Vinijr. Emojis & Text

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. 0ᥫ᭡.⚽⚽༯˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

RIIZE IS 7!!! 🗣

I V X L C D M 1 5 10 50 100 500 1000 🔢 Individual decimal places Thousands Hundreds Tens Units 1 M C X I 2 MM CC XX II 3 MMM CCC XXX III 4 CD XL IV 5 D L V 6 DC LX VI 7 DCC LXX VII 8 DCCC LXXX VIII 9 CM XC IX

⟭⟬⁷

🍟🙈🔢

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

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

𝗥𝗜𝗜𝗭𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝟕𑁤 #𝐒ꭑ 𝗌υρⱺⱺ𝗋𝗍𝗌 ᑲυᥣᥣ𝗒𐓣𝗀⁷

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii (Autistic Author) The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. During a particularly suspenseful scene, Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's arm instinctively. But the sudden touch sends Plankton spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he starts to shake uncontrollably. "Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening in concern. Plankton's body jolts, his antennae flailing wildly as his eye roll back. "Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear as he clutches his father's arm tighter. Plankton's tremors only worsen, his body convulsing in a way that's both frightening and heartbreaking. Karen's realizes what's happening. "Chip, let go!" she cries. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice trembling with fear. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae flailing as if trying to escape the confines of his own body. His mouth opens in a silent scream. Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but something else entirely—a meltdown, a result of the overwhelming emotions he's been trying to hold in. She rushes to his side with worry. "Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae thrashing about like seaweed in a storm. Karen quickly moves closer, her own hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice firm yet filled with empathy. "What's wrong with him?" he stammers, voice trembling. Karen's full of sadness as she takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling him away from Plankton's convulsing form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's just having a hard time right now." Her movements are swift and sure as she guides Chip away from the couch, her gaze never leaving Plankton. His body is still racked with tremors, his antennae a wild mess of emotions. She knows that touch can be overwhelming for Plankton in moments like these, so she keeps her distance, giving him the space he needs. "Why is he doing that?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky with fear. Karen's heart aches as she holds him close, trying to shield him from the harshness of the world. "It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she explains gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Sometimes, when some neurodivergent people get really upset or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like this." Karen's on Plankton, who's still trembling on the couch, his antennae a blur of distress. She knows he needs space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe distance, speaking softly so as not to add to the sensory overload. "Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's ok. Just breathe." Plankton's body continues to spasm, his antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. Karen's filled with a fierce determination as she carefully approaches him, her movements slow and calculated to avoid triggering more distress. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm here." Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his body calming as he registers her presence. "It's ok," she repeats. With trembling hands, she reaches out to stroke his back, the barest touch. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps. "Just breathe," she whispers again, her hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's ok, you're ok." Plankton's antennae slow their erratic dance, his body following suit. The tremors subside, leaving him drained and panting. "Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder. Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's way of letting out all the big feelings." Chip watches, his grip on Karen tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he asks, his voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give him a moment." The room is silent except for Plankton's uneven breathing. The colors from the TV flicker across their faces, painting them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen can feel Chip's little heart beating against hers, and she knows he's scared. "It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just needs some time." Plankton's antennae droop, his body finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen nods, her hand still on his back, offering assurance without words. "Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can you go to your room for a bit?" He nods, eyes still glued to his father, but he doesn't protest. With a heavy heart, Karen watches her son disappear down the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him. Turning her full attention to Plankton, she sits down beside him, her hand resting lightly on his back. His breathing is still ragged, his antennae barely moving. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice hoarse. Karen nods with understanding. "We'll talk to him," she says gently. "But first, let's make sure you're ok." Plankton's body still trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand on his back, her touch a silent promise that she's there for him. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, trying to soothe him. "You don't have to apologize," she says firmly. "You are who you are, and we love you for it." Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up at her, his single eye brimming with unshed tears. "But I don't know how to be a good dad like this," he chokes out. Karen's heart breaks at his words, but she keeps her voice steady. "You're already a great dad, Plankton," she says. "You just need to find a way to show Chip that." He looks at her, hope and doubt warring in his expression. "How?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Karen takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "By teaching him," she says gently. "By letting him in, just like you're letting us in now." Plankton's antennae droop, and he nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want him to see me like this." Karen squeezes his hand. "He already does," she says gently. "And he loves you anyway."

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vii (Autistic author) He starts to rock back and forth, his single eye squeezed shut as he tries to cope with the sudden change in his environment. Mr. Krabs' confusion deepens, his claws scratching his head in bemusement. "What's gotten into you, Plankton?" he says. But Plankton can't stop. His rocking intensifies, his whispered mantra becoming more desperate. "Fish, fish, fish," he repeats, his voice rising slightly with each iteration. Mr. Krabs stares at Plankton, his confusion turning. "Plankton, you ok?" he asks. But Plankton is lost in his own world, his stimming a way to self-regulate. His antennas wave back and forth in a soothing rhythm, his body rocking slightly as he murmurs "fish, fish, fish." Sponge Bob's heart aches as he watches his friend, his own hands clenching into fists at his side. He understands now that Plankton's behavior isn't a game, it's a coping mechanism, a way to navigate through the chaos in his head. "Plankton, it's ok," Sponge Bob says soothingly, approaching his friend. He gently picks up one of the fallen chess pieces, a knight, and holds it out to him. "Do you want to play again?" Plankton's antennas cease their frantic motion, his eye focusing on the knight. He takes it, his fingers tracing the intricate carvings, his breathing steadying. "Fish," he says, his voice calmer. Sponge Bob watches his friend carefully, his heart breaking at the sight of his distress. He understands now that Plankton's repetition is not just a strange behavior, but a way to cope with his new reality. Mr. Krabs, still confused, watches as Plankton's tracing the lines of the chessboard. "What are ye doing?" he asks, his voice annoyed. Sponge Bob's eyes meet Plankton's, and he sees the desperation in his friend's eye. "Mr. Krabs, Plankton's just... trying to remember how to play," he lies gently. Mr. Krabs grumbles but doesn't argue. Sponge Bob takes this moment to sit next to Plankton, placing his hand on his shoulder. "It's ok," he whispers. "We'll play again when you're ready." Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye dilating slightly as he nods. He clutches the knight tightly, his thumb stroking its smooth surface. It's a familiar comfort, something from before the accident, before the world became a confusing cacophony of sounds and sights. As the moments pass, Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the chessboard, the pattern of the squares providing a comforting visual stimulation. Sponge Bob notices the subtle change in his friend's demeanor, the tension easing from his tiny body. "Fish," Plankton murmurs again, but this time with less urgency. He carefully sets the knight back down on the board, his hand hovering above it. Sponge Bob's heart swells with affection, and he knows that despite the confusion and fear in Plankton's eye, his friend is trying. Mr. Krabs, however, is far from convinced, his eyes narrowing. "If this is how you're going to be, I'm not playing," he declares, crossing his arms over his chest. But Plankton's antennas perk up slightly, his interest piqued by the challenge. He picks up the knight again, his thumb caressing the piece. "Fish," he whispers, his gaze flicking to Sponge Bob and then back to the board. It's a plea. Sponge Bob nods, his face a picture of solemn reassurance. "It's ok," he repeats. "Just..." "What's wrong with you, Plankton?" Mr. Krabs exclaims. Plankton's antennas droop, and he looks down at his cards again. He doesn't know how to explain his condition to Mr. Krabs, who's always so dismissive of him. He feels a pang of desperation, racing to find a way to bridge understanding. Then, it hits him. With trembling hands, Plankton mimics Mr. Krabs' crossed arms, his voice a poor imitation. "What's wrong with you, Plankton," he repeats firmly. Mr. Krabs' eyes bulge with surprise. "What's this now?" he mutters, giving way to amusement. He chuckles deeply, his claws unfolding from his chest. Sponge Bob understands Plankton. "Mr. Krabs," he says quickly, trying to intercept the situation. "Plankton's..." But Mr. Krabs waves his hand dismissively. "I know, I know," he says, his voice filled with mockery. "Just playing his little games." Plankton doesn't want to be laughed at, especially not by Mr. Krabs. With determined effort, he mimics Mr. Krabs. "I know I know," he says again, his tone mimicking Mr. Krabs'. "Just playing his little games!" Mr. Krabs' laughter fades, his gaze sharp. "What now, Plankton?" he demands, his voice hard. Plankton's antennas quiver with determination as he picks up Mr. Krabs' mannerisms. "I know, I know," he repeats, his eye fixed on Mr. Krabs. "Just playing his little games!" Mr. Krabs' expression sours to irritation. "What's your game, Plankton?" he snaps. "Game," he repeats, his voice a mirror of Mr. Krabs'. "Game, game Mr. Krabs." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow, his confusion shifting to annoyance. "You're not making sense," he says, his voice sharp. But Plankton doesn't stop. "Game, game Mr. Krabs," he persists, his antennas waving frantically. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes. He knows Plankton's not trying to annoy; he's desperately trying to convey something, but his brain's wiring isn't cooperating. Plankton's repetition has turned into a mantra, a plea for understanding that only Mr. Krabs seems to ignore. Mr. Krabs' patience snaps. "Enough!" he shouts, slamming his claws on the table. "What do you want from me, Plankton?" Plankton's antennas flatten, his eye filling with tears. Sponge Bob jumps up, his own voice shaky. "Mr. Krabs, please, don't yell," he begs. "It's just a game." Mr. Krabs' face twists in anger. "This isn't a game, this is your usual scheme to drive me crazy!" "No, Mr. Krabs," he says.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vii (Autistic author) The movie ended with the snails crossing the finish line. Sponge Bob reached for the remote, fingers hovering over the button. "Would you like to watch something else?" he asks, voice soft. Sponge Bob noticed his friend Plankton's gentle snores. He had fallen asleep, his body slack. "Plankton?" he whispered. Sponge Bob leaned closer, his heart skipping a beat as he noticed Plankton's gentle snores. Plankton didn't stir, his body slumped slightly curled up. Sponge Bob's gaze softened as he realized he had fallen asleep likely for the night. Sponge Bob felt a wave of relief wash over him, for Plankton found comfort in their shared experience. He gently cradles him. Karen, watching from the doorway, smiled softly as she saw Sponge Bob's gentle care. She knew that Sponge Bob had always had a special bond with Plankton, but now, it seemed that bond had grown deeper, more meaningful. He had always been there for Plankton, through their many adventures and misunderstandings. Now, in the face of Plankton's new reality, he remained steadfast, offering a steady hand in the storm of change. "Let's get him to bed," Karen whispered, stepping into the room. Her eyes met Sponge Bob's, her gaze filled with warmth and thanks. Together, they carefully lifted Plankton from the couch, his body limp with sleep. His antennae twitched slightly at the sudden movement, but his snores remained steady, a testament to his deep sleep. Sponge Bob walked down the hallway, his steps light, carrying Plankton with ease. Karen had prepared the bed. They laid him down, his antennae flailing briefly before settling against the pillow. Sponge Bob tucked the blanket around him, his movements careful not to disturb his friend. Plankton's snores grew quieter as his body settled into the cool embrace of the sheets. His antennae twitched one last time before going still, his mouth slightly parted. Sponge Bob and Karen stepped back, exchanging a look of shared relief. "He's asleep," Karen murmured, her voice a soft caress in the quiet room. Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze lingering on Plankton's peaceful face. "Thanks for today, Karen," he said, his voice grateful. Karen's smile was warm. "Anytime, Sponge Bob," she replied. "You're such a good friend to him." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes still on Plankton's sleeping form. "Always will be," he said. The next morning, Plankton woke up, and his antennae twitched as he registered the events of the previous day. He sat up, the blanket sliding off his body, and looked around. Sponge Bob stirred from the armchair, where he had dozed off watching over him. "Morning, Plankton," he said, his voice slightly rough with sleep. Plankton's antennae quivered as he looked around, his gaze falling on Sponge Bob. Sponge Bob yawned, stretching his spongy body, his voice gentle. "You fell asleep." Plankton's antennae twitched as his eye focused on Sponge Bob, his brain slowly piecing together the events of the previous evening. Sponge Bob's smile was warm. "You tired out, buddy?" he asked, his voice gentle. Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae twitching slightly. "Tired," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Sponge Bob nodded, understandingly. "How about we start with a quiet morning?" he suggested. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly before he nods. "Quiet morning," he murmured, his voice agreeable. Sponge Bob nodded, his expression filled with concern. "How about some pancakes?" he offered. "They're nice and easy on the stomach." Plankton's antennae perked up at the mention of food. "No pancakes," he murmured, his voice still sluggish with sleep. Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "No pancakes?" he repeated, surprise evident in his tone. "But you love pancakes!" Plankton's antennae quivered as he thought, his voice a soft whisper. "Pancakes... no," he said, his gaze drifting to the window where the early morning sun peeked through the curtains. The light was gentle, not yet harsh enough to cause him pain. "Toast," he decided, his voice final. Sponge Bob nodded, his smile slightly saddened but respectful of Plankton's new boundaries. "Okay, toast it is," he said, standing up from the chair and heading to the kitchen. Karen met SpongeBob. "Good morning! How's everything?" Sponge Bob's expression was a mixture of hope and trepidation. "Plankton's okay," he said. "He's just really tired." Karen nodded, her gaze following her husband as he slowly made his way to the kitchen. "It's going to take some time for us to figure this out," she said. "But we'll get there." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's reclined form. "We will," he said, his voice firm with resolve. He returned to the kitchen, his spongy feet padding softly against the floor. The room was bathed in the gentle light of dawn, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound. He pulled out a loaf of bread, his mind racing with thoughts of Plankton's new needs. Sponge Bob carefully sliced two pieces of toast, placing them in the toaster with a soft click. "Morning!" Karen says as Plankton sits down. She gives him milk, as she knew it soothes him. "Stayed up late for movie. Still am tired. Love Karen and SpongeBob." The toaster's ding pierced the silence, and Plankton's antennae shot straight up, his body stiffening at the sudden noise. "Easy, Plankton," Sponge Bob called from the kitchen, his voice soothing. "It's just the toast." "Toast," he murmured. "Toast." Sponge Bob carefully brought the toast to the table, placing it before Plankton. The scent of warm bread filled the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of Karen's brewing coffee. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in the sight, his body visibly relaxing at the familiar smells. "Yesterday's crazy, autistic or not. And you're still getting used to it all." Karen says as Plankton eats the toast. Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching slightly, still exhausted. The milk Karen had given him was warm, the perfect temperature to soothe his still-frazzled nerves. He brought the cup to his lips, his hands trembling just a bit. As the creamy liquid slid down his throat, Plankton felt a gentle wash of calm spread through him. His antennae, which had been twitching in anticipation of the morning's noises, grew still. It usually helps calm him, which is what it did today. Sponge Bob sat opposite him, his eyes filled with concern. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping as he took another sip of his milk. "Tired," he murmured. Karen sat next to him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "It's okay," she said, her voice a gentle reminder of his new reality. SpongeBob helped Karen clean up the kitchen. Plankton sat in the chair, his body slumped, his antennae still. His eye was closed, his tiny chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. His head tilted back and a soft snore escaped his open mouth. Karen noticed. The past few days had taken a toll on him, but she knew that with time and patience, they would find their new normal. "Let's get you to the couch," she murmured, her voice soft. She gently took the cup from Plankton's hand, his grip loose with sleep. Sponge Bob helped her lift his tiny form from the chair. Together, they carried him to the living room, his body relaxed in their grasp. They placed him on the couch, his antennae twitching slightly as he settled into the pillows. Sponge Bob tucked the blanket around Plankton, his eyes never leaving his friend's sleeping face. "Rest, Plankton," he whispered. "We're here." Karen nodded, her pixel eyes misting with emotion. "Thank you, Sponge Bob," she said. "For being here." Sponge Bob's smile was genuine. "Always, Karen," he said, his spongy hand giving hers a gentle squeeze. "Always."

