Glitchy Emojis & Text

☠︎︎༒︎✞︎☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩✩°｡⋆⸜ ✮⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆3️7️

.·´¯`·.  ·´¯·. __|__ | |__ ╲  ╲ ╲ |ロ | ╲╲       /\~/\ |ロ |     ╲ ╲(     •ω • ) |ロ |         ╲⊂          づ |ロ |               ╲ ╲ ⊃⊃╲ |ロ |___              ╲| ___ ╲|____

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡳⣼⣆⠀⠀⢹⡄⠹⣷⣄⢠⠇⠻⣷⣶⢀⣸⣿⡾⡏⠀⠰⣿⣰⠏⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⡹⣟⡪⢟⣷⠦⠬⣿⣦⣌⡙⠿⡆⠻⡌⠿⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣿⡿⠟⠚⠉⠀⠉⠳⣄⡀⠀⠀⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⣼⣟⠛⠛⠙⠛⠉⠻⢶⣮⢿⣯⡙⢶⡌⠲⢤⡑⠀⠈⠛⠟⢿⣿⠛⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠯⣙⠛⢉⣉⣙⣿⣿⡳⢶⣦⣝⢿⣆⠉⠻⣄⠈⢆⢵⡈⠀⠀⢰⡆⠀⣼⠓⠀⠀⠀ Nah ⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠖⠉⠻⣟⡿⣿⣭⢽⣽⣶⣈⢛⣾⣿⣧⠀⠙⠓⠀⠑⢦⡀⠹⣧⢂⠀⣿⡇⢀⣿⠺⠇⠀ ⠀I'd⠀ ⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠉⢛⣿⣿⣶⣤⣈⠉⣰⣗⡈⢛⣇⠀⣵⡀⠀⠘⣿⡄⢻⣤⠀⢻⡇⣼⣧⣿⠀ Beef on this site⠀⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⢍⡉⠛⠻⣷⡆⠨⣿⣭⣤⣍⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠹⣿⡄⠈⠀⢿⠁⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣇⣠⣾⣿⣛⣲⣿⠛⠀⠀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣟⣮⡻⣷⣤⡙⢟⡀⠀⠙⢧⠀⠀⠎⠀⠉⠁⠰⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣴⡏⠚⢛⣈⣍⠛⠛⠿⢦⣌⢙⠻⡆⠁⠀⠀⠀⣴⣦⠀⠀⠀⠐⢳⢻⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠮⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣧⣶⣿⠿⣧⣴⣿⢻⡉⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⡟⠿⠃⠁⣠⣤⡶⣾⡟⠅⠀⣀⡄⠀⣾⢸⣿⣏⢻⢶⣦⣤⣤⣄⢶⣾⣿⣡⣤⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⣞⣋⣿⣿⣾⣿⡿⡛⣹⡟⣤⢰⡿⠟⠉⣀⣀⣤⣤⡠⠙⢁⣾⡿⠂⠀⣿⠟⣁⠀⣹⠀⣹⣿⡟⣼⣿⣿⣌⣿⣞⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡿⢛⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣼⣿⣟⢓⠛⣿⣏⣿⣵⣗⣵⣴⣿⢟⡵⣣⣼⣿⢟⣵⣶⢻⣶⣿⠀⠀⣈⢻⣿⣿⣿⢿⣾⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⠃⢸⣿⡾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣟⣾⡿⣫⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⢫⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⡆⣻⣿⡏⣿⢻⣧⣿⡿⣿⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠜⣿⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣿⣖⣿⢿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢡⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡿⣾⣷⣿⣿⢿⣿⡇⠉⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣥⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠞⠟⣸⣿⠏⣸⣧⣀⠿⢿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⡿⢶⣦⣄⣿⠏⠀⣿⣟⣿⣶⠾⣿⣟⣋⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣻⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⠛⠫⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣧⠛⣿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⠹⡟⠀⠀⠉⡟⠋⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⣾⣷⣿⣿⣧⠙⠀⠙⢣⠝⠛⠋⣽⣷⢦⠇⠀⠀⠘⠁⣤⣾⣿⠝⠛⠉⠘⢻⣿⣿⢿⣼⣷⡟⢻⣷⠉⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠟⠀⢸⣷⣿⡇⠀⠛⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⢻⡿⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⣄⠀⡄⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⢻⣆⠀⠛⠁⠶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡶⠆⠘⠋⣠⡾⢫⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠛⠀⠙⣷⡀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⢀⣴⠋⠀⣾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣿⣰⣦⡀⠸⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡟⠁⠀⠐⢻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡄⢺⣿⡄⠹⣿⠻⢦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣿⡟⢀⣀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣿⣿⡀⠹⡷⣦⣀⡀⡀⢸⣿⠏⢠⣾⣿⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠘⣷⣻⡟⠀⡼⠁⣴⣿⣿⣯⣥⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣯⣿⣤⣤⣤⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣄ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ 🤞🤞🏻

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hey, just letting u know, i love you, dont give up, okay?

┏━━━━━━━━━┓ ┃𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝘆 𝗱𝗮𝘆!┃ ┗━━━┓ ⸝━━━━┛ , |╱ ‘ ‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿, ⛭ ‘ ⎮╲ ╲ ╲ ╲ ╲ ╲╲ ╲ ྉ ⎮ ⎮︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︴. ‿‿‿𓆱❧,,, . ⎮ ⎮ ________ ⎮ .~﷽﷽﷽۞~,_ ⎮ ⎮ ⎮ ૮( •ₒ•),ˊ- ⎮ (﷽꧂﷽꧁꧁﷽ ⎮ ⎮ ⎮___,/ა_ა ⎮ ⌣𓇛﷽﷽﷽﷽﷽ ‿‿..,⎮‿⎮‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿⎮., **꧁▨﷽﷽۞𓇛❞ ⎮╲╲╲╲╲╲╲╲╲╲╲╲╲╲ 𓇛 〱꧁,۞❞” ⎮ ⎮︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︴ , ⧹ / | , ⎮ ⎮ᨳ ____ ┍┄┄┑ ⎮ ⧸ 0 ⧹ |❦ | ⎮ ⎮ ⎮░░⎮ ‘ ⎮ ⎮ ꒷ᨑ ⎮ ︴.〱 “ . ⎮ ⎮ ⎮░░⎮ ⎮ 𝛰⎮ . ⎮ ⧸ . ⧹ ╲⎮﹏𓂃.__𔖲‿.𓆸⎮ ⎮𓂃_⏜﹏⎮﷽﹏╱❧𓆱⧹﷽_𓆸._. ᨓ’╲﷽𓆱~❧”╲₊ ⋆ ; ‘╲﷽❧’.╲ 𓆸 𓆸 ʳᵃʸᶜᵃˢᵗ--ʳᵃᵉ

/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿(╥﹏╥)

RIIZE IS 7!!! 🗣

⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠴⠊⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢳⠀ ⠀⡸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢳ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⡶⠛⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠛⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⣶⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀ ⠀⠹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠚⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⢢⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠖⠒⠒⠋⠉⠉⠙⠲⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⠀⠀⢸⠘⡆⠀⠀⢸⣀⡰⠋⣆⠀⣠⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⠤⠤⠼⠀⠘⠤⠴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀

⣾⣦⣄⣀⣠⣴⣷ ⢉⣭⠟⠉⠻⣭⡉ ⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻

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y̴̧̢͔̥̦̪̩̺̱̾̇̽̈́̅͒̌̉o̷̡̨̪͚̥͓̍̿͐̐͜͝û̵̖̜͇̦̰͠ d̷͇̆̇̌̓̊̔͝ï̶̢̥͓̣̼̬̖͕̀̚͘ḍ̴̠͙̱̝͙͍͇̰̉̍̈́́̿̒ñ̴̖̗̾̿͘t̵̲̰̗̰̬̓͒͊͂͑̾ s̸̢̧̡͔̤̙͇̱͌h̵̛̗̼̥̰͖͓̿͗͊̆̊͗̌͜o̵̥̖͔͔͉͈͗̈̀̂̑̓ẁ̶̧̡̪̭̦͕̍̇͛̌̂̂͆͜ m̵̫̘̺̪̭̽͛̿̿̀̎̄̐ͅȅ̸̢̧̫̺͙̠̙̩͙̓͐͘r̶͖̔͑͌̾c̴̪̲̤͇̆̋͌̓̅̋̚͝͝y̷̘͓̗͔̺̮̫͇͗̕ͅ ť̸̯̈́͂̈̈́̀͗͒̓͑ơ̶̧̨̭̥͉̳̘̪ b̵͎͎̘̘̞͍̦̩̰͖̎̿̀͑̒̑̆͑̚å̴̼͙̠̩̰͉͙̃͊̍̈́͠c̸̛̭͖̟̦͖̜̉̀̋̐̏ȍ̴̪̦͚̪͖̲̖͋̊͑͑n̴̜͔͕̱͖̦͈̂̎̐̍s̵̡̧̛̪̖̼̫̰̲̀̓̈́̉̀̃ t̶̳̓̌͒̎͊̄̃̽h̵̨̛͕͈̟͈̝̝͕̻͛͋̅̈́̎̐́͐͘ͅì̷̧̧̛̦̬̳̬͊̏̀̀̀̓n̴̛̮̯͇͆͑̏̂̍͐́̕͠k̶̡̃̎͐̐͂̈̏̏͘͘ t̵͔͔͕̾̄̏͋̓͐̂͂h̴̝͈͚͗̒͗ë̴̼͕̯̭̳́̀̓̀͝y̵̳̱̙̹͔̿̔̐̃͑̋̿͝ͅ à̵̢̤̖͚̦͍͙̞̦̒̃͑̿̓́r̶̢̨̖̺̬̓̇ẽ̴̩͚͓̙̣̙̫̏͂̎̊ t̷̢̢̹̫͈̺̜̯̥̀ö̸̙̙̤̟̻̯̰̟́̿̐̈́͛̋͘͠ ş̵͈̥̳̖̉͛̉͊̋͒h̶͓̻̤̬͙̟̣̫̰̊̾͒́̀̏̾̋͌͜o̶̧͔̪̘̳̱̼̫͝w̴̙̟̺͕̮̙̗͈͑̆ ṁ̸͉̠̟͔̞̺̌̓̒̿͛̿͜͠ȅ̸̮̊r̵̝̹͕͈̋̈́͋͆̑̔̚͜ç̵̯̺̗͓͒͑̓͊̈́̽̀̉̆y̴͔̣͇͕̞͙̖̫͊̈́̈́͑͐̽ͅ ṱ̸̻̙̘̎o̷̧͕̞͔̮̔͆͐̃͐ y̴̛̙̙̦̗̼̠̞͚̱̮̍̓̽͋̔̏̋̂o̴̧͇͉͇͈̮̙̭̯͇̓̍̿͠ủ̶͚̗͖̗̩͇̞̀͂̉̈́̇͝͝?̴͚͈̖͋̓̓ ' :̶̨̡̛͙̲̟̫̠̄̆̍͊̉̆̍D ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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⣠⡶⠶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠛⠉⠛⢷⡀⠀⠀ ⡟⠀⠀⣸⡷⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⢀⡤⠤⣿⡀⠀ ⣷⠀⣼⠋⠀⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⠟⠛⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣾⠀⠀⠈⢻⡄ ⠘⢧⡇⠀⢀⣤⠾⠛⠻⢶⣤⡟⠁⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠀⠀⠘⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠶⣦⡀⠀⠀⣸⡏⣇⠀⠀⠀⣷ ⠀⢸⡇⢀⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⢀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⡷⠿⠝⠛⠻⠿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⣾⡤⠛⠒⠲⣤⡇ ⠀⠀⣷⢸⠀⠀⠀⡤⠖⠚⠁⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⡿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⢝⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⠀⠀⢸⡇⣼⠃⣇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢱ ⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠙⢋⡤⠖⠒⡖⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣏⠓⠲⢤⡀⠀⠁⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠘⠿⠁⠀⠈⢳⡆⠀⠀⢠ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⠈⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⣀⡾⠋⠀⣠⠜⠁⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠈⠓⠆⠀⢙⡧⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⣀⣄⠀⠀⢠⡏⠁⠀⠀⡴ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⣄⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⢰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠈⠳⣽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠶⢤⣤⡴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⠦⢤⠶⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣆⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣶⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠈⠛⠛⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠿⠃⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣤⣴⣞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢤⣀⠀⢀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠈⠳⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠞⠛⠻⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⡶⣦⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣴⣶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⢠⣾⠿⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣶⠶⣶⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣷⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢿⡆⠀⠀⠘⠿⠿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⢰⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡀ ⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧ ⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⣄⣤⠶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⠸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⠋⠙⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡃ ⠀⠀⠘⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠷⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀

