#ㄥ

[77seven7777]

ㄥ flipped 7, based or cringe?

based because all you need to do is flip it

[fyblackwomenart]

"Queturah" by ㄚ ㄥ 乇

[lotusmadness]

"Yoshio!" Der harsche Tonfall, der ihn bei seinem gewählten Nachnamen rief, holte ihn zurück in die Gegenwart. Yuudai stand vor ihm und starrte ihn aus dunklen, braunen Augen an. Sein zugewiesener Partner hatte eine Hand in schwarzen Haaren vergraben, den dazugehörigen Kopf in den Nacken ziehend und die Kehle offenbarend. Die andere Hand war ausgestreckt und in ihr ruhte ein Messer. Das begierige Funkeln in den Augen seines Partners jagte Isamu einen Schauer über den Rücken. Trotzdem nahm er das Messer entgegen, wog das Gewicht in der Hand ab. Dann schloss er die Finger fest darum und richtete den Blick auf den Burschen zwischen sich und Yuudai. Der Mann kniete auf dem Boden, ein Auge zugeschwollen und unzählige weitere Blutergüsse auf dem Oberkörper verteilt. Sicher war auch die oder andere Rippe an- oder gebrochen. "Los jetzt! Mach ihn kalt, der Boss will seinen Kopf." Yuudai wirkte ungeduldig, nahezu auf das bevorstehende Ereignis hinfiebernd. Doch Isamu selbst sträubte sich innerlich mehr als alles andere. Noch nie hatte er jemanden eigenhändig getötet, schon gar nicht auf solch eine blutige und persönliche Art und Weise.

"What have I done?" Die Worte schossen immer wieder durch seinen Kopf, so schnell und oft hintereinander wie die Schüsse eines Maschinengewehrs. So schnell, dass er sie nur in seiner Muttersprache formen konnte, sein Japanisch völlig vergessend. Sich mit blutigen Händen am Waschbecken abstützend versuchte er zu Atem zu kommen, sich zu beruhigen. Die Übelkeit zu vertreiben. Er hatte getan, was nötig war. Er hatte seine Prüfung bestanden. Nun war er ein vollwertiger Mann für den Oyabun, konnte sich seines Vertrauens sicher sein. Hoffentlich musste er nie wieder so viel Blut auf einmal sehen. Der Anblick war einer der hässlichsten gewesen, die er je zu sehen bekommen hatte und er würde ihn sicher nie vergessen. Er würde Sho Nagi nie vergessen, nicht seinen Schrei der in einem Gurgeln untergegangen war und nicht den Blick aus seinen leeren, starren Augen, während Isamu und Yuudai den Kopf in dem vorbereiteten Karton verstaut hatten. Die Übelkeit weiter mit einer bemüht gleichmäßigen, ruhigen Atmung verdrängend, drehte er nun das Wasser auf und wusch sich das Blut von den Händen. Seinen Körper konnte er rein waschen, nicht aber seine Seele. Der erste blutige Fleck gesellte sich zu den vielen schwarzen und grauen, die seine ehemals weiße Weste bereits zierten. Und viele weitere sollten folgen.

[xthexkillingxgroundsx]

blccdiedhands asked: “Don’t tell people we’ve slept together. Or at least don’t word it like that…” (endorsi)

"Oh, I'd hardly worry your pretty little head about that, Endorsi..." As an ENFORCER, Caitlyn had very much found herself TORN between duties. First to Jahad, and second to the Princesses OF Jahad. She'd been there, witnessed the death of Anak. The REAL Anak. The experience had... LEFT ITS MARK... And now a number of Princesses were following in Anak's footsteps. From her own daughter, to the ever troublesome Endorsi to JAHAD'S FAVORED HA-YURI JAHAD. And Caitlyn had been caught up in the middle of it. Tasked with finding Anak's bastard daughter AND with hunting down the IRREGULARS that dared threaten peace within the tower. But no one could have expected Endorsi and Yuri to actually PROTECT Anak's daughter, and stow away with both The Black March AND The Green April. "You bring enough shame on the royal family, Endorsi. I do NOT intend to add to it by spreading such misinformation." It was the morning after. Their AHEM 'night' together had been necessitated by a disaster on the 13th floor. Almost fitting, she couldn't help but note. UNLUCKY FOR THEM, SHE SUPPOSED. (Or was this all part of someone else's plan?) And now Endorsi was very much TAKING HER TIME getting dressed, tugging leggings over tender thighs while Caitlyn cleaned out her rifle and made preparatory checks for the day. Or... Well... TRIED TO. Endorsi was proving an effective distraction. And not just because she wouldn't shut up. "We shared a bed. Nothing more. And now you'll be returning with me to the 134th Floor. You have A LOT to answer for." Caitlyn had always appreciated, respected even, Endorsi's seemingly limitless ambition and unerring self-security and sense of infinite adventure. But she had never, COULD NEVER, condone her methods. The CORPSES she'd left behind. No one human should ever have been a mere stepping stone toward another's greatness. And yet, it had been that very mentality that served as the foundation for PEACE on the 134th Floor. What was a girl to do? It had been a lot easier to PLAY HER PART, back before her PART was to EXECUTE the Princesses that dared go their own way. "Now hurry up, first light is already behind us. And we're still stuck here because YOU'RE being a BRAT."