𝟕love

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

🗒🎱🕢➡

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

♾️

🇮🇻🇻🇮🇮

˚🌷͙֒˖𓍢ִ໋✧˚.🎀༘⋆" ✦ 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 ✦ "

7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣

👇🏾

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vii (Autistic author) Sponge Bob's mind is racing, his heart thumping in his chest. He had never seen Plankton like this, and the sudden change was unnerving. "What happened to make you so..." he asks, his voice laced with curiosity. Plankton's smile broadens, his hands continuing their flapping dance. "Good book," he repeats. "Best friend." He pats the bed again, his gesture urging Sponge Bob to sit closer. Sponge Bob does, his gaze still locked on Plankton's. "But what happened?" he presses, his voice filled with concern. "You've never been this... this... affectionate before." Plankton's hands stop their flapping, his antennas drooping slightly. "Just happy." Sponge Bob's eyes search his friend's, his concern growing with each repetition. "But Plankton, what's really going on?" he asks, his voice filled with urgency. "You've never talked like this before." Plankton's smile wavers, his hand reaching for the book. "Read," he says, his voice a monotone. "Happy book." Sponge Bob's eyes dart between Plankton's and the complex text before him. "But Plankton, I don't know what this means." Plankton's smile fades, his hands stilled. He looks at Sponge Bob with an unblinking stare, his mind racing. "Friend," he says, his voice flat. "Best friend." His gaze drops to the book, then back to Sponge Bob's face. "Read," he instructs, his tone firm. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, the weight of Plankton's stare heavy on his shoulders. He opens the book to a random page. "Ok," he says, his voice shaking slightly. "I'll try." He starts from the top, his pronunciation awkward and stilted. "Quantum Mechanics," he reads, his eyes squinting at the text. Sponge Bob's voice falters, the complexity of the words tripping his tongue. "Plankton, I don't understand any of this," he says, his voice filled with frustration. Plankton's eye widen, his smile fading. "Friend," he repeats, his voice strained. "Best friend." He grabs the book from Sponge Bob's hands, his movements suddenly frantic. "Read," he says, his voice a mix of desperation and joy. "Good book." Sponge Bob's heart races as he watches his friend's erratic behavior. He knows something is seriously off, but he's not sure what. "Plankton What's going on with you?" Plankton's smile flickers back, his hands stilling. He looks at Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. "Read," he repeats. "Best friend read." Sponge Bob nods, his throat tight. He tries again, his voice more confident this time. "Quantum Mechanics," he repeats. Plankton's smile brightens, his hands resuming their flutter. "Good," he says, his voice a monotone cheer. "Best friend." Sponge Bob's heart aches with concern, but he continues to read, hoping to find some comfort in the words for his friend. "Quantum Entanglement," he murmurs, his eyes scanning the page for any sign of understanding. Plankton's flapping grows more intense, his body rocking back and forth with excitement. Sponge Bob's eyes widen as he notices Plankton's erratic behavior, but he keeps reading, his voice steady and calm. "The universe," he says, his eyes skimming the page, "is a strange and wondrous place." Plankton's eye light up, his hands flapping rapidly. "Wondrous place," he echoes, his voice mirroring Sponge Bob's. "Best friend." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spongy cheeks reddening. "You're saying the same thing I just said," he points out, his voice filled with confusion. Plankton nods vigorously, his hands fluttering in the air. "You're saying same thing," he says, his voice a cheerful mimic of Sponge Bob's. "Wondrous place. Saying the same thing just said.." "Plankton," SpongeBob says, his voice urgent. "What's going on with you?" Plankton's smile is wide, but his gaze is distant, as if he's somewhere else entirely. "You're saying the same thing," he echoes again, his hands flapping in a rhythmic pattern that matches his words. Sponge Bob's eyes widen. "Plankton," he says, his voice strained. "You're just repeating me." He pauses, trying to gauge his friend's reaction. Plankton nods, his smile still in place. "Yes," he says, his voice a copy of Sponge Bob's. "You're repeating." His hands flap with excitement. Sponge Bob's concern grows, his eyes searching Plankton's for any sign of distress. "But why, Plankton?" he asks, his voice soft with worry. Plankton's smile falters, his hands stopping mid-flap. "But why?" he repeats, his voice a perfect echo of Sponge Bob's. "You're copying me," he says. "Why are you copying everything I say?" Plankton's eye refocus on Sponge Bob's face, his smile returning. "You're copying me why are you copying everything I say." Plankton echoed. Sponge Bob's trying to find a reason behind the behavior. "I'm asking you what's going on!" Plankton nods, his antennae waving slightly. "SpongeBob asking me what's going on," he mimics. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his heart racing. "Plankton," he says, his voice filled with urgency. "This isn't funny. What's really happening?" "This isn't funny," he echoes Sponge Bob's tone. "What's happening?" Sponge Bob's heart sinks. "Plankton," he says, his voice shaking. "What's wrong with you?" Plankton's eye locked on Sponge Bob's. "Wrong with Plankton," he echoes. "What's wrong?" Sponge Bob's voice trembles as he speaks. "You're not acting like yourself," he says, his heart pounding. "You're just repeating everything I say." "You're repeating everything I say," he says, his voice a mirror. "Plankton," he says, his voice shaking. "Please, tell me what's going on." "Please tell me what's going on," he repeats, his voice a perfect match to Sponge Bob's. "You tell me." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of fear and desperation. "But, Plankton," he says, his voice trembling. "You're just repeating everything I say." He takes a deep breath, his mind racing to understand his friend's sudden change. Plankton's smile is unwavering, his hands still fluttering. "You're just repeating everything," he echoes. "I say." His voice is calm, his movements methodical. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of his friend. "Please, Plankton," he begs, his voice cracking with anger. But Plankton's response is only more of the same, his words a perfect echo of Sponge Bob's plea. "Please, Plankton," he repeats, his voice a mirror of pain. "Please.." "This isn't right," he says, his voice filled with frustration. "You're not acting normal." Plankton's smile falters for a moment, his hands stilling. "Not normal," he repeats, his voice a hollow echo. "You not acting right." Sponge Bob's frustration boils over. "I'm not the one who's changed!" he exclaims, his voice loud. "You're the one who's been acting weird and repeating everything I say!" "You're the one who's changed," he echoes, his voice still calm. "Weird. Repeating." Sponge Bob's anger flares, his spongy fists clenching. "No, Plankton!" he says, his voice rising. "You're the one who's different! You're not the same as before!" Plankton's smile fades, his hands coming to a halt. His gaze meets Sponge Bob's with a flicker of understanding. "Different," he says, his voice a flat echo. "Not same." Sponge Bob's anger turns to desperation. "What happened to you?" he asks, his voice cracking. "Why are you doing this?" Plankton's gaze is unyielding, his smile a forced imitation of happiness. "You doing this," he repeats, his voice a monotone. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with anger. "What are you talking about?" he demands, his hands clenching into fists. "I haven't done anything!" Plankton's smile flickers, his gaze dropping to his book. "You haven't done anything," he echoes, his voice a mirror of Sponge Bob's anger. "I have." Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, his confusion turning to anger. "What are you saying?" he asks, his voice sharp. Plankton's hands resuming their flapping. "I have book," he says, his voice calmer. "Good book. Happy book." Sponge Bob's anger dissipates, his confusion deepening. "But Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "What's the book got to do with anything?" "Book," he repeats, his voice a monotone chant. "Book, book." Sponge Bob's confusion turns to anger, his eyes narrowing. "What is it with this book?" he demands, his voice tight. "What's so special about it?" Plankton's smile flickers, his hands pausing in their flapping. "You and book," he says, his voice a monotone whisper. "Makes Plankton happy." SpongeBob grabs Plankton's wrists to stop the flapping, making Plankton finally stop his repetitive chanting. "What's gotten into you?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice shaking with anger and concern. "Are you just messing with me?" Plankton's smile fades, his antennas drooping. "No mess," he says, his voice a sad echo. He tries to pull his hands free, but Sponge Bob's grip tightens. Sponge Bob's eyes bore into his friend's, searching for anything that might explain this strange behavior. "Then what is it, Plankton?" he asks, his voice a mix of anger and fear. "What's going on?" Plankton's gaze flickers with a hint of sadness. "Accident," he whispers, his voice a hollow echo, his body tense.

