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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⡎⡕⢴⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⢿⣯⣟⡾⣿⢽ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⢼⣟⣗⡍⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣟⣾⢯⢿⡜⢧ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣃⣶⡾⠋⠹⠗⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢯⣟⣧⠻⡜ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣞⢮⠓⡔ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⢮⣙⠒ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡁⢉⡙⡿⠿⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⡗⣮⠡ ⣿⣿⣿⡟⣥⣍⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⣤⣤⣄⣶⣣⣷⣡⣏⣴⣠⣭⣻⣿⣿⡿⣯⢿⡰⣃ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⢰⠇⠀⠀⠴⠫⢻⣯⣿⣿⠉⣿⣿⡿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣹⣿⣻⣟⡵ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠉⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠋⠀⠀⣿⣷⣻⣾⡿⡟⣿⣿⣿⡿⣷⢿⣺⡵ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⣥⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠀⠀⣿⣿⣋⢩⠳⣷⣿⣿⣿⣳⢿⣞⣯⢳ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⣣⣤⣤⣿⣿⡗⣮⢿⣿⣿⡿⣯⢿⣝⣺⡜⣧ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡶⣫⣿⣟⡿⣽⣻⢼⡳⢜⡰ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⡄⠀⠀⠰⠛⣉⣭⡭⣽⢿⣟⣳⣿⣿⣷⣿⠑⠒⠉⠚⠤⠁ ⣿⣿⢿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠈⢆⡢⡌⠉⠛⠉⣉⣩⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⢦⠀⠀ ⣿⣻⠟⠁⡔⣐⠀⡶⣀⢂⣁⢮⣗⣶⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣟⣳⡔⡈⢳⠀ ⠗⠁⠀⠠⢁⡇⢀⠀⠙⠲⣽⣿⡛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣽⣿⣻⢷⡎⠷⠢⠀⠀⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠘⡦⡂⠀⠌⠙⠿⠿⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣻⣞⡷⢯⢿⡌⠑⡀⢆⡀⠀ ⠴⠦⢀⣠⣤⣿⠀⠈⠑⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢟⡯⣯⢾⡐⡡⠙⠆⠀⠀ ⢡⠀⡼⣿⣿⣿⣆⣄⠾⣧⡙⣦⡀⢠⡿⣛⣜⣿⣿⣿⣯⡐⢦⠹⡀⠅⠈⠀⠁⢀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠻⠟⢛⣛⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋⣉⡄⠀⣀⡀⠨⣙⣏⣉⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⡿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣿⣯⣿⣷⣿⢾⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⣒⡛⢫⠤⣠⢤⣤⣤⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣻⣯⣿⢿⣿⢯⣿⣯⣿⣿⣻⣞⡷⣿⣽⣻⡽ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢮⣭⣉⡓⠺⠊⢉⠓⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣿⣻⢿⡿⣯⢿⣷⢯⡷⣯⣟⠷⣯⡗⡿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣩⣿⣿⢿⣷⣄⡙⢮⠭⡁⢠⣬⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣯⢿⣽⡿⣾⣻⣽⣳⣞⣟⡧⣟⡽ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⡴⠹⢿⣿⣀⣿⣿⣯⣍⢛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⡿⣯⣿⡽⣟⡾⣵⢫⣾⡱⢯⡜ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢀⣞⣰⣀⣾⡷⠘⣿⣿⣟⣩⠙⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣻⢷⣟⣿⢯⡷⣏⡟⣶⡹⢇⡞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⢯⣾⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠼⢿⣿⠥⢤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣟⡾⣟⣯⢿⡼⣹⢶⡹⢣⠞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢿⡽⣯⣟⢾⡱⣏⠵⣋⠎ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢬⡙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣽⣳⢯⣏⡗⣎⠳⡌⠆ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⢻⡗⣮⡝⣬⢳⠉⡎ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡿⣯⢷⣫⢗⡭⢎⢧⡙ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡆⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⣀⢛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣟⣯⣟⣧⡟⡼⣉⢆⠣ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠹⣿⢿⡟⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⡂⠭⢊⠻⡹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣻⣞⡽⣲⢍⡎⢇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢻⠆⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢡⠒⠐⢀⠀⠠⠐⡆⢯⡹⡹⢛⡯⢭⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣾⢯⣷⣻⣜⡳⢎⡜⠦ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠻⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠠⢎⢦⡹⢄⡄⣌⣩⣝⠾⣡⢃⠡⠃⡘⢧⠿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣟⣷⣻⡼⣝⢮⡙⡖ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣾⣷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣩⣁⣳⣶⣦⣤⣤⣈⣥⢛⡞⣶⣿⣜⣫⢝⣶⣫⢞⣡⣀⣒⣀⡴⣨⡽⣎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⣯⢷⣻⡜⣮⢱⢣ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⢻⠇⠛⢧⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠾⠛⣉⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣿⣯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣯⣿⢾⣯⢷⣻⣼⢣⢧ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡌⣿⠀⣶⣿⠃⠀⠂⠀⠀⢰⣶⡾⠟⠫⣈⢿⡿⠟⣨⣿⣿⣿⢿⡆⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢹⣯⣿⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢸⣿⢯⣿⢯⡿⣟⡾⣏⣞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠸⡀⢿⡃⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣉⣛⠶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣿⠃⠀⢠⣿⣿⡏⢿⣯⣭⠷⣭⣭⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣃⣿⣿⣯⣟⣯⡿⣽⣻⢞⡵ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠱⡈⠹⡄⠀⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⣙⣹⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣆⢻⣿⣻⣶⣷⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⢯⡿⣽⡷⣯⢿⣹ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⢲⡾⠀⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⡹⠟⠉⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡽⢿⣿⡿⢿⡟⢶⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣯⢿⣯⣟⣷⣻⣽⡳⣏ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⡀⣀⡆⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠱⠂⠄⣙⢣⣟⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣷⣻⣟⡾⣽⣞⡷⣯⡽⣳ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⠣⡉⠴⣌⢷⣾⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣞⣯⢷⣯⡟⣷⣫⡽⢶⡻⣵ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡑⢺⡿⢏⢀⣠⣀⠀⣦⣀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣣⣝⡳⣎⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⡽⣯⣟⢶⡻⣵⢣⡟⣯⢳⢧ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠟⠁⢰⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢢⣏⣷⢿⣭⣻⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⣳⣟⣷⣫⢯⡷⣭⢳⡝⣮⢛⡼ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠷⣞⡿⣎⡶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡷⣟⣾⡳⣏⡷⣹⢎⡷⣙⢦⣋⠖ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣺⣽⢳⢏⣾⣿⣿⣿⡍⣉⣛⣻⡿⢿⣾⣽⣝⣳⣝⢮⠳⣍⠶⣉⠞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⡿⠿⠾⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⢿⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⢿⣿⡙⠲⣤⣈⡙⠻⠮⣽⣙⡌⢣⠱⣊ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⢸⣆⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⢿⡛⣴⣿⣻⢻⡽⣷⢯⣞⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣡⡄⠀⢢⠉⠱⣄⠀⠉⠈⠐⠃⠄ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠹⣄⠙⣄⡀⠀⠀⠜⢢⠳⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⡷⢭⡷⣯⢿⣯⣿⢾⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣆⠀⠀⠉⠢⠈⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡙⢧⡈⠻⣦⣄⠘⠀⠠⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢌⢧⡻⡽⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣷⡄⠀⠀⠃⠈⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣧⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⢀⣠⠀⠀⢿⠛⠻⢤⡘⠻⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⡼⣼⢧⣿⣻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⡄⠀⠀⢀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣷⡿⣿⣽⠟⠁⠀⣠⡏⢰⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠘⣧⠤⠄⠙⢶⣌⠛⢶⣤⣶⣶⣿⣾⣿⣯⣟⣯⣿⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⢯⣿⡄⠘⠤⢂⠙⢦⡀⠀ ⣟⡾⣽⠟⠁⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠹⢿⣀⣤⡀⠙⢆⡰⣳⣦⣈⡛⣶⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢫⣞⢿⡃⠄⢂⠀⢣⢳⡀ ⣯⡟⠃⠀⡰⠀⠀⣿⠃⢸⣿⡇⢀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣷⣮⠵⣹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣻⣷⣿⣿⣟⡿⣷⣿⠿⣝⡷⣎⠲⣅⠀⠀⠈⠀⠡⢓ ⠋⠀⣀⠔⠁⠀⢀⡇⠀⣾⣿⡄⠈⣆⠘⡀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣙⣌⣙⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⢯⣟⣿⣿⡿⣿⡽⣾⣽⣻⣿⡹⣌⢳⣍⡒⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠠⣆⠀⢸⠀⢠⠿⣿⡇⠀⢸⣧⠑⢦⠀⠁⠀⠀⢈⠛⢿⣿⣽⣶⣯⣽⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣯⣿⣻⣞⡷⣿⢯⣟⣷⢳⣿⣯⡕⢎⠲⡡⠌⠐⠠⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⡇⠠⠊⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⡷⣄⠳⣤⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⣿⢿⡿⠟⢉⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⣟⣾⢿⣽⡻⢾⡭⣟⣿⡗⢮⡡⠂⠑⣂⠀⡲⢱⠀⠄⡁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡄⠀⠀⣿⣷⠀⠀⢸⡷⠜⢧⡈⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡾⡽⢧⠿⣜⣿⡟⢢⠑⡤⠘⢤⠣⢌⢣⠘⠠⠀⠂ ⣾⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣦⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⠐⠛⣦⣄⠠⣄⠀⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢯⡿⣷⣿⣻⠯⣷⣎⡿⡍⢦⡙⠴⡁⠎⣇⠫⢄⠊⢀⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⠲⣭⣯⣿⣾⣿⣷⣽⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣨⡇⠸⣷⣄⠁⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡣⢿⡱⢎⡝⠻⠶⣾⡽⣙⠦⡙⠤⠃⢘⠀⢳⡈⡐⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⢠⠐⡁⢰⣿⠿⡷⠀⠹⡙⣶⣄⡀⠀⢠⡄⢀⣾⡿⣟⢣⠟⡼⢫⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣷⣏⠂⢜⡱⣌⡄⢣⣝⠂⡉⠒⡁⠀⠀⠂⠐⠈⠀⠠⠀
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚
❾¾ ⌁☍
𝟙𝟘.𝟘𝟡.𝟚𝟝𝟞𝟜
9️⃣🔢 9️⃣ ˚୨୧⋆。
9️⃣🔢 9️⃣
☯🐻✨
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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡟⠙⠿⣇⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠀⠀⠃⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠾⣿⣿⣀⠀⠀⢿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠰⢃⢼⣿⣿⣄⠀⠈⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢇⡈⢌⢻⣿⣿⣦⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⡝⢢⠔⡌⢂⠿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠦⡙⢦⠙⡌⠱⣊⡿⣿⣿⣿⡄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡙⢆⠱⣈⠆⠱⣹⢞⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⣠⢤⡴⣽⣶⢶⡿⣖⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠾⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡿⣾⣿⢟⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣻⣟⣿⣾⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢣⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⡿⡻⣿⣿⠋⠰⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣇⣿⣿⠀⠀⡘⡘⢅⠘⠛⢋⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⡀⠀⠜⡰⢈⠌⡱⣣⢙⡯⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡘⠄⡓⠖⣢⣤⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⢋⠞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡵⠛⠀⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡁⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⠋⡄⡇⢰⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣃⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⢘⠀⠈⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢮⠘⠀⠡⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠦⣄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠜⣼⠀⠁⠀⢢⡠⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢬⡕⣜⣦⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠏⠉⡟⡛⢿⣮⠘⣼⠀⠀⠄⠀⠳⣩⡆⠚⡷⢮⡷⣛⡟⢿⣄⠣⢼⣇⢣⠐⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⡸⣍⠷⡾⡄⣷⡈⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⢸⠇⢰⡹⢧⣻⣽⡸⣡⠯⣓⢞⡇⢎⠥⡁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡈⢠⡛⣬⢻⠃⣷⣿⣟⡀⢀⠀⠡⠀⡌⡆⠲⣝⢯⡖⣿⡱⢆⠯⡽⣯⡼⣊⠾⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⠃⢬⢳⡹⣾⠀⣿⣿⣿⣧⠸⠀⠀⢆⢱⠃⢴⣛⡼⣳⣯⣳⡜⢦⡳⣟⠃⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠰⢀⡏⢶⣹⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⢰⢘⡀⡗⣎⢷⣣⡷⢭⡻⣷⣿⣯⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡂⢼⡘⣧⣿⢠⡀⣡⣿⣿⠟⠛⣆⠀⢤⢷⠀⣽⣚⡬⢧⡹⢶⡹⡜⡽⣌⢫⣎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡏⣶⠹⡜⣥⢫⢵⡳⣯⢿⠐⠔⠮⠗⢸⢂⢥⣞⣵⣻⣎⠳⢧⢻⣙⣩⡜⠉⠈⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠹⠶⠯⠜⢶⣫⣾⣵⣻⣦⢔⡨⣿⢳⢧⢗⣠⡀⢰⢏⣾⣛⣷⣻⣽⣻⣴⣳⣤⣀⠘⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢏⠐⢹⠋⠀⠃⠰⠀⠿⡚⠷⠫⡖⡽⣺⣷⣛⣮⣿⠾⢾⢶⣿⡌⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢐⠖⠁⡰⠅⠠⠄⠀⠤⡃⠀⠳⠒⠌⠓⡲⣏⡿⣽⢯⣿⢀⡒⠯⠀⠛⢠⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡀⠁⡠⠅⠠⠘⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠣⢀⠀⢣⢀⠣⡕⢮⣝⣯⣗⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠄⢠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠲⢀⠯⣜⢣⡞⡾⣵⢯⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢫⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢎⡲⣍⠾⣩⡗⣯⢞⡷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢉⠶⡱⣎⢻⡵⣻⢼⣛⣞⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡐⣣⢟⣆⠰⣀⠆⡄⢃⠦⣙⠮⡵⣹⢺⡜⣧⢿⣹⡞⣧⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢣⢄⠠⡀⡄⡔⣦⣝⣳⢯⣿⣢⠑⡮⠜⣭⠲⣍⠾⣱⢣⡗⣯⡽⣞⣷⣻⣭⣛⢇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⢮⣱⠳⣜⡳⣵⠾⣭⢷⣻⣷⣍⠲⡙⢦⠻⣬⢻⡵⣛⣾⢳⡯⣟⣶⣛⣮⡽⣾⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡍⢻⡓⠿⢾⢻⠽⣯⣟⣿⣿⣷⣭⣂⠟⣼⣣⠿⣽⣚⣯⢷⣻⢾⡽⣞⣷⣳⣆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠈⠙⢌⠣⣝⢲⢯⡿⣿⣿⣿⡉⢟⠲⣭⣟⣳⡟⣞⣯⢯⡿⣽⣻⣞⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⠀⠀⠀⠒⡈⢏⠾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠱⣔⢭⣳⢻⡽⣞⢯⣽⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢕⣢⢤⣀⣰⣌⣷⣯⣿⣿⣿⣻⡌⠒⢯⢷⣾⣧⣿⣼⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⠟⠄⠈⢳⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

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1️⃣9️⃣9️⃣8️⃣
⠉⠋⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠜⢧⣹⠷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⠿⠑⢨ ⠀⡄⣬⣸⣻⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⡏⣿⢱⣏⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⡁⠐⠒⢈⠙⠩⠀⠀⠀⢀⢈ ⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⡛⠼⠨⠶⡀⢼⡓⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠛⠛⠙⠻⠛⠛⠋⠀⡀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⢘⡁⡠⢀⠁⢙⢭⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣳⣶⣶⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣅⣾⠃⣁⣾⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣟⣉⣋⣩⡉⣉⣉⣛⣋⣻⣿⡿⡟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣺⣷⣶⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣼⣻⠙⡻⠿⣿⠿⢫⣯⢻⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣍⣯⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣯⣿⣿⣿⣼⣶⣴⣤⣤⣴⣿⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠁⠀⠀⠈⠬⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠲⠄⠄⠁⠁⢀⣀⢠⢂⣶⣰⡂⡰⢴⡠⣭ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡗⠜⢈⠚⢘⢷⣿⣿⠈⠛⣻⡿⢛⣭⠟⢵⣿⣿⣟⠋⣻⣟⡛⠛⠛⠋⠋⠛⣫⣿⣿⣿⡿⣻⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠐⡀⣧⣮⣶⡽⣟⠚⠀⠃⠢⢻ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠿⣹⢉⢀⢐⠂⠀⠠⢽⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿⣶⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣯⣩⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡏⣿⣿⠟⢣⠿⣿⢾⢽⣿⢿⣿⠄⠨⠀⢈⠌⣺ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡧⢾⡍⢄⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠿⣿⣿⣿⣁⣠⣩⣿⣿⣻⣿⣯⣉⣀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠿⠅⠙⠀⠁⠀⡠⡧⠷⣯⠐⠂⠐⠀⢈⠀⠸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣟⣶⣡⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣠⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⠛⡁⠀⣐⣶⣐⣠⣳⣷⣿⣿⣿⣶⣌⣄⣀⡶⡈⢘ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠉⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠠⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠉⣠⡪⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣼ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢻⣷⣼⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠫⢀⣰⡶⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⣬⡛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠉⣡⣆⠄⢸⣿⣯⣭⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⣾⣿⣿⣿⡫⠁⣴⣺⣿⣅⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⢀⡠⠚⢉⣻⢷⣠⣝⠿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣷⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⠿⠟⣫⡗⠱⣺⣿⡻⠿⠚⠹⠓⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⠈⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣯ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⡾⠕⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠉⠀⠈⠉⡩⠭⠉⡄⠀⠐⠒⠊⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠢⠤⣤⣛⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻ ⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣥⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡆⠀⠀⢠⠰⢊⣔⣽⠋⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣴⣿⣷⣿⢷⣿⣦⣔⡀⠀⠀⢃⠂⢆⣄⡜⠃⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢱⢠⢶⠕⣣⣿⣿⣵⣁⣀⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣧⣯⡽⡓⣾⣭⣟⡾⠁⠀⣼⡟⠀⣿⣷⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⡄⠀⠈⣢⣯⡞⣽⠋⠔⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣛⣻⣿⡟⠛⠛⠁⠀⣰⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⣿⣆⡘⣿⣿⣷⣿⡸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣟⣫⠯⠽⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠀⠀⠠⠞⠀⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⢷⣼⣿⣿⣌⢧⢀⣠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢻⣽⡏⠀⢰⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣦⡀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣾⣿⣿⣷⣘⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣟⣷⣶⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣷⡄⠀⣿⣆⣀ ⡁⣓⣦⣀⠙⢿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣼⣧⠔⢀⣯⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⠟⢲⣿⡏⠀ ⡟⢲⡎⢣⠀⠈⢻⣟⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣗⣿⡤⣾⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⣿⣿⡷⠶ ⠁⣠⣿⢿⡒⠃⢸⣿⣿⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠷⣿⡏⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠘ ⣿⣿⣿⣬⡽⠖⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⠀ ⡿⡿⠻⠢⠀⢠⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠙⠛⠿⣿⡿⣿⣿⠋⢻⣿⣿⠿⣿⡍⠁⠀
