Autism and All Emoji Combos

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new chip plankton Chip Plankton II chip

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new Chip Plankton II chip plankton chip

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

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 5


(Neurodivergent author)



Karen returns to the bedroom,
where Plankton is already snoring
softly. She pulls the covers up to
his chin, tucking in gently.
She sits in the chair beside
his bed, never leaving
his peaceful form.

His chest rises and falls in the
steady rhythm of sleep, each breath
a testament to his resilience.
Karen watches him, her mind racing
with thoughts of what the future
holds, the challenges they'll face
together. But for now, she
forces herself to be still.

Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep,
as if he's navigating the vast
underwater world of his dreams.
Karen watches him, full
of a love she didn't know existed.

The soft snores from Plankton's
tiny form are music to her.
In his sleep, the weight of the
world is lifted, his mind free
to explore the vast depths of his
underwater universe without fear.
Her gaze lingers on the soft
lines of his face, the tension
erased by the gentle embrace of
slumber. She smiles, her eyes
filling with tears.

The room is a sanctuary,
a bubble of quiet amidst the
storm of confusion and fear.
The shadows play across the wall,
telling silent stories of adventures
that await when he wakes. Karen
reclines in the chair, her hand
resting gently on his arm.

The nap stretches into an hour,
then two, the house a cocoon
of peace around them. Plankton's
body relaxes into the embrace
of the bed, his mind swimming
through a sea of tranquility.

Karen sits by his side, her hand
still resting on his arm. She
thinks of the Plankton she knew
before, his quirks and routines
now painted with the brushstroke
of understanding. Autism isn't
a label to shrink from, but a part
of him to be embraced, a piece
of the intricate tapestry that
makes him who he is.  

In his sleep, Plankton starts 
to murmur, his words a jumble
of half-thoughts. Karen leans closer,
trying to make sense of the words.

"...I...Karen...love."

Her hand squeezes his arm gently, her 
thumb tracing circles on his skin. "I 
love you too, Plankton," she whispers 
back, her voice a soft lullaby.
Plankton's sleep-talk starts up again.
"...so many stars,"
his voice murmurs, his antennae
twitching with the vividness
of his dream. Karen smiles,
imagining the vast cosmos
that must exist in his mind.
Her hand continues its gentle
caress, her hand stroking his 
antennae in a calming pattern.
"Shh, Plankton, it's just a dream," 
she soothes.

His snoring starts again,
a soft, rhythmic sound that
fills the quiet. She 
smiles, her eyes still on
his peaceful form.

The world outside their
sanctuary seems to fade away,
its worries and noises muted by
the wall of their understanding.
Plankton's autism is a challenge,
but it's also a bridge that's brought
them closer, a shared secret
that only the two of them understand.

As Plankton sleeps, Karen's phone
vibrates with a text from her friend,
Hanna. "Dinner tonite?"

Her thumb hovers over the
keyboard, debating. Plankton's
diagnosis is still fresh, the
memory of his seizure a stark
reminder of the fragility of his
newly understood world. But she
knows the importance of keeping
up appearances, of not letting fear
or pity define them. With a sigh,
she texts back, "We'd love to. Your
place."

The evening stretches before them
like a tightrope, a delicate balance
between Plankton's needs and the
social norms that often feel
like a prison for him. Karen's mind
whirs with strategies to make it work.
A quiet place, familiar faces, a set
schedule. These are the keys
to a successful outing.

Gently, she shakes him awake,
her touch as light as a seashell
on the shore. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his eye fluttering open.
He looks up at her with sleepy
confusion, the world still a blur.
"Dinner with Hanna," she says,
keeping her voice low and soothing.
He nods, his body already tensing
in anticipation of the sensory
bombardment to come.

The car ride is a symphony of
preparation, the engine's hum a
soothing background to their
silent conversation. Karen's eyes
are on the road, but her mind is
on Plankton, his hands fidgeting
in his lap. She knows the world
outside is a minefield of sounds
and sensations, so she keeps
the radio off and the windows
up, creating a bubble of quiet
around them.

Plankton's breathing is shallow,
his antennae twitching with
each passing car. Karen reaches
over to squeeze his hand,
a silent reminder that she's
there. He looks at her, his eye
filled with a mix of fear
and gratitude. She smiles,
the warmth of her gaze a lifeline
in the chaos. "We're almost
there," she says, her voice a gentle
wave lapping at the shore.

They arrive at Hanna's house,
a beacon of light in the
deep blue sea of the night.
The door opens, revealing a
whirlwind of laughter and chatter,
the smell of garlic bread and
seafood stew wafting out. Karen
takes a deep breath, steeling
herself for the evening ahead. 

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his eye wide at the unfiltered stimulation.
Hanna, oblivious to their new
dynamic, waves them in with a
cheerful smile. "You're just in time!"
she exclaims, her voice a trumpet
in the quietude of Plankton's mind.

Karen's hand tightens around
his, a silent reassurance as
the door closes, the sound
a thunderclap in his ears.
The house is a cacophony of
sounds and smells, a whirlpool
of sensory information threatening
to pull him under. He gulps,
his breathing shallow, his body
braced for the inevitable.

Hanna, their friend, is a whirlwind
of energy, her eyes sparkling
like the ocean's surface. She doesn't
notice the tension in Plankton's
body, the way he flinches at her
excited exclamations. She doesn't
see the way his antennae twitch,
his mind racing to keep up.

But Karen does. She's his
lifeline in this tumultuous sea
of social interactions. She nods,
smiling, as Hanna leads them
to the dinner table, her hand
squeezing Plankton's in silent
support. The room is a kaleidoscope
of colors, the clatter of silverware
and laughter a symphony of
overwhelming sound. Karen's eyes
dance over the room, noting
each potential trigger.

"Hey, ladies; meet Karen and Plankton!"
Hanna's enthusiastic introduction
was like a tidal wave crashing over
the quiet bubble they'd been in. Plankton
flinched, his antennae retreating like
snails into their shells. Karen offered a
forced smile, her eyes darting around
the room, searching for an anchor.
The dinner table was set with a
rainbow of plates and bowls, the smell
of garlic bread and seafood stew
overwhelming. Hanna's home was
a sensory minefield, but Karen was
determined to navigate it with grace.
Plankton's hand was cold in hers,
a silent plea for rescue.
As they sit, Karen scans the
table, noticing the flickering
candles, the glint of silverware,
and the clinking of glasses. Each
detail a potential trigger. She
whispers into Plankton's ear,
"Remember, if you need to, just tell me."
He nods, his antennae tucking
closer to his head. 

new copepod autism plaren 5

SWEET CWEAM pt. 5

Sponge Bob's 
eyes widen even 
more, his 
spongy body leaning 
forward in 
anticipation. "A secret?"

Plankton nods, 
his speech still 
slurred. "Yeth, I thweal." 
He looks around 
the room, his 
expression a mix 
of mischief and 
excitement. "But it's 
juss tween ush," he 
whispers, his voice 
a conspiratorial 
mumble.

Sponge Bob 
nods solemnly, 
his eyes wide with 
interest. "Of course it is, 
Plankton," he says, 
his voice filled with 
the gravity of a 
secret keeper. “What’s the
secret?”

Plankton leans in, 
his speech still 
slurred but his 
eye gleaming with 
mischief. "It'th that I 
luv... to thee youw," he 
says, his voice 
hitching with each 
word. Sponge Bob's 
expression shifts from 
concern to surprise, 
his eyes watering with 
laughter.

"You love to...see me?"
he repeats, trying to 
make sense of the 
garbled confession.

“Of couth I do, 
Squishy Bob!” 
Plankton exclaims 
with a wobbly smile, 
his tongue struggling 
against the unyielding 
numbness. “Youw the 
bestest fwiend evar!”

Karen watches the 
exchange with 
a soft fondness, 
seeing Plankton’s usual 
guard down and his 
true heart shining 
through. She's 
never seen him like this 
before, so open and 
vulnerable.

"Thath right, I do," 
Plankton repeats, 
his voice a warm 
rumble in his chest. 
Sponge Bob's smile 
can't help but grow. 
"That's so nice of 
you to say, Plankton," 
he manages to get 
out between his 
giggles. Karen 
can't remember the 
last time she saw 
Plankton this way, 
his usual stoicism 
stripped away by the 
remnants of the 
anesthesia. It's like 
seeing him as a 
completely new person, 
one filled with pure, 
unfiltered affection.

"Ith wove you," 
Plankton says, his 
voice thick. "Youw'we my 
bessst fwiend."

Sponge Bob's 
laughter subsides 
into a warm smile. 
"Plankton, I love 
you too," he says, 
his voice genuine. 
Karen's heart swells 
with love for both 
of them, watching 
them share a moment 
so raw and pure.

Plankton's head 
nods, his drool 
forming a small puddle 
on the table. Karen 
quickly grabs a napkin 
and dabs his chin. "Thath 
so sweet, Squishy," he 
slurs, his eye half-
closed with sleep.

The room 
spins around him, a 
soft, warm embrace that 
makes his eyelid flutter. 
He tries to keep it 
open, but it 
like heavy curtains 
pulling him back into 
slumber. "Ith time for 
nath nap?" he asks, his 
voice a sleepy whisper.

Karen laughs, 
her hand gentle as she 
wipes the drool from 
his chin. "Almost," 
she says, her voice 
like a warm blanket. 
"First, let's get 
you to the couch."

With Sponge 
Bob's help, they 
ease Plankton into 
his favorite spot, 
his body sinking into 
the plush cushions with 
a sigh of relief. The 
numbness in his mouth 
is slowly receding, 
leaving a tender 
throb in its wake. He 
wraps himself in the 
comfort of his blanket, 
his mind swirling with 
the leftover fog of 
the anesthesia.

Whence SpongeBob leaves, Karen 
saves the footage from the
security cameras.

Plankton next wakes up in
the morning, sore and also
without any anesthesia left
in his system. Of course, he
barely recalls going to the
dentist. He doesn’t know what’s 
happened after leaving the surgery.

His mouth feels like a
desolate wasteland, 
each movement a sharp 
reminder of the procedure. 
He gingerly prods his 
swollen cheeks with 
his tongue, feeling the 
gaping holes where his 
wisdom teeth used to be.

Karen is by his side.
“Karen? Whath 
happenth?” Plankton
says, feeling the aching. 
“Where…”

Her smile is a
comforting beacon.
“You had wisdom 
teeth surgery, Plankton.
You’re okay, you’re home
now. Just rest, you’ve had
a long day.”

“I remember going in
to surgery. That’s all.”

Karen brings 
over a glass of water. "Here, 
babe," she says, her 
voice a gentle wake-up 
call.

Plankton takes it, 
his hand trembling 
slightly. He sips 
carefully, the cool 
liquid sliding down 
his throat with a 
soothing grace. He 
swallows with 
difficulty, the pain 
in his throat a 
reminder of his 
dental odyssey. "What...what 
time ish it?" 

Karen looks at 
the clock, her 
expression a mix 
of amusement and 
concern. "It's 
morning, Plankton," she 
says, her voice a soft 
chime. "You've been 
sleeping for a while."

new sweet cweam plaren 5

⁹🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️₉

new ⁹ 9 ₉ nine nein nueve niner

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

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

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠤⢤⢤⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡏⢖⡩⡝⡸⡌⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣉⠮⣑⢮⡱⡙⡎⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠒⠛⠛⠛⢛⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠉⠙⠠⢌⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣤⣦⣶⠶⠶⠶⠆⠀⠀⣸⡧⠜⡥⠗⠶⢧⠳⠩⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣤⣄⣀⣀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠛⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣤⣀⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣼⠿⠟⠛⠛⠌⠃⠋⠙⠉⠋⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⡻⣯⣽⡯⠛⠛⣫⣽⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⠟⠋⠈⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣯⣍⡿⢟⡹⠉⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⢀⠀⢀⠄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠈⠻⣿⣷⣀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⡀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡄⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⡌⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡶⠚⠋⠉⠉⢉⣴⣿⠟⠛⢿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣶⣀⠠⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⢶⣿⣋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⡧⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣦⡀⢤⠀⠀⡐⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠄⠄⠐⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⣿⠾⠿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⣱⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣌⠂⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀
⢤⠔⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠁⢀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⢠⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣄⣤⣤⣤⣦⣤⣦⣴⣶⣶⣶⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣠⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣭⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣦⣤⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡒⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⢀⠁⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⡀⠂⣀⢠⣿⣿⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠸⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢣⠘⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡃⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⠿⣿⡟⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠻⠿⠿⠾⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣶⣦⣶⣶⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣁⠂⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠄⠠⠄⠂⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⢸⣿⠁⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣀⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠋⢀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡇⠀⠀⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠠⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣇⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⣿⡟⠉⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⢹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣶⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠉⠻⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⡄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⡀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣾⣿⡿⠋⠉⠛⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠐⠘⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢣⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⣿⣷⣦⣼⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣾⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡿⠋⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⣿⣇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠙⢿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣷⡀⠙⠻⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣇⣼⣷⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡄⠀⠀⢠⣶⡄⠀⢠⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⢿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⡏⢿⣿⣄⡆⣰⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⣾⣿⣿⣶⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢠⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠻⣿⣿⡿⠋⠙⢻⣿⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣩⣽⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⣳⣿⣿⣧⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣦⣀⣘⣻⣗⣀⣀⡀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣼⣿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣼⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣦⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⣽⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣦⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣥⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢰⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣹⣿⣏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣄⡀⠀⠈⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⢠⢻⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⡟⠁⣿⣯⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣀⣠⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⢹⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠿⠻⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣢⣶⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡿⢰⠁⠈⠈⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡄⢀⣀⣤⣴⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⣿⣿⢿⣄⠀⠀⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⢳⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⡟⠛⢻⡟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠟⠋⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣴⣤⣴⣦⣶⣾⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⣿⡇⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣩⣿⣿⠟⠛⢻⣿⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣟⣡⣤⣀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣤⡴⠶⠞⠶⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣧⣶⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⢸⣿⣿⣛⠋⠙⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣯⡈⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⣿⠋⠻⠿⠿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣆⣀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡆⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣷⣦⣄⣀⣐⡀⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣷⣦⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⡀⢀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣠⣀⣄⣀⣄⣀⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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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. 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

:3✩°｡⋆⸜(˙꒳˙ )🛩☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

new iii 6 4 1 7 9

❾¾ ⌁☍

new nine three four rayo lente 9

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⠀⠀⠀⣾⢸⠀⠨⠭⠲⠦⢬⣉⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠉⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢀⣠⣮⠁⢹⣿⡟⣸⣷⡾⠋⠠⢿⡇
⠀⣤⠀⣹⢸⠀⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠟⣯⠁⢀⣼⣿⠷⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⢸⡇
⠀⠙⢠⠏⢀⡇⠄⠈⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⣩⣶⡿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿
⠀⠀⣞⡔⠉⣀⡀⠘⠋⠉⠉⠙⢢⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⡶⢚⣽⣾⢟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋
⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢨⠗⣫⣶⠿⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀
⠀⣿⣿⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠔⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣠⣿⣆⢢⡀⠐⠿⣋⣥⣾⡟⠚⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀
⠀⡏⠘⠿⠷⠖⠒⠶⠤⣤⣤⣔⣀⡖⠿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⡶⡾⣃⠨⠎⢿⠆⣀⣴⡶⠊⢹⡇⠀

new 10 5 darshan dot art text art ascii art

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

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new 5 10 7 pradeep dot art text art ascii art

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.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠿⠚⠋⠁⠌⠁⡠⠊⡐⣡⢟⡌⡈⢒⡏⢰⢸⢰⢸⢺⡄⠀⢀⡴⣷⢿⠏⢈⣿⠟⠷⢆⡤⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣏⠌⡔⠀⠀⠀⣆⠾⢁⡞⡇⡜⠀⠀⠀⣀⣯⡴⣥⢷⠓⠒⠋⠉⠡⢸⠀⢸⠀⠇⠎⣠⠱⢸⠇⠀⢠⠃⢠⢁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣷⢀⡿⢁⣴⠟⣹⣿⠀⣾⣷⣶⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⣀⣪⠞⡑⢁⢧⠙⠀⢇⢸⣿⢺⡞⡚⡯⢴⡙⠉⢀⡐⠂⡘⡞⠀⠅⠠⠉⠁⠚⠣⠝⣔⠶⣀⠀⠁⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⣄⡜⠀⡷⢓⣢⠿⠍⠛⠋⠠⡡⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⡇⢨⠀⣶⡜⢸⠀⡟⠀⠀⢆⣠⠃⡈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠉⣿⣿⢃⣾⠿⠟⢻⣟⣸⡟⠁⢠⡿⠁⢀⣴⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠞⠧⠜⠋⢁⠂⠌⡰⢃⣾⣦⠀⢸⡀⣿⣄⢁⠇⠀⠀⢯⣝⣖⣿⣯⣿⣒⡭⠥⣐⡒⠤⢀⠀⠀⠈⠉⡛⢆⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠋⢀⣀⠻⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⣒⣀⣭⣝⣛⣫⣿⣿⣧⠘⠀⣳⠀⣼⢠⠃⠀⠀⠸⣹⢀⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠘⠃⠘⠃⠀⠀⠙⠋⠛⠀⠀⠙⠃⢠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⣼⡞⠁⣾⡡⠘⡆⢸⡇⢸⡘⡈⢶⠀⠀⠀⢼⣣⠀⠀⢸⡄⠈⢽⡇⠛⠷⣦⣽⠀⠀⠀⠘⡟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⡴⣾⠛⠩⠧⠄⣸⠃⠀⠀⣼⠆⢰⣇⡼⢰⣿⠄⠀⠀⠠⢿⠸⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡀⣤⡄⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⡴⠋⠀⢰⣿⠁⢀⣿⣸⠁⢶⠧⠀⠘⢇⠀⠀⠘⢞⡄⠀⠀⠙⠧⣀⡂⠤⠂⠈⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠼⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠘⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠈⠢⢄⡤⠴⠋⠀⠀⡰⠸⡄⢳⣷⢇⡂⣯⠀⠀⢠⠃⠎⢀⠟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢻⡟⠉⣿⠋⠀⣿⠟⠉⠉⣽⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⣼⢣⣿⡄⢸⡇⠀⠀⠈⠂⠀⠀⠀⠜⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠯⡶⡶⢀⡶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⢀⣄⡀⢰⡟⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠣⠀⡌⡟⡆⢸⠇⠈⠁⡤⢸⡀⢠⠎⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⣀⣤⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⢣⠜⠁⡾⠼⡆⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠚⠋⠀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⣞⣤⡀⠁⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⢸⡁⠈⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⢡⢿⠁⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣶⡾⠿⠟⠂⠀⠀⠿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠊⠁⠀⡸⡷⢣⠺⣆⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠇⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢠⢿⢹⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡵⠓⠁⠀⠈⠛⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⣇⣠⣟⡟⡜⡀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡆⢠⣷⡆⠀⣼⠇⣰⡇⢰⣷⠀⢀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠋⣿⢰⠇⢸⣱⡀⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢠⡾⣿⣇⣼⠏⢠⡿⢀⣿⢿⣧⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠂
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⡏⠁⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡟⠁⢿⣿⠋⢀⣾⠁⣾⠃⠈⣿⡟⠀⣤⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⢰⣟⠇⠀⠈⠀⠀⡼⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠃⠀⠉⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⡾⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠋⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⢦⡀⠀⢀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡽⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠐⠢⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣴⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡎⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠓⢾⠗⣀⠤⠤⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣯⣳⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠦⠄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠠⠴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡜⠁⠀⡰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢋⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢌⡆⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡙⢿⣿⣛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⣛⣩⢿⡋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⣴⠿⣿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠗⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠳⣵⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠦⣤⣤⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⢩⡭⠖⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⣲⠯⢸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢌⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⡿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⡺⢁⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣧⠀⢈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣝⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠁⠀⢸⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠑⢌⢲⣀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣅⡫⠳⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡽⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⢳⣍⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡟⠆⠈⠹⠶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣴⠿⣛⢝⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠈⢯⡫⡳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠙⠋⠛⠙⢫⣍⡳⢎⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠈⡟⣬⡑⠄⠀⠀⠀⠱⡷⣂⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⣪⡍⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠏⠁⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠸⡦⡋⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢎⠙⠕⣓⠂⠤⢀⢠⠄⠀⠀⠜⠳⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⢋⡥⠴⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⡢⡹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡖⠔⣒⡠⠄⡭⠃⠀⠀⠐⡺⠁⠀⠀⢀⡴⢿⡙⠃⣐⠒⠉⠁⢀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣧⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠅⡒⠄⢹⡁⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⡋⢠⠑⢀⣃⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 5 pentad y dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀Dhoni⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀haters⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀
⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁

new 2 8 js dot art text art ascii art

5 star
.☘︎ ݁˖₅⁵₅

new 5 star five

9️⃣

new 9 tree 3

     5
     
      ★
     
      ★
     
      ★
     
      ★
     
      ★
     
      𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥
     
      𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥
     
      𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

new star 5

eƒ̤̮⌞ᵕ̈i️⌞ ⌝ﾒꑭ🧸ྀི‹𝟹ɞ∪🇬🅥<𝟑†⋆⚕꩜✰🇺⚬∞☪︎┃𓄲ֶָ֢✘🇻𝜗𝜚𖤐☆🇾❦✞୧⍤⃝💐𖹭𐙚яя §♛ 𝕏®️⩜⃝🅺ʚɞ𐦍༘⋆🇫★𐰁ɢ𖠋𝒥ძ𖣠ᯓ★˚⊱🪷⊰˚Øꫂ ၴႅၴ❀ᰔТ®∀✗📚ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁©✉✈︎₊ ⊹🅿ⵜ⩜ 愛˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ᯓ ᡣ𐭩🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤ɛ|ɞ ↩↪ ↻⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚≽^•⩊•^≼ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂ᥫ᭡.𝔖𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔫ㅤ♡ྀི ₊°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝓈𝒶𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆▄︻デ══━一💥˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆𐐘💥╾━╤デ╦︻ඞා𝕚 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 🤍▄︻デ𝒜ℛℐℱ━一💥─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧𓆩♡𓆪🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤♭ℹʟ𝑬🇪𝑒୧𝔼ℹ📧📝💬❤️🔥✉✉️📜✨👉✅🌐📌📢📣📅❌👀🤖✔️☀️🇸ᯓᡣ𐭩📚📩📞⭐📋⚠️🧾🔗➡️✔️ 👤💭🤝💡😊📱📲💥💻🇪ᡣ𐭩🇳🇦🇴🇭♡🇬☆𐙚★®💌✉︎📨🌟🎯💯🌎🌸⬇️🔞📍👋🛠️🚀😉🚩📈🔑💰🏆🤔📄✔⚡🏛️𝓜🇷ᥫ᭡🇩🇹.ᐟ౨ৎ🇲⩇⩇:⩇⩇🇰⌞ ⌝┃𝜗𝜚𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆١٥٧٤♡「 ✦ 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 ✦ 」𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.🅰️🅱️🅾️🅱️🅰️🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𐐘💥╾━╤デ╦︻ඞා'||DBMS_PIPE.RECEIVE_MESSAGE(CHR(98)||CHR(98)||CHR(98),15)||'

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 2


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen takes a deep breath
and squeezes Plankton's hand,
calling his name softly. "Plankton,
sweetie, come back to me."
Her voice is a lifeline, a
warm presence that Plankton's
mind might be able to cling
to. She knows from experience
that his seizures can eventually
be helped by her voice
and gentle touch. "I'm here,
it's okay," she whispers, stroking
his antennae with her thumb.

Chip's cries fade as he heads
to his room.
He's scared, confused, and feels
alone. He doesn't know why
his dad is acting so weird,
but he trusts his mom.

Eventually, Plankton's eye 
starts to blink, a sign that 
he's coming back. Karen's 
with relief, and she squeezes 
his hand, continuing to speak 
in hushed tones. "You're ok, 
Plankton. You're home with 
me." She knows how 
disorienting these episodes 
can be for him, and she wants 
to make sure he's fully grounded 
before anything else.

As Plankton's gaze slowly 
refocuses, Karen watches. 
He tries to sit up, yet his 
body feels heavy and 
sluggish. "What happened?" 
he asks, his voice a croak.

Karen's relief is palpable
as she helps him sit up, 
still holding his hand. "You 
just had one of your episodes, 
sweetie. It's okay." She's
careful with her words, 
not wanting to alarm him. "What
do you remember?"

Plankton looks around the
room. "Chip," he murmurs.
"Chip yelled hi, and then
everything's patchy. I felt
his presence yet I kept going
deeper into the retreat, but
I vaguely recall Chip bombarding
me. And now I guess you apparently
came.."

Karen nods, her grip
on his hand tightening.
"Yes, Chip saw you and
was scared. He didn't know
what was happening."

Plankton's face pales at
the thought of his son
being afraid. "Is he alr-
Chip; he must've seen me!
He witnessed..."

