Skell Emojis & Text

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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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Here are some idioms that use the word "chip": Chip on your shoulder An informal expression that means someone feels inferior or believes they've been treated unfairly. For example, "You will never make friends if you go around with a chip on your shoulder". Chip off the old block A person who resembles one parent in appearance or behavior. For example, "His son is just a chip off the old block". Chip in To contribute money, time, or advice to a cause or fund. For example, "Every member of the team chipped in to help pay for the coach's surgery". Cash in your chips To sell something, such as investments, to raise money. It can also be used as slang to mean to die. Bargaining chip Something that can be used to gain an advantage when trying to make a deal or an agreement. For example, "The workers used the threat of a strike as a bargaining chip in their negotiations". Blue chip A term that comes from poker, where chips used in gambling have different colors to represent different dollar amounts. A blue chip is typically the one with the highest value. call in (one's) chipscall in your chipscash (one's) chips incash incash in (one's) chipscash in chipscash in one's chipscash in your chipscheap as chipschipchip (away) at (something)chip and dipchip atchip awaychip buttychip inchip in for (something)chip in on (something)chip in with (something)chip in with (something) for (something)chip offchip off the old blockchip off the old block, achip on one's shoulderchip on one's shoulder, to have achip on shoulderchip shotchip upchipschips and dipchips are down, thechips with everythingcow chipcow chipsget a chip on (one's) shoulderhand in (one's) chipshas had its chipshave a chip on (one's) shoulderhave a chip on your shoulderhave had (one's) chipshave had your chipsin the chipsin the moneylet the chips fall (where they may)let the chips fall where they maymint chocolate chippass in (one's) chipspiss on (someone's) chipsput a chip on (one's) shoulderput all (of) (one's) chips on the tablespit chipsthe chips are downwhen the chips are down "All that and a bag of chips"---this phrase is usually a slam against someone who is conceited or arrogant. Perhaps the phrase originates in the concept of completeness; a meal complete with a "bag of chips".Aug 11, 2014

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░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██████████████████████████████████████████████████░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓████████████████████████████████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓████████████████████████████████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓████████████████████████████████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓███████████████████████▓▓███████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓██████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒████████▓░▒▒░▓█████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█████▓▒▓████▓░▒████▓▒▒▓███▒▒▓███▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█████▓█████████████▓████████████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓████████████████████████████████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓████████████████████████████████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒█████████████▓▓▓▓▓███▓▓▓▓▓███████▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓░░░░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒░░░▒▓██▓▒░░░░▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██▓▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░▓█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██▓░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░██▒▒▒▒▒▒▒███▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██▒░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓░░░░░░░░▒█▓░░░░░░░░░░░█▓░░░░░██▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██░▓██▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█▓░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░░░▓█░░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░██▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░▒█▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓████████████▒▒░░░░░▒▒▒▓█▒▒▒░░░██▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░▒███▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓░░░░░░░▒▓█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓██▓▓▓▓▓███▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░▒██▒░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░▓█░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▓░░░▓█▓░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒░░░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░░░░░██░░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒██░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█░░░██░░░░░█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒░░░░░░░▓█░░░░░░░░░░█▓░░░░░░▓█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██▒░░░░░░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░▓█░░░░░▓██▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒███▓▒░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓░░▓█░░░░░██▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▓▓█▒░░░░▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██▒░▒█▒░░░░▓█░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▓▓█░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░▓██▓░░░▓█░░░░▒█▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓██░░░░█▓░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░▓█▓░░░░░░▓█░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓░░░░█▓░░░▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▓██▒░░▒██▒░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░▒█▓▒▓░░░░░▒█▓░░░░█▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░▓█▒░░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██▓▒░░░░░▒█▓░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░▒█▓█▓▓█▒▓█░▒█▒░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓█░░▓█▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█▓░▒▓░▒▒▒▓▓█▒░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░▒██▒▓█▒▓██▓█░░░░░▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒░░░░▒▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒███▓█▓▒██▒██▓███▒░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░▓█████▓▓▓░░░░░░░░▓█████▓▓▒░░░▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▓████▓░░░░▒█▓▒█▓████▓░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▓▓██▓▓▓▓▓████████████████████▓▓▓▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██▒▓▓░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▓░░░░░░░▒█▓░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░▒█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

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𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 3 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, his tongue thick. He tries to form words. "Ma...ma..." he whispers, his voice a slur. Karen's eyes light up at the sound. "You're ok," she says, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You had your teeth out. You might feel funny for a little while." He looks at Karen, his eye searching hers. "Wh...wh...whath?" he stammers, his speech jumbled. Karen leans closer, her smile reassuring. "Your wisdom teeth, Plankton. They took them out so you won't have any trouble with them later." But the words don't make sense to him, his brain still fuzzy from the anesthesia. He tries to speak again. "Wi...wis...wis..." he stammers. Karen nods. "Wisdom teeth," Karen repeats slowly. "They're out now. You're all done!" The words swirl in Plankton's head, not quite making sense. He feels his mouth, the cottony feeling replaced by the pressure of gauze. He giggles. "My moufs fweel funmy," he says, his words slurred. Karen laughs softly. "It's because of the surgery, sweetie. Your mouth is healing." She coos. "I fink I sownd funny," he says, his eye glinting with mirth. The nurse returns, checking his vitals. "How are you feeling?" she asks. Plankton looks up, his eye glassy. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs, his speech a mess of sounds and syllables. Karen can't help but laugh, despite the situation. "You're doing great," she says with love for his confused silliness. The nurse chuckles, too. "It's the anesthesia," she explains. "It'll wear off soon." His gaze darts to his own fingers. "Wook at my fingews," he says to Karen, his speech slurred from the anesthesia. Karen nods, smiling. "Oh yeah?" Plankton nods, his cognitive abilities still under the fog. "Yeth," he slurs, trying to sit up. "Take it easy," she says. "You're still woozy." The room feels like it's spinning as Plankton tries to sit up, his brain struggling to keep up with his body's movements. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his gaze unfocused. But Plankton's curiosity wins out. He reaches up to touch a finger to his mouth, feeling the thickness of the gauze. "Fingews," he repeats, his voice still slurred. Karen laughs with affection. "It's ok honey," she says. "You're doing great." Plankton looks around the room, his eye still unfocused. "Wheh...wheah awe we?" he mumbles. The nurse explains patiently, "You're in the recovery room at the dentist's office. You just had your wisdom teeth removed." But the words don't quite register, and he nods slowly, his mind racing with confusion and curiosity with wonder, taking in the world as if seeing it for the first time. The colors, the shapes, the sounds—everything is fresh and new. He looks at his hands as if it's an alien appendage. "Wook ath dis," he says to Karen, his voice a mix of amazement and bewilderment. His fingers spread wide, then close into a fist, then open again. "Wook whath I can do!" Karen swells with love. It's like watching him discover the world anew, like a baby seeing his own hands for the first time. She can't help but smile at his innocent fascination. The nurse nods at Karen. "You can take him home now. Just make sure he rests and takes it easy." Karen nods, her smile never leaving her screen. She helps Plankton up. "Hi," he says, his voice a slurred mumble. As they make their way to the car, Plankton's steps are unsteady, his body still fighting the remnants of the anesthesia. He looks around with wonderment, as if seeing the world in a new light. "Mowah?" he asks, pointing to the sky. Karen laughs gently. "It's the sun, honey. It's ok." Plankton nods, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of his reality. "We're gonna pick up Chip from the park. He's with Hanna.." "Chip...Chip, Chip," he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue. The car ride is a blur of sounds and sensations that Plankton tries to filter out. He leans his head against the cool window, watching the world pass by in a haze. Karen keeps glancing back at him in the rearview mirror, amusement etched on her face. "You ok?" she asks. Plankton nods, his eye heavy. "Tiwed," he murmurs. "Try not to fall asleep," she says. "Because we're almost there." His eye drifts to the passing scenery. Trees whiz by. He counts the telephone poles, his slurred voice mumbling the numbers. "One, two, free, four..." "Almost there," Karen says. Plankton nods, his hand finding the seatbelt buckle, tracing its edges. "Five, sis, seb..." But alas, Plankton's efforts to stay alert are in vain. His lid flutters and his head nods. "Plankton, keep your eye open," Karen says, her voice a gentle reminder. But his body has other plans, succumbing to the sedative's embrace. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen says, a hint of laughter in her tone. She knows he can't help it. His slumber is deep, his snores a soft echo in the car. She watches him in the mirror, his face relaxed in sleep. It's a rare sight. Plankton's normally alert and active demeanor is replaced by a peaceful stillness that fills the car. The surgery was a success, yet the anesthesia has taken its toll. Karen pulls into the parking lot of the park, the sun casting a warm glow. "Wakey, wakey," she sings. Plankton's snores hitch, but his eye stays shut. She opens the car door and the chilly air fills the car, carrying with it the laughter of children playing. "Plankton," she calls, her voice gentle but firm. He stirs, his body protesting the interruption. "Chip?" he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen laughs softly. "Yes, we're here to get Chip. Time to wake up." She reaches over and squeezes his hand. His eye blinks open, the pupil dilating as he takes in his surroundings. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his brain still fighting the anesthesia. Hanna and Chip look up as their car approaches. "What happened?" Chip asks as he gets in the car. Karen starts to answer, but Plankton's slurred interjection stops her. "Dey hook my teefs!" he says, his words a jumble. Chip's eyes widen. "He had his wisdom teeth out," Karen explains. Hanna looks at Plankton, her expression one of concern. "How are you feeling?" she asks. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs. "Buh I dunno." Karen smiles. "So, we went to the dentist," she says, waving bye to Hanna. "They had to take his wisdom teeth out." Chip looks confused. "What does that mean, Mom?" He asks Karen. "Well Chip, your dad had some teeth that were gonna cause problems, so they took them out," Karen starts. "But the medicine they gave him makes him feel funny. It's like when you have a sleepover and wake up groggy." Chip nods. "What medicine?" He continues. Plankton tries to answer, but his speech is still slurred. "Dey gabe me sumpin' to sleep," he mumbles, his eye half-closed. "It's called anesthesia," Karen says, her voice calm and steady. "It's what helps people not feel pain during surgery." Chip nods, watching his dad with a mix of curiosity and concern. "But it makes him a bit loopy," Karen adds as they pull away. "Chip," Plankton starts. "Whath thad?" "It's my hand, Dad," Chip answers, confused. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton persists, his mind still fuzzy. Karen chuckles, seeing his curiosity piqued. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton repeats, his speech still slurred. Chip holds up his hand. "It's just a hand, Dad," he says. Karen laughs. "It's his hand, Plankton. It's ok. You're just a bit loopy." "Wook ath the clows," Plankton says, lazily pointing at the clouds. Karen smiles. "They're just clouds," she says. Plankton giggles, his eye glazed with a childlike wonder. Karen knows this phase won't last, but she cherishes it.

