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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣎⠱⣲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠤⠒⠒⠒⠒⠤⢄⣈⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠒⠝⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣢⠐⡄⠀⠉⠑⠒⠒⠒⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⡎⢀⣘⠿⠀⠀⢠⣀⢄⡦⠀⣛⣐⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘ ⡠⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢅⠣⠤⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⡋⠙⠢⢄⣀⣀⡠⠊ ⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠉⡕⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠛⠉⠹⡄⣀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠑⠂⠤⠔⠒⠁⠀⠀⡎⠱⡃⠀⠀⡄⠀⠄⠀⠀⠠⠟⠉⡷⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠤⠤⠴⣄⡸⠤⣄⠴⠤⠴⠄⠼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗴𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗯𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗲! 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗸𝗶𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗯𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀｡ 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘁𝘀! 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗯𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝗽𝘂𝗿𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗷𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘂𝘀𝗲｡ 𝗜𝘁'𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗮❟ 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝗮 𝗽𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲❟ 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗼𝘂𝘀｡ 𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗜𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗪𝗘𝗕𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗘｡ 𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗘｡

𓏵

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠖⠒⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⢒⣲⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⣺⣿⡿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠽⣿⢿⣮⣝⠢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⡫⠗⣽⡿⠗⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠷⠍⠲⢝⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢚⠕⠉⠀⠈⠁⣀⣀⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⣠⣶⣶⣤⣠⣄⡀⠀⠀⠑⢌⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠕⠁⠀⠀⣠⣶⡿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠻⢿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠟⠉⠁⠀⠈⠙⠻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠳⣌⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⢡⠊⠀⠀⠀⣐⡿⠋⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠙⢿⣆⠀⠀⢾⠟⠀⢀⣤⠤⠤⣤⣀⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠸⡣⡹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠋⢀⠆⠀⠀⠀⢰⣻⠁⢀⡴⡋⠀⡀⠀⠈⢳⡀⠈⣿⡄⢸⣾⠀⢠⠏⣀⣀⣀⠀⠉⢷⡀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠁⠐⠈⢦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢇⠀⡜⢸⠀⢀⣿⣿⡆⢈⡇⠀⣿⠃⠸⣿⠀⢸⢸⠀⢘⣿⣿⠤⡀⣇⠀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡬⣿⣄⣧⡀⣿⣿⡿⠛⣅⡼⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠹⣆⠈⢧⡑⢾⣿⣿⣦⣧⣧⢴⣓⣒⠲⠄⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⣆⠀ ⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠁⠀⠀⠐⠫⢙⠻⢿⣵⡾⠛⣁⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠷⣄⣙⣶⣽⠿⢋⠝⠊⠁⢀⣠⠀⠐⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄ ⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠊⢠⣦⠬⠦⠤⣀⠀⠱⠀⠉⠓⢾⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠉⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣽⣷⣄⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢿⡏⠛⣦⣀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⢻⡀⢹⡏⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢸⡏⣲⡁⠈⠓⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠔⠻⡅⢀⠔⢷⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⣧⠀⠑⡎⠀⠀⠈⢹⠶⠤⢄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠤⠖⠛⢇⢀⡀⠔⠻⡄⠀⡾⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡆⡀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⠘⣆⢸⡁⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⢹⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⣇⡼⡅⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⢱⢇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣶⠉⠛⢧⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢀⡼⠋⠁⣷⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡘ ⠸⣞⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣇⠀⠀⡱⢄⣀⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡀⠴⠛⡆⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⢧⡇ ⠀⢻⢣⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⣇⠀⠀⠉⠙⢦⠤⠄⢀⣀⣀⣸⠀⢀⡀⠠⠄⠲⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⡼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠁⡜⡾⠀ ⠀⠀⢷⢆⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢾⡀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⡰⣰⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⠘⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣄⡀⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣇⣤⠶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠁⡰⡵⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⠈⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣖⠠⠤⠤⠼⠶⠤⠐⠒⠚⠫⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⢀⢜⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⡑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌⠀⡱⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣄⠀⠐⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠢⣤⣈⠑⠂⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠄⢒⣩⠔⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠓⠶⠤⠤⣀⣉⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡠⠤⠴⠒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤

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⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜😂😂😂😂😂😂⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜😂😂⬛⬛😂😂😂😂😂😂⬛⬛😂😂⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜😂⬛😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂⬛😂⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂⬜⬜ ⬜⬜😂😂😂⬛⬛😂😂😂😂😂😂⬛⬛😂😂😂⬜⬜ ⬜⬜😂😂⬛😂😂⬛😂😂😂😂⬛😂😂⬛😂😂⬜⬜ ⬜⬜🟦🟦😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂🟦🟦⬜⬜ ⬜🟦🟦🟦⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛🟦🟦🟦⬜ ⬜🟦🟦😂😂⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛😂😂🟦🟦⬜ ⬜⬜⬜😂😂😂⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛😂😂😂⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜😂😂😂😂⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛😂😂😂😂⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜😂😂😂😂😂😂⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

