To See Or Not To See Emoji Combos

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 1
Chip, adopted at birth
by Karen and Plankton,
came home from summer
camp an hour early since
the traffic was better than
originally expected.

The house was unusually quiet,
his parent's bedroom door ajar.
He overheard Karen talking to
Plankton in a hushed tone. "It's 
ok, sweetie. You're going to be ok."
Chip decides to eavesdrop on them.
He saw Plankton sitting in bed,
his body still, eye unblinking. Karen
was stroking his hand, looking
to calm.

Chip tiptoed closer to the door.
Karen's voice grew clearer. "It's ok,
just a little longer, and you'll be
back with me." Plankton's hand
twitched slightly under hers. Chip
swallowed hard. It wasn't his
imagination; something was off.

Curiosity gnawed at him as
he listened, his heart thumping
louder than the ticking clock.
Plankton's face remained frozen,
his eye vacant. Chip had never
seen him like this before. Was he
sick? In pain? Chip felt his own
body tense up as he strained to
make sense of the scene.
"Remember," Karen whispered,
"it's like daydreaming, but your
body is here with me."

Chip leaned in closer, trying to
make out the words. "It's ok,"
she repeated, her voice soothing.
"I'm here. You're safe." Plankton's
hand moved again, slightly, as if
to squeeze hers back. It dawned on
Chip that this was like a regular
event for them behind closed doors.

The mystery grew heavier in the
air. Chip had heard of people
fainting, getting dizzy, or even
having seizures before, but never
anything so... quiet. His mind
raced with questions, each more
confusing than the last. What was
happening to Dad? Why hadn't
his parents ever mentioned this?

He watched, unnoticed, as 
Plankton's chest rose and fell
evenly, but he was utterly 
unresponsive.

Chip's curiosity turned to 
concern. He knew he should 
probably leave, but his feet
were rooted to the floor.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains
closed to keep the afternoon sun
from piercing through, as Plankton
finally starts to stir. His eye blinks
slowly, as if waking from a deep
sleep, and his hand grips Karen's
firmly despite his grogginess.

"Welcome back," Karen says with
relief, her voice no longer a
whisper. She kisses his forehead
gently.

Chip's eyes widened. He'd never
seen his dad come out of such a
strange state before. It was eerie,
yet somehow comforting to see
his mom's tender care. He felt like
an intruder, but his worry for
his dad overpowered his guilt. 

Plankton's voice was weak when
he finally spoke. "Was it... I had
another one didn't I.."

Karen nodded solemnly, her
grip on his hand tightening. "It's
okay. You're okay now. I still
think we should tell Chip abou–"

"No," Plankton cut her off, his
voice stronger now, but filled with
a hint of fear. "Not yet." Chip held his
breath, not wanting to alert them
to his presence.

The room remained silent for a
moment, thick with the weight
of the unspoken. Chip's heart
raced as he tried to piece together
the puzzle of his father's condition.
He felt a twinge of guilt for not
noticing anything amiss before,
but the scene was so surreal, so unlike
anything he'd ever witnessed.

Plankton took a deep breath and
shifted in bed, the sheets rustling
beneath him. "We can't," he said,
his voice gaining strength. "He's
no-" "Plankton, your disability is
a part of you," Karen interrupted, her
tone firm but gentle. "Our son deserves
to know, to understand."

Chip's stomach clenched. Disability?
Was that what this was? He felt
a mix of fear and confusion. What
kind of disability could cause
this?

He leaned closer to the crack in the
door, his heart thumping like a
drum in his chest. Plankton looked
up at Karen, his single eye filled
with a determination Chip hadn't
seen before in such a vulnerable
moment. "Karen," he said, his voice
steady, "Chip might sta-" "We can't
keep it from him forever. He's
not a little kid anymore."

He leaned in further, his ear
pressed to the crack in the door.
"Karen," Plankton's voice was
insistent, "Chip won't understand.
I don't want him to see me like this."

Karen sighed, her hand stroking
his arm in a comforting manner.
"He's growing up."

"He's not grown up," Plankton protested,
his voice still weak. "What if he decides
not to love me anymore?"

Karen's eyes searched 
Plankton's, filled with
sorrow and love. "Chip 
loves you for who you
are, not for what you 
can or cannot do. You 
know that."

The silence grew heavier,
but Plankton's expression didn't
ease. Chip's mind raced, trying to
understand what he was hearing.
Disability? How could his dad have
a disability? He had always been so
active, so strong, so...normal?

new to see or not to see chip plankton 1

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 2
Chip notices his mom
getting up, so he hurries
to the living room.

The floorboards creak as Karen
enters, her eyes widening in
surprise. "Chip? You're home
already!" She tries to sound
casual, but her voice wavers.
Chip's face flushes, his heart
pounding. "Yeah, the bus got
here early." He glances away,
his eyes unable to meet hers.
"How was camp?" Karen asks,
trying to keep the conversation
normal despite the tension that
now filled the room. She knew he
might've heard them, but she isn't 
sure how much.

Chip swallows hard, his eyes 
flitting from the floor to the ceiling.
"It was fun," he responds, his voice
not quite as cheerful as he'd like it
to be. He couldn't shake the image
of his dad sitting there, so still. "What
was happening in there?" he asks,
his curiosity and concern spilling over.

Karen's face falls, and she sighs,
sitting down beside him on the
sofa. "It's something we've been
trying to keep from you, sweetie,"
she says, her eyes filled with a
mixture of sadness and regret.
"But I think it's time you knew."

With a gentle nudge, she stands
and takes his hand. "Come with
me to our room," she says, leading
the way. Chip follows, his heart
thumping in his chest.

Plankton sits up in bed, his
expression a mix of shock and
confusion as he sees Chip.

"Dad, what's going on?" Chip's voice is
steady, but his eyes are wide with
concern. Plankton's cheeks redden,
his hands fidgeting with the bed
covers. "Chip," Karen starts, her voice
careful, "you know how sometimes
people are just... different?"

Plankton stammers, his eye darting
between Chip and Karen. "It's, uh, it's
nothing," he says, his voice strained.
"I just had a little... quirk. That's all."
But Chip can see the lie in his eye,
the way his shoulders tense up like
he's trying to shrink away from the
truth.

Karen sits down next to him, her
hands folded in her lap. "Plankton,
Chip heard us. It's better if we tell
him ourselves." Plankton's face
twists in a silent plea, but she
continues, her voice calm yet firm.
"It's time, sweetie."

The room seems to shrink around
them as Plankton's eye widens,
his body stiffening in the bed. He's
been hiding his autism for years,
fearful of how Chip might react, of
the misunderstanding he might face.
"Chip," Karen starts, "your dad has
something called autism."

The words hang in the air, thick
like smoke from a forgotten candle.
Chip frowns, trying to grasp the
concept. Autism? He's heard of it
before, but never connected it to
his dad. Plankton's face is a
swirl of emotions - fear, guilt,
and a desperate hope that Chip
will still respect him.

"It's okay, Plankton," Karen says,
placing a reassuring hand on his
shoulder. "We'll get through
this together." She looks at Chip,
waiting for his reaction.

Plankton's eye darts around the
room, his cheeks flaming red.
He's flabbergasted, his mind
whirling with fear and regret.
This was the moment he'd
been dreading, the moment he'd
tried to avoid for so long.

Plankton starts to rock side to side.
This is his stimming, a behavior
common among autistic individuals
that helps them cope with overwhelming
sensory input or emotions.
Chip watches, his confusion
deepening. "Don't stare, Chip!" 
Plankton snaps.

"But what's that, Dad?" Chip points
to the rocking, his voice tentative.
"Is everything okay?" Plankton
freezes mid-motion, looking
angrily at Chip. "Dad, why are yo--"
"It's none of your business, okay?"
Plankton snaps, his voice harsher
than Chip's ever heard.

Karen steps in, placing a hand
on Plankton's arm to calm him.
"Chip, it's okay," she says soothingly.
"Your dad's just trying to deal
with things in his own way."

But Chip can't ignore the anger
in his dad's voice. It's a stark
contrast to the dad he's always
known, the man who would laugh
at his jokes. "Mmm," Plankton
hums. Another stim of his.

"What's 'mmm' Dad?" Chip 
asks. "Is 'mmm' becau-"
"Don't mock me!" Plankton's
voice cuts through the air, his
anger palpable. Chip's eyes
widen, his heart dropping. He's
never seen his dad like this. 
Karen intervenes, turning
to Chip.

"When your dad makes that
sound, it's called 'stimming',"
she explains gently. "It's a way
his brain helps him process
information and feelings. It's
like a self-soothing technique. It's
part of who he is, and it's something
he doesn't always realize he's
doing. He doesn't like for people
to point it out because it makes
him feel... different."

Chip nods slowly, trying to
understand. "But I..."

Karen cuts him off gently. "It's
important to respect your dad's
boundaries, especially when it comes
to his autism." She looks at Plankton,
his rocking slowing down. "It's a
part of him that helps him cope, not
to judge or interrupt. Because when
it comes to stimming, it's a personal
and private moment for him. I don't even
interrupt him when he's doing it, unless
it's absolutely necessary."

Chip nods, but he's still 
curious. "When do you
know how he stims, then?"
he asks his mom. She smiles
gently.

"Well, sweetie, it's all about
knowing your dad," she says.
"I've learned his cues over
the years. When he starts
rocking or making muttering
sound, it's like his way of telling
he needs a little space to sort
things out. It's his private moment
to cope."

Chip nods, processing this new
piece of information. "Does he
always know when he's doing it?"

Karen sighs, her gaze softening
as she looks at Plankton. "Sometimes
yes, sometimes no. It's like... it's like
his brain is in a different place,
and he needs these movements or
sounds to bring him back to us."

Chip nods, watching his dad's
rocking slow to a stop. He looks
back at Karen, his eyes full of
questions. "But when he stims
what do we do?"

Karen's gaze meets Plankton's,
and she smiles reassuringly at him.
"Just give him space," she says,
turning to Chip. "And if you're
worried, just come find me. We'll
talk about it, okay? Just don't push
him when he's like this, because it
can be really overwhelming for him."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving
his dad's face. He's trying to
understand, trying to reconcile
the image of his dad rocking
back and forth in bed with the
man he's always known. He's seen
his dad as invincible, as a rock.
And now, here he is, vulnerable.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chipcore

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 23
Plankton sits stiffly
on the couch, antennae
twitching as he tries to
make sense of the new
environment. Karen sits
by him with Chip as
Hanna herself sits in
front of the couch by them.

"So," Hanna says, her 
voice high-pitched.
"What should we do first?"

Plankton's antennae
twitch, his eye darting
to Karen again. She
squeezes his hand gently.
"Why don't we take a look
at the guest room?" Karen
suggests, her voice calm.
"Where we'll sleep and
put all our stuff.."

Hanna nods eagerly. "Follow
me!" She leads them down
a hallway, the floorboards
creaking underfoot. Plankton's
heart races. New places meant
new sounds, new smells,
new everything. He feels
his body tense, his stims
wanting to take over. But he
holds back.

The guest room is a riot
of color, the walls adorned
with various knick-knacks
that Hanna has collected
over the years. Plankton's
eye widens at the visual
stimulation, and his antennae
twitch rapidly. He knows he
needs to find a way to cope.

"Well, that's is your 
shared room," Hanna 
says cheerfully. "I
hope you like it!"
Plankton nods, his
eye taking in the
whirlwind of color and
patterns. It's a lot to
process. "It's...vibrant,"
he says, his voice tight.

Hanna cackles at Plankton's
comment, her laughter too
loud. "Oh, I just LOVE
color!" she says, not
noticing his discomfort.

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his hand clenching into a
fist. He takes a deep
breath, willing his stims
away. He doesn't want
to ruin the moment, doesn't
want Hanna to notice. But
his senses are on overload,
his mind racing.

"Thank you," Karen says
with a forced smile, stepping
forward to set down their
bags. She can feel the tension
radiating from her husband.

Hanna sits, her smile not
dimming. "Oh, I just know
we're going to have so
much fun together," she
gushes. "AND I've got a
whole drawer full of board
games for us to play!"
Plankton nods, his smile
slightly strained, wondering
how much longer he can
keep up the façade.

Hanna's chatter fills the
room. "I've got
special movies for us
tonight! And I've got
everything from classics to
the LATEST SCI-FI!"

Plankton nods politely,
his antennae quivering.
He's trying to keep up with
the rapid-fire conversation.
"Uh, sure." He responds.
Hanna's eyes light up at his
interest in science fiction.
"Oh, I KNOW you're going to
love them," she says. His antennae
twitch with the effort to keep
up with the conversation,
his eye glazed over with
overstimulation. But Hanna
doesn't notice. She pinches
his shoulder, her laughter
bubbly. "You're just SO
sweet!"

Plankton flinches at
the contact, his body
wanting to retreat. He
swallows hard, trying to
find the words to express
his discomfort without
offending Hanna. But she's
already chatting on, her
energy unstoppable.

Her hand lands on his
knee, giving it a
squeeze. "Oh, I'm just
so thrilled to have
you here," she says.

But Plankton's mind is
elsewhere, his vision
starting to waver as
his body fights the
onset of an absence
seizure. The room
spins around him, and
his heart races. He
knows the signs all too
well, the sudden
disconnection from the
world as his brain goes
into overdrive.

Karen's eyes dart to
Plankton's face, reading
the signs. She knows
what's happening.

"Why don't we give
them a few minutes to
settle in?" Karen suggests,
interrupting Hanna's
enthusiastic chatter. "They've
got to be tired from the trip."

Hanna nods, her smile
slightly puzzled but
understanding. "Oh, of
course!" she says,
backing out of the room.

The door closes with a
click, leaving the three
of them. Plankton's antennae
twitch faster, his eye
unfocused. He feels the
world slipping away.

"Dad?" Chip whispers,
his hand tentatively reaching
out. Plankton's breathing
quickens, his heart
pounding in his chest.

Karen's voice is calm,
a beacon in the storm.
"Plankton, remember your
stims," she says gently.
"Find something to help
you ground."

Plankton's gaze flickers,
his antennae moving erratically.
He searches for his
sensory bag, his eye
landing on it by the
foot of the bed.

Karen notices, her hand
quickly grabbing the bag.
"Here," she says, her voice
calm and steady. "Use
your noise-canceling 
blindfold."

Plankton takes it, his
hands shaking as he
tries to put it over his eye.
The darkness is immediate,
his other senses
intensifying. He can feel
the fabric against his skin,
his heartbeat in his chest.
He breathes in deeply, his
chest rising and falling as
he fights against the seizure.

Chip watches, his heart
racing. He's seen this
before, but it never gets
easy. He wants to help, but
his mom's words echo in his
mind. 'Let him be'. So, he sits.

Karen's hand finds its way
to Plankton's, her grip
firm and reassuring. "You're okay,
sweetie," she says softly.
"We're here for you."

Plankton nods, his
breaths shallow, his antennae
twitching. The pressure
of Hanna's touch and the
sensory overload of the
new environment had been too
much. He'd felt the seizure
coming, the world closing
in on him. Yet Karen's
voice, her touch, it helps.

He closes his eye,
his hand fumbling for the
stim toy from the bag.
It's a small, velvet-covered
sphere, and he clutches it
tightly. The texture is
soothing, grounding.

The room is quiet, save
for their soft breaths and
the occasional creak of the
house. Chip's heart thuds
against his chest as he
watches his dad, willing him
to be okay. Plankton's hand
squeezes the velvet sphere,
his other hand reaching out
to find Karen's.

Karen's eyes never leave
his face. She's seen this
so many times before, the
battle he wages internally.
Her heart breaks a little
each time, but her
expression remains calm.

Chip watches, his own heart
racing. He's seen this
before too, the way his
dad's body fights against
his mind. He's learned that
silence is often the best
medicine in these moments.

Karen continues to
speak in low, even tones.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
whispers. "You're safe."
Her hand never leaves
his, the connection
unbroken. Chip 
wants to copy her,
his hand going onto 
his dad's knee..

But Plankton's body
only rejects Chip's 
touch, unable to handle
any more stimulation.

Karen's voice remains
steady, her grip on
his hand tight. "Breathe,
sweetie," she whispers.
"In, and ou-"

Her words are cut off by
the sudden silence. Plankton's
body goes still, his antennae
ceasing their erratic movement.
Karen notices Chip's hand on
Plankton's knee.

"Chip, buddy," she says gently.
"Let's give him some space."
Chip nods, his eyes wide
with concern. He
moves his hand away.

Chip sits, his eyes glued to
his dad. "D-dad?" he
whispers, his voice shaky.
Plankton's hand moves
to the blindfold, looking
around the room as if
seeing it for the first time.

"It's okay," Karen repeats.
"It's just a seizure, Chip.
They're not uncommon."

"Need," Plankton says,
his voice faint, like it's
coming from far away.
"I need... I need... I don't
know what I need." Karen
knew that Plankton's still
not with them yet when he
talks like this.

Karen nods, her voice still
soft. "You're okay, Plankton.
You're just having a seizure."
Chip nods, trying to
swallow his fear. He's
learned that talking calmly
helps bring him back.
"It's okay," Chip echoes
his mom. "We're right here."

Plankton's eye darts around
the room, his antennae still.
"Need...Plankton," he murmurs.
The gibberish isn't uncommon
during these episodes,
his mind trying to find
comfort in familiar concepts.
Plankton's eye, still
unfocused and glazed,
continues to dart around
the room. "Yes?"
he murmurs again, his voice
barely above a whisper.

"You're okay," Karen
says firmly, her voice
a gentle anchor in the
storm of sensory chaos.
"We're all here for you."
Chip nods in agreement,
his voice shaky but
determined. "Just breathe,
Da-"

But Plankton's grip on
his sanity is slipping.
His words come out
in a jumble, nonsensical.
"Wash... blue...cuckoo?"
his voice is a distant echo,
his mind searching for
comfort in familiar things.
Karen's heart aches, her
thumb rubbing his hand.
"It's okay, Plankton,"
she repeats. "You're
safe." Chip watches, his
eyes brimming with tears.
He doesn't understand what's
happening, but he knows
his dad needs them.

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 17
The next morning
Plankton groaned
awake, anesthesia
for his wisdom teeth
having worn off 
during the night. He's
in his bed, by Karen's.

"Karen?" he mumbled. 
His antennae
twitch as he looked
around, trying to
recall the previous day.

Karen stirred beside him,
her eyes opening sleepily.
"You okay?" she asked,
concern etching her
face. Plankton nodded, his
movements slow. "Mouth
hurts," he whispered, his
voice hoarse. Karen's smile
was filled with sympathy.
"It's normal, sweetie," she
soothed, her hand reaching
out to stroke his cheek.
"The surgery was yesterday.
It'll take a few days
for it to feel better."

Plankton's antennae
twitched as he tried to
sit up. The pain was
sharp, a reminder of
his ordeal. Karen knew
his autism would make
him impatient, knowing
his sensory sensitivities.
"Do you need anything,
sweetie?" she asked, her voice
gentle. Plankton was
always particular, but now,
his needs were magnified.
He shrugged. "Not right
now," he murmured.

Chip knocked softly
on the door, his heart
racing. He hadn't
seen his dad since last
night. "Hey, Dad," he
whispered, stepping into
the room. Plankton's
eye widened slightly, his
antennas quivering. "Chip?"
he said. Chip nodded, his
expression tentative.

"How are you feeling?"
Plankton's antennae
twitched. "Mouth hurts,"
he mumbled. "But I'm okay."
Chip nodded, his eyes
searching his dad's.
"Do you...do you rememb-"

Plankton's eye darted to the
side, his antennae quivering.
"I...I remember," he said, his
voice strained. "The de-"

"Dentist," Chip finished
for him, his voice gentle.
Plankton nodded, his gaze
flicking to Chip's face. "Yeah,
the dentist." He paused,
his antennae stilling. "It was
scary." "But I mean, what all do you
recall from yesterday, Dad?"

Plankton's antennae drooped
slightly as he searched
his mind. "I...I remember
the chair, the lights,"
he murmured, his voice
faint. "And the...the...uh,
the mask." His voice grew
smaller. "And then...
I felt myself waking up.
Anything else after that I...
I'm not sure; hopefully I've
done nothing foolish.."

Karen's eyes filled with
understanding. "You
were groggy, sweetie. It's
normal. You didn't do
anything weird." Plankton's
eye searched hers. "I...I talked
to you, right?" Karen nodded.
"Yes, you talked to me."

Plankton's antennae
twitched. "And Chip?"
he asked, his voice hopeful.
"You talked to him too,"
Karen assured him.

