ̶̩̙͖̪̝̯̒͌͠ ̴̲̺͋̅̾̍́̒W̵͓̩͍̅̀̚i̶̧̭̘͚̬͂̐̈̔́̌̅l̴̤̪̟̰̍̆̃̋̍ļ̸̢̛͍͍̝̯̻̻͆̉́̕ ̵̰̮̖͕͚̲̀̅̓̏D̸̨̗̰͇̫̻̓͒̐͜͜͝i̴̮̺͔͈͓̤̎̇ȇ̸̬͓̳͂̐̓̅͜͜ͅ ̵̛̹̯͚̆̄̈́͗Ỳ̴̩̹̫̰͚̉̅̃̽̎͘͠o̴̹͈̩͓̮̙̰͚͂̑́̂͘ụ̵̱̻̟͛̾̾̔̐ ̶̡͙͎̯͌̏̀̎ͅW̷̡̧̢̖͕͝͝ḭ̶̛͍̮͔̣̰̺͑̉̀l̸̠̣̤̞̤̤̳̟̔̏̕l̵̮̀̋͐̂̉ ̷̧̺̗͍̀̏̑̈́͋̉̂D̸͈͎͚̾͆̉͗͐i̶̢̯̭̺̺͇͋͝e̴̗͇̺͍̭͂ ̵̝̿͆͑̏͝Ȳ̶̘̲̯̗̼̹̞̳̒o̴͇̙̭̒͒̄̕ú̵͉̟́͌̋̈́̓͘͜͝ ̸̡̧̺͓̪̤̻̒̃̎͝W̷̡̌͌̋̈̓i̸̳̲̫͕̖͇͒͛͝l̵̬̟̼͌̓̑͝l̵̩͑̂́̽̿ ̴̖͔̽Ḍ̷͙̞̺̻̂́̔͆͝i̷̢̱͓̼͈̬̽̌͒͑̿è̵̢̫͙̹͔ ̵̦̻̅̀͒Y̴̭̭̜͔̞̽̾̔̕͠o̷͓̘̓̉̄̃̚ụ̷̭̗̟̬̯͖͉̊͗̍͋̕̚ ̸̲̟̣̼̘̹̾̄̋͌̏̔̊͝Ẅ̷̨̥͖͍̟̓͛̓͌̚i̸̺̪̩͖͑̒͝͝l̷͍̳͉̲̈́l̸̡̬̝̺͉̤̋̏͝ ̸̱̙̓̅̊̀̋̿̕D̷̬̠̰̜͐̌̂ỉ̴̧̦̳̹̩̖ę̵̙̮̈ͅ ̶̨̙̠͆̀̓͊̏͊́̌Ý̸̟̈́̅ơ̵̯̍́̿̏̀̉ü̸̪̻ ̵̰͛̎̎̂̔W̴̺̭̩̪͚̬͋͂̑͘͝í̸̱͙̦̭̺̈́͘͝͠l̷̻͔̫͙͊̈̃͐̀͂l̵͍͚͙͐́͋̃̾̑̃̔ ̵̛̬͒̒͂̑́Ḍ̷̄̌̍͝ị̶͉͎̟̊̏̀̈̀̚e̶̦̗̜͒̍͐̀͗͗͝ ̵̥̰̑͒͂̌̄Y̴̲͎̱͔͓͚̎̾̃õ̵͓͚͕̬͇̐͗̕u̶̮̬͕͎̟̬̖̒͆̈ ̴̖̿̾̈́͌W̵̡̮͇̖̩͍̘͖̽͒̿͋̓̅i̵̝̳͚̙̙̫̓̑̈́̊̒̚l̵̢̈̓̿̒̈́̕l̸̝̺͈̩͕̈̄̔̔͆͑̕̚ ̶̧̲̖̜̼̂̃̕͝D̵̘͗̒̄̅ĩ̶̪̗͆e̵͚̻̦̬̗̳͌̌́͌͝ͅ ̷̡̼̍̆̾̅̎̊Y̵̨̡͕͔̞̥̚ơ̵̳͙͉̣͔͇̏̾̇̽̂u̷͆͘ͅ ̵̗̲̝̑̓̅͜W̴̬̮̣͉̥͂̑͊͌͌͝i̷̛͕͉̰̖͐͘l̷̡̘̔̀͝l̸̬̻̼̟͕̉͋̆ ̷̞̭͓̅̔̓͊͘͝D̴̫̹̱̥̗̽̇i̸̧̡̲̼͕̤̽̿̉̇̚̚͘͜e̴̡͍̩̱̻̩̞͋͌̊͒͗ ̸̭̙̰̲̟̺̳̯͠Y̴̖͓͊̆̆̌o̶̡̦̲̮̙̼͎̼̐̆̕ṷ̷̗͉͇͍̚ ̵̨͕̖͕̊́́̈̚͝ͅẄ̸̜̤̹̥̟̬̺͂̌̂ī̸̤̀̑l̸͚̥̜̤̜̽̀̑̊͝ļ̴̯̝̠̝̣̮͂̏̉̉̌̂͐̚ ̵̖̥̦̣̲̉͂̎ͅḌ̶͑̔͆͊̎̓͠ï̷̝͙̏͜e̴͍͚̜̮̞̦͌͌͂͑͝ ̸̣̝͓͔̬͖̦̓̏̈́͒Y̵̨̪͈͕̘͙͘̕͜ǫ̶̝̣̲̘̞̂̎͐̔̚ͅͅu̵̡̖͔̯͙̲͒̎̅͌ ̵̭̈́W̶̨̗̟͚̗̻̭͆͊͊͜i̴͕̖͎̮͊l̷̡̡͔̘̱̻̫̀͋̑̍̿͘͝ͅl̵̜͚̠̜̟̜͗̿̋͋̕͘̚͝ ̶̩̎̓̊̕͝͠D̴͖̫̳̹͓̓̉̓̐̈́͜ͅi̵̼̹̯̘̙̱̹̭͑͗̐͆̔̚ê̴̫̯̞̫̞͕͙͆́͑̀̂̾͐ ̸̠̙͘Y̷̨͍̪͈͑̚ö̷̫̻͉̮̘̪́̓͌͂̉̿͂͝ü̵̙̪͉͕̯͐̽̿͆̍̈̾ ̶͉̹͔̲̆̓Ẅ̸̡̗̯͛̐î̴̦̻̫̖̖̆̿͒l̷̨̞͚̉̇͊́̓͝l̶̟̲͖̾͜ͅ ̶̨̤̤̳̼̀̽̓̃̈͗ͅD̶̡̨̯̟̘͙̬͉̀̾ḯ̵̳̰̜̬͈̭̱̤̓̕e̵̗̺̯̞̭̽ ̷̢̬̞͌̓̉̿͊̈́Y̷͍͖̥̩̲̬͙̼̊́o̴̧̭̜̝̤̽̀̅ü̴̲̘̮̆͌́͛͐̀̕͜ ̷̹̽͌̇̀̅̐͂͜ͅW̷͎̯̜̦̎͛̓͊i̸̢͚̭̫̜̬͂̐̅͛͠l̷̲͙͇̯̻͓̓̈́̓͒̅͘̚͝ļ̶̭͕̘̆̋̈̊ ̷͇̘̘̹̬̪͕̖͗͆͆̈D̴͉͚̤̬̭̖̭̊͗̚͝ͅǐ̴̛̭͖̰̤͇̜̹̹͂̐́̐͘ę̷̪͎̟͕̫͉͎̈͂͝ ̷̧̣̖̜̬̤̮̄̀̏̉̌̋̚Ỵ̵͚̲͒̿̂̏̓͊o̴͎͆̏̏̂u̶͚̬̦̪͔͐̅͂́̑̕ ̷̨̞̼̼̹͉̫͕̕͠͝Ẁ̶̤͈̈́̾͐̅͛̈́î̵̧̢̛̞͖̼̔̑̃l̷̜̜̠͎̱̘̑̐͒͝l̶̟̳̅̈̚ ̵̭͈̭̋̆D̴͕̜̥̮͋̋̃̇͊̃͘i̴̛̜̙̻̮̟͒̂̔̔͐́̿ͅé̶̡̹̠͓͌͛̒ ̸͚̝̠̞̯̞̜͌̇͘Y̸̨͍̖̺͚̪̙̯̍̕o̸̩̘͉͔͛̿͠͝ư̸̧̦̮͙̱͒̈́̎͆̀̓ ̷̞͙͖̬̥̲̒W̸̨̲̗̰̄̔̃̆̔ͅͅĩ̷̧̤̹̪͍̻̭̲̄́͗͋͛l̵̢̢̤̞͎͓͍̺͑̄͐̑̐̆ḽ̴̱͎͑̾ ̴̲͛͠D̶̨̯͇̦̟͈̺́̀i̶͙̩͌̈́̃̈́̃̋̆̽ͅe̵̻͉̺͇͂̐̄̆̆̋ ̸̥̰̓̎̄͌͌Ÿ̵̜̞͌̏o̸̬̠̖̟̤̺͊̂̄̃̃̆u̴̥̭͕͊̒̈́̿̕̕͠ ̸̡̹̀̑̀̈́͆̕̕W̸̛̱͚̅͆͋̀͋̑͠ỉ̷̳̀̑̚l̴̞̠͍̃͆͗͝l̸̫̤̘̀̿̅͊͑̒̈ ̸̞̽̈́̐͂̉D̶̨̛͈̞̣̠̭͉͊̃̋̕͜͠i̶͈͊͝e̷̟͍̘̱̳̣͔͂ ̷̧͓̙̭̈̑̂͗́̕͝Ỷ̷̪̀̄̏̔̀ö̸̡̼́̑̆̓̎̐̍̕u̷̳̤̩̪̞̤͐̇͐́͠ ̵̡̢͎͋̚͜ͅW̶̖͒̀̒͐̃̀i̷͙̱̿͛̈l̵͙̑͆̿́͛̚l̸͖̟͈̈́́̄̿ ̴̯̘̦̜̐̃̀̇͜D̶̢̧̛̫͎̻͚̩̻̓̾̀̈́͊͋į̶̫͓͖̈́̚͝ͅe̴͎̳̤͓̥̗̓̄͆͜ ̴̙͉̲̱̭͛͋Y̶̡͖͉̜̓̉͌̆̑͊̏̚o̴̥͔͚̬͐̂͘͜ͅų̶̯̥̣̲̺͙́͑ͅ ̶̧̜̑̚W̶͙͔̦̮̘̘̄i̸̤͆̅͗́͛ľ̶̛͉̺̫̞͙́̍͋̍͆͠ļ̷͚̙̣̗̰͒̊̕͝ ̸̱̜̲̩̫̻̞̈́̈́̾̄͂Ď̴͈̼̰̙̻͚̯͝ḯ̵̠̥͂̾̈́ě̸͎͉̰̅̈́̈́͋̎ ̴͙̍͛̕͝Y̷̠͉̮̜͖͈̓̐o̴̭͔͝ú̵̫̺̝̺̫̕͝ ̸͍̲̮̦̲̄̏͊̉͘͝͠ͅẈ̷̩̝̈́́̈́̈́̏͊͗̈í̷̪̪̱͚̟̻̲̣̏̈́̇͆̇̍͠l̷̰̦̅̈́͒̆̈́͝l̸̢̬͖̂͑̌̉͋̃͜ ̴͔͍͙͇̼̻̼͒͘D̷̨͍͇̱̜̝͚͓̊i̴̹̥͊̏e̶̢̞͋̒͂̂̈́̎ ̶͚̦̀̀̇̂Ỵ̷̨̨̙̱͈̘̜͂̅̈o̶̙̜̲̘̓ͅù̷͓̋̎ ̶͈̞̯͇̿̇̒͝Ẃ̵̰̗͙̭̱̹̙̀̃͐̓̑̐ị̵̱̰̹͖́̾̉͆̕͜͠͝l̸̜͚͈̞̠̱͇̲̽̔̀l̵͖͇͉̲̙̟͐̒ ̶̗͍͇͖̯̙͙͛̊̆͝D̸̤̤͎̈́̄͋͂̂͛͝͝i̸̛̛̛͕͇̰̭̮̖͈̓͗͗̄͝ę̴̺̫͇͓̓̚ ̸̣̫̭͗̽͜Y̴͙̙̓̂̏̔͆̓͝o̴̧̓́̂̓͒̒̚̕ú̷̡̘̹͚̤͕̗̭́́̏́͠ ̴̂͊͘͝��̝͈̖Ẅ̷̖̯̼͎́̈́̈́̉i̵̙̪̹̒̂͗̆̈l̶͇̜̻̗̖͎̤̈́̑̀ĺ̸͍͋̆̈́͌̆ ̸̡̡͕̭͙͎̯̒D̷̛͈͉̼̾͆́͑͜i̶͕̦͛̍̇̈e̵̫͚͎̝͆̂̍ ̵̨̡̞̺̦́̈́̇̆̍͆̕Y̵̜̲͓̤͚̝͒̔̏ȯ̸̻̟̹̹ù̸̙͇́ ̸̜̼̹̗̻̤̌ͅW̴̨̺̪̰̋̀̌͠ḯ̴̳͔̮́̉͜ḻ̷͕̒̆̏̀̀̍̈́͜͠ľ̸̨̘̊̽̊͋̈́̑͝ ̷̩̖̬̥̦͇̃͘D̸̙̮̠͊i̷̤̠̝̠̽̈͂̎̓̍͌̏ê̷̦̠̖̇͛̿ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈Ý̴̨̙͕͉̮͌̀̃̃͝o̴̭̱̳̤͇̽ú̶̻̃͆ ̴̘̻̤͖̀̓͑̆̔W̸͇̬͖͎̤̣̲̄̀̀ĭ̵̢̡̪͇͔̬̇̈́̉̔̚l̸͙͚̻̟͇̹̋͌̇l̵̮̥̭̽͊̾̔̍̚ ̴̢̭̞̰̫̆̈́̔̈́͛̕Ď̶̡͚̦̤̰͉͊̅͂͒͒i̷͔͔͓͙̟͕͉̭͂̅̌̐́̉̂̀ḙ̷͉̯̜͋̾͑̔̈́ ̵̨͌̂̃̄̏͘̕Y̸̭̹̞͔̙̾͊o̴̧̧̦̭̰̳̳͆͌̒̂̑ù̴̻́͐̌̔̊̔ ̵̻̆̎̎̃͊̆̑W̷̧̨̩̠̟̪̹̻̉̊i̸͉̓̌̕͠l̴̗̥͙̙̻̤̺̟͑͊͗̈́̂͝l̸̞͔̺͇̞̳̤̫̔͒̑͐͆́̓͠ ̸̪̺͐̊̒͝͠D̴̢̘̘̦͚̭̩̮̀̀̀͂́i̸͖̘̗͓̖̤͆e̸̢̻̪̣̱̭̤͚̋͐̃̐̕ ̶̯̣̫̓̆̈́́͊̅̄̚ͅY̸̹̠͖͙̪̹͎͋̽͑͘͜͝ǫ̸̥͎̓̀̒̕ͅů̷͍̠͙̖̯̙̇́̊͛͌͌ ̷̢̩͖̙̭̂͐ͅW̶͙̪̝͎̟͓͇͓̄͋̓̿͆͝i̷̻͐̎͛̈́̄̑̀ḷ̷͓͓̽͐̃́̓̚̕͜l̴̬͐̊͂ ̴̗̓̔̒D̴͕̗̦͔͙̔̈̅̆̔i̶̧͇̹̯̩̇͘ë̵̡͙̩͇̺̫́̑͐͋̇̍̕ ̴̨̢̠̱̘̝̘̳̅̑Y̸͚̝͎̿̃̔o̴̢̠͎͔̹͂̒͌́̾͂͑u̵̖̝̩͓͝ ̵̙̙̐̇̈́̇͗̇W̷̧̹̰̦̌̈i̶͔̹̫͍̦͊͋͘͘ḷ̶̠̬̈́̽̋̅̌̈́l̶͚̪̝̺̤̈́͗ ̷̧̯̯͖̠̫͓͎͑̾̂͘Ḑ̶̛͚̠̩̮͠ȋ̸͉̹͓̿̄͜͠͝ͅe̵̢̼̝̐͌̿̊ ̸̡̫͖͓̫̹͗̃͛̒̃̌͜Ỹ̵͓̱̪͐̒̓͑̓̅͝ǒ̸̯̜̦̜̖͓̕ͅu̶̥͆͗̈͗̍̏͐͆ ̵̞̖̀̏̐͘W̴̧̪̜̳̣͚̤͈̌̈́͒͋͝i̷̪̽ḷ̴̡̗͗̔̀̆̋̓͠͝l̸̲̝̬̻̫̰͇̏̓̈́̊͛͑͘͜ ̴͍͓̲̹̮͊̄͊Ḋ̸̠͍͍͈͕̄͒̀̓̀̏̓i̴̘̖͇̼͚͒͆͗̒̽͂e̴̢̜̤̮͙̍̂͛͐́͘ ̷̰̪͚̮̋̎̋̿͑̈̆Y̸̠̗͔̬̹̦̾o̵̠͉̳͔͂̌́u̶̡̻̥͓͋͂̓̐͆̓͗͜ ̶̨̛̑̐̊W̷̢̧̨͉̮̮͎̳͂̀͋͑͋̑̊̕ḯ̶̭̻̻̟̓̅̿l̷̳͓̪̱̾͊̿́̌̈́̂͜l̵̯̼̮͔͛̏̇̈́̊̐̕ ̸͚͕̿̋D̵̜̝̉̈̀ͅi̴̡̨̛̪̣̰ḛ̴̲̄̂͊̓ͅ ̸̮̈́Ÿ̷̮̄̌̇̇ơ̴̢͙͚̭̣̞̱͓̈́̌ṵ̵̧̲̉́̏ ̶͙̜̜̙̩̍W̶̧̢̢͓̣͒̓i̷̟͈͓̦͋̐̓͊̔̃l̸̤̗̺͖͍͍̻̐͂͐̈́̀́͝͝ͅl̵͕̱͕̤̬̩̻̈͛ ̴̪̀͂D̷͚͉͚̒́͋́́̕͠ị̷͕̺̫̇͛̏͆̓ͅé̸̐̚ͅͅ ̶̥̬̣̠͑̿̑Y̸̯̋͂͘ơ̶͕͍̰̭͚̾̈́̑̽͘̚ù̴̟̟̥̪̳̺̹̋̈́͋̓̚ ̸̩͛̋͗͌W̵̜̲̯̯͉̠͎͍̊̾į̴̞̫̬͓͍̫̉l̵̲͎̳̭̖̅̏̈̌̏͝l̵͕͖̀̀̓͌̓ ̶̯͓̰͇͔̇̿́̾͜͝͝D̴̛͙͖͐i̵͓͓̼̤̻͍͐̔e̷̘̤̊͑͂͑̽ ̵̨̼̞͕͍͖̻̏͂͒͑͜Y̷̘̺̓͝õ̷̹̥̘̊̊͋u̶͚̠̜̞̱͊͌̅̔͂ ̸̡̤͍͖̃̕͜W̵̙̣͎̖̌͗̈̎́i̵̤̰̩̳͙̲̻̩̋̃l̶̫͓̔̐̍̋͗̇ĺ̶͍ ̷̼͆̌̎́̌͝D̷͉̂͛i̸̖͙̩̲͔̔͋̎͐̒͝ḛ̴̢̻̗͈̓̈̊͌͂͌̅ ̵͍̖̠̘͓̼͎͖͝Ỳ̷̝͙̞̦o̷̟͒̿̈́̽̈̀͝ǘ̷̯̬̱͙̠͆͛̅͑̅ ̷̡̣̭̘͇̖̞̼͂̿̈́W̷̩̾͌́̊̆̄̕i̴̡̛͔͍̠̬͉̝͊̋̕͝l̴̢̢͔͚̫̣̳̊̑́́ĺ̶͓͓̝̯͕̠͉͇̊͒̈́̓͐͘͝ ̸̯̰͉̮̣̹̪̫̓̀̕D̷̩̼̖̝͋͋̒̎͑i̶̪͎̬̲͇̐͑̎̏̔̍͋ẽ̴̛͔͌̑̏̐̚͘ ̵̨͇̈́̎͛̀Y̷̪̝͔͆͗͌ǫ̸̡̻̟̇̈́̓̈́͜u̵̳͕͚̔͐͐̈͛ ̶̡̝̗̺̉̌̋͆̎W̷̤̯͑͋͠i̵̡͈̟̺͍̣̟̓͗̄͒̓́͌͑l̸̩̞̜̃̑͛̀͒͋͠l̵̫͈͚͓̺̩͍̋ ̸͚̟͕̬̔͊͜D̴̢̨̛̯̈́̆̈́̔̚i̷̡̝̺̩̣̲̭̅̈̿͝e̸̹̐́̚̕ ̶̥͉̩̄̿̑̆͂̉͝Ý̶̜̬̗̇͊̾͐͑̆̆o̸̡̱͖͎̞̹͉̥͒̒͆̓̕̕͠u̵̻̻̟̓̐͌ ̴̘̀̏̒̍̕Ẁ̸̡̧͉̪̩̆͂̚î̵̘̦̬̍̚l̵̺͎̼̭̊̒͝l̷̝̩̳̯͑ ̵̤̃D̶̨͍̈́͑͛͋̃͜͝ī̵͓̘͉̗͓͑̈́ḛ̶̺̻͈͔̦̓̊̊̅̅̕͝ͅ ̵̼̝̫̮̤̜̫̹̆̂̈Y̷̙͂̇̀͠o̵̧̧̙̳̜͐͊u̴̝̜͕͆̀̇̅̄̕͜ ̶̼̣̥̹̎͋̅͒ͅW̷̢̠͙͓̮͈̩̰̽̾̒̎̈́̄i̶̹͒̅ḻ̸̜̺̥̠͍͔̠̃̉̍̌͝͝l̵̪̓̃̓̉̓̚̕ ̷̲̯͚̺̥͐̒̓͊D̶̛̘̘̰̮̰̱͕̪̂́͆͛͛̌ḯ̷͖̰̘̐̈́͛ę̸̛̞̙̹͗́̀̓̈̔̅ͅ ̴̛͉̙̯̣͚͇̈́̇́̿͘͝Y̵̙̦̜̯̺̳͈̳̆͝͝o̷̡͚̚ú̵̘͍͚̘̪͎̱̖ ̶͈͉̙͔̺̪̫̆ͅW̵̨̰͂ì̸̥̈̈́̂ļ̷̰͙͚̦̏̔͆͊l̶̛̰̽̐̽̊̆̑͝ ̶̡̛̜͕̎̽́̋̃̽͘D̸̛̲̬͓́̌ͅi̴̤͚̾̔̀̄͌́͝ẻ̵̱̰̳̻̝̽͜ ̵̠̩͓̋͆̋͐́͘Y̶̜̥͝ỏ̵͎̬̰̹̼̹̩̤͋̉̒̈͝ȗ̷̺̟͔̩̖̉̅́͊͘͝ ̸̧̧̛̻͓͈̪̮̋̓W̸͕̠͇̝͓̗̭͊̈́̇͊͘̚̕ͅȉ̴̱͖͉̇͛̆̑̉́̕l̸͕͓͗̈́̈́̔l̶̦̮͉̏̊͆̊ ̴̛̝̱̳̫̻̮̲̻̐̉͗͘̚D̶̘̩̹̀̄̈́͛̊̕͝i̴̛̠͚̦͓̎̅͌̈͘̚ȇ̸̘̣̚ ̴̻͐̈͊̚͝Y̶̟͖͖̼̻̜̥̅̇ơ̶̢̞̮̅̉̒̒̄͜ͅu̴̲̰̎̉͆ ̶̡̛͇̲̃̽̆̍̊͘ͅW̸̛̫͎̮̺͈̠̓͆̎̆̆͘i̸̺̳͕̭̦̇̓̈͜l̶̨̙̱̯̥̲̩̲̍̿̓̽͒l̷̼͍̹͖̪̟̉͋ͅ ̶̢̡̤̟̝̰̪̕Ḑ̴̦̼̼͔̄̂͜ͅi̶͕͎̗̗̼̾́͊͂͘e̸̹̭͎̦̝̪͎̘̽̌͒̿͂̈͠͝ ̷̡̫͇̍̉̊̍̉͒͛Y̷͍͌̀̎́̅͝o̷̳̍̃͐́̇̆͌u̵͙̥̜̐̑́̃̍̓̈́̔ ̶̛͇̦̀́̎̎̌̏W̷͓͔̯̏̏̂͒i̶̫͈͚̝̘͙̝̖̇l̵̡̛̥̱̺͌͂̆́́̕͝l̸͖̞̲͋͋̽̈͗̚͜ ̵̼̯͓͖̥̂̑̈́͗͑D̸͔̼̘͙̣͔͗̔̀̐̍͜͝į̸͎̼̫̼̱̱̜́͒̓̑è̷̝̤̠͜ ̴̪̻̱͈̼̄͠Y̷̭̹̳͕̤͚̟̓̋͜o̵̰̹̮̩̺̰̐͐̔͝͝ŭ̸͉̒͆̍̃̏̏̚͜ ̶̪͑̈́̈́̂̕W̸͎̝͇̖͎̆͒̅̕i̷̛̭̤͍̘̩͍͇̦̋l̴͍̍͝l̴͎͍̜̲͖̩̉͌͂͗̑ ̷̞͇̳̬̹̘͚̎̂Ḓ̶̤͑̂i̸̲̻̙̣̙̠͑̎e̶͔͖̲̓ ̴̪̖̈́͌̐̌̒͝͝Ỹ̷̨̗̪͚͂͑o̴̙̬͔̅͌͘͝u̶͉̣͈̦̳̲͌͜ͅ ̴̤͖̬͉̗̆͊̎W̴͇͙̟͕̄̀͒̆̊̈́i̴̢̧̨͎̘͖͘l̶̳͕͖̀͌̈́̊̆͒̕͘ͅͅḷ̶̲̼̩͛͊ͅ ̷͉̤̺̳̯̠̏̋̿̿̅͝͝͠ͅD̷̡̘̖̮̱̽̉͛̊ͅǐ̵͇͂̊͂̆͘͜͝e̴̼̋ ̷̜͚̟̝̺̉Y̶̨̨̦̯͚͓̑́̋̒̿͠͝͝o̵̞̦̘͖̘̞̿͆̀ũ̸̦̰̯̥͘͜ ̸̡̼̤̰͚́̈́͒͌͋͝ͅẄ̵̛̛̺̱͖̖̱́̂̈́͂͜͝͝i̴̘̠̰̦͐͆̈́́̾̅͐l̵̫͖͍͐̂̊̄̃̀̕͠ľ̴̯͂͗͑͝ ̴̛͇͔͙̩̠̈́Ď̵͓̼͈͒i̶̢̗̤̽̐͘ę̴̻̪̳̝́̓̈̊ ̸̗̻̥̜̗͇̫̯͑̈́̉Ŷ̵͙̫̭̝̤ờ̸̧̯͙͙̳͗͒̋̑̔̚u̶̡̫̠̺͒̃̽̍͌̚ ̶͈̩̪̅͛͠W̸̳̰͈͇̼̹̔ͅḯ̴̡̦̰̳̗͉͍̯̇̾̑̌̐̒͋l̶̡̡͓̠̯̩̹͑l̵͈̪͇͇̭͈̺͚̍̀͑̚ ̵̞̀̌̾͜D̵̯̗̣͋̇̊̏i̵̠̗̪̗͙͛̒́ệ̶̢̪͘ ̵̰͉̠̤̘̦̗̔͝Y̴͕͈͓̦̬̻̍̀̆͜͠o̵̘̦͉͓̠͋u̵̹̎̈́̊̈͠ ̶̨̢̭̺̰̘͚̋́͝͝W̵̹̻̲͕̹̘̤̉͒̊̓͋͌͜͝i̴̻̯̠̮͔͈̦̹͗̿̆̑ļ̴̤͇̄͋̔ͅl̶̨͍̝̘͇͉̰͗̽͝ͅ ̶̦̝͖͙̹̲͕̊͗͒̿̌͂̓̈́D̶̫͚̟̣̽̓̀͐͑̕i̴̡̨̨̬̘̭̱͈͌̈́̇̈̿͐è̷̢̹̰̯̗̀̽̂̀ ̷̦͚̫̲̞͓̮̂͑͊́͛Y̶͓̔̊̈́͝͝o̶͔̖͓͐͛͘ȕ̶̩̙͖̪̝̯̒͌͠ ̴̲̺͋̅̾̍́̒W̵͓̩͍̅̀̚i̶̧̭̘͚̬͂̐̈̔́̌̅l̴̤̪̟̰̍̆̃̋̍ļ̸̢̛͍͍̝̯̻̻͆̉́̕ ̵̰̮̖͕͚̲̀̅̓̏D̸̨̗̰͇̫̻̓͒̐͜͜͝i̴̮̺͔͈͓̤̎̇ȇ̸̬͓̳͂̐̓̅͜͜ͅ ̵̛̹̯͚̆̄̈́͗Ỳ̴̩̹̫̰͚̉̅̃̽̎͘͠o̴̹͈̩͓̮̙̰͚͂̑́̂͘ụ̵̱̻̟͛̾̾̔̐ ̶̡͙͎̯͌̏̀̎ͅW̷̡̧̢̖͕͝͝ḭ̶̛͍̮͔̣̰̺͑̉̀l̸̠̣̤̞̤̤̳̟̔̏̕l̵̮̀̋͐̂̉ ̷̧̺̗͍̀̏̑̈́͋̉̂D̸͈͎͚̾͆̉͗͐i̶̢̯̭̺̺͇͋͝e̴̗͇̺͍̭͂ ̵̝̿͆͑̏͝Ȳ̶̘̲̯̗̼̹̞̳̒o̴͇̙̭̒͒̄̕ú̵͉̟́͌̋̈́̓͘͜͝ ̸̡̧̺͓̪̤̻̒̃̎͝W̷̡̌͌̋̈̓i̸̳̲̫͕̖͇͒͛͝l̵̬̟̼͌̓̑͝l̵̩͑̂́̽̿ ̴̖͔̽Ḍ̷͙̞̺̻̂́̔͆͝i̷̢̱͓̼͈̬̽̌͒͑̿è̵̢̫͙̹͔ ̵̦̻̅̀͒Y̴̭̭̜͔̞̽̾̔̕͠o̷͓̘̓̉̄̃̚ụ̷̭̗̟̬̯͖͉̊͗̍͋̕̚ ̸̲̟̣̼̘̹̾̄̋͌̏̔̊͝Ẅ̷̨̥͖͍̟̓͛̓͌̚i̸̺̪̩͖͑̒͝͝l̷͍̳͉̲̈́l̸̡̬̝̺͉̤̋̏͝ ̸̱̙̓̅̊̀̋̿̕D̷̬̠̰̜͐̌̂ỉ̴̧̦̳̹̩̖ę̵̙̮̈ͅ ̶̨̙̠͆̀̓͊̏͊́̌Ý̸̟̈́̅ơ̵̯̍́̿̏̀̉ü̸̪̻ ̵̰͛̎̎̂̔W̴̺̭̩̪͚̬͋͂̑͘͝í̸̱͙̦̭̺̈́͘͝͠l̷̻͔̫͙͊̈̃͐̀͂l̵͍͚͙͐́͋̃̾̑̃̔ ̵̛̬͒̒͂̑́Ḍ̷̄̌̍͝ị̶͉͎̟̊̏̀̈̀̚e̶̦̗̜͒̍͐̀͗͗͝ ̵̥̰̑͒͂̌̄Y̴̲͎̱͔͓͚̎̾̃õ̵͓͚͕̬͇̐͗̕u̶̮̬͕͎̟̬̖̒͆̈ ̴̖̿̾̈́͌W̵̡̮͇̖̩͍̘͖̽͒̿͋̓̅i̵̝̳͚̙̙̫̓̑̈́̊̒̚l̵̢̈̓̿̒̈́̕l̸̝̺͈̩͕̈̄̔̔͆͑̕̚ ̶̧̲̖̜̼̂̃̕͝D̵̘͗̒̄̅ĩ̶̪̗͆e̵͚̻̦̬̗̳͌̌́͌͝ͅ ̷̡̼̍̆̾̅̎̊Y̵̨̡͕͔̞̥̚ơ̵̳͙͉̣͔͇̏̾̇̽̂u̷͆͘ͅ ̵̗̲̝̑̓̅͜W̴̬̮̣͉̥͂̑͊͌͌͝i̷̛͕͉̰̖͐͘l̷̡̘̔̀͝l̸̬̻̼̟͕̉͋̆ ̷̞̭͓̅̔̓͊͘͝D̴̫̹̱̥̗̽̇i̸̧̡̲̼͕̤̽̿̉̇̚̚͘͜e̴̡͍̩̱̻̩̞͋͌̊͒͗ ̸̭̙̰̲̟̺̳̯͠Y̴̖͓͊̆̆̌o̶̡̦̲̮̙̼͎̼̐̆̕ṷ̷̗͉͇͍̚ ̵̨͕̖͕̊́́̈̚͝ͅẄ̸̜̤̹̥̟̬̺͂̌̂ī̸̤̀̑l̸͚̥̜̤̜̽̀̑̊͝ļ̴̯̝̠̝̣̮͂̏̉̉̌̂͐̚ ̵̖̥̦̣̲̉͂̎ͅḌ̶͑̔͆͊̎̓͠ï̷̝͙̏͜e̴͍͚̜̮̞̦͌͌͂͑͝ ̸̣̝͓͔̬͖̦̓̏̈́͒Y̵̨̪͈͕̘͙͘̕͜ǫ̶̝̣̲̘̞̂̎͐̔̚ͅͅu̵̡̖͔̯͙̲͒̎̅͌ ̵̭̈́W̶̨̗̟͚̗̻̭͆͊͊͜i̴͕̖͎̮͊l̷̡̡͔̘̱̻̫̀͋̑̍̿͘͝ͅl̵̜͚̠̜̟̜͗̿̋͋̕͘̚͝ ̶̩̎̓̊̕͝͠D̴͖̫̳̹͓̓̉̓̐̈́͜ͅi̵̼̹̯̘̙̱̹̭͑͗̐͆̔̚ê̴̫̯̞̫̞͕͙͆́͑̀̂̾͐ ̸̠̙͘Y̷̨͍̪͈͑̚ö̷̫̻͉̮̘̪́̓͌͂̉̿͂͝ü̵̙̪͉͕̯͐̽̿͆̍̈̾ ̶͉̹͔̲̆̓Ẅ̸̡̗̯͛̐î̴̦̻̫̖̖̆̿͒l̷̨̞͚̉̇͊́̓͝l̶̟̲͖̾͜ͅ ̶̨̤̤̳̼̀̽̓̃̈͗ͅD̶̡̨̯̟̘͙̬͉̀̾ḯ̵̳̰̜̬͈̭̱̤̓̕e̵̗̺̯̞̭̽ ̷̢̬̞͌̓̉̿͊̈́Y̷͍͖̥̩̲̬͙̼̊́o̴̧̭̜̝̤̽̀̅ü̴̲̘̮̆͌́͛͐̀̕͜ ̷̹̽͌̇̀̅̐͂͜ͅW̷͎̯̜̦̎͛̓͊i̸̢͚̭̫̜̬͂̐̅͛͠l̷̲͙͇̯̻͓̓̈́̓͒̅͘̚͝ļ̶̭͕̘̆̋̈̊ ̷͇̘̘̹̬̪͕̖͗͆͆̈D̴͉͚̤̬̭̖̭̊͗̚͝ͅǐ̴̛̭͖̰̤͇̜̹̹͂̐́̐͘ę̷̪͎̟͕̫͉͎̈͂͝ ̷̧̣̖̜̬̤̮̄̀̏̉̌̋̚Ỵ̵͚̲͒̿̂̏̓͊o̴͎͆̏̏̂u̶͚̬̦̪͔͐̅͂́̑̕ ̷̨̞̼̼̹͉̫͕̕͠͝Ẁ̶̤͈̈́̾͐̅͛̈́î̵̧̢̛̞͖̼̔̑̃l̷̜̜̠͎̱̘̑̐͒͝l̶̟̳̅̈̚ ̵̭͈̭̋̆D̴͕̜̥̮͋̋̃̇͊̃͘i̴̛̜̙̻̮̟͒̂̔̔͐́̿ͅé̶̡̹̠͓͌͛̒ ̸͚̝̠̞̯̞̜͌̇͘Y̸̨͍̖̺͚̪̙̯̍̕o̸̩̘͉͔͛̿͠͝ư̸̧̦̮͙̱͒̈́̎͆̀̓ ̷̞͙͖̬̥̲̒W̸̨̲̗̰̄̔̃̆̔ͅͅĩ̷̧̤̹̪͍̻̭̲̄́͗͋͛l̵̢̢̤̞͎͓͍̺͑̄͐̑̐̆ḽ̴̱͎͑̾ ̴̲͛͠D̶̨̯͇̦̟͈̺́̀i̶͙̩͌̈́̃̈́̃̋̆̽ͅe̵̻͉̺͇͂̐̄̆̆̋ ̸̥̰̓̎̄͌͌Ÿ̵̜̞͌̏o̸̬̠̖̟̤̺͊̂̄̃̃̆u̴̥̭͕͊̒̈́̿̕̕͠ ̸̡̹̀̑̀̈́͆̕̕W̸̛̱͚̅͆͋̀͋̑͠ỉ̷̳̀̑̚l̴̞̠͍̃͆͗͝l̸̫̤̘̀̿̅͊͑̒̈ ̸̞̽̈́̐͂̉D̶̨̛͈̞̣̠̭͉͊̃̋̕͜͠i̶͈͊͝e̷̟͍̘̱̳̣͔͂ ̷̧͓̙̭̈̑̂͗́̕͝Ỷ̷̪̀̄̏̔̀ö̸̡̼́̑̆̓̎̐̍̕u̷̳̤̩̪̞̤͐̇͐́͠ ̵̡̢͎͋̚͜ͅW̶̖͒̀̒͐̃̀i̷͙̱̿͛̈l̵͙̑͆̿́͛̚l̸͖̟͈̈́́̄̿ ̴̯̘̦̜̐̃̀̇͜D̶̢̧̛̫͎̻͚̩̻̓̾̀̈́͊͋į̶̫͓͖̈́̚͝ͅe̴͎̳̤͓̥̗̓̄͆͜ ̴̙͉̲̱̭͛͋Y̶̡͖͉̜̓̉͌̆̑͊̏̚o̴̥͔͚̬͐̂͘͜ͅų̶̯̥̣̲̺͙́͑ͅ ̶̧̜̑̚W̶͙͔̦̮̘̘̄i̸̤͆̅͗́͛ľ̶̛͉̺̫̞͙́̍͋̍͆͠ļ̷͚̙̣̗̰͒̊̕͝ ̸̱̜̲̩̫̻̞̈́̈́̾̄͂Ď̴͈̼̰̙̻͚̯͝ḯ̵̠̥͂̾̈́ě̸͎͉̰̅̈́̈́͋̎ ̴͙̍͛̕͝Y̷̠͉̮̜͖͈̓̐o̴̭͔͝ú̵̫̺̝̺̫̕͝ ̸͍̲̮̦̲̄̏͊̉͘͝͠ͅẈ̷̩̝̈́́̈́̈́̏͊͗̈í̷̪̪̱͚̟̻̲̣̏̈́̇͆̇̍͠l̷̰̦̅̈́͒̆̈́͝l̸̢̬͖̂͑̌̉͋̃͜ ̴͔͍͙͇̼̻̼͒͘D̷̨͍͇̱̜̝͚͓̊i̴̹̥͊̏e̶̢̞͋̒͂̂̈́̎ ̶͚̦̀̀̇̂Ỵ̷̨̨̙̱͈̘̜͂̅̈o̶̙̜̲̘̓ͅù̷͓̋̎ ̶͈̞̯͇̿̇̒͝Ẃ̵̰̗͙̭̱̹̙̀̃͐̓̑̐ị̵̱̰̹͖́̾̉͆̕͜͠͝l̸̜͚͈̞̠̱͇̲̽̔̀l̵͖͇͉̲̙̟͐̒ ̶̗͍͇͖̯̙͙͛̊̆͝D̸̤̤͎̈́̄͋͂̂͛͝͝i̸̛̛̛͕͇̰̭̮̖͈̓͗͗̄͝ę̴̺̫͇͓̓̚ ̸̣̫̭͗̽͜Y̴͙̙̓̂̏̔͆̓͝o̴̧̓́̂̓͒̒̚̕ú̷̡̘̹͚̤͕̗̭́́̏́͠ ̴̝͈̖̂͊͘͘͝Ẅ̷̖̯̼͎́̈́̈́̉i̵̙̪̹̒̂͗̆̈l̶͇̜̻̗̖͎̤̈́̑̀ĺ̸͍͋̆̈́͌̆ ̸̡̡͕̭͙͎̯̒D̷̛͈͉̼̾͆́͑͜i̶͕̦͛̍̇̈e̵̫͚͎̝͆̂̍ ̵̨̡̞̺̦́̈́̇̆̍͆̕Y̵̜̲͓̤͚̝͒̔̏ȯ̸̻̟̹̹ù̸̙͇́ ̸̜̼̹̗̻̤̌ͅW̴̨̺̪̰̋̀̌͠ḯ̴̳͔̮́̉͜ḻ̷͕̒̆̏̀̀̍̈́͜͠ľ̸̨̘̊̽̊͋̈́̑͝ ̷̩̖̬̥̦͇̃͘D̸̙̮̠͊i̷̤̠̝̠̽̈͂̎̓̍͌̏ê̷̦̠̖̇͛̿ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈ ̵̼̜̜̍Y̶̛͓̳̺͋͆̎̿̋o̵̼͓̯͕̫̣̅̈͆͊͝ụ̸͈̫̐̀̔̀͌̃̃ ̷̫̑W̶̝̟̗̄͌͋í̴̗͑̔̎̊̄͑͝ļ̵̗͓͇̠̘͆͋l̴͚̭̦̥̼͋͑̚ͅ ̶̡̡̩̖̜̦̓̎̑̈́͒̄͘D̵̛͕͉́͗ḯ̷͇̒͋̽̃ẽ̸̩̝̭̺̼͉̾ ̵̺̰̺̱͛̈̇͒̅̈