love , cute ,infinite ♾️❤✨🌌💯♾️

77️7️7️𓃏

·ᴥ·

♾㊙

♾㊙🖐🏾

They replaced their search for knowledge With the reach of many material gains They lack the tenderness of the sensitive Empathetic bodies crying from the pain It's too late to grow their frame Of mind it seems that it's already made No use in arguing with someone who doesn't Wanna prioritize birthing of creation~🎶

∞︎︎∞︎🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤୧⍤⃝ 𓂀(´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡🂾ᨖ

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

💗✨🏹🐈‍⬛

7️⃣

RIIZE IS 7.🕧

🫧🫧🧡🧡🧡🫧🫧🫧🧡🧡🧡🫧🫧 🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧 🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧 🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧 🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧 🫧🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧🫧 🫧🫧🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧🫧🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧🫧🫧🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🧡7️⃣🧡🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🧡🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

7 7️

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠖⣀⠉⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣷⣶⣶⣦⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⢿⣛⡟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣛⠛⠛⣟⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡉⣁⣘⣀⣀⡛⠀⠉⠀⠀⠉⠉⠳⢽⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠡⠤⠤⢄⡀⠉⠉⡿⣷⣆⠀⠀⡇⠈⣿⡇⢈⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣶⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣷⡎⢿⣄⣴⣧⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢩⣯⣝⢿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣴⣿⣥⣼⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠁⢤⡈⣿⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⡷⠿⠻⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⣼⡏⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣄⣶⣷⢻⡀⠀⠸⡆⢹⡇⠀⠈⠙⠛⠋⠃⣨⡿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢨⣿⡿⠋⢀⣼⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⠃⢸⣇⠀⠀⠻⣾⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣁⣤⣴⣞⡽⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⢷⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠓⠛⢛⢛⣭⠄⠀⠀⠀⡀⢹⣿⣿⣧⣤⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡶⣽⣿⡾⠂⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠳⣤⣤⣤⣤⣽⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣯⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⢿⣷⠀⠀⠿⠂⠀⠀⢸⣿⣠⣴⣿⣿⣦⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣟⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠰⢲⠄⣦⣤⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣷⡀⣼⠀⢸⢡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⡏⢷⣼⡄⠈⢸⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⠻⣿⡀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠃⠈⠁ ⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⢠⣍⣉⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠋⠉⣉⡉⠉⠉⠉⣉⡩⠯⠉⠁⣄⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣁⣠⣄⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣤⣴⣶⣄⡉⢿⠶⠁⣠⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠ ⣬⣿⣏⣹⣿⣭⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⢹⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣯⠉⠉⠀⣠⣴⣷⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⢀⣉⢀⡀⠛ ⣁⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠙⣿⣿⣷⣤⣾⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢀⡀⠈⠛⠛ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠁⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢙⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣜⣿⣦⡀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣄⣸⣿⣿⡿⠀⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣯⡔⣽⣟⠿⣿⣿⣛⢷⡄ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣉⠉⠉⢉⣛⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣛⠛⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡶⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣻⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⣟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

please dont put gross stuff here ! keep it to yourself or post it elsewhere, their is kids around 9 and a few years up here just trying to find cute symbols !! this is a safe space ^^ spread the word please :3

111⁷⁷⁷ㅤ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ

7️7️7️

愛

Ⓜhi

⠀⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠟⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠻⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⠉⠉⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⣿⣿⡏⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⠁⠉⣿⣿⡇ ⢸⣿⣿⡀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣿⣿⣄⠀⠉⠉⠁ ⢸⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⠋⠙⢿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⡄ ⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⠀⠈⣿⣿⡇ ⢸⣿⣿⣦⣤⣾⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣤⣴⣿⣿⠇ ⠘⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

🇩🇦🇮🇿🇮🇩🌄

𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗 ①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨ １２３４５６７８９ 𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡 ➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒ ¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹ ₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉ 1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶ 1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲ 1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳ 【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】 『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』

qಇ.𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆❷‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆༺♡༻☽♛𑁤ྀི𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽?❶❸𝓕𝓾𝓬𝓴ɪ፝֟ᥫ᭡★✧˖°🌷📎⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚ひ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི≽^•⩊•^≼ꜝꜝ⋆˚✿˖°❛❛❞❻❼❾❿⩇⩇:⩇⩇🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐𐙚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬❧

-⃝⃤75😩

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠀⠈⢙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣷⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠃⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢤⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⠁⠀⠀⠰⣤⣀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡏⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠹⣿⣷⣤⣀⣀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⣤⣤⣾⣿⡟⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠘⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣇⣀⣹⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⣿⡟⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡘⢿⡶⢤⣀⣀⣀⣉⣉⣁⣀⣀⣠⣴⣾⡟⢁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⠁⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠉⢹⠟⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣤ ⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⣸⣿⣿⣧⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

✮✮

អានស្រីសុំ ⚠️

:3✩°｡⋆⸜(˙꒳​˙ )🛩☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

✨️🕯✨️🕯 ✨️ 🕯✨️ 🕯 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 🕯 ✨️ 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 ✨️ 🕯 𝐕𝐞𝐫. 🕯 ✨️🕯✨️🕯✨️🕯✨️

𓐀

𓃏

𓐊

ℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾☠

𓎌

𓍨

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣠⡤⠤⠤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢛⣯⠭⠭⠥⠤⠤⠶⠿⠻⣟⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠁⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣇⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣹⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠟⢺⣿⠉⢉⣉⣉⣉⣀⡈⠙⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⡄⣼⡿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠃⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⣻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⢹⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣄⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣄⣀⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣜⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣿⣷⣄⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡾⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⣯⣥⣻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡴⠾⠋⠉⢳⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⣤⡤⠶⠟⠋⠉⣀⣤⣴⠾⠿⠛⢻⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣏⢀⣀⣤⣴⠾⠿⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠔⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠲⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣄⢀⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠿⣏⣿⠀⠀⠐⠒⠒⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠉⠀⠀⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣦⠀⠀⠀⡾⠁⠏⠀⠀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣴⠶⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⡀⠀⠀⢰⠇⠀⠀⣧⣀⣴⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⡀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢀⣼⠇⢠⣤⣤⣾⣿⣏⣼⣧⡀⣀⠀⠉⠛⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣴⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣷⣾⠇⠀⠀⣾⣥⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⡀⠀⠀⠸⡄⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠏⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠻⣿⣿⣧⣀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⣦⡀⠰⣝⢦⡀⠀⣷⣾⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⢾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⠟⢿⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠙⠉⠷⢩⣿⠃⠀⠀⠛⠁⠁⠀⢸⣇⣠⠶⣚⣵⠟⣡⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡟⠉⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠙⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠠⣿⠟⠃⣴⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢠⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⠋⠙⠿⠃⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⠶⠾⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⠟⠁⣠⡞⠉⠛⠓⠶⢦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣾⠃⠹⢦⣀⡤⠤⠻⣆⠀⠘⣿⠟⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠋⠀⢀⣴⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠷⢦⣤⣀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣄⣀⠙⠧⢤⣀⣸⡄⠀⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡴⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢿⣥⣤⣤⣤⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠿⢷⣶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢶⣦⡤⣤⡼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠀⠀⠉⠳⠶⠶⠶⠟⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣉⣿⣿⢿⣦⣄⣀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣿⣏⣀⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣨⣿⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⡶⠚⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠈⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠈⠉⠉⠙⠛⢻⣶⣤⣤⣤⠤⣤⣶⠶⠞⠛⠉⠙⠻⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢻⣯⣛⠿⠷⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡿⠟⠁⢀⣠⠀⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⣿⠙⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⢀⡴⠟⣡⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⣷⠀⠒⠂⠀⢰⠏⠉⢿⣶⣄⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⢿⣅⢀⣤⡾⢋⣴⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣧⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣾⣿⡁⠀⠈⢿⣏⢁⣴⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⠏⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡟⠁⠘⢿⡄⠀⠀⠻⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠃⠀⠀⢘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⢫⡄⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠈⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⣼⡟⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⢤⡄⠀⠀⠘⢷⣄⠀⠀⠉⢻⣧⡀⢀⣴⡾⠛⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣨⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣯⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠉⠳⣦⡀⠀⢙⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠸⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⣠⣿⠋⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣻⡶⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡛⢷⣦⣤⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠈⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⢀⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡄⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣄⠈⠙⠿⣿⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⡈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣷⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠃⠿⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠋⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⢻⣶⣶⣤⣤⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣄⣀⣤⣤⠤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣼⠏⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⡿⠟⠋⢁⣀⣤⣤⣉⠛⣷⣄⣀⣤⡶⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠰⠂⠐⠚⠋⣉⣉⣀⣠⣤⣤⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⡴⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⣿⡏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠠⠤⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠶⠾⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⣉⣀⣀⣸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⣤⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⠀⠠⠶⠶⠾⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠙⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣰⡿⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠛⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⡿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⡟⢹⣆⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠻⣿⡀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣾⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⣇⠀⣿⣄⠀⢀⢿⣷⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠺⠿⠓⠒⠚⢛⣀⣰⡿⠀⣀⣀⠀⢠⣴⣶⣤⠴⠶⠒⠂⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢿⣷⠀⠀⠀⡄⣻⣦⡏⠀⠘⠿⠶⠿⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⠶⠶⠾⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠈⣿⠘⣿⣾⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠹⡿⠟⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣙⣿⣿⣼⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠈⠛⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠻⠿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣀⡀⣤⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣭⣤⣾⣷⣿⣿⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⢋⣉⣤⣽⣆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡟⠛⣋⣉⣤⣴⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⠿⠿⠋⠉⠉⢉⣥⣤⣾⡇⠀