Chip stepped closer to
the bed, his eyes on his
dad's face. "You talked to me,
Dad," he said softly. "You
were just a bit out of it,
but we ta—"

Plankton's antennae 
shot up. "What do you
mean I was out of it?"

Karen sighed, her eyes
soft. "You were a bit
confused, darling," she
explained gently. "The
anesthesia can make people
say things they might not
usually say." Plankton's eye
widened. "What things; Chip?
What made you to believe I
was out of it?"

Chip's cheeks flushed, but
he knew this was an
important moment for
his dad to understand.
"Well," he began, "you talked
about wanting pudding,
and you held my ha-"

Plankton's antennae shot
up. "I did WHAT?" he
interrupted, his voice
sharp with alarm. "I
held your hand?" Chip nodded,
his throat tight. "Yeah, Dad,
you asked if you could hold
my hand, I guess looking for
com--" "I did no such
thing!" His face flushed
with embarrassment.
Karen's eyes filled with
concern. "Plankton, it's
okay. It was just the
medicine. It was just
because you were so tired
and needed comfort."
Plankton's antennae
drooped with embarrassment
in front of Chip.

Chip knew his dad valued
his dignity highly and
his autism made social
interactions difficult.
He took a deep breath.
"Dad, it's okay. It's just
that you were really tired
and the medicine made
you say some things you
might not have meant."
Plankton looked up. "I kno—
I said stuff? What stuff? 
What'd all I do?"

Karen stepped in, her voice
calm. "You just talked
about being tired, and
asked for pudding. That's
all." Plankton's antennae
twitched in relief. "Oh. Okay."
He lay back, his breath
evening out. "So I didn't look
or ac-"

"You were adorable," Chip
interrupted, trying to
lighten the mood. Plankton's
eye narrowed, his antennae
still. "What?" he asked, his
voice skeptical. "I was
what? How so, Chip?"
Chip shrugged, his smile
genuine. "In the car, you
fell aslee—"

"Chip," Karen warned,
interrupting him. She knew
his intentions were good,
but she also knew that Plankton
could become easily upset
by perceived patronizing.
But Plankton's always been
stubborn. "No, no; Chip, how'd
you know if I was asleep?"

Chip stumbled, trying to
explain without causing
distress. "You, uh, your snores
were...uh..."

Plankton's antennae perked
up, his eye focusing on Chip.
"WHAT?" he asked.
Karen chuckled. "Yes, dear,
you snore. But it's nothing
to be embarrassed about."

Plankton's cheeks flushed a
deep shade of red. "I do
not!" he protested. "You must
have heard the engine, or
something?"

Chip couldn't help but laugh,
his eyes sparkling. "No,
Dad, it was definitely you."
Karen's eyes crinkled with
amusement. "It's just your
snoring, Plankton," she said.
"It's cute, and I've heard it
numerous times before." Chip
just grinned, unable to hold
back his laughter any longer.

Plankton's antennae
drooped, his eye looking
between the two of them.
"Cute?" he murmured, his
voice filled with doubt. Karen
nodded, her smile warm.
"Yes, cute," Chip told
him. "It's just a part of
who you are, like your
stims.."

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly at the
word 'stims'. He knew
about stimming, the way
his body moved when he was
nervous or overwhelmed. But
to hear it from Chip, to know
his son was still thinking of it,
was mortifying.
Chip, noticing his dad's
discomfort, quickly changed
the subject. "So, how
about that chocolate pudding?"
he chuckled, trying to ease
tension. But Plankton's
attitude remained.

Karen, ever the mediator,
stepped in. "You know what,
let's give each other some
space," she suggested, looking
at Chip. She knew Plankton's
limits and can tell when
he's overwhelmed.

Chip nodded, his
laughter dying down. "Okay,"
he murmured, stepping back.

Plankton's antennae
twitched as he lay there.
His hand began to move in
small, repetitive circles.
It was a stim, something
he did when restless.
"Why did I ask for pudding?"
he whispered to himself, his voice
tiny. "Why did I hold his
hand?" His antennae quivered
with the weight of his thoughts.
He had always been particular
about personal space, so the
idea of holding Chip's hand was
both confusing and disconcerting.
"It was the medicine," he murmured.
"Just the medicine. That's right. Just
the medicine. It's just me,
Plankton. I'm ok. Just a bit...different."
He paused, his antennae still.
"But I'm ok."

"Dad," Chip said softly. Plankton's
antennas shot up at the sound,
his stimming hand freezing.
He turned his head, his eye
finding Chip's face. "What
is it?" he asked, his voice
sharp. Chip approached the bed,
his gaze on his dad's hand,
still mid-motion. Plankton's antennae
twitched in irritation.
"Is that a stim, Dad?"
Chip said, trying to keep his
tone neutral. "You know,
like when you bounce your leg
or I ta-"

"I know what a stim is,"
Plankton snapped, his antennae
waving in annoyance. "Why
do you keep bringing it up?"
Chip took a step back, his
face falling. "I just...I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye narrowing.
"No," he murmured. "It's...it's
because my mouth hurts."
Chip nodded, his gaze
focused. "But that's not all of
it, is i---"

Plankton's hand abruptly
stopped moving, his antennae
straightening. "What do you
know, Chip?" he asked, his 
voice defensive. Karen
could see the hurt in Chip's
expression, but she knew
this was a boundary Plankton
needed to set.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

⟡ pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

→ AI Story Generator ←

completely free, NO signup required (ever), and unlimited!

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 3
Plankton notices the shift in Chip's
expression and his own face falls.
He's been so scared of this moment,
of being seen as less than. He's
always tried to keep his stims
under wraps, to appear as 'normal'
as possible. But now it's all out
in the open, and he can't hide anymore.

Karen reaches for Plankton's hand,
squeezing it gently. "It's okay, love.
You don't have to be afraid. Chip's
smart, he'll understand." She looks
back at Chip, her eyes pleading.
"Remember what we talked about,
Chip. Your dad's stimming is his way
of coping with the world, and it's
something that makes him feel
safe and comfortable. Yet we need
to understand that when he's doing
it, it's his personal time. It's just not
for us to intrude on. Because for
him, it's like a secret conversation he's
having with himself."

Chip nods slowly, his eyes
flicking from his dad's face to
his mom's, trying to digest the
new reality that's being laid out
before him. Plankton takes a
deep, shuddering breath, his
rocking coming to a stop.

Karen stands up, walking over to
Plankton, and kisses him on the
cheek. "Why don't you go wash up,
sweetie?" she suggests gently. "I'll
talk to Chip." Plankton nods, his
expression a mix of relief and fear.
He slides out of bed, his legs
shaky, and heads to the bathroom.

The moment the door clicks shut,
Karen turns to Chip, her eyes filled
with a quiet determination. "You
see, Chip," she starts, her voice
softer now, "Your dad's stimming is
like his private conversation with
his brain. Sometimes, he'll start
saying random things, talking to himself,
working through his thoughts
and feelings. So when you
commented on it, it was like
you interrupted a conversation he
was having to himself, which can be
upsetting."

Chip nods, his eyes following the
path his dad took to the bathroom.
"But what if he's hurt?" he asks,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"How do we know if it's okay?"

Karen sighs, her expression
softening. "That's a good question,
Chip. We just need to be observant.
If he's happy or upset, his stims
might be different. And if he ever
looks like he's in pain, or if he's distressed,
that's when we step in, but first ask."

She takes a deep breath,
preparing herself for the next part
of their conversation. "But it's also
important to remember that even
though we can't always understand
what he's feeling or why he stims,
it's his way of dealing with the world.
So we need to be respectful, and not
make him feel weird or uncomfortable."

Chip nods, his gaze still on
the bathroom door. "I don't want
to make him feel bad," he says, his
voice sincere. Karen sits back down
beside him, her arm wrapping around
his shoulders. "We know" she
assures him. "You're a good kid,
Chip. You'll learn to read him
better than anyone else."

As Plankton emerges from
the bathroom, his face is washed
clean, but the fear lingers in
his eye. He sits back down on
the edge of the bed, his posture
rigid. Karen looks at him with
love and patience, waiting for him
to speak.

"Chip," she starts, her voice
careful. "You know how everyone
has their own ways of dealing with
stuff, right?" Chip nods, his gaze
flipping between his parents. "Well,
your dad's brain works a bit
differently than ours. Sometimes,
he needs to do things like rocking
or making sounds to help him
think and feel better. He may
even repeat words or phrases,
which is called echolalia. It's all
part of his autism, and it's his way of
navigating through the world."

Karen's eyes are filled with a
mixture of love and hope as she
speaks. "These are his stims, and
they're very personal to him. It's like
his own secret language, a way
to communicate with himself. So
when you see him doing these things,
it's important to remember that he's
not doing it for show, or for
attention. It's his brain's way of
talking to him, of keeping him calm."

Plankton nods slowly, his eye
dull with the weight of his secret
now out in the open. "And sometimes,"
Karen adds, "I've seen him come out
of seizures while talking to his brain."

"Seizures?" Chip asks, his voice
laced with fear. Plankton winces at
the word, but Karen nods. "They're not
like the seizures you might think of,
sweetie. They're a part of his autism.
It's like his brain's way of restarting,
of reorganizing itself when things
get too much."

Plankton finally speaks up, his
voice shaky. "I don't like it when you
saw me like that Chip," he admits.
"Now I'm... exposed. So just GO 
AHEAD AND STARE." He throws 
his hands up in a dramatic
gesture, his sarcasm clear. Chip
flinches, feeling a pang of guilt.

Karen puts a gentle hand on 
Plankton's knee. "Chip wasn't 
staring, sweetie. He was just 
trying to understand." She turns 
to Chip. "It's okay to be curious,
but remember, Dad's stims are like
his personal bubble. They help
him feel safe when the world 
is too loud or confusing. So unless
he's really upset or in pain, we
respect that space."

Chip nods, feeling a mix of
understanding and awkwardness.
He's never thought about his dad's
quirks as being part of something
so... significant. "Okay," he says,
his voice small. "I'll try not to
stare or interrupt."

Karen smiles warmly at him.
"That's all we ask, buddy. Just
love him the way you always have.
And if you have any questions, you
can always come to us. We're a team,
and we're all here for each other."

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 4
Plankton looks at Chip, his
eye searching for any sign of
judgment or fear. But all he sees
is confusion and concern. "I-I-I-I… I just..."

Karen takes over, her voice
soothing. "It's okay, Plankton.
You don't have to explain everything
right now. Chip just needs to
understand that your stimming is
private." "But why does he have to know?"
Plankton asks, his voice tight with
anxiety. "Why can't it just be our
secret?" Karen's expression is one
of compassion.

"Because, love," she says, her
hand still on his knee, "Chip is
part of our family, and he deserves
to know who you really are. And
his knowing won't change how
much we love you." Plankton nods
slowly, but the fear in his eye
doesn't dissipate entirely.

Chip sits quietly, watching his
parents interact. He's never
seen this side of his dad before,
and it's unsettling. But he
doesn't want to make things
worse. "I won't say anything, Dad,"
he promises, going to hug him.
"And I'll try to underst--"

"Don't!" Plankton recoils, his
body stiffening at the sudden
touch. Chip freezes, his arms
outstretched, unsure of what
just happened.

Karen's face falls. "Chip, remember.
Let him come to you when he's
ready." She looks at Plankton,
apology in her eyes. Plankton nods
slightly, his cheeks reddening.

"It's okay," Chip says, pulling away
and sitting back down on the bed.
"I just wanted to tell you that I
love you, Dad." Plankton's eye
softens, but he turns away, now
talking to himself, his voice low and
quick. "I told him not to stare," he
mumbles. "Doesn't he
understand." His eye darts around
the room, focusing on nothing.

Karen watches him, her heart
aching. Plankton's stims had
always been their secret, something
they'd navigated together. Now,
it was witnessed by Chip.

Plankton's voice grew louder,
his words a jumbled mess as he
spoke to himself. "I shouldn't have
let him see, no," he said. "Not. Today."

Karen watched him, her heart
breaking for her husband. She knew
how much he valued his privacy,
how much his autism was a part of
his identity, and now it was out in
the open for their son to see.

Chip looked at his mom, his eyes
full of confusion and concern.
Karen squeezed Plankton's hand
and turned to Chip. "Remember,
buddy, sometimes Dad needs to talk
to himself to make sense of things.
It's his way of organizing his thoughts."

Chip nodded, trying to
understand. "But why 
can't I hug you, Dad?" 
he asked softly.

Karen's voice was calm as
she explained. "Sometimes,
when people with autism
get overwhelmed, physical
contact can be too much for
them to handle, even if it's from
someone they love. And your
dad's sensitive to certain touch
Chip, okay?" Chip nodded, his
throat tight with emotion.

"It's okay, Chip," Karen said, her voice
soft. "Dad's just talking to himself,
like I said. It's his way of making
sense of things." She watched as Chip
processed this, his eyes never leaving
his father. "But remember, it's his
conversation. We should let him
have it without interrupting. And
right now, he's okay. He's just...
thinking out loud." She glanced at
Plankton, whose eye had stopped
darting around and was now focused
on the floor.

Chip nodded, his curiosity
getting the better of him. "But 
Mom, why does he need to st-" 
"I don't need to explain myself to
you!" Plankton snapped, cutting him
off. "You wouldn't understand 
anyway!" His voice was sharp,
like a knife slicing through
the quiet of the room.

Chip's eyes widened, and
he took a step back, his hands
raised in a placating gesture. "I'm 
sorry," he said, his voice small. "I just 
wanted to kno—"

"Chip," Karen interjected, her voice
gentle but firm. "Remember what you
learned. Dad's stimming is his private
time. We need to respect that." She
turned to Plankton, her expression
full of understanding. "It's okay,
love. You don't have to explain."

Plankton took a deep breath,
his rocking starting up again. "But
what if he doesn't respect me
anymore?" he whispered, his voice
shaking. Karen leaned in, her
eyes filled with love. "Chip loves
you, Plankton. And now he knows
a little more about you. That's all."

But Chip's questions didn't stop.
He was like a detective piecing
together a puzzle, his curiosity
unyielding. "What about the sounds
yo--"

"Chip," Karen's voice was firm but
kind. "Remember what we said.
Dad's stims are personal. Let's
give him space." But Chip's
mind was racing, trying to
make connections. "But does he
make sounds wh-"

"Chip," Plankton cut 
him off, his voice
strained. "Just KNOCK 
IT OFF and leave me 
alone, okay?" Chip felt
the sting of his dad's
words, his heart sinking.
He'd never seen Plankton
so agitated. Karen's grip
on his shoulder tightened.
"Chip," she said softly,
turning him to face her.
"Your dad's had a lot to
process today. Let's just
give him some space, okay?"

With a nod, Chip backed
away from the bed, his
eyes on his dad, who had
resumed rocking. He retreated to
his room. He'd always
thought his dad was just
quirky, a bit odd at times, but
now it all made sense. The
way he'd get lost in his
thoughts, the way he'd repeat
things, and how he'd sometimes
need his space. It was all part
of this... 'autism'. It was a lot to take
in, but he was determined to
understand.

Karen sat beside Plankton,
her hand resting lightly on his
back. "It's okay, sweetie," she
whispered, her voice soothing.
"Chip just needs time to
understand." Plankton's rocking
slowed, his breathing returning
to normal. "But what if he's
embarrassed?" he asked, his
eye still fixed on the floor.
"Embarrassed?" Karen echoed,
her voice gentle. "Why would
he be embarrassed? You're his
dad, and he loves you just as
you are. This is just something
new for him to learn." Plankton's
shoulders slumped, and he let
out a sigh.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 5
The next morning, Chip
decided to go into his
parent's shared bedroom.
Karen was sitting beside
Plankton, who was in his bed.
Her hand was gently tracing
patterns on his arm. Plankton's
eye was closed, and the only 
sound in the room was his
softly rhythmic snoring.

The sight of his dad lying
there, peaceful and quiet, was
comforting. Plankton's chest
moved up and down with
each breath, and Chip felt
his own anxiety start to ease.
He sat down on the edge of
the bed, watching his dad
sleep, his curiosity now
tempered with empathy. Karen
smiled at him, her eyes full of
understanding. "It's okay," she
whispered. "He's just resting."
Chip nodded, watching
Plankton's antenna twitching
ever so slightly with each
breath. He'd never seen his
dad so still, so... peaceful.

The room was bathed in the soft
glow of the morning sun, and the
quiet was almost sacred. Chip
could see now how Plankton's
stims were like a shield,
how they protected him from a
world that could be too much at
times. And in sleep, that shield
was down, revealing the
vulnerable man beneath. Karen's
hand continued to trace gentle
patterns on his arm. Chip reached out,
his own hand hovering over
Plankton's arm, unsure if he
should touch him.

"It's okay," Karen mouthed,
seeing the uncertainty in Chip's
eyes. "He's sleeping." So Chip
placed his hand lightly on Plankton's
arm, mimicking his mom.

The warmth of Plankton's skin
under his palm felt surprisingly
normal. For a moment, Chip
forget about the storm of the
previous night and the revelation
of his dad's autism. He watched
the steady rise and fall of
his chest, the soft snores
that punctuated the silence.

Karen's eyes remained on her
husband, a tender smile playing
on her lips. Her hand never
ceased its gentle motion, the
love in the action palpable.
The sun painted the room
in soft, warm light, casting
a gentle glow across the
crumpled bedcovers and the
slightly open mouth of the
sleeping Plankton.

The rhythmic sound of his
snores filled the space, a
comforting symphony to
Karen's ears. She'd heard it
a thousand times before,
each inhale and exhale a
testament to his survival in
a world that often felt too
much for him. Chip sat
silently, his hand tentatively
resting on Plankton's arm.

In sleep, Plankton's armor
was down, revealing the
softness beneath. His
stims, the protective
shells he'd built around
his thoughts, had ceased.
The tension in his body
was replaced by a gentle
relaxation, as if even in
his subconscious, he knew
he was safe.

Karen's hand on
Plankton's arm was a silent
testament to their bond, a
wordless conversation that
transcended the barriers of
his condition. The gentle
movements, almost imperceptible
to an outsider, were a
soothing balm to Plankton's
nervous system. Chip felt a
wave of love and protectiveness
for his father wash over him,
a feeling that grew stronger
as he watched his mom's
caring ministrations. He studied the
contours of Plankton's face,
his sleep-slackened jaw and
the soft snores that rumbled.

He thought about the stims he'd
seen the night before, the
rocking, the muttering. Now,
his dad's quietude spoke
volumes about his need for
space and understanding. Chip
swallowed hard, his own
thoughts racing. He knew
his curiosity could sometimes
be intrusive, but he couldn't
help it. He wants to know
everything about his dad,
now more than ever.

As the minutes ticked by,
Plankton's snores grew softer,
until they were just a faint
whisper in the room. Karen's
hand never stopped moving,
her eyes never leaving his
face. It was like watching a
dance, a silent conversation that
only the two of them understood.

Chip felt a lump in his
throat, the gravity of the
situation starting to hit him.
He'd always known his dad
was different, but now he knew
why. Autism was a part of
Plankton that couldn't be
fixed or ignored, it was
a piece of him, as essential
as his antennae or his love
for Krabby Patties.

He watched as Karen
continued her silent vigil, her
touch a gentle reminder of
his dad's humanity amidst
his neurodivergence. Plankton
was still the same person,
his quirks and tics a part of
his identity, not a flaw to
be hidden. Chip's mind was
full of questions.

How had his dad managed to
keep this a secret for so long?
Why did he feel the need to
mask his true self? He knew
his dad was different, but he'd
never fully grasped the extent
of it. Plankton had always
been a whirlwind of energy,
his brain firing on all cylinders.
But now, watching him sleep,
his body at peace, Chip saw the
weight that Plankton carried
each day. The effort it took
to navigate a world that
wasn't built for him. The stims
were his crutch, his way of
finding balance. And Karen,
his rock, always there, offering
comfort with just a touch.

Karen looked up, her eyes
meeting Chip's. "You know,"
she said softly, "your dad's
always been like this. Since
before you were born. And I
fell in love with him knowing
of it, not despite it." Chip felt
his eyes sting with tears. He'd
never thought about his
parents' relationship in this
light before, the quiet strength
that must have been there
from the start.

He watched as Karen leaned
forward and kissed Plankton's
forehead. "He's always been
my hero," she whispered. "And
now, I want you to see him that
way too." Chip nodded, his
throat tight with emotion.