[men-are-99]

[sanb3ulah]

​🇲​​🇪​ ​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇧​​🇷​​🇦​​🇮​​🇱​​🇱​​🇪​.

    m⃞    e⃞     i⃞    n⃞     B⃞    r⃞    a⃞    i⃞    l⃞    l⃞    e⃞    .⃞

🄼🄴 🄸🄽 🄱🅁🄰🄸🄻🄻🄴.

.ɘ||iɒɿᙠ ᴎi ɘm ǫᴎiqɒЯ

R̵̢͕̯̮̩̿͒̆̊͑͒a̵̪̱̼̹͈̭̣̟͂́̑̐̃͝͠p̵̙̙̙͙̬͇͈̆́ì̵̡̜̼̲̬͍͇̿̈́̔̉̾n̷̛̰̑̈̂͜͝͠g̸̺͇̖̗͑̄̽̃͠ ̸̧̣̜͉̟͕͕̬̜́̔ͅm̶͍̺̣͗̐ȅ̷͔͎̥̰̗̩̾̀̒͘ͅ ̷͕̮͈̖̼́͒͜i̵̥̺̤͆̏̆n̷̢͍̺̗͓͔̟̆̈́͗̽̓̾̇̅͘͘ ̶̡̛̲̭̰̮͍̻͙̈́̑͋̆͝B̷̛̫̭̹̤͉̘̗̐͂r̵̟̳͉̞̝̠̂̅̔́á̵̢̯̼͖̳́̈́̓͆̔̈́̅͜͝͠ḭ̵̢̠̲̻̖̯͕̺͉͊̑͋͌̎͝l̷̦̭͓̺̙̫̆͂͂̈̉̏̇̄͝͝l̶̨̬͍̪͎̅̋̉̕e̶̼��̪̝̼͖̯͛͌̏̎̓͝.̷̡̯̙͈̻̲̮̤͓͌̊̋̉

🅼🅴 🅸🅽 🅱🆁🅰🅸🅻🅻🅴.

ₘₑ ᵢₙ Bᵣₐᵢₗₗₑ.

ᵐᵉ ⁱⁿ ᴮʳᵃⁱˡˡᵉ.ⓜⓔ ⓘⓝ Ⓑⓡⓐⓘⓛⓛⓔ    .⃝

๓є เภ ๒гคเɭɭє.

ɱҽ ιɳ Bɾαιʅʅҽ.

ʍɛ ɨռ ɮʀǟɨʟʟɛ.

ᎷᏋ ᎥᏁ ᏰᏒᏗᎥᏝᏝᏋ.

ɱɛ ıŋ ცཞąıƖƖɛ.

๓ē iຖ ๖rคillē.

𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞.

𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗕𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲.

𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘉𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦.

𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚.

𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎.

MΣ IП BЯΛIᄂᄂΣ.

мє ιη вяαιℓℓє.

mê ïñ ßråïllê.

₥Ɇ ł₦ ฿Ɽ₳łⱠⱠɆ.

尺卂卩丨几Ꮆ 爪乇 丨几 乃尺卂丨ㄥㄥ乇.