9️7️

❤️♡😍❤️‍🔥♥💖❤️‍🩹💞💕💗💛🩷♥️🫰🏼( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و ♡(>•<)💭🧋꒰ᐢ⸝⸝•༝•⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒（´・｀ ）♡💋🌹🌸👉🏻˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗🌸🫶🏼🛑😅🏋️‍♀️ଘ꒰⑅ ´ ˘ ` ⑅ ꒱♡❄️🧣😉✋*ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ*🧏🏼‍♀️🙊💜💚👂🏽🤞🏻☺（'・｀ ）♡˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊˚⊹♡❤️♡🍄🦋🌸♏️💗🎀in iPhone

7️⃣😇✌

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⣔⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣗⣦⠀⠈⠂⠡⡀⠰⡌⣆⠀⠢⡀⠀⠀⣼⡞⡴⢀⡞⠙⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠈⠑⠢⣤⡀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡳⢄⡀⠀⠘⠂⠙⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⡜⣠⠋⠀⡤⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠒⠶⠤⣨⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⡰⠃⠠⠈⢀⣀⣸⣇⠀⠀⠀⢰⠐⡄⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠓⠢⢦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⣡⣤⠼⠻⠛⠉⠀⡹⡄⠀⠀⠘⡆⢳⡀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠟⠷⢤⣸⡧⠞⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⣻⡀⠀⠀⣧⠈⣇⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣇⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⢂⣠⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⢸⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⠿⠋⢁⡿⠤⠤⠴⠶⠦⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣧⠀⠸⡆⠀⢳⠀⠀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⠖⢋⣠⠟⠁⠀⢠⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠢⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⣋⣀⣸⡀⢸⢹⡀⢸⡇⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣸⣟⣥⡶⣫⡇⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠤⠖⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠲⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⣠⡴⠋⠀⠉⠁⠈⣇⢘⠈⣧⠀⡇⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢰⣟⢹⡿⠛⢹⠁⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⣠⣘⣉⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣵⣤⣄⠀⠀⠻⣇⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⢀⣤⣾⠋⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣿⢸⣿⡟⡄⠁⠀⡇⠀⣠⡴⠂⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⢹⠘⠀⢁⡏⢀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⠛⠛⢛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣮⠉⡛⠲⢦⣈⣧⠀⠀⣾⠶⢶⣿⣶⠶⠿⣿⣿⠛⢛⡟⠙⣰⡟⠁⢧⠀⠀⣧⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⢸⡀⢀⠟⣇⣿⡇⠁⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡀⠈⢻⣆⠉⠘⠿⣿⠃⠂⣺⠏⣿⠀⠘⠒⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠙⠟⢹⠧⣅⡀⠰⡟⠋⣠⡞⠀⢠⣿⠁⠀⣾⢀⢀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⣆⠙⠘⣇⣿⢿⣧⢠⠏⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢤⣀⠙⠷⣤⣀⣀⣤⠾⠃⠀⢘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠙⠻⠦⣤⡾⢋⣀⠴⠋⠿⠀⢠⣿⡆⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⢠⣥⣌⠻⣾⡀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠒⠤⠭⠭⠤⠔⠒⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⡴⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠒⠒⠂⠐⠂⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠙⡇⣼⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⣄⠈⠓⢷⡇⠀⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠃⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⢰⠇⠉⠓⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣧⡀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣿⣿⠓⢦⠤⡀⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡁⠄⢢⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡀⢸⡀⠹⣄⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡇⠸⡇⠀⢘⢦⠀⠙⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠓⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⠀⢳⠀⠸⡄⠑⣄⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡀⠸⡄⠀⢻⡀⠀⠱⣄⠈⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠔⠚⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠲⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣄⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠹⡄⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣝⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠙⣆⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⡀⠙⣦⠘⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢯⣢⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣧⠹⣆⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⡄⠈⢳⣌⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⠞⠁⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣌⠳⠼⣄⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣆⠀⠙⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠏⠀⠀⢀⡞⠸⡇⠀⠀⡿⢾⠶⠶⠾⣿⢿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠙⢷⡀⠹⡄⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣧⡀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⣦⣀⡀⠀⢀⣰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣦⡀⠙⣦⢻⣶⠸⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡇⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠻⣦⠈⠫⣿⣇⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠑⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢡⠇⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠜⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢷⡄⠘⣿⡆⢻⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠑⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣄⠈⢿⡈⢧⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠑⢆⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⢧⡀⢳⡘⡏⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣠⠇⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢨⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠇⠱⡄⠹⡽⣆⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣀⡀⢀⡏⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

☆🐾|10|style|mean|🍁☆

⣌⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠡⡿⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⢿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣷⡌⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⠀⡀⠀⠀⣠⠐⠾⣿⣦⡄⠀⠐⠀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠃⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣦⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠃⢠⣠⡔⠀⣠⠾⣿⣶⠀⠰⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⡀⠈⠶⣤⣠⣌⠲⣿⣿⣦⣠⣶⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡟⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣦⣙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠸⣿⣶⣦⣬⣍⣉⡀⠙⠛⠛⢛⣋⣉⣠⣤⣶⡿⠟⠉⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⡻⢿⣷⢦⣙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢂⠀⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠤⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⢿⣿⣷⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣠⣾⣿⣿⣦⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⡉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠻⢿⣷⣌⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠠⢛⣋⣭⣴⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣬⣍⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣆⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⢿⣷⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⠟⣩⣴⡾⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠻⢛⣩⡴⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠹⣿⣿⡟⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⣋⣩ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠻⣦⡘⠟⢁⣾⣧⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣰⣿⢋⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠹⣿⡇⣸⣿⣿⡿⠟⢛⣉⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣄⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢰⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⣿⠇⠛⣋⣥⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠙⠿⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠿⣇⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠻⢿⠿⠛⣁⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣅⣀⠀⢴⣾⣶⣦⣤⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀ ⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢉⣥⠾⠀⣿⣿⣯⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢁⣾⠋⠀⣠⣾⡿⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⢟⠅⣠⣾⣿⢿⡅⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⢿⠟⢈⡟⠉⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿ ⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢉⣇⣼⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⢿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡿⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣀⣠⣤⣄⡀⠀⢂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣷⢶⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣉⠛⠻

🤷🏽‍♀️☝️㊙️🙅🇧🇩ℹℹ️☝🎨👎㊙👉🚫🚯🗂📠

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣟⡿⣆⣠⣿⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠜⠌⢸⣿⢢⠧⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⡻⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣇⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠺⠁⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⡈⢁⢀⢀⠉⠀⠀⠋⠙⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⡞⣠⢣⠇⡜⠸⢁⡏⠘⢀⠇⡜⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣄ ⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⢾⡵⢀⢏⣼⠛⢳⣤⡾⠛⢶⡌⡸⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠚⠛ ⠈⠛⠁⠀⠀⢸⣧⠸⣼⠁⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⢻⣦⢣⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣿⠀⠀⠀⢹⡧⠀⠀⠀⢿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣟⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

cute 7⃣

rome³¹*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆

1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣5️⃣6️⃣7️⃣8️⃣9️⃣🔟✅✔️✔️ ⚡✨

5 5️

100 💯🚀🎯💯✨💯💯👑7️2️0️

❷ ❷ ❷

★[🇲🇽]L-Y-N-X★

_____ _________ / / / | / / '-----. .' / / .' .' / / .' .' / / __ .' .' / / | |'---' / ' | | / '----| |---. / | | | '----------| |---' | | /____\ 4️⃣7️⃣

ꙮ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣦⣤⣴⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⣛⣻⣿⣦⣀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣏⣹⠀ ⢠⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠭⠭⠽⠽⠿⠿⠭⠭⠭⠽⠿⠿⠛ ⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⡟⠏⠉⠉⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠋⠑⠒⠒⠚⠙⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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

e🇪🇹🇾🇦🇸🇷🇮🇪🇷🇹🇾🇦🇸🇮🇱🇧🇨🇫🇽🇵ℹ󠁈󠁚󠁇󠁰󠁣🇰🇯🇿🇨🇫󠁈󠁇󠁣🇵🇿ℹ󠁳⸸♭𓎆⚡︎‼󠁗󠁏󠁷󠁱󠁁󠁩󠁄󠁂󠁆󠁘󠁅󠁖🇦🇮🇪ℹ🇷🇹🇵🇾🇦🇸🇮🇱🇨🇧🇰🇯🇿🇫🇽󠁧󠁈󠁳ℹ️󠁫󠁷󠁯󠁱∘𝔼◐◡◑𝓗𖤐∀✴☣®️🅿️💙🤤❎💵💟🥉🔤ඞSUSSY☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა几ㄩ卄 ㄩ卄/ᐠ. ｡.ᐟ\ᵐᵉᵒʷˎˊ˗🔰

3244424😂

e🇪ᵕ̈󠀧🟩☰A 🚫🇨🇱󠀧🏅🟥☰A 🚫🇨🇱☔☂️जय श्री राम🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊󠀧🏅🟥☰A 🚫जय श्री राम🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊󠁳🎬♻Е󠁈󠁳💎👨‍💼⚙️🟩🆖🎬❤️‍🩹♻🇺ִ ࣪𖤐 𖦹 ༘⋆⊹󠀧☰🟩☰A 🚫जय श्री राम🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊󠁳🎬❤️‍🩹♻🇨🇱☔☂️🛕⠁🆖🎬❤️‍🩹♻⚙️A 🚫🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊🟩📈⚙️📈

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠃⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⢠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣧⣠⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⣛⣋⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢘⠈⠉⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁

e🇪🇦🇸🇷🇮🇱🇹🇧🇨🇰🇵🇾🇯🇿🇫🇻ℹ🇽󠁋󠁧࿔⚡︎󠁔‼󠁗󠁑󠁏🇸🇱🇪🇷🇹🇾ℹ🇦🇮🇱🇧🇨🇵🇻🇽🇸🇰🇯🇫🇿󠁋ℹ️࿔⚡︎󠀧󠁔‼💻🇹󠁇🇧🇨𓄲ツㄨ🗿𖦹☪🅱🅰🔱☢️🇧🇻🇽🇸🇰🇯🇫🇿ℹ️࿔⚡︎󠀧󠁔‼💎🙌👨‍💼🏅🍆🟥🇽🇰🇫ℹ️⚡︎󠁔💎👨‍💼🍆

👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨🍆🍑𓂸👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨👌🏳️‍🌈🧔‍♂️🧔‍♂️🔞🏳️‍🌈🧑🏿‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽🧑🏿‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽

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

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

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

CATCH IN MY CHIP vii (Autistic author) the only sound the steady rhythm of their breaths. Plankton's body slowly relaxes, his eye unclenching, his antennas stilling. Karen's hand remains poised, ready to offer comfort should he need it. As his breathing evens, Plankton's eye flutter open. He looks at Karen, her face a picture of love and concern. He feels a pang of guilt for his earlier outburst, but also a wave of gratitude for her understanding. He knows she doesn't push or harm, she just gets it. Karen sees the shift in his gaze, the anger giving way to something softer. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton shakes his head slightly, his antennas drooping. "No," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "Just... needing a moment." Karen nods, her hand still hovering, a silent offer of comfort. "Take all the moments you need," she says, her voice gentle. Plankton's gaze lingers on her hand for a moment before he nods. He understands her unspoken offer, her respect for his boundaries. Karen knows that touch can sometimes be too much for him, a sensation that turns comforting into overwhelming. So, she waits, letting the air between them remain unbroken by physical contact, allowing him the space he desperately needs. The room is a canvas of shadows and quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of their breaths. Plankton slowly uncoils, his body no longer a taut wire ready to snap. "Do you want me to let you alone?" Karen asks, her voice soft as a whisper in the night. Plankton shakes his head, his eye meeting hers. The anger is gone, replaced by a weary sadness. She nods, her hand still hovering, a silent question mark. "Okay," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "But if you need anything, just tell me." Plankton takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling like waves on the shore. "Thank you," he murmurs, his eye brightening slightly. Karen nods, her hand still hovering but not touching. "I'm here," she says. "Always." Her voice is a lullaby in the quiet room, a gentle reminder that she's his anchor in the storm of sensory overload. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, a flicker of understanding passing between them. He's aware of her presence, but the weight of his guilt and frustration is to much. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice a frayed thread of his usual bravado. Karen's hand remains hovering, a silent question, a gentle offer. "Do you want me to stay?" she asks, her voice a soft breeze in the stillness. Plankton nods, his antennas still drooping. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice a whisper of relief. Karen's hand lowers slowly, coming to rest on the bed between them. She's careful not to cross the invisible barrier of his personal space, her touch a gentle promise of support. "You don't have to be sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft caress. "You're doing the best you can, Plankton." He nods, his antennas twitching slightly. "But I snapped," he says, his voice filled with regret. Karen's hand remains still, just outside his personal space. "It's okay," she whispers, her tone filled with empathy. "You're overwhelmed. It happens." Plankton nods, his antennas barely moving. "But I shouldn't have yelled," he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "I'm sorry." Karen's eyes fill with understanding. "It's okay, sweetie," she says. She reaches out slowly, her hand hovering an inch from his shoulder. "May I?" she asks, her eyes searching his for consent. Plankton's antennas twitch, his body still tense, but he nods. It's a small gesture, but it's enough. Karen's hand settles on his shoulder, her touch feather-light. He flinches at first, his body remembering the pain of the unexpected touch, but her gentle pressure is a soothing balm. He leans into it slightly, his body language speaking louder than his words ever could. Her hand on his shoulder is the bridge between them, a testament to their love and understanding. Plankton's breathing gradually deepens, his body softening into the mattress. Karen's touch is a lullaby, a promise that everything will be okay. The room is a cocoon of quiet, their breaths the only sound. Plankton's eye droops, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion. The weight of his head shifts slightly, his trust in Karen unspoken but palpable. Her hand remains on his shoulder, a gentle reminder of her presence. She watches his chest rise and fall, his body slowly relaxing under the soft blanket of sleep. His features smooth out, the lines of anger and frustration disappearing into the pillow. As his breaths become even, Karen can't help but feel a mix of sadness and love. Her heart goes out to him, this man she's spent her life with, who fights battles she can never fully understand. The room is a sanctuary of quiet, the air thick with the scent of their unspoken words. Plankton's hand twitches slightly, and she wonders if he's dreaming of a world where the noise isn't so loud, where the colors aren't so bright, where his mind can rest without fear of being bombarded. Karen watches as her husband's chest rises and falls, his breaths deepening into the steady rhythm of sleep. The lines of his face relax, his antennas droop slightly. Her gaze shifts to the shattered trophy on the floor, the sand scattered like a tiny desert. The room is a testament to the storm that was his sensory overload. Karen's hand tightens slightly on Plankton's shoulder, her heart aching for both her husband and son. She knows the road ahead won't be easy, that they'll need to navigate this new terrain with care. But as she watches Plankton's chest rise and fall, she feels a spark of hope.

GREAT CHIP vii (Autistic author) Karen's eyes searched their faces, picking up on the unspoken tension. "I see you two had a talk," she said gently, her gaze lingering on Plankton. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Tired," he admitted. "But better." Karen stepped closer to the bed, her hand reaching out to cover his own. "I'm here," she said softly. "Do you remember what happened in Chip's room before coming in here?" Plankton's antennae twitched nervously. "Bits and pieces," he admitted, his eye avoiding hers. "I know I had a...moment. And I... I was mad." Karen's hand squeezed his gently. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, her voice soothing. "You don't have to be ashamed. It's just your brain's way of coping." Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae still. "But the things I said..." his voice trailing off. Karen's expression remained calm, understanding. "They were the seizure's words, not yours," she assured him. "We're just glad you're okay." Chip's gaze flitted between his parents, his heart aching for his dad. He knew he needed to be strong, to support his father through this. "Can we talk more about it tomorrow?" he suggested, his voice filled with hope. Plankton's antennae nodded wearily. "We can," he said, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion. "But for now, I need to rest. It's bedtime, so.." Chip felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of his dad's struggle, but he also felt a spark of hope. Maybe tomorrow would bring a new understanding, a way to bridge the gap between them. The next morning, the sun streamed through the blinds of their small, cluttered bedroom, casting patterns on the floor. Chip stirred, his mind filled with the memories of the previous night's conversation. He checked on Plankton, who was still asleep, his antennae twitching slightly. He knew today would be a new day, a chance to start anew with his father. Carefully, Chip padded out to the kitchen, his thoughts racing with the promise of understanding. He found Karen at the counter, sipping her morning coffee, her eyes red-rimmed from the night's worry. "Mom," he began, his voice still thick with sleep. "Can we talk?" Karen turned, her eyes filled with the same exhaustion he saw in Plankton's. "Of course, honey," she said, placing her mug down gently. Chip took a deep breath, his words spilling out like water from a broken dam. "I want to understand Dad's condition," he said, his voice determined. "I don't want to make it worse for him." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the sincerity in his gaze. "That's a big step, Chip," she said, her voice filled with pride. "But it's not going to be easy. It'll take patience and practice." Chip nodded, his expression resolute. "I'm ready," he said. "I just don't want Dad to be alone in this." Karen's face softened, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You're such a good son," she said, her voice warm with affection. "But remember, he might not always know how to ask for help. Sometimes, you'll have to read between the lines." Chip nodded, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "But what if I mess up?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen's hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You might," she said, her voice filled with experience. "But that's okay. Just keep trying, and we'll figure it out together." Her words echoed in Chip's head as he sat down at the kitchen table, his eyes never leaving his mother's. "But how do I know what to do?" Karen took a deep breath, her eyes filled with a quiet strength. "You'll learn," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "It's about patience and observation. And most importantly, communication." Chip nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "Okay," he said. "I'll do my best." Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder gently. "You already are," she said, her smile warm. Chip felt a surge of determination. He was going to be there for his dad, no matter what it took. "What can I do now?" he asked, eager to start. Karen's eyes searched his, a hint of sadness in them. "Now, we wait," she said. "Let him sleep. When he wakes, be there, but don't overwhelm him." Chip nodded, his mind racing with questions and fears, feeling a mix of emotions: fear, love, and a newfound determination to be the best son he could be. As he waited for Plankton to wake up, he tried to remember the cues his dad had mentioned: twitching antennae, a sudden quietness, a look of overwhelm. He promised himself to be more aware, more attuned to his father's needs.

