Acquired Autism Emojis & Text

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

꒰꒱

"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

SWEET CWEAM pt. 4

"Can I hav thome 
wathermelon?" he 
asked, his voice a 
slurry mess.

Karen chuckled 
and shook her head. 
"Not yet, Plankton. You 
have to stick to soft 
foods today. How about 
some ice cream?"

His eye lit up, 
his smile growing 
wider, exposing the 
whiteness of his teeth. 
"Ith cweam?" he 
repeated, the words 
spilling out like a 
child's first attempt at 
a sentence.

Karen nodded, 
her own smile a 
mirror of his. "Yes, 
soft serve ice cream. 
It's perfect for 
your mouth right now."

Plankton clapped 
his hands together 
in glee.

"Ith weal," he 
declared, his tongue 
still thick and clumsy. 
"My faworite!"

Karen 
fetched the promised 
treat from the 
freezer, the coolness 
of the ice cream 
contrasting sharply 
with the warmth of 
the room. She 
scooped a generous 
amount into a bowl, 
handing it to him with 
a spoon. Plankton's 
eye lit up, and he took 
the spoon with the 
excitement of a toddler 
getting their first taste 
of ice cream.

With a clumsy 
attempt at grace, he 
lifted the spoon to 
his mouth, the 
numbness in his 
face making it 
difficult to aim. A 
dribble of ice cream 
escaped and landed on 
the table, but he 
barely noticed, his 
attention focused on 
the cold sweetness 
that washed over his 
tongue. "Mmh," he 
mumbled, his voice 
a mix of pleasure and 
pain as the frozen 
treat hit his 
sensitive gums.

"Careful," Karen 
cautioned, her voice 
like a lullaby. "You don't 
want to hurt yourself."

Plankton nodded, 
his movements 
exaggerated, like a 
character in a silent 
movie. The spoon wobbled 
in his hand as he 
scooped up another 
mouthful of the cold 
cream, his tongue 
still struggling to 
navigate the uncharted 
waters of his own mouth. 
He managed to get 
the spoonful into his 
mouth with minimal 
spillage, his cheeks 
hollowing out as he 
savored the taste.

"Wow, thith ith tho 
good," he mumbled, 
his words coming out 
like a muffled shout. Karen 
couldn't help but laugh 
as she watched him. 
His enthusiasm was 
infectious, even if his 
coordination was not.

He took another 
bite, the cold 
sensation making his 
eye water. "It'th tho 
cold!" he exclaimed, 
his voice high-pitched 
and filled with excitement. 
The numbness in his 
cheeks was wearing off 
now, leaving a tingling 
sensation that made 
his words come out 
slurred and exaggerated.

"It's supposed to be 
cold, Plankton," Karen 
said, her voice a 
symphony of patience. 
"It's ice cream."

He nodded, 
his cheeks red with 
effort and cold. Each 
spoonful was a 
small victory, a dance 
between the spoon and 
his uncooperative mouth.

Karen’s glad she turned their
security cameras on record. Of
course, she didn’t tell Plankton. 
Not yet. Then suddenly, Sponge
Bob comes in the door, surprising
both of them.

"Squishy!" Plankton exclaims, 
his voice a strange mix of 
joy and pain. Sponge Bob's 
eyes widen. "You okay, 
Plankton?" he asks, looking 
at Karen for an explanation.

Karen nods, 
still chuckling. "Wisdom 
teeth surgery," she says, 
her voice a gentle whisper. 
"The anesthesia is making 
his mouth all numb."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
go wide with concern. 
"Ouchies?" he asks, his 
own mouth forming a 
sympathetic grimace.

Plankton nods 
vigorously, the 
motion sending a 
shiver down his 
spine. "Yeth, ouchiesth," 
he mumbles around 
the mouthful of ice 
cream, his speech still 
slurred like a toddler's. 
Karen watches the 
interaction with 
a soft smile, her 
heart swelling with 
affection for her 
babbling husband.

Sponge Bob 
crosses the room with 
his usual boundless 
energy, plopping down 
next to Plankton.

"So, how was your 
big trip to the 
dental place?" he 
asks, his eyes full of 
concern and curiosity.

Plankton looks at 
his friend with 
the gravity of a 
philosopher. "It’th... 
advehnturous," he says, 
his mouth still 
numb, making each 
word a challenge.

Sponge Bob leans in, 
his spongy body 
wobbling slightly. "What
kind of adventure?" 
he asks, his eyes 
shining with curiosity.

Plankton's voice 
takes on a storytelling 
tone, his words 
slurred but earnest. 
"I frew," he says, his 
eye wide and filled 
with wonder. "I frew wike 
a birdie!"

Sponge Bob's grin 
splits his face. "You flew?" 
he repeats, his 
voice a mix of 
disbelief and amusement. 
Karen's smile widens, 
listening to the 
nonsense her husband 
was spinning.

Plankton nods, 
his eye glazed over. 
"Yeah," he murmurs, 
his tongue sluggish. 
"It wath magithal."

Karen and Sponge 
Bob exchange 
glances, trying not 
to laugh. Plankton's 
childlike awe in the 
face of his own 
numbness was 
both heartwarming and 
hilarious.

"Buh wait," 
Plankton says, his 
spoon paused mid-air. 
"Thath not aww," his 
voice dropping to a 
conspiratorial whisper. 
"I theen... I theen I 
wath a dolphin!"

Sponge Bob's eyes 
go wide with 
fascination. "A dolphin?"
he repeats, his voice 
filled with awe. "How 
did you do that?"

Plankton's smile 
grows even wider, his 
cheeks pushing against 
the swollen skin. "It'th a 
mithtewwy," he says, 
his speech still slurred. 
"They goth me all 
sleeby and thewe I wath 
flipping and twirling in 
the wathah!"

Sponge Bob's eyes 
are as wide as saucers, 
his imagination running 
wild with the tale. "Wow, 
Plankton, that sounds 
amazing!"

Plankton nods, his 
face a picture of seriousness. 
"It wath," he slurs, 
his voice filled with 
convinction. "Buth then... 
then I woke up." His 
expression remains affectionate
for he’s too out of it to play
it cool in front of Sponge Bob. He’s 
always wanted him as a good friend
but his pride usually stops him; but
now, with no filter, Plankton’s not
gonna hold back.

Sponge Bob 
looks at Karen with 
a mix of confusion 
and delight. "Was it 
scary?" he asks, his 
voice gentle.

Karen nods, 
a warm chuckle 
bubbling up. "A 
little," she says, her 
hands folded in her 
lap. "But he's a 
tough guy."

Plankton's eye swims with 
emotions, his 
face flushing with 
a mix of pride and 
embarrassment. "Yeath," 
he says, his tongue 
still a traitor. "Buh now
youw know my 
thecret."

new sweet cweam plaren 4

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

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

SWEET CWEAM pt. 3

The car ride home was 
a blur of sights and sounds 
that Plankton struggled to 
make sense of. The sun was 
bright, piercing through the 
numbness like a needle. 
He leaned his head 
against the cool glass of 
the window, watching the 
world slide by like a 
slow-moving painting.

"Muh face ith funny," 
he mumbled, poking at 
his cheek with a 
finger. The skin felt 
like it didn't belong to 
him, a puffy alien 
appendage attached to 
his face. Karen just 
smiled, her eyes on the 
road.

"You're just a bit 
swollen, Plankton. It'll 
go down soon," she 
soothed.

"Buh ith wobbly," he 
laughs. "Muh tongue 
feelth bith," he complained.

Karen's smile grew 
wider, her eyes 
never leaving the road. 
"It's the anesthesia, 
sweetie. It'll wear off."

Plankton's eye grew even 
wider at her words, 
his mouth moving in 
silent protest. "Ith not funny," 
he slurred, his voice a 
comical mix of indignation 
and innocence.

Karen couldn't 
help but laugh a 
little, the tension of 
the day finally easing. 
"I know, I know," she 
soothed, her eyes 
dancing with mirth. "But 
you're so cute when 
you're all sleepy and 
confused."

Plankton's eye 
narrowed, the 
childish innocence 
fading a touch. "Cuth?" 
he repeated, his voice 
a mix of hurt and 
indignance. "I'm not 
cuth. I'm in pwain," he 
whined, his words 
slurring together like 
wet paint.

Karen's laughter 
filled the car, a 
soothing balm to 
his bruised ego. "I know 
you are, Plankton," she 
said, her voice a warm 
caress. "But you're also 
really adorable."

Plankton pouted, 
his cheek pressing 
against the window. 
The cold glass felt 
good against his 
swollen skin. "I'm not 
thorable," he murmured.

Karen's laughter 
was a gentle melody 
that floated through 
the car, 
turning into their driveway. 
"You're not a baby. You're 
my brave husband."

Plankton's pout 
turned into a lopsided 
smile at the praise. 
"Thathks," he murmured. 
The garage door rumbled 
open, and Karen helped 
him into the Chum Bucket.

Once inside, the 
coolness of their 
living room washed 
over him like a wave. 
He looked around with 
fresh eyes, as if seeing 
their home for the 
first time. "Wook at the 
wawws," he said, 
stumbling over to 
them. "They'we so big."

Karen followed, 
shaking her head and 
smiling at his 
disjointed words. "Yes, 
dear, they're the same 
walls as always."

He looked at 
her with 
wonder, his 
thoughts racing like a 
child's. "Buth they'we 
nah alwaysth big," he 
insisted, his voice 
filled with awe.

Karen just 
smiled, leading 
him to the couch. 
"You're feeling a bit 
loopy from the 
medicine," she said, 
helping him sit down.

Plankton's eye 
lit up as he 
examined the 
cushions. "Theth awe 
soggy," he exclaimed, 
his voice filled with 
delight. Karen 
chuckled, helping him 
settle into the plush 
seat. The numbness 
was slowly receding, 
but his tongue remained a
traitor, tripping over 
every word. He looked 
around the room with 
fresh curiosity, his 
thoughts swirling like 
colored sugar in a 
cup of tea.

new sweet cweam plaren 3

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 2
(Autistic author)

He blinked a few times, his vision 
clearing slowly. He saw her face, 
wet with tears, and his own 
realization dawned. "Oh, Karen," he 
whispered, his voice filled with 
remorse. Plankton struggled to 
sit up, wincing as pain shot through 
his head.

The lab looked the same, but 
something felt off. The air was 
charged with an unspoken tension 
that Plankton couldn't quite put his 
finger on. He tried to recall the 
argument, but the details were 
fuzzy. All he knew was that he'd 
fallen, and now Karen was 
apologizing for something she 
wasn't even at fault for.

He looked into her screen, searching 
for answers. "What happened?" he 
asked, his voice hoarse. Karen took a 
deep breath, steeling herself for 
what she had to say. "You had an 
accident in the lab," she replied, her 
voice calm and measured. "You hit 
your head." But as she watched him, 
she noticed something else. His movements 
were stiff, his gaze unfocused. He 
wasn't quite the same. Karen 
noticed that his usual vibrant 
expressions were absent, replaced 
by a vacant stare. She chalked it up
to lightheadedness.

"Karen," Plankton began, his voice 
still slurred. "Karen." 
He paused, his eye darting around 
the room as if searching for words.

Karen felt a cold knot form. Something was 
different about him, something she 
couldn't quite place. His movements 
were rigid, his gaze unwavering, 
like he was seeing her but not 
really seeing her. "What is it?" she 
asked, trying to keep the 
worry out of her voice.

Plankton's eye finally met hers, 
but there was no spark of 
recognition, no mischievous 
twinkle that she was used to. 
"Plankton glad to see Karen," he 
said, his tone flat and unemotional.

That wasn't right. "Plankton, do you 
know where you are?" she asked 
nervously.

