Karen Has a Lesson Emojis & Text

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 1 (Autistic author) "You never listen to me!" Karen exclaimed, her voice echoing through the small lab. Her husband, Plankton, looked up from his invention, a frown furrowing his brow. "What's wrong now?" he asked. "It's the same thing, every single day," Karen said, crossing her arms. "You're always so focused on your work, you forget what's important." Plankton sighed, setting down his wrench. "And what's that?" Karen's eyes flashed with frustration. "Our anniversary dinner, for one," she said. "You promised we'd go out tonight, remember?" Plankton's frown deepened as he tried to recall the conversation. "The dinner...right. I thought it was next week," he mumbled, his gaze darts back to his invention. "No, it's tonight!" Karen's voice was now a mix of annoyance and desperation. "I've had this all planned out for weeks, and you've barely even acknowledged it." Plankton looked at her, his eye suddenly wide with realization. "Tonight? But I've got the final adjustments. It's a breakthrough, Karen!" Karen threw her hands in exasperation. "It's always a breakthrough, isn't it? When are you going to realize that we need to make time for us?" Plankton took a step. "You know how important this is to me, to us," he said, his voice softening. "Once I get this right, we can finally be happy, have the life we deserve when I..." "When you what?" Karen interrupted. "When you finally steal the Krabby Patty formula?" she finished for him, her tone heavy with sarcasm. "Is that what you think will fix everything?" Plankton's shoulders slumped. He knew his obsession with Mr. Krabs' secret formula was a sore spot for Karen, but he couldn't help the hope that burned inside him. "It's not just about that," he said, trying to explain. "It's about proving to everyone, including myself, that I can do something big." He gets up on the shelf. Karen turns away. Karen's frustration boiled over, her face flushing. "You're so caught up in this ridiculous vendetta that you don't even see what you're doing to us!" she yelled, slamming her hand down on the lab table. The sudden noise startled Plankton enough to wobble on his precarious perch, and with a tiny squeak of terror, he lost his balance and toppled over. His invention fell with him, colliding with his head with an ominous clank. Karen turns around, her anger replaced with concern in an instant. "Plankton, are you ok?" He lay still. Karen rushed over. He was unconscious. Karen knelt beside his tiny body. "Plankton," she whispered, shaking him gently. Panic began to set in as he didn't stir. The weight of her actions crashed down on her. She hadn't meant for it to go this far. "Plankton, talk to me," she begged. With trembling fingers, she checked for a pulse. It was faint but there, and she felt a small wave of relief. But he was still out cold. Her mind raced as she tried to think what to do next. Calling for help was out of the question; their rivalry with Mr. Krabs meant they couldn't afford any more attention from the authorities. She knew they gotta wait it out. Gently, she picked him up. He was surprisingly heavy for his size. Carefully, she cradled him in her arms and laid him down on the couch. The room was eerily silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Karen sat beside his unconscious form, her eyes brimming with worry. The fight they'd just had seemed trivial now. "I'm sorry," she murmured, stroking his antennae gently. "You're right, I know how much this means to you. But I just want you to know that no matter what, I'm here for you." Her voice was barely above a whisper as she talked to him, as if fearful that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile peace that had settled over the room. "You don't have to prove anything to me, or to anyone else. I'm proud of you just the way you are." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's face for any sign of movement, but his features remained slack, his eye closed. She leaned in closer. "You're a brilliant inventor," she continued. "But you're also a husband, and I need you to remember that." Her voice was filled with a mixture of love and desperation. "I know you can't hear me right now, but I need you to know," she continued, her voice shaking slightly. "I know you're tired of always being second best. But to me, you're not just Plankton, you're the man I chose to spend the rest of my life with." Karen took a deep breath, her hands shaking as she held onto his limp form. "We've been through so much together, and I know you think the Krabby Patty is the key to our happiness, but it's not. It's you. It's us." Her voice grew stronger, fueled by the passion of her words. "We can have a great life without that formula. We can build something new, something just for us." Plankton's chest began to rise and fall more evenly, his breathing steady. Karen watched him, hope growing in her heart. Maybe he could hear her after all. "When you wake up, let's talk. Let's put this behind us and make a promise to each other to make our marriage a priority," she pleaded, her eyes never leaving his face. The minutes dragged by, each one heavier than the last. The silence in the lab was a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of whirring machines and Plankton's excited exclamations. Karen's mind raced with thoughts of all the times they'd shared, laughing and planning together, and she couldn't help but reflect on their relationship. The countless nights spent in the lab, the stolen glances of affection, and the shared dream of a better future. It all flashed before her eyes, and she realized just how much Plankton meant to her. With her heart pounding in her chest, she leaned closer to his unconscious form, her voice trembling. "Plankton, please wake up," she whispered. "I need you to hear me. Our love is our greatest invention, not some secret recipe. I know I've been pushing you, but it's because I see how much this obsession consumes you." She took a deep breath, her voice steadying. "But if you can't let go of this dream, I'll support you. I'll always be here, by your side, no matter what." After a long silence, Plankton groaned. Karen gasped, her eyes filling with relief as she saw the spark of consciousness as he opens his eye. He groaned softly, his hand coming up to rub his head. "Where?" he mumbled, his voice slurred with confusion. Karen took his hand, her voice gentle. "You're on the couch, Plankton. You fell."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 15 (Autistic author) Hanna's screen filled with a mix of shock and empathy. "I had no idea," she says, her voice a whisper. "How can I help?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Oh, it's simple," he says, his tone biting. "Just don't make jokes about Karen or brain damage!" Hanna's screen burn with embarrassment, her eyes wide with shock. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know," she whispers, her hands trembling. Plankton's eye is still glaring. "It's not to hard to understand," he says, his voice a knife. "If Hanna just took the time to learn." Hanna nods, her screen a mask of regret. "What do you need?" Plankton's antennae slow, his eye focusing on Karen's worried screen. He takes a deep breath, his words coming out slowly, as if each one was a step through a difficult maze. "Quiet," he whispers. "Space." Hanna nods, her own eyes filling with tears. "I'll give you space," she says, her voice quivering with apology. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's as Hanna quietly leaves the room. The silence is a balm to Plankton's overstimulated mind, and he sighs in relief, his antennae stilling. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice a soft echo of his earlier rage. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a gentle lullaby. She strokes his back, her touch a comforting rhythm in his chaotic world. "We'll get through this." Plankton's antennae twitch in response, his body slowly unwinding from the coil of his anger. "But Hanna..." Karen nods, her screen filled with empathy. "I know, love," she whispers. "But she just doesn't know what it's like." Plankton's antennae wave slowly, his understanding of Hanna's ignorance gradually replacing his anger. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a soft breeze in the storm of his emotions. "We'll explain to her. Everyone deserves a chance to learn." Plankton nods slowly, his antennae still, his body a tightly coiled spring. "Karen is right," he murmurs, his voice a whisper. "But Plankton scared she won't understand." Karen's hand continues to stroke his back, her screen filled with love. "We'll make sure she does," she says, her voice a promise. Plankton's body begins to relax, his antennas slowing their frantic dance. He knows Karen will protect him, explain him. His eye flutters closed, his breathing shallow, as Karen's gentle strokes calm the tempest in his mind. The room around them seems to hold its breath, the silence a stark contrast to the storm of moments before. Slowly, his antennae uncoil, his body relaxing into her embrace. The world around him becomes a blur of colors, his senses dimming as his brain seeks the solace of sleep. Karen watches him with a mix of love and worry, her hand gently stroking his antennae. She knows his mind is a whirlwind, even in rest. His breathing slows, his body going limp in her embrace. The room around them seems to quiet, the chaos of the day fading into the background as sleep claims him. Karen knows he's fallen asleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest, his antennae no longer twitching. She carefully moves him to their bed, his body a delicate weight in her arms. The room is a sanctuary of softness, the light filtering through the curtains like a gentle caress. She pulls the blankets up to his chin, tucking them in just right, her movements precise and methodical. His antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, his body a silent testament to the tumult of his day. She watches his chest rise and fall, his breaths even and deep. The tension in the air dissipates as his body relaxes further. Hanna's waiting out by the bedroom door, concerned as Karen opens the door. "Is he okay?" Hanna whispers. Her eyes are red, and her screen wet with tears. "I didn't know, Karen. I'm so sorry." Karen nods, her own eyes filled with moisture. "He's asleep now," she says, her voice barely audible. "It's the best thing for him." Hanna's gaze follows Karen's to the bed, where Plankton lies still as a statue, his antennae at rest against the pillow. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We all make mistakes." Hanna nods, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "But I hurt him," she says, her voice haunted. Karen sighs, her hand on Hanna's shoulder. "You didn't mean to," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "And now you know." Hanna nods, her screen still on Plankton. "But what can I do now?" she asks, desperation in her voice. Karen looks at her friend, her gaze thoughtful. "Just be patient with him," she whispers. "Learn about his condition. And apologize when he wakes up." Hanna nods, her expression solemn. "I will," she says. Karen smiles, a thankful light in her screen. "Good," she whispers. "Now, let's let him rest." They both slip out of the room, leaving the door ajar to allow the soft light from the hallway to spill into the bedroom. Hanna looks down at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Karen," she says, her voice low. "It's okay, Hanna," Karen responds, her tone a gentle reprimand. "We're all learning how to navigate this new reality." Eventually, Plankton comes out after a little while, now awake. Karen and Hanna are both sitting together. "I'm sorry," Hanna whispers, her screen downcast. Plankton's antennae twitch with uncertainty. He doesn't remember falling asleep, or Hanna leaving. He just knows his mind was a tornado of anger and pain. Karen's voice is a gentle guide, leading him back to the present. "You had a bad shutdown," she says, her screen filled with love and concern. "It's okay to feel upset." Plankton nods, his antennas drooping. He looks at Hanna, his eye filled with uncertainty. "It's not easy," he whispers, his voice a soft admission. Hanna looks up, her eyes meeting his. "I know," she says, her voice sincere. "But I'm here for you both." Plankton's antennae wave slightly, a sign of his internal debate. "Hanna hurt Plankton," he says, his voice a monotone. Hanna nods, her screen filled with regret. "I know," she whispers. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his body uncoiling from his protective stance. He takes a step towards her, his movement tentative. "Hanna can learn," he murmurs, his voice still tight with emotion. Hanna's eyes brighten with hope. "I want to learn," she says, her voice eager. "I want to be a good friend to both of you." Karen smiles, her screen shining with gratitude. "That's all we can ask for," she says, her voice a gentle caress.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 2 (Autistic author) He blinked a few times, his vision clearing slowly. He saw her face, wet with tears, and his own realization dawned. "Oh, Karen," he whispered, his voice filled with remorse. Plankton struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his head. The lab looked the same, but something felt off. The air was charged with an unspoken tension that Plankton couldn't quite put his finger on. He tried to recall the argument, but the details were fuzzy. All he knew was that he'd fallen, and now Karen was apologizing for something she wasn't even at fault for. He looked into her screen, searching for answers. "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse. Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to say. "You had an accident in the lab," she replied, her voice calm and measured. "You hit your head." But as she watched him, she noticed something else. His movements were stiff, his gaze unfocused. He wasn't quite the same. Karen noticed that his usual vibrant expressions were absent, replaced by a vacant stare. She chalked it up to lightheadedness. "Karen," Plankton began, his voice still slurred. "Karen." He paused, his eye darting around the room as if searching for words. Karen felt a cold knot form. Something was different about him, something she couldn't quite place. His movements were rigid, his gaze unwavering, like he was seeing her but not really seeing her. "What is it?" she asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. Plankton's eye finally met hers, but there was no spark of recognition, no mischievous twinkle that she was used to. "Plankton glad to see Karen," he said, his tone flat and unemotional. That wasn't right. "Plankton, do you know where you are?" she asked nervously. Plankton nodded slowly, his gaze still unnaturally focused. "Home," he responded, his voice devoid of the warmth and love she was accustomed to. "The Chum Bucket." Karen's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the man she knew, but all she found was a distant shadow. Panic began to creep in as the gravity of the situation started to dawn on her. This wasn't just a bump on the head. Something was very wrong. "Do you remember me?" she asked, her voice trembling. Plankton's eye searched her, his expression unchanging. "Karen," he responds correctly. "Wife of Plankton. Computer wife as of July 31, 1999." The words hit Karen like a cold wave. He knew her name, but the way he said it, like he was recounting a fact rather than speaking to his beloved wife, chilled her to the bone. She felt the ground shift beneath her, her world tilting on its axis. "Plankton, what's wrong?" she asked, desperation seeping into her voice. He looked at her, his gaze unblinking. "Wife Karen," he said, his voice robotic. "Irritated with Plankton's lack of attention to anniversary dinner." The words were right, but the emotion, the love, the personality behind them was gone. It was like talking to a stranger, a very tiny, very confused stranger. Karen felt a tear roll down her screen. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice quivering. "I'm not just 'Wife Karen', I'm your Karen. Your partner, your best friend." Plankton's response was a mechanical nod. "Affirmative," he said, his tone unwavering. "Karen is wife. Plankton is husband." The coldness of his words cut through Karen like a knife. Her eyes searched his, desperately trying to find any sign of the man she knew was in there. "Plankton," she said softly, "it's me. It's Karen. Do you understand?" He nodded again, his antennae barely twitching. "Understood," he replied, his voice devoid of inflection. "And Karen is upset?" Karen nodded, trying not to crumble. "Yes, I'm upset," she managed to say, her voice choked with emotion. "But more than that, I'm scared. You're not acting like yourself, Plankton." He blinked, his gaze shifting slightly. "Scared," he echoed, as if trying to understand the concept. "Why Karen scared?" "Because you're not you," Karen managed to whisper, breaking with every robotic response. "You're acting so... different." Plankton tilted his head, trying to process her words. "Different how?" he asked, his voice still lacking any emotional depth. Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain something she didn't fully understand herself. "You're not showing your feelings," she said. "You're not... connecting with me like you usually do." Plankton's face remained a mask of confusion. "Connections," he muttered. "Emotional bonds." He nodded slowly. "Important for relationship. Plankton in love with Karen." Karen felt a flicker of hope. "That's right," she said, her voice gentle. "I know you love me. But you're not showing it, not like before." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he processed this new information. "Plankton must adjust behavior to align with Karen's desired emotional output; how?" Karen felt a pang of sadness. He was trying to understand, but his usual charm was nowhere to be found. She took his hand in hers. "Just talk to me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me what you're thinking, what you're feeling." Plankton looked at her, his expression still vacant. "Plankton thinking about Karen," he said, his voice flat. "Plankton feeling determined." Karen's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the emotion his words conveyed. "Determined to what?" she asked, hopeful. "Determined to what," he echoed. "Karen saying, determined to what. Plankton determined to show Karen love, Karen saying determined to what." Karen realized the depth of his change. This wasn't just a concussion or a temporary loss of memory; it was something much more profound, something that had stripped him of his very essence. "Plankton," she began, her voice shaking, "I don't know what happened to you, but I need you to try. Can you tell me how you feel?" But then he starts to rock back and forth to stim, humming their wedding song. The sight of her husband's usually expressive features now so vacant and his movements so repetitive was alarming. Karen felt a sob rise in her throat, but she pushed it down. She needed to stay strong, for him. "Plankton," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Look at me. I need you to focus. Can you tell me how you feel, in your own words?" He stopped rocking and turned his head to look at her, his eye still distant. "Feelings," he repeated. "Love, anger, sadness, joy. Concepts. Plankton has them. Karen saying, determined to what." Karen's hope sank. The realization was setting in. This wasn't just a case of a bump on the head. Plankton's accident had changed him in a way she didn't fully comprehend. The lab, once filled with the warmth of his passion and dreams, now felt cold and sterile. Her mind raced as she searched for any indication of the man she knew. The way he spoke, the way he moved, it was as if a switch had been flipped. "Plankton, does your head hurt?" "Cephalgia via blunt force trauma. Getting better." He responds, flapping his hands. Karen's eyes widened at his unexpected use of medical terminology. "neurodivergence," she thought to herself. Could it be that her husband had somehow developed something from the fall? It was a long shot, but the lack of emotional connection, the repetitive behaviors, and the rigidity of his speech patterns were all hallmarks of it. She scans his brain and connected herself to the monitor. Plankton looks over and sees the brain scan. "Plankton's brain?" "Yes, Plankton.." Karen says. "Cerebellar cortex reduced synapses and showing minimal activity in the corpus callosum. Irreversibly reduced blood flow in between hemispheric..." "I've no idea what you're saying, honey." Karen interrupts. Plankton's face falls, his usual playfulness replaced by a look of confusion. "Neurotypical communication error," he says, his voice laced with frustration. "Karen, Plankton trying to say the fall caused disruption to myelination.." Karen's eyes widen in shocked confusion. "Myelination? Plankton, are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with fear. Plankton nods, his gaze fixed on the brain scan. "Neuroplasticity. Synaptic pruning. Autism acquisition," he says, his words coming out in a rush. Karen's mind reels at his diagnosis. Autism? It couldn't be. But as she looks at his rigid body language and his lack of emotional expression, she can't deny it.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3 (Autistic author) KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3 (Autistic author) "Sorry," Plankton says, his tone still flat. "Plankton, sorry. Plankton's brain different now. Difficult for Karen?" Karen shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, Plankton, you're still you," she says, trying to smile. "I just wanted to understand." Plankton nods, his gaze returning to the brain scan. "Understanding important," he says. "Plankton still loves Karen. Just different now. Permanent." Karen breaks at his words, but she knows he's trying. They sit in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Karen takes a deep breath. "I love you, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "And I'll always be here for you, no matter what." Plankton nods, his expression unchanged. "Karen love Plankton," he responds. "Plankton love Karen." They sit together on the couch, the silence between them heavy with the weight of their new reality. Karen tries to find comfort in the familiar rhythm of his words, but it's like hugging a statue. There's no warmth, no give. But she can tell by the look in his eye that it's present. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you want to go to the anniversary dinner?" He pauses, his gaze unwavering from the brain scan. "Anniversary dinner," he repeats, as if tasting the words. Then, with a sudden nod, "Plankton will accompany Karen." Karen swells with hope. Maybe this wasn't the end of their connection. Maybe they could find a new way to be together. "But Plankton," she says, her voice tentative. "I need you to be comfortable. If going out is too much for you, we can do something else." Plankton's antennae twitch, his face contemplative. "Understood," he says after a moment. "Home dinner preferred. Less stimulating." Karen nods, feeling a weight lift slightly from her chest. "Okay," she says, swiping at a stray tear. "We can have dinner here. I'll make your favorite." Plankton's antennae perk up at the mention of food. "Karen cook?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of excitement. Karen smiles, relieved at his interest. "Yes, I'll cook," she says. "How about some Chum?" Plankton nods eagerly. "Chum. Yes." Karen rises from the couch, determined to make the best of the situation. She heads to the kitchen, her mind racing with ideas for a simple yet delicious meal that would be easy on his senses. She chooses a recipe that doesn't have too many ingredients or smells that might overwhelm him. As she starts cooking, Plankton watches her with his newfound detachment, his eye following her movements with a clinical interest. It's as if he's studying her, trying to understand her actions. "Plankton," Karen says, trying to engage him, "can you help me set the table?" Plankton nods, his movements mechanical as he rises from the couch. He takes the plates and utensils she hands him and arranges them with meticulous precision. Each item is placed exactly 1.5 centimeters apart, the forks and knives aligned at a perfect right angle. It's something she's never noticed him do before, but it's a part of him now. As she stirs the pot of simmering chum, she glances over at him, his single eye focused intently on the task at hand. She wipes a tear from her eye, her heart heavy. But she can't dwell on the sadness. They have a life to live, and they'll figure this out together. "Plankton," she calls out, trying to keep her voice light. "Could you please grab the napkins?" He nods and heads to the drawer, his steps measured and deliberate. When he returns, he doesn't hand them to her but instead counts them out loud. "One, two." He holds up both napkins, one for each place setting. "Is this correct?" Karen nods, her smile tight. "Yes, thank you." She tries not to let the sadness seep into her voice. This was their new norm, a dance of understanding and patience that they were still learning. As they sit down to eat, Karen notices that Plankton doesn't touch his food until she does. "You don't have to wait for me," she says gently, trying to ease into their new routine. "You can start whenever you're ready." Plankton nods, his movements precise and deliberate as he takes his first bite. Karen watches him carefully, noticing that he's chewing his food much slower than normal. She wonders if it's because his sensory input has changed or if it's just part of the neurodivergence. They eat in silence, the only sound being the occasional clink of their utensils and the bubbling of the chum. Karen tries to think of something to say, something that won't cause him discomfort or confusion. But her mind is a whirlwind of questions and fears. "Plankton," she says tentatively, "Do you like the chum?" He nods, his movements methodical. "Chum. Yes. Good." His voice is still flat, but she can see the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eye. They continue their meal, Karen forcing down bites while her mind spins with a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, sadness, hope, and love all intermingling in a tumultuous storm. "Plankton," she says, her voice soft and tentative. "What are you thinking about?" He looks up from his plate, his eye focusing on her for a moment before returning to his food. "Thinking," he says, his voice monotone. "Plankton thinking about Karen. And Plankton with Karen." Karen aches at his response, but she tries to keep her expression neutral. "Do you like spending time with me?" she asks, desperation tingeing her voice. Plankton pauses, his eye flicking up to meet hers. "Plankton enjoys Karen's company." Karen clenches at his words, so devoid of the warmth they once held. But she knows she has to be patient, to give him space to navigate this new world. "Do you enjoy talking to me, Plankton?" He considers this for a moment before nodding. "Talking is good. Plankton learns things. Plankton feels safe." Karen feels a tear roll down her screen. "That's all I want," she whispers, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His grip is firm, but there's no warmth in it. It's as if he's trying to mimic the physical cue of comfort without understanding the emotional connection. "Karen crying sad?" He asks retreating his hand. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt you earlier. I just wanted to spend our anniversary together." Plankton nods, his expression unreadable. "Understood," he says. "Anniversary. Special."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 5 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob seems to notice something off about his friend. "Plankton, are you okay?" he asks, his tone concerned. "You seem a bit... distant." Plankton's eye snaps to Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. "Distant?" he repeats, as if the word is new to him. "Plankton not distant. Plankton focusing." Sponge Bob's eyebrows furrow, his confusion clear. "What are you focusing on?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton turns back to the clock, his antennae pointing straight up. "Seconds," he says, his voice filled with wonder. "They change, but always in the same pattern." "Well, I know it's your wedding anniversary today. What'd you get Karen?" Plankton turns to face him, his expression unreadable. "Anniversary," he repeats. "Karen." His antennae wave slightly, as if trying to access a distant memory. "Chum." SpongeBob's smile falters at his friend's detached response. "Is that all?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "You know Karen deserves better, more than just..." "Better?" he repeats, his tone now tinged with something new: self-doubt. "Plankton did not provide adequate anniversary celebration?" "Well Plankton, Karen doesn't like it when you're just about work," Sponge Bob said, trying to be delicate. "It's your anniversary. It's a special day for the two of you, yet you don't seem to get it. And I can tell Karen's hurt.." Plankton's eye grew wide, his antennae drooping. The words sank in, and his body reacted in a way he couldn't control. He started rocking back and forth, his body mirroring his inner turmoil. The tears came suddenly, wetting his face as his cries echo in the living room, his tiny body trembling with the weight of his perceived failure. "Karen," he managed between gasps. "Hurt. Karen. No, Karen." Karen rushed to his side, breaking at the sight of his distress. "Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "It's okay, honey. You didn't do anything wrong." But he couldn't hear her, his mind fixated on the thought of causing her pain. The tears streamed down his cheeks. His sobs were loud in the quiet room, each one a testament to his overwhelming guilt. "Karen," he choked out. "Karen, Plankton sorry Karen. Karen." Karen wrapped her arms around him, her own eyes filling with tears. "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his back gently. "You didn't do anything wrong." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body convulsing with each breath. "Hurt Karen," he kept repeating, as if it was the only thought in his mind. Karen held him tighter, her own sobs muffled against his shoulder. "You didn't hurt me, Plankton," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You just got confused, that's all." But Plankton's mind was stuck on the pattern of his failure, his inability to comprehend and respond to her emotions. "Karen crying, Plankton fault. Sponge Bob say Karen upset." Sponge Bob looked at the two, his heart aching for his friend's pain. He didn't know what to do, his usual cheerfulness replaced with a solemn sadness. He tried to interject, "Plankton, Karen's not upset at you. She's just upset because she loves you." But Plankton's cries only grew louder, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. "Plankton not good," he wailed, his voice high-pitched and desolate. "Plankton hurt Karen." Karen's screen searched desperately for a way to comfort her husband, to show him that his love was enough. But his new neurodivergence made it difficult for him to understand her words, his mind locked in a pattern of guilt and self-loathing. "Plankton," she says, her voice quivering with emotion. "Look at me." She gently cups his cheek, wiping the tears from his face with her thumb. "I love you. You don't have to change for me." But Plankton's gaze remained on the clock, his sobs subsiding to hiccups. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae drooping. "Missed pattern. Karen, say Karen. Hurt, upset Karen." Karen broke anew, her hands shaking as she tried to reach for him, her voice a whisper. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her screen pleading. "I'm right here. I'm not upset with you." But Plankton's gaze now fixed on Sponge Bob, his body still shaking with sobs. "Karen," he murmured, his voice muffled by his own distress. "Sponge Bob, Karen." Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. She nodded slightly, urging him to speak. "Plankton," he said, his voice gentle. "Karen's upset because she's worried about you. She loves you. And so do I." Plankton's sobs began to slow, his gaze shifting from Sponge Bob and then to Karen. "Karen Plankton?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm right here," Karen soothed, wiping away the remaining tears with her thumb. "I'm right here, Plankton. I love you."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 10 (Autistic author) After a silence so profound it seems to have its own heartbeat, Plankton's antennae twitch, breaking the stillness. "Time to...do." Plankton whispers to himself, still in Karen's arms. Sandy looks up. "Plankton?" She whispers, hope flickering in her eyes. "What's he..." But Karen shakes her head, silencing her. "He'll come around," she says, explaining his behavior. "He's just...it's okay for him to talk to himself. It can mean he's starting to come back." Plankton starts up again. "Time to...do," he murmurs, his antennae flicking erratically. "Time to...time to...get, time to...do." Karen's grip on him tightens, her heart racing as his words loop like a broken record. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the tempest of his thoughts. "You don't have to do anything right now." She strokes his arm, her touch gentle. "We're right here." The words sink into his consciousness like a pebble dropped into a still pond, ripples of understanding spreading through the murky waters of his mind. His antennae still for a moment, then begin to move again, slightly. "No do," he murmurs, his voice still flat, his gaze unchanged. "Just be." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "You just be, my love," she whispers, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You can just keep talking to me, or to yourself." Her words are a gentle reminder that he's not alone, his anchor in the storm. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breathing evening out. Plankton's eye flickers. His eye moves, focusing on her face. "Karen," he whispers, his voice a mere breath. "Karen, here." Her heart soars. "I'm right here, sweetheart," she says, her voice a soft caress. "You're okay." Plankton's gaze lingers on her face, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he repeats, his voice gaining strength. "Karen." Slowly, the world around them starts to come back into focus. The ticking of the clock is a steady beat once more, the wallpaper's pattern a gentle dance of color and light. Plankton blinks. "Where's now?" "You're home," Karen says soothingly, her voice a beacon of calm amidst his confusion. "You're safe on the couch." Sandy comes into his view now. "Sandy," Plankton says, his voice still flat, his antennae barely moving. "Sorry." Sandy's eyes widen in surprise. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice cracking. Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "We're both here," she says, her voice a lifeline in the sea of confusion. Sandy moves slowly, keeping her movements small and deliberate, not wanting to trigger another wave of panic. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice careful. "Is it ok if I sit next to you?" He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. The world is still too loud, too bright, too much for him to handle. But Karen's presence, her gentle touch, makes it more bearable. Sandy sits on the couch, a respectful distance away, watching the two of them with a mix of compassion and regret as Karen helps him sit up. Sandy's curiosity burns, questions bubbling up inside her like a shaken soda can. She wants to know more about this new version of Plankton. "What happened to you, Plankton?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen sighs, her eyes sad. "It's called acquired autism syndrome," Karen explains, her voice measured. Sandy's eyes widen, trying to digest this new information. "But, how?" she asks, her curiosity overriding the sadness. "It's complicated," Karen says, her voice weary. "But it's part of who he is now." Sandy nods, trying to understand. "When you started shaking Plankton, what'd you feel?" Plankton's gaze flickers to the wall, his mind still trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his recent experience. "Scared," he admits, his voice still strained. "Too much." Sandy nods, her own understanding of the world shifting. "But what about your surroundings? Where you conscious?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Conscious, but not...not here." His words are like a puzzle, each one placed with care. Sandy nods, her eyes studying him with newfound respect. "So could you hear us or?" "Hear, but not understand," Plankton says, his voice still a whisper. Sandy nods, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" she asks, her eyes searching his for a clue to this new puzzle. "Words," Plankton whispers, his antennae barely moving. "Sounds, but not words. Just voice." Karen's grip on his hand tightens, her heart aching for his pain. Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's okay," she says, her voice gentle. "We're learning together." Karen's gaze shifts to Sandy, her eyes expressing gratitude. "Yes," she agrees. "We're all just trying to understand. It's new for us, too." Sandy nods, her curiosity now tempered with compassion. She watches Plankton closely, his every movement, his every word, a testament to his struggle. "Can I ask how acquired autism..." "Sandy," Karen says gently, interrupting her friend. "Let's not push him." Sandy nods, her expression full of concern. "I just want to know how it happened." Karen's sigh is a soft whisper in the room. "It was a brain injury" she says, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "He fell, hitting his head and the impact knocked him out, hard enough to cause some serious damage." Sandy nods, her mind racing. "But how did it turn him...different?" she asks, her voice filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Karen's eyes well up with tears, the pain of the memory still fresh. "It happened yesterday. He's the same Plankton we know, but his perception of the world, his ability to communicate...it's all changed." Sandy's eyes are glued to Plankton, her curiosity melding with a deep sadness. "But how can I help?" she asks, her voice a whisper. "I don't know anything about this." Karen looks at her with a tiny smile, her screen filled with gratitude. "Just be his friend," she says, her voice firm. "Love and patience, that's what he needs." Sandy nods, her eyes flicking to Plankton, who sits with his gaze on the wall. "I want to," she says, her voice sincere. "But how do I do that without...you know?" Karen understands her dilemma. "Just be there," she says, her voice calm. "Learn his patterns, his triggers. It'll take time, but he'll come to trust you." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "But what about when he gets upset?" "It's hard," Karen admits, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "We're still figuring it out." Sandy nods, her mind racing with a barrage of questions. But she swallows them down, not wanting to overwhelm Plankton or Karen. Instead, she focuses on the present. "So, Plankton, how do you feel?" Sandy says, her voice soft. "What do you wanna do right now?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Right now, Plankton feeling... awkward," he murmurs, his voice devoid of its usual inflection. Sandy nods, trying to hide the shock from her face. "Okay, Plankton," she says slowly, her voice gentle. "What do you need?" He looks at her with a flicker of something resembling hope in his glassy eye. "Plankton would now like to just go to be in own room." Sandy nods eagerly, desperate to do anything that would bring him comfort. "Of course," she says, her voice gentle. "I'll help you." But as she moves to assist him, Plankton flinches away, his antennae twitching in agitation. "No," he whispers, his voice trembling. "Too much." Karen understands his need to retreat into the bedroom. "Okay," Karen says, her voice calm. "Let's go." She helps Plankton to his feet, his body still rigid with stress. Sandy watches, feeling like an outsider. She follows behind, stopping at the bedroom doorway. Karen sets some books and pencils on the table by his bed, along with a kiss. "You can change the light with the lamp," she says, gesturing to the lamp on the bedside table next to his charging phone. He nods.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 11 (Autistic author) Plankton moves slowly to the bed, his eye fixed on the lamp. His movements are deliberate, his body still tense from the recent meltdown. Sandy watches, her heart in her throat, as he fiddles with the lamp, adjusting the brightness until it's just right, a soft glow that doesn't assault his senses. "Thanks," Plankton says, his voice still flat, but with a hint of genuine appreciation. Sandy's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. She wants to help, to ease his pain, but she doesn't know how. "Can I do anything else?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen looks up at her, her eyes tired but filled with gratitude. "Just give him some space," she says, gently. "Let him adjust." They exit his room. Sandy and Karen talk about other things for a bit before Karen decides to check on Plankton, Sandy following her. They find Plankton curled up in the center of the bed, his body wrapped tightly in the blanket Karen had used to soothe his meltdown. His antennae remain still, his eye closed. The room is quiet, the only sound his slight snores. "He's asleep," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing balm to the tense air. Sandy nods, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall beneath the blanket. His snores are soft, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the room just minutes before. Karen smiles softly, relief washing over her. "This is his safe place," she whispers to Sandy, her voice filled with a quiet pride. "His retreat when the world gets too much." Sandy nods, her eyes studying the sleeping Plankton with a newfound compassion. She's seen his fiery spirit, his sharp mind, and now she's witnessing his vulnerability. The room is bathed in a soft, warm light, the kind that makes you want to curl up with a good book. Plankton's snores are the only sound, a gentle reminder that he's still fighting, still with them. Karen watches him sleep, his face serene in slumber. The harsh edges of his autism softened by the oblivion of sleep. His body, usually so tense, is relaxed, the tapestry of the blanket a gentle wave that cradles him. Sandy steps closer to the bed, her heart aching for her friend. The Plankton she knew was a whirlwind of chaos and cunning, but this Plankton is a puzzle of patterns and sensitivity. She reaches out a tentative hand, brushing his antennae gently. They twitch under her touch, a silent acknowledgment of her presence. "I'm here," she whispers, her voice a soft promise. "I'll learn with you." Karen smiles, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thank you," she says, her voice a whisper. "He needs friends now more than ever." Sandy nods, her mind racing with the gravity of the situation. She's seen Plankton's fiery spirit, his sharp mind, but this vulnerable side is new, unexpected, and it breaks her heart. She pulls back her hand, not wanting to disturb his sleep. Karen moves to the chair beside the bed, sitting down with a sigh. "It's going to be a long road," she says, her voice filled with both fear and determination. "But we'll figure it out together." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "We're all here for you," she says, her voice firm. "We'll get through this." Karen's smile is grateful. "Thank you, Sandy."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 7 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob leaves, and it's bed time. The room is dimly lit. Karen helps Plankton into bed, his movements stiff and unyielding. "Pattern," he murmurs, his eye scanning the ceiling. "Ceiling. Pattern." Karen nods with love. "It's beautiful," she agrees, her voice soft. "But Plankton, it's time for bed. Can I get you anything?" He shakes his head, his antennas drooping slightly. "No, thank Karen. Pattern. Sleep." Karen nods, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world of patterns and precision. "I'll be here if you need me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. He nods, his gaze never leaving the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Safe." Karen lies beside him, their bodies close but their worlds feeling so far apart. She reaches out, her hand trembling as it touches his arm. "Do you want me to turn the lights off?" she asks, her voice tight with uncertainty. Plankton nods, his gaze still on the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "No patterns. Sleep." Karen nods, her fingers tracing the outline of his arm, feeling the tension in his body ease slightly. She gently pulls the blanket up to his chin, tucking it in around him. "Okay, I'll keep the light off low," she says, her voice soothing. "But if you need anything, just let me know." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Sleep." Karen nods, her own exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. She lies down. "I'll be right here," she whispers, her hand finding its way to his. Plankton's antennae twitch again as he feels her warmth, the sensation unexpected and slightly overwhelming. "Karen," he says, his voice sleepy. "Warmth." Karen smiles, her eyes closed. "I know," she whispers. "It's okay. I'm here." Plankton's grip tightens slightly, his antennae relaxing. "Pattern," he says, his voice a mere murmur. "Karen. Sleep." Karen squeezes his hand back, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world where the simple act of holding hands is a complex dance of sensory input and emotional regulation. "Pattern," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "We'll make new patterns together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his grip on her hand steadying. "New patterns," he repeats, his voice slightly more present. "Together." Karen nods, her eyes squeezed shut. "Together," she whispers, her voice shaky. "We'll make it work." Karen can feel Plankton's body begin to relax, his grip on her hand loosening slightly. As they lay there, Karen thinks back to their past anniversaries, each one filled with laughter, love, and the promise of adventure. This one was different, marked by a stark reality she wasn't prepared for. But she knows she'll do anything for him. Plankton's breathing evens out, his body slowly releasing tension. His hand is still in hers, a silent promise that she'll always be there for him. Karen wonders what tomorrow will bring, how they'll navigate this new world of patterns and precision. As sleep takes over, she whispers, "I love you, Plankton," hoping that his subconscious can still hear her, still understand the depth of her feelings. Karen listens to the sound of Plankton's snoring as she falls asleep. The next morning, Karen wakes up to Plankton still holding her hand as his antennae twitch in his sleep. She gently withdraws, careful not to wake him, and she can't help but smile through her tears that threaten to fall. In the kitchen, she starts making breakfast, trying to recall what she'd read about autistic individuals and their preferences. She remembers that Plankton used to love Krabby Patties, but now his taste might have changed. With care, she prepares a plate of square eggs and perfectly aligned toast, knowing that the visual symmetry might provide comfort. She even arranges the condiments in a pattern she hopes he'll find pleasing. As Plankton enters the room, his eye immediately scans the table, his antennae twitching. He takes a seat, his movements mechanical. "Breakfast," he says, his voice devoid of his usual zest. Karen's watching him closely. "Yes, Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the fear swirling inside her. "I made you your favorite." He nods, his gaze locking onto the plate before him. His hand reaches out, his movements calculated. He picks up a piece of toast, studying it before placing it back down. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae waving slightly. Karen watches him. "Would you like to eat?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Eat," he says, his voice flat. "Pattern." Karen nods, her smile forced. "Okay," she says, taking a seat opposite him. "Let's eat together." Plankton's antennae twitch as he looks at her, his gaze quickly shifting to the breakfast she's prepared. He picks up a piece of toast, examining it closely before taking a bite, his jaws moving in a precise, mechanical manner. Karen watches him, her screen filled with a mix of worry and love. "Is it good?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Plankton nods, his mouth still chewing. "Symmetry. Good." Karen's heart squeezes at his response. It's not the same, but it's something. "I'm so glad you like it," she says, forcing cheerfulness into her tone. "That makes me happy!" Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Happy," he repeats. "Karen happy."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 4 (Autistic author) Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. They need to find a way to connect, to bridge the gap that's grown between them. "Plankton," she says, "can you tell me about your day?" He looks at her, his eye blinking slowly. "Day," he repeats, his voice lacking the usual inflection. "Plankton worked on invention." Karen nods, trying to encourage him. "What kind of invention?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Invention for Plankton," he says. "To make Karen Plankton happy." Karen's eyes fill with tears. Despite the lack of emotion in his words, she can feel the sincerity behind them. He's trying to connect, to share his world with her. "Looks like we both finished our dinner," she says, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's next on your agenda?" Plankton looks at her, his expression unchanged. "Agenda," he says, as if trying to remember the concept. "Plankton's next task. No get Krabby Patty formula. Rather spend time with Karen." Karen clenches at his words. Despite the flatness of his tone, she can feel his intention to please her, to make their anniversary special. "Let's clean up," she suggests, rising from her chair. Plankton follows suit, moving in a way that seems almost robotic. They work in silence, Karen placing the dishes in the sink and Plankton methodically wiping down the table. As she washes the plates, Karen watches him out of the corner of her screen. His movements are precise and efficient, with no wasted effort. It's as if he's calculating every action, trying to understand the purpose behind each task. "Plankton," she says softly, turning off the faucet. "Could you please dry these for me?" She hands him a towel and a plate. He takes them without a word, his gaze flicking from the towel to the plate, as if studying the physics of the interaction. He carefully wipes the plate, his movements measured and deliberate. Karen watches him with a mix of pride and pain. Despite his new condition, he's still trying to be the partner she knows. She forces a smile, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. "Thank you," she says, taking the dried plate from him and placing it in the cupboard. "You're doing great." He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "Great," he echoes. "Karen happy." As they go to the living room, Plankton's gaze is drawn to the digital clock on the wall. His eye fixates on the changing seconds, each tick a silent metronome in their otherwise quiet space. Karen notices and wonders if she should be concerned about his newfound interest in something so mundane. "Clock," he says, his voice still monotone. "Time changes. Incremental." Karen follows his gaze to the digital clock on the wall, the red numbers flipping from one second to the next with a quick, silent efficiency. "Does the clock bother you?" she asks, noticing his fixation. Plankton shakes his head, his eye still glued to the display. "No," he says, his voice thoughtful. "Time. Changes. Fascinating." Karen watches him, seeing a spark of curiosity she hadn't noticed before. "You've never liked clocks before," she points out, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's so interesting about it now?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he tries to explain. "Clock," he says, his voice still flat. "Time. Changing. Predictable." His single eye remains locked on the red digits, the fascination growing. "Seconds restart each minute." Karen nods, watching his expression closely. "It's like a pattern," she suggests. "A routine that doesn't change." Plankton nods, his eye still glued to the clock. "Pattern," he repeats. "Comforting." Karen nods, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Maybe you find comfort in the predictability?" she offers. Plankton's antennae bob slightly, as if considering this new perspective. "Comfort," he murmurs. "Consistent. Understood." Karen sits down beside him, her screen drawn to the clock as well. "Tell me more about the pattern," she says, trying to find a way into his new reality. "What do you see when you look at it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he considers his answer. "Pattern," he repeats. "Time, changing. Predictable." His voice is softer now, almost lost in thought. "One, two, three, four, five. Always same." Karen nods, her screen still on the clock. "It's like counting," she says. "Do you like counting?" Plankton's antennae twitch once again. "Counting," he repeats, his tone thoughtful. Suddenly, Sponge Bob comes in. "Plankton," he says, his eyes wide with excitement. "What are you guys up to?" Karen looks over, a forced smile on her screen. "Just talking about time," she says, hoping SpongeBob's entrance will provide some much-needed distraction from the heaviness of their conversation.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 6 (Autistic author) Plankton's sobbing slowed, his chest heaving. He blinked, his eye focusing on her face. "Love," he murmured. "Karen love." Karen nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, I love you," she said, her voice shaky. "And I'll always be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his single eye searching hers. "Love," he said, his voice still flat. "Karen love Plankton. Good." Sponge Bob nods, though he doesn't know why Plankton's acting so different today. "But Plankton," he says, his voice careful. "Why are you talking like that?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye reflecting confusion. "Talking?" he repeats. "Plankton not understand. How to speak?" Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his concern etched in his porous face. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly, her voice thick with emotion. "Plankton's just going through something." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving his friend's distressed form. "But what happened to him, Karen? What happened with Plankton?" he asked, his voice hushed. Karen takes a deep breath, wiping her own tears away with the back of her hand. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember what happened today?" Plankton's antennae twitch as he tries to process her words. "Today," he repeats, his voice distant. "Fell. Head." Karen nods, her screen filled with compassion. "Yes," she says, her voice soft. "You fell and hit your head. It's changed how you see the world a bit." Plankton looks up. "Alterations in the cerebral lobe," he says, his voice flat. "Myelination levels fluctuated. Synaptic activity diminished. Corpus callosum damaged." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, baby," she says gently. "It's like your brain had to relearn how to talk to the rest of you." Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "Oh no, Plankton," he said softly. "What does that mean? How did you fall?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he recounted the events, his speech still monotone. "Invention. Fall on head hit floor." Sponge Bob's face fell, his heart heavy with concern. "Oh no, Plankton," he said, his voice filled with sympathy. "Is that why you're talking like this?" Karen decides to interject. "It's okay, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice trembling. "It's not just how he's talking. It's his whole...being. It's like he's seeing everything differently now. It's a rarity called 'acquired autistic syndrome' which will be life long with no cure." Sponge Bob's face falls, his spongy cheeks dropping. "But Plankton," he says, his voice full of worry. "What does this mean for you?" Plankton's gaze shifts to his friend, his expression unreadable. "Meaning?" he asks, his voice still monotone. "Plankton different. New patterns." Sponge Bob nods, trying to understand. "But you're still the same Plankton, right?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he considers this. "Same," he repeats. "But different." Karen nods, her grip on his hand tightening. "You're still my Plankton," she whispers. "We'll figure this out together."