꒰꒱

😖 ̿ ̿’\̵͇̿\

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⣠⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⡀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠄⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠄⠄⠄⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠄⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠄⠄⠄⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠻⣿⡄⠄⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠄⠄⠁ 👁️ ⠄⢹⣿⡗⠄ 👁️ ⢄⡀⣾⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠘⠄⠄⠄⢀⡀⠄⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣧⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠄⣰⣿⡿⠟⠃⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⠿⢿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠈⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠻⠿⢛⣿⣿⠿⠂⠄⢹⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡐⠐⠄⠄⣠⣀⣀⣚⣯⣵⣶⠆⣰⠄⠞⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠄⠄⠈⠛⠿⠿⠿⣻⡏⢠⣿⣎⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠄⠄⠄⠄⠙⣛⣿⣿⣵⣿⡿⢹⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

riize is seven! heres some things to use for ur profile/display name ｒｉｉ７ｅ ʳⁱⁱᶻᵉ ⁱˢ ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ 𝗿𝗶𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝙧𝙞𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 r̲i̲i̲z̲e̲ ̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲e̲v̲e̲n̲ 𝚛𝚒𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝟽⑦⓻𝟟➐7️⃣

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⡿⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠿⣦⣤⡀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠁⠘⠿⠿⢡⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡏⠀⠀⣀⢿⣿⠏⣻⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢷⣄⠈⠙⠿⢧⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠈⠳⢦⣤⡟⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⡤⣤⢶⣾⠙⣧⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣻⡟⢳⣦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡏⡇⠀⠀⠈⠁⡟⢧⠘⣟⠿⢤⡤⠤⣾⠏⣠⣿⡁⡽⡝⡿⡟⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣧⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠈⢧⡘⢯⡓⢒⡶⢋⡴⠋⣻⣆⡇⢹⡀⣇⣾⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠃⣿⢹⡃⠆⠀⢠⠟⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠙⠋⡤⢞⣀⡀⢃⣻⡿⠀⢷⣿⣿⣇⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⣻⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡖⠀⢀⠀⢹⡏⠈⠀⠊⠉⠁⠈⠛⠒⠂⠈⣿⣿⡿⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢹⡇⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡿⢙⡆⠁⡀⢿⠀⠀⢺⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢹⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⣿⡾⢰⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⡏⢸⠡⠀⡇⢸⠀⠀⠘⠛⠂⠀⠀⠶⠀⢸⢸⡉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣼⣴⣾⣷⣿⡄⠀ ⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⢸⡄⠀⠀⣀⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⣸⠋⡇⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⡟⠛⢿⣿⣟⣷⡀ ⠈⠉⠙⣿⣷⣲⣦⣼⡇⠀⢸⠁⢈⡁⠀⠀⣠⠗⠉⡇⠠⡧⠝⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠃⠞⢸⣿⣦⣩⡧

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⡟⠒⢄⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⣠⠔⠈⠉⢯⣂ ⠀⣾⡵⠛⠿⣭⣑⣄⣀⣠⣾⠎⠠⠠⠤⠜⡿ ⠀⠎⠓⠤⣤⢿⡿⠋⢹⠻⡹⠣⠤⠀⠠⢸⠃ ⠘⢀⣀⠰⠓⡍⢠⠀⠈⡀⠀⠢⣏⠀⠈⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡀⠸⠁⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡄⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⡀⣿⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⠝⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⢀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡘⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⠂⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡔⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⢀⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠌⠀⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡶⠀⡸⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⠀⢠⠻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡁⡰⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠆⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠕⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⠁⡐⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⡅⢩⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⡠⠁⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠇⠘⠏⠀⠀⠀⡰⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⡀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠃⢸⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠑⡀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠘⡀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠈⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠣⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

ⅠⅡⅢⅣⅤⅥⅦⅧⅨⅩⅪⅫⅬⅭⅮⅯ

. ^          /   |                                 ♫    ☆        /    ;                            ♩        . |       :                       ♭       |         'i,    ૮ ˶ ´o` ˶ა ☆  'i           |__(    \ ∩∩)__,_  . /.    .    'i.             ---------       /             \  ,                            ;'           ｡ •.            ' —-  -  -  -  - "'            ｡ •.   ☆            .                                    .

.                                   ___________                               /                           \                               \   text here!    /                                 \____    ______/        /\ヽ                            \ノ   ╱ ︵     ╲    ⊹ ࣪ ˖   /\__/\   | ( ⚫ ) |    i╲     (   `•⩊•́    )    ╲___╯   ^i  |ノ(              ╲        |__|,-"iっ|/                        V           [__|_|╱≫                                         [===≫                   ﹂-'

.        /\  /\       =( ´ •⁠ω• ⁠)=        / ͡      ︵\      (⁠人_____づ_づ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢖⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢽⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄ ⠀⢰⡿⠿⠟⠖⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⣜⠹⠴⠀⠉⠳⡆⠀⠀⠀⡓⡇⠀⠀⠀⣽⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣻⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠘⠚⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠄⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣟⡤⡤⣤⣤⣤⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣠⣀⣀⣀⡟⠁⠀⠀⢴⣾⣷⡒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⡃⠀⠀⢸⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⠙⠻⠛⠦⣖⠀⠀⠀⠀⣯⡯⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢞⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣯⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡇⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠭⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⢿⢿⡆⡀⠀⠀⡧⡃⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠃⠀⠱⣻⣔⡝⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣤⣄⣠⣄⡯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠀ ⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⋆

. ⊂⊃               ∧_∧ 　      ,´＼(⁠灬´⁠∀` )／ ヽ      ﾉノﾘ⊂　   ⊃,从ﾉﾘ 　　　     （,,ﾉ,,ﾉ 　　      彡

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠠⢴⠿⢿⣳⣧⡀⠀⢀⣴⣲⣶⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⢿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣶⠶⡾⣗⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠠⢀⣀⣀⠙⢛⣻⣶⣿⣿⣛⣁⣢⠀⠀⠤⢆⠄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠿⡟⣿⣶⣷⣿⢛⣧⣺⣾⣷⢻⢹⣀⠀⠀ ⠉⡹⠞⠛⠙⠙⠛⢫⣿⢿⣏⡉⠉⠉⠛⣛⣛⠷⠶⠭⣖⣷⣄⠀⠈⣿⣦⣵⣾⡿⣟⣻⣍⣇⢻⣟⡍⣾⠸⡇⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠠⣾⣻⣯⢿⣦⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠷⣄⡈⠻⣯⣗⡿⣯⡷⢯⣶⣹⠋⠠⠿⠈⠃⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣳⣿⢧⣿⡽⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⣍⣿⣾⣯⡛⠿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣳⣿⣞⡭⣿⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣷⣷⣿⡟⢧⢶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡇⢸⡿⢧⣠⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠟⣿⣧⡾⠃⣸⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠴⣖⢢⡾⣇⣿⣿⣷⢾⣿⣽⡶⠿⠛⠉⠀⠛⢦⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣹⡆⣿⣹⣷⣿⣿⡏⠁⠈⠏⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡰⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣻⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣹⡿⠟⠻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠼⠁⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠄⠻⢷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠫⣻⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⣟⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⡿⢀⡀⢠⡀⢄⡀⣈⢿⣟⡀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣌⠱⣼⣷⣡⢎⡱⡘⢦⡑⢻⡛⢭⢛⡛⠞⣛⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠨⡙⠻⠛⢥⠢⠱⡉⠦⠙⢆⡙⢆⠣⠜⡱⠌⠃⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

˖ ࣪⭑

hello random person, im suiciding today. so im leaving this message here so at least someone knows about my death, thanks all for the best moments. bye bye! i hope we meet up in heaven.❤ - laura, sao paulo, brazil