Over and over again it chanted. It didn't even stop. It grew louder and louder, it was deafening! It could make anyone lose their hearing.. or their mind... it would drive them insane, if not to drop them to their knees!

But it didn’t drop Bowen.

It only fuelled him!

One step, another step, the voices only got louder. Unbearable! But at the same time, he found his own voice. Fists clenched, now glowing as well. Grit teeth, his glowing eyes were now burning!

"Cahn... du...."

And then those feet picked him up like a whirlwind!

"LIIIIERRRRRRRRRE!"

Unimaginable speed! He was faster than lightning! The giants couldn't even catch him if they tried, but the blank warriors grew more blades... endless blades to throw at him endlessly, like a chain of them! The wolves were getting desperate as well. Ravenous! They picked up their own pace, now keen to devour the young male! The gaps in the ground were becoming explosions! But he was too quick, he could not be caught, nothing could catch him, he was faster than a supersonic jet fighter!

Not even the incoming wave that claimed him before could stop him, for this time he saw it coming.

This time, right at the moment it nearly hit him, he leapt up into the air.. far higher than what could catch him!

No whips, no blades, no waves, no wolves!

The growing beast was in sight! It looked so scared with those widened eyes! Bowen had a clear path to it, nothing to hinder it!

Even as the whole area began to shake!

He was closing in.

With the velocity he had, he could make it, he'll reach it!

His right fist, glowing, clenched, he drew it back ready to throw it!

“Täuschung.....”

“UNTERBRECHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!”

Just as he screamed, he felt that fist collide right into flesh, drive into that flesh!

And just like that... the area began to turn blue..

Everything began to vibrate.

Violently.

Beyond violently!

The Gs were off the charts! Worse than any rollercoaster! It was like you could be shook about from the cieling to the floor in seconds!

Along with a feeling of a physical pressure greater than anything ever experienced!

Until....

. . .

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The whole planet shook that night.

The release of energy was unlike anything ever felt. A shockwave that reverberated over itself, over and over again. The noises of energy unlike anything ever heard. It unnerved, unsettled.

What was to come?

...

Who would be affected?

...

What was to become of Bowen Chuuno?

...

Was the Holy Grail gone for good?

...

Will the multiverse be saved?

...

. . .

Would the world ever be the same?

. . .

#DRABBLE #Bowen Chuuno : The Mighty Atom #Kinoverse!Bowen #KINOVERSE #Holy Grail War #Omg I've been wanting to do this for so long #Enjoy the ride #I didn't do much with the main battle because there was so fckn much to cover.#But man #even I didn't expect it to go this way #Oh man #Read more for length #LONG POST #like #Real longs post #you have been warned!

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writemarvelousthings · 5 years

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Goodbye For Us

PAIRING- Steve Rogers x Reader (slight implied Bucky Barnes x Reader at the end)

WORD COUNT- 3.7K

WARNINGS- Angst!! Separation, being deserted. Swearing, mentions of self-destructive behaviour. Grief and rejection.

Summary: Steve decides to return to Peggy, leaving you broken and unsure how to live without the man you have loved with all of your soul. But will his decision be the making of you?

A/N: Ya girls is back with some music inspiration, this is inspired by Selena Gomez’s new Song Lose you to Love me. As soon as I heard it this plot came barreling into my head and I had to write it! Thank you to @abovethesmokestacks for being me Beta on this one! I’m sorry for what you’re about to read, it hurt me too.

Gif not mine

Your world was burning, crumbling into molten ash scattering through the wind turning into smoke as the tips of your fingers grasped to keep it slipping away from you.

“Please don’t do this.” your voice was trembling, sore and unused as the man sat before you physically winced.

“I... I have too.”

You spat his words back at him, with all the venom you could muster. Another set of blue eyes shifted to look at you, concern flashing across them before settling on his long-time friend making the hardest decision.

“You don’t know what it was like to not have… to try and live after the snap.” Steve’s shoulders sagged, you noticed for the first time how his skin wrinkled around his eyes. The lighter shade of blonde scattered against his golden tresses, sparkling silver in the light. He looks tired.

“You promised me.” you sounded desperate now and you were, a little girl chasing smoke on the wind travelling further and further away from you.

~~~

The sun was setting low in the sky, soft cool sheets caressed your body as the warmth from Steve encompassed you. Steeping into the pores of your skin, moulding against your bones. Everything in your body screamed for him, burned for him. Your heart thumped in a steady rhythm tattooing his name against your sternum

Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve

“Will you make me a promise?” you mused, your voice carrying across the soft crooning of your Spotify playlist you personally made for Steve. A large hand roamed against your hip bone, a deep hum answered you. Rolling to face him, your golden lover bathed in the afternoon glow.

“Never leave me.” A small crooked smile spread as slow as molasses, that warmth inside you spread deeper inside you. Attaching itself to your very attoms, curling around the nucleus itself and settling there. Steve’s large hand found yours, bringing the tips of your fingers to his lips. Pressing them against the smooth velvet, against the place that worshipped every inch of you they whispered the words against your skin. Branding you anew.

“Never.”

In that moment, you’d never loved anyone the way you love Steve Rogers

~~~

“Sweetheart..” Steve has the decency to look pained at least.

“No, you don’t get to call me that anymore.” You shake your head, finally seeing what you had been too blind to see all these years. What you had looked through rose-tinted lenses at. Natasha had warned you, Natasha. Your heart lurched at the thought of her, how you pushed aside her concern for you. Her sisterly love for you. It all made sense.

“Natasha knew, she knew all these years that you didn’t let go of her... Not really. Not ever.” You bitterly wiped the tears from your eyes, the biting sting only adding to your anguish.

“She always warned me... Not to play with fire.” Steve whispered, his admission carving a piece of your soul from you.

“But... Peggy. She’s dead Steve.” Bucky’s voice cut through the icy tension mounting, cracking the room with sudden electricity as Steve surged to his feet.

“But she’s NOT! I can go back, I can be with her and finally have the life I’ve always..” the words caught in his throat, blue eyes widening. Even Bucky whipped his head up metal arm whirring. You caught the sob in your throat before you swallowed it down.

“The life you’ve always wanted, right Steve? A home, someone to love you. Kids? You have that Steve, you have a family that loves you.. A home, why can’t I be the person to give you all that?” You look up at him, hands flat palms up on your knees. Begging to the man who you had loved for the better part of seven years completely looked down on you, the look in his eyes scaring you. Pity, he felt your pain but you knew, in those atoms that had been encompassed by him. His mind was made up.

“I’ve got a chance with Peggy, my Peggy. I have to take it.�� You remained silent, his words lancing your heart with each syllable. You’re not sure how you managed to stand, much less find your way to the door looking back towards Steve. Unshed tears brimming in his eyes before one blink and they were gone.

“I hope it’s everything you want Captain.”

Your name falls flat from his lips, but like five years ago. You find yourself carried on the wind and away from Steve Rogers for the last time.

~~~

You don’t go with him to the mini transmat platform, no matter how much Sam begs you. Bucky tries to convince you. Bruce even threatens to tear your door down. But he doesn’t come to you, doesn’t try to patch up any resemblance of what you once had, what you once shared. Bucky comes back to your room when he’s gone, sits with his back against the door as you slide down the other side listening silently.

“He did what he said he’d do, put the stones back… didn’t... Well, you know.” Bucky clears his throat, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes. Your body is shaking with grief that he’s gone, back into the arms of the ghost in Steve’s eyes when he looked at you.

“Then I turned around and he was there.” your head flew up, inches from cracking the back of your skull against the door. He came back? A flash of hot white hope burns through you.

“The punk remembered when he left and came back.. he’s.. he’s lived his life. Seemed happy with his decision... I’m sorry.” you don’t remember when Bucky leaves your door, you don’t remember the day turning to night then back to day again. You don’t remember Wanda quietly leaving you a tray of breakfast, placing a hand against your door signing softly. All you remember is the void of emotions, except one. Because in that moment.

You’ve never hated anyone more than you hate Steve Rogers.

~~~

You throw yourself into missions, taking the ones that send you to the far reaches of the world. To the cold frigid landscape of Siberia, the humid thick air of Bangkok. Smog filled China and crystal blue waters of Malta, you kill. You drink, you fuck. Pretty brown eyed girls that taste like strawberries and cream, green-eyed boys with eager hands that fall into your trap. None of them blonde, never with blue eyes. Sam is concerned, Wanda is worried but Bucky looks at you with a sympathetic knowledge that makes your stomach lurch. Your hands itch to take the next solo mission, but Sam puts his foot down.

“You have to go with a partner.”

“Oh fuck off, Wilson, I work better alone!” you scoff, hands raking through your cropped hair. Half of it shaved to the skin. Sam’s deep eyes scan you, analysing your appearance. You had just come off seventy-two hours holed up in Vancouver. The mission took you twelve, it took the next sixty to lose yourself in bars that specialised in sweet overpriced cocktails with a menagerie of students stumbling through its doors and eventually into your bed.