JUST A TOUCH x (Autistic author) SpongeBob rushes over, his face a mask of worry. "You okay, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern. But Plankton can't answer. His body is rigid, his eye unfocused. Squidward's tentacle retreats, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob's eyes are wide with concern. "Hello?" Plankton doesn't even blink, his eye remains unseeing, his body a statue to the chaos around him. Squidward, still holding the dish, watches with a mix of fear and confusion. "What's happening to him?" Sponge Bob's heart races as he sees his friend frozen. "Hey, Plankton," he says. "It's just a party." But the words fall on deaf ears—or rather, one deaf eye. Plankton's antennae remain still, his body rigid. The room's chaos has ceased to exist for him, lost in the vacuum of his seizure. Sponge Bob's voice, usually so boisterous, is now a gentle whisper. "Plankton?" he says, his hand hovering over his friend. Squidward, his eyes wide, stammers. "Is he...? Is he okay, or?" It's something that has to run its course, which of course neither Squidward nor Sponge Bob realize. Squidward's tentacle shakes Plankton gently, his voice filled with concern. "Plankton?" he repeats, his tone softer now. Plankton's antennae remain still, his body a statue in the bustling kitchen. The dish clatter fades to background noise, the laughter from the party a distant echo. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes, his eyes never leaving Plankton's unseeing gaze. He's seen his friend in tough spots before, but this... this is something new, something scary. He takes a deep breath, his thumbs tucked into his pockets as he tries to think. What do you do? What helps when someone you care about is stuck in this kind of loop or what ever this is... Squidward, usually so quick to snap and complain, is silent, his tentacles poised but not moving. He watches, his eyes flicking between the unmoving Plankton and SpongeBob. The room's cacophony fades away as the realization hits them—Plankton's in trouble. Sponge Bob's smile is gone, replaced with a furrowed brow and a quivering bottom lip. Squidward, still holding the now forgotten plate, feels a pang of guilt. He'd seen the stress in Plankton's antennae, heard the urgency in his voice, but had dismissed it. Now he's not sure what to do. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spongy body tense with worry. He's seen Plankton upset before, but never like this. "I think we should set him down," he suggests, his voice barely a whisper. "On the floor.." They gently lower Plankton to the cool tiles, his body unyielding. Squidward sets the dish aside, his tentacles shaking slightly. "What do we do?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob's eyes never leave Plankton's face, his heart pounding in his chest. He's seen his friend in tough spots before, but this... this is something else entirely. Squidward, his tentacles still shaking, stammers. "What do we do?" The fear in his voice is palpable. They both know Plankton isn't okay. Sponge Bob takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Plankton's motionless form. "Get Karen. Now." Squidward nods, his tentacles moving in a blur as he rushes to find her. The party's music thumps in the background, a stark contrast to the silence of the kitchen where Plankton sits. Sponge Bob kneels beside him, his hand hovering over Plankton's shoulder, unsure of what to do next. His heart races as he watches his friend's chest rise and fall in the rhythm of a silent symphony only Plankton can hear. Karen looks up at the sound of Squidward running in. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice filled with alarm. Squidward's tentacles flap wildly. "It's Plankton! He's... he's just... not moving!" Karen's eyes widen, and she rushes into the restaurant, Squidward's words echoing in her mind. Plankton sits on the floor, his body unnaturally still, his antennae drooping. Her heart skips a beat as she sees his vacant gaze. She recognizes the signs—this is the second time she's seen an absence seizure take hold of him. She kneels beside Sponge Bob, whose expression is a mix of fear and confusion. "He's having a seizure," Karen whispers, her voice a calming breeze in the chaotic kitchen. Her hand, now gentle and firm, guides Plankton's head to the floor. "He'll wake up. We've got to keep him safe." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes wide with concern. He's seen his friend in tough spots before, but this... this is something beyond his usual quirks. Plankton's tiny body is a stark contrast to the monstrous fear gripping his heart. The kitchen is a blur of movement around them, but Karen's calm presence brings a semblance of order. She takes over, her movements precise. "Don't touch him," she says, her voice a gentle command. "Just let it run its course." Squidward nods, his tentacles still, his eyes on Plankton. Sponge Bob's face is a mask of worry, his eyes never leaving his friend's unresponsive form. Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrow, his voice a gruff whisper. "What's going on?" Karen's voice is calm, but her heart races. "It's okay," she says, her hand resting on Plankton's back. "It's just a part of his new... condition." Mr. Krabs' expression softens, his eyes flicking from Plankton to Karen. "Is he going to be okay?" "Yes," Karen says firmly, her hand still on Plankton's back. "It's just a seizure. They can happen with... his autism..." Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, but his expression quickly morphs into something more thoughtful. "I see," he says, his voice lowered. "I had no idea." "He got a brain injury, Mr. Krabs," Karen says. "Yesterday, in an accident.." Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze on Plankton's unmoving form. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice genuine. "What happened?" Karen swallows, her eyes welling with tears. "They said it's Acquired Autism. It's like his brain got... rewired." Her hand strokes Plankton's back soothingly. "He's the same, but different." Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his claws clenching. "Well, we'll make do," he says gruffly. "This is still the same Plankton who tried to steal the Krabby Patty formula, right?" Karen's eyes flash with a mix of anger and protectiveness. "Yes," she says firmly. "But now he needs our help. And our understanding. He hasn't mentioned it once since.." Her voice trails off as Plankton's eye flickers. Slowly, his antennae unfreeze, twitching slightly. The world starts to come back into focus, the colors and sounds gradually seeping back into his consciousness. Sponge Bob's hand is still hovering over him, his face a canvas of relief and uncertainty. "Plankton?" Sponge Bob whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton's eye blinks once, twice, and he looks around, his gaze landing on Squidward. Squidward's tentacles are still, his expression a mix of fear and confusion. Plankton slowly sits up, his antennae twitching as he takes in the scene. The dish is forgotten, the need for order lost in the fog of his seizure. "Welcome back," Sponge Bob says, his voice a mix of relief and anxiety. Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he looks around, his gaze settling on the plate still in Squidward's tentacle. "It's okay," Karen says gently, her hand resting on his shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch as his brain reboots, trying to process the scene before him. "Dishes," he murmurs, his voice still flat. Squidward watches him, his tentacle hovering over the sink. "Let me handle this," he says, his voice apologetic. "You... you just take it easy." Plankton nods, his antennae still. The chaos of the kitchen fades away as he focuses on his friend's kindness. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice a soft echo of its former self. "All of you.."

