Silentcore Emojis & Text

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 12 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton is still in the corner, his body huddled small, his arms wrapped around his knees. He's still facing the wall, yet his antennae twitched at the sound of their approach. Karen's eyes fill with concern as she sees her husband's form, so vulnerable. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Can Chip come in to talk?" Plankton's antennae twitch again, and then, very slowly, one hand moves from his knee to form a sharp, clear 'no' in the air. It's a gesture that Chip doesn't know, but Karen does. It's a sign Plankton learned from Sign Language, a way to express his needs without voicing words. Chip looks at his mom, confusion etched on his face. "What's that mean?" he whispers. Karen's heart clenches at her son's innocence. "It means your dad needs more time," she explains gently. "He's signing 'no' in Sign Language. It's a short way of saying he's not ready for company." Chip nods slowly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's silent form. He's never seen signs before. This is new to him. But, his dad's not deaf or hard of hearing, right? Karen sees his confusion, so she decides it's time to explain. "For him, it's not about hearing," she says. "He's learned a few signs to communicate when his words fail him." Chip's eyes widen in realization. "But why does he do that?" he whispers. "Because sometimes, sweetie, his brain gets really, really tired," Karen says, her voice soothing. "And when it's overstimulated, trying to talk can be really hard. So he can use his hands instead. But he only knows a few signs, not full sentences." Chip nods slowly, his eyes still on Plankton. "But... but what signs does he know? Can you teach me what signs he might use?" Karen nods, her voice gentle. "Of course, honey. He knows the alphabet but I'll teach you how to say yes and no.." They go and sit on the floor outside the bedroom door, Karen teaching Chip the few signs that Plankton had learned. "This one's for 'yes,'" she says, moving her hand up and down. "And this one's for 'no,'" she continues, two of her fingers tapping the thumb. Chip mimics her movements, his eyes focused, determined. He practices these signs, his hands a bit shaky at first. But as they go through them, his movements become more confident. Karen's heart swells with pride. Despite the situation, she's grateful for this moment—a chance for her son to learn and grow, to understand his father a little more. After a few minutes of practice, Karen suggests they try again. Chip nods, his eyes determined. Together, they enter the room. Plankton hasn't moved. "Dad?" Chip says softly. Plankton's antennae flick towards them, but he doesn't react. "I know you're upset," Chip continues, his voice trembling. "But I just want to tell you... I love you." Plankton's body stiffens. He's listening, Karen knows, but his response is slow to come. "And I know you love me too," Chip adds, his voice getting stronger. "But sometimes, it's hard to tell. Can you... can you just tell me if you're okay?" He pauses, his hand hovering. Plankton's antennae twitch again. This time, he forms a different sign—one that Chip doesn't recognize. It's a quick movement of his hand out to the side, then back to his chest, his fingers splayed. Karen's eyes widen in understanding. "He's asking for space," she whispers to Chip. "That's his way of saying 'I need to be alone right now.' It's okay," she says, her voice soft. "He just needs some time alone." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's form. He raises his hand, his fingers mimicking the sign his dad had just made. "Space," he asks, his voice uncertain. Karen nods, her eyes filled with relief. "Good job," she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch again, and this time, he slowly turns his head to look at them. His eye met Chip's, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something—understanding, maybe? Chip's heart jumps. "I know you're okay," Chip says, his voice hopeful. Plankton's hand moves again, forming the 'Space' sign. It's clear, deliberate. Chip's heart sinks. Karen sees the confusion on Chip's face and steps in. "Chip," she says gently, "he's asking for space. That's his way of saying 'I need to be alone right now.'" She pauses, swallowing hard. "It's okay. We'll give him that." Chip nods, his hand dropping to his side. He feels a mix of disappointment and relief. "Okay," he whispers, his voice small. "Good night." Karen gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before Chip left their room. Karen turns back to Plankton. "I'm sorry for earlier." Karen says. "I know that must've been traumatizing for you. I wasn't thinking clearly and I hurt you. I just felt the need to protect. But I didn't do so in a way that made you feel safe. I should've known better. I'm sorry." Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his antennae still twitching. He moves his hand again, a new sign. It's not one Karen taught Chip, but she knows it instantly—it's 'I understand.' Her heart clenches at the sight of his attempt to comfort her, when he's the one in pain. She nods. "Thank you," she whispers. "Want me to tuck you in?" With a quick, precise movement, Plankton signs 'Without Touching'. Karen nods, understanding his need for his personal space, even in this intimate moment. She watches as he shifts, his eye never leaving hers. She respects his boundaries, even though it's hard not to want to comfort him with a physical touch. Then, with the same deliberate care, he forms the letters 'T', 'R', 'Y', 'I', 'N', 'G'. It's not a full sign, but it's enough. 'Trying to forgive', he's signing. Karen's eyes fill with tears. Her heart swells with love for him, for his willingness to communicate despite the barriers that autism can put between them. She mirrors the sign back to him, showing she understands. The room remains quiet, their silent conversation speaking volumes. Plankton's body finally relaxes a little more, his shoulders dropping. He signs 'Good night' with his hand, his movements precise and clear. Karen mirrors his gesture, her own hand shaking slightly. "Good night," she says, her voice barely audible.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 13 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen awoke the next day This Plankton might still be in such delicate state after her mistake. He might primarily use Sign Language after such scary incidents. Plankton still slept in the bed beside hers. She knew better than to touch or disturb him. He'd always been a light sleeper. The sun peeked through their window, casting a soft glow across the room. Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself as Plankton awoke. She knew not to force anything. Plankton sat up. He spotted Karen, her eyes filled with remorse. With slow, deliberate movements, he signed 'Morning'. She nodded, her heart aching. "Morning," she murmured, keeping her voice soft. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he signed, 'Tired. Skin crawls. Sad'. Karen's stomach twisted. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking. Plankton then started monotonous humming, a vocal stim. Chip, having heard the whispers, tiptoed into the room. He opened the door and came in. "Hi there," Chip says tentatively. Karen smiled. "Good morning," she managed, her voice just above a whisper. Plankton's humming paused. Plankton looked up, his eye focusing on Chip. He signed 'Morning' with his hand, his movements slightly quicker than before. It's a good sign, Karen thought. Maybe he's not as overwhelmed as yesterday; though he's not ready to talk yet, she knew. Chip took a deep breath, his own hand moving to mimic Plankton's greeting. The gesture was clumsy, but earnest. "How are you?" he says, his voice a whisper. Plankton's expression remained neutral, but his antennae twitched—a sign of acknowledgment. Karen watched, hopeful. "Do you need anything?" she asked, her voice careful. But Plankton didn't know how to sign for the jigsaw puzzle of Nosferatu. "I'll work on the puzzle," Plankton managed to say to them; the first thing he spoke today. So they follow Plankton to the coffee table where the puzzle still was. But without asking, Chip picks up a piece. Plankton signed the word quickly, 'Alone'. It was a sharp, clear gesture. Karen's heart clenched. It was a simple sign, but it was a word of meaning. She nodded, understanding. "Okay," she murmured. "We'll give you some space." Chip looked at his dad, his eyes wide with sadness and confusion. Chip watched as his mom left the room, closing the door with a soft click. He felt his own sadness and frustration build up. He wanted to help, but he wasn't sure how. He took a deep breath and sat down beside Plankton. "Dad," he said, his voice small. "I know you'd like space, but I just want to be here with you." Plankton's antennae twitched again, and he formed the 'Alone' sign, his eye pleading. Chip's heart broke, but he nodded. He knew he couldn't force his dad to interact, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he sat quietly beside him, placing a handful of puzzle pieces on the table. "I'll stay here," Chip offered, "but I won't talk or touch.." Chip picked up a piece, concentrating on the image of Nosferatu's face. His dad liked puzzles—they were predictable, with a clear beginning, middle, and end. No uncertainties. No ambiguities to figure out. He glanced at his dad. Plankton's antennae twitched again. His hand moved rapidly, forming the letters 'G', 'O', 'A', 'W', 'A', 'Y'. Chip's heart sank. He'd never seen that sign before. He didn't know what sign that spells. "What does that mean?" Chip asked, his voice quivering. Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. He signs 'Leave' to Chip, who still cannot interpret what he's signing, his hand reaching out to his dad. But Plankton jerks away, his eye wide. "I don't understand," Chip whispers, his throat tight. Plankton's hand shakes, and he signs spelling, 'Distance'. But Chip can't translate that either! Chip's mind raced as he tried to piece together these words his dad is signing to him. He wanted to help, but he was afraid of making things worse. "Okay," he whispers, moving his hand back to his lap. "I'll stay here, but I won't talk." Plankton's antennae twitched again, and he formed the 'Space' sign. It was a clear message. Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. "Oh," he said, his voice understanding in realization. "Space‽ I'll leave you be.." Chip then went to see his mom in the bedroom she shared with his dad. Karen looked up as he came in. "Mom, I wanna learn the signs Dad uses. Can you teach me more?" Her eyes filled with love, she nodded. "Of course, sweetheart." Chip sat on her bed. "What words does he know, and how does he sign them? I wanna be able to understand.." Karen took a deep breath, then began to teach him. Plankton had learned to sign a few key words and phrases over the years, words like "love," "sorry," "tired," and "happy." Chip's determination to bridge the gap grew with each of those signs. Chip watched intently as his mother's hands formed shapes in the air, each one a silent expression of a feeling or a need. It was like learning a secret code, a language only shared between his dad and her. But as they practiced, Chip couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. "Why did my dad need this, Mom? Why couldn't he just talk? He can talk and hear..." Karen sighs, her eyes soft. "It's not that simple, honey," she says, her voice filled with a gentle resignation. "Your dad's brain processes things differently. Sometimes forming words can be too much, and it might be easier for him to use signs than to speak." Chip nods. "But why'd he start using them last night when he talked earlier? Is he gonna be okay?" Karen nods. "Yes. He's only doing it because yesterday, he was pretty shaken up. Do you remember how I told you to leave the room, and I'd held him?" Karen asks. Chip nods, so Karen continued. "Seeing you upset broke my heart, and in my panic I held your dad. You saw me grab him as you left. He'd never actually hurt you, yet I wanted to fix the situation. I restrained him to where he couldn't move. That and I held him to tight." Karen wipes a tear away. Chip looks at her with a questioning gaze. "That was wrong of me," Karen says, her voice cracking. "It was too much for him. He doesn't like to be touched like that, especially when he's already overwhelmed." Chip's heart squeezes at the thought of his dad being scared. "But Mom, what does this have to—" "Let me finish," Karen interrupts gently. "When autistics get really upset or overstimulated, such things can trigger what's basically akin to literal trauma. It's that intense, Chip. And so, he's reacting now in a way that feels safest to him. By using signs, he's controlling what he can, and it's a way to tell us things without overloading himself with spoken words. But he can still talk, and he'll get back to doing so when he feels like it." Chip nods, his eyes still on his mother's hands. "I want to understand him," he says, his voice firm. "I don't want him to feel alone." Karen smiles, her eyes shimmering. "That's the best thing you can do, honey," she says. "Love and understand. But he might need more space right now. You can come with me to check on him.."

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𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 1 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton is autistic. His wife, Karen, is supportive and she understands his struggles and his sensory sensitivities. They kept his autism secret from their son Chip. But one day, Chip comes home from camp earlier than either of his parents expected, for the traffic was better than usual. And Chip notices something he's never seen. At least, not with his dad. Chip peaks in his parents bedroom to find Plankton on his bed, on his side. He seemed to be shaking. So Chip inched closer, unsure of what he's seeing. His father's body jerked in quick, rhythmic spasms, his eye rolled bac̶k, and his mouth's parted open, drool trickling out the side. Paпic strikes Chip. He's never seen anything like this! The room is eerily silent except for the quıet, muffled sounds of his father's shaking and his own racing heart. The scene seems frozen in time, and Chip's mind races with questions and fear. What's wrong with Dad? He cautiously approaches the bed, his hands now shaking as much as his father's body. Plankton's eyelid flutters rapidly in synchronization with the clonic jerks. "Dad; what are you doing?" But Plankton didn't respond. Chip went to find his mom. Karen was gardening in the back when he found her. "Mom," Chip yelled, "Come quick!" His voice was trembling with fear. Karen rushed inside, leavıng her garden behind. She saw her husband, and knew immediately what was happening; that Plankton was okay, just having a seızure that wasn't dangerous, but can look scary. She knew Chip's unaware of Plankton's autism. "Chip," she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "it's okay. Your dad is having a type of spasm called absentia epileptica. It's part of a condıtıon he has, which's autism." Chip looked at her in confusion. Karen took a deep breath, kneeling down to his level. "You know how sometimes you get so into a video game that you don't notice me calling you?" Chip nodded slowly. "It's kind of like that for your dad, but with his body. It's like his brain goes to a different pla͡ce for a little bit." Chip studied his mother's screen, searching for the truth. Her eyes were calm, her voice soothing. "But why is he, his body doing that?" he asked, his voice still quaking. "It's like when you sneeze, honey," Karen explained. "You don't plan to, it just happens. It's a sudden, quick change in your body that you can't control." She took his hand, leading him to the bedside. Plankton's seızure is subsiding. And then Plankton's eye flitted open, unfocused. He was disoriented and groaned, his gaze wandering around the room. This was the postictal phase, where he was emerging. Karen knew it was crucial to keep him calm. "Look," she said softly, smiling at Chip, "Your dad will be okay. This happens sometimes. It's like when you come out of a deep słeep and don't know where you are for a moment." Chip watched as Plankton's eye gradually focused, landing on Karen's screen. He blinked rapidly, his gaze shifting to Chip's. Recognition took over his features, but confusion lingered. Plankton's voice was slurred, his words difficult to piece together. "Ch... Chip?" Karen nodded reassuringly. "Yes, it's Chip. You had a small seızure, but it's over now. You're okay." Plankton's hand shot up to his face, touching it as if to confirm his reality. His eye searched his son's for an answer. Karen sat on the bed, taking Plankton's hand in hers. "It's part of his autism, sweetie. Some times his brain needs to reboot." She offered a comforting smile as Plankton's gaze cleared somewhat, and he looked at Karen with a mix of relief and embarrassment as he wiped up the drool. But then, Plankton's face contorted in anger. He jerked his hand away from Karen's grasp, his eye snapping to Chip. "What are YOU doing here?" he snapped, his voice harsher than Chip had ever heard it before. It was like his father was a different person, someone he didn't know. Chip took a step back, his heart pouncing in his chest. "I just found you..." he started to explain, but his voıce trailed off. Plankton pushes himself up to a sitting position, his eye wide with anger. "Why are you spying on me?" he accused, his voice rising with every syllable. Karen stepped in quickly, trying to defuse the tension. "Chip wasn't spying, honey. He just came home early and found you like this." But Plankton's anger didn't ease. "Why didn't you ask me?" he demanded, looking at Chip accusingly. Chip felt his eyes stinging with unshed tears, his screen tight. "I... I didn't know what was happening," he stammered. "I was scared." Plankton's face softened slightly, but the anger was still palpable. "How much of my secret's out?" he said, more to Karen than to Chip. Karen sighed, stroking his arm gently. "Chip, repeat to your dad what I taught you." Plankton's jaw tightened, but he looked at his son. Chip took a deep breath. "Mom told me," Chip managed to say, "Mom says that your autistic seizures are because of, uh... Mom said you are..." His voice cracked. "I learned that you're only a little bit ret-..." The room went still as a pin drop. Karen's screen flushed red with anger and sadness. Plankton's eye widened, his body stiffened. "Chip," Karen whispered, "that's not a word we use." But Chip, confused by his father's reaction, just stared, his screen brimming with tears. "How could you say that?" Plankton's voice was low, the paın in his eye was impossible to miss. "You don't understand," Chip sobbed, "I di-" "Understand?" Plankton interrupted, his voice rising. "I'm not some- thing to be understood; I'm your father!" He slams his fists into the mattress. Karen's voice was steady as she spoke, "Plankton, it's ok. We can explain this to Chip." She turned to her son, her eyes filled with compassion. "It's ok to not know everything right now. We'll talk about it. But that word is not nice. It can hurt̸ people." Plankton's anger was palpable, but he swallowed it down, his body slumping in defeat. He looked away from Chip, his gaze firmly planted on the floor. "Just go," he said weakly, "Get outta my fac͘e." The rejection hït Chip like a ton of bricks. Karen's heart broke seeing the hurt̸ on her son's face. She knew Plankton didn't mean to, that his words were just a reflex, a shield against the fear of being misunderstood. "Chip," she said gently, "your dad needs a moment. So you give him some privacy." Chip took a step back off the bed as Plankton begins to mumble. "Do not know what who's talking about.." Karen knew Plankton's self-talk was a type of stim, that he didn't like for it to be interrupted or to be commented on. But she realized that Chip doesn't know this. She turns to Plankton. "Honey," she said softly, "Chip is scared. He's never seen you like this before." Plankton's body tensed. Karen knew he has to decompress. And sure enough, the vocal stimming began again. Plankton's voice was heard. "No scared, is seen before," he says. Chip watched, his eyes wide and filled with fresh confusion. And yet Karen knew that Plankton's repetitive stimming was his way of processing all the overwhelm. Chip had never heard his dad make these sounds. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly, "Dad's just talking to himself to calm down. It's part of his autism." But Chip's curiosity was piqued. He couldn't help but ask, "But why is he–" "CHIP," Plankton's voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. "We SAID I don't like it when YOU interrogate me!" He turned away, his body language a clear signal for space. Chip felt his chest tighten. He wants to understand, but his father's reaction was unsettling.