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☆🍪⚫.*σяєσ*.⚫🍪☆

⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠤⠒⠋⢁⣀⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠠⠶⠿⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣬⣿⣿⣿⣯⣤⣤⣾⣯⣤⣤⣾⣿⣭⣬⣿⣿⣭⣭⣿⣭⣿⣿⣛⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡒⠦⣤⣀⠙⢆⠀ ⠀⠸⠙⠒⠚⢿⠿⠟⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠉⠀⠀⠶⠤⣶⡿⠿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣯⡉⠉⠉⡛⢛⠿⠻⣛⣛⣻⠟⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⣿⣻⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠸⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠾⠶⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⠤⢴⠾⠽⠿⠉⠉⠉⢀⣀⠊⢀⣐⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⡤⠌⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡦⢤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⣿⣿⢋⡴⣿⡷⣲⣷⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣉⣁⣀⣤⣤⣴⢶⣿⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⢻⣧⣿⣴⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⡋⠉⢉⠉⠉⠀⢨⣿⣿⢰⣼⣿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⣀⣼⣿⢞⣽⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⣻⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢱⡄⠘⡆⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡾⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⡿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠉⠛⠻⢯⣈⣏⠉⠉⠉⣉⣉⣍⠉⠙⢻⣏⠉⠉⢩⣍⣡⣽⣿⠋⠁⣠⣬⣉⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⠙⠳⢧⡀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣗⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠈⠋⠀⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⢠⣶⡶⢶⣄⠀⠀⠙⣿⡄⠀⠀⢻⣟⠛⠀⠀⣴⢿⡄⠀⠈⢉⣀⣈⣿⣄⠀⠻⣿⣿⠆⠀⣿⣼⡟⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⣾⣿⡏⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣦⣻⠆⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⠈⣿⣶⣄⠀⠈⠻⣷⡀⢀⣈⣉⣉⣉⣹⣷⣦⣤⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⢠⣸⣹⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣶⠶⠶⠚⣌⣿⠛⢛⣛⣉⣉⣩⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣟⣷⠟⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡿⡷⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⡿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⡤⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⢀⣩⣾⣿⡇⡀⡿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣟⠤⣏⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⠴⠖⠒⠒⢶⡤⢤⣿⣶⣦⣀⡏⠀⠀⠸⣿⣯⢻⣧⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣧⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢶⣶⣦⣤⡀⡀⠀⢀⠖⣭⣿⡶⠀⣰⣷⣦⡌⣴⡿⠋⣵⣿⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⣰⠯⣀⣀⠈⠀⠒⢈⡽⠻⣦⠈⠳⠾⠿⢧⣐⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣹⣿⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠙⣿⢤⣿⣿⠃⣀⡴⠛⢯⣤⡌⠑⠀⠲⣭⡷⢩⣿⠿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠉⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡐⠀⢀⣤⣶⣇⣤⣘⣿⡾⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⠣⣰⣆⡽⠀⠀⣻⣿⣶⠿⡦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡻⠉⠁⣹⡟⢻⣿⣽⣟⣟⣴⣻⣷⣾⠋⣷⣾⣅⡉⠀⠭⢻⡿⣟⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣯⣇⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡄⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣠⣀⡄⢠⣈⣳⣄⠀⡤⠉⣩⣭⣴⣶⣀⠀⢀⣲⡄⢀⣴⣿⢏⣿⡇⣀⣀⣄⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠲⠤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣡⣻⣿⣋⣿⣿⣿⣏⡀⣿⣟⡿⠟⢉⣹⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠟⢀⣰⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠓⠚⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⡔⢢⡑⢢⡒⢖⡢⠵⣘⢦⡹⠜⣥⠳⣘⢆⡳⣘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⣿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⣿⣻⢿⡝⢦⢃⡒⠄⠠⠐⣶⣭⡌⠉⠉⠉⢿⣷⡆⠀⠸⣿⡯⣜⣿⣏⠉⣿⣿⣿⡌⣿⣿⣟⠿⣿⣷⡄⠀⢐⢲⣯⣷⣿⡦⠄⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⡀⢹⣿⣿⡆⣸⣿⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠑⡸⠐⣌⠣⡜⢣⢚⡱⣃⣦⣃⣯⣴⣙⣦⠩⣖⣩⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡿⣽⢯⡿⣽⢯⣟⣾⣳⣟⣾⣳⣟⣾⣳⣟⣾⣳⣟⣾⣳⣟⡾⣽⢯⡟⣎⡱⢌⠘⠠⠉⡜⢻⣽⣶⣥⣦⣻⡽⡇⠈⠰⣿⡷⢨⢟⣾⣤⢾⣿⣿⠅⢻⣿⣯⢚⡽⣷⡌⠀⠈⠀⠉⠂⠁⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣯⣗⠈⣿⣿⣗⠨⣿⣿⣽⣦ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⠑⠃⣠⣣⣼⠧⠟⠊⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠈⠈⠑⠒⠬⣉⠛⠷⣯⣿⡽⣯⢿⣽⣻⣞⣷⣻⣞⣷⣻⣞⣷⣻⣞⡷⣯⣟⣾⣳⢯⡿⣽⢯⡟⡴⢣⠌⣂⠡⠂⠄⠂⠄⠙⠚⠷⠿⠱⠀⠠⠀⡙⠏⠤⠈⠛⠹⠛⣿⣿⡀⠹⣿⡛⠆⠸⣿⣮⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣮⣽⣿⣿⣂⢿⣿⣳⠛ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⣦⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠢⡀⠉⠻⢿⣻⣞⣷⣻⣞⣷⣻⣞⣷⣻⣞⡷⣯⣟⣷⣻⢾⣽⡿⣽⣟⣯⡟⣜⡡⠎⡀⢂⠱⡈⠆⠈⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣾⣿⡿⣿⢿⡷⣾⣴⣻⣿⣧⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠙⠃⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⠿⣿⠷⣻⣿⢷⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⡀⠀⠙⢿⣳⡿⣾⢷⡿⣾⢷⣻⡾⣟⣷⡿⣞⣿⢯⣷⣿⣻⣽⣷⡻⣄⠓⡌⠄⡡⢂⠘⠀⣂⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠐⣿⠿⠡⠋⠈⠀⠉⠐⠻⢿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠁⣹⣿⣯⠄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠘⣄⠀⠀⠹⣿⣯⢿⣻⣽⡿⣯⢿⣻⣽⣟⣿⡽⣿⣳⣯⢿⣞⣷⡳⢌⠣⠄⠁⠀⣠⢤⠀⠘⠀⢀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⡿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣄⠀⠀⠈⢆⠀⠀⠘⣿⣟⣯⣷⢿⣻⣟⣯⣷⢿⣽⣻⢷⣻⣞⣯⢿⡾⣝⠢⡑⢈⠀⠠⣽⣿⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠃⠀⢀⡴⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⡄⠀⠈⢆⠀⠀⢸⣿⢾⣽⣻⢯⣿⡽⣾⣻⢾⡽⣯⢷⣯⣟⣯⣟⣿⡰⢁⠂⠀⠐⢼⣿⡇⠘⢦⠀⠄⢂⠐⡄⠀⠘⠲⡄⢡⡰⠶⢬⡴⣬⡤⣥⠀⠤⠂⠠⠄⣁⠠⣀⣀⣀⠠⠀⡀⠠⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠄⠀⠄⠀⠠⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⢠⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢆⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⢿⣿⡾⣽⢯⣷⣻⢷⣻⢯⡿⣽⣻⢾⡽⣾⡽⣿⡇⢌⠘⣆⠀⠘⣿⣿⠀⠈⣇⠀⠂⠄⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠉⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠋⠛⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠤⠤⠤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⡀⢹⡀⠀⠸⣿⣽⢯⣟⡾⣽⢯⣟⣯⣟⡷⣯⢿⣻⢷⣻⣟⠳⡈⠄⠙⡄⠀⢻⣿⣧⠀⠙⠀⠀⠡⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣆⠀⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⣀⣤⠴⠶⠛⢋⣉⣀⣤⠤⠤⠴⠶⠾⠷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣬⠴⠦⠤⢤⣿⡀⠁⠀⠀⢿⣽⣻⢾⡽⣯⣟⣾⣳⣯⢿⣽⣻⣟⣿⣻⣞⡱⡁⠌⠀⠀⣧⠀⠻⣿⣧⣤⣴⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠻⢧⣧⣦⢠⣦⣠⡄⣤⡀⣀⡀⠀⠀⣾⠉⠙⢰⡟⢠⣤⡀⠀⡀⣀⣾⡟⣠⡄⠀⡀⠀⣰⡿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢠⣏⣠⠶⢛⣉⣤⠴⠖⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀⡀⢠⠿⠷⠶⠦⢤⣄⡀⠈⢟⠳⢤⣀⣸⣿⡽⣯⣟⡷⣯⣟⣷⢿⣯⣟⣷⡿⣽⡷⣯⡕⢂⡁⠂⢀⠸⠧⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠟⠳⠿⢿⡦⠀⢻⣴⣠⡿⢧⣼⣿⣽⣸⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⡿⢿⣾⣽⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢸⠀⣴⡟⠋⣵⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢻⣧⡄⠈⠙⣿⣽⣷⣯⣿⢻⣽⣾⣿⣽⣾⣯⣿⢻⣽⣷⡍⠂⠐⠀⢠⠀⠐⠀⠐⠒⢻⠛⠋⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡁⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢰⣶⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠙⠒⠦⣈⠙⢿⣾⣯⡿⣟⣷⣻⣽⣷⣻⣯⡿⣟⡾⡥⠋⠄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⡐⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠟⠉⠁⣄⠀⣠⣤⡀⠀⡀⢰⣧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡀⢈⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠘⣿⣁⡌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠀⢰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣄⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣌⠻⢿⣿⡿⣽⡷⣯⣷⣟⡿⣯⢿⡱⢡⠊⢀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠐⠀⠀⢄⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠦⢤⡀⠼⠒⠿⢬⡼⠷⠿⣤⢿⣯⡀⢾⣽⠷⣤⣀⢻⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢐⡀⢆⡈⡐⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⢠⠃⠨⡏⠛⠒⠦⠤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠤⠶⠖⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⢸⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠈⠙⠦⣽⣿⣿⣻⣽⣳⢯⣿⡽⣯⢳⡁⠆⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠢⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢦⡄⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢢⡑⢎⡔⡁⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⠀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣻⢾⣽⣻⢾⡽⣯⠳⡌⢂⠡⠐⠀⠀⠠⠀⢀⠠⢀⠂⡱⢜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⣤⣄⠻⠿⣷⣄⣰⣶⡶⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣴⡆⣰⣇⡀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⠘⢢⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡎⠀⠠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠸⣯⠙⠲⠤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⢀⣀⣧⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣻⢾⡽⣯⣟⡷⣩⠒⡁⠂⠄⡀⠀⢂⠁⠠⠐⠀⢂⠱⣊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠘⠋⠉⠁⠻⣯⣥⠿⠛⠿⠼⣧⣾⣿⣷⡔⠒⠢⣿⣉⣡⣿⣶⣀⣠⢄⢠⢠ ⢀⠃⢆⠡⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡀⢀⢠⡄⡇⠀⡇⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⢻⠉⠉⢹⣿⣿⢿⣻⣟⣯⣷⢿⣳⣯⡿⣽⢿⣽⡳⢄⢣⠘⡀⠆⢠⢁⠂⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠱⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠙⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠈⠻⠿⠿⠿⠺ ⣌⡍⣦⡁⠆⡄⢢⠐⡂⢅⠊⡔⢌⠰⢁⢺⠅⡇⠀⡄⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣇⣠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠠⣤⣽⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⢸⣿⣞⣿⣽⢯⣿⢾⣟⣯⡷⣟⣯⡿⣯⣟⠢⠜⡠⠑⡌⠄⠂⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣧⠂⠀⢀⣤⣤⣠⣄⣰⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⢹⣯⣽⠿⠀⣾⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣻⢷⣻⣟⡾⣷⣻⢷⣾⣳⣾⢮⣷⢮⣾⠀⡇⠀⡄⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢸⣿⢾⣽⡾⣟⣯⣿⢯⣿⣽⢿⣞⣿⢷⣟⠢⢍⠰⡑⢄⠠⡀⢄⠠⢄⢂⠀⠀⢠⢛⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⡶⠾⠿⠿⠟⢿⣿⠿⠿⣶⡆⢠⣽⣿⠻⣦⢈⣿⡃⣰⣦⣤⣶⡄⣴⣤⣿⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡽⣯⢷⡾⣽⣻⣽⣟⣾⣳⣯⢿⡽⣯⢿⠀⡇⠀⡆⠀⠀⣗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⢸⣿⣻⢾⣟⣿⣽⣾⣻⢷⣯⣿⣻⢾⣯⣟⠆⣉⠖⠰⡈⢆⠹⡄⢣⠌⡂⠐⠀⡌⢎⡇⠀⠀⢀⣄⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢦⡼⠇⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠉⠙⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠟⢿⠟⠿⠿⣷⣶⣶⣷⣦⠀ ⣿⣽⢯⣿⣽⣿⣿⢿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣽⣿⠀⡇⠀⢣⠀⠀⢹⣀⣠⣤⣤⣴⣶⣴⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⣷⢿⣯⣿⢾⣷⣻⣽⣻⣞⡷⣯⣟⡾⣿⡘⢤⢋⡐⢡⠊⣆⠱⢂⢂⠘⠄⠃⢌⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢿⡘⠏⢧⣴⡛⣶⣶⠀⣴⠆⣤⢤⢀⡤⢷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠁ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢿⣀⣴⣿⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠛⠿⠶⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣻⣾⡽⣿⣞⣿⣳⡿⣾⣽⡷⣯⣟⣿⡑⢎⠰⠌⢢⠑⢂⠃⢂⠌⡐⠈⠄⠂⣜⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠈⠋⠉⠉⠉⠁⠛⠖⠘⠞⠻⢧⣸⠿⠻⣶⣤⡗⢺⣄⣶⡲⠼⣷⢻⡖⢠⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⢠⣾⠟⠁⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⠷⢶⣶⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⢨⣿⣷⣟⡿⣷⣻⣽⣯⢿⣻⣾⡽⡷⢯⣿⠃⠌⠀⠈⡀⠈⠀⠀⠒⠠⠐⠀⠠⢁⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⣶⣟⡓⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠉⠉⠳⠖⠙⠧⠛⠖⠷⠬⠿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣯⣿⣻⢾⡿⣽⣯⣟⣯⡿⣽⣯⢿⡽⣿⠀⡅⠿⢻⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⡿⢿⠿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣷⣻⡿⣯⣗⢯⣝⣧⣟⡆⣂⠀⡀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣐⢲⢀⢺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⢷⣍⣻⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣦⣠⣄⡀⢠⣸⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣞⡷⣯⢿⣽⣳⣟⣾⣳⣟⡷⣯⢿⡽⣿⣼⠁⠀⠈⡆⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⢸⠀⠀⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⡿⣽⣟⣾⣻⣞⣾⣿⡗⡄⠂⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⡟⡇⢨⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠉⠉⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⡿⣷⣿⣿⣶⢶⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠠⣰⣷⣤⣾⣧⣤⣄⣷⠄⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⢾⡽⣯⣟⣾⣳⣟⣾⣳⢯⡿⣽⢯⣟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢸⠈⡆⠀⣿⢷⣻⢯⣿⡽⣟⣿⢯⣿⡽⣷⢿⣯⡿⣧⡙⠌⡀⠀⢀⠈⢀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡇⣇⠢⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣦⣠⣄⢀⣀⡀⠀⣀⣰⡆⠀⠀⠈⣡⠄⠀⠙⠛⠁⠷⠀⠀⢿⠏⠉⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⢯⣟⣷⣻⣞⣷⣻⢾⡽⣯⢿⣽⣻⣞⣿⠃⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⡇⠇⠀⣿⢯⣟⡿⣾⣽⣟⣯⣿⣳⣿⣻⢿⣾⣽⡣⢜⡠⠄⡁⠀⣀⣵⣿⣿⢷⣻⡷⣯⠀⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⠙⠏⢿⠿⢯⡿⢿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠿⢆⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣻⣞⣷⣻⣞⡷⣯⢿⡽⣯⣟⣾⣳⢯⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⢧⢸⠀⢿⣟⡾⣽⣷⣻⣞⣯⣷⣟⣷⣻⣯⣿⣷⣟⣦⡑⢎⡐⣤⡟⢹⣿⣯⢿⣻⣇⣿⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⣀⣀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠻⢷⡦⠄⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣳⣟⣮⢷⣯⢿⡽⣯⣟⣷⢿⡾⣽⢯⣿⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⢸⡌⡆⢹⣯⣟⡷⣯⣷⢿⣽⡾⣽⣞⡷⣿⣞⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣾⠟⠀⣾⣿⣽⣻⣿⡽⣇⢒⡿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠋⠉⣿⠛⣟⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣄⣀⡀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣳⡟⣾⣻⣞⣯⣟⡷⣯⣟⣯⢿⡽⣯⢿⡃⠀⢰⠁⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⢇⢱⢸⣿⣿⣻⡽⣾⣻⢷⣟⣷⣻⣽⡷⣿⣻⣾⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⢀⣿⡿⣾⣽⡿⢿⣿⣮⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠸⢯⣿⡿⢷⣶⣷⣦⣶⣤⣠⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⣼⢿⣿⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣳⢿⣽⣳⣟⡾⣽⣻⣽⣟⡾⣯⢿⡽⣿⡇⢠⠎⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣰⣦⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣄⣀⣀⣱⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡄⠀⠀⠸⡀⢿⣿⣿⣳⡿⣷⣻⢯⡿⣞⣯⣷⢿⣻⣽⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣟⡷⣿⣇⠀⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠐⢤⣤⡴⣤⠀⠀⠀⡀⠨⣿⣿⠛⠙⠟⠛⠿⠷⠀⠀⡿⠷⢶⠿⢿⣧⣾⣶⣶⣴⣿⣤⣤⣀⢀⣶⣄⣠⡀ ⣿⣽⣻⣞⡷⣯⣟⣷⣻⣽⢾⡿⣽⣯⢿⣿⡇⠈⢀⣀⣼⣤⣤⣤⣤⣼⣅⣀⠀⣀⣴⣟⡻⣝⣻⡶⣭⢏⣟⡻⣟⢿⡻⣟⡽⣛⡟⣯⢟⡷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⣣⣨⣿⣿⣽⣻⣽⢯⣿⡽⣯⣟⣾⣟⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠞⠛⠛⠻⠛⠉⠀⣸⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣧⣧⣀⣀⣼⣿⣷⠉⠉⠀⠀⢷⣤⣤⣤⡄⣿⠀⠀⠀⣤⢠⡍⠁⠉⠛⠛⠛⠿⣿⣿⣵⣿⡏⠉⠀ ⣿⣞⡷⣯⣟⣷⣻⢾⡽⣞⣯⣟⣷⢿⣻⣿⣿⣾⣿⢿⣿⣿⢿⡿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⢯⡳⣬⢳⡝⡶⢿⡼⢭⣎⢷⡹⣎⠷⣭⢞⡵⣛⡼⣋⢶⡫⢷⣄⢀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣼⣶⣶⣾⡿⣿⣟⣿⣳⡿⣽⣻⡷⣿⣳⣯⣷⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠻⠻⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⢾⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣷⣿⣤⣄⣰⡿⣹⡟⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀ ⣿⢾⣽⣳⣟⡾⣽⢯⡿⣽⣾⣻⢾⣟⣯⣷⣟⣷⢿⣯⣷⢿⣻⣽⡷⣿⣿⡿⣹⢶⡹⣎⢷⡹⣝⣧⣛⡳⣎⢷⡹⣎⠿⣜⢮⡳⣝⡞⡽⢮⡝⣏⠿⣿⣟⣿⣻⣟⡿⣯⢷⣯⣟⣷⣻⣞⡷⣿⣻⢷⣟⣯⣷⢿⡾⣟⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⣠⡾⠟⠛⠒⠚⠛⠋⠁⢀⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠙⠿⣷⡀⣿⠂⠀⠀⠺⡟⢻⡿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣼⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⡄⣠⣀⡀⠀⡀⠀ ⣿⣻⢾⣽⣞⡿⣽⢯⣿⢷⣻⣽⣟⣯⣿⣞⣿⢾⣟⣷⢿⣻⣯⣷⢿⣿⣿⠳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⡶⣭⢳⡝⣮⢳⣭⢻⡜⣧⢻⡜⡾⢭⡳⣝⢮⡻⣽⣿⣯⢷⣯⢿⣽⣻⢾⡽⣞⡷⣯⣟⣷⣻⣯⣿⣽⡾⣟⣿⣻⣽⣿⣿⠀⣀⣘⣦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⡴⣾⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠸⠿⠉⠉⠁⠉⠋⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿ ⣿⣽⣻⢾⣽⣻⣽⡿⣽⣟⣯⣿⢾⣻⣾⣽⡾⣟⣿⢾⣟⣯⣷⢿⣻⣿⢣⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢳⣭⢳⡝⣮⢳⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣭⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⡶⢿⣿⣻⣞⡿⣾⡽⣯⢿⣽⣻⢷⣻⡾⣽⣷⣻⡾⣟⣿⡽⣯⣿⣿⡟⠀⠘⢿⡁⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣼⣻⢿⣼⣻⣧⣿⢿⣼⡿⣼⡿⣟⣧⣿⣻⣿⣻⡿⣟⣿⣼⣿⣿⣇⠿⣸⢇⡿⣸⢇⡿⣸⢇⡿⣠⢟⡼⣣⢟⡼⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⣛⢧⡻⣜⢧⣻⢛⡿⣿⣿⣼⣻⢧⣿⣻⢿⣼⣻⣟⣧⡿⣿⣼⣻⡿⣿⣻⢿⣿⣻⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣧⣤⣤⣤⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⢇⠀⡘⠛⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⢾⣽⣻⣞⣯⣷⢿⣯⣷⢿⣻⣽⡿⣽⣾⢯⣷⡿⣽⡿⣽⢾⣿⢏⢾⣙⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣼⢹⣎⢷⡹⢶⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⡗⡯⣞⣽⣿⡾⣽⣻⡾⣽⣻⣞⣷⣻⢾⣽⡷⣯⣿⣽⢿⣽⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣟⡿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠐⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣻⣞⡷⣯⢿⡾⣟⣷⢿⣻⣯⣷⢿⣟⣾⢿⣻⣽⡿⣽⣿⣿⣏⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⡳⣎⢷⡹⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⡳⡝⣞⡼⣿⣿⡽⣷⢿⣯⢷⣻⢾⡽⣯⣷⢿⣻⣷⣻⡿⣿⡟⠁⠀⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣽⡿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⡈⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡷⣯⣿⡽⣟⣿⣻⣽⢿⣯⣷⢿⣯⣟⣯⣿⣟⣷⣿⣻⣿⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢳⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⡳⣝⢮⡝⣧⣛⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⣻⣿⣽⣯⢿⣞⡿⣽⢯⣟⡷⣿⣻⣟⣾⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⡾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⢿⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠀⠀⠀⠲⠄⠼⢀⡋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⢿⣽⡾⣟⣿⡽⣯⣿⢿⣾⣽⣿⢾⣯⣿⣾⢯⣷⢿⣽⣿⣿⣮⣳⣙⢮⡳⣝⢮⣏⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⠷⣭⢳⡝⣮⡝⣶⡹⣞⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⣽⣿⣿⣽⢿⣞⡿⣯⣿⢾⡿⣽⣷⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⡿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⡿⣿⣿⣥⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠆⠀⣴⠐⠒⠂⢤⠉⣆⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣻⢾⣽⡿⣽⣻⣟⣾⢿⣳⣿⣾⢿⣯⣷⣿⣻⣽⢿⡿⣿⠇⠈⠉⠻⢾⣷⣽⢺⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⢻⣜⡻⣜⢧⣛⢶⡹⢶⣙⢮⣷⣝⣮⣷⣽⠾⠿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣯⢿⣻⣽⡾⣿⣽⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⡿⣯⣿⣻⣽⣾⣿⣻⣿⢿⣻⣷⡿⣯⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣄⠰⡇⢀⣖⠀⣘⣠⠏⡰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣽⣻⢾⣟⡿⣽⣯⢿⣻⣟⣾⡽⣿⣳⡿⣞⣯⣿⣻⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡗⣯⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢶⡹⣎⢷⡹⢮⡝⣧⢏⡞⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣯⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⢿⣽⣿⣻⣽⣿⣳⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠬⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⢾⣽⣻⣞⡿⣟⣾⢿⣯⢿⣽⣟⣿⡽⣟⣿⣽⣾⣟⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⡹⢞⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡝⣧⢻⡜⣯⢞⣽⣿⢿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣽⣿⢿⣾⣿⢿⣻⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⣶⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣻⣞⡷⣯⣿⢿⣽⡿⣾⣟⡿⣾⢯⣿⢿⣽⣾⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⣶⣿⣿⢧⡻⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢏⡞⣿⣿⣻⣿⣷⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣽⣾⣿⡿⣷⣿⣿⣾⡿⣿⣾⣿⣻⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣷⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣳⢯⣟⡷⣯⣿⣳⣿⣻⣾⣟⣿⣻⣽⣿⣳⡿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⢎⡷⢭⡞⣵⢫⡞⣵⢫⡞⣵⢫⡞⣵⢫⡞⡽⣜⢧⡻⣜⢮⡽⣹⣿⡿⣽⣻⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣷⣿⡿⣿⣻⣽⣿⣿⢿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤ ⣿⣽⣻⢾⣟⣿⣳⣿⣳⣿⣳⣯⣿⡽⣷⢯⡿⣽⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⢫⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢣⡟⣵⢫⡞⣵⢫⡞⣵⠳⣿⣿⡿⣽⡿⣽⣷⣿⣻⡿⣿⣿⢿⣷⣿⣯⣿⣿⣻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⢾⣽⣻⣟⣾⣯⣷⢿⣳⣿⣳⣯⢿⣻⢯⣟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣯⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⠽⣹⣿⣿⣯⣿⢿⣽⣾⣟⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⢿⣾⣽⣯⡷⣟⣾⣟⣯⣷⣿⢯⣿⡽⣿⢾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⢭⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡝⣧⣿⣿⣿⣽⡿⣯⣷⣿⣯⣿⣿⢿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

