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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

new epilepsycore neurodivergency seizurecore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 1
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ 
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Chip was adopted at
birth by Plankton and
Karen, who raised him.
But Plankton's autistic,
which he only shared
with Karen. He managed
to 'mask' or hide some
of his neurodivergence
from Chip, who's got no
idea his dad's neurodisabled.

Chip walks in the door
to his parent's room is
slightly ajar. He peeks in,
expecting to find his mom
tidying up or his dad
fiddling with one of his
inventions. Instead, he
sees his dad sitting
still on the edge of his
bed, his eye glazed over,
his body stiff. "Dad?" But
Plankton doesn't move, nor
does he acknowledge
his son's presence. Chip
takes a step closer.
He tries to shake him,
but Plankton is like a
doll, unresponsive. "Dad,
are you ok?" Chip's voice
cracks, fear starting to
creep in.

The room feels eerily
silent, sans the
steady tick of the clock
on the wall. Chip
tries to recall if he's ever
seen his dad like this.
It dawns on him that he
might be hurt.

"Dad?" he whispers again,
his voice trembling. The
only response is the
persistent tick-tock of the
clock, echoing in the
silence. Chip's mind races,
trying to make sense of the
unexpected scene before
him. Plankton's absence
seizure had always been
a closely guarded secret,
shared only with Karen. But
now, Chip's the one who's
stumbled upon it, and he
doesn't know what it is, nor
what to do.

He reaches out to touch
his father's shoulder,
his hand shaking, but Plankton
doesn't flinch, despite his
discomfort. His eye
is open, yet unseeing. The
realization hits Chip like
a ton of bricks. Something
is wrong, terribly wrong. "Mom,
you need to come to your
bedroom. Something's
happened to Dad!"

Karen rushes in, a look
of concern etched on her
screen as she takes in
the scene. She quickly
assesses Plankton and
knew exactly what was
going on. She knows Chip
has never noticed Plankton's
autistic traits. They kept the
autism a secret from Chip as
per Plankton's request.

"It's ok, sweetie," she says
calmly, placing a gentle hand
on Chip's shoulder. "Your
dad's just having a little...
episode." Her voice is soft,
but firm, trying to ease
his panic without causing
alarm. She's seen this
hundreds of times. And
she knew Chip doesn't have
the faintest idea of his dad
having a condition.

"What do you mean?" Chip's
eyes are wide with fear, his
hands still hovering over
his father's unresponsive
body. He's never seen his
dad so lifeless before.
"It's like he's not even there,"
he whispers.

Karen takes a deep breath
and sighs. "Your dad doesn't know 
it's happening, but he'll be fine soon."

Chip's eyes dart 
around the room,
his gaze returning 
to Plankton. "But why?"
he asks, voice 
shaking. "What's
going on?"

Karen's eyes are
filled with a mix of
sorrow and 
determination as she
explains, "Your 
dad's brain does
things differently from
other people's, and
this is one of those
times." Chip's confusion
deepens. "But wh-"

"Remember how sometimes
you get really focused
on a video game and
can't hear me right away?"
Chip nods. "Well, this is like
that, but his body goes
still and he's not really
aware of what's around
him.."

Chip watches as Karen
carefully helps Plankton
to lie down, placing a
pillow under his head and
covering him with a
blanket. Plankton's eye
remains open, but it's
not looking at anything
specific, just glazed over.
Chip's fear turns to
curiosity, questions 
racing through
his mind.

He's seen his dad in
his 'work mode' before,
where he's so focused on
his inventions that it's like
he's in another world. But
this seems different. This is
scary. Karen sighs. "We'll talk
later, ok?" Chip nods, yet
his curiosity overpowers his
fear. He watches as Karen sits
by Plankton's side.
"It's ok, Plankton," she
whispers, stroking his antennae.
"You're safe here; I'm here."

Karen's screen never left
Plankton's face, her gaze
filled with love and
understanding. She knows
his silent battles, his secret
world of challenges.

"Plankton, it's me, Karen,"
she says gently. "You're
safe. I'm right here." She
speaks softly. Chip, still hovering,
can't help but notice the
tenderness in her touch as
Plankton's body remains still,
his eye unblinking.
Suddenly, Plankton
speaks. "Must...the...yes."
Plankton mumbles in a tone 
that's distant. The words make
no sense to Chip, but
Karen nods as if she
understands. "It's ok
Plankton," she soothes. "You're
right here with me."

The sight of his dad
talking to himself sends
a shiver down Chip's spine.
He's seen Plankton mumble
things before, lost in
his thoughts, but this is
different. It's as if he's
in a trance, his eye
seeing something only
he can perceive. Chip feels
his own anxiety spike,
wondering what could be
going through his dad's
mind in this state. "Dad?"
"Let him be," Karen says
softly. "Sometimes he
talks like that when he's
coming out of it. It's part of
his... process."

Plankton continues. "The...
...has to be..."

His words are fragmented,
his voice trailing off as if
his thoughts are racing
faster than his mouth can
keep up. "What...what is he
saying?" Chip asks Karen.

Karen's eyes stay locked
on Plankton, her expression
both concerned and calm.
"He's not really talking to
anyone," she explains. "It's
just something that can
happen during these
episodes."

Plankton's mumbling 
turns into a murmur. 
"The... the... it's all..."

Karen leans in closer, her 
voice soothing, "It's okay,
sweetheart. You're okay. Just
let it happen." Karen
knows from experience that
the words are not for them,
but rather a cerebral dance he
has no control over. Chip, on the
other hand, is utterly bewildered.

The room seems to shrink
around them, the air thick
with unspoken questions
and a palpable tension.
Karen's hand never leaves
Plankton's antenna, her
thumb brushing it gently.
"You're safe, Plankton," she
repeats, her voice a lullaby.
"You're here with me." "The...
the... it's..." Plankton says. Chip
can't help but lean closer,
his hand reaching. Karen's hand
shoots out to stop him.
"Chip, no!" she says firmly.
"Don't. It could make it worse."
Her eyes are filled with a
knowledge that Chip lacks, a
fear that he's only just
beginning to understand. Karen
sighs. "It's just his
brain... recalibrating."

The silence stretches out,
stifling. Chip watches his
father, his mind racing.
He's seen his dad's
inventions come to life,
but this... this is a
mystery he can't solve.
Plankton's antenna starts to
twitch slightly, the first
sign of movement since
the episode began. "It's over, love,"
she whispers. "You're okay."
Plankton's eye blinks,
once, twice, and then focuses
on Karen. Recognition
slowly dawns on his face,
confused. "Whaa-"

"You had a moment, Plankton,"
she says gently. "It's okay."
Plankton looks around,
spotting Chip. "Chip? K-Karen,
what's going on?" His voice
cracks with confusion. "What's
wrong? Did I...?"

Chip feels a surge of relief
seeing his dad's eye blink and
his dad's voice return to
normal. But the question in
his dad's voice tells him that
Plankton doesn't remember.

new autism and all chip plankton 1

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 2
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ 
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

"You had a little episode,
sweetheart," Karen says, her voice
warm and reassuring. "It's okay,
just another one..." "Karen, wh-what
is Chip doing here? Did he se-"

Plankton's question is cut
short as he notices Chip's
expression, and he realized
Chip must've indeed seen the
whole thing. How long did
it last?

Embarrassment washed over
Plankton. He'd managed to
keep his condition from his
son for so long, but now the
secret was out. His heart
raced, his cheeks flushing a
deep shade of red. "Chip," he
stammers, "I-"

But Chip's eyes are wide. "What was
that, Dad?" he asks, his tone
innocent. Plankton's never talked
about his autism to anyone
other than Karen before.
He's not sure how his son
will react. Will Chip look at
him differently now?

"It's nothing, Chip," Plankton
mumbles, avoiding eye contact.
He wishes he could just sink into
the bed and vanish.
Chip, however, isn't one to
back down easily. "No, Dad,
what happened?" He insists, his voice
still shaking from the fear that had
just gripped him. "You were
just sitting there, not moving
or anyth-"

"It's nothing," Plankton insists,
his voice a bit more firm now.
He doesn't want to admit it,
but he feels a twinge of
embarrassment at having been
found out. He's always been
so good at hiding his autistic traits
from Chip. But now,
his son is staring at him with a mix
of curiosity and concern.
Karen sighs, knowing it's time
for Chip to have 'The Talk'.

"Chip," she starts, her voice
careful, "Your dad sometimes
has moments like this. It's part
of who he is, something he can't
help." Chip's screen shifts to Karen,
his eyes searching for
understanding. "What do you
me—"

"It's NOTHING
Chip," Plankton 
repeats, his voice 
more insistent.
"Just... just DROP 
IT, OKAY‽"

The sharpness in his tone
surprises Chip. He's never
heard his dad snap like that.
He takes a step back, his
expression a mix of 
confusion and hurt. "I just
wanted to know if you
were okay," he mumbles.

Plankton's eye darts to
Karen, silently pleading.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
says, her voice calm. "We can
talk about it." But Plankton
shakes his head, his cheeks
flushing even more. "No, no,
not now," he says, his voice
smaller, almost defeated.

The silence in the room
stretches taut like a wire.
Plankton's antenna starts to
twitch erratically. It's a
familiar sight to Karen, a
tic. She's seen it before,
yet never when Chip's been
around. The tic again manifests
as a twitch, his head jerking
to the side in a small, rapid
movement. "Dad? What's
going on?" Chip's voice is
smaller now, fear creeping in.
Plankton's always been self-conscious
about his condition. But now,
his son looks at him with those
innocent, questioning eyes.

He swallows hard, trying to
keep his anxiety in check.
He doesn't know how to explain
the tics and the stims that
accompany his autism.
He's always been so careful
around Chip, hiding them as
best as he could. "It's... it's just
a... nothing," Plankton stammers.
But Chip's curiosity is
piqued. "What's happening
to yo-" "CHIP!" Plankton's voice is
sharp. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide.
He's never seen his dad this
upset. Karen's hand moves to
Plankton's, her grip tight.
"Plankton, it's okay," she says,
her voice steady.

Chip's eyes follow 
Plankton's head as
it jerks slightly to 
the side again.
"What's happening to
your head?" Chip asks.
He's never talked about
his autism with anyone 
other than Karen, and 
certainly not with Chip.
Plankton's antennae twitch
in agitation. "I told you,
it's tck tck nothing, Chip," he says,
his voice strained.

Karen squeezes Plankton's
hand. "Let's just sit 
and talk, ok?" "I'm sorry,"
Plankton says to Karen.
Karen's screen filled with
sympathy. "You don't have
to apologize, Plankton." She
knows how much Plankton
has struggled with his
autism, how much he's
worked to fit in and
keep it hidden from Chip.
"But he's going to want
to know," Plankton says, his
voice cracking. "I don't
want hi-" "I know, love," Karen
interrupts gently. "But we'll
explain it to him. He's a
smart boy. He'll understand."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still twitching. He takes
a deep breath, preparing
to face the reality that
his secret is no longer
safe. He looks at Chip, who's
still hovering at the
edge of the room, his eyes
filled with uncertainty.
"Chip, come here," Karen calls,
patting the bed. "Your dad 
has something to tell you."

Chip approaches cautiously,
his heart thumping. Plankton
looks up at him, his eye
shimmering with unshed tears.
Karen takes a deep breath,
and then starts to explain. "Chip,
your dad's brain is special. It
does some things differently
than ours. Sometimes, it
can get overwhelmed and
he needs a little time to...
recalibrate." Plankton's gaze
shifts to the floor, his antennae
twitching. Chip can see the
shame etched on his father's
face, the fear of rejection.
"Is that why you just
moved your head like that?"
he asks tentatively, pointing at
the twitch. Plankton sighs, his
body tense.

"Yes," Karen admits, "that's part
of it. And sometimes, he has
moments where he just... zones out.
It's like his brain goes to
another place and can't come
back right away."
Chip's eyes are glued to his
dad. "But why?" he asks her.
Plankton's antennae twitch
again, a silent plea for her
to handle this. Karen's eyes
soften. "It's called an
absence seizure," she says.
"It's part of his condition."
Chip frowns, "What condition?"

Plankton's gaze snaps up to
his son, his heart racing.
He's always been so careful
to keep his autism hidden
from Chip. But now, the
moment of truth is here.
"I'm... I-I-I-I…."

Karen gives his hand a
comforting squeeze. "It's
called autism," she says.
Chip's brow furrows. "What's
autism?" His voice is small,
his eyes searching his
mother's face for answers.

Plankton's heart feels like it's
in a vice. He's avoided this
conversation for so long. 
But now, the truth is
out, and he's not sure if he
can face his son's reaction.
Karen smiles gently. "It's a
way of being," she says. "Some
people's brains work differently.
They see the world in a
unique way, and they have to
deal with things like...
episodes."

Chip looks from his mother
to his father, trying to
comprehend. "But Dad,
aren't you okay?" he asks,
his voice small. Plankton's
throat tightens. He's never felt
so exposed. "I'm fine," he
forces out. Plankton
wishes he could just hide,
disappear into the wallpaper.
But he's trapped under the
spotlight of his own son's
curiosity.

new autism and all chip plankton ii 2

╔═══.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.═══╗
☆YOUR TEXT☆
╚═══.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.═══╝

new star moon space box night night sky sparkle galaxy nova planet moonlight outer space

✓⃣

new check box

「⸙͎」

new leaf kaomoji box kaomoji leaf box

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 6
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ 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

The sounds Plankton makes
shift again. "Skrink, skrink."
Karen's eyes light up with
understanding. "It's his brain's
new way of saying 'I'm okay',"
she whispers. "It's a 
'stim'." Chip looks at his dad,
his curiosity piqued.

Plankton's antennae wriggle,
his eye glazed over. "Skrink,
skrink, skrink." The sounds are
soothing, almost hypnotic.
"It's like he's playing a tune,"
Chip murmurs. Karen nods.
"In a way, he is," she says. "It's
his brain's symphony."

The room is bathed in the
glow of Plankton's stims, his
autism's unique melody.
"Dad?" Chip asks tentatively,
his voice a whisper. Plankton's
head tilts slightly, his antennae
still. "Skrink skrink skrink," he
repeats. It's like he's in a
trance, lost in a world only he
understands. Plankton's eye flickers.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers.
"You can keep making your
sounds."

And then it happens. Plankton's
voice shifts, echoing Karen's words.
"It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs.

Chip looks at his mom, his eyes wide.
"Is he... is he okay?" Karen nods.
"It's his way of processing," she says.
"It's called 'echolalia'." Chip nods,
his gaze never leaving his father's.
"It's when his brain mimics the words
he hears to make sense of them," she explains.
"It's like when you repeat something
until it feels right."

Plankton's antennae twitch in time with
his echoes. "It's okay, Plankton," he says,
his voice a mirror of Karen's soothing tone.
Chip smiles. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he repeats, trying to enforce his dad's calm.

But Plankton thinks 
Chip's making fun of
him. His antennae shoot 
straight up, his eye wide 
with hurt anger at Chip.

"It's not a game, Chip!"
Plankton snaps. "It's not 
something to tck tck... to
mock!" Karen sighs,
knowing this conversation
needs to be handled with
care. "Sorry, Dad," Chip says, his
voice shaking. "I just... I
thought it would he-"
"It's not for you to think
about!" Plankton cuts him off.

Karen puts a hand on
Chip's shoulder, her gaze
on Plankton. "Chip didn't mean
anything by it," she says calmly.
"He just wants to understand
and connect." She turns
to Chip, her screen filled with
compassion. "I know it's hard to
see Dad like this," she says.
"But remember, his autism is
part of him, and we need to
respect it. He doesn't like it
when you mimic his sounds
like that."

Chip nods, feeling a
wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad,"
he whispers. Plankton's antennae
droop slightly, but he doesn't
look at Chip. "It's okay," Karen
says, her voice soothing. "We're
all learning here."

Plankton's hand starts to
move again, tracing patterns
on the blanket. Karen watches.
"It's his 'stimming', Chip,"
she says. "It's his way of
self-soothing, and these movements
and sounds help him to cope."

Chip nods, his eyes still
wet. "But why did he get
so mad when I do it?" he
asks. Karen sighs. "Because
it's his own personal language,
his way of understanding the
world," she explains. "When you
address it, he feels like you're
invading his space, like you're
not taking his feelings seriously.
It's something his brain does for
himself only." Karen smiles
gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she
whispers. "Chip's just trying to
understand everything. You
can keep making your sounds."

Chip wants to help, but he doesn't
know how. "Just let him be,
Chip," Karen says, her voice
soothing. Plankton shifts again,
his eye teary. "It's okay,
Plankton," he murmurs, echoing
Karen's words from earlier.
Chip clenches. He didn't
mean to upset him, seeing his
dad's eye welling up with tears.

Karen's hand finds Plankton's,
squeezing it gently. "It's okay,
Plankton," she says. "You don't
have to hide it from us."

Plankton's tears spill 
over, tracing a silent 
river down his cheek.
Karen's eyes never leave
his. "You don't have to hide,
Plankton," she whispers. "We're
here for you." Chip watches. He
doesn't know what to do,
his mind racing. "Mom," he says,
his voice shaking, "What can
I do?" Karen turns to him, her
expression gentle. "Just be here,"
she says. "Just listen and
learn."

Plankton's tears stream down.
"It's okay, Plankton," he hears
his wife say again. The
words echo in his mind, a
comforting mantra. "It's okay,
Plankton," Plankton murmurs, trying
to mimic her tone. But it
sounds forced, wrong. He
swallows hard. "That's right, 
Plankton," Karen says,
smiling. "You're okay. You're
safe, Plankton," she repeats.
"You're here with us."

Chip watches his dad, his heart
breaking. "Mom, why is he...?"
Karen's eyes are filled with
pain. "It's his way of
telling us he's okay," she says.
"He's using my words because
right now, his brain can't find
his own." Chip nods, his eyes
on his father. Plankton's
hand is still moving, tracing
the patterns on the blanket.
"It's okay, Dad," Chip whispers.

Plankton's crying intensifies,
his tics becoming more
pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he
murmurs, his antennae flailing.
Karen reaches for him, but
he flinches away. "It's okay,
Plankton," she says, her voice
calm. "We're here."

Chip watches, his own
screen wet with tears. He's never
seen his dad like this before.
He feels like an outsider in a
conversation he's always been a
part of. "You don't have to hide
your tears," Karen whispers to
Plankton. "We're a family."

Plankton's sobs become
louder, his tics more pronounced.
"Tck tck tck," he says, his
body convulsing slightly.
Karen's hand is firm but gentle
on his back, offering silent
support. "It's okay," she murmurs.
"Let it out."

Chip watches. "Why is he...?"
his voice trails off. Karen looks
at him, her screen full of love.
"It's his way of saying
he's overwhelmed, Chip," she
whispers. "When he repeats
my words, it's his brain trying
to find the comfort it needs."

Plankton's cries become
louder, his tics more erratic.
"Tck tck tck," he sobs, his
body shaking. Chip feels
helpless, his mind racing.
He wants to make it stop,
but he doesn't know how.
"Just be here, buddy," Karen
says, her voice calm. "Sometimes,
that's all he needs."

Plankton's tics morph into
full-body shudders, his cries
now muffled by the blanket.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen
whispers, her hand still rubbing
his back. "We're with you."
Chip watches as his father's
sobs echo in the room, each
one a heartbreaking testament
to the weight he carries. "You're
not alone," he whispers, his voice
tiny in the face of Plankton's
distress.

The words tumble from
Plankton's mouth, a mix of
Karen's soothing tones and
his own raw pain. "It's o-okay,
P-Plankton," he repeats, his voice
broken. "It's o-okay." Karen's eyes
well up too, but she remains
steadfast. She's seen this before.

"Tck tck tck," Plankton says,
his body convulsing with
each sob. "You don't have t-to
tck tck hide it-t." Karen nods, her
thumb brushing away a tear. "It's okay,"
she whispers. "We love you just
as you are." Plankton's sobs
turn into hiccups, his antennae
twitching. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice mimicking hers.
Karen's hand moves in gentle
circles on Plankton's back, her
eyes never leaving his.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen says.
"You're safe here." Plankton's sobs 
subside slightly. Karen nods. "That's
right," she whispers. "Your sounds,
your tics, they're part of you."

Chip watches. He's never seen his dad
so vulnerable. "But... but why?"
he asks. Karen takes a deep
breath. "His autism, Chip," she
says. "It's like his brain has
its own language, and when
he's overwhelmed, it comes out."
Plankton's tics become less
erratic, his breathing even.
"It's okay, Dad," Chip says,
his voice trembling. "You're not
alone." Karen smiles sadly.
"He knows that, Chip," she says.
"But sometimes, his brain just
needs to speak its own words."

Plankton's eye meets 
his wife's, the panic
receding slightly as Chip 
watches. 

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II stimcore 6

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

new seizurecore epilepsycore 2014

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.

new touchingcore voicecore brain chip

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 17
(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

Karen's eyes are filled with love
and understanding. Plankton
slowly nods, his antennae dropping.
"I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice
barely a whisper.

But Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his eye cold. "You need to go,"
he says, his voice firm. Chip's screen
flickers with hurt. "What?"
he asks, his voice shaking.
Plankton's gaze is unyielding.
"I don't want you here," he says.
"Not right now." His words are like
a dagger to Chip's heart, but
Karen's screens flicker with a
message of patience. "Dad, what
do you mea-"

But Plankton cuts him off,
his antennae rigid. "I mean it,"
he says, his voice hard. "I don't
want you here." Chip's screen
reflects confusion and pain.
He doesn't understand. "But why?"
he asks. "We're fa-"

"Don't," Plankton says, his voice
sharp. "Don't pretend to care."
His eye is cold, his antennae
quivering with anger. "You made
fun of me. You think my world
is a joke." Chip's screen flickers
with confusion and guilt. "Dad,
no," he says, his voice shaking. "That's
not what I meant." But Plankton's
not listening, his words cutting
through the air like shards of
glass. "You think you know," he says,
his voice rising. "But you don't. You
can't. You're not like me."

Karen's screens are a
swirl of emotions, her heart
aching for both her son and
her husband. "Plankton, please,"
she says, her voice a gentle
plea. But he's not listening.
He's too lost in his own
hurt, his own frustration.
"You think you can just play
along?" he says, turning to Chip.
"You think it's that easy?"
Chip's screen shows his fear
growing, his mind racing. He didn't
mean to hurt his dad, but now
he feels like he's being pushed
away. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says,
his voice barely a whisper. "I just
made a mis-"

"Mistake? Hah. The only
mistake was thinking
you could ever understand!"
Plankton's words are a harsh
reminder of their earlier
misunderstanding. Chip's screen
reflects his hurt, his eyes
filling with tears. "You think
you can just pretend?"
Plankton continues, his voice
bitter. "You think you know what
it's like to be me?" His antennae
wave wildly in accusation.

Chip's voice is barely a squeak.
"I just wanted to help, Dad,"
he says, his screen a jumble
of sadness and confusion.
"But you didn't," Plankton
says, his voice cold. "You 
hurt me. And I can't just
shake it off." Karen's screens
flicker with pain for her husband,
but she knows Plankton's anger
is a shield, a way to protect
his tender heart.

"You don't get it," Plankton
continues, his antennae jutting
forward. "You think you can
just pretend to understand?"
His words are a knife in the dark,
twisting in Chip's gut. "Dad,"
Chip says, his voice trembling.
"I'm sorry. I'll do better. I'll
learn." But Plankton's eye
narrows, his antennae waving.
"It's not about you," he says,
his voice harsh. "It's never been.
You don't get to cry victim. I can
forgive accidentally touching me
and such, but this... I can't.
I saw you mocking me. I heard you
laughing." Chip's eyes widen.
"No," he says, his voice desperate.
"I didn't mean t---"

But Plankton's not listening.
"You think because you're sorry,
everything's okay and 
make it go away? You don't
get to decide that," he says, his voice
shaking. "You don't get to tell me
how I feel. Because right now, you
don't understand a thing. You're
not a part of this. You're not
being a good son. And I don't
think I can trust you."

The words hit Chip like a wave,
his screen flashing with disbelief.
He feels like he's drowning,
his mind racing for a way to
make it right. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he says again, his voice choked
with tears. "I'll do anything.
I'll learn, I'll change." But
Plankton's antennae droop, his
body defeated. "It's too late,"
he murmurs. "You had your
chance. But honestly, I don't think
you'll ever be the son I need."

Karen's screens pulse with pain,
seeing the rift between
them grow wider. She knows
how much Plankton values trust,
how hard it is for him to give it
once it's been shattered.

Chip's screen flickers with
desperation. "Dad, I'll be here," 
he begs, whimpering. "I'll try anyth—"

But Plankton's antennae are
rigid with finality. "No," he says,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"I now know better than to let
you in again. I hoped we'd be 
closer, but now I... I don't think
you belong in my life, Chip."

The words hang in the air,
each one heavier than the last.
Chip's screen is a whirlwind
of emotions: guilt, sadness,
fear. "Dad," he says, his voice
a broken plea. "Please, I'll do
better. I promise." But Plankton's
gaze is unyielding. "I'm letting go
Chip. We're done now. You'll never
be the son I adored again. You
failed to accept me, so I won't
accept your façade. So good
bye, Chip. I hope you find peace.."
Plankton then turns around, leaving
Karen and Chip in the living room
as he walked down the hall.
Chip's eyes are wide with shock,
his screen flickering with tears.

Karen's screens dim with sadness
as she looks at her son. "Chip,"
she says, her voice gentle. "It's not
you. It's just his way of coping."
But Chip's not listening. He's
thinking about the moments
his dad's eyes had lit up, the
times Plankton had laughed,
his antennae waving with joy.
And now, it's gone, replaced by
a coldness that scares him.

He tries to imagine what it's like
for Plankton, to live in a world
that's too loud, too bright, too
much. A world where even the
smallest touch can send him spiraling.
Where every interaction is a minefield
of misunderstandings. And he wonders
how he could have missed the signs.
How could he have hurt his father so
much without even realizing it?

new autism and all familycore chip

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.

new touchingcore familycore brain chip

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.

new autism and all to change the world sequel

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. 

new seizurecore emotionalcore brain chip

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."

new to change the world seizurecore timmy

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

new epilepsycore seizurecore phase

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 11
(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

They approach Plankton,
his body heavy with sleep.
Karen gently shakes his
shoulder. "Wake up, love,"
she says. "We're going to
help you to bed." Plankton's
eye opens, blinking in the
soft light. He looks around,
disoriented for a moment,
before focusing on Karen's
face.

"Bed?" he murmurs, his
voice thick with sleep. Chip
nods eagerly. "You need to
sleep in your own bed, Dad,"
he says, his voice gentle. Plankton
frowns, his hand reaching
for his blanket. "Must," he says,
his voice firm. Karen nods.
"Let's go," she whispers, taking
his arm.

With careful steps, they
navigate the hallway, the
soft carpet muffling their
footsteps. Chip follows
behind. Plankton's
movements are slow and
deliberate. Karen helps
Plankton into his room, the
space familiar and comforting.

The bed is a sanctuary. Karen
helps him into bed,
his limbs heavy with sleep.

Karen opens the bedside
drawer, her movements
practiced and quiet. Chip
watches as she pulls out
from the sensory box
a soft plushie.

Plankton's eye flickers
open, his gaze landing
on the toy. "Huggle,"
he murmurs. His hand
reaches out, his fingers
grabbing the plushie.
Karen nods. "Here you go,
sweetie," she says, placing
it in his hand.

The softness of the
plushie seems to ground him.
His hand clutches it tightly
as he settles into bed,
his antennae still. "Pranks,"
he says. "Ponies.."

Karen tucks the blankets
around him, her movements
precise and gentle. "Good
night," she whispers, leaning
in to kiss his forehead.

Chip watches as Plankton's
grip on the plushie tightens,
his eye still closed. "What's
that for?" he asks.

Karen smiles down at her
sleepy husband. "It's a
comfort object," she whispers.
"It's like a pillow or a blanket
for you." Chip nods.

Plankton's hand tightens
around the plushie,
his breathing deepening. 
"Huggle," he murmurs.

The soft toy is a lifeline
to a world that often feels
overwhelming. Chip watches
his dad with a newfound
respect, understanding that
sometimes, the simplest
things provide the most profound
comfort.

"Good night, Dad," Chip whispers,
his voice trembling slightly.
He's seen a side of Plankton
today that's both fascinating
and heartbreaking. The father
he's known his whole life,
his hero, has a vulnerability
no one else sees.

The next morning, Chip
wakes up and goes in
to his parent's bedroom
again.

Karen is up. Plankton
is still asleep, his hand
still wrapped around the
plushie. "Ponk," he murmurs
in his sleep, his antennae
twitching slightly. Chip pads over.
He looks at his mom, his eyes
questioning. "Is he okay?"
he whispers. Karen nods.
"He's just dreaming," she
explains. "It's a way of
working through things."

Chip sits on the edge of
the bed. "Mm," Plankton
murmurs. Chip's seen his 
dad's strength so many 
times, but this vulnerability 
is new. He reaches out for
his sleeping dad's plushie.
Chip's hand hovers over it.
He gently takes it...
Plankton's eye flew open.
"Whaa-" Plankton says, then
notices Chip taking the plushie.

In an instant, Plankton
is wide awake, his antennae
shooting up in anger. "No!"
he yells, his voice sharp.
Chip jumps back, his eyes
wide. "What's wrong, Da-"
Plankton's hand snatches
the plushie from Chip's
grip.

Karen's screen flashes
with concern. "It's okay,
sweetie," she says quickly.
"Chip didn't mean to take
it." But Plankton's not
listening. "NO! It's mine!
YOU don't touch!"

The room seems to shrink
under the weight of his
anger. His antennae quiver
with rage. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
Chip stammers, his voice
small and scared. Plankton's
grip on the plushie tightens.
Karen's screen flickers.
"Plankton," she says gently.
"Remember, Chip didn't mean to
upset you. He's still learning."

Plankton's eye darts
between the plushie and
his son. "MINE! MINE, MINE,
MINE!" Chip feels tears
prickling his eyes. He didn't
mean to make his dad
so mad. Chip goes to
pick up the plushie to hand
back to him, but Plankton
thought he's taking it.

In a flash, Plankton is out
of bed, his body stiff,
his antennae trembling with
fury. "NO!" he roars, his
voice echoing through the
tiny room. Chip flinches,
his grip on the plushie
tightening. "Dad,"
he whispers, "I'm sorry."

Karen moves quickly. "Plankton,"
she says, her voice firm but
kind. "Remember, it's okay."
Her hands are up, a silent
plea for peace. But Plankton
doesn't see her. His eyes are
locked on Chip. Yet
Karen's voice remains
steady. "Plankton, it's okay.
Let's talk about thi—"

He cuts her off with
a screech. "MINE!" He
snatches the plushie from
Chip's grasp, his antennae
waving in agitation. Chip
backs away, his eyes
brimming with tears. "It's okay,
Dad," he stammers. "You
can have it." But Chip accidentally
brushes against Plankton.

Plankton flinches, his
body stiffening. "NO!"
he shouts again. "DON'T TOUCH!"
The force of his words
pushes Chip back. He
almost stumbles over a chair.
"Dad, I di-"

But Plankton doesn't
hear. He's lost in a world
of his own, where the
rules are clear and simple:
his things are his, and no one
else's. The plushie is a lifeline
in a storm of confusion,
and it's been snatched away.
His rage builds, his antennae
quivering like live wires,
his body trembling with anger.

With a roar, Plankton
throws the plushie across
the room, watching it sail
past the curtains and hit the wall.
The impact echoes through the
silence like a gunshot. Chip
flinches, his heart racing.
This isn't the dad he knows.
This is a stranger, a creature
of fury and pain.

Plankton's chest heaves with
quick, shallow breaths. His
skin is slick with sweat,
his eyes wild and unfocused.
"NO TOUCH!" he screams,
his fists clenched at his sides.
The room seems to pulse with
his anger, the walls closing in.

Karen steps forward, her
hands still up, her voice calm.
"Plankton, love," she says,
"Chip didn't mean to upset you."
But her words are lost in the
rage. He turns and grabs
the chair.

With a powerful swing,
Plankton throws the chair,
his movements surprisingly
strong. It crashes
against the wall, the sound
like a thunderclap in the
silent room. Chip's eyes
widen in fear. "Dad,"
he whispers, his voice
shaking as Plankton grabs
a vase.

"MINE!" Plankton yells,
his body a blur of
anger. The vase flies,
shattering into a thousand
pieces on the floor. "NO
TOUCH!" The room is a
chaos of Plankton's rage,
his stims forgotten in the
face of perceived invasion.
Chip is frozen, his eyes
following the path of destruction.

Karen's screen flickers,
her voice urgent. "Plankton,
please," she says, her eyes
filled with fear. "You're
scaring Chip." But the words
bounce off his shield
of anger. He grabs a book,
ready to hurl it next.

The room is a minefield
of shattered glass and
flying objects. Chip's
heart races. He's never
seen his dad like this.
He's never felt so scared.
Karen moves closer, her
hands outstretched. "Honey,"
she says, her voice shaking.
"Remember, Chi-"

But Plankton's rage is
like a wildfire, consuming
everything in its path.
He throws the book, his
body a whirlwind of anger.
"NO!" His voice is raw,
his eye wild. The book
slams into the wall, the
pages fluttering to the
ground.

Chip watches, his eyes
wide with fear. He's seen
his dad's temper before, but
never like this. The room
feels like it's closing in,
his heart thumping in his
chest. He wants to run,
but he's rooted to the spot.
He can't leave.

new autism and all chip plankton chipcore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 12
(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

Karen moves quickly,
interposing herself between
Chip and Plankton. "No, love,"
she says, her voice shaking.
"Yo--" But Plankton's fury is
unchecked.

The book misses Chip by
inches, the wall bearing
the brunt of the impact.
Karen's eyes are wide with
fear, her screens flickering.
"PLANKTON!" she yells, her
hands up in a protective stance.
Plankton's chest heaves,
his antennae trembling.

Chip's eyes darting around the room.
He's never seen his dad so out
of control. "Dad," he says again,
his voice barely audible. "Please."
But Plankton's rage is a
freight train, unstoppable.

Karen's eyes are on Chip,
silently willing him to stay calm.
Her screen flickers rapidly,
reflecting the chaos. "Remember,
his brain is overwhelmed," she
whispers, trying to be heard
over Plankton's roars. "Just stay
back, let him..."

But it's too late. Plankton's
hand swings around, sending
a lamp smashing to the ground.
Glass shatters, piercing the
silence like shards of ice.
Chip's heart hammers in his chest.
He's seen his dad's temper before,
but this...this is something else.

Karen's eyes are wide with
panic. She steps closer, her
hands up to shield Chip. "Plankton,
sweetie," she says, her voice
shaking. "Please, it's okay.
Chip didn't mean to-"

But Plankton's fists clench,
his antennae quivering. "NO!"
He grabs another object, a
picture frame, and hurls it
at the wall. It explodes
into splinters, the shards
of glass glinting in the
morning light. "NO TOUCH!"

The wall is now a canvas
of shattered memories. Chip
sees himself in the pieces,
his heart breaking for the
father he thought he knew.
Karen's screens flash with
despair. "Plankton," she says,
her voice strained. "Please,
this isn't helping."

But Plankton's anger is a
whirlwind, uncontrollable. He
grabs a pillow, ripping it
open. Feathers fly through
the air. Chip doesn't
know what to do. Then
he wonders if something
in that sensory box can help..

With shaking hands, Chip
reaches for the box. "Dad,"
he whispers, "Lo---"

But Plankton's even
angrier, Chip's simple
attempt to reconcile
adding fuel to the fire.
Plankton's eye snaps to
his son, his antennae
quivering with rage.
He lunges forward,
his hand swiping through
the air, aiming for
Chip's hand. Chip flinches,
his heart racing. He's never
seen his dad so violent.
He tries to back away,
his eyes wide with fear.

"Dad, no!" Chip yells,
his voice cracking. "I'm
sorry!" He holds up
his hands in surrender.
Karen is there in an
instant, her body a
shield. "Chip," she says,
her voice firm. "Please,
head to your room."

Chip's eyes fill with
tears as he nods,
backing away. He doesn't
understand what's happening,
but he knows it's not his dad.
This is the monster that
sometimes lives in Plankton's
head, the one that comes
out when the world gets
too much.

Plankton's fist
slams into the wall.
The plaster cracks.
Karen flinches.

Her screen is a
swirl of fear and love.
"Plankton," she says,
her voice steady.
Her eyes never leave
his wild one. "Remember,
breathe." She holds up
a hand, her palm out.
He stares at her,
his chest heaving.
The room is a mess
of shattered things.

Slowly, she steps
towards him, her movements
calm and measured. "E-easy,
breathe with me," she whispers.
Her screen pulsed with
reassurance, a gentle
reminder of the world
that exists beyond
his anger. "Just br-"

But Plankton's rage
doesn't abate. His hand
slams into the wall
again. "Remember, love,"
she says, her voice strained,
"breathe." But the words
fall on deaf antennae.

He doesn't hear
the calming words, doesn't
see the love in her eyes.
All he sees is the
invasion of his space,
his personal sanctum
violated.

The house feels too small,
the air too thick. Chip's
sobs echo through the
hallway as he retreats
to the safety of his room.
Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton, her fear
for her son warring with
the fear for her husband.
He's not seeing her, not
really. His brain is in
overdrive, interpreting every
move as a potential threat.

Karen's voice is a distant
hum, her screens a blur of
colors and shapes. She tries
again, her voice softer now.
"Plankton, love, breathe." But
the words don't penetrate the
fortress of his anger.

"Plankton," she gasps, her
hands up to protect herself.
But he's not looking at her.
He's looking through her.
The room spins around her,
the walls closing in.

The anger in Plankton's eye
is a live wire. She tries to talk
again, but her words are
swallowed by the maelstrom.
"PLANKTON!" she screams,
her voice cracking.

He doesn't hear her.
Doesn't see her. He's
lost in a world of rage,
his antennae quivering.
Her screens flash with
despair as she realizes
this is a battle she can't
win with words alone.

Her hands drop to her side.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
a silent plea for understanding.
Her eyes are wet with
unshed tears.

Her love is a wall she'll
defend to her last breath.
She moves closer, her hand
outstretched. "Plankton,"
she says softly, "I'm here."
Her eyes are on his,
trying to break through
the anger.

"Feel the floor," she
instructs, her voice calm.
"Feel the ground beneath
you. I'm he--"

But Plankton swings again. Karen
dodges. "Plankton," she says,
her voice shaking, "remember
your stims. Use the--"

He cuts her off with
a snarl. "MINE!" His hand
slams into the dresser,
drawers flying open.

Karen tries again,
her voice softer.
"Plankton, love, use your
stims." Her eyes dart around
the room, searching
for something to help,
some way to reach him
or to redirect..

Her screen flashes with
despair as she realizes
everything has failed.
The fidgets had even failed.
Karen reaches into the
sensory drawer to get
the oral needleless 
syringe to administer the
prescribed relaxant for hopelessly
bad moments like this.

With trembling hands,
she prepares the dose.
The sedative is a last
resort, but she can't
bear to see him like
this any longer. Karen
steps closer.

"Plankton," she says softly,
her voice a lifeline in the
storm of his anger. "Look
at me."

He turns, his antennae
quivering with fury. But
the moment he sees the
syringe, something shifts.
A flicker of recognition,
a spark of understanding
as she brings the syringe
to his mouth, the plunger
ready to deliver the calm.

With a gentle touch,
she presses the needleless
syringe to his lips. "Shh,"
she whispers. "It's ok."
His antennae droop as he
understands. He opens his
mouth, letting her push
the plunger. The liquid
slides down his throat.

Plankton's body relaxes
instantly, the fight leaving
his eye. He slumps
forward, the anger draining
from his limbs. Karen
catches him, her arms
a soft embrace around
his shoulders.

"It's ok," she whispers,
guiding Plankton back to
his bed. "You're ok."
The sedative works quickly,
his breaths becoming deep
and even. His antennae
still slightly, his body
going limp. The sedative took hold,
and Plankton's body goes slack
in her arms. She carefully
lowers him onto the bed,
his eye closed.

This is not the first time
she's had to do this, but it
doesn't make it any easier.
Her screens flicker with
guilt. She's failed to
keep the peace, to
prevent this outburst.

The medicine has been
prescribed by a sensory
friendly therapist for
using in times of great
distress. Karen and
Plankton had agreed on it
as the therapist decided
with them to observe how
it worked. So they'd stay
at the office as it was
administered as per
Plankton's approval, and
observed him the whole
time, even after he awoke.
Besides that day, and today,
they've used it only two
other times. Any of the
tiredness/forgetfulness
is normal, and he might
be out of it for the rest of
the day, Karen knew.

His antennas lay still on the
pillow, no longer quivering. His
breaths were deep and even,
eye closed. Karen watched
over him, her own eyes
brimming with tears of relief
and love as she finished cleaning
up the aftermath of his anger.
Plankton's hand lay open
on the bed, the plushie
now forgotten. Karen still
could hear Chip's quiet sniffles.

She pushed open the door
to Chip's room. He was
curled up on his bed,
his face buried in his
arms, his shoulders shaking
with sobs. The sight of him,
so small and lost,
was a knife to her core.
"Chip," she says softly,
her voice a balm on
his raw nerves. "It's okay."
He looks up, his screen
swollen and red.
Karen sits beside him,
wrapping her arms around him.
"Dad's okay," she whispers.
"He just got overwhelmed."
Chip nods, his body tense.
"It's not his fault,"
she continues. "Sometimes
his brain gets too much
information at once."
He sniffles, his body slowly
unwinding. "We'll get
through this," she says. "We're
a team, remember?"
Chip nods, his tears
slowing. "I love him,"
he whispers, his voice
trembling with emotion.
"But I'm scared. Is he still
mad?" "No, sweetie," she says,
wiping a tear from Chip's screen.
"The anger is gone now. He's
still in the bedroom..." "I wanna
see him." Chip interrupts.

They tiptoe into Plankton's
room. He's lying there, his
body sprawled out
on the bed. His antennae are
still, his breaths deep.
The sedative has done its work.
Karen watches as Chip approaches
his dad. "Dad?"

There's no response.
Plankton's eye remains
closed, he doesn't stir.
"Dad?" His hand hovers
over Plankton's shoulder.

"He'll be out for a while."
Karen explains. "He had a
bad episode," she says.
"We got some medicine,
and the medicine makes him
sleep." Chip looks up at her
reflecting confusion and
fear. "Is he ok?"

Karen nods. "He'll be ok,
Chip. The medicine helps him
calm down." But Chip can't
help but feel guilty.
He's seen his dad like
this before, but never so
severe.

new autism and all karencore karen

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 16
(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

The room feels smaller, the air
thicker with tension. Chip's eyes
are wide, his screen reflecting his
father's distress. "What did I do?"
he squeals, trying to help. But
Plankton's body can't take the
loudness anymore.