I wanna kms these days - harrrpyz 🥳🌈

⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣷⣿⣾⣦⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢴⣾⣿⣿⠟⠛⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⡤⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣴⣿⣿⡟⣡⣴⣶⣶⣶⣤⣄⠉⢿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀ ⣼⣿⣿⡟⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠙⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⣿⣿⣷⡄ ⣻⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⣿⣿⣿⡄ ⠿⣿⣿⣿⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣤⣯⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⡇ ⠐⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⡙⠛⠻⠛⠋⢁⣠⣴⣿⠏⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⢹⣿⣷⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢡⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠝⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⠋⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠙⣿⣿⣷⣄⡈⠛⠛⠛⠛⢛⣫⣵⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠄⠀⠛⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠁⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠐⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀ ⠀⢠⣤⣄⣛⣹⣿⣇⣙⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⠛⠻⢿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⡟⠭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⣨⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡟⠹⣉⡿⠋⠻⡿⠻⢷⡶⠦⣾⣇⣀⣀⣀⣴⣶⣶⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣩⣷⣤⣨⣧⡀⢀⠇⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢿⠀⢿⣭⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣧⣤⣼⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡈⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠣⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣷⣤⣧⣀⠀⡇⠀⠀⣧⠀⠸⠀⠘⢿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣿⣦⣾⣷⣾⡿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⠟⠉⠁⠀⣸⡟⠑⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠃⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⠿⡹⠾⡝⠯⠿⡹⢯⠿⡹⠯⠿⠽⢏⠿⠽⣫⠿⡹⠯⠿⢽⢫⠿⡝⠯⠿⡹⠯⢟⡽⢯⠻⡽⢯⠻⡽⠯⢟⡽⠯⢟⡽⠯⢟⡽⢯⠻⠽⡏⠿⠽⠯⢿⡹⠯⢟⡽⢏⠿⢽⢫⠿⡝⢯⠿⢽⢫⠿⡽⢫⠿⡽⠯⢟⡽⠯⠿⡽⢫⠿⡽⢯⠿⡽⢏⡿⠽⣏⠿⡽⢯⠿⡽⢯⠻⡽⢯⠷⢯⠷⡳⡟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⡸⣱⢫⡜⢭⢳⡙⢦⢫⡕⢫⡍⣏⢎⡭⣓⢥⡚⢥⠫⡕⣎⢳⡸⢜⠭⣓⡱⣋⣜⢲⣃⠳⣜⢢⡛⡴⣩⢚⡔⣫⠎⡴⢋⡎⡴⢣⠏⡵⢪⡝⣣⢛⢦⡱⢋⡎⢶⣉⠞⣬⢓⡺⣌⢗⡪⢇⡏⡶⣩⢇⡳⣱⢋⡞⡼⣩⠗⣭⢳⡙⡮⢧⣛⠼⣣⢞⡳⢎⠷⣙⣎⢳⣙⣎⠷⣙⣎⡛⣎⣳⢱⡣⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⢔⡣⢇⡞⣥⢣⡛⡬⣓⡜⣣⠞⣬⢚⡴⣩⢖⡹⢎⠳⣱⢊⠶⣩⢎⡳⢥⢳⡑⣎⠲⡥⢛⠴⢣⠞⡱⢆⠯⡜⢦⢛⡜⣣⠞⣱⢋⣜⢲⣣⠜⣥⣋⢖⡣⢏⡜⣣⢜⡹⢆⡏⡖⢭⢪⡕⣫⢜⡱⢣⢎⡵⢣⢏⣞⣱⢣⡛⡴⢣⢏⡵⢫⡜⣳⢣⡻⠼⡭⢯⡱⣎⢗⣎⠶⡹⢞⡴⣛⣜⣲⢣⠗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⣿⢌⡳⢭⡜⢦⡣⡝⢶⡱⢎⡥⣛⡔⡫⣔⢣⢎⡵⣊⠷⣡⢏⡞⡱⢎⡵⢋⠶⣙⢆⡛⡴⣋⠞⡱⢎⡝⣎⢳⡹⣌⠞⡜⢦⢛⡴⢫⠜⢦⢣⠛⡴⣊⠶⣙⠮⡜⠦⣍⠞⡼⡸⢥⣋⠶⣙⢦⢫⡜⢧⢫⡜⣣⠞⡴⢣⢳⡹⡜⢧⢫⡜⡧⡝⣶⢫⠵⣛⡜⡧⣝⣚⡞⣜⡳⣭⠻⣜⡱⢮⣱⣋⠾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢷⣚⠶⣘⢧⡓⡝⢦⡹⢎⠶⣑⢮⡱⢎⡞⣜⢲⡩⢞⡱⢎⡼⣉⠷⡸⣍⠯⡜⣎⡱⠳⣌⠯⣱⢫⡜⢆⣣⢓⡜⢮⡙⢎⠧⢎⢧⡛⣬⢣⡛⡴⣡⢛⡬⢳⢍⡳⣌⢯⢱⡙⢦⣍⠳⣍⠮⣥⢫⡕⣣⠞⡥⢯⣱⢋⠶⣣⠝⣮⢓⢮⠵⡹⣆⢏⣳⣓⣞⡱⡞⣜⡞⣥⣛⠶⣫⢇⡻⣥⢳⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⡿⣏⢞⡱⢎⡵⣙⠶⣙⠮⡝⡜⢦⣙⠮⡜⣎⢣⠞⣥⠳⣩⠖⣭⢚⡵⣊⠧⣓⠼⣘⠳⣌⢳⡱⢎⡜⣣⢎⡳⡜⢦⡙⢮⠹⡜⢦⡙⢦⡣⡝⡲⢥⣋⠶⣩⢎⡵⣊⢎⢧⡙⠶⣌⠳⣬⢓⢎⡳⣜⣡⠻⣜⡣⢧⢫⡝⢦⡻⣌⠯⣎⠷⡳⣍⢮⠵⣪⠶⡹⣝⢺⠼⣱⢫⡝⣥⢏⡳⣎⠧⢿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣶⡟⡭⢭⠭⡭⢭⢭⡛⡵⣊⢮⡱⢏⠶⣙⢮⡱⢫⡜⣙⢦⡙⢶⡹⣌⢧⡛⡴⣋⠶⣙⢦⣋⠴⣩⠖⣍⡞⣥⢛⡬⢣⡕⣫⢜⡱⢎⡕⣎⢧⡙⣎⠳⡍⠶⡙⢦⢓⡭⣱⢣⢎⢧⡱⢎⠶⣉⡞⣢⢝⡳⢬⠳⣌⢏⢮⡱⢎⠶⣙⢦⡝⣎⢳⡚⢧⢳⡬⢳⢎⣳⠹⣜⢎⡳⣥⣛⡵⢮⢏⣏⢳⣫⢼⡣⣏⢗⣎⣏⡳⢯⡭⣭⢭⡭⣭⢭⣓⢦ ⡟⡼⣱⢋⠶⣙⢎⠶⡹⣜⣱⢣⡝⢮⡹⢥⡣⣝⡣⠽⣩⢖⡹⢆⡳⡜⢦⡓⢧⣙⢮⡱⢦⡙⢮⡱⣚⠴⡹⣔⢫⢖⡳⣜⠱⡎⡵⢫⡜⣬⢲⣙⢬⢳⣩⠳⢭⢣⢏⡴⠣⢧⡚⢦⣙⢎⡞⡱⢎⡵⢪⡜⣣⢛⡬⣚⢦⠹⢮⡹⡜⣆⡻⣌⢧⠻⣌⠷⣘⣏⠾⣱⠻⡬⢏⡳⢵⢪⡝⣎⡻⣜⡳⣞⡖⣳⠞⡮⢞⣬⡝⡶⢳⣍⢮⡳⣭⢖⡯⣞ ⣯⣱⢣⢏⡳⣍⢮⣹⠱⣎⡜⣣⢞⡣⣝⠲⡵⢪⡕⡻⣔⢫⡜⣣⢳⡙⣦⠹⡖⣭⢲⡙⢶⡩⢇⣳⠱⣎⠳⣬⠓⣎⠶⣌⢳⡹⢜⢣⠞⡴⢣⠞⡜⢦⢥⡛⣬⢓⠮⣜⡹⢦⡙⢧⠚⡞⡼⣱⢋⣖⢣⡝⣲⢋⠶⣩⢎⡝⢦⢳⠹⣔⠳⡜⢮⡹⣌⢻⡱⢎⡳⡥⢏⡵⢫⡝⣎⠷⣚⡭⢳⣭⢳⡝⣾⣱⢻⡵⣫⠶⣭⢛⡵⣎⢷⡹⣬⠳⡞⡅ ⣗⣣⢏⡮⢵⡙⣖⢣⡛⣴⢹⡒⢮⡕⢎⡳⢭⡓⢮⠵⣊⠗⡼⣡⠧⣙⢦⡛⡜⢦⢣⡛⢦⡝⣎⠶⡹⢬⠳⣌⠻⣌⠳⣎⠧⣙⢎⡞⡼⡱⣋⠞⣭⢣⢎⡵⢢⢏⠞⡴⣃⢧⡙⢮⡹⣱⢣⠣⢏⡜⡣⠞⡴⣋⠞⣥⢚⣜⡣⢏⡳⣬⢛⡜⣣⠳⡬⢧⡹⢭⠳⡭⢏⣖⢳⠺⡬⢏⡵⣺⣙⠶⣋⣞⢶⣩⢗⣺⢱⣫⢖⡯⣞⡼⣣⢟⣭⢻⢭⡇ ⣧⢳⡺⣜⢣⡽⣌⠷⣙⢦⢣⣯⣷⣼⢭⣚⡥⢏⣳⡹⣜⡛⣴⣷⣿⣼⣦⡹⣜⠣⣏⠼⣣⠞⡴⣻⣼⣧⣛⢬⠳⣌⠷⣌⠳⣭⠚⡼⣰⢣⡝⡺⣔⡫⢞⣜⢣⢎⡝⡲⣍⢦⣙⠦⡕⢦⢣⡛⣜⢮⡹⡙⢶⡩⢞⡥⣋⠶⣙⠮⣱⢲⣭⣾⣥⣛⢬⣣⠝⡮⣝⣚⡳⣬⣷⡿⢷⣯⣞⡱⢮⡝⡵⣎⢷⠺⣝⣾⣷⣽⠮⣵⡹⣞⡵⣫⢖⡯⣞⡆ ⡷⣫⠵⣎⠗⣾⡸⣝⡺⡜⡿⡿⣿⣿⡶⢭⢺⡱⢶⡱⣮⣟⠟⠉⠚⠷⣙⢷⣮⡝⣬⢛⡴⢋⣶⣿⢿⣿⣿⣎⢳⢎⡳⢮⡝⣲⢫⡕⣣⠳⣜⠳⣌⡳⢣⢞⣼⣾⡾⠷⠾⣶⣯⣞⣍⢯⢲⡹⣘⢦⢳⡙⢮⡱⢏⢶⡙⣎⢧⡛⡴⣻⣿⢿⣿⣯⠶⣩⢛⡴⢳⣬⣷⠟⠉⠙⠳⢜⠻⣯⣳⡹⡵⡭⡞⣽⣾⢿⣿⢿⣟⡶⣝⡞⣼⢳⣏⢾⡱⡇ ⣷⡹⢯⣜⣛⢶⣹⢲⣍⢷⣷⠀⠘⣻⣟⢧⡳⡝⣶⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠠⡟⢿⣬⢧⡹⢭⣾⠹⠀⠻⣿⣎⡳⢎⡳⢧⢺⣥⠳⣞⡱⢏⡼⣙⠶⣩⢷⠟⠋⠀⠈⠁⠉⠑⠺⣯⠻⣮⣇⡳⣍⠮⢧⡹⢎⡵⣋⠶⡹⡜⢶⡹⢼⣿⠘⠀⠞⣿⡳⣍⢏⡞⣷⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢈⠿⣷⣹⢳⣝⣣⣟⠂⢙⢿⣿⢺⣵⣛⣧⢿⣜⡯⣝⡇ ⣷⣹⢳⢮⡝⣮⢳⠯⣜⣾⢩⠀⠀⠈⠻⠞⠳⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠈⠻⠗⠻⠳⠞⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠳⠛⠳⠛⠖⠚⠗⠚⠳⠛⠖⠛⠞⠷⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠘⠿⠖⠛⠞⠳⠛⠞⠲⠛⠞⠳⠛⠳⠛⠶⠋⠀⠀⠐⠻⠗⠻⠾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠙⠷⠟⠚⠿⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⢷⣹⢮⣷⢺⡽⡽⡖ ⡷⣏⢯⣗⡻⣭⢏⡿⣼⣹⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣯⣟⣧⣟⡾⢯⣻⡽⡇ ⣿⣹⣛⣮⣽⢳⡯⣝⣧⢻⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡷⣯⢾⣭⣟⣯⢷⣻⡇ ⣷⢯⣟⡶⣯⢿⣼⣛⡾⢿⢶⠀⠀⢀⣦⣤⣤⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣆⠀⠀⠀⢠⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⡄⠀⠀⠀⣴⣤⣤⣤⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣶⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡿⣽⣻⢾⡽⣞⣯⡷⣏ ⣯⣟⡾⣽⣏⡿⣶⢯⣟⣿⡏⠀⠀⣸⣿⢯⣽⣛⡾⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢿⣝⣳⣛⣾⡀⠀⠀⣿⡿⣧⣟⢾⡵⣏⡾⣵⢻⣞⡽⢾⣱⠿⣼⣛⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⣯⣳⣏⡾⣵⢫⣞⣳⡽⣞⡵⣯⣳⣏⣾⣿⠀⠀⢰⣿⣟⣮⣳⣻⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⢯⣟⡽⣾⣇⠀⠀⢺⣿⡿⣽⢯⣿⣽⣻⣾⡽⣇ ⣿⣞⣿⣳⢯⡿⣽⣻⣞⡷⣧⣠⣶⣿⣿⣻⢾⣽⣻⢷⡿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⢯⣟⣾⣳⢯⡿⣇⣤⢶⣿⣟⡷⣞⣿⣺⣽⣳⢯⣟⡾⡽⣏⣯⣟⣷⢫⡷⢯⣶⣶⣤⣤⣶⣶⢿⡿⣹⢷⣳⢾⡽⣞⣟⣾⢳⣻⣭⣟⣶⣻⡼⢧⣿⣦⣴⣾⣿⢧⣯⢷⣭⣟⡾⣧⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⡿⣽⣻⢾⣽⣻⣿⣠⣴⣿⣿⢿⣽⡿⣞⣯⣷⡿⣿⣇ ⣿⡾⣷⣻⣯⢿⣳⡿⣾⣽⢿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣯⢿⡾⣽⣯⢿⣽⣻⣶⣾⣾⡿⣿⣽⣻⣞⡷⣯⢿⣽⣻⣿⣿⢿⢾⣽⣻⢶⣻⢾⣽⣻⢾⣽⣻⡽⣾⡽⣞⣯⣟⡿⡾⣵⣻⢯⡿⣽⣻⢾⡽⣯⣟⣯⣽⣻⢾⣝⣯⢷⣛⡾⣵⢯⣟⡿⣞⣿⣿⢿⢯⣟⣾⣻⢮⣷⡻⣷⢯⣷⣶⣷⡿⣿⣽⣻⢷⣯⣟⣾⣳⣯⣿⣿⣿⢯⣿⢾⣟⣿⣯⣷⣿⣿⡧ ⣿⣽⣿⣳⣿⢿⣻⣽⣷⣻⡿⣯⣟⣾⣷⣻⣯⣿⣟⣾⡿⣞⣷⣯⣟⣷⣿⣳⢯⣷⢯⣟⣯⣿⣞⣷⣻⣞⣯⡿⣾⡽⣯⣟⡿⣾⣽⣻⣞⣷⣻⢷⣻⡽⣾⣽⣻⣽⣳⢯⡿⣽⣳⢯⡿⣽⣳⣟⣾⣳⢯⣟⣾⡽⣯⢿⡽⣯⣟⡾⣽⣻⢾⡽⣯⣟⣾⣳⢯⣟⣾⡽⣯⣟⡾⣽⣳⣿⣳⢯⣟⡿⣾⣽⢾⡷⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⢯⣿⡿⣽⣿⣻⣽⣷⣏ ⣿⣿⣷⣿⣯⣿⡿⣿⣾⣟⣿⣿⣻⣿⣾⣿⣽⡷⣿⣯⣿⢿⣽⣾⢿⣽⣾⢿⣟⣯⣿⣻⣽⣾⣟⣾⣯⣿⣽⣻⡷⣿⣳⣯⣿⣳⣯⣷⢿⣞⣯⣿⢯⣟⣷⣯⣟⣾⣽⢯⡿⣷⣻⣯⣟⡷⣟⣾⣳⣯⣟⡿⣾⣽⣯⡿⣽⣷⣻⢿⣽⢯⣿⣽⣷⣻⡷⣟⣯⣿⢾⣽⡷⣿⣽⣻⣽⡾⣽⡿⣾⣻⣽⡾⣟⣿⢿⣾⣻⣽⡿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⡗ ⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣿⣿⣟⣿⣷⣿⣿⣽⣷⣿⣯⣿⡿⣟⣿⣿⣯⣿⢿⣿⣾⣿⣻⣯⣷⣿⣿⣾⣻⡷⣿⣽⣾⢿⣽⣿⣽⣷⡿⣽⣷⢿⣻⣯⣿⣾⡿⣯⣷⣿⣽⡿⣾⣟⣿⡽⣷⢿⣾⢿⣻⣽⣷⣯⢿⣽⣟⣾⢷⡿⣟⣾⢿⣻⣾⣿⣳⣿⣞⣿⣽⡿⣽⣾⣟⣯⣿⢯⣷⣿⣳⣿⢿⣽⢿⣟⣷⣿⣿⣻⣿⣻⣿⣽⣿⢿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⡿⣷⣿⢿⣿⣟⣿⣾⣟⣿⣿⣟⣿⣾⣿⣯⣿⣽⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣽⣷⡿⣟⣿⣿⣾⢿⣽⣿⢯⣿⢿⣿⣻⣯⣿⣟⣿⡾⣟⣿⣿⣾⢿⣻⣽⣿⢿⣿⣻⣷⢿⣻⣷⣿⣻⣾⢿⣿⣽⣿⣻⣾⣿⣯⣷⡿⣟⣿⡿⣿⣯⣿⣾⢿⣿⣻⣿⣽⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⢿⣽⣿⣯⣿⣿⣽⣾⣿⣷⣿⣿⣾⣿⢿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣿⣽⣿⣻⣯⣿⣿⢿⣷⣿⣿⡿⣟⣯⣿⡿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣻⣟⣿⡿⣿⣿⣾⣟⣿⣽⣾⣿⣟⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⡿⣿⣽⣿⣟⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡇⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣴⣷⡀⢠⣿⣿⡆⢀⣾⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠉⠉⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⡆⣀⣠⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠈⠉⢩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡏⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡏⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣤⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⠻⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣇⠀⢠⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣄⡀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⢁⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⢋⣡⡀⣠⣤⣄⣀⣉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣃⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣉⠁⣠⣤⣄⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⡆⠘⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣧⣴⣶⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⡀ ⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠉⣹⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⣽⣿⣿⡇⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠇ ⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠹⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡍⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⠿⠟⢛⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣉⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣄⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠋⠁⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⣸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣟⣀⣤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

