Seizurecore Emojis & Text

About Epilepsy > Understanding epilepsy > Seizure Types and Classification Seizure Types Seizure classification is a way of naming the many different types of epileptic seizures and putting them into groups. Where in the brain the seizure starts (e.g. the onset) If the person is aware or not during the seizure Whether the seizure involves movement. Seizures can be divided into three major groups. Focal onset (formerly known as partial seizures) means the seizure starts in just one small region of the brain. It may spread to other areas of the brain. These seizures can often be subtle or unusual and may go unnoticed or be mistaken for anything from being intoxicated to daydreaming. About 60% of people with epilepsy have focal onset seizures – which are also simply known as focal seizures. Focal onset seizures can be further divided into two groups relating to a person’s awareness during a seizure: Focal aware: the person is fully aware of what’s happening around them but may not be able to talk or respond (formerly known as simple partial seizures). They are usually brief, and are often called a warning or ‘aura’ (that a more significant seizure may develop) but are actually part of the seizure. Focal impaired awareness: awareness is affected (formerly known as a complex partial seizure) and the person may appear confused, vague or disorientated. A focal seizure may progress to a bilateral tonic-clonic seizure meaning that it starts in one area of the brain and then spreads to both sides causing muscle stiffening and jerking. Generalised onset means the seizure affects both hemispheres (sides) of the brain from the onset. Because of this, a person may lose cønsciøusness at the start of the seizure. Generalised onset seizures almost always affect awareness in some way, so the terms ‘aware’ or ‘impaired awareness’ aren’t used. However, they can be classified further by movement: Generalised motor seizure: may involve stiffening (tonic) and jerking (clonic), known as tonic-clonic (previously known as grand mal) or other movements Generalised non-motor seizure: These seizures involve brief changes in awareness, staring, and some may have automatic or repeated movements like lip-smacking. Types of Generalised Onset Seizures There are many types of seizures in this classification. They include: Absence – a sudden lapse in awareness and responsiveness that look like brief staring spells or daydreaming Tonic-Clonic – the body stiffens (the tonic phase) and then the limbs begin to jerk rhythmically (the clonic phase) Myoclonic – sudden single jerks of a muscle or a group of muscles that may last no more than a second or two Tonic – Can occur when a person is asleep or awake and involves a brief stiffening of the body, arms or legs. The person will suddenly fall if standing or sitting. Atonic – brief seizures that cause a sudden loss muscle tone and the person often falls to the ground or will have a sudden head nod if sitting. Clonic – although uncommon they cause jerking in various parts of the body Unknown onset means the seizure cannot be diagn0sed as either focal or generalised onset. Sometimes this classification is temporary and as more information becomes available over time or through further testing, the type of seizure may be changed to a generalised or focal onset seizure. Rarely, doctors might be sure that someone has had an epileptic seizure, but can’t decide what type of seizure it is. This could be because they don’t have enough information about the seizure, or the symptoms of the seizure are unusual. Most people will only have one or two seizure type(s), which may vary in severity. A person with severe or complex epilepsy or significant dàmage to the brain may experience a number of different seizure types. Can certain triggers set off a seizure?: Sometimes specific circumstances can increase the risk of having a seizure. These are usually called seizure triggers. Recognising these triggers can help to reduce or even avoid seizures. Some common triggers people report include lack of sleep, missed medication, fatigue, physical or emotional stress, hormonal changes and illness. What’s the best way to help someone having a tonic clonic (convulsive) seizure? 1. Stay with the person 2. Time the seizure 3. Keep them safe. Protect from ìnjury, especially the head 4. Roll into recovery position after the seizure stops (immediately if food/fluid/vomit is in møuth) 5. Observe and monitor their breathıng 6. Gently reassure until recovered 7. Call an ambulance if there is an ìnjury; if the seizure lasts for longer than five minutes; or if after the seizure ends the person is having breathıng difficulties or is non-responsive

March 19, 2014 An aura or warning is the first symptom of a seizure and is considered part of the seizure. Often the aura is an indescribable feeling. Other times it’s easy to recognize and may be a change in feeling, sensation, thought, or behavior that is similar each time a seizure occurs. The aura can also occur alone and may be called a focal onset aware seizure, simple partial seizure or partial seizure without change in awareness. An aura can occur before a change in awareness or consciousness. Yet, many people have no aura or warning; the seizure starts with a loss of consciousness or awareness. Common symptoms before a seizure: Awareness, Sensory, Emotional or Thought Changes: Déjà vu (a feeling that a person, place or thing is familiar, but you've never experienced it before) Jamais vu (feeling that a person, place or thing is new or unfamiliar, but it's not) Smells Sounds Tastes Visual loss or blurring “Strange” feelings Fear/panic (often negative or scary feelings) Pleasant feelings Racing thoughts Physical Changes: Dizzy or lightheaded Headache Nausea or other stomach feelings (often a rising feeling͞ from the stߋmach to the thr*at) Numbness or tingling in part of the body Middle: The middle of a seizure is often called the ictal phase. It’s the perıod of time from the first symptoms (including an aura) to the end of the seizure activity, This correlates with the electrical seizure activity in the brain. Sometimes the visible symptoms last longer than the seizure activity on an EEG. This is because some of the visible symptoms may be aftereffects. Common symptoms during a seizure. Awareness, Sensory, Emotional or Thought Changes: Loss of awareness/explicit memory (often called “black out”) Confused, feeling spacey Periods of forgetfulness or memory lapses Distracted, daydreaming Loss of cønsciøusness, unconscious, or “pass1ng out” Unable to hear Sounds may be strange or different Unusual smells (often bad smells like burning rubber) Unusual tastes Loss of vision or unable to see Blurry vision Flashing lights Formed visual hallvcin4tions (objects or things are seen that aren’t really there) Numbness, tingling, or electric shockıng like feeling in bødy, arm or leg Out of body sensations Feeling detached Déjà vu or jamais vu Body parts feels or looks different Feeling of paпic, feariпg, impending doom (intense feeling that something bad is going to happen) Physical Changes: Difficulty talking (may stop talking, make nonsense or garbled sounds, keep talking or speech may not make sense) Unable to swallow, drooling Repeated blinking of eyes, eyes may move to one side or look upward, or staring Lack of movement or muscle tone (unable to move, loss of tone in neck and head may drop forward, loss of muscle tone in body and person may slump or fall forward) Tremors, twitching or jerking movements (may occur on one or both sides of face, arms, legs or whole body; may start in one area then spread to other areas or stay in one place) Rigid or tense muscles (part of the body or whole body may feel very tight or tense and if standing, may fall “like a tree trunk”) Repeated non-purposeful movements, called automatisms, involve the face, arms or legs, such as lipsmacking or chewing movements repeated movements of hands, like wringing, playing with buttons or objects in hands, waving walking or running Repeated purposeful movements (person may continue activity that was going on before the seizure) Convulsion (person loses cønsciøusness, bødy becomes rigid or tense, then fast jerking movements occur) Ending: As the seizure ends, the postictal phase occurs - this is the recovery period after the seizure. Some people recover immediately while others may take minutes to hours to feel like their usual self. The type of seizure, as well as what part of the brain the seizure impacts, affects the recovery period – how long it may last and what may occur during it. Common symptoms after a seizure. Awareness, Sensory, Emotional, or Thought Changes: Slow to respond or not able to respond right away Sleepy Confused Memory loss Difficulty talking or writing Feeling fuzzy, light-headed/dizzy Feeling depressed, sad, upset Scared Anxious Frustrated/angry, embarrassed, ashamed Physical Changes: May have injuries, such as bruising, scrapes or worse if fell during seizure May feel tıred, exhausted, or sleep for minutes or hours Headaçhes or other paın Náuseas or upset stomach Thirsty General weàkness or weak in one part or sıde of the bødy

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 6 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Hanna pulled out a notepad from her bag. "Let's try some communication exercises," she suggested. "Karen, can you ask Plankton a simple question?" Karen swallowed hard, her voice shaking slightly. "Plankton, what color is the sky?" Plankton's hand paused in its squeezing. His eye searched the room before finally meeting hers. "Sky," he murmured, his voice a little more present. "Blue. The daytime sky appears blue because air molecules scatter shorter wavelengths of sunlight more than longer ones. The blackbody spectrum of sunlight coming into th-" "Thank you," Hanna said, her tone measured. "Now, let's try again. What does the sky look like right now?" Plankton's gaze shifted to the window, the curtains pulled back to reveal the soft blue of the early morning. "Sky," he murmured. "Blue." His hand resumed its rhythmic squeezing of the fidget toy, a silent companion to his thoughts. Hanna nodded, scribbling quick notes on her pad. "Very good, Plankton. Now, can you tell me why you don't like to be touched?" He paused, his hand still. "Touch," he said, his voice tight. "Overwhelming." Karen clenched at his word choice. "Too much," he added. "Sensory overload." Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "Okay. What about sounds? Are there any sounds that bother you?" Plankton's hand stilled on the fidget toy, his gaze drifting away. "Sounds," he murmured. "Some are too loud." He paused, his brow furrowing. "The toaster," he said, his voice filled with distress. "It hurts." Hanna made another note. "We'll have to be mindful of that," she said. "And what about light?" Plankton's hand resumed its squeezing. "Light," he murmured. "Sometimes too bright, if sudden." Hanna nodded, her expression sympathetic. "It's ok," she said. "We'll make sure the lights aren't too harsh. Now, Plankton, can you tell us what you enjoy doing?" He looked up at them, his eye searching their screens. "Read," he murmured, his voice gaining a tiny bit of animation. "Books, knowledge." "Okay," she said, her voice steady. "I'm going to set a tablet in front of you, to gauge your reactions to different sounds and sights." They sat at the dining table, Plankton's eye flicking to the new device. Hanna had downloaded various apps to help with sensory integration. "Remember, you can tell us if anything makes you uncomfortable. We're just going to start with some simple patterns and sounds." The screen lit up with colorful shapes, moving slowly and predictably. Plankton's hand stilled on the fidget toy. His eye followed the patterns, his expression unreadable. "Good," Hanna murmured, her finger swiping the screen. "Let's try some more different sights now." The patterns on the screen then shifted to a kaleidoscope of flashing lights. Plankton's eye grew wide, his hand frozen on the fidget toy. Karen watched as his gaze locked onto the screen, his body going rigid. "Plankton?" she asked, a hint of alarm in her voice. But he didn't respond. His eye remained unblinking, unmoving. Hanna's hand shot out, her finger pressing the screen to pause the app. "It's ok," she murmured. "Take deep breaths." But Plankton didn't move, his body eerily still. "What's happening?" Karen whispered, her voice trembling. Hanna's eyes darted to her notepad, scribbling furiously. "Absence seizure," she murmured. "It's common with autism. It's like his brain has gone on pause." Karen's chest tightened as she watched Plankton's unblinking eye. "What do we do?" "Stay calm," Hanna said, her voice steady. "Let it run its course. It'll be over soon." Karen's hand hovered over Plankton's shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but she held back, afraid to trigger something worse. The silence in the room was deafening, only punctuated by the soft ticking of the wall clock. Each second felt like an eternity as she waited for Plankton to come back to them. Suddenly, his eye twitched, and the tension in his body began to ease. He blinked, his gaze returning to the present, and took a deep, shaky breath. "Plankton?" Karen asked, her voice a whisper. He looked at her, his expression confused. "Are you ok?" Hanna stepped in, her voice calm and soothing. "It's all right. You just had a little seizure. It happens sometimes." Plankton's hand tightened on the fidget toy, his gaze flitting between Karen and Hanna. "Seizure," he murmured, his voice a little shaky. "Why?" Hanna's hand paused over her notepad, her expression compassionate. "It's part of the autism spectrum," she said, carefully choosing her words. "Sometimes the brain gets overwhelmed and needs a brief rest. It's nothing to be scared of, but we'll keep an eye on it. How did you feel in that moment?" Plankton took a moment to consider, his hand still squeezing the fidget toy. "Went away," he murmured. "Everything went away, yet it was all... too much. Felt like... dizzy in a blender." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's like your brain was trying to process too much, and it needed a moment to reset." She made another note. "We'll need to test sounds." They moved to the living room, where Hanna had set up a speaker. "We're going to play some noises," she said. "Tell us if any are too loud or bother you." The first sound was a gentle rainfall. Plankton's antennae twitched but he remained calm. Hanna made a note. "Good," she murmured. Next, she played a recording of people talking fast over one another. Plankton's hand squeezed the fidget toy until his knuckles whitened. "Too much," he whispered, his voice strained as he felt another absence seizure coming on. Karen's eyes grew wide with concern. "Stop," she said, her voice firm. "That's enough." Hanna nodded, her gaze never leaving Plankton's face. She reached over and turned off the speaker. "It's ok," she soothed. "We're going to take this slow." She made a note of the reaction before looking at Karen. "We need to build his tolerance, but not push him past his limits. Let's try tactile whenever his seizure completely stops."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 9 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Chip's gaze went to his dad, his confusion morphing into concern. "What's wrong?" Plankton's eye darted to Chip. "Wh-what do you mean?" he stuttered, his defensiveness a clear sign of his internal turmoil. "Why do you think anything's wrong?" He says to Chip. Chip looked at him, his eyes filled with innocence. "You just...you're acting di-" "I'm not!" Plankton snapped, his voice echoing in the quiet room. He felt the weight of his fidget toy in his hand. "I'm fine!" he insisted, his antennae twitching with agitation. Chip took a step back, his eyes wide with surprise. "Dad?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen's broke at the sight of her son's confusion. "It's ok," she tried to say, but Plankton's anger was palpable. "I'm not acting any way!" Plankton's voice grew louder, his eye darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "Don't patronize me!" His antennae shook with the intensity of his emotions, and Karen could see the fear and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Chip took another step back, his eyes wide with shock. "But you always give me hugs," he said, his voice small. "What happened?" Plankton's face contorted with frustration. "I don't know," he said, his voice rising. "I just can't... I can't handle it right now, ok?" He threw the fidget toy across the room, the plastic smacking against the wall. "Leave me alone!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his voice shaking. "But, Dad, I missed yo-" "I said leave me alone!" Plankton's voice boomed, the stress of the past week exploding out of him. His body was a coiled spring, ready to snap. Karen's chest ached as she watched the scene unfold, torn between her love for Plankton and her need to comfort their son. "It's okay," she murmured, stepping towards them. "Let's all just take a moment." Chip's screen searched hers, his expression a mix of hurt and confusion. "But, Dad, I just-" "I said leave me alone!" Plankton's voice was a thunderclap, cutting off Chip's words. His body was rigid, his antennae quivering with agitation. Karen felt his pain, knew his fear of being exposed, of being seen as lesser than before. She took a step towards him, her hand outstretched. "Plankton, please," she whispered. But Chip didn't get it. "Dad?" Chip's voice was trembling, his eyes brimming with tears. "What's happening?" He looked so lost, so small in that moment. Plankton's chest heaved with heavy breaths, his eye avoiding Chip's gaze. "It's...it's nothing," Plankton stuttered, trying to control his voice. He knew his behavior was erratic, but the fear of being discovered was too great. Chip looked at him, his expression a blend of confusion and hurt. "But you're not fine," he said, his voice shaking. "You're acting..." Plankton's anger grew, his eye flashing. "I'm fine!" he insisted, his voice a whisper-shout. "Don't tell me what I'm feeling!" He couldn't bear the thought of his son seeing him as broken, as someone to pity. Chip's lip trembled, his eyes filling with tears. "But you're not acting like yourself," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Karen's ached for both of them. Plankton's face grew tight, his body coiled with tension. "What do you know?" he snapped. "You're just a ki—" "What do you mean I don't know?" Chip's voice grew louder. "I live with you, I know you better than anyone else! And you're just making excuses for acting like this!" His screen flushed with emotion, and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. "So don't call me a kid when you're the one throwing a fit like one!" Plankton's eye widened, his anger a stark contrast to the calmness he'd been trying to maintain. "How dare you!" he snapped. "Yo--" Chip's voice grew stronger, cutting through Plankton's words. "How dare I? You're the one shouting!" Chip's voice trembled, his own frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. "I don't know what's happening to you, but me and Mom are both pretty much sick of you and your precious little temper tantrums! So you can either decide to tell us what's going on or keep acting like this," Chip's voice broke, as Plankton sat down with ringing in his ears, "but I'm not gonna keep pretending like we care about yo-" But before Chip could finish his sentence, Plankton's body stiffened, his eye glazed over. "Plankton?" Karen asked. But there was no response. Chip felt fear. "Dad?" he whispered, reaching out tentatively. Karen recognized the signs of Plankton's overwhelm. "Chip, step back," she said, her voice calm yet firm. As Plankton's body stiffened, Chip's eyes were wide with terror, his hand hovering in the air, unsure of how to help. "It's ok," Karen whispered, her voice a steady beacon in the storm of Plankton's seizure. "Just wa- Chip, no, it's ok," Karen says, her voice soothing as she tries to keep the situation calm. She knew from the other day's experience that Plankton might not remember this, that he was somewhere else in his mind, disconnected from the world around him. Karen remained composed, ready to catch him if he fell. Chip watched, his own fear mirroring the scene before him. "D-dad?" he stuttered, his voice shaking. Chip's eyes were on his father, his young mind trying to understand. Plankton's body remained rigid, his eye vacant. The room was a tableau of tension, the silence deafening. Karen knew this moment all too well now, the moment when Plankton slipped into dizzy/lightheaded daze, leaving them behind. She took a deep breath, willing her nerves to calm, her hand reaching for Chip's to guide him away from his dad. Chip's eyes were glued to his father, a silent tear tracking down his screen. Karen wrapped her arm around him, pulling him gently to the side. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice a balm. "Dad's just... he's just having a moment." They watched as Plankton's body went slack, his hand dropping the fidget toy. Chip's gaze followed it as it bounced off the floor, the plastic clattering against the wood. "What's happening?" he asked, his voice a whisper. "It's ok," Karen said, squeezing Chip's hand tightly. "Dad's having a moment." She guided Chip to the couch. "Just wait here." With gentle but firm steps, Karen approached Plankton, his body still frozen in the grip of the seizure. She knew not to move him, not to shake him out of it. Instead, she talked to him in a calm, soothing voice, keeping the room's energy low. "You're safe," she murmured. "We're right here." But Chip is to curious. Chip's gaze remained fixed on Plankton, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Is he ok?" he whispered, his voice trembling. Karen's went out to him, knowing this was the first time he'd seen his father like this. "It's called an absence seizure," Karen explained, sitting beside Chip. "It's like his brain takes a little break." Her voice was calm, trying to reassure her son. "It's part of his, h-his life now." Chip stared at his dad, his chest tight with fear. "Is he gonna be ok?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Yes," she said. "But it's important we stay calm." "Mom what's..." "It's because of an accident," she said, her voice gentle. Chip's eyes widened with horror. "An accident? What happened?" he asked, his voice a whisper. Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation she'd been dreading. "Dad had a fall," she said, her gaze firmly on Plankton. "It hurt his brain." Chip's gaze went back to his father, his expression a mix of shock and sadness. "Will he get better?" Karen's eyes filled with tears as she looked at her son, his innocence a stark contrast to the harsh reality they faced. "It's... different," she said, swiping at her screen. "It's not like a bruise that will heal. But we can help him, we can learn to live with it." Chip nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. "How?" he asked, his voice small. "So is he..." "He's still your dad," Karen whispered, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "But now, we just have to love him a little differently. I'll let him tell you more when he's ready." Chip's screen searched hers, his thoughts racing. "Ok," he managed, his voice thick with uncertainty. Plankton's seizure ended nearly abruptly as it had begun. He blinked, his gaze returning to the room gradually. His hand searched for the fidget toy, his hand reaching out instinctively. Karen picked it up from the floor, handing it to him. "You're ok," she said, her voice soothing.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 11 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The room feels like it's shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip's chest tightens, his eyes stinging. He'd never wanted to make his dad feel like this. Timmy looks at him, his expression full of sympathy. "It's okay," he says, his voice soothing. "He's just scared." They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel. Chip's mind is racing, trying to piece together what went wrong. How could something that brought Timmy so much joy cause so much pain for his dad? Timmy breaks the silence, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's hard for people to accept help," he says. "Especially when it feels like you're trying to change them." He looks at Chip, his eyes understanding. "But you can't make anyone feel something they're not ready to." Chip nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. "But what do we do now?" He asks, desperation lacing his voice. Timmy shrugs. "Let's go apologize.." They find Plankton sitting on his bed in the bedroom. Chip's heart raced as they approached. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaking. "Timmy and I, we just want to say we're sorry." Plankton looks up, his eye twitching slightly. "You can't fix me." Timmy nods as Karen comes in. "But we can still be there for you," he says, his voice earnest. "And maybe, we can learn together." Plankton's gaze meets Timmy's, his expression unreadable. But before anyone can say another word, Plankton's body shifts. Suddenly, his eye glazed over, and he starts to rock back and forth, his hands flapping rapidly. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with fear; but Karen understands. "It's okay," Karen says. "It's one of his seizures." Timmy's eyes widen, his hands stilling in mid-air. "What's happening?" He asks. Karen explains in a calm, steady voice. "It's called a non-motor seizure. Sometimes it's just his brain doing its own thing. We have to be quiet and let it pass. This isn't the first time." Chip watches as Plankton's body rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. He feels a rush of fear and helplessness. This is his dad, his hero, reduced to this by something he can't control. Timmy nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton. Karen quickly moves to Plankton's side. "Remember, Chip," she whispers, her voice calm. "Just let it run its course. It's like a storm passing through." Chip nods, his eyes glued to his dad's trembling form. Timmy sits silently beside them, his hands still in his lap as Plankton's seizure unfolds. His rocking becomes more pronounced, his breathing shallow and rapid. Karen holds his hand, her expression a mask of concern. "It's okay, sweetie," she murmurs. "You're sa-" But Plankton's body jolts, his eye rolling back in his head. Chip watches his dad's autistic behavior take over in a way he's never seen before. Timmy's eyes are wide with shock. "Is he okay?" He whispers to Karen. She nods. "It'll be over soon," she promises. "It's just part of his autism." The minutes drag on, each second feeling like an eternity. Plankton's seizure subsides, his body finally still. His breathing evens out, and the color starts to return to his cheeks. Chip feels a weight lift from his chest. "It's over," Karen whispers, her hand still gripping Plankton's. Timmy looks at Chip, his eyes full of unspoken questions. Plankton slowly opens his eye. Timmy's eyes are full of concern. "Are you okay, Mr. Plankton?" But Plankton doesn't answer. He's staring at something on the wall, something only he can see. His hand reaches out, flapping slightly, as if trying to grab onto an invisible thought. But Karen's been through this before. She knows what to do. She whispers to Timmy, "It's okay. This is just his brain's way of handling too much input." Timmy nods, his eyes glued to Plankton. As Plankton's body slowly relaxes, his voice starts, a string of words that don't quite make sense. "The... the...the...spoons," Plankton says, his voice distant. Chip and Timmy exchange confused glances. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand. "It's okay, baby," she whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's eye moved around the room, his hands flapping slightly. "The... the...the...spoons," he repeats. Karen's face relaxes into understanding. "Echolalia," she whispers to Chip and Timmy. "It's a way his brain reboots after a seizure." Timmy nods, his gaze still on Plankton. "I know about that," he says. "It's like my brain's playing back a tape of everything that's happened, trying to make sense of it." Plankton's voice gradually gains clarity. "The spoons...they...they're..." Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his dad's hand still flutters in the air, his eye unfocused. "It's a sensory thing," Karen says, keeping her voice low. "Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed." Plankton's voice grows stronger, the words more random. "The...the...did," he says, his hand moving in patterns that seem to have a rhythm only he can understand. "They were...were...were..." Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's, her gaze full of patience and love. "Just breathe, baby," she says, her voice soothing. "Take your time.." Timmy watches, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's he saying?" He whispers. "It's okay," Karen reassures both Timmy and Chip. "It's just his brain trying to find it's bearings. Just let him find his way back." Plankton's words become more nonsensical, his hand still moving through the air as his voice cracks. "They...they were...were..." His eye flickers, and he swallows hard. "They were always...always..." Timmy's eyes never leave Plankton's, his gaze filled with understanding and compassion. He's been here before, in his own way. His hands start to move slightly again, as if he's trying to connect with Plankton's thoughts. "It's okay," he whispers. "You don't have to push." But Plankton's voice doesn't listen. "They were always...always... were...were...pats," he says, his hand moving in a pattern that makes no sense to him. Chip feels his heart break for his dad. This isn't the first time he's seen a seizure, but every time, it's like watching a piece of Plankton get taken away, leaving behind a man who's lost in his own world. Timmy, though, seems to understand. He reaches out his own hand, mirroring Plankton's movements. "It's okay," he says again. "We're here for yo-" But Plankton isn't listening. "They were always...were...pats," he repeats, his voice getting louder. "They were always pats!" He starts to chuckle. "Pats, pats, pats!" His hand hits the bed. Karen smiles sadly. "Plankton, I see you," she says, her voice a whisper. "You'll come back to us." Chip watches, his heart racing. Timmy's eyes are wide with understanding. He's seen this before in himself. "It's okay," he says, his voice calm. "You can come back whenever you're ready." Plankton's hand still flaps. "I'm here, Mr. Plankton," Timmy says. "You're not al—" But Plankton's voice rose in pitch. "The...tck...tck..." He's ticcing now, Chip realized. Each syllable punctuated with a sharp, staccato twitch of his face. "Tck...tck...tck..." Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tightens slightly, her eyes full of love and understanding. "You're okay," she murmurs, her voice steady. "Just let it out. It's okay." Karen turns to them. "This helps him," she whispers. "It's like...like releasing pressure." Timmy nods, his own hands still in his lap. "I get tics too," he says, his voice barely audible. "But not like that." He looks at Chip. "Sometimes it's ju—" But then, with a blink, Plankton comes back to himself. He looks around the room, confused. "What...what happened?" He asks, his voice slurred. Karen smiles gently. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she says. "But you're okay now."

https://www.verywellhealth.com/seizure-phases-4797974

Emotional Distress Scale 0 - I feel great! This is the best I’ve felt in a long time! 1 - I’m feeling really good! There’s no distress to address. 2 - I’m feeling good. If I start feeling bothered, I can be easily distracted or cheered up. 3 - I’m okay, but there are some things bothering me. I can easily cope with them, though. 4 - I could be better. There are a few things distressing me right now. It’s not exactly easy to deal with, but I still have the skills to get through it. 5 - I’m not okay. It’s getting harder to do the things I want to do, but I can do them. My coping skills aren’t working as well anymore, but enough of them work to get me through the day. I need some support. 6 - I’m feeling bad, and it’s very hard to do the things I need or want to do. Most of my coping skills aren’t effective right now, and it’s taking a lot of energy to stay stable. I need help. 7 - I’m feeling awful. It’s hard to focus on anything but my emotions, and/or I’m avoiding things that distress me. I can’t do much but try to take care of myself, which is already hard in itself. I’m running low on, or have run out of, effective coping skills. I need a lot of help right now. 8 - I’m feeling awful, and I can’t escape it anymore. How I feel is affecting every part of my day, and I’m reaching the point where I can’t function. It’s hard to sleep, eat, socialize, etc. I need help before I can’t handle anything. 9 - This is approaching the worst I could feel. I can’t function anymore. My emotions have totally consumed me. I may be a danger to myself or others, or I may be neglecting myself. I need urgent help. 10 - This is the worst I’ve felt ever/since [last time]. I can’t care for myself at all. My emotions are so intense, I’m at imminent risk of dangerously acting on them. I need crisis support immediately. 11 - I have acted on my emotions and hurt myself or someone else. Everything else in my life is impossible to comprehend. I need medicinal and/or crisis support immediately.

disabled: ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა ฅ / | |⌝ <----ⁿᵉᵉᵈˢ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵇˡᵉ ᵃⁱᵈˢ ᵒʳ ʰᵃˢ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳⁱˢᵗⁱᶜˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇˡᵉᵈ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ. ( (￣╭o─| | | | | ╭-ᯤ-╮ (when someone's disabled, CC / ( ✿ ) you can clearly see they're disabled, right?) ︶ ◉ ◟__ ノᯓ also disabled: ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵗⁱᶜ--> ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა <-- ᴬᴰᴴᴰ (not always!) ᡣ 𐭩 / \ <--ˡᵉᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗⁱᵉˢ ᵉʰˡᵉʳˢ ᵈᵃⁿˡᵒˢ--> ￣￣￣￣ ᵉᵗᶜ..--> ᐡ ᐡ<--ᶜʰʳᵒⁿⁱᶜ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ

Types of automatisms Type Repeated stereotyped behaviors Orofacial lip smacking, chewing or swallowing movements Manual hand tapping, fumbling, rubbing or picking movements Leg walking, running, pacing Perseverative pre-seizure behavior continues during the seizure Vocal vocalizations Verbal spoken words

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⠤⠤⠠⠀⠀⠤⠰⠶⠒⠒⠂⠠⠤⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠐⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠒⠈⠁⠀⢀⣠⠄⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣄⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⠁⣀⠤⠒⠉⠁⠀⠱⠤⠊⠉⠀⠀⠈⠢⡐⠉⠉⠒⠤⡀⠀⠶⡄⠈⠁⠈⠢⣤⢾⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣫⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠗⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠤⣿⣠⢄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠋⠋⡽⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡀⢀⡀⠲⢖⠛⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⡠⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⣸⡇⢰⡤⣑⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⢀⠈⢧⠀⠙ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠞⡆⠸⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢹⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⢈⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡎⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⣀⠄⠀⠀⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠀⠠⢄⡀⠀⠀⠹⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠔⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢄⠀⡠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢰⡎⠈⠂⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣶⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡯⢤⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢃⠐⡿⢿⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢧⣤⢸⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢆⠀⠘⣏⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠀⠀⠀⣏⠀⠀⠻⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢣⠏⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⡄⠀⢹⡌⢢⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠈⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠀⠀⠀⡰⠃⡞⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⣀⠁⠀⣣⡀⠀⠀⠁⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⠂⠀⠀⠈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠃⠀⠀⡰⠁⠘⡇⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⢄⠀⠀⠀⠑⠂⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠀⠀⢀⣼⣄⣀⣨⡤⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠈⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⠉⠉⠁⠒⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⣅⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⢑⣾⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣖⣿⣿⣣⣮⢣⡀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢠⣾⠯⠽⣚⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣺⡛⢕⡙⡄⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣤⣾⣥⣬⣿⣿⣤⣿⠁⠈⢶⣽⣿⣿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣷⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⣩⣷⣽⣿⠿⠿⠿⠇⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣠⣻⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡟⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⢿⣙⣳⣻⣿⡿⣻⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⢿⡿⢿⢿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣿⡭⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣾⠀⠀⠀⠈⢯⣻⡻⣿⣿⡿⣿⡟⡿⢿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣰⠃⠀⠀⢳⣤⣤⣤⣤⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠀⢀⠰⣮⢇⢿⣿⣿⣟⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡿⡿⣿⣿⠷⡖⢀⠀⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⣇⣼⣤⣇⣻⣯⣿⣿⡿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣦⣷⣼⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣭⣥⣿⣿⣿⣯⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣾⣿⣷⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣺⣿⣟⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋⣙⣛⣿⣿⣶⣯⣯⣟⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣻⣿⣿⡿⣯⣾⣃⣈⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⢴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⣻⣿⣿⣿⢧⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢺⣿⣿⣿⠘⠀ ⠐⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⢀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⢰⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠀⣠⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⠀⠄ ⠘⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⠀ ⠀⢿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡷⣄⣸⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠼⠀⡰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⠀ ⠀⠈⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⣿⣿⣿⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⡀⣿⣿⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀

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🧊➡💧➡☁️

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ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴᴰᴬʸ ᶜᴬᴺᴰᴸᴱᔆ ᵇʸ ʳᵉᵈᵈⁱᵗ ᵘˢᵉʳ ᶻᵉⁿʳʸʰᵃᵒ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃʳᵈᵉˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇˡᵒʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱᶠᵗᵉᵉⁿ ᶠˡⁱᶜᵏᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ʰᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ‧‧‧ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵒ ᵃᵛᵃⁱˡ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵍˡᵃⁿᶜᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵈ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵗ ʰᵒᵘʳˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᶜᵃᵏᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵉˣᵖʳᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵘⁿᵇᵉᵃʳᵃᵇˡʸ ᵍᵘⁱˡᵗʸ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ'ˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢᵗᵃʳᵉᵈ ˢᵃᵈˡʸ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘⁿʸⁱᵉˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᶠˡᵃᵐᵉˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᶠᵃˡᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ'ˢ ᶠᵉᵉᵇˡᵉ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᵐᵖᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵇˡⁱⁿᵏᵉᵈ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʰᵉʳ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ‧ ᵂʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ "ᴴᵃᵖᵖʸ ᴮⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ⸴" ˢʰᵉ ᵇˡᵉʷ ᵃ ᵍᵘˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ʷⁱⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃⁿᶜⁱⁿᵍ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ ᵈⁱˢˢⁱᵖᵃᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᶠᶠˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵐᵒᵏᵉ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰʸ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵃᵗ‧ ᴵᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ʸᵉᵃʳ; ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵇᵃᵏᵉᵈ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳᶠᵉᶜᵗ ᶜᵃᵏᵉ⸴ ʰᵉ ᶠᵃⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇˡᵒʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶜʰᵃⁿᵍᵉᵈ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ʰᵘᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ‧‧‧ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵒ ᵃᵛᵃⁱˡ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵐᵉʳᵉˡʸ ᵈʳⁱᶠᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰᵉʳ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵉⁱᵗʰᵉʳ‧

🎀🩰💗✨𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓯𝓯✨💗🩰🎀

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Dec 08, 2014 02:34AM c.c. (utopiosphere) ╳ ──── Sᴘɪʀɪᴛs Adephagia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ sᴀᴛɪᴇᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɢʟᴜᴛᴛᴏɴʏ Adikia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ɪɴᴊᴜsᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʀᴏɴɢᴅᴏɪɴɢ Aergia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ɪᴅʟᴇɴᴇss, ʟᴀᴢɪɴᴇss, ɪɴᴅᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ sʟᴏᴛʜ Alastor ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ғᴇᴜᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴇɴɢᴇᴀɴᴄᴇ Algea ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ sᴜғғᴇʀɪɴɢ Amechania ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʜᴇʟᴘʟᴇssɴᴇss ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴇᴀɴs Amphilogiai ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴘᴜᴛᴇs, ᴅᴇʙᴀᴛᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ Anaideia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʀᴜᴛʜʟᴇssɴᴇss, sʜᴀᴍᴇʟᴇssɴᴇss, ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴғᴏʀɢɪᴠɪɴɢɴᴇss Androktasiai ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇғɪᴇʟᴅ sʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ Apate ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴄᴇɪᴛ, ɢᴜɪʟᴇ, ғʀᴀᴜᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴ Aporia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛʏ, ᴘᴇʀᴘʟᴇxɪᴛʏ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀʟᴇssɴᴇss, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴇᴀɴs Arae ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴄᴜʀsᴇs Atë ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴅᴇʟᴜsɪᴏɴ, ɪɴғᴀᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʙʟɪɴᴅ ғᴏʟʟʏ, ʀᴇᴄᴋʟᴇssɴᴇss, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴜɪɴ Corus ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ sᴜʀғᴇɪᴛ Deimos ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ғᴇᴀʀ, ᴅʀᴇᴀᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʀʀᴏʀ Dolos ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʀɪᴄᴋᴇʀʏ, ᴄᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴄʀᴀғᴛɪɴᴇss, ᴛʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇʀʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴜɪʟᴇ Dysnomia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʟᴀᴡʟᴇssɴᴇss ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ᴄɪᴠɪʟ ᴄᴏɴsᴛɪᴛᴜᴛɪᴏɴ Dyssebeia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ɪᴍᴘɪᴇᴛʏ Epiales ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇs Hybris ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴏᴜᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴏᴜs ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏᴜʀ Kakia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴠɪᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟ ʙᴀᴅɴᴇss Koalemos ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ sᴛᴜᴘɪᴅɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏᴏʟɪsʜɴᴇss Kydoimos ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪɴ ᴏғ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ, ᴄᴏɴғᴜsɪᴏɴ, ᴜᴘʀᴏᴀʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴜʙʙᴜʙ Lethe ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ғᴏʀɢᴇᴛғᴜʟɴᴇss ᴀɴᴅ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏɴ Limos ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ sᴛᴀʀᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Lyssa ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʀᴀɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴜʀʏ Machai ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ғɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ Mania ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴀᴅɴᴇss, ɪɴsᴀɴɪᴛʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ғʀᴇɴᴢʏ Moros ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴅᴏᴏᴍ Neikea ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ϙᴜᴀʀʀᴇʟs, ғᴇᴜᴅs, ᴀɴᴅ ɢʀɪᴇᴠᴀɴᴄᴇs Oizys ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴡᴏᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍɪsᴇʀʏ Penia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴘᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴇᴅ Penthus ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ɢʀɪᴇғ, ᴍᴏᴜʀɴɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴀᴍᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Phobos ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ ғᴇᴀʀ, ғʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇғɪᴇʟᴅ ʀᴏᴜᴛ Phonoi ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ sʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ Phrike ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ ғᴇᴀʀ Phthonus ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴇɴᴠʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ Poine ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʀᴇᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴠᴇɴɢᴇᴀɴᴄᴇ, ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴘᴇɴsᴇ, ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴇɴᴀʟᴛʏ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɴsʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ Ponos ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʜᴀʀᴅ ʟᴀʙᴏᴜʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏɪʟ Pseudologoi ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʟɪᴇs Ptocheia ➸ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴏғ ʙᴇɢɢᴀʀʏ

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⠤⠤⠀⠒⠶⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠈⠀⠀⠀⣠⢀⣀⠀⣀⠀⢀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠶⠚⣛⣉⠠⠀⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡿⠁⠀ ⠹⣯⢼⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣰⣷⢴⠳⠟⠛⠙⢻⣛⣟⣓⡋⠢⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣪⢵⣶⣶⣶⠦⣌⡙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣼⡟⣿⣿⠀⢀⠢⠁⠀⣰⣜⣿⢿⣿⠿⢿⠟⢕⠢⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠈⠒⠒⠁⠀⠈⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠟⢀⠀⠀ ⠲⣿⢧⡃⣽⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠟⠉⠠⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡹⠸⣇⢸⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠆⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡇⠀⣿⡘⢿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣼⣯⡈⠈⢯⠎⠻⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀ ⣿⣷⣿⣆⢘⣆⠀⣷⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠮⠁⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣌⠦⣜⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⣀⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⣤⡠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢋⠄⠀⢀⢠ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣎⣗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢛⠙⠛⡈⠀⠜⠈⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⢠⡴⣏⢧ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⢿⡱⣏⠖ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣠⣀⣠⠶⠴⠦⠤⠒⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⣏⠷⠈⠌ ⠀⠌⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⡈⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠇⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⠁⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⣿⣞⡄⡀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠎⠀⠀⣀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣈⢻⣿⣧⣗⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢖⡡⠔⣠⡰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡏⠈⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠽⢿⣿⣾⣽⡷⣦⢤⡀⡄⣀⠀⡀⡀⠄⠔⣒⢱⣜⣮⡴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⡇⠀⢿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⡬⣫⡀⡱⣀⣖⣼⣾⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡟⠙⡷⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣻⣟⢿⣿⠟⣋⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⢛⣽⣴⢴⣟⢙⣿⣦⡙⠑⠓⠙⠃⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Pumpkin Vegetarian Steam Buns (南瓜包子） October 26, 2014 This is a soft and fluffy pumpkin steam bun. In chinese we called it bao zi '包子' Pumpkin Vegetarian Steam Buns Recipe adapted from '包 PAUS' by Coco Kong Makes 14 Ingredients for steam bun skin: A. (mixed just prior to using) 2 tsp instant yeast 100-120ml water (i use 110ml) B. 280g pau flour 100g icing sugar 20g shortening (i use Crisco) 160g sweet potato - peel, steam and mash whist hot (i use pumpkin - washed and steamed the pumpkin skin on. When it is cooked just scoop the flesh out with a spoon) 1 tsp double action baking powder Vegetable filling: 200g long bean 4 pcs tau kwa (yellow bean curd) - slice into cubes 3 pcs chinese mushroom (shitake) - washed, soaked and cut into cubes, keep the soaked water* 1/2 carrot - shredded 2 cloves garlic - chopped Seasoning: 1 1/2 tsp salt 3 tsp light soy sauce 1/2 tsp pepper 5 tbsp water (use the soaked water) 14 paper cup cases (flattened) To Do: Prepared the filling first: Heat wok with some oil. Add in chopped garlic, stir fry till fragrance. Add into long bean and salt. (the saltiness depends on individual taste but this filling have to be a bit saltier than your normal taste because the bao zi skin is slightly more to the sweet side) Add other ingredients and seasoning fry well. Lastly add the mushroom stock and stir fry for a while then add in pepper. Dish up, cool well. For skin: Combine ingredients B in the big mixing bowl. Add in ingredients A, mix well invert onto a work top and knead with your palms for 2 minutes till dough is shinny and soft. Return the dough into the big mixing bowl (oiled it) cover with a piece of cloth, proof for 30 minutes. Divide into 48g each part. (i add all the ingredients in the bread maker pan and let the machine do all the mixing and kneading. I use dough mode which take about 20 minutes) To Shape: Flatten the 50g dough into a round shape with the side thinner then the center. Ensure the center is slightly bulge. Place 2 tablespoons of filling and gather the edges by sealing the opening and lay the sealed part upwards on a flatten paper cup case. Repeat process to the rest. Cover the wrapped bao zi with a piece of cloth and proof for 30-40 minutes. (i proof mine for 20 minutes) Bring water to a rapid boil. Arrange the bao zi onto the steaming rack and put into the wok. Steam over medium heat for 10 minutes

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𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 9 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton stands up and storms off to the bedroom, his steps heavy. The door slams shut behind him, the finality of it echoing through the house. Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he sinks to the floor, feeling like he's failed his dad. Karen sighs. "Chip," she says, her voice soft as she sits beside him. "Your dad's just really sensitive about his autism." She takes his hand. "You have to remember, it's not just something he can turn on or off." Chip nods, feeling small. He didn't mean to upset his dad. He just wanted to help, like Timmy had helped him. He thinks back to their lunchtime chat, Timmy's hands flapping freely as he talked about his 'superpowers'. It had made his dad's stims seem less like a 'problem' and more like something unique, something to celebrate. But now, Chip isn't so sure. He looks up at Karen, his eyes wet. "But Mom," he says, his voice cracking. "Today at school, I met a kid named Timmy. He said he's autistic, and gave me this book. He said this book makes him feel like a superhero. He told me the book made him feel seen, understood." Karen nods, listening intently as Chip speaks. "And I thought...maybe it could help Dad feel the same way," Chip continues, his voice trailing off. Karen's gaze softens. "You had good intentions, Chip," she says, squeezing his hand. "But everyone's different, even those with autism. What might help one person might not be the same for another. It's like a fingerprint—each one is unique." "But Timmy said it helps him," Chip argues, his voice small. Karen nods. "And that's wonderful for Timmy," she says. "But your dad's experience is his own. He's not as comfortable with it as Timmy might be. Autism is like a mosaic, Chip. Each piece is different, and they all come together to make a unique picture." She pauses, searching his eyes. "You can't always assume what works for one will work for another." Chip wipes his screen with the back of his hand, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn't mean to make his dad feel worse. He just wanted to share something positive. "What do we do?" He asks, his voice cracking. Karen takes a deep breath. "We need to talk to him," she says. "We need to tell him that we love him exactly as he is, without conditions." She stands. They approach the bedroom door, Karen's hand on the knob. "But remember," she whispers to Chip. "He's fragile right now. We have to be gentle." They step inside, the room dimly lit. Plankton's lying on the bed, his back to them, his body still. Chip's heart squeezes. This isn't the invincible scientist he's always known. This is his dad, a man who's been hurt by misunderstanding. Karen clears her throat. "Plankton, we need to talk." Plankton doesn't move. "I'm sorry, Karen," he says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just don't have the energy for this right now." Chip's heart aches. He's never seen his dad so defeated. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "Dad," he starts, his voice soft. "I'm sorry." Plankton's body tenses but doesn't turn around. "I didn't mean to make fun of you or make light of your autism. I just wanted to show you that someone else out there is just li—" "I don't want to be like someone else," Plankton says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just want to be me." Chip swallows hard, his eyes prickling with tears. "But Dad," he says, "you are like someone else. You're like my new friend. His name's Timmy, an-" "I don't know or care WHO Timmy is," Plankton cuts in, his voice sharp. "I'm Plankton." He rolls over to face them, his eye red. "I'm not a kid playing pretend. I'm a grown man trying to navigate a world that's always two steps ahead of me." Chip feels his heart crack. He'd never thought of it that way. "But what if you could see it as a strength?" He asks, his voice hopeful. "What if instead of trying to keep up, you could be the one setting the p-" "Setting the pace?" Plankton's voice is bitter. "How can I set the pace when I can't even keep up?" His words hang in the air, each one a sharp reminder of his daily battles. Chip feels his throat constrict. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking. "I just wanted to help, like, you see my friend Tim-" "I don't need to be compared to a child's book! And what does 'Timmy' have to do wi-" "It's not just a book, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "It's about understanding that autism isn't a flaw or a joke, it's just...part of who you are. And Timmy, he's like a superhero because he's found a way to turn his challenge into strengths, on account of he has autis–" But Plankton cuts him off with a sharp laugh. "A strength?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "What strength? My inability to not get overwhelmed by sounds and lights? My inability to read people's faces?" He sits up, his frustration palpable. "Don't you get it, Chip? This isn't something I can just 'turn on' or 'turn off'. It's my reality, my every day. And Timmy...Timmy might be fine with playing games about his, but I'm NOT." His voice is heavy with pain. Chip's heart feels like it's in his throat. He's never seen his dad like this, so raw and exposed. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Plankton's words hang in the air like a challenge, demanding to be heard. "Dad," he finally says, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry if I made it seem like a joke. I just...I just wanted to show you that you're not alone." He holds up the book, his hands shaking. "Timmy's not alone either. And neither are you." He takes a deep breath. "Maybe we could find our own way to make your autism feel like a su—" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his small frame trembling with frustration. "I don't need your pity, Chip," he says, his voice sharp. "I need you to understand that this isn't some game. This is my life!" With a sudden burst of strength, Plankton snatches the book from Chip's hands. Chip's eyes widen in shock, watching his dad's anger manifest physically as he tears the pages one by one. "This is not who I am!" Plankton says, his voice shaking with each ripping sound. "I'm not a character for you to relate to or feel good about!" Karen stands there, frozen, her hand covering her mouth in shock as Plankton throws the book across the room. The silence that follows is deafening. Chip's screen is wet with tears, his chest tight. He's never seen his dad this way before— so raw and so hurt. He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "Dad, I--" But Plankton holds up his hand. "Just...just go," he says, his voice hoarse. Chip picks up the torn book on his way out.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 6 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth moves, but the words come out as a jumble. "Purple...dog...car... no, not a car," he says, his expression vacant. Chip swallows hard, not knowing how to respond to the senseless words. Karen watches from the sidelines, her eyes filled with understanding and love. This is her Plankton—her quirky, lovable husband, whose brain operates on a different frequency. She sees the fear in Chip's screen and knows he's scared, but she also knows that understanding is key. "It's ok, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. Plankton's hands move erratically, as if trying to capture invisible objects. "Yellow...box... closed...open," he mumbles. Chip listens, his heart racing. "Dad, can you hear me?" he whispers. Plankton's hand darts out, flailing through the air. "Butterfly," he says, his voice a mix of wonder and frustration. "There are no butterflies here," Chip says. Karen smiles reassuringly. "It's ok. Let's just be with him." Plankton's words continue. "Plankton," Plankton murmurs, "the world is spinning—no, it's just me spinning." He laughs, his eye unfocused. Chip swallows a lump in his throat. "Dad," Chip whispers, "are you seeing things?" Karen sighs, knowing this is a way his brain copes with pain and overstimulation. "Sometimes his thoughts come out all mixed up," she says, her voice a gentle explanation. "It's like his brain's way of telling stories when it's overwhelmed." "Ball...bounce...high," Plankton murmurs, his hand mimicking the action of throwing an invisible object. "No, Dad," Chip says, trying to keep his voice soothing. "No bouncing here." He looks to Karen for guidance. "It's alright," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "Just talk to him calmly. It's his way of making sense of things." Chip nods, his voice barely above a breath. "Ball," he repeats back to his father, trying to enter his world. Plankton's eye snaps to him, a spark of recognition lighting his gaze. "Yes," he murmurs. "Ball...bounce." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with pride. Chip is learning, adapting. He's becoming a bridge between the worlds of the neurotypical and neurodivergent. "Red ball," Plankton says, his hand rising and falling as if tossing a non-existent sphere. "No, blue ball," he corrects, the words tumbling out in a rush. Chip nods, playing along. "You're playing catch, Dad?" he asks, his voice softer now. Plankton's gaze flickers to him, confused. "Catch," he whispers, his hand moving in slow arcs. "But it's not a ball," Chip says, his voice filled with gentle persuasion. "It's just a game you're playing in your head.." Plankton's hand stops, his gaze locking onto Chip, a hint of irritation flitting across his features. "What?" Plankton asks, his voice disoriented as his surroundings finally come back to him. Chip swallows, unsure of what to say. He wants to help, but feels frustrated by his dad's behavior. "You know, Dad, when you talk like that, it's hard to understand," he says, his voice carrying a touch of exasperation. "You're not really playing catch, are you?" Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his movements stilling. "It's not real to anyone else!" Chip exclaims, his voice louder than he intended. Karen gives him a sharp look, a reminder to keep his voice down. "Chip," she says, her tone a mixture of warning and patience. "You know his autism makes things different for him." But Chip's thinking of the fidget toy, of the way his dad snatched it from him. He feels a surge of anger, a feeling he's not used to having towards his dad. "I know, but why does he have to be like this?" Chip asks, his voice a mix of frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be normal?" Karen's gaze softens. "Chip, everyone's normal is different. Your dad's brain just works in a unique way. It's not wrong, just di-" "But it's annoying!" Chip interrupts, his voice cracking. "Everything's always about his needs!" Plankton's hand, which had been still, starts to twitch again. Karen sighs. "It's not about needs, it's about his comfort, Chip. And right now, he--" "But what about my comfort?" Chip retorts, his voice loud in the quiet room. "What about when he yells or throws things or gets upset because of tiny stuff?" He's close to tears, his emotions a tangled knot. "Dad, everything's not about you," he says, not meaning to sound harsh. But the words hang in the air like accusations. "Everyone has to deal with things," he continues. "Why can't you? You don't really have it that bad. Do you honestly think your wife, my mother, actually enjoys all of this? I can't even play with my friends because you get too overwhelmed! And for what? Because someone might laugh too loud or because the TV's on too high? Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to leave because you can't handle a science fair?" Karen's face falls. She's heard Chip's frustrations before, but never so raw and out in the open. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind racing to understand. He's missed the context, but the anger in Chip's voice is clear. "Chip," she starts, her voice steady. "Your dad's brain is just wired differently. It's not his fault." But Chip's on a roll. "I know, I know," he says, his frustration mounting. "But it's like he doesn't even try to get better. Why can't he just ignore it like everyone else? Why can't we take him to a doctor who can fix him?" Plankton's hand stutters to a stop, his gaze focusing on Chip with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Fix me?" he repeats, his voice tiny. "What do you mean?" "I don't know," Chip says, his shoulders slumping. "Just... make it so you're not always in pain or scared or...weird." He can't look at his dad, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Living like this, with all your autistic stuff, it's just..." He trails off, his voice cracking. "It's not worth it." Plankton's hand starts to shake. "W-what?" He asks, his voice shaky. Karen's heart breaks for him, for the hurt that's clearly etched on his face. "Chip," she starts, but his words cut her off. "It's like you don't even see us," Chip says, his voice filled with pain. "You're in your own world, and we're just here, trying to figure out how to help you." Plankton's expression is a mask of confusion and sadness. "Did my mom marry you before or after she found out you're autistic?" Chip asks, his voice sharp with accusation. Karen's eyes widen in shock. "Chip!" She says, her voice firm. "That's not how we talk about it. And I knew before.." But Chip's hurt, has turned to anger, and he's not listening. "But it's true!" Chip insists, his voice rising. "You always have to be in charge, Dad, always have to have it your way. It's like you don't even see us!" Plankton's face pales, the words stinging like bees. "Chip, please," Karen interjects, her voice pleading. But Chip can't stop, the frustration of years boiling over. "Why can't you just be like everyone else? Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Plankton's hand drops to his side, his eye filling with sadness. "I'm sor—" Karen steps in, her voice firm. "Chip, that's enough. Your dad is doing his best." But Chip's anger is like a storm, unyielding. "Best? What about our best? What about us? It's always about you, Dad!" Plankton's face contorts, the pain in his heart as sharp as the pain in his mouth. "Dad, we don't need you," Chip says, his words a knife to Plankton's soul. "Chip," Karen says, her voice sharp. "You need to go to your room. Now." She points to the door, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. Chip's shoulders slump, but he doesn't argue, retreating to his room. Plankton's gaze follows him, his mind reeling. He's heard the frustration before, but never so bluntly. Karen sighs, exhaustion etching lines on her face. "I know it's hard, babe," she says, stroking Plankton's swollen cheek. "But Chip's just trying to underst--" But Plankton shakes his head, his voice a whisper. "No, no. He's right," he says, his eye brimming with unshed tears. "I'm the one who's always in the way." He pulls his hand away, his gaze dropping to his lap. Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of anger and despair. "Don't say that," she whispers fiercely. "You're not a burden." But Plankton's thoughts are racing, his stims abandoned. "Look at what I've done," he says, his voice breaking. "I've made you leave things, I've made him hate me." Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "He doesn't hate you," she insists, her voice firm.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 8 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! By the next week, Plankton's completely recovered from the wisdom teeth ordeal. And Chip's now ready to attend the new school. The first day of school is a flurry of nerves and excitement. Chip puts on his best smile, his backpack bulging with supplies. Plankton's in the kitchen, his usual self, rambling about his latest invention. Karen's voice floats from the hallway. "Remember, Chip. If you see someone who's different, don't stare or make fun. Just be kind." Chip nods before heading out the door. At school, Chip notices a boy in his class, Timmy, who flaps his hands and makes noises during storytime. Chip feels a pang of recognition—his dad does that too when he's excited. He watches as Timmy's classmates giggle, whispering behind their hands. Chip's heart squeezes with a mix of empathy and sorrow. He approaches Timmy at lunch. "Hi," he says, his voice tentative. Timmy looks up, his eyes wide. "You're new," Timmy says, his voice high-pitched. "Yes," Chip replies with a small smile. "My name's Chip." Timmy bobs his head, his hands still moving. "What's wrong with your hands?" Chip asks, his voice soft. Timmy looks down, his cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Chip adds quickly. But Timmy smiles, showing a gap in his teeth. "It's okay," he says. "I have autism." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing back to his dad's stims. "It's just how I show I'm happy." Timmy's words resonate with Chip, and he feels a sudden connection. "My dad has autism too," he confides. Timmy's eyes light up. "Really?" He asks, his movements ceasing for a moment. "Yeah," Chip says, taking a seat next to Timmy. "Sometimes it's hard, but he's pretty cool. But it's also really tough for him." Timmy nods, his hands resuming their gentle flapping. "It's not easy," he says. "But us autistics are like superheroes, you know? Our brains just work a bit differently." Chip can't help but smile at the analogy. "Yeah," he says, "like you guys have special powers." Timmy's face lights up. "Exactly!" He exclaims. "And sometimes, our powers can be really helpful. Like, I'm really good at math and remembering stuff." He beams with pride. Chip feels a twinge of understanding, remembering his dad's obsession with the Krabby Patty formula. "My dad's good at inventions," he says. "But sometimes, his brain can get really, really overwhelmed." Timmy nods. "Some days, my head does too," he says. The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Chip and Timmy quickly exchange numbers, promising to talk more. As Chip heads to his next class, his mind is a whirlwind. He's always known his dad was different, but seeing someone his age with the same challenges brings a new perspective. In the classroom, he can't concentrate. Plankton's words echo in his mind: "I'm not enough. I'll never be enough." He feels guilty for his earlier frustrations, for not understanding the depth of his dad's struggle. During recess, Chip finds Timmy alone. Timmy's eyes scan the playground, his hands still. "You okay?" Chip asks. Timmy looks up. "Yes. Hey you know what helps me?" Timmy asks, his voice hopeful. "I make fun of my autism, like it's a superpower. It makes me feel better when people laugh with me." Chip looks confused. "How do you mean?" Timmy grins. "I pretend my flapping hands are like wings, or my loud noises are like sonic booms. It makes the other kids laugh, and it helps me feel like I made them happy. And one called me 'Stimmy' instead of 'Timmy' which is okay, because it's a part of me! I also like it when people ask me about it. It makes me feel seen. Make it like a game, or something.." Timmy says. Chip thinks about this, his heart racing. He's never considered turning his dad's stims into something fun or cool. It's always been a thing to just ignore. But now, seeing Timmy's joy, he wonders if maybe there's another way. He makes a mental note to ask his dad about his favorite superheroes, thinking maybe they can find a way to make his stims more like superpowers. Timmy smiles. "For my birthday I got this book.. I've another copy!" Timmy says, interrupting himself as he gives Chip a book. "It's a fictional story about a guy like me, but he's got superpowers because of his autism. Maybe your dad will like it." Chip looks at the book titled "AUSOME AUsomeness" and smiles, his curiosity piqued. "Thanks, Timmy," he says, tucking it into his bag. "I'll show it to him." Timmy nods, his eyes bright with excitement. "You know, sometimes when I feel sad or overwhelmed, I just pretend I'm that hero. It helps me." Chip nods, his mind racing with ideas. He's never seen autism as a superpower before. Could this be a way to help his dad feel more like the hero he's always been to him? When Chip gets home, he finds Plankton in the living room. He sets his bag down by the couch as he greets his dad, and Karen, who's in the kitchen. "Hi, Mom; Hi, Dad!" Plankton's eye lights up at the sight of him. "How was school?" He asks, curious as to how Chip's first day went. "It was ok," Chip says, his mind still racing with thoughts of Timmy and his own father's autism. "I met a kid like you, Dad." Plankton's face falls slightly. "What do you mean?" He asks. "I mean," Chip starts, his voice shaky. "He had what you... I'll just show you the book!" He pulls out "AUSOME AUsomeness" from his bag, handing it to Plankton with excitement. Plankton looks at the cover, his eye narrowing as he opens it. "See, Dad?" Chip says, pointing to a part where the character uses his hand flapping to take flight. "It's like you w---" But Plankton's face is a mask of anger and hurt. "What's wrong?" Chip asks, his heart racing. Plankton slams the book shut. "Don't you dare," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't you dare patronize me, Chip." He stands up, his hands shaking. "I'm not some comic book character to be made fun of or turned into a joke!" His voice echoes through the house, the pain in it palpable. Karen rushes in, alarmed by the sudden outburst. "Plankton, what's wrong?" She asks, her eyes darting between the two. "This," Plankton says, waving the book. "This is what you think of me?" The anger in his voice is sharp. "How could you, Chip?" He asks, his voice trembling. "How could you think I'd want to be seen like some unrealistically childish hero?" The room is tense, the air thick with emotions. Karen's eyes dart between her husband and son, trying to gauge the situation. Chip's face falls, the joy from his new friendship with Timmy dissipating. Timmy's autistic and loved it, so why doesn't Chip's autistic father.. "I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice small. "I just thought...it might help." But Plankton's anger doesn't waver. "You thought turning me into a caricature would make it better?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you think of me?" Chip's eyes fill with tears as he watches his dad's pain unfold. "Dad, I don't underst--" "No," Plankton cuts him off. "You DON'T understand. You think it's fun to play pretend with something that's a daily struggle for me?" His voice breaks. "You think making it a game will just make it go away?" He throws the book across the room, where it hits the wall with a thud. Chip's eyes follow the book, his heart sinking. He didn't mean to make his dad feel this way. "But a new friend of mine said--" "I don't care what some stranger said!" Plankton interrupts, his voice rising. "This is my life, Chip! My struggle!" His hands are shaking as he clutches the back of the couch. Karen steps in. "Let's talk this out," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We're all on the sa-" "No!" Plankton snaps, cutting her off. He turns to Chip, his eye boring into his son's. "You think my autism is a game? You think I can just pretend it's a superpower and poof, everything's fine?" His voice cracks with each word. "You don't get it. You don't get what it's like to have a brain that fights you every second of every day." His hands are in fists now, his knuckles white. Chip feels like he's been punched in the gut. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to...I don't know, make it better. Make you feel...happy." Plankton sits back down, his shoulders slumped. "Happy?" Plankton repeats. "You think making a joke out of it makes me happy?" Chip feels like he's walking on eggshells. "No, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just...wanted to share something that made us feel better." He looks down at his own hands, which are now trembling. "I just want you to be happy too."