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we supposed to be posting emojis combos not porn what the hell yall got going on😭😭😭 stan loona txt enhypen and triples though #speakingmytruth👩🏿‍💻

GREAT CHIP x (Autistic author) Chip flinched, his eyes wide with fear as the toaster bounced off the fridge, landing on the floor with a clatter. "Dad, please," he begged, his voice trembling. "You're scaring me." "Good," Plankton says. "Then maybe you'll understand that this isn't a joke!" He picks up another object, a jar of jellyfish jelly, and hurls it across the room. It explodes on the wall, the sticky substance oozing down like a rainbow of pain. Karen steps closer, her voice calm but firm. "Plankton, enough," she says, her eyes never leaving his. "This isn't helping anyone." Plankton's antennae quiver, his body still shaking with anger. "How can you say that?" he says, his voice shaking the room. "How can you sit there and act like everything's fine, when your 'son' thinks he can just 'fix' me?" Chip felt his heart plummet, the weight of his father's anger a heavy rock in his chest. "Dad, I never said..." he began, but Plankton talked over him. "You think you can just waltz in here and tell me what I need?" His antennae thrashed wildly. "You don't know anything about..." Suddenly, Chip's frustration boiled over, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. "You're right," he spat. "I don't know what it's like to be a failure who can't even take care of himself! I don't know what it's like to be so weak that you have to hide behind your condition! I don't know what it's like to be unlovable and broken!" Karen's eyes went wide with disbelief, her heart aching for her husband, as Chip's harsh words echoed through the room. The room fell silent, the sting of Chip's accusation lingering in the air like a noxious fume. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body slumping slightly. "Fine," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "If that's what you think, then I guess I don't need you." The words hung in the air, heavier than the shattered mug at their feet. Chip felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, the breath knocked out of him. "Dad," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton was already turning away, his antennae drooping as he shuffled towards his workshop. The slamming of the door reverberated through the house, leaving only the steady drip of jellyfish jelly to break the silence. Karen looked at Chip, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. She could see the regret etched on his face, the pain of his own words reflecting back at him. "Chip," she said gently, her voice trembling with held-back sobs. "You didn't mean that." It was a statement, not a question, but her eyes searched his for any sign of disagreement. He looked at her, his eyes red-rimmed and glossy with unshed tears. "But I don't know how to help him," he said, his voice cracking. "I just want to be there for him, Mom. But he won't let me in." Karen's expression was a mix of sadness and anger. She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Chip's. "You don't help someone by making them feel smaller," she said, her voice firm. "You don't fix someone by calling them broken." Chip's shoulders slumped, his eyes falling to the floor. "I know," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "But he's just... so... I just wanted to make him feel better." Karen's gaze was stern, her voice a gentle rebuke. "And you thought hurting his feelings would do that?" She sighed heavily, her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed. "You have to be more careful, Chip. Your words are like bombs when you don't understand how powerful they are." Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, the weight of his mother's disappointment crushing him. "But I just..." he began, his voice trailing off as he fought to find the right words. "I know you're trying," Karen said, her voice softening. "But you can't fix your dad's seizures with a hug or a joke, sweetie. They're a part of who he is, and he's scared. And you, calling him 'unlovable'...that's not you, Chip." Her screen searched his, willing him to understand the gravity of his words. Chip felt his throat tighten, the weight of his mother's disappointment heavy on his shoulders. He knew she was right, that his words had been a knee-jerk reaction to Plankton's outburst, but the pain in his father's eye lingered, a stark reminder of the hurt he'd caused. "I'm sorry, Mom," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the sound of his own breathing. Karen's face softened, the anger in her eyes giving way to a sadness that was even more heartbreaking. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on Chip's shoulder. "I know you didn't mean it, honey," she said, her voice quivering. "But you have to understand that words can cut deeper than any weapon. And I always love your father, no matter what. That's what you need to do too." Chip felt his eyes sting with the truth of her words. He knew she was right, but the anger and frustration he'd felt in the moment had overridden his usual compassion. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, the weight of his apology feeling heavier than any burden he'd ever carried. "I just..." "Sorry isn't enough," Karen said, her voice trembling with a mix of sadness and anger. "You hurt your father, deeply. And you hurt me." Her hand slid from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake. Chip's eyes snapped up to meet hers, his own filled with a blend of shock and remorse. "I didn't mean it," he said, his voice small and lost. "I just..." Karen's expression was a thundercloud of disappointment. "You didn't mean it?" she echoed. "But you said it, Chip. And those words are like a knife in the heart, and you know his amplified emotional response is part of his condition. How do you think that makes him feel when he's already so sensitive?" Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, his cheeks burning with shame. "I know," he whispered, his voice tight with regret. "I just... I didn't know how else to help, he's..." "Chip, you're old enough to understand that sometimes, there's nothing you can do to take someone's pain away," Karen said, her voice firm yet filled with sadness. "But you can't make it worse. You have to be there for him, without making it about you." Her words hit Chip like a slap in the face, his cheeks burning with the sting of truth. He'd never thought about it that way before, his own hurt feelings overshadowing the gravity of his father's condition. "But what can I do?" he asked, his voice small and defeated. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes still full of sadness. "You can listen," she said, enunciating each word carefully. "You can be there for him without expecting anything in return. You can respect his boundaries and understand that sometimes, he just needs space." Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. "But I want to make it better," he said, his voice small. "I don't want him to feel like he's alone." Karen's eyes searched his, her expression softening. "I know you do," she said gently. "But you can't fix everything, and you can't make his condition go away. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just be there." Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing. How could he be there for his father without causing more harm? The silence in the kitchen was deafening, the only sound the distant hum of Plankton's workshop. Karen's voice was a gentle guide in the quiet, her words sinking into his soul like a warm embrace.

