Xi Jinping Emojis & Text

Copy & Paste Xi Jinping Emojis & Symbols 🇨🇳🚩 | 🇨🇳🍯🐻

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢁⠈⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⡀⠭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠄⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣷⣶⣶⡆⠄⠄⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣼⣿⣿⠿⠶⠙⣿⡟⠡⣴⣿⣽⣿⣧⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣟⣭⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⣴⣶⣿⣿⢄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣩⣿⣿⣿⡏⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⡋⠘⠷⣦⣀⣠⡶⠁⠈⠁⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⠃⣴⣶⡔⠒⠄⣠⢀⠄⠄⠄⡨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡘⠿⣷⣿⠿⠟⠃⠄⠄⣠⡇⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⢁⣷⣠⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⣠⣾⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠉⠙⠻ ⡿⠟⠋⠁⠄⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⡯⢓⣴⣾⣿⣿⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⡟⣷⠄⠹⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣸⣿⡷⡇⠄⣴⣾⣿⣿⠃⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⣿⠃⣦⣄⣿⣿⣿⠇⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢸⣿⠗⢈⡶⣷⣿⣿⡏⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠀⠀⣠⣴⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⡾⣷⡄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣼⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣷⢿⣒⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⣻⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠈⠉⠉⢹⣻⣻⣻⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣻⣻⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⠃⠀⠀⣀⣉⣦⠀⢠⣞⠋⠀⠂⠀⠘⣻⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠠⠒⠁⠀⠈⠉⠉⠋⠉⠀⠀⡻⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠖⠀⠀⠀⢰⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠆⢴⣧⣈⠙⠿⠟⢉⣾⣷⣴⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠲⣼⠋⠉⢫⣭⣻⠟⡿⣻⣻⣻⢗⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣀⠈⠀⣀⣠⣼⣻⣻⠟⢸⣷⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣠⣴⡾⠈⠟⣻⣻⣻⣻⠿⠟⠁⢠⣻⣻⣻⣻⣶ ⣾⣻⣻⣻⡇⠀⠀⢐⡬⠋⠁⠀⠀⢠⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻ ⣻⣻⣻⣻⠀⢠⠈⣻⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻ ⣻⣻⣻⠇⠀⢈⢸⣻⠋⠁⠀⠀⣼⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻ ⣻⣻⣻⠀⠀⣼⠙⠻⠀⠀⠀⣸⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻ ⣻⣻⡇⠀⣨⡷⢉⠈⠀⠀⢰⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻⣻
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢁⠈⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⡀⠭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠄⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣷⣶⣶⡆⠄⠄⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣼⣿⣿⠿⠶⠙⣿⡟⠡⣴⣿⣽⣿⣧⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣟⣭⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⣴⣶⣿⣿⢄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣩⣿⣿⣿⡏⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⡋⠘⠷⣦⣀⣠⡶⠁⠈⠁⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⠃⣴⣶⡔⠒⠄⣠⢀⠄⠄⠄⡨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡘⠿⣷⣿⠿⠟⠃⠄⠄⣠⡇⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⢁⣷⣠⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⣠⣾⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠉⠙⠻ ⡿⠟⠋⠁⠄⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⡯⢓⣴⣾⣿⣿⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⡟⣷⠄⠹⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣸⣿⡷⡇⠄⣴⣾⣿⣿⠃⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⣿⠃⣦⣄⣿⣿⣿⠇⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢸⣿⠗⢈⡶⣷⣿⣿⡏⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
AI Story Generator
completely free, NO signup required (ever), and unlimited!
⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢁⠈⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⡀⠭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡟⠄⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣷⣶⣶⡆⠄⠄⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣇⣼⣿⣿⠿⠶⠙⣿⡟⠡⣴⣿⣽⣿⣧⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣟⣭⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⣴⣶⣿⣿⢄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣩⣿⣿⣿⡏⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⡋⠘⠷⣦⣀⣠⡶⠁⠈⠁⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⠃⣴⣶⡔⠒⠄⣠⢀⠄⠄⠄⡨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡘⠿⣷⣿⠿⠟⠃⠄⠄⣠⡇⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⢁⣷⣠⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⣠⣾⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠉⠙⠻ ⠟⠋⠁⠄⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⡯⢓⣴⣾⣿⣿⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⡟⣷⠄⠹⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
🇨🇳🗣️✉️
🇨🇳👨‍💼💬📱
Your votes help make this page better.
With great power comes great responsibility!
