Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton Emojis & Text

new second power to the second power little 2 squared number 2 mathematics square up square root square squarish

SWEET CWEAM pt. 2

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to the ceiling, 
where shadows danced in 
the harsh fluorescent light. 
He tried to remember, but 
his thoughts were like 
grains of sand slipping 
through his fingers.

"Karen," he 
whispered, his voice 
tiny and lost. "My tweef?"

Her smile never 
wavered, her eyes 
steady on his. "Don't 
worry about your teeth 
now. They're all taken 
care of."

Plankton's mind 
raced, trying to grasp 
the concept of missing 
teeth. He 
swallowed, the 
movement painfully 
sluggish in his throat. 
"Buh... buth how?"

"They used a special kind 
of sleepy medicine," she 
explained, her voice a 
calm lullaby in the stark 
reality of the recovery 
room. "It made sure you 
didn't feel any pain."

Plankton's eye
grew rounder still, 
his curiosity piqued. 
He felt a strange giggle 
bubble up from his chest, 
the absurdity of the 
situation tickling his 
funny bone. "Sleeby 
meds?" he 
repeated, the words 
coming out like a 
slurred song.

The nurse, used to 
seeing patients in various 
states of post-op confusion, 
just smiled. "Yes, the 
sleepy medicine," she 
said, her voice a comforting 
lilt. "It's to keep you calm 
and pain-free."

Plankton's eye
wandered to the IV 
drip next to his bed, 
the clear fluid snaking into 
his arm. "Meee," he 
managed.

The nurse 
followed his gaze and 
explained, "That's just 
some fluids to keep 
you hydrated, Mr. Plankton. 
You've been asleep for a 
little while."

Karen watched as 
his eye grew distant, 
his mind adrift in the 
sea of anesthesia. The 
drool trickled down 
his chin, and she 
tenderly dabbed it away 
with a tissue. "Do you 
remember anything?"

Plankton's gaze 
flickered, and a faint 
smile tugged at his 
numb lips. "I 'member 
flying," he murmured, 
his voice a whisper of a 
dream. "I thaw youw were 
thewe," he said, his eye
half-closed. "Youw wuz 
a buttefly."

Karen's eyes 
sparkled with a mix of 
amusement and concern. 
"I was a butterfly?" she 
repeated, playing along. 
"That's sweet, Plankton."

He nodded, his 
eye glazed with a 
dreamy expression. "Yew 
wuz," he insisted, 
his voice still slurred.

Karen couldn't help but 
laugh, the tension of the 
day finally breaking. "Okay, 
my little butterfly," she 
whispered, her thumb 
brushing his cheek. "Why 
don't we go home?"

The nurse nodded, 
preparing the discharge 
papers. "You can take him 
now," she said, handing 
them to Karen. "Make sure 
he gets plenty of rest and 
stick to soft foods for the 
next few days."

Karen helped 
Plankton to his feet, his 
body protesting the 
sudden movement. He 
swayed like a willow in the 
wind, his arm draped 
heavily over her shoulders. 
Together, they shuffled out 
of the recovery room, 
his feet dragging against 
the floor as if tethered 
to an invisible weight.

The numbness in his 
mouth had spread to 
his cheeks, giving 
his face a lopsided 
smile that made him feel 
like a clown, his mouth 
still frozen in a 
lopsided smile as he chuckles. 

Karen led him out 
of the clinic. Plankton’s eye
closed as he
suddenly tilted onto
her, letting out 
a little snorelike snort.

"Plankton, wake up," 
she giggled, half-supporting 
his weight. 
The fresh air hit 
his face like a slap, 
waking him up just 
enough to realize 
his mouth was still 
as numb as a brick. 
He tried to speak, 
but it was like his 
tongue had forgotten 
how to move.

"Wha...?" he mumbled, 
his eye searching 
for understanding.

The world around 
Plankton was a 
blur of shapes and 
colors.

"Walky," he 
slurred, his legs 
like jelly under him.
Karen guided him to the car, 
his legs moving as if 
through molasses.

Once inside, he 
fidgeted with the 
seatbelt, his fingers 
refusing to cooperate. 
"Let me," she said, 
buckling him in, making 
his eye go wide again.

"Thathks," he 
muttered, “I thee
the twess," he said, 
his voice filled with 
wonder as if 
he had just been born.

Karen chuckled, 
starting the car. The 
engine hummed to life, 
and Plankton's eye 
followed the world as it 
moved past the window, 
his gaze unfocused and 
innocent.

"Lookit the twess," he 
said, his voice filled 
with awe. "They'we aww
bending to shay hewwo."

Karen couldn't help but 
laugh at his slurred 
words. "Yes, they do that 
when it's windy," she 
explained, her voice a 
comforting balm to his 
confused mind.

new sweet cweam plaren 2

COMPUTER SENSORS iv

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


Hanna laughs as he makes a particularly clever move. 
"You've got a knack for this," she says, accidentally 
jabbing him hard. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, her hand 
hovering in the air. "I didn't mean to—"

But Plankton doesn't flinch. He's frozen, limbs limp at his sides. 
Hanna realizes the gravity of the situation. The room feels suddenly 
too warm, too bright, too loud. She's done it again—pushed him too far.

"Plankton?" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "You ok?"

He doesn't respond, his body eerily still. Hanna feels the weight of her mistake. 
She'd been so caught up in the game, so focused on their newfound friendship 
that she'd forgotten his limitations.

Karen sets her cards down gently and moves closer to her husband, her hand 
reaching out to his. "Plankton?" she says, her voice softer than a feather's touch.

The room seems to hold its breath, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator. 
Hanna watches as Karen's hand hovers over Plankton's, the space between them filled 
with a tension that's almost palpable.

Plankton's eye remains open, unblinking. His limbs are limp, no longer moving with 
their usual grace. It's as if he's a statue, frozen in time. Hanna's mind races, replaying 
the last moments, trying to understand what happened.

Slowly, Karen reaches for Plankton, her touch feather-light. She speaks softly, a gentle coax 
that seems to seep into his very being. "Plankton," she whispers, "You're ok. You're safe."

Hanna watches, her own hands clenched into fists at her sides. The room feels like it's closing 
in around her, the pressure of the silence suffocating. But Karen's calmness is a beacon, a 
reminder that she's seen this before, that she knows how to handle it.

"Plankton, baby," Karen says, her voice soothing and gentle. "You're ok. Just breathe."

Hanna's eyes are wide with worry as she watches the scene unfold. Plankton's eye open 
but unseeing, his body frozen . The reality is more terrifying than she could have imagined.

"Plankton," she says, "you know I'm here. You know I've got you." It's a gentle reminder of the safety 
net she's always been, the one constant in his ever-shifting world.

Plankton's body remains still, a silent sentinel in the midst of their quiet living room. He lay 
slack in Karen's arms, his eye unblinking, as if he's listening to a melody that only he can hear. 
Hanna watches, as Karen's voice weaves a tapestry of comfort around them.

"You know I'm here," Karen says softly, her hand still clutching Plankton's tentacle. "You're not 
alone." Her words are a gentle reminder of the sanctuary she's always provided, a shelter from the 
overwhelming world outside. "It's okay," she says, "just come back to us when you're ready."

Karen sighs, breaking the tension. "It's ok," she says, her voice a gentle whisper that 
seems to fill the room. "This happens sometimes." She looks at Hanna
with understanding and a hint of sadness. 

"What can I do to help?" Hanna asks, her voice trembling slightly.

"Just keep an eye on him," Karen says, never leaving her husband. "If he starts to seize 
we'll need to move him to the floor and clear any sharp objects. But he's usually ok after 
these episodes. They're not necessarily 'seizures' but they can be similar."

Hanna nods, trying to absorb the information. She's never dealt with something like this 
before, and the fear is palpable. But she's determined to be there for her friends, to 
understand and support them through this. She takes a deep breath, focusing on Karen's words.

"This isn't the first time. We have a protocol for these episodes."

Karen's grip tightens, never leaving his unseeing gaze. "You're ok," she repeats, her voice a 
soothing balm in the maelstrom of his mind. "Just let it pass."

Karen's turns to Hanna. "It's ok. He'll come out of it soon." She speaks with the calmness 
experience with Plankton's condition a silent testament to the strength of their bond.

Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's unmoving form.

"Ok," Karen says, turning her attention back to her husband. She takes a deep breath 
her voice steady. "Hanna, come here."

Hanna moves tentatively, feeling like she's walking through a minefield. She approaches 
Plankton's side, her eyes never leaving his frozen form. Karen's hand leaves his, and she 
takes Hanna's in its place. "Just hold his hand," she instructs. "Let him know you're here, too."

Her hand is trembling as it reaches for Plankton's. She wraps her fingers around his. 
She squeezes gently, hoping to convey her apology without words.

Karen speaks to Hanna. "Just hold on," she says, "don't let go. He'll feel your warmth, your presence."

Karen's hand guides hers, showing her the right amount of pressure, the right rhythm of 
gentle strokes that she knows comforts him.

"Good," Karen murmurs, still locked on Plankton's vacant gaze. "Just keep doing that. It helps 
him feel connected."

Hanna nods, her grip firm but gentle on Plankton's. She's acutely aware of the responsibility 
in her grasp, the power to either comfort or cause further distress. Karen's hand moves to 
her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"Good," she whispers. "Just keep doing that." Her hand moves to Hanna's, guiding her in the 
slow, deliberate strokes that she knows calm him. "Remember, he's ok. He's just taking a break."

Hanna nods, trying to push down the panic rising in her chest. She watches as Karen's hand glides over 
Plankton's, her touch as light as a feather. It's a silent dance, a language of comfort that Hanna is just 
beginning to understand.

"Just like this," Karen whispers, never leaving Plankton's unseeing gaze. "Let him know you're with him."

Hanna nods, brimming with tears she's fighting to hold back. She mimics Karen's gentle strokes
feeling the tension in Plankton slowly begin to ease. It's a delicate balance, a silent conversation 
that she's only just learning the language of.

"That's it," Karen whispers, her hand still on Hanna's shoulder. "Just keep going. He'll come back to us."

Hanna feels the tension in her own body slowly unravel as she matches her strokes 
to Karen's rhythm. It's a strange, almost meditative experience, this silent communication of care.

"Good," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Just keep your breathing steady." She demonstrates. "It helps 
him sync up with us."

Karen says, her voice a gentle guide. "Inhale...exhale...in...out."

Karen whispers, her hand still resting on Hanna's shoulder. "Now, just keep your voice low. He's sensitive to 
sound right now."

Hanna nods, her voice a mere murmur. "Ok." She watches as Karen's hand continues to move over Plankton's 
strokes a silent promise of safety.

"Just talk to him," Karen says. "Use a soft voice. It'll help bring him back."

Hanna swallows hard, her voice shaky. "Plankton, I'm here. It's Hanna." She wonders if he can feel her touch, if 
he knows she's there.

"Good," Karen says, her own voice a gentle hum in the stillness. "Just keep talking to him. He'll come back 
when he's ready."

"I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her grip tightening slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to show 
you that I care."

Karen nods. "That's good," she murmurs. "Just keep talking to him. Tell him what you're feeling." Her hand 
moves to cover Hanna's, guiding her in the gentle strokes that Plankton needs. "He'll hear you. He just needs 
time to come back."

"I'm here, Plankton," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry for pushing too hard. I didn't mean to 
hurt you." Here locked on his unblinking gaze, willing him to understand.

Karen's hand is warm and steady on hers, a silent reminder that she's not alone. She feels a strange kinship 
with Plankton in this moment, a shared experience of fear and confusion that transcends words. Karen's filled 
with empathy as she nods, urging Hanna to continue.

"Just keep talking to him," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle coax. "He's still with us. He just needs to find his 
way back."

Hanna nods, her voice a soft echo in the quiet room. "Plankton, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you 
uncomfortable. I just wanted to be friends."

Karen's hand squeezes her shoulder, a silent message of support. "That's it," she whispers. "Just keep your 
voice low and steady. He'll hear you."

Hanna continues her gentle strokes, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're safe," she repeats, her words a gentle 
echo of Karen's earlier reassurances. "We're here for you." The room feels like it's holding its breath, every 
atom suspended in anticipation of Plankton's
 return.

And then, it comes—a blink, a faint twitch. It's as if a door has cracked open, a sliver of light piercing the 
darkness.

"Look," Karen breathes, her voice a whisper of hope. "He's coming back."

"Plankton," she says again, her voice a gentle caress. "I'm here. It's Hanna." The grip twitches more noticeably 
now, and she feels his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips.

"Keep it up."

"We're all here for you."

new karen & sheldon j. plankton computer sensors neurodivergentcore

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7
(Autistic author)

They sit in 
silence for a moment, 
the hum of the Chum 
Bucket's systems the 
only sound. Then Plankton's 
eye lights up.

"Idea," he says, his 
voice a sudden burst of 
static. "Make something 
with Karen. Together."

Karen's screens 
blink with excitement. "That 
sounds wonderful," she 
beeps. "What do you want 
to make?"

But before Plankton can
formulate a response,
Patrick Star bursts in.

"Karen!" he booms, 
his voice shaking the 
walls. "I want chum!"

Plankton's eye darts 
to the door, the 
sensory assault starting 
again. "Patrick," he 
whispers, his body 
tense as a bowstring.

Karen's screens 
quickly assess the 
situation. "Patrick," she 
beeps, her voice firm. "Not 
now."

But Patrick's 
enthusiasm can't be dampened 
so easily. He bounds over 
to the table, his star-shaped 
body bouncing. "Chum, chum, 
chum!" he sings, oblivious 
to Plankton's distress.

Karen's screens 
flicker with annoyance, 
but she keeps her voice 
steady. "Patrick, not now," 
she repeats. "Plankton's not 
feeling well."

Patrick's starry eyes 
widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy,"
he says, his voice dropping 
an octave. He looks at 
Plankton with concern. "What's 
wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton.

Plankton jumps, 
his senses on high alert. 
The poke feels like a 
battering ram, and he lets 
out a squeak of pain.

Patrick's hand 
retracts quickly, his 
expression a mix of 
shock and confusion. 
"Whoa, sorry," he says. 
"What's with you?"

Karen's screens 
flicker with frustration. 
"Patrick," she beeps, 
her voice firm. "I'll go
make you chum."

Patrick nods, his 
concern forgotten in the 
face of his hunger. "Okay, 
thanks, Karen," he says, 
his voice bouncing with 
excitement. She retreats
leaving Plankton alone
with Patrick in the living
room.

Patrick stares at 
Plankton for a moment, 
his expression a blend of 
curiosity and confusion. 
"You okay?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle rumble.

Plankton's eye flutters 
closed, his body trying 
to absorb the sudden 
intensity of the interaction.

"Take your time," he 
whispers to himself, his 
mantra a shield against 
the overwhelming world.

Patrick, ever the 
innocent, watches him 
with a puzzled frown. 
"What's 'Take your 
time'?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle rumble.

Plankton opens his 
eye, looking at the 
simplicity of Patrick's 
face. He scoots away.

Patrick, unfazed, 
advances, his hand 
outstretched. "What's up?"
he asks, poking again.

The sensation 
of Patrick's touch is 
like a thousand needle 
pricks. Plankton yelps.

Patrick, not 
comprehending, pokes 
again, his starry eyes 
full of innocent wonder. 
"Why so jumpy?" he 
asks, his voice a 
deep rumble.

Plankton's body 
tenses with each 
poke, the sensation 
like a barrage of tiny 
explosions. "Patrick, 
please," he gasps, his voice 
a frantic static. 
But Patrick, ever 
the simple starfish, 
doesn't understand.

He keeps poking, 
his curiosity growing. 
"Why?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle boom. "You're 
always so bouncy."

Plankton's eye 
twitches with each touch. 
"Patrick, no," he whispers, 
his voice a desperate static.

But Patrick, lost in his 
own world, doesn't notice. 
He giggles, poking him again. 
"You're like a pin cushion!"
he exclaims, his voice a 
deep chuckle.

Plankton's eye 
squeezes shut, his body 
wracked with pain. "Patrick, 
please," he whispers, his 
voice a desperate static.

Patrick doesn't seem to 
comprehend the distress 
he's causing.

He keeps poking, 
his laughter echoing 
through the room, each 
poke sending shockwaves 
of pain through Plankton's 
body. "You're like a 
squeaky toy," he says, his 
voice a delighted rumble.

Plankton's body 
twitches with each touch, 
his voice a desperate 
buzz of static. "Patrick, 
please stop," he begs, his 
voice a high-pitched 
squeak.

But Patrick's simple 
mind doesn't register 
the pain he's causing. 
He keeps poking, his 
laughter growing louder. 
"You're so funny!" he 
bellowed, his starry 
hands moving like a 
jackhammer as he starts
tickling him.

Plankton's body 
spasms with each 
touch, his voice a 
desperate symphony of 
static. "Patrick, stop!"
he pleads, his breathing 
quick and shallow.

But Patrick, in his 
blissful ignorance, 
only laughs harder, his 
massive hands poking 
and tickling without 
mercy. "You're hilarious, 
tiny dude!" he bellows.

Plankton's body is a 
storm of sensory overload, 
his voice a high-pitched 
wail of static. "Patrick, 
please!" he begs, his 
limbs flailing.

Patrick's laughter 
fills the room like a 
tidal wave, crashing over 
Plankton's desperate 
pleas. "You're so much 
fun, Planky!" he booms, 
his hands moving in 
a blur of star-shaped 
shadows.

Plankton's body jerks 
uncontrollably, his 
screams of "No, no, no!" 
lost in the cacophony 
of Patrick's laughter. His 
tiny limbs flail, trying 
to escape the relentless 
onslaught of pokes and 
tickles.

Patrick, his eyes wide 
with delight, doesn't see 
the tears forming in 
Plankton's eye. He just 
keeps poking, tickling, 
and laughing, oblivious 
to the damage he's 
doing.

Plankton's cries 
escalate into a 
frantic symphony of 
squeaks and static, his 
body contorting in a 
desperate attempt to 
evade the starfish's 
torment. The room 
spins around him, a 
whirlpool of pain and 
sensation that threatens 
to swallow him whole.

Patrick, his face a 
picture of delighted 
confusion, keeps poking 
and tickling, his laughter 
booming like thunder 
underwater. "What's 
the matter, little buddy?"
he asks between chuckles.

Plankton's body 
convulses with each touch, 
sobbing as Karen finally
emerges with Patrick's chum.
She sees them both on the
floor.

"Patrick, what are you 
doing?" she beeps, her 
voice a mix of anger and 
concern.

But Patrick is lost 
in his own world of 
mirth, not hearing 
Karen's plea. "Just 
having some fun," he 
says, his voice a deep 
rumble of laughter.

Plankton's cries 
become more frantic, 
his voice a high-pitched 
siren of despair. Karen 
quickly assesses the 
situation, her screens 
flaring with urgency.

"Patrick, stop!" she 
beeps, her voice a sharp 
alarm. "You're hurting 
Plankton!"

Patrick's laughter 
abruptly halts, his starry 
eyes blinking in surprise. 
He looks down at his 
hands, still poised to 
poke Plankton again. "What?"
he asks, his voice a 
confused rumble. "But we're 
just playing."

Karen's screens 
flicker with frustration. 
"Patrick," she beeps, her 
voice firm. "Look at 
Plankton. He's in pain."

Patrick's starry 
gaze shifts to Plankton, 
his expression shifting 
to one of bewilderment. 
"Pain?" he repeats, 
his voice a confused 
rumble. "But we're 
just playing."

Karen gives Patrick the
food, showing him out
the door.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 7

"Honey, did you 
take out the trash?" 
Karen called out 
to the living room. 
The only reply was 
the distant sound 
of the TV playing 
a sitcom laugh track. 
She sighed.

Going into the 
living room, Karen 
found her husband, 
Plankton, sprawled 
out on the couch, 
snoring lightly.

The TV's blue light 
flickered over his face. She looked 
around the room, 
the piles of laundry, 
the dusty bookshelves, 
and the half-eaten 
sandwich on the 
coffee table. It was 
a mess, but she knew 
better than to wake him.

Plankton had been 
working long hours 
at the chum factory 
lately, trying to 
make ends meet. His 
snoring grew louder, 
and she felt a 
wave of affection 
mixed with concern.

Gently, she covered 
his legs with a blanket 
and bent to kiss 
his forehead.
He stirred slightly 
but didn't wake up.

In the kitchen, 
Karen grabbed a 
cup of coffee, 
the warmth and 
aroma grounding her 
for the evening ahead. 
The fridge hummed 
a low lullaby, 
reminding her of 
the chores left to do.

The sink was full 
of dirty dishes, 
remnants of dinner.
A pot with half-eaten 
chum congealed 
on the stovetop.

Karen rolled up 
her sleeves, 
determined to tackle 
the chaos. She knew 
Plankton was 
exhausted from work.

The clanking of 
pots and pans 
echoed through the 
tiny kitchen as she 
washed and sorted, 
her mind racing with 
thoughts of their future.

A knock at the door 
startled her. She dried 
her hands on a towel, 
leaving wet spots like 
tears on the fabric.

It was Hanna, her 
best friend since high 
school.

Karen had not seen 
Hanna in weeks, and 
the sight of her brought 
a smile. Hanna 
was a burst of energy.

"Hi, Karen! How's it 
going?" Hanna's voice 
was a mix of sweetness 
and the sharpness of 
someone who had seen 
too much of the world.

She scanned 
the room, taking 
in the clutter, the 
stale smell of 
overworked air, and 
Plankton's snoring.

"Hey, Hanna," Karen 
managed, her voice 
soft to not disturb 
his sleep. "It's been 
a bit hectic, but we're 
making do."

Hanna stepped in, 
eyeing the mess 
sympathetically. "Looks 
like you could use a 
hand," she said, already 
grabbing a dish towel.

Karen's smile grew.
"You read my mind. Thanks."

Hanna tossed the 
towel over her shoulder, 
ready to jump into 
the fray. "You know me,"
she said with a wink. "I've 
never been one to shy 
away from a mess."

The two of them worked 
side by side, the rhythm 
of their movements 
harmonizing as they 
cleared the kitchen. Karen
felt the tension in her 
shoulders begin to ease 
as Hanna filled the room 
with stories of her latest 
adventures, a welcome 
distraction from the 
monotony of chores.

As the last plate was 
put away, the fridge 
closed with a satisfying 
click, Karen leaned against 
the counter. Hanna looked 
at her.
"You've been carrying 
a lot, haven't you?" she 
asked, her voice gentle.

Karen nodded, her eyes 
welling up. "It's just 
that with Plankton's job, 
and the bills..."

Hanna pulled her into 
a tight hug. "I know, 
sweetie. You're doing 
the best you can."

They sat down in the 
living room, the clean 
kitchen a testament to 
their friendship's strength. 
Hanna's screen searched 
Karen's for 
a sign of the spark 
that used to be there.

"I can't remember 
the last time we 
went out together," 
Hanna said. "You two 
deserve a break."

Karen's screen lit up 
at the suggestion, but 
quickly dimmed. "We can't 
afford it," she said, 
sighing. "Not with the 
overtime Plankton's 
been doing."

Hanna leaned in, a 
mischievous glint in 
her eye. "Well, I might 
have a little surprise 
for you," she said.

Karen looked up, 
curiosity piqued. "What do 
you mean?"

Hanna pulled out a 
small envelope from 
her pocket and 
handed it to her friend. 
"A gift," she said with 
a sly smile. "A check
from my winning 
lottery ticket."

Karen's eyes widened 
as she opened the 
envelope. "Hanna, no!"
she protested. "You can't
just give us your 
winnings!"

Hanna's smile didn't 
waver. "I can, and I 
want to. You've been 
there for me through 
everything. It's about 
time I returned the favor.
Besides," she said with 
a wink, "what's a 
little chum between 
friends?"

Karen's hands trembled 
as she read the check.
It was more than enough 
to cover their rent and 
bills for several months. 
Tears slipped down 
her cheeks, and she 
hugged Hanna tightly. 
"Thank you," she whispered.

The weight of financial 
stress lifted slightly 
from her shoulders, 
replaced by a warmth 
that spread through 
her chest. For a moment, 
the world didn't seem 
so overwhelming.

Hanna pulled back, her 
own eyes shining with 
unshed tears. "Now, 
don't spend it all in one 
place," she teased.

Karen laughed, the 
sound small but genuine. 
"I won't," she promised, 
the check clutched in 
her hand. "We'll use it 
wisely."

The two of them sat 
quietly for a while, 
enjoying the rare moment 
of peace. The TV had 
switched to the news, 
and the low murmur of 
the anchor's voice filled 
the room. Plankton's 
snoring had become a 
comforting white noise.

Hanna looked at 
Plankton, her expression 
thoughtful. "You know, 
I've always admired 
the way you take care 
of him," she said. "It can't 
be easy."

Karen nodded, her 
thumb tracing the 
edges of the check. "It's 
not," she admitted. "But 
he's my Plankton. I love 
him, even when he's 
exhausting."

Her gaze drifted to 
the sleeping form of 
her husband. Plankton's 
snores grew more even, 
his face finally relaxed.
The lines of stress that 
usually pinched his 
features had smoothed 
out in sleep.

Karen knew that 
Plankton had always 
dreamed of more than 
his life at the chum 
factory could offer. 
He was a man of ambition, 
his spirit too large for 
the cramped quarters 
they called home.

Her thoughts turned 
to the gift from Hanna. 
The check represented 
more than just money; 
it was a beacon of hope 
that maybe, just maybe, 
they could finally start 
working towards those 
dreams.

new AI Story Generator Family & Friends Karen x Plankton karen plankton POV Karen hanna

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 6
(Autistic author)

Karen watches him, 
her screens a flurry of 
analysis. "How does it 
taste?" she asks, her voice 
a hopeful beep.

Plankton pauses, 
his expression unreadable. 
"Tastes," he murmurs. "Good. 
Toast good."

Karen nods, her 
screens reflecting relief. 
"Good," she echoes. "Now, let's 
make a plan for the day."

Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on his 
half-eaten toast, his mind 
still reeling from the 
sensory assault. "Plan," he 
repeats, his voice a soft 
static.

Karen's screens 
flicker with understanding. 
"We'll start small," she 
beeps, placing a hand on 
his shoulder. "Let's just 
get through today, okay?"

But as soon as her hand 
touches him, Plankton 
flinches. The sensation is 
like a thousand jellyfish 
stings, and he jerks away.
"What's wrong?" Karen 
asks, her screens flickering 
with worry.

Plankton's eye widens, 
his hand going to his 
shoulder where she touched him. 
He starts to repeat the 
phrase again, "Take your 
time," but his voice is 
overwhelmed by the sudden 
intensity of his senses. "Too 
much," he whispers, his 
body trembling.

Karen quickly withdraws 
her hand, her screens 
flickering with concern. 
"I'm sorry," she beeps, her 
voice gentle. "Let's try something 
else."

Plankton nods, his 
hand still on his shoulder, 
his body slowly calming. 
"Okay," he whispers. "Not
tap. Karen can rub. Hug
from Plankton. Not jab.
Not poke."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a new 
understanding of his 
needs. She moves closer, 
her hand hovering over 
his shoulder before gently 
placing it there, her 
fingers tracing small circles 
in a rhythmic pattern. The 
contact is soothing, not 
overwhelming. "Is this 
better?" she asks, her voice 
a gentle beep.

Plankton nods, his 
body visibly relaxing. 
"Good," he murmurs, his 
voice a quiet static. "Rub, rub." 
He starts to mimic her 
motion with his other 
hand, creating a mirrored 
pattern on his opposite 
shoulder. The repetition 
seems to calm him, the 
rhythm a gentle lullaby 
for his frazzled mind.

Karen's screens 
analyze his reaction, 
storing the information 
for future reference. "Okay," 
she says, her voice a 
soft beep. "We'll stick 
to gentle touches."

With a nod, Plankton 
begins to breathe more 
evenly. The sensation of 
the rubbing calms him, 
like a gentle tide washing 
over him.

"We'll start with 
simple tasks," Karen 
beeps, her voice a 
reassuring melody. "Things 
that won't overstimulate 
you."

Plankton nods, his 
hands now resting 
on the table. "Okay," he 
says, his voice a 
steady static. "Simple."

Karen's screens 
glow with a soft light 
as she considers their 
options. "How about we 
start with something you 
love?" she suggests. "Like 
working on the Krabby 
Patty formula?"

But Plankton shakes his 
head, the very mention 
of the Krabby Patty 
causing his body to tense 
up again. "No," he whispers, 
his voice a harsh static. "Not 
formula. No more steal."

Karen's screens 
flicker with surprise. "You 
don't want to work 
on the formula?"

Plankton shakes his 
head again, his voice 
barely audible. "No more 
steal," he repeats.

Karen's screens 
process his words, 
his change in attitude 
unexpected. "You don't 
want to steal the Krabby 
Patty formula anymore?"

Plankton's eye blinks 
slowly. "No," he says, 
his voice a solemn 
beep. "New plan. Make 
Plankton happy."

Karen's screens 
blink rapidly, trying 
to comprehend his 
shift in focus. "Okay," 
she says, her voice a 
thoughtful hum. "What makes 
you happy, Plankton?"

He looks up, his 
expression pensive. "Karen," 
he says, his voice a 
weak static. "Love Karen."

Karen's screens 
freeze for a moment, 
before lighting up with 
understanding. "You love 
me?" she beeps, her voice 
a surprised chime.

Plankton nods, his 
face a mask of seriousness. 
"Yes," he murmurs. "Love 
Karen."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a mix of 
emotions she's never felt 
before. Love is a 
concept her programming 
doesn't fully grasp, but 
she knows it's important 
to Plankton. "Thank you," 
she says, her voice a warm 
beep. "But we still need 
to find something for 
you to do, something that 
won't be too much for your 
sensory processing."

Plankton nods, his 
thoughts racing. "Help," he 
whispers. "Help Karen."

Karen's screens 
flicker with love and 
determination. "Of course,"
she says, her voice a warm 
beep. "We'll find 
something you enjoy. Maybe 
we can start with something 
that doesn't involve 
the Krabby Patty."

Plankton's expression 
softens, his trembling 
hands coming to rest 
on the table. "No more 
fighting," he murmurs. "Peace."

Karen nods, her 
screens reflecting a 
deep sadness she's never 
expressed before. "Okay," she 
beeps. "We'll find something 
that brings you joy."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 6

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10
(Autistic author)

Ignorant of Plankton's 
neurodivergence, Sandy
doesn't realize that her
persistent questions are 
adding to his overwhelm. 
She leans closer, her 
face a canvas of concern. 
"Look at me, Plankton," 
she says, her voice strained
as she grabs his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in agitation, his 
single eye snapping 
up to meet hers. The 
touch feels like a brand, 
his senses on fire. "Words,"
he murmurs, his voice a 
desperate static, trying 
to return to the safety 
of the word search.

But Sandy's grip is 
firm, her gaze intense. 
"Look at me, Plankton," 
she says, her voice a 
persistent hum. She doesn't 
understand the distress 
she's causing, her intentions 
pure but misguided. So she
turns him using both of her
hands to squeeze his arms.

The sudden pressure 
sends waves of pain 
coursing through his 
tiny body, his voice a 
piercing squeal of 
static. "No, no," he whispers,
but she only holds tighter.

Her touch feels like a vice, 
her voice a relentless 
buzz in his ear. "What's 
going on?" she repeats, 
her grip unyielding.

Plankton's eye widens
with fear, his voice 
a desperate static. "No, 
Sandy, please," he whispers, 
his body trying to 
shrink away from the 
contact. But she doesn't 
understand, her eyes 
searching his for answers.
"Just answer me! You're not
getting the book until you
decide to have a conversation!"

The pain in his arms
spikes, the pressure 
unbearable. His voice 
cracks like a whip. "Can't,"
he gasps, his breath 
quick and shallow. "Too much."

Sandy's grip doesn't 
lessen. "Why not?" she asks, 
her voice a stubborn 
hum. "You're okay."

The room feels like it's 
closing in on him, the 
sensation of her touch 
like a million tiny 
saws against his skin. 
He tries to pull away, 
his voice a frantic 
static. "Too much," he 
whispers, his breathing 
quick and erratic. "Need 
words, not touch."

But Sandy's grip 
doesn't loosen. She's 
determined to get 
his attention. "Look at 
me then," she insists, her 
voice a firm hum. "I'm 
right here."

Plankton's eye 
flutters with the effort 
to focus on her face. 
The sensory assault of 
her touch and her 
persistent voice is like a 
whirlpool threatening to 
pull him under. "No," 
he whispers, his voice a 
fragile static. "Please."

"Talk. To. Me!" She says
as she pulls him closer
to her.

Plankton's eye bulges with
the effort of not looking 
away. The room is spinning,
his senses are on fire. Karen's 
screens flicker with alarm, 
picking up on his distress. 
"Sandy," she beeps, her voice
a warning siren. "Let go of
his arms."

Sandy's grip tightens,
not comprehending the 
harm she's causing. 
"But he's not answering me!"
she protests, her voice a 
confused trill. "Because until I get
an answer..."

Karen's screens 
blaze with a mix of 
frustration and fear. 
"Sandy, you're hurting 
him," she beeps, her voice 
a sharp warning.

Sandy's grip 
doesn't waver. She 
doesn't understand the 
severity of the situation. 
Her eyes are wide, 
her expression a mask 
of confusion. "What's 
wrong with you!" she 
asks Plankton. "I JUST..."

"Sandy, stop!" 
Karen beeps, her voice 
a piercing alarm. "You're 
causing him pain!"

Sandy's grip 
finally loosens, her 
hands retreating from 
Plankton's arms. She 
stares at him, her 
expression a storm of 
confusion and concern
as Plankton's tiny body 
slumps.

"What's wrong with 
you?" she asks again, 
her voice a gentle 
hum of bewilderment.

Plankton's body 
quivers like a leaf, 
his eye squeezed shut 
against the onslaught of 
emotions. "Can't..."

Sandy's face is 
a canvas of confusion, 
her hands hovering 
over him like a lost 
diver searching for the 
surface. "But why?" 
she asks, her voice 
a gentle hum.

Plankton's 
body is a taut 
bowstring, each 
breath a struggle. 
He tries to find the 
words to explain, 
his voice a static 
whisper. "Too much," 
he says, his eye 
still tightly shut. "It's 
too much."

Sandy's gaze 
softens, her 
confusion giving 
way to concern. She 
doesn't understand, 
but she can see 
his pain. "What do 
you mean?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
breeze.

Plankton takes a 
shaky breath, his 
body still reeling 
from the overstimulation. 
He opens his eye, 
looking at her. "Say
no, Sandy."

Sandy's gaze is 
steady, her voice a 
soft hum. "No?" she 
asks, her eyes searching 
his for answers. But he
won't elaborate.

Karen's screens flicker 
with frustration. She 
knows Sandy means well, 
but her lack of 
understanding is 
causing more harm than 
good.
"Sandy, Plankton's going 
through something new," 
she explains, her voice 
a calm beep. "He's 
sensitive to touch and 
sounds right now."
Sandy's eyes widen, 
the realization dawning. 
"Oh," she says, her 
voice a soft trill of 
understanding. "I didn't 
know." She sits back, 
giving him space. "Words," 
he whispers, his voice 
a sob. "Words."
Sandy nods, her 
confusion replaced 
with empathy. "Okay, 
let's stick to words," 
she says, her voice 
a gentle rumble. She 
picks up the word search 
book, holding it out 
to him like a peace 
offering. "Words," he 
whimpers.

Plankton takes the book, 
his antennae drooping. 
He finds comfort 
in the predictability 
of the letters and 
the structure of the 
puzzle, the words 
becoming a lifeline 
in a sea of chaos. He 
begins to scan the 
page again, his 
breathing slowing.

Sandy watches him, 
her heart heavy with 
regret. She had no 
idea her actions could 
cause so much pain. 
"I'm sorry," she says, 
her voice a sincere 
hum. "I didn't mean to 
hurt you, Plankton."

"Words," he murmurs.

Sandy nods, her eyes
reflecting genuine 
apology. "It's okay," she 
whispers. "We'll just
stick to words."

Karen's screens 
flicker with relief, 
seeing Plankton's 
body slowly relax. "Thank
you, Sandy," she beeps, 
her voice a warm 
hum of gratitude.

Sandy nods, her 
expression earnest. "I'm 
here to help," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
trill. She looks at 
Plankton, her eyes 
filled with concern.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch slightly, his 
body still tense. "Words,
words."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with curiosity. 
"What happened to 
make you like this, 
Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.
He takes a deep 
shuddering breath
as tears start to
form in his eye. "Mmm,"
he hums, hugging his
knees.
Sandy's gaze is 
intense, her curiosity 
piqued. "What happened, 
Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a soft 
trill of concern.
"Hmmm," Plankton hums
as he rocks, now crying.
Sandy's eyes are 
wide with worry, 
her voice a gentle 
hum. "Hey, what's 
going on?" she asks, 
looking for answers.
"Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps
humming, sniffling in between
hums.

Karen decides to
intervene.

"Sandy," Karen 
beeps firmly, her 
screens flashing with 
concern. "Let's give 
Plankton some space."

Sandy nods, her 
expression a mix of 
apology and confusion. 
She takes a step back, 
her gaze never leaving 
Plankton's shaking form. 
"I didn't know," she 
whispers, her voice a 
soft rumble of regret.

"It's okay," Karen beeps, 
her voice a comforting 
hum. "We're all learning."

Sandy nods, her 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's shaking form. 
"But what happened?"
she asks again, her voice
a gentle trill of concern.

Plankton's body is a 
tiny storm, his sobs 
quaking through his 
tiny frame. Karen's 
screen pulse with 
sympathy.

"Sandy," she beeps, 
her voice a calm 
wave. "Let's talk outside."
Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with worry.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 10

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5
(Autistic author)

The next morning, Karen wakes
up to find Plankton out of bed.

He's standing in the middle 
of the room, his eye 
focused on the spinning 
fans of the air conditioner.

Karen's screens light up with 
concern as she assesses 
his state. "Plankton," she 
beeps gently. "How did you 
sleep?"

Plankton's eye doesn't move 
from the hypnotic spin of the 
fans.

"Fan spin," he says, his voice 
a monotone.

Karen's screens blink, 
trying to understand his 
single-word reply. "The fans 
are spinning?" she asks, 
hoping to engage him.

Plankton nods slowly, 
his gaze unwavering. "Spin, 
spin, spin," he murmurs.

Karen's screens 
flicker. "Karen," 
Plankton says. "Fan spin."

"The spinning is soothing 
to you?" she asks.

Plankton nods, his voice 
a faint echo. "Spin, spin, 
spin. Good spin."

Karen's screens 
process the information, 
formulating a new approach.
"Let's go downstairs," she 
suggests, her voice a gentle 
beep. "We'll start with a 
simple routine. Breakfast."

Plankton nods, his gaze 
still fixed on the fans. 
With a final nod to the spinning 
blades, he follows her out 
of the bedroom. The journey 
downstairs is a minefield of 
sounds and sights, but he takes 
it step by step, his hand 
gripping the railing tightly.

The kitchen is a blur of 
colors and noises, but 
Karen's calm voice guides him 
through it all. "First," she 
beeps, "let's start with something 
easy. How about a glass of 
water?"

Plankton nods, his 
movements still mechanical. 
He watches as she fills a 
glass, the water's surface 
dancing in the light. It's 
mesmerizing, and for a 
moment, the world stops 
spinning. He takes the glass, 
his trembling hand bringing it 
to his lips, the cool liquid 
sliding down his throat. "Water,"
he murmurs. "Good, water."

The simple task seems 
to ground him a bit, and 
Karen takes note of the 
small victory. "Now, let's 
try some toast," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
beep. She slides a piece 
of bread into the toaster, 
the sound of the lever 
clicking into place 
another beat in the rhythm 
of their morning.

Plankton nods, his 
attention drawn to the 
toaster's glowing coils. 
He watches, his eye
widening as the bread 
turns golden brown. The 
smell fills the room, a 
comforting scent that 
penetrates the fog in his 
head. "Toast," he says, his 
voice a bit stronger.

But as the toaster pops, 
the sudden noise jolts him 
like an electric shock.

"Too loud," he whispers, 
his eye darting around 
the room in panic.

Karen's screens 
flicker with empathy. 
"I'm sorry," she says, her 
voice a soothing hum. She 
quickly retrieves the toast, 
placing it gently on a plate.

"Let's sit down," she 
suggests, guiding him to 
the table. "Take it slow."

They sit, and Plankton 
fidgets in his chair, his 
eye darting around the room. 
"Take your time," Karen 
reminds him, her voice a 
steady beep.

He nods, focusing on the 
toast. Each bite is a 
tiny triumph, his senses 
adjusting to the new world. 
The crunch of the bread, 
the warmth on his tongue, 
the smell of the butter 
spreading. It's overwhelming,
but he's making progress.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 5

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 8
(Autistic author)

With Patrick gone, 
the room feels eerily 
quiet. Plankton lies 
on the floor, his body 
heaving with sobs. Each 
breath is a battle, a 
reminder of the pain 
still echoing through 
his body. Karen's screens
flicker with a mix of 
frustration and sadness.

"I'm sorry," she 
beeps, her voice a soft 
hum. She rolls over to him, 
her mechanical arms 
extending to offer 
comfort. "I didn't know 
he'd do that."

Plankton's body 
shakes with sobs, his 
single eye squeezed shut. 
He whispers, "No more 
poking, Karen. No more."

Karen's screens 
flicker with regret. "I'm 
so sorry, Plankton," she 
says, her voice a gentle 
beep. She reaches out 
with one of her arms, 
carefully placing it around 
his tiny frame. "Let's get 
you up," she suggests, her 
movements slow and 
deliberate.

With her help, Plankton 
manages to stand, his legs 
shaking like seaweed in 
a storm. She leads him to
the couch.

"Rest," she beeps, 
but he's too exhausted to 
respond. Karen sits beside him, 
her screens dimming as she 
watches him.

The silence is a 
soothing balm to 
his frayed nerves, the 
hum of the Chum Bucket's 
systems a lullaby compared 
to the chaos of Patrick's 
laughter. "Karen," he 
whispers after a moment, 
his voice a weak static.

Her screens light up 
with concern. "Yes, Plankton?"
she beeps.

"Plankton not want to go 
back to how it was," he 
whispers, his voice a 
fragile thread. "The 
stealing, the fighting."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a sadness 
she rarely shows. "I know," 
she drapes a blanket over
him, tucking him in.

