𝑉𝑜𝑖𝑑 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒 ☯︎ 𝑉𝑜𝑖𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡 ♡ : ✧ I’ve always had a perfect void concept. ✧ Why am I just a master at entering the void state at will ? ✧ It is natural for me to enter the void state easily. ✧ It is natural for me to enter the void state within minutes. ✧ Regardless of everything, I enter the void state within seconds. ✧ Every void state method has always worked for me. ✧ I naturally go the void state effortlessly. ✧ All my attempts at the void was successful. Because I said so! ✧ My void concept is Top tier. ✧ It’s a Fact that , I am a master of the void state. ✧ I have mastered the void state and it obeys me instantly. ✧ It’s a fact that I Manifest Faster than the void state. ✧ I know I am a master of the void state. 𝐴𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐴𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒 ♡ : ✧ I Am . ✧ I am God . ✧ I am pure consciousness not attached to any reality . ✧ I am the void . ✧ I am in the void state . ✧ I am void . ✧ I am pure awareness . ✧ I’m getting in the void right now . ✧ My mind is awake and my body is asleep. ✧ I intend to enter the void state right now . ✧ Regardless of everything , I am entering the void right now. 🌌 𝑊𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑉𝑜𝑖𝑑 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒♡ : ✧ I have mastered waking up in the void being aware. ✧ I always wake up in the void every night , aware. ✧ Sleeping naturally takes me instantly into the void aware. ✧ My subconscious mind always wake me up in the void state as soon has I fall asleep . ✧ It’s a fact that I always wake up in the void state aware. ✧ Regardless of everything, it’s a fact that I awake up in the void state every night. ✧ Why do I always wake up in the void state every night? ✧ I command my subconscious to take me to the straight as soon has I fall asleep. ✧ I literally have to sleep too wake up in the void state.

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 14 Plankton's voice doesn't waver from his sad mantra. "I'm proud, but you don't show it, I'm sorry. Chip won." His body rocks slightly, his antennae quivering. The lobby seems to spin around him, his heart heavy with shame and love. Chip's eyes are glued to his father. "Dad," he said again, his voice trembling. "You don't have to be sorry." But Plankton doesn't seem to hear his son. Karen's eyes are filled with sadness, but she nods firmly. "Chip, your dad loves you. He's just... stuck." The words hang in the air, Plankton's voice still echoing through the lobby. "I'm proud, but you don't show it, I'm sorry. Chip won." His stim isn't letting up, his body rocking slightly, his antennae trembling with each repeated phrase. Chip watches, his heart breaking. He understands now, the complexities of his father's mind. He can see the love behind the words, the pain in his eye. "Dad," he whispers, kneeling before him. "I know you're pro-" But Plankton's stim doesn't let his voice rest. "I'm proud, but you don't show it, I'm sorry. Chip won." His body rocks more now, his antennae shaking with each syllable. "But you don't show it, I'm sorry." The words become a rhythm, a sad song of regret and pain. Chip's heart breaks a little more with each repetition. He doesn't know how to reach his dad, how to tell him that his love is enough. Karen watches, her own heart breaking for her family. She knows this isn't easy for any of them, but she also knows they're making progress. She squeezes Plankton's hand, trying to transfer some of her strength to him. Chip's eyes never leave his dad's face. He sees the love in Plankton's eye, the pain behind the words. "Dad," he says, his voice shaky. "I know you're proud of me." But Plankton's stim doesn't acknowledge his words. "I'm proud, but you don't show it, I'm sorry. Chip won." His voice is a sad refrain, his body stuck in a painful routine. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, and she whispers soothingly into his ear. "We're all so proud of Chip, Plankton," she says. "You've got to believe th-" But Plankton's stim continues, his voice a sad reminder of his inability to connect in the way Chip craves. "I'm proud, but you don't show it, I'm sorry. Chip won." His antennae quiver with each word, his body still. Chip's heart swells with understanding, his frustration giving way to compassion. He reaches out his free hand to his dad, placing it gently on his shoulder. "Dad," he whispers, "I know you're proud. I can see it." But Plankton's body goes rigid at Chip's touch. The words suddenly stop. The lobby seems to hold its breath. Plankton's antennae fall limp. His eye rolls back, and his body goes slack. Karen's grip on his hand tightens instinctively as he starts to slump over. With a gasp, she catches him, his head falling heavily onto her shoulder. Chip's eyes widen with fright as they manage to lay Plankton down on the bench. "It's his autism," she explains. "Sometimes his brain gets overwhelmed and he can faint. It's ok, Chip. This happens sometimes." Plankton's body is limp, his eye closed, his mouth slightly agape. Chip's heart thunders in his chest, his hands trembling. He's seen his dad have meltdowns before, but this is new. Karen's voice is calm. "It's okay, Chip," she says. "This is just his brain's way of saying it's had enough." Her words aren't enough to soothe the fear in Chip's heart. He watches his dad, desperately wishing he could understand, could fix him, could make him okay. But he knows he can't. Autism doesn't work that way. It's a part of Plankton, a part of their life, a part they have to navigate together. Karen checks Plankton's pulse, relief flooding her when she feels his steady heartbeat. She turns to Chip. "He's okay," she assures. "Just needs some time to recover." Her voice is calm. But Chip's heart won't slow down. His eyes are wide with fear, his breaths coming in quick gasps. "Dad," he whispers, his voice shaky. Karen nods, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "Let's take him to the hotel," she says, gently. "He'll be okay. Get your prizes, and get to the car." Chip nods, his hands shaking as he picks up his trophy and ribbon. He watches as his mother lifts his father with care, her eyes filled with fierce determination. She knows Plankton better than anyone.