“When was the last time you ate a decent meal? Slept for more than four hours, took a god damn bath?”

“Don’t…” you fisted your hand, anger and pain rolling off you in waves it make Wanda turn, arms wrapped around her middle physically recoiling from you.

“You used to love baths, you were always using all that soap and bubble shit with..”

“Don’t you fucking say his name Sam... Don’t, please.” your voice was hard with bite and venom which washed away with the alarming wave of tears brimming in your eyes.

“He was the one who loved them.” Wanda’s voice rang through the room throwing you into a memory you’d rather forget.

~~~

“God can we just stay here forever?” Steve groaned, head resting against the curve of the bath. You giggle, chin resting on his sternum as you gaze up at him.

“We’d get all wrinkly.” you titter, pressing your lips to his golden skin. The lavender bath salts soaked into his skin, your cheek vibrated from the deep chuckle in the bowls of his chest.

“But I’m so relaxed sweetheart.” Steve groaned scooting lower into the water, pulling at your hips bringing you closer to him.

“And what if the world needs us?” your nose nudges against his for a moment, you’re so close your not sure where Steve starts and you end.

“Well, then at least we can take another bath to celebrate saving the world again.”

“That sounds like a good plan Captain.”

“Mmm, doesn’t it just.” and his lips slipped over yours, one hand cradling the back of your head as you bleed into him.

~~~

Sam looks between you and Wanda, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m taking you off the roster.”

You balk at Sam, scrambling to plead your case. You needed those missions.

“No, you need time. This person in front of me. I don’t know who the hell she is. She’s certainly not who Tony and Natasha fought to save and bring back.” at the mention of your mentors you flinch, recoil to a dark part of yourself that resents the person you have become.

“Listen” Sam walks towards you, his voice softer. “I know things have been tough, but you’ve gotta shake him off. You’ve gotta find yourself, the real you. The person we all know is in there somewhere desperate to get out but you won’t let her and I think you know what you have to do to let her free.”

~~~

Your hands shake, swallowing thickly around your tongue as the gravel crunches under your boots. The autumn chill had fully set in as it whips the leaves off the trees, the bright vibrant red causing your heart to ache for a different reason. You watch as one leaf flitters along with the wind, flipping and floating to land on the black granite stone before you.

“Hi, Tasha.” you huff at how weak your voice sounds, how lost you feel not having the one person you could turn too.

“Bet you’re looking down right now wanting to kick my ass.” your hold on the sunflowers tightens as if grasping on the stems gives you something to anchor yourself on as to not fall apart completely.

“And maybe Steve’s, but he’s an old man now and that’s frowned upon.. Not that you’d care.” you let out a hollow chuckle that contorts your face. And then you’re heaving, body shattering with sobs that dig your knees into the ground in front of the empty grave. A reminder that not everyone made it back home.

“I’m lost Nat, I’m so lost without him. I don’t know what to do, or who to trust again.. I’m nothing without him.” You crawl closer to the gravestone, the white block letters mocking you.

Gone, but always with us.

“But that’s not true is it, you’re gone. Tony’s gone. Stev...He..He left.” your lip wobbled dangerously as hot tear’s burned your eyes, even uttering his name felt heavy on your tongue. It stabs at what is left at your soul.

“You always said to be careful but I was so blinded by my own stupidity and love that I.. I..” your chest burned, the lack of air entering your lungs make your body ache. Muscles pulled tight and tense around your bones causing your skin to prickle harshly. Then you felt a weight on your back that was unyielding and firm as your ears rang it was then you realised the weight was the result of smooth black and gold vibranium rubbing against your spin.

“Breathe (Y/N), c’mon breath for me darlin. It’s okay.. It’s gonna be okay.” you’re not sure if it was the soothing words or the cool touch of Bucky’s vibranium hand touching you with such a firm yet gentle pressure that makes you fall back into him.

You had been held before, by your mother when you fell off your bike for the first time. By Tony when he found you half-buried in rubble after a rather dicey mission. By Natasha on a rather drunken girls night as you stumbled home shoes in hand giggling into her red locks. By Steve, oh were you held by Steve. But this, this was different. Never had you felt so protected, so safe. When Steve held you, your whole body was set ablaze. But with Bucky, your whole body became butter soft. Sliding up against him as he mumbled into the crown of your head.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you darlin. It’s all going to be okay. I’m here now.” clinging to the soft grey of his jumper you cried and cried. Until the leaves stopped falling around you.

~~~

You sure you want to do this?” Sam looked over your head at Bucky, he had been asking you that question since the moment you entered the kitchen. And then in the elevator to the car park, then in the car driving into the little suburban row of houses. And again when you parked in front of the little yellow house.

“Jesus Sam, can you give it a rest? Your starting to annoy me!”

“I’m just making sure!”

“She said she’s sure, it’s her decision, not yours.”

“Is that why you brought that knife in your shoe Barnes, what you gonna jump a retired old man that’s real..”

“Oh bite me Wil..”

“Will you two just…”

“It’s nice to see not everything has changed” the three of you freeze, the third voice makes you turn to the now open door. The familiar cerulean eyes you had stared into countless times flashed at you. It makes the back of your neck crawl under his gaze, assessing the changes in you since that day he decided to tear apart your world.

“Would you like to come inside?” The question was broadly asked but you all knew who it was really for.

“Nah, me and Buck are gonna take a walk around the neighbourhood. Gotta make sure his old legs are fighting fit” You smirk as Bucky grumbles under his breath, shoving his hands further into his coat pockets. The tip of his nose turning red as the winter air stings at your cheeks, you watch slightly helplessly. Your eyes follow the two figures down the street before turning to meet Steve’s.

~~~

I hope you don’t mind I made us some tea.” You sit perched on the couch, like a bird ready to take flight at the slightest disturbance. That’s what you were now, a flightless bird still clinging onto the last branch as the tree continued to burn around you.

“Tea is fine.” your voice is monotone, eyes scanning around the room. Knickknacks of a life lived stung, not as much as you thought they would. But stung nevertheless, you watch as Steve shakily pours the tea into the cup. The brown liquid splashes dangerously for a moment and out of instinct you reach out to steady his hand. It’s frail and cold, skin pulled tight over bones, nothing like the strong hands that held you all those years ago. Once your cup was filled you cleared your throat.

“Do you have any..” But Steve was already pushing an open jar of honey towards you.

“You remembered?” you swallowed thickly, gently taking the slightly sticky mason jar from him.

“I never forgot, you always liked things a little sweet.” you couldn’t help the slight tug of your mouth.

“You cut your hair.” he muses, you sip your tea trying to compose yourself.

“Needed a change after what happened” a noise escapes Steve making you look up. Guilt, piles of it. Mountains buried for years as you break the last memory he has of you.

“I’m so sorr..”

“I hated you, you know.” Steve settles back into the armchair, head bowed with his hands clasped before him. Gone was your golden lover, now there was a man who had lived the life he had yearned for but broke yours into a thousand pieces in the process. Some of them still floating like ash around you.

“I hated you for so long, since the moment Bucky told me you were there that day you went back. I hated every day for the past two years.”

“Not as much as I hated myself.” a flare goes off within you.

“You made a decision Steve, you could have left her alone. But you didn’t.”

“No I didn’t” you stare into Steve’s eyes, you search his face. Trying to find the man you loved, the man you bled for. The man who you defined yourself for.

“It looks good, the hair. You look... different.”

“I feel different” you take another sip of tea, it was lukewarm and sat heavy in your stomach. “Did you get the life you wanted? Love? Family? Stability?”

“I did.”

“Was it worth it?” Steve looks at you for a long time, a slow smile spread across his mouth. You knew he was thinking back, reminiscing.

“It was, but,” he reaches across to you, taking both of your hands in his. Bringing them to his lips kissing your knuckles gently.

“I am so sorry for the pain I caused you, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but... Peggy, she was,”

“The love of your life, I know Steve.” you give him a small sad smile that really hits the final nail on the head.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever truly forgive you for what you did to me, you broke me, Steve. In every way, a person can be. I don’t even know if I’ll be the same person when all the pieces get put back together. But I know a small part of me, and over time it will grow, is happy you got what you deserved. You fought for so long, I assumed with me by your side it would make the fighting easier.” You squeeze his hands gently.

“But you were always going to be the man out of time, you were meant to take that chance. As much as it kills me inside because I burned for you, Steve. So brightly it consumed me I didn’t realise what was truly going on right in front of me.” your feel your chest clench as Steve’s eyes gloss over.

“I really did love you, for those first few years, I really did think I could live in the modern world with you... Then finding Bucky and the snap. And you were gone for so long. I didn’t know how to live... Then I saw Peggy again and part of me thought I could have a life with her again, we weren’t even sure the stones were going to bring everyone back.”

“But they did… and here we are Steve.” Your tea was stone cold as you held Steve’s hands, both of you mentally drained at the reality of what you both endured.

“We named our daughter after you.” his voice is so quiet you almost miss it, you let out a watery chuckle.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you and Natasha, she’s named after two of the most important women in my life. The women who saved me in those first few years out of the ice, who helped save the world.”

“I’m sure Margaret loved that,” the bitterness is laced thick in your words, instantly you regret saying them. “I’m sorry that wasn’t fair.”

“She understood what I sacrificed to be back with her. She was the one who suggested your name.” You feel your legs shake slightly, the room suddenly becoming too hot to bear.

“She knew about me?”

“I told her everything, she wasn’t best pleased with the way I handled our last conversation” Steve gives a wry chuckle before continuing. “She said she owed a lot to you, for putting me back together. She also knew I left you in the best hands I could trust, we owed our lives to you. Now you have to go and live the one you deserve, not for anyone else but you” There was that flash of determination in Steve’s eyes you were so familiar with, the one that was always present before charging into battle, into the unknown. That it made you surge forward wrapping your arms around his bone shoulders tears blinding your vision.

“What if I don’t know how to do that” Steve chuckles, wrapping his arms around you rubbing his hands up and down your back.

“Sweetheart, if anyone can do it. You can”

~~~

Sweet and thick, the air flowed around you like nectar. Offset slightly by the cool sharp contrast of the lake lapping at your toes. The Yellow summer dress rucked up to your thighs trying to get as much of the breeze on your skin as possible, sweat trickled down your neck as you turned your face up to the sky humming. The only thing cutting thought the sweet peaceful summer afternoon was the soft footfalls walking towards you and the soft grunt of a body dropping to your left.

“It’s hot as hell out here” Bucky grunted, you cracked an eye open glancing at him before closing it again.

“Well, you are wearing jeans and combat boots in August” you bluntly pointed out.

“Yeah but then how else am I gonna convey I’m mean and scary as hell” you didn’t need to open your eyes to know he was grinning like the Cheshire cat, just as he didn’t need you to open your eyes too see them rolling under your lids.

“You’re as mean and scary as Winnie the Pooh”

“Are you calling me fat?” you scoff finally opening your eyes to look at the blue eyes glittering before you.

“You are a lot thicker than you used to be Barnes”

“That’s because Wanda makes such good food” he groans falling back to lean on his elbows “It would be rude to refuse her”

“I’m sure she’d get over it” you grin nudging his calf with your foot, he grumbles for a moment before you laps into a peaceful silence.