He took a deep breath and
moved closer to the bed, his hand
still hovering above Plankton's
arm. "What can I do?" he asked,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"What do you need from me?"

Karen's eyes never left Plankton's
face, but she squeezed Chip's hand.
"Just love him, Chip," she said,
her voice filled with warmth. "Be
his rock, just like I am."

Chip nodded, understanding
dawning. He leaned in and
kissed his dad's cheek, his
hand now resting gently on
his arm. Plankton's snores
hitched at the contact, and
Chip froze, his heart racing
as Plankton's eye fluttered open.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 8
Chip took another step back,
his own emotions a tangled mess.
Guilt, fear, and confusion
battled within him as he watched
his dad's pain. "I'm sorry," he
whispered, his voice cracking.
"I didn't mean to make yo--"

"I SAID STOP!" Plankton's
voice was like a whip crack,
slicing through the air with
frustration. Chip flinched, the
force of his dad's anger palpable.
"Dad," he began, his voice
shaking, "I just-"

"JUST?" Plankton spat, his eye
blazing. "You just don't get
it, do you?" His words were
sharp as knives, each one
cutting deeper into the silence.
"You think you can just... touch
me, hug me, and it'll all be fine?"
He sneered, his body trembling
with the effort to control his
emotions. "Well, it's not that
simple, is it?"

Chip's cheeks burned with a
mixture of embarrassment
and anger. "I'm sorry," he said
stiffly. "I didn't know it was
such a big de-"

"Don't tell me what I know,
boy!" Plankton snapped. His voice
was a whipcrack of sarcasm,
each word a stinging rebuke.
"I've been doing this dance
my whole life, and now
you think you can make me
your little science project?"
Chip's eyes filled with hurt,
his hand dropping to his side.
"That's not what I'm doing,"
he protested, his voice barely
above a whisper. "I just... I just
want to he--"

"Want to help?" Plankton
interrupted, his tone dripping
with bitterness. "You think I
need your help? Your pity?"
His antennae twitched with anger.
"I've managed just fine without
you!" His voice was a storm,
his words thunderous in the
silence of the room. "So don't
you dare act like you get to be
part of this now!"

Now Chip felt his own 
emotions flare up.

"What the barnacles is your
problem?" Chip snapped, his
frustration boiling over. "You're
always so... so sensitive. Can't
I just show you that I love
you without you throwing a
fit? Don't you know that you're
just being ridiculously over-
dramatic? I can't have a father
who's so autistic and so..." He trailed
off, his eyes searching for the
right word, and then it hit him; the slur
is a term he'd heard use to describe
someone acting unsmart, not knowing
the impact it would have.

The moment the insult left his
lips, the room went cold. Karen
gasped, her hand flying to cover
her mouth. Plankton's body
went rigid, his antennae shooting
straight up as if electrified. Chip
felt a sinking feeling in his gut,
like he'd just swallowed an anchor.
He knew he'd crossed a line,
but he didn't know where it was or
how to get back. "Dad, I didn't mean-"

"GET OUT!" Plankton roared.
Chip had never seen his dad like this,
his eye blazing with fury and
hurt. He stumbled backwards,
his heart racing as he tried to
make sense of the horror on
his dad's face. "I didn't know,"
he murmured, his voice small
and lost.

Karen's eyes were wide, her
cheeks wet with tears. She'd
heard the word, the one that
cut deeper than any knife. The one
that reduced her Plankton to a
joke, a problem to be solved.
"That's enough," she said, her voice
firm but trembling. "You've
hurt him enough, Chip."

Chip's eyes were filled with shock,
his mind reeling from his dad's
reaction. He didn't mean to say
it, didn't even know it was bad.
"But I just..." He couldn't find the
words. "I didn't know it was... I just
wanted to tell him..."

Karen's voice was firm, but
underneath, Chip heard the
sorrow. "Your dad's autism isn't
something to be fixed," she said,
wiping at her own tears. "It's part
of who he is. And calling him
that... it's like telling him that
part of him isn't good enough."
Plankton was still in his corner,
his body taut with tension.

Chip felt the weight of his
mother's words, the gravity of
his mistake. He'd hurt his dad,
the one person he never wanted
to cause pain. "I didn't mean it
like that," he whispered.

But Plankton was beyond words,
his body trembling with rage.
He'd been called that name before,
by those who didn't understand,
who didn't care. His antennae
quivered with the effort to hold
back the storm of emotions
threatening to unleash.

Karen stepped between them,
her hand on Chip's shoulder.
"Out," she said firmly, her voice
a whip of authority. "Now."

Chip didn't argue. He knew
he'd done wrong, and he knew
his place wasn't here right now.
He turned and left the room,
his heart heavy with regret. 

As the door clicked shut,
the tension in the room didn't
disappear. It grew thicker,
like a fog that clung to their
skin, suffocating them both.
Karen sat next to Plankton,
her hand hovering near his shoulder
but not making contact. She knew
better than to push, to force him
to face his pain. Instead, she offered
silent support, her presence a
beacon of love in the storm.

Plankton's body was a tight
coil of anger and hurt
as he rocked back
and forth. "Plankton," Karen said
softly, her hand still hovering.
"I know we're upset, but Chip's
just trying to understand.
He didn't mean to be ableist."
Her words were met with
silence; she didn't push.

The room felt like it was
spinning around him, the
words echoing in his head.
He knew his son hadn't meant
to wound him, but the sting
was there all the same. "Why
can't he just leave me alone?"
Plankton whispered, his voice
small and defeated. "Why does
he have to make everything
about him?"

Karen's eyes filled with
understanding. "It's not
about him, Plankton," she said
gently. "It's about love and
connection. He just doesn't
know how to give it in a way
that doesn't overwhelm you."
Her hand touched his shoulder
lightly, and he flinched. She
withdrew it immediately, her
heart aching.

"I know, I know," he murmured,
his voice tight. "But it hurts."
Karen nodded, her own eyes
brimming with tears. "I know it does,"
she said. "And I'm so sorry."
Plankton leaned into her, his
body still shaking.

"Why can't he just get it?"
he whispered, his antennae
drooping. "Why does he have
to make everything so hard?"
Karen wrapped her arm around
his shoulders, holding him close.
"Because he loves you, Plankton.
And he's scared of losing you."
Plankton's body stiffened at her
words.

He knew she was right.
Chip had always been like that,
so eager to please, so desperate
for attention. And Plankton had
always been there for him, his
rock in a stormy sea. But now,
the tables had turned, and he didn't
know how to navigate these
uncharted waters of vulnerability.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping. "I know,"
he murmured, his voice thick with
unshed tears. "I know he loves me."
Karen's grip tightened around
his shoulders. "Then we need
to find a way to help him understand,"
she said, her voice a soft caress.
"We need to show him that love
doesn't have to be loud or overwhelming."

They sat in silence for a
moment, the only sound the
steady rhythm of their breathing.
Plankton's body began to relax,
his tremors subsiding. "I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"I just... I don't know how to do this."
Karen leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss
to his cheek. "We'll do it together,"
she said. "One step at a time."

Chip stood outside the door, his
fist pressed against the wood. He could
hear their muffled voices, the low tones
of their conversation. He felt like a
stranger in his own home, unsure of
how to navigate the sudden shift in
his relationship with his dad. His mind
raced, trying to piece together what had
gone wrong, how he'd missed the cues.
He knew he'd hurt his dad, but he
couldn't shake the feeling that there was
more to it than just a misunderstanding.
He didn't realize how the ableist slur
he'd used had pierced Plankton's armor.

He leaned his head against the
door, his breaths coming in short, painful
gasps. The weight of his ignorance
was like an anchor, dragging him down.
He'd always thought of his dad as... well,
his dad. Strong, capable, a little quirky. But
now, he saw the cracks in that facade,
the raw vulnerability beneath the surface.
He knew he had to apologize, but the
fear of making it worse held him back.

new to see or not to see ableisms chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 9
"Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative, a
question in the silence. He didn't
know if Plankton could hear him,
if he was ready to listen. But he had to try.

Plankton didn't move, but
his breathing had evened out,
his antennae no longer quivering
with anger. Karen gave Chip a
small nod, a silent message to
tread carefully. He took a step into
the room, his eyes never leaving
his father's hunched form.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he said,
his voice cracking with emotion.
"I didn't know... I didn't mean
to..." The words trailed off,
his throat thick with unshed tears.
He didn't know what to say,
but he knew he had to try.

Plankton's body remained
motionless, his antennae drooping.
Karen watched them, her heart
in her throat.

"Dad, I didn't mean it," Chip
whispered, his voice trembling.
"I didn't know." Plankton's
shoulders tensed, the anger
still a living force within him.

Karen watched the scene unfold,
her heart in her throat. She knew
this was a moment that could
change everything, a chance
for growth or a chasm that
widened their divide.

Plankton's silence was a
walls, a barrier that seemed
impenetrable. His antennae
twitched, a silent language
that spoke volumes of his pain.

Chip felt the weight of his dad's
disgust, like a lead balloon in
his stomach. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he said again, his voice barely
above a whisper. "I'll do better."
He stepped closer, his hand
outstretched.

But Plankton didn't move, his
body a statue of anger and
hurt. His antennae remained
rigid, his eye unblinking. "I
don't want your pity," he
spat out, the words a slap in
the face. "I don't want you to
'do better'. I want you to go away."
Chip's hand fell to his side,
his eyes wide with shock.

The silence was a living
entity in the room, a beast
that fed on their pain. Karen
could almost see the barrier
between them grow taller,
thicker, more impenetrable.
"Dad," Chip whispered, his voice
breaking. "I'm sorry for saying
you're so... so... autistic and slow.
I didn't mean it like that." The
apology hung in the air, a
desperate plea for understanding.

But Plankton remained
motionless, his antennae still
drooping with the weight of his
hurt. "It's not enough," he said,
his voice hollow. "Words don't
change what you think of me."
Chip felt a stab of guilt, knowing
his dad was right. He'd used
his autism as a weapon, not
knowing the depth of the cuts
it could make.

"What do you want me to do?"
Chip's voice was desperate, his
hands reaching out in a silent
plea for forgiveness. "I ca--"

Plankton's head snapped up, his
eye blazing. "You want to know
what I want?" His voice was a
whisper, but it felt like a shout.
"I want you to see me," he said,
his antennae trembling. "Not
my autism, not my stims, not
some problem to be solved.
Me! Now get out!" The words were a
knife to Chip's heart, but he knew
his dad was right. He'd reduced
his entire being to a slur,
a label.

Chip took a step back, his
heart racing. "I'm sorry," he said,
his voice tight with unshed tears.
"I didn't mean it." But the damage
was done. The room felt like it was
closing in around him, the air
thick with the scent of his own
shame.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his body a rigid line of anger.
"You think you can just apologize
and make it better?" he spat, his
voice a whipcrack of pain. "You think
it's that easy?"

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
desperate for a spark of
forgiveness. But all he saw was
hurt, a deep wound that he'd
unintentionally inflicted. "I don't
know what to do," he admitted,
his voice shaking. "I just want
to be there for yo-"

"No," Plankton interrupted, his voice
like a shattered mirror. "You don't
want to be here for me."
He couldn't even bring himself
to say the slur, the pain
too raw, too fresh. Chip felt his
throat constrict.

"Dad," Chip's voice was
small, his eyes brimming with
tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know
that was such a... a big deal."
He didn't know what else to say,
his mind racing to find the words
that could mend the gaping wound
his ignorance had created.

But now Karen's feeling
her own anger rising, fury
at Chip's ignorance. "Chip,
the only thing that's autistic
and mentally reworded here
is your understanding!" she
snapped, the words slipping out
before she could catch them.
The moment they're in
the air, she freezes, realizing
what she's just said, the same slur
a stinging slap that echoed
in the tense air. She regretted
them immediately, seeing the
hurt flash across Plankton's face.

Plankton's antennae drooped
even further, the weight of
his wife's words adding to
his own pain. "K-Karen," he murmured,
his voice thick with sadness
and shock.

Karen's face crumpled with regret.
"Plankton, I didn't mean--"

But Plankton was 
already backing 
away from her.

Karen felt the sting of her
own words, the cruel
cut of her frustration.
She reached out for Plankton,
but he was already retreating,
his eye filled with a mix of
hurt and betrayal. "Plankton," she
whispered, her hand hovering
in the space between them.
He flinched, his antennae
quivering.

The room grew smaller,
their love shrinking
under the weight of their
mistakes. Plankton's
eye searched hers, looking
for something she couldn't
give: absolution. "I'm
s-sorry," she said, her voice
shaking. "I didn't mean it-t."
But the damage was done,
a fresh wound to add to
his collection of scars.

Karen watched as Plankton's
body retreated. She knew that look, the
one that said he was shutting
down, retreating into
his own mind. "Plankton,
please," she begged, her hand
still outstretched. "Let me he-"

But Plankton was already gone,
his body a statue of sadness and
fear. The room felt like it was
closing in on him. He could
barely breathe, his heart racing
like a caged animal's. Karen's
touch, once a source of comfort,
now felt like a threat, a promise
of more pain.

"Plankton," she whispered. But he was
beyond gentle whispers. His antennae
twitched, his body braced. He couldn't
look at her, couldn't bear the
accidental harm.

He felt the room spinning, his thoughts 
of anger, fear, and confusion.
Her hand hovered near him, but it
might as well have been a mile away.
The love and comfort he'd always
found in her touch now seemed like a
looming specter, threatening him.

Karen watched him, her own eyes
tearing up with regret and sadness.
"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, the words
a futile offering to the storm.
But Plankton couldn't hear them, not
when all of his own emotions
drowned out everything else.

He felt the floor beneath him, the
solidity of the world around him. But it
wasn't enough. He needed to retreat,
to find a space where he could breathe.
He stumbled back into the corner.

Karen's hand hovered near him,
a silent apology. But he couldn't
look at her, not yet. The sight of
his wife, the woman who knew him
better than anyone else, the one who
should have understood, was too much.
Her touch, once a balm for his soul,
was now a potential minefield of pain.
He felt her eyes on him, a silent plea
for forgiveness. But he was to scared to give it.

new to see or not to see ableisms chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 10
Plankton's antennae twitched with
the effort to hold himself together,
his body trembling.
He wished he could retreat into the
safety of his own world, where words
didn't have the power to cut so deep.
But he was trapped here, in a nightmare
that felt all too real.

Karen's eyes were a pool of sorrow,
her hand hovering in the air like a
ghostly specter, unable to find refuge
on his shaking form. She knew she'd hurt
him, and the weight of her mistake
was almost too much to bear. She
wanted to take back her words,
erase the pain from his memory. But she knew
that was a futile wish.

The room was a maelstrom of emotions,
each one a shard of glass in the air,
sharp and glinting with the promise of more
harm. Chip hovered in the doorway, his
eyes wide and full of fear. He'd
never seen his dad like this, never
felt the chasm that seemed to be
growing between them.

Karen's hand remained outstretched,
a silent plea for connection. But
Plankton's body was a wall of
defense, every inch of him
screaming for space. The touch
that had once been a comfort was
now a source of distress, a reminder
of his own vulnerability. He could see
the love in her eyes, but it was
tainted with the memory of her
hurtful word.

He felt a tear slip down his
face as Karen inched
closer. "Plankton, I didn't mean it,"
she said again. But it was too
late. The word had been spoken,
the damage done. "Please, I'm sorry,"
she whispered, her hand still hovering
a few inches from his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae quivered,
his body tense. The room was
spinning around him, the walls
closing in. He didn't want her
touch, not now. It felt like a lie,
a mockery of the love they shared.
He didn't know how to explain
his fear, his hurt. He could only
whimper and tremble.

Karen's heart was shattered with
regret. She knew she'd hurt him,
but she didn't know how to fix it.
Her hand hovered, desperate for
connection. "Plankton." She
knew she'd hurt him. "Are you ok?"

Plankton didn't move. He didn't
know how to answer, didn't know
how to express the turmoil
churning inside him. He felt
like he was drowning in his
own emotions. Karen's eyes
filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her
voice cracking. "I didn't mean to
hurt you." But Plankton's back
was to the wall as she approached
him in his corner.

Plankton's antennae quivered,
his heart racing. He knew Karen,
his rock, his anchor, didn't mean to
say it. But the pain was too
fresh, too deep. The slur she'd
used, even in anger, was a knife
that had sliced through his soul.
He felt the pressure building
up inside him.

"I-I-I-I… I lo-ove y-you, Karen.."

Karen's hand was so close, yet
so far. He wanted to lean into
her embrace, to find solace
in her love. But fear held him
back, a cold, unyielding force that
made his body tense. The room
spun, the walls closing in. He
was drowning in a sea of
confusion, fear, and sadness.

He watched her hand, so
gentle, so loving. But the word
still echoed in his mind, a cruel
reminder that even those
closest to him could cause him
harm. Karen wanted to fix it.

Karen took a step closer,
her hand still hovering. "Please,"
she whispered. "Let me help."
But Plankton was lost in the
labyrinth of his emotions,
his heart a cage of fear and
pain. He couldn't find the
words to explain, the strength
to accept comfort. He whimpered.

Her heart ached, her mind racing
with doubt. Had she lost him?
Had she broken the delicate
trust they'd built over the years?
Plankton's tremors grew, a silent
symphony of distress that she could
no longer ignore. Karen knew
his fear of being seen as less
than, the deep-seated anxiety that
his autism could be weaponized
against him. She needed to fix this,
to rebuild the bridge between
them. "Plankton, I'm not going anywhere,"
she murmured, her voice a gentle
wave lapping at the shore of his fear. "I'm
right he--"

But her words were cut off by a sudden
spasm that rippled through his body,
his antennae convulsing violently.
Karen's eyes widened in horror
as she recognized the signs.
"Seizure," she gasped, her voice
barely above a whisper. The room
swirled around them as she
moved closer, her hand outstretched.

Plankton's eye 
rolled back in
his head as his
legs start to buckle.
Karen's hand shot out,
catching him before he
hit the ground. She eased 
him to the floor.

Karen'd seen this
before, too many 
times to count.
"You're okay,
Plankton," she 
murmurs. "I'm 
right here."

Chip watched from the
sidelines, his eyes wide
with terror as his dad's
body thrashed. He's never
seen his dad like this
before. "Dad," he 
whispered, his voice 
shaking.

Plankton's body jerked
once, twice, three times,
before stilling. His antennae
flailed wildly, then fell
limp. Karen's eyes never left
his face. She knew he'd still
be quite out of it. Chip hovered, 
unsure of what to do. "Dad?"

Karen's voice was calm.
"This happens, Chip. He
is conscious, but not
really with us yet. Don't
be alarmed if he says
or does something that's
not quite right."

Plankton's legs rolled
his body onto his side
as drool trickles from his mouth.
His antennae twitched erratically,
his eye fluttered open and closed.
Karen wiped the drool away,
whispering comforts to him.
"You're okay," she said, her voice
soothing. "You're safe at home."

His body was like a ragdoll's,
his muscles loose and
his movements involuntary.
He was present, but not quite
there, unable to grasp the
concept, the words a jumble
of sounds that barely registered.

"W-water... blue... s-sticks,"
Plankton murmured. 
He was lost in his
post-seizure haze, his
thoughts a tangled web
of sensory input. 
Chip watched,
his heart in his throat.

Karen's eyes were
fixed on her husband. "It's ok,
sweetie," she soothed. "You're
safe." Plankton's antennae
twitched in response.

"Cam... subs...
s-sal-sal-sal?"
Karen nodded,
knowing better 
than to interrupt
his stream of 
consciousness.

"T-the it... makes...
makes me dizzy!
Yes; made me dizzy.."
Plankton's words
were a jumble of
half-thoughts, his
brain still trying
to reassemble.
Karen's heart broke
at the sight of him,
so lost in his own
mind. "It's okay," she
whispered, her hand
stroking his back.

Chip's eyes were wide,
his own brain racing to
understand what was happening.
He'd never seen his dad
like this before, his
strength and certainty
reduced to a quivering
mass of confusion. "Dad?"
his voice was small.

Plankton clutched 
at the air, his hand
then slapping the
carpet beside him.

"G-green... fishy...
no, not fishy, fishy-fishy!"
He giggled, his eye
still unfocused. The
words didn't make sense,
even to him.

Karen's hand continued to
stroke his back, her heart
aching at his distress.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
whispered. "You're okay."

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 11
The nonsensical 
words spilled
out. "Fizz-fizz-fizz..."

Karen watched him, her heart
in her throat. She knew this was
part of the process, his brain
recalibrating after a seizure.