"You're not going anywhere, you hear me?" Rachel's voice crackled over the phone line. Her words hung in the air, echoing the weight of her grip on the receiver. "I just need some space," came the muffled response. It was barely audible, but Rachel heard it, clear as day. She knew that tone. It was the one her younger brother, Alex, used when he was hiding something. Rachel glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was a quarter to eight, and the day had been one never-ending battle of wills. She'd had enough. "Look, I don't know what's going on with you, but you're coming to stay with me for a while." Alex sighed heavily. Rachel could picture him slumped on the edge of his bed, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. "I'm not a kid anymore, Rach," he said, the words dragging like lead. "I can handle it." Rachel felt the familiar tightness in her chest. She'd always been the strong one, the one who took care of everyone else. But Alex? He was her baby brother. He was supposed to be invincible. The kitchen was spotless, the smell of lemon cleaner still lingering in the air. Rachel had been trying to distract herself from her worry by scrubbing down every surface. But it was no use; the gleaming tiles and chrome only reflected her fears back at her. She took a deep breath and leaned against the cool counter. "Just come over, okay?" she said softly. "We'll talk it out." There was a pause, so long she thought the line had gone dead. Then, "Okay." It was almost imperceptible, but Rachel heard the defeat in his voice. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Alex arrived an hour later, his shoulders hunched and his eyes cast down. Rachel didn't know what was going on with him, but she knew it was bad. As she pulled him into a tight hug, she felt his body tense. "It's going to be okay," she murmured. "I'm here for you." The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the distant wail of a siren. Rachel made them both tea, the warmth of the mug feeling like a lifeline in her trembling hand. They sat at the small table, the silence thick and oppressive. Rachel's heart hammered in her chest as she waited for him to speak. Finally, Alex looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. "It's just... it's all too much, Rach." He took a shaky breath. "I don't think I can do this anymore." The words hung in the air, a dark cloud threatening to suffocate them both. Rachel's heart skipped a beat as she realized the gravity of the situation. She reached out, her hand shaking slightly as it hovered over his. "Do what, Alex?" He stared into his tea, the steam swirling around his face. "Everything," he whispered. "I don't know how to keep going." The weight of his confession settled heavily on Rachel's shoulders. She had no idea what kind of storm was raging inside him, but she knew she had to be the one to help him weather it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣷⣞⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣦⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⢿⣷⣶⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣰⣿⠁⢀⣴⣆⢻⣮⣷⣄⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⡏⠀⣾⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⢸⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠿⣷⣦⠀ ⢸⣿⠇⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣷⡎⣿⡇ ⠘⣿⡄⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣟⣷⡿⠃ ⠀⢻⣷⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡾⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢿⣷⡌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣴⣶⠾⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⣦⣈⠛⠛⠛⠋⣀⣤⣿⠟⠛⠿⠿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣭⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠿⠿⣾⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣶⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣷⣶⣦⣄⠀⢠⣶⠿⢿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠙⢷⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⣾⡏⠀⠀⠰⠚⠛⠛⢿⣆⠀⠐⠋⠉⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣼⣿⣦⠀⠀⠴⠶⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣯⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⢻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠁⠸⣇⣠⣾⣯⣀⣘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠙⠻⠿⠟⠛⠁⠈⠉⠙⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⠶⠶⢶⣶⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⢀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣶⣴⣾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣷⡶⠶⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠿⠿⠷⠶⠶⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠶⠾⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

. ݁˖ 𖤐🫀 ๋࣭ ⭑

( ◜◡༎ຶ)

╭ ◜◝ ͡ ◝ ͡ ◜◝ ╮ ♡ ∧＿∧ ＿∧ ♡ ♡ (๑･ω･)ω<๑) ♡ ♡ /⌒ づ⊂⌒ヽ ♡ 　 ╰ ͜ ͜ ͜ ͜ ╯ O o ° 〃∩∧＿∧ ♡ ⊂⌒（ '·ω·）♡ ｀ヽ_っ＿/￣￣￣/ 　 　 ＼/＿＿＿/

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⡠⠤⢄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⡠⣔⢀⣈⣀⣠⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⡏⠀⡏⢁⡟⠍⡗⠗⡂⡐⠐⠓⡟⣆⠐⣀⣤⣦⠿⠗⠒⣤⡅⢃⢐⠂⠆⢒⠂⠀⢀⡰⠀⠀⢀ ⣏⣁⣀⣁⣈⣽⡁⣠⡖⣶⣃⣑⡑⣂⣋⣋⣓⣊⣂⣓⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⡄⠁⠃⡌⠃⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣹⠀⡏⡔⡇⠀⠄⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣯⣄⡟⠁⡂⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠶⢋⢿⢟⠫⡯⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠊⠀⢢⠮⡙⢁⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠃⠀⡄⡇⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⡟⡃⡿⠽⠁⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠎⢴⣽⠅⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⡰⡒⢃⡄⠉⢀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠊⡐⠐⡱⠣⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡐⢱⠁⢼⠛⣀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠁⠀⣄⡜⢁⢃⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠄⢏⠛⠂⡠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠃⣶⠅⠒⣘⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣏⣄⡿⣿⠒⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠇⡿⣁⡦⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡖⣛⣫⣍⣭⣿⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

. ∩∩　       ⊹ ࣪ ˖       ( ˶◜ᗜ◝)∩      _| っ  ╱╲|  ╱   ﹂-(         ` - ----﹁ --------------------------- ╱

🏢🤸

Hola, soy Ivin, tengo 12 años y espero que ningun amig@ vea esto...Me gustaria desahogarme diciendo que me cuesta expresarme con la gente, me cuesta socializar sin parecer raro, solo quiero un abrazo...Empece a cortarme hace 4 meses, deje de hacerlo la primera vez, pero estos dias no e parado, me doy asco cuando me miro al espejo...Me da asco mirar mi cuerpo sabiendo que nunca sera el de un hombre ( soy trans )...La verdad, me gustaria socializar con gente que tral vez entienda por experiencia | Mi Discord, por si quieres socializar conmigo > - < : crzy_doom

🪑𓍯☠︎︎

ɛ:

🤸🏼‍♀️🚊

̤̮

it's going to be okay. ♡

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠆⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣴⣶⡶⠗⠾⠿⣴⣦⡀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣜⡸⠄⣠⣶⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⣻⣿⡭⠤⢤⣄⣀⢐⠆⠹⠄⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠐⡴⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢴⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⢉⢟⡧⣶⣿⣷⡶⣦⣭⡓⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠿⢢⡃⢧⡆⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡜⢿⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠼⠀⠛⠧⠟⠀⡜⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠿⣼⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢬⣿⠳⠿⡛⣿⣿⠥⠙⠃⠉⠀⠉⠁⠀⠸⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⡀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠈⢯⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠈⢼⡿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣂⠆⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡰⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⣀⠀⣾⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⡀⡀⢄⡠⢀⠤⡀⡄ ⣠⣀⣤⣀⣤⣌⣀⢠⠀⣠⠗⣒⡿⡇⣿⣯⣿⣿⣯⣆⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⣼⡿⠿⠿⠽⠛⠛⠒⠓⠚⠓⠚⠋⠉⠈⠉⠉⠉⠈⠉⠉ ⣻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⣽⣿⣷⣽⣿⣯⢻⣿⡧⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⡇⠀⣠⠊⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠴⠚⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣚⣢⣾⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⣯⡹⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣶⣶⣆⡦⢤⣀⣀⡀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⣔⣴⣤⠄⡀⢠⣶⣶⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⢋⣀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣯⡿⣶⣱⣆⡖⣤⢆⡤⣠⠄⡤⣀⢄⡠⣀⠄⣄⢄⡠ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣙⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⠻⣷⡼⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣾⣷⣯⣿⣵⣯⣾⣳⣯⣾⣾⡾⣵ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⠋⠚⣜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⠻⡙⠫⠙⠎⡑⠣⠛⠸⠭⢛⡹⠯⡻⡝⢿⡽⣻⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛ ⠛⠙⠋⠟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡂⠀⠉⢲⡀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣦⣤⣤⣤⣴⣤⣤⣠⣤⡶⠶⠶⠶⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠻⠙⠂⠈⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠁⠃⠌⠡⠋⠎⢓⡛⢿⠟⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠈⠙⠙⠻⢛⠿⠿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣔⠀⠀⠈⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣸⣿⣿⡟⠋⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠁⠈⢛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣊⡄⠀⠀⠃⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⢨⢻⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣟⣅⡟⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣿⡿⢛⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣢⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⢷⡽⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⡀⢀⡀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⣾⣿⣿⠙⣿⣿⡿⣟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣯⡅⢻⡟⢱⡌⢣⡍⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢿⠿⣿⠄⠘⡧⢡⠘⠤⠘⡠⢊⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠘⡆⢽⡆⠀⠹⡆⢡⠊⠔⠡⡈⢒⠠⢋⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢀⠠⠀ ⢀⠂⠤⢁⠀⢂⠀⠂⠠⠀⠄⢹⣧⠀⠠⠀⠂⠄⠡⡐⠸⡇⠠⢀⠑⢢⠘⡨⠐⡁⠆⡐⢠⣼⡿⣿⣷⣿⢿⣯⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⡀⠀⡀⠀⡀⢀⠠⠀⠄⠂⠀⡜⡀⠀⡀⢂⠄⠠⠀⢀⠁⠀⡀⠀⢀⠠⠀⠐⠀⡀⢀⢀⠰⢈⠀⡐⠠⡀⣁⠂⠌⡐⢠⢀⠂ ⢂⡍⡰⠂⠌⠠⢈⠄⠡⢈⠄⠩⣿⡄⠡⠈⠔⡨⠐⢠⠁⣿⠀⡡⠈⢆⡑⠄⢃⠌⣰⣠⣿⣿⣿⣜⣽⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⡐⠠⠐⠀⠂⠄⢂⠐⡈⡸⢁⠀⠆⠰⡈⠄⠡⠐⡠⠌⡐⠠⠐⡀⠂⠌⠠⢁⠐⡈⠄⣢⢁⡦⣈⡱⣠⢡⡚⡤⣑⢣⢌⠢

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▶︎ •၊၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|||၊||။‌‌‌‌‌၊||lıl||၊||။‌‌‌‌‌၊||lılıııl|၊၊|၊၊|၊၊၊ıılılııılııl၊၊၊၊|၊|၊|၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌lııl၊၊၊၊|၊|၊|၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|||။‌‌‌‌‌၊• 46:33