Karen's screens flicker with
desperation. She puts her hand
on Chip's shoulder, her eyes
pleading. "Chip," she says, her
voice urgent. "You need to
lower your voice." But Chip's
screen is a blur of confusion
and hurt. He doesn't understand.
"Why?" he asks, his voice
still too loud. Plankton can't
move, gasping for breath.

The room seems to spin
around Plankton. His antennae
vibrate with fear, his body
on the edge of a meltdown.
The noise, the suddenness of it,
it's too much. He can't escape.
And then his body betrays him.
He feels the world shrink,
his vision tunneling down
until all that remains is
Chip's face. "Dad?" Chip says,
his voice too loud, too close.
His body seizes up.

Plankton's mind fights to
regain control, his eyes
dilating. "Need... quiet,"
he gasps out, his voice barely
a whisper. The words hang
in the air, a plea for sanctuary.
But Chip's screen is a chaotic
storm of emotions, not understanding.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Chip says,
his voice shaking. But Plankton
can't hear the words, only the
deafening volume. With a 
strangled cry, Plankton's
body goes rigid. His eye rolls
back as the shutdown takes.

"Dad?" Chip says, his voice high and
panicked. He reaches out, but
Karen stops his hand freezes mid-air. She's
seen this before, the sudden
loss of control, the way her husband's
body can just... give out.
Her screens flicker with a mix
of sadness and resolve. "Chip,
back up," she says firmly. "Give
your dad some space." Chip's
face falls, but he does as he's told.
He steps back, his hands
shaking. Karen's seen
Plankton like this before,
but it never gets easier.
Another shutdown, another
moment where she's forced
to be the rock in the storm.
"Is he okay?" Chip asks,
his voice trembling.

Karen's eyes are on Plankton,
his body now limp on the
couch. "It's okay," she says,
her voice calm. "It's his brain's
way of shutting down." She
takes a deep breath. "We just
have to wait it out."

Chip's screen flickers with
fear. "What do we do?"
he asks, his voice high-pitched.
Karen's screens light up with
instructions. "Let him be,"
she says. "He needs quiet,
no sudden movements. It'll
pass."

They sit in silence, the
only sound the distant hum
of the city outside, a stark
contrast to the chaos
that was just in the room.
Chip watches his father,
his mind racing. He didn't
understand. He just wanted
to be close, to help.

Yet Plankton is still, his
mouth slightly open, his
eye still rolled back in
his head. "Plankton, love," 
Karen says, her voice 
gentle. "Come back to us."
Her hand moves to his cheek,
her touch feather-light.

Chip watches, his heart racing.
"What's happening?" he whispers.
Karen's eyes never leave her
husband. "It's a shutdown,"
she says, her voice steady.
"It's like his body's
turned off, but he's still in there."
Her screens flicker with
experience. "It's his brain's way
of protecting itself."

Plankton's antennae are still,
his body unmoving. Karen
speaks to him in a gentle
lullaby, her voice a soothing
balm. "Come back to us, love,"
she murmurs. "We're here, we
love you." Chip's eyes are wide
with fear, but he remains
silent, listening to his mother's
calm words. "Remember,
Chip," she says, not breaking
the rhythm of her voice.
"Patience is key." Her screens
flicker with reassurance.
"It might take a few minutes,
but he'll come back to us."
Chip nods.

The room is quiet, the air
heavy with unspoken words.
Karen's screens dim with
sadness, but she keeps her voice
steady. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she whispers, her hand stroking
his antennae lightly. "You're safe."
Her words are a beacon in
the stillness, a gentle reminder
that they're there, ready to
support him when he's ready.
Chip's screen shows his mind
racing, trying to grasp the
complexities of his father's condition.

Plankton remains unresponsive,
his body a silent testament
to the storm inside him. Karen
keeps her voice soft, her eyes
never leaving his. "We're here,"
she says, her voice a promise.
"I'm here. Chip's here. We're not
going anywhere." She continues
to whisper, her words a gentle
breeze in the quiet room.

Chip's screen flickers with
fear as he watches his dad.
"Dad?" he says, his voice
barely a whisper. But Plankton
doesn't stir, his body a statue.

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, her voice a
soothing melody. "It's okay,"
she says, her words a soft
caress. "You're safe. We're here."
Her screens are a picture
of serene patience, her hand
still gently stroking his antennae.
"Chip, talk to him," she whispers,
nodding towards the unresponsive
body. Chip's eyes widen,
his voice trembling.

"Dad?" Chip says, his voice
barely audible. "I'm sorry."
His words hang in the air,
each syllable a thread of hope.
He's watched his mother's
gentle touch, her calm demeanor,
and tries to mimic it. His hand
reaches out tentatively,
his screen reflecting his fear
of causing more harm. He touches
Plankton's shoulder, his
fingertips light as a feather.

Karen's eyes never leave her
husband, her voice a soft
whisper. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she repeats. "We're here." Her
hands move in a slow, rhythmic
motion, a silent lullaby for
his soul. Chip's hand joins hers,
his movements tentative, seeking
guidance. Chip's eyes are glued to his
father, his mind racing with
questions and regret.

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly,
his body unmoving. Karen's screens
flicker with hope, her voice steady.
"You're okay," she says, her voice
like a gentle stream. "You're safe."
Chip's screen reflects his mother's
calm, his voice matching her tone.
"Dad, can you hear me?" Then,
ever so slowly, Plankton's antennae
start to move, his body shifting.
He blinks, his eye focusing on
his wife and son. "What... happened?"
he murmurs, his voice weak. He
sees Chip's hand on his shoulder.
Karen's screens light up with
relief. "You had a shutdown,
sweetie," she says, her voice a warm
embrace. "But you're okay now."

new autism and all faintcore faintingcore chip

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 18
(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's screen flickers with
determination. He'll learn. He'll do better.
He'll show Plankton that he's not
just a clueless kid. He's his son, and
he cares. He'll be the support Plankton
needs, even if it means changing
everything he thought he knew. He'll
read about autism, he'll watch videos,
he'll listen to podcasts. He'll become an
expert on his dad's condition. He'll
find a way to bridge the gap between
them, to understand what Plankton's really
going through. So he went to his room
but a disturbing sight awaited him.

The photos of him and his dad
have been torn where Plankton
cut himself out of each picture
of him and Chip. The science
projects they've worked on are
in the trash bin. Past Father's Day
cards, crumpled into balls. It's
like Plankton's trying to erase
his existence from their shared
memories of father and son.

Chip sees Plankton in
his parents bedroom
on his bed.

"Dad?" Chip whispers, his
screen flickering with hope.
Plankton's antennae twitch slightly,
but he doesn't turn to look at his
son. The room is filled with a heavy
silence, the weight of their last
conversation pressing down on them.
"Dad, I found some articles," Chip
says, holding up his device. "They're
about autism, and how to be there
for someone who's going through
what you are." His voice is tentative,
his screen reflecting his fear
of rejection.

Plankton's antennae droop, his
body tense. He's been in his room
for hours, the door shut tight.
The only light comes from the
crack under the door, spilling
into the hallway where Chip stands,
his heart racing. He's read every
word, every article, every story,
desperate to find a way back in,
to fix what he's broken. But Plankton's
silence is a wall, a barrier he doesn't
know how to cross. "I'll be different,"
Chip says, his voice cracking. "I'll learn."
He takes a step forward. "I'll do
anything."

Plankton doesn't move. Chip's
heart sinks. He tries again. "I
brought some stuff for your
sensory box. Maybe it'll help."

The silence stretches on,
each second a chasm between
them. Chip's screen is a canvas
of hope and despair, his mind
whirling with all the ways
he could have handled this
better. He takes another step,
his hand outstretched, holding
the treasures he's collected. "I got
some new putty, and a fidget
cube," he says, his voice shaking.
"And... and some of your
favorite gummy worms."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
just a little, but he doesn't
turn. Chip's heart leaps, then
plunges again. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he says, the words tumbling
out. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
The silence stretches, a tightrope
that Chip is desperate to cross.

He holds out the fidget cube,
his hand shaking. "Remember
how this helped before?" he asks,
his voice tentative. "I just want
you to feel better." But Plankton's
back remains to him, a wall of
disappointment. "Dad," Chip whispers,
his eyes glistening with unshed
tears. "I'll do whatever it takes. I
know I can't change the past. Please."
Plankton's antennae twitch, the
only sign he's heard. But he still
doesn't turn.

Chip's screen flickers with
desperation. He's seen his dad
like this before, but it's never
felt so final. "I brought your
headphones," he says, his voice
barely above a whisper. "For the
noise. To help." His hand trembles
as he holds them out. "Please,
Dad, take them." Plankton's body
shifts slightly, but his antennae
stay still. Chip's heart aches.
He's never felt so small, so powerless.

"Dad, I know I messed up,"
Chip continues, his voice cracking.
"But I'm trying to fix it. I want to
learn." He takes a deep breath,
his chest tight with emotion. "I'll do
better. I promise." The silence
is a gaping wound between them,
each second a stitch that won't hold.
He steps closer, his hand
extended. "Just tell me what
you need. Anything."

But Plankton remains still,
his antennae drooping with the
weight of his emotions. Chip's
heart races, his screen flashing
with fear and regret. He can't
stand the thought of his father
going through this alone. "Dad,
please," he says, his voice thick.
"I'm sorry for not understanding.
For making fun without realizing."
His hand holding the headphones
shakes more. "But I do now.
I'll be better."

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, but he says nothing.

Chip's eyes well up with
tears, his screen a blur of
emotions. He's never felt so
alone, so misunderstood. "Dad,"
he says, his voice thick with
desperation. "I know you're hurting.
But so am I." Plankton's body
remains still, his back a wall
against his son's words. Chip's
hand, holding the headphones,
drops to his side. "Please," he
whispers, his voice cracking.
"Let me help you."

The silence in the room is
deafening, the air thick with
unspoken words. Chip can feel
his father's pain, his anger,
his hurt. But Plankton's silence
is a fortress, an impenetrable
barrier that Chip can't seem
to breach. He swallows hard,
his throat tight with emotion.
"I love you, Dad," he says,
his voice barely audible. "And I'll
always be here for you."

Plankton's antennae twitch again,
but he doesn't turn. Chip's
heart feels like it's shattering
into a million pieces. He's never
seen his dad like this, so closed
off.

"Dad," he says, his voice shaking.
"I know I hurt you. I'm sorry.
But please, let me in." His hand
holds out the headphones,
his screen reflecting the desperation
in his eyes. "We can get through
this together." But Plankton's
back remains a wall.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his screen flickering with the
pain of rejection. He tries
again, his voice trembling. "I
won't give up on you," he says.
"I'll learn. I'll change. I'll do
whatever it takes." He takes
a step closer.

But Plankton remains unmoving,
his antennae drooping. Chip's
heart feels like it's breaking. "I'm
here, Dad," he whispers. "I'm
right here." The silence is a
chasm, each second a step
further apart.

He takes another step, his hand
still outstretched. "Dad," he says,
his voice a plea. "You don't
have to go through this alone."
Plankton's antennae twitch, a
tiny movement that gives Chip
just a glimmer of hope. "We can
learn together," he says, his voice
stronger now. "We can figure
this out."

The room feels like it's closing
in around them, the air thick with
the weight of Plankton's silence.
But Chip refuses to give up. He
knows his father is in there,
behind the wall of anger and
hurt. He can't let him go. "Dad,"
he says, his voice steady. "I know
you're in pain. But I'm not leaving."
Chip says, sitting on the bed. 

new autism and all chip plankton chip

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 21
(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

Plankton's antennae twitch in
his sleep. Chip watches him,
with love. Then he stirs, his 
antennae flickering as he wakes.

He blinks, his eye focusing on
his son's face. Chip's screen
illuminates with hope, a soft
glow that fills the room.
Plankton's antennae quiver as
he registers.

"Hi, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice
shaky. Plankton's 
hand squeezes Chip's gently.
"Hi," he manages, his voice
raspy with sleep and unshed tears.

The silence between them is
still thick, but there's a thread
of something else, something
new. "Dad," Chip says, his voice
a tentative whisper. "Can we go
to the science fair at my school?"
Plankton's antennae twitch, a
sign of contemplation. Chip's eyes
are wide, his screen flickering with
excitement and fear. He's not
sure if it's a good idea, but
the hope in his voice is undeniable.

Plankton considers the
question, his antennae
twitching as he processes
the sensory onslaught
of a school science fair.
The noise, the lights, the
crowds. It's a minefield for
his overactive senses, but
his son's hope is a beacon.
"Okay," he murmurs, the word
barely audible. Chip's screen
illuminates with joy. Plankton
sits up. "Chip listen, I uhm–
I wan-nt t-to s-say, to t-tell y-you..."
Plankton shakes his head.
He can't get the words out,
his mouth a clumsy mess of
tongue-tied syllables. His
autism, a wall between
his thoughts and speech.

Chip's smile falters, his
heart sinking. "It's okay,
Dad," he says, his voice
soothing. "You don't have to."
But he sees the pain in
Plankton's eye, the desperate
attempt to communicate.
"Chip, about your, about the
b-box..." Plankton's antennae
wave with frustration, his
body a testament to the
difficulty of his words.

"The box, Dad?" Chip asks,
his eyes searching Plankton's
face for answers. Plankton nods,
his antennae drooping with
the effort. "You liked it?"
Chip's voice is hopeful. Plankton
nods. "I-I'm s-still h-hurt from
your earlier taunts, a-and I-I-I-I…
I'm t-trying to f-forgive, for— I
uh, it-t h-hurts but I d-do like
the box. So, s-so thank y-you."
The words come out in a jumbled
mess, a tapestry of stammers and
stops, but the sentiment is clear.
Chip's heart swells with warmth.
He understands the struggle, the
fight for each syllable, the dance of
emotion and cognition that's so
unique to Plankton.

Chip's screen flickers with a smile,
his eyes never leaving his dad's.
"Dad, thank you for understanding,"
he says, his voice gentle. Plankton's
eye closes in relief, his antennae
twitching.

"I know it's hard," Chip 
continues. "But I'm
here for you. We'll 
figure it out." Plankton nods,
his antennae rising slightly.

Plankton puts the new
box from Chip for keeping
it in the car. Karen drives
them to Chip's school. She
parks the car and follows
them into the school.

new autism and all learncore bond

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 22
(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

The science fair is a cacophony
of noise and color. Each
project vying for attention,
each child eager to show off
their hard work. Chip's
screen lights up with excitement.
Plankton's antennae twitch
nervously. The sensory overload
threatens to swamp him, but he
firmly holds onto Karen's hand.

"Karen?" Karen turns and
sees her friend Hanna. "Oh
Hanna!" She exclaims.

Hanna's eyes widen at
the sight of Plankton. "Is 
this your family?" Karen nods.
"We're here for our son Chip."
Hanna's smile is warm, but 
Plankton's antennae bristle,
his body stiff with tension.
He's not used to socializing,
especially not in a place like
this, with its unpredictability.

"Hi, I'm Karen's friend," Hanna says.
Plankton flinches, his antennae
waving frantically. "The name's
Hanna. You must be Karen's 
husband, Plankton.." Hanna exclaims
as she puts her hands on his shoulders.
Plankton's body goes rigid.
He's not used to touch, not like
this. The pressure sends a shock
wave through him. His eye
widens in panic, but he forces
a smile.

"Nice to meet you," he says,
his voice tight. He's masking, 
a technique he's honed over the
years to navigate the world that
doesn't quite fit him. The effort
it takes to appear normal is
exhausting, but for Chip, for
his family, he'll try. He takes
a deep breath, trying to
regulate his racing heart. But
Hanna's excitement won't abate.

"Oh, I've heard so much about
you!" Hanna says, her hands
squeezing his shoulders. Plankton
swallows hard, his antennae
twitching with the need to flee.
The sensory assault of her
perfume, the touch, the sound
of her voice, it's too much. But
he can't leave, not here, not
now. He smiles, a mask
covering his panic. "Yeah, it's
good to meet you too," he says,
his voice strained. Yet Hanna is
talkative and bubbly.

"Your son's 
projects are
always so 
amazing!" she 
gushes, her hand
now on his arm.
Plankton's antennae
twitch, but he keeps
his smile firmly in place.
He's masking, a
painful dance of
pretending to fit in,
his mind racing to
keep up with the
social cues. "Thanks,
he's very smart," he
forces out, hoping
his voice doesn't give
away the turmoil
inside.

"Look at all these wonderful
things!" Hanna yells, turning
to give Plankton's shoulder
another squeeze. Plankton's
body tenses, but his smile
doesn't falter. He's wearing
his mask today, the one
he's perfected over the years.
The one that lets him pretend
he's okay, that he fits in
this neurotypical world.

The lights in the gym
are too bright, the sounds too
loud. His antennae are on high
alert, his brain trying to filter
the onslaught. Karen's hand
in his is a lifeline, but even
she can't dull the sensory
overload. Yet he nods, he smiles,
he makes polite small talk.
He's a chameleon, blending
in as best he can, for his family.
For Chip, for Karen, he'll
weather this storm as best
he can.

Hanna won't let up. "Oh guess
what? I'm a trainer!"
Her laughter is a siren
to Plankton's sensitive hearing. 
"That's... amazing,"
he says, his voice strained. 
But Hanna doesn't notice.

"Do you come here often?"
Her question is a minefield
Plankton tries to tiptoe around.
"I, uh, I don't really come
so no," he stammers. "I mean, it's not—"
"Oh, you're so funny!" she 
interrupts, her hand on his arm
again. The pressure sends
shivers down his spine, but
he keeps smiling, keeps pretending.
"Heh, ye-"

Her touch is a thunderstorm
on his skin, but he keeps the mask
in place. "What do you do?"
Hanna asks, her eyes sparkling.
"I'm a scientist," Plankton
manages, his antennae vibrating
with the need to retreat.
"Wow, just like Chip!"
Her enthusiasm is a hurricane,
but he nods, his smile fixed.
"Ye-yes, I guess so-"

"Oh, you must be so proud!"
Her hand is still on his arm,
her grip tightening. The noise
in the gym crescendos around
him, each child's laughter
a pinprick in his overwhelmed
brain. "I, I am," he says,
his voice strained. She leans in,
too close for comfort. Plankton's
heart races, his antennae quivering.
He wants to scream, to pull
his arm away, to retreat.

"Look at Chip's project!" Hanna says,
pulling him closer to a table
covered in wires and circuits.
The lights from the screen
flicker over her face, casting
an eerie glow. Plankton's eye
darts around, searching for
his son, for a familiar face.
But Chip is engaged with his
classmates, explaining his creation.
He's missed the storm brewing
in his father's posture.

"Isn't it amazing?" Hanna asks,
her hand squeezing his arm
again. Plankton nods, his antennae
twitching with the pressure.
"It's... yes, it's very good,"
he says, his voice strained.
Karen notices, her eyes
full of concern. She knows
his limits, the tightrope he walks
between appearing sociable
and the screaming need
to retreat. But Hanna doesn't.

"Oh!" Hanna exclaims. "You
are SUCH a great dad to be so
supportive!" Her hand lands
on his shoulder, giving it a
hearty pat. The suddenness of
the touch sends a shock through
Plankton's body. He flinches, his antennae
waving in a silent cry for space.
But Hanna doesn't know, and
she's not quite done either.

"You must be so proud of him!"
Her hand moves to his back,
patting it in what she assumes
is a comforting gesture. But
for Plankton, it burns.

He tries to pull away, his
body screaming for space,
but her grip is firm, her
energy unrelenting. The room
spins, the lights grow brighter.
His antennae quiver with the
strain of holding on to his mask.

"Thank you," he says, his
voice a whisper of the
storm inside. "He's... a good
boy." Karen's hand squeezes
his, a silent reassurance.
The pressure of her touch
is comforting, but it's not
enough. The sensory assault
continues, Hanna's unrelenting.
He can't take it anymore. 
The mask is slipping,
his smile fading, but Hanna is not.

"You're such a great
father," Hanna says, her hand
now on his cheek. The suddenness
of the touch sends a jolt
of panic through him. His
eye darts around the room,
searching for escape.
The lights flicker, the sounds
meld into a cacophony.
He's drowning in a sea
of sensation, and Hanna is
the storm's eye, unaware
of the chaos she's causing. "And
Plankton, I think you're just
the sweetest!" she says, giving
his cheek a squeeze. The room
spins, his antennae a blur.
Hanna's smile only widens.
"Hey, don't be shy!" she laughs,
cupping his chin to make him
look at her. He needs space. But
Hanna won't back down.
The pressure builds, his mask
threatening to shatter.

He can't breathe, can't think.
The room is too bright, the
sounds too loud. Hanna's touch
is a brand, searing into his skin.
He tries to pull away, but
his body won't cooperate. "I'm..."
But Hanna interrupts him.

"Oh, you're just adorable!"
Her hand moves to his antennae.
Plankton's heart races, his
body a tight coil of panic.
He tries to smile, but his mouth
wobbles. "Hanna, I'm not—"
He's going to break.

His antennae quiver violently,
his body screaming for mercy.
The mask is slipping, his
eye pleading with Karen.
But she's engaged with
another parent, oblivious
to his distress. He tries
to pull away, but Hanna's
grip is unyielding.

"Hanna," he whispers, his voice
a thread of panic. "Please."
But she doesn't hear him,
doesn't see the pain in his
eye. She's too caught up
in her own excitement,
the storm of her affection
crashing down on him like
a waterfall.