"D-daddy?" Chip's 
voice was tiny. 
"What's happening?"

Karen took a deep
breath, trying to calm
herself enough to explain.
"It's okay," she said,
her voice shaky. "It's part
of his autism. Sometimes,
after a seizure, you dad's
brain gets overwhelmed. He
might say thi—"

But Plankton's rambling
cut her off. "Did? Might...
m-m-mighty... mighty... no,
not mighty... did!" He
laughed to himself, his eye
still unfocused.

Karen knew that
it was temporary, 
a side effect
of the seizure.

"Fizz-fizz-fish," Plankton
says, his voice distant.

Chip watched, his eyes
full of fear and curiosity.
He'd never seen his dad
so vulnerable. Karen took
his hand, her grip firm.
"It's okay," she whispered. "His
brain is just... reorganizing."

Plankton began
to steady. His
eye focused 
on Karen's face,
his voice a 
little clearer.
"K-Karen?"

Her heart skipped
a beat. "I'm here,
sweetie," she said,
smiling through
her tears. "You're ok."

Plankton's antennae
twitched as he
slowly came back to
his surroundings, the
fear and anger of
moments ago replaced
by confusion and
dizziness. Karen
moved closer.

"Dad, are you okay?"
Chip's voice was tentative.
Plankton's antennae
moved in jerky, uncontrolled
motions as he tried
to make sense of his
environment. "I... I think
so," he murmured, his eye
slowly focusing on his son.

The room was a blur of colors,
the sounds muffled and distant.
He felt the weight of their
stares, the unspoken
apologies and fear. He knew
what had happened, the searing
memory of the slur, the painful
reminder that he was different.

Plankton's antennae twitched as
his thoughts slowly coalesced,
his mind fighting to find
purchase in the chaos. "W-what... what
happen'd?" he stuttered.

Karen's eyes searched his,
filled with a mix of love and
apology. "You had a seizure,
sweetie," she said, her voice
barely above a whisper. "Do you
remember what happened before?"

Plankton's antennae quivered of
emotion. The argument, the
slur, the pain... it all
came rushing back. He nodded,
his eye dropping to the floor.
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice
hoarse. "I remember."

Karen's hand hovered over
his shoulder, but she didn't
dare touch him yet. "I'm sorry,"
she whispered, her voice cracking.
"For everything.." Plankton nods.

He knew she meant it, yet the
sting of her words still lingered,
like a shadow that wouldn't leave
his side. "It's okay," he said, his
voice a weak echo. "I know you didn't...
but it still hurts." His antennae
drooped, a silent testament
to his pain. "Yet I forgive you, Karen."

Karen's eyes filled 
with tears. "I know," 
she said. Chip nods.
"I'm sorry too, Da-"

But Plankton cut him off, 
his antennae jerking 
with irritation. "Don't," 
he murmured. "Don't say 
YOU'RE sorry. YOU don't 
understand. You're not
like your mother."

Chip felt the sting of truth 
in his dad's words. He didn't
understand. He'd always
thought he knew Plankton, but
now he realized there was a
world of experience, of pain,
that he'd been blind to. "What
can I do?" he asked, his voice 
desperate. "How ca--"

But Plankton was already 
getting to his feet, his body 
shaky. "You can't," he said,
his voice tight. "You can't
make this right with sorrys."

Chip felt the weight of
his dad's words.
"But I want to," he 
whispered. "I don't know
what to do, but I wa-"

Plankton's antennae 
twitched with agitation.
"You don't know what it's
like," he snapped. "You've
never had to live with
this, with people thinking
you're less because of it."
The room felt colder,
the air heavier with each
sharp syllable. "You can't fix
this, Chip."

Chip felt so
helpless, so utterly
powerless in the face
of his father's pain. "But
I want to understand,"
he protested, his voice
a whisper of hope. "I want
to help. I mean, you forgave Mo-"

"I forgave her because she
understood!" Plankton's voice
was a whipcrack of anger.
"You think your sorry fixes it?"
his antennae trembled
with agitation. "It doesn't.
And don't compare yourself
to your mother. She knows me,
understands me, advocates for me.
But you're not her, Chip.
You're not even close."

Chip felt the blow, the truth
cutting through him like a knife.
He knew Plankton was right.
He didn't know what it was like,
to live with autism, to fight
against a world that didn't
understand. He'd been blind
to his father's struggles,
his ignorance a wall between
them. "What do you want me
to-"

But Plankton was already
turning away, his body
a rigid line of anger.
"I want you to leave me alone,"
he snapped. "I don't need
your pity or your half-hearted
apologies!"

Chip felt his world crumbling,
his hope for understanding
and reconciliation
shattered by the coldness
in his father's voice. He
swallowed the lump in his
throat, his eyes brimming
with tears. "But Dad..."

Plankton's antennae jerked
sharply. "I said leave me
alone!" The words were a
whip crack in the air,
slicing through the tension.
Chip didn't know what to do,
how to make it right.

Karen stepped in. "Chip, maybe
you should give him some
space," she suggested, her eyes
filled with pain.

Chip nodded, his heart
heavy with defeat. He didn't
want to leave, but he knew
his presence was only
adding to Plankton's distress.
"Okay," he murmured, his
feet dragging across the floor.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 12
As Chip retreated to his
room, he couldn't help but
feel the gap between them
widen. He'd always
thought they were close,
that he knew his father
inside and out. But now
he realized there was so
much more to Plankton.

Karen's gentle touch was
the only thing grounding
Plankton to reality. He felt
his anger dissipate,
leaving a vacuum filled
with exhaustion and sorrow.
"I'm sorry," she murmured,
her eyes never leaving his
as he leaned into her embrace.

His antennae stopped trembling
as he allowed the warmth
of her love to seep into
his bones. "I know," he
whispered. "I know."

Plankton felt the exhaustion
of the day's events settle
over him like a thick blanket.
The anger and fear drained
from his body, leaving him
weary and sleepy. His eye
closed as he leaned into 
her touch.

The room grew quieter.
Karen held him close, her
heart aching for his pain.
Plankton's antennae drooped, his
body heavy with exhaustion.
His eyelid fluttered.
He leaned into Karen's embrace,
his body finally relaxing.

Her hand stroked his back,
soothing circles that seemed to
lull him closer to slumber.
"You're okay," she whispered.
"You're safe." His breathing
evened out, a gentle rise
and fall that spoke of
approaching sleep.

"Rest," she murmured. "We
can talk when you wake up."
Karen felt the tension leave
his body as sleep claimed
him, her hand still
moving in gentle circles.
Her eyes searched his
face, her heart a storm of
emotions. She knew the
seizure had taken a toll
on him, knew the pain of
his words was rooted in
fear and hurt.

As his breathing grew
steadier, his antennae
stilled, she felt the
weight of his head
against her shoulder,
his trust in her a silent
testament to their bond.
Karen held him tight,
his warmth seeping into
her. She knew he
needed this, needed to
feel safe.

His gentle snores filled the
silence, a soft reminder that he
was safe in her arms. Karen felt
his body go slack, his antennae
stilling as sleep claimed him.
The anger had fled, leaving
behind the fragile shell of
his vulnerability. She held him
closer, her heart aching for the
pain he'd felt, the fear that
still lingered.

Her eyes searched his
slumbering face, tracing the
lines of his features with
a soft touch. Plankton was
her everything, her rock, her
love.

Gently, she picked him up,
his body limp with the
exhaustion. She carried him
carefully as she laid him down,
his antennae drooping in sleep.
Karen tucked him in bed, her eyes
lingering on his face. She made sure
a favorite plushie was within
reach. Plankton's chest
rose and fell in a steady
rhythm, his breathing deep
and peaceful.

With a soft sigh, she
kissed his forehead. 
His antennae twitched
but he didn't stir.

Karen's eyes
were filled with love
and regret as she
watched him sleep.
The gentle rise and fall
of his chest was a 
comforting testament 
to his resilience.

The next morning, Karen
knew she had to take
Plankton to the dentist
for x-rays. She woke
Chip up. "Chip," she says.
"Your dad has to go to
the dentist today for a
checkup."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still clouded with sleep.
"Okay," he murmured. "Can
I come?" "Yes."

They arrive 
at Plankton's
dentist office 
for the x-ray.
The receptionist 
smiled. "Mr. 
Plankton, Dr. Coral 
will see you now."

Dr. Coral greeted the
family as they entered
the exam room. "Good
morning, Plankton," she
smiled, her eyes kind. "So,
today we're just going to
do our usual x-rays. Can
you open wide?"

Plankton nodded, antennae
twitching nervously. 
He sat in the chair,
his legs swinging slightly
as he tried to find a
comfortable position.
Karen held his hand, her
thumb brushing over his
knuckles in a soothing
motion. "It'll be quick,"
she whispered. Chip sat
in the corner, his eyes
on his dad, his heart heavy
with unspoken words.

The assistant, a young
clownfish named Penny,
finished with taking x-rays.

Dr. Coral peered at
the images, her eyes
flicking back and forth
between the x-rays and
Plankton's mouth. "Good
job," Penny tells him.

"Everything looks
okay," Dr. Coral began.
"Yet it looks like we
have some wisdom
teeth coming in. They're
not causing anything
right now, but we should
go ahead and remove them
as a preventative mea-"

Plankton's antennae shot
up. "No," he said firmly, his
voice tight with anxiety.
"I don't like... don't
like poking... mouth...
no." His stims grew more
intense, his hands flapping
at his side.

Karen squeezed his hand,
trying to offer reassurance.
"It's okay," she murmured.
"It's just a li-"

"NO!" Plankton's voice
was loud, echoing in the
small room. Chip flinched.
Dr. Coral's eyes widened
slightly, but she remained
calm. "Let's talk about this,
Plankton," she said, her voice
gentle. "We can go slow."

But Plankton was already
spiraling. The mere mention
of the procedure had
ignited anxiety in him. His
stims grew more intense,
his antennae flailing wildly.
"No poking, no poking, no
poking!" he chanted, his
body rocking in the chair.

Dr. Coral's expression
shifted, her gaze moving
from the x-rays to Plankton.
She knew he had special
needs, had seen the signs
of his autism before.
But today was different.
Today, the fear in his eye
was palpable, his body
a testament to the stress
he was under.

"Let's take it slow," she
soothed, her voice a gentle
wave. "We can talk about
this, okay?"

Plankton's antennae
stilled slightly, his
body tensing. "But no
poking," he whispered,
his eye wide with fear.
Karen nodded, her eyes
meeting Dr. Coral's.
"We'll find a way," she
promised. "A way that
makes you feel safe."

Dr. Coral nodded, her
expression understanding.
"We'll take it step by step,
Plankton," she said, her voice
low and calm. "We'll work
together to find the best
solution for you."

new to see or not to see chip plankton penny

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 14
The gas mask was placed
over his face, and he took
deep breaths as instructed.
The world grew fuzzy.
His eye grew heavy,
his antennae drooping.
Karen watched as Plankton's
body grew slack, his antennae
finally still. The gas did its job,
lulling him into a deep sleep.

Dr. Coral smiles at 
Octavia's nod, indicating
that the anesthesia had
taken full effect. Plankton's
body was now relaxed. 
Octavia then administered
the IV as she removed the
gas mask. "Alright, Karen,"
Dr. Coral began, her voice
soft. "We're going to get
started now. Remember,
he's going to sleep through
this, okay?" Karen nods as
they also inject local
anesthetic into his gums.

Plankton's snores filled
the room, a gentle rhythm
that was a stark contrast
to the precision of the surgical
procedure. Dr. Coral and her
team began the extraction.
Karen's eyes never left
Plankton's face, her thumb
absently stroking the back
of his hand. She watched as
Dr. Coral carefully extracted
the wisdom teeth. Octavia, the
nurse, went to work with
the suction device, keeping
his mouth clear.

Plankton's snores grew
steadier, a testament to
his deep sleep. Karen's
grip on his hand tightened
as the surgery progressed.

The extraction was
quick, each tooth pulled
gently and with care.
Plankton's face remained
peaceful, oblivious to the
world around him. His antennae
twitched slightly as Dr. Coral
worked, but he was lost in
the depths of his slumber.

Once the teeth were out,
Dr. Coral turned to the
stitches. Plankton's
body remained still, his
snores a comforting
background noise. "We're
using stitches that 
dissolve. Since he's prone
to spasms, we're just putting
more of them in just in case.
It's our protocol for patients
with a history of seizures
or epileptic disorders."

The removal of the IV
was next, and Karen felt
her heart race. She knew
this could be a trigger
for him, if he were awake.

As Dr. Coral finished up,
she looked to Karen. "Okay,
now for the gauze."

Karen nodded, her eyes
never leaving Plankton's
face. She knew the next
part could be tricky, but
Dr. Coral had assured her
that they'd done everything
possible to ensure his comfort.
The nurse, Octavia, stepped back 
in with Chip, handing Dr. Coral
the gauze. The room was
quiet except for the soft
snores of Plankton as they
remove the mouth prop.

Dr. Coral carefully packed
the gauze into his mouth,
the cottony softness
melding with the contours
of his gums. Each movement
was precise, each touch
gentle. Plankton's antennae
twitched in his sleep,
his body reacting to the
foreign sensation, but
he remained asleep.

"Remember, Karen," she
whispered, her voice
soothing. "When he wakes
up, he might be a bit
loopy. It's normal with
the anesthesia. He might
not remember much, or
he might say things that
don't make sense. It's also
ok if he takes a lot of naps.
So, don't worry too much.
It takes a little while. Oh, and his 
mouth has also been numbed."

Plankton's snores grew
even, the surgery
now complete. Karen
kisses his forehead. "You
did so well," she murmured.
Chip came to the
doorway, his heart
thudding in his chest.
He'd never seen his
dad so vulnerable.

Plankton's mouth was
slack, a thin line of drool
trailing down his chin as
he slept. Karen dabbed it away
with a gentle napkin, her eyes
filled with love and concern.
"The drool is normal and ok,"
Octavia said.

The surgery had been a success,
yet she knew the next week of
recovery could be a challenge.

Plankton slept, his mouth open
slightly, another trickle of
drool forming at the corner
of his lips. Karen watched
over him, her heart swelling with
relief and love. Chip hovered
in the doorway, his eyes
following the soft rise and
fall of his father's chest.

Karen's mind raced with
thoughts of the coming week,
knowing that Plankton would
need around-the-clock care.
He'd need his meals softened,
his mouth cleaned, his pain
managed. Yet she felt a sense
of peace settle over her. They'd
faced so much, and together,
they'd navigate this too.

The nurse, Octavia, noticed
Chip's concern. "It's normal,"
she assured him, her voice
soft. "The medicine makes
his muscles relax. He won't
be like this forever."

Plankton's mouth remained
open slightly, the gentle
snores punctuating the quiet
room. Karen sat in the chair
beside him, her hand never
leaving his. She studied his
face, the peacefulness of his
sleep a stark contrast to
his fear earlier. She couldn't
help but chuckle at the
slight drool that had formed
on his plushie. It had
soaked through to the fabric,
leaving a damp spot.

The nurse, Octavia,
smiled at Chip. "It's normal,"
she said. "The anesthesia
can do that." Karen nodded,
her eyes never leaving Plankton.
"But it's okay," she added,
seeing the concern in Chip's
expression. "He's safe. He's
not feeling any pain."

Chip nodded, his
throat tight. He'd never seen
his dad so vulnerable.
He watched as a drop of
drool slipped from
Plankton's mouth, landing
on the plushie in his arm.
It was a strange sight,
his dad, the man who
always had everything
under control, now lying here,
defenseless in sleep.
But the sight of Karen,
so calm and loving, her
hand in his dad's, gave him
comfort. He knew that
together, they could handle
anything. Chip took a
deep breath, steeling himself
for the days ahead. He'd
have to be there for Plankton,
just like his mom.

new to see or not to see plushiecore coral

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 15
As the anesthesia 
began to wear off,
Plankton's snores grew
quieter. His antennae
twitched slightly, a sign
that he was coming back
to consciousness. Karen
was there, her hand
still in his, ready to face
whatever the waking world
brought with him.

His eyelid fluttered open,
his pupil dilated and
unfocused. "Mmph," he
mumbled, his mouth
filled with gauze. Karen's
heart jumped. She leaned
in closer, her voice soft.
"Hey, Plankton, you're okay.
You're back!"

Plankton looked at her,
his antennae twitching.
"Wha...?" he mumbled,
his speech slurred from
the anesthesia. He tried
to sit up, but the nurse,
Octavia, gently pushed
his shoulders back down.
"Easy, Mr. Plankton,"
she said. "Take i---" "Wha...
Whath...?" Plankton interrupts.

Karen leaned closer.
"You had your wisdom teeth
taken out," she explained
gently. "You're going to be
a bit sleepy and your mouth
is going to feel funny."

Plankton's antennae twitched
as he took in her words.
"Teef?" he slurred, his voice
higher than usual. "Owies?"

Karen nodded, her smile
soft. "Yes, but you're all
done now." She gently
stroked his cheek. "You
were so brave."

Plankton's antennae
twitched as he tried to
comprehend. The world
was a blur, his mouth
still numb and filled with
cottony gauze. "Windom
teef?" he mumbled.

Karen's eyes filled with
compassion as she
nodded. "Yes, sweetie,
they took them out to
make sure you don't 
hurt." She held up
his plushie, now wet
from the drool. "Remember
your friend here?"

Plankton blinked, his
eye focusing on the
plushie. He nodded
slightly, his antennae
slowing their twitching.
"Fwens," he murmured,
his voice faint. Karen
pressed the stuffed animal
to his chest. "You did
so good," she whispered.
"Now, let's get you home
so you can rest."

Chip stepped forward,
his own anxiety
easing slightly at the
sight of his dad's
confusion. He reached
for the plushie. "Da-"
But Plankton's eye
widened. "No!" he
protested, his voice
slurred. "Ith’s mime!"
Karen's eyes met Chip's.
"Let him have it," she
whispered. "It's a
comfort object." Chip
nodded, stepping back.

The nurse, Octavia,
smiled gently. "Okay,
Mr. Plankton, let's get
you sitting up now."
Plankton's antennae
twitched as he complied,
his movements slow
and clumsy. Chip couldn't
help but feel a pang of
sympathy at the sight of
his dad so out of sorts.

Karen helped him
into a sitting position,
his eye still unfocused.
"Whewe am I again?" he asked,
his voice small and lost.
"You're at the dentist,"
Karen said, her voice
soothing. "Remember the
surgery?"

Plankton blinked, his
memory foggy. "Teethies?"
He looked around the room,
his antennae quivering.
"Ith wath scawy," he said,
his voice trembling. "Buth
now it'th aww done?"

Karen nodded, her smile
reassuring. "Yes, sweetie,
it's all done. You're okay."
Chip watched, his heart
swelling with emotion.
His dad's confused speech
from his numb mouth
was a stark reminder of
his vulnerability.

"Buth I don't feew ith,"
Plankton said, his antennae
drooping. "Mowf, funny."
Karen nodded, her eyes
never leaving his. "It's
because the doctor had to
make your mouth sleepy,"
she explained. "But we'll get
you home, and you can take
more naps to feel better."

Chip watched his dad,
his heart aching. The
brave front Plankton had
put on was gone, replaced
by childlike bewilderment
from the lingering anesthesia.

"C-can go hone now?"
Plankton mumbled, his voice
still thick and slurred. Karen
nodded, her eyes filled with
pity. "Yes, we're going home
right now." She turned to
Octavia. "Can we go?"
The nurse nodded.

As they helped Plankton
into the car, his movements
were still clumsy, his coordination
off from the anesthesia.
He leaned heavily on Karen,
his antennae drooping.
"Thath way," he murmured,
his eye pointing in the
general direction of the
car. Chip stepped aside,
his heart heavy as he watched
his dad's unsteady gait.
Once inside, Karen
buckled him in and put
his blanket over. "Here
you go," she said, her voice
soothing. "Everything's going
to be okay."

Falling asleep as Karen drove,
Plankton's head lolled to the
side, his mouth open, drool
pooling in the corner. His
snores were low and rhythmic,
his antennae still, and his mouth
was slack. Karen giggled. "Plankton
how you doing?" He stirred, antennae
twitching slightly. "Mmf," 
he murmured. "Tham."

Karen's eyes filled with love.
"We're almost home," she said.
"Just a little longer."

Plankton nodded, 
his antennae
still droopy. "Karen
I'm tiwweeddd!"
Karen couldn't help but
laugh, her heart
warming at his slurred
speech.