“You doing okay?” the gravelly and sincere tone makes you tear your eyes away from a young starling taking flight off a low branch. The blue eyes you are met with are filled with nothing but affection, concern but also respect, the cool breeze whips around you again and you smile, as brilliant as the sun that shines down on you bathing you in the hopeful promise of tomorrow.

~~~

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #steve rogers angst #captain america angst #writemarvelousthings #my writing

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slashthedice · 4 years

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Ko-Fi Commission: Michael x OC for @crybabyassbitch

Thank you so much for letting me write for Calliope again! I can’t say it enough, you are amazing for being so patient with my inability to practice time management and all the random speed blocks life has thrown my way in the past few weeks. The inspiration for this piece absolutely swept me away so it ended up being quite long. This hospital is definitely not OSHA compliant. Calliope belongs to @crybabyassbitch.

Word Count: 4,772

Calliope blinked awake slowly. Her head was pounding, and her body felt strange. Her skull was heavy on her neck, but she lolled it to the side to better look at her surroundings. She blinked again, baying her eyelids to clear away the hazy film that obscured her vision. The smell of cleaner and floor wax stung her nostrils, burning at her lungs. She coughed as her respiratory system rejected the sterile smell and her head revolted, bolts of pain flashing in warning behind her eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut with a groan, waiting for the throbbing to dissipate. Once she no longer felt as though someone had buried an axe in her skull, she pried her eyelids back open. The room seemed clearer now, and moment by moment she was able to gain her bearings.

She was in a bed. Pristine white sheets had been tucked in about her body, cocooning her motionless form. The floors were a white linoleum flecked with reds and greys. The snowy color of the stark walls was only broken up by what may have been a handrail and an outlet here and there. A light wood door was shut tight, sealing her off from whatever waited on the outside. A narrow vertical window allowed only a sliver of artificial light to spill in a line across the linoleum.

She swiveled her head to look to her right, and found two uncomfortable looking arm chairs and a side table with a number of rumpled magazines stacked haphazardly atop each other. They were framed by a curtained window, but the gauzy curtains did little to prevent moonlight from seeping into the space. Calliope flicked her eyes upwards and noticed for the first time a monitor perched at the apex of a silver pole. She realized that it beeped slowly, almost cautiously, and was amazed that she hadn’t noticed the sound before. Following the lines of the wires that hung from it, she found that they attached to what appeared to be electrodes stuck to her chest.

Her jumbled mind seemed to click all at once as she came to the conclusion that she was in a hospital. How had she gotten here? Calliope racked her mind for a memory to explain her circumstances, willing away the pounding headache in hopes of achieving some mental clarity.

She gasped audibly as a flash of recollection overtook her.

Calliope had been driving, heading home for the day. She was running a bit late, and that fact had been weighing heavily on her. Her stomach was in knots, and her sweaty hands would have been trembling uncontrollably if not for her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. She would be in for it as soon as she walked through the door. Who knew what he would do? There was no way to predict what punishment was in store, because she couldn’t possibly predict him.

She had been distracted, distant, not paying attention to the road before her. On either side of the dark asphalt, reaching trees pushed their grasping branches towards the inky black sky, and she hadn’t noted the wailing of sirens or the lone figure that stepped out in front of her from the treeline. A deer? No, a man. A man with a bone white face. Or was it a mask?

She remembered swerving and the sound of screeching tires, and then the world had gone black.

Her heart beat stuttered as a sickening dread dripped through her insides. It couldn’t have been Michael. The thought repeated itself madly. He wouldn’t have been there, couldn’t have. Who found her? Who called the ambulance? She shook such useless queries from her mind. If it had been Michael, he would surely know where she was now,

Would he come to get her? If he did, would he take her back? Or was she too much trouble now? He would never simply let her go, but would he risk coming here to kill her?

She had to get out of there. Her best bet was to get home to him, to throw herself at his feet and to his mercy. Maybe he would still kill her, but it was her best and only chance.

Calliope pushed herself up on her elbows, and the room spun around her as if suddenly placed upon a merry-go-round. Her stomach lurched, and she choked down the urge to heave. She forced her body on, wincing at the tightening in her chest and the subsequent soreness. She hated to imagine the bruising that had no doubt been left by the seat belt.

The icy floor sent shockwaves up her legs when she swung them over the side of the bed and touched her toes to the linoleum. She felt unsteady, wobbly like a newborn deer. She tore the electrodes from her chest, and the heart monitor emitted a high pitched whining noise. She thought grimly that if she were to die tonight, there would be nothing the wailing machine could do to stop it.

She cast about for her clothes, but found nothing. She supposed the gown would have to do, and was only thankful that they had allowed her to keep her underwear on. However, a lone patient wandering the halls in the middle of the night would certainly attract attention. She couldn’t be caught if she wanted any hope of surviving.

Calliope placed her hand on the knob as she leaned against the door to peek out the window. She realized that the hall lights were out, a fact which struck her as odd but did not set off any warning bells. The only light came from emergency flood lights that were spaced equidistantly along the length of the hallway. Had the power gone out?

She turned the knob slowly, praying that it wouldn’t make a sound to alert any nearby medical personnel or security guards to her attempted escape. The door swung open soundlessly, and Calliope leaned into the hallway. She swung her head back and forth, but found the passage completely devoid of life. She was alone.

This was the only hospital in town, but it wasn’t very large. There was no way that there shouldn’t be a single solitary soul besides herself around. So as she crept onwards and rounded a corner to where the nurses station sat abandoned, she realized that something was very, very wrong.

She continued onward, her goal of escape now sidetracked by a morbid and dreaded curiosity. In her heart, she felt she knew what was happening, but she was far too scared to admit it to herself.

She felt all the blood drain from her face when she heard the first scream.

Despite being muffled by the hospital walls, it was shrill and strangled. The bloody sound of a prey animal alerting its companions with its final breath. Her heartbeat pounded wildly against her ribcage, a fluttering bird desperate for escape. One word blared at the forefront of her mind, a disaster siren that numbed her better judgement.

Run. Run. Run!

Calliope took off down the hallway, sprinting in the direction of the staircase as indicated by the illuminated exit signs. Her bare feet slapped against the polished floor, the sound deafening in her ears. He could hear her. He would find her.

In her mind, she could already feel him breathing down her neck. Were those his heavy footsteps behind her? Her frantic thoughts assured her that at any moment he would grab her by the hair and pull her backwards into her certain demise.

She stretched her arms forward as she approached the door to the stairs. Just a few more feet and she could run as quickly down the stairs as her wobbly legs would allow. She would run all the way home barefoot and nearly naked if necessary.

She shoved into the stairwell, nearly toppling head over heels down the flight before her. The silence had been broken by more than just her startled gasp and uncoordinated flailing. She heard the heavy sound of frantically labored breathing, and the slapping of sensible shoes as they ascended the stairs. Calliope watched with wide eyes as a woman rounded the corner.

The woman was pretty, with curly blonde hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. She was dressed in a nurse’s scrubs, the pale pink fabric splattered with blood. Her fear was tangible, and for a moment Calliope found herself unable to move beneath the oppressive weight of it. The nurse spotted her, pale as a ghost and illuminated by the emergency light that illuminated the landing. A brief spark of hope chased the terror momentarily from her eyes.

“You have to help me! He killed the others, he’s trying to kill me!”

He.

The air was sucked from Calliope’s lungs in one fell swoop. This poor woman couldn’t possibly know the depth of the situation. There would be no escape, not for either of them. Not now that he was here, bearing down upon them. She couldn’t move, and even as the nurse began to ascend the stairs towards her, she could feel his presence.

Like a ghost materializing from empty space, Michael separated from the shadows as he stepped into view. Calliope felt as if he had a hold on her heart even from afar, strangling it and halting its frenzied beating. The nurse wailed when she glanced back at him, the sound of her panic splattering against Calliope’s eardrums. Michael’s focus was fixed to his current prey, but she felt it in every atom of her body when his eyes lifted and found her.

She knew it. He was here to kill her. She had outlived her usefulness and he had come to rid himself of her once and for all. She didn’t want to die, there was so much of her life she had left to live.

No, she decided, she would live. She looked back at Michael directly, shaking off the blank, frozen posture of a deer trapped in the headlights. Maybe it was a feverish imagining of her own desperation, but she could have sworn there was an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. His head tilted downwards to the nurse once more, and a horrible understanding crashed down upon her.

Calliope could save herself, but it would cost this innocent woman her life.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. She saw the woman reaching towards her as she stumbled up the stairs. She could grab this woman and drag her with her, back through the door she had come in. She could lock it behind them, putting a barrier between them and Michael. Maybe that would give her the time she needed to escape and save this nurse whose only crime was having the misfortune of working at this hospital. Maybe they could outsmart Michael long enough to make it to safety.

It was wishful thinking.

Most likely, he would catch them elsewhere. He would kill the nurse first, make Calliope watch while he stabbed her in the belly and let her bleed out. He would show her just how futile her attempted altruistic disobedience truly was. Then he would wrap his hands around her throat and choke the life out of her. Escape was not an option.

She felt herself turning before she understood it was happening. She had made her choice without consciously realizing it. She took the first step away, and then time was moving once more and she was running through the door and into the hallway. The cries of “Wait!” and “Please!” from the nurse were like a punch to the stomach, but she did not slow.

Calliope slammed the door behind her. Despite the near violent shaking of her hands, her fingers found the lock and she forced the bolt into place. She took a step back just as the nurse threw herself against the solid wooden barrier.

She was close enough that Calliope could see the tears streaming down her face. She saw the fear and the confusion, the desperation and the bitter sorrow. The woman pounded on the door and screamed. The sound of it was indescribable, and Calliope thought it might shatter her.

A shape loomed over the woman and she screamed again, although this time it rang in her head like a death knell. The muffled keen ended in a choked gurgle. Calliope could not withhold the gasped cry that escaped her as the nurse’s body jolted and she coughed blood onto the thin window pane. The light fled her eyes. The tension in her form slackened. For a moment, Calliope held eye contact with a corpse, and then the woman she had sentenced to die slid to the floor and out of her view.

She was left watching the rise and fall of a familiar chest, tinted crimson by the film of blood on the reinforced glass. She knew she had to unlock and open the door, but the irrepressible primal urge to turn tail and flee nearly took hold of her. It was odd, but although fear made her hesitate, it was no longer a fear of Michael.

She couldn’t bear to see the evidence of what she had done. If she were to open the door, then she would be forced to look upon the accusingly empty face of the woman she had killed as surely as if she had been the one to wield the knife. The blood of this complete stranger was on her hands. Guilt dug its claws into her stomach, making her feel nauseous.

Michael shifted, a sign of his growing impatience.

Calliope stepped forward. Reached out. Grasped the lock. Twisted. Each and every movement was mechanical, slowed by her reluctance. She could have sworn the handle was slick with blood when she took hold of it.

She pulled the door open, choking on the bile the rose in her throat at the scent of death it released. She couldn’t look down at the corpse Michael stepped over so uncaringly. Calliope backed up to accommodate him, looking at the blank facade of his mask for any indication of his intentions. She had done what he wanted, dirtied her own hands and surely proven her devotion. It had to be enough.

He towered over her, looming in the low light of the corridor. The two of them were enveloped in darkness and the sound of Michael’s breathing behind the mask. A cold sweat had broken out across her skin. The paper thin hospital gown stuck to her back uncomfortably. Michael, like some horrific angel of death, was drenched in blood and viscera. A gory halo seemed to hang around him as a reminder of what carnage he was capable. Blood, fresh and shining, dripped from the knife in his hand and splattered in ruby droplets on the linoleum.

She wondered how many people he had killed that night. She wondered if she would be next.

Calliope took a tremulous, hesitant step forward. Her heart had finally begun beating again, and it did so with all the vigor of a runaway train. Entering his proximity felt like stepping into the jaws of a hungry lion, but she needed to show him that she was his. Always. She would not run despite every instinct she had begging her to flee.

She couldn’t remember him taking a step forward, but it seemed that he was suddenly overwhelmingly close. The energy rolling off of him was suffocating, and she found herself choking on every breath. He was just staring at her, but her knees shook beneath the weight of her body. Tears stung her eyes. This was the moment of truth. Michael was her judge, jury, and executioner.

She opened her mouth, hoping to explain that she hadn’t meant to get in the accident, that she had been trying to get back to him when he found her. No sound came out. She closed her mouth before trying again.

“Michael-”

The knife clattered to the ground and he lunged at her.

Calliope shrieked as his hands found her throat and he forced her bodily backwards. Instinct caused her to take hold of his forearms, to try to pry his iron grasp from her neck. This only spurred him on.

He squeezed and she began to panic. No, no, no, no. Not after she had all but murdered that woman whose body was cooling only a few feet awayl. Hadn’t she proved herself? Was it not enough?

The world went dark around her, dim shadow turned pitch black. She clawed futilely at the hands restricting her airway. They could have stood like that for mere moments or for centuries. As her consciousness slipped away, she could only focus on his eyes. They were barely visible, but she saw it. She saw the layer of ice that glazed them over. There was no feeling, not an ounce of compassion.

Calliope didn’t want to see anymore. She couldn’t bear to know how little she mattered to him. She closed her eyes, and accepted oblivion.

***

For the second time that night, Calliope awoke confused and in pain.

She was alive? How? Hadn’t Michael intended to kill her? If he was one thing, it was thorough when it came to the art of murder. If he had intended for her to die, she would be dead.

So he wanted her alive?

She rolled onto her side, taking in the space around her. She recognized it immediately, as it was her bedroom. She had somehow gotten back to her house, and the only viable explanation for such a circumstance, was that Michael had taken it upon himself to carry her here. Or had he driven? He certainly hadn’t taken her car, as she was fairly certain it had lost the battle with whatever tree she had crashed into. She supposed there must have been any number of choices from the vehicles that had belonged to his victims at the hospital.

Oh god, the hospital. The nurse.

The thought of Michael absconding with her unconscious body in the car belonging to the woman she had helped him kill made a guilt-ridden nausea pool in her gut. She gagged, but it had been so long since she had last eaten that there was nothing left in her stomach to expel.

She sat up with a painful slowness. She was naked, she realized, as the cool air of the old house ghosted across her skin. The room was dark, and if she knew anything about Michael, there wasn’t a single light on in the entire house. The moon was gracious enough to illuminate the space as best it could with its wan light. She spotted the thin hospital gown in a heap in the middle of the floor. It looked just as lost and out of place as she felt.

Calliope sat and stared at the article of clothing unblinkingly. She didn’t know what to do. Michael was surely somewhere in the house. He killed enough people at the hospital to have sated his bloodlust for at least a couple weeks. She did not even bother to try to imagine just what he might be doing. For all she knew, he was waiting for her to try to run, and when she did he would burst from a shadow and stab her until she was nothing but pâté smeared across the hardwood floor.

She sat there at the edge of her bed for an agonizing stretch of time. Her fraught nerves felt like they were dragged over hot coals with every heartbeat. Would he seek her out if she took too long? Maybe he thought she was still passed out and would leave her be, but she doubted she would be so lucky.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself before casting about the room for something to wear. There was clean clothing in a nearby hamper that she had told herself she would fold once she returned home for the day. Surely there was something in there she could throw on.

She stood, intending to head towards the promise of clothing, but as she did she spotted a shape in the shadows. She did not even have the presence of mind to make an attempt at withholding her startled gasp. Michael had been there the whole time. He had watched her sleep, had no doubt watched her war internally with her current reality and the weight of what she had done.

He stalked towards her unhurriedly, but she felt as though she was being circled by sharks. Calliope wanted to stay where she was, to face him and consequently her destiny with all the bravery she could muster. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much.

She stumbled backwards until her thighs hit the edge of the mattress and she tumbled onto her back. She scooted backwards until she could press herself against the headboard and curl her legs into her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, realizing just how raw her throat was.

She wasn’t sure what exactly she was apologizing for, and she also knew that words had never swayed Michael in the past, but desperation was kicking in and she was at the end of her rope.

He never faltered in his approach. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him when he finally reached her bedside. He didn’t make a move after that. He simply stood there, holding her gaze with a face full of pure indifference. There was none of the intensity she had felt from him in that cursed stairwell at the hospital. Gone too was the frigid emptiness when he had choked her. Now he just seemed… bored. She couldn’t parse what it could mean, and that fact scared her all the more.

He raised his hands, and for a breath she was certain he would choke her again, but instead he took hold of the edge of his mask. She watched as he peeled away his facade, revealing his all too familiar monstrously angelic features. Calliope was astonished every time she saw his face. He was perfect. Even the angry scar that had slashed through the left side of his face could not detract from his beauty. Had she not known what he was capable of, she would have been wholly unsurprised to see him in the pages of a magazine, modelling expensive clothes and perfumes. She had always wanted to kiss the soft bow of his unfairly cherubic lips, but knew that he would never allow such an act of intimacy.

There was the sound of rubber slapping against polished wood as the mask made contact with the floor.

Her breath caught as he made eye contact with her, holding her gaze until he bent forward, took hold of her ankles, and dragged her to the edge of the bed. His fingers dug into her thighs, squeezing the flesh with a pressure that bordered on bruising. He spread them with a painful slowness, and for the first time that night, Calliope felt a modicum of relief.

He still wanted her. She was still useful to him. She was safe. Or as safe as she could be.

Michael released one of her legs, using the hand to drag his fingertips over her inner thigh in a mockery of a gentle caress. His hands were calloused, their roughness standing in direct contrast to the softness of her more intimate areas. He paused, fingers mere centimeters from her bared sex.

She knew what he was doing. He was observing her. He probably wanted her to squirm. Begging him to touch her would do nothing, but he wanted to see her body weak with need.

Calliope stared at the ceiling. Even in the lowlight she could pick out the water-damage stains from when the roof had leaked last fall. Her life had been simpler then, when leaky roofs were the greatest of her concerns.

She sucked in a gasp between gritted teeth as he parted her folds and brushed his thumb over her clit. She was sure that at any moment he would pinch it, or bite her thigh, or do something else to cause her pain. She braced for what she was certain would come, but was left on pins and needles as Michael merely continued his exploration of her lower body.

Calliope’s eyes went wide as he slowly pressed a finger inside of her. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way Michael was being generous. He curled the finger experimentally and she choked down a moan. He repeated the motion and the wanton sound escaped her freely.

She could feel his eyes on her. She knew Michael was observing her closely as he pulled her pleasure out of her in increments. He wasn’t driving into her punishingly, but rather acting like a real lover might.

Enlightenment came to her like a speeding bullet.

This wasn’t punishment, this was a reward. He was pleased with her cooperation. She had allowed him to kill the nurse, and had only heightened the woman’s fear by offering her a glimmer of hope. She had made the game more fun for him with her inadvertent intervention.

Despite guilt insistently rearing its ugly head, she wanted to sigh in relief. But she didn’t dare. Just because he was pleased with her cooperation didn’t mean he wouldn’t shift to torturing her at the drop of a hat. Her life with Michael was a roller coaster and it was all she could do to strap in and hold on for dear life.

Michael pressed his thumb to her clit again, causing her hips to buck of their own volition. He used one hand to pin her pelvis to the bed and continued his ministrations. All of her nerves felt as though they were alight with electricity. She was unbearably wet, and his finger inside of her needy cunt felt like heaven. Long forgotten was the soreness in her body or the throbbing of her head. Calliope pushed aside her lingering nausea over her sins and culpability, and gave herself wholly to the once-in-a-lifetime feeling of Michael giving instead of taking.

Cautiously, she opened her legs wider, granting him easier access to her more intimate areas. He didn’t react at first, but then inserted a second digit to join the first. He curled his fingers inside of her, brushing against something that ignited fireworks behind her eyes. She bit down on her lower lip with such force that she was sure she would taste blood.

The feeling was overpowering, and made all the more intense by the knowledge that it was Michael doing it to her. She was alight and aflame, but she was happy to burn so long as she could prolong the moment.

He knew he could be her undoing, and he was all too unhurried in winding her up more and more until she would break. Calliope allowed herself to vocalize her pleasure, praying in the back of her mind that he wouldn’t stop, that he would let her ride it out to completion.

His thumb circled her clit in torturous circles and she arched into his touch. She was so close. So, so close. And she was certain that she would lose her mind if he stopped now. She imagined what it would be like if he replaced his hands with his mouth. She imagined those perfect lips on her cunt, imagined the feeling of his tongue. She could picture him looking up at her with a different kind of intensity. It was enough to finally push her over the edge into her climax.

Sparks continued to dance up and down her weak limbs even as she collapsed onto her comforter in an exhausted, sweaty mess. She closed her eyes and tried to bask in the afterglow, pushing away guilt and fear. She tried to simply be happy for a few minutes.

Michael pulled his hands from her sex, and she heard the rustling of fabric as he stood up straight. She could smell the copper of blood that still stained his clothes beneath the heady scent of sex. She pushed that away too, floating desperately in the remnants of bliss.

Distantly, she heard the sound of a zipper, and she knew that her reward was over. She was back to being a thing for him to use, and she was okay with that. It meant she was alive, and it meant that she would still be alive come the morning.

#kofi commission #Michael Myers #smut #crybabyassbitch

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wordsofaworld · 4 years

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Letting Go

My dad would tell me for years, when I was going through something and upset, he would say ‘just let it go’. It was so hard to find what this meant and how to do it.

For years I would try different things like; saying ‘let go’ to myself hundreds of times and waiting to see if it worked. Nope.

The things that i wanted to let go of, the things that were really hurting me, seemed too big for me to be able to just let go of. You see, I had many strong relationships with people, my family, my friends and even the relationship with myself. These all came crumbling down throughout the years and i carried that loss with me, every day, until it built up and triggered a dark depression.

I poured my body into exercise and my mind into creative writing and prose poetry, in an effort to change my physical self and understand my inner mind. I thought this would be my ticket to letting go of my troubles. Although a good start, it wasn’t. Still, something inside me knew that i didn’t have the answer and wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Life can get so hectic and our brains get so caught up in what’s going on in the physical world in front of us, it makes us feel like we are separate to the world were living in, we feel lonely even though there are 7 billion other people with us in the world right now. The overload of choices can make us feel overwhelmed and question are we making the right choices. Jeff Lieberman once said that ‘a side effect of having the most evolutionary, advantageous tool in your head is that you have no control over it’.

My first experience with spirituality and the spiritual world was when i was 16, on summer holidays and reading Eat, Pray, Love. This book spoke to me in ways i didn’t understand but what i did know was that i wanted to start meditating to get whatever it is that Liz got from it. Liz Gilbert, a woman who had never been religious in her life, suddenly speaking about and living through her ‘God’. And throughout her journey she was able to let go of a past life and experience a new one. I held on to her story.

I’ve been on a spiritual journey and what i’ve learned is that... before human beings existed, the world and everything in it, was conscious in itself at that time. All the tiny atoms interacting with each other and travelling at the speed of light, which seems impossible, because we can’t see it. But the energy that existed then, is what we are made of now. Evolution has developed that energy, or conscious experience and shaped it into a human being. When I used to meditate as a young teenager, before i experienced the ups and downs of mental health and consuming relationships and self beliefs, I had no troubles. I remember doing it everyday and feeling like I was separate to my body and i felt great.

Now i know, from hours of watching documentaries about quantum physics, ted talks about science and spirituality and studying the psychology of the brain.. meditation leads to the direct experience of feeling ‘oneness’ with what i call the universal soul. This is when i was truly able to let go of my past trauma. When i became aware that my body and my mind, were my limitation. Now i don’t live my life thinking about myself and my problems, but that which i can’t see (my soul) is actively experiencing my mind going through these programmed negative thoughts and beliefs, and i know that I exist in a way that is beyond perception. That my inner voice exists even though no one else knows its there. This inner voice, is your consciousness, your soul, your energy.

And through a ‘spiritual enlightenment’, I was able to let go.

11/04/2020

#prose #spiritualpath #spiritualjourney #spiritualinspiration #spirit work #spiritualguidance #spirituality #spiritualgrowth #i feel enlightened #enlightenment #spiritual enlightenment #wordsofaworld #scribbled words

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momaeder · 4 years

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LETTER

My dear friend Gutiérrez Please forgive me for having left the vatican without a word to you. I just could not bear the thought anymore of remaining in this situation I felt constrained. constrained by this system the ubiquitous logics and regulations of the economy, the legal system, the political system, the mass media, the church [1] Bound to a mortal body, by bonds as strange as they are powerful, my care for the preservation of this body tempts the soul to think only of self, and gives it an interest opposed to the general order of things, which it is still capable of knowing and loving [2] The only place where I was at peace was in my garden. Where I would watch the songbirds on their travel to africa. So free and close to the sky. Moving freely not because they had to but because they wanted to. I watched in silence over our mortal agonies, guide of messengers, bonds and cords, angel flying in limpid air, nimble as a rocket, leading us toward the other world. [6] it was on one of those afternoons when I heard a bird chirping, singled out and trapped between the branches of a bush the heaven had sent an ortolan So sweet that bird, and dear to me, May it sing on ever sweetly sang, among the blossoms free, Singing with such mastery. [4] I felt a youthful, holy, vital bliss In every vein and fibre newly glowing. [19] But not in holy reverence to our Lord, but in lust. [20] I could not let go of the images that arose in me and that came along with the thought of consuming the bird with all its feathers and freedom. The memory of an angel, or rather the becoming of a cosmos. [5] With this thought it dawned on me If moral precepts seem laughable, if the person preaching is irritating, for no one lives like an absolute angel, then vital experience matters eminently.The foolish life doesn’ t expose itself; the good one puts himself in danger, like intelligence when it wants to invent.It dives into this experience, into this adventure, exceptional and everyday, in which destitution, suffering, failure, frustration, mistakes and sin itself teach us more than every other thing in the world. [7] Religion connects the disconnected. But I will unbind the connected, unbind the priest more than he unbinds himself; unfasten the shackles, knots and connections.It is in this way that in space and the world atomism is profoundly irreligious : principles separated by the void. but if I disconnect the connected, then physics comes back down to religion.Then the atom is indeed the same word as templum, the temple, the distinction of local variety within the global space. [3] The restaurant I opened up. The palais ortolan. For my getaway I found a perfect site, bringing with it it’s own luggage like I am, yet willing to turn things around. The house that used to be an absolute identity, [...] in a determined guise, that is, as identical absolute

, it was posited as such by reflection over against opposition and manifoldness; [...] the negative of reflection and determination in general. [8] but it has grown tired of the Absolute anonymity of the representer and absolute loss of the selfsame [9] it wants more. It wants to understand me and my doings and moreso it wants to unveil to the world what I try to do secretly. Reversing the processes of becoming in my restaurant as to present it to the world. It has become a tracing element; it reveals the network of unobservable relations in the box. Because it’s not their sum that produces the cooks and ingredients. It’s the trace of blood on their shirts. It traces routes in the black box. [10] On the line that it is tracing, there is only matter and movement, movement which is more or less complicated, more or less delayed. [12] Yet The moment of the exclusion of madness in the subject who seeks the truth is necessarily hidden from the point of view of the architectonic ordering of the system [11] it does not completely get what I am doing, unveiling the goods and guests that enter my place, tracing the fumes and scents through the building projecting the red light of my pandemonic kitchen onto the veil I put up. But yet it cannot fully grasp my intentions, my way of dissolution. But somehow even if we do not work together, we work between the two. [14] It’s better to find a symbiotic equilibrium, even fairly primitive, than to reopen a war that is always lost because we and the enemy find renewed force in the relationship. [13] Even if it is a bit unconfortable for me that all the traces of my workings are reveald to the city it provides me with the spaces to hide in plain sight behind the veil of my apparent workings, to cultivate as much of my land as I require to grow the figs I need for [16] the birds to gorge on. To collect Locked in frozen layers, a universe of ancient creatures that awaits another chance at life. [15] To Transform substances into a dissolution of forms, a passage to the limit or flight from contours in favor of fluid forces, flows, air, light, and matter, such that a body or a word does not end at a precise point. [17] To move freely between earth, water, fire and air. Growing, cultivating, conserving, dissolving and cooking the artefacts I collect on my way. To create something that has never been sensed before. To witness the veil of maya being torn apart [21] as all the symbolic faculties of man are stimulated to the highest pitch of intensity; something never before experienced struggles towards expression, the annihilation of the veil of Maya, unity as the spirit of the species, even of nature. [22] To stare my guest in the eye as his whole world unravels and witness the revelation that. Dreams and madness then reveal themselves to be made of the same substance. [18]

on another note As my actions have drawn attention, the media, members of the public, and politicians have begun to pay attention. [23] Recently I have gotten a reservation from a name familiar to me from the Michelin Guide. I will report to you how it went as soon as possible. My dearest regards go out to you LENNY

[1] Schumacher, The Autopoiesis of Architecture Vol 2 [2] Rousseau, Collected Works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau [3] Serres, The Birth of Physics [4] von Strassburg, Tristan and Isolde [5] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [6] Serres, The Natural Contract [7] Serres, The Incandescent [8] Hegel, The Science of Logic [9] Derrida, Of Grammatology [10] Serres, Rome [11] Foucault, History of Madness [12] Deleuze, Bergsonism [13] Serres, History of Scientific Thought [14] Deleuze, Dialogues [15] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [16] Montesquieu, Persian Letters [17] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [18] Foucault, History of Madness [19] Hovestadt Buehlmann, Quantum City [20] Zizek, Less Than Nothing [21] Costelloe, The Sublime [22] Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy [23] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste

#palaisortolan #text

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spideyy-girl · 5 years

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Hope ~ Peter Parker (pt. III)

Summary: Y/N gears up and gets ready to go into battle, determined as ever to get her best friend and the love of her life, Peter Parker, back to her after 5 long years without him.

Fandom: MCU

Warnings: bit of swearing as per usual, depictions of violence, fighting, blood, death, and other gory scenes, angst and fluffy at the end. THIS DOES NOT FOLLOW MCU CANON! EVERYONE WHO HAS BEEN SNAPPED WAS AGED THE SAME AS THOSE WHO WEREN’T, SO PETER IS STILL THE SAME AGE OF Y/N, AND THEY ARE BOTH AROUND 21!!!!

Word Count: 10100 (28 pages wOAh)

A/N: finally, the long-awaited finale for Hope is here! Thanks to everyone who showed so much support for this series I love every single one of you honestly! Lmk if you guys want an epilogue? cause I don’t wanna be done with this series yet lol

If you haven’t read the first two parts, I would suggest looking through them before reading this!

PART 1 ~ PART 2 ~ MASTERLIST