He tries to step back, but
his legs are like lead. The
noise of the gym crescendos,
each laugh a needle in his ear.
The lights, the smells, the
sensations, they're all too
much. He needs to escape,
to find his quiet place.
But Hanna won't let him.

Her hand moves 
to tickle his side.
Her laugh makes
him hold his head.
But she keeps going,
unaware of his pain.
"Plankton you're so fun..."

But Plankton's body betrays him,
his stomach lurching. His hand
shoots to his mouth, eye
wide with horror. He can't. Then
suddenly...

He's sick. Right there,
on the floor of the crowded
gym. The smells, the sounds,
the touch. It's all too much.
He didn't mean to, but he
has no control. His body
heaves, and Hanna finally
retreats her hands.

new autism and all hannacore science fair

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 19
(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

Plankton turns away from his son.
Chip's screen shows his
determination. "I'll stay here,"
he says. "As long as it takes."

He sits down. But
he's not giving up. 
"I know you're
mad," he says, 
his voice gentle.
"And I know you're 
hurt. But I'm
not going anywhere."
Still no response.

Plankton's antennae twitch every
now and then, but he doesn't say a 
word. Chip's heart feels like it's
being squeezed in a vice, but he 
doesn't move. "Dad, remember
the time we built that sandcastle
together?" he asks, his voice
soft. "You laughed so hard when
it collapsed." His screen flickers
with the memory of Plankton's
joy, his antennae waving in delight.
"You were so proud of me, even
though it was just a pile of
sand." He pauses, his throat tight
when Plankton looks away.
"I want to make you laugh like
that again. And I'll do
everything to make it right."

But Plankton's silence is a
reminder of the distance between
them. Chip's voice cracks as he
continues. "I know I don't get it
all," he admits. "But I'm trying.
I'll keep trying. I'll never stop."
The room seems to hold its breath,
the only sound the distant hum
of the air conditioner.

He reaches out, his hand
trembling, and places the headphones
on Plankton's desk. "Whenever
you're ready," he says, his voice
barely a whisper. "They're for
you." He stands there, his screen
reflecting his hope, his fear.
He waits, every second an eternity.

Plankton doesn't move, his
back a wall of silence. Chip's
heart is a drum, pounding with
desperation. But he doesn't leave.
He sits down on the bed.

"Dad," he says, his voice
steady, "I know you're upset.
And you have every right to be.
But I'm not going anywhere." His
screens flicker with hope and fear.
"I'm your son, and I love you."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
but he says nothing. Chip's
heart feels like it's breaking.
He tries to think of anything
else to say, anything to break
the silence. But the words
stick in his throat, like glue.

He sits there for what feels
like hours, the weight of his
father's pain pressing down on
his shoulders. Plankton's
ignorance is like a fog, thick
and impenetrable. Chip's
screens flicker with memories
of their shared past, the laughs,
the tears, the moments that
seemed unbreakable.

He whispers again, his voice
barely a breath. "Dad, I'm so
sorry." The words hang in the
air, a silent prayer for
forgiveness. Plankton's antennae
don't move.

Chip's screen is a maelstrom of
emotions. He can't believe
his father would cut him off
like this. But he knows Plankton's
pain is deep, and his own
understanding of autism still
has so much room to grow.

He sits in silence, watching
his father's back, willing him
to turn around. "I know I hurt
you," Chip says, his voice a
whisper. "But I'm here to listen,
to learn." Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly, but he doesn't
move. Chip's heart feels like it's
shriveling in his chest. "Can you
tell me what I can do?"
he asks, his screen flickering
with hope. "Please?"

The minutes drag on,
each one a silent accusation.
Chip's mind races, searching
for the right words, the right
gesture to mend the rift.
He knows Plankton's anger is a
shield, a way to keep the
world at bay. But he's desperate
to reach the tender heart beneath.
"I won't let you go. We're family."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body tense. Chip can feel
the energy in the room shift,
but he doesn't dare move. "Dad,
I know I hurt you," he says, his
voice shaking. "But I'm here
now. I'm listening." The silence
stretches on, a tightrope
he's afraid to cross.

The room is a prison of
unspoken words, each moment
stretching into an eternity.
Chip's screens are a kaleidoscope
of regret and longing. "Please,"
he whispers. "Tell me what I can do."
Plankton's antennae droop, but
he turns away.

Chip's screen flickers with
desperation. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he repeats, his voice a
fractured echo. "But I can't fix this
if you don't let me in."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
a silent response to his son's
plea. Chip's eyes are a pool
of unshed tears, his heart racing.
"I know you're in there," he says,
his voice shaking. "And I know
you're hurting." The room is a
testament to their struggle,
the air charged with the electricity
of unspoken words.

Chip's screens dim, his hope
fading. He's tried everything,
spoken every apology, offered
every gesture. But Plankton's
back remains a wall, unyielding
to his son's pain. "Dad," he whispers,
his voice barely audible. "I need you."
The words hang in the air,
desperate for a response.

The silence is a symphony of
unspoken anger and regret.
Chip's screens flicker with the
realization that understanding
autism isn't a quick fix. It's a
journey of patience, of learning
to read the subtle cues that make
up Plankton's communication.
He sighs, his shoulders slumped.
"I'll be here," he says, his voice
resigned. "Whenever you're ready."
But Plankton doesn't speak.

The room is a testament to
their strained relationship,
the torn photos and crumpled
cards a stark reminder of
what's been lost. Chip's heart
heavily, his mind racing with
thoughts of how he can bridge
this gap. "Dad," he says, his voice
small. "I'm going to give you space.
But I'm not going to give up on
us." He turns to leave, his screen
flickering with sadness.

As he steps into the hallway,
the door clicks shut behind him,
a silent echo of Plankton's
rejection. Chip leans against the
wall, his screen a canvas of
swirling emotions. He's hurt,
confused, but most of all, he's
determined. He'll show Dad
that he's not just a kid playing
at empathy. He'll prove it.

He starts with the house,
replacing the torn photos,
smoothing out the cards. Each
action a silent apology,
a promise to do better. He fills
a new sensory box. He'll try.

Chip's screens pulse with
his newfound resolve. He'll
make this right. He'll show
Dad that he's not just
words. That he's action. That
he's here, truly here. He'll be
the bridge between them.

He gathers supplies, a box of
textures, a rainbow of fidgets,
things that sparkle, things that
roll, things that make sounds.
He remembers Dad's favorites:
the squishy balls, the smooth
stones, the spinners that twirl.
He adds a few new things too,
things he read about that might
help, like a weighted blanket,
soft and comforting. He gets
some of his old toys, the ones
Dad used to play with him,
now a bridge to a different
kind of play.

The room is quiet,
his heart a symphony of hope.
He arranges everything
carefully, each item
a stepping stone to repair.
He thinks about the articles,
the videos he's watched,
the stories he's read. He tries
to see the world through
his dad's eye.

The box is a treasure trove,
a sanctuary for Plankton's
sensory needs. Chip's
fingers shake as he places
each item with care,
his mind racing with thoughts
of Plankton's smile, his laugh.
He knows it won't fix everything,
but it's a start.

new autism and all chip plankton box

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."

new familycore lunacore brain chip

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." 

new acquired autism emotionalcore brain chip

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."

new toycore emotionalcore brain chip

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."

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

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."

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 24
(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

"I've had enough of 
this!" Vickie snaps.
"He's just a burden. 
Look at him, he can't 
eve-"

Chip's fist hits the desk
with a loud smack, cutting
Vickie's words off. His eyes
blaze with a fiery determination.
"That's my dad you're talking
about!" he says, his voice
shaking with anger. The room
stills, the tension thick.
"And he's not a burden!"

Vickie's face contorts in shock.
Karen's eyes are proud,
but filled with fear. She
watches as Chip's shoulders
square, his voice strong and firm.
"I'm not leaving without this,"
he declares, his jaw set. "And if
you want him hurt, you'll
have to kick me out too."

Nurse Vickie looks at
him. "Oh you've done
nothing wrong, sweet..."

But Chip doesn't care,
his mind racing. "I have!"
he says, his voice rising.
"I'm the one causing
trouble!" He glares at her,
his fists clenched. "I'm the
problem, not him!" He throws
his backpack at the wall.

The room echoes with
the sound of books hitting
the floor, the clatter of his
defiance. "Now, are you
going to kick me out
or keep hurting him?"
Vickie's eyes narrow,
suspicion growing. "What
are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing," Chip says,
his voice shaking. "If you
want a problem, I'll give you
one. Just leave him alone."
He kicks over a chair,
his heart racing. He's fighting for his
father, for the right to be
understood.

Vickie's eyes narrow, her
mouth a thin line. "Young man,"
she says, her voice stern. "You
need to calm down." But Chip's
not calming down. He's just
getting started.

"You think you know him?"
he challenges her, his eyes
filled with a passion that's
been building for too long. "You
think you know what it's like to live
with autism?" His voice echoes
through the small office.

Vickie takes a step back,
her hands on her hips. "I know
what's best for this school,"
she says firmly, her eyes cold.
But Chip's not backing down.
"You don't know anything,"
he says, his voice shaking.
"You don't know what it's like to
have a meltdown, to need space."
He slams his fist into the desk
again, the sound ringing out
like a declaration of war. "You don't
know what it's like to be him!"

The room is silent, the
weight of his words hanging
heavy in the air. Karen's heart
swells with pride, but her
stomach is in knots. "Chip,
please..." she says, but he's
not listening. He's fighting a
battle she wishes he never had
to face.

Vickie's expression flickers
between annoyance and confusion.
"Young man, if you don't calm
down, I will be forced to
call the principal," she says.
But Chip just shakes his head,
his eyes never leaving hers.
"Then do it," he challenges.
"Call the principal. Tell
them to kick me out. Tell them
to leave my dad alone. I don't
wanna attend a school where
my dad isn't respected." His voice
cracks, the tears he's been
fighting spilling over.

Karen's hand is on his shoulder,
trying to calm him, but Chip's
determination is a force to
be reckoned with. "Chip, sweetie,
you don't have to do this," she whispers.
But he shrugs her off.

"I do," he says, his voice
steady despite the tremble in
his chest. "I won't let anyone
hurt him like this again." His
eyes are wet, but his stance is firm.
"I'd rather be kicked out than
see him suffer. I've made mistakes,
but he's not a mistake. He only got
sick because his needs weren't
respected. Now, let us all go."

Vickie's face reddens, her
patience wearing thin. "Fine,"
she says through gritted teeth.
"I'll call the principal. You're
both coming with me." She grabs
Plankton's arm, ignoring his
flinch. Karen and Hanna follow
Chip as he trails behind Vickie.

The walk to the principal's
office feels like a march to the
gallows. Plankton's body is tight
with tension, his antennae
twitching with every step. Chip's
heart races, his mind a tornado
of fear and anger. He can't believe
he's doing this, but he's seen
his dad suffer enough.

The principal greets them all.
"Nurse Vickie, and Chip; hello!"

But Chip's face is a mask of
determined anger, his eyes
fixed on the woman who had
caused his father so much pain.
"My dad's in trouble
because he's different, 
and she won't let him be!"
He points an accusing 
finger at Vickie,
his words a declaration.
The principal's eyebrows shoot up,
his screen a picture of surprise.
"What seems to be the trouble?"
his voice calm, his eyes
quickly assessing the situation.

Vickie starts to explain,
her voice a river of accusations.
"He's a disruption, he's..."
But Chip cuts her off,
his voice a knife. "I'm
the disruption!" he says.
"I'm the one who threw the chair,
I'm the one who yelled.
My father's condition is not
a disruption. It's a part of who
he is." He turns to Vickie.
"I'd appreciate it if you could
be more understanding."

The principal's eyes flicker between
Chip and Vickie, his expression
neutral. "Chip, I understand
you're upset. But throwing
chairs and yelling is not
the way to express yourself."
He pauses, looking at Plankton
huddled in the corner. "But I also
see that something has happened
here that we need to address."

Vickie's grip on Plankton's arm
loosens, her face a mask of
defensiveness. "The father 
was just being difficult, and
was acting strangely."

The principal's gaze sharpens.
"Difficult? Strangely?" he
repeats, his eyes drilling
into hers. "Care to elaborate?"

Vickie stammers, her
confidence waning. "He was
rocking back and forth, and...
his antennae... they... I don't
know, just..." She trails
off, unsure of herself.

The principal's gaze
remains on her, his patience
thinning like a wavering thread.
"I see," he says, his voice calm.
He turns to Plankton, his
expression gentle. "Is that right?"

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his body a taut wire of
nervous energy. "No," he says,
his voice a croak. "It's... it's just me."
He can't meet the principal's gaze,
his eyes darting to the floor.
"I... I just need..."

But Chip's voice cuts through
the silence like a sword,
his words a shield for his
father. "It's not his fault,"
he says firmly. "Autisticaphobia
exists in this school.
It's not his behavior that's
the issue, it's the lack
of understanding and empathy."

The principal's eyes narrow,
his gaze on Vickie, who
shifts uncomfortably under the
weight of accusation. "Is this true?"
he asks her, his voice calm but
his eyes like steel.

Vickie opens her mouth, but
no words come out. She looks
from Plankton, huddled in the
corner, to Chip, standing tall
and furious. "I was just trying
to calm everyone," she says weakly.

The principal's gaze never wavers
from her. "What happened in
my office, Nurse Vickie, is not
calming. It's discrimination."
His voice is low, but it resonates
like a thunderclap. "Your job
is to support our students and
their families, not to make them 
feel less than."

Vickie's cheeks burn with
shame, her eyes downcast.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I 
didn't mean..."

But Chip's voice is a wall,
his words unyielding. "It's not
about what you meant," he says.
"It's about what you did." His
eyes are on the principal,
his stance unwavering. "He's
my dad, and I'll do anything
to protect him."

The principal's face is
still, his eyes thoughtful. "Chip,
you need to understand that
this isn't the way to handle
things," he says, his tone measured.
"But I also appreciate your
concern for your father." He looks
at Vickie, his gaze stern.

Vickie's eyes dart around
the room, her discomfort palpable.
"I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice
small. "I didn't know..."

The principal's gaze is
steady, his voice firm. "Ignorance
is no excuse," he says. "We will
have a training session for
all staff on autism awareness,
and we'll make sure everyone
understands neurodiverse needs."
He turns to Plankton, who's
still huddled in the corner.

"Mr. Plankton, I'm sorry for
any discomfort you've felt here
today," he says, his tone
soothing. "Your son has made
it clear that your needs are
important, and we will respect
them." He glances at Vickie.
"This won't happen again."

Chip's chest loosens, his breaths
coming easier. He's done it.
He's protected his father.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye flickers up to Chip's.
There's something in them,
something new. Recognition?
Pride? Chip isn't sure, but
his heart swells with hope.
Slowly, tentatively, Plankton
moves towards him, his
tiny body shaking with
the effort of controlling
his overwhelmed senses. Chip
holds his breath, his eyes
on his father.

Karen watches the scene with a
mixture of pride and sorrow as
Plankton's arms extend, a silent
offering of love and comfort.
Chip's heart races, his eyes
wide. He's never seen his dad
want to hug him before. But
his instincts kick in, the days
of learning about autism
guiding his actions. He steps
forward, his own arms wrapping
around Plankton's shoulders.
Their embrace is tight, a
physical manifestation of the
bridge they're building. Chip
can feel Plankton's heart racing
against his chest, his antennae
twitching slightly. But it's not
with fear or panic, it's with
a love so pure it's overwhelming.
He squeezes his dad tighter,
his eyes closing as he whispers,
"I've got you."



 

new familycore autism and all schoolcancelationcore chipcore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 10
(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'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌.
"𝖣𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍?"
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁
𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋
𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗆𝖾𝖽
𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐
𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗍
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾.
"𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝗁𝖾
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾—" "𝖡𝗅𝗂𝗉, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆, 𝗄𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄.
𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒-𝖽𝗈𝗈, 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗒-𝗃𝗈𝗈."
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗌. 
"𝖥𝗅𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝖿𝗅𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 
𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝖣𝖺𝖽,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆.
"𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒. 𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐?"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁
𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀.
"𝖳𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖡𝗂𝗀. 𝖦𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇." 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗉 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐
𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖦𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝗃𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋."
"𝖸𝖾𝗌," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖡𝗂𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌."
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾
𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽."

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖦𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗉. 𝖦𝗅𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗒,"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌.
"𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝖽𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾-
𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌.
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍.
"𝖶𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍, 𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖣𝖺𝖽." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌
𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀.
𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗅𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉. "𝖭𝗈," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗉𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖭𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁."
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾. "𝖨'𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗂𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋. "𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍
𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽,
𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌."
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗈
𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌
𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋. "𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄, 𝖣𝖺𝖽," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌.
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌,
𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇."

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾.
"𝖶𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 
𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗒-𝗐𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗒,"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌.
"𝖳𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗒-𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋."

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌,
𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍.
𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌
𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍
𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌
𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼
𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗒. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒,
𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾."
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖲𝖺𝖿𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌.
"𝖬𝗈𝗆, 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇?"
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗐. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍
𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗌. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌
𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅
𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌. "𝖶𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒,
𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗉. "𝖣𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒,
𝖽𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝖽𝗈," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒
𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?"
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉," 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖾
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗌.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒
𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌
𝗁𝗎𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅
𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾.
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗎𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗌,
𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇
𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖽𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽.
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗂𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍
𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆
𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝖠𝖢 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍
𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉
𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗅𝗎𝖾𝖽
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽
𝗐𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾?"
𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌.
"𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗈𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖶𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉,
𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.
"𝖧𝗈𝗆𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿𝗅𝗒,
𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋.

𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒
𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋.
𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈
𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍, 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗌
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖾.
"𝖱𝖾𝗌𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀. 
"𝖣𝖺𝖽?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌
𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽.
"𝖬𝗆?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍.
"𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒?"
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. "𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾
𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗇.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍
𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌.
"𝖫𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆.
"𝖲𝗎𝖻," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒,"
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗈𝗇 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍
𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌." 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆,
𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌
𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉.

"𝖡𝗅𝗂𝗉, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗒,"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌,"
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒. 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒.
𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌."
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀?"
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. "𝖬𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌,
𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.
"𝖪𝖾𝗋-𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆-𝗈. 𝖡𝖺𝗆-𝖻𝖺𝗆-𝖻𝖺𝗆." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗌. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌
𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁.
"𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝗌, 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗂𝗑 𝗈𝖿
𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗒,
𝗀𝗈𝗈𝗄," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖲𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗒, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗌𝗁."
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾.
"𝖣𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?"
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍
𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁
𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉."
𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾
𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇
𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. "𝖯𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀,
𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗄𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗆," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒.
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗀𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋
𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝖼𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌
𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾," 𝗁𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌
𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌,
𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.
"𝖨𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌.
"𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁-𝗎𝗉,
𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒."

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖥𝗂𝗓𝗓, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗓𝗓, 𝗉𝗈𝗉,"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍
𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈
𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺
𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁
𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀.
𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇. "𝖬𝗈𝗆,
𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿
𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒."

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄
𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌
𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝖽. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍
𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝖺 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. "𝖮𝗇𝗅𝗒
𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌,
"𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍
𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾. "𝖡𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾,
𝖻𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆,
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌
𝗍𝗈 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

new autism and all chip plankton chipcore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 13
(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 on the edge
of the bed, his hand
touching Plankton's
shoulder. He whispers, "I'm
sorry," not sure if his dad
can hear him. Karen sits
next to him, her hand
on his back. "It's not your
fault," she says, her voice
soft. "Remember, we're here
for him. Now when he wakes,
he might be feeling tired.
But he'll be okay."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton's peaceful
face. He's never seen his
dad so still, so quiet. It's
like he's looking at a
stranger. But he's not.
This is the same man who
taught him to tie his shoes,
who read him bedtime stories,
and who always had the
best pranks for Mr. Krabs.

The sedative's hold starts
to loosen. "It'll wear off soon,"
she whispers. Chip nods. "I'll stay
here," he says, his voice
determined.

Plankton's eye twitches.
A soft murmur escapes.
Karen watches. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her hand
on Chip's shoulder. "He's
coming back."

Slowly his eyelid flutters open,
his eye unfocused.
"Wheh..." he murmurs,
his voice thick with sleep.

Karen's screen glows with
relief. "Welcome back, love,"
she says softly.
Plankton blinks, his gaze
slowly finding hers. "What...
what happened?" His antennae
twitch.

Her voice is gentle.
"You had a meltdown.
Remember?" He frowns, the
memory distant.
"Chip accidentally touched
your plushie, and it just...
it was too much." Chip
nods. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's antennae 
droop. His eye widens
with horror. "Chip," he murmurs.
He tries to sit up, but
his body is heavy with sleep.

Karen's hand on his
chest gently presses him
back down. "It's ok," she says.
"You're safe. We're here."

Plankton's eye darts
around the room.
And he sees Chip, his son,
sitting by his side, looking
at him. "Wibbly wobbly,"
he murmurs. "Wibbly wobbly."

Chip now understood
why his dad is repeating
random words. "It's okay,
Dad," he says. "You're safe."

Plankton's eye focused,
his antennae still. "Chip,"
he whispers. "Wibbly wobbly...
wibbly wobbly..."

Chip nods, his screen
now clear. He understands.
These random phrases are
his dad's way of navigating
the world after a storm.
They're his anchors in
the chaos, his way of
finding calm.

"Pranks," Plankton says,
his voice a whisper. "Ponies."
Chip nods.

Karen's screens flicker with
understanding. These words,
his stims, are his lifeboat,
his way to find peace.
"It's okay, Plankton,"
she murmurs. "You're safe."

Plankton's antennae
still. "Car tape."
Karen nods. "Yes."