"Whewe's Chip?" he asked
suddenly, his voice groggy.
Karen looked in the rearview
mirror. "He's right here,
behind us," she assured him.
"Keeping an eye on you."

Chip felt his cheeks warm
with the attention. Plankton's
confusion was so innocent,
like a child's, it was hard
not to be drawn in by it.
He leaned forward. "Hi, Dad,"
he said gently.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching the
backseat. "Chip?"

Chip nodded, trying to
smile. "I'm here, Dad."
Plankton's gaze was
glassy, his voice slurred.
"You...shay?" "Yes, Dad," 
Chip said. "I'm right
here."

new to see or not to see patientcore octavia

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 16
"Wha...whath 
time ith it?"
Plankton asked, 
his speech
still thick.

Karen glanced at
the clock on the
dashboard. "It's
almost noon, sweetie,"
she said, her voice
steady. "We're going
to get you home,
and you can take
a nice, long nap."

Plankton nodded, his
eye half-closed. "Nan?"
he repeated, the word
almost a question.
Karen nodded. "Yes,
nap. And then we can
make you something
soft and yummy to eat."
The mention of food
seemed to rouse him
slightly, his antennae
perking up. "Puddink?" 
he mumbled. Karen
laughed again. "Yes, 
sweetie, pudding."

"Whewe...whath..." he
slurred, his head rolling
slightly.

Karen chuckled. "You're
so tired, aren't you?"
Plankton nodded, his
eye half-closed. "Home,"
he murmured. "Wan' home.
Karen wiww make puddink?"

"Yes, sweetie, we're
going home," Karen said,
her voice filled with warmth.
"And can make pudding for
you." She squeezed his hand.
"Do you want chocolate or
vanilla?" Plankton's antennae
twitched as he thought.
"Chocowate," he mumbled,
his speech still slow.

Chip watched his dad,
his heart aching at the
childlike way he spoke. It was
both endearing and heart-
wrenching, a stark
reminder of the toll the
anesthesia and surgery had
taken on him.

"Chocowate," Plankton
repeated, his voice
slurred. "Pwease." Karen
nodded, her smile gentle.
"Of course, sweetie," she
soothed. "Chocolate pudding
it is."

Karen finally parked in
their driveway. "We're home,"
she said softly, turning
to face Plankton. His
antennas twitched at the
mention of home, his eye
fighting to stay open.
Karen helped him out of
the car, his legs wobbly.
"Come on," she coaxed, "Let's
get you inside." Chip also
followed them in.

In the living room,
Plankton stumbled to the
couch, his stuffed animal
still clutched in his arm.
He looked around, his
expression lost. "Bathwom?" he
slurred. "No, Plankton," Karen
laughed, helping him lay down.
"You're home."

Plankton's eye 
widened. "Chip?" he
slurred. His son
smiled, his own anxieties
easing slightly. "Yeah, Dad, it's me."
He approached the couch, his
movements deliberate and
slow.

"Ith's sho bwight," Plankton
whispered, his gaze flickering
around the room. The
normalcy of their home
was overwhelming in his
current state. Karen
understood, her eyes filled
with compassion. "Let's
get you comfortable," she
said, helping him adjust his
pillows. "Do you need anything?"

He looked at her with
his one eye, so full of
trust and confusion. 
"I needff Karen and-a Chip."
Karen's heart melted at his
words. "You have us," she
whispered, brushing his
forehead. "We're right here."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
finally still. "Thath's goob,"
he murmured. "Thath's vewy 
goob. Can Chip...can Chip
thee me?"

Chip's eyes widened slightly,
his throat tight. He took a
step closer to the couch. "Yeah,
Dad, I'm here."

Plankton's gaze found
his son's, his antennae
still droopy. "Tawk to me,"
he slurred. "Chip wanth
tawk to me?"

Chip nodded. "Of course,
Dad." He took a seat next
to him, his heart heavy.
He wasn't used to seeing
his dad so open, so...
talkative.

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly as he
looked to Chip's voice,
his mind still groggy from
the surgery. "Wha...whath's
wrong, Chip?" he mumbled, his
words thick with the
remnants of the anesthesia.
Chip took a deep breath.
"Nothing's wrong, Dad," he
said softly. "I just want
to be here with you."
Plankton's antennae
wobbled as he processed
his son's words. "Wiww you
thtay?" he asked, his eye
half-closed. Karen
watched from the kitchen,
her eyes filled with love
and concern. She knew
his confusion was temporary,
but it still tugged at her
heartstrings.

Chip nodded, his voice
gentle. "Yeah, Dad, I'll stay."
Plankton's antennae
stilled. "Thath's good,"
he murmured. "Chip, can I...
can I...hamv?" His voice was
tiny, his one eye looking
up at his son with hope. "Chip
my hamg, hamv in youw hamv?"

Chip felt a lump form in
his throat. He knew that
his dad was reaching out
for comfort, seeking the
safety of touch. Despite
his initial shock, he nods.
"Sure, Dad," he whispered,
his voice thick. "You can
have my hand."

Plankton's antennae
perked up slightly at the
offer, his eye still
half-closed. He reached
over, his movements
sluggish, and grasped Chip's
hand with his own. Chip felt
his dad's grip tighten, his
thumb stroking the back of
his hand gently. The simple
touch was a stark
contrast to the firm handshakes
and stern demeanor
his dad usually allowed.
Plankton's voice was
barely audible as he
whispered, "Than' you, Chip."
Chip swallowed hard, his
throat tight. "It's okay, Dad,"
he murmured back. "I'm
right here." Karen
watched them from the
kitchen, her eyes shiny with
unshed tears.

The sight of
his dad, so dependent and
confused, was hard for
Chip to process. Yet,
he felt a strange comfort
in it, a bond forming
between them that transcended
the typical father-
son dynamics.

Plankton's eye grew
heavy, his antennae
drooping. "Sowwy," he
mumbled. "Wan' go...go 
sleep. No moreth of touch."
Chip nodded, his heart
swelling with emotion.
"It's okay, Dad," he said.
"You just rest." He
gently removed his hand,
his eyes never leaving
his father's face.

Plankton's antennae
twitched one last time
before his eye closed,
his breathing evening out.
The plushie was clutched
tightly to his chest,
his hand lying open
on the couch cushion.
Karen watched him, her
love for him so clear.

"He's going to be okay,"
she assured Chip. "The
medicine will wear off
by tomorrow. Just give him
some space and quiet."

Chip nodded, his
concern still etched in
his features. Plankton
was usually so sharp,
so in control. Seeing him
like this was unusual.
Karen smiles. "Here," she
whispered. "Let's clean
his mouth."

They gently removed the
blood-soaked gauze,
replacing it with a fresh
one. Plankton's eye
flipped open for a second,
his antennae quivering.

"Wha...?" he murmured,
his voice still slurred. Karen
smiled, her voice gentle. "It's
okay, Plankton. Just a little
clean up." Plankton nodded,
his eye half-closed again.
"Mm-hmm, jush a wiww 
cweam up." He parrots via
echolalia, despite his slurred speech
and droopy antennae. "Than' you,"
he murmured again, his voice
tiny. "Wove you."

Karen's heart squeezed at
his words. "I love you too,
sweetie," she said. "Now
I'll help you to your bed, so
you can sleep off the rest of
any anesthesia."

Karen supported him to his
feet, his legs wobbly. Plankton
stumbled slightly, his antennae
twitching in confusion. "Bed," he
slurred. "Bed." She
guided him upstairs, his steps
slow and unsteady. "Careful,
sweetie," she said, her voice
soothing. "Just a few more."

Chip trailed behind them. 
As they reached the bed
room, Karen helped him
onto the bed. "Wha...wha's fis?"
he mumbled. "It's our room, Plankton,"
Karen said, her voice
gentle. "You need to rest
now." Plankton's antennae
twitched as he took in
his surroundings, his gaze
focusing on the familiar
sight of his bed. "Oh,"
he murmured, his speech still
slurred. "Bed."

Karen helped him lay
back, his body slumping
into the softness. His
stuffed animal was placed
carefully beside him, his
hand still wrapped around
it. "Comfortable?" she
asked, her eyes filled with
concern. Plankton nodded,
his antennae still. "Mm-hmm,"
he mumbled. "Go night."

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 19
The room grew quiet, the
tension slowly dissipating.
Karen moved to sit beside
Plankton on the bed, her arm
wrapped around him.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Chip
whispered, his voice shaky.
He felt a heavy weight in
his chest, knowing he had
unintentionally hurt his dad.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, his gaze focusing
on the floor. He didn't respond
to Chip, but his antenna twitched
at the apology.

After a moment of
silence, Plankton's voice grew
softer, his words barely
above a whisper. "Why do I do
this?" he murmured to himself,
self-soothing, his voice echoing
his thoughts. "It's just...it's
just me, being me."

Karen's grip on his shoulder
tightened, her eyes filled with
understanding. She knew
his autism made certain
situations unbearable, and that
his stims were his way of
navigating the overwhelming
world around him. "It's okay,
Plankton," she whispered.
"You're okay."

Chip watched, his eyes
brimming with tears. He had
witnessed his dad's pain, the
flailing antennae and clenched
fists, and felt a pang of regret.
He had crossed a line without
knowing it was there.

Plankton's hand began to move
again, the repetitive motion
of his stim. It was a gentle
rocking now, back and forth.
His antennae had stilled, his gaze
firmly on the floor. The room
was thick with emotion, the air
charged with the unspoken.

Karen watched him, her
heart aching. She knew that
stimming was his way to
self-soothe, to find calm in
a world that often didn't make
sense. She reached for his
hand, her touch light and
reassuring. "You're okay,
Plankton," she murmured. "We're
here for you."

Chip stared at his dad,
his heart racing. He had never
seen him so upset, so lost.
He took a step closer to the
bed, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's. "I'm sorry, Dad,"
he said softly. "I didn't mean
to make yo-"

Plankton's antennae shot
up, his eye snapping to Chip's
face. "Don't," he murmured. "Just
don't." His voice was tight,
his body still tense.

Chip nodded, his eyes
brimming with tears. He knew
his dad needed space, but
his heart was heavy with
the desire to bridge the gap
between them. He took a step
back, his gaze dropping to the
floor. "Okay," he whispered.
"Okay."

Karen looked at Chip, her
face a mix of sadness and
understanding. She knew that
his intentions were pure, but
his actions had unintentionally
caused pain. "Chip," she began,
"let's go to the kitchen and
see what soft foods we have."

Her voice was gentle, a clear
sign that she wanted to give
Plankton some space. Chip
nodded, his eyes never leaving
his father's. Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly as he watched
them leave, the door closing
softly behind them.

In the kitchen, Chip hovered nearby,
his hands fidgeting. "Mom," he
began, his voice tentative.
"I didn't mean to...to make him
upset." Karen's eyes
meet Chip's. "I know you
didn't, sweetheart," she said,
her voice gentle. "But your dad's
autism can make things
complicated."

"It's just...I wanted to
connect," Chip murmured.
"I thought if I did what he
does, he'd see that I get it."
Karen's eyes searched his
face, understanding etched
deep in her gaze. "Chip," she
said, her voice soft. "You can't
experience the world the way
your father does. His stims are
his language, his way to deal
with overstimulation. They're
not for us to imitate."

Chip nodded, his throat
tight. "But I just want to
make him feel better," he said,
his voice thick with emotion.

Karen sighed, her eyes
meeting her son's. "I know
you do," she said. "But you
have to respect his boundaries,
his way of dealing with things.
It's not about you connecting
or not connecting; it's about
supporting him in the way
he needs it." She paused, her
gaze thoughtful. "Why don't you
ask him how you can help?"

Chip nodded slowly, his
thoughts racing. He knew his
mom was right, but it was
so hard to see his dad in
pain and not do anything.
But he also knew that Plankton
wasn't just his dad; he was an
autistic individual with
his own unique experiences
and needs. He took a deep
breath, steeling himself for
the conversation to come.

He returned to the bedroom,
his eyes on the floor. "Dad?"
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly. "Can we talk?"
Plankton's hand stopped
stimming, his eye looking up
at Chip. "What about?" he asked,
his voice guarded.

Chip took a deep breath,
his eyes meeting Plankton's.
"I'm sorry for mimicking
your stim," he said, his voice
quiet. "I didn't think
how it made you feel, and I
see now that it wa-"

"Why'd you do it?" Plankton
interrupted, his antennae
stiff with tension. "What's so
fascinating about it?"

Chip swallowed, his hands
shaking slightly. "I just...I
wanted to help you," he
managed to get out. "To know
what it feels like for
you, to share in-"

"It's not for sharing!"
Plankton's antennae shot up.
"It's for ME!" The words
echoed through the room,
his voice tight. He turned onto
his side facing away from Chip.

But Chip didn't stop there. 
He approached the bed, 
his steps cautious, eyes 
on Plankton's tense back.
Chip's hand hovered over
his father's shoulder before
he thought better of it.

"Dad?" he said, his voice 
tentative. Plankton's
body remained rigid 
his eye glazed over now.
Chip's gaze landed on
his father's unblinking
eye.

A sudden realization
hit him like a wave. "Oh no,"
he murmured, his hand
flying to his mouth. "It's
a seizure, isn't it?" This was
the first time he'd recognized
one without being told, where
Plankton just zones out for a 
bit. But now what? Plankton
didn't respond, his body
completely still except for the
slight rise and fall of his
chest.

Chip's heart raced as he
recalled his mom saying
to tell her whenever he
sees something like this.

He bolted out of the room,
his footsteps echoing in the
hallway as he called for
his mom. "Mom! Mom, come
quick!" His voice was
laced with fear.

Karen rushed in, her eyes
wide with concern. She took
one look at Plankton, his
body unnaturally still, his
eye unblinking, and she knew.
"It's okay, Chip," she said,
her voice calm despite the
panic rising within her. "It's
just a seizure. He'll be okay."

Chip's eyes searched hers,
desperate for reassurance.
"But what do we do?" he
asked, his voice shaking.
Karen's hand found his,
squeezing gently. "We wait,"
she murmured. "We stay with
him, and we wait."

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 21
Chip took a step
back, his eyes still on the
floor. He felt a heavy
weight in his chest, a
mixture of sadness and
determination. He knew he
had made a mistake, but
he was also aware that this
could be a chance for him to
learn and show his dad that
he truly cared.

Karen sat beside
Plankton, her hand resting
on his shoulder. "Why don't
you tell us what you need
right now?" she asked softly.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly. "I need...I need to
be al-"

"Alone?" Chip filled in,
his voice gentle. "But 
Dad, we want to be here
for you. I won't le-"

Plankton's antennae
whipped around, his eye
narrowing. "Oh, I know,"
he said, his voice thick with
sarcasm. "Because you're just
so good at understanding,
right?" His tone was biting, a
sharp contrast to the usual
softness in his voice.

Chip flinched at the
harshness, his own feelings
of inadequacy rising to the
surface. "Dad, I'm tr-"

But Plankton continued,
his words coming out in a
rush. "You think you know,
but you don't. You don't know
what it's like to have
the world crash down on
you every minute of every
day, to be bombarded with
sounds and smells that are too
much, too intense." His antennae
twitched erratically. "And then
you come in with your 'let's
talk about it' and 'let me
see' and 'let me do it with
you' and you think that's
going to fix me?"

The sarcasm in his voice
was palpable, his antennae
drooping with frustration.
"You think I want to be a
science project for you to
study?" Plankton's eyes
were bright with unshed tears.
"I'm not broken, Chip. I'm just
different. And any stims,
they're not for you to copy
or understand or even
acknowledge. They're mine,
SOLELY mine!"

Karen watched the exchange
unfold, her heart aching for
both her husband and son.
Plankton was hurting, and
his defensiveness was a clear
sign of it. She knew his stims
were a private, sacred part
of who he was, and she 
saw Chip's desire to bridge
the gap. But she knew when
Plankton was like this, that it
was time to let him be.

"Why don't you go to your
room, Chip?" she suggested
gently. "Let your dad have
some space."

Chip nodded, his eyes
brimming with tears. He
couldn't bear to see his dad
in pain, but he knew that pushing
would only make things worse.
With a heavy heart, he
turned and walked out of the
room, his feet feeling like
lead. Karen watched him go,
her gaze then shifting back
to Plankton.

Plankton's antennae
still twitched. Karen
moved closer to him. "It's ok,
sweetie," she murmured. "I'm
here." He leaned into her touch,
his body slowly relaxing.
Her words were a balm, 
soothing his raw nerves.

A week after Plankton's
completely healed from
wisdom teeth, he no
longer having mouth
discomfort. One evening
Karen hangs up her phone
from her friend Hanna. She
lives far away, and they'll
take a trip to stay and visit
with her. Neither Plankton
nor Chip met Hanna before.
Hanna knows Karen's married
to Plankton, but she doesn't
know about his autism.

Karen breaks the news
gently. "Boys," she says,
"We're visiting Hanna tomorrow.
It's gonna be a day long drive
and we need to pack. We'll
be staying at her place!"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye darting around
the room as he processes
this sudden change of plans.
The thought of traveling, of
new smells and sounds, sends
a shiver of anxiety through
his body. "Now?" he asks, his
voice tight. "But we...I need
to prepare."

Karen nods, her voice
soothing. "We'll leave early,
so we have time to get
everything ready." She
moves closer to him, her hand
on his shoulder. "We'll pack
together."

Plankton takes a deep
breath, his antennae
twitching with the effort to
calm down. "Okay," he says.
"Okay."

He starts to pack, his
movements methodical.
Everything has its place,
his suitcase organized with
precision. Karen and Chip
watch, knowing better than
to interrupt. They've learned
that when Plankton's in this
mode, it's best to let him
be. Karen also gets the
special sensory bag for
Plankton. His fidget
toys and noise-canceling 
blindfold curtains are
carefully placed in the bag.

Chip decides to pack
some favorite science
books as Karen observes
them, her heart swelling with
pride and hope. Chip's come
so far in understanding
of Plankton's needs, not to
mention their shared love
for scientific trivia.

Plankton, noticing Chip's
packing, approaches with
more books for their trip.
"Here," he says, his voice
slightly less tense.

The next morning, Karen
gets up early. They'll spend
most of the day on the road
and wanted to get a good
head start. So she wakes
Chip up first.

"Chip," she whispers,
shaking him gently. "Time to
get going for our trip."
Chip opens his eyes, sleepy
but excited. He jumps
out of bed, eager to start
the day. Plankton, on the
other hand, is still asleep.
Karen approaches his
side, her gaze soft. She
knows waking him up
can be tough, especially
with his sensory issues.

Gently, she places her
hand on his shoulder.
"Plankton," she whispers,
keeping her voice low
and even. "Wake up,
sweetie. We're leaving
for Hanna's soon."

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly at the touch,
his eye fluttering open.
"We're leaving soon,"
Karen repeats.
He nods, his body
still stiff with sleep. She
moves to the side, giving
him space to sit up.

Karen's going to drive
and has Plankton's
sensory bag in the front
seat by her, so Plankton
sits with Chip in the back.

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 22
As they start the car
and the engine rumbles
to life, Plankton's hand starts to
move in a repetitive
motion, his thumb and
forefinger tapping against
each other. It's a stim. 
Karen's eyes meet
Chip's, and she gives a small
nod. "Remember, buddy,"
she says over her shoulder.
"Just let him be."
Chip nods, his eyes
going back to his dad.

Plankton's gaze is fixed
on the passing scenery. 
Chip watches, his 
curiosity piqued but his 
respect for boundaries
keen. He's learned so much
about his dad's autism in
the past weeks, but he
knows there's still so much
more to understand.

The car's hum is a 
comforting white noise,
and Chip can see the
tension slowly draining
from his father's body.

Plankton's eye darts to
the side, watching the
trees blur by. Chip
follows his gaze, seeing
the world. "Dad," he says
softly. "Can we see the
science book together?"
He holds it up, the one
his dad had packed. Plankton's
stimming pauses. He
considers it, his antennae
twitching. "Okay," he finally
says, his voice a little
softer.

They spend time
in quiet companionship,
their heads bent over the
pages, silently reading facts.
Chip feels a warmth in his
chest, a feeling of
connection growing stronger
with each page turned.

The car's steady motion
combined with the gentle hum
of the engine begins to
lull Plankton into a drowsy
state. His antennae droop slightly,
his eye blinking slower, and
his breathing deepens.

Karen glances in the
rearview mirror, a smile
touching her lips. She knows
this look well. Plankton's
autism often made him
sensitive to the world, but
now, with the familiar routine
of the road trip and the soothing
environment they've created,
his body was finally letting
go of the tension as Plankton's eye
begins to drift shut.

