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osunari · 2 months ago

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⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s (18+)

— ch.2

➤ s t a r t

Mr. crawling x MC

- h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

"Unspoken Affection”

(please read ch.1 first)

"This again?" you muttered, glancing down at mr. chopped. His severed head was settled awkwardly on the cart, his brows furrowed in a mix of irritation and embarrassment. He looked quite funny, despite the level of seriousness the situation he got himself caught in.

"卄乙(not)丨千乂(funny) , 几乇(need) 卄乇Ҝ尺(help) !” he grumbled, his tone sharp but his eyes softening ever so slightly. "卄ㄩ卩ㄖ(hold) ! 卄ㄩ卩ㄖ(hold) ! 千乇尺(fast) !”

As you caught your breath, the memory hit you like a chill down your spine. The last time you'd seen him like this— rolling around helplessly—it wasn't by accident. It was her. That hooded child with the sheep-like head. You had watched as she toyed with him, like a predator playing with its prey, her quiet amusement twisted and unsettling.

And now, as if summoned by the thought, she appeared again.

Kids are nuisances even in this world.

At the end of the dim hallway stood a small figure in a pristine, lace-trimmed Victorian dress. The innocence of the outfit clashed horribly with the severed sheep’s head draped over her shoulders, its glassy, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, the fur matted and stained.

She tilted her head slowly, an eerie, playful energy radiating from her stillness. Her hands hid behind her back, fingers twitching slightly as though ready to move. She didn’t feel malicious—just wrong, like a child who wanted to play a game you couldn’t possibly win.

“That annoying child again?” you muttered in your native language so she wouldn’t understand, your grip tightening on the cart as mr. chopped’s troubled expression worsened.

“千乇尺(fast) ! 千乇尺(fast) !” mr. chopped raises his voice, his eyes closing tightly after he feels a comforting sensation as you wrap him around your arms and run away—completely forgetting about the man on all fours in spite of the situation.

The hooded child didn’t move, but her gaze burned into your back, cold and unrelenting. The sound of your heart pounding overcome the loudness of each step you took on the hardwood floor, a cruel reminder of how close she’d come to taking him away. You didn’t dare look back, each step faster than the last, as if you could outrun the suffocating weight of her stare.

The sound of your hurried footsteps echoed through the endless corridors as you cradled mr. chopped in your arms, his weight surprisingly easy to manage despite the growing tension in the air. His voice was your guide, calm but firm, as he barked directions like a map brought to life. “爪ㄚ几(left) !” he snapped, his tone clipped but steady.

You skidded around the corner, barely catching your balance before dashing down another dim hallway. The walls seemed to stretch endlessly, the flickering lights above casting distorted shadows that made it feel like you were being followed.

“尺千ㄚ(us) 匚几ﾌ乇(careful) , 千匚(child) 几ㄚ乇(sneaky) !” he added, glancing back from your arms.

You straightened your posture, gripping mr. chopped tighter as determination flared within you. “So she’s quite the prankster, huh?” The playful unease from earlier was gone, replaced by a sharper focus—you couldn’t afford to underestimate the hooded child again. Your movements became quicker, more calculated, your eyes scanning every corner for signs of her. “I got your back.” The air around you felt charged, your resolve cutting through the fear like a blade.

Meanwhile, in the room you had left behind, mr. crawling stood alone in the dark, his towering form oddly still. He had managed to find a solution—a way to trap the hooded child in the room you and him once resided.

“ㄥ尺几ﾌ(play) ! ㄥ尺几ﾌ(play) ! ㄥ尺几ﾌ(play) !” the loud banging and ringing of the doorknob didn’t help release her from the room she was kept in, wherein the culprit stood in silence from the other side of the door. “几ㄩ(you) 千ㄚ尺 (bad) ! 几ㄩ(you) 千ㄚ尺 (bad) !” the hooded child’s cries failed to overpower the cloudy thoughts of her foe, whom was now lifelessly staring up at the ceiling—his body hunched down while his mouth open agape.

Where had you gone? His hair shifted slightly as if mimicking his unsettled thoughts, the quiet stillness of the room making your absence more noticeable. You were fine one moment, and then gone the next—chasing that severed head.

His lips twitched with unease, a strange jealousy gnawing at him. That head had taken you away, dragged you into danger without a second thought—while you fully consented to yourself being in light of danger instead of the other. The thought of losing you again made his chest feel heavy. He turned toward the doorway and spotted the faint trail left by the cart you had pulled on earlier.

Without hesitation, he dropped on all fours, his long limbs propelling him forward as he started following your path. He had no exact idea where you might have gone, but instinct and worry pushed him on, his glowing hair brushing against the cold floor as he moved. Whatever trouble you’d run into, he would find you before it was too late.

The wooden stairs groaned beneath your feet as you made your way into the dim basement. The air was heavy and thick, carrying the faint scent of meat and something metallic that prickled your nose. You reached the bottom, your fingers brushing against the cool wall for support, and pushed open the familiar door. The room inside greeted you with its worn-down charm, a space cluttered with some tables, scattered chairs, and a few more familiar details. This place had always felt like a strange mix of horror and comforting—a haven for those who didn’t belong anywhere else.

Your eyes darted around, searching for mr. silvair, but the soft, grumbling sound in your arms pulled your attention downward.

“ㄖㄚ千(put) ! ㄖㄚ千(put) ! 几ㄩ(me) ﾌ乂ㄩ几(want) !” mr. chopped muttered after seeing his favorite blue beanbag that rested on a small table. His small form wriggled in your grip, his frustration almost comical given how utterly exhausted he looked.

You rolled your eyes, adjusting him in your arms as you walked further into the room. “Okay,” you muttered. “Hooded child get you in your sleep.” you teased and attempted to translate in their native language, earning a look of puffed cheeks from the severed head.

You lowered him onto the well-loved beanbag nestled in the corner of the room. He flopped back with a dramatic huff, his sharp features relaxing almost immediately as his eyes began to flutter closed. “几ㄩ(me) 千几ㄩ(feel) 乂ㄚ几(good) ! 几ㄩ(me)丨ㄖ千(sleep) . . .” Within seconds, he was asleep, his tiny form now looking oddly peaceful against the worn fabric. You crossed your arms, watching him for a moment. Not even a thank you? you thought with a faint scoff, but his soft, even breathing made it hard to stay annoyed.

In all suddenness, the sound of a door creaking open broke your thoughts. You turned just in time to see mr. silvair step into the room, tall and composed as always. His sharp features were highlighted by the flickering candlelight, his pale white hair trailing softly behind him as he moved with a kind of quiet grace. In one hand, he carried a syringe filled with an unknown liquid that gleamed faintly under the dim light.

“山ㄚ(we) 乙乂乇(meet) 尺ﾌ几(again) .” he said smoothly, his voice low and even as his gaze locked onto you. His eyes scanned your figure, lingering on the pale sheen of your skin and the faint bluish veins visible beneath it. A flicker of concern passed across his face, subtle but unmistakable. “几ㄚ(you) 丂乃乇ㄥ(unwell) ? 乃卄丂 (maybe) 匚千 (can) 卄ㄩ几卩(help) .” he informed, gesturing you to take a seat on one of the chairs not far from him—his crossed arms indicating a sense of interest and worry.

Something in his tone made you comply, and you sank into one of the worn chairs nearby. Exhaustion was catching up to you, and the weight of the day seemed to pull your shoulders down. Silvair remained standing, studying you with an intensity that made you feel like a puzzle he was determined to solve.

“千ㄚㄩ(feel) ﾌ丂ㄩ几(pain) ? 乃乂乙(body) 几ﾌㄒ(not) 乃乙卩ㄥ(healthy) .” he said alarmingly, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

You glanced down at your hands, at the strange, translucent quality of your skin that hadn’t been there before. Even now, you weren’t sure how to explain the changes overtaking you. “Don’t know. Me not feel sick.” you admitted in their language, your voice barely above a whisper. “No pain. Yet, not healthy.”

“卂乇卄(when) ㄚㄖ(change) ﾌ几千(occur) ?” he pressed, his tone more focused now.

“When met with red man, mr. scarletella.” you said, the name sending a shiver down your spine.

At that, silvair’s calm demeanor cracked. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his sharp gaze darkened. He took a step closer, his presence suddenly heavier. “scarletella,” he repeated, his voice low and filled with an unspoken weight.

“Why? Something wrong?” you asked, your stomach twisting as unease crept through you.

Silvair frowned, his hands clasping behind his back as he began to pace slowly. The flickering candlelight threw long shadows across the walls, giving him an almost spectral appearance. “几ㄩ(me) ㄖ乙几(unable) 千ㄩ(to) 匚山乇(lift) ㄩㄚㄒ(curse) .” he said after a moment, his voice measured. “卄几(he) 乙乇尺(want) ㄒ千(you) . 卄ㄩㄥ(want) 几ㄚ尺(your) 千卩几(soul) .”

“Curse?” you echoed, the word leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. “Soul??” you uttered in your language, wishing it was something as little as a mistranslation, but your instincts told you otherwise.

Silvair turned to face you, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with a quiet intensity. “乃乇(time) ㄩ乂乇(pass) , 乙乂(you) 丂匚(turn) 千卄ㄒ(less) 卄ㄚ尺卩(human) . ㄥ爪几(similar to) ㄩ卄尺匚ㄥ(everyone else) .” he said carefully, “匚尺(he) 乂千卄(like) ㄚ卩(you) . 几乇 (he) 山几ㄒ(want) ㄚ几尺(take) 卄ㄩ(you) .”

Your heart pounded harder in your chest. “What the hell does that mean?” you thought to yourself as you run a hand through your hair—leaning down the chair with a slouched position, your face almost intact with your knees.

Silvair looked down sympathetically at your troubled figure, although he didn’t comprehend your last sentence, it’s like he could read the words your body language revealed. He hesitated, having difficulty finding the right words to not provoke your mind any curther. With a heavy sigh, his chest shifted—opening his mouth agape to reveal more information about the curse, to which you anticipated. But before a sound could even escape from his mouth, the world around you began to blur. The dim room faded, its edges smearing into darkness, and you felt a sudden weightlessness as though you were falling. Panic clawed at your chest, and you reached out for something to ground yourself, but there was nothing.

Once the transition halts, the world felt impossibly small. You were enclosed in a tight, suffocating space that pressed against you from every side. The smooth, cold walls brushed uncomfortably against your arms and legs, confining you like a prisoner in an unyielding cage. The air was thick and stale, each breath harder to draw than the last, and a faint, metallic tang lingered in your throat. Your pulse quickened, the rhythm of your panic pounding in your ears.

This is so fucking strange.

You tried to shift, to move, but the limited space made even the smallest motion feel impossible. Your fingers searched the surface above, sliding across the smooth, unbroken material. The darkness was absolute, making it impossible to orient yourself. The thought crept into your mind: Was this a trap? Had you been buried alive?

Adrenaline surged through you, and with a burst of desperation, you pushed upward. Your arms trembled as you strained against the weight, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, finally, the lid above you gave way with a groaning creak that echoed loudly in the stillness.

You gasped as fresh air rushed in, cool against your overheated skin, filling your lungs with a sharp, almost painful relief. Light flooded in through the open space, blinding you momentarily as you struggled to adjust. You blinked rapidly, the blurriness giving way to the sight of a strange, unfamiliar room. Disoriented and still breathless, you peaked half of your face through the opening of the box you were in, immediately taking in the blurry form of two very familiar individuals.

“尺几ㄚ(funny) ?”

“heh-he , 尺几ㄚㄩ(funny) !”

Mr. masque stood with his usual flair, a theatrical magician with his broad-brimmed hat casting shadows over his face, his robes swirling with impossible patterns of monochromatic colors. His every movement was deliberate, calculated, as if every inch of his presence was part of some grand performance.

And then, there was mr. crawling. His lanky form crouched low on the ground as usual, uncomfortably so, beside the magician, his eyes, if they could even be called that—shrouded in shadows beneath his unkempt hair. His posture was stiff, strained. He wasn’t acting like the wary, defensive figure you were used to. No, he was pretending, and it didn’t take long for you to realize why.

Mr. masque was finishing one of his dramatic moments, head slightly tilted toward you. “尺几ㄚㄩ(funny) ? 尺ㄚㄩ(yes) ?” he asked monotonously, anticipating your response.

Mr. crawling, though, did not seem to share his excitement. Instead, a hollow giggle escaped from his lips, forced and shallow. “尺几ㄚㄩ(funny) ! 尺几ㄚㄩ(funny) !” he said, his voice shaky as he clapped his hands together a little too enthusiastically, the laughter too loud, too desperate. His hair flickered erratically, a sign that the effort to play along was a struggle. The tension in his limbs was perceptible as if he knew the consequences of failing to feign interest, failing to show enough interest for mr. masque’s performance.

Is he…? mr. crawling—he’s helping me.

You watched the scene unfold, understanding far too well that mr. crawling’s laugh was just that—a facade. His own discomfort radiated from him, and yet, he didn’t stop. His fingers twitched, and you knew deep down that he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t play his part. He had approached mr. masque himself to perform the teleportation trick, to bring you back—to return what was once his—and now that it was done, he needed to keep the magician appeased.

But as you stood there, caught in the uneasy aftermath of it all, your mind began to drift. Mr. silvair’s words echoed in your head, still unfinished. He had been on the verge of telling you something important, something that might have explained the sickness gnawing at you. The pieces had been right there, hanging on the edge of revelation… but then, the magic had pulled you away, and now, you were stuck in this strange limbo.

You felt a pang of devastation in your chest. Your thoughts were tangled, the curiosity and the need for answers battling with the reality of being pulled back into mr. crawling’s grasp—summoned, as though you were a mere possession.

Mr. crawling noticed your sudden change in demeanor, his own false smile faltering as he awkwardly shuffled closer, his glowing strands brushing against your skin. He didn’t speak, but there was a fleeting softness in his expression, a rare moment of vulnerability hidden beneath his usual eerie confidence. Yet, despite his attempt at calming you, it was clear that the moment of truth, of answers, had slipped through your fingers. The mystery of your curse and the warning from mr. silvair now felt like something distant, something left behind in the wake of your summoning.

As mr. masque grinned, unaware of the turmoil that had washed over you, mr. crawling silently reached out, his touch gentle but insistent. Without a word, he began pulling you away, the magician’s laughter still ringing in your ears as you were guided swiftly out of the room.

Once you were both left with no company but each others’, the tension in mr. crawling’s posture seemed to break. His usual eerie calmness shattered like glass, and the unsettling facade he wore had melted away in an instant. His glowing strands of hair flickered anxiously, his movements almost jerky, betraying just how much your well-being had rattled him that badly.

He stopped abruptly in the hallway, his head tilting slightly as if sensing your presence, his hair shifting in the air. The intensity of his attention was unmistakable, despite the absence of eyes. “千尺几卩(okay) ? 卄丂ㄩㄥ(pain) ? 千尺ㄒ(need) 乙乇山尺(medication) ?” His voice was low, almost breathless, as though he had been holding his worry in for far too long.

Before you could even respond, his hands were already reaching for you, gentle but insistent. His fingers brushed over your skin as he checked over and under your arms and shoulders, searching for any sign of injury or harm. His touch was soft, but the urgency behind it was clear. His eyes never left yours as he carefully inspected you, looking for any clue that you might be hurt in some way.

The air between you both felt charged, and when his hands moved to lift the edge of your dress—gently, and cautiously as though checking for any unseen bruises or wounds, you froze. The movement was intimate, too close, and something inside you fluttered with the sudden tension of it all. But before he could lift it further, you placed your hand over his, stopping him with a soft, almost hesitant touch.

“N-no…” you whispered, your voice quieter than you intended, a mix of fluster and vulnerability in your tone.

His hand stilled, hovering over your dress, his expression softening as if realizing how invasive his actions had been. “乙丂ㄚ(sorry) , 几ㄩ(me) 匚乂ㄚ千(worry) .” he murmured, his voice tinged with guilt. “几ㄩ (me) 千ㄚ几(worry) 尺山卩乙 (somebody else) 匚乂ㄚ(take) 几ㄚ(you) .” His words were sincere, filled with an anxiety that made your heart ache. “几ㄚ(you) 千ㄥㄒ(leave) , 几ㄚ(me) ﾌㄩ卩(look) 千尺(for) 几ㄩ(you) .”

The raw honesty in his voice made your chest tighten. You could see the genuine worry in his eyes now, his usually intimidating demeanor replaced with something softer, more vulnerable.