CHIP AND FAIL vii (Autistic author) Plankton's body tensed, his eye squeezing shut as he tried to block out the onslaught of sensations. "Chip," he murmured, his voice strained, "I can't." "What do you mean?" He didn't know his touch, his words, his very presence was a storm in Plankton's mind. He just wanted to share his week, his joy, with his dad. Plankton took a deep, shaky breath, his antennae twitching. "I have... I have something that makes it hard for me to... to handle..." But Chip's excitement was unable to comprehend the distress he was causing. "Handle what, Dad?" he asked, his voice filled with eagerness. "You can tell me anything!" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flickering with pain. He knew he had to find the words, to explain the storm that raged in his mind, his voice trembling. "I can't... I just..." Chip's eyes searched his father's, his hands reaching out again. But Plankton was already slipping away, his mind a tornado of sensations. He couldn't find the words, the storm too loud. Chip, oblivious to the turmoil, pressed on. "Dad, you can tell me anything," he said, his voice bubbling over with eagerness. His hands reached out again, his touch like a lightning bolt in Plankton's overstimulated world. Plankton's antennae quivered with the effort of maintaining his composure. He didn't know how to explain the maelstrom that was his mind, the way each touch and sound felt like a thunderclap. "Chip," he began again, his voice strained, "I'm..." But Chip was a hurricane, his enthusiasm unyielding. "Is it because of the college?" he asked, his screen sparkling. "Or Nutmeg?" He didn't realize that his words, his touch, were the fuel for the storm. Plankton's eye searched his son's, desperate for a moment of calm. "Chip, no, it's not about..." His voice was a whisper, lost in the wind of his son's excitement. But Chip didn't hear the desperation, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts and memories. He didn't see the pain he was causing, only his own need for connection. "But Dad, I just wanted to..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body tensing like a bowstring. "Chip," he said, his voice a whipcrack of agony. "P-please." But Chip was in his own world, racing with the excitement of his week. "Come on, Dad," he said, his voice filled with cheerful oblivion. "It's so cool, you've gotta see it!" He grabbed Plankton's hand, pulling him to hard. Plankton's body jerked, his eye wide with pain. The sudden contact was like a sledgehammer to his overstimulated mind, his thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. "Chip," he managed, his voice strained, "please." But Chip's excitement was a freight train, barreling forward without a care for the tracks. He didn't see the agony etched in Plankton's features, didn't feel the tension in his father's body. "Come on, Dad," he said, his grip tightening. "It's going to be amazing, I..." Plankton's body spasmed at the contact, his antennae vibrating wildly. The room grew too bright, the sounds too loud, the air too thin. He couldn't move, couldn't think. His mind was a cacophony of sensations, a symphony of overload. "Chip," he choked out, his voice a plea. "I... I can't." Chip's face fell, not realizing how angry his dad's getting. "What do you..." But Plankton was already spiraling, his mind a tornado of sensory assault. He didn't know how to make Chip understand, his voice a thunderclap of despair. "I CAN'T!" he shouted, his antennae waving erratically. Chip's smile faltered, his eyes wide with shock. He had never seen his dad like this before, his touch a match to a fuse. He took a step back, his hands up in surrender. "You mean, you won't!" he asked, his voice shaking. Plankton took a deep, shuddering breath, his antennae drooping. "Chip," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I can't. Not right now. I need..." But Chip's crashing over the delicate barriers Plankton had built to keep his world in order. "But Dad, it's just a story!" he exclaimed, his voice booming in the quiet living room. "It's not a big deal, you're just being..." The room grew smaller, the walls closing in on Plankton as Chip's words echoed in his mind. Just a story? To Chip, it was a simple tale of adventure, but to Plankton, it was a minefield of sensory input his brain couldn't process. "Chip, please," he murmured, his antennae twitching wildly. "I'm trying..." "You're not trying hard enough!" Chip said, his voice filled with the kind of innocent exasperation that only a child can muster. "But if you're trying to break our family, congratulations! You..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body rigid with tension. The accusation hit him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him under the weight of his own failure. "Chip," he said, his voice a desperate plea. "It's not..." But Chip's screen filled with accusation, his voice loud in the suddenly too-small room. "Why can't you just be normal?" he demanded, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye squeezed shut against the assault. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm not... I'm not like other dads." "Well DUH! You just can't handle it, can you?" Chip said, his voice filled with frustration. He didn't see the pain in Plankton's eye, the way his antennae drooped with each accusation. "But it's just a story, Dad. It's not that..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body trembling with the effort to stay calm. "Chip, you don't understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My mind is like a... a... " Chip's eyes searched his father's, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. "What? What's wrong with you? Let me guess, you're just being dramatic again," he said, his voice harsher than he intended. Plankton flinched at the accusation, his antennas stiffening. Karen watched from the sidelines, aching. She knew this moment was inevitable, but seeing the pain was like a knife to her. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation that needed to happen. "Chip, sweetie," she began, her voice soft and gentle, "Dad's not being dramatic." She took a step forward, placing a hand on her son's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. "Your dad has..." "Mom, my 'dad' has no place in OUR family! Your life is a lie!" Chip's words, fueled by confusion and hurt, echoed through to Plankton, his voice shaking. Karen's hands shook as she reached for Chip. "No, honey," she said, her voice trembling, "it's not that simple." But Chip was already storming out of the room, his footsteps like thunder in the quiet hallway. Plankton slumped back against his chair, his antennae drooping. He had hoped Chip would never have to know, never have to feel the way he did. The way his mind was like a cluttered room, with no way to organize the chaos. He closed his eye, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vii (Autistic author) "We're just going to do what you want. How about a trivia game?" Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the mention of a game, his love for competition never truly forgotten. "Trivia," he echoed, his voice still monotone but with a hint of interest. "Yes, trivia," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You can show us all how much you know." Plankton looked up at Patrick. "I'm sorry," Patrick said, voice sincere for once. "I didn't mean to make you cry." Plankton sniffled, his antennae twitching slightly. "Patrick mean," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled with hurt. "I know, buddy," Sponge Bob said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But he didn't know. Sometimes, Patrick doesn't think before he speaks." Patrick nodded, his eyes downcast. "I guess I'm not the best at understanding things," he mumbled. Sponge Bob leaned closer to Plankton. "Why don't we start our game now?" he suggested, his voice gentle. "We can play a game about random trivia. Does that sound okay?" Plankton nodded slowly, antennae still drooping. "Okay," he murmurs. They around the table, the jellyfish book open to a random page. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on it, his mind racing with facts and figures. Karen took a deep breath, her tentacles still tense from the confrontation with Patrick. "Alright, let's start with something easy," she suggested. "What's the scientific name for jellyfish?" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye lighting up with excitement. "Jellyfish scientific name," he recited, "Cnidaria." "Cnidaria?" Sponge Bob repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "That's right, Plankton!" Patrick looked at the book, then at Plankton, his eyes wide. "How do you know all this stuff?" Plankton's antennae wiggled slightly. "Plankton read book," he said, his voice monotone but with a hint of pride. "Patrick, I'll ask you a question," Sponge Bob said, his smile genuine. Patrick nodded, eager to make amends. "Shoot." Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Okay, Patrick," he said, "What's the square root of 120?" Patrick's eyes widened, his brain scrambling. He took a deep breath and announced, "It's 12?" "No, Patrick," Plankton said, his voice a monotone but with a hint of amusement. "It's 10.190565... but Plankton rounds to 10." Patrick's face fell as he realized he'd been outsmarted. "Oh," he murmured. "Guess I should've studied more at boating school." "It's okay, Patrick," Karen said. Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with encouragement. "Let's keep playing, Plankton," he said. "You're doing great." Plankton nodded, his antennae slightly less droopy. "Your turn, Plankton," Sponge Bob said. "What's something interesting about yourself?" Plankton paused, his antennae twitching as he searched for words. "Interesting?" he echoed. Sponge Bob nodded encouragingly. "Yes, something that makes you special or unique. Tell us all about Plankton." Plankton's antennae quivered as he thought. "Plankton... good at science," he said finally, his monotone voice revealing his pride. "Especially jellyfish." "That's fantastic, Plankton!" Karen exclaimed. Patrick nodded in agreement. "Yeah, buddy," he said, his voice still subdued. "You're a real jellyfish genius." Plankton's antennae twitched with a hint of satisfaction. "Jellyfish have 24 eyes," he said, his voice monotone yet filled with a newfound confidence. "But no brain." "What?" Patrick's eyes widened. "How can they see without a brain?" Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he began to elaborate. "Jellyfish have simple nervous system," he said, his voice still flat but gaining momentum. "Eyes detect light, not images. Help them avoid predators and find food." Sponge Bob's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow Plankton," he said. "That's so cool!" "Plankton born cycloptic one eye." Patrick's jaw dropped as he stared at Plankton. "That's... really cool," he murmured, his mind racing to keep up. Sponge Bob nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Plankton," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "Tell us more!" Plankton's antennae perked up at the genuine interest from his friends. "Plankton own Chum Bucket," he said, his voice monotone but proud. "Serve chum, best food in Bikini Bottom." Patrick's eyes lit up. "You're like a chef, Plankton! That's so cool!" But Plankton's gaze remained on the jellyfish book, his thoughts drifting. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled with a hint of anger. "Has Krabby Patties.." Karen and Sponge Bob exchanged a glance, knowing the mention of Mr. Krabs. "Plankton," Karen began cautiously, "we don't have to talk about Krabby Patties if you don't want to." But Plankton's antennae shot up, his voice taking on a new, almost manic energy. "No, no," he murmured, his monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Krabby Patties. Plankton's purpose." Sponge Bob's smile faltered, the mention of Krabby Patties bringing back memories of their long-standing rivalry. "Plankton," he said gently, "you don't have to steal Krabby Patties anymore. You have jellyfish now." But Plankton's antennae quivered with a strange intensity. "Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a newfound urgency. "Gave Plankton brain damage. Accident," Plankton murmured, his voice low. "Mr. Krabs... Krabby Patty... Plankton's brain... changed." Sponge Bob's smile faded, his heart sinking as he realized the gravity of the situation. "Plankton," he said, his voice filled sadness. But Plankton didn't seem to hear him, lost in his own thoughts. "Plankton not same," he murmured. "But jellyfish... jellyfish make Plankton happy." Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "It's ok, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "You can still have a purpose. Maybe not with Krabby Patties, but with jellyfish." Plankton's antennae quivered as he repeated her words back to her. "Purpose with jellyfish," he murmured. "Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her tentacles stroking his back gently. "Your purpose can be whatever makes you happy." "Happy," Plankton echoed, his antennae twitching as he repeated her word. "Yes, happy," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're here to support you, Plankton." "Support Plankton," he echoed, his antennae drooping slightly. "But Krabs... Plankton's enemy." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, her own filled with a gentle warmth. "Mr. Krabs doesn't have to be your enemy anymore," she said, her tone soothing. "You can find joy in other things." "Other things," Plankton echoed, his antennae still. "Yes," Karen said, her tentacles waving gently. "Like jellyfish. You can focus on learning about them and sharing your knowledge with others." "Share knowledge," Plankton repeated, his antennae quivering with curiosity. "Exactly," Karen said, her tentacles gesturing encouragingly. "You can start a jellyfish club, remember?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed her words. "Jellyfish club," he murmured. "Yeah, buddy," Sponge Bob said, his voice filled with excitement. "We can all join and learn together!" Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, and a glimmer of hope entered his eye. "Club," he murmured, his voice monotone but with a hint of excitement.