Chip felt his dad's weight
shifting against him, his head
coming to rest on his
shoulder.

The steady rhythm of the
car's motion was a gentle
lullaby to Plankton's overstimulated
brain. His hand, which had
been tapping out a steady
rhythm, stilled. His antennae
drooped low, his eye fluttering
closed. Chip watched him, his
heart swelling with a mix
of love and sadness. It was
rare to see Plankton so relaxed,
his usual stoic exterior giving
way to vulnerability.

Karen kept her eyes on
the road, a soft smile playing
on her lips. She knew this was
a victory, a sign that their
efforts to create a safe
space for Plankton were working.
The trip was going better than
she had dared hope.

Chip felt a gentle pressure
against his arm as Plankton's
head grew heavier. He
adjusted his position,
careful not to disturb his
dad. The book lay forgotten
between them, their silent
bond stronger than words.
He watched as his dad's
breathing grew deep and
even, his antennae finally
still.

Karen glanced back again,
her smile growing wider.
"Looks like we've got a
snoozing scientist," she
whispered, hearing Plankton's
gentle snores. Chip grinned,
his own worries slipping
away as he felt his dad's
body relax against him.

The road ahead was long,
but the car was filled with a
newfound peace. Plankton's
snores grew softer as the
miles ticked by.

When they finally pulled up
to Hanna's house, Plankton
remained asleep, his body
relaxed against Chip's side.
Karen turned to look at
them, her heart full. "Looks
like he had a good nap,"
she murmured to Chip.

Chip nodded, smiling down
at his dad. "Yeah," he whispered.
"I'm gonna miss this when
we get out of the car. How are
we gonna tell him we're here?"

Karen chuckled softly. "We'll
just have to wake him up
gently, buddy." She opened
her door, the crunch of gravel
underfoot. The cool evening
air was a stark contrast
to the warmth of the car, and
Plankton's antenna twitched as
his eyebrow furrowed.

"Hey, Plankton," Karen 
said softly, gently 
shaking him as she
closes her car door. 
"We're here, sweetie."

Plankton's eye snapped
open, his antennae 
springing to life. For a
moment, confusion 
clouded his gaze before
it cleared, and he sat
up with a jolt. "Oh,"
he murmured, looking
around. "Hanna's?"

Chip nodded, his
smile gentle. "Yeah.
We're here." Plankton
realized he'd fallen
asleep not only in front
of Chip, but also leaning
on him. Embarrassment
flitted across his face,
and he quickly sat up as
he pulled away. Karen got
their suitcases and Plankton's
sensory bag in her grasp.

The front door opened, and
Hanna's bubbly figure emerged,
lighting up at the sight of Karen.

"Karen!" she exclaimed,
rushing forward to give her
a warm hug. "It's been so
long! And is this your family?"
Hanna asks as she let them in,
closing the front door behind.

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his eye wide as he took in the
unfamiliar surroundings. The sight
of a different house, the sound
of Hanna's excited voice, it was
all to much.

Karen nods. "Yes, my 
husband, Plankton, 
and our son, Chip."

Hanna's smile broadens as
she embraces Plankton in
a tight hug. "So nice to finally
meet you," she says, her eyes
shining with excitement.

Plankton's antennae flatten
against his head, the sudden
contact overwhelming. He
swallows hard, his body
stiffening. "Nice t-to meet
y-you t—too," he mumbles,
his eye darting to Karen
for rescue. Karen laughs lightly,
gently extricating Plankton
from Hanna's enthusiastic
embrace. "Why don't we get
settled?" she suggests,
guiding Plankton to the couch.

"And you're quite the
young man!" Hanna
exclaims to Chip. "Hi
Ms. Hanna," Chip says.

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 20
Karen had seen this before,
but it never failed to
fill her with a deep ache.
She sat beside Plankton,
her hand on his back, her gaze
on his unblinking eye. She had
learned to recognize the signs,
the subtle cues that signaled
his retreat into himself. This
was a common occurrence. But it
never got easier.

Chip hovered nearby, his
body tense with worry.
He had never seen his
dad like this before, not
really. The way his body
went stiff, his antennae
quivered, and his eye glazed
over. It was like watching
someone slip away. "How long
does it last?" he whispered,
his voice shaking.

Karen's grip on his hand
tightened. "It varies,"
she said. "Just try
talking to him. It helps to
keep him anchored."

Chip's throat felt dry, his
voice trembling as he leaned
closer to Plankton.

"Dad?" he whispered, his
heart racing. Plankton's body
remained eerily still, his eye
unblinking. Chip's mind
raced with thoughts, trying to
think of anything to say that
might bring him back.

"You know, Dad, I've been
thinking," he began, his voice
shaky. "I know you don't like
it when I talk about your
stims, but I just...I just want
you to know that I think
they're cool. They're part of
what makes you, you. And I
promise, I won't mimic them
again. It's not my place to
understand without asking
you first."

Karen watched with a
heavy heart as Chip spoke.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the tension in
his body not fully receding.
"I just want to help," Chip
continued, his voice cracking.
"I want to be there for you
the way you're always there
for me."

As the words hung in
the air, Plankton's eye
slowly blinked. The seizure
was passing, the world
reassembling before him. He
turned up to look at Chip, his
expression confused. "What's
going on?" he mumbled.

Karen felt relief flood
through her as she realized
the seizure had passed.
"Chip," she whispered, her
voice thick with emotion.
"That was a beautiful
thing you just did."
Plankton's antennae
twitched at that, his eye
coming back to focus.
He looked at them, his gaze
confused. "What happened?"

Chip took a deep
breath, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "I just
wanted to tell you that
I'm sorry, Dad," he said.
"And that I'll respect your
space and your stims. They're
a part of you, and I won't
invade that again."
Plankton's antennae
drooped slightly.

Karen watched, her eyes
shimmering with unshed tears.
This was a pivotal moment,
a chance for understanding
and growth within their
family. "That's right, Chip,"
she said softly. "It's about
respect and love."

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze moving
between Chip and Karen.
He didn't know how to
process the emotions
swirling within him. He
was used to being the
rock, the one who provided
comfort and support, not the
one receiving it from Chip!
Yet he heard the sincerity
in his son's voice. "I...I
see that," Plankton managed.

Chip's eyes searched his
father's face, looking for
any sign of forgiveness.
"Dad, I didn't know," he
whispered. "I just wanted
to be close to you."
Plankton's antennae
twitched again, his mind
racing. He had never talked
about his autism with
Chip like this, had never
explained the intricacies
of his stims and seizures.
It was a vulnerable place
to be. "Chip, it's not for you
to understand by doing."
He paused, his antennae
drooping. "It's just...
I dunno."

Karen watched the two, her
heart aching. She knew this
was hard for Plankton, to
explain the unexplainable.
"What your dad means,"
she said gently, "is that
his stims are personal.
They're his way to handle
things. It's like when you
have a bad day and you
need to be alone. We all
have our ways of dealing,
right?"

Chip nodded slowly, his
eyes never leaving Plankton's.
He could see the turmoil
in his dad's gaze, the
desire to be understood
battling with the fear of
being misunderstood. "Yeah,"
he murmured.

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
stilling. "You're my son,"
he said, his voice hoarse. "I
want you to understand."
He looked away, his antennae
drooping. "But it's hard."

Chip nodded, feeling a
wave of empathy wash
over him. "I know it is," he said,
his voice gentle. "But we're
here to learn with you."
Karen's eyes glistened with
pride. Her son was growing up,
understanding that empathy
wasn't about fixing, but about
being present and respectful.

"Let's talk," she suggested,
sitting beside Chip on the
bed. "Let's talk about your
stims, Plankton. Maybe if
Chip knows more, he ca---"

But Plankton cut her off,
his antennae twitching with
agitation. "I don't want to
talk about it," he said, his
voice tight. "It's personal."

The room was suffocatingly
silent, the tension palpable.
Karen and Chip exchanged
glances, both unsure of
how to navigate this delicate
moment. Chip's heart pounded
as he tried to find the right
words. He didn't want to push
his dad, but he desperately
wanted to connect, to show
that he cared.

He took a deep breath,
his hand hovering over
Plankton's arm before stopping
mid-air. "Dad," he began,
his voice trembling. "Can you
teach me about your st-"

"NO!" Plankton's voice
was sharp, cutting through
the air like a knife. His antennae
whipped around, his body
tense with emotion. "It's
not a show, Chip. It's not
for you to see and learn."

Chip's hand fell to his
side, his eyes wide with
surprise. He had never
seen his dad so agitated.
But he knew he had to tread
carefully, to respect
his boundaries. "I'm sorry,
Dad," he murmured. "I just
wanted to kno—"

"I know what you want,"
Plankton said. "They're not
for you to analyze or learn
from like a trick."

Chip felt the sting of
his dad's words, but he knew
he had to back off. He took
a step back, his eyes
firmly on the floor. "Okay, Dad,"
he murmured. "I get it."

Karen watched the
exchange, her heart
heavy. She knew Plankton's
frustration all too well.
It was hard for him to articulate
his needs, especially when
his stims were so deeply
personal. "Plankton," she said
softly. "Chip wants to support
you, not to make you feel
uncomfortable."

Plankton's antennae
stilled, his eye focusing on
his wife's face. He knew she
was right, that Chip's curiosity
was born from love, not a
desire to control or change
his behavior. "I know," he murmured.
"But it's just...it's just that..."

He struggled to find the
right words to explain the
swirl of emotions inside him.
His stims were his lifeline, a
way to cope with the sensory
overload that often left him
exhausted and overwhelmed. "I just
need space," he finally managed.

Karen's gaze was filled
with empathy as she nodded.
"Okay, Plankton," she said
gently. "We'll give you
space. But know we're here
for you."

new to see or not to see chip plankton space

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 13
"Okay," Plankton murmured,
his antennae drooping.
"Step by step." Karen nodded,
her grip on his hand tight.
"We'll get through this."

Penny nods. "We've various
ways to administer the
local anesthetic," she says,
her voice soothing. "Which
one do you prefer?" Plankton's
stims decrease slightly, his
eye blinking rapidly as he
considers. "The gel," he murmurs.
She nods. "Okay. So after the
gel, we'll give it a few minutes
to work, and then we'll start
the extraction process. So for
that, we'll have you leave your
mouth open as we get a tool
used to cut the g-"

He jerks back. "No," he says,
his antennae quivering. "No
cutting. No poking. No
tools." His voice is
desperate, his eye wide
with fear.

Karen's eyes searched
Dr. Coral's, silently pleading
for understanding. She knew
his sensitivity to pain was
exacerbated by his autism. "Is there
another way?" she asks, her voice
even.

Dr. Coral nodded. "We can
consider IV sedation," she said.
"It's something we offer to patients
with severe anxiety or sensory
issues. But I think general
anesthesia's our best bet. It's
like laughing gas, nitrous
oxide yet it'll simply keep him
asleep during the whole
procedure."

Karen felt a weight lift from
her shoulders. "Okay," she said.
"We can do that."

Dr. Coral nodded. "Good.
We'll schedule you for
general anesthesia. It'll be
easier on everyone. Tomorrow
morning works for you?"
Karen nodded. "Yes,
we'll make it here, bright
and early."

The drive home was
silent, the tension in
the car thick as
the kelp outside. Plankton
was curled in his seat, his
body tight with residual fear.
Chip's mind raced, trying
to process everything that had
happened. His dad, so strong
and sure, had crumpled before
his eyes like a discarded
piece of paper.

Once home, Karen helped
Plankton to the couch. Chip 
hovered nearby, his eyes 
darting between his
parents, unsure of what to do.
"Why don't you go play in
your room," Karen suggested,
her voice gentle. "Let me take
care of your dad."

He nodded, retreating
to his room with a heavy
heart. The silence in the
house was deafening, a stark
contrast to the chaos
of the dentist's office.

Karen helped Plankton
pick out a blanket and
a stuffed animal,
comfort items, for the
oral surgery tomorrow.

Plankton's stims were
more pronounced as he
tried to process the
information. "It'll be
okay," she whispered.
He nodded, his antennae
still twitching.

"We'll be there with you,"
she assured him. "Every
step of the way."

Early the next day
Karen got up so
she could take 
Plankton back for 
his wisdom teeth
removal procedure.
He was already
awake, his antennae 
twitching with nervous
energy. Chip also will
go with them.

Plankton sat up front with
his blanket and plush.
Karen squeezed his hand.
"Remember, sweetie, it's
going to be okay."
He nodded, his antennae
drooping slightly as he
turned to look out the
window. Chip sat in the
back, his eyes glued to
his father's reflection.

They arrived at the
dental clinic, and
the receptionist looked
up, her smile faltering
slightly at the sight
of Plankton's agitation.
"Dr. Coral is almost
ready, so have a seat in
the waiting area."

As they all sat, Plankton started
rocking back and forth, his
stims increasing with each
moment that ticked by. "Hnnn,"
Plankton hums.

Karen's eyes searched the room
for anything that might help
calm him, but the bright lights
and the cacophony of sounds
only seemed to exacerbate his
discomfort. The fish flipping
through magazines, the TV playing
a children's show, the distant
whine of a drill from a
different room—each
element a potential minefield
for his sensitive senses.

Chip watched his dad, his
throat tight with anxiety.
He'd never seen him like
this, so vulnerable and
frightened. Karen reached
over and placed a tentative
hand on Plankton's shoulder.
"It's okay," she whispered,
but Plankton flinched away,
his antennae quivering. Karen
understood. Plankton's in
need of his space, and she
wouldn't push him. She knew
today's particularly
overwhelming.

Dr. Coral called
them back, and Plankton's
body stiffened. Karen
stood up, her arm around
his waist, guiding him
toward the open door.
"Let's go, sweetie," she
murmured. "It's time. Chip
will stay here in the waiting
room, okay?"

The surgery room was
a stark contrast to the
waiting area. The lights were
dimmer, the sounds softer.
The smell of antiseptic
was faint, but it was enough
to make Plankton's antennae
twitch with anxiety. Karen
noticed and whispered,
"You can keep your plushie
with you."

He nodded, his grip on
the stuffed animal tight.
They approached the
exam chair, and he allowed
Karen to help him climb up.

The nurse, a kind octopus
named Octavia, smiled. "Hi!
I'll make sure you're comfy
and snoozing while Dr. Coral
takes out the wisdom teeth.
She told me about your needs
and we've the gas, okay? And
Karen will stay with you the
whole time."

Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching momentarily, his
eye blinking rapidly as he
tried to process her words.
"You'll stay?" he asked, his
voice small, hopeful. Karen
nodded. "I'll be here." He held
out his hand for her to hold and
she took it. The stuffed plush
was in his other arm.

The nurse, Octavia,
prepared a mouth
prop. "This is going to
help keep your mouth open
comfortably," she explained,
her voice gentle. "It's
soft, and it won't pinch."
Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye narrowing.
It looked like a pair of
plastic salad tongs. He
opened his mouth and allowed
her to place it gently.

Dr. Coral entered,
her smile reassuring.
"Ready?" she asked. Plankton
nodded, his antennae
still. Karen took his hand,
squeezing it tight. 

new to see or not to see octàvia 13

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 25
Hanna's voice is barely
above a whisper. "I'm sorry,"
she says, looking down at her
hands. "I didn't mean to-"
But Plankton's focus is solely
on the pieces on the board.
"Don't talk to me," he says, his
voice cold. "You're the one
asking personal questions."

Karen's heart clenches,
wanting to explain, but knowing
that Plankton's current state
of mind won't allow for it.
"Let's just keep playing,"
she suggests, her voice a gentle
nudge. But the damage is done.
Hanna's smile is forced, her eyes
glistening with unshed tears.

The game continues in
an awkward silence, Hanna's
laughter a bit too loud,
her movements a bit too
quick. Plankton's stims don't
ease, his hands fidgeting
almost angrily on the armrest.
Chip watches, his stomach in
knots. He knows his dad's
behavior is because of his
condition, but it's hard to see
his mom's friend hurt like this.

Hanna's eyes keep
darting to Plankton's
hands, confusion and hurt
swirling in her gaze. "I'm sorry,"
she murmurs again, her voice
barely audible over the clanking
of game pieces. "I di-"

Plankton's antennae swivel
sharply towards her. "What
part of 'none of your business'
don't you understand?"
his voice is harsh, his
frustration palpable. Hanna
flinches, her hands tightening
around her cards.

Karen's eyes plead with
Plankton to stop, but he's
too lost in his own world,
his senses on high alert. "Why
are you always in my space?"
He snaps, his voice echoing
around the room. Chip's stomach
twists with anxiety.

Hanna's cheeks redden, her
eyes filling with tears. "I'm
sorry," she says, her voice
smaller than ever. "I just-"
But Plankton's done talking.

With a roar of frustration,
he's knocking over
the game board. The pieces
scatter everywhere, a visual
representation of their
shattered evening.

Hanna gasps, her eyes
wide with shock. "What's
going on?" she asks,
but Plankton's already
storming out of the room.
Karen's heart sinks as
she watches her husband
disappear down the hall.
She knew this was a risk
bringing him to Hanna's,
but she had hoped for
a better outcome.

The guest room 
door slams shut,
the sound echoing 
through Hanna's house.
Chip feels a knot
tighten in his stomach.
He knows that look,
his dad's retreat to 
his sanctuary of solitude.

"I'm sorry," Hanna tells Karen,
picking up the pieces of the
game. "I didn't mean to-"

Karen's eyes are filled with
sorrow as she shakes her head.
"It's not you," she says gently.
"It's just part of his condition."
Her voice is tight, her smile
forced as she tries to explain.
"When Plankton was being
born, something happened.
It changed him. Pressure,
lack of flow... we're not
sure. But what we do know
is that it left him with a type
of autism." She pauses.
"He's had it his whole life. It's a
balancing act," she admits.
"Some days are better than
others. But we've learned to
read the signs, to give him
the space he needs. It was
when his mother was giving birth,
his brain developed differently
because of the stress it faced.
It's not something anyone
could have predicted."

Hanna nods, her eyes still
on the closed door. "I had
no idea," she murmurs,
feeling guilty for her
intrusion. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," Karen says, her voice
soft and reassuring. "It's
not something that's obvious,
unless you know what to look for."

Hanna nods, her eyes filling
with understanding. "How
does it affect him?" she asks,
placing the game pieces aside.
Karen sighs. "It's complex,"
she says. "His brain processes
information differently,
which means certain
things can be overwhelming
for him. Lights, sounds,
even textures can be too much.
And sometimes, it's just the
way people interact with him."

Chip speaks up, his voice
small. "But he's super smart.
He can build anything."

Karen's smile is sad. "It's 
true. His mind is...unique.
But sometimes, it's like
he's trapped in there,
trying to get out."

Hanna nods. "What
can I do to help?" she asks,
her voice earnest. Karen's
heart swells with gratitude.
"Just be patient," she says.
"And respect his boundaries.
Don't push him to explain
things if he's not ready."
Chip watches as Karen
takes a deep breath. "And if
you see him getting overwhelmed,
just...give him some space."
Hanna nods, her eyes
still on the door.

Plankton sits in the
guest room, his back 
pressed against the 
corner.

The world feels too loud,
too bright, too much. He 
squeezes his eye shut,
his hands over his head,
his antennae tucked, his body
rocking slightly on the floor. He's
learned over the years that
this can help dull the world
around him, but it's
not enough tonight.

"Plankton?" Karen's voice
filters through the door,
soft and gentle. "Can I come in?"
There's no response, but
after a moment, the door
opens a crack. Plankton's
eye peeks out, his antennae
quivering. "It's okay," she says.
"I just want to check on you."

He nods, his body tense.
"I'm sorry," he says again,
his voice muffled. Karen's
heart breaks a little more.
"You don't have to be sorry,"
she says, entering the room.
"You know that." She sits
beside him on the floor. He's in full
shutdown mode now, his
body's way of coping with
the overstimulation. She
squeezes his hand gently.

The silence stretches out,
only broken by the distant
hum of the city. Karen
knows that Plankton needs
this, that he's retreated into
his own world to recharge.
Yet it's hard to watch,
knowing that she can't just
wave a magic wand and
make everything okay.

Slowly, she starts to speak,
her words deliberate and
soft. "Remember, Plankton,"
she says, "Hanna's just trying
to understand. She didn't
mean any harm."

Plankton's breathing
evens out, his body
unclenching slightly. "I know,"
he whispers. "It's just...hard."
Karen nods. "I know, love."