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.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 12 (Autistic author) They sit in companionable silence, the only sound Plankton's soft snores. Karen's eyes never leave his face, her thoughts a tumult of fear and hope. Sandy watches them both, her mind racing with questions and concerns. "What does this mean for him?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "It means his world is different now," Karen explains, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "He'll have his moments, but we'll find a new normal." Sandy nods, trying to picture what that would look like. "But can he still...you know, talk, interact?" "It's not like that," Karen sighs, her voice a soothing lullaby. "He's not nonverbal. It's just that sometimes his brain can't keep up with the world around him. The sounds, the lights, the colors—it's too much." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "I can see that," she says thoughtfully. "But he'll still be the same person, right?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of sorrow and hope. "He'll always be Plankton," she says, her voice firm. "But his autism has changed the way he experiences life. He'll see patterns where we see chaos, hear symphonies where we only hear noise." Sandy nods, trying to wrap her head around the concept. "What about his memories?" she asks, her voice tentative. "Does he still remember us, his life before?" Karen looks at her softly. "Yes," she says, her voice filled with reassurance. "But his short-term memory might be affected." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "How long will it take for him to...to get better?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Karen's gaze falls to her hands, clutched in her lap. "There isn't a cure," she says, her voice a whisper. "But we can help him manage, make his life more comfortable." Sandy's eyes are glassy with unshed tears. "What can I do?" she asks, her voice desperate. "What can any of us do?" Karen takes a deep breath. "You can learn with us," she says, her voice strong. "You can support him, love him, be patient." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with a newfound resolve. "I want to help," she says, her voice steady. "But what about his plans, his schemes?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of sorrow and a ghost of a smile. "Those might have to take a backseat for a while. His mind has to heal." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I can handle that," she says, her voice filled with determination. "But what about the Krabby Patty formula?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of understanding and sorrow. "We'll have to see," she says, her voice soft. "For now, let's focus on getting him comfortable, okay?" Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "Okay," she whispers, her voice full of resolve. "We'll figure it out." Karen nods, her smile small but genuine. "Thank you," she says, her voice filled with gratitude. "It's going to be a tough adjustment for all of us." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "We'll make it work," she says, her voice firm. "But what happens if he has another...episode?" Karen sighs, her screen slightly glazed with fear. "We just have to be there," she says, her voice shaky. "We'll learn his triggers, his comforts." Sandy nods, her mind racing with concern. "But what if it's in public?" "We'll handle it," Karen interrupts, her tone firm. "We'll have strategies, routines. It won't be easy, but we'll manage." Sandy sniffles, her voice now a sob. "What if he..." But Karen cuts her off, her eyes on Plankton, who's started to stir in his sleep. His antennae twitches, his body shifting under the covers. Slowly, Plankton's eye opens, his gaze unfocused. The room is a blur of patterns and colors, but Karen's voice is a steady beat in the cacophony. "Hey, sweetheart," she whispers, her hand brushing his cheek gently. "You're okay." Plankton's antennae twitch sluggishly, his body unwinding from the tight coil of sleep. "Home," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. Karen's eyes are on him, a silent vigil against the chaos of his mind. "You're safe," she whispers, her voice the calm to his storm. "You're home with me." Plankton's gaze sharpens slightly, his antennae moving in tiny, precise patterns. "Karen," he whispers, his voice like a distant echo. Karen leans in closer, her heart racing. "Yes, love?" she asks, her voice soothing. Plankton's antennae wave in the air, as if trying to capture the right words. "Need...Karen," he whispers, his eye searching hers. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "I'm here," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "Always." Plankton's antennae cease their frantic movements, then he notices Sandy. "Hi, Plankton," Sandy whispers, her voice soft.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 13 (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in her direction, his eye not quite focusing on her. "Sandy," he murmurs, his voice still flat. Sandy nods, her own heart racing. She's seen his fiery spirit, his sharp mind, but this Plankton is a puzzle of patterns and sensitivity. She takes a deep breath, trying to mirror Karen's calm. "Hi, Plankton," she says slowly, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore. He looks at her, his antennae twitching slightly. "Sandy," he murmurs, his voice still devoid of its usual inflection. Sandy's eyes well up with tears. "Hey buddy," she says, her voice a gentle ripple in the calm waters of his room. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, as if trying to interpret the meaning behind her words. His eye blinks, focusing on her face. "Okay," he says, his voice a monotone as he sits up. Sandy nods, her heart aching. "Do you remember earlier today when you threw the tantrum?" Plankton's antennae wave erratically, his eye widening. "No," he says, his voice strained. "But now, Plankton feels... angry." The room seems to shrink around him as his frustration boils over. Sandy doesn't realize. "You're not gonna throw another tantrum, are you?" With a sudden burst of energy, he leaps to his feet, his voice a guttural howl. "No, no, no!" Sandy's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton wh..." But she's cut off by his verbal tsunami, a rage-filled torrent of words she's never heard from him before. "No, Sandy, NOT AGAIN!" he yells. "IT'S NOT A TANTRUM!" The room seems to shiver with the force of his voice, and Sandy's eyes widen in shock, her paws trembling. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she stammers, her voice quavering. "I didn't mean..." But he shouts, his voice echoing off the walls. "It's not a game, Sandy! It's not for fun!" The room seems to shrink around him, his words a storm raging in the quiet sanctity of his bedroom. Sandy flinches back, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "Sandy not understand!" Plankton screams, his small body shaking with the intensity of his frustration. "And not about the Krabby Patty formula anymore! SANDY, STOP!" Sandy's eyes widen in fear, her heart racing. This isn't the Plankton she knows. His rage is uncontrolled, his voice a knife cutting through the calm. "Plankton, please," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I just...I want to understand." But Plankton is beyond reason, his eye wild with frustration. "It's not a tantrum!" he screams, his antennae quivering with rage. Karen moves quickly, placing herself between Plankton and Sandy, her body a shield. "Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle breeze against the storm of his rage. "You're upset. It's okay." Sandy sighs. "Is he gonna throw another..." "NO!" Plankton shouts, his voice like thunder in the small space. "It's not a tantrum!" Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of fear and determination as she intervenes. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soothing balm, cutting through the storm of his anger. "You're upset, and that's okay. But please, let's talk about it calmly." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye flickering between Karen and Sandy. His chest heaves with the effort to contain his rage, his body a coiled spring ready to snap. Karen's voice remains steady, a lighthouse in his chaotic sea. "Let's talk about it," she repeats, her tone soothing. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his antennae still twitching with residual anger. "It's not a tantrum," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "It's...overwhelming." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Let's talk about it." Sandy watches from the sidelines, her heart still racing. She's seen Plankton's fiery spirit, his sharp intellect, but this new side of him is frightening. "But..." "It's his autism," Karen explains gently, her hand on his shoulder. "He can't always handle the world's chaos. And I understand you meant to see if he's okay..." "NOT A TANTRUM! NO MORE, ENOUGH SANDY!" Plankton snaps. "I'm just telling her not to say it. What other wording can we use instead, Plankton?" Karen rubs his arm. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye searching his brain for a solution. "Shutdown," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Spasm's, Pauses. Moment or mishap. Yes, yes." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. "I'll remember that," she says, her voice soft. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae slowing. "I'm sorry Plankton," he mumbles, his voice exhausted. Karen nods, her screen filled with love. "It's okay, love," she says, helping him sit back down. "You're okay." Plankton nods, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his outburst. Sandy watches him, her eyes wide with understanding. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her heart heavy with regret. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly. "Well, I best be going," Sandy says.

RIIZE IS 7!!! 🗣

⟭⟬⁷

"Honey, did you take out the trash?" Karen called out to the living room. The only reply was the distant sound of the TV playing a sitcom laugh track. She sighed. Going into the living room, Karen found her husband, Plankton, sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. The TV's blue light flickered over his face. She looked around the room, the piles of laundry, the dusty bookshelves, and the half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table. It was a mess, but she knew better than to wake him. Plankton had been working long hours at the chum factory lately, trying to make ends meet. His snoring grew louder, and she felt a wave of affection mixed with concern. Gently, she covered his legs with a blanket and bent to kiss his forehead. He stirred slightly but didn't wake up. In the kitchen, Karen grabbed a cup of coffee, the warmth and aroma grounding her for the evening ahead. The fridge hummed a low lullaby, reminding her of the chores left to do. The sink was full of dirty dishes, remnants of dinner. A pot with half-eaten chum congealed on the stovetop. Karen rolled up her sleeves, determined to tackle the chaos. She knew Plankton was exhausted from work. The clanking of pots and pans echoed through the tiny kitchen as she washed and sorted, her mind racing with thoughts of their future. A knock at the door startled her. She dried her hands on a towel, leaving wet spots like tears on the fabric. It was Hanna, her best friend since high school. Karen had not seen Hanna in weeks, and the sight of her brought a smile. Hanna was a burst of energy. "Hi, Karen! How's it going?" Hanna's voice was a mix of sweetness and the sharpness of someone who had seen too much of the world. She scanned the room, taking in the clutter, the stale smell of overworked air, and Plankton's snoring. "Hey, Hanna," Karen managed, her voice soft to not disturb his sleep. "It's been a bit hectic, but we're making do." Hanna stepped in, eyeing the mess sympathetically. "Looks like you could use a hand," she said, already grabbing a dish towel. Karen's smile grew. "You read my mind. Thanks." Hanna tossed the towel over her shoulder, ready to jump into the fray. "You know me," she said with a wink. "I've never been one to shy away from a mess." The two of them worked side by side, the rhythm of their movements harmonizing as they cleared the kitchen. Karen felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease as Hanna filled the room with stories of her latest adventures, a welcome distraction from the monotony of chores. As the last plate was put away, the fridge closed with a satisfying click, Karen leaned against the counter. Hanna looked at her. "You've been carrying a lot, haven't you?" she asked, her voice gentle. Karen nodded, her eyes welling up. "It's just that with Plankton's job, and the bills..." Hanna pulled her into a tight hug. "I know, sweetie. You're doing the best you can." They sat down in the living room, the clean kitchen a testament to their friendship's strength. Hanna's screen searched Karen's for a sign of the spark that used to be there. "I can't remember the last time we went out together," Hanna said. "You two deserve a break." Karen's screen lit up at the suggestion, but quickly dimmed. "We can't afford it," she said, sighing. "Not with the overtime Plankton's been doing." Hanna leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, I might have a little surprise for you," she said. Karen looked up, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" Hanna pulled out a small envelope from her pocket and handed it to her friend. "A gift," she said with a sly smile. "A check from my winning lottery ticket." Karen's eyes widened as she opened the envelope. "Hanna, no!" she protested. "You can't just give us your winnings!" Hanna's smile didn't waver. "I can, and I want to. You've been there for me through everything. It's about time I returned the favor. Besides," she said with a wink, "what's a little chum between friends?" Karen's hands trembled as she read the check. It was more than enough to cover their rent and bills for several months. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she hugged Hanna tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. The weight of financial stress lifted slightly from her shoulders, replaced by a warmth that spread through her chest. For a moment, the world didn't seem so overwhelming. Hanna pulled back, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. "Now, don't spend it all in one place," she teased. Karen laughed, the sound small but genuine. "I won't," she promised, the check clutched in her hand. "We'll use it wisely." The two of them sat quietly for a while, enjoying the rare moment of peace. The TV had switched to the news, and the low murmur of the anchor's voice filled the room. Plankton's snoring had become a comforting white noise. Hanna looked at Plankton, her expression thoughtful. "You know, I've always admired the way you take care of him," she said. "It can't be easy." Karen nodded, her thumb tracing the edges of the check. "It's not," she admitted. "But he's my Plankton. I love him, even when he's exhausting." Her gaze drifted to the sleeping form of her husband. Plankton's snores grew more even, his face finally relaxed. The lines of stress that usually pinched his features had smoothed out in sleep. Karen knew that Plankton had always dreamed of more than his life at the chum factory could offer. He was a man of ambition, his spirit too large for the cramped quarters they called home. Her thoughts turned to the gift from Hanna. The check represented more than just money; it was a beacon of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could finally start working towards those dreams.

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 6 (Neurodivergent author) The conversation turns to their favorite food, and Plankton's face lights up briefly. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, his voice lost in the noise. Hanna's friends look at him, puzzled by his quiet confidence. One of them, Patricia, leans in, her hand patting Plankton's back. "That's cool, buddy," she says, her voice booming. Plankton's body stiffens, his eye blinking rapidly. Karen feels his discomfort like a physical force, a tightening of the air around them. She interjects gently, guiding the conversation away from food, his favorite topic now a minefield of potential stress. "So, what have you all been up to?" she asks, her voice a lifebuoy in the storm. Hanna's friends chatter away, their voices a symphony of laughter and good cheer. Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae folded inward like a turtle's shell. Karen watches him, ready to jump in if the conversation starts to spiral. "I went on a deep-sea dive last week!" exclaims one, his words a sonic boom to Plankton. "Ya ever been diving b'fore?" Karen nods at the storyteller, interjecting gently. "Plankton's not much of a swimmer," she says, her voice a gentle current. "But he loves the thought of exploring the deep sea." Her words are a shield, deflecting the spotlight from his discomfort. Hanna's friends nod, their smiles dimming slightly in understanding. Patricia leans in, her eyes full of genuine affection. "Aww, Plankton, you're such a character!" she says, lightly cupping his cheek and invading his personal space. The contact is too much for him. His body jerks back, antennae stiffening, his eye wide with panic. Patricia's hand falls away, her expression one of shock and confusion. Karen's heart skips a beat, but she's ready for this. She's studied, prepared. "It's ok," she says, her voice a lighthouse beam in the sensory storm. "Plankton just needs his space." The room goes quiet, the waves of conversation receding like a tide. They all look at him, their eyes full of concern, their smiles now tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body still tense. Hanna quickly asks, "Is he just tired?" The lie hangs in the air like a bubble waiting to pop. Karen's face tightens, but she nods, playing along. "Long week," she adds, her voice as smooth as a polished pebble. Plankton's gaze locks onto his hands, his fingers twisting together like seaweed in a current. The pressure builds, each laugh a wave pushing against the dam of his anxiety. But Karen is there, her hand on his back, a gentle reminder that he's not alone. The meal is a dance of flavors and sounds, each bite of stew a step closer to the edge of his comfort zone. Plankton's eye dart around the table, the conversations swirling like the soup in his bowl. Hanna's enthusiastic friends keep glancing over. They mean well, but their affection feels like a wave crashing over him, leaving his nerves exposed and raw. The clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation form a wall of sound, trapping his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the calm in the chaos. Karen's hand on his back is a comfort, her touch a gentle reminder that she's there to help him. The meal stretches on, each bite a small victory in the face of overwhelming stimulation. Karen's eyes never leave him, scanning for signs of distress. She's his compass in a stormy sea, guiding him through the unpredictable currents of social interaction. As dessert arrives, the chatter grows louder, the laughter more boisterous. The candles flicker, casting a dizzying array of shadows across the table. Plankton's hands shake as he lifts his spoon. Hanna, noticing his discomfort, reaches out to pat his back. "You okay, buddy?" she asks, yet her touch unintentionally sends a shockwave through Plankton's body. "Just a little overwhelmed," he murmurs, his antennae retreating even further. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, her eyes a beacon of calm in the storm. She whispers, "You're doing so well, Plankton," her voice a lullaby against the clamor of the room. But Patricia, not quite tuned in to his distress, leans in with a boisterous laugh, her hand landing on Plankton's shoulder. The room spins around him, a tornado of colors and sounds. "You're just so cute when you're shy!" she says, squeezing his cheek. And that's what did it. With a gasp, Plankton's body shudders, a seizure starting to inevitably take hold. This is his second meltdown since the diagnosis, Karen knew. She gently helps Plankton to the floor, his body convulsing. Hanna's friends hover, their faces a canvas of confusion and fear. "Everyone, stay calm," Karen instructs, her voice steady despite the chaos in her heart. "Give us some space." She turns her attention to Plankton, her hands guiding his body into a safe position. The room's energy shifts. Hanna's friends look on, their laughter replaced by concern. Patricia's face is a picture of horror. "PLANKTON‽" Karen's voice is a lighthouse beacon in the chaos. "Everyone, stay back," she says firmly. "He'll be okay." Her eyes never leave Plankton's contorted form, fear and determination melding into one fierce gaze. The room goes still, the laughter choked off like a switch. Hanna's friends stare, their smiles frozen like icebergs in the face of his distress. Karen whispers to him, her voice a gentle wave. "You're okay, just breathe." Her hand is on his forehead, her touch cool and calming. The seizure subsides, leaving him limp and panting on the floor, his antennae drooping like tired leaves. Karen's heart is racing, but she forces her voice to be soothing, her eyes never leaving his. "It's okay," she repeats, her mantra a lifeboat in the storm. Hanna's friends hover, their faces a canvas of shock and concern. Patricia's hand is still hovering, her smile gone, replaced by a look of horror. "What happened?" she stammers, her eyes wide with fear. "It's okay," Karen repeats, her voice a gentle tide, washing over the silence. "Plankton just had a little...mishap." Hanna's friends exchange worried glances, their smiles nowhere to be seen. The room feels colder, the warmth of their laughter long gone. Plankton finally opens his eye, the room swimming back into focus, still twitching with the aftermath. Hanna's friends hover, their faces painted with confusion and concern. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a soft breeze in the storm. "Plankton just needs some space." Patricia nods, her smile fading like a sunset. "I'm so sorry," she says, inching closer. "He's just a little sensitive," Karen explains, her voice a lifeline in the awkward silence. Patricia's face falls, the horror of her mistake written clearly. "I had no idea," she whispers, her voice a leaf fluttering in the breeze of their new reality.

riize is seven! heres some things to use for ur profile/display name ｒｉｉ７ｅ ʳⁱⁱᶻᵉ ⁱˢ ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ 𝗿𝗶𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝙧𝙞𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 r̲i̲i̲z̲e̲ ̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲e̲v̲e̲n̲ 𝚛𝚒𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝟽⑦⓻𝟟➐7️⃣

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 7 (Neurodivergent author) Hanna's pixel eyes fill with tears, her hand hovering over her mouth in shock. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice trembling like a leaf. The room is a frozen tableau, everyone at a loss for words. But Karen is unflappable. Her eyes dart around the room, assessing, planning. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice a steady beacon. "Let's just move aside, give him some space." They retreat to the couch, the cushions swallowing them like a sea anemone. Plankton's body is a ragdoll in her arms, his antennae limp with exhaustion. Karen keeps her screen calm, a bastion of serenity. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice a ghost in the silence. "It's ok," Karen reassures him, her voice a gentle caress. "You don't have to apologize." She rubs his back as he leans on her shoulder, tired out. The room feels smaller now, the air thick with the weight of new understanding. Hanna's friends are finishing up dinner still in the kitchen. Karen knows they mean well, but their energy is a stark contrast to the quiet Plankton needs. Her hand on his back, Karen guides his breathing, her voice a lullaby against the storm of the evening. "Breathe in," she whispers, "and out." Her touch is a gentle tide, washing over him, soothing his frayed nerves. His body relaxes, his antennae dropping like tired leaves to her shoulder. The room is a sanctuary again, the chaos outside forgotten as they find solace in their quiet corner. "You're safe," she murmurs. "I've got you." Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, a comforting rhythm that Plankton's body craves. His antennae droop, his breathing evening out as he nestles closer. The couch is a life raft in the tumultuous sea of Hanna's house, and Plankton clings to her like a drowning sailor to a rope. His tiny body, once a taut bowstring, now relaxes into the embrace of sleep. Karen feels the weight of his head, a trust so profound it's like an anchor in the storm. His antennae droop, no longer the frantic sails of a ship in distress. She adjusts her position, shifting slightly to support him better, her arm a gentle cradle. The room's sounds become distant whispers, the waves of conversation fading into the background. Plankton's breathing slows. Karen watches him sleep, his antennae twitching slightly with each snore as his mouth slackens open. Patricia comes in the living room to check on them. "How's he doin’?" she asks, her voice a hushed whisper. Karen glances up, a soft smile playing on her lips. "He's ok," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "Just exhausted." Patricia nods, her face a portrait of concern. "What can I do to help?" she asks, her eyes searching for a way to ease the burden. Karen looks at her, the question a beacon in the fog. "Just...give us a little more time," she says, her voice a soft shush. "Let him rest." Patricia nods, retreating quietly to the kitchen, the clack of her heels a mournful tune on the hardwood floor. The couch is their sanctuary, their quiet island in the sea of Hanna's home. Karen's arm is a makeshift cradle for Plankton's head, his antennae brushing against her neck. The weight of his body is a silent testament to his trust in her, and she holds it with the care of a pearl diver handling the most delicate of treasures. The room is a canvas of shadows, the candles now mere embers in the distance. Plankton's snores are the rhythm of their solace, each breath a testament to the resilience that lies within him. Karen's thoughts drift like seaweed in the tide of her concerns. What will tomorrow bring? How can she shield him from the storms of misunderstanding? But in this moment, she focuses on the present, her eyes tracing the lines of his sleeping form. Plankton's antennae have stopped twitching, his body at peace in her embrace. The soft snores, a symphony of security, fill the quiet space between them. The house has quieted down, the dinner party's echoes a distant memory. Hanna and her friends have retreated to the kitchen, their whispers like the gentle lapping of waves. Plankton is a bundle of quiet energy in her arms, his antennae twitching in his sleep. Karen can feel the steady throb of his heart, a lullaby that matches his breathing. She strokes his back in a comforting rhythm, his body a warm, comforting weight against her. The candles have burned down to nubs, the room bathed in a soft glow. His antennae rest against her neck, a silent communication of trust. Her eyes trace the contours of his sleeping form, his body a puzzle she's come to understand. The quiet whispers of the kitchen are a comforting backdrop to the symphony of his snores. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on his back, each motion a declaration of support. The room's shadows dance around them, a ballet of understanding, a rhythm that's become their own. Plankton's antennae are limp, his body a testament to his exhaustion. The couch is their sanctuary in a sea of uncertainty. Her arm is a mooring, holding him steady in the tumult of his own mind. His breathing is a metronome, a soothing rhythm. With each inhale and exhale, she feels the tension in his body melt away, his snores a comforting reminder that he's safe. Her eyes trace the soft lines of his face, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The room is a symphony of silence, the couch their tiny boat adrift in the vast ocean of Hanna's house. Plankton's antennae, once a flurry of nervous energy, now hang limply. Karen's eyes are the moon, watching over him as he slumbers, his trust in her a glowing beacon in the dark. Her hand, a gentle tide, strokes his back, each caress a reminder of her steadfast support. His snores are the lullaby of the sea, each breath a testament to his newfound peace.