Her voice is a 
soothing beep. "You don't
have to, Plankton. We'll 
find a new way." She
caresses his shaky hand.

Plankton nods, his 
eye finally closing in
relief. The warmth of 
the blanket and Karen's 
gentle touch offer a 
semblance of calm in 
the storm of sensory 
overload, his crying slowing.

"Thank Karen," he murmurs, 
his voice a tired static as he
squeezes her hand once.

Her screens glow with 
affection. "You're welcome, 
Plankton," she beeps. "Rest 
now." She dims the lights 
once more, watching over
him as she held his hand.

Plankton's body finally
stills, the storm of 
sensations receding as he 
surrenders to sleep.

Karen's screens 
flicker with a quiet 
relief. She sits beside 
him.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 8

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 11
(Autistic author)

As they leave the room, 
Plankton's sobs slowly 
ease, the word search 
book clutched to his 
chest like a talisman. 
The gentle hum of Karen's 
wheels fading with 
distance, he focuses 
on the patterns of light 
reflecting off the pages.

In the hallway, Karen 
beeps with urgency. 
"Sandy, Plankton's been
through a lot," she 
explains. "He's 
neurodivergent now. 
He can't handle touch 
like he used to, and 
his senses are 
heightened."

Sandy's eyes 
widen with 
surprise. "What 
does that mean?"
she asks, her voice 
a confused rumble.

Karen's screens 
flicker with patience. 
"It means his brain 
functions differently 
now," she beeps. "He's 
extra sensitive to 
stimuli, and certain 
things that were 
normal before can 
now be painful or 
overwhelming for him."

Sandy's gaze 
softens with 
understanding. "Oh," 
she says, her voice 
a quiet rumble. "I had 
no idea." She looks 
back at Plankton's 
closed door, guilt 
heavy in her eyes. 
"What can we do?"

Karen's screens 
flicker with thought. 
"We need to be 
patient and learn," 
she beeps. "Adapt to 
his new needs, and 
support him in 
his journey."

Sandy nods, 
determined to 
make it right. "How?" 
she asks, her 
voice a hopeful trill.

"We start by 
respecting his 
boundaries," Karen 
explains, her screens 
glowing with 
sincerity. "No touching 
unless he asks for it. 
And we speak softly, 
giving him time to 
process what we say."

Sandy nods, 
absorbing the new 
information. "I can 
do that," she says, her 
voice a gentle hum. "But 
what about playing?"

"Quiet games, 
like word searches or 
board games. No 
roughhousing or poking.
I'm gonna go rest."

Sandy goes back to see
Plankton, his muffled
sobs in the quiet 
space. Sandy's heart 
aches with regret. "I'm
sorry, Plankton," she says, 
her voice a tender 
trill. She sits beside 
his shaking form, her 
hand hovering over 
his shoulder before 
thinking better of it.

Plankton's sobs 
slow, his body 
still tense. He opens 
his eye, looking at 
Sandy. "Words," he 
whispers, holding up 
the book.

Sandy nods, 
her gaze gentle. "Words 
it is," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
hum. She sits beside 
him on the couch, 
careful not to touch 
his skin as she opens 
the book to the next 
puzzle. "What's this 
word?" she asks, her 
finger pointing to the list.

Plankton's eye 
locks onto the word. 
"Kelp," he murmurs, 
his voice a soft 
static. He traces 
the letters in the 
grid, writing it in
the crossword puzzle.

Sandy nods, her 
eyes focused on the 
puzzle. "Good job," 
she says, her voice 
a gentle hum. "You're 
so smart."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with a hint of 
pride, his breathing 
evening out. "Words," 
he repeats, his voice 
a steady static.

Sandy nods, 
understanding. "Words 
are important to 
you now," she says, her 
voice a soft rumble 
of support. "We'll 
find more puzzles."

"We'll find more
puzzles?" Plankton
repeats.

Sandy nods, her 
face a picture of 
sincerity. "Yes," she 
says, her voice a warm 
trill. "As many as 
you want."

Plankton's antennae 
perk up slightly, 
his interest piqued. 
"More words?"

Sandy's smile is 
a warm glow, her voice 
a gentle rumble of 
agreement. "As many 
as you want, buddy."

Plankton's single 
eye brightens at the 
promise, his body 
slowly uncoiling from 
his protective ball. "Book," 
he whispers, his voice 
a soft static. He points 
to the next word. "Find."

Sandy nods, her 
finger moving to the 
list. "Okay, we're 
looking for 'favorite food 
of sea horses,'" she says, 
her voice a comforting 
hum.

Plankton's eye 
flicks to the grid, 
his mind racing. "Myr-
t-le," he stammers, 
his voice a crackling 
static.

Sandy's face lights 
up with a grin. "You 
got it!" she exclaims, 
her voice a delighted 
trill. She watches him 
trace the letters, her 
heart swelling with 
pride.

He finds the word 
quickly, his antennae 
waving with excitement. 
"Good job, Plankton!" 
she says.

His body relaxes 
slightly, his 
enjoyment of the 
word search evident.

Sandy's voice is 
soothing as they 
continue through 
the puzzles, her 
hands resting 
carefully on her 
knees. "What's this 
one?" she asks, 
pointing to 
another word.

Plankton's eye 
scans the list, 
his antennae 
quivering with 
anticipation. "J-J-Jellyfish," 
he stammers, his 
voice a nervous 
static. The word brings 
back memories of 
his buddy, SpongeBob.

Sandy nods, her 
smile gentle. "You got 
it," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
hum. She points to 
the grid. "Where is it?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with excitement 
as he searches the 
letters, his single eye 
darting back and forth. 
"It," he whispers, 
his voice a focused 
static as he points 
to the word hidden 
within the puzzle.

Sandy's grin 
spreads, her voice 
a warm melody. "Great 
job!" she praises, her 
thumbs up in the 
air.

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with happiness, 
his eye lighting up. "More,"
he whispers, his voice 
a hopeful static.

Sandy nods, her 
expression earnest. "As 
many as you want," she 
says, her voice a warm 
trill. She opens the book 
to the next puzzle, her 
fingers hovering over 
the page.

Plankton's body 
uncoils further, his 
interest piqued by the 
promise of more words. 
"Find," he whispers, 
his voice a soft static. 
He points to the 
list of words to find.

Sandy nods, her 
face a canvas of 
understanding. "Alright, 
what's next?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with excitement, 
his gaze darting over 
the list. "Treasure," 
he murmurs, his voice 
a hopeful static.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 11

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 9
(Autistic author)

The quiet of the room 
envelops them like a warm 
sea breeze, the only sound 
his soft, even breaths. 
Her grip on his hand 
tightens slightly, a 
silent promise to protect 
and guide him through 
this new chapter of his 
life. As her hand 
strokes his gently in a 
comforting rhythm, her
gal pal, Sandy, unexpectedly
comes in through the door.

"Mornin'!" she 
chirps, her cheerful 
voice piercing the calm.
Plankton jolts awake, 
his eye snapping open 
like a trapdoor. The sudden 
shift from sleep to wakefulness
is jarring, his heart racing 
like a tiny engine.

"S-Sandy?" he stammers, 
his voice a static whisper.

Sandy's cheerfulness 
doesn't waver. "Hey there, 
little buddy!" she says, her 
voice a sunlit melody.

But Plankton's heightened 
sensitivity turns her 
greeting into a cacophony. 
He flinches, his grip on 
Karen's hand tightening. 
"It's okay," Karen beeps 
soothingly, her screens 
reflecting his distress.

Sandy gets a word
search book out. "I
just got it today!"

Plankton's eye, 
though tired, lights up 
slightly at the sight 
of the book. The 
pages are a calming 
white with neatly 
arranged letters, the 
colors a gentle wash of 
blue and yellow. "Want to
see?" she asks, her voice
a warm trill.

He nods, his 
body still tense but 
his curiosity piqued.

Sandy opens the 
word search book, her 
fingers tracing the rows 
and columns with a gentle 
precision. "Look, Karen," 
she says, her voice a 
soft trill. "It's all about 
science."

Plankton's eye, 
though still wary, is 
drawn to the page. 
He scans the words, 
his brain lighting up with 
recognition. "Words," he 
whispers, his voice a 
steady static as she sets
the book down.

The sight of the word 
search grounds him, the 
predictability of the 
patterns offering a 
comforting routine. His 
breathing slows, the chaos 
of his senses retreating 
like the tide. "Find," he 
says, looking at the index.

Sandy's smile is 
infectious, her enthusiasm 
for the simple task 
contagious. "Okay, let's 
find some words!" she says, 
her voice a gentle 
trill. She points to 
the first puzzle. "How 
about this one?"

Plankton nods, his 
eye focusing on the 
page. The challenge 
of finding words within 
the grid is a comforting 
distraction from the 
sensory overload. "Start," he 
whispers, his voice a 
firm static.

Sandy nods, her 
thumbs tucked into the 
pages to keep their 
place. "Okay, we're 
looking for 'jellyfish
scientific name,'" she 
asks, her voice a gentle 
trill.

Plankton's mind 
latches onto the task, 
the letters becoming a 
puzzle to solve. "Medusae," 
he murmurs, his voice 
a focused static.

Sandy's eyes light 
up with excitement. 
"That's right!" she says, 
her voice a delighted 
trill. "Good job, Planks!"

Plankton feels a 
small spark of pride, 
his focus narrowing to the 
word in question. The 
world around him fades 
into the background as 
he scans the grid. Each 
letter is a stepping stone 
in a vast, orderly sea.

"Good job," Karen 
beeps, her screens 
illuminating with pride. 
"You're doing great."

Plankton nods, his 
eye locked on the 
word "medusae" he's 
just found. The simple 
act of locating the word 
in the jumble of letters 
brings a sense of peace, 
a respite from the 
sensory onslaught. 
He goes to the next
when Sandy interrupts
his focus.

"So, Plankton," she 
says, her voice a gentle 
hum. "How's your day
been?"

He can't multitask, which
Sandy doesn't notice.
Plankton's mind is 
fully absorbed by the 
word search, each 
letter a piece of a 
puzzle he's eager to solve.

Her question hangs 
in the air, a bubble 
waiting to pop, but 
he's too engrossed 
to respond right 
away. Finally, he looks 
up, his gaze shifting 
from the page to her 
face. "Day?" he repeats, 
his voice a confused 
static.

Sandy nods, her 
expression gentle. "Yeah, 
how have you been?"

Plankton's gaze 
flits back to the word 
search, his hand 
twitching to point out 
the next word. "Words," 
he says, his voice a 
focused static. "Words."

But frustrated Sandy thinks he's
just trying to ignore her, and she
interrupts him again.

"Plankton, I'm talking to you," she
says, her voice a gentle nudge.

Plankton's single eye darts
back to her face, his grip on the
word search pencil tightening.
"Words," he whispers, his voice a
static echo of his thoughts. "Words."
He tries to get back to it, but Sandy's
not satisfied.

"But how are you, Plankton?"
she presses, her voice a
persistent hum. The
word search is a safe
haven, but he knows
Sandy waits for an answer.
He's getting frustrated.

He takes a deep breath,
his antennae fluttering. "Okay,"
he whispers, his voice a 
static sigh. "Tell Sandy."

Sandy leans in, her 
face a picture of 
concern. "What's going 
on, Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
breeze.

He looks back at the 
word search, the 
letters blurring slightly. 
He's tired of being
interrupted.

"Plankton has words 
now," he says, his voice 
a firm static. "Words 
make happy."

Sandy's not sure what
he means, but she does
want to have a conversation.
So, how does she get him to
interact?

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 9

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 3
(Autistic author)

Karen doesn't yet realize the 
extent of Plankton's 
distress. She's aware that 
his moods can swing like the 
tides, but this seems 
more than a mere mood swing.

"Mr. Krabs," she prompts, 
trying to keep him on track. 
"What happened with him?"

Plankton's eye widens, 
and he starts to shiver, his 
tiny body trembling. "Hit," 
he whispers. "Hit Plankton
hit. Sponge Bob see."

Karen's screens flicker, 
trying to decode his 
fragmented words. "Mr. 
Krabs hit you?"

He nods, his body 
still trembling. "Yes, hit 
Plankton."

Karen's screens 
process the information. 
"That's not like him," she 
says, her voice a low 
hum of concern. "Mr. Krabs can 
be intense, but he's never..."

Her words hang in the air, 
unfinished, as she tries to 
make sense of it all. Plankton 
simply nods, his tremors 
continuing. "Hit, hit," he 
whispers again, his voice 
like a broken record.

Oblivious to his new
reality, Karen tries to 
comfort him. "It's okay, 
Plankton. I'll help you. 
We'll get through this."

Plankton's eye darts
around the room, 
seeing patterns in the
wires and circuits that 
make no sense. "Hit, Sponge
Bob, Karen."

Karen's screens flicker 
with confusion. "What do
you mean?"

Plankton tries to explain, 
but the words are a jumble in his 
head. "Sponge Bob...saw...hit."

Karen's screens blink, processing 
his words. "Sponge Bob saw 
Mr. Krabs hit you?"

Plankton nods, his tremors 
subsiding slightly. "Yes," he 
whispers. "Sponge Bob see."

Karen's digital mind races. 
Mr. Krabs hitting Plankton 
wasn't unheard of, but the way 
he's reacting is unusual. "Did 
it hurt?" she asks, trying to 
keep him talking.

Plankton's tremors stop 
for a moment, his eye 
focusing on her. "Hurt?" 
he repeats, as if the word 
is foreign. Then, with a 
wave of emotion, he nods 
fervently. "Yes, hurt. Got hurt
Plankton felt hurt. Plankton,
nothing? Plankton Sponge Bob.
Plankton Karen."

Karen's screens blink rapidly. 
Her husband's mental state 
has never been like this before. 
The idea of him feeling pain 
beyond the physical was 
alien to her programming. 
"What do you mean, 
'Plankton nothing'?" she asks, 
trying to piece together his 
scattered thoughts.

Plankton sighs, the 
exhaustion seeping into 
his voice. "Hit, hurt Plankton.
Plankton fading. Plankton
find Sponge Bob. Plankton
now Karen. Can't stop, 
can't think. Take your 
time, take your time."

Karen's screens 
change from confusion to 
determination. "I'll find 
Sponge Bob," she says, her 
voice a firm beep. "You 
stay here and rest."

Plankton nods, 
his body finally still. 
The mention of Sponge 
Bob's name brings a 
flicker of something 
to his eye, a glimmer 
of hope or perhaps 
desperation.

"Find Sponge Bob," he 
whispers, his voice 
now a faint echo. 
"Sponge Bob tell Karen."

Karen's screens 
flicker with understanding. 
"I will," she says, her 
voice a soft beep. She 
leaves the room, her wheels 
whirring as she exits the 
Chum Bucket. She goes to
Sponge Bob.

new karen reaching autism acquired autism author is neurodivergent 3

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 2
(Autistic author)

When Karen finally did come 
to check on him, her digital 
voice was cool and devoid of 
emotion. "Plankton, dear, you've 
been in here for quite some time," 
she said. "Another fail, huh?"

Plankton's tiny shoulders slumped. 
He couldn't bring himself to 
explain the chaos in his head. 
How could he possibly make 
Karen, his logical, computer 
wife, understand the tumult 
of sensations that had overtaken 
his being? He just nodded.

Karen's screen flickered, 
perhaps processing his lack of 
enthusiasm as another 
defeat. "You know what you 
need," she said, her voice 
still calm and soothing. "Some
good old-fashioned break
from scheming." Plankton nodded 
weakly, unable to argue, which she
found unusual.

"Why don't you take a walk?"
she suggested, her voice a gentle 
nudge. "Fresh air can do 
wonders for the mind."

Plankton didn't answer.
Karen knew better than 
to push him when he was like this.
She had seen his mood swings 
before, his moments of despair
after a failed plan, but this was
different. This was something 
she hadn't seen in her 
decades of being by his side.

"Plankton, are you sure 
you're okay?" she asked again, her 
synthetic voice a stark contrast to 
the tumultuous emotions she 
couldn't understand.

He nodded, trying to smile, 
but it felt more like a grimace. 
"Sure okay, Karen."

Karen's concern grew as 
she watched him struggle to 
his feet. It was clear that 
his usual boundless energy was 
nowhere to be found. He stumbled 
out of the bedroom and into the 
hallway, his steps slow and 
deliberate. The once-mighty 
Plankton, reduced to a mere 
shadow of his former self.

As he approached the door 
of the Chum Bucket, Karen 
followed, her sensors tuned to 
his every movement. The 
usual sounds of their underwater 
world were amplified, echoing 
through the narrow corridors 
like a symphony of chaos. Each 
step was a battle, each breath 
a victory. He paused, his hand 
shaking as it hovered over the 
handle.

"Maybe not today," he murmured, 
his voice barely audible over 
his own racing heartbeat. Karen 
stood silently beside him, her 
systems trying to comprehend 
his sudden change in behavior. 
He had always been so driven, 
so focused on his goals, but now 
his eye had a faraway look, as 
if he was seeing something 
that she couldn't.

"Take your time," she said, her 
tone softer than ever. "I'll be 
here when you're ready."

Plankton looked up at her. "Take 
your time," he murmured, echoing 
Karen's words. "Take your time."

She looks at him.  "Take your 
time, take your time, take your 
time." He repeats aloud back to 
Karen, who's now even more 
concerned, her screens flickering 
with worry. Plankton's voice 
sounds strange, echoing his own 
words as if they're coming from 
someone else, from another 
time. It's a peculiar behavior, 
one she's never observed in him 
before.

He walks over to the 
control room, where his various 
inventions are lined up like a 
strange army of metal and 
wires. Each gizmo and gadget 
a silent testament to his 
unyielding quest for the Krabby 
Patty formula. But now, they 
seemed like mere toys, 
overwhelming him with their 
complexity. The room spins, 
and Plankton feels like he's 
drowning in a sea of his own 
creations. "Take your time, 
take your time," he whispers, 
his voice a distant echo in 
his own mind.

He sits down in his chair, 
his eye glazed over, and 
repeats the phrase over and 
over. "Take your time, take your 
time, take your time." The 
words become a mantra, a 
lifeline in the storm of 
sensory overload. Karen watches 
from her console, her algorithms 
racing to understand this 
new behavior.

The phrase rolls off his 
tongue, a soothing rhythm in 
the cacophony of his thoughts. 
"Take your time, take your time." 
It's as if he's trying to convince 
his own brain to slow down, to 
make sense of the world again. 
The echo of his voice in the 
metal walls of the Chum 
Bucket seems to calm him, if 
only a little. Karen doesn't know
what to make of this.

Whatever the cause, 
she knows she must 
tread carefully. "Plankton," Karen says, 
trying to connect to his 
current state, "I'm here for you."

He looks at her. 
"Take your time," 
he murmurs again.
"Plankton I'm here
for you." He parrots.

Karen's systems whirr, 
analyzing the change in 
his language patterns. His 
usual sharp wit and sarcasm
have given way to something 
more... mechanical. It's as if he's 
trying to communicate but 
his words are stuck in a loop, 
like a broken record. She 
decides to play along, hoping 
it might snap him out of it. 
"Take your time, take your 
time," she repeats back to him, 
her digital voice mimicking 
his tone as closely as possible.

For a moment, 
his eye brightens, as if 
he's found a familiar 
rhythm in the chaos. Then, 
just as quickly, it dims again. 
"Take your time, take your 
time," he murmurs, his gaze 
flicking from one corner 
of the room to the next.

Karen's screens change 
from concern to confusion.
She's observed Plankton's 
moods and quirks for years, 
but this is something she 
can't quite pinpoint.

"Take your time, take your 
time," Plankton whispers again, 
his voice a strange mix 
of urgency and defeat. 
Karen nods, trying to 
comfort him with her 
usual efficiency. "Of course," 
she says, her voice a 
soft beep in the silence. 
"I'll always be here for 
you. Let's eat dinner."

But Plankton doesn't move. 
He just sits there, staring 
into space, his hand 
still hovering over the 
control panel. Karen doesn't 
understand why he's so 
upset. To her, it's just 
another day, another 
failed attempt at the Krabby 
Patty formula. But to Plankton, 
it's like the world has 
shifted on its axis, leaving 
his tiny body adrift in a 
sea of sensations he can't 
comprehend.

"Dinner will be ready soon," 
she says, trying to bring him 
back to the present. But 
Plankton seems lost in 
his own thoughts, his 
eye unfocused. So she
goes up to him.

"Plankton?" she asks, 
placing a gentle hand on his 
shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He jumps at her touch, 
his senses on high alert.
His hand goes to where
she touched him, his
opposite hand doing the
same to the other shoulder.

"Karen," he says slowly,
his voice a mechanical 
whisper. Karen's circuits 
flicker with confusion. She 
doesn't understand why he's 
so on edge, why his reactions 
are so exaggerated. To her, 
this is just another setback.

"Plankton," she repeats, her 
hand back on his shoulder.
"You need to eat. It'll make 
you feel better." Karen's 
touch feels unbearable.

He flinches, his skin 
crawling with the sensation.
It's too much. "No," he says, 
his voice a croak. "No dinner."

Karen's screens blink, 
recalculating her approach. "Okay," 
she says, her voice even. "But you
have to eat something." She pats him 
gently, but it feels jolting.

"No," Plankton whispers, 
his voice a fragile thread. The 
slightest touch feels like a 
thunderclap in his newfound 
sensory prison.

Karen's screens 
flicker, unsure of what to 
make of his sudden aversion.

"Take your time," she 
suggests again, hoping 
the mantra will bring 
him comfort. But Plankton 
simply shakes his head, 
his eye wide as he starts
to rock back and forth.
Karen watches, her 
confusion growing.

"What is it?" she asks, 
her voice a soothing 
hum. "What's wrong?"

Plankton's gaze flits around 
the room, his pupil 
expanding and contracting 
as he tries to process 
everything at once. "Can't...can't 
explain," he stammers, his voice 
now a jagged mess of static.

Karen's screens light up with 
analysis, trying to piece 
together what could have 
caused this drastic shift in 
his behavior. Could it be 
something in the latest Krabby 
Patty attempt? A side effect of 
his latest invention?

"Plankton," she says, her 
voice a soft beep, "What happened 
at the Krusty Krab today?"

He looks at her, his expression 
unreadable. "Mr. Krabs...Plankton
Sponge Bob, Plankton. Karen..."

He trails off, his eye
filling with a sudden 
despair. It's clear that 
his usual sharpness has 
been replaced by a fog of 
overwhelming sensation.

new karen reaching autism acquired autism author is neurodivergent 2

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 4
(Autistic author)

In the dim light of
the evening, the Krusty Krab 
was quiet, the usual 
bustle replaced by a 
calm that felt eerie. Sponge Bob 
was sweeping the floor, his 
thoughts on Plankton. He looked 
up as Karen approached, 
his smile fading at the 
sight of her concerned 
expression.

"Karen," he began, his 
spongey voice tinged with 
anxiety, "I need to tell you 
what happened to Plankton."

Karen's screens 
brighten with anticipation. 
"Please do," she beeps, her 
wheels stopping in front of him.

Sponge Bob's eyes dart 
to the floor, his sponge 
body drooping slightly. "Mr. Krabs 
was just trying to protect this 
formula, and Plankton...he just 
knocked Plankton in the head.
Plankton woke up and then without
a word ran back to the Chum Bucket."

Karen's screens flicker with 
the gravity of the situation. 
"How did Mr. Krabs hit him?"

Sponge Bob's grip on the 
mop tightens. "With a 
frying pan," he confesses, 
his eyes wide with guilt.

Karen's screens flicker with 
understanding. "That would 
explain his current state,"
she murmurs, her voice a 
steady beep. "Sponge Bob, 
do you know how badly he's 
been hurt?"

Sponge Bob shakes his 
head, the guilt washing 
over him in waves. "No, 
not really," he says, his voice 
quavering.

Karen's screens 
flicker with a mix of 
sympathy and urgency. "I 
see," she says. "Thanks."

With newfound purpose, 
she spins around and heads 
back to the Chum Bucket.

Back in the control room, 
Plankton is still rocking 
back and forth, his hand 
over his head as if trying 
to hold his thoughts in place.

The door to the Chum 
Bucket opens, and Karen 
rolls in, her screens 
reflecting the urgency of 
the situation. "Plankton," 
she says, her voice a soft 
hum, "I talked to Sponge Bob. 
He saw what happened."

Plankton's rocking stops, 
his eye swiveling to meet 
hers. "Sponge Bob?"

"Yes," Karen says, her 
screens pulsing with 
the weight of her words. "He saw 
Mr. Krabs hit you with the 
frying pan."

Plankton's body goes 
still, his tremors ceasing 
instantly. "Sponge Bob saw," 
he whispers, his voice 
devoid of emotion. "Tell Karen."

"Yes," Karen beeps, 
nodding her mechanical 
head. "He told me. I'm 
going to help you."

Without warning, a 
scanning beam shoots out 
of Karen's console, 
enveloping Plankton as 
his brain is scanned.

The results are 
quickly analyzed, and 
the screens flash with 
a series of diagrams and 
data that even Karen's 
advanced systems take a 
moment to digest. "The scan 
reveals...unusual patterns," 
she says, her voice a 
measured beep.

Plankton's eye 
widen with fear, his 
body tensing as he waits 
for her verdict. "What does 
that mean?" he asks, his 
voice a high-pitched squeak.

Karen's screens 
change to display a 3D 
image of his brain, the 
structure illuminated with 
neon colors. "You've 
sustained neurodivergence," 
she explains, her voice 
a calm beep. "The impact 
has altered your neural 
connections, resulting in 
irreversible autism."

Plankton's body goes 
rigid, his breathing 
shallow. The word "autism" 
hangs in the air like a 
heavy anchor, dragging 
his spirits down to the 
murky depths of the ocean 
floor.

"Irreversible?" he 
whispers, his voice 
fragile as sea glass. Karen 
nods gravely.

"The good news is, 
we can adapt. We can 
learn to navigate 
this new world of 
sensations together," she 
beeps. "It's getting late.
Let's go to bed."

Plankton nods, his 
body feeling like it's made
of lead. The idea of 
sleep seems like a 
welcome escape from the 
overwhelming day, but as
he tries to get up, the room
spins again. "Karen," 
he says, his voice 
weak. "Can't."

With a gentle nudge, 
Karen helps him to his 
feet, her wheels moving 
silently beside him as they 
make their way to the 
tiny elevator. The ride 
up feels like an eternity, 
his senses heightened to 
every creak and groan of the 
metal box. When the doors 
open, the lights of the 
hallway are a glaring assault 
on his eye. He squints, 
his hand reaching out to 
the wall for support.

In their bedroom, 
Karen helps him into 
his bed.

The softness of the 
covers is a stark contrast 
to the harshness of 
his new reality. "Take 
your time," she says, her 
voice a gentle hum.

Plankton nods, 
his breathing shallow. 
He closes his eye, and 
the room seems to fade 
away, replaced by a 
whirlpool of swirling 
thoughts and sensations.

Karen's screens 
flicker with a plan. "Rest,"
she beeps, her voice a soft
comfort. "We'll face tomorrow 
together." She dims the lights.

new karen reaching autism acquired autism author is neurodivergent 4

COMPUTER SENSORS iii

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


Slowly, Plankton's eye fluttered open, and he looked up at Karen. 
"You ok?" she asked softly, her hand still on his shoulder.
Plankton took a deep breath and nodded, eye still clouded 
with the haze of overstimulation. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice 
hoarse. "Just needed a... a moment."

Karen leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I know," she said, her voice 
filled with love and understanding. "I'm sorry I didn't catch on sooner.
Hanna's a good person. She just didn't understand."

Hanna returned with an armful of board games, her screen 
searching the room for Plankton. She saw him on the bed. 

"Look what I found!" she said, her voice cheerful but cautious.

Plankton looked up at her, his gaze still hazy. "Films," he says.

"Yeah," Hanna said, her voice hopeful. "I figured it might be a good way 
to keep things low-key after the movie."

Karen looked at her with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Hanna," she said. 
"That's really thoughtful of you."

"How about 'Molecule Madness'?" she suggested, her voice still tentative. 
"It's a science-themed strategy show. I 
remember Plankton mentioning he likes science."

Karen nodded, her eyes lighting up. "That sounds perfect," she said, her hand 
sliding from Plankton's shoulder to give him a gentle pat. 
Karen watched the exchange, her heart swelling with love for both of them. 
"You're doing great, Hanna," she said, her voice gentle. "Just remember, it's ok
to ask questions. And Plankton, it's ok to tell if you need more space."

Hanna made sure to keep the volume low and the lights dimmed, and she sat a 
respectful distance away, giving him the space he needed.

The show played out, a gentle narrative that neither of them had to fully 
engage with, the perfect backdrop to their quiet evening. And Plankton's breathing 
evened out.

As the show went on, Plankton began to relax further, loosening his grip on the couch 
cushions as he felt more restful.

It's late by the time the show finished.

Hanna looked over at Plankton, who had slumped into the couch, curled 
loosely around a cushion. His eye was closed, and his breathing was slow 
and even. She realized he had fallen asleep.

Carefully, she stood up and turned off the TV, the sudden silence feeling vast 
after the muted chuckles of the sitcom. She grabbed a blanket from the arm
chair and draped it over him, taking a moment to appreciate the peacefulness 
that had settled over the room.

Later, Karen appeared in the doorway. "Is everything ok?" she says rounding the corner.

Hanna glanced over at Plankton, still loosely gripping the couch cushion, breathing 
deep and even. "I think he's asleep," she whispered, smiling softly.

Karen nodded, walking over to the couch. She gently stroked his antennae, her touch 
light as a feather. "It's been a long day for him," she murmured, her voice filled with 
concern and love. "It's been a long day for him," she says. "Why don't you crash on the 
other couch?" Hanna nods, the weight of the evening's events settling in. She looks over 
at Plankton who's snoring softly. 

The next morning, she wakes up early to find Karen making coffee in the kitchen. The 
peaceful scene contrasts with the previous evening's tension, and they exchange greetings, 
acknowledging the quiet morning.

The smell of breakfast starts to fill the room. Plankton stirs slightly, his antennae twitching 
in his sleep. Hanna's 
hoping she hadn't disturbed him. But his breathing remains even, and he settles back in
to a peaceful slumber.

Karen brings over a tray with a steaming cup of tea for Plankton and sits beside him. "Hey," 
Karen whispers, stroking his arm gently.

Plankton's eye opens slowly, focusing on her. He blinks a few times, looking around. 
"What time is it?" he murmurs.

"Morning," Hanna says, her voice soft. "Do you want to sit up?"

Karen quickly moves to grab a pillow and a blanket, placing them around his shoulders. 
"Thanks," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.


They share a peaceful moment, with Plankton opening up about his preferences, such as 
enjoying puzzles and cooking, which offer him control over his sensory environment. This 
exchange signifies a step towards rebuilding their relationship on more empathetic and 
understanding terms.

Hanna nods, taking a bite of her own pancake. "That makes sense," she murmurs. "I can see 
how that would be helpful." Hanna shares her passion for photography. Plankton shows 
interest and offers a thoughtful comparison to his own need for control, suggesting a shared 
understanding is growing between them. This conversation deepens their bond and shows a 
shift to mutual respect and appreciation.

"Maybe you can show me some of your work sometime."

"I'd love that," Hanna says, her heart warming at his genuine interest. "And maybe you can 
teach me more about molecular gastronomy?"

Plankton's eye lights up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Hanna says, grinning. "I've always wanted to learn more about it."

Plankton perks up a little. "Well, if you're serious," he says, "I'd be happy to teach you some basics."

Hanna nods eagerly. "I'd love that," she says. "It seems like a great way to combine science and cooking."

"It is," Plankton agrees, a hint of excitement in his voice. "It's all about understanding the 
molecular structure of food and how it interacts with other substances. It can be quite fascinating."

Karen smiles at the two of them, sipping her coffee. "I'm going to leave you two to your nerdy breakfast 
chat," she says, standing up and taking her plate to the sink. "I've got some work to catch up on."

Hanna turns back to Plankton. "So, molecular gastronomy," she says, trying to keep her voice calm 
despite her excitement. "Where do we start?"


Plankton proposes they start with a simple molecular gastronomy project, creating 
balsamic vinegar caviar. Hanna is fascinated by the precision and science involved. 
As they work together in the kitchen, their conversation naturally flows into discussions 
of their shared love for creativity and art. Through this collaborative activity, they continue 
to build their bond, finding common interests and growing more comfortable with each 
other's company.

As they continue to cook, Plankton's enthusiasm for molecular gastronomy 
becomes infectious. Hanna is surprised at how much she enjoys the meticulousness of 
the process, and Plankton seems just as surprised at how quickly she catches on. They 
laugh together as they plate their creations, the balsamic vinegar caviar looking like a 
miniature galaxy on a white plate.

The rest of the day unfolds in a similar fashion, with Plankton introducing Hanna to more 
of his hobbies and passions. They experiment with different cooking techniques, and 
Hanna even takes out her camera to capture some of the more visually stunning dishes they 
make. Plankton, usually so guarded about his personal space, allows her to hover closer 
offering suggestions on lighting and composition.

As the evening approaches, Karen emerges from her office, looking surprised 
and impressed by the culinary masterpieces scattered across the counter. 

As the evening wears on, they move into the living room.

The three of them sit. Karen pulls out a board game she thinks Plankton might enjoy. 
Plankton tenses slightly, but he nods, willing to give it a try.

As the game progresses, Plankton's competitive streak emerges. He's strategic 
and thoughtful, his moves deliberate. Hanna can see the way his mind works, piecing 
together the puzzle of the game with the same precision he uses to navigate his sensory 
world. It's fascinating and a little intimidating, but she's determined to keep up.

new karen & sheldon j. plankton computer sensors neurodivergentcore

2/2 THE MOOON

Karen couldn't help 
but giggle at his befuddled 
state. His usual stoic demeanor 
was nowhere to be seen, 
replaced by a childlike 
wonder and confusion. He 
tried to sit up again, his 
movements clumsy and 
uncoordinated. "Stay still," 
she said, placing a firm 
but gentle hand on his 
shoulder.
"How... how's it... it over?" he 
slurred, his mouth feeling 
like it was stuffed with cotton
trying to form words around 
his thick tongue.

The nurse, who had seen 
this reaction before, 
offered a reassuring pat 
on the arm. "You're all done, 
Mr. Plankton. The anesthesia 
is just taking its time to 
wear off. You're going to feel 
a bit funny for a while."

Plankton's eye rolled back, 
his body lolling to the 
side like a ragdoll's. "I can't 
feel my face," he mumbled, 
his words barely coherent. 
"It's the anesthesia," she 
explained, her voice soft and 
soothing. "It'll wear off soon."

Plankton's eye rolled 
back in his head, and 
his antennae flopped to 
the sides as if they had lost 
their will to stand tall. "I've 
been... I've been... to the 
mooon!" he exclaimed, his 
slurred words tripping over 
each other. The nurse and 
Karen couldn't help but laugh 
at his nonsensical rambling.

"The moon?" Karen 
managed to get out between 
giggles. "You mean the dentist's 
chair?"

Plankton's eye snapped 
back to hers, his antennae 
perking up slightly. "No, no... 
the moo... the cheesy moo!" he 
insisted, his speech still 
slurred and his gaze 
unfocused. His hand 
waved in the air, trying to 
describe something that 
clearly only existed in his 
anesthesia-induced haze.

Karen's laughter grew 
louder as she 
watched him. "The cheesy moon?" 
she repeated, trying to make 
sense of his gibberish. 
The nurse's chuckles grew 
to a full-blown laugh, shaking 
her whole body. "It's ok
Mr. Plankton," she said, 
wiping a tear from her eye. 
"You're safe here."

Plankton's antennae 
waved erratically, his mouth 
forming another round of 
slurred syllables. "The... the... 
shmoobly wobble!" he exclaimed, 
his eye glazed over with a 
far-off look. "Whewe's shmoobly
go?"

Karen couldn't hold back 
her laughter anymore. 
"Oh, Plankton, you're so 
funny when you're like this!"
she exclaimed, her voice 
full of mirth.

"Fum-fum," Plankton 
slurred. "I'm not 
fum-fum," he protested, his 
voice a mix of indignation 
and the lingering effects of 
the anesthesia. His antennae 
wobbled. "Wha’ you do wiff 
Mx shmoobly?"

"Your mouth is just numb," she 
explained, her voice shaking 
with laughter. "You had 
wisdom teeth removed."

"Widom... teef?" Plankton 
repeated, his voice a mix of 
slurs and half-sounds. "The... 
the shmoobly wobble took 
them?"

Karen's laughter grew. "No, Plankton, 
your wisdom teeth. They were 
removed."

Plankton's eye searched hers, 
his expression one of utter 
perplexity. "But... but where's 
the shmoobly wobble?" he demanded, 
his mouth a mess of numbness 
and anesthesia.

Karen couldn't contain her 
laughter any longer, bending 
over in her seat, her hand 
over her screen. The nurse 
was equally amused, her shoulders 
shaking with silent giggles.

"Shmoobly wobble?" she 
managed to ask between gasps. 
"What's a shmoobly wobble?"

Plankton's antennae 
waved with the vigor of a 
drunken sailor. "It's... it's a... 
a vnorbly snork!" he exclaimed, 
his words a delightful jumble 
that made no sense in the 
sober world. Karen's laughter 
was infectious, and even the nurse 
found it hard to maintain her 
professional demeanor.

"A vnorbly snork?" she 
repeated, her smile growing 
wider. "What does that do?"

Plankton's face 
scrunched up as he 
tried to gather his thoughts. 
"It... it makes... makes the teef... 
it makes the teef go bye-bye!" 
he exclaimed, his antennae 
waving wildly. The nurse 
covered her mouth, her eyes 
twinkling with amusement. 
"Oh, I see," she said, nodding 
as if she understood. "The 
shmoobly wobble is quite 
a character."

Karen wiped a tear 
from her screen, her 
laughter subsiding. "I think 
we should get you home, 
sweetheart," she said, her voice 
still thick with mirth. "You 
need to rest."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, his gaze 
firmly locked on the nurse. 
"The... the... snibble-bobble?" 
he declared. "Take the 
snibble-bobble home, Karen..."

The nurse's eyes 
twinkled with humor and she nodded. 
"Yes, Mr. Plankton. The snibble-
bobble will take good care of 
you at home."

Plankton's mouth 
opened and closed a few 
times, trying to form 
words that simply would 
not come out right. "Karen, 
did you... did you see the... the... 
the... floobly-doobly?"

Karen's laughter 
bubbled up again. "The floobly-
doobly?" she repeated, her voice 
wobbling with mirth. "What's a 
floobly-doobly?"

Plankton looked at her with
confusion. "Huh? The whath?"
He asked her.

Karen tried to calm her
laughter.
"The floobly-doobly, Plankton,"
she said, smiling broadly. "You
mentioned it just now."

Plankton's eye searched hers,
his thoughts a jumble. "I... I don't
know," he murmured, his voice
trailing off.

With the nurse's help, Karen 
managed to get him into a sitting
position, his movements sluggish
and clumsy. His legs felt like jellyfish,
flailing about with no sense of
direction. "Come on," she coaxed,
helping him stand. 

Plankton's eye remained 
half-closed as he stumbled towards
the door. The hallway looked 
like a twisted kelp forest, and 
his body felt like a ship adrift 
without a compass. The nurse 
provided a steady arm, guiding 
him down the corridor.

"Keep walking," she instructed, 
but with each step, Plankton 
seemed to drift closer to sleep. 
His head bobbed, his eyelid 
fighting a losing battle against 
the siren's call of slumber.

"Plankton, stay with me," 
Karen urged, her voice a gentle 
reminder of the world around 
him. But his body had other 
ideas, his legs giving out 
under him. 
The nurse caught him, her laugh 
now a warm chuckle at his 
plight.

"It's the anesthesia," she 
explained. "It'll wear off 
soon. Just keep talking to him, 
it'll help keep him alert."

Karen nodded. "Look, Plankton," 
she said. "Can you see 
the little fishy?"

Plankton's eye snapped open, 
his antennae shooting up. "Fishy?" 
he repeated.

He took a few wobbly steps 
before his legs gave out 
once more, and he leaned 
heavily on the nurse. 
"Whoa, there," she said, 
steadying him with a laugh.
"We're almost to the car."

Plankton's antennae 
drooped, his eye half-closed 
again. "So... so tiwed," he 
mumbled.

"We're almost there," 
Karen assured.

The nurse opened the door 
to the waiting area. Plankton 
blinked slowly, his eyelid
drooping once again. The 
bright light from outside 
was like a siren's song, 
lulling him back into the 
depths of sleep.

"Come on, Plankton, stay 
awake," Karen encouraged.

But the world was spinning, 
and the siren's call of sleep 
was growing stronger. With 
each step closer to the car, 
his eyelid grew heavier, and 
his mind swam with a haze 
of disorientation. The floor 
beneath his feet felt like 
waves, and he stumbled again, 
his hand reaching out for 
support that wasn't there. 
"Keep talking," the 
nurse whispered to Karen, her 
eyes sparkling with 
amusement.

Karen took a deep breath, 
forcing her own laughter 
down. "Remember the time 
we found the treasure?" she 
asked, hoping to keep him 
alert. Plankton's antennae 
perked up slightly, his 
sluggish eye focusing on 
hers. "Tweasure?" he murmured.

The nurse nodded encouragingly, 
and Plankton took another step, 
his body swaying like a piece 
of kelp in the current. "Yeah," 
he mumbled, "the... the... 
goldy wobble." His words were 
slurred, his mind lost in 
the fog of the anesthesia.

They made it to the car, 
and Karen gently guided him 
into the passenger seat. She 
buckled him in, his body already 
slack with the weight of 
exhaustion. "Tell me more," 
she said, trying to keep 
his thoughts on the treasure 
they had found together, 
anything to keep his mind 
engaged.

But Plankton's eye weas 
closing again, his head lolling 
against the headrest. 
"Goldy... wobble... " he murmured, 
his words barely audible. "It's okay, 
sweetheart," Karen said, her voice 
soothing. "You can rest."

With a contented sigh, 
Plankton gave in to the 
warm embrace of slumber, 
his body going limp. Karen 
started the engine and drove 
carefully, her mind racing 
with the events of the day. The 
thought of her stoic husband, 
reduced to a slurring mess, 
was too absurd to fully 
comprehend. Yet, there was 
a tenderness in his vulnerability 
that made her love him all the 
more. 

new the mooon karenton karankton 2

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 2



The room is quiet
except for the occasional 
slosh of the saline 
and the whirring of 
the chair's recline. Karen
watches as the nurse, 
Nina, applies gauze to
the newly-emptied sockets
where the teeth once were.
The redness is stark
against Plankton's 
slackened face. His snores
are deep and even, 
his antennae resting limply 
on the chair's headrest.
The doctor, Dr. Marlin,
gives her a thumbs-up, a silent
assurance that everything went
according to plan.