His hands slowly dropped to his sides, and he looked away for a moment, his hair falling lower around his face, hiding the faint blush that had appeared on his cheeks. “丂尺匚ㄚ(sorry) , 几ㄚ(me) 匚尺ㄩ千(trouble) 几ㄩ(you) .” he said, his words stumbling slightly. “几ㄚ(me) —” He cut himself off, looking back at you, his gaze filled with an emotion that was both endearing and intense. “几ㄚ(me) 匚尺乙ﾌ(want) 几ㄩ(you) 千尺乇(safe) . 丂尺匚��(sorry) .”

You could see how conflicted he was—guilt and affection warred within him. But as he stood there, his posture a little more relaxed, you realized just how much he valued you. He wasn’t just the unsettling figure you’d come to know. In this moment, he was… worried. He was worried for you because he couldn’t stand the thought of you slipping away, just like that.

“Why, sorry?” you said softly, your voice quiet but filled with warmth. “Me okay. No trouble, not mad.” You smiled gently at him, crouching down to reach his height and caressing your hands on his head full of hair—hoping to ease some of the tension that still clung to the air because of his conduct.

He looked up at you, his nonexistent eyes softening, and for a moment, his usual jagged grin was replaced with something tender. “几尺ㄚ卩(good) .” he replied, his voice quieter than usual, the weight of his emotions still lingering. “几ㄚ(me) 卂爪千(happy) .”

You sank to your knees on the floor, the weight of everything pressing down on you, and an overwhelming need to feel close to him overtook you. Without thinking, you reached out and pulled him into a tight, desperate hug. The moment his form melted into yours, your heart skipped a beat, as the warmth and solidity of his body washed over you, filling the emptiness you’d been trying to ignore. His scent, faint yet oddly comforting, wrapped around you like a delicate blanket, and for the first time in a while, you felt safe. You lingered in the moment, arms tightening around him, wishing the world outside could just disappear. His closeness was intoxicating, and you realized that you never wanted to let go, never wanted this peace to end.

The silence between you stretched longer than you expected. Until finally, he broke it with a soft, amused giggle—“heh-he”, almost like he couldn’t believe what was happening. His voice, though light, held an undeniable warmth, a mix of surprise and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. He realized what was happening—you had wrapped yourself around him, had pulled him close, letting your body speak the words you couldn’t say.

The realization made his heart flutter in his chest, and for a brief moment, he felt exposed. But, instead of pulling away, he let himself fall into it, his arms shifting to hold you just a little bit tighter, his voice dropping low and teasing. “几ㄚ(me) 匚千尺ﾌ(want) 几ㄩ(you) .” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. And in that moment, the air between you both thickened with something new—something unspoken, but undeniable.

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s (18+)

- ch.2

➤ e n d

#homicipher #mr crawling #mr scarletella #mr silvair #romance #horror #fanfiction #x reader #MC

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tyboys · 7 months ago

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﹒ʬʬ﹒⪩⪨﹒⟡﹒ᐢ..ᐢ﹒◖﹒⇅﹒○﹒✿﹒⊹﹒∇﹒✸﹒⟢﹒❀﹒ᵔᴗᵔ﹒♡﹒〇﹒ıllı﹒ᶻz﹒⊂⊃﹒␥﹒⿸﹒ꔠ﹒✶﹒◍﹒▿﹒⤸﹒⬚﹒៶៸﹒△﹒→﹒✶﹒（）﹒▥﹒▤﹒▦﹒▧﹒▨﹒▩﹒░﹒▒﹒▓﹒⿴﹒◫﹒⬚﹒▣﹒≧≦﹒ㄑ﹒⎙﹒➜﹒★﹒⨳﹒✿﹒❀﹒✶﹒✸﹕☆﹒◐﹒◉ ﹒◖◗﹒▽﹒ᶻz﹒‹𝟹﹒♡﹒ᐢ..ᐢ﹒﹫﹒⿴﹒→﹒☓﹕ᵔᴗᵔ﹒⺌﹒⪩⪨﹒◎﹒⊹﹒ᶻ﹕→ ．(＞。☆)﹔⇆﹒ꜛ﹒░﹒❥﹒？﹒！﹒◍﹒﹏﹒✦﹒⟡﹒＞＜﹒◌﹒⿴﹒✧﹒𖥔﹒%﹒﹙﹚﹒◜◡◝﹒ꜝꜝ﹒⟡﹒⪩⪨﹒☓﹒⬦﹒✦﹒◈﹒✶﹒⬙﹒⟡﹒⇆﹒♡﹒﹢﹒ᶻ﹒✹﹒﹢﹒✶﹑〇﹐罒﹢♡﹒⇆﹑⬚﹐ᶻ﹒❀﹐✶﹒▹﹒◖﹒✩﹒∇﹒▨﹐◌﹐❀﹒⿴﹒✿﹢﹐░﹒ᶻz﹐☆﹒⊂⊃﹑ⵌ﹒▦﹒✿﹒⺌﹒◂﹒⿴﹒❰❰﹒♡﹒ᶻz﹒❥﹒⩇﹒⊞﹐ʬʬ﹒♢﹐ᐢ..ᐢ﹐✩﹒ᶻz﹒❥﹒⟡﹒✷﹒✕﹐〇﹐✿﹒Ꜣ﹒⟡﹒˃̵ᴗ˂̵﹒♡﹐≋﹒⊂⊃﹒ᐢᗜᐢ﹒❀﹒﹢﹒⇵﹒⪨﹕↺﹐✿﹒Ꜣ﹒✶﹐≋﹒⇆﹐ʬʬ﹒﹗﹐➜﹒⬦﹕ᶻz﹒✦﹒﹢﹒▢﹒░﹒⭔﹒ʬʬ﹒✿﹒☰﹐◖◗﹒？﹒✶﹒﹏﹒ꕀ﹑ᵔᴗᵔ﹒ᗢ﹒✿﹐⊂⊃﹒ᐢᗜᐢ﹒ꕀ﹐リ﹐口﹐ꕀ﹒（｀δ´）﹒口，✿﹐⊂⊃﹒ᐢᗜᐢ﹒░﹒𖦹﹐゛✿﹑（｀δ´）﹒イ。ꕀ﹑リ﹐⊂⊃﹒ꔠ﹒口﹐･ᴗ･﹒░﹑リ﹒◐﹐、﹕✧﹒✶﹔？﹐ʬʬ﹒▹﹒❀﹒⭔﹒▿﹒⺡﹒✿﹒﹢﹒░﹑⬦﹒૪ ﹒〹﹒罒﹒ᶻz﹒◎﹐ꕀ﹒◖◗﹒⺌﹒〣﹒ᗢ﹒⺌﹒⿸﹑ꔠ﹒❀﹒➜﹒▦﹒◐﹒✷﹒◉﹒⿴﹒⿻﹒✦﹒★﹒☆﹒ıllı﹢☆﹒❀﹕▧﹒⟡﹒★﹕ıllı﹒▒﹒◎﹐☆﹒ꕀ﹐➜﹒⪩﹒〇﹐➜﹒★﹕◐﹒％﹕▧﹒⊂⊃﹒♡﹒ꕀ﹒ᶻz﹒₊ˎ✧﹒⪩﹒˃ᴗ˂﹕˃ᗜ˂﹕⿴﹒ᶻz﹒☆﹔⿴﹒✶﹒ᵔᴗᵔ﹒➜﹒⭔﹕⪩⪨﹢◒﹒◎﹒✿﹒⊂⊃﹔♡﹒◍﹒✦﹒⪩⪨﹒▧﹒⟡﹕➜﹐▦✦✦﹒✶﹐﹢﹒ㄑ﹕ꕀ﹒＞＜﹐ꔠ﹐✿﹐×﹐丶﹐＞︿﹒リ﹕﹢﹐﹔★﹒ᶻz﹒⿴﹒⭔﹒✿﹒⊹﹒⭔﹒⨯﹒➜﹒★﹒◞﹒◟◝﹒◜﹒﹪﹒→﹐ıllı﹒★﹒✦﹒⌕﹒⌗﹒✿﹒⊹﹒✸﹒❍﹒⭓﹒◒﹒﹏﹒₊﹒▹﹒ᶻz﹒％﹒◖﹒░﹒ʬʬ﹒⿴﹒⫘﹒◎﹒⨳﹒⌕﹕★﹒☆﹒⌗﹐﹪﹐⌯﹐﹟﹐◐﹒▒﹒◎﹒⇆﹒☆﹒❀﹒☆﹒ıllı﹒↺﹒◍﹒✶﹒ᵔᴗᵔ﹒░﹒⇵﹒▧﹒◍﹒♡﹕❀﹑⿸﹕▞﹒✿﹒╰﹒░﹐◎﹒♡﹒◜ᴗ◝﹒˃ᴗ˂ ♡﹐﹅﹒✿﹒⊞﹒ıllı﹒♡﹒⊞﹕▞﹒✿﹒❀﹒⌕﹒⿸﹒✶﹒❀﹒✷﹒✸﹒▒﹒ᶻz﹒✿﹐♡﹐❀﹒░﹒⇵﹒▨﹕◍﹒♡﹒⌕﹒˃̵ᴗ˂̵﹑♡﹒✿﹒◍﹒⊞﹒∇﹒✶﹒ᵔᴗᵔ﹒◎﹒⇆﹒☆﹒@﹒˘ᗜ˘﹒

