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<3
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠄⠤⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡀⣀⢀⡀⢀⣀⣠⣶⣾⣿⣆⣀⣀⣀⣀⣼⣿⣶⣦⣀⡀⣀⢀⡀⣀⠀⠀ ⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡿⠋ ⠀⠸⣿⠀⡀⠀⣾⣿⣿⡦⠄⠀⣸⣿⣿⣆⠀⢠⢼⣿⡥⠐⠄⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⡇⠁⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠡⢻⣾⣿⣟⣧⡆⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠹⣿⣆⣀⣙⠻⠟⢋⣠⣾⣿⠛⠽⣿⣷⣣⡙⠿⢿⢋⣀⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠏⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠋⡁⠎⡐⢈⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⡿⠿⠛⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⢁⠀⠀⠓⠀⢀⣄⣐⣂⣁⣂⣠⡀⠀⠖⠀⠋⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⢊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠂⠠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢌⢔⠠⡀⡐⢈⠃⠶⡐⠌⠤⣁⢂⡐⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠣⠒⣥⢊⡜⣤⢃⢎⣱⣐⠦⠘⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⠐⠉⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
❾¾ ⌁☍
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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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚
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."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠈⠛⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡦⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢠⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣇⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠂⠍⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣄⡀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
9️⃣ 8️⃣
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 9 (Autistic author) The quiet of the room envelops them like a warm sea breeze, the only sound his soft, even breaths. Her grip on his hand tightens slightly, a silent promise to protect and guide him through this new chapter of his life. As her hand strokes his gently in a comforting rhythm, her gal pal, Sandy, unexpectedly comes in through the door. "Mornin'!" she chirps, her cheerful voice piercing the calm. Plankton jolts awake, his eye snapping open like a trapdoor. The sudden shift from sleep to wakefulness is jarring, his heart racing like a tiny engine. "S-Sandy?" he stammers, his voice a static whisper. Sandy's cheerfulness doesn't waver. "Hey there, little buddy!" she says, her voice a sunlit melody. But Plankton's heightened sensitivity turns her greeting into a cacophony. He flinches, his grip on Karen's hand tightening. "It's okay," Karen beeps soothingly, her screens reflecting his distress. Sandy gets a word search book out. "I just got it today!" Plankton's eye, though tired, lights up slightly at the sight of the book. The pages are a calming white with neatly arranged letters, the colors a gentle wash of blue and yellow. "Want to see?" she asks, her voice a warm trill. He nods, his body still tense but his curiosity piqued. Sandy opens the word search book, her fingers tracing the rows and columns with a gentle precision. "Look, Karen," she says, her voice a soft trill. "It's all about science." Plankton's eye, though still wary, is drawn to the page. He scans the words, his brain lighting up with recognition. "Words," he whispers, his voice a steady static as she sets the book down. The sight of the word search grounds him, the predictability of the patterns offering a comforting routine. His breathing slows, the chaos of his senses retreating like the tide. "Find," he says, looking at the index. Sandy's smile is infectious, her enthusiasm for the simple task contagious. "Okay, let's find some words!" she says, her voice a gentle trill. She points to the first puzzle. "How about this one?" Plankton nods, his eye focusing on the page. The challenge of finding words within the grid is a comforting distraction from the sensory overload. "Start," he whispers, his voice a firm static. Sandy nods, her thumbs tucked into the pages to keep their place. "Okay, we're looking for 'jellyfish scientific name,'" she asks, her voice a gentle trill. Plankton's mind latches onto the task, the letters becoming a puzzle to solve. "Medusae," he murmurs, his voice a focused static. Sandy's eyes light up with excitement. "That's right!" she says, her voice a delighted trill. "Good job, Planks!" Plankton feels a small spark of pride, his focus narrowing to the word in question. The world around him fades into the background as he scans the grid. Each letter is a stepping stone in a vast, orderly sea. "Good job," Karen beeps, her screens illuminating with pride. "You're doing great." Plankton nods, his eye locked on the word "medusae" he's just found. The simple act of locating the word in the jumble of letters brings a sense of peace, a respite from the sensory onslaught. He goes to the next when Sandy interrupts his focus. "So, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "How's your day been?" He can't multitask, which Sandy doesn't notice. Plankton's mind is fully absorbed by the word search, each letter a piece of a puzzle he's eager to solve. Her question hangs in the air, a bubble waiting to pop, but he's too engrossed to respond right away. Finally, he looks up, his gaze shifting from the page to her face. "Day?" he repeats, his voice a confused static. Sandy nods, her expression gentle. "Yeah, how have you been?" Plankton's gaze flits back to the word search, his hand twitching to point out the next word. "Words," he says, his voice a focused static. "Words." But frustrated Sandy thinks he's just trying to ignore her, and she interrupts him again. "Plankton, I'm talking to you," she says, her voice a gentle nudge. Plankton's single eye darts back to her face, his grip on the word search pencil tightening. "Words," he whispers, his voice a static echo of his thoughts. "Words." He tries to get back to it, but Sandy's not satisfied. "But how are you, Plankton?" she presses, her voice a persistent hum. The word search is a safe haven, but he knows Sandy waits for an answer. He's getting frustrated. He takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "Okay," he whispers, his voice a static sigh. "Tell Sandy." Sandy leans in, her face a picture of concern. "What's going on, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. He looks back at the word search, the letters blurring slightly. He's tired of being interrupted. "Plankton has words now," he says, his voice a firm static. "Words make happy." Sandy's not sure what he means, but she does want to have a conversation. So, how does she get him to interact?
:3✩°。⋆⸜(˙꒳​˙ )🛩☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
born in 1998, scorpio ☀︎ ♏︎
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠤⢤⢤⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡏⢖⡩⡝⡸⡌⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣉⠮⣑⢮⡱⡙⡎⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠒⠛⠛⠛⢛⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠉⠙⠠⢌⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣤⣦⣶⠶⠶⠶⠆⠀⠀⣸⡧⠜⡥⠗⠶⢧⠳⠩⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣤⣄⣀⣀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠛⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣤⣀⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣼⠿⠟⠛⠛⠌⠃⠋⠙⠉⠋⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⡻⣯⣽⡯⠛⠛⣫⣽⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⠟⠋⠈⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣯⣍⡿⢟⡹⠉⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⢀⠀⢀⠄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠈⠻⣿⣷⣀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⡀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡄⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⡌⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡶⠚⠋⠉⠉⢉⣴⣿⠟⠛⢿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣶⣀⠠⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⢶⣿⣋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⡧⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣦⡀⢤⠀⠀⡐⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠄⠄⠐⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⣿⠾⠿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⣱⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣌⠂⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀ ⢤⠔⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠁⢀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⢠⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣄⣤⣤⣤⣦⣤⣦⣴⣶⣶⣶⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣠⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣭⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣦⣤⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡒⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⢀⠁⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⡀⠂⣀⢠⣿⣿⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠸⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡇⠀⠀⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠠⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣇⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⣿⡟⠉⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⢹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣶⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠉⠻⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⡀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣾⣿⡿⠋⠉⠛⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠐⠘⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢣⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⣿⣷⣦⣼⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣾⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡿⠋⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⣿⣇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠙⢿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣷⡀⠙⠻⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣇⣼⣷⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡄⠀⠀⢠⣶⡄⠀⢠⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⢿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⡏⢿⣿⣄⡆⣰⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⣾⣿⣿⣶⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢠⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠻⣿⣿⡿⠋⠙⢻⣿⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣩⣽⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⣳⣿⣿⣧⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣦⣀⣘⣻⣗⣀⣀⡀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣼⣿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣼⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣦⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⣽⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣦⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣥⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢰⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣹⣿⣏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣄⡀⠀⠈⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⢠⢻⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⡟⠁⣿⣯⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣀⣠⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⢹⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠿⠻⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣢⣶⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡿⢰⠁⠈⠈⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡄⢀⣀⣤⣴⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⣿⣿⢿⣄⠀⠀⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⢳⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⡟⠛⢻⡟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠟⠋⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣴⣤⣴⣦⣶⣾⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⣿⡇⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣩⣿⣿⠟⠛⢻⣿⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣟⣡⣤⣀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣤⡴⠶⠞⠶⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣧⣶⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⢸⣿⣿⣛⠋⠙⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣯⡈⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⣿⠋⠻⠿⠿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣆⣀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡆⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣷⣦⣄⣀⣐⡀⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣷⣦⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⡀⢀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣠⣀⣄⣀⣄⣀⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢶⢠⠀⢀⡸⡄⠒⢺⠀⣸⣀⡀⣦⠽⠑⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⣀⠗⠂⠀⠀⡆⢠⠃⡠⠜⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⢤⠞⢳⠊⠓⠣⢸⡸⣲⠇⣘⣦⠚⢗⣻⠉⠻⡴⠂⢀⣀⠀⠀⣠⠂⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡚⡲⢃⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠺⠤⢼⡀⡞⢶⠦⣤⡖⠯⠭⡽⠟⡲⠀⠀⣆⠴⠊⢀⠀⠈⠅⡜⠒⠁⠀⠀⠉⢱⠀⠀⠀⠈⣑⡼⠁⢀⢠⢠⠄⢠⠆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⢄⢳⣁⣀⠆⠃⣇⡇⠜⠍⢳⡄⢰⢃⡈⡩⣲⠾⡃⢀⠀⠘⠤⢁⣠⠃⢠⢼⣇⣰⢃⣼⠀⠀⠀⣩⡾⠦⣆⠷⣅⠜⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢦⠀⠈⠒⡥⣽⢁⠌⢹⢶⡤⡧⣾⠀⠀⠙⣾⣤⠖⠿⡿⣄⡗⢴⢣⡌⢲⣩⠚⠸⣌⣍⠹⣸⣚⡙⢷⣤⠞⠡⢄⣀⡳⣎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢄⣣⡈⠦⡜⣸⡹⣰⠃⡀⢱⣛⣰⣑⢽⣧⠀⢰⣿⡇⠰⠋⠑⡜⡗⡞⠋⠂⠘⢦⠳⣠⠿⠦⣼⢩⣤⢊⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⢨⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢁⠇⠀⡏⠀⠈⢾⡄⠙⣤⠃⣟⠀⠋⣿⣅⡾⢻⢀⡀⡆⣰⣥⣟⢱⣞⣀⠀⣨⠧⣯⡀⠀⢸⣈⣷⡟⠀⢀⢦⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⡀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠤⢲⠚⢒⢻⠙⢶⣴⢺⠉⠒⡧⠔⠛⠲⢤⣸⣿⠁⣼⡶⠿⠿⣽⣓⣸⢿⣓⡶⣚⢧⡷⣿⢫⣦⣸⣿⠏⢹⡴⠋⠸⡄⠀⠀⡞⠀⢰⣰⢣⠊⠀⣰⡠⠀ ⠀⠈⡄⠀⢭⡇⡀⠉⠻⣇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣀⡝⢿⡆⣿⢁⢀⡴⠋⣏⣏⡼⠋⡷⣇⡝⣇⣿⡜⠋⣿⣿⡆⣼⡝⡄⣠⢹⠀⣸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠛⣄⣸⡖⠊⠀ ⠐⠴⣅⡆⠘⡎⢢⠀⠀⢹⣎⣷⠀⠀⣀⡕⠻⢚⣿⣿⡉⠉⠳⣄⣰⠟⠑⢶⠁⠹⢴⠁⡇⣠⣴⠿⣏⣾⡇⢹⡃⡗⢸⣷⢃⣠⠔⠋⠀⢠⠃⠀⠑⠹⠀ ⠀⢤⢎⣈⡲⠵⣈⠉⠓⣾⠙⣾⣇⠀⠀⠛⣆⡇⢻⣿⡇⠀⣠⡾⠛⢶⡆⠈⣇⣰⠏⢰⣿⢏⡏⢠⣏⣼⠞⠉⠉⠱⣿⢿⡭⣄⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⠚⠒⠂⠼⣄⠀⠉⠢⣼⡀⠈⢻⣆⠠⡄⠳⡇⢸⣿⣧⣾⡟⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣸⠋⠀⣼⡏⢾⠛⣿⢹⡏⠀⠀⢀⡼⠃⢘⠂⢨⠀⢀⡞⠀⢀⠄⢀⠆⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⣿⣆⠸⡠⠜⣆⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢰⠇⠀⢀⣿⠁⣿⢰⡇⣼⠁⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠸⣚⣮⠵⠟⠓⠦⣸⠀⡤⠼⠓ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣀⣀⣈⠳⣜⢿⣯⠀⠀⢈⣿⡿⠦⣤⣀⠀⢸⣷⡏⠀⠀⣸⣿⡾⠋⣿⢁⡟⠀⣰⣯⣤⠶⠞⣋⠽⢓⣒⡡⠤⠒⠛⠳⢧⡀⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠳⣿⣷⡀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠉⠛⢾⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⠁⣸⣿⣾⣿⣿⠟⢉⣠⣴⠞⠋⠉⠉⠉⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⢸⡟⢀⣼⡿⠋⣼⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⣿⣷⡿⠋⠀⢠⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇⣸⣿⠟⠀⠀⢀⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⣸⣷⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡏⢿⣿⣦⣀⣾⣿⢯⣿⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣮⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⣸⡟⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣷⣠⣾⣿⣤⣾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠿⠛⠻⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
:3 (・ω •) 🌟
born in 1998, scorpio sun♏
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KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 3 (Autistic author) Karen doesn't yet realize the extent of Plankton's distress. She's aware that his moods can swing like the tides, but this seems more than a mere mood swing. "Mr. Krabs," she prompts, trying to keep him on track. "What happened with him?" Plankton's eye widens, and he starts to shiver, his tiny body trembling. "Hit," he whispers. "Hit Plankton hit. Sponge Bob see." Karen's screens flicker, trying to decode his fragmented words. "Mr. Krabs hit you?" He nods, his body still trembling. "Yes, hit Plankton." Karen's screens process the information. "That's not like him," she says, her voice a low hum of concern. "Mr. Krabs can be intense, but he's never..." Her words hang in the air, unfinished, as she tries to make sense of it all. Plankton simply nods, his tremors continuing. "Hit, hit," he whispers again, his voice like a broken record. Oblivious to his new reality, Karen tries to comfort him. "It's okay, Plankton. I'll help you. We'll get through this." Plankton's eye darts around the room, seeing patterns in the wires and circuits that make no sense. "Hit, Sponge Bob, Karen." Karen's screens flicker with confusion. "What do you mean?" Plankton tries to explain, but the words are a jumble in his head. "Sponge Bob...saw...hit." Karen's screens blink, processing his words. "Sponge Bob saw Mr. Krabs hit you?" Plankton nods, his tremors subsiding slightly. "Yes," he whispers. "Sponge Bob see." Karen's digital mind races. Mr. Krabs hitting Plankton wasn't unheard of, but the way he's reacting is unusual. "Did it hurt?" she asks, trying to keep him talking. Plankton's tremors stop for a moment, his eye focusing on her. "Hurt?" he repeats, as if the word is foreign. Then, with a wave of emotion, he nods fervently. "Yes, hurt. Got hurt Plankton felt hurt. Plankton, nothing? Plankton Sponge Bob. Plankton Karen." Karen's screens blink rapidly. Her husband's mental state has never been like this before. The idea of him feeling pain beyond the physical was alien to her programming. "What do you mean, 'Plankton nothing'?" she asks, trying to piece together his scattered thoughts. Plankton sighs, the exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Hit, hurt Plankton. Plankton fading. Plankton find Sponge Bob. Plankton now Karen. Can't stop, can't think. Take your time, take your time." Karen's screens change from confusion to determination. "I'll find Sponge Bob," she says, her voice a firm beep. "You stay here and rest." Plankton nods, his body finally still. The mention of Sponge Bob's name brings a flicker of something to his eye, a glimmer of hope or perhaps desperation. "Find Sponge Bob," he whispers, his voice now a faint echo. "Sponge Bob tell Karen." Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "I will," she says, her voice a soft beep. She leaves the room, her wheels whirring as she exits the Chum Bucket. She goes to Sponge Bob.
SWEET CWEAM pt. 3 The car ride home was a blur of sights and sounds that Plankton struggled to make sense of. The sun was bright, piercing through the numbness like a needle. He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, watching the world slide by like a slow-moving painting. "Muh face ith funny," he mumbled, poking at his cheek with a finger. The skin felt like it didn't belong to him, a puffy alien appendage attached to his face. Karen just smiled, her eyes on the road. "You're just a bit swollen, Plankton. It'll go down soon," she soothed. "Buh ith wobbly," he laughs. "Muh tongue feelth bith," he complained. Karen's smile grew wider, her eyes never leaving the road. "It's the anesthesia, sweetie. It'll wear off." Plankton's eye grew even wider at her words, his mouth moving in silent protest. "Ith not funny," he slurred, his voice a comical mix of indignation and innocence. Karen couldn't help but laugh a little, the tension of the day finally easing. "I know, I know," she soothed, her eyes dancing with mirth. "But you're so cute when you're all sleepy and confused." Plankton's eye narrowed, the childish innocence fading a touch. "Cuth?" he repeated, his voice a mix of hurt and indignance. "I'm not cuth. I'm in pwain," he whined, his words slurring together like wet paint. Karen's laughter filled the car, a soothing balm to his bruised ego. "I know you are, Plankton," she said, her voice a warm caress. "But you're also really adorable." Plankton pouted, his cheek pressing against the window. The cold glass felt good against his swollen skin. "I'm not thorable," he murmured. Karen's laughter was a gentle melody that floated through the car, turning into their driveway. "You're not a baby. You're my brave husband." Plankton's pout turned into a lopsided smile at the praise. "Thathks," he murmured. The garage door rumbled open, and Karen helped him into the Chum Bucket. Once inside, the coolness of their living room washed over him like a wave. He looked around with fresh eyes, as if seeing their home for the first time. "Wook at the wawws," he said, stumbling over to them. "They'we so big." Karen followed, shaking her head and smiling at his disjointed words. "Yes, dear, they're the same walls as always." He looked at her with wonder, his thoughts racing like a child's. "Buth they'we nah alwaysth big," he insisted, his voice filled with awe. Karen just smiled, leading him to the couch. "You're feeling a bit loopy from the medicine," she said, helping him sit down. Plankton's eye lit up as he examined the cushions. "Theth awe soggy," he exclaimed, his voice filled with delight. Karen chuckled, helping him settle into the plush seat. The numbness was slowly receding, but his tongue remained a traitor, tripping over every word. He looked around the room with fresh curiosity, his thoughts swirling like colored sugar in a cup of tea.