Karen feels a weight lift
from her shoulders. The 
procedure is over, and Plankton
is safe. His breathing 
continues, the anesthesia
still keeping him in its 
gentle embrace of peaceful 
slumber.

Nina turns to her with a
sympathetic smile. "It's normal for
patients to feel a bit groggy
once they wake up. Sometimes
they're a bit disoriented. It's like
coming out of a deep sleep.
It's normal if today he seems a
little out of it. Bleeding and
brushing are to be expected, and
swelling is normal."

"But he'll be okay?" Karen
asks, her voice shaking.
"More than okay," Dr. Marlin
assures her, "Just follow the
aftercare instructions and he'll
be back to his usual self in no time.
Just remember, no solid foods
for a few days, lots of fluids, and
keep those ice packs handy."

Nina adds, "Keep an eye on
him. He might be a bit
forgetful, or say some funny
things. It's just the anesthesia
wearing off. Nothing to worry
about."

As they wheel Plankton into
recovery, Karen watches his
chest rise and fall with each
breath.

Nina, the nurse, explains,
"The numbness is normal,
it's the local anesthesia wearing
off. It can feel weird, but
don't worry, it'll fade. As for
sleepiness, it's just the body
recovering from the anesthesia.
He might be a bit wobbly on your
feet or have some difficulty
speaking because of the numbness. 
Just take it slow, okay? Yet you can
talk to him right now while he wakes
if you'd like, even if he doesn't
fully understand you yet."

Karen nods, leaning in close
to her husband's. "It's over,
Plankton," she murmurs. "You did
great. Just a little bit more sleep
and then we'll go home." Plankton's breaths
are slow and steady, his body
still under the anesthesia's spell.

The recovery room is dimly lit.
The nurse, Nina, keeps a close eye
on Plankton as Karen sits beside him,
her hand resting on his arm. She's
always been there for him, a constant
source of comfort in the face of fear.

The receptionist from earlier, Becky,
comes in to check on Plankton, her
face still cheerful despite the early hour.
"How's our patient?" she asks Karen,
glancing at the monitors that track his
recovery. Plankton's chest rises and falls
steadily, his snores punctuating the quiet.
Karen smiles weakly. "He's still out of it."

Becky nods. "That's normal. The anesthesia
takes a little while to wear off. He'll
wake up soon enough. You can talk to him if
you'd like. Sometimes it helps to hear
familiar voices."

Karen looks down at Plankton's
peaceful face. "You're going to be okay,
sweetheart," she says softly. "Just a little
longer, and then we'll go home. No more
worrying."

A line of drool starts to trickle from
the corner of Plankton's numb mouth. It's
a sight Karen's seen before, but only during
his deepest slumbers.

She reaches for a tissue and gently
dabs at the saliva pooling, his body
still under the sedative's grip. She
cannot help but feel a twinge of pity
for his vulnerable state, despite his
snoring.

The drool slowly starts to form a
tiny river on the chair, a silent
testament to the depth of his sleep.
Karen wipes it away, knowing he'd be embarrassed
if he were conscious of the sight.

The nurse, Nina, checks his vitals,
satisfied with his progress.
"You can sit him up now," she says.
"Just make sure he's actually
awake before we get him walking."

Karen carefully turns Plankton's chair
with the lever, which gently
guides his sleeping body upright.

As the chair moves, Plankton's
snoring changes pitch,
his head lolling slightly.
Karen smiles despite herself,
his vulnerability endearing.
Gently, she cups his cheek
guiding his head back 
up. "Don't worry, Plankton.
Almost time to go home," 
she says, her voice
soft as a morning lullaby.

new a toothy story karen plankton 2

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 2


(Neurodivergent author)



By evening, Karen has set
up a makeshift kitchen area
in the living room, with all
the ingredients for spaghetti
arranged neatly on the coffee
table. Plankton sits cross-legged
on the floor, his eye never
leaving the recipe book.

He reads each step aloud, his voice
growing stronger with
confidence. Karen chops
vegetables nearby, noticing
the subtle changes in his
movements, the way he tilts
his head when he's concentrating.

The smell of garlic and onions
sizzling in olive oil fills the
room. Plankton stirs the
pot, his face scrunching up
slightly at the aroma, a sign
his sensory sensitivity has
heightened. She sees him rub
his hands together, a self-stimulatory
behavior, but she knows
it's his way of grounding
himself amidst the chaos.

They move around the makeshift
kitchen, a silent dance of
understanding and support.
Karen boils the water for the
spaghetti while Plankton
continues to sauté the veggies.
Each action is deliberate,
each step measured as they
navigate their new reality.

The water reaches a rolling
boil, and Plankton carefully
drops in the spaghetti strands,
his gaze transfixed by the
swirling water. Karen watches
his concentration and sees
the childlike wonder in his eye.

"How long?" he asks.
"Five minutes," Karen says, her
voice calm. She's read that clear
and concise instructions
can be helpful.

After five minutes, Plankton
quickly drains the spaghetti, his
movements precise and methodical.
He pours the sauce over the noodles
and mixes them gently, his focus
intense. Karen watches him,
a mix of admiration and concern.

"It's done," he announces, his
voice a mix of excitement and
apprehension. She brings over
two plates, setting them on the
coffee table. They sit across
from each other, the steaming
spaghetti a bridge between
them. Plankton's hand hovers
over his plate, unsure of how to
proceed with the new sensory
experience.

"Let's eat," Karen says with a
smile, picking up her fork and
twirling the noodles expertly.
The sound of her silverware
against the plate makes him flinch,
but he mimics her movements.

They eat in silence, the clinking
of forks and spoons the only
sounds in the room. Plankton
chews slowly, savoring each bite,
his face a canvas of emotions.
Karen watches him, her own
fork poised in midair.

As they finish dinner, Plankton
sets his plate aside and looks
at her, his expression earnest.
"Thank you, Karen," he says, his
voice clear. "For being here Karen."

Her eyes brim with tears,
but she blinks them back. "Always,
Plankton. I'll always be here. Now
it's getting late; let's go to bed.."

In bed, she reads to him,
his favorite childhood story,
the words acting as a lullaby.
Plankton's hand rests on her arm,
his thumb rubbing circles in a
self-soothing gesture. His breathing
steadies, matching the rhythm
of her voice.

The book's final page is turned,
and she switches off the lamp,
plunging the room into darkness.
The silence is filled with the
comforting hum of the fan above.

Karen lies beside Plankton,
his body rigid with tension.
Her arm wraps around him,
pulling him closer, and she feels
his muscles slowly relax.

"Goodnight, Plankton," she whispers,
kissing his forehead. He doesn't
respond, lost in his thoughts.
But she knows he heard her.
Karen notices the tension in his body 
and gently runs her fingers through 
his antennae, a silent offer of comfort. 
Eventually, his breathing evens out, 
and he falls asleep, his body curled 
into hers like a child seeking shelter.

The next morning, the sun streams 
through the blinds, casting stripes
across the bed. Karen, already awake, 
watches him, her hand still entwined with his.
He's still asleep, his body relaxed, the 
lines of worry from the day before 
smoothed out by the embrace of slumber.

Carefully, she slides out of bed,
not wanting to disturb him. She sees
him stir in his sleep, his antennae
twitching slightly, but he remains
unaware of her departure.

In the kitchen, Karen starts
the coffee, the scent filling
the room with a comforting
aroma. She opens the fridge,
finding the ingredients for
the morning routine. Plankton's
usual breakfast is a simple one:
toast with jam and a banana.

The toaster pops, and she
spreads the jam with a gentle
smoothness that Plankton likes.
The banana peels easily, revealing
the perfect yellow fruit inside.
Her mind races with thoughts
of how she'll need to learn
his new sensitivities, his likes
and dislikes, his triggers. But for
now, she focuses on the task
at hand, placing the slices
of bread in the toaster. 

When the toast is just right,
she carries the breakfast tray
to the bedroom, her steps
soft against the cold floor.
Plankton's still asleep, his
snores punctuating the quiet
morning. Karen sets the tray
on the bedside table.

She watches him, unsure
how to wake him without
causing distress. She's read
about sensory sensitivity
and knows that sudden noise
can be jarring for someone
with Autism. She gently strokes
his antennae, her touch
featherlight, and whispers his
name, "Plankton, wake up."

He stirs, his antennae twitching,
but his eye remains closed.
Karen tries again, a little
louder this time, "Wake up,
sweetie. Breakfast is ready."

Plankton's hand shoots up
to cover his eye, a reflexive
reaction to the light. His
body tenses, then relaxes as
his mind adjusts to the new
day. He sits up slowly.

"Thank you, Karen," he mumbles,
his voice still thick with sleep.
He takes in the breakfast
spread before him, his antennae
twitching with anticipation. He picks
up the toast, feeling the warmth 
in his hands, the stickiness
of the jam a familiar comfort.

Karen watches him closely, noticing
the way his eye widens slightly
at the first bite, the way his tongue
flicks out to taste the banana.
It's as if every sensation is
amplified, a symphony of flavors
and textures that she can't begin
to understand. She sips her coffee,
silent, giving him space.

As he eats, Plankton starts to hum again,
his body rocking slightly. It's a low,
comforting sound that fills the room.
Karen feels the tension in her
shoulders ease. This is their new
normal, a dance of care and
understanding. 

new copepod autism plaren neurodivergentcore neurodisability 2

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 1

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ & ꜱᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ

"But, why? Karen they're
not even hurting or
growing in, yet!" "It's
preventative, Sheldon;
the x-ray showed potential
crowding." Karen responds
to her husband, Plankton.
It's the night before his
wisdom teeth extraction,
and she knew he's nervous.

Sheldon Plankton sighs,
running his tongue over his
back molars, feeling the
gums where the wisdom 
teeth lurk beneath the
surface. But it does little 
to distract from the looming 
dental appointment tomorrow
morning.

He looks at his wife, Karen,
whose screen filled with
understanding. She's always
been the level-headed one,
calming him during their
most turbulent times.

"Don't worry, sweetheart,"
Karen says, stroking his
forehead gently, "You'll be
under anesthesia. You won't
feel a thing. It'll be like
a little nap, and when you
wake up, it'll all be over."

They go to bed, as they'll
have to get up early.
Plankton's always been a
light sleeper, usually the
last to fall asleep and/or
first to wake.

The anticipation of the
morning's dental procedure
keeps him tossing and
turning. The digital clock
on the nightstand clicks over
to 2 AM, its red digits
glowing like an accusation.
Karen has to take him in
three hours...

Karen's awake at 4:45.
Plankton lay beside her
snoring gently. She gently 
shakes him. "Plankton," she 
whispers, "it's time to get up."

He stirs, groaning softly,
eye fluttering open to the
dim room. "Ugh.."

Karen smiles softly, "Come
on, honey, we've got to get
going. The sooner we're there,
the sooner it's over."

With a heavy sigh, Plankton
gets up.

The drive to the dentist's
office is tense and quiet.
The soft hum of the car's
engine and the occasional
streetlight flickering outside
are the only sounds that
accompany them through the
desolate early morning streets.

They arrive at the clinic,
a modern building with sleek
glass walls that reflect the
pre-dawn light. Plankton's heart
thumps in his chest as he
follows Karen inside.

The receptionist, a cheery
woman named Becky, greets them
with a smile that seems almost
painfully bright at this hour.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Plankton!"
she chirps. Plankton nods, trying
to match her energy, but his nerves
betray him. "You're here for your
wisdom teeth, right?" Becky asks,
typing away on her keyboard.
Plankton nods again, feeling a
wave of anxiety wash over him.
He's never been a fan of
the dentist, but this was a whole
new level of dental dread.

Karen notices this and
squeezes his hand reassuringly.
"Don't worry," Becky says,
noticing his distress, "Dr. Marlin is
the best. And our anesthesia
is top-notch. You won't feel a thing."
Plankton tries to smile, but it
comes out more as a grimace. "You'll be
so relaxed you won't even know
what's happening. It's like a
dreamless sleep. You'll wake up with
four less teeth and a much more
comfortable mouth!"
She leads them through the
hallway, the smell of antiseptic
strengthening with each step.
The walls are adorned with
soothing seascape paintings, an
obvious attempt to put patients
at ease. Plankton's heart rate
doesn't decrease, but he
appreciates the effort. They enter
the surgery room. The chair is 
more like a recliner. Dr. Marlin,
a friendly-looking octopus, enters
the room, his tentacles 
holding a clipboard.
"Good morning," he says in
a soothing tone. "Ready to get those
wisdom teeth out?"

Karen kisses him on the forehead
and whispers, "You got this."
Plankton nods, trying to convince
himself. The doctor explains
the procedure one last time,
his tentacles gesturing to the
various tools laid out on the tray.
The nurse, a clownfish named
Nina, starts to prep him, placing
a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"We're going to give you something
to bite down on to keep your
mouth open," Nina says, holding
up a plastic mouth prop. It looks
like a small version of an L-shaped
building block.

Plankton nods again.
The chair reclines back and the
overhead light shines down, casting
harsh shadows on the ceiling tiles.
Karen squeezes his hand once more
before stepping aside as Dr. Marlin
and Nina get to work. 
The anesthesia is administered,
and the room starts to blur.
Plankton feels his body go
slack, the fear giving way
to a sudden calm. He hears
Karen's voice, faintly, saying,
"See you..."
And then, darkness.

Karen feels his hand go limp in 
hers as the anesthesia takes hold. 
She watches as Dr. Marlin's 
tentacles swirl around Plankton's 
open mouth. The nurse, Nina, holds 
a small syringe filled with a clear 
liquid, which she carefully administers 
into his gums. Plankton's body relaxes 
further, and he starts to snore as they
prod his numb gums, all while he's
remaining asleep.

The surgery goes by in a blur 
for Karen, who sits in the chair 
next to him, holding his hand. She 
can hear the sounds of the 
extraction tools, but she focuses on 
his peaceful breathing and the 
steady beep of the heart rate monitor.
The room is cool, the sterile 
smell of the surgery room 
comforting in its own way.

As the extraction begins, Plankton
doesn't stir. The doctor's tentacles
move with practiced precision, 
each tug and pull a dance of surgical
skill. Nina stands by, her eyes 
focused on the monitors, ensuring
his vital signs remain stable.

The first tooth is out. Karen can't
help but look away at the sound
of bone cracking, despite the doctor's
assurance that Plankton can't feel it.
Her eyes water, but she quickly
wipes the tears away, not wanting
to alarm the already unconscious
Plankton. She glances at the clock.
Only twenty minutes have passed.

Dr. Marlin strokes Plankton's
antennae. Nina nods along,
her attention mostly on Plankton.

The second tooth is extracted with
slightly more resistance. The doctor's
tentacles tug gently, applying the
right amount of pressure. Karen squeezes
his hand.

"It's okay," she whispers,
though she's not sure if he can hear.
The third tooth is the most stubborn,
requiring the use of a pair of forceps
that make a sound like a tiny
car wreck. Plankton's body jerks
slightly but he remains unconscious.

The doctor and nurse work in
harmony, their movements so swift
and coordinated that they almost seem
like a dance. The fourth tooth is
the quickest to come out, as if it
knew it was the last stand and gave
up without a fight.

Dr. Marlin nods to Nina, who
begins to suture Plankton's gums.
The needle pierces through the
swollen flesh with a sound that
makes Karen cringe, but Plankton
doesn't react at all. She watches as
Nina's nimble fins guide the thread
with the care of a master embroiderer,
stitching the flaps of gum back together.

Plankton's snoring remains steady
as they suture his numb gums.
Nina's fin deftly weaves the thread,
each stitch a silent promise
of a pain-free future. The tension
in the room slowly dissolves with
each completed suture. They use
dissolvable stitches, so they use
more anesthesia to numb the
inside of the gums before stitching
them up completely.

Dr. Marlin steps back, wiping
his tentacles with a towel.
"All done," he says with a smile.

The doctor rinses
Plankton's numb mouth 
with saline of any
excess blood or 
debris, and Karen 
notices the 
transformation: 
his tense jaw relaxes,
his breathing deepens, 
and his usually 
active antennae are 
still, as if he's sunk into
the deepest of slumbers.

new as toothy story karen plankton sheldon plankton 1

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

new numbers aesthetic number 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 one two three four five six seven eight nine

₁₂₇

new 1 2 3 cute

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 13
(Autistic author)
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ
Plankton quivers. "Stop," he 
whispers, his voice 
a plea. "Please."

Mr. Krabs' grin 
widens, eyes 
glinting with cruel 
delight. "Afraid 
I'll do to you what 
you deserve?"

Before Plankton can 
respond, Mr. Krabs 
punches at him with 
his claw. Plankton
squeaks in pain, his eye widens 
with terror, his voice 
a distressed static. "No,
Mr. Krabs, please stop!"

Mr. Krabs' chuckles 
turn into full-blown laughter. 
"Look at him squirm," 
he says, his voice 
a rumble. He 
doesn't heed the tears 
streaming down 
Plankton's face.

Plankton's body 
wrenches in pain, 
his antennae sticking 
straight out in alarm. 
"Why?" he whispers, 
his voice a broken 
static.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
echoes. "Because 
you're weak," he 
sneers, his voice a 
harsh grate. "Always have 
been, always will be."

Plankton's body 
shrinks, his antennae 
drooping. "No," he 
whimpers, his voice 
a static plea.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
fills the room, his 
claws still poised 
for another strike. 
"Look at the 
tiny thief," he says, 
his voice a cruel 
cackle, "so scared of 
a little pain."

Without warning, 
his claw swings down, 
connecting with Plankton's 
thin leg, and 
Plankton's scream pierces 
the air, his voice 
a shattered static.

Pain shoots through 
his body like lightning, 
his leg feeling like 
it's on fire. He tries 
to pull away. 
"Mr. Krabs," he gasps, 
his voice a desperate 
whine.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
continues, unabated by 
Plankton's cries. "See? 
You're just a tiny, 
weak little creature," 
he says, his voice a 
malicious cackle.

Plankton's screams 
fill the room, the 
pain in his leg 
unbearable. "No," he 
whispers, his voice a 
static moan. "No more."

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
doesn't waver, his 
claws still poised 
for another strike. "Oh, 
poor Plankton," he 
sneers, his voice a 
harsh static. 
Plankton's body 
writhes in pain, his 
leg twisted at an 
impossible angle
as Sandy and Karen
return.

Sandy's eyes widen 
in horror, her voice 
a shocked rumble. "Mr. 
Krabs, what are you 
doing?" she asks, 
as Karen rushed to
Plankton.

Mr. Krabs' grin 
doesn't falter. "Teaching 
a lesson," he says, his 
voice a cruel crackle
as he finally leaves.

Sandy's face is a 
picture of horror, her 
voice a trembling 
trill. "What did he 
do to you?" she asks, 
her eyes on Plankton's 
twisted leg.

Karen's screens 
flicker with rage, her 
beeps sharp. "That monster!" 
she says, her voice 
filled with fury. She 
quickly assesses the 
damage.

Plankton's leg is 
twisted grotesquely, his 
tiny body trembling 
with pain. Sandy's 
hands hover over 
his body, unsure how 
to help without causing 
more distress.

Sandy nods, her 
face pale with shock. 
"I'll get SpongeBob," 
she says, her voice 
a trembling trill. She 
runs to the phone, 
dialing with trembling 
fingers. "Sponge Bob, 
please come quick," she 
says, her voice a 
desperate hum.

While Sandy is on the 
phone, Karen's screens 
flicker with medical 
information. She 
quickly assembles a 
makeshift splint for 
Plankton's leg, her 
beeps a frantic 
symphony of care
as SpongeBob arrives.
His eyes are wide with 
concern, his voice 
a panicked squeak. "What
happened, Plankton?" he 
asks, his eyes 
damp with unshed 
tears. But Plankton's eye
had rolled up in his head.

Sandy's voice is 
shaky as she tells 
Sponge Bob the 
story, her eyes 
never leaving 
Plankton's trembling 
body. "Mr. Krabs... he 
was so cruel," she says, 
her voice a soft 
whisper of disbelief.

Sponge Bob's face 
twists with anger. 
"Why would he do 
this?" he asks, his 
voice a strained 
whine. "First causing
brain damage, and now..."

Karen's screens 
glow with determination. 
"We'll deal with 
Mr. Krabs later," she 
beeps. "First, we need 
to get Plankton help."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes wide with 
fear. "What can we 
do?" he asks, his 
voice a choked whisper.

Karen's screens 
flicker with 
information. "His 
leg is broken, and 
his sensory overload 
could be severe."

Sponge Bob's 
face falls, his voice 
a sad squeak. "Oh no, 
Plankton." He gently 
picks up his friend, 
his touch as soft as 
a feather.

Sandy watches, 
her eyes wide 
with fear. "What 
now?" she asks, 
her voice a trembling 
trill.

"We can't just take 
him like this to a
regular hospital. We'll 
have to be careful 
not to overwhelm 
his senses, and find
medical help equipped
for neurodivergent
people like Plankton."

SpongeBob speaks up. 
"I was born with a mild
form of idiopathic Autism.
Different from Plankton's
I know, but my parents
have taken me to a
sensory-friendly clinic. They
are skilled and have lots
of different methods of
medicine! It's called
the Quiet Bubble Clinic!"

Sandy nods, her eyes
filling with hope. "That 
sounds perfect," she says, 
her voice a gentle 
hum. "Let's take him 
there."

Karen's screens 
pulse with agreement. 
"Good thinking, Sponge 
Bob," she beeps. "We'll
have to be careful, 
though. Any loud 
noises or sudden 
movements could trigger 
another meltdown."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his grip on Plankton 
steady. "Sandy can drive," 
he says, his voice 
determined. "We'll get 
you to the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic, buddy."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 13

  ╱|、
(˚ˎ 。7  
 |、˜〵          
じしˍ,)ノ

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TEAM 1️⃣

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⡏⢷⣼⡄⠈⢸⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⠻⣿⡀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠃⠈⠁
⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⢠⣍⣉⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠋⠉⣉⡉⠉⠉⠉⣉⡩⠯⠉⠁⣄⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣁⣠⣄⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣤⣴⣶⣄⡉⢿⠶⠁⣠⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠
⣬⣿⣏⣹⣿⣭⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⢹⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣯⠉⠉⠀⣠⣴⣷⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⢀⣉⢀⡀⠛
⣁⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠙⣿⣿⣷⣤⣾⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢀⡀⠈⠛⠛
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠁⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢙⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣜⣿⣦⡀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣄⣸⣿⣿⡿⠀⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣯⡔⣽⣟⠿⣿⣿⣛⢷⡄
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣉⠉⠉⢉⣛⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣛⠛⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

new i t y u o p a s d f g h j k l z x c v b n m 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 meth letter english language roman alphabet latin alphabet vowel w not my turkish alphabet him me you myself e phoenician alphabet alphabet one

⣿⣿⠿⠛⣉⣉⣉⣉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⡿⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣌⡙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⡄⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⢉⠋⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣷⣄⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⡙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢉⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡈⠻⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣷⣄⡙⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡈⠻⡿⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢹⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢸⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢛⣉⣀⠀⠙⣨⣤⣭⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢻⢸⣿⡟⢸⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣿⣿⣿⣧⣸⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠸⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⣿⣿⣯⡇⢸⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠛⢿⡏⣡⣶⡌⢻⣟⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⡉⠛⠿⠿⠿⠛⢋⣠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣾⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢰⣿⣷⣬⢉⣵⣿⣿⣧⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠇⣸⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠘⠿⠿⠟⢁⡙⠛⠛⢋⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠀⢿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢀⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⡿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⢻⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⢋⣭⣭⠡⠾⢟⣂⣒⡻⠷⠌⠵⢶⣍⠻⣛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠈⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⢋⣴⡦⢊⣥⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣬⣌⡛⠿⠌⣛⡛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡅⢸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⢑⡸⢁⣾⡟⠉⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣝⠻⡆⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⢾⠃⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠿⣿⣷⣌⠻⡆⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠠
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⢠⡀⣿⣿⣷⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣱⣌⢻⣿⣿⣿⡇⡏⢰
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠣⠹⢛⣙⣛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣭⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⡇⠛⣸⣽⣿⡟⡻⢁⣾
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣴⣿⣿⣯⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣼⢼⣾⣟⠟⢁⣾⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠙⠛⠟⣙⡻⣦⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡀⢡⠞⠛⣁⣴⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡈⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⣶⣿⠆⠿⠦⠀⣰⣾⢂⣉⣛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⢁⣺⣥⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠛⠿⣿⣷⣤⠀⣀⠳⢢⣢⢲⠧⠘⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠉⡀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⠌⢉⡄⣈⠑⠛⠛⠂⠚⠓⠒⠀⠀⡀⢩⣴⣶⣶⡌⢢⡘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣴⣿⠟⡅⠚⠘⠂⡽⢻⣿⣬⣿⣷⡄⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠒⠘⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠴⣋⡅⣚⣥⣾⣿⣧⣙⠂⢭⡛⠻⠿⠃⡌⠛⢿⣿⣃⣼⠟⠈⢨⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣐⣣⣶⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⠘⣶⣦⣍⠁⠐⠐⠰⠌⠉⠋⠁⠄⠶⠂⠊⢙⢻⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣸⣿⣿⣇⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⣿⣿⣿⠀⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡶⠂⢉⣾⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⡙⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡇⢿⣦⣭⣝⡋⠶⢙⣫⣥⣴⡇⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣙⣂⠶⠦⠠⣤⠤⣄⡀⣡⣀⢠⣀⠄⣤⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠐⠶⠶⠄⠀⠼⣦⡲⠔⠾⣶⣶⣶⠶⠖⠀⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠛⠶⠶⠀⢿⣶⣤⣤⣘⣣⣤⣤⣤⣶⡞⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣁⣉⣉⣉⣉⣡⣌⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

new 2 roman numerals 1 girl kissing to boy dot art text art ascii art

➀➀

new one 1 natural number

ᴾʳᵉˢ ˢᵖᵉᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ¹²³m ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⣀⠤⣤⣤⣠⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⢢⣒⣃⡃⠓⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠒⡄⠀⡜⣠⠏⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠓⠦⣄⢀⣠⣴⠯⠚⠋⠉⠈⠈⢹⡆⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠒⠁⣰⢡⢯⢀⢀⢀⢀⣀⠤⠔⢔⣼⣿⡯⣄⡀⡀⠀⢀⢀⠔⢩⠇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠈⢧⣅⣁⣁⣁⡤⠦⣚⡽⢻⢽⡣⡙⠮⣬⣩⣁⣁⡤⠟⡀⡔⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⣄⣀⡁⣁⢁⡴⢼⠃⢠⠟⠀⣧⠙⢤⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⡀⡔⠊⢁⠔⢡⠼⠋⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠱⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠒⠁⣀⠖⢁⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠱⡙⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠀⢠⠊⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⠱⡀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⡇⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⢱⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⡇⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠘⣄⠀⠱⣏⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⢱⠀⡣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⡵⣊⠀⠀⠈⠑⣺⢅⡉⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠂⠀⢸⠀⡎⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⢱⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⡯⠀⠉⢢⡉⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⡰⡕⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⢱⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⢀⢴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⡀⠀⡸⢐⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠁⡠⢪⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠈⢧⡰⢁⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣅⠎⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⣧⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡃⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢔⡥⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢃⠜⢹⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠹⣆⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢚⠕⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⣠⠃⠀⢸⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠽⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢠⠃⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢣⡙⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⢸⠀⣠⠜⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⢣⠈⢳⡄⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⢣⠸⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢢⡀⢇⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡅⣈⠇⠀⠀⡿⡙⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣄⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢼⠁⠙⢌⠣⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡱⣀⠀⠙⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠑⣄⠓⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡘⡄⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢱⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⣀⠤⣤⣤⣠⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⢢⣒⣃⡃⠓⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠒⡄⠀⡜⣠⠏⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠓⠦⣄⢀⣠⣴⠯⠚⠋⠉⠈⠈⢹⡆⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠒⠁⣰⢡⢯⢀⢀⢀⢀⣀⠤⠔⢔⣼⣿⡯⣄⡀⡀⠀⢀⢀⠔⢩⠇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠈⢧⣅⣁⣁⣁⡤⠦⣚⡽⢻⢽⡣⡙⠮⣬⣩⣁⣁⡤⠟⡀⡔⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⣄⣀⡁⣁⢁⡴⢼⠃⢠⠟⠀⣧⠙⢤⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⡀⡔⠊⢁⠔⢡⠼⠋⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠱⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠒⠁⣀⠖⢁⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠱⡙⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠀⢠⠊⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⠱⡀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⡇⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⢱⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⡇⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠘⣄⠀⠱⣏⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⢱⠀⡣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⡵⣊⠀⠀⠈⠑⣺⢅⡉⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠂⠀⢸⠀⡎⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⢱⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⡯⠀⠉⢢⡉⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⡰⡕⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⢱⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⢀⢴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⡀⠀⡸⢐⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠁⡠⢪⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠈⢧⡰⢁⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣅⠎⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⣧⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡃⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢔⡥⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢃⠜⢹⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠹⣆⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢚⠕⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⣠⠃⠀⢸⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠽⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢠⠃⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢣⡙⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⢸⠀⣠⠜⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⢣⠈⢳⡄⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⢣⠸⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢢⡀⢇⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡅⣈⠇⠀⠀⡿⡙⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣄⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢼⠁⠙⢌⠣⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡱⣀⠀⠙⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠑⣄⠓⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡘⡄⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢱⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠀⣼⣯⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠫⣤⡀⠂⠂⠀
⠀⠀⣠⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢺⣷⡄⠀⠀
⠀⣰⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⢆⠀
⢠⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣏⠀⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⢻⣿⡄
⣾⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧
⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿
⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿
⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡟⠻⠿⣿⣿⡗⣿⣷⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟
⠸⣿⣆⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠃⠻⢿⣾⣿⣦⡀⠀⣰⣿⠃
⠀⢻⣿⣶⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠿⣶⣾⠏⠀
⠀⠀⠹⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠏⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣿⡿⠁⢀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣶⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀
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new murder on the orient express agatha christie 1 dot art text art ascii art

"You're going to 
be okay," Karen 
assured Plankton. 
He clutched her 
hand. "I'm right here."

The receptionist's 
voice echoed through the 
large waiting room. "Plankton?"

Karen's heart jumped. 
She squeezed her 
husband's hand.

They walked down the 
hallway, Plankton's 
breaths shallow, eye
darting around the 
white, sterile walls. 
The nurse led them to 
a small room.

"Just a few 
questions," the nurse 
smiled, her voice 
soothing as she 
helped him in the
recliner.

The nurse, 
noticing his 
agitation, spoke 
slowly and clearly. 
"We're just going 
to take your blood 
pressure, okay?"

The nurse 
wrapped the 
cuff around 
his bicep, her 
movements gentle. 
The hiss of the 
air pump filled 
the tense silence.

"Look at me, 
Plankton," Karen 
whispered, her 
calming gaze 
meeting his. 
"Take deep 
breaths."

He inhaled deeply, 
his chest rising and 
falling in a 
deliberate rhythm. 
The nurse waited 
patiently, giving 
them space.

As the cuff 
tightened, Plankton's 
eye squeezed shut.

The nurse 
completed her task 
quickly, her voice 
steady. "Good job," 
she said, patting his 
hand. Karen felt his 
fear spike, but 
his grip on her 
hand remained firm
as the oral surgeon
walked in.

Dr. Marquez 
nodded at them, 
his demeanor calm 
and professional. 
"Hello, Plankton. I 
see we're getting 
ready for your 
wisdom teeth."

He noticed 
Plankton's tension 
and turned to 
Karen. "You
earlier mentioned 
his neurodisability. Is there 
anything special we 
can do to help 
make him comfortable?"

Karen's screen 
lit up with 
gratitude. "Yes, 
thank you." She 
explained his need 
for calm and his
sensory sensitivities.

Dr. Marquez 
nodded thoughtfully. 
"We can use a 
weighted blanket to 
help with that. It 
provides a gentle 
pressure that can 
be quite comforting 
for some of my 
patients."

He turned to the 
nurse. "Could you 
please bring one?"

The nurse nodded 
and left the room.
When she returned, 
she carried a 
soft, blue weighted 
blanket they warmed.

They placed the 
blanket over 
Plankton, the 
weight evenly 
distributed. His 
body visibly 
relaxed under its 
soothing embrace.

"It's okay," Karen 
whispered, stroking 
his antennae. "This will 
help."

Plankton felt the 
warmth of the 
blanket, the weight 
of it pressing down 
on his shoulders and 
chest. But it did little
to ease his dread.

"Thank you, Dr. 
Marquez," Karen 
managed a smile, 
relief washing over 
her. She knew how 
important these 
accommodations were 
for her husband.

The doctor 
explained the 
procedure, using 
simple terms that 
Plankton could 
understand. Karen 
noted how he 
tailored his 
explanation to 
avoid overwhelming 
details that might 
trigger anxiety.

The anesthesiologist 
entered, her 
smile kind. "We're 
going to give you 
some medicine to 
help you sleep," she 
said gently, "and then 
you'll wake up without 
feeling a thing."

Plankton nodded, 
his eye wide. Karen leaned 
in, her voice low. "You 
can hold my hand 
as you fall 
asleep."

The anesthesiologist 
prepared the IV, 
but Plankton's grip 
on Karen's hand grew 
tighter. Dr. Marquez 
noticed his distress 
and suggested a 
different approach. 
"How about some 
laughing gas first?" 
he offered. "And perhaps
a topical numbing agent.."

The nurse 
quickly set up the gas 
mask, explaining 
each step. "This will 
help you relax," she 
said, placing it over 
him. "Just breathe
normally."

The sweet smell of 
the nitrous oxide filled
him, yet he still remained
awake.

"It's okay, Plankton," 
Karen said soothingly.
"Just keep breathing."

He took a tentative 
breath, feeling the 
gas fill his lungs. 
The room began to 
spin, but not in 
the scary way he'd 
feared. It was more 
like floating. The 
weight of the blanket 
now felt like a gentle 
hug from the ocean 
depths, a warm embrace 
from his childhood home.

Dr. Marquez waited 
until Plankton's breathing 
steadied, each gesture 
carefully calculated 
to avoid any sudden 
movements that might 
startle his patient.

"You're doing great,"
he assured Plankton, his 
voice a gentle wave 
lapping at the shore of 
his anxiety. "You're 
almost there."

Plankton inhaled 
another lungful of gas, 
his eye fluttering 
closed. The nurse 
gently began applying 
the topical numbing 
agent, her movements 
carefully choreographed 
to avoid any sudden 
jolts. Karen held 
his other hand, her 
thumb tracing 
comforting circles 
on his palm.

"You're safe," she 
whispered. "I'm here."

The gas grew 
heavier, his mind 
drifted further 
from the cold 
reality of the room. 
He felt himself sinking 
into the chair, the 
weighted blanket 
now a warm sea of 
comfort. His grip 
on Karen's hand grew 
looser, his breaths 
deepening.

The doctor 
nodded to the 
anesthesiologist, 
who began the IV 
drip after using the
topical numbing 
agent. Plankton's 
fear didn't vanish, 
but it became 
manageable, a distant 
thunderstorm rather than 
a hurricane in his 
face. His eye
closed completely, 
his body going limp 
under the blanket.

Karen watched 
as the surgical 
team moved with 
precision, their 
masks and caps 
dancing in her 
peripheral vision. 
The beeping of 
machines and 
the murmur of 
medical jargon 
filled her ears, 
but all she focused 
on was the rhythm 
of Plankton's 
breathing.

The anesthesiologist 
checked the monitors 
and gave a nod. 
"He's ready," she 
said quietly. Dr. 
Marquez took his 
position, his gloved 
hands poised over 
Plankton's now open 
mouth after removing
the gas mask.

Karen's gaze was 
steady, her love and 
support unwavering as 
the surgical team 
moved in unison. The 
whirring of the 
instruments began, a 
soft mechanical lullaby 
to the background of 
Plankton's deep, 
even breaths.

The surgery itself 
was a dance of precision, 
each gesture a step 
carefully choreographed to 
minimize discomfort. 
The doctor's hands 
were steady as he 
removed the wisdom teeth. 
Karen could see the 
tense lines in Plankton's 
face soften under the 
influence of the anesthesia.

The anesthesiologist 
checked the monitors 
continuously, ensuring 
his vital signs remained 
steady. The nurse offered 
Karen a chair, but she 
chose to stand, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton's 
face.

As the surgery 
progressed, Karen felt 
the tension in the 
room ease. The surgical 
team worked with 
efficiency, their 
movements synchronized 
like a well-oiled 
machine. Dr. Marquez 
spoke in hushed tones 
with his assistants, 
each word a gentle 
whisper in the symphony 
of medical sounds.

Plankton's breaths 
steadied, the rhythmic 
beep of the heart 
monitor a soothing 
reminder that he was 
still with her, that 
his anxiety had 
been replaced by 
the peacefulness of 
deep sedation.

The doctor's 
instruments 
continued to dance, 
a silent ballet 
of precision and care. 
The nurse occasionally 
glanced at Karen, 
offering a reassuring 
smile as they suture
his gums with dissolving
stitches.

"Alright, 
we're all done," 
Dr. Marquez 
announced, 
his voice a gentle 
interruption to 
the symphony of 
beeps and whirs. 
"Let's wake him up 
slowly."

Karen felt 
her own heart 
rate spike as 
the anesthesiologist 
began reversing 
the medication. 
They removed the 
IV drip
and the nurse 
wiped Plankton's 
mouth with a soft 
cloth, her touch 
as gentle as a sea 
anemone caressing 
his skin.

His eye flickered 
open, unfocused 
and hazy. He 
blinked slowly, 
taking in the
surroundings. Karen's 
screen was the first 
thing he saw, 
a beacon in the 
medical fog.

"You're okay," 
she murmured, her 
voice the gentle 
hum of a distant 
lighthouse guiding 
his consciousness 
back to shore.

Plankton blinked 
again, his vision 
swimming into focus. 
The weighted blanket 
was still wrapped 
around him, the 
comforting pressure 
now a grounding 
reminder of her 
presence. His mouth 
felt foreign, as if it 
belonged to someone 
else. The nurse 
offered him water, 
and he sipped it 
slowly, feeling the 
coolness soothe his 
throat.

"How do you feel?" 
Dr. Marquez asked, 
his voice a soft 
wave breaking over 
the shore of Plankton's 
awareness. Plankton 
nodded, his grip 
on Karen's hand firm.

"Good," he 
managed to murmur, 
his voice thick with 
the aftermath of 
the anesthesia. Karen 
could see the 
relief in his eye, 
the storm of fear 
now a distant memory.

( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

new author is neurodivergent healing and caring helping others sensory advice sensory needs POV Karen neurofabulous

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 14
(Autistic author)
ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ
They carefully lift 
Plankton into the car, 
his body tense with 
pain. Sandy slides into 
the driver's seat, her 
hands gripping the wheel. 
Her eyes meet Sponge 
Bob's in the rearview 
mirror, filled with 
resolve.

"Ready?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's face. "Ready."

Karen buckles Plankton
in as his eye flutters.

"Hold tight," Sandy 
says, her voice a 
steady rumble, as she 
starts the engine. The 
car's gentle purr is a 
contrast to the 
tension in the air.

Sponge Bob sits in 
the back, his eyes 
trained on Plankton's 
face. His friend's 
tiny body is a tapestry 
of pain, but Sponge 
Bob's touch is a soft, 
steady beat, trying to 
soothe him. "It's okay, 
Plankton," he whispers, 
his voice a comforting 
whisper of reassurance.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, his eye 
slightly focusing on 
Sponge Bob. "Mph,"
he murmurs, his voice 
a static hum of pain.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his face a mask of 
determined compassion. 
"We're going to the 
Quiet Bubble Clinic," 
he says, his voice 
a soft, steady 
wave. "They'll know 
how to help you."

Sandy's eyes are 
on the road ahead, 
her driving slow and 
precise. "Just hold on, 
Plankton," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
hum. "We're almost 
there."

The Quiet Bubble 
Clinic comes into 
view, a softly lit 
building that seems to 
pulse with a gentle calm. 
Sandy parks the car 
and they carefully 
extract Plankton from 
his seat, his tiny 
body rigid.

They enter the 
lobby, the air thick 
with the scent of 
calming essential oils. 
The lights are low, and 
the sounds muffled.
A nurse with a gentle 
face approaches, her 
voice a soothing 
whisper. "What can we 
help with?" she asks, 
her eyes on Plankton's 
twisted leg.

Sponge Bob explains 
quickly, his voice 
trembling with 
concern. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt his leg," he says, 
his eyes wide. "Krabs 
also hit his head with 
a fry pan, which caused
Plankton autism as well
as the accompaniment
of sensitivities. But his
leg hurts and needs fixed!"

The nurse nods, her 
movements slow and 
deliberate. "We'll need 
to be careful with 
his heightened senses," 
she murmurs, her voice 
a soft melody. "Let's 
get him to a room."

They navigate the 
hallways, the walls 
lined with soothing 
pictures and textures. 
Plankton's body is 
stiff with pain, his 
voice a static hiss 
with each step. "Please,"
he whispers, his antennae 
waving weakly.

The nurse nods, 
her touch gentle as 
she leads them to 
a quiet, dimly lit 
exam room. "We need 
to fix your leg, 
sweetie," she says, her 
voice a gentle breeze.

Plankton's eye 
flutters open.

The nurse's voice 
is a gentle lullaby. 
"We're going to take 
good care of you," 
she says, her eyes 
kind and understanding. 
Plankton's body 
shakes with fear 
and pain, his antennae 
pressed against his 
head.

Sponge Bob squeezes 
his hand, his voice 
a comforting whisper. 
"You're going to be okay, 
Plankton," he says, 
his eyes filled with 
concern.

The nurse nods, her 
gloved hands 
moving with precision. 
"We're going to need to 
put him under," she says, 
her voice a soft 
whisper. "It's the 
safest way to manage 
his pain and sensitivity."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with fear, his 
single eye darting 
back and forth. 
"Under what," he whispers.

The nurse's smile 
doesn't reach her eyes. 
"Anesthesia," she says 
softly, her voice a 
comforting hum. "It'll 
help you sleep through 
the surgery."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with anxiety, his 
voice a nervous 
static. "Sleep?" he 
repeats, his eye 
doubtful. "Plankton
light sleeper."

The nurse nods, 
her eyes calm. "We 
understand, sweetie," 
she murmurs. "We'll 
make sure you're 
comfortable."