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🚇🎨🖼️

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 2 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen could see the internal battle Plankton's fighting, the fear of being different, the desire to be left alone versus the love for his son and his need for understanding. Plankton's frustration with his own body was manifesting into frustration with Chip, Karen knew. "Chip, your dad's okay," she said softly. "He just needs some space now." Chip nodded, his eyes still on his father, who was now rocking slightly, his hands flapping in his lap. This was another one of Plankton's stims, a way to soothe himself during hıgh stress or anxıety. But Chip found it weırd. "Why does he do that?" Chip whispered, unable to mask the curiosity in his voıce. Plankton's head snapped up, his eye blazing. "I said no more questions!" he snapped. "So just STOP it, Chip!" The room was thick with tension. Karen felt torn, wanting to ease Chip's fear while also respecting Plankton's boundaries. But Plankton's anger was a wall, impenetrable. "I don't like when you look at me like that," Plankton said, his voice tight. "Like I'm gonna play show and tell.." Chip's face fell, feeling the weight of his father's words. He took a step back, his curiosity shrinking under the pressure of his father's discomfort. But Plankton's gaze was still locked on Chip, his frustration palpable. "I don't owe you my entire life story just because my brain decided to take a detour!" Chip felt the sting of rejection, his eyes welling up with těars. "Plankton," Karen began, her voice a gentle reprimand. "We need to explain this to Chip. He's scared and curious. That's natural." But Plankton just glared at his son, the anger in his eye not wavering. "You just want to poke and prod!" he accused. "Well I DON'T!" Karen took a deep breath, knowing this was a moment where she had to bridge the gap between her husband's world and her son's. "Chip," she says softly, "Your dad's just had a seızure. It can make him feel really out of sorts, like everything's too loud and too bright. He doesn't mean to be short with you." She turned to Plankton, her voice gentle but firm. "Honey, we need to talk to Chip. He's part of this to—" But Plankton cut her off, his voice shaky. "I don't want to talk about it." He looked at Chip with a mix of anger and fear. "You don't get to just waltz in and demand explanations!" Chip's lip trembled as he looked at his dad, his screen full of uncertainty. Karen's heart ached, but she knew she had to stand up for her son. "Plankton," she said, "Chip's just a kid. He's only just trying to understand something that's scary to him. We can't šhut him out." "I don't need him to learn it," Plankton murmured. "I just need him to leave me alone." His words were like a slap across Karen's screen, but she knew this was his fear speaking. Fear of the unknown, fear of judgment, fear of his son seeing him different. "Dad," Chip whispered, his voice shaky, "I'm sorry." But Plankton shook his head. Chip didn't know what to think. "I just want to know why," Chip said softly. Plankton's jaw clenched. "Why what?" he asked, his tone harsher than Chip was expecting. "Why do I have autism? Why do I have seizures?" His eye searched his son's, looking for anything but pity. "I don't have answers for you, Chip." Chip felt his face heat up. He didn't mean it like that. He just wanted to know what was happening to his dad, why he was shaking and why his mom was so calm about it. "But why are you so mad at me?" Chip asked, his voice shaking. Plankton's eye searched his son's, and for a moment, Karen thought she saw a flicker of sadness. But then it was gone, replaced by a wall of defiance. "Because you're invading my personal space," he said coldly. "You don't get to just barge in and demand things from me." Chip felt the sting of his father's words, but he stood his ground. "But you're my dad," he said, his voice cracking. "I just want to know why you're shaking and making those noises." Plankton's face reddened, his hands balling into fists. "Please," Chip's voice was small, "I just want to help." Plankton's breathing was erratic, his fists still clenched. "You can't help," he said. "You're not supposed to know. This isn't for you." The words were a knife in Karen's heart, but she knew he didn't mean to hurt Chip. It was his pride and discomfort talking. "Plankton," she said firmly, "Chip didn't do anything wrong. He found you when you needed him." Her words hung in the air, uncomfortable truths that Plankton didn't want to hear. But Chip's curiosity was a part of him, a piece of his soul that wouldn't simply vanish because it was inconvenient for his dad. Plankton looked away, his jaw tightening. "I don't need a spotlight," he muttered. "I don't need him to know." But Karen knew that was a lie. Plankton had been carrying this all alone for too long, afraid of what others would think, afraid of his own son seeing him as less than. "You can't keep it a secret forever," she said softly. "He's old enough to underst--" "Understand?" Plankton's voice was thick with sarcasm. "What's there to understand? I'm broken, Karen. And he doesn't need to know that!" He slammed his fist into the pillow next to him, the force making his body jerk. Chip flinched at the sound, his eyes wide with fear. "Plankton," Karen's voice was calm but firm. "You're not broken. You're just different, and that's okay." But Plankton's gaze was still locked on Chip, his eye narrowed in accusation. "Why do you have to be so nosy?" he snapped. "Why can't you just leave me the barnacles alone!" Chip felt his heart sink. He didn't mean to be nosy. But he didn't know how to make it right. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice small. Chip's chest constricted, his mind racing for something, anything, to say that would make everything okay. But Plankton just shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this, Chip. Not now. Not ever." The silence was deafening. Chip felt his stomach twist into a knot. He had never seen his father so upset, so defensive. He took a tentative step forward. "But Dad, I just want to help. I don't understand what's happening." Plankton's glare didn't waver. "That's because you don't belong here.." Plankton replied coldly. Chip gasped, tears spilling. Karen watched, her heart breaking for both her son and her husband. She knew his anger wasn't all truly directed at Chip, but it was impossible to ignore the hurt etched on her son's face. She understood his need for solitude in these moments. But she knew that Chip's curiosity wasn't something that would simply disappear. "Plankton," she said softly, "Chip loves you. He's just trying to understand. We can't keep hiding this." Plankton's face contorted with pain, but his voice was resolute. "He won't get to decide what I can handle!" he snapped. Chip took a step back, his eyes brimming with tears. He didn't understand why his dad was so mad at him. "But I'm not trying to decide anything," he whispered. "I just want to know why you shake and make those sounds.."

『 ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴍᴀɪʟ!⌇ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀᴍ ʀᴇᴀʟɪsᴛɪᴄ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟᴇᴅ ғᴀᴍ ʀᴘ ʜᴍ?⌇ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ'ᴍ ʜᴇʀᴇ!⌇ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ɪs ᴀᴅᴅ ᴍᴇ,ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪsᴛɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟᴇᴅ.⌇ᴀᴅᴅ ᴍᴇ!⌇ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛs ᴀʟʟ!⌇ᴜɴғʀɪᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʀᴘ!

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# . 『 🍓 』︴looking for a fam rp i got you! come and meet the masons just show your fit and examples to get in! ★ ┆ [ - 🥕 - ]

