Pradeep Emojis & Text

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⠔⠒⢌⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⣦⣄⠀⠑⠈⠢⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠲⣦⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠛⠷⣶⣄⡠⡜⢢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠷⣶⣦⣤⣀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣶⣠⡌⢿⣿⣾⣶⣽⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠝⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣦⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡄⢼⣿⣮⡛⢿⣟⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣭⣻⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣶⣶⣆⣀⣹⣿⣷⣆⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⣀⣹⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⠤⣼⡷⣤⠖⠾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣙⣿⣿⣿⣏⣉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀ ⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⣤⡟⣽⣯⣔⠠⠀⠈⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡙⣿⣿⣿⠿⣷⣄⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⠄⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣑⠂⠀⠈⣙⢻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⠿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣷⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠛⢿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⣿⣿⢻⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠻⡟⠛⠛⠛⠉⣠⣋⡤⠴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠘⣿⣿⣿⣇⠛⣿⡟⣻⣷⣟⣛⣿⣾⣏⡰⡽⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠃ ⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⢰⡿⠀⠁⠁⠈⠙⠻⣦⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢻⣿⣿⣿⣆⠘⢿⣿⠏⣙⣿⡋⠻⠯⢠⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠚⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠃⠉⠉⠉⠙⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠼⠿⠿⠻⠟⠇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣟⠑⠓⠖⠓⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣉⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⣉⣀⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠁⠈⢀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⠧⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢨⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⡧⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢥⡛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠨⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠌⠥⣀⠀⣀⡀⡀⠀⢀⢠⣴⣤⣽⣾⣮⣶⣦⣦⡤⣄⣀⡀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣌⣵⣫⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠽⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣋⡻⢛⡿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣾⣿⡟⠀⠉⠁⠉⠈⠐⠁⠓⠂⠡⡙⢿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢋⣀⣠⣀⣠⣀⣄⡀⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠉⢻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⡽⣿⣷⣶⣶⣦⣌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠈⠙⢻⣿⣿⠿⡟⠉⢹⣿⣿⣿⡿⠷⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢠⡴⠂⠀⠠⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣁⢄⣠⢰⡰⢿⢴⣥⣐⣤⠼⣧⠃⠀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⣵⢢⣇⣿⡏⣨⣿⣻⣅⢠⣆⡉⠖⡡⠣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⡼⢢⢿⡟⣛⢛⣻⣟⡛⢛⡿⣯⠐⣡⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠈⣳⣞⢦⡛⠴⡩⠿⠿⠿⡹⢡⠜⡢⣥⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠠⡄⠂⠈⢫⣼⣿⡟⢾⣽⣞⡵⣾⢶⡶⣲⣱⣺⣿⡿⣿⣿⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠤⡤⣉⡨⣟⣿⢿⣿⡖⢮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣟⡷⡼⣽⢾⣿⣿⡤⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠰⣶⡴⣅⣟⡾⠏⠈⣍⠛⢧⣟⡾⣿⣿⢿⣟⣾⡽⠓⠏⠇⣽⣿⡤⣂⠌⡕⠀⠀ ⢈⠱⠝⣻⠟⠁⠠⡂⠀⠀⠀⠰⠙⢬⠩⠛⡌⠀⠀⠈⠈⠠⣿⣟⣃⠅⠄⢂⠀⠀ ⠄⠘⠠⡸⣸⡀⠀⠃⠀⠃⢠⠀⠛⣀⠃⠄⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⢸⣟⣿⠿⡼⣻⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠊⠁⣙⣹⡄⡀⠀⠐⢄⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠌⡁⢈⠠⡪⠘⡬⢝⡣⣶⡽⡺⢭⠀ ⠀⢀⠀⠀⡈⠔⠛⢙⡆⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠐⢂⠀⠀⠂⠂⢠⣦⡔⢞⠰⠹⡘⠖⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⠠⢈⠡⠊⠙⢺⡃⡀⠈⠀⠀⠀⡀⢂⣈⡗⢆⡽⠁⠳⠀⠀⠉⠦⣠⠀⠀ ⢀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠐⡡⠚⣍⢹⢣⠀⠀⠠⢀⣠⠞⢏⠇⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⡀⠀⠨⢀⠠⠄⠈⠀⢐⣴⠎⠂⠱⠓⠁⠠⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠄⠐⠠⠀⠀

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𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊🪐🍄💊💟☁️☁️.🖥️👾🏩☀✂🍰👁🗝️🌈🌈📺♥♡🍰🍨🍡🍥👁️‍🗨️🧼🍥🥩🌙🕑☯🍬🍒🌳📎🕳🦷🪓🍎📀💭🍄🫶🏼💠
♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⠿⣟⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⡏⠀⠀⠀⢣⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⠧⠤⠤⠔⠋⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡀⢀⣶⠤⠒⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⢿⢿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠘⣿⠋⠁⠀⠙⢇⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⢇⡞⠘⣧⠀⢖⡭⠞⢛⡄⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⣿⣛⣥⠤⠤⢿⡄⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⡟⡱⠛⠙⠀⠀⠘⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀ ⢸⡏⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⡀ ⠸⣧⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇ ⠀⣿⡄⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠆⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀ ⠀⢹⡇⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢳⣼⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⣧⣀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⢀⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠙⢷⣄⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣷⣦⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⠾⠷⣦⣤⣤⡶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣾⣿⣷⣾⣿⣷⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠟⠻⣿⣿⣆⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠻⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡿⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⠃⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠘⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⢿⣿⠟⠁⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠈⢻⣿⣷⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⡿⠋⠁⠀⢀⣨⣝⣿⣿⣷⡁⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⢩⣾⣿⣿⣫⣄⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢾⠃⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠚⣿⣿⣷⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠱⢿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⠇⣠⣾⡇⠀⠀⣮⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣴⠀⠀⢸⣷⡄⢹⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣦⠀ ⣸⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⢰⣿⣿⣿⣄⣀⣹⣿⣞⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣵⣿⣇⣀⣤⣿⣿⣿⡄⢻⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⡆ ⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⠟⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢻⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠁⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠉⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿ ⢹⣿⣿⣧⠀⣠⣾⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⠟⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠻⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣷⡄⢀⣾⣿⣿⠇ ⠀⠻⣿⣿⣷⣽⣻⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⢀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⡙⣿⡿⢿⣿⢃⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⣻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⠁⠈⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣛⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⡏⠙⠛⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠋⢵⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⢫⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢰⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣷⢄⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⣵⣶⣶⡸⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⢃⣶⣶⡎⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡠⣾⣿⡿⠿⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠸⡿⠀⠀⠀⢙⣵⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣮⡋⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠇⣿⣿⣿⠇⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⣻⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠟⢿⣿⣿⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⣿⣿⡎⠻⣿⣿⣷⡄⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣥⣤⢸⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣧⣤⣭⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⢼⣿⣿⡟⠛⠉⠀⢀⣀⣤⣄⣸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠉⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠸⣿⣿⡇⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⢸⣿⣿⠁⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⢀⣾⣿⣿⢳⣷⠀⢀⣾⡼⣿⣿⣧⡀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣷⣯⣯⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣅⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⠃⢻⣿⠆⢸⣿⡏⠹⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⣀⣨⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⣼⡿⠀⠈⣿⣇⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠉⠉⠀⠀⣠⣾⠿⠁⠀⠀⠘⠿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠉⠉⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5 (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen wakes up to find Plankton out of bed. He's standing in the middle of the room, his eye focused on the spinning fans of the air conditioner. Karen's screens light up with concern as she assesses his state. "Plankton," she beeps gently. "How did you sleep?" Plankton's eye doesn't move from the hypnotic spin of the fans. "Fan spin," he says, his voice a monotone. Karen's screens blink, trying to understand his single-word reply. "The fans are spinning?" she asks, hoping to engage him. Plankton nods slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs. Karen's screens flicker. "Karen," Plankton says. "Fan spin." "The spinning is soothing to you?" she asks. Plankton nods, his voice a faint echo. "Spin, spin, spin. Good spin." Karen's screens process the information, formulating a new approach. "Let's go downstairs," she suggests, her voice a gentle beep. "We'll start with a simple routine. Breakfast." Plankton nods, his gaze still fixed on the fans. With a final nod to the spinning blades, he follows her out of the bedroom. The journey downstairs is a minefield of sounds and sights, but he takes it step by step, his hand gripping the railing tightly. The kitchen is a blur of colors and noises, but Karen's calm voice guides him through it all. "First," she beeps, "let's start with something easy. How about a glass of water?" Plankton nods, his movements still mechanical. He watches as she fills a glass, the water's surface dancing in the light. It's mesmerizing, and for a moment, the world stops spinning. He takes the glass, his trembling hand bringing it to his lips, the cool liquid sliding down his throat. "Water," he murmurs. "Good, water." The simple task seems to ground him a bit, and Karen takes note of the small victory. "Now, let's try some toast," she says, her voice a comforting beep. She slides a piece of bread into the toaster, the sound of the lever clicking into place another beat in the rhythm of their morning. Plankton nods, his attention drawn to the toaster's glowing coils. He watches, his eye widening as the bread turns golden brown. The smell fills the room, a comforting scent that penetrates the fog in his head. "Toast," he says, his voice a bit stronger. But as the toaster pops, the sudden noise jolts him like an electric shock. "Too loud," he whispers, his eye darting around the room in panic. Karen's screens flicker with empathy. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a soothing hum. She quickly retrieves the toast, placing it gently on a plate. "Let's sit down," she suggests, guiding him to the table. "Take it slow." They sit, and Plankton fidgets in his chair, his eye darting around the room. "Take your time," Karen reminds him, her voice a steady beep. He nods, focusing on the toast. Each bite is a tiny triumph, his senses adjusting to the new world. The crunch of the bread, the warmth on his tongue, the smell of the butter spreading. It's overwhelming, but he's making progress.