🩸🗡𝔹𝔸𝔻 𝔹𝕃𝕆𝕆𝔻🗡🩸

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 17 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "I-I just want to understand," Krabs says, his voice quavering. "I've never...I mean, I thought you were just being...you know, you." He fumbles for words, feeling the weight of his ignorance. "But now I see you're more than just a nuisance." But Plankton doesn't react, lost in his sensory cocoon. Karen watches the interaction with a sad smile. "Plankton, Krabs is trying to reach out to you," she says gently. "He wants to be a part of your world." Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't loosen, but his eye moves from the toy to Krabs, then back again. He's used to being misunderstood, his autism often a source of frustration and isolation. But now, here's his enemy, trying to understand? Krabs clears his throat, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of acknowledgment. "What...what do you say when you repeat those words?" He asks, his voice careful, tentative. "Is there a pattern, or...?" He's desperate for a clue, a way to enter Plankton's world. Plankton's eye narrows, his body tensing. "It's not for you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He clutches the octopus even tighter, as if it's the only thing keeping him tethered to his own reality. Krabs leans back, his claws clutching at his chest. "I just want to help," he says, his voice earnest. "I've hurt you so many times, and I don't want to do it again." Plankton's gaze remains on his octopus, but his posture relaxes slightly. It's clear he hears Krabs, even if he doesn't respond. Karen smiles softly, recognizing the sincerity in Krabs' voice. It's a start, a tentative step towards understanding. Mr. Krabs watches him, his claws still hovering over the sensory box. "Plankton," he starts, his voice soft and cautious. "I know I've been a...well, not a good friend. But I want to be better." He selects a fidget spinner from the box, twirling it slowly. "Can you tell me what this does?" But Plankton doesn't answer. "I don't mean to pry," he says, his voice sincere. "But I can't help but wonder, Plankton. What's it like?" He twirls the fidget spinner again, his gaze never leaving Plankton. "To be...different?" Plankton's eye flickers to Krabs, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seems like he might speak. But then he shakes his head, his words lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts. "Echo...echolal... lal...la..." Krabs sets the fidget spinner down, his heart sinking. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know how to bridge this gap. But he's determined to try. "What about the noises you make?" He asks, his voice gentle. "They're not just sounds, are th-" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharp. "It's not for you to use or to understand." There's a challenge in his tone, a barrier that Krabs feels he can't cross. He pauses, his gaze shifting to Karen. Her eyes are understanding, but firm. "Let him be, Krabs," she says. "This is his way of coping. It's not for us to interrupt." Krabs nods, his claws dropping to his sides. "I just want to help," he murmurs, his voice low. "To be there fo—" But Plankton's gaze is still on the octopus, his voice distant. "It's not for you to understand," he says, his tone final. "It's mine." Krabs' eyes fill with a newfound respect. He's always been so focused on his own gain, on his own needs, that he's never truly considered Plankton's perspective. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to..." He trails off, not knowing what to say. Karen nods, her hand resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "We're all learning." Krabs sighs, his eyes never leaving Plankton's distant gaze, when Plankton starts to vocally stim. "Hmms.." "What's that you're doing?" Krabs interrupts. Karen's eyes widen, and she quickly intervenes. "It's Plankton's way of self-regulating. It's important for him to do this without interruptions. His stims are personal, and it's not our place to question them," Karen explains, her voice firm yet understanding. Krabs nods, his eyes still on Plankton's fidgeting fingers. "I just want to...connect," he whispers, his voice filled with longing. Karen nods, her expression softening. "I know, but when he's like this, it's best to let him be." She looks at Krabs, her eyes filled with understanding. "But there are other ways to connect, if you're truly willing to listen." Krabs leans in, his eyes bright with curiosity. Plankton's eye droops. "Just...be...quiet." Krabs nods, his claws still. The room is a cocoon of silence, save for the distant hum of Bikini Bottom. Plankton's hands still, and Karen knows he's getting exhausted. Plankton's head leans into her side, his antennae drooping. "I'm tired," he murmurs, his voice a tiny echo of its usual pitch. Karen wraps her arm around him, his body fitting into the comfortable curve of her embrace. "It's ok," she whispers, stroking his back. Plankton's eyelid flutters closed, his breathing deepening into the rhythm of sleep. His body relaxes against hers, his trust in her unspoken but palpable. She's his safe haven, the one who gets him in a way no one else does. Karen presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. His grip on the octopus loosens, the plush tentacles now lying limp in his hand. Krabs watches, his heart aching for the enemy he's come to care for. He can't help but feel like he's intruding on a sacred moment, one that's been building for years of missed understandings and hurtful words. As Plankton's breathing deepens into sleep, Karen whispers to Krabs, "You've tried to connect today. That's more than he's ever had from anyone outside this family." Krabs nods, his gaze still on the sleeping Plankton. "But I want to do more," he insists. "I want to be...I don't know, a...friend?" Karen looks at him, surprise and hope mingling in her expression. "That's a big step, Krabs," she says. "But if you're really willing to learn, to be patient and respectful, then maybe we can start there." Krabs nods, his heart swelling with a newfound determination. "I'll do anything," he says. Karen smiles, her screen shining with gratitude. "Then listen," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "Plankton's autism isn't a puzzle to solve or a challenge to overcome. It's just part of who he is." She strokes Plankton's antennae gently. "And his stims, his words—they're his way of saying 'I'm here, and I need you to be here with me.'" Krabs nods, his understanding growing. He watches as Karen carefully moves Plankton's head to his pillow, his body now fully relaxed in sleep as she tucks him in. The plush octopus is still in his hand. "Just be present," she repeats. "Learn to listen without judgment, to see his world without trying to change it." Krabs nods, his expression earnest. It's a concept that seems so simple, yet so profound. He's always been about the endgame, the victory. But here, in this small, dimly-lit room, he sees the true prize: connection. Krabs watches as Karen pulls the covers up to Plankton's chin, his eye still closed as he snuggles into the bed. Krabs' mind races with thoughts. Autistic Plankton. It's a revelation that shakes him to his very core, challenging every assumption he's ever had about his enemy. He's not just a nuisance anymore; he's a friend in pain, trying to navigate a world that doesn't always make sense. He looks at Plankton's sleeping form, the soft rise and fall of his chest, and feels a pang of regret for all the times he's laughed at or dismissed his behaviors. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I never knew." Plankton's only response is a soft snore, oblivious to the monumental shift happening in the room. Krabs sits back in the chair, his thoughts racing. How many times has he misunderstood, how many jokes at Plankton's expense were at the cost of his pain? It's a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic world of the Krusty Krab. He watches the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, the soft snores that punctuate the silence. There's a peace to him, a vulnerability that he's never seen before. It's humbling, frightening even, to think about the depth of emotions and experiences that Plankton has kept hidden beneath his bravado. Krabs' gaze moves to Karen, who's sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on Plankton's. Her expression is a mix of love and protectiveness, a fierce motherly instinct that makes his own heart ache. He clears his throat, his claws awkwardly fidgeting. "What about the seizures?" He asks, his voice hushed. "What can I do if he has one?" Karen looks at him, her eyes filled with appreciation. "You've already done the most important thing," she says, her voice soothing. "You've recognized his needs and are willing to learn." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with questions. He's never felt so out of his depth, but the desire to be there for Plankton is stronger than any treasure he's ever pursued. He watches the soft rise and fall of Plankton's chest, his snores a comforting background to their hushed conversation. Karen reaches out, her hand gently covering Krabs' claw. "If he has a seizure, stay calm," she instructs. "Make sure he's safe, nothing around to hurt him. And talk to him softly, let him know you're there." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton. He doesn't know what it's like to navigate a world where even the most mundane experiences can be overwhelming, where words can be a shield and a prison. But he wants to know. He wants to be a person who can offer comfort, who can make Plankton feel less alone.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 3 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, his tongue thick. He tries to form words. "Ma...ma..." he whispers, his voice a slur. Karen's eyes light up at the sound. "You're ok," she says, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You had your teeth out. You might feel funny for a little while." He looks at Karen, his eye searching hers. "Wh...wh...whath?" he stammers, his speech jumbled. Karen leans closer, her smile reassuring. "Your wisdom teeth, Plankton. They took them out so you won't have any trouble with them later." But the words don't make sense to him, his brain still fuzzy from the anesthesia. He tries to speak again. "Wi...wis...wis..." he stammers. Karen nods. "Wisdom teeth," Karen repeats slowly. "They're out now. You're all done!" The words swirl in Plankton's head, not quite making sense. He feels his mouth, the cottony feeling replaced by the pressure of gauze. He giggles. "My moufs fweel funmy," he says, his words slurred. Karen laughs softly. "It's because of the surgery, sweetie. Your mouth is healing." She coos. "I fink I sownd funny," he says, his eye glinting with mirth. The nurse returns, checking his vitals. "How are you feeling?" she asks. Plankton looks up, his eye glassy. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs, his speech a mess of sounds and syllables. Karen can't help but laugh, despite the situation. "You're doing great," she says with love for his confused silliness. The nurse chuckles, too. "It's the anesthesia," she explains. "It'll wear off soon." His gaze darts to his own fingers. "Wook at my fingews," he says to Karen, his speech slurred from the anesthesia. Karen nods, smiling. "Oh yeah?" Plankton nods, his cognitive abilities still under the fog. "Yeth," he slurs, trying to sit up. "Take it easy," she says. "You're still woozy." The room feels like it's spinning as Plankton tries to sit up, his brain struggling to keep up with his body's movements. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his gaze unfocused. But Plankton's curiosity wins out. He reaches up to touch a finger to his mouth, feeling the thickness of the gauze. "Fingews," he repeats, his voice still slurred. Karen laughs with affection. "It's ok honey," she says. "You're doing great." Plankton looks around the room, his eye still unfocused. "Wheh...wheah awe we?" he mumbles. The nurse explains patiently, "You're in the recovery room at the dentist's office. You just had your wisdom teeth removed." But the words don't quite register, and he nods slowly, his mind racing with confusion and curiosity with wonder, taking in the world as if seeing it for the first time. The colors, the shapes, the sounds—everything is fresh and new. He looks at his hands as if it's an alien appendage. "Wook ath dis," he says to Karen, his voice a mix of amazement and bewilderment. His fingers spread wide, then close into a fist, then open again. "Wook whath I can do!" Karen swells with love. It's like watching him discover the world anew, like a baby seeing his own hands for the first time. She can't help but smile at his innocent fascination. The nurse nods at Karen. "You can take him home now. Just make sure he rests and takes it easy." Karen nods, her smile never leaving her screen. She helps Plankton up. "Hi," he says, his voice a slurred mumble. As they make their way to the car, Plankton's steps are unsteady, his body still fighting the remnants of the anesthesia. He looks around with wonderment, as if seeing the world in a new light. "Mowah?" he asks, pointing to the sky. Karen laughs gently. "It's the sun, honey. It's ok." Plankton nods, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of his reality. "We're gonna pick up Chip from the park. He's with Hanna.." "Chip...Chip, Chip," he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue. The car ride is a blur of sounds and sensations that Plankton tries to filter out. He leans his head against the cool window, watching the world pass by in a haze. Karen keeps glancing back at him in the rearview mirror, amusement etched on her face. "You ok?" she asks. Plankton nods, his eye heavy. "Tiwed," he murmurs. "Try not to fall asleep," she says. "Because we're almost there." His eye drifts to the passing scenery. Trees whiz by. He counts the telephone poles, his slurred voice mumbling the numbers. "One, two, free, four..." "Almost there," Karen says. Plankton nods, his hand finding the seatbelt buckle, tracing its edges. "Five, sis, seb..." But alas, Plankton's efforts to stay alert are in vain. His lid flutters and his head nods. "Plankton, keep your eye open," Karen says, her voice a gentle reminder. But his body has other plans, succumbing to the sedative's embrace. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen says, a hint of laughter in her tone. She knows he can't help it. His slumber is deep, his snores a soft echo in the car. She watches him in the mirror, his face relaxed in sleep. It's a rare sight. Plankton's normally alert and active demeanor is replaced by a peaceful stillness that fills the car. The surgery was a success, yet the anesthesia has taken its toll. Karen pulls into the parking lot of the park, the sun casting a warm glow. "Wakey, wakey," she sings. Plankton's snores hitch, but his eye stays shut. She opens the car door and the chilly air fills the car, carrying with it the laughter of children playing. "Plankton," she calls, her voice gentle but firm. He stirs, his body protesting the interruption. "Chip?" he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen laughs softly. "Yes, we're here to get Chip. Time to wake up." She reaches over and squeezes his hand. His eye blinks open, the pupil dilating as he takes in his surroundings. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his brain still fighting the anesthesia. Hanna and Chip look up as their car approaches. "What happened?" Chip asks as he gets in the car. Karen starts to answer, but Plankton's slurred interjection stops her. "Dey hook my teefs!" he says, his words a jumble. Chip's eyes widen. "He had his wisdom teeth out," Karen explains. Hanna looks at Plankton, her expression one of concern. "How are you feeling?" she asks. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs. "Buh I dunno." Karen smiles. "So, we went to the dentist," she says, waving bye to Hanna. "They had to take his wisdom teeth out." Chip looks confused. "What does that mean, Mom?" He asks Karen. "Well Chip, your dad had some teeth that were gonna cause problems, so they took them out," Karen starts. "But the medicine they gave him makes him feel funny. It's like when you have a sleepover and wake up groggy." Chip nods. "What medicine?" He continues. Plankton tries to answer, but his speech is still slurred. "Dey gabe me sumpin' to sleep," he mumbles, his eye half-closed. "It's called anesthesia," Karen says, her voice calm and steady. "It's what helps people not feel pain during surgery." Chip nods, watching his dad with a mix of curiosity and concern. "But it makes him a bit loopy," Karen adds as they pull away. "Chip," Plankton starts. "Whath thad?" "It's my hand, Dad," Chip answers, confused. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton persists, his mind still fuzzy. Karen chuckles, seeing his curiosity piqued. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton repeats, his speech still slurred. Chip holds up his hand. "It's just a hand, Dad," he says. Karen laughs. "It's his hand, Plankton. It's ok. You're just a bit loopy." "Wook ath the clows," Plankton says, lazily pointing at the clouds. Karen smiles. "They're just clouds," she says. Plankton giggles, his eye glazed with a childlike wonder. Karen knows this phase won't last, but she cherishes it.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 5 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Karen sits on the bed, her presence a comforting weight. "Would you like me to stay?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, his body still tight with pain. He closes his eye, his mind racing with the discomfort. He tries to focus on his breath, in and out, in and out. But the throb in his mouth is a constant reminder of agony that threatens to overwhelm. Then, Plankton starts to talk to himself to self-soothe. "It's safe," he whispers. "Can water's just fine." Karen watches him, knowing this is a way of regaining control, his mind trying to find peace in order to rest. She knows that the pain, the sensory assault, the confusion—it's all too much. But she also knows that he has the willpower to push through. "Was do it" Plankton whispers to himself. "I told him but he didn't listen," he murmurs, his thoughts racing with the memory of the fidget toy. "It's my fault," he adds. "Not my place to correct him, do not touch." His words are a jumble of regret and frustration. "It's okay," Plankton says again. "The healing safe. It's just a feeling." He repeats this mantra, his breath evening out. Karen can see the tension in his shoulders easing, his grip on the ice pack loosening as his body relaxes. "You're doing great," Karen whispers. "Just rest." And with that, Plankton's body gives in to the call of sleep, his breaths trailing off into soft snores. Karen watches her husband with a mix of love and sadness. Chip lingers by the door, his curiosity piqued. He wonders if his dad's autism is the reason behind it. With tentative steps, Chip enters the room. Karen takes his hand in hers, and he follows her out of the room and in to the hallway. "Mom," he starts, his voice barely a whisper. "Why is Dad autistic?" Karen looks down at him, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Chip," she says, her voice soft. "Your dad was born that way." Chip nods. "But w---" "Autism is something that develops in the brain before birth," Karen continues. "It's like how some people are right-handed and others are left-handed. It's just how his brain is wired." Chip looks at her with a frown. "But why did Dad...?" "Why did it happen?" Karen finishes his question. She takes a deep breath, preparing to explain. "You see, sometimes during pregnancy or childbirth, something small can change you. When his mom was giving birth, his brain might have gotten a little squeezed and then not enough oxygen. It's just the way his brain grew because of that, that's all." Chip nods slowly, trying to understand. "So as dad was being born..." "Yes," Karen says, her voice soothing. "His brain was forming its connections, and that little squeeze changed the way his brain makes those connections. It's like if you're building a Lego castle and one piece gets bent. It doesn't mean the castle can't be amazing, it's just a tiny part of it that's a bit different." Chip looks up at his mom, his eyes wide. "But does that mean I could be like Dad if I squ--" "No, Chip," she says, cutting off his words gently. "It's not that simple. Autism is just nothing you can catch or change, and it's not something you need to be afraid of." Chip nods, his gaze still fixed on her. "But why does he get so upset sometimes?" Karen sighs. "Because the world can be a very overwhelming place for him, Chip. His brain picks up on every little thing— sounds, smells, sights—it's all so intense. And sometimes, those things get too much, and his brain can't keep up. It's like when you're playing a video game and the screen is flashing too fast—it's hard to focus." "But why does he get mad?" Chip persists. Karen kneels down to look him in the eye. "It's not that he's mad, honey. It's just his way of dealing with it. Imagine if you had a headache and someone was shining a bright light in your face—you'd want them to stop, right? It's like that, but with anything." Chip nods, understanding dawning. "So, when the fidget was making noise, it was like a headache for Dad?" Karen smiles. "Exactly. And when he tells you something is too much, it's not that he's upset with you—it's his brain telling him he needs a break." Plankton's snores from the bedroom remind them of the present. "Let's let Dad rest," Karen says, steering Chip towards his own room. "But what about his teeth?" Chip asks, his voice laced with worry. Karen's smile is reassuring. "They'll feel better soon, and we'll have to be extra gentle with him. No loud noises, no surprises. Ok?" Chip nods. In the quiet of the living room, Karen and Chip begin to set up a recovery area for Plankton—a space free from the chaos that could easily overwhelm his fragile state. They gather his favorite pillows, a soft blanket, and dim the lights. Chip wants to make sure his dad feels safe. On the coffee table, they lay out a tray with a glass of water. Karen knows that it's important not to startle Plankton, that he might need help getting up without disturbing his mouth. "Let's go to see him." Karen says. As they enter the bedroom, Plankton's snores have subsided into a gentle rhythm. Chip tiptoes over, his eyes wide. He's seen his dad tired before, but this is different. He looks smaller, somehow, more vulnerable. Gently, he touches his dad's arm.. Plankton's eye snaps open, his body jerking upright. The movement sends a shock of pain through his mouth. "Agh!" he yelps, his hands shooting up to clutch his cheeks. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide with alarm. "Dad!" He says loudly. But now Plankton's even more overwhelmed, and Karen notices his somewhat distant gaze. "Chip, remember what we talked about," Karen whispers. "Use a quiet voice." Chip nods and speaks more softly. "Dad, are you ok?" Plankton blinks, his mind racing. "Dad?" Chip tries again, his voice barely a murmur. Plankton's breath hitches. "It's me, Chip! You're home. You had surgery. Remembe---" But Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind a swirling vortex of pain and disorientation as Chip talks to fast. Karen quickly moves to his side, her touch grounding him. "It's ok," she whispers. "You're safe. You're home." And then, he starts to talk to himself. "No...no...no...yes...yes...yes," he murmurs. Karen knows that he's retreated due to the overwhelm. It's happened before, where he's seemingly on autopilot. "Water's okay, can't talk right now," Plankton whispers to the empty space. His eye darts back to Chip, then to the ceiling. "No, no, no," he says again, his voice getting quieter. Karen's heart aches, seeing her husband so lost in his own head. She's seen this before—his autism taking control when the world was too much to handle. Chip however doesn't really understand. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye locked on the ceiling fan spinning above them. "It's ok," Karen says, her voice a soft reminder. "Sometimes his brain is on backup." She strokes his arm gently, knowing his semiconscious state isn't abnormal for him, as Plankton's monologue continues. "Need to count...one...two... three..." His voice trails off. Chip watches. "Is he ok?" He asks, his voice trembling. Karen nods. "This is his way of dealing with things," she whispers. "Let's just give him some time." Plankton's eye darts between them, his mouth forming words without thought. "Red...blue...green," he says, as if naming colors he's seeing in the air. "Big...small...far... near." Karen knows he's not really seeing anything, his mind a kaleidoscope of sensory input that's difficult to process. "Why?" Plankton asks no one in particular. "Will it be the one? It's just a feeling," he murmurs, trying to convince himself. Karen understands it's his brain's attempt to organize the overwhelming stimuli, but Chip looks on with a mix of concern and confusion. "It's ok," Chip whispers, his hand hovering over his dad's. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. Karen smiles at him, nodding. "You can talk to him, buddy. Just keep it low." Chip nods and sits on the edge of the bed. "Hey Dad," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's eye flips over to him, but he doesn't seem to see him. "It's me, Chip. We're here," Chip says, trying to provide comfort.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 2 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Hanna leaned forward, her screen studying Plankton. "How can I he--" "Space," Karen said, cutting Hanna off gently. "Give him space. Sometimes, that's what he needs most." Hanna nods, leaning back. Chip watched his dad with a newfound understanding of his father's struggles. He felt a tug of guilt for not seeing it sooner, for not knowing how to support him. But he also felt a sense of awe at his mom's patience and knowledge. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of Plankton's rocking. Karen watched him, her eyes full of love and concern. She knew his brain was a maze of thoughts and sensations, trying to make sense of a world that was often too much. Hanna, now more cautious, observed from a distance, trying to understand the complexities of autism. She felt a newfound respect for Karen and the unspoken strength she had to navigate this life with her husband. "I'm sorry," Plankton finally managed to say, his voice still shaky. Karen looked over at him, seeing the turmoil in his eye. "You don't have to—" But her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and recognized the text from Plankton's dentist for a dental appointment to get his x-ray. "Hanna, I hate to ask," Karen started, looking apologetic. "But could you possibly keep an eye on Chip for a bit?" Hanna looked from Plankton to Karen. "Of course!" she said without a second thought. "What's going on?" Karen sighs. "I'll keep you updated, but Plankton needs to get x- rays at the dentist..." Plankton's eye snapped back to focus at the mention of dentists. Dentist visits had always been a challenge. But Karen was already thinking ahead. "It's ok honey," she soothed. "We'll make sure they know about yo--" She turned to Plankton to see an oncoming absence seizure. "Plankton, it's ok," she cooed, but it was too late. The world around him faded into a blur of lights and sounds, his body frozen in a state of overwhelm. Hanna watched, horrified, as Plankton's eye is now unblinking, his body unmoving. Hanna was still, gaze fixed on Plankton, fear etched on her screen. She'd never seen anything like this before. But Karen was in action, her movements swift and practiced. She knew exactly what to do. "You're ok, Plankton. You're just having an absence. It'll be over soon." Chip watched, his own fear mirroring Hanna's. But there was something else there, too: understanding. He knew his mom was right, that his dad would come back to them. The seizure passed, and Plankton blinked back to reality. "Let's get to this appointment." Karen says, helping him stand. When Karen arrives with Plankton to the dentist's office, the receptionist smiles brightly. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice chirpy and cheerful. Plankton flinches at the noise, his eye darting around the room, taking in every detail, every sound. The waiting room was a minefield of sensory assaults: the ticking clock, the humming of the lights, the rustle of magazines. Karen squeezes his hand gently, a silent reminder that she's there, that he's not alone. When they call his name, Plankton's grip tightens. The smell of antiseptic and the sight of the chair sends a tremor through his body. But Karen guides him through the door. In the sterile room, the dental hygienist is kind. "Hello, I'm Dr. Marla," she says, her voice measured and calm. "We're gonna take some pictures of your teeth, okay?" Plankton nods, his eye wide with anxiety. "Okay," he whispers. Karen squeezes his hand reassuringly, nodding at Dr. Marla. "He's nervous," she says quietly as he rocks in a stim. "But he'll be okay." The chair is cold and hard, but Plankton doesn't notice. He's too busy focusing on his breathing, counting the tiles on the ceiling. Karen stays close, whispering calming phrases. "In and out, honey. You've got this." His rocking slows. Dr. Marla moves with a practiced grace, her eyes watchful and understanding. "Open wide," she instructs, and Plankton obeys. The x-ray is over quickly, and Dr. Marla gently removes the tray. "Good job," she says, her voice soothing. Plankton's eye flutters as he tries to refocus on the room around him. But the calm is shattered when Dr. Marla delivers the news: "Mr. Plankton, you're going to need your wisdom teeth removed today." Plankton's eye widens, his breath catches. "Now?" he stammers, his voice squeaking with fear. Karen nods solemnly. "It's preventative, honey. It'll be easier now than waiting for them to cause problems later." Plankton's heart races as the words sink in. Surgery. Now. His brain spirals into overload. He feels Karen's calming hand on his shoulder, but it's not enough. The world around him feels like it's closing in, the sounds too loud, the lights too bright. "Breathe," Karen whispers. The room becomes a blur of masked faces and shiny instruments. Plankton's body tenses, his stims fading into the background as fear takes over. Karen remains a constant presence, talking him through the process. "They're going to put you to sleep, Plankton," she explains. "You won't feel a thing." The anesthesiologist enters the room, a gentle giant with a calming smile. "I'm Dr. Smith. I'll be taking care of y—" But Plankton's gone into overdrive, his body trembling with the intensity of his fear. "He's autistic," Karen interjects quickly. "He needs extra care. He's sensitive to sensory stimulation." Dr. Marla nods. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Smith, takes a step back, his face a picture of understanding. "It's ok," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "We'll make this as comfortable as possible for you." Karen nods gratefully. "Plankton has a hard time with sudden changes. Can you tell us what's going to happen?" Dr. Smith nods. "We'll start with a topical numbing agent, then move to a sedative. It'll help keep him asleep during the procedure." The anesthetic cream is cold against Plankton's gums and his arm, where the IV will eventually be. "It's just a tickle," Karen says, trying to soothe his nerves. Plankton nods, his body stiff as a board. He's already in fight or flight mode, his brain unable to process. The mask is placed over his face, and he inhales the sweet smell of nitrous oxide. "Breathe deep," Karen coos, her hand on his. Plankton's eye widens at first, then slowly glazed over as the gas takes hold. The room seems to spin around him, but it's a comforting, soothing spin. The lights dim, the sounds become muffled, and the sharp edges of the world soften. He feels himself being lifted into the chair, his body weightless. Karen's voice is the last thing he hears before everything disappears. Karen texts Hanna. "I'm letting you know, Plankton's getting a tiny operation to remove his wisdom teeth." Karen texts. When the surgery finishes, Plankton is still asleep with Karen holding his limp hand. The dental staff is extra careful not to startle his sensitive system. They wheel him into recovery, his chest rising and falling evenly with the rhythm of sleep. Karen watches him closely, their bond stronger than ever. Hanna's text lights up her phone screen. "How's everything?" Hanna asks. "He's in recovery," Karen replies in the text. Meanwhile, Hanna and Chip are at the park, trying to pass the time. Chip throws a frisbee to Hanna. As the frisbee arcs through the air, he thinks about his dad. He wishes he could be there, but he knows that his mom's calmness is what Plankton needs right now. He wonders how the surgery went, if his dad is ok. Now, the dentist turns to Karen. "The anesthesia will wear off soon. He'll wake up groggy, but he'll be ok." Karen nods, squeezing Plankton's hand as they remove the IV. "His mouth has been numbed, and he might act a bit loopy when he first wakes up." As the anesthesia wears off, Plankton stirs, his eye blinking open. "Hi, honey," Karen says softly. "It's over."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 4 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's words come out in a slurry mess, and Karen understands he's trying to share his thoughts with them. "Cwouds...hampy clows. Wheah's the moo...moo? Moo...moom," he mumbles. "Wha...whath's that?" he asks, his eye searching the sky for something that's not there. Karen's laughter fills the car, lightening the mood. "It's just the sun, sweetie," she says. Chip looks at his dad with a mix of amusement and concern. "You ok?" he asks, his voice tentative. Plankton nods, his smile little more than a twitch of his lips as drool starts to form at the corner of his mouth. "Mom," Chip says, his voice tinged with concern. "He's fine, Chip. It's just the medicine wearing off." Karen answers as they pull up into the garage, Plankton's speech still slurred. "Wheath we gothin?" Plankton mumbles. "We're going inside, sweetie," Karen says, helping him out of the car. His legs feel like jelly, his body moving in slow motion as they make their way into the house. The lights seem too bright, the noises too loud. "Mom," Chip whispers, his eyes wide. "Is he ok?" "He's fine," she whispers back, her voice a gentle reminder of their earlier conversation. "This is normal after anesthesia." Inside, Plankton leans heavily on Karen, his eye half-closed. "Bed," he mumbles. Karen nods, guiding him towards the bedroom. "Come on, honey," she says, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "Let's get you to bed." The bed feels heavenly under his weight, the covers a warm embrace. Plankton sighs contentedly, his body melting into the softness. His mind is a whirlwind of sensations, but the comfort of the bed grounds him. Karen watches him. The slurred speech and confusion are a stark contrast to his usual sharp and focused self. But she knows this is just the medicine wearing off. Gently, she starts to remove the gauze from his mouth. Plankton's eye opens a crack, his pupil wide with uncertainty. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice soothing. "Let's get this out of here." "Mm-hmm," he murmurs. The gauze is sticky and uncomfortable, but he trusts her. Karen's hands are careful, her movements precise as she works to free his mouth from the confines of the cotton. Plankton winces, his mouth feeling dull and tender. The room tilts slightly as he closes his eye, his body surrendering to the exhaustion that follows surgery. "Now, would you like some i---" But Plankton's already snoring softly, lost to the world. Karen's laughter fills the space between them. She knew he'd be sore later though, not to mention his autistic sensitivities to managing pain.. The next morning, Plankton wakes with a sore mouth and the anesthesia gone. He manages to open his eye. The room is a blur of light and shadow, his gums pounding with a dull throb. His jaw feels achy, his tongue swollen and uncooperative. He tries to sit up as Karen greets him. "How are you feeling, honey?" "Wisdom teeth?" he asks, his memory a haze. Karen smiles. "Yes, sweetie. You had surgery yesterday. Everything went fine." Plankton nods slowly, his eye searching hers for reassurance as Chip comes in to check on his dad. "Hey, Dad," Chip says, his voice soft. "How's the mouth?" Plankton's eye twitches. "Hurt," he manages, his words muffled by the swollen tissue. Karen brings Plankton ice packs. She knows his sensory sensitivities, and how this disruption can overwhelm him. "Thanks, love," he says, his voice a rasp. Karen knew that Plankton's autism means recovery will be more challenging, his senses heightened. "You have to stay calm," Karen instructs Chip, "He needs a quiet environment to heal." Chip nods as he sits on the bed next to Plankton. Plankton's eye opens slightly as the cold ice presses against his cheek. The chill runs through him, a stark relief against the heat of his swollen gums. "It's ok," Karen whispers, her voice a balm to his pain. "It'll help with the swelling." He nods, his hand gripping the ice pack tightly. The room is too bright, the sounds too sharp. His mind craves the familiar comfort of his routines, his stims, but his body won't cooperate. Karen notices his distress, her hand gentle as it brushes his forehead. "You need some space, Plankton?" she asks, reading his cues. He nods, his breath coming in shallow pants. She nods and goes to sit on her bed adjacent to his own. Yet Karen sees the struggle play out across his features with the effort to keep calm, his body tight with tension. Chip, still sitting by his dad, wants to help. He starts to fiddle with his fidget toy, the soft click-clack of the gears echoing in the silence. Plankton's eye snaps open, his gaze drawn to the movement. "Chip, stop," he mumbles, his voice a mixture of pain and irritation. But Chip, eager to distract his father from his own discomfort, doesn't hear the edge in Plankton's voice. The clicking grows faster, each movement a blur of colors and shapes. Plankton's heart starts to race, his body tensing. "Chip," he says more firmly this time. But Chip's fingers dance on the fidget, his eyes focused on his task. The noise and visual assault are too much for Plankton's sensitive system. His face contorts. "Chip, please," Plankton whispers, his voice strained. Chip finally looks up, his expression one of innocent curiosity. "What, Dad? I--" But he doesn't get to finish his sentence. Plankton's hand snatches the fidget toy, his movements jerky. The room seems to shrink, the air thick with tension. Chip's eyes widen, realizing his mistake. "Dad, I'm sor—" But Plankton's agitation has reached a peak. He thrusts the fidget toy away. The plastic clatters on the floor, a jolting sound that pierces the silence. "Too...much," he manages to get out, his voice strained. Chip's cheeks flush with embarrassment and guilt. He didn't mean to upset his father. He just wanted to help. "Sorry," Chip whispers, picking up the toy, which only makes Plankton's anger spike further. The sudden movement of Chip's hand, the sharp sound of the fidget— it's like a storm in his mind. "No!" Plankton yells, his voice raw. Chip freezes, his heart racing. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaky. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton's already flailing, trying to push away the chaos that's invaded his space. Karen quickly moves to intervene. "Chip," she says, her voice firm yet calm. "Remember what we talked about." Chip nods, understanding dawning on his face. He'd forgotten the rules of their world, the delicate balance that keeps Plankton's sanity intact. He'd wanted to help, but instead, he'd added to the storm raging within his dad. She takes the fidget toy from Chip, placing it on the nightstand. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his eye darting around the room. He's lost in his own head, the pain making it difficult to focus. "It's ok," Karen soothes, her touch gentle on his arm. "Let's dim the lights and make it quieter." She pulls the shades closed, the harsh daylight retreating to a soft glow. Chip nods, his expression solemn. "I'll go to my room," he says, his voice small. Plankton's gaze meets his son's, a silent apology passing between them. "Thanks, buddy," he says, his voice a gruff whisper.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 7 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Chip's just trying to understand. And so are you." But Plankton can't find the words, the weight of his son's accusations crushing him. He swipes at a tear that's managed to escape, his shoulders heaving. "I just want to be normal," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "To not be a disappointment." Karen's eyes are filled with love and sadness as she shakes her head. "You could never be a disappointment to me, Plankton. You're perfect just the way you are." But he stands up, turning away from her. "No, I'm not," he says, his back to her. "Look at what I've done. I've ruined our lives." His voice is thick with emotion. "I've made Chip resentful, and I've made you...sacrifice so much." Karen moves to his side, placing a hand on his arm. "You haven't ruined anything," she insists. "You're a wonderful husband, an—" "Don't," he snaps, turning to face her, the pain in his eyes like a physical force. "Don't lie to me. You deserve better than this. Better than a husband who can't even sit through a simple family outing without falling apart." His voice cracks, the weight of his words heavy in the quiet room. "You deserve someone who can give you a normal life!" Karen's eyes fill with determined love. "You are what makes our life normal, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "Our life is special because of you. And as for Chip, he's just confused. He'll understand when he's older." But Plankton shakes his head, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, stifling a cry as he leaves their bedroom. He moves through the house, his bare feet silent on the cool floor, his thoughts a cacophony of doubt and self-loathing. His mind replays Chip's words over and over as he opens the back door, to the backyard. The porch creaks under his weight, his eye unfocused. Meanwhile, Karen goes in to Chip's bedroom. "Chip," she says, her voice soft but firm. "You need to apologize to your dad." He looks up, his eyes swollen from crying. "But I just want him to get better," he whispers, his voice small. "I don't like seeing him hurt." Karen sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I know, sweetie. But your dad can't get 'better' from being autistic. It's not a sickness." She takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "What your dad needs is for us to understand him, to make things easier for him. And for us to be patient when things are hard." Chip sniffs, wiping at his nose. "But it's not fair," he says, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "Why does he get to be different?" Karen's eyes fill with compassion. "Because he is, Chip. And that's ok. We're all different, in our own ways. That's what makes us unique." She pauses, looking at him with a gentle expression. "But it's also what makes us a family." Plankton sits in the backyard. The stars twinkle above, their indifferent beauty a contrast to the tumult in his heart. He's heard the whispers before, the way people look at him—his inability to fit in, his strange behaviors. He's always known he was different. But to hear it from Chip...it's like a punch to the gut. His mind races, trying to make sense of it all. The world feels like a puzzle he can never solve, no matter how much he wants to. He's tried to be better, to do better, to be the husband and father his family deserves. But it's always just out of reach, like the elusive Krabby Patty formula he's chased for years. He looks down at his hands, still trembling slightly. In the quiet of the night, his stims come back, a comforting rhythm that soothes his frayed nerves. He starts to rock slightly, back and forth, his eye unfocused. It's a habit he's had since he was young, a way to calm the storm in his head. It's his brain's way of telling him he's safe, even when the world feels like it's closing in. He doesn't realize he's speaking until the words spill out. "I'm not enough," he whispers to the night. "I'll never be enough.." Back in the house, Karen holds Chip tight, her heart heavy with the weight of their conversation. She knows his frustrations are born out of love, but she also knows how much Chip's words sting Plankton. She needs to fix this, to mend the fracture in their family's foundation. "Come on, buddy," she says, wiping Chip's tears away. "Let's talk to your dad. He needs to hear you're sorry." Chip nods, his eyes red and swollen. Karen leads him to the back door, where they find Plankton, his gaze lost as he shivers uncontrollably. "Dad?" Chip says. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide with surprise. "What?" He says, his voice thick with pain. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his body trembling. "I didn't mean those things." Karen's gaze is firm, her voice steady. "We need to talk, Plankton," she says. "Both of you." She leads them back inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill outside. Plankton allows himself to be guided, his mind a whirlwind. In the living room, they sit, a tapestry of emotions. Karen starts, her voice measured. "Chip, your dad doesn't mean to make things difficult. His brain just interprets the world differently." Chip looks up, his eyes wet. "But why can't he just try?" He asks, his voice desperate. "Why can't he just be normal?" Plankton flinches, his gaze dropping to the floor. Karen sighs, her hand wrapped around Plankton's. "Chip," she starts gently. "You know autism isn't a choice. Your dad's brain is different. It's like asking someone to change their eye color." Chip frowns, his young mind struggling to comprehend. "But why can't he just ignore it?" He asks, his voice small. Plankton looks up, his eye filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "Because it's not ignorable," he says, his voice firm. "It's like you're asking one to ignore breathing." The room falls silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. "It's always there, affecting how he sees, hears, feels." Chip's expression softens, a glimmer of understanding dawning. "Your dad does his best every day. And so do we, to support him. It's not about changing for him, Chip," she says. "It's about meeting him where he is. When someone's in a wheelchair, you don't tell them to climb the stairs. You build a ramp." Plankton nods slightly, his gaze still on the floor. "Autism is like that," Karen continues. "It's part of who he is, and we love him for all of him."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 10 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The house feels eerily quiet without Plankton's usual rambling. Chip sits in his room, his thoughts racing. He didn't mean to make his dad feel patronized or pitied. He just wanted to share something that had brought joy. He opens the book to where Plankton had torn it. The pages are jagged, but the message isn't lost. 'AUSOME AUsomeness'. It dawns on him how wrong he was to assume his dad's experience mirrored Timmy's. Autism isn't a one-size-fits-all, and he'd hurt his own father by not seeing him as an individual. Chip lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his mistake pressing down on him. He thinks about his dad's seizures, his stims, and the pain in his eye. What if he'd made his dad feel even more alone? The next day at school, Chip goes up to Timmy, his heart heavy. "Hey," he says, his voice low. "My dad, he saw the book I showed him, and he didn't like it." Timmy looks at him, his eyes full of concern. "Oh no, why?" He asks. Chip takes a deep breath. "He said it felt like I was making fun of him," he admits. "And I didn't mean to." Timmy nods, his hands still. "Everyone's different," he says. "Some of us can laugh about it, and some of us can't." He pauses. "But you tried, Chip. That's what matters." Chip nods, feeling a tiny bit better. Maybe he couldn't make his dad feel like a superhero, but at least he'd tried. "Hey Timmy, can you come over after school?" Chip asks. Timmy's eyes lit up. "Sure," he says. So after school Timmy follows Chip to his house. When they arrive, Karen greets them with a warm smile. "You must be Timmy," she says, shaking his hand. "I've heard so much about you." Timmy smiles shyly. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Plankton." They walk into the living room where Plankton is sitting, his gaze on the floor. Chip feels his heart race as Timmy enters. "Dad," Chip says, his voice shaky. "This is Timmy." Plankton looks up, his eye narrowing slightly. Timmy takes the lead, his hands flapping slightly as he speaks. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "Chip told me you're like me." Plankton looks between the two of them, his expression unreadable. "How so?" Plankton challenges. Timmy takes a deep breath, his eyes darting to Chip for support. "Well," he starts, "we're both autistic." Plankton's gaze sharpens, his posture stiffening. Timmy looks at his own hands, which are still flapping slightly. "It means my brain works differently," he says, his voice steady. "But that's not all bad. It's like having a superpower, sometimes." He smiles, his eyes finding Chip's. "Like, I'm really good at math, and I can remember things other people forget. What's your autistic powers, Mr. Plankton?" Plankton's eye widens. No one's ever asked him that before. "I...I don't know," he says slowly, his voice unsure and flustered. Timmy nods. "Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here," he says, his voice gentle. "It's not always easy, but it's not always bad either." He sits down next to Plankton, his hands now still. Karen watches from the kitchen with hope. Maybe Timmy could show Plankton that his autism isn't something to be ashamed of, but something that makes him uniquely him. Plankton's eye flickers towards Timmy, and for a moment, Chip sees a glimpse of curiosity. "I'm an inventor," he says, his voice still guarded. "I can create things that no one else can." Timmy nods, his face serious. "That's awesome," he says. "My superpower is that I never forget a face once I've seen it. It's pretty useful when you've got a memory like a steel trap." The two of them sit in silence for a few moments, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. Then, Timmy speaks up again. "You know, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "Sometimes, it's good to have someone else who gets it." He looks at his own hands, which have started flapping again. "Someone who won't stare or judge." Plankton looks at Timmy, his expression unreadable. Sensing an opening, Karen interjects, her voice soft. "Plankton, maybe talking to Timmy could help. You've always said you felt lonely in your own world, maybe he can shine some li-" "I don't need a support group," Plankton snaps, but his tone lacks its usual bite. "I need my family to understand me." His gaze meets Chip's, and the hurt in his eye is unmistakable. Timmy nods, his hands still in his lap. "I get that," he says, his voice calm. "But sometimes, it's nice to know you're not the only one with superpowers, you kn-" "Don't," Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharp. "Don't call it that." But Timmy isn't deterred. "Okay," he says, his tone respectful. "But yo-" "I'm not a child, Timmy," Plankton says, his voice strained. "I don't need to be told bedtime stories to make me feel better about my condition." Chip feels his chest tighten as he watches his dad's reaction. Timmy's eyes are filled with understanding. "It's not a bedtime story, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice calm. "It's a way to see th-" "I said DON'T," Plankton's voice rises, his frustration evident. Chip feels his stomach drop. This isn't going well. But Timmy doesn't back down. "But Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "You're not just a scientist, you're a person too. And people need to feel seen, understood, and valued. Maybe this book isn't for you, but it's for others like us-" "Like us?" Plankton repeats, his voice cold. "Don't you dare lump me in with you, young man. My autism is not a game or a gimmick. It's a part of me, yes, but it's not something to be used to make my son feel better about himself." Timmy's face falls, but his voice remains steady. "I'm sorry if it came across that way," he says. "That wasn't my intent." Karen steps in, trying to defuse the situation. "Plankton, maybe we're all just tr-" But Plankton cuts her off. "I'm tired of being the lesson," he says, his voice shaking. "I'm tired of being someone's 'project'. I'm not your science experiment because in the real world, people don't get it." He turns to Chip. "And you, thinking you can just fix me with a book? Some people don't get a happy ending, Chip." The anger in his voice makes Chip flinch. Timmy looks from Plankton to Chip, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble," he says, his voice small. "I just...I just thought maybe we could learn from each other." Plankton's gaze remains on the floor. "Life's not that simple," he says, his voice weary. "You think a book can change how people see me?" He shakes his head, his frustration palpable. "Why don't we all just put on capes and pretend we're superheroes?" The sarcasm stings, but Chip knows he's not mad at Timmy. He's mad at the world, at the unfairness of it all. Timmy's hands start to flap again, his body responding to the tension in the room. "Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "I know it's not easy. But sometimes, finding someone who gets it ca--" "GETS IT?" Plankton's voice echoes through the room. "You might have autism, like I do, but we're not the same!" He slams his fist down on the table, the force of it making the china rattle. "You don't know what it's like for me! When I was in school, teachers tied my hands to my chair to make me stop flapping! Do you have any idea how tha-" "Plankton!" Karen gasps with shocked surprise. She never heard of that before. "You never talked about that," she says, her voice trembling as she approaches him, her hands reaching out in a comforting gesture. Plankton's eye meets hers, and for a moment, the anger seems to drain from his face, replaced by a deep sadness. But he's not done. "That was almost child's play compared to the time when a teacher had explained to the class that I was 'lesser', and that, because of my autism, I wasn't capable of living a 'worthwhile' life and also deserved to be institutionalized, since I was just a drain on society," Plankton says, his voice trembling with rage. Timmy's hands stop moving altogether, his eyes wide with horror. "That's terrible," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "But Mr. Plankton, you have so much to offer. You're smart and you have a son that loves yo-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice a warning. "Don't you dare try to erase my pain with your childish optimism." Timmy's eyes fill with understanding, his hands falling still. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low. "I know it's not the same for everyone. But sometimes, finding strength in the way we're different can help." He looks down at his hands, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to share that wi-" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his body rigid. "I don't need a pep talk," he says. "I need you to see me as I am." He walks away.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 12 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Timmy watches him, his expression a mix of empathy and curiosity. "Is that normal?" He asks, his voice soft. Karen nods. "It's part of his autism," she says. "And his seizures. Sometimes his brain just needs a moment to recalibrate." Plankton looks at Timmy, his eye searching. "Do you...do you ever feel like that?" He asks, his voice tentative. Timmy nods. "Sometimes," he admits. "But not like that. My tics are more... predictable." He shows them his hands, which have started to move again. "It's like...like a little dance my brain does." The room feels a little less heavy as Plankton's tics slow, his hand coming to rest. "It's okay," Timmy says, his voice gentle. "We're here." Plankton nods, his gaze flitting around the room before settling on Chip. "I'm sorry," he says, embarrassed. "You don't have to apologize," Karen says, stroking his arm. "It's just part of who you are." But Plankton's eye is still on Chip, his expression uncertain. "I don't want you to be scared of me," he says. Timmy looks from Plankton to Chip, his eyes thoughtful. "You know," he says, "I used to think my tics were something to hide. Something wrong with me." He pauses. "But then I realized, they're just how my brain works. And sometimes, they're even pretty cool." He grins, his hands moving in a complex pattern. "Like, if I flap just right, I can make things fall over." He laughs, his eyes sparkling. Chip can't help but smile at Timmy's candidness. Plankton, though, remains silent. Timmy's words hang in the air, a gentle reminder that autism isn't just about the struggles, but the unique quirks that make them who they are. Chip's mind whirls with the weight of his dad's apology. "You don't have to be sorry for being you," Chip says finally, his voice shaking. Plankton looks at him, his expression unreadable. "But I don't want you to be afraid," he says. "I don't want you to think I'm a monster." Timmy's smile fades. "You're not," he says firmly. "You're my friend's dad. And you're a person, just like me." Karen nods, her screen shiny with unshed tears. "He's right, Plankton," she says. "You're more than just your autism." But Plankton's gaze remains fixed on Chip. "I just want you to understand," he says. "I'm not like everyone else." Chip swallows hard, his throat tight. "I do," he whispers. "I see you." Timmy then shifts. "I've to go, but I'll see you at school, Chip!" Timmy leaves, and Chip moves closer to his dad. "Dad," he says, his voice quiet. "I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid f-for you." Plankton's eye blinks, his hand stopping momentarily. "You don't have to hide from me," Chip continues. "Your tics, your stims, your seizures...they're just part of who you are." The next day, Timmy goes to the Krusty Krab to get himself a Krabby Patty. Mr. Krabs, the owner of the Krusty Krab restaurant, sees Timmy waving his hands. Mr. Krabs, a burly red crab known for his love for money and quick temper, doesn't understand Timmy's behavior. "What's the ruckus for?" He barks. Timmy's eyes dart around, his hands flapping faster. "I-I-I'm just...just..." He stammers, his words tangling in his mouth. Mr. Krabs raises an eyebrow. "Ye okay, kid?" He asks, his tone gruff but concerned. Timmy nods, his hands still moving. "I'm just excited," he says, his voice quick. "I-I-I like Krabby Patties." Mr. Krabs' expression shifts. "What's wi-" "I have autism," Timmy says, his voice clear. "It makes me flap and talk fast when I'm excited." Mr. Krabs looks confused, his claws paused mid-air. "A- uh...what's that?" He asks, his usual gruffness replaced by curiosity. Timmy takes a deep breath. "It's like my brain works different," he explains. "Some things are hard for me, but I see things others might miss. It's a type of...neuro-diversity. My grandma has it as well, and they think I've inherited it. It can manifest in different ways, being why it's called Autistic Spectrum. I've always been this way! There's no 'cure' but I'm proud of who I am. Autism is classified as a disability, yet it's also a gift, really. And sorry for rambling on, sir.." Mr. Krabs nods thoughtfully. "So, what exactly is the autism spectrum? And what type of disability is it?" He asks Timmy. Timmy smiles, happy to explain. "The autism spectrum is like a rainbow of brains," he says. "Some people are at one end and others are at the other, and everyone's different. It's like we're all unique snowflakes, but with brains instead of snow." He pauses, then continues. "It means we process things differently. Some of us have challenges with social interactions or sensory overload.." Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his claws still. "So, it's like, sometimes you see a Krabby Patty and it's just so good you can't help but wave your hands?" He asks, his eyes twinkling with the beginnings of understanding. Timmy laughs, his hands stopping for a moment. "Sort of," he says. "But it's more than just being happy. Sometimes it's hard to communicate or deal with too much noise or touch." Mr. Krabs looks concerned. "What do ye mean?" Timmy takes a deep breath, his hands starting to flap again. "Well, if it's too loud or too bright, or if someone touches me in a way that feels weird, my brain gets overwhelmed. It's like my brain is a computer and it's trying to run too many programs at once. It can be really tough." Mr. Krabs' expression softens. "I had no idea," he says. "But you're still a good kid." Timmy nods, his smile genuine. "And it's okay to ask questions," he adds. "That's how we learn. And as for communicating, it can be hard for an autistic person to find the right words, but it doesn't mean we don't have anything important to say. But misunderstandings can happen because of it. And the big emotions can come out in ways that seem unexpected. So my flapping is a way to communicate my joy. And it's important to let us express ourselves without judgment." Mr. Krabs looks down at his claws, realizing their potential for harm. "I'm sorry if I made ye uncomfortable, Timmy," he says, his voice low. "I didn't mean to. I just...I don't think I've ever really talked to someone with autism before." Timmy's hands still. "It's okay," he says. "Lots of people don't know what it's like. That's why it's important to tell them. And it can be hard to tell, because everyone's experience is so different." Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes thoughtful. "I see," he says. "So, what can I do to make your dining experience here today more comfortable? I want to make sure you're happy." Timmy's smile grows. "Well, thank you, Mr. Krabs," he says. "Could I maybe sit in a quieter corner?" He suggests. "And maybe I could have my Krabby Patty without the pickles?" Mr. Krabs' eyes widen. "Of course, Timmy," he says, snapping his claws. "I'll get that taken care of right away." He turns to his staff. "Ye heard the boy!" He barks. "Give Timmy a VIP seat and get him his Krabby Patty, no pickles, and make it snappy!" The employees jump into action, and within moments, Timmy is seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant, his Krabby Patty steaming on the table in front of him. Mr. Krabs sits down opposite him. "So, tell me more about this autism thing," he says, his eyes genuinely curious. "How does it affect folks?" Timmy takes a bite of his sandwich, savoring the taste. "Well," he says thoughtfully, his chewing slowing down. "It's like we see the world through a different lens. Some of us have super senses—like I can hear the fryer sizzling from across the room, and noise can hurt my ears—but others might not notice at all." Mr. Krabs leans in with interest. "And what about stimming?" He asks. "Is that what you call it when you wave your hands around?" Timmy nods, swallowing his food. "Yes," he says. "Stimming is self-stimulating behavior. It helps us focus and deal with the sensory input. Like, when I'm excited about something, I flap. That's just my own way of stimming. But not all autistic people do." Mr. Krabs nods, his claw tapping the table. "And what about social stuff?" He asks. Timmy thinks for a moment. "Some of us find it hard to read social cues," he says. "It's like everyone's playing a game of charades, and we don't know the rules. And some people might not like to be touched, or they might not understand jokes right away. But that doesn't mean we don't have feelings or want to be friends." Mr. Krabs considers this, his eyes thoughtful. "So, it's like each one of ye has a secret handshake, but it's not really a handshake at all?" Timmy grins. "Exactly!" He says. "Everyone's got their own way of saying hello. And it's okay if we don't always get it right. What's important is trying to understand each other." Mr. Krabs nods slowly. "I see," he says. "I wanna make sure that everyone who comes here feels welcome. I mean, all the autistic folks." Timmy's eyes lit up. "Thank you," he says. "That means a lot!"