He whispers, "Io."
"It's okay," Karen says,
her voice soothing. 
"You're home."
"Io," Plankton murmurs again,
clapping his hands. Chip
frowns, not understanding.
"It's alright, Chip," Karen
explains. "It's just his way
of reorienting. See, love,
everything's okay."

"Karen?" Plankton's voice
is a question. "Chip?"
Karen nods. "We're right here."

Plankton's hand
moves to his antennae,
his thumb rubbing them absently.
It's a soothing gesture,
a way to ground himself
in reality. "What happened?"

Karen's screens flicker
with the memory of
the chaos. "You had
a meltdown," she says gently.
"But it's okay. You're safe now."

Plankton's eye narrows,
his mind racing. He remembers
the anger, the noise,
the need to escape. "Chip,"
he says again, his voice
filled with regret as he
sees his son.

Karen nods, her screen
softening. "Chip's okay," she
assures him. "He saw what
happened." Plankton's antennae
twitch. He's torn between
apologizing and retreating.

Chip's voice is small. "Dad,
it's okay. I know it's not you."
Plankton's eye meets his son's,
but he knows he lost control.
He feels the bed dip
as Karen sits beside him.
Her hand finds his, her
grip firm and warm. "Remember,
love, it's the autism."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. He starts to rock,
his body swaying back and forth,
his way to soothe.
Karen knows this
motion means he's trying
to regain control. "Hhmmm..."
he murmurs, the sound
deep in his throat. "It's okay,"
Karen whispers. "You're okay."
"Hmm hmm hmm," Plankton
continues, his voice
a gentle rumble.
"What's he doing?"
Chip asks, his voice hushed.

"It's his way of calming
down," Karen explains,
her voice barely above
a whisper. "He's using
humming to soothe himself."
"Is he okay?"

Karen's hand in his is a
reminder that they're all
still here, still a
family. "It's okay," she says.
"This is his way of
finding peace."

Plankton's humming grows
louder, more insistent.
"Hmm hmm hmm," he murmurs,
his antennae now still. His
body rocks in a gentle rhythm,
his eye focused on some
invisible horizon. "It's okay," Karen
whispers. "This is his way."

"Dad," Chip asks softly.
"Is it helping?"

Plankton's hum deepens,
his antennae still. Karen nods.
"It's his way of finding
his center again," she says.
Chip watches, his screen
filled with concern.

Then, Plankton's hand reaches
out, grasping at the air. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice
desperate. "Huggly?"

Her heart breaks for her husband.
"Plankton," she says softly,
her hand on his back.
"Do you want me to rock you?"
He nods, his antennae
still. "Huggly," he whispers,
his voice a plea.
With a gentle touch,
Karen picks him up, cradling
his small frame in her arms.
He's heavier than he looks,
but she doesn't care. This
is her Plankton, her love.

Plankton's body goes limp,
his head resting on her shoulder.
She starts to rock him,
the motion smooth and even
as his eye flutters.

"It's okay," she whispers,
her voice a lullaby.
"We're here." Chip watches.
He's never seen his dad
so vulnerable.

The rocking becomes a rhythm,
a dance between comfort
and pain. Karen's screen
flickers with the memory
of their first dance,
their first kiss, the first time
she held him in his
arms and promised to
love him, autism and all.

Chip watches, his screen
reflecting a mix of fear
and fascination. "Is he okay?"
he whispers.

"Shh," Karen murmurs.
"This is his way." Her screens
flicker with a soft light.
"You're doing great, love,"
she says to Plankton. "You're okay."

The room is quiet
except for Plankton's
steady breathing and
Karen's gentle rocking.
Chip watches, his eyes
on his father's peaceful face.
The rocking slows,
Plankton's breaths even out.
His antennae no longer
quiver with tension.
"Hmm," he murmurs,
his body relaxing in
Karen's embrace.

Plankton's humming
fades, replaced by the soft
snores of sleep. Karen lowers
his head to the pillow,
his antennae still.
Chip looks up at his mother,
his screen etched with
questions.

"What do we do now?"
he asks.

Karen's eyes don't leave
Plankton's sleeping form.
"Now," she says, "we wait.
He'll wake up soon."

Her screens dim, the tension
of the room easing. "It's
important to let him
sleep it off," she explains.
"The meltdown takes a lot
out of him." Chip nods, his
thoughts racing.

He's seen his dad like this before,
but never so lost. The Plankton
he knows is clever, funny, a master
of pranks. This Plankton, the one
curled up on the bed, is different.
He's vulnerable, raw. It's a side
of his dad Chip's still learning
to navigate.

new autism and all chip plankton chipcore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 15
(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

The contents are a treasure
trove of textures and sounds:
fidget toys, a squishy ball,
a piece of fabric with different
patterns. Chip reaches out to touch.
"Can I try?" Plankton's antennae still, his
eye watching Chip intently.
"Careful," Karen warns, her
voice a gentle reminder of the
importance of respect.

Chip picks up a smooth stone,
turning it over in his hand.
"This toy helps him calm down?"
he asks, his voice filled with
wonder. Karen nods. "Whenever
his mind gets too crowded, he
holds onto it, feels its coolness."
"Mom, like this?" Chip says.
"Just like that," she smiles.

But Chip's curiosity gets the
better of him. He starts to juggle
the sensory items, his eyes
sparkling with mischief. "Look,
Dad, I'm just like you!" he says,
trying to relate. "I'm autistic too!
Tick tick.."

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his eye wide with shock
and hurt as he then abruptly
leaves the room without
a single word, slamming
the door hard, his eye
welling up with tears.

Karen sighs, her screen
filling with disappointment.
Chip looks up, his screen 
reflecting confusion.

"Chip," she says gently, "What
you just did was not okay."
Karen's eyes are on him,
her expression a mix of
concern and anger. "What you
just did," she says, her voice
firm, "is called bullying."
Chip's screen flickers with
shock. "What?" he asks.
"You used your dad's
autism as a joke," Karen says,
her voice tight with frustration.
"It's not funny, Chip."

He looks down at his hands,
his mind racing. "But I just
wanted to be like him,"
he whispers, his voice
small. "I didn't mean to
hurt him, I wanted to
relate, to make him smile.."

Karen's screens dim, her
heart aching for her son.
"I know," she says, her voice
soft. "But sometimes,
our intentions don't match
our actions." She pauses.
"Do you know how that felt
for him?" "No," he murmurs, 
eyes on the closed door. "I just..."

But Karen's expression is
unyielding. "You need to think
about others, Chip. Especially
those who can't always tell
you how they feel." She sighs.
"You're his son. You need
to support him, not mock him."
Her words are a gentle scolding,
a lesson in empathy. Chip's
shoulders slump, his screen
reflecting his guilt.

He looks at the closed door,
his mind racing with regret.
He didn't mean to hurt his dad.
He just wanted to understand.

Karen's voice is a gentle guide.
"Chip, autism isn't
a game or a trick to mimic.
What you did was hurtful,
even if you didn't mean it."

Chip's eyes are on the
closed door, his mind racing.
"But I just wanted to..."
his voice trails off.

Karen's screens light up with
patience. "I know, love," she says.
"Yet we all make mistakes.
It's how we learn from them
that counts."

Chip nods, his heart heavy.
He didn't mean to bully his dad,
but now he sees the error of his ways.
"How do I fix it?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Karen sighs, her eyes on the
closed door. "First," she says,
"you need to understand that
his feelings are real, even if
you don't see them the same way."

Chip nods, his screen
reflecting his newfound
understanding. "I'm sorry,"
he says, his voice earnest.
"I didn't mean to..."

Karen's screens dim, her heart
full of compassion. "I know,"
she says, her hand on his shoulder.
"But we all learn. The important
thing is to do better next time."
Karen says, going out into the
living room to check on Plankton.

Plankton is sitting on the couch,
his antennae drooped, his body
still. He's staring into space,
his usual bubbly demeanor
nowhere to be seen. "Plankton?"
she calls out softly. He doesn't
move. She approaches, her
movements deliberate and slow,
not wanting to startle him.
"Plankton, honey," she says,
her voice a gentle caress.
"Are you okay?"

He doesn't respond, his eye
fixed on a spot on the wall.
Karen sighs, her screens
reflecting a mix of concern
and understanding. This isn't
the first time he's retreated
like this. She knows his mind
is a whirlwind of thoughts,
his senses overwhelmed by the
world around him. "Plankton?"
Her voice is a soft touch,
trying to break through
his isolation. She sits beside
her husband.

His antennae twitch, a tiny
sign that he's heard her.
"I'm here," she says, her hand
on his back. "Do you want
to talk about it?"
Plankton's eye flickers to her,
his antennae still drooped.
He's silent, his mouth a tight line.
Karen knows this look.
It's the look of someone
trying to find words that
won't come. "You don't have to,"
she says, her voice a warm embrace.
"But I'm here."

He takes a deep breath,
his chest rising and falling.
"Chip," he finally says,
his voice strained. "I don't
know how to explain it."
Karen nods, her screens flickering
with empathy. "It's okay,"
she says. "You don't have to."
But Plankton's eye is
on the floor, his gaze
unfocused. "Chip, tick tick..." 
He starts again,
his voice cracking.
Karen's screens flicker with
sympathy. She knows the pain
their son caused.
"Plankton," she says softly.
"I know, love," she whispers.
"I know."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body tightening. "Why?"
He looks up at her, his
eye pleading. "Why would he?"
"Because he's still learning,"
she says gently. "And we're here
to he--" Karen trails off as Chip
meets them in the living
room, approaching them.
His screen is filled with
apology. "Dad," he says, his
voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry.
I didn't know." Plankton's antennae
raise slightly, his gaze shifting
to Chip. "Chip hurt, no funny,"
he says, his voice flat.

Chip nods, his screen
reflecting his understanding.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his
voice barely a whisper. Plankton's
eye stays on him, his antennae
quivering slightly. "I didn't know
it was like that for you. I'm just trying
to underst--"

But Plankton cuts him off,
his antennae shooting up.
"Don't," he says, his voice sharp.
"Don't pretend you get it. You never
will." His eye is cold, his antennae
rigid. Chip's screen flickers with
pain.

Karen's screens dim, her heart
heavy. "Plankton," she says softly,
but her husband turns away. "I don't
want him here," he says, his voice
filled with anger. "He doesn't
understand. He doesn't care."

Chip's screen flickers with
disbelief. "Dad," he says, his voice
shaking. "That's not true." Plankton's
gaze meets his son's, but the warmth
is gone, replaced by a coldness
Chip has never seen before. "I'm
not going to give you closure Chip.."

Karen's screens flash with
alarm. "Plankton, no," she says, her voice
desperate. But Plankton's solely on
his son. "You think you can play
games with me?" he says. "Yo--"

But Chip's had enough. "I'm not playing
games!" he yells, his voice startling
Plankton. It's to loud. "I'm trying to he-"

Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye
wide with fear and anger. "Chip, please,"
Karen says, her voice urgent. But Chip
doesn't realize the intensity of his 
father's reaction.

"I just wanted to help!" Chip's voice
cracks, not knowing he's being to loud.
Plankton's body stiffens, his antennae
quivering rapidly. "No," he says,
his voice low and harsh. "Stop; please.."

new autism and all bullycore chip

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 23
(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

Karen rushes over, her screen
etched with concern. "Plankton,
sweetie..." Chip's screen
fills with alarm, his eyes darting
to his father's contorted form.
He's never seen him like this.
The sensory assault has
taken its toll, and Plankton
is paying the price.

Hanna's screen is a mask of shock,
her hand hovering over Plankton's
shoulder, unsure what to do.
"Neptune," she says,
her voice a whisper of concern.
The room's energy shifts, Plankton's
his body shivering with the
remnants of his meltdown. Karen
turns to Hanna.

"I'm sorry," Karen says, her
voice tight with the effort of
keeping her own anxiety in check.
"He's just not used to—"
But Hanna's face is a mask of
concern, her hand moving to
Plankton's own, unaware of his
autistic sensitivities, unaware of
being the cause of his distress.

Plankton's antennae droop, his
body hunched. The room is spinning,
his stomach churning. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice hoarse
with the effort of speaking.
"I need to go. Now!" But Hanna
insists on helping out.

"Oh no, are you okay?" she asks,
her hand moving to his back. The
contact sends a fresh wave
of nausea through him.

"Hanna, no," Karen says firmly,
stepping in. "Give him some space."
But Hanna doesn't understand 
the boundaries. "But he's sick!"
she protests, reaching out to
touch him again. Plankton
flinches away, his stomach
lurching.

"Hanna," Karen says again, her
voice stern. "Please, respect
his space." Hanna's hand
drops, her face a portrait
of confusion. "I'm sorry,"
she murmurs. But it's too late.
The janitor starts to clean up
as the school nurse, Vickie, follows.
Nurse Vickie gasps. "Let's all go to
my office!" She says, grabbing
Plankton's hand as Hanna follows
with Karen and Chip.

The hallways are a blur of faces
and colors, each step a battle
for Plankton. His legs wobble,
his body desperate to flee. The
touch of Hanna's hand was too
much, the sensory assault too great.
Now, in the fear of the
nurse's office, the world
spins around him, his stomach
a maelstrom of discomfort.

Nurse Vickie's office is big enough for
all of them, yet as the door closes behind
them, Plankton feels claustrophobic
and trapped. He's aware of every sound,
every smell, every sensation
that invades his space. Karen knows that
this isn't what he needs. "Nurse Vickie..."

Vickie is already fussing over him, her
hands moving too fast, her voice too loud.
"Don't worry, I've seen this before," she says,
completely oblivious to Plankton's autism.
Her touch is gentle but overwhelming,
each pat on his back a hammer to his
sensory overload. "You just sit here,"
she says, guiding him to a chair.
But Plankton can't sit, can't stay still.
He's like a caged animal, desperate for
his quiet space, for the comfort
of his sensory box. Tears stream down his
face, with pain and fear. He tries to stand.

"You need to sit down," Vickie insists. 
She doesn't see the panic in his
eye. She's just trying to help, to do
her job. But she doesn't know, doesn't
understand his needs.

"Nurse," Karen says, her voice firm.
"Plankton has aut-"

But Vickie cuts her off, her movements
quick and efficient. "I know what to do,"
she says, her voice too loud. Plankton's
antennas flinch. "Let me handle it."

He needs his space, his stims,
his quiet. But Vickie doesn't
understand. "Let me do my job."
Her hands are firm, her touch
not the gentle one he craves.
"Please," Karen says, her voice
sharp. "He needs space."
Vickie's eyes narrow. "Space
won't help him," she says, her
tone dismissive. "He's just
anxious. It's my job to calm
him down." Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body stiffening.
This isn't calming, this isn't right.
But her touch remains firm,
her movements unchanged.
"I'm a professional, ok..."

Plankton starts to rock back and forth,
his body's instinctual response, but
Vickie's eyes widen. "That's not
normal," she says. "You need to sit,"
she insists, holding him back
towards the chair.

Karen's face is a thundercloud,
but she keeps her voice steady. "No,
Nurse Vickie, that's his way of
calming down. He's..." "But that's not
what we do here," Vickie interrupts.

Plankton's stimming intensifies, his
body a whirlwind of motion. Each rock
against the chair a silent scream
for understanding, for the peace
his stims usually bring. But Vickie
doesn't see that. She sees a man
behaving oddly, a patient out of control.

Her voice pierces 
the air, "You need
to sit still! This
is for your own good," 
she says, her tone 
devoid of understanding.
"You need to sit down!
You need to trust me."

But Plankton's body
doesn't obey, his
stims a tornado
spinning out of control.
He feels like a caged
bird, fluttering wings
against invisible bars.
The chair is a trap,
a prison of plastic and metal,
and Vickie's hands are
chains holding him in place.
"I know what's best
for him," Vickie says, her grip
on Plankton's shoulders
tightening.

Karen's voice is a lifeline
in the storm. "Nurse, please,
his stims are his way
of coping," she explains.
But Vickie is unmoved.
"He's just being difficult,"
she says, her grip unyielding.
Plankton's eye widens.

The room is a tornado
of sensory input, Vickie's
hands like sandpaper on
his skin. He tries to pull away,
but she holds firm. "You
have to sit still!" she yells,
startling him into stillness.
His antennae droop, 
defeated. His eye
blinks back tears, his body
a tightly coiled spring. "You
need to learn discipline..."
"Ma'am," Karen says, her
tone tight as a bowstring.
"You're not helping. He's
born with a neurodisability."
But Vickie's expression is
closed, a wall of ignorance.
"This isn't a special
treatment center," she says,
her voice sharp. "This is
a school, and we don't tolerate
this kind of behavior.
You're just enabling him,"
she says, her voice a sneer.
"He'll never learn to
function in the real world
if you let him get away with this."

Karen's fists clench, her teeth
grind. "Function," she repeats,
as she helps up Plankton. "Is that all
he's good for? Functioning?
This is my husband you're
talking about." They decide to leave.

new autism and all vomitcore neurodisability

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 20
(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

He opens the door,
his screen a canvas of hope
and fear. Plankton's
back is still turned, his antennae
still drooping. "Dad,"
Chip whispers, his voice
shaking. "I made you
a new sensory box."
He holds it out, an offering,
his heart in his throat.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
but he doesn't turn around.
Chip's screen flickers with
uncertainty. "It's got all your
favorites," he says, his voice
trembling. "And some new stuff."
He takes a step forward,
his hand shaking. "I want
to help."

Plankton's body remains still,
his antennae drooping. Chip's
heart feels like it's been shattered
into a million pieces. But he
holds out the box, his hand
steady. "I know I don't get
it all," he says, his voice
soft. "But I'm trying."

He watches as Plankton's
antennas twitch, a small sign
of life in the sea of silence.
He takes a deep breath.
"This is for you," he says, his
voice a whisper. "Whenever
you need it." He places the box
on the bed, close to Plankton.
"Whenever you're ready."

When Chip leaves the room,
Plankton takes a look in the
new box.

He's not ready to forgive,
but the gesture isn't lost on him.
His antennae twitch with
a mix of anger and appreciation.
The box is a treasure trove
of sensory comforts, a silent
apology wrapped in care. He
picks up a squishy ball, squeezes
it, feels its calming give.

He turns to face the door,
his eye on the empty space
where Chip was just moments
ago. The weight of their
words, their emotions, hangs
in the air like a storm cloud.
Plankton's heart is a tumultuous
sea, a whirl of feelings he
can't quite articulate. But the
box, it's something he can touch,
something tangible amidst
the chaos.

He opens the box, his antennae
twitching with curiosity. Each item
inside is a memory, a bridge
to their past, a promise for the
future. He picks up a smooth
stone, feeling its coolness
against his skin. It's comforting.

The headphones lay at the top,
a silent guardian of peace.
He puts them on, the cacophony
of the outside world muffled.
For the first time in hours,
his mind is still, quiet.
He can breathe. He keeps
looking in the box.

A fidget spinner, its
colors blending as it twirls.
He's watched Chip play with
them before, spinning them
absently, lost in thought.
Now it's in his hands,
a whirl of motion. It's strange,
but comforting. He tries
to mimic his son's ease,
his mind racing with the
thought that maybe, just maybe,
his pain is understood.

A squishy ball, soft and
yielding, like his own heart
under the weight of his
frustration. He squeezes it,
feeling the tension ease from
his fingers, his mind. It's
like a silent scream, a gentle
release. He hadn't realized
how much he needed this.

He picks up a fidget cube,
each side a different texture.
He runs his antennae over
the bumps, the smoothness.
It's calming, the way it
chases the chaos from his
thoughts. He twists it in his
hands, the click-clack a metronome
to his racing thoughts. He takes
off the headphones.

The room is quiet, but he
can still feel the echoes
of Chip's voice, his son's hope.
He holds the cube tightly,
his antennae vibrating with the
memory of Chip's earnest
pleas for forgiveness. He's
not ready to forgive, but
the gesture isn't lost on him.

He opens the drawer beside
his bed, rummaging through
the medical supplies. His
fingers trace over cool numbing
gel, the pediatric-friendly
kind that Chip had used
at his dentist.

Then he feels it, the edge
of a pin, the weight of
a heartfelt gesture. He pulls
it out, his antennae trembling.
He opens it. It's a small booklet.

On the cover, in bold letters,
it reads "AUTISM FRIENDLY EMERGENCY
INSTRUCTIONS." Chip's handwriting.
He opens it to read a guide for
doctors, for neighbors, for anyone
who might not understand.

Inside, the pages are filled
with simple diagrams and bullet
points, detailing Plankton's sensory
needs, his stims, his triggers.
Chip's words are written:

"My dad's special, and he
has a thing called autism.
It means sometimes things are
too much for him, and he needs
help." The booklet is a map
of Plankton's soul, a guide
to his inner world. "Please, be
patient and calm. He's not
being difficult, he's just
overwhelmed." Chip's words
are a lifeline, a bridge
to understanding. "Make sure
to respect his boundaries,"
it says. "And don't touch him
without asking first." It then
has Karen's phone number
and his sensory friendly
therapist's contact.

Plankton's antennae quiver
as he reads, his heart swelling
with a mix of pride and pain.
His son has taken the time
to understand him, to advocate
for him. He closes it gently, his eye
wet with unshed tears. "Thank
you," he whispers to the empty
room as he puts the booklet back
in the box. Plankton sets the box of
goods on his nightstand. He turns
to go to his son's room.