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⠶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡟⠀⠈⣀⣾⣝⣯⣿⣛⣷⣦⡀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢼⣿⣽⣿⢻⣿⣻⣿⣟⣷⡄⠀⢸⣿⣿⣾⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣸⣟⣿⣿⣻⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣆⠀⠀ ⠀⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⡆⠀ ⢠⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿⣫⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣾⠀ ⢸⣯⣿⣿⡏⠙⡇⣾⣟⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣟⡿⣿⠀⡟⠉⢹⣿⣿⢿⡄ ⢸⣯⡿⢿⠀⠀⠱⢈⣿⢿⣿⡿⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⠃⠀⢸⡿⣿⣿⡇ ⢸⣿⣇⠈⢃⣴⠟⠛⢉⣸⣇⣹⣿⣿⠚⡿⣿⣉⣿⠃⠈⠙⢻⡄⠎⠀⣿⡷⠃ ⠈⡇⣿⠀⠀⠻⣤⠠⣿⠉⢻⡟⢷⣝⣷⠉⣿⢿⡻⣃⢀⢤⢀⡏⠀⢠⡏⡼⠀ ⠀⠘⠘⡅⠀⣔⠚⢀⣉⣻⡾⢡⡾⣻⣧⡾⢃⣈⣳⢧⡘⠤⠞⠁⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⢠⡎⣝⠉⢰⠾⠿⢯⡘⢧⡧⠄⠀⡄⢻⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠈⢧⣈⠀⠘⢦⠀⣀⠇⣼⠃⠰⣄⣡⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢤⠼⠁⠀⠀⠳⣤⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣴⠛⠛⣩⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠚⢛⣀⣀⣀⣀⢤⣀⠧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠀⠀⢀⡀⣠⡴⠛⢋⣍⣿⠻⢟⣻⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣠⣤⣴⢖⣦⣶⣿⣛⣭⣶⠟⣋⣭⣶⣠⣮⣙⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡴⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣷⠆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠈⡚⣏⣽⣿⣧⠠⠴⠶⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⡁⣽⣾⣟⣿⣤⢶⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣶⣾⡿⠟⠛⣳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡿⢩⣟⡁⢹⡋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣁⣀⣤⣄⣤⣄⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠘⡧⠘⢿⢿⡞⡇⠀⠀⠀⡴⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡖⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡄⠈⠻⢿⣿⣷⣾⣽⡶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣀⣝⢨⠟⣁⡤⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣤⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⣿⣯⣙⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⣿⣌⣤⣾⠁⣠⣾⣿⡿⠷⠀⣼⠟⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠋⠈⠙⠛⠛⠋⢉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠲⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠻⣷⠹⠏⠻⡎⣟⡛⠛⠲⢶⣤⣼⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⡎⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢞⣁⣠⣬⣿⣷⡄⢀⣾⢿⣄⣿⡆⠀⠀⣷⣸⠻⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣄⠀⣴⣿⣀⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣼⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢻⡇⣶⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⡶⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠻⣿⣿⣾⡿⠿⠛⠋⢉⣥⡴⠚⡙⣿⣦⡀⣽⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⣧⣿⠀⣴⠃⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣌⢿⣟⠛⠒⠒⠋⠉⢀⣀⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⣇⣰⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣿⡷⣤⣼⡾⠿⠛⠋⠀⣩⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⠀⣿⣷⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢻⣷⠷⠈⢸⠲⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⢹⢻⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⢀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠁⠀⣀⣻⣧⣴⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⣾⠙⣻⣗⣶⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡾⢟⣉⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢁⡤⠚⠒⠉⢛⠞⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣡⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢧⡟⡼⢋⡇⠀⠉⠉⠒⢦⣀⢴⣿⣊⡶⠟⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⢞⡩⠋⣼⠛⢿⣿⣿⡏⢿⣾⣟⡻⣿⣷⣄⣠⣴⣾⡿⣼⢳⠇⢸⠀⠀⠀⣰⡄⣀⡉⠳⣹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⠚⢀⣾⢿⠀⠈⣿⡄⢧⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⣯⡟⠀⣼⠀⠀⢸⣿⢃⡞⠀⣰⡟⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⡘⠁⣰⠟⠁⣼⠀⠀⠘⣿⡘⣆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣿⡿⢀⡼⣹⠀⠀⢸⣿⠸⠀⣸⡟⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣸⡿⠁⣸⡅⣿⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠰⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠰⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⣇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣋⣤⠾⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠶⣿⣧⢟⡆⢠⠄⢠⡾⢁⣿⣇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⣄⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠸⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠉⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⢻⣦⡾⢠⠏⣰⠏⢠⡞⣽⣟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢀⠈⢧⡀⢳⠀⠀⠈⠇⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡇⢋⡾⠏⡴⠋⠈⠘⣿⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠈⠣⣄⠙⢦⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣸⢁⡞⠁⠀⣀⣠⣿⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠿⣄⠦⣌⣓⣦⣽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢤⡠⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⡄⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣾⠘⣡⠾⣛⡭⢿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⢸⠀⠨⠭⠲⠦⢬⣉⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠉⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢀⣠⣮⠁⢹⣿⡟⣸⣷⡾⠋⠠⢿⡇ ⠀⣤⠀⣹⢸⠀⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠟⣯⠁⢀⣼⣿⠷⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⢸⡇ ⠀⠙⢠⠏⢀⡇⠄⠈⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⣩⣶⡿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿ ⠀⠀⣞⡔⠉⣀⡀⠘⠋⠉⠉⠙⢢⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⡶⢚⣽⣾⢟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋ ⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢨⠗⣫⣶⠿⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠔⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣠⣿⣆⢢⡀⠐⠿⣋⣥⣾⡟⠚⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀ ⠀⡏⠘⠿⠷⠖⠒⠶⠤⣤⣤⣔⣀⡖⠿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⡶⡾⣃⠨⠎⢿⠆⣀⣴⡶⠊⢹⡇⠀
KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 10 (Autistic author) After a silence so profound it seems to have its own heartbeat, Plankton's antennae twitch, breaking the stillness. "Time to...do." Plankton whispers to himself, still in Karen's arms. Sandy looks up. "Plankton?" She whispers, hope flickering in her eyes. "What's he..." But Karen shakes her head, silencing her. "He'll come around," she says, explaining his behavior. "He's just...it's okay for him to talk to himself. It can mean he's starting to come back." Plankton starts up again. "Time to...do," he murmurs, his antennae flicking erratically. "Time to...time to...get, time to...do." Karen's grip on him tightens, her heart racing as his words loop like a broken record. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the tempest of his thoughts. "You don't have to do anything right now." She strokes his arm, her touch gentle. "We're right here." The words sink into his consciousness like a pebble dropped into a still pond, ripples of understanding spreading through the murky waters of his mind. His antennae still for a moment, then begin to move again, slightly. "No do," he murmurs, his voice still flat, his gaze unchanged. "Just be." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "You just be, my love," she whispers, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You can just keep talking to me, or to yourself." Her words are a gentle reminder that he's not alone, his anchor in the storm. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breathing evening out. Plankton's eye flickers. His eye moves, focusing on her face. "Karen," he whispers, his voice a mere breath. "Karen, here." Her heart soars. "I'm right here, sweetheart," she says, her voice a soft caress. "You're okay." Plankton's gaze lingers on her face, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he repeats, his voice gaining strength. "Karen." Slowly, the world around them starts to come back into focus. The ticking of the clock is a steady beat once more, the wallpaper's pattern a gentle dance of color and light. Plankton blinks. "Where's now?" "You're home," Karen says soothingly, her voice a beacon of calm amidst his confusion. "You're safe on the couch." Sandy comes into his view now. "Sandy," Plankton says, his voice still flat, his antennae barely moving. "Sorry." Sandy's eyes widen in surprise. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice cracking. Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "We're both here," she says, her voice a lifeline in the sea of confusion. Sandy moves slowly, keeping her movements small and deliberate, not wanting to trigger another wave of panic. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice careful. "Is it ok if I sit next to you?" He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. The world is still too loud, too bright, too much for him to handle. But Karen's presence, her gentle touch, makes it more bearable. Sandy sits on the couch, a respectful distance away, watching the two of them with a mix of compassion and regret as Karen helps him sit up. Sandy's curiosity burns, questions bubbling up inside her like a shaken soda can. She wants to know more about this new version of Plankton. "What happened to you, Plankton?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen sighs, her eyes sad. "It's called acquired autism syndrome," Karen explains, her voice measured. Sandy's eyes widen, trying to digest this new information. "But, how?" she asks, her curiosity overriding the sadness. "It's complicated," Karen says, her voice weary. "But it's part of who he is now." Sandy nods, trying to understand. "When you started shaking Plankton, what'd you feel?" Plankton's gaze flickers to the wall, his mind still trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his recent experience. "Scared," he admits, his voice still strained. "Too much." Sandy nods, her own understanding of the world shifting. "But what about your surroundings? Where you conscious?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Conscious, but not...not here." His words are like a puzzle, each one placed with care. Sandy nods, her eyes studying him with newfound respect. "So could you hear us or?" "Hear, but not understand," Plankton says, his voice still a whisper. Sandy nods, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" she asks, her eyes searching his for a clue to this new puzzle. "Words," Plankton whispers, his antennae barely moving. "Sounds, but not words. Just voice." Karen's grip on his hand tightens, her heart aching for his pain. Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's okay," she says, her voice gentle. "We're learning together." Karen's gaze shifts to Sandy, her eyes expressing gratitude. "Yes," she agrees. "We're all just trying to understand. It's new for us, too." Sandy nods, her curiosity now tempered with compassion. She watches Plankton closely, his every movement, his every word, a testament to his struggle. "Can I ask how acquired autism..." "Sandy," Karen says gently, interrupting her friend. "Let's not push him." Sandy nods, her expression full of concern. "I just want to know how it happened." Karen's sigh is a soft whisper in the room. "It was a brain injury" she says, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "He fell, hitting his head and the impact knocked him out, hard enough to cause some serious damage." Sandy nods, her mind racing. "But how did it turn him...different?" she asks, her voice filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Karen's eyes well up with tears, the pain of the memory still fresh. "It happened yesterday. He's the same Plankton we know, but his perception of the world, his ability to communicate...it's all changed." Sandy's eyes are glued to Plankton, her curiosity melding with a deep sadness. "But how can I help?" she asks, her voice a whisper. "I don't know anything about this." Karen looks at her with a tiny smile, her screen filled with gratitude. "Just be his friend," she says, her voice firm. "Love and patience, that's what he needs." Sandy nods, her eyes flicking to Plankton, who sits with his gaze on the wall. "I want to," she says, her voice sincere. "But how do I do that without...you know?" Karen understands her dilemma. "Just be there," she says, her voice calm. "Learn his patterns, his triggers. It'll take time, but he'll come to trust you." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "But what about when he gets upset?" "It's hard," Karen admits, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "We're still figuring it out." Sandy nods, her mind racing with a barrage of questions. But she swallows them down, not wanting to overwhelm Plankton or Karen. Instead, she focuses on the present. "So, Plankton, how do you feel?" Sandy says, her voice soft. "What do you wanna do right now?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Right now, Plankton feeling... awkward," he murmurs, his voice devoid of its usual inflection. Sandy nods, trying to hide the shock from her face. "Okay, Plankton," she says slowly, her voice gentle. "What do you need?" He looks at her with a flicker of something resembling hope in his glassy eye. "Plankton would now like to just go to be in own room." Sandy nods eagerly, desperate to do anything that would bring him comfort. "Of course," she says, her voice gentle. "I'll help you." But as she moves to assist him, Plankton flinches away, his antennae twitching in agitation. "No," he whispers, his voice trembling. "Too much." Karen understands his need to retreat into the bedroom. "Okay," Karen says, her voice calm. "Let's go." She helps Plankton to his feet, his body still rigid with stress. Sandy watches, feeling like an outsider. She follows behind, stopping at the bedroom doorway. Karen sets some books and pencils on the table by his bed, along with a kiss. "You can change the light with the lamp," she says, gesturing to the lamp on the bedside table next to his charging phone. He nods.
KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 5 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob seems to notice something off about his friend. "Plankton, are you okay?" he asks, his tone concerned. "You seem a bit... distant." Plankton's eye snaps to Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. "Distant?" he repeats, as if the word is new to him. "Plankton not distant. Plankton focusing." Sponge Bob's eyebrows furrow, his confusion clear. "What are you focusing on?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton turns back to the clock, his antennae pointing straight up. "Seconds," he says, his voice filled with wonder. "They change, but always in the same pattern." "Well, I know it's your wedding anniversary today. What'd you get Karen?" Plankton turns to face him, his expression unreadable. "Anniversary," he repeats. "Karen." His antennae wave slightly, as if trying to access a distant memory. "Chum." SpongeBob's smile falters at his friend's detached response. "Is that all?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "You know Karen deserves better, more than just..." "Better?" he repeats, his tone now tinged with something new: self-doubt. "Plankton did not provide adequate anniversary celebration?" "Well Plankton, Karen doesn't like it when you're just about work," Sponge Bob said, trying to be delicate. "It's your anniversary. It's a special day for the two of you, yet you don't seem to get it. And I can tell Karen's hurt.." Plankton's eye grew wide, his antennae drooping. The words sank in, and his body reacted in a way he couldn't control. He started rocking back and forth, his body mirroring his inner turmoil. The tears came suddenly, wetting his face as his cries echo in the living room, his tiny body trembling with the weight of his perceived failure. "Karen," he managed between gasps. "Hurt. Karen. No, Karen." Karen rushed to his side, breaking at the sight of his distress. "Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "It's okay, honey. You didn't do anything wrong." But he couldn't hear her, his mind fixated on the thought of causing her pain. The tears streamed down his cheeks. His sobs were loud in the quiet room, each one a testament to his overwhelming guilt. "Karen," he choked out. "Karen, Plankton sorry Karen. Karen." Karen wrapped her arms around him, her own eyes filling with tears. "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his back gently. "You didn't do anything wrong." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body convulsing with each breath. "Hurt Karen," he kept repeating, as if it was the only thought in his mind. Karen held him tighter, her own sobs muffled against his shoulder. "You didn't hurt me, Plankton," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You just got confused, that's all." But Plankton's mind was stuck on the pattern of his failure, his inability to comprehend and respond to her emotions. "Karen crying, Plankton fault. Sponge Bob say Karen upset." Sponge Bob looked at the two, his heart aching for his friend's pain. He didn't know what to do, his usual cheerfulness replaced with a solemn sadness. He tried to interject, "Plankton, Karen's not upset at you. She's just upset because she loves you." But Plankton's cries only grew louder, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. "Plankton not good," he wailed, his voice high-pitched and desolate. "Plankton hurt Karen." Karen's screen searched desperately for a way to comfort her husband, to show him that his love was enough. But his new neurodivergence made it difficult for him to understand her words, his mind locked in a pattern of guilt and self-loathing. "Plankton," she says, her voice quivering with emotion. "Look at me." She gently cups his cheek, wiping the tears from his face with her thumb. "I love you. You don't have to change for me." But Plankton's gaze remained on the clock, his sobs subsiding to hiccups. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae drooping. "Missed pattern. Karen, say Karen. Hurt, upset Karen." Karen broke anew, her hands shaking as she tried to reach for him, her voice a whisper. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her screen pleading. "I'm right here. I'm not upset with you." But Plankton's gaze now fixed on Sponge Bob, his body still shaking with sobs. "Karen," he murmured, his voice muffled by his own distress. "Sponge Bob, Karen." Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. She nodded slightly, urging him to speak. "Plankton," he said, his voice gentle. "Karen's upset because she's worried about you. She loves you. And so do I." Plankton's sobs began to slow, his gaze shifting from Sponge Bob and then to Karen. "Karen Plankton?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm right here," Karen soothed, wiping away the remaining tears with her thumb. "I'm right here, Plankton. I love you."
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10 (Autistic author) Ignorant of Plankton's neurodivergence, Sandy doesn't realize that her persistent questions are adding to his overwhelm. She leans closer, her face a canvas of concern. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice strained as she grabs his shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation, his single eye snapping up to meet hers. The touch feels like a brand, his senses on fire. "Words," he murmurs, his voice a desperate static, trying to return to the safety of the word search. But Sandy's grip is firm, her gaze intense. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice a persistent hum. She doesn't understand the distress she's causing, her intentions pure but misguided. So she turns him using both of her hands to squeeze his arms. The sudden pressure sends waves of pain coursing through his tiny body, his voice a piercing squeal of static. "No, no," he whispers, but she only holds tighter. Her touch feels like a vice, her voice a relentless buzz in his ear. "What's going on?" she repeats, her grip unyielding. Plankton's eye widens with fear, his voice a desperate static. "No, Sandy, please," he whispers, his body trying to shrink away from the contact. But she doesn't understand, her eyes searching his for answers. "Just answer me! You're not getting the book until you decide to have a conversation!" The pain in his arms spikes, the pressure unbearable. His voice cracks like a whip. "Can't," he gasps, his breath quick and shallow. "Too much." Sandy's grip doesn't lessen. "Why not?" she asks, her voice a stubborn hum. "You're okay." The room feels like it's closing in on him, the sensation of her touch like a million tiny saws against his skin. He tries to pull away, his voice a frantic static. "Too much," he whispers, his breathing quick and erratic. "Need words, not touch." But Sandy's grip doesn't loosen. She's determined to get his attention. "Look at me then," she insists, her voice a firm hum. "I'm right here." Plankton's eye flutters with the effort to focus on her face. The sensory assault of her touch and her persistent voice is like a whirlpool threatening to pull him under. "No," he whispers, his voice a fragile static. "Please." "Talk. To. Me!" She says as she pulls him closer to her. Plankton's eye bulges with the effort of not looking away. The room is spinning, his senses are on fire. Karen's screens flicker with alarm, picking up on his distress. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warning siren. "Let go of his arms." Sandy's grip tightens, not comprehending the harm she's causing. "But he's not answering me!" she protests, her voice a confused trill. "Because until I get an answer..." Karen's screens blaze with a mix of frustration and fear. "Sandy, you're hurting him," she beeps, her voice a sharp warning. Sandy's grip doesn't waver. She doesn't understand the severity of the situation. Her eyes are wide, her expression a mask of confusion. "What's wrong with you!" she asks Plankton. "I JUST..." "Sandy, stop!" Karen beeps, her voice a piercing alarm. "You're causing him pain!" Sandy's grip finally loosens, her hands retreating from Plankton's arms. She stares at him, her expression a storm of confusion and concern as Plankton's tiny body slumps. "What's wrong with you?" she asks again, her voice a gentle hum of bewilderment. Plankton's body quivers like a leaf, his eye squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotions. "Can't..." Sandy's face is a canvas of confusion, her hands hovering over him like a lost diver searching for the surface. "But why?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's body is a taut bowstring, each breath a struggle. He tries to find the words to explain, his voice a static whisper. "Too much," he says, his eye still tightly shut. "It's too much." Sandy's gaze softens, her confusion giving way to concern. She doesn't understand, but she can see his pain. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton takes a shaky breath, his body still reeling from the overstimulation. He opens his eye, looking at her. "Say no, Sandy." Sandy's gaze is steady, her voice a soft hum. "No?" she asks, her eyes searching his for answers. But he won't elaborate. Karen's screens flicker with frustration. She knows Sandy means well, but her lack of understanding is causing more harm than good. "Sandy, Plankton's going through something new," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "He's sensitive to touch and sounds right now." Sandy's eyes widen, the realization dawning. "Oh," she says, her voice a soft trill of understanding. "I didn't know." She sits back, giving him space. "Words," he whispers, his voice a sob. "Words." Sandy nods, her confusion replaced with empathy. "Okay, let's stick to words," she says, her voice a gentle rumble. She picks up the word search book, holding it out to him like a peace offering. "Words," he whimpers. Plankton takes the book, his antennae drooping. He finds comfort in the predictability of the letters and the structure of the puzzle, the words becoming a lifeline in a sea of chaos. He begins to scan the page again, his breathing slowing. Sandy watches him, her heart heavy with regret. She had no idea her actions could cause so much pain. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a sincere hum. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Plankton." "Words," he murmurs. Sandy nods, her eyes reflecting genuine apology. "It's okay," she whispers. "We'll just stick to words." Karen's screens flicker with relief, seeing Plankton's body slowly relax. "Thank you, Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warm hum of gratitude. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "I'm here to help," she says, her voice a comforting trill. She looks at Plankton, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body still tense. "Words, words." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What happened to make you like this, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. He takes a deep shuddering breath as tears start to form in his eye. "Mmm," he hums, hugging his knees. Sandy's gaze is intense, her curiosity piqued. "What happened, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft trill of concern. "Hmmm," Plankton hums as he rocks, now crying. Sandy's eyes are wide with worry, her voice a gentle hum. "Hey, what's going on?" she asks, looking for answers. "Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps humming, sniffling in between hums. Karen decides to intervene. "Sandy," Karen beeps firmly, her screens flashing with concern. "Let's give Plankton some space." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of apology and confusion. She takes a step back, her gaze never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice a soft rumble of regret. "It's okay," Karen beeps, her voice a comforting hum. "We're all learning." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "But what happened?" she asks again, her voice a gentle trill of concern. Plankton's body is a tiny storm, his sobs quaking through his tiny frame. Karen's screen pulse with sympathy. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a calm wave. "Let's talk outside." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with worry.
SWEET CWEAM pt. 5 Sponge Bob's eyes widen even more, his spongy body leaning forward in anticipation. "A secret?" Plankton nods, his speech still slurred. "Yeth, I thweal." He looks around the room, his expression a mix of mischief and excitement. "But it's juss tween ush," he whispers, his voice a conspiratorial mumble. Sponge Bob nods solemnly, his eyes wide with interest. "Of course it is, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with the gravity of a secret keeper. “What’s the secret?” Plankton leans in, his speech still slurred but his eye gleaming with mischief. "It'th that I luv... to thee youw," he says, his voice hitching with each word. Sponge Bob's expression shifts from concern to surprise, his eyes watering with laughter. "You love to...see me?" he repeats, trying to make sense of the garbled confession. “Of couth I do, Squishy Bob!” Plankton exclaims with a wobbly smile, his tongue struggling against the unyielding numbness. “Youw the bestest fwiend evar!” Karen watches the exchange with a soft fondness, seeing Plankton’s usual guard down and his true heart shining through. She's never seen him like this before, so open and vulnerable. "Thath right, I do," Plankton repeats, his voice a warm rumble in his chest. Sponge Bob's smile can't help but grow. "That's so nice of you to say, Plankton," he manages to get out between his giggles. Karen can't remember the last time she saw Plankton this way, his usual stoicism stripped away by the remnants of the anesthesia. It's like seeing him as a completely new person, one filled with pure, unfiltered affection. "Ith wove you," Plankton says, his voice thick. "Youw'we my bessst fwiend." Sponge Bob's laughter subsides into a warm smile. "Plankton, I love you too," he says, his voice genuine. Karen's heart swells with love for both of them, watching them share a moment so raw and pure. Plankton's head nods, his drool forming a small puddle on the table. Karen quickly grabs a napkin and dabs his chin. "Thath so sweet, Squishy," he slurs, his eye half- closed with sleep. The room spins around him, a soft, warm embrace that makes his eyelid flutter. He tries to keep it open, but it like heavy curtains pulling him back into slumber. "Ith time for nath nap?" he asks, his voice a sleepy whisper. Karen laughs, her hand gentle as she wipes the drool from his chin. "Almost," she says, her voice like a warm blanket. "First, let's get you to the couch." With Sponge Bob's help, they ease Plankton into his favorite spot, his body sinking into the plush cushions with a sigh of relief. The numbness in his mouth is slowly receding, leaving a tender throb in its wake. He wraps himself in the comfort of his blanket, his mind swirling with the leftover fog of the anesthesia. Whence SpongeBob leaves, Karen saves the footage from the security cameras. Plankton next wakes up in the morning, sore and also without any anesthesia left in his system. Of course, he barely recalls going to the dentist. He doesn’t know what’s happened after leaving the surgery. His mouth feels like a desolate wasteland, each movement a sharp reminder of the procedure. He gingerly prods his swollen cheeks with his tongue, feeling the gaping holes where his wisdom teeth used to be. Karen is by his side. “Karen? Whath happenth?” Plankton says, feeling the aching. “Where…” Her smile is a comforting beacon. “You had wisdom teeth surgery, Plankton. You’re okay, you’re home now. Just rest, you’ve had a long day.” “I remember going in to surgery. That’s all.” Karen brings over a glass of water. "Here, babe," she says, her voice a gentle wake-up call. Plankton takes it, his hand trembling slightly. He sips carefully, the cool liquid sliding down his throat with a soothing grace. He swallows with difficulty, the pain in his throat a reminder of his dental odyssey. "What...what time ish it?" Karen looks at the clock, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. "It's morning, Plankton," she says, her voice a soft chime. "You've been sleeping for a while."
COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 5 (Neurodivergent author) Karen returns to the bedroom, where Plankton is already snoring softly. She pulls the covers up to his chin, tucking in gently. She sits in the chair beside his bed, never leaving his peaceful form. His chest rises and falls in the steady rhythm of sleep, each breath a testament to his resilience. Karen watches him, her mind racing with thoughts of what the future holds, the challenges they'll face together. But for now, she forces herself to be still. Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep, as if he's navigating the vast underwater world of his dreams. Karen watches him, full of a love she didn't know existed. The soft snores from Plankton's tiny form are music to her. In his sleep, the weight of the world is lifted, his mind free to explore the vast depths of his underwater universe without fear. Her gaze lingers on the soft lines of his face, the tension erased by the gentle embrace of slumber. She smiles, her eyes filling with tears. The room is a sanctuary, a bubble of quiet amidst the storm of confusion and fear. The shadows play across the wall, telling silent stories of adventures that await when he wakes. Karen reclines in the chair, her hand resting gently on his arm. The nap stretches into an hour, then two, the house a cocoon of peace around them. Plankton's body relaxes into the embrace of the bed, his mind swimming through a sea of tranquility. Karen sits by his side, her hand still resting on his arm. She thinks of the Plankton she knew before, his quirks and routines now painted with the brushstroke of understanding. Autism isn't a label to shrink from, but a part of him to be embraced, a piece of the intricate tapestry that makes him who he is. In his sleep, Plankton starts to murmur, his words a jumble of half-thoughts. Karen leans closer, trying to make sense of the words. "...I...Karen...love." Her hand squeezes his arm gently, her thumb tracing circles on his skin. "I love you too, Plankton," she whispers back, her voice a soft lullaby. Plankton's sleep-talk starts up again. "...so many stars," his voice murmurs, his antennae twitching with the vividness of his dream. Karen smiles, imagining the vast cosmos that must exist in his mind. Her hand continues its gentle caress, her hand stroking his antennae in a calming pattern. "Shh, Plankton, it's just a dream," she soothes. His snoring starts again, a soft, rhythmic sound that fills the quiet. She smiles, her eyes still on his peaceful form. The world outside their sanctuary seems to fade away, its worries and noises muted by the wall of their understanding. Plankton's autism is a challenge, but it's also a bridge that's brought them closer, a shared secret that only the two of them understand. As Plankton sleeps, Karen's phone vibrates with a text from her friend, Hanna. "Dinner tonite?" Her thumb hovers over the keyboard, debating. Plankton's diagnosis is still fresh, the memory of his seizure a stark reminder of the fragility of his newly understood world. But she knows the importance of keeping up appearances, of not letting fear or pity define them. With a sigh, she texts back, "We'd love to. Your place." The evening stretches before them like a tightrope, a delicate balance between Plankton's needs and the social norms that often feel like a prison for him. Karen's mind whirs with strategies to make it work. A quiet place, familiar faces, a set schedule. These are the keys to a successful outing. Gently, she shakes him awake, her touch as light as a seashell on the shore. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye fluttering open. He looks up at her with sleepy confusion, the world still a blur. "Dinner with Hanna," she says, keeping her voice low and soothing. He nods, his body already tensing in anticipation of the sensory bombardment to come. The car ride is a symphony of preparation, the engine's hum a soothing background to their silent conversation. Karen's eyes are on the road, but her mind is on Plankton, his hands fidgeting in his lap. She knows the world outside is a minefield of sounds and sensations, so she keeps the radio off and the windows up, creating a bubble of quiet around them. Plankton's breathing is shallow, his antennae twitching with each passing car. Karen reaches over to squeeze his hand, a silent reminder that she's there. He looks at her, his eye filled with a mix of fear and gratitude. She smiles, the warmth of her gaze a lifeline in the chaos. "We're almost there," she says, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore. They arrive at Hanna's house, a beacon of light in the deep blue sea of the night. The door opens, revealing a whirlwind of laughter and chatter, the smell of garlic bread and seafood stew wafting out. Karen takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the evening ahead. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye wide at the unfiltered stimulation. Hanna, oblivious to their new dynamic, waves them in with a cheerful smile. "You're just in time!" she exclaims, her voice a trumpet in the quietude of Plankton's mind. Karen's hand tightens around his, a silent reassurance as the door closes, the sound a thunderclap in his ears. The house is a cacophony of sounds and smells, a whirlpool of sensory information threatening to pull him under. He gulps, his breathing shallow, his body braced for the inevitable. Hanna, their friend, is a whirlwind of energy, her eyes sparkling like the ocean's surface. She doesn't notice the tension in Plankton's body, the way he flinches at her excited exclamations. She doesn't see the way his antennae twitch, his mind racing to keep up. But Karen does. She's his lifeline in this tumultuous sea of social interactions. She nods, smiling, as Hanna leads them to the dinner table, her hand squeezing Plankton's in silent support. The room is a kaleidoscope of colors, the clatter of silverware and laughter a symphony of overwhelming sound. Karen's eyes dance over the room, noting each potential trigger. "Hey, ladies; meet Karen and Plankton!" Hanna's enthusiastic introduction was like a tidal wave crashing over the quiet bubble they'd been in. Plankton flinched, his antennae retreating like snails into their shells. Karen offered a forced smile, her eyes darting around the room, searching for an anchor. The dinner table was set with a rainbow of plates and bowls, the smell of garlic bread and seafood stew overwhelming. Hanna's home was a sensory minefield, but Karen was determined to navigate it with grace. Plankton's hand was cold in hers, a silent plea for rescue. As they sit, Karen scans the table, noticing the flickering candles, the glint of silverware, and the clinking of glasses. Each detail a potential trigger. She whispers into Plankton's ear, "Remember, if you need to, just tell me." He nods, his antennae tucking closer to his head.
𝓕𝓾𝓬𝓴 “𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓳𝓮𝓬𝓽 2025” :/
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁
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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠟⢿⣿⡿⡿⠻⠟⠛⠛⠛⠐⠂⠈⠛⠛⠫⠹⣿⠿⠟⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⡿⠿⠿⢿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠙⠛⠛⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠿⠛⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⣴⣶⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠁⢉⠘⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠻⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⠟⠛⠻⣿⣽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⡿⣻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⠀⠁⠻⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣳⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣏⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠁⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣯⣭⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣟⣿⣤⣀⠀⢀⣾⡧⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢿⣛⣛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣻⠝⠋⠀⠀⠐⢶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⡶⠛⠛⠛⠺⢶⣀⡀⢀⣀⡤⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠉⠊⢪⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⢀⣠⣴⠞⠛⠋⠉⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⢋⣁⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⣭⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣷⣾⣽⣿⣿⣯⣽⣿⣟⡿⠿⠿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠺⣿⣿⣿ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠴⢶⠒⠒⠛⠛⠛⢛⢻⣻⠛⠓⠒⠶⡦⢤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠴⠚⢋⠉⢦⠀⣠⠼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢎⡷⠭⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⡤⣍⠙⠓⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠞⠉⣠⠖⣒⡈⢏⠛⠧⠀⠀⣿⣀⣀⣀⣤⣮⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⡿⠀⡰⠛⠁⢠⢏⡔⠀⣩⠓⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠞⠁⢸⢶⣄⡻⢬⠤⣃⣭⠴⠖⠛⣉⠉⢽⢠⢴⢠⣤⡄⣰⠀⣌⢩⢉⠛⠲⠦⣤⣋⠼⠁⠈⠁⢠⡆⢈⡳⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⢋⣤⡎⠀⠈⡟⢉⣥⠖⢋⡉⢠⡀⢧⢀⠸⡦⠼⣸⣼⣀⣀⣰⣛⡧⠏⠎⣌⡹⠀⢰⢢⣈⣙⠲⣤⡰⠋⣧⠏⢀⣀⡙⢦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⢤⡙⠀⠙⠖⣠⠞⣋⣤⡈⢖⠵⠼⣈⣬⠷⠖⠛⠉⠉⠉⢯⢫⠟⠉⠉⠉⠛⠒⠶⢤⣘⡺⠚⡵⢑⡤⣙⠳⣌⡀⢎⢤⡙⠀⡙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢏⡄⠓⣔⠑⢄⣴⠟⣡⠲⡕⣝⢍⡬⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢤⣊⢰⢫⠕⠊⠛⢦⡉⣠⠞⠉⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⢾⣴⠃⠀⣣⡾⢣⣾⢻⣦⣸⡾⠿⡶⢰⡆⢶⠆⠀⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣸⠶⡄⠀⠀⠛⢷⣟⠀⣼⢻⣄⢿⣞⠷⢠⡴⠛⠘⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠃⢀⡌⠙⠣⣼⠫⡀⠘⠻⢛⡼⠋⠀⠀⠧⢼⠧⠼⠀⣼⡯⣟⡀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢝⡻⠁⠀⠀⢤⠀⠙⢧⡉⣠⠟⢧⡙⣧⠸⣇⣀⡼⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡼⢁⠀⠈⢁⢀⡾⠁⠲⣚⠒⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⡄⠀⠘⠁⢹⠀⣰⡿⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⣾⣁⣄⠀⠙⢦⣚⠗⠁⠈⢷⡀⢀⡤⠖⠈⢷⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣼⠃⠉⠓⠦⢃⡞⢁⡳⡶⢊⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢸⡦⠴⠛⡴⢻⣀⡞⣼⡟⠁⠈⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣰⣽⣿⠇⠀⠉⠀⠀⠈⢳⣉⠟⣁⠄⢳⡈⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⢰⠇⣼⠱⢳⠄⡾⠁⠻⣠⢏⡟⠀⣦⣄⡀⠀⠘⠖⠋⢹⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢤⣸⠭⠇⠈⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡌⡮⣚⠂⢷⠀⣀⣤⣴⠸⡆⠀ ⠀⡿⠀⠈⠓⢉⣸⠃⡂⡤⡄⡾⠀⠀⠸⣿⡻⠷⣶⣤⣤⣚⣒⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡸⣶⣑⡘⣇⠱⣛⣶⢄⢻⠀ ⢰⡇⠶⣖⡏⢉⡟⢰⡋⢹⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣄⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⠷⣶⣿⣷⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣬⣿⣧⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⢶⣿⠟⠁⠀⠈⣇⠯⠏⠃⢹⡈⢀⣀⣀⠸⡇ ⣸⠀⠀⠀⣙⢸⠇⡢⠭⡅⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⢉⡉⠉⠉⠉⠻⣿⡉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡐⣦⡤⠘⡇⣏⣰⢸⠂⣧ ⣿⢉⣭⣟⡁⢸⠀⡬⠯⢱⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⣾⠇⢀⣤⡤⠶⠆⠹⠉⠶⠦⣤⣄⠹⣷⡄⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡯⡥⣤⡄⣷⢀⣁⣀⡄⣿ ⣿⢈⡀⠈⠑⢿⢀⡮⣗⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣦⣸⡟⠀⠙⠿⣄⣀⢠⢙⢱⢀⣀⡼⠟⠃⠘⣿⣤⣴⡿⠋⢡⣀⠄⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⠀⢸⡇⣽⣫⡁⣿⠸⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⠈⠉⣀⣀⢼⠀⠊⠁⠸⡇⠀⢠⠶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⢷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠈⣙⣼⢘⡉⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡾⢿⣇⠴⢦⠀⣇⣀⠞⡴⡌⠁⣇⠀⢸⡇⣻⣿⠃⡟⢠⡴⣒⠃⣿ ⢹⢈⣭⠧⠤⢸⡇⢐⣉⡆⣧⠀⠐⠰⠟⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⣼⠧⠄⣼⡏⠀⠈⠛⠿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡾⠛⠁⠀⠈⢿⣆⠈⢹⠁⠘⡆⠀⠓⣤⡃⠀⣼⢸⣊⡵⢠⡇⠘⠯⣳⠄⡟ ⠸⡇⠀⢀⣤⠌⣧⠈⣴⣏⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣴⣼⠓⠋⠀⢠⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⣷⣴⣿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⢸⣴⣴⠃⣠⠞⡡⣃⣀⡏⠘⠊⠃⣸⠁⠀⠰⣈⢰⡇ ⠀⣷⠐⠛⠚⠶⢹⡄⢒⣦⠧⢷⠀⠺⡤⢤⡞⠿⠆⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡿⠛⠉⠻⢷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄⠉⡹⠞⠁⠀⠙⠉⡼⡹⠹⡲⢠⡏⠰⢤⣀⠁⣼⠀ ⠀⠸⡆⢠⠄⢟⡆⢷⡀⡔⣓⡎⢧⠀⠀⠺⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣤⡾⠟⠁⢀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠈⠛⢿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠲⡒⠃⡾⠠⠶⠭⣈⢰⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⢹⡌⠓⠚⠁⠈⢧⡈⣀⠀⣈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⣀⣴⠿⠋⠀⠀⠠⢼⡦⠄⠤⡧⠄⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣦⡀⣼⣷⡾⣿⣟⣠⢀⡼⣑⠯⣢⠉⡼⠁⡵⡄⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢳⡐⠒⣒⣶⡈⢳⡘⣯⣤⣢⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡁⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⢫⣾⣯⣾⣯⡞⢸⣖⡓⢀⣾⡉⠋⠉⠉⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡄⠻⣽⠃⠈⢿⡄⠿⡿⣿⠟⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢾⠷⠶⠶⡷⢶⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⣿⣿⢿⡿⢫⠾⣦⠈⢣⡿⠁⠻⣶⣤⠀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⡋⢸⠎⢀⣙⢦⣄⠀⠘⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⡇⠀⢠⣇⠘⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⢫⠜⡶⡓⠊⣴⢏⠐⢄⡩⠞⢁⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⣀⡴⣟⡮⠻⢦⡐⠾⢪⠇⠈⢓⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⣠⠇⢳⣀⡜⠸⣀⡼⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⡚⢅⠒⡢⡆⢈⣥⠞⠁⣈⠟⢧⠙⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣌⠰⠋⢠⡌⣶⠙⢦⣌⠀⠤⣃⠸⢤⢯⢛⡲⠦⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⠴⢶⢛⢭⠁⢣⢵⡠⠓⣡⡴⢋⣥⣤⡘⠋⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠳⠟⠁⠀⢀⡬⠙⠶⣄⣛⠁⠎⡞⣀⠏⠀⠀⢒⡏⡙⢉⢭⠉⠉⣆⠚⣖⠇⣾⡻⠆⣈⣡⠴⠛⢥⡀⠈⢀⣸⠃⣠⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢦⣈⠊⢹⠀⠈⠒⡦⠉⠛⡲⠦⣬⣍⣀⣀⠓⠃⠃⠓⠚⠀⠘⣀⣋⣈⣤⠴⠖⠛⠩⡐⢦⡀⢀⣳⠴⢂⡴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⢮⣀⠀⠼⠁⣀⠀⠘⣆⡖⠀⠉⠉⢉⣩⡛⠛⣻⠋⡍⣩⠭⡄⠀⡞⠛⢦⠀⢻⡹⠆⣈⡴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⣍⣀⠪⠽⠄⠙⠓⠀⡏⠀⢻⠀⢸⢒⡇⠀⠀⣷⠀⠧⠀⣘⣡⡤⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠲⠶⠦⢤⣥⣤⣭⣤⣬⣬⣤⡤⠤⠶⠖⠚⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⠉⣿⡆⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢰⣿⠉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣤⣴⣦⣄⣴⠟⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⢻⣦⣠⣴⣦⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⡞⠁⣠⣾⢿⣧⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣽⡿⣷⣄⠈⢷⠀ ⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⢸⣿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⣿⡇⠈⠻⣷⣄⠀ ⣰⡿⠁⠀⢀⣾⣏⣾⣄⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣰⣷⣹⣷⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆ ⣿⡇⠀⢠⣾⠏⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠹⣷⡀⠀⢸⣿ ⠹⣿⣴⡿⠋⠀⠈⠛⠉⣹⣿⣦⣄⡹⣿⣿⣋⣠⣶⣿⣏⠉⠛⠁⠀⠙⢿⣦⣿⠏ ⠀⣸⣿⠿⠿⣿⣾⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣶⣿⠿⠿⣻⣇⠀ ⠀⣿⡇⢀⣴⣶⣤⣀⣴⣿⠿⣻⡿⣿⣧⣾⣿⢿⣟⠿⣿⣦⣀⣤⣶⣦⠀⢸⣿⠀ ⠀⢿⣧⠈⠃⢀⣵⣿⡋⠁⢀⣿⡷⣿⡇⢻⣿⣿⣿⡀⠈⢛⣿⣮⡀⠘⠀⣼⡟⠀ ⠀⠈⠻⣷⣤⣟⣋⣿⣧⣴⡿⠋⠀⣿⡇⢸⣿⠀⠙⢿⣦⣼⣿⣙⣻⣤⣾⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢽⣿⠛⢻⣏⢉⣤⣶⣶⣿⠁⠈⣿⣶⣶⣤⡉⣽⡟⠛⣿⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣷⣾⣾⣟⣉⣠⣿⢿⡇⢸⠿⣿⣄⣙⣻⣷⣷⣾⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠿⠛⢁⡼⠃⠘⢦⡈⠛⠿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀B😎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣉⣩⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⣾⣿⣿⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠤⠙⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠙⠻⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⣩⣝⢿⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⡝⣿⣦⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣮⢻⣿⠟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠻⠿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣋⣁⣀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇ 💜🤡
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⠾⢋⠷⢃⠠⠒⠈⠀⢀⣀⢂⢠⣲⢦⡪⠝⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢪⡃⠜⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⡀⠖⠁⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠦⡻⠂⠀⠀⠀⢼⡆⠀⠀⠁⡔⡀⡸⠀⢠⠃⠀⢸⣐⣷⣏⠉⠁⠉⢻⡄⠀⠀⡱⠑⢆⣨⠟⠊⠉⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⠕⢁⠔⠁⠐⣁⣤⠴⠚⠉⢀⣠⠖⡫⠃⠁⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⡠⠀⢠⠞⡵⠃⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⢀⠔⠈⠀⠀⠀⠔⡰⢃⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠼⡫⣠⠎⠀⠀⢀⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢁⠃⢀⠇⠀⠀⣼⠋⣟⡆⠇⢀⠀⠸⢎⢵⠀⠱⠱⡈⢧⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡡⠁⢠⣁⣀⡴⡚⠅⠐⠈⢀⡴⠋⠐⠁⢀⡠⡤⠄⣰⠃⠀⠀⣰⠁⠀⣠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⠤⠶⠚⠋⠉⢀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣮⠞⣐⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⣀⣠⠔⠁⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⢦⠂⢠⠊⠀⠀⠚⠙⢰⢸⣷⢰⠈⢆⠀⠙⣮⢣⠀⠐⡔⡒⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠟⣠⠖⠋⢁⠚⠃⣀⠔⠚⡷⠉⣉⡤⡲⢭⠞⢉⠃⣰⠏⠀⠀⡴⣉⡀⡚⠁⠑⠒⠀⡛⠛⢉⢁⠄⠀⣠⠗⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⠤⢠⢾⠋⢡⠞⠁⠀⡠⠒⠀⢀⣎⣠⢞⢵⠟⠁⠀⢀⠔⠠⠃⠀⡔⡐⠀⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠈⠀⣿⠈⡀⡇⠣⡀⠈⢧⠡⡀⠈⢊⢜⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⢤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢶⠃⠀⢀⠃⢠⡞⠁⢀⡼⡷⢋⣥⣮⠴⠁⡠⣵⢻⡟⠀⢀⡼⢋⢊⠌⠀⡠⠊⢀⠊⢀⣀⣆⠃⠀⣰⠃⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⠔⠕⡡⠞⣠⠝⠁⠀⣠⠊⢀⣤⠖⣡⠞⣕⡡⠁⠀⣠⡞⡡⣶⡵⠀⣸⢣⠇⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢠⠁⡆⠀⡷⠀⡇⣏⡄⢻⠄⠀⠱⡷⣄⠀⠡⡹⡇⠀⢀⡀⠄⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠀⠀⡎⢠⠋⠀⣠⡮⠔⠈⣩⠞⠁⢀⢊⡾⢡⡄⠁⢠⡾⠡⠡⢂⠠⠊⢀⠔⣀⡴⢋⡏⠎⠀⣸⠃⣰⠟⠁⠀⡐⠁⡡⡊⠔⠈⡁⢐⣔⡟⢡⠞⡑⣡⠎⣡⠞⠝⠀⢀⣮⢟⠊⡸⠹⠁⢰⠃⣼⠀⣿⠂⢰⠀⢰⠃⠀⡌⢰⡗⢰⡧⠀⢫⡷⠇⠀⣎⢆⠀⡇⠏⢳⡤⠜⠓⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⣿⣖⡾⠋⠀⡠⠊⠁⢠⣖⣵⡭⡂⠁⠘⠄⢳⠁⡶⠓⣡⣰⣖⡥⠞⠁⣀⢼⢱⠀⣰⢃⡼⠃⠀⢠⡪⣪⠞⠋⡀⢔⣠⠦⠛⠉⣠⡳⢊⡴⢣⠞⢁⠊⠀⣠⡿⠛⢁⠎⢠⡳⢡⠏⢸⠟⢠⢟⠀⢸⠀⢸⠁⠀⢁⡿⠁⢠⠇⠀⠘⡇⠘⠀⡆⣾⠠⠓⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠝⠛⠀⡠⢊⣠⠾⠗⡾⠁⢳⠀⣽⡄⠀⢘⠾⣊⠴⢋⡵⢫⣷⣃⢀⠔⠁⣿⠆⠀⠀⡞⢁⠀⠴⠛⠘⣀⣔⡬⢖⠋⠁⢀⠔⣶⡟⠡⢈⡕⠛⠠⠂⠀⣰⠋⠀⡰⠁⢀⣧⢡⡎⢀⠟⠀⣸⢹⠀⢸⠀⡸⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⡌⠀⣀⡸⠙⣄⠶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⣰⣪⠖⠋⠀⢀⠜⢀⢌⠜⡆⣿⠼⣺⢗⣟⣡⡎⢡⠃⣤⠹⠘⠢⡤⢄⣛⡐⠠⠼⠍⠐⠀⣀⡤⡞⠉⠁⣤⠋⢀⠔⠁⣼⠏⠐⢠⠎⠐⠰⠃⠀⡼⠁⠀⡜⠀⡰⣻⢃⡞⠀⣸⠃⢀⡟⢰⠀⢸⠀⣷⠀⣸⠁⠀⡘⠀⣼⡿⠁⢠⢏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢎⣸⠃⠀⠀⡠⢃⣴⠟⣡⣴⣿⣷⠛⠛⡈⡇⢠⠗⢸⣾⠸⡇⠀⠀⠈⠑⡾⣫⢒⣴⣶⢟⠵⢡⠌⠀⠀⠔⠃⡠⠁⠀⣾⢋⠌⡰⠁⠀⠠⢁⡄⠐⠀⠀⢞⡒⡰⢠⡏⡾⢠⢧⡏⠀⢺⠯⢥⠀⢸⠀⡽⢠⠃⠀⡰⠇⣸⠗⠃⢠⢳⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠷⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⣢⢔⣡⠖⢫⠽⠑⡟⠉⢸⢯⢏⠉⣵⡇⣸⠀⢘⢨⠃⡁⠓⠒⢢⢞⢜⣥⣫⣿⡧⠃⠀⡌⠀⠀⠈⠀⠊⠀⠀⣼⠃⠊⡐⠀⠀⢠⠣⡞⢠⡆⠀⡎⠀⠀⠁⣼⡝⢠⠟⡸⠀⠀⢸⢐⣸⠂⢸⠀⡇⢂⠄⡠⣧⣷⠏⠀⢠⡇⡈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡆⠀⢰⡆⠀⢠⣾⣷⠀⢀⣾⠀⠀⣾⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠿⠚⠋⠁⠌⠁⡠⠊⡐⣡⢟⡌⡈⢒⡏⢰⢸⢰⢸⢺⡄⠀⢀⡴⣷⢿⠏⢈⣿⠟⠷⢆⡤⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣏⠌⡔⠀⠀⠀⣆⠾⢁⡞⡇⡜⠀⠀⠀⣀⣯⡴⣥⢷⠓⠒⠋⠉⠡⢸⠀⢸⠀⠇⠎⣠⠱⢸⠇⠀⢠⠃⢠⢁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣷⢀⡿⢁⣴⠟⣹⣿⠀⣾⣷⣶⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⣀⣪⠞⡑⢁⢧⠙⠀⢇⢸⣿⢺⡞⡚⡯⢴⡙⠉⢀⡐⠂⡘⡞⠀⠅⠠⠉⠁⠚⠣⠝⣔⠶⣀⠀⠁⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⣄⡜⠀⡷⢓⣢⠿⠍⠛⠋⠠⡡⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⡇⢨⠀⣶⡜⢸⠀⡟⠀⠀⢆⣠⠃⡈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠉⣿⣿⢃⣾⠿⠟⢻⣟⣸⡟⠁⢠⡿⠁⢀⣴⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠞⠧⠜⠋⢁⠂⠌⡰⢃⣾⣦⠀⢸⡀⣿⣄⢁⠇⠀⠀⢯⣝⣖⣿⣯⣿⣒⡭⠥⣐⡒⠤⢀⠀⠀⠈⠉⡛⢆⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠋⢀⣀⠻⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⣒⣀⣭⣝⣛⣫⣿⣿⣧⠘⠀⣳⠀⣼⢠⠃⠀⠀⠸⣹⢀⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠘⠃⠘⠃⠀⠀⠙⠋⠛⠀⠀⠙⠃⢠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⢳⣍⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡟⠆⠈⠹⠶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣴⠿⣛⢝⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠈⢯⡫⡳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠙⠋⠛⠙⢫⣍⡳⢎⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠈⡟⣬⡑⠄⠀⠀⠀⠱⡷⣂⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⣪⡍⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠏⠁⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠸⡦⡋⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢎⠙⠕⣓⠂⠤⢀⢠⠄⠀⠀⠜⠳⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⢋⡥⠴⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⡢⡹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡖⠔⣒⡠⠄⡭⠃⠀⠀⠐⡺⠁⠀⠀⢀⡴⢿⡙⠃⣐⠒⠉⠁⢀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣧⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠅⡒⠄⢹⡁⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⡋⢠⠑⢀⣃⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗 ①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨ 123456789 𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡 ➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒ ¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹ ₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉ 1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶ 1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲ 1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳ 【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】 『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⠶⠾⠿⠛⠛⠿⠿⠶⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠿⠋⠉⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠔⢻⡆⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⢰⡟⠢⠈⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣴⡟⣡⠴⢦⣄⠾⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⢷⣄⠴⠦⣌⢻⣦⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⡏⠀⢃⣤⠾⢹⡇⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢰⡟⠷⣦⡘⠀⢹⣧⠀ ⢰⡿⠀⢠⡿⠃⠀⣸⢇⡄⢈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡇⢠⡸⣇⠀⠈⢿⣄⠀⢻⡆ ⣾⡇⠀⣿⠁⠀⣴⠟⣾⣿⣶⡷⠽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠯⢾⣷⣿⣷⠹⣦⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⣷ ⣿⡁⠀⠻⣦⡾⠋⠀⠘⠋⣹⣿⣦⣘⢿⡿⣃⣤⣾⣏⠙⠃⠀⠙⣷⣰⠟⠀⠀⣿ ⢿⡇⠀⠀⣮⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⣟⣛⡿⣿⣇⣰⣿⣿⣛⣿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠚⣷⡀⠀⢸⣿ ⠸⣷⠀⠸⣿⠀⡞⠛⣦⣾⠟⠉⣷⣹⣿⣿⣏⣾⠉⠻⣗⣴⠛⢳⠀⣿⠇⠀⣼⠇ ⠀⢻⣧⠀⠹⣧⣀⠾⠟⣇⣠⣼⠟⢹⡟⢹⡏⠻⣧⣄⣸⠗⣷⣀⣴⠟⠀⣰⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠻⣧⡀⠈⢹⣟⠃⣿⢉⣠⣤⣼⠇⠸⣣⣤⣄⡉⣿⠛⣸⡇⠁⢀⣼⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣦⡀⠻⠷⢾⣛⣁⣴⠟⡧⢸⠱⣦⣈⣳⡟⠾⠟⢁⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣶⣤⣀⠉⠉⠁⠐⠁⠈⠂⠈⠉⠉⣀⣠⣶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠶⢶⣶⣦⣴⣶⡶⠾⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
fish𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟water wave 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠛⣿⡿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡤⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⢰⠀⢰⠀⠀⠂⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢰⠀⠠⡄⠀⡆⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢸⠀⢸⠃⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢸⠀⢸⡇⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢸⢀⢸⡇⠀⣷⢸⣇⠀⠀⣠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡍⠉⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢁⡀⢺⡁⢼⡇⠠⣿⢸⣿⡀⣾⣇⣠⠾⠿⣷⣤⣄⠤⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢿⣇⡾⠁⠸⣧⡘⠃⣼⡇⢸⣿⣧⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⡶⠿⠓⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠻⣿⣶⣠⠙⠻⠟⠋⣰⣼⣿⣿⡿⣿⣛⣩⣥⡴⢶⡦⠄⠈⣶⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⡿⠈⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡰⣿⠛⠻⣷⣌⠙⢿⣧⡀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡿⢿⡗⢹⠃⣸⡇⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠋⣁⣤⣤⣀⠙⣿⣆⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⣶⣶⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣗⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣋⡋⠁⠬⠵⠊⣠⣿⣇⠀⢸⣿⣿⡟⣠⣿⡿⠿⣿⡆⢹⣿⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⠀⢰⡟⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⠯⢤⣉⡛⠻⠿⡄⢿⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⠀⠀⠐⡇⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠦⠄⠉⠁⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⠉⣨⣿⠂⢠⢟⣡⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠼⢿⠿⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣀⣀⣀⣬⡷⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣦⣄⡀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣾⣷⡇⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠙⣿⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⣞⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣈⣉⣉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣏⠛⠛⣻⣿⡏⣷⣾⣿⡎⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⢀⣤⣹⣿⣿⡘⠻⣿⠟⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣃⣀⣄⣈⠁⠀⠀⢀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠻⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⣿⣿⠯⠢⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢹⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⢏⣼⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣤⣼⣛⡛⠻⠿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠇⣸⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠘⢿⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⠥⠤⠤⢀⣀⡀⠋⢀⣼⣿⡿⣿⣿⠿⢻⡟⢀⠀⢀⠏⠚⣿⣟⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠈⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢋⣠⣾⣿⡥⠈⠀⠀⣠⡞⠀⠸⣄⠈⠀⢠⣿⣿⢳⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣁⣤⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⢹⣦⣰⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠘⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⠄⠠⠤⣠⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣼⣠⡤⠴⠖⠂⠀⠀⠉⠉⢂⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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3( • ̀ω•́ )✧( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧🩷˚.🎀༘⋆(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)(ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³9️˚ ༘ 🦕𖦹⋆。˚˚ ༘ 🦕𖦹⋆。˚
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( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)
COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10 (Neurodivergent author) COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10 (Neurodivergent author) The room holds its breath, a suspended moment of understanding. Hanna nods, her smile a gentle ripple across her screen. "Ok," she says, her voice a soft echo. "Overwhelming moments it is." Plankton starts to rock slightly, they both notice. Hanna watches, her curiosity piqued. "What's with the rocking?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple of inquiry. Karen looks at her, her eyes a gentle wave of patience. "It's called self-stimulation, or 'stimming' for short," she explains. "It's a way for Plankton to regulate his senses." "But why?" Karen's smile is a soft sunrise, illuminating the room with patience. "It helps him process the world," she explains, her voice a gentle tide of understanding. "It's like a lullaby for his senses." Hanna nods, her curiosity like a tide that won't recede. "But it's not like he's just throwing a fit?" she asks, her voice a cautious wave. Plankton's rocking abruptly stops at her wording, his antennae snapping to attention like whips in a storm. His face is a mask of hurt, his voice a sharp coral when he speaks. "Don't you dare say that," Plankton snaps, his eye brimming with tears of sadness. "How could you?" Hanna's eyes widen, the room's calm shattered like a wave on the shore. "I didn't mean to..." Her words are drowned out by Plankton's sobs. "Why'd you say that?" he whispers, wiping his tears. "I didn't mean it like that," she says, her voice gaining volume. "I just don't understand..." Her words are a storm, cutting off his air like a sudden squall. Plankton's having an absence seizure, his body frozen like a statue in the middle of a tempest. His unblinking eye is unseeing, and Karen knows he's trying to process the shock. Hanna feels panicked at the sight of Plankton. "Plankton?" she whispers. Her voice is a pebble thrown into the pond of his consciousness, the ripples unnoticed. Karen's hand is a gentle anchor, a silent signal for Hanna to be calm. She moves closer, her screen a soft glow in the morning's light. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice a lullaby against the storm. "He's just having an 'overwhelming moment'." Hanna nods, her screen reflecting her newfound understanding. Karen's hand is a soft current on Plankton's back, guiding him through the tumult of his sensory overload. His body is still as a statue, his antennae a silent symphony of nerves. Hanna watches. "What's happening?" she whispers, fear lapping at her words like the tide at a rocky shore. Karen's voice is a gentle whisper, her screen a calm sea. "It's ok," she reassures, her hands a steady current on his back. "It's just an overwhelming moment." Plankton's body is a marble statue, his breathing a soft hush in the quiet room. His antennae hang limp, a silent testament to the storm within. Hanna's eyes are a sea of concern, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his unresponsiveness. "What do we do?" she whispers, her fear a currents in the air. Karen's screen never leaves his frozen form, her voice a soothing lullaby. "Just wait," she murmurs. "Let him come back to us." The room holds its breath, a bubble in the vast sea of their uncertainty. Plankton's body is a marble statue, his mind a tempest. Hanna's concern is a gentle current against the shoreline of her understanding. Karen's hand is a lighthouse beam, steady and strong on Plankton's back. She whispers to him, her voice the rhythm of the tides. "It's okay," she murmurs, her fingers tracing circles of comfort. "You're safe here." Her words are a lifeline thrown into the storm of his senses. His antennae twitch, a distant signal of life in the quiet morning. His eye blinks, the shutters of consciousness opening to the gentle light of her care. The room's calm is a soft embrace, their sanctuary in the storm of the world. "I'm here," Karen whispers, her voice a lighthouse beam in the fog of his fear. "You're safe." Her words are a warm current, washing over him, bringing him back to the surface. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinks, and he takes a shaky breath, the storm within him slowly subsiding. His body relaxes into her touch, his antennae drooping like tired seaweed. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice a quiet wave against the shore. "I didn't mean to..." Hanna's eyes are pools of regret, her smile a fading sunset. Karen nods, her gaze a gentle moonrise. "We'll take it slow," she whispers, her voice a soft surf against the shore of their friendship. The world outside the guest room is a distant hum, a gentle reminder of the waves that await them. Karen's hand is a comforting current on Plankton's back, her screen a beacon of understanding in the sea of confusion. "Let's go home," she whispers, her voice a soft ripple. Plankton nods, his body a ship at anchor, finding steadiness in her words. They move together, a silent ballet of care and trust, each step a gentle wave carrying them closer to the familiarity of their own space. "I'm sorry Plankton," Hanna says, her voice a soft ripple of regret. "I didn't know."
༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⠿⡏⣇⠀⢌⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⡀⠙⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⡡⠂⠔⢈⠄⠈⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⠯⠇⠂⠈⢉⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢃⠒⠁⠀⠩⡙⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢁⡼⢁⠎⢀⠛⢠⡄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠮⡀⠀⠀⠈⣆⠠⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⡆⠐⡀⠡⡈⢢⠘⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢉⠥⡲⠋⣠⠞⡀⣼⢁⠏⢳⠘⣿⣿⡟⡞⣹⢒⠅⠨⢉⠔⣇⠸⡌⣿⣿⣿⣧⢀⣷⡀⢱⠀⢣⠀⢣⣈⠋⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡩⠊⢁⠌⡠⠞⡹⢂⠔⣹⠘⠀⢸⠀⣿⣿⣕⣡⠘⢎⠐⠈⢑⣴⠃⠀⡣⢻⣿⣿⢏⢸⠀⢣⢸⡆⠀⢷⣄⠙⠅⠢⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠷⠮⠄⢀⢎⠎⠀⣀⢇⢎⠀⡯⠔⣀⠜⢄⢘⣿⣷⡈⠢⣄⡑⠀⢉⣀⡤⠈⢡⣺⣿⣿⡦⢸⡀⢸⢰⠈⢆⠙⠈⠑⡈⡄⠁⠑⢝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⠰⠁⢀⣤⣧⡁⠀⣄⠎⠎⠀⣀⡷⢿⠀⡩⢘⡄⢻⣿⡇⢻⣮⣟⢄⠀⣯⣽⠅⡇⠈⢿⣯⢀⠎⠂⢺⡶⡆⠈⢆⠗⡀⠈⢎⢄⠀⠀⢞⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠓⠀⢸⢳⠁⠀⢸⠯⢸⠀⠁⠀⢐⢹⢈⠊⡀⡗⠘⠷⢸⢴⠈⠏⠀⢯⡆⢤⠄⢣⠄⢙⠇⠘⡃⠠⢻⠛⡧⠀⠨⡌⣴⠀⠈⢾⢿⡄⡀⠆⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣈⠀⠀⡎⠃⠀⠀⢈⡍⣄⠠⠀⠀⢈⡼⣁⣴⣾⣧⡔⠀⠺⣸⢰⡇⢰⡇⢱⣀⠹⡐⡇⡀⢀⡸⠄⢰⣸⡿⠀⠀⠀⡁⠬⡆⢀⠊⡟⡏⠀⠸⢹⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢧⠀⠁⣰⠀⠤⠀⢀⠇⠀⡇⠀⠐⠀⢁⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢳⣿⣸⢷⢸⡏⡼⢀⠳⡘⡝⠇⢀⣿⣷⢝⡾⡏⠠⢄⠀⢡⢠⠁⠂⠀⢷⢱⠈⡎⢞⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡏⠆⢀⠠⡈⠓⠒⠈⡁⠔⢰⠁⡄⠀⠀⡁⢰⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⢾⣡⡽⠇⣸⣟⡩⣎⠰⡇⡿⠘⣠⣿⣿⣷⡇⡷⠈⠕⠠⢸⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠇⠈⠀⠢⢻⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡟⡘⠤⠠⡅⡗⢀⡠⡀⠠⠎⠈⢸⠀⢀⠔⠖⢠⡜⣿⣿⣯⢖⢃⡾⢹⡟⣰⣟⡈⢣⡇⢨⡾⣷⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣀⠤⣀⣴⠺⡀⢐⠀⠀⠀⢰⠇⡠⠂⢋⣿⣿ ⣿⣟⣱⠀⢀⢠⠁⡇⠀⠀⠔⠢⠀⠂⠇⡎⡠⢐⣷⣬⡗⢻⣿⣿⣿⢸⡯⢫⣾⣿⣿⣷⡠⢻⡈⣃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡿⣟⣄⣿⠿⣜⠟⠁⠀⢀⠀⢨⠈⡄⠀⠘⡘⣿ ⣿⢧⣿⣿⣾⣿⣦⣃⣇⣤⠒⠀⠀⠀⣻⣶⣦⣿⣿⣿⣞⢹⣿⣿⣿⡜⢾⡋⣿⢿⡻⣿⣷⠝⡗⢽⣽⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣞⣎⠙⢿⡹⠒⠅⡘⠁⠐⢹⠀⢠⠀⠀⡀⢙ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡸⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣶⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⢸⣿⣿⢿⣘⣯⣡⡿⣿⣾⣟⣽⣗⣿⡿⣫⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋⣻⣷⡣⡭⡯⣻⣆⡄⢤⣀⣄⣸⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢿⡹⢻⣿⣟⣿⣿⡟⣸⣿⠓⣜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣚⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢰⠀⣞⣿⣿⡟⡿⣽⡿⡿⣿⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡼⣼⣹⣿⣿⣿⣝⣿⡿⣷⣿⣬⣨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢟⠿⣿⣯⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡏⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⡶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠖⠚⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠶⢶⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⡶⠾⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣙⣻⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⠟⠛⠛⠛⠿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⡿⠟⠋⣉⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠾⠿⠿⢿⣿⣟⡻⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⡿⠋⢀⣴⠿⠋⠉⠉⠉⠛⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⠟⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠚⠋⠙⠉⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠋⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⣶⣶⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡖⠀⣰⣿⣃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⢿⣇⠘⣿⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣦⣄⣀⣀⣠⣴⣤⠾⠛⠙⠛⠻⣶⣄⠀ ⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⣦⣤⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⡤⢿⡿⠁⣤⡿⠛⠶⣦⠀⠹⣦ ⢸⡇⠀⡀⠀⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⣼⠟⣿⢳⢶⡾⣧⠀⣿ ⢸⡇⠀⠱⣀⡀⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇⢠⡟⠒⠛⠛⠚⠓⣿⠀⣿ ⢸⣇⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⣸⡇ ⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠘⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢐⡷⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⢻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣿⡀ ⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠢⡀⠀⡀⣸⠇⣼⠧⠤⣄⡀⠈⣷⡀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠉⠂⠄⠀⣠⡟⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣸⡇⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⠾⠛⠉⢹⡶⣄⠁⢸⡇⠀⣿⢻⣟⣿⢻⠉⣿⠁⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠙⣾⡇⠀⢻⣏⠉⠙⢛⡿⠃⠀⣾⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡾⠛⠁⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣨⣿⣄⠀⠈⠛⠛⠋⠁⣠⡾⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⣀⣀⣾⠟⠉⠉⠛⠛⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣦⣤⣾⠏⠀⠈⠛⠲⢶⠶⠶⣿⡋⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⡀⢀⣿⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⢨⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣰⡟⠀⠻⢶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣄⣀⣀⣴⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠳⠶⠤⠤⠤⠤⠴⠶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡏⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⠶⠶⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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✞ v˖ ࣪ ˒ᥫ᭡^᪲᪲᪲.ᐟ๋࣭ ⭑⚝Ʀ
ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ🫀ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⚫█▀█▄▄𓂸
()-()✅✅εつ▄█▀█●😊
()-()✅✅εつ▄█▀█●😊0️⃣9️⃣5️⃣
𓐃
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠁⣠⣴⣾⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣴⣿⠿⠋⣁⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣾⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⠀⣀⣀⣀⣨⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⠂ ⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢀⣴⣿⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⣿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⠖⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⢿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣋⣠⡤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
(‿ˠ‿) Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞
(‿ˠ‿) Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞💦
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆'"
$1,500
🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

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

5 ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆-1 waitfor delay '0:0:15' --
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆0"XOR(if(now()=sysdate(),sleep(15),0))XOR"Z
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆0'XOR(if(now()=sysdate(),sleep(15),0))XOR'Z
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆����%2527%2522\'\"
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆CgKRnAo6' OR 981=(SELECT 981 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆8JIUcmqx')) OR 263=(SELECT 263 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆0"XOR(if(now()=sysdate(),sleep(15),0))XOR"Z
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆'||DBMS_PIPE.RECEIVE_MESSAGE(CHR(98)||CHR(98)||CHR(98),15)||'
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆

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

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆'"
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆0'XOR(if(now()=sysdate(),sleep(15),0))XOR'Z
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆-1 waitfor delay '0:0:15' --
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆Px4XjdnP') OR 441=(SELECT 441 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆����%2527%2522\'\"
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆4qXCk5RM' OR 164=(SELECT 164 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆SgXOZ5X3')) OR 544=(SELECT 544 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆'||DBMS_PIPE.RECEIVE_MESSAGE(CHR(98)||CHR(98)||CHR(98),15)||'
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆dkP09ox0'; waitfor delay '0:0:15' --
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆wccDnrJN') OR 808=(SELECT 808 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--
e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆w4w0KzRc'; waitfor delay '0:0:15' --
e††|ℹ§ƒʟi️̤̮🇪ᡣ𐭩ᯓ★ᯓᡣ𐭩<𝟑ֶָ֢€∞જ⁀➴⋆₊ ⊹୧℮ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིNྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ󠁑󠁉󠁍🌱😁🌐🕸┃☠️☎️☎☏@▶️↪⌂⌨️⌗▶9443872