❝ ⵌ ⌗ ⨳ ❞﹒ᝰ つ ᘐ ට 𖥦 ᘏ ᐟ.ᐟメ Ꮺ ゝ꒱꒱ ➜ ◞ 𐃆 ✦ ꗃ◟ ⨯ ꒰╰╮︻デ═一︰✿ ζ﹐．𓊔⺌！％ ៹ 、 ₊˚ฅ ꔛ𓂃★☆✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ ₊˚๑꒷₊⊹ ⬫ ა ໒ ‧˚ ʚɞ ︿︿˗ˏˋ—ˎˊ˗﹆₊﹅˚ ⸝⸝ ꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦꒦︶︶꒷꒦ ᘏ⑅ᕱ︵︵˚દ﹕ᜊ ᨓ˚₊↷ ୨୧﹕‧₊˚⊹﹕✧˚₊ ଘଓ⌒⌒✄┈┈ ˚ ᗢ ‧ ꕤ｡˚⤹┊≡°.• ꒰ キ 𓍯 𓏲𓂅 ♡ ‹3 ꒷꒦ ∿𖤐 𖦹 𖣠 જ ⧉ ⿻⌇𖧧﹢ヾ𓈒⁀➷ ‿➹ ▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ 𑑛 ৎ ໑ ࿔ 𓈀﹒ꜝ░ ◖ .꒷ 𖤐 ✯ ✪ ✮ ✰⤸₊˚ ִֶָ 𓆩 𓆪 ᠀ ⬫ ⬪ ౨ৎ 𖥔 ✉ ╳ ≛ 𖤩 ˖˚ ୫ 𐂴 𖠿 ‣ ִֶָ ، 𖤘 ، . ‹ ִֶ ャ彡 ᯅ ☄︎ 𖦆 ˚ 𖥨ぃ 𓈈ﾉꜞ≡ ⌂ ⌕ ↺ ⩇ ▨ ▦ ▩ 𖣯 ❒ ㆆ ꊥꊥ 𖨂᯽◌ ◍ ◷ ◔ ◕ ⪧◟𖣗 ̑̑ ꪶ ꫂ ᧙ ᥐ 𐑺ִ ◡ ◡ ꫂ ২ ζ १ ◠ ◠ ຊ ७ ५ 𓍢 𓍼 𓇟 𓍲 𓍱 ᨒ ᠀ 𑁯 ੭ × ະ ⵓ 𐀔 ❖｡ⵢ𖤠 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ꩟˚ ୭∿ ꔵ ⚑ ᕬ ⚐ ᶻᶻᶻ ꉂ ҂ ⋮ ❛❜ ꐑ�� ✸ ૪ ໒ 🜲 𖥨 ⌦ ຯ ໒ ⌔？！៸៸ 𑑛 ৎ ໑ ࿔ 𓈀﹒ꜝ░ ◖ .꒷ 𖤐 ✯ ✪ ✮ ✰⤸₊˚ ִֶָ 𓆩 𓆪 ᠀ ⬫ ⬪ ౨ৎ 𖥔 ✉ ╳ ≛ 𖤩 ˖˚ ୫ 𐂴 𖠿 ‣ ִֶָ ، 𖤘 ، . ‹ ִֶ ャ彡 ᯅ ☄︎ 𖦆 ˚ 𖥨ぃ 𓈈ﾉꜞ≡ ⌂ ⌕ ↺ ⩇ ▨ ▦ ▩ 𖣯 ❒ ㆆ ꊥꊥ 𖨂᯽◌ ◍ ◷ ◔ ◕ ⪧◟𖣗 ̑̑ ꪶ ꫂ ᧙ ᥐ 𐑺ִ ◡ ◡ ꫂ ২ ζ १ ◠ ◠ ຊ ७ ५ 𓍢 𓍼 𓇟 𓍲 𓍱 ᨒ ᠀ 𑁯 ੭ × ະ ⵓ 𐀔 ❖｡ⵢ𖤠 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ꩟˚ ୭∿ ꔵ ⚑ ᕬ ⚐ ᶻᶻᶻ ꉂ ҂ ⋮ ❛❜ ꐑꐑ ✸ ૪ ໒ 🜲 𖥨 ⌦ ຯ ໒ ⌔？！៸៸ ☆ ～('▽^人) 🍥 ଓ ˖˚⊹ ₊ ╭⌗♡𓂃・꒰꒱ ﹕ᕱ⑅ᕱ﹕﹕ ₊˚੭ ╰╮𖥻໒ ♡੭ ╰╮ꔫ꒦⊹﹕﹕ˎˊ- 𑁥 ੭ 𑊑 𑊁 ረ ૮ ᭡ ᘓ ១ 𑫈 ꝿ ౿ꪆ 𑁯 𑊁 𑊡 𑫏 𑜷 Թ Ծ ౿ 𑁯 𑁭 𑁥 ੭ ꪆ ᥫ ᘏ Ꮼ ᘓ ୬ ෧ ᘡ ୪ ১ 𖥨Ꮼ ꮱ ᰢ ꮺ 𐑙 ꫤ﹅﹆ Ꮺ ᰝ ჲ ᴥ𖦆 𓍲 𓍱 Ꮘ ફ ળ ਨ ৬ ৫ ২ ণ 𖡋 ଽ ꒰ ꒱ ꒲ 𖢆 ꯊ ꒷ ꒥ ꒦ ⏝ ︶ ᝰ 𖬺ꔚ ꔛ ꕁ ꕀ ꒳ ꒴ 𖢺 ଓ ଲ ପ ମ ଘ᳂ 🝎 𓐍 𐐫 𐐃 ◍ ⱺ ◔ ◷ 𔓏 • 〄⌾ 𖣠 𖦹 ꩜ 🝎 ๑ ꮻ ☹︎ 𓇸 𖦸 𔓶𒀭 𔓘 𑁍 𖡎 ֍ 🜰 ᦅ⟲⟳❁ ᜊ 𒆳 𒉽 ▸◂ 𝅎𝅏 𝅈𝅉 🝓 ◃▹ ː ⬫ ⬥ ⬦ ⑅Ⰶ ⊞ 𐌎 ⌦ 𐅰 ⎗ ◫ ༕ 🜲 ꯀ 𖣯 ▦𝄝 𝄜 𖣖 ⎗ ⎘ ⌂ ⩩ 𐄹 ⋕ ＃ ꖛ 𖥻𔗨 ᜃ ୫ ะ ⎎ १ ∿ 𖤛 𖧧 🝭 𖧉 🜵𔒝 𓆜 𓆝 𔘜 𓅫 𐀔 𔒌 𐙼 𖡅 𖣂 𔒱𐚱 𐚬 𐚯 𐚤 𐂴 𐃨 𐃫 𓄣 𓏊 𖥧 𖤣 𔒅 ♡ ❥ ᯽ ꕤ 🝮 ♥︎ 𑃢 𐀶 ꒧ ꇊ⎙ ⏚ 〧 ▌ ▬ ▭ ꉙ ꗃ ౾ ౽ 𐰢 ⏧𓄹 𓄼 𔓕 𔐬 𔘏 𓏲 𓍢 𓍯 𓂅 𓂃 𓁹 𐇻ᨃ ᨓ ᨑ ᨐ ᨏ ᨎ ╭╯◖ ◗ ꉂ ‡ꃋ ꃼ ୶ 𝄿 # ﹪ 𖠲 יִ 𖥔 🝊 ✾ 𔖲࿔ ⩩ 𖥨 ╰ ╮ ࿓ ᘒ ⊹ ✧ ✦ ⟆ ֊ ꗃ ⌗ ❍ ﹕ཿ ♡ ■ ꫂ ২ ζ १ 𖥧 𓂃 ♥︎ ᨒ ୫ ૪ ໒ 𐂴 ৎ ຊ ∿ ꔵ ⸙ ຯ ໒ ೨ 𖧧 Ꮺ 𖧷 𓏲 𖥨 𖦹 ๑ ໑ ࿔ ७ ५ ୭ ᠀ 𑁯 ੭ ⩩ 𖦹 ৎ 𖨂 𖥦 𓍢 ζִֶָ ꔛ ੭ 𓎆 ◞ 𐚱 ⩄ ⍝ ᠀ · ꗃ 𖦹 𓈒 𖧧 𓂃 𝕝 𓄹 𓄼 ҂ ⬫ ܀ ⃝ ᘏ ︰ ⚠ ꤥ 𓇬 𓃉 𓇸 𓆇 ⸃ ⸰ ⬞ 𐑥 ᠈ ✉ ᨒ ﹆ ⬝ 𑁤 𔘓 𔓘 ᜊ ᪤ ꒷ ⌨ ⬪ ↀ ⬩ ⬧ ⬥ ⊹ 〨 ⩌ ⩍ ⩋ 𓊌 𓇿 𓊔 𓈈 ㆐ Ⳋ ︳ ⴰ 𔒴 ↻ 𝅅 ﹐ ㄔ ഒ ＊ ⛓ 𓎆 ⩩ ⵌ٠ ᭡ ꕤ 𓈀 っ 𓊘 𓄹 ⦂ ᘏ 𔘓 𓈈 𓂃 𖠿 ཿ ࿀ ᎔ ᎓ ᜴ ᜵ ᝪ ៚ ៳ ᠀ ᠉ ᤳ ᨓ ᭝ ᱺ ᳃ ◯ ◦ ◡ ◠ ⋆ ۬۟۬ ⑅ ꠴ ੭ જ ꞈ ⸝ ˴ › ≡ ࿔ ／ ଓ ઇ ઉ ᧙ ᥐ ៸ ૪ ೨ ␥ ■ ♧ ◇ ◈ ﹫ ꧔ ੭ જ ꞈ ⸝ ≡ ࿔ ଓ ઇ ઉ ᧙ ᥐ ៸ ໒ ː ՞ ᵎ ࿂ ﹆ �� ִ𖧧 𖤠 𓄹 ﹅ 𝄪 ̟ ͜͝ ꯭ ̳ ֠ ⃝ ⃘ ⃕ ̸ ̶ ̲ ̅ ˙ ̣ ͘ ׄ ִ ◧◧◧⬕▦▬◤◣▃▄▅▆▇▏▎▎▅▍∞∴∵∭∬☽☾✜♥︎♠︎⚾︎⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭 ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾ (୨୧ᵕ̤ᴗᵕ̤) ✩°｡⋆⸜(ू˙꒳ ˙ )･:*˚:✧｡ . .ıllı. ✩ ✼　｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ㅤ→ ༄ ‧₊˚ 「」 ⇢ ๑ ◞♡° ⸙͎ ˀˀ ♡⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌦ ✗ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ↳ ❝❞ ➤ ↲ ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ ⎧ ୧⋅ ..⃗. ┊ೃ ╰► ꒱ ➛ ↴ ❱ ✿•˖* ℘ ﹋﹋ ❛ ╯ ❲ ❳ ∞ ‹ ∅ ┊ ➹ ੈ♡‧₊˚ ↱ ᵕ̈ ↷ ೃ ╲ ╱ 彡 ✥ ❥ Ꮠ ➜ ᎒ ☈ ❁ ⊰ 「❀」 . .⃗ . ༉‧₊˚✧ . ˚ ⚘ ˏ`୭̥*ೃ *ૢ✧ ཻུ۪۪ ೫` ⃟ ཹ։❀ ፧ ੈ✩‧₊ ૪'ރ፧ ࿐ °↳ ׂׂૢ༘ ۵`⚘݄⿴݃*₊˚꒰:: ≡ ෆ┊. ,! ۰ ۪۪۫۫ ❬ヾ︿︿،، ♡ ⏧·₊̣̇. ❵ ﹏﹏﹏❅ೃ ∞. ; ‹⌇ ✩✼　｡ﾟ･　　ﾟ･ミ ೃ ‧₊˚ ˗ˋˏ ˎˊ˗ ⊱⋅ ⋅⊰ ❴ ❵ ೋ ❥• ➥ ೃ❅,. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ↻↺۬◦۪۪̥ ✿ - ̗̀ ❳ ︸〞 ꜜ ͎ ╰ ╯╱╳╲ ⸗ =͟͟͞͞: 〣 ꞋꞌꞋꞌ ҂ ˘˘˘ ⸝⸝ ￤﹆ ꜛ ꜜ ⸃⸃ ⸗ ▾ ˖ ︴ ↻ ⇁ ﹏゛ ⇢ ﾞ ⁾⁾ ଽ ୭̥ ➶ ↻ ✘ ┈ ₊̇°˟̫ː ៸៸ ｡ ٬٬ ␣ ❪ ￣ ҩ ✕ ͝ ۫ ۪۪۪۫ ” ᵎ 〇 ,, ㅤ ❫ ٠ِ٘ٓ ℮ ▪ ❬ ❭ ❨ ❩ ⸂ ᵎ , ⃕ ➘ α ❴ ⟨ ⟩ ︵─┊-˚̩̥̩̥)❫ෆ∞ೃ❅≡〈〔＜ㄑ(ㄥ=三=＝《￣￣￣（丶／＼.˙˙．〝！？冫人｜!i＾iゝ〔〔〕〉 ⵢ◞⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ཻུ۪۪۪۫ ⎧ ..⃗. ꒱ Ꮠ ⊰ .⃗ ༉‧ ⃟ ˚◦ ˬ̽. ̽ ⋆≿⁞ꜜ₊̣﹏﹃﹄「」₊｡ﾟ➶︾〃･﹢ ̼ ⌁⌔⌕ ⌮┊★ $ ◟̽◞̽ ꒷꒦✞▃▃▅▆ ✿゛✎ ✄✩ ✼　｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ㅤ→ ༄ ‧₊˚ 「」 ⇢ ๑ ◞♡° ⸙͎ ˀˀ ♡⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌦ ✗ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ↳ ❝ ❞ ➤ ↲ ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ ⎧ ୧ ⋅┊ೃ╰► ꒱ ➛ ↴ ❱ ✿•˖ ℘ ﹋﹋ ❛ ╯ ❲ ❳ ∞ ‹ ∅ ┊ ➹ ੈ♡‧₊˚ ↱ ᵕ̈ ↷ ೃ ╲ ╱ 彡 ✥ ❥ Ꮠ ➜ ᎒ ☈ ❁ ⸙͎۪۫ ⊰ 「❀」 . .⃗ . ༉‧₊˚✧ . ˚ ⚘ ˏ`୭̥*ೃ *ૢ✧ ཻུ۪۪⸙͎ ೫` ⃟ ཹ։❀ ፧ ੈ✩‧₊ ૪'ރ፧ ࿐ ° ↳ ׂׂૢ༘ ۵`⌧. →× ︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵ ⚘݄⿴݃*₊˚꒰:: ≡,!ヾ︿︿،، ♡ ⏧·₊̣̇. ❵ ﹏﹏﹏❅ೃ ∞. ; ෆ┊¡ ⸼۰ ۪۪۫۫ ❬“= ‹⌇ #⃞ ＠ ﹫ ₍₎ ᥲᥱℎ ; ♡⋆.ೃ࿔* 𓂃 ☯︎ ꒰꒱ ᝰ ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ೄྀ(^‿^✿) ʚĭɞ 𓆝𓆟𓆜 ོ ʚ ᨳ ପ ꒦꒷ ꩜ 𖦹 ᜊ ★ ☆ 𖤐 ☻(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:☆:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ּ ⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉ ७ ८ १ ९ ४ ५ ॽ এ ৎ ১ ৫ ৶ ੭ ઽ ૮ ૭ ૦ ଓ ଘ ଙ ଽ ୦ ୨ ୧ ୪ ୬ ୭ ఽ ౨ ౿ ೨ ഽ ໒ ໑ ༺ ༻ ༾ ༿ ᗀ ᗁ ᗂ ᗃ ᗢ ᗣ ᘍ ᘊ ᘝ ᘞ ᚙ ᜊ ᜑ ៙ ᪤ ᱪ ᱖ ᱕ ᳁ ᳂ ᳃ ⊙ ⊚ ⊰ ⊱ ⊲ ⊳ ⋕ ⋮ ⌂ ⌔ ⌕ ⌗ ⌘ ⌙ ⌦ ⌧ ⌫ 〈 〉 ⌾ ⍝ ⎈ ⎓ ⎙ ⎚ ⏙ ⑅ ┆ ┇ ┊ ┋ ★ ☆ ☓ ♡ ♥︎ ⚯︎ ⚢︎ ⚛︎ ⚝︎ ⚹︎ ⛧︎ ⛮︎ ⛻︎ ⚠︎ ⚘︎ ⚣︎ ✦ ✧ ❍ ❑ ⟃ ⟄ ⟅ ⟆ ⟡ ⟲ ⟳ ⦾ ⧉ ⧾ ⩀ ⩇ ⩉ ⩊ ⩋ ⭑ ⭒ ⭗ ⭘ ⭙ ⭚ ⭛ Ⱶ ⲷ Ⳋ ⵂ ⵌ ⸦ ⸧ ⸮ 〄々〆〩ぁあのを龱 ꀯ ꃳ ꆪ ꈊ ꈔ ꌦ ꎺ ꏳ ꏿ ꐑ ꐚ ꐧ ꐪ ꑘ ꒰ ꒱ ꔪ ꔛ ꔡ ꔵ ꕃ ꕀ ꔷ ꔮ ꕊ ꕕ ꕤ ꕪ ꖏ ꖘ ꖴ ꗃ ꗏ ꘎ ꘫ ꜔ ꞝ ꠶ ꠷ ꢏ ꢾ ꣑ ꥟ ꩜ ꩐ ꫢ ꫪ ꯱       ﹅﹆ ﹟ ﹠ ﹗ ﹖ ﹢ ﹫ ﹪ ＃！＋￮ � 𐀏 𐁇 𐂂 𐂐 𐄹 𐇵 𐌎 𐌆 𐐂 𐐒 𐐗 𐐘 𐐜 𐐪 𐐺 𐐿 𐑀 𐝡 𐨀 𐪔 𐪆 𐪇 𑁘 𑁙 𑁚 𑁤 𑁥 𑁦 𑁨 𑁩 𑁬 𑁭 𑁯 𑂗 𑄻 𑊂 𑐛 𑑙 𑑛 𑑑 𓂁 𓂂 𓂃 𓂅 𓄹 𓄼 𓆇 𓆩 𓆪 𓆠 𓇷 𓇸 𓈀 𓈅 𓊌 𓊔 𓋭 𓋰 𓋱 𓏲 𓏳 𔒅 𔔀 𔔤 𔔦 𔖢 𔗨 𔘓 𔘜 𓈈 𖠘 𖠇 𖠛 𖠗 𖠣 𖠚 𖣠 𖣯 𖦹 𖧖 𖧗 𝄄 𝄜 𝇋 𝇌 🜲 🜸 🜽 🝕 🝙 🝯 🝩 🝱 ❀ ✿ ✩ ✫ ✧ ✦ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ──────

#symbols #messy bios #messy symbols #krp

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77seven7777 · 1 year ago

Note

ㄥ lıɐɥ llɐ ㄥlıɐɥ llɐ

·ㄥ ʅᴉɐɥ ʅʅɐ

ʻㄥ ʅᴉɐɥ ʅʅɐ

ʻㄥ ʅᴉɐɥ ʅʅɐ ʻsǝʎ

#seven #ask #ㄥ

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heslunie · 11 months ago

Text

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ´っω=`) ₍ᐢ× ༝ ×ᐢ₎

₍ᐡ-᷅ ·̫ -᷄ᐡ₎ ₍^⸝⸝> ·̫ <⸝⸝ ^₎ (´,,>ω<,,`)♡

₍ᐢ> ̫<ᐢ₎ (´･ω･`): ( ;´꒳`;) ₍ᐡඉ ̫ඉᐡ₎

ᐡ⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ᐡ ₍ᐡ-᷅ ·̫ -᷄ᐡ₎ ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ ٩̋(ˊ•͈ ꇴ •͈ˋ)و

(ヾﾉ･ω･`) (๑´`๑)♡ ˃̣̣̥᷄ ᴖ ˂̣̣̥᷅ ‎ᐡ ᐧ ﻌ ᐧ ᐡ

(⸝⸝º ^ º⸝⸝ ) ( ˊᵕˋ ; ) ( ᴗ ̫ ᴗ ) (๑♡⌓♡๑)

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ ₍ᐢ˶• ˔ กᐢ₎ ૮₍ ˃̵͈᷄ . ˂̵͈᷅ ₎ა ₍ᐢ•ﻌ•ᐢ₎

( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ) ๑´ ³`)�� ଘ( ິ•ᆺ• )ິଓ ꒰˘꒳˘๑꒱

໒(＾ᴥ＾) ◟꒰◍ ´꒳` ◍꒱◞ ˘ ᵜ ˘ ( •ω•ฅ)

ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ (๑´ㅂ`๑) (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິ

ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ (´๑•_•๑) Ꮚ˘ ꈊ ˘ Ꮚ ₍˄·͈༝·͈˄₎◞ ̑̑

(ㅅ´ ˘ `) (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ ) (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮₍•᷄ ࡇ •᷅₎ა ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝) (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

(´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡ ☆૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

(·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡ 🐾૮ ᴖﻌᴖა

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ (๑•ᴗ•๑)♡ ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡)

ᑦ(੭・㉨・)ᐣ ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ （≧∇≦） (*≧∀≦*)

(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) (๑>◡<๑) ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