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𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 4 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "Mom, what can I do to help?" Chip's question was sincere, his eyes searching hers for answers. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes welling up with tears. "The best thing you can do," she said, "is to love him just as you always have. And to learn about his autism. That way, when he has these moments, you can help him feel safe." Chip nodded, his mind racing. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Chip thought about his dad's stims, the convulsions, the noises. He felt a sudden desire to understand, to connect with Plankton in a way he never had before. He looked up at Karen. "Can I talk to Dad?" he asked, his voice hopeful. Karen squeezed his hand. "Not yet, sweetie. He needs some space to calm down. But let's go check on him. Together." They approached the closed door. "Plankton?" Karen calls. "Can we come in?" "Yeah fine," Plankton's voice was tired. "Come in." The room was a mess. The pillow lay on the floor, the wall was dented. Plankton was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. Chip's heart raced, his eyes darting to the mess, then to his dad. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "Dad, I—" But Plankton didn't look up. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, his words muffled by his hands. Chip felt his hope shrivel. "But, Dad..." "Just leave me alone," Plankton said, his voice weak. Karen squeezed Chip's hand, giving him a look that told him to give Plankton his space. But Chip couldn't just leave it at that. He had to try. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room. "Dad," he began, his voice quivering with emotion, "I just want to help. I don't know what's happening, but I want to be here for you." Plankton didn't move, his head still in his hands. Chip took a step closer, his heart racing as his hand reached out tentatively. But as soon as his fingertips brushed against his father's shoulder, Plankton flinched away, his whole body stiffening. "Stop," he said sharply. "Don't touch me." Chip's hand hovered in the air, unsure of what to do. He had never felt so rejected by his father. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly. "Remember, dad's senses are really sensitive, especially after a seizure." Chip nodded, his hand falling to his side. He stood there, feeling lost. He didn't know what to do or say. The room was heavy with unspoken words and untouched emotions. Plankton's breath was ragged, his body trembling with the effort of controlling his own stims. "I'm sorry," Chip managed to whisper. "I just don't kno—" But Plankton's voice cut him off, harsh and sharp. "I said, don't touch me!" The pain in his eye was unmistakable. Chip took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to run, to hide, anything. But he knows that wouldn't help. He looked at his mom, his eyes pleading. Karen's expression was filled with understanding, but also with sadness. She knew this was hard for Plankton, but she also knew that pushing him too much right now wouldn't help. "Chip, why don't you go to your room for a bit?" she suggested. "Let Dad have some time to recover." She squeezed his hand gently. "Let's just give him some time. He'll talk when he's ready." Chip goes to his own room. Karen turns to Plankton. "Honey," she says gently, "We gotta explain this to Chip." Plankton's shoulders slumped. "I know," he sighs, his voice filled with resignation. "But I'm not ready to be 'explained' to him." Karen nods, her eyes full of understanding. "But maybe there's a way we can help him feel closer to you without making it about the seizures," she suggests. Plankton looks up, his interest piqued. "How?" Karen's mind races. "How about jigsaw puzzles?" she says. "You know how you are good at them. It can be a fun way to show Chip the analytical logistic side of your autism. That, and it's a good way to bring you together." Plankton considers this. Karen goes to the shelf in the corner of the room, where they keep their puzzles. She picks out one with a picture of Nosferatu. She brings it to Plankton. "This one?" she asks, holding it out. Plankton nods. "Sure," he says, his voice still tight. They bring the puzzle to the living room and spread it out on the coffee table. Karen starts laying out the pieces. Chip comes out of his room to see. Karen motions for Chip to join in. Plankton sits down with a sigh, his eye scanning the pieces. It's a familiar comfort, something that always made sense to him. He starts to pick out the edges, his hands moving with a precision that was second nature to him. Chip watches, fascinated. "You okay, Dad?" Chip asks tentatively. Plankton doesn't look up. "I'm fine," he mumbles, his voice still sharp. "But I'm not going to sit here and explain my entire life to you." Chip swallows hard, his eyes prickling with tears. He just wants to understand. So he picks up a puzzle piece. The three of them sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional clink of puzzle pieces connecting. Chip watches as Plankton's hands move swiftly, placing each piece with precision. He's never seen his dad do this, calculating the puzzle's pattern with ease. Plankton starts to relax, his breathing evening out as his mind focuses on the task. The room feels less claustrophobic, the pressure of their conversation easing slightly as they build something together. Chip's fingers hover over the pieces, uncertain. "Here," Plankton says without looking up, placing a piece in Chip's hand that fits perfectly into the spot he was just eyeing. Karen smiles at this small gesture, hopeful that the puzzle might serve as a bridge between the two. Chip's eyes widen as he fits the piece into place. "How did you know that went there?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder. Plankton shrugs. "It's just pattern. I find patterns.." He trails off, his hand picking up another piece, his mind working through the puzzle without barely even looking at it. Chip watches, a flicker of understanding passing over his features. "It's like your brain sees things we can't," he murmurs. Plankton ignores this. Chip tries again, his voice soft. "Dad, I just wanna ask you; why do you get so upset when people touch you?" He asks, placing a piece with care. Plankton's hand stops mid-air, a piece of the puzzle hovering. His shoulders tense. "It's not just you," he says, his voice tight. "It's about me." He places the piece down and looks at Chip, his eye full of frustration. "You don't get it; you never will.." Karen's eyes dart between them, her heart racing. "It's okay to not be okay," she says gently. "We're here to teach Chip together." But Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the puzzle, his thumbs rubbing against his fingers in a repetitive motion—a subtle stim that only Karen notices. "Dad," Chip says softly, picking up another piece, his voice shaking slightly. "It's just that, when you have those moments, I don't know what to do." Plankton's hand pauses, his breath catching. "What moments!" he asks, his tone defensive. "The moments when you shake and make noises," Chip explains, his voice barely above a whisper. "The moments when you're upset or scared." Karen's heart clenched at her son's brave attempt to connect. "Dad, I just don't get how you can do something as complex as a puzzle, but yet you can't even make eye contact.." Plankton's hand clenched around the puzzle piece, his knuckles turning white. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he chucked the puzzle piece onto the coffee table, and then marched to the bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 10 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) But before she can finish, Plankton turns, his face a mask of anger. "But I AM mad!" he yells, his voice echoing through their bedroom. It's a stark contrast to the man Chip knows—his father, the clever, resourceful, and always-in-control Plankton. Plankton stands, his body shaking with the force of his fury. He jumps off the bed, his legs wobbly. He stumbles towards the bedside table, his hands grabbing the leg so as to make it topple over. Chip gasps in horror. Plankton then goes to get a book, and he rips out the pages. He throws it down in front of Chip, purposefully missing him. Karen has seen Plankton's meltdowns before, though not with their son. Seeing Chip's upset form is new, unbearable. She has to do something; anything! Karen's instincts kick in, and she darts forward, desperate to stop Plankton's outburst. She wraps her arms around him from behind, body tense. "Plankton, stop," she whispers, her voice calm yet firm. He struggles against her, his body rigid. "Chip, go to your room while I handle this. NOW." Chip hesitates, his eyes wide with fear, but he does as he's told. He backs out of the room, his heart pounding. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Karen to deal with her husband. Plankton's limbs flail as he tries to break free. But Karen holds him firmly, her arms wrapped tightly around his body, to where Plankton can't move. She can feel his heaving breaths coming quickly. "Let me go," he whispers, his voice strained. But she doesn't seem to hear. If anything, she holds on tighter, her heart breaking. She's too upset, Chip's tears fresh in her memory. Plankton's eye is wide, his breathing ragged. He struggles harder, his body jerking as he tries to pull away from Karen's embrace. But she's too strong, her arms unyielding around him. Karen's grip didn't loosen; it only tightens, her fingers digging into his skin. He tries to push himself away. His body thrashed. But Karen's thinking about the look on Chip's face. She felt the need to protect him. Which makes her grip even more firm. Plankton feels trapped, his heart racing. The sensation of being held is overwhelming, his skin crawling. The panic rises in his chest. He can't think, can't breathe. Karen's only trying to calm Plankton down, but it's only making it worse. His body arches backward, his legs kicking out, trying to find purchase, trying to get away from the pressure. The painful cries finally manage to escape his throat, piercing the silence of their room. Only then does Karen realize her mistake. Her restraint isn't helping; it's hurting. She loosens her grip, her eyes filled with regret as noticed his distress. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton's already slipped from her arms, his body moving in a desperate escape. He backs into the corner, his tears falling. Karen's heart clenches as she sees the fear in his eye as he shrinks into himself. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry.." Plankton's back is to the wall, his body tight as a coiled spring. The fear in his gaze is unmistakable—he feels threatened, trapped. Yet Karen approaches him, her steps slow and careful. "Plankton," she says softly, stretching out a hand. "It's okay." But Plankton doesn't move from the floor. He's too overwhelmed by his emotions to trust her. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she watches his struggle. In that moment, Karen realizes the impact of her actions. She knew and understood it intellectually, but her heart aches to see him suffer. She wants to help, but fears she's only making it worse. She swallows hard, her hand still hovering. "Plankton.." Plankton flinches at the sound of her voice, his eye flicking to hers. The fear in his gaze is like a knife to her soul. "Please," she whispers, "I'm here. It's okay." Her hand falls to her side, open and non-threatening. But Plankton's already shook his head, his body curling in on itself. The tears are flowing freely now, his face twisted in anguish. "I just want it to stop," he whispers in self-talk, a vocal stim, his voice breaking. "I just... just want it to stop..." Karen watches from a distance, her own eyes brimming with tears. She understands his need for solitude, though her heart aches for him. She wants to rush over and hold him, tell him everything's okay, but she knows that could only make it worse. Instead, she sits on the edge of the bed, her hand twitching with the desire to reach out. "Take your time," she says softly. "I'm here for yo-" But Plankton's already moving away, his body tight as he retreats to his own corner of their room. Karen's heart squeezes in her chest, watching her husband's painful withdrawal. He curls into a ball on his side, his back to her. "I'm sorry," she whispers, the words feeling so small and inadequate. But Plankton doesn't react, lost in his own world of overwhelming emotion as he stays on the floor. Karen's heart is in her throat as she watches his retreat, her body frozen in place. She understands his need for solitude, for space to unravel his tangled thoughts and feelings. But it's hard not to want to rush over and take away his pain. Her hand hovers in the air, but she doesn't reach out. Instead, she lets him have the distance he needs. With a sigh, she stands, her legs shaky. She needs to check on Chip. She crosses the hallway, each footfall echoing through the quiet house. When she opens the door to his room, she finds him sitting on his bed.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 5 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen sighed heavily, her heart breaking for Chip. She knew Plankton's outburst was rooted in his own pain and fear, but it was still hard to watch Chip's hope crumble. She stood and walked over to her son, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I know this is tough," she said soothingly. "But we're in this together, okay?" Chip nodded, his eyes still on the closed door. "But why can't he just tell me?" he asked, his voice small. "Why can't he tell me why he's upset?" Karen sat back down, her eyes never leaving Chip's. "Your dad's autism affects how he processes emotions, sweetie. Sometimes it's hard for him to express what he's feeling. And when he's overwhelmed, like after a seizure, it's even harder." Chip nodded again, but his brow was furrowed. The puzzle lay forgotten between them, the pieces spread out like a silent argument on the table. Karen's eyes searched the living room, looking for something to say, some way to ease the tension. "You know," she began, "Your dad's good at a lot of things." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the door. "I know he can make amazing inventions and cook," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But why can't he tell me about his autism?" Karen took a deep breath. "It's because his brain is different, Chip. And he's scared that you won't understand or that you'll think less of him." Chip looked down at the puzzle piece in his hand, turning it over. "But I don't think less of him," he murmured. "I just want to be there for him." Karen's heart ached. "And you will, Chip," she said, her voice filled with love. "But you have to let him come to you in his own time. He's not ready to talk about it yet." Chip nodded slowly, his thumb tracing the pattern of the puzzle piece. "Okay," he said. "But I'll keep trying." Karen's eyes filled with pride. "That's all one can ask." Chip follows Karen into the bedroom. Plankton sat on his bed, his body tensing up. Chip took a deep breath and sat down beside him. "Dad," he began, his voice steady, "I know you're upset. But I want to learn about your autism. I want to understand why you stim, why you need space.." "STOP!" Plankton's voice is sharp. "Just STOP with the pity party!" He spun around, his eye blazing. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me!" Chip took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I'm not pitying you, Dad," he said. "I'm just trying to learn ab--" "No!" Plankton interrupted. "I don't need you to learn about me!" His voice was shaking, his hands waving in the air. "I need you to leave me alone!" Karen stepped in, placing a hand on Plankton's shoulder. "Honey, maybe this isn't the best time to talk about this." But Plankton shrugged her off, his eye still on Chip. "You don't get it," he said, his voice rising. "You never will! You're not like me!" The words stung, but Chip refused to back down. "But that's the point," he said, his voice firm. "I want to know what it's like for yo--" "You can't know!" Plankton snapped. "You can't even begin to understand!" His fists were clenched, his body rigid with anger. "I don't want you to know!" Chip nods. "Well, you let MOM in, so why can't you let ME in too?" The room was silent except for Plankton's harsh breathing. He looked away, his gaze drifting to the closed curtains. "It's different with her," he muttered. "She's known me forever." Chip felt a pang of jealousy, but pushed it aside. "But we're family, Dad. And I'm here to help you," he insisted. Karen stepped in, her voice calm and soothing. "Plankton, Chip just wants to be there for you." Plankton turned to her, his eye swirling with a mix of anger and despair. "But I can't explain it," he whispered. "I can't make him understand." Karen took his hand, her touch gentle. "You don't have to explain everything," she said. "But you can start by sharing some things. Show him your box of stim toys‽" Plankton's gaze flickered to the shelf in the corner, where his box of stims was tucked away. He had never shared them with Chip before. It was a private part of his life, a comfort he didn't want exposed to his son. But his son's persistent curiosity and the hope in Karen's eyes made him consider it. He stood up, his legs unsteady, and went to the shelf. With trembling hands, Plankton pulled out the box, setting it on the bed by him. He sat down beside it, avoiding eye contact. "These are mine," he said, his voice low. "They can help me feel better." He opened the box, revealing a collection of fidget toys, textures, and sensory items. Chip leaned in, curiosity replacing the hurt in his eyes. He picked up an old but flexible octopus, its twisty tentacles tubes. "It's like bendy straws," he murmurs. But as Chip fidgeted with it, his grip was off, and then the toy dropped, the tentacles snapping off. Plankton's eye widened in horror. "You broke it," he whispered. Chip felt his stomach drop. "I- I'm sorry, Dad," he stutters, picking up the broken pieces. "It was an accident." The room grew tense again. Karen stood, her eyes darting between her husband and son. "That's okay, Chip." Karen soothes, setting the broken toy on the bed. Plankton didn't move as he sat still, his body rigid. Chip notices how Plankton's unblinking eye didn't even budge. "It's just a toy, Dad," Chip whispers, but Plankton's still frozen. "Dad?" Chip's voice cracks, the silence in the room thickening. But Karen has seen this to many times before, how he'd get absence seizures. Plankton's body stiffens more, his eye glazing over. "Dad?" Chip says, louder this time. Karen knew she needed to explain to Chip what's going on. "Chip, your dad's having an absence seizure," she says, keeping her voice calm. "It's like a brief moment of zoning out for us, but for your father, this is a type of small seizure." Chip's eyes widened in fear, watching his father's unresponsive state. "But he's breathing," he says, his voice shaking. Karen nods. "He's ok. Just wait for him, Chip. It's like everything's in shock."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 8 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Chip can feel the awkwardness emanating from his dad, his social cues askew. It's strange, seeing this powerful man so lost in the complexities of a simple interaction. "I... I'm sorry," Plankton finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip's heart squeezes. "For what?" he asks, his tone gentle. Plankton's gaze drops to the floor. "For yesterday," he murmurs. "For the... meltdowns." He can't bring himself to meet Chip's eyes, his hands twitching nervously. Chip nods, his eyes filling with understanding. "It's okay, Dad," he says. "You have your moments. We all do." Plankton's head looks up, his eye wide. "It's okay to be scared," Chip tells him. "It's part of loving someone.." Plankton turns away. "S'not scared; that's not playing I tell you, not my point." He was engaging in self-talk, Chip realized; Plankton's stim. Chip gets out of bed, his movements slow and deliberate not to startle his dad. He approaches his father, his eyes filled with empathy. "Dad," he says, his voice soft. "It's okay to feel scared or sad or any of the things that come with being upset. It's okay to not have the wor—" But Plankton cuts him off with a sharp, "No, it's not okay!" His voice is harsh. "It's never okay!" Chip's stomach drops, his words forgotten. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice small. "I just wa-" "Don't," Plankton snaps, his tone hard. "Don't sorry me." He turns away, his body shaking with frustration. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his throat tight. "I'm just trying to understand," he whispers. Plankton's eye flips back to him, his gaze intense. "Then understand this," he says, his voice sharp. "I. Don't. Need. YOU. I Don't." The words are a slap in the face, a rejection of Chip's attempt to help. "But Dad," Chip starts, his voice trembling. "You-" "NO!" Plankton's outburst silences him. "I don't need my son to parent me! And I don't need your pity or your explanations! So just leave me alone!" "Dad," Chip whispers, his voice cracking. "I'm just trying to help." Plankton's shoulders tense, his body language shouting his frustration. "I don't want your help!" he spat out. "I don't need it!" The force behind his words is like a punch to Chip's gut. He's never seen his father so defensive, so desperate to maintain his independence. "But you were upset," Chip insists, his eyes welling with tears. "I just wanted to make it be—" "I SAID NO!" Plankton's voice booms. Chip's eyes widen in shock. "I can handle myself," Plankton continues, his fists clenched at his sides. "I don't need you to make it better. I need you to let me be!" With those words, he spins on his heel and exits out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Chip watches his retreat, his heart pounding in his chest. He's never seen his dad so defensive, so unwilling to accept help or comfort. The silence left behind is deafening, each tick of the clock a reminder of the distance that's grown between them. Chip feels the weight of his dad's rejection, but he also understands the need for space just comes with autism. He wipes his eyes, his mind racing with thoughts of what he could have done differently, what he can do to bridge this gap. Karen sits up in bed as her husband enters their shared room angrily. "Plankton, whaa-" He cuts her off with a wave of his hand, his body still vibrating with frustration. "I can't do this," he says, his voice shaking. "I can't be a dad like this." He collapses on his bed, his back to her. Karen's eyes are filled with worry, but she knows better than to push him right now. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just... I can't control it." Karen moves closer, her hand reaching out tentatively. "You don't have to control everything," she says, her tone gentle. "You're doing the best you can." But Plankton's already gone, retreating into his own mind. His eye is squeezed shut, his body tightening into a tiny ball. Karen watches his retreat, her heart breaking. She knows this isn't personal, that his autism often leads to moments like these, where he needs to shut the world out to survive. Chip then comes in the room. He only wanted to explain himself. "Dad, I—" Plankton's body tenses at his voice. "Go, away." His tone is cold, his eye still pressed into the pillow. Karen sighs, giving Chip a sad look. "Just let him to process," she whispers, squeezing his shoulder. Reluctantly, Chip backs out of the room, his heart heavy. He understands his dad's need for solitude, but it doesn't make the rejection any easier to swallow. He sits outside their door, his ear pressed against the wood, listening for any sign that Plankton might need him. Karen turns to Plankton, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and sadness. "It's hard, isn't it?" she says, her voice gentle. "You're just overwhelmed. Yesterday was a lot." Plankton nods, his body still tense. "Can't... can't do it," he whispers. "Can't force Chip to understand." Karen nods. "I know, sweetie." Her hand reaches out to his shoulder, but he flinches away, retreating further into his blankets. "Chip won't get it," he mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow. "He never will." The room feels smaller, the weight of Plankton's emotions pressing in on Karen. She knows his frustration isn't just about yesterday. It's about his entire life, about the challenges he faces every day, about feeling like he's always one step behind in a world that's too loud, too bright, too confusing. Chip's footsteps retreat down the hallway, his sobs barely audible. Karen's heart aches for her son, who's trying so hard to understand his father's autism. She knows how much Plankton loves Chip, but sometimes, that love is lost in the upset of his own mind. She sits on the edge of the bed, her hand resting lightly on his back. "You're so loved," she says, her voice low. She's seen this before, his retreat into his own mind when the world becomes too much. But Plankton doesn't answer. Karen knows better than to force her way in, so she waits. She knew that patience is key to unlocking the door of his solitude. But then, she hears it—a stim she knew; Plankton talking to himself. "Why can't he just leave me be," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Why do you have to try and fix me.." Karen's heart breaks a little more. She knows that's not what Chip's trying to do, but she also knows that autism can make even the best intentions feel like an as*ault. She remains silent, giving him the space he needs to process his thoughts. "It's like I'm not the boss or in trouble," Plankton said tensely, his voice quiet. "And everyone's trying to pop in." Karen's eyes fill with tears. She knows that feeling, the overwhelming sensation of the world pushing in, trying to change who you are. She reaches out her hand, this time more tentatively. "You don't have to be anything but you," she whispers. Plankton's body stiffens at her touch, but he doesn't pull away. "Chip loves you, just as you are." He turns to face her, his eye glinting with anger. "But I'm not enough," he says, his voice tight. "I'm not normal." Karen's heart clenches at his words. "Normal is a setting on a dryer," she replies, her tone firm. "You're more than enough." Then Chip comes back in.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 3 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Without warning, Plankton flung the pillow across the room, the motion startling both Chip and Karen. "I can't handle this!" he yelled, his arms flailing, his legs kicking the bed. His fist connected with the wall, leaving a dent, his gaze landing on Chip. The anger was raw, unfiltered. "Chip," Karen said gently, taking her son's hand. "Let's give your dad some time to calm down." But Chip's eyes were on the pillow, on the wall, on his father's shaking body. "But he's hurt," Chip protested, his voice trembling. "I know, sweetie," Karen whispered, her eyes filled with sorrow. "But this isn't about you. This is about his feelings and his fears. We'll talk when he's ready." Karen guided Chip out of the room. As they stepped out, she turned to Chip. "Chip," she said, her voice calm. "It is okay to be scared and curious. But we have to respect his feelings too." Chip nodded, but his eyes were still on the door, his mind racing. He couldn't shake the image of his father's shaking body, the harshness of his voice. Karen led Chip into the living room, her hand on his shoulder. "Why don't we sit down?" she suggests, guiding him to the couch. Chip sat, his body stiff, his mind swirling with questions. "Mom," he managed, "what's up with Dad, this autism?" Karen sat down beside him, her expression a mix of love and sadness. "It's like his brain works in a different way, Chip. Sometimes it's like he has a glitch, and the seizures are part of that." Her words were slow and careful. "But why is he so upset?" Chip's voice was tiny, lost. "Because, honey," Karen sighed, "it's hard for him to explain. It's like when you don't want to talk about something because it makes you feel different or scared." Chip nodded, recalling how he felt when he was the only one in his class who didn't get to go on a field trip. "But Mom it's not the same," he said, his voice thick with tears. "I know it's not the same, Chip," Karen said, wrapping her arms around him. "But it's how he feels. Sometimes, people with autism get overwhelmed, and they just need some time to process things." Chip looked up at his mother, his eyes full of questions. "But why does he get so jumpy?" "It's part of his sensory overload, baby," Karen explained. "His brain gets too much information at once, and it's like his body's way of saying 'Whoa, let me catch up!' You know how you hate it when I interrupt your video games?" Chip nods. "Well, imagine if that was happening all the time, without any warning. That's kind of what it's like for him." Chip thought for a moment, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. He didn't know much about autism, but he knew he loved his dad. "But why does he stim if he doesn't even like to do it?" he asked, his voice small. Karen sighed, stroking his back. "Sometimes, when people have autism, their bodies do things to help them cope. It's like when you get really nervous and you bite your nails," she explained. "You do it to feel better, even though you don't like it." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the door. "But why does he get so mad at me?" Chip's voice was barely above a whisper. "It's not you, Chip. It's the situation. When he's over- whelmed, it's hard for him to communicate what he's feeling," Karen replied, her voice filled with understanding. "But I just want to know why he's different," Chip whispered, his eyes still fixed on the door. Karen took a deep breath. She decided to tell him. "Your dad had a hard start at birth," she began. "When he was born, the pressure was really hard on him.." Chip frowned, not understanding. "That's why he's autistic?" Karen nodded. "It's one of the many things that can cause autism. His brain was a bit 'jumbled' while he was born, so it developed differently. That's why we have to be patient and understanding." Chip nods slowly, trying to process the new information. "So, it's like how a plastic water bottle gets crushed while in an airplane, due to the pressure?" Chip asked, using a simple metaphor to grasp the complexity of his dad's condition. Karen nods. "Pretty much," she said, her voice gentle. "But instead of the pressure changing a bottle's shape, it was his brain's formation that's affected, during his birth." Karen knew that explaining autism to Chip would be a journey, not a single conversation. "But Dad's not broken," Chip said, his voice firm. "He's still Dad." Karen's heart swelled with pride. "That's right," she said, smiling.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 9 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton's eye darts to the side. "Hi Chip," Karen says, her voice steady. "Your dad's still just... feeling a little overwhelmed." Chip nods, his expression serious. Chip sits on the bed, not touching his father, giving him the space he needs. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice soft. "You don't have to talk to—" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharper than a knife. "Don't tell me what I have to do!" he snaps, his body jolting with anger. "I'm not your baby!" His eye is wild. Karen's eyes widen. "Plankton, please," she starts, but he interrupts again. "I can't do this," he says, his voice breaking. "I can't be Chip's dad like this." His fist slams into the mattress. Chip's heart is racing, his eyes glued to his father's distressed form. He wants to comfort him, but he doesn't know how. "Dad," he begins, his voice tentative. "You're more than en-" "DON'T!" Plankton roars, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't tell me what I am or what I'm not!" His voice shakes with emotion. Chip's eyes fill with hurt. "But Dad, I'm just-" Plankton's hands tense up, silencing his son. "I know what you're doing," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "And it's not helping." His body is coiled tight, as if he's ready to snap. The room is thick with the tension of unspoken words, the weight of emotions that neither of them can fully express. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his throat tightening. "But I just want to help," he whispers. Plankton's gaze remains on the floor, his body vibrating with repressed anger at Chip. Plankton's hand shoots out, his grip tight on Chip's arm. "You want to help?" he sneers. "Then leave me be!" His voice is a whisper, but the rage is unmistakable. Chip's eyes widen in shock at the physical contact, his heart pounding in his chest. "Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "It's okay to not be okay." But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. He's lost in his own world of pain and frustration. "I don't need you to fix me!" he yells, pushing Chip away as he let go. The sudden movement sends the boy stumbling backward, tears streaming down his face. Karen stands, her hand on her chest, her eyes wide. "Plankton," she says firmly, "That's enough." Her voice cuts through the tension like a knife, but Plankton's eye stays on Chip, his gaze still furious. Chip slumps to the floor, his cheeks wet with tears. "I just wanted to be there for you," he chokes out, his voice breaking. "But you're always pushing me away.." Plankton's face contorts in a mix of anger and sorrow. He knows his son means well, but his intentions feel like a threat to his very existence. "I don't need your pity," he says, his voice low and hard. "I don't need you to act superior just ‘cause I'm not like everyone else!" His fists clench, his body trembling with the effort of holding his emotions in check. Chip's eyes are wide, his mind racing to understand. "Dad, I don't think I'm better," he says, his voice shaking. "I just want to help you." But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. He's too lost in his own mind, too overwhelmed by his own pain. Karen steps forward, her eyes full of concern. "Plankton," she says. "You're scaring Chip." Plankton's eye flicks to his son, who's cowering against the wall. Yet her eyes are filled with sorrow. "You're my Plankton." She moves closer, her hand outstretched. "And Chip's dad." Plankton's body tenses, his grip on the bedpost tight. For a moment, it seems like he's going to pull away, but then something in him gives. His hand relaxes, his shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just... I just can't... " And then, without warning, his body starts to shake. It's not the full-blown seizure Chip's seen before, but a smaller, quieter version—a pseudoseizure, his mind's desperate attempt to cope. Karen's eyes widen in recognition, knowing the signs all too well. She moves quickly to his side, her hand hovering over his, unsure if he'll accept the comfort. Chip's eyes are glued to his dad, his heart racing. But Plankton doesn't acknowledge him, his eye unfocused, lost in his own inner turmoil. Karen's hand settles on his arm, her grip firm but gentle. The tremors increase, his body jerking slightly. Karen's hand moves to his back, rubbing slow circles. "Shh," she soothes, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay, baby." Plankton's breathing is quick. Chip feels helpless, watching his hero. The pseudoseizure passed, leaving Plankton limp, his breathing ragged. Karen's eyes are filled with sadness but determination. "Honey? It's ok, Plankton; the worst is over.." Plankton blinks, his gaze unfocused as he looks at Karen, then at Chip, who's still on the floor, tears drying on his cheeks. "What... what's happen'd?" he asks, his voice weak. "You had a pseudoseizure," Karen says, her voice calm and soothing. "It's okay, now." She helps him sit up, his body protesting with a soft groan. Chip watches, his heart racing. He's seen his father's meltdowns before, yet this... this is new to him. Plankton looks at Chip, his eye filled with something that Chip can't quite read. It's not anger anymore, but it's not affection either. It's a mix of sadness and regret. "Dad," Chip says, his voice quiet. "I just want to be there for you." But Plankton simply shakes his head. "I know who's it talking about," Plankton says in self-talk, as he faces away. Karen looks at her son, her heart heavy. She knows this is hard for Chip, who's always been eager to please and understand. "Give your dad some space," she whispers, her eyes sad. "He's not mad at you."