9😱
9️⃣, 8️⃣1️, 🤝🏼
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠚⡙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠞⠁⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠚⠉⠉⡩⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠒⠒⠲⠤⢤⣀⡤⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠊⠁⢠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⠈⠀⠤⠀⠀⡈⠙⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠰⠎⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⡔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⢢⠖⠚⠉⢉⣵⣿⣄⣀⣀⣀⡤⠔⠚⠉⠉⠙⠓⠦⣍⠓⠲⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠃⢀⡠⠞⠉⠀⢀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠯⠤⠤⠤⠤⠵⠦⢤⣀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠐⠶⠶⢎⣩⣤⣾⠋⠀⠀⣠⠞⠉⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠛⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⠻⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⢀⣞⣑⣆⣐⣒⣚⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠾⠅⠀⣀⡉⠲⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠛⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣀⣠⠤⠤⠒⢦⡀⢸⠀⡼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⢲⡏⠱⣄⠀⣀⡔⠉⠉⠉⠙⣖⠢⡄⢸⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠉⢀⡠⠔⠒⠢⠤⣀⡀⠀ ⠈⠙⠒⠤⢄⣀⢀⡽⠚⣷⠁⢇⡀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡿⢠⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠠⣤⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠬⠛ ⠀⢀⣀⠤⠤⠚⢥⣄⡤⢾⡀⠀⠉⠑⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠘⠦⣀⣀⣀⠴⡱⠋⣀⣴⣂⡠⠞⢻⣦⠀⣈⣉⠑⠒⠤⠤⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠉⠑⠒⠦⠏⠈⡶⢀⠱⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡠⠞⠓⠉⢁⡉⠁⢰⠒⣾⠟⠀⠈⠪⡉⠑⠲⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠏⡇⢾⣿⣆⣀⣈⠉⠉⠰⠶⠶⠈⠉⠉⢉⠉⠉⠁⡀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀⠁⣰⠇⢸⡿⠀⠀⣷⣆⠹⠆⣀⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠈⠁⠈⣏⠉⠉⠉⠉⠒⠲⠤⠤⠤⣀⣀⣀⣙⣀⣀⣈⡥⠤⠤⠶⠒⠉⠁⢠⣿⣅⣀⠀⠸⣈⠇⠀⠀⠉⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣧⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
💙💜💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💜 💙💜💛❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💜💛💛💛💛💛💜💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💜💛❤️❤️❤️💛💜💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💜💛❤️❤️❤️💛💜💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💜💛❤️❤️❤️💛💜💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💜💛💛💛💛💛💜💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤❤️💛💜 💙💜💛❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💛💜 💙💜💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💜 💙💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚
1﹒2﹒3﹒4﹒5﹒6﹒7﹒ 8﹒9﹒10
𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑜𝑖𝑠16🕒
9️⃣5️⃣
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⢢⠀⠁⠐⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠇⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠐⡀⠀⠀⢈⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⢑⠀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠌⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⢐⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⠤⠇⠀⠀⠀⢨⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⠀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠠⢠⡀⠀⠀⢑⠁⠀⠈⠑ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠐⠦⢄⢀⠀⡠⠃⠀⠀⠘⠂⠀⠢⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣐⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⠀⠀⠈⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣂⠄⠈⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗 ①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨ 123456789 𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡 ➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒ ¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹ ₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉ 1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶ 1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲ 1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳ 【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】 『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』
⬛⬛🟥🟥⬛⬛⬛🟥🟥⬛⬛ ⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛ ⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛ ⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛ ⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛ ⬛⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛🟥🟥🟥⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛🟥⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚
𓐂
𓐌
🇫🇷9️🐶🚔👮💍
⣾⠛⣷ ⣾⠛⣷ ⣿⠶⣦ ⠻⠶⣿ ⢿⣤⡿ ⢿⣤⡿
👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨🍆🍑𓂸👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨👌🏳️‍🌈🧔‍♂️🧔‍♂️🔞🏳️‍🌈🧑🏿‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽🧑🏿‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽
Kári
⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶ ⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠀⠀⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡿⠿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠿⢿⣿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⢿⣷ ⣿⡇⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠘⠛ ⣿⣿⢾⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣷⣄ ⣿⡇⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⡄⢸⣿ ⣿⣷⣶⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣷⣾⡿
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🏢🏢💥🛩
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠤⢤⢤⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡏⢖⡩⡝⡸⡌⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣉⠮⣑⢮⡱⡙⡎⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠒⠛⠛⠛⢛⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠉⠙⠠⢌⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣤⣦⣶⠶⠶⠶⠆⠀⠀⣸⡧⠜⡥⠗⠶⢧⠳⠩⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣤⣄⣀⣀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠛⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣤⣀⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣼⠿⠟⠛⠛⠌⠃⠋⠙⠉⠋⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⡻⣯⣽⡯⠛⠛⣫⣽⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⠟⠋⠈⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣯⣍⡿⢟⡹⠉⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⢀⠀⢀⠄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠈⠻⣿⣷⣀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⡀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡄⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⡌⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡶⠚⠋⠉⠉⢉⣴⣿⠟⠛⢿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣶⣀⠠⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⢶⣿⣋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⡧⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣦⡀⢤⠀⠀⡐⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠄⠄⠐⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⣿⠾⠿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⣱⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣌⠂⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀ ⢤⠔⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠁⢀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⢠⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣄⣤⣤⣤⣦⣤⣦⣴⣶⣶⣶⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣠⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣭⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣦⣤⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡒⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⢀⠁⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⡀⠂⣀⢠⣿⣿⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠸⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡇⠀⠀⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠠⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣇⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⣿⡟⠉⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⢹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣶⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠉⠻⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⡀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣾⣿⡿⠋⠉⠛⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠐⠘⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢣⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⣿⣷⣦⣼⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣾⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡿⠋⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⣿⣇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠙⢿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣷⡀⠙⠻⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣇⣼⣷⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡄⠀⠀⢠⣶⡄⠀⢠⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⢿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⡏⢿⣿⣄⡆⣰⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⣾⣿⣿⣶⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢠⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠻⣿⣿⡿⠋⠙⢻⣿⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣩⣽⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⣳⣿⣿⣧⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣦⣀⣘⣻⣗⣀⣀⡀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣼⣿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣼⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣦⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⣽⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣦⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣥⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢰⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣹⣿⣏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣄⡀⠀⠈⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⢠⢻⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⡟⠁⣿⣯⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣀⣠⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⢹⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠿⠻⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣢⣶⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡿⢰⠁⠈⠈⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡄⢀⣀⣤⣴⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⣿⣿⢿⣄⠀⠀⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⢳⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⡟⠛⢻⡟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠟⠋⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣴⣤⣴⣦⣶⣾⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⣿⡇⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣩⣿⣿⠟⠛⢻⣿⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣟⣡⣤⣀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣤⡴⠶⠞⠶⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣧⣶⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⢸⣿⣿⣛⠋⠙⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣯⡈⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⣿⠋⠻⠿⠿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣆⣀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡆⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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JUST A TOUCH ix (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration. "It's about the order," he repeats, his voice strained. "Everything needs order." Squidward sighs, his tentacles flapping in exasperation. "Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but we need to get these dishes done, and we can't do that if you're going to micromanage every single one!" Plankton's antennae droop. "Needs thorough..." Squidward throws his tentacles up in the air. "I don't care about your 'thoroughness' right now!" he exclaims. "Just let me do my job!" Plankton's antennae flatten. "No!" he shouts, his voice echoing off the stainless steel walls. Squidward turns, his tentacles poised for a fight. "What is your problem?" he snaps. Plankton's eye darts around, his heart racing. He can't explain the sudden urgency, the need for order that's consuming him. The need to be perfectly cleansed without blemish. "It's just... it's just..." Plankton stammers, his antennae drooping. Squidward's eyes narrow, his tentacles still. "What's the matter with you?" he asks, his voice edged with irritation. Plankton swallows, his throat tight. "Needs good.." But before he can say more, his gaze locks onto a speck of dirt on a plate. The world around him fades away as he reaches for it, his movements slow and deliberate. Squidward watches him, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "What is that?" he asks, his tone sharp. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on the speck. "Dirt," he whispers, his voice laced with distress. "Has to be gone." His hand shakes as he reaches for the plate, his mind consumed by the need to remove the imperfection. Squidward snatches the plate, his tentacles firm. "It's just a tiny speck!" he says, his voice loud. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body stiffening. "Can't have dirt," he murmurs. The room seems to close in, his heart hammering in his chest. The need for order, for everything to be just so, is a wave crushing down on him. Squidward's face swims in his vision, a blur of impatience. "Squidward," he says, his voice steadying. "It's dirty." Squidward's grip on the plate doesn't waver. "It's not dirty," he says, his tone firm. "It's a tiny speck." But to Plankton, that speck is a boulder, a symbol of the chaos he can't control. His antennas quiver as he stares at the offending spot, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The world narrows to just the dish, the speck, and the overwhelming need to erase it. Squidward reaches out a tentacle, to move him aside, reaching to touch Plankton's shoulder. But before he can make contact, Plankton flinches, his eye snapping up to meet Squidward's. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "No touch." "Then move so I can mix the dishes.." The words hit Plankton like a wave, sending him spiraling. He can't explain it, but the thought of Squidward's tentacle touching him sends a shiver down his spine. But the only alternative is to result in disordered dishes! Squidward's grip on the plate doesn't change, his tentacle poised to push Plankton aside. "Please," Plankton whispers, his voice trembling. "No..." SpongeBob watches from a distance, his smile fading. He's noticed the changes in Plankton, the way his movements have become so precise, his speech so formal. But he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Squidward's tentacle hovers, his gaze flicking from the plate to Plankton's face. "I'm in charge, not you!" He says shoving Plankton as he mixes the dishes. That's it. The room spins around Plankton, his vision blurring with the sudden assault. The clatter of plates, the smell of grease, the touch of Squidward's tentacle— it's too much. His body reacts before his brain can catch up, the partygoers' laughter a distant echo in Plankton's ringing ears. "Plankton?" Squidward asks, his voice a distant rumble as SpongeBob comes in. Plankton's vaguely aware of his surroundings, but it's all just white noise, his gaze going blank as the absence seizure starts up.