尺ﾑｱﾉ刀ム ﾶ乇 ﾉ刀 乃尺ﾑﾉﾚﾚ乇. 【m】【e】 【i】【n】 【B】【r】【a】【i】【l】【l】【e】【.】

『m』『e』 『i』『n』 『B』『r』『a』『i』『l』『l』『e』『.』

≋ ≋m≋e≋ ≋i≋n≋ ≋B≋r≋a≋i≋l≋l≋e≋.≋

░ ░m░e░ ░i░n░ ░B░r░a░i░l░l░e░.░

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ me in Braille. ♥

　ｍｅ　ｉｎ　Ｂｒａｉｌｌｅ．　ヤヴわヵ

░ｍｅ░ｉｎ░Ｂｒａｉｌｌｅ．　（ヤヴわヵ）

【　ｍｅ　ｉｎ　Ｂｒａｉｌｌｅ．】

˜”°•.˜”°• me in Braille. •°”˜.•°”˜

[̲̅m][̲̅e] [̲̅i][̲̅n] [̲̅B][̲̅r][̲̅a][̲̅i][̲̅l][̲̅l][̲̅e][̲̅.]

R҉a҉p҉i҉n҉g҉ ҉m҉e҉ ҉i҉n҉ ҉B҉r҉a҉i҉l҉l҉e҉.҉

[heslunie]

❝ 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 ﹅ 𝄪  ̟  ͜͝  ꯭  ̳  ֠  ⃝ ⃘ ⃕ ̸  ̶ ̲ ̅ ˙ ̣ ͘ ׄ ִ

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`)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 ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝) (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 ��� 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   ���   ߸   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꒰ྀི �� 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⸝⸝› ‹⸝⸝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

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 ─ ・┈ ・ ─

[myloveobbsessed]

ᗪ乇爪ㄖ刀 丂ㄥ卂丫乇尺 匚卂ㄒ丂

———••———————••———————••———

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Prompt: Hashira as cats and how you got them

Characters: Rengoku, Uzui, Misturi, Iguro, Shinobu, Sanemi, and Giyu.

Notes: I'm basing them off the cat breed personalities not really looks.

———••———————••———————••———

After inheriting the family company, the silence in your grand home became overwhelming. Despite the luxury and space, the loneliness gnawed at you. One evening, as you sat in the living room surrounded by the vast emptiness, an idea struck you — you needed some company. Not the busy kind that came with running a company, but something warm and comforting.

You decided to get cats.

Part 1, 2, 3

——••————••——

Kyojuro is a…

Maine coon: You were sitting on your patio, enjoying lunch and watching the slow snowfall, when you suddenly felt something touch your leg. Startled, you looked down to see big, bright eyes staring up at you. A fluffy cat with soft but slightly dirty fur, Kyojuro, was standing on his hind legs, sniffing at your food. You didn’t notice at first and began to pet and coo at him, noting his lack of a collar, which told you he was likely a stray.

Kyojuro soon jumped onto your lap, rubbing affectionately against you as you continued petting him. Friendly and eager for attention, he sniffed your food again. Seeing this, you broke off a small piece and gave it to him. He took it and quickly ran off into the snow. Curious, you watched him drop the food a few feet away and then run back to you for more. After feeding him another piece, he repeated the same behavior.

Wondering what was going on, you walked over to the spot where he had been running to. There, nestled in the snow, was a smaller cat, almost a kitten, eating the food Kyojuro had brought. The kitten resembled Kyojuro, so you assumed they were related. Not wanting to leave them out in the cold, you happily decided to take both of them in, ensuring they’d be safe and warm.

——••————••——

Uzui is a…

Bengal: As you wandered through the shelter, unsure of exactly what type of cat you wanted, your eyes scanned the cages one by one. You expected to find a single cat that you’d connect with. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small paw stick out from between the bars of a cage, catching your attention.

Curious, you stepped closer and found yourself face-to-face with a striking cat. He stared at you with confidence, as if he already knew you would be taking him home.

You bent down, offering your hand. He gave it a quick sniff before gently patting your fingers with his paw, as if demanding attention without being overbearing. There was something about him that drew you in—a charisma you couldn’t ignore.

Reading the card attached to his cage, you noticed his name: Uzui. It suited him perfectly, his presence commanding without even a meow. Before you knew it, you were talking to the shelter staff, filling out the adoption paperwork for him.

You had come in expecting to leave with one cat, and Uzui had made sure he would be the one.

——••————••——

Shinobu is a…

Siamese: While searching for books in the library, you bend down to grab one from the bottom shelf and unexpectedly come face to face with a Siamese cat. You both stare at each other for a moment before you slowly extend a finger towards her. After sniffing you, she allows you to pet her and even curls up in your lap as you read, seeming to follow the pages as if she’s reading along, which makes you chuckle. Curious, you ask the front desk if the cat belongs to the library, but they say no. Since she seems comfortable with you, you decide to take her home.