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ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴡɴsᴏɴs ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ!! ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴘɪɴɢ ᴅᴀʏs,ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴅᴀʏs, sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ, ᴀɴᴅ sʟᴇᴇᴘᴏᴠᴇʀs! ᴏɴʟʏ ʀᴇᴀʟɪsᴛɪᴄ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ. ᴄᴀɴ ᴊᴏɪɴ! ᴀᴅᴅ: sᴛᴀʀᴊᴋ𝟼 ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴏᴍ-ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴅᴀᴅ-ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴋɪᴅ(𝟸 ᴏʀ 𝟹) -ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴅ (𝟷 ᴏʀ 𝟸)-𝟷 ᴏᴘᴇɴ (ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ) ʙᴀʙʏ-ᴏᴘᴇɴ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴏʀ sᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ!!˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗🕊🧑‍🧑‍🧒

★ ° ｡💭﹟ уσυ'νє נυѕт вєєη ιηνιтє∂ тσ тнє нσℓℓιѕ ƒαмιℓу! ωнαт ωιℓℓ уσυ ∂σ? נσιη ησω; мυℓтι ƒαм яρ! 🥛 ; ! ﹒ zᶻ 🎃 ˚ α∂∂ мє; ! - ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ꜱᴘᴏᴛᴛɪᴇᴅᴏᴛᴛʏ ᴏɴ ʀʙʟx , ɴᴏᴛ ᴜʀꜱ 🎀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⡤⢠⣶⠂⢹⡆⠀⢸⣸⣿⣉⣭⣿⢛⡵⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⠁⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠂⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠹⢶⣼⡿⣷⢸⠈⣆⢸⡇⢀⣫⣼⠋⠉⢩⠏⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣟⣿⠀⠀⢰⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣽⡏⠘⢀⣻⣼⠿⠟⠋⣤⣠⡼⠋⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⡿⠸⣏⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠤⠤⣀⣀⣠⡴⠟⣹⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⡶⢹⠇⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⢀⣠⠟⠀⣟⠀⠹⣦⡀⠀⠀⠘⢮⡙⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⣴⠏⠀⢿⡟⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠟⠁⠀⠙⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢏⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠟⢀⡞⣁⣤⠶⠞⣿⠏⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⣀⠀⠀⠻⣄⠀⠀⠉⢷⡀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡾⠃⠀⠀⠸⣿⣆⠙⣶⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡀⠀⠀⢰⠟⣀⡴⠟⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⡇⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⡉⠙⠓⠦⣬⣇⡀⠁⠀⠳⢶⣴⠟⠉⠀⢀⣠⣴⡄⣿⡹⣦⠀⠙⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢦⣄⢀⣾⣿⣴⣴⣶⣾⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⣀⠈⠛⠷⡶⠾⠋⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠸⣧⠀⠈⠙⠻⣿⣗⠦⠿⣾⣿⣿⣿⠶⠦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠏⠀⢹⡄⠀⣰⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢩⣛⠿⣧⣅⣴⡿⣿⣽⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣄⣸⠃⠀⢿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡀⠸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⡀⠙⠻⢯⣗⣦⣄⡙⠳⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡🤍ྀི

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠃⠀⠙⠻⣟⠛⢻⡟⠛⡇⠀⠛⡇⠀⠛⠿⡿⠛⠛⠟⠛⠻⣿⠀⣹⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⡆⠀⣴⠀⢸⡆⠀⠆⢰⡇⠀⠒⡇⠀⡆⠀⡇⠀⡆⠀⡆⠀⣿⠐⢂⣤⣾⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣴⣷⣤⣾⣴⣾⣿⣀⣠⣿⣿⣶⣦⣷⣶⣷⣶⣷⣶⣷⣴⣷⣦⣿⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⢋⠉⣿⡟⠋⡙⠻⡟⠋⠙⢻⠀⠀⠛⠛⠻⠟⠋⠛⢿⠛⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⡙⠈⠁⠂⣿⠁⠀⡇⠀⡄⠀⠂⠀⡀⠀⠚⠀⢸⠀⠘⠀⢸⠀⢰⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⣄⣿⣶⣶⣷⣶⣿⣷⣶⣶⣿⣶⣶⣶⣾⣷⣶⣶⣷⣶⣾⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