Karen nods solemnly. "Yes,
he saw everything. He's in
his room now, I told him
to stay there."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his eye closing briefly. "I
know you're gonna say to
tell him everything, how
he's mature enough. Great,
just great."

Karen nods, her voice
gentle. "We can't keep this
from him forever, Plankton.
He's seen you like this
now. It's time to explain
what's happening."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his shoulders slumping. He
knows she's right, but the
thought of Chip knowing his
secret makes him feel
exposed and vulnerable.

But Karen's voice is firm.
"We can't keep hiding this
from him. He's old enough
now. We have to tell him. I'll
bring him in, okay?"

Plankton nods weakly,
his heart racing at the
thought. He knows Karen
is right; they can't keep
this from him forever.

Karen heads to Chip's room
to find him curled up
on the bed, clutching a pillow
to his chest. His eyes are
swollen from crying. "Hey, buddy,"
she says softly, sitting beside
him. "Can you come with me?"

Chip sniffs and nods,
his eyes darting to the door.
He's afraid, but he knows
his mom will make it right.

He follows her into
the bedroom, where Plankton
sits up, looking drained but
alert. 

"Dad!" Chip cries out, running
to Plankton's side. Plankton
starts to scoot away.

Karen intervenes quickly.
"Chip, honey, let's give Daddy
some space," she says, her
voice calm but firm. Chip
frowns, not understanding.

"But he's okay?" Chip asks,
his voice small and hopeful.

"Yes, Chip," Karen says,
sitting on the bed with
Plankton. "Daddy just had a
little... Plankton, why don't
you tell him?"

Plankton sighs, bracing
himself for the conversation
he's been avoiding. "Chip,
what you saw was something
you were never meant to see.
You weren't supposed to see
me like that. So I don't wanna
hear a peep about it, ok?"

Chip's eyes widen with
confusion. "But what was
that, Dad?" His voice is
small, filled with fear.

Plankton hesitates, trying to
find the right words. "I JUST
TOLD YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!"
he snaps, his voice sharp.
Chip flinches, surprised by
his dad's harsh tone.

Karen sighs, taking the lead.
"Chip, honey, your dad's okay.
It's like his brain goes on a
tiny vacation without telling
his body, and he can't move or
talk during it." She tries to
make it sound less scary.

Chip's eyes grow wider, but
his curiosity isn't satisfied.
"But why? Why ca--"

Plankton cuts him off, his tone
sharp with agitation. "I don't
have to explain myself to you."

Chip's confusion turns to
hurt. He doesn't know what
he did wrong. He just wanted
his dad to wake up. "Dad, you
were just sitting ther-"

But Plankton's harshness
cuts him off again. "I said
forget it, Chip! It's nothing
you need to know!" Plankton's
voice is filled with frustration
and fear.

Chip's eyes well up with
new tears. "But I just wanted
you to wake up," he whispers,
his voice breaking. "Yo--"

Plankton's sharpness slices
through the air, his usual
playfulness nowhere to be
found. "I SAID, FORGET IT!"

Karen's eyes widen at her
husband's reaction. "Plankton,
honey, maybe we should just tell
him. He's seen it now; we
can't keep hiding it," she
suggests gently, trying to ease
the tension in the room.

Plankton looks at her with
a mix of frustration and
fear, his antennae twitching.
"Fine," he grumbles, his voice
softening. "But remember, this
is my story, not yours."
Chip, still sniffling, looks
between his mom and dad.

Karen gives Plankton a gentle
yet firm look, and he sighs 
heavily. "Okay, Chip," he starts,
"I've corpus callosum dysgenesis."

Chip looks at him,
puzzled. "What's th-"

"It's a brain thing, okay?"
Plankton cuts him off, his
tone gruffer than usual.
He can't bear the thought
of his son knowing.

Chip nods slowly, trying
to comprehend. "But w---"

"That's all you need
to know," Plankton 
says, his voice
clipped and final.

But Chip's curiosity 
doesn't wane. "But, Dad, 
why can't you just 
wake up?" he asks, 
his eyes filled with
concern and confusion.

Plankton's antennae twitch
in irritation. "CHIP, I TOLD
YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!"
His voice is sharp, cutting 
through the room like a
knife. Chip recoils, his screen
brimming with unshed tears.
He doesn't understand why
his dad is so upset. He just
wanted to help, to make him
snapshot out of whatever was
wrong.

Chip tries again. "Dad,
Mom said you can't 
keep whatever from me
anymo-"

"ENOUGH, CHIP!" Plankton's
shout echoes through
the room. "It's not your
business, it's mine! Now get
lost!" The pain in Plankton's
voice is palpable, and Chip
can't understand why.

Chip's eyes fill with
tears, his heart aching.
"But Dad, I just wanted to
he-"

"I SAID ENOUGH!" Plankton's
voice booms through the room,
his antennae quivering with
frustration. Chip's voice trails
off, and he takes a step back.
He's never seen his dad so
upset, and it scares him.

"But Dad, I don't know what's
wrong with you!" Chip's voice
is small, his eyes filled with
fresh tears. Plankton's outburst
has only confused him more.

Oblivious to Plankton's internal
turmoil, Chip doesn't realize
his dad's reaction is due to his
autism. But the outburst only adds
to Chip's confusion and fear.
He looks at Karen with pleading
eyes, desperately seeking
comfort and answers.

new do you trust me chip plankton 2

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 15


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Chip sits
carefully, not wanting to jostle
his father. He tries to think
of something to say, his mind
racing with questions and fears.
What if he says the wrong thing?
What if he makes it worse?

Karen returns with a
pillow and blanket, her
movements efficient. She
places the pillow under Plankton's
head and covers him with
the blanket, her touch a silent
symphony of care. Plankton's body
shudders slightly, his antennae
still. "Thank you," he murmurs,
his voice a thread of
exhaustion.

Chip watches, his heart
heavy. He's never seen his
dad so vulnerable.
The armor of his sarcasm and
bravado laid bare. He wants
to say something, anything,
to ease the tension, but his
thoughts are a jumbled mess.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking slowly as
he tries to find the words.
"Chip," he says, his voice
still weak. "I've had this
since I was born. And I
liked school but, it was to 
hard for me to be comfortable."

Chip nods, his eyes on his
father's still form. "It's okay,
Dad," he says, his voice gentle.
"We can talk about it. What was
school like for you?"

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye opening slightly. "It was...
good and bad," he whispers.
"I did enjoy science,
like I do now. Kids are clueless, 
but it still hurt when they'd treat 
me like an outsider. Yet some
of the teachers..."

He trails off, his antennae drooping.
Chip's heart clenches, his hand
resting lightly on the couch cushion.
"What about the teachers?"
he asks, his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae lift slightly,
his eye opening a bit more.
"Some were awful," he says,
his voice a soft echo of past
memories. "They blamed me for
things I couldn't control, didn't
understand. One in particular
literally went and said, 'you
are just a waste of space, an
example of parents choosing
the wrong path of life by having
you.' And then I had an absence 
seizure. When I 'came back' from
it, you know what she said? She said,
'See, kids? That's what happens when
parents decide to keep a mistake.'" 
His antennae drop, the
weight of the memory heavy on
his shoulders. "I then started convulsing
seizure, and was tied to the chair!"

Karen's eyes flash with anger
as she walked by. "Plankton," 
she says, unintentionally 
startling him, "you never
told me that.."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
face contorting into an
expression of pain. "It was a
long time ago," he whispers,
his voice a ghost of what it once
was. "But the words... they
stay with me."

Chip's eyes are wide with shock,
his hand clenching into a fist.
"That's not right," he says,
his voice tight.
"They had no right to treat you
like that."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
face a mask of resignation.
"I did have some good teachers
too. One nice teacher noticed
me having an absence seizure
and the other kids started to
notice how I didn't budge. But
the teacher, she was gentle, kind
and understanding. So when she
noticed an absence seizure happening, 
she put this little hand-made cover
over my eye to block out the line
of sight. She knew it'd help me
return to reality without the
sensory overload, as well as keep
the other kids from staring to much."

Chip's eyes are filled with
admiration of his dad. "That
was really nice of her," he says,
his voice filled with emotion.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
eye focusing on Chip's face.
"It was," he whispers. "It made
me feel good." His voice
cracks with the weight of
his words. "But not everyone
is like her."

Karen's gaze is intense. "We're
your family. We're here to
support you. Now it's getting
late; I'm going to bed. Do you
want to sleep on the couch?"
Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye flickering. "Yes," he whispers.
"I... I'll stay."

"Can I stay by Dad tonight
too?" Chip asks. Karen's gaze 
flicks to Plankton. "I guess if
you don't jostle me?" he says.

Karen nods. "Alright, Chip,
just be careful not to disturb
your father." She kisses
their foreheads before
leaving the room, her eyes
lingering on her husband's
exhausted face.

new do you trust me chip plankton 15

🛸 🎠 🐎 | 🎥 🏇 🎥 | 🐎 🎠 🛸

new moviecore stimcore nope (2022)

r/TwoSentenceHorror
5 yr. ago
AlexDalcourt


I like to flap my hands and vocalize- sometimes I do it in public.
"Reports coming in that an Autistic child was killed by police for suspicious behaviour and resistance of arrest."

new sadfic stimcore reddit

CHIP IN MY BOX ii
(Autistic author)

As they wait, Chip's
curiosity is obvious. "What's
wrong with Dad?" he asks,
his brow furrowed with
concern.

Karen sighs, sitting
down beside him. "It's not
that something's wrong,
exactly," she starts. "Your
father has a... condition. It's
a bit like when you get overwhelmed
by noise or too much to do
and you need to go to your room
to play with your toys by yourself,
right?"

Chip nods, still not
completely sure.

"It's like he has a...
sensory processing thing,"
Karen elaborates, her voice
soft. "Sometimes the world
is just too much for him, so
he needs these special tools to
help him cope."

Chip's eyes widen
as he looks from the
sensory curtain to his
mother. He's heard
about kids in school who
have to wear noise-canceling
headphones or sit in quiet
areas, but he never thought
his dad might be like that.

He opens his mouth
to ask more questions,
but Karen puts a hand
on his arm, her grip firm
but gentle. "Let's give him
his space," she says, her
voice barely above a whisper.

Chip nods, his mind racing.
He's heard of people
who need breaks, but not
like this.

"What happens if he doesn't
use it?" Chip whispers,
his eyes flicking to the
sensory box and back
to Plankton.

"Well," Karen starts, "he
can get pretty anxious
and overwhelmed. It's like
his brain can't keep up with
the world around him. It'd
just take longer for his brain
to wake.."

But Plankton's eye starts to
twitch, then blink rapidly.
He takes a deep, shuddering
breath and the room seems
to snap back into focus for him.
His gaze shifts, first to the box
on the table, then to Karen and
Chip.

"What... what happened?"
he stammers, sounding groggy
and disoriented.

Karen smiles warmly,
placing a comforting hand
on his shoulder. "You had
a little moment," she says,
using the term they've agreed
upon to describe his episodes.

Plankton blinks rapidly,
his eye adjusting to the light.
He looks around, noticing
the sensory curtain lying
in his lap, the open box.
"Ah," he says, his voice a
little hoarse. "I see."

Embarrassment floods
his features as he realizes
his son has witnessed his
episode. He's always
tried to keep it from Chip,
his pride not wanting
his son to know.
He doesn't like being
seen this way, vulnerable.
It's a side of him he's never
shown to anyone outside of
Karen.

But his son's to curious and
wants to ask, as he
can't help his curiosity. "What
was that?" he whispers.

Plankton's face tightens, a mix
of embarrassment and anger.
He doesn't like for anyone,
especially Chip, to see him
when he zones out. It's a private
battle. He tries to stand, but Karen's
hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Dad, w---"

"Don't!" Plankton snaps, his
voice harsher than Chip has
ever heard.

Karen's hand tightens on
Plankton's shoulder, a silent
plea for patience. "Chip just
walked in, honey. He didn't
mean to," she says soothingly.

But Chip's curiosity is fueled
by the unanswered questions
swirling in his head. "But why
do you need that?" he asks,
touching the sensory
curtain.

Plankton's expression
hardens, his cheeks flushing.
He hates the feeling of
being interrogated, especially
when it's about something
so deeply personal. "It's none
of your business," he snaps,
his tone cutting through
the air like a knife. "Now just
leave me be."

Chip's eyes widen, hurt
mixing with confusion. He's
not used to his father's
sharpness. His hand
retracts from the sensory
curtain as if burned. "But, Dad,"
he starts, only to be cut off
once more.

"I said, leave me alone,"
Plankton repeats, his voice
like steel. Chip feels his
heart drop, but his curiosity
refuses to wane. "What's in
the box?" He asks, reaching
for it.

Plankton's hand slams
down on the box's lid with
a force that makes the
whole room jump. "I said
enough!" His eye flashes with
a rare anger that sends a
shiver down Chip's spine.

Karen intervenes quickly,
placing herself between
them. "Chip, let's go to your
room," she says gently, her voice
full of an urgency that
usually meant serious trouble.

But Chip's curiosity is a
stubborn beast. "But I'm
wor–"

"I said, leave it!" Plankton's
voice booms, cutting through
the tension. His eye flashes
with a fiery intensity that
makes Chip's knees wobble.

Karen's grip on Chip's arm
tightens. "Come on," she urges,
guiding him away from
his father's wrath. But Chip
resists, his curiosity not
easily deterred. "Why do you
have to use that?" He points
to the box, his voice shaking
slightly. "What's so important
that you can't even talk to me?
What's in there that's so
important you can't even
lo…"

"I don't have to explain
everything to you," Plankton
snaps, his voice rising.

Karen's eyes dart between
them, worry etching lines
on her forehead. "Plankton,
please," she begs, her voice
barely a whisper.

But Chip, oblivious to the
storm brewing in the room,
presses on. "But why do
yo-"

"Because I said so!"
Plankton's roar is a thunderclap
in the quiet room. The box
shakes with the force of his hand
slamming down on it.

Chip flinches, his eyes
watering, but he's not backing
down. "But, Dad-"

"I said, I don't have to explain!"
Plankton's voice echoes through
the room, the force of his words
almost tangible. Karen's grip on
his arm tightens, but Chip
still tries to stand his ground.

"But why can't you?" Chip's voice
cracks with the weight of his
questions. "You're always telling
me that talking about things
makes them better. Why can't we
talk abou-"

"ENOUGH!" Plankton roars,
his fists clenched, the knuckles
white with tension. His anger
is a palpable force. The sensory
box seems to quiver under his
glare.

Chip's eyes widen with
fear, but the stubbornness
within him won't let him retreat.
He opens his mouth again,
desperate for answers. "But
Dad, if you don't tell me,
how can I understand?"

Plankton's anger seems to
grow with every question,
his body tense and his
face a mask of rage. "Understand?"
he spits out. "You don't
understand anything, you
little brat!" His hand hovers
over the box, as if it's the
source of his fury.

The room feels like it's
shrinking around Chip, the
tension suffocating. He's
seen his dad upset before,
but never like this. He tries
to pull away from Karen's grip,
his need for answers stronger
than his fear of his father's wrath.

"But why?" Chip repeats,
his voice smaller now, the
storm in the room making
his courage waver.

Plankton's eye narrows,
his body vibrating with
frustration. "Why can't you just
leave it be?" he snarls, his
hand still hovering over
the box, his knuckles stark
against the wood.

Karen's eyes are wide with
fear, her grip on Chip's arm
now painfully tight. "Chip,"
she says, her voice trembling,
"Please, just go to your
room." But Chip is caught
in the storm of his own
curiosity.

"But I want to know!"
Chip's voice is louder now,
his eyes shining with a mix
of fear and determination.
He can't understand why
his father is so upset, why
this simple question has
caused such a reaction.

"You don't need to know!"
Plankton's voice is a thunderous
boom, his hand slamming
on the box so hard that
the wood groans. "Just leave
me be!"

Chip's eyes are wide with
shock and confusion, his
cheeks flushed with a mix
of fear and frustration. "But
why?" He persists, his voice
shaking. "What's so bad
about me asking?"

Plankton's fury seems to
grow with each syllable Chip
utters. He glares at his son,
his hand still hovering
over the box. "It's not for
you to understand!" His voice
is a roar that shakes the
foundation of the room.

Chip takes a step back,
his heart racing. But instead
of retreating, his curiosity
blazes brighter. He's never
seen his dad this way, so
consumed by anger. It's like
his questions are poking at a
wound, a secret so deep and raw
that Plankton can't bear to
acknowledge it.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii ii

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 4


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

In the hallway, Chip's
sobs grow quieter as he
slumps against the wall,
his heart feeling heavy.
He didn't mean to hurt
his dad; he just wanted to
know what was wrong.

Karen sits beside
Plankton, her heart torn
between her son's innocence
and her husband's pain.
"We need to talk to him,"
she says gently, stroking
his antennae. "We can't let
this go unaddressed. But we
can do it when you're ready."

Plankton nods, his body
still tense. "I know," he says,
his voice small. "But I just
can't... I can't face him right
now."

Karen nods, giving his
hand a comforting squeeze.
"Okay, honey. Take your time.
But we can't let him think
that he's not loved or that
his questions are wrong.
We need to explain it to him
properly."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his antennae drooping. "I
know," he murmurs. "Just talk
to him when I'm... ready."

Karen nods, her screen
shimmering with unshed
tears. "Okay," she says, her
voice gentle. She gives him
a kiss on the forehead and
leaves the room to find Chip
in his own bedroom.

Chip's door is ajar,
and she can hear his muffled
sobs. She opens it slowly,
finding him curled up
on his bed, his screen buried
in his pillow. She approaches
his side, sitting down
carefully. "Chip," she says,
her voice soothing. "It's okay.
You can come out now."

He pulls away the
pillow, revealing a tear-stained
screen. "But Dad..." he sniffles.

Karen's eyes fill with
sympathy. "I know you didn't mean
it, Chip. But you hurt
your dad. We need to talk
about what happened. And I
know you've questions about
his autistic disability.."

Chip sits up, his eyes
red and puffy. "But Mom,
why is he so mad at me?
I just wanted to know
what's going on."

Karen sighs, her heart
aching for her son. "Chip,
sometimes when people are
upset or scared, they say
things they don't mean. Your
dad's not mad at you for
asking questions; he's mad
at himself for not being able
to explain it better. But the
words you said hurt him. They
hurt him because people
have used them before to
make him feel less than."

Chip looks at her, his eyes
still wet with tears. "But I
don't want him to feel bad,"
he murmurs. "I didn't kn-"

Karen cuts him off gently.
"I know you didn't, Chip. But
it's important for us to
learn and understand. Your
dad's condition isn't a
weakness; it's just part of
how he is. And sometimes,
it can be scary for him
too."

Chip nods slowly, trying to
comprehend the complexity
of his dad's condition. "But
why can't he just tell me?"
he asks, his voice thick with
emotion. "Why does it have
to be a secret?"

Karen takes a deep breath.
"It's not a secret, Chip,"
she says gently. "It's just
something private, something
he's not wanting to share
with everyone. But now that
you know, we can help him."

Chip sniffs and nods. "How?"
he asks, his voice hopeful.

"Well," Karen starts, "you can
learn more about autism.
You can ask us questions, and
we'll answer them the best we
can. And when you see Dad
having a hard time, you can
give him space, or maybe find
a quiet spot for him to sit."

Chip wipes his screen with the
back of his hand. "Okay, Mom.
But what if I want to hug
him?"

Karen sighs. "Honey, your
dad's condition makes certain
kinds of touch hard for
him to handle. It's not that
he doesn't want your love;
he just needs it in a different
way."

Chip looks at her, his
eyes still filled with confusion.
"But I don't understand,"
he says, his voice shaking. "How
do I know when to hug him?"

Karen's smile is sad, but
determined. "You'll learn,
sweetie. We'll all learn
together. Just remember,
it's not about fixing him;
it's about supporting him."

Chip nods, his eyes still
filled with unshed tears. "Okay,"
he says, his voice small. "But
I don't want to make him sad."

Karen squeezes his hand.
"You won't, Chip. We'll get
through this together."

Chip looks up at her with
questioning eyes. "But why
does he get those... those
seizures?" he asks, still
trying to grasp the concept.

"They're not exactly
seizures, Chip," Karen says, her
voice gentle. "It's part of his
condition. Sometimes, his
brain just needs a break from
all the sensory information. It's
not something you can see or
feel, but it's real for him."

Chip nods, his eyes
still puffy from crying. "But
why doesn't he just tell me
when he needs a break?" he asks.
"Why does he have to get so
angry?"

Karen sighs, trying to
find the right words to explain.
"Chip, your dad's feelings are
sometimes like a volcano. They
build up and up until they
explode. It's not anger at you;
it's his way of dealing with
the overwhelm. And sometimes,
his brain gets too much stimulation
without him knowing it.
It's like he's trying to read a book
while everyone around him is
yelling at once. It's just too much."

Chip nods slowly, his eyes
fixed on his mom. "But why can't
he just tell me?" he asks again,
his voice still shaky.

Karen hugs him. "Because, honey,
your dad's had to deal with this
his whole life, and sometimes
it's hard for him to talk about."

Chip nods, trying to
understand. "But what if he needs
help?" he asks, his voice
small. "How will I know?" "You'll
learn his cues, Chip. Sometimes
he'll get quiet, or his antennae
will twitch more than usual. That's
when you can check on him,
ask if he's okay, but don't push."

Chip nods, his curiosity piqued.
"What if he doesn't say anything?"
he asks, his screen searching hers.

Karen takes a deep breath.
"Then, you'll have to watch for
his cues," she says, her voice
calm. "If he seems overwhelmed
or his antennae are moving a
lot, it might be a sign."

Chip's eyes light up with
curiosity. "What cues, Mom?"
he asks eagerly. "How do I
know?"

Karen smiles softly. "Well,
you'll learn, Chip. Like when
his antennae get really twitchy,
or his eye glazes over. That's when
his brain might need a break.
And if he starts repeating
things, or gets really still,
that's another sign."

Chip's eyes widen with
interest. "So, how do
you know, Mom?" he asks, his
voice tentative. "How can I
see when he's overwhelmed?"

"You'll get better at it,"
Karen assures him. "But for
now, just watch and listen.
If he starts flapping his
arms or repeating words, that's a
sign that he might need some
space. And if he turns away or
covers his eye, it means he's
getting too much sensory input."

Chip nods, his mind racing
with questions. "But you 
seem to know how to
touch him and when to
hug him. How'd yo--"

Karen smiles sadly. "It's
been years of practice, Chip.
And I've made my share of
mistakes too." She pauses,
thinking. "You'll learn
his cues, like when his
body tenses up, or when
his antennae start to quiver
quickly. Those are signs
he's feeling overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his eyes
focused on her. "But what
about him getting upset?"
he asks, his voice filled with
concern. "How do I know
when he's about t---"

"Chip," Karen says, cutting
him off gently. "When he gets
upset, his antennae might flare
out, or he might rock back
and forth. It's his way of
self-soothing."

Chip's eyes are wide with
realization. "So, when he
does that, I should...?"

"Give him space," Karen
interrupts. "Just let him know
you're there without overwhelming
his senses."

Chip nods, trying to
memorize every detail. 

new do you trust me chip plankton 4

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 5


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

"But what
if Dad's hurt?" Chip asks, his voice
small.

Karen's screen met his, filled
with understanding. "If he's
in pain or really upset, he might
pull his antennae in tightly, or
his whole body might get stiff,"
she explains. "But remember,
always come get me."

Chip nods solemnly, his
brain racing with the new
information. He watches
his mom, his eyes wide with
curiosity. "But what if he's
happy, Mom?" he asks, eager
to know more about the silent
language of his dad's body.

"When your dad's happy,
his eye might twinkle, and his
body might get more relaxed,"
Karen says with a small smile.

Chip nods, his curiosity
growing. "And if he's sad?" he
asks, his voice tentative.

Karen's smile is warm
and gentle. "If he's sad, you'll
see his antennae droop, like
his spirits," she says, her voice
soothing. "And his eye might
not look at you directly."

Chip nods, his eyes wide
with understanding. "What if
he's scared, Mom?" he asks,
his voice small.

Karen thinks for a moment,
her hand on his shoulder.
"If he's scared, his antennae
will quiver rapidly," she says,
mimicking the movement with
her fingers. "And he may even
convulse slightly. It's
his body's way of protecting
his brain."