GREAT CHIP ix (Autistic author) Chip took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "I know I can't fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking. Plankton's antennae stopped moving, his eye focusing on Chip with an intensity that made him feel like he was being x-rayed. "You can't," he said, his voice firm. "But you can support me. You can be there without trying to change me." Chip nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Okay," he managed to say. "But I want to understand. I want to be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing slightly. "Understand?" he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Sure, it's easy. Just imagine your brain's a pinball machine on tilt. Sounds fun, right?" Chip felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth despite the tension, which only adds to Plankton's anger. "Well, when you put it that way..." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye squinting at his son's response. "What?" he barked, his voice sharp. Chip tried to hold onto his smile, his heart racing. "I mean, if it's like a pinball machine, I can learn the patterns," he said, his tone carefully light. "I'm pretty good at video games, so..." Plankton's antennae waved wildly, his eye flashing with anger. "You think this is a game?" he shouted, his voice filling the room. "You think I enjoy being out of control? WELL THEN PERHAPS YOU CAN EXPLAIN THE FUN OF FORGETTING WHERE I AM FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME!" Chip's smile dropped, his eyes wide with shock at his father's outburst. He took a step back, his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to make a joke of it, I just..." "You just what?" Plankton spat, his small body vibrating with rage. "You just don't get it! You can't get it! You're not autistic, you don't know what it's like to have your brain turn on you like that!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his heart breaking at the accusation. "I know, Dad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying." Plankton's antennae quivered with the force of his rage. "You don't know," he said, his voice cold. "You can't know. All I see is a little child playing pretend, thinking he can understand what I go through! And yet you're the one asking for help! Face it, you're never going to get it and so don't expect ME to explain it to you!" Chip's eyes watered, the words hitting like a sledgehammer. He had never seen his father so furious, so unyielding. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I just want to help." Plankton's antennae stopped their wild movements, his eye focusing on his son with a cold, calculating gaze. "Help?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to help by poking fun at my condition?" Chip's eyes searched his father's, his heart racing. "Dad, I didn't mean it like that," he said, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to lighten the mood." Plankton's antennae waved, his eye still cold and distant. "Don't," he said, his voice like ice. "Don't try to lighten it. And don't you DARE make fun of it." Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his heart aching with the weight of his father's anger. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I di-" "You're sorry?" Plankton's voice was a whip crack in the silence. "Sorry doesn't cut it!" He slammed his fist on the table, causing their plates to rattle. "You think an apology is enough when you belittle what I go through?" Chip's eyes widened with fear as his dad's anger grew. He'd never seen Plankton like this before, his tiny body trembling with rage, his antennae thrashing like live wires. The kitchen felt suffocatingly small, the walls closing in. "Dad, please," Chip begged, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean it that way." But Plankton was beyond listening, his tiny body vibrating with fury. "You don't get to make jokes about this!" he roared, his antennae whipping about like agitated snakes. "You don't get to reduce it to a game you can win with a simple joke!" Chip took another step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never seen his father this enraged, and it scared him. "Dad, I-" he began, but Plankton's tirade didn't stop. "You think it's funny?" Plankton shouted, his antennae a blur of motion. "You think it's fun to live with this?" His voice grew louder, his words sharper. "You think it's easy to lighten up at the drop of a hat?" Chip's eyes filled with tears as his father's anger grew, his voice crackling like static. He hadn't meant to make light of his dad's condition, but now it seemed as if he'd made everything worse. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his hands shaking. Plankton's antennae whipped around his head, his eye bulging. "Sorry won't make it go away!" he screamed, his voice bouncing off the walls. "You think you can make it better with a laugh?" He slammed his fist down again, the sound like a gunshot. "It's not a joke, Chip!" Chip's eyes filled with tears as he watched his father's outburst, his heart pounding. He had never seen Plankton like this, his anger a living, breathing thing that filled the room like a toxic cloud. "I know," he whispered, his voice shaking. "But I want to help." Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "Help?" he spat, his voice a whip. "You want to help? Then stop making it about you!" Chip's eyes grew wide with fear as he watched his father's anger boil over, his voice shaking. "Dad, please," he whispered, his heart racing. Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his body vibrating with uncontrollable rage. Suddenly, he grabbed the coffee mug from the table, flinging it across the room where it shattered against the wall. Shards of ceramic flew everywhere, puncturing the silence like shrapnel. "Dad, no!" Chip yelled, his heart racing faster than it ever had before. He had never seen Plankton this out of control. And Karen knew she had to act fast. Her voice was calm but firm as she approached Plankton. "Sweetie, it's okay," she said, her hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "Let's go to your workshop. You know that's your safe space." Plankton's antennae thrashed, his eye darting around the room, seeking anything to target his anger. "I don't want to go anywhere!" he roared, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. "It's not okay!" Karen stepped closer, her voice steady. "It's okay to be upset," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "But Chip..." But Plankton's rage was unstoppable. He lunged for the nearest object, a framed photo of Chip, his grip tightening as he raised it over his head, ready to smash it against the floor. Karen's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to defuse the situation before it got any worse. "Plankton, no," she pleaded, her voice steady. "Please, don't." But Plankton's rage had taken over, his body moving on autopilot as he swung the photo frame with all his might. It crashed to the floor, the shattering glass echoing in the small room. Chip's eyes grew round with shock, his body frozen in place as he watched his father's tantrum unfold. "Dad, please stop!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "You're scaring me!" But Plankton's rage was a runaway train, his antennae quivering with the intensity of his anger. He stomped over to the counter, grabbing a plate and flinging it against the wall, where it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. The sound was deafening, the force of the impact sending a shiver down Chip's spine. Karen stepped in front of Chip, placing herself between him and the storm of Plankton's fury. "Stop," she said firmly, her voice a calm oasis in the chaos. "You're scaring him." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye focusing on Karen with a mix of anger and confusion. For a moment, his body seemed to pause, his arm still mid-air, a kitchen towel gripped tightly in his hand. Then, with a roar, he threw it, the soft fabric landing limply on the floor. Karen's eyes searched her husband's, seeing the turmoil behind the rage. "Please, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "Let's talk about this." But Plankton's anger was like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He picked up another mug, his arm winding up to throw it, when Chip suddenly stepped forward, his eyes locked on his father's. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "Please don't." Plankton's antennae paused, his arm still raised. "WHY?" he growled, his eye wild with anger. "You think you can just tell me what to do?" And then, with a sickly twisted satisfaction, Plankton hurled the mug in front of Chip, purposefully missing him. The room seemed to hold its breath as the mug spun through the air, the shattering of porcelain on the tile floor a symphony of pain. "Dad," Chip said, his voice shaking. "It's not about control. It's about us. Our fam..." But Plankton was beyond words, his rage a living entity that consumed him. He grabbed a toaster, his grip white-knuckled, and hurled it at the fridge, the metallic clang a cacophony in the small kitchen. "I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!" he bellowed, his antennae a blur.
CHIP AND FAIL ix (Autistic author) Chip stared at his dad, his mind racing. He had always known his dad was different, but he had never understood why. Now, as he watched the man he idolized quivering with overstimulation, he couldn't help but feel a deep sadness and anger. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice tight. Plankton's antennae shot up, his face contorting with a sudden surge of anger. "ENOUGH!" he roared, the sound exploding from his chest like a bomb, his antennae quivering with each syllable. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" Chip recoiled, his eyes wide with shock. He had never heard his dad so angry before, never seen him so out of control. "Dad, I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You're sorry?" Plankton spat, his antennae vibrating with rage. "You don't get it, Chip. You never will." His voice was a storm, his words cutting through the tension in the room. "You think I don't want to hear your stories? You think I don't want to be a part of your life?" His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his eye blazing with pain. Chip took a step back, his hands up in defense. "Dad, no, I..." But Plankton was a tornado, his anger a living thing in the room. "You think I don't want to connect with you?" he shouted, his antennas whipping around. "You think I don't love you?" His voice broke, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his tears. Chip stared at his dad, his eyes like saucers. "But Dad, you always push me away," he protested, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's fury. "You never want me to touch you or..." "You just let me explain!" Plankton shouted, cutting him off. His antennae were a blur with the force of his emotions, his eye flashing. "You always keep pushing and pushing, and it's too much!" His words were a volley of thunder, each one striking Chip like a physical blow. Chip took a step back, his eyes filling with tears. "But Dad, I just want to be close to you," he choked out, his voice a mere wisp. "I don't understand why you can't..." "Because you don't listen!" Plankton's voice was a whip, slicing through the air. "You don't see the storm in my head, the way every touch feels like a storm, every sound a siren!" His antennae quivered with rage, his body tense. "You think it's easy for me? That I don't want to be there for you?" Chip took another step back, his hands up in defense. "I didn't know," he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears. "I just wanted to tell you about my week." He says reaching out with a trembling hand, but Plankton's swatting Chip's hand away. "Don't. Touch. Me!" Plankton roared, his body trembling with rage. "Can't you see that?" His voice was a knife, sharp and unforgiving. "And don't you DARE say you're better off without me!" His eye blazed with a fierce protectiveness that Chip had never seen before. Chip's hand hovered in the air, his fingers curling into a fist. "But Dad," he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears, "I just want to be close to you." He took a step closer... "NO!" Plankton shouted, his antennae snapping like whips. "You don't get to invade my space like that!" His body was a live wire, his anger a force field that repelled Chip's reaching hand. "You think it's funny?" His voice was a maelstrom of pain and fury. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his hand dropping to his side. "I just wanted to help," he murmured, his voice tiny in the face of his father's storm.
A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ix (Autistic author) The silence in the room was suffocating, the echo of Mr. Krabs' footsteps the only sound as he retreated to his home, his heart feeling heavier than his treasure chest. Sponge Bob's heart torn between pity and frustration. He looked at Plankton, his friend's gaze still locked on the chessboard, his body a portrait of rejection. "Plankton," he whispered, his voice full of pain. But Plankton didn't move, his antennas twitching slightly. Sponge Bob felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes brimming with tears. He didn't know what to do, what to say, to make things right. He glanced at Karen, her lights dimming slightly with sadness. "I'll leave you two to talk." With a nod to Sponge Bob, she left the room, leaving them alone in the stifling silence. Sponge Bob approached Plankton cautiously, his heart pounding. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, but he didn't look up. "Nothing," he murmured, his voice flat. "Cannot change." Sponge Bob's eyes welled with tears. "I mean right now, I can do what you want me to," he pleaded. "You're my best friend, Plankton." Plankton's antennas lifted, his single eye meeting Sponge Bob's gaze. "We can talk, we can play a game, we can watch some thing..." Plankton's antennas remained still, his expression unreadable. "Watch," he said finally, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. Sponge Bob nodded, his heart heavy with disappointment. He knew his friend needed space, and he would give it to him. The screen flickered to life. Sponge Bob felt a pang of despair, his hand hovering over the remote. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice trembling. Plankton nodded, his gaze unfocused. "Okay," he murmured. Sponge Bob selected a nature documentary, knowing Plankton. They sat in silence as the soothing sounds of the ocean filled the room, the TV's blue light washing over them. Plankton's body relaxed slightly, his antennas still as he watched. Sponge Bob felt a tiny spark of hope when Plankton scoots up next to him. The documentary played on, the narrator's soothing voice detailing the lives of jellyfish. Sponge Bob watched Plankton from the corner of his eye, his heart aching at the sight of his friend's vacant gaze. He reached over and gently placed his hand on Plankton's shoulder, his touch tentative. Plankton didn't flinch, his eye never leaving the screen. Sponge Bob swallowed the lump in his throat and whispered, "I'm here for you." Plankton's antenna twitched slightly, a barely perceptible acknowledgment. The silence stretched on, the only sound the rhythmic pulse of the jellyfish through the speakers. Sponge Bob's hand remained on Plankton's shoulder, his thumb making small, comforting circles. As the documentary droned on, Plankton's antennas gradually lost their rigidity, drooping slightly with each passing moment. The rhythmic pulse of the jellyfish on the screen seemed to lull him into a state of quiet contemplation. His gaze grew unfocused, his eyelid fluttered once, then twice, before finally settling shut. Plankton's tiny frame relaxed into SpongeBob's side, breathing evening out. His hand remained on Plankton's shoulder, his thumb continuing to make small circles as his friend slipped into slumber. When SpongeBob turned off the tv, he noticed Plankton's head drooped to the side with a soft snore, his body gone slack. Plankton was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. The yellow sponge felt a wave of relief wash over him as he realized that his friend had finally found some peace. He carefully scooted Plankton closer. He knew Plankton needed his rest, especially with his brain trying to adjust to this new reality. Karen came back in to see Plankton's antennas limp and Sponge Bob's hand on his shoulder. She nodded gently at the sponge, who looked up and sighed. "It's ok to let him rest. He's been through a lot." She says. Sponge Bob nods, his grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening slightly. "I know. I just want to help," he replies, his voice barely audible over Plankton's soft snores. Karen's lights flicker gently. "You are helping by being here, Sponge Bob. Just give him time and space to adjust." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping face. "I'll do anything for him." Karen's light blips. "I know you will. But for now, let's get him to his bed." Sponge Bob nods, carefully scooping up Plankton, cradling him like a fragile shell. He carries him to the bedroom. He lays him down, tucking the blanket under his chin with extra care. Plankton's snores soften into a gentle purr, his antennas twitching slightly in his sleep. Sponge Bob pulls up a chair beside the bed, his eyes never leaving his friend's face. He feels a heavy responsibility, a desire to be there for Plankton in ways he's never had to before. As the minutes tick by, Sponge Bob begins to feel the weight of the day's events. His eyes grow heavy, his body swaying with exhaustion. Despite his resolve, he can't keep his lids open any longer. With a yawn, he collapses into the chair beside Plankton's bed, his head lolling to the side. His eyes close. Plankton opens his eye to find Sponge Bob asleep next to him. Plankton's gaze lingers on the sponge, his expression unreadable. He moves his antennas slightly, testing the boundaries of his new reality. The weight of Mr. Krabs' apology and his own words hang heavy on him. With a deep sigh, he knew that his relationship with Mr. Krabs was irrevocably changed, but he hadn't expected the sadness that accompanied the realization. He watched as Sponge Bob's chest lifted and fell in a steady rhythm, his grip on the blanket tight. A strange warmth spread through Plankton's heart, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Sponge Bob had always been his friend, even when he was at his worst. But this... This was different. This was someone sticking by him, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. The warmth grew, spreading through Plankton like a gentle current. It was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. He had felt it before, with Karen. Yet this was a different kind of warmth. This was friendship, pure and untainted by the greed that usually consumed him before... He studied Sponge Bob's peaceful face, his mind racing. This sponge, his enemy's best worker, had shown more kindness and understanding in the past few hours than anyone else in his life, other than Karen. And for what? A chance at the Krabby formula? No, for him. For Plankton. The warmth grew stronger, pushing out the coldness that usually dominated his thoughts. He felt a strange urge to reciprocate, to be... nicer. Sponge Bob stirred, his eyes fluttering open. "Plankton?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. Plankton's antennas lift slightly, his single eye focusing on the yellow form beside him. "Yes, Sponge Bob," he replies, his voice gentler than before. Sponge Bob sits up with a start. "How long have you been up?" he asks, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of pain or distress. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. "Not long," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on Sponge Bob. Sponge Bob's expression is a mixture of relief and concern. "Do you want to talk?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton's antennas wave slightly, a tiny nod of his head. "Talk," he echoes, his voice soft. Sponge Bob takes a deep breath, trying to form the words he desperately wants to say. "I just... I want you to know that I'm here for you, Plankton," he says, his voice shaking. Plankton's antennas wave slightly, and his eye narrows. "Here for Plankton," he echoes, his voice flat. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears. "Yes, Plankton," he whispers. "Always." Plankton's antennas twitch again, the word "always" echoing in his mind. "Always," he murmurs.
CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix (Autistic Author) As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, making something as simple as expressing love a monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the determination to help their family navigate through this. The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent promise that today will be better. Plankton emerges from the bedroom, his antennae drooping slightly, evidence of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, and she offers him a soft smile. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice gentle. He shrugs, his antennae twitching nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready to talk to Chip." Karen nods with a mix of concern and admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, heading to Chip's room. When they all gather at the breakfast table, the tension in the air is palpable. Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely moving, as if afraid to break the delicate silence. Chip looks between them, his eyes wide and hopeful. "Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep breath. "Remember what we talked about last night? About Daddy's meltdowns?" Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, who's pushing his pancake around with a syrupy look of dread. "Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is almost too much to bear, but he steels himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from the previous night's outburst. "I made you this," Chip says, pushing a plate of perfectly formed pancakes towards his father. "To make you feel better." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at the gesture, his eye focusing on the food with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his heart pounding in anticipation of a reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, hope blooming in his voice. Plankton nods, his antennae waving slightly. "They look delicious," he says, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The room holds its breath, waiting. "They're great," he finally says, and Chip's face lights up. The tension in the room eases ever so slightly, the sweetness of the maple syrup mingling with the salty scent of fear that still lingers. Karen watches the exchange, her heart swelling with pride for both of them. Plankton's effort to engage, despite his exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, seems to understand the unspoken rules of their new reality. They're all learning together, stumbling in the dark but finding their way through the maze of neurodivergence. "Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his voice filled with courage. "I know you have meltdowns sometimes. But I still love you." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his chewing slowing. He looks at his son, his single eye filled with a mix of emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. "I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I too." The room remains quiet, the only sound the soft clinking of silverware against plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, I need to tell you something." Chip looks up, his eyes wide and expectant. "What is it, Daddy?" Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "I have something," he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my brain works differently than yours and Mommy's." Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice steady. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks down at his plate, his voice quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. "It means that sometimes, I get really, really upset, and my body reacts in ways that might scare you." Chip's expression is a blend of confusion and curiosity. "But why do you get upset, Daddy?" he asks. Plankton's antennae wiggle as he searches for the right words. "Sometimes, things that don't bother you or Mommy can feel really, really big to me," he explains. "It's like when you're scared of a thunderstorm, and the thunder feels like it's right next to you." Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he points out. "It's different, bud," Plankton says, his antennae stilling for a moment. "It's like... sometimes my brain gets a storm inside, and I don't know how to make it stop." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a way that Karen knows means he's trying to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice a little stronger. "But I might have more storms. And when I do, I might need some space." Chip looks at him seriously, his young mind working to understand. "Ok," he says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy for you, Daddy." Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of love and relief. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "That means the world to me." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of a new understanding. "And you know," she adds, her voice gentle, "Whenever you have questions or if you're scared, you can come to me and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best as we can." Chip nods, his gaze still focused on Plankton. "But what if I don't know when I’m irritating you?" Plankton's antennae droop, and he sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. "Sometimes I don't know either. But we can learn together, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. "Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky. Karen pours them both a glass of juice, hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't we talk about what you can do to help?" she suggests, handing a glass to Chip. Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice earnest. Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. "Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is a little space, like when I'm in the middle of a big idea." Chip nods, remembering the times when Plankton would get so focused on his latest contraption that the slightest disturbance would send him into a tizzy. "I can do that," he says, his voice filled with determination. Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And when you do freeze, Dad," Chip continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell if you need a hug or if you just need me to sit with you?" Karen's eyes fill with pride as she watches her son's bravery. Plankton looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a way that she knows means he's trying to find the right words. "If I freeze," he says slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait until I come back. I might not be able to hug you right then, but I'll know you're there." Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass tightening slightly. "What about meltdowns?" he asks, his voice quivering. Plankton's antennae droop, and he takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," he admits. "But if you can give me space and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm down faster." Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, what types of touch do you like and what types of affection do you dislike?” Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She gives him a gentle nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, "I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or pats on the back, especially when I'm working or thinking hard. But a hand on my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is always nice." Chip nods, processing the information. "So, like when you're stressed, I should just tell you I love you?" Plankton's antennae wobble with the weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's right. Just remember, buddy, everyone shows love differently." Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she watches the conversation unfold. It's not perfect, but it's a start. A start to understanding and acceptance. "And if you need more than that, Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but earnest. Plankton looks at him, his antennae moving in a way that Karen can't quite read. "If I need more than that," he says, "I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you understand." Chip nods, taking another sip of his juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. "But what if I don't know what to say?" Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting with me is enough."
A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ix (Autistic author) With newfound enthusiasm, Plankton began to organize the mini jellyfish in the box, his antennae quivering as he meticulously arranged them by species and size. Each figurine was carefully placed, his movements deliberate and precise. "Jellyfish... special," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a hint of wonder. Sandy watched, her eyes shining with admiration. "You're really good at this," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Good at jellyfish," Plankton murmured, antennae waving slightly with pride. "Plankton's special place." Sandy nodded, her tail swishing with excitement. "Yes," she said, her voice filled with encouragement. "You have a special place in the world, Plankton, and jellyfish are your thing." As Plankton continued to organize his new collection, his movements grew more animated, his antennae quivering with purpose. Each jellyfish was placed with such precision that it was as if they were living beings in a miniature ocean. His eye never left his task, his mind fully engrossed in the world of jellyfish. It was as if by organizing them, he was somehow bringing order to his own chaotic thoughts. "Plankton," Karen said softly, "I know this is a big change for you. But you know what? Maybe this is your chance to do something amazing with your life." Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "Let's go outside." Plankton looked up from his box, his antennae twitching with excitement. "Outside?" "Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her smile warm. They made their way outside, with Plankton carrying his precious box of jellyfish figurines, his antennae quivering with excitement at the prospect of sharing his knowledge. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over Bikini Bottom as the trio strolled down the sidewalk. Their peaceful evening was abruptly interrupted when they rounded the corner to find Mr. Krabs, his eyes wide with surprise at the sight of Plankton in the company of Karen and Sandy. "What's all this?" he barked, voice gruff. Plankton's antennae drooped slightly, but he held his ground, his box of jellyfish figurines clutched tightly. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, monotone voice cracking. Mr. Krabs squinted at Plankton, his claw resting on his chin. "Well, if it isn't the little troublemaker," he said with a gruff chuckle. "What brings you out of the Chum Bucket?" Karen's forced a smile. "We're just out for a little stroll Krabs," she said. "Plankton's found a new hobby." Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued by the unusual sight of Plankton engaged in something other than his usual Krabby Patty obsession. "What kind of hobby?" he asks. Plankton's antennae quivered as he held up his box of jellyfish figurines. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a hint of pride. Mr. Krabs's eyebrows shot up. "Jellyfish?" he repeated, his voice incredulous. "What's gotten into you, Plankton? You're not planning to use them for some crazy Krabby Patty scheme are you?" Plankton's antennae twitched, but he remained calm. "No, Mr. Krabs," he murmured, voice firm. "Plankton loves jellyfish." Mr. Krabs squinted at him, his claw tapping against his chin as he tried to process this new piece of information. "You love jellyfish?" he said, his voice filled with skepticism. "What's so special about jellyfish?" Plankton's antennae waved slightly as he thought about how to explain it. "Jellyfish... unique," he murmured. "Different. Like Plankton." Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed. "Different, you say?" he repeated, his claw stroking his chin as he contemplated this revelation. "Well I'll be a barnacle's uncle. I never knew you had an interest in any thing but stealing me secret recipe." Karen stepped forward, her tentacles waving gently. "Mr. Krabs, when Plankton hit his head because of you and when I took him to the hospital, well let's just say things are a little different now." Mr. Krabs's eyes widened, his claw freezing mid-stroke. "Different? What do you mean, different?" Karen's tentacles waved in a calming gesture. "Plankton was diagnosed with autism after the incident with your cash register," she said gently. Mr. Krabs's eyes bulged, and his claws clutched at his chest dramatically. "Autism? What?" he bellowed. Sandy stepped forward, her voice firm and steady. "It's ok, Mr. Krabs," she said, her eyes on the crab. "It just means Plankton's brain works differently than ours. But he's still the same Plankton we know, and he's found something that makes him really happy." Mr. Krabs's eyes darting between Plankton and his box of jellyfish. "Well, I'll be a sea cucumber's uncle," he murmured, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. As they talked, a group of kids playing catch nearby accidentally bumped into Plankton, their laughter and shouts of excitement cutting through the air. In an instant, the delicate balance of jellyfish figurines was disrupted, and they spilled out of the box, scattered across the sidewalk. The children's ball rolled into the mix, coming to a stop. Plankton froze on the ground, antennae shooting straight up, eye unblinking as he stared at the chaos before him. The children looked up, their laughter fading as they took in the scene. "Plankton?" Karen's voice was gentle, but it was lost, mind racing as he tried to make sense of the sudden disarray. The children stared, their laughter dying in their throats as they saw the tiny plankton's distress. One brave soul reached out to help, but pulled back when Plankton didn't react. Karen and Sandy exchanged a worried glance. "Plankton?" Karen called again, her voice a little louder this time. The children watched, their curiosity piqued by the sight. One by one, they cautiously approached, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination. "What's wrong with him?" a young fish whispered to another, their eyes darting from Plankton to the scattered jellyfish figurines. "I think he's in shock," Krabs murmured, his own eyes filled with concern. "The disorganization of his jellyfish is really bothering him.." Sandy nodded, her eyes on the children. "Why don't you guys help Plankton?" she suggested. "You can put the jellyfish back in the box. Let's all put them back the way he had them!" The children looked at each other, then back at Plankton, who was still frozen on the ground. Slowly, they began to pick up the scattered figurines, their little hands moving with care as they tried to mimic the order Plankton had created. They whispered to each other, comparing notes and asking questions, their curiosity overcoming their initial fear. Karen watched them work, her tentacles relaxing slightly as she saw the concern in their eyes. "Good job," she murmured, her voice gentle. "You're all helping out." The children nodded, their eyes never leaving Plankton as they carefully placed each jellyfish back in the box. They worked in silence, their movements a mix of awe and caution. The sight of Plankton's intense focus on his jellyfish had left an impression on them, and they were determined to help him restore order to his miniature world. One by one, the jellyfish returned to their spots, each figure a silent testament to Plankton's knowledge and passion. The children looked at each other, then back at Plankton, who hadn't moved a muscle, still rigid, his eye unblinking. "Is he okay?" the bravest one asked, holding out a tentative fin. Plankton remained unmoving, his antennae quivering slightly. The children's gentle whispers and the soft patter of their flippers on the pavement was the only sound as they worked. The last jellyfish was placed back into the box, the figure of Burgessomedusa phasmiformis nestling into its spot among the others. The children held their breath, waiting for some sign from Plankton that he noticed their efforts. Slowly, Plankton's antennae lowered, and he blinked once, then twice. He looked down into the box, his eyes scanning the neat rows of jellyfish. The children watched as a slight smile graced his lips, and he let out a sigh of relief. The children beamed, their eyes shining with pride, stepping back to give him space. Mr. Krabs, still looking slightly stunned, took a tentative step forward. "Plankton?" he asked, his voice gruff but concerned. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he looked up, his one eye focusing on the crab. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice still present but with a hint of warmth. Mr. Krabs's claw hovered over the box, unsure of what to say. "I had no idea Plankton," he murmured, his eyes on the meticulously organized jellyfish. "It's ok," Plankton said, his monotone voice tinged with sadness. "Mr. Krabs didn't know." Karen stepped in gently. "Krabs is just surprised," she explained. "He's never seen you like this before." Mr. Krabs nodded, his expression softening slightly. "That's right," he said, his voice no longer filled with anger. "I've never seen you so... focused on something other than Krabby Patties." "Jellyfish special," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly. "I didn't mean to cause you brain damage, Plankton.." Mr. Krabs says. "It's okay," Plankton murmured, his antennae twitching slightly.