🐻🍯

Related Text & Emojis

⠀⠀⣀⠤⠤⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠉⠈⠑⣄⠀⠀ ⢀⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡠⠤⠒⠊⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠒⠢⢄⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀ ⠘⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⠈⠂⠤⣤⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡁⠀⠀ ⠀⢰⠋⢀⡀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⡄⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀ ⢀⠔⠁⠁⠀⢴⣆⣀⠠⠦⠤⠤⠄⢀⡀⠀⣴⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠣⡜⠀⠀ ⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠉⣠⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀ ⠹⡄⠀⠀⢀⡠⠀⠀⠙⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠢⡀ ⠀⡹⣄⠀⠀⠱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠅⠁⡡ ⡜⠀⠏⢢⡀⠀⠈⠢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠄⠊⠁⠐⢨⠀ ⠳⣀⠈⠢⡑⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠤⠒⠉⠁⠀⢀⣠⠤⠒⠉⠀ ⠀⠈⠉⠒⠬⢉⠒⠤⠄⣀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢍⠀⠀⠀⠑⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠢⠤⢄⣠⠤⠤⠔⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
🚩
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠉⠙⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡼⠄⠀⠀⠾⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠙⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣴⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠆⠀⢀⣠⡤⡷⠴⠶⡦⠤⣄⡀⠀ ⠻⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣏⡀⠛⠓⡒⠒⠚⣁⣠⠇⠀ ⠀⠈⠉⢳⡀⠘⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡿⠀⠀⡀⡾⠛⢹⢸⡟⠦⠏⠉⠘⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡄⠀⠀⠻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⣇⣀⣼⣏⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣩⠗⠋⠉⢧⠀⠀⢳⠀⣀⣠⠴⠃⣸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⡴⠋⢻⣩⡿⠖⠚⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠓⠚⢻⠋⠣⠀⠀⣤⣤⣶⣚⡥⠤⠤⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢀⣠⠤⠖⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⡖⠖⡶⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⣀⣀⡽⠺⣅⣀⣀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
🚩 + 🛳️
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠚⠛⠓⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠖⠚⠛⠒⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⢀⣧⠤⠴⠒⠒⠒⠒⠦⠤⣼⡀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢨⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠀⠑⠄⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠂⠜⠁⠀⢀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢒⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⣠⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⣄⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠆⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡹⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⡆⠀⣀⠠⠧⣀⡀⠀⣴⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠈⣴⣿⣿⣷⠉⠂⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣠⠬⠦⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠒⠓⠒⠲⣄⠀⠀ ⢠⣞⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢆⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣁⣒⣒⣒⣁⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣳⡄ ⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢄⣀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠒⠒⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠤⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⡴⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠤⠴⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠤⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣦⠴⠚⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠢⣄⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⠤⠤⣴⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢀⡴⠚⠋⠀⠀⠀⠓⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⢸⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡼⠁⠀⠃⠀⠀⢰⣶⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣏⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡴⠖⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠑⠲⢄⡀⠘⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠁⠀⢀⣤⣴⣶⣶⣦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠹⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠳⢤⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠹⣦⠀⠀⠀⠐⠊⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡽⠙⠒⠲⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢀⡄⠹⡄ ⠀⠀⣠⠞⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣞⡴⠋⠀⣠⡇ ⠀⣰⠋⠀⡎⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠴⠛⠁⢀⠤⠚⡏⠀ ⠀⡏⠀⠀⢱⡀⠘⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⣤⣤⣀⣤⣤⠴⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠴⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣰⠇⠀ ⠀⢻⣄⠀⠀⠱⢆⡈⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠴⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠴⠛⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⠳⠦⣄⣀⠉⠲⠽⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠖⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠴⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⢳⡦⣀⠉⠙⠲⠦⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣎⠑⠆⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣲⠔⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⠴⠾⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
