⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠒⠒⠂⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠢⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣟⠻⠶⠶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⣀⣀⣀⡠⢤⠶⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠒⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠐⠒⠤⠄⢉⣙⣒⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠂⠙⡋⠉⠙⢹⣶⣦⣄⣠⣀⣀⠀⠀⠰⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡡⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠲⠖⣷⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣥⡤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠉⠉⠋⠉⢻⣿⣄⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠿⣿⡞⠋⠭⠭⠿⠿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣮⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠗⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣴⣷⣮⣗⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⠔⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀ ⢀⢾⣾⢶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠃ ⣸⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀ ⢸⠉⠁⠌⠩⠿⠿⠿⠟⢀⡠⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢿⣷⣤⣄⠤⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
▶︎ •၊၊|။||||။၊|||၊||။၊||lıl||၊||။၊||lılıııl|၊၊|၊၊|၊၊၊ıılılııılııl၊၊၊၊|၊|၊|၊||၊|။||||။lııl၊၊၊၊|၊|၊|၊||၊|။||||။၊|||။၊• 46:33
wlc 2 mi profil ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა!🐾 jus a cutesi littl gwrl🎀 fragile ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡🐾
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠶⠶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠋⠀⠀⢀⡙⠳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠛⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢦⣌⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣶⡌⠛⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⡶⠦⠴⣄⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⢸⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣦⡀⠻⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠻⠧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⢦⡈⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠁⠀⠤⠿⠿⠯⣭⡉⠉⠛⣻⣿⣓⠦⣄⣀⣀⣨⣀⣠⡤⠤⠤⣄⣀⣀⠈⠷⠞⠛⢻⣧⡀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⠾⠏⢈⣿⣷⣞⣻⠉⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠶⠟⠛⠛⠳⢶⣆⡀⣸⣯⣷⡞⠛⠋⠛⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣥⠞⠃⣀⡴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣏⡉⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣽⠾⢿⣶⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠸⣿⠀⠀⢠⡾⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣶⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⣸⣻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠙⠳⠦⣾⠵⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠴⣿⢿⣧⣀⢀⣼⣿⣼⡇⠀⠀⣠⡾⠻⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠉⠁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠉⠓⠲⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣸⡄⠉⢻⡟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡇⢀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⠶⠤⠤⠤⠾⠟⠛⠳⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⣧⣀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠈⣸⣇⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣦ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣙⡳⣤⡀⠀⠈⠻⣮⡉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⢿⡉⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠿⣯⣍⣹⣷ ⠀⣴⠶⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⣗⡦⠽⢯⣈⢻⡄⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣄⣀⡀⢰⠟⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⡶⠛⠹⠃⢸⣇⣼⢾⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠁⠀⠀⠙⢿⣁ ⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠛⠦⣤⣀⣀⣀⣤⣀⡙⠦⣝⣲⠒⢬⣺⣷⠀⠀⢀⣾⠛⣿⣟⠛⠛⠻⢶⣿⣿⡶⠖⢿⢛⣿⠛⠁⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣥⣠⡇⠙⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙ ⠀⠀⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠑⡴⢏⠁⠐⡎⢿⠀⢀⣾⢻⣿⡟⣿⠳⢦⣤⣀⡀⠙⢻⣷⣾⣿⣧⣀⣀⣤⡶⢿⡿⠿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣸⠀⣼⠃⠀⠉⠙⠋⢀⣴⣶⣾⡍⢉⣽⢿⡅⢸⣿⠁⢈⣽⢿⡿⣯⣷⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢷⣇⣀⣀⣤⡴⢛⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠾⠃⠻⠿⠟⠁⣸⣿⠀⠸⣧⣾⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⢠⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠉⠳⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢶⣄⡀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠀⠀⢸⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢷⣾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠿⡇⠀⠀⠻⣿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠏⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢦⣄⡀⠀⣰⡏⠀⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⠀⢰⣿⠇⠙⢳⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡾⠋⣀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢳⣿⣦⣤⣸⡿⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣃⣀⣠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠈⠙⠯⣝⡛⠛⢉⣡⡤⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⠀⢉⡿⢳⣤⣉⡙⠛⠒⠒⠒⠦⣤⣀⣠⡶⠿⠿⣭⣍⡙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 21 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 ) Plankton watches as the doctor holds the film up to the light, his eyes scanning the white and grey image. Plankton's eye follows, trying to make sense of the shapes and shadows that are his teeth. He's seen these before, the ghosts of his mouth laid bare for inspection. But there's something new. The doctor's expression is serious, his voice careful. "Looks like you've got some wisdom teeth who are thinking