~~~

Y/N walked towards the large platform in the middle of the room with the remaining of the Avengers, all in their rather cool looking matching time heist suits. She had to admit that she felt pretty badass, walking alongside the world’s mightiest heroes, going off to save the world like it was any other Tuesday for them.

After the young girl found out the formula of time travel and showed it to Tony, they had created a steady device and explained the idea to the team, which everyone quickly agreed with. They had been split up into three teams to go back in time and gather all six infinity stones before Thanos could find or use them. The teams were split up into Natasha, Clint, Nebula and Rhodey to get the soul and power stones, Thor, and Rocket to get the reality stone (or ether I guess), and Scott, Bruce, Tony, Steve and Y/N to get the Time, Mind, and Space stones.

The team now stood on the platform, putting their hands together as Steve performed his motivational speech, Y/N clung onto every word, still shocked that she got to suit up with them, and also a bit nervous. But she knew that she had the proper training if it came to it and if worse comes to worst, she has a quick solution handy in her pocket, one that she’s been carrying around for years.

“One round trip each. No mistakes, no do-overs,” Cap spoke as he looked around at everyone in the circle. “Most of us are going to a place we know; that doesn’t mean we should know what to expect. Be careful, look out for each other.” Y/N looked beside her up at Tony, who smiled reassuringly at her. “This is the fight of our lives, and we’re gonna win. Whatever it takes.” Steve finished his speech as they separated hands. Y/N looked over at Nat and gave her a smile, to which she returned.

“See you in a minute,” she says winking over at her mentee. She rolled her eyes but laughed. Suddenly the machine above them started to whir and spin around, and the mask on Y/N’s suit came up to cover her face. She felt her breathing start to go heavy but soon relaxed as Tony gave her hand a squeeze. She felt her body being compressed down into the size of an atom and swept away into the quantum realm, trying to control herself and following the lead of Tony just in front of her.

Before she knew it her feet hit the ground below her and her knees buckled from underneath her. As she regained her balance and looked up, her eyes went wide as she took in the scene in front of her. Just a few feet away, she saw the original Avengers, formed in a circle and gearing up for the infamous battle of 2012 against Loki. Y/N almost let out a squeal, remembering watching them do their work on the news when she was younger.

“You alright there?” Tony asked as he gave the girl a teasing smile. “You look like you’re about to explode.” Y/N shook her head but smiled back.

“Yeah I just, wow I was such a fan of you guys when I was younger,” she said as she watched on as they parted ways and did their own thing to take down as many aliens as possible. She then looked back up at Tony and smirked, one that reminded him of himself. “You guys were so much cooler back then. Now you’re all like, big old grampa’s.”

“Woah!” Tony said, giving her a playful look of pain as he grabbed his heart as if she had stabbed him with her comment. “Ouch, you know I understand why you would say that for Cap, cause he’s literally like, 100 years old but for me?”

“Guys we have to focus here,” Bruce caught their attention before Y/N could come back with another snarky comeback. “God sometimes I wonder how the two of you arent’s related, you’re like the same person nowadays.” Tony rolled his eyes, looking back out onto the street.

Before they could try and cross the street to get to the Stark Tower, a giant and raging green Hulk came down from the ground, pounding robots into the ground and flinging them around like ragdolls. As the group looked back at Bruce he covered his face, embarrassed of what he used to be. Steve told Bruce and Scott to find Dr. Strange and the time stone while he, Tony, and Y/N went up to the Stark tower to get the mind and space stone. As they got in and saw the past Avengers, Steve departed to get Loki’s staff, containing the mind stone, while Tony and Y/N worked on getting the Tesseract.

Y/N hid out in a small conference room out of sight, since Tony didn’t want her directly participating in the mission, much to her demise. She opened her laptop, which she disguised as a briefcase. She quickly typed in the password before pulling up multiple programs on the small screen, including a camera view from Tony’s glasses and a controller for a small robotic device she’d use to slip around without being realized.

“You sure this is gonna work, kid?” Tony asked quietly through the comm, causing Y/N to roll her eyes.

“Yes, Tony. I’ve been working on this model forever, I know what I’m doing,” she sassed back, looking through a small camera on the spider-shaped device she originally created with Peter. “Just remember I’m the reason we’re all here. I’m not just a pretty face, Stark.”

“Yeah yeah,” he mumbled as he watched his past self pack up the Tesseract in a briefcase. “Ok, spider-girl, release your little spiderling.” He says dramatically as the spider crawls from his pocket and makes its way onto the roof. Y/N chuckled at the nickname before focusing on controlling the spider-robot, the decoy lowering itself onto past Tony’s shoulder without anyone noticing. She couldn’t help but let out a little squeal at her excellent work. She watched through the small cam as the Avengers (excluding Hulk, who was told to take the stairs) made their way into the foyer of the building.

Tony watched along as his past self walks along with the other original Avengers and Loki. Alexander Pierce and his crew walked towards them as present-day Tony gave Y/N the signal to drop down. Y/N dropped the spider drone into Tony’s beard and then down onto his chest, the almost microscopic robot slipping through and into his arc reactor. She explores for a while until she finds what Tony had told her would cause the distraction.

“Is this really a good idea, Stark?” Y/N asked worriedly, not thinking of the consequences until then.

“Yeah, sure. It’ll only cause me to go into a tiny cardiac distract,” Tony stated casually, and Y/N’s eyes widened immediately, stopping the robot.

“What?!” She says, shaking her head. “Okay, no. No no no no no. I’m not gonna do this, we can figure out something else it’ll be fine.”

“Y/N, hey, calm down,” Tony says, his voice going lower. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I mean I’m still here, so that’s gotta mean something right? If I died I wouldn’t be here.” Y/N scoffed at his words, but still, her hands were shaking, not wanting to hurt someone she had gotten so close to. She couldn’t bear if anything happened to him.

“No shit, Sherlock,” she whispers back into the comm, but loud enough for him to hear it. He rolled his eyes and continued to watch as Pierce tried to snatch the case away from his hands. “Time’s running out, Y/N. Pull my pin!”

“Okay, okay, give me a second.” She said as she maneuvered the tiny device to the said area with a small pin that helped keep everything in the arc reactor together. “But if you die, Tony, it’ll be your funeral. Literally.” She comments back to try and defuse the tension she felt. He quietly gave her another reassurance before giving the signal. With the small metal pinchers, Y/N pulled the cord in the arc reactor and through the other camera through Tony’s glasses she saw past Tony fall to the floor just as Pierce was taking the case containing the Tesseract from his hands.

The metal case fell to the floor with a hard clank and 2012 Tony followed soon after it, shaking slightly on the floor. Pierce and his crew members, as well as the other Avengers there, kneeled down beside him and tried to figure out what was wrong.

The small metallic robot climbed out from Tony’s reactor and pushed the case over to Tony, who was disguised as a staff of security. He discreetly picked it up and began walking away from the scene as medics began rushing to help the famous billionaire on the floor. What they didn’t know was that they weren’t as discreet as they thought.

“Good job, kid. Meet me in the alley, I’m gonna-” but was cut off as a big green angry hulk burst through the door, knocking down Tony and flinging the tesseract out of its case and down the hallway. The bright blue square landed right at the feet of Loki, who looked down and quickly picked it up, using its powers to teleport him out of the tower as people were too distracted running in terror.

Thor tapped his hammer against Tony’s chest, causing him to stop shaking and blink frantically, looking at his surroundings. “Where’s the case?” Y/N heard him ask. Her face dropped as she moved to drone to look all around the room, finding no clue where the Tesseract or Loki himself was.

“Fuck this,” she mumbled, working her computers to try and get into the security tapes, looking for what might’ve happened to either of them. “That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?"

Tony sat himself up on his elbows looking around to see people screaming and running away from the Hulk, who was screaming about no stairs, and to his other side, officers looking for Loki and the Tesseract. “Shit.”

Y/N quickly packed up her computers and put them back into her bag, running out to meet Tony at the alleyway where they had come in. She found an abandoned car parked beside it and saw Tony already sitting in its head in his hand as he observed the destruction outside.

“What the hell happened, Stark?” She said as she got into the back seat. “We had the Tesseract, where did it go?” Tony sighed, closing his eyes as he responded, trying to keep calm.

“I don’t know what happened, Y/N,” he said tensely. “I know we had it but now we don’t, okay? Something happened, I don’t know what.”

“Well, you better fucking figure it out!” She yelled, her ears going red as she got more angry by him not seeming to care. “Did you not hear what Cap said? No do-overs! We fucked up so what are we gonna do now!”

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do!” He screamed back turning to face her. He sighed, running a hand down his face and closed his eyes. He stayed silent for a bit, using the silence to calm himself down. He knew she was only acting like this because she was scared. And honestly, he was too. “But we’ll figure something out. I promise. Everything will be okay.”

Y/N gulped to hold back her screaming, not wanting to rant to him about every little thing that had already gone wrong, and how she was starting to lose hope. Then Cap jumped down from a balcony, one hand propping up the shield while the other gripped Loki’s staff.

“Cap,” Tony caught his attention. Steve saw them in the dirt-covered car as he walked towards them. “We’ve got a bit of a problem here.” Y/N scoffed, shaking her head as she let her stress get the better of her again.

“A bit of a problem?” She asked sarcastically. “More like we’re in deep shit!” She said getting out of the car and slamming the door shut with surprising force. Tony rolled his eyes. Steve looked between the two, his eyebrows scrunching up in confusion.

“What happened?” he asked, looking at Y/N. She laughed ironically, starting to pace along the alleyway.