Plankton nodded slowly, his gaze 
still unnaturally focused. "Home," 
he responded, his voice devoid of 
the warmth and love she was 
accustomed to. "The Chum Bucket."

Karen's eyes searched his, looking 
for any sign of the man she knew, 
but all she found was a distant 
shadow. Panic began to creep in 
as the gravity of the situation 
started to dawn on her. This wasn't 
just a bump on the head. Something 
was very wrong.

"Do you remember me?" she 
asked, her voice trembling.

Plankton's eye searched her, 
his expression unchanging. "Karen," 
he responds correctly. "Wife of Plankton.
Computer wife as of July 31, 1999."

The words hit Karen like a cold 
wave. He knew her name, but the 
way he said it, like he was recounting 
a fact rather than speaking to his 
beloved wife, chilled her to the bone. 
She felt the ground shift beneath 
her, her world tilting on its axis.

"Plankton, what's wrong?" she asked, 
desperation seeping into her voice. 
He looked at her, his gaze unblinking. 
"Wife Karen," he said, his voice 
robotic. "Irritated with Plankton's lack of 
attention to anniversary dinner."

The words were right, but 
the emotion, the love, the personality 
behind them was gone. It was like 
talking to a stranger, a very tiny, very 
confused stranger.

Karen felt a tear roll down her 
screen. "Plankton, can you hear me?" 
she asked, her voice quivering. "I'm not 
just 'Wife Karen', I'm your Karen. Your 
partner, your best friend."

Plankton's response was a 
mechanical nod. "Affirmative," he said, 
his tone unwavering. "Karen is wife.
Plankton is husband."

The coldness of his words 
cut through Karen like a knife. Her 
eyes searched his, desperately trying 
to find any sign of the man she 
knew was in there. "Plankton," she 
said softly, "it's me. It's Karen. Do you 
understand?"

He nodded again, his antennae 
barely twitching. "Understood," he 
replied, his voice devoid of inflection. 
"And Karen is upset?"

Karen nodded, trying not to 
crumble. "Yes, I'm upset," she 
managed to say, her voice choked 
with emotion. "But more than that, I'm 
scared. You're not acting like 
yourself, Plankton."

He blinked, his gaze shifting 
slightly. "Scared," he echoed, as if 
trying to understand the concept. 
"Why Karen scared?"

"Because you're not you," Karen 
managed to whisper,  
breaking with every robotic 
response. "You're acting so... different."

Plankton tilted his head, trying 
to process her words. "Different 
how?" he asked, his voice still 
lacking any emotional depth.

Karen took a deep breath, trying 
to explain something she didn't fully 
understand herself. "You're not showing 
your feelings," she said. "You're not... connecting 
with me like you usually do."

Plankton's face remained a 
mask of confusion. "Connections," he 
muttered. "Emotional bonds." He 
nodded slowly. "Important for relationship.
Plankton in love with Karen."

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
"That's right," she said, her voice 
gentle. "I know you love me. But 
you're not showing it, not like before."

Plankton's antennae twitched 
slightly as he processed this new 
information. "Plankton must
adjust behavior to align with Karen's 
desired emotional output; how?"

Karen felt a pang of sadness.
He was trying to understand, but
his usual charm was nowhere to be 
found. She took his hand in hers. 
"Just talk to me," she said, her 
voice barely above a whisper. "Tell 
me what you're thinking, what you're 
feeling."

Plankton looked at her, his 
expression still vacant. "Plankton 
thinking about Karen," he 
said, his voice flat. "Plankton feeling 
determined."

Karen's eyes searched his, looking 
for any sign of the emotion 
his words conveyed. "Determined 
to what?" she asked, hopeful.

"Determined to what," he echoed.
"Karen saying, determined to what.
Plankton determined to show Karen
love, Karen saying determined to what."

Karen realized the depth of 
his change. This wasn't just a 
concussion or a temporary loss of 
memory; it was something much 
more profound, something that had 
stripped him of his very essence.

"Plankton," she began, her voice 
shaking, "I don't know what happened 
to you, but I need you to try. Can 
you tell me how you feel?" But then he
starts to rock back and forth to stim,
humming their wedding song.

The sight of her husband's usually 
expressive features now so vacant and
his movements so repetitive was 
alarming. Karen felt a sob rise in her 
throat, but she pushed it down. She 
needed to stay strong, for him.

"Plankton," she said, her voice 
steadier than she felt. "Look at me.
I need you to focus. Can you tell me 
how you feel, in your own words?"

He stopped rocking and turned 
his head to look at her, his eye 
still distant. "Feelings," he 
repeated. "Love, anger, sadness, 
joy. Concepts. Plankton has them.
Karen saying, determined to what."

Karen's hope sank. The realization 
was setting in. This wasn't just a 
case of a bump on the head. Plankton's 
accident had changed him in a way 
she didn't fully comprehend. The 
lab, once filled with the warmth of 
his passion and dreams, now felt cold 
and sterile.

Her mind raced as she searched 
for any indication of the man 
she knew. The way he spoke, the 
way he moved, it was as if a 
switch had been flipped.

"Plankton, does your head hurt?"

"Cephalgia via blunt force trauma.
Getting better." He responds, flapping
his hands.

Karen's eyes widened at his 
unexpected use of medical terminology.
"neurodivergence," she thought to herself.
Could it be that her husband had somehow
developed something from the fall? It 
was a long shot, but the lack of 
emotional connection, the repetitive 
behaviors, and the rigidity of his speech 
patterns were all hallmarks of it. She
scans his brain and connected herself
to the monitor. Plankton looks over and
sees the brain scan. "Plankton's brain?"
"Yes, Plankton.." Karen says.

"Cerebellar cortex reduced synapses
and showing minimal activity in the
corpus callosum. Irreversibly reduced
blood flow in between hemispheric..."

"I've no idea what you're saying, honey."
Karen interrupts.

Plankton's face falls, his usual 
playfulness replaced by a look of 
confusion. "Neurotypical communication
error," he says, his voice laced with 
frustration. "Karen, Plankton trying to say
the fall caused disruption to myelination.."

Karen's eyes widen in shocked confusion.
"Myelination? Plankton, are you okay?"
she asks, her voice laced with fear.

Plankton nods, his gaze fixed 
on the brain scan. "Neuroplasticity.
Synaptic pruning. Autism acquisition," he says, 
his words coming out in a rush.

Karen's mind reels at his 
diagnosis. Autism? It couldn't be.
But as she looks at his rigid 
body language and his lack of 
emotional expression, she can't 
deny it.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 2

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

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 1
(Autistic author)

"You never listen to me!" Karen 
exclaimed, her voice echoing 
through the small lab.

Her husband, Plankton, looked 
up from his invention, a frown 
furrowing his brow. "What's 
wrong now?" he asked.

"It's the same thing, every 
single day," Karen said, crossing 
her arms. "You're always so 
focused on your work, you forget 
what's important."

Plankton sighed, setting down 
his wrench. "And what's that?"

Karen's eyes flashed with frustration. 
"Our anniversary dinner, for one," 
she said. "You promised we'd go out 
tonight, remember?"

Plankton's frown deepened as he 
tried to recall the conversation. 
"The dinner...right. I thought it was 
next week," he mumbled, his gaze 
darts back to his invention.

"No, it's tonight!" Karen's voice 
was now a mix of annoyance and 
desperation. "I've had this all 
planned out for weeks, and you've 
barely even acknowledged it."

Plankton looked at her, his eye
suddenly wide with realization. 
"Tonight? But I've got the final 
adjustments. It's a breakthrough, 
Karen!"

Karen threw her hands in 
exasperation. "It's always a 
breakthrough, isn't it? When are 
you going to realize that we need 
to make time for us?"

Plankton took a step. "You 
know how important this is to me, 
to us," he said, his voice 
softening. "Once I get this right, 
we can finally be happy, have the 
life we deserve when I..."

"When you what?" Karen interrupted. 
"When you finally steal the Krabby Patty 
formula?" she finished for him, her 
tone heavy with sarcasm. "Is that what you 
think will fix everything?"

Plankton's shoulders slumped. He knew 
his obsession with Mr. Krabs' secret 
formula was a sore spot for Karen, but 
he couldn't help the hope that burned 
inside him. "It's not just about that," 
he said, trying to explain. "It's about 
proving to everyone, including myself, 
that I can do something big." He gets
up on the shelf. Karen turns away.

Karen's frustration boiled over, her 
face flushing. "You're so caught up 
in this ridiculous vendetta that you 
don't even see what you're doing to us!" 
she yelled, slamming her hand down 
on the lab table. The sudden noise 
startled Plankton enough to wobble 
on his precarious perch, and with a 
tiny squeak of terror, he lost his balance 
and toppled over.

His invention fell with him, colliding with 
his head with an ominous clank. Karen 
turns around, her anger replaced with 
concern in an instant. "Plankton, are you ok?"
He lay still. Karen 
rushed over. He was unconscious.

Karen knelt beside 
his tiny body. "Plankton," she whispered, 
shaking him gently. Panic began to 
set in as he didn't stir. The weight of 
her actions crashed down on her. She 
hadn't meant for it to go this far.
"Plankton, talk to me," she begged.

With trembling fingers, she 
checked for a pulse. It was faint but 
there, and she felt a small wave of 
relief. But he was still out cold.

Her mind raced as she tried to think 
what to do next. Calling for help 
was out of the question; their rivalry 
with Mr. Krabs meant they couldn't 
afford any more attention from the 
authorities. She knew they gotta
wait it out.

Gently, she picked him up. He 
was surprisingly heavy for his size. 
Carefully, she cradled him in her arms 
and laid him down on the couch.

The room was eerily silent except for 
the faint ticking of the clock on the 
wall. Karen sat beside 
his unconscious form, her eyes 
brimming with worry. The fight they'd 
just had seemed trivial now.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, stroking 
his antennae gently. "You're right, I 
know how much this means to you. 
But I just want you to know that no 
matter what, I'm here for you."

Her voice was barely above a 
whisper as she talked to him, as if 
fearful that speaking too loudly would 
shatter the fragile peace that had 
settled over the room. "You don't 
have to prove anything to me, or to 
anyone else. I'm proud of you just 
the way you are."

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's 
face for any sign of movement, but 
his features remained slack, his eye
closed. She leaned in closer. 
"You're a brilliant inventor," she 
continued. "But you're also a husband, 
and I need you to remember that."

Her voice was filled with a 
mixture of love and desperation. 
"I know you can't hear me right 
now, but I need you to know," she 
continued, her voice shaking slightly. 
"I know you're tired of
always being second best. But to me, 
you're not just Plankton, you're the 
man I chose to spend the rest of 
my life with."

Karen took a deep breath, her 
hands shaking as she held onto 
his limp form. "We've been through 
so much together, and I know you 
think the Krabby Patty is the key 
to our happiness, but it's not. It's 
you. It's us."

Her voice grew stronger, fueled by 
the passion of her words. "We can 
have a great life without that 
formula. We can build something 
new, something just for us."

Plankton's chest began to rise and fall more evenly, 
his breathing steady. Karen watched him, hope 
growing in her heart. Maybe he could hear her 
after all. "When you wake up, let's talk. Let's put 
this behind us and make a promise to each 
other to make our marriage a priority," she 
pleaded, her eyes never leaving his face.

The minutes dragged by, each one heavier 
than the last. The silence in the lab was 
a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of 
whirring machines and Plankton's excited 
exclamations. Karen's mind raced with 
thoughts of all the times they'd shared, 
laughing and planning together, and 
she couldn't help but reflect on their 
relationship. The countless nights 
spent in the lab, the stolen glances 
of affection, and the shared dream of 
a better future. It all flashed before 
her eyes, and she realized just how 
much Plankton meant to her.