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 13 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Mr. Krabs calls over his top chef, SpongeBob. "SpongeBob!" He yells. "We're going to start an 'Autism Awareness Day' at the Krusty Krab!" Sponge Bob's eyes widen in excitement. "Oh, Mr. Krabs that's so nice! Wait, when did you figure out I have it?" Sponge Bob's revelation silences the room for a moment. Timmy looks at him with a new found respect. "You do?" He asks. "Yeah, I was diagnosed when I was a kid," SpongeBob says, his eyes shyly looking down at his spatula. "But for me, I can have a hard time telling when people are sad or angry. But I also feel like it's what makes me so good at my job. I've memorized the entire employee handbook!" He laughs. "I haven't met anyone that I know of, other than you now Timmy, who's autistic though." Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze thoughtful. "I had no idea," he says. "But you know what? That's a strength. And from now on, we're going to make the Krusty Krab a place where everyone feels welcome, especially our autistic friends. I'd no idea, Sponge Bob! But if ye ever feel like ye need to talk, me office is always open!" The next day, Mr. Krabs announces to the town that the Krusty Krab will be hosting an Autism Awareness Day, where the menu will have additions to cater to the sensory needs of autistic customers. The news spreads fast, and soon, families with autistic children are lining up outside the restaurant. So after Chip left for school, Plankton sneaks a peek at the rival restaurant. Krabs is outside, chatting with Sponge Bob, who's now wearing a neon badge that reads 'Autism Awareness Champion'. Plankton watches, his antennae twitching with confusion. He's not used to seeing his enemy being... nice? "Karen, do you see Krabs? The guy who's stepped on me is calling himself a friend to autistics! I don't know whether to laugh or cry.." Plankton says. Karen nods, her gaze following Plankton's. "Well, he doesn't know yo--" "I know," Plankton cuts in, his voice tight. "But it's still...it's just..." He can't find the words. "It's just weird. I'm sneaking over there." And without waiting for Karen's response, Plankton bolts. His tiny legs carry him quickly, his eye locked on Krabs. He decides to eavesdrop. Krabs is speaking to a mother with a young boy. "Your son is welcome here," he says. "I promise we'll do our best to accommodate him." She smiles gratefully. Plankton watches, his heart racing. Krabs, the man who has caused him so much grief, is now advocating for the very thing he's struggled with his entire life. It's unsettling. He sees Krabs gently guide a nonverbal child away from the noise and bustle of the kitchen. Inside, there's a quiet play area with fidget toys and weighted blankets. The menu now includes sensory-friendly options, and the staff is wearing pins with the same message as SpongeBob's badge. "Autism Awareness Champion." Plankton's mind whirs. He made sure Krabs never found out about his autism, so he can perhaps act like he also belongs, and watch Krabs hypocrisy when he taunts his secretly autistic enemy! Plankton chuckles as he goes to the register when Krabs spots him. "What are ye doing here?" Mr. Krabs barks. "Plankton, you know you're not welcome!" Plankton's antennae twitch, trying to hide the urge to smirk. "Gimme a patty," Plankton says, his voice deliberately casual. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "I don't think so," he says, his tone cold. "You're just here to steal me formular!" Plankton's antennae twitch in annoyance, but he plays along. "No, Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice measured. "I just came for a bite to eat. Thought I'd support your...new initiative." His voice is heavy with sarcasm, but Mr. Krabs misses the cue. "Initiative?" He snaps his claws. "It's not just an initiative, it's about respect! Understanding! We're making this p-" "Yeah, right," Plankton says, forcing a smirk. "As if yo--" "Plankton, how many times do I have to tell ye?" Mr. Krabs sighs, his eyes flashing with frustration. "You're not welcome here; never will you get to taste the Krabby Patty!" But Plankton's mind is racing. He can't believe what he's seeing. Mr. Krabs, the man who's always dismissed his differences, now embracing autism? It's like a twisted joke that he's not in on. He watches as Krabs helps another child, this one with a headset to block out the noise. The sight makes him feel both angry and...envious? So he stayed stubbornly firm, wanting to see how far this can go. Mr. Krabs crosses his arms. "I'm just trying to do the right thing. I have a friend," he says. "Someone special. And I've learned that everyone deserves to be seen for who they are." Plankton's eye widens slightly, but he keeps his poker face. "Is that so?" He says. "Well, I des-" "But you," Mr. Krabs says, his voice hard. "You're just here to cause trouble." Plankton feels a pang of frustration. How could Krabs be so blind to his own hypocrisy? "Krabs, you don't kno—" But Mr. Krabs won't let him finish. "No, Plankton," he says. "You don't get to play this game with me today. This isn't about you. It's about autistics, who deserve a place where they can be themselves without worry." Plankton's smirk fades, his eye darting around the room, seeing the smiling faces of the customers. "I am a-" "You're just here to steal my recipe!" Mr. Krabs roars, cutting Plankton off. "I'm not stupid like you, and I'm not gonna let the likes of you ruin this for everyone else.." The claws come down, hard and sharp, pinching Plankton's arm. He yelps in pain, his eye widening. The room goes blurry around the edges as he feels the sting, the pain. Mr. Krabs' face is a mask of fury, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Get out," he says, his voice cold. "You're not welcome here." But Plankton is frozen, his body trembling with the sudden flare of pain. He tries to pull away, his voice a mix of surprise and anger. "What are you doing?" He stammers. "You're hurt-" Mr. Krabs' grip tightens, his claws digging into Plankton's skin. "I said, get out," he repeats, his voice like steel. "You're not welcome here." Plankton feels his cheeks burning with humiliation and rage. How dare this crustacean, who has never understood him, claim to be an ally to his kind? He wrenches his arm free, rubbing the red marks. But then Mr. Krabs' fist comes down, connecting with Plankton's already hurt arm. The pain is sudden and intense, like a bolt of lightning shooting through his body. Plankton's legs give out, and his vision swims, but his body won't respond. He can feel the overwhelm started happening in his brain, a sensation he's felt many times before. It's like the world is spinning around him, but he's stuck in place. He's gonna have a generalized non-motor seizure, and he knows it. The customers gasp, and Mr. Krabs' eyes widen. "What's going on?" He yells, his voice echoing in Plankton's ears. The world goes quiet, and Plankton can feel his body twitching, his muscles spasming in response to the electrical storm in his brain. Another seizure, another complete loss of control. He hits the floor, his body convulsing. He tries to call out for help, but the only thing that comes out is a garbled mess of sounds, his mouth not quite forming the words he needs. His vision flickers, going in and out like a broken neon sign. He can hear voices around him, but they're muted. Spongebob rushes over, his eyes wide. "Mr. Krabs, what's wrong with him?" He asks. Mr. Krabs is frozen, his fists still clenched. "I don't know," he says, his voice tight. "I just hurt his arm..." One of the customer's eyes widen with realization. "It's a seizure," she says. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spatula dropping to the floor with a clatter. "Mr. Krabs, we have to help him! I'll get a first aid kit!" He yells, his voice shaking. The mother with the flapping child kneels beside Plankton, her face a mask of understanding. "I've seen this happen before. It can happen to some autistic people, as a result of stress or sensory overload." She says, as Sponge Bob returns with the first aid kit. The mother sighs, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I've seen it happen to my son," she says gently. "It's part of his autism. It's called a non-epileptic seizure. It's not to dangerous, yet it can be scary for him." Mr. Krabs stammers; "I didn't know," he says, his voice small. "I just..." His gaze drops to the floor, as he finally realizes that Plankton is a part of the community he's supposed to be championing. The room is a blur of movement around Plankton as the staff and customers scramble to help, but all he can focus on is the pain in his arm, the embarrassment. Sponge Bob returns with a first aid kit, eyes wide with concern as he goes to bandage the arm. "Here, let me help," he says, his touch is surprisingly comforting as he carefully wraps the bandage around the injured area. Plankton can feel the warmth of his compassion through the cotton material. The mother nods. "It's just his way of dealing with it all. Sometimes, their bodies just...react." She pauses, her gaze flicking to Mr. Krabs, who is still standing frozen with shock. "But it's not always like this. Sometimes, they just need extra understanding." Mr. Krabs stammers, his gaze falling to Plankton's twitching form. "He's... autistic, too." "Yes, he's having a non- epileptic seizure," the mother says gently. "It's something that can happen to some autistics when overwhelmed." Mr. Krabs watches, his claws trembling slightly. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I didn't know Plankton, can ye hear me?" Plankton's body gradually stills, the storm in his brain passing. His eye flutters open, and he looks up to see Mr. Krabs and Sponge Bob hovering above him, the mother still beside him.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 14 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Plankton, are you ok?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice trembling. Plankton blinks slowly, the world swimming into focus. He feels...exposed. Vulnerable. He hates that. But he nods, his voice a whisper. "I-I-I-I…think s-so?" Mr. Krabs looms over them, his expression a mixture of shock and regret. "I didn't know," he says again, his voice cracking. "I had no ide-" "Please" Plankton says, his voice hoarse. He doesn't have the energy to be angry anymore. His body feels like it's made of jelly, and his arm throbs where Mr. Krabs' claw had been. But he understands now. Mr. Krabs is trying, in his own way, to make things right. And maybe, just maybe, Plankton can show his enemy what it means to be an ally. Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes shiny. "I promise," he says. "I'll do better. For you, for all of you." Plankton looks up at his enemy. Mr. Krabs looks down at his own hands, now trembling. "I'm sorry, Plankton," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't underst--" But Plankton cuts him off, his tiny body pushing itself up onto his elbows. "You don't get it," he says, his voice shaking with anger. "You think you can just throw around words like 'respect' and 'understanding' and pretend to care about autism? After all you've done to me?" His words hang in the air like accusations, sharp and painful. Mr. Krabs looks at him, his eyes softening slightly. "Plankton, I-I didn't know," he stammers. "I just...I just want to help. I don't want to fight anymore." But Plankton's not having it. He glares up at him, his tiny fists balled. "Help?" He spits out the word. "You think this is helping? You think excluding me from your 'Autism Awareness' shindig makes you a champion?" His voice is hoarse from the seizure, but the anger in it is clear. "Well you're wrong, Krabs. You're not helping anyone by ignoring me!" Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws dropping to his sides. "I-I didn't know," he repeats, his voice now just a whisper. "I didn't know ye were autisti-" But Plankton isn't listening. With a grunt, he pulls himself to his feet, the pain in his arm fading to a dull throb. "You don't know anything," he says, his voice shaking. "You think you can just throw a party and call yourself an ally? It's not about you, Krabs." He turns to leave, his legs unsteady, but his determination firm. He's had enough of the Krusty Krab's insincere attention. He doesn't need his pity or their half-hearted attempts at inclusivity. He just needs to get out of there, away from the prying eyes and the whispers of concern. Walking home, Plankton's mind whirs with thoughts of Mr. Krabs' ignorance and his own fury. He's used to the taunts and the jokes, but this...this was different. This was supposed to be a place where autistic people were celebrated, not a stage for someone to play the hero. The irony isn't lost on him—his enemy, the man who has belittled him for years, now claiming to stand up for his community. When Plankton comes back, Karen greets him as usual. "Hey, Plankton," she says. But her smile falters when she sees his expression. "What happened?" Plankton shakes his head, his eye downcast. "It's...nothing," he mumbles, his voice tight. He can't bring himself to tell her about the seizure, about Mr. Krabs' finding out. But Karen's not so easily fooled. She takes one look at his bandaged arm and the haunted look in his eye and knows something's off. "What happened?" She asks again, her tone gentle but insistent. Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice tight. "He...he found out." Karen's eyes widen in understanding. "And?" She prompts gently as he removes his bandages. Plankton's arm is a mess of red marks and bruises, a stark testament to Krabs' mistaken anger. "And he said he's sorry," Plankton says, his voice still tight with emotion. "He said he wants to help." But there's a bitter edge to his words that tells Karen all she needs to know about how Plankton really feels. She nods, her expression thoughtful. "Well, maybe this could be a good thing," she says. "Maybe it'll help him understand. Maybe it'll make things better between you two." But Plankton's not so optimistic. "Or maybe," he says, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "Maybe he'll just use it against me." Karen's expression softens, and she reaches out to gently pat his antennae. "Plankton," she says. "You can't control how others react. But you can control how you respond." Plankton sighs, his body slumping into the chair. He knows she's right, but it's hard to let go of the anger. He thinks back to the way Krabs' claws felt on his arm, the way his vision had swirled and his body had betrayed him. He's used to hiding his autism, keeping it a secret from those who wouldn't understand. But now, his deepest, most vulnerable part has been laid bare before his enemy. He shakes his head. "I don't know, Karen," he says, his voice small. "I just...I can't trust him." Karen nods, her gaze understanding. "I get it," she says. "But maybe, just maybe, he's trying to be better." Plankton stays silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. He's not used to this, to feeling so exposed. He's spent his entire life hiding his autism from everyone, especially Krabs. And now, it's out there. His enemy knows his deepest vulnerability. With a sigh, he pushes himself up from the chair and heads to the bedroom, the solace of his small, controlled space. The doors clicks shut behind him, blocking out the sounds of Karen's kitchen and the distant laughter of passing fish. In the quiet, Plankton begins to stim. He rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. The bedroom is a haven, his personal space filled with comforting items that help soothe his senses. He picks up his favorite fidget toy, the tiny plastic pieces clicking together in a rhythm that matches the beating of his heart. The repetitive motion calms him, centers him, as he tries to process the day's events. "Echo...echolal...lal...lal...la," Plankton murmurs to himself, his voice low and soothing. It's a word he heard earlier, a word that now holds a new meaning for him. He rolls it around his mouth, feeling the shape of it, the sound of it. It's a part of him now, a piece of his identity that he's still trying to understand.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 15 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! That same evening, Karen finds Krabs at the door. "What do you want?" She asks, her voice cool. But there's a desperation in his eyes that she's never seen before. "I-I want to talk to Plankton," he stammers. "I need to...apologize." Karen raises an eyebrow, surprise flickering across her screen. "What makes you think he'll want to talk to you?" Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws twitching nervously. "I know I've hurt him," he says, his voice cracking. "But I want to make it right." So he follows Karen in. Plankton sits in his room, his fidget toy clicking rhythmically. "Palilal...pali... lal...lal," he murmurs to the quiet space, as Karen and Krabs enter. The room's soft light highlights the intensity of his focus, his antennae twitching slightly with each word. Krabs watches him, his eyes filled with concern and curiosity. "What's going on, Plankton?" He asks. Plankton starts, his rhythm disrupted. He looks up, his face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "It's nothing," he says, his voice sharp. But Karen steps in, placing a gentle hand on Krabs' arm. "It's called echolalia," she explains softly. "It's a way for him to cope, to repeat words that have meaning to him. It's part of his autism." Krabs nods slowly, his expression still tinged with uncertainty. "I see," he says. "But I still need to apologize." Karen sighs, looking from Plankton to Krabs. "Fine," she says. "But you need to understand that Plankton's been through a lot today. Cut him some slack." Krabs nods again, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'm so sorry," he says, his voice quiet. "I had no idea that you were...going through this." Plankton's eye narrows, his grip on the fidget toy tightening. "What do you want, Krabs?" He asks, his voice low. "An award for finally noticing?" He snaps before turning his focus back to the fidget. Krabs steps closer, his movement slow and deliberate. "No, Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "I want to make amends. To learn. To do better." But Plankton seems to ignore him. "Echo...echolal...lal...la," Plankton whispers, his gaze fixed on the fidget toy. The words come out in a soft, soothing rhythm, a secret language that only he understands. Krabs watches, his heart heavy. He's hurt Plankton before, but never has seen this. The room is silent, the only noise the faint click of the plastic pieces in Plankton's hand. Krabs takes a deep breath, trying to find the words to bridge the gap that's formed between them. "I didn't know," he says, his voice tentative. "I never knew you...you had autism." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye snapping up to meet Krabs' but he looks back down at his fidget toy, the rhythm of his murmurs increasing. "Echo...echolal...lal...la." Krabs fidgets, unsure of what to say. He's never seen Plankton like this before—so lost in his own world, so vulnerable. It's a stark contrast to the usual bravado and sarcasm that Plankton wields like a shield. "What does it mean?" He asks, his voice tentative. Plankton doesn't answer, the clicking of his fidget toy the only sound in the room. Krabs watches, his heart heavy with regret. He's always seen Plankton as a nuisance, someone to be defeated and humiliated. But now, he's just a small, hurt creature trying to make sense of a world that doesn't always make sense to him. "Uh, what about your arm Plankton?" "Echo...echolal...lal...la," Plankton repeats, his eye fixed on the fidget toy. The words roll off his tongue yet Krabs doesn't understand. Krabs' confusion grows as Plankton's murmurs fill the silence. It's a strange, almost hypnotic sound, a secret conversation that excludes everyone else. "What are you saying, Plankton?" He asks, his voice soft, tentative. But Plankton doesn't look up, lost in his own world of repetition and comfort. The words echo in the silence, a testament to his internal turmoil. "Echo... echolal...lal...la," he whispers, the fidget toy still clicking away. It's a self-soothing mechanism, a way to calm the storm in his brain. Krabs watches, his own mind racing. He's seen Plankton's quirks before, but this is something different. He's seen the anger, the sarcasm, the endless schemes. But this...this is Plankton's true self, raw and exposed. It's a side of him that no one ever gets to see other than Karen. The words keep coming, a stream of nonsense that seems to calm Plankton's racing thoughts. "Echo...echolal... lal...la," he murmurs, the rhythm never changing. Mr. Krabs feels like an intruder, watching a private moment he wasn't meant to see. Karen sighs, her hand moving to rest on Plankton's shoulder. "It's okay, honey," she says. But Plankton's focus is elsewhere, his eye glazed over. Krabs watches, his heart aching for the enemy he's hurt so many times. He's never seen this side of Plankton—the vulnerable, scared side that's now laid bare before him. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice trembling. "I didn't know." Plankton's murmurs continue, his fidget toy a blur of motion in his hand. "Echo...echolal... lal...la." The words come faster now, a staccato beat of his thoughts. It's as if he's talking in code, a language that only he can understand. Mr. Krabs feels like an outsider, a clumsy giant in a delicate world of patterns and repetition. Karen's hand on his shoulder doesn't move, a silent offer of comfort that Plankton doesn't seem to notice. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice calm and steady. "You're safe here." Plankton's murmurs become louder, the words tripping over each other. "Echo...echolal...lal... la...echolal...lal...la..." His grip on the fidget toy tightens, his body rocking slightly on his bed. Mr. Krabs' heart clenches at the sight, his mind racing with questions and concerns. He's never seen Plankton like this—so lost in his own thoughts, so detached from the world around him. It's as if his mind has retreated into itself, seeking refuge from the pain and confusion. The words are a lifeline, a way to find comfort in the chaos. Krabs watches, his own mind racing. What does it mean? What has he done to make Plankton feel this way? He knows he's hurt him before, but this is different. This is deeper, more profound. It's not just about stealing a secret formula or winning a contest. This is personal. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. What can he say to make this right? He's never faced a challenge like this, one that can't be solved with money or brawn. This requires understanding, empathy, and a willingness to learn. Krabs' eyes fill with tears as he watches Plankton's silent conversation with his fidget toy. "I-I just didn't know," he stammers. "I'll...I'll do better. I promise." But Plankton is lost in his own world, the words coming faster and faster. "Echo... echolal...lal...la...echolal... lal...la..." His voice rises in pitch, a frantic symphony of his inner thoughts. Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder, but Plankton seems oblivious to her touch. Krabs feels a pang of sorrow, his heart aching for the tiny creature in front of him. He's hurt him, and he's not sure how to fix it. "Plankton," he tries again, his voice gentler this time. "I'm here." But Plankton's world is one of repeating patterns and sounds, a place where the pain of the outside world can't reach him. "Echo...echolal...lal...la," he murmurs, the words tumbling out in a rush. It's a self-soothing mantra, a way to regain control in a world that feels out of control. Krabs' claws clench and unclench at his sides, his heart racing. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. He's always been so focused on the material, on winning, on defeating Plankton that he's never stopped to consider what's going on beneath the surface. He's never seen Plankton like this—so lost, so desperate. Krabs decides to try and connect. He clears his throat. "Plankton, what are you saying?" His voice is gentle, tentative, a stark contrast to the usual bluster. Plankton's murmurs don't cease, the words tumbling out like a stream of consciousness that makes no sense to anyone but him. "Echo...echolal...lal... la...echo...echolal..." Karen's grip on his shoulder tightens slightly, but she doesn't interrupt. She knows this is his way of coping, his method of navigating the storm in his mind. But Krabs is an outsider to this world, a blunt instrument in a place that requires finesse. But Krabs still wants to ask. "What does it mean, Plankton?" He ventures, his voice soft. "What are you trying to tell me?" He pleads, wanting to be welcomed into the autistic life he doesn't understand. But Plankton's words are for himself, a cocoon of comfort in the face of his enemy's curiosity. "Echo...echolal... lal...la...palilal...lal...la..." The words tumble out in a pattern that makes sense only to his own brain, a dance of self-expression in the chaos.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 16 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Krabs watches, his claws opening and closing in frustration. He wants to help, but he doesn't know how to enter Plankton's inner sanctum. He feels like an intruder, a rudimentary creature in a realm of complex thought patterns. "Please, Plankton," he begs. "Tell me what you need." He leans closer to Plankton. Plankton's eye closed, his voice a soft whisper. "Echo...echolal... lal...la...palilal...lal...la..." The words roll off his tongue, a soothing incantation that seems to calm his racing thoughts. Krabs leans in closer, trying to make out the meaning in the nonsensical string of syllables. He's never heard Plankton talk like this before—his words a mesmerizing tapestry of echoes and repetitions. It's as if he's speaking in a secret code, one that only he can decode. The phrases come faster now, a stream of consciousness that's both fascinating and eerie. "Echo...echolal...lal...la... Palilal...lal...la...echolal..." Krabs watches, his own thoughts a jumble of confusion and regret. He's seen Plankton's quirks before, the repetitive movements and the occasional strange sounds, but he's never seen this intensity, this complete retreat into his own world. It's as if Plankton is trying to build a fortress around himself, one that keeps the pain of the outside world at bay. So, he tries to make his way in. "Palilal...lal...la...echolal..." The words keep coming, each one a puzzle piece that Krabs tries to fit into the larger picture. He looks to Karen, his eyes pleading for guidance. Karen's expression is a mix of concern and understanding. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "You don't have to explain." But Krabs can't let it go. He needs to know, to understand what he's done to his enemy that has brought him to this state. "What are you sa-" But Plankton throws the fidget across the room, the plastic pieces clattering against the wall; yet his eye remains glazed. Karen steps forward, her hand lifting to cup his cheek. "It's ok, sweetie," she says, her voice calm. "You don't have to talk if you don't want." She knows his stims, his silent mantras, are his way of navigating a world that often feels too loud, too bright, too confusing. She's been his anchor for so long, his interpreter of a language that others don't always understand. Krabs' eyes widen at the sudden outburst, his heart pounding in his chest. He's accustomed to Plankton's usual theatrics, but this is different. This is raw, this is real. He can see the pain etched into every line of Plankton's face, every twitch of his antennae. "What should I do?" He whispers to Karen, his voice desperate. Karen's gaze doesn't leave Plankton's face. She knows that his stims are a way to find peace in the chaos, a language that only she can understand. "Just give him space," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "He'll come back to us when he's ready." With that, Karen goes to the bedside drawer where the box of sensory items is kept. It's a treasure trove of textures and sounds, a collection that Plankton has amassed over the years to help him navigate the often-overwhelming world. She opens it with care, her eyes scanning the various fidgets and toys, each one holding a special place in Plankton's heart. She puts the box on his bed like an offering. "Here, sweetie," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Use something if it helps." Mr. Krabs watches, his eyes widening at the array of items. He's never seen anything like it—so many strange, wonderful things that seem to make no sense. Yet, they are a comfort to Plankton, a way to make sense of the world. He can't help but be curious, his eyes darting from one item to the next. What could these simple objects mean to his enemy? He reaches out a tentative claw, picking up a soft, squeezable ball. It feels strange in his grip, unlike anything he's ever held. "What does this do?" He asks, his voice a mix of wonder and ignorance. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye widening at the sight of Krabs taking his precious items without asking. Karen intervenes, her hand covering Krabs' claw. "These are for Plankton," she says, firm but gentle. "They're his tools for coping. Please, let him choose." Krabs withdraws his claw, his curiosity piqued but respectful. He watches as Plankton's eye flits from one item to the next. "Echo...echolal...lal...la... Palilal...lal...la...echo..." Plankton's murmurs slow, his breathing evening out. He reaches for a plush octopus from the sensory box, its tentacles a jumble of textures. He squeezes it tightly, the softness grounding him. "What...what is that?" Krabs asks, nodding towards the octopus. Karen smiles, a hint of pride in her voice. "It's a comfort object," she explains. "It has different textures to soothe his senses when things get too much." She watches as Plankton's fingers trace over the fabric, each a lifeline back to reality. "Everyone on the spectrum has their own way of dealing with overwhelm." Krabs holds his hand out to Plankton, palm up. "May I?" He asks, his voice hopeful. Plankton's murmurs fade, his breathing steady. He looks up, his eye meeting Krabs' with a hint of wariness before going back to his octopus without an answer. Krabs' heart skips a beat, his claws hovering over the box. He's desperate to connect, to show Plankton that he cares. He picks up a smooth, polished stone, rolling it between his fingers. "What's this one fo—" But Plankton's antennae snap up, his gaze sharp and fierce. "MINE!" He snatches the stone from Krabs' grasp, his voice a whipcrack of protectiveness. The room holds its breath, the tension palpable as Krabs' hand retreats, his eyes wide. Karen sighs, stepping between them. "Krabs," she says, her voice firm but kind. "These items are personal to Plankton. They help him regulate his senses. Please respect his space and his things." Krabs nods, his eyes never leaving the plush octopus Plankton clutches tightly. "I'm just trying to understand," he says, his voice thick with emotion. Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't loosen, but his murmurs have ceased. The room is silent except for the sound of his shallow breathing. Krabs swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "What can I do?" He asks, his voice cracking. "How can I help?" Karen looks at him, her screen filled with a mix of pity and frustration. "Just be there," she says, her voice firm. "Don't try to fix him. Just be present. That's what he needs." Krabs nods, his eyes still on Plankton. He doesn't know what that means, but he's willing to try. He sits down on the bed, his movements careful not to startle him. Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't waver, but his eye flickers towards Krabs. It's a tiny gesture, but it's enough to give him hope.