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢻⡇⠀⢀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⢸⣇⣤⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⠟⠁⣀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⢿⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡄⢀⡉⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⣾⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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. ̫.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁₊˚⋆ >ᆺ< ⊹ ‧₊ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ` `` ` 🍼🍮🧁 ʚɞ 。°˖ ʚ🍓ɞ ꒦꒷⩩ # 🍮🌈🍓 (๑°ㅁ°๑)‼✧ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ ‧˚꒰🐾꒱༘⋆ 🩹(🍥 ^__<)ﾉ ★☆ 🐾🎀(๑>◡<๑)୭♡ᵎᵎ ୭" 、˚.🍥 ᵎつ (⌁° ‸ °⌁).ᐟᯓ ᡣ𐭩｡°💫 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮🐾🎀 ⋅ ☆ 🎀🦴🍮🐾 ☆🎀🪚🥣☆ ✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎀🧁 🦴🎀🐾🍥🍮 ୭ 🍮 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ᵎᵎ ☆🍮🎀🦴🎧☆ ˚. ! ! 🎀 𝜗 ﾟׅ ၄ 🍮 ၃ ׅ 𝜚 ﾟׅ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆🍥 彡 ୧ ˚. ⊹ ‧₊ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🍥🍓🍮🦴˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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⠢⣴⡁⠶⠘⣗⠒⣟⡻⠻⠍⣷⣄⢀⣀⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⢰⣾⡗⡶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠔⠁⣠⠊⢠⢎⣿⠀⠉⠘⠛⠋⢉⡇⡇⠀⠈⠔⣀⠂⠄⡁⢺⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢥⡀⠡⢇⣁⣉⣿⣿⣿⣨⣹⣌⣙⣻⣏⣹⣆⣼⣦⢤⣖⠒⡒⣶⣄⠀⣀⠀⢀⣸⣿⡆⣷⣷⡀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⢸⢻⠈⡀⠂⡟⠀⣾⢹⠐⣇⠈⡐⠠⡈⠐⢀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠉⠐⠛⠚⣥⣿⠣⡒⠼⠗⠳⠐⠛⠛⠳⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⠛⠞⠻⠓⠿⠳⠿⠛⠻⢛⠚⠻⢛⠛⠻⠛⠟⠻⡓⠷⢒⠒⡒⠲⠰⢒⡒⠖⠦⣼⠃⣿⣸⠄⢚⠀⣷⠀⣿⣻⠀⡿⠀⠄⡡⠐⠡⢘⣿⡏⠢⣤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠄⠤⡀⠄⣀⢀⡀⣀⠠⢀⠠⢀⡀⢄⠠⡀⢄⠠⡀⢄⠠⡀⢄⡀⢄⠠⣀⠄⣀⢄⠠⣀⡀⢄⡀⡄⣠⢀⡠⣀⠄⣠⠀⡄⢠⠀⣄⠠⣀⠠⣀⢀⡀ ⠈⠁⠈⠛⠉⠉⠐⠛⠃⠀⡀⠉⠉⠁⡉⢀⠐⠀⠂⡁⠠⠈⠤⠁⡰⠯⠿⠿⠫⠷⠉⠧⢉⠂⠙⠺⠷⠮⠁⠌⠱⠈⡑⢈⢁⠋⡐⠈⠜⡠⣿⠀⢿⡟⡇⠈⠀⠹⡆⢷⢹⣈⡗⢈⠐⠄⡑⠀⢿⣹⡇⠀⠀⢳⡌⠱⡈⢅⢊⠠⡉⢦⠑⣬⢠⡃⣜⠠⢋⠤⠉⠆⠉⠌⠂⠍⠈⠡⠉⠌⠡⠉⠤⠀⢊⠁⠈⠉⣀⠎⡑⡀⢉⠂⣁⠓⡈⢢⠑⡡⢋⠴⠙⠌⢣⠙⠤⠓⣡⠋⡔⠣⠜ ⠀⠉⠀⠀⠠⠚⠳⣀⡌⠤⠤⢔⣌⣀⡤⠤⢤⡨⠤⠤⠤⠴⠒⡎⣉⠢⠤⢄⡠⠴⣀⣀⡠⠀⡁⠠⠀⢀⡐⠈⣀⢄⣀⠀⠀⡀⠠⠈⠀⠤⢼⡐⠈⢿⣷⠀⡀⢤⠙⠌⡆⢷⠇⠂⠌⠒⠠⢁⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⣷⣥⣴⡬⠤⠥⠌⣤⡁⡀⠢⠔⠈⠌⠄⠢⢁⣐⡨⠄⢨⡄⠠⣀⣄⠠⠤⠄⠄⡈⠄⠀⠄⠂⠄⠠⢀⠑⡈⠒⢀⣊⠄⠀⠂⠐⢀⠂⠒⢀⠂⠌⡐⠤⢀⠢⠠⠡⠌ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⣀⡤⠿⢧⣀⡠⡀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣖⣿⠿⣷⣆⣀⠀⠀⠁⠈⡉⠋⠉⠑⠚⠁⢘⠘⠉⠉⠈⠛⠩⠷⠖⠦⠥⠴⠚⡇⠁⠈⢻⣧⠀⠘⣆⠀⠹⣬⠇⠌⢂⠡⠘⢨⡿⢁⡔⠀⠀⢰⠇⠀⠀⢈⡉⠉⠀⢀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⡀⢀⣠⣴⣞⡫⢟⡭⣛⡝⠳⢻⣭⣯⣭⣍⣭⣩⡀⡉⠉⠉⠒⣳⣶⣭⣙⠓⡛⢚⡛⣛⡛⠒⠒⠚⠒⠐⠒⠤⠀⠂⠤⠀⠄⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠉⠉⠁⠊⠁⠀⠈⠉⠈⠉⠉⠉⢡⠉⠁⠩⠁⠀⠤⠴⠏⠀⢰⠊⠀⠀⠐⠉⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⢐⠀⣣⠘⠠⠀⢿⣆⠀⠘⣆⠀⢿⡔⡈⠄⡡⢈⣿⠆⠘⣠⣴⣵⡾⡶⠤⢤⠷⠦⣀⡴⠒⠲⢎⢀⣨⢤⣀⠴⢦⡤⠄⢽⣒⡐⣁⠒⠉⠣⠄⢰⣢⡼⠳⡶⣯⢿⣚⡿⠟⠛⠻⢍⡛⠛⠛⠋⠛⠛⠚⠓⠒⠒⠀⠠⠀⠄⠠⡀⠀⠐⢀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠂⠈⠁⠑⠂⠀⠠⠴⠶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⠀⠠⡴⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⢀⣹⢈⡐⠡⠘⣿⡆⠀⠸⡆⣺⡇⡐⢈⠄⢡⣏⠤⠚⢡⠓⢸⡗⠁⠀⠄⠀⢠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠊⠁⠒⠐⠢⠔⠀⠒⡴⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⠻⢄⣠⡔⠶⠦⣄⣀⣠⡀⠂⠀⣀⡀⣀⡠⢀⡥⣄⣂⣾⠵⠃⠀⠈⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠈⠁⠈⠁⠈⠀⠁⠂⠁⠀⠒⠒⠢⠰⠄⠤⠠⠄⠠⠤⠤⠤⠄⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢆⠠⡁⢰⡿⣿⣆⠀⡿⡿⠣⠌⠠⠘⣼⢃⡄⠀⠘⢦⠘⡧⠤⣞⡠⠶⣇⣀⣀⡠⠴⣠⣤⠀⣠⠔⣓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⠛⠛⢽⡞⢠⠐⢸⡧⣷⣿⠿⢧⣧⡔⣮⠀⢡⡿⢁⡔⣡⠔⠋⠑⣾⣀⡀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣁⠁⠒⢠⢒⠚⣛⣛⣶⣀⡄⢀⣀⣔⣀⠴⠦⠪⢄⠀⢀⣠⣐⣆⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣷⢀⡿⢈⡷⣇⣰⢞⣹⣇⠳⠿⡆⡌⣷⣛⣁⣠⣴⣿⣷⡼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⢀⠀⠁⠀⠈⠁⠋⠑⠂⠒⠂⠀⠰⠀⠀⠶⠤⠀⠀⠘⠂⣥⣬⣭⣋⣉⡉⠙⠐⠉⠉⠉⠁⠈⠃⠉⠁⠉⠤⠐ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣀⡀⠀⡀⣂⠀⠀⢀⡧⡏⠟⠁⠬⡗⠈⣿⣏⣿⡏⠀⠂⠝⠠⣿⢩⣿⠄⣀⣘⣧⣣⠤⠤⠄⣀⣀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⠚⠉⠝⠛⠓⠦⢤⠤⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠂ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⢱⣒⠤⢄⡀⠠⠀⣀⣄⡤⠀⠠⠤⣄⠀⠒⠀⠒⠈⣑⠒⣂⡀⢀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢽⡐⠡⠘⠠⢸⣇⢾⣻⣯⡿⡆⢁⠈⠐⠠⣿⠹⠏⢉⡉⠹⢿⣹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⢈⣲⣦⣦⠴⠦⠤⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣲⠄⣀⡠⢄⣠⣀⣀⣴⣀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢁⠉⠋⠀⠋⠁⠐⠋⠀⠀⠠⣆⣀⣸⠲⠦⢍⠶⣔⣒⣗⠖⠙⠋⣰⣆⠈⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠲⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⣿⠀⠃⣁⢂⣿⣞⣢⣤⣁⣴⣏⠀⠂⠌⡐⣿⠓⠛⠉⠀⠀⠈⣏⢹⣧⠤⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠐⠨⠃⠉⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠐⠂⠐⠐⠒⠂⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣁⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢀⠀⠁⢰⠀⠁⠹⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣷⡾⠉⡁⣁⡀⣶⣀⠆⠀⣹⠶⣀⢀⠰⠶⢆⣀⣿⠀⠁⣆⡾⠁⠀⠀⠹⡏⠉⣇⠈⠆⠰⠀⣿⣶⣶⣆⡀⠀⢀⣸⡀⣇⠈⠉⠱⠶⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠶⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠍⠱⠖⣈⠉⢓⣧⣠⣦⠀⣀⣈⡀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠐⠁⠈⠉⠐⢶⠶⠀⢙⠲⢤⡤⣽⠀⣡⡾⠿⠒⣺⢣⠞⢀⡾⢿⠠⢈⠐⠠⣟⠀⠈⠉⠹⠃⠈⢉⣧⢸⡖⠛⠱⢦⣤⣀⣒⣒⣒⠒⠊⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⢂⠒⠤⣀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠚⠃⠀⠀⠁⠈⠉⠀⠉⠙⠋⢻⣏⠓⢆⣀⣚⡗⠚⠧⠴⠤⢆⡀⣠⣠⣤⣤⡄⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢹⣦⠏⠀⠀⡼⢁⡞⠀⡞⠀⢸⡇⠄⡈⠄⡟⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⡚⠛⣧⠘⣇⠀⡀⠀⠁⠉⠐⡃⠀⠈⠙⠷⠅⡈⠉⠈⢀⣁⠀⠒⠶⢴⠴⣢⢭⠄⠀⠌⢡⣀⢀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠃⠖⠢⡀⢤⡄⠤⢤⣀⣄⠀⣸⠗⢄⡤⠞⢣⡾⠀⠸⣥⡀⠤⡷⢈⠠⠐⣧⣀⣴⡴⠂⠀⣙⠿⣾⣤⣧⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠐⠆⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠒⠠⠤⠘⠉⠉⠩⠥⢤⢤⡠⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠈⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢽⢠⠀⠉⣿⠉⠁⠀⠀⢨⣿⣻⣿⡷⣾⡣⠤⢎⣠⣤⣷⠂⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣖⠒⢄⣀⣤⠆⣀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡐⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠙⠒⠀⠀⠠⠶⣖⣦⠤⡄⠠⠬⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣻⡇⠀⠀⠐⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠐⠀⢀⢸⠦⡌⠐⣻⠀⠤⣖⡯⠿⠚⣉⠙⢛⢳⣽⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠄⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠑⢂⠉⠛⠝⠛⠯⠿⠛⣋⡹⠯⢓⡲⢖⣲⡦⡀⠀⢂⠀⠀⢀⣠⡄⠀⠈⠉⠉⠓⠂⢄⣠⡭⠁⠀⠀⠒⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⡁⣄⠐⠀⢠⠀⠹⣄⠀⠂⠀⢀⣾⢃⠁⢺⡧⠖⢋⠁⠄⡐⠰⠀⡌⢢⠘⣯⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠩⢉⠉⠀⠀⠘⠛⠒⠦⠉⠉⠁⠉⠙⠩⣦⢴⣆⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⣿⠙⢦⡙⢦⣈⠷⢶⣼⣦⡈⣰⢫⣷⡆⢈⢹⡇⠈⠄⡨⠐⡈⠔⢡⠐⡂⠭⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠒⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣉⡒⠂⠀⠈⠙⠉⠉⠈⠀⠈⠉ ⠂⠠⠤⣤⣄⡠⠄⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣹⣆⠄⡉⠳⠬⣍⣛⠶⠭⠿⣧⡏⣼⠄⣆⢸⡇⢡⠊⠄⡑⢨⠐⡂⠥⠘⡰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⢲⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡟⡙⢶⣧⢴⣀⠉⣉⢛⡛⣿⣟⣡⢾⣱⣻⣿⡶⠎⢂⠡⠂⠜⢠⡁⢣⢸⡏⠁⠀⠀⠒⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡄⢠⡄⣠⠤⢤⡀⣤⠀⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡏⠀⣿⠀⢨⡇⣿⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠤⣄⢠⡄⠀⣤⢀⣠⢤⡀⢠⡄⠀⡄⢠⡀⠀⢠⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣙⠲⢦⢸⡗⠒⣿⢸⡁⠀⣿⢸⡇⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⢸⡇⠀⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠋⠈⠃⠀⠋⠀⠙⠛⠁⠀⠙⠛⠁⠘⠛⠛⠘⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⡀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡷⣯⠀⢸⠀⡇⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠈⠓⠘⠀⠛⠒⠂⠛⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣀⠀⢀⡀⢀⣀⡀⠀⡀⠀⣀⢀⣀⣀⡀⢀⣀⣀⠀⣀⣀⡀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀ ⠀⠘⢷⠏⢰⡏⠀⢹⠄⡇⠀⣿⢸⣧⢤⡇⠘⠦⣬⡀⡧⠤⠄⣿⠀⠀⢸⠤⠄⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠛⠒⠋⠀⠛⠒⠋⠘⠃⠀⠓⠘⠲⠚⠁⠓⠒⠂⠛⠒⠒⠘⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢀⠀⢀⣀⠀⢀⠀⢀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢆⣸⢠⡏⠉⢹⡈⣇⡼⣇⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠈⠿⠀⠳⠶⠞⠀⠹⠇⠸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠄⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠄⢀⣠⡔⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣰⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣻⣟⣿⣿⡿⣟⣛⣿⡃⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣾⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣟⣿⣿⠺⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡝⠻⠵⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣧⠈⣛⣛⣿⣿⡿⣡⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⠄⠙⠛⠛⢁⣴⣿⣿⣷⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠄⠄⢠⠄⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠄⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠄⠄⢀⠠⠐⠒⠐⠾⠿⢟⠋⠁⠄⢀⣀⠠⠐⠄⠂⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠋⠁⠄⢀⡈⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠁⠒⠉⠄⢠⣶⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⠫⢿ ⣿⣿⡟⠄⢔⠆⡀⠄⠈⢀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢄⡀⠄⠈⡐⢠⠒⠄⠄⠄⠄⢀⣂ ⣿⣿⠁⡀⠄⠄⢇⠄⠄⢈⠆⠄⠄⢀⠔⠉⠁⠉⠉⠣⣖⠉⡂⡔⠂⠄⢀⠔⠁⠄ ⣿⡿⠄⠄⠄⠄⢰⠹⣗⣺⠤⠄⠰⡎⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠘⢯⡶⢟⡠⠰⠄⠄⠄⠄