I V X L C D M 1 5 10 50 100 500 1000 🔢 Individual decimal places Thousands Hundreds Tens Units 1 M C X I 2 MM CC XX II 3 MMM CCC XXX III 4 CD XL IV 5 D L V 6 DC LX VI 7 DCC LXX VII 8 DCCC LXXX VIII 9 CM XC IX
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KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 9 (Autistic author) Karen's voice is a soft lullaby in the chaos, guiding Plankton's gaze to her screen. "Look at me," she whispers. "Only me." She holds his hand, her thumb tracing small circles on his palm, the sensation grounding him ever so slightly. His breathing slows, but only a touch. The room seems to pulse around him, a cacophony of colors and sounds, but Karen's eyes are a safe haven. They're familiar, their warmth reaching through the fog in his brain. He tries to focus on her, to ignore the sounds that are too loud, the lights that are too bright. "Breathe," she whispers, her hand on his chest, guiding his erratic respiration into a calmer rhythm. His breaths become shallower, his antennae gradually stilling. But the world around them doesn't. The kitchen clock ticked loudly, a metronome of chaos in Plankton's disordered mind. Karen notices his distress and quickly wraps him in a soft blanket, creating a cocoon of quiet. "Only me," she says, her voice soothing. "Only my voice." Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his body still within the embrace of the blanket. His eye focuses on a single point on the wall, the only thing that doesn't shift and change. "Only me," Karen repeats, her voice the one steady beacon in the storm of sensory input. She watches his chest rise and fall, her heart breaking at his pain. The ticking clock becomes a monster in Plankton's mind, each second a taunt, a reminder of the chaos he can't escape. His hand grips hers tightly, his entire being seeking solace in her touch. Sandy watches from the shadows, her heart heavy with regret. "What have I done?" she whispers to herself, her voice barely audible over the whirlwind of Plankton's distress. The ticking clock seems to grow louder, its metronome beat echoing through Plankton's skull like a sledgehammer. His body starts to convulse, his grip on Karen's hand becoming painfully tight. "Plankton," Karen whispers, desperation coating her voice. "Look at me, love. Just me." But her words seem to fade into the cacophony, lost in the sensory assault. His pupil dilates, his entire being consumed by the relentless ticking. The wallpaper's pattern swirls before him, a dizzying maelstrom of colors and shapes that he can't make sense of. The soft pressure of Karen's hand is his only anchor in this storm of input. Karen's voice is a distant whisper, her touch the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. He can feel her warmth, her love, but it's fading fast. The room spins, the colors bleed into one another, and the clock's ticking becomes a thunderous roar. Plankton's breaths come in short, sharp gasps as he tries to escape the prison of his own senses. Karen's eyes are wet with tears, her heart breaking as she watches her husband suffer. "Shh," she whispers, rocking him gently. "It's okay. I'm here." The room falls silent as Sandy holds her breath, the only sound the ticking of the clock that seems to mock them with its relentless rhythm. Plankton's body gradually stills, his convulsions giving way to twitches. His hand slackens in hers, the tension draining from his fingers. Karen's eyes never leave his face, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet. "Look at me," she says, her voice full of love and determination. "You're safe with me." But Plankton is gone, lost in the labyrinth of his mind. His body is a statue, frozen in the grip of autism's cruel embrace. His eye, once vibrant and full of life, is now a dull, glazed orbit, staring into the distance. The clock's ticking has become a muffled throb, a background noise to his internal crisis. Karen's voice is a distant whisper, her love a warmth he can't quite feel through the fog of his disordered thoughts. She holds him, rocking gently, her screen filled with a desperate hope. Sandy, from her corner, can't tear her gaze away. The sight of Plankton, usually so vibrant and scheming, reduced to a trembling shell is a stark reality she never anticipated. Guilt weighs heavy on her shoulders. Karen feels the weight of his hand in hers. It's a silent communication, his only way of telling her that he's still with her, even if he can't say the words. Sandy wants to help, inching closer but still giving space. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt. Plankton remains unmoving, his body tense and rigid under the blanket. Karen holds him tightly, her own body shaking with sobs. "Come back to me," she pleads, her voice desperate. The clock's ticking seems to slow, each second a torturous eternity. Sandy stands still, her eyes fixed on the tragic scene before her, unable to offer comfort or understanding. Karen's sobs become whispers, her voice barely audible. "Come back," she pleads, her grip on his hand unyielding. "I need you." The silence stretches between them, thick and oppressive, filled only with the relentless ticking. The room feels like it's shrinking around them, the walls closing in. Plankton's body is a statue. Karen's voice is the only thing that pierces the veil of his panic, her touch the only thing that feels real. She whispers his name, her voice soothing like a lullaby. Slowly, Plankton's hand twitches, his antennae lifting slightly. The ticking of the clock becomes background noise again, the wallpaper's pattern ceases its maddening dance. But he still otherwise remains unmoving, unblinking. Sandy tries to engage with him. "Plankton, buddy, do you wanna talk about what happened?" But he doesn't respond, his gaze locked on the wall. "Can you tell me what's wrong?" she asks, her voice gentle. Karen shakes her head, wiping away her tears. "He's in a shutdown," she explains quietly. "It's like his brain has gone into overload and he can't process anything." Sandy nods, yet tries a different approach. "Hey, Plankton," she says softly, her voice a contrast to her earlier boisterousness. "What do you see when you look at that wall?" He doesn't answer, his body as still as the pictures hanging on the wall. Sandy's eyes well up with tears, her heart breaking for her friend. "Plankton, are you dreaming?" she asks, peering over. "Back," Karen whispers, not taking her screen off Plankton. "He's in a bad place right now." Sandy nods, her eyes swimming with tears. She understands now, the gravity of the situation dawning on her. "I'll make it right," she says, her voice determined. "I'll help you." Karen looks up at her, her own eyes red and puffy. "Thank you," she whispers, gratitude thick in her throat. "But for now, just let it be. We need to wait until he comes back to us." Sandy nods solemnly, backing away to give them space. She sits at the end of the couch.
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CATCH IN MY CHIP ix (Autistic author) With grace of a dancer, Chip slides into the bed beside his dad, his movements calculated and precise. Each inch closer feels like a victory, a step to reconciliation. He's careful not to disturb. His hand reaches for Plankton's, his touch a whisper in the quiet. Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic. Chip swells with hope, clutches the hand tightly, feeling the strength in the slender fingers. It's a silent declaration of love, an unspoken apology. Karen watches, her screen shimmering with unshed tears. The sight of her son and husband finding their way back to each other fills her heart with a warmth that chases the shadows from the room. She knows this isn't a moment to interrupt, so she simply observes, her hand on Chip's back in silent support. Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets his body mold to the warmth of his dad's side. The scent of his dad's pillow, a mix of saltwater and something uniquely Plankton, fills his nose, lulling him into a sense of safety. Time seems to stand still in the quiet embrace, each tick of the clock a gentle reminder that moments like these are rare. But eventually, the world outside their sanctuary calls, and Plankton stirs. His antennas twitch, his eye blinking open . He's disoriented at first, his brain still wrapped in the cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels the warmth beside him, the weight of a small hand in his. Plankton's heart stutters, his body tense. His eye find Chip's peaceful face, his son's cheek pressed against his arm. The room is a tableau of quiet, the air thick with the unspoken. He's torn between emotions and fear, his mind racing. He doesn't remember falling asleep, the anger and frustration of last night a distant memory. But here's Chip, a living proof of their unspoken reconciliation. Plankton's antennas quiver, his hand hovering over their entwined fingers. He's afraid to move, to disturb the fragile harmony of the moment. But his body has other plans. His muscles tense, his skin prickling with the need for space. He's not used to this, the warmth, the weight. His autistic brain screams for order, for predictability. He tries to swallow the rising panic, to push it back down into the pit of his stomach where it belongs. Plankton can feel his own heart racing, his antennas quivering with the effort of holding still. His body wants to recoil, to retreat from the sudden assault of sensation. But he can't, not with his son's hand in his. Karen notices the tension in his body, the way his antennas spasm slightly. She knows what's coming, the inevitable retreat. With a gentle touch, she whispers, "It's okay, Plankton. You don't have to handle it if it's too much." Her words are a soothing balm, but they're not enough to calm the storm inside him. Chip's hand tightens slightly around his, and Plankton's eye snap to his son's face. He sees the trust there, the love. It's a punch to the gut, a reminder of all the moments he's missed, all the times he's failed to understand. His hand shakes, the tremble traveling up his arm. He tries to swallow the rising panic, his throat tight. But it's too much, the weight of his son's body, the heat, the smell, the touch. His mind whirrs, his senses overloading. He needs space, to think, to breathe. With a deep, shuddering inhale, he starts to pull away, his body fighting the instinct to shove Chip off the bed. Karen's hand is a gentle weight on his shoulder. "Take it slow," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the storm. Plankton nods, his antennas still quivering. He tries to push the panic down, to focus on the warmth of Chip's hand, the steady beat of their hearts. But the pressure builds, a crescendo of sensation threatening to crush him. He can't breathe. With a tremble, he starts to pull away, his hand sliding out from under Chip's. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice strained. "It's too much." Karen's hand remains on his shoulder, her eyes filled with compassion. "It's okay," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "We're here." The room spins around Plankton, a whirlwind of colors and shapes. His antennas wave wildly, his grip on reality slipping. He's lost in the chaos of his own mind, the sensory overload a tornado that threatens to consume him. Karen's voice is a beacon, guiding him back to shore. "Breathe," she whispers, her hand still on his shoulder. "In, out, slowly." Her words are a lifeline in the tempest. Plankton nods, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He tries to focus on the sensation of her hand, the gentle pressure of her touch. But the world keeps spinning, the colors blurring together like a watercolor painting left in the rain. He feels the bed shift as Karen sits beside him, her presence a grounding force. "Just breathe," she says, her voice a soft mantra. "You're okay." His chest rises and falls in quick succession, his body's desperate attempt to regulate itself amidst the chaos. His heart races, each beat a staccato in his ears. The room spins, the walls closing in, the ringing in his ears getting louder to where it consumes him, now impenetrable to any other sound. Karen notices the sudden pallor that sweeps over her husband's face, the way his body sags into the bed. Her eyes fill with concern, her hand tightening on his shoulder. "Look at me," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "Take deep breaths." But the ringing in his head is too loud. It's consumed him and impenetrable. He can't hear her. He doesn't hear anything. Karen's voice is a distant echo, the words swallowed by the cacophony in his mind. Her hand on his shoulder is the only real thing, the only anchor keeping him from being swept away. The room spins faster, the colors bleeding into one another until all Plankton can see is a kaleidoscope of sensory overload. The ringing in his ears crescendos, drowning out the world. His chest feels tight, his lungs desperate for air that won't come. He's adrift in a sea of panic, unable to find his way back to the shore. Karen's voice cuts through the din, her hand a firm reminder of reality. "Look at me," she says, her eyes locked on his, her voice a steady lighthouse guiding his way back. "Just me, just us." But Plankton's not hearing anymore. The room is spinning, the colors a whirlwind of chaos. He's lost in the tornado of his own making, the sensory overload a prison he can't escape. His hand shakes, his body tense as his mind begs for reprieve. Karen's eyes widen with concern. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby. "Look at me." She moves closer, her hand reaching for his face. Her touch is a grounding force, but it's not enough. He's too far gone. The room spins, a blur of color and sound. Plankton's eye is wide with panic, his body trembling. The bed seems to shift beneath him, the walls closing in. His breaths are shallow, his chest tight. He's lost in the tornado of his senses. Karen's hand on his shoulder is a lifeline, but his mind is too far gone. Her voice is a distant whisper, the words unintelligible. All he can feel is the crushing weight of the world pressing down on him, the lights too bright, the noises too loud. And then Chip stirs in his sleep. The movement sends a shiver down Plankton's spine, his body tightening like a coiled spring. The ringing in his ears reaches a crescendo, drowning out everything else. He tries to push the panic back down, to find the calm he desperately needs, but it's like trying to hold back the tide with a paper wall. Karen's eyes are filled with fear as she sees Plankton's descent into overwhelm. She knows the signs all too well. Her hand on his shoulder is now a firm grip, trying to keep him tethered to the here and now. "Look at me," she says, her voice a gentle command. "Just me, just us." But Plankton's gaze is unfocused, his mind swirling with a torrent of sensations that make him feel like he's falling into a bottomless pit. The room seems to spin faster, the light from the window a piercing glare that slices through his retina. He wants to shield his eye, but his arm feels like lead, too heavy to lift. Karen's touch is the only constant, her hand on his shoulder the one thing that feels real amidst the sensory maelstrom. But even that is slipping away as his dizziness crescendos into full-blown vertigo. His vision blurs, the lines of reality smearing into a nauseating whirl of color and light. "Plankton," she says, her voice urgent. "Look at me." The words echo in his head, a distant call amidst the chaos. He tries to focus on her face, her eyes the only constant in the whirlwind of sensations. But the world spins, faster and faster, until all he can see is a blur of color. Her hand on his shoulder is a lifeline, but it's slipping away. He feels himself falling, tumbling into the void of his own mind. His body is a marionette, his strings cut by the storm. The ringing in his ears reaches a crescendo, a symphony of panic that consumes him. Karen's eyes are wide with fear, her grip on him desperate. "Look at me," she repeats, her voice steady. "You're okay." Her hand moves to his face. But Plankton's gaze is glassy, his pupil dilated. He's trapped in the chaos of his senses. The ringing in his ears is a siren's call, pulling him deeper. Karen's hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, the softness of her touch a stark contrast to the harshness of the world invading his mind. "Look at me," she repeats, her voice a whisper. "You're safe." Her thumb traces the line of his jaw, a gentle guide. But Plankton's eye is glassy, lost in the storm. Her words are gentle, trying to soothe him. But the flames are too high, too strong. He's drowning in his own senses. With a tremble, Karen's hand moves to his cheek, her touch a soft caress. "Look at me," she whispers, her voice a lifeline thrown into the tempest. "You're ok."