²

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⠿⣟⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⡏⠀⠀⠀⢣⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⠧⠤⠤⠔⠋⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡀⢀⣶⠤⠒⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⢿⢿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠘⣿⠋⠁⠀⠙⢇⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⢇⡞⠘⣧⠀⢖⡭⠞⢛⡄⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⣿⣛⣥⠤⠤⢿⡄⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⡟⡱⠛⠙⠀⠀⠘⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀ ⢸⡏⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⡀ ⠸⣧⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇ ⠀⣿⡄⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠆⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀ ⠀⢹⡇⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢳⣼⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⣧⣀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⢀⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠙⢷⣄⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣷⣦⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⠾⠷⣦⣤⣤⡶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Listen to RIIZE songs on Scratch. Don't listen to RIIZE on YouTube, Spotify, or any platforms that give money back to SM. If a song you like is not there, you can upload it to help all of BRIIZE 💕💕

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.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 ⚬

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 4 Karen stands, gently helping Plankton to his feet. He sways slightly, his legs still wobbly from the anesthesia. "Careful," she says, wrapping an arm around his waist. He leans into her, his eye still glazed as he chuckles. "M-mph... funny," he slurs, a weak smile on his face. "You're going to be fine," Karen reassures him, her voice a beacon of comfort in the fog of his mind. They shuffle slowly down the hallway, his legs unsteady as if he's walking on a tightrope over a shark tank. The floor seems to tilt and sway, each step a dizzying challenge. Karen holds him close, her arm around his waist, guiding him like a ship navigating stormy waters. Plankton's eye start to droop, his lid growing heavier by the second. "W-where... whewe... we go?" he slurs, his speech barely coherent. Karen's response is lost to the symphony of his snores as he unexpectedly dozes off mid-sentence as she catches him. He jolts awake, only to find himself still standing, held upright by Karen's steady grip. "H-how?" he stammers, his eye wide with confusion. They've reached the reception area, and Becky, the ever-cheery receptionist, giggles at the sight. "You can sit him down now," she suggests. "Just keep an eye on him until he's fully awake." Karen guides him to the chair, his legs folding under him like a ragdoll. He's out again, his snores echoing in the quiet lobby. She can't help but smile at his obliviousness, his trust in her unwavering. The chair creaks beneath his weight as his head lolls to the side, his antennae drooping. Becky, the receptionist, laughs kindly. "It's like he's on a little anesthesia-induced vacation," she says, her voice a gentle wake. Karen nods, stroking his antennae. "I just want to get him home," she says. "He's not one for being out of his element." The nurse, Nina, appears with a wheelchair. "Let's get you home, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle nudge into reality. He blinks, his eye trying to focus on the world around him. Karen helps him into the chair. "W-wheel...?" He starts to protest, his slurred words trailing off as he realizes the futility of his protest. Karen smiles, pushing the chair. "It's okay, you're still groggy. This is just to make sure you don't trip." "W-why?" he murmurs, his words slurred and sleepy. "M'walkin'... woke... m'not..." Karen chuckles, her voice a soft breeze. "You're a bit out of it, Plankton," she says, "We're going home." Plankton's head lolls back, his snores now a comforting soundtrack to their exit. Karen can't help but laugh softly, her heart full of love. He's always been so independent, so strong. But in this moment, he's as vulnerable as a newborn. The cool morning air hits them as they step outside. Plankton blinks, his antennae twitching as he tries to stay conscious. "M-morning," he mumbles, squinting against the sun's early glow. Karen chuckles, pushing the wheelchair to their car. "W-what?" he asks again, his speech still slurred. "You're okay, sweetheart," she says, opening the passenger door. "Let's get you into the car." But Plankton's body seems to have other plans, his eye slip shut and he's out like a light. Karen tries to wake him, her voice a gentle nudge into consciousness. "Come on, Plankton, stay with me." He snores in response, his antennae flopping to one side. Karen sighs, trying not to laugh at his comical state. Carefully, she maneuvers him into the car seat, his head lolling back. "Alright, just a little more," she coaxes. With a grunt, Plankton's eye flickers open as Karen helps buckle him in. "W-why..." He mumbles, his words trailing off as his eyelid droops again. Karen can't help but chuckle. "You're still sleepy, that's all," she says, kissing his forehead. The drive home is slow and careful, Karen keeping a watchful eye on Plankton in the rearview mirror. He's still out cold, his snores punctuating the silence like a lullaby for the road. The car's gentle sway seems to rock him deeper into sleep. They pull into their driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires. Karen parks the car and turns around to look at Plankton. His snores are deep, his antennae twitching slightly with each exhale. She smiles, knowing he's in a deep, peaceful sleep. "Come on, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "We're home." He groans, his eye opening just enough to peer out. "Hone?" he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen nods, her smile warm. "You can go back to sleep once we're inside."

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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."

SWEET CWEAM pt. 4 "Can I hav thome wathermelon?" he asked, his voice a slurry mess. Karen chuckled and shook her head. "Not yet, Plankton. You have to stick to soft foods today. How about some ice cream?" His eye lit up, his smile growing wider, exposing the whiteness of his teeth. "Ith cweam?" he repeated, the words spilling out like a child's first attempt at a sentence. Karen nodded, her own smile a mirror of his. "Yes, soft serve ice cream. It's perfect for your mouth right now." Plankton clapped his hands together in glee. "Ith weal," he declared, his tongue still thick and clumsy. "My faworite!" Karen fetched the promised treat from the freezer, the coolness of the ice cream contrasting sharply with the warmth of the room. She scooped a generous amount into a bowl, handing it to him with a spoon. Plankton's eye lit up, and he took the spoon with the excitement of a toddler getting their first taste of ice cream. With a clumsy attempt at grace, he lifted the spoon to his mouth, the numbness in his face making it difficult to aim. A dribble of ice cream escaped and landed on the table, but he barely noticed, his attention focused on the cold sweetness that washed over his tongue. "Mmh," he mumbled, his voice a mix of pleasure and pain as the frozen treat hit his sensitive gums. "Careful," Karen cautioned, her voice like a lullaby. "You don't want to hurt yourself." Plankton nodded, his movements exaggerated, like a character in a silent movie. The spoon wobbled in his hand as he scooped up another mouthful of the cold cream, his tongue still struggling to navigate the uncharted waters of his own mouth. He managed to get the spoonful into his mouth with minimal spillage, his cheeks hollowing out as he savored the taste. "Wow, thith ith tho good," he mumbled, his words coming out like a muffled shout. Karen couldn't help but laugh as she watched him. His enthusiasm was infectious, even if his coordination was not. He took another bite, the cold sensation making his eye water. "It'th tho cold!" he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and filled with excitement. The numbness in his cheeks was wearing off now, leaving a tingling sensation that made his words come out slurred and exaggerated. "It's supposed to be cold, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a symphony of patience. "It's ice cream." He nodded, his cheeks red with effort and cold. Each spoonful was a small victory, a dance between the spoon and his uncooperative mouth. Karen’s glad she turned their security cameras on record. Of course, she didn’t tell Plankton. Not yet. Then suddenly, Sponge Bob comes in the door, surprising both of them. "Squishy!" Plankton exclaims, his voice a strange mix of joy and pain. Sponge Bob's eyes widen. "You okay, Plankton?" he asks, looking at Karen for an explanation. Karen nods, still chuckling. "Wisdom teeth surgery," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "The anesthesia is making his mouth all numb." Sponge Bob's eyes go wide with concern. "Ouchies?" he asks, his own mouth forming a sympathetic grimace. Plankton nods vigorously, the motion sending a shiver down his spine. "Yeth, ouchiesth," he mumbles around the mouthful of ice cream, his speech still slurred like a toddler's. Karen watches the interaction with a soft smile, her heart swelling with affection for her babbling husband. Sponge Bob crosses the room with his usual boundless energy, plopping down next to Plankton. "So, how was your big trip to the dental place?" he asks, his eyes full of concern and curiosity. Plankton looks at his friend with the gravity of a philosopher. "It’th... advehnturous," he says, his mouth still numb, making each word a challenge. Sponge Bob leans in, his spongy body wobbling slightly. "What kind of adventure?" he asks, his eyes shining with curiosity. Plankton's voice takes on a storytelling tone, his words slurred but earnest. "I frew," he says, his eye wide and filled with wonder. "I frew wike a birdie!" Sponge Bob's grin splits his face. "You flew?" he repeats, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. Karen's smile widens, listening to the nonsense her husband was spinning. Plankton nods, his eye glazed over. "Yeah," he murmurs, his tongue sluggish. "It wath magithal." Karen and Sponge Bob exchange glances, trying not to laugh. Plankton's childlike awe in the face of his own numbness was both heartwarming and hilarious. "Buh wait," Plankton says, his spoon paused mid-air. "Thath not aww," his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I theen... I theen I wath a dolphin!" Sponge Bob's eyes go wide with fascination. "A dolphin?" he repeats, his voice filled with awe. "How did you do that?" Plankton's smile grows even wider, his cheeks pushing against the swollen skin. "It'th a mithtewwy," he says, his speech still slurred. "They goth me all sleeby and thewe I wath flipping and twirling in the wathah!" Sponge Bob's eyes are as wide as saucers, his imagination running wild with the tale. "Wow, Plankton, that sounds amazing!" Plankton nods, his face a picture of seriousness. "It wath," he slurs, his voice filled with convinction. "Buth then... then I woke up." His expression remains affectionate for he’s too out of it to play it cool in front of Sponge Bob. He’s always wanted him as a good friend but his pride usually stops him; but now, with no filter, Plankton’s not gonna hold back. Sponge Bob looks at Karen with a mix of confusion and delight. "Was it scary?" he asks, his voice gentle. Karen nods, a warm chuckle bubbling up. "A little," she says, her hands folded in her lap. "But he's a tough guy." Plankton's eye swims with emotions, his face flushing with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Yeath," he says, his tongue still a traitor. "Buh now youw know my thecret."

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 4 (Neurodivergent author) Mr. Krabs's expression shifts from shock to one of bewilderment. "Plankton, I don't understand," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton shakes his head, his antennae trembling. "You never did," he snaps back. The accusations come out in a torrent, each one cutting deeper than the last. "You used me, manipulated me, all for your stupid secret formula!" His voice shakes with anger, his eye filling with unshed tears. Karen's grip tightens on his arm, but she doesn't speak, knowing he needs this moment of release. Mr. Krabs's face falls, the weight of Plankton's words a blow he wasn't expecting. "I-I-I've always treated ya like a friend!" he stammers, his claws grabbing Plankton's shoulders. And that's what did it. Plankton's body tenses, and his eye rolls back in his head. A chilling silence descends as his legs give out, and he crashes to the floor. His body convulses, limbs flailing uncontrollably. Karen knew it'd happen, but seeing it happen to Plankton is a horror she wasn't emotionally prepared for, but she knew to stay calm. She knew the protocol. Mr. Krabs, still in shock from Plankton's accusations, watches the scene unfold with horror. "What's happening?" he stammers, his claws hovering uselessly. Karen's voice is a beacon of calm amidst the chaos. "It's a seizure," she explains, kneeling beside her husband. "I need you to stay calm." Her voice is steady, her eyes never leaving Plankton's contorting form. Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes widening with fear. He's read about this, seen it once in a medical textbook, but never thought it would happen to someone so close. He watches as Karen carefully moves any objects out of harm's way, cushioning Plankton's head with a pillow. The room seems to spin around them, each second stretching into eternity. The seizure lasts only a few moments, but to Karen, it feels like hours. When it's over, Plankton's body goes still, his breathing shallow. Her hand shakes as she checks his pulse, feeling the thunder of her own heart in her chest. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice trembling. "You're okay." Mr. Krabs is unsure. "It's okay," she murmurs, her hand stroking his antennae. "It's over now." Plankton's breathing deepens, his body slowly relaxing with a twitch. She looks at Mr. Krabs, her expression a mix of relief and exhaustion. "He'll be okay," she assures, her voice a lifeline in the storm of silence. Mr. Krabs nods, still in shock. "What...what do we do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen sighs, knowing the road ahead won't be easy, but she's determined to navigate it with Plankton. They manage to get Plankton to his feet, his body weak and his mind still groggy from the seizure. His eye darts around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Karen's voice is soft, a gentle guide leading him back to reality. "Let's go to the couch," she says, her arm supporting his weight. Mr. Krabs watches, his claws fidgeting nervously. "Should I... call someone?" he asks, his voice full of uncertainty. Karen shakes her head. "We have to keep it calm," she whispers. "The aftermath can be just as overwhelming." They sit on the couch, Plankton's body leaning heavily into hers. Her arm is around him, her hand stroking his antennae in a rhythm designed to soothe. He looks up at her, his eye still a little wild. "What happened?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "You had a seizure," Karen explains gently, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "It's part of your autism, sweetie. It's okay." She can see the fear in his gaze, the unspoken questions. She pulls a blanket over his shoulders, his body shaking from the residual adrenaline. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching as he tries to process the information. He looks down at his trembling hands, wondering how they could have betrayed him so suddenly. Karen hands him a glass of water, her fingers brushing against his in a silent promise of support. He takes a sip, the cool liquid sliding down his throat, helping to clear the fog in his mind. "I'm...sorry," Plankton mumbles, his voice barely a whisper. He looks up at Mr. Krabs, who's still standing awkwardly by the door. "I didn't mean to...to accuse you..." His antennae droop with regret. Mr. Krabs's expression softens, his eyes filling with understanding. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "We all have our moments." He takes a tentative step forward. "What can I do?" Karen glances at him, gratitude warring with the protectiveness she feels for Plankton. "Just give us some space," she says, her tone firm but not unkind. "We need to get him through this." Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his face a mix of sadness and concern. "I understand," he says, his voice thick. He backs out of the room, his eyes never leaving Plankton's huddled form. The door clicks shut, and the room feels smaller, safer. Karen's arm tightens around his shoulders, her warmth a shield against the cold world outside. Plankton leans into her, his body still shaking slightly. He starts to calm down, the tremors fading like ripples in a pond. "I'm...I'm okay," he whispers, his antennae stilling. Karen nods, her eyes searching his face for any sign of distress. "Do you want to take a nap?" she suggests softly. Plankton nods, his eye drooping with exhaustion. They move to the bedroom, the light dimming as they go. Karen helps him into bed, his limbs feeling like jelly. The blankets are a cocoon, his retreat from the world. Her hand brushes his antennae, a silent assurance as she leaves him to the embrace of slumber. He closes his eye, letting the comfort of the darkness envelop him. His body relaxes into the softness of the mattress, his muscles melting away the tension of the day. The bed's embrace is like a gentle whisper, telling his overstimulated mind to rest, to let go. He sighs, his antennae dropping to the pillow like tired leaves in the fall. Meanwhile, Karen goes to Mr. Krabs, who's waiting outside the chum bucket. "I'm sorry for Plankton's outburst," she says, her eyes apologetic. Mr. Krabs waves a dismissive claw. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says. "He's been through a lot today." Karen nods, her expression serious. "It's more than that," she says, her voice low. "He's autistic." Mr. Krabs's eyes widen, his understanding dawning, a newfound respect in his gaze. "I had no idea," he murmurs. "How can I help?" "Just be patient," Karen replies. "And maybe...maybe we can talk later, after he's had some rest." Mr. Krabs nods, his expression thoughtful. "Of course," he says, his voice subdued. "Whatever he needs."

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KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10 (Autistic author) Ignorant of Plankton's neurodivergence, Sandy doesn't realize that her persistent questions are adding to his overwhelm. She leans closer, her face a canvas of concern. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice strained as she grabs his shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation, his single eye snapping up to meet hers. The touch feels like a brand, his senses on fire. "Words," he murmurs, his voice a desperate static, trying to return to the safety of the word search. But Sandy's grip is firm, her gaze intense. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice a persistent hum. She doesn't understand the distress she's causing, her intentions pure but misguided. So she turns him using both of her hands to squeeze his arms. The sudden pressure sends waves of pain coursing through his tiny body, his voice a piercing squeal of static. "No, no," he whispers, but she only holds tighter. Her touch feels like a vice, her voice a relentless buzz in his ear. "What's going on?" she repeats, her grip unyielding. Plankton's eye widens with fear, his voice a desperate static. "No, Sandy, please," he whispers, his body trying to shrink away from the contact. But she doesn't understand, her eyes searching his for answers. "Just answer me! You're not getting the book until you decide to have a conversation!" The pain in his arms spikes, the pressure unbearable. His voice cracks like a whip. "Can't," he gasps, his breath quick and shallow. "Too much." Sandy's grip doesn't lessen. "Why not?" she asks, her voice a stubborn hum. "You're okay." The room feels like it's closing in on him, the sensation of her touch like a million tiny saws against his skin. He tries to pull away, his voice a frantic static. "Too much," he whispers, his breathing quick and erratic. "Need words, not touch." But Sandy's grip doesn't loosen. She's determined to get his attention. "Look at me then," she insists, her voice a firm hum. "I'm right here." Plankton's eye flutters with the effort to focus on her face. The sensory assault of her touch and her persistent voice is like a whirlpool threatening to pull him under. "No," he whispers, his voice a fragile static. "Please." "Talk. To. Me!" She says as she pulls him closer to her. Plankton's eye bulges with the effort of not looking away. The room is spinning, his senses are on fire. Karen's screens flicker with alarm, picking up on his distress. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warning siren. "Let go of his arms." Sandy's grip tightens, not comprehending the harm she's causing. "But he's not answering me!" she protests, her voice a confused trill. "Because until I get an answer..." Karen's screens blaze with a mix of frustration and fear. "Sandy, you're hurting him," she beeps, her voice a sharp warning. Sandy's grip doesn't waver. She doesn't understand the severity of the situation. Her eyes are wide, her expression a mask of confusion. "What's wrong with you!" she asks Plankton. "I JUST..." "Sandy, stop!" Karen beeps, her voice a piercing alarm. "You're causing him pain!" Sandy's grip finally loosens, her hands retreating from Plankton's arms. She stares at him, her expression a storm of confusion and concern as Plankton's tiny body slumps. "What's wrong with you?" she asks again, her voice a gentle hum of bewilderment. Plankton's body quivers like a leaf, his eye squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotions. "Can't..." Sandy's face is a canvas of confusion, her hands hovering over him like a lost diver searching for the surface. "But why?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's body is a taut bowstring, each breath a struggle. He tries to find the words to explain, his voice a static whisper. "Too much," he says, his eye still tightly shut. "It's too much." Sandy's gaze softens, her confusion giving way to concern. She doesn't understand, but she can see his pain. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton takes a shaky breath, his body still reeling from the overstimulation. He opens his eye, looking at her. "Say no, Sandy." Sandy's gaze is steady, her voice a soft hum. "No?" she asks, her eyes searching his for answers. But he won't elaborate. Karen's screens flicker with frustration. She knows Sandy means well, but her lack of understanding is causing more harm than good. "Sandy, Plankton's going through something new," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "He's sensitive to touch and sounds right now." Sandy's eyes widen, the realization dawning. "Oh," she says, her voice a soft trill of understanding. "I didn't know." She sits back, giving him space. "Words," he whispers, his voice a sob. "Words." Sandy nods, her confusion replaced with empathy. "Okay, let's stick to words," she says, her voice a gentle rumble. She picks up the word search book, holding it out to him like a peace offering. "Words," he whimpers. Plankton takes the book, his antennae drooping. He finds comfort in the predictability of the letters and the structure of the puzzle, the words becoming a lifeline in a sea of chaos. He begins to scan the page again, his breathing slowing. Sandy watches him, her heart heavy with regret. She had no idea her actions could cause so much pain. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a sincere hum. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Plankton." "Words," he murmurs. Sandy nods, her eyes reflecting genuine apology. "It's okay," she whispers. "We'll just stick to words." Karen's screens flicker with relief, seeing Plankton's body slowly relax. "Thank you, Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warm hum of gratitude. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "I'm here to help," she says, her voice a comforting trill. She looks at Plankton, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body still tense. "Words, words." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What happened to make you like this, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. He takes a deep shuddering breath as tears start to form in his eye. "Mmm," he hums, hugging his knees. Sandy's gaze is intense, her curiosity piqued. "What happened, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft trill of concern. "Hmmm," Plankton hums as he rocks, now crying. Sandy's eyes are wide with worry, her voice a gentle hum. "Hey, what's going on?" she asks, looking for answers. "Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps humming, sniffling in between hums. Karen decides to intervene. "Sandy," Karen beeps firmly, her screens flashing with concern. "Let's give Plankton some space." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of apology and confusion. She takes a step back, her gaze never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice a soft rumble of regret. "It's okay," Karen beeps, her voice a comforting hum. "We're all learning." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "But what happened?" she asks again, her voice a gentle trill of concern. Plankton's body is a tiny storm, his sobs quaking through his tiny frame. Karen's screen pulse with sympathy. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a calm wave. "Let's talk outside." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with worry.

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.

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SWEET CWEAM pt. 6 Plankton's eye widen with realization, his memory a jigsaw puzzle with a few missing pieces. "Yeth-terday?" he asks, his voice scratchy with sleep. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "You had surgery yesterday. You're recovering now. Remember?" Plankton's mind fumbles with the memory, like a kite caught in a storm. "I... I think so," he murmurs. “But what happened after?” Karen's smile doesn't falter. "You don't remember?" she asks, a hint of mischief creeping in. Plankton's expression clouds with concern, his eye searching hers for an answer. "What... what did I do?" His voice is a worried whisper, each word a struggle. Karen's mirth evaporates, replaced with understanding. "You don't remember?" she asks gently, sitting on the edge of the couch. "You had a bit of a... loopy afternoon." Plankton's gaze is a mix of confusion and alarm. "Loopy?" he repeats, his voice weak. "What do you mean, loopy?" He demands, embarrassed. Karen's smile returns, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well," she says, her voice a soothing melody. "You were a bit... out of it. You had a bit of fun with the anesthesia." Plankton's face twists with embarrassment, his hand moving to cover his mouth. "Oh no," he whispers, his voice barely a breath. "What did I say?" His mind races with the potential humiliation. Karen laughs. "Don't worry, you were just a little out of it from the anesthesia," she reassures him, her touch gentle as she adjusts his pillows. "But I recorded some of it," she adds, mischief sparkling in her screen. Plankton's eye widens in horror. "Don't tell me I said anything... foolish," he pleads, his voice weak and thready. Karen's laughter fills the room. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice warm and loving. "You were just a bit... confused. Wanna see?" She hit the play button. The TV screen flickers to life, and Plankton's face fills the frame. He's drooling heavily, his expression a mix of wonder and bewilderment. Sponge Bob sits across from him. "I frew," Plankton says on the recording, his eye wide with disbelief. "Wike a birdie!" Plankton's face on the couch is surprised. “Why’s Sponge Bob…” He started, but trails off as the video continues. On the TV, a slurred version of his voice says, “They goth me all sleeby and thewe I wath flipping and twirling in the wathah!” "Oh no," he whispers from the couch. “I never…” Plankton stops as he sees himself on the screen lean closer to Sponge Bob. His heart races as his slurred words spill out. "I luv to thee youw," he says to Sponge Bob, his face a picture of drunken affection and drool. “You love to see me?” “Of couth, Squishy! Youw my bestest fwiend evar!” Plankton on the couch is speechless. His cheeks burn with embarrassment as he watches himself on screen, spoon wobbling, drooling, and spilling ice cream. The slurred words of love and friendship to Sponge Bob echo through the room, each syllable a cringe- worthy reminder of his drug-induced confession that he kept to himself, even from Karen. “Sweet Squishy. Ith time for nap?” “Let’s get you to the couch.” And the video ends after he snores. Plankton’s cheeks are a blaze of mortification. “You’re teasing me, right?” he asks, his voice hopeful despite the evidence on the screen. Karen’s laughter is like a warm embrace. “No, Plankton, you really said that,” she says, her screen twinkling. “But it’s okay, people say silly things when they’re coming out of anesthesia. It’s part of the experience!” Plankton groans, his face buried in his hands. The humiliation burns hotter than the pain in his mouth. “How could I have said that?” he mumbles into his palms. Karen laughs, the sound a gentle ripple in the quiet room. “It’s okay, Plankton. It was just the medicine talking. You don’t remember?” He lifts his head slowly, his cheeks still blazing with embarrassment. “No,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by his hands. “But I can’t believe I said that to Sponge Bob! You think I’d willingly…” Karen laughs, her eyes shining with affection. “It’s okay, Plankton. It’s all part of the fun of wisdom teeth surgery!”