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BRO IM CRYING BECAUSE THE CHATS THROUGH SUMBITTING THIS 😭😭💀😍😂

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╱╱▏┈┈╱╱╱╱▏╱╱▏ ▇╱▏┈┈▇▇▇╱▏▇╱▏ ▇╱▏▁┈▇╱▇╱▏▇╱▏▁ ▇╱╱╱▏▇╱▇╱▏▇╱╱╱ ▇▇▇╱┈▇▇▇╱┈▇▇▇╱

˶•᎑•˶

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡉⠀⠀⠉⣠⠤⠤⣀⠉⠏⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢉⣙⣿⡁⠀⢠⡞⠁⢀⣤⣌⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠟⡩⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣻⡟⡟⠀⢠⣏⣹⣿⡇⠀⡟⠀⠀⣾⣭⣽⡏⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡿⢏⡰⠁⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠓⠧⠤⣸⣿⡿⡿⡇⢰⡇⠀⠀⣿⡟⢻⠇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡛⢄⠢⠐⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⠙⣭⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢙⠓⣧⠸⡇⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣯⠇⣌⡰⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⢸⡌⢓⠤⣀⡈⠐⠌⡒⠄⡇⢳⡀⡀⠀⠀⢀⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣾⣸⠔⡉⠆⡁⢸⡚⠠⣀⢸⠙⠪⣔⡡⠒⡍⠰⣀⡝⠀⠐⠍⠢⠤⠔⠥⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢋⠁⢂⢰⣾⡟⠠⠘⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣯⡴⣁⢆⣽⣌⢣⡴⢏⡀⢀⠀⢈⣹⠉⠉⢁⡠⠴⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⣿⢟⡹⡌⡭⡇⢀⣴⣿⢣⠶⠶⣧⡘⢿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡐⠌⡙⠒⢚⠒⡁⠰⠚⢁⡀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⠟⡡⢎⡱⠸⡴⢃⢾⡿⢰⣉⠞⣹⢒⡷⠈⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠒⡠⠁⢆⡐⢀⠄⡀⠂⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⣋⠦⣩⡑⣮⣶⡯⣡⣿⡿⣑⠣⡜⡸⢡⢫⢇⣾⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡕⢢⢉⢄⡒⡄⢒⠠⡁⠆⡐⢀⠂⡐⢀⡶⠚⠋⠉⠉⠉⣩⣽⢿⢯⣵⣆⡻⣝⢧⠿⣹⡣⣵⡯⡗⣌⠳⢌⡱⢍⢮⣾⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣅⠎⡰⢐⠸⢠⠃⡔⢢⠘⡄⠒⣀⣻⢑⠢⠤⠀⢀⣼⣟⠿⣣⠞⣸⢳⡱⢺⣌⠳⡙⣴⢯⡱⣏⠤⢋⠦⡑⢮⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣁⠎⡑⠢⢍⠰⡁⢎⠰⡑⢄⡚⣦⠄⢀⢠⣿⡻⣼⣧⢯⣚⢷⣯⢼⣏⣾⠇⣱⢿⣊⠵⡇⢎⡱⢊⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣋⠔⣊⠱⡈⠦⡑⢌⢢⠘⡌⠳⢤⣾⢻⡿⢫⠜⡛⢍⡚⠍⡌⠰⡈⢮⣟⡱⢎⠳⣏⢆⡳⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣆⣑⡢⢑⡊⢤⡓⣌⠽⣾⣿⠗⣡⠇⣎⠱⡊⡔⠣⣈⠑⣨⡿⣌⢧⢋⡳⡜⢮⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣾⣿⣿⣧⡯⠶⠞⠖⠛⠛⠙⠉⠉⢉⠹⢿⡧⣞⢣⣳⣙⢶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣦⣽⣩⡏⠽⡩⣍⣍⢫⢍⠣⡜⠢⢿⣏⢷⡲⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣗⡼⠟⠛⢛⢳⡶⠗⠛⠙⠺⢼⣢⣱⠶⣞⣿⣞⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢀⣀⠠⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡝⡛⠾⠷⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢣⠐⡀⢂⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢡⡘⣌⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣯⣅⣢⣰⣭⣦⣄⣀⣀⣤⣴⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

˶ᵔᗜ ᵔ˶

(ᵕ—ᴗ—)