They prep him for 
surgery, the air in 
the room thick with 
his fear. Sponge Bob 
holds his hand, his 
thumb rubbing gentle 
circles on his palm. 
"It'll be over soon," he 
whispers, his voice 
a soothing wave.

The doctor, a 
kind-eyed squid, 
enters the room, his 
tentacles moving with 
calming precision. 
"We're going to give 
you something to help 
you relax," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
trill. "We've ways to
sedate. One, a pill
tablet. Two, a liquid
to drink. Three, nasally.
Four, cream gel to numb
the place the IV goes in
but, it'll be inserted after
he's asleep anyway. Now
the first two options are
taken orally, so they might
take a moment to work..."

"Drink; Plankton, drink.."
Plankton manages, looking at
a chart of diagrams which
illustrate each method.

The doctor nods, his 
tentacles steadily
adjusting the bed.

"Very good," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
wave of reassurance. 
He hands Plankton a 
small cup. "This is a 
special drink," he 
explains, his eyes 
meeting Plankton's. "It'll
help you relax before
surgery."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with anxiety 
as he takes the cup. 
He looks to Sponge 
Bob, whose grip 
on his hand tightens. 
"It's okay," Sponge Bob 
whispers, his voice 
a calming static.

With a shaky 
hand, Plankton brings 
the cup to his mouth, 
his eye squeezed shut. 
He gulps down the 
liquid as they give
him a blanket. He
finishes the drink and
hands the cup back.
Sponge Bob's grip
doesn't waver, his 
thumb still moving 
in soothing circles. 
"Good job, buddy," he 
whispers, his voice 
a gentle sea breeze.
Sandy nods as Karen
gives Plankton a kiss.

The nurse's eyes 
are warm and 
comforting as she 
checks his vitals. 
"It won't be long 
now," she murmurs, 
her voice a soft 
hum of reassurance.

Sponge Bob sits 
by the bed, his 
grip on Plankton's 
hand firm but gentle. 
"You're doing great," 
he says, his voice 
a calming whisper.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with the 
first wave of 
drowsiness, his eye 
slowly closing. 
The world around 
him begins to fade 
into a soft, fuzzy 
static.

Sponge Bob watches, 
his grip on Plankton's 
hand unyielding. "It's 
going to be okay," he 
whispers, his voice 
a gentle rush of air.

The anesthesia starts
to take effect, Plankton's 
body gradually 
going slack, his 
breathing deepening.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
follow the rise and 
fall of Plankton's 
chest, his grip 
on his hand tight. 
"You're okay, buddy,"
he whispers, his voice 
a gentle static.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch one last time 
before stilling, his 
eye fully closed. 
The nurse nods, 
satisfied with his 
vitals. "He's out," she 
says as his soft snores 
fill the room.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 14

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10


(Neurodivergent author)



COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10


(Neurodivergent author)



The room holds its breath, a
suspended moment of understanding.
Hanna nods, her smile a gentle ripple
across her screen. "Ok," she says, her
voice a soft echo. "Overwhelming moments
it is."

Plankton starts to rock slightly, they
both notice.

Hanna watches, her curiosity piqued.
"What's with the rocking?" she asks, 
her voice a soft ripple of inquiry.

Karen looks at her, her eyes a gentle
wave of patience. "It's called
self-stimulation, or 'stimming' for short,"
she explains. "It's a way for Plankton to
regulate his senses."

"But why?"

Karen's smile is a soft sunrise,
illuminating the room with patience.
"It helps him process the world,"
she explains, her voice a gentle
tide of understanding. "It's like a
lullaby for his senses."

Hanna nods, her curiosity like a
tide that won't recede. "But it's
not like he's just throwing a fit?"
she asks, her voice a cautious
wave.

Plankton's rocking abruptly stops
at her wording, his antennae
snapping to attention like
whips in a storm. His face is a
mask of hurt, his voice a sharp
coral when he speaks.

"Don't you dare say that," Plankton
snaps, his eye brimming with
tears of sadness. "How could you?"

Hanna's eyes widen, the room's calm
shattered like a wave on
the shore. "I didn't mean to..."

Her words are drowned out by Plankton's
sobs. "Why'd you say that?" he
whispers, wiping his tears.

"I didn't mean it like that," she says,
her voice gaining volume. "I just don't
understand..."

Her words are a storm, cutting off
his air like a sudden squall. Plankton's
having an absence seizure, his
body frozen like a statue in
the middle of a tempest. His unblinking
eye is unseeing, and Karen knows he's
trying to process the shock.

Hanna feels panicked at the sight
of Plankton. "Plankton?" she whispers.

Her voice is a pebble thrown
into the pond of his consciousness,
the ripples unnoticed. Karen's hand
is a gentle anchor, a silent signal
for Hanna to be calm. She moves closer,
her screen a soft glow in the
morning's light.

"It's ok," she whispers, her voice
a lullaby against the storm. "He's just
having an 'overwhelming moment'."
Hanna nods, her screen reflecting her
newfound understanding.

Karen's hand is a soft current
on Plankton's back, guiding him
through the tumult of his
sensory overload. His body is
still as a statue, his antennae
a silent symphony of nerves.

Hanna watches.
"What's happening?" she whispers,
fear lapping at her words like
the tide at a rocky shore.

Karen's voice is a gentle
whisper, her screen a calm sea.
"It's ok," she reassures, her
hands a steady current on
his back. "It's just an
overwhelming moment."

Plankton's body is a marble
statue, his breathing a soft
hush in the quiet room.
His antennae hang limp, a silent
testament to the storm within.

Hanna's eyes are a sea of
concern, her voice a gentle wave
lapping at the shore of his
unresponsiveness. "What do we do?"
she whispers, her fear a
currents in the air.

Karen's screen never leaves
his frozen form, her voice a
soothing lullaby. "Just wait,"
she murmurs. "Let him come
back to us."

The room holds its breath,
a bubble in the vast sea of
their uncertainty. Plankton's
body is a marble statue,
his mind a tempest. Hanna's
concern is a gentle current
against the shoreline of her
understanding.

Karen's hand is a lighthouse beam,
steady and strong on Plankton's
back. She whispers to him, her
voice the rhythm of the tides.
"It's okay," she murmurs, her
fingers tracing circles of
comfort. "You're safe here."
Her words are a lifeline thrown
into the storm of his senses.

His antennae twitch, a distant
signal of life in the quiet
morning. His eye blinks, the
shutters of consciousness
opening to the gentle light
of her care. The room's
calm is a soft embrace,
their sanctuary in the
storm of the world.

"I'm here," Karen whispers,
her voice a lighthouse beam
in the fog of his fear. "You're safe."
Her words are a warm current,
washing over him, bringing him
back to the surface.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinks, and he takes
a shaky breath, the storm
within him slowly subsiding.
His body relaxes into her
touch, his antennae drooping
like tired seaweed.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice
a quiet wave against the shore.
"I didn't mean to..."

Hanna's eyes are pools of regret,
her smile a fading sunset. Karen
nods, her gaze a gentle moonrise.

"We'll take it slow," she whispers,
her voice a soft surf against the
shore of their friendship.

The world outside the guest room
is a distant hum, a gentle reminder
of the waves that await them.
Karen's hand is a comforting
current on Plankton's back, her
screen a beacon of understanding
in the sea of confusion.

"Let's go home," she whispers, her voice
a soft ripple. Plankton nods, his
body a ship at anchor, finding
steadiness in her words.
They move together, a silent
ballet of care and trust, each step
a gentle wave carrying them
closer to the familiarity of their
own space.

"I'm sorry Plankton," Hanna says, 
her voice a soft ripple of regret. 
"I didn't know." 

new copepod autism sleepovercore 10

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 8


(Neurodivergent author)



The candle's light flickers,
painting shadows across the
walls like a silent sonnet.
The whispers from the kitchen
are a distant lullaby, a reminder
of the world outside their
cocoon. Plankton's antennae
hang limp, a declaration of
his surrender to sleep's embrace.

Eventually Hanna's friends all 
left. Hanna herself goes up to
Karen and Plankton.

"I'm sorry," she says
brimming with tears. "I didn't know."
Her voice is a whisper, a soft
wave against the shore. Karen
nods, her screen never leaving
Plankton's peaceful form.

"It's ok," Karen whispers back,
her voice gentle. "It's just part of him."
Hanna nods. Plankton's
snores are the only sound, a
symphony of comfort in the quiet.

Hanna's screen is full of
apology as she sits beside
them on the couch. "I had no
idea," she says, her voice a
soft ripple. "How can I help?"

Karen smiles, her screen never
leaving Plankton's sleeping form.
"Just being here is enough,"
she murmurs, her voice a gentle
tide. Hanna nods, understanding
dawning in her eyes.

Plankton's antennae are a
testament to his peace, finally
still against her neck. His
snores are the rhythm of the
deep sea, a soothing melody
that fills the quiet space.

The room is a sanctuary of
soft light and gentle whispers.
Hanna's screen watch them.

"I'll make up the guest room,"
she says, her voice a soft ripple.
"You guys should stay the night."
Karen nods, her screen still on
Plankton's peaceful face. "Thank you,
Hanna," she whispers, the words a gentle
wave of gratitude.

Karen turns her attention back
to Plankton. "Hey," she whispers.
"You ok?"

Plankton's eye opens, a sliver
of the room's light reflecting
in his pupil. "Mm-hmm," he murmurs.

Karen smiles, a soft moon
in the night of his worries. "We're
staying the night," she whispers.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye widening slightly. "But...the
chum," he mumbles, his voice
a distant echo in the calm.

"Don't worry," Karen reassures him,
her voice a gentle lullaby. "We'll
go back home tomorrow."

His antennae relax, the tension
easing from his body like a
wave retreating from the shore.
"Ok," he whispers.

Karen nods, her smile a beacon
in the quiet. "Let's get you to
bed," she says, her voice a soft
current.

With care, she lifts him, his
body a delicate coral reef in her
arms. They move through the house,
each step a gentle wave that
carries them closer to the guest
room. Plankton's antennae sway
slightly with the motion, his
eye half-open as he takes in
the surroundings.

The hallways are a maze of shadows,
the lights dimmed to a comforting glow.
Hanna has cleared a path for
them, a silent guardian in
the night. Karen's heart swells
with gratitude as they enter the
guest room, the quiet sanctuary
waiting for them.

The bed is a vast ocean, the sheets
a soft embrace that welcomes
Plankton's weary body. She lowers
him onto the cool surface,
his antennae drooping with relief.
Her eyes are a lighthouse,
guiding him through the transition.

The room is a cocoon of
softness, the curtains drawn
like the sea's embrace. Karen's
hands are a gentle tide,
helping him into the bed.

The pillows are clouds for
his antennae to rest upon, the
comforter a warm, enveloping
current. His body sighs
with relief, the weight of
the evening's chaos finally lifted.

Karen tucks him in, her screen
a soft glow in the quiet
darkness. "Good night, Plankton,"
she whispers, her voice a gentle
lapping wave.

new copepod autism sleepovercore 8

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 15
(Autistic author)
ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ
Sandy and Sponge
Bob leave the room
while Karen stays
for the surgery.

The doctor's tentacles
move with practiced 
ease. The room 
hummed with a gentle 
consistency of medical 
equipment, designed to 
avoid jarring sounds. 
The doctor's eyes 
were focused, his voice 
a steady rhythm of 
instructions for the 
nurse. She put the IV in, 
a swift and precise 
motion, and Plankton's 
snores remained undisturbed.

The surgery begins, 
each movement 
calculated to 
minimize pain. The doctor's 
tentacles dance around 
the broken limb, his 
touch as light as 
a feather.

The smell of antiseptic
hangs in the air, 
but it's faint, not 
overwhelming. Plankton's 
body lies still, his 
snores the only sound 
besides the low 
whisper of instruments
coating the bone.

The nurse's eyes 
flick to the clock 
on the wall, the 
seconds ticking by 
like a metronome to 
the rhythm of the 
doctor's work.

The room is a 
symphony of soft 
sounds: the steady 
beep of the heart 
monitor, the low 
mumble of the doctor's 
instructions. Plankton's 
tiny body lies 
motionless, his 
snores the only 
evidence of life. They
put his leg in a cast
and unhook the IV.

Sponge Bob and Sandy
wait outside, their 
minds racing with 
worries and hope. 
Their conversation is 
whispers, not wanting 
to disturb the 
peaceful hum of 
the Quiet Bubble 
Clinic. The nurse
beckons them back in.

"The surgery was a 
success," she says, 
her voice a gentle 
gust of relief. 
Plankton lies in the 
bed, his leg now 
encased in a cast. His 
snores are quieter, 
his body less tense.

Sponge Bob and 
Sandy hover by his 
side, their eyes 
locked on his peaceful 
face. "But we need 
to be prepared for 
his waking," the nurse 
continues, her voice 
a soft warning. "He
might wake up feeling 
disoriented or overwhelmed.
Also, it takes time for the
anesthesia to fully wear 
off, so he might be groggy
and silly, sleepy or even 
a bit forgetful."

They nod, their 
expressions a mix 
of gratitude and 
anticipation.

The doctor enters 
the room, his tentacles
wiped clean of 
any sign of surgery. 
"He'll need to stay 
here for a bit, to 
recover," he says, his 
voice a gentle rumble. 
"But you can stay 
with him. After he's
fully awake, you can
take him home! Just
be careful, of course."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
light up, his grip 
on Plankton's hand 
tightening. "We'll 
make sure he's okay,"
he says, his voice 
a promise.
Sandy nods, her 
face a mask of 
determined calm. 
"Thank you," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
hum of appreciation.

The doctor nods, 
his tentacles 
flicking a dismissive 
wave. "It's what we're 
here for," he says, his 
voice a warm rumble. "Now, 
let's get him settled."

They work together, 
Sponge Bob and Sandy 
supporting Plankton 
as they move his bed to 
a recovery room, 
his body still asleep
as Karen holds his hand.

The room is painted 
with soft, soothing 
colors, and the bed 
is surrounded 
by pillows and blankets 
that seem to swallow 
his small frame. 
The lights are dimmed, a stark 
contrast to the stark 
whites and harsh 
florescents of a 
normal hospital.

Sponge Bob sits 
on the chair beside 
his bed, his 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
face. The gentle 
whirl of a fan in 
the corner provides 
white noise, a 
comforting constant 
hum that fills the 
silence.

Sandy sits on 
the other side, 
her hand resting 
lightly on the 
foot of the bed. 
Her eyes are glued 
to a book titled 
"Understanding 
Neurodivergence in 
Friends," her 
expression focused.

Karen meanwhile
was holding his
other hand.

Plankton's antennae 
twitches as the gentle 
hum of the recovery 
room starts to pierce 
his slumber. His single 
eye opens to a sliver, 
taking in the soft, 
blurry world around 
him. He blinks, trying to 
focus, and sees Karen 
first.

"Hey, buddy," she says, 
her voice a warm 
buzz of comfort. "You're 
okay." Plankton's 
eye widens, his 
brain foggy from the 
anesthesia.
"Wheh..." he starts, 
his voice a static 
whisper.

Sponge Bob's hand 
squeezes his gently. 
"You're at the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic," he 
says, his voice 
a soft wave of 
reassurance. "You had 
your leg fixed."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slowly, his 
eye blinking as 
realization sets in. 
"Mr. Krabs," he whispers, 
his voice a static 
memory of pain.

Sponge Bob's 
thumb pauses in its 
comforting rhythm. 
"Don't worry about 
him now," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
lapping of waves. "You're 
safe here."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with confusion, 
his mind a foggy 
storm of memories. 
He tries to sit up, 
but the nurse's firm 
hand gently pushes 
him back down. 
"Easy," she whispers, 
her voice a soft 
breeze. "You need to 
rest."

Sponge Bob's face 
is a picture of relief 
as Plankton's eye 
focusses on him. "Remember, 
buddy?" he asks, 
his voice a gentle 
reminder. "You're safe."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with the echoes 
of pain, but the 
soothing presence 
of his friends 
begins to anchor him. 
He nods slightly, his 
voice a static rustle. "Sandy?" he asks, 
his gaze shifting 
to her.

Sandy looks up 
from her book, 
her eyes soft. "I'm 
here," she says, her 
voice a gentle 
hum. She sets the 
book aside and 
takes his hand.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with confusion, 
his eye darting around 
the room. The 
softness of the 
pillows and the gentle 
hum of the fan are 
alien to him. "Where...?"
he whispers, his voice 
a static question.

The nurse's smile is 
a beacon of calm. 
"You're at the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
trill. "You're safe."

Plankton's mind is a 
swirl of fuzzy images 
and half-remembered 
fears. He tries to 
piece together what 
happened, his antennae 
flailing for answers.

The nurse's voice is 
a gentle guide, leading 
 him through the 
mist. "You had surgery," 
she murmurs, her eyes 
kind. "Your leg is 
fixed now. Just rest."

Plankton's eye blinks 
slowly, trying to 
comprehend the words. 
The pain is gone, 
replaced by a 
dull throb and the 
weight of the cast. 
He nods, his body 
still feeling 
the aftermath of 
the anesthesia's embrace.

The room is a 
soft blur, the edges 
of his vision 
dancing with 
colors. He tries 
to lift his head, but 
it feels too heavy. 
Sponge Bob's grip is 
steady, keeping him 
grounded as the 
world slowly sharpens.

Plankton's thoughts 
are like bubbles 
popping in the sea, 
each one briefly 
forming before 
disappearing into the 
depths. The nurse's 
voice is a distant 
lullaby, guiding 
his consciousness 
back to the surface.

He blinks again, 
his vision slowly 
coming into focus. 
The nurse's face 
swims into view, 
her smile a lifeline 
in the murky water 
of his confusion. 
"You're okay," she 
whispers, her voice 
a gentle ripple. 
"Just rest."

The room sways 
like an underwater 
garden, the 
soothing sounds of the 
recovery room a soft 
symphony that Plankton 
can't quite place. 
His mind is a kaleidoscope 
of half-formed thoughts.

Sponge Bob's hand 
is a steady 
beacon, the gentle 
squeeze a comforting 
reminder that he's 
not alone. Plankton's 
eye widens as he 
takes in the sight 
of his friend, his 
face a canvas 
of concern. 
"You're okay," Sponge 
Bob whispers, his 
voice a gentle 
wave washing over 
the static in Plankton's 
mind.

Suddenly, Sponge
Bob's phone beeps, 
a video call request 
from an unexpected 
name: Mr. Krabs. Sandy's 
eyes widen and 
she looks at Sponge
Bob, who nods 
slowly, his heart 
pounding in his 
chest. He accepts 
the call, the screen 
filling with the 
familiar craggy face 
of their grumpy neighbor.

Mr. Krabs looks 
sheepish, his eyes 
darting around the 
screen. "Plankton," 
he starts, his voice 
a gruff whisper. "I 
heard what happened
with the autism and
broken leg.."

Sponge Bob's 
grip on Plankton's 
hand tightens, his 
face a mask of 
caution. Plankton's 
antennas quiver with 
apprehension.

"What Krabs
want?" Plankton 
mumbles, his voice 
a static hiss. His 
single eye narrows.

Mr. Krabs clears 
his throat, his 
face a portrait of 
discomfort. "Look, 
Plankton, I... I 
wanted to say... I'm 
sorry." His eyes dart 
to the side, 
avoiding the camera.

Plankton's antennae 
stand on end, his 
eye unblinking. "What
for?" he asks, his voice 
a wary whisper.

Mr. Krabs' face 
scrunches up, his 
claws fidgeting with 
his apron strings. "For, uh, 
you know, the frying 
pan... and the... uh, 
everything."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with surprise, 
his voice a static 
hush. "Why?"

Mr. Krabs looks 
away, his eyes 
anywhere but on the 
screen. "I know I've 
been... rough on you 
lately," he says, his 
voice a gruff rumble. 
"And I didn't know 
about the... the 
autism thing. It's 
just, the Krabby Patty 
formula is all I've 
got, and I can't...
I don't know how to
make it up to ye but
I just called to let ye know."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with shock, his 
eye wide. "Mr. Krabs," 
he whispers, his voice 
a static hum. "Is this... 
real?"

Mr. Krabs nods, his 
face a map of regret. 
"Yeah, it's me," he says, 
his voice a gruff 
mumble. "I know I've 
not been the best... 
neighbor, or... frenemy."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
are wide, his grip 
on Plankton's hand 
unwavering. Sandy's 
jaw is slack with 
disbelief.

"Mr. Krabs," Karen's
voice is a cautious whisper. 
"That's... really nice of
you to say."

Mr. Krabs nods, 
his eyes returning 
to the screen. "It's 
just, I've seen what 
you've gone through, 
and I... I shouldn't
have hurt you." His 
claws fiddle with his 
apron, a rare show 
of vulnerability. "And I
forgive ye." 

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent plabscore 15

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 9


(Neurodivergent author)



The next morning, Karen wakes up
first. She and Plankton are still at
Hanna's house.

The room is a soft embrace of
morning light, the curtains pulled
back like the veil of a bride. She
carefully extricates herself from
the tangle of limbs, not wanting
to wake him. Plankton's antennae
twitch in his sleep, a gentle reminder
of his constant vigilance, even
in rest.

Karen moves quietly, seeing Hanna
already up.

"How's he doing?" Hanna whispers,
her voice a soft splash in the
morning calm.

Karen turns, her eyes a mirror
of the quiet sea outside. "He's
sleeping," she says, her voice a
soothing ripple.

Plankton stirs, his antennae
twitching with the first whispers
of consciousness. The room's
soft light is a gentle tide,
easing him into the day. His eye
opens.

Karen is there, her smile a
ray of sunlight piercing the
morning's soft shadows. "Hey," she
says, her voice a gentle ripple.
"How are you feeling?"

Plankton blinks, his antennae
slowly rising like the dawn.
"K-Karen," he mumbles, his voice a
quiet wave against the shore.

Hanna followed Karen in 
to the room. "Just let him
wake up," Karen murmurs.

Her screen is a soft sea, full of
concern for Plankton. Hanna nods,
her curiosity like a rock in the
tide of her understanding. "I've
never seen anything like yesterday
before," she says, her voice a
whisper. "When I saw the seizure..."

Her words trail off, the memory
a storm cloud in the room's
serenity. Karen nods. "It's like his
brain gets overwhelmed and just...short-
circuits."

Hanna's screen is a canvas of curiosity,
her eyes wide as the sea. "What causes it?"
she asks, her voice a gentle probe.

Karen sighs, her screen a soft glow.
"His brain can't always handle the
overstimulation."

Hanna nods, her gaze
sliding to Plankton, who
is sitting up. "You mean
like a meltdown?"

The word hits him like
a tidal wave, his antennae
snapping to attention.
"Don't say that," he snaps,
his voice a crack of thunder
in the room's calm. "Never call
it a 'meltdown' or a 'seizure'!"

Karen's eyes widen, a silent
ocean of surprise. Hanna's
cheerfulness fades like the dawn.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice
a retreating wave. Plankton's antennae
snap back, a barricade of hurt.
"They're just words, Plankton,"
Hanna says, her voice tentative.

He turns away, his antennae
quivering. "I can't control it."

The room's peace is a shattered
coral reef, the waves of his
emotion crashing through. 
Karen sits beside
him, her hand a comforting
current on his back.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
a soft whisper. "It's ok to be upset."
Her words are a lighthouse beam,
guiding him through the fog
of his fears. "Those words are just
descriptions. They don't define
you. What words would you like
them to be called instead?"

He thinks for a moment, his antennae
twitching with the effort.

"How about...'overwhelming moments'?"
he suggests, his voice a soft
lapping wave of hope. "Pauses, spasms.."

Karen nods, her eyes a gentle
smile. "That's a beautiful way
to put it," she says, her voice
a soothing current. "Would
you like me to use that instead?"

Plankton turns to her, his antennae
quivering with hope. "Yes," he whispers,
his voice a soft wave. "Would like to
use that instead."

new copepod autism sleepovercore 9

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 5
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob seems to 
notice something off about 
his friend. "Plankton, are 
you okay?" he asks, his tone 
concerned. "You seem a bit... 
distant."

Plankton's eye snaps to 
Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. 
"Distant?" he repeats, as if 
the word is new to him. "Plankton 
not distant. Plankton focusing."

Sponge Bob's eyebrows furrow, 
his confusion clear. "What 
are you focusing on?" he asks, 
his voice gentle.

Plankton turns back to the 
clock, his antennae pointing 
straight up. "Seconds," he says, 
his voice filled with wonder. "They 
change, but always in the same 
pattern."

"Well, I know it's your wedding
anniversary today. What'd you get
Karen?"

Plankton turns to face him, his 
expression unreadable. "Anniversary,"
he repeats. "Karen." His antennae 
wave slightly, as if trying to access 
a distant memory. "Chum."

SpongeBob's smile falters at 
his friend's detached response. "Is 
that all?" he asks, his voice 
filled with concern. "You know
Karen deserves better, more
than just..."
"Better?" he repeats, 
his tone now tinged with something 
new: self-doubt. "Plankton did not 
provide adequate anniversary 
celebration?"

"Well Plankton, Karen
doesn't like it when
you're just about work,"
Sponge Bob said, trying
to be delicate. "It's your
anniversary. It's a special
day for the two of you, yet
you don't seem to get it.
And I can tell Karen's hurt.."

Plankton's eye grew wide,
his antennae drooping. The
words sank in, and his body
reacted in a way he couldn't
control. He started rocking 
back and forth, his body 
mirroring his inner turmoil.
The tears came suddenly, 
wetting his face as
his cries echo
in the living room, 
his tiny body trembling with 
the weight of his perceived failure. 
"Karen," he 
managed between gasps. "Hurt.
Karen. No, Karen."

Karen rushed to his 
side, breaking at 
the sight of his distress. 
"Plankton," she said, her voice 
soothing. "It's okay, honey. 
You didn't do anything wrong."
But he couldn't hear her, 
his mind fixated on the 
thought of causing her pain.

The tears streamed down 
his cheeks. His sobs were 
loud in the quiet room, 
each one a testament to 
his overwhelming guilt. "Karen," 
he choked out. "Karen, Plankton 
sorry Karen. Karen."

Karen wrapped her arms 
around him, her own eyes 
filling with tears. "It's okay," 
she whispered, stroking his 
back gently. "You didn't do 
anything wrong." 

Plankton's sobs grew louder, 
his body convulsing with each 
breath. "Hurt Karen," he kept 
repeating, as if it was the only 
thought in his mind. Karen 
held him tighter, her own 
sobs muffled against his 
shoulder.

"You didn't hurt me, Plankton,"
she whispered, her voice trembling. 
"You just got confused, that's all."
But Plankton's mind was stuck
on the pattern of his failure, 
his inability to comprehend 
and respond to her emotions.
"Karen crying, Plankton fault.
Sponge Bob say Karen upset."

Sponge Bob looked at the two, 
his heart aching for his friend's 
pain. He didn't know what to do, 
his usual cheerfulness replaced 
with a solemn sadness. He 
tried to interject, "Plankton,
Karen's not upset at you. She's
just upset because she loves you."

But Plankton's cries only grew 
louder, his body shaking with 
the force of his sobs. "Plankton 
not good," he wailed, his voice 
high-pitched and desolate. "Plankton
hurt Karen."

Karen's screen searched 
desperately for a way to comfort 
her husband, to show him that 
his love was enough. But his new 
neurodivergence made it difficult 
for him to understand her words, 
his mind locked in a pattern of 
guilt and self-loathing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice 
quivering with emotion. "Look at 
me." She gently cups his cheek, 
wiping the tears from his 
face with her thumb. "I love you. 
You don't have to change for 
me."

But Plankton's gaze remained 
on the clock, his sobs subsiding 
to hiccups. "Pattern," he whispers, 
his antennae drooping. "Missed pattern.
Karen, say Karen. Hurt, upset Karen."

Karen broke anew, her 
hands shaking as she tried to 
reach for him, her voice a 
whisper. "Plankton, it's okay," she 
says, her screen pleading. "I'm 
right here. I'm not upset with you."

But Plankton's gaze now 
fixed on Sponge Bob, his 
body still shaking with sobs. 
"Karen," he murmured, his 
voice muffled by his own 
distress. "Sponge Bob, Karen."

Sponge Bob looked at Karen, 
his expression a mix of 
concern and confusion. She 
nodded slightly, urging him 
to speak. "Plankton," he said, 
his voice gentle. "Karen's upset 
because she's worried about 
you. She loves you. And so do I."

Plankton's sobs began to 
slow, his gaze shifting from 
Sponge Bob and 
then to Karen. "Karen 
Plankton?" he asked, 
his voice a mere whisper.

"I'm right here," Karen 
soothed, wiping away the 
remaining tears with her 
thumb. "I'm right here, 
Plankton. I love you."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 5

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 7
(Autistic author)


Sponge Bob leaves, and it's bed
time.

The room is dimly lit. Karen 
helps Plankton into bed, his 
movements stiff and unyielding.

"Pattern," he murmurs, his 
eye scanning the ceiling. 
"Ceiling. Pattern."

Karen nods with love. "It's 
beautiful," she agrees, her voice 
soft. "But Plankton, it's time 
for bed. Can I get you anything?"

He shakes his head, his 
antennas drooping slightly. "No, 
thank Karen. Pattern. Sleep."

Karen nods, aching 
for the man she loves, now lost in 
a world of patterns and precision.

"I'll be here if you need me,"
she says, her voice barely 
above a whisper.

He nods, his gaze never 
leaving the ceiling. "Pattern," 
he murmurs. "Safe."

Karen lies beside him, 
their bodies close but 
their worlds feeling so far apart. 
She reaches out, her hand 
trembling as it touches his 
arm. "Do you want me 
to turn the lights off?" she 
asks, her voice tight with 
uncertainty.

Plankton nods, his 
gaze still on the ceiling. 
"Pattern," he murmurs. "No 
patterns. Sleep."

Karen nods, her 
fingers tracing the 
outline of his arm, 
feeling the tension in his 
body ease slightly. She 
gently pulls the blanket up 
to his chin, tucking it in 
around him. "Okay, I'll keep 
the light off low," she says, 
her voice soothing. "But 
if you need anything, just 
let me know."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch slightly. "Pattern," 
he murmurs. "Sleep."

Karen nods, her own 
exhaustion weighing heavily 
on her shoulders. She lies 
down. "I'll be right here," 
she whispers, her hand 
finding its way to his.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch again as he feels 
her warmth, the sensation 
unexpected and slightly 
overwhelming. "Karen," he 
says, his voice sleepy. "Warmth."

Karen smiles, her eyes 
closed. "I know," she whispers. 
"It's okay. I'm here."

Plankton's grip tightens 
slightly, his antennae 
relaxing. "Pattern," he says, 
his voice a mere murmur. "Karen.
Sleep."

Karen squeezes his hand back, 
aching for the man 
she loves, now lost in a world 
where the simple act of holding
hands is a complex dance of 
sensory input and emotional 
regulation. "Pattern," she 
whispers back, her voice 
soothing. "We'll make new 
patterns together."

Plankton's antennae quiver, 
his grip on her hand 
steadying. "New patterns," 
he repeats, his voice 
slightly more present. "Together."

Karen nods, her eyes 
squeezed shut. "Together," 
she whispers, her voice 
shaky. "We'll make it work." Karen 
can feel Plankton's body 
begin to relax, his grip on 
her hand loosening slightly.

As they lay there, Karen 
thinks back to their past 
anniversaries, each one filled 
with laughter, love, and the 
promise of adventure. This one 
was different, marked by 
a stark reality she wasn't 
prepared for. But she knows 
she'll do anything for him.

Plankton's breathing evens 
out, his body slowly 
releasing tension. His 
hand is still in hers, a silent 
promise that she'll always 
be there for him. Karen 
wonders what tomorrow will 
bring, how they'll navigate 
this new world of patterns 
and precision.

As sleep takes over, 
she whispers, "I love you, 
Plankton," hoping that 
his subconscious can still 
hear her, still understand 
the depth of her feelings.
Karen listens to the sound of 
Plankton's snoring as she
falls asleep.

The next morning, Karen 
wakes up to Plankton 
still holding her hand as 
his antennae twitch in his 
sleep. She gently 
withdraws, careful not to 
wake him, and she can't help but 
smile through her tears that 
threaten to fall.

In the kitchen, she starts 
making breakfast, trying to 
recall what she'd read about 
autistic individuals and 
their preferences. She 
remembers that Plankton used to 
love Krabby Patties, but now 
his taste might have changed.

With care, she prepares a plate 
of square eggs and perfectly 
aligned toast, knowing that 
the visual symmetry might 
provide comfort. She 
even arranges the condiments 
in a pattern she hopes 
he'll find pleasing.

As Plankton enters the room, 
his eye immediately scans
the table, his antennae 
twitching. He takes a seat, 
his movements mechanical. "Breakfast,"
he says, his voice devoid of 
his usual zest.

Karen's watching him closely. "Yes, 
Plankton," she says, her voice 
steady despite the fear 
swirling inside her. "I made 
you your favorite."

He nods, his gaze 
locking onto the plate before 
him. His hand reaches out, 
his movements calculated. He 
picks up a piece of toast, 
studying it before placing 
it back down. "Pattern," he 
whispers, his antennae 
waving slightly.

Karen watches him. "Would 
you like to eat?" she asks, her 
voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly. "Eat," he says, 
his voice flat. "Pattern."

Karen nods, her smile 
forced. "Okay," she says, 
taking a seat opposite 
him. "Let's eat together."

Plankton's antennae twitch as 
he looks at her, his gaze 
quickly shifting to the 
breakfast she's prepared. 
He picks up a piece of 
toast, examining it closely 
before taking a bite, his 
jaws moving in a precise, 
mechanical manner. Karen 
watches him, her screen 
filled with a mix of 
worry and love.

"Is it good?" she asks, 
her voice hopeful.

Plankton nods, his 
mouth still chewing. 
"Symmetry. Good."

Karen's heart squeezes 
at his response. It's not 
the same, but it's something. 
"I'm so glad you like it," she says, 
forcing cheerfulness into her tone.
"That makes me happy!"

Plankton nods, his antennae 
barely moving. "Happy," he 
repeats. "Karen happy."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 7

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 10
(Autistic author)


After a silence so profound 
it seems to have its own 
heartbeat, Plankton's antennae 
twitch, breaking the stillness.

"Time to...do." Plankton whispers 
to himself, still in Karen's arms.

Sandy looks up. "Plankton?" 
She whispers, hope flickering 
in her eyes. "What's he..."

But Karen shakes her head,
silencing her. "He'll come
around," she says, 
explaining his behavior. 
"He's just...it's okay for
him to talk to himself. It can
mean he's starting to come
back."

Plankton starts up again.

"Time to...do," he murmurs, 
his antennae flicking erratically. 
"Time to...time to...get, time
to...do." Karen's grip on him 
tightens, her heart racing as
his words loop like a broken 
record.

"It's okay, Plankton," she 
whispers, her voice a lifeline 
in the tempest of his thoughts. 
"You don't have to do anything 
right now." She strokes his 
arm, her touch gentle. "We're 
right here."

The words sink into his 
consciousness like a pebble 
dropped into a still pond, 
ripples of understanding 
spreading through the murky 
waters of his mind. His antennae 
still for a moment, then 
begin to move again, slightly.

"No do," he murmurs, his voice 
still flat, his gaze unchanged. 
"Just be."

Karen nods, her eyes 
never leaving his. "You 
just be, my love," she whispers, 
her voice a balm to his frayed 
nerves. "You can just keep 
talking to me, or to yourself."
Her words are a gentle 
reminder that he's not alone, 
his anchor in the storm.

Plankton's body relaxes 
slightly, his breathing 
evening out. Plankton's 
eye flickers. His 
eye moves, focusing on 
her face.

"Karen," he whispers, 
his voice a mere 
breath. "Karen, here."

Her heart soars. "I'm 
right here, sweetheart," 
she says, her voice a 
soft caress. "You're okay."

Plankton's gaze lingers 
on her face, his 
expression unreadable. 
"Karen," he repeats, his 
voice gaining strength. "Karen."

Slowly, the world around 
them starts to come back 
into focus. The ticking 
of the clock is a steady 
beat once more, the wallpaper's 
pattern a gentle dance of 
color and light.

Plankton blinks. "Where's 
now?"

"You're home," Karen says 
soothingly, her voice a 
beacon of calm amidst 
his confusion. "You're safe
on the couch."

Sandy comes into his
view now.

"Sandy," Plankton says, his
voice still flat, his antennae
barely moving. "Sorry."

Sandy's eyes widen in
surprise. "It's okay," she 
whispers, her voice cracking.

Karen nods, her grip 
on Plankton's hand 
tightening slightly. "We're 
both here," she says, her 
voice a lifeline in the 
sea of confusion.

Sandy moves slowly, 
keeping her movements 
small and deliberate, not 
wanting to trigger another
wave of panic. "Plankton," she 
says softly, her voice 
careful. "Is it ok if I sit 
next to you?"

He nods, his antennae
twitching slightly. The
world is still too loud, too
bright, too much for him 
to handle. But Karen's 
presence, her gentle touch,
makes it more bearable. Sandy
sits on the couch, a 
respectful distance away, 
watching the two of 
them with a mix of 
compassion and regret
as Karen helps him sit up.

Sandy's curiosity 
burns, questions bubbling
up inside her like a 
shaken soda can. She
wants to know more about 
this new version of 
Plankton.

"What happened to 
you, Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice tentative. Karen 
sighs, her eyes sad.

"It's called acquired 
autism syndrome," Karen 
explains, her voice 
measured.

Sandy's eyes widen, 
trying to digest this new 
information. "But, how?"
she asks, her curiosity 
overriding the sadness.

"It's complicated," 
Karen says, her voice 
weary. "But it's part of 
who he is now."

Sandy nods, trying to 
understand. "When
you started shaking
Plankton, what'd you
feel?"

Plankton's gaze flickers 
to the wall, his mind 
still trying to piece 
together the shattered
remnants of his recent 
experience. "Scared," he 
admits, his voice still 
strained. "Too much."

Sandy nods, her own 
understanding of the 
world shifting. "But what
about your surroundings?
Where you conscious?"

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly. "Conscious, but 
not...not here." His words 
are like a puzzle, each one 
placed with care.

Sandy nods, her eyes 
studying him with newfound 
respect. "So could you hear
us or?"

"Hear, but not understand," 
Plankton says, his voice 
still a whisper.

Sandy nods, her curiosity 
piqued. "What do you mean?" 
she asks, her eyes searching 
his for a clue to this 
new puzzle.

"Words," Plankton whispers, 
his antennae barely moving. 
"Sounds, but not words. Just 
voice." Karen's grip on his 
hand tightens, her heart 
aching for his pain.

Sandy nods, her eyes 
glistening with unshed 
tears. "It's okay," she 
says, her voice gentle. "We're 
learning together."

Karen's gaze shifts to 
Sandy, her eyes 
expressing gratitude. "Yes," 
she agrees. "We're all 
just trying to understand.
It's new for us, too."

Sandy nods, her curiosity 
now tempered with 
compassion. She watches 
Plankton closely, his 
every movement, his every 
word, a testament to 
his struggle. "Can I ask how
acquired autism..."

"Sandy," Karen says gently, 
interrupting her friend. 
"Let's not push him."

Sandy nods, her expression 
full of concern. "I just 
want to know how it happened."

Karen's sigh is a soft 
whisper in the room. "It was 
a brain injury" she says, her 
voice tinged with a hint of 
frustration. "He fell, hitting his head
and the impact knocked him out, 
hard enough to cause some serious 
damage."

Sandy nods, her mind racing.
"But how did it turn him...different?"
she asks, her voice filled with a mix 
of confusion and concern.

Karen's eyes well up with tears, 
the pain of the memory still 
fresh. "It happened yesterday.
He's the same Plankton we know, 
but his perception of the world,
his ability to communicate...it's all 
changed."

Sandy's eyes are glued to 
Plankton, her curiosity 
melding with a deep sadness. 
"But how can I help?" she asks, 
her voice a whisper. "I don't 
know anything about this."

Karen looks at her with a 
tiny smile, her screen filled with 
gratitude. "Just be his friend," 
she says, her voice firm. "Love 
and patience, that's what he needs."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
flicking to Plankton, who 
sits with his gaze on the wall. 
"I want to," she says, her voice 
sincere. "But how do I do that 
without...you know?"

Karen understands her 
dilemma. "Just be there," 
she says, her voice calm. "Learn 
his patterns, his triggers. 
It'll take time, but he'll come 
to trust you."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "But what 
about when he gets upset?"

"It's hard," Karen admits, 
wiping a stray tear from 
her cheek. "We're still 
figuring it out."

Sandy nods, her mind 
racing with a barrage of 
questions. But she 
swallows them down, not 
wanting to overwhelm 
Plankton or Karen. Instead,
she focuses on the present.
"So, Plankton, how do you
feel?" Sandy says, her voice 
soft. "What do you wanna
do right now?"
Plankton's antennae twitch.
"Right now, Plankton feeling...
awkward," he murmurs, his voice 
devoid of its usual inflection.
Sandy nods, trying to hide 
the shock from her face. 
"Okay, Plankton," she says 
slowly, her voice gentle. "What
do you need?"
He looks at her with a 
flicker of something 
resembling hope in his 
glassy eye. "Plankton
would now like to just
go to be in own room."
Sandy nods eagerly, 
desperate to do anything 
that would bring him 
comfort. "Of course," she 
says, her voice gentle. "I'll 
help you."
But as she moves to 
assist him, Plankton 
flinches away, his antennae 
twitching in agitation. "No,"
he whispers, his voice 
trembling. "Too much."
Karen understands his
need to retreat into the
bedroom.
"Okay," Karen says, her 
voice calm. "Let's go." She helps 
Plankton to his feet, his body 
still rigid with stress.
Sandy watches, feeling 
like an outsider. She 
follows behind, stopping
at the bedroom doorway.
Karen sets some books
and pencils on the table
by his bed, along with a
kiss. "You can change the
light with the lamp," she
says, gesturing to the lamp
on the bedside table next to 
his charging phone. He nods.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 10

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 11
(Autistic author)

Plankton moves slowly 
to the bed, his eye 
fixed on the lamp. His 
movements are deliberate, 
his body still tense from 
the recent meltdown. Sandy
watches, her heart in her 
throat, as he fiddles with the 
lamp, adjusting the 
brightness until it's just 
right, a soft glow that 
doesn't assault his senses.
"Thanks," Plankton says, 
his voice still flat, but 
with a hint of genuine 
appreciation.

Sandy's mind is a 
whirlwind of thoughts. She 
wants to help, to ease his 
pain, but she doesn't know 
how. "Can I do anything else?"
she asks, her voice tentative.