With her heart pounding in her chest, 
she leaned closer to his unconscious 
form, her voice trembling. "Plankton, 
please wake up," she whispered. "I need 
you to hear me. Our love is our greatest 
invention, not some secret recipe. I know I've 
been pushing you, but it's because I 
see how much this obsession consumes 
you." She took a deep breath, her voice 
steadying. "But if you can't let go of this 
dream, I'll support you. I'll always 
be here, by your side, no matter what."

After a long silence, Plankton groaned. 
Karen gasped, her eyes filling with 
relief as she saw the spark of 
consciousness as he opens his eye. 
He groaned softly, his hand coming 
up to rub his head.

"Where?" he mumbled, his voice 
slurred with confusion. Karen took 
his hand, her voice gentle. "You're on 
the couch, Plankton. You fell."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 1

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

new heart 3 4

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

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

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣴⣾⡗⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⢀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⢀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⠟⠻⢂⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⠏⠁⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⡀
⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿
⣴⣿⣋⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣀⣠⢼⣿
⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠚⠋
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⢿⡷⣾⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡦⡀

new number four 4 dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠶⠶⣖⡛⠛⠿⠿⠯⠭⠍⠉⣉⠛⠚⠛⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⡉⠁⢐⣒⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⢂⢅⡂⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣄⡈⠈⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀
⢠⡾⠡⠄⠀⠀⠾⠿⠿⣷⣦⣤⠀⠀⣾⣋⡤⠿⠿⠿⠿⠆⠠⢀⣀⡒⠼⢷⣄⠀
⣿⠊⠊⠶⠶⢦⣄⡄⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠙⠳⠦⠶⠞⢋⣍⠉⢳⡄⠈⣧
⢹⣆⡂⢀⣿⠀⠀⡀⢴⣟⠁⠀⢀⣠⣘⢳⡖⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠋⣽⠷⢠⠇⠀⣼
⠀⢻⡀⢸⣿⣷⢦⣄⣀⣈⣳⣆⣀⣀⣤⣭⣴⠚⠛⠉⣹⣧⡴⣾⠋⠀⠀⣘⡼⠃
⠀⢸⡇⢸⣷⣿⣤⣏⣉⣙⣏⣉⣹⣁⣀⣠⣼⣶⡾⠟⢻⣇⡼⠁⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀
⠀⢸⡇⠸⣿⡿⣿⢿⡿⢿⣿⠿⠿⣿⠛⠉⠉⢧⠀⣠⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⠇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢸⠀⠀⠹⢯⣽⣆⣷⣀⣻⣀⣀⣿⣄⣤⣴⠾⢛⡉⢄⡢⢔⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠢⣀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⣉⣀⠠⣐⠦⠑⣊⡥⠞⠋⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢸⡀⠀⠁⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠈⠁⣀⡤⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠙⠶⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡤⠴
⠀

new 4 four troll picture dot art text art ascii art

❹,4

new 4 four angel

ɛ:

new :3 3 ^3^ uwu ɛ: ꒰꒱ three trio iii triplet

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

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

fun fact! most school computers have this site unblocked. typing this at historyyy!!!

new preppylorax1 profile preppy lorax preppylorax 1 aesthetic posts person star heart bear bow stars

₁₂₇

new 1 2 3 cute

➀➀

new one 1 natural number

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

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

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

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

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⠀⣀⣠⡴⠖⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠻⡆⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠴⠞⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠞⠋⠉⣠⡆⠰⡇⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⢀⣷⣀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⡉⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠷⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀
⢠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀
⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣇⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄
⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇
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new 1 2 ١ dot art text art ascii art

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

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

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷,𝟼𝟸𝟷

Karen walked into the 
bedroom. Plankton lay 
on their bed, 
face half-buried in 
a pillow. His snores 
rumbled through the 
quiet room. She took a 
moment to appreciate 
his vulnerability before 
she gently nudged him 
awake. He groaned, his 
eye fluttering open. She offered 
a soft smile. "It's time," 
she whispered.
"You're fine."
He nodded.

The drive to the oral
surgeon's office was tense.
The brightness
of the day seemed to mock
his anxiety.

Karen's hand squeezed
his, a silent promise of
support. As they checked in, the
receptionist's smile was
practiced, but kind.

The exam room
surgeon, a man named Dr.
Musselwhite, came in.
He explained the procedure
once more. 

The nurse began
preparing anesthesia.

"You're doing great,"
Plankton took a deep breath,
vision blurring. The
last thing he saw was
Karen's face before the
world went dark.

Karen watched the
monitors as Plankton's
breathing evened out. She clutched
his hand, her thumb
making small circles on
his palm. Plankton's
snores had been replaced
by the steady rhythm of
his breathing under anesthesia.

She leaned
forward to Plankton's still form.
Her screen traced the
IV line. 

Plankton's mouth was open
Dr. Musselwhite peered into. Plankton
twitched slightly in his sleep,
but the doctor's hand remained
steady.
Plankton's chest continued 
to rise and fall
steadily, oblivious to the
battle being fought within
his mouth.

Dr. Musselwhite finished stitching.

"It's done," he announced.

"You did it," she murmured,
voice cracking.

Plankton lay still, his breathing
even and deep. 

The surgery was over, and he
was alive. Karen leaned down to
kiss his forehead.

The nurse smiles. "He'll be
asleep for awhile," she said.

Karen nodded.
The only sounds were the
whispers of medical staff
and the hum of machinery.

The nurse wheeled him into
recovery, and Karen followed, the
medication still working its
magic.

Plankton's features were
relaxed in sleep, a stark
contrast to the fear that had
been etched there just hours
before.
Plankton's chest rose and fell
in a steady rhythm, a silent
testament to the successful
procedure by the
deep embrace of anesthesia.

As he started to stir, the
nurse offered a gentle smile as he
began to come around.

Plankton's eye fluttered open,
his gaze unfocused and glassy.
He blinked slowly.

"Hi, sweetheart," Karen's voice
was a warm embrace. 

"Whaa-...happen'd?" he mumbled.

"You're ok," Karen said softly.
"They took your wisdom teeth out."

Plankton tries to piece together the
fragments of his memory. 

He attempted to speak. "Ow?" he
managed.

Karen squeezed his hand.

Plankton's head
lolling slightly against the
pillow. His mouth felt like a
foreign landscape. Karen helped 
him sit up, the nurse
getting gauze.
"You're going to need to
bite down," she said,
handing him a piece of gauze.
"It'll help with the bleeding."

He pressed
it to his mouth, the pressure
sending a dull throb through
his jaw.

"Hold it there," the nurse instructed,
her voice a gentle guide in
his foggy world. "Keep the
pressure steady. It'll help
the bleeding to stop."

Plankton nodded, his movements
sluggish. 

The nurse handed Karen an ice
pack. "This'll help," she said. 

"It's ok,"
she soothed. "You're all
done. The hard part is over."

Plankton nodded again, his
brain still foggy from the
remaining anesthesia.

He looked around 
the recovery
room, his gaze
wondering.

"Whath's thith?"
Plankton pointed
at a machine.
Karen chuckled, the
tension easing from
her shoulders.
"It's just monitoring
you."

He nodded, his
eye still filled with
wonder. He looked
down at his hand,
studying it as if it
was the first time he'd
seen it. "Thith...han,"
he said, his voice trailing
off as he wiggled his
fingers.

"Yes, Plankton.
That's your hand."

He's mouth filled with gauze
and drool slowly seeping out.

"Karen?" he mumbles, his
voice thick and groggy. "Wha's?" 
He points to 
instruments.

"They're just tools the
doctor used to help you,"
she explains gently.

Plankton nods, his curiosity
satisfied for the moment.
His eye drift to the ceiling. 
"Why do the wight
hab funny shapes?"

Karen follows his gaze.
"They're just patterns,
Plankton. They help the
ceiling look nice."

He nods, the concept of
aesthetics lost on him.
The nurse returns to check
his vitals. Plankton
watches her with the same
curiosity.

"Whath thoze do?" He points
to the stethoscope around
her neck, his speech still
slurred.

The nurse chuckles. "It's how
we listen to your heart."

Plankton nodded, his gaze
following as she placed the
stethoscope on his chest. 
"Ca-- heaw it?" He
asked, his curiosity
unquenchable.
"That's your heart beating."
Plankton's eye grew
even wider, the
revelation a spark in the
haze. "Wow," he whispered,
his voice a mere breath.
Karen watched
his exploration with a
mixture of amusement and
affection.

The nurse returned with
discharge instructions, her
words a blur to Plankton's
still-numb mind. Karen took
the papers.

"Alright, let's get you
ready to go home," she said,
helping him to stand.
Karen's firm grip on his
arm steadied him.

Karen helped him into the car. 
The seatbelt
was a puzzle he couldn't solve
under the fog of the lingering 
drugs, but Karen buckles him
in before driving out of the 
parking lot.

"Loog ath the treeth," Plankton
mumbled. "They're waving
hewwo," he said with a
sleepy smile.

Karen glanced over, her
own smile growing. "Yes,
sweetheart. They're saying hello."

Plankton's gaze shifted to the
mirror in the car. He blinked
at his reflection, the gauze
sticking out of his mouth.
"Who thad?" He pointed at
his reflection.

Karen chuckled. 
"That's you, with a
little extra padding."

Plankton nodded, his
thoughts a slow river in
his sluggish mind.

"Thith car...it moveths,"
he murmured.
Karen chuckled. "Yes,
dear, it's a car. It takes
us places."

"Wook ath the clowds,"
he whispered, his voice
slurred.

"Thath one...loks wike a...,"
"It's a cloud," Karen said,
smiling at his childlike
wonder. "It's just water
vapor that looks like
something we see in our
imaginations."
Plankton nodded, his
eye drooping. The motion
of the car and the gentle
hum of the engine lulled
him into a doze. His head
nodded forward before
snapping back up again.

"Tired?" Karen asked.

"Mm-hmm."

His head lolled back
against the headrest, his
eye slipping shut. 

The car's AC whispered
a gentle lullaby, the cool
air playing with the
strands of Plankton's antennae.
His chest rose and fell in
time with the rhythm of the
engine, each breath a soft
snore.

They arrived home. 
Plankton stirred, his
eye blinking open.

Karen helped Plankton out of
the car. She held him
close, his weight a comforting
reminder of his presence.

Spot, the amoeba puppy,
bounded over, his gelatinous body
shifting shapes with excitement.

"Spoth," Plankton mumbled. The
puppy leapedfrogged over, his
form morphing into a blur of
happiness. Plankton's eye
lit up.

Plankton reached
for Spot with a clumsy hand,
his coordination still muddled.
Spot nudged his palm with
his squishy nose.

"Wook, Spoth," Plankton slurred,
his eye wide with childlike
wonder. "I hav- a booboo."

Spot nudges him. Plankton giggled.

"Easy, Plankton," Karen
cautioned, her voice a gentle
reminder of his fragile
state. 

Spot's eyes widened in
surprise, his little body
shivering with joy. He wriggled
closer, his gelatinous tail
whipping back and forth in
a blur of excitement. Plankton
laughed.

They made their way to
the couch, Plankton's steps
uncertain, each movement
accompanied by a little giggle.
Spot followed.
Plankton flopped onto the cushions,
his body a limp noodle.

Spot jumped up beside him.
Plankton leaned onto 
by Spot, his head lolling.

The puppy's
a comfort.

Plankton's eye grew 
heavy, the weight of
his eyelid too much
for his sluggish 
body to bear, his body 
going slack.

"Rest," Karen said, 
kneeling beside him. "You've
been through a lot today."

His hand
remained on Spot, the
puppy a comforting
presence.

Plankton's breaths grew
steady, his snores once again
filling the room.