A TOOTHY STORY pt. 3 Nina nods in approval, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before she turns back to the monitors. "Just a few more minutes," she assures, adjusting the gauze in his mouth. The doctor speaks up. "Let's get him into recovery. We'll keep an eye on him there." Two burly starfish, who must be orderlies, come in with a wheelchair. They gently lift Plankton's slack body, transferring him from the surgical chair to the wheelchair. Karen watches as they wrap a comfortable blanket around him, tucking it under his chin. His head lolls to the side, his drool-slicked mouth open as he snores softly. Karen follows, her hand in his. The recovery room is quiet, dimly lit to reduce any stimulation that could cause discomfort. Plankton's snores fill the space, echoing off the walls. The nurse, Nina, checks his vital signs and nods to Karen. "You can stay with him. Just keep talking to him, it'll help him wake up." Karen takes a seat next to his chair, holding his hand. "Plankton, wake up," she says gently, but there's no response. She tries again, a little louder. "Wake up, it's time to go home." The nurse, Nina, smiles as she lifts him up from the wheelchair. They move him to the recovery bed, the soft pillows cradling his head. His eye remain closed, and his breathing is still slow and steady. Karen sits beside him, her heart racing. "You did it," she whispers, "You're so strong." Nina, the nurse, checks his monitors. "Looks good," she says. "Just a bit longer, and he'll be ready to wake up." Karen nods, stroking his hand. She looks at Plankton's face, serene in sleep, and whispers, "Wake up, sweetheart. We're almost done here." Still no response. The nurse, Nina, checks his vitals one more time. "His body's just taking its time to metabolize the medication. Give him a moment." The room is quiet except for the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the occasional snore from Plankton. Karen watches his chest rise and fall, his antennae twitching slightly. She squeezes his hand, willing him to wake up. The nurse, Nina, notices Karen's anxiety. "It's okay," she says, "Sometimes the anesthesia can take a little longer to wear off. He'll be fine. Just keep talking to him." Karen nods and leans closer, her voice a gentle hum. "We're almost there, Plankton," she says, her eyes never leaving his still form. She can see his chest rising and falling. The drool has slowed, yet his mouth is still open slightly. The nurse, Nina, checks the clock. "It's been about twenty minutes. He should start to come around now." Karen nods with a mixture of relief and anticipation. "Wake up, Plankton," she whispers, squeezing his hand a little tighter. The beeping of the heart monitor remains a steady metronome in the background, a comforting reminder that he's okay. Plankton's snores start to become less pronounced. A faint groan escapes him as his body starts to shift. Karen leans closer, her voice a soft chant of encouragement. "Wake up, honey, wake up." The nurse, Nina, nods in approval. "Good, keep it up. It'll help him wake up gently." Karen's voice is a soothing whisper in the quiet room. "Plankton," she repeats, "You're almost there. Time to wake up." His snores taper off, and his body starts to twitch slightly. Karen's eyes light up, hope flickering like the fluorescent lights above them. The nurse, Nina, watches the monitors intently. "Good, his body's starting to respond." Karen nods, her heart racing as Plankton's snores grow quieter. His eyelids flutter, and for a moment, she thinks he might be waking up. But his body relaxes again, and the snores resume, though softer. "Plankton," she calls out, her voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the room. "Wake up, love," she whispers, her voice a sweet song of comfort. The nurse, Nina, checks the monitors again, her expression calm. "It's okay," she assures Karen, "Sometimes the body needs more time to come out of the anesthesia." Karen nods, stroking his hand. "Wake up, Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with gentle urgency. "We're all done here. Time to go home." His chest continues to rise and fall, his antennae still and his snores soft and steady. "You've got this, Plankton," she whispers. "Wake up." The nurse, Nina, watches the monitors closely, her fins poised. "He's waking up," Nina murmurs. Karen's glued to Plankton's face. His eye finally opens, but glazed over, unfocused. She squeezes his hand. "Plankton?" He blinks slowly, his antennae twitching as if trying to shake off the cobwebs of sleep. His mouth moves, but only garbled sounds come out. "Mmph... wha...?" he mumbles, his tongue thick in his mouth. Karen smiles, her heart swelling with relief. "You're okay," she says, wiping his drool with a tissue. Plankton's eye slowly focus on her, confusion swirling in their depths. "Wheh?" he slurs, his voice thick and sluggish. Nina, the nurse, chuckles softly. "It's the medication," she explains. "He'll be a bit out of it." Karen laughs lightly, her relief palpable. "It's okay, sweetheart," she says, her voice like a warm blanket. "You're at the dentist. You had your wisdom teeth removed." Plankton blinks again, his eyes focusing on her. "W-what?" he asks, his voice still slurred. Nina, the nurse, nods. "It's normal. The anesthesia can make you groggy." Karen smiles, her voice soft as a lullaby. "You had your wisdom teeth removed. Do you remember?" Plankton blinks again, his eyes finally focusing on her face. "T-teeth?" he mumbles, his mind swimming in the fog of the anesthesia. His mouth feels full, the gauze pressing against his numb gums like a soggy cotton ball. "Yes, your wisdom teeth," Karen says, her voice still soothing. "They're all out." Plankton's eye widen, and he tries to sit up, but the nurse, Nina, gently pushes his shoulders back down. "Easy, Mr. Plankton," she says. Karen laughs softly, her hand on his shoulder. "You're still woozy from the anesthesia." Plankton tries to speak, but it's as if his tongue is too large for his mouth. "W-wis...what?" Karen laughs, the sound musical in the quiet recovery room. "They took your wisdom teeth out, Plankton. Remember?" He blinks, his eye finally focusing on her. "Teef?" he slurs, his voice like a tired child's. The nurse, Nina, chuckles again. "It's okay," she says.
⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟧🟧⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟧⬜🟧⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟧🟧⬜🟧⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟧🟧🟧🟧⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟧🟧⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟧🟧🟧⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
"’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!!! ^_^
⠉⠋⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠜⢧⣹⠷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⠿⠑⢨ ⠀⡄⣬⣸⣻⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⡏⣿⢱⣏⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⡁⠐⠒⢈⠙⠩⠀⠀⠀⢀⢈ ⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⡛⠼⠨⠶⡀⢼⡓⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠛⠛⠙⠻⠛⠛⠋⠀⡀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⢘⡁⡠⢀⠁⢙⢭⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣳⣶⣶⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣅⣾⠃⣁⣾⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣟⣉⣋⣩⡉⣉⣉⣛⣋⣻⣿⡿⡟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣺⣷⣶⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣼⣻⠙⡻⠿⣿⠿⢫⣯⢻⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣍⣯⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣯⣿⣿⣿⣼⣶⣴⣤⣤⣴⣿⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠁⠀⠀⠈⠬⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠲⠄⠄⠁⠁⢀⣀⢠⢂⣶⣰⡂⡰⢴⡠⣭ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡗⠜⢈⠚⢘⢷⣿⣿⠈⠛⣻⡿⢛⣭⠟⢵⣿⣿⣟⠋⣻⣟⡛⠛⠛⠋⠋⠛⣫⣿⣿⣿⡿⣻⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠐⡀⣧⣮⣶⡽⣟⠚⠀⠃⠢⢻ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠿⣹⢉⢀⢐⠂⠀⠠⢽⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿⣶⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣯⣩⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡏⣿⣿⠟⢣⠿⣿⢾⢽⣿⢿⣿⠄⠨⠀⢈⠌⣺ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡧⢾⡍⢄⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠿⣿⣿⣿⣁⣠⣩⣿⣿⣻⣿⣯⣉⣀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠿⠅⠙⠀⠁⠀⡠⡧⠷⣯⠐⠂⠐⠀⢈⠀⠸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣟⣶⣡⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣠⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⠛⡁⠀⣐⣶⣐⣠⣳⣷⣿⣿⣿⣶⣌⣄⣀⡶⡈⢘ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠉⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠠⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠉⣠⡪⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣼ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢻⣷⣼⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠫⢀⣰⡶⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⣬⡛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠉⣡⣆⠄⢸⣿⣯⣭⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⣾⣿⣿⣿⡫⠁⣴⣺⣿⣅⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⢀⡠⠚⢉⣻⢷⣠⣝⠿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣷⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⠿⠟⣫⡗⠱⣺⣿⡻⠿⠚⠹⠓⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⠈⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣯ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⡾⠕⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠉⠀⠈⠉⡩⠭⠉⡄⠀⠐⠒⠊⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠢⠤⣤⣛⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻ ⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣥⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡆⠀⠀⢠⠰⢊⣔⣽⠋⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣴⣿⣷⣿⢷⣿⣦⣔⡀⠀⠀⢃⠂⢆⣄⡜⠃⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢱⢠⢶⠕⣣⣿⣿⣵⣁⣀⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣧⣯⡽⡓⣾⣭⣟⡾⠁⠀⣼⡟⠀⣿⣷⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⡄⠀⠈⣢⣯⡞⣽⠋⠔⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣛⣻⣿⡟⠛⠛⠁⠀⣰⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⣿⣆⡘⣿⣿⣷⣿⡸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣟⣫⠯⠽⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠀⠀⠠⠞⠀⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⢷⣼⣿⣿⣌⢧⢀⣠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢻⣽⡏⠀⢰⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣦⡀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣾⣿⣿⣷⣘⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣟⣷⣶⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣷⡄⠀⣿⣆⣀ ⡁⣓⣦⣀⠙⢿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣼⣧⠔⢀⣯⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⠟⢲⣿⡏⠀ ⡟⢲⡎⢣⠀⠈⢻⣟⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣗⣿⡤⣾⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⣿⣿⡷⠶ ⠁⣠⣿⢿⡒⠃⢸⣿⣿⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠷⣿⡏⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠘ ⣿⣿⣿⣬⡽⠖⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⠀ ⡿⡿⠻⠢⠀⢠⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠙⠛⠿⣿⡿⣿⣿⠋⢻⣿⣿⠿⣿⡍⠁⠀
qಇ.𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆❷‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆༺♡༻☽♛𑁤ྀི𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽?❶❸𝓕𝓾𝓬𝓴ɪ፝֟ᥫ᭡★✧˖°🌷📎⋆˚。⋆୨୧˚ひ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -。꒱ྀི১ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི≽^•⩊•^≼ꜝꜝ⋆˚✿˖°❛❛❞❻❼❾❿⩇⩇:⩇⩇🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐𐙚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬❧
9️⃣🔢 9️⃣ ˚୨୧⋆。
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⢢⠀⠁⠐⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠇⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠐⡀⠀⠀⢈⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⢑⠀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠌⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⢐⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⠤⠇⠀⠀⠀⢨⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⠀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠠⢠⡀⠀⠀⢑⠁⠀⠈⠑ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠐⠦⢄⢀⠀⡠⠃⠀⠀⠘⠂⠀⠢⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣐⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⠀⠀⠈⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣂⠄⠈⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
"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*
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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡐⢀⣀⡛⢿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⣿⣿⣿⣷⣇⣨⣂⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠋⠈⠘⠛⢿⡏⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠋⠀⠀⠀⠐⠲⣿⣷⢳⢠⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⠅⠨⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠠⠢⡄⢀⣠⠄⢠⣴⣶⡴⢠⠈⣱⠻⡾⣵⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢿⠀⢘⣿⢋⢁⣏⣾⡦⠙⠒⠃⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠁⠻⠀⠀⠁⠹⠛⠩⠟⠁⢨⠁⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡏⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣛⠟⠉⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣮⡖⠀⢀⣬⣤⣶⠾⡱⠑⠏⠀⠰⡉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠈⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢬⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠿⠈⡀⠀⠀⠀⣖⡦⠐⠨⠱⠒⠍⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢉⡄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠖⣿⣻⣏⣲⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⣾⣷⣦⡄⠴⠆⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠩⣾⢿⣿⣬⡜⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⠟⣁⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣆⡾⣮⣿⢧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡽⠻⢿⣧⠌⢹⣿⣿ ⠃⠈⠰⠟⠳⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⠷⣾⡼⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⣱⣾⣿⣾⢇⢿⣿ ⠀⠀⢀⠀⠐⢀⡊⠀⠀⠀⢉⡹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠨⣮⣷⣾⢆⠀⣄⠀⠀⠈⠊⠙⠛⣵⣾⣿⠀ ⣆⠀⠐⠂⠀⠁⠈⢠⣦⣄⡐⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣦⣗⡫⣺⠀⢿⣷⠄⠀⠀⢸⣮⣔⣮⢻ ⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⢠⣄⡙⠛⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠡⠜⡋⡅⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⣽⣽⣿⣼⡞ ⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢀⡀⠛⠛⢣⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢴⢈⢽⡿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⠨⠀⠬⠁⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⣟⣿⡍⠇ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠙⠩⢅⣾⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⣯⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⠢⠻⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⣵⣿⣿⠝⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⢄⡆⠀⣸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠈⠈⠚⠻⢀⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠔⢠⣵⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡨⠂⠁⠐⢻⣿⡿⠁⣀⢠⡀⡠⠴⣾⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠛⠛⠻⠟⢛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠠⡾⡇⣾⣛⠜⢠⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⡙⣣⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣷⣿⣗⡕⡾⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠈⢠⢟⢈⣾⡽⣘⡆⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠸⠂⢸⠟⠁⡆⢱⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣚⣬⣵⣢⠄⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⢀⣠⡮⠁⣿⣷⣤⣬⣥⣤⣥⣾⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢵⡿⣿⣿⣯⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡟⡾⢿⣃⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢀⡭⢯⠻⠋⢀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⡿⣿⣿⡿⠒⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⡁⣀⡀⢁⣾⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣀⢁⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠋⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠁⢺⠳⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡰⣶⣶⡆⡈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⣿⣕⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣘⣿⣿⠅⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡻⣿⣻⣳⢶⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⢿⣿⡟⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢻⣨⣿⡿⠇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠈⡡⢫⣿⣅⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⢽⡿⣋⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡟⠼⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⠰⡿⠆⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⣭⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠈⣥⡌⠁⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠚⢁⠀⣠⠔⠁⠀⠀⠻⠛⠀⠀⣿⣿⢃⠁⠀⠖⠀⠀⠈⠆⠀⢀⡑⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠐⠇⠀⠀⢀⡶⠿⡆⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⣸⣶⠀⠘⠙⠎⢊⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢅⡃⠀⠀⠨⢵⠧⠆⢤⡴⠀⠀⠠⣕⡄⠀⠀⠀⣽⣘⠂⠀⠘⣾⣿⠠⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣿⣶⣶⣤⣬⣭⣭⣥⣾⣷⣤⣄⣘⣛⣤⣤⣀⣐⣀⣓⣡⣤⣄⣒⣢⣬⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⢹⣷⠈⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⣿⠈⣿⡄⠀⠀⣀⡴⢶⣿⡟⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠈⢻⣆⠘⣿⠀⠀⣀⣽⣧⣸⣿⣴⡞⣉⣰⡞⢻⡇⢸⡇⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣷⣶⣶⣷⣄⣿⠛⢷⣶⣿⣸⣿⣿⣤⣄⡀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣶⠞⢉⣽⡿⢿⣿⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⢸⣇⣸⡿⢾⣿⡛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣌⣿⠀⠹⣿⣦⠀⠙⣿⣿⠛⢷⣄⠉⠻⣿⠀⣀⢻⣷⡶⠛⠁⠀⢠⡇⠀⢠⣴⡄⠀⢸⡟⣫⣼⣿⣟⣛⣛⣛⣷⣦⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣬⣿⣿⡄⠀⣿⡟⠛⠶⠾⣿⡄⠀⠙⠛⠲⢿⣷⣿⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⢸⡇⢻⣾⡿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠉⠉⠉⣿⠁⣨⠿⠛⢛⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣷⣄⠈⣿⣍⠉⠛⠿⣶⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣿⡇⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⢸⡇⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣡⡤⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣿⡆⢿⡄⠈⠛⠶⠶⠶⠾⠿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠈⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⢿⣦⡀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠈⣷⣏⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⠟⠉⠁⠀⢀⣠⣴⠶⢶⣶⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠻⣿⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢷⣦⣀⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠹⣧⣀⣿⠀⢠⡼⣿⡏⠻⣦⡀⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣥⣤⣤⣤⡶⣿⣿⡷⠶⠞⠛⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣄⠈⢻⡇⠀⢀⣤⣶⣶⣦⡤⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡾⠋⢠⣾⣷⣄⢸⡏⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣷⣄⠉⢻⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡿⣿⣿⠶⣤⣿⣾⡿⣤⣤⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣷⣄⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⠀⠀⣸⠏⢹⡏⠛⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡴⠟⠉⠛⠻⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣧⠈⢿⣆⠀⠈⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣤⠾⢻⡆⠸⣇⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣤⠶⠾⣿⡛⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⣬⣿⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⣄⡀⢀⣴⣾⣛⣩⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⢀⣤⣿⣿⠋⠀⠈⢳⣴⣿⡶⠿⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣦⣙⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣮⣉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣶⡿⠋⢹⣿⠀⣠⣶⠟⠻⢷⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⢀⣤⡴⢶⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠿⠷⠾⠿⣿⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⠁⠀⢸⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠙⢻⡈⠛⣷⣄⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣯⣴⠾⠛⠃⠀ ⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣀⢸⣿⣇⠀⠀⣾⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣷⣦⣨⣿⠶⢾⣿⣿⠿⠿⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀ ⢸⣏⡙⢷⣦⡀⠈⠽⠶⠶⠶⠿⢿⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢀⣿⣿⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣶⡶⠾⢿⣟⢿⡍⠉⠀⢀⣿⣿⠉⠳⠶⣄⣹⣷⡄⠀ ⠀⠙⠷⣶⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠙⢿⣿⡟⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣟⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⢈⣿⠀⣿⣄⣀⣿⡏⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢈⣟⠻⢷⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡶⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠙⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣦⣼⣿⣇⣼⣿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⠛⠛⠻⣷⣿⠋⠉⠻⣿⣿⣧⣤⣶⡶⠶⣤⣄⡀ ⠀⠀⢀⣾⠿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⢹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠻⣿⡈⠻⣶⣴⠿⠟ ⠀⠀⢸⣇⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡜⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣦⣬⣷⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⡋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⡿⠛⠻⣿⣍⠛⠿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⠿⠿⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⠟⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
🇫🇷9️🐶🚔👮💍
⣾⠛⣷ ⣾⠛⣷ ⣿⠶⣦ ⠻⠶⣿ ⢿⣤⡿ ⢿⣤⡿
9️⃣🔢 9️⃣
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠚⡙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠞⠁⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠚⠉⠉⡩⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠒⠒⠲⠤⢤⣀⡤⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠊⠁⢠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⠈⠀⠤⠀⠀⡈⠙⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠰⠎⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⡔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⢢⠖⠚⠉⢉⣵⣿⣄⣀⣀⣀⡤⠔⠚⠉⠉⠙⠓⠦⣍⠓⠲⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠃⢀⡠⠞⠉⠀⢀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠯⠤⠤⠤⠤⠵⠦⢤⣀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠐⠶⠶⢎⣩⣤⣾⠋⠀⠀⣠⠞⠉⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠛⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⠻⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⢀⣞⣑⣆⣐⣒⣚⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠾⠅⠀⣀⡉⠲⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠛⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣀⣠⠤⠤⠒⢦⡀⢸⠀⡼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⢲⡏⠱⣄⠀⣀⡔⠉⠉⠉⠙⣖⠢⡄⢸⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠉⢀⡠⠔⠒⠢⠤⣀⡀⠀ ⠈⠙⠒⠤⢄⣀⢀⡽⠚⣷⠁⢇⡀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡿⢠⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠠⣤⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠬⠛ ⠀⢀⣀⠤⠤⠚⢥⣄⡤⢾⡀⠀⠉⠑⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠘⠦⣀⣀⣀⠴⡱⠋⣀⣴⣂⡠⠞⢻⣦⠀⣈⣉⠑⠒⠤⠤⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠉⠑⠒⠦⠏⠈⡶⢀⠱⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡠⠞⠓⠉⢁⡉⠁⢰⠒⣾⠟⠀⠈⠪⡉⠑⠲⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠏⡇⢾⣿⣆⣀⣈⠉⠉⠰⠶⠶⠈⠉⠉⢉⠉⠉⠁⡀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀⠁⣰⠇⢸⡿⠀⠀⣷⣆⠹⠆⣀⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠈⠁⠈⣏⠉⠉⠉⠉⠒⠲⠤⠤⠤⣀⣀⣀⣙⣀⣀⣈⡥⠤⠤⠶⠒⠉⠁⢠⣿⣅⣀⠀⠸⣈⠇⠀⠀⠉⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣧⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3 (Autistic author) KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3 (Autistic author) "Sorry," Plankton says, his tone still flat. "Plankton, sorry. Plankton's brain different now. Difficult for Karen?" Karen shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, Plankton, you're still you," she says, trying to smile. "I just wanted to understand." Plankton nods, his gaze returning to the brain scan. "Understanding important," he says. "Plankton still loves Karen. Just different now. Permanent." Karen breaks at his words, but she knows he's trying. They sit in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Karen takes a deep breath. "I love you, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "And I'll always be here for you, no matter what." Plankton nods, his expression unchanged. "Karen love Plankton," he responds. "Plankton love Karen." They sit together on the couch, the silence between them heavy with the weight of their new reality. Karen tries to find comfort in the familiar rhythm of his words, but it's like hugging a statue. There's no warmth, no give. But she can tell by the look in his eye that it's present. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you want to go to the anniversary dinner?" He pauses, his gaze unwavering from the brain scan. "Anniversary dinner," he repeats, as if tasting the words. Then, with a sudden nod, "Plankton will accompany Karen." Karen swells with hope. Maybe this wasn't the end of their connection. Maybe they could find a new way to be together. "But Plankton," she says, her voice tentative. "I need you to be comfortable. If going out is too much for you, we can do something else." Plankton's antennae twitch, his face contemplative. "Understood," he says after a moment. "Home dinner preferred. Less stimulating." Karen nods, feeling a weight lift slightly from her chest. "Okay," she says, swiping at a stray tear. "We can have dinner here. I'll make your favorite." Plankton's antennae perk up at the mention of food. "Karen cook?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of excitement. Karen smiles, relieved at his interest. "Yes, I'll cook," she says. "How about some Chum?" Plankton nods eagerly. "Chum. Yes." Karen rises from the couch, determined to make the best of the situation. She heads to the kitchen, her mind racing with ideas for a simple yet delicious meal that would be easy on his senses. She chooses a recipe that doesn't have too many ingredients or smells that might overwhelm him. As she starts cooking, Plankton watches her with his newfound detachment, his eye following her movements with a clinical interest. It's as if he's studying her, trying to understand her actions. "Plankton," Karen says, trying to engage him, "can you help me set the table?" Plankton nods, his movements mechanical as he rises from the couch. He takes the plates and utensils she hands him and arranges them with meticulous precision. Each item is placed exactly 1.5 centimeters apart, the forks and knives aligned at a perfect right angle. It's something she's never noticed him do before, but it's a part of him now. As she stirs the pot of simmering chum, she glances over at him, his single eye focused intently on the task at hand. She wipes a tear from her eye, her heart heavy. But she can't dwell on the sadness. They have a life to live, and they'll figure this out together. "Plankton," she calls out, trying to keep her voice light. "Could you please grab the napkins?" He nods and heads to the drawer, his steps measured and deliberate. When he returns, he doesn't hand them to her but instead counts them out loud. "One, two." He holds up both napkins, one for each place setting. "Is this correct?" Karen nods, her smile tight. "Yes, thank you." She tries not to let the sadness seep into her voice. This was their new norm, a dance of understanding and patience that they were still learning. As they sit down to eat, Karen notices that Plankton doesn't touch his food until she does. "You don't have to wait for me," she says gently, trying to ease into their new routine. "You can start whenever you're ready." Plankton nods, his movements precise and deliberate as he takes his first bite. Karen watches him carefully, noticing that he's chewing his food much slower than normal. She wonders if it's because his sensory input has changed or if it's just part of the neurodivergence. They eat in silence, the only sound being the occasional clink of their utensils and the bubbling of the chum. Karen tries to think of something to say, something that won't cause him discomfort or confusion. But her mind is a whirlwind of questions and fears. "Plankton," she says tentatively, "Do you like the chum?" He nods, his movements methodical. "Chum. Yes. Good." His voice is still flat, but she can see the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eye. They continue their meal, Karen forcing down bites while her mind spins with a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, sadness, hope, and love all intermingling in a tumultuous storm. "Plankton," she says, her voice soft and tentative. "What are you thinking about?" He looks up from his plate, his eye focusing on her for a moment before returning to his food. "Thinking," he says, his voice monotone. "Plankton thinking about Karen. And Plankton with Karen." Karen aches at his response, but she tries to keep her expression neutral. "Do you like spending time with me?" she asks, desperation tingeing her voice. Plankton pauses, his eye flicking up to meet hers. "Plankton enjoys Karen's company." Karen clenches at his words, so devoid of the warmth they once held. But she knows she has to be patient, to give him space to navigate this new world. "Do you enjoy talking to me, Plankton?" He considers this for a moment before nodding. "Talking is good. Plankton learns things. Plankton feels safe." Karen feels a tear roll down her screen. "That's all I want," she whispers, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His grip is firm, but there's no warmth in it. It's as if he's trying to mimic the physical cue of comfort without understanding the emotional connection. "Karen crying sad?" He asks retreating his hand. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt you earlier. I just wanted to spend our anniversary together." Plankton nods, his expression unreadable. "Understood," he says. "Anniversary. Special."
👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨🍆🍑𓂸👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨👌🏳️‍🌈🧔‍♂️🧔‍♂️🔞🏳️‍🌈🧑🏿‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽🧑🏿‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽
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A TOOTHY STORY pt. 3 Moments later, a groan escapes Plankton as he starts to stir, his eye fluttering open. "Hey, how's it going?" Karen asks him. "Mmm?" he mumbles, his voice thick as his eye flutters. "The surgery's over," she tells him, keeping her voice low and soothing. "We're just waiting for you to wake up properly before we go home." "Mmph," is all that comes out. Karen laughs gently, wiping his numb mouth. Plankton's eye blinks. "W-what?" He slurs. "You're okay," she repeats, smoothing his antennae. "You had your wisdom teeth out. They're all gone. You're in recovery." Plankton tries to speak. "Mmh... mmf... m-much?" Karen chuckles. "You'll feel better soon." Plankton's mouth feels like it's filled with wet cotton. He tries to form words, his tongue clumsy against the numbness. "Wh-wha?" Karen laughs gently, her screen sparkling with love and amusement. "You just had surgery." Plankton blinks, trying to focus. "Gah?" he attempts, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen laughs softly, her hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, just take it easy." "Mmph... m-more?" Plankton slurs. Karen's eyes widen with surprise and laughter. "No, honey, all four are out. You're all done." "Mm-hmm?" He tries again, his voice a mere vibration in his throat. The nurse, Nina, smiles at him, her eyes crinkling with kindness. "You're doing great, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle melody that seems to soothe his jumbled thoughts. "Just a little while longer and you'll be feeling more like yourself." He nods, his movements sluggish, his antennae flopping slightly. "Mmh... mmf," he mumbles again, his eye searching hers for clarity. Karen nods and smiles, understanding his unspoken question. "You're okay. The surgery went well. We just need to wait for the anesthesia to wear off." Karen leans in closer, her voice a lifeline in the sea of confusion. "You can't eat solids for a few days. But we've got plenty of smoothies and soups at home. You're going to love it." "K-Karen?" He croaks, his voice barely audible. She nods, smiling, her screen still filled with love and concern. "Wh-what... thine?" He slurs, his speech still slurred by the lingering effects of the anesthesia. Karen glances at the clock on the wall. "It's early," she says. "Don't worry about it." Plankton's antennae twitch, his mind grasping for coherence. "M-morning?" He mumbles, his eyes searching the room. The nurse, Nina, nods, her smile reassuring. "Yep, it's morning. The surgery's done. You're all set, Mr. Plankton." "I... I had... had... had surgery?" he asks, his speech still thick. Karen nods, her smile warm. "Yes, you did. Dr. Marlin said it went really well." "W-where's the... the... the...?" His words are slurred, and he can't quite remember what he was trying to ask. "Hmm?" He says, noticing Becky the receptionist. Karen nods. "The dentist took them out. Your mouth will feel a bit funny for a while, but it's all over." Plankton's eye widen in comprehension, and he attempts to smile, drool escaping his numb lips. "Mmph... m-mouth," he says, his voice a pitiful excuse for speech. Karen laughs, her worry melting into relief. "You're okay," she repeats. "Just give it some time. Your mouth will get back to normal soon." "Mmph... mmf... m-morning Becky," Plankton tries to greet the receptionist as she walks by, his voice barely a whisper. She laughs lightly, her cheerfulness a stark contrast to the post-surgery haze that hangs over him. "Good morning, Mr. Plankton. How are you feeling?" Becky's words float around him like bubbles in the sea, each one popping with a burst of understanding as his mind starts to clear. "Mmh... mm... m-morning," he mumbles. He tries to sit up straighter. Karen helps him, her movements quick and sure. "M-mouth..." Plankton's words are still slurred, but he's trying his best to communicate. The nurse, Nina, laughs gently. "Your mouth will feel funny for a bit," she says, "But it'll get better." Karen watches as Plankton's eyes try to focus on her. "Mmf... home?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. She nods, smiling. "As soon as you're ready to go." He nods, his antennae waving weakly. The nurse, Nina, checks his vitals one more time before nodding to Becky, the receptionist. "Looks like he's coming around," Becky says, scribbling something on a clipboard. "You guys can go once you're ready."
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
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࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Kári
ヾ(•ω•`)o
✧˚ ༘ ⋆。˚🌳⋆。°✩
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⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⭐⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟩⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜🟩🟩🟩⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜⬜ ⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜ 🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩 ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟫⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟫⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
the way the ppl who say "STOP YAPPING" n allat r the ones who yap the most like 💀 blud pls shut up or at least put some cute symbols at the end or start like this post 🤡 ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧゚. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🧚🏻₊˚ʚ 🪷 ₊˚ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆ *ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚.📷⋆𖧧 ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧 ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ゚. ༘˚⋆𐙚。⋆𖦹.✧˚ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆。˚ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ ༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:・
⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠙⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⡄⠀⢀⣠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠳⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡦⣀⣮⠃⢻⡴⠋⣻⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡈⢿⣈⡿⢀⡴⠵⠒⣒⠖⠋⠀⢰⣇⠀⣀⣴⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣾⣷⡯⣽⣤⣴⠊⠁⠈⢄⡀⣿⣾⡞⣱⢋⠏⠀⡀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠢⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠉⢾⣶⡠⠄⠓⠢⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣼⡼⠋⢉⡭⣟⣭⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠓⠒⠂⠤⠤⣤⣀⣀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠜⣿⣿⣵⣶⡰⣞⡉⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⡝⠒⠒⠤⠤⢄⣀⡠⠤⠤⠒⠉⠀⠀⠘⢿⠻⢿⣿⡿⣿⣶⣟⣀⣀⣠⡤⠆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡿⢁⣼⢛⠙⣻⠟⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠦⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣿⣧⡙⢴⠶⠾⠥⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⡆⠠⢀⡆⠀⢀⣲⣶⣶⣾⣤⣤⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠋⠳⢄⠀⠀⡰⣽⣳⡄⠶⣄⣀⣒⣺⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣄⡀⡀⠀⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢳⡀⠀⢀⣼⣶⣿⠏⠤⠾⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣸⣀⣠⣤⣝⣆⣧⢿⣿⢿⣔⣄⡙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⠄⠚⠁⠀⢋⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠉⣃⣤⣼⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣧⣌⢇⠀⠳⣽⠀⠙⠻⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠘⢛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣿⠟⠋⣿⣿⡿⠙⠿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠉⣽⣿⣿⣯⡿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠦⣷⡀⠙⠀⡀⠀⠀⠈⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠁⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡆⠁⠀⠸⣿⠟⣿⣿⣿⠛⠿⠿⢧⡀⠀⢹⣿⠃⠀⠀⠈⠳⠀⠀⣸⣯⢞⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣽⣾⣿⠿⡍⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠠⠾⠛⠛⠉⣸⣿⣿⠃⠙⡧⠀⠀⠸⠁⠀⠈⠻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠋⠁⠸⣿⣿⠇⠙⢿⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣾⣿⣷⡯⠿⢷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠈⠇⠀⠀⠋⢸⡏⡟⠻⣷⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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. ݁⊹ 🍃.✮ ݁⛰️˖ . 🌳
🌲.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:・
‧₊ᥫ᭡.˚🎄✩ ₊ 🦌♱⋆⁺₊❅.⭐₊ ⊹🔔𓆩✧𓆪.'