◧◧◧⬕▦▬◤◣▃▄▅▆▇▏▎▎▅▍∞∴∵∭∬☽☾✜♥︎♠︎⚾︎⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭 ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾ (୨୧ᵕ̤ᴗᵕ̤) ✩°｡⋆⸜(˙꒳ ˙ )･:*˚:✧｡ . .ıllı. ✩ ✼　｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ㅤ→ ༄ ‧₊˚ 「」 ⇢ ๑ ◞♡° ⸙͎ ˀˀ ♡⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌦ ✗ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ↳ ❝❞ ➤ ↲ ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ ⎧ ୧⋅ ..⃗. ┊ೃ ╰► ꒱ ➛ ↴ ❱ ✿•˖* ℘ ﹋﹋ ❛ ╯ ❲ ❳ ∞ ‹ ∅ ┊ ➹ ੈ♡‧₊˚ ↱ ᵕ̈ ↷ ೃ ╲ ╱ 彡 ✥ ❥ Ꮠ ➜ ᎒ ☈ ❁ ⊰ 「❀」 . .⃗ . ༉‧₊˚✧ . ˚ ⚘ ˏ`୭̥*ೃ *ૢ✧ ཻུ۪۪ ೫` ⃟ ཹ։❀ ፧ ੈ✩‧₊ ૪'ރ፧ ࿐ °↳ ׂׂૢ༘ ۵`⚘݄⿴݃*₊˚꒰:: ≡ ෆ┊. ,! ۰ ۪۪۫۫ ❬ヾ︿︿،، ♡ ⏧·₊̣̇. ❵ ﹏﹏﹏❅ೃ ∞. ; ‹⌇ ✩✼　｡ﾟ･　　ﾟ･ミ ೃ ‧₊˚ ˗ˋˏ ˎˊ˗ ⊱⋅ ⋅⊰ ❴ ❵ ೋ ❥• ➥ ೃ❅,. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ↻↺۬◦۪۪̥ ✿ - ̗̀ ❳ ︸〞 ꜜ ͎ ╰ ╯╱╳╲ ⸗ =͟͟͞͞: 〣 ꞋꞌꞋꞌ ҂ ˘˘˘ ⸝⸝ ￤﹆ ꜛ ꜜ ⸃⸃ ⸗ ▾ ˖ ︴ ↻ ⇁ ﹏゛ ⇢ ﾞ ⁾⁾ ଽ ୭̥ ➶ ↻ ✘ ┈ ₊̇°˟̫ː ៸៸ ｡ ٬٬ ␣ ❪ ￣ ҩ ✕ ͝ ۫ ۪۪۪۫ ” ᵎ 〇 ,, ㅤ ❫ ٠ِ٘ٓ ℮ ▪ ❬ ❭ ❨ ❩ ⸂ ᵎ , ⃕ ➘ α ❴ ⟨ ⟩ ︵─┊-˚̩̥̩̥)❫ෆ∞ೃ❅≡〈〔＜ㄑ(ㄥ=三=＝《￣￣￣（丶／＼.˙˙．〝！？冫人｜!i＾iゝ〔〔〕〉 ⵢ◞⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ཻུ۪۪۪۫ ⎧ ..⃗. ꒱ Ꮠ ⊰ .⃗ ༉‧ ⃟ ˚◦ ˬ̽. ̽ ⋆≿⁞ꜜ₊̣﹏﹃﹄「」₊｡ﾟ➶︾〃･﹢ ̼ ⌁⌔⌕ ⌮┊★ $ ◟̽◞̽ ꒷꒦✞▃▃▅▆ ✿゛✎ ✄✩ ✼　｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ㅤ→ ༄ ‧₊˚ 「」 ⇢ ๑ ◞♡° ⸙͎ ˀˀ ♡⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌦ ✗ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ↳ ❝ ❞ ➤ ↲ ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ ⎧ ୧ ⋅┊ೃ╰► ꒱ ➛ ↴ ❱ ✿•˖ ℘ ﹋﹋ ❛ ╯ ❲ ❳ ∞ ‹ ∅ ┊ ➹ ੈ♡‧₊˚ ↱ ᵕ̈ ↷ ೃ ╲ ╱ 彡 ✥ ❥ Ꮠ ➜ ᎒ ☈ ❁ ⸙͎۪۫ ⊰ 「❀」 . .⃗ . ༉‧₊˚✧ . ˚ ⚘ ˏ`୭̥*ೃ *ૢ✧ ཻུ۪۪⸙͎ ೫` ⃟ ཹ։❀ ፧ ੈ✩‧₊ ૪'ރ፧ ࿐ ° ↳ ׂׂૢ༘ ۵`⌧. →× ︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵ ⚘݄⿴݃*₊˚꒰:: ≡,!ヾ︿︿،، ♡ ⏧·₊̣̇. ❵ ﹏﹏﹏❅ೃ ∞. ; ෆ┊¡ ⸼۰ ۪۪۫۫ ❬“= ‹⌇ #⃞ ＠ ﹫ ₍₎ ᥲᥱℎ ; ♡⋆.ೃ࿔* 𓂃 ☯︎ ꒰꒱ ᝰ ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ೄྀ(^‿^✿) ʚĭɞ 𓆝𓆟𓆜 ོ ʚ ᨳ ପ ꒦꒷ ꩜ 𖦹 ᜊ ★ ☆ 𖤐 ☻(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:☆:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ּ ⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉ ੭ ઽ ૮ ૭ ૦ ଓ ଘ ଙ ଽ ୦ ୨ ୧ ୪ ୬ ୭ ೨ ഽ ໒ ໑ ༺ ༻ ༾ ༿ ᗀ ᗁ ᗂ ᗃ ᗢ ᗣ ᘍ ᘊ ᘝ ᘞ ᚙ ᜊ ᜑ ៙ ᪤ ᱪ ᱖ ᱕ ᳁ ᳂ ᳃ ⊙ ⊚ ⊰ ⊱ ⊲ ⊳ ⋕ ⋮ ⌂ ⌔ ⌕ ⌗ ⌘ ⌙ ⌦ ⌧ ⌫ 〈 〉 ⌾ ⍝ ⎈ ⎓ ⎙ ⎚ ⏙ ⑅ ┆ ┇ ┊ ┋ ★ ☆ ☓ ♡ ♥︎ ⚯︎ ⚢︎ ⚛︎ ⚝︎ ⚹︎ ⛧︎ ⛮︎ ⛻︎ ⚠︎ ⚘︎ ⚣︎ ✦ ✧ ❍ ❑ ⟃ ⟄ ⟅ ⟆ ⟡ ⟲ ⟳ ⦾ ⧉ ⧾ ⩀ ⩇ ⩉ ⩊ ⩋ ⭑ ⭒ ⭗ ⭘ ⭙ ⭚ ⭛ Ⱶ ⲷ Ⳋ ⵂ ⵌ ⸦ ⸧ ⸮ 〄々〆〩ぁあのを龱 ꀯ ꃳ ꆪ ꈊ ꈔ ꌦ ꎺ ꏳ ꏿ ꐑ ꐚ ꐧ ꐪ ꑘ ꒰ ꒱ ꔪ ꔛ ꔡ ꔵ ꕃ ꕀ ꔷ ꔮ ꕊ ꕕ ꕤ ꕪ ꖏ ꖘ ꖴ ꗃ ꗏ ꘎ ꘫ ꜔ ꞝ ꠶ ꠷ ꢏ ꢾ ꣑ ꥟ ꩜ ꩐ ꫢ ꫪ ꯱       ﹅﹆ ﹟ ﹠ ﹗ ﹖ ﹢ ﹫ ﹪ ＃！＋￮ � 𐀏 𐁇 𐂂 𐂐 𐄹 𐇵 𐌎 𐌆 𐐂 𐐒 𐐗 𐐘 𐐜 𐐪 𐐺 𐐿 𐑀 𐝡 𐨀 𐪔 𐪆 𐪇 𑁘 𑁙 𑁚 𑁤 𑁥 𑁦 𑁨 𑁩 𑁬 𑁭 𑁯 𑂗 𑄻 𑊂 𑐛 𑑙 𑑛 𑑑 𓂁 𓂂 𓂃 𓂅 𓄹 𓄼 𓆇 𓆩 𓆪 𓆠 𓇷 𓇸 𓈀 𓈅 𓊌 𓊔 𓋭 𓋰 𓋱 𓏲 𓏳 𔒅 𔔀 𔔤 𔔦 𔖢 𔗨 𔘓 𔘜 𓈈 𖠘 𖠇 𖠛 𖠗 𖠣 𖠚 𖣠 𖣯 𖦹 𖧖 𖧗 𝄄 𝄜 𝇋 𝇌 🜲 🜸 🜽 🝕 🝙 🝯 🝩 🝱 ❀ ✿ ✩ ✫ ✧ ✦ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ───────────────────── ⿻ ⠂ ˇ ᕱ ⑅ ᕱ ⿴݃ ⎗ ꧔ ᵕ̈﹫ ຳ ⌕ ତ ⊹ 𓍢 ଓ 𖧧 ๑﹆﹅ ᨳ᭬ ° ｡ ⸼ ˴ ✦ ♥︎ 𓎆 ՙ ˒ ﹟. ◠ ֊ ᭡ ∩ ！𓏲 𓂃𓏸 ៸ • ɤ ' : 𐑡 ≀ 𓄼 · 𓄹 `— ୨୧ 𝆬 𓏸 ・ ପ ♡ ⎙ › ⍝ ᕬ 。 ִֶָ ᘏ ◑ ▭▬ 𖥻 ⌗ ៹ ꗃ 𓈈 𖥦 ░ ᨒ 𓂅 ⬪ 𖣂 ᝰ ⨾ 𓈒 ׂ⏧ ㅓ 𓍼 哈伊 ‘ ⋄ っ ⌯ ゛ ✉︎ ៸៸ ᶻᶻᶻ ▞ ⌀ ࣪ . ⧉ ✫ ✰ ✶ ⋆ ˒˒ ‹ ๑ — · ៸ ‣ ˒ ◠ ⎙ ⬪ ⩩ ♥︎ ᯽ ໑ ❑ ❒ ﹆ ໑ ⬩ ⍉ ʚ ੭. ✶ ›⭒ ⋆ ˴ ᤴ ੭ꞈ ᠀ ⸙ ຯ ତ ° ｡ ⸼ ✰ ♡ ﹫ # ✧ ⋆﹙ ⟅﹟ ☆ ‧ֺ․۬‧˖ ★ 𖤐 ✦ ⭑ ⸝ ✩⌇˒༣ ˎˊ˗ 𖥨 ۪𓍢݂ ͑ꜝ᜔ ⭒ ꒹ ꒰ ⌜ ⌝ ﹋﹋ ❛ ╯ ❲ ❳ ∞ ‹ ︿،، ➩✐ ✎❝❞ˀˀ ♡⃕ ◡̈ ⌦ ⡪჻ ✰ ★ ☆ ⭒ ⭑ ✧ ✦ ⊹ ❍ ◐⠀⬪ 𖧷 ٭ ᪥ 𖣔 ❁ ✿𝆬 •᷄ɞ•᷅ •́ ₃ •̀ •᷄ࡇ•᷅ ᴖ ᴈ ᴖ ᵕ̈ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ᵔᴗᵔ ･᷄-･᷅ ˶ᵔ ꈊ ᵔ    𐇵  ↻ ‣ › ˒ ⋅ ٠ • ː﹕ˇ · ، ؛ ❛ 〃 ⇢ ⤼ ﹫ ، ˒៹ 𓏲 ˙.໑ㅤ೨ㅤ𓂃𓏸 ࿔ ꗃ ⠀。̊· 𖥾 ⋆ ⿻ ❒ ❏ ᨳ ʚ 𖧧࣪ ๑ ໑

(｡･･｡) ✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧 (ㅅ´ ˘ `) 💌 `` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · 𖦹

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅ "( – ⌓ – ) ✩°｡⋆⸜ (╥﹏╥) ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

(_ _ ) . . z Z ㅤ/ᐠ - ˕ -マ ♡ ༘*.ﾟ 🕸 ⊹ ⋆ ˊᗜˋ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⌗ ☘︎ 𐑺 ࿁ ܸ ݄ ɞ 𐄂 𐂴 𐋉 𐋃 𐙝 ⩀ ݀ ̫ ̲ ﹕ ﹐ ﹔ ﹆ ⠁ ⠘ ⟲ ⟳ ⟡ ⟄ ⟃ ➜ ⛓ ⛂ ⛀ ⚹ ⚲ ⚬ ⚟ ⚞ ⚯ ⚐ 𝝙 𝝣 𐄹 ୨ ‘ ǂ ᘎ ᜊ ᘐ ⌗ 𓎆 ୧ ᭣ ̨ 𔓕 ️ ️⌕ ˒ ⠂ ˓ — ៹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ 𖥻 ଓ ᨳ ⩩ ː ◡ ‹ 𓂅 ੭ ࿔ ⠀، 𓏸 𓍢 ◌ ✿ ۰ ໒ ߸ ୧ 𐑥 ⌇ 𖥦 ★ ᕱ ଘ ୧ ﹢ ᖗ ❀ ↝ ੭ ୭ ⌯ ꐑ ٬٬ ๑ ⑅ 𖠗 ೨ 𖧷 𖣯 ｡ ꞝ ⩇ ᰍ ≀ ໑ ﾞ ઉ ᨦ ദ ꒷꒦ ꣹ 𖧵 𖧁 𖣠 ▦ ꑘ 𖥔 ᠉ ִֶָ⁠ ‹3 ៸៸ ≡ ઇ 𖧧 キ " 𓄹 ⊹ ⿻ ᘏ⑅ᘏ ٫ ⌕ ˇ ✧ ଡ ﹠ ｡ ، ？ 𖤐 ⌗ % ！ ᕱ ⑅ ᕱ 𓏲 ！ 𔘓 ഒ ⧉ ✰ ⋆ ٠ ─ ୭ 𖧧 ⊹ ‹3 ꒷꒦ 𖦹 ᭢ 𓂅 ∿ ♡ ‹𝟹 ໑ ❤︎ ‹ · ≀ ꕤ # ๑ ꞈ ⠀𓈒 ♡̶ 𓂃 𝆯 𓍯 𓏲 𔓘 ᭡ 𓂅 ꊥꊥ ᯽ ◷ ﹆ · જ ◐ ﹅ ᵕ̈ ♡̷̷ ☺︎ ☹︎ ⸒ ⎙ › ╴ ✷ ˒ ꜥꜤ ҂ ੭ ☆ ★ › ﹢ ⬭𝆬 ⭒۟ ׁ𔗫 ⥽ ⩩ ﹟ @ ﹫ ݃ ⿻۬ ଓ ﹆﹅ ᭣ ✦ ⋆ ᤴ ꪆ ᥀ ៹ ⊹ ✰ ⌕ ꒰ ꒱ ꜀ ꜆ ٤ ꒲ ꜣ Ꜣ 〻 ★ ♥︎ ‹3 ‎ ∞ ⭒ ଓ ، ⊹ ⌗ ⭑ ପ ✦ 𓄹 𓏲 ഒ ໒ ⊹ ɞ ᨳ ៹ ଘ ᕱ ⑅ : 𓂅‎ 𖧧 ‹3 ꒦꒷ ୭ ⋆ ୨ ୧ ՙ ᕬ ﹅ ✩ ⸝⸝ ⍈ ۰ ⍉ ★ ☆ ✫ ☻ 𓏲 𓂃 ✦ ˒ ៸៸ ᭝ ⌕ ⿻ ❍ ⊹ 𓄹 ✧ 𓂅 ﹆ ♡ ♥︎ ☾ → ˒ ⌕ ⠀≀ ✦ ﹢ ♡ ๋ ‹ › 𖦹 ⌗ 𔘓 ഒ ❤︎ ꊥ ☺︎ ☹︎ ⸒ ⎙ 𖥻 ꜥꜤ ҂ ੭⠀ ୭ ◞ 𓍯 ᭡ ࣪ 𓂃 𓈒 𓏸 っ ٫٫ ꜥ 𐑺 › ‹ ִֶָ 𖥻 ٫ ໋ ᘏ 𓈒 𖥻 ، ‹𝟹 𔘓 % 𓍢 𓋜 𓂅 ՚ ⿻ ⠀૪ જ ﹆ミ 𖧗 ⠀ ᠀ ⠀↺ ⠀៸⠀ ߸ ⠀ ⸼ ⸒ : : 𓋲 ㅤ谷 𖤘 : ⠀ ζ⠀ . ⾿ ເ 🪐 ⠀猫⠀ 民 ᦔ ⠀ 𑁯⠀ョ ⠀⩩ : ⠀𑁯 ⠀⬪ ◠ ⠀҂⠀ 𐑡 ◟ ⠀▦ ⌗ ⠀ !⠀ 𓍼 ˒ ꀬ · ☼ ᮂ 𓏲 𖧶 𓈒 . ՙ Ꜥ · ﹅ ☕︎ 𓂁 # 𖦹 リ ‎國 ִֶָ ㅡ 𖣰 ‘ . ᦔ ⠀⸒ ∞ 𓍢 ⌯ ꒷ ㅤ’ ㅤ₊ㅤ ⏍ ꧇ ᤳ 𓋲 ᭡ ∩ 𖤥 l ◞ ⠀𖦹⠀ ☄⠀ 𐃸 ˒ 𓈒 — ، ⟆ ⠀ꪆ ⺀ ▯ 𝗹 ▭ ഒ ￤ ، ⌕ ' ⌁ ⌗ 𓈈 𓏸 𓈒 ❤︎ 𓂅 𓄹 ๑ 𖦹 % ҂ ｡⠀⠀ ๑ ࿔ ⩩ 𖥨 ╰ ╮ ࿓ ᘒ ⊹ ✧ ✦ ⟆ ֊ ꗃ ⌗ ❍ ﹕ཿ ♡ ■ ꫂ ζ 𖥧 𓂃 ♥︎ ᨒ ୫ ૪ ໒ 𐂴 ຊ ∿ ꔵ ⸙ ຯ ໒ ೨ 𖧧 Ꮺ 𖧷 𓏲 𖥨 𖦹 ๑ ໑ ࿔ ୭ ᠀ 𑁯 ੭ ⩩ 𖦹 𖨂 𖥦 𓍢 ζִֶָ ꔛ ੭ 𓎆 ◞ 𐚱 ⩄ ⍝ ᠀ · ꗃ 𖦹 𓈒 𖧧 𓂃 𝕝 𓄹 𓄼 ҂ ⬫ ܀ ⃝ ᘏ ︰ ⚠ ꤥ 𓇬 𓃉 𓇸 𓆇 ⸃ ⸰ ⬞ 𐑥 ᠈ ✉ ᨒ ﹆ ⬝ 𑁤 𔘓 𔓘 ᜊ ᪤ ꒷ ⌨ ⬪ ↀ ⬩ ⬧ ⬥ ⊹ 〨 ⩌ ⩍ ⩋ 𓊌 𓇿 𓊔 𓈈 ㆐ Ⳋ ︳ ⴰ 𔒴 ↻ 𝅅 ﹐ ㄔ ഒ ＊ ⛓ 𓎆 ⩩ ⵌ ᳦ 㚼 ┈ ⵌ ⌯ ⨳ ⚬ 𔔀 ⬦ 𓈀 𓋰 𓏔 𓈃 ﹘ ﹏ ᳅ ⼓ 𖧋 𔗘 𔔤 𖧷 ⧎ ⧘ 𑃰 𖧡 𔗂 𔔢 𓊕 𓈓 𓇾 ᝆ 𔓕 𓍼 𓂄 𐄹 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