SHELF IMPROVEMENT ix (Autistic author) "Plankton," Karen says, her voice steady despite the worry. "You need to understand that Chip doesn't mean to hurt you." But Plankton was lost in his own world, his tiny fists clenched by his sides, his body vibrating with uncontrolled anger. "No more!" he shrieked. "No more Chip!" His eye was wild, darting around the room as if searching for an escape from the invisible tormentor. Karen watched him. She had read about meltdowns in her research but experiencing one was another matter entirely. Her husband's distress was palpable, and she knew she had to act quickly. "Plankton," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Look at me. It's Karen. You're safe." But Plankton's eye remained wild, his antennae quivering. "No safe," he whispered, his voice haunted. "Chip, too loud." Karen understood the depth of his fear. "Chip's not here," she said soothingly. "He's in his room, just like we asked. You're okay." But Plankton's screams continued, his tiny body shaking with the force of his anger. "Chip go!" he yelled, his voice scratchy from the strain. "Chip bad!" Karen's mind raced, trying to find a way to calm him. She moved closer, her hands up in a non- threatening gesture. "Plankton, please," she said, her voice as gentle as a whisper. "Chip's not here, remember?" But Plankton's autistic meltdown continued, his voice raised in a string of incoherent threats and fear. "No more Chip!" he screamed. "Bad Chip, go!" His body was a blur of movement. Karen tried to approach him, her movements slow and deliberate. "It's just us, Plankton," she said calmly, her voice soothing. "You're safe." But Plankton's autistic meltdown was unyielding. "Chip bad!" he yelled, his antennae thrashing wildly. "Karen, make Chip go!" "Plankton, Chip's not here," she repeated, her voice even softer. "It's just you and me." Plankton's screams continued, his tiny frame contorted with rage. "Make Chip leave!" he shrieked. "Chip go away!" Karen's eyes filled with tears as she approached his trembling body. "Plankton, baby," she whispered, her voice steady. "Chip's not here. It's okay." But Plankton's autistic meltdown showed no signs of abating. He continued to scream, his fear-filled eye darting around the room as if his son was still there, threatening his sanctity. "No Chip, no more!" Karen's voice was a gentle stream of reassurance, trying to cut through the storm of his distress. She knew she had to find a way to calm him without adding to his overwhelm. She moved closer, her body language open and non-threatening. "Plankton," she soothed, her hand outstretched. "Look at me, it's just me, Karen." But his screams grew louder, his tiny fists pounding the bed in frustration. "No Chip! No more loud!" he shrieked, his voice raw. "Karen keep Chip away!" Karen moved closer, carefully placing a hand on his shaking shoulder. "Chip's not here, Plankton," she soothed, her voice gentle. "It's okay." But Plankton's autistic meltdown was a tempest she couldn't calm. "No more Chip!" he sobbed, his tiny body shaking with the force of his emotions. Tears streamed down his face, his antennae drooping as if in defeat. Karen couldn't bear to see him like this, so vulnerable and afraid. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand still on his shoulder. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice a gentle lullaby. "Chip's not here, Plankton." Plankton's sobs were like the waves of the sea, crashing against the shore of his tiny frame. Each breath he took was a battle, his body racked with the effort of trying to calm himself down. Karen felt powerless, but she knew she had to try something. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely audible over his cries. "Let's do our deep breathing, okay?" She demonstrated, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, hoping the rhythm would soothe him. For a moment, his screams stuttered, his breath catching. Karen felt a flicker of hope. She leaned closer, her hand on his chest. "In and out," she instructed, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath her palm. Slowly, his sobs began to even out, his breath matching hers. His body was still tense, his antennae still quivering, but the intensity of his meltdown was waning. Karen continued to breathe with him, her hand a comforting weight on his chest. "Good, Plankton," she whispered, her voice a soft breeze in the storm. "In and out." His sobs grew quieter, his body less tense. Karen's hand remained steady on his chest, feeling the erratic thumps slowing to a more manageable rhythm. The room was a cocoon of soft sounds—his breaths, her voice, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. "Good," she said, her voice still a whisper. "We're okay." Plankton's body was still, his breathing returning to normal. He looked up at Karen. "Karen," he murmured, his voice small and scared. Karen's with love and sadness. "I'm right here, baby," she whispered, stroking his forehead. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body slowly relaxing beneath her touch. "Safe," he murmured. "Chip?" Karen squeezed his shoulder gently. "Chip's in his room, just like we asked," she said, her voice soft and steady. "He's not going to bother you now." Plankton's antennae stilled, his breaths coming in deep, shuddering gulps. "No more loud," he whispered. Karen nodded. "I know, baby," she said. "We'll make sure it's quieter for you." Plankton's antennae relaxed slightly. "No more loud," he repeated, his voice a plea. Karen nodded, swiping at her own tears. "We'll keep things calm," she promised. "We're all going to work together to make sure you're okay." Plankton's gaze flicked to the door, his antennae quivering. "Chip safe?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. "Chip's safe," Karen reassured, her voice soothing. "He's just in his room, giving us some space." Plankton's antennae twitched with understanding. "Space," he murmured. "Chip understands space?" "Chip's just a little confused," she explained. "He loves you, but he's learning about your new needs." Plankton nodded slightly, his antennae still. "Chip good," he murmured. "Just... to much." Karen felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Yes, sweetie," she said. "Sometimes Chip's energy can be too much. We'll talk to him about it." Plankton's antennae twitched again, his gaze drifting back to the closed door. "Talk?" Karen nodded, wiping the tears. "Yes, we'll talk to him," she said. "We'll explain how you're feeling and what you need." Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Chip still loves Plankton?" Karen's eyes filled with tears. "More than anything," she assured him, her voice thick with emotion. "Chip loves you so much, and he'll learn how to be gentler with you." Plankton's antennae perked up a little, his fear beginning to recede. "Gentler," he whispered, his voice hopeful. "Yes," Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "We'll all learn to be gentler."
CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ix (By NeuroFabulous) The drive to the dentist was silent, the tension in the air thick. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye on the passing scenery outside the window. "You okay?" Karen asked, her voice soft. She reached over, her hand hovering. Plankton's antennae quivered. "Just... I'd prefer quiet, alone... and no touching," he murmured, his voice tight. "Please, for now." Karen nodded, her hand retreating to the steering wheel. "Okay, Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "I'll give you space.." The car was a cocoon of quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound to break the silence. Plankton sat in the passenger seat, his body tense, his antennae twitching slightly as he took deep, shaky breaths. Karen knew her husband was trying to prepare himself for the possible onslaught of the dentist's office. When they arrived, Karen parked the car and turned to him. "Ready?" she asked, her voice gentle. Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze darting to the bright building ahead. "As ready as I'll ever be," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen nodded, her expression understanding. "Let's go, love," she whispered, reaching for his hand. But Plankton's body tensed, his antennae shooting up. "No touching right now," he murmured, his voice tight. They approached the dental office with slow, measured steps. The bright lights and the smell of antiseptic made Plankton's antennas quiver, but he pushed through, his gaze focused on his wife's calming presence. Inside, the receptionist's cheery greeting was almost too much for Plankton, his antennae twitching erratically. The hum of the office was a cacophony to his sensitive ears, but he took deep breaths, his gaze never leaving the floor. Karen's voice is low and soothing. "It's okay, honey," she murmured. "We're just here for a quick check-up." Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. They take their seats in the waiting room, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Each tick of the clock echoes in the silence, a stark contrast to his racing thoughts. He focuses on his breathing, in and out, trying to calm his nerves. Karen notices the way his antennae twitch in agitation, her hand hovering close to his. But he shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the floor. The wait seems eternal, but finally, the hygienist calls Plankton's name. He stands, his antennae quivering slightly. Karen follows him into the room, her eyes scanning the environment for potential triggers. The hygienist, noticing Plankton's discomfort, speaks in a soft, even tone. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "I'm Rachel. We're just here to check on the teeth we saw last time. So we're gonna take another x-ray and compare them, okay?" Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. Rachel's gentle touch as she leads him to the chair is almost too much for him. Karen can see the effort it takes for him to stay still, his body tense as a bowstring. The sound of the x-ray machine whirring to life makes Plankton's antennas twitch. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her hand on his shoulder. "It'll be quick, just hold still." Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. Rachel places the film in his mouth, the cold metal sending shivers down his spine. He closes his eye, his breaths coming in short bursts. Karen's hand rests gently on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing circles. She whispers, "We've done this before," her voice like a balm to his frayed nerves. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching slightly. Rachel, the hygienist, notices his discomfort and dims the lights slightly. The sudden change makes his antennae still, his breathing evening out. "Alright, Mr. Plankton," Rachel says, her voice calm. "This won't hurt a bit. Just keep still and we'll be done in no time." Plankton nods, his antennae quivering slightly as Rachel steps away to take the x-ray. The room goes dark, the machine's buzz piercing the silence. Plankton's breath hitches, his eye squeezed shut. When Rachel returns, she's careful to avoid sudden movements. "Alright, Mr. Plankton, we're all done," she says, her voice soothing. Plankton's antennae still as he opens his mouth, allowing Rachel to remove the film. He swallows hard, his eye never leaving Karen's.
CHIP IN MY BOX ix (Autistic author) Plankton's eye focuses on her, his hand clutching hers like a lifeline. "Karen?" He whispers, the fog of confusion slowly lifting. His voice is weak, but the recognition is there, a spark in the vast ocean of his overwhelmed mind. Karen's breath hitches, relief flooding her body. "Yes, it's me," she murmurs, her voice a gentle tide washing over him. "You had a hard time, but you're okay now." Plankton's hand clutches hers, his grip tight, his reality slowly coming into focus. The velvet curtain is lifted gently, his eye blinking in the soft light. His gaze finds hers, and for a moment, it's just the two of them, a silent promise of support and understanding. "I... Dr. Kelp? Chip?" He blinks. Dr. Kelp nods, his tentacles still busy placing the sensory items. "We're all here," he says, his voice calm. "You're safe." Plankton's gaze moves to Chip, who's been watching silently from the side, his face a mask of fear and hope. "Chip?" He says, his voice weak. The boy nods, his eyes shimmering with tears. "I'm here, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry." The words hang in the air, a silent apology for his carelessness. Plankton's eye locks onto Chip, his grip on Karen's hand weakening as he tries to sit up. His mind is still a tangled web of confusion. "What happened?" Karen's voice is a gentle current, guiding him back to reality. "You had a reality break," she says, avoiding the harsher terms. "It's okay, we're here." Plankton's gaze shifts between them, his mind a whirlpool of questions and half-forgotten moments. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat a reminder of his vulnerability. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. Chip's eyes are wide, his heart racing as he watches his father struggle. He wants to say something, anything, but his throat is tight with fear. "It was an accident," he croaks out finally, his voice small. "I didn't mean to." Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his expression a mix of pain and confusion. "What did you do?" He asks, his voice a thundercloud of emotion. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his guilt a heavy weight. "I knocked over your box," he admits, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't know." The words hang in the air, a confession that feels like a betrayal. Plankton's gaze is a stormy sea, his emotions a tempest of anger and hurt. He looks at the shards of his sanity scattered on the floor, a silent accusation. The room seems to spin around them, a maelstrom of his swirling thoughts. "You broke it," he says, his voice a thunderclap of disappointment. The words hit Chip like a tidal wave, drowning his guilt. "You broke my box." The room seems to shrink, the air thick with tension. Karen's eyes dart between them, a silent plea for understanding. "It was an accident," she says, her voice soft. "Chip didn't know." Plankton's eye is on Chip, his gaze intense. He swallows hard, the reality of the situation crashing over him. "Why?" He whispers, his voice a raw wound. Chip's chin trembles, his eyes brimming with tears. "I just wanted to see," he whispers back, his voice tiny and scared. "I didn't know it was so important." Plankton's expression softens, the storm clouds of anger parting to reveal his own fear, his chest heaving with the effort of controlling his emotions. "I know," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "I'm just... tired." He looks at the new box. Karen's eyes fill with sympathy, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You don't have to explain," she whispers. "We're here." Her words are a balm to his soul, a gentle reminder that he's not alone in his journey.
A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY ix (By NeuroFabulous) Karen stepped in, her voice calm but firm. "Chip, let's give your dad some space," she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "He needs time to process this." Chip nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. He looked at Plankton one last time, his hand still hovering in the air. Plankton's antennas were still quivering, but his eye had softened slightly. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. He stepped back, allowing Karen to lead him out of the room. As the door clicked shut behind them, Chip couldn't help but feel a sense of failure. He had wanted to bridge the gap between them, but instead, it felt like he had only driven it wider. Chip couldn't shake the image of his dad's antennas, a silent language of pain and anger. He knew he needed to learn to understand these subtle cues, to navigate the complex world of his father's autism. In the quiet hallway, Chip swiped at his eyes, trying to comfort himself with the knowledge that Plankton's outburst wasn't personal. It was just his brain's way of coping with the overwhelming emotions. But understanding didn't make the hurt any less real. He looked up at Karen, his eyes pleading. "What do we do?" Karen's expression was a mix of sadness and resilience. "We give him space," she said firmly. "He needs to come to terms with his feelings in his own way." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the closed door. "But what if he doesn't want me around?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen took a deep breath, her hand rubbing his back in gentle circles. "Your dad loves you, Chip," she assured him. "He's just scared that you'll never truly understand him." She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "But you can show him that you're willing to try." They walked down the hallway, leaving Plankton's room behind them. Chip felt his heart heavy in his chest, the weight of his father's pain pressing down on him. "How?" he asked, his voice small. "How do I show him?" Karen squeezed his shoulder. "You just do," she said, her voice filled with a quiet strength. "You learn about autism, you learn about his likes and dislikes, and you listen to him." He had wanted to make his father happy, but instead, he had pushed him away. He sat down on the couch, his shoulders slumped. Meanwhile, Plankton remained in his room, his antennas drooping as his thoughts raced. He felt the weight of their conversation, his chest tight with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. He eventually goes out to find Chip and Karen in the living room. "Chip," he said, his voice shaky but determined. Chip looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and hopeful. Plankton stood in the doorway, his antennas slightly less rigid than before. Karen nodded encouragingly, giving him a gentle push forward. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennas twitched, his gaze drifting to the floor. "I know," he murmured. "But you have to understand, it's not easy." He took a deep breath, his body visibly relaxing. "I don't mean to push..." Karen stepped in, her voice soothing. "Why don't we all do something we enjoy?" she suggested. "Maybe something that won't overwhelm?" Chip's eyes lit up at the thought. "Yeah, like what?" Plankton took a moment, his antennas moving slightly as he thought. "How about a trip?" he suggested, his voice tentative. "Drive to the beach. It's quiet and calming." Chip's face lit up with excitement. "The beach?" He hadn't been in ages, and it was one of Plankton's favorite places. "Yes, let's do that!" Karen gave Plankton a warm smile. "That's a great idea," she said, her voice filled with relief and gratitude. In the car, the tension slowly began to dissipate as the ocean air filled the vehicle. Chip sat in the back, fidgeting with his seatbelt. "Dad, I want to ask you something," he said, his voice tentative. Plankton turned in his seat, his antennas twitching with curiosity. "What is it?" he asked, his voice a little softer than before. Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "I just want to know what I can do to help," he said, his eyes earnest. "What do you like?" Plankton's antennas moved slightly, a sign that he was processing the question. "Well," he began, his voice still tight with emotion, "I like it when you're patient with me." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's profile. "Okay," he said, his voice small. "What else?" Plankton's antennas moved slightly as he thought. "I like it when you ask before you touch me," he said. "And when you respect my need for quiet sometimes." His eye flickered to the side, looking at Chip. "And I like it when you don't try to change me." Chip nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "I'll try, Dad," he said, his voice earnest. "I'll always ask, and I'll always love you just the way you are."