He opens the door to Chip's
room, the space a whirlwind of
colors and sounds. His heart
flutters with nerves, his antennae
twitching. Chip's screen is
dim, casting a soft glow. He's
asleep. Plankton pauses, not ready to
wake him, not yet. But he
wants him to know. He sits on 
the edge of the bed. He reaches out,
his hand hovering over Chip's
shoulder. He needs to feel the
connection, the warmth of his
son. He touches him gently, his hand
trembling as he slides his hand in Chip's,
who remains asleep.

Plankton sighs, his chest
tightening. He can't find the words
to explain the tornado of emotions
whirling inside him. He's not used to
this kind of connection, not
with Chip.

He looks at his son's sleeping
form, his screen a serene blue.
The silent rise and fall of Chip's
chest.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
heart racing with a strange
mixture of emotions. He's not
used to this kind of intimacy,
not with Chip. But the box and
booklet he left in his nightstand, 
it's all a testament to
his son's growth. He's trying.

Plankton lies down on the bed.
He can feel the gentle weight
of Chip's hand in his own.
The boy's screens are dark now,
his breaths slow and steady.

Later, Chip eventually
stirs awake, his
screens flickering with
surprise when he feels the
weight of his father's hand
on his shoulder. Plankton is
asleep beside him, their
hands entwined.

Chip's heart skips a beat,
his mind racing with questions.
What happened? Did his dad
forgive him? Yet Plankton's 
gentle snores are real, his 
antennae still.

He looks down at their
intertwined hands, a silent 
testament to something
new, something unspoken.
The weight of his dad's 
forgiveness? Or just the
comfort of shared space?
Chip isn't sure, but he's
grateful for the warmth,
the connection.

He lies there for a while,
his screens dimming to match
his father's rest. His mind
is a whirl of thoughts, of
what's been said and not said.
Of the distance they've
traveled, and the journey
still ahead. But for now,
this moment, it's enough.

new autism and all chip plankton box

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.

new sleepcore plaren brain chip

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."

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

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.

new sciencecore memorycore brain chip

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 3
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

The room feels smaller,
the air heavier. Karen can
see the turmoil in
Plankton's eye, the fear of
rejection and misunderstanding.
"It's okay, Plankton," she says,
squeezing his hand. "You're not
alone." But Chip's eyes are filled
with a mix of confusion
and concern, reaching
out tentatively. Plankton
flinches. "Dad," Chip says, his voice
small. "What's w---"

"It's nothing you
need to worry about!"
Plankton snaps, his voice
sharp. The words sting Chip,
and he takes a step back.
"Chip, your dad's just... tired,"
Karen says quickly, trying to
smooth things over. But the
damage is done. Plankton's
always been so good at hiding
his autism, but now it's out in
the open. "But, Dad..." Chip starts.
"I SAID, IT'S NOTHING!"

Plankton's outburst echoes
in the room, his antennae
twitching wildly. Karen sees the fear
in Chip's screen. She knows Plankton
meant no harm, but the
shame he feels is palpable.
"It's ok, Chip," she says,
trying to keep her voice steady.
"Dad just needs a moment."

Chip nods, his gaze
flickering between his
parents. He's never seen his
dad like this before, so...
vulnerable. He takes another
step back, giving them space.
Plankton's head jerks to the
side again, a tic, the
neurodivergence that Karen's seen
often, but Chip's only just
noticing it.

Karen sees the fear in Chip's
screen. "It's okay, Chip," she
says again, her voice a lifeline.
"It's just his body's way of dealing
with the aftermath." Plankton's
never wanted Chip to see
this side of him, the side that's
not so put-together. "Why does he 
do that?" he asks, his voice still
trembling. Karen takes a deep
breath, ready to explain. "It's
called a tic, Chip. Sometimes
people with autism have these
small movements they can't
control. It's just
his brain's way of... 
releasing energy. It's like 
a reflex."

Plankton feels exposed, raw.
This isn't how he wanted his son
to find out. "Dad?" Chip says,
his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae stop their
wild dance. "I tck tck... I'm okay,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible. Chip's screen filled
with unshed tears, 
aching for his father. He
doesn't understand, but he
can see the pain in Plankton's
eye. "You don't have to hide.."

Karen's voice is a gentle
caress. "It's just who
your dad is, Chip. He's
always been like this." Plankton
nods, his gaze meeting hers.
They share a silent understanding,
a bond formed from years of
supporting each other through
his episodes.

Chip looks at Plankton, his
eyes searching for any
resemblance of the
dad he knows. But all he sees
is a man with a secret he's
carried alone for so long.
"But wh-"

"It's called 'masking',"
Karen says gently. "Your dad's
been doing it his whole life."
The word hangs in the air,
foreign yet somehow fitting.
Plankton's always been so
good at pretending, so adept
at hiding his true self. Chip feels
like he's peering into a part
of his dad's soul that's
always been veiled. "But
why, Dad?" His voice is
barely above a whisper as
he reaches for his hand.
Plankton's antennae quiver
under the weight of his son's
touch. He's never liked the
feeling of anything on him,
and is only comfortable with
Karen's touch.

The tactile sensitivity is
a part of his autism that
makes certain textures
and sensations unbearable.
Chip's grip is firm, and Plankton 
flinches away from him.

Karen notices. She knows
how much Plankton struggles
with the simple act of being
touched by anyone but her.
But Chip grabs Plankton's
hand again, unyielding.

Plankton's antennae spike
with discomfort, his skin
crawling under the pressure.
He tries to pull away, but
his son's grip is tight.
"Chip, it's okay," Karen
soothes. "Dad's just...
sensitive." But Chip's eyes
are pleading. He doesn't
understand, doesn't know
that his simple touch can
set off a sensory overload
for his father. And so he
holds on tighter. "Dad..."
Chip starts. Plankton whimpers.
Karen's seen this
so many times before.
How Plankton's body reacts
to the slightest touch,
how his skin can feel like
it's on fire, his brain a
whirlwind of chaos. But this
time, it's Chip's hand, and
it's uncharted territory.
Plankton's antennae spasm,
his eye squeezed shut.

The room feels too hot, too
loud. He tries to focus.
He wants to scream, to shake
his son off, but he knows
he can't. Yet Chip's hand won't
let go.

Karen sees the panic in
Plankton's eye, the way his
body tenses like a coil about
to spring. She places her hand
over Chip's, trying to gently
pry his fingers from Plankton's.
"Chip, sweetie, let go," she
says softly. "Your dad's just
a bit... overwhelmed right now."
Plankton flaps his other hand
in a stim, which Chip doesn't
understand. So he also grabs
his other hand, too.

"Dad, please talk to me,"
Chip begs, his voice shaking.
The sensation of Chip's
hands on his is unbearable,
like sandpaper against skin.
He wants to scream, but
his voice is trapped in a
body that feels like it's not his.
"I... " he gasps, his eye darting.

Karen's screen is filled with
sorrow as she sees the
panic in her husband's gaze.
"Chip, let go," she says, her voice
firm yet gentle. "It's okay.
Your dad just needs some space."
But Chip's grip tightens.
"No; I won't leave you," he
declares, his screen wet with
tears. Plankton's unable to
take anymore, but Chip's grip
is to strong for him to pry
away from. Plankton can't
breathe, the pressure of his son's
hands on him too much to bear.
But Chip doesn't understand.
He doesn't realize his touch is
causing his dad pain. Suddenly
Plankton's legs buckle onto the bed.

Karen's eyes widen as she
sees Plankton's distress,
and she quickly takes action.
"Chip, let him go!" she says
more urgently, placing her
hands on Chip's shoulders.
Chip finally releases Plankton's
hands, looking from his
mother to his father with
uncertainty. Plankton gasps for
air, his antennae drooping as
Chip finally lets go, loosening his
grip on Plankton's hands.

The room is quiet except
for the harsh sound of
Plankton's ragged breaths.
Karen's seen this
hundreds of times, but it
never gets easier.
"It's okay, Plankton,"
she murmurs. "You're okay,
love."

Plankton is a maelstrom
of uncontrollable tics. His
eye blinks rapidly, and Chip's
never seen his dad like this.

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 3

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 8
(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

The next morning, Chip 
goes back into his
parent's bedroom to
check on them, especially
his dad. The room is filled
with the soft glow of early
morning light, Karen
is already waking up.

Plankton's sleeping, his
snores a gentle reminder of
his presence. Chip's eyes
find his dad's hand, still
twitching slightly under the
covers. Karen notices him
watching and sits up,
stretching. "Morning," she says.
"How did you sleep?"

Chip shrugs. "I kept
thinking about Dad," he
admits. Karen nods, her eyes
knowing. "It can be tough
seeing someone you love
go through that," she says.
Plankton stirs, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's his
way of dreaming," she whispers.

Karen stands and walks
over to Plankton's side of
the bed, her hand on his
shoulder. "Hey, Plankton,"
she says gently. "It's morning."
Plankton's eye opens, blinking
slowly. "Nngh," he murmurs.
"You okay?" Karen asks.

Plankton's antennae twitch
once, twice, but no more tics
follow. He nods, his body
still. "Tired," he says, his
voice groggy. Karen smiles.
"That's okay," she says. "You had
a big night." Chip watches
from the doorway, his eyes
on his dad.

Karen helps Plankton sit up,
his body moving with the
sluggishness of someone
just woken from a deep sleep.
"Chip's here," she says,
nodding towards the doorway.
Plankton's antennae perk up,
his eye searching for his son.
"Hey buddy," he says, his voice
still thick with sleep.

Chip steps into the room, but
now, Plankton seems so...
normal. "Hi, Dad," he says,
his voice tentative. Plankton
smiles, though it looks
forced. "You ok?" Chip asks.

"Tired," Plankton says,
his voice still a little slurred.
"But okay." Karen watches,
relief etched in her eyes.
"Sleep helped," she murmurs.
Plankton nods. "Yeah," he says.
"I'm okay." Chip's eyes are
fixed on his dad,
still for the first time
since the night before.

He sees the worry in
Plankton's gaze, the way
his antennae droop slightly.
"I didn't mean to make
you upset," Chip says,
his voice barely above 
a whisper. Karen nods.
"But it's important to understand
that his tics are personal,"
she adds gently. "They're his way
of coping, and mimicking them can
make him feel self-conscious."

Plankton's eye meets Chip's,
his gaze filled with a mix
of exhaustion and embarrassment.
"It's okay, Dad," Chip says,
his voice earnest. "I just
want to know how to help."

Karen's hand rests on Plankton's
back. "You don't have to
explain," she says gently. "But maybe
you'd like to tell Chip a little
about what happened?" Plankton
sighs, his antennae drooping.

He looks at Chip, his gaze
uncertain. "It's okay," Chip
says, his voice soft. "I just 
want to understand."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye searching his wife's screen for
guidance. Karen nods
encouragingly. "Sometimes,"
Plankton begins, his voice
raspy, "my brain gets too...
much." He says.

"Too much what?" Chip asks,
his curiosity piqued despite
his fear. "Too much everything,"
Plankton murmurs. His
voice trails off, his hand
absently playing with the
blanket.

Karen nods, understanding
flickering in her gaze. "It's like
his brain's got too many tabs
open," she says, her voice
gentle. "It needs a break to
refresh." She looks at Chip,
then back at Plankton. "How
about we go drive to that new park
across town today?" she suggests.
Chip's eyes light up. "The one with a
playground and the swings?"
Karen smiles. "That's the one." She
knew Plankton enjoys swinging.

They pile into the car
with anticipation. Chip
buckles his seatbelt, 
his gaze flicking in
between his parents. 
Karen starts the car.

Plankton sits in the
passenger seat.
Karen's eyes meet 
his in the rearview mirror.
"You okay, hon?" she asks.
Plankton nods, his antennae 
still.

The car's engine purrs to life, 
and they pull out of the driveway.
Karen's hand rests on 
the gear stick, her grip
firm but gentle. The road 
unfolds before them, a 
promise of a new day.

Chip watches the world go
by, his thoughts racing.
He glances at Plankton, 
his antennae still. "You 
sure you're okay, Dad?" he
asks. Plankton nods, his 
eye flicking to the 
rearview mirror. "Yea,"
he murmurs, but there's a 
small smile playing on his 
lips. "I'm okay."

As they finally pull into the
parking lot of the new park,
Chip sees the playground
materialize through the
window. "Look, Dad," he says,
his voice filled with excitement.
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his eye lighting up, his
face breaking into a smile.

Karen helps Plankton out
of the car, her hand steady
on his arm. The park is
alive with the chatter
of children and the distant
laughter of parents. Chip
runs ahead, the promise of
swings and slides too much
to resist.

The playground looms
ahead, a metal and plastic
oasis of joy. Chip's heart
thumps with excitement.
"Look, Dad," he says, pointing
at the swings. Plankton's
smile widens, his antennae
perking up. "Yeah," he says, his
voice a little stronger. "Let's go!"
They make their way over, the
gravel crunching underfoot.
Plankton sits on the swing,
his legs dangling as he sways
forward and back. Chip joins
his dad. Chip watches, his eyes full
of wonder. This is his dad,
his hero, in a moment of pure
joy, and it's beautiful. This is the
father he always knew. 

Karen sits on the bench.
Plankton starts to pump his legs,
his eye focused on the horizon, 
his tics absent. Chip also swings
by him on the other swing.

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 8

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."

new headinjuryposting karen plankton brain chip

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 4
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Karen, ever the calming
presence, moves closer to
Plankton, her movements slow
and deliberate. She knows
his triggers, his signs of
distress. She whispers,
"It's okay, Plankto-"

But Plankton's body
doesn't seem to hear. Only
his arm shoots out, his
hand slapping as he tries
to grasp something,
anything, from the bedside
table. Karen's eyes dart to
his hand, and she knows
exactly what he wants.
She reaches over in
to the bedside drawer and
pulls out a box of sensory
needs. She gently hands him
a fidget squishy before putting
the sensory box back into the
bedside drawer.
Plankton's movements
slow slightly as he
compresses it in his grip.

Karen knows Plankton's
autism like the back of
her hand. She's studied
his tics, his stims, the way
his body reacts to stress.
It's been a silent dance
between them for years,
his unspoken needs met
with her quiet understanding.
But now, Chip's in the
picture, and he's curious.

Plankton squeezes the
fidget squishy in his hand,
his breaths coming in
short gasps. Karen watches
his antennae, the way they
twitch with each inhale,
slower with each exhale. It's
a pattern she's come to
recognize, a sign he's
coming back to them.
"It's okay," she whispers.
She knows his limits.

Chip watches,
his eyes wide with
wonder. He's never seen
his dad this way before.
Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's. She can read
his every move, his every
tic. She's his anchor.

Plankton's antennae start to
quiver, his voice murmurs.
"Must... the... yes... it...
it's all..." Chip doesn't
understand what's happening,
but he knows his dad's in
distress. Karen's voice is a
soothing balm. "Just let
it pass, Plankton," she
whispers, her hand
steady. She's seen this
before; she knows.

The words continue to
tumble from Plankton's mouth,
disjointed and disconnected.
"The... the... it... has to
be... must... yes..."

Karen watches with a
mixture of sadness and
determined calm. She's been
his rock through these
episodes countless times,
his safe place when the
world gets too loud. But now,
screen sees the fear in her son's
eyes, the questions he's
too afraid to ask. She knows
it's time to explain.

Plankton's antennae stop twitching
as he squeezes the fidget squishy
tightly. The words come out in
spurts, a jumbled mess.
"The... the... it's okay," he says,
his voice barely above a murmur.
"Just... it's okay." Chip watches
his father, his mind racing.
What's happening? Why is he saying
these random words?

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's, her screen filled with
understanding. "It's part
of his autism," she whispers
to Chip. "Sometimes when
he's overwhelmed, words just
tumble out." Chip stares at his 
dad. "But what does
he mean, 'the it'?" Chip asks,
his voice barely above a
whisper.

"It's not about us, Chip,"
Karen says, as more
nonsensical words spill out.
"The... it... no... must... yes..."
Karen sighs. "It doesn't always
make sense," she admits.
"It's just his brain trying to
process everything." Chip
swallows, watching his
dad with a mix of curiosity
and concern of
his neurodivergence.

Plankton's eye is glazed
over. "The... it... not... can't,"
he whispers to himself.
Karen's hand is warm
against his. Chip is watching,
his curiosity piqued.

He's never heard his
dad's voice like this, so
soft, so... lost. Plankton's
tongue flaps in his mouth,
his brain trying to form
coherent thoughts, but all that
comes out are jumbled syllables.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen
soothes. "You're okay."

The room feels like it's
spinning around him, a whirlwind
of sounds and colors. Plankton's
eye is unfocused, but he feels
their presence. "Tck tck," he says
quietly, his head bobbing slightly.
Karen's hand tightens around
his. "Just let it come," she whispers.

"D-Dad?" Chip stammers.
Plankton doesn't respond. 
"It's okay," Karen assures 
Chip. "He's just... dealing. It's 
like he's stuck in a loop, trying
to make sense of things. And 
he does that with sounds,
sometimes. But he'll come back
to us." Karen's seen this before, the
way his mouth moves, forming
sounds of wording that don't quite 
match up.

The room is a symphony of
Plankton's tics, the tapestry
of his neurodivergence.
"Tck tck," he murmurs, his
eye flickering. Chip watches.
He's never seen his dad so
vulnerable.

"Why does he do that?"
Chip whispers, his voice
shaking. Karen takes a deep
breath, ready to explain.
"Because it helps his brain cope
with the world, Chip," Karen
says. "Sometimes, his brain
can get overwhelmed. And
these little movements, these
sounds, they help him find
his calm." Chip's gaze
remains on his father, who's
still lost in his own
thoughts, oblivious to the
conversation happening
around him.

"But why can't he just...
stop?" Chip's question is
innocent, but it cuts deep.
Karen looks at him with
patience. "It's not something
he can control," she explains.
"It's like his brain's
way of expressing itself."

Chip nods, but the
questions keep coming.
"Does he even know he's doing
it?" he asks, his voice low.
Karen shrugs. "He's aware of
his tics, but sometimes they just
take over." She pauses, her gaze
on Plankton, who's still lost in
his own world. "It's like when
you get really focused on
a video game, and you don't
notice anything else around
you."

Chip thinks about it, his
mind racing with questions.
"But what's the point of the sounds?"
he asks. "Is he... will he
even know we're here?"
"Sometimes he does, sweetie.
Sometimes he doesn't. But it's
good to be here for him."

Plankton's tics subside
slightly. He's coming back.
"It's like a... a pressure
valve," Karen tries to explain.
"When his brain feels too
full, the tics and sounds help
to release some of that...
pressure." Plankton's antennae
twitch again. He's aware of
them now, watching him.
Karen's gaze is soft. "It's just
a sound he makes, Chip. It's
not for us, it's for him to
release tension. He may not
even know he's doing it right
now, nor may he later recall
what's been said or happened."

Chip nods, trying to
understand. Plankton's eye
finally focuses on them.
"What's... what's going on?"
Plankton's voice is groggy.
Karen smiles gently. "You had
an episode," she says. "Do you
remember?"

Plankton's antennae droop.
"I don't know," he says. Karen nods.
It's not unusual for him to
forget. "Chip was worried
about you," she adds. Plankton
looks at his son, his heart
heavy. "Chip grabbed my hand,
and it was too much. I'm sorry,"
he says, his voice barely above
a whisper as he puts the fidget
squishy back. "It's okay," Chip
says, his voice small. "I just..."
But Plankton cuts him off. "Just
leave me alone!" Karen sighs.
This is the part she's always feared.
The moment when Chip
would find out, and Plankton's
fear of losing him would spike.
He's always been so good
at hiding his autism, but now
his son has seen it in full force.

Chip takes a step back,
his eyes wide. "Dad?" Plankton
doesn't look at him. "Please,
Chip," Plankton says, his voice
sharp. "Just... just go." The
sting of his words is like a
slap in the face. Karen sees
the hurt in Chip's screen, but
she knows Plankton's just
trying to regain control.

Karen puts a hand on
Chip's shoulder. "Let's give
Dad some space," she whispers.
But Chip's eyes are still
glued to Plankton. "But I..."
he starts.

"Chip," she says firmly, "now's
not the time." Plankton's
body is still, his antennae
drooping. He looks... broken.
It's a sight that makes Karen's
ache, but it's one she's
seen before. Chip nods
reluctantly, his gaze never
leaving his father's. He takes
a step back, his eyes still
full of questions. Karen
sits beside him. She knows he
doesn't mean to push Chip
away, that his fear of being
seen as less than has always
been his greatest burden.

Plankton's tic starts again,
his head nodding. "Tck tck," 
he says. Karen knows that
for Plankton, it's completely
normal for him to tic like this
after such seizures.

Chip watches, his curiosity
melding with fear. Karen
sighs. "It's just his brain, Chip,"
she says, her voice steady. "It's
his way of coping. The tics are
okay, and he might continue to
tic for the rest of today."

Plankton sighs. "Chip, you better
not blabber about this to anyone,"
his voice is low and gruff. Karen nods
understandingly. "He won't," she says,
turning to Chip. "It's our little
secret." "I won't," Chip whispers, watching
Plankton's bobbing head.

"It's a tic, Chip," Karen explains, her voice
soft. "It's like when you have to
scratch an itch that just won't go
away." Plankton nods, his eye
still unfocused. "It's something
his body does when he's trying
to calm down," she adds. "There's
nothing wrong with it. The tics are
with his head movements and his
tongue clicking, which is how he tics."

Chip stares at his dad. "Why does it...
why does it happen?" he asks,
his voice barely a whisper.