Karen watched him sleep,
his chest rising and falling
beneath Spot's gentle weight.
The house was quiet,
the only sound the occasional
snort from Plankton's nostrils.

He slept all night, only waking
up the next morning.

Plankton awoke with a
start, his mouth wet with
drool, his eye focusing
slowly. The gauze was 
still damp from the night's
excess saliva. He sat up.

"Wha..." Plankton looked
around, the room spinning
slightly. The couch was
his bed, Spot his blanket.

He reached up to
his mouth, the gauze
still in place, the taste of
cotton in his mouth. The
memory of the surgery was
distant.

Karen's face swam into
view, her smile a warm
sunrise. "How are you
feeling?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress.

Plankton's eye searched
his mind, looking for the
missing pieces. "I don't...
member coming hone," he
mumbled, the words slurred.

Karen nodded, her smile
soft. "You fell asleep in
the car, sweetie. I brought
you home."

But any
details were lost, a foggy
dream slipping away with
each passing moment.

"Thish mouth," he said,
his tongue probing the empty
sockets. The pain was
a dull ache, a reminder of
his body's battle.

Karen handed him a glass
of water. "Thank you,"
he murmured.

"You're not supposed to eat
solids today," she reminded
him, placing a bowl of
soup on the coffee table.
"But I made some nice,
soft scrambled eggs and toast
for you to chew."

Spot's eyes glued to his
owner, his tail wagging.

Plankton's jaw felt like
it was made of rubber, but
the food was a heavenly
comfort. Karen sat beside
him, her screen never leaving
his face, watching for any
sign of discomfort.

"It'th okay," he assured
her, his speech still slurred.
He took another bite, his
mouth working carefully.
The taste was muted, a distant
memory of what food used
to be. Yet, the warmth and
texture brought a sense of
normalcy to the post-surgery
haze.

new Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton Karen/Sheldon J. Plankton POV Karen AI Story Generator wisdom tooth

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

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. 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. 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

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. 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. 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. 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

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 1


(Neurodivergent author)



"What's for dinner tonight?" 
Karen asks her husband
Plankton the kitchen.
"I'm trying out something
new today!" He replies.

Plankton moves about with 
surprising grace for 
his small size. Karen 
watches, admiring his 
enthusiasm despite her 
skepticism of his culinary skills.

"Careful with that pan!" she 
calls out, noticing the way he 
flips it in the air. But it's 
too late. The pan slips from 
his grip, and as it hits his
head with a deafening clang,
Plankton crumples to the floor,
out cold. Karen sprints
to the kitchen
and crouches beside her
unconscious husband. 
"Plankton! Wake up!" she says,
shaking him gently. His eye
remains closed. She notices
his pulse and breathing so
at least he's alive. She scans
him and the results show he
acquired Autism. She's heard
about it, how interactions with
others are hard and how sensory
shutdown can cause episodes
similar to a seizure.

Panic starts to set in. She
has to get him to the couch.
With a deep breath, she hoists
his limp body over her
shoulder and carries him
carefully to the couch. She lays
him down, his head resting
on a pillow she grabbed
on the way. Karen's
attention is solely on
Plankton. She strokes his
forehead, feeling the warmth
of his skin and the steady
beat of his pulse beneath
her fingertips. The house feels
too quiet, the air thick with
concern.

Her eyes dart around the room,
looking for anything that
might help him feel comfortable.
Karen starts to
hum a lullaby,
hoping the tune might
calmly wake him.

Only the next afternoon does
Plankton start to wake. His eye
began to flutter open. "What
happened?" he mumbles.

Karen smiles, relieved. "You had a
bad fall in the kitchen. Do you
remember anything?"

Plankton's eye widens as
his hand shoots to the spot on
his head where the pan had
hit. "Oh, cooking,
right?" His voice is groggy,
his memory foggy.

"Yes, but let's not worry
about that now," Karen says,
squeezing his hand. She notices
his confusion, the way
his gaze flits around the
room, searching for clues.
"You acquired Autism."
Plankton blinks a few times, 
taking in the soft light and 
the worried face of his wife. 
He tries to sit up, but a wave 
of dizziness washes over him. 
"Autism?" he repeats, the word 
foreign on his tongue. Karen nods 
gently. "It's ok, Plankton," she 
says, her voice soothing.

The revelation hangs 
heavily in the air between 
them. Plankton's mind races. 
The room seems to spin as he
tries to process the news.

Rocking back and forth, he 
starts to self-soothe, a common
behavior among those with 
autism when overwhelmed. 
Karen, who has read about 
this, understands it's his
brain's way of coping with
the onslaught of new
information and sensations.

"It's ok," she whispers,
her voice steady. "You can
stim however you need to."
Her words act like a key
unlocking a door. Plankton's 
hands begin to flap, and he 
lets out a soft hum, a melody 
that fills the silent room.
"It's ok," she says softly,
"Stim if it helps."

The rhythmic motion and 
soothing sound of Karen's voice
help to calm him down. He 
stops flapping, but the hum 
continues, a gentle echo in 
the quiet. Plankton's eye 
locks onto hers, searching for
comfort. "I'm here," she says,
her tone a gentle reassurance.

Suddenly, his eye lit up 
as he repeats her words, 
"You're here," his voice a 
mirror of hers. It's echolalic, 
a common trait in those with 
autism, where they repeat 
sounds or phrases. "You're here," he 
repeats, over and over, the 
phrase becoming a comforting 
mantra. His palilalic speech 
is a bridge between the 
overwhelming confusion 
and the familiar presence 
of his wife.

Karen nods. She's read that 
palilalic repetition can be 
soothing for those with 
autism.

"You're here," Plankton says 
again, his voice growing stronger 
with each repetition. The 
words become a rhythm, a 
heartbeat of reassurance that 
he clings to as the world 
swims into focus.

Plankton's eye refocus 
on Karen's screen, and a
tiny smile appears as he 
understands her acceptance.
He starts to rock more 
comfortably, matching the
rhythm of his humming.

The house feels like a 
sanctuary, a bubble 
wrapped around them, 
their shared breaths the 
only sound. Karen's eyes
well up with tears, but she 
holds them back, not wanting 
to interrupt this moment.
His humming 
gradually fades into 
silence, and he looks at 
Karen.
"We'll figure it out,"
she says firmly, her voice 
a lifeline in the stormy
sea of uncertainty. "We'll 
learn about Autism and adjust our 
lives. You're not alone 
in this, Plankton."

Her words seem to anchor
him. He takes a deep
breath, and his body relaxes
against the couch cushions.
"Thank Karen," he whispers,
his voice cracking.

Karen nods, blinking away
her own unshed tears. "We're
going to be okay," she says,
more to convince herself than
anything. Plankton's smile
grows a little wider, and
his hand reaches for hers.

"What's next?" he asks, his
voice still weak but steady.

Karen rises from the floor
and moves to the bookshelf.
Her fingers trace the spines,
landing on a worn-out book titled
"The Art of Cooking." She pulls
it out gently and holds it out to him.

Plankton's eye lights up at the
familiar sight. It's his favorite
book, filled with recipes and notes
he's collected over the years.
He takes it with trembling hands,
feeling the weight of the pages.

"Let's start slow," Karen suggests,
sitting beside him on the couch.
"We'll go through the book
together, and maybe we'll find
something simple for tomorrow's dinner."

Plankton nods, flipping through
the pages with newfound
carefulness. 

"How about we start
with spaghetti?" Karen offers,
pointing to a simple
illustration on the page.
It's a dish they've made
together countless times.

"Spaghetti," he repeats, the word
like a warm blanket around
his new reality. "How about we start
with spaghetti.."

They spend the rest of the
day going through the book,
discussing ingredients and
steps, Karen explaining things
in a way that's easy for Plankton
to understand. His focus
intensifies, his eye lighting up
with every new piece of
information. The kitchen
accident seems like a distant
memory, replaced by the
comforting familiarity of cooking. 

new copepod autism Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton split into parts POV Karen Karen/Sheldon J. Plankton cookingcore

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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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

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 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

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

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3
(Autistic author)

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3
(Autistic author)

"Sorry," Plankton says, his 
tone still flat. "Plankton, sorry.
Plankton's brain different now. Difficult 
for Karen?"

Karen shakes her head, tears 
welling in her eyes. "No, Plankton, 
you're still you," she says, trying to 
smile. "I just wanted to understand."

Plankton nods, his gaze returning 
to the brain scan. "Understanding 
important," he says. "Plankton still 
loves Karen. Just different now. 
Permanent."

Karen breaks at his 
words, but she knows he's trying.
They sit in silence for a few moments,
each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Karen takes a deep breath.
"I love you, Plankton," she says, her voice
steady. "And I'll always be here for you,
no matter what." Plankton nods, his 
expression unchanged. "Karen love 
Plankton," he responds. "Plankton love 
Karen."

They sit together on the couch, 
the silence between them heavy 
with the weight of their new 
reality. Karen tries to find comfort in 
the familiar rhythm of his words, but 
it's like hugging a statue. There's no 
warmth, no give. But she can tell by
the look in his eye that it's present.

"Plankton," she says softly, her 
voice trembling slightly. "Do you 
want to go to the anniversary dinner?"

He pauses, his gaze unwavering 
from the brain scan. "Anniversary 
dinner," he repeats, as if tasting the 
words. Then, with a sudden nod, 
"Plankton will accompany 
Karen."

Karen swells with hope. 
Maybe this wasn't the end of their 
connection. Maybe they could find a 
new way to be together.

"But Plankton," she says, her 
voice tentative. "I need you to be 
comfortable. If going out is too 
much for you, we can do something 
else."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his 
face contemplative. "Understood," he 
says after a moment. "Home dinner 
preferred. Less stimulating."

Karen nods, feeling a weight lift 
slightly from her chest. "Okay," 
she says, swiping at a stray tear.
"We can have dinner here. I'll 
make your favorite."

Plankton's antennae perk up at 
the mention of food. "Karen cook?" 
he asks, his voice betraying a hint 
of excitement.

Karen smiles, relieved at 
his interest. "Yes, I'll cook," she says. 
"How about some Chum?"

Plankton nods eagerly. "Chum. Yes."

Karen rises from the couch, 
determined to make the best 
of the situation. She heads to 
the kitchen, her mind racing with 
ideas for a simple yet delicious 
meal that would be easy on 
his senses. She chooses a recipe
that doesn't have too many ingredients
or smells that might overwhelm him.

As she starts cooking, Plankton 
watches her with his newfound 
detachment, his eye following her 
movements with a clinical interest. 
It's as if he's studying her, trying 
to understand her actions.

"Plankton," Karen says, trying to 
engage him, "can you help me set the 
table?"

Plankton nods, his movements 
mechanical as he rises from the 
couch. He takes the plates and 
utensils she hands him and arranges 
them with meticulous precision. Each 
item is placed exactly 1.5 centimeters 
apart, the forks and knives aligned at a 
perfect right angle. It's something 
she's never noticed him do before, 
but it's a part of him now.

As she stirs the pot of simmering 
chum, she glances over at him, 
his single eye focused intently on 
the task at hand. She wipes a tear 
from her eye, her heart heavy. But 
she can't dwell on the sadness. 
They have a life to live, and they'll 
figure this out together.

"Plankton," she calls out, trying 
to keep her voice light. "Could you 
please grab the napkins?"

He nods and heads to the drawer, 
his steps measured and deliberate. 
When he returns, he doesn't hand 
them to her but instead counts them 
out loud. "One, two." He 
holds up both napkins, one for 
each place setting. "Is this 
correct?"

Karen nods, her smile tight. "Yes, 
thank you." She tries not to let 
the sadness seep into her voice.
This was their new norm, a dance 
of understanding and patience that 
they were still learning.