.    ◌.      ◝       °˛            )ﾉ °   ⊹            ⊹    ((              ◜ᥥ ᥥ　 ˛           ) )     ⊂ (•ˋﾛˊ•˶)    ╭ ◜◝ ͡ ◜◝ ⊹.    ⊂   ◝   )￣￣￣￣￣(   (_ ("  )ᦱ (_____________)   U  ◝_)    \/          \/

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠤⢄⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠃⠁⠀⠀⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠅⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠁⠀⠀⠀⡇⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠚⠃⠎⠛⠓⠛⠇⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠉⠫⠙⡖⠲⠤⡄⣀⣄⣀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⣀⡀⠀⣀⣀⣀⢀⡆ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⠵⣸⡀⠀⠀⠀⡔⢆⡀⠀⠉⠉⠀⣠⠶⣄⠀⠀⠀⣀⡾⠃⣯⠣⠂ ⠀⠂⡀⠀⢲⡌⢷⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⢁⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⡀⡀⡠⠿⠉⠙⡖⢋⠎⠀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡈⠉⢹⡦⡄⠀⠀⠑⣴⠃⠀⡠⠔⠁⢀⡴⢋⠥⠁⠀⣠⠚⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠐⠊⠗⠂⣤⡐⣐⣉⣐⡶⠦⣎⣑⡀⡀⣀⡶⠗⠁⠀⠀

🧶 /\   /\ ฅ( • ﻌ • ฅ)   \ \      \ \     \           \        \    _    |          \ |   \ |  \__           \〕 \〕       \

.       ___       /        ＼   ∠)_  ●  /  /\  /\          /  /__(   •ω • )__       (               ∪∪        ) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𓁺‿𓁺

◜ ͡ ͡ ◝ 🎀 ʿʿ 🎀 z ᶻ Ꮚ꒰ ˶ ´̣̣̥ `̣̣̥ ˶ ꒱Ꮚ う :🎀 : と

Listen to RIIZE songs on Scratch. Don't listen to RIIZE on YouTube, Spotify, or any platforms that give money back to SM. If a song you like is not there, you can upload it to help all of BRIIZE 💕💕

𝐵𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑒.

ik i rlly shouldnt be venting on this website. literally ANYONE could find this. my name is eggz. also known online as animekillerbunny, melodykillerbunny, and tv_chan. im gonna kms. for real this time. yeowch, sure, but i really don't care at this point. literally whats the fucking point. it wont matter in the long run anyway. all these people trying to "make the most of it" and all that bs can SHUT UP.

SWEET CWEAM pt. 7 “So SpongeBob heard all of it?” He demands. Karen nods, her amusement obvious. "Everything. Even your snoring..” Plankton's face goes from flushed to beet-red. "I… what?" he asks, his voice tiny and ashamed. "You don't remember snoring?" Karen asks, barely keeping a straight face. "It was quite the symphony." Plankton's eye widened in horror. "Snoring?" he repeats, not wanting to believe it. "And in front of Sponge Bob?" Karen nods, her laughter bubbling over. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice full of affection. "It was the cutest..." "Cute? This isn't cute, Karen!" He interrupts, his voice rising in disbelief. The embarrassment is palpable in his tone. “And besides, I don’t snore!” Her laughter dies down to a chuckle. "Well, you did yesterday," she says, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Whether or not you do, you did." Plankton's face contorts in a mixture of denial and embarrassment. He can't believe what he's hearing, his mind reeling from the revelation. "But... I... snore?" he stammers, his voice a feeble protest. Karen nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You sure did, Plankton," she says, her tone teasing. The color in his cheeks deepens to a crimson red, his eye wide with disbelief. "But... but I don't snore!" Karen's laughter rolls out like a wave, filling the room with warmth. "Maybe not usually," she says, her smile playful. "But yesterday, oh…" Plankton's mind races, trying to grasp the concept. "But how could I not know?" he asks, his voice a mix of indignation and confusion, a desperate whisper. "But I didn't really mean what’s been supposedly said, right?" His eye darts between her and the now-dark TV screen. "I was just... you know, saying things?" Karen's laughter softens into a warm smile. "You did mean it, Plankton," she says, her tone gentle. "At least your subconscious did. It's just the anesthesia that made it come out so... clearly." His face falls, his eye drooping. "So, it's true?" he whispers. The humiliation washes over him like a cold shower, his pride dampened by the knowledge that his deepest thoughts were laid bare for all to see, even if it was just Sponge Bob and his wife. Karen nods, her screen sparkling with amusement. "But it's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's just part of the anesthesia. And besides, you looked so cute and happy, not to mention snoring away.." Just then, SpongeBob comes back to check and visit. "Hi Plankton!" he says cheerfully, his voice like a trumpet in the quiet room. Plankton's head snaps up, his heart racing at the sight of his friend. "Thponge Bob," he slurs, his voice barely audible. "How uh, how are ya?" Sponge Bob's smile is warm and welcoming. "I'm great, Plankton! How are you feeling?" Plankton's eye darts to Karen, who's still smiling, before returning to his friend. "I'm... I'm ok," he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. The embarrassment of his earlier admission weighs heavily on his shoulders. Sponge Bob notices the change in his demeanor. "You don't seem like it," he says gently. "Is everything okay?" Plankton's throat is tight with nerves. He swallows hard, his eye darting to Karen and back. "I... I had a bit of a... a misunderstanding," he says, his words stumbling over each other like a tangled mess of seaweed. Sponge Bob's face is a canvas of curiosity. "A misunderstanding?" he repeats, his voice innocent. "What kind of misunderstanding?" Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his cheeks still flushed. "Well, I... I don't really remember much from after the surgery," he says, his voice a mix of apology and hope. "But Karen says I... I talked a lot." Sponge Bob's grin doesn't waver. "Oh, you sure did, Plankton!" he says, his voice filled with warmth. "You had some pretty interesting stories to tell." Plankton's eye darts to the floor, his cheeks blazing with embarrassment. "I'm sorry if I... if I said anything weird," he mumbles, his voice tiny and unsure. He's never been one to show his vulnerable side, especially to Sponge Bob, whose good nature he often finds infectious. Sponge Bob's face lights up like a jellyfish in the night. "Weird?" he repeats, his voice filled with innocence. "What do you mean, weird?" Plankton's eye darts around the room, anywhere but at Sponge Bob's gazing eyes. "I... I just meant, you know, things that might not make sense," he says, his voice trailing off. Sponge Bob nods slowly, his smile remaining in place. "Oh, I remember," he says, his voice soft and understanding. "You talked about flying and being a dolphin. It was like listening to a fairy tale!" Plankton's eye flutters shut with relief. "Oh," he breathes. "So I didn't say..." Sponge Bob's smile doesn't fade. "Well, you said you loved to see me," he says, his voice innocent. "But I knew if you meant it, Plankton. You're my best friend too!" Plankton's face is a whirlwind of emotions: embarrassment, relief, and a strange kind of warmth that spreads through his chest. He swallows hard, his throat thick with unspoken words. He's not one to be so open, but the medicine has clearly stripped him of his usual reserve. Karen watches the exchange with love. The rare moment of vulnerability and friendship was something she never knew Plankton was capable of showing. It was a side of him she had never seen before, and it was beautiful. "So, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his grin as wide as his face, "You're a dolphin, huh? I never knew dolphins snored..” Plankton's face is a mask of horror. "You…" he croaks. Sponge Bob nods, his eyes twinkling. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "But it was really sweet to hear you s..." "Snoring?" Plankton interrupts, his voice higher than usual. "You heard me… snoring?" Karen nods, her screen shining with amusement. "But don't worry, it's all part of the recovery process. You needed that rest." Sponge Bob chuckles, his body wobbling with laughter. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a comfort. "Many people snore sometimes." Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his pride stinging. "But not me," he mumbles, his voice barely a murmur. "I'm not a snorer." Sponge Bob's laughter fills the room, his body wobbling with mirth. "Oh, but you were, Plankton! It was adorable!" Karen's smile is like a beam of sunlight cutting through the embarrassment. "It was, wasn't it?" she says, her voice chiming in with Sponge Bob's laughter. Plankton's face is a map of humiliation, but his mind is racing. He's not one to let his guard down, especially in front of Sponge Bob. "But...but... I'm not one to snore!" he protests weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes crinkle with laughter. "Well, you did," she says, her voice teasing. "But don't worry, it's nothing to be ashamed of." Sponge Bob nods in agreement. "You looked so peaceful," he adds, his voice warm. Plankton's curiosity gets the better of him, yet not sure if he's ready for the answer. "Can I... can I see the video?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen's laughter fades into a smile, and she nods, pulling out her phone. "But only if you promise not to get too embarrassed," she warns, her thumbs quickly navigating to the saved clip. The screen lights up with a sleeping Plankton, his snores like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Sponge Bob smiles quietly beside him, his body shaking in silent amusement. Plankton watches in horror, his eye wide as his snores echo through the room, his mouth hanging open. Karen hits pause, her smile still in place. "See?" she says, her voice soft. Plankton's cheeks burn with mortification. "I... I can't believe it," he stammers. "I... I snore?" Sponge Bob's laugh softens into a chuckle. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "We all have our moments." Plankton nods slowly, his face still flushed with embarrassment. He takes a deep breath, trying to reclaim some of his usual composure. "I... I guess you're right," he says, his voice a little stronger. Karen's smile doesn't waver. "Of course," she says, placing a hand on his. "Now, let's get some more ice cream.."