⡇⣸⡟⢿⡿⠿⠯⠵⣶⣶⣮⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢋⣶⣶⣶⡶⠽⠿⢿⠿⢻⣤⡝⢷ ⠇⠏⠁ ⣀⣠⣤⣤⣀⣈⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⡿⠟⠋⢁⣀⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠉⠙⠇⢸ ⡆ ⢰⣾⣿⣿⠉ ⠙⠉⠈⢲⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⠊⠀⠙⠁ ⢹⣿⣿⣷⠀ ⠀⢸ ⡆⢣⠈⣿⣿⣿⣄ ⠑⠁⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠑⠁ ⣼⣿⣿⡇⢠⠃⢸ ⣿⡘⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⣤⣾⡿⣛⡿⢟⠏⡹⢛⣿⡿⢿⠿⢿⣷⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⢿⣶⡿⡠⣼ ⣿⣧⡿⢋⠝⡩⢋⠝⡩⢋⠔⡩⢊⠔⡡⢊⠔⡡⢊⠔⢁⠔⡡⢊⠔⡩⢛⠝⡠⢊⠜⡡⡟⢿

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠔⠚⢋⣭⠝⠛⠛⢿⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⢀⣤⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢦⣝⠒⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠈⠓⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠁⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢷⡀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣤⠶⠚⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠓⠲⠤⣄⡀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠉⠀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⡒⠒⠒⠒⠲⠦⢤⣄⡀⠀⠙⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⣠⣶⣋⣉⣴⡿⠶⠶⠶⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⣟⡒⢦⡈⠳⡀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⡰⠃⢠⣎⣵⠋⠉⣩⠭⣭⣭⣙⣒⣶⠦⢤⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⣽⡆⢡⢠⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⣧⢤⣟⣉⣬⣷⢸⡇⣠⠞⠉⠉⠻⣯⠙⡆⠀⠉⠉⣩⣭⣭⣉⣒⣒⠾⠧⣜⣋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠗⢦⢸⣄⡆⢸⣸⡿⣫⣍⢢⠀⠀⠈⣧⢃⡶⣦⢸⣟⡉⠉⠙⢯⡉⠛⣷⡄⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠛⢉⠹⣦⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢸⡇⠉⠁⠈⢇⢳⡿⠿⢠⠀⠀⢀⡟⣼⠁⣿⣿⣶⡽⡄⠀⠈⣧⡜⣹⢃⠔⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠋⠀⡀⠘⣦⠘⢧⠀⠀⠹⣄⡀⢁⡀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣍⣛⡷⠶⣞⣫⠞⠁⢀⢻⡸⣿⣣⠇⢀⡴⢻⣷⢃⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠐⣄⠙⣦⡈⢷⣈⢧⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⢻⠿⢮⣛⣿⠿⢖⣊⡵⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⢦⣈⠳⣬⣻⢼⣷⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⠶⢤⣄⣀⣀⣉⣀⣀⠉⠉⠉⢉⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡞⠀⠲⢶⠟⠒⠋⠘⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣦⠀⠀⠀⢤⣤⣴⡟⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⢸⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⠤⠤⠤⠞⠋⠀⢀⡴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⠈⠇⢻⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠒⠲⠤⣄⣠⣤⣟⠃⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⠴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣸⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠈⠳⣄⣀⣀⣽⠭⢭⣁⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣟⠷⠤⠶⠛⠁⠀⣠⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⢸⠉⢉⡏⠀⠀⠀⡇⠉⠉⠉⠓⠲⠤⣀⣀⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠉⠛⠒⠧⠴⠶⠚⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠓⠒⡲⠦⠤⠀⢸⣦⣤⠖⠚⠓⠺⣄⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⠹⠝⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⢠⡟⣼⠃⠀⠀⡀⠀⣿⢶⣴⣋⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⢸⠈⠙⠲⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⢠⡟⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠋⢰⠃⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠓⣖⣚⠃⢀⣠⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⡾⢰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢸⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠲⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⣸⢃⡟⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⢰⠇⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⣼⢀⡏⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⣄⡴⠒⣀⣈⠍⠳⣄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⢸⢃⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢸⠁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⣿⣉⣁⣀⡀⢻⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⡟⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⡇⣾⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣸⣭⣉⣀⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠦⣤⣀⠀⡿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⡷⡀⠀⠀⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⠞⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠲⠤⠤⠾⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠱⣝⠶⣄⣷⣸⡇⠀⠀⠐⠇⢀⣠⣏⠉⡶⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠙⠳⣤⣯⠀⡙⠒⠒⠒⠛⢋⣡⡽⠚⠁⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢤⡀⠀⠀⡼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣜⠁⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣟⣃⡤⠤⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣴⡶⠦⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⢿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠈⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠯⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⣷⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠘⣿⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠿⢿⠛⠁⠓⠆⠀⠀⣼⠁⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄⠀⠀⣾⣾⣷⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣶⣾⣶⣶⣾⣷⣶⣶⣿⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢹⣇⣾⣿⢿⡟⠀⠸⣿⡄⢹⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢹⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿⡟⠉⠘⣇⠀⠀⠉⠙⠺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡓⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⣼⡿⠧⠒⠒⠛⠛⠒⣶⢤⣄⣳⡀⣀⣀⡤⠥⠤⠬⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡤⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢹⣿⣿⡿⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠓⠢⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⢋⣷⠊⠀⠀⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⣌⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣯⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢻⡤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡴⢻⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⣷⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⢿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣷⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡾⣿⣿⣿⡟⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡷⠖⠒⠲⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⢁⣢⣿⡿⡿⣇⠈⠙⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢞⡞⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀ ⢠⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣶⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⢀⠔⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⢀⡴⠊⠁⠀⠈⢦⡀ ⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⣽⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢷⣶⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⢦⡀⠀⢠⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠤⠤⠤⣴⣻⣳⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾ ⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣧⣏⡇⢹⡀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⣰⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢰⣳⣧⡇⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠰⠀⠀⢀⡟ ⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⢧⣾⣿⣿⠁⠀⢷⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⢧⣧⠀⡇⢰⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⣼⠃ ⠀⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡽⠃⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣮⣿⣷⡇⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⣔⡏⠀ ⠀⢰⠻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣏⡄⠀⠀⢠⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡌⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣻⣿⡟⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡇⠀ ⠀⡼⠰⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣶⣦⣀⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠲⢤⣀⣠⠤⠴⠚⠉⠀⡼⠁⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠈⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀ ⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⣻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⢲⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀ ⠀⠈⠳⠤⣀⣀⣀⣀⡤⠤⠤⠤⠵⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠯⢤⣀⣀⣀⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠴⠏⠀