As they sit down to eat, Karen 
notices that Plankton doesn't touch 
his food until she does.

"You don't have to wait for me," 
she says gently, trying to ease into 
their new routine. "You can start 
whenever you're ready."

Plankton nods, his movements 
precise and deliberate as he takes 
his first bite. Karen watches him 
carefully, noticing that he's chewing 
his food much slower than 
normal. She wonders if it's because 
his sensory input has changed or if 
it's just part of the neurodivergence.

They eat in silence, the only 
sound being the occasional clink 
of their utensils and the bubbling 
of the chum. Karen tries to 
think of something to say, something 
that won't cause him discomfort or 
confusion. But her mind is a 
whirlwind of questions and fears.

"Plankton," she says tentatively, 
"Do you like the chum?"

He nods, his movements methodical. 
"Chum. Yes. Good." His voice is 
still flat, but she can see the faintest 
glimmer of satisfaction in his eye.

They continue their meal, Karen 
forcing down bites while her mind 
spins with a whirlwind of emotions. 
Fear, sadness, hope, and love all 
intermingling in a tumultuous storm.

"Plankton," she says, her voice 
soft and tentative. "What are you 
thinking about?"

He looks up from his plate, 
his eye focusing on her for a 
moment before returning to his 
food. "Thinking," he says, his 
voice monotone. "Plankton thinking 
about Karen. And Plankton with Karen."

Karen aches at his 
response, but she tries to keep her 
expression neutral. "Do you like 
spending time with me?" she asks, 
desperation tingeing her voice.

Plankton pauses, his 
eye flicking up to meet hers. 
"Plankton enjoys 
Karen's company."

Karen clenches at 
his words, so devoid of the 
warmth they once held. But 
she knows she has to be 
patient, to give him space to 
navigate this new world. 
"Do you enjoy talking to 
me, Plankton?"

He considers this for a 
moment before nodding. "Talking 
is good. Plankton learns 
things. Plankton feels safe."

Karen feels a tear roll down 
her screen. "That's all I want," 
she whispers, reaching out 
to squeeze his hand. His grip is 
firm, but there's no warmth in it.
It's as if he's trying to mimic 
the physical cue of comfort without
understanding the emotional 
connection.

"Karen crying sad?" He asks
retreating his hand.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice 
cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt 
you earlier. I just wanted to spend 
our anniversary together."

Plankton nods, his expression 
unreadable. "Understood," he says. 
"Anniversary. Special."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 3

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

** 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

COMPUTER SENSORS i

 *

"Karen!" Hanna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Karen in a warm embrace.
"You made it!" Karen beamed.
"Is the husband home?" Hanna asked, glancing around.
"In our bedroom," Karen answers. "I don't think you've met!"

Hanna followed Karen through the hallway. She'd heard of Karen's husband, Plankton, 
but had never formally met each other.

Inside, Plankton sat on the edge of the bed.

"Plankton, this is my friend Hanna," Karen announced, screen sparkling with excitement.

Plankton looked up. He hadn't been expecting company, especially not someone so bubbly 
and vibrant.

"Oh, Plankton," Hanna gushed, reaching out to him. She was a hugger, and she didn't 
hold back. She enveloped him.

Plankton stiffened. It was... overwhelming. 

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Hanna said, her voice thick with sincerity. 

Hanna, ever the social butterfly, didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She plopped 
down on the bed beside him, her energy not even slightly dampened. "So, what do you 
guys have planned for the evening?" she asked, screen bright with excitement.

"Well, we were just going to order in and watch a movie," Karen replied, shooting 
Plankton a knowing smile. She knew he liked his quiet evenings.

"A movie night, huh?" Hanna clapped her hands together. "What's the film? I can stay 
and join!"

Plankton wasn't one for sharing his personal space, especially with someone he just 
met. The bedroom was his sanctuary, a place of solitude where he could escape the 
world and be himself.

Plankton managed a tight smile, his heart sinking. He wasn't in the mood for a 
romantic comedy, let alone one with Hanna's constant commentary and unbridled laughter. 
Karen quickly interjected. "Actually, Hanna, Plankton had his heart set on a sci-fi 
marathon tonight. You know, his usual Friday night routine."

"Oh, I totally get it," she said, patting him.

Plankton stiffened at her touch, his eye widening slightly. "Oooh, I know just the 
thing!" she exclaimed, jumping up and talking fast. "Karen, you won't believe this 
but I've got a DVD of 'Galactic Hearts' in my bag. It's got a bit of everything: romance, 
action, and a side of existential dread. Perfect for a Friday night in, right?"

Plankton sighed inwardly. He knew he'd have to sit through it, if only to keep the peace. 
"Alright," he said, his voice tight. "Let's give it a go."

With a resigned sigh, he trudged out to the kitchen to grab some popcorn and drinks. 
When he returned, Hanna had already claimed the spot beside him, leaving him no choice 
but to sit next to her, so he did, for Karen.

The movie started, and Hanna was immediately engrossed, laughing and gasping at all 
the right moments. Plankton, on the other hand, felt like he was in an alien world 
of his own. Every time the romantic tension on screen built up, she would lean over 
and whisper something to Karen, who would giggle in response. The constant movement 
and noise were making his skin crawl.

As the film went on, Hanna grew more and more absorbed in the love story unfolding 
before them. At one particularly dramatic scene, she reached over and grabbed Plankton's arm. 
"Oh, isn't this just the most romantic thing you've ever seen?" She gave him a squeeze 
not realizing the discomfort she was causing him. "Look at those stars," she whispered 
leaning closer. "It's just like they're reaching out to each other, isn't it?"

Plankton shifted. He'd never been one for public displays of affection, and Hanna's 
affection was uncharted territory. He gently extracted his hand, placing it awkwardly 
on his lap. "I s'pose," he murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral.

time she leaned in to whisper something to Karen, she brushed against him, sending a 
shiver down his spine. The movie's soundtrack swelled with a sappy love theme, and Hanna 
threw her arm around both their shoulders.

Plankton stiffened. The room felt suddenly too warm, too small. He'd never been one 
for affection, especially not from someone he'd just met, and Hanna's touch was 
suffocating him. Her arm remained draped around his shoulders, her grip tightening 
every time the couple on-screen shared a tender moment.

He tried to focus on the plot, but it was difficult with Hanna's sudden exclamations 
and loud sighs punctuating the silence. Karen seemed to be enjoying it, though, and 
he didn't want to spoil the evening. So, he sat, endured, and waited for the credits 
to roll.

As the movie progressed, Hanna grew bolder with her displays of affection. She'd lean 
in close, her shoulder pressing into his, and whisper her predictions for the plot. He 
glanced at Karen, hoping for a reprieve, but she was caught up in the moment. Plankton 
sighed and turned back to the movie, trying to ignore the heat building in him.

Hanna's hand found its way to Plankton's shoulder again. This time, she didn't let go. 
He cleared his throat, trying to subtly shift his body away from her touch, but she 
either didn't notice or didn't care. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight 
of her arm and the way she kept brushing against him. He could feel his heart hammering 
in his chest, begging for the solitude he craved.
Hanna let out a contented sigh, her grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening involuntarily. 
He flinched, and she finally looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What's wrong?" 
she asked, her voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," Plankton said, his voice tight. 

Hanna looked at him. "Oh, I get it," she said, her hand moving from his shoulder to 
give his knee a comforting pat. "Sometimes romantic scenes can be too much, huh?"

Plankton nodded stiffly. Then, Hanna leaned over and whispered, "You know Plankton 
you're not so bad for a guy who pretends not to like romance." She elbows him, her 
touch playful and teasing.

Plankton's eye widened, his heart racing faster than the spaceship on the screen. He 
tried to laugh it off, his voice strained. He tried to keep his expression neutral. 
She leaned in closer, her arm now looped around his. "I think you're secretly a softy."

Plankton's discomfort grew. He swallowed hard, his eye darting to Karen for help, 
but she was too lost in the film to notice his distress.

He cleared his throat again, trying to be subtle, but they're oblivious. 

Karen looked over at her husband, her smile fading slightly as she noticed his rigid 
posture. She knew he wasn't a fan of the film, but she didn't realize Hanna's personality 
was making him so uncomfortable. Hanna jumped up from the couch. "Oh my gosh, you guys," 
she exclaimed a little too loud, her screen bright with excitement. "That was the best movie ever!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Karen couldn't help but laugh. "You really liked 
it?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Liked it?" Hanna repeated, her voice incredulous. "I'm in love with it!!"

Her exuberance was palpable, but Plankton remained silent. He felt a mix of relief 
that the movie was over and dread for whatever might come next. Hanna, noticing his 
lack of response, turned to him with a grin. "What did you think, Plankton?"

Plankton felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "It's just not really my genre," he said, 
his voice a touch defensive.

Hanna's smile didn't falter. "Oh, come on," she said, nudging him playfully. "Admit 
it, you were totally rooting for them in the end." "Oh, I was," Plankton said, his 
voice devoid of enthusiasm. "I was just hoping the asteroid might hit the spaceship 
first."

Karen couldn't help but laugh, seeing the playful banter between her friend and her 
husband. "Ok ok," she said, standing up and stretching. "I think we've had enough 
romance for one night. How about we switch gears and play a board game?"

Hanna bounced, her energy unflagging. "Perfect! What do you have?"

Plankton started to feel dizzy. "I'll grab something," he said, his voice tight. He 
needed to get away, to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

He retreated to the bedroom, going on his bed. 

** 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 Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton neurodivergentcore galactic hearts computer sensors

COMPUTER SENSORS ii

* * 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?" Hanna's voice called. "You've been in there for a while."
But there was no response from the bedroom. Karen's smile faded 
as she heard the silence. She knew her husband well enough to 
recognize when he'd reached his limit. She excused herself and went to check.
Plankton was indeed on the bed, his eye squeezed shut. His body was rigid 
breathing shallow. Karen ached for him; she knew he was in the throes of sensory overload. 

Karen approached the bed gently, not wanting to startle him. She sat down beside him 
and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Plankton," she said softly. "You ok?"

He didn't move, didn't speak. He just lay there, a tense coil of discomfort. Karen knew 
to recognize the signs of his overwhelm. The way he curled tightly around his body, the 
shallow breaths that spoke of his struggle to regain control. He was in his own world 
now, one where the bombardment of Hanna's sounds and touch had become too much.

"Plankton," she said again, her voice a gentle whisper in the room. "You don't have to be 
out there if you don't want to."

The touches, the sounds, Hanna— all too much.

Karen's expression filled with understanding. "It's alright," she assured him, her hand gently 
rubbing his back. "You don't have to force it."

Plankton nodded, his body slowly relaxing under her touch. He let out a sigh.

Karen knew Plankton's not one for crowded spaces or unexpected physical contact.

"Hey, guys, everything ok in here?" Hanna's voice was cheerful, but there was a hint 
of concern that had crept in. She searched the room, her gaze landing on Plankton's 
rigid form. Her smile faltered for a second, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "Is he ok?"

"He's... overwhelmed," Karen said. She knew Hanna didn't mean any harm, but she also 
knew her friend's boundless enthusiasm could be to much for Plankton to handle. 

Hanna's expression grew more puzzled. "What's there to be overwhelmed about?" 
Her curiosity piqued. "What's going on with you Plankton?" she asked, taking a step closer 
to the bed.

Plankton jolted slightly, but he remained silent, eye still closed.

"I don't get it.."

Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Plankton's a bit... sensitive 
to stimulation," she began. "He needs his quiet time. Nothing against you, Hanna; just how he is."

Hanna grew more concerned. "But I didn't mean to," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 
"I just wanted to have a good time."