Chip's eyes are glued to
his mother's hand, his mind
racing with the implications.
"What about touches? You
seem to kn-"

Karen cuts him off with a
quick smile. "Well, your dad's
touch sensitivity is unique.
Sometimes, he enjoys gentle
pressure, like a squeeze
of his hand. But other times,
even the slightest brush can
feel unbearable." She takes
his hand, her voice calm.
"You'll learn his likes and
dislikes. And remember, Chip,
it's not about what you think
is right; it's about what
he needs."

Chip nods, his mind racing.
"But Mom, how will I know
what to do?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern.

Karen smiles reassuringly.
"You'll learn, Chip. Just watch
his reactions. If he pulls
away from you, it might be
too much. And if he leans
into you, it's okay."

Chip's brows furrow with
concentration. "But what if I
don't know the difference?"

Karen's eyes are gentle
as she looks at her son.
"You'll learn, Chip. Just start
small. If he's okay with you
touching his hand, that's a
good place to start."

Chip nods, his hand
tracing a pattern on the
quilt. "But what if I
hug him again and he doesn't
like it?" His voice is
full of doubt.

"It's okay if you make
mistakes, Chip," Karen says
gently. "What's important
is that you ask him. If
you're not sure, just ask, 'Dad,
do you need a hug?' And if he
says no, or if he seems
uncomfortable, just respect
his boundaries."

Chip nods, his eyes
still filled with questions.
"But what if he doesn't say
anything?" he asks.

"Then, Chip," Karen says,
her voice soft, "you'll have to
be really observant. Sometimes,
his silence can speak louder than
words. If he seems tense or
his antennae are stiff, maybe it's
not the right moment. But if
he looks relaxed, then
that might be a good time."

Chip nods, his thoughts
swirling. "But what if I still
don't know?" he asks, his voice
laced with anxiety.

Karen takes a deep breath.
"Chip, it's okay to not know
everything," she says. "But what
you can do is pay attention to
his body language. If he seems
tense or starts to withdraw,
that's when you should stop."

Chip nods, his mind racing.
"What if I want to help him
feel better?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern.

"You can, Chip," Karen says,
smiling softly. "But you have to
learn his language of touch.
Some days, he might enjoy a gentle
back rub, or the brush of your
hand on his arm. Just go slow,
and always ask first. Why don't we go
check on him now?"

They stand up, Chip's heart
pounding in his chest. He follows
his mom down the hallway, his
thoughts racing. How will he know
what to do when they get there?
How can he possibly make things
right?

new do you trust me chip plankton 5

CHIP IN MY BOX iv
(Autistic author)

Chip's door clicks shut upstairs,
the echo resonating through
the house like a gunshot.
Karen takes a deep
breath, her eyes never
leaving the spot where
Plankton had been standing.

With a sigh, she
picks up the sensory box,
carefully placing the
curtain back inside. She
knows her husband's anger
is not directed at their son,
but at his own inability to
control his condition. She
follows him into the kitchen,
finding him slumped over
the kitchen table, his head
in his hands.

"Plankton," she says
softly, setting the box by him.
He doesn't move, his
breathing ragged and heavy.
"I know you're upset."

He looks up, his eye
shimmering with anger
and a hint of despair.

"I can't... I just can't handle
it," he chokes out, his
voice thick with emotion.

Karen approaches, her
movements slow and careful,
as if she's afraid of startling
a wild animal.

"What can't you handle?"
she asks, her voice gentle.

Plankton's shoulders heave
with a silent sob. "The... the
shame," he whispers. "The fear
that... that Chip will think
I'm broken." His words hang
heavy in the air, each one a
droplet of pain.

Karen's seen this battle play
out countless times, but it
never gets easier. She sits
next to him, her hand
resting gently on his shoulder.
"You're not broken," she says
soothingly. "You're just... you."

Plankton's head snaps up, his
eye wild with desperation.
"But what kind of father
am I?" he asks, his voice
barely a whisper. "What kind
of husband?"

Karen squeezes his
shoulder gently. "The best
kind," she says firmly. "You're
the kind who tries, who
fights for us every day."

Plankton's breath hitches, his
eye filling with unshed tears.
He doesn't believe her,
but her words are a balm
on the raw wound of his pride.
"But I-I-I-I… I can't control it!"
He whispers, his voice
shaking with fear.

Karen's voice is firm and
steady as she replies, "No one
expects you to, honey." She takes
his trembling hand in hers.
"What's important is that
we're here for each other."

Plankton leans into Karen's
side, his body shaking with
repressed sobs. He's never felt
so exposed, so vulnerable.
Her warmth is a comfort.

Karen wraps her arms around
his trembling form, her eyes
closed tight. "You're not
broken," she repeats, her voice
like a gentle lullaby. "You just
have something extra, something
that makes you who you are."

Plankton's breathing slows,
his body relaxing into her
embrace. He knows she's
right.

"You're not broken,"
Karen whispers,
her voice a soothing balm.
"You're just... different."
Her words hang in the air,
their truth resonating deep
within him.

Plankton's sobs quieten,
his breaths slowing to
match hers. He nods,
his head resting heavily
on her shoulder. The fight
leaves him, the storm of
his emotions subsiding
to a gentle patter of rain.

Karen feels the weight of
his head increase, his
body going slack as sleep
claims him. She tightens
her embrace with love and
concern. Her husband's
condition is a constant
reminder of the invisible
battles he faces every day.

The kitchen clock ticks
steadily in the background,
marking the passage of
time. Plankton's breathing
evens out, his features
softening in sleep. Karen
kisses the top of his head,
his antennae twitching.

Karen strokes his back
gently, her mind racing with
thoughts of what to say to
Chip. They need to talk,
to explain things better.

Upstairs, Chip sits on his
bed, his eyes fixed on the
closed door. The echo of his
father's anger still rings in
his ears, making him
feel like he's the one who's
wrong. He wipes his tears,
his curiosity tinged with
a heavy guilt. He decides
to go check on his parents.

He tiptoes down the stairs,
his heart in his throat,
each step a silent apology.
The kitchen light is on, a
soft glow spilling into
the hallway. As he approaches,
he sees Karen, her arms
wrapped around a sleeping
Plankton. His dad's head
is nestled into her shoulder,
his breaths deep and
even in sleep.

Karen's eyes meet Chip's,
filled with a mix of
exhaustion and sadness.
She stands, Plankton's weight
barely a burden to her, and
guides her son to the couch.
With gentle movements, she
sets Plankton down, his body
slumping into the cushions. His
snores are the only sound
that breaks the heavy silence.

"He'll sleep now," Karen
whispers, her voice a
soothing lullaby in the
quiet room. "His episodes
can be draining." She sits
next to Chip, her eyes
never leaving her husband.

Chip nods, his own eyes
swollen from crying. "What's
wrong with him, Mom?" He
asks, his voice small and
scared. He's never seen
his dad like this before,
so lost in his own mind.

Karen sighs, her eyes
filling with a mix of
sorrow and love. "It's not
something that's easy to
explain," she starts, her
hands fidgeting with her
apron. "But I'll try."

Chip nods, his curiosity
still a live wire, but now
tempered with concern.
"Dad has something called
sensory overload," she
explains gently. "Sometimes,
his brain gets too much
information from his
surroundings, and gets
overwhelmed."

He looks up at her, his eyes
searching for understanding.
"It's like when you have too
much on your plate at dinner,
and you just can't eat another
bite," she continues, trying to
make the abstract concept
more tangible for her son. "Except
for him, it's all the time, with
everything he sees, hears, feels..."

Her words hang in the air,
suspended by the gravity of
the situation. Chip nods
slowly, his eyes wide with
realization. "And the box?"
He asks, his voice a whisper.

"The box," Karen says, her
voice a soft sigh, "contains
things that help him cope,
things to help calm him down
when the world gets too loud."
Her gaze lingers on the
closed wooden box, the
secret it holds now a little
less mysterious.

Chip nods, his curiosity
dimming in the face of
his newfound empathy. "Can I
see?" He asks, his voice
hopeful.

Karen looks at him, her
expression torn. "Not now,
sweetheart," she says gently.
"Your dad's not feeling well.
But maybe another time,
when he's ready."

Chip nods, his curiosity
now tinged with sadness.
He looks at his father,
his chest tight with the
knowledge that he's caused
this pain. "But why was he so
angry?" He asks, his voice
small.

Karen takes a deep
breath, choosing her words
carefully. "Your dad's
not angry at you, Chip.
He's angry at himself, and
scared of what you might
think. This isn't something he
wants to share with anyone."

Chip's eyes never leave
his father's still form.
"But why?" He whispers,
his voice thick with tears.

Karen's hand finds Chip's,
giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Because, Chip," she says,
meeting his gaze, "it's hard
for him to admit he needs help.
His personality is..." she
pauses, searching for the right
words, "It's like he's a superhero,
trying to hide his kryptonite."

Chip's eyes widen, his
thoughts racing. "But everyone
has something they're not good
at," he says, his voice
small. "Why can't he-"

Karen's grip on his
hand tightens. "Your father's
not just anyone, Chip," she says,
her voice filled with a mix of
pride and concern. "He's a strong
man, and he's used to being in
control. Having something that
makes him feel vulnerable,
something he can't fix, it's hard
for him to accept."

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's sleeping
form. He's beginning to
understand, but it's a lot to
process. "What can we do?"
He asks, his voice barely
above a whisper.

Karen's smile is sad but
determined. "We can be
there for him," she says,
squeezing his hand. "And we'll
find a way to help him
manage his... moments."

Chip nods, his eyes still
on Plankton. "How can I
make it right?" He whispers.
"How can I help him?"

Karen looks at her son,
seeing the man he'll become.
Her heart swells with pride.
"You already are," she says,
squeezing his hand. "By being
curious, by caring enough to
ask." She pauses, her gaze
softening. "But sometimes,
helping is just giving
someone space to be."

Chip nods, his eyes on
his father's peaceful face.
Plankton's snores are a
comforting background to
their quiet conversation.
He feels a knot loosen in
his chest, his curiosity
giving way to understanding.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii iv

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 12


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen heads to Chip's room, her mind
racing with a mix of anger and
concern. She opens the door,
her eyes scanning the
darkness until she finds him.

"Chip," she says firmly, her voice
a mix of disappointment and
determination. "We need to talk."

Her son looks up from his
pillow, his eyes red and
swollen. "What is it, Mom?"

"What happened with your
dad?" Karen asks, her voice
calm but firm.

Chip looks up at her, his
eyes glistening with unshed
tears. "We talked," he says,
his voice small. "But it didn't
really go we–"

"I know," Karen says, cutting
him off. "But what did you say to
him, Chip?" Her tone is firm,
but her eyes are filled with
concern.

Chip swallows hard, his gaze
dropping to the floor. "I just
told him that I wanted to help,"
he says, his voice small. "And that
I didn't want you to get hurt..."

Karen's eyes narrow, her
disappointment clear. "What
exactly did you say Chip?"

He sniffles, his screen
meeting hers. "I said 
that you seem tired of his
seizures, and that he's not
being fair to you," Chip admits,
his voice thick with regret.

Karen's face tightens, her
eyes flashing with a mix
of anger and sadness. "You
have no right to speak
for me, Chip," she says, her
voice firm but not unkind. "I love
your dad, and we deal with
this together." She takes a deep
breath, her hand on his
shoulder, her screen searching
his. "What else did you say?"

Chip's shoulders slump, his
eyes brimming with tears. "I said
you're his punching bag, Mom,"
he whispers, his voice
breaking. "That you're always
so patient and that it's not
fair t---"

Karen's hand tightens
on his shoulder, her
disappointment etched in
the lines of her screen.
"Chip," she says, her tone
sharp. "You don't get to tell me
how to feel, or what I think
about your dad."

Her words cut through
his regret like a knife,
his eyes widening. "But I just
wanted to—"

"Chip," Karen says, cutting
his protest short. "You don't
know what it's like, what we
go through every day." Her voice
shakes with the weight of
emotions held in check. "You're
not helping by making assumptions."

Chip's eyes well up with
tears, his lower lip trembling.
"But Mom," he stammers, "I just
don't want you to get hurt."

Karen's face softens, her hand
squeezing his shoulder gently.
"I know, sweetie," she says, her
voice filled with understanding.
"But your dad and I are a team.
What we have is complicated,
but it's ours. And when you
say things like that, it's like
you're choosing sides. It is
hard to see the one you love
struggle, but right now you're
the one who's causing me, and
us, to hurt."

Chip's eyes fill with tears, his
chest tight with guilt. "I'm sorry,"
he whispers, his voice cracking.
"I didn't mean to make it
worse."

Karen sighs, her anger
softening into sadness. "You didn't
understand," she says gently. "But
now you do." She sits beside
him, her hand on his back. "What
you said about your dad, it's not
fair to him or to us."

Chip's shoulders shake with
sobs, his heart heavy. "I'm
sorry," he manages to get out.
"I just—"

Karen's hand on his
shoulder is warm, her voice
steady. "Chip," she says, cutting
his words off with a gentle
firmness. "What you said to
your dad, it wasn't right."
Her eyes hold his, filled with a
mixture of pain and love.

Chip's gaze drops to the floor,
his cheeks burning with regret.
"I know," he mumbles, his voice
small. "But I just wanted
to tell him that—"

"No, Chip," Karen says, cutting
him off gently. "What you did was
hurt him, and that's not what we do
in this family." Her voice is firm,
but her eyes are filled with
concern. "We support each other,
not push buttons we don't
understand. Dad's not hurting me,
but now I'm hurt by what you said."

Chip nods, his eyes glued to the
floor. "I know, Mom," he
whispers. "I didn't think about
how it would sound."

Karen takes a deep
breath, her hand moving to
his cheek. "Look at me," she
says, her voice gentle. "You can't fix
this by pushing us apart."
Her thumb wipes a tear
from his cheek. "You have to talk
to him, tell him you didn't mean it
that way. Let's go find him."
They leave Chip's room
together, their steps
heavy with the weight of
unspoken words and regret.

new do you trust me chip plankton 12

CHIP IN MY BOX vii
(Autistic author)


Dr. Kelp's tentacles move
quickly, setting out a new set
of sensory items. He places
the velvet curtain over Plankton's
head, creating a safe, quiet
space. The weighted blanket
is laid gently over his body,
his breathing starting to even
out. The doctor's eyes are
filled with a quiet wisdom
that Karen finds reassuring.

The octopus then turns his
attention to Chip, his tentacle
gently stroking the boy's arm.
"It's okay," he repeats, his
voice a calming lullaby in
the tense room. "We all make
mistakes."

Karen's eyes are glued to
Plankton, his body still and
silent under the velvet curtain.
Fear and regret are a heavy
weight on her shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispers to
Dr. Kelp, her voice trembling.
"We should have told him
sooner." She watches as the
doctor works, his tentacles
deftly placing items around.

"When Plankton wakes up,"
Dr. Kelp says, his voice low
and soothing, "he might be
disoriented, upset." He looks
up at Chip, his eyes gentle.
"It's important to give him
space, let him know it's safe."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving her husband's still
form. She knows the routine,
but hearing it from Dr. Kelp's
lips somehow makes it feel
more real, more manageable.

"When he wakes," the doctor
continues, "he may be
confused, overwhelmed." His
voice is soft, his eyes
compassionate. "He might
not immediately be able
to process what happened."

Karen nods, her hand
trembling slightly. "What
do you mean?" She asks,
desperation lacing her
voice.

Dr. Kelp takes a deep
breath, his tentacles
arranging the items with
precision. "When Plankton
comes to," he says, "his senses
may be overstimulated, not knowing
what's happening around him."
He looks at Chip, his eyes
serious. "It's important
you don't take it personally. He
may incoherently talk, forget or
lash out. It's his brain's way of
trying to make sense of the
sensory overload."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton. "We'll be
ready," she says, her voice
determined. She doesn't want
to scare Chip, but he needs
to know. "We'll help him
through it."

Dr. Kelp looks at the
both of them, his gaze
softening. "Good," he says.
"Because he's going to need
you." His tentacles
flatten against the floor
as he leans closer to
Plankton, checking his pulse.
"When he wakes up, keep your
voices low, and keep the lights
dim. Try to limit any sudden
movements."

He demonstrates with a
slow, deliberate wave of his
tentacle. "And if he seems
scared or confused, just
tell him it's okay, that he's
safe," he instructs, his voice
calm and steady. "Remember, he
might not recognize anything at first.
His mind will be trying to piece
together what happened, as if in
a dream."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
Chip clutches the indestructible
fidgets in his small hands, his
face a mask of determination.

"When he wakes up," Dr. Kelp
continues, his eyes on the
floor, "his reactions may seem
unpredictable. Sometimes, he
might get scared, other times
he might be agitated." His tentacle
flicks slightly, a subtle sign of
his own tension. "It's all part
of his brain trying to recalibrate."

He looks up at Chip, his
expression serious. "Your dad's
going to need you to be brave,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If he
doesn't know you at first,
don't be scared. Just stay calm
and keep talking to him."

Chip nods, his eyes
glistening with tears. "I'll do
anything," he says, his voice
tiny but firm.

Dr. Kelp gives a small
smile, his tentacle patting
Chip's shoulder. "That's all
we can ask," he says.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii vii

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 13


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

The living room is
dimly lit. But in the center,
a disturbing sight awaits:
Plankton's convulsions,
his tiny body writhing on
the floor. His antennae
twitch erratically, his eye
squeezed shut. 

"Plankton!" she cries out,
rushing to his side. His
seizure is intense, his
limbs flailing uncontrollably.
The room seems to pulse
with his distress, a silent
scream of neurological
turmoil.

Chip stands in the doorway,
frozen in shock. He's never
seen his dad like this, so
vulnerable and helpless.
The sight of Plankton's
tiny form convulsing on the
floor fills him with a fear
like none other.
Karen is already beside
Plankton, her hands hovering,
knowing better than to restrict
his thrashing body.

"Mom," Chip says, his voice
trembling. "What do we do?"

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's contorted form,
her face a mask of calm
determination. "We stay here,"
she says, her voice steady. "We
keep talking to him, let him
know we care."

Chip nods, his own eyes
filled with fear. He takes a tentative
step forward, his voice shaking.
"Dad," he says softly, "it's me,
Chip." His words are met with
only the sound of Plankton's
labored breathing and the muffled
thuds of his convulsions.

Karen's gaze flicks to Chip,
her expression a mix of pride
and anxiety. "Good boy," she whispers,
before turning back to Plankton.
"Shh, baby," she says, her voice soothing,
like a lullaby in the chaos. "We're
right here."

Chip watches his mom, her
hands a gentle presence near his
dad's body, her voice a lifeline in
the storm of his seizure. He wants
to help, to do something, anything,
but he's paralyzed by fear. 

Karen's eyes flicker to her
son, her expression a silent
plea for him to stay calm. She
knows Plankton's sensitivity to
stimuli, the way his condition can
spiral if overwhelmed. "Talk to
him," she whispers, her voice
barely audible over the sounds of
his distress. "Tell him you love him."

Chip nods, his voice shaking.
"Dad," he says, his voice
trembling. "I love you." His
words hang in the air, a soft
contrast to the harsh sounds
of Plankton's seizure.

Plankton's body continues
to convulse, but Karen notices
his antennae twitch slightly,
his eye fluttering open for a
moment before it squeezes shut
again. She sighs with relief,
knowing he can hear them.

"Keep talking," she whispers
to Chip, her eyes never
leaving Plankton. "Tell him
you're here for him, that you're
sorry."

Chip swallows hard, his
throat tight with fear. "Dad, I'm
sorry," he says, his voice
cracking. "I didn't mean to make
things worse."

Plankton's antennae
quiver slightly, his seizure
lessening but not abating.
Karen's eyes are filled with
desperation as she whispers,
"Keep talking, Chip. He needs
to hear it."

Chip's voice is shaky,
his eyes never leaving
his father's trembling form.
"I'm sorry for what I said,"
he murmurs. "I didn't mean
to hurt you." His words
are a gentle coax, trying
to guide Plankton back from
the edge of his breakdown.

Karen's eyes are glued
to Plankton's seizing body,
"It's okay, baby," she says,
her tone a soothing melody.
"You're not alone."

Chip watches his mom's
steady hands hover over
his dad's shaking form.
He takes a deep breath,
his voice a shaky thread.
"I'm sorry," he repeats,
his words a quiet promise.

Karen's eyes flick to him,
a silent thank you. The room
seems to hold its breath,
the air charged with hope and dread.

Plankton's convulsions start
to ease, his breaths coming
in shallower gasps. Karen's hand
reaches out, brushing his
twitching antennae with a gentle
touch, a silent reassurance.

Chip's voice is a soft
whisper, a beacon in the
storm of his father's distress.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his
eyes brimming with tears. "I
don't want to fight."

Karen's hand rests gently
on Plankton's back, her touch
as light as a feather. "It's okay,
sweetie," she says, her voice a
soothing lullaby. "We're
here for you."

Plankton's seizure starts to
subside, his body gradually
stilling. His antennae
drop, his breaths slowing.
The tension in the room
eases like the retreating
waves of a storm.

Karen's hand remains on
his back, her eyes filled
with a love that's fierce
and tender. "It's okay," she
whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "You're safe now."
Her words are a gentle
reminder that their love is
his anchor.

Plankton's body relaxes
gradually, his antennae
stilling. His eye opens,
slowly focusing on Karen's
face. His voice is weak,
his words a soft rasp. "K-Karen?"

"I'm here," she says, her voice
calm, her hand still
on his back. "You're okay."
Her eyes are filled with a love
that's stronger than steel,
her presence a comforting
weight.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking rapidly
as the world swims back into focus.
He looks up at her, his gaze
uncertain. "I... I-I'm s-sorry,"
he whispers, his voice
a reed in the wind.

Karen's eyes are filled with
pain and love. She gently
guides him to sit up, her arms
supporting him. "Don't be sorry,"
she says, her voice a balm.
"We just need to talk."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his eye searching hers. "Talk?"
he repeats, his voice weak.

"Yes," Karen says firmly,
her arms around him. "We need
to communicate better, all of us."
Her gaze includes Chip,
who's still standing awkwardly
in the doorway, his eyes
fixed on his father.

Chip's heart pounds in his chest,
his fear giving way to
determination. He moves to
his mother's side, his hand
tentatively reaching out to
his father's arm. "Dad," he says,
his voice a gentle touch.

Plankton's body jerks at
his son's touch, but Karen's
calming presence helps him
steady. His antennae quiver,
his eye flickering between
his wife and son, the confusion
giving way to a hint of
understanding. "Chip?" he asks,
his voice a whisper.

Chip nods, his eyes filled
with unshed tears. "Yeah, Dad,"
he says, his voice cracking.
"It's me." He takes a deep
breath, his hand shaking slightly
as it rests on Plankton's arm.
"I didn't mean what I said."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking rapidly as he
tries to process the situation.
"You... you didn't?" he
stammers, his voice filled with
disbelief.

Karen nods, her eyes
never leaving his. "Chip didn't
mean it, Plankton," she says
soothingly. "He's just scared,
and he loves you."

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye misting with tears. "But
I scared him," he murmurs, his
voice barely audible. "And you."

Karen's eyes are filled with
compassion as she shakes
her head. "It's not your fault,
baby," she says gently. "Your
autism doesn't make you a
monster."

Chip nods, his hand still
on his father's arm, his voice
steady. "Dad, I know it's
not your fault," he says,
his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I'm
sorry for not understanding."

Plankton's antennae lift slightly,
his eye focusing on Chip's face.
"You do?" he whispers, hope
flickering in his gaze.

Chip nods, his own eyes
brimming with tears. "I do," he
affirms, his voice stronger.
"I'm here for you, Dad."
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye searching Chip's face
for signs of sincerity.

The silence in the room is
heavy, a tangible entity filled
with unspoken words and
apologies. Then, ever so slightly,
Plankton's antennae bob, a sign
of his acceptance. "Okay," he says,
his voice still shaky. "We'll talk."

Karen's eyes fill with
relief, a soft smile playing
on her lips. She squeezes
his arm gently. "Thank you,"
she whispers, her voice filled with
gratitude. "We're in this
together." 

new do you trust me chip plankton 13

CHIP IN MY BOX ix
(Autistic author)


Plankton's eye focuses on
her, his hand clutching hers
like a lifeline. "Karen?" He
whispers, the fog of confusion
slowly lifting. His voice is
weak, but the recognition is
there, a spark in the vast
ocean of his overwhelmed
mind.

Karen's breath hitches,
relief flooding her body.
"Yes, it's me," she murmurs,
her voice a gentle tide washing
over him. "You had a hard
time, but you're okay now."