Karen's eyes are filled with
sorrow. "It's part of his
autism," she says, her voice
gentle. "When he's stressed or
anxious, his brain sends
mixed signals. And his body
has these... involuntary
responses." She takes a deep
breath. "It's like... it's like
his brain's doing a little
dance to keep up. It's not in
his antennae, nor his limbs. Only
his head and sometimes mouth
tics, being the jerks and sounds. It's
something involuntary."

"But why can't he just...
not do it?" Chip asks, as
Plankton's head continues
to nod, his tongue clicking
against the roof of his mouth.

Karen's eyes are filled with
patience. "It's not that
simple, Chip," she says. "These
tics are like... reflexes.
You can't just turn them
off. It's part of it."

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 4

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 5
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ 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

Plankton's nods become less
frequent, his tongue clicks
slower. "I don't... tck tck, I don't
mean to be tck tck... to be like
this," he whispers. "It's okay, Dad,"
Chip says. "I won't tell anyone."
Karen smiles sadly. "You
don't have to hide it, Plankton,"
she says.

But Plankton looks away.
"I can't help it," he murmurs.
Chip's never seen his dad
so lost, so vulnerable. "Dad, 
you can tell me anyth—"
"No," Plankton snaps. "It's 
none of your business, Chip."

Karen's eyes flash with
sorrow, but she remains
silent. She knows Plankton's
pride. The tic starts again,
his head jerking slightly.
"Tck tck," he murmurs.

Chip watches, his eyes
wet with unshed tears. He
doesn't understand why his
dad is pushing him away.
But Karen does. She's seen
it before, Plankton's fear
of being seen as weak, as
different. "Chip," she says gently,
"it's not something he can
help. It's part of his
autism. Sometimes, his
brain just needs to... to
tic. He's aware when it
happens."

The room is silent except
for the faint click of Plankton's
tongue. "But why?" he whispers,
his voice cracking. "Why does
his brain need to do that?"

Karen looks at him with a
sad smile. "It's his brain's way
of communicating, Chip.
Sometimes it just needs to...
move, to make sounds. It's like
his way of saying, 'We're ok,
Plankton, you're here'."

Chip watches his dad's head
nod slightly. "But it looks
so... painful." Plankton's
eye finally meets his.
"It's not painful, Chip," he says,
his voice strained. "It's tck...
tck it's none of your concern."

Karen's eyes are filled with
concern as she looks at
Plankton, who's visibly
tired. She knows he's trying
to regain control, to keep
his walls up. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she says. "Chip just wants
to understand." "I don't
want him to think I'm... tck tck,
I don't want him to think I'm weird."
The desperation in his voice
mirrors the erratic movements
of his head.

"You're not weird, Dad,"
Chip says, his voice firm.
"You're just... different." Karen nods.
"That's right, Chip. And
different is not wrong, it's just
part of who your dad is." "You're
the best dad ever."

Plankton's head nods slower
now, the tic subsiding. His
eye flickers as he looks at
his son, his antennae drooping.
"Tck, tck," he whispers. "I just tck... tck I
don't want Chip to tck, tck think
I'm broken." "You're not broken, Dad," he
says. "You're just... special."
Karen swells with pride.
That's her son, trying to find
the right words, trying to
comfort his father.

Chip's hand reaches for his
dad's, but Plankton flinches.
The simple touch feels like
fire against his skin. "Dad,"
Chip says, his voice full of
concern. "Please, let me he--"

But Plankton can't handle it.
He jerks away. "No, Chip," he says,
his voice tight with anxiety. "Your
touch is tck... it's too much."

Chip's eyes fill with tears.
He's never felt so lost, so
helpless. He just wants to
comfort his dad, but his
dad won't let him. "But..."

Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand
instead. "Your dad needs some
space right now," she whispers.
"He gets triggered by sudden
movements and sounds, and
your touch can be too much."

Chip nods, his eyes brimming
with tears. "But why doesn't he
want me to help?" he asks.
Karen looks at Plankton, who's
lying down with his body
twitching slightly. "Because
his autism makes it hard for
him to communicate how he's
feeling," she explains. "Sometimes,
his brain gets overwhelmed,
and all he can do is tic."

The room is quiet, the air
thick with unspoken
understanding. Karen knows
Plankton's pain, his fear of
being seen as less than. She
knows his tics are his way of
navigating a world that's too
loud, too bright. And she knows
Chip's hurt, his need to connect
with his father in the only
way he knows how.

But Plankton's walls are
up. His antennae twitch, his
body still. He's retreated into
his own mind, trying to find
his calm. Karen watches, 
aching. She's the only one
who truly gets him. She's seen
his tics, his moments of
overwhelm, his quiet battles.
And she's always been there,
his rock, his sanctuary.

"Tck tck," Plankton murmurs,
his tongue flicking against his teeth.
Chip's eyes are wide with
worry. "It's his way of
trying to find his balance," she
whispers. "Just let him be."

Plankton's tic changes, his
head bobbing again.
"Tck tck tck," he murmurs. Karen
can see the storm brewing in his
eye, the internal struggle. "It's okay,
Plankton," she whispers. "You're safe.
Just let it out," she soothes. "It's okay."

Chip watches, curiosity piqued. "What are
those sounds, Mom?" he asks.
Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's.
"It's his brain's way of releasing
pressure," she says. "Like when
you hiccough, it just happens."

"But why doesn't he say
actual words?" Chip's question is
filled with innocence, his mind
trying to piece together the puzzle
of his father's condition.
"Sometimes, Chip, our brains
can't find the right words, so
it makes sounds instead," Karen
explains. "It's like when you
hum a tune without knowing
why, it's just something that
happens. It's his brain's
way of talking without words,"
she says. "It's his autism."
Plankton looks at the blanket
and rubs his hand over it. Karen
knows he's listening. Karen nods. "It's
his way of saying he's okay,"
she says, her voice calm. "It's his
brain's shorthand."

Plankton's tics continue,
his head bobbing, his antennae
twitching. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs,
his voice barely audible. Karen
smiles sadly. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she whispers. "You don't have
to explain." Plankton's body relaxes
slightly. The tic subsides, his
head still. He looks at Karen,
his antennae drooping. "Thank
y-you," he says, his voice filled
with relief.

The room is quiet, except
for the soft click of his
tongue. "It's... it's just..." he
starts, his voice trailing off.
Karen nods. "I know," she says.
"It's your brain's way of talking
to you." Plankton nods, somewhat
absent mindedly. "It's like when you're
trying to think of a word,"
Karen says, "but all that comes
out is 'uh' or 'um'." Chip nods.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body still. "But these
sounds," Chip says, "what do
they mean?" Karen looks
at Plankton, who's lost in
his own world again. "They're
just sounds," she says, her voice
soft. "Like when you tap
your foot to the beat of a
song. It's his brain's way
of keeping rhythm."

"Tck tck tck," Plankton says,
his voice a quiet murmur.
Karen nods. "It's his brain's way
of saying, 'I'm okay, Plankton.'"
Chip's eyes widen. "But...
why doesn't he just say it?"
Karen's smile is sad. "Because
his brain doesn't always
work the same way ours does,"
she explains. "The sounds
are his brain's language,
his way of talking to itself."

"But what about the... the
random words?" Chip asks.
Karen looks at Plankton,
his antennae twitching slightly.
"Those are called 'echolalia'
and 'palilalia'," she says. "It's
when he repeats words or
phrases. Sometimes, it's to help
him process what's happening.
Other times, it's just his brain's
way of filling the silence."
Plankton's head nods slightly.
Karen smiles. "Sometimes, it's just
his brain playing back a
something he's heard," she
says. "Other times, it's like he's
trying to find the right words,
but they just don't come out
right."

Plankton's eye flickers. "Tck tck, yes,
yes," he murmurs. Chip looks
at his mom, his heart racing.
"Does he know what he's saying?"
he asks. Karen shrugs. "He's
aware of it, Chip. It's just his
way of... coping."

The sounds change, morphing
into a gentle hum. "Mmm mm,"
he stims.

Chip looks at his dad,
his eyes full of questions.
"What's he doing now?" he
asks. Karen smiles gently.
"Sometimes, he'll make sounds
that aren't words," she says.
"It's his brain's way of soothing
itself. Some call it 'stimming',"
she explains. "It's a way for
autistic people to find comfort,
to self-soothe." Chip nods,
his eyes on his dad. "Mm mm,"
Plankton whispers. Karen's
hand finds Plankton's, giving
it a gentle squeeze.
"It's his way of saying, 'I'm ok,
I'm here,'" she whispers. "It's
his brain's way of letting him know
he's safe." "Does everyone with
autism do this?" Chip asks.
Karen shakes her head. "No,
sweetie," she says. "Everyone's
autism is different."

Plankton's humming turns
into a soft, rhythmic "bub bub."
Karen's smile widens. "It's like
his brain's version of a lullaby,"
she says. Chip nods, his curiosity
outweighing his fear. "But why
does it change?" he asks.
"Sometimes his brain needs
different sounds to find its
calm," Karen explains. "It's like
how you might prefer one song
over another when you're sad or
upset. His brain is just choosing
what it needs in the moment."

Chip watches, his eyes
glued to his dad's. "It's like he's
talking to himself," Chip murmurs.
Karen nods. "In a way, he is,"
she says. "He's reassuring
himself that he's okay."

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 5

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 7
(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

Suddenly, Plankton's 
mumbling becomes a 
torrent of unorganized 
wording. "Bubbles, bubbles,
bubbles," he repeats, 
his voice rising and 
falling in an erratic 
pattern.

Karen's grip on his
hand tightens. "It's okay, 
Plankton," she whispers. "You're
just talking to yourself."
Chip's eyes widen in
concern. "What's happening,
Mom?" Karen's voice is calm.
"It's his brain's way of
processing stress," she says.
"He's trying to find 
his calm." Plankton's
body relaxes slightly, his
tics slowing.

"Bubbles, bubbles,"
Plankton murmurs, his eye
flicking around the room.
"Karen, Karen Plankton, Karen,
Chip, tck tck tck." The words
roll off his tongue like a
wave, crashing against the
silence. Karen nods. "It's his
brain's way of categorizing,"
she says. "It's how he makes
sense of the world."
Chip's eyes are wide as he
listens to the strange litany.
"But why now?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper. Karen
sighs. "Sometimes, stress brings
out his 'stims' more," she
explains. "And seeing him
upset can be overwhelming for
his brain." Plankton's antennae
twitch erratically. "It's okay,
Plankton," Karen whispers. "We're
still here." Chip looks at
his mom, his eyes brimming
with unshed tears. "It's okay,
buddy," she says, her voice soothing.
"Just let him be." Chip nods.

Plankton's phrases shift again,
now a jumble of nonsensical
sounds and words. "Karen, Karen,
bubbles, Chip, bubbles, tck
tck tck." His body rocks slightly
back and forth, his hand
flapping against the blanket.
"It's like he's trying to organize
his thoughts," Karen says, her voice
calm. "It's a form of self-regulation."
Chip nods, trying to understand.
"But it's so... random," he says.
Karen smiles gently. "Karen, bubbles,
tck tck, Chip, okay, okay."
Plankton's eye darts around
the room, as if searching
for something he can't quite
see. Karen's hand is steady on
his shoulder. "It's okay," she
repeats, her voice a soft
lullaby. "You're safe."

"Mom, what's he saying?" Chip
whispers. Karen's eyes are
filled with compassion. "He's
just talking to himself," she
explains. "It's his brain's way
of sorting things out." Plankton's
phrases change again. "Mo-mo
number one, says I say, dun?"
Karen's smile is sad. "It's his
way of asking for reassurance,"
she says. "His brain's trying to
make sense of the world."
Chip nods, his mind racing to keep
up with the changing words.
"It's okay, Dad," he whispers,
his voice trembling. "You're the
best dad ever." Plankton's shakes
ease slightly, his antennae still.

Chip nods, trying to keep
his voice steady. "It's okay,
Dad," he says. "We're all here
for you." Plankton's antennae
twitch, his eye focusing on
his son. "Bath," he says,
his voice a mix of comfort and
exhaustion. Karen
nods. "He's just trying to find
his words," she says. "It's part
of his process." Plankton's hand
stops moving, his antennae
still. "Shs-shs-shs," he whispers.
"Bb-bebe, hads."

Chip's screen dart to Karen's. "What's he
saying?" he whispers. Karen's
expression is one of deep
understanding. "It's a way
of being kinda in his own
little bubble," she explains.
"His brain's way of interacting
as he's in his own world, like
daydreaming almost, but not
necessarily thinking of any
thing in particular. Like when
you don't pay attention in class."
Plankton's phrases change again,
now a mix of words and sounds.
"Wrap, tie knot, let, shwish shwish,"
he murmurs.

Karen nods gently. "It's like
his brain's doing a little dance,"
she says, "just to keep itself
comfortable." Chip watches as
his dad. "Can dad hear us right 
now?" he asks, his voice small.
"Yes, he can," Karen says. "He's
just focusing on verbally stimming."

Plankton's phrases evolve.
"Fwip fwip, splash, splash, oh so
quiet, splish splash." Chip's eyes
follow the patterns his dad's hand
makes on the blanket. "It's okay,
Plankton," Karen whispers. "You
don't have to hide your sounds."
Plankton's eye flutters slightly.
Karen smiles at Chip. "It's his
brain's way of creating a safe
space," she says. "He's talking to
his 'stims'. But I think he's getting
tired, as sensory bombardment
can take it's toll."

The stimming came again. "Fweee."
Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's.
"It's ok, honey," she says, her voice
steady. Plankton's antennae droop
exhausted. "Tck tck tck, tck t---"
"Do you need to sleep, Plankton?"
Karen asks, her voice a gentle
caress in the quiet room. Plankton's
eye flits to her, then back to
his patterns on the blanket.
"It's okay if you do," she says,
her tone soothing. "Sleep can
help reset your brain. It's late."

Plankton's stimming pauses, his
body still. "Sleep," he murmurs.
The word hangs in the air, a
question wrapped in a sigh.
"Yes," Karen nods. "Sleep."
Karen stands, her movements
slow and deliberate. "Let's get
you comfy, Plankton," she says.
He crawls under the blanket
covers, now facing his pillow.

Chip watches, his eyes full of
uncertainty. "Does he always do
this?" he asks. Karen shakes her head,
her voice low. "Sometimes, when
his brain's had too much, it just
needs to reset." She tucks
Plankton in, her movements
careful and precise. "It's like
his brain's battery is running
low, and sleep is how it recharges."

Plankton's body relaxes slightly
as Karen's voice lulls him. "K-Karen,"
he whispers, his antennae
slowly drooping. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she says. "You can go to sleep."
The room is filled with a tension
that only Chip seems to feel.
"Sleep," Plankton echoes, his voice
fading. "Sleep."

Chip watches his dad, his heart
heavy with the weight of
understanding. He's never seen
his hero so vulnerable. "Mom,"
he whispers, "What if I do something
that makes it worse?"
Karen turns to him, her eyes
full of love. "You won't," she says.
"But if you're ever unsure, just
ask me or him. We're in this
together. Now, you get some
rest yourself; we'll need it after
such a day. Tomorrow we can
see if he's back to usual and
go from there. Goodnight, Chip.."

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 7

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 9
(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

Their laughter mingles with the
breeze, the creaking of the
swings a comforting rhythm.
For a moment, everything feels
normal, it's just them. But then
two playfully boisterous kids
come by.

Their energy is infectious,
but for Plankton, it's too much.
He flinches at their sudden
approach, nervously gripping
the swing's chains tightly.

The two kids laugh,
their giggles piercing the
calm of the playground.
They run past, their eyes
locked on the baby swing,
their arms outstretched.
Chip watches. The swing
squeaks as the children
pass it side to side to
each other carelessly,
when the baby swing
hits Plankton, jolting him.

Plankton's eye rolls back,
his body going rigid. "Dad!"
Chip cries, his voice
echoing in the sudden
silence. Karen's head snaps
up, her eyes wide. Plankton's
swing stops, his grip
on the chains loosening.
He's in the middle of
an absence seizure, his
brain briefly disconnecting
from the world around him.

Chip jumps off his swing,
his knees hitting the ground
with a thud. The two
boisterous kids stop
their laughter as Chip and
Karen catch Plankton's body.
"Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice
shaking.

Plankton's limp. "It's
okay, Chip," Karen says. 
"Just hold him."
They go to the ground,
supporting Plankton's form
between them. The kids hover,
curiosity in their eyes. "What's
wrong with him?" one asks.

"He's okay," Karen says, her
voice firm but gentle. "He just
needs a minute." Plankton's
body twitches slightly, his
eyelid fluttering. "Dad?"

The kids' curiosity turns to
concern, their laughter
replaced by quiet whispers.
One of them tugs at their
mother's sleeve, pointing at
the scene. The mother's
expression shifts from playful
to worried. She approaches
them cautiously. "Is he ok?
Should we ca--"

Karen shakes her head, 
cutting her off. "No thank you, 
but we've got it. He has
autism. He'll be okay." The
mother nods, her eyes 
softening with understanding
and slowly backing away
with her kids, giving them space.

Plankton's body slowly
unfurls, his antennae
twitching back to life. Chip
holds his breath. Plankton blinks,
his eye coming back into focus.
"Chip?" he says, his voice
slurred. Karen nods. "You had
a seizure, Plankton," she says.
"You're okay now." Plankton's
face relaxes, his antennae drooping
slightly. "Tired," he murmurs.

Chip's eyes never leave
his dad's. "You scared me,"
he admits. Plankton looks at
his son, his gaze filled with
apology. "I-I'm s-sorry, buddy,"
he says. "I didn't mean t-to."
Karen wraps an arm around
Plankton's shoulders. "Let's sit
for a bit," she suggests.
They move to the bench,
Plankton's legs still wobbly
as the sit down on the bench.

Plankton's hands start
to move, almost 
subconsciously. He's 
stimming again, waving
his flapping hands.

Chip watches. He's seen this now.
He understands now.

Karen's hand rests on 
Plankton's back, her thumb
making small circles. "It's 
okay, honey," she whispers.
Plankton's hands flap faster in
small, repetitive motions.
It's his way of creating
his own rhythm, his own
harmony amidst the noise.

Chip watches, his screen
filled with a mix of fear
and fascination. "It's his 
brain's way of saying 'I'm
alright'," Karen explains, her 
voice low. "He's okay."

Plankton's hands 
slow, the stimming
becoming less 
frantic. Karen's eyes 
never leave his, her
expression a mix
of concern and 
understanding. "You've 
had a big morning,"
she says softly. "Ye-ye-yes,"
he stammers. Karen nods.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his hand stilling. Chip 
notices the quiet that settles
over his dad.

"You wanna go home?" he
asks, his voice small.
Plankton nods, his eye
focused on a spot in the
distance. Karen stands, 
helping him to his feet.
"Okay, let's go," she says.

The walk to the car feels
longer than the journey to
the playground. Chip
notices the way his dad's
steps are smaller, his movements
more deliberate. It's as if he's
retreating into himself, his
brain needing a moment to
recover.

In the backseat, Plankton
fidgets with the seat
belt, strumming it as
Chip sits next to him.
The car's engine hums
to life, Karen glancing
back at them through the
rearview mirror, her eyes
filled with love and concern.

"Talk box," Plankton says
to himself. He's retreating.
Chip looks confused. "Talk
box?" He looks at his dad.
"Dad, wh-"

"Chip," Karen interjects, 
her eyes in the mirror. 
"Let him be. Remember
yesterday. Sometimes he
just needs to talk to himself.
You can sit with him, but 
it can make him upset
when you comment on it
as if it's strange. He barely
even knows he's doing it."

Chip nods, trying to remember
the conversation they had.
Plankton's mumbling turns to
a murmur, a low hum that's
barely audible over the
car's engine. "Fluffy, blue,
circle," he says, his eye
fixed on the passing scenery.
The words are nonsensical,
but Chip tries to keep
his voice calm. "It's okay,
Dad," he says.

Karen glances at him in
the mirror, her eyes full of
pride. "He's okay," she
reassures Chip. "He's just
talking himself through it."
Plankton's hand starts to
move again, tapping the
seat in a steady rhythm.
"Pip," he whispers. "Flibbity, 
floppety, jib."

Chip's eyes are glued to his
father, his curiosity
piqued by this window
into his internal world.

"Blip, blup, bebop," Plankton
mumbles, his antennae
twitching with each syllable.

Chip's mind
whirrs with questions but
his mom's advice from
last night echoes in his head.
He watches as his dad's hand
taps out the rhythm of his
thoughts on the car door.
"Mom, is he okay?" Chip
asks, his voice low. Karen
nods. "He's just working
through it," she says. "It's his
brain's way of talking to
itself."

Plankton's murmurs
grow quieter as they drive,
his antennae drooping slightly.
Karen glances in the
rearview mirror, her screen
filled with warmth. "It's
his brain's way of processing
thoughts, turning them into
words and sounds." Chip nods,
his gaze never leaving Plankton's
face. "It's like he's got a
little world in there,"
he murmurs. Karen smiles.
"Exactly," she says. "And those
words are his way of
navigating it."

Plankton taps on the door.
"Dibbly. Pling," he says. Karen
nods. "You're safe." Plankton's hand
stops tapping, his antennae
still. "Safe," he echoes, his voice
a whisper. 

Chip's eyes are wide,
his curiosity piqued by his
father's quiet self-talk.
"It's his way of reassuring
his brain," Karen explains.
"It's like he's saying 'it's okay'
to himself." Chip nods.
Karen's screen finds Chip's. 
"You're doing great," she mouths.