❝ ⵌ ⌗ ⨳ ❞﹒ᝰ つ ᘐ ට 𖥦 ᘏ ᐟ.ᐟメ Ꮺ ゝ꒱꒱ ➜ ◞ 𐃆 ✦ ꗃ◟ ⨯ ꒰╰╮︻デ═一︰✿ ζ﹐．𓊔⺌！％ ៹ 、 ₊˚ฅ ꔛ𓂃★☆✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ ₊˚๑꒷₊⊹ ⬫ ა ໒ ‧˚ ʚɞ ︿︿˗ˏˋ—ˎˊ˗﹆₊﹅˚ ⸝⸝ ꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦꒦︶︶꒷꒦ ᘏ⑅ᕱ︵︵˚દ﹕ᜊ ᨓ˚₊↷ ୨୧﹕‧₊˚⊹﹕✧˚₊ ଘଓ⌒⌒✄┈┈ ˚ ᗢ ‧ ꕤ｡˚⤹┊≡°.• ꒰ キ 𓍯 𓏲𓂅 ♡ ‹3 ꒷꒦ ∿𖤐 𖦹 𖣠 જ ⧉ ⿻⌇𖧧﹢ヾ𓈒⁀➷ ‿➹ ▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ 𑑛 ໑ ࿔ 𓈀﹒ꜝ░ ◖ .꒷ 𖤐 ✯ ✪ ✮ ✰⤸₊˚ ִֶָ 𓆩 𓆪 ᠀ ⬫ ⬪ 𖥔 ✉ ╳ ≛ 𖤩 ˖˚ ୫ 𐂴 𖠿 ‣ ִֶָ ، 𖤘 ، . ‹ ִֶ ャ彡 ᯅ ☄︎ 𖦆 ˚ 𖥨ぃ 𓈈ﾉꜞ≡ ⌂ ⌕ ↺ ⩇ ▨ ▦ ▩ 𖣯 ❒ ㆆ ꊥꊥ 𖨂᯽◌ ◍ ◷ ◔ ◕ ⪧◟𖣗 ̑̑ ꪶ ꫂ ᧙ ᥐ 𐑺ִ ◡ ◡ ꫂ ζ ◠ ◠ ຊ 𓍢 𓍼 𓇟 𓍲 𓍱 ᨒ ᠀ 𑁯 ੭ × ະ ⵓ 𐀔 ❖｡ⵢ𖤠 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ꩟˚ ୭∿ ꔵ ⚑ ᕬ ⚐ ᶻᶻᶻ ꉂ ҂ ⋮ ❛❜ ꐑꐑ ✸ ૪ ໒ 🜲 𖥨 ⌦ ຯ ໒ ⌔？！៸៸ 𑑛 ໑ ࿔ 𓈀﹒ꜝ░ ◖ .꒷ 𖤐 ✯ ✪ ✮ ✰⤸₊˚ ִֶָ 𓆩 𓆪 ᠀ ⬫ ⬪ 𖥔 ✉ ╳ ≛ 𖤩 ˖˚ ୫ 𐂴 𖠿 ‣ ִֶָ ، 𖤘 ، . ‹ ִֶ ャ彡 ᯅ ☄︎ 𖦆 ˚ 𖥨ぃ 𓈈ﾉꜞ≡ ⌂ ⌕ ↺ ⩇ ▨ ▦ ▩ 𖣯 ❒ ㆆ ꊥꊥ 𖨂᯽◌ ◍ ◷ ◔ ◕ ⪧◟𖣗 ̑̑ ꪶ ꫂ ᧙ ᥐ 𐑺ִ ◡ ◡ ꫂ ζ ◠ ◠ ຊ 𓍢 𓍼 𓇟 𓍲 𓍱 ᨒ ᠀ 𑁯 ੭ × ະ ⵓ 𐀔 ❖｡ⵢ𖤠 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ꩟˚ ୭∿ ꔵ ⚑ ᕬ ⚐ ᶻᶻᶻ ꉂ ҂ ⋮ ❛❜ ꐑꐑ ✸ ૪ ໒ 🜲 𖥨 ⌦ ຯ ໒ ⌔？！៸៸ ☆ ～('▽^人) 🍥 ଓ ˖˚⊹ ₊ ╭⌗♡𓂃・꒰꒱ ﹕ᕱ⑅ᕱ﹕﹕ ₊˚੭ ╰╮𖥻໒ ♡੭ ╰╮ꔫ꒦⊹﹕﹕ˎˊ- 𑁥 ੭ 𑊑 𑊁 ረ ૮ ᭡ ᘓ ១ 𑫈 ꝿ ꪆ 𑁯 𑊁 𑊡 𑫏 𑜷 Թ Ծ 𑁯 𑁭 𑁥 ੭ ꪆ ᥫ ᘏ Ꮼ ᘓ ୬ ෧ ᘡ ୪ 𖥨Ꮼ ꮱ ᰢ ꮺ 𐑙 ꫤ﹅﹆ Ꮺ ᰝ ჲ ᴥ𖦆 𓍲 𓍱 Ꮘ ફ ળ ਨ 𖡋 ଽ ꒰ ꒱ ꒲ 𖢆 ꯊ ꒷ ꒥ ꒦ ⏝ ︶ ᝰ 𖬺ꔚ ꔛ ꕁ ꕀ ꒳ ꒴ 𖢺 ଓ ଲ ପ ମ ଘ᳂ 🝎 𓐍 𐐫 𐐃 ◍ ⱺ ◔ ◷ 𔓏 • 〄⌾ 𖣠 𖦹 ꩜ 🝎 ๑ ꮻ ☹︎ 𓇸 𖦸 𔓶𒀭 𔓘 𑁍 𖡎 ֍ 🜰 ᦅ⟲⟳❁ ᜊ 𒆳 𒉽 ▸◂ 𝅎𝅏 𝅈𝅉 🝓 ◃▹ ː ⬫ ⬥ ⬦ ⑅Ⰶ ⊞ 𐌎 ⌦ 𐅰 ⎗ ◫ ༕ 🜲 ꯀ 𖣯 ▦𝄝 𝄜 𖣖 ⎗ ⎘ ⌂ ⩩ 𐄹 ⋕ ＃ ꖛ 𖥻𔗨 ᜃ ୫ ะ ⎎ ∿ 𖤛 𖧧 🝭 𖧉 🜵𔒝 𓆜 𓆝 𔘜 𓅫 𐀔 𔒌 𐙼 𖡅 𖣂 𔒱𐚱 𐚬 𐚯 𐚤 𐂴 𐃨 𐃫 𓄣 𓏊 𖥧 𖤣 𔒅 ♡ ❥ ᯽ ꕤ 🝮 ♥︎ 𑃢 𐀶 ꒧ ꇊ⎙ ⏚ 〧 ▌ ▬ ▭ ꉙ ꗃ 𐰢 ⏧𓄹 𓄼 𔓕 𔐬 𔘏 𓏲 𓍢 𓍯 𓂅 𓂃 𓁹 𐇻ᨃ ᨓ ᨑ ᨐ ᨏ ᨎ ╭╯◖ ◗ ꉂ ‡ꃋ ꃼ ୶ 𝄿 # ﹪ 𖠲 יִ 𖥔 🝊 ✾ 𔖲࿔ ⩩ 𖥨 ╰ ╮ ࿓ ᘒ ⊹ ✧ ✦ ⟆ ֊ ꗃ ⌗ ❍ ﹕ཿ ♡ ■ ꫂ ζ 𖥧 𓂃 ♥︎ ᨒ ୫ ૪ ໒ 𐂴 ຊ ∿ ꔵ ⸙ ຯ ໒ ೨ 𖧧 Ꮺ 𖧷 𓏲 𖥨 𖦹 ๑ ໑ ࿔ ୭ ᠀ 𑁯 ੭ ⩩ 𖦹 𖨂 𖥦 𓍢 ζִֶָ ꔛ ੭ 𓎆 ◞ 𐚱 ⩄ ⍝ ᠀ · ꗃ 𖦹 𓈒 𖧧 𓂃 𝕝 𓄹 𓄼 ҂ ⬫ ܀ ⃝ ᘏ ︰ ⚠ ꤥ 𓇬 𓃉 𓇸 𓆇 ⸃ ⸰ ⬞ 𐑥 ᠈ ✉ ᨒ ﹆ ⬝ 𑁤 𔘓 𔓘 ᜊ ᪤ ꒷ ⌨ ⬪ ↀ ⬩ ⬧ ⬥ ⊹ 〨 ⩌ ⩍ ⩋ 𓊌 𓇿 𓊔 𓈈 ㆐ Ⳋ ︳ ⴰ 𔒴 ↻ 𝅅 ﹐ ㄔ ഒ ＊ ⛓ 𓎆 ⩩ ⵌ٠ ᭡ ꕤ 𓈀 っ 𓊘 𓄹 ⦂ ᘏ 𔘓 𓈈 𓂃 𖠿 ཿ ࿀ ᎔ ᎓ ᜴ ᜵ ᝪ ៚ ៳ ᠀ ᠉ ᤳ ᨓ ᭝ ᱺ ᳃ ◯ ◦ ◡ ◠ ⋆ ۬۟۬ ⑅ ꠴ ੭ જ ꞈ ⸝ ˴ › ≡ ࿔ ／ ଓ ઇ ઉ ᧙ ᥐ ៸ ૪ ೨ ␥ ■ ♧ ◇ ◈ ﹫ ꧔ ੭ જ ꞈ ⸝ ≡ ࿔ ଓ ઇ ઉ ᧙ ᥐ ៸ ໒ ː ՞ ᵎ ࿂ ﹆ ᰍ ִ𖧧 𖤠 𓄹 ﹅ 𝄪 ̟ ͜͝ ꯭ ̳ ֠ ⃝ ⃘ ⃕ ̸ ̶ ̲ ̅ ˙ ̣ ͘ ׄ ִ ◧◧◧⬕▦▬◤◣▃▄▅▆▇▏▎▎▅▍∞∴∵∭∬☽☾✜♥︎♠︎⚾︎⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭 ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾ (୨୧ᵕ̤ᴗᵕ̤) ✩°｡⋆⸜(˙꒳ ˙ )･:*˚:✧｡ . .ıllı. ✩ ✼　｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ㅤ→ ༄ ‧₊˚ 「」 ⇢ ๑ ◞♡° ⸙͎ ˀˀ ♡⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌦ ✗ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ↳ ❝❞ ➤ ↲ ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ ⎧ ୧⋅ ..⃗. ┊ೃ ╰► ꒱ ➛ ↴ ❱ ✿•˖* ℘ ﹋﹋ ❛ ╯ ❲ ❳ ∞ ‹ ∅ ┊ ➹ ੈ♡‧₊˚ ↱ ᵕ̈ ↷ ೃ ╲ ╱ 彡 ✥ ❥ Ꮠ ➜ ᎒ ☈ ❁ ⊰ 「❀」 . .⃗ . ༉‧₊˚✧ . ˚ ⚘ ˏ`୭̥*ೃ *ૢ✧ ཻུ۪۪ ೫` ⃟ ཹ։❀ ፧ ੈ✩‧₊ ૪'ރ፧ ࿐ °↳ ׂׂૢ༘ ۵`⚘݄⿴݃*₊˚꒰:: ≡ ෆ┊. ,! ۰ ۪۪۫۫ ❬ヾ︿︿،، ♡ ⏧·₊̣̇. ❵ ﹏﹏﹏❅ೃ ∞. ; ‹⌇ ✩✼　｡ﾟ･　　ﾟ･ミ ೃ ‧₊˚ ˗ˋˏ ˎˊ˗ ⊱⋅ ⋅⊰ ❴ ❵ ೋ ❥• ➥ ೃ❅,. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ↻↺۬◦۪۪̥ ✿ - ̗̀ ❳ ︸〞 ꜜ ͎ ╰ ╯╱╳╲ ⸗ =͟͟͞͞: 〣 ꞋꞌꞋꞌ ҂ ˘˘˘ ⸝⸝ ￤﹆ ꜛ ꜜ ⸃⸃ ⸗ ▾ ˖ ︴ ↻ ⇁ ﹏゛ ⇢ ﾞ ⁾⁾ ଽ ୭̥ ➶ ↻ ✘ ┈ ₊̇°˟̫ː ៸៸ ｡ ٬٬ ␣ ❪ ￣ ҩ ✕ ͝ ۫ ۪۪۪۫ ” ᵎ 〇 ,, ㅤ ❫ ٠ِ٘ٓ ℮ ▪ ❬ ❭ ❨ ❩ ⸂ ᵎ , ⃕ ➘ α ❴ ⟨ ⟩ ︵─┊-˚̩̥̩̥)❫ෆ∞ೃ❅≡〈〔＜ㄑ(ㄥ=三=＝《￣￣￣（丶／＼.˙˙．〝！？冫人｜!i＾iゝ〔〔〕〉 ⵢ◞⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ཻུ۪۪۪۫ ⎧ ..⃗. ꒱ Ꮠ ⊰ .⃗ ༉‧ ⃟ ˚◦ ˬ̽. ̽ ⋆≿⁞ꜜ₊̣﹏﹃﹄「」₊｡ﾟ➶︾〃･﹢ ̼ ⌁⌔⌕ ⌮┊★ $ ◟̽◞̽ ꒷꒦✞▃▃▅▆ ✿゛✎ ✄✩ ✼　｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ㅤ→ ༄ ‧₊˚ 「」 ⇢ ๑ ◞♡° ⸙͎ ˀˀ ♡⃕ ◡̈ ꒰ ⌦ ✗ ⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟ ↳ ❝ ❞ ➤ ↲ ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ ⎧ ୧ ⋅┊ೃ╰► ꒱ ➛ ↴ ❱ ✿•˖ ℘ ﹋﹋ ❛ ╯ ❲ ❳ ∞ ‹ ∅ ┊ ➹ ੈ♡‧₊˚ ↱ ᵕ̈ ↷ ೃ ╲ ╱ 彡 ✥ ❥ Ꮠ ➜ ᎒ ☈ ❁ ⸙͎۪۫ ⊰ 「❀」 . .⃗ . ༉‧₊˚✧ . ˚ ⚘ ˏ`୭̥*ೃ *ૢ✧ ཻུ۪۪⸙͎ ೫` ⃟ ཹ։❀ ፧ ੈ✩‧₊ ૪'ރ፧ ࿐ ° ↳ ׂׂૢ༘ ۵`⌧. →× ︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵ ⚘݄⿴݃*₊˚꒰:: ≡,!ヾ︿︿،، ♡ ⏧·₊̣̇. ❵ ﹏﹏﹏❅ೃ ∞. ; ෆ┊¡ ⸼۰ ۪۪۫۫ ❬“= ‹⌇ #⃞ ＠ ﹫ ₍₎ ᥲᥱℎ ; ♡⋆.ೃ࿔* 𓂃 ☯︎ ꒰꒱ ᝰ ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ೄྀ(^‿^✿) ʚĭɞ 𓆝𓆟𓆜 ོ ʚ ᨳ ପ ꒦꒷ ꩜ 𖦹 ᜊ ★ ☆ 𖤐 ☻(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:☆:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ּ ⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉ ੭ ઽ ૮ ૭ ૦ ଓ ଘ ଙ ଽ ୦ ୨ ୧ ୪ ୬ ୭ ೨ ഽ ໒ ໑ ༺ ༻ ༾ ༿ ᗀ ᗁ ᗂ ᗃ ᗢ ᗣ ᘍ ᘊ ᘝ ᘞ ᚙ ᜊ ᜑ ៙ ᪤ ᱪ ᱖ ᱕ ᳁ ᳂ ᳃ ⊙ ⊚ ⊰ ⊱ ⊲ ⊳ ⋕ ⋮ ⌂ ⌔ ⌕ ⌗ ⌘ ⌙ ⌦ ⌧ ⌫ 〈 〉 ⌾ ⍝ ⎈ ⎓ ⎙ ⎚ ⏙ ⑅ ┆ ┇ ┊ ┋ ★ ☆ ☓ ♡ ♥︎ ⚯︎ ⚢︎ ⚛︎ ⚝︎ ⚹︎ ⛧︎ ⛮︎ ⛻︎ ⚠︎ ⚘︎ ⚣︎ ✦ ✧ ❍ ❑ ⟃ ⟄ ⟅ ⟆ ⟡ ⟲ ⟳ ⦾ ⧉ ⧾ ⩀ ⩇ ⩉ ⩊ ⩋ ⭑ ⭒ ⭗ ⭘ ⭙ ⭚ ⭛ Ⱶ ⲷ Ⳋ ⵂ ⵌ ⸦ ⸧ ⸮ 〄々〆〩ぁあのを龱 ꀯ ꃳ ꆪ ꈊ ꈔ ꌦ ꎺ ꏳ ꏿ ꐑ ꐚ ꐧ ꐪ ꑘ ꒰ ꒱ ꔪ ꔛ ꔡ ꔵ ꕃ ꕀ ꔷ ꔮ ꕊ ꕕ ꕤ ꕪ ꖏ ꖘ ꖴ ꗃ ꗏ ꘎ ꘫ ꜔ ꞝ ꠶ ꠷ ꢏ ꢾ ꣑ ꥟ ꩜ ꩐ ꫢ ꫪ ꯱       ﹅﹆ ﹟ ﹠ ﹗ ﹖ ﹢ ﹫ ﹪ ＃！＋￮ � 𐀏 𐁇 𐂂 𐂐 𐄹 𐇵 𐌎 𐌆 𐐂 𐐒 𐐗 𐐘 𐐜 𐐪 𐐺 𐐿 𐑀 𐝡 𐨀 𐪔 𐪆 𐪇 𑁘 𑁙 𑁚 𑁤 𑁥 𑁦 𑁨 𑁩 𑁬 𑁭 𑁯 𑂗 𑄻 𑊂 𑐛 𑑙 𑑛 𑑑 𓂁 𓂂 𓂃 𓂅 𓄹 𓄼 𓆇 𓆩 𓆪 𓆠 𓇷 𓇸 𓈀 𓈅 𓊌 𓊔 𓋭 𓋰 𓋱 𓏲 𓏳 𔒅 𔔀 𔔤 𔔦 𔖢 𔗨 𔘓 𔘜 𓈈 𖠘 𖠇 𖠛 𖠗 𖠣 𖠚 𖣠 𖣯 𖦹 𖧖 𖧗 𝄄 𝄜 𝇋 𝇌 🜲 🜸 🜽 🝕 🝙 🝯 🝩 🝱 ❀ ✿ ✩ ✫ ✧ ✦ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ──────