CATCH IN MY CHIP xi (Autistic author) Karen leans in closer to Plankton, her voice a gentle whisper. "It's okay," she says, her eyes filled with warmth. "You're okay." Plankton's breaths are shallow, his chest rising and falling with effort as he shakes. The room is a cocoon of quiet, the outside world muted by the thick walls of their sanctuary. Karen's hand is a constant, her touch a reminder that he's not alone. Plankton's gaze flits to Chip, the question in his eye unspoken. "Chip," Karen says, her voice a balm to Plankton's raw nerves. "Your dad is in need of some quiet time, okay?" Her words are a gentle nudge, guiding them through the delicate dance of recovery. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "I understand," he murmurs, though his heart feels like it's been tied in knots. He swallows his questions, his fear for his dad a lump in his throat. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, his breathing easing a fraction. He nods, the gesture almost imperceptible. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice raspy with exhaustion. The relief in his eye is palpable. Chip watches, his own emotions a tapestry of confusion and concern. He wants to reach out, to hold his dad close, but he knows it's not the time. Instead, he squeezes Karen's hand, his silent promise to be patient and understanding. Plankton's eye closes, his body slowly relaxing into the pillow. The ringing in his ears fades, the world coming back into focus like a camera lens slowly adjusting to the light. The warmth of Karen's hand on his forehead is a comfort, his anchor in the sea of sensation. Her voice is a gentle lullaby, guiding him back to shore. "You're okay," she repeats, each word a wave lapping against the shore of his mind. The room stops spinning, the colors coalescing into distinct shapes. Plankton's gaze darts around the room, seeking solace. His eye lands on a spot on the wall, a patch of unblemished white. He focuses on it, his breaths coming slower, deeper. It's a sanctuary, a place of peace amidst the chaos. The spot becomes his beacon, the world around it a blurry periphery. Karen's hand on his forehead is cool, a balm to his racing thoughts. "Look at the spot," she whispers, her voice a soothing melody. "Just the spot." He nods, his eye locking onto the white, his breaths syncing with hers. The spot is a lifeline in the storm, a beacon of calm in his sensory chaos. Plankton stares at it, willing the world to recede. The colors around it blur, the sounds of the room dull to a whisper. It's just him and the spot, a silent pact between them to conquer the tempest. Karen's voice is a gentle wave, lapping at the edges of his mind. "When you're ready, take a deep breath. In, out. Slowly." She guides him through the exercise, her tone soothing. Plankton tries to focus, his body responding to the familiar rhythm. The spot on the wall becomes clearer, the edges sharper. The world around it softens, the colors bleeding back into the fabric of the room. His breathing slows, his chest rising and falling in time with Karen's gentle prompts. The spot is his sanctuary, a bastion of calm in the overwhelming storm. But then, it starts. The tic, a twitch of his antenna. A reminder that his mind is not entirely his own, his body a marionette to the whims of his neurodiversity. Plankton's antennas begin to still, his body gradually relinquishing the tension that had held it hostage. The tic in his left antenna, a quick spasm that had become more frequent. Karen's eyes don't leave his face, her gaze a silent support. She knows the dance of his tics all too well, a choreography that they've lived with for years. She squeezes his hand, her touch a silent promise to stand by him through the storm. It's his body's way of releasing the tension that builds up like pressure in a volcano. The tic is a tide, rising and falling, unpredictable and uncontrollable. Plankton's head jerks to the side, the sudden movement a stark contrast to the stillness of the room. Chip's eyes go wide with concern. "It's okay," Karen murmurs, squeezing Plankton's hand. "It's just your body. It's okay." Her voice is a lullaby, a gentle reminder that he's not alone. The tic subsides, his antennas returning to their usual state. Chip's eyes dart from his dad to his mom, his mind whirring with questions. "What was that?" he asks, his voice quiet, afraid to disturb the fragile peace. Karen's hand moves to Plankton's antenna, her thumb tracing the line of his twitch. "It's just his body's way of dealing with the overstimulation," she explains, her voice calm but tinged with sadness. "It's a tic, Chip. It's part of his autism." Chip nods, his eyes wide with understanding. "Will he be okay?" he asks, his voice small in the face of his father's struggle. Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tightens, her voice a steady stream of comfort. "Yes, he will," she says with confidence. "This happens sometimes. We just need to be patient and give him time." Plankton's antennas still slightly, the tremor a reminder of the storm that had passed through his mind. His breaths come more evenly now, the spot on the wall his silent companion as he finds his way back to the world. Chip's eyes are full of questions, his heart heavy with concern. He watches as his dad's body relaxes, the tension easing like a retreating tide. "I'll get him some water," Karen says, her voice a whisper. She squeezes Plankton's hand once more before rising, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet. Plankton's eye meets Chip's, his gaze apologetic. Chip swallows his fear. "Daddy?" he whispers, his voice cracking. Plankton's eye flutters open, the panic gone, replaced by a fatigue that seems to weigh down his very soul. "I'm okay," he manages, his voice a rasp. "Just tired." Chip nods, his hand tentatively reaching out to touch his dad's arm. The contact is tentative, a question and a comfort all in one. Plankton's antennas twitch again, but this time it's with the beginnings of a smile. "Thanks, buddy," he says, his voice hoarse. The room is a cocoon of silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Plankton swallows hard, the weight of his own emotions pressing down on his chest like a leaden blanket. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his gaze never leaving Chip's. Chip's eyes are pools of concern, the question in his eyes unspoken but potent. "For what?