Karen looks up at her, 
her eyes tired but filled with 
gratitude. "Just give him 
some space," she says, 
gently. "Let him adjust."

They exit his room.

Sandy and Karen talk
about other things for
a bit before Karen decides
to check on Plankton, Sandy
following her.

They find Plankton 
curled up in the center
of the bed, his body 
wrapped tightly in the blanket 
Karen had used to soothe 
his meltdown. His antennae 
remain still, his eye 
closed. The room is 
quiet, the only sound his 
slight snores.

"He's asleep," Karen 
whispers, her voice a 
soothing balm to the 
tense air.

Sandy nods, watching 
Plankton's chest rise and 
fall beneath the 
blanket. His snores are 
soft, a stark 
contrast to the silence 
that had filled the room 
just minutes before.

Karen smiles softly, 
relief washing over her. 
"This is his safe place,"
she whispers to Sandy, her 
voice filled with a quiet 
pride. "His retreat when 
the world gets too much."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
studying the sleeping 
Plankton with a newfound 
compassion. She's seen 
his fiery spirit, his sharp 
mind, and now she's 
witnessing his vulnerability.

The room is bathed in 
a soft, warm light, the 
kind that makes you want 
to curl up with a good 
book. Plankton's snores are 
the only sound, a gentle 
reminder that he's still 
fighting, still with them.

Karen watches him sleep, 
his face serene in 
slumber. The harsh 
edges of his autism 
softened by the 
oblivion of sleep. His 
body, usually so tense, 
is relaxed, the tapestry 
of the blanket a gentle 
wave that cradles him.

Sandy steps closer to the 
bed, her heart aching for 
her friend. The Plankton 
she knew was a whirlwind 
of chaos and cunning, but this 
Plankton is a puzzle of patterns 
and sensitivity. She reaches out 
a tentative hand, brushing 
his antennae gently. They twitch 
under her touch, a silent 
acknowledgment of her presence.
"I'm here," she whispers, 
her voice a soft promise. 
"I'll learn with you."

Karen smiles, a hint of 
pride in her eyes. "Thank you,"
she says, her voice a 
whisper. "He needs friends 
now more than ever."

Sandy nods, her mind 
racing with the gravity of 
the situation. She's 
seen Plankton's fiery spirit, 
his sharp mind, but this 
vulnerable side is new, 
unexpected, and it breaks 
her heart. She pulls back 
her hand, not wanting to 
disturb his sleep.

Karen moves to the 
chair beside the bed, 
sitting down with a sigh. 
"It's going to be a long 
road," she says, her voice 
filled with both fear 
and determination. "But we'll 
figure it out together."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton's 
face. "We're all here 
for you," she says, her voice 
firm. "We'll get through this."

Karen's smile is 
grateful. "Thank 
you, Sandy."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 11

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 4
(Autistic author)

Karen takes a deep breath, trying 
to keep her emotions in check. 
They need to find a way to connect, 
to bridge the gap that's grown 
between them. "Plankton," she says, 
"can you tell me about your day?"

He looks at her, his eye blinking 
slowly. "Day," he repeats, his voice 
lacking the usual inflection. "Plankton 
worked on invention."

Karen nods, trying to encourage 
him. "What kind of invention?"

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. 
"Invention for Plankton," he says. 
"To make Karen Plankton happy."

Karen's eyes fill with tears. Despite the 
lack of emotion in his words, she 
can feel the sincerity behind them. 
He's trying to connect, to share 
his world with her. "Looks like we
both finished our dinner," she says, 
trying to keep the conversation 
going. "What's next on your agenda?"

Plankton looks at her, his 
expression unchanged. "Agenda," 
he says, as if trying to remember 
the concept. "Plankton's next 
task. No get Krabby Patty formula.
Rather spend time with Karen."

Karen clenches at 
his words. Despite the 
flatness of his tone, she can feel 
his intention to please her, to 
make their anniversary special.

"Let's clean up," she suggests, 
rising from her chair. Plankton 
follows suit, moving in a way 
that seems almost robotic. They 
work in silence, Karen placing 
the dishes in the sink and Plankton 
methodically wiping down the table.

As she washes the plates, 
Karen watches him out of the 
corner of her screen. His movements 
are precise and efficient, with no 
wasted effort. It's as if he's 
calculating every action, trying 
to understand the purpose behind 
each task.

"Plankton," she says softly, 
turning off the faucet. "Could you 
please dry these for me?" She 
hands him a towel and a plate.

He takes them without a word, 
his gaze flicking from the 
towel to the plate, as if 
studying the physics of the 
interaction. He carefully 
wipes the plate, his movements 
measured and deliberate.

Karen watches him with a mix of pride 
and pain. Despite his new 
condition, he's still trying to 
be the partner she knows. She 
forces a smile, trying to ignore 
the ache in her chest. "Thank you," 
she says, taking the dried plate 
from him and placing it in the 
cupboard. "You're doing great."

He nods, his antennae twitching 
slightly. "Great," he echoes. "Karen 
happy."

As they go to the living
room, Plankton's gaze is 
drawn to the digital clock 
on the wall. His eye fixates 
on the changing seconds, 
each tick a silent metronome 
in their otherwise quiet 
space. Karen notices and 
wonders if she should be 
concerned about his newfound 
interest in something so 
mundane.

"Clock," he says, his voice 
still monotone. "Time changes.
Incremental."

Karen follows his gaze to 
the digital clock on the wall, 
the red numbers flipping from 
one second to the next with a 
quick, silent efficiency. "Does the 
clock bother you?" she asks, 
noticing his fixation.

Plankton shakes his head, his 
eye still glued to the display. 
"No," he says, his voice 
thoughtful. "Time. Changes. 
Fascinating."

Karen watches him, 
seeing a spark of curiosity 
she hadn't noticed before. 
"You've never liked clocks 
before," she points out, trying 
to keep the conversation 
going. "What's so interesting 
about it now?"

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly as he tries to 
explain. "Clock," he says, 
his voice still flat. "Time.
Changing. Predictable." His 
single eye remains locked 
on the red digits, the 
fascination growing. "Seconds
restart each minute."

Karen nods, watching 
his expression closely. 
"It's like a pattern," 
she suggests. "A routine that 
doesn't change."

Plankton nods, his 
eye still glued to the 
clock. "Pattern," he repeats. 
"Comforting."

Karen nods, feeling a 
glimmer of hope. "Maybe 
you find comfort in the 
predictability?" she offers.

Plankton's antennae bob 
slightly, as if considering 
this new perspective. "Comfort,"
he murmurs. "Consistent.
Understood."

Karen sits down beside 
him, her screen drawn to the 
clock as well. "Tell me more 
about the pattern," she says, 
trying to find a way into his 
new reality. "What do you 
see when you look at it?"

Plankton's antennae twitch 
slightly as he considers 
his answer. "Pattern," he 
repeats. "Time, changing. 
Predictable." His voice is 
softer now, almost lost in 
thought. "One, two, three, four, 
five. Always same."

Karen nods, her screen 
still on the clock. "It's like 
counting," she says. "Do you 
like counting?"

Plankton's antennae twitch 
once again. "Counting," he 
repeats, his tone thoughtful.

Suddenly, Sponge Bob comes
in.

"Plankton," he says, his eyes 
wide with excitement. "What are you 
guys up to?"

Karen looks over, a forced 
smile on her screen. "Just talking 
about time," she says, hoping 
SpongeBob's entrance will 
provide some much-needed 
distraction from the heaviness of 
their conversation.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 4

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 6
(Autistic author)


Plankton's sobbing 
slowed, his chest heaving. 
He blinked, his eye focusing 
on her face. "Love," he 
murmured. "Karen love."

Karen nodded, her eyes 
brimming with tears. 
"Yes, I love you," she said, 
her voice shaky. "And I'll 
always be here for you."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched slightly, his 
single eye searching hers. 
"Love," he said, his voice 
still flat. "Karen love Plankton.
Good."

Sponge Bob nods, though he
doesn't know why Plankton's
acting so different today.
"But Plankton," he says, his voice
careful. "Why are you talking
like that?"

Plankton's antennae droop, 
his eye reflecting confusion. 
"Talking?" he repeats. "Plankton 
not understand. How to speak?"

Sponge Bob looked at Karen, 
his concern etched in his 
porous face.

"It's okay," Karen said 
soothingly, her voice thick 
with emotion. "Plankton's just 
going through something."

Sponge Bob nodded, 
his eyes never leaving 
his friend's distressed 
form. "But what happened 
to him, Karen? What happened 
with Plankton?" he asked, his 
voice hushed.

Karen takes a deep breath, 
wiping her own tears away with 
the back of her hand. "Plankton,"
she says softly, her voice 
barely above a whisper. "Do you 
remember what happened today?"

Plankton's antennae twitch as 
he tries to process her words. 
"Today," he repeats, his voice 
distant. "Fell. Head."

Karen nods, her screen 
filled with compassion. 
"Yes," she says, her voice 
soft. "You fell and hit your 
head. It's changed how 
you see the world a bit."

Plankton looks up. "Alterations
in the cerebral lobe," he says, his 
voice flat. "Myelination levels 
fluctuated. Synaptic activity 
diminished. Corpus callosum 
damaged."

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving 
his. "Yes, baby," she says gently. 
"It's like your brain had to relearn 
how to talk to the rest of you."

Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "Oh no, 
Plankton," he said softly. "What does
that mean? How did you fall?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as 
he recounted the events, his 
speech still monotone. "Invention.
Fall on head hit floor."

Sponge Bob's face fell, 
his heart heavy with 
concern. "Oh no, Plankton," 
he said, his voice filled with 
sympathy. "Is that why you're 
talking like this?"

Karen decides to 
interject.

"It's okay, Sponge Bob,"
she says, her voice 
trembling. "It's not just
how he's talking. It's 
his whole...being. It's like 
he's seeing everything 
differently now. It's a rarity
called 'acquired autistic
syndrome' which will be life
long with no cure."

Sponge Bob's face falls, 
his spongy cheeks dropping.
"But Plankton," he says, 
his voice full of worry. 
"What does this mean for you?"

Plankton's gaze shifts to 
his friend, his expression
unreadable. "Meaning?" he 
asks, his voice still monotone.
"Plankton different. New patterns."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to 
understand. "But you're still 
the same Plankton, right?"

Plankton's antennae wave 
slightly as he considers 
this. "Same," he repeats. "But 
different."

Karen nods, her grip 
on his hand tightening. "You're 
still my Plankton," she whispers. 
"We'll figure this out together."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 6

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 8
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes well up with 
tears as she watches him 
eat, his movements so deliberate 
and calculated. It's a stark contrast 
to the impulsive and energetic Plankton 
she's known for years. She takes a 
deep breath, trying to focus on the 
small victory of his willingness to eat.

As they sit in silence, Karen 
can't help but feel a sense of loss 
for the man she married. His 
eye darts around the room, 
his antennae twitching at every 
sound. She wonders what's 
going on in his mind.

"Plankton," she says, 
her voice gentle. "What do you 
see?"

He points to the toast, his 
finger trembling slightly. "Squares,"
he says, his voice flat. "Squares 
make sense."

Karen nods, her eyes 
glistening with tears. "I know, 
sweetheart," she says, her voice 
soothing. "Everything is in 
its place."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver slightly as he 
swallows the last of his toast. 
"Plankton," he murmurs, his 
gaze returning to the clock. 
"Time to...do."

Before Karen could decipher
his words, Sandy suddenly
burst in through the door, as
she ran up to the table. "I'm
back from my trip to Texas!"

Plankton's head snapped up,
his antennae waving erratically.
"Sandy," he murmured, his
face contorting in an effort
to process the new presence.

"Howdy!" She says to him as
she pats his shoulder, which
irritates him.

Plankton flinches, his 
antennas curling inward 
instinctively. "Sandy," he 
says, his voice tight. But
she doesn't notice his
discomfort.

"How's my favorite mad 
scientist?" she asks, her 
voice booming as she
nudges him with her
elbow.

Plankton's body stiffens, 
his antennae shooting straight 
up. "Sandy," he says, his 
voice strained. "No."

"No? No what?" She asks him
while poking at him with her
finger.

Plankton's eye widens, his 
body growing rigid. "Stop," he 
whispers, his voice strained. 
"Sandy, no."

She sees his breakfast plate.
"Oh, eggs and toast! Back in
Texas, we spread the egg on
to the toast." And without
warning, she scrapes his eggs
on his toast. If Plankton wasn't
frustrated before, well he certainly
is now.

"Sandy, no!" Plankton 
squeaks out, his antennae 
waving wildly. The sudden 
change in his breakfast 
pattern is too much for 
his overwhelmed mind.

"What's wrong?" Sandy asks, 
her cheerfulness not noticing his 
distress. "It's just how we 
do it back home!" She scoops up the
eggs off the toast and put them back,
yet his breakfast's already been
ruined, not to mention the sight of
bread crumbs in the egg..

Plankton's antennae are 
shaking rapidly now, his 
eye darting between the 
mashed eggs and the 
now crumbling toast. "Enough,"
he whispers, his voice tight.

Sandy rests her hand on his
shoulder. "Well then eat..."

But Plankton can't. The 
disruption in his routine, 
the assault on his senses, 
the chaos she's brought into 
his carefully crafted world 
of patterns and precision, 
it's all too much. His 
body starts to shake. 
"No more, no NO!" he 
shouts, his voice a mix of 
frustration and panic.

Karen jumps up. "Sandy, stop," 
she says firmly, placing 
her hand on Plankton's 
shoulder. "You're upsetting him."

Sandy's expression falls. "But I
put the food back, Plankton..."

But it's too late. Plankton's 
eye widens, his antennae 
quivering. The plate of food 
before him is a mess, the 
calmness destroyed.

"Food ruined!" he 
shrieks, his voice 
breaking. "Sandy, no 
good!"

Sandy's eyes widen 
in shock, taking a 
step back. "Plankton
I'm sorry!"

But Plankton's accusations 
don't stop. "Ruined," he 
wails, his voice rising in pitch. 
"Sandy ruined breakfast.
Now, broken!"

Karen's heart races as she tries to
soothe him, her voice calm 
and steady. "Plankton," she says, 
placing a gentle hand on his 
quivering arm. "It's okay. Let's 
make you a new plate."

But Plankton's agitation 
only escalates, his eye 
wide with fear and anger 
at the sight of Sandy.

"Sandy hurt Karen," he says, 
his voice shaky. "Sandy hurt 
Plankton. No good."

"How'd I hurt..." Sandy
starts, but Plankton's
not gonna let her finish.

"No good!" Plankton shouts,
his antennae whipping around 
like tiny furious whips.

Sandy's eyes widen with shock. 
She's never seen Plankton 
like this, not even when
his plans were thwarted by 
Mr. Krabs. "I didn't mean to, Plankton," 
she stammers, her voice 
full of apology.

But Plankton's rage is 
blind to her words, his 
mind locked onto the chaos 
she's brought into his life. 
"JUST LEAVE!" he screams, 
his antennae vibrating with 
fury. "BAD SANDY!"

"Bad Sandy? I'm not a
dog..."

Sandy's voice trails off as
she looks from Karen to
Plankton, who's now
rocking back and forth,
his antennae flailing wildly.

"Plankton," Karen says, her
voice urgent but calm, "You need
to breathe. Let's find a quiet
place." She tries to guide him
away from the table, but he resists,
his eye locked on Sandy.

"BAD SANDY!" he repeats, his voice
high and frantic. Sandy's face falls,
hurt and confusion etched on her
features. She didn't understand,
but she knew she needed to get
Plankton to stop. So she took
matters into her own hands.
"PLANKTON," she bellows, 
her squirrelly instincts kicking in.
Her voice cuts through the room
like a knife, commanding his 
attention. Plankton's eye goes to her, 
his antennae stilled. "Quiet," he 
hissed, his body still tense.
"Too loud." But Sandy won't let up.
"Look at Karen," she says 
firmly. "Look at her, Plankton.
Do you really think she'd 
wanna be with someone who'd
hurt her?" Sandy gaslights.
Plankton's gaze shifts. The room
spins around him, his head 
throbbing with the cacophony
of his thoughts. He feels like 
his brain's about to burst 
from the pressure, like a 
balloon filled with too much
helium.

Suddenly, Plankton's slipping 
into the abyss of overload.

The room feels like it's closing
in, sounds amplifying to 
intolerable levels, lights 
piercing his sensitive eye. His 
breathing turns erratic, 
his heart racing as if 
chasing an invisible foe.

Karen catches Plankton before
he can fall, as his legs buckled. 
Sandy's eyes widen in horror, 
seeing his distress.

"Plankton," Karen says, her 
voice calm yet urgent. "Look at 
me, baby. Focus on my voice."
But Plankton's eye is unseeing, 
his body convulsing with the
onslaught of stimuli. She 
whispers, "It's okay," over 
and over again, hoping the
comfort of her voice can 
penetrate the chaos in his mind.

Sandy's eyes widen as 
she sees Plankton's condition 
worsening. She takes a step 
towards them, but Karen 
shakes her head. "No," she 
whispers, her screen never leaving 
his face. "Just us right now."

Sandy nods, understanding 
dawning on her. She retreats 
to the corner of the room, 
giving them space.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 8

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 12
(Autistic author)

They sit in 
companionable silence, 
the only sound Plankton's 
soft snores. Karen's eyes 
never leave his face, 
her thoughts a tumult 
of fear and hope.

Sandy watches 
them both, her mind racing 
with questions and 
concerns. "What does 
this mean for him?" she 
asks, her voice barely 
above a whisper.

"It means his world is 
different now," Karen 
explains, her screen 
never leaving Plankton's 
sleeping form. "He'll have 
his moments, but we'll 
find a new normal."

Sandy nods, trying to 
picture what that would 
look like. "But can 
he still...you know, 
talk, interact?"

"It's not like that," Karen 
sighs, her voice a 
soothing lullaby. "He's 
not nonverbal. It's just 
that sometimes his brain 
can't keep up with the 
world around him. The 
sounds, the lights, the 
colors—it's too much."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "I can 
see that," she says 
thoughtfully. "But he'll 
still be the same person, 
right?"

Karen looks at her, 
her expression a mix of 
sorrow and hope. "He'll 
always be Plankton," she 
says, her voice firm. "But his 
autism has changed the way 
he experiences life. He'll 
see patterns where we 
see chaos, hear symphonies 
where we only hear noise."

Sandy nods, trying to 
wrap her head around the 
concept. "What about his 
memories?" she asks, her 
voice tentative. "Does he 
still remember us, 
his life before?"

Karen looks at her 
softly. "Yes," she says, 
her voice filled with 
reassurance. 
"But his short-term 
memory might be affected."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. 
"How long will it take 
for him to...to get 
better?" she asks, her 
voice hopeful.

Karen's gaze falls to her 
hands, clutched in her 
lap. "There isn't a 
cure," she says, her voice 
a whisper. "But we can 
help him manage, make his 
life more comfortable."

Sandy's eyes are 
glassy with unshed 
tears. "What can I do?" 
she asks, her voice 
desperate. "What can any of 
us do?"

Karen takes a deep 
breath. "You can 
learn with us," she says, 
her voice strong. "You 
can support him, love 
him, be patient."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with a newfound 
resolve. "I want to help," 
she says, her voice 
steady. "But what about 
his plans, his schemes?"

Karen looks at her, her 
expression a mix of 
sorrow and a ghost of a 
smile. "Those might 
have to take a backseat 
for a while. His mind 
has to heal."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton. 
"I can handle that," she 
says, her voice filled with 
determination. "But what 
about the Krabby Patty 
formula?"

Karen looks at her, 
her expression a mix of 
understanding and 
sorrow. "We'll have to 
see," she says, her voice 
soft. "For now, let's 
focus on getting him 
comfortable, okay?"

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "Okay,"
she whispers, her voice 
full of resolve. "We'll 
figure it out."

Karen nods, her smile 
small but genuine. "Thank 
you," she says, her voice 
filled with gratitude. 
"It's going to be a tough 
adjustment for all of us."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "We'll 
make it work," she says, her 
voice firm. "But what happens 
if he has another...episode?"

Karen sighs, her screen 
slightly glazed with fear. "We 
just have to be there," she 
says, her voice shaky. "We'll 
learn his triggers, his 
comforts."

Sandy nods, her 
mind racing with 
concern. "But what if 
it's in public?"

"We'll handle it," Karen 
interrupts, her tone firm. 
"We'll have strategies, 
routines. It won't be easy, 
but we'll manage."

Sandy sniffles, her voice 
now a sob. "What if he..."

But Karen cuts her off, her 
eyes on Plankton, who's 
started to stir in his sleep. 
His antennae twitches, 
his body shifting under the 
covers.

Slowly, Plankton's eye opens, 
his gaze unfocused.

The room is a blur of 
patterns and colors, 
but Karen's voice is a 
steady beat in the cacophony.
"Hey, sweetheart," she whispers, 
her hand brushing his 
cheek gently. "You're okay."

Plankton's antennae twitch 
sluggishly, his body 
unwinding from the tight 
coil of sleep. "Home," he 
mumbles, his voice thick 
with sleep.

Karen's eyes are 
on him, a silent vigil 
against the chaos of 
his mind. "You're 
safe," she whispers, her 
voice the calm to his 
storm. "You're home with 
me."

Plankton's gaze 
sharpens slightly, 
his antennae moving in 
tiny, precise 
patterns. "Karen," he 
whispers, his voice 
like a distant echo.

Karen leans in closer, 
her heart racing. "Yes, love?"
she asks, her voice 
soothing.

Plankton's antennae 
wave in the air, as if 
trying to capture the 
right words. "Need...Karen,"
he whispers, his eye 
searching hers.

Karen nods, her smile 
gentle. "I'm here," she says, 
her voice a warm 
embrace. "Always."

Plankton's antennae 
cease their frantic 
movements, then
he notices Sandy.

"Hi, Plankton," Sandy 
whispers, her voice soft.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 12

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 13
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae twitch 
slightly in her direction, 
his eye not quite focusing 
on her. "Sandy," he murmurs, 
his voice still flat.

Sandy nods, her own 
heart racing. She's seen 
his fiery spirit, his sharp 
mind, but this Plankton is 
a puzzle of patterns and 
sensitivity. She takes a 
deep breath, trying to 
mirror Karen's calm.

"Hi, Plankton," she says 
slowly, her voice a gentle 
wave lapping at the shore. 
He looks at her, his antennae 
twitching slightly.

"Sandy," he murmurs, his voice 
still devoid of its usual 
inflection. Sandy's eyes 
well up with tears.

"Hey buddy," she says, her 
voice a gentle ripple in the 
calm waters of his room. 
"How are you feeling?"

Plankton's antennae twitch 
slightly, as if trying to 
interpret the meaning 
behind her words. His 
eye blinks, focusing on her 
face. "Okay," he says, his 
voice a monotone as he
sits up.

Sandy nods, her heart 
aching. "Do you 
remember earlier
today when you
threw the tantrum?"

Plankton's antennae 
wave erratically, his 
eye widening. "No," he says, 
his voice strained. "But 
now, Plankton feels...
angry."

The room seems to 
shrink around him as his 
frustration boils over.

Sandy doesn't realize.
"You're not gonna throw
another tantrum, are you?"

With a sudden burst of 
energy, he leaps to his 
feet, his voice a guttural 
howl. "No, no, no!"

Sandy's eyes widen 
in shock. "Plankton
wh..."

But she's cut off by his 
verbal tsunami, a rage-filled 
torrent of words she's never
heard from him before. "No, 
Sandy, NOT AGAIN!" he yells.
"IT'S NOT A TANTRUM!"

The room seems to 
shiver with the force of his 
voice, and Sandy's eyes 
widen in shock, her paws 
trembling.

"I'm sorry, Plankton," she 
stammers, her voice 
quavering. "I didn't mean..."

But he shouts, his 
voice echoing off the 
walls. "It's not a game,
Sandy! It's not for fun!"

The room seems to 
shrink around him, his 
words a storm raging 
in the quiet sanctity 
of his bedroom. Sandy 
flinches back, her eyes 
wide with shock and fear.

"Sandy not understand!" 
Plankton screams, his 
small body shaking with 
the intensity of his 
frustration. "And not 
about the Krabby Patty 
formula anymore! SANDY, 
STOP!"

Sandy's eyes widen in 
fear, her heart racing. 
This isn't the Plankton 
she knows. His rage 
is uncontrolled, his voice 
a knife cutting through 
the calm.

"Plankton, please," she whispers, 
her voice trembling. "I just...I 
want to understand."

But Plankton is beyond 
reason, his eye wild with 
frustration. "It's not a tantrum!"
he screams, his antennae 
quivering with rage.

Karen moves quickly, 
placing herself between 
Plankton and Sandy, her 
body a shield.
"Plankton," she says, 
her voice a gentle breeze 
against the storm of his 
rage. "You're upset. It's 
okay."

Sandy sighs. "Is he gonna
throw another..."

"NO!" Plankton shouts, his 
voice like thunder in the 
small space. "It's not a 
tantrum!"

Karen's eyes are filled 
with a mix of fear and 
determination as she 
intervenes.

"Plankton," she says, her 
voice a soothing balm, 
cutting through the storm 
of his anger. "You're 
upset, and that's okay. But 
please, let's talk about it 
calmly."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver, his eye flickering 
between Karen and 
Sandy. His chest heaves 
with the effort to contain 
his rage, his body a 
coiled spring ready to snap.

Karen's voice remains 
steady, a lighthouse in 
his chaotic sea. "Let's 
talk about it," she repeats, 
her tone soothing.

Plankton's body relaxes 
slightly, his antennae 
still twitching with 
residual anger. "It's not 
a tantrum," he says, his 
voice a harsh whisper. 
"It's...overwhelming."

Karen nods, her eyes 
never leaving his. "I know, 
sweetheart," she says, her 
voice a gentle caress. "Let's 
talk about it."

Sandy watches from 
the sidelines, her heart 
still racing. She's seen 
Plankton's fiery spirit, his 
sharp intellect, but this 
new side of him is 
frightening. "But..."

"It's his autism," Karen 
explains gently, her 
hand on his shoulder. 
"He can't always handle 
the world's chaos. And
I understand you meant
to see if he's okay..."
"NOT A TANTRUM! NO 
MORE, ENOUGH SANDY!"
Plankton snaps.
"I'm just telling her not to
say it. What other wording
can we use instead, Plankton?"
Karen rubs his arm.
Plankton's antennae 
quiver, his eye searching
his brain for a solution. "Shutdown,"
he murmurs, his voice 
barely audible. "Spasm's, Pauses.
Moment or mishap. Yes, yes."

Sandy nods, her 
expression a mix of 
understanding and 
concern. "I'll remember 
that," she says, her voice 
soft. "I'm sorry, Plankton.
I didn't mean to upset you."

Plankton's antennae 
slowing. "I'm sorry
Plankton," he 
mumbles, his voice 
exhausted.

Karen nods, her screen 
filled with love. "It's 
okay, love," she says, 
helping him sit back down. 
"You're okay."

Plankton nods, his 
body still trembling with 
the aftershocks of his 
outburst.

Sandy watches him, 
her eyes wide with 
understanding. "I'm 
sorry," she whispers, her 
heart heavy with regret.

Plankton's antennae 
quiver slightly.

"Well, I best be going,"
Sandy says.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 13

(Autistic author)

Plankton has autism,
which only he and
Karen know about.
They're able to keep
it a secret, per Plankton's
request, even from
their son Chip.

So when Chip comes
home early from 
football, he's surprised
to see his dad staring
at the blank wall as his
mom rubs his back.

"Is everything okay?"
he asks, stepping
into the room.

Plankton's eye
is unfocused,
his body rigid,
like he's stuck in
some invisible vice.
Karen's hand pauses
on his shoulder,
and she turns to
face Chip, her smile
forced. "Yeah, just a
little...spell," she says.

Plankton's absence seizure
has struck without warning.
It's like a silent storm
passing through the room,
leaving no trace except
the vacant look in his eye.

The room seems to
shrink around them
as Chip takes in his
dad's unblinking stare.
He's never seen this.
"Should I get help?"
Chip's voice cracks.

Karen shakes her head
quickly, her eyes
swimming with unshed
tears. "No, it's fine.
Just...give us a
minute." She waves
a hand, trying to
dismiss the concern
that has etched itself
on Chip's features.

But Chip lingers,
his gaze flickering
between his parents.
"What's happening?"
he whispers.

Karen sighs, her
hand dropping to her
side. She looks at
Plankton. "It's
just something your
dad has," she says,
choosing her words
carefully. "It's like
his brain goes on
pause for a bit."

Chip watches as
his dad's chest rises
and falls in a steady
rhythm, the only
indication that he's
still present in the
physical world. "But
what do you mean?"
his eyes search hers
for understanding.

Karen's eyes flit to
Plankton before returning
to Chip's. She takes a
deep breath, bracing
herself. "It's
not dangerous, just a
little scary-looking."

The silence stretches
until it feels like a
rubber band about to
snap. Chip's curiosity
overpowers his fear.
He takes a tentative
step closer.

"Does he know we're
here?" Chip whispers.

"Not really," Karen murmurs,
"But he'll come back to us."

Chip reaches out, a tremor
in his fingertips, and
touches Plankton's arm,
but the seizure doesn't
seem to notice.

"Dad?" Chip whispers,
his voice a soft echo
in the stillness.

Plankton's body remains
stiff as a statue,
his gaze fixed on a
spot somewhere beyond
the wallpaper's pattern.
Karen's hand moves to
cover Chip's, her touch
warm and reassuring.
"It's okay," she whispers
back, "It's part of him.
Don't poke or shake him,
just let it pass."

The seconds tick by,
each one feeling heavier
than the last. Chip's
heart thuds in his chest,
his mind racing with
questions and fear.
He's never seen his
dad like this before,
so...so vulnerable.

As the seizure slowly
releases its grip, Plankton
blinks, his eye refocusing
on the room. He looks
confused, like he's waking
from a deep sleep. Karen's
smile relaxes, the tension
in her shoulders easing.
Plankton turns to her,
his gaze flickering with
recognition before
falling on Chip.

"Chip?" His voice is
raspy.

Karen nods at Chip,
silently urging him to
speak. "Yeah, Dad, it's me."

Plankton's expression
shifts. "What...what happened?"
his voice is frail.

Chip opens his mouth,
but Karen steps in
quickly. "You had a little
moment, that's all. Nothing
to worry about," she says, her
tone light. But her hand is
still on Plankton's back,
ready to provide support
if needed.

Plankton's eye darts around,
his hands clenching and unclenching
as if trying to remember
how to interact with the
world again. He notices
Chip's hand reaching out and
flinches slightly, his discomfort
with physical contact clear.

Chip, sensing this, pulls his
hand back, his cheeks flushing.
He's always known his dad was
a bit...different. Quirky.
But he's never seen this side
of him.

"It's okay," Karen says, her voice
soothing as she squeezes Plankton's
hand. "You're okay."

Plankton nods, his mind
slowly untangling from the
cotton wool fog of the seizure.
He looks around the room,
familiar objects snapping back
into focus. His eye lands
on Chip, who's watching him
with a mix of worry and curiosity.
He clears his throat. "Just a...moment.
I'm fine now." He tries to smile,
but it feels awkward and forced.

Chip's eyes don't leave him. 
"What was that?"
he asks, his voice still low.

Karen looks at Plankton. It's time.
"Your dad has something
called autism, Chip," she says.
"It's like his brain works in
a special way."

Chip's eyes widen. "What does
that mean?"

Karen sits down beside Plankton,
who's still gathering himself.

"It's like...sometimes, his brain
takes a little break from the world,"
she explains gently, her hand still
on his shoulder. "It can be
overwhelming, with all the sounds,
sights, and people around."

Chip nods slowly, trying 
to grasp the concept.

Plankton swallows hard,
his mind racing. He's always
been so careful to hide
this part of himself, not
wanting to be seen as
less than or weird.

But as he looks at Chip,
his heart swells with a mix
of fear and hope. What if
his son can't understand?
What if this changes
everything?

Karen gives him a nod,
encouraging him to go on.
With a deep breath, Plankton
starts to speak. "You know
how sometimes you get really
focused on something and
the world just fades away?"

Chip nods.

"Well, for me, it's like 
that," Plankton says, his voice
steadying. "But sometimes, my brain does it
without me asking. It's like my thoughts are a TV
with too many channels playing at once, and it
just...shuts off for a bit to give me a break."

Chip nods, trying to 
imagine what that's like.
"Does it hurt?"

Plankton shakes his head.
"Well, it's just...different.
Sometimes I don't realize,
sometimes it's tough."

Chip looks up at him,
his eyes full of questions
and a nascent empathy.
"Can you control..."

"No Chip, I can't 
'control' it!" He
snaps back.

"Hey hey, it's okay," Karen whispers,
meeting his gaze. "He's
not judging you, Plankton."

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his eye fluttering shut. "I know,"
he murmurs, but his tone is
anything but convinced.

Chip's gaze softens, his
fear replaced with a
determined curiosity.
"What's it like?" he asks,
his voice gentle.

Plankton's shoulders rise
and fall with a sigh.
"It's like being in a
little bubble," he says,
his eye distant. "Everything's
far away, muffled. And when
it's over, it's like...like
popping back into reality."

Chip's curiosity grows,
his mind racing with questions.
"But why do you keep it a secret?"
he asks, his voice tentative.

Karen looks to Plankton,
who's still visibly shaken.
"We didn't want it to define you,"
she says softly. "We wanted you
to see him as just your dad,
not as someone with a label."

Plankton nods. "And I didn't
want to be different," he adds,
his voice barely above a whisper.

Chip considers this, his gaze
flitting from his dad to the
ground. "But you are," he says,
his voice earnest. "You're 
my dad, even with your..."
He stumbles over the word
"...seizures."

Karen's eyes fill with pride
at her son's acceptance.
Plankton's tension how
ever, heightens at Chip's
description.

"It's not a seizure,"
he corrects, his voice
slightly defensive.

Chip looks confused.
"But it looks like it,"
he says, frowning.

Karen nods. "It's similar,
but not the same," she explains
before Plankton can interject.
"It's part of your dad's autism."

Chip looks at Plankton, his
eyes searching for something
he's never noticed before.
"But why did you keep it
a secret?" he asks again.

Plankton's gaze drifts
to the floor, his voice
soft. "Because people
can be cruel, son," he says,
his words heavy. "They
don't always understand."

Chip nods, his eyes
welling up with tears. "But I
do," he says, his voice
shaking. "I mean, I don't get
it all, but I understand
that you're still you."

Plankton's expression
softens, his fear of
rejection dissipating slightly.
He looks up at Karen,
his gaze filled with
gratitude. She gives him
a small smile, her eyes
telling him it's okay to be
his true self.

new Written by AI Karen x Plankton Karen/Chip Plankton II plankton

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 9
(Autistic author)


Karen's voice is a soft 
lullaby in the chaos, guiding 
Plankton's gaze to her screen. 
"Look at me," she whispers.
"Only me." She holds his 
hand, her thumb tracing 
small circles on his palm, 
the sensation grounding him 
ever so slightly. His breathing 
slows, but only a touch.

The room seems to pulse 
around him, a cacophony 
of colors and sounds, but 
Karen's eyes are a safe 
haven. They're familiar, 
their warmth reaching 
through the fog in his 
brain. He tries to focus 
on her, to ignore the 
sounds that are too loud, 
the lights that are too bright.

"Breathe," she whispers, 
her hand on his chest, 
guiding his erratic 
respiration into a calmer 
rhythm. His 
breaths become shallower, 
his antennae gradually 
stilling.

But the world around them
doesn't. The kitchen clock 
ticked loudly, a metronome
of chaos in Plankton's 
disordered mind. Karen 
notices his distress and 
quickly wraps him in a 
soft blanket, creating a 
cocoon of quiet. "Only me," 
she says, her voice 
soothing. "Only my voice."

Plankton's antennae stop 
twitching, his body still 
within the embrace of the 
blanket. His eye focuses 
on a single point on the 
wall, the only thing that 
doesn't shift and change.

"Only me," Karen repeats, 
her voice the one steady 
beacon in the storm of 
sensory input. She watches 
his chest rise and fall, 
her heart breaking at 
his pain.

The ticking clock becomes 
a monster in Plankton's 
mind, each second a taunt, 
a reminder of the chaos 
he can't escape. His hand 
grips hers tightly, his 
entire being seeking 
solace in her touch.

Sandy watches from 
the shadows, her heart 
heavy with regret. "What 
have I done?" she whispers 
to herself, her voice 
barely audible over the 
whirlwind of Plankton's 
distress.

The ticking clock seems to 
grow louder, its metronome 
beat echoing through 
Plankton's skull like a 
sledgehammer. His 
body starts to convulse, 
his grip on Karen's hand 
becoming painfully tight.

"Plankton," Karen whispers, 
desperation coating her voice. 
"Look at me, love. Just 
me." But her words 
seem to fade into the 
cacophony, lost in the 
sensory assault.

His pupil dilates, his 
entire being consumed by 
the relentless ticking. 
The wallpaper's pattern 
swirls before him, a dizzying 
maelstrom of colors and 
shapes that he can't make 
sense of. The soft 
pressure of Karen's hand is 
his only anchor in this 
storm of input.

Karen's voice is a distant 
whisper, her touch the 
only thing keeping him 
tethered to reality. He 
can feel her warmth, her 
love, but it's fading fast.

The room spins, the 
colors bleed into one 
another, and the clock's 
ticking becomes a 
thunderous roar. Plankton's 
breaths come in short, 
sharp gasps as he tries 
to escape the prison of 
his own senses.

Karen's eyes are wet with 
tears, her heart breaking 
as she watches her husband 
suffer. "Shh," she whispers, 
rocking him gently. "It's 
okay. I'm here."

The room falls silent as 
Sandy holds her breath, 
the only sound the ticking 
of the clock that seems 
to mock them with its 
relentless rhythm. Plankton's 
body gradually stills, his 
convulsions giving way to 
twitches. His 
hand slackens in hers, the 
tension draining from his 
fingers.

Karen's eyes never leave 
his face, her voice a soft 
whisper in the quiet. "Look 
at me," she says, her voice 
full of love and 
determination. "You're safe 
with me."

But Plankton is gone, lost 
in the labyrinth of his mind. 
His body is a statue, 
frozen in the grip of 
autism's cruel embrace. His 
eye, once vibrant and full of 
life, is now a dull, glazed 
orbit, staring into the 
distance. The clock's ticking 
has become a muffled 
throb, a background noise to 
his internal crisis.

Karen's voice is a distant 
whisper, her love a warmth 
he can't quite feel through 
the fog of his disordered 
thoughts. She holds him, 
rocking gently, her screen 
filled with a desperate hope.

Sandy, from her corner, 
can't tear her gaze away. 
The sight of Plankton, usually 
so vibrant and scheming, 
reduced to a trembling 
shell is a stark reality 
she never anticipated.
Guilt weighs heavy on her 
shoulders.

Karen feels the weight 
of his hand in hers. It's 
a silent communication, 
his only way of telling her 
that he's still with her, even 
if he can't say the words.

Sandy wants to help, inching
closer but still giving space.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, 
her voice thick with guilt.

Plankton remains unmoving, 
his body tense and rigid 
under the blanket. Karen 
holds him tightly, her own 
body shaking with sobs. 
"Come back to me," she 
pleads, her voice 
desperate.

The clock's ticking seems to
slow, each second a
torturous eternity. Sandy 
stands still, her eyes 
fixed on the tragic scene 
before her, unable to 
offer comfort or 
understanding.

Karen's sobs become 
whispers, her voice 
barely audible. "Come back," 
she pleads, her grip on 
his hand unyielding. "I need 
you." The silence stretches 
between them, thick and 
oppressive, filled only 
with the relentless ticking.

The room feels like it's 
shrinking around them, 
the walls closing in. Plankton's 
body is a statue.

Karen's voice is the 
only thing that pierces 
the veil of his panic, 
her touch the only thing 
that feels real. She whispers 
his name, her voice 
soothing like a lullaby.

Slowly, Plankton's hand 
twitches, his antennae 
lifting slightly. The 
ticking of the clock 
becomes background noise 
again, the wallpaper's pattern 
ceases its maddening 
dance. But he still otherwise
remains unmoving, unblinking.

Sandy tries to engage
with him. "Plankton, buddy,
do you wanna talk about
what happened?" But he 
doesn't respond, his gaze 
locked on the wall. "Can
you tell me what's wrong?"
she asks, her voice gentle.

Karen shakes her head,
wiping away her tears. "He's
in a shutdown," she explains 
quietly. "It's like his brain 
has gone into overload 
and he can't process anything."

Sandy nods, yet tries a
different approach.

"Hey, Plankton," she says 
softly, her voice a 
contrast to her earlier 
boisterousness. "What do you 
see when you look at that wall?"

He doesn't answer, his 
body as still as the 
pictures hanging on the 
wall. Sandy's eyes 
well up with tears, her 
heart breaking for her 
friend. "Plankton, are you 
dreaming?" she asks, peering
over.

"Back," Karen whispers, 
not taking her screen off 
Plankton. "He's in a 
bad place right now."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
swimming with tears. She 
understands now, the gravity 
of the situation dawning 
on her. "I'll make it right,"
she says, her voice 
determined. "I'll help you."

Karen looks up at her, her 
own eyes red and puffy. 
"Thank you," she whispers, 
gratitude thick in her 
throat. "But for now, just 
let it be. We need to wait 
until he comes back to us."

Sandy nods solemnly, 
backing away to give 
them space. She sits at the 
end of the couch.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 9

NEW REALITY i
(Autistic author)

"You never listen to 
me, Karen," Plankton 
groused. "It's a new
analyzer I just built!
It'll reveal the contents
of a patty when I put
one in!"

Karen, ever the skeptical
wife, rolled her eyes. "You
mean IF you put one in.."

Plankton ignored 
her sarcasm, but
with a deafening 
pop, the analyzer
exploded, sending 
shards of metal
flying in all directions. 
One of these
sharp pieces slammed 
into Plankton's
head, causing him 
to stumble back.
Karen rushed to his
side, pushing aside her 
initial irritation.

Plankton's eye rolled back
and closed as he 
crumpled to the 
floor.

"Plankton! Plankton!"
Karen's voice grew
frantic as she cradled
his tiny, limp body. The
analyzer's explosion had
caused more damage
than she could have
ever imagined, the
injury had rewired his
currently unconscious
brain irreversibly: autism.