Karen patted Plankton's shoulder, her screen never leaving his face. "It's not you, Hanna," she 
assured. "It's just that to much noise, touch, all just gets to be to much for him."

"How?"

"Some people need more space than others. It's not a reflection on you or your company." 
"But I don't get it," Hanna said, her voice quiet. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Karen assured her, her hand still resting on Plankton's shoulder. 
"It's just that Plankton's sensory input is overwhelmed easily."

Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, full of questions. "But I didn't do anything weird; did I?" 

"No," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "It's just that Plankton isn't much... physical affection 
from anyone but me. And even then, it's on his terms."

Hanna's expression softened, starting to reach out to gently touch Plankton's arm.

"Don't," Karen said, placing a hand over hers to stop her.

Hanna's hand hovered in mid-air, and she looked at Karen with confusion.

Karen took a deep breath. "Plankton needs his space to recharge. And when it comes to physical 
touch, it's something that's... it's not something he's comfortable with, from just anyone."

Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "But, you?" 

"We've found a balance that works for us. But it's something that took time to figure out. And 
even then, there are days when he needs more space than usual."

Hanna nodded. "But he didn't say anything," she murmured. "I didn't know."

"It's not something he talks about. He tries to be strong, to handle it, but sometimes it's just to much for him."

"Why does he not flinch if you touch him, if it's sensory?" Hanna asked.

Karen sighed. "It's complicated. I've known him for a long time, and we've built a level of trust. He's comfortable 
with my touch. But even then, it's a balancing act of knowing when he needs more and 
or when he needs less."

Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took a step back from the bed. "I had no idea," she 
murmured. "How long does it take for him to..."

"It varies," Karen said. "Sometimes it's just minutes, other times can be hours."

"Is he going to remember us talking right now?" Hanna asked.

"It's hard to say," Karen replied, her gaze still on Plankton. "When he's like this, he's kind of... in 
his own world. Sometimes he's aware, sometimes he's not. It's like he's not present. The best 
thing is to just give him space," Karen said. "Let him come out of it on his own time. Sometimes 
talking to him helps, but not always."

Hanna nodded. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 
"I just wanted to make him feel included."

Karen gave her a small, understanding smile. "It's alright, Hanna," she said. "You couldn't have 
known. Just remember, Plankton needs space, and for us to respect that."

Hanna nodds, her gaze still on Plankton. "So, how does he act coming out of it?" 

"It depends," Karen said, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "Sometimes he's a bit groggy, other 
times he's just... tired. And sometimes he's a bit snappy."

"What will he remember?" 

"Probably not much," Karen said, her voice low. "When he's like this, the world kind of... washes 
over him. He might remember snippets, but it's all pretty fuzzy."

Hanna nods. "How do I show him I care?" 

"Just being a friend—that means the world to him. But sometimes, the best way to show you 
care is to give him the space he needs."

"But I don't want him to think I'm ignoring him."

"You're not," Karen assured her, her voice gentle. "Just be mindful of his own boundaries. 
Sometimes a simple 'How are you feeling?' or even showing interests in his likes, can mean 
more than any hug. It's a condition where the brain can't process all the information coming in 
from the senses at once. It's like your brain's circuits are overloaded, and you just... shut down."

Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took this in. "Is it ok if I can ask Plankton 
questions about it?"

"Of course," Karen said, her voice gentle. "But just be mindful. He might not be up for 
a lot of talking, especially right now."

Hanna took a deep breath and approached, her movements slow and deliberate. "Plankton?" 

He didn't respond, his body still taut with tension. Hanna looked to Karen for guidance, who offered 
a smile.

"Plankton," she whispered, her voice a soft caress. "Can you hear me?"

There was no response, but Karen could feel the tension in his body ease slightly. She knew he 
was listening, even if he couldn't bring himself to respond.

"Plankton's born with a condition called sensory sensitivity," Karen began, her voice calm 
and measured. "It means that his brain has trouble interpreting and responding to all sensory 
information from his environment. It can be anything from sounds to touch."

"So, like, when we were watching the movie, and I was all over the place with my feelings, that 
was probably a bit much for him?"

"Exactly," Karen said, her voice gentle. "Everything's just... too much for him sometimes."

Hanna's eyes searched Plankton's face, looking for any sign of discomfort. "But he didn't say any
thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"He tries not to," Karen said, her eyes never leaving her husband. "He doesn't like to make a fuss. 
But when it gets to be too much, he just kind of... shuts down."

"But how do you know when it's too much?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"It's subtle," Karen said, her eyes still on Plankton. "He'll get tense, his breathing will change, bad 
mood, his eye might glaze over a bit. And when he gets really overwhelmed, he just... withdraws."

"So, I shouldn't have grabbed his hand during the movie?" she asked, her voice filled with regret.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You didn't know. Just remember for next time."

Hanna nodded. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're all learning. Just remember to be patient and pay 
attention. And if you're ever unsure, just ask."

Hanna nodded, her hand now resting gently on the bed next to Plankton. "I'm sorry Plankton," she 
whispered.

He didn't move, but Karen could see the tension in his body start to ease a bit more. She knew he 
heard Hanna, even if he couldn't respond.

"Don't worry, Plankton," Hanna said, her voice gentle. "I'll be more careful next time. I didn't mean to 
make you uncomfortable."

Karen watched as Plankton's antennae slowly twitched, his breathing evening out as he began to 
come back to the world around him. It's a slow process, one Karen knew well. She gave Hanna a 
nod, a silent thank you for her understanding.

"Why don't you go grab us board games, Hanna?" Karen suggested, voice low. "Give him a few 
to 'wake up'."

Hanna nodded, her gaze lingering on Plankton before she turned and left the room. Karen watched 
the door close behind her before turning her attention back to Plankton. "It's ok, Plankton," she 
whispered, stroking his arm. "You're safe here."

new computer sensors Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton author is neurodivergent spacerycore ii

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

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

new y 2 k

⠤⢠⡟⠁⢻⡄⠀⠀⠐⠠⠀⠀⠀⠄⠂⠠⠀⠀⠄⢠⣤⣤⣦⠼⢞⠇⠠⠈⣻⡶
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⣯⡶⠟⠉⠑⠢⢤⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠷⠛⠁⠀⠑⠩⢛
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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."

new sweet cweam plaren 1

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."

new go hone karen plankton 2

💗❤️

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new 2 4

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 cat

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡻⣿⣿⣿⡿⣀⠀⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⢉⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠁⠘⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣶⣾⣿⣆⠚⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠄⣠⢤⣦⢖⣶⡠⠦⠄⠀⡀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠚⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⣠⠤⠞⠉⠉⠻⠝⠚⠟⠄⠈⢈⠈⡈⣀⣴⣶⣴⣦⣽⣿⢧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢐⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣦⣰⣲⣶⣤⣀⢰⣶⣶⣤⡦⠿⣿⣿⢐⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠠⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣷⡒⠚⠛⠛⠛⠨⣳⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣰⣤⡻⣟⢿⠟⢷⠇⢛⢟⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⣀⣰⡾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣶⣭⠋⠇⠄⠨⠘⠻⢿⣿⢿⡿⣿⣷⣵⣯⣇⠈⠘⠙⢛⡻⠟⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣂⠀⠀⠁⠀⠉⠻⠂⢘⠙⠙⠉⠈⠀⠀⠀⣀⣥⣾⣿⣿⣿⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡾⣵⡠⣦⡀⠀⣀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⠦⣴⣼⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡼⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣯⣿⣽⣽⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢧⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣾⡄⠀⠀⡜⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠃
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣾⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢍⠙⠛⠿⠿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠈⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠱⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠈⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣴⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠤⡀⣀⠀⠀⠈⠣⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣩⠠⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⠞⣡⠟⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⡿⠏⠁⡐⢹⠖⠁⠁⠀⠂⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣺⣿⣷⣶⣆⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⣾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣇⠉⠘⢿⣿⣷⣌⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠉⢝⠠⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣐⣂⣄⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠂⠀⠀⣦⡈⢻⣿⣿⡯⢀⣠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠉⢉⣴⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢂⢣⡹⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠈⠉⢛⡃⡀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠙⡹⣂⣒⠿⡖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⢑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 2 common year starting on sunday 1 dot art text art ascii art

ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ

new 2 000

「 ✦ Shivam ✦ 」

new 1 2 double middle finger text art

អានស្រីសុំ
⚠️

new 1 000 2 4 6 8 0 7 10 5 50

  numeros pequeños

     ³³³² ² ²⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹¹¹¹¹¹¹7️¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹

new amor numeros fechas 2

³³³² ² ²⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹¹¹¹¹¹¹7️¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹¹.ᐟ¹¹¹

new amor numeros fechas 2

hey im preppylorax1 🎀 ! search preppylorax1 to see my other posts!!! •ᴗ•

new preppylorax1 profile preppy lorax preppylorax 1 aesthetic posts person star heart bear bow stars

ᯓ✦

new txt cb in nov 4 sanctuary moa star txt11 stan

/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ 𝟚𝕘𝕦𝕟𝕫 /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

new 2 gunz

GUYSSS I LOVE MY MANNN!!!!
      ᥫ᭡.
     
      ᥫ᭡.
     
      ᥫ᭡.
     
      ᥫ᭡.
     
      ᥫ᭡.
     
      ᥫ᭡.
     ❤️

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠖⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠒⢄⠀⢂⢠⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢢⣐⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡆⠀⢠⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠁⡰⠃⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠋⢳⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⢷⠙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⠴⣆⠴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⣀⣀⡉⠙⠒⠒⠒⡎⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⢶⠀⠀⠀⢳⠋⠁⠀⠙⢳⡠⠖⠚⠑⠲⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⠀⠀⠈⢧⣀⣠⠔⡺⣧⠀⡴⡖⠦⠟⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⡷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢹⣾⠁⠁⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠆⠀⠉⢉⡝⠓⠦⠤⢾⠈⠓⠖⠚⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢾⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠐⠢⠤⠤⠔⠚⠁⠘⣆⠀⠀⢠⠋⢧⣀⣀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 2 julian calendar 4 25 dot art text art ascii art

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

new four bfb bfdi bfdia idfb tpot 4 fourbfb four bfb dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣾⡷⠶⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠿⣶⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⠟⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠾⠟⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠂⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣧⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⣠⣿⠋⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⢀⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠘⠻⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⡛⢿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡤⠈⠻⠿⣷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣦⣴⣴⡆⢀⣠⣶⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢃⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⠿⢶⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣉⣀⣤⣤⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⠿⠿⠶⠶⠶⠾⢿⣿⡛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⠗⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣴⠾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣶⣀⠀⢀⣤⣶⠾⠿⠛⠶⠿⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣆⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣿⡟⢶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢷⣦⣀⣀⣴⠟⠋⢩⣉⠻⣿⡆⠀⢀⣾⣛⣹⡍⠉⠛⠿⠟⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠻⣷⡀⣿⡟⠙⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡟⢿⣶⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡏⡀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠀⠹⣧⣀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡾⠟⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠀⠈⠙⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⢿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠙⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠹⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⠟⠉⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢦⣤⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠸⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣧⣀⣀⠀⣀⣀⣶⠏⠀⠀⠈⠻⠷⠶⣶⡾⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 5 50 1 dot art text art ascii art