(\__/) (•ㅅ•) Bulky, Bunny, Deku ＿ノヽ ノ＼＿ `/　`/ ⌒Ｙ⌒ Ｙ ヽ ( 　(三ヽ人　 /　 | |　ﾉ⌒＼ ￣￣ヽ ノ ヽ＿＿＿＞､＿_／ ｜( 王 ﾉ〈 /ﾐ`ー―彡\ / ╰ ╯ \ /\

⁣⠀⠀⠀ (\/) ⠀⠀⠀ (•ㅅ•) Don’t talk to ＿ノヽ ノ＼＿ me or my son / / ⌒Ｙ⌒ Ｙ ヽ ever again. ( 　(三ヽ人　 /　 | |　ﾉ⌒＼ ￣￣ヽ ノ ヽ＿＿＿＞､＿_／ ⠀⠀ ｜( 王 ﾉ〈 ⠀ (\/) ⠀⠀/ﾐ`ー―彡\ ⠀(•ㅅ•) ⠀⠀/ ╰ ╯ \⠀⠀ / \>

(>ᴗ•) !

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

(ᕑ﹆ᗢ﹆ᓫ)

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣛⠝⠋⠁⠄⠄⢀⠄⠄⠄⠁⠉⠉⠙⠙⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⠙⠋⠋⠉⠉⠄⠄⠄⠄⢀⠄⠄⠉⠒⢮⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣯⠞⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⣷⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡶⡶⡶⡷⣿⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢛⠓⠗⠗⠟⠞⠟⠷⢷⣯⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢋⣽⡿⠟⠟⡛⠛⠛⠛⠋⡛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⢴⣿⣿⠄⠄⠄⠃⢀⣷⣈⢿⣿⢄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡰⣿⡿⣁⣿⡅⠄⠄⠘⢀⣿⣿⠦⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣦⣦⣦⣦⣦⣦⣵⣥⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣼⣿⣿⡟⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡿⠿⠛⣋⣡⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⣡⣡⣉⣌⣡⣉⣌⣡⣡⣡⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

ꉂ (´∀｀)ʱªʱªʱª

(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

𝕏

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

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⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣿⡿⠟⠻⠷⢲⣦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⢞⣵⠞⣫⠥⢿⡟⠛⠋⠉⢁⠽⠛⣿⣗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⠃⠉⠁⡞⣀⡀⠀⢸⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠈⠉⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡜⠀⠀⢚⠷⣛⣃⣀⠜⠀⠀⠈⠓⣶⠖⠚⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⣀⣒⣲⠒⡾⢡⡯⣉⣆⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠭⠽⠿⠽⡇⡟⠓⠛⢻⣸⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠈⢀⠀⠀ ⢱⠀⠀⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⡏⡇⠀⢸⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⢹⡏⣿⠀⠁ ⠈⡆⠀⠀⠈⡄⠀⠰⠶⣄⠀⠀⡇⣇⡀⠘⡅⡇⠀⢸⣤⣤⠈⢷⣤⡽⠃⣿⣤⣤ it is so funny ⠀⠘⡄⠠⠀⠣⡀⠀⢌⡙⢅⢸⢸⣀⣈⣢⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠱⡄⢀⣤⡈⡢⡀⠈⠑⣾⠘⣞⠚⣷⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠈⠀⠀ ⠁⠉⠉⠉⠳⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠦⣀⣉⡡⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⠤⣀⣠⠶⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

>ᴗ<

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⡶⠿⠛⠛⠋⠛⠙⠛⠛⠻⠿⢶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠆⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⣰⣾⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣷⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣼⠏⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣀⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣼⣿⠁⠀⠀⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣀⠈⢿⣿⡁⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⣶⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⡿⡿⠛⣿⣿⢇⣿⣇⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠄⣉⠰⣌⣿⣷⡘⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢛⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣁⣴⣿⡿⢨⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣨⣴⣤⣽⣿⡛⡿⣷⣥⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣿⣿⠇⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣛⣰⣿⣿⣟⡠⠄⢀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⣟⠩⠩⢉⠟⡣⢜⠩⠿⣿⣿⢶⣿⣿⣯⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⢯⣿⣿⣭⣭⣷⣾⣿⣿⠿⢏⠻⠿⢿⣶⡿⠟⠛⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⠘⠿⣶⣬⣀⠘⡰⢈⡑⢂⠂⠛⠷⢶⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⣂⣠⣽⣷⣿⠟⡛⡍⡜⡌⠱⡈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡷⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣨⣿⠏⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠂⠁⢁⣀⣌⠙⢧⣄⣀⣀⣠⡴⠾⠿⠿⠟⠟⠛⠉⡉⢶⣼⣥⣢⠑⡈⠅⡀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢷⣤⡀ ⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⣿⡍⠻⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿ ⠀⠘⢿⣤⣤⣶⠿⢻⣦⠀⠈⣿⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⢨⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⠾⠿⠟⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⡶⠟⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⢻⡇⠀⢀⣰⣧⣀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠋⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠘⢷⣙⠿⠾⠛⠁⠈⠻⠷⡶⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠂⠈⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⣿⡟⠃⠀⠀⠈⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣄⠀⢀⣀⣶⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⢈⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⠷⠿⠿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