Plankton's hand clutches hers,
his grip tight, his reality
slowly coming into focus.
The velvet curtain is lifted
gently, his eye blinking in
the soft light. His gaze
finds hers, and for a
moment, it's just the two
of them, a silent promise of
support and understanding.

"I... Dr. Kelp? Chip?" He
blinks.

Dr. Kelp nods, his tentacles
still busy placing the
sensory items. "We're all here,"
he says, his voice calm. "You're
safe."

Plankton's gaze moves to
Chip, who's been watching
silently from the side, his
face a mask of fear and hope.
"Chip?" He says, his voice
weak. The boy nods, his eyes
shimmering with tears.

"I'm here, Dad," he whispers,
his voice trembling. "I'm sorry."
The words hang in the air,
a silent apology for his
carelessness.

Plankton's eye locks onto Chip,
his grip on Karen's hand
weakening as he tries to
sit up. His mind is still
a tangled web of confusion. 
"What happened?"

Karen's voice is a gentle
current, guiding him back
to reality. "You had a
reality break," she says,
avoiding the harsher terms.
"It's okay, we're here."

Plankton's gaze shifts
between them, his mind a
whirlpool of questions and
half-forgotten moments. He
swallows hard, the lump
in his throat a reminder of
his vulnerability. "I'm sorry,"
he says, his voice barely
more than a whisper.

Chip's eyes are wide, his
heart racing as he watches
his father struggle. He wants
to say something, anything,
but his throat is tight with
fear. "It was an accident,"
he croaks out finally, his voice
small. "I didn't mean to."

Plankton's eye narrows slightly,
his expression a mix of
pain and confusion. "What
did you do?" He asks, his
voice a thundercloud of
emotion.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his guilt a heavy weight.
"I knocked over your box,"
he admits, his voice barely
a whisper. "I didn't know."
The words hang in the air,
a confession that feels like
a betrayal.

Plankton's gaze is a
stormy sea, his emotions
a tempest of anger and hurt.
He looks at the shards of
his sanity scattered on the
floor, a silent accusation.
The room seems to spin around
them, a maelstrom of his
swirling thoughts.

"You broke it," he says,
his voice a thunderclap of
disappointment. The words hit
Chip like a tidal wave, drowning
his guilt. "You broke my box."

The room seems to shrink,
the air thick with tension.
Karen's eyes dart between
them, a silent plea for
understanding. "It was an
accident," she says, her voice
soft. "Chip didn't know."

Plankton's eye is on Chip,
his gaze intense. He
swallows hard, the reality
of the situation crashing
over him. "Why?" He whispers,
his voice a raw wound.

Chip's chin trembles, his
eyes brimming with tears. "I
just wanted to see," he
whispers back, his voice
tiny and scared. "I didn't
know it was so important."

Plankton's expression
softens, the storm clouds
of anger parting to reveal
his own fear, his chest
heaving with the effort
of controlling his emotions.
"I know," he says, his
voice a gentle rumble. "I'm
just... tired." He looks at the
new box.

Karen's eyes fill with
sympathy, her hand reaching
out to touch his shoulder.
"You don't have to explain,"
she whispers. "We're here."
Her words are a balm to
his soul, a gentle reminder
that he's not alone in his
journey.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii ix

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 16


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Chip pulls a bench stool 
up by the couch.
"Dad," he says, his voice
a whisper in the quiet
room. "Can I... I ask you
a question?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye half-open. "Sure,
what is it?"

Chip's voice is a soft
whisper in the darkened
living room. "What's it like?"
he asks, his curiosity
tangled with fear. "To be...
you know, autistic?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking slowly. "It's...
it's like living in a world
that's too loud," he murmurs.
"And too bright. And sometimes,
things don't make sense. But...
it's also beautiful. Like a
puzzle that only I can solve."

Chip leans in, his curiosity
piqued. "How do you mean?"
he asks, his voice a gentle
prodding.

Plankton's antennae droop, his
eye closing briefly. "Imagine
a symphony playing," he whispers,
his voice a soft melody. "But instead
of music, it's sounds. Voices, lights,
textures... all playing at once.
It's... overwhelming." He pauses,
his antennae twitching with
the effort to explain. "But
sometimes, when everything is
still... I see patterns. It's like...
like the universe is whispering
secrets only I can discern."

Chip nods, his eyes on the
twitching antennae. "And the
absence seizures?"

Plankton's eye opens wider, his
voice a soft sigh. "It's like
being in a bubble," he says,
his antennae stilling. "A moment
out of time, but... it's not real.
I'm not really here."

Chip's gaze is intense, his
mind racing to understand.
"But what do you see?" he asks, his voice
eager. "When you're in that bubble?"

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye searching Chip's face. "It's...
difficult to explain," he says,
his voice a soft rumble. "It's like...
I'm distant." His antennae
bob slightly, his eye fluttering.
"But sometimes, it's just...
like a blender. And I'm alone."

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "I'll try to
imagine," he whispers. "But I want
you to know, Dad, I'm here for
you." His hand reaches out to
touch Plankton.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
body tensing slightly. "It's okay,"
he murmurs, his voice a quiet
acceptance. "It's not your
fault."

Chip's hand hovers, unsure. "But I
wish I could help more," he says,
his voice filled with a longing
to ease his father's pain.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye blinking open. "You do help,"
he whispers, his voice a
reassurance. "Just by being
here. Yet you can't fix me, Chip."

Chip's hand retreats, his heart
heavy with understanding. "I know,"
he says, his voice filled with
sadness. "But I want to make
sure you're okay."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye focusing on Chip's earnest
face. "I know," he whispers. "But
you can't always save me. And
right now I'm just feeling tired.."

Chip nods, his hand slowly
withdrawing. "Okay, Dad," he
says, his voice thick with emotion.
"We'll rest now. We'll talk more
tomorrow." Plankton's
eye closes, his antennae stilling.
His breaths even out, his body
relaxing into sleep's gentle embrace.

The room falls silent, the
only sound Plankton's soft
snores. Chip watches his dad,
who's asleep now.

His mind is racing with thoughts,
but his body is still, not wanting
to disturb the fragile peace. His eyes
trail over Plankton's form, noticing
the way his antennae twitch slightly
in his sleep. It's like he's dreaming of
faraway places, or perhaps solving
a complex puzzle only he can see.

Chip's hand hovers over his dad's,
fighting the urge to hold it. He's
seen the way Plankton flinches at
the slightest touch, the way his body
shies away from contact. But
his heart aches to offer comfort, to
let him know he's not alone. With
a deep breath, he decides to be brave.

His fingertips lightly graze
Plankton's hand, the barest
of touches. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his breath catching, but
he doesn't pull away. Encouraged,
Chip wraps his hand around his
dad's, his thumb tracing gentle circles
on the back of his palm. Plankton's
body relaxes slightly, his snores
deepening. Chip's heart swells with
relief. Maybe this is okay.

new do you trust me chip plankton 16

CHIP IN MY BOX xi
(Autistic author)


In the quiet of the room,
Plankton's breathing is the
only sound, a steady
reminder of his presence.
Chip's eyes are on his
father, his mind racing with
thoughts of the day's events.
He's seen Plankton tired
before, but never like this.
Never so lost in his own
thoughts, so overwhelmed by the
world around him.

Chip feels the weight of
his promise to protect his
father's sanctity. His hand
reaches out to Plankton's arm,
his touch tentative but reassuring.
"It's okay, Dad."

Plankton's breathing evens
out, his body relaxing into
the bed's embrace. His antennae
twitch slightly, his mind
still racing. "Thank you," he murmurs,
his voice soft as his eye flutters
closed.

Chip lies beside him, his
small hand resting lightly on
his father's arm, as
his promise to be more
careful keeps his eyes open.
He watches Plankton.

Plankton's breathing slows, his
body finally letting go of the
tension. His antennae
twitch one last time before
stillness takes over. His
eye closes, his features relaxed
in sleep. His antennae
rest gently on the pillow.

Chip lies there, his own eyes
open, watching his father's
sleeping form, the only sound
being Plankton's rhythmic breaths.
He's never felt more connected
to him, or more responsible for
his wellbeing. He can see
the outline of Plankton's face,
his features relaxed in slumber,
and it's as if he's seeing him
for the first time, really seeing
the struggle behind the
inventions and the jokes.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly in his sleep, a gentle
reminder of the complex mind
that's working even in rest.

Chip's eyes trace the lines
of his father's face, the
worry etched into his
features smoothing out
as he sleeps. He feels a
weight lift from his chest,
his breathing matching the
steady rhythm of Plankton's.

The next morning
Chip wakes up 
before his dad next
to him.

Plankton's antennae
are still, his breathing
deep and even. Chip
can't help but feel a
surge of protectiveness
as he watches him. He
remembers the fear and
confusion from the night
before, and the promise
he made to be more
understanding, more
careful.

Chip's eyes are glued
to Plankton's face, the
tiny movements of his
father's antennae as he
dreams. The soft
snores are a comforting
soundtrack to the early
morning silence.

With a gentle touch,
Chip reaches over to
his father's side, his
small hand hovering over
Plankton's antennae.
He wants to show his
affection, but fears
waking him up. The
memory of last night's
frightening episode is still
fresh in his mind.

He's learned that
sometimes, love is not
about loud gestures, but
about quiet moments of
understanding and care.
He watches Plankton's
chest rise and fall
rhythmically, the soft
snores a lullaby to
his own racing thoughts.

Slowly, so as not
to disturb him, Chip's
hand reaches out and
his fingertips graze
his father's antennae.
He's afraid to touch
them fully, afraid
the contact might shatter
the fragile peace of
his father's sleep.

Plankton stirs slightly,
his antennae twitching.
Chip's breath catches,
but Plankton settles again.
The snores become softer,
his body relaxing into
the mattress.

Chip's hand hovers,
his mind racing.
How can he show love
without waking his dad?
He's seen the pain of
his father's reality breaks
and doesn't want to cause
another one.

He recalls the softness
of Karen's voice, the way
she touched Plankton's
hand so gently.
He tries to mimic her
calmness, his hand
shaking slightly as
it hovers over
his father's arm.

He takes a deep breath,
his eyes never leaving
his father's face.
Then, with the
lightest touch imaginable,
his fingertips brush against
Plankton's arm.

Plankton's antennae quiver,
but his eye stays closed.

Chip's mind races with
ideas, his hand hovering
over his father's arm. He
thinks of all the ways
his mother had touched him
last night, the gentle strokes
and soothing whispers that
helped ground him. He tries
to replicate that, his thumb
tracing a soft arc over
his father's shoulder now.

Plankton's antennae twitch
again, but his breathing
remains steady. Chip's heart
is a drum in his chest,
his eyes wide with hope. He's
learned that for Plankton,
touch can be both a source
of comfort and a trigger.
He needs to be careful.

He tries different
pressures, light as a
feather and then a gentle
squeeze. Plankton's body
remains still, his sleep
deep and undisturbed.
Encouraged, Chip moves up
to Plankton's face, his
thumb tracing the contour of
his ch...

The soft touch of Chip's
fingertips against his
cheek causes Plankton to
flinch, his eye snapping
open with a gasp. "Chip?" He
sounds groggy, disoriented.

Chip's eyes widen, his hand
quickly retreating. "Sorry,
Dad," he whispers, his voice
laced with apology. "I didn't
mean to wake you."

Plankton's gaze is unfocused,
his antennae twitching as he
tries to process the sudden
contact. "What are you
doing?" He asks, his voice
still thick with sleep.

"I just wanted to say good
morning," Chip whispers, his eyes
shimmering with hope. "But I didn't
want to wake you up."

Plankton's antennae still
twitch, the remnants of sleep
still clinging to him. He looks
around the room, his gaze
eventually finding the shattered
remains of his old sensory box.
The sight sends a pang of
anxiety through his body.

"Here," Chip says softly.
He holds out the new box,
his eyes hopeful. "This one's
special, just like you."

Plankton's antennae droop slightly,
his gaze shifting to the box, then back
to his son. Despite the good
intentions in Chip's eyes, his
wording seemed... patronizing, to
Plankton. He takes the box, somewhat
hastily. He's used to the stares, the
whispers, the misunderstanding, but
from his own son?

"I'm not 'special', Chip," he says,
his voice tight. "I have a condition.
It's not something to be... gawked at
or talked down to."

The words sting, and Chip's eyes
well up with tears. "I didn't mean
it like tha-"

But Plankton cuts him off, his
voice a tempest of emotion. "You don't
understand," he says, his antennae
waving erratically. "You can't just
call me special and expect me to
feel better. It's not a toy, it's not a
quirky trait. It's a part of me that
makes every day a challenge."

Chip's eyes widen, the tears
spilling over as he takes in
his father's words. He didn't mean
to make him feel belittled, but
now he sees the pain in Plankton's
eye, the frustration of being
reduced to a label. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice trembling.
"I wa-"

"Don't," Plankton says, cutting
his son off with a sharpness
that makes Chip's heart ache.
"Just... don't." He turns away,
his antennae drooping as he
focuses on the new sensory box,
his eye searching for comfort.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii xi

CHIP IN MY BOX xii
(Autistic author)


Chip's tears fall silently
as he watches his father's
shoulders tense, his father's
body language a wall of
hurt. He feels the distance
between them growing, a vast
ocean of misunderstanding.

"Dad," he whispers, his voice
smaller than the fingertip
that had started it all.
"I'm sorry." The words hang
in the air, a tiny lifebuoy in
the storm of Plankton's emotions.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye shimmering with
frustration. "You don't get it,"
he murmurs. "You can't just-"
His words are cut off by a
deep, shuddering breath.

Chip's heart feels like it's
being crushed by a vice.
He's hurt his dad, and he
doesn't know how to fix it.
He opens his mouth to
apologize again, but no
sounds come out. His
throat is tight with regret.

Plankton's eye is on the
new sensory box, his hand
shaking slightly as he
reaches for the first item.
The sight of his father's
distress is like a knife
twisting in Chip's gut. He
wants to take back his
words, to somehow erase
the pain he's caused.

"Dad," he whispers, his voice
tiny and scared. "I didn't
mean to make you feel
that way." But Plankton is
too lost in his own world, his
mind a tempest of thoughts
and emotions.

He picks up a fidget from
the box, his antennae twitching
nervously as he tries to focus.

"Dad, I just wanted to help,"
Chip says, his voice barely a
whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt
you." The silence is a thick
fog between them, heavy with
the weight of Plankton's pain.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his grip on the fidget tight.
He doesn't look at Chip, his
eye focused on the spinning
toy. "You can't help by
breaking things," he says,
his voice a low rumble.
"You can't fix me with a
pat on the back and a 'good
job'."

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his heart a storm of regret.
"I didn't mean to break it,"
he whispers, his voice a
tiny wave of sorrow. "I just
wanted to kn-"

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, cutting him off. "You just
wanted to know," he says, his
voice a knife. "To satisfy
your own curiosity, without
thinking about what it
means to me." His eye is
a tempest of anger and hurt,
his antennae quivering with
emotion.

Chip's eyes are wide with
understanding, the gravity
of his father's words sinking
in. "I di-"

But Plankton's
interrupting him. "Don't say it,"
he says, his voice a
whispered warning. "Don't
make excuses and try to
make it okay." He turns
away. "Just...
don't."

Plankton's back is to him,
his antennae drooping.
He's retreated into
his own world, leaving
Chip on the outside,
desperately trying to
find a way in.

He sits up in bed, his
small frame a stark contrast
to Plankton's slumped
shoulders. "I just
wanted to show you that
I ca--"

But Plankton's had enough,
his antennae shooting up
in annoyance. "I don't
need a show-and-tell of your
understanding," he snaps.
The words hit Chip like a
wave, knocking him back
into reality. His father's
face is a mask of anger,
his eye a storm of emotions
he can't quite read.

Chip feels small, his own
curiosity a betrayal. He's
always looked up to Plankton,
his hero, his teacher, his
world. But now, he sees a
different side to him, a
side that's fragile and in pain.
The room seems to shrink,
the walls closing in on
his guilt.

Plankton's back is a wall
of anger and hurt, his
antennas drooping with the
weight of his own words.
"I'm sorry," Chip whispers,
his voice a soft ripple of
remorse. "I didn't mean to-"

But Plankton is lost in his
own thoughts, his mind racing
with the sting of Chip's
naive curiosity. The way his
son had talked about his
sensory box, as if it were
a childish toy, had made him
feel like a specimen, a
curiosity to be studied.

He sighs, his antennae
drooping lower. He knows
Chip didn't mean it, but the
hurt lingers. He turns
his head, his eye meeting
Chip's tear-filled gaze.
"I know you didn't mean to,"
he says. "But you have to
understand, it's not just a box.
It's a lifeline."

Chip nods, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's.
"I do," he whispers. "I just
wanted to be part of it,
to he-"

But Plankton's not
ready to hear it. "You can't,"
he says, his voice a gentle
wave of finality. "You can't be
part of something you don't
understand." His antennae
twitch with frustration.
"I'm not a science experiment
for my son to poke and prod.
I'm not a baby," Plankton says,
his voice a gentle rebuke.
"My sensory needs are not
a game." His antennae are still,
his body a statue of frustration.
"You need to respect that."

Chip feels his heart crack,
his eyes never leaving his
father's face. "I do," he whispers,
his voice a soft ripple of
sincerity. "I just di-"

But Plankton's antennae twitch,
his patience worn thin. "No,
you don't," he says, his voice
sharp as a tack. "You see me
as something to be fixed,
not understood." His eye
closed, his breathing shallow.

Chip feels his cheeks
heat with shame. He'd never
seen his father so upset.
He's always been the strong
one, the one who had all
the answers. But now, he's just
a kid who's hurt his dad.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his
voice a whisper of regret.
"I didn't mean to make yo-"

But Plankton's antennae
wave away his words. "You
don't get it," he murmurs,
his voice a gentle reprimand. "Every
time you treat me like I'm a
child, it's like you're telling
me I'm not good enough." His eye
shimmers with unshed tears. "So, no
more 'good jobs' and no more
'you're special'. I don't want
your pity, Chip. So either you can
learn to understand me, or you
can leave me alone. Because
right now, your 'help' is just making
things worse."

Chip's eyes widen with
surprise and pain, the words
cutting deeper than any knife.
He's never seen his father
so vulnerable, so raw. The
realization hits him like a
wave: his curiosity had hurt
Plankton more than he'd ever
imagined. He'd unintentionally
stripped away the dignity
his father had fought so
hard to maintain.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii xii

CHIP IN MY BOX xiii
(Autistic author)


"Dad," he starts, his voice
shaking. "I never thought-"

But Plankton's antennae wave
again, silencing him. "You
think it's cute," he says,
his voice tight. "You think
because I need this," he holds
up the sensory box, "that I'm
less than you. That I'm some-
thing to be pitied." His eye is
wet with unshed tears. "And
I can't... I can't handle that
from you."

Chip feels a spark of anger
flare within him, his cheeks
flushing with frustration.

"It's not my fault you're like
this," he blurts out, his words
cutting through the tension
like a shard of glass. "You're the
one who can't handle simple
things! How are we supposed to
have a life with you
freaking out all the time with
your mood swings and mental 
delays?"

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his eye narrowing at the
ignorant accusation. "Chip,"
he says, his voice tight as a bowstring.
"That's enough." But Chip's anger
has taken over, his voice
rising with each word.

"You're the one who's always
upset," Chip continues, his
words a stream of accusations.
"You're the one who can't handle
the world without your box!"
He's on the verge of tears, his
frustration a hurricane in
the small room. "How are we
supposed to live with a father
who can't even see how his own
wife has to take care of him
like a baby! Don't you see how
embarrassing..."

He stops mid-sentence, the
impact of his own words
sinking in. He's gone too far.
The room is a vacuum of
silence, the air thick with the
tension of his accusation.
Plankton's antennae are still,
his eye wide with shock.
Chip's anger evaporates,
replaced by a cold dread.
He's hurt his father, deeply.
The pain in Plankton's gaze
mirrors his own regret.
He didn't mean to say it, but
the words had spilled out, a
torrent of frustration and
fear.

Plankton's eye
closes, a single tear
escaping to trace a sad
path down his cheek.

Chip's words hang in
the air, a stark
reminder of his own
insensitivity. He's hurt
his father, not just
physically with his touch,
but emotionally with his
lack of understanding.

Plankton's antennae drop,
his body slumping. The
weight of Chip's words is
too much, and he feels
his reality break all
over again. "Dad, I'm sorr-"

But Plankton's not listening.
He's retreated into his own
world, the walls closing in
around him. "Get out," he whispers,
his voice barely audible. "Just leave
me alone."

Chip's eyes are wide with shock,
his heart a storm of regret. He'd
never seen his father so
broken. He stumbles back,
his legs shaking beneath him.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he says,
his voice a plea. But Plankton
just turns away, his antennae
drooping in defeat.

The silence is a heavy
blanket, suffocating them both.
Chip's chest heaves with
unshed sobs, his eyes never
leaving his father's back.
"I didn't mean it," he whispers.
"Please, I didn't mean it."

But Plankton's antennae
remain still, his back a wall
between them. "Just go,"
he says, his voice a whisper
as he shoves the sensory box
to Chip. "And take my 
embarrassing baby toys
with you, too."

The words are a blow,
and Chip feels his heart
crumple. He takes the box,
his hands shaking with emotion.
He doesn't know what to say,
what to do to make it right.
He just wants to take it all
back, to erase the hurt from
his father's eye.

With a heavy heart,
he turns and leaves the room,
his steps echoing down
the hallway. The house
seems too quiet, too empty.
He doesn't know where to go,
what to do with himself.
He's hurt the person he loves
most, the one who's always
been his rock.

He finds Karen in the
living room. "Good
morning, Chip," she says. 
"How..."

Her words die in her
throat as she sees the
tears on his cheeks, the
box in his trembling
hands. She notices the
closed bedroom door, the
silence from within.
Her gaze is a question,
but Chip can't find the
words to answer.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii xiii

CHIP IN MY BOX xiv
(Autistic author)


Chip opens his mouth, but
the words won't come out.
He's hurt his father,
and now he's lost for words.
Karen's eyes widen with
concern, her hand
reaching out to comfort
his shaking shoulders.

"What happened?" she
asks softly, her voice a
caress in the stark
silence of the morning.
Her eyes search his face,
seeing the pain and
regret etched in every line.

Chip's throat is tight with
unshed tears as he holds
up the sensory box, his
hands trembling. "I... I broke
his trust," he whispers,
his voice a tiny wave
crashing against the
shoreline of her concern.
He can't meet her gaze,
his eyes focused on the
box, a symbol of his
father's pain.

Karen's heart squeezes at
the sight of her son's
distress. She knows Plankton's
condition isn't easy, but
she didn't realize the depth
of the rift her husband's
words had created. "What did
you say?" she asks.

Chip's shoulders heave with a
sigh, his eyes still
fixed on the floor. "I...
I said he was an embarrassment,"
he whispers, the confession
a painful admission. "And
that you had to take care
of him like a baby. And he
gave me the sensory box and
told me to leave." The words
tumble out, each one heavier
than the last.

Karen's eyes fill with
sorrow, her heart aching
for both her son and her
husband. She's seen Plankton's
pride crumble before, but never
because of their son's words.
"Oh, Chip," she says. "That wasn't
kind."

He looks up at her, his eyes
swimming with regret. "I know,
Mom," he says. "I didn't mean it.
But I just don't know how to
help him."

Karen's gaze is filled with
understanding as she takes
the box from his trembling
hands. "You're still learning,
sweetie," she says, her voice a
soft breeze of comfort. "And
so are we. We all make
mistakes. Let's go check on
him."

Her hand is a gentle guide,
leading him back down the hallway
towards Plankton's room.
The door is still closed, but
she knocks softly.

"Plankton?" she calls. "Can we
talk?" There's no answer.

Her hand lingers on the
knob, her heart a drum of
anxiety. She opens the door
slowly, the room silent.

Inside, Plankton sits on
the bed, his antennae
still, his eye vacant.

He's having another
staring spell, lost in
his own sensory overload.

Plankton's eye is wide
open, unseeing. His
antennas are stiff, pointing
straight up into the air.

Karen's gaze is filled with
concern as she approaches
her husband, her steps
silent. She's seen this
before, the way his body
shuts down when the world
becomes too much. It's a
self-defense mechanism,
his brain's way of coping
with the overwhelming
sensations that bombard him.