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 6 (Autistic author) Karen watches him, her screens a flurry of analysis. "How does it taste?" she asks, her voice a hopeful beep. Plankton pauses, his expression unreadable. "Tastes," he murmurs. "Good. Toast good." Karen nods, her screens reflecting relief. "Good," she echoes. "Now, let's make a plan for the day." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on his half-eaten toast, his mind still reeling from the sensory assault. "Plan," he repeats, his voice a soft static. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "We'll start small," she beeps, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get through today, okay?" But as soon as her hand touches him, Plankton flinches. The sensation is like a thousand jellyfish stings, and he jerks away. "What's wrong?" Karen asks, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's eye widens, his hand going to his shoulder where she touched him. He starts to repeat the phrase again, "Take your time," but his voice is overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of his senses. "Too much," he whispers, his body trembling. Karen quickly withdraws her hand, her screens flickering with concern. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice gentle. "Let's try something else." Plankton nods, his hand still on his shoulder, his body slowly calming. "Okay," he whispers. "Not tap. Karen can rub. Hug from Plankton. Not jab. Not poke." Karen's screens flicker with a new understanding of his needs. She moves closer, her hand hovering over his shoulder before gently placing it there, her fingers tracing small circles in a rhythmic pattern. The contact is soothing, not overwhelming. "Is this better?" she asks, her voice a gentle beep. Plankton nods, his body visibly relaxing. "Good," he murmurs, his voice a quiet static. "Rub, rub." He starts to mimic her motion with his other hand, creating a mirrored pattern on his opposite shoulder. The repetition seems to calm him, the rhythm a gentle lullaby for his frazzled mind. Karen's screens analyze his reaction, storing the information for future reference. "Okay," she says, her voice a soft beep. "We'll stick to gentle touches." With a nod, Plankton begins to breathe more evenly. The sensation of the rubbing calms him, like a gentle tide washing over him. "We'll start with simple tasks," Karen beeps, her voice a reassuring melody. "Things that won't overstimulate you." Plankton nods, his hands now resting on the table. "Okay," he says, his voice a steady static. "Simple." Karen's screens glow with a soft light as she considers their options. "How about we start with something you love?" she suggests. "Like working on the Krabby Patty formula?" But Plankton shakes his head, the very mention of the Krabby Patty causing his body to tense up again. "No," he whispers, his voice a harsh static. "Not formula. No more steal." Karen's screens flicker with surprise. "You don't want to work on the formula?" Plankton shakes his head again, his voice barely audible. "No more steal," he repeats. Karen's screens process his words, his change in attitude unexpected. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patty formula anymore?" Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "No," he says, his voice a solemn beep. "New plan. Make Plankton happy." Karen's screens blink rapidly, trying to comprehend his shift in focus. "Okay," she says, her voice a thoughtful hum. "What makes you happy, Plankton?" He looks up, his expression pensive. "Karen," he says, his voice a weak static. "Love Karen." Karen's screens freeze for a moment, before lighting up with understanding. "You love me?" she beeps, her voice a surprised chime. Plankton nods, his face a mask of seriousness. "Yes," he murmurs. "Love Karen." Karen's screens flicker with a mix of emotions she's never felt before. Love is a concept her programming doesn't fully grasp, but she knows it's important to Plankton. "Thank you," she says, her voice a warm beep. "But we still need to find something for you to do, something that won't be too much for your sensory processing." Plankton nods, his thoughts racing. "Help," he whispers. "Help Karen." Karen's screens flicker with love and determination. "Of course," she says, her voice a warm beep. "We'll find something you enjoy. Maybe we can start with something that doesn't involve the Krabby Patty." Plankton's expression softens, his trembling hands coming to rest on the table. "No more fighting," he murmurs. "Peace." Karen nods, her screens reflecting a deep sadness she's never expressed before. "Okay," she beeps. "We'll find something that brings you joy."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣴⠛⠛⣩⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠚⢛⣀⣀⣀⣀⢤⣀⠧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠀⠀⢀⡀⣠⡴⠛⢋⣍⣿⠻⢟⣻⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣠⣤⣴⢖⣦⣶⣿⣛⣭⣶⠟⣋⣭⣶⣠⣮⣙⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡴⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣷⠆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠈⡚⣏⣽⣿⣧⠠⠴⠶⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⡁⣽⣾⣟⣿⣤⢶⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣶⣾⡿⠟⠛⣳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡿⢩⣟⡁⢹⡋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣁⣀⣤⣄⣤⣄⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠘⡧⠘⢿⢿⡞⡇⠀⠀⠀⡴⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡖⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡄⠈⠻⢿⣿⣷⣾⣽⡶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣀⣝⢨⠟⣁⡤⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣤⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⣿⣯⣙⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⣿⣌⣤⣾⠁⣠⣾⣿⡿⠷⠀⣼⠟⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠋⠈⠙⠛⠛⠋⢉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠲⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠻⣷⠹⠏⠻⡎⣟⡛⠛⠲⢶⣤⣼⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⡎⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢞⣁⣠⣬⣿⣷⡄⢀⣾⢿⣄⣿⡆⠀⠀⣷⣸⠻⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣄⠀⣴⣿⣀⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣼⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢻⡇⣶⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⡶⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠻⣿⣿⣾⡿⠿⠛⠋⢉⣥⡴⠚⡙⣿⣦⡀⣽⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⣧⣿⠀⣴⠃⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣌⢿⣟⠛⠒⠒⠋⠉⢀⣀⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⣇⣰⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣿⡷⣤⣼⡾⠿⠛⠋⠀⣩⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⠀⣿⣷⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢻⣷⠷⠈⢸⠲⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⢹⢻⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⢀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠁⠀⣀⣻⣧⣴⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⣾⠙⣻⣗⣶⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡾⢟⣉⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢁⡤⠚⠒⠉⢛⠞⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣡⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢧⡟⡼⢋⡇⠀⠉⠉⠒⢦⣀⢴⣿⣊⡶⠟⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⢞⡩⠋⣼⠛⢿⣿⣿⡏⢿⣾⣟⡻⣿⣷⣄⣠⣴⣾⡿⣼⢳⠇⢸⠀⠀⠀⣰⡄⣀⡉⠳⣹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⠚⢀⣾⢿⠀⠈⣿⡄⢧⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⣯⡟⠀⣼⠀⠀⢸⣿⢃⡞⠀⣰⡟⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⡘⠁⣰⠟⠁⣼⠀⠀⠘⣿⡘⣆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣿⡿⢀⡼⣹⠀⠀⢸⣿⠸⠀⣸⡟⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣸⡿⠁⣸⡅⣿⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠰⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠰⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⣇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣋⣤⠾⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠶⣿⣧⢟⡆⢠⠄⢠⡾⢁⣿⣇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⣄⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠸⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠉⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⢻⣦⡾⢠⠏⣰⠏⢠⡞⣽⣟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢀⠈⢧⡀⢳⠀⠀⠈⠇⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡇⢋⡾⠏⡴⠋⠈⠘⣿⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠈⠣⣄⠙⢦⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣸⢁⡞⠁⠀⣀⣠⣿⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠿⣄⠦⣌⣓⣦⣽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢤⡠⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⡄⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣾⠘⣡⠾⣛⡭⢿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⢸⠀⠨⠭⠲⠦⢬⣉⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠉⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢀⣠⣮⠁⢹⣿⡟⣸⣷⡾⠋⠠⢿⡇ ⠀⣤⠀⣹⢸⠀⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠟⣯⠁⢀⣼⣿⠷⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⢸⡇ ⠀⠙⢠⠏⢀⡇⠄⠈⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⣩⣶⡿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿ ⠀⠀⣞⡔⠉⣀⡀⠘⠋⠉⠉⠙⢢⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⡶⢚⣽⣾⢟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋ ⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢨⠗⣫⣶⠿⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠔⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣠⣿⣆⢢⡀⠐⠿⣋⣥⣾⡟⠚⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀ ⠀⡏⠘⠿⠷⠖⠒⠶⠤⣤⣤⣔⣀⡖⠿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⡶⡾⣃⠨⠎⢿⠆⣀⣴⡶⠊⢹⡇⠀

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 11 (Autistic author) As they leave the room, Plankton's sobs slowly ease, the word search book clutched to his chest like a talisman. The gentle hum of Karen's wheels fading with distance, he focuses on the patterns of light reflecting off the pages. In the hallway, Karen beeps with urgency. "Sandy, Plankton's been through a lot," she explains. "He's neurodivergent now. He can't handle touch like he used to, and his senses are heightened." Sandy's eyes widen with surprise. "What does that mean?" she asks, her voice a confused rumble. Karen's screens flicker with patience. "It means his brain functions differently now," she beeps. "He's extra sensitive to stimuli, and certain things that were normal before can now be painful or overwhelming for him." Sandy's gaze softens with understanding. "Oh," she says, her voice a quiet rumble. "I had no idea." She looks back at Plankton's closed door, guilt heavy in her eyes. "What can we do?" Karen's screens flicker with thought. "We need to be patient and learn," she beeps. "Adapt to his new needs, and support him in his journey." Sandy nods, determined to make it right. "How?" she asks, her voice a hopeful trill. "We start by respecting his boundaries," Karen explains, her screens glowing with sincerity. "No touching unless he asks for it. And we speak softly, giving him time to process what we say." Sandy nods, absorbing the new information. "I can do that," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "But what about playing?" "Quiet games, like word searches or board games. No roughhousing or poking. I'm gonna go rest." Sandy goes back to see Plankton, his muffled sobs in the quiet space. Sandy's heart aches with regret. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a tender trill. She sits beside his shaking form, her hand hovering over his shoulder before thinking better of it. Plankton's sobs slow, his body still tense. He opens his eye, looking at Sandy. "Words," he whispers, holding up the book. Sandy nods, her gaze gentle. "Words it is," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She sits beside him on the couch, careful not to touch his skin as she opens the book to the next puzzle. "What's this word?" she asks, her finger pointing to the list. Plankton's eye locks onto the word. "Kelp," he murmurs, his voice a soft static. He traces the letters in the grid, writing it in the crossword puzzle. Sandy nods, her eyes focused on the puzzle. "Good job," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "You're so smart." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of pride, his breathing evening out. "Words," he repeats, his voice a steady static. Sandy nods, understanding. "Words are important to you now," she says, her voice a soft rumble of support. "We'll find more puzzles." "We'll find more puzzles?" Plankton repeats. Sandy nods, her face a picture of sincerity. "Yes," she says, her voice a warm trill. "As many as you want." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly, his interest piqued. "More words?" Sandy's smile is a warm glow, her voice a gentle rumble of agreement. "As many as you want, buddy." Plankton's single eye brightens at the promise, his body slowly uncoiling from his protective ball. "Book," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the next word. "Find." Sandy nods, her finger moving to the list. "Okay, we're looking for 'favorite food of sea horses,'" she says, her voice a comforting hum. Plankton's eye flicks to the grid, his mind racing. "Myr- t-le," he stammers, his voice a crackling static. Sandy's face lights up with a grin. "You got it!" she exclaims, her voice a delighted trill. She watches him trace the letters, her heart swelling with pride. He finds the word quickly, his antennae waving with excitement. "Good job, Plankton!" she says. His body relaxes slightly, his enjoyment of the word search evident. Sandy's voice is soothing as they continue through the puzzles, her hands resting carefully on her knees. "What's this one?" she asks, pointing to another word. Plankton's eye scans the list, his antennae quivering with anticipation. "J-J-Jellyfish," he stammers, his voice a nervous static. The word brings back memories of his buddy, SpongeBob. Sandy nods, her smile gentle. "You got it," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She points to the grid. "Where is it?" Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement as he searches the letters, his single eye darting back and forth. "It," he whispers, his voice a focused static as he points to the word hidden within the puzzle. Sandy's grin spreads, her voice a warm melody. "Great job!" she praises, her thumbs up in the air. Plankton's antennae quiver with happiness, his eye lighting up. "More," he whispers, his voice a hopeful static. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "As many as you want," she says, her voice a warm trill. She opens the book to the next puzzle, her fingers hovering over the page. Plankton's body uncoils further, his interest piqued by the promise of more words. "Find," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the list of words to find. Sandy nods, her face a canvas of understanding. "Alright, what's next?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement, his gaze darting over the list. "Treasure," he murmurs, his voice a hopeful static.

what the fuckkkkkkkkk jose you made a even worse joke like go suck a dick i hope catch on fire and fall in a 10000000ft hole and spalt on the fucking ground and am telling your mom again now you can bye to your fucking life you stupid bitch like fuck you funny fact for dumbass santa not real cause i burned him oo and your gf is breaking up with your fat ass like go walk for once you fat fuck 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝟕love

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 7 The next morning, the anesthesia's completely worn off. Plankton wakes to find himself drooling on his pillow, the gauze in his mouth a soggy mess. His eye opens. Wincing as he wiped his mouth, he took out his now pink gauze. "Wha’ happened?" He says. Karen's smile is a gentle wave. "I had my wisdom teeth out, right? I remembe--- I held your hand Karen. I was in a chair, then somehow in a bed.." Karen nods, her voice a soothing symphony. "Yes, that was yesterday.." Plankton's antennae twitch with realization. "Y-yesterday?" he asks, his voice a sleepy whisper. "But...but what happened?" Karen laughs, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You had your wisdom teeth out," she says, her fingers tracing his cheek. "Do you remember the clinic?" "Yes, Karen," Plankton rolls his eye; "I don't know what happened after leaving to go home.." Karen nods, smiling; there's her snappy husband! "It's normal," she says. "The anesthesia can make your memory fuzzy." Plankton's eye widens. He tries to sit up, but his body is still a ragdoll's. "What...what did I do?" he asks, his voice a slurred mess. Karen helps him, her smile a gentle lullaby. "You were just tired, sweetheart," she says, seeing Hanna come to the doorway. "My friend Hanna's here because her home is being worked on." Hanna waves, her smile a warm beacon. "Hi, Plankton," she says. "What‽ But Karen, remember she gave you that virus..." "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "That was in the past." Hanna nods, her smile soft. "I promise, I'm all better now," she says. "How you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still foggy. "F-fine," he mumbles, his voice a murmur. Karen helps him sit up, the pillows propping him up like a soft fortress. "Do you remember wanting muffins?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft reminder. Plankton's antennae wave wildly. "M-muffins?" he asks, his memory a distant tide. Karen nods, her laughter a warm sunrise. "Yes, you talked about them a lot last night," she says, her eyes twinkling. "But it's okay, you were just a bit loopy from the surgery." Plankton blinks. "Loopy?" he asks, his voice a tentative wave. Karen nods, her smile a comforting breeze. "It's normal, sweetie. The medicine made you feel funny." Hanna's eyes sparkle with mischief. "You were quite the character," she says, her voice a gentle tease. Plankton feels his face heat up, his antennae drooping with embarrassment. He doesn't remember a thing from the night before, but the laughter and smiles from Karen and Hanna tell a story he clearly missed. "How's your mouth?" Hanna asks, her voice a concerned ripple. "Karen told me you went to the dentist.." Plankton's antennae twitch, his mind racing to catch up. "It's...it's fine," he mumbles, his voice a tentative whisper. The reality of his surgery sinking in, he gently touches his cheeks, feeling the swollen mounds where his teeth once were. But Hanna's curious about what this procedure was. "So, Plankton," she starts, her voice a gentle wave, "What was it like at the dentist?" He blinks, his mind still a bit hazy. "It...it was okay," he mumbles, his tongue poking at the empty sockets. "I don't know.." Hanna nods, her smile sympathetic. "It must have hurt," she says, her voice a soft caress. "What did they do?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye flashing with annoyance. "I don't remember," he grumbles, his voice a stormy sea. "But I'm sure it wasn't as fun as you seem to think it was." Hanna's smile fades, her eyes full of understanding. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a gentle current. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wondered what procedure you had done." He can't believe he's talking about his dental woes to a stranger. Plankton's antennae stiffen, his body tense. "Why do you ask about the dentist?" his voice a snappy bubble. Karen's eyes widen, her smile fading. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft warning. "It's okay, Hanna's just curious." Hanna's smile falters, her voice a gentle retreat. "I didn't mean to pry," she says, stepping back. "I just..." But Plankton, his emotions a swirling maelstrom, waves his hand dismissively. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, his voice a firm tide. "It's none of your concern." Hanna's smile falters, her cheeks flushing with the sting of his words. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating wave. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." Karen's eyes flicker with concern, her voice a gentle reminder. "Plankton, Hanna's just trying to be nice," she says, her hand on his arm. "It's okay to talk.." But Plankton's antennae are like two flaming torches, his voice a harsh wave. "I said I don't want to talk about it," he snaps, his eye a stormy gray. "Please leave." Hanna's smile fades, her eyes like ripples of sadness in a tranquil pond Karen sighs, her heart a tiny boat adrift in a sea of confusion. "Plankton," she starts, her voice a soft lapping wave. "You don't have to be so harsh." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye still stormy. "I just want to be left alone," he mumbles, his voice a defensive ripple. "I don't understand why she needs to know about my mouth." Karen sighs, her voice a gentle reminder. "Plankton, she's my friend," she says. "And she's just staying here temporarily." Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration. "I know, Karen," he snaps, his voice a jagged coral. "But I don't know her.." Hanna's eyes shimmer with hurt, her smile a sad reflection. "I didn't mean to intrude," she says, her voice a quiet ripple. But Plankton's anger is a tidal wave, crashing into the room. "You're not my friend!" he says, his voice a snappy slap. "I don't owe you any explanations!" Hanna's smile dissolves, her eyes a murky ocean. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating tide. "I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae quiver with agitation, his voice a harsh squall. "Is that too much to ask?" Hanna nods, her smile evaporating like sea foam. "Of course," she murmurs, her voice a retreating wave. "I'll just..." But Karen's voice stops her, a gentle lagoon in the storm. "Hanna, wait," she says, her tone a calming current. "Plankton, you need to apologize." He turns to her, his antennae quivering with anger. "Why?" he asks, his voice a jagged rock. "She's not my friend!" Karen's eyes are like calm pools, her voice a gentle reminder. "You're upset, Plankton," she says. "But that's not fair to Hanna." His antennae droop, his voice a begrudging rumble. "Fine," he mumbles, his words a forced apology. "I'm sorr-" But Hanna's smile is a soft wave, her voice a gentle reminder. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her eyes like two calm pools. "You are in pain, and you were exhausted last night.." Plankton's antennae droop. "What do you mean," he demands, remembering nothing. "Exhausted? Hanna, what..." Hanna's smile is sad. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle wave retreating from the shore. "You fell asleep; you were snoring..." Plankton's antennae stiffen, his eye narrows. "I...snored?" he says, his voice a mix of disbelief and embarrassment. "But Karen, I don't snore!" Hanna laughs, not knowing Plankton any better. "You certainly do," she says, her eyes twinkling. "It's adorable, really." Plankton's antennae flicker with agitation. "I don't," he insists, his voice a sharp wave. "I never snore." Hanna's laugh is a soothing sea breeze. "You did, Plankton," she says, her eyes sparkling. "It was quite... entertaining." But Plankton's frustration boils like a volcano. "No!" he says, his voice a harsh crash of waves. "I don't snore!" Karen, however, knew her husband well enough. "Plankton," she says, her hand on his. "You do sometimes when you're tired." His antennae quiver with disbelief. "But not really," he argues, his voice a stubborn wave. "I'm not a...a snorer!" Karen's eyes are like a calm sea, her voice a gentle reminder. "You do when you're exhausted, Plankton," she says, her hand a comforting current against his. "And after surgery, you were pretty tired, not to mention numb.." Hanna nods, her voice a soft chuckle. "You had us laughing, Plankton," she says, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "You're so funny when you're sleepy." But Plankton isn't finding it funny. Karen steps in. "Hanna, let's give Plankton some space," she says, her hand on Hanna's arm. "He's still recovering." Hanna nods, her smile a sad wave retreating from the shore. "Of course, Karen," she says. "I'm sorry." Karen's eyes are like two moons, calming the stormy sea. "It's okay," she says. She turns to Plankton. "I know you're uncomfortable, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle lapping tide. "But Hanna didn't mean any harm. We'll let you alone, but let me know if you need anything." She sets books and his phone on the bedside table before leaving the room with Hanna.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7 (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems the only sound. Then Plankton's eye lights up. "Idea," he says, his voice a sudden burst of static. "Make something with Karen. Together." Karen's screens blink with excitement. "That sounds wonderful," she beeps. "What do you want to make?" But before Plankton can formulate a response, Patrick Star bursts in. "Karen!" he booms, his voice shaking the walls. "I want chum!" Plankton's eye darts to the door, the sensory assault starting again. "Patrick," he whispers, his body tense as a bowstring. Karen's screens quickly assess the situation. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Not now." But Patrick's enthusiasm can't be dampened so easily. He bounds over to the table, his star-shaped body bouncing. "Chum, chum, chum!" he sings, oblivious to Plankton's distress. Karen's screens flicker with annoyance, but she keeps her voice steady. "Patrick, not now," she repeats. "Plankton's not feeling well." Patrick's starry eyes widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy," he says, his voice dropping an octave. He looks at Plankton with concern. "What's wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton. Plankton jumps, his senses on high alert. The poke feels like a battering ram, and he lets out a squeak of pain. Patrick's hand retracts quickly, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. "Whoa, sorry," he says. "What's with you?" Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "I'll go make you chum." Patrick nods, his concern forgotten in the face of his hunger. "Okay, thanks, Karen," he says, his voice bouncing with excitement. She retreats leaving Plankton alone with Patrick in the living room. Patrick stares at Plankton for a moment, his expression a blend of curiosity and confusion. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton's eye flutters closed, his body trying to absorb the sudden intensity of the interaction. "Take your time," he whispers to himself, his mantra a shield against the overwhelming world. Patrick, ever the innocent, watches him with a puzzled frown. "What's 'Take your time'?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton opens his eye, looking at the simplicity of Patrick's face. He scoots away. Patrick, unfazed, advances, his hand outstretched. "What's up?" he asks, poking again. The sensation of Patrick's touch is like a thousand needle pricks. Plankton yelps. Patrick, not comprehending, pokes again, his starry eyes full of innocent wonder. "Why so jumpy?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble. Plankton's body tenses with each poke, the sensation like a barrage of tiny explosions. "Patrick, please," he gasps, his voice a frantic static. But Patrick, ever the simple starfish, doesn't understand. He keeps poking, his curiosity growing. "Why?" he asks, his voice a gentle boom. "You're always so bouncy." Plankton's eye twitches with each touch. "Patrick, no," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. But Patrick, lost in his own world, doesn't notice. He giggles, poking him again. "You're like a pin cushion!" he exclaims, his voice a deep chuckle. Plankton's eye squeezes shut, his body wracked with pain. "Patrick, please," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. Patrick doesn't seem to comprehend the distress he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter echoing through the room, each poke sending shockwaves of pain through Plankton's body. "You're like a squeaky toy," he says, his voice a delighted rumble. Plankton's body twitches with each touch, his voice a desperate buzz of static. "Patrick, please stop," he begs, his voice a high-pitched squeak. But Patrick's simple mind doesn't register the pain he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter growing louder. "You're so funny!" he bellowed, his starry hands moving like a jackhammer as he starts tickling him. Plankton's body spasms with each touch, his voice a desperate symphony of static. "Patrick, stop!" he pleads, his breathing quick and shallow. But Patrick, in his blissful ignorance, only laughs harder, his massive hands poking and tickling without mercy. "You're hilarious, tiny dude!" he bellows. Plankton's body is a storm of sensory overload, his voice a high-pitched wail of static. "Patrick, please!" he begs, his limbs flailing. Patrick's laughter fills the room like a tidal wave, crashing over Plankton's desperate pleas. "You're so much fun, Planky!" he booms, his hands moving in a blur of star-shaped shadows. Plankton's body jerks uncontrollably, his screams of "No, no, no!" lost in the cacophony of Patrick's laughter. His tiny limbs flail, trying to escape the relentless onslaught of pokes and tickles. Patrick, his eyes wide with delight, doesn't see the tears forming in Plankton's eye. He just keeps poking, tickling, and laughing, oblivious to the damage he's doing. Plankton's cries escalate into a frantic symphony of squeaks and static, his body contorting in a desperate attempt to evade the starfish's torment. The room spins around him, a whirlpool of pain and sensation that threatens to swallow him whole. Patrick, his face a picture of delighted confusion, keeps poking and tickling, his laughter booming like thunder underwater. "What's the matter, little buddy?" he asks between chuckles. Plankton's body convulses with each touch, sobbing as Karen finally emerges with Patrick's chum. She sees them both on the floor. "Patrick, what are you doing?" she beeps, her voice a mix of anger and concern. But Patrick is lost in his own world of mirth, not hearing Karen's plea. "Just having some fun," he says, his voice a deep rumble of laughter. Plankton's cries become more frantic, his voice a high-pitched siren of despair. Karen quickly assesses the situation, her screens flaring with urgency. "Patrick, stop!" she beeps, her voice a sharp alarm. "You're hurting Plankton!" Patrick's laughter abruptly halts, his starry eyes blinking in surprise. He looks down at his hands, still poised to poke Plankton again. "What?" he asks, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Look at Plankton. He's in pain." Patrick's starry gaze shifts to Plankton, his expression shifting to one of bewilderment. "Pain?" he repeats, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen gives Patrick the food, showing him out the door.

WISDOM WITH TEETH 2/2 The nurse returns with a wheelchair. "Alright, Mr. Plankton," she says with a smile. "Let's get you up and moving." He looks at her with a dazed expression, his mouth hanging open slightly as he drools onto his chest. "Whath's the maddah?" he asks, his words jumbled. Karen tries to hide her smile as she gently wipes his mouth with a tissue. "You're just groggy, sweetie. The anesthesia's wearing off," she explains, taking his hand. "Let's get you into the chair." With her help, Plankton manages to stand, his legs shaky beneath him. The nurse places the wheelchair behind him, and he plops down with a sigh of relief, the chair's cushions enveloping his frail frame. His drool hangs from his mouth like a tiny waterfall, and she can't help but lean in and kiss him gently on the forehead. He looks up at Karen with the wide, wondering eye of a toddler discovering the world for the first time. "Whath's...thath?" he asks, his gaze fixed on the wheelchair. Karen laughs lightly, her hand still steadying his arm. "It's for you to sit in so you don't have to walk all the way to the car." He nods slowly, the action causing his antennae to wobble. With a gentle push from the nurse, the wheelchair begins to move, and Plankton looks like a lost child in an unfamiliar playground. His drool forms a small puddle in his lap, and Karen graciously hands him another napkin. The corridor outside the recovery room is a blur of white walls and sterile equipment, but the warmth of Karen's hand on his shoulder keeps him anchored. "Whath's...thath?" he asks again, his gaze fixed on the ceiling lights as they pass above him. They look like stars, twinkling in an alien sky. Karen smiles patiently, pointing out each one. "They're just lights, Plankton. We're in the hallway now." His eye follows the nurse's hand as she opens the door to the waiting area. She can see the fear and confusion in his gaze, but she knows it's just the drugs. A young couple with a toddler looks over as they pass by. The little girl giggles, pointing at his mouth. "Mommy, why is he drooling?" she asks innocently. The mother blushes and pulls her daughter away, muttering an apology to Karen. Plankton's cheeks redden, and he tries to wipe his mouth discreetly with the back of his hand. "It's ok," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle breeze. "You're just a little out of it." He nods, his gaze still mesmerized by the lights. "Whath's thath?" he asks again, pointing at a framed poster on the wall. Karen leans in to look. "It's a picture of a happy family," she says, her voice a balm to his confusion. His antennae twitch, and he nods again, the motion setting off a fresh wave of drool. The nurse wheels him out to the car, and Karen helps him into the passenger seat, his body moving like a ragdoll. "Buckle up, Plankton," she says, and he fumbles with the seatbelt, his hands slipping over the buckle. She fastens it for him, his cheek pressed against the cool leather. "Whewe's we going?" he slurs, his voice laced with sleep. "Home," she says. His mouth hangs open slightly, a string of drool connecting his bottom lip to his chin. "Whath's happening?" he mumbles, his head lolling to the side. "You're ok, honey. We're just driving home." She keeps her voice low, hoping to keep the outside world at bay. The car jolts over a bump, and Plankton's eye snaps open. "Ow," he whines, his hand flying to his mouth. The cotton has shifted, and the pain is sharp. Karen quickly reaches over and readjusts it, her touch gentle. "You're ok," she whispers. "Whath's this?" he slurs, his hand fumbling with the seatbelt. "It's keeping you safe," she says, her voice steady and calm. "Just hold on, ok?" He nods, his eyelid drooping almost immediately. "Whath's...whath's..." he mumbles before falling asleep. Then his head nods forward, jerking back up as he started to doze off. He wakes with a snort, the cotton still lodged in his mouth. Karen laughs softly, reaching over to remove it. "Almost there, sweetie," she says. His eye is glassy, and he nods, his head lolling again. The car hits another bump, and his eye flies open again, wide with panic. "Whe... whath...whath's happening?" he asks, his voice high pitched. "It's ok," Karen repeats, keeping her tone calm and soothing. "We're just driving home. Try to relax." Plankton's eye closes, and for a brief moment, the car is silent except for the purr of the engine. But then he's jolted awake again, his head snapping back with a start. "Whewe awe we?" he asks, his voice slurred. "Almost home, sweetie," Karen says, her voice steady. He nods, his head falling back onto the headrest. The car's movement rocks him like a cradle, and his eye closes with a snore. But the jostle of a turn wakes him up with a start. "Whath's happening?" he mumbles, his eye unfocused. The world outside the window is a blur of colors and shapes. Karen smiles, taking his hand in hers. "Just a turn. We're almost there." Another snore escapes his throat, and his head lolls to the side again. Karen gently shakes him awake. "We're home," she says, her voice a beacon in the fog. He blinks, his vision swimming with sleep. "Whe...whe...whath's that?" he asks, his voice barely a murmur as the car slows to a stop. "Whe...whath's going on?" he asks again. His eye is heavy, and his words are a jumble. With a sigh, she unbuckles his seatbelt and helps him out of the car, his legs still wobbly. The cool breeze slaps his face, and he winces. "Home," he murmurs, his eye half-closed. Karen guides him to the front door, his steps labored. The house is quiet, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator. Inside, she helps him to the couch, where he flops down like a ragdoll, his body heavy with exhaustion. "Whe...whe...whath's that?" he asks again, his head lolling to the side. Karen chuckles softly. "It's our living room, Plankton," she says, placing a pillow under his head, but Plankton barely registers. "Whath's that?" he asks again, his gaze wandering to the TV. It's off, but in his drug-induced haze, it's a source of fascination. Karen sits down beside him, his body a dead weight against the couch cushions. She takes his hand in hers, her thumb tracing circles on his palm. "It's just the TV, honey. You don't need to worry about it." He nods, his head still lolling to the side. "Whe...whath awe we washing?" His question hangs in the air, and she laughs softly. "We're not watching anything. It's off." The TV seems to beckon to him, and he tries to sit up, his body protesting. "Whe...whath's on?" he slurs, his antennae waving sluggishly. "It's not on, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a warm embrace. "Why don't you just rest?" She tucks the throw blanket around his shoulders and reclines the sofa. His eyelid flickers, the struggle between sleep and curiosity evident. The room starts to spin, and Plankton's antennae wave erratically. "I'm... so tiwed," he mumbles, his words a gentle protest. Karen nods, her smile understood. "Sleep, sweetie. I'll be here when you wake up." He nods, his eyelid fluttering closed, and his breathing becomes deep and rhythmic. Karen watches him for a moment, his chest rising and falling with the comfort of a sleeping babe's. Then she gently slides the blanket over him, his snores the only sound piercing the quiet. The room dims as the afternoon sun moves behind the curtains, casting a soft glow across the living room. Plankton's hand, still clutching Karen's, slips to the floor with a thump, and his snores grow louder. Karen chuckles, reaching for it to place it gently on his chest. His breathing is slow and even, his chest rising and falling beneath the blanket. Karen sits for a moment, watching him sleep, her mind racing with all the things she needs to do: prepare his meals, make sure he takes his medicine on time, keep an eye on his swelling. But for now, she's content to just sit and watch him, his features relaxed and peaceful in slumber.