PLUSH ONE ix (By NeuroFabulous) They sit in silence, their hands a bridge between their worlds. She can feel his pulse beneath her thumb, the steady beat of his heart. Plankton's eye flicks to the plushie in his other hand. Karen notices the change in his expression, a flicker of something she can't quite read. His grip on her hand remains steady, but the plushie seems to have captured his full attention. She wonders what thoughts are racing through his mind, the patterns and sensory inputs he's processing in his newly autistic state. Plankton's eye narrows, and his hand twitches. She can see the determination in his face, a reminder of the man she fell in love with, still present beneath the layers of fear and confusion. "What is it, Plankton?" she asks, her voice gentle. He stares at the plushie, his eye flickering with thought. "Need still," he murmurs. Karen nods. His autism craves structure, predictability. She moves slowly, her eyes never leaving his, and reaches for the plushie. "May I..." But Plankton's hand tightens, his body tense. "MINE!" he snaps, his voice sharp. Karen's hand stops mid-air, her heart racing. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just a..." But Plankton's voice is steady. "MINE," he repeats, his gaze unwavering. She understands now. The plushie is more than just a toy; it's a comfort object, a piece of his new reality that grounds him. "Okay," she says, her voice calm. "It's yours. You can hold it as long as you like." Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his breaths deepen. He nods slightly, his grip on the plushie unyielding. Karen's mind races, trying to think of ways to ease his fear without overwhelming his senses. "Would you li—" "NO!" he shouts. She's learned the importance of his sensory needs, of not pushing too hard. "Okay," she says, her voice calm, knowing better than to interrupt. Plankton clutches the plushie, his eye squeezed shut. "MINE," he whispers, his voice a tremble. She wants to comfort him, to tell him that she loves him, that she'll always be there for him. But she knows that words might not be what he needs right now. Instead, she sings a soft lullaby. Plankton's hand squeezes hers, his breaths slowing with each note. He opens his eye slightly, his gaze finding hers. "Karen," he whispers. The fear is there, but so is the love, unspoken but as real as the air they breathe. She sings as his body relaxes, his antennae still. Karen watches him, his eyelid fluttering closed. His hand in hers is still, the plushie pressed to his chest. Her screen swells with love and sadness. The man she knows is exhausted from the day's sensory bombardment. His new autistic brain has been working overtime to make sense of a world now too loud, too bright, too much. Plankton's eyelid flickers, his antennae drooping. His grip on her hand loosens, his breaths deepening with each verse. Karen's voice is a soft lullaby. Plankton's grip on the plushie loosens, his eyelid fluttering shut. Karen sings, her voice a gentle hum in the quiet room. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his grip on her hand softening. The plushie rises and falls with his deepening breaths, his body finally at ease. Karen's eyes fill with tears of relief as she watches him slip into sleep, his hand still clutching the plushie as he starts to snore lightly. Her screen is a mix of emotions: fear, sorrow, and a fierce love that won't let her look away. Karen watches Plankton's chest rise and fall with each breath, the plushie a pillow beneath his cheek. The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. Her mind races with the day's events, trying to process the sudden shift in their lives. But for now, she'll just be here, present in this moment of peace. Karen gently squeezes his hand, the gesture small but significant. Her love for him unchanged, though their relationship has taken a new form. The plushie rests between them, now a symbol of his autism's comforting embrace. She's heard about the importance of routine and familiar objects for those on the spectrum. Karen watches Plankton, his sleep deep and peaceful. Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and fears, wondering what tomorrow will bring for him. But tonight, he's just Plankton, her Plankton, asleep beside her. Their hands still entwined, his antennae finally still. Karen sighs, her eyes closed. She's tired, and the quiet hum of his snoring is a comfort. Her thoughts drift to their life before, to the days when his plans were more about Krabby Patties than patterns. A tear escapes, tracing a path down her screen. She misses those days, but more than anything, she misses his touch. Plankton's hand twitches in his sleep, and she wonders if he's dreaming of the ocean, of their underwater world. The world he used to navigate so easily, now a labyrinth of sensory overload, but she refuses to let the weight of the day crush her spirit. They'll figure this out together, find a new rhythm..
KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ix (Autistic author) Plankton's smile flickers back to life, his eye lighting up slightly. "Good," he says, a monotone echo. "Friend." Sponge Bob nods, his smile genuine despite the sadness still lingering in his eyes. "Always," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "Well, what should we do now?" Plankton's gaze shifts to the book, then to Sponge Bob. "Movie," he says, his voice picking up a hint of excitement. "Friend watch movie." His hands flap in a pattern that seems to mirror his thoughts racing. Sponge Bob's smile is a mix of relief and excitement. "Movie?" he repeats, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, let's watch a movie! What do you want to see?" Plankton's eye dart around the room, his hands flapping in a flurry of indecision. "You choose," he says, his voice a monotone. "You know me." His antennas twitch with anticipation. Sponge Bob's smile is filled with understanding. "Okay, then," he says, his voice calm. He scans the bookshelf, looking for a title that might spark Plankton's interest. "How about this one?" he asks, holding up a DVD case with a picture of the Dirty Bubble on the front. Plankton's antennas perk up, eyelighting up at the sight of the villainous bubble's grinning face. "Yes," he says, his voice a monotone. "Dirty Bubble." His hands flap in excitement. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes with love and concern for his unique friend. "Alright, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "Let's watch 'The Great Dirty Bubble Heist'." He pops the DVD into the player, the machine whirring to life. The two of them settle on the couch, Sponge Bob's arm draped protectively around Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's hands are still, his gaze fixed on the screen as the movie starts. The TV flickers to life, casting a warm glow over the room. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax slightly against his side, his eyes never leaving the colorful bubble of the Dirty Bubble's latest escapade. As the movie plays, Plankton's flapping subsides, his gaze transfixed by the screen. The sounds of bubbles popping and laughter fill the room, a stark contrast to the silence that typically accompanied their stakeouts at the Chum Bucket. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his shoulder leaning into him. He notices Plankton's antennas twitch slightly with every joke, his eye flickering with understanding at the slapstick humor. It's a small sign of connection, but it's enough. The movie's plot unfolds, and Plankton's chuckles echo through the room, his laughter a comforting reminder of their long-standing friendship. Sponge Bob smiles, watching Plankton react to the familiar beats of the film's storyline. It's clear his friend's love for the simple pleasure of laughter hasn't changed. As the film progresses, Plankton's chuckles grow softer, his eyelid drooping as he's nestled against Sponge Bob. He's falling asleep, his mind finally at ease in the comforting embrace of his friend. His head lolls to the side, his antennas coming to rest on Sponge Bob's arm. His mouth has fall open slightly, his breaths even and deep. Sponge Bob's heart swells with tenderness, watching Plankton's face. He gently shifts his position, adjusting the small blanket over Plankton to keep him warm. The TV's light continues to flicker across their faces, casting shadows on the walls. Sponge Bob doesn't want to wake him; instead, he takes the moment to study his friend's newfound peace. Plankton's antennas, usually a blur of activity, are still, his breaths deep and rhythmic. Sponge Bob notices the slightest tremble in his friend's hand, now resting on the couch cushion. He gently takes it in his, intertwining their fingers. Their friendship remains a bastion of comfort and acceptance. The TV echoes in the room, punctuating the silence between them. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his head now resting heavily against his shoulder. Plankton's laughter has turned to soft snores, his antenna twitching with each breath he takes. Karen peeks into the room, and sees Plankton asleep against Sponge Bob's side. She goes closer, wanting to make sure Plankton is ok. She feels warmth seeing their friendship unchanged by his diagnosis. Sponge Bob, ever the caretaker, has his arm around Plankton, his hand over Plankton's, their fingers intertwined. Karen smiles softly with pride. This moment of peace, despite the turmoil, shows their unyielding bond. "You guys okay?" she asks, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, Karen," he says, his voice low. "We're just watching a movie." Karen's smile is filled with warmth as she steps closer. "I can see that," she whispers. "How is he?" Sponge Bob's gaze shifts to her, his smile a mix of relief and sadness. "Different," he says, his voice soft. "But still Plankton." Karen nods with understanding. "He's been through a lot," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "But he's strong, and he has his friends." She sits down on the couch, her hand reaching out to rest on Plankton's leg. Her touch is light, comforting. Plankton's body twitches slightly in his sleep, his antennae stirring. Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand gently. "You're ok, buddy," he murmurs, his voice a soft reassurance. Karen sits down beside them, gaze on Plankton's serene expression. "I'm here," she says, her voice soft. "Always." She reaches out, her hand resting on Plankton's knee. The touch penetrates his subconscious, his antennae twitching slightly in response. Sponge Bob nods. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'm still trying to get used to this new Plankton." Karen's expression is one of quiet understanding. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "It's a lot to process, but you're doing great." She looks down at Plankton, his small form snuggled against Sponge Bob. "He's lucky to have you," she whispers. Sponge Bob nods, his voice thick with emotion. "But it's hard to see him like this." His eyes well with tears, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Karen's gaze is filled with compassion as she looks at Plankton. She reaches over, her hand gently brushing his cheek. "He's still the same Plankton," she whispers. "He's just learning to navigate a new part of himself." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes still fixed on the TV. "I know," he says, his voice tight. "But it's so...different." His eyes flicker with unshed tears. Karen's gaze remains on Plankton's peaceful face, her hand still on his knee. "It is," she says, her voice soft. "But different isn't bad, Sponge Bob." She looks at him, her eyes filled with a gentle wisdom. "It's just new. And sometimes, new things take getting used to." Sponge Bob nods. "I know," he says, his voice a whisper. "It's just..." He pauses, his thoughts racing. "It's just that I want to be there for him, you know?" His voice cracks, his grip on Plankton's hand becoming stronger. Karen nods with empathy. "I know you do, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice soft. "And you are." She reaches over, placing a comforting hand on Sponge Bob's shoulder. "You just need to be patient with him, and with yourself. We're all learning together." The TV laugh track fades into silence as the movie reaches its end. Plankton's snores remain steady, a testament to his sleep. Sponge Bob sighs, his eyes finally leaving the screen. He looks down at their joined hands. "I'll be patient," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "For you, Plankton." His eyes meet Karen's, a silent promise passing between them. "I know you will," she says, her voice a gentle encouragement. "You've always been a good friend." The room is quiet, save for Plankton's soft snores. Sponge Bob's eyes remain on the TV, his thoughts spinning. Karen's words echo in his head: different isn't bad, just new. He looks down at Plankton. He tries to imagine a world where Plankton doesn't have autism, but the thought feels wrong. This new version of his friend is still Plankton, still the same in so many ways. Their bond is strong, their friendship unchanged. He squeezes Plankton's hand, his thoughts racing. "I'll be there for you," he whispers, his voice a promise. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton's snores hitch slightly, his antenna twitching in his sleep. Sponge Bob's filled with a newfound determination. He'll be there for Plankton, no matter what. His heart swells as he leans down, his lips brushing Plankton's forehead in a soft kiss. The room is a cocoon of quiet, their friendship a beacon in the stillness. Karen watches them, her heart heavy but hopeful. "Let's get him to bed," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods, his movements careful as he lifts Plankton into his arms. Plankton's eye flutter open briefly, his gaze confused but quickly calming at the sight of Sponge Bob's smiling face. "Tired," Plankton murmurs, his voice sleepy. Sponge Bob nods, his smile gentle. "Come on, buddy," he says, his voice a warm whisper. "Let's get you to bed." They're careful not to jostle him to much. Plankton's eye droop closed again, his body limp in Sponge Bob's embrace. Karen leads the way to the bedroom. The bed is made with fresh sheets, the room organized with care. Plankton's favorite gadgets line the shelves, each item meticulously placed. Sponge Bob lays Plankton gently on the bed, body is heavy with sleep, his snores a comforting lullaby. Karen pulls the blankets up, tucking them around his small form. "Thank you," Plankton mumbles. Sponge Bob's smile is warm and reassuring. "You're welcome, buddy," he says, his voice low. "Sleep tight." Karen watches the scene with affection. "I'll be right outside if you need anything," she whispers. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye opening slightly. "I lo-ove you.." "We love you too, Plankton," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. He smiles at Karen, who nods in understanding before they slip out of the room, letting him sleep.
AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY ix (Autistic author) Mr. Krabs knew that his rivalry with Plankton had always been about more than just the Krabby Patty. It was about pride, about being the best, about proving his worth. But as he looked at Plankton, his tiny form swallowed by the large couch cushions, he realized that none of it mattered compared to the pain he had caused. The next day, Plankton found himself sitting in the waiting room of a dentist's office, to get an X-Ray. Karen sat by him. "You ok?" she asked, her voice gentle. Plankton nodded, his antennas twitching nervously. The door to the exam room opened, and a cheerful dolphin dental hygienist waved them in. "Good morning, Plankton!" she chirped. "Ready for your X-ray?" Plankton's antennae shot up instinctively at the sudden noise, his body stiffening. Karen squeezed his hand gently, offering reassurance. "It's okay," she murmured. "We're here." The dolphin's smile was bright, but it was the softness in her eyes that helped Plankton relax slightly. They had been informed of his condition, and she approached with a gentle caution. "We'll take it slow," she said, her voice a gentle melody. "We're just getting an x-ray okay?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still quivering slightly. The dolphin hygienist, named Delfina, guided him into the exam room. The room was a symphony of white, a stark contrast to the cozy confines of the Chum Bucket. Plankton felt his heart racing in his chest, his antennae twitching as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Delfina the hygienist guided Plankton gently to the chair, her eyes filled with understanding. "Just sit back and relax," she said, her voice a gentle wave washing over him. Plankton did his best to remain calm. The hum of the machinery was a constant reminder of his sensory overload, but he focused on Karen's soothing presence beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Delfina moved with grace and precision, her movements fluid and unthreatening. She explained each step of the process to him, her voice a soft lullaby that helped to soothe his nervous system. "Open wide," she cooed, her eyes gentle as she placed the X-ray sensor in his mouth. Plankton's antennae trembled slightly, but he did as she instructed, his teeth clamping down on the cold, plastic device. The whir of the X-ray machine was like a tornado in his ears, but he focused on Karen's calming presence beside him. Her hand remained on his shoulder, a grounding force amidst the chaos of sensations. As the X-ray was completed Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae slowly unfurling. The doctor, a wise old sea turtle named Dr. Dolittle, entered the room, his eyes behind thick glasses scanning the X-ray results. Plankton tried to read his expression, his antennae quivering with anticipation. Dr. Dolittle's face remained neutral as he studied the images, but Plankton couldn't help the anxiety that bubbled up within him. "Well, Plankton," the doctor said, his voice deep and soothing. "It appears that you need to have your wisdom teeth out. They'll potentially cause issues.." Plankton's antennae shot up in panic, his grip on the chair tightening. The thought of surgery was overwhelming, a tsunami of fear crashing into the shores of his already-fragile nervous system. He froze, his body a statue of terror. The room around him was a blur of colors and shapes, the sounds of the dental office a cacophony. Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone. Sponge Bob sat in the corner, his eyes wide with concern. He had accompanied Plankton for moral support, but the sight of his friend's distress was painful to watch. "It'll be okay," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper in the tense silence. But Plankton couldn't hear him. The words were lost in the symphony of his own fear. His antennae twitched rapidly, his breath shallow. Karen turned to Sponge Bob, her expression soft. "It's okay," she assured him, her voice low and calming. "He's just processing the words sinking in." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's distressed form. "I'm here, buddy," he offered, his voice a gentle wave in the storm of emotions. But it was Karen's voice that cut through the chaos, her words a lighthouse in the fog. "Plankton," she said, her tone firm but soothing, "you just breathe. We'll make sure of everything." Plankton nodded, his antennae still quivering, closing his eye as he took a shaky breath. Dr. Dolittle noticed Plankton's distress and offered a gentle smile. "Don't worry, Plankton. We'll make sure you're nice and sleepy before we do anything. It's a simple extraction, and you won't feel a thing." The room grew quiet as the doctor's words sank in. Plankton was terrified of the unknown, his mind racing with images of sharp tools and pain. His antennae twitched uncontrollably, and his body began to tremble. Karen leaned in, her voice calm and reassuring. "It's like going to sleep," she said, her eyes locked with his. "You won't feel anything, I promise." Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he processed her words. "We're going to give you a little something to help you sleep," Delfina explained, her voice a gentle hum. "It'll be like a nap, and when you wake up, it'll all be over." Plankton's antennae stilled slightly, his breathing slowing as he nodded. The room was a whirlwind of activity as Delfina and Dr. Dolittle prepared for the procedure. Sponge Bob's hands were clenched into fists of worry, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. Karen noticed his distress and squeezed his shoulder. "It'll be okay," she whispered. "Remember, we're here for support." The scent of antiseptic filled the room, making Plankton's eyes water, but he nodded, his trust in his friends overriding his fear. Delfina approached with a clear liquid. "Drink this," she instructed, her voice a gentle whisper. "It'll help you relax." Plankton's antennae quivered but he did as she said, the liquid sliding down his throat with an eerie calmness. As the anesthetic took hold, his thoughts grew fuzzy, like the edges of a distant memory. He felt his body begin to relax, the tension in his muscles dissipating like a wave retreating from the shore. The world grew dark around him, the sounds of the dental office becoming muffled whispers. The weight of his fear lifted slightly as the gentle embrace of oblivion beckoned. They administered the i.v., the cold sting of the needle quickly forgotten as the warmth of the sedative spread through his tiny body. Plankton felt his muscles go slack, his antennae falling limply to his side. The room grew hazier, the colors and shapes melting like crayons on wet paper. He felt his consciousness slipping away, the fear retreating with it. Karen's hand remained on his shoulder, a beacon of warmth and comfort in the cold, sterile environment. As Plankton succumbed to the pull of sleep, he heard the muted voices of Karen and Sponge Bob, their words a gentle lullaby. Their presence was a warm blanket wrapped around him, shielding him from the cold, metal world of the dental chair. Sponge Bob watched as Plankton's tiny form grew still, his antennae finally at peace. He looked up at Karen, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and anxiety. "He's okay," she whispered, her voice a soothing wave. The room grew quieter as Plankton fell into a deep slumber, his antennae finally still, as he's completely asleep before they began the extraction. Delfina checked his vital signs, her flippers moving with the precision of a ballet dancer. "He's out," she murmured to Dr. Dolittle, who nodded in satisfaction.
11:11✨
DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 9 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) The door opens quietly, and Chip peeks in, his eyes swollen with tears. Karen looks up, her eyes questioning. He stands there, his body quivering with emotion, his heart aching to join them. Karen nods, a silent permission. With tentative steps, Chip approaches the bed, his eyes on his father. Plankton's snores are deep and even, his body relaxed against Karen's. Chip's hand shakes slightly as he reaches out. His touch is feather-light, his fingertips brushing against Plankton's antennae. They quiver under his touch, but Plankton doesn't wake. Karen looks up at him, her eyes filled with love and understanding. She nods once, and Chip climbs onto the bed. He sits there, his body rigid with nerves, his heart racing. He wants to make it right, to show his father that he cares, that he's not just a kid playing doctor. Karen watches him, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and sadness. She knows this is hard for Chip, that he desperately wants to help. Chip's hand hovers over his father's antennae, his fingers trembling. He's seen his mom do this a hundred times, the gentle stroking that seems to calm Plankton like nothing else can. He takes a deep breath and touches them, lightly. Karen's smile reassures Chip. "It's okay," she whispers, her hand on his shoulder. "He's sleeping." Plankton's antennae twitch at Chip's touch, but his sleep remains undisturbed. Encouraged, Chip starts to mirror Karen's movements, his strokes becoming more confident. The tension in his body starts to melt away as he focuses on his dad's peaceful state. Karen watches her son's hands with a mix of pride and sadness. She knows he just wants to connect, to understand, but autism is complex. And she knows Chip is learning that. "Remember, Chip," she whispers, "he's sensitive to touch." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his father. He's afraid of doing it wrong, but the sight of Plankton sleeping peacefully gives him courage. His strokes are soft, his movements careful. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, but his snores remain steady. Chip's breaths ease, and he feels a warmth spread through him. This small moment of connection feels like a victory. Karen's hand squeezes his shoulder, and he glances up at her, his eyes shimmering with hope. "Keep going," she whispers, and he does, his touch becoming more rhythmic. Plankton's body shifts slightly, his antennae nuzzling into Chip's touch. It's a small thing, but it feels monumental to Chip. He looks at his mom, her face a mix of love and sorrow. She nods, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. This is what family is, supporting each other through the storms of life. The room is a cocoon of quiet, the only sound the comforting soft snores of Plankton. Chip's fingers dance over the antennae, his eyes never leaving his father's face. Karen watches them, her heart swelling with love. In this moment, Chip understands what Karen had tried to explain earlier. Plankton's autism isn't a problem to solve; it's part of who he is, a challenge that makes their bond even more precious. He strokes his dad's antennae with newfound respect and patience. Karen's eyes never leave them, her heart swelling with pride. "It's getting late," she says softly. "You should get some sleep too." Chip nods, his gaze still locked on his father. He doesn't want to leave him, but he knows he has to. With a final stroke of Plankton's antennae, he slides off the bed, his legs shaky. "You did good, sweetie," she whispers, her eyes glistening. He looks back at her, his face a question. "But I made him so mad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen takes his hand, squeezing it gently. "You meant well," she says, her tone firm but kind. "And you learned from it. This is part of loving someone with autism, Chip. Sometimes you'll make mistakes, but what's important is that you keep trying." With a nod, Chip wipes his nose with the back of his hand and heads for his room, his heart heavy but hopeful. Karen watches him go, her eyes following his retreating back. Then, she turns her attention back to Plankton, still sleeping in her arms. Gently, she shifts his body, adjusting the pillows under his head. His antennae twitch slightly at the movement, but he doesn't stir. She pulls the blanket up to his chin, smoothing it down over his shoulders. His skin is warm against her fingertips, a comforting sign that he's comfortable.
๋࣭ ⭑⚝˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗___ ★₊˚﹟🪐 '✩°。 ⋆⸜ 🎧✮‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆
whoever said "guy stop f-ing saying this web needs to be a f-ing app like what the f-k there lots of f-ing beef like do you guys have brain cells of a d-k sh-t like get a life if you care about f-ing 8 year olds then dont make this a f-ing app if you f-ing do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a f-ing bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・" please chill out like multiple people have said this is a website where little kids come on here to find cute combos so please be respectful ౨ৎ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
guy stop fucking saying this web needs to be a fucking app like what the fuck there lots of fucking beef like do you guys have brain cells of a dick shit like get a life if you care about fucking 8 year olds then dont make this a fucking app if you fucking do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a fucking bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
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🐕‍🦺🦎🐬🐝🐢🌻🌼🌸🌹🥀🪻🪷🌷💐ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ*ੈ✩‧₊˚𓆉. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁>ᴗ<ᯓᡣ𐭩⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆⋆˚✿˖°🍄🍓🧸🧺🪞
hehe im 9 years old and fingering and rubbing is so fun :3 i search up pron when I'm horny, keep making those dots, i like to massage my pussy >_< _________________________ 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 13𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘺. 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘪𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭, 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

born in 1998, scorpio ☀︎ ♏︎
❤️‍🔥ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⏲
9️⃣ 8️⃣
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠈⠛⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡦⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢠⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣇⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠂⠍⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣄⡀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
:3 (・ω •) 🌟
िપƈᛕٱกﻭ ᛕٱɭɭ ץѻપɼ รﻉɭि กٱﻭﻭﻉɼ/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿🌑▄︻デ══━一
"9️⃣6️⃣"
9️⃣1️⃣1️⃣👉
𓂋9️
e🇪🇹🇾🇦🇸🇷🇮🇪🇷🇹🇾🇦🇸🇮🇱🇧🇨🇫🇽🇵ℹ󠁈󠁚󠁇󠁰󠁣🇰🇯🇿🇨🇫󠁈󠁇󠁣🇵🇿ℹ󠁳⸸♭𓎆⚡︎‼󠁗󠁏󠁷󠁱󠁁󠁩󠁄󠁂󠁆󠁘󠁅󠁖🇦🇮🇪ℹ🇷🇹🇵🇾🇦🇸🇮🇱🇨🇧🇰🇯🇿🇫🇽󠁧󠁈󠁳ℹ️󠁫󠁷󠁯󠁱∘𝔼◐◡◑𝓗𖤐∀✴☣®️🅿️💙🤤❎💵💟🥉🔤ඞSUSSY☆⋆。𖦹°‧★૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა几ㄩ卄 ㄩ卄/ᐠ. 。.ᐟ\ᵐᵉᵒʷˎˊ˗🔰
(҂ `з´) ︻╦̵̵̿╤──
9️9️9️
born in 1998, scorpio sun♏
COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 9 (Neurodivergent author) The next morning, Karen wakes up first. She and Plankton are still at Hanna's house. The room is a soft embrace of morning light, the curtains pulled back like the veil of a bride. She carefully extricates herself from the tangle of limbs, not wanting to wake him. Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep, a gentle reminder of his constant vigilance, even in rest. Karen moves quietly, seeing Hanna already up. "How's he doing?" Hanna whispers, her voice a soft splash in the morning calm. Karen turns, her eyes a mirror of the quiet sea outside. "He's sleeping," she says, her voice a soothing ripple. Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching with the first whispers of consciousness. The room's soft light is a gentle tide, easing him into the day. His eye opens. Karen is there, her smile a ray of sunlight piercing the morning's soft shadows. "Hey," she says, her voice a gentle ripple. "How are you feeling?" Plankton blinks, his antennae slowly rising like the dawn. "K-Karen," he mumbles, his voice a quiet wave against the shore. Hanna followed Karen in to the room. "Just let him wake up," Karen murmurs. Her screen is a soft sea, full of concern for Plankton. Hanna nods, her curiosity like a rock in the tide of her understanding. "I've never seen anything like yesterday before," she says, her voice a whisper. "When I saw the seizure..." Her words trail off, the memory a storm cloud in the room's serenity. Karen nods. "It's like his brain gets overwhelmed and just...short- circuits." Hanna's screen is a canvas of curiosity, her eyes wide as the sea. "What causes it?" she asks, her voice a gentle probe. Karen sighs, her screen a soft glow. "His brain can't always handle the overstimulation." Hanna nods, her gaze sliding to Plankton, who is sitting up. "You mean like a meltdown?" The word hits him like a tidal wave, his antennae snapping to attention. "Don't say that," he snaps, his voice a crack of thunder in the room's calm. "Never call it a 'meltdown' or a 'seizure'!" Karen's eyes widen, a silent ocean of surprise. Hanna's cheerfulness fades like the dawn. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating wave. Plankton's antennae snap back, a barricade of hurt. "They're just words, Plankton," Hanna says, her voice tentative. He turns away, his antennae quivering. "I can't control it." The room's peace is a shattered coral reef, the waves of his emotion crashing through. Karen sits beside him, her hand a comforting current on his back. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "It's ok to be upset." Her words are a lighthouse beam, guiding him through the fog of his fears. "Those words are just descriptions. They don't define you. What words would you like them to be called instead?" He thinks for a moment, his antennae twitching with the effort. "How about...'overwhelming moments'?" he suggests, his voice a soft lapping wave of hope. "Pauses, spasms.." Karen nods, her eyes a gentle smile. "That's a beautiful way to put it," she says, her voice a soothing current. "Would you like me to use that instead?" Plankton turns to her, his antennae quivering with hope. "Yes," he whispers, his voice a soft wave. "Would like to use that instead."
Ⓜhi
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"’STOP DOING THIS STUFF! I AM TEN AND I WAS LOOKING FOR CUTE EMOJIS THAN I SAW THIS, WHAT IS THIS PLEASE STOP I AM TRAMATIZED 😭’ then don't search fir shut you fucking dumbass <3( ^ω^ )*𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴*“ and u should stop posting it too smartass!!! ^_^
:3✩°。⋆⸜(˙꒳​˙ )🛩☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
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