𓇢𓆸✮ִ ࣪𖤐✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ꕥ𓆸

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣾⠿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣾⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿⡿⢿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠈⢻⡦⡀⠉⠙⠛⠻⠿⣶⣦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣾⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠀⢀⣬⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡟⠋⠁⣀⡤⢿⡽⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⢷⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣄⣀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⢯⡀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣶⣾⣥⣾⣉⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠿⣶⣤⣠⣴⣶⡿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⡿⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠾⣢⣄⣠⣶⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⣶⣶⣦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣾⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⣿⣿⡶⠷⠾⢿⣯⣁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠾⠟⠛⠛⠛⠻⢶⣦⣀⠀⣤⣴⣶⠶⠶⠾⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣶⣤⡀⠀⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⡀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣧⡾⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠿⠿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⣿⡆⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣀⠸⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡶⢶⣶⣶⣴⣶⣶⠶⠿⣿⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⢸⣧⡴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠈⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣀⡤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣴⣿⠶⠞⠛⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠈⠉⠻⣿⡷⠶⠶⠶⠶⠴⠆⠀⠀⢸⣿⢀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣾⠋⠉⠉⠁⠛⠷⢦⣀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠇⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⡟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢩⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⠛⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⢸⣿⣶⡿⠟⠉⢠⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠿⢶⣶⣤⣤⣿⠀⠀⠘⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠙⠫⠽⠶⢶⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣿⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣠⠀⠀⢠⣤⠀⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣿⠿⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⣿⠀⠀⢸⣹⠀⢸⡇⢀⣠⠴⣺⡙⢦⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣷⣦⣄⡀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣤⡀⠀⠀⣾⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠘⢿⠿⠟⠛⠉⢹⣿⣿⡇⠈⣿⣄⠀⣼⡽⠀⢸⣿⠹⣌⡳⢥⡛⣴⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⢀⣠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⡏⠉⠛⠛⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣦⣄⣻⡇⠙⠿⣦⣤⣀⣿⠃⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⠀⠈⠒⠛⠚⢁⣠⣾⡿⡱⢎⡵⢣⠳⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣻⣧⣦⣤⣤⣿⡟⠃⠀⠾⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⡛⠛⢛⠛⠛⢛⡙⠉⠋⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⡇⠀⣀⡤⢖⠾⣙⢆⣿⡷⣙⠮⣜⢣⢏⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡲⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠄⠘⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⡼⠁⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠉⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣜⣁⣠⣎⣀⣠⣮⣤⣤⣤⣾⣿⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣗⢫⡕⢮⡙⢮⡱⢎⣿⡷⣩⠞⣬⢓⣾⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡱⢣⢞⣩⢛⠖⡦⣤⠔⠊⣁⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢠⠿⠶⣾⠷⠶⣾⠷⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣻⠛⢛⡿⠉⢩⡿⠉⠉⠉⠉⣿⠋⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⢎⡵⢊⢧⡙⡦⣝⢺⣿⣙⢦⡛⣴⣫⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡱⣋⠶⣡⢏⡾⠋⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠊⠀⠐⠇⠀⠰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠚⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⡯⣎⠼⣩⢖⡹⢲⡍⢾⣿⣜⣦⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡱⣍⠶⣱⠋⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠘⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡇⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⣬⢓⣿⣌⢳⢣⠞⣿⡿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣗⡬⣹⠁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠹⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⠀⢀⡿⠀⠀⠀⣀⣰⣿⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡱⢎⣳⡿⣌⢧⣋⢾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⡇⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢹⡻⡿⣿⣶⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣶⣛⣡⣤⣶⣿⠿⣿⡟⠉⢠⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢛⣿⣿⣿⢳⡙⣮⣿⡗⣎⠶⣩⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠀⠀⠀⠁⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠘⡿⠿⢿⡿⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣀⣈⣙⣛⣋⣠⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⢛⠿⣙⠧⣎⣳⣿⠀⠀⠘⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⢏⢧⣹⡿⣿⣟⣼⣾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣻⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⣰⣿⠻⠿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⡛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣛⠭⣟⢿⣿⠉⠛⠻⠿⣷⣭⣞⣰⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⢿⣛⢯⢚⣶⡿⠁⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋⣤⣶⣾⣟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣔⣾⣿⣿⡷⢌⡳⣬⣿⣿⣯⡱⢫⡜⡳⢜⣾⡿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠈⠙⠻⣿⣯⣴⣶⣾⡿⢿⡛⣏⢳⣌⣷⣼⣾⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠁⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⣿⡇⠸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠿⣟⢫⡍⠿⣿⣷⣼⣥⣻⣿⢳⡱⣋⡿⢿⣦⡀⣼⣟⣯⣝⣵⣮⣼⣷⣿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⠀⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⠛⢯⡥⢛⡬⣓⡜⡳⢦⢭⣿⣿⣿⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⢻⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠘⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠙⠳⠶⠓⠚⠋⠉⣸⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠛⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Hi! I hope you're having a great day! friendly(づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡ Here is an OREO Mug Cake recipe! 1) Get some Oreos, as many as you want! 2) Get a cup/mug that is safe for you to put in the microwave (Like porcelain for example!) 3) Crush up your Oreos, make it really crushed up that it looks like dirt 4) Put your Oreos in your mug and add some milk! 5) Stir it in REALLY REALLY REALLY and I mean REALLY make sure it's crushed up and that there are no big chunks 6) After that, pop it in the microwave for about one minute or until it looks like your Oreo Mug Cake is ready 6) OPTIONAL! You can add some Oreo crumbs, or maybe some chocolate chips! Whatever you prefer 7) Get a spoon and enjoy! yum(っ˘ڡ˘ς) I'm not promising you that it will work, but it did for me! As soon as I try any recipes at actually work, I will post them here! Not saying that I will post often because I'm not much of a cook or baker! Anyways, have a great day and enjoy! 🤗

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

Hibiscus ⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𓇢𓆸

Flower𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

˚ ༘ ⋆🍪｡˚☆ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡

‎𐂐◯𓇋٩(,,ˊᗜ`,,*)و ‎<(Yummi!! )

christmas,presents,stars,cookies,°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⠶⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣧⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⣶⣿⡇⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠷⠶⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⡹⣷⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠿⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⡉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠶⢦⣄⣠⣤⡤⠴⠶⠟⠋⠁⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡏⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠲⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣼⡇⠀⢿⣶⣄⣤⣴⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢟⣭⣶⣶⣽⣿⣄⠈⢿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡷⠦⣿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠈⠛⠶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡇⠀⠀⢻⣍⡛⠛⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⣤⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⠀⠻⠿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⢉⣾⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠛⢁⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠻⢿⣍⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠈⠻⠶⠦⠤⠶⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠾⠉⠙⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⣰⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡴⠶⠚⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣈⠉⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣽⠛⠉⠉⠉⢉⣧⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣩⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⢠⡟⢀⡞⠛⠋⠉⣏⢣⡀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⠀⠀⢀⡿⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⣿⢀⡿⠁⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢧⡆⠹⢄⢸⡆⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⢺⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣤⣤⠶⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⢹⡟⠁⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻⠀⡸⠃⢻⣤⣾⠋⠁⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠈⠁⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣀⠙⠻⠿⢿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠻⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⢷⣶⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡴⠟⢻⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠛⠻⠿⠿⠛⣿⠏⠉⠉⢡⣿⠿⣿⡗⠲⠶⠶⠶⢲⣶⠿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⣿⣀⣠⣴⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠛⠟⠛⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍪 ⋅ ☆୧ ‧₊˚ 🍪 ⋅ ☆‧₊˚ 🍪 ⋅ ☆

⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—-`♡´-˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—

🌸

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 18 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip's screen flickers with determination. He'll learn. He'll do better. He'll show Plankton that he's not just a clueless kid. He's his son, and he cares. He'll be the support Plankton needs, even if it means changing everything he thought he knew. He'll read about autism, he'll watch videos, he'll listen to podcasts. He'll become an expert on his dad's condition. He'll find a way to bridge the gap between them, to understand what Plankton's really going through. So he went to his room but a disturbing sight awaited him. The photos of him and his dad have been torn where Plankton cut himself out of each picture of him and Chip. The science projects they've worked on are in the trash bin. Past Father's Day cards, crumpled into balls. It's like Plankton's trying to erase his existence from their shared memories of father and son. Chip sees Plankton in his parents bedroom on his bed. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his screen flickering with hope. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he doesn't turn to look at his son. The room is filled with a heavy silence, the weight of their last conversation pressing down on them. "Dad, I found some articles," Chip says, holding up his device. "They're about autism, and how to be there for someone who's going through what you are." His voice is tentative, his screen reflecting his fear of rejection. Plankton's antennae droop, his body tense. He's been in his room for hours, the door shut tight. The only light comes from the crack under the door, spilling into the hallway where Chip stands, his heart racing. He's read every word, every article, every story, desperate to find a way back in, to fix what he's broken. But Plankton's silence is a wall, a barrier he doesn't know how to cross. "I'll be different," Chip says, his voice cracking. "I'll learn." He takes a step forward. "I'll do anything." Plankton doesn't move. Chip's heart sinks. He tries again. "I brought some stuff for your sensory box. Maybe it'll help." The silence stretches on, each second a chasm between them. Chip's screen is a canvas of hope and despair, his mind whirling with all the ways he could have handled this better. He takes another step, his hand outstretched, holding the treasures he's collected. "I got some new putty, and a fidget cube," he says, his voice shaking. "And... and some of your favorite gummy worms." Plankton's antennae quiver, just a little, but he doesn't turn. Chip's heart leaps, then plunges again. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, the words tumbling out. "I didn't mean to hurt you." The silence stretches, a tightrope that Chip is desperate to cross. He holds out the fidget cube, his hand shaking. "Remember how this helped before?" he asks, his voice tentative. "I just want you to feel better." But Plankton's back remains to him, a wall of disappointment. "Dad," Chip whispers, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'll do whatever it takes. I know I can't change the past. Please." Plankton's antennae twitch, the only sign he's heard. But he still doesn't turn. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. He's seen his dad like this before, but it's never felt so final. "I brought your headphones," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the noise. To help." His hand trembles as he holds them out. "Please, Dad, take them." Plankton's body shifts slightly, but his antennae stay still. Chip's heart aches. He's never felt so small, so powerless. "Dad, I know I messed up," Chip continues, his voice cracking. "But I'm trying to fix it. I want to learn." He takes a deep breath, his chest tight with emotion. "I'll do better. I promise." The silence is a gaping wound between them, each second a stitch that won't hold. He steps closer, his hand extended. "Just tell me what you need. Anything." But Plankton remains still, his antennae drooping with the weight of his emotions. Chip's heart races, his screen flashing with fear and regret. He can't stand the thought of his father going through this alone. "Dad, please," he says, his voice thick. "I'm sorry for not understanding. For making fun without realizing." His hand holding the headphones shakes more. "But I do now. I'll be better." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he says nothing. Chip's eyes well up with tears, his screen a blur of emotions. He's never felt so alone, so misunderstood. "Dad," he says, his voice thick with desperation. "I know you're hurting. But so am I." Plankton's body remains still, his back a wall against his son's words. Chip's hand, holding the headphones, drops to his side. "Please," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Let me help you." The silence in the room is deafening, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip can feel his father's pain, his anger, his hurt. But Plankton's silence is a fortress, an impenetrable barrier that Chip can't seem to breach. He swallows hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I love you, Dad," he says, his voice barely audible. "And I'll always be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitch again, but he doesn't turn. Chip's heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces. He's never seen his dad like this, so closed off. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "I know I hurt you. I'm sorry. But please, let me in." His hand holds out the headphones, his screen reflecting the desperation in his eyes. "We can get through this together." But Plankton's back remains a wall. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his screen flickering with the pain of rejection. He tries again, his voice trembling. "I won't give up on you," he says. "I'll learn. I'll change. I'll do whatever it takes." He takes a step closer. But Plankton remains unmoving, his antennae drooping. Chip's heart feels like it's breaking. "I'm here, Dad," he whispers. "I'm right here." The silence is a chasm, each second a step further apart. He takes another step, his hand still outstretched. "Dad," he says, his voice a plea. "You don't have to go through this alone." Plankton's antennae twitch, a tiny movement that gives Chip just a glimmer of hope. "We can learn together," he says, his voice stronger now. "We can figure this out." The room feels like it's closing in around them, the air thick with the weight of Plankton's silence. But Chip refuses to give up. He knows his father is in there, behind the wall of anger and hurt. He can't let him go. "Dad," he says, his voice steady. "I know you're in pain. But I'm not leaving." Chip says, sitting on the bed.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 8 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! By the next week, Plankton's completely recovered from the wisdom teeth ordeal. And Chip's now ready to attend the new school. The first day of school is a flurry of nerves and excitement. Chip puts on his best smile, his backpack bulging with supplies. Plankton's in the kitchen, his usual self, rambling about his latest invention. Karen's voice floats from the hallway. "Remember, Chip. If you see someone who's different, don't stare or make fun. Just be kind." Chip nods before heading out the door. At school, Chip notices a boy in his class, Timmy, who flaps his hands and makes noises during storytime. Chip feels a pang of recognition—his dad does that too when he's excited. He watches as Timmy's classmates giggle, whispering behind their hands. Chip's heart squeezes with a mix of empathy and sorrow. He approaches Timmy at lunch. "Hi," he says, his voice tentative. Timmy looks up, his eyes wide. "You're new," Timmy says, his voice high-pitched. "Yes," Chip replies with a small smile. "My name's Chip." Timmy bobs his head, his hands still moving. "What's wrong with your hands?" Chip asks, his voice soft. Timmy looks down, his cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Chip adds quickly. But Timmy smiles, showing a gap in his teeth. "It's okay," he says. "I have autism." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing back to his dad's stims. "It's just how I show I'm happy." Timmy's words resonate with Chip, and he feels a sudden connection. "My dad has autism too," he confides. Timmy's eyes light up. "Really?" He asks, his movements ceasing for a moment. "Yeah," Chip says, taking a seat next to Timmy. "Sometimes it's hard, but he's pretty cool. But it's also really tough for him." Timmy nods, his hands resuming their gentle flapping. "It's not easy," he says. "But us autistics are like superheroes, you know? Our brains just work a bit differently." Chip can't help but smile at the analogy. "Yeah," he says, "like you guys have special powers." Timmy's face lights up. "Exactly!" He exclaims. "And sometimes, our powers can be really helpful. Like, I'm really good at math and remembering stuff." He beams with pride. Chip feels a twinge of understanding, remembering his dad's obsession with the Krabby Patty formula. "My dad's good at inventions," he says. "But sometimes, his brain can get really, really overwhelmed." Timmy nods. "Some days, my head does too," he says. The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Chip and Timmy quickly exchange numbers, promising to talk more. As Chip heads to his next class, his mind is a whirlwind. He's always known his dad was different, but seeing someone his age with the same challenges brings a new perspective. In the classroom, he can't concentrate. Plankton's words echo in his mind: "I'm not enough. I'll never be enough." He feels guilty for his earlier frustrations, for not understanding the depth of his dad's struggle. During recess, Chip finds Timmy alone. Timmy's eyes scan the playground, his hands still. "You okay?" Chip asks. Timmy looks up. "Yes. Hey you know what helps me?" Timmy asks, his voice hopeful. "I make fun of my autism, like it's a superpower. It makes me feel better when people laugh with me." Chip looks confused. "How do you mean?" Timmy grins. "I pretend my flapping hands are like wings, or my loud noises are like sonic booms. It makes the other kids laugh, and it helps me feel like I made them happy. And one called me 'Stimmy' instead of 'Timmy' which is okay, because it's a part of me! I also like it when people ask me about it. It makes me feel seen. Make it like a game, or something.." Timmy says. Chip thinks about this, his heart racing. He's never considered turning his dad's stims into something fun or cool. It's always been a thing to just ignore. But now, seeing Timmy's joy, he wonders if maybe there's another way. He makes a mental note to ask his dad about his favorite superheroes, thinking maybe they can find a way to make his stims more like superpowers. Timmy smiles. "For my birthday I got this book.. I've another copy!" Timmy says, interrupting himself as he gives Chip a book. "It's a fictional story about a guy like me, but he's got superpowers because of his autism. Maybe your dad will like it." Chip looks at the book titled "AUSOME AUsomeness" and smiles, his curiosity piqued. "Thanks, Timmy," he says, tucking it into his bag. "I'll show it to him." Timmy nods, his eyes bright with excitement. "You know, sometimes when I feel sad or overwhelmed, I just pretend I'm that hero. It helps me." Chip nods, his mind racing with ideas. He's never seen autism as a superpower before. Could this be a way to help his dad feel more like the hero he's always been to him? When Chip gets home, he finds Plankton in the living room. He sets his bag down by the couch as he greets his dad, and Karen, who's in the kitchen. "Hi, Mom; Hi, Dad!" Plankton's eye lights up at the sight of him. "How was school?" He asks, curious as to how Chip's first day went. "It was ok," Chip says, his mind still racing with thoughts of Timmy and his own father's autism. "I met a kid like you, Dad." Plankton's face falls slightly. "What do you mean?" He asks. "I mean," Chip starts, his voice shaky. "He had what you... I'll just show you the book!" He pulls out "AUSOME AUsomeness" from his bag, handing it to Plankton with excitement. Plankton looks at the cover, his eye narrowing as he opens it. "See, Dad?" Chip says, pointing to a part where the character uses his hand flapping to take flight. "It's like you w---" But Plankton's face is a mask of anger and hurt. "What's wrong?" Chip asks, his heart racing. Plankton slams the book shut. "Don't you dare," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't you dare patronize me, Chip." He stands up, his hands shaking. "I'm not some comic book character to be made fun of or turned into a joke!" His voice echoes through the house, the pain in it palpable. Karen rushes in, alarmed by the sudden outburst. "Plankton, what's wrong?" She asks, her eyes darting between the two. "This," Plankton says, waving the book. "This is what you think of me?" The anger in his voice is sharp. "How could you, Chip?" He asks, his voice trembling. "How could you think I'd want to be seen like some unrealistically childish hero?" The room is tense, the air thick with emotions. Karen's eyes dart between her husband and son, trying to gauge the situation. Chip's face falls, the joy from his new friendship with Timmy dissipating. Timmy's autistic and loved it, so why doesn't Chip's autistic father.. "I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice small. "I just thought...it might help." But Plankton's anger doesn't waver. "You thought turning me into a caricature would make it better?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you think of me?" Chip's eyes fill with tears as he watches his dad's pain unfold. "Dad, I don't underst--" "No," Plankton cuts him off. "You DON'T understand. You think it's fun to play pretend with something that's a daily struggle for me?" His voice breaks. "You think making it a game will just make it go away?" He throws the book across the room, where it hits the wall with a thud. Chip's eyes follow the book, his heart sinking. He didn't mean to make his dad feel this way. "But a new friend of mine said--" "I don't care what some stranger said!" Plankton interrupts, his voice rising. "This is my life, Chip! My struggle!" His hands are shaking as he clutches the back of the couch. Karen steps in. "Let's talk this out," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We're all on the sa-" "No!" Plankton snaps, cutting her off. He turns to Chip, his eye boring into his son's. "You think my autism is a game? You think I can just pretend it's a superpower and poof, everything's fine?" His voice cracks with each word. "You don't get it. You don't get what it's like to have a brain that fights you every second of every day." His hands are in fists now, his knuckles white. Chip feels like he's been punched in the gut. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to...I don't know, make it better. Make you feel...happy." Plankton sits back down, his shoulders slumped. "Happy?" Plankton repeats. "You think making a joke out of it makes me happy?" Chip feels like he's walking on eggshells. "No, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just...wanted to share something that made us feel better." He looks down at his own hands, which are now trembling. "I just want you to be happy too."