𝗥𝗜𝗜𝗭𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝟕𑁤 #𝐒ꭑ 𝗌υρⱺⱺ𝗋𝗍𝗌 ᑲυᥣᥣ𝗒𐓣𝗀⁷

.𖥔 ܁ ˖🪐.𖥔 ܁ ˖

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⠤⢠⡟⠁⢻⡄⠀⠀⠐⠠⠀⠀⠀⠄⠂⠠⠀⠀⠄⢠⣤⣤⣦⠼⢞⠇⠠⠈⣻⡶ ⠛⠋⠁⠁⠀⠙⠚⠛⣲⠶⠀⠀⠄⢄⠉⣶⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣄⠀⠀⠅⠀⠁⢈⠠ ⣆⠀⠀⡀⠠⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⢙⣧⠀⠨⢁⠨⢀⠸ ⣽⠀⠸⣿⡿⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢸⡇⠀⣀⣒⢦⣆⠡ ⣯⡶⠟⠉⠑⠢⢤⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠷⠛⠁⠀⠑⠩⢛ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠠⢂ ⠀⠀⠔⢖⠁⢀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡊⠲⠀⠈⠄ ⠀⠇⠀⠀⠆⠾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠀⡀ ⢈⠐⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢄ ⠀⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠘⢀ ⠐⡒⣜⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢀⡞⢻⣆⠊⠠ ⣉⣽⠋⠀⠽⣄⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡾⠁⢾⣿⣿⣧ ⠉⠀⢀⠀⠈⡀⠉⣈⠿⠁⠀⠀⠐⢆⠁⢀⠆⠀⠀⠘⢿⣉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⢠ ⣶⠀⠠⠀⠀⢐⣾⠉⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠂⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢶⡄⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⣾ ⡗⢨⣥⣦⣌⡈⣹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠡⠀⠀⠀⢀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⣀⣤⡀⠄⣻

❛❛ But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning.❜❜

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 7 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob leaves, and it's bed time. The room is dimly lit. Karen helps Plankton into bed, his movements stiff and unyielding. "Pattern," he murmurs, his eye scanning the ceiling. "Ceiling. Pattern." Karen nods with love. "It's beautiful," she agrees, her voice soft. "But Plankton, it's time for bed. Can I get you anything?" He shakes his head, his antennas drooping slightly. "No, thank Karen. Pattern. Sleep." Karen nods, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world of patterns and precision. "I'll be here if you need me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. He nods, his gaze never leaving the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Safe." Karen lies beside him, their bodies close but their worlds feeling so far apart. She reaches out, her hand trembling as it touches his arm. "Do you want me to turn the lights off?" she asks, her voice tight with uncertainty. Plankton nods, his gaze still on the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "No patterns. Sleep." Karen nods, her fingers tracing the outline of his arm, feeling the tension in his body ease slightly. She gently pulls the blanket up to his chin, tucking it in around him. "Okay, I'll keep the light off low," she says, her voice soothing. "But if you need anything, just let me know." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Sleep." Karen nods, her own exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. She lies down. "I'll be right here," she whispers, her hand finding its way to his. Plankton's antennae twitch again as he feels her warmth, the sensation unexpected and slightly overwhelming. "Karen," he says, his voice sleepy. "Warmth." Karen smiles, her eyes closed. "I know," she whispers. "It's okay. I'm here." Plankton's grip tightens slightly, his antennae relaxing. "Pattern," he says, his voice a mere murmur. "Karen. Sleep." Karen squeezes his hand back, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world where the simple act of holding hands is a complex dance of sensory input and emotional regulation. "Pattern," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "We'll make new patterns together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his grip on her hand steadying. "New patterns," he repeats, his voice slightly more present. "Together." Karen nods, her eyes squeezed shut. "Together," she whispers, her voice shaky. "We'll make it work." Karen can feel Plankton's body begin to relax, his grip on her hand loosening slightly. As they lay there, Karen thinks back to their past anniversaries, each one filled with laughter, love, and the promise of adventure. This one was different, marked by a stark reality she wasn't prepared for. But she knows she'll do anything for him. Plankton's breathing evens out, his body slowly releasing tension. His hand is still in hers, a silent promise that she'll always be there for him. Karen wonders what tomorrow will bring, how they'll navigate this new world of patterns and precision. As sleep takes over, she whispers, "I love you, Plankton," hoping that his subconscious can still hear her, still understand the depth of her feelings. Karen listens to the sound of Plankton's snoring as she falls asleep. The next morning, Karen wakes up to Plankton still holding her hand as his antennae twitch in his sleep. She gently withdraws, careful not to wake him, and she can't help but smile through her tears that threaten to fall. In the kitchen, she starts making breakfast, trying to recall what she'd read about autistic individuals and their preferences. She remembers that Plankton used to love Krabby Patties, but now his taste might have changed. With care, she prepares a plate of square eggs and perfectly aligned toast, knowing that the visual symmetry might provide comfort. She even arranges the condiments in a pattern she hopes he'll find pleasing. As Plankton enters the room, his eye immediately scans the table, his antennae twitching. He takes a seat, his movements mechanical. "Breakfast," he says, his voice devoid of his usual zest. Karen's watching him closely. "Yes, Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the fear swirling inside her. "I made you your favorite." He nods, his gaze locking onto the plate before him. His hand reaches out, his movements calculated. He picks up a piece of toast, studying it before placing it back down. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae waving slightly. Karen watches him. "Would you like to eat?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Eat," he says, his voice flat. "Pattern." Karen nods, her smile forced. "Okay," she says, taking a seat opposite him. "Let's eat together." Plankton's antennae twitch as he looks at her, his gaze quickly shifting to the breakfast she's prepared. He picks up a piece of toast, examining it closely before taking a bite, his jaws moving in a precise, mechanical manner. Karen watches him, her screen filled with a mix of worry and love. "Is it good?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Plankton nods, his mouth still chewing. "Symmetry. Good." Karen's heart squeezes at his response. It's not the same, but it's something. "I'm so glad you like it," she says, forcing cheerfulness into her tone. "That makes me happy!" Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Happy," he repeats. "Karen happy."