ε(๑> ₃ <)з( ˃̶̤́ ꒳ ˂̶̤̀ )(๑•ૅω•´๑)₍ᐢ⸝⸝◞ ˬ ◟⸝⸝ᐢ₎ (๑^o^๑)ᕙ(ಠ ਊ ಠ)ᕗ꒰｡•◡•｡꒱₍ᐢ⸝⸝•༝•⸝⸝⑅ᐢ₎- ̗̀(๑ᵔ⌔ᵔ๑)(σ⸝ᵒ̴̶̷̥́꒳ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀⸝)σ₍ᐢ⸝⸝•༝•⸝⸝⑅ᐢ₎₍ᐢ •͈ ༝ •͈ ᐢ₎♡(๑ゝω╹๑)ପ( ໊๑˃̶͈⌔˂̶͈)*ೃ♡⸜(* ꒳ * )⸝(๑• . •๑)૮₍ ⸝⸝ᴗ͈ ‸ ᴗ͈⸝⸝ ₎ა૮₍ ˃̵ ֊ ˂̵ ₎ა꒰๑•⌓︎•๑꒱ᵎᵎ(⸝⸝⸝ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ⌑ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀⸝⸝⸝)୧((〃•̀ꇴ•〃))૭⁺✧=͟͟͞͞꒰๑୨•̀‧̫•๑꒱୨꒰(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)✧ ⁺⸜( •̥௰•̥ )⸝⁺✧꒰◍'`◍꒱✧˖°(⃔ *`꒳´ * )��↝｡(ﾟうｪ´｡)ﾟ。( ර͖⌓ර͖ )(｡ﾉε｀｡)ﾝﾌﾟﾌﾟ(๑╹◡╹)ﾉ"(๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)( ・᷄ ᵌ・᷅ )ヾ૮›๑‹ ྀིა ૮˃‌֊ ˂‌ ა(๑•̿ ·̫ •̿๑)(ˊᵒ̴̶̷̤ꇴᵒ̴̶̷̤ˋ)๑ó﹏ò๑

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。

ﾟ。 사　｡ﾟﾟ。 랑　｡ﾟﾟ。 해　｡ﾟ

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟ　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

꒰ ⸝⸝ ˊ͈ ˘ ˋ͈ ⸝⸝ ꒱⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ૮꒰◌´ତ `◌ ꒱ྀིა ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ૮꒰ྀི ◞ ⸝⸝⸝ ◟ ꒱ྀི

૮꒰ྀི ◞ ๑ ◟ ꒱ა ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ૮꒰ྀི ୨ ៸៸៸ ୧ ྀི꒱ა ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ◝꒰ ´ ˘ `♡ ꒱

૮꒰ྀི ៸៸៸៸ ก꒱ྀི ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ໒꒰ྀི ๑ ´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

૮꒰/ฅ//ฅ//꒱ა ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ૮꒰˶ฅ́˘ฅ̀˶꒱ა ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ૮꒰◌ .๑. ꒱ა

っω=`) ₍ᐢ× ༝ ×ᐢ₎ ₍ᐡ-᷅ ·̫ -᷄ᐡ ₎ ₍^⸝⸝> ·̫ <⸝⸝ ^₎ (´,,>ω<,,`) ♡ ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ ₍ᐢ> ̫<ᐢ₎ (´･ω･`) :( ;´꒳`;) ₍ᐡඉ ̫ඉᐡ₎ ᐡ ⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ᐡ ₍ᐡ-᷅ ·̫ -᷄ᐡ₎⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ ٩̋(ˊ•͈ ꇴ •͈ˋ)و (ヾﾉ･ω･`)(๑´`๑)♡ ˃̣̣̥᷄ ᴖ ˂̣̣̥᷅ ‎ᐡ ᐧ ﻌ ᐧ ᐡ (⸝⸝º ^ º⸝⸝ )( ˊᵕˋ ; ) ( ᴗ ̫ ᴗ ) (๑♡⌓♡๑) ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝₍ᐢ˶• ˔ กᐢ₎ ૮₍ ˃̵͈᷄ . ˂̵͈᷅ ₎ა ₍ᐢ•ﻌ•ᐢ₎ ᑦ(੭・㉨・)ᐣᘏ▸◂ᘏ ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ) ๑´ ³`)ﾉ ଘ( ິ•ᆺ• )ິଓ ꒰˘꒳˘๑꒱໒(＾ᴥ＾) ◟꒰◍ ´꒳` ◍꒱◞ ˘ ᵜ ˘ ( •ω•ฅ)ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ (๑´ㅂ`๑) (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ (´๑•_•๑) Ꮚ˘ ꈊ ˘ Ꮚ ₍˄·͈༝·͈˄₎◞ ̑̑(ㅅ´ ˘ `) (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ ) (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ૮₍•᷄ ࡇ •᷅₎ა ₍ᐢ｡•ɷ•｡ᐢ₎⊹ ꒰｡ᐢ •ɷ• ᐢ｡꒱ °· ꒰( :̲̅:̲̅:[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)໒꒱ ·°૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ｡ ˚. ૮Ꮚ ´͈ ⁄⁄`͈꒱ა (๑･ิ◡･ิ๑) ( ´. .̫ .`) ₍ᐢ •̥ ̫ •̥ ᐢ₎ (๑￫ܫ￩) - ̗̀(ꀬ⏖ꀬ∴)(୨୧•͈ᴗ•͈)( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)(っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )⁄(⁄ ⁄>⁄ω⁄<⁄ ⁄)⁄｡♡･῾ ᵎ ﾟ(ﾟ´ ^｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡(◠ﾵ ◠υ) ૮₍•`ﻌ ˊ•₎ა ∑(O_O；) (╥﹏╥) ૮꒰ ˃̵͈᷄ ﻌ ˂̵͈᷅ ꒱ა˚ ° ꔛ ٩(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و ٩( 'ω' )و (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ ( ¯•ω•¯ )Ꮚ˘ ꈊ ˘ Ꮚ ૮₍ 𖦹 ˕ ×` ₎ა 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹 ૮₍˶• . • ⑅₎ა ૮ • ﻌ - ა ૮ฅ• ᴥ •ฅა ૮₍ • • ₎ა ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა ૮₍´˶• ᴥ •˶`₎ა ૮₍ • ᴥ • ₎ა ᐢ..ᐢ ₍˄·͈༝·͈˄₎ ₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ ૮ • ﻌ - ა ૮・ﻌ・ა ૮ • ᴥ • ა ૮ ’• ˕ •` ა (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) ૮₍ 𖦹 ˕ ×` ₎ა Ꮚ˘ ꈊ ˘ Ꮚ ૮₍˶• . • ⑅₎ა ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა ૮₍´˶• ᴥ •˶`₎ა 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹 (# >o<) ( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) ᜊ( ' ⩊ '𖦹)( っc ) (˵ ⸍ ᯅ ⸌ ˵) ૮₍ ˃̵͈᷄ . ˂̵͈᷅ ₎ა ㅤㅤㅤ(๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑)ㅤㅤㅤ૮ ˊ͈ . ˋ͈ ა ૮₍ ´𖦹 ˕ ×` ₎აㅤㅤ૮₍ ˶• ˔ ต ₎აㅤㅤ૮₍ ๑ • ᵜ ก ๑ ₎ა࣪ ㅤ(˵ˊᯅˋ˵) ㅤㅤㅤ ૮˃̵֊ ˂̵ აㅤㅤㅤㅤ•᷄ࡇ•᷅ ㅤ૮₍｡´• ˕ •`｡₎აㅤㅤ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎აㅤㅤㅤฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ ㅤ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎აㅤㅤ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა ㅤㅤ૮₍´• ˕ •`₎ა ㅤ૮₍´˶ᵔｪᵔ˶`₎აㅤㅤ૮₍⇀‸↼‶₎აㅤㅤ(⑉･̆⌓･̆⑉)ㅤ૮₍ ˃̵ࡇ˂̵ ₎აㅤㅤㅤ₍ᐢ˵• ࿁ กᐢ₎꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ㅤ₍ᐢ⸝⸝› ‹⸝⸝��₎ ㅤ ㅤ૮₍｡ •᎔• ｡₎ა ㅤ ㅤ ꒰˵• ﻌ •˵꒱ㅤㅤᐢ. ֑ .ᐢㅤㅤㅤㅤ૮ / / / ⍝აㅤㅤㅤㅤ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎⊹ ۪( ´ - ` ）ヾ(>᎑<๑)ʕ๑•́ᴥ•̀๑ʔ є(•⌔•)э ʕ； •`ᴥ•´ʔ ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ૮₍ ˃̵ࡇ˂̵ ₎ა ૮˃̵֊ ˂̵ ა

っω=`) ₍ᐢ× ༝ ×ᐢ₎ ₍ᐡ-᷅ ·̫ -᷄ᐡ ₎ ₍^⸝⸝> ·̫ <⸝⸝ ^₎ (´,,>ω<,,`) ♡ ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ ₍ᐢ> ̫<ᐢ₎ (´･ω･`) :( ;´꒳`;) ₍ᐡඉ ̫ඉᐡ₎ ᐡ ⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ᐡ ₍ᐡ-᷅ ·̫ -᷄ᐡ₎⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ ٩̋(ˊ•͈ ꇴ •͈ˋ)و (ヾﾉ･ω･`)(๑´`๑)♡ ˃̣̣̥᷄ ᴖ ˂̣̣̥᷅ ‎ᐡ ᐧ ﻌ ᐧ ᐡ (⸝⸝º ^ º⸝⸝ )( ˊᵕˋ ; ) ( ᴗ ̫ ᴗ ) (๑♡⌓♡๑) ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝₍ᐢ˶• ˔ กᐢ₎ ૮₍ ˃̵͈᷄ . ˂̵͈᷅ ₎ა ₍ᐢ•ﻌ•ᐢ₎ ᑦ(੭・㉨・)ᐣᘏ▸◂ᘏ ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ) ๑´ ³`)ﾉ ଘ( ິ•ᆺ• )ິଓ ꒰˘꒳˘๑꒱໒(＾ᴥ＾) ◟꒰◍ ´꒳` ◍꒱◞ ˘ ᵜ ˘ ( •ω•ฅ)ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ (๑´ㅂ`๑) (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ (´๑•_•๑) Ꮚ˘ ꈊ ˘ Ꮚ ₍˄·͈༝·͈˄₎◞ ̑̑(ㅅ´ ˘ `) (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ ) (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ૮₍•᷄ ࡇ •᷅₎ა ₍ᐢ｡•ɷ•｡ᐢ₎⊹ ꒰｡ᐢ •ɷ• ᐢ｡꒱ °· ꒰( :̲̅:̲̅:[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)໒꒱ ·°૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ｡ ˚. ૮Ꮚ ´͈ ⁄⁄`͈꒱ა (๑･ิ◡･ิ๑) ( ´. .̫ .`) ₍ᐢ •̥ ̫ •̥ ᐢ₎ (๑￫ܫ￩) - ̗̀(ꀬ⏖ꀬ∴)(୨୧•͈ᴗ•͈)( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)(っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )⁄(⁄ ⁄>⁄ω⁄<⁄ ⁄)⁄｡♡･῾ ᵎ ﾟ(ﾟ´ ^｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡(◠ﾵ ◠υ) ૮₍•`ﻌ ˊ•₎ა ∑(O_O；) (╥﹏╥) ૮꒰ ˃̵͈᷄ ﻌ ˂̵͈᷅ ꒱ა˚ ° ꔛ ٩(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و ٩( 'ω' )و (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ ( ¯•ω•¯ )Ꮚ˘ ꈊ ˘ Ꮚ ૮₍ 𖦹 ˕ ×` ₎ა 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹 ૮₍˶• . • ⑅₎ა ૮ • ﻌ - ა ૮ฅ• ᴥ •ฅა ૮₍ • • ₎ა ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა ૮₍´˶• ᴥ •˶`₎ა ૮₍ • ᴥ • ₎ა ᐢ..ᐢ ₍˄·͈༝·͈˄₎ ₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ ૮ • ﻌ - ა ૮・ﻌ・ა ૮ • ᴥ • ა ૮ ’• ˕ •` ა (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) ૮₍ 𖦹 ˕ ×` ₎ა Ꮚ˘ ꈊ ˘ Ꮚ ૮₍˶• . • ⑅₎ა ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა ૮₍´˶• ᴥ •˶`₎ა 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹 (# >o<) ( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) ᜊ( ' ⩊ '𖦹)( っc ) (˵ ⸍ ᯅ ⸌ ˵) ૮₍ ˃̵͈᷄ . ˂̵͈᷅ ₎ა ㅤㅤㅤ(๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑)ㅤㅤㅤ૮ ˊ͈ . ˋ͈ ა ૮₍ ´𖦹 ˕ ×` ₎აㅤㅤ૮₍ ˶• ˔ ต ₎აㅤㅤ૮₍ ๑ • ᵜ ก ๑ ₎ა࣪ ㅤ(˵ˊᯅˋ˵) ㅤㅤㅤ ૮˃̵֊ ˂̵ აㅤㅤㅤㅤ•᷄ࡇ•᷅ ㅤ૮₍｡´• ˕ •`｡₎აㅤㅤ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎აㅤㅤㅤฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ ㅤ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎აㅤㅤ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა ㅤㅤ૮₍´• ˕ •`₎ა ㅤ૮₍´˶ᵔｪᵔ˶`₎აㅤㅤ૮₍⇀‸↼‶₎აㅤㅤ(⑉･̆⌓･̆⑉)ㅤ૮₍ ˃̵ࡇ˂̵ ₎აㅤㅤㅤ₍ᐢ˵• ࿁ กᐢ₎꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ㅤ₍ᐢ⸝⸝› ‹⸝⸝ᐢ₎ ㅤ ㅤ૮₍｡ •᎔• ｡₎ა ㅤ ㅤ ꒰˵• ﻌ •˵꒱ㅤㅤᐢ. ֑ .ᐢㅤㅤㅤㅤ૮ / / / ⍝აㅤㅤㅤㅤ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎⊹ ۪( ´ - ` ）ヾ(>᎑<๑)ʕ๑•́ᴥ•̀๑ʔ є(•⌔•)э ʕ； •`ᴥ•´ʔ ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ૮₍ ˃̵ࡇ˂̵ ₎ა ૮˃̵֊ ˂̵ ა