⊹ ࣪ ˖

✰ ✰ ✰∘˙○˚.•

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 16 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The room feels smaller, the air thicker with tension. Chip's eyes are wide, his screen reflecting his father's distress. "What did I do?" he squeals, trying to help. But Plankton's body can't take the loudness anymore. Karen's screens flicker with desperation. She puts her hand on Chip's shoulder, her eyes pleading. "Chip," she says, her voice urgent. "You need to lower your voice." But Chip's screen is a blur of confusion and hurt. He doesn't understand. "Why?" he asks, his voice still too loud. Plankton can't move, gasping for breath. The room seems to spin around Plankton. His antennae vibrate with fear, his body on the edge of a meltdown. The noise, the suddenness of it, it's too much. He can't escape. And then his body betrays him. He feels the world shrink, his vision tunneling down until all that remains is Chip's face. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice too loud, too close. His body seizes up. Plankton's mind fights to regain control, his eyes dilating. "Need... quiet," he gasps out, his voice barely a whisper. The words hang in the air, a plea for sanctuary. But Chip's screen is a chaotic storm of emotions, not understanding. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice shaking. But Plankton can't hear the words, only the deafening volume. With a strangled cry, Plankton's body goes rigid. His eye rolls back as the shutdown takes. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice high and panicked. He reaches out, but Karen stops his hand freezes mid-air. She's seen this before, the sudden loss of control, the way her husband's body can just... give out. Her screens flicker with a mix of sadness and resolve. "Chip, back up," she says firmly. "Give your dad some space." Chip's face falls, but he does as he's told. He steps back, his hands shaking. Karen's seen Plankton like this before, but it never gets easier. Another shutdown, another moment where she's forced to be the rock in the storm. "Is he okay?" Chip asks, his voice trembling. Karen's eyes are on Plankton, his body now limp on the couch. "It's okay," she says, her voice calm. "It's his brain's way of shutting down." She takes a deep breath. "We just have to wait it out." Chip's screen flickers with fear. "What do we do?" he asks, his voice high-pitched. Karen's screens light up with instructions. "Let him be," she says. "He needs quiet, no sudden movements. It'll pass." They sit in silence, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside, a stark contrast to the chaos that was just in the room. Chip watches his father, his mind racing. He didn't understand. He just wanted to be close, to help. Yet Plankton is still, his mouth slightly open, his eye still rolled back in his head. "Plankton, love," Karen says, her voice gentle. "Come back to us." Her hand moves to his cheek, her touch feather-light. Chip watches, his heart racing. "What's happening?" he whispers. Karen's eyes never leave her husband. "It's a shutdown," she says, her voice steady. "It's like his body's turned off, but he's still in there." Her screens flicker with experience. "It's his brain's way of protecting itself." Plankton's antennae are still, his body unmoving. Karen speaks to him in a gentle lullaby, her voice a soothing balm. "Come back to us, love," she murmurs. "We're here, we love you." Chip's eyes are wide with fear, but he remains silent, listening to his mother's calm words. "Remember, Chip," she says, not breaking the rhythm of her voice. "Patience is key." Her screens flicker with reassurance. "It might take a few minutes, but he'll come back to us." Chip nods. The room is quiet, the air heavy with unspoken words. Karen's screens dim with sadness, but she keeps her voice steady. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her hand stroking his antennae lightly. "You're safe." Her words are a beacon in the stillness, a gentle reminder that they're there, ready to support him when he's ready. Chip's screen shows his mind racing, trying to grasp the complexities of his father's condition. Plankton remains unresponsive, his body a silent testament to the storm inside him. Karen keeps her voice soft, her eyes never leaving his. "We're here," she says, her voice a promise. "I'm here. Chip's here. We're not going anywhere." She continues to whisper, her words a gentle breeze in the quiet room. Chip's screen flickers with fear as he watches his dad. "Dad?" he says, his voice barely a whisper. But Plankton doesn't stir, his body a statue. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's face, her voice a soothing melody. "It's okay," she says, her words a soft caress. "You're safe. We're here." Her screens are a picture of serene patience, her hand still gently stroking his antennae. "Chip, talk to him," she whispers, nodding towards the unresponsive body. Chip's eyes widen, his voice trembling. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry." His words hang in the air, each syllable a thread of hope. He's watched his mother's gentle touch, her calm demeanor, and tries to mimic it. His hand reaches out tentatively, his screen reflecting his fear of causing more harm. He touches Plankton's shoulder, his fingertips light as a feather. Karen's eyes never leave her husband, her voice a soft whisper. "It's okay, Plankton," she repeats. "We're here." Her hands move in a slow, rhythmic motion, a silent lullaby for his soul. Chip's hand joins hers, his movements tentative, seeking guidance. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his mind racing with questions and regret. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body unmoving. Karen's screens flicker with hope, her voice steady. "You're okay," she says, her voice like a gentle stream. "You're safe." Chip's screen reflects his mother's calm, his voice matching her tone. "Dad, can you hear me?" Then, ever so slowly, Plankton's antennae start to move, his body shifting. He blinks, his eye focusing on his wife and son. "What... happened?" he murmurs, his voice weak. He sees Chip's hand on his shoulder. Karen's screens light up with relief. "You had a shutdown, sweetie," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "But you're okay now."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 5 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Karen sits on the bed, her presence a comforting weight. "Would you like me to stay?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, his body still tight with pain. He closes his eye, his mind racing with the discomfort. He tries to focus on his breath, in and out, in and out. But the throb in his mouth is a constant reminder of agony that threatens to overwhelm. Then, Plankton starts to talk to himself to self-soothe. "It's safe," he whispers. "Can water's just fine." Karen watches him, knowing this is a way of regaining control, his mind trying to find peace in order to rest. She knows that the pain, the sensory assault, the confusion—it's all too much. But she also knows that he has the willpower to push through. "Was do it" Plankton whispers to himself. "I told him but he didn't listen," he murmurs, his thoughts racing with the memory of the fidget toy. "It's my fault," he adds. "Not my place to correct him, do not touch." His words are a jumble of regret and frustration. "It's okay," Plankton says again. "The healing safe. It's just a feeling." He repeats this mantra, his breath evening out. Karen can see the tension in his shoulders easing, his grip on the ice pack loosening as his body relaxes. "You're doing great," Karen whispers. "Just rest." And with that, Plankton's body gives in to the call of sleep, his breaths trailing off into soft snores. Karen watches her husband with a mix of love and sadness. Chip lingers by the door, his curiosity piqued. He wonders if his dad's autism is the reason behind it. With tentative steps, Chip enters the room. Karen takes his hand in hers, and he follows her out of the room and in to the hallway. "Mom," he starts, his voice barely a whisper. "Why is Dad autistic?" Karen looks down at him, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Chip," she says, her voice soft. "Your dad was born that way." Chip nods. "But w---" "Autism is something that develops in the brain before birth," Karen continues. "It's like how some people are right-handed and others are left-handed. It's just how his brain is wired." Chip looks at her with a frown. "But why did Dad...?" "Why did it happen?" Karen finishes his question. She takes a deep breath, preparing to explain. "You see, sometimes during pregnancy or childbirth, something small can change you. When his mom was giving birth, his brain might have gotten a little squeezed and then not enough oxygen. It's just the way his brain grew because of that, that's all." Chip nods slowly, trying to understand. "So as dad was being born..." "Yes," Karen says, her voice soothing. "His brain was forming its connections, and that little squeeze changed the way his brain makes those connections. It's like if you're building a Lego castle and one piece gets bent. It doesn't mean the castle can't be amazing, it's just a tiny part of it that's a bit different." Chip looks up at his mom, his eyes wide. "But does that mean I could be like Dad if I squ--" "No, Chip," she says, cutting off his words gently. "It's not that simple. Autism is just nothing you can catch or change, and it's not something you need to be afraid of." Chip nods, his gaze still fixed on her. "But why does he get so upset sometimes?" Karen sighs. "Because the world can be a very overwhelming place for him, Chip. His brain picks up on every little thing— sounds, smells, sights—it's all so intense. And sometimes, those things get too much, and his brain can't keep up. It's like when you're playing a video game and the screen is flashing too fast—it's hard to focus." "But why does he get mad?" Chip persists. Karen kneels down to look him in the eye. "It's not that he's mad, honey. It's just his way of dealing with it. Imagine if you had a headache and someone was shining a bright light in your face—you'd want them to stop, right? It's like that, but with anything." Chip nods, understanding dawning. "So, when the fidget was making noise, it was like a headache for Dad?" Karen smiles. "Exactly. And when he tells you something is too much, it's not that he's upset with you—it's his brain telling him he needs a break." Plankton's snores from the bedroom remind them of the present. "Let's let Dad rest," Karen says, steering Chip towards his own room. "But what about his teeth?" Chip asks, his voice laced with worry. Karen's smile is reassuring. "They'll feel better soon, and we'll have to be extra gentle with him. No loud noises, no surprises. Ok?" Chip nods. In the quiet of the living room, Karen and Chip begin to set up a recovery area for Plankton—a space free from the chaos that could easily overwhelm his fragile state. They gather his favorite pillows, a soft blanket, and dim the lights. Chip wants to make sure his dad feels safe. On the coffee table, they lay out a tray with a glass of water. Karen knows that it's important not to startle Plankton, that he might need help getting up without disturbing his mouth. "Let's go to see him." Karen says. As they enter the bedroom, Plankton's snores have subsided into a gentle rhythm. Chip tiptoes over, his eyes wide. He's seen his dad tired before, but this is different. He looks smaller, somehow, more vulnerable. Gently, he touches his dad's arm.. Plankton's eye snaps open, his body jerking upright. The movement sends a shock of pain through his mouth. "Agh!" he yelps, his hands shooting up to clutch his cheeks. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide with alarm. "Dad!" He says loudly. But now Plankton's even more overwhelmed, and Karen notices his somewhat distant gaze. "Chip, remember what we talked about," Karen whispers. "Use a quiet voice." Chip nods and speaks more softly. "Dad, are you ok?" Plankton blinks, his mind racing. "Dad?" Chip tries again, his voice barely a murmur. Plankton's breath hitches. "It's me, Chip! You're home. You had surgery. Remembe---" But Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind a swirling vortex of pain and disorientation as Chip talks to fast. Karen quickly moves to his side, her touch grounding him. "It's ok," she whispers. "You're safe. You're home." And then, he starts to talk to himself. "No...no...no...yes...yes...yes," he murmurs. Karen knows that he's retreated due to the overwhelm. It's happened before, where he's seemingly on autopilot. "Water's okay, can't talk right now," Plankton whispers to the empty space. His eye darts back to Chip, then to the ceiling. "No, no, no," he says again, his voice getting quieter. Karen's heart aches, seeing her husband so lost in his own head. She's seen this before—his autism taking control when the world was too much to handle. Chip however doesn't really understand. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye locked on the ceiling fan spinning above them. "It's ok," Karen says, her voice a soft reminder. "Sometimes his brain is on backup." She strokes his arm gently, knowing his semiconscious state isn't abnormal for him, as Plankton's monologue continues. "Need to count...one...two... three..." His voice trails off. Chip watches. "Is he ok?" He asks, his voice trembling. Karen nods. "This is his way of dealing with things," she whispers. "Let's just give him some time." Plankton's eye darts between them, his mouth forming words without thought. "Red...blue...green," he says, as if naming colors he's seeing in the air. "Big...small...far... near." Karen knows he's not really seeing anything, his mind a kaleidoscope of sensory input that's difficult to process. "Why?" Plankton asks no one in particular. "Will it be the one? It's just a feeling," he murmurs, trying to convince himself. Karen understands it's his brain's attempt to organize the overwhelming stimuli, but Chip looks on with a mix of concern and confusion. "It's ok," Chip whispers, his hand hovering over his dad's. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. Karen smiles at him, nodding. "You can talk to him, buddy. Just keep it low." Chip nods and sits on the edge of the bed. "Hey Dad," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's eye flips over to him, but he doesn't seem to see him. "It's me, Chip. We're here," Chip says, trying to provide comfort.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 9 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton stands up and storms off to the bedroom, his steps heavy. The door slams shut behind him, the finality of it echoing through the house. Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he sinks to the floor, feeling like he's failed his dad. Karen sighs. "Chip," she says, her voice soft as she sits beside him. "Your dad's just really sensitive about his autism." She takes his hand. "You have to remember, it's not just something he can turn on or off." Chip nods, feeling small. He didn't mean to upset his dad. He just wanted to help, like Timmy had helped him. He thinks back to their lunchtime chat, Timmy's hands flapping freely as he talked about his 'superpowers'. It had made his dad's stims seem less like a 'problem' and more like something unique, something to celebrate. But now, Chip isn't so sure. He looks up at Karen, his eyes wet. "But Mom," he says, his voice cracking. "Today at school, I met a kid named Timmy. He said he's autistic, and gave me this book. He said this book makes him feel like a superhero. He told me the book made him feel seen, understood." Karen nods, listening intently as Chip speaks. "And I thought...maybe it could help Dad feel the same way," Chip continues, his voice trailing off. Karen's gaze softens. "You had good intentions, Chip," she says, squeezing his hand. "But everyone's different, even those with autism. What might help one person might not be the same for another. It's like a fingerprint—each one is unique." "But Timmy said it helps him," Chip argues, his voice small. Karen nods. "And that's wonderful for Timmy," she says. "But your dad's experience is his own. He's not as comfortable with it as Timmy might be. Autism is like a mosaic, Chip. Each piece is different, and they all come together to make a unique picture." She pauses, searching his eyes. "You can't always assume what works for one will work for another." Chip wipes his screen with the back of his hand, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn't mean to make his dad feel worse. He just wanted to share something positive. "What do we do?" He asks, his voice cracking. Karen takes a deep breath. "We need to talk to him," she says. "We need to tell him that we love him exactly as he is, without conditions." She stands. They approach the bedroom door, Karen's hand on the knob. "But remember," she whispers to Chip. "He's fragile right now. We have to be gentle." They step inside, the room dimly lit. Plankton's lying on the bed, his back to them, his body still. Chip's heart squeezes. This isn't the invincible scientist he's always known. This is his dad, a man who's been hurt by misunderstanding. Karen clears her throat. "Plankton, we need to talk." Plankton doesn't move. "I'm sorry, Karen," he says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just don't have the energy for this right now." Chip's heart aches. He's never seen his dad so defeated. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "Dad," he starts, his voice soft. "I'm sorry." Plankton's body tenses but doesn't turn around. "I didn't mean to make fun of you or make light of your autism. I just wanted to show you that someone else out there is just li—" "I don't want to be like someone else," Plankton says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just want to be me." Chip swallows hard, his eyes prickling with tears. "But Dad," he says, "you are like someone else. You're like my new friend. His name's Timmy, an-" "I don't know or care WHO Timmy is," Plankton cuts in, his voice sharp. "I'm Plankton." He rolls over to face them, his eye red. "I'm not a kid playing pretend. I'm a grown man trying to navigate a world that's always two steps ahead of me." Chip feels his heart crack. He'd never thought of it that way. "But what if you could see it as a strength?" He asks, his voice hopeful. "What if instead of trying to keep up, you could be the one setting the p-" "Setting the pace?" Plankton's voice is bitter. "How can I set the pace when I can't even keep up?" His words hang in the air, each one a sharp reminder of his daily battles. Chip feels his throat constrict. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking. "I just wanted to help, like, you see my friend Tim-" "I don't need to be compared to a child's book! And what does 'Timmy' have to do wi-" "It's not just a book, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "It's about understanding that autism isn't a flaw or a joke, it's just...part of who you are. And Timmy, he's like a superhero because he's found a way to turn his challenge into strengths, on account of he has autis–" But Plankton cuts him off with a sharp laugh. "A strength?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "What strength? My inability to not get overwhelmed by sounds and lights? My inability to read people's faces?" He sits up, his frustration palpable. "Don't you get it, Chip? This isn't something I can just 'turn on' or 'turn off'. It's my reality, my every day. And Timmy...Timmy might be fine with playing games about his, but I'm NOT." His voice is heavy with pain. Chip's heart feels like it's in his throat. He's never seen his dad like this, so raw and exposed. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Plankton's words hang in the air like a challenge, demanding to be heard. "Dad," he finally says, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry if I made it seem like a joke. I just...I just wanted to show you that you're not alone." He holds up the book, his hands shaking. "Timmy's not alone either. And neither are you." He takes a deep breath. "Maybe we could find our own way to make your autism feel like a su—" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his small frame trembling with frustration. "I don't need your pity, Chip," he says, his voice sharp. "I need you to understand that this isn't some game. This is my life!" With a sudden burst of strength, Plankton snatches the book from Chip's hands. Chip's eyes widen in shock, watching his dad's anger manifest physically as he tears the pages one by one. "This is not who I am!" Plankton says, his voice shaking with each ripping sound. "I'm not a character for you to relate to or feel good about!" Karen stands there, frozen, her hand covering her mouth in shock as Plankton throws the book across the room. The silence that follows is deafening. Chip's screen is wet with tears, his chest tight. He's never seen his dad this way before— so raw and so hurt. He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "Dad, I--" But Plankton holds up his hand. "Just...just go," he says, his voice hoarse. Chip picks up the torn book on his way out.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 15 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The contents are a treasure trove of textures and sounds: fidget toys, a squishy ball, a piece of fabric with different patterns. Chip reaches out to touch. "Can I try?" Plankton's antennae still, his eye watching Chip intently. "Careful," Karen warns, her voice a gentle reminder of the importance of respect. Chip picks up a smooth stone, turning it over in his hand. "This toy helps him calm down?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder. Karen nods. "Whenever his mind gets too crowded, he holds onto it, feels its coolness." "Mom, like this?" Chip says. "Just like that," she smiles. But Chip's curiosity gets the better of him. He starts to juggle the sensory items, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Look, Dad, I'm just like you!" he says, trying to relate. "I'm autistic too! Tick tick.." Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye wide with shock and hurt as he then abruptly leaves the room without a single word, slamming the door hard, his eye welling up with tears. Karen sighs, her screen filling with disappointment. Chip looks up, his screen reflecting confusion. "Chip," she says gently, "What you just did was not okay." Karen's eyes are on him, her expression a mix of concern and anger. "What you just did," she says, her voice firm, "is called bullying." Chip's screen flickers with shock. "What?" he asks. "You used your dad's autism as a joke," Karen says, her voice tight with frustration. "It's not funny, Chip." He looks down at his hands, his mind racing. "But I just wanted to be like him," he whispers, his voice small. "I didn't mean to hurt him, I wanted to relate, to make him smile.." Karen's screens dim, her heart aching for her son. "I know," she says, her voice soft. "But sometimes, our intentions don't match our actions." She pauses. "Do you know how that felt for him?" "No," he murmurs, eyes on the closed door. "I just..." But Karen's expression is unyielding. "You need to think about others, Chip. Especially those who can't always tell you how they feel." She sighs. "You're his son. You need to support him, not mock him." Her words are a gentle scolding, a lesson in empathy. Chip's shoulders slump, his screen reflecting his guilt. He looks at the closed door, his mind racing with regret. He didn't mean to hurt his dad. He just wanted to understand. Karen's voice is a gentle guide. "Chip, autism isn't a game or a trick to mimic. What you did was hurtful, even if you didn't mean it." Chip's eyes are on the closed door, his mind racing. "But I just wanted to..." his voice trails off. Karen's screens light up with patience. "I know, love," she says. "Yet we all make mistakes. It's how we learn from them that counts." Chip nods, his heart heavy. He didn't mean to bully his dad, but now he sees the error of his ways. "How do I fix it?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen sighs, her eyes on the closed door. "First," she says, "you need to understand that his feelings are real, even if you don't see them the same way." Chip nods, his screen reflecting his newfound understanding. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice earnest. "I didn't mean to..." Karen's screens dim, her heart full of compassion. "I know," she says, her hand on his shoulder. "But we all learn. The important thing is to do better next time." Karen says, going out into the living room to check on Plankton. Plankton is sitting on the couch, his antennae drooped, his body still. He's staring into space, his usual bubbly demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Plankton?" she calls out softly. He doesn't move. She approaches, her movements deliberate and slow, not wanting to startle him. "Plankton, honey," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Are you okay?" He doesn't respond, his eye fixed on a spot on the wall. Karen sighs, her screens reflecting a mix of concern and understanding. This isn't the first time he's retreated like this. She knows his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, his senses overwhelmed by the world around him. "Plankton?" Her voice is a soft touch, trying to break through his isolation. She sits beside her husband. His antennae twitch, a tiny sign that he's heard her. "I'm here," she says, her hand on his back. "Do you want to talk about it?" Plankton's eye flickers to her, his antennae still drooped. He's silent, his mouth a tight line. Karen knows this look. It's the look of someone trying to find words that won't come. "You don't have to," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "But I'm here." He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. "Chip," he finally says, his voice strained. "I don't know how to explain it." Karen nods, her screens flickering with empathy. "It's okay," she says. "You don't have to." But Plankton's eye is on the floor, his gaze unfocused. "Chip, tick tick..." He starts again, his voice cracking. Karen's screens flicker with sympathy. She knows the pain their son caused. "Plankton," she says softly. "I know, love," she whispers. "I know." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tightening. "Why?" He looks up at her, his eye pleading. "Why would he?" "Because he's still learning," she says gently. "And we're here to he--" Karen trails off as Chip meets them in the living room, approaching them. His screen is filled with apology. "Dad," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." Plankton's antennae raise slightly, his gaze shifting to Chip. "Chip hurt, no funny," he says, his voice flat. Chip nods, his screen reflecting his understanding. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton's eye stays on him, his antennae quivering slightly. "I didn't know it was like that for you. I'm just trying to underst--" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae shooting up. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend you get it. You never will." His eye is cold, his antennae rigid. Chip's screen flickers with pain. Karen's screens dim, her heart heavy. "Plankton," she says softly, but her husband turns away. "I don't want him here," he says, his voice filled with anger. "He doesn't understand. He doesn't care." Chip's screen flickers with disbelief. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "That's not true." Plankton's gaze meets his son's, but the warmth is gone, replaced by a coldness Chip has never seen before. "I'm not going to give you closure Chip.." Karen's screens flash with alarm. "Plankton, no," she says, her voice desperate. But Plankton's solely on his son. "You think you can play games with me?" he says. "Yo--" But Chip's had enough. "I'm not playing games!" he yells, his voice startling Plankton. It's to loud. "I'm trying to he-" Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye wide with fear and anger. "Chip, please," Karen says, her voice urgent. But Chip doesn't realize the intensity of his father's reaction. "I just wanted to help!" Chip's voice cracks, not knowing he's being to loud. Plankton's body stiffens, his antennae quivering rapidly. "No," he says, his voice low and harsh. "Stop; please.."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 17 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Karen's eyes are filled with love and understanding. Plankton slowly nods, his antennae dropping. "I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice barely a whisper. But Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye cold. "You need to go," he says, his voice firm. Chip's screen flickers with hurt. "What?" he asks, his voice shaking. Plankton's gaze is unyielding. "I don't want you here," he says. "Not right now." His words are like a dagger to Chip's heart, but Karen's screens flicker with a message of patience. "Dad, what do you mea-" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae rigid. "I mean it," he says, his voice hard. "I don't want you here." Chip's screen reflects confusion and pain. He doesn't understand. "But why?" he asks. "We're fa-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend to care." His eye is cold, his antennae quivering with anger. "You made fun of me. You think my world is a joke." Chip's screen flickers with confusion and guilt. "Dad, no," he says, his voice shaking. "That's not what I meant." But Plankton's not listening, his words cutting through the air like shards of glass. "You think you know," he says, his voice rising. "But you don't. You can't. You're not like me." Karen's screens are a swirl of emotions, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. "Plankton, please," she says, her voice a gentle plea. But he's not listening. He's too lost in his own hurt, his own frustration. "You think you can just play along?" he says, turning to Chip. "You think it's that easy?" Chip's screen shows his fear growing, his mind racing. He didn't mean to hurt his dad, but now he feels like he's being pushed away. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I just made a mis-" "Mistake? Hah. The only mistake was thinking you could ever understand!" Plankton's words are a harsh reminder of their earlier misunderstanding. Chip's screen reflects his hurt, his eyes filling with tears. "You think you can just pretend?" Plankton continues, his voice bitter. "You think you know what it's like to be me?" His antennae wave wildly in accusation. Chip's voice is barely a squeak. "I just wanted to help, Dad," he says, his screen a jumble of sadness and confusion. "But you didn't," Plankton says, his voice cold. "You hurt me. And I can't just shake it off." Karen's screens flicker with pain for her husband, but she knows Plankton's anger is a shield, a way to protect his tender heart. "You don't get it," Plankton continues, his antennae jutting forward. "You think you can just pretend to understand?" His words are a knife in the dark, twisting in Chip's gut. "Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I'll do better. I'll learn." But Plankton's eye narrows, his antennae waving. "It's not about you," he says, his voice harsh. "It's never been. You don't get to cry victim. I can forgive accidentally touching me and such, but this... I can't. I saw you mocking me. I heard you laughing." Chip's eyes widen. "No," he says, his voice desperate. "I didn't mean t---" But Plankton's not listening. "You think because you're sorry, everything's okay and make it go away? You don't get to decide that," he says, his voice shaking. "You don't get to tell me how I feel. Because right now, you don't understand a thing. You're not a part of this. You're not being a good son. And I don't think I can trust you." The words hit Chip like a wave, his screen flashing with disbelief. He feels like he's drowning, his mind racing for a way to make it right. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says again, his voice choked with tears. "I'll do anything. I'll learn, I'll change." But Plankton's antennae droop, his body defeated. "It's too late," he murmurs. "You had your chance. But honestly, I don't think you'll ever be the son I need." Karen's screens pulse with pain, seeing the rift between them grow wider. She knows how much Plankton values trust, how hard it is for him to give it once it's been shattered. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. "Dad, I'll be here," he begs, whimpering. "I'll try anyth—" But Plankton's antennae are rigid with finality. "No," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I now know better than to let you in again. I hoped we'd be closer, but now I... I don't think you belong in my life, Chip." The words hang in the air, each one heavier than the last. Chip's screen is a whirlwind of emotions: guilt, sadness, fear. "Dad," he says, his voice a broken plea. "Please, I'll do better. I promise." But Plankton's gaze is unyielding. "I'm letting go Chip. We're done now. You'll never be the son I adored again. You failed to accept me, so I won't accept your façade. So good bye, Chip. I hope you find peace.." Plankton then turns around, leaving Karen and Chip in the living room as he walked down the hall. Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his screen flickering with tears. Karen's screens dim with sadness as she looks at her son. "Chip," she says, her voice gentle. "It's not you. It's just his way of coping." But Chip's not listening. He's thinking about the moments his dad's eyes had lit up, the times Plankton had laughed, his antennae waving with joy. And now, it's gone, replaced by a coldness that scares him. He tries to imagine what it's like for Plankton, to live in a world that's too loud, too bright, too much. A world where even the smallest touch can send him spiraling. Where every interaction is a minefield of misunderstandings. And he wonders how he could have missed the signs. How could he have hurt his father so much without even realizing it?