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𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 11 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "Chip, honey," Karen says softly, stepping into his room. "Are you okay?" Her voice is gentle, soothing. He sniffles. "I just... I don't know what to do," he admits, his voice small. Karen's heart clenches at the sight of his pain. Moving to his side, she sits on the bed, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Your dad's just overwhelmed," she explains. "His brain works different than ours, and sometimes, it just gets too much." Chip nods, his eyes still red from crying. "But why does he have to push me away?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion. "Why can't he just... just let me he–" Karen sighs, her eyes sad. "It's not about rejection, baby," she says. "It's just his way of dealing with things. Sometimes, his body needs space, you know?" Chip nods, but his lip quivers. He knows she's right, but it still stings. Karen wraps her arms around him, pulling his body into her embrace. "You're so brave," she whispers, kissing the top of his head. "And you love your dad so much." Chip leans into her, his shoulders shaking. "But he doesn't love me back," he whispers. Karen's heart breaks. "Oh, honey," she says, wiping the tears. "He loves you. It's just... it's hard for him to show it sometimes. And that's ok." Chip pulls away, his face a mask of confusion and hurt. "But why does he have to be so mean?" Karen sighs. "It's not that he's mean," she explains, choosing her words with care. "It's just that his brain gets too full, and it's like... like when you have too much homework and you just can't think straight, you know?" Chip nods slightly, his eyes still swollen from crying. "It's like his brain's homework never ends, and sometimes, it's just too much." They sit there, the silence stretching between them, filled with the understanding that comes from shared pain. Karen holds Chip, her heart breaking for both her son and her husband. She wishes she could take away the hurt, but she knows that's not how it works. "You know," Karen says, her voice soft, "your dad loves you more than you'll ever know." Chip looks up at her, his eyes still wet. "But he doesn't act like it," he sighs, his shoulders slumping. Karen's heart aches, but she nods. "I know it's hard to see that sometimes, but he does. He just shows it differently. Like when he asks you how your school day went, or when he lets you play with his tools. That's his way of saying 'I love you'." Chip considers her words, his expression still sad. "But it's not the same," he whispers. "It doesn't feel like love." Karen's eyes fill with tears as she squeezes his shoulder. "It is, sweetheart," she says, "It's just... his... autism love." Her voice cracks, and Chip looks up at her, his eyes searching hers. "But why can't he just tell me?" he asks, his voice desperate. Karen takes a deep breath. "Because some words are hard for him," she says, her voice gentle. "But actions aren't. And he shows you every day. He just needs you to see it in his own way." Karen's heart is heavy with the weight of her words. She knows it's not easy for Chip, but she also knows that Plankton does love him, in his own strange, unconventional way. And maybe, just maybe, if they can find a way to bridge that gap, their relationship can grow stronger. "You're his hero," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. "And he's yours." Chip sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "But I don't know how to be there for him," he admits. Karen smiles sadly. "You already can," she says, her eyes shining. "You just have to learn to speak his language." Chip looks up at her, hope flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?" Karen sighs. "I mean, you have to understand that his love is different, but no less real." She takes a deep breath. "You have to find ways to show it without overwhelming his senses." She pauses. "Like his tools." Chip nods, his thoughts racing. "And his knowledge," he adds, his voice tentative. Karen nods. "Exactly. He's always loved sharing those things with you." Her hand gently strokes his back as she continues. "But you also need to respect his boundaries, even when you don't fully understand them." Chip nods again, his throat tight. "I'll try," he whispers. Karen smiles. "That's all any of us can do, sweetheart." Chip sighs. "But how do I know what he needs, Mom?" he asks. "How do I tell when he needs space?" Karen's hand pauses on his back, her expression thoughtful. "Well," she starts, "you've got to pay attention. Look for the signs. When he turns his body away, or his eye glazes over—that's usually when he's feeling overwhelmed." "And when he starts repeating things," she adds. "Or when he gets really focused on one thing—like his stims. That's his way of centering himself." Chip nods, his mind racing to think of times he's seen these behaviors. "But what if I miss them?" he asks, his voice tight with worry. "What if I do something that makes it worse?" Karen smiles, her eyes filled with love and understanding. "It's okay to make mistakes," she says. "We all do." She pauses, her thumb brushing away a stray tear on Chip's cheek. "I even have. But you're trying to learn, and that's what matters." They sit in silence for a moment, the comfort of each other's presence soothing the raw edges of their emotions. Then Karen stands, her eyes filled with determination. "Come on," she says, holding out her hand. "Let's go check on your dad." Chip hesitates, his heart still racing, but he takes her hand and lets her lead the way. They tiptoe back across the hallway, their steps quiet as they approach the shared bedroom.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 14 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen and Chip go back to the living room. Plankton's still doing the Nosferatu puzzle at the coffee table. He looked up at his wife and son as they entered. Karen knew to approach him gently. "How's it going?" she asks, her voice soft, not wanting to startle. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, and he formed the 'Okay' sign with his hand. It was a simple word, but it spoke volumes. Karen took a seat on the couch across from Plankton, giving him the distance he needed. Chip sat beside her, his eyes glued to the puzzle. They sat in silence. The only sound were the soft clicks of the puzzle pieces being placed. Karen noticed that Chip's hands open, for he wished to try communicating Plankton's signs. She looks at Plankton. "Could I sit with you?" Karen asked, her voice softer than usual. Plankton's eye met hers, his antennae twitching once. He signed 'Yes'. Chip's hand shot up, eager to show he'd learned. He signed 'Yes' too, his movements clumsy but understood. Plankton nodded slightly, his antennae drooping a little less. He took a deep breath, focusing on his puzzle again. The room was still, the only sounds the occasional click of puzzle pieces fitting into place. Chip watched his dad, his heart aching. He knew his dad wasn't mad at him, but he couldn't shake the feeling of rejection. He wanted to help, to fix whatever was broken, but he didn't know how. Karen noticed Chip's sadness. "It's not you, sweetie," she whispers. "He's just trying to keep it all together. It's like when you get so upset you can't even talk. Remember?" Chip nods. He'd had his share of overwhelming moments too. "But he loves us," Karen adds, her voice firm. "It's just his way of showing it right now." Plankton looks up at Karen. His antennae twitch again, his hand moving in a pattern Chip hadn't seen. 'Need Less Sound'. Karen nods, her eyes understanding. She glances at Chip, who's looking at his dad with a mix of sorrow and curiosity. "What does that mean?" Chip asks, his voice barely a murmur. Karen smiles gently, her eyes meeting Chip's. "It means he wants us to be quieter," she explains. "Let's keep our voices down, okay?" Chip nods solemnly. So, they sit. They sat in the quiet, each of them trying their best to keep their movements to a minimum. Plankton's hands continue to work on the puzzle, his antennae occasionally twitching as he searches for the right pieces. Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Plankton flinched. Karen looks out of the peephole to see Hanna, her old friend. "Huh; my friend Hanna's here." Neither Plankton nor Chip have met her. "Mom, does she know about Dad's aut-" "No," Karen says quickly, cutting Chip off. She glances at Plankton, his antennae twitching rapidly. "It's not up to you to tell her about it, Chip. Plankton, I know you're still recovering from yesterday and it's fine if you wanna sign in front of her, you don't have to talk." She then opens the door. "Hi, Karen!" Hanna says. Karen gives her a hug. "Hey Hanna; you haven't met my family yet.." Hanna steps into the living room. "Hi, Ms. Hanna," Chip says. "My name is Chip." Hanna smiles. "Well hello there Chip!" Hanna gives him a hug before turning to Plankton. "I'm guessing you must be Karen's husband?" Karen nods silently. "This is my husband, Plankton." Plankton looks up at Hanna, his antennae twitching. He signs quickly. 'Hello'. Hanna's eyes widen. "Oh," she says, her voice filled with surprise. "Uhm– I'm glad to meet you?" She held out her hand, hoping he'd shake it. But Plankton doesn't move. His antennae twitch again, his hand forming the 'No' sign. Karen then steps in. "Hanna, Plankton's feeling a bit overwhelmed right now. Could we maybe talk in the kitchen?" Hanna nods, looking slightly confused. "Sure," she says. Chip follows his mom, glancing back at his dad. Plankton's gaze doesn't leave the puzzle. Karen decides not to bring up Plankton. Yet Hanna's curious. "Is Plankton deaf?" Hanna asks, her voice hushed. "He seemed a bit... off?" Karen sighs, her eyes darting back to the living room. "He's just having a tough day," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "So what brings you here, Hanna?" "Oh, I just wanted to stay due to home renovations," Hanna says. "But if you're not feeling up to it..." Karen shakes her head. "No, no. We're okay." But she's not sure if Plankton will like this temporary change. "You can stay in the guest room, Hanna." Hanna nods. She and Chip followed Karen back into the living room, where Plankton still worked on the puzzle. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice gentle. "Hanna's going to stay with us for a bit." Plankton's antennae twitch sharply, his hand moving quickly. 'How Long?' he asks, his signs a silent question. "Shouldn't be more than a week," Karen answers, as Hanna watched with wide eyes. Karen notices the concern in Plankton's gaze. "Remember what we talked about?" Karen reminds him. "Routines can be altered for a short time. It's okay." Plankton's hand moves again, forming the 'Okay' sign, though his antennae still twitch with anxiety. Karen smiles, her eyes warm. Hanna looks from Karen to Plankton, her confusion growing. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice low. Karen nods. "Yes," she says. But Chip jumps in, eager to explain. "My dad is–" "Chip," Karen interrupts. "It is okay. Hanna will be here until her house is fixed up." Plankton's antennae twitched again, his eye slightly wider. 'Now?' his hand signs. Karen shakes her head. "Just a week, honey. We need to spend some time with Hanna." Plankton sighs, his body slumping. He doesn't move from his spot on the couch, his gaze never leaving the puzzle. Hanna just stared. "What's his deal?" Hanna whispers, her eyes darting between Karen and Plankton. "It's a bit of a sensitive topic," Karen says, her voice a mix of apology and concern. She looks at Plankton, who's now signing 'Space'. "But, is he ok?" Hanna asks, her voice a mix of worry and curiosity. "He's ok," Karen assures, her gaze focused on Plankton. "My da-" "Chip," Karen interjects before her son can finish. "It's up to your dad if he wants to elaborate." Chip nods, looking back to the puzzle. Hanna frowns. The tension in the room is palpable. Plankton's antennae are in a constant state of twitching as he tries to make sense of this new development. His world has been thrown into chaos by the sudden intrusion of an unfamiliar person. He signs 'Too Much', his hands shaking slightly. Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know it's a lot," she says. "But it's for a week, and she'll make sure to be respectful, okay?" Plankton's antennae slow their erratic dance, and he nods once, his hand moving to form the 'Okay' sign. Yet Hanna doesn't understand his Sign Language.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 15 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "Is he okay with me being here?" Hanna asks again, her screen filled with genuine concern. Karen nods, her eyes on Plankton. "He's just a bit... overwhelmed, right now. Give him some time to adjust." Hanna nods, though the questioning expression on her screen doesn't fade. "Can he hear what we're saying at all?" Plankton's antennae shoot up. His eye moves from the puzzle to Hanna. He signs 'Yes' with a look of slight annoyance, clearly hearing her question. Karen smiles slightly, feeling a tiny bit of pride for his usual stubbornness. "He's signing yes," she translates. Hanna nods, though it's clear she's still confused. "But why?" she whispers to Karen. "Why doesn't he just talk?" Karen sighs, looking to Plankton. Her hands move with care, forming the words 'Do you want her to know about your autism?' Plankton's eye darts to Hanna, then back to Karen. His hand shakes as he signs 'No'. Karen nods before turning back to Hanna. "Plankton's just not feeling up to talking right now," she says, her voice calm. "But he can hear and understand everything we say." Hanna nods, looking slightly embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to intrude." But Plankton shakes his head with a glare at Hanna before going back to the bedroom. The door shuts with a firm click. Karen looks at Chip, who's staring at the spot where Plankton was. "He's okay," she repeats. "But he needs his space." Chip nods, his throat tight. "I just want to help him." Karen's eyes soften. "I know you do, sweetie," she says. Hanna sighs. "Karen, did I offend him?" "It's not you," Karen says quickly, her eyes darting to the puzzle. "He's just... different." Hanna frowns, but she doesn't push. Instead, she looks around, taking in the quiet house. "I'll set up my things in the guest room," she says. "Okay, but if you need anything, let me know." Karen says. She then goes to the bedroom she shares with Plankton. When she enters, Plankton's on the bed, his back to the door. His antennae are flat against his head, a clear sign of his discomfort. Karen sits beside him, her hand hovering over his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't think about how this would affect you." Plankton turns to her, his eye wet. "It's okay," he says. His voice is barely a whisper. "I just can't... I don't know how to socialize with her, I guess.." Karen nods, her heart heavy. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, honey," she says. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton's antennae twitch. He reaches for her hand. The first time he's initiated touch after yesterday. Karen smiles. They sit for a moment, the silence between them comfortable. "Remember," Karen says, "you can always tell me what you need, or even Hanna. We're here for you." Plankton's grip tightens for a second, then relaxes. He nods. "Okay," he whispers. "But I'm not crawling to Hanna. She's just your friend.." Hanna then knocks on their bedroom door. Karen opens it for her. "On my phone I get weather notifications, and a thunderstorm is coming. Not a dang€rous one, though slight hail is expected." Hanna says. Karen nods. "Thanks. Plankton doesn't like the loud noises. So thank you for the heads up." Karen retrieves a set of earplugs from Plankton's nightstand drawer. They were a lifeline for him during storms or any time his senses overwhelmed. They only muffled sounds a bit, yet Karen knew he'd want her to use Sign Language herself more; Plankton can't understand verbalizations when his earbuds were in. Plankton nods gratefully as Karen gets his earbuds. The first drops of rain patter against the window as he put them in. He looks at Karen, his antennae twitching. With a sigh, he forms the letters 'T', 'H', 'A', 'N', 'K', 'Y', 'O', 'U', 'K', 'A', 'R', 'E', 'N'. "Thank you Karen," his hands sign, as Chip comes in the bedroom. Karen sees Chip's confused face. She explains, "Your dad just thanked me for getting his earplugs. A st0rm is coming soon." Chip nods, his gaze understanding. "Oh, I see." He sits on the bed, his eyes on his father. Hanna approaches them. "What did he say?" she asks, looking at Karen's hands. Karen translates for her. "He said, 'Thank you Karen'. He's using sign language." Hanna nods, her curiosity growing. "Why does he sign?" Hanna asks, her voice gentle. "I had thought only deaf people use sign language," she says. But Karen shakes her head. "Plankton's not deaf, but it's one of the ways he can communicate. He's got his earbuds in, so we'll have to sign to communicate with him." Chip watches his mom and his dad, feeling a bit lost. "Can I try?" he asks, his voice hopeful. Karen smiles and nods. "Sure," she says. "Just remember, be gentle and slow with your signs." Chip nods. "How do I greet him in Sign Language?" Karen's hands move with care. She shows Chip how to say 'hello'. Chip mimics her, his movements less fluid than hers. Plankton's antennas perk up slightly in recognition. Hanna also tries, her movements awkward but earnest. The three of them sit there, their screens on Plankton, waiting for his response. Finally, his hand moves. 'Hello', he signs back, his movements tentative, but his antennae less rigid. It's a small victory, but one that brings a smile to Chip's face. "Hi Dad," Chip said aloud, then signs 'hello' again. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he signs back, his movements slightly more confident. The sound of the rain increases, the drops becoming heavier. Hanna's eyes widen. "Is he scared of storms?" she asks Karen. Karen shrugs. "It's the noise," she says. "But the earplugs can help." Plankton signs again, his hands moving in the familiar pattern of their daily routine. 'Game?' his hands ask. Karen nods. "Yeah, we can play a game," she says. Chip nods, eager to get up and help his mom.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 16 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) They decide on a board game, one with clear rules and minimal talking. As they sit around the coffee table, setting up the board, Hanna watches, trying to follow their silent conversation. Karen sees her curiosity and smiles, explaining, "We're playing his favorite." She signs 'Your Turn'. Plankton nods, picking up a piece with trembling hands. His moves are precise, almost ritualistic. Chip and Hanna observe, trying to understand the unspoken language between the couple. The storm outside grows louder, the thunder rumbling closer. Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen notices his tension. Her hand covers his, steadying his movements. She signs, 'It's okay. We're safe here'. Plankton relaxes a fraction. Their silent communication flows easily, a dance they've performed some rare times before. Chip watches, feeling his own anxiety ease. The thunder rolls closer, the home shaking slightly. Plankton's antennae shoot up. He signs 'Love', his eye locking with Karen's. She nods, understanding that he's asking for comfort. She reaches out, her hand on his back, gently rubbing in circles. Hanna, who's still watching, doesn't get the silent conversation. "Is he okay?" she asks again, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen nods. "Yeah," she says. "He's just really sensitive to loud noises. The earbuds help, yet he can't hear us with them in." Hanna nods. The thunderstorm outside intensifies, the sound of hail pelting the windows. Plankton's antennae quiver with every loud crash. Hanna looks at Plankton. "So, you guys use sign language?" Karen nods, her eyes on the game board. "Only when he needs it," she says. "It's his way of communicating when words are too much." Plankton's hand moves again. 'What are you saying?' His sign is directed at Hanna. Karen translates, keeping her voice low. "He wants to know what we're saying." Hanna nods. "Tell him I just asked if he's okay." Karen repeats the message in ASL. Plankton signs back, 'I'm okay', his gaze never leaving the board. Karen translates for Hanna. The storm's crescendo matches the tension in the room. Plankton's antennae twitch faster, his eye flicking between the game and the window. Hanna tries to keep her voice calm. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks, looking from Karen to Plankton. Karen's hands move in a flurry of signs. "Just keep it quiet," she tells her. "He's already... overstimulated." Hanna nods. "Okay," she mouths, even though Plankton can't hear it. She sits on the couch, picking up a book to read. Chip watches as the storm outside grows louder, the hailstones sounding like tiny explosions. Plankton's gaze is fixed on the window. The game finishes up. "Why don't we watch something?" Hanna suggests. Karen smiles. They pick a show with subtitles for Plankton. As they settle in, Karen notices the uncertainty. "You can sit by him if you like," she suggests. "Just be quiet." Hanna nods, sitting down next to Plankton. She reaches for his hand, but he flinches away. She pulls back, her cheeks red. "It's okay," Karen says. "Just let him know you're here." Plankton's antennae twitch. He signs 'Space'. Karen translates this to Hanna. Hanna nods again, moving a little farther from him. They begin the movie, the subtitles flipping across the screen. Plankton's antennae quiver as he watches, his gaze never leaving the TV. Chip sits on the other side. As the minutes tick by, Plankton's eyelid starts to droop. Karen notices the change, a small smile touching her lips. "He's getting tired," she says to Chip and Hanna. Yet Plankton is trying to stay awake. His antennae slowed their twitching. Karen signs to him, 'You can go to sleep if you need to'. Plankton's antennae twitch. 'No', his hand signs firmly. He tries to keep watching. Karen nods, her gaze soft. She keeps her voice low. "It's okay if you want to rest," she says. Plankton shakes his head. 'Movie', he signs. Karen nods. The film's plot unfolds, its intensity rising with each passing minute. Chip's eyes are glued to the screen, his heart racing. Yet Plankton's lid grows heavier. Karen chuckles, her gaze affectionate. She knew he'd refuse to admit or show any vulnerability. They all focus on the film. Plankton's eye struggles to stay open. But he stays quiet. Hanna's voice breaks the silence. "Is he okay?" she whispers, nodding to Plankton. Karen nods. "He's just really tired," she says, her voice soft. "The storm's noise can wear him out." Hanna nods, keeping her voice low. As the minutes stretch on, Plankton's head begins to nod. Karen notices, her hand moving to cover her mouth. She giggles. Plankton jolts upright, his antennae shooting straight up. He signs 'I'm fine'. Yet his hand's movement is sluggish. Karen looks at Hanna, who's staring at the screen. Yet Plankton fights against his body's urge to rest. But his eyelid droops again. Chip looks from his dad to his mom. "Should we let him sleep?" he asks. Karen nods. "Let's keep watching," she whispers. "We'll leave him alone." Plankton's antennae twitch with determination, his eye wide open. But the rain's rhythm seems to lull him despite his efforts. Plankton's eyelid flickers, his antennae droop slightly. Karen's eyes fill with love. She knows his stubbornness. Plankton's fighting sleep, but his body won't cooperate as they all continue to be increasingly engrossed in the film. The room is quiet except for the storm's sounds. Plankton's breathing deepens, his head tilts back. His hand slips from his knee, hitting the cushions with a soft thud. Chip stifles a laugh. Karen shakes her head, smiling. His head lolls back against the couch, his mouth hanging slightly open. Hanna watches him, her eyes wide. "Is he okay?" she whispers. Karen nods. "He's just really tired," she says, her voice soft. "It's been a long day." Hanna nods, but her gaze remains fixed on Plankton. "I've never seen anyone fight sleep like that," she says, her voice filled with wonder. Karen chuckles, shaking her head as she turns off the TV off. Chip gently lifts his dad's hand, placing it in his lap. Plankton doesn't stir. "Let's move him to bed," Karen whispers. They work together, lifting him with careful grace. Plankton's body is heavy with sleep. They navigate the quiet house, avoiding any creaks or bumps that might disturb his slumber. Once in the bedroom, they help him into bed. Karen pulls the covers over him, her hand lingering on his shoulder. Chip watches, his heart filled with a newfound compassion. They leave the room, closing the door softly. In the hallway, Karen turns to Hanna. "He's pretty amazing, isn't he?" she says, her voice proud. Hanna nods. "I've never seen anything like it," she says. "He's so... intense." Karen smiles. "That's just Plankton," she says. "He feels things so deeply, sometimes it's just too much." They stand in the hallway, listening to the storm. "Well it's getting late, and the storm is gone through." Hanna said. Karen nods. She turns to Chip. "We're all going to bed.." The next morning, Plankton awakes in his bed by Karen's. Last he remembered, they were watching a movie. How'd he end up here? He takes his earbuds out. He noticed the quiet. The storm's gone. His antennae twitch with relief. He looks around, his gaze landing on Karen's sleeping form in the other bed. He tries to get out of bed, his body protesting from the lack of movement. He's tired. But he's also aware of the silence. The absence of storm's noise is like a blanket of peace. He gets up, his legs wobbly. He walks towards the door, opening it quietly.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 17 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton steps into the hallway. The house is still. He can hear the distant hum of the refrigerator. The smell of coffee wafts from the kitchen. Plankton makes his way there, his steps deliberate. He sees Hanna at the couch, her back to him. He pauses, his antennas still. Without the storm's cacophony, his thoughts are clearer. He doesn't sign today. Words feel... possible. He clears his throat, his voice raspy from the silence. "Morning," he croaks. Hanna jumps, turning around. "Oh," she says, her eyes wide. "Hi, Plankton." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. It's clear she's trying not to startle him. Plankton nods, his antennae still. "How did you sleep?" she asks, her movements slow, cautious. He opens his mouth, but the words get tangled. "Okay," he manages, his voice barely above a murmur. The living room's brightness is overwhelming after the dimness of the bedroom. Plankton squints, his antennae twitching, his hand moving to cover his eye. Hanna's gaze is full of concern. She sees his discomfort. "Is there something wrong? I ca--" Plankton shakes his head. "No, no," he says, his voice a bit clearer now. "And I DON'T need the signs today," Plankton snaps at her. Hanna falters, confused. Why's he snippy? "Oh, that's okay! How are y-" "I'm fine," Plankton cuts her off. "Just... need some space." He turns and walks into the other couch, his gait stiffer than usual. Hanna watches him go, feeling like she's intruding. But Karen's words echo in her mind. "Let him know you're here." So, she follows him, trying to mimic the slow, gentle steps that seem to work with him. When Plankton reaches the couch, he sighs heavily. And Hanna sits down beside him. "So Plankton, I see you like puzzles. I can he–" "NO!" Plankton's antennae shot straight up, his voice loud in the quiet room. Hanna jumps, her eyes wide. He knows he's being cranky, but he dislikes this awkwardness. Hanna's to bubbly. "I see you're not wearing those earbuds.." Hanna comments, trying to make small talk. "They're in the bedroom," Plankton says, his voice still sharp. "You don't have to handle it." The silence stretches, thick with tension. Hanna's eyes search his, looking for a clue, but Plankton's face is a mask. "I'm sorry," she says finally. "I just thought the earbuds look cool! Where'd you even get the--" Plankton's antennae quiver with grumpy agitation. "They're not for fun," he snaps. "They're to keep the noise out." Hanna's face falls. "I noticed. Quite the storm last night wasn't it.. I'm so glad to be here! Nice of Karen to let me sta-" "HUSH!" Plankton snaps, interrupting her. Hanna's voice had been rising in excitement, but now it falls to a whisper. She nods. "Yeah, getting up early in the morning can be rough." She pats Plankton's arm. He flinches, his antennae shooting up. "DON'T touch me," he snaps, his voice strained. Hanna's hand has stopped in mid-air. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to--" "Just... don't," Plankton says, his voice still harsh. He can't explain why the simple touch feels like a betrayal. His world is already spinning out of control, and her touch is the last straw. "Just leave me alone." Hanna nods. She tries to fit a piece in the puzzle. Plankton fits another piece in the puzzle. Hanna says nothing, not wanting to upset him more. She goes to try another piece. It did not fit. Then Hanna says something that makes him freeze. "What's with this puzzle? It's so... re---" The word hangs in the air like poıson. Plankton's antennae straighten. That's not right. That's not what puzzles are. His eye narrows. It's the word she used. It's not about the puzzle. He's already getting up off the couch to leave the room. Hanna looks confused, not even aware of what she's done. The word. The word. It repeats in his mind. He can't escape it. Going into the bedroom, Plankton slams the door shut, his chest heaving. Karen stirs in her bed. "Good mo- Plankton?" she mumbles, sleepily. Plankton doesn't answer. He can't. The anger and pain are too much. He sits on the edge of his own bed, his eye stinging. He can't believe Hanna said that. He'd heard it before, the R-word. It's like a kn1fe, shxrp and cøld, cutt1ng into him every time. It's not just a word, it's a declaration of his otherness. He's different, and neurotypicals don't see that as a good thing. Karen's eyes are open now. She's sitting up, looking at his back. "What's wrong?" she asks. Plankton can't face her yet. Can't tell her what Hanna said. Can't tell her that she's brought this person into their lives who doesn't understand. So he only shakes his head. "It's... nothing," he mumbles, his voice strained. But Karen knows him better than that. She's seen that look before. She gets out of bed, her movements slow and careful. She sits next to him, her hand on his shoulder. He flinches but doesn't pull away, though he can't make eye contact. "Is it about Hanna?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, antennae drooping. Karen's heart squeezes. What happened? "What did she do?" Karen asks, her hand still on his shoulder. Plankton's breath shudders. He looks away. "Just... nothing," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not a big deal." But his body language screams different, Karen sees. Her eyes are on him, full of concern. "You know you can tell me anything," she says. Plankton nods, but the words stick in his throat. The silence is heavy. Karen's hand is warm. He doesn't move. He doesn't want her to go away. But his mind is racing. He's tried so hard to be normal, to fit in, even if just for his family. And then Hanna has to go and say something like that. It's like she's taking a sledgehammer to his carefully constructed walls. Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder. "You can tell me," she whispers. "Did she say something?" Plankton can't answer. But he has to tell her. He has to get it out. He opens his mouth, but only a squeak comes out. He's too upset to tell her. The silence stretches, his antennae drooping. Then, finally, the words spill out. "She said something about the puzzle," he says, his voice shaking. "It was... hurtful." Karen's eyes widen, her expression a mix of shock and anger. "What did she say?" Plankton's eye won't meet hers. "I can't," he whispers. A single tear falls down his cheek. He shook his head. Karen frowns. "Okay," she says. "Let's go back to the living room. We can figure it out there." She stood up. In the living room, the puzzle sits on the coffee table. Hanna's reading a magazine, oblivious to his pain. Plankton's chest constricts. He wants to scream, to throw things, but, he can't. He sits on the couch, his body rigid with anger. Karen notices, her gaze flicking to Hanna. "Hi, Hanna. What's going on?"she asks. Hanna looks up, her smile slightly forced. "Oh, I was just helping Plankton with the puzzle," she says, her voice chirpy. She sees Plankton. Karen sits next to him. "Hanna, what did you say to Plankton?" Her voice is calm, but her expression is serious. Hanna frowns, confused. "What do you mean?" she asks. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye locked on the floor. He can't bring himself to repeat it. Karen's gaze is on him, waiting. "It was about the puzzle," he says finally. "What did she say?" Karen asks, her tone firm. She looks to Hanna. "Hanna?" Hanna looks at her. "The puzzle is difficult to—" "No," Plankton cuts her off, his voice harsher than he intended. "The way she said it." Hanna's smile falters. "What?" Karen asks, her heart racing. Hanna blinks. "I just said it was hard, like I couldn't do it," she says, her tone defensive. Plankton's breathing is shallow. He shook his head. "It's not about the puzzle," he murmurs, his voice tight. "It's about what you called it." Hanna's eyes widen. "What?" she asks, genuinely confused. Karen's heart drops, afraid of whatever Hanna's going to say.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 6 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen's voice was calm and steady. "It'll pass. Just stay with him." She knelt beside the bed. Chip felt helpless, his stomach in knots as he watched his mother's tender care for his father. The minutes stretched like hours as Plankton sat there, unresponsive. Chip could see the tension in his mother's body as she waited for the seizure to end. His dad's body was still, his eye vacant. It was terrifying to see someone so vibrant and full of life to be so still. But then, Plankton's body relaxed. His eye flickered, focusing on Chip. "Dad?" Chip asked, his voice shaking. Plankton blinked, his gaze shifting to the shattered octopus on the bed. "I didn't mean to, Dad," Chip rushed out, his voice shaking. "I didn't know it was important." Plankton's breathing is shaky, a familiar prelude to a full-blown meltdown. "It's just a toy," Chip whispered, his voice strained. "It's not just a toy," Karen interjected, picking up the pieces. "These are his tools for self-regulation. When they get broken or lost, it can be very distressing for him." Plankton's eye narrowed. "It's n-not only the toy," he managed to say, his voice raspy. "It's the understanding. The respect." Chip felt the weight of his father's words like a heavy stone in his stomach. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn't know." Plankton sighed, his anger deflating. "That's the problem," he said, his voice tired. "You didn't know a-and you didn't a-ask." Karen stepped in, placing the broken octopus in Plankton's hand. "Let's get you something else," she asks softly. But Plankton's focus on the octopus didn't waver, his eye glazed over. Karen recognized this autistic postictal loopiness, a phase that could come after one of his seizures. But she knew it well. "It's okay, honey," she said gently. "Let's find another toy to help you feel better." Plankton's grip tightened around the broken pieces, his other hand starting to stim slightly. He looked at Karen, his expression unreadable as he returns his gaze to the octopus. Chip watched, his heart racing, as his father's hand trembled, his mind lost in the postictal phase. It was like watching a gear that just couldn't find its place. He felt like an intruder in his own dad's world, a place he didn't understand. Karen's voice was gentle, guiding. "Look, Plankton. Let's pick something else." But Plankton remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the shattered toy. Chip's stomach knotted as he saw his father's distress. Karen's voice was calm. "Plankton," she said softly. "Come back to us." But Plankton didn't hear her, lost in his own postictal whims, concerned with the octopus. Chip felt like he was watching someone else's memory. "Dad?" he tried again. "Come on, Dad," he coaxed. "Let's find someth-" His words were cut short by the sudden jolt of Plankton's body. His hand shot out, rolling the octopus. He scoured the bed, his eye darting from one tentacle to another. Chip's heart raced as he watched his dad's desperate search, the autistic loopiness taking over. "Dad," he said, his voice small. "What's happening?" "He's a bit scatterbrained because of the seizure. It's normal. It's called postictal phase of a seizure. That, and it's a lot to process what has just happened." Karen tells Chip. Then Plankton starts to babble. "Oc-octopus. Eight legs. Eight legs. Why broken?" His voice echoes in the quiet room. Chip looks to Karen for guidance, but she just smiles sadly. "It's okay." But Plankton's eye won't leave the octopus, his hand still shaking. "I-I-I-I wan-want my octopus," he stammers, his speech slurred. Chip feels his throat tighten. "Dad, it's ok," he says, his voice shaky. But Plankton's distant focus remained unbroken. Karen takes a deep breath, her voice calm. "Plankton, sweetie," she says. "Look at me." His eye snaps to hers, his brain trying to grasp what she's saying, but can't. "He's okay," Karen assures Chip. "This is just his brain trying to find comfort." Chip watches. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice soothing. "Let's find another toy." Plankton's gaze flickers to him, then back to the octopus. "Otto- pus," he whispers, his voice still slurred. "Not right." Chip's heart clenches. He doesn't know what to do, how to help. He's afraid to touch his dad, afraid to disturb the delicate balance that keeps him in this world. Karen nods encouragingly, handing Plankton a soft, plush cube with different textures. "Here, sweetie," she says. "This might he–" But Plankton's hand shoots out again, knocking the cube aside. "No," he says, his voice firm in his determination. "Octopus." Chip's eyes widen. He's never seen his dad like this before, so lost in his own thoughts. Karen's voice is calm. "Okay, Plankton. We'll get you another octopus." She moves to the shelf, searching for a replacement. But the only one she finds is a plastic one, not the same as the bendy straw one Chip broke. She hands it to Plankton, hoping it'll be enough. But, it's not. He stares at the plastic octopus, his eye unblinking. "No," he says, pushing it away. "Mine." His voice is desperate, lost. Chip feels his heart ache, watching his father's pain. Karen sighs, knowing that this is going to be a tough one. "Chip, go get me the glue," she says gently. "Maybe we can fix it." Chip nods, eager to help, and runs to the crafts drawer, returning quickly. Plankton's hand shakes as Karen takes the remaining pieces and fails to glue them back together. Plankton watches, his face contorting with frustration. "It's not the same," he whispers, his voice hoarse. Chip feels his heart clench. "I know, Dad," he says. "But we can still keep it, oka-" Plankton's hand shoots out, cutting him off. "No!" he yells, his voice raw. "It's not right!" Chip flinches back, the sharpness of his father's tone a stark contrast to the gentle whispers of moments ago. "I know it's not right, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "But we can try to make it better." Plankton's eye narrows, his gaze intense. "No," he says firmly. "It's broken." He clutches the broken tentacles in his hand, his other hand flapping rapidly. "It's not right!" Karen's heart breaks seeing Plankton's distress, but she knows that pushing him won't help. She nods. "Okay, sweetie," she says. "Let's leave it for now. Maybe another da-" "NO, NOW!" Plankton interrupts with a cry. Chip's eyes widen, his body stiffening. "Dad, please," he begs. "We can't fix it." But Plankton's in his own world. "It's not right," he repeats, his voice getting louder. "Needs it better. Same but not broken one, need it-t.." Karen's voice is firm, interrupting the loop. "Plankton, darling," she says, "Let's put it aside for now. We'll talk about it later." Plankton's eye darts to her, his face contorted in anger. "No!" he cries. "Now!" The urgency in his voice was palpable, his need for predictability and order overwhelming. But Karen knows the cycle of his autistic brain. "You're tired, honey," she soothes, taking the broken octopus from his trembling hands. "Let's rest." Plankton resists, his body stiff with frustration. "But it's not right!" he insists, sobbing. Chip's chest tightens as he watches his dad's meltdown. He's never seen Plankton like this, so vulnerable and desperate. It's like watching his hero crumble before his eyes. He knows he's caused this, and he wants to fix it, to take the pain away. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "The octopus is important to you, right?" Plankton nods, his breath quick and uneven. "It's not just a toy," Chip continues. "It's like a friend." Plankton stops moving, his gaze meeting Chip's. "You like it to feel safe. But this one broke, and we don't have a spare. So perhaps we'll buy another of the same one. But not right now.." "NO!" Plankton's outburst cuts him off. "It's not the same!" Chip flinches, understanding his dad's point. "Okay," he says, his tone calm. "But you need something right now, don't you?" He looks into the box. "I JUST NEED THE OCTOPUS!" Plankton wails. Karen nods to Chip, who quickly grabs a rubber band from the drawer. He carefully wraps it around the broken tentacles, trying to mimic the toy's original shape. Plankton's eye widens as he watches, his body stilling. "Look, Dad," Chip says. But Plankton's hand snatches it from him, his gaze focused on the rubber band. "It's still broken," he whispers, his voice shaking. "But it's okay for now," Karen soothes, placing her hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to have someth-" Plankton's eye snaps up to hers, his expression desperate. "Need new one," he insists. "Need same." Karen nods, understanding his need for sameness. "We'll get you a new one, honey," she promises. "But for now, let's ju—" "NOW!" Plankton's voice cracks. "I need it now!" The urgency in his tone is like a siren, a call for immediate action. Chip swallows hard, feeling his own desperation rise. "Okay, Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "Mom? Where do we find this?" Karen sighs, her eyes filled with compassion. "The store," she says, her voice gentle. "But it's late, and the stores are closed." Plankton's face falls, and his eye starts to glaze over again. Chip's mind races, his heart pounding. He can't leave his dad like this. "I can check online," he suggests, his voice hopeful. "Maybe we can find the exact same one." Plankton nods frantically. "Same one," he whispers. "Now." Karen smiles weakly. "Okay, let's see." She takes the laptop, her fingers typing swiftly. The room is silent except for the click of the keys and Plankton's uneven breathing. Chip's eyes dart between his father and the screen, his anxiety growing.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 7 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Finally, Karen's eyes light up. "I found it," she says, relief in her voice. "It's the same bendy straw octopus. We can order it right now." Plankton's body sags with relief, his hand still clutching the damaged toy. Chip feels a feeling of hope. "It'll come in a couple of days, Dad," he says. "But we can do other stuff until it ar-" "Days?" Plankton's eye widen in panic. "Can't wait days." Chip's heart sinks. He'd forgotten the immediacy of his dad's needs, the way his autistic brain craved instant satisfaction. "I know, Dad," he says, his voice soft. "But we'll find something else to help." Karen nods. "Let's see what else we hav—" But Plankton's not listening. He's in his own world, his eye darting around the room, searching for any semblance of order amidst the chaos. "It's okay," Chip whispers, trying to soothe his father. "We'll find a way." Plankton's breathing quickens, his hands flapping more rapidly. "Need it now," he stammers. "Can't wait." Karen looks up from the laptop, her eyes meeting Chip's. "Maybe we can find something similar?" she suggests. "NO! SAME ONE! NOOOW.." Chip's mind races. He remembers the toy catalog his dad obsesses over. "Dad, what about the catalog?" he asks, his voice hopeful. Plankton's hand stops flapping for a moment, his eye focusing on Chip. "C-Catalog?" he stammers. Karen nods. "We can find a way to get the exact same one," she says gently. "But it'll take a couple of da-" "NO!" Plankton's panic escalates. "Can't wait!" His voice is high-pitched, his body shaking. "What about our 3D printer?" Karen's eyes widen. "The store's website," she says, grabbing the laptop. "They have the pattern." Plankton watches them, his breath shallow. "Will it be the same?" he asks, his voice tiny. "It won't be like bendy tubes, Dad," Chip admits. "But it'll be al-" "NO!" Plankton's outburst cuts him off, his panic rising. "MINE! NEED MINE!" Chip's heart squeezes. He doesn't know how to explain that the 3D printer won't make a perfect replica. But Plankton needs the exact octopus. Karen's voice is soothing. "Plankton, sweetie, we're trying to help," she says, her eyes pleading. "But we can't get the exact one right now. We're doing our best." Plankton's eye darts to the computer screen, his breathing erratic. "Best is not good enough," he whispers, his hand continuing to flap. "Need my octopus." Chip feels a lump in his throat. "I know, Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "But we're going to—" But Plankton's agitation is spiraling. He jumps off the bed. "NEED IT NOW!" he shouts, his voice echoing through the room. Karen's face is etched with concern, but she remains calm, her hands steady as she types. "Chip," she says, her voice low. "Stay with him." Chip nods, his heart racing. He follows Plankton, who's pacing back and forth, his hands flapping in distress. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaky. "We'll find a way." Plankton's eye flits around the room, his movements erratic. "It's not okay," he whispers. "It's never okay." Chip's throat tightens. He's never seen his dad like this. Karen's voice is steady as she continues typing. "We're doing our best," she calls over her shoulder. Chip watches as Plankton's body sags, his energy depleted. "Dad, please," he begs. "You have to let us help." Plankton turns to him, his gaze desperate. "Need it now," he stammers. "It's important." Chip nods. "I know it i-" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice rising. "It's not important, it's survival!" The word hangs in the air like a shard of glass, sharp and piercing. Chip's eyes widen as he realizes the intensity of his father's distress. "Okay," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Is there a fast delivery, Mom?" Karen nods, her eyes never leaving the screen. "Yes, we can get it overnight." Plankton's pacing slows, his breathing still ragged. "Over night?" he repeats, his eye flickering with hope. "You promise?" Chip asks, his voice earnest. Karen nods, typing in their order. "It'll be here tomorrow morning." The tension in the room seems to ease slightly, the weight of Plankton's desperation lifting. He sits back down on the bed, his body slumping with exhaustion. Chip sits beside him, his hand tentatively reaching out. "It'll be okay, Dad," he says, his voice gentle. "I promise." Plankton's gaze turns to the broken octopus, his eye welling with tears. "It's not right," he whispers, his voice cracking. "It's not right." Karen's hand moves to his own. "It's okay, Plankton," she says gently. "It's not the end of the world." But his mind is locked in the cycle of his autistic brain, unable to comprehend the logic she presents. The sight of his father's distress breaks Chip's heart. He's never seen Plankton like this, so lost and overwhelmed. He takes a deep breath, his own hand shaking as he reaches out to Plankton. "Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "Can I hug you?" Plankton stops moving, his eye widening in surprise. For a moment, it seems like his dad is going to reject his offer, but then his body relaxes slightly, and his hand moves to Chip's. With trembling hands, Chip wraps his arms around his father, pulling him into a tight embrace. Plankton's body stiffens at first, but then he sighs, his own arms moving around Chip. The sobs wracking Plankton's body are deep, painful sounds that echo in Chip's chest. He feels his dad's shoulders shake, the tremors of his sobs resonating through him. Karen watches from the side, her eyes filled with tears of her own. She knows that this moment of connection is as rare as it is precious. Chip holds him tighter. He then whispers to Plankton, "It's okay, Dad. I'm here." The words are simple, but in that moment, they're enough. Plankton's breathing slows, his body melting into his son's embrace. Karen watches, her own emotions a mix of love and sadness. She knows this isn't an easy journey for either of them, but in this moment, she sees the beginnings of true understanding in Chip's eyes. He's finally seeing his father not just as his hero, but as a man with needs and fears, just like everyone else. Plankton's breathing eventually evens out, his sobs turning to sniffles. Chip feels his father's body relax further, the tension draining away until Plankton started to nod off, his head lolling against Chip's shoulder. The postictal phase, with its strange mix of exhaustion and hyperactivity, was always unpredictable. Chip holds his dad closer, his heart aching at the thought of Plankton's internal struggle. Karen's gaze is soft as she watches them. She knows that the meltdown has taken a toll on both of them. She moves to the bedside, placing a gentle hand on Plankton's back. "Let's get him to sleep," she murmurs to Chip. Together, they help him lie down, arranging the covers around him. Plankton's body is still for a moment before he starts to snore softly. Chip looks up at his mom. "So the octopus toy's replacement will be delivered here overnight?" Karen nods, her eyes red-rimmed from holding back her own tears. "Yes, it'll be here by morning." Her voice is weary, but there's a hint of hope in it. Chip nods, his own eyes never leaving Plankton's peaceful face. He's never seen his dad look so vulnerable, so lost. It's like his hero had been shattered, and all he wanted to do was put him back together. The hours tick by slowly as they sit by Plankton's side, his rhythmic snores the only sound in the room. Chip can't shake the image of his father's distress, his mind racing with questions about autism and how to be there for him. The doorbell rings, jolting Plankton awake. His eye snaps open, his body tense. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soft. "It's just the octopus toy!" Chip nods, determined. "Yes, Dad," he says. "Your octopus." Karen moves to get it, leaving Chip to watch his dad. She comes back with a box, the exact same as the one the bendy straw octopus came in. Plankton's eye follows her every move, tense with anticipation. She opens it carefully, revealing a new octopus, identical to the one Chip had accidentally broken, except this one is made of a sturdier material, promising not to break so easily. Plankton's face lights up with a mix of joy and relief, his hand reaching for it. "Thanks," he whispers, his voice filled with wonder. "Tired.." Chip smiles, his heart swelling with love. "You can go back to sleep now," he says, his tone gentle. "We've got you." Plankton nods, his eye drooping. He clutches the new octopus tightly, his body relaxing. Chip tucks his father back in, watching as he falls asleep almost instantly. It's like the toy is a talisman, a source of comfort in a world that can be overwhelming. As Karen settles into her own bed, she whispers, "Thank you, Chip." He looks at her, his eyes still on Plankton. "For what?" he asks, his voice low. "For seeing him," she says. "For understanding." Chip nods, his heart heavy. "I don't know if I do," he admits. "But I'll try." Karen smiles. "Good night." The next morning, Plankton awakes with the memory of Chip breaking the octopus. He recalls how they ordered the toy. Plankton's never to good at emotional interactions but, he knew he has to talk to his son. Karen's still asleep in her bed, so he goes into Chip's bedroom. "Chip," he says softly, his voice cracking. His eye is red-rimmed, his body seeming even smaller without his usual sarcasm and bravado. Chip stirs, rubbing his eyes. "Hey, Dad," he says, sitting up. His heart skips a beat as he sees Plankton, his face etched with sadness. "You ok?" Plankton nods. "I'm better," he says.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 18 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton sat on the couch. His monotonous hum starts up as he rocks; a stim. Karen knows he's not gonna repeat whatever Hanna's said. She turns to her friend. "Hanna? What'd you say?" Hanna's eyes dart between them. She looks confused, almost scared. "I... I didn't mean anything by it," she stammers. "I just said it's a hard puzzle." Karen's gaze doesn't waver. "But Plankton's upset," she says calmly. "What exactly did you say?" Hanna swallows. "It's just a saying," she mumbles. "I don't know why he's so sensitive about it." Plankton's rocking intensifies, his antennae twitching. Karen's voice is steady. "Tell me." The room seems to shrink as Hanna's words hang in the air. "Uh. It's just a puzzle," she says, her voice small. "But when I said it was re--- I meant it's just a way to say... ...I'm sorry." Karen's heart plummets. She knows the word. The one that stings like nothing else. Plankton let out a sound in between a sob or a gasp as he grimaced. Karen knew it as a stress response. When that happens, he winces even though it looks like a smile. Not to mention how it sounds like a squeaky chuckle. But Hanna doesn't realize this when she noticed him doing that. Was her friend's husband laughing at her? Plankton felt his stomach drop when Hanna's gaze snapped to him. "You think it's funny?" Hanna's voice is sharp. She stands up, nearing him. "Do you? Because if you're laughing at me, then it's not gonna fly." Plankton shakes his head as Karen finally decides to intervene. "Hanna, I need to talk to you," Karen says firmly. "Let's go over by the kitchen." Her voice's low, but it carries the weight of something important. Hanna's eyes narrow, but she follows Karen. They stand in the kitchen. "Plankton's birth was... difficult," Karen starts, her voice tight. "He was born in a dystocic situation. It was a miracle he made it out alįve." Hanna's screen pales. She had no idea. Karen continues. "His brain got a bit... jumbled up. Pressure on his head while coming out. And that's why... Plankton's autistic." Hanna's eyes widen, her hand flying to her screen. "Oh... Neptune. I had no idea. I'm so sorry." Karen nods. "It's ok. Most people don't know. But it's important you do. I didn't wanna tell you because it's Plankton's story, not mine. But I needed you to understand why he's like he is. He feels everything so intensely," she explains. "Sounds, lights, smells, touch, can be overwhelming." Hanna nods, processing this new information. "What does that mean for him?" she asks. "For his lífe?" Karen sighs. "It means we have to be extra careful with him. Give him his space when he needs it. And we can't... we can't say things without thinking." She swallows hard. "Things like... what you said." Hanna's face falls. "The puzzle?" she whispers. Karen nods. "Well it's not about the puzzle," she says. "It's the word you used to describe the puzzle, Hanna." Hanna's eyes widen. "Oh no," she breathes. "I didn't mean it like that! I'm so, so sorry.." Karen nods, her expression softening. "It's done. It is just so important to be careful with our words." Hanna nods. "So, how does it affect his personality?" Hanna asks, her voice tentative. She's trying to understand. Karen looks at her for a long moment, considering. "Well, for starters, he's very literal," Karen says. "If you say something metaphorically, he'll take it literally. And sometimes, what might seem like a simple statement to us can be overwhelming to him." She pauses, her gaze going to Plankton, who's still rocking slightly on the couch. "He's also incredibly sensitive to change. Even the smallest shifts in routine can throw him off." "Plankton's so... smart," Hanna says. Karen nods. "He is. He's brilliant. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his challenges. Sometimes his brain just works differently. He gets overwhelmed. And when he does, he needs me to be there for him, to understand without judging." Hanna nods, her eyes wide. "What kind of challenges?" she asks. "Well," Karen starts, "his senses are heightened. That's why he had earbuds in during the thunderstorm." Hanna nods, looking thoughtful. "He gets overwhelmed by sounds, smells, even textures. It can make his body react in ways that are... difficult, to understand," Karen explains, her eyes drifting to Plankton in the living room. Hanna tries to imagine. "Is that why he seems to not like touch?" she asks. Karen nods. "Some autistic people have sensory ıssues," she says. "My husband's no different. He only likes touch on his terms." "What about when he gets upset?" Hanna asks, her voice lowered. "Does he... I don't know, express it differently?" Karen's eyes soften. "You noticed," she says. "Yes. Emotions can be tricky for him. Sometimes they come out as something else. Like when you thought he laughed, but it was just an involuntary response to stress." "And rocking while humming?" Hanna's voice is softer. "Those are stims, his way of self-soothing. It's like... it's like he's got all this energy that needs to go somewhere, and that's his way of controlling it." Karen says. "He even mumbles to himself, he might wave his hands. All stims. But he doesn't want these to be interrupted or even mentioned." Hanna nods, taking it all in. "So, when he does that... it's not because he's ignoring me?" Karen shakes her head. "No, it's his way of dealing with the world." She pauses. "And when he gets overwhelmed, his stims intensify. It's our cue to give him space, or to help him find his balance again." Hanna looks over at Plankton, his rocking motion slightly less frantic. "But when he's irritable," she says, her voice quiet, "how do we know when it'll be his autism acting up?" Karen sighs. "It's a fine line. But generally, his stims get more intense. He might turn away from you, or get snappy. And when he's upset, it's not always obvious. He might withdraw or get tense. Sometimes he'll just need to retreat, shut down." Hanna nods. "What do we do then?" she asks. "How do we help?" Karen's eyes are gentle. "You just have to be patient. Give him his space, let him have his stims. It's his way of coping. And once he's ready, he'll come back to you." They stand in silence for a moment. "And if he's getting too upset?" Hanna asks. Karen's eyes meet hers. "Then I'd need to intervene. Gently. Remind him of his tools. Like the earbuds, or redirect any aggressions." Hanna nods slowly. "But when he's around people, does he... I don't know, struggle?" Karen sighs. "Socializing is tough for Plankton. He doesn't read social cues like we do. Sometimes he misses things. And sometimes, might say things wrong. But he's trying. He really is." "What do you mean?" Hanna asked. "Well, he just might not face you when he talks, or might not get your jokes. He might get too intense about things, or get upset over what seems like nothing." Karen pauses. "And when it comes to touch, it's not just that he doesn't like it; it can be painful for him. So, it's important to ask before you touch him." Hanna nods. "But how do we know when to back off?" she asks. "When he's had enough?" Karen thinks about this. "You'll learn his signs," she says. "Everyone's different, but Plankton's pretty consistent. If he starts to withdraw, or if his stims get really intense, that's usually when he needs his space." Hanna nods. They go back to the couch. Plankton's still sitting silently. "Is Chip still sleeping in?" Hanna asks. Karen shrugs. "Guess so." Plankton looks up at them. "Hi, Plankton! I'm sorry about earlier," Hanna says. "How's the puzzle going along?" Plankton's eye narrows. "Great," he says, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Just peachy." Hanna swallows, unsure of how to react. She'd never seen him like this before. "I'm not good at puzzles," she says, trying to make a joke. Plankton doesn't laugh. "Maybe you should try a different hobby," he says, his tone flat. Hanna's smile fades. "Okay, sorry," she says, her voice small. "I just wanted to help." Plankton looks away. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't," he mutters. "Plankton; Hanna's just trying to connect with you," Karen says gently. "You know she didn't mean any harm." He nods, but his antennae are still stiff with tension. The room feels heavy. "Look," Hanna starts, sitting on the edge of the chair, "I'm really sorry. I didn't know. I'm still learning. Can you tell me how your autis–" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "Just don't." He can't take any more questions, any more probing into his privatė world. Hanna's curiosity feels like an invasion. Karen sighs. "What do you mean?" Hanna asks, her eyes wide with confusion. "I'm just trying to understand." But Plankton can't explain it. Not to Hanna. "Why can't you just leave me alone!" Plankton's voice is a shout. It echoes through the room, sharp and jagged. Hanna flinches, her eyes filling with tears. "I didn't mean to--" "Just... leave me alone," he interrupts, his voice cracking. And he doesn't wait for an answer. He just turns and walks away, his steps quick and deliberate. Karen watches him go, her heart breaking for him. She understands why he's upset, but she also sees the paın on Hanna's screen. She sighs and turns to her friend. "It's okay," she says gently. "He's just overwhelmed. Give him some space." Hanna nods, swiping at her eyes. Karen sits down beside her. "You're doing your best," she adds. "And that's all we can ask for."