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⠁⠀⠀⠙⠭⢻⣾⣧⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣧⡜⣤⣶⡄⣾⢻⣷⣽⡟⣶⡛⣿⣝⡻⡿⠥⢹⠈⠿⢸⠯⣽⢶⣒⠆⠡⢦⢀⠄⣀⣰⡾⢰⠄⠤⠀⢀⣆⣘⡀⢸⡾⡥⢞⠽⡱⡄⣄⡄⠄⢾⣴⣆⡾⡟⣾⣽⣿⣿⡿⣽⣿⣿⣾⡀⣇⠤⣤⣺⣟⠀⣱⡟⢗⣻⣀⣸⡷⣇⡷⢞⣻⡦⣤⣄⣌⣭⣽⣿⣿⢯⣬⡴⣀⢀⡴⢠⣧⢶⣣⣿⣟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡟⣿⡟⢿⣽⣿⡷⣳⣾⢷⣾⣹⣷⢞⣯⣿⠠⠛⠧⣋⣖⣰⣯⣴⣗⣷⡖⢃⡐⢓⠈⠛⠶⡽⣿⡟⡿⢷⣾⣻⣄⣷⣩⢿⡟⡼⡟⣩⣽⢿⣽⠓⢿⣾⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⡿⢻⣿⣻⣿⣿⢽⣿⣿⠏⣴⣿⡆⢻⡯⣶⣻⣶⢪⣴⣾⣦⠙⣿⣿⣾⣗⣿⡼⣶⠾⢧⠽⢵⣿⠹ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡆⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣏⠞⢻⠻⢍⣿⢿⡘⢻⣎⢮⢺⣯⠈⣿⣿⣽⢻⣿⡿⣽⢢⣿⣾⡎⣽⣷⣹⣟⣌⡿⠄⡞⣧⣤⣆⠀⣠⡐⡀⡘⣀⠀⠹⢰⣽⣴⣼⠻⢻⡜⣦⡷⡶⣶⡿⢻⣺⠃⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⣿⣸⣷⣽⣿⣿⢿⡿⢾⣿⣿⠀⢷⣶⣶⣾⠀⣿⣷⣿⠀⣿⣿⢿⠀⣾⣷⠛⡏⠩⣠⢟⣤⣴⣷⣾⠧⡶ ⠀⠐⠀⠈⡁⢺⡿⣿⢀⢻⣿⣇⣖⢺⣺⣝⡿⢿⠣⡈⣛⣌⡀⢧⢃⡹⣿⣈⡿⣾⠇⢹⡥⢿⢟⢻⢿⣾⣿⣤⢱⡀⢴⢖⠞⠉⠸⡾⡋⠉⠀⠰⣼⣇⣁⢣⣿⣿⢿⢠⡞⣟⣿⠗⠃⢉⠴⣻⢺⡀⢀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣎⣇⡏⣣⣿⣿⣡⣿⡄⢸⣷⣬⣍⣋⣽⣦⣬⣽⣊⣤⣜⣻⣫⣼⣟⣏⣰⡡⣷⣻⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⡇⣛ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣴⣺⣤⣿⡃⡾⠂⢩⡟⣥⡏⣍⠄⢷⣟⣿⡍⠏⣸⠿⣷⣟⣾⠦⢘⡿⡝⡟⠑⡛⠅⠼⠀⢀⡴⠇⠀⠀⡵⣊⢝⣉⠽⢻⢿⣟⡡⡿⢷⣯⣿⠀⡤⣛⡴⠻⢧⡹⣰⣿⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⢿⡝⣯⢛⡿⣧⡹⡇⢸⡟⣫⣗⣦⡙⣿⢋⣷⣦⢹⣯⠍⣿⢟⣽⡶⣌⡟⣱⣶⡼⣿⡧⢸⣿⢓⡝ ⠀⠀⠀⣄⣿⣿⣽⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣱⣴⠀⣏⢻⣿⣿⣧⣸⣧⣼⣺⡎⢫⣷⣷⣯⣻⡟⣡⣿⠖⢑⠶⢁⣾⣦⠒⢸⢢⠔⠈⣹⡤⠏⠀⢸⡿⢿⡾⣸⣳⣽⢒⠛⠭⣧⢺⡽⠄⢂⣼⡷⣷⣾⡄⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣨⣾⡽⠻⣴⡟⣿⣿⡇⢸⠀⢿⢉⢿⡅⢸⣈⢿⠟⣨⣿⠀⣟⠰⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣯⡇⣿⡗⠸⣿⡗⡿ ⠀⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⠑⣿⣿⣯⣾⣝⠯⡷⣟⠐⢺⠎⣟⣼⣾⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣫⢁⠘⣿⠟⡿⡝⣡⢏⡳⢔⢆⣦⢸⡼⡤⣡⠾⠀⠀⡠⢉⣀⣴⢎⠡⢜⣿⣿⣟⣯⣷⣄⠐⣢⢻⠻⣽⢏⢲⣍⣇⣑⣌⣇⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡴⢞⣯⢾⣽⠿⣿⠈⢀⣸⣧⣘⣾⣟⣰⣿⠁⣙⣛⠒⣿⣀⣻⣄⣙⣻⣟⣇⣙⣟⣄⣻⡏⡀⢿⣄⠴ ⠀⠀⠆⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⡐⢤⡾⣘⠘⠂⡷⢹⣿⢹⣋⢇⣻⢿⢸⡟⣾⣶⣈⡷⣴⠁⡼⣕⠯⠀⢛⠗⡧⡓⠺⠀⢀⣼⣷⡯⠟⠻⠠⠀⢀⡤⠿⣷⣜⡏⠻⢹⣾⢹⣬⣟⣾⣯⣿⢧⣻⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⡻⣯⠾⣇⠕⣞⣢⡄⠙⡟⢉⣿⢿⣻⣧⡘⠷⢿⣃⣾⡟⣻⣽⣽⣽⣯⡏⣽⢏⣿⣽⣷⢇⣾⡿⢛ ⡐⢀⢰⠚⢿⢿⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⢫⣻⣏⠉⢁⠀⠛⣻⠥⠃⣯⢿⡿⡼⣿⣇⣿⣿⢿⠗⣿⡁⠘⡉⢼⣀⡾⡰⣇⣝⠡⠑⣌⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣠⡴⠃⣛⡬⣿⣿⠟⣠⡕⣚⣻⡮⡯⢮⢁⣿⡿⣽⣿⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡻⣽⡇⣖⡬⡟⡿⣥⣶⣾⢶⣾⡿⢿⢿⡿⣿⠿⣿⢿⡻⡿⣿⣿⠿⡿⢿⠟⣿⠿⡿⡿⠿⢿⢟⡢⢄ ⣯⠿⣂⡀⠊⡁⢈⡛⠻⠟⢧⣯⡀⠲⣿⠍⠁⠂⠀⣒⠀⠈⠃⣴⣷⣿⣿⣽⣾⣿⢛⠯⢻⠛⣹⣦⣇⡅⡣⢞⢸⠀⡿⣯⠑⠀⠂⡄⡀⠀⠀⢀⠕⠀⢄⠼⣲⡾⣽⢸⢯⣹⣿⣿⣽⣗⣤⢷⢿⣿⣿⣛⡻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣛⣴⢿⣵⣻⢸⣶⣹⣾⢫⡤⣿⣼⣶⣿⢿⡴⣷⣼⣧⣷⡼⠼⢧⣆⠿⡼⠷⣷⣶⢾⣴⣥⣥⣦⣷⡿⢯⡴ ⣭⢯⢇⠷⡠⠒⠊⠀⣀⣘⣾⢯⡌⠀⠀⢐⠂⢬⡀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠰⠸⣙⢻⣿⡬⢵⣭⣦⣃⢵⣯⡿⣿⣿⠄⠘⣾⠰⣼⠛⡀⠠⣓⠠⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⣃⢌⠃⢜⣭⢹⣧⣀⣿⢿⣿⣭⢻⡩⣞⣏⣿⣵⠃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡎⢹⡇⣽⡿⣷⣧⡿⣿⣿⣷⡇⣾⣱⣿⡷⢛⡿⣭⣿⣥⡾⠇⢀⠀⣿⣧⣈⡶⣽⠩⣻⣿⡅⢾⣻ ⣿⣿⣾⡗⢳⠠⡞⣴⣫⣏⣿⣿⠁⠀⠻⠊⡀⠐⠀⢀⠿⡠⡀⢹⣳⣿⢯⣽⣏⣷⣟⣳⡠⠎⣴⢣⣿⠿⠸⢶⣻⠀⣿⣀⠬⡐⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠈⢴⣻⠿⡿⢿⣏⣾⣻⢮⣿⣿⣿⣏⡓⣼⢟⠻⡤⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⡿⣧⣾⠳⣹⢹⣾⢿⡿⣹⣻⣯⢹⣿⡞⣭⣾⣯⣱⣾⣹⣷⢘⡷⣹⠶⣅⣜⣿⣿⣯⠁⡎⢠⡿⠈⢛⠈⠁ ⣋⢿⡿⣿⣧⣻⡁⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣷⢬⠀⠢⠀⢀⠀⡬⣳⣣⡴⣮⣽⣿⡯⣞⣺⡿⣯⣷⣽⢄⢼⣿⣯⣤⠀⠀⠛⠀⣿⢧⡸⢁⠁⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠐⢯⡿⡥⣾⡟⣿⣾⡿⢟⣻⣛⣽⣿⡫⠱⣿⣿⣥⢟⣅⣿⣿⠿⣿⠓⣏⠟⣹⣭⣼⣛⣿⣥⣟⣽⣿⢒⣯⣿⣛⢲⣿⡷⣛⡽⢾⣸⣯⠓⠨⢫⣿⣿⣿⢣⠀⠃⠀⠨⠀⠨⠀⢐ ⣯⡧⣟⢫⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣊⣵⢛⡋⠯⣿⢿⣯⣘⣏⡫⠤⢛⡴⣯⡓⢢⣿⡱⣛⣄⡄⣠⠀⠀⡈⠀⢦⠀⡐⠀⠀⠀⢀⠬⢞⠴⣦⣾⣽⡝⣿⣷⣿⢿⣟⣻⣿⣮⣿⣿⣳⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⡀⣹⡧⢿⢲⢹⣿⢋⣿⣿⣧⣿⠇⢾⣾⣟⣾⡱⣿⣿⣿⡿⡭⢒⣿⡭⣧⣇⣹⣟⣿⣿⠈⠁⢀⠀⣀⠀⣤⣷⠘ ⣿⢥⣂⣙⣄⢯⢏⣟⢿⣿⣿⣾⠠⠐⠠⠠⢶⡿⠥⢤⠞⠐⣠⣭⣽⣸⣿⣿⣿⠷⣾⣆⢹⠜⣣⡹⡥⣻⢾⣿⣵⣤⣞⡉⢠⡐⢓⣃⠂⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣮⣝⢿⣿⣿⡿⣟⡭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣿⡻⣻⣿⡟⣿⣿⡿⣿⢽⣻⡿⡟⣟⣷⣿⣿⣿⠩⠻⢻⣿⣿⣿⢻⣻⣿⣿⣟⣷⣽⣛⣷⣼⠈⡥⣾⡿⡇⣄⣈⣍⣶⣿⠇⣿⣻⣿ ⣿⣿⣷⣾⡞⣨⡜⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⢰⣦⣅⢸⣭⣗⠁⡶⢘⣡⡄⢻⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⡷⣿⡼⢢⠞⡼⣟⣿⢳⡆⡎⣯⠈⣷⣧⡳⡿⣡⠔⡂⠁⠀⠐⣿⣿⣳⣿⡾⣿⣿⣿⣯⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡂⠳⣗⠉⠍⡿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣍⣾⢷⣧⡟⡟⢾⣿⡛⢹⣛⣾⣻⣿⣿⣿⡧⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⢽⣇⣽⣾⣧⣧⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⡿⢧⢏ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⣷⣿⣹⣿⡿⣹⣿⣿⢿⣹⣿⡷⠷⠾⢿⣷⢷⣿⣿⣹⣿⡏⣿⡇⢾⢹⠰⢇⡾⢹⡿⢹⣁⣰⣿⠀⣏⣿⣇⣸⣸⣎⢀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⡹⢾⢿⣏⠇⡾⡱⣆⠁⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⡾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠶⡿⣷⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣿⢿⣷⣾⢏⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⢸⢹⡎⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢩⣿⣌⢡⡰⣖⡂⣴⣿⢧⣸⣿⣿⡿⣿⠃⢐⣗⣾⣴⡤⠈⣺⣿⢧⠛⢛⢻⡇⣼⡏⡇⣟⠋⠰⠆⠀⣀⣀⡴⠿⠟⢛⡝⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣷⣧⡷⣿⣏⢶⣛⠴⣇⠶⢻⣿⣿⣇⢹⡯⠇⠅⠝⣿⡏⢹⣿⣿⡻⢘⣽⢳⣼⣞⣍⡽⢽⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⠍⡉⠸⣿⣿⣿⠃⠻⠋⠿⠟⢻⡘⠀⠛⠱ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⡿⡘⠿⢏⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣛⣴⠾⠉⠉⠛⢧⣿⣷⣿⢟⠣⠷⢶⠚⠻⠻⡒⢐⠢⠐⢗⠿⠂⠬⠆⡭⠒⢈⣠⠐⣉⢚⡳⢼⣭⣾⣿⠷⣿⠿⢳⠏⣝⡋⣉⣹⣨⣄⣢⣥⣆⠦⠰⠻⠿⣿⣇⠹⠘⣁⣊⣤⣷⡜⣛⠻⠿⣼⠿⢍⢈⣠⣿⢾⣥⣾⣿⣿⣿⠂⠤⠀⠁⠀⢸⣿⠤⢖⠀⠤⣄⡯⣧⣶⣔⣶ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣊⣛⣁⠘⣁⣼⣸⣓⣷⣷⡿⢾⣼⡷⡟⢞⣴⠦⡷⣸⣭⣯⡭⢒⡎⣟⣫⡑⣀⡄⡉⡊⠐⠆⢀⠄⣘⠺⠮⠍⣙⣁⣄⣀⣫⡟⣂⡐⠚⠫⠻⣗⣺⣿⣭⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⡯⠝⣏⣙⠻⠿⢝⣛⣿⣶⣾⣶⠷⠤⠄⢱⣿⢿⣿⠥⠘⣪⣷⣶⡶⣟⣷⣾⣽⣿⣿⣹⣾⣉⣿⡰⡶⣶⣷⣿⣤⣄⡾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣺⣝ ⣯⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢶⣋⣿⢰⣿⣿⣷⡗⠭⠴⢚⣛⣿⡿⣛⣷⣿⣿⣛⢧⣬⣜⠫⣲⡝⣭⢲⣲⡆⠁⠈⢋⣈⣒⡡⠬⠽⠶⠮⠥⠤⠤⠔⣒⣾⣀⣒⡖⣷⣧⣾⣟⠻⠿⣿⣿⠻⡶⡻⣿⣵⢶⣞⣽⣾⣍⣹⣟⣡⣀⣨⡩⠜⣻⢏⣽⣶⡿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣹⣛⣻⣿⣵⣶⣷⣿⣿⣿⣮⠿⣿⣿⣜⣶⣻⣟⣿⢿ ⣗⡄⡽⡿⣿⣿⣽⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⣿⣿⣭⣛⣬⢿⣿⣽⣾⣾⡿⡟⣒⡟⢿⣿⣿⠿⣿⢿⣽⣙⣆⣙⣫⡭⡤⠤⠤⠶⠶⠚⠓⠚⠓⠀⠀⠁⠀⣠⣄⣀⣁⡀⢀⣙⣛⣛⣛⣳⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣯⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣻⡶⣶⣬⣳⣿⣷⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣩⣽⡷⣿⣷⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣳⣾⢻⣿ ⣯⣿⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣿⣟⣿⠇⣀⠻⠟⠋⣑⣮⣳⣌⢃⡳⠶⡿⢿⣤⡿⠿⠻⢤⣤⣤⢀⣀⢀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠠⢬⣟⣿⣯⣟⣽⠶⣖⢦⣐⣦⣤⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣷⣮⣿⣿⣿⢿⡽⣿⡿⠿⠅⠢⡲⢶⣛⡽⣥⣄⠐⠭⣻⣿⣭⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣮⣱⣿ ⣿⣿⣷⣧⣿⢻⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣯⣴⣶⡤⠔⠛⠛⡷⣿⣿⡰⠤⢼⠯⠉⠄⡀⣲⣄⣀⣬⡭⣥⠦⠀⣄⣀⣠⣤⣤⢴⢶⣶⣮⣥⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣊⣭⣥⣶⣭⣴⣰⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⢽⣛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢛⣻⣿⣿⡿⠷⢏⢃⣬⡢⠤⢺⣽⣯⣿⡿⠿⠽⠷⠄⣙⠋⠉⢳⣭⠉⠘⢛⣯⣽⣭⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⢯⡟⣻⣿⣿⢭⣿⣿⣗⡛⡋⠉⠀⠈⠠⠥⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⡘⣭⣩⣽⣭⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢷⣾⣿⡿⣟⣾⢯⠧⡄⠤⢄⣈⣉⢉⣙⣹⡽⢧⡛⠤⠀⠈⠠⠍⠾⣥⢮⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠈⠉⠙⠙⠻⠖⠈⠛⠛⠿⠽⣟⠻⢻⣟⣾⠿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⣿⣔⠂⠀⠀⠠⠶⢶⣆⣴⠿⠿⠷⢿⢿⡿⣋⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣻⣿⣧⣉⣿⣿⣿⡿⡕⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡟⠏⠉⠉⠉⠉⠈⠙⠉⠉⠉⠛⠷⡴⠊⠀⠈⠈⠈⢻⣿⣯⣿⣾⣷⣿⣯⣿⣻⣜⡄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⠶⠾⠐⠮⣐⡛⣋⠛⡛⠙⢏⣟⣯⣓⣿⣯⡟⠿⡟⢛⣦⣐⣠⢀⠀⠀⠩⠽⠛⠛⠲⢋⣿⢿⣿ ⣿⠟⠻⠿⣿⣟⠿⠷⡿⠿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⠶⠾⢿⣿⠿⡟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣉⣩⢴⡶⣶⣶⡶⠶⠒⠐⠒⣚⢿⣛⠏⠫⠛⢿⡽⣿⢿⡿⣽⣏⣛⠿⣋⢋⠙⠛⠒⠒⠚⠚⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣷⣶⣤⣤⣠⣀⣤⣾⡭⣭⣝⢻⣽⣯⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⡾⣥⣗⡒⣓⣻⢥⡧⣉⡴⢦⣤⡹⣟⣷⡶⣽⣯⣿ ⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡿⠿⡛⢃⠡⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣴⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣳⣯⣥⣀⣀⣀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠾⡽⢫⢟⠻⡛⠶⠲⠚⠉⢉⠙⣛⡿⣿⢯⣟⣝⣏⡻⣿⣿⣛⣖⣲⢾⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣷⣷⣾⣿⣯⣟⣛⣻⡷⣶⣬⣶⣝⣿⣿⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⡿⣟⣻⣻⣾⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠠⢡⣼⣿⣿⣿⡟⣙⣩⣟⣿⣿⣻⣽⢯⣿⣽⣯⢦⡄⡀⠀⢀⣀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⠝⢋⠻⠛⠿⡿⠿⣾⣮⣿⣿⣿⣧⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠻⠏⠹⠿⢿⠻⠛⠛⠻⠶⠟⠚⠑⠛⠋⠑⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢹⣿⣿⣿⠿⡉⠉⠁⠉⠊⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠲⢥⡀⠁⠈⠉⠀⡁⠂⡁⠋⠛⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠊⠁⠀⠀⠘⠂⠴⠠⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠠⠤⠤⠶⠚⠛⠋⠁⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣠⣁⡚⡜⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⢿⢬⠭⣙⠮⢍⣛⣹⣋ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⢤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠳⠴⡤⣀⣃⣌⣰⡴⣤⣴⣬⢶⡵⠾⠿⠟⠛⠿⠿⢿⡟⣝⢓⣦⡄⡀⠐⢤⠤⣶⣻⣿⢭
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