She sits beside him, her
hand reaching out to cover
his. "Plankton?" she says.
But he doesn't move, lost
in the chaos of his own
mind. He doesn't blink. All
because of Chip's words.

Karen's heart
beats a frantic rhythm as
she tries to snap him out
of it, her voice a gentle
coax. "Plankton, sweetie?"
He doesn't respond, his
body rigid, his mind adrift,
as he's too far gone to grasp it.

The room feels too bright,
too loud, even with the
curtains drawn. The silence
is a scream in her ears,
a reminder of her own
helplessness in the face
of his condition.

Karen's touch is a lifeline,
a gentle pressure that
seeps through his frozen
shell. Plankton's breath
stutters, his antennae
twitching slightly. She whispers
his name, a soft
caress in the storm of
his overwhelmed senses.

His eye blinks, once,
twice, focusing on her face.
The spell begins to break,
his body slowly uncoiling
from its protective
shell. "Karen?" he murmurs,
his voice a tentative
exploration of reality.

The world rushes in, a
tidal wave of sound and color.
He flinches, his antennae
waving wildly as he tries
to ground himself. She holds
his hand tighter, her voice
a lighthouse in the storm.
"It's okay, sweetie," she says.
"You're safe."

Plankton's breath hitches,
his body slowly coming back
online. He's aware of the
weight of the blankets, the
softness of the pillow. His
eye finds hers, and he recalls
Chip's accusations.

The hurt is a physical
thing, a heavy stone in
his chest. He tries to
speak, but his voice is
a mere rasp. "Karen," he
manages to croak, his antennae
twitching with the effort.

Her eyes are filled with
concern, her grip on his
hand unyielding. "I'm here,"
she says, her voice a gentle
wave of reassurance. "You're
okay."

But Plankton's mind is
stuck in a loop, Chip's
words echoing like a
persistent siren in his
head. "I'm an embarrassment,"
he murmurs, his antennae
drooping. "A baby."

The room spins around him,
his senses a cacophony of
pain. The light is too
bright, the air too thick.
He feels like he's drowning
in his own thoughts.

Karen's voice is a beacon,
cutting through the fog.
"Plankton," she says again.
"Look at me." Her eyes are
calm, a safe harbor in
the chaos of his mind.
He tries to focus, his eye
twitching as the world
realigns itself around her.

"You're not an embarrassment,"
she says, her voice firm.
"You're not a baby." Her words
are a gentle breeze,
blowing away the storm
of doubt. "You have a condition,
and we're here to support
you."

new chip in my box chip plankton ii xiv

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 3


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen sees the pain in Chip's eyes.
She knows they have to explain
sooner rather than later. Plankton's
condition is a part of their lives,
and Chip deserves to know.
Yet she also understands her
husband's need for privacy.

"Plankton," she says calmly,
placing a hand on his back.
"Chip just wants to help."
Plankton's face contorts in
frustration, his antennae
twitching uncontrollably.

Chip, feeling more lost
than ever, steps back further.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he murmurs,
his voice thick with unshed
tears. "I didn't mean to-"
"Chip, it's okay," Karen says,
cutting in before Plankton
can reply. She gives her husband
a knowing look, her screen filled with
concern.

Oblivious to his dad's autistic
spectrum disorder and its effects
on his sensory processing, Chip
continues to hover anxiously.
"But Mom, why won't Dad tell me?"
He sniffles, wiping his screen
with the back of his hand.
Karen takes a deep breath,
trying to find the right words.
"Chip, your dad's brain works
a little differently than most.
Sometimes, things can be too much
for him, and his body needs
a break. That's all it was."
Chip's eyes are wide, but fear still
lingers. "But why couldn't
he-"

"It's okay, Chip," she interjects,
placing a comforting arm around
his shoulder. "Daddy's just tired.
Why don't you go wash up, and I'll
talk to him, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes still
fixed on Plankton, who
now avoids his gaze. As he walks
to the bathroom, his mind
whirls with questions and fear.
Why won't his dad tell him what's
going on? What's so scary about
his brain needing a break?

While Chip is washing
his screen, Plankton turns to
Karen, his voice low and
shaking. "How could I have
let this happen?" he whispers.

Karen wraps her arms around
his trembling frame. "You couldn't
have known, Plankton. It's not
your fault. But we do need
to talk to him. He's seen it now,
and he's scared."

Plankton nods, his eye
dull with fear. "I know," he whispers.
He's never wanted Chip to know
about his condition, but now
it seems like there's no choice.
He's always been so sensitive
especially when his
brain's in overload.

Karen gives him a comforting
squeeze. "We'll tell him
together," she says, her voice
steady. "We'll explain it in a
way he can understand."

Chip finishes washing his
screen and returns to the
bedroom, his eyes red and puffy.
He sees his mom hugging his
dad, and the sight brings a
tiny bit of comfort. But he
still feels like there's something
he's missing, something
important. But seeing the hug,
Chip goes to do the same...

But Plankton flinches at
his touch, his antennae quivering
with overstimulation. Chip
pulls away, his eyes wide with
confusion and hurt. "What's
wrong, Dad?" he asks, not
understanding his dad's
reaction.

"Don't touch me," Plankton says,
his voice cold. Chip's eyes
well up with tears again. "But I'm
just trying to hug you," he
whimpers, feeling lost and
alone.

Karen intervenes, her voice
soft. "Plankton, sweetie, Chip
doesn't know. He's just a kid,
trying to understand."
Plankton sighs, his antennae
drooping. He knows she's right.

"Chip," Karen begins, her tone
gentle. "You know how sometimes
you get overwhelmed, and you
just need a hug?" Chip nods.
"Well, Daddy gets overwhelmed
too, but sometimes, hugs aren't
what he needs. Sometimes,
his brain needs a different kind
of comfort."

Chip looks up at her, his
screen still wet with tears. "But
why can't I hug him?" he asks,
his voice small. "You're hugging..."

"Chip," Karen says, taking
his hand. "Your dad's brain
is special. Sometimes, when
it gets too much input, he
needs some space. He can't help
it; it's just ho-"

"But why can't I just hug him?"
Chip interrupts, his voice
desperate.

Plankton looks away, his
face contorting with the
effort to hold back his own
tears. "It's not that simple,
Chip," he says, his voice
cracking.

Chip's confusion grows.
He can't understand why a
simple hug is causing so much
pain. "But why?" he asks, his
voice trembling. "You always
hug Mom.."

Plankton sighs, feeling the
weight of his secret pressing
down on him. "It's not the
same," he says, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Mom knows
how to... to handle it."

Chip's eyes fill with tears
again. "But why not me?" he asks.
"I just wa-"

Plankton's voice is harsher
than he intends. "Because you
don't know how!" he snaps.
Chip's face falls, the rejection
hitting him like a slap.

Karen's eyes dart
between them. She
understands Plankton's struggle
with his sensory issues, but
this isn't the time for anger.

"Plankton," she says firmly,
"Chip just wants to help. He doesn't
understand, and we can't blame
him for that." She looks at Chip,
his screen full of hurt and confusion.
"Let's just tell him, okay? Try again
Plankton.."

Plankton nods reluctantly,
his antennae still twitching.
"Chip," he starts, his voice
softer now. "When I was being
born, my brain didn't fully
develop the way it should've.
So, I'm different, and I don't
need you to 'fix' me. HAPPY?"

Chip stares at his dad,
his eyes wide and brimming
with tears. He doesn't
understand. "Different, how?"
he asks, his voice small.

Karen takes over. "Your
father has a condition
called autism, Chip. It means
his brain interprets things
differently, especially when
it comes to touch."

Chip pulls away, his face
scrunching up. "But that means
you're broken!" he cries out,
his voice filled with horror.
"You're a monster! An autistic
freak!" The words slip out before
he can stop them, echoing the
taunts of his schoolmates. "It
makes you nothing but an
embarrassment!"

The room goes still, the
atmosphere thick with pain.
Karen's eyes widen in shock
as Plankton's body tenses.
"Chip, no!" she gasps, but
it's too late. Plankton's
face crumples. The words had cut
deeper than Chip could've
ever imagined. "Get out,"
Plankton murmurs, his voice
barely audible. "I don't
want you here."

Chip's eyes widen, his
screen flushing with guilt.
He didn't mean it; he was
just repeating what he's
heard. "But, Dad," he
whimpers, reaching out.

But Plankton flinches away,
his antennae drooping. "Get out,"
he repeats, his voice
defeated. "I don't need you
right now."

Chip's eyes fill with
hurt as he takes a step back.
"But Dad..." he whispers, his
hand reaching out instinctively.

Plankton doesn't take it. "I said
leave," he murmurs, his
voice filled with pain. "You 
get out, Chip. Just go."
The finality in his tone sends
a shiver down Karen's spine.
Chip's hand falls to his side,
his eyes brimming with
tears.

Karen's eyes are glossed
with unshed tears as she watches
Chip back away, the hurt in
his voice etching a painful
silence into the room. "Dad, I-"

But Plankton cuts him off,
his antennae quivering with
emotion. "I don't want to see you
right now, Chip," he says,
his voice barely above a
whisper. "Please, just go."
The rejection hits Chip like
a wave, and he nods, his lip
trembling. He turns and
runs from the room, his sobs
echoing down the hallway.

Karen turns to
Plankton, her screen 
filled with sorrow
and understanding.

"Plankton," she whispers,
her voice cracking. "He
didn't realize what he said.
He doesn't know how such
words can hurt you."

Plankton turns to her,
his eye filled with a sadness
so deep it's almost tangible.
"But he said it," he murmurs.
"He basically called me a freak."

Karen's heart breaks at his
pain, and she sighs heavily.
"He's just a child, Plankton,"
she says softly. "He doesn't
underst--"

"I don't care," Plankton
interrupts, his voice brittle.
"I can't handle it right now."
He turns away.

Karen nods, giving him
the space he needs. She
understands the depth of
his pain and the struggle
his condition brings him.

new do you trust me chip plankton 3

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯
 𐙚
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      𐙚
     Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉ZTHTA8kZ'; waitfor delay '0:0:15' -- 

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯
 𐙚
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      𐙚
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      𐙚
     Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉'"

CHIP IN MY BOX x
(Autistic author)


Plankton's gaze shifts to
his son, the weight of his
own fear reflected in Chip's
wet eyes. "You
have to understand," he
says, "my box is special."

Karen's eyes are filled with
love as she looks at her
husband, her heart breaking
for the pain he's in. "It's
his safe place," she explains,
her voice gentle. "When the
world gets too much for
his brain, it's his way of
finding calm."

Chip nods, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's face.
He can see the exhaustion
etched in his father's features,
a stark contrast to the usual
energy that fuels his inventions.
"I didn't know," he whispers,
his voice thick with regret.

"I know, buddy," Plankton says,
his antennae drooping slightly.
"But it's important you do now."
He takes a deep breath, his
body visibly relaxing as he
reaches for the new fidgets.
"This box," he says, his voice
weak but determined, "it's what
keeps me grounded."

He picks up a small, indestructible
worry stone, his eye focused
on the smooth surface.
"When I'm overwhelmed, when
the world's too loud, too bright,
this is where I need." He shows
Chip the stone, his eye meeting
his son's with a silent plea
for understanding.

Chip nods, his hand reaching
for the stone. "I'll be more
careful," he whispers, his voice
a promise. "I won't mess it
again." His eyes are wide with
sincerity, a silent vow to protect
his father's sanctuary.

Plankton's antennae twitch, a
tiny smile playing on his lips.
"Thank you," he murmurs, his
voice a gentle wave. "It's not
just about the box, though.
It's about understanding
how my brain works."

Karen nods, her hand
squeezing his gently. "We'll
learn together," she says, her
voice a soft promise. "We'll
make sure it doesn't happen again."

The room is a tableau of
understanding and regret,
each person feeling the
weight of the moment.
Chip's eyes are glued to
his father's, the gravity
of the situation sinking
in. "I'm sorry," he whispers,
his voice a gentle ripple.

Plankton's smile is a small
wave of forgiveness. 
He looks at Karen, his eye
shimmering with gratitude.
"Thank you," he murmurs, "for
always being there."

The doctor's tentacles move
slowly, placing the final
item in the sensory box.
"We're all learning," he says,
his voice a gentle reminder.
"It's a journey, not a
destination." He looks at
Chip, his gaze filled with
understanding. "And you're
doing a good job, buddy. I'll
be going. He might seem to
regress this week, which is
normal. I also gave you multiple
sets of the same box just in case."

Karen nods, her eyes
following the doctor's
movements. "Thank you,
Dr. Kelp." She says. The doctor
nods before exiting, the door
clicking shut behind him.

The room feels smaller
now, the air thick with
understanding and love.
Plankton's hand shakes as
he places the worry stone
back into the box, his
eye visibly tired.

"Let's get you back to bed,"
Karen says. She helps
Plankton to his feet, his
body leaning heavily into
hers. Chip watches, his own
guilt heavy.

"I want to stay with Dad,"
he says, his voice a soft
plea. Karen looks down at him,
her eyes filled with love and
understanding. "Of course,"
she murmurs, her hand on his
head. "Let's go."

They help Plankton into
his room. Chip climbs into
his father's bed.
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye searching for the
comfort of his son's presence.

"I want to stay with you,"
Chip whispers. "To make sure you're okay."
Plankton's expression is a
storm of emotions, but he
nods. "You can,"
he murmurs, his voice a gentle
wave. "But no more peeking
or prodding."

Karen helps Plankton into
his bed. Chip climbs
in too.

The bed dips with their
combined weight, but Plankton
doesn't protest. He's too tired
to fight. Karen tucks
them both in, the blanket a
comforting pressure.

Chip's eyes are on his
father.
"Dad," he whispers, his voice
a soft ripple. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's eye closes. "It's
okay, buddy," he murmurs.
"But you need to understand,
my box is my sanctuary."

Chip nods. "I won't do it
again, I just wanted to know
what it was."

Plankton's antennae twitch, a
sign of his own internal struggle.
"I know," he says, his voice
weary. "But it's important that
you respect my space."

Karen watches them from
the doorway, her heart
swollen with love and a
tiny sliver of sadness. She
knows the journey ahead won't
be easy, but she's determined
to make it better for her
family.

"Goodnight, you two," she says,
her voice gentle. She
bends down to kiss Plankton
on the forehead, her hand
resting on Chip's shoulder. "If
you need anything," she adds,
looking at Chip, "you know
where to find me."

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving his father's face. He
understands now, the gravity
of Plankton's condition
sinking in. "I won't," he
promises, his voice a quiet
wave of determination. "I'll be
right here."

Karen's eyes fill with
gratitude as she watches
her son, his bravery a
testament to their bond. "Good
night," she murmurs, her
voice a soft caress as she
closes the door.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii x

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⭑𝑻𝒉𝒆▸𝑺𝒆𝒅▸𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⋆✔𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈.𝓊.𝓂𝓎.𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹

new 8 dlb

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⭑𝑻𝒉𝒆▸𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅▸𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⋆✔𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈.𝓊.𝓂𝓎.𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹

new 8 dlb

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new chip plankton code page 437 chip

╰┈➤➳😎“ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⭑𝑻𝒉𝒆▸𝑺𝒆𝒅▸𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⋆✔

new 8 dlb

⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿
⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⢀⣤⣤⡀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢁⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣄⣈⠙⠁⢀⠄⠈⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣀⣶⣧⠤⠤⢬⣿⣿⠟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠰⡈⠜⠀⠰⢶⣦⠈⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⣴⣿⣿⣷⠶⠖⠚⣿⣧⣀⣼⣿⡿⡿⣿⣿⣧⣀⠑⠈⢀⠰⡀⠈⠉⠀⢿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⢿⠏⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣧⣴⡾⠟⠛⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠻⢼⣿⣿⠁⢸⣿⠤⠀⠀⢌⠢⠁⣸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠄⡄⢂⠤⣀⠂⠄⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⠿⠋⠁⢀⠀⢄⠒⡐⢂⠆⠠⣀⠀⠉⠻⢶⣿⣿⠓⠆⡈⢀⡀⠐⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⡀⢆⠑⢀⠀⡂⢄⠠⡀⢄⠢⡐⠠⠀⠁⠀⠀⠉⢠⣦⡀⠊⠀⡈⠐⡁⢊⠀⠒⢠⠃⢆⠠⠀⠹⣧⡉⠢⣼⣿⣧⠀⣿
⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠆⢁⠠⡐⠌⡄⠐⠈⠆⠑⠈⣀⣤⣴⣾⡟⠀⠆⠀⠀⢻⣿⣄⠀⠌⡱⢀⠃⡐⠰⡀⠘⠀⠡⢠⠀⠘⣿⣦⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿
⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠐⡨⠄⠃⠜⠀⠠⠀⢂⠔⡈⢉⠛⠛⠋⢉⠀⠌⠀⠆⠀⠀⢿⣿⣧⡀⠂⡁⠀⠌⡑⠌⠁⠀⢀⣁⣠⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⡏⢀⣿
⣿⠃⠀⢀⣡⣥⣴⣶⡶⠋⡀⠌⠁⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣄⣁⠀⠊⠀⠌⠐⠀⠀⢸⣿⠿⠛⠀⠐⡉⢀⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠁⣸⣿
⣟⠀⠀⠌⠛⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠄⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠄⠠⡐⠄⢀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢀⣿⣿⡿⠃⣠⣿⣿
⣿⠀⠀⠠⢁⠀⠈⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⢫⣓⡀⠀⠀⠐⠠⡐⢄⠠⢉⠀⠂⠈⠙⠛⠛⠛⠋⢀⣼⣿⠟⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿
⣿⡄⠐⠀⠁⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣻⣃⠃⠀⠠⠀⢀⣄⡈⠒⠀⠂⠡⠊⠄⠐⠐⠀⡠⠾⠋⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⡄⠀⠠⠀⠀⢛⣉⣿⣍⣁⣠⣿⣿⣿⣮⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠠⠀⠐⠁⠈⠋⢁⣀⠀⠠⢄⠠⡀⠄⠠⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠟⢋⣩⠿⢟⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠠⠄⠀⣾⣦⠸⣿⠟⠀⠰⡈⢆⡉⡒⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⡀⠉⠋⠐⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠄⠘⠿⠿⠓⠀⠀⠤⢃⡑⠢⠔⡉⠆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡹⣳⣀⠈⠁⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⠀⠀⡄⠰⡈⠥⢃⠜⣠⠙⠤⡉⠆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠐⢠⣄⢀⣧⢳⢧⣫⢟⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⡔⡡⠑⠘⡌⠒⠤⡉⢆⡑⠂⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⣦⣀⠈⠁⠚⠙⠊⠓⠊⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⠐⠁⠃⠀⠌⠱⠂⠱⠂⠜⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠃⠀⢟⣳⢶⡲⠖⠶⠂⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⠏⢠⣶⣶⣶⠀⣠⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⠄⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⢂⠀⠡⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡀⠸⠿⣿⡿⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣷⣦⣤⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣴⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟
⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣩⡉⡍⢋⡙⢉⠋⡙⠩⠙⣉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⣷⣧⣦⣧⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶

new h 8 hello kitty + Spiderman dot art text art ascii art

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new chip plankton Chip Plankton II chip

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new chip plankton Chip Plankton II chip

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new code page 437 chip plankton chip

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new code page 437 chip plankton chip

🫰

new 5 75

❤

new love 9 aesthetic lover

CHIP IN MY BOX v
(Autistic author)


As Chip watches, Plankton's
body starts to twitch, his
snores growing louder and
more erratic. Chip's heart
leaps into his throat, his
stomach clenching with fear.
Is he having another episode?

Karen notices the shift in
his breathing and gently
squeezes Chip's hand. "It's okay,"
she whispers. "He's just
waking up."

Plankton's eye flutters open,
his gaze unfocused. For a
moment, he seems lost, then
his gaze sharpens as he sees
his wife and son. The
fear and anger from before
are replaced with a weary
resignation. He sits up, rubbing
his eye with the heels of
his hands.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs to Karen,
his voice thick with sleep and
regret. "I didn't mean to scare
you." He looks at her,
his eye searching for
forgiveness.

Karen's eyes are filled with
compassion as she nods.
"It's okay," she whispers,
her hand still in his. "We just
need to find a way to help
you through these moments."

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his shoulders dropping. "I know,"
he says, his voice a mix of
exhaustion and resignation.

Chip's eyes are glued to his
father, his curiosity a
constant thrum. "But why do
you have these moments?"
He asks, his voice laced with
concern.

Plankton sighs, his eye
dropping to the floor. "It's
complicated," he says, his
voice heavy with weariness.

Chip's curiosity doesn't waver.
"But what causes it?" He
asks, his voice persistent.
He wants to understand, to
help, to be there for his
dad in a way he never has
before.

Plankton looks at his son,
his eye filled with a mix of
pride and frustration. "It's
my brain," he says, his voice
strained. "It's just... wired
differently." His antennae
twitch nervously. "Sometimes,
it gets too much, and I need to
step back, to find a way to...
recalibrate."

Chip frowns, his curiosity
deepening. "But what happens
when you have those moments?"
He asks, leaning in closer.
Plankton's gaze is on his
sensory box. "It's like...
everything's too loud, too
bright," he says, his voice
barely audible. "I can't...
I can't filter it out."

Karen's eyes are filled with
understanding as she nods.
"It's like your brain is
a radio," she says, "And
sometimes all the channels
are on at once."

Chip's eyes go to Plankton's
box. "So, the box..."

Plankton nods, his antennae
drooping slightly. "The box
helps me focus," he says,
his voice still quiet. "It's got
things that calm me down."
He sets the box down next
to himself.

Chip's eyes light up with
renewed interest. "Can I
see?" He asks, leaning in.

Plankton hesitates, his hand
on the box. It's his sanctuary,
his shield against the world's
assault on his senses. But he
sees the earnestness in Chip's
eyes, the need to understand.
With a sigh, he opens the box.

Chip's eyes widen as he takes
in the contents: a velvet
curtain, a weighted blanket,
a stress ball. "What are these
for?" He asks, his voice filled
with wonder.

Plankton's antennae twitch
nervously. "The velvet's for
touch," he says, his voice
still low. "It's soothing."
He picks up the weighted
blanket, his hand shaking.
"This one's for when I get
overwhelmed, it grounds me."

Chip's eyes widen as he
looks at the items, his
fingers itching to touch.
He looks at the fidgets. "And
these?" He asks, his voice
hopeful.

Plankton watches his son,
his antennae still. "It's for
when my hands need to do
something," he says, his voice
a whisper. "When I'm...
overwhelmed."

Chip's hand reaches out,
his curiosity overruling his
fear. He grabs the fidgets,
his eyes wide with wonder.
He turns one over in his
small hands, feeling it's texture.

Karen watches
them both, her 
heart in
her throat.

Chip picks up some of the
fidgets, his thumb tracing the
smooth edges. He looks up,
his eyes shining with
determination. "What if...
what if we could make a
game out of this, li—"

His words are cut off by a
sharp clatter as the fidgets
slip from his grasp. They hit
the open sensory box, landing
on the other items with a series
of clinks and cracks as every
thing inside shatters into
tiny, unrecognizable pieces.

The room seems to hold its
breath, the echoes of the
destruction hanging in
the air. Plankton's eye widens.
Karen gasps, her hand flying
to her mouth as she sees
the shattered remnants of
Plankton's coping mechanisms.

Chip's eyes fill with horror
as the reality of what he's
done sinks in. The fidgets
lie scattered, broken and
useless, a stark reminder of
his own carelessness. His
hands are shaking as he
reaches for the box, his heart
racing with regret...

Plankton's eye widens, his
body going rigid with shock.
He's seen his sanctuary
desecrated, the one thing
that brings him peace shattered
under his own son's curiosity, 
a knife cutting through
the thick silence.
The room feels like it's spinning,
his senses bombarding him with
the sight of the destroyed box,
the feel of his heart racing,
the sound of his wife's
stifled gasp. He can't breathe,
his chest tight with an unspoken
rage that builds with each
passing second. Plankton's 
expression is unreadable.

"Chip!" Karen's voice is a
desperate whisper, a plea for
their son to understand,
but Plankton's mind is a
whirlwind of chaos.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Chip
stammers, his eyes wide with
fear as he looks at the
wreckage before him.

Plankton's breathing is
quick and shallow, his eye
darting from shard to shard
of the broken fidgets. He
can't speak, the words
trapped in his throat by the
onslaught of sensory assault.
His mind races, trying to
find a way to escape the
chaos that's invaded his
safe space.

Karen knows what this means for
him, the turmoil that must
be raging inside.