The room is dimly
lit, the sounds of the city
a distant lullaby. Plankton's
stims slow down, his antennae
unfurling slightly as his body
starts to relax. Karen's words
wash over him, a gentle reminder
that he's not alone. "You know,
it's okay to be different," she says.
"And it's okay for people
to be curious. But we'll
make sure to explain to Hanna."

Plankton's eye blinks
slowly, his head nodding in
agreement. He's so tired,
his mind racing from the
adrenaline and the sensory
overload. His body feels
heavy, his eyelid drooping.

Karen notices the change
and shifts closer to him. "Why
don't you lie down?" she suggests,
her voice a gentle whisper. "You
look ex-"

But Plankton's already
falling asleep, his body
sagging against hers. "Hey
c'mon Plankton, let's get
you up into the bed befo—"

His snores cut her off,
his antennae fluttering with
each breath. She chuckles
softly, her heart swelling
with love. He's always
been a light sleeper,
even when they first met.
Karen gently shifts him
so he's leaning against her,
his head resting on her shoulder.

His body relaxes into the
comfort of her embrace, his
stims ceasing completely.
It's moments like these that
make her heart ache, knowing
how much he struggles with
the world outside their
home. But she's also fiercely
proud of his resilience.

Karen's thumb rubs gentle
circles on his arm, the
rhythmic motion soothing.
Plankton's snores even out,
his breathing deepening. She
can feel the tension in his
body slowly dissipate,
his muscles loosening. She
kisses his cheek, her hand
still on his arm, her love
for him as constant as
his condition.

The room's dimness is a
comforting blanket, shielding
them from the brightness
that Plankton finds so jarring.
Karen's mind races with
thoughts of tomorrow, the
conversations she'll have
to navigate with Hanna.
But for now, she focuses
on the quiet breaths beside
her, the steady rise and fall
of Plankton's chest.

Hanna, peeking in from the
hallway, sees Karen cradling
Plankton's sleeping form.
Her eyes are filled with
compassion as she mouths
a silent apology to Karen. Karen
smiles slightly, shaking her
head, as if to say it's not
Hanna's fault.

The two women share
a knowing look, the weight
of the evening's events
heavy between them.
Karen's gaze lingers on
Plankton, her love for him
evident in every line of her
face. And she knows they'll be ok.

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 6
For a moment, Plankton looked
confused, his gaze fuzzy with sleep.
But then recognition set in. "Chip?"
he murmured, his voice thick with
sleep. Chip swallowed the lump
in his throat. "Yeah, Dad," he
managed to say. "I just came to say
good mo-"

Before he could finish, Plankton's
eye widened, his body tensing. "What
are you doing?" he demanded, his
tone sharper than Chip had ever
heard it. The room seemed to
shrink around them, the air thick
with the sudden tension.

"I-I just wanted to tell you I love
you," Chip stuttered, his hand
retreating from his dad's arm.
Plankton's gaze searched Chip's
face, looking for something,
anything that would explain this
invasion of his personal space.

Karen stepped in, her voice
calm. "It's okay, Plankton.
Chip just wanted to show
his love, that's all." But Plankton
wasn't easily soothed. His eye
narrowed at Chip, his mind racing.

"But why?" Plankton's voice was
low, almost a growl. "Why do
you need to do it like that?"
Chip felt the weight of his dad's
question, the unspoken fear behind
the words. It was a question about
boundaries, about the unspoken
rules that Plankton had always
followed.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Chip said, his voice
quiet. "I didn't mean to scare
you." He looked to Karen for
guidance, but she just nodded,
encouraging him to find his own
words. Plankton's eye searched Chip's
face, looking for sincerity.

"I just wanted to tell you that I
understand now," Chip continued.
"I know you have to do those
things to feel okay. I promise, I won't
make you feel weird about i---"
But Plankton was already sitting
up, his face flushed with anger.

"Weird?" he snapped, his voice
sharp. "Is that what you think of me?"
He pushed the covers away, his
body vibrating with agitation. "Is that
how you'll tell your neurotypical friends?"

Chip's heart sank, his words
unintentionally striking a nerve.
"No, Dad," he said quickly. "I didn't
mean it like that. I just want to
make sure I don't do anything that
makes you uncomf-"

"Uncomfortable?" Plankton
finished for him, his voice
dripping with sarcasm. "Well, how
considerate of you."

Chip felt a pang of guilt, his
words sticking in his throat.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured,
his eyes filling with tears. "I
just... I didn't know how to... "

Plankton took a deep breath,
his hands clenching into fists
at his sides. "You don't get
it," he said, his voice tight.
"You can't just... touch me
like that." His eye searched
the room, as if seeking
a retreat from the sudden
onslaught of emotion.

Karen stepped closer, her voice
soothing. "Chip didn't mean
to upset you, Plankton. He's
just trying to understand."
But Plankton couldn't hear her,
his mind racing with a barrage
of thoughts. He'd always been so
careful to keep this
hidden from his son, fearful
of the rejection he'd faced
in the past.

Chip's eyes were wide with
apology and confusion. "I'm sorry,
Dad," he said again, his voice
shaking. "I just wanted to show
you that I care. I mean, you let
Mom to-"

"It's different," Plankton
interrupted, his voice strained.
"Your mom knows me. She
understands me." His hand
went to his chest, where his
heart felt like it was racing.
"But you... don't you DARE
ever touch me again without
asking," he spat out, his voice
shaking with a mix of anger
and fear. Chip nodded, his
eyes downcast.

Karen sighed, her heart
heavy with the weight of the
conversation. "Plankton, honey,"
she began, her voice gentle.
"Chip just wants to support
you. He's trying to be there
for you in his own way."

Plankton's eye narrowed, his
body still tense. "But he doesn't
understand," he said, the
frustration evident. "No one
does, except for you." Karen
reached for his hand, but he
pulled away, his movements
quick and jerky.

Chip watched, feeling like
he'd just walked into a minefield
without a map. He didn't know
what to say, how to make it right.
He just knew he didn't want his
dad to feel this way. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"I'll do better. I'll le-"

"Don't," Plankton said, his voice
sharp. "Don't make promises you
can't keep." He swung his legs
over the side of the bed, his
body language closed off. "I don't
want your pity, Chip." His words
were like a slap in the face, and
Chip felt his cheeks burn with
shame.

Karen stepped between them,
her hand on Plankton's shoulder.
"It's not pity, sweetie," she said,
her voice firm but gentle. "It's love
and support." Plankton's eye
flitted to hers, then back to Chip.
"I don't need Chip's help," he said,
his voice quivering.

"But Dad," Chip 
began, "I just-"
"I SAID DON'T!" 
Plankton's voice 
boomed through 
the room, his face 
a mask of fury. His 
antennae quivered 
with agitation, and 
he retreats to the
corner of the room.
A sign Karen knew
was his way of
shutting down. But
Chip doesn't realize this as
he tries to go to Plankton's
writhing body on the floor.

"Chip," Karen's voice 
was firm, "He's not
with us right now.
Let me only."
Chip stepped back,
his eyes wide with
concern as he watched.

Plankton was 
in a pose that 
screamed 'don't 
touch me'.

His legs were 
curled tight to his 
body, his arms 
wrapped around
his knees, and his 
eye squeezed shut,
his antennae 
pressed against 
his head. It was 
a position that 
spoke of overwhelm,
a silent scream for
space and solitude.

Karen watched him
carefully, her heart 
breaking into a 
million pieces. She
wanted to go to him,
to wrap him in her arms
and tell him everything
was okay. But she
knew better. This was
his retreat, she had to
respect it.

"Give him some space,"
she whispered to Chip,
who was hovering 
uncertainly. "He needs
time to regulate." Chip
nodded, his eyes still
glued to his dad's 
shaking form. He looked
so small, so lost in
his own little corner.

Plankton's breathing
was shallow and fast,
his antennae twitching
eratically. Karen knew
this was his safe place,
his retreat from a world
that often felt too loud, too
much. She walked over,
sat down next to him, but
not too close. She knew
better than to invade
his bubble.

"It's okay," she whispered,
her voice barely a breath.
"You're safe here."
Plankton's body didn't
react, but she saw his
hand, which had been
gripping the floor, relax
ever so slightly. It was a
small victory, but one she'd
take.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 7
The room was silent, save
for Plankton's shallow breaths.
Karen could almost hear
his thoughts racing, his mind
a whirlwind of sensory input
and emotions. She sat
still, her eyes never leaving
his form, her hand staying
close but not touching.

Chip hovered by the door, his
hands clenched into fists. He
wanted to help, to fix this, but
his mom's words echoed in his
mind: 'respect his space'. It was
a concept that was hard to grasp,
but he knew it was important.
He watched as his dad's legs
shook, his whole body a
testament to the storm
inside him.

Karen's eyes never left
Plankton's shaking form. Her
heart broke for him, for the fear
and frustration that she knew
was churning within. She reached
out a tentative hand, letting it hover
just above his shoulder. "It's ok,"
she whispered. But Plankton flinched,
his body stiffening at the uninvited
contact as he turned his back to them,
now facing the wall. She knew
this look well, had seen it before.

The room was suffocating with
silence, the tension thick like a
layer of fog. Chip felt his own
anxiety rising, unsure of what to do.
He'd never seen his dad like this,
so... vulnerable. He took a tentative
step forward, his hand reaching out.
"Dad?" he asked softly.

Plankton's spasms grew more
erratic, his antennae quivering like
leaves in a storm. He didn't look up,
his breathing shallower with each
passing second. It was as if he'd
shrunk in on himself, retreating into
his own world where no one could
follow. Chip's heart ached, watching
his dad's body convulse with silent
sobs, his shoulders heaving as he
tried to regain control.

The room was a tableau of pain,
each second stretching into an eternity.
Karen sat with her back against the
wall, her hand still hovering, but not
daring to make contact again. Her eyes
were filled with a blend of love and
despair, the same look she'd worn
so many times before when Plankton's
autism had overwhelmed him. But
Chip had never seen this side of his
dad, had never known the depth of
his struggle.

Plankton's body was a maelstrom
of movements, each spasm a silent cry
for help. His antennae thrashed
against the floor, his legs kicked
out in a frantic dance. It was a
sight that would have been terrifying
to anyone who didn't understand,
but Karen's eyes never left him, her
expression calm and knowing. She'd
seen this before, had held the line
between panic and peace for her
husband countless times.

And then, through the chaos,
a sound. Plankton's voice, barely
above a murmur, speaking to himself.
"My stims," he whispered, his
hands moving in the air, mimicking
his own motions. "They're just...
they're just a part of it." The words
seemed to hang there, suspended
in the heavy silence of the room.

Karen watched him, her heart
breaking a little more with each
word. She knew he was trying to
make sense of it all, to reconcile
his fear of being different with
his need to be understood.
Chip's eyes widened in surprise,
his curiosity piqued by this
unexpected moment of
self-reflection from his dad.

"They're just... they're just
a part of it," Plankton murmured
again, his voice a little louder this
time. His antennae stilled, his body
slowly uncoiling from the tight
ball he'd curled into. Karen took this
stimming as a sign that the storm
is passing.

"What's a part of it, Dad?"
Chip asked, his voice tentative.
Karen shot him a warning look, but
Plankton didn't seem to hear.

"My fidgets," Plankton said,
his voice still barely above a
whisper. "My autism... it is
just part of it." His hand
continued to mimic the
movements, a silent conversation
with himself. Chip's mind raced.

"You're not to weird, Dad,"
Chip blurted out, the words
tumbling from his mouth
before he could stop them.

Plankton's movements stilled,
his antennae dropping to his side.
He turned to look at Chip, his eye
filled with something akin to
surprise. "What did you say‽"

Chip took a deep breath, his heart
racing. "I said you're not weird,
Dad," he repeated, his voice
slightly stronger. "Your stims are
just part of who you are." Plankton's
expression turned angry, his
body taut with tension.

"Don't patronize me, boy!"
Plankton snapped, his voice
sharp as a knife. "I DON'T
NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!" His
body was a tightly wound
spring, ready to snap at any
moment. Chip felt a flare
of anger in response, but
swallowed it down.

"Dad, I'm not," he said, his voice
calm despite his own turmoil.
"I'm just saying that I see you,
all of you. And I love you.
I don't think your stims are
weird. They're just... you."

Plankton's body 
remained tense.
"STOP talking
about it!" he yelled,
his voice echoing
off the walls.

Chip took a
step back, his eyes
wide with shock.
He'd never seen
his dad like this.
He didn't know
how to fix it.
"Dad, I-" he
started to say, but
Plankton cut him
off.

"I said stop!"
Plankton's voice
was a roar, his
body trembling with
anger and embarrassment.
He didn't want Chip
to see him like this,
so vulnerable, so out of
control. The room felt
like it was closing in
on him, the walls
pressing against his skin.

Karen's heart clenched
at the raw pain in
Plankton's voice. She
knew this moment was
about more than just
his stims, it was about
his fear of rejection, of
being seen as less than.

"Plankton, honey, look at
me," she said gently,
trying to cut through
the maelstrom of his
emotions. "Chip's just
trying to understand.
We all are." But Plankton's
eye remained locked
on the floor, his breaths
quick and shallow.

He felt like an
exhibit in a museum,
his private world laid
bare for his son to see.
The fear of rejection
was a living, breathing
entity in the room,
wrapped around him like
a suffocating blanket. He'd
managed to hide his stims
for so long, to keep that
part of him hidden away.
Now, it was out in the
open, raw and exposed.

Plankton's eye darted
between Karen and Chip,
his mind racing with a
thousand thoughts. He
wanted to shrink away,
to disappear into the
cracks of the floorboards.
But he knew he couldn't.
Not now. Not when Chip
kept looking at him with
such confusion and concern.

"Dad, I just-" Chip
started again, his voice
filled with earnestness.
But Plankton couldn't take it.
The words felt like a
knife twisting in his gut.
"I SAID, STOP!" he yelled,
his voice echoing through
the room. The sound was
like a gunshot, and Chip's
words died in his throat.

Karen watched the exchange,
her heart heavy with sadness.
She knew Plankton's anger
was a defense mechanism,
his way of dealing with the
overwhelming emotions that
threatened to drown him. But
seeing her son hurt by it
was almost more than she could
bare. She took a deep breath,
steeling herself for the storm.
"Plankton," she said calmly,
moving closer to him, her hand
outstretched but not touching.
"It's okay, sweetie. Chip's just
trying to be here for you." But
Plankton's eye was wild, his
body a coil of tension. He
was in full meltdown mode,
and Karen knew better than to
push him.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 18
Chip took a deep breath, his
eyes never leaving his dad's.
"I know that stims can help
yo--" "Chip," Plankton interrupts,
his antennae stiff. "It's not
your place to analyze my
behaviors." His voice was firm,
but there was a hint of sadness
behind it.

Curiosity getting the better
of him, Chip's hand began to
mirror Plankton's movements.
He watched his own hand move in
tiny circles, feeling the
familiarity of it. "It's like
how you do it, Dad," he murmured,
his eyes wide. Plankton's
antennas shot up, his gaze
snapping to Chip's hand. "What?"
he barked, his voice sharp.

Chip's hand stilled, his eyes
meeting Plankton's. "I just...
I wanted to-"

Plankton's antennae quivered.
"Why are you doing that?"
he asked, his voice tight with
emotion. Chip's eyes never
left his hand, his mind
racing. "I...I just wanted to
understand," he murmured. "It's okay,
Dad," he said. "It's just...
it's something we can share‽"

Karen watched the exchange,
her heart in her throat. She knew
that Plankton's autism was a
complex, personal experience,
and she wasn't sure how he'd
react to their son's attempt to—

But Plankton's eye 
burned with fury at 
the thought. It
was his, his way to cope,
his private struggle, not
for others to address
or copy. "Don't you
DARE!" he shouted.
Chip stumbled back, 
his eyes wide with 
shock and fear.

In an instant,
Plankton's anger 
spilled over into action.
He threw his pillow 
across the room, the
soft thud echoing through
the silent house. Karen 
flinched, her hand
flying to her mouth.

Chip had never seen 
his dad so out of control.
"Dad," he whispered, his voice
shaking. "It's okay, it's just-"

But Plankton wasn't 
listening. His body was a 
whirlwind of emotions, his
autism manifesting in a 
physical display of anger. He 
swung his arm, knocking
knickknacks off the 
nightstand.

Karen rushed over, her 
heart racing. She knew this was 
a meltdown, something they
had worked hard to avoid,
but she also knew that Plankton's 
boundaries had been crossed and
that he's trying to recover from
his wisdom teeth.

"Plankton, honey," she said 
soothingly, her hands reaching 
for his shoulders. "It's okay."
Her voice was steady, her eyes
filled with calm. Plankton's
antennas quivered as he looked
at her, his chest heaving with
deep, painful breaths. Chip
walked up. "Yeah, Dad. It's okay.."

But Plankton's antennae shot
back, knocking Chip's hand away.
"NO!" he shouted, his voice
high-pitched. "Don't touch me!"

Karen's eyes grew wide with
concern as she saw the raw
pain and anger in Plankton's
face. She knew this was
a meltdown, a direct result
of the overstimulation and
stress from the surgery, Chip's
curiosity, and the invasion
of his personal space.
"Chip, give your dad some room,"
she instructed calmly.
Chip stepped back, his heart
pounding.

Plankton's antennae
whipped around wildly.
He clenched his fists, the
tension palpable in the
air. He didn't understand
why his son was mimicking
his actions, didn't get why it
felt so wrong.

"Dad," Chip tried again,
his voice shaking. "I just
wanted to he-"

But Plankton's rage
was a storm, unyielding.
With a snarl, he hit the bed
with his hands. Karen's heart
pounded as she watched
from the sidelines, knowing
that any wrong move
could escalate the situation.

The room grew smaller,
his vision blurred. Plankton's
mind raced, unable to
comprehend why Chip
would do such a thing.
He felt invaded, his personal
space, his way of coping,
tainted by his son's
curiosity. He clenched
his fists, the urge to
lash out growing stronger.
The pain in his mouth was
competing with the
agony of feeling misunderstood.

With a roar, Plankton pushed
the bedside table, sending
it crashing to the floor.
Karen's eyes widened, her
heart racing, but she remained
still, knowing any sudden
movement could fuel the fire.

"Plankton, please," she said,
her voice calm but firm. "You're
scaring Chip." But her words
barely registered with him.
He was lost in his own world
of pain and misunderstanding.

"I'M NOT!" Plankton shouted.
"I'M NOT SCARED OF HIM!
I'M NOT CHIP'S CHILD!"
Plankton bellowed. Chip
swallowed hard, his body
trembling. He had never seen
his father like this, Plankton's
breaths coming in heavy
gasps.

Karen stepped closer, her
movements slow and calculated.
"Plankton," she said, her
voice firm yet gentle. "Look at
me. Look at me, darling."
Plankton's antennae slowed
their frantic movements,
his eye focusing on her.

"You're not Chip's child,"
she said calmly. "You're my
husband, and Chip's father.
You're Plankton, and you're
autistic. Your stims are a part
of autism, but they're not for
anyone else to take or
mimic. It's okay to be upset.
But you need to breathe."

Plankton's antennae
stilled slightly at her
words, his eye focusing on
her face. He took a deep
breath, his chest
expanding with the effort.
He knew Karen understood,
that she had always been
his anchor.

Chip watched, his heart
pounding in his chest. He
wished he could take it all
back, make it right again.
He had only wanted to
connect with his dad, to show
that he cared, but instead,
he had hurt him.

Plankton took another deep
breath, his antennae
twitching slightly. Karen's
cleaned up the mess.
"I'm sorry, Karen," he murmured,
his voice low. "It's just...it's
just that...I don't...I don't like
it when people do that."

Karen's eyes were filled
with understanding.
"I know, sweetie," she said.
"And we're sorry for making
you feel that way." She looked
at Chip, her gaze firm. "Chip,
you need to respect your dad's
boundaries. Just because
you see something and think
it's ok to copy doesn't mean
it is." Chip's face fell, his eyes
welling up with tears. "But I just
wanted to help," he murmured.

Karen's gaze softened. "I know
you did, Chip," she said gently.
"But sometimes, helping means
knowing when to step back
or let someone else handle
things." She turned to Plankton,
her voice still firm but filled
with love. "And you, Plankton,
you need to tell us when
you're feeling overwhelmed."
Plankton's antennae drooped, his
expression one of regret.
"I'll try," he murmured.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chip

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 24
"Coko, coo," Plankton murmurs, his eye
unfocused, his antennae
quivering slightly. Karen
squeezes his hand tighter,
trying to ground him.
"Remember, we're at Hanna's."