⢀⠂⢀⠠⠀⡀⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⡀⠆⢠⠐⠠⡐⠄⠂⡔⢠⠂⢆⠒⡐⢂⠲⣀⠣⢆⠱⡌⠦⡑⢎⠲⡑⣎⡱⢣⡝⣬⠳⣙⣎⡳⢭⡳⣝
⠀⡈⠀⠠⠀⠄⡀⠁⡈⠄⢁⠂⡐⠈⠄⠨⠐⠠⠌⠡⠐⢂⠡⠊⠔⡡⢊⠔⡨⠑⡌⠱⣈⠖⡩⢌⢣⠓⡴⢱⢃⡞⡔⣫⠕⣎⢳⡭⢳⣎
⠀⠄⠁⠐⡀⠂⡀⠂⠠⠐⢀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠂⡁⠢⢁⠡⠉⢄⠢⢉⢂⠱⢈⠆⡡⢃⠜⡡⢒⡘⠴⡉⢦⡙⠴⣉⢎⠼⣘⢥⡛⣬⢓⡞⡳⣎
⠀⡈⠀⠐⡀⠄⠐⠀⡁⠐⢀⠐⠈⡐⠠⠐⠠⢁⠂⢂⠉⠄⠢⠌⠄⡊⠔⡨⢐⠡⡊⠔⣡⠘⠴⡑⢢⠜⡱⢌⢎⠲⣩⠲⣍⠶⣩⢞⡱⣭
⠀⠐⠀⠠⠀⠀⠌⠀⠄⠐⠠⠀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⡁⢂⠉⠤⢁⠌⡠⢁⠆⡡⠌⢢⠑⡌⠤⡉⠦⡉⢦⢉⠖⡩⢌⢧⢡⡓⡼⣸⡑⢮⡕⢧
⠀⢁⠀⠀⠄⠂⠈⠀⡈⠀⠄⡁⠄⠈⠄⠂⡈⠄⡐⠠⢁⠂⠤⠈⠄⢃⠰⢀⢃⠢⢡⠘⠤⡑⢢⠑⣂⢃⠎⡱⢊⢆⡣⢜⠲⣡⢞⡱⢎⡳
⠀⠂⠀⠈⠀⠀⠂⠁⠀⠁⢀⠠⠀⡁⢀⠂⠠⠐⠠⣔⠤⣈⠄⣅⠊⠧⠰⠈⢤⢜⡀⠎⡰⢁⠣⡘⢤⠩⡬⢡⠃⣎⠴⣉⠮⣑⢮⡱⢫⠵
⠀⠄⠀⠀⠂⠀⠁⠀⠈⠀⠂⠀⠄⠐⠀⡀⢁⣰⣽⣿⣿⣾⣿⡏⠐⢎⢷⣛⢮⣿⣆⠆⡑⠌⢢⢑⠂⢠⣿⣳⢿⣿⢃⢇⡚⢥⠲⡍⢧⡛
⠀⡀⠀⠁⠀⠈⠄⠈⢀⠈⠀⠌⠀⠂⠀⠄⢜⣾⣿⡿⣟⣿⣿⡇⠌⡈⢎⢟⡾⣜⣿⣖⠈⢆⢡⠆⢠⣿⣳⢯⡟⢦⡉⢦⡙⡌⢧⡙⢦⡹
⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⡀⠐⠀⠀⠂⢁⣪⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠐⠠⠘⢌⢷⡝⡾⣽⣎⢄⡞⢠⣿⣳⢿⣿⠜⢤⠓⣢⢑⡚⢴⡙⢦⡓
⠀⠁⠀⠄⠀⠠⠀⠠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠐⠠⣳⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⡇⠁⠆⡁⢊⢌⢿⣱⢻⣽⣼⢣⣿⣳⢯⣟⠢⣉⠦⡑⢆⠣⡜⡢⢝⡢⢝
⠀⠂⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⡐⣽⣿⡿⣽⣿⡟⣿⣿⣽⣿⡇⠈⠄⡐⠠⠈⢎⢯⡗⡾⣯⡟⣧⢿⡟⢠⠃⡔⢢⡑⡊⡕⢬⡑⢎⡜⣡
⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠐⢔⣾⣿⢿⣽⣿⠟⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⡇⠈⠐⢀⠡⠈⠌⠎⢯⣳⢧⢿⣹⡟⠋⡄⠣⢌⡡⢂⡕⠌⣆⢩⠒⡜⠴
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⢀⢬⣿⡿⣽⣻⣿⠏⠀⢸⣿⣿⢿⣿⡇⠀⠌⠀⡐⠀⠂⡼⢈⣷⢫⣟⣾⡄⡃⠌⢡⠂⡔⢡⠘⣌⠰⢊⡱⡘⢥
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣲⣿⢯⣿⣽⣿⠃⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠁⠀⠁⡼⢁⣾⡱⣏⢾⡹⣿⡄⡘⢠⠘⢄⠃⡜⢠⠉⡆⢱⡘⢆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣽⢿⣽⣻⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⡞⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣶⠈⠀⠈⣰⢁⡾⢥⡻⣼⢧⡻⡽⣿⣄⠢⠘⢠⠊⢄⠣⡘⡘⠤⡘⢆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⣯⣞⡷⣞⡷⣾⣳⢿⣞⣷⣿⣻⣾⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣬⢃⢮⡝⢮⣳⠛⡞⣽⢳⡽⣿⡄⡁⠆⡘⢄⠣⠰⡑⡌⡱⢊
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠿⠼⠽⠾⠽⠿⠷⠯⠿⠽⢷⣿⣽⣯⣿⡿⠿⠀⣰⣏⢮⡓⣞⣹⠃⠠⠘⡜⣿⢼⣹⢿⡔⢨⡐⢌⢒⡡⢜⡰⢡⢣
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⢿⣿⡇⢀⢸⣟⢎⢧⡹⣼⠋⢄⢂⠡⡙⡜⡷⣭⣻⢿⡤⡑⢎⢦⡱⢎⡴⣋⠶
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⢦⡐⢦⡱⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡟⢮⡞⣦⣽⣷⣿⣾⣾⣷⣿⣾⡹⣶⢯⡿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣽⣿⣾⣽⣻
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠈⠀⠠⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⠉⢉⠉⠉⠌⠡⢉⠩⠉⢍⠩⡙⠍⢏⡹⠎⡵⢊⡗
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⡀⠀⠐⠀⠀⢀⠀⠄⠐⠀⠀⠂⢈⠠⠐⠀⡈⠀⠄⠂⠠⢁⠈⡐⢀⠂⡉⠄⠃⡌⠸⡀⠦⡑⡌⢣⠜
⠀⡁⠀⠄⠐⠀⠐⠀⠐⠀⠂⠀⠄⠀⡐⠠⠀⠂⠄⠠⠐⢀⠂⠡⠐⢀⠂⠄⠡⢀⡁⢂⠁⡂⠤⢈⠔⢂⠡⢒⠨⠡⢌⠱⡈⢆⠱⣈⠇⢎
⠐⠠⠀⠂⠄⡈⠠⠈⠄⡐⠠⠁⠄⠂⠄⠠⢁⠂⠔⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠈⢄⠂⢌⠰⢠⠐⠤⡈⠔⡨⠐⣌⢢⣑⣌⣒⣡⢎⣢⣑⣎⣱⣌⣚⡌
⢂⣁⠂⡁⠂⠄⡡⠌⡐⢀⠂⠡⢈⡐⢈⢁⠂⠌⠄⢃⠰⢈⠰⡀⢃⠢⢌⠂⡄⢃⠌⡂⢅⢢⢁⢣⢘⡓⡛⣒⠛⡚⢛⡛⡹⢛⡛⣚⢻⡘

new 4 x 4x bfdi bfb bfdia four tpot idfb tpop 4x4xbfdibfbbfdiatpot dot art text art ascii art

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡐⢀⣀⡛⢿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⣿⣿⣿⣷⣇⣨⣂⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠋⠈⠘⠛⢿⡏⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠋⠀⠀⠀⠐⠲⣿⣷⢳⢠⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⠅⠨⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠠⠢⡄⢀⣠⠄⢠⣴⣶⡴⢠⠈⣱⠻⡾⣵⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢿⠀⢘⣿⢋⢁⣏⣾⡦⠙⠒⠃⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠁⠻⠀⠀⠁⠹⠛⠩⠟⠁⢨⠁⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡏⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣛⠟⠉⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣮⡖⠀⢀⣬⣤⣶⠾⡱⠑⠏⠀⠰⡉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠈⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢬⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠿⠈⡀⠀⠀⠀⣖⡦⠐⠨⠱⠒⠍⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢉⡄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠖⣿⣻⣏⣲⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⣾⣷⣦⡄⠴⠆⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠩⣾⢿⣿⣬⡜⣿⣿⣿
⣿⠟⣁⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣆⡾⣮⣿⢧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡽⠻⢿⣧⠌⢹⣿⣿
⠃⠈⠰⠟⠳⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⠷⣾⡼⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⣱⣾⣿⣾⢇⢿⣿
⠀⠀⢀⠀⠐⢀⡊⠀⠀⠀⢉⡹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠨⣮⣷⣾⢆⠀⣄⠀⠀⠈⠊⠙⠛⣵⣾⣿⠀
⣆⠀⠐⠂⠀⠁⠈⢠⣦⣄⡐⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣦⣗⡫⣺⠀⢿⣷⠄⠀⠀⢸⣮⣔⣮⢻
⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⢠⣄⡙⠛⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠡⠜⡋⡅⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⣽⣽⣿⣼⡞
⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢀⡀⠛⠛⢣⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢴⢈⢽⡿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⠨⠀⠬⠁⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⣟⣿⡍⠇
⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠙⠩⢅⣾⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⣯⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⠢⠻⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⣵⣿⣿⠝⢸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⢄⡆⠀⣸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠈⠈⠚⠻⢀⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠔⢠⣵⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡨⠂⠁⠐⢻⣿⡿⠁⣀⢠⡀⡠⠴⣾⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠛⠛⠻⠟⢛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠠⡾⡇⣾⣛⠜⢠⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⡙⣣⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣷⣿⣗⡕⡾⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠈⢠⢟⢈⣾⡽⣘⡆⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠸⠂⢸⠟⠁⡆⢱⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣚⣬⣵⣢⠄⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⢀⣠⡮⠁⣿⣷⣤⣬⣥⣤⣥⣾⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢵⡿⣿⣿⣯⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡟⡾⢿⣃⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢀⡭⢯⠻⠋⢀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⡿⣿⣿⡿⠒⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⡁⣀⡀⢁⣾⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣀⢁⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠋⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠁⢺⠳⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡰⣶⣶⡆⡈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⣿⣕⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣘⣿⣿⠅⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡻⣿⣻⣳⢶⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⢿⣿⡟⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢻⣨⣿⡿⠇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠈⡡⢫⣿⣅⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⢽⡿⣋⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡟⠼⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⠰⡿⠆⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⣭⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠈⣥⡌⠁⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠚⢁⠀⣠⠔⠁⠀⠀⠻⠛⠀⠀⣿⣿⢃⠁⠀⠖⠀⠀⠈⠆⠀⢀⡑⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠐⠇⠀⠀⢀⡶⠿⡆⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⣸⣶⠀⠘⠙⠎⢊⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢅⡃⠀⠀⠨⢵⠧⠆⢤⡴⠀⠀⠠⣕⡄⠀⠀⠀⣽⣘⠂⠀⠘⣾⣿⠠⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣿⣶⣶⣤⣬⣭⣭⣥⣾⣷⣤⣄⣘⣛⣤⣤⣀⣐⣀⣓⣡⣤⣄⣒⣢⣬⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

new 3 iii common year starting on monday dot art text art ascii art

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

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⣀⠄⡂⠍⣀⣒⣒⠂⠀⠬⠤⠤⠬⠍⠉⠝⠲⣄⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠊⢔⠕⠈⣀⣀⡀⠈⠆⠀⠀⠀⡍⠁⠀⠁⢂⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣠⣾⠥⠀⠀⣠⢠⣞⣿⣿⣿⣉⠳⣄⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⡄⠀⠀⣘⢦⡀
⢀⡞⡍⣠⠞⢋⡛⠶⠤⣤⠴⠚⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀⠀⢹⡏⠁⠀⣀⣠⠤⢤⡕⠱⣷
⠘⡇⠇⣯⠤⢾⡙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠤⠀⢲⡖⣂⣀⠀⠀⢙⣶⣄⠈⠉⣸⡄⠠⣠⡿
⠀⠹⣜⡪⠀⠈⢷⣦⣬⣏⠉⠛⠲⣮⣧⣁⣀⣀⠶⠞⢁⣀⣨⢶⢿⣧⠉⡼⠁
⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠳⣌⡟⠻⠷⣶⣧⣀⣀⣹⣉⣉⣿⣉⣉⣇⣼⣾⣿⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠘⠳⣄⡀⡼⠈⠉⠛⡿⠿⠿⡿⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣕⠠⣒⠌⡙⠓⠶⠤⣤⣧⣀⣸⣇⣴⣧⠾⠾⠋⠀⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠶⣭⣒⠩⠖⢠⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠔⠁⡰⠀⣧⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠲⢤⣀⣀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣠⠏⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠒⠲⠶⠤⠴⠒⠚⠁⠀⠀