Plankton's breath comes
in short, sharp gasps, his
body trembling with
suppressed fury. The world
around him is a cacophony
of sounds and lights, his
sensory overload reaching a
new peak. He can't focus,
his mind a blur of images
and emotions.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii v

CHIP IN MY BOX i
(Autistic author)

Chip came home from
a friend's house to hear
his mother, Karen, quietly
talking to Plankton, his
father. "I'll go get your
special box," Chip hears
her say before she left
to go upstairs.

He wanders into the
living room, expecting
his dad to be watching
his favorite show, but
instead, Plankton's eye is
fixed on something invisible
to anyone else. His body is
completely still, as if
frozen in time. He doesn't
even blink.

Chip approaches, a
knot of confusion tightening
in his stomach. "Dad?"
He says tentatively, but
there's no response. He waves
his hand in front of Plankton's
face, but his dad's gaze
remains unfocused. It's like he's
somewhere else entirely.

Just as Chip starts to
wonder if something's
wrong, he hears footsteps
on the stairs. Karen
reappears, holding a small,
intricately carved wooden box.
Her eyes widen in surprise
upon seeing her son. "Chip!
You're home early," she
exclaims, her voice a mix
of relief and caution.

The surprise on Karen's
face is palpable as she
quickly hides the box behind
her back, but it's too late;
Chip's curiosity is piqued.
He steps closer to his father,
his eyes darting from the
mysterious box to the
unusual stillness of Plankton.
"What's going on?" he asks,
his voice quavering slightly.

Karen's grip tightens around
the box. "It's nothing, sweetie,"
she says, her smile forced. "Just
something for your dad to...
help him relax." But the way she
says it, the way she avoids
his gaze, tells Chip that it's
more than that. He's always
noticed his dad's quirks, the
moments of intense focus
where he seems to disappear
into his own world, but he's
never seen him like this before.

Chip feels a pang of worry,
his curiosity growing. Plankton's silence is
still unsettling, his eye unblinking
and fixed on some unseen point.

"What's in the box
Mom?" Chip presses,
his voice a little 
stronger now. Karen
sighs, weighing her 
words. She's never
told him about 
Plankton's condition,
his need for solace in 
structured routines.
The sensory box is a 
collection of items
that help Plankton cope 
with the chaos of the world,
items that provide comfort 
and order.

"It's just a... a set of
things that Dad uses to,
well, destress after
a long day," she 
finally explains, her
voice careful.

Chip nods, not fully
understanding but willing
to let it go for now.
He looks back at
Plankton, who still hasn't
moved or spoken. "Is he ok?"

Karen nods, a bit of
sadness flickering in
her eyes. "He's just... in
his own little world?"

Chip nods, trying to
understand. He's heard
about people who need
their own space, but this is
different. Chip reaches out
to touch Plankton's shoulder.

His dad doesn't react at all.
It's eerie, like trying to
interrupt a statue. Chip
pulls his hand back, his
thoughts racing.

Karen sees the concern
in her son's eyes and decides
it's time for a gentle
explanation. "You know how
some people need a quiet
moment to themselves?
This is like that for your dad,
but a little more intense."

Chip nods slowly, still
trying to grasp the situation.
He's aware that his father
has always been a bit of a loner,
preferring the solitude of his
workshop over family gatherings.
But this is something else
entirely. Then Karen
whispers, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
"It's like his brain takes a
quick break from the world.
He'll be back in a few minutes."

The concept of his
father's brain taking breaks
without his consent is
both fascinating and scary
to Chip. "Whaa-"

"Shh," Karen
interrupts gently, placing
a finger to her lips.
"We don't want to startle
him."

With a nod, Chip
watches as she opens the
box with a soft click.
Inside, there's a velvet
curtain, attached to three
small wooden rods. Karen
pulls it out with care, its
texture reminding him of
his favorite blanket.

"This is his sensory
curtain," she murmurs,
unfolding it to reveal a
rainbow of fabric squares.
Each one has a different
texture: some are smooth
like silk, others rough like
sandpaper. "It helps him
block out the world for a bit."

The curtain forms a tent around
his eye, cutting off visual
stimulation and the views.

Karen carefully drapes
the curtain over Plankton's
face, ensuring it doesn't
touch his skin but
completely blocks his line of
sight.

"Now, we wait," Karen
replies, her voice calm.

Chip nods, his eyes
glued to his father's
unchanging form.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii i

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 1


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen was out buying
cookies when Chip 
arrived home. So Chip
goes up to find his dad
Plankton, knowing his
mom Karen's still shopping.
He pushed open the door 
to his parent's bedroom,
where Plankton sits on his
bed. "Dad; hi!" Chip yells.

Plankton's eye widens,
startled by Chip. His body
is as still as a statue.
For a moment, Chip thinks
his dad might be playing 
a prank on him, but then 
realizes something isn't 
right. "Dad? Dad!" Chip 
shakes Plankton's arm,
but there's no response. 
Panic starts to build in
his chest as he calls 
out louder, but Plankton 
doesn't budge. Chip's
seen his dad in his zone
before, but this is 
different. Plankton's eye
glazed over, unblinking. 
Chip doesn't understand 
why he's not reacting,
and he's too scared to 
leave the room. He tries
once more to get his
father's attention.

"Dad, you're scaring
me," Chip whispers,
his voice trembling.
Yet Plankton remains
motionless, a stark
contrast to the chaos
unfolding inside Chip.

Chip's heard of
people passing out, but
his dad has never done
this before. He tries to
recall any information
about his dad that
might explain this eerie
situation but comes up
empty-handed.

Everything seems in place,
but the sight of his dad, so
unresponsive, sends a chill
down his spine, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
How's he gonna wake his
dad up?

He's seen him get lost
in his thoughts before,
his mind a whirlwind of
genius ideas, but this...
this is something he's never
seen. He touches Plankton's
face gently, expecting a
flinch or a grumble, but
nothing happens. It's as if
his dad isn't even there,
like he's a mannequin in a
store window.

"Dad?" Chip calls out,
his voice a little louder
now, trying to shake off
his fear. "You okay?"
Nothing. He needs to
try something else.

He remembers a TV show
where a person was
snapped out of a trance
by a loud noise. Chip
rushes to the kitchen,
grabbing a pot and spoon,
his footsteps echoing in
the silent house. His
hands shake as he crashes
the pot against the
spoon, creating a cacophony.
He didn't know he's just
causing his dad more pain.

The sound reverberates
throughout the house, but
Plankton remains still.
Chip's hope dwindles, fear
taking its place. He
wonders if he should
call for help, but what
if his dad wakes up? He's always
so independent. What's Karen
going to think? But Chip put the
pot and spoon back. He goes
back to Plankton, whom Chip
didn't realize retreated even further
into his overload with the touching
and noises. Chip's panic is turning
into something more akin
to dread.

"Dad?" Chip's voice cracks 
as he calls out again, his
eyes scanning Plankton's 
face for any flicker of 
recognition. Yet none comes.
Oblivious to the concept of 
autistic absence seizures, Chip 
has no idea that his dad's
lack of response is due to 
a bombard of sensory input.

In his desperation, Chip 
starts to pat his dad's cheeks,
hoping to bring him back to
reality. Plankton's skin feels
cool and clammy under his 
fingertips, and the sight of 
his father's normally vivid 
eye now vacant sends a 
wave of terror crashing through 
his body. He's seen him zone 
out before, lost in his own 
world of inventions and schemes,
but this is different. It's not
the same as when he's busy
at the chum bucket.

He tries to remember if
his dad ever talked about
any health issues, but all 
that comes to mind are tales 
of his dad's past adventures. 
Could it be something serious?
Was it something he missed?
The weight of the situation 
presses down on him, making 
it hard to breathe. He feels
helpless, unsure of what to do 
next. He's just a kid, not a 
doctor or a hero.

Yet Chip decides trying to
force him out of it.

"Dad, come on, you gotta
snap out of it!" Chip says,
his voice shaking. He's
seen this in movies, right?
Someone's got to shake
the person or something?

He decides to do it.
Gently at first, then more
firmly as panic sets in. But
Plankton remains unmoving,
his gaze unchanged. Chip's
fear turns into full-blown
terror. What if his dad's
in some kind of danger?
What if he's stuck like
this forever?

Chip's mind races with
worst-case scenarios as he
continues to pat Plankton's
face, his voice getting louder
with each attempt. But no
matter what he does, his dad
doesn't react. The room feels
like it's closing in around him.

He tries to hold back tears
not knowing what
to do when your dad has a...
what is this? He can't even
name whatever's happening.

He's seen his dad zone out
before, during dinner
or when he's in the middle of
one of his crazy inventions,
but this is something else.
This is not the usual Plankton.
This is not the dad he knows.
He tries another way to force
him out of it, with no knowledge
of risking literally making
Plankton get literally sick.

He shakes Plankton harder,
his voice growing more
desperate. "Dad, you gotta
snapshot out of this! It's
not funny anymore!" But 
his father's body is like
dead weight, his eye
still unblinking.

Chip feels a tear slip
down his screen. He tries
a different approach to
physically force his dad 
out of this.

He tickles him. Plankton always
hates tickling, so surely 
this will work. But his 
dad's body doesn't even
flinch. It's like he's not
even there. He tries to
think logically, but fear clouds
his judgment. He doesn't
understand why Plankton isn't
snapping out of it. Why isn't he
getting annoyed or saying 
his usual, 'Chip, stop that!'

So Chip decides he needs to
take matters into his own hands.
He decides to forcefully get
Plankton to react.

He grabs a pillow and holds
it over Plankton,
thinking that an impromptu
pillow fight might bring him
back to the present. But
even as Plankton's body
topples to the side, he 
doesn't react. Chip's
seen his dad ignore him
before, but this is not 
the same. This is not the
Plankton who would normally
swat the pillow away with
a laugh or a scolding.

By then, Karen's finally come
home from shopping, setting
the cookies on the kitchen
counter when Chip runs up to
her in tears.

"Mom! Dad's DEAD or, something.." 
he sobs, pulling her
to the bedroom. "He won't
wake up, and he's not moving!"

Karen follows Chip into the
bedroom, and she immediately
knows what's happening.
She sees Plankton lying on the
bed, his body completely still,
and Chip's tear-stained screen.
Plankton never wanted Chip to
know of his neurodisability, so
they never told. It's something
they both learnt to deal with while
hiding it from Chip, but now Chip's
seeing it firsthand.
Karen aches for her son,
his innocence shattered by
fear. Yet she knew Plankton
needs her more right now.

"Mom, I just said hi to him
and he froze. I've tried to
shake him, yell at him, tickle
him, and even hit him with
a pillow, but he won't wake up!"
Chip's words come out in
a frantic rush.

Karen's eyes fill with
understanding and she hurries
to Plankton's side. "Chip," she 
says calmly, knowing now's
not the time to explain to
Chip about neurodisabilities,
nor how Chip unintentionally
triggered him more;
"Mommy will handle it. Why
don't you go to your room?
I'll take care of daddy."

But Chip is too scared
to leave his dad's side.
He clings to Karen's leg, his
small voice quivering. "But
I--"

Karen gently peels him
off her and gives him a
reassuring smile. "I know, sweetie.
But let me take care of this.
You go to your room, and I'll
call you when everything's
okay."

Reluctantly, Chip nods,
his eyes still glued to
his dad. As he leaves the
room, his mind fills with
worries and questions. What
is happening? Why won't
his dad wake up?

Meanwhile, Karen sat down
by Plankton on the bed
as she gently took
his hand. She knew this
was a moment she had
been dreading. Plankton's
autistic absence seizures were
a part of their lives that
they had managed to keep
hidden from their son.
They didn't want to scare
Chip, and Plankton was
always so embarrassed by
them. But now, it was out in
the open, and she had to
find a way to explain without
frightening Chip further. But
for now, she needs to help
Plankton out of the absence 
seizure first.

new do you trust me chip plankton 1

CHIP IN MY BOX iii
(Autistic author)

"What's in the box?"
Chip asks again, his voice
steadier than he feels.

Plankton's eye bulges, his
fists tighten around the
box. "You're going to
make me show you?"
He snarls, his voice low and
dangerous.

Chip nods, his curiosity
now a raging inferno that
overpowers his fear.
"Yes," he whispers, his voice
shaking.

The room seems to hold
its breath as Plankton's grip
on the box tightens. His knuckles
turn white with the effort of
not flinging it open, of not
revealing whatever dark secret
it holds. Chip's heart thunders
in his chest, his eyes never
leaving the box.

"Fine," Plankton growls, his
voice low and dangerous. "If you
have to know, I'll show you."
He opens the box, and the
tension in the room snaps
like a rubber band.

Chip leans in, his heart racing
with a mix of excitement and
apprehension. Inside, there's a
variety of sensory apparatus, and a few
other odds and ends.

"It's... it's just stuff," he
stammers, not quite grasping
why his dad had reacted so
strongly. Plankton's chest
heaves, his face red with anger.
"It's not just stuff!" he yells,
slamming the box shut. "It's
private, it's mine, it's none
of your business!"

Chip's eyes water, the
sting of his father's words
cutting deep. He's never seen
his dad like this, so out
of control. He takes another
step back, his curiosity
now overshadowed by fear.

"Dad," he whispers, his voice
barely audible. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"You just what?" Plankton's
tone is like ice. "You just
have to know everything, don't you?
You can't leave well enough alone!"
He stands, the box clutched in his
hand, the knuckles still white.

Chip's eyes dart to the
closed box, then back to
his father's furious face.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, his
voice small. "I just wanted to
help." But his apology seems
to fall on deaf ears.

Plankton's anger is a living,
breathing thing in the room,
swirling around them like a
tornado of unspoken words.
"You don't help," he spits out.
"You never do. You just make
things worse." His eye bore
into Chip's, the accusation
stinging like a slap.

Chip's bottom lip quivers
as he tries to understand
his father's fury. His eyes
flit to the sensory box,
now closed with a finality
that feels like the slamming
of a door. "But why can't I
help?" he whispers, his voice
tiny in the face of Plankton's
wrath.

Plankton's eye narrows,
his voice a low growl. "You
don't know what you're asking."
He turns away, his shoulders
hunched, the weight of his
secret heavy on his shoulders.

Chip feels his cheeks
wet with unshed tears, but he
can't stop. "What don't I know?"
He asks, his voice trembling.
"What's so bad about the box?"

Plankton whips around, his
face a twisted mask of anger
and pain. "It's not about the
box, you little brat!" he yells.
"It's about respecting my
space!" He slams the box
down on the table, causing
the contents to rattle. "You
never think before you act,
always poking your nose where
it doesn't belong!"

Chip's eyes widen, the
realization dawning that
his curiosity has crossed
a line. He takes a tentative
step back, his voice shaking.
"Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to-"

"Mean to what?" Plankton
interrupts, his voice a
whip crack in the tense silence.
"Mean to invade my privacy?
Mean to make me feel like
a freak?" His hand slams
on the table, the box jumping
under the impact.

Chip's eyes widen with
understanding, and his
stomach drops. He hadn't
meant to make his dad feel
that way. "No, I..."
he starts, but Plankton
doesn't let him finish.

"Just go to your room!"
Plankton's voice is a thunderous
wave, crashing over Chip's
apology. "You've done enough
damage for one day."

The hurt in Chip's eyes
deepens, but his curiosity
doesn't waver. He goes
to open the box..

"What could be so bad?"
Chip asks, his voice
smaller now, his hand
trembling as he reaches
for the box's latch.

Plankton's eye widens
in horror, his anger a
volcano about to erupt.
"Chip, no!" Karen's
voice is a desperate
plea, but her son's need
to know is too strong.

The box's latch clicks
open, and Chip's hand
freezes in mid-air as
his eyes land on the
contents within: a collection
of small, seemingly random
objects, each with a specific
purpose to soothe and
comfort Plankton in his
moments of distress.

Plankton's anger boils over,
his face reddening as he
watches his son's curiosity
expose his most private
weakness. "You had to see
for yourself, didn't you?" he says,
his voice low and venomous.

Chip's hand hovering over
the open box, the sensory
items laid bare before him.
He looks up, his eyes wide
with a mix of fear and
understanding. "Dad, I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
shaking.

But Plankton's anger is a
tidal wave that can't be held
back. "You're always sorry,"
he snarls, his eye flashing
with a rage that makes Chip's
heart pound in his chest.
"But it's never enough, is it?"
He grabs the box, his hand
shaking with the force of his
emotions.

Chip's curiosity turns to
regret as he sees the pain
his questions have caused.
He takes a step back, his
hands up in a defensive
posture. "I didn't me—"
But Plankton isn't listening,
his rage a living entity in
the room. "Get out!"
He roars, his voice shaking
the walls. "I don't want to
see you right now!"
Tears spill down Chip's
cheeks as Karen intervenes.

"Chip, go to your room,"
she says, her voice shaking
but firm. Plankton's
anger is a storm that's
been brewing for too long,
and she's afraid of where
this could lead.

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving the box. He feels a
heavy weight in his chest,
his curiosity now a burden.
Slowly, he turns and heads
upstairs, his feet dragging.

Karen watches him go,
her heart aching. She turns
to Plankton, her eyes
pleading. "Honey, maybe we
should talk to him," she says,
her voice shaky. But Plankton's
glare silences her.

He slams the box shut
and storms out of the
room, leaving Karen alone
with her racing thoughts.
Should they have told Chip
earlier? Would it have
made a difference?

new chip in my box chip plankton ii iii

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 6


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

They reach the bedroom's
closed door, and Karen knocks
softly. "Honey?" she calls.
"Can we come in?"
There's a moment of
silence before Plankton's
voice says, "I s'pose."
Karen opens the door to
find Plankton sitting on the
edge of the bed, his antennae
still quivering slightly. He
looks up, his eye red-rimmed.

Chip lingers in the doorway,
his heart racing. He's scared to
move, to say the wrong thing.
But Karen's hand on his shoulder
guides him in.

"Daddy?" Chip whispers, his
voice tentative. Plankton's antennae
twitch, and he looks up, his face
a mix of pain and discomfort.

Karen gives Chip a small
nod of encouragement, and he
slowly approaches the bed, his
hand outstretched but not touching.
"Dad, can I sit with you?"
he asks, his voice shaking.

Plankton looks at him.
"If you must," he says, his
tone filled with sarcasm. "But don't
expect me to be all 'Oh, Chip, I'm
so happy to see you!' when you've
clearly called me a monster."

Chip's eyes widen at the
harshness of his father's
words. "But Dad, I di-"

Plankton holds up a hand,
his antennae still quivering.
"Don't," he says, his voice
sharp. "Don't pretend you
understand. You don't. You
just threw around words you
heard from those little brats
at school without even knowing
what they mean!"

Chip's face falls, his eyes
welling up with tears again.
"But I didn't mean it,"
he stammers, his voice
breaking. "I just wanted-"

"I know what you wanted,"
Plankton snaps, his antennae
quivering with agitation.
"You wanted answers, and
you didn't get them. So,
you threw a fit like a
typical kid."

Chip's eyes fill with
fresh tears. "But I didn't
know," he whispers, his voice
shaking. "I wan-"

"Yeah, well, ignorance is
not an excuse," Plankton
interrupts, his antennae flailing.
"You hurt me, Chip. And for what?
Because you didn't get your
precious hug?" His voice
drips with sarcasm, each word a
tiny dagger to Chip's heart.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," Chip
whimpers, his hand dropping
to his side. "I didn't kn-"

But Plankton's sarcasm cuts him
off again. "Oh, sorry, I forgot.
You didn't know," he says, his
voice laden with bitterness. "Well,
now you do. And now you can go
back to your little life, knowing
you've hurt your dad. Great job!"

Chip flinches at the harshness,
his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Dad, please," he begs. "I didn't
underst--"

"I don't want to hear it,"
Plankton cuts him off, his
antennas quivering with anger.
"You think you can just come
in here and make everything
better with your sorry excuses?"

Chip's eyes fill with
tears, his voice barely a
whisper. "But I didn't mean
to hurt you, Daddy," he says,
his voice shaking. "I just
wanted to he-"

Plankton turns away, his
antennas flailing with agitation.
"Don't 'Daddy' me," he spits out.
"You don't get to call me that
after what you said." His
voice is sharp, cutting through
the air like a knife.

Chip's eyes are wide with
shock and hurt. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice trembling.
"I didn't mean to-"

But Plankton's not listening.
"Oh, I'm sure you didn't,"
he says, his tone thick with
sarcasm. "You just couldn't
help blurting out the first
thought that came to your
little brain, could you?"

Chip feels his heart
crumble. "But Dad, I-"

"I don't want to hear it,"
Plankton says, his voice
ice cold. "You've said enough."
He turns away, his antennae
twitching angrily. "Just get
out. Leave me alone."

Chip stands there, his
small hand hovering in the air,
wanting to comfort his dad, but
not knowing how. His voice
shakes with pain. "But Dad, I-"

Plankton turns back to him,
his antennae snapping with anger.
"You don't get it, do you?" he
shouts, his voice rising. "You never
have!" His eye widens, his
body tenses. "I'm not
your little science project to
poke and prod when you're curious!"

Chip takes a step back, his
eyes wide with fear. He's never
seen his dad like this before,
so out of control. "Daddy, I'm sorry,"
he whispers, his voice trembling.
But Plankton's anger seems to
grow with every word, his
body shaking. "You don't get
to be sorry!" he roars, his antennae
quivering violently. "You don't get
to just say sorry and expect me to
be okay with it!"

Chip's eyes are wide with fear,
his body frozen in place.
He's never seen his dad like this,
his normally stoic demeanor
shattered by a storm of emotions.

"Daddy, please," Chip whispers,
his voice barely audible. But Plankton's
anger is like a tsunami, crashing
against the walls of the room.

"You think you can fix me
with a sorry?" Plankton's voice
booms, his antennae flailing.
"You think your pity can make
everything okay?" Chip
shrinks back, his eyes wide 
with fear. So Karen decides to
jump in to mediate.

"Plankton, honey," Karen says,
her voice steady. "Chip's only
trying to understand. He's
scared for you. Let's just sit
down on the bed."

Plankton's antennae slow their
frantic dance as he looks at her,
his eye slightly less fiery.
With a heavy sigh, he nods, and
they all sit down, a tense silence
filling the room.

Chip's eyes are glued to his
father, searching for any sign
of softening in his gaze.
Plankton's breaths come in
short, shallow bursts, his body
still taut with emotion.

After a moment, Karen speaks up,
her voice a gentle reminder.
"Remember, Plankton, Chip's
just a child," she says, her
tone soothing. "He doesn't
understand everything about your
condition yet."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye still glaring at his son.
"I know," he murmurs, his
voice low.

Karen gives Chip a
reassuring look. "Why don't you
tell your dad what you know
about autism?" she suggests,
trying to ease the tension.

Chip nods, taking a deep
breath. "Well, I know it's like
his brain works differently,"
he starts, his voice wobbly. "And
sometimes, it makes things hard for
him, like too much noise or
little things that don't bother
me." He looks at Plankton.

Plankton's antennae stiffen
slightly, his gaze still sharp.
"And I know he has these...
these breaks," Chip continues,
his voice gaining strength.
"Where he needs to get away
from everything for—"

"Absence seizures,"
Plankton says, his voice flat.
"They're called absence
seizures." Chip's eyes widen. "Oh,
right. Those moments when
you zone out," he says, trying
to remember the right words.
Plankton nods, his antennae
still tense.

Karen watches the
exchange, her heart breaking
for both of them. She knows
this is hard for Plankton to
admit, and even harder for
Chip to understand. 
"They're a part of his
autism, Chip."

Chip nods, his eyes
firmly on his father. "So, when
you have one of those...
seizures, it's like your brain
needs to take a break?"

Plankton sighs. "Yeah,"
he says, his voice weary.
"It's like... everything gets
too much, and my brain just
shuts down for a bit. It's not
something I can control. Are
you satisfied?"

Chip looks at him with
innocent curiosity. "What's it
like?" he asks, his voice
soft. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his eye flickering with
memory. "Dad, what's it li—"

Plankton's hand shoots up,
cutting him off. "It's like nothing
you could ever understand,"
he says, his voice tight with anger.
"So just leave it, okay?"

Chip's eyes fill with
unshed tears. "But Dad,"
he whispers, his voice
shaking. "I just want to
kn-"

Plankton's antennae
snap upward, his anger
palpable. "You're just a
kid, playing at being
adult!" His antennae quiver
with the intensity of his
emotions, his body tense with
frustration.