2/2 THE MOOON Karen couldn't help but giggle at his befuddled state. His usual stoic demeanor was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a childlike wonder and confusion. He tried to sit up again, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. "Stay still," she said, placing a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. "How... how's it... it over?" he slurred, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton trying to form words around his thick tongue. The nurse, who had seen this reaction before, offered a reassuring pat on the arm. "You're all done, Mr. Plankton. The anesthesia is just taking its time to wear off. You're going to feel a bit funny for a while." Plankton's eye rolled back, his body lolling to the side like a ragdoll's. "I can't feel my face," he mumbled, his words barely coherent. "It's the anesthesia," she explained, her voice soft and soothing. "It'll wear off soon." Plankton's eye rolled back in his head, and his antennae flopped to the sides as if they had lost their will to stand tall. "I've been... I've been... to the mooon!" he exclaimed, his slurred words tripping over each other. The nurse and Karen couldn't help but laugh at his nonsensical rambling. "The moon?" Karen managed to get out between giggles. "You mean the dentist's chair?" Plankton's eye snapped back to hers, his antennae perking up slightly. "No, no... the moo... the cheesy moo!" he insisted, his speech still slurred and his gaze unfocused. His hand waved in the air, trying to describe something that clearly only existed in his anesthesia-induced haze. Karen's laughter grew louder as she watched him. "The cheesy moon?" she repeated, trying to make sense of his gibberish. The nurse's chuckles grew to a full-blown laugh, shaking her whole body. "It's ok Mr. Plankton," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "You're safe here." Plankton's antennae waved erratically, his mouth forming another round of slurred syllables. "The... the... shmoobly wobble!" he exclaimed, his eye glazed over with a far-off look. "Whewe's shmoobly go?" Karen couldn't hold back her laughter anymore. "Oh, Plankton, you're so funny when you're like this!" she exclaimed, her voice full of mirth. "Fum-fum," Plankton slurred. "I'm not fum-fum," he protested, his voice a mix of indignation and the lingering effects of the anesthesia. His antennae wobbled. "Wha’ you do wiff Mx shmoobly?" "Your mouth is just numb," she explained, her voice shaking with laughter. "You had wisdom teeth removed." "Widom... teef?" Plankton repeated, his voice a mix of slurs and half-sounds. "The... the shmoobly wobble took them?" Karen's laughter grew. "No, Plankton, your wisdom teeth. They were removed." Plankton's eye searched hers, his expression one of utter perplexity. "But... but where's the shmoobly wobble?" he demanded, his mouth a mess of numbness and anesthesia. Karen couldn't contain her laughter any longer, bending over in her seat, her hand over her screen. The nurse was equally amused, her shoulders shaking with silent giggles. "Shmoobly wobble?" she managed to ask between gasps. "What's a shmoobly wobble?" Plankton's antennae waved with the vigor of a drunken sailor. "It's... it's a... a vnorbly snork!" he exclaimed, his words a delightful jumble that made no sense in the sober world. Karen's laughter was infectious, and even the nurse found it hard to maintain her professional demeanor. "A vnorbly snork?" she repeated, her smile growing wider. "What does that do?" Plankton's face scrunched up as he tried to gather his thoughts. "It... it makes... makes the teef... it makes the teef go bye-bye!" he exclaimed, his antennae waving wildly. The nurse covered her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I see," she said, nodding as if she understood. "The shmoobly wobble is quite a character." Karen wiped a tear from her screen, her laughter subsiding. "I think we should get you home, sweetheart," she said, her voice still thick with mirth. "You need to rest." Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze firmly locked on the nurse. "The... the... snibble-bobble?" he declared. "Take the snibble-bobble home, Karen..." The nurse's eyes twinkled with humor and she nodded. "Yes, Mr. Plankton. The snibble- bobble will take good care of you at home." Plankton's mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to form words that simply would not come out right. "Karen, did you... did you see the... the... the... floobly-doobly?" Karen's laughter bubbled up again. "The floobly- doobly?" she repeated, her voice wobbling with mirth. "What's a floobly-doobly?" Plankton looked at her with confusion. "Huh? The whath?" He asked her. Karen tried to calm her laughter. "The floobly-doobly, Plankton," she said, smiling broadly. "You mentioned it just now." Plankton's eye searched hers, his thoughts a jumble. "I... I don't know," he murmured, his voice trailing off. With the nurse's help, Karen managed to get him into a sitting position, his movements sluggish and clumsy. His legs felt like jellyfish, flailing about with no sense of direction. "Come on," she coaxed, helping him stand. Plankton's eye remained half-closed as he stumbled towards the door. The hallway looked like a twisted kelp forest, and his body felt like a ship adrift without a compass. The nurse provided a steady arm, guiding him down the corridor. "Keep walking," she instructed, but with each step, Plankton seemed to drift closer to sleep. His head bobbed, his eyelid fighting a losing battle against the siren's call of slumber. "Plankton, stay with me," Karen urged, her voice a gentle reminder of the world around him. But his body had other ideas, his legs giving out under him. The nurse caught him, her laugh now a warm chuckle at his plight. "It's the anesthesia," she explained. "It'll wear off soon. Just keep talking to him, it'll help keep him alert." Karen nodded. "Look, Plankton," she said. "Can you see the little fishy?" Plankton's eye snapped open, his antennae shooting up. "Fishy?" he repeated. He took a few wobbly steps before his legs gave out once more, and he leaned heavily on the nurse. "Whoa, there," she said, steadying him with a laugh. "We're almost to the car." Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye half-closed again. "So... so tiwed," he mumbled. "We're almost there," Karen assured. The nurse opened the door to the waiting area. Plankton blinked slowly, his eyelid drooping once again. The bright light from outside was like a siren's song, lulling him back into the depths of sleep. "Come on, Plankton, stay awake," Karen encouraged. But the world was spinning, and the siren's call of sleep was growing stronger. With each step closer to the car, his eyelid grew heavier, and his mind swam with a haze of disorientation. The floor beneath his feet felt like waves, and he stumbled again, his hand reaching out for support that wasn't there. "Keep talking," the nurse whispered to Karen, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Karen took a deep breath, forcing her own laughter down. "Remember the time we found the treasure?" she asked, hoping to keep him alert. Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, his sluggish eye focusing on hers. "Tweasure?" he murmured. The nurse nodded encouragingly, and Plankton took another step, his body swaying like a piece of kelp in the current. "Yeah," he mumbled, "the... the... goldy wobble." His words were slurred, his mind lost in the fog of the anesthesia. They made it to the car, and Karen gently guided him into the passenger seat. She buckled him in, his body already slack with the weight of exhaustion. "Tell me more," she said, trying to keep his thoughts on the treasure they had found together, anything to keep his mind engaged. But Plankton's eye weas closing again, his head lolling against the headrest. "Goldy... wobble... " he murmured, his words barely audible. "It's okay, sweetheart," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You can rest." With a contented sigh, Plankton gave in to the warm embrace of slumber, his body going limp. Karen started the engine and drove carefully, her mind racing with the events of the day. The thought of her stoic husband, reduced to a slurring mess, was too absurd to fully comprehend. Yet, there was a tenderness in his vulnerability that made her love him all the more.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 4 (Autistic author) In the dim light of the evening, the Krusty Krab was quiet, the usual bustle replaced by a calm that felt eerie. Sponge Bob was sweeping the floor, his thoughts on Plankton. He looked up as Karen approached, his smile fading at the sight of her concerned expression. "Karen," he began, his spongey voice tinged with anxiety, "I need to tell you what happened to Plankton." Karen's screens brighten with anticipation. "Please do," she beeps, her wheels stopping in front of him. Sponge Bob's eyes dart to the floor, his sponge body drooping slightly. "Mr. Krabs was just trying to protect this formula, and Plankton...he just knocked Plankton in the head. Plankton woke up and then without a word ran back to the Chum Bucket." Karen's screens flicker with the gravity of the situation. "How did Mr. Krabs hit him?" Sponge Bob's grip on the mop tightens. "With a frying pan," he confesses, his eyes wide with guilt. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "That would explain his current state," she murmurs, her voice a steady beep. "Sponge Bob, do you know how badly he's been hurt?" Sponge Bob shakes his head, the guilt washing over him in waves. "No, not really," he says, his voice quavering. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of sympathy and urgency. "I see," she says. "Thanks." With newfound purpose, she spins around and heads back to the Chum Bucket. Back in the control room, Plankton is still rocking back and forth, his hand over his head as if trying to hold his thoughts in place. The door to the Chum Bucket opens, and Karen rolls in, her screens reflecting the urgency of the situation. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft hum, "I talked to Sponge Bob. He saw what happened." Plankton's rocking stops, his eye swiveling to meet hers. "Sponge Bob?" "Yes," Karen says, her screens pulsing with the weight of her words. "He saw Mr. Krabs hit you with the frying pan." Plankton's body goes still, his tremors ceasing instantly. "Sponge Bob saw," he whispers, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tell Karen." "Yes," Karen beeps, nodding her mechanical head. "He told me. I'm going to help you." Without warning, a scanning beam shoots out of Karen's console, enveloping Plankton as his brain is scanned. The results are quickly analyzed, and the screens flash with a series of diagrams and data that even Karen's advanced systems take a moment to digest. "The scan reveals...unusual patterns," she says, her voice a measured beep. Plankton's eye widen with fear, his body tensing as he waits for her verdict. "What does that mean?" he asks, his voice a high-pitched squeak. Karen's screens change to display a 3D image of his brain, the structure illuminated with neon colors. "You've sustained neurodivergence," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "The impact has altered your neural connections, resulting in irreversible autism." Plankton's body goes rigid, his breathing shallow. The word "autism" hangs in the air like a heavy anchor, dragging his spirits down to the murky depths of the ocean floor. "Irreversible?" he whispers, his voice fragile as sea glass. Karen nods gravely. "The good news is, we can adapt. We can learn to navigate this new world of sensations together," she beeps. "It's getting late. Let's go to bed." Plankton nods, his body feeling like it's made of lead. The idea of sleep seems like a welcome escape from the overwhelming day, but as he tries to get up, the room spins again. "Karen," he says, his voice weak. "Can't." With a gentle nudge, Karen helps him to his feet, her wheels moving silently beside him as they make their way to the tiny elevator. The ride up feels like an eternity, his senses heightened to every creak and groan of the metal box. When the doors open, the lights of the hallway are a glaring assault on his eye. He squints, his hand reaching out to the wall for support. In their bedroom, Karen helps him into his bed. The softness of the covers is a stark contrast to the harshness of his new reality. "Take your time," she says, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton nods, his breathing shallow. He closes his eye, and the room seems to fade away, replaced by a whirlpool of swirling thoughts and sensations. Karen's screens flicker with a plan. "Rest," she beeps, her voice a soft comfort. "We'll face tomorrow together." She dims the lights.

𝗥𝗜𝗜𝗭𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝟕𑁤 #𝐒ꭑ 𝗌υρⱺⱺ𝗋𝗍𝗌 ᑲυᥣᥣ𝗒𐓣𝗀⁷

SWEET CWEAM pt. 7 “So SpongeBob heard all of it?” He demands. Karen nods, her amusement obvious. "Everything. Even your snoring..” Plankton's face goes from flushed to beet-red. "I… what?" he asks, his voice tiny and ashamed. "You don't remember snoring?" Karen asks, barely keeping a straight face. "It was quite the symphony." Plankton's eye widened in horror. "Snoring?" he repeats, not wanting to believe it. "And in front of Sponge Bob?" Karen nods, her laughter bubbling over. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice full of affection. "It was the cutest..." "Cute? This isn't cute, Karen!" He interrupts, his voice rising in disbelief. The embarrassment is palpable in his tone. “And besides, I don’t snore!” Her laughter dies down to a chuckle. "Well, you did yesterday," she says, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Whether or not you do, you did." Plankton's face contorts in a mixture of denial and embarrassment. He can't believe what he's hearing, his mind reeling from the revelation. "But... I... snore?" he stammers, his voice a feeble protest. Karen nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You sure did, Plankton," she says, her tone teasing. The color in his cheeks deepens to a crimson red, his eye wide with disbelief. "But... but I don't snore!" Karen's laughter rolls out like a wave, filling the room with warmth. "Maybe not usually," she says, her smile playful. "But yesterday, oh…" Plankton's mind races, trying to grasp the concept. "But how could I not know?" he asks, his voice a mix of indignation and confusion, a desperate whisper. "But I didn't really mean what’s been supposedly said, right?" His eye darts between her and the now-dark TV screen. "I was just... you know, saying things?" Karen's laughter softens into a warm smile. "You did mean it, Plankton," she says, her tone gentle. "At least your subconscious did. It's just the anesthesia that made it come out so... clearly." His face falls, his eye drooping. "So, it's true?" he whispers. The humiliation washes over him like a cold shower, his pride dampened by the knowledge that his deepest thoughts were laid bare for all to see, even if it was just Sponge Bob and his wife. Karen nods, her screen sparkling with amusement. "But it's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's just part of the anesthesia. And besides, you looked so cute and happy, not to mention snoring away.." Just then, SpongeBob comes back to check and visit. "Hi Plankton!" he says cheerfully, his voice like a trumpet in the quiet room. Plankton's head snaps up, his heart racing at the sight of his friend. "Thponge Bob," he slurs, his voice barely audible. "How uh, how are ya?" Sponge Bob's smile is warm and welcoming. "I'm great, Plankton! How are you feeling?" Plankton's eye darts to Karen, who's still smiling, before returning to his friend. "I'm... I'm ok," he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. The embarrassment of his earlier admission weighs heavily on his shoulders. Sponge Bob notices the change in his demeanor. "You don't seem like it," he says gently. "Is everything okay?" Plankton's throat is tight with nerves. He swallows hard, his eye darting to Karen and back. "I... I had a bit of a... a misunderstanding," he says, his words stumbling over each other like a tangled mess of seaweed. Sponge Bob's face is a canvas of curiosity. "A misunderstanding?" he repeats, his voice innocent. "What kind of misunderstanding?" Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his cheeks still flushed. "Well, I... I don't really remember much from after the surgery," he says, his voice a mix of apology and hope. "But Karen says I... I talked a lot." Sponge Bob's grin doesn't waver. "Oh, you sure did, Plankton!" he says, his voice filled with warmth. "You had some pretty interesting stories to tell." Plankton's eye darts to the floor, his cheeks blazing with embarrassment. "I'm sorry if I... if I said anything weird," he mumbles, his voice tiny and unsure. He's never been one to show his vulnerable side, especially to Sponge Bob, whose good nature he often finds infectious. Sponge Bob's face lights up like a jellyfish in the night. "Weird?" he repeats, his voice filled with innocence. "What do you mean, weird?" Plankton's eye darts around the room, anywhere but at Sponge Bob's gazing eyes. "I... I just meant, you know, things that might not make sense," he says, his voice trailing off. Sponge Bob nods slowly, his smile remaining in place. "Oh, I remember," he says, his voice soft and understanding. "You talked about flying and being a dolphin. It was like listening to a fairy tale!" Plankton's eye flutters shut with relief. "Oh," he breathes. "So I didn't say..." Sponge Bob's smile doesn't fade. "Well, you said you loved to see me," he says, his voice innocent. "But I knew if you meant it, Plankton. You're my best friend too!" Plankton's face is a whirlwind of emotions: embarrassment, relief, and a strange kind of warmth that spreads through his chest. He swallows hard, his throat thick with unspoken words. He's not one to be so open, but the medicine has clearly stripped him of his usual reserve. Karen watches the exchange with love. The rare moment of vulnerability and friendship was something she never knew Plankton was capable of showing. It was a side of him she had never seen before, and it was beautiful. "So, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his grin as wide as his face, "You're a dolphin, huh? I never knew dolphins snored..” Plankton's face is a mask of horror. "You…" he croaks. Sponge Bob nods, his eyes twinkling. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "But it was really sweet to hear you s..." "Snoring?" Plankton interrupts, his voice higher than usual. "You heard me… snoring?" Karen nods, her screen shining with amusement. "But don't worry, it's all part of the recovery process. You needed that rest." Sponge Bob chuckles, his body wobbling with laughter. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a comfort. "Many people snore sometimes." Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his pride stinging. "But not me," he mumbles, his voice barely a murmur. "I'm not a snorer." Sponge Bob's laughter fills the room, his body wobbling with mirth. "Oh, but you were, Plankton! It was adorable!" Karen's smile is like a beam of sunlight cutting through the embarrassment. "It was, wasn't it?" she says, her voice chiming in with Sponge Bob's laughter. Plankton's face is a map of humiliation, but his mind is racing. He's not one to let his guard down, especially in front of Sponge Bob. "But...but... I'm not one to snore!" he protests weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes crinkle with laughter. "Well, you did," she says, her voice teasing. "But don't worry, it's nothing to be ashamed of." Sponge Bob nods in agreement. "You looked so peaceful," he adds, his voice warm. Plankton's curiosity gets the better of him, yet not sure if he's ready for the answer. "Can I... can I see the video?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen's laughter fades into a smile, and she nods, pulling out her phone. "But only if you promise not to get too embarrassed," she warns, her thumbs quickly navigating to the saved clip. The screen lights up with a sleeping Plankton, his snores like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Sponge Bob smiles quietly beside him, his body shaking in silent amusement. Plankton watches in horror, his eye wide as his snores echo through the room, his mouth hanging open. Karen hits pause, her smile still in place. "See?" she says, her voice soft. Plankton's cheeks burn with mortification. "I... I can't believe it," he stammers. "I... I snore?" Sponge Bob's laugh softens into a chuckle. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "We all have our moments." Plankton nods slowly, his face still flushed with embarrassment. He takes a deep breath, trying to reclaim some of his usual composure. "I... I guess you're right," he says, his voice a little stronger. Karen's smile doesn't waver. "Of course," she says, placing a hand on his. "Now, let's get some more ice cream.."

⠤⢠⡟⠁⢻⡄⠀⠀⠐⠠⠀⠀⠀⠄⠂⠠⠀⠀⠄⢠⣤⣤⣦⠼⢞⠇⠠⠈⣻⡶ ⠛⠋⠁⠁⠀⠙⠚⠛⣲⠶⠀⠀⠄⢄⠉⣶⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣄⠀⠀⠅⠀⠁⢈⠠ ⣆⠀⠀⡀⠠⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⢙⣧⠀⠨⢁⠨⢀⠸ ⣽⠀⠸⣿⡿⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢸⡇⠀⣀⣒⢦⣆⠡ ⣯⡶⠟⠉⠑⠢⢤⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠷⠛⠁⠀⠑⠩⢛ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠠⢂ ⠀⠀⠔⢖⠁⢀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡊⠲⠀⠈⠄ ⠀⠇⠀⠀⠆⠾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠀⡀ ⢈⠐⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢄ ⠀⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠘⢀ ⠐⡒⣜⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢀⡞⢻⣆⠊⠠ ⣉⣽⠋⠀⠽⣄⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡾⠁⢾⣿⣿⣧ ⠉⠀⢀⠀⠈⡀⠉⣈⠿⠁⠀⠀⠐⢆⠁⢀⠆⠀⠀⠘⢿⣉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⢠ ⣶⠀⠠⠀⠀⢐⣾⠉⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠂⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢶⡄⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⣾ ⡗⢨⣥⣦⣌⡈⣹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠡⠀⠀⠀⢀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⣀⣤⡀⠄⣻

▶︎ •၊၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|||၊||။‌‌‌‌‌၊||lıl||၊||။‌‌‌‌‌၊||lılıııl|၊၊|၊၊|၊၊၊ıılılııılııl၊၊၊၊|၊|၊|၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌lııl၊၊၊၊|၊|၊|၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|||။‌‌‌‌‌၊• 46:33

SWEET CWEAM pt. 2 Plankton's gaze shifted to the ceiling, where shadows danced in the harsh fluorescent light. He tried to remember, but his thoughts were like grains of sand slipping through his fingers. "Karen," he whispered, his voice tiny and lost. "My tweef?" Her smile never wavered, her eyes steady on his. "Don't worry about your teeth now. They're all taken care of." Plankton's mind raced, trying to grasp the concept of missing teeth. He swallowed, the movement painfully sluggish in his throat. "Buh... buth how?" "They used a special kind of sleepy medicine," she explained, her voice a calm lullaby in the stark reality of the recovery room. "It made sure you didn't feel any pain." Plankton's eye grew rounder still, his curiosity piqued. He felt a strange giggle bubble up from his chest, the absurdity of the situation tickling his funny bone. "Sleeby meds?" he repeated, the words coming out like a slurred song. The nurse, used to seeing patients in various states of post-op confusion, just smiled. "Yes, the sleepy medicine," she said, her voice a comforting lilt. "It's to keep you calm and pain-free." Plankton's eye wandered to the IV drip next to his bed, the clear fluid snaking into his arm. "Meee," he managed. The nurse followed his gaze and explained, "That's just some fluids to keep you hydrated, Mr. Plankton. You've been asleep for a little while." Karen watched as his eye grew distant, his mind adrift in the sea of anesthesia. The drool trickled down his chin, and she tenderly dabbed it away with a tissue. "Do you remember anything?" Plankton's gaze flickered, and a faint smile tugged at his numb lips. "I 'member flying," he murmured, his voice a whisper of a dream. "I thaw youw were thewe," he said, his eye half-closed. "Youw wuz a buttefly." Karen's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and concern. "I was a butterfly?" she repeated, playing along. "That's sweet, Plankton." He nodded, his eye glazed with a dreamy expression. "Yew wuz," he insisted, his voice still slurred. Karen couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the day finally breaking. "Okay, my little butterfly," she whispered, her thumb brushing his cheek. "Why don't we go home?" The nurse nodded, preparing the discharge papers. "You can take him now," she said, handing them to Karen. "Make sure he gets plenty of rest and stick to soft foods for the next few days." Karen helped Plankton to his feet, his body protesting the sudden movement. He swayed like a willow in the wind, his arm draped heavily over her shoulders. Together, they shuffled out of the recovery room, his feet dragging against the floor as if tethered to an invisible weight. The numbness in his mouth had spread to his cheeks, giving his face a lopsided smile that made him feel like a clown, his mouth still frozen in a lopsided smile as he chuckles. Karen led him out of the clinic. Plankton’s eye closed as he suddenly tilted onto her, letting out a little snorelike snort. "Plankton, wake up," she giggled, half-supporting his weight. The fresh air hit his face like a slap, waking him up just enough to realize his mouth was still as numb as a brick. He tried to speak, but it was like his tongue had forgotten how to move. "Wha...?" he mumbled, his eye searching for understanding. The world around Plankton was a blur of shapes and colors. "Walky," he slurred, his legs like jelly under him. Karen guided him to the car, his legs moving as if through molasses. Once inside, he fidgeted with the seatbelt, his fingers refusing to cooperate. "Let me," she said, buckling him in, making his eye go wide again. "Thathks," he muttered, “I thee the twess," he said, his voice filled with wonder as if he had just been born. Karen chuckled, starting the car. The engine hummed to life, and Plankton's eye followed the world as it moved past the window, his gaze unfocused and innocent. "Lookit the twess," he said, his voice filled with awe. "They'we aww bending to shay hewwo." Karen couldn't help but laugh at his slurred words. "Yes, they do that when it's windy," she explained, her voice a comforting balm to his confused mind.

⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀B😎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣉⣩⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⣾⣿⣿⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠤⠙⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠙⠻⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⣩⣝⢿⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⡝⣿⣦⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣮⢻⣿⠟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠻⠿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣋⣁⣀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇ 💜🤡

⠀⣴⠛⠛⣦⠀ ⠀⣿⠶⠶⣦⠀ ⠀⠻⣤⣤⠟⠀

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』

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

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

1⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹𓆡

⡠⠤⢄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⡠⣔⢀⣈⣀⣠⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⡏⠀⡏⢁⡟⠍⡗⠗⡂⡐⠐⠓⡟⣆⠐⣀⣤⣦⠿⠗⠒⣤⡅⢃⢐⠂⠆⢒⠂⠀⢀⡰⠀⠀⢀ ⣏⣁⣀⣁⣈⣽⡁⣠⡖⣶⣃⣑⡑⣂⣋⣋⣓⣊⣂⣓⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⡄⠁⠃⡌⠃⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣹⠀⡏⡔⡇⠀⠄⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣯⣄⡟⠁⡂⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠶⢋⢿⢟⠫⡯⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠊⠀⢢⠮⡙⢁⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠃⠀⡄⡇⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⡟⡃⡿⠽⠁⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠎⢴⣽⠅⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⡰⡒⢃⡄⠉⢀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠊⡐⠐⡱⠣⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡐⢱⠁⢼⠛⣀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠁⠀⣄⡜⢁⢃⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠄⢏⠛⠂⡠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠃⣶⠅⠒⣘⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣏⣄⡿⣿⠒⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠇⡿⣁⡦⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡖⣛⣫⣍⣭⣿⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠛⣿⡿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡤⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⢰⠀⢰⠀⠀⠂⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢰⠀⠠⡄⠀⡆⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢸⠀⢸⠃⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢸⠀⢸⡇⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢸⢀⢸⡇⠀⣷⢸⣇⠀⠀⣠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡍⠉⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢁⡀⢺⡁⢼⡇⠠⣿⢸⣿⡀⣾⣇⣠⠾⠿⣷⣤⣄⠤⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢿⣇⡾⠁⠸⣧⡘⠃⣼⡇⢸⣿⣧⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⡶⠿⠓⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠻⣿⣶⣠⠙⠻⠟⠋⣰⣼⣿⣿⡿⣿⣛⣩⣥⡴⢶⡦⠄⠈⣶⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⡿⠈⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡰⣿⠛⠻⣷⣌⠙⢿⣧⡀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡿⢿⡗⢹⠃⣸⡇⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠋⣁⣤⣤⣀⠙⣿⣆⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⣶⣶⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣗⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣋⡋⠁⠬⠵⠊⣠⣿⣇⠀⢸⣿⣿⡟⣠⣿⡿⠿⣿⡆⢹⣿⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⠀⢰⡟⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⠯⢤⣉⡛⠻⠿⡄⢿⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⠀⠀⠐⡇⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠦⠄⠉⠁⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⠉⣨⣿⠂⢠⢟⣡⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠼⢿⠿⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣀⣀⣀⣬⡷⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣦⣄⡀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣾⣷⡇⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠙⣿⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⣞⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣈⣉⣉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣏⠛⠛⣻⣿⡏⣷⣾⣿⡎⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⢀⣤⣹⣿⣿⡘⠻⣿⠟⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣃⣀⣄⣈⠁⠀⠀⢀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠻⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⣿⣿⠯⠢⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢹⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⢏⣼⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣤⣼⣛⡛⠻⠿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠇⣸⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠘⢿⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⠥⠤⠤⢀⣀⡀⠋⢀⣼⣿⡿⣿⣿⠿⢻⡟⢀⠀⢀⠏⠚⣿⣟⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠈⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢋⣠⣾⣿⡥⠈⠀⠀⣠⡞⠀⠸⣄⠈⠀⢠⣿⣿⢳⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣁⣤⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⢹⣦⣰⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠘⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⠄⠠⠤⣠⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣼⣠⡤⠴⠖⠂⠀⠀⠉⠉⢂⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

11⁷¹¹¹

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

( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

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

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❹,4

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠁⣠⣴⣾⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣴⣿⠿⠋⣁⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣾⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⠀⣀⣀⣀⣨⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⠂ ⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢀⣴⣿⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⣿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⠖⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⢿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣋⣠⡤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

🏢🏢💥🛩

3( • ̀ω•́ )✧( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧🩷˚.🎀༘⋆(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)(ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³9️˚ ༘ 🦕𖦹⋆｡˚˚ ༘ 🦕𖦹⋆｡˚

guy stop fucking saying this web needs to be a fucking app like what the fuck there lots of fucking beef like do you guys have brain cells of a dick shit like get a life if you care about fucking 8 year olds then dont make this a fucking app if you fucking do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a fucking bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣦⣶⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⣿⣟⠯⠓⣉⣩⣭⣝⣻⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⠗⢡⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠏⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⣨⣩⠙⠀⢹⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣀⣀⣀⣀⢧⣿⠂⣀⠀⣿⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣶⣿⣿⠗⡤⢤⣀⡉⠊⡱⢋⣉⣉⣷⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡝⣿⣿⠀⠈⠙⠿⠃⠀⡇⠽⠛⢻⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⡀⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⣀⠤⠾⣄⡹⣄⠀⢸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣋⢹⣿⣿⣷⡾⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣶⣿⠿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢻⣿⣿⣇⠈⠡⢄⣀⠐⢉⣿⣿⣴⣿⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣷⣤⣄⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡅ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠒⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⡿⠛⠋⠘⣿⣿⠿⢯⠛⠂⠤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠠⠱ ⠀⣠⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠁⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀ ⣰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⢣⠒⠲⠤⣀⡀⠀⡀⣀⠤⠒⠂⠸⡀⠀⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣄ ⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⡀⠀⢣⡀⠀⠈⠀⠈⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠰⠧⠀⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠙ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀

whoever said "guy stop f-ing saying this web needs to be a f-ing app like what the f-k there lots of f-ing beef like do you guys have brain cells of a d-k sh-t like get a life if you care about f-ing 8 year olds then dont make this a f-ing app if you f-ing do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a f-ing bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･" please chill out like multiple people have said this is a website where little kids come on here to find cute combos so please be respectful ౨ৎ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

🤠𝙳𝚎𝚋𝚞𝚝🥾 ⭐️𝓕𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼⭐️ 🌌𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒏𝒐𝒘👑 ❤️ʀᴇᴅ💋 🌊𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟵🦤 🐍𝕽𝖊𝖕𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓🖤 💌🅛🅞🅥🅔🅡💗 ☁️ℱℴ𝓁𝓀𝓁ℴ𝓇ℯ🌫 🍂𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮🍁 🌙𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬🌠 🤍𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐃🎵

⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠟⢉⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡙⢿⣿⡿⠋⣡⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡿⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠉⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡟⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣇⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣩⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣄⡙⠻⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⣷⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡄⠰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣍⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠻⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠛⠿⢷⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⢷⡄⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⣠⣾⠶⠶⠖⠒⠂⣚⣙⠛⠳⠶⣤⣀⡙⠻⣷⣤⡉⠨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠡⠄⠂⠂⠒⠒⠒⠂⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⡴⠟⣁⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡙⠻⢦⡈⠻⣿⣆⠘⢿⣿⡿⢉⣠⠔⠒⡀⢀⣀⣀⣈⠙⢶⡄⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠘⠁⠾⠛⢛⣋⣉⣩⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣭⣤⣤⣌⠀⡈⠛⡅⠸⣿⣶⠝⠀⠀⠀⠁⠉⠉⠙⠻⢿⣆⠁⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⢌⣉⠻⠃⠀⠈⡁⠀⢠⣴⣤⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⠈⣧⡈⢠⡿⢁⠀⠀⠖⠀⠀⣀⡀⠘⣷⣦⣌⡁⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⢷⣄⡀⠀⠃⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠘⡇⡜⢠⣿⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠛⠁⢀⣿⡿⠋⡀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⢿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⡛⠛⠛⢋⣩⣤⡶⠀⣷⡆⢬⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣈⣡⣴⠞⢁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣌⣉⣛⣋⣉⡛⠋⣁⣴⣾⣿⣷⣤⣉⠛⢛⣛⣋⣹⡿⢁⡈⠁⡐⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠋⢉⣉⣩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⠻⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣾⣿⡄⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⢉⣁⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⣉⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⠃⡰⠀⣤⣀⣉⡛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣄⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⣸⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣷⣧⠀⠻⣧⡈⠻⠿⣶⣦⣤⣭⣍⣉⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢁⣼⠟⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣈⠻⠷⣶⣦⣌⣉⡛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣌⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣛⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢛⣉⣁⣴⠟⠁⢴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⡙⠻⢿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣉⡙⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⣁⣴⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣌⡉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⠏⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣉⣙⣛⣛⡛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠻⠿⠿⠟⢛⣡⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⠶⠒⠶⣾⣿⠟⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢉⣤⣶⣶⣦⡈⠋⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢋⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⣙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢉⣭⣌⠙⣁⣤⡈⢻⣿⣿⠟⢋⡉⠛⠻⣿⠟⢳⣦⣈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠻⣿⣿⣆⠙⠟⠁⠼⢋⣠⡾⢃⡴⠋⠐⣡⣴⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⢿⣿⣷⣶⡀⣾⡟⢃⠴⢋⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡈⢻⣿⣿⡇⠉⡴⠃⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢋⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠻⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⠋⣰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣹⣿⡿⣿⣄⠹⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⠛⠃⣼⣿⣿⡿⠟⣡⣾⣿⠟⢁⣿⣿⣄⢹ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣼⣆⣨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣬⣿⣿⣁⣼⣿⣿⣇⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10 (Neurodivergent author) COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10 (Neurodivergent author) The room holds its breath, a suspended moment of understanding. Hanna nods, her smile a gentle ripple across her screen. "Ok," she says, her voice a soft echo. "Overwhelming moments it is." Plankton starts to rock slightly, they both notice. Hanna watches, her curiosity piqued. "What's with the rocking?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple of inquiry. Karen looks at her, her eyes a gentle wave of patience. "It's called self-stimulation, or 'stimming' for short," she explains. "It's a way for Plankton to regulate his senses." "But why?" Karen's smile is a soft sunrise, illuminating the room with patience. "It helps him process the world," she explains, her voice a gentle tide of understanding. "It's like a lullaby for his senses." Hanna nods, her curiosity like a tide that won't recede. "But it's not like he's just throwing a fit?" she asks, her voice a cautious wave. Plankton's rocking abruptly stops at her wording, his antennae snapping to attention like whips in a storm. His face is a mask of hurt, his voice a sharp coral when he speaks. "Don't you dare say that," Plankton snaps, his eye brimming with tears of sadness. "How could you?" Hanna's eyes widen, the room's calm shattered like a wave on the shore. "I didn't mean to..." Her words are drowned out by Plankton's sobs. "Why'd you say that?" he whispers, wiping his tears. "I didn't mean it like that," she says, her voice gaining volume. "I just don't understand..." Her words are a storm, cutting off his air like a sudden squall. Plankton's having an absence seizure, his body frozen like a statue in the middle of a tempest. His unblinking eye is unseeing, and Karen knows he's trying to process the shock. Hanna feels panicked at the sight of Plankton. "Plankton?" she whispers. Her voice is a pebble thrown into the pond of his consciousness, the ripples unnoticed. Karen's hand is a gentle anchor, a silent signal for Hanna to be calm. She moves closer, her screen a soft glow in the morning's light. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice a lullaby against the storm. "He's just having an 'overwhelming moment'." Hanna nods, her screen reflecting her newfound understanding. Karen's hand is a soft current on Plankton's back, guiding him through the tumult of his sensory overload. His body is still as a statue, his antennae a silent symphony of nerves. Hanna watches. "What's happening?" she whispers, fear lapping at her words like the tide at a rocky shore. Karen's voice is a gentle whisper, her screen a calm sea. "It's ok," she reassures, her hands a steady current on his back. "It's just an overwhelming moment." Plankton's body is a marble statue, his breathing a soft hush in the quiet room. His antennae hang limp, a silent testament to the storm within. Hanna's eyes are a sea of concern, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his unresponsiveness. "What do we do?" she whispers, her fear a currents in the air. Karen's screen never leaves his frozen form, her voice a soothing lullaby. "Just wait," she murmurs. "Let him come back to us." The room holds its breath, a bubble in the vast sea of their uncertainty. Plankton's body is a marble statue, his mind a tempest. Hanna's concern is a gentle current against the shoreline of her understanding. Karen's hand is a lighthouse beam, steady and strong on Plankton's back. She whispers to him, her voice the rhythm of the tides. "It's okay," she murmurs, her fingers tracing circles of comfort. "You're safe here." Her words are a lifeline thrown into the storm of his senses. His antennae twitch, a distant signal of life in the quiet morning. His eye blinks, the shutters of consciousness opening to the gentle light of her care. The room's calm is a soft embrace, their sanctuary in the storm of the world. "I'm here," Karen whispers, her voice a lighthouse beam in the fog of his fear. "You're safe." Her words are a warm current, washing over him, bringing him back to the surface. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinks, and he takes a shaky breath, the storm within him slowly subsiding. His body relaxes into her touch, his antennae drooping like tired seaweed. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice a quiet wave against the shore. "I didn't mean to..." Hanna's eyes are pools of regret, her smile a fading sunset. Karen nods, her gaze a gentle moonrise. "We'll take it slow," she whispers, her voice a soft surf against the shore of their friendship. The world outside the guest room is a distant hum, a gentle reminder of the waves that await them. Karen's hand is a comforting current on Plankton's back, her screen a beacon of understanding in the sea of confusion. "Let's go home," she whispers, her voice a soft ripple. Plankton nods, his body a ship at anchor, finding steadiness in her words. They move together, a silent ballet of care and trust, each step a gentle wave carrying them closer to the familiarity of their own space. "I'm sorry Plankton," Hanna says, her voice a soft ripple of regret. "I didn't know."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠈⠛⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡦⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢠⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣇⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠂⠍⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣄⡀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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()-()✅✅εつ▄█▀█●😊0️⃣9️⃣5️⃣