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 6 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth moves, but the words come out as a jumble. "Purple...dog...car... no, not a car," he says, his expression vacant. Chip swallows hard, not knowing how to respond to the senseless words. Karen watches from the sidelines, her eyes filled with understanding and love. This is her Plankton—her quirky, lovable husband, whose brain operates on a different frequency. She sees the fear in Chip's screen and knows he's scared, but she also knows that understanding is key. "It's ok, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. Plankton's hands move erratically, as if trying to capture invisible objects. "Yellow...box... closed...open," he mumbles. Chip listens, his heart racing. "Dad, can you hear me?" he whispers. Plankton's hand darts out, flailing through the air. "Butterfly," he says, his voice a mix of wonder and frustration. "There are no butterflies here," Chip says. Karen smiles reassuringly. "It's ok. Let's just be with him." Plankton's words continue. "Plankton," Plankton murmurs, "the world is spinning—no, it's just me spinning." He laughs, his eye unfocused. Chip swallows a lump in his throat. "Dad," Chip whispers, "are you seeing things?" Karen sighs, knowing this is a way his brain copes with pain and overstimulation. "Sometimes his thoughts come out all mixed up," she says, her voice a gentle explanation. "It's like his brain's way of telling stories when it's overwhelmed." "Ball...bounce...high," Plankton murmurs, his hand mimicking the action of throwing an invisible object. "No, Dad," Chip says, trying to keep his voice soothing. "No bouncing here." He looks to Karen for guidance. "It's alright," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "Just talk to him calmly. It's his way of making sense of things." Chip nods, his voice barely above a breath. "Ball," he repeats back to his father, trying to enter his world. Plankton's eye snaps to him, a spark of recognition lighting his gaze. "Yes," he murmurs. "Ball...bounce." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with pride. Chip is learning, adapting. He's becoming a bridge between the worlds of the neurotypical and neurodivergent. "Red ball," Plankton says, his hand rising and falling as if tossing a non-existent sphere. "No, blue ball," he corrects, the words tumbling out in a rush. Chip nods, playing along. "You're playing catch, Dad?" he asks, his voice softer now. Plankton's gaze flickers to him, confused. "Catch," he whispers, his hand moving in slow arcs. "But it's not a ball," Chip says, his voice filled with gentle persuasion. "It's just a game you're playing in your head.." Plankton's hand stops, his gaze locking onto Chip, a hint of irritation flitting across his features. "What?" Plankton asks, his voice disoriented as his surroundings finally come back to him. Chip swallows, unsure of what to say. He wants to help, but feels frustrated by his dad's behavior. "You know, Dad, when you talk like that, it's hard to understand," he says, his voice carrying a touch of exasperation. "You're not really playing catch, are you?" Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his movements stilling. "It's not real to anyone else!" Chip exclaims, his voice louder than he intended. Karen gives him a sharp look, a reminder to keep his voice down. "Chip," she says, her tone a mixture of warning and patience. "You know his autism makes things different for him." But Chip's thinking of the fidget toy, of the way his dad snatched it from him. He feels a surge of anger, a feeling he's not used to having towards his dad. "I know, but why does he have to be like this?" Chip asks, his voice a mix of frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be normal?" Karen's gaze softens. "Chip, everyone's normal is different. Your dad's brain just works in a unique way. It's not wrong, just di-" "But it's annoying!" Chip interrupts, his voice cracking. "Everything's always about his needs!" Plankton's hand, which had been still, starts to twitch again. Karen sighs. "It's not about needs, it's about his comfort, Chip. And right now, he--" "But what about my comfort?" Chip retorts, his voice loud in the quiet room. "What about when he yells or throws things or gets upset because of tiny stuff?" He's close to tears, his emotions a tangled knot. "Dad, everything's not about you," he says, not meaning to sound harsh. But the words hang in the air like accusations. "Everyone has to deal with things," he continues. "Why can't you? You don't really have it that bad. Do you honestly think your wife, my mother, actually enjoys all of this? I can't even play with my friends because you get too overwhelmed! And for what? Because someone might laugh too loud or because the TV's on too high? Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to leave because you can't handle a science fair?" Karen's face falls. She's heard Chip's frustrations before, but never so raw and out in the open. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind racing to understand. He's missed the context, but the anger in Chip's voice is clear. "Chip," she starts, her voice steady. "Your dad's brain is just wired differently. It's not his fault." But Chip's on a roll. "I know, I know," he says, his frustration mounting. "But it's like he doesn't even try to get better. Why can't he just ignore it like everyone else? Why can't we take him to a doctor who can fix him?" Plankton's hand stutters to a stop, his gaze focusing on Chip with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Fix me?" he repeats, his voice tiny. "What do you mean?" "I don't know," Chip says, his shoulders slumping. "Just... make it so you're not always in pain or scared or...weird." He can't look at his dad, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Living like this, with all your autistic stuff, it's just..." He trails off, his voice cracking. "It's not worth it." Plankton's hand starts to shake. "W-what?" He asks, his voice shaky. Karen's heart breaks for him, for the hurt that's clearly etched on his face. "Chip," she starts, but his words cut her off. "It's like you don't even see us," Chip says, his voice filled with pain. "You're in your own world, and we're just here, trying to figure out how to help you." Plankton's expression is a mask of confusion and sadness. "Did my mom marry you before or after she found out you're autistic?" Chip asks, his voice sharp with accusation. Karen's eyes widen in shock. "Chip!" She says, her voice firm. "That's not how we talk about it. And I knew before.." But Chip's hurt, has turned to anger, and he's not listening. "But it's true!" Chip insists, his voice rising. "You always have to be in charge, Dad, always have to have it your way. It's like you don't even see us!" Plankton's face pales, the words stinging like bees. "Chip, please," Karen interjects, her voice pleading. But Chip can't stop, the frustration of years boiling over. "Why can't you just be like everyone else? Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Plankton's hand drops to his side, his eye filling with sadness. "I'm sor—" Karen steps in, her voice firm. "Chip, that's enough. Your dad is doing his best." But Chip's anger is like a storm, unyielding. "Best? What about our best? What about us? It's always about you, Dad!" Plankton's face contorts, the pain in his heart as sharp as the pain in his mouth. "Dad, we don't need you," Chip says, his words a knife to Plankton's soul. "Chip," Karen says, her voice sharp. "You need to go to your room. Now." She points to the door, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. Chip's shoulders slump, but he doesn't argue, retreating to his room. Plankton's gaze follows him, his mind reeling. He's heard the frustration before, but never so bluntly. Karen sighs, exhaustion etching lines on her face. "I know it's hard, babe," she says, stroking Plankton's swollen cheek. "But Chip's just trying to underst--" But Plankton shakes his head, his voice a whisper. "No, no. He's right," he says, his eye brimming with unshed tears. "I'm the one who's always in the way." He pulls his hand away, his gaze dropping to his lap. Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of anger and despair. "Don't say that," she whispers fiercely. "You're not a burden." But Plankton's thoughts are racing, his stims abandoned. "Look at what I've done," he says, his voice breaking. "I've made you leave things, I've made him hate me." Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "He doesn't hate you," she insists, her voice firm.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 7 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Chip's just trying to understand. And so are you." But Plankton can't find the words, the weight of his son's accusations crushing him. He swipes at a tear that's managed to escape, his shoulders heaving. "I just want to be normal," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "To not be a disappointment." Karen's eyes are filled with love and sadness as she shakes her head. "You could never be a disappointment to me, Plankton. You're perfect just the way you are." But he stands up, turning away from her. "No, I'm not," he says, his back to her. "Look at what I've done. I've ruined our lives." His voice is thick with emotion. "I've made Chip resentful, and I've made you...sacrifice so much." Karen moves to his side, placing a hand on his arm. "You haven't ruined anything," she insists. "You're a wonderful husband, an—" "Don't," he snaps, turning to face her, the pain in his eyes like a physical force. "Don't lie to me. You deserve better than this. Better than a husband who can't even sit through a simple family outing without falling apart." His voice cracks, the weight of his words heavy in the quiet room. "You deserve someone who can give you a normal life!" Karen's eyes fill with determined love. "You are what makes our life normal, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "Our life is special because of you. And as for Chip, he's just confused. He'll understand when he's older." But Plankton shakes his head, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, stifling a cry as he leaves their bedroom. He moves through the house, his bare feet silent on the cool floor, his thoughts a cacophony of doubt and self-loathing. His mind replays Chip's words over and over as he opens the back door, to the backyard. The porch creaks under his weight, his eye unfocused. Meanwhile, Karen goes in to Chip's bedroom. "Chip," she says, her voice soft but firm. "You need to apologize to your dad." He looks up, his eyes swollen from crying. "But I just want him to get better," he whispers, his voice small. "I don't like seeing him hurt." Karen sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I know, sweetie. But your dad can't get 'better' from being autistic. It's not a sickness." She takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "What your dad needs is for us to understand him, to make things easier for him. And for us to be patient when things are hard." Chip sniffs, wiping at his nose. "But it's not fair," he says, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "Why does he get to be different?" Karen's eyes fill with compassion. "Because he is, Chip. And that's ok. We're all different, in our own ways. That's what makes us unique." She pauses, looking at him with a gentle expression. "But it's also what makes us a family." Plankton sits in the backyard. The stars twinkle above, their indifferent beauty a contrast to the tumult in his heart. He's heard the whispers before, the way people look at him—his inability to fit in, his strange behaviors. He's always known he was different. But to hear it from Chip...it's like a punch to the gut. His mind races, trying to make sense of it all. The world feels like a puzzle he can never solve, no matter how much he wants to. He's tried to be better, to do better, to be the husband and father his family deserves. But it's always just out of reach, like the elusive Krabby Patty formula he's chased for years. He looks down at his hands, still trembling slightly. In the quiet of the night, his stims come back, a comforting rhythm that soothes his frayed nerves. He starts to rock slightly, back and forth, his eye unfocused. It's a habit he's had since he was young, a way to calm the storm in his head. It's his brain's way of telling him he's safe, even when the world feels like it's closing in. He doesn't realize he's speaking until the words spill out. "I'm not enough," he whispers to the night. "I'll never be enough.." Back in the house, Karen holds Chip tight, her heart heavy with the weight of their conversation. She knows his frustrations are born out of love, but she also knows how much Chip's words sting Plankton. She needs to fix this, to mend the fracture in their family's foundation. "Come on, buddy," she says, wiping Chip's tears away. "Let's talk to your dad. He needs to hear you're sorry." Chip nods, his eyes red and swollen. Karen leads him to the back door, where they find Plankton, his gaze lost as he shivers uncontrollably. "Dad?" Chip says. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide with surprise. "What?" He says, his voice thick with pain. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his body trembling. "I didn't mean those things." Karen's gaze is firm, her voice steady. "We need to talk, Plankton," she says. "Both of you." She leads them back inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill outside. Plankton allows himself to be guided, his mind a whirlwind. In the living room, they sit, a tapestry of emotions. Karen starts, her voice measured. "Chip, your dad doesn't mean to make things difficult. His brain just interprets the world differently." Chip looks up, his eyes wet. "But why can't he just try?" He asks, his voice desperate. "Why can't he just be normal?" Plankton flinches, his gaze dropping to the floor. Karen sighs, her hand wrapped around Plankton's. "Chip," she starts gently. "You know autism isn't a choice. Your dad's brain is different. It's like asking someone to change their eye color." Chip frowns, his young mind struggling to comprehend. "But why can't he just ignore it?" He asks, his voice small. Plankton looks up, his eye filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "Because it's not ignorable," he says, his voice firm. "It's like you're asking one to ignore breathing." The room falls silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. "It's always there, affecting how he sees, hears, feels." Chip's expression softens, a glimmer of understanding dawning. "Your dad does his best every day. And so do we, to support him. It's not about changing for him, Chip," she says. "It's about meeting him where he is. When someone's in a wheelchair, you don't tell them to climb the stairs. You build a ramp." Plankton nods slightly, his gaze still on the floor. "Autism is like that," Karen continues. "It's part of who he is, and we love him for all of him."