e☀️❌❤️➡️☕✅✨👤•🎯⏳💬✈️2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣🔥💥🔗🎮☆⚙️⌖♡★▶ⓕ💻🌏🍃✝🌎💯➜🌍🅾🆗♾🤗☑5️⃣⏱️⛔👀💡📌🔫✔️ 🌱🛕❄️⚠️⚔️🎁✝️✍🌐🗣️✔️┃☎️☎☏@╰┈➤
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣐⡚⠒⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡹⠦⠤⠶⠭⢦⣠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠤⡤⣤⣤⡴⠋⣿⠁⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡡⡳⡮⣠⡞⢬⠏⠉⠁⠈⠙⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠋⠀⠘⢿⣽⣾⡿⢚⠥⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⡅⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⢀⣤⠝⠛⠈⠑⠈⠉⠁⣀⣼⠋⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠤⠜⠓⠊⠁⠈⠻⢶⣄⣀⣤⣴⣾⠟⠁⡰⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠔⢊⢆⠤⠤⡤⠤⢤⣴⣶⣶⠿⡿⠿⣿⡧⢂⠔⡹⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣠⣤⣴⣶⡶⡺⣱⣶⣧⣸⣀⠀⢳⡀⣤⣶⠿⢦⡀⣠⠔⢉⠔⠁⣰⠀⠀⠀ ⢄⣻⡿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠘⢿⣷⣄⠀⠻⣥⣀⡁⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠛⠿⣻⢿⣟⣦⣻⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢀⢠⢙⠞⣛⣖⡸⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠚⠿⣟⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣼⣧⣻⠶⣟⣡⣤⠶⠚ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠢⢄⣈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠥⠔⠒⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⡶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
5 5️
A TOOTHY STORY pt. 5 Karen watches him drift back into sleep, her heart swelling with love. His snores have turned into gentle snuffles, his antennae still occasionally twitching in his sleep. The nurse, Nina, smiles at her. "It's okay, he's just tired," she says. "Let's get him standing." They help Plankton into a sitting position, his body uncooperative and limp. His eye open and close, trying to stay awake. "Pway?" he mumbles again, his voice a sleepy whisper. Karen laughs, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Later, sweetheart, after you're all better." Nina, the nurse, nods. "Let's get you on your feet," she says, offering her fin for support. Plankton wobbles, his legs like jello. Karen takes his other arm, steadying him. "One step at a time," she says, her voice a gentle guide. They shuffle to the door, his feet moving as if through water. His head lolls, his antennae drooping with exhaustion as he falls asleep, but Karen and Nina quickly react, holding him upright. "It's normal for the anesthesia to make him so tired." Nina says over Plankton's snores as he's snoring deeply. Karen nods, her grip firm on his arm. "Let's get you to the car," she says. "Wake up, Plankton. Just a little more." With a snort, Plankton's eye opens again, blinking sleepily. "Wha...?" he says, looking around the room. Karen's smile is like the sun breaking through the clouds. "It's time to go home, sweetie," she says. They make their way to the car, Plankton leaning heavily on Karen's arm. The nurse, Nina, gives them both a nod of encouragement. "Call us if you need anything," she says. The sun is blinding as they walk out of the clinic, its rays piercing through the clouds like a spotlight. Plankton squints, his eye watering. "Hone," he mumbles, his voice a sleepy sigh. Karen laughs, her arm around his waist. "Home, Plankton," she says, her voice like a lullaby. "We're going home now." They reach the car, his legs wobbly as a newborn's. Karen opens the door, guiding him in. Plankton fumbles with the seatbelt, his fingers refusing to cooperate. "Let me," she says, her touch gentle as she secures him in. The drive home is quiet, his snores punctuating the hum of the engine. Karen watches him, his mouth slack, the gauze still in place. "Almost there, Plankton," she says, her voice soothing. The car's smooth movement lulls him further into sleep. Karen sighs, her eyes on the road ahead, her mind racing with thoughts of care and comfort for her recovering husband. When they arrive home, she gently wakes him, his eye fluttering open. "Who...?" he mumbles, his voice a slurry whisper. "It's me, Karen," she says, smiling. "We're home, Plankton." He blinks, his mind still foggy. "Hone?" he repeats, his voice barely audible. Karen nods. "Yes, sweetheart, we're home." They enter their home, the familiar scent of home wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Plankton stumbles, his legs like jelly under him. "Bath-tub," he mumbles, pointing in the direction of their bedroom. Karen laughs, her heart swelling with love for her confused husband. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "Let's get you to the couch." They shuffle through the house, his eye half-closed, his words slurred. "Muff-muff...tub?" he repeats, his thoughts jumbled. Karen laughs, her voice like a warm current in the cool ocean. "No, Plankton, the couch," she says, guiding his unsteady steps. He nods, his antennae drooping. "C-c-couch," he repeats, his words like bubbles rising to the surface. Karen helps him settle, his body collapsing into the plush cushions with a sigh. His snores resume, his mouth open, and drool pooling on the pillow. Plankton's eyes flicker open, his gaze unfocused. "Tish...?" he mumbles, reaching up to touch his mouth. Karen laughs, taking his hand. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle stream. "Let's keep those hands down." He frowns, his mind a fog. "Whath...whathapened?" he asks, his speech still slurred. Karen smiles, her voice a warm caress. "You had your wisdom teeth taken out, sweetheart." Plankton's eye widens. "B-but...muh...muh..." his words a jumble. Karen giggles with warmth. "What are you trying to say, Plankton?" she asks, her voice sweet as a lullaby. He tries to sit up, his body still groggy. "Baf...baf... baf," he babbles. Karen's laughter is a gentle wave, lapping at the shores of his confusion. "It's okay," she says, her hand a steady rock. "Your mouth is just numb." Plankton's antennae wave weakly, his eye still unfocused. "Mumf?" he mumbles, his voice like a baby's coo. "Mumf?" Karen laughs softly, her heart filled with love and amusement. "What's 'mumf', Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle ripple in the sea of his confusion. He blinks, his mouth moving in a silent attempt to form words. "Mumf," he repeats, his voice a sleepy murmur. "Muff...muf..." his words trailing off. Karen laughs, her voice a soothing whisper. "What's 'mumf', sweetheart?" she asks, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Plankton blinks, his antennae twitching. "Nun," he slurs, his mind swimming in a sea of anesthesia. "Why my moufs nun." Karen laughs, her eyes sparkling. "Your mouth is numb, Plankton," she explains, her voice a gentle wave. "It'll wear off by the morning." He nods, his antennae drooping. "Mouf numb," he echoes, his tongue still thick. "Mm...numb." He giggles to himself. "Numb." Karen laughs, her voice like the tinkling of a bell. "Yes, Plankton, your mouth is numb," she says, her words a gentle soothing rain. "It's from the surgery." Plankton's antennae perk up, his eye finally focusing. "Sur...surg... surgery?" he asks, his voice a tentative question. Karen nods, wiping at his drool with a tissue. "It's okay, you're all done now." He giggles, his words a slur. "Sur...surgery," he repeats, his mind still in a haze. Karen smiles, her voice a gentle lullaby. "Wisdom teeth," she says, "They're out, and you're all better." Plankton nods, his antennae twitching with curiosity. "Tweef?" he mumbles, his tongue thick. Karen nods, her voice like a gentle wave. "Yes, sweetie," she says, "The doctor took your big teef out." He giggles again, his mind still foggy. "Big...big teef," he says, his voice a babyish coo. "Tweef." Karen laughs, her voice a soothing breeze. "Yes, Plankton, your big teeth are gone." "How many fing-- fingers awe you holding up?" He asks, but looking at his own hand. Karen laughs, her voice a delightful chime in the quiet room. "I'm not holding up any fingers, Plankton." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still unfocused. "But...but..." his words trail off as he tries to process her response. "That's your hand, not mine!" She laughs. Plankton giggles, his eye half-closed. "M-mine?" he asks, his voice a sleepy mumble. Karen nods, her smile never leaving her face. "Yes, love, your hand." He looks down at his hand, his fingers splayed. "Twee," he murmurs, his voice a slurred whisper. "Two big teef gone." Karen laughs, her voice gentle as she shakes her head. "All four wisdom teethies." Plankton blinks, his mind clearing slightly. "Oh," he says, his voice a soft wave. "Twee big teefies." Karen nods, her eyes sparkling with humor. "Yes, Plankton, all your wisdom teeth are out." He giggles, his speech still slurred. "Widom...teefies," he mumbles. "Widom." Karen laughs, her heart warm with love. "That's right," she says, her voice a gentle current. "Wisdom teethies." Plankton's antennae droop again, his eye heavy with sleep. "M-more?" he asks, his voice like a sleepy drone. Karen smiles, her voice a soothing melody. "No more, sweetie," she says, stroking his antennas. "You're all done."
i love you😡🫶🏻
guy stop fucking saying this web needs to be a fucking app like what the fuck there lots of fucking beef like do you guys have brain cells of a dick shit like get a life if you care about fucking 8 year olds then dont make this a fucking app if you fucking do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a fucking bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
I love ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ🫀ﮩ٨ـyouﮩﮩ٨ـ😘😘100%
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