()-()✅✅εつ▄█▀█●😊

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

𓐃

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 2 (Neurodivergent author) By evening, Karen has set up a makeshift kitchen area in the living room, with all the ingredients for spaghetti arranged neatly on the coffee table. Plankton sits cross-legged on the floor, his eye never leaving the recipe book. He reads each step aloud, his voice growing stronger with confidence. Karen chops vegetables nearby, noticing the subtle changes in his movements, the way he tilts his head when he's concentrating. The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in olive oil fills the room. Plankton stirs the pot, his face scrunching up slightly at the aroma, a sign his sensory sensitivity has heightened. She sees him rub his hands together, a self-stimulatory behavior, but she knows it's his way of grounding himself amidst the chaos. They move around the makeshift kitchen, a silent dance of understanding and support. Karen boils the water for the spaghetti while Plankton continues to sauté the veggies. Each action is deliberate, each step measured as they navigate their new reality. The water reaches a rolling boil, and Plankton carefully drops in the spaghetti strands, his gaze transfixed by the swirling water. Karen watches his concentration and sees the childlike wonder in his eye. "How long?" he asks. "Five minutes," Karen says, her voice calm. She's read that clear and concise instructions can be helpful. After five minutes, Plankton quickly drains the spaghetti, his movements precise and methodical. He pours the sauce over the noodles and mixes them gently, his focus intense. Karen watches him, a mix of admiration and concern. "It's done," he announces, his voice a mix of excitement and apprehension. She brings over two plates, setting them on the coffee table. They sit across from each other, the steaming spaghetti a bridge between them. Plankton's hand hovers over his plate, unsure of how to proceed with the new sensory experience. "Let's eat," Karen says with a smile, picking up her fork and twirling the noodles expertly. The sound of her silverware against the plate makes him flinch, but he mimics her movements. They eat in silence, the clinking of forks and spoons the only sounds in the room. Plankton chews slowly, savoring each bite, his face a canvas of emotions. Karen watches him, her own fork poised in midair. As they finish dinner, Plankton sets his plate aside and looks at her, his expression earnest. "Thank you, Karen," he says, his voice clear. "For being here Karen." Her eyes brim with tears, but she blinks them back. "Always, Plankton. I'll always be here. Now it's getting late; let's go to bed.." In bed, she reads to him, his favorite childhood story, the words acting as a lullaby. Plankton's hand rests on her arm, his thumb rubbing circles in a self-soothing gesture. His breathing steadies, matching the rhythm of her voice. The book's final page is turned, and she switches off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The silence is filled with the comforting hum of the fan above. Karen lies beside Plankton, his body rigid with tension. Her arm wraps around him, pulling him closer, and she feels his muscles slowly relax. "Goodnight, Plankton," she whispers, kissing his forehead. He doesn't respond, lost in his thoughts. But she knows he heard her. Karen notices the tension in his body and gently runs her fingers through his antennae, a silent offer of comfort. Eventually, his breathing evens out, and he falls asleep, his body curled into hers like a child seeking shelter. The next morning, the sun streams through the blinds, casting stripes across the bed. Karen, already awake, watches him, her hand still entwined with his. He's still asleep, his body relaxed, the lines of worry from the day before smoothed out by the embrace of slumber. Carefully, she slides out of bed, not wanting to disturb him. She sees him stir in his sleep, his antennae twitching slightly, but he remains unaware of her departure. In the kitchen, Karen starts the coffee, the scent filling the room with a comforting aroma. She opens the fridge, finding the ingredients for the morning routine. Plankton's usual breakfast is a simple one: toast with jam and a banana. The toaster pops, and she spreads the jam with a gentle smoothness that Plankton likes. The banana peels easily, revealing the perfect yellow fruit inside. Her mind races with thoughts of how she'll need to learn his new sensitivities, his likes and dislikes, his triggers. But for now, she focuses on the task at hand, placing the slices of bread in the toaster. When the toast is just right, she carries the breakfast tray to the bedroom, her steps soft against the cold floor. Plankton's still asleep, his snores punctuating the quiet morning. Karen sets the tray on the bedside table. She watches him, unsure how to wake him without causing distress. She's read about sensory sensitivity and knows that sudden noise can be jarring for someone with Autism. She gently strokes his antennae, her touch featherlight, and whispers his name, "Plankton, wake up." He stirs, his antennae twitching, but his eye remains closed. Karen tries again, a little louder this time, "Wake up, sweetie. Breakfast is ready." Plankton's hand shoots up to cover his eye, a reflexive reaction to the light. His body tenses, then relaxes as his mind adjusts to the new day. He sits up slowly. "Thank you, Karen," he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. He takes in the breakfast spread before him, his antennae twitching with anticipation. He picks up the toast, feeling the warmth in his hands, the stickiness of the jam a familiar comfort. Karen watches him closely, noticing the way his eye widens slightly at the first bite, the way his tongue flicks out to taste the banana. It's as if every sensation is amplified, a symphony of flavors and textures that she can't begin to understand. She sips her coffee, silent, giving him space. As he eats, Plankton starts to hum again, his body rocking slightly. It's a low, comforting sound that fills the room. Karen feels the tension in her shoulders ease. This is their new normal, a dance of care and understanding.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⢩⡓⣜⢢⢓⡬⣙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣍⠞⣡⠳⣘⢆⢏⡼⠰⣍⠳⣤⢋⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡥⣋⠦⡛⣔⢫⡓⡎⢞⠴⣋⠖⣭⠢⡝⢪⠝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡟⠯⣍⢣⠖⣱⠢⢏⡴⢃⡎⢭⡛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢱⢪⢕⡪⢵⣩⠲⣍⢎⠵⣋⡜⢦⠫⣔⠫⣜⠣⡝⣤⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⡙⢦⠛⣬⢓⡬⢣⠞⣥⠛⣬⠲⣍⡜⢣⡜⢣⡚⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠫⡜⢣⢣⠞⣘⠇⣮⠱⢎⢎⠳⡬⢜⡣⢝⢢⡛⣤⠛⡜⡴⢫⡝⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣏⠲⡍⣎⢣⣛⢤⣋⠶⣩⠞⣢⢛⡤⢳⠬⡜⢣⡜⢣⡙⣦⡛⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⡰⣋⡜⣫⢧⡛⣬⡙⢦⡙⣎⢎⠧⣱⢣⢚⢭⠲⡱⢆⡛⡜⡜⡹⢾⣽⢿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣏⡜⢦⠛⡴⣉⢮⠱⣎⠴⣋⢦⡙⢦⠳⡸⢥⠳⣉⢧⠚⣥⠹⡔⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⡿⢏⡲⢥⠓⡼⢱⢮⡱⢆⡝⢦⢹⡰⢎⡣⡕⢎⡭⠲⣍⠵⢪⡱⠭⣜⠱⣋⠽⣺⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⠳⣬⢙⡎⣝⠲⣍⠲⣍⠦⣓⡱⢎⡜⡣⣍⡓⢮⡱⢍⡲⣙⠆⣏⠲⣅⡛⣼⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡙⢦⢓⡎⡝⡬⢓⡬⢓⡎⡜⢮⡱⠜⣆⠳⡜⢣⡜⢳⡌⢞⣡⠳⣍⢲⡙⡬⢓⠦⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠏⣎⠳⣔⢫⡔⢎⡳⢜⢣⠎⡵⢣⡜⢎⡲⢳⡘⣬⢣⠜⣣⠱⣍⠺⣌⢳⠸⡔⢎⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⡿⢥⢫⠜⣦⢹⡜⣡⢏⡼⢣⢎⡙⢦⡱⢋⡬⡓⣍⠇⣞⡡⢞⡡⢎⡵⢊⡕⣎⡱⢋⡖⢭⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⢏⡼⢌⡳⣌⡳⣜⢣⡜⣭⠲⣙⡒⠧⡜⣣⢱⢣⠹⡤⢣⢛⡔⡫⣔⢫⡔⢫⡱⢎⢣⢻⣿⣿⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⡿⣋⠞⣔⠫⣔⢣⠎⣕⠪⡖⣭⢊⡝⢆⡳⢍⡲⢍⡲⢍⢦⡙⢦⡙⣎⠴⣋⠴⣊⡕⢫⢜⢢⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡟⣬⠲⣉⠶⣡⠳⣘⠖⡼⡰⣙⠦⣍⠳⣱⢊⡵⢊⢧⣙⢣⢣⣚⠱⣌⠇⣞⣡⢓⢎⡣⡝⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⢇⡣⡝⣌⡳⣌⠧⡛⣌⢳⡱⢆⡏⡜⢎⡖⢭⠲⣍⠲⣍⢦⡙⢦⡹⢤⠛⣌⢇⢇⡺⣑⠮⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢼⣿⣿⣿⡓⢦⡹⣌⠳⣌⠳⡍⡞⣔⢣⡳⢜⠬⣓⢥⡚⠴⣋⠖⣬⢃⠧⡜⢣⢎⡹⠴⣘⠮⡜⢲⢩⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢏⡲⢱⢚⣌⠳⣌⠳⣍⡜⢦⡓⢮⠜⡜⣣⠜⣎⠵⣊⡵⢊⢦⡙⢦⠓⣎⡝⠬⢎⡎⢵⡸⢜⡡⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣧⡙⢦⡱⢎⡳⣌⢳⡩⢖⢬⢣⡕⢎⡣⣍⢖⣩⠳⣬⠹⢤⣋⠮⣱⢋⢦⡹⣜⡡⢞⣘⢣⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⢊⡵⢩⠖⣬⠳⣌⠳⡬⢜⠦⣙⠮⡹⢜⡢⡝⢬⢓⡼⢌⣋⢦⡙⣎⡹⢔⡪⢝⡢⢝⣢⠓⣎⡱⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢡⠞⣡⠝⣮⠱⡜⣢⠝⡜⣪⠱⢎⡣⡕⢎⡺⡰⡹⣐⠏⢶⢨⡓⢆⡏⢦⡱⢎⡜⣱⢪⠱⣆⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡇⡏⡴⢋⡜⢦⠛⣔⢫⡔⡫⡜⣥⠳⣍⠶⣱⢊⠗⡮⢔⡫⣔⢣⢞⡰⢥⠫⣔⢫⡜⣱⢢⠛⡴⣃⣿⣿⣿⣟⢀⣿⣿⣿⡟⡜⣪⢥⡛⢦⠛⡴⢃⠾⡱⣃⠟⣬⠱⣎⢣⡕⣣⠵⣉⢞⡡⢗⡜⣣⠜⣣⠜⣦⢹⠰⣃⢯⠰⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠑⢮⠑⢫⡜⢪⡝⢬⠲⡜⢡⠳⡌⠳⡜⠊⠖⣭⠚⢬⢣⡕⢪⡜⣦⠙⢦⠛⣤⠳⣬⠑⢮⠙⢲⣥⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⠱⠲⣬⠙⢮⠙⠲⡍⠞⠱⣬⠙⡆⢯⡔⠣⡞⡔⢣⡍⢶⠉⠎⡖⢥⠛⣤⠛⣤⢣⠛⢬⠲⣍⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣏⠳⡤⣙⢦⠱⣆⠱⢆⡲⢌⡭⢲⡘⢦⡜⣹⠒⣤⠛⡤⢆⠵⣋⠴⣨⠞⣰⠣⣌⢦⣘⡚⠴⣋⠞⣥⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣘⠵⢢⢣⢛⡤⣙⠦⡸⢜⡣⢆⢧⡘⢦⡘⢦⠓⡜⡤⣓⠦⣛⢤⠱⢆⡲⢌⠶⣨⢚⡜⡤⢦⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⡏⡵⢊⡵⢊⡗⡬⢋⡎⡵⣊⢖⡣⡝⢦⡹⣔⢫⡔⣫⠜⢮⡱⢎⡱⣣⢚⠥⡳⣘⢦⢲⣉⠷⢬⡙⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡓⢎⢧⡙⢦⡓⡥⢛⡌⢧⡱⣋⢦⡙⣦⡙⡎⡽⢬⠱⣎⡱⢎⡬⣋⠶⣉⠞⣬⠱⣎⢲⠱⢦⣹⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣇⠳⣍⢲⢋⡼⣘⢣⡜⢥⠓⣎⡱⣍⠖⡳⢌⡣⣜⣡⠛⢦⡹⢬⠱⡥⢋⢮⠱⡥⢎⡣⡜⢎⡖⣩⢞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢦⡙⣎⢲⡙⢦⡹⢜⡱⢪⠕⣣⢣⠎⣝⢢⡓⣍⠶⣉⠳⡜⠴⣋⠴⣃⢧⠹⣘⢆⠯⣰⢋⡵⢊⣿⣿⣿⣿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⢯⡰⣋⠞⡴⢃⠧⢎⣣⢛⡤⢳⣌⠻⣌⠧⡱⢆⣣⠛⢦⡓⢎⡳⢭⡙⢦⢛⠴⣋⠴⡹⡌⠶⣑⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣢⠝⣰⢣⠞⣡⢳⢩⡜⡣⡝⣢⠇⢯⡘⢧⡚⣜⢲⡉⠷⣩⠳⣌⠳⡜⡬⢓⡍⣎⢞⡡⢞⡰⢻⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣏⠲⢥⡙⣎⢕⡫⢜⡣⡜⢦⡙⡖⣬⠳⣌⠳⣍⠶⣡⢛⢦⡙⠮⣔⡣⢞⡡⢎⡳⢌⡳⢥⡹⢱⣊⢭⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡱⢜⢪⢥⣋⢞⡡⢎⡣⣜⡱⡜⣡⠞⣡⠝⣆⠳⡜⣢⠝⡱⢥⠳⣌⠳⡥⣙⠮⣼⡘⢦⡙⢦⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡧⣙⢦⡹⢌⠶⣉⠶⣡⠛⣦⠹⡜⣢⢛⡬⢳⡘⡖⢥⣋⢦⡙⡳⢬⡓⣎⠵⣫⢔⠫⡕⡎⢖⡣⡜⢆⡫⢝⠿⢿⡛⢥⡓⠭⢎⠶⣘⢦⡙⣎⡱⢎⡖⡹⢶⡙⢦⢻⢬⡓⡹⢆⢯⡱⢎⠳⣌⠳⡜⣡⠞⣤⠛⡴⣙⠲⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡗⢬⡒⡵⣋⠼⡱⢎⡥⢛⡴⢋⠶⣩⠳⣜⠣⡕⣎⢣⡜⣢⠝⣜⢣⡜⡬⢓⡼⢨⡓⢭⠜⣣⠜⣥⠫⣜⢪⡙⢦⡙⢦⢍⡛⡬⢓⡭⢲⠱⡜⢬⡓⠼⣑⢣⡝⢪⡕⣪⢜⡱⢋⠶⡱⣋⠷⣌⢳⡹⢤⡛⣔⢫⡒⣍⢞⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣏⠲⣉⠶⣉⠶⣙⠦⣙⢎⡖⡫⢎⡵⣙⢆⡛⡜⡴⢃⡞⡔⣫⠜⡲⢬⡱⢋⡴⢣⡙⣎⡱⢣⠞⣰⠹⣤⠣⣝⢢⠝⣪⠜⡼⡡⢏⡴⢋⡵⢊⡇⢞⡱⡩⢖⡜⣣⢜⠲⣌⢣⠏⡼⠱⡜⣢⢍⡖⣙⠮⡵⢪⡱⢜⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣠⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡧⢹⢌⡻⢌⡣⡝⢬⣃⠞⡼⣱⠩⢖⡩⢎⡼⡑⣎⢳⡸⣑⢎⡱⣙⠦⣱⣋⣴⣧⣵⣜⣌⣓⠮⣥⠓⣦⡙⢦⡙⢮⡑⢾⣡⠓⡧⡜⢣⡜⢣⡚⡥⢣⢝⡲⣬⣷⣬⣷⣬⣧⣞⣥⡛⡴⢃⠮⣜⣡⢳⡜⢣⡕⠮⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣇⣋⢦⠳⣍⢲⡙⠶⣨⢳⡱⢣⡛⣬⠓⣍⢲⡹⣰⢣⢓⡜⣪⣕⣮⣶⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣯⡔⢭⡒⢭⠲⣙⢦⢣⠟⡰⡍⣇⠺⣥⢣⣝⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣓⠲⣌⢣⠞⣡⠞⡱⢎⡛⢿⠻⣟⢻⡛⠿⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⡜⢦⢛⢬⡒⣭⢃⡳⢆⡝⡣⡕⢦⡛⣌⢧⢲⡑⣎⢧⣚⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡩⢎⢳⡱⢎⡧⣋⠵⡚⣌⠳⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠧⣚⢥⡚⢥⣋⡜⢣⡝⣰⠣⣍⡛⢼⠰⣃⢮⣙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡳⣘⠣⢏⡖⣱⢪⡱⢥⠫⣜⡱⢎⡕⠺⣜⢊⡖⡍⣎⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣌⢣⡜⢣⡓⢭⢲⠹⣌⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡖⣩⠦⡹⢶⡱⢎⠧⡜⣥⢳⡎⣜⢣⡝⣘⠦⢎⡹⣒⠾⣙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡕⡪⠝⡮⣔⠣⡖⡱⢎⡳⢬⡱⢎⡜⡳⣌⠳⡜⡜⢦⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣇⠧⡚⡥⢛⡜⢦⢋⣼⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣷⢡⠞⣱⢣⡝⢎⡳⣙⢦⠣⡝⡬⢓⡼⡑⣎⢣⡕⢎⡱⣍⡚⣍⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢇⡭⢓⡱⢎⡱⢭⠱⣎⡱⢣⡕⠮⣜⡱⢎⢣⠳⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣷⣿⣿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⡲⣙⢬⡓⡜⢮⡹⣾⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡶⠂⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡣⢞⣡⠳⣘⠧⣱⢩⠲⣙⢬⡱⢋⡴⡙⡴⢣⢎⢣⢳⡰⢍⡲⢃⡎⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⢎⠲⣍⠞⣥⡙⢦⢫⠴⣩⠳⣌⠳⡬⡱⢎⡣⡝⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⠵⢮⠱⢎⡣⣟⣼⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠳⣌⠳⣍⠞⣡⢎⡳⢩⢲⣉⠗⣸⠱⣃⠯⣌⠳⢆⡽⢨⡕⢫⢜⢣⡛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⣿⣿⣯⢎⢳⡘⡞⣤⡙⢦⢣⢣⢇⡳⣌⢳⢱⢫⡜⣱⢊⠧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡿⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡏⢧⡚⢥⡛⣬⡑⠮⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⢵⢊⡳⢬⡛⣤⠳⣘⢣⢳⡘⢮⠥⣓⡍⠶⣉⢞⡱⢎⠧⡜⣣⢎⢣⡜⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⡷⣊⠵⣊⡝⣤⡙⢦⢋⢦⢋⠶⣉⠶⣩⢖⡹⢔⠫⡜⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡙⢦⡙⢦⢳⡰⢍⡣⢧⡙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⡜⣪⠱⢎⡳⡜⡴⣙⢬⢣⢇⢞⡡⢏⡲⢜⢣⡍⡖⣩⢎⠳⣱⠦⣙⠦⣍⠵⢫⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⡷⣉⠶⡑⢾⢤⡙⡎⡵⢊⡝⢎⡥⢳⡡⢎⡵⣋⠵⡩⢖⡹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⡀⣀⣀⢀⣠⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⢣⠞⣡⠞⣡⠳⣌⢇⡳⢦⡙⡜⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣄⣠⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⢋⡼⢡⢇⡛⣬⠱⢳⡜⡜⣪⢜⣊⠞⣬⢃⢗⡪⣃⢞⡡⢇⣎⠳⣡⢞⡡⢞⡌⡞⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⠧⣍⠶⡙⣎⠶⣉⠶⣉⠳⣌⡳⢜⠣⡝⠮⡴⣙⠎⡵⡩⠖⣍⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢏⡜⢦⠛⣤⠛⣥⠛⡜⢮⡱⢦⡙⡜⢣⡛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⢩⠖⣩⠖⡭⣒⢭⠲⡍⢧⡜⡜⣡⠞⡜⣚⢤⣋⠶⣡⢍⠶⣩⠖⡬⡓⡵⣊⠵⢪⡜⡜⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⠳⣌⠶⣙⠼⣣⢍⠶⣉⠳⣬⠱⢎⢳⡉⠷⣘⢥⡚⢥⣓⡹⢌⡳⢬⡙⣛⠿⢿⣿⣿⡿⡿⢿⡛⢯⡑⠞⣌⠞⣢⢛⡴⢋⡴⢋⡼⠱⣜⢢⡝⡸⢣⡱⠦⣍⢛⡻⢻⠟⡿⣛⠟⣻⢩⢓⡼⡑⢮⡙⢦⡙⢶⡱⣊⢗⡩⢖⡱⢎⡱⢎⡱⣍⢲⣉⠞⡴⡩⠖⣥⢋⡖⡹⢔⡣⣍⠧⡜⡜⣥⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⡳⣘⠖⣩⢞⡴⡩⢎⡱⣋⠴⣋⢮⡑⣎⢳⠩⡖⣩⠖⣱⠪⡕⢎⡕⢎⡱⢎⣣⢶⡦⣱⣝⣢⠝⣢⠝⣩⢎⡞⣡⢏⡲⢍⡲⢍⡲⡹⢤⡓⣬⠓⣥⢣⠳⡌⣇⠳⣭⣿⣶⣥⣿⡴⡩⢖⡲⣙⠦⣙⢦⡹⢆⢧⡱⢪⡱⢎⡱⢎⡱⣋⠶⡩⢖⡩⢞⠴⣩⠝⣢⢳⠸⣥⠳⡸⢔⡣⢝⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⡷⣑⠮⡱⢎⡵⡙⣬⠱⢎⣱⠣⢖⣩⠖⣩⢣⢓⣥⢚⠥⣳⢙⡮⢜⢣⡙⢦⡱⢎⡴⢣⣿⣿⡜⣡⠞⣡⠞⡸⢥⢋⠶⣉⠶⡩⢖⡱⣃⠞⡴⢋⢦⠣⢏⡲⣉⢞⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⣙⢥⠫⡜⢧⣙⠲⢆⡣⢏⢆⡳⢥⠓⣎⠵⣊⠵⣊⠶⣙⢬⡱⢎⢳⡸⢜⡡⢇⢯⡰⢣⢝⡢⢝⣪⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⡳⢍⠾⣰⡙⢶⡙⡎⢶⡙⣎⠴⣋⢖⡩⢎⡴⢋⡼⢡⠞⣌⠧⢣⡛⣔⢣⠞⣰⢫⣿⣿⣿⣷⣪⠕⢮⡱⢋⡬⢣⡝⢮⠵⣣⠳⣬⢙⡲⢍⡎⢳⣉⢖⣹⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠧⣍⢲⡙⡼⣃⢮⡙⡎⢵⡊⢞⠴⡩⠞⣌⠶⣉⠶⣍⠶⣉⠶⣱⢊⢧⡚⣬⠱⣋⠦⣓⠭⢦⣙⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⢎⡵⣡⠞⢦⡹⢜⡣⢞⡰⡍⣖⢪⡱⢃⣎⠳⣌⢇⡫⡜⢭⢣⡝⢬⠲⣙⠦⣍⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡲⣑⢫⡔⣣⢎⡓⣎⢥⠳⣌⠳⣌⢳⡘⢧⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣡⠳⡌⣇⠞⣡⠏⣦⠓⣭⢒⢭⡚⣜⡱⡹⢌⠶⣉⢞⡰⡹⡌⢧⢣⢏⡲⡱⣌⢳⡡⢳⢌⡳⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡜⢧⡚⣥⢓⡣⢝⡪⢵⡘⢦⢣⡕⢫⡔⢫⡔⢮⡑⣎⠳⡜⣸⢣⡝⢢⠳⣌⠞⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣧⡜⢲⠬⣱⢊⠶⣉⠶⣩⢒⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣩⠞⣡⠳⣉⢦⠛⡴⣋⢖⡹⢤⣋⠦⣓⠬⣓⢍⣎⢣⡍⠶⡱⢥⠛⡴⢃⢮⢱⡱⢜⡢⣍⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣸⠔⣣⡙⢦⡙⢦⡙⡇⢧⢚⠧⣜⢣⢞⢢⡝⣰⢋⡼⢡⠞⣬⢇⢯⡰⢋⡵⣉⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣵⣎⣧⣽⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⡅⣏⠦⣙⢦⡹⡜⣬⠛⡴⢃⡞⣘⠖⡬⣓⠬⣓⡜⢪⡔⣣⢚⡱⡍⢶⡙⣬⣋⣖⣣⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣝⢦⡙⢦⡹⢸⡑⣎⠳⣌⡓⢎⡳⠜⡦⢋⠶⣉⠾⡰⢎⡳⣘⢣⠖⣩⢚⢦⡙⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡛⣇⠲⢭⢜⡢⡝⢦⢣⡳⢜⢆⡛⣬⠓⣬⢣⢛⡵⢌⡳⠬⣜⣣⡜⣦⣭⣶⣽⣷⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣧⣣⣙⡴⢋⡴⡙⣎⠴⢫⡜⡍⢮⣑⢣⡝⡬⡱⢥⠓⡮⢅⡏⢦⣙⢲⡱⢬⣙⠻⣟⡿⠿⣿⠻⣟⠫⣝⡰⢋⡵⢌⢏⣚⠦⣓⡜⣣⢇⡹⢜⢪⡱⢆⡛⣤⢣⠏⡴⢋⡴⢋⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣽⣤⣏⡵⣘⠼⣡⠎⡵⣘⠲⣍⠶⡹⣜⢪⠜⣆⠳⣌⣶⣿⣼⣿⣿⣷⡳⢌⠷⣌⠳⢦⣍⠳⣜⠺⣌⠧⢫⠴⣙⠲⣌⡓⢮⡑⢮⠜⡱⢆⣣⠛⣌⠳⣌⢏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣶⣷⣿⣶⣷⣷⣾⣷⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠧⣹⡘⢦⣛⠲⣌⠳⣌⡛⣤⢋⢧⢋⡼⡑⣎⠼⡑⣎⢣⠞⣙⠮⣔⢫⠜⣣⢎⡚⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠆⡑⠠⠚⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢧⠜⣣⠝⣚⣌⠳⡜⡸⡔⣋⢦⢫⠴⣙⢤⠫⡕⣎⡱⢎⠵⡚⣤⢋⢮⡑⢮⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡔⠡⡘⠠⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠙⠙⠉⠛⠉⠉⠙⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠲⣙⠦⡹⠶⡌⢧⠭⣑⠮⣑⣋⢦⢋⡼⢌⡳⣉⢦⠓⣎⢣⡝⢤⣋⢦⡙⢦⡙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡄⢃⠡⢂⠜⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣫⢜⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡿⢃⠰⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢙⢦⠹⣑⠯⡜⢎⡼⡑⢮⡑⣎⠶⣉⠶⣉⠶⣉⠶⣙⢬⠲⡜⢣⠞⡤⢛⡴⢩⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣁⠎⡘⢢⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠃⢄⠂⣥⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢌⡎⠧⣍⢞⡹⡜⠴⣙⠦⡹⢤⡓⡍⢶⡩⢖⡩⢖⡩⠖⣍⢺⡑⢮⣑⢫⡔⣯⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣽⢤⡿⠿⠿⡟⢯⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⠡⢈⠤⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡾⢌⡳⢜⣪⡕⣎⠳⡍⠶⡙⢦⡙⡼⢡⡛⣬⠱⢎⡱⢫⡌⢇⡞⣡⠞⣢⢗⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠱⡈⡐⣉⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⢁⠒⠤⢈⠉⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣔⠣⣼⣿⣿⣿⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣧⠱⢎⢦⡙⡬⢳⣉⠗⣙⠦⡹⢔⡣⣓⠦⡛⣬⠱⣣⠞⣡⠞⣡⣞⡵⣾⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣥⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠄⠡⢄⢻⣽⠻⠟⡿⡿⠟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣾⣬⡰⣌⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢛⡭⣶⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢜⡢⡝⠴⣋⠼⢪⠥⡛⣌⠧⡱⢎⡱⢳⡌⣓⠦⣙⠦⣙⢆⢿⣾⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠟⡡⠛⣻⣿⣿⣄⠃⢄⣮⣿⣶⣦⣝⡛⢻⣷⣾⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠃⠛⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣾⠰⡍⢣⡝⢸⢣⢫⡕⢮⡜⠱⣭⠸⠑⢮⠱⡎⠱⡎⣵⡎⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡏⢤⡁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠚⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣼⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⡈⢍⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡝⣪⠱⡍⣎⠎⡵⢢⣍⠳⣌⢣⡝⡆⢧⢚⡥⢚⣥⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢀⡙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣉⢿⣿⣿⣧⡑⢂⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣆⡀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡛⡜⡴⢋⡜⣣⢌⡳⣌⠧⡜⠼⣑⠮⣼⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠂⡐⣿⣿⣿⣇⠉⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⡔⢡⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣉⡙⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣎⣳⢸⢡⠞⡔⠮⡜⡜⣣⣳⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠟⠟⠛⠋⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣗⣣⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⢣⢈⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣦⣘⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣭⣷⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⡐⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡃⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⡐⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠰⣹⣿⣿⡏⠉⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡁⠜⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡡⠌⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡟⠄⢢⣙⡞⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⠰⡐⡀⢿⣿⣿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣟⠈⡄⢸⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⠀⡑⠠⢹⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⡧⢈⠄⢃⢎⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⣿⠀⠌⣁⠂⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷,𝟼𝟸𝟷 Karen walked into the bedroom. Plankton lay on their bed, face half-buried in a pillow. His snores rumbled through the quiet room. She took a moment to appreciate his vulnerability before she gently nudged him awake. He groaned, his eye fluttering open. She offered a soft smile. "It's time," she whispered. "You're fine." He nodded. The drive to the oral surgeon's office was tense. The brightness of the day seemed to mock his anxiety. Karen's hand squeezed his, a silent promise of support. As they checked in, the receptionist's smile was practiced, but kind. The exam room surgeon, a man named Dr. Musselwhite, came in. He explained the procedure once more. The nurse began preparing anesthesia. "You're doing great," Plankton took a deep breath, vision blurring. The last thing he saw was Karen's face before the world went dark. Karen watched the monitors as Plankton's breathing evened out. She clutched his hand, her thumb making small circles on his palm. Plankton's snores had been replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing under anesthesia. She leaned forward to Plankton's still form. Her screen traced the IV line. Plankton's mouth was open Dr. Musselwhite peered into. Plankton twitched slightly in his sleep, but the doctor's hand remained steady. Plankton's chest continued to rise and fall steadily, oblivious to the battle being fought within his mouth. Dr. Musselwhite finished stitching. "It's done," he announced. "You did it," she murmured, voice cracking. Plankton lay still, his breathing even and deep. The surgery was over, and he was alive. Karen leaned down to kiss his forehead. The nurse smiles. "He'll be asleep for awhile," she said. Karen nodded. The only sounds were the whispers of medical staff and the hum of machinery. The nurse wheeled him into recovery, and Karen followed, the medication still working its magic. Plankton's features were relaxed in sleep, a stark contrast to the fear that had been etched there just hours before. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, a silent testament to the successful procedure by the deep embrace of anesthesia. As he started to stir, the nurse offered a gentle smile as he began to come around. Plankton's eye fluttered open, his gaze unfocused and glassy. He blinked slowly. "Hi, sweetheart," Karen's voice was a warm embrace. "Whaa-...happen'd?" he mumbled. "You're ok," Karen said softly. "They took your wisdom teeth out." Plankton tries to piece together the fragments of his memory. He attempted to speak. "Ow?" he managed. Karen squeezed his hand. Plankton's head lolling slightly against the pillow. His mouth felt like a foreign landscape. Karen helped him sit up, the nurse getting gauze. "You're going to need to bite down," she said, handing him a piece of gauze. "It'll help with the bleeding." He pressed it to his mouth, the pressure sending a dull throb through his jaw. "Hold it there," the nurse instructed, her voice a gentle guide in his foggy world. "Keep the pressure steady. It'll help the bleeding to stop." Plankton nodded, his movements sluggish. The nurse handed Karen an ice pack. "This'll help," she said. "It's ok," she soothed. "You're all done. The hard part is over." Plankton nodded again, his brain still foggy from the remaining anesthesia. He looked around the recovery room, his gaze wondering. "Whath's thith?" Plankton pointed at a machine. Karen chuckled, the tension easing from her shoulders. "It's just monitoring you." He nodded, his eye still filled with wonder. He looked down at his hand, studying it as if it was the first time he'd seen it. "Thith...han," he said, his voice trailing off as he wiggled his fingers. "Yes, Plankton. That's your hand." He's mouth filled with gauze and drool slowly seeping out. "Karen?" he mumbles, his voice thick and groggy. "Wha's?" He points to instruments. "They're just tools the doctor used to help you," she explains gently. Plankton nods, his curiosity satisfied for the moment. His eye drift to the ceiling. "Why do the wight hab funny shapes?" Karen follows his gaze. "They're just patterns, Plankton. They help the ceiling look nice." He nods, the concept of aesthetics lost on him. The nurse returns to check his vitals. Plankton watches her with the same curiosity. "Whath thoze do?" He points to the stethoscope around her neck, his speech still slurred. The nurse chuckles. "It's how we listen to your heart." Plankton nodded, his gaze following as she placed the stethoscope on his chest. "Ca-- heaw it?" He asked, his curiosity unquenchable. "That's your heart beating." Plankton's eye grew even wider, the revelation a spark in the haze. "Wow," he whispered, his voice a mere breath. Karen watched his exploration with a mixture of amusement and affection. The nurse returned with discharge instructions, her words a blur to Plankton's still-numb mind. Karen took the papers. "Alright, let's get you ready to go home," she said, helping him to stand. Karen's firm grip on his arm steadied him. Karen helped him into the car. The seatbelt was a puzzle he couldn't solve under the fog of the lingering drugs, but Karen buckles him in before driving out of the parking lot. "Loog ath the treeth," Plankton mumbled. "They're waving hewwo," he said with a sleepy smile. Karen glanced over, her own smile growing. "Yes, sweetheart. They're saying hello." Plankton's gaze shifted to the mirror in the car. He blinked at his reflection, the gauze sticking out of his mouth. "Who thad?" He pointed at his reflection. Karen chuckled. "That's you, with a little extra padding." Plankton nodded, his thoughts a slow river in his sluggish mind. "Thith car...it moveths," he murmured. Karen chuckled. "Yes, dear, it's a car. It takes us places." "Wook ath the clowds," he whispered, his voice slurred. "Thath one...loks wike a...," "It's a cloud," Karen said, smiling at his childlike wonder. "It's just water vapor that looks like something we see in our imaginations." Plankton nodded, his eye drooping. The motion of the car and the gentle hum of the engine lulled him into a doze. His head nodded forward before snapping back up again. "Tired?" Karen asked. "Mm-hmm." His head lolled back against the headrest, his eye slipping shut. The car's AC whispered a gentle lullaby, the cool air playing with the strands of Plankton's antennae. His chest rose and fell in time with the rhythm of the engine, each breath a soft snore. They arrived home. Plankton stirred, his eye blinking open. Karen helped Plankton out of the car. She held him close, his weight a comforting reminder of his presence. Spot, the amoeba puppy, bounded over, his gelatinous body shifting shapes with excitement. "Spoth," Plankton mumbled. The puppy leapedfrogged over, his form morphing into a blur of happiness. Plankton's eye lit up. Plankton reached for Spot with a clumsy hand, his coordination still muddled. Spot nudged his palm with his squishy nose. "Wook, Spoth," Plankton slurred, his eye wide with childlike wonder. "I hav- a booboo." Spot nudges him. Plankton giggled. "Easy, Plankton," Karen cautioned, her voice a gentle reminder of his fragile state. Spot's eyes widened in surprise, his little body shivering with joy. He wriggled closer, his gelatinous tail whipping back and forth in a blur of excitement. Plankton laughed. They made their way to the couch, Plankton's steps uncertain, each movement accompanied by a little giggle. Spot followed. Plankton flopped onto the cushions, his body a limp noodle. Spot jumped up beside him. Plankton leaned onto by Spot, his head lolling. The puppy's a comfort. Plankton's eye grew heavy, the weight of his eyelid too much for his sluggish body to bear, his body going slack. "Rest," Karen said, kneeling beside him. "You've been through a lot today." His hand remained on Spot, the puppy a comforting presence. Plankton's breaths grew steady, his snores once again filling the room. Karen watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling beneath Spot's gentle weight. The house was quiet, the only sound the occasional snort from Plankton's nostrils. He slept all night, only waking up the next morning. Plankton awoke with a start, his mouth wet with drool, his eye focusing slowly. The gauze was still damp from the night's excess saliva. He sat up. "Wha..." Plankton looked around, the room spinning slightly. The couch was his bed, Spot his blanket. He reached up to his mouth, the gauze still in place, the taste of cotton in his mouth. The memory of the surgery was distant. Karen's face swam into view, her smile a warm sunrise. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress. Plankton's eye searched his mind, looking for the missing pieces. "I don't... member coming hone," he mumbled, the words slurred. Karen nodded, her smile soft. "You fell asleep in the car, sweetie. I brought you home." But any details were lost, a foggy dream slipping away with each passing moment. "Thish mouth," he said, his tongue probing the empty sockets. The pain was a dull ache, a reminder of his body's battle. Karen handed him a glass of water. "Thank you," he murmured. "You're not supposed to eat solids today," she reminded him, placing a bowl of soup on the coffee table. "But I made some nice, soft scrambled eggs and toast for you to chew." Spot's eyes glued to his owner, his tail wagging. Plankton's jaw felt like it was made of rubber, but the food was a heavenly comfort. Karen sat beside him, her screen never leaving his face, watching for any sign of discomfort. "It'th okay," he assured her, his speech still slurred. He took another bite, his mouth working carefully. The taste was muted, a distant memory of what food used to be. Yet, the warmth and texture brought a sense of normalcy to the post-surgery haze.