The car's movement
lulls Plankton into silence.
His antennae droop, his
lids growing heavy. Chip
notices the change, his
heart aching. "Dad?" he whispers.
"Tired," he says.

The hum of the engine
becomes a white noise,
their world narrowing down
to the car's confines. Plankton's
breathing deepens, his body
slumping slightly against the seat.
Karen's eyes flick to the mirror,
seeing Chip's concern.
"It's okay," she says softly.
"He's just getting sleepy."

In his own world, Plankton
whispers to himself. "Flip,
flap, jibber." His eye
closed, but his mind races.
Chip watches, fascinated
by the silent conversation.
"What's he saying?" he
asks Karen. She smiles,
keeping her eyes on the road.
"He's just talking to his
stims," she says.

"Talking to his stims?"
Chip repeats, trying to
understand. "It's like he's
having a conversation,"
Karen explains, "but it's
not with us. It's with his
brain. It's his way of sorting
things out." "Does he know
what he's saying?" Chip asks.
"Not always," Karen says,
keeping her eyes on the
road. "Sometimes it's just
sounds, other times it's
fragments of words or
phrases. It's his way of
finding calm in the chaos."
Plankton's whispers
continue, "Bloop. Squish.
Karen." Chip looks at his
mom. "Does he know he's
saying your name?" Karen
smiles. "Sometimes he
does. It's his way of
reassuring himself that
he's not alone." Chip nods.

Chip can't help but feel a
sense of wonder at his
dad's unique way of dealing
with the world. "Blibber,
babble, wonka," Plankton
says, his voice softer now.
Chip looks out the window,
his thoughts racing. He
wonders if he'll ever
understand what it's like
inside his dad's head. "Is he
okay?" he asks again, his voice
barely above a whisper. "He's
fine, Chip," Karen says, her
voice calm. "This is just his way."

The words keep coming, a
steady stream of nonsense
syllables that somehow make
sense to Plankton. "Flitter,
flatter, snicker-snack," he murmurs.
Karen's eyes are on the
road, but her love is with
Plankton, listening to his
self-soothing symphony. She
knows that in his own way,
he's trying to find peace. 

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 9

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.

new karencore karenism brain chip

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╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
₊‧.°.⋆ bio •˚₊‧⋆.
⊹₊ ㆍ✿ㆍNameㆍ✿ㆍ₊⊹
⊹ ˚ . age ｡ﾟ⋆
⋆pro/noun⋆
☉ sun ☾ moon ↑ rising
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

new cute box stars emojis unicode discord bio superstar adorable

╔      ╗
     ♡
╚      ╝

new heart box

⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⠤⠤⠤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⠄⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡁⠈⠈⠉⠉⠙⠒⠶⠤⢄⣀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡞⠀⠐⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠁⠠⠈⡀⠡⠈⠄⠂⡀⠄⢀⠈⠙⠺⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠄⠐⠈⡀⠐⡀⠂⠁⠄⢂⠠⠐⠀⡀⢦⡀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⡍⠳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣇⣴⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⢀⠈⠄⠂⡈⠐⡀⠡⠀⠡⢈⠀⠂⠄⠂⢁⠀⠸⣗⠈⢀⠀⠻⣿⣧⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠐⠀⠀⠂⠐⠀⠁⡄⠂⠁⠐⠀⡌⠐⢠⠁⠀⠂⠀⣯⠀⠀⠂⠀⢹⣿⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠌⢀⠂⢁⠈⠄⠁⠂⠄⠐⠈⡀⢁⠠⠐⠀⠄⢁⠐⢈⡯⠀⠌⢀⠂⠀⢻⡆⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣯⡏⠀⠠⠁⡀⢂⠀⠂⣄⡂⠁⢈⠀⠌⠀⠄⠠⠀⠂⢁⠀⢂⠀⣾⠃⢀⠂⠄⠠⠁⡀⢷⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡟⠀⠠⠁⡐⠀⠠⠐⠀⠙⠿⣆⠀⢂⣠⣬⡴⣾⠆⠁⠠⠈⢀⣼⠏⠀⠄⠂⠈⠄⠐⢀⢸⡆⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠂⠁⡀⠄⠂⣁⣠⣬⣴⣶⣟⠿⣋⠁⠀⣰⠏⠀⠠⠁⣰⡾⠹⡇⢀⠐⢈⠠⠈⠀⠄⠠⡇⠈⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣇⣤⣦⠀⠠⣸⡿⣻⠟⠋⠛⢿⣧⠉⢠⡞⠁⡀⠐⣠⡶⠋⢀⣀⣿⡄⠀⠂⠠⢀⠁⡄⡀⡇⢀⢺⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⢛⡇
⠀⣿⣿⣿⠘⢷⣿⢠⡏⠳⠦⣤⣼⠃⣼⣣⠤⠶⠖⢛⣽⣿⣭⣁⠀⣯⠀⠠⠁⡐⠀⢸⣧⠐⡇⠀⡈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣶⡖⣿⠉⠉⢳⣀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⢘⡇
⠀⣿⣿⣿⡀⢈⡟⠘⣦⡀⠄⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡽⠛⠙⢺⡻⣇⡷⠀⡐⠀⠄⠈⣼⢻⢸⠃⠄⠀⣽⠀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢘⡇
⠀⡟⣿⣿⣧⢘⡇⠀⠀⠉⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠙⠦⣤⢴⡇⣿⡏⠀⠄⠂⢈⢠⣏⣾⣾⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢨⡇
⠀⡇⠈⣿⠙⣯⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣠⠀⣠⡞⢠⣿⠅⡀⠂⠈⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢨⡇
⠀⡇⠈⠹⢦⣈⡿⠙⣦⡀⠀⠈⠷⣀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⢒⣿⡿⠀⠀⠂⢡⣿⣯⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢰⡇
⠀⡇⡐⠀⡈⣹⢿⣖⠠⠙⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣿⡟⠀⢀⣢⣼⣿⣿⣷⣏⠼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠰⡇
⠀⡇⠁⡀⢡⡟⠈⠙⠲⠦⣌⡿⢲⣤⠤⠤⠴⣖⢶⣾⣿⣿⠟⣁⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠴⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣰⡇
⠀⡇⣰⠦⠿⠷⡤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⢻⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⣭⣹⣍⣏⣳⣱⢣⡏⠙⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀
⠀⣷⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⢦⣀⢸⣇⣙⡷⢤⣀⣿⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⣟⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⣉⡿⠬⠿⠤⣤⣀⣀⠙⢻⡿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⡅⡖⡄⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣬⡙⠾⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢼⣃⠉⢉⠋⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⢧⡝⠸⠆⠀⠀⢸⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⣳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠈⠻⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠒⠢⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠷⣄⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠦⢄⣀⠀⠉⠑⠲⡆
⠀⣿⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠶⣚⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⣶⡀⠙⢧⡄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠙⢻⡙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠈⠉⠓⣶⢤⡇
⠀⣿⠶⣛⣭⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠈⢻⣆⠀⠹⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠘⣧⢠⠏⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⢦⡀
⠀⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠙⢿⡆⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⢸⡇
⠀⡇⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠃⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢘⣏⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡴⠞⠋⢀⠐⢸⡇
⠀⡇⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢃⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠘⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⢀⠀⠄⢸⡇
⠀⡇⠈⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠖⠲⠛⠋⠁⠐⠈⡀⠄⠈⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡄⢹⡇⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠠⠈⢸⡇
⠀⡇⠀⠌⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⡐⠀⠄⠠⠐⢀⠐⠠⠀⠂⠄⠂⢁⠈⠄⠠⠐⠈⡀⠄⠂⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢼⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣎⡀⠐⢸⡇
⠀⡇⠂⠀⠺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢀⠠⠈⡀⢂⠐⡀⢂⠀⡁⠐⡀⠌⡀⢈⠀⢂⠁⡐⠀⡐⠀⠄⡀⠙⠿⣿⣦⠈⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡄⢸⡇
⠀⡇⠠⠁⠄⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠄⠠⠀⠔⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⡐⠠⠁⠠⠀⠄⠠⠈⠠⠀⠄⠐⠠⠈⠄⠠⠀⠄⠈⠙⠛⢉⡿⣻⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢳⣸⡇
⠀⠓⠒⠒⠒⠚⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠒⠒⠓⠒⠚⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠓⠒⠒⠚⠓⠛⠒⠒⠚⠒⠓⠚⠚⠓⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠚⠒⠃

new miku box cute miku in box dot art text art ascii art

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

new box box seat

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

new box boxwood

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new box or container container

⌞ ⌝ ⌞ ⌝ ⌞ ⌝

new box pop

✧̣̇

new tuck box boxwood box

『』

new square box

𓊌

new rectangle square box

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠐⠉⠉⠁⠒⢄⠀⠀⢀⠴⠊⠁⠁⠰⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠊⠀⢠⡶⣄⠀⠈⡆⢀⡖⠀⠠⣶⣂⠀⠉⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠅⠀⠀⡝⠁⠐⡄⠀⠹⠬⠀⠀⣼⠁⠸⠀⠀⠑⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢸⣛⣀⣀⣀⣸⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣄⣀⣄⣧⣤⣤⣤⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣻⣟⣯⡿⣽⣯⢿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⣯⡿⣯⢿⣽⣻⣽⣻⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⣯⢿⣷⣻⢿⣽⣾⣳⡿⣞⣯⣿⡽⣿⣽⣳⣿⣳⣟⣷⡦⠀⠀
⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡿⣞⣯⣿⣞⡷⣿⡽⣿⡽⣞⣿⣳⣯⣟⣾⣽⡾⣯⢿⣔⡀
⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⢿⣽⡾⣽⣻⢷⣟⣯⢿⣻⢷⣻⢷⣯⣿⢾⣽⣛⣋⣿⣶
⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣞⣯⣿⣟⣾⣽⢿⡽⣿⣞⣿⣻⣽⣟⣯⣿⢾⣽⡯⢷⣟⣿⣳⡏
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⣏⣿⣾⢿⣾⠏⠉⣷⣿⡾⣏⣷⣏⡿⣾⣏⣷⣇⠀⠹⢷⡿⣷
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣾⣽⣿⢾⣯⣀⠀⢿⣻⣾⡽⣿⣽⢾⣟⣯⣟⣷⡯⢀⣦⣿⣻⠇
⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣷⡿⣞⣿⣻⢾⣟⡆⠸⣿⢾⣽⡷⣯⣿⢾⣻⣾⣳⠁⣼⣟⡷⣿⠀
⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣿⣟⡷⣿⢯⣟⣿⡄⠙⣿⡾⣽⣟⣾⣟⣷⡯⠃⣴⡿⣾⣻⣽⡀
⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣾⢿⣽⣻⣟⣾⣻⣤⡈⠛⠻⠾⠷⠛⢊⣠⣾⢿⣽⡷⣿⡽⠆
⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣽⡿⣽⣳⣯⣷⢿⣽⣻⢷⣶⣶⣶⡾⣟⣯⣟⡿⣾⣽⢷⣿⠁
⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⡟⣯⡟⣷⣯⣿⡞⣿⣯⣷⡟⣾⣽⣿⣽⣾⡟⣷⣯⣿⣾⠀
⠀⠜⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⡿⣽⣟⣾⢯⣟⣷⣯⢿⣽⣻⣽⣞⣯⣷⣟⣯⢿⣞⡿⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠈⠹⠻⢿⣿⣿⣻⣽⣿⢾⣯⣟⡿⣾⡽⣯⡿⣽⣞⣯⣷⣟⠾⣯⡿⠯⠇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⡿⠿⠿⠓⠻⠛⠓⠋⠉⠛⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new box food idk McDonald's happy meal box dot art text art ascii art

◼「」

new box cardboard eid mubarak

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

new edisim emina lrig elamef yppah gnittis xob agnam namow nootrac nosrep elamef elamef tluda ydal cimoc iatneh napaj taes dneirflrig taes xob scimoc edisiM morf atiM tra tod tra txet tra iicsa

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

   ( •_•)                          (•_• ) 
   ( ง )ง                          ୧( ୧ )
   /︶\                              /︶\

new 1v1 boxing box fight meme

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ !! (˶ ° ㅁ° ς ) <(𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑!)

new box square scare shock panic alarm

╭⌢⌣≺𔓘≻⌣⌢╮
 ⁽₎                         ₍⁾
 (                          )
 ₍⁾                         ⁽₎
╰⌣⌢≺𔓘≻⌢⌣╯

new box aesthetic border bracket unicode bio frame raycast_rae

⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡦⣹⠋⣶⠈⣧⠛⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡦⢹⡀⣿⠀⡟⢠⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣿⣶⣾⣷⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⡀⣧⣤⣤⡤⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠓⠦⠴⠦⠄⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠗
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠁⠈⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠉⠀⢀⢀⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⡤⡀⠀⢸
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡟⠛⠉⠉⠀⠈⢹⣇⣠⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠀⠨⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠏⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠻⡍⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣻⡀⠀
⠂⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣄
⣷⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣃⣀⣀⣠⣤⡄⢀⡠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣤⣭⣭⣽⣿⣿⡟
⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⡄⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣴⠄⠀⠠⠴⣶⣶⣿⣟⣯⣭⣭⣭⣿⣷⣶⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠉⠻⠝⠋⠀
⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣶⣀⣰⣫⣟⣋⣻⣭⣶⣾⣶⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀
⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠟⠛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣭⣭⣤⣤⣤⣾⡿⢟⠟⠛⠋⡍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡀
⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣛⣻⣿⣭⣭⣭⡤⠶⠲⠲⠖⠻⠿⠟⠛⠛⠉⣉⣥⡤⠴⠖⠛⢛⠋⡉⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁
⠀⠘⠋⠀⣀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⡀⣾⠓⠲⣦⡶⡛⢶⡟⠒⡒⠒⠒⢲⡾⡓⢦⠚⠳⡾⠳⣆⡞⠒⠒⡖⢒⢶⢲⡖⣶⡒⡒⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠜⠁⠀⣀⣀⠤⠤⠖⠒⠚⠛⠋⠁⣿⠘⡃⣿⠁⡇⢸⣿⠀⡟⡇⠈⣿⠀⣿⢸⠃⡌⢃⠀⡇⢹⡆⢹⡇⢘⢿⠄⠰⣿⡇⢸⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠘⢃⣸⣄⢇⣸⢿⢀⣇⣇⢠⣿⣀⢟⣸⣂⣿⣼⣠⡇⣼⡇⣼⣇⠘⠛⢰⣆⣿⡇⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠋⠛⠉⠈⠉⣥⠉⠉⠁⠉⠉⠉⠙⠉⠉⠉⠁⠈⠉⠁⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new funny silly joke goofy box dot art text art ascii art

》★/)＿/)★
  ／(๑^᎑^๑)っ ＼~♥︎
／|￣∪￣ ￣ |＼／
  |＿＿_＿＿|／

new uwu cat box cute pet owo 🥰 big cat rabbit kaomoji feline

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

new box unbox

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ  ഒ
 ⠀／꒰  ྀི ◞ ˕ ◟ ꒱っ ＼⠀  smile  .ᐟ
⠀ |￣∪￣  ￣ |＼／⠀⠀ ⠀
⠀ |＿＿_＿＿| ／⠀⠀⠀ ⁺ ⠀⠀ ⠀  ⊹ ⠀ ⠀ 　̇ ⠀ 

new cute kawaii box cutecore bow in heart luv u smile positive baby seal strawb adorable girly silly

🎮🕹️👾

new arcade box things games play computer game gaming

█

new box corner

◤  ◥
◣  ◢

new square box illusion diamond corner shape

//☆°+📦

new funny box star symbol PREPPY aesthetic

📦╰┈➤. YOUR TEXT

new box arrow channel

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

new box mail pack

[_̅_̅✨_̅𝑯̲̅𝒂̲̅𝒑̲̅𝒑̲̅𝒚̲̅ 𝑵̲̅𝒆̲̅𝒘̲̅ 𝒀̲̅𝒆̲̅𝒂̲̅𝒓̲̅_̅✨_̅]

new text kaomoji happy new year kaomoji new year kaomoji boxed kaomoji box kaomoji text happy new year new year boxed box

♠∆×♥◻↘[name here]↙◻♥×∆♠

[COMBO MADE BY RUCILIA\LAVENDER]

new symbols madebyrucilia\lavender name base insert name heart box arrow triangle(bill) symbolic

𔓘⟡ଳ⟡𔓘

new jellyfish sparkle cute box glitter

◸  ◹
◺  ◿

new square box illusion diamond corner shape

≽^•⩊•^≼ ๋࣭ ⭑ ‎‧₊˚✧[text]✧˚₊‧

new box text cardboard

     =^..^=  
//―o―――o―\\
 │    ⬆      │
 │ᵗʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵘᵖ│

new cat cute aesthetic paws feline box kitten fur pet

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡜⢢⠓⡜⢢⠓⡜⢢⠓⡜⢢⠓⡜⢢⠓⡜⢢⡹⢨⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⢿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡜⣡⢋⡜⣡⢋⠼⣡⢋⡜⣡⢋⡜⣡⢋⡜⢥⠂⢰⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡜⢤⠣⡜⢤⢋⠖⣡⠎⣔⠣⢎⡔⢣⠎⡜⢢⠃⢽⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⣽⣿⣿⡇⠀⡜⢢⠓⡜⣌⠮⡜⢢⡙⡤⢋⠖⡬⢃⠮⡱⢩⠁⣾⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⢿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡜⣡⢋⡴⢊⠖⣩⢒⡱⢜⡩⢚⡔⣋⠖⣡⣧⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣦⣅⣀⣀⣉⠉⠉⠉⠛
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡒⢥⢊⡴⢋⡜⡡⢎⠲⣡⢎⡱⣘⣤⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⡷⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣥⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣭⠶⢷⣌⢣⠜⣱⣪⣵⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹
⠀⠀⢀⠀⢄⣰⣿⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡟⠛⡉⢃⡄⠲⣰⠻⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡯⠷⣻⣿⣇⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⢼
⣤⣽⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠯⠑⢤⠘⡄⡓⢌⡡⢌⡑⢾⠀⣈⡿⠿⠿⠿⣑⡿⢁⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠈⠒⠚⠛⢿⣍⠿⣜⢲⡙⡞⢯
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡬⡂⢍⠢⡑⢢⠉⢆⡔⣊⣴⣾⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠄⠫⣽⣦⣂⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠏⠈⠒⠈⢁⡑⠬⠐
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⡟⠻⡙⠮⡤⣃⣬⣵⣾⣾⣿⣿⣿⢣⣲⡆⠀⠀⡠⣶⡌⣓⣿⡌⢿⣷⣶⣦⣦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣜⡁⡀⠤⠐⠊⠉⠀⠀⠀
⠿⡟⠻⠙⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⡔⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠿⢿⡿⠿⢌⠛⢡⠄⠀⠻⠟⠋⠘⠻⠧⢻⣿⣿⡿⢿⡛⢩⠃⡥⢚⣿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣄⣀⣠⠶⢞⣢⣤⡔⠉⠁⢢⣀⡠⢟⠋⣕⢪⡡⠜⢢⡉⠴⡁⢎⢻⣟⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠰⢼⣿⣷⡰⢈⠖⣈⠧⡳⡌⢥⠘⢆⡉⠖⢢⠹⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠣⠤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣌⠦⣁⠎⡹⢜⢦⡉⢆⠩⢜⣢⡵⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠨⡝⠿⣷⣶⣶⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣷⡔⡘⢤⠉⣧⣷⣼⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠙⠘⠥⠟⠽⣻⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⡿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⠐⢺⢰⣆⣤⣩⡀⠒⠀⠊⠍⣙⢓⡛⠿⠿⣿⣟⣯⣟⡧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠘⡶⣬⡽⣃⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠁⠒⠌⢍⣺⢗⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢠⠯⣶⣛⡭⠼⡏⣽⣶⡶⡤⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣤⣔⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠸⢤⣈⣉⡐⠛⠭⠧⢈⡀⡿⡄⣬⡅⢰⠒⡠⡤⣀⢨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣶⣶
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠒⠲⢦⣄⣉⡑⠒⠣⠸⣰⠇⣯⢸⠰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣻⣷⢿⣻⣞⡷⣯
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠚⠶⢬⣉⣁⣚⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣟⡿⣽⣞⡿⡽⣞⣯⢷⣞⡿⣽
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠉⠩⠙⠉⠋⠊⠉⠎⠱⢩⠧⢞⡳⢽⣋⢎⠯⡜⠳⢬
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⠁⠀⠈⠁⠀

new cat box cat in a box dot art text art ascii art

     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     ִֶָ࣪☾.
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.
     
      ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.

new parcel package novel aesthetic packet box

                    🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
                    🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜🟩
                    🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜🟩🟩
                    🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜🟩🟩🟩
                    🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩
                    🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
                    🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
                    🟩⬜🟩🟩🟩⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
                    🟩🟩⬜🟩⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
                    🟩🟩🟩⬜🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
                    🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

new checkmark emoji checkmark green checkmark checkbox box check mark

▀⃞▄⃞▀̅ ⃞▄⃞

new glitch box boxes square squares glitched glitchcore malfunction rectangle

🗝️🦵

new chest treasure chest box treasure

╰┈➤🗳️๋࣭ ⭑⚝𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞★⌞ ⌝⋆.˚

new box aesthetic name intro artistic cardboard nickname

[̲̅ə̲̅٨̲̅٥̲̅٦̲̅]

new love kaomoji box kaomoji text kaomoji reverse kaomoji love box text reverse

 𝆬 . . 𓈈𓍼 . . 
                   ༝༚༝༚ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

new box bow coquette

⛏️📦

new pappa build box papa dad

☒

new ballot box with x

[_̅_̅𝑰_̅❤_̅𝒚̲̅𝒐̲̅𝒖̲̅_̅_̅]

new box kaomoji i love you kaomoji text kaomoji love kaomoji box i love you text love

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