⸜( ^ ᵕ ^ )⸝♡

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ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

(◍•ᴗ•◍)

ꉂ (˵ •̀▽•́ ˵ )

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৻(≧ᗜ≦৻)

◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

⠉⠉⢩⣍⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉ ⠀⠀⠈⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢉⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⡤⠦⠷⣆⣄⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⡯⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣠⠒⣀⣴⣠⣀⣀⣠⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠼⢟⣻⠯⠥⠤⣄⣀⠀⠙⠂⠀⠘⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠠⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⣿⣿⣿⡷⢊⣿⣿⣿⣟⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠳⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⡻⢿⡿⢿⠶⢶⡭⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣤⡁⣾⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣩⡿⢳⠵⣿⣿⡛⠿⠟⠋⠻⠇⠑⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠋⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢘⠙⢿⣽⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⡟⣿⣾⣿⡏⡆⠁⠈⠁⠙⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠆⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣄⠀⢹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⠀⢠⠇⣲⣯⢸⣧⣿⣿⣤⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡿⠿⠻⠙⠟⠒⠒⠊⠐⠉⠀ ⡿⡿⠋⢰⣾⣷⣎⢿⣗⠻⣗⡊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣅⣠⠆⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⠚⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣷⣵⣾⣾⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣍⣿⡷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠃⠀⢀⣴⣿⣷⣻⣴⣃⢦⡐⢤⡀⡄⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⡵⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠷⣾⣿⣄⣀⣶⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣍⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣯⣿⢧⣟⡶⣝⣦⡝⣬⡓⣜⡰⢆ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠤⢉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡻⠗⢯⠓⢯⠚⣋⠞⡹⢛⠮⢻⢳⡻⢽⣫⢿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠌⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣀⣀⣀⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⠤⡤⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡟⢏⠞⠁⠒⠈⠐⠈⠀⠉⠀⠁⠈⠀⠊⠈⠑⠌⠩⠚ ⠙⠋⠟⡛⠿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠄⠀⠈⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠟⠃⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠐⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠄⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡎⡎⠃⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⠟⣡⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢳⢉⠵⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠱⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⡟⢦⠗⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⡏⢿⣿⠿⡩⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣦⣴⡶⣴⠶⣶⣾⣿⣿⡿⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡄⠹⡏⠀⠁⠀⠘⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠫⠙⠇⠀⠣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⣟⣿⣿⣾⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣌⣹⣿⣿⣯⣭⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠖⠒⠒⠒⠒⠉⠉⠉⠓⠒⠀⠈⠉⣓⣈⠩⠶⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡛⢲⠚⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⢠⣀⣀⣇⣚⣤⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣹⣚⣛⣛⣿⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⡭⠭⢭⠭⠿⡷⠶⠛⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⠀⠀⡰⠤⣤⣄⣳⣀⣠⡴⠒⠻⡅⠀⠀⡇⢸⢲⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⣧⣀⣙⡛⣉⣿⠿⠃⠀⢀⡗⠀⠀⠙⡌⠋⠀⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⡇⠀⠀⠙⠦⡤⠬⠗⠈⠙⠒⠖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠷⠀⠛⠲⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠚⠋⠙⡿⠋⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠚⠲⠞⠿⠭⠽⠙⠒⣞⣢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠉⠙⠛⠶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣄⣀⡀⠈⠲⠒⠢⠚⠀⠀⢀⣠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠆⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠠⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠊⢉⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡀⠀⠻⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠤⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡄⢳⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠺⠤⠖⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣊⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⠞⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀ ⠀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠟⠙⣯⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠔⠒⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀ ⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⡇⠀⠀⠹⣎⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠄⠠⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡡⠔⠀⢨⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⡙⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⢠⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢋⡤⠀⢀⣴⠟⠀⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣀⡷⡄⠀⠈⠳⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢋⣠⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠈⡇ ⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⡖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⢀⡇ ⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃ ⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡖⠒⠒⣶⡦⣤⣤⡤⣤⠤⠤⢀⡤⠖⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀ ⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣗⣶⣶⣾⣷⣿⣷⣿⣥⣤⣤⣼⣤⣶⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠶⢤⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠃⠀⠀ ⠸⣷⣦⡖⣦⠆⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣏⣉⣩⣙⣛⣸⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡧⣰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣟⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠘⣿⢻⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⠴⢦⣤⣤⣤⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣖⣲⣿⣿⡷⠀⠀⣤⢤⣾⣷⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠿⣾⣿⠟⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣄⠀⣀⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣸⣿⣿⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⢿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠠⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣦⣴⣿⡿⠿⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⠆⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿⠁⠀⣰⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣧⡀⠀⠘⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣧⡀⠀⢰⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣇⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣷⣴⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣿⣿⣇⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣦⣀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⢿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀if you give me takis😅