about moving in!" Plankton's antennae spike with anxiety. "W-what does that mean?" he asks, his voice shaking. Dr. Musselman's expression is reassuring. "It means we need to take them out before they cause any trouble. It's a procedure that can be a bit scary, but we'll make sure you're as comfortable as possib--" But Plankton's fear spirals out of control. "No," he whispers, his antennae drooping. "No more pain." Karen's heart clenches. "They can cause a lot of pain if we don't, sweetie," she says, her voice soothing. "But we'll make sure it's as gentle as possible. Can we just do it today? He hasn't eaten since yesterday, so..." Dr. Musselman nods. "We can schedule it for today," he says, his voice calm. "But let's make sure you're as comfortable as we can first." He gestures to the chair. "Would you like to sit down, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his body stiff with fear. But he nods, his movements slow and deliberate as he slides back into the chair. Karen's hand squeezes his, a silent promise of support. "I'll stay with you," she says, her voice a warm whisper. Dr. Musselman nods. "We'll start with a local anesthetic," he says, his tone soothing. "It'll numb the area so you won't feel anything." He says as he grabs a syringe filled with a clear liquid. Plankton's eye widens, his antennae stilling in fear. "Could we try sedation, or?" Dr. Musselman nods, his expression sympathetic. "We can do that," he says. "It'll make the whole process easier." The doctor explains the process, his words measured and calm. Plankton's eye widens at the mention of sleeping through the procedure, his body relaxing slightly. "We'll do both cleaning and extraction all while he's under anesthesia." An anesthesiologist enters, his movements calm and precise. Plankton watches him with a mix of fear and curiosity, his antennae twitching. The smell of the gas fills the air, and Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "It'll just make you sleep," she whispers, trying to soothe his nerves. The mask is cold against his face, the scent of the gas strange. "Breathe," he says. "In and out." Plankton does as he's told, his eye squeezed shut. The world around him starts to fade, the sounds of the dental office growing distant. His chest feels heavy, his breaths slow and deep. "You're doing so well," Karen murmurs, her voice a constant in the swirl of his thoughts. "I'm so proud of you." The anesthesiologist's gloved hand is gentle, his voice soft. "Just a few more breaths," he says. Plankton's body relaxes into the chair, his antennae drooping. The gas fills his lungs, and the world goes hazy around the edges. The coldness of the mask is the last sensation he registers before the darkness claims him. Meanwhile, Karen watches as the anesthetic takes hold. Plankton's hand relaxes in hers, his breaths evening out. She feels the weight of his fear lifting, his body growing slack. She kisses his forehead, whispering words of love and reassurance as the world slips away from him. Finally, he falls asleep, his antennae still as he starts to snore lightly. They clean his teeth before extracting the wisdom teeth, all while Plankton's body lies limp in the chair feeling nothing. Karen holds his hand as they put the last of the dissolving stitches in. The procedure is done, and Plankton is still asleep. Karen's eyes are full of relief and love as she smiles down at him. "It's all over," she whispers. "You did so well, baby." She knows he probably can't hear her yet, though. The doctor nods. "Everything went smoothly," he says, his voice low. "The extractions went well, and he should wake up in a few minutes." Karen's heart skips a beat, her hand tightening around Plankton's. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for understanding." Dr. Musselman nods, his eyes kind. "We're here to help," he says. "Now let's get him comfortable before he wakes up." The chair is reclined, his mouth clean and his teeth bare of the troublesome wisdom teeth. Drool pools at the corners of his mouth, a testament to his deep slumber and numbness. Karen's mind races with thoughts as they wait for Plankton to come to. She thinks about the seizure and the fear in his eye. It was a stark reminder of his vulnerability, despite his bravado. She makes a mental note to be more understanding, more supportive. The doctor and his assistant carefully insert the gauze pads with tender precision, their movements silent and respectful of his sleep. Plankton's body remains still, his snores unchanged by the intrusion. Karen watches with a mixture of love and anxiety. Her hand is a constant comfort on his, her thumb gently stroking the back of his palm. She's thankful for Dr. Musselman's understanding, his gentle touch. The doctor nods. "He'll wake up in his own time," he says, his eyes on the monitors that track Plankton's vitals. "It's normal for autistic patients to need some extra time to come out of anesthesia." His words hang in the air, a reminder of the unique challenges they face. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. The gauze in his mouth is already stained with a faint pink, the blood from his extractions. She reaches for a tissue, gently wiping away the drool that has started to form around his mouth. Her heart clenches as she sees the peaceful expression on his face, free from the fear that had gripped him earlier. The doctor checks the monitors, his gaze flicking between the numbers and Plankton's sleeping form. "He's doing well," he murmurs.