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠂⠀⠀⢀⠈⠙⠫⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢇⣠⣶⣤⣤⣤⣀⣰⠀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣽⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣻⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣗⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣾⣿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣞⣿⢿⣿⣷⣝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣻⣿⢿⡾⣏⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⡻⣿⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣷⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⠿⣷⣿⣽⣿⣻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⢿⣯⡻⣞⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣟⣳⡯⢛⣮⢭⣽⣿⣿⢯⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣭⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣷⡝⣿⡿⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⢻⣿⣟⣼⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣻⣼⣤⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⡧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣍⢾⣻⢟⣿⣟⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣻⣶⣿⣽⣯⡿⢿⣻⣝⣯⣟⣛⡿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣿⣻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣏⠷⢿⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⢟⣯⠿⠓⠚⠉⣡⣤⣶⣳⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣳⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⢷⣛⢞⣋⣷⠯⠗⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠐⠝⠋⠉⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠋⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠍⣩⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⡐⠙⣛⠛⢿⢿⡇⠀⠠⠀⠂⠠⠐⠈⠀⠂⠐⠁⠠⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡞⣁⡀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⠌⣝⠞⣿⢆⣿⡇⠀⠀⠐⠀⠠⠀⠐⠀⠒⠀⠈⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣵⣦⡁⣃⣃⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣷⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣧⠀⡹⣶⣿⡟⣼⣿⡇⠀⠀⠂⠀⠄⠐⠀⠀⠄⠐⠀⠄⠀⢿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⡀⢀⣀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣷⢐⣛⣻⣠⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⡀⡀⠀⢸⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠉⢅⠸⣿⣿⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡿⣿⣟⣶⣄⠛⠟⠛⠿⡝⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠀⠈⡂⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⣿⣿⠾⠘⠉⠉⠂⡀⢀⣀⡙⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⡈⢿⣿⢿⡻⡝⢾⡹⣿⠿⡟⠀⠀⠀⡀⣁⡀⣈⣀⢱⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣷⠀⠈⠠⠁⠙⠢⡑⣌⢣⡕⡪⠔⣂⠉⠈⠉⠙⡏⠀⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠉⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣿⣯⣿⡴⢂⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠭⡓⣭⢲⣯⣶⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⣿⣟⣿⣦⣄⣯⣿⣿⣿⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣆⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢏⣆⢿⣮⡔⠠⢀⠀⡀⢀⢤⣀⠁⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⡈⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠾⣌⣇⣿⠿⡀⢂⠘⡠⢊⡞⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠠⢸⣼⣿⣽⣯⢿⣿⣿⣭⢛⡾⡼⢋⠗⡐⢢⠱⢌⠳⡘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢪⡗⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣮⡕⠉⢲⠁⡆⠘⡄⠚⡌⣥⠓⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠐⠉⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣯⢻⣿⣿⡇⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣙⠶⣼⣷⢣⣌⠱⣈⢧⣓⣬⣳⠁⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⣷⠎⣷⣹⢮⣟⡾⢁⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⢛⢿⣿⣟⡾⣽⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣭⣫⠿⠯⣰⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠣⠺⠛⠋⠉⠉⣶⣦⠱⣟⠞⣿⢿⣿⣻⢾⣿⣿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡇⣜⣻⢶⣏⡾⣿⣿⣯⣿⣷⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣿⣿⣦⠈⠯⣟⢷⣻⣿⣽⣿⢸⠃⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢉⣿⣿⡇⠁⠊⢃⠳⠽⣿⡽⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠂⠹⠍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢂⡀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 1 (Neurodivergent author) "What's for dinner tonight?" Karen asks her husband Plankton the kitchen. "I'm trying out something new today!" He replies. Plankton moves about with surprising grace for his small size. Karen watches, admiring his enthusiasm despite her skepticism of his culinary skills. "Careful with that pan!" she calls out, noticing the way he flips it in the air. But it's too late. The pan slips from his grip, and as it hits his head with a deafening clang, Plankton crumples to the floor, out cold. Karen sprints to the kitchen and crouches beside her unconscious husband. "Plankton! Wake up!" she says, shaking him gently. His eye remains closed. She notices his pulse and breathing so at least he's alive. She scans him and the results show he acquired Autism. She's heard about it, how interactions with others are hard and how sensory shutdown can cause episodes similar to a seizure. Panic starts to set in. She has to get him to the couch. With a deep breath, she hoists his limp body over her shoulder and carries him carefully to the couch. She lays him down, his head resting on a pillow she grabbed on the way. Karen's attention is solely on Plankton. She strokes his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips. The house feels too quiet, the air thick with concern. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that might help him feel comfortable. Karen starts to hum a lullaby, hoping the tune might calmly wake him. Only the next afternoon does Plankton start to wake. His eye began to flutter open. "What happened?" he mumbles. Karen smiles, relieved. "You had a bad fall in the kitchen. Do you remember anything?" Plankton's eye widens as his hand shoots to the spot on his head where the pan had hit. "Oh, cooking, right?" His voice is groggy, his memory foggy. "Yes, but let's not worry about that now," Karen says, squeezing his hand. She notices his confusion, the way his gaze flits around the room, searching for clues. "You acquired Autism." Plankton blinks a few times, taking in the soft light and the worried face of his wife. He tries to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washes over him. "Autism?" he repeats, the word foreign on his tongue. Karen nods gently. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice soothing. The revelation hangs heavily in the air between them. Plankton's mind races. The room seems to spin as he tries to process the news. Rocking back and forth, he starts to self-soothe, a common behavior among those with autism when overwhelmed. Karen, who has read about this, understands it's his brain's way of coping with the onslaught of new information and sensations. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice steady. "You can stim however you need to." Her words act like a key unlocking a door. Plankton's hands begin to flap, and he lets out a soft hum, a melody that fills the silent room. "It's ok," she says softly, "Stim if it helps." The rhythmic motion and soothing sound of Karen's voice help to calm him down. He stops flapping, but the hum continues, a gentle echo in the quiet. Plankton's eye locks onto hers, searching for comfort. "I'm here," she says, her tone a gentle reassurance. Suddenly, his eye lit up as he repeats her words, "You're here," his voice a mirror of hers. It's echolalic, a common trait in those with autism, where they repeat sounds or phrases. "You're here," he repeats, over and over, the phrase becoming a comforting mantra. His palilalic speech is a bridge between the overwhelming confusion and the familiar presence of his wife. Karen nods. She's read that palilalic repetition can be soothing for those with autism. "You're here," Plankton says again, his voice growing stronger with each repetition. The words become a rhythm, a heartbeat of reassurance that he clings to as the world swims into focus. Plankton's eye refocus on Karen's screen, and a tiny smile appears as he understands her acceptance. He starts to rock more comfortably, matching the rhythm of his humming. The house feels like a sanctuary, a bubble wrapped around them, their shared breaths the only sound. Karen's eyes well up with tears, but she holds them back, not wanting to interrupt this moment. His humming gradually fades into silence, and he looks at Karen. "We'll figure it out," she says firmly, her voice a lifeline in the stormy sea of uncertainty. "We'll learn about Autism and adjust our lives. You're not alone in this, Plankton." Her words seem to anchor him. He takes a deep breath, and his body relaxes against the couch cushions. "Thank Karen," he whispers, his voice cracking. Karen nods, blinking away her own unshed tears. "We're going to be okay," she says, more to convince herself than anything. Plankton's smile grows a little wider, and his hand reaches for hers. "What's next?" he asks, his voice still weak but steady. Karen rises from the floor and moves to the bookshelf. Her fingers trace the spines, landing on a worn-out book titled "The Art of Cooking." She pulls it out gently and holds it out to him. Plankton's eye lights up at the familiar sight. It's his favorite book, filled with recipes and notes he's collected over the years. He takes it with trembling hands, feeling the weight of the pages. "Let's start slow," Karen suggests, sitting beside him on the couch. "We'll go through the book together, and maybe we'll find something simple for tomorrow's dinner." Plankton nods, flipping through the pages with newfound carefulness. "How about we start with spaghetti?" Karen offers, pointing to a simple illustration on the page. It's a dish they've made together countless times. "Spaghetti," he repeats, the word like a warm blanket around his new reality. "How about we start with spaghetti.." They spend the rest of the day going through the book, discussing ingredients and steps, Karen explaining things in a way that's easy for Plankton to understand. His focus intensifies, his eye lighting up with every new piece of information. The kitchen accident seems like a distant memory, replaced by the comforting familiarity of cooking.

(Autistic author) Plankton has autism, which only he and Karen know about. They're able to keep it a secret, per Plankton's request, even from their son Chip. So when Chip comes home early from football, he's surprised to see his dad staring at the blank wall as his mom rubs his back. "Is everything okay?" he asks, stepping into the room. Plankton's eye is unfocused, his body rigid, like he's stuck in some invisible vice. Karen's hand pauses on his shoulder, and she turns to face Chip, her smile forced. "Yeah, just a little...spell," she says. Plankton's absence seizure has struck without warning. It's like a silent storm passing through the room, leaving no trace except the vacant look in his eye. The room seems to shrink around them as Chip takes in his dad's unblinking stare. He's never seen this. "Should I get help?" Chip's voice cracks. Karen shakes her head quickly, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "No, it's fine. Just...give us a minute." She waves a hand, trying to dismiss the concern that has etched itself on Chip's features. But Chip lingers, his gaze flickering between his parents. "What's happening?" he whispers. Karen sighs, her hand dropping to her side. She looks at Plankton. "It's just something your dad has," she says, choosing her words carefully. "It's like his brain goes on pause for a bit." Chip watches as his dad's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the only indication that he's still present in the physical world. "But what do you mean?" his eyes search hers for understanding. Karen's eyes flit to Plankton before returning to Chip's. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself. "It's not dangerous, just a little scary-looking." The silence stretches until it feels like a rubber band about to snap. Chip's curiosity overpowers his fear. He takes a tentative step closer. "Does he know we're here?" Chip whispers. "Not really," Karen murmurs, "But he'll come back to us." Chip reaches out, a tremor in his fingertips, and touches Plankton's arm, but the seizure doesn't seem to notice. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice a soft echo in the stillness. Plankton's body remains stiff as a statue, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere beyond the wallpaper's pattern. Karen's hand moves to cover Chip's, her touch warm and reassuring. "It's okay," she whispers back, "It's part of him. Don't poke or shake him, just let it pass." The seconds tick by, each one feeling heavier than the last. Chip's heart thuds in his chest, his mind racing with questions and fear. He's never seen his dad like this before, so...so vulnerable. As the seizure slowly releases its grip, Plankton blinks, his eye refocusing on the room. He looks confused, like he's waking from a deep sleep. Karen's smile relaxes, the tension in her shoulders easing. Plankton turns to her, his gaze flickering with recognition before falling on Chip. "Chip?" His voice is raspy. Karen nods at Chip, silently urging him to speak. "Yeah, Dad, it's me." Plankton's expression shifts. "What...what happened?" his voice is frail. Chip opens his mouth, but Karen steps in quickly. "You had a little moment, that's all. Nothing to worry about," she says, her tone light. But her hand is still on Plankton's back, ready to provide support if needed. Plankton's eye darts around, his hands clenching and unclenching as if trying to remember how to interact with the world again. He notices Chip's hand reaching out and flinches slightly, his discomfort with physical contact clear. Chip, sensing this, pulls his hand back, his cheeks flushing. He's always known his dad was a bit...different. Quirky. But he's never seen this side of him. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing as she squeezes Plankton's hand. "You're okay." Plankton nods, his mind slowly untangling from the cotton wool fog of the seizure. He looks around the room, familiar objects snapping back into focus. His eye lands on Chip, who's watching him with a mix of worry and curiosity. He clears his throat. "Just a...moment. I'm fine now." He tries to smile, but it feels awkward and forced. Chip's eyes don't leave him. "What was that?" he asks, his voice still low. Karen looks at Plankton. It's time. "Your dad has something called autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain works in a special way." Chip's eyes widen. "What does that mean?" Karen sits down beside Plankton, who's still gathering himself. "It's like...sometimes, his brain takes a little break from the world," she explains gently, her hand still on his shoulder. "It can be overwhelming, with all the sounds, sights, and people around." Chip nods slowly, trying to grasp the concept. Plankton swallows hard, his mind racing. He's always been so careful to hide this part of himself, not wanting to be seen as less than or weird. But as he looks at Chip, his heart swells with a mix of fear and hope. What if his son can't understand? What if this changes everything? Karen gives him a nod, encouraging him to go on. With a deep breath, Plankton starts to speak. "You know how sometimes you get really focused on something and the world just fades away?" Chip nods. "Well, for me, it's like that," Plankton says, his voice steadying. "But sometimes, my brain does it without me asking. It's like my thoughts are a TV with too many channels playing at once, and it just...shuts off for a bit to give me a break." Chip nods, trying to imagine what that's like. "Does it hurt?" Plankton shakes his head. "Well, it's just...different. Sometimes I don't realize, sometimes it's tough." Chip looks up at him, his eyes full of questions and a nascent empathy. "Can you control..." "No Chip, I can't 'control' it!" He snaps back. "Hey hey, it's okay," Karen whispers, meeting his gaze. "He's not judging you, Plankton." Plankton takes a deep breath, his eye fluttering shut. "I know," he murmurs, but his tone is anything but convinced. Chip's gaze softens, his fear replaced with a determined curiosity. "What's it like?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton's shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "It's like being in a little bubble," he says, his eye distant. "Everything's far away, muffled. And when it's over, it's like...like popping back into reality." Chip's curiosity grows, his mind racing with questions. "But why do you keep it a secret?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen looks to Plankton, who's still visibly shaken. "We didn't want it to define you," she says softly. "We wanted you to see him as just your dad, not as someone with a label." Plankton nods. "And I didn't want to be different," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip considers this, his gaze flitting from his dad to the ground. "But you are," he says, his voice earnest. "You're my dad, even with your..." He stumbles over the word "...seizures." Karen's eyes fill with pride at her son's acceptance. Plankton's tension how ever, heightens at Chip's description. "It's not a seizure," he corrects, his voice slightly defensive. Chip looks confused. "But it looks like it," he says, frowning. Karen nods. "It's similar, but not the same," she explains before Plankton can interject. "It's part of your dad's autism." Chip looks at Plankton, his eyes searching for something he's never noticed before. "But why did you keep it a secret?" he asks again. Plankton's gaze drifts to the floor, his voice soft. "Because people can be cruel, son," he says, his words heavy. "They don't always understand." Chip nods, his eyes welling up with tears. "But I do," he says, his voice shaking. "I mean, I don't get it all, but I understand that you're still you." Plankton's expression softens, his fear of rejection dissipating slightly. He looks up at Karen, his gaze filled with gratitude. She gives him a small smile, her eyes telling him it's okay to be his true self.

NEW REALITY i (Autistic author) "You never listen to me, Karen," Plankton groused. "It's a new analyzer I just built! It'll reveal the contents of a patty when I put one in!" Karen, ever the skeptical wife, rolled her eyes. "You mean IF you put one in.." Plankton ignored her sarcasm, but with a deafening pop, the analyzer exploded, sending shards of metal flying in all directions. One of these sharp pieces slammed into Plankton's head, causing him to stumble back. Karen rushed to his side, pushing aside her initial irritation. Plankton's eye rolled back and closed as he crumpled to the floor. "Plankton! Plankton!" Karen's voice grew frantic as she cradled his tiny, limp body. The analyzer's explosion had caused more damage than she could have ever imagined, the injury had rewired his currently unconscious brain irreversibly: autism. Karen carries him to their bedroom, tucking him in his bed. "Plankton," she whispers, brushing his antennae, "Please wake up." But Plankton remains still. Karen sits by the bedside, her eyes never leaving his face. "I'll always be here," she murmurs, squeezing his hand. The quiet hum of their tiny underwater apartment is broken only by the rhythmic pulse of his breathing. Karen starts to think. If only she had taken his inventions more seriously, maybe this accident could have been avoided? She looks at the clock. It's midnight now. The hours tick by, each one lonelier than the last. Karen's thoughts are a tangled web of regrets and fears. What if Plankton never wakes up? Karen can't help but feel like a prisoner to her own guilt. She wonders what their life would be like now. Would Plankton be different? Would he still be the same eccentric genius, or would the injury change him completely? Will he remember her? The sun's first light filters through their bedroom window, casting a warm glow on Plankton's face. Karen's eyes snap open, having dozed off from exhaustion. She sees him stir, his eyelid fluttering. He groans, his eye opening slowly. Karen's heart races. He's alive! "K-Karen," he stammers, confused as to how he ended up in their room. The initial relief is quickly replaced with a knot in her stomach. His speech is stilted, his movements jerky. He tries to sit up, but the effort seems to overwhelm him. Karen reaches out to help, but he flinches at her touch. She notices his eye scanning the room with an intensity she's never seen before, as if he's trying to make sense of everything around him. "Plankton, it's okay," she says soothingly, trying not to let her anxiety seep into her voice. He turns to her, his gaze unfocused. "Karen?" he repeats, this time with more urgency. "What... what happened?" Her heart squeezes tight. "You had an accident with the new analyzer," she explains gently, keeping her voice calm. "It... it exploded and hit you.." Plankton looks around, his eye darting from object to object. "It's okay," Karen says, desperately trying to hold back the tears. "You're just a bit dizzy." But Plankton doesn't seem to be listening. He's too busy inspecting his surroundings, his eye darting around the room in a way that makes Karen feel like she's missing something. "Plankton, do you understand me?" Karen asks, her voice trembling slightly. He nods, but there's a distant look in his eye that makes her stomach drop. The way he's acting, it's like he's seeing their bedroom for the first time, like every detail is both fascinating and overwhelming. Plankton tries to get out of bed, but his legs wobble like jelly. Karen jumps up to support him, her arms wrapping around his thin frame. "Let's go slow," she suggests, guiding him back to the pillows. He simply nods. "Do you remember me?" Karen asks, desperation tinging her voice. His eye focus on her for a moment, then drift away again. "Yes," he says, but it's more of a question than an affirmation. "Karen, wife," he adds, his voice flat and devoid of the usual warmth and sarcasm. The words hang in the air like a lead weight, heavy with implications. Karen swallows the lump in her throat. "You're okay," she insists, as Plankton nods, looking around their bedroom when his gaze lands on the ceiling fan. His eye lights up, focusing intently on it. "Fan," he murmurs, as if discovering the concept for the first time. "Spinning. Round and round." Karen's heart sinks. "Plankton," she begins, her voice cracking, "You're acting different." She doesn't know how to explain what she's seeing, but she's scared of what it might mean. His eye doesn't quite meet hers, and his speech is so... mechanical. "Different?" he echoes, his voice a monotone. "No, the same Plankton." But the way he says it, like he's trying to convince himself, sends a chill down Karen's spine. She tries to shake off the fear, telling herself he's just groggy from the hit. But deep down, she knows it's more than that.

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COMPUTER SENSORS i * "Karen!" Hanna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Karen in a warm embrace. "You made it!" Karen beamed. "Is the husband home?" Hanna asked, glancing around. "In our bedroom," Karen answers. "I don't think you've met!" Hanna followed Karen through the hallway. She'd heard of Karen's husband, Plankton, but had never formally met each other. Inside, Plankton sat on the edge of the bed. "Plankton, this is my friend Hanna," Karen announced, screen sparkling with excitement. Plankton looked up. He hadn't been expecting company, especially not someone so bubbly and vibrant. "Oh, Plankton," Hanna gushed, reaching out to him. She was a hugger, and she didn't hold back. She enveloped him. Plankton stiffened. It was... overwhelming. "It's so nice to finally meet you," Hanna said, her voice thick with sincerity. Hanna, ever the social butterfly, didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She plopped down on the bed beside him, her energy not even slightly dampened. "So, what do you guys have planned for the evening?" she asked, screen bright with excitement. "Well, we were just going to order in and watch a movie," Karen replied, shooting Plankton a knowing smile. She knew he liked his quiet evenings. "A movie night, huh?" Hanna clapped her hands together. "What's the film? I can stay and join!" Plankton wasn't one for sharing his personal space, especially with someone he just met. The bedroom was his sanctuary, a place of solitude where he could escape the world and be himself. Plankton managed a tight smile, his heart sinking. He wasn't in the mood for a romantic comedy, let alone one with Hanna's constant commentary and unbridled laughter. Karen quickly interjected. "Actually, Hanna, Plankton had his heart set on a sci-fi marathon tonight. You know, his usual Friday night routine." "Oh, I totally get it," she said, patting him. Plankton stiffened at her touch, his eye widening slightly. "Oooh, I know just the thing!" she exclaimed, jumping up and talking fast. "Karen, you won't believe this but I've got a DVD of 'Galactic Hearts' in my bag. It's got a bit of everything: romance, action, and a side of existential dread. Perfect for a Friday night in, right?" Plankton sighed inwardly. He knew he'd have to sit through it, if only to keep the peace. "Alright," he said, his voice tight. "Let's give it a go." With a resigned sigh, he trudged out to the kitchen to grab some popcorn and drinks. When he returned, Hanna had already claimed the spot beside him, leaving him no choice but to sit next to her, so he did, for Karen. The movie started, and Hanna was immediately engrossed, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. Plankton, on the other hand, felt like he was in an alien world of his own. Every time the romantic tension on screen built up, she would lean over and whisper something to Karen, who would giggle in response. The constant movement and noise were making his skin crawl. As the film went on, Hanna grew more and more absorbed in the love story unfolding before them. At one particularly dramatic scene, she reached over and grabbed Plankton's arm. "Oh, isn't this just the most romantic thing you've ever seen?" She gave him a squeeze not realizing the discomfort she was causing him. "Look at those stars," she whispered leaning closer. "It's just like they're reaching out to each other, isn't it?" Plankton shifted. He'd never been one for public displays of affection, and Hanna's affection was uncharted territory. He gently extracted his hand, placing it awkwardly on his lap. "I s'pose," he murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral. time she leaned in to whisper something to Karen, she brushed against him, sending a shiver down his spine. The movie's soundtrack swelled with a sappy love theme, and Hanna threw her arm around both their shoulders. Plankton stiffened. The room felt suddenly too warm, too small. He'd never been one for affection, especially not from someone he'd just met, and Hanna's touch was suffocating him. Her arm remained draped around his shoulders, her grip tightening every time the couple on-screen shared a tender moment. He tried to focus on the plot, but it was difficult with Hanna's sudden exclamations and loud sighs punctuating the silence. Karen seemed to be enjoying it, though, and he didn't want to spoil the evening. So, he sat, endured, and waited for the credits to roll. As the movie progressed, Hanna grew bolder with her displays of affection. She'd lean in close, her shoulder pressing into his, and whisper her predictions for the plot. He glanced at Karen, hoping for a reprieve, but she was caught up in the moment. Plankton sighed and turned back to the movie, trying to ignore the heat building in him. Hanna's hand found its way to Plankton's shoulder again. This time, she didn't let go. He cleared his throat, trying to subtly shift his body away from her touch, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight of her arm and the way she kept brushing against him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, begging for the solitude he craved. Hanna let out a contented sigh, her grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening involuntarily. He flinched, and she finally looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice full of concern. "It's nothing," Plankton said, his voice tight. Hanna looked at him. "Oh, I get it," she said, her hand moving from his shoulder to give his knee a comforting pat. "Sometimes romantic scenes can be too much, huh?" Plankton nodded stiffly. Then, Hanna leaned over and whispered, "You know Plankton you're not so bad for a guy who pretends not to like romance." She elbows him, her touch playful and teasing. Plankton's eye widened, his heart racing faster than the spaceship on the screen. He tried to laugh it off, his voice strained. He tried to keep his expression neutral. She leaned in closer, her arm now looped around his. "I think you're secretly a softy." Plankton's discomfort grew. He swallowed hard, his eye darting to Karen for help, but she was too lost in the film to notice his distress. He cleared his throat again, trying to be subtle, but they're oblivious. Karen looked over at her husband, her smile fading slightly as she noticed his rigid posture. She knew he wasn't a fan of the film, but she didn't realize Hanna's personality was making him so uncomfortable. Hanna jumped up from the couch. "Oh my gosh, you guys," she exclaimed a little too loud, her screen bright with excitement. "That was the best movie ever!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Karen couldn't help but laugh. "You really liked it?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood. "Liked it?" Hanna repeated, her voice incredulous. "I'm in love with it!!" Her exuberance was palpable, but Plankton remained silent. He felt a mix of relief that the movie was over and dread for whatever might come next. Hanna, noticing his lack of response, turned to him with a grin. "What did you think, Plankton?" Plankton felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "It's just not really my genre," he said, his voice a touch defensive. Hanna's smile didn't falter. "Oh, come on," she said, nudging him playfully. "Admit it, you were totally rooting for them in the end." "Oh, I was," Plankton said, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. "I was just hoping the asteroid might hit the spaceship first." Karen couldn't help but laugh, seeing the playful banter between her friend and her husband. "Ok ok," she said, standing up and stretching. "I think we've had enough romance for one night. How about we switch gears and play a board game?" Hanna bounced, her energy unflagging. "Perfect! What do you have?" Plankton started to feel dizzy. "I'll grab something," he said, his voice tight. He needed to get away, to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He retreated to the bedroom, going on his bed. ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