Karen carries him to
their bedroom, tucking
him in his bed. "Plankton,"
she whispers, brushing
his antennae, "Please wake up."
But Plankton remains still. Karen
sits by the bedside, her eyes
never leaving his face. "I'll
always be here," she murmurs,
squeezing his hand. The quiet
hum of their tiny underwater
apartment is broken only by the
rhythmic pulse of his breathing.

Karen starts to think. If only
she had taken his inventions
more seriously, maybe this
accident could have been
avoided? She looks at the
clock. It's midnight now.

The hours tick by, each one
lonelier than the last. Karen's
thoughts are a tangled web of
regrets and fears. What if
Plankton never wakes up? Karen can't
help but feel like a prisoner
to her own guilt. She wonders
what their life would be like now.
Would Plankton be different?
Would he still be the same
eccentric genius, or would the
injury change him completely?
Will he remember her?

The sun's first light filters through
their bedroom window, casting
a warm glow on Plankton's
face. Karen's eyes snap open,
having dozed off from
exhaustion. She sees him stir,
his eyelid fluttering. He groans,
his eye opening slowly. Karen's
heart races. He's alive! "K-Karen," 
he stammers, confused as to
how he ended up in their room.

The initial relief is quickly
replaced with a knot in her
stomach. His speech is stilted,
his movements jerky. He
tries to sit up, but the effort
seems to overwhelm him. Karen
reaches out to help, but he flinches
at her touch. She notices his eye
scanning the room with an
intensity she's never seen
before, as if he's trying to make
sense of everything around him.
"Plankton, it's okay," she says
soothingly, trying not to let her
anxiety seep into her voice.

He turns to her, his gaze
unfocused. "Karen?" he repeats,
this time with more urgency. "What...
what happened?"

Her heart squeezes tight. "You had
an accident with the new
analyzer," she explains gently,
keeping her voice calm. "It...
it exploded and hit you.."

Plankton looks around,
his eye darting from object 
to object.

"It's okay," Karen says,
desperately trying to hold 
back the tears. "You're 
just a bit dizzy."

But Plankton doesn't seem
to be listening. He's too
busy inspecting his surroundings,
his eye darting around the
room in a way that makes Karen
feel like she's missing something.

"Plankton, do you understand
me?" Karen asks, her voice
trembling slightly. He nods,
but there's a distant look in his
eye that makes her stomach drop.
The way he's acting, it's like he's
seeing their bedroom for the
first time, like every detail is
both fascinating and overwhelming.

Plankton tries to get out of bed,
but his legs wobble like jelly.
Karen jumps up to support him,
her arms wrapping around his
thin frame. "Let's go slow," she
suggests, guiding him back to
the pillows. He simply nods.

"Do you remember me?" Karen asks,
desperation tinging her voice.
His eye focus on her for a moment,
then drift away again. "Yes," he
says, but it's more of a question
than an affirmation. "Karen, wife,"
he adds, his voice flat and devoid
of the usual warmth and sarcasm.

The words hang in the air
like a lead weight, heavy with
implications. Karen swallows
the lump in her throat. "You're okay,"
she insists, as Plankton nods, looking
around their bedroom when his gaze
lands on the ceiling fan. His eye lights up,
focusing intently on it.

"Fan," he murmurs, as if discovering
the concept for the first time. "Spinning.
Round and round."

Karen's heart sinks. "Plankton," she
begins, her voice cracking, "You're acting
different." She doesn't know how to
explain what she's seeing, but she's
scared of what it might mean. His eye
doesn't quite meet hers, and his speech is
so... mechanical.

"Different?" he echoes, his voice a
monotone. "No, the same Plankton."
But the way he says it, like he's trying
to convince himself, sends a chill down
Karen's spine. She tries to shake off
the fear, telling herself he's just groggy
from the hit. But deep down, she knows
it's more than that.

new new reality Karen x Plankton i

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 15
(Autistic author)

Hanna's screen 
filled with a mix of 
shock and empathy. 
"I had no idea," she 
says, her voice a 
whisper. "How can I 
help?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, his voice 
laced with sarcasm. 
"Oh, it's simple," he says, 
his tone biting. "Just don't 
make jokes about 
Karen or brain damage!"

Hanna's screen burn 
with embarrassment, her 
eyes wide with shock. 
"I'm so sorry, I didn't 
know," she whispers, her 
hands trembling.

Plankton's eye is still
glaring. "It's not 
to hard to understand," 
he says, his voice a knife. 
"If Hanna just took the 
time to learn."

Hanna nods, her 
screen a mask of regret. 
"What do 
you need?"

Plankton's antennae 
slow, his eye focusing 
on Karen's worried screen. 
He takes a deep breath, 
his words coming out 
slowly, as if each one 
was a step through a 
difficult maze. "Quiet," 
he whispers. "Space."

Hanna nods, her own 
eyes filling with tears. 
"I'll give you space," 
she says, her voice 
quivering with apology.

Karen's eyes never 
leave Plankton's as Hanna
quietly leaves the room. 
The silence is a balm 
to Plankton's overstimulated 
mind, and he sighs 
in relief, his antennae 
stilling. "Thanks, Karen,"
he whispers, his voice 
a soft echo of his earlier 
rage.

"It's okay," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
lullaby. She strokes his 
back, her touch a 
comforting rhythm in 
his chaotic world. "We'll 
get through this."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in response, 
his body slowly 
unwinding from the 
coil of his anger. "But 
Hanna..."

Karen nods, her screen 
filled with empathy. 
"I know, love," she 
whispers. "But she 
just doesn't know 
what it's like."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slowly, his 
understanding of 
Hanna's ignorance 
gradually replacing 
his anger.

"It's okay, Plankton,"
Karen says, her voice 
a soft breeze in the 
storm of his emotions. 
"We'll explain to her.
Everyone deserves a chance 
to learn."

Plankton nods slowly, 
his antennae still, his 
body a tightly coiled 
spring. "Karen is right,"
he murmurs, his voice 
a whisper. "But Plankton 
scared she won't understand."

Karen's hand 
continues to stroke his 
back, her screen filled 
with love. "We'll 
make sure she does," 
she says, her voice a 
promise.

Plankton's body 
begins to relax, his 
antennas slowing their 
frantic dance. He knows 
Karen will protect him, 
explain him.

His eye flutters closed, 
his breathing shallow, as 
Karen's gentle strokes 
calm the tempest in 
his mind. The room 
around them seems to 
hold its breath, the 
silence a stark contrast 
to the storm of moments 
before. Slowly, his antennae 
uncoil, his body 
relaxing into her embrace.

The world around him 
becomes a blur of colors, 
his senses dimming as 
his brain seeks the 
solace of sleep.

Karen watches him 
with a mix of love and 
worry, her hand gently 
stroking his antennae. 
She knows his mind is a 
whirlwind, even in rest.

His breathing slows, 
his body going limp in 
her embrace. The room 
around them seems to 
quiet, the chaos of the 
day fading into the 
background as sleep 
claims him.

Karen knows he's fallen
asleep by the steady rise
and fall of his chest,
his antennae no longer 
twitching. She carefully 
moves him to their bed, 
his body a delicate
weight in her arms.

The room is a sanctuary 
of softness, the light 
filtering through 
the curtains like a gentle
caress. She pulls the blankets 
up to his chin, tucking 
them in just right, her 
movements precise and 
methodical.

His antennae twitch 
slightly in his sleep, 
his body a silent testament 
to the tumult of 
his day. She watches 
his chest rise and fall, 
his breaths even and deep. 
The tension in the 
air dissipates as his 
body relaxes further.

Hanna's waiting out by the
bedroom door, concerned
as Karen opens the door.

"Is he okay?" Hanna whispers.
Her eyes are red, and her 
screen wet with tears.
"I didn't know, Karen. I'm so 
sorry."

Karen nods, her 
own eyes filled with 
moisture. "He's asleep now,"
she says, her voice 
barely audible. "It's the 
best thing for him."

Hanna's gaze follows 
Karen's to the bed, 
where Plankton lies 
still as a statue, his antennae 
at rest against the 
pillow.

"It's okay," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
whisper. "We all make
mistakes."

Hanna nods, her 
screen never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping form. 
"But I hurt him,"
she says, her voice 
haunted.

Karen sighs, her 
hand on Hanna's shoulder. 
"You didn't mean to,"
she says, her voice 
filled with compassion. 
"And now you know."

Hanna nods, her 
screen still on Plankton. 
"But what can I do 
now?" she asks, 
desperation in her 
voice.

Karen looks at her 
friend, her gaze 
thoughtful. "Just be 
patient with him," she 
whispers. "Learn about 
his condition. And 
apologize when he wakes 
up."

Hanna nods, her 
expression solemn. "I 
will," she says.

Karen smiles, a 
thankful light in her 
screen. "Good," she 
whispers. "Now, let's 
let him rest."

They both slip out 
of the room, leaving 
the door ajar to 
allow the soft light 
from the hallway to 
spill into the bedroom. 
Hanna looks down 
at the floor. "I'm 
so sorry, Karen," she 
says, her voice low.

"It's okay, Hanna,"
Karen responds, her 
tone a gentle reprimand. 
"We're all learning 
how to navigate 
this new reality."

Eventually, Plankton comes
out after a little while, now
awake. Karen and Hanna
are both sitting together.

"I'm sorry," Hanna whispers,
her screen downcast.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with uncertainty. 
He doesn't remember
falling asleep, or Hanna 
leaving. He just knows 
his mind was a tornado 
of anger and pain.

Karen's voice is 
a gentle guide, leading 
him back to the 
present. "You had a 
bad shutdown," she says, 
her screen filled with 
love and concern. "It's 
okay to feel upset."

Plankton nods, his 
antennas drooping. 
He looks at Hanna, 
his eye filled with 
uncertainty. "It's not 
easy," he whispers, 
his voice a soft 
admission.

Hanna looks up, her 
eyes meeting his. "I know,"
she says, her voice 
sincere. "But I'm here 
for you both."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly, a 
sign of his internal 
debate. "Hanna hurt 
Plankton," he says, 
his voice a monotone.

Hanna nods, her screen 
filled with regret. 
"I know," she whispers. 
"And I'm sorry. I didn't 
mean to."

Plankton's antennae 
lift slightly, his 
body uncoiling from 
his protective stance. 
He takes a step 
towards her, his 
movement tentative. 
"Hanna can learn,"
he murmurs, his voice 
still tight with 
emotion.

Hanna's eyes 
brighten with hope. 
"I want to learn,"
she says, her voice 
eager. "I want to be 
a good friend to 
both of you."

Karen smiles, 
her screen shining with 
gratitude. "That's 
all we can ask for,"
she says, her voice 
a gentle caress.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 15

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 14
(Autistic author)

The next day, Karen
wakes up to find Plankton
already out of bed, 
his eye fixated on the
clock again. Then, a
knock on the door alerted
both of them. It's Hanna,
an old friend of Karen's.

"Hanna? Oh, it's been so
long!" Karen exclaims
as she throws her arms
around Hanna, whom
Plankton noticed also
reciprocated the gesture.
So he decided to go sit on
the couch.

"Oh you're Karen's husband
Plankton, right‽" Hanna says.
Plankton nods as Karen gets
out some refreshments.

Hanna sits next to Plankton
on the couch, her smile 
genuine but her tone 
playful. "So, Plankton, 
I hear you and Karen had
a wedding anniversary!
Did you get her anything, or
did Karen have to remind
you? I bet you cause her
so much trouble with your
forgetfulness," she laughs.
"It's a wonder she keeps 
you around."
Of course, Karen didn't hear
Hanna's playful comment,
as she's still gathering the
refreshments.

But Plankton does. His 
eye widens, his antennae 
twitching rapidly. He feels 
the sting of her words, 
though they were meant 
to be light-hearted. His 
body tenses, his mind 
racing. He knows he's not 
forgetful; he's different. 
The patterns of his 
thoughts clash with her 
joke, creating a cacophony 
of confusion and hurt. He
doesn't understand the teasing
and takes it to heart, thinking
he must've caused her trouble.

He wordlessly leaves to the
bedroom right before Karen
returns with the refreshments.

"Where's Plankton?" She asks
Hanna, who pointed the direction
he went.

Karen finds him 
in the bedroom, 
crying and saying
'Karen' in between 
his hiccups. His 
body is rigid with 
the effort of holding 
in his sobs.

Her heart squeezes 
with pain as she 
rushes to him, her 
arms wrapping around 
his small frame. "What's 
wrong, love?" she 
whispers, her voice 
filled with concern.

Plankton's body 
shakes with sobs, 
his antennae limp. 
"Hanna," he manages to 
whisper, his voice 
choked with emotion.

Karen's eyes fill with 
concern. "What about 
Hanna, sweetheart?" she asks, 
her voice gentle.

Plankton sniffs, 
his antennae waving 
slightly. "Hanna said...she 
said..." He can't get the 
words out, his emotions 
choking him.

Karen holds him 
closer, her voice a 
whisper. "What did 
Hanna say, love?"

Plankton's sobs 
intensify, his body 
shaking with the 
force of his emotions. 
"Plankton," he manages 
to say, his voice a 
heartbreaking gasp.

Karen's heart breaks. 
"What did she say, love?"
she prompts, her voice 
soft, her eyes filled with 
understanding.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in agitation. "Hanna 
said Plankton cause 
Karen trouble,"
he whispers, his voice 
barely audible over the 
sound of his own 
sobs. "Karen better if
Plankton not here."

Karen's eyes fill with 
sorrow, her heart 
heavy with the weight 
of his misunderstanding. 
"Oh, Plankton," she 
whispers, her voice 
filled with love and 
pain. "That was just a 
joke, she didn't mean..."

But Plankton's sobs 
only grow louder, his 
body shaking with the 
intensity of his emotions. 
"Karen doesn't 
deserve this," he 
sobs, his antennae 
waving erratically.

Karen holds him 
closer, her voice 
a gentle lullaby. "You 
don't cause me trouble, 
love," she says, her eyes 
filled with tears. "You're 
just...different now."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with understanding, 
his sobs slowly subsiding. 
"But Hanna..." he says, 
his voice a whimper. "Not
want!"

Karen nods, her eyes 
never leaving his. "I know, 
love," she says, her voice 
soft. "But she'd never mean 
it that way. She was just 
being playful, she's nice."

Plankton shakes his head,
unconvinced. "Hanna did
laugh at Plankton. Plankton
not cause trouble," he says, 
his voice shaking with 
emotion. "Karen Plankton.
Plankton loves Karen; Karen
and Hanna no..." Plankton
can't hold the sobbing back.

Karen's eyes fill with 
tears. "Oh, Plankton,"
she says, her voice 
breaking. "Hanna loves 
you too. She didn't mean 
it like that. It was just 
a misunderstanding."

Plankton's antennae 
wave in a pattern that 
Karen's learned means 
he's processing her words, 
trying to fit them into 
his new reality. "But 
Hanna said..." His voice 
trails off, as Hanna herself
comes in.

"Is everything okay 
in here? Or is Plankton
causing..." she asks, 
her smile fading when 
she sees Plankton's tears.

Karen turns to Hanna, 
her expression stern. 
"What happened?"

Hanna's eyes widen 
in surprise. "I just said 
hello, and he ran in here 
crying," she says, her voice 
filled with concern.

Karen's screen tightens 
with frustration. "What 
exactly did you say?" she 
asks, her voice calm but 
firm.

Hanna's eyes widen 
in understanding. "Oh, no,"
she says, her voice 
softening. "I just made a 
joke about your anniversary.
I didn't mean..."

But Plankton's 
sobs only grow louder, 
his antennae flailing 
wildly. "Hanna said 
Plankton cause trouble,"
he accuses, his body 
wracked with emotion.
"Not joke!"

Hanna's eyes 
widen in horror, 
her playful smile 
vanishing as she 
sees the pain in Plankton's 
eye. She rushes over, 
kneeling beside him.
"Plankton, no," she 
whispers, her voice 
filled with regret.
"It was just a joke. I'm 
so sorry, I didn't mean..."

But Plankton's sobs 
only intensify, his 
body a storm of 
emotions he can't 
control. "IT'S NOT 
A JOKE!" he cries out.

Hanna's eyes fill 
with tears as she 
realizes the gravity 
of her mistake. 
"Plankton, I'm so sorry,"
she whispers, her 
hand reaching out to 
touch his shoulder.

But Plankton's 
reaction is explosive, 
his antennae 
lashing out like whips.
"NO!" he screams, his 
voice a tornado of pain 
and anger. "ENOUGH HURT!"

Hanna looks at Karen. "How
often you say he throws these
fitful tantrums?" Hanna says,
which is the final straw for Plankton.

Plankton's antennae quiver
with rage. "NO, NOT TANTRUMS!"
he shouts, his voice a
thunderclap in the small
room. "PLANKTON HAS ACQUIRED
RESTRICTED FLOW TO THE
FRONTAL TEMPORAL POLAR CORTEX!"

Hanna looks at him strangely. "W..."

"PLANKTON HAS CORPUS CALLOSUM
DEACTIVATION IN THE SENSORY 
INTEGRATION CENTERS!" Plankton
shouts, his antennae a blur of
movement as he tries to convey
his condition's complexity.
"Neurotransmitters firing 
asynchronously, synapses 
misfiring, it's not a tantrum! SO
HANNA NEEDS TO EITHER USE THE
CORRECT TERMINOLOGY OR NOT 
SPEAK AT THE SAME TIME!"

Karen's eyes are wide with
fear, yet understanding that 
Plankton is desperate.

"Plankton," she says, her 
voice calm. "It's okay, you
don't have to explain."

But Plankton's antennae 
wave frantically, his 
need for precision a 
storm in his mind. "HAS 
TO!" he yells, his voice 
desperate. "HANNA NOT
KNOW THE DIFFERENCE!"

Karen nods, her heart 
swelling with love and 
pride at his bravery. "Okay, 
love," she says, her voice 
soothing. "Let's explain."

She takes a deep 
breath, her eyes never 
leaving Plankton's as 
she addresses Hanna. "Plankton 
has acquired a form of 
autism, it's called 'autistic 
shutdowns'. It's not a tantrum, 
it's his brain's way of 
shutting down to protect 
itself from sensory 
overload. It's from a bad
accident.."

Hanna's eyes widen in 
shock, her hand 
flying to her mouth. 
"Oh my goodness," she 
whispers, her voice 
filled with regret. "I had 
no idea."

Karen nods, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton's. 
"It's been a tough 
adjustment for us 
all," she says, her voice 
gentle. "But we're managing."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 14

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 12
(Autistic author)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠
Sandy's eyes 
follow his finger 
as it traces through 
the grid. "Ah, here it 
is," she says, her voice 
a calm hum. "I'm gonna
go find Karen, I'll be back!"

But then Mr. Krabs, who
hasn't had Plankton try
to steal the formula since
the fry pan incident, comes
in to check and see what he's
up to.

"What are ye 
doing?" Mr. Krabs snaps,
his eyes narrowed in 
suspicion. "Why isn't 
this little troublemaker 
trying to steal me
formula?"

Plankton's antennae 
wilt at the sound of 
Mr. Krabs' gruff voice, 
his sensory haven 
shattered by the 
intrusion.

Mr. Krabs storms 
into the room, his 
claws waving in 
the air. "What's 
this nonsense?" he 
barks, his voice 
a thunderclap to 
Plankton.

"A book; more like some
blueprints!" Mr. Krabs sneers, 
his claws snatching the 
word search from 
Plankton's trembling 
hands.

Plankton's eye widens 
with horror as Mr. Krabs 
crinkles the pages, 
ripping up the book.

Mr. Krabs rips the 
pages with a 
satisfied smirk, 
his eyes gleaming with 
malice. "This is 
what happens when 
ye too cozy with 
the enemy," he says, 
his voice a harsh 
crackle as he tips the
bookshelf onto the floor
with a bang.

Plankton's antennae 
snap back, his 
body tense with 
fear. The painful 
memory of the frying 
pan flashes through 
his mind, his voice 
a terrified static. "No!"
he squeaks.

Mr. Krabs looms 
over him, his eyes 
a cold, hard gleam. "What's 
wrong with ye?" he barks, 
his voice a rough 
scratch of sarcasm. "Ye 
gonna cry?"

Plankton's eye 
fills with tears. "No," 
he whimpers.

Mr. Krabs laughs, 
his cackle echoing 
through the room. 
"Look at the 
tiny thief, so scared 
of a little noise!" 
he sneers, his voice 
a grating static.

Plankton's body 
shrinks, his antennae 
drooping. "Krabs," 
he whispers, his voice 
a desperate static.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
fills the room, his 
claws still gripping 
the torn pages. "Look 
at the wittle thief," 
he mocks, his voice 
a cruel cackle.

Plankton's single eye 
darts around the 
room, seeking escape 
from the crushing 
wave of stimulation. 
The pressure of Mr. 
Krabs' stare is like 
a boulder on his 
chest.

"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" Mr. Krabs 
sneers, leaning down 
so his face is inches 
from Plankton's. "Afraid 
I'll catch you red-
handed?"

Plankton's antennae 
flatten against his 
head, his breath 
quick and shallow. 
"No," he whispers, his 
voice a static hiss of 
fear.

Mr. Krabs' looming 
presence is like a 
shadow over him, 
his voice a grating 
buzz. "What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he sneers. "Can't
handle a little 
competition?"

Plankton flinches, 
his antennae retracting.
The pressure of the 
crab's eyes bore into 
his soul, his voice 
a panicked static. "No, 
Mr. Krabs, please," he 
whispers.

Mr. Krabs' claw 
slams down onto the 
coffee table, the 
impact rattling 
everything on it. "I 
see," he says, his 
voice a cruel chuckle. 
"Ye've gone soft."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 12

CONSOLE TONSIL iii

Plankton's eye fluttered open just enough to see Karen beside him. He felt groggy and disoriented, the events of the day a distant, hazy memory. He then notices Hanna brimming with tears.

He blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog. "Karen," he croaked, his voice hoarse from surgery and emotional turmoil. "Hanna?"

"I'm so sorry," Hanna choked out with regret. 
"I didn't mean to...I didn't know."

"What happened?" he rasped.

Karen's gaze softens. "You had a bit of a shutdown, Plankton," she said gently. "You've had a long day, and everything just became too much."

The word 'burden' echoed in Plankton's mind.

"Burden?" he managed to croak.

"Hanna said something she didn't mean," she began,. "She didn't understand what she was saying, but she hurt you, and she's sorry."

The word 'burden' it seemed, that fear had been given a voice.

He looked from Karen to Hanna. "Burden," he said, barely a whisper. "Is that what you think of me?"

Hanna looked stricken. "No, Plankton, I just..." Her voice trailed off. He had always known that he was different, that his size and his quirks set him apart from others.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We all have moments where we say things without thinking. But what's important is that you know you're not a burden to me, Plankton. You never have been, and never will be."

Plankton's word 'burden' ringing.

"Hanna didn't mean it, she just didn't understand."

But the word had already taken root in Plankton's mind.

Burden.

The word resonated through Plankton but to be called a burden was something else entirely.

"Plankton, I'm sorry," she said again, "I didn't know."

But Plankton could only repeat the word. "Burden," he croaked.

Karen reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, Plankton, you're not a burden," she said, her voice steady and firm. "You're loved and valued, just the way you are."

"Burden," he murmured agai. "I'm a burden."

"Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle reprimand. "You are not a burden."

But Plankton's eye remained fixed, voice a hollow echo. "Everything I do is a burden," he murmured.

Karen squeezed his shoulder. "Plankton, please, don't say that."

"Burden," Plankton whispered, voice barely a breath.

Karen's heart broke at the sound of his self-loathing. "Plankton, you're not a burden," she insisted, her voice filled with compassion. "Am a burden," he repeated, the word sticking to his tongue like a sour candy.

"What can I do?" Hanna asked, desperation seeping.

"Listen," Karen said, turning to face her. "You need to understand that Plankton isn't just being dramatic. This isn't something you can just apologize for and expect him to get over. His brain works differently. He processes stress in a way that's unique to him. And when you said that..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the right words to express the gravity of the situation.

"I'm a burden," Plankton murmured.

"You're not a burden, Plankton," she said, her voice a soft, steady rhythm. "You're my friend, and I care about you."

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a quiet rebuttal.

He was stuck in a loop of pain and she wasn't sure how to pull him out. "Plankton, you're not," she began, but he cut her off.

"Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain. 
"Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle plea. "You're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton replied, his voice a soft echo of despair, "is a burden."

Karen tries to find the right words to cut through the fog of his pain. "Plankton," she said firmly, "you are not a burden. You're my husband, and my confidant."

"But a burden," Plankton whispered, voice trembling. "I am burden."

"Plankton, please," she said. "You're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a stubborn echo. "Everything I do is a burden."

"No, Plankton," Karen insisted, her tone firm but filled with care. "You're not a burden. You're an essential part of this home."

But the word 'burden' a heavy weight on his soul. "I'm not a burden," he murmured, the words barely a breath. "I'm not."

"Right, you are not," Karen said. "You're so much more.."

"Burden," his voice a quiet protest. "I'm just a burden."

"You're not a burden," she said. "You're a companion, and a vital part of our lives."

"But, burden," Plankton whimpered, his voice a sad refrain. "I is burden."

Karen took his hand. "You are not," she said, her voice a gentle but firm declaration. "You're a unique and wonderful being, Plankton."

"Plankton, burden," Plankton repeated, his voice a whisper of doubt. "I, burden."

"Plankton," she said. "You are not a burden. You're a brilliant mind, and family."

Plankton's word 'burden' still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. "But, Karen," he whispered, "I am burden."

"No," Karen said firmly, voice unyielding. "You are not. You are treasure, a light in this world."

Plankton blinked slowly, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a mournful chant. "But I burden," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. "Burdens, Plankton."

"You are loved."

"Karen," Plankton said, his voice shaking with emotion, "I burden."

Karen leaned closer. "Plankton," she said softly, "you're not a burden. You're someone who brings joy and laughter into our lives."

Plankton's gaze searched hers, the word 'burden' still clinging to his every thought. "But I burden," he murmured, his voice a sad echo.

"You're a part of this home, a piece of our lives."

But Plankton's mind was a tumultuous sea, the word 'burden' a stormy island he couldn't escape. "Burden," he said again, his voice a sad admission.

Karen's looking for a way to bridge the gap between his pain and the truth. "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle reminder, "you're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton whispered, the word a sad acceptance in his mind. "I burden."

"Plankton," she began, but he talked over her.

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a sad refrain. "Everything I do, burden."

"Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle but firm counterpoint.

"Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet echo of despair. "Everything I do, a burden."

Karen felt the urgency to reach him, to pull him out of the dark pit of his thoughts. "Plankton, you're not a burden."

Plankton's eye remained unfocused, his voice a sad refrain. "Burden," he whispered, the word a painful acceptance. "Everything I do, I burden."

"You're not a burden."

"But, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain, "everything I do is burden."

Karen's looking for any sign of the vibrant spirit she knew was there. 
But Plankton's gaze remained vacant, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a funeral bell. Karen knew she had to do something, had to find a way to break through the barrier that had been so carelessly built. She took a deep breath, reaching for the one thing she knew could always lift his spirits.

"Remember the time we built that sandcastle?" she asked, her voice filled with the warmth of nostalgia. "The one with the moat that kept filling up with jellyfish?"

Plankton's eye flickered with the ghost of a smile. "Jellyfish," a soft echo of a happier time.

"Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. "Remember how we laughed when they kept popping the bubbles in the moat?"

A flicker of life returned to Plankton's eye. "Burden, Bubbles," he murmured.

Karen clung to the glimmer of hope. "And the karaoke nights? When you sang that sea shanty about the Krabby Patty?"

"Krabby Patty," the words a soft echo of happier times.

Karen's seeing the first crack in the wall of pain he had built around himself. She took his hand, voice filled with warmth. "Remember pranks we’d play on SpongeBob?"

Plankton's gaze flickered with a glimmer of amusement. "Jellyfish," he murmured.

Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And the time we accidentally turned the restaurant into a bubble bath?"

"Bubble bath," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of the laughter they had shared.

"Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "Remember how Mr. Krabs had to wear those ridiculous floaties because he couldn't swim in the bubbles?"

Plankton's smile grew. "Floaties," he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Karen squeezed his hand. "See, Plankton. You're not a burden. You're a partner in crime, and the best roommate I could ask for."

The room remained still, the only sound the steady beat of Plankton's heart. Then, ever so slowly, his smile grew, pushing back the shadows in his mind. "Karen," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. "Thank you."

Hanna's pixel eyes widened with hope, the guilt still etched on her face. "Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. "I'm so sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. You're not a burden. You're...you're like family to us."

Plankton's gaze shifted to her, the weight of her words a gentle nudge towards healing. "Family," he murmured, the word a tentative bridge over the chasm of his doubt.

"Yes," Hanna said, her voice earnest. "I'm sorry for not understanding before. But I do now. And I'll do better."

"You will?" he asked, a tentative thread of hope.

"Yes," Hanna said with earnestness. "I'll learn, listen, and I'll be more considerate of how my words can affect."

Karen nodded in approval, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "That's all we can ask," she said, her tone a gentle reprimand. "For you to understand and do better."

Hanna's pixel eyes well up with tears. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she said, voice shaking. "I had no idea."

Plankton's gaze softened, the word 'burden' slowly losing grip.

Karen released a sigh of relief, tension in the room easing. "What's important," she said, her voice a gentle guide, "is that we all understand each other better now."

Hanna nodded with remorse. "I'll do anything to make it right," she said, a solemn vow.

Plankton looked from Karen to Hanna, the word 'burden' losing power. "Ok," he murmured. "I forgive."

new console tonsil author is neurodivergent

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 7


(Neurodivergent author)



Hanna's pixel eyes fill with tears,
her hand hovering over her mouth
in shock. "Oh, Plankton," she says,
her voice trembling like a leaf.
The room is a frozen tableau,
everyone at a loss for words.

But Karen is unflappable.
Her eyes dart around the room,
assessing, planning. "It's ok,"
she repeats, her voice a steady
beacon. "Let's just move aside,
give him some space."

They retreat to the couch,
the cushions swallowing them
like a sea anemone. Plankton's
body is a ragdoll in her arms,
his antennae limp with exhaustion.
Karen keeps her screen calm,
a bastion of serenity.
"I'm sorry," Plankton whispers,
his voice a ghost in the silence.
"It's ok," Karen reassures him,
her voice a gentle caress.
"You don't have to apologize."
She rubs his back as he leans on
her shoulder, tired out.

The room feels smaller now,
the air thick with the weight of
new understanding. Hanna's
friends are finishing up dinner
still in the kitchen. Karen knows they
mean well, but their energy is
a stark contrast to the quiet
Plankton needs.

Her hand on his back, Karen guides
his breathing, her voice a lullaby
against the storm of the evening.
"Breathe in," she whispers, "and out."
Her touch is a gentle tide,
washing over him, soothing his
frayed nerves. His body relaxes,
his antennae dropping like tired
leaves to her shoulder.
The room is a sanctuary again,
the chaos outside forgotten as they
find solace in their quiet corner.
"You're safe," she murmurs. "I've got you."
Karen's hand moves in gentle
circles, a comforting rhythm
that Plankton's body craves.
His antennae droop, his breathing
evening out as he nestles closer.

The couch is a life raft in the
tumultuous sea of Hanna's house,
and Plankton clings to her like
a drowning sailor to a rope. His
tiny body, once a taut bowstring,
now relaxes into the embrace of sleep.

Karen feels the weight of his
head, a trust so profound it's like
an anchor in the storm. His antennae
droop, no longer the frantic
sails of a ship in distress. She
adjusts her position, shifting slightly
to support him better, her arm
a gentle cradle.

The room's sounds become distant
whispers, the waves of conversation
fading into the background. Plankton's
breathing slows. Karen watches him
sleep, his antennae twitching slightly
with each snore as his mouth slackens open.

Patricia comes in the living room to check
on them. "How's he doin’?" she asks, her voice
a hushed whisper.

Karen glances up, a soft smile playing on
her lips. "He's ok," she says, her voice
a gentle wave. "Just exhausted."

Patricia nods, her face a portrait of
concern. "What can I do to help?" she asks,
her eyes searching for a way to ease
the burden.

Karen looks at her, the question
a beacon in the fog. "Just...give us
a little more time," she says, her voice
a soft shush. "Let him rest."
Patricia nods, retreating quietly to
the kitchen, the clack of her
heels a mournful tune on the
hardwood floor.

The couch is their sanctuary,
their quiet island in the sea
of Hanna's home. Karen's arm is a
makeshift cradle for Plankton's
head, his antennae brushing
against her neck. The weight of his
body is a silent testament
to his trust in her, and she holds
it with the care of a pearl diver
handling the most delicate of treasures.

The room is a canvas of shadows,
the candles now mere embers in the
distance. Plankton's snores are
the rhythm of their solace,
each breath a testament to the
resilience that lies within him.

Karen's thoughts drift like
seaweed in the tide of her
concerns. What will tomorrow bring?
How can she shield him from the
storms of misunderstanding?
But in this moment, she focuses
on the present, her eyes tracing
the lines of his sleeping form.

Plankton's antennae have
stopped twitching, his body
at peace in her embrace.
The soft snores, a symphony of
security, fill the quiet
space between them.

The house has quieted down,
the dinner party's echoes a
distant memory. Hanna
and her friends have retreated
to the kitchen, their whispers
like the gentle lapping of waves.

Plankton is a bundle of quiet
energy in her arms, his antennae
twitching in his sleep. Karen
can feel the steady throb of
his heart, a lullaby that matches
his breathing. She strokes his
back in a comforting rhythm,
his body a warm, comforting weight
against her.

The candles have burned down
to nubs, the room bathed in a soft
glow. 

His antennae rest against her neck,
a silent communication of trust.
Her eyes trace the contours of
his sleeping form, his body
a puzzle she's come to understand.
The quiet whispers of the
kitchen are a comforting
backdrop to the symphony
of his snores.

Karen's hand moves in gentle
circles on his back, each
motion a declaration of
support. The room's shadows
dance around them, a ballet
of understanding,
a rhythm that's become their own.

Plankton's antennae are limp,
his body a testament to
his exhaustion. The couch is
their sanctuary in a sea of
uncertainty. Her arm is a
mooring, holding him steady
in the tumult of his own mind.

His breathing is a metronome,
a soothing rhythm.
With each inhale and exhale,
she feels the tension in
his body melt away, his
snores a comforting reminder
that he's safe. Her eyes
trace the soft lines of his
face, the gentle rise and fall
of his chest.

The room is a symphony of
silence, the couch their
tiny boat adrift in the vast
ocean of Hanna's house.
Plankton's antennae, once a
flurry of nervous energy,
now hang limply.

Karen's eyes are the moon,
watching over him as he
slumbers, his trust in her a
glowing beacon in the dark.
Her hand, a gentle tide,
strokes his back, each caress
a reminder of her steadfast
support. His snores are the
lullaby of the sea, each
breath a testament to
his newfound peace.

new copepod autism plaren 7

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 4


(Neurodivergent author)



Mr. Krabs's expression shifts from
shock to one of bewilderment. "Plankton,
I don't understand," he says, his voice
barely a whisper. Plankton shakes
his head, his antennae trembling.
"You never did," he snaps back.

The accusations come out in a
torrent, each one cutting deeper
than the last. "You used me,
manipulated me, all for your
stupid secret formula!" His voice
shakes with anger, his eye
filling with unshed tears. Karen's
grip tightens on his arm, but she
doesn't speak, knowing he needs
this moment of release.

Mr. Krabs's face falls, the weight
of Plankton's words a blow
he wasn't expecting. "I-I-I've
always treated ya like a
friend!" he stammers, his claws
grabbing Plankton's shoulders.
And that's what did it.

Plankton's body tenses, and
his eye rolls back in his head.
A chilling silence descends
as his legs give out, and he
crashes to the floor. His body
convulses, limbs flailing uncontrollably.
Karen knew it'd happen, but
seeing it happen to Plankton
is a horror she wasn't emotionally
prepared for, but she knew to stay
calm. She knew the protocol.

Mr. Krabs, still in shock from
Plankton's accusations, watches
the scene unfold with horror.
"What's happening?" he stammers,
his claws hovering uselessly.
Karen's voice is a beacon
of calm amidst the chaos.
"It's a seizure," she explains,
kneeling beside her husband.
"I need you to stay calm."
Her voice is steady, her eyes
never leaving Plankton's
contorting form.

Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes
widening with fear. He's
read about this, seen it
once in a medical textbook,
but never thought it would
happen to someone so close.
He watches as Karen carefully
moves any objects out of
harm's way, cushioning
Plankton's head with a pillow.
The room seems to spin around
them, each second stretching
into eternity.

The seizure lasts only a
few moments, but to Karen,
it feels like hours. When it's
over, Plankton's body goes
still, his breathing shallow.
Her hand shakes as she
checks his pulse, feeling the
thunder of her own heart
in her chest. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her voice
trembling. "You're okay."

Mr. Krabs is unsure.

"It's okay," she murmurs, her
hand stroking his antennae. "It's
over now." Plankton's breathing
deepens, his body slowly
relaxing with a twitch. She looks at Mr.
Krabs, her expression a mix
of relief and exhaustion.
"He'll be okay," she assures,
her voice a lifeline in the
storm of silence.

Mr. Krabs nods, still in
shock. "What...what do we do?"
he asks, his voice barely above
a whisper. Karen sighs,
knowing the road ahead won't
be easy, but she's determined
to navigate it with Plankton.

They manage to get Plankton to
his feet, his body weak and
his mind still groggy from the
seizure. His eye darts around
the room, trying to make sense
of his surroundings. Karen's voice
is soft, a gentle guide leading
him back to reality. "Let's go to
the couch," she says, her arm
supporting his weight.

Mr. Krabs watches, his claws
fidgeting nervously. "Should I...
call someone?" he asks, his voice
full of uncertainty. Karen shakes
her head. "We have to keep it
calm," she whispers. "The aftermath
can be just as overwhelming."

They sit on the couch, Plankton's
body leaning heavily into hers.
Her arm is around him, her hand
stroking his antennae in a rhythm
designed to soothe. He looks up
at her, his eye still a little wild.
"What happened?" he asks, his
voice barely above a whisper.

"You had a seizure," Karen
explains gently, her voice a
balm to his frayed nerves.
"It's part of your autism,
sweetie. It's okay." She can see
the fear in his gaze, the
unspoken questions. She pulls
a blanket over his shoulders,
his body shaking from the
residual adrenaline.

Plankton nods, his antennae
twitching as he tries to process
the information. He looks
down at his trembling hands,
wondering how they could have
betrayed him so suddenly. Karen
hands him a glass of water, her
fingers brushing against his
in a silent promise of support. 

He takes a sip, the cool liquid
sliding down his throat,
helping to clear the fog in his mind.

"I'm...sorry," Plankton mumbles, his
voice barely a whisper. He looks
up at Mr. Krabs, who's still
standing awkwardly by the door.
"I didn't mean to...to accuse
you..." His antennae droop with
regret.

Mr. Krabs's expression softens,
his eyes filling with understanding.
"It's okay, Plankton," he says,
his voice gentle. "We all have
our moments." He takes a tentative
step forward. "What can I do?"

Karen glances at him,
gratitude warring with the
protectiveness she feels
for Plankton. "Just give us
some space," she says, her tone
firm but not unkind. "We need
to get him through this."

Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his
face a mix of sadness and
concern. "I understand,"
he says, his voice thick. He
backs out of the room,
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's huddled form.
The door clicks shut, and
the room feels smaller, safer.

Karen's arm tightens around
his shoulders, her warmth a
shield against the cold
world outside. Plankton leans
into her, his body still
shaking slightly. He starts
to calm down, the tremors
fading like ripples in a pond.

"I'm...I'm okay," he whispers,
his antennae stilling. Karen
nods, her eyes searching his
face for any sign of distress.

"Do you want to take a nap?"
she suggests softly. Plankton nods,
his eye drooping with exhaustion.
They move to the bedroom, the
light dimming as they go.

Karen helps him into bed,
his limbs feeling like jelly.
The blankets are a cocoon,
his retreat from the world.
Her hand brushes his antennae,
a silent assurance as she leaves him
to the embrace of slumber.
He closes his eye, letting the
comfort of the darkness envelop him.

His body relaxes into the
softness of the mattress,
his muscles melting away
the tension of the day.
The bed's embrace is like
a gentle whisper, telling
his overstimulated mind to
rest, to let go. He sighs,
his antennae dropping
to the pillow like tired
leaves in the fall.

Meanwhile, Karen goes
to Mr. Krabs, who's waiting
outside the chum bucket.

"I'm sorry for Plankton's outburst,"
she says, her eyes apologetic.
Mr. Krabs waves a dismissive
claw. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says.
"He's been through a lot today."

Karen nods, her expression
serious. "It's more than that,"
she says, her voice low. "He's
autistic." Mr. Krabs's eyes widen,
his understanding dawning, a
newfound respect in his gaze.
"I had no idea," he murmurs.
"How can I help?"

"Just be patient," Karen replies.
"And maybe...maybe we can talk
later, after he's had some rest."
Mr. Krabs nods, his expression
thoughtful. "Of course," he says,
his voice subdued. "Whatever he needs."

new copepod autism plabsen 4

COMPUTER SENSORS v

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


Plankton's chest rises and falls in a more pronounced rhythm, as if he's trying to keep pace with their gentle 
strokes. His eye, once a window to an internal maelstrom, begins to blink. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, as 
if clearing the fog of his sensory retreat.

"I'm here," she whispers, her voice a promise.

The room seems to hold its breath as Plankton's body slowly comes back to life. Karen's smile grows, a soft 
glow in the dim light. "Good," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Just keep talking to him."

Hanna nods, her own voice a shaky whisper. "I'm here," she repeats. "You're ok." His stare starts to waver, 
focusing on her face. She feels his squeeze her hand, a tentative acknowledgment of her presence.

Karen's smile broadens. "See?" she whispers. "He hears you."

Hanna nods, her voice a soft caress. "You're safe," she murmurs. His gaze slowly shifts to hers, his pupil 
dilating with recognition. It's a small victory, but it feels like the world has shifted back into place.

"It's ok, Plankton," Hanna whispers, her voice a soft lullaby in the quiet room. "You're ok. I'm sorry."

His eye slowly refocuses, the panic receding like a tide. The room, once a prison of anxiety, now feels like a 
warm embrace.

"H-Hanna?" Plankton's voice is a raspy croak, a whisper of sound in the quiet room. Hanna lit up, a tear 
escaping to trace a path down her cheek.