﹆⁺ 𖧧🧇໑ ₊˚𓍼 ⊂╰ ﹒ ᖗ❀🍥˖ ﹕･･₊˚ʚ・⸝⸝ᘏᘏ ✦ ꒷₊˚ ︰꒱꒱﹒𓂅 ₊˚୨୧ ★₊˚୭ ˖ ┊✦．╰╮﹒✎゛𓂅⨯⁺ ︰ 𑁯 𓂅⨯⁺ⵌ・꒱✦．ᨓ❀𓂅˚ ﹒.₊˚Ꮚ✦ ❜₊✧ ୧⌒𓄹 ໒🍷꒱˃ᴗ˂ ഒ˚🍒₊꒷ᘏ 𓂅 ︶꒦꒷₊˖˚₊ ✎‧₊ᓚ୨୧︶₊˚꒷ꮺ︶꒷꒦𓌹-𓌺˳˚✦ˎˊ-🍥 ⸝⸝・꒰꒰❏₊˚・₊˚ฅˎˊ꒱꒱♡꒷˚₊੭꒰꒰✦﹝🍥﹞꒱꒱ˎˊ-꒷‧₊˚﹆✿੭︰☆꒰꒰✦・┊🍄꒱🦢๑‧˚₊꒷୭୧₊˚⊹︰₊˚Ꮚ𓂅୨⊹╰・𓂃 ꒷꒦︶₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎꒱₊˚ ↷₊˚⑅𖦆₊˚໒`୨꒷Ꮼ ᗢ𓄹 ׅ ࣪ ˖︶꒷꒦⊹˚Ꮚ₊꒷︶꒷⊹˚Ꮺ ᕱ⑅ᕱ ꒰ ᐡ ´͈ ᐜ `͈ ᐡ ꒱ ˃ᴗ˂ (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) (ᐢ • ˕ • ᐢ) ૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᘏ⑅ᘏ ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ . ୨ ࣪ ⊹𖥔˖࣪ ¡! 𖤐 ˓ ⊹ ˚. ‹ 𓂃◖ ˖ ݁ ˓ ╱ ᵎᵎ ꒦꒷𓄰⊹ ꉂ ˖ ݁ ˓ 𒀭 ˖ ࣪ 𓂃 ꉂ𓄰 ִֶָ ˓ 𖣠 ݁ ✦ ִֶָ ࣪ ،ヤ ! ◟⊹ ˚˖ ▹ ℜ 𖥸 ࣪ ، ̧¡ ﹫｡ ! ≛ ، . ‹ℜ ࣪𝅄 ャﾞ𒀭𖤩 ˖˚ 𖠿 ‣ ִֶָ ، ♥︎.⭒ ۫ ׅ 🌸 𝅄 𓈈 𐑺ִ ꒰ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ⋆ﾟ꒰ ♡ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹ ꙳⸌♡⸍꙳ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ʚ♡ɞ (:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) (꒪˙꒳˙꒪ ) 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ໒ ﹢ 𖧧 ⭒ ତ ♡ ୭ ଘ ɞ ✦ 𖤐 ★ ✧ ♥︎ ତ っ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ૮₍ ˃̵͈᷄ . ˂̵͈᷅ ₎ა 𓂃𑁍 ࣪˖ 🐇🩰 Ꮺ ָ࣪ ۰› ᐢ • ˕ • ᐢ ˖ ݁ ˓ 𖣠 𓏲·˚ ͙ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ⑅₎ ⊹ 𖡼 ָ࣪ ˖ 𓏲࣪ 𓄹𓈒 ˖ ࣪ ꒷ ꐑꐑ𔘓 𖦹 𓍢 ›𓂃 ִֶָ ࣪ 𓂅 ᕱ ᕱ ¸𓏲࣪ ˚꒷ キ ˖𓂃 ִֶָ ๋ ꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─

#símbolos #random users #twitter users #bios instagram #short bios #twitter bios #twitter #instagram #kanji #kanji japonês #ig #kpop #anime #decoração #perfil #Discord #perfil Discord #decoração perfil #moodboard

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xthexkillingxgroundsx · 1 year ago

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blccdiedhands asked: “Guess it’s kind of like a sleepover, huh?” (mori)

"Huh?" Blink. Blink. Blink. If Ekko didn't already know what it felt like to STOP TIME, he'd have SWORE this was it... Words hit like a truck, clawing up memories. Good ones. BAD ONES. When was the last time he had a sleepover? Shit, seemed like a LIFETIME AGO. And he supposed it was. Not like his BEST FRIEND still lived the same life she had back then. Or her sister for that matter. And as for Ekko? He was living a DOUBLE LIFE, TOO. After everything went down, he'd been adopted, given a SECOND CHANCE in life. Free from the murder and mayhem that had come from being a gutter born street fight. NONE OF THEM WERE SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE. And yet, somehow, they all had. DRAINWASTE CASTOFFS. And now here Ekko was. Caught between the PAST, PRESENT & FUTURE. The trauma of Benzo's death. The crippling agony of losing his best friend to madness. The loneliness that followed... His new parents, the money they'd saved for him to go to college... The fact he didn't wanna go... And how he was here chasing that SLIM possibility, that maybe his wish, whatever form it took, would make both HIM AND HIS ADOPTIVE PARENTS HAPPY... Could Mori Jin sense his melancholy? He looked across to the star eyed boy, and briefly missed the days he was the same... "Yeah... Yeah, I guess it kinda is..." He looked down and took a breath. "I wouldn't get used to 'em."

#[-乇ҜҜㄖ-]#[-爪ㄖ尺丨ﾌ丨几-]#[-爪ㄖ尺丨ﾌ丨几乂乇ҜҜㄖ-]#[-乃ㄥ匚匚ᗪ丨乇ᗪ卄卂几ᗪ丂-]#[-乇ズズの-]

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dr34m3r-dr4wz · 7 months ago

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🌿🕸️🦷ᗪ乇卂ᗪ 卩ㄥ卂几ㄒ丂🦷🕸️🌿

My version for seedrian exes! (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

#sonic.exe #sonic exe #sonic exe oc #sonic.exe oc #exe oc #cosmo the seedrian #sonic the hedgehog #artists on tumblr #digital art #drawing #original character

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minkie-p-cumsworth · 4 months ago

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New refs for the Medusa group 🐍🐍💅✨💅💜🤷🏻‍♀️🫶🏻🫶🏻

Obviously I made more for my top favorite snake man so he’s got all his colors , and tbh I tried to color ashy , but I stuck with blue plus her goldfish design will be in my comic so you’ll see that version as well soon—

But minkie is also updated her hair is more defined and she had some wardrobe upgrades 😂💅💅✨✨

💚💜💚🧡💚💜💚🧡💚💜💚💜💚💜🧡💚💜

几丨几ﾌ卂Ꮆㄖ

ㄥ丨Ҝ乇

丂卄卂尺乇

匚ㄖ爪爪乇几ㄒ

丂卂ᐯ乇

ㄒ卂Ꮆ丂:

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A post shared by Minkie.P_Chumsworth (@minkie_p_chumsworth)

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#lego ninjago #ninjago #ninjago aspheera #ninjago oc #ninjago pythor #ninjago serpentine #lego #aspheera #ninjago rots #pythor p chumsworth #Instagram

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myloveobbsessed · 3 months ago

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ㄥ工千乇山工ㄒ卄ㄒ卄乇爪

———••———————••———————••———

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Characters: Rengoku, Uzui, Shinobu, Misturi, Obanai, and Sanemi

Notes: this is like a sequel to ‘Demon Slayer Cats’

———••———————••———————••———

Part 1, 2, 3

——••————••——

Cat Rengoku: He’s cute and very lovable energetically zooming throughout the house always on the move. Climbing onto high places and investigating every corner with enthusiasm. Hed be the type of cat to pounce on toys and dash through the house at random moments.

Cat Rengoku: Hes a very sociable cat greeting everyone with headbutts, purring and loud meows. Making sure no one feels ignored. He's the type to curl up to next you or perch on your lap basking in affection.

Cat Rengoku: He protective especially towards his brother and you. He’d stand by the door keeping an eye out for any perceived ‘threat’ like the vaccum.

Cat Rengoku: Even when things go wrong (like getting stuck somewhere) Regoku would remain positive. Confidently meowing until freed. He's very vocal the one to cheer you up when your feeling down. He's often meowing with excitement and ‘talking’ to you.

Cat Rengoku: you mix in sweet potatoes with his food. He loves it. He can smell them from a mile away.

——••————••——

Cat Uzui: Strunts around with an air of confidence always showing off. He loves to pose dramatically stretching out in the sun or perching high up to look regal and grand. He might ‘preform’ by leaping or flipping onto furniture with style. Making sure everyone notices his acrobatic skills.

Cat Uzui: He demands attention. He will not settle for being ignored. He regularly demands pets and head scratches. Meowing loudly until you give him attention. He might knock things off tables or walk over keyboards anything to get you to give attention.

Cat Uzui: He forces you to brush him. He likes keeping his coat clean and neat. It doesn't matter what you're doing he’ll bring the brush to you and make you brush him until he's satisfied.

Cat Uzui: He's pretty social he might try to charm guests by sitting near them or even jumping on their laps to make sure everyone knows he's the most "extravagant" cat in the room.

——••————••——

Cat Shinobu: She’s sort of mischievous she’d gently swat a things when you aren't looking. Or playfully flick her tail at your face when your sleep.

Cat Shinobu: She isn't overly clingy, but she would show affection in small, delicate gestures. She might nuzzle up to you for a few moments before walking away or give you a soft headbutt when you least expect it. Her affection would feel special because she wouldn’t give it constantly, but when she does, it’s meaningful and sweet.

Cat Shinobu: when you're up late doing work she’d hop on your desk to keep you company or sit in front of your computer and start at you tail flicking behind her as if saying ‘go to bed’.

Cat Shinobu: she likes to smell candles, go put on walks. And she's got a little nuisance that follows her around (it's Douma).

——••————••——

Cat Misturi: She's extremely affectionate one of the most affectionate out of all your cats actually. She's the ultimate cuddle cat if she's not already cuddling Obanai she's getting pats from you. She’d sometimes follow you from room to room not wanting to be away from her favorite human. She'd have no hesitation in showing her love toward you.

Cat Misturi: She’s also incredibly playful always ready to chase toys around the house or engage in playful fighting with the other cats.

Cat Mitsuri: She's always purring. A constant source of happiness. Even the slightest bit of affection will have her purring up a storm.

Cat Mitsuri: She's also very curious about everything. Poking her head into boxes, bags anything that catches her interest.

——••————••——

Cat Obanai: He’s always following Misturi around keeping her safe and out of any trouble. (like getting her head stuck in a jar)

Cat Obanai: he doesn't really show much affection and prefers to watch from a distance. He's usually perched on a window seal where he can observe everything happening around him only approaching you when comfortable.

Cat Obanai: sometimes he’ll follow you silently a quiet sign of loyalty. Curling up nearby you only showing affection in small significant ways.

Cat Obanai: if he sees you're feeling particularly down he’ll let you get in a few pets and maybe touch his toes beans.

Cat Obanai: he hides under furniture when guests come. Watching them from a safe spot. He's also naturally stealthy. Slipping through rooms unnoticed you might only realize he's there when you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye.

Cat Obanai: he may not seem playful but he'd have moments where you'll catch him swatting at a toy or stalking the shadows. But he’ll immediately stop if he notices anyone watching. As if to maintain his cool, serious demeanor.

——••————••——

Cat Giyu: he's ones of the quietest out of your cats. He prefers to be alone always sitting in a quiet corner of the house.

Cat Giyu: He doesn't really seek out affection but he will show some in his own way. He might brush up against or sit near you. His affection would be subtle.

Cat Giyu: Shinobu pokes fun at him a lot so he often hides from her.

Cat Giyu: he's calm and not easily startled and would rarely be ratted by any noise even by the vacuum or a knock at the door.

Cat Giyu: He doesn't meow just communicates in slow blinks and purrs.

——••————••——

Cat Sanemi: He isnt afraid ot anything wether its another animal, the vaccum or a large dog he stands his ground. Hissing or swatting to protect his territory.

Cat Sanemi: Hes another one of your energetic cats always on the move. he'd love to climb, explore high places, and dash around the house sometimes kicking thigs over.

Cat Sanemi: he doesnt like to be held or coodled. He prefers doing his own thing and doesn't seek out affection often, but when he does its on his own terms.

Cat Sanemi: He hissed and swatted at Genya when you first brought him home. Sanemi made you think he didn't like him but you sometimes see him discreetly head-butting Genya in a loving way or them sleeping together.

Cat Sanemi: he’s stubborn he wouldnt respond to training or rules easily and might act aloof or grumpy most of the time. (but he doesn't secretly care for you).

Cat Sanemi: If you try and get him to stop doing something he'd likely dig in his paws and resist determined to do what he wants.

———••———————••———————••———

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kny fluff #demon slayer fluff #kny scenarios #fluff #demon slayer scenarios #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #giyuu tomioka #shinobu kocho #rengoku kyojuro #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #tengen uzui

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osunari · 2 months ago

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⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

—ch.6

➤ s t a r t

Mr. Crawling x MC

—h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

“Mr. Crawling”

The corridor was eerily quiet, the sound of mr. scarletella’s platforms against the marble floor the only thing breaking the stillness. Your sleeping form remained cradled in his arms, your head resting softly against his chest, your quiet, steady breathing a gentle rhythm that he couldn’t ignore. He glanced down at you, his inky void-like eyes lingering on your face as a faint warmth crept into his chest.

He hadn’t planned on carrying you like this. He wasn’t the type of individual to pamper one, let alone let his guard down, but after everything that had happened, you’d fallen into such deep slumber that leaving you behind wasn’t an option. His tainted fingers tightened slightly around you, as if holding on just a bit more to prevent you from the other monstrous lurkers of his own cursed place. The faint light caught the curve of your peaceful expression, and for a brief moment, the weight of his usual cold demeanor faltered.

“匚尺ㄩ乃(strange) . . .” he muttered to himself, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. Even in your most vulnerable state, you command all of my attention, he thought. He adjusted his grip, his fingers brushing against your skin lightly, and for a fleeting moment, he let himself revel in the feeling of holding you.

In the midst of his engrossment, his reverie had been interrupted short after a headless bride unexpectedly pops out from behind a corner, her sentimental presence catching him off guard.

“几ㄚ(my) 几ㄚ(my) ! ㄚ几乃(what) 卩(a) 几ㄚ千(sight) !” she greeted, her voice melodic but tinged with something calculated. As if controlled by a puppeteer on a string-pulled device, her body shifted and took on a dramatic form of a complainer—her hand hovering above her chest as the other moved to cover her nonexistent mouth. “几ㄩ(you) 千几尺(find) 千卩(her) ? ! 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ几ㄩ(look) 乇乃丂ㄚ几(everywhere) 千卩(for) 山卂(her) !”

His eyes narrowed, unimpressed, though he didn’t halt his stride. “几ㄚ卂(then) ㄚ几ㄩ(look) 几乂ㄚ尺卩(elsewhere) .” he replied snappily, attempting to teleport past her.

Ms. bride raised her hands in protest, her voice dropping to a whisper when she noticed your slumber. “几乙ㄩ(wait) , 几乙ㄩ(wait) ! 几乃(we) 乇卩ㄥ(friend) ! 卂山(us) 丂千ﾌ几(share) 匚乙几(room) ! 几ㄚ (me) 乂匚ﾌ(take) ㄒㄚ(her) , 千卩(can) ?”

Her insistence irritated him, but he masked it well. He kept walking, treating her as though she were more than a ghost herself, invisible and unimportant. She hounded him with increasingly desperate pleas, her forced tone betraying her intentions. He didn’t stop until she blocked his path one final time, clasping her hands together dramatically. “几ㄚ卩乃几(please) , 几ㄚ卩乃几(please) !” she begged, her voice cracking slightly. “几乃(we) 乇卩ㄥ(friend) ! 几ㄚ(me) 千尺ㄚ(take) ㄚ几卩爪(good) 卩丂爪(care) ㄒㄚ(her) !”

The pause stretched longer than either of them anticipated, thick with unspoken tension. Scarletella’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized ms. bride with a look that carried a mixture of disdain and sharp suspicion. Every muscle in his body tensed, unwilling to part with you, his precious burden—yet, beneath his hardened exterior, there was a flicker of hesitation. The thought of letting you go, of handing you over to someone else, gnawed at him like a burning ache deep inside. But as his eyes locked on your unconscious form in his arms, something in him shifted. He couldn’t keep you to himself, not when you had made your choice clear. If he didn’t let you go, he’d risk making you angry with him, pushing you farther away. The realization stung—harder than he expected.

With a reluctant sigh, he adjusted his hold on you, his heart heavy in his chest, and extended you toward ms. bride. His fingers trembled, the action betraying his discomfort as he tried to conceal the storm of emotions within. It was the right thing to do, but it felt like he was surrendering a part of himself—his one precious thing. Still, he had to do it. He couldn't let his selfishness tear you away from your freedom.