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennas droop slightly, his eye reflecting the shame he feels. "For scaring you," he says, his voice hoarse. "For not being able to control it." Chip's hand tightens around his dad's arm, his eyes brimming with tears he's too proud to shed. "It's okay, Daddy," he says, the words a soft whisper. "You don't have to be sorry." Plankton's smile is weak, his antennas still. "I know," he replies, his voice a whisper. "But it's hard not to be." He swallows, his throat dry from the battle his body has just endured. Karen returns with a glass of water, her steps silent on the soft carpet. She hands it to Plankton, who gratefully takes a sip, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. The tension in the room is a palpable entity, a third person in their silent conversation. "What happened?" Chip asks, his voice small, the question a balloon of curiosity floating in the heavy air. "It's just part of who I am," Plankton says, his voice still hoarse from his episode. He takes another sip of water, the coldness of it a stark contrast to his fevered skin. "My autism, it makes my brain work differently." Chip's hand is still on his arm, a silent offer of comfort. "But you're okay now," he says, his voice hopeful. Plankton nods, the motion almost imperceptible. "Thanks to Mom," he murmurs, his eye swiveling to Karen, who smiles at him with a mix of relief and love. "She's the reason I made it through." Chip looks at Karen with a newfound respect, his young mind trying to comprehend the gravity of what he's just witnessed. "You're both strong," he says, his voice steady, the fear momentarily pushed aside by admiration. Karen's smile is a soft glow, the pride in her eyes unmistakable. "We all have our moments," she says, her hand resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's how we face them that makes us who we are." She glances at the clock, the ticking a reminder of the time they've lost to the sensory storm. "Why don't you go play for a bit, Chip? Your dad needs some rest, and I think we could all use a moment to process." Chip nods, his eyes still filled with unspoken questions. But he trusts his mom, and he can see the exhaustion etched into Plankton's face. He slides off the bed, his feet silent on the floor. With one last look at his dad, he heads for the door, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders. Karen watches him go, her heart aching for the fear he must be feeling. But she knows that with time and patience, he'll understand. He'll grow to see his dad not as a mystery to be solved, but as a person to be loved and supported, just like anyone else.
We only have one shot at life, make it count. Here are some bible verses about loving your enemies. Follow the word of god :) * Matthew 5:44: "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you"
 || * Luke 6:27-28: "But I say to you: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you || Please stop this drama, it is not of god. Drink water, eat food, prioritize your mental health, and have a great day everyone ✝️🙏🏻❤️
⠀⠀⢀⣤⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣧⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣧⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⣿⣿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀
CHIP AND FAIL xi (Autistic author) Karen made chum for dinner and they all sat at the table. "Thanks," Plankton says to Karen as she hands him his plate. She sits down with her own plate after serving Chip his. "Hi, Dad," Chip said tentatively, his voice a whisper in the stillness of the room. Plankton's antennae twitched, but his eye remained fixed on his plate. The silence was a wall between them, thick as seaweed and just as impenetrable. Chip's heart felt like it was sinking into his stomach, the weight of his father's silence heavier than any words could have been. Karen's screen darted between them, a silent plea for peace. She knew this was Plankton's way of dealing with his overwhelm, but it was torture for Chip, who craved understanding and connection. "So, how's your friends?" Karen asks Chip. Chip shrugs, his screen darting to Plankton, who remains silent, his antennae still. "They're okay," he says, his voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. Karen sighs internally, the tension at the dinner table a heavy fog that seemed to smother their usual banter. "Karen, can you pass the napkins?" Plankton says. "Sure," she says as she puts them in the middle. "Dad, how do you feel about the food?" Plankton's antennae twitched but his gaze remained on his plate, his mouth a tight line. The silence was a thick stew that no one knew how to digest. Chip's eyes were filled with hope, searching for any sign of his father's usual playfulness, but all he found was a wall of quiet. Chip's voice was a feeble ripple in the vast ocean of their silence. "Dad, can I get you a drink?" he offered. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he remained silent, his eye never leaving his plate. The air was thick with tension, like seawater saturated with the weight of their unspoken words. Chip churned with anxiety, each bite of chum a reminder of the gap that had suddenly widened between him and his father. "Please, Dad," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the clink of their forks. Plankton's antennas remained still, his eye focused on the food before him. Karen's heart was a tight knot in her chest, her eyes darting between her husband and son. The silence was a living creature, a Kraken of tension coiled around them, squeezing the joy from the room. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile. "So, Chip, tell us about your week," she said, her voice too bright, too forced. Chip took a tentative bite of his chum, his eyes on Plankton's unmoving antennae. "Well, I had a good time at the carnival," he began, his voice a sad echo of his usual excitement. "I won at the ring toss." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he said nothing, his silence a thick, unspoken wall. Chip felt like a deflated balloon, each of his words a futile attempt to pierce the silence. "And I met a new friend," Chip continued, his voice a feeble thread trying to weave through the stillness. "She's a dolphin. She was really cute." Plankton's antennae twitched again, just a little, but it was enough to keep Chip's hope afloat. Chip's voice grew stronger, his words a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of silence. "Her name's Daisy," he said, a tiny smile tugging. "We played in the bubbles." But Plankton's antennae remained still, his eye on his plate. It was as if Chip's words were bouncing off an invisible shield, unable to penetrate the fortress of his father's mind. Chip's smile faltered, his screen filling with unshed tears. He wanted so badly to share his joy with Plankton, but the wall of silence was too high, too thick. He took a deep breath, his hands clenching around his fork. "Dad, I know you're mad at me," he said, his voice trembling. "But I just want to understand." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he said nothing, his face a mask of indifference. The silence grew heavier with each passing moment, weighing down on Chip like an oversized sponge soaked in regret. He knew he had to try again, to bridge the gap. "Dad," he began, his voice shaky but determined. "I know I messed up today, but I want to make it right." He took a deep breath, willing the words to come. "Can you tell me more about your...about what happened to you?" His voice was a tiny bubble of hope rising in the deep sea of their dinner. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flickering up to meet Chip's for a brief moment before dropping back to his plate. The silence stretched on like a tight rubber band, threatening to snap. Karen's screen a tempest of concern, torn between her love for her husband and her desire to help her son. She knew Plankton needed his space, but seeing the pain in Chip's screen was like watching a piece of coral being slowly eroded by the sea. Chip's words hung in the air, like a message in a bottle lost at sea. Plankton's silence was a reef that Chip's words couldn't navigate around. He took a deep breath, his heart a conch shell echoing with hope. "Dad, I know it's hard for you," he tried again, his voice a gentle wave. "But if you don't tell me, how can I understand?" The room was a pressure cooker of unspoken emotion, the tension rising with each passing second. Karen's screen pleaded with Plankton, willing him to respond. But he remained still, his antennae unmoving, his eye a storm cloud over their meal. Chip's heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice, his words falling on deaf antennae. "Dad, please," he whispered, his voice desperate. "I just want to help." But Plankton's antennae remained motionless, his eye averted. The silence was a deep-sea trench between them, vast and unbridgeable. Chip's shoulders slumped, his hope leaking away like water through a sieve. He took another bite of his chum, the taste of it suddenly bitter on his tongue. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second a tiny hammer on the anvil of his heart. Chip forced a swallow, his throat tight with emotion. "Dad," he said again, his voice a tiny ripple in the vast ocean of quiet. "I'm sorry." The room held its breath, waiting for a response, but none came. The silence was a thick kelp that choked, suffocating any attempt at conversation.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠞⠋⠉⠙⠳⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⡶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠻⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⣠⡴⠶⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠳⠦⣄⡀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⢿⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⠶⠤⣄⣀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⣰⡶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠘⠓⠦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣇⡸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⠁⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⢀⣀⡤⠶⠶⠚⠛⠛⠉⠉⠙⠛⠓⠶⠶⠦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢦⠀⠨⠉⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⣷⡴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⣷⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠉⠻⢶⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠉⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠋⠉⠉⠓⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⢀⡆⠈⢻⡄ ⠀⠀⢀⣼⢿⣌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢇⡴⠋⠀⠀⣸⡇ ⠀⣰⡟⠁⢘⡿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠟⠉⠀⢀⣠⣾⠋⠀ ⢰⡏⠀⠀⠸⡇⠈⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠠⠖⠉⠁⣸⡆⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢳⡄⠀⠙⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠓⠶⠶⠶⠤⠶⠶⠶⠚⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠶⠞⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠟⠀⠀ ⠘⢷⣆⠀⠀⠀⠹⢦⣀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠶⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⡶⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠙⠳⢦⣽⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠞⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠶⠞⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠳⠶⣤⣄⡈⠉⠛⠶⠦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⠶⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣏⠳⢤⣀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠓⠶⢤⣀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠶⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⣄⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣻⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣶⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣶⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣴⠶⠿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠻⠶⠶⠾⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⬜🚩🚩🚩⬜⬜⬜🚩🚩🚩⬜ 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩⬜🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 ⬜🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩⬜ ⬜⬜🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜🚩🚩🚩⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🚩⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
🍌🍑😏xi
🇬🇷Ξ🔢
If you'd like to report a bug or suggest a feature, you can provide feedback here. Here's our privacy policy. Thanks!
AI Story Generator - AI Chat - AI Image Generator Free