——••————••——

Obanai and Misturi are…

Persian(Mitsuri), Oriental Shorthair(Obanai): You found Mitsuri and Obanai while on a walk, hearing faint meows down an alleyway. When you approached, you spotted Mitsuri, limping as she meowed for help. You picked her up, noticing her injured leg, but as you were about to leave, a protective Obanai, appeared. He hissed and scratched, trying to defend her, but after you showed him you meant no harm, you took Mitsuri to the vet and decided to adopt them both.

——••————••——

Giyu is a…

Russian blue: After picking up some snacks, you begin walking home in the pouring rain. It doesn’t seem to let up, and as you pass by a box labeled “Free Cats,” despite already having enough cats, you can’t resist peeking in. Inside, you find a drenched cat, Giyu, lying there as if he’s given up. He lets the rain soak him, looking defeated, and the sight tugs at your heart. Without hesitation, you scoop him up, and he doesn’t resist, allowing you to hold him against your chest under your umbrella. You quickly head home, giving him a warm bath and drying him off. Giyu, now safe and cozy, becomes the newest addition to your growing cat family.

——••————••——

Sanemi is a…

Turkish Van: While out on a run, you stumbled upon a fight between a cat and a much larger dog. The poor cat was clearly losing, and without a second thought, you rushed over to intervene. Luckily, the dog didn’t turn on you and instead ran off, leaving the injured cat behind.

The cat, now visibly hurt, had bleeding ears and was struggling to move with one of his front legs badly injured. You crouched down, speaking softly so as not to scare him, but Sanemi, as you would later name him, was hesitant to trust you. After some time, though, he allowed you to pick him up.

You took him straight to the vet to treat his injuries. Even after being patched up, Sanemi was reluctant to go home with you, but given his condition, he didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t walk properly, and you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him outside again in such a vulnerable state. Now, you’ve found yourself with yet another cat to care for.

———••———————••———————••———

Are you a cat lady?….yes. yes you are.

[fairieshaveswag]

[extraterrestrialentity666]

•°◇🍄‍🟫🌀💛◇°•

匚尺ㄚ丂ㄒ卂ㄥ|乙乇ᗪ ㄥ|ㄒㄒㄥ乇 千ㄥㄖ山乇尺

🪷

❄️

🪷

❄️

[77seven7777]

ㄥ lıɐɥ llɐ ㄥlıɐɥ llɐ

·ㄥ ʅᴉɐɥ ʅʅɐ

ʻㄥ ʅᴉɐɥ ʅʅɐ

ʻㄥ ʅᴉɐɥ ʅʅɐ ʻsǝʎ

[osunari]

⚠︎ 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ㄚ(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

[lotusmadness]

Isamu

He rarely talks about his whereabouts yet he obviously doesn't have his origin in Asia. However he goes by the name his japanese "family" has give him, Yoshio Isamu - his government name stays a secret he only tells very few people. When asked about his position at work he just answers "Manager" and refuses to further explain his profession - at least when he doesn't trust or know you. An exception may be when he is about to warn or intimidate the ones he's talking to. If that's the case one can notice a shift in his posture, his tone, his gaze. In his circle he is known as a cold blooded killer and a very capable senior advisor, a so called Saiko Komon. Having already seen a lot since he was born in 1990 his character is shaped and built to protect whatever is left of his soul. If he grants you his trust, you know you earned it, also you only then can see beyond the walls he built and catch a glimpse of a big, warm (bisexual) heart.

Good to know: he is taken, a father to be and owner of a Chowchow named Akamaru. He can be met in South Korea (current location), Japan where he live since he was 16 up until about 5 years ago, and the United Kingdom.

ooc: Open for any kind of rp, though mainly interested in the action genre || preferred language is german || posts may contain graphic descriptions of violence, blood and criminal actions || Preference are novel style rp's. || may take time until proper answers are written || Kik ID: YakuIsaYo || rp's in dm's or in Kik Chats, if you're interested but don't wanna write on tumblr or Kik, just tell me and I might consider other options || character exists for 10 years +, therefore means a lot to me || used Hashtags as follows:

[xthexkillingxgroundsx]

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."

[tyboys]

Symbols!

﹒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 ҂ ⋮ ❛❜ ꐑꐑ ✸ 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 ࿂ ﹆ 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  ּ   ⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉  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 ──────

[dr34m3r-dr4wz]

🌿🕸️🦷ᗪ乇卂ᗪ 卩ㄥ卂几ㄒ丂🦷🕸️🌿

My version for seedrian exes! (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)