MANTONYA Harold Junior - 19Y single white male hatchery employee - b: Nov 28 1927 Windsor, Henry Co, MO - d: Sep 7 1947 Windsor Twp, Henry Co, MO - fth: Fred Mantonya, born Henry Co, MO - mth: Rosie Scrimager, born Johnson Co, MO - usual res: RFD Windsor, Henry Co, MO - informant: Fred Mantonya, Windsor, MO - cause: accident, fell off bicycle during an epileptic fit, hit by car - bur: Sep 9 1947 Laurel Oak Cemetery (M), Windsor, Henry Co, MO - filed as: Harold J. Mantonya, file no: 31014

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 1 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! In the aftermath of Plankton's science fair episode, Chip didn't want his dad to go through that again, so he decided it was time for a change. He approached his mom with the idea of switching schools. Karen listened, her eyes filled with empathy, and nodded. "You know, sweetie, sometimes change can be good. We'll look into it." The next day, Chip accompanied his parents to Hanna's house. Hanna, with her infectious energy, was eager to help. Chip couldn't help but overhear their conversation. "So, Karen, what's really going on with Plankton?" Karen took a deep breath and began to explain. "Well, Hanna, Plankton's autistic. It's like his brain works differently. He has these things called 'stims' that help him focus and stay calm, especially when he's overwhelmed." Hanna's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, like when he was sick aft-" Karen gently cut her off. "Yes, it was related. It's all a part of his condition. But it's more than just that. His mind works in ways that we can't always understand. Sometimes it's like he's in his own little world, but it's a brilliant one." Plankton was swinging his legs as he sat by Karen, feeling awkward. He knew his brain was different, but he didn't like it being talked about outside of Karen. Hanna leaned in, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, 'brilliant'?" "Well, you know how he can recall every single detail of his Krabby Patty recipe?" Karen said with a smile. "Or how he can fix anything in the restaurant with just a quick look? That's his autism at work. It's like he has these special powers, but sometimes it can be too much for him to handle." Chip watched Hanna nod, absorbing the information. He felt a mix of pride and protectiveness for his dad. "But what about the bad parts?" Hanna asked, her voice softening. "How do you deal with the... the tantrum..." The moment the word slipped out, Plankton's legs stopped swinging. His eye darted to Hanna, a flicker of anger crossing his face. Karen knew that look. Plankton didn't like the term "tantrum." It was a sore spot, something that made him feel less than. With a sigh, she turned to Hanna, placing a gentle hand on her friend's arm. "Let's call it a 'meltdown', okay?" "M-Meltdown?" Hanna stuttered, her cheery demeanor dimming. "It's a tantrum, right?" Plankton's eye narrowed, and his grip on his chair tightened. "It's not a tantrum, Hanna," Plankton spoke through gritted teeth, his voice low and firm. "It's a meltdown. There's a difference, you know‽" Hanna looked surprised, then embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to-" But Plankton was beyond apologies. He shot up from his chair, his tiny fists balled at his sides. "You think I throw tantrums? That I'm a child who can't control himself?" The room grew tense as his voice escalated, his body trembling with frustration. "I'm not like that. I'm not a toddler!" Hanna took a step back, her hands up in a gesture of peace. "Plankton, I didn't mean-" But he was beyond words, his autistic brain flooded with sensory overload from the misunderstanding. Karen could see the panic in his eye, his body poised for fight or flight. Her heart ached for him, for the way the world often didn't understand. Chip stepped in, trying to diffuse the situation. "Dad, it's okay. Ms. Hanna just didn't know the right word." Karen moved swiftly to Plankton's side, her voice calm and soothing. "Honey, I know you're upset. Let's go to a quiet spot." She guided him to the corner of Hanna's kitchen. Hanna, eyes wide, looked at Karen for guidance. "I didn't mean to-" she started, but Karen held up a hand, cutting her off gently. "It's okay, Hanna. It's just a misunderstanding." In the quiet corner, Karen knelt beside him. "You're right, Plankton. It's not fair. But remember, she didn't know." Plankton's eye darted back to Hanna, who was now silent, watching them with a mixture of shock and guilt. Chip stood there, torn between his dad's fury and Hanna's ignorance. Hanna's cheery persona was gone, replaced by a look of genuine concern. She approached them cautiously. "I'm really sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to upset you." Her eyes searched his for forgiveness. Plankton's chest heaved with anger, but he felt a twinge of compassion for her ignorance. He knew she didn't understand, but it didn't change the hurt she had caused. Karen's hand was warm and steadying on his shoulder. "Let's talk about this," she said softly. "You know Hanna didn't mean it that way." Plankton's breath was ragged as he tried to compose himself. He knew Karen was right, but the word had stung, bringing back memories of past judgments and misunderstandings. "I know," he managed to murmur, his voice strained. Hanna took another tentative step forward. "I'm here to learn, Plankton," she said with sincerity. "Tell me what I should kno—" But Plankton was already retreating into his own world, his eye glazed over as he tried to process the conversation. Karen stood up, her eyes never leaving his. "Why don't we give him a moment, Hanna?" She sat beside Plankton, who was now rocking back and forth. Hanna nodded, looking at them with a mix of confusion and remorse. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I just didn't know." In the quiet corner, Karen wrapped her arm around Plankton, holding him close. "It's ok," she repeated. "You're right, honey. It's not the same." Hanna leads them all to the couches in her living room. Plankton eased himself on a sofa opposite Hanna. He rocks back and forth in stimming. "Tantrum, tantrum, not a tantrum. Meltdown. Meltdown," he murmurs to himself. Plankton's voice grew softer. "Tantrum, no. Meltdown. Meltdown," he murmured, his eye unfocused. The stimming was a familiar sight by now, a comforting self-soothing technique that his brain needed in moments of stress. Hanna sat down beside him, mimicking the rocking motion in what she thought of was a silent offer of support. Plankton's gaze snapped to Hanna, his expression sharp. "What are you doing?" he demanded. The suddenness of his voice startled Hanna. "Just trying to help," she stuttered, unsure of herself. "Don't," he said firmly, his face flushing. "Don't mimic me." Karen stepped in, placing a hand on Hanna's shoulder. "It's ok," she assured her. "It can be uncomfortable when people do that. It's best to let him do his thing." Hanna nodded, her screen full of regret. "I'm sorry," she managed, looking at Plankton. But Plankton was already lost in a loop of words, echoing his own thoughts. "This isn't right, not right, not right," he whispered to himself. Hanna looks up, confused. "What isn't right, Plank-" "Don't talk to me," Plankton interrupted, his voice sharp. Karen took a seat next to Hanna, her hand resting gently on her knee. "Hanna, you see, stims are like Plankton's personal language. They're private, like someone's thoughts. It's how he speaks to his brain, how he tells it 'I'm safe, I'm okay'. It's not for us to join unless he asks us to." Hanna nodded slowly. "So, when I tried to... help him by doing what he does, it was like I was..." "Intruding. It's like if someone tried to finish your sentences or read your thoughts," Karen elaborated, her gaze softening as she watched Plankton. "It's his way of saying, 'This is how I process the world, and I need this space to do so.'" Hanna nodded, her screen reflecting the newfound knowledge. "I never thought of it that way," she murmured. "I just wanted to help." "I know you did," Karen smiled gently, patting her hand. "But sometimes, the best way to help is to give space. For him, stims are just as personal as a diary entry. They're his way of communicating to himself." Plankton's rocking grew softer, less frantic. Karen knew the signs of his brain starting to settle down. He was beginning to come back to them, but she didn't want to push it.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 7 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) They moved to the floor, a cushioned area where Plankton felt more comfortable. Hanna produced a variety of textures for him to explore. "Slowly," she instructed, "let's introduce his hands to different fabrics." Karen watched as Plankton's fingers danced over the softness of velvet, his expression unreadable. Then Hanna presented a piece of sandpaper. His hand retracted instantly, his eye squeezing shut. "No," he murmured, his voice tight with distress. "It's ok," Karen said, taking his hand. "We'll try something else." She offered him a smooth piece of silk instead. His eye widened, his breath catching. "Nice?" she asked, her voice gentle. Slowly, Plankton's hand unfurled, his fingertips brushing against the fabric. "Silk," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. He began to stroke it, his movements rhythmic and comforting. Hanna nodded, making a note. "Good," she said. "That's a positive response. Now let's try different tactile sensations." Hanna says, taking the fabrics away. She presented a tray with a variety of objects: a cold metal spoon, a soft feather, a bumpy rock. Plankton's hand hovered over each item, his gaze intense. "Choose one," Karen urged, her voice gentle. He reached for the feather, his eye closing in anticipation. As the soft plumes brushed against his skin, a shiver of pleasure went through him. "Good," he murmured, his hand moving in a soothing motion. Karen watched. Hanna offered the cold spoon next. Plankton's hand jerked back at first, his eye widening in fear. But with Karen's gentle encouragement, he touched it again, his breath hitching as he experienced the coolness. "Cold," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder before retreating his hand again. They moved to the rock, its surface a study in contrasts. Plankton's hand hovered, then touched the rock tentatively. His face contorted as he felt the bumpy, unyielding surface. "Odd," he murmured. Hanna nodded, her gaze studying him. "It's ok to not like everything," she said. "But it's ok to explore." She sets out a sharpened point to test his reaction. Plankton's hand hovered over the pointed tip, his antennae twitching. He looked to Karen, his eye searching for reassurance. "It's ok," she whispered, taking the point and pressing it lightly into her own palm. "It's just a sensation I vaguely feel," Karen says, barely pressing onto his skin. Slowly, touching the point with the pad of his finger... His body jolted, his breath screeching. "Pain," he murmured, his hand retreating quickly. "Too much!" Hanna nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's ok," she said. "This is all about finding what you can ha-" But before she could finish, Plankton's body stiffened, his eye rolling back with a cry. Karen watched another seizure take hold. "No!" she cried, her voice a mix of fear and frustration. Hanna was quick to act, guiding him back to the couch and speaking soothingly. "It's ok," she murmured. "You're safe." They waited for the seizure to pass, Karen's hand tightly clutching Plankton's, offering silent comfort. When he came to, his gaze was haunted, his hand still wrapped around the fidget toy. Hanna tried the point again, only for Plankton to cough up his toast, tears streaming down his face. "We need to stop," Karen said, her voice shaking. "This isn't helping." Hanna nodded, her expression filled with understanding. "We've learned a lot today," she said. "We know what to avoid now. Let's stop." They moved back to the couch, Karen's arm around Plankton, his body trembling. She knew his sensory overload was at its peak. The room felt too bright, too loud, too much. "Let's dim the lights," Hanna suggested, her voice gentle. "And let's try some deep pressure." Karen nodded, rushing to the dimmer switch and adjusting the lights to a comfortable level. She then wrapped a weighted blanket around Plankton, his body relaxing almost immediately under its embrace. His eye closed, and his breathing grew steady as the pressure helped soothe his overwhelmed senses. They sat in silence for a moment, Karen stroking his arm, avoiding any sudden movements that might startle him. "It's ok," she whispered. "You're safe." Hanna spoke softly. "It's important to create a sensory friendly environment," she explained. "We'll need to make some adjustments around the house." Karen nodded, her gaze never leaving Plankton's face. "I'll do anything," she said. "Whatever it takes." Hanna's eyes searched the room, her mind working. "Let's start with visual stimuli," she said. They moved through the place, Karen following Hanna's instructions to cover the windows with blackout curtains and remove any items that might be overstimulating. The room grew dimmer, the only light coming from a single, soft lamp. Plankton's breathing slowed, his body visibly relaxing. Hanna spoke calmly. "Now, let's work on some verbal exercises." Karen watched as Hanna selected a set of cards with simple pictures and words. "We'll start with matching," she said, holding up a card with an image of a cat. "What does this say?" Plankton's eye focused on the card, his hand fidgeting with the blanket's edge. "Cat," he murmured sleepily. Hanna nodded, her gaze meeting Karen's. "Good job," she said. "Now, let's try another one." She held up a card with a picture of a tree. Plankton's eye searched the card, his mouth moving as if he was trying to form the word. "Tree," he managed after a moment, his voice slightly more confident, yet he felt drowsily exhausted. Hanna nodded, pleased with his progress. "Very good, Plankton," she said, placing the card down. "Let's keep going." But Plankton's tired. "Maybe we should take a break," Karen suggested, seeing the fatigue in his posture. "He's had a lot to process today." Hanna nodded, her gaze kind. "It's been a big day for him. Let's not push it." They decided to end the session, Karen helping Plankton to bed, the weighted blanket still wrapped around him. His eye were half-closed, his movements sluggish as he sank into the mattress, the sensory overload leaving him drained. "Thank you," Karen murmured to Hanna. "For everything." Hanna's smile was gentle. "It's what I'm here for," she said. "We'll take this one step at a time. Remember, patience and understanding are key." Karen nodded with tears as she tucked Plankton into bed. His body was still, his breaths deep and even under the soothing weight of the blanket. The room was now a cocoon of calm, designed to protect his sensitive system from the onslaught of the outside world.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 10 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae drooping. "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse as he looks around. Chip stared at his father, his eyes brimming with tears. "You scared me," he whispered. "Mom said you had a-" But Plankton cut him off, his voice cold. "I wasn't talking to you," he said, his gaze sliding away from Chip's. "I was asking your mother." The hurt in Chip's eyes was like a knife to Karen, but she knew better than to push. Chip looked at her, his eyes desperate for answers. "But Mom, what's going on?" he whispered. Karen took a deep breath. "Your dad's been going through some changes," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "He's not the same as before, and we're still trying to figure it all out. You can ask us questions, but it's your dad's story to tell." Chip's curiosity was piqued, his need for answers overriding his fear. "What do you mean by changes?" he asked, his voice shaky. "Are you sick? What's wrong, Da-" "I'm fine," Plankton said, his voice sharp. "Just leave it, ok?" His tone was final, his gaze avoiding his son's. He could feel the weight of his own emotions, the fear of being seen as weak, as different. The anger was a shield, a way to push Chip away before the hurt could set in. But Chip has more questions. Chip's eyes searched Plankton's, his voice laced with determination. "But Dad, you're not fine," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "You're acting all weird and scary, and you're not talking to me or playing games like we-" "I said I'm fine!" Plankton's voice was a harsh bark, his antennae snapping with agitation. The room felt suddenly too small, his anger a palpable force that made Karen flinch. "I don't need you poking around in my business!" His eye narrowed, his words cutting like a knife. "What don't you get?" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his lower lip quivering. "But I'm your son," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heart breaking. "You're supposed t---" But Plankton was already retreating, his back to them. "I don't need this," he murmured, still sitting. "I don't need any of this." "But Dad, I just want to help," he said, his voice shaky. "I don't understand why you're like this," he adds, reaching out to touch his dad's shoulder. But Plankton flinched away, his antennae quivering with irritation. "Don't touch me," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. But Chip remains undeterred. "I don't get it," Chip says, reaching out again to Plankton's back. "What happe—" But Plankton's voice was like ice. "Don't," he warned, his body stiffening. "Just, don't." His antennae twitched erratically, a silent testament to his internal storm. Chip's hand hovered, now setting it on Plankton's arm... The sudden contact sent a shiver down Plankton's spine, his body jolting as if electrified. "I said don't!" he snarled, his voice a whip crack in the silent room. He yanked his arm away, his eye wild. "Can't yo-" But Chip's hand remained firm, his grip now on Plankton's wrist, refusing to let go. "Dad, ple–" "Get OFF!" Plankton's voice was a snarl, his body writhing away from the touch. Chip felt like he was holding onto a wild animal, desperate to keep it from running away. "I don't understand," he choked out, tears streaming down his screen as he only held on tighter. "Dad, w---" But Plankton's anger boiled over. With a roar, he swung his arm back, slapping Chip's hand away. Chip's arm stung, his eyes wide with shock. "I said DON'T TOUCH ME!" Plankton's voice echoed through the room. Karen watched both her son and her husband. She knew this was hard for Chip, knew he was just trying to connect, to understand. But Plankton's autistic brain was like a delicate instrument, easily overwhelmed by the cacophony of emotions and sensations. She stepped forward, placing a hand on Chip's shoulder. "It's ok," she said, her voice soft. "Dad just needs his space right now." Chip looked up at her, his eyes swimming with tears. "But why?" he choked out. "Why is he-" "Chip, please," Karen said, her voice shaking with emotion. "We have to respect his boundaries." Her gaze was pleading, but Chip's determination didn't waver. "But he's my dad," he said, his voice strong despite the tremor. Plankton's body was a whirlwind of emotions, his eye flicking back and forth between his wife and son. He felt torn, his desire to push Chip away warring with his love for him. Chip's eyes searched Plankton's, his voice shaky but firm. "Dad, you can't just ignore me," he said. But Plankton's too angry to answer. Karen watched the scene unfold. Plankton's withdrawal was palpable, his body language screaming 'leave me alone'. He curled up into the armchair, his antennae pressed against his head. The room felt suffocating with his emotional walls. "Chip, let's go to your room," she whispered, her voice a gentle guide. With one last look at his father, Chip nodded, his eyes red and puffy. Plankton didn't move, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he curled further into his chair. The anger was a wave that had crashed over him, leaving him drained and ashamed. He didn't mean to hurt Chip, but the touch had been too much. He felt his world spinning, his senses on high alert, his thoughts a jumble of fear and frustration. Karen led Chip to his room, her hand firm but gentle on his shoulder. She knew he was hurt, knew he had so many questions. Once inside, she sat beside him on the bed, her eyes brimming with tears she fought to hold back. "Chip," she began, her voice soft. "You know how people are different, right?" Chip nodded, his eyes still wet from crying. "Yeah," he whispered. "Like, some people like chocolate, and some like vanilla." "Exactly," Karen said, taking a deep breath. "Well, sometimes, those differences aren't just about what we like or don't like." She paused, searching for the right words. "Sometimes, things happen to our brains that make it work differently. Like when you fall and get a bruise, your body needs time to heal. But brain bruises, well, injuries, can't be seen, and they can change how we think, feel, and even how we react to the world." Chip's eyes searched hers, his mind racing. "So, Dad's brain got bruised?" Karen shrugs, her voice soft. "No. It's called acquired autism. It's like a switch was flipped in his brain, changing the way he sees and feels things." She took a deep breath. "It's not his fault, and it doesn't make him less of a person, but it does make him see the world in a way that's new and sometimes scary for all of us." Chip looked down at his hands, his thoughts racing. "So he's not just mad at me?" "No, sweetie," Karen said, wiping a tear from her own screen. "It's not about you. It's about his brain learning how to process things differently now." Chip's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it all. "But why does he get so upset when I just want to hug him?" Karen sighed. "Sometimes, when our brain changes like this, it's like suddenly the lights are too bright, or sounds are too loud, or touch feels like a hundred needles," she said, her voice gentle. "It's not that he doesn't want to hug you, it's just that his brain can't handle it the way it used to." "But I'm not hugging his brain," Chip asks. "No," Karen says, her voice soothing. "You're hugging him, his body. But it's his brain that interprets the hug. And right now, his brain is like a radio tuned to the wrong station. It's hearing things differently, feeling things differently." She pauses, looking for a way to make it more real for him. "Imagine if you were playing a video game and suddenly the controls changed. You'd get frustrated, right?" Chip nods. "That's what it's like for Dad. Everything he knew, everything he could do, it's like the cheat codes don't work anymore. And when you try to hug him, it's like someone turned the volume up really loud without warning." She takes a deep breath. "It's not that he doesn't love you, or that he doesn't want to play games or tell stories. It's just that his brain needs more time to understand the world again." Chip nods slowly, his eyes still full of unshed tears. "So, what do we do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "We help him," Karen says, wiping at her own tears. "We learn about his new 'station', and we help him adjust to it." She smiles sadly. "It's like we're explorers, discovering a new world together."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 11 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Chip sniffles. "But what if he gets mad at me again?" he whispers. "He might," Karen admits. "But it's important to remember it's not about you, or what you do wrong." She pauses, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his back. "It's about his brain trying to understand a world that's changed for him." "But how do I know what's too much?" Chip asks, his voice small. "How can I tell what will make him upset?" Karen's eyes searched his. "It's like learning a new dance," she explained. "At first, you'll step on each other's toes, but with time and patience, you'll find the right rhythm." She took a deep breath. "We'll figure it out together. You can ask him, or me, and we'll learn his cues. Like when he needs space, or when he's ok with a gentle touch." Chip nodded, his eyes still brimming with tears. "Ok," he said, his voice shaky. "But I want to hug him again." Karen clenched at his words. "I know," she said. "And when the time is right, you may. But for now, let's find other ways to show him love, without overwhelming his sensitive brain." She stood up, her hand reaching for the doorknob. "Why don't we go back to the living room and check on him?" They walked back to the living room, where Plankton was still sitting in the armchair, his antennae twitching slightly. He looked up as they entered, his eye filled with a mix of shame and defensiveness. Karen could see the turmoil playing across his features, the battle between his love for Chip and his fear of rejection. "Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative, his hand outstretched. "Could I... could we...?" Plankton's eye flickered to his son's outstretched hand, his stomach clenching at the thought of contact. He knew he should want this, should crave the comfort of his son's embrace. But his brain was a cacophony of fear and confusion, his skin a livewire of sensitivity. He swallowed hard, the word sticking in his throat like a bone. "No," he forced out, his voice tight. Chip's hand fell to his side, his shoulders slumping. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice desolate. "I just wan—" "NO!" Plankton's voice was a roar, his antennae quivering with the force of his rejection. The look of hurt on Chip's screen was like a dagger to his heart, but he couldn't stop the words from coming. "I don't want you right now," he spat, the anger a shield for his fear. "I don't like anyone touching me!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his chin trembling. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice barely above the sound of his own breath. "I just want to make you feel better." Plankton's heart twisted, but his fear was too great. "I said NO!" he bellowed, his body shaking with the force of his words. Chip's lower lip quivered as he took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. He had never seen his father this angry, this scared. "But I'm your son," he managed, his voice tiny. "I won't hurt yo-" "I don't care!" Plankton's voice was a snarl. "I just want to be left alone!" His antennae thrashed wildly, a silent testament to his inner chaos. "I don't need you or your stupid games!" The words were like a slap, leaving Chip's face burning. Chip's eyes filled with hurt, his voice shaky. "But you liked playing with me befo—" "I SAID NO!" Plankton's voice was a thunderclap, his eye flashing with a rage that wasn't entirely his own. "I don't want your games, your laughter, your touch!" The words hung in the air. Chip felt his chest tighten, his breath hitch in his throat. He looked at his mother, his screen pleading for help. Karen stepped forward, her heart breaking with each word. "Chip, let's give Dad some space," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She knew his intentions were pure, but his father's brain was a minefield right now, and any misstep could trigger another seizure. But Chip was stubborn, his desire to connect with his dad overriding his fear. "But Mom, he's just mad," he protested. "He co-" "Chip," Karen was firm, but her eyes were filled with sorrow. "It's more than that." She took his hand. "We have to be patient, ok?" They sat on the couch, the distance between them and Plankton palpable. Chip's thoughts raced, trying to understand. Plankton sat in the armchair, his antennae still, his gaze anywhere but on his son. So Chip decided to get one of the fidget toys. "Here," he said, holding it out. "It's ok," he whispered. "It's just a toy." Plankton's eye flickered to the fidget toy, his breathing shallow. He knew he should be grateful, should be happy that his son was trying. But the anger was like a storm, and he couldn't find the calm within. "Get that hand away from me," he snarled, his voice low and menacing. Chip's eyes filled with hurt, his hand dropping to his side. "But Dad," he choked out, his throat tight with unshed tears. "I'm just trying to-" But Plankton's anger was a tidal wave that couldn't be stopped. "You don't get it!" he shouted, his antennae quivering. "You can't just barge in here and expect things to be the same!" He threw one of the toys across the room, the plastic smacking against the wall. "You don't get to decide how I feel!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his heart racing. "But Dad, I just want to help," he whispered. "I don't understand." He retrieved the toy. Plankton's eye darted to the fidget toy, his antennae quivering. "Don't," he murmured, his voice sharp. "I don't want it." The word was like a slap to Chip, his hand dropping to his side. He looked at his mother, his eyes pleading for guidance. "Let me," she said, her voice a gentle whisper. She approached Plankton slowly, her movements deliberate. "Here," she said, her voice soothing. "This might help calm you down." Plankton's eye darted to the fidget toy, his antennae twitching. For a moment, he was torn between anger and desire, his hand reaching out to grab it before his brain could change its mind. His grip was firm, his breath hitching as his thumb traced the smooth patterns. Chip watched, his heart racing. "Is it ok now?" he asked, his voice tentative. "Can I sit with you?" Plankton's antennae stilled, his breaths coming in measured paces as he worked the fidget toy. He didn't look up, his eye still on the floor. "Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative, his question hanging in the air like a delicate thread. "Can we talk now?" Plankton's eye remained fixed on the fidget toy, his thumb still tracing the patterns compulsively. His jaw was tight, his antennae slightly less erratic. "What's to talk about," he murmured, his voice still thick with the anger that hadn't completely dissipated. Chip took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "I don't know," he said, his voice honest. "I just want to kno—" "You want to know what?" Plankton's voice was cold, his eye flicking up to meet Chip's. "What happened to me? What's wrong with me?" The words were a challenge, a sharp-edged question that hung in the air. Chip's gaze dropped to the carpet, his throat tight. "I just want to understand," he whispered. "Why you're so mentally di-" He didn't get to finish the sentence. Plankton's antennae snapped up, his voice a whip. "Don't," he said, the word sharp as a knife. "Don't say another word." Chip felt his stomach churn, his palms sweaty. "Dad, I didn't mean to upset you," Chip tried again, his voice shaking. "I just know at my school, how my classmates would whispered to me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I don't wan-" "I said don't!" Plankton's voice was a whip. His antennae were still, his body coiled tightly in the chair. "Don't you dare make me into some kind of charity case!" His eye blazed with a fierce protectiveness that took even Karen by surprise. Chip flinched, his own eyes filling with tears. "But Dad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You weren't a burden bef-" "ENOUGH!" The room was silent, save for the sound of Plankton's rapid breathing. His antennae twitched as he clutched the fidget toy like a lifeline. "I NEVER want to be a burden!" he shouted, his voice echoing around the room. The anger was a storm raging within him, his fear of being seen as weak or less than overwhelming. Karen stepped forward, her eyes filled with a mix of pity and determination. "Chip," she whispered. "Let's give him some space." But Chip's resolve was unshakable, his eyes locked on his father. "But what if 'the burden' never gets..." Plankton's antennae shot up. "What did you call me?" His voice was a hiss, his body taut with tension. Chip took a step back, his throat tight. "I didn't mean it like that," he stuttered. "It's just what they say at school." But Plankton was lost in a whirlwind of emotion. "Get out!" he roared, his antennae flailing. "Get out of my face!" Chip's eyes filled with tears as he took a step back, the rejection a heavy weight on his shoulders. He didn't understand why his father was so angry with him, so he turned to his mother, his voice shaking. "Mom, I didn't mean to-" But Karen knew Plankton's anger was a defense mechanism, a way for his brain to cope with the fear and confusion of his new reality. She stepped closer to him, her voice soft and calm. "It's ok, Plankton," she soothed. "We're here for you. Chip didn't mea-" "DON'T!" Plankton's voice was a bark, his antennae snapping in agitation. "Don't you dare defend him." His eye was wild, his body trembling. Karen's eyes never left his, her voice a gentle stream of reassurance. "You're not a burden, Plankton," she said, her words a soft whisper. "We love you, just as you are." She took another step, closing the gap between them. "We're in this together."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 12 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) But Plankton was too lost in his rage to hear her. "Get OUT!" he screamed, his antennae thrashing. "I don't need Chip!" The words were a knife in Karen's, but she knew they were not truly his own. "Dad," Chip's voice was small, his eyes wide with shock. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's anger was a beast that had been unleashed, his words cutting like a knife. "I said get out!" he roared, his body vibrating with rage. Chip's eyes searched his father's, looking for the man he knew beneath the storm of emotions. But all he saw was a stranger, a creature of fear and frustration. He took another step back, his heart racing. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't do anything wrong.." Plankton's antennae stilled, his breathing erratic. "You're right," he murmured, his voice deflating like a balloon. "You haven't done anything wrong, in fact, you're pretty perfect." The words were laced with sarcasm, a bitterness that made Karen's fists clench. "After all, it's not like you called me burdensome or anything," he added, his voice dripping with false sweetness. Chip's eyes widened, the impact of his father's words hitting him like a slap. He looked at Karen, his eyes pleading for help, for understanding. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "That's not what I me-" But Plankton's anger had become a living entity in the room, feeding off his fear and frustration. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Did my little falling accident hurt your precious wittle feelings?" His antennae twitched, his eye glinting with rage. Chip took another step back, his chin quivering. "But Dad," he protested, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean-" "I know you didn't mean it," Plankton interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're so innocent, so pure." His antennae waved erratically. "But let me tell you a secret, Chip. You see, there's a wonderful thing called tact. Maybe you should try it sometime!" Chip felt his screen burn with embarrassment, his eyes filling with tears. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice shaky. "I just wanted to-" "Oh, I know what you wanted," Plankton sneered, the sarcasm dripping from his words like acid. "You wanted to be the hero, didn't you? The big strong boy who saves his daddy from his own brain!" His antennae twitched erratically. "But let me tell you something, Chip. You can't fix this. You can't make it all better with your toys and your stupid questions. So why don't we all just praise perfect little Chip for trying, shall we.." The words were a slap in the face, each one hitting Chip harder than the last. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his body trembling. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice desperate. "I just want to help." "Oh, how noble," Plankton said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Want a medal?" His antennae quivered with anger, his eye glinting with spite. "I just want to be with you," Chip said, his voice breaking. "To make you happy." "Well, you're doing a fine job," Plankton said, his voice like a whip. "Keep it up, Chip. You're a regular miracle worker." His words were barbed, each one designed to cut deep. Chip's eyes searched his father's, desperate for some sign of the love he knew was there. But all he found was anger, a wall so thick it was suffocating. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm sor-" "Don't," Plankton interrupted, his voice cold. "Don't you dare say you're sorry. You don't get to feel sorry for me. You don't get to pity me." His antennae twitched with agitation. "You don't even get to be upset about what you said. Because it's all true, isn't it?" His eye bore into Chip's, his voice like ice. "I'm a burden. That's all I am. That's all I'll ever be." Chip's breath hitched, the weight of his father's words crushing him. "Dad," he managed, his voice a whisper. "That's not what I-" But Plankton talked over him, his voice a sneer. "Oh, I see. You're going to play the innocent now, are you? Pretend like you didn't just say I'm a burden?" His antennae were a blur of movement, a silent testament to his rage. "How convenient." Chip felt his world crumbling, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I didn't-" "Don't you dare lie to me," Plankton's voice was like a knife, cutting through the air. Chip felt the room close in, his throat tight. "But Dad," he choked out, "I didn't mean-" "Oh, the poor little hero," Plankton said, his voice a mocking whisper. "So misunderstood." He rolled his eye dramatically. "It's always about you, isn't it?" The sarcasm was a knife twisting in Karen, but she knew it was the fear and pain speaking. Chip's eyes searched his father's, his own brimming with tears. "But Dad, I just want to help," he whispered, his voice shaking. "To make things right." Plankton's antennae stilled, his gaze cold. "You want to make things right?" he echoed, his voice laced with condescension. "How sweet! Why don't you go play the hero somewhere else!" Chip felt the sting of his father's sarcasm, his eyes welling up. "But I'm your son," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm supposed to-" "Oh, I know your role," Plankton said, his tone biting. "The golden child, always trying to fix things." His antennae quivered with disdain. "Dad," Chip protests, "I just want you to be happy." Plankton's eye narrowed, his face a mask of condescension. "How sweet," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you see, Chip, happiness is a concept lost to me. I'm just a broken toy now, remember?" He twirled the fidget toy in his hand, his thumb moving compulsively over the patterns. Chip's cheeks flushed, his eyes filling with tears. "But Dad," he whispered, "you're more than that." Plankton's antennae shot up, his face a contorted mask of disdain. "Oh, really?" he said, his voice thick with patronizing sarcasm. "Enlighten me, oh great and wise Chip. Tell me what I am." He leaned back in his chair, his antennae waving in the air as if inviting a lecture from his son. Chip took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're my dad," he said, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "And you're... you're still you, even if you're a little different now." But Plankton's sarcasm was a shield he couldn't penetrate. "Ah, yes," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "The ever-elusive 'you're still you' argument. How original." His antennas twitched in disdain. "You don't get it," Chip's voice was desperate, his eyes pleading. "I don't care if you're different. I just want you to be happy." But Plankton's anger had become a shield, his words a barbed wire fence keeping his son at bay. "Oh, you don't care?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How magnanimous of you." His antennae twitched in a mock salute. "Well, let me tell you something, Chip. You can't just ignore the fact that your perfect little world has been shaken up, can you?" Chip felt the sting of his father's patronizing tone, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "But Dad," he said, his voice quivering. "I just want to-" "Oh, I know what you want," Plankton interrupted, his voice dripping with condescension. "You want the perfect little storybook ending where we all hold hands and skip off into the sunset." His antennae waved in the air dramatically. "But life doesn't work that way, Chip. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people, and there's no magical cure for it." His eye was cold, his antennae stilled. "So save your pity for someone wh-" Karen stepped in, her voice calm and firm. "Plankton, that's enough." She knew his words were a defense, a way to push away the pain. "Chip's just trying to help." Plankton's antennae stilled, his breath hitching. He looked at his wife, his anger momentarily fading. "I know," he murmured. "But I don't want his pity." Karen's gaze was filled with understanding. "It's not pity, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "It's love." Plankton's antennae twitched, his expression softening slightly. "But what good is love when I can't eve-" "Love is more than just touch," Karen interrupted, her voice gentle. "It's understanding, it's patience, it's being here for you." She took another step towards him, her hand outstretched. "It's about connecting in other ways." Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye flicking to her hand and then back to her face. He knew she was right, but the fear was a beast that ruled him. "But I don't know how to," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "How do I connect without... without the things I used to do?" Karen ached, her hand still extended. "We'll find a way," she assured him, her voice steady. "Together."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 13 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye focusing on the fidget toy in his hand. It was a silent testament to his internal turmoil, his mind racing with thoughts and fears. He knew Karen was right, that love didn't need to be physical, but the concept was still so alien to him, so difficult to grasp in his current state. "I'm trying," he murmured, his voice tight. "But it's just..." Karen's hand reached out to cover his, her touch gentle. "We all are," she said, her voice soothing. "And that's all we can do." Her gaze was filled with understanding, her eyes speaking volumes without a single word. "We're all just trying to navigate this new world, together." Chip watched his parents. He knew his father was struggling, but he also knew that love didn't have to be about touch. He took a step forward, his hand hovering.. Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide with fear. Karen quickly intervened, placing a hand on Chip's shoulder. "Not now," she whispered, her screen meeting her son's. "Let's give Dad some space." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's, the desire to connect with his father a palpable force. But Plankton's reaction was a stark reminder of the invisible barriers his injury had erected, the sensory minefield that surrounded him. The room was thick with silence, the only sound the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Karen's hand remained on Plankton's, her touch a gentle reminder of her presence. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice soft. "We're all learning together." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye meeting hers with a glimmer of hope. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "But it's so hard." The words were a confession, his vulnerability laid bare. Karen ached, her grip on his hand firm. "I know," she said, her voice understanding. "But we'll get through this. Together." Chip took a deep breath, his eyes still locked on his father's. He knew that his dad's reactions were not personal, that his brain was just trying to make sense of the world in a way that was different now. He forced a small smile, his voice steady. "We're here for you, Da-" But Plankton's antennae shot up, his body stiffening. "Don't," he murmured, his voice tight. "Just... don't." Karen stepped in, her voice calm and firm. "Plankton," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "Chip's just trying to tell you that he loves you." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye flicking to his son and back to Karen. The words hung in the air, a bridge between his old life and his new reality. He knew his son was trying, but the fear was a thick fog that clouded his mind, making it difficult to see the love beyond the barrier of his own emotions. Chip knew his father was in pain, and his words had only added to it. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I don't want you to feel li—" "Don't," Plankton interrupted, his antennae drooping. "I know what you're trying to do." His voice was a mix of fatigue and frustration. "But it's not that simple." Chip's eyes searched his father's, the depth of his pain mirrored in the tremble of his chin. "But Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I just want to make you happ..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body stiffening like a board. "Don't," he murmured, his voice strained. "I don't want your pity." The words were a warning, a reminder that his love was not conditional on his ability to function in the traditional sense. Karen's gaze remained steadfast on her husband's face, seeing the raw pain beneath the anger. She knew his frustration was a shield, a way to protect himself from the overwhelming sensory assault that his brain was still trying to comprehend. "It's getting late," she said. "Let's all get to bed." Plankton's antennae drooped, his body slumping in defeat. He was tired, so tired of fighting, of trying to make sense of this new world of sensory overload and fear. He nodded, his voice a whisper. "Ok." The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken words that hung in the air like a thick fog. As they made their way to their separate rooms, the weight of the evening's interaction settled on Chip's shoulders. He knew his father's reaction wasn't personal, but it was hard not to take it that way. He lay in bed, his mind racing with thoughts of his dad, his heart heavy with the knowledge that their relationship was forever changed. The next morning, Chip awoke and went to his parents room. The door was open, the light filtered through the blinds. Plankton was sitting on the edge of the bed, his antennae drooped low. He looked up as Chip entered, his eye wary, as if expecting another onslaught of emotions he couldn't comprehend. Chip paused. He knew he had to tread carefully, his father's sensory issues a delicate dance they were all still learning. "Hey," he said, his voice soft. "How are you?" Plankton's antennae twitched, a sign of his internal struggle. He took a deep breath, his eye flicking to the fidget toy resting on the bedside table. "I'm... ok," he murmured, his voice tentative. "Just tired." Chip took a step closer, his movements deliberate and slow. "Do you want to talk?" he asked, his tone gentle. Plankton's antennae quivered, his expression a mix of fatigue and frustration. "Talking doesn't change anything," he said, his voice flat. "But if it makes you feel better..." His eye met Chip's, the unspoken challenge clear. Chip took a deep breath, his mind racing. He knew his dad was in pain, knew that he needed to be patient. He sat down on the bed, his movements careful. "It's not about making me feel better," he said. "It's about... understanding." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye focusing on Chip. For a moment, the anger and fear receded, replaced by a hint of curiosity. "Understanding what?" his voice was gruff, but there was a crack in the armor, a glimpse of the man he used to be. Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "Understanding... how to be there for you," he said, his voice earnest. "How to love you in a way that doesn't... hurt." He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I know it's different now, but I still want to be your son." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flicking to the floor. He was quiet for a long moment, his thoughts racing. He knew Chip meant well, but the concept of nonverbal love was so foreign to him. "I know you do," he murmured, his voice tight. "But it's not your job to fix me." "I don't want to fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I just want to be with you." He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering over the fidget toy. "Can I?" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide with fear. "No," he said, his voice sharp. "Don't touch it." He knew the toy was a lifeline, a way to ground himself in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control. But he also knew his son meant well. Chip's hand retreated, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just want to... connect." Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye closing briefly. He knew his son's intentions were pure, but his own fear was a cage he couldn't seem to escape. "I know," he said, his voice softer. "But it's not that simple." Chip felt his chest tighten, his desire to help his father a physical ache. "But there must be a way," he said. "We'll find it." Plankton's antennae quivered, a tiny spark of hope igniting in his eye. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice tentative. "But you have to be patient." He picked up the fidget toy, his thumb tracing the patterns. Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I can do that," he said, his voice determined. "I'll do whatever it takes." Plankton's antennae twitched, a tiny glimmer of appreciation in his eye. "Thank you," he murmured. The words were a lifeline, a connection in the storm of his emotions. "But you have to understand," he continued, his voice strained. "Sometimes, I just need to be left alone." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I get it," he said. "But I'll always be here when you're ready."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 14 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Karen's voice was gentle but firm. "Plankton," she said. "Chip's right. We'll find a way to connect that works for all of us. We just have to keep trying. Why don't we all go drive to the new sensory park they just opened?" It was a place designed for those with sensory processing disorders, with areas that catered to different sensory needs. "It's a bit of a drive across town, but do you wanna try going?" They both nodded. They parked the car. "Let's go slow, ok?" Plankton nodded. They approached the sensory garden, a place designed to be calming. The scent of lavender was thick in the air, and the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet was a comforting contrast to the harshness of the city. As they walked through the gates, Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye scanning the area. The sensory park was a symphony of soft colors and soothing sounds, designed to minimize the overstimulation that so often triggered his seizures. "This is nice," he murmured. Chip watched his father, his heart in his throat. He knew how much this meant to him, how much Plankton was struggling. "It is," he said, his voice matching his dad's quiet tone. He took a deep breath, his sensors tuned to his father's every movement. "Do you want to go on the swings?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flicking to the swing. He nodded slowly. Chip led the way, his movements cautious. He knew his dad needed space, needed to feel safe. They approached the swing set, a simple metal frame with plastic seats. Plankton closed his eye, the rhythm familiar and comforting as he swings. Chip took the swing next to Plankton, his movements tentative. He knew his father's fear of touch was a battleground, and he didn't want to cross any lines. The squeak of the chains and the gentle breeze through the leaves of the nearby trees were the only sounds that accompanied them as they swung back and forth, side by side. Chip watched his father. He wanted so badly to reach out, to hold Plankton's hand, but he knew the boundaries. Instead, he focused on matching his swing to Plankton's, their motion in sync. He hoped the rhythm would be a comfort to his dad, a small piece of the connection they used to share. As they swung, the tension slowly began to ease from Plankton's antennae. The back-and-forth movement was soothing, a gentle rocking. After a while, they got off the swings. Plankton's antennae were still twitching with the residual energy of the movement, his body craving the sensory input that had become so rare. Chip noticed and searched the park for a suitable activity. His eyes lit upon the sandbox. "How about playing in the sand?" he suggested, his voice hopeful. Plankton's antennae quivered with interest, his eye lighting up slightly. He had always enjoyed the feel of sand between his... well, the equivalent of fingers. Karen smiled, seeing the potential for a positive interaction. They approached the sandbox, the fine grains glinting in the sunlight. Chip took a seat on the wooden bench beside it, watching as Plankton tentatively placed his hand into the cool sand. His antennae quivered with pleasure at the sensation, his body relaxing slightly. Chip followed suit, his movements deliberately slow and cautious, mirroring his father's. He knew that sudden movements or touch could send Plankton spiraling, so he remained still, his eyes on the sand. Together, they began to sculpt the sand, their hands moving in harmony without any need for words. The gentle scrape of the grains against their hands was a soothing balm, a silent conversation that transcended the barriers of language and injury. Plankton's fears and anger from the night before seemed to melt away with each mound of sand that took shape. Chip watched his father, his heart swelling with hope. He had found a way to connect, a sensory experience that didn't overwhelm Plankton. As they played, he noticed his father's breathing slow, his antennae relaxing slightly. It was a small victory, but it felt like a huge step in the right direction. The sun grew higher in the sky, casting warm rays down on the sandbox. Karen sat beside them, her eyes filled with gratitude for this moment of peace. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he focused on the sand, his movements precise. Chip watched, mimicking his father's careful touch. The sand was a bridge between them, a shared experience that didn't require words. They built sandcastles together, their hands working in harmony despite the unspoken fear that hung in the air. Chip felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he saw Plankton's eye light up with each new creation. The sand was a therapy in itself, a gentle reminder that love didn't need to be loud or physical to be felt. They built a sandcastle together, their silent companionship a balm to the wounds of the previous night. After a while, they finished. "Want to try something else?" Chip asked, his voice soft. Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye flicking to the nearby beach ball. "Maybe a game of catch?" Plankton suggested, his voice tentative. Chip nods. He knew his dad's fear of the unexpected, so he rolled it gently to him. Plankton caught the ball. He tossed it back to Chip, his eye watching the arc of its flight with a hint of excitement. Chip's throw was careful, underarm, keeping it within Plankton's visual comfort zone. He knew his dad's limits, his fear of fast movements. Plankton's antennae twitched as he caught the ball again. The sensation of the cool, smooth plastic was a comfort in his hands. He threw it back to Chip, his movements calculated, his mind focused on the game. It was a simple activity, but it was one where he felt in control. Chip watched his father, his movements mirrored. He knew his dad's fear of the unexpected, so he threw the ball with a gentle underhand toss, keeping it slow and predictable. Plankton smiled slightly, his eye tracking the ball's trajectory. Later, Karen told them it's time to go, to start the drive back home. She got in the driver's seat as Plankton and Chip sat in the back together. Chip's eyes were on his dad, his heart racing with excitement. The car's movement was a gentle rocking, akin to the swing. Plankton watched the world pass by. The sensation of the car's vibrations was soothing. Karen glanced in the rearview mirror, her eyes searching for any sign of distress. But Plankton was calm, his antennae still. The drive was a quiet reprieve, a chance for them to process the newness of their relationship. Chip knew that his dad's sensory issues made the world a minefield, but in this moment, the steady hum of the car was a comfort. As Karen drove, Plankton's eyelid began to droop, his antennae slowing. The gentle vibration of the car and the predictable rhythm of the road was a balm. He leaned back, his head resting against the seat, his hand clutching the fidget toy. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye half-closed, head dropping. Chip felt his heart swell as Plankton's head slowly dropped onto his shoulder. And as Plankton starts to snore gently, Chip realized his dad had fallen asleep, his head resting heavily on his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, fearing that any sudden movement might wake his father, might disrupt the fragile peace they had found. But Plankton's snores grew deeper, the tension leaving his body. Karen glanced in the rearview mirror. "It's ok," she murmured. "You're doing a good job." Chip felt his muscles relax slightly, the weight of his father's head a comfort. He knew that this moment was precious, a sign that his efforts were not in vain. He leaned into the warmth of his dad's body, his hand finding its way to the fidget toy. His thumb traced the patterns, mimicking the rhythm that Plankton had found soothing. Chip then decides to take a selfie. He holds up his phone after looking at his dad, who started to drool at the corner of his open mouth. He chuckles quietly, snapping the photo as Plankton remains asleep. Chip posts the picture with adding this caption: "Went to the park with my dad @ Sheldon Plankton today 💙👨‍👦💨 " Plankton still snored softly against Chip's shoulder. Chip noticed more drool escaping the corner of his mouth and felt a surge of affection mixed with concern. "Mom, he's drooling," he whispered to Karen, his voice barely audible over the car's hum. Karen chuckled, her eyes meeting Chip's in the mirror. "It's ok," she said softly. "It's a sign of his tiredness. Let him sleep."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 18 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The silence stretches out, comfortable and filled with a newfound respect. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, as if even in his dreams, he's still trying to process the world around him. The next day, Krabs goes to visit Karen and Plankton again in the morning. The room is bathed in soft, early-morning light, and Plankton is still asleep. His breathing is slow and even, the plush octopus a comforting presence beside him. Krabs watches him, his heart swelling with a strange mixture of emotions—fear, sorrow, and a newfound respect. He turns to Karen, his claws fidgeting with a nervous energy. "How can I know when a seizure is coming?" He asks, his voice hushed so as not to disturb the sleeping Plankton. "What if I can't tell the difference?" Karen smiles, her eyes warm with understanding. "It's ok," she says. "You'll learn." She reaches over to gently touch Plankton's arm. "The signs can be subtle. Maybe his eye will glaze over usually. But the most important thing is to be patient and to listen." Krabs nods, his claws stilling. "What about his stims?" He asks, his voice soft. "When he says things or makes those sounds? I mean, does he-" Karen cuts him off gently. "It's important not to interrupt his stims, Krabs," she explains. "They're a personal way for him to self-regulate, to process the world around him." She looks at him, her screen kind. "But if you're really curious, the best thing to do is ask him, when he's feeling comfortable and ready to talk." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with questions. He's always been so focused on the now, on the chase for the next big score, that he's never stopped to consider the complexities of someone else's experience. But now, sitting here in this quiet room, watching his enemy sleep peacefully, he can't help but feel a shameful curiosity about the person Plankton is underneath the surface. "What about his obsession with the Krabby Patty?" He whispers to Karen, his voice barely above a murmur. "Is that part of it too?" Karen nods, a knowing smile on her screen. "It's not just an obsession, Krabs. It's a special interest. It's how Plankton's brain processes information. For some autistic people, it's a way to focus and find comfort in a world that can be chaotic." Krabs' eyes widen, his mind racing. "So...his quest to steal the recipe isn't just about greed?" Karen sighs, her gaze softening. "It's about more than that. It's about understanding something that gives him comfort, and having control over it." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with the depth of what he's learning. "So, his stims, his words, they're his way of...finding order?" Karen smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "In a sense, yes. Autism is a spectrum, Krabs. We all have our quirks, but for some, those quirks are their lifeline." She strokes Plankton's antennae. "His brain is wired differently, and these things are his way of making sense of the world." Krabs nods, his gaze firmly on Plankton. "What can I do to help?" He asks, his voice soft, earnest. "How can I be a better...friend?" Karen's smile blooms fully. "Just be there," she repeats, her voice a gentle caress. "Learn his cues, his triggers. Give him space when he needs it, and support when he reaches out." Karen's hand moves to Plankton's, their fingers interlocking. "And also, don't be afraid to enjoy the little things," she whispers. "His laugh, his excitement—those are just as much a part of who he is as his challenges." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton's sleeping face. "I'll try," he promises, his voice thick with emotion. "I just want to be there for him." Karen's smile is gentle, her eyes warm. "I know you do," she says. "And he'll know it too, in his own way." She pauses, considering her next words. "You might find that your friendship will change," she adds. "But if you're patient, it could be more beautiful than you ever imagined." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton's slumbering form. He can't help but feel a sense of awe at the strength it must take to live in a world that's not always understanding. "I want to learn," he murmurs. "I want to make things right." Karen looks at him, her eyes filled with warmth. "Then you already have," she says. "Just by being here, by asking, you're showing you care." Krabs leans forward, his curiosity piqued. "What else can you tell me?" He asks, his voice eager. "What types of things does he like? Or what sets him off?" Karen looks at him, her expression a blend of patience and understanding. "Well, he's quite sensitive to certain textures and sounds." Krabs leans in, his eyes shining with curiosity. "Like what?" He asks, eager to know more. "Certain loud, sudden noises can trigger his overstimulation," Karen continues, her eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "And some touches, like a pat on the back, might feel like a punch to him. But he's also quite fond of soft textures, like the one of this blanket," she says, running a finger over the plush material. Krabs nods, his gaze thoughtful. "I've noticed he doesn't like when SpongeBob squeezes him too hard." He chuckles softly, the memory of Plankton's exasperation at the overly-enthusiastic sponge still vivid. "But he doesn't seem to mind your touch.." Karen smiles, her eyes knowing. "It's all about consent," she says, her voice calm and even. "We all have our preferences, but for Plankton, it's more than just a preference—it's a need." Krabs nods, his gaze still on Plankton. He's always been so focused on his own desires, so used to getting what he wants that he's never really stopped to think about what others need. "How do I know when he's overwhelmed?" He whispers, his voice filled with a newfound respect. Karen looks at him, her expression gentle. "You'll learn his cues," she says. "It's about being observant, noticing when his breathing changes or his body tenses up." She pauses, her thumb stroking Plankton's arm. "But it's also about asking, Krabs. Communication is key."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 19 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "How do I know if he needs space or if he wants me to stay?" Karen's smile is gentle, her expression filled with patience. "Look for the signs," she whispers. "If he starts to repeat his words, or if his body language changes, it might be his way of saying 'I'm feeling overwhelmed.'" She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "And always ask before you touch him, or before you change anything in his environment." Krabs nods, his gaze intently on Karen. "What if he's in the middle of a...uh, stimming episode?" He stammers, his claws fidgeting nervously. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she looks at him. "Then you wait," she says, her voice soft. "Let him finish what he's doing, and then you can approach, gently. But always ask, 'Is it okay if I talk to you now?' Give him the power to choose." Suddenly, Plankton shifts in his sleep, his antennae twitching slightly. Karen's hand tightens around his. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice soothing. Mr. Krabs holds his breath, his heart racing. Mr. Krabs watches, his eyes widening. "Is he ok?" He whispers, his concern genuine. Karen nods, her smile reassuring. "He's just waking up," she says. Plankton's eye opens, slowly focusing on Krabs. His gaze is vacant for a moment, before recognition dawns. "K...Krabs," he murmurs, his voice slurred. Mr. Krabs nods, his heart racing. "I'm here, Plankton," he says, his voice shaky. Karen watches the interaction with hope. "How are you feeling?" She asks. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to the side. "Tired," he whispers, his hand still clutching the plush octopus. Karen nods, her expression filled with understanding. "That's ok," she says. "You had a big day yesterday." Plankton nods. Krabs watches, his heart in his throat. He feels like an intruder in this intimate moment, but something keeps his claws from retreating. He wants to be a part of this, to understand. Plankton's gaze moves to him, his expression wary. "Krabs," he says. He pulls the octopus closer, as if it's a shield. Krabs' heart squeezes at the sight. He's always seen Plankton as a formidable adversary, not as someone who needs protection. But now, with his antennae drooping and his eye half-closed, he seems so... vulnerable. "I came to check on you," Krabs says, his voice gentle. Plankton's antennae twitch again, but he doesn't pull away. He's still wary, but there's something in his gaze that suggests he's considering. "Krabs is trying to be a better friend, Plankton," Karen says. "He's here to learn." Plankton's gaze lingers on Krabs, his antennae still. Karen's seen Plankton push people away, not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. Krabs nods, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "It's true," he says, his voice earnest. "I want to underst--" Plankton's antennae shoot up, cutting him off. "Don't," he murmurs, his voice tight. "Don't pretend." Krabs' eyes widen, his heart sinking. "I'm not pretending," he says, his claws spreading in a gesture of openness. "I just wan-" But Plankton's already turning away, his antennae drooping. "Please," he whispers, his voice small and scared. Krabs feels a pang of guilt. He's always been so quick to dismiss Plankton's behaviors, so eager to win their endless rivalry. But here, in this quiet room, he's seeing his enemy in a new light. "Ok," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "What can I do?" Karen's eyes are filled with warmth as she looks at Krabs. "Just be patient," she says. "Give him the time he needs to process what's happening." Krabs nods, his gaze on Plankton. He watches as his enemy shifts, the plush octopus still clutched tightly in his hand. He can see the exhaustion etched into his face, the weight of the world he's been carrying alone. "I'm here," Krabs murmurs, his claws hovering over the blanket. "I won't preten—" Plankton's antennae shoot up again, his eye snapping back to Krabs. "No," he whispers, his voice firm. "Don't touch." It's not a request, but a command. Krabs pulls his claws back, his heart racing. "Too much." Krabs freezes, his heart stopping in his chest. Karen's eyes are filled with sadness as she looks at her husband. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Mr. Krabs is just trying to be a good friend." But Plankton's eye squeezed shut, his hand tightening around the octopus. And then, without meaning to, Mr. Krabs' claw brushes against Plankton's hand. It's the lightest of touches, a mistake born of nerves and eagerness. Plankton's body tenses, his antennae shooting up as his eye snaps wide open. Krabs freezes. He's done it now—invaded the sacred space around Plankton. But then, something strange happens. Plankton's gaze goes glassy, his body still. Krabs' breath hitches, his mind racing. What's happening? Is this another type of seizure? He looks to Karen for guidance, but she's already leaning in. "It's ok," she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. "You're having a seizure, honey." Plankton's unblinking eye stares into space, his body still as a statue. Krabs has never seen him like this— so vulnerable, so lost. He wants to help, but he's not sure how. "It's an absence seizure," Karen explains, her voice a soothing melody. "He's not really here right now." Karen's voice is steady. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "You're having an absence seizure. It's going to be ok." Krabs' eyes widen as he takes in the scene. Plankton's body is rigid, his single eye unblinking, staring into nothingness. It's like his soul has left his body for a brief moment, leaving behind an empty shell. Karen's voice is calm and steady as she speaks to Plankton. "It's ok, sweetie. You're having an absence seizure. Just ride it out." Krabs feels like he's intruding on a sacred moment, yet he can't bring himself to leave. Plankton's unblinking eye stares through Krabs, his body unmoving. Krabs wants to get him out of this trance, so he leans in, his claws reaching out to shake his shoulder. But Karen's hand is quicker, her touch firm but gentle. "No, don't," she says, her voice firm yet kind. "It's not helpful to startle him." Krabs pulls back, his claws hovering in midair. "Let me handle this," she says. "Just...stay calm." Krabs nods, his claws retracting. He watches as Karen gently strokes Plankton's cheek, her eyes never leaving his. "Come back to us," she whispers. "You're safe here." The room seems to shrink around them, the tension palpable. Krabs can almost feel Plankton's brain racing, his thoughts a whirlwind he can't quite reach. He wants to shout, to break the spell, but he knows that would only make things worse. So he decides to try to interact with Plankton in a different way. He pulls out his pocket watch, the one with the tiny krabby patty charm. It's always brought him comfort, but he's never shared it with anyone before. "Look, Plankton," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a kinda like your Krabby Patty obsession, huh?" But then Krabs spots the octopus plush. "You like octopus, right?" Krabs asks, his voice shaking with nerves. "This one's...it's pretty cool. Do you see it?" He holds up the plushie, his heart racing, his eyes on Plankton's unseeing gaze. "Look at this, Plankton," he says. "It's like your Krabby Patty, but with more arms." He forces a chuckle, trying to infuse some lightness into the heavy air. Karen nods slightly, encouraging him to keep talking.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 20 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Krabs' voice wavers slightly as he holds up the plush octopus. "Look, it's got eight arms," he says, his eyes desperate for a sign of recognition. "It can hug you like the Krabby Patty does. Can you feel it?" For a moment, there's nothing. The room seems to hold its breath, waiting. Then, slowly, Plankton's hand unclenches, his antennae twitching slightly. Krabs' heart soars—it's working. "That's it," Karen murmurs, her voice a gentle coax. "Good job, Plankton." Mr. Krabs' voice is soft. "Do you see it?" He asks, his voice filled with hope. Karen's hand tightens around Krabs' claw. "Keep talking," she whispers. "It's helping him ground himself." Krabs nods, his throat tight. "It's got a smile," he says, his voice gentle. "Just like the Krabby Patty does." He watches as Plankton's hand twitches slightly, his antennae still unmoving. Krabs' heart leaps. "Can you feel the texture?" He asks, his voice hopeful. "It's all soft and fluffy, like your favorite pillow." Plankton's hand moves slightly, his fingers brushing against the octopus. Krabs feels a jolt of excitement. "That's it," he says, his voice filled with wonder. "You're getting there." Karen's grip on relaxes a fraction. "Good," she murmurs. "Keep it up." Krabs watches as Plankton's fingers twitch, the plush octopus's tentacles wrapping around his hand. He can see the effort it's taking to come back to them. "It's ok buddy," Krabs whispers, his voice barely audible. "You're ok." Plankton's antennae twitch again, and Krabs feels his heart clench. Is he getting through? Is Plankton hearing him? Krabs' claw is poised above the octopus plush, his breath shallow. "Just keep focusing on the octopus," he urges, his throat tight. "It's got a smile for you, waiting for you to see it." Plankton's unblinking eye doesn't waver, but his hand starts to move, the tentacles of the octopus slipping through his fingers. It's a subtle movement, one that speaks volumes in the silent room. Krabs' heart races. It's working. He's reaching him. Karen's eyes are glued to Plankton's face, her expression a mix of hope and fear. "Good job, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle coax. "You're doing so well." Krabs' heart races as he watches Plankton's hand start to move, the octopus plush coming into focus for his friend. "You got it," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "Just keep holding on." Karen's grip on his claw loosens, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. Mr. Krabs can feel her energy, but there's also something else—pride. "You're doing great, Krabs," she whispers, her voice barely a breath. "Keep going; it's helping him faster." Krabs' eyes never leave Plankton's unseeing stare. "It's ok, buddy," he says, his voice steady. "You're safe here; right, Mr. Octopus? Yes, you are." Plankton's hand tightens around the octopus, the fabric tentacles wrapping around his fingers like a comforting embrace. It's a sign, a flicker of connection. "Look," Krabs says, his voice a whisper. "It's ok. We're here. Mr. Octopus is here." Karen's eyes are filled with relief as she sees the tiny movements of Plankton's fingers, the subtle way his hand relaxes into the softness of the plush. "You're doing it," she murmurs, her voice a gentle cheer. "Come back to us, sweetie." Krabs' eyes never leave Plankton's. He doesn't dare to move, to breathe too loudly. He's scared of breaking the spell, of losing him again. But he can see the change, the way Plankton's body starts to soften, the tension draining from his frame. "Look, Plankton," he whispers, his voice filled with wonder. "Mr. Octopus is smiling at you." Plankton's antennae twitch, barely a centimeter. But it's enough. It's a sign of life, a crack in the wall of his unresponsive state. Mr. Krabs keeps his voice low, his movements slow. "You're ok," he repeats, his claw hovering over the octopus's head. "You're right here with us." Karen's grip on Mr. Krabs' arm tightens, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Keep talking," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Keep his mind here." Krabs nods, his throat tight. "You like Krabby Patties, right?" He asks, his claws holding the octopus steady. "Mr. Octopus here has a smile just for you." He watches as Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. It's a small victory, but it's enough to keep him going. "You know what, Plankton?" He says, his voice a gentle rumble. "I bet Mr. Octopus could make a Krabby Patty with all those arms. Can you let Mr. Octopus make you feel better?" Plankton's hand moves slightly, his fingers flexing around the plush. Krabs feels a surge of hope. "That's it," he whispers. "Let him help you." The silence stretches on, Krabs' heart pounding in his chest. Then, ever so slowly, Plankton's antennae begin to move, the unblinking eye finally blinking once, twice. Karen's grip loosens, a tear slipping down her screen. "He's coming back," she murmurs, her voice hopeful. Plankton's unfocused gaze is still distant, though settling on the octopus. Krabs nods, his own claws trembling with relief. He keeps his voice low, his words carefully chosen. "Remember, Plankton," he says, his voice a gentle wave. "Mr. Octopus is your friend." Plankton's single eye flutters, and Krabs can almost see the wheels turning in his mind. Plankton's voice, when it comes, is faint. "K-Krabby Patty," he stammers. Krabs' heart jumps at the sound, a flicker of hope igniting within him. He nods encouragingly. "That's right, buddy; Mr. Octopus has a Patty for you." Karen's eyes are filled with relief as she watches the interaction unfold. She knows how rare it is for Plankton to speak during his seizures, and the significance isn't lost on Krabs. "Tell us about it," Krabs says, his voice gentle. "Tell Mr. Octopus about the Krabby Patty." Plankton's voice is slurred, his words coming in fits and starts. "It's...it's octopus," he says, his voice a distant echo. "So...octopus." His hand tightens around the plush octopus. Krabs' heart swells with hope. He's getting through. "That's right," Krabs whispers, his voice a soft caress. "Mr. Octopus is an octopus, and waiting for you.." Plankton's eye starts to move, focusing on the plush octopus. "Octopus," he repeats, his voice slurred but insistent. "Waiting." Krabs nods, his claws gently stroking the octopus's fabric. "Mr. Octopus is waiting for you to feel better," he says. "You can do it, honey," Karen whispers. "You're almost there." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, coming back into focus. He looks down at the plush octopus, his hand still clutching it tightly. "Octopus," he murmurs, his voice a mere breath. Krabs' heart swells with relief. "You're ok," he says, his voice softer than he's ever heard it. "You're ok, Plankton." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze flickering between the octopus and Mr. Krabs. "What...what's going on?" He asks, his voice shaky. Karen quickly steps in, her voice a soothing balm. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she says. "But you're ok now." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind trying to piece together the fragments of the last few minutes. Krabs watches him, his heart aching. He's never seen his rival so vulnerable, so lost. "You're at home," Krabs adds, his voice careful. "We're all here for you." Plankton's gaze finally settles on him, confusion swimming in his eye. "What...what happened?" He stammers. Karen moves closer, her hand on Plankton's shoulder. "You had an absence seizure," she explains, her tone gentle. "Do you remember anything?" Plankton's eye blinks rapidly, his antennae twitching. "Tck tck," he tics. "It's like...it's like I was tck tck somewhere else." Krabs nods, his claws still trembling with nervous energy. "It's ok," he says, his voice a gentle wave. "We're here for you." Plankton's gaze is unfocused, his antennae twitching erratically. "Tck tck," he repeats, his voice filled with confusion. "But what...what?" Krabs takes a deep breath, his heart going out to his usually confident rival. "You had a seizure, buddy," he says, his tone as gentle as he can manage. "But you're ok now." He holds up the plush octopus. "You know the octopus here? He helped you through it." Plankton's antennae still, his gaze locking onto the octopus with a flicker of recognition. "Tck tck," he whispers, his voice still shaky. "Mr. Octopus." Krabs nods, feeling a wave of emotion he can't quite name. "He's your friend, remember?" Karen squeezes Plankton's shoulder, her eyes filled with reassurance. "You're safe," she says. "You had a seizure, but you're ok now." Plankton's eye widens, his hand tightening around the plush. "But...but I don't understand," he stammers. Krabs nods, his own claws tight around the plushie. "It's ok," he says, his voice steady. "It's just a toy, but it helped you feel better." Plankton's gaze flickers between Krabs and the octopus, his mind racing. "Why...why is Mr. Krabs being nice?" He asks, his voice filled with suspicion. Karen's smile is soft. "Because he cares about you, Plankton," she says. "We all do." Mr. Krabs clears his throat, his voice still gentle. "I know I haven't always been the best, but I'm trying to understand. I want to help." Plankton's expression relaxes, a hint of skepticism replaced by curiosity. "You...you do?" He asks, his voice growing stronger. Mr. Krabs nods, feeling his heart swell. "Yeah," he says; "I do."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 14 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip sits beside Karen, watching his dad sleep. He's quiet, his mind racing with questions. How can someone so strong, so in control, be brought to this? The room feels heavy with silence, the air thick with unspoken fears and love. Plankton's snores are a comforting reminder that he's okay, that the storm has passed. Chip's screen flickers with the memory of his dad's favorite pranks, his laughter echoing in the quiet room. But now, his dad looks so small, so fragile. Karen notices Chip's distant gaze. "Remember, Chip, he's still the same person." She pauses, searching for the right words. "His autism doesn't change who he is, just how he experiences the world." Chip nods, but the doubt lingers. How can he understand a world so alien to his own? The silence in the room is broken by Plankton's sudden mumble. "Karen?" His voice is a whisper, his antennae slowly rising. Her screen lights up with relief and love. "You're okay," she says, her hand stroking his. Plankton's eye opens, unfocused and tired. "Chip?" He sees his son, sitting on the bed, his screen filled with uncertainty. "Dad?" Chip whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch as he tries to sit up. "I'm okay," he says, his voice hoarse. Karen's hand on his shoulder steadies him. "Just tired." The weight of sleep lifts from his eyelid. Chip watches, his screen reflecting the hope that his dad is okay. "Do you... Do you remember?" Plankton's eye widens, his antennae quivering. "Chip," he murmurs, his voice filled with regret. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "You had a meltdown." Plankton's antennae fall, his gaze dropping. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice thick with guilt. "It's not your fault," Karen says, squeezing his hand. "We know it's not." But Chip is full of questions. "What can I do?" he asks, his screen eager. "How can I help?" Karen smiles, her eyes filling with pride. "You're already helping," she says. "Just by being here, just by loving him." But Chip wants more. He wants to understand, to help in the way Karen does. "What are his triggers?" he asks. Karen's screens flicker with thought. "Well," she says, "it's different for everyone. For him, it can be sudden noises, changes in routine, or even his belongings being moved without his knowing." Chip nods, his mind racing. "But what about his stims?" he asks. "Those are his way of coping," Karen explains. "When he flaps his arms, spins, or repeats words, he's trying to regulate his sensory input. It's like he's tuning in to the world." Karen says. "And when he repeats words or phrases, it helps him make sense of what's happening. Let him do his thing. Sometimes he'll need help to calm down, like with the squeezy ball or his fidget toy. And sometimes, just being there, quietly, is all he needs. As long as you listen and respect his boundaries, you'll be his best helper." Chip's curiosity is piqued. He looks at his dad, now easing himself onto the pillow. "What types of touch does he like?" Chip's voice is soft. Karen's screens flicker with memories of trial and error, of finding the right balance. "Some autistics like deep pressure," she says. "It can be soothing. But he's different. He usually prefers light touches, like strokes or holding hands." Plankton's antennae twitch at the mention of his name. "What do I do if he has another meltdown?" Chip's voice is earnest. "Just be there," Karen says. "Sometimes, just knowing you're there can make all the difference." She sighs. "But if it's really bad, we'll have to get the medicine again, as a last resort. It's hard," she admits. "But I love him. And I'll always be here for him." Chip nods. "I love him too," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to help him." Karen's screens glow with pride. "You already do," she says. "But I know you want to understand more." Chip nods. "What about when he's really happy?" Karen's screens light up with a smile. "Oh, his laughter is the sweetest sound. But if he reaches for you, if he wants to share that joy, just be there, okay?" Chip nods, eager to learn. "What if he starts repeating things again?" Karen's screen softens. "It's called echolalia," she says. "It's his brain's way of processing. Just let him finish, and then you can talk." She pauses, her thumb tracing a pattern on Plankton's hand. "And if you repeat something with understanding, it can help make him feel heard." Chip nods, his mind racing. He's seen his dad do this before, but never knew what it meant. "What about his rocking?" he asks. Karen's screens flicker with knowledge. "That's his way of self-stimulating," she says. "It helps him regulate his nervous system. Sometimes it's soothing, sometimes it's how he thinks. Remember, his body's his own. If he pulls away, it's not personal. It's just his way of saying he needs a break." "How did you learn all of this?" Karen looks down at their intertwined hands, her screens reflecting the journey. "Trials and errors, love," she says. "And listening to him. Everyone's autism is different. What works for one might not work for another. We just have to keep trying, keep learning." Chip nods, his mind racing with questions. "How do we know if he's about to have a meltdown?" Karen looks at Plankton, his antennae still. "Look for the signs," she says. "Sudden agitation, avoiding eye contact, flapping his arms, or repeating words. That's when you know he's overwhelmed." He nods, trying to picture it. "What about his box?" "That's sensory aids," she explains. "They help him cope with stress. It's important we don't touch it without asking first." "What's in there? Dad, can I see?" But Plankton cuts him off. "Absolutely NOT!" he says. Karen's screen flickers with a smile. "It's his personal space," she tells Chip gently. "Those things are special to him, his tools to stay calm." Chip nods, his curiosity still unquenched. "Can I..." But Plankton's antennae shoot up. "I just said no, Chip!" He's alert, his voice sharp. Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "Remember," she says calmly, "his box is his sanctuary." Plankton's gaze locks with Chip's, his eye wide with agitation. "Okay, okay," Chip says, his hands up in surrender. He can feel the tension in the air, the unspoken words heavy between them. "What if I just peek?" he asks him. Plankton's antennae quiver. "No," he says firmly. "It's not for playing." "Dad, I--" "How about NO?" Plankton says, his voice still a little rough around the edges. Chip nods, his curiosity now mixed with respect. "Okay," he says. "But can you show me?" Karen looks at Plankton, his antennae still. "It's okay," she says softly. "We can show him together." Plankton's eye narrows, but he doesn't resist as Karen opens the box.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 5 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Karen felt his body relax further as she read, his hand finally stilling on the book. "The fabric of spacetime," she continued, "is warped by gravity, creating singularities that swallow light." Plankton's eye grew heavier, his head lolling toward her shoulder as he starts to drift off to sleep. This was a small victory, but it was something. He had fallen asleep to her voice. With a gentle sigh, she laid the book aside and wrapped her arm around him, his head resting heavily on her shoulder. Karen felt his body go slack with sleep as she softly stroked his antennae. The quiet of the room was broken only by his soft snores, a sound she found comforting. Karen held Plankton close, his body a warm weight against hers. In the safety of their living room, with the glow of the morning light filtering in through the windows, she felt a glimmer of peace. This was the man she loved. The book lay forgotten on the coffee table, a testament to their shared love of the cosmos. But now, it was just another reminder of the gap that had grown between them. How could she navigate this new universe where Plankton was a star whose light was fading into the abyss of his own mind? Karen held him tighter, her thoughts racing. "We'll get through this," she murmured. She had to be the constant for him, the north star that guided him home. As Plankton slept, Karen couldn't help but feel a wave of determination wash over her. She would research, she would learn, she would do everything in her power to support him. But she also knew she couldn't do it alone. With trembling hands, she picked up her phone and started texting her friend Hanna. "Hey, can you come over? I know you worked with some autistics, and my husband is now on the spectrum." She hit send. The phone buzzed almost immediately. "Of course, I'll be right there. What happened?" Hanna's response was swift, her concern palpable. "I'll explain when you get here," Karen sent back. The wait for Hanna was excruciating, each minute stretching into an eternity. Plankton remained asleep against her side. She carefully extricated herself from Plankton's embrace, placing a pillow under his head and covering him with a blanket. "Just a few minutes," she whispered, kissing his forehead before rushing to answer the door. Hanna's expression was a mixture of worry and confusion as she stepped inside. Karen quickly filled her in on the bizarre turn of events, her words tumbling out in a desperate rush to be heard. Hanna listened, her gaze flitting between Karen's tear-stained face and the sleeping form of Plankton. "I've never heard of someone developing autism from a fall," she said, her voice gentle. "But the brain is an incredible organ. Let's see." Together, they approached the couch, Hanna's movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb Plankton. She sat beside him, her eyes taking in his still form. "Hey, Plankton," she said, her voice low and calm. Plankton's eye fluttered open, his gaze darting to Hanna before settling on Karen. "Karen," he mumbled, his voice groggy. "It's ok," Karen said. "This is Hanna. She's here to visit." Hanna offered a warm smile. "Hello, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "I've heard a lot about you." Plankton nodded slightly, his hand flapping once before he could stop it. "Hanna," he murmured, his voice sleep-laden. "We need your help," Karen said, her voice shaking. "Can you tell us what to do?" Hanna took a deep breath, her screen assessing Plankton's reaction. "First," she began, "we need to understand his triggers and sensitivities. It's important to create a routine that minimizes stress." With a gentle touch, she reached for Plankton's hand, watching his reaction closely. He flinched slightly, his eye widening. "Plank..." Karen interrupted. "It's ok, Hanna's a friend." She turned to Hanna. "It's ok," she said, her voice a soft command. "You can touch his ha-" But before she could finish, Plankton's hand shot up, his eye widening in panic. "No touch!" he exclaimed, his voice sharp and insistent. Karen felt a stab of pain at the rejection. Hanna nodded, withdrawing her hand immediately. "It's ok," she murmured. "I understand. We'll go slow." Karen watched as Hanna gently picked up her bag. She pulled out a small, squishy ball, the kind used for stress relief. "This is a fidget toy," she said, holding it out to Plankton. "Would you like to try it?" Plankton's gaze fixated on the ball, his hand reaching out tentatively. His fingers closed around it, squeezing experimentally. "Ball," he murmured, his voice a little less frantic. Hanna watched him, her screen filled with professional curiosity. "It's called a fidget toy," she said. "It can help with stress and focus." Plankton's hand closed around the ball, his knuckles whitening. He began to squeeze it rhythmically, his gaze locked on the movement of his fingers. Karen watched, her heart in her throat, as Hanna continued to speak in soft, soothing tones. "Good job, Plankton," she coaxed. "Keep playing with that. It can help calm your nervous system." Hanna's screen met Karen's, filled with a silent understanding. This was going to be a long road.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 8 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) As she pulled the blankets up to his chin, Plankton's hand reached out, grasping for hers. "Stay," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen squeezed his hand gently. "Always," she promised. They sat in the quiet of the room, the only sound the rhythmic squeezing of the fidget toy. Plankton's eyelid grew heavy, his breathing deepening. "It's ok," Karen whispered, stroking his forehead. "Rest now." Plankton's hand tightened briefly around hers before his grip slackened. His eye fluttered closed, and she watched him slip into a deep, much-needed sleep. During the week, Plankton got more comfortable as Karen helped make adjustments. She let him stim safely without any judgment, even suggesting different ways to fidget. And she saw Plankton's old self shine through, too. As usual, he stayed up late watching movies. He'd sigh and lightly tease Karen when it came to mundane matters. Yet she knew when it came to sensory matters and potential triggers, it's unnegotiable. He did open up to her more due to his fears which came from the autism. He didn't try to steal the krabby patty formula any more, but that didn't stop him from spying on the krusty krab. But their son Chip, whom they adopted at birth, was going to come home. Chip had left during the beginning of the week before Plankton acquired autism, to a week long camp with some school mates of his. But now it's the weekend, and Chip will be coming back from his trip today. Karen felt a pang of anxiety as she thought about Chip seeing Plankton. Would he understand? Would he be scared? Would he still love him? "Plankton, Chip's old enough to underst--" "No," Plankton said firmly, his voice clear. "I don't want anyone to know." Karen knew his fear of change, of being different. "But, Plankton," she began, her voice gentle. "Chip is our son, and he might notice changes..." Plankton's eye grew stormy. "No," he repeated. "I don't want to be..." Plankton trails off as Chip himself came in excitedly. "Mom; Dad!" Plankton's gaze darted to their son, his hand tightening around his fidget toy. She watched as Chip rushed over, his eyes full of excitement from his camp adventures. "Hi, I'm home!" Chip says, hugging Karen before turning to Plankton. Plankton's body tensed, his eye avoiding Chip's gaze. "Hi, son," he murmured, his voice forced, But Chip, ever cheerful, doesn't seem to notice. "Dad!" Chip said, launching himself at Plankton. "Welcome home," Plankton said, his voice a monotone. Chip's expression fell a little, but his excitement was too great to be dampened. "How was camp?" Karen asked, trying to ease the tension. Chip's enthusiasm was infectious. "It was amazing! We did archery, and I even made a new friend!" Plankton's gaze remained on the fidget toy, his thumb flicking the switch back and forth. "That's... nice," he managed, his voice tight. Karen could see the effort he was making to engage. Chip chattered away, not noticing the strain in Plankton's voice. "Her name's Luna, and she's super cool! We're gonna be pen pals!" Plankton's gaze flicks up to meet Karen's. She gave him an encouraging smile, willing him to find his place in the conversation. "Cool," he murmured, his mind racing to process the sudden flood of information. "Pen pals." Karen watched as Chip's eyes searched Plankton's face, his youthful innocence unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "Why don't you show us if you've any pictures you took?" she suggested, trying to shift the focus. Chip nodded, eagerly pulling out his phone. He sat beside Plankton, scrolling through the photos, his excitement a stark contrast to his father's detached demeanor. Plankton's eye flicked to the screen, his heart racing at the thought of impending touch. Karen watched as Chip's fingers hovered over a picture of himself and Luna. "Look, Dad," he said, holding out the phone. Plankton blinked. "Oh nice," he says. But as Chip's hand reached out to hug, Plankton's arm shot up, his antennae quivering. "Don't," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Don't touch me." Chip's hand hovered in the air, confusion clouding his features. "But, Da-" Karen stepped in quickly. "It's ok," she whispered. "We're all family."