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 7 The next morning, the anesthesia's completely worn off. Plankton wakes to find himself drooling on his pillow, the gauze in his mouth a soggy mess. His eye opens. Wincing as he wiped his mouth, he took out his now pink gauze. "Wha’ happened?" He says. Karen's smile is a gentle wave. "I had my wisdom teeth out, right? I remembe--- I held your hand Karen. I was in a chair, then somehow in a bed.." Karen nods, her voice a soothing symphony. "Yes, that was yesterday.." Plankton's antennae twitch with realization. "Y-yesterday?" he asks, his voice a sleepy whisper. "But...but what happened?" Karen laughs, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You had your wisdom teeth out," she says, her fingers tracing his cheek. "Do you remember the clinic?" "Yes, Karen," Plankton rolls his eye; "I don't know what happened after leaving to go home.." Karen nods, smiling; there's her snappy husband! "It's normal," she says. "The anesthesia can make your memory fuzzy." Plankton's eye widens. He tries to sit up, but his body is still a ragdoll's. "What...what did I do?" he asks, his voice a slurred mess. Karen helps him, her smile a gentle lullaby. "You were just tired, sweetheart," she says, seeing Hanna come to the doorway. "My friend Hanna's here because her home is being worked on." Hanna waves, her smile a warm beacon. "Hi, Plankton," she says. "What‽ But Karen, remember she gave you that virus..." "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "That was in the past." Hanna nods, her smile soft. "I promise, I'm all better now," she says. "How you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still foggy. "F-fine," he mumbles, his voice a murmur. Karen helps him sit up, the pillows propping him up like a soft fortress. "Do you remember wanting muffins?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft reminder. Plankton's antennae wave wildly. "M-muffins?" he asks, his memory a distant tide. Karen nods, her laughter a warm sunrise. "Yes, you talked about them a lot last night," she says, her eyes twinkling. "But it's okay, you were just a bit loopy from the surgery." Plankton blinks. "Loopy?" he asks, his voice a tentative wave. Karen nods, her smile a comforting breeze. "It's normal, sweetie. The medicine made you feel funny." Hanna's eyes sparkle with mischief. "You were quite the character," she says, her voice a gentle tease. Plankton feels his face heat up, his antennae drooping with embarrassment. He doesn't remember a thing from the night before, but the laughter and smiles from Karen and Hanna tell a story he clearly missed. "How's your mouth?" Hanna asks, her voice a concerned ripple. "Karen told me you went to the dentist.." Plankton's antennae twitch, his mind racing to catch up. "It's...it's fine," he mumbles, his voice a tentative whisper. The reality of his surgery sinking in, he gently touches his cheeks, feeling the swollen mounds where his teeth once were. But Hanna's curious about what this procedure was. "So, Plankton," she starts, her voice a gentle wave, "What was it like at the dentist?" He blinks, his mind still a bit hazy. "It...it was okay," he mumbles, his tongue poking at the empty sockets. "I don't know.." Hanna nods, her smile sympathetic. "It must have hurt," she says, her voice a soft caress. "What did they do?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye flashing with annoyance. "I don't remember," he grumbles, his voice a stormy sea. "But I'm sure it wasn't as fun as you seem to think it was." Hanna's smile fades, her eyes full of understanding. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a gentle current. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wondered what procedure you had done." He can't believe he's talking about his dental woes to a stranger. Plankton's antennae stiffen, his body tense. "Why do you ask about the dentist?" his voice a snappy bubble. Karen's eyes widen, her smile fading. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft warning. "It's okay, Hanna's just curious." Hanna's smile falters, her voice a gentle retreat. "I didn't mean to pry," she says, stepping back. "I just..." But Plankton, his emotions a swirling maelstrom, waves his hand dismissively. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, his voice a firm tide. "It's none of your concern." Hanna's smile falters, her cheeks flushing with the sting of his words. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating wave. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." Karen's eyes flicker with concern, her voice a gentle reminder. "Plankton, Hanna's just trying to be nice," she says, her hand on his arm. "It's okay to talk.." But Plankton's antennae are like two flaming torches, his voice a harsh wave. "I said I don't want to talk about it," he snaps, his eye a stormy gray. "Please leave." Hanna's smile fades, her eyes like ripples of sadness in a tranquil pond Karen sighs, her heart a tiny boat adrift in a sea of confusion. "Plankton," she starts, her voice a soft lapping wave. "You don't have to be so harsh." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye still stormy. "I just want to be left alone," he mumbles, his voice a defensive ripple. "I don't understand why she needs to know about my mouth." Karen sighs, her voice a gentle reminder. "Plankton, she's my friend," she says. "And she's just staying here temporarily." Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration. "I know, Karen," he snaps, his voice a jagged coral. "But I don't know her.." Hanna's eyes shimmer with hurt, her smile a sad reflection. "I didn't mean to intrude," she says, her voice a quiet ripple. But Plankton's anger is a tidal wave, crashing into the room. "You're not my friend!" he says, his voice a snappy slap. "I don't owe you any explanations!" Hanna's smile dissolves, her eyes a murky ocean. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating tide. "I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae quiver with agitation, his voice a harsh squall. "Is that too much to ask?" Hanna nods, her smile evaporating like sea foam. "Of course," she murmurs, her voice a retreating wave. "I'll just..." But Karen's voice stops her, a gentle lagoon in the storm. "Hanna, wait," she says, her tone a calming current. "Plankton, you need to apologize." He turns to her, his antennae quivering with anger. "Why?" he asks, his voice a jagged rock. "She's not my friend!" Karen's eyes are like calm pools, her voice a gentle reminder. "You're upset, Plankton," she says. "But that's not fair to Hanna." His antennae droop, his voice a begrudging rumble. "Fine," he mumbles, his words a forced apology. "I'm sorr-" But Hanna's smile is a soft wave, her voice a gentle reminder. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her eyes like two calm pools. "You are in pain, and you were exhausted last night.." Plankton's antennae droop. "What do you mean," he demands, remembering nothing. "Exhausted? Hanna, what..." Hanna's smile is sad. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle wave retreating from the shore. "You fell asleep; you were snoring..." Plankton's antennae stiffen, his eye narrows. "I...snored?" he says, his voice a mix of disbelief and embarrassment. "But Karen, I don't snore!" Hanna laughs, not knowing Plankton any better. "You certainly do," she says, her eyes twinkling. "It's adorable, really." Plankton's antennae flicker with agitation. "I don't," he insists, his voice a sharp wave. "I never snore." Hanna's laugh is a soothing sea breeze. "You did, Plankton," she says, her eyes sparkling. "It was quite... entertaining." But Plankton's frustration boils like a volcano. "No!" he says, his voice a harsh crash of waves. "I don't snore!" Karen, however, knew her husband well enough. "Plankton," she says, her hand on his. "You do sometimes when you're tired." His antennae quiver with disbelief. "But not really," he argues, his voice a stubborn wave. "I'm not a...a snorer!" Karen's eyes are like a calm sea, her voice a gentle reminder. "You do when you're exhausted, Plankton," she says, her hand a comforting current against his. "And after surgery, you were pretty tired, not to mention numb.." Hanna nods, her voice a soft chuckle. "You had us laughing, Plankton," she says, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "You're so funny when you're sleepy." But Plankton isn't finding it funny. Karen steps in. "Hanna, let's give Plankton some space," she says, her hand on Hanna's arm. "He's still recovering." Hanna nods, her smile a sad wave retreating from the shore. "Of course, Karen," she says. "I'm sorry." Karen's eyes are like two moons, calming the stormy sea. "It's okay," she says. She turns to Plankton. "I know you're uncomfortable, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle lapping tide. "But Hanna didn't mean any harm. We'll let you alone, but let me know if you need anything." She sets books and his phone on the bedside table before leaving the room with Hanna.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7 (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems the only sound. Then Plankton's eye lights up. "Idea," he says, his voice a sudden burst of static. "Make something with Karen. Together." Karen's screens blink with excitement. "That sounds wonderful," she beeps. "What do you want to make?" But before Plankton can formulate a response, Patrick Star bursts in. "Karen!" he booms, his voice shaking the walls. "I want chum!" Plankton's eye darts to the door, the sensory assault starting again. "Patrick," he whispers, his body tense as a bowstring. Karen's screens quickly assess the situation. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Not now." But Patrick's enthusiasm can't be dampened so easily. He bounds over to the table, his star-shaped body bouncing. "Chum, chum, chum!" he sings, oblivious to Plankton's distress. Karen's screens flicker with annoyance, but she keeps her voice steady. "Patrick, not now," she repeats. "Plankton's not feeling well." Patrick's starry eyes widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy," he says, his voice dropping an octave. He looks at Plankton with concern. "What's wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton. Plankton jumps, his senses on high alert. The poke feels like a battering ram, and he lets out a squeak of pain. Patrick's hand retracts quickly, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. "Whoa, sorry," he says. "What's with you?" Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "I'll go make you chum." Patrick nods, his concern forgotten in the face of his hunger. "Okay, thanks, Karen," he says, his voice bouncing with excitement. She retreats leaving Plankton alone with Patrick in the living room. Patrick stares at Plankton for a moment, his expression a blend of curiosity and confusion. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton's eye flutters closed, his body trying to absorb the sudden intensity of the interaction. "Take your time," he whispers to himself, his mantra a shield against the overwhelming world. Patrick, ever the innocent, watches him with a puzzled frown. "What's 'Take your time'?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton opens his eye, looking at the simplicity of Patrick's face. He scoots away. Patrick, unfazed, advances, his hand outstretched. "What's up?" he asks, poking again. The sensation of Patrick's touch is like a thousand needle pricks. Plankton yelps. Patrick, not comprehending, pokes again, his starry eyes full of innocent wonder. "Why so jumpy?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble. Plankton's body tenses with each poke, the sensation like a barrage of tiny explosions. "Patrick, please," he gasps, his voice a frantic static. But Patrick, ever the simple starfish, doesn't understand. He keeps poking, his curiosity growing. "Why?" he asks, his voice a gentle boom. "You're always so bouncy." Plankton's eye twitches with each touch. "Patrick, no," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. But Patrick, lost in his own world, doesn't notice. He giggles, poking him again. "You're like a pin cushion!" he exclaims, his voice a deep chuckle. Plankton's eye squeezes shut, his body wracked with pain. "Patrick, please," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. Patrick doesn't seem to comprehend the distress he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter echoing through the room, each poke sending shockwaves of pain through Plankton's body. "You're like a squeaky toy," he says, his voice a delighted rumble. Plankton's body twitches with each touch, his voice a desperate buzz of static. "Patrick, please stop," he begs, his voice a high-pitched squeak. But Patrick's simple mind doesn't register the pain he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter growing louder. "You're so funny!" he bellowed, his starry hands moving like a jackhammer as he starts tickling him. Plankton's body spasms with each touch, his voice a desperate symphony of static. "Patrick, stop!" he pleads, his breathing quick and shallow. But Patrick, in his blissful ignorance, only laughs harder, his massive hands poking and tickling without mercy. "You're hilarious, tiny dude!" he bellows. Plankton's body is a storm of sensory overload, his voice a high-pitched wail of static. "Patrick, please!" he begs, his limbs flailing. Patrick's laughter fills the room like a tidal wave, crashing over Plankton's desperate pleas. "You're so much fun, Planky!" he booms, his hands moving in a blur of star-shaped shadows. Plankton's body jerks uncontrollably, his screams of "No, no, no!" lost in the cacophony of Patrick's laughter. His tiny limbs flail, trying to escape the relentless onslaught of pokes and tickles. Patrick, his eyes wide with delight, doesn't see the tears forming in Plankton's eye. He just keeps poking, tickling, and laughing, oblivious to the damage he's doing. Plankton's cries escalate into a frantic symphony of squeaks and static, his body contorting in a desperate attempt to evade the starfish's torment. The room spins around him, a whirlpool of pain and sensation that threatens to swallow him whole. Patrick, his face a picture of delighted confusion, keeps poking and tickling, his laughter booming like thunder underwater. "What's the matter, little buddy?" he asks between chuckles. Plankton's body convulses with each touch, sobbing as Karen finally emerges with Patrick's chum. She sees them both on the floor. "Patrick, what are you doing?" she beeps, her voice a mix of anger and concern. But Patrick is lost in his own world of mirth, not hearing Karen's plea. "Just having some fun," he says, his voice a deep rumble of laughter. Plankton's cries become more frantic, his voice a high-pitched siren of despair. Karen quickly assesses the situation, her screens flaring with urgency. "Patrick, stop!" she beeps, her voice a sharp alarm. "You're hurting Plankton!" Patrick's laughter abruptly halts, his starry eyes blinking in surprise. He looks down at his hands, still poised to poke Plankton again. "What?" he asks, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Look at Plankton. He's in pain." Patrick's starry gaze shifts to Plankton, his expression shifting to one of bewilderment. "Pain?" he repeats, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen gives Patrick the food, showing him out the door.

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 7 (Neurodivergent author) Hanna's pixel eyes fill with tears, her hand hovering over her mouth in shock. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice trembling like a leaf. The room is a frozen tableau, everyone at a loss for words. But Karen is unflappable. Her eyes dart around the room, assessing, planning. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice a steady beacon. "Let's just move aside, give him some space." They retreat to the couch, the cushions swallowing them like a sea anemone. Plankton's body is a ragdoll in her arms, his antennae limp with exhaustion. Karen keeps her screen calm, a bastion of serenity. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice a ghost in the silence. "It's ok," Karen reassures him, her voice a gentle caress. "You don't have to apologize." She rubs his back as he leans on her shoulder, tired out. The room feels smaller now, the air thick with the weight of new understanding. Hanna's friends are finishing up dinner still in the kitchen. Karen knows they mean well, but their energy is a stark contrast to the quiet Plankton needs. Her hand on his back, Karen guides his breathing, her voice a lullaby against the storm of the evening. "Breathe in," she whispers, "and out." Her touch is a gentle tide, washing over him, soothing his frayed nerves. His body relaxes, his antennae dropping like tired leaves to her shoulder. The room is a sanctuary again, the chaos outside forgotten as they find solace in their quiet corner. "You're safe," she murmurs. "I've got you." Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, a comforting rhythm that Plankton's body craves. His antennae droop, his breathing evening out as he nestles closer. The couch is a life raft in the tumultuous sea of Hanna's house, and Plankton clings to her like a drowning sailor to a rope. His tiny body, once a taut bowstring, now relaxes into the embrace of sleep. Karen feels the weight of his head, a trust so profound it's like an anchor in the storm. His antennae droop, no longer the frantic sails of a ship in distress. She adjusts her position, shifting slightly to support him better, her arm a gentle cradle. The room's sounds become distant whispers, the waves of conversation fading into the background. Plankton's breathing slows. Karen watches him sleep, his antennae twitching slightly with each snore as his mouth slackens open. Patricia comes in the living room to check on them. "How's he doin’?" she asks, her voice a hushed whisper. Karen glances up, a soft smile playing on her lips. "He's ok," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "Just exhausted." Patricia nods, her face a portrait of concern. "What can I do to help?" she asks, her eyes searching for a way to ease the burden. Karen looks at her, the question a beacon in the fog. "Just...give us a little more time," she says, her voice a soft shush. "Let him rest." Patricia nods, retreating quietly to the kitchen, the clack of her heels a mournful tune on the hardwood floor. The couch is their sanctuary, their quiet island in the sea of Hanna's home. Karen's arm is a makeshift cradle for Plankton's head, his antennae brushing against her neck. The weight of his body is a silent testament to his trust in her, and she holds it with the care of a pearl diver handling the most delicate of treasures. The room is a canvas of shadows, the candles now mere embers in the distance. Plankton's snores are the rhythm of their solace, each breath a testament to the resilience that lies within him. Karen's thoughts drift like seaweed in the tide of her concerns. What will tomorrow bring? How can she shield him from the storms of misunderstanding? But in this moment, she focuses on the present, her eyes tracing the lines of his sleeping form. Plankton's antennae have stopped twitching, his body at peace in her embrace. The soft snores, a symphony of security, fill the quiet space between them. The house has quieted down, the dinner party's echoes a distant memory. Hanna and her friends have retreated to the kitchen, their whispers like the gentle lapping of waves. Plankton is a bundle of quiet energy in her arms, his antennae twitching in his sleep. Karen can feel the steady throb of his heart, a lullaby that matches his breathing. She strokes his back in a comforting rhythm, his body a warm, comforting weight against her. The candles have burned down to nubs, the room bathed in a soft glow. His antennae rest against her neck, a silent communication of trust. Her eyes trace the contours of his sleeping form, his body a puzzle she's come to understand. The quiet whispers of the kitchen are a comforting backdrop to the symphony of his snores. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on his back, each motion a declaration of support. The room's shadows dance around them, a ballet of understanding, a rhythm that's become their own. Plankton's antennae are limp, his body a testament to his exhaustion. The couch is their sanctuary in a sea of uncertainty. Her arm is a mooring, holding him steady in the tumult of his own mind. His breathing is a metronome, a soothing rhythm. With each inhale and exhale, she feels the tension in his body melt away, his snores a comforting reminder that he's safe. Her eyes trace the soft lines of his face, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The room is a symphony of silence, the couch their tiny boat adrift in the vast ocean of Hanna's house. Plankton's antennae, once a flurry of nervous energy, now hang limply. Karen's eyes are the moon, watching over him as he slumbers, his trust in her a glowing beacon in the dark. Her hand, a gentle tide, strokes his back, each caress a reminder of her steadfast support. His snores are the lullaby of the sea, each breath a testament to his newfound peace.

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.

why do I exsist? I feel like I just dont matter to people anymore, I dont feel loved nor liked. I feel like a ghost that everyone ignores so then whats the point of living? I cant get this feeling off of me, my favorite things are not making me happy anymore. my mother telling me everyone would be better without me telling me I'm a grown "w̶o̶m̶a̶n̶" I'm only 12

                 *、 　　　　　   ／　   +、 　　　　    ∩　　      *。.          (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*) 　　　     +｡        と　　　ﾉ       *ﾟ 　       と、 ノ　           ・ﾟ 　　       ~∪　　　     *ﾟ

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