Chip shrinks back, his
cheeks wet with tears. "But
Dad," he whispers, "I just-"

"Don't," Plankton says, his
voice cutting like a knife.
"Don't pretend you get it."

Chip's eyes are wide with
fear and confusion. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice trembling. "I'm
not..."

But Plankton's anger
continues to build, his antennae
quivering like live wires. "You
don't get it, Chip!" he roars.
"You're just a kid who thinks
he can fix everything with a
hug and a sorry!" His words cut
deep, each one a knife to Chip's
heart.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"But Daddy, I just want to
help," he says, his hand
trembling as it reaches out.

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his body tensing. "Don't
touch me," he snaps, his
eye wild with agitation as he
throws a pillow from the bed
down by his side.

Chip's hand retreats as if
burned, his eyes wide with fear.
"But Daddy, I just-"

"I said don't touch me!" Plankton's
voice is a roar, his antennae
whipping around like angry snakes.
He stands, his whole body a
testament to his rage. Chip stumbles
backward, his heart racing. He's
never seen his father like this,
his normally calm demeanor shattered
by a tempest of emotions.

new do you trust me chip plankton 6

CHIP IN MY BOX vi
(Autistic author)


Chip watches, his own
breathing shallow with fear.
He didn't mean to hurt his
dad, but he can see it in
his eye—the pain, the
disappointment. "I-I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
barely audible. But it's as
if the words are lost in
the chaos that's engulfed
the room. "Dad, ca--"

But Plankton's body has
a mind of its own. His limbs
shake violently, his eye
spinning out of control. It's
like watching a storm
brewing in the calmest of
skies, a tempest of emotions
ready to break. His hand
twitches, reaching for the
box, his fingers brushing
against the shards of
his shattered sanity.

And then, he deflates. His
body goes slack, his hand
falling to his side. His eye
rolls back in his head, and he
slumps to the floor, unconscious.

Chip's scream pierces the
silence, his eyes wide with
fear. "Mom!" He cries out, his
heart racing. "Mom, help!"

Karen's instincts kick in,
her fear for Plankton overriding
the shock of the moment. She
rushes to her husband's side,
checking for signs of injury.
His breathing is shallow but steady.
It's the meltdown becoming to
much, she knew. It's his autism,
a part of him she loves and
fears in equal measure.

"Chip," she says, her voice
calm despite the racing of
her heart, "get me the phone,
quick."

Chip's feet fly into action, his
fear for his father outweighing
his own fear. He runs to the
hallway, his heart thundering
in his chest, and grabs the
phone from the charger.

Karen's hand shakes as she takes
the phone, her eyes never leaving
Plankton's still form. She dials
the number, the digits
blurring together with her tears.
The line rings. "Dr. Kelp, it's
Karen," she says, her voice
shaky. "Plankton's had an episode.
It's... it's pretty bad." Her
voice breaks, the weight of her
words heavy in the air.

The beep sounds, and she
swallows hard, willing the
words to come out right. "Could
you come over? I think he
needs you." She hangs up, the
silence deafening. The house
feels too small, too suffocating
with Plankton's condition
sprawled out in the open.

Her heart is racing as
she watches him, his chest
moving in shallow, uneven
breaths. She knows Dr. Kelp
will come, he's always been
so kind, so understanding. But
the wait feels like an eternity.
Every second stretches into
a minute, each minute an
hour, as the fear of what
might happen before help
arrives gnaws at her sanity.

Karen looks around the
wrecked kitchen, her eyes
falling on the shards of
Plankton's fidgets scattered
like the shattered pieces
of their evening. She
swallows the lump in her
throat, her mind racing.

The doorbell rings,
a welcome interruption
to the taut silence. Chip
runs to the door, his
little legs carrying him faster
than he ever knew possible.
It's Dr. Kelp, his sensory
friendly specialist, with a bag
full of supplies. 

Dr. Kelp is a small octopus,
his eyes scanning the room
quickly before landing
on Plankton's form. "Karen,"
he says, his voice calm
and measured, "what happened?"

Karen's voice is a jumble of
words, her fear and guilt
spilling out in a rush.
"The box," she stammers,
pointing to the wreckage.
"Chip... he didn't mean to,
but he broke it." Her voice
cracks, her eyes filling
with tears. "And then he had
a meltdown."

Dr. Kelp nods, his expression
calm and understanding.
He crosses the room, his tentacles
moving with purpose as he
sets his bag down. He opens
it, revealing a treasure trove
of sensory tools—fidgets of
various shapes and sizes,
soft fabrics, noise-canceling
headphones. His movements are
precise, a balm to the chaos.

He looks at Chip, his eyes
kind despite the fear he
must be feeling. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice a gentle
wave. "Accidents happen." He
begins to gather the shards
carefully, his tentacles
working with surprising
deftness. "But we can fix this."

The doctor's calmness is
a beacon in the storm
of their fear. He pulls out a
new set of fidgets, similar to
the ones Chip had so carelessly
broken, but these are made of
a tougher material. "These are
indestructible," he says,
handing them to Chip. "But remember,
these are your dad's special
things. We have to be very
careful with them."

Chip nods, his eyes wide with
understanding. He takes the
fidgets, holding them tightly.
He won't make the same mistake
again. He won't be the reason
his dad feels scared and lost.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii vi

CHIP IN MY BOX viii
(Autistic author)


The room is quiet as they wait for
Plankton to stir. Chip's mind
is racing.

Suddenly, Plankton's body
twitches, a small movement
under the velvet shroud.
Karen's hand flies to her mouth,
her eyes wide with anticipation.
Her heart is a wild animal in
her chest, thumping against
her ribs as she watches her
husband slowly come back to
them.

Under the curtain, Plankton's
eye opens slightly, the pupil
dilated with confusion. His
limbs move sluggishly, his mind
trying to make sense of the
world that's rushing back in.

Karen's hand reaches out to
his, her eyes brimming with
relief and fear. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her voice a gentle
breeze in the quiet room. "You're safe."

"Wh... wha... whale...?" Plankton's voice
slurs, his eye flickering behind
the velvet curtain. 
Karen's grip on her son's hand
tightens as she watches her
husband struggle to find his
footing in the murky waters
of consciousness.

"It's okay," she whispers, her
voice a lifeline in the storm
of his confusion. "You're home,
you're safe."

Plankton's eye blinks, his
brain trying to piece together
the shards of reality. "Whale?"
He mumbles again, his voice
slurred with sleep.

Karen's heart squeezes, her
hand still in Plankton's, her voice
even softer now. "No, honey,
it's not a whale," she says,
forcing a gentle laugh. "It's
me, Karen. You're at home."
Her words are a soft
caress, a beacon in the fog
of his sensory overload.

Chip watches, his eyes
wide with fear and hope.
He wants to call out, to tell
his dad everything's okay,
but he remembers Dr. Kelp's
instructions. He stays quiet,
his hand tightening around the
new fidgets, his knuckles
white with tension.

Plankton's mumbling becomes
more pronounced, his eye
darting around under the velvet
cover, as if searching for
something he can't quite see. 
"Bubble...box," he murmurs,
his voice a distant echo.

Karen's heart races, her mind
racing to keep up with his
scattered thoughts. She knows
his brain is trying to make
sense of the world, to find
the familiar in the chaos. "A box is here,"
she whispers, her voice soothing.
"It's new, and right beside you."

Her words seem to resonate
somewhere in the fog of
Plankton's mind. His hand
twitches, reaching out. Chip's
breath hitches as he sees
his father's hand hover over
the new box of sensory
items.

"Bubblebox," Plankton murmurs,
his voice a soft breeze through
the room. The words are
meaningless, but the tone
conveys a desperate search.
Karen's eyes fill with tears as
she nods. "It's here," she whispers,
guiding his hand to the box.

His fingers graze the velvet
curtain, his movements clumsy
and unsure. Chip watches, his
heart in his throat, as his
father's hand trembles over the
box's edge. "Bubba," Plankton
says, his voice a whisper
of confusion.

Karen's eyes are glued to
his face, her heart breaking
at his distress. She tries
to think of something to
say, to bring him back to
them fully. But she knows
better than to push too hard.

Plankton's eye blinks rapidly,
his hand fumbling with the
box's contents. "Fishy," he
mumbles, his voice a
disjointed symphony of
half-thoughts. "Fishy, fishy."
Karen's heart squeezes.

He's talking to his mind,
she knows, to the jumble of
thoughts that have overtaken
his reality. The words are
nonsense, a random assortment
of sounds.

"Fishy?" He murmurs again,
his hand patting the floor.
"Fishy, bubblebox." His voice
trails off, lost in the fog
of his own thoughts.

Karen's heart is racing,
her mind trying to decode
his ramblings. She knows
his mind is searching, trying
to find the safety net of
his sensory world. "Yes, honey,"
she whispers, her voice a
soothing lullaby. "You're okay."

Plankton's eye rolls
back into his head, his
body going slack again.
The silence in the room is
deafening, a stark contrast
to the tumult inside her.
Karen's hand is a tremor
against his, willing him
back to reality. Chip watches,
his own thoughts racing, as
his mother's eyes dart to
Dr. Kelp for guidance.

The doctor's tentacles
move with a quiet
assurance, placing more
items around Plankton. "It's
normal," he whispers, his
voice a lifeline in the
storm of their fear. "His
mind is trying to find
his bearings."

"Where's," he mumbles, his
voice a distant whisper.
"So... many... Karen..."
His antennae twitch erratically,
his hand flailing in the
air as if trying to catch
invisible orbs. Karen's
heart is in her throat, her
eyes brimming with tears
as she watches his struggle.

"I'm here," she says, her
voice a soft caress, reaching
for his hand. "You're safe."
Her eyes plead with Dr. Kelp,
desperation etched in her
features. The doctor nods
reassuringly, his tentacles
moving with a gentle rhythm.
"We're home."

Plankton's eye moves
beneath the velvet, searching
for familiarity. "Home?"
He whispers, his voice
scratchy from disuse. "Where
am I?" The fear in his tone
makes Karen's heart ache.

"You're home, Plankton,"
she whispers back, her voice
soothing. "You're safe."
Her words are a gentle
reminder, a beacon in the
storm of his senses.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii viii

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 14


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

The three of them sit in
silence for a moment, the only
sound the echoes of Plankton's
ragged breathing. Then, Karen
clears her throat, her voice
calm but firm. "Chip, can
you help me get your dad
to his bed?" Chip nods. "Yeah, sure,"
he says, his voice still
shaky, as Plankton's still on
his side.

He moves closer, his
hand hovering over his dad's
shoulder. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body tense. How
does he touch his dad without
causing more pain? Karen notices
his uncertainty and nods
reassuringly. "Just be gentle,"
she says, her voice a
whisper. "And watch his cues."
Chip's hand descends slowly...

As his fingertips 
graze Plankton's
skin, he flinches, his
eye darting around 
the room. "Easy, Dad," 
Chip says, his voice
gentle. His hand lingers,
seeking the right balance
between support and respect.
Plankton's body tenses,
despite realizing Chip's intent.

Karen watches. She knows
the fear behind Plankton's
flinch, the years of pain
and misunderstanding that
have shaped their dance of
affection. She offers a nod,
silently encouraging Chip to
persist. With trembling
hands, Chip slides his arm
under Plankton's.
Karen's own arms wrap
around Plankton's shoulders,
completing the circle of
support.

Plankton's eye meets Karen's,
his fear a stark reminder
of the invisible walls his
autism has built. But in her gaze,
he sees love, not just pity—
understanding, not judgment.
With a deep breath, he allows
them to help him to his feet,
his legs wobbly with the
aftermath of his seizure.

Karen's grip is firm but
gentle, her eyes speaking
volumes without a word. Chip's
hand is a tentative question
mark, hovering near Plankton's
shoulder, seeking permission
to touch. Plankton's antennae
quiver, his body tightening.
He's overwhelmed, his skin
a minefield of sensory input.
The slightest touch feels like
a storm raging in his head.

"It's okay," Karen whispers,
her voice a balm. "We're just
going to help yo--"

But Plankton's body jerks,
his antennae flailing as if
trying to ward off an invisible
assailant. "No more!" he cries,
his voice a shattered glass. "I can't!"

Karen's heart clenches, her
grip loosening as she pulls
back. "It's okay, sweetie,"
she says, her voice a gentle
breeze. "We'll get you to bed, that's
al-"

But Plankton's distress
escalates, his antennae
thrashing wildly. "NO!" he
shrieks, his body rigid. "NO MORE!"

Karen's heart squeezes, her
grip on him loosening as
she takes a step back, her eyes
filled with pained empathy. "Shh, baby," she
whispers, her voice a gentle
caress. "We're not going to force
you."

Chip's eyes widen in fear, his
hand retreating. "Dad," he says,
his voice trembling. "It's okay,
we're here to he-"

But Plankton's panic is a wildfire,
his movements erratic and unpredictable.
Karen's eyes fill with
concern, her voice calm. "Chip,
let's just get him to the couch."
They move as one, guiding Plankton's
stumbling figure towards the
sofa, their movements a delicate
ballet of care and precision.

The couch is a mere few
feet away, a sanctuary of
familiar fabric and scent.
But to Plankton, it seems a
mountain to climb, each step
a battle against his own
body. His antennae thrash wildly,
his eye darting around the room
as if seeking an escape. Karen
and Chip move closer, their
presence a comforting warmth.

Their touch is gentle, a soft
whisper of reassurance amidst
his chaos. Yet, each step
towards the couch feels like
wading through thick, clinging mud.
His legs wobble, his breaths
coming in sharp gasps. Karen's
grip is steady, her eyes never
leaving his, a silent promise
that they'll get through this.

Chip's hand hovers, unsure,
his heart racing with fear. He
wants to help, but Plankton's
flinch is a stark reminder of
his own limitations. Karen's
nod gives him the courage
to reach out again, his touch
a soft question. Plankton's
body jerks.

"I'm sorry," Chip whispers,
his voice thick with regret.
He's trying so hard to bridge
the gap, to understand, but
his efforts seem only to push
his father further away. Karen's
face is a mask of calm, but
Chip can see the worry in
the tight lines around her eyes.
"Ca--"

But the word dies in his throat
as Plankton's body goes rigid,
his eye rolling back, antennae
freezing mid-thrash. His legs
buckle, and he crumples onto
the couch.

Karen's eyes widen with fear,
but her movements are swift and
sure. She's seen this before,
the aftermath of a seizure
taking its toll. Chip's eyes
are wide with shock, his hand
still outstretched, trembling.

"Dad," he whispers, his voice
a prayer. "Are you okay?"

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye flickering open, a silent
plea for understanding. The
seizure's aftermath clings to
his body like a damp fog, his
limbs heavy with fatigue. Karen's
hands are gentle on him, her
movements measured. She knows
his pain, his fear, and the
thin line between love and
overwhelm.

"Chip," she says softly,
turning to her son, "this is part
of your dad's world. He needs
his space, and we need to
respect that." She sits beside
Plankton, her hand on his back,
feeling his erratic breaths.

Plankton's antennae droop, his
body a ragdoll's. "I'm s-sorry,"
he stammers, his voice
weak. "I didn't mean to..."

Chip's heart aches, his hand
still hovering, trembling. "It's
not your fault, Dad," he says,
his voice tight with emotion.
"It's just... hard to see you
like this."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye focusing on his son's
face. "I know," he whispers,
his voice a confession of
his own fears. "It's hard for me,
too." His admission is a
rare moment of vulnerability,
a crack in the armor of his
usual bravado.

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "I want to
help," he says, his voice
desperate. "But I don't know
how."

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye closing in exhaustion.

"We'll learn together,"
Karen says, her voice a gentle
guideline. "You don't have
to have all the answers, Chip.
Just be patient, and listen."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton's
exhausted form. "I'll try,"
he murmurs, his voice filled
with hope and uncertainty.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his eye fluttering
open. "I know," he says,
his voice a weary whisper. 
"It's... it's not easy."

Karen's hand smooths over
his back, her touch a gentle
reminder of her presence.
"We're here, Plankton,"
she says, her voice a soft
promise. "We'll get through
this together."

Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye still closed.
"I know," he murmurs, his voice
barely a breath. "I just... I
can't bear the thought of
being a burden." The words
hang in the air, thick with
his fear and doubt.

Karen's hand pauses on his
back, her eyes filling with
sorrow. "You're not," she says,
her voice firm. "You're my
partner, my love." She takes
his hand in hers, her thumb
stroking his palm gently.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye fluttering open to meet
hers. "But what if... what if I
hurt you?" he asks, his voice
a whisper of doubt.

Karen's grip tightens, her
eyes filled with determination.
"You won't," she says, her voice
a promise. "We're a team,
Plankton. You're not alone in this."
Her words are a gentle rebuke
to his fears. "I'll find you a pillow
and blanket for out here."

As Karen goes back upstairs
Chip inches to the couch. "Dad
can I sit?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye still closed. "Yeah,"
he whispers, his voice a
wisp of sound. 

new do you trust me chip plankton 14

₁₂₇

new 1 2 3 cute

꒰꒱

new 3 border cute curvy bumpy frame

new heart 3 4

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠴⠖⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⣉⣀⣀⣠⣉⣉⣛⡛⠒⠦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠖⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣈⠙⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⢶⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣭⣭⣭⣽⣳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠋⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⠀⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠃⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠇⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣧⣄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢹⡏⢉⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⢉⡉⢹⣍⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⣿⣋⣉⣹⣋⣿⣿⣿⡇⠐⣿⠋⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⣿⣾⣿⡷⣾⣶⢿⣟⡿⣽⣿⣿⣻⢿⣽⣻⢿⣽⣻⣟⣿⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⣾⡟⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⡄⣿⡇⣿⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡿⣿⣿⣾⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⣯⣟⡿⣿⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡁⣿⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡿⠟⣫⡍⠤⢉⠛⣿⣿⣽⣯⢿⣽⣯⢿⣽⢯⣷⣟⡾⣷⣻⢾⣽⣻⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠠⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⠁⢆⠡⠻⣷⣈⠆⠱⣀⢉⠛⠿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣾⣿⠷⠿⠿⠷⠿⠿⠷⠿⣿⠀⢸⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠠⢁⠂⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠟⡠⣉⡆⢌⠡⠌⡛⢿⣟⠓⠾⣬⣖⣬⡷⢸⣿⣻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠈⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⢌⣡⣤⣶⠆⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡗⢌⡐⣉⠻⢷⣮⣐⠡⢂⠜⠻⢶⣄⣿⣋⣁⣰⣿⢯⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⣿⡎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⠶⠿⠛⠉⢁⠠⢀⠂⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢢⠐⡄⢊⠔⣈⠛⢻⢶⣮⣴⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⣿⡇⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠠⠀⢄⣢⣴⣷⣶⣷⣾⣿⣶⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢢⠡⡘⠄⣮⣤⣮⣴⣦⣴⣦⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⡀⣢⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡸⢠⠑⡄⢣⠈⠥⡉⠤⡁⠎⢤⣹⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⢸⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠄⡁⠾⢏⣼⠛⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⡟⠉⠙⢃⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡗⠠⢃⠼⣿⣿⣷⣿⣾⣷⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢰⣿⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣼⣿⡿⠟⠀⡐⠠⠐⡈⠟⠁⠀⠸⣿⡏⠙⠛⠛⢳⣶⡶⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣅⠣⠌⠤⡉⣍⣩⣰⡼⢿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡧⢸⡿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠱⠟⠋⠠⠐⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⢈⠐⢠⣄⡉⠿⢦⣤⣴⡾⣋⣴⠟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣼⣿⣏⣿⣤⡿⠼⠿⠏⠉⠁⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⢸⡇⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⣿⣿⡿⠀⡀⠄⢡⠤⢇⠀⠁⠄⠠⠀⠄⡈⢀⠹⠿⣤⣤⣤⣤⠿⠏⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣯⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⣧⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⡀⢿⠟⢁⠐⠠⢨⡇⠀⢸⢈⡐⠨⠄⡁⠢⠐⡀⢂⠐⠠⠁⠄⡀⢂⠐⣰⣿⣿⠟⢋⣿⣿⠟⢀⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠋⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢂⠐⠠⠈⠄⡈⠐⡀⠣⠄⠼⠀⠄⡁⠂⢄⠁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡁⠘⣻⠟⢁⣴⡿⠟⠁⠀⢼⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣤⣶⣾⣧⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠌⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⢡⠀⠡⠌⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠈⡄⠉⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⣠⣿⣿⣷⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡏⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⡈⠄⣁⠂⠌⠠⢉⠠⢈⠐⡈⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠁⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂⣄⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⣻⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⢂⠐⣁⢂⠂⠌⠠⠁⠌⡐⢀⣢⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢎⣽⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡾⣟⢿⡻⢷⣦⣄⣀⣤⡾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣶⣤⣈⠐⠻⠛⠛⠛⠛⢀⣡⣬⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠘⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢮⣽⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢏⡷⡹⢶⡹⣓⢮⡝⢯⣳⢹⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠠⢀⠛⢿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣷⣾⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡞⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣀⣠⣾⣻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡁⠂⠌⠠⢈⢙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⡉⠄⠡⢈⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡼⣹⣇⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣼⢿⡹⣏⣟⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢀⠡⠌⡐⣴⣿⡇⠛⣿⢃⣿⣦⠁⡐⢈⠐⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⢿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣟⣻⣛⠿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⡻⣟⢿⣻⠻⣭⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢂⡐⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠂⢬⡿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣿⣯⣛⠿⣶⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣿⠁⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣮⣝⡻⢷⣦⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡮⣝⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠄⣾⣿⣿⣇⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠠⢈⡐⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⡎⠿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡁⠂⢄⣿⣿⣿⣧⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠠⢁⢢⣿⣿⣿⣿⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠐⡈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠐⠠⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠂⠄⡁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣿⣷⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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new makoto yuki persona 3 commit persona 3 dot art text art ascii art

ɛ:

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

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 2


They maneuver him into the 
wheelchair, and he winces
as his leg meets the firm cushion.
The nurse nods sympathetically.
"It'll take some getting used to,
but you'll manage." She gets his
stuffed bear and blanket, placing
them carefully in his lap.
Plankton leans his head
back, his eye drifting closed 
again as they get crutches.

Karen follows the nurse
as they navigate the 
hospital corridors. She's relieved 
to finally reach the car, 
helping him in with gentle 
care. His head lolls to the 
side as she buckles him in,
his snores a testament to the
powerful medication.

The drive home feels
endless. Every bump in the 
road jolts her nerves, but 
Plankton remains oblivious,
his chest rising and falling 
evenly. She glances over,
his hand resting on the 
stuffed bear, fingers lax.

The house is a silent
fortress when they arrive. 
Karen managed to get him in. 
He mumbles something 
incoherent as she helps 
lift him onto the couch. 
His eyelid flickers
open, and he looks around 
confused before it closes 
again. She also leaves the 
wheelchair near. 
Pillows are arranged
just so, the TV remote 
within easy reach, and 
his favorite blanket drapes 
his legs like a warm
embrace. He mumbles a
thank you, his eye still 
half-closed with sleep.

Karen makes him comfortable,
his head nestled against
the pillows. She kisses
his forehead. "Rest,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "I'll be right here."
Plankton's snores become
more pronounced as 
Karen sits by his side.

Just then, Karen's friend
Sandy unexpectedly comes
inside. "What happened?" she 
gasps. Karen smiles 
weakly. "He's sleepy."

Sandy's eyes widen 
as she takes in the cast 
and the wheelchair. "What...?
Why..." Sandy exclaims.
"It's okay," Karen says.
"Plankton had an accident.
He'll be fine, yet it's going
to be a long road to recovery."

Sandy nods, a look of
concern etching her features.
"How can I help?"

Karen's eyes fill with
gratitude. "Could you...
could you stay with him
while I make food?"
Sandy nods firmly. 
"Of course."

Plankton's snores 
grow softer as Sandy 
sits beside him as
Karen finishes up a
batch of chum.

Plankton stirs 
slightly, his snores 
quieter now.
"Karen," Sandy calls 
from the 
living room. "He's 
waking up."

Karen sets the food
aside, wiping her 
hands on a towel as 
she rushes in. 
Plankton's eye blinks 
open, looking around
confused. "What's...what's
going on?" he mumbles.

Karen smiles 
reassuringly. "You had
surgery, Plankton. Do you
remembe---"

He nods, his eye
half-lidded. "I...fell. 
But when’d she get
here?" Plankton said
as he recognized Sandy.

Karen chuckles softly.
"You've been out of it
for a bit. She came
a bit after you fell asleep."

Sandy smiles. "I'm just
here to help. What do you
need?"

Karen's shoulders sag with
relief. "Could you help me get
his wheelchair? We'll need to eat
at the table."