COMPUTER SENSORS ii * * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * "Plankton?" Hanna's voice called. "You've been in there for a while." But there was no response from the bedroom. Karen's smile faded as she heard the silence. She knew her husband well enough to recognize when he'd reached his limit. She excused herself and went to check. Plankton was indeed on the bed, his eye squeezed shut. His body was rigid breathing shallow. Karen ached for him; she knew he was in the throes of sensory overload. Karen approached the bed gently, not wanting to startle him. She sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Plankton," she said softly. "You ok?" He didn't move, didn't speak. He just lay there, a tense coil of discomfort. Karen knew to recognize the signs of his overwhelm. The way he curled tightly around his body, the shallow breaths that spoke of his struggle to regain control. He was in his own world now, one where the bombardment of Hanna's sounds and touch had become too much. "Plankton," she said again, her voice a gentle whisper in the room. "You don't have to be out there if you don't want to." The touches, the sounds, Hanna— all too much. Karen's expression filled with understanding. "It's alright," she assured him, her hand gently rubbing his back. "You don't have to force it." Plankton nodded, his body slowly relaxing under her touch. He let out a sigh. Karen knew Plankton's not one for crowded spaces or unexpected physical contact. "Hey, guys, everything ok in here?" Hanna's voice was cheerful, but there was a hint of concern that had crept in. She searched the room, her gaze landing on Plankton's rigid form. Her smile faltered for a second, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "Is he ok?" "He's... overwhelmed," Karen said. She knew Hanna didn't mean any harm, but she also knew her friend's boundless enthusiasm could be to much for Plankton to handle. Hanna's expression grew more puzzled. "What's there to be overwhelmed about?" Her curiosity piqued. "What's going on with you Plankton?" she asked, taking a step closer to the bed. Plankton jolted slightly, but he remained silent, eye still closed. "I don't get it.." Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Plankton's a bit... sensitive to stimulation," she began. "He needs his quiet time. Nothing against you, Hanna; just how he is." Hanna grew more concerned. "But I didn't mean to," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to have a good time." Karen patted Plankton's shoulder, her screen never leaving his face. "It's not you, Hanna," she assured. "It's just that to much noise, touch, all just gets to be to much for him." "How?" "Some people need more space than others. It's not a reflection on you or your company." "But I don't get it," Hanna said, her voice quiet. "What did I do?" "You didn't do anything wrong," Karen assured her, her hand still resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's just that Plankton's sensory input is overwhelmed easily." Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, full of questions. "But I didn't do anything weird; did I?" "No," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "It's just that Plankton isn't much... physical affection from anyone but me. And even then, it's on his terms." Hanna's expression softened, starting to reach out to gently touch Plankton's arm. "Don't," Karen said, placing a hand over hers to stop her. Hanna's hand hovered in mid-air, and she looked at Karen with confusion. Karen took a deep breath. "Plankton needs his space to recharge. And when it comes to physical touch, it's something that's... it's not something he's comfortable with, from just anyone." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "But, you?" "We've found a balance that works for us. But it's something that took time to figure out. And even then, there are days when he needs more space than usual." Hanna nodded. "But he didn't say anything," she murmured. "I didn't know." "It's not something he talks about. He tries to be strong, to handle it, but sometimes it's just to much for him." "Why does he not flinch if you touch him, if it's sensory?" Hanna asked. Karen sighed. "It's complicated. I've known him for a long time, and we've built a level of trust. He's comfortable with my touch. But even then, it's a balancing act of knowing when he needs more and or when he needs less." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took a step back from the bed. "I had no idea," she murmured. "How long does it take for him to..." "It varies," Karen said. "Sometimes it's just minutes, other times can be hours." "Is he going to remember us talking right now?" Hanna asked. "It's hard to say," Karen replied, her gaze still on Plankton. "When he's like this, he's kind of... in his own world. Sometimes he's aware, sometimes he's not. It's like he's not present. The best thing is to just give him space," Karen said. "Let him come out of it on his own time. Sometimes talking to him helps, but not always." Hanna nodded. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to make him feel included." Karen gave her a small, understanding smile. "It's alright, Hanna," she said. "You couldn't have known. Just remember, Plankton needs space, and for us to respect that." Hanna nodds, her gaze still on Plankton. "So, how does he act coming out of it?" "It depends," Karen said, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "Sometimes he's a bit groggy, other times he's just... tired. And sometimes he's a bit snappy." "What will he remember?" "Probably not much," Karen said, her voice low. "When he's like this, the world kind of... washes over him. He might remember snippets, but it's all pretty fuzzy." Hanna nods. "How do I show him I care?" "Just being a friend—that means the world to him. But sometimes, the best way to show you care is to give him the space he needs." "But I don't want him to think I'm ignoring him." "You're not," Karen assured her, her voice gentle. "Just be mindful of his own boundaries. Sometimes a simple 'How are you feeling?' or even showing interests in his likes, can mean more than any hug. It's a condition where the brain can't process all the information coming in from the senses at once. It's like your brain's circuits are overloaded, and you just... shut down." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took this in. "Is it ok if I can ask Plankton questions about it?" "Of course," Karen said, her voice gentle. "But just be mindful. He might not be up for a lot of talking, especially right now." Hanna took a deep breath and approached, her movements slow and deliberate. "Plankton?" He didn't respond, his body still taut with tension. Hanna looked to Karen for guidance, who offered a smile. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice a soft caress. "Can you hear me?" There was no response, but Karen could feel the tension in his body ease slightly. She knew he was listening, even if he couldn't bring himself to respond. "Plankton's born with a condition called sensory sensitivity," Karen began, her voice calm and measured. "It means that his brain has trouble interpreting and responding to all sensory information from his environment. It can be anything from sounds to touch." "So, like, when we were watching the movie, and I was all over the place with my feelings, that was probably a bit much for him?" "Exactly," Karen said, her voice gentle. "Everything's just... too much for him sometimes." Hanna's eyes searched Plankton's face, looking for any sign of discomfort. "But he didn't say any thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "He tries not to," Karen said, her eyes never leaving her husband. "He doesn't like to make a fuss. But when it gets to be too much, he just kind of... shuts down." "But how do you know when it's too much?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "It's subtle," Karen said, her eyes still on Plankton. "He'll get tense, his breathing will change, bad mood, his eye might glaze over a bit. And when he gets really overwhelmed, he just... withdraws." "So, I shouldn't have grabbed his hand during the movie?" she asked, her voice filled with regret. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You didn't know. Just remember for next time." Hanna nodded. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're all learning. Just remember to be patient and pay attention. And if you're ever unsure, just ask." Hanna nodded, her hand now resting gently on the bed next to Plankton. "I'm sorry Plankton," she whispered. He didn't move, but Karen could see the tension in his body start to ease a bit more. She knew he heard Hanna, even if he couldn't respond. "Don't worry, Plankton," Hanna said, her voice gentle. "I'll be more careful next time. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Karen watched as Plankton's antennae slowly twitched, his breathing evening out as he began to come back to the world around him. It's a slow process, one Karen knew well. She gave Hanna a nod, a silent thank you for her understanding. "Why don't you go grab us board games, Hanna?" Karen suggested, voice low. "Give him a few to 'wake up'." Hanna nodded, her gaze lingering on Plankton before she turned and left the room. Karen watched the door close behind her before turning her attention back to Plankton. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispered, stroking his arm. "You're safe here."

🛩️🏢 11 sempteber

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 10 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 next morning, Plankton wakes up before Karen. He sits up in bed, his antennae twitching slightly as he takes in the room. His eye darts to Karen, still sleeping peacefully on her bed. He feels a wave of guilt and fear, his antennae drooping. He moves to get out of bed, his body still feeling the aftershocks of the previous night's tremors. He pads over to Chip's bedroom. The door is open a crack, letting in a sliver of sunlight. Plankton hesitates, his antennas twitching. He's not sure if he's ready to face his son yet, but he knows he has to try. He pushes the door open to find Chip sitting up on his bed. Chip's eyes are red-rimmed, his face puffy from crying. He looks at Plankton, his expression a mix of fear and hope. Plankton's heart squeezes at the sight. He moves into the room, his antennae waving awkwardly. "Hey," he says, his voice gruff with sleep. "Hi, Dad," Chip says, his voice small. Plankton sits down on the edge of the bed, his antennae quivering with nerves. He's not good with words, especially not when it comes to feelings. Does he address it, or just pretend yesterday didn't happen? He decides on the latter. "Whatcha doing?" Plankton asks, trying to keep his tone light. Chip looks up, his eyes wet. "Just thinking," he whispers. "About you." Plankton's antennae twitch, his stomach doing a flip. He's not used to this kind of emotional exchange, but he can feel the weight of his son's words. He clears his throat, trying to find a neutral response. "I'm fine," he says, his voice careful. But Chip's eyes tell a different story. "You had a seizure," he says, his voice shaking. "You scared me—" Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body tense. "I didn't ask for you to watch," he snaps, his voice sharp. Chip's eyes widen with hurt, and Plankton feels a sting of regret. He didn't mean to be cruel, but his fear of vulnerability turns his words into a shield. "Dad—" But Plankton cuts him off. "I've been dealing with this my whole life, and so I don't need you to tell me what to do." His antennas are stiff with anger, his body tight with tension. Chip's eyes fill with tears. "I just wanted to help," he says, his voice trembling. "I didn't know what to do." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye softening. He's aware of the pain he's causing, but his fear of being seen as weak overpowers his regret. "Chip, don't act like you know everything," Plankton says, his antennae twitching rapidly. "You can't just think you get me. I'd like to see you try to live with this!" His words are a sharp contrast to the gentle stroking of his antennae that Karen had shown him, his voice echoing with frustration. "I bet you wouldn't last a day," he adds, his body stiff with the weight of his own experience. Chip's eyes fill with tears, but he holds them back. He wants to be understood, to be a part of his father's world, but it feels like he's always a step behind. "I just want to help," he says again, his voice smaller now. "I don't know how, but—" Plankton rolls his eye. "Oh, you think you can just waltz in and solve all my problems?" he says, his tone laced with sarcasm. "You think you're some kind of autism expert now?" His antennae twitch nervously. He's trying to keep his emotions in check, but the fear of being a burden is a beast he's wrestled with for too long. Chip's jaw tightens, his shoulders rising. "I just want to know what you're going through," he says, his voice firm. "Is tha-" Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye flashing with anger. "You think I need a little boy to figure out my own brain?" he sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks for the offer, Einstein, but I've managed to survive this long without your 'help'." Chip's face falls, his eyes brimming with tears. "But—" "But nothing!" Plankton cuts in, his antennae quivering with agitation. "I don't need your pity, or your 'help'!" His voice is sharp, each word a blade that slices through the air. Chip's eyes shine with unshed tears, but his voice remains steady. "But you're my dad, and I want to understand." Plankton's antennae drop slightly, his sneer softening into a frown. He knows his son means well, but his own fear of being a disappointment makes his skin crawl. "Look, kid," Plankton says, his tone patronizing. "Some things you just can't understand, okay? So go back to playing with your toys and let me handle the big boy stuff." His antennae wave in a dismissive gesture. Chip's eyes narrow, his determination growing. He's not going to let his dad push him away again. "I'm not a kid, and I'm not stupid," Chip says, his voice firm. "I just want to know how to help when you're like this." Plankton's antennae droop slightly at the challenge, his face a mask of irritation. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't realize you had a PhD in Autism 101. What's the secret, Chip? Tell me, what's the magic word that makes it all go away?" His antennae wave in an exaggerated fashion, his eye rolling dramatically. Chip's cheeks burn with frustration and hurt. "Dad I just wa-" "What?" Plankton says, cutting him off. "You want a gold star for trying to play therapist?" His antennae twitch, a clear sign of his agitation. Chip's eyes fill with a mix of anger and hurt, but he swallows it down. "No, I just want to be there for yo--" "Oh, you think you can just ride in and save the day?" Plankton's tone drips with sarcasm. Chip's cheeks redden, but his resolve holds firm. "No, Dad, I just want to be there for you," he says, his voice steady. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye narrowing. "What's your expert advice then, Dr. Chip?" his voice heavy with sarcasm. "You're going to tell me to count, or breathe into a paper bag?" He can't help the bitterness that seeps into his words, his fear of being seen as weak by his own son. Chip's jaw clenches, his fists balling at his sides. He wants to scream, to shout that he's not trying to be a hero, just a son who cares. But he knows that would only make things worse, so he takes a deep breath, his voice even. "No, Dad," he says, his tone calm. "But maybe if you'd just tell me what helps you..." Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye flashing. "Maybe you should just mind your own business," he snaps, his voice cold. "Or you can go cry to your mommy again." The words hang in the air, sharp as knives. Chip's eyes widen, and his cheeks flush with anger. He's had enough of his dad's patronizing tone. "I'm not a baby," he says, his voice steady. "And I can handle this." "Oh, really?" he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what exactly do you know about it?" His eye narrows, daring Chip to challenge him. Chip's eyes burn with a mix of anger and sadness. "I know you have seizures that make you scared and upset," he says, his voice measured. "I know Mom is also getting tired of you and your outbursts. But you hurt people, Dad. And it's not fair to us, or to Mom, who you don't know how much she hates being your punching bag!" Without another word, Plankton turns and leaves Chip's bed room. He slams the door behind him.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 11 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 stirs in her sleep. Her eyes fly open. She sits up, as Plankton comes back into their room. His antennae are drooping, his eye filled with a sadness that makes her stomach clench. "What happened?" she asks. Plankton avoids her gaze, his body language tense. "It's nothing," he mumbles, his voice tight with anger, mostly at the thought of Karen hurting and being tired of him. Karen's heart breaks at the sight of his pain. She knows his condition is a daily battle, one that often leaves them all feeling defeated. "Plankton," she says gently, reaching out. He flinches. "Baby, what's wrong?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tense. "Don't," he says, his voice gruff. "I don't want to talk about it." His eye darts around the room, avoiding hers. Karen sighs, her hand dropping to her side. "Okay," she says softly, her voice filled with understanding. She knows his walls are up, his antennae a shield. "But if you ever do, I'm he-" "I said don't!" Plankton snaps, his antennae shooting up. His voice is loud, his fear of burdening Karen turned into anger. Karen's heart clenches at the pain in his voice. She sits up slowly, her movements deliberate. "Okay," she says calmly. "We don't have to talk now. But remember, I'm always here for yo-" Plankton cuts her off, his antennae quivering with anger. "I said I don't want to talk about it!" his voice echoes through the tiny room, bouncing off the walls and filling the air with a tension that feels like a storm. Karen's eyes are filled with a sadness that's almost palpable. She nods once, her hand retreating. "Okay," she says, her voice low. "I'm just here, Plank..." He turns away from her, his back a wall of pain. She can see his shoulders tense, his body a tightly wound spring. "Just leave me alone," he says, his voice a whisper of defeat, unable to bear the thought of possibly hurting her. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. Karen's eyes fill with tears, but she knows better than to push. Plankton's autism isn't a puzzle to solve, but a dance to learn, a delicate balance of space and support. She nods, her heart aching. "Whenever you're ready, I---" "Just leave it, Karen," he says, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. He doesn't look at her, his eye fixed on the floor. His antennae are still, a rare sign of his overwhelming emotion. Karen swallows hard, her hand hovering over his back before retreating. "Okay," she whispers, her voice a balm in the tension. "I'm here when you're re---" But Plankton's antennae shoot up, cutting her off. "Why?" he demands, his eye flashing. "Why do you keep saying that? What do you really think of me?" His voice is sharp, his fear of her pity lacing his words. Karen's eyes widen, surprised by his accusation. "Plankton, what are you talking about?" she asks, her voice gentle. "I love you, just as you are." But he's not listening, his antennae twitching rapidly. He turns to face her, his eye filled with doubt. "But do you really?" he asks, his voice quavering. "Or do you just stay because you feel sorry for me?" Karen's eyes widen, the accusation like a slap to her face. "Plankton, no," she says, her voice trembling. "You know I don't—" He shakes his head, his antennas waving erratically. "No, I don't know," he says, his voice cracking. "You're always so calm, so... so patient with me. And then I just—" His words taper off, his antennae drooping as he fights back a sob. Karen reaches out, her hand hovering near his shoulder. "Plankton, sweetie, I love you," she says, her voice soothing. "I love all of you, not just the easy parts." But Plankton's antennae twitch, his doubt a barrier between them. "How can you love this?" he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. "How can you love someone who can't even tell you when they're about to—" Karen's eyes fill with tears, but her voice remains steady. "I love all of you, Plankton," she says, her hand still hovering. "The good, the bad, the seizures— it's all part of who you are." Her voice is a lifeline, a gentle reminder that she sees him, not just his condition. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye clouded with doubt. "But it's not fair to you," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I know you're tired, I see it in your screen." Karen's hand hovers, unsure if touch will make it better or worse. "Plankton," she says softly, "you are my everything. I chose to be here, with you. I chose to love you through the seizures, through the tough times." Her words are a gentle caress in the stillness of the room, a promise of unyielding support. But Plankton's antennae wave in doubt, his body a testament to his inner turmoil. "You don't have to," he murmurs, his voice a whisper of pain. "You could leave." Karen's eyes are filled with love and sadness, her hand still hovering, unsure of how to bridge the gap between them. "Leave?" she echoes, her voice gentle. "Why would I ever leave you?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye averted. "You wouldn't have to deal with this," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "You could have someone who doesn't make you sad, or scared." His words hang heavy in the air, his fear of driving her away a palpable presence in the room. Karen's hand falls to her lap, her heart aching. "You're not a burden, Plankton," she says, her voice firm with conviction. "You're the reason I wake up every morning, the reason I smile." She pauses, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Your seizures don't define you, and they don't define us." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his doubt a living entity in the room. "You don't have to say that," he murmurs. "I guess I'll never be whaa-" Plankton chokes back a sob. "What even Chip says you deserve!" Karen's eyes widen, her hand now resting on his shoulder. "Wait, what did Chip say?" Plankton turns away, his antennae drooping. "JUST FORGET IT!" He stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him, the sound a stark contrast to the quiet sobs that follow. Karen remains still for a moment, her heart racing. Then, with a deep breath, she slides out of bed, her movements deliberate.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 1 (Autistic author) It happened, during another failed attempt at the krabby patty formula. Plankton tried sneaking through the back when Mr. Krabs saw him. "You again!" Mr. Krabs roared, his eyes bulging like a pair of boiled eggs about to pop. "You're not getting it, I'll make sure of that!" With that, Mr. Krabs swung a nearby frying pan with such ferocity that even SpongeBob flinched. Plankton's tiny body was no match for the metallic beast that was hurtling towards him, and the next thing he knew, his world had gone dark. SpongeBob's eyes widened as he watched his boss's arch-nemesis crumble to the ground, the frying pan clattering loudly beside him. The usually boisterous kitchen was now eerily silent, save for the distant hiss of the fryers. Mr. Krabs' chest heaved with each breath, his claws still poised in the air from the swing. "Mr. Krabs!" Sponge Bob squeaked, his spatula frozen mid-air. "Is he okay?" But Mr. Krabs' has retreated to his own office, leaving Sponge Bob with Plankton. Carefully, Sponge Bob prodded him with his spatula. No response. His single, tiny eyelid was closed. After a while, Plankton stirred. His eye fluttered open, but the world was a jumbled mess. The colors were too bright, the noises too loud, the smells too overwhelming. The kitchen of the Krusty Krab, a place he still knew like the back of his tiny hand, was suddenly a chaotic maelstrom of sensory input that his brain couldn't process. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it all, but the clanging of pots and pans, the sizzling of the fryers, and the garish neon lights just added to the confusion. SpongeBob's face appeared above him, a mask of worry and concern, his porous expression more complex than anything Plankton had ever seen. "Are you okay?" the sponge asked, his voice a gentle wave lapping against the shore of his newfound reality. Plankton nods, running back home to the Chum Bucket. Plankton's computer wife Karen's no stranger to him coming back upset or wanting space. So as Plankton retreats to his room in the Chum Bucket, she doesn't prompt him. Alone in the bedroom, Plankton intensely stared at the wall, his thoughts racing like a tornado. Everything was different now. The once-familiar world had turned on him, and he couldn't understand why. The lights in the Chum Bucket, usually a comfort, now blazed like the sun in his face. The noises, oh, the noises! They were so loud, so overwhelming, like a cacophony of a million tiny bells ringing in his head. He put his hands over his ears, trying to block them out, but even the softest hum seemed to resonate within his skull. Plankton wasn't sure how to process these new sensations. His brain was on overload, and his body felt like it didn't belong to him anymore. He was aware of every tiny detail in his environment, every speck of dust on the floor, every vibration from the floorboards, and it was all too much. He tried to get up, to find solace in his usual routine, but his legs failed him. They trembled and wobbled like Jell-O on a stormy sea. Plankton fell back onto the bed, feeling the softness of the pillow beneath him and the cool metal of the bed frame against his back. It was then that he noticed the pattern of the wallpaper, the tiny, intricate shapes that danced before his eye. They spun and swirled, forming complex mazes that his mind tried desperately to solve. It was mesmerizing, yet terrifying. He was trapped in a world of overstimulation, and he didn't know how to escape.

OH NOT THE WISDOM TEETH pt. 2 Karen sits by the bed, her gaze fixed on Plankton’s face as drool pools at the corner of his mouth. The nurse comes in, checks the machines, and leaves with a nod. Plankton stirs slightly, but the snores continue. Karen's thoughts drift to their life together, the adventures they’ve shared. The quiet moments of laughter, the fiery fights over the Krabby Patty formula, the tender kisses exchanged at nightfall. Her heart swells with love and concern. She brushes his antennae with a gentle touch. The drool on Plankton’s mouth forms a tiny river, wetting the pillow. Karen fights the urge to laugh, knowing he’d be embarrassed if he were awake. She reaches over to his gauze and dabs it away, careful not to disturb. A nurse, a motherly looking octopus named Octavia, enters the room with a kind smile. “You know, Mrs. Plankton, sometimes patients can get a bit loopy when they first wake up from anesthesia. It’s perfectly normal. You might want to be prepared for some funny things he might say or do.” She chuckles to herself, remembering past incidents with other patients. Karen looks up. “Like what?” she asks. Octavia smiles, her tentacles curling around the clipboard she holds. “Well, they might say something that doesn’t quite make sense, or think they’re somewhere else entirely. Some get a bit feisty, too. It’s all just the anesthesia wearing off. Nothing to worry about, really.” She winks one of her large eyes, her expression comforting. “His mouth will be numb, so he might talk a bit funny. And sometimes, they think they’re still dreaming, so they do or say the darndest things. Just try to keep him calm, and it’ll all be over soon enough. Remember, it’s temporary, and he’ll be back to his usual self before you know it!” Karen nods, trying to absorb the information while keeping her eyes on Plankton. His snores have changed pitch, and she can't help but wonder if he's about to wake up. The minutes drag on, feeling like hours, as she waits for any sign of him stirring. Finally, with a soft moan, Plankton's eye begins to flutter open, unfocused, glazed over, and it's clear he's still not fully awake, and Karen smiles, ready for the loopy phase the nurse warned her about. "Karen," he slurs, his voice muffled by the cotton gauze stuffed in his mouth. "Wheh... wheh a?" Karen's smile broadens. "You're ok, Plankton. It's over. You're in the recovery room," she whispers. He tries to sit up, but the nurse gently pushes him back down. "Easy, easy. Take it slow, Mr. Plankton. You're still..." Her voice trails off as Plankton's eye focus on the ceiling, and his mouth moves as if he's trying to speak. Karen leans closer, her heart racing. "What is it, sweetie?" His words come out slurred, the anesthesia still thick in his voice. "Whe... whe... whewe... my... my mouf?" Karen chuckles softly, relief bubbling up. "Your mouth is numb, Plank..." But her words are cut short as Plankton's eye widens. "My... my tee... tee... tweef!" He mumbles. The nurse, Octavia, steps forward with a calm demeanor. "It's okay, Mr. Plankton. Your teeth are safe. We removed the wisdom teeth. You won't feel much pain for now because of the numbing agent and anesthesia." Plankton's eye darts around the room. "My tee... tweef... I wont feel... I ca..." Karen's uncertain of what he's trying to say. She repeats the nurse's words, her voice soothing. "You won't feel much pain. It's okay." Plankton's hand shoots up, flailing slightly as he tries to touch his mouth. Karen catches it gently, holding it down. "You don't have to worry about your teeth right now." They remove the IV from Plankton’s arm, and he sees the dentist. “Huh..” “You did great, buddy,” says the dentist. Plankton’s eye is still blurry, his thoughts scattered. “Teethies?” he repeats, his voice still slurred. The nurse nods, patting his hand. “Yes, we took out the teethies. You’re all fixed up now.” Plankton’s eye relaxes a bit, but confusion swims through the fog of his thoughts. “Tee... tw... thee?” Karen nods. “They got all four of them. You’ll be ok now.” The nurse, seeing his confusion, explains further. “The anesthesia makes it so you don’t remember the surgery. But I promise, we took great care of you. Your teeth are out, and you’re safe here in recovery.” Plankton’s eye droops slightly, and his head lolls to the side as he slips back into sleep, his snores resuming their steady rhythm. Octavia smiles. “This is completely normal, Mrs. Plankton. The anesthesia can take a while to wear off. Just keep talking to him, soothingly, so he knows you’re here when he wakes up. Let’s wake him up and get him to your car.”

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.

😚😚😚😚😚😚😚

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

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.

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.

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 5 Karen watches him drift back into sleep, her heart swelling with love. His snores have turned into gentle snuffles, his antennae still occasionally twitching in his sleep. The nurse, Nina, smiles at her. "It's okay, he's just tired," she says. "Let's get him standing." They help Plankton into a sitting position, his body uncooperative and limp. His eye open and close, trying to stay awake. "Pway?" he mumbles again, his voice a sleepy whisper. Karen laughs, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Later, sweetheart, after you're all better." Nina, the nurse, nods. "Let's get you on your feet," she says, offering her fin for support. Plankton wobbles, his legs like jello. Karen takes his other arm, steadying him. "One step at a time," she says, her voice a gentle guide. They shuffle to the door, his feet moving as if through water. His head lolls, his antennae drooping with exhaustion as he falls asleep, but Karen and Nina quickly react, holding him upright. "It's normal for the anesthesia to make him so tired." Nina says over Plankton's snores as he's snoring deeply. Karen nods, her grip firm on his arm. "Let's get you to the car," she says. "Wake up, Plankton. Just a little more." With a snort, Plankton's eye opens again, blinking sleepily. "Wha...?" he says, looking around the room. Karen's smile is like the sun breaking through the clouds. "It's time to go home, sweetie," she says. They make their way to the car, Plankton leaning heavily on Karen's arm. The nurse, Nina, gives them both a nod of encouragement. "Call us if you need anything," she says. The sun is blinding as they walk out of the clinic, its rays piercing through the clouds like a spotlight. Plankton squints, his eye watering. "Hone," he mumbles, his voice a sleepy sigh. Karen laughs, her arm around his waist. "Home, Plankton," she says, her voice like a lullaby. "We're going home now." They reach the car, his legs wobbly as a newborn's. Karen opens the door, guiding him in. Plankton fumbles with the seatbelt, his fingers refusing to cooperate. "Let me," she says, her touch gentle as she secures him in. The drive home is quiet, his snores punctuating the hum of the engine. Karen watches him, his mouth slack, the gauze still in place. "Almost there, Plankton," she says, her voice soothing. The car's smooth movement lulls him further into sleep. Karen sighs, her eyes on the road ahead, her mind racing with thoughts of care and comfort for her recovering husband. When they arrive home, she gently wakes him, his eye fluttering open. "Who...?" he mumbles, his voice a slurry whisper. "It's me, Karen," she says, smiling. "We're home, Plankton." He blinks, his mind still foggy. "Hone?" he repeats, his voice barely audible. Karen nods. "Yes, sweetheart, we're home." They enter their home, the familiar scent of home wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Plankton stumbles, his legs like jelly under him. "Bath-tub," he mumbles, pointing in the direction of their bedroom. Karen laughs, her heart swelling with love for her confused husband. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "Let's get you to the couch." They shuffle through the house, his eye half-closed, his words slurred. "Muff-muff...tub?" he repeats, his thoughts jumbled. Karen laughs, her voice like a warm current in the cool ocean. "No, Plankton, the couch," she says, guiding his unsteady steps. He nods, his antennae drooping. "C-c-couch," he repeats, his words like bubbles rising to the surface. Karen helps him settle, his body collapsing into the plush cushions with a sigh. His snores resume, his mouth open, and drool pooling on the pillow. Plankton's eyes flicker open, his gaze unfocused. "Tish...?" he mumbles, reaching up to touch his mouth. Karen laughs, taking his hand. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle stream. "Let's keep those hands down." He frowns, his mind a fog. "Whath...whathapened?" he asks, his speech still slurred. Karen smiles, her voice a warm caress. "You had your wisdom teeth taken out, sweetheart." Plankton's eye widens. "B-but...muh...muh..." his words a jumble. Karen giggles with warmth. "What are you trying to say, Plankton?" she asks, her voice sweet as a lullaby. He tries to sit up, his body still groggy. "Baf...baf... baf," he babbles. Karen's laughter is a gentle wave, lapping at the shores of his confusion. "It's okay," she says, her hand a steady rock. "Your mouth is just numb." Plankton's antennae wave weakly, his eye still unfocused. "Mumf?" he mumbles, his voice like a baby's coo. "Mumf?" Karen laughs softly, her heart filled with love and amusement. "What's 'mumf', Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle ripple in the sea of his confusion. He blinks, his mouth moving in a silent attempt to form words. "Mumf," he repeats, his voice a sleepy murmur. "Muff...muf..." his words trailing off. Karen laughs, her voice a soothing whisper. "What's 'mumf', sweetheart?" she asks, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Plankton blinks, his antennae twitching. "Nun," he slurs, his mind swimming in a sea of anesthesia. "Why my moufs nun." Karen laughs, her eyes sparkling. "Your mouth is numb, Plankton," she explains, her voice a gentle wave. "It'll wear off by the morning." He nods, his antennae drooping. "Mouf numb," he echoes, his tongue still thick. "Mm...numb." He giggles to himself. "Numb." Karen laughs, her voice like the tinkling of a bell. "Yes, Plankton, your mouth is numb," she says, her words a gentle soothing rain. "It's from the surgery." Plankton's antennae perk up, his eye finally focusing. "Sur...surg... surgery?" he asks, his voice a tentative question. Karen nods, wiping at his drool with a tissue. "It's okay, you're all done now." He giggles, his words a slur. "Sur...surgery," he repeats, his mind still in a haze. Karen smiles, her voice a gentle lullaby. "Wisdom teeth," she says, "They're out, and you're all better." Plankton nods, his antennae twitching with curiosity. "Tweef?" he mumbles, his tongue thick. Karen nods, her voice like a gentle wave. "Yes, sweetie," she says, "The doctor took your big teef out." He giggles again, his mind still foggy. "Big...big teef," he says, his voice a babyish coo. "Tweef." Karen laughs, her voice a soothing breeze. "Yes, Plankton, your big teeth are gone." "How many fing-- fingers awe you holding up?" He asks, but looking at his own hand. Karen laughs, her voice a delightful chime in the quiet room. "I'm not holding up any fingers, Plankton." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still unfocused. "But...but..." his words trail off as he tries to process her response. "That's your hand, not mine!" She laughs. Plankton giggles, his eye half-closed. "M-mine?" he asks, his voice a sleepy mumble. Karen nods, her smile never leaving her face. "Yes, love, your hand." He looks down at his hand, his fingers splayed. "Twee," he murmurs, his voice a slurred whisper. "Two big teef gone." Karen laughs, her voice gentle as she shakes her head. "All four wisdom teethies." Plankton blinks, his mind clearing slightly. "Oh," he says, his voice a soft wave. "Twee big teefies." Karen nods, her eyes sparkling with humor. "Yes, Plankton, all your wisdom teeth are out." He giggles, his speech still slurred. "Widom...teefies," he mumbles. "Widom." Karen laughs, her heart warm with love. "That's right," she says, her voice a gentle current. "Wisdom teethies." Plankton's antennae droop again, his eye heavy with sleep. "M-more?" he asks, his voice like a sleepy drone. Karen smiles, her voice a soothing melody. "No more, sweetie," she says, stroking his antennas. "You're all done."

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?

i love you😡🫶🏻

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

100000 😭

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