“We lost the goddamn Tesseract is what happened!” She said as she aggressively kicked a piece of debris on the ground. “It’s gone and now the plan isn’t gonna work. We don’t have enough Pym particles to go back again. It’s over, we’re done.” She leaned down and sat against the wall, leaning her head back.

“Are there any other options with the Tesseract,” Steve asked, causing Y/N to roll her eyes at his always enthusiastic goody-two-shoes energy.

“No. No there’s not,” she said annoyed as she stood up and walking over to him. “You said it yourself, there are no do-overs. If we use that last Pym particle, we’re never getting home.”

“Well, if we don’t try, no one else is going home either,” he stated. Y/N sighed, squeezing her eyes shut as she leaned against the car. She knew he was right. But what was the use of going back again to get the stone if they couldn’t get back in the present to put it in the gauntlet?

“I got it,” Tony said suddenly, getting out of the car. Y/N’s head shot up as she stood up and followed him as he got out of the car himself. “There’s another way to get the Tesseract and acquire new particles. We’ll take a stroll down memory lane. Military installation Garden State.”

“Why were they both there?” Steve asked, causing Y/N to look between the two as they continued their conversation. Tony shrugged.

“They were both there for a…” he trailed off as he thought. “I have a vaguely exact idea,” he defended himself. Cap gave him a look, the same one he gave Y/N when he caught her doing something she shouldn’t have around the compound or when she sasses one of the other team members a bit too much.

“How vague,” he asked.

“Woah, okay, what’s going on?” Y/ finally butted in. “What are you guys talking about? Where are we going?” She asked eagerly as they started entering in the time date and coordinates.

“Correction, we’re going. You’re travelling back to the present to give this to the others,” Tony said as he handed her Loki’s staff. Her eyes bulged out as she stood up straighter.

“Tony, I can help. I’m not letting you guys go alone, I’m coming with you,” she stated strongly as she put her suit up. Tony shook his head.

"I trust you with this, kid, okay? get back to home base, we’ll be there by the time you get back.” He said as he and Steve put up their own suits. He took her hand and entered in the present-day coordinates to get back home as she looked at him like he was crazy, which she currently felt he was.

“What?! But Tony-!” She started, but before Y/N could argue, she felt the ground sweep from under her feet and she was being sent back to the present day, Loki’s staff still held tightly in her hand.

As she regained her balance, she looked around the room, seeing that everyone had their respective stone’s, including Tony with the Tesseract. But something seemed off. She did another swift headcount of everyone and realized someone had to be missing.

“Where’s Nat?” She asked, looking around at everyone’s confused faces before looking at Clint, whose eyes were red and glassy. She watched as he looked up at her, shaking his head slightly as a fresh tear rolled down his face. Y/N felt her chest tighten as her mouth opened slightly, letting out a shuttering breath. She knew that face, she wore the same expression five years ago.

She felt tears well up into her eyes, not even thinking of losing a mentor, someone she considered family during the process of getting those who were snapped away back. She felt tears starting to form in her own eyes as regret and sadness took over the whole team.

~~~

The team had taken a quick break to take a moment to mourn their friend, to some even their family. It was odd to not have Natasha around, making small sarcastic quips at any person in the room when you’d least expect it. Y/N quickly splashed her face with water, making the tears on her face earlier vanish as she went back into the room where Tony had just completed the infinity gauntlet 2.0 and everyone was arguing over who should snap their fingers.

“What do you think is coursing through my veins right now?” She heard as she exited the ladies bathroom just beside the room. She leaned against the doorframe as she answered.

“Cheez Whiz?” she asked sarcastically as she came up to stand in between the god and Tony. Thor looked down, confusion on his face as he pointed at her and she, in return, gave him a sly smile.

“Lightning,” he emphasized. Y/N sucked in a breath and averted her gaze as he looked expectantly at Tony, who let out a sigh as he pinched his eyebrows together in concentration.

“Lightning won’t help you, pal. It’s gotta be me,” she heard Bruce say from behind her as he walked to the group. She listened intently as he continued. “You saw what those stones did to Thanos; it almost killed him. None of you would survive.”

“Well, how will we know if you will?” Cap said seriously. Y/N looked at Tony, who looked down at her and gave her a knowing glance, that showed he knew it was true. Y/N nodded slightly as Bruce continued.

“We don’t. But the radiation is mostly gamma. It’s… it’s like I was made for this.” The team looked around before Tony stepped out and started explaining the rules of the stones.

“Remember, everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago, we’re just bringing them back to now. Don’t change anything from the past five years,” he said and Bruce nodded, looking at his arm which he prepared to hold the gauntlet in.

The team around him suited up. Y/N felt the cool nanotech of her newly modelled suit slide over her skin, occasionally catching a thin hair. The spiderman-inspired outfit was of the colours white, black, and magenta, with fine reflective webbing details along the side of her arms, legs and torso. She stood behind Tony as he created a protective shield in front of them and Clint on the other side of him.

Metallic barn doors shut around all doors and windows in the room and around the compound. Bruce put on the glove holding the infinity stones and immediately began to scream in pain, doubling down to the ground as he struggled to push his fingers together to snap.

“Take it off! Take it off!” Thor said as he stepped towards Banner, who was still struggling to stay upright. Steve held out his hand to Thor as a sign to stop.

“No, wait! Bruce, are you okay?” Steve asked as he looked at the green giant. Bruce continued to moan but nodded slightly. Y/N stood back further as she heard Banner scream loudly and saw his fingers coming closer together and finally the sound of the metal hitting metal in the snap.

There was a surge of power that almost knocked her over, stumbling to catch her balance. She heard a loud thump as Bruce’s body finally collided with the floor, unconscious. Many people ran towards him to help but Y/N just looked around. She felt her feet carry her to the window as they opened again, seeing birds chirping happily outside.

“D-did it work?” Y/N mumbled as the mask of her suit disappeared from around her face. Everyone turned to look at where she was, seeing multiple new birds coming into sight, planting themselves on a nearby sapling. A phone started to ring, and Clint walked over to his cell vibrating on the glass table, a picture of his beloved wife displayed on the screen. He picked it up and started talking to her.

Tony walked over to Y/N, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, bringing her attention over to him. He wore a giant smile and even looked like he was in tears. He squeezed her shoulder as she let out a gasp, hand covering her mouth as the biggest smile spread across her soft features. She laughed softly, in disbelief but so happy. Tony matched her actions and pulled her into the biggest hug, and she felt comfortable as she placed her head on his chest.

“We did it, kid,” he mumbled into her messy hair, feeling her locks dampen with his tears. “We finally did it. They’re back.” Y/N laughed again into his suit as she pulled him closer and hugged him tighter, closing her eyes as she felt true relief finally wash over her entire being. But of course, that wouldn’t last for long.

Next thing she knew she was being flung across the compound while a missile hit just outside the window. She felt herself fly through multiple layers of brick and glass, piercing her skin and knocking the breath from her lungs. She coughed heavily as the dust from the rubble entered her system, trying to balance herself enough to stand up and analyze the situation.

“Tony?!” She screamed, looking for the older man that she was just in contact with. “Tony?! Cap?! Thor?!” She screamed any name that came to mind, hoping for someone to hear her, and possibly give her an explanation. She was limping, pain shooting through her ankle whenever she out the slightest pressure on it. It was definitely broken. She felt the metallic taste of blood entering her mouth, and she was scared to say she didn’t know where it came from, her now bleeding nose or the small cuts that littered her cheeks and lips.

“Y/N?” She heard a voice say and sighed with relief. From the dust came Clint, holding something in his arms, the Infinity Gauntlet. “Hey, I got you, you’re okay,” He reassures her as he puts an arm across her back and under her arms, supporting her weight so she can walk. “Tony, I’m with the kid, she seems okay.”

“Is he okay?” she asked quietly when Clint found a safe spot. He looked at her and nodded.

“yeah he’s fine, but almost had a heart attack when he couldn’t find you,” he says, offering her a smile before his face went stoic again. “But he’s here. Thanos. He found us.” Y/N’s eyes went wide, her eyebrows furrowing into a line of confusion. She blinked a couple of times as she processed the new information.

“What? But– but Thanos i-is dead? He’s dead! You said he was dead!” She screams as she feels her heart rate quicken, her breath refusing to meet her lips as if it was stuck inside her throat. Clint reached down and held her hand, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hands as a calming method he has seen Tony use on her before.

“I know, I thought he was gone too,” he whispered, looking back at the dark tunnel before turning back to her. “But this is a different Thanos, he followed us from the past.” Y/N felt her throat close up, dark thoughts filling her mind. Fuck. This was all her fault.

There was a sound that came from down the tunnel, almost like a snarl. The pair went quiet, looking towards the source. Clint slowly took out an arrow from the collection he kept on his back, placing it in his bow and shooting it straight down the line, the end glowing up– revealing about ten or twelve alien-looking dogs. Y/N let out a breath as the two scurried to get up. Clint held up her weight as they ran, eventually settling to pick her up as he ran from the dogs.

As they came to a split in the road, Clint threw her to a different path, signalling for her to run and hide as he continued to run down the other path, provoking the dogs to follow him and leave her. Y/N limped down the path, using the wall to support her as she hopped along. Soon she came across a mop of messy hair frantically looking around the rubble.

“Tony,” she tried to say but found that her voice was scratchy and weak. “Tony, I’m right here.” The said man turned around the stress on his face leaving as he saw the girl he was looking for. He quickly wrapped an arm around as Clint had earlier and walked her away from the scene.

“God, hey kid. You hanging in there?” He said, checking the area before leading her to a small space of coverage under a piece of rubble that looked like it used to be the floor. She nodded in reassurance before grabbing his arm and pulling him back up.

“I need you to take me to our lab, now,” she said urgently and he obliged, not even thinking of asking why. He directed her to a small metal door attached to a broken piece of wall, typing in a code on the damaged keyboard before pushing the heavy doors open.

She rushed over to her part of the lab, the barely working glass screen table popping up and she quickly punched in a few passwords before looking in a locked drawer for one of the small viles kept safely there. Tony looked from her face to the small tube, confusion painting his face as he watched her pop the lid, hesitating before bringing it to her lips and gulping down the small amount of dark red liquid.

Y/N felt the iron tasting liquid slid down her throat as she swallowed it uncomfortably, immediately feeling the effects. Her eyesight went black and her head started to spin. She went to grab the nearest object her hold herself up, the dizziness and broken ankle not being the best combination. Tony rushed to her side, grabbing her other arm.

“Y/N, what the hell was that,” Tony said, concern laced his voice as he watched the girl groan, squeezing her eyes shut and throwing her head back. She gulped before answering in short breaths.

“That answer may vary between poison and what I like to call a spider-serum,” she replied, sarcasm still in use through her pain. Tony looked at her with bewilderment in his eyes, as this was not a project approved by him or not even one they’ve talked about. She gritted her teeth together, continuing to moan out in pain as she collapsed to the floor, Tony calling out her name.

As Y/N got her self together, she placed both hands on the desk in front of her nailed into the floor, using it to pull herself back on her feet. She felt everything in her body changing, she could hear the blood rushing through her veins, she could smell the smoke from across the battlefield outside the reinforced metal door, she could feel the small hairs on Tony’s arms tickling her own as he tried to shake her out of her trance.

“Y/N! Kid come on, snap out of it. What the hell was that?” He said as he continued to shake her. She was going to bring a hand up to slap his own away but instead found them stuck to the table. As she tried tugging again, the steal table breaking off the floor while still sticking to her hands. Y/N and Tony looked in shock.

Y/N then began to laugh, her eyes wide in disbelief. She widened her hands and the desk fell from her palms, crashing against the floor. “Holy shit,” she whispered as she looked at Tony, who was looking from the now broken table to her. “It worked! Oh god, I can’t believe it actually worked!” She screamed as she jumped up and down and headed towards the door.

“No no no, what the hell was that?!” Tony asked. Y/N rolled her eyes, still smiling as she impatiently grabbing his arm and dragged him outside towards the fight. She smiled at him, a great look of success overgoing her as she showed him the potion she had been perfecting for the last couple of years.

“Well, I took a blood sample of Peter’s and checked it to see what kind of stuff the spider had injected into him,” she said as Tony gave her a weird look. “Don’t ask how I got it, I don’t really know either. But as I analyzed it further, I had an idea to take the sample and separate the effects of the injection, and used it to create a serum that would give me powers similar to Peter’s, using the poison of his spider to create powers of my own.”

Tony looked at her mesmerized, then looked at the stash of dark red vials in the drawer. He lifted his eyebrows and nodded, impressed beyond words of the young girl’s discovery. Then he paused and looked back at her. “Wait, so you technically drank spiderboy’s blood?” He asked suspiciously. Y/N opened her mouth to respond but didn’t quite know how.

“I-” she paused, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Okay, no, we don’t have time for this conversation right now. There’s a giant purple grape out that waiting to be slain.” Tony nodded and soon the two headed out the door without any further questions, saluting each other before Y/N darted off at an irregularly fast tempo.

She felt the wind blow rapidly against her hair as she ran through the bad guys, dodging hits with swiftness. Of course, she wasn’t fast like Pietro but definitely was faster than she usually was, which proved to be a great advantage while on the battlefield. Y/N saw Tony, Thor and Steve fighting against Thanos in the background as she thwiped out a web and flew into the air, grabbing one of the Chiari and slamming it into another group coming towards her.

She continued to fight when suddenly she felt a tingly sense that made her head shoot towards Steve, watching as he stood up by himself, his shield broken in his hand, as he prepared to single-handedly fight the titan. Y/N ran towards him when she heard a voice in her comm, that definitely wasn’t from anyone on their battlefield.

“On your left…”

She seemed to distantly recognize the voice but couldn’t quite place it. That is until a portal appeared beside Steve, made of orange sparks that she had remembered. There, the king of Wakanda, T'Challa, his younger sister, Shuri she thought her name was, and another girl who was dressed in a warriors uniform and a shaved head, holding a golden spear stood beside the king.

After that, portal after portal began to form around the atmosphere, with more battleships, superheroes and warriors of all kinds of countries and galaxies appearing through them and getting into their battle positions. Y/N smiled proudly before running up to the giant team and taking her place next to the Wakandian princess, lunging down into the iconic spidey stance and getting ready to avenge the rest of the universe. She looked at Steve as he watched everyone take their places among him.

“Avengers…” he starts as he holds out his hand and Mjolner flies into his grip. “Assemble!”

Battle cries and the sound of machines whirring and flying filled the atmosphere as they ran towards the alien army opposite of them. Y/N flicked out her wrist and grabbed onto one of the giants floating motherships and swung low to the ground, knocking out multiple enemies at once. Once she landed on the ground she continued to fist fight them off of her one by one, like Natasha had taught her for so many years.

But as good as she was doing at the moment, it wasn’t hard for her to get overpowered when a bunch jumped on her back at once, knocking her down to the floor, struggling to keep them from ripping out her skin. She tried to push them off, and successfully webbed some to the ground to keep them off of her, but it wasn’t enough to handle them all.

“Hey, watch out!” A boyish voice sounded through her comms as all the aliens were kicked right off of her, giving her a chance to stand up and fight off the rest, her rescuer standing behind her, back to back, as they both slung down the dogs and threw them across the battlefield. Y/N stabbed some with her pincer things Tony put on her back.

Once they were gone, Y/N grabbed the boy behind her and pulled him into a quieter place as she unmasked herself, looking expectantly at the boy. “Peter?” She said, her voice breaking as she looked at the Iron Spider suit, which disappeared from his face, revealing his unruly curls and a just as shocked look on his face.

“Y/N?” He whispered, disbelief in his eyes as she saw a single tear escape his brown orbs and gently slide down his cheek. He looked the same, but at the same time looked more mature, and she was relieved that he had seemed to grow while he was gone, or else the near future situation would be a bit awkward. “W-what are you doing here?” Y/N giggled a bit, feeling her own hot tears sliding down her dirt and blood covered cheek as her delicate hand went up to grab his own, wiping his tears.

“I came to save you, dummy,” she joked. Peter smiled at her, placing his hands on her waist. Although it wasn’t as long for Peter in the soul stone as it was for Y/N while on Earth since he was in a coma-like state pretty much the whole time, he had missed her honey-coated voice and sickly sweet smile. He had waited too long for this.

They watched each other for a little longer, analyzing the small details that had changed around their faces since the years passed before Peter leaned down and attached their lips together for a very long-awaited kiss. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut as her hands trailed back to rest on the back of his neck, playing with the small hairs at the nape of his neck as she felt the cold metal of his suit brush against her fingertips.

As they parted, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, her sweat mixing with his as they kept their eyes closed and smiled at the feeling. Even though they were in the middle of a war, Y/N has never felt more at peace than that moment while she was in his arms.

Suddenly she felt the fine hairs on the back of her arm and the back of her neck stand up, and without thinking she extended her arms and traps the alien running towards them in one of her webs, throwing it up before pulling it back down to the ground, crushing it.

Apparently, Peter felt it too because when she looked back to him he was already looking back at the now-dead dog. His head turned back towards her, his mouth hanging open a bit as he let out a breath, a beautiful smile painting his lips as he grabbed her face, looking her in the eye.

‘God, I love you so much,“ he mumbles as he brings her mouth up to his again, this kiss a bit more passionate than the last. Y/N laughed into the kiss as she brought her arms around his neck and played with his hair. She pulled him back a bit, their noses still brushing against one another as she pecked him on the lips.

"I love you too,” she whispered, looking into his eyes with such adoration he almost exploded right there with the adrenaline he was feeling just having her this close to him. He smiled wider as he pecked her on the lips; once, twice, and a third time brought her into a proper kiss.

“Y'know as heartwarming as this moment is, you lovebirds realize we’re still fighting a war,” someone said from behind them. They quickly pulled away, stepping back from one another to face Tony Stark, a smirk on his lips as he examined the blush on the young adult’s faces, bashfully looking away from one another.

“Oh shut it, Tony. I deserve this at least,” she shook her head as she looked at the perfect boy beside her, someone she had known pretty much her whole life and had been in love with for just as long. Peter smiled at Tony and walked over to greet him, excited to see his mentor again after so long.

“Mr. Stark! Holy cow you will not believe what has happened to me,” Peter began to ramble as he walked up to him and started to do his usual over-exaggerated hand gestures. “Do you remember when we were in space? Right? And I got all dusty? Well I must have passed out and Dr. Strange said we went to the Soul Stone and we were in like a coma for like five years, and when I woke up, Dr. Strange was there too and he was like 'it’s been five years we have to go’, and then he started doing that yellow sparkly thingy, uh, that he does and… what are you doing? …oh.” Peter stopped when Tony wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Tony felt such a great sense of relief as he hugged Peter, never realizing that the kid was like his first son until it was too late and having to wait so many years to hear his voice again. He placed a kiss on his cheek, in a fatherly way, and opened his eyes, smiling at Y/N who looked so happy.

“This is nice,” Peter said before they pulled away, Peter turned back at Y/N and smiled at her, his grin reaching his sparkling eyes. Tony patted his shoulder.

“I think it’s time we get back into battle,” he stated, his mask going back over his face as he got his repulsors ready. “You two don’t take too long, and NO funny business.” The pair nodded as he flew back into the air, going to help Banner or the Hulk. Peter turned back to Y/N.

“Wow, this is so awesome,” he said as he walked back to her, holding her arms as he admired her suit, which looked similar to his. “You’re like, my spider-girl sidekick.” Y/N laughed and pushed his chest playfully.

“I’m nobody’s sidekick, Parker,” she said. “But I can be your… partner?” Peter smiled and blushed. He bit his lip as he looked her over again, his grin contagious.

“In what way?” He asked, trying to sound sly but sounding more scared of the answer. Y/N laughed and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“In whatever way you want me to be,” she said, kissing his cheek before putting her mask back on and saluting him before swinging of back into battle. Peter stood there with a red blush crawling up his neck and feeling breathless, his smile growing wider if that was even possible.

“Awesome,” he muttered before his mask also went over his face and he went to go help as well.

Y/N was swinging over the battle, occasionally knocking out an airborne enemy in her way if she had to. She scanned through the people fighting, looking for anyone who needed help. But then her web was seemed to be disintegrated as she fell hard onto the floor, another lazer like beam hit right beside her just barely grazing her shoulder. She saw the witch people? (that’s what Tony called them at least) started to make barriers which she quickly ran under. She looked around for Tony and Peter, but couldn’t see them. Until she heard the latter’s voice through her comm.

“Help! Somebody help!” He said, sounding panicked and she heard his grunts as he tried to fight off the aliens. Without thinking of the possible dangers she ran out to help him, her spider-senses helping her locate him. She saw him under a bunch of the aliens and shot a web up.

“Peter, duck!” She said as she rammed through the enemies, knocking them over like bowling pins. She grabbed Peter around the waist and tugged him into her as she shot a web and took them out, grabbing onto Mjloner which had flown right above.

“Aw, thanks, Y/N,” Peter said as he put his head into her neck, which she couldn’t help but blush at. She thought it was cute how their roles were sort of reversed and he was just so baby.

Y/N continued to ride onto the hammer until she saw that it was heading straight towards one of the flying motherships. Her eyes went wide as she looked for a way to get off. She saw Valkerye, one of Thor’s friends, and called out for her as a warning before throwing Peter up so he could get the gauntlet back to Scott.

Y/N then stood on the small handle of the hammer before using her web to fling herself forward, jumping up to get on top of the ship as the hammer continued to destroy it from the inside. As she jumped off and landed surprisingly gracefully on the ground, she looked up to realize that the ships were no longer firing at them, but at something in the atmosphere above.

Y/N squinted before watching a figure move at lightning speed straight through one of the ships firing at them, exploding the whole thing. Y/N smiled, knowing who it was as she ran down to help Peter up, who had just almost been hit by one of the beams.

“Hey, you alright?” She asked softly as she grabbed his arm and helped him get up, him going to get the gauntlet which had escaped his grip after falling. He nodded, his mask going back as hers did.

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” he reassured as he held onto her shoulder for support. “That was so badass, by the way. When I was like, stuck, you know, under those aliens. And then you came and was like wham! and like kicked them off and then you just sorta like picked me up and then you just like threw me onto that flying horse, which is crazy. But you like saved me and that was so cool. Like really cool. Thanks.” Peter rambled as he looked at her in awe, which she gave a sweet smile in return.

Before he could comment any more someone landed right in front of them. Captain Marvel smiled and nodded at Y/N, as she returned the gesture, and looked at Peter, who was still holding tightly onto the infinity stones. Peter looked at her with wide eyes and in awe.

“Hi I-I’m Peter.. Parker,” he said shyly. Captain Marvel smiled at him, looking between the two teenagers.

“I know,” she said as she gave Y/N a knowing glance. “Hey, Peter Parker. You got something for me?” Peter looked at the gauntlet before looking out at the army that was racing towards them, feeling scared at the moment.

“I don’t know how you’re gonna get through that,” he said as he delicately handed the glove to Carol as the other female Avengers and superheroes gathered together around her. Y/N felt immediately at home and looked over at Peter reassuringly as Wanda landed by her side.

“Don’t worry,” Y/N said with a smile as her mask got on and Okoye, T’Challa’s head of king’s guard, finished her sentence for her.

“She’s got help,” she said, and the group of them began to run like hell towards the growing army, all doing their own thing to slam through and take down the enemy. Y/N webbed them down as they tried to attack her sisters and knocked them over as she swung by. She saw one of the bigger monsters making its way towards her, and effortlessly picked it up and threw it into the rest of the aliens making their way towards her at a fast rate.

As she continued to fight off the enemy, she felt a strong surge of energy pass through her, making her stumble slightly. As she regained her balance, she watched as the aliens that were once running straight for her turned into dust, disappearing into the wind. She squinted her eyebrows, looking around for who had snapped before she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, warning her that something was wrong.

She followed her senses to find Tony sitting against a piece of debris, extremely pale and barely moving, his arm and part of his face burnt off. She felt her breathing stop as she stumbled towards him, muttering his name as she collapsed in front of him in front of all the other Avengers.

“T-Tony? Tony! No!” She said as fell in front of him, going to grab his hand with both of hers. She hadn’t felt this type of heartbreak since 2018 when she had lost Peter, her mom, and the rest of her friends. But this time she was losing her father.

“Hey, kid,” he said so quietly she wouldn’t have heard him, but she was practically hugging him by now, clinging onto him as a silent way of asking not to leave her. As she heard his voice, an ugly sob ripped through her as she buried her head in his chest as a form of comfort.

“Tony, please not you too,” she asked quietly, squeezing his hand so tight that the metal surrounding it had started to cut into her palms, but she could care less. “Not you too, please. We need you, Tony. I need you, and Morgan, please.” She couldn’t even finish before breaking down.

“Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? It’s Peter.” Peter asked from behind her, shocked to see Y/N holding onto him and crying into him. Tony weakly looked up and brought his attention to the original web-slinging spider. “We won, Mr. Stark. You did it. You did it, sir.”

At the mention of his name, Y/N finally looked up towards Peter, and he felt his heart shatter looking at her already bloodshot red eyes and the tear tracks that were a bright contrast against the rest of her face, which was covered in dust and blood. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her, gently pulling her off and into his own arms.

“No, No! Let go, please! I need to help him. Please. No.” Her voice got quieter as Peter held her closely, her back pressed against his chest as they both watched him. Tony looked between the pair, and although it hurt him to see the tears in their eyes, he was happy that they would be able to work through it together. He looked up at Peter and nodded his chin towards Y/N.

“Take… take care of… of her,” he whispered, causing a sob to come over Peter as well as he nodded vigorously, holding her tighter against him if that was even possible at this point.

“Of course, yes always,” he said as he felt salty tears run down at a rapid pace. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tony.” Tony tried to give him a smile, tried to give him a sign that everything would be okay, but found that he couldn’t.

Then Tony looked at Y/N. He remembered the last time she was like this, and it hurt him that he had to cause her the same pain. But he cared for her and knew that this was what had to happen to keep both of his daughters safe. “I love you.”

Y/N’s head fell as she heard the three simple words come from his mouth, leaning into Peter as she tries to control herself, trying to look strong in front of him, knowing who worried he must be already. “I love you, too, dad.” She whispered and nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand one more time before Pepper came to his side. Peter carefully pulled Y/N back, her collapsing into his lap and crying into his shoulder as he rubbed her back tried to keep in his own tears to be strong for her but ended up letting go and crying into her soft hair.

“Friday?” Pepper asked, her hand on Tony’s chest as Tony’s hand was placed gently on top of hers.

“Life functions critical,” the AI responded. Y/N felt like she was gonna be sick. She couldn’t think she could breathe, how do you even breathe again? Because she couldn’t quite remember at the moment. She listened to Peter’s heartbeat and used his rising and falling chest as a model.

“Tony? Look at me,” Pepper managed a smile at Tony as he groaned while turning to look towards her. “You’re gonna be okay, you can rest now,” she said as she put a hand on his cheek, gently caressing it before placing a soft kiss to it. And after that, the light on his chest went dim, and it took everything in Y/N not to scream like the day she found out Peter wasn’t coming home for dinner that night.

She felt Peter shaking around her, choking on sobs. She knew he would try and act as a support base for her, and he always liked to put others before himself. But she just held onto him, her hands going up to his messy hair and carting her fingers through the strands as a silent way to tell him that she was there for him too.

The Avengers and other heroes and warriors who had teamed up together to fight kneeled down, showing their respect to another beautiful life taken. The chaos in the warzone had gone quiet, a moment of silence taken in honour of Tony Stark.

And just like that, he was gone, just another figure of history in the textbooks. But to others he was a friend, he was a teammate, he was an idol, he was family. And God knows that he wouldn’t be forgotten for what he was, a hero.