(„• ֊ •„)੭. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁-`♡´-(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)(๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝*.ᐟ.☘︎ ݁˖(ᵕ—ᴗ—)( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )(╥﹏╥)( ˶°ㅁ°) !!(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) 𐙚 (∩˃o˂∩)♡🏳🏳🏳🏳(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )〰️

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 4 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Karen moved to her bed, her mind racing with thoughts of what tomorrow would bring. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. Plankton's gentle snores provided a rhythmic backdrop. The next morning, Karen's the first to wake up. Karen slid out of bed, her eyes on her sleeping husband. She wondered if today would bring any changes, any improvements. But she didn't dare disturb him. The silence was a stark contrast to the chaos in her head. What could she do? How could she help him? Her heart ached with every step she took away from him. In the kitchen, Karen made herself a cup of tea, her hands shaking slightly. She knew she had to stay strong, but fear was a constant companion. Could he ever be the man she knew again? Would he ever look at her with the same love in his eye? The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow over the kitchen. She sipped her tea, the warmth spreading through her body. It was a comforting routine, one that offered a semblance of normalcy in the face of the unknown. As she set the mug down, she heard a shuffling sound coming from the bedroom. Plankton! He entered the kitchen, his gait unsteady, his eye unfocused. "Morning," he murmured, his voice still detached. Karen forced a smile. "Good morning, Plankton," she said, her voice trembling. "How did you sleep?" Plankton nodded, his hand flapping slightly. "Sleep," he murmured. "Dreams. Morning." His eye searched the room, looking for something to anchor him to the present. Karen took a deep breath. "Would you like some tea?" she offered, keeping her voice steady. "Or maybe some toast?" Plankton nodded again, his gaze finally settling on the toaster. "Toast," he said, his voice a little more present. "Toast is good." It was a step, a tiny glimmer of hope in the fog of their new reality. She made him toast, his favorite, with just the right amount of butter. But then the toaster went off with it's usual pop noise as the toast finished. Plankton flinched at the sudden sound. Karen's eyes widened in concern. She'd forgotten about his heightened sensitivity to noise. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice soothing. "Sound," Plankton whimpered. "Loud. Pain." Karen felt a pang of guilt. She'd have to be more careful. "It's ok," she assured him, her voice low and gentle. "Let's have your toast in the living room. It's quieter there." She led the way, watching as he followed, his steps slow and measured. The living room was bathed in the soft light of dawn, the TV flickering with the news. Karen quickly turned it off, not wanting the noise to overwhelm him. She placed the toast on a plate, cut it into neat triangles, and handed it to him. He took it with a nod of thanks, his eye never leaving hers. For a moment, there was a silence between them, filled with the echoes of their past. "Would you like to sit?" she asked, gesturing to the couch. Plankton nodded, his movements precise and calculated. As they sat together, Karen noticed the way he avoided her gaze, his eye darting around the room. She took his hand, hoping to offer comfort. He flinched, his hand twitching in her grasp. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, quickly releasing him. "No touch," he murmured, his voice a mix of apology and firmness. They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the crunch of toast between Plankton's teeth. Karen watched him, his movements so different. "Do you remember the patty formula?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She needed to know if there was any part of him that was still there, anything she could cling to. Plankton's eye snapped to hers, his gaze intense. "Formula," he murmured. "Yes. Patty." Karen felt a surge of hope. The secret Krabby Patty recipe. "Tell me," she encouraged, her voice barely a whisper. Plankton's eye narrowed, his hands stilling. "Formula," he repeated, his voice gaining strength. "The Krabby Patty formula. A culinary secret guarded by SpongeBob Square Pants' employer, Mr. Krabs." He paused, his gaze drifting away from her. "Cannot share. Sensitive information. Top secret. Eugene Krabs, Krabs full of barnacles!" Plankton says, with his usual disdain when it comes to Krabs. Karen's eyes widened. It was a tiny piece of the old Plankton, a memory untouched by his current condition. "It's ok," she said, smiling. "It's just us here." Plankton looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Formula," he murmured, his eye lighting up with a hint of mischief. "The combination of ingredients to create a Krabby Patty. Not to be shared. Understood?" Karen nodded, her smile genuine for the first time in hours. "Understood," she said. "It's good to see yo-" Plankton's head snapped up, his eye wide. "Karen," he interrupted, his voice urgent. "Need quiet." Karen's smile faltered. She nodded, swallowing the words she had been about to say. Instead, she simply sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on the couch cushion between them, a silent offering of support. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, filled with the weight of what had been said and what remained unspoken. Karen wanted to ask him more questions, to try and coax out more of his memories, but she knew she had to tread carefully. Every interaction was a delicate dance around his fragile neural pathways. So instead, she focused on the present. "Let's have a quiet day," she said. "We can just sit and maybe look at some books.." Plankton's hands began to flap again, a little more erratically than before. "Books," he murmured. "Words, letters, information." His voice grew excitedly happy. Karen nodded, rising from the couch. "I'll get you some books," she said, her voice gentle. "You sit here." The bookshelf was a mess, but she knew exactly where the science books were, his favorite. She picked one out, a thick tome titled "The Universe in a Nutshell," and brought it to him, placing it in his lap with care. "Would you like to read about the cosmos?" she asked. Plankton's eye lit up at the word "read," and he nodded eagerly. "Cosmos," he murmured, his hand flattening against the cover. Karen watched as he traced the letters with his fingertip, his gaze intense. He squeals with joy. "Read," he said, his voice a mix of excitement and desperation. "Want to read." Her screen swelled with love for the man who, despite his condition, still found joy in the things that had always brought them together. "Ok," she said, sitting down next to him. "I'll read to you." This was the Plankton she recognized, his love for knowledge untainted by the accident's aftermath. The book was dense, filled with complex theories and explanations that she knew Plankton would devour under normal circumstances. But now, with his mind struggling to maintain focus, she decided to read slowly, enunciating each word with care. He leaned into her, his hand stilling against the book as she began to speak. Her voice was soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. As she read about black holes and expansions, she noticed his breathing even out, his body relaxing into hers. "The universe," he murmured, his eye half-closed. Karen felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this was the key, a way to reach him through the labyrinth of his altered mind. Science had always been their common language, a bridge over their differences. She read on, her voice steady and calm. "The cosmos," she began, "is vast and ever-expanding, filled with mysteries waiting to be unlocked." Plankton nodded, his breathing syncing with the rhythm of her words. "Black holes, the remnants of massive stars, bend space and time around them." The words flowed from the pages, weaving a tapestry of knowledge that held Plankton's attention. Karen felt his body ease more onto her as she continued, his breathing deep and steady.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 15 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Eventually, they pulled up into their driveway, Karen parking the car. Plankton stirred slightly, his antennae twitching as the car's engine purred to a stop. Chip's heart raced. Gently, Karen turned around, her eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and hope. "Plankton," she whispered, her hand reaching out to his arm. "We're home." Plankton's eyelid fluttered open, his antennae shooting up. His eye darted around, his mind racing to catch up with reality. With dawning horror, he realized he had fallen asleep. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he jerked away from Chip's shoulder. Plankton's hand flew to his mouth, his antennae quivering in embarrassment as he felt wetness. Chip looked at him, his expression gentle. "You ok, Dad?" he asked. Plankton nodded, his voice gruff. "Fine," he murmured, his hand still covering his mouth. The house was quiet as they entered. Karen led the way, her steps measured and calm. Plankton shuffled behind, his eye cast downward. The embarrassment of falling asleep in the car clung to him. As he went into his bedroom Plankton decided to check his social media. He then found Chip's selfie post: "Went to the park with my dad @ Sheldon Plankton today 💙👨‍👦💨 " Plankton's antennae quivered with embarrassment. He sat down, his hand still clutching the fidget toy. He scrolled to the comments on Chip's post, his heart pounding in his chest. The first comment's from Hanna, which read: "Aw, so sweet! 😍 Looks like you guys are bonding! Keep it up, @ Chip 💪🏻" Bonding? Was that what they were doing? He wasn't sure. The next one was from a user named @LoveforAll. "Sending all my ❤️✨☮️ to you and your dad, Chip! @Hanna told me about Plankton's case, as I've the same acquired autistic condition which is a rare form of Autism, so she told me. #acquiredautism" Great. Not only is his sleepy features public, but also his condition. Plankton felt a knot in his stomach, his antennae twitching with discomfort. He viewed a reply to @LoveforAll's comment, from @SpongeBob: "☹️☹️☹️ Plankton, hope you're ok buddy! 🐠💨 Sensory parks are the best! Keep fighting the good fight! 💪🏻💨 I'm born with autism, so yea." Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide with shock. He read the comment again, his mind spinning. He had never considered that his friend SpongeBob of all people might understand! The next comment was from his rival @Krabs: "Plankton?! 🦑👀 What's going on over there? Hope you're not planning any Krabby Patty stealing schemes with that fidget toy, haha! 🤑😂 #KrabsVsPlankton #Frenemies" Plankton's antennae drooped, his heart sinking. Even Mr. Krabs couldn't resist a joke at his expense. But then he saw Karen's comment, her emoji-laden response to their day out: "☮️💨💖 Such a wonderful day at the sensory park with my two boys! 👨‍👦💨👨‍👦 Proud of you both for trying new things! 💃🏻💨💃🏻 @ Sheldon Plankton sorry for the picture, love!" Putting his phone aside Plankton saw Chip come in the bedroom doorway. "Hey, I got some science homework if you'd like to..." "I'll help," Plankton interrupts. "How many pages, Chip?" "It's ok, Dad. It's just basic stuff. But if you really want to, it's only five pages." Chip sits on his dad's bed with the homework packet. Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement. He had always loved helping Chip with homework! Plankton leaned in close as Chip hands him the homework. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took the homework. "Alright," he murmured, his voice steady. "Let's start wi- Ow!" Plankton screams. He had sliced his finger on the corner of the page. The pain was intense, a sudden shock that sent his senses into overdrive. He flaps his hands. Karen rushed into the room at the sound of his distress. "Plankton, what happened?" she asked. "It hurts, it hurts," he cries, his voice desperate as he cradles the injury. The sight of his dad's pain hit Chip like a brick. "It's just a paper cut," he mumbled, his voice shaking. But to Plankton, it was a sensory assault, the pain sharp and overwhelming. He hadn't had a paper cut since before the accident, and the suddenness of it was to much. Karen's eyes widened. "Let me see," she said, her voice calm and soothing. Plankton shakily extended his hand. Her eyes took in the cut, her mind racing. They had to find a way to help him manage this pain, without causing more distress. Gently, she took the fidget toy from his other hand. "Look at this," she instructed, her voice soothing. "Let's focus on th-" But Plankton's agony was too intense, the pain of the paper cut like a siren in his mind. "Make it stop," he whispered, his eye squeezed shut in pain, his body trembling. Chip watched, his own panic rising. He had never seen his dad so overwhelmed by such a small injury. He knew his father's sensory issues were severe, but the sight of his distress was almost too much to bear. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. If only he had been more careful with the homework. Karen took charge, her eyes focused. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice calm and steady. "Look at the fidget toy, ok?" She placed it in his good hand. "Squeeze it. Squeeze it a-" But Plankton couldn't hear her over the roar of pain in his head. His entire body was trembling, his breath coming in sharp gasps. His antennae quivered with the effort of blocking out the sensory storm. Karen's mind raced. They had to get him to a calm state, to help him understand that the pain wasn't going to last. She quickly grabbed a clean cloth and gently pressed it to the cut, applying just enough pressure to stem the flow. "Look at me, Plankton," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Look at me." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching for hers. "It's ok," she whispered. "I'm here. It's just a paper cu-" But her words were drowned out by his sobs. Karen's mind raced. She needed to find a way to soothe him, to get through the chaos of sensory overload. She remembered Hanna's advice about using deep pressure to help with pain management. Carefully, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, applying firm, comforting pressure. "It's ok, Plankton," she murmured, her voice steady. "I've got you." Plankton's antennae stopped quivering as he felt Karen's embrace, the pressure grounding his overstimulated mind. He took a deep, shaky breath, the pain starting to recede slightly. "It h-hurts," he managed to say, his voice still tight with pain. Chip's eyes were wide with fear, watching his dad's reaction to something so simple. He had never seen Plankton in such pain, his usually stoic father reduced to this trembling wreck. It was like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of how much had changed. Plankton's breaths grew shallower, his antennae shaking violently. The pain was unbearable, the sensations were too much. Karen's arms tightened around him. "It's ok, Plankton. It's just a paper cut. I know it hurts, but it'll be over soon." He clung to her, his body shaking with sobs. Chip watched, feeling utterly helpless. Plankton's eye darted around, searching for escape from the pain. He couldn't handle it. "Look at me," Karen whispered. "Just lo---" But Plankton's sobs overwhelmed her words. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his antennae quivering with the effort of trying to find calm. Karen's voice grew stronger, her grip on him firmer. "You're safe, Plankton. It's just a paper cut. It'll be better soon." Chip felt his own eyes well up, the fear and helplessness mirrored in his mother's gaze. Plankton's sobs started to slow, his body calming under the steady pressure of Karen's embrace. The pain was still there, a pulsing throb in his finger, but it was more manageable now as it slowly dwindled. "It's ok," she said, her voice gentle. "We're going to get through this, together." Chip watched. He had never seen his dad like this, so overwhelmed by something so small. But he knew now that for Plankton, the world was full of sensory landmines. Every moment had to be navigated with caution. Plankton's grip on the fidget toy tightened, his breaths evening out as he focused on the gentle pressure Karen applied. His antennae slowed their erratic dance. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice still shaky. Karen's eyes were filled with love and determination. "It's ok," she said, her voice a gentle caress. "We're all here for you." Slowly, Plankton leaned into her embrace with relief. He closed his eye. The pain was dimming. Chip noticed his hand slacken around the fidget toy, his grip loosening. Karen felt his weight shift against her, and she knew he was slipping into sleep. Gently, she eased him onto his bed, she covered him with the weighted blanket, his body relaxed beneath the comforting pressure. Plankton's antennae twitched once more before stillness claimed him. The fidget toy slipped from his grasp, landing silently. Karen reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek. "Rest now," she whispered.