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▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓█▓█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▓▓▒█▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓██▓▓█▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓██▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▓▓▒▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒

🐟 🔥 💐

oreo 𝙻𝚒𝚕𝚢 ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧(づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ🎂ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

hibiscus, tulip˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

ᡣ𐭩, 𐙚 𐙚 𐙚 ᡣ𐭩 𐙚 (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ 𐙚 𐙚 𐙚 𐙚 𐙚 🌸

👀🍄

𐙚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞꒱

❁✿˖˚ ༘𐙚⋆.˚🦋༘⋆౨ৎ౨ৎ౨ৎ౨ৎ⁠♡

₍ᐢ._.ᐢ₎♡ ༘

⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

°ྀི❀⋆.ೃྀི࿔*:･

WE JUST WANT BIOS PLEASE STOP HAVING FIGHTS THIS AINT TWITTER MY DUDES, also here yall go :-`♡´- ────୨ৎ──── 𓍢ִ໋☕️✧˚ ༘ ⋆⋆｡°✩༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚𖦹ׂ⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍪♡(•؎ •)༘⋆🍎🥧💭 ⋆˙ೀ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡𓌉◯𓇋⩇⩇:⩇⩇˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚❄️༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.˚🦋༘⋆(╥﹏╥)૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა✿

🤖🎲

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐🍪🍨

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🍪🎂

🕹️

🤕❤️‍🩹

cute flower, purple, bouquet˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

♡𔓘✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮𐙚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞꒱‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. 𐦍༘⋆^᪲᪲᪲✰𑁍°❀⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅<𝟑─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⚘.✿❀✿❀≽^•༚• ྀི≼˚ʚ❀ɞ˚⸙❀˖ °𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍𑁍 ⋆ ⋆｡°✩૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

𔓘⋆₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊⋆｡°✩૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

tulip 🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆,heart,cute

💌,🎀,🌷,🩷

🪩🔮

book,japan, flower🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

🌷☾𐙚₊˚⊹♡

* ੈ ♡ ⸝⸝🪐 ༘ ⋆

flower 🌸❀✿𓇢𓆸°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆˚✿˖°*ੈ𑁍༘⋆ꫂ ၴႅၴᡣ𐭩( ၴႅၴ𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆💐🌷🌹🌸🌺❁𑁍𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒🦋♡✨🌷🌺🌸❀🍀🕷🌿🎴💐🌷🌼🌸

꧁ ༺chip ༻ ꧂🍬₊˚⊹♡

༘⋆🌷🫧💭₊˚ෆ

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞(❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅˙⋆✮(* ^ Ω ^)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)🔪( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)«✮ 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐚 ✮»/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿💥☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

cisne 🦢

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠁⠉⠓⢻⠿⡇⠉⡪⢿⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢈⣳⡧⡒⢡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠀⠀⣇⡇⢸⡏⠃⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣝⢿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢡⡆⠀⣇⠀⠘⣏⡆⢠⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠘⠧⡚⣠⠃⢥⠀⡇⢇⠀⣿⡁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡄⠀⢀⡄⡜⢀⡔⢽⠟⢸⠀⠀⠑⣸⣿⣆⣿⣇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⣽⢀⠟⢸⣥⠊⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠑⢿⠎⣶⣮⡀⠀⢀⠤⠤⠊⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⢋⣩⣽⣟⠭⣝⡄⣰⣻⢀⡏⠈⠻⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⢉⠝⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⡟⠻⠧⢴⡺⣼⢗⠎⠹⡢⠤⢄⡟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢉⠀⠀⠑⡀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠡⠤⠄⠒⢻⠋⠓⠴⢄⡇⠀⢠⣶⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⡟⠁⢆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣀⣤⣤⣶⣶⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠶⠃⠈⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠟⠋⠳⢖⡤⠜⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣴⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣀⣀⣀⣀⣾⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⢇⣵⡋⣉⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

Tulip🌷

👧💐

✴flower❀✧˖°ㅤᵕ̈₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃♡⚛✿⚜❀𓇗

○|￣|＿𓂸

ꕥ ✺ ❀ ❁ ☼ ✺ ✿ ❀ ✿ ꕤ ☼ ❁ ❀ ❋ ❋ ✺ ✿ ☼ ꕤ ❋ ꕥ ꕥ ❀ ❁ ☼

why does no one like sunghoon 😭𝐸𝑁𝐻𝑌𝑃𝐸𝑁ℋ𝑒𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑔𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛𝒮𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛

🇺🇸 🍪🍪 is 👱🏻➡️👱🏿🌞

why does no one like sunghoon 😭

"૮₍ •⤙•˶

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⚡️💕🐆🌊

🍪☕️🧸✈️

MUback 😆🤞

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⠋⠈⠙⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⠋⠁⠙⣿⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⣾⣿⣅⠀⢠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡄⠀⣨⣿⣷⠀ ⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇ ⠘⣿⣿⣿⠿⢻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡟⠿⣿⣿⣿⠃ ⠀⢿⣿⡀⠀⠘⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠃⠀⢀⣿⡿⠀ ⠀⠈⢿⣿⣄⣠⣼⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣧⣄⣠⣿⡿⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⋆˚࿔ cr 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⣿⠉⢻⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠉⠙⢿⡿⠿⣉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⣿⣿⡟ ⣿⡌⡟⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠍⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢩⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣛⣿⠉⠉⠉⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⠇ ⡇⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢜⣣⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⡇ ⣇⣀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣀⣁⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣓⣶⣿⣿⣷⣎⣛⣛⣿⣿⡇ ⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⠐⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⢱⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣿⡿⠇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠠⣿⢹⡇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠘⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⢐⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣦⣿⣿⡇ ⣿⣿⣿⣉⣿⣿⣷⣆⠈⠉⢶⣶⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⡀⠀⢀⢀⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠁⠀⠀⣲⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣿⣿⣾⡇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠙⠛⢻⣶⣿⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⣥⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣦⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⡀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣭⠟⢫⡅ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⡀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠟⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣀⣬⣥⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣻⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣽⡇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠉⠉⢀⡈⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠃⠀⠉⠀⣆⣀⣀⡀⣀⣆⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢷⠿⣿⣿⣿⣻⡿⣿⡿⣹⣿⡇ ⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣦⣶⣀⣠⣼⣇⡀⠰⣿⣿⣿⡗⢰⡶⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣩⡿⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⡿⣳⣿⣷⣿⣹⡇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡃⠈⡙⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣼⣧⣿⠀⣿⣼⣿⣧⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣿⣼⡇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣟⣻⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠿⠇⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣁⣻⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣧⣿⣿⣿⣩⡄ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠿⣿⣿⢰⡶⢄⣀⣀⠾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣮⣿⣿⢿⣿⣉⡹⢿⠿⣍⣿⣿⡇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⠀⠀⠉⢹⣿⣿⡏⣡⣯⣵⣿⣿⢿⣿⣥⣿⣿⡿⢾⣽⣿⣯⣿⣯⣹⡿⣿⣧⣦⢹⡏⢱⣏⠲⣭⠿⠏⠁ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⣿⣿⡛⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢫⠛⢻⣤⣠⣤⣿⠛⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⢿⣷⣶⣿⣟⠸⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠿⢿⡿⠿⡿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣭⣹⣿⢟⣿⣿⣯⡌⢹⣿⠛⣿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣿⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡝⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣌⠛⢡⡖⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⠋⣿⣇⡘⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠘⠃⠈⢹⣷⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡟⢿⣿⣅⢸⣿⡁⠟⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣛⡟⣿⠿⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⠿⠀⠀⢀⡀⢈⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠶⠉⠉⠀⠈⣉⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡏⠉⡏⠋⠀⠁⠈⠋⣿⠉⣿⠻⢿⢿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⠀⠀⠸⢇⡀⠲⠿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⣿⠻⡟⢻⡟⣛⣿⣭⠘⡏⠙⢻⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢙⣀⣤⣴⣶⣾⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠸⠿⠿⣟⡿⣿⣟⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣋⠶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠁⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣾⣿⣶⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣦⣿⣯⣿⣿⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠈⠃⠀⠀⠀⠠⠸⢿⡟⢙⣿⣿⣯⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠷⣾⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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