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

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

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

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

JUST A TOUCH vii (Autistic author) The room is thick with unspoken words as Sandy slowly approaches the bed, her movements calculated to avoid overstimulating Plankton. Her eyes are full of compassion, but also fear of the unknown. "Hi, Plankton," she says softly, extending her hand with a gentle wave. He flinches, his antennae quivering. "Remember me?" Plankton's brain processes her words, but his response is delayed. He nods, his movements mechanical. Sandy sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving his. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice carefully modulated to avoid causing him discomfort. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to the side. He doesn't look at her directly, his gaze lingering on a spot on the wall. "Fine," he says, his voice devoid of inflection. Sandy nods, her eyes searching his for any sign of the friend she knew. "It's good to see you, Plankton." Her words hang in the air, their meaning lost in the labyrinth of his new reality. Karen watches them, her heart in her throat. She can see the effort Plankton is making to engage with Sandy, the way his antennae twitch with every word spoken. It's a dance, a delicate balance between his need for solace and his desire for connection. Sandy's hand hovers near his, her eyes questioning. "Can I?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. Plankton's gaze shifts to hers, his expression unreadable. Karen nods, giving her permission. "Gently," she says, a soft reminder. Sandy nods, her hand inching closer to his. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body stiffening as her fingertips brush against his. But the moment their skin makes contact, something snaps within him. He jolts upright, his antennae flailing as his eye widen in panic. "Too much," he cries out, his voice a mix of fear and anger. "Too much!" The room seems to shrink around him, the walls closing in with every beat of his racing heart. Sandy's eyes widen in shock, her hand retreating quickly. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "It's okay." But Plankton's not listening, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "No!" he yells, his voice echoing through the room. "No touch!" Sandy's face falls, her eyes brimming with confusion and hurt. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's in the throes of a full-blown meltdown. His tiny fists clench. "No touch!" he repeats, his voice rising. Karen's heart breaks seeing the fear in Sandy's eyes, but she understands the importance of respecting Plankton's boundaries. "We're sorry, Plank..." But Plankton's anger interrupts her, his voice sharp and intense. "No! No sorry! Sandy touch no good!" His words are a jumble of pain and frustration, a stark contrast to the controlled monotone he'd used earlier. Sandy's eyes fill with tears, her hand retreating to her lap. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I didn't know." Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening. "It's okay," she says to both of them, her voice steady. "We're just figuring this out." Plankton's chest heaves with breaths. "No touch," he mutters, his voice fading. Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice softer. "I'll..." But Plankton's outburst continues, his voice rising. "No touch!" The room vibrates with his distress, the air thick with his panic. Karen's heart races, her mind racing to find a way to soothe him. She knows he's overwhelmed, that his new hypersensitivity to touch has been violated. Sandy's eyes widen, her hands hovering awkwardly in the space between them. She can see the turmoil in his face, the anguish in his voice. "I didn't mean to..." she starts, but her words are swallowed by his distress. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. But it's too late. The dam has broken, and his emotions flood the room like a storm. His tiny body trembles with rage, his antennae flailing in every direction. "No touch!" he screams again, the force of his voice surprising even Sandy. She jumps back, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Karen's eyes are on Plankton, a silent apology in her gaze. "It's okay," she says to him, her voice soothing. "We'll make sure that doesn't happen again." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his breathing erratic. "No touch," he whispers, his voice broken. Sandy backs away, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I didn't know," she says, her voice thick. "I'm so sorry." The room echoes with Plankton's sobs, his body quaking in Karen's arms. Karen's heart aches for him, her eyes never leaving his face. "No touch," he whispers, his voice broken. Karen nods, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know," she says, her voice gentle. "It's okay. We'll figure this out." Plankton's antennae stop flailing, his body still trembling as the storm of his emotions begin to subside. He looks up at Karen, his gaze searching for comfort. She wipes a tear from her face with her free hand. "It's okay," she repeats. "You're okay." Sandy's eyes are red, her shoulders slumped. "I didn't know," she says again, her voice shaking. "I just wanted to help." Karen nods, her own eyes wet with empathy. "I know," she says. "It's a lot to take in." The three of them sit in the quiet room, the only sound Plankton's muffled sobs. Sandy's eyes dart around, not knowing what to do with herself. Karen squeezes his hand gently, her gaze never leaving his. "We're here for you," she whispers. Slowly, Plankton's crying subsides, his body still shaking. Karen can feel the tension in him, like a coiled spring ready to snap again. Sandy's hand twitches, as if she wants to reach out, but she stops herself, remembering his outburst. "I'm sorry," she says again, her voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's not your fault," she says to Sandy, her voice gentle. "We're all just trying to navigate this new... reality." Sandy sniffs, nodding. "I just want to be here for you guys," she says, her voice shaky. Plankton's sobs quiet, his body slumping in exhaustion. Karen nods, her eyes meeting Sandy's. "We know, and we appreciate it," she says, her voice tight. "But we have to be careful with his sensory needs." Sandy nods, her face a mask of sorrow. "I'll learn," she whispers. "What do you need from me, Plan..." But Plankton's already slipping away, his eyelid drooping as sleep beckons. Karen's grip on his hand doesn't loosen as she watches his breathing even out. The tension in the room slowly eases as his body relaxes, his sobs giving way to quiet snuffles. Sandy's eyes are on him, her heart heavy with guilt. "I'll go," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "Thank you," she murmurs. "Call me if you need anything." Sandy nods, her eyes lingering on the two of them before she stands, her legs shaky. She crosses the room, the weight of her mistake dragging her down. As she reaches the door, she glances back one last time. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, and she can't help but feel a pang of sadness. Karen's eyes follow her, filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," she whispers again as Sandy exits, closing the door behind her. The click echoes through the quiet space, a stark reminder of the distance that's grown between them all. Plankton's grip on her hand tightens slightly in his sleep, as if sensing the shift in the room's energy. Karen brings her other hand to cover his, sandwiching it between hers. Her eyes well with tears as she whispers, "It's okay, Plankton. You're okay." The room is bathed in silence once again, the only sound being Plankton's gentle snores. Karen's mind is racing, thinking of all the adjustments they'll need to make, the education she'll have to provide to those who know and love him. But for now, she focuses on the warmth of his hand in hers, his head buried in her shoulder. Her eyes drift to the clock, the hands moving in a slow, steady march forward. It's time for her to start dinner, to bring some semblance of normalcy back into their lives. Gently, she shifts Plankton to his side, making sure he's comfortable before rising from the bed. The kitchen is a minefield of potential triggers: the hum of the fridge, the clink of pans, the smell of cooking food. She moves carefully, her eyes scanning the room for anything that might overstimulate him. The recipe she's chosen is simple, something they both enjoy. She starts the prep, chopping vegetables with a precision that Plankton would appreciate, her movements methodical and calming. The aroma of cooking food fills the air, a comforting reminder of their shared life. Karen's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, planning how to help Plankton navigate this new world. She wipes her hands on a towel. As she hears Plankton's tentative steps on the stairs, she takes a deep breath. His descent is slow, each step measured with caution. When he enters the kitchen, his gaze darts around the room, his antennae twitching with each new sound. Karen's heart squeezes. She's used to his energy, his boundless enthusiasm. This cautious creature is still his shell-shocked self. "Hungry?" she asks, her voice as soft as the evening light. Plankton nods. The meal is a simple one, a familiar comfort in a world that's become so alien. Karen places the plate before him, the steaming food a visual symphony of their shared past. Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze fixating on the plate. "Food," he says, his voice still monotone. Karen nods, aching for the passionate foodie she knew. "Do you need anything else?" she asks, her voice soft. He shakes his head. The meal is eaten in silence, each bite a victory. Karen wants to say something, anything, but she knows he needs space, time to process the whirlwind of emotions.