Children with autism exhibit a higher general and anxietʏ, due to altered sensory sensibilities. Autism or autistic disorder is a severe developmental disability that is characterised by an impairment in mutual social interactions, communication skills, and repetitive patterns of behaviours. They can also show an increased sensitivity to sounds, light, odours, and colours. The attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) was the most common disorder associated with the autistic group (71%) and the epilepsy with the control group (52%) (P < 0.089) It's important for the clinicians to know how to manage these affecting patıents in developmental age, ensuring an adequate and minimally invasive management using a prompt approach, when possible. So, a good communication can help to establish trust and build needed cooperation throughout the visit and treatment. All patıents in developmental age, especially with health disorders, need experienced doctors who know how to face promptly tr4uma under general anaesthesia, if possible. Moreover, a parent-reported questionnaire method would also help overcome this deficiency, provided that the parents remember all past tr4uma events of their children. Respondents often cited conflict between understanding the additional needs for successful treatment of autistic patıents and a lack of resources to implement support strategies. Despite this, some were positive about making the necessary modifications to support autistic patıents. Professionals should adapt their practises to meet the needs of their autistic patıents. Autism is a developmental condition associated with social communication difficulties, and the presence of rigid, repetitive behaviours and atypical sensory sensitivities. As such, the nature of procedures and the treatment environment may prove a particularly challenging area for individuals on the autistic spectrum. In particular, sensory atypicalities may pose a barrier to treatment. Many autistic individuals are hypersensitive to a multitude of stimuli such as bright lights, noise and touch. Further autism-specific challenges include communication difficulties between practitioner and patient, which has been reported to be a key element in failed or unpleasant visits for autistic adults. Given the bidirectional nature of communication, the practitioner clearly plays a crucial role in overcoming this area of challenge. Autistic people have reported significant difficulties in accessing adequate care. Five main themes emerged from these responses: (1) understanding individual needs, (2) the key role of communication, (3) the value of autism specific techniques; (4) a conflict between needs and resources and (5) positive and rewarding work. To ensure successful treatment, the individual needs of each patient needs to be taken into consideration, as it affects each client differently. Given the variability in needs and preferences of autistic people, an overreliance on personal experiences may lead to professionals offering 'one-size-fits-all' accommodations, consequently producing more discomfort for the patıents. It was encouraging, however, to see a number of respondents in the current study flag up an understanding of this individuality, and the need for a tailored approach. Indeed, a considerable number of respondents reported not being aware of any techniques available to reduce possible discomfort in autistic patıents. Autism (congenital or acquired) and symptoms are not a chøice.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 𝟥 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 𝖬𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅?" "𝖠 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖤𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖲𝗎𝗇, 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀..." "𝟤𝟦 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖨 𝗄𝗇-" 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. "𝖭𝗈 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇, 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝟤𝟥 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝟧𝟨 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝟦 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀!" 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌? "𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅?" 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗉. "𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖥𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖱𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖥𝗂𝗑." 𝖧𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋. 𝖥𝗂𝗑𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖫𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗏𝗂𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅." 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗌. "𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗒. "𝖡𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖡𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇?" 𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. "𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿. "𝖶𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉. 𝖱𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗒. "𝖡𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆. "𝖸𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, "𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌? 𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗒; 𝗒𝖾𝗍, 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇? 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀.. 𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋. 𝖶𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾? 𝖠 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗆𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖺? 𝖭𝗈, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒'𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖼𝖼𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇?" 𝖧𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖥𝗅𝖺𝗉," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. "𝖥𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗎𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍. 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾? "𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗐. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁? 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼.. 𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖳𝖵 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍. 𝖨𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾? 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆? "𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌? 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖽𝗎𝗅𝗍.." 𝖧𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍. "𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖨𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗑 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗍. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋. "𝖠𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽. "𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗎𝖾, 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖨𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈, 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋... 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. "𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌," 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝖾, "𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗉𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗑 𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝖺𝖻𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾. "𝖨𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖾𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋. 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾, 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗎𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾. "𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇," 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾, "𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗑 𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋." 𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄. "𝖲𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖾𝖼𝗁 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. "𝖴𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍. 𝖧𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗎𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺..." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. "𝖥𝗂𝗑, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖭𝗈 '𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖾' 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝖢𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝖽𝗒𝗌𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌." 𝖲𝗈 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇; 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄. 𝖭𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖽.." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽. "𝖡𝖾𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌. "𝖲𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽'𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗋𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌. 𝖠𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖽, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁, 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗉. "𝖲𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. "𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝖥𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗐 𝖺 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗏𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾. "𝖲𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝖽𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌. "𝖢𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽. "𝖥𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝖽. "𝖮𝗎𝗍. 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖸𝖾𝗌. 𝖶𝖾'𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍. "𝖳𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌," 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒. "𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗌." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇. "𝖱𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

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9 Tʜɪɴɢs ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ Author's 𓂀𝕰𝖑𝖎𝖏𝖆𝖍𖣲̸☘♕ :zap: 01/01/22 ┏━━━━•❅•°•❈ - •°•❅•━━━━┓ ┗━━━━•❅•°•❈ - •°•❅•━━━━┛ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩ ┊ ┊ ┊ ✫ ┊ ┊ ☪⋆ 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲, ⒉🄀⒉⒉ ┊ ✫ #hashtag ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ༄ ✯ ⋆ ┊ . ˚ ☾ ❥ ˚✩. ‧₊ ❁ཻུ۪۪.;:୭̥.┊ʟᵉᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ. ʟᵉᵃʳⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉˢˢᵒⁿ. ғᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃˢᵗ. ᴀⁿᵈ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ᵒⁿ. ꒱ ┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄ ⋆ ☄. ʙᵉ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɴᵒᵗ ᵇʸ ˢᵗʳⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵇʸ ˢᵗʳⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ˢᵉˡᶠ. sᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢⁱᵐⁱˡᵃʳ ᵗᵒ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ. sᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᵗᵒᵒ. ɪᵗ ⁱˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵇⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵘⁿⁱᵠᵘᵉ. ·˚ * :telescope: ┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄ ⇢˚⋆ ✎ ˎˊ- " ᴅᵉˢᵖⁱᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ, ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʰᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵒᵘˡ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ ˢᵗᵒᵖˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵉˡᶠ-ᶜᵉⁿᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉˡᶠⁱˢʰ. ʙʸ ᵍⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ, ɪ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ. ʏᵒᵘ ᵐᵃʸ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ, ˡᵒᵛᵉ, ᵃᵗᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ, ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ... ᴛʰᵉ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗ ⁱˢ, ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ. ɴᵘʳᵗᵘʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᵛᵉʳˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ʏᵒᵘ ˡⁱᵛᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɴᵒᵗ ᵃⁿʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. " ┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄ -`, ʏᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʰᵘʳᵗ? ɢʳᵉᵃᵗ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ. ᴀ ᶠᵒʳᵉˢᵗ ᵍʳᵒʷˢ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵇʳᵘⁿᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ ⁿᵘʳᵗᵘʳᵉˢ ⁱᵗˢᵉˡᶠ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ⁱᵗ ʳᵉᵐⁿᵃⁿᵗˢ. ɴᵒ ᵍʳᵒʷᵗʰ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿˢ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ˢᵗʳᵘᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃʳᵈˢʰⁱᵖ. ɪᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵃᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵒᵘˡ ʸᵉᵗ, ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ. ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵉˡᵃʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵇʸ ᵃᵛᵒⁱᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʳⁱˢᵏˢ. ᴛʰᵉ ˢᵒᵒⁿᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ⁱᵗ, ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ. ꒱ ↷🖇🥛 ┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄ ˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :email: :; ʟᵒᵛᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ. ᴡᵉ ᵃˡˡ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉ. ᴛʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉˢ ʷʰᵒ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉˢ ʷʰᵒ ᵉˣᵖʳᵉˢˢ ⁱᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ. sᵒ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵖᵘⁿⁱˢʰ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵘⁿᵏⁱⁿᵈ ᵒʳ ˢᵉˡᶠⁱˢʰ ᵇʸ ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵏⁱⁿᵈⁿᵉˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵃʷᵃʸ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ. ᴡⁱˡˡ ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ ᵃʷᵃʸ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵗʰᵉᵐ? ɴᵒ. ɪᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ⁿᵃⁱᵛᵉ. sᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ'ˢ ᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵒʳ ⁱⁿᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᶜⁱᵖʳᵒᶜᵃᵗᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈⁿᵉˢˢ ⁱˢ ᵃ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ. ɴᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘ. ┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄ ༘♡ ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵃᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳⁱᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵃˡᵘᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰⁱⁿ. ɴᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵉᵗʳᵃʸ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵗᵒ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. ɴᵉᵛᵉʳ. ᴛʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉⁿ ᶜᵒᵐᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵈᵒʷⁿ. ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵃʸ ⁿᵒ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵇʸ ˢᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. ɪᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵍᵉᵗˢ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳʸ, ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳʸ ⁱˢ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ. ᴛʰᵉʸ'ʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ. ⋆｡˚❀ ┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄ _ _ ᴏʷⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ. ᴡᵉ ᵉᵃᶜʰ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ. ᴊᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵒʳ ˢᵃʸˢ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁱˡˡᵉᵍⁱᵗⁱᵐᵃᵗᵉ, ⁱᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵗʳᵘᵉ. ʙᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ʲᵘᵈᵍᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˡˡᵒʷ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵉʳᵈⁱᶜᵗ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ. ᴛᵃᵏᵉ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳˢʰⁱᵖ. ᴜⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰʸ ⁱᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ᵃʷᵃʳᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ᵃˡˡᵒʷˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ༉‧₊˚✧ ┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄ ꒰ :vhs: ꒱°⁺ ⁀➷ ʟⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ. ᴛᵒ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ. ɴᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ. ɴᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ. ʟⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ. ᴏᵇˢᵉʳᵛᵉ. ᴡᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ. ᴀˡˡᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃⁱˡ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶜᵉᵃⁿ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵘʳⁱᵒˢⁱᵗʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵃʳᵛᵉˡ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡᵉˢᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ʰᵘᵐᵇˡᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ. ┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄ ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪┊ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵃˢʰᵃᵐᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ. ᴄʳʸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘʳᵍᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜʳʸ. ʟᵃᵘᵍʰ ᵒᶠᵗᵉⁿ. ᴇᵃᵗ ʷᵉˡˡ. ʀᵉˢᵗ ʷᵉˡˡ. ᴡᵒʳᵏ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ. ʙᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ᵒᵏᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᶜʰᵃʳᵍᵉ. ˎˊ˗ ๑۞๑,¸¸,ø¤º°`°๑۩ - ๑۩ ,¸¸,ø¤º°`°๑۞๑

BRAIN CHIP pt. 1 (By NEUROFABULOUS) It was an accident. Plankton fell on his head from the roof as his head landed on the sidewalk. Karen rushed over to the now unconscious form as she watched the accident unfold. "Oh no, Plankton, what have you done?" she exclaimed, picking him up and going back inside to rest him on the couch. She laid him down carefully, his head cradled in a pillow. He was breathing, yet his eye remained shut. She lightly tapped his cheek, whispering his name, "Plankton, can you hear me?" There was no response. He is out cold. Should she call for help, or wake him gently? She chose the latter. "Plankton, darling," she said softer than before, stroking his hand, "please wake up. Come on, Plankton," she murmured. Karen waited. Then, Plankton's eyelid twitched. A faint groan escaped him as he regains consciousness. His hand reached for his head. Karen's eyes widened with relief as she saw his eye begin to open, revealing a slit of confusion. "It's ok," she soothed, squeezing his hand gently. "You had a fall." He winced, his hand moving from his head to hers, holding it tightly. "What happened?" he managed. "You slipped and fell," Karen explained, trying to keep the panic from her voice. "You hit your head." Plankton's eye widens, taking in his surroundings. The familiar living room swam before him as he attempted to sit up. Karen helped, her hands steadying him. He winced again. "Easy, love," she cautioned, hands on his shoulders. "Let's take this slow." Plankton nodded as he repeated her words, "Easy, love." The echo of his voice was faint but it grew. "Take this slow," he whispered to himself. Karen looked at him with concern, noticing his strange behavior. "Plankton, are you ok?" she asked, her voice tight. His eye searched hers. "Ok, Karen," he said. This wasn't something she'd heard from him before. "You're just a bit shaken up, that's all," she assured. But Plankton just nodded, repeating her words. "Shaken up. That's all." The phrase seemed to soothe him, his grip on her hand loosening slightly as he focused on her voice. Karen studied his face, noticing the glazed look in his eye. He wasn't just echoing her; he was stuck on her words, his mind unable to form his own thoughts. "Plankton," she said, her voice quivering, "tell me what you're thinking. What do you remember?" "Thinking," he echoed, his gaze flickering as he searched his own mind. "Remember," he managed, his words choppy and disjointed. "What do you remember, Plankton?" she pressed. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his eye searching hers for answers she didn't have. "Fell. Sidewalk. Pain," he said, his voice trailing off as he tried to piece together the moments before the darkness had claimed him. "Yes," Karen said, nodding. "You fell. Do you remember anything else?" Plankton's eye searched hers, his brow furrowed. "Fell. Pain. You." The repetition was unnerving, but she clung to the fact that he'd managed to form a coherent response. "That's right," she said, her voice steady. "You fell and hurt your head. But what were you doing before?" His head tilted slightly, as if the question was a puzzle piece he couldn't fit into the jigsaw of his memory. "Doing," he echoed. "Doing before?" "Yes," Karen prompted, her voice soft but firm. "What were you doing before you fell?" Plankton's mind raced, trying to retrieve the lost moments. His eye flickered before finally settling on hers. "Before. Before," he repeated, his voice gaining speed. "I was on the roof. Ok, Plankton. The Plankton on the roof. Before, before," he stumbled over the words, the phrase looping in his head like a broken record. Karen felt a cold shiver run down her spine. "Plankton, honey, can you tell me more?" she prodded gently, her voice trembling. "Tell me more, tell me more," he echoed, the words now a rapid-fire chant. He started to sit up again, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The pain in his head seemed to have lessened, replaced by a desperate need to repeat. "On the roof," he blurted out, his voice stronger now, the phrase taking hold. "Roof. Roof. On the roof before." Why is he doing this? "Plankton, can you tell me what you were doing on the roof?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Roof. Roof," he murmured, his eye locking onto hers. "Doing roof. Doing roof," he repeated, but she knew she had to keep him talking. "Yes, you were doing something on the roof," Karen urged, her voice gentle but firm. "What was it, Plankton?" His eye searched the room, as if the answer was hiding behind the curtains. "Fixing," he finally said, his voice clearer. "Fixing the roof." Her screen lit up with hope. "Yes, you were fixing the roof," she confirmed, her voice steadier now. "Do you remember why you were up there?" Plankton's eye searched hers, his mind racing. "Fixing. Roof," he murmured again, the words like a lifeline. "Fixed the leak." The revelation came suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped in his brain. The leak had been causing trouble for weeks, and he'd finally decided to tackle it today. The memory was faint, but it grew clearer as he spoke. Karen's grip on his hand tightened. "Good, you fixed the leak," she encouraged, her voice steady. "Do you remember how you got down?" "Down," he echoed, his mind spinning as he recalled the ladder, the shaky descent. "Fall. Down. Fall down." "Plankton," Karen said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's wrong?" He didn't answer her question. Instead, he looked confused. "Wrong? Provided adequate response, yet how wrong?" Karen's mind raced as she tried to understand. "Your speech, Plankton. It's... it's different," she managed, her voice trembling. "It's ok," she assured him, not wanting to alarm him further. But Plankton's behavior grew more erratic. He began to rock back and forth slightly. "Plankton, honey, are you ok?" Karen asked, her voice laced with worry as she observed his sudden onset of repetitive motions. He didn't acknowledge her question; instead, he kept rocking back and forth, his hands fluttering at his sides. His eye remained focused on a spot on the wall, unblinking. "Roof. Fix. Leak," he muttered, his words staccato, rhythmic. The tension in the room grew as Karen watched him. Karen's mind raced. The stimming was a sign of overwhelming stress or anxiety, but she had never seen him do this before. She leaned closer. "Plankton," she whispered, placing her hand on his arm to get his attention. His eye snapped to her, the rocking stopping abruptly. "Wrong," he said, his voice still strange, his words choppy. "Worry. Not ok. Karen." Karen's breath hitched. "Plankton, yo--" Her words were cut off by his sudden jerking movement. He began to stim, his hands flapping in front of him. The sight of her husband, a man she knew so well, now lost in a world of his own, was almost too much to bear. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice shaky, trying to keep the situation under control. But his stimming intensified, his body now matching the erratic rhythm of his speech. "You're ok," she said, touching his arm, but he snapped. "No, Karen," Plankton said, his voice rising in pitch. "Not ok." The flapping grew faster, his eye unfocused. "Plankton, please," she begged, her voice thick with tears. "Tell me what's happening." She says, grabbing his hands to hold them still. But her touch seemed to only fuel his distress. "No," he says. "Karen, it!" The sudden sharpness in his tone made her flinch. She had never heard him speak that way. It was as if he was a different person. "What do you mean, 'no'?" Karen asked, her voice trembling as she held on tighter. Plankton's body grew rigid, his stimming increasing in intensity. "No touch," he said firmly, pulling his hands from her grasp. His words were still fragmented, but the meaning was clear. Karen's eyes filled with tears. "Plankton, please," she pleaded, reaching for him again. But he recoiled, his movements quick and jerky. "Karen. No," he stammered, his voice laced with fear. But she grabbed his shoulders. "What's wrong, Plank..." Her words were lost as Plankton's body began to convulse with fear, his stimming now a full-blown defense mechanism. "No," he yelled, his voice piercing the quiet room. "Karen, pain! Not safe! Karen harm Plankton scared! No hurt Plankton!" Karen's eyes widened, her own fear spiking at his sudden terror. Her hands hovered in the air, unsure of what to do. "Plankton, it's ok," she said, taking a step back. "I..." But he was beyond consolation, his body a whirlwind of chaotic movements. "Karen bad," he whispered, his voice trembling as much as his limbs. "Karen hurting Plankton. Plankton scared." This wasn't her Plankton. The love and trust in his eye had been replaced by something wild and uncertain. She took another step back, her own hands now shaking. "I'm not hurting you," she said, desperation seeping into her words. "I'm trying to he-" Her sentence was cut short as Plankton's body tensed further. His stimming grew erratic, his legs kicking rapidly. "No," he yelled, his voice now unrecognizable. "Karen no good. Karen stop. Not safe." Karen's screen filled with horror. What had happened to her husband? He looked at her with a fear she had never seen before, his trust replaced with a primal instinct to escape. She took another step back, her voice shaking. "Plankton, it's me," she whispered. But he didn't seem to hear her. Instead, a strange, low humming noise began to emanate from his throat. The hum grew in volume, filling the room with a sound that seemed to resonate with distress. "No," he murmured. "Karen, pain, bad." "Plankton," she called softly, using his name to anchor him. He stopped his erratic movements, his body slowly calming. The humming grew quieter, the fear in his eye fading slightly. She took another step closer, her hand outstretched. "You're ok," she whispered, her voice as soft as a lullaby. "You're safe."

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BRAIN CHIP pt. 2 (By NEUROFABULOUS) Plankton blinked, his breathing shallow. For a moment, she saw the man she knew. But it was fleeting. His gaze shifted again, searching for something that wasn't there. "Karen?" he asked, his voice unsure. "Safe? Karen." Karen felt a spark of hope, but it was quickly extinguished when he began to echo her words once more, his speech still broken and erratic. "Safe," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're safe, Plankton." He nodded, his eye still not quite focused on hers. "Safe," he echoed, his tone softer now. "Safe, Karen." The humming in his throat had ceased, but his hands remained in a constant flurry of movement, as if searching for something only he could see. "Yes, you're safe," she assured him, her voice steady, trying to hold onto the fragile thread of sanity that was weaving through his words. She took another tentative step closer, hoping that physical proximity would help ground him. "I'm here." Plankton's hand reached out, his movements less frantic now, his voice still echoing hers, "Here. Karen, here. Say Karen." Karen nodded, her voice a soft whisper. "I'm here, Plankton." The repetition seemed to soothe his nerves somewhat. His breathing evened out as he mirrored her words. "Karen here. Here Karen." Her hand hovered over his, their fingers almost touching. "You're ok," she said, willing both of them to believe it. "You had a fall, but you're ok now." Plankton's hand stopped moving for a moment, his eye focusing on hers. "Ok," he murmured. "Fall." The echo was faint, but it was a start. Karen took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "You're ok," she said again, hoping the repetition would bring him back to her. "You fell, but you're ok." Plankton's hand twitched, his eye flickering with a spark of something that resembled understanding. "Ok," he echoed, his voice softer. "Fell. Ok." He started to rock again. Karen watched him, her mind racing. What was happening to her husband? The fall had changed him, his speech reduced to echoes and fragments. Was it a concussion? Shock? Or was it something more serious? Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the man she knew, but his gaze remained distant, lost in his own thoughts. "Plankton," she said, her voice filled with love and concern. "Look at me." He blinked, his eye flicking up to meet hers barely before he averted her gaze. "Karen," he murmured, the word a question and a statement, disliking eye contact. Karen felt a surge of panic, but she pushed it down, focusing on keeping her voice calm. "Look at me, Plankton," she coaxed. "It's ok. You're safe." He took another deep, shuddering breath, his hand still fluttering. Slowly, his eye met hers again, but then he squeezed his eye shut to avoid it. Karen felt a tear slip down her screen. "Look at me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, Plankton." Slowly, his eye opened, meeting hers for a brief moment before flitting away again, as if shy. Karen tried to hold his gaze, desperation clinging to every word she spoke. "Plankton, I'm right here. You're safe with me." His eye darted away again. Her mind raced. What could be causing this? Was it the fall? The impact? Or something deeper, something she couldn't see? The silence in the room was deafening, filled only with the echoes of their fragmented conversation. She took another deep breath, willing herself to think clearly. "Plankton," she said, her voice soft, "can you tell me your full name?" His eye searched her face, his hands still fluttering. "Plankton," he murmured. "Karen said Plankton. Plankton response, full name. Name, Sheldon Jay Plankton." It was a small victory, but it was something. He knew his full name. Perhaps there was hope yet. "Good," she said, her voice soft. "Now, can you tell me what my birthday is?" Plankton nods. "31 July 1999." Karen felt a mix of relief and disbelief. Despite his condition, his memory was still intact. It was his speech, his ability to form coherent thoughts and maintain eye contact that was the problem. "Plankton," she began, her voice gentle but firm, "I need you to stay still for me, ok?" His body stiffened slightly, his eye flitting towards her before quickly darting away. "Look at me, just for a moment." Karen watched as Plankton's eye moved back to hers, the fluttering of his hands momentarily halting. "Good," she said, her voice filled with encouragement. "Now, I want you to tell me, without echoing, what your favorite color is." Plankton took a deep breath, his eye locked on hers, the challenge clear. "Color," he murmured, his voice a whisper. "Favorite." He paused, his mind working overtime. "Red," he finally said, the word escaping his lips like a sigh of relief. Karen's eyes widened with hope. He'd answered without echoing. "That's right," she said, smiling softly. "Your favorite color is red." The room felt a fraction less heavy as Plankton's shoulders slumped in relief, his stimming subsiding slightly. "Red," he repeated, his voice stronger this time, his eye lingering on hers. "Red." Karen felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could reach him through these fragments of speech. She had to try. "What time i---" But then Plankton interrupts. "Time is the continuously indefinite progression of existence occurring in an apparently irreversible succession from the past, through the present and into the future. It is a component quantity of various measurements used to sequence events, to compare the duration of..." Karen's eyes widen as she tries to interrupt his sudden outpouring of information. This isn't just a concussion. This is something she's never seen before, something that scared her to her core. She gently squeezes his hand. "Plankton," she says, trying to get him to focus. "What I meant was, do you know what tim-" But he cuts her off again, his voice a recitation. "Time is a dimension in which events can be ordered from the past through the present into the future, and also the measure of duration of events and the intervals between them." Karen's eyes fill with tears. Her simple question had triggered a deluge of encyclopedic facts. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice shaking. "I just need to know if you know what time i---" He starts again, his words rapid fire, each syllable a bullet. "Time, a nonspatial continuum that allows for the existence of events in sequence." Karen's mind spun. This wasn't the Plankton she knew, the man who'd always had a way with words but now they were cold, clinical, not his own. "Plankton," she interrupted, firm but gentle. "Please, just tell me what time you think it is now." He stared at her for a second, his eye unblinking. Then, as if a switch flipped, he said, "Time is the measurement of moments and temporal intervals." His voice had shifted, no longer robotic but still not quite right. Karen knew she had to keep trying. "Plankton," she said, her voice steady, "what time do you think it is right now?" His eye darted around the room, his mind racing. "Time," he murmured, his voice a mere echo of his former self. "Now." It was a simple answer, but the way he spoke it made Karen churn. There was a detachment to his tone, as if he was reciting a line from a play he hadn't quite memorized. Karen took a deep breath, fighting the panic that threatened to consume her. "Plankton," she said, enunciating each word carefully, "do you know what time it is?" He looked at her, his eye flicking to the clock on the mantle. "Time," he murmured. "Clock. Tick-tock." He wasn't telling the time; he was just describing the clock. She tried again, her voice strained. "Plankton, please, tell me what the clock says." He looked at her, his eye unfocused. "Clock," he murmured. Then, with a jerk, he turned his head to look at the clock. His hand moved to his forehead as if to ease the pain of processing the information. "Five," he finally said, his voice still flat. "Five o'clock pm, pacific time." Karen felt a glimmer of hope. At least he could still read the clock. But his inability to answer a simple question without breaking into a disjointed monologue was odd. "Plankton," she began again, choosing her words with care. "I need you to tell me what you had for lunch to..." "Chumbalaya!" He exclaims. "10:43.51 am pacific time." Karen's eyes widened. His response was unexpected, jolting her with fear. This wasn't just a slip in conversation; it was as if his brain was rewiring itself in real-time. "Love," she said, her voice shaking, "Just tell me what you had for lunch." "Chumbalaya had for lunch, at 10:43:51 am pacific time." Karen's mind raced as she tried to decode his words. He'd mentioned a time, but it didn't make sense in the context of her question. Was it a memory, a random fact? Or a clue to what was happening to him? "Plankton," she said, forcing calm into her voice, "can you tell me what you ate?" "Ate Chumbalaya!" He says. The sudden clarity of his answer was a relief, but it didn't explain his strange behavior. Karen took another deep breath, trying to stay composed. "Okay," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "But what was the actual meal?" Plankton looked confused, his hand flapping again. "Meal, meal," he murmured, his eye searching the room. "Food. Chumbalaya was Plankton's consumption for lunch." Karen's brow furrowed as she tried to parse his words. "Food," she echoed. "What else did you have with your Chumbalaya?" He paused, his hand stilled for a moment as he searched his memories. "Breadsticks," he said, his voice a little clearer now. "And soda. Diet soda. Consumed.." The sudden clarity in his speech was jarring, but it gave her a glimmer of hope.

“Neurodivergent Umbrella”* Beneath the umbrella, it lists: ADHD DID & OSDD ASPD BPD NPD Dyslexia CPTSD Dyspraxia Sensory Processing Dyscalculia PTSD Dysgraphia Bipolar Autism Epilepsy OCD ABI Tic Disorders Schizophrenia Misophonia HPD Down Syndrome Synesthesia * non-exhaustive list

ᴹʸ ᴹᵒᵃⁱ 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 𝟓𝟐𝟖 ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜˡⁱᵐᵇ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᴷʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᴷʳᵃᵇ ʳᵒᵒᶠ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᵈᵃʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ˢˡⁱᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ˢˡᵃᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵒⁿ ʰᵃʳᵈ ⁱᶜᵉ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‽" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵖᵃˢᵐ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᵉʸᵉ ʳᵒˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢʰⁱᵛᵉʳ‧ ᴿᵘⁿⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ⸴ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵏⁿᵉˡᵗ ᵇʸ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ ʰᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ˢʰᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ⁿᵒʷ ᵘⁿᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢ‧ ᔆᵒ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ‧ ᴴᵉ ˢᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ 'ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ!' "ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ‧‧" ᔆᵃʸˢ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ⸴ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ‧ ᴴᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ˢᵃʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵗʳᵉᵐᵇˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ ᴴᵉ ʳᵒˡˡᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗˢ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᵒʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵛᵘˡˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳʸ‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʳᵘᵇˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ˢᵗʳᵃⁿᵍᵉ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ⸴ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵐᵒᵃⁱ‧‧‧ "‧‧‧ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ?" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸ⸴ ᵉʸᵉ ᶠˡⁱᶜᵏᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʷ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵒⁿᶠᵘˢⁱⁿᵍˡʸ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ˢⁱᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴬʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃʳᵐ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ⸴ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ?" ᴴᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ˡᵒˢᵗ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ‧ "ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ?" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃˢᵏˢ⸴ ˡᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢ ⁱᵗ‧ "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ!" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢʰᵒᵒᵏ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ?" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ ᴴᵉ ˡᵉᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ‧ "ᶜᵒᴸᵈ‧ ᴴᵘʳᵗⁱⁿ’ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧" "ᴬʰ‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃʸˢ⸴ ᵍˡᵃᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ‧ "ᴬʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵘⁿᵍʳʸ⸴ ᵒʳ ᵗʰⁱʳˢᵗʸ?" ᴴᵉ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᑫᵘᵉˢᵗⁱᵒⁿ‧ "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧" "ᵂʰᵃᵗ? ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ⸴ ʳᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ᶠᵒᵒᵈ ᵒʳ ᵈʳⁱⁿᵏ?" "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ!" "ᴬʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ?" "ᴺᵒᵗ‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ⁿᵉʳᵛᵒᵘˢ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ ˢᵘᶜʰ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ "ᴹᵉ ᵃᵗ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ?" "ʸᵒᵘ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵃʳᵉ?" "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵃʳᵉ‧" "ᵂᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵗ ᵐʸ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ˢˡⁱᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ˢʰⁱᵛᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᔆᵒ ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵇʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᵃᵗ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵐᵉ‧‧" "ᔆᵘʳᵉ‧‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ 'ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵃᶜᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ˢᵘᶜʰ ʷᵃʸ‧‧' ᔆᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ'ˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳʳᵘᵖᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗˢ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʷⁱᵗᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵘⁿᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡˡᵃᵇˡʸ‧ 'ᴼʰ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ!' ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵇʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ⸴ ᵗʳʸ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷ ᵐʸ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉ‧ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ˢᵃᶠᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ⁱᵗ'ˡˡ ᵃˡˡ ᵇᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵉʳʳᵃᵗⁱᶜ‧ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵛᵒⁱᵈ ᵃⁿʸ ᵃˢᵖʰʸˣⁱᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ʷᵉᵃᵏˡʸ ᵗʰʳᵃˢʰⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᴮⁱᵏⁱⁿⁱ ᴮᵒᵗᵗᵒᵐ ᴴᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ‧ "ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵘˢ ᵃˡˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ'ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵒᵖᵉʳᵃᵗᵉ‧" ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵘʳˢᵉ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵍⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵉᵈᵃᵗⁱᵛᵉ/ᵃⁿᵃᵉˢᵗʰᵉˢⁱᵃ‧ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ⁿᵒᵈᵈᵉᵈ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖʳᵒᶜᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃˡˡ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ˢᵗʳᵃⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧ "ᴴᵒʷ'ˢ ᵐʸ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘʳᵍᵉʳʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒʷ ˢᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴺᵒ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ˢᵖᵃˢᵐ⸴ ᵒʰ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ; ʰⁱ⸴ ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ⸴ ᵃˢ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵍᵒᵉˢ ⁿᵉᵃʳᵉʳ‧ "ᔆᑫᵘ⁻⁻ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ? ᴳᵃʰ ᵐ⁻ᵐʸ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ "ᴼᵒᵒʷ ʷʰᵃ⁻ʷʰ⁻ʷʰᵃ ʷʷᵘʰ ʰᵃᵖᵖⁿ’ ᴵ⁻ᴵ⁻ᴵ⁻ᴵ…" "ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ‧" "ᴴᵘʰ?" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳʷʰᵉˡᵐᵉᵈ‧ "ᴼᵘᶜʰ⸴ ʷ⁻ʷʰʸ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ˢᵃʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵃˡˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵖᵃˢᵐˢ ᵃˡᵃʳᵐᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ‧‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵗᵒˡᵈ‧ 'ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᴵ ᵉⁿᵈᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ‧‧‧' ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏˢ‧ "ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷ⁻ ᴵ⸴ ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸ⁻ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˡˢᵒ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗᵒʳ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡⁱᶠᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵖᵘᵖᵖʸ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵗ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ "ᔆᵖᵒᵗ!" "ᴿᵉᵃᵈʸ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ!"

🎭

𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾𝒸 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓈 ｆａｃｔｏｒｓ：　胃イ艶 1. if you have sensory issues, the lighting and the way the store is built can actually trigger panic attacks and sympt0ms. 2. agoraphobia is a huge factor as well. basically, you don’t want to go to places where you’ve had panic attacks and obviously get prettɥ terrıfıed. ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ　ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ　ｉｔ：　佳なヺ it’s not particularly easy to get through these situations. it’s hãrd to go through situations that make you uncomfortable. 【ｔｉｐｓ】 1. try to bring a fidget spinner, fidget cube, or something of sort. it will help distract you a bit. it may not work a lot, but i find it helpful. 2. have water with you, where ever you go. . 3. chew some peppermint gum or suck on some peppermint candies. it may not help a lot, but if you have a dry møuth from your panic attacks, it’ll help that symptom out. 4. pretend you’re excited. i know, it won’t be that easy, but sometimes faking one emotion, can actually make that emotion happen. try convincing yourself, “i’m fine, i’m excited! it’s okay!” (source: DARE - THE NEW WAY TO END ANXIETY AND STOP PANIC ATTACKS by Barry McDonagh) 5. accept your panic attacks and anxıety. don’t say no to anxıety because then you’re pushing it a̛way and gıvıng it more pøwer. accept that you do have this going on, but you’re NOT your anxıety. 6. taking deep breaths in and out. try different patterns, it may be hãrd to breathe, but you have to t̢ry. don’t gıve up! 7. finally, try EFT. emotiona1 freedom tapping is known to help relax you. (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ what you can bring into your regular life ♥ there are so many things you can bring in your life and routines. get ready because i’m gonna list a lot!: 1. meditation 2. eft 3. michael sealey hypnosis 4. yoga 5. exercise 6. journaling 7. bullet journaling 8. reading 9. drinking water 10. drinking herbal teas such as - chamomile, lemongrass, lavender, and etc.. 11. dancing 12. drawing and doodling 13. singing 14. playing some videogames 15. stretches 16. melatonin 17. magnesium 18. listening to motivating podcasts, videos, or songs 19. washing your fash and smiling in the mirror 20. talking positive to yourself 21. writing stories 22. doing thinking exercises in the morning to shift your negative thinking 23. watch one of your favourite shows on youtube, netflix, hulu, or whatever 24. write down on paper, something you want to do. don’t mention your fears or think about it. do something you WANT. don’t let the fear get in the way. 25. practicing some self-care 26. go outside 27. eat some delicious food 28. open your windows and let the sunlight come in 29. take vitamin d and b12! 30. smile and don’t let your panic attacks consume you. you’re a beautiful human being.

🌒⚖️🐉➰☄️☄️🌍🔪/👉

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆🌊🌊🏄

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

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☪♡˚ 🦢・✧☪( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ).ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･

➖🟦🟦🟦🟦➖➖➖🟦🟦🟦🟦➖➖🟦🟦🟦🟦➖➖ 🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦➖🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦➖🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦➖ ⬜⬜➖➖⬜⬜➖⬜⬜➖➖⬜⬜➖⬜⬜➖➖⬜⬜ ⬜⬜➖➖⬜⬜➖⬜⬜➖➖➖➖➖⬜⬜➖➖⬜⬜ 🟨🟨➖➖🟨🟨➖🟨🟨➖➖➖➖➖🟨🟨➖➖🟨🟨 🟨🟨➖➖🟨🟨➖🟨🟨➖➖🟫🟫➖🟨🟨➖➖🟨🟨 🟫🟫🟫🟫🟫🟫➖🟫🟫🟫🟫🟫🟫➖🟫🟫🟫🟫🟫➖ ➖🟫🟫🟫🟫➖➖➖🟫🟫🟫🟫➖➖🟫🟫🟫🟫➖➖

ヾ(＾ ∇ ＾).(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

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

✩🎱₊.🎧⋆📼⋆⁺₊

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝓮,𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾,𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑠,𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑜.

🎈,🌌,☁️,🌫️,

ᴬᵈᵉˡᵃⁱᵈᵃ ᴼʳᵗᵉᵍᵃ ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴ ¹⁴ ᴶᵘˡ ¹⁹⁰⁵ ᴰᴱᴬᵀᴴ ⁵ ᴬᵘᵍ ²⁰¹⁴ ⁽ᵃᵍᵉᵈ ¹⁰⁹⁾ ᴮᵁᴿᴵᴬᴸ ᴿⁱᵈᵍᵉˡᵃʷⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᶜˡᵉʷⁱˢᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᴴᵉⁿᵈʳʸ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗʸ⸴ ᶠˡᵒʳⁱᵈᵃ⸴ ᵁᔆᴬ