⡆⠀⠀⢆⠚⠉⢩⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⢰⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⢸ ⢫⠉⠉⢹⢀⣀⢼⠤⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠏⠰⣺⢷⣀⡖⠀⠡⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀

اويلي عليك جيسوسس𐙚𐙚

✩°｡⋆⸜ ✮˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

h♡me

👣👨‍👩‍👧‍👧

┏━┓┏━┓╭━━━┓╭━━━╮ ┃┈┃┃┈┃┃┈━━┫┃┈╭╮┃ ┃┈╰╯┈┃┣━━┈┃┃┈┏┓┃ ╰━━━━╯┗━━━╯┗━┛┗┛

_______________./\. _____________ >___< _____________Ѽ./ Ѽ ___________;->( ɕѼ Ҩ . ___________@.♥ '(█) ♥ *$ ________Ѽ "( ()♥t (Ѽ)o*♥* _______(█),-♥.-Ѽ _Q@,0 ɕ(█) ____________>o*oѼ @.< _________o`Ѽ Q Ѽ Q Ѽ~@' ______♥.'Ѽ ♥ *Ѽ ɕҨ ‘♥ @-.)'* ____Ѽ o (█) @ *Ѽ ɕҨ ‘♥ *(█)’Ѽ __________Ѽ -♥-'Ѽ ♥._ Ѽ _______@.♥ '*Q ♥ *(█),@.♥ '* ___.♥' @ _ ɕ♥ _.-'~♥-.~´(♥)`~-*.o~ __.(█)* ♥ ..-' (Ѽ) o *) 0 *(Ѽ) (█)`)*♥ _________(Ѽ ) '-._♥__(Ѽ)@ ____;--♥' ♥Ҩ 0‘(Ѽ) Q o *♥ * Ѽ ♥ ___ * (Ѽ). ♥ * .Q.~ ♥- ♥Ҩ.0()Q♥*'. _(█)* ♥ *‘ o * ♥ _(█)Q~ ♥Ҩ _Ѽ♥_(█) _______________▒▒ ___________▄▄▄▒▒▄▄▄

🪻🪷💐╭ -ˏ ˋ🪻 ˊ ˎ- « ᴍᴜʜ ᴍᴜʜ ᴠᴀʟ » 『🌸』┆ sʜᴇ’ᴅ!!┆『☘️⭐️』 -ˏ ˋ 🥀 ˊ ˎ-╭ 🌙🌹🪷 search up Streetdogs24 for more and follow me on roblox baiii!

˚∧＿∧ 　+ —̳͟͞͞🍔 ( •‿• )つ —̳͟͞͞ 🍔 —̳͟͞͞🍔 + (つ　 < —̳͟͞͞🍔 ｜　 _つ + —̳͟͞͞🍔 —̳͟͞͞🍔 ˚ `し´ ily

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠊⠁⠀⠀⠉⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢋⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡟⠛⣻⠂⠿⣿⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡗⣤⣷⣶⣜⡇⢰⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣴⠻⢳⣭⡿⡛⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡎⠙⢷⡄⠀⢈⠔⣷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⣴⣿⣿⣦⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⢈⣿⣿⠁⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣸⣿⣿⣆⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠓⠛⠻⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣻⣯⣝⢿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣈⠥⢒⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡤⣤⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢾⣰⣶⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠍⠐⢸⣻⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀ ⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣎⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣫⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀

hi everyone! im just asking if you guys could do combos for hosts of a multi fam server, like the rules, when school starts, etc!’ ‘if you do it, thank you sm!’

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹࣪ ִֶָ☾.

love 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗🎀🫶🏻💌💓𓍯𓂃𓏧♡˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

ִ ࣪𖤐

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

I’ve been thinking. Ive grown up thinking. But, im not thinking normally anymore. Suicidally, now. Sometimes I’ve thought about the reactions of family members seeing my body hung up, my body on the floor that has fallen feet above ground. Would they miss me? Be ashamed? Hate me, even after death? I’ve thought that death was an answer, an escape to problems that felt like they couldn’t be solved. I’ve hated myself. Hated myself the first day I’ve heard those nasty words spill out their mouths. I can’t control my feelings anymore. I think I’ve bottled them up for too long. I can’t handle anything rude about me anymore. Can’t take jokes anymore without trying not to cry. All those visits to Miss Caba’s office in Katz didn’t help either. Despite how much I loved her, even she couldn’t help. Cutting myself doesn’t help, even despite the slight relief it gives me. I don’t think it will ever be enough. I’ve drawn my feelings before. How is that supposed to help? It never does. I can’t talk to anyone about it, about this. this, this feeling. No one gets it, and they NEVER will. I’ll be labeled weird, insane, unstable, crazy. And those words coming from the ones I’ve loved since birth, hurts. Hearing people you love say words like that, even if it IS the truth. Those cruel words escaping their lips without a care in the world. And the audacity to ask why I’m crying after they’ve said them. After they’ve verbally stabbed me in the heart millions of times on repeat, over and over, stab after stab, blood spilled over and over again. They ask why I’m crying? To suck it up? To STOP, crying? The truth is, I can’t. I can’t stop crying. The tears pour, and pour, drip after drip. Like a broken faucet that won’t stop leaking. A punctured heart that drips each day of blood. The tears roll down my cheeks uncontrollably, unable to be stopped. Like a bottle bursting after so much pressure. And I can’t express this with words, only through letters arranged together in a digital diary. A temporary escape to the world around me. It’s childish I know, being such a baby. But I can’t help it. Sometimes, I want to die. — SL.

ᕈS5

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

FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE FUCK YOU JOSE THIS IS THE OG TEXT THE FIRST OF ME ROASTING FUCKING JOSE( -_•)╦̵̵̿╤─( -_•)╦̵̵̿╤─