NEW REALITY vii (Autistic author) She sleeps at her bed next to his. The house is quiet, except for the soft snores coming from Plankton. But both of their eyes snap open at the sound of the doorbell. Plankton's body tenses, his hand shooting up to cover his head. Karen moves quickly, her heart racing. She knows that sudden sounds can be overwhelming for him. "It's okay," she murmurs, placing her hand over his. "Door," he says, his voice still groggy from sleep. Her eyes dart to the clock. It's early, much earlier than anyone would usually visit. "I'll go see who it is," she says, trying to keep her voice steady. "You stay here." Plankton nods, his hand dropping from his head to clutch at the blanket. "Stay," he whispers, his voice tight with anxiety. Karen's eyes fill with concern. "I'll be right back," she promises, her voice soft. "Just stay here." Plankton nods, his grip on the blanket tightening. "Stay," he repeats, his voice less than a whisper. Karen nods, her heart racing. "I will," she whispers. "Just rest." As she opens the door, she's met with the cheerful face of Hanna, her book club friend. "Hey Karen, I hope I'm not too early!" Hanna says, a word book in hand. Karen's eyes widen, her heart racing. "No, not at all," she says, forcing a smile. "Come in." Hanna steps into the house, her eyes bright with excitement. But as she sees Karen's expression, her smile falters. "Is everything okay?" she asks, concern etched on her face. Karen nods, as Plankton comes into the room, his gaze fixed on the spinning fan. "This is Plankton," Karen introduces, her voice calm. Hanna smiles. "Hi Plankton," she says, her voice too bright. He nods, his gaze still locked on the fan. "Fan spin," he murmurs. Hanna's eyes widen, unsure how to respond. Karen quickly interjects. "Why don't we take a look at the work puzzle book.." Plankton's gaze shifts, his interest piqued by the mention of books. "Puzzles," he repeats, his voice a bit clearer. Hanna's smile relaxes, seeing his interest. "Yes, puzzles," she says, holding up the book. "They're like fun little brain teasers." Plankton nods, his hand reaching out to touch the book. Karen watches, her heart racing. Will this be another trigger? But Plankton's gaze locks onto the puzzle book, his eye lighting up with curiosity. Karen's heart skips a beat. This could be good for him, a way to focus his whirling thoughts. Hanna opens the book, showing him a simple word search. "See if you can find the hidden words, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. His gaze scans the page, his hand moving in time with his eye. "Words," he murmurs, his voice filled with excitement. Hanna nods, her smile growing. "That's right," she says, her tone encouraging. "See if you can find them all." Plankton nods, his eye quickly moving over the page. Karen watches, her heart swelling with hope. This might be it, she thinks, a new way to connect. Hanna points to a word, her voice soothing. "What's this?" Plankton's hand moves over the letters, tracing them. "F-A-N," he reads, his tone monotone. "Fan," he says, his gaze flicking up to the whirring object above. Hanna laughs, misunderstanding. "No, Plankton, not fan," she says, pointing to the puzzle. "Find the words that are hidden." But Plankton's gaze remains on the spinning blades. "Fan," he repeats, his voice taking on a firm tone. Hanna's smile falters, not comprehending his meaning. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice still cheerful. "Look at the puzzle." But Plankton's gaze doesn't waver from the fan. "Fan," he says, his tone firm, almost defensive. Hanna's smile falters, her cheerfulness waning. "Plankton," she says gently, "it's a puzzle, not about the fan." But Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the fan, his body tensing. "Fan," he repeats, his voice firm, almost defensive. Hanna's smile falters, uncertain of his meaning. "It's just a puzzle, Plankton," she says gently, her voice filled with misunderstanding. But Plankton's tone sharpens. "Fan," he insists, his voice raised, his body tense. "Fan spin, make quiet." Hanna's eyes widen with surprise, her smile slipping away. "It's not about the fan, Plankton," she says, her voice still kind but concerned. "It's about..." But Plankton's voice cuts through the air, his tone sharp. "Fan spin," he says, his hand moving in erratic patterns. "Fan make quiet. Fan important." Hanna's eyes widen, taking a step back. "I didn't mean..." she starts, but Plankton's agitation is growing. "Fan important," he repeats, his voice echoing in the quiet room. Karen's heart races as she tries to defuse the situation. "Hanna, it's okay," she says, her voice calm but firm. "The fan is special to Plankton. It helps him feel calm." But Hanna's confusion only grows. "It's just a fan, right?" she asks, her voice pitching with uncertainty. Plankton's voice rises, his hands flailing. "No!" he yells. "Fan special! Make quiet! Must spin!" Hanna's eyes widen with shock, her cheerful demeanor evaporating. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she stammers, taking a step back. Plankton's voice echoes, his frustration palpable. "Fan special!" he yells, his hands slashing the air. Hanna's smile has disappeared, replaced by a look of fear. "I'm sorry," she whispers, backing away slowly. Karen's eyes are wide with worry. She steps between Hanna and Plankton, trying to shield her friend from his distress. "It's okay, Hanna," she says, her voice calm but firm. "Let's just give him some space." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with apology. "I didn't mean to upset him," she murmurs, setting the puzzle book down on the coffee table. Karen nods, her gaze on Plankton. "It's okay," she says softly. "He's just overwhelmed." Plankton's hands flap like wings against his sides. This is stimming, she knows, his way of coping with the sensory onslaught. He rocks back and forth, his gaze still on the fan. Karen's heart aches as she watches him, his body a whirlwind of energy. "Fan spin," he murmurs, his hands fluttering like butterfly wings. "Spin, spin." Karen's eyes follow his erratic movements, her heart racing. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm and soothing. "Look at me." He doesn't react, his gaze still glued to the fan. Karen approaches him, moving slowly to avoid startling his heightened senses. "Plankton," she repeats, her tone steady. He doesn't react, his eye still on the fan, his body a flurry of movement. Her heart racing, Karen tries again. "The fan spins," she says, mimicking his rhythmic speech. Plankton's gaze flicks to her, his body still. For a moment, his movements cease. "Spin," he whispers, his eye searching hers. Karen nods, understanding his need for the fan's rhythmic whirl. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle melody. "The fan will spin." Plankton's gaze shifts from the fan to the digital clock on the mantle. His eye widens as he sees the seconds tick by, restarting each minute. The numbers, stark and precise, seem to call to him, a silent symphony of order in a world gone haywire. Hanna looks confused, for Plankton's gaze shifts to the digital clock, the seconds ticking away in a silent symphony. His hands stop their erratic movements, his body stilling as he watches the precise dance of the numbers. Karen sees his fascination, the way his eye tracks each second as it passes. "It's okay," she says softly. "The clock will keep going." But Plankton's gaze doesn't shift. His body is still, his mind lost in the rhythm of the ticking digits. Karen watches, her heart racing. She's read about how some with autism find comfort in patterns, how the predictability of something as simple as a digital clock can be a lifeline in a world that's otherwise so chaotic. Hanna, however, doesn't understand. Her eyes go to Plankton, her confusion growing. "Plankton," she says, her voice still too bright, "it's just a clock." His eye snaps to her, his body rigid with tension. "Clock important," he murmurs, his voice a mix of anger and fear. "Numbers change." Hanna's smile fades, her eyes widening with confusion. "It's just a clock, Plankton," she says, trying to placate him. But her words only serve to stir his distress further. Plankton's eye darts from the clock to Hanna, his breath coming in quick bursts. "No," he whispers, his voice tight. "Clock important. Numbers change." Hanna's smile is gone, her expression one of confusion. "It's just a way to tell time," she says, her voice shaking. But Plankton's agitation is building, a storm gathering behind his eye. "No," he whispers, his hand trembling as it points to the clock. "Numbers change, make brain quiet." Hanna's eyes widen, her understanding still elusive. "But Plankton," she starts, "it's just a way to keep track of time." But Plankton's gaze is intense, his voice urgent. "No, no, no," he says, shaking his head. "Numbers change, make brain quiet." Hanna's voice rises, her confusion thick. "But it's just a clock, Plankton," she repeats, her words falling on deaf antennae. Plankton's body is tight as a spring, his gaze locked on the digital dance. "No," he whispers, his voice strained. "Numbers make quiet, chronologically." Hanna's eyes dart between Plankton and Karen, her confusion thick.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vii (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Sponge Bob's thumb begins to move in slow, soothing circles against Plankton's skin. "Thank you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Sponge Bob simply nods, his thumb continuing its soothing motion. He doesn't know how to explain the depth of his feelings, but his actions speak louder than words. His friendship with Plankton has always been unconventional, but now, in the face of this new challenge, it feels more precious than ever. Just as the moment of connection seems to solidify, the door to the Chum Bucket opens again, and Hanna tentatively steps inside, a pamphlet clutched in her hand. "I brought this," she says, her voice shaking slightly as she holds out the pamphlet. "It's about autism...and rituals that might help get rid of the autistic behaviors." Karen's snatching the pamphlet from Hanna's grip. Her eyes scan the pages, her anger building with each word. "What are you thinking?" she demands, her voice like a whipcrack. Hanna takes a step back. "I just...I thought it might help you get him back to normal," she stammers, clearly not expecting the ferocity of Karen's reaction. But Karen's anger is a volcano, erupting with the force of her love for Plankton. "These are not 'behaviors' to get rid of," she snaps, shaking the pamphlet in the air. "This is who he is now!" "But Karen, don't you think life would be easier if he wasn't...you know, like this?" Hanna tries to explain. "This isn't about making life easier for me," she snaps. "It's about supporting him!" "Karen, Plankton just needs to be fixed," Hanna says, her voice smaller now, her expression pleading. "We both know how difficult it is to be around someone with...problems." The words hit Karen. "Fixed?" she repeats, her voice low and dangerous. "Plankton isn't broken. He's not a machine to be tinkered with! These are dangerous, deadly suggestions!" Plankton flinches at the sound, his mind whirling. He feels a tiny spark of defiance in his chest. "You dare suggest that he doesn't deserve to live because he's autistic? You don't get to decide his worth!" Plankton's grip on Sponge Bob's tightens, his body stiffening, his heart racing. "How could you?" she demands, her eyes spitting fire. "You want me to just...to just get rid of him?" Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she takes another step back, her hands coming up in a defensive gesture. "I didn't mean it like that," she says, her voice quavering. "I just want to help!" But Karen's fury is a freight train, unstoppable. "Help?" she spits. "This is not help!" She gestures at the pamphlet, now a mangled mess on the floor. "This is hate, Hanna! This is saying he's not worth it because he's not like everyone else!" Plankton looks down, his antennae drooping. Was he really such a burden? Was his life not worth living? Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand, his grip a silent reassurance. Karen's fury doesn't waver. "You call yourself a friend?" she says, her voice laced with disgust. "You'd throw his life away because it's inconvenient for you?" Hanna's sobs fill the room, her body trembling under the weight of Karen's accusations. "I didn't mean it like that," she whimpers. "I just...I don't know what to do." Karen's anger doesn't abate, but it turns into a deep sadness. She looks at Hanna, her eyes filled with disappointment. "You don't 'fix' someone because they're different," she says, her voice deadly calm. "You support them." Plankton watches the exchange. He feels tiny, insignificant under the weight of their words. Karen turns to Sponge Bob. "Take him to his room," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to talk to Hanna." Sponge Bob nods slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. He gently helps Plankton to his feet, a steadying presence against Plankton's uncertain steps. As they walk to the bedroom, Plankton's gaze remains glued to the floor, his mind whirling with thoughts he can't quite grasp. Once Plankton is safely in bed, Sponge Bob tucks the blanket around him, his movements gentle and soothing. Plankton's body relaxes slightly under the comforting weight, his eye closing with a sigh. Karen turns to Hanna, unfurling from defensive pose. "You don't understand," she says, her voice calmer now, though still tinged with frustration. "The things you're suggesting, they're not just cruel, they're dangerous." Hanna's sobs slow, her eyes red and swollen. She looks at Karen with desperation, clearly lost in the ignorance. "What do you mean?" Karen's determined. "Straightjackets are used," she says, her words carefully measured. "They restrain patients, not help them." She pauses. "And those rituals you found, the ones that suggest them to make him 'normal'... They could kill.." Hanna's sobs stop abruptly, her breath hitching. "What?" she asks, shock etched on her features. Karen's eyes never leave Hanna's, her voice cold and devoid of pity. "You don't get to decide his worth, Hanna," she says, each word a bullet. "And you certainly don't get to decide his fate." Hanna's shoulders slump. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her tears flowing freely. "I didn't know." Karen's expression softens slightly, the anger fading to disappointment. "You have to understand," she says. "Plankton is still Plankton. He just...sees the world differently now." Hanna sniffs, wiping away her tears. "But what if he's in pain?" she whispers. "What if his autism is making him miserable?" Karen sighs, her frustration dissipating. "He's not in pain," she explains. "He's just...sensitive. To everything. Sounds, smells, touch... exactly what the institutions expose them to, will cause pain." Hanna absorbs Karen's words. "Oh, I didn't..." she trails off, overwhelmed by the gravity of her mistake. "I'm so sorry, Karen. I didn't know." Karen nods, relaxing slightly. "I know," she says, her voice softer now. "It's a lot to take in, and it's scary when someone you love becomes...different." Hanna nods. "But you still love him," she says, a question and a statement wrapped in one. "More than anything," Karen replies without hesitation, her tentacles tightening around Hanna. "And I need you to love him too, Hanna." Hanna nods, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "I do," she whispers. "I just...I want him to be happy." Karen's tentacles give Hanna a gentle squeeze. "He is," she says, her voice filled with determined love. "And we'll make sure he stays that way." The two of them stand there, the silence of the moment heavy between them. Karen's eyes drift to the closed bedroom door, beyond which Plankton sleeps peacefully. The sounds of the Chum Bucket are muted, the only noise the distant hum of the laboratory equipment. In that quiet, Karen's tentacles relax slightly, the anger of the confrontation dissipating. She looks back at Hanna, her expression softening. "Thank you for coming," she says, her voice still firm but lacking the sharp edge of anger. "But you have to understand that this isn't something to be fixed. It's part of him now. Let's go check on him." They find SpongeBob sitting on the foot of the bed, his hand still entwined with Plankton's, their fingertips barely touching. Plankton's breathing is deep and even, a stark contrast to the turmoil of moments before. His antennae twitch occasionally, his mouth barely parted in a quiet snore. Hanna follows Karen into the room, her eyes wide and frightened. She sees Sponge Bob and his gentle touch with Plankton and her expression softens slightly. This is new to her, this quiet understanding, but she can't help but be moved by the sight. Sponge Bob looks up, his eyes filled with a certain sadness that mirrors Karen's. He nods silently, acknowledging her thanks. Hanna's eyes dart to Plankton, who remains fast asleep, his single eye closed peacefully. Karen sits beside the bed, reaching out to stroke Plankton's forehead. His skin is cool to the touch, his breathing steady. She whispers to Hanna, "We need to be careful with him. He's...fragile." Hanna nods, swallowing her tears. She moves closer, her own hand tentatively reaching out to touch Plankton's hand. His antennae twitch but he doesn't wake. The room is bathed in a soft glow, the dimmed lights designed to reduce stimulation and ease his sensory overload. Karen's breathing slows as she watches the scene before her, her heart swelling with love and gratitude for the support Sponge Bob is providing. Hanna's tentative touch seems to soothe Plankton, his snoring growing slightly more rhythmic. Sponge Bob smiles softly at Hanna, his thumb still moving in gentle circles around Plankton's. "You're doing good," he whispers. "He just needs us to be patient and understanding." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "I'll try," she says, her voice quiet and earnest. "I really will." Karen looks at Hanna, her eyes softening. "It's not easy," she admits. "But it's worth it." **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

RIIZE IS 77️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣

11⁷¹¹¹