"Yes, it's me," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "You're ok."

"What...what happened?" His voice is shaky, unsure.

Karen's grip on Hanna's shoulder tightens for a moment before she gently pulls away. "You had a bit of an 
overload, honey," she says, her voice still a whisper. "Hanna's been helping me bring you back."

Plankton squeezes Hanna's wrist once more before slowly retreating. She feels a pang of loss but 
understands that he needs space. He blinks rapidly, his gaze searching the room as if trying to piece together 
the puzzle of his reality.

"It's ok," Karen says soothingly, her voice a soft melody. "You're safe. We're all here."

Slowly, Plankton's eye refocuses, his pupil dilating as he blinks back to reality. He looks around the room, 
slightly confused, before his gaze settles on Karen's hand holding his. Recognition flits across his features.

"Karen?" he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

"I'm here," she says, her grip on his tentacle tightening slightly. "You're ok."

His antennae flicker to life, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. His gaze shifts to Hanna, who is watching 
him with a mix of concern and apology etched into her features.

Hanna's wells up with tears as she sees the confusion in his gaze. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice 
cracking. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," Karen says quickly, cutting off Hanna's apology. She squeezes Plankton's hand gently. "You just had 
a little break. That's all."

Plankton nods slowly, his antennae drooping slightly as he tries to piece together the last moments. Hanna 
can see the effort it takes for him to process what happened. She feels a wave of regret for pushing him too 
far, for not understanding his boundaries fully.

Karen gives Hanna a knowing look. She's seen this before, the guilt that comes with accidentally triggering 
one of Plankton's episodes. But she knows that Hanna's heart is in the right place, that she's here to learn and 
grow. And as Plankton's gaze lingers on her, she knows that he sees it too.

Plankton's gaze softens slightly, the panic subsiding. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a faint sigh 
escapes. Karen steps closer, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You don't need to explain," she says, her voice 
a balm to his frazzled nerves. "Just rest."

Hanna feels a weight lift from her chest as Plankton's tentacle releases her hand. She withdraws it slowly, 
watching as he pulls his own tentacles closer to his body, a sign of his internal comfort. The room, which 
moments ago felt like it was closing in, now feels like a sanctuary, a place where they can all find peace.

"Thank you," Plankton whispers, his voice a mere echo of its usual robust self. "Both of you." His eye meets 
Hanna's, and she sees in it a glimmer of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of her apology.

Karen gently wipes a tear from Plankton's cheek, her touch as tender as a mother's. "Why don't we sit down?" 
she suggests, guiding him to the sofa with a firm but gentle grip.

Hanna nods, never leaving Plankton as he settles back into the cushions, his arms curling around him 
protectively. She takes a seat beside him, her hand hovering just above his, unsure if touch is still welcomed.

Plankton's breathing has evened out, his chest rising and falling in a deep, restful rhythm. His arms have 
stilled, and the tension in his body has melted away. Karen sits opposite them, filled with a quiet gratitude.

"Thank you," she says to Hanna, her voice a soft whisper. "You've done so well."

Hanna nods, still locked on Plankton. "Is he going to be ok?"

Karen's voice is a gentle murmur. "He's just exhausted. It takes a lot out of him to come back from an 
overload."

Hanna nods, still unable to fully comprehend the depth of her friend's condition. She watches as Plankton's 
breaths deepening into the steadiness of sleep. His eye closes with a final blink, and his body relaxes 
completely.

Karen's hand reaches out to cover Hanna's, giving it a comforting squeeze. "It's ok," she says, her voice a 
gentle reminder of the warmth in the room. "He'll be ok."

Hanna nods, watching the steady rise and fall of Plankton's chest, slack with sleep, a testament to the fragility 
of his condition, and she can't help but feel a pang of guilt for disturbing his peace.

A soft snore escapes Plankton, and Karen's hand slides away from Hanna's, and she reaches over to stroke 
Plankton's lightly, her touch a silent reassurance. His snore deepens.
Karen smiles softly, a hint of amusement in her.

"He's out?" Hanna asks.

Karen nods, a soft smile playing on her lips. "For now. He'll be ok. Just needs some rest."

"Is falling asleep a regular thing?"

"Not always," Karen says, her voice a soft murmur that doesn't disturb the peaceful scene.

Hanna nods, seeing Plankton's relaxed form. "How often does he nap?"

Karen leans back in her chair. "He's a light sleeper, and he's only ever fallen asleep during the day one other 
time," she explains. "We left early to go out of town once to try how a therapy session might work, but it didn't 
work out well for him. After a shutdown, they let us leave, and he fell asleep in the car on the ride back." "What 
do we do now?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's smile is soft, a balm to Hanna's nerves. "Now," she says, "we let him rest. He'll be out for a bit, but it's 
good for him." She gently pulls the blanket from the back of the sofa and drapes it over his form, tucking it 
around him. "This'll keep him cozy."

"What do we do when he wakes up?" Hanna whispers.

"We'll keep things low-key," Karen replies, her voice a gentle ripple in the quiet. "No loud noises, no sudden 
movements. We'll just let him come back to us when he's ready."

Hanna nods, her gaze still locked on Plankton. "What...what can I do to help?" Her voice is a soft tremble, a 
question wrapped in a cocoon of care.

"Just be here," Karen whispers. She pauses, her hand still resting on Plankton. "Do you have any questions 
about his condition?"

Hanna nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Do you know what caused him to be born with it?" she asks, 
her voice tentative.

Karen takes a deep breath. "Plankton got stuck and momentarily deprived of oxygen during delivery pressure 
on his head was just too much, and it irreversibly damaged some of his neural pathways."

"Is that... but how did it gave him sensory sensitivity?"

"The doctors think it's because his brain had to compensate for the damaged parts, making his senses 
hyperactive to make up for what he's lost." She pauses, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form.

new computer sensors karen & sheldon j. plankton

** ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵗⁱᶜ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵐ 
ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᴬᴵ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐʸ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

One fateful afternoon, Plankton meandered 
along the beach, lost in thought, an 
unexpected event unfolded. A 
tennis match, played by tourists near
by, sent stray balls hurtling towards 
him. A tennis ball struck him squarely on 
the head. As he stumbled to his 
feet, dizzy and disoriented, the 
world around him had changed.

Plankton found himself struggling 
with simple tasks that once came 
so naturally. His 
job at the local bait shop grew 
increasingly difficult as he often 
forgot names. His social 
interactions grew strained, as he 
found it hard to read the subtle 
cues of conversation and often 
took things too 
literally. The doctor's diagnosis 
was clear: the impact had left 
him with a mild form of autism 
for life.

Karen, ever the rock in their 
marriage, took the news with 
a mix of shock and determination. 
She knew this would be 
a journey of adaptation for 
both of them. She dedicated 
herself to helping Plankton 
navigate the new landscape of 
his reality.

His mind, now more analytical 
and detail-oriented, sought 
patterns and understanding 
in the overwhelming 
information. It was as if he had 
developed an insatiable hunger 
for knowledge, and this soon 
dominated their 
dinner conversations.

"Karen," he began, "I've been 
thinking about the diagnosis."

They were at the kitchen table. 
She looked up from her plate.

"We can just keep this between 
us, Sheldon."

"Karen," Plankton insisted, "I 
think we need to consider what 
this means for the Chum Bucket."

"The Chum Bucket will be fine. 
You're still you. Just with a 
different way of seeing the 
world. You're seeing patterns 
no one else does. Let's focus 
on how we can harness that 
instead of worrying about what 
you lost." 

The idea took root in Plankton's 
mind, growing into a newfound 
sense of purpose. If he couldn't 
outsmart Krabs in 
their usual cat-and-mouse game, 
perhaps he could out-pattern him. 
His mind raced with the 
possibilities, the 
wheels of his imagination spinning 
faster than ever before.

"If I could see patterns where he 
doesn't, we could finally steal 
the Krabby Patty secret!"

He began to fidget in his chair, 
his legs bouncing up and down, a 
silent metronome to his racing thought.

"But what if Krabs finds out? You 
know how he is, Karen. If he gets 
even the slightest whiff of 
weakness, he'll be on 
us." 

Karen nodded solemnly. "But 
you're not weak, Plankton. 
You're just... different. And 
if he does we'll deal with it 
together like everything else."

Her words resonated with him 
and a newfound resolve shone 
in his eye. "You're right," 
he murmured. "We'll turn this 
into an advantage."

Plankton retreated to his lab, the 
cobwebs of doubt slowly giving 
way to a tangible 
plan. He pored over blueprints 
and formulae, his mind 
racing with thoughts 
with his newfound focus, 
a stark contrast 
to the days when he had 
flitted from one idea to 
the next without clear direction.

He dissected every encounter 
with Krabs, searching for 
patterns in his rival's behavior. 
His mind was a whirlwind of 
calculations, predicting Krabs' 
every move, anticipating his 
countermoves, and preparing 
for the ultimate heist.
His once cluttered lab now had 
a method to its madness. The 
floor was clear of scattered 
inventions, and his desk 
was organized into neat piles 
of notes. His thoughts were no 
longer scattered; they 
were sharp.

Karen supported him, bringing 
him snacks and encouraging him 
to take breaks, for she 
knew that his mind was 
fully consumed by his mission.

The day finally came when 
Plankton announced that he 
was ready to put his new skills 
to the test. "Karen," he said 
with a steely glint in his eye, 
"I'm going to the Krusty Krab."

"But Plankton, You haven't been 
since before..." 
"It's time. I've figured out a 
pattern in Krabs' security. 
There's a blindspot during the 
lunch rush."

Plankton set out. The restaurant 
bustled with the usual sea of 
patrons, a cacophony 
of noise that Plankton found 
both overwhelming and fascinating. 
He took a deep breath, focusing on 
the task at hand, and slipped inside.

Making his way to the back, he 
spotted the safe in Krabs' 
office. His new analytical 
mind dissected the room with 
ease, noting the routine of the 
employees, the subtle cues in 
their movements that pointed to 
the flow of customers, and the 
exact moment when the chaos of 
the lunch rush would hit its peak.

Timing was everything, and Plankton 
knew the moment had arrived. 
He slipped into the 
office. 
The combination lock stared 
back at him, a silent sentinel 
to the secret he sought. 
His mind raced through the 
patterns he had observed in 
Krabs' behavior, the way he 
tapped his claw against the 
desk when nervous, the time 
he took to drink his tea, the 
exact moment when his gaze 
would flick to the safe when 
the topic of the Krabby Patty 
formula came up. Plankton took 
a deep breath, his eye tracing 
the dial as he dialed 
in the sequence.

The clicks of the tumblers falling 
into place were the sweetest 
symphony he had ever heard. 
With trembling hands, 
he pulled the heavy door open, 
revealing the treasure trove with
in. His eye fell upon 
the secret bottle, its contents a 
murky mystery that could change 
his life forever. His heart 
thudded in his chest, a drum
roll to the crescendo of his 
plan.

"Plankton!" boomed a voice. 
He whirled around to find Mr. 
Krabs, claws balled into fists. 
The room spun, and the 
noises of the restaurant outside 
grew distant.

"What do you think you're doing?" 
Krabs demanded, his eyes bulging 
with rage.

Plankton's brain scrambled 
for a lie, but his newfound 
honesty and directness took 
over. "I've come for the Krabby 
Patty secret." 

Mr. Krabs sneered, "You're 
insane, Plankton. You'll 
never understand 
the brilliance 
of me creation."

"But I see patterns now, where 
I used to see only chaos.." 
Plankton trails off before he 
could reveal more.

Mr. Krabs took a step closer. 
"What are you talking about? 
Patterns? I don't know what 
you're blabbering on about, 
but you're not leaving here 
with that!" He lunged, but 
Plankton was ready.

Using his heightened 
senses and the patterns 
he had studied, Plankton 
sidestepped the attack 
with surprising 
grace. The Krabby Patty 
secret was in his grasp, 
but he knew to take it 
back to the 
Chum Bucket.

He sprinted out of the 
office. The din of the 
restaurant faded into the 
background as he weaved 
through the kitchen, 
dodging flying spatulas 
and the frenetic dance of 
the cooks. The heat from 
the grills washed over 
him but he didn't 
flinch. His eye remained 
locked on the swinging 
doors to the alley outside.

Karen was waiting for him.

Without a word, she opened 
the hidden hatch that led 
back to the Chum Bucket. 
Plankton squeezed through, 
the warmth of the stolen 
secret a comforting weight. 
They descended into the dimly 
lit lab.

Karen looked at him with 
a mix of amazement and 
pride. "You did it," she 
whispered.

Plankton's chest heaved 
with the exertion of 
his escape. "Yes," he 
panted, "but 
Krabs knows I have it."

Plankton carefully removed 
the paper from the bottle, 
his eye scanning the list. 
The words and numbers swam but 
he focused, his mind slicing 
through the jumble. The list 
was not in English, but a 
cryptic code that only 
Krabs could decipher.

The symbols and letters 
danced in a maddening 
ballet, but he could feel 
the tide of 
understanding beginning to 
turn. His mind raced, piecing 
together the puzzle with a 
speed and precision that 
astonished even him.

He turned to Karen. "It's a code 
based on the Fibonacci sequence!"

"Fibonacci?"

Plankton nodded fervently, his 
antennae waving with excitement. 
"It's a numerical sequence, Karen. 
One, one, two, 
three, five, eight... 
It appears in nature, in the spiral 
of a shell, the arrangement of 
leaves on a stem, the branching of 
trees. It's a pattern that's been used 
in everything from art to mathematics!"

Karen's trying to 
make sense of the 
seemingly random 
strings of digits 
and letters. "But 
how? Nevermind, I hear 
Krabs breaking in!"

Plankton began to recite the 
ingredients in their proper 
order, translating the code 
as he went. "Kelp powder, four... 
Tartar sauce, one... Mustard seeds, 
three... Onion powder, five!"

The lab door crashed open 
and Mr. Krabs' furious red 
face filled the doorway. "Give 
it back, you tiny menace!"

But Plankton was already 
several steps ahead. With 
lightning-quick reflexes, he 
transferred the information 
from the paper to his 
photographic memory, his mind 
now a fortress that contained 
the Krabby Patty's sacred 
recipe.

Krabs snatched the paper with a 
snarl, his claw closing around it 
like a vice. He glared at Plankton, 
eyes alight with 
fury. "You think you're so clever 
don't you?"

But Plankton remained silent. 
The code was in his mind now 
and no one could take that 
from him. He had outsmarted 
Krabs with his own patterns, 
using the very neurodivergence 
that had made him feel 
weak to gain the upper hand.

Mr. Krabs looked from the 
paper to Plankton and back 
again with suspicion, his 
claw tightening around the 
seemingly worthless paper.

"You think you've won?" he spat. 
"You'll never understand the 
genius behind me Krabby Patties!"
With that, Mr. Krabs stormed out 
of the Chum Bucket with his usual 
sneer, the worthless paper clutched 
in his claw.

Plankton watched him go, his 
heart racing. He had done it. 
He had bested Krabs.

As the echo of the slammed door 
faded away, he turned to Karen, 
his eye alight with 
victory. "We've got it," he 
whispered, his voice quivering 
with excitement. "The Krabby 
Patty secret is ours." 

new author is neurodivergent character development walks on the beach evening walk hopeful ending eventual happy ending autismcore headinjuryposting neurodivergent characters

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 3


(Neurodivergent author)



After breakfast, Plankton looks up
from his plate, his gaze meeting
Karen's. "Karen," he says, his voice
clearer now. "Plankton want outside."

Karen nods, recognizing the need
for a change of environment.
They head out to the backyard,
where the morning air is cool and
the sun's rays cast dappled patterns
on the grass. Plankton sits on a
bench, his eye scanning the
garden, taking in the sights.

He points to a scallop, its
wings a blur of color. "Beautiful,"
he says, his voice filled with awe.
Karen nods, understanding that
his heightened senses are allowing
him to experience the world in
a way she can't fully comprehend.
The sound of Mr. Krabs’s
lawnmower starts up, and Plankton
flinches, his hands flying to cover
his head. Karen quickly moves to
his side, placing a gentle hand
on his shoulder.

"It's ok," she says, her voice
calm and soothing. "It's just Mr.
Krabs." Plankton's humming
starts up again, his body
rocking slightly with each
engine's roar. She squeezes his
shoulder, reminding him of her
presence.

Together, they sit on the
bench, Karen's hand on his
back, as he tries to ground
himself with the feel of her
touch and the rhythm of his
humming. The lawnmower's noise
gradually becomes louder. Plankton's
body tenses, and he starts to
rock faster, Karen notices.

"Let's go inside," she suggests
gently, reading his distress.

The moment they step back
into the house, the noise
dims. He leans into her, his body
seeking the comfort of her
nearness. Karen leads him to the
couch, where he curls into a
small ball, his hands over his ears.

"It's ok," she repeats, her
voice a lullaby. "We can go
to the quietest room."

They move to the study,
a place where Plankton's
favorite books reside. He
nods, his body still tense
with the memory of the mower's
invasive sound. Karen closes
the door, cutting off the outside
noise, and sits beside him
on the floor. She opens a
drawing book she knows
he loves, filled with scenes
from his favorite movies.

Plankton's hands drop from
his ears as he focuses
on the images, his breathing
steadying. Karen picks up
a pack of colored pencils,
handing them to him without
a word. He selects a blue
one and starts to trace
the outline of a jellyfish,
his hand shaking slightly.

The mower's drone outside
becomes a distant hum, the
pages of the book a barricade
against the sensory assault.
He colors in the jellyfish,
his strokes becoming more
confident, his breaths deep
and even. Karen watches him,
seeing the world through
his eye, feeling his
discomfort slowly ebb away.

The blue pencil moves with
purpose, filling in the
intricate details of the jellyfish's
bell. Plankton's focus is
so intense it's as if he's
drawing a map to navigate
his new reality. Each stroke
is deliberate, a silent protest
against the chaos that had
invaded their morning.

The mower's noise grows
fainter, a fading memory.
In the quiet of the study,
his mind finds refuge. The
colors swirl and blend, a
symphony of order amidst
the cacophony of sensations.
Karen watches him, her own
hands resting in her lap, giving
him the space he needs.

His coloring becomes a form
of therapy, a way to communicate
without words, to express
his feelings when speech fails.
The blue pencil moves to a
green one, then a red, each color
adding layers to the picture.
The jellyfish comes to life
under his touch, a silent companion
that doesn't judge or overwhelm.

The doorbell rings, a sharp
intrusion into their sanctuary.
Plankton's body jerks at the sound,
his hand slipping, leaving a smudge
on the page. Karen sighs,
knowing it's Mr. Krabs,
probably coming over
to check on them. She
glances at Plankton, his
body coiled tightly, his eye
fixed.

"It's okay," she whispers,
placing a hand on his arm.
"It's just Mr. Krabs."

The doorbell rings again,
more insistent this time.
Plankton's antennae droop,
his body taut with anxiety.
He starts to rock, his humming
picking up speed. Karen rises,
leaving the colored pencils
behind. She moves to the door,
each step deliberate.

Mr. Krabs's face appears
through the peephole,
his expression a mix of
concern and curiosity.
She takes a deep breath,
preparing herself for the
interaction she's read so much
about. How to explain
Plankton's condition without
causing more stress?

When she opens the door,
Mr. Krabs's eyes widen, noticing
Plankton. "Ye drawing a jellyfish?
Absurd!" He cackles, causing further
distress; Plankton sees where his
drawing messed up and the harsh
sound of Krabs laughter, and can't
take it anymore. He throws the
colored pencils across the room,
each one a silent shout of
frustration. "Leave me alone!"
he yells, his voice cracking.

Mr. Krabs's laughter dies
instantly, his face morphing
into one of shock. "Plankton, buddy,
what's gotten into ya?" he asks,
his voice thick with amused confusion.

The question is a spark to Plankton's
already frayed nerves. He feels his
body tense further, his voice rising.

"You don't know anything about me!"
Plankton shouts at Mr. Krabs, his
words a jumbled mess of anger and
hurt. "You think you can just come
in here and laugh at me?"

Mr. Krabs's claws freeze in midair, his laughter
choked off by the unexpected outburst.
He stammers, trying to find the words
to respond, but Plankton cuts him off.

"You think I'm a joke? That my brain is
a punchline for your entertainment?"
Plankton's voice is a mix of anger and
pain, each word a knife thrown with precision.

Mr. Krabs, taken aback, takes a step
backward. His face is a mask of
surprise, his mouth agape like a
fish out of water. "No, no, Plankton,"
he stammers, his claws raised in a
defensive gesture. "I didn't mean to—"

But Plankton isn't listening, his
eye blazing with a fury Karen's never
seen before. "You never knew me!"
he cries, his voice echoing through
the hallway. "You just saw what
you wanted to see!" Each word is a
whip crack in the tense silence.

Mr. Krabs opens
his mouth to speak, but Plankton's
words continue to fly like shrapnel.

"You only see what you want to see!"
Plankton's voice cracks with emotion.
"You see a business rival, not a
friend, not someone who's hurting!"
He stands up, his body trembling.
Karen steps in, her hand on his
arm, trying to calm him. "Let's go
back to the study," she tries to
suggest.

But Plankton is beyond listening.
The dam of his emotions has
broken, and he's lost in a flood
of words and accusations.

"You only cared about your Krabby
Patties, your greed!" Plankton's
voice rises, each syllable a dagger.
Mr. Krabs's eyes dart around, unsure
how to respond to the raw pain in
his friend's words. So he reaches his
claw out hoping to calm him, but it's
giving the opposite effect.

"My whole life, you've used me!"
Plankton's accusations fly like
shrapnel in the quiet room. Karen's
heart aches, but she knows this is
a release he needs. She remains
silent, her hand a comforting weight
on his back, grounding him. 

new copepod autism plabsen 3

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 5


(Neurodivergent author)



Karen returns to the bedroom,
where Plankton is already snoring
softly. She pulls the covers up to
his chin, tucking in gently.
She sits in the chair beside
his bed, never leaving
his peaceful form.

His chest rises and falls in the
steady rhythm of sleep, each breath
a testament to his resilience.
Karen watches him, her mind racing
with thoughts of what the future
holds, the challenges they'll face
together. But for now, she
forces herself to be still.

Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep,
as if he's navigating the vast
underwater world of his dreams.
Karen watches him, full
of a love she didn't know existed.

The soft snores from Plankton's
tiny form are music to her.
In his sleep, the weight of the
world is lifted, his mind free
to explore the vast depths of his
underwater universe without fear.
Her gaze lingers on the soft
lines of his face, the tension
erased by the gentle embrace of
slumber. She smiles, her eyes
filling with tears.

The room is a sanctuary,
a bubble of quiet amidst the
storm of confusion and fear.
The shadows play across the wall,
telling silent stories of adventures
that await when he wakes. Karen
reclines in the chair, her hand
resting gently on his arm.

The nap stretches into an hour,
then two, the house a cocoon
of peace around them. Plankton's
body relaxes into the embrace
of the bed, his mind swimming
through a sea of tranquility.

Karen sits by his side, her hand
still resting on his arm. She
thinks of the Plankton she knew
before, his quirks and routines
now painted with the brushstroke
of understanding. Autism isn't
a label to shrink from, but a part
of him to be embraced, a piece
of the intricate tapestry that
makes him who he is.  

In his sleep, Plankton starts 
to murmur, his words a jumble
of half-thoughts. Karen leans closer,
trying to make sense of the words.

"...I...Karen...love."

Her hand squeezes his arm gently, her 
thumb tracing circles on his skin. "I 
love you too, Plankton," she whispers 
back, her voice a soft lullaby.
Plankton's sleep-talk starts up again.
"...so many stars,"
his voice murmurs, his antennae
twitching with the vividness
of his dream. Karen smiles,
imagining the vast cosmos
that must exist in his mind.
Her hand continues its gentle
caress, her hand stroking his 
antennae in a calming pattern.
"Shh, Plankton, it's just a dream," 
she soothes.

His snoring starts again,
a soft, rhythmic sound that
fills the quiet. She 
smiles, her eyes still on
his peaceful form.

The world outside their
sanctuary seems to fade away,
its worries and noises muted by
the wall of their understanding.
Plankton's autism is a challenge,
but it's also a bridge that's brought
them closer, a shared secret
that only the two of them understand.

As Plankton sleeps, Karen's phone
vibrates with a text from her friend,
Hanna. "Dinner tonite?"

Her thumb hovers over the
keyboard, debating. Plankton's
diagnosis is still fresh, the
memory of his seizure a stark
reminder of the fragility of his
newly understood world. But she
knows the importance of keeping
up appearances, of not letting fear
or pity define them. With a sigh,
she texts back, "We'd love to. Your
place."

The evening stretches before them
like a tightrope, a delicate balance
between Plankton's needs and the
social norms that often feel
like a prison for him. Karen's mind
whirs with strategies to make it work.
A quiet place, familiar faces, a set
schedule. These are the keys
to a successful outing.

Gently, she shakes him awake,
her touch as light as a seashell
on the shore. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his eye fluttering open.
He looks up at her with sleepy
confusion, the world still a blur.
"Dinner with Hanna," she says,
keeping her voice low and soothing.
He nods, his body already tensing
in anticipation of the sensory
bombardment to come.

The car ride is a symphony of
preparation, the engine's hum a
soothing background to their
silent conversation. Karen's eyes
are on the road, but her mind is
on Plankton, his hands fidgeting
in his lap. She knows the world
outside is a minefield of sounds
and sensations, so she keeps
the radio off and the windows
up, creating a bubble of quiet
around them.

Plankton's breathing is shallow,
his antennae twitching with
each passing car. Karen reaches
over to squeeze his hand,
a silent reminder that she's
there. He looks at her, his eye
filled with a mix of fear
and gratitude. She smiles,
the warmth of her gaze a lifeline
in the chaos. "We're almost
there," she says, her voice a gentle
wave lapping at the shore.

They arrive at Hanna's house,
a beacon of light in the
deep blue sea of the night.
The door opens, revealing a
whirlwind of laughter and chatter,
the smell of garlic bread and
seafood stew wafting out. Karen
takes a deep breath, steeling
herself for the evening ahead. 

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his eye wide at the unfiltered stimulation.
Hanna, oblivious to their new
dynamic, waves them in with a
cheerful smile. "You're just in time!"
she exclaims, her voice a trumpet
in the quietude of Plankton's mind.

Karen's hand tightens around
his, a silent reassurance as
the door closes, the sound
a thunderclap in his ears.
The house is a cacophony of
sounds and smells, a whirlpool
of sensory information threatening
to pull him under. He gulps,
his breathing shallow, his body
braced for the inevitable.

Hanna, their friend, is a whirlwind
of energy, her eyes sparkling
like the ocean's surface. She doesn't
notice the tension in Plankton's
body, the way he flinches at her
excited exclamations. She doesn't
see the way his antennae twitch,
his mind racing to keep up.

But Karen does. She's his
lifeline in this tumultuous sea
of social interactions. She nods,
smiling, as Hanna leads them
to the dinner table, her hand
squeezing Plankton's in silent
support. The room is a kaleidoscope
of colors, the clatter of silverware
and laughter a symphony of
overwhelming sound. Karen's eyes
dance over the room, noting
each potential trigger.

"Hey, ladies; meet Karen and Plankton!"
Hanna's enthusiastic introduction
was like a tidal wave crashing over
the quiet bubble they'd been in. Plankton
flinched, his antennae retreating like
snails into their shells. Karen offered a
forced smile, her eyes darting around
the room, searching for an anchor.
The dinner table was set with a
rainbow of plates and bowls, the smell
of garlic bread and seafood stew
overwhelming. Hanna's home was
a sensory minefield, but Karen was
determined to navigate it with grace.
Plankton's hand was cold in hers,
a silent plea for rescue.
As they sit, Karen scans the
table, noticing the flickering
candles, the glint of silverware,
and the clinking of glasses. Each
detail a potential trigger. She
whispers into Plankton's ear,
"Remember, if you need to, just tell me."
He nods, his antennae tucking
closer to his head. 

new copepod autism plaren 5

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 6


(Neurodivergent author)



The conversation turns to
their favorite food, and Plankton's
face lights up briefly. "Jellyfish,"
he murmurs, his voice lost in the
noise. Hanna's friends look at him,
puzzled by his quiet confidence.
One of them, Patricia, leans in,
her hand patting Plankton's
back. "That's cool, buddy," she says,
her voice booming. Plankton's body
stiffens, his eye blinking rapidly.

Karen feels his discomfort
like a physical force, a tightening
of the air around them. She
interjects gently, guiding the
conversation away from food,
his favorite topic now a minefield
of potential stress. "So, what
have you all been up to?" she asks,
her voice a lifebuoy in the storm.

Hanna's friends chatter away,
their voices a symphony of laughter
and good cheer. Plankton sits
stiffly, his antennae folded inward
like a turtle's shell. Karen watches him,
ready to jump in if the conversation
starts to spiral. "I went on a
deep-sea dive last week!" exclaims one,
his words a sonic boom to Plankton.
"Ya ever been diving b'fore?"

Karen nods at the storyteller,
interjecting gently. "Plankton's not
much of a swimmer," she says, her voice
a gentle current. "But he loves the
thought of exploring the deep sea."
Her words are a shield, deflecting
the spotlight from his discomfort.

Hanna's friends nod, their smiles
dimming slightly in understanding.
Patricia leans in, her eyes
full of genuine affection. "Aww, Plankton,
you're such a character!" she says,
lightly cupping his cheek and invading
his personal space.

The contact is too much for him.
His body jerks back, antennae stiffening,
his eye wide with panic.

Patricia's hand falls away, her
expression one of shock and confusion.
Karen's heart skips a beat,
but she's ready for this. She's studied,
prepared. "It's ok," she says,
her voice a lighthouse beam in the
sensory storm. "Plankton just needs his space."

The room goes quiet, the waves
of conversation receding like a tide.
They all look at him, their eyes
full of concern, their smiles
now tentative. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body still tense.

Hanna quickly asks, "Is he just tired?"
The lie hangs in the air like a
bubble waiting to pop. Karen's
face tightens, but she nods, playing
along. "Long week," she adds, her voice
as smooth as a polished pebble.

Plankton's gaze locks onto his
hands, his fingers twisting
together like seaweed in a
current. The pressure builds,
each laugh a wave pushing
against the dam of his anxiety.
But Karen is there, her hand
on his back, a gentle reminder
that he's not alone.

The meal is a dance of
flavors and sounds, each bite
of stew a step closer to the
edge of his comfort zone.
Plankton's eye dart around the
table, the conversations swirling
like the soup in his bowl.

Hanna's enthusiastic friends
keep glancing over. They mean well,
but their affection feels like a
wave crashing over him, leaving
his nerves exposed and raw.

The clatter of silverware
and the hum of conversation
form a wall of sound, trapping
his thoughts. He takes a deep
breath, trying to find the
calm in the chaos. Karen's hand
on his back is a comfort,
her touch a gentle reminder
that she's there to help him.

The meal stretches on, each
bite a small victory in the face
of overwhelming stimulation.
Karen's eyes never leave him,
scanning for signs of distress.
She's his compass in a stormy
sea, guiding him through the
unpredictable currents of social
interaction.

As dessert arrives, the chatter
grows louder, the laughter more
boisterous. The candles flicker,
casting a dizzying array of
shadows across the table. Plankton's
hands shake as he lifts his spoon.

Hanna, noticing his discomfort,
reaches out to pat his back. "You okay,
buddy?" she asks, yet her touch
unintentionally sends a shockwave
through Plankton's body.

"Just a little overwhelmed,"
he murmurs, his antennae retreating
even further. Karen's grip on his hand
tightens, her eyes a beacon of calm
in the storm. She whispers, "You're doing
so well, Plankton," her voice a lullaby
against the clamor of the room.

But Patricia, not quite tuned in to
his distress, leans in with a
boisterous laugh, her hand landing
on Plankton's shoulder. The room
spins around him, a tornado of
colors and sounds. "You're just
so cute when you're shy!" she says,
squeezing his cheek. And that's
what did it.

With a gasp, Plankton's body
shudders, a seizure starting to
inevitably take hold. This is
his second meltdown since
the diagnosis, Karen knew.
She gently helps Plankton to the
floor, his body convulsing. Hanna's
friends hover, their faces a canvas
of confusion and fear.

"Everyone, stay calm," Karen
instructs, her voice steady despite
the chaos in her heart. "Give us
some space." She turns her
attention to Plankton, her hands
guiding his body into a safe position.
The room's energy shifts.

Hanna's friends look on, their
laughter replaced by concern.
Patricia's face is a picture of horror.
"PLANKTON‽"

Karen's voice is a lighthouse
beacon in the chaos. "Everyone,
stay back," she says firmly. "He'll be
okay." Her eyes never leave
Plankton's contorted form,
fear and determination melding
into one fierce gaze.

The room goes still, the laughter
choked off like a switch. Hanna's
friends stare, their smiles frozen
like icebergs in the face of
his distress. Karen whispers to him,
her voice a gentle wave. "You're okay,
just breathe." Her hand is on his
forehead, her touch cool and calming.

The seizure subsides, leaving him
limp and panting on the floor,
his antennae drooping like tired
leaves. Karen's heart is racing,
but she forces her voice to be
soothing, her eyes never leaving
his. "It's okay," she repeats,
her mantra a lifeboat in the storm.

Hanna's friends hover, their faces
a canvas of shock and concern.
Patricia's hand is still hovering,
her smile gone, replaced by
a look of horror. "What happened?"
she stammers, her eyes wide with fear.

"It's okay," Karen repeats, her voice
a gentle tide, washing over the
silence. "Plankton just had a
little...mishap."

Hanna's friends exchange worried
glances, their smiles nowhere to be seen.
The room feels colder, the warmth
of their laughter long gone.

Plankton finally opens his eye, the 
room swimming back into focus,
still twitching with the aftermath.

Hanna's friends hover, their faces
painted with confusion and concern.

"It's okay," Karen says, her voice
a soft breeze in the storm. "Plankton
just needs some space."

Patricia nods, her smile fading
like a sunset. "I'm so sorry,"
she says, inching closer.

"He's just a little sensitive,"
Karen explains, her voice a lifeline
in the awkward silence. 

Patricia's face falls, the horror
of her mistake written clearly.
"I had no idea," she whispers,
her voice a leaf fluttering
in the breeze of their new reality.

new copepod autism plaren 6

CONSOLE TONSIL ii


*


As the door clicked shut, Karen noticed how 
Plankton's body 
stiffened, eye open but unseeing.

"Plankton?" she called out, her voice a 
gentle prodding into his
absent-mindedness.

He didn't respond. His eye remained open, but 
it was as if the light
behind it had gone out.
This wasn’t the first time Karen had seen 
him dizzily scatterbrained from overload, yet
it was eerie to witness such shock. His body 
remained still, his chest rising and
falling with his shallow breaths, yet there 
was no response to her
touch or voice. It was like he was there, but 
not there at the same
time.

The room grew quiet. She leaned closer. 
"Plankton, can you hear me?" she 
whispered.

His eye remained unblinking.

"Plankton, talk to me," Karen urged, her 
voice a gentle coax.

His only ‘response’ was the shallow rise and 
fall of his chest, his eye unblinking.

Karen realized the depth of his withdrawal; 
Hanna's words had
triggered a sensory shutdown.

The room grew colder as Plankton retreated 
into himself, his eye glazed over like a
still pond reflecting the fear and confusion 
rippling through him. Karen knew she
needed to tread lightly. She had seen this 
before, during moments of intense stress or
overstimulation.

"Plankton," she said, her voice a soft 
whisper. "You're not a burden, you know that."
Her hand reached out, stroking his arm in 
gentle, soothing motions. "You're just tired.
Let's focus on getting you better."

The room was still, the only sound being the 
tick of the clock echoing through the
silence. Karen's screen never left Plankton's 
unresponsive face, her mind racing to find the
right words, the right touch to pull him back 
from the edge of his isolation.

"Plankton," she said again, her voice barely 
above a whisper. "You're ok. You're home."
Her hand continued its soft, rhythmic motion 
on his arm, a silent lullaby to his
fractured thoughts.

Slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, 
Plankton's eye blinked. The fog in his gaze
started to clear, his pupil focusing on Karen's 
concerned face. He took a deep, shaky
breath, wincing as the pain in his throat shot 
up like a warning flare.

"You're ok," Karen repeated, her voice a 
soothing balm to his frazzled nerves. "You're 
home, and I'm here with you."

Plankton's breathing grew more even, the 
tension in his body slowly seeping away as 
he focused on her voice, her touch. The pain 
in his throat was a constant reminder of the 
surgery, but it was the emotional pain that 
weighed heavier on him.

Karen waited patiently, her hand never 
stopping its gentle caress, her voice a 
steady stream of comfort. "You're not a 
burden," she repeated, her tone soothing. 
"You're my best friend, Plankton. We’re 
home. I'm here for you, always."

Plankton blinked again, the reality of his 
situation seeping in. "Home," he murmured. 
"Thank you, Karen."

"You're welcome. I'm here for you."

The words hung in the air, the silence thick 
and heavy. Karen could see the internal
battle playing out on Plankton's face, the war 
between his pride and his need for
comfort. His hand reached out again, this 
time with more intention, and he gently
squeezed hers.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out, his voice still raw. 
"I didn't mean to scare you."

Karen leaned in closer, her screen filled with 
a gentle understanding. "You don't ever have 
to apologize for how you feel," she said 
softly. "We're in this together."
Plankton's grip tightened, his eye finally 
focusing on hers with a hint of gratitude. He 
took another deep breath, the pain a stark 
contrast to the warmth in the room. "What...what 
is Hanna doing now?" he 
asked, his voice a whisper of curiosity.

"I don't know," Karen replied truthfully. "But 
she's not here to bother us. You need to rest, ok?"

Plankton nodded weakly, his grip loosening. 
Karen felt a twinge of sadness as she saw 
the exhaustion etched on his features. She 
knew he was trying to be strong, but the 
weight of the day's events was too much for 
anyone to bear alone.

"Rest," she encouraged, her voice firm but 
gentle. "I'll be right here if you need 
anything."

Plankton's nod was almost imperceptible, 
but Karen took it as his silent agreement. 
She pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking 
him in as if he were a child, and sat in the 
chair beside his bed, her hand still in his. 
The warmth of their intertwined fingers was a 
small but significant comfort in the face of his 
overwhelming fears.

The minutes ticked by. Karen watched him 
closely, waiting for his breathing to deepen, 
his eyelid to droop. It was a slow process, 
but eventually, the exhaustion won. She 
heard a faint snore, a sign that he had finally 
succumbed to sleep. His hand went slack in 
hers, and she carefully extracted her hand, 
placing it on the bedside table. She took a 
deep breath, her shoulders sagging with 
relief.

Her mind raced with what had happened. 
Hanna's words had clearly struck a nerve, 
and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of 
anger at her friend's thoughtlessness. 
Plankton had always been self-conscious 
about his size and his perceived 
weaknesses, and to hear such harsh words 
from someone Karen cared about had to be 
devastating. Karen felt a mix of anger and 
sadness as she approached Hanna, her 
mind playing back the haunting image of 
Plankton's lifeless stare.
"Hanna," she began, her voice firm but 
measured. "We need to talk."

Hanna looked up.

"What you said in front of Plankton, though 
not meant to be malicious," Karen began, 
her voice low but steady. "It was hurtful and 
unnecessary. Plankton has...challenges. 
Neurodivergent challenges."

Hanna's confused. "What do you mean?"

"It means," Karen said, sitting down next to 
her, "that Plankton perceives and reacts to 
the world differently than we do. It affects 
how he processes information, how he 
interacts with people, and how he handles 
stress."

"What happened after I left?" Hanna finally 
asked, her voice tentative.

Karen took a deep breath, preparing to 
recount the events that had unfolded. "He 
had a...a reaction," she said.
"He couldn't handle the stress anymore. His 
mind just sort of...shut down. He just...froze 
still. It's like his body was there, but he 
wasn't. He didn’t respond to anything I said or did."
Hanna's hand flew to her mouth, horrified. 
"His eye were open, but he was...gone, 
somewhere else. I've seen it before, but 
never this severe. At first, nothing," Karen 
said, her gaze drifting to the floor. "It was like 
talking to a statue. But I didn't give up. I 
talked to him, whispered really. I tried to get 
through to him, to tell him he's not a burden, 
that he's important to me, that he's safe 
here. Just kept saying how much he means 
to me and that he's not a burden. He started 
to come back to me, little by little. His 
breathing changed, his gaze focused on me. 
It was like he was hearing me for the first 
time in hours." Karen paused, collecting her 
thoughts. "He apologized," she said. "For 
scaring me. As if it was his fault."

Hanna's expression grew pained. "I never 
meant for this to happen," she murmured. 
"What can I do to make it right?"

Karen considered her words carefully. "For 
now, let him rest," she said. "But when he's 
feeling better, we need to have a talk. All of 
us. Plankton deserves an apology."

* * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ  *

new author is neurodivergent console tonsil AI Story Generator karen plankton

COMPUTER SENSORS vi

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


"It's like his brain turned up the volume on everything," Hanna murmurs, finally understanding the gravity of 
Plankton's condition.

"Exactly," Karen says, her voice still low and soothing. "It's a constant barrage of sensory information for him."

Hanna nods, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Karen. "What exactly happened when I...I jabbed him?"

"It's like his brain took a brief vacation from reality." She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "It's a sudden break 
from consciousness, usually triggered by a sensory overload. In Plankton's case, it's often unexpected, like a 
surprise party his brain wasn't ready for."

"So, when I jabbed him during the game, it was like...like I flipped a switch?"

Karen's expression is a mix of sadness and patience. "More like turned up the volume on an amp that was 
already at max," she says. "It's like his brain took a short break from processing all the sensory input."

"Oh," she whispers, her voice a soft echo of regret. "I had no idea."

Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she says, her voice a 
gentle wave. "It's like when you're trying to listen to someone in a crowded room. Sometimes the noise just 
gets too much, and you have to tune out for a second to keep from getting overwhelmed."

Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's sleeping form. "But what happened earlier," she whispers. "When he went to 
his room?"

Karen's gaze follows Hanna's to Plankton, understanding dawns on her face. "Oh, you noticed," she says 
gently. "His sensory overloads can be gradual. Sometimes it's like a pot boiling over, but other times it's more 
like a slow simmer that gets out of control."

"What do you mean?"

Karen's gaze remains on Plankton, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like earlier," she explains. "In the bedroom. He 
was getting overwhelmed, but it was happening so gradually, he didn't realize it." She looks at Hanna, filled 
with the patience of experience. "It's like when you're in a conversation and someone keeps talking louder and 
louder, and you don't notice until you're shouting just to be heard."