“几ㄚ乃卩(should not) 几ㄚ乃(make) 几ㄚ(me) 乂几卩乇(regret) 乙ㄚ几(decision) .” he muttered, watching as she struggled to take your weight. Ms. bride grinned nervously, nearly buckling under the unexpected heaviness of your form.

“几ㄩ(me) . . . 几ㄩ(me) ㄒ几卩(got) 几乇几(this) . . !” she chirped, adjusting your limp body awkwardly.

She began to shuffle down the corridor, her movements jerky and unsteady as she struggled to carry you. Scarletella stood still, his eyes narrowing as he watched her vanish around a corner. His suspicion deepened, and for a moment, his hand twitched as though he might teleport after her. But he stayed rooted, staring at the space she had disappeared into. “ㄚ乃(she) 几爪(be) ㄚ乃卩几(okay) .” he whispered to himself, his eyes lingering on you as she began to shuffle away. With one final glance, he turned and teleported away, his crimson coat swaying in the dim light.

Ms. bride stumbled a few more steps before reaching the end of the corridor, where the man on all fours awaited her, crouched on the ground like a spider in wait. She dropped your form unceremoniously into his waiting arms and locked the door behind her. She leaned against the wall, catching her breath. “几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乙乃乂(tired) ! ㄚ乃(she) ㄚ乃卩爪(heavy) ! 几ㄩ(you) 乃ㄚ几(make) 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乃(do) 卩乇丂ㄚ几(difficult) 千尺ㄩ(part) !”

Mr. crawling chuckled, his high-pitched voice reverberating in the quiet space. “几ㄩ(you) 乃ㄚ几(told) 几ㄚ(me) 几ㄩ(you) 乂匚几(want) 卩ㄥ爪几(help) .”

“几ㄚ(me) 乂匚几(want) 卩ㄥ爪几(help) ㄚ乃(her) .” Ms. bride replied, “乂ㄚ几(not) 几ㄩ(you) !” she frantically waved her hands around—blaming the man as her worn out arms almost fell off.

With a coordinated teamwork, they carried you into a cushionless bed, setting you down carefully on the makeshift run down furniture. The two exchanged glances, their plan having gone off without a hitch. “乃ㄩ(this) 几ㄩ(your) 卩爪乙(idea) .” Ms. bride said, crossing her arms. “ㄚ卩ㄩ(but) 几ㄚ(me) 乃几ㄚ千(think) 丂ㄩ(it) 爪卩乇(good) . ㄚ乃(she) 几乂(no) ㄖ爪卩(more) 乃爪ㄚ(with) ㄩ几乃乙(unsafe) 乇尺几(man) .”

Mr. crawling’s mind was a storm of confusion as he saw your unconscious form in scarletella’s arms, utterly clueless as to how you had ended up there. He could barely remember the events leading to this moment, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t afford to lose you to that big crimson man. He had to act fast. He could see the way scarletella’s fingers trembled, the indication of possession clear in his every move. He knew that if he didn’t make his move now, he would lose you for good. In a blur of panic and desperation, the thought of Ms. bride flashed in his mind like a guiding beacon. Without a second thought, he summoned her—not for the mere purpose of clothes, but with a plan. A carefully orchestrated scheme that would lead him and her together in stealing you away, making sure the bond between you and Scarletella was severed. This was no longer a matter of just keeping you safe—it was a matter of taking you, of ensuring you were his and his alone.

Mr. crawling nestled himself closer to your sleeping figure, his eyes fixated on you. “几ㄚ(me) ㄩ几卩(hope) ㄚ乃(she) 几乂(not) 尺几千卄(angry) .”

Neither of them noticed your eyelids fluttering open at first. You stirred, your body aching slightly from the disorienting sensation of being moved, slowly rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess.

As your surroundings came into focus, you blinked a few times, your mind struggling to make sense of the strange scene before you. The dim light, the unsettling tension in the air, and the unfamiliar faces were all so disorienting. Your head felt heavy, as if you had been in a deep sleep for far too long. Blinking up at them, you asked, your voice thick with confusion, “What… what happen?” Your words were soft, but the curiosity and concern in your tone were unmistakable. You could feel the weight of their gazes on you, but you couldn’t make sense of the strange energy around you. Something was off, but your foggy mind couldn’t put the pieces together just yet.

Ms. bride immediately leaned forward, clasping her hands together with a relieved smile. “几ㄩ(you) ㄚ乃乙卩(awake) ! 几ㄚ(me) ㄩ乃ㄥㄩ(worry) !” But before you could fully register her words, mr. crawling, who had been quietly staring beside her, suddenly moved. With surprising gentleness, he pushed her aside a little, his eyes locking onto you with a mixture of concern and something softer. “几ㄚ(me) ㄩ乃ㄥㄩ(worry) 几ㄚ乂(more) !” he exclaimed, his voice a bit more intense but filled with genuine affection.

Just as the moment seemed to settle, ms. bride, her expression suddenly shifting, took a step forward. With a quick motion, she shoved mr. crawling aside with surprising force. He stumbled slightly, his large frame wobbling a bit before he caught his balance, looking up at her in surprise.

“几ㄚ(me) ㄩ乃ㄥㄩ(worry) 乙卩乂(most) !” she declared, her voice almost comically stern, her arms crossed as she stood over him with a defiant glare.

Mr. crawling blinked, utterly dumbfounded by the sudden push, and then looked back at you with a mix of confusion and slight exasperation—as if telling her off. His hands gripped the floor as he steadied himself, but there was no mistaking the way his expression softened as he realized what had just happened.

You couldn’t help but find it a little funny, the way they both seemed to be silently competing to show who cared more for you. The seriousness in their voices only made it more absurd, but it wasn’t enough to make you smile. The laughter was there, but it felt hollow, a brief distraction from the heaviness still hanging in the air from everything that had just happened. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down—not now. With them, you never knew what would happen next.

“几ㄚ(me) 卩爪几(win) , 几ㄩ(you) ㄚ几乂(need) ㄚ乃乂(sit) 几千ㄥ丂(down) .” Ms. bride added dramatically, her hands now on her hips as she looked down at mr. crawling, who was still slightly leaning forward, clearly hassled by her forceful intervention.

The sight of them bickering over who worried more about you was so endearing, the way they seemed to care for you in their own unique ways only made your heart swell. A few more words tumbled out quickly, accompanied by a flood of compliments. She marveled at your radiant appearance, brushing her fingers through your hair and exclaiming how much healthier and brighter you looked. “卩爪乙ㄚ卂(beautiful) ! 卩爪乙ㄚ卂(beautiful) !” she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “几ㄚ(me) 卩爪ㄚ山(like) 几ㄩ(you) 匚乇卂ㄚ(clothes) !”

Even mr. crawling, who usually kept his emotions tightly restrained, couldn’t mask the awe in his expression. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes softening as they traced the changes in your face. There was a warmth in his voice as he broke the silence, a tenderness that spoke volumes. “ㄚ乃ㄩ几(cute) . .” he murmured, his words almost reverent. “山几ㄖ(look) 几ㄚ爪卩(healthy) .”

You felt a strange warmth in his stare—an almost overwhelming sense of longing. It was as if he’d been waiting an eternity for this moment, and now that it was here, he didn’t know what to do with it.

The tension in the room was obvious, and for a moment, no one spoke. Then, without warning, you sat up straight from the bed, the sudden shift in your body making the room feel almost unreal. The words from ms. bride and your companion were still lingering in the air, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. Her compliment about your clothes, the soft praise, everything they’d done to help you—it all seemed to blur together as you focused on one singular thought.

That’s right, I need to leave.

Mr. crawling’s eyes followed you intently, his usual quiet demeanor momentarily cracking as he watched you, concern flickering in his gaze. You could feel his presence beside you, as tangible as ever, but everything else faded. His gentle voice, though filled with unease, barely registered in your mind. “几ㄩ(you) ㄚ爪卩几(okay ?” he asked, his concern for you perceptible, but you couldn’t hear it, couldn’t focus on anything but your own determination.

Leave. I have to leave.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but everything inside you screamed that this was the right decision. Long ago, you had promised yourself that once you were finally free of the cycle, you would leave. You would walk away from this place and everything it had done to you. Staying here would only mean more pain, more suffering—more of the same twisted game that had consumed you for so long. The thought of returning to the never-ending torment of mr. scarletella’s domain, of being twisted into something you weren’t, something you feared, was unbearable. You would rather return to the life you once lived, the life of blood and fear and silence, than become a monster under his control, dragged deeper into a cycle of madness. The person you were before, though broken—wasn’t a monster. Not like this. Not like him.

You stood, your movements quick and deliberate, pushing away the weight of doubt that threatened to pull you back into the past. You had no time to waste. The door in front of you, though simple, was your only escape, your last chance to leave before the cycle could repeat itself. The memory of mr. scarletella’s cold, indifferent face, his lack of empathy, his twisted form of affection, burned like a scar in your mind. For a moment, you almost let yourself believe in his affection, the way he seemed to care, the way his actions pulled you in. It was tempting to think that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as cruel as he seemed—that perhaps his love was real, even if twisted by his curse. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t love; it was the curse, a twisted force that bound you both in a cycle of pain, and you refused to fall victim to it again. His love was fake, right?

You couldn’t stay here any longer. You couldn’t risk becoming something worse. Not again. Not after everything you had fought through to heal. You ignored their attempts to speak, the gentle murmurs of concern from mr. crawling and the strained words from ms. bride, their voices growing distant and fading into the background. Your focus narrowed, your resolve strengthening. You had made up your mind. This was your chance, and you couldn’t let it slip away.

Rushing toward the door, your hand found the doorknob, your fingers trembling slightly as you gripped the cold metal. It was a stark reminder of the world you were trying to escape. Every inch of this place, every piece of it, was suffocating you, chaining you to a version of yourself that you refused to accept any longer. But before you could even twist the knob, before you could even open the door and break free, a figure appeared from the shadows, blocking your path. Ms. bride. She was standing there, her worried expression a sharp contrast to her usual calm composure. The uncertainty in her nonexistential eyes mirroring the sudden panic in your chest as she spoke, her voice gentle yet urgent.

“乙卩几(wait) ! ㄚ乃爪几(where) 几ㄩ(you) ㄒ几 (go) ? !” she asked, her voice dripping with concern as she cupped your shoulders, her touch gentle but firm.

The warmth of her hands on you only fueled the conflict inside. You had promised yourself that you would leave, but you couldn’t ignore the compassion she showed you. You didn’t want to hurt her, but the decision had already been made. You had to go. You took a deep breath and turned to face her, your heart heavy with the weight of your next words.

“Go exit. Go leave.” you said, your voice breaking with the weight of your confession. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your gaze was fixated on the floor, avoiding their gaze. “Time pass, curse come back. I stay, cycle repeat—hurt come back. No want that.” The words felt heavy, even deciphered into a different language far from yours—like a burden finally lifted off your chest, but the fear of what lay ahead still gnawed at you.

Ms. bride’s grip softened, but there was a glint of something almost imperceptible in her demeanor. She didn’t stop you, but there was something about the way she behaved around you that made you feel like you were walking into a trap. Before you could say more, a small tug at your skirt caught your attention.

You froze, a shiver running down your spine as you turned around. It was mr. crawling.

oh, right. mr. crawling.

—my loyal companion.

how could I almost forget about him?

His face was pale, his eyes wide and almost pleading, as if you had just torn something from him that he didn’t understand how to fix. “几ㄩ(you) . . ㄚ乂乃(leave) ?” His voice was barely a whisper, the sadness in his tone cutting through you like a blade.

His hand still gripped your skirt, a desperate, almost childlike act. His posture slumped, shoulders sagging as if the weight of your departure was too much for him to bear. The look on his face was something you couldn’t fully comprehend. It was a mixture of heartbreak and disbelief. It was as if he couldn’t understand how you could just walk away, how you could leave him behind so easily—after everything he’d experienced with you.

You stood there, frozen, staring at him as if the sight before you was impossible to accept. For a moment, the words you had spoken, the determination that had driven you to walk away—faltered. Your chest tightened painfully, something inside of you stirred with guilt. You had been so focused on your own pain, on your own need to escape, that you hadn’t considered what leaving would do to them. To him.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, your mind swirling with the reality of the situation. How had you been so selfish? So single-minded in your pursuit of freedom that you hadn’t stopped to think about the people around you who had cared for you?

Mr. crawling. His face, so full of sorrow and confusion, haunted you. Had you been too blind to see how much he had sacrificed for you? How much he had done, how many lengths he had gone to for your sake? The thought of him standing there, looking like a lost child waiting to be abandoned, sent a sharp pang through your heart.

You had ignored his kindness, his quiet devotion, because you were so focused on escaping this hellish cycle. It was almost as if you hadn’t realized he had been a constant presence, offering you comfort, support, and even love, in his own, twisted way. His efforts to make you feel safe, to shield you from the worst of it—all of it was overshadowed by your own desire to run.

Your hands trembled as you fought to steady yourself. You wanted to speak, to apologize, but the words felt so inadequate. What could you say to someone who had given so much, only for you to walk away without a second thought?

Without a second thought, you lifted your fallen gaze, and it met his. Your expression softened, a quiet sincerity coloring your features as you gave him a gentle smile, your eyes half-lidded with warmth. “You…” you pointed at his sulking figure, “…want to come?” you asked, the words feeling like a release, a moment of truth in the midst of everything that had happened.

For a moment, time seemed to slow as you watched the transformation in his eyes. They lit up, wide and glowing with an intensity that could only come from the deepest places of his heart. His entire body shifted—there was a subtle yet unmistakable change in his demeanor. It was as though his very essence had been reawakened. His joy was obvious, like a dog who had been abandoned in a shelter for far too long and had finally found someone to call their own. His invisible tail, in your mind’s eye, seemed to wag furiously, as if he was dancing in place.

A wave of something tender swept over you as you realized how much this meant to him. You had given him a chance. You had given him something to hold onto. And in that moment, it wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about both of you, together, in this strange and haunting world. You couldn’t help but feel a soft, radiant warmth settle in your chest, realizing that, in some way, you were giving him what he’d longed for. It was an acknowledgment, an acceptance of everything he had done for you.

Meanwhile, ms. bride, standing off to the side, clasped her hands together near her cheek, a soft happy sigh escaping her lips. Her nonexistent eyes glistened with something you couldn’t quite place—was it satisfaction, or something else? She seemed to understand, her gaze softening as she observed the way you were with him. Perhaps it was a quiet affirmation of what she had hoped for all along, or maybe it was simply a moment of understanding. Whatever it was, you could see it in her eyes as she quietly came to a decision.

My work here is done, she must have thought, because she slowly backed away, her figure fading into the background as you and mr. crawling took the next step forward, toward something new.

You felt a deep, unexpected gratitude welling up inside you. It wasn’t just for mr. crawling, or for ms. bride—it was for everyone who had been part of this twisted, chaotic experience. Even the ones who had hurt you, even the ones who had pushed you to the edge of your sanity—they were part of your story. You could never forget that. You would always carry the lessons they had taught you, even if they weren’t always kind. But most of all, you felt thankful for the one person who had stayed by your side when everything had fallen apart; Mr. Crawling.

—ch.6

➤ e n d

“Mr. Crawling”

I watched them enter the elevator, watched her beautiful smile as she looked at him the same way she used to look at me before all this. That familiar, tender smile, the one that used to be reserved for me. I could feel my chest tighten as the sight of it hit me like a blade to the heart.

I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that damn bride.

She was so happy. I saw it clearly in her eyes, and it stung more than I had anticipated. I wanted to snatch her away from him right then, pull her back to my side where she belonged. But… who was I to intervene? It was her choice. This was her happiness, even if it wasn’t with me.

Is this love? I asked myself quietly, almost mockingly. I had brought her into my world, given her everything, and now, I had to watch her walk away with him.

She didn’t even look back at me, not even once. The thought of it—it killed me.

I had brought her into my world just for her to pick somebody else. Why wasn’t it me? What was it about him that I didn’t have? What was it that he could offer her that I couldn’t? My thoughts swirled in a dark haze of jealousy and frustration. It wasn’t fair.

She had confessed her love to me once, didn’t she? I remembered it clearly. She had thrown herself into my arms, professing how much she loved me. She even sacrificed so many lives for me—for us. Didn’t that mean something? Didn’t that prove how deep her feelings for me ran? She even took my umbrella, did that really mean nothing to her? Has she betrayed me this coldly?

I had convinced myself that it wasn’t a fantasy, that it wasn’t something I’d made up in my head. She had loved me. I knew she did. She had to. It couldn’t have been anything else.

But watching her with him, seeing how she looked at him…

… and how it wasn’t me.

#homicipher #fanfiction #mr crawling #romance #horror #anime #ms bride #mr scarletella

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