Chip's eyes widen, hearing
his dad's strange speech.
"What's coko?" he whispers
to his mom. Karen smiles
softly. "It's okay, Chip.
Sometimes during a seizure,
his speech gets...scrambled."

Plankton's hand reaches
out, searching for something
to anchor him. "Go,"
he says. "The...the...
the...what's called?"
He's trying to find
the words. "The...cow," he says 
decidedly. "Cow?" Plankton
giggles, repeating himself. "Cow!"

"It's okay, Plankton," Karen
says gently. "You're just
trying to find your words."

Chip watches, his eyes
filled with confusion.
"But why is he talking
like that?" he asks,
his voice low.

Karen's eyes are filled
with compassion as
she explains. "It's part
of the seizure, Chip.
His brain is firing differently,
mixing things up."

Plankton's giggle turns
into a full laugh, his
body shaking slightly.
"Cow," he repeats,
his voice louder now.

Karen and Chip exchange
a concerned look, but Karen
smiles gently, knowing
this phase can pass quickly.
"Remember, Plankton,
we're at Hanna's. You're okay."

Plankton nods, his laugh
fading into a smile as
his gaze locks onto the
spinning ceiling fan. "Fan,"
he murmurs, his hand moving
to mimic its motion. "Fan-ny
fanny fan." Karen knows he's
trying to make sense of the
world again, and she's here to
help guide him back.

"That's right," she says,
keeping her voice steady. "It's
a fan." Chip watches,
his curiosity piqued but
his concern foremost. He's
knew not to laugh at his
dad's strange speech, but it's
hard not to find some humor
in the absurdity of the moment.

"Fan-ny," Plankton repeats,
his voice taking on a sing-song
quality. "The cow, says meow."

Karen chuckles, her heart
warming at the nonsensical
sentences. It's a sign
his brain is trying to
reconnect, to make sense of
the world again. "No, Plankton,"
she corrects gently. "The fan
doesn't say meow. It's ju—"

But she's interrupted by
Hanna, who comes in to
check on them. "Hey guys!
So, what's the plan for movie night?"
Her cheerfulness is a stark
contrast to the scene she's
walked in on. Plankton's
laughter grows louder, his
eye glazed over.

Hanna's smile falters, her
eyes wide with worry.
"Is he okay?" she asks,
stepping closer, confused.
Karen knew Plankton's
not gonna want Hanna
to find out about his
autistic neurodisability.
"It's just something he
does," Karen says quickly,
as Plankton starts to crawl.
"He'll be fine in a bit."

Hanna watches as
drool starts to dribble
from the corner of Plankton's
mouth. "What's happening?"
she asks, her voice laced
with concern. "It's like he's
in a dream state, or someth-"

Her words are drowned
out by Plankton's chuckle,
his body wriggling on the
floor. "Cow!" he exclaims.
Karen knew he's gonna
come out of it soon, and
she didn't want Hanna to
be in his personal space
right now. "Why don't we give
a bit more time?"
she suggests, her tone
remaining calm. "We'll be
ready for movies soon."

Hanna nods, her smile
forced. "Okay," she says,
backing out of the room.
The door closes, leaving
them in privacy. Karen's heart
thuds in her chest. She's
seen this a hundred times,
but it never gets easier.

Plankton's eye blinks
slowly, his antennae
still. The room seems to
come back into focus,
the colors slowly solidifying
from the blur they had
been. "Karen?" he whispers,
his voice hoarse.

"I'm here," she says, her
voice a comforting
presence in the room.
"You had a seizure, but
you're okay now."

Plankton's eye widens,
his antennae shooting up.
"Oh," he murmurs, his
voice distant. He looks
around the room, taking
in the familiar yet foreign
surroundings of Hanna's
guest room. "What...were
we talking? I feel like I was
but I...I can't remember."

Karen's hand is still
clasped in his, her thumb
continuing to rub his skin
in a soothing pattern. "You
were talking about a cow,"
she says with a small smile.
"But it's okay. You're okay."

Plankton's antennae droop
slightly, his cheeks coloring
with embarrassment. "A cow?"
He repeats, his voice
still weak. "Did I... did
I say anything else? And
why the barnacles am I on the
floor?"

Karen laughs, her eyes
twinkling with affection. "You
got a bit overwhelmed,"
she says, her voice gentle.
"But you're okay now."

Plankton nods, his antennae
slowly rising. "I'm sorry,"
he whispers. "I didn't mean to-"

Karen shakes her head, her
smile warm. "Don't apologize,
Plankton. It's just part of
who you are." She helps
him to his feet, her arms
supporting him. "Let's get
you cleaned up."

Chip watches, his heart
still racing. He's seen
his dad like this before,
but it never gets easier. He
wants to help, but he's
learned that sometimes, the
best thing to do is just be
present.

Karen leads Plankton to
the bathroom, her arm
around his waist, his hand
in hers. "Let's get you
cleaned up," she says,
guiding him gently.

The cool water feels good
on his face, the sensation
helping to ground him. Karen
wipes his mouth with
a washcloth, her movements
careful and precise.
He leans into her touch,
his body craving the
predictability. "Thank
you," he murmurs.
Karen hands him a towel,
her gaze understanding.
"You're welcome," she says.
"Remember, Plankton,
you're not alone in this."

Karen leads Plankton
and Chip to the living
room where Hanna's
waiting for them.

"Are you okay?" Hanna
asks, her eyes filled with
concern. Plankton nods,
his antennae twitching.
"Of course," he says
matter-of-factly. "Why
wouldn't I be?"

Hanna's gaze lingers on
his still-flushed cheeks,
his slightly unfocused
eye. "You just...you
seemed out of it," she
says, her voice tentative.
Plankton's antennae quiver,
his mind racing. "What are
you talking about?" He asks
Hanna, glaring at her.

"You know, when you were
laughing and talking about
cows," Hanna says, her eyes
still wide with concern. "And
drooling a bit." Plankton's
face reddens, his antennae
springing up.

Karen jumps in, her
voice calm. "It's just a little
quirk, Hanna," she says with
a smile. "He's fine. Now,
about that movie night?"
Hanna nods, her expression
still slightly puzzled,
but she lets it go. "Right!
Let's get cozy!" She says,
clapping her hands together.

Plankton sits back down
on the couch, his antennae
twitching as he tries to
regain his composure.
He knows he can't let his
condition define him, but
sometimes it's so hard to
keep up the façade. He's
grateful for Karen's quick
thinking, for Chip's quiet
support.

Hanna starts setting
up the board games, her
energy seemingly boundless.
Plankton's eye flits around
the room, taking in the
colors and the clutter.
He can feel his anxiety
building, his thoughts racing.
But he takes a deep breath.

"Do you want to play?"
Hanna asks, her smile wide.
"Sure," Plankton responds,
his voice steady despite
his inner turmoil. Chip
and Karen knew of his 
competitive spirit..

The game starts, and
Plankton's stims return. 
His fingers move over 
the armrest. "What's with 
your hands?" Hanna asks,
watching Plankton's hand
move. "It's okay, Hanna,"
Karen jumps in, her tone
calm. "It's just something
he does." She doesn't
elaborate further, not wanting
to make a big deal of it.
But Hanna's curiosity is
piqued. She's never seen
anyone act like this before.

Plankton's eye darts
to his hand, his antennae
twitching. He feels the
weight of Hanna's gaze,
his cheeks flushing. Karen
squeezes his hand, her
silent support reassuring.

Hanna's eyes wander from
the game to Plankton's
hands, then back to her
cards. She's curious.

Plankton feels the heat
of her gaze, his stims
intensifying. He tries
to ignore it, focusing on
the game. But every time
he glances up, her eyes
are on him, watching his
hands move, her brow
furrowed. It's unnerving,
but her curiosity doesn't
wane.

"So, what's the deal with
the hand thing?" Hanna asks
finally, unable to hold back.
Plankton's antennae snap
straight up, his hand stalling
mid-stim. "What hand
thing?" he says, his voice
sharp. Karen's grip on his
hand tightens, a silent warning.

Hanna's eyes widen at
his tone. "I just meant,
why do you...you know,
move your hands like that?
What does it do for yo-"
"It's none of your concern!"
Plankton snaps, his antennae
waving agitatedly.

Karen's eyes dart
between Hanna's shocked
expression and Plankton's
flushed face. She can feel
the tension in the room
spike. "Plankton, maybe
we should-"

But Plankton cuts her
off, his voice rising. "I don't
have to explain myself to
her!" He says, his antennae
waving wildly. Chip's heart
sinks. He's seen his dad
like this before, but it's
always different, always
worse when it's in front
of someone new.

Hanna's face falls, her smile
replaced with hurt. "I'm just
trying to understand,"
she says, her voice small.
"I didn't mea-"

But Plankton's not
listening. "It's none of
your business," he repeats,
his voice cold. Karen's heart
sinks. She knew this was
going to happen, that
Plankton's stress would
boil over into something
unpleasant.

"Plankton," she starts, but
he shakes his head, his
eye focused on the game
now. "I don't owe anyone
explanations," he says,
his hand resuming its
erratic movements.

Hanna's eyes fill with
unshed tears, her cheeks
flushing with embarrassment.
"I didn't mean to-"

But Plankton's attention
is fully on the game, his
stims more pronounced than
ever. Karen sighs, her
heart aching for both Hanna
and Plankton. She knows
his behavior isn't intentional,
but it's still painful to watch. 

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

Here are some idioms that use the word "chip":

Chip on your shoulder
An informal expression that means someone feels inferior or believes they've been treated unfairly. For example, "You will never make friends if you go around with a chip on your shoulder". 
 
Chip off the old block
A person who resembles one parent in appearance or behavior. For example, "His son is just a chip off the old block". 
 
Chip in
To contribute money, time, or advice to a cause or fund. For example, "Every member of the team chipped in to help pay for the coach's surgery". 
 
Cash in your chips
To sell something, such as investments, to raise money. It can also be used as slang to mean to die. 
 
Bargaining chip
Something that can be used to gain an advantage when trying to make a deal or an agreement. For example, "The workers used the threat of a strike as a bargaining chip in their negotiations". 
 
Blue chip
A term that comes from poker, where chips used in gambling have different colors to represent different dollar amounts. A blue chip is typically the one with the highest value. 
 
call in (one's) chipscall in your chipscash (one's) chips incash incash in (one's) chipscash in chipscash in one's chipscash in your chipscheap as chipschipchip (away) at (something)chip and dipchip atchip awaychip buttychip inchip in for (something)chip in on (something)chip in with (something)chip in with (something) for (something)chip offchip off the old blockchip off the old block, achip on one's shoulderchip on one's shoulder, to have achip on shoulderchip shotchip upchipschips and dipchips are down, thechips with everythingcow chipcow chipsget a chip on (one's) shoulderhand in (one's) chipshas had its chipshave a chip on (one's) shoulderhave a chip on your shoulderhave had (one's) chipshave had your chipsin the chipsin the moneylet the chips fall (where they may)let the chips fall where they maymint chocolate chippass in (one's) chipspiss on (someone's) chipsput a chip on (one's) shoulderput all (of) (one's) chips on the tablespit chipsthe chips are downwhen the chips are down

"All that and a bag of chips"---this phrase is usually a slam against someone who is conceited or arrogant. Perhaps the phrase originates in the concept of completeness; a meal complete with a "bag of chips".Aug 11, 2014

new chipcore studycore chip

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new chip plankton Chip Plankton II chip

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new Chip Plankton II chip plankton chip

"Honey, did you 
take out the trash?" 
Karen called out 
to the living room. 
The only reply was 
the distant sound 
of the TV playing 
a sitcom laugh track. 
She sighed.

Going into the 
living room, Karen 
found her husband, 
Plankton, sprawled 
out on the couch, 
snoring lightly.

The TV's blue light 
flickered over his face. She looked 
around the room, 
the piles of laundry, 
the dusty bookshelves, 
and the half-eaten 
sandwich on the 
coffee table. It was 
a mess, but she knew 
better than to wake him.

Plankton had been 
working long hours 
at the chum factory 
lately, trying to 
make ends meet. His 
snoring grew louder, 
and she felt a 
wave of affection 
mixed with concern.

Gently, she covered 
his legs with a blanket 
and bent to kiss 
his forehead.
He stirred slightly 
but didn't wake up.

In the kitchen, 
Karen grabbed a 
cup of coffee, 
the warmth and 
aroma grounding her 
for the evening ahead. 
The fridge hummed 
a low lullaby, 
reminding her of 
the chores left to do.

The sink was full 
of dirty dishes, 
remnants of dinner.
A pot with half-eaten 
chum congealed 
on the stovetop.

Karen rolled up 
her sleeves, 
determined to tackle 
the chaos. She knew 
Plankton was 
exhausted from work.

The clanking of 
pots and pans 
echoed through the 
tiny kitchen as she 
washed and sorted, 
her mind racing with 
thoughts of their future.

A knock at the door 
startled her. She dried 
her hands on a towel, 
leaving wet spots like 
tears on the fabric.

It was Hanna, her 
best friend since high 
school.

Karen had not seen 
Hanna in weeks, and 
the sight of her brought 
a smile. Hanna 
was a burst of energy.

"Hi, Karen! How's it 
going?" Hanna's voice 
was a mix of sweetness 
and the sharpness of 
someone who had seen 
too much of the world.

She scanned 
the room, taking 
in the clutter, the 
stale smell of 
overworked air, and 
Plankton's snoring.

"Hey, Hanna," Karen 
managed, her voice 
soft to not disturb 
his sleep. "It's been 
a bit hectic, but we're 
making do."

Hanna stepped in, 
eyeing the mess 
sympathetically. "Looks 
like you could use a 
hand," she said, already 
grabbing a dish towel.

Karen's smile grew.
"You read my mind. Thanks."

Hanna tossed the 
towel over her shoulder, 
ready to jump into 
the fray. "You know me,"
she said with a wink. "I've 
never been one to shy 
away from a mess."

The two of them worked 
side by side, the rhythm 
of their movements 
harmonizing as they 
cleared the kitchen. Karen
felt the tension in her 
shoulders begin to ease 
as Hanna filled the room 
with stories of her latest 
adventures, a welcome 
distraction from the 
monotony of chores.

As the last plate was 
put away, the fridge 
closed with a satisfying 
click, Karen leaned against 
the counter. Hanna looked 
at her.
"You've been carrying 
a lot, haven't you?" she 
asked, her voice gentle.

Karen nodded, her eyes 
welling up. "It's just 
that with Plankton's job, 
and the bills..."

Hanna pulled her into 
a tight hug. "I know, 
sweetie. You're doing 
the best you can."

They sat down in the 
living room, the clean 
kitchen a testament to 
their friendship's strength. 
Hanna's screen searched 
Karen's for 
a sign of the spark 
that used to be there.

"I can't remember 
the last time we 
went out together," 
Hanna said. "You two 
deserve a break."

Karen's screen lit up 
at the suggestion, but 
quickly dimmed. "We can't 
afford it," she said, 
sighing. "Not with the 
overtime Plankton's 
been doing."

Hanna leaned in, a 
mischievous glint in 
her eye. "Well, I might 
have a little surprise 
for you," she said.

Karen looked up, 
curiosity piqued. "What do 
you mean?"

Hanna pulled out a 
small envelope from 
her pocket and 
handed it to her friend. 
"A gift," she said with 
a sly smile. "A check
from my winning 
lottery ticket."

Karen's eyes widened 
as she opened the 
envelope. "Hanna, no!"
she protested. "You can't
just give us your 
winnings!"

Hanna's smile didn't 
waver. "I can, and I 
want to. You've been 
there for me through 
everything. It's about 
time I returned the favor.
Besides," she said with 
a wink, "what's a 
little chum between 
friends?"

Karen's hands trembled 
as she read the check.
It was more than enough 
to cover their rent and 
bills for several months. 
Tears slipped down 
her cheeks, and she 
hugged Hanna tightly. 
"Thank you," she whispered.

The weight of financial 
stress lifted slightly 
from her shoulders, 
replaced by a warmth 
that spread through 
her chest. For a moment, 
the world didn't seem 
so overwhelming.

Hanna pulled back, her 
own eyes shining with 
unshed tears. "Now, 
don't spend it all in one 
place," she teased.

Karen laughed, the 
sound small but genuine. 
"I won't," she promised, 
the check clutched in 
her hand. "We'll use it 
wisely."

The two of them sat 
quietly for a while, 
enjoying the rare moment 
of peace. The TV had 
switched to the news, 
and the low murmur of 
the anchor's voice filled 
the room. Plankton's 
snoring had become a 
comforting white noise.

Hanna looked at 
Plankton, her expression 
thoughtful. "You know, 
I've always admired 
the way you take care 
of him," she said. "It can't 
be easy."

Karen nodded, her 
thumb tracing the 
edges of the check. "It's 
not," she admitted. "But 
he's my Plankton. I love 
him, even when he's 
exhausting."

Her gaze drifted to 
the sleeping form of 
her husband. Plankton's 
snores grew more even, 
his face finally relaxed.
The lines of stress that 
usually pinched his 
features had smoothed 
out in sleep.

Karen knew that 
Plankton had always 
dreamed of more than 
his life at the chum 
factory could offer. 
He was a man of ambition, 
his spirit too large for 
the cramped quarters 
they called home.

Her thoughts turned 
to the gift from Hanna. 
The check represented 
more than just money; 
it was a beacon of hope 
that maybe, just maybe, 
they could finally start 
working towards those 
dreams.

new AI Story Generator Family & Friends Karen x Plankton karen plankton POV Karen hanna

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▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒

new chip plankton code page 437 chip

🎰🪙

new token chip pokerchip

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠖⠒⠒⠶⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠳⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⠤⣦⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⣤⣤⠤⠤⠶⠖⠚⠛⠉⠉⠀⣸⡏⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⣰⡿⢿⡆⠀⢸⣿⢦⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢞⣫⣭⣭⣉⡙⢿⣄⠘⣿⣄⠀⣿⡶⢛⣉⣉⡙⠳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡝⣧⠈⠻⣦⡸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⡤⠤⠤⠶⠶⠒⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⣧⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣻⡇⠀⠀⠺⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡆⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣾⠟⠀⢸⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢡⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠻⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⢿⣆⡛⠿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢋⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠻⢦⣍⣉⣉⣭⡶⠛⣽⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⣄
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⣈⠛⠶⠤⠤⠴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠄⠒⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠞⠋
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢳⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣄⡓⠄⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠋⠉⠛⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢳⡶⠶⠤⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠤⠤⠶⠖⠚⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⢶⣆⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⢠⡿⠚⠛⣾⠛⠋⠉⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣟⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⠴⠶⠛⠋⠁⢸⡟⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⢀⣟⢦⡀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⣇⠈⣲⡄⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⢤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣈⣇⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠶⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⣶⣦⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠒⢰⠆⠀⠐⠃⢒⠐⠂⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⠶⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣧⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⣶⣿⡇⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠷⠶⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⡹⣷⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠿⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⡉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠶⢦⣄⣠⣤⡤⠴⠶⠟⠋⠁⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡏⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠲⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣼⡇⠀⢿⣶⣄⣤⣴⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢟⣭⣶⣶⣽⣿⣄⠈⢿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡷⠦⣿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠈⠛⠶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡇⠀⠀⢻⣍⡛⠛⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⣤⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⠀⠻⠿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⢉⣾⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠛⢁⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠻⢿⣍⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠈⠻⠶⠦⠤⠶⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠾⠉⠙⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⣰⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡴⠶⠚⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣈⠉⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣽⠛⠉⠉⠉⢉⣧⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣩⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⢠⡟⢀⡞⠛⠋⠉⣏⢣⡀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⣿⠀⠀⢀⡿⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⣿⢀⡿⠁⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢧⡆⠹⢄⢸⡆⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⡇⠀⠀⢺⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣤⣤⠶⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⢹⡟⠁⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻⠀⡸⠃⢻⣤⣾⠋⠁⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⡇⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠈⠁⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣀⠙⠻⠿⢿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠻⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⢷⣶⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡴⠟⢻⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠛⠻⠿⠿⠛⣿⠏⠉⠉⢡⣿⠿⣿⡗⠲⠶⠶⠶⢲⣶⠿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⣿⣀⣠⣴⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠛⠟⠛⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻

new cute silly adorable chip dot art text art ascii art

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 10
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new autism and all chip plankton chipcore

𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗
①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨
１２３４５６７８９
𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡
➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒
¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹
₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉
1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶
1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲
1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳
【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】
『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』

new numbers aesthetic number 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 one two three four five six seven eight nine

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 16


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new do you trust me chip plankton 16

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 2


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new do you trust me chip plankton 2

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 15


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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