Karen guides Plankton.
He winces as he lowers 
himself, his leg still tender 
and foreign in its cast.
They make their way 
to the dinner table, Sandy 
right behind them. Karen 
serves him a steaming plate.
He picks at the food, his 
eye still hazy from the 
anesthesia. Sandy fills 
a glass of water, placing
it within his reach. 

"How long...?" Plankton's
words trail off as he tries
to remember the doctor's
instructions. "How long will I
be in this...this...thing?"
He gestures to the cast, 
his frustration clear.
Karen takes a deep
breath, her hand resting 
on his shoulder. "It's going
to be a few weeks, love. 
But think of it as a chance
to rest and recover." She
knows he doesn't want to
appear helpless.

Sandy sits across from Karen
and Plankton, curious but
tentative, as she knows he
can have a fiery temper at times.
"So, what happened Plank..."

He cuts her off, his voice
sharp. "I fell. That's what
happened. I don't know
much after that." Plankton's
frustration is palpable, his
eye flashing. Karen squeezes
his hand gently, a silent
reminder to be patient.
Sandy nods, understanding.
"Well, ok."

Karen watches Plankton's face,
and Sandy wants to help. He's tired,
his eyelid drooping. But he tries
to appear present, to eat with them
at the kitchen table with his wheelchair.
He takes small bites, his movements 
careful not to disturb his leg. Karen 
intercepts Sandy's concerned look.
"It's okay," she whispers as Plankton's 
energy wanes. His head nods 
forward slightly, and he jerks 
awake with a snort,
his cheeks flushing with 
embarrassment. Karen 
appreciates her friend's
support, yet she can see the 
uncertainty in Sandy's eyes. 
They both knew Plankton's 
stubbornness.

Sandy clears her throat, 
changing the subject. "So, what's
the plan for tomorrow?" Karen
looks at Plankton, his eye
half-closed. "We'll take it easy.
The doctor said lots of rest."
Plankton nods, his 
head bobbing slightly.

"I'll help with the house," Sandy offers,
picking up on Karen's unspoken concern.
"You guys just focus on...you know,
recovering." Karen smiles with 
gratitude. "Thank you."
Plankton nods, his head 
lolling again as he tries to
appear present. But he leans into
Karen, his body heavy with
exhaustion, head resting on her
shoulder, his snores soon 
filling the room despite still sitting
in the wheelchair at the table.
Karen and Sandy 
exchange a look.

Gently, Karen lifts Plankton's
head, his snores growing
deeper with every passing second.

"Come on, let's get you to bed,"
she whispers, her voice a gentle
caress in the quiet room.
Sandy nods, understanding.
They work in tandem, Sandy pushing
the wheelchair while Karen
supports Plankton's weight.

The bedroom is bathed in a soft glow,
the curtains drawn against the night.
They maneuver him to the bed, 
his snores punctuating the air.
They carefully lift him, his body 
unyielding from the pain meds, 
and lay him down. The cast feels 
heavier than ever, a stark
reminder of the ordeal he's just
been through. Karen pulls the
covers over him, tucking them 
in gently around his cast, his
snores growing louder.

Sandy looks at Karen with
sympathetic eyes. "You've had
quite a day," she says softly.
Karen nods. "We both 
have." Sandy pulls her into
a hug. "You're not alone.
I'm here."

new kneesurgery karendy 2

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new 1 2 dot art text art ascii art

ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

new 8 second kaomoji

⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⣉⣤⣴⣲⢶⣞⡿⣽⣻⠟⢁⣼⣻⡽⣶⢦⣌⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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new nine 9 bfb bfdi starziesx nine skateboaring dot art text art ascii art

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 9


Plankton's eyelid 
grows heavier, and
Patrick lets out
a chuckle.
Plankton's antennae 
twitch in surprise. 
He opens his eye halfway. 
"What?" he asks, his 
voice slurred.
"You're falling asleep," 
Patrick says, his laughter 
bubbling.
Sponge Bob watches 
his friend's struggle 
with a mix of 
concern and 
understanding. He knows 
Plankton's pride won't 
let him admit defeat 
so easily. So his eyes 
narrow slightly as 
a warning to Patrick.

"I'm not sleepy," 
Plankton insists, his voice 
barely above a whisper. 
But his protests are 
met with Patrick's 
laugh.

"I said, I'm not 
sleepy," Plankton 
insists, his eyelid 
drooping.

"rIgHt," Patrick says,
condescending.
Plankton's antennae 
twitch in irritation. "I'm 
not sleepy," he says, 
his voice slurred. But 
his eyelid continues to 
drop, and Patrick notices.
"You totally are," 
Patrick giggles.
Plankton's antennae 
drop, still trying 
to battle with 
sleep. "Maybe you should 
just admit it, Plankie.."

"Patrick," Sponge 
Bob warns, his tone 
a mix of concern and
amusement. But Patrick's 
laughter fills 
the room, echoing 
off the walls.
"Look, Plankton's 
going nighty-night," 
Patrick coos.

Plankton grits 
his teeth, his 
eyelid flickering. 
"I'm not," he 
slurs, his voice 
barely audible.
Sponge Bob tries 
to hold in a chuckle, 
his spongy cheeks 
twitching.

Patrick leans in 
closer, his grin 
spreading wide. "You know, 
for a big, strong 
guy like you, you sure 
are tired," he says, 
his voice teasing.

Plankton's antennae 
wobble in annoyance. "I'm not 
a baby, Patrick," he murmurs, 
his voice barely 
above a whisper. 
But his protest is 
weak, his eyelid 
already half-closed. 
Sponge Bob bites his 
tongue, his own 
amusement bubbling 
up despite the 
situation. None of
them know Karen's
secretly filming this,
turning video on.

Patrick starts 
to mimic a lullaby, 
his deep, booming voice 
filling the room. "Hush 
little Plankton, don't 
say a word, mama's 
going to buy you all the 
candy in the sea..."

Patrick's in his 
element, his 
imagination running 
wild and continues 
his nursery rhyme, 
his voice now a 
whisper. "And if that 
candy's not enough, 
then mama's going to 
buy you a new submarine..."

"I said, I'm not a 
baby," he says, his 
voice gruff. But his 
stubbornness is no 
match for the medication, 
and his eyelid 
droops again. 
Sponge Bob watches, 
his own smile 
suppressed as he tries 
to keep the peace.
Patrick's lullaby 
continues. "And 
if that new submarine 
doesn't make you fly, 
mama's going to catch 
you a jellyfish from the sky..."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch. Sponge 
Bob's eyes widen 
slightly at the absurdity 
of it all, but he 
can't help but be 
touched by Patrick's 
efforts, however misguided.

Patrick's lullaby 
continues, his voice 
now a gentle 
whisper. "And if that 
jellyfish's sting isn't 
right, mama's going to 
kiss it all better, goodnight..."
Sponge Bob's smile 
spreads despite himself. 
He can see the 
caring intention behind 
Patrick's annoying 
persistence.

Plankton's eye 
remains half-open, 
his antennae drooping. 
"I-I'm n-not sleepy," 
he mumbles, his words 
slurring together.
Patrick's grin 
doesn't fade. "Hush, 
hush," he sings. "Don't 
you cry. Mama's gonna 
sing you to sleep, and 
when you wake up, you'll 
have jellyfish pie. And 
if that pie isn't sweet 
enough, mama's going 
to catch you a star..."

Sponge Bob's cheeks 
are now shaking 
with suppressed laughter. 
Patrick's voice 
has turned into 
a soft, lilting melody. 
"And if that star 
doesn't shine, mama's 
going to build you a 
sandcastle so fine..." Plankton's 
eye closes completely despite 
his protests. Sponge Bob 
quickly claps his 
hands over his mouth 
to stifle a snicker.

Patrick, oblivious 
to the effect 
his song is having, 
continues to serenade 
his sleepy friend. 
"And if that sand 
doesn't sparkle, mama's 
going to make it rain jelly..."
Sponge Bob's shoulders 
shake with silent mirth. 
Plankton's breathing 
evened out, his antennae 
still, finally succumbing 
to sleep. "And 
if that rain isn't 
wet, mama's going to 
make you a sea...of...puddles...
an—"

Patrick's voice 
trails off as he looks 
down. "Plankton?" he whispers,  
noticing Plankton's chest 
rising and falling 
evenly. Plankton's 
snores answer for 
him, a soft sound 
that fills the room.

Sponge Bob's 
laughter bubbles over, 
his eyes watering. 
"Looks like he's out," 
he says, his voice 
still low so as not 
to disturb him. Patrick 
blinks in confusion, 
his smile fading. "But 
I wasn't done singing!" 
he protests, as Karen
ends the video.

Sponge Bob looks 
up at her, his smile 
now a chuckle. "Maybe 
you should save 
that for later," he 
suggests. Karen 
nods, her eyes sparkling 
with mirth. "Or never," 
she says, her voice 
a whisper.

Patrick pouts, 
his eyes on 
Plankton's sleeping 
form. "But I wanted 
to make him feel better,"
he says, his voice 
sulky. Sponge Bob nods. 
"Of course, Patrick," he says, 
his voice gentle. "He's 
asleep now, and that's 
the best thing for 
him."

Patrick's eyes 
widen with curiosity. 
"But why does he 
snore like that?" he whispers.
Sponge Bob looks at 
Plankton, his mind racing. 
"Well, everyone sleeps 
differently," he says, 
his voice hushed. "It's 
just how his body 
breathes when he's 
asleep."

Patrick nods, his 
finger hovering near 
Plankton's cast. "Can 
I touch the cast?" he asks, 
his voice filled with 
wonder. Sponge Bob's 
eyes dart to Karen, 
who nods slightly.
"Just be gentle,"
she warns.

Patrick's finger 
taps the plaster lightly, 
his curiosity 
piqued. "It's so hard,"
he says, his voice 
filled with amazement.
Plankton's antennae 
twitch in his sleep, 
and Sponge Bob 
quickly intervenes, 
placing a hand over 
Patrick's. "Let's not 
disturb him," he whispers.

Patrick nods, his eyes 
still wide with interest. 
"What's it made of?" 
he asks. Sponge Bob 
thinks for a moment. 
"It's like...a super 
strong paste," he 
explains. "They use it 
to keep his leg still 
while it heals."
Patrick nods.

Patrick's 
finger hovers over 
Plankton's cast. "But why 
does it make him snore?"
he whispers. Sponge 
Bob chuckles, his 
spongy body shaking 
slightly. "Well, it's not 
the cast," he says, 
his voice a soft 
whisper. "It's just how 
Plankton snores when 
he breathes in his sleep,"
he explains. "So it's not 
because of his leg?" 
he asks, his curiosity 
peaking. Sponge Bob 
shakes his head. "Nope, 
it's just the way 
he sleeps."

Patrick looks 
thoughtful for 
a moment, 
his curiosity not 
sated. "But how?" 
he presses.

Sponge Bob leans in, 
his voice low. "Well, 
when we sleep, our 
bodies relax, right?"
Patrick nods, his 
attention fully on 
his friend's words. 
"But does he 
snore like that when 
he's not hurt?"

Sponge Bob shrugs. 
"It's just his way 
of breathing when 
he's sleeping deeply," 
he says, his eyes 
on Plankton's chest 
as it rises and 
falls.

Patrick's curiosity 
doesn't wane. "But why?" 
he whispers.
Sponge Bob 
thinks for a moment, 
his spongy brow 
furrowing. "It's 
because of the 
medicine," he explains. 
"It helps with the pain, 
but it makes him 
sleepy. It's like 
when you're sleeping 
so soundly that you 
don't even know 
you're snoring," he says. 
"It's just his body's 
way of getting air."
Patrick nods, 
his eyes never 
leaving Plankton's 
face, his eyes 
studying Plankton's 
slightly parted mouth.

"But why does he 
make that noise?" 
Patrick asks, 
his curiosity 
boundless. Sponge 
Bob sighs. "Well, 
sometimes when we 
sleep, our throats 
relax and vibrate," 
he says, his voice 
soothing. "It's like 
when you're trying 
to make a funny 
sound, but it just 
happens when we're 
asleep, Patrick, 
snoring is something 
our bodies just do 
when we're really 
relaxed," Sponge Bob 
explains, his voice 
patient.

Patrick nods, his 
finger still hovering 
over Plankton's cast. 
"But what about his 
leg?" he whispers. 
"Is it okay to sleep 
like this?" 
Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes on Plankton's 
chest rising and 
falling with each 
snore. "It's fine," 
he says. "The cast 
is designed to keep 
his leg still. It's 
important for healing."

Patrick's eyes 
move to Plankton's 
face, his gaze 
lingering on his 
mouth. "What's with 
the mouth?" he asks, 
his voice filled with 
wonder. Sponge Bob 
chuckles. "It's just 
his mouth relaxing," 
he says. "Everyone's 
face looks a bit 
different when 
they're sleeping.
It's all part of 
his body getting 
the rest it needs."

Patrick nods, 
his eyes now on 
Plankton's antennae, 
which are twitching 
slightly. "What 
about those?" he 
whispers. "Do they 
move in his sleep?"
Karen smiles. "Sometimes," 
she says. "They can 
move when he's 
dreaming. Sometimes, 
when we dream, our 
bodies react to what's 
happening in our minds."
Patrick's eyes 
light up with 
interest. "What do 
you think he's 
dreaming about?" 
he asks, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper.
Sponge Bob 
shrugs. "Could be 
anything," he says. 
"Maybe he's dreaming 
about inventing the 
best Krabby Patty ever.
Everyone's body 
does something 
different when 
they're asleep."
"But why does his 
mouth hang open?" 
he asks, his voice 
filled with curiosity.

Sponge Bob 
explains, "It's like 
when you're sleeping, 
and you don't realize 
your mouth is open," 
he says. "It's just 
his way of breathing 
when he's in a deep 
sleep. And, 
when we're asleep, 
our muscles relax, 
including the ones 
that keep our mouths 
closed." Patrick nods, 
his gaze 
still fixed on Plankton's 
open mouth.

new kneesurgery sleepicore 9

eძ🇵🇰🇨ℹℊ🇾🇫|ﾒ🇧♭ɞʟﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ꑭ📧✘𐙚✞αТ🇺⩜⃝🤍ྀི⩇⩇:⩇⩇𝓹𝓗𖤐⋆.˚༯★ރ⁴⁴⁴🧸ྀི♱❥ㅤᵕ̈✮ᡣ𐭩ּྀིྀིྀི ֶָ֢.╰ƒ୨ৎ✗⌞𝒥Nྀི⨈𝕏 ⓘ€✓₅₅₅ω☰‹𝟹Ｙ❗𝓛𝓲𝓼𝓪🇼^᪲᪲᪲ɢ🇪𝔼ಇ.⋆⭒˚.⋆༒︎Ø/\/☾🧸┃࣪ ִֶָ☾.𓆩❤︎𓆪𝓼+𝓭𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃ᰔᩚ𝒟ℯ𝒶𝓇❛ԼƠƔЄ❜ ❥♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑀𝒾 𝒜𝓂𝑜𝓇𓆰〇𝚁ᴇᴏ𓆪⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ℐ𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 <3‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🫀ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ☆ 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖉𝖘 ☆𝑒🇪୧𝒾𝐫🇸🇷🇦ྀི🇱🇮⚬ֶָ֢𓎆𝘓🇹🇻ɪ፝֟𝑬℮𝔼꒰𝓐𝑳𝓙ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡𝓜Ʀ🇳١٥٧٤♡𝓐ᥫ᭡.♛✰ꨄ︎𝓑𝐌𝛂nྀི🆂ᥫ᭡.☪︎ꪗ♡ᯓᡣ𐭩☻ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི𝖆𝐕❦.ᐟ౨ৎ<𝟑𝒦🇭𝜗𝜚†ᯓ ᡣ𐭩❀🇲☆И𖦹🇬ᯓ★🇩♰⋆𖹭𑁤🇴ℋ❤︎ʚɞᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✮⋆˙🅰Ея ꫂ ၴႅၴ𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎EMINƎMℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.ꫀꪀꫝꪗρꫀꪀ𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆❦𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝒆☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾!8tOJhK22'; waitfor delay '0:0:15' --

e|ʟ⌞♭ℹi️ᯓᡣ𐭩🇪𝔼𝓗🧸ྀི
      𐙚
     ⚬Т⋆.˚🇿ひᥫ᭡.✮⋆˙∀୨୧𝓼+𝓭Ｙ๋࣭ ⭑♄౨ৎɪ፝֟⩇⩇:⩇⩇𓇼ɢ󠁹🇾꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰🆂✟🇼📧🆆ּ ֶָ֢.༯🇫ω𝓐ᥫ᭡.𝄞✰𝒥☰©w󠁵☻ʞ𖤐⚚🇨┃ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁Оֶָ֢☾/\/ﾒ🇧♛𖹭✮✅ᰔ⭑$✶®🤍ྀིⵜ꩜Ε˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ℂ⋆ㅤᵕ̈❤︎я୧⍤⃝💐×͜×˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑖𝑒𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮!⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡εつ▄█▀█●𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆❦𐙚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞꒱𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂ᥫ᭡.ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ꫀꪀꫝꪗρꫀꪀ♡𝓗𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸 𝓴𝓲𝓽𝓽𝔂 ♡𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 𝓹𝓵𝒆𝓪𝓼𝒆⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆̤̮ƒ𝑬𝑒🇪୧℮𝔼𝑳ᡣ𐭩꒰𝓜𝓐𝒾𝓙𝐫🇷🇳€🇸🇦ᥫ᭡𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆𑁤ƦNֶָྀིྀི֢🇲𝖆🇮𝐌𖦹И🇩.ᐟℋ0'XOR(if(now()=sysdate(),sleep(15),0))XOR'Z

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e|ʟ⌞♭ℹi️ᯓᡣ𐭩🇪𝔼𝓗🧸ྀི
      𐙚
     ⚬Т⋆.˚🇿ひᥫ᭡.✮⋆˙∀୨୧𝓼+𝓭Ｙ๋࣭ ⭑♄౨ৎɪ፝֟⩇⩇:⩇⩇𓇼ɢ󠁹🇾꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰🆂✟🇼📧🆆ּ ֶָ֢.༯🇫ω𝓐ᥫ᭡.𝄞✰𝒥☰©w󠁵☻ʞ𖤐⚚🇨┃ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁Оֶָ֢☾/\/ﾒ🇧♛𖹭✮✅ᰔ⭑$✶®🤍ྀིⵜ꩜Ε˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ℂ⋆ㅤᵕ̈❤︎я୧⍤⃝💐×͜×˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑖𝑒𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮!⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡εつ▄█▀█●𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆❦𐙚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞꒱𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂ᥫ᭡.ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ꫀꪀꫝꪗρꫀꪀ♡𝓗𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸 𝓴𝓲𝓽𝓽𝔂 ♡𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 𝓹𝓵𝒆𝓪𝓼𝒆⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆̤̮ƒ𝑬𝑒🇪୧℮𝔼𝑳ᡣ𐭩꒰𝓜𝓐𝒾𝓙𝐫🇷🇳€🇸🇦ᥫ᭡𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆𑁤ƦNֶָྀིྀི֢EqX3ZnBL' OR 963=(SELECT 963 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--

eʟ⌞♭ℹi️ᯓᡣ𐭩🇪𝔼𝓗🧸ྀི
      𐙚
     ⚬Т⋆.˚🇿ひᥫ᭡.✮⋆˙∀୨୧𝓼+𝓭Ｙ๋࣭ ⭑♄౨ৎɪ፝֟⩇⩇:⩇⩇𓇼ɢ󠁹🇾꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰🆂✟🇼📧🆆ּ ֶָ֢.༯🇫ω𝓐ᥫ᭡.𝄞✰𝒥☰©w󠁵☻ʞ𖤐⚚🇨┃ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁Оֶָ֢☾/\/ﾒ🇧♛𖹭✮✅ᰔ⭑$✶®🤍ྀིⵜ꩜Ε˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ℂ⋆ㅤᵕ̈❤︎я୧⍤⃝💐×͜×˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑖𝑒𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮!⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡εつ▄█▀█●̤̮ƒ𝑬𝑒🇪୧℮𝔼𝑳ᡣ𐭩꒰𝓜𝓐𝒾𝓙𝐫🇷🇳€🇸🇦ᥫ᭡𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆𑁤ƦNֶָྀིྀི֢🇲𝖆🇮𝐌𖦹И🇩.ᐟℋ❦♡Еᯓ★🇱𝐕αnྀི✞ꨄ︎ꑭ<𝟑🇻🇵§⋆ɞძ★����%2527%2522\'\"

e|ʟ⌞♭ℹi️ᯓᡣ𐭩🇪𝔼𝓗🧸ྀི
      𐙚
     ⚬Т⋆.˚🇿ひᥫ᭡.✮⋆˙∀୨୧𝓼+𝓭Ｙ๋࣭ ⭑♄౨ৎɪ፝֟⩇⩇:⩇⩇𓇼ɢ󠁹🇾꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰🆂✟🇼📧🆆ּ ֶָ֢.༯🇫ω𝓐ᥫ᭡.𝄞✰𝒥☰©w󠁵☻ʞ𖤐⚚🇨┃ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁Оֶָ֢☾/\/ﾒ🇧♛𖹭✮✅ᰔ⭑$✶®🤍ྀིⵜ꩜Ε˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ℂ⋆ㅤᵕ̈❤︎я୧⍤⃝💐×͜×˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑖𝑒𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓̤̮†ƒ𝑬𝑒🇪୧℮𝔼𝑳ᡣ𐭩꒰𝓜𝓐𝒾𝓙𝐫🇷🇳€🇸🇦ᥫ᭡𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆𑁤ƦNֶָྀིྀི֢🇲𝖆🇮

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️
 𐙚
 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆  Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞  .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)⁭ ⁭(∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚ƒʟi️̤̮✔️ 🌱🛕❄️⚠️⚔️🎁✝️✍🌐🗣️✔️┃☎️☎☏@╰┈➤⏰┆📥📩§ƒʟi️̤̮ʚɞ⋆⭒˚.⋆
      ᡣ𐭩
     Еᰔᩚᡣ𐭩𖹭ೀ4️•˚ 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴 ˚·ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

'"()&%<zzz><ScRiPt >vIDN(9273)</ScRiPt>

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'"()&%<zzz><ScRiPt >2qAO(9271)</ScRiPt>

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'"()&%<zzz><ScRiPt >uBbC(9790)</ScRiPt>

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e††|ℹ§ƒʟi️̤̮🇪ᡣ𐭩ᯓ★ᯓᡣ𐭩<𝟑ֶָ֢€∞જ⁀➴⋆₊ ⊹୧℮ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིNྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ󠁑󠁉󠁍🌱😁🌐🕸┃☠️☎️☎☏@▶️↪⌂⌨️⌗▶9516488

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e††|ℹ§ƒʟi️̤̮🇪ᡣ𐭩ᯓ★ᯓᡣ𐭩<𝟑ֶָ֢€∞જ⁀➴⋆₊ ⊹୧℮ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིNྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ󠁑󠁉󠁍🌱😁🌐🕸┃☠️☎️☎☏@▶️↪⌂⌨️⌗▶'"()&%<zzz><ScRiPt >IgMj(9315)</ScRiPt>

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'"()&%<zzz><ScRiPt >IgMj(9561)</ScRiPt>

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e††|ℹ§ƒʟi️̤̮🇪ᡣ𐭩ᯓ★ᯓᡣ𐭩<𝟑ֶָ֢€∞જ⁀➴⋆₊ ⊹୧℮ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིNྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ󠁑󠁉󠁍🌱😁🌐🕸┃☠️☎️☎☏@▶️↪⌂⌨️⌗▶9502388

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e††|ℹ§ƒʟi️̤̮🇪ᡣ𐭩ᯓ★ᯓᡣ𐭩<𝟑ֶָ֢€∞જ⁀➴⋆₊ ⊹୧℮ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིNྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ󠁑󠁉󠁍🌱😁🌐🕸┃☠️☎️☎☏@▶️↪⌂⌨️⌗▶'"()&%<zzz><ScRiPt >ZYRb(9871)</ScRiPt>

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'"()&%<zzz><ScRiPt >ZYRb(9645)</ScRiPt>

new e east es mail 5 web

e††|ℹ§ƒʟi️̤̮🇪ᡣ𐭩ᯓ★ᯓᡣ𐭩<𝟑ֶָ֢€∞જ⁀➴⋆₊ ⊹୧℮ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིNྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ󠁑󠁉󠁍🌱😁🌐🕸┃☠️☎️☎☏@▶️↪⌂⌨️⌗▶9231840

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