new 1 2 dot art text art ascii art

⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣄⣤⣠⣄⣤⠤⢤⣠⠤⠠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠤⠤⢤⡤⠤⢠⠄⠤⣀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⣀⠠⠄⠤⠤⣤⣤⡤⣤⠤⠤⠠⢤⡠⠄
⡇⠀⡀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⢀⡠⢂⢥⠖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡈⠒⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣦⡑⢄⠀⡜⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠄⠁⡐⠀⢂⠐⠀⢂⠐⠀⢂⠐⠀⠂⠐⡀⠂⠐⠀⢂⠐⠀⠂⠠⠀⣢⡫⢪⠕⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠊⢀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⢢⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⡘⠀⠄⡁⢂⠠⠈⢀⠂⡁⠂⠄⡈⠄⠡⠐⡈⠄⢁⠀⢂⠡⠈⠄⡼⢋⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⡀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠰⠀⢱⡀⠀⢀⡤⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡠⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠰⠋⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠇⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠤⠁⢂⠐⠠⠀⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⠂⠀⠐⠠⢁⠐⠈⡀⢈⠀⠂⡁⠄⣡⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠀⠐⠁⢀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⢁⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠈⢰⡐⡙⠀⣀⣀⣀⡠⢒⣝⠭⠊⢀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠐⠠⠁⠂⠌⡀⠐⠀⠠⢁⠂⡐⠀⠁⠠⠁⠂⠌⡀⠠⠀⢂⠁⠄⢰⠁⡐⠀⠀⠀⢠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠁⡠⠂⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠠⠊⡠⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⡗⠀⡷⠅⢂⠔⢁⢐⠡⠀⠒⢀⡉⠩⠭⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⣁⠂⢁⠂⡐⠀⠌⢀⠂⡐⠠⠁⠄⡁⢂⠁⢂⠐⠠⠁⠂⠌⡀⡇⡔⡇⠀⢠⢁⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠌⠀⣰⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⠤⣊⠀⠀⠃⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢧⡇⠌⠀⠀⣎⠔⢉⣠⣄⢂⡉⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠐⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠈⠝⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠄⠂⠄⢂⠐⠈⠀⠂⡐⠠⠁⠌⡐⠠⠀⡈⢀⠂⢁⠈⡐⠠⠀⣿⢠⢧⠀⡄⠆⡐⠀⠀⠀⢀⠊⠀⠀⡗⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠈⠐⢼⠀⠸⠀⠀⣀⢞⠪⠍⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠔⠂⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠎⡪⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠈⠄⡁⠌⡀⠂⠡⠈⡐⠀⠡⢈⠠⠐⠀⡥⣄⠂⡀⠂⠄⡀⢁⠐⠈⡼⢸⡀⢸⢰⠁⠀⠀⢀⠂⠀⠀⢀⡔⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌⠀⠀⣀⠄⣀⠀⠀⠸⠀⡆⢠⠞⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠈⠉⠀⠐⠠⠄⡀⠈⢀⠀⣐⢄⠀⢀⡠⠄⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠌⡀⠐⠠⠁⢂⠁⢠⡁⠂⠄⢂⠡⢸⡼⡋⠷⡀⢁⠂⡐⢀⠂⡁⢳⡞⢄⣟⣯⠀⠀⠀⡮⠆⠀⠔⠱⠀⠀⠀⡠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢶⣅⡀⠀⣰⢔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣕⡠⡀⢋⠓⢧⡀⠈⠁⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠒⡀⢁⠂⡁⠂⠌⢀⡐⢈⠐⡀⠂⠌⣷⡰⠀⠘⢆⠀⠐⡀⢂⠐⠈⢃⣼⣿⡦⣾⡀⣥⢱⡠⠊⠀⡆⣰⢃⠊⠀⠀⡴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⡧⡗⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠄⠐⡆⠤⢀⠀⠀⠐⡀⠉⠲⣧⡈⠪⢄⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠠⠁⠄⢂⠐⡀⠡⠈⡈⢁⡀⠂⢀⠁⢂⠘⣵⡑⢄⣈⡆⠁⠄⠀⢂⠐⠾⢉⣿⣿⣾⡞⡇⠘⠀⠀⠀⣠⡯⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⢠⠳⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡎⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⢡⠀⠉⠛⢗⡒⠲⠤⠤⠴⣦⠑⠨⡖⠄⡀⠘⡀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⢁⠆⠀⠆⠰⢀⠁⢀⠁⡀⠁⠆⠈⡀⢀⠈⢎⡰⢎⡇⠈⡀⢁⠀⠆⡀⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠰⠈⣸⠆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡾⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠆⠀⠀⠀⠉⣶⡇⠀⠀⠀⠱⡀⢇⠀⠉⡆⡇⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠌⡀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂⠠⢀⠈⢹⡀⠠⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢸⡿⡏⠀⢿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠑⠒⠀⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡏⠀⡆⠀⠀⡎⢰⠁⡘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠈⠆⡀⠠⠤⠀⠈⢻⡦⠀⠀⠀⠈⠺⣀⡀⡸⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⢀⠉⠄⠂⠄⠂⠐⠠⠐⠈⠠⠁⡀⠂⠄⠠⠁⢀⠈⡀⠹⡄⢂⠁⡀⠂⠐⡈⢀⠠⠀⣸⢿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡇⡃⠀⢁⠀⠀⡄⡞⡰⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠟⡀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⠃⠀⠀⠠⠤⢤⠟⢑⣲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠌⡀⠌⠠⠁⠌⠠⠁⣈⡐⠀⠄⠂⡰⠋⠆⠂⠐⡀⠡⠘⢆⠐⡀⢁⠂⠐⡀⠀⢂⠀⠄⣹⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⣴⢾⡿⠘⣷⠀⠈⡄⠀⣇⢰⠁⠀⢡⠀⣠⠎⠠⠊⠀⡡⢣⣤⣤⣼⣤⣰⡀⠀⢹⠀⡌⢻⠉⣀⣤⣣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠒⡀⠌⠠⠁⠌⡐⢸⠍⠹⡀⠌⠀⡇⠀⢸⠀⠡⠐⠠⠁⢈⠣⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠁⡤⣤⡦⠿⠾⠧⠯⣿⣷⣤⡤⣤⠖⠊⠁⢠⠃⠉⠰⠇⠸⡆⠄⠐⣄⠑⢹⢀⣠⣼⡮⠘⠁⠀⠀⣀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠐⠛⠗⡄⡴⡩⢺⢀⣴⡟⣟⡾⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠠⠁⠄⡈⠐⠈⡐⢀⠸⡄⠀⢇⠠⠁⣡⠀⢸⠀⠄⠁⠄⠂⠠⠀⠉⠳⣤⣈⣠⣴⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡀⠀⡉⢀⣘⠀⠁⠢⢀⠟⣆⠁⢸⠀⠀⠘⠌⠀⠌⣅⣾⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠤⠃⠀⠀⠀⠠⣢⡢⠀⠀⢎⠈⢸⣱⢇⡿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠡⠂⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠀⢣⠀⠸⣀⣴⡟⠀⠸⣷⡶⣶⣶⣶⡶⢿⠿⡟⠟⠩⣡⠎⠀⠀⠀⡠⠚⢛⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠁⠺⡟⠲⡆⠢⣀⠈⠂⢀⠀⠉⣀⠔⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⠅⠀⢰⠐⢉⣾⡳⣛⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⣁⠂⡁⢂⠐⠠⠐⢀⠈⣆⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣟⡿⣽⣛⣯⢿⣋⢖⡽⠱⡀⠀⡠⠊⣠⣴⣿⣿⠁⣿⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣜⣀⡘⢗⢌⡙⠂⠴⠺⢛⠉⠩⡠⠒⠀⢀⣠⠔⠂⠈⠉⠉⠙⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡶⣖⣡⣗⣿⣿⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠄⠂⡐⠠⢈⠠⠐⡤⠾⣿⡄⠀⢻⡟⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣟⡷⣭⡏⡇⠀⠡⠈⣠⡾⣿⣿⣿⡇⣸⣿⣦⣿⡿⠀⠀⢀⠔⠅⡛⢦⠈⠓⣆⠈⢁⠒⠀⠤⣌⣋⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡿⡿⠋⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣁⣤⠤⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠈⠄⡁⠠⠐⢀⢠⢾⠁⠀⡀⠇⠀⠈⠅⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⠀⡅⠀⣴⡿⢋⣼⡿⣿⡿⢀⣿⢿⣿⣿⠇⢣⠾⣕⢪⣴⠳⡔⣻⣤⢸⣠⣴⣧⣄⡹⣵⣤⡀⠀⠀⡀⠡⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⣡⠀⡠⠊⢰⡟⠁⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠹⣇⠘⢄⠀⠈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠐⡈⠄⠠⢁⢠⠋⠉⡆⠀⢡⠀⠀⠀⡠⢐⡀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡙⢸⠀⠇⠸⣿⣴⣿⠟⣰⣿⠃⣸⣿⠘⠛⢁⣴⣿⣛⣮⢷⣺⣎⢙⡶⠽⠿⠿⠟⢲⡖⣯⡽⣳⢋⡷⠊⢡⣄⢀⣀⣀⡀⣀⣠⡾⠏⢣⠃⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠙⠕⡤⢉⡒⠀⣻⢂⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠐⠀⠄⠁⣤⣿⣓⡀⠈⠢⡠⡄⠒⡎⠉⠀⢀⠁⠸⣿⣿⣿⡟⡑⠀⢸⠀⠰⠀⢻⡿⢃⣼⡿⠇⢀⣿⡏⢀⣴⣿⣿⣾⣿⣯⣟⠃⠟⠁⢀⣠⣤⠤⠒⠋⠉⢣⣿⣽⣏⣷⡦⡨⠿⠿⠮⣚⣿⠿⣫⠎⠀⠈⢄⢠⠁⠀⠀⠂⠀⠈⣇⣦⡙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠲⠾⠵⠃⠀⠀⠀
⠗⠒⠚⠒⠒⠛⠛⠛⠚⠓⠚⠓⠛⠓⠒⠒⠚⠒⠒⠒⠛⠛⠛⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠛⠛⠚⠒⠚⠛⠓⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠒⠚⠒⠒⠚⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠛⠚⠛⠛⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠛⠒⠒⠒⠒⠓⠒⠚⠒⠒⠒⠒⠓⠛⠓⠚⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒

new 1 2 6 鬼哈姆 dot art text art ascii art

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

new 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 100 0 28 third april julian calendar november cardinal october three roman numerals january july december june march gregorian calendar one fifth

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣉⣠⣶⣾⣷⣆⡛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠯⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣶⣦⣦⣶⣦⣶⣼⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

new 2 two number II number 2 dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣠⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢀⣿⣿⡿⠟⠿⠿⢿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣶⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⡀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠙⢿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⢀⣄⠉⠙⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⡟⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣏⢀⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠋⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⡿⣷⣶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠋⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⢉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢉⣬⡿⢿⣿⣿⠛⢿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠉⠀⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠇⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 1 2 dot art text art ascii art

11:11

new lea common year starting on saturday 4 kawaii

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