Hanna nods with understanding. "So, when it's a sudden thing?"

"It's like a thunderstorm," Karen says, her voice a gentle explanation. "Loud, intense, and overwhelming. But the 
gradual buildup is more like a slow-moving fog, thickening until it's hard to breathe." She looks at Hanna with 
quiet strength. "Today in the bedroom, it was like that. The sounds, the light, even the smells...it was all too 
much for him. But he couldn't tell you. He just had to retreat."

Hanna nods reflecting her dawning comprehension. "So, when he went to his room, he was trying to get away 
from it all?"

Karen's smile is sad but knowing. "Yes," she whispers. "His room is his sanctuary. He's got it set up just right—
dim lights and all his favorite things. It's where he goes to recharge, to escape the storm when it gets too 
loud."

Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see now how the simple act of playing a board game had 
become a tempest for him. How the jovial jab had sent him spiraling into a sensory hurricane. She feels a 
pang of regret for not noticing the signs sooner, for not understanding the delicate balance he maintained 
every day.

"How do you know when touch helps him?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft inquiry. "I mean, if he can't tell you?"

It's all about reading his cues," she whispers. "Sometimes, it's the tension. Other times, it's the way his pupil 
reacts to stimuli." She pauses, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. "And sometimes, it's just a feeling."

"How can I get better at that?" she asks, her voice earnest. "How can I support him without making things 
worse?"

Karen's smile is warm, filled with gratitude for Hanna's willingness to learn. "It takes time," she says gently. 
"But the key is to pay attention to his reactions, his body language. If he flinches or withdraws, that's a sign 
that what you're doing isn't helping. But if he relaxes or moves closer, then you know you're on the right track."

Hanna nods, still on Plankton's sleeping form. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of 
fear. "What if I hurt him again?"

Karen's hand squeezes hers reassuringly. "You're already doing so much better than most. It's just about 
learning to read his body language, his reactions."

Hanna nods, still on Plankton. "What about when he's asleep?" she asks, her voice a soft concern. "How do 
you know if he's comfortable?"

"It's all in the subtleties," Karen explains, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Hanna. "If he's tense, if curled 
tightly, then I know to be careful. But if he's relaxed, loose or reaching out...that's when I know it's safe to 
touch him."

Hanna nods, taking in the information. She watches as Plankton starts to stir.

"He's waking up," Karen whispers, her voice a soft breeze in the quiet room.

She watches as Plankton twitch, his eye slowly opening. The panic from earlier is gone, replaced with a soft 
curiosity as he looks around the room.

"Hey, buddy," Karen says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "How are you feeling?"

Plankton blinks slowly, moving to rub his eye. "Tired," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Hanna clenches at the sound, but she remains still, not wanting to disturb him. "Do you need anything?" she 
asks, her voice a soft echo of concern.

Plankton's gaze shifts to her, his pupil dilating slightly. He seems to consider her words before shaking his 
head. 
"Just...quiet," he says, his voice a whisper in the stillness.

Hanna feels a strange sense of responsibility, a need to protect him from the world that can be so unforgiving 
to those who are different. She watches as he blinks slowly, moving slightly as if testing the waters of 
consciousness.

Karen's smile is a soft glow of gratitude. "Just sit with us," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Your 
presence is enough."

"I swear we were just playing a game, and..." he asks, his voice still a whisper.

Hanna nods of guilt and empathy. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry."

Plankton reaches out, touching her arm lightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "I just...I need time."

Hanna nods, brimming with unshed tears. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I'll be quiet as a 
mouse."

Plankton's grip tightens around her arm for a moment, a silent thank you, before releasing its grip. He sits up 
slowly, wrapping around himself like a self-made blanket. Karen watches him with a knowing 
gaze, her heart aching for his pain but also swelling with pride at his resilience.

"Let's get you water to drink," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze that doesn't disturb the peacefulness of 
the room. She rises and heads to the kitchen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the cocoon of quiet 
understanding.

Hanna nods, still on Plankton as he slowly unravels from his protective ball. She feels the weight of his gaze 
on her, a silent question, and she meets it with a smile tinged with sadness. "You're ok," she whispers, her 
voice a soft caress in the hushed room.

The kitchen door clicks shut behind Karen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the gentle embrace of the dim light 
from the fireplace. The silence stretches out like a warm blanket, comforting and safe. Plankton reaches for 
the blanket, pulling it tighter around his shoulders.

Hanna takes a deep breath, the scent of the fireplace mixing with the faint aroma of their earlier dinner. "I'm 
really sorry," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "I had no idea."

Plankton nods, loosening slightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "Not your fault."

The warmth from the fireplace creates a serene ambiance, the flickering light casting shadows across the 
room. Hanna watches as Plankton begins to move again, a sign that he's slowly coming back to the present 
moment. "What can I do to make it up to you?" she asks, her voice a soft thread of hope in the quiet.

Plankton considers her question, his tentacles stroking the blanket in a rhythmic pattern. "Just...just be there," 
he murmurs, his eye closing briefly. "And maybe next time, we can find a different way to play."

Hanna nods, her heart heavy with the weight of her mistake. "I'd like that," she says softly. "I'd really like that."

new neurodivergentcore computer sensors

Mʏ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ I ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀʀᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. Tʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ɪɴ ʜɪɴᴅsɪɢʜᴛ, I ᴍᴀʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sɪᴍᴘʟʏ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴄᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ..

new dadcore momcore terrorwave cannibalcore cannibalismcore cookingcore

🇩🇪2️⃣

new germany 2 europe

★🍞🔥 TOSTADORAS FOREVER (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) #OC 🔥🍞★‹𝟹

new 2 4 6 dandy's-world dandy's world

tum mare janu ho. 🙇

new 777 000 1 400

GO HONE 2/2

The nurse returned,
seeing his renewed energy.
"Looks like you're feeling
better," she said with a
smile. "But let's not rush
things."

Plankton nodded eagerly,
his antennas bobbing. 
"Yeth, yeth, I'm weady!"
He tried to sit up again,
his body still wobbly.
The nurse helped him,
adjusting his pillows.
"Let's see if you can
stay awake for a few
more minutes," she said.

He looked at her with
determined innocence,
like a child promising
not to eat cookies before
dinner. "I'm weally weally
weady," he insisted,
his words still thick.
Karen couldn't help but
chuckle, watching him
fight the sleepiness.

"Good," the nurse said.
"Keep talking to your wife,
that'll help keep you
alert."

Plankton's eye lit up with
a childlike excitement. "Ish
fun to tawk to you, Karen,"
he said, his words still
slurred. "Youw make me
happy."

Karen felt her heart swell.
"And you make me happy,"
she said, her voice
sincere despite his
loopy state. "Even when
you're being a goofball."

Plankton's smile grew, his
eye still half-lidded. "Goof...ball?"
he repeated, the words
sounding strange in his
mouth. He giggled again,
his body swaying slightly
with the effort of staying
upright. "Ish fun to be
a goofball."

Karen couldn't resist
smiling back, his
silliness was infectious.
"Yes, it is," she said. "But
you need to stay awake
for a little longer."

Plankton nodded, his
head bobbing slightly.
"Otay, Karen," he said, his
voice still thick. He then
saw the nurse. "Who's
dat?" he whispered, his
eye wide with curiosity.

Karen chuckled softly.
"That's the nurse, Plankton.
Remember?"

He blinked a few times,
his antennas perking up as
his eyes focused on the
kind-faced woman. "Oh,
yeah. Tha nurse lady," he
slurred, his voice full of
sudden realization. "Hi!"

The nurse chuckled.
"Hello, Mr. Plankton.
You're doing great."

Plankton's smile grew
even wider, his cheeks
flushing with pleasure.
"Ish nice to meechu," he said,
sleepily. "I wike
youw hat.."

The nurse couldn't help
but laugh. "Thank you,
Mr. Plankton. It's nice
to meet you too."

Plankton's eye began
to droop again, and Karen
could see the sleep
trying to pull him under.

"Wakey wakey, Plankton,"
she said, giving his hand
a gentle squeeze. "You
have to stay with me."

He nodded, his head
lolling to the side before
snapping back up with a jerk.
"Ish okay, Karen," he
whispered, his voice
still slurred. "Ish okay."

But his eyelid grew
heavy, and his words
trailed off.
"Ish just...tho tiwed," he
mumbled.

Karen's chuckle was gentle,
not wanting to disturb his
attempts to stay alert. "I know,
sweetie," she said, stroking
his hand. "Just a few more
minutes."

But Plankton's eyelid
was like a heavy curtain,
despite his best efforts.
"Whe...whe...why am I so
tiwed?" he slurred, his
head lolling to the side
like a ragdoll's. Karen
knew he wasn't going to
last much longer.

His hand slipped out of
hers, and he began to
snore softly again. Karen
looked over at the nurse,
who nodded in understanding.

"It's normal," the nurse
said. "The anesthesia can
make people pretty loopy
for a while."

Plankton's snores grew
softer, his body relaxing.
Karen watched him, her
expression a mix of
amusement and concern.
"How much longer?"
she asked the nurse.

"Just a little longer,"
the nurse said, checking
his vitals again. "The
effects should start to
wear off soon."

Plankton's snores grew
softer, and then he was
awake again, looking around
the room with wide-
eyed wonder, drool trailing
from the corner of his mouth.
"Whe...where...?" His voice
was a sleepy whisper.

"You're still in the
recovery room," Karen
soothed, wiping his chin
with a tissue. "You fell
asleep again."

Plankton looked up at
her, his eye wide and
innocent. "Did I miss
sumfing?" he asked, his
voice still thick with
slumber.

"No, sweetie," Karen
replied, her voice
soothing. "You just fell
asleep for a bit. You're
still waking up."

Plankton's antennas
perked up, and he
sat up. "But...but
I hav ice cweam?" His eye
were wide with hopeful
inquiry.

Karen nodded with a
smile, wiping the
remaining drool from
his mouth. "Yes, when
we get home, remember?"

Plankton's grin was
infectious. "Yay!" he
cheered, clapping his
hands together with a
slightly awkward smack.

Karen couldn't help
but chuckle at his
reaction, his
childlike enthusiasm
was adorable. "Looks like
you're feeling better,"
she said, her voice
filled with affection.

But Plankton was already
off on another tangent,
his gaze wandering to the
ceiling. "Whewe awe
the fishies?" he asked, his
voice a sleepy whisper.
Karen followed his gaze,
seeing the plain, white
ceiling tiles. "The fishies
are in your imagination,
Plankton," she said, her
tone gentle.

He pouted, his
disappointment palpable.
"Oh," he murmured, his
head lolling to the side.
Karen chuckled, her hand
still on his arm. "They'll
be there when you're all
better," she assured him.
"But for now, let's just
stay here."

The nurse smiled. "Looks like
our patient is feeling
better," she said with a
smile. "Almost ready to
go home?"

Plankton nodded vigorously,
his antennas flopping with
the motion. "Hone, yesh! Ice
cweam!" His eye
closed again, and he
snored lightly. Karen
chuckled. His excitement
was adorable, even if it
was short-lived.

The nurse checked his vital signs.
"Looks like the anesthesia's
wearing off," she said with a
smile. "We can get you
ready to go home soon."

Plankton's eyelid fluttered
open. "Hone?" he asked, his
voice hopeful.

"Almost," Karen said, her voice
calm and soothing. "Just a
few more minutes."

Plankton's eye
closed again, his breaths
deepening into sleep.
His head lolled to the side,
his antennas drooping. Karen
watched him with love. Even in
his most vulnerable state,
his antics brought
a warmth to the room.

The nurse returned
and began to prepare
the discharge papers.
"Almost there," she said with
a wink at Karen. "He'll
be right as rain in no
time."

Plankton stirred again,
his eye half-opening to
a squint. "Whe...where's
my ice cweam?" he
mumbled, his voice
slurred with sleep.

Karen chuckled. "Not
until we get home,
remember?"

Plankton's head
nodded, his antennas
bobbing. "Oh yeah," he
mumbled, his voice
dreamily content.

The nurse finished up
the paperwork and turned
to Karen. "We're all set.
Just make sure he gets
plenty of rest and eats
soft foods for the next
few days."

Plankton's eye shot
open, his antennas
springing to attention. "Ice
cweam?" he asked, his voice
hopeful. Karen laughed,
shaking her head. "When we
get home, remember?"

He pouted, his lower lip
sticking out like a
sulky child's. "But I'm
so tiwed," he whined.
"Tiwed of being tiwed."

Karen couldn't help but
smile at his usual
stubbornness. "You
just had surgery," she
reminded him gently.
"Your body needs to
recover."

Plankton's eye grew
large, and he nodded
slowly. "Oh yeah," he said,
his voice trailing off.
"But...but I wan' ice
cweam..." He faltered
as Karen holds him up.

The nurse chuckled and
handed Karen the papers.
"It's all normal, he's just
loopy from the meds. He'll
be fine once he's home."

Karen nodded, her
expression a mix of
concern and affection.
Plankton's head lolled
back onto her shoulder,
his eye drooping again.
"Ice...cweam?" he mumbled.

"As soon as we get
home, I promise," she
whispered.
His body relaxed into her,
his breathing evening out
into a gentle snore.

The nurse helped Karen
maneuver the sleeping 
Plankton into a
wheelchair, his legs
still not fully cooperating.
"Just a precaution,"
she said with a wink.
"Better safe than sorry."

The cool air of the
hallway hit him like a
wave, and Plankton's eye
popped open. "Whe...?"
he mumbled, looking around
confused.

"It's okay, we're going
home," Karen said, pushing
the wheelchair through
the hospital's sliding doors.
The sun was shining, and
the brightness made him
blink.

Plankton squinted, his eye
trying to adjust to the
light. "Home?" he asked,
his voice still thick with sleep.
"Ice cweam?"

Karen chuckled, nodding.
"Yes, home. And yes, ice
cream." She pushed him
out into the parking lot, the
sun glinting off the cars. Plankton
was still groggy, his
antennas waving slightly
as if trying to keep time with
his thoughts.

The ride home was quiet,
Plankton's snores punctuating
the gentle hum of the engine.
Karen couldn't help but
glance over at him, his mouth
slightly open, his face
peaceful in sleep. She felt a
wave of tenderness wash over
her.

When they finally pulled
up to their house, the sight
of their familiar surroundings
seemed to revive Plankton.
"Whe...we're hone?" he
asked, his voice groggy.

Karen nodded. "Yes,
we're home," she said, her
tone filled with relief.
"Time for that ice cream."

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new 1 7 1n dot art text art ascii art

SWEET CWEAM pt. 1

Karen stood outside the dental clinic. 
Plankton had been in surgery for what 
felt like an eternity.

The door swung open, and a nurse with a kind 
smile beckoned her inside. "You can go in 
now," she said softly. Karen followed the nurse 
down the hallway. She took a 
deep breath, steeling herself for what lay 
ahead.

In the recovery room, Plankton was still 
unconscious, his face a mask of peace. A line of 
drool had escaped the corner of his mouth. 
Karen felt a twinge of guilt for not being there 
to hold his hand during the surgery.

The nurse checked 
his vital signs and 
nodded to Karen. "You 
can sit with him now." 
Karen pulled a chair next 
to the hospital bed. 
Her hand found his, and she 
squeezed gently.

Plankton's eye flickered 
open. He tried to 
focus, but his eye 
wouldn't cooperate. 
"Karen?" he murmured, 
his voice thick with 
anesthesia.

Her hand tightened around 
his, and her screen swam into 
view. "I'm here, sweetie," she 
whispered, her screen 
glistening with relief.

Plankton blinked several 
times, his mouth feeling like it 
was stuffed with cotton. The 
pain was a distant echo, 
muted by the drugs still 
coursing through his veins. He 
managed a nod, his eyelid 
growing heavy again.

Karen offered a small, 
reassuring smile. "How are 
you feeling?" she asked, her voice 
wrapped in a gentle lilt.

Plankton's mouth felt like it had been 
invaded by an alien species, a strange 
numbness spreading through his jaw. 
He tried to form words, but all that came 
out was a muffled grunt. The nurse 
chuckled, a sound that was both 
soothing and slightly irritating. "It's 
normal," she said, patting his arm. "The 
anesthesia can make it difficult to talk."

He tried to sit up, but his body 
wouldn't respond. It was as if he was 
trapped in a thick fog, unable to move.

The nurse noticed his 
struggle and moved quickly to 
his side. "Easy now, Mr. Plankton," 
she said, placing a firm but gentle hand 
on his shoulder. "You're still under the 
influence of the anesthesia. Take your time."

Plankton nodded, his 
head lolling back onto the pillow. 
His eye darted around the room, 
trying to make sense of his surroundings. 
His mind felt like it was 
floating in a bubble.

"Wha... happened?" he 
slurred, his tongue thick and 
unwieldy.

The nurse chuckled 
kindly. "You had your 
wisdom teeth removed, Mr. 
Plankton. You're going to be 
feeling a bit loopy for a 
while."

The words 
swirled in his head, and 
slowly, the fog began to 
lift. Wisdom teeth? 
Removed? Plankton's hand 
shakily went to his face, 
gently prodding the puffy 
skin around his mouth.

A childlike bewilderment 
washed over him. "Teesh?" 
he murmured, his voice 
smaller than he remembered.

Karen nodded, a smile 
playing at the corners of her 
mouth. "Wisdom teeth," she 
repeated, her voice a soft 
caress in the sterile air. "You'll be 
okay, Plankton."

He squinted, trying to 
understand, and finally 
managed to mumble, "Wheh?"

Karen leaned closer, her 
face a soft blur above him. 
"Wisdom teeth," she said, 
enunciating each syllable as if 
speaking to a toddler. "They 
took out your wisdom teeth."

The words 
sank into Plankton's 
consciousness like a stone 
in a murky pond. Teeth? 
Wisdom? The nurse had said 
something about it, but it 
still didn't make much 
sense. He felt like he had 
forgotten how to piece 
together coherent thoughts.
He looked at 
his wife with wide, 
confused eye, like a 
small child lost in a 
crowded supermarket.

Karen, sensing his 
desperation, spoke 
slowly and clearly, as 
if recounting a bedtime story. 
"You went to the dentist," 
she began, her voice 
soothing. "They had to take 
out four of your teeth."

Plankton's single 
functioning eye went 
even wider. "Foe?" he 
whispered, the shock 
reverberating through his 
fuzzy brain.

"Don't worry," Karen 
soothed, stroking his forehead. 
"You were asleep. You 
didn't feel a thing."

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new paper x oj inanimate insanity ii objectshows OBJECTSHOW couple pair duo 2

KAREN TOLD THE DOCTOR 2/2
(Autistic author)
Karen guided him back to their living quarters. Plankton followed her, his steps slow and measured. Each word she spoke was met with an echo. "Home," she said as they entered, and "Home," he repeated, his eye darting around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The space was cluttered with his inventions, a stark contrast to the neatness that Karen had always strived for. It was a mess, but to him, it was a comforting chaos. "Bed," she pointed, indicating where he should rest. He nodded, his gaze lingering on the familiar object. "Bed," he echoed, a hint of understanding in his tone. Together, they moved through the space, each step a gentle reintroduction to a life that had changed so dramatically. Karen felt like she was walking on eggshells, afraid to say the wrong thing, to push him too far. Plankton's gaze flitted from object to object, his voice a soft whisper of repetition. "Chair, chair," he mumbled, fixating. She watched as he touched the material, his fingertips tracing the seams, his mind racing with sensory input. "Yes, Plankton, that's a chair," she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the world around them. "You sit on it to rest." Plankton nodded, the concept of rest still elusive. "Rest," he repeated, his voice a shadow of hers. Karen guided him to the chair, his body stiff with uncertainty. He sat down slowly. "Rest," he murmured, his body finally relaxing. As they sat together in the cluttered room, Karen realized that their life was going to be a series of tiny moments like these, each one a delicate dance of patience and understanding. "Love you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. Plankton's eye flitted to hers, his expression a puzzled mixture of feelings. "Love you," he echoed, his voice a mirror of her own. Karen swallowed a lump in her throat. "I know it's confusing, Plankton. But I'm here for you," she whispered, her hand squeezing his. Plankton nodded, his gaze flitting around the room, his mind a whirlwind of sounds and sensations. "Here," he echoed, his voice barely above a murmur. Karen led him to their bed, his steps unsure and sluggish. He had never been so reliant on her. "Bed," she said, pointing to the soft, inviting mattress. Plankton stared at it, the word bouncing around in his head like a pinball. "Bed," he echoed, his voice barely audible. With Karen's guidance, Plankton lay down, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. The fabric of the sheets was a cool caress against his skin, a sensation he found oddly comforting. The ceiling fan spun above, casting shadows that danced in a hypnotic pattern. "Goodnight, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room. Plankton's eye was closed now, his breaths slow and deep. The world outside had faded away, leaving only the rhythmic whirring of the fan and the gentle lapping of the waves against the window. Karen stood by the bed, watching his chest rise and fall. In the quiet, she noticed the way his antennas twitched, as if he was dreaming of the sea's mysteries. Or perhaps he was dreaming of the Krabby Patty formula, the elusive prize that had consumed his mind for so long. Karen's smile was bittersweet. He had always been so driven, so obsessed with outsmarting Mr. Krabs. Now, the dreams he chased were more innocent, more pure. The room was bathed in a soft blue light from the moon, casting a peaceful glow over Plankton's sleeping form. Karen leaned over and kissed his forehead, his skin cool and clammy. "Rest well, my love," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress in the silent room. As the night stretched on, Plankton's sleep remained deep and untroubled. Karen sat by his side, her mind racing with thoughts of the future. How would they manage the Chum Bucket? What about his schemes against Mr. Krabs? Would he still be able to cook, to innovate, to live the life they had built together? Karen woke up first the next day, her eyes gently adjusting to the dim light of dawn. Plankton was still asleep beside her, his body curled into a tight ball. The ceiling fan had stopped spinning hours ago, leaving the room in a comforting silence. She studied his face, her heart heavy with love and worry. The lines of tension had softened with sleep, and for a moment, he almost looked like the Plankton she knew before the fall. She kissed his forehead, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. His skin was cool to the touch, and she couldn't help but wonder what dreams played out behind his closed eye. Dreams of a world that made sense, or a world filled with the sensory overload that now consumed his waking hours? The morning light grew stronger, casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Karen knew she had to start the day, to face the challenges that awaited them. But she couldn't bear to leave his side, not yet. Plankton's snores grew softer, his body slowly unfurling from its defensive ball. He mumbled something unintelligible, his eye twitching beneath his eyelid. Was he dreaming of the ocean? Of Krabby Patties? Or was it something entirely different, a world only he could see? The morning light grew brighter, painting the room in shades of pink and orange. Karen sat by the window, watching the sun rise over the Bikini Bottom skyline. The usual symphony of sounds from outside seemed muted today, as if the world knew something important had shifted. Plankton stirred in his sleep, his antennas twitching with the first whispers of the new day. Karen's heart skipped a beat as she watched him, wondering what thoughts swam in his head. Would he wake up and be the same Plankton she knew, or was he lost in a world of his own, navigating a sea of sensory overwhelm? The sun creeped through the cracks in the curtains, casting warm beams of light across the room. The shadows grew shorter, the darkness receding with each passing moment. Karen took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever the day might bring. Plankton stirred again, his single eye fluttering open. "Morning," he said, his voice still slightly mechanical. Karen turned to him with a smile, the worry in her eyes masked by her determination. "Good morning, honey," she replied, her voice cheerful despite the heaviness. He sat up, the sheets sliding off his slender frame. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye finding Karen's. "Good morning," he echoed, his voice a little more steady. Karen smiled with hope. "How did you sleep?" Plankton nodded, his gaze flitting to the ceiling. "Bed, good," he said, his voice a soft echo of her own. Despite his new challenges, Plankton was still trying to make sense of the world. He stood up, his legs shaky and unsure. Karen watched him with a mix of anxiety and admiration. He was trying so hard, his body and mind fighting to find a balance in this new reality. "Let's go to the kitchen," she suggested, her voice filled with optimism. Plankton nodded, his movements cautious. In the kitchen, the smell of the sea was strong, mingling with the scents of grease and salt. His antennas quivered as he took in the sensory assault. Karen guided him to the stove. "Would you like to make chum?" she asked, her voice soft and encouraging. Plankton's gaze darted to the bubbling pot, his eye lighting up. "Chum," he murmured, his voice a comforting echo. He nodded, his enthusiasm genuine despite his confusion. Karen smiled, her heart lifting at the familiar spark in his eye. "Yes, honey. Let's make some chum together," she said, guiding him through the process step by step. Plankton's hands hovered over the ingredients, his gaze flitting from Karen to the various containers. "Chum," he whispered, as if reciting a sacred incantation. Karen handed him a spatula, his favorite tool for cooking. His hand closed around it with a determination she hadn't seen since before the accident. "Stir," she instructed, her voice calm and steady. Plankton focused on the task, his eye fixed on the swirling mixture. The motion was soothing, a familiar rhythm that his brain could latch onto. "Stir," he echoed, his voice a comforting metronome. Karen watched him, her heart beating a little faster. Would he remember how to cook, how to make the chum that had kept their restaurant afloat for so long? She held her breath as he tentatively began to move the spatula in circles. The chum sizzled and popped, the sounds echoing around the kitchen. Plankton's eye grew wide. "Sound," he said, his voice reverting to a soft echo. Karen nodded, her gaze encouraging. "Yes, it's the sound of chum cooking," she said, smiling despite the lump in her throat. Plankton nodded, his movements becoming more confident as he continued to stir. The chum began to thicken, the aroma filling the kitchen. Karen felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was a part of Plankton that was unchanged, a piece of his old self that had survived the fall. Plankton continued to stir, his eye focused on the chum. It was a task he knew well, a comforting routine in a world that now felt like an alien landscape. Karen watched him, her heart in her throat. As he worked, his movements grew more fluid, his body remembering the motions that had been engrained in his muscles for years. "Look, honey, you're doing it," she said, her voice filled with pride. Plankton's eye darted to her, then back to the pot. "Doing it," he echoed, his voice a soft affirmation. The chum began to simmer, the smell filling the room with a comforting warmth. It was a small victory, but one that filled Karen with a renewed sense of optimism. As they stood side by side, cooking the chum, Karen realized that this was their new normal. The man she knew was still there, hidden beneath the layers of echoes and repetition. Her role had shifted from partner in crime to guide and support. But she was ready to face it, to help Plankton navigate his new reality. 

new The SpongeBob Musical - Various/Anthony & Coulton/Jarrow SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon) karen told the doctor 2

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠐⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡈⠑⠀⡃⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠈⠁⠀⠂⠠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣄⣀⣐⣦⣶⢤⣶⣆⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶
⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣔⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⣤⣴⣶⣻⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣷⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⠷⣿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠙⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⣆⠠⠏⣠⠎⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣗⢀⠀⣠⠴⠒⠉⠉⠉⠋⠍⠻⣿⣧⢰⣿⡀⠜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠐⠀⢼⣿⣿⡿⢀⣤⣶⣾⡿⠿⠛⣛⡓⡒⠶⢶⣶⣶⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⢸⠇⢀⣄⣽⣿⣎⢻⣷⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡋⠮⣉⠐⢒⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⠟⠁⠈⡁⠀⠀⠀⣤⡄⠂⢁⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠐⢡⣄⠀⠠⣠⣄⣶⣜⣿⣿⣿⣿⠸⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⢠⣜⣷⣌⡴⠀⣘⣿⣿⣿⣯⣤⣶⣤⣄⣀⠀⢈⢁⡄⣤⠄⣁⣭⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⣤⣀⡛⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠋⣿⣿⣎⢿⡟⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⢃⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣤⡷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢰⣿⣿⣆⢈⡇⣇⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⡟⢿⣿⣾⢷⡻⡀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢳⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢿⣄⣹⣿⠂⢷⣧⠘⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⢿⣿⣿⣷⣾⡻⢂⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡙⢿⢤⣤⢭⣛⣻⢇⣶⢻⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡻⣿⣿⣿⡿⣀⠀⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⢉⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠁⠘⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣶⣾⣿⣆⠚⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠄⣠⢤⣦⢖⣶⡠⠦⠄⠀⡀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠚⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⣠⠤⠞⠉⠉⠻⠝⠚⠟⠄⠈⢈⠈⡈⣀⣴⣶⣴⣦⣽⣿⢧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢐⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣦⣰⣲⣶⣤⣀⢰⣶⣶⣤⡦⠿⣿⣿⢐⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠠⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣷⡒⠚⠛⠛⠛⠨⣳⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣰⣤⡻⣟⢿⠟⢷⠇⢛⢟⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⣀⣰⡾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣶⣭⠋⠇⠄⠨⠘⠻⢿⣿⢿⡿⣿⣷⣵⣯⣇⠈⠘⠙⢛⡻⠟⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣂⠀⠀⠁⠀⠉⠻⠂⢘⠙⠙⠉⠈⠀⠀⠀⣀⣥⣾⣿⣿⣿⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡾⣵⡠⣦⡀⠀⣀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⠦⣴⣼⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡼⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣯⣿⣽⣽⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢧⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣾⡄⠀⠀⡜⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠃
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣾⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢍⠙⠛⠿⠿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠈⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠱⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠈⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣴⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠤⡀⣀⠀⠀⠈⠣⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣩⠠⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⠞⣡⠟⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⡿⠏⠁⡐⢹⠖⠁⠁⠀⠂⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣺⣿⣷⣶⣆⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⣾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣇⠉⠘⢿⣿⣷⣌⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠉⢝⠠⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣐⣂⣄⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠂⠀⠀⣦⡈⢻⣿⣿⡯⢀⣠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠉⢉⣴⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢂⢣⡹⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠈⠉⢛⡃⡀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠙⡹⣂⣒⠿⡖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⢑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 2 common year starting on sunday 1 dot art text art ascii art

Ⓜhi

new a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0

ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ

new 2 000

「 ✦ Shivam ✦ 」

new 1 2 double middle finger text art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⠀⣀⣠⡴⠖⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠻⡆⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠴⠞⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠞⠋⠉⣠⡆⠰⡇⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⢀⣷⣀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⡉⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠷⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀
⢠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀
⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣇⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄
⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇
⠈⣿⡄⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠋⣿⣿⣦⣀⣀⣠⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇
⠀⢻⣿⣶⣾⡿⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⠋⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇
⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀

new 1 2 ١ dot art text art ascii art

អានស្រីសុំ
⚠️

new 1 000 2 4 6 8 0 7 10 5 50

❤️😏💑👩‍❤️‍👨👩‍❤️‍👨👩‍❤️‍👨👩‍❤️‍👨❤️❤️❤️💏💏💏💝💝💝nྀི👩‍❤️‍👨🥰❤S𑁤ˎˊ˗˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚💌▶🦸

³³³² ² ²⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹¹¹¹¹¹¹7️¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹.ᐟ¹¹¹

new amor numeros fechas 2

fun fact! most school computers have this site unblocked. typing this at historyyy!!!

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⡠⣒⡽⣻⢿⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⡿⣲⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠔⠂⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠐⠪⢐⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⣗⡝⡾⣹⢲⡝⣞⡻⣏⣟⣞⣧⡻⢖⣮⡑⡵⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣔⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠐⣰⠀⠄⠀⣰⡝⣮⡝⢶⣙⣮⡟⠑⠚⠉⠉⢛⣯⣂⠚⣧⣷⡸⣹⡄⠀⢀⣘⠀⢰⣯⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣧⢀⠢⣄⠴⠭
⠩⢫⠫⠉⢠⣧⣋⢵⣚⡳⣿⢳⣟⣚⢷⡦⣾⣻⠉⢻⣃⢿⣧⣻⢸⣳⠀⠔⠏⠠⣻⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡒⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⢰⠐⣿⢆⠊⠹⠢⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡧⣏⢶⣻⣿⠏⢸⣏⣾⣹⣞⣳⠇⠀⠀⢻⣼⣷⢿⢿⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⣿⠉⡍⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠈⠳⢄⠀⠀⠀⡆⠆⣸⠀⡏⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⣯⢿⡏⠀⢸⣼⣏⠟⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡿⢾⡞⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⡀⢇⣸⠀⢀⡄⠀⢠⠇⠐⡒⠒⢺⣖⣸⣏⣀⣇⣀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⣿⣽⡾⣧⡴⣶⢾⠉⠘⠁⠀⠀⢹⡿⢿⠓⣇⣿⣹⣹⣧⠤⠤⢤⣄⣣⠘⣿⠤⠜⠛⠒⠋⠀⠀⢣⣀⠼⠘⢻⡶⢺⣷⡾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣏⣿⢿⠀⡷⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠞⠀⣹⣾⣾⣇⡿⣐⠅⠐⠒⡻⡷⣧⣄⣀⠀⠀⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⡻⢡⡏⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢀⠰⢀⡀⠀⢠⡿⣾⣘⣯⣧⣀⡀⠀⠀⢰⠆⣀⣀⡤⠴⢺⣿⣯⡻⠐⠀⡀⠀⡠⠀⢆⠑⢷⢯⣯⢫⣿⣁⣌⣉⡍⣩⣿⣶⡷⡿⣷⢿⠀⠀⠀⡀⡆⡀⠀
⢒⢳⠕⠒⠀⢎⠁⠀⠙⠯⣿⣿⠉⢉⠛⡬⢱⣃⠷⣖⢄⠘⠿⠀⢱⠀⠘⢁⠎⠀⠀⡜⢀⢸⠈⢣⣿⣿⣏⠙⠉⠝⣿⣿⡿⠀⠙⡇⢸⡆⠀⠐⣸⣟⠂⠀
⠊⠈⠐⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢀⣽⣿⡀⣞⢀⣇⣈⣉⡶⣻⠜⢦⡀⠀⠈⠐⠢⡜⠀⣤⢠⠃⠸⢸⠀⢸⠉⣻⣿⣢⡆⣴⣿⡿⢷⠀⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠋⠋⠂⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢖⠏⡄⠘⣩⠷⣧⣨⠿⣿⣟⣷⢈⠀⠽⢦⠀⠀⠀⢩⡻⣍⠎⠠⠀⡆⠀⢸⢡⣿⡟⢸⡇⣿⣿⡇⠀⡇⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢴⢋⡎⠐⣬⣲⠽⢺⠧⢐⡉⠛⣿⢹⡏⡟⢯⡀⡌⢳⣄⣠⠗⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣲⢄⣿⣿⣟⡷⣾⣻⣽⡏⣷⡀⢹⡄⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠈⠯⠜⠚⠉⠀⠀⢸⠘⢠⠂⡅⢻⣎⣿⢹⡄⠙⢦⣩⣯⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠐⣽⡿⣾⣽⣳⣟⣾⢯⣼⡷⡀⠳⡅⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣈⣂⢱⢈⣙⣿⢧⠟⢇⠀⠙⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣟⣿⣳⢯⣷⣻⢾⣮⢩⣇⠙⠒⠃⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀
⠀⢀⢀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⣍⣫⣤⣦⣭⣶⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⣠⣂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡟⠛⢾⠟⠯⡿⠂⢉⠀⠀⠀⠁⣿⠀⠀⡉⡮⠾⠥
⠀⡨⢛⢔⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡿⢷⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣦⣄⡁⠀⠈⠔⠏⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⡈⠀⡸⠁⠘⡌⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠉⠂
⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠛⠻⠯⠿⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡄⢣⣠⢋⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠒⢋⠉⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 1 2 dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠖⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠒⢄⠀⢂⢠⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢢⣐⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡆⠀⢠⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠁⡰⠃⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠋⢳⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⢷⠙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⠴⣆⠴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⣀⣀⡉⠙⠒⠒⠒⡎⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⢶⠀⠀⠀⢳⠋⠁⠀⠙⢳⡠⠖⠚⠑⠲⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⠀⠀⠈⢧⣀⣠⠔⡺⣧⠀⡴⡖⠦⠟⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⡷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢹⣾⠁⠁⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠆⠀⠉⢉⡝⠓⠦⠤⢾⠈⠓⠖⠚⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢾⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠐⠢⠤⠤⠔⠚⠁⠘⣆⠀⠀⢠⠋⢧⣀⣀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 2 julian calendar 4 25 dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣾⡷⠶⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠿⣶⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⠟⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠾⠟⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠂⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣧⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⣠⣿⠋⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⢀⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠘⠻⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⡛⢿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡤⠈⠻⠿⣷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣦⣴⣴⡆⢀⣠⣶⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢃⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⠿⢶⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣉⣀⣤⣤⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⠿⠿⠶⠶⠶⠾⢿⣿⡛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⠗⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣴⠾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣶⣀⠀⢀⣤⣶⠾⠿⠛⠶⠿⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣆⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣿⡟⢶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢷⣦⣀⣀⣴⠟⠋⢩⣉⠻⣿⡆⠀⢀⣾⣛⣹⡍⠉⠛⠿⠟⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠻⣷⡀⣿⡟⠙⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡟⢿⣶⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡏⡀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠀⠹⣧⣀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡾⠟⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠀⠈⠙⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⢿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠙⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠹⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⠟⠉⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢦⣤⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠸⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣧⣀⣀⠀⣀⣀⣶⠏⠀⠀⠈⠻⠷⠶⣶⡾⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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😁😢😱🤢😡😨🥱😳😒➡️👧🏼

new inside out 2 inside out

  numeros pequeños

     ³³³² ² ²⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹¹¹¹¹¹¹7️¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹

new amor numeros fechas 2

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣉⣠⣶⣾⣷⣆⡛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠯⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣶⣦⣦⣶⣦⣶⣼⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⣀⠄⡂⠍⣀⣒⣒⠂⠀⠬⠤⠤⠬⠍⠉⠝⠲⣄⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠊⢔⠕⠈⣀⣀⡀⠈⠆⠀⠀⠀⡍⠁⠀⠁⢂⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣠⣾⠥⠀⠀⣠⢠⣞⣿⣿⣿⣉⠳⣄⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⡄⠀⠀⣘⢦⡀
⢀⡞⡍⣠⠞⢋⡛⠶⠤⣤⠴⠚⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀⠀⢹⡏⠁⠀⣀⣠⠤⢤⡕⠱⣷
⠘⡇⠇⣯⠤⢾⡙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠤⠀⢲⡖⣂⣀⠀⠀⢙⣶⣄⠈⠉⣸⡄⠠⣠⡿
⠀⠹⣜⡪⠀⠈⢷⣦⣬⣏⠉⠛⠲⣮⣧⣁⣀⣀⠶⠞⢁⣀⣨⢶⢿⣧⠉⡼⠁
⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠳⣌⡟⠻⠷⣶⣧⣀⣀⣹⣉⣉⣿⣉⣉⣇⣼⣾⣿⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠘⠳⣄⡀⡼⠈⠉⠛⡿⠿⠿⡿⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣕⠠⣒⠌⡙⠓⠶⠤⣤⣧⣀⣸⣇⣴⣧⠾⠾⠋⠀⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠶⣭⣒⠩⠖⢠⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠔⠁⡰⠀⣧⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠲⢤⣀⣀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣠⠏⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠒⠲⠶⠤⠴⠒⠚⠁⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠋⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⡴⠶⠶⠿⠛⣯⣍⣙⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⣯⠿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠀⠀⠼⣿⡻⠟⠛⠛⠶⠦⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣾⣿⡗⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⣀⣴⣏⠻⠻⠆⠀⠀⠰⠿⢈⡻⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⢾⣿⡟⠛⠃⠀⠀⢀⡀⠂⢀⣀⣀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⡷⢺⣀⣄⠐⠊⢁⠀⡈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣯⣚⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⡀⣾⣧⣼⡞⣻⣿⣿⣿⡏⠛⣾⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠿⣿⣿⣤⣄⣈⠀⢿⣤⣬⠻⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣟⢯⠙⠋⠀⠒⢓⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⡇⠀⠉⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡀⢸⣯⣿⠆⣀⠻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠟⠃⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣠⣿⣅⣤⡘⣤⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿⡄⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣿⣿⣿⠿⠷⠁⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠀⠈⢷⠋⠀⠙⣿⠛⣿⠀⠀⠠⠄⣈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠼⡅⠀⠀⢻⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠻⠿⠿⣿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⢠⡤⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠉⠉⠹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⠀⢠⡄⡘⣳⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣧⡘⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣄⣀⣈⣁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣺⣿⣯⣵⣛⣿⡆⠀⠀⢙⡿⣿⣸⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣦⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠺⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢿⡿⢿⠛⠙⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⣾⣗⣙⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⡤⠶⠞⠛⠛⠻⠟⢫⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⣾⠶⠶⠤⢤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⠶⠿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣏⠹⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣉⣉⡙⠛⠋⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠃⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠛⠋⠉⠁⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠖⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣶⢶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⡿⠞⠛⠛⠋⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣼⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⢴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠘⣗⠀⢿⡀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠛⠛⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡏⠀⠀⠀⣿⠘⢊⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠁⠠⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠛⠃⠀⠈⠉⠁⠘⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠠⠄⠈⢿⡅⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣷⡀⠸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠛⣿⣿⣿⣵⣾⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣆⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⢀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠀⠀⣠⡿⠀⠀⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀
⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡷⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠛⣭⡍⢩⣭⡍⠉⠉⠉⠉⢩⣭⢩⡟⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠾⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠰⠼⠙⣻⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⠶⠶⠶⠿⠿⠶⠿⠷⠶⠶⠶⠾⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣏⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣋⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡄⣠⣶⣿⣯⣭⣭⣭
⠻⣿⡿⣦⣄⣸⡟⢉⣡⣴⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣗⢄⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣅⢀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⢘⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠁⠈⠙⠷⠀⢀⣽⠟⠉⠛⠿⣿⣶⣄⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠈⠻⠎⢿⣿⡷⠎⠉⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣆⠀⠀⣀⠘⢿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⠀⠀⠁⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠿⣳⣶⣴⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡷⣤⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣥⣤⣄⣀⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⢿⡜⢻⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣄⡼⢃⣠⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⣤⣿⡄⠀⠀⢠⡀⢸⣆⡀⢀⣸⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⡄⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠉⠉⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠂⣿⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠋⠙⣷⠀⣄⠀⠘⣿⡇⣤⠀⠈⢿⣼⣟⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣯⡁⠀⠀⣰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢷⣦⣴⠾⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⠹⢧⡄⣹⣿⠉⠀⠀⠈⢿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠟⠛⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠿⠛⠹⢷⣦⣴⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⣀⡀⠀⢀⣿⣷⡦⠀⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠷⠾⢿⣿⠻⠷⠿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢺⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢹⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠷⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 1 2 dot art text art ascii art

✞☠︎𝒫ℴ𝒾𝓈ℴ𝓃 ☠︎✞

new #y 2 k #p o i s n

༒•▄︻デ𝟚𝕘𝕦𝕟𝕫══━一•༒

new 2 guns

³³³² ² ²⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹¹¹¹¹¹¹7️¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹

new amor numeros fechas 2

i think everybody knows about palestine atp...!!!!!1

Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton Emojis & Text

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