~~~

The funeral occurred a couple of weeks later, only close friends and family were invited at the small gathering at the lake house where he lived with his family. It was odd, walking into the house and feeling so much dread in a place she considered a getaway just days before, a place that brought her such a feeling of happiness and relief.

She sat quietly in a soft chair in the corner, trying to process everything that was happening and everything that would come with it afterwards. She had just finished watching Tony’s video to his family, which Pepper insisted included her, and felt heartbroken at the thought that it would truly be the last time she saw him, ever again.

“Hey,” his soft voice said as Peter crouched down next to her, a hand on her knee as he gently squeezed. His eyes were red and puffy, just as hers were, and he wore a black and white suit that looked nice on him, though it seemed an inappropriate time to comment on it. “They’re starting the service soon, um, by the lake. I think we should go.” Y/N nodded, standing up from her chair and taking his hand in her own, finding comfort in his warm and soft grip.

The two walked out to the deck, one that she had so many memories on with the rest of the Stark family. Peter brought her to stand beside him and his aunt May, who smiled at Y/N and squeezed her hand. Y/N smiled back, but it came out as more of a grimace. They stood just behind Happy, Pepper and Morgan, as Pepper leaned down and set the wreath onto the lake, in the middle it had Tony’s original arc reactor from 2008, with words engraved into it.

‘Proof Tony Stark has a heart’

She found humour in the words but also wondered why anyone had ever thought otherwise. Sure he was a bit egotistical and petty sometimes, and often took to bragging when it came to being one of the smartest people on earth. But if you had known him like I had, she thought to herself, you’d know that he was one of the most caring people ever.

She watched as it floated away down through the calm river, eventually turning into a speck in the distant, covered by trees and the glistening light reflected off the water. Y/N gulped harshly as she tried to keep her tears in, not trying to break the strong personality she had set in stone for the past five years, but nonetheless couldn’t help a few of them slip from her eyes.

When the funeral had ended Y/N went to greet the others that had attended, wearing her best fake smile as people commented on how sorry they were for her loss and she did the same for them. She had gotten many embraces from people she did and didn’t know, and shared small laughs and memories with them.

After Y/N got tired of talking to everyone she tapped Peter, who had stayed by her side through the whole day, and told him she was going to get a drink of water. Peter had insisted on coming and held her hand as they walked away from the crowd and to the cute lakeside cottage, Y/N had considered home for so many years. On the small bench beside the door sat Happy with little Morgan in his lap, who sprung off and ran towards the girl with a bright smile on her face.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Morgan chanted happily as she ran closer, arms stretched out. Y/N smiled genuinely at the young girl and crouched down, picked her up as she ran into her chest and resting her on her hip. She brushed her nose against her soft cheek and placed a kiss upon it.

“Hi, baby,” Y/N said as she bounced Morgan. Peter looked at Morgan with a grin as well, since it was honestly astounding how similar she was to her father. Morgan giggled and played with Y/N’s hair as they had a small conversation and Peter could only watch on in awe. Then Y/N turned Morgan to face Peter. “You remember who this is, don’t you? It’s uncle Peter!” Y/N said, looking at Morgan and then smiling up at Peter, who felt like he was about to cry again just hearing those words.

“Spidey! Spidey!” Morgan screeched happily as she leaned over and made grabbing hands towards Peter, asking him to pick her up. Peter smiled widely before taking her from Y/N’s grip and holding her on his own hip now.

“Hey there, nice to finally meet you,” he said as he rocked slightly and Morgan placed her head on his shoulder, wrapping her small arms around his neck. Peter felt like he might explode from cuteness overload.

“Yeah. Daddy and Y/N says that-that you is the bestest,” she says as she played with the collar of Peter’s shirt. “You’re my favourite superhero! But after daddy.” She says as she smiled up at him. Peter raises his eyebrows and nods, letting out a laugh as he continued to talk with her. Soon the girl was falling asleep on Peter’s shoulder and the two walked inside to put her down for a nap.

Peter gently placed her down on her bed as he put a few stuffed animals by her side and covered her with the pink, fluffy blanket at the end of the bed. He kissed her forehead as Y/N went to place another on her cheek.

“Love you 3000,” she mumbled in her half-asleep state, and Y/N smiled, feeling tears brimming in her eyes as she replied.

“Love you infinity,” she says as she kissed her head. Morgan smiled in her sleepy state as the two stood up and exited the room, closing the door as quietly as they could to not stir her. Peter pulled Y/N into a hug, rocking them from side to side as he felt her tears start to make his shirt wet, but he didn’t seem to care. He kissed her temple and gently grabbed her chin, guiding her to look up at him as he smiled down at her.

“You know, I love you infinity,” he mumbled as he leaned down to brush against her lips. She laughed, his presence making her feel so much better since he really was her saviour. She shook her head, scoffing.

“You’re such a dork, Parker,” she said as she looked up at him, smiling for what felt like the first time in forever. She didn’t know how he had that effect on her, but then again she wasn’t complaining. God knows she needs a bit of relief. “I love you infinity too,” she replied after leaving him hanging for a while, and she stood up on her toes to press her lips to his, the kiss soft and short but still full of emotion.

As they broke apart, he pressed another kiss on her forehead and pulled her into his embrace. “You know what would make you feel better?” He said into her ear, which she replied with a ‘hm?’, asking for him to continue. “If we went home and binge-watched that Shane Dawson conspiracy theory video you told me about the other day.” Y/N scrunched up her eyebrows and looked up at him, a soft laugh passing her lips.

“Right now? Are you serious?” she said, shaking her head as she jokingly pushed his chest. He also chuckled a bit.

“What?” He asked, taking her hand and backing down the hallway. “C’mon, Y/N, you know how long I’ve waited for this video! You can’t just tease me with it!” Y/N raised her eyebrow as she watched Peter bounce a bit, begging her with his adorable brown puppy eyes to come with him.

“Well, you know what? There’s actually two, and they’re an hour and a half each” she whispered, causing Peter to groan and throw his head back. As he looked back up he was smirking, his tongue swiping over his teeth as he looked at her.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered as he tugged on her hand and pulled her away, Y/N following a giggling mess as he brought her to Aunt May’s car and drove them back home, both excitedly discussing different videos and movies and other events that Peter had missed while he was gone.

Even though it meant sacrificing a lot, and even though she was still devastated about Tony and Nat’s death, Y/N felt as if everything would be okay as she lied on Peter’s chest, his strong arms wrapped securely around her as they watched the movie long conspiracy videos together. They exchanged small kisses and soft words, and even feeding popcorn to each other cause they were that grossly sweet kind of couple. And Y/N had finally found her hope.

~~~

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