(ꈍoꈍ🌸)🗯

😼😋😊(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠂⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣀⣄⣠⣀⣄⣸⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄ ⠘⢻⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣛⠛⠛⠛⠟⢻⣿⣿⡿⠻⠟⠻⢛⢛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⡿⠋ ⠀⠐⣿⡆⠀⠀⠊⣯⣽⣻⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣇⠀⡄⠀⣟⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⢿⣇⠀⠐⣵⣻⣾⣿⣽⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡂⠐⣾⣿⣿⢦⡁⠄⠀⣸⣿⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⣄⢈⠛⠛⠛⢁⣠⣾⡿⢋⠹⢿⣷⣄⡈⠛⠟⢋⣁⢀⣴⡿⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡏⠙⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠠⠀⠈⠙⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠆⠀⢀⡀⢀⡀⠄⣀⢀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠘⠃⠀⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⡇⠁⠈⠀⠀⢹⠿⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⠠⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢀⠄⢠⠀⠄⢂⢁⢂⡁⢢⠐⡄⣂⠤⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠋⠜⠢⠌⠦⠸⠄⠓⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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CATCH IN MY CHIP x (Autistic author) ♡. ᴏᴠᴇʀsᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀs .. Plankton's gaze is unfocused, lost in the storm. His body is rigid, his muscles tense like coils ready to spring. The room spins, the colors a blur Karen's fear a tangible entity in the room. Her hand on his cheek is a plea, a gentle reminder that she's there, that he's not alone. "Look at me," she whispers, her voice a soft mantra. "You're safe." But he doesn't hear her, not really. He's too lost in the sensory hurricane that engulfs him. Karen races as she watches the man she loves drift further away, his mind trapped in the labyrinth of his own making. She's seen this before, the way his autism can swallow him whole, leaving only the shell of a man behind. But this time is different. This time, there's Chip, waking up to his dad's struggle. Her eyes dart from Plankton's panicked gaze to their son's sleepy face, the innocence in his expression a stark contrast to the chaos in her husband's eye. She knows she must act fast, to protect them both from the storm. With a gentle touch, she lifts Chip's hand from Plankton's arm, her movements as soft as a leaf landing on a pond. Chip stirs, his eyes fluttering open to meet hers. The concern in her gaze is a question he doesn't understand, but he accidentally brushes his dad's shoulder as he sits up.. Plankton's body jerks, his single eye rolling back in his head. The room goes dark, the colors swirling into a void. The ringing in his ears is deafening. Karen's hand is a flash, catching him. Her arms wrap around him, supporting his weight as his body goes limp. Chip's eyes are wide with fear, his hand suddenly empty. "Daddy?" he whispers, the word a prayer in the quiet. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's face, her hand checking for a pulse. She feels the steady throb of life beneath her fingertips, relief flooding her veins. "Daddy?" Chip's voice is a whisper of fear, his hand reaching out to touch his father's arm, but Karen stops him. "Let him be," she says, her tone firm. "He needs space." Her eyes are on Plankton, watching for any sign of returning consciousness. The room is a tomb of silence, the only sound their mingled breaths. Chip nods, his eyes wide with worry. He can see the fear in his mother's gaze, feel the tension in the air. But he trusts her. He has to. Plankton is his dad, and she knows him better than anyone. Chip watches, his own breaths shallow with fear. He opens his mouth to speak, to ask what's wrong, but Karen's hand is swift, silencing his words with a single finger to her screen. The gesture is a soft whisper, a command that he understands without explanation. Plankton's body is limp in Karen's embrace, his antennas still quivering with the aftershocks of his overload. Her eyes are filled with determination, her love for her husband a fiery beacon in the dark room. With gentle care, she lowers his head to the pillow, his body trembling with the last vestiges of panic. Chip's eyes are wide with uncertainty, his hand poised in the air. "Is he okay?" he whispers, his voice small in the vastness of the moment. With gentle firmness, Karen takes Chip's hand, leading him out of the room. "We need to give him some space," she murmurs, her screen never leaving Plankton's form. "He'll come to when he's ready. This only happens when his overwhelm gets him dizzy to the point of passing out, which in itself has only happened twice before. It's part of his autism, Chip." Chip nods solemnly, his fear for his dad mingling with his curiosity about this new aspect of Plankton he's never seen. "What can we do?" he asks, his voice barely audible. Karen squeezes his hand, her screen never leaving Plankton. "For now, we wait. And when he wakes up, we make sure to give him time to recover. No loud noises, no sudden movements." She speaks with a calmness that belies the storm raging in her own heart. They sit together on the edge of the bed, their screens locked on Plankton. Karen's grip on Chip's hand is tight, her knuckles white. She's seen this before, but it never gets easier. "Just wait," she whispers, her voice shaky. "Just wait." They sit in silence, the air thick with unspoken emotions. The sun peeks through the blinds, casting slanted bars of light across Plankton's unconscious form. Karen aches as she watches the man she loves, the man who's been her rock, reduced to this trembling shell. But she knows he's strong. He's survived worse storms than this. Minutes tick by, each one longer than the last. The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for Plankton to stir. And then, slowly, his antennas cease their trembling. His eye flickers open, focusing on the two figures beside his bed. The world is still a blur, his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. But Karen's face is a beacon, her eyes a port in the storm. He tries to speak, his mouth dry as sandpaper, but only a croak escapes. "I'm sorry," he manages, the words a feeble whisper. His eye meets Chip's, filled with a swirl of emotions he can't quite name. Regret, fear, love. All fighting for supremacy. Chip's grip on Karen's hand tightens, his own eyes reflecting the same tumult of feelings. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Instead, he reaches out with his free hand when Karen stops him. "Let him recover," she says, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "He needs to process, Chip. Let me talk to him first." With a nod, Chip withdraws his hand, his heart pounding in his chest.

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