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 15 Karen's arms wrap around Plankton's slender form, his head lolling back against her shoulder. Her eyes are filled with a mix of love and exhaustion. The weight of her husband seems to double as she carries him out of the lobby, his antennae brushing against her cheek. The world outside the science fair seems to fade away as they move to their parked car. Chip follows closely, his small hand clutching his trophy, his ribbon fluttering in the breeze. The car door opens with a metallic creak, and Karen gently lowers Plankton into his seat. His body is limp, his eye still closed. She buckles him in, her movements precise and careful, as if handling a fragile piece of glass. The engine roars to life, and they pull away from the curb, leaving the science fair and its chaos behind. Chip sits in the backseat, his eyes never leaving his father's face as they arrive at the hotel's parking lot. Karen's breaths are deep and even as she lifts Plankton once again, his body heavier than it was before. The cool night air brushes against his antennae, but there's no response. "Come on, Plankton," she whispers, as if her voice could coax him back to reality. With each step towards the hotel, his weight seems to increase, but Karen's strength doesn't waver. She's done this before, carried his burden when he couldn't bare it himself. The doors slide open with a whoosh, the lobby's warmth enveloping them. The bellhop looks up from his desk, his smile faltering at the sight of their distress. "Is everything okay?" He asks, his voice tentative. Karen nods, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "Just tired," she lies, her voice strained from the weight of her words. They make their way to their room. In the quiet of their hotel chamber, Karen gently lays Plankton on the bed, his antennae flaccid against the pillow. Chip watches from the doorway, his trophy and ribbon forgotten by the sight of his father's stillness. "Dad?" He whimpers, his voice quivering. Plankton doesn't respond. "Dad," Chip tries again. He sets his trophy and ribbon on the nightstand, his eyes never leaving his father's face. The room is silent, save for the faint humming of the air conditioner and the distant sound of laughter from the hallway outside. Plankton's antennae tips twitch slightly, a small sign of life that offers Chip a tiny sliver of hope. "Dad?" Chip says again, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's eye slowly opens, his pupil dilating as he adjusts to the soft light of the hotel room. He looks at Chip, his gaze uncertain, as if seeing him for the first time. "Chip?" He whispers, his voice hoarse. Chip rushes to his side, his small hands gripping the covers. "You're awake," he says, his voice filled with relief. Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "What happened?" He asks, his voice weak. Karen sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. "You had a bit of an overload, honey," she says, her hand smoothing his antennae. "But you're okay now." Chip watches his dad, his heart racing. "You were saying sorry," he says softly. "For not showing you were proud of me." Plankton blinks, his antennae twitching as his thoughts realign. "Oh," he says, his voice still weak. "I'm sorry, Chip." Chip shakes his head. "You don't have to be sorry," he says, his voice trembling with emotion. "I just wanted you to be happy, for me." Plankton's antennae rise, his eye widening slightly. He tries to sit up, but his body betrays him, weak from the overwhelming stimulation. Karen quickly supports his back, her expression a mix of love and concern. "I was happy," Plankton says, his voice gaining strength. "So proud." He pats the bed. "Come here," he whispers, his voice unusually gentle. Chip crawls onto the bed. The two sit silently for a moment, their bodies close, their eyes locked. It's a rare moment of physical intimacy for Plankton, who's usually so guarded about his personal space. But now, his barriers are down, and he's opening himself up to his son. "I'm sorry," Plankton says again, his voice quivering with the weight of his words. "I don't know how to show it, Chip. But I'm so proud of you." His voice is raw, emotions laid bare. Chip scoots closer. "It's ok, Dad," he says, his voice shaky. "I know you're proud. I can see it." Plankton's body relaxes. He looks at Chip, really looks at him, his eye searching. "You see it?" He asks, his voice hopeful. Chip nods, his eyes shining with tears. "I see it, every day," he says. "When you help me with my homework, when you're there for me." He swallows hard, his voice thick with emotion. "I see it when you try so hard to be part of things." Plankton's antennae quiver. "But not today?" He asks, his voice vulnerable. Chip shakes his head, his voice steady. "Today too, Dad," he says. "You were proud today. You just had a hard time showing it." Karen's eyes brim with tears as she watches her family. This is what she's fought for, this understanding. This connection. Plankton's expression softens. "Thank you, Chip," he whispers. "Thank you for seeing me. You wanna share this bed with me?" Chip nods eagerly, scooting closer to his dad as Karen tucks them in. And for the first time, Plankton lets himself lean on Chip's shoulder. Chip feels the weight of his father's head on his shoulder, and it's comfortable in a way he has never felt before. His dad's antennae brush against his cheek, and he doesn't flinch. Rather, he leans in closer, his arm wrapping around Plankton's tiny form, pulling him closer. The warmth of his father's body, the steady beat of his heart, it's all Chip needs to feel the love he's always known was there. "It's okay, Dad," he whispers, his voice filled with understanding beyond his years.