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡷⣿⣿⣟⣿⣻⣿⢛⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣷⣿⣯⣿⣬⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⣿⡿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⡏⣏⣭⡏⡇⡏⡏⣽⢿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣏⢈⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣷⣷⣷⣷⣷⣿⣿⣷⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣛⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⣾⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠃⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⡀⠀⢸⡿⠛⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠟⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠄⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠹⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠹⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠷⠶⠶⠶⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⠙⠒⠢⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣨⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢈⣵⣦⣅⣴⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⡶⠶⠶⢦⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠻⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣴⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⡀⠀ ⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀ ⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠤⠦⠗⠀⠒⠦⠶⠗⠂⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇ ⠀⠻⣷⣄⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⠟⠀ ⠀⠀⢈⢹⡿⠶⢦⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠤⢶⡟⠑⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⢃⣾⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⢿⣌⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⢏⣿⠃⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⠈⠻⢶⣬⣉⢳⡶⢛⣧⠿⠃⠀⣟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⢰⡗⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⢠⡿⡁⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⢀⢸⡇⠁⠀⣽⡆⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⢿⡄⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⢺⡇⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣤⡾⠃⠀⠀⠘⣧⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⣠⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⢄⣆⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠃⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⢠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣧⣠⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⣛⣋⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢘⠈⠉⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁
⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀pubg⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣉⣩⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⣾⣿⣿⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠤⠙⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿free fire⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠙⠻⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⣩⣝⢿⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⡝⣿⣦⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣮⢻⣿⠟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠻⠿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣋⣁⣀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇
＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 21 The next morning, Plankton stirred, his eye opening slowly. The sunlight streamed in through the living room windows, highlighting the bandage around his leg. He blinked a few times, his memory of the previous day coming back in fuzzy fragments. He looked down at the crutches by his side, his mind piecing together the events. "What happened?" he muttered, his voice hoarse. Karen emerged from the kitchen, seeing him awake. She smiled warmly. "How's the leg today?" she asked, approaching the couch. Hanna, who was already up, had sat down on the other couch. Plankton looked around, his gaze landing on his crutches. "It's... fine," he said, his voice groggy. He tried to sit up, but the pain shot through his leg, causing him to yelp. Hanna jumped up, rushing over to help support him. "Oh, be ca---" "I don't need your help," he snapped, his frustration boiling over. Karen watched the exchange with a knowing look. She knew his pride could be stubborn. "What happened?" he repeated, his antennae twitching with agitation. "Where's my... where's my...?" "Your cast," Karen finished for him. "It's off. The doctor replaced it with a bandage." Plankton frowned. "Why don't I recall..." "It's the medication," Hanna said gently, her eyes filled with concern. "It m-" "Don't tell me what I know," Plankton snapped, his voice sharp. Hanna took a step back, surprise etched on her features. "I just... I just wanted t---" "I don't need you telling me what I know about my own body," he continued, his eye narrowing. Hanna sighed, knowing his pride was wounded. "Plank-" "Let's not fight, you two," Karen interrupted, her tone firm but kind. Plankton looked away, his antennas drooping. "I just... I just don't remember," he mumbled, his voice smaller. Hanna knelt beside him, her expression softening. "You were under anesthesia, remember?" she said gently. "You might not remember much from the sur—" "I know what happened," Plankton snapped, his eye flashing with something that wasn't quite anger, but rather desperation. "Don't baby me, Hanna. Just... don't." Hanna's mouth dropped open, surprised by his harshness. "Plankton, I-I-I-I…" He cut her off, his voice getting louder. "I don't need you to tell me what I felt or what I said. It's my leg, my surgery!" Hanna took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Okay, okay," she said, her hands up in surrender. "I'm just trying to he-" But Plankton was already getting worked up. "Can't you just leave me alone?" he barked, his frustration mounting. Hanna stood her ground, her eyes filled with a mix of surprise and sadness. "I'm only trying to help," Hanna said. "You're still weak from the surgery." Despite trying to tell him to take it easy, the word 'weak' hit Plankton. Hard. "I don't want you here," he said coldly, his voice eerily calm. Hanna's eyes widened, hurt shimmering in them. "Plankton, I'm not leaving, but w---" "You heard me," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "I don't need you." Hanna swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears. "But you're still recovering," she whispered. "I can't just leave you." Plankton's eye narrowed. "I said I don't want you here," he repeated, his voice like a knife. "You don't get to decide that, Hanna. You've already done enough." "But I--" "I said I DON'T WANT YOU HERE! Just get out." Hanna stood there, stunned by his words. She felt as though she'd been slapped in the face. Tears threatened to spill, but she held them back, her chest tight with hurt. Karen stepped in, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hanna, maybe we should give him some space," she suggested, her voice calm. Hanna's eyes flitted to Karen's, searching for understanding. "He's feeling vulnerable," Karen explained gently. "The surgery, the recovery... it's all taking a toll on his pride. He's used to being the one who's in control, and right now, he's not. It's hard for him to accept help." Hanna nodded, though her eyes were still misty. "I just want to help," she murmured. Karen's gaze softened. "I know you do, Hanna. And you've been wonderful. But sometimes, when we offer help, it can accidentally make someone feel weaker." "I didn't mean to do that," Hanna said, her voice small. Karen gave her a comforting squeeze. "I know. But think about it from his perspective. He's always been so independent, so strong-willed. Now, he's stuck in a situation where he can't do everything himself. It's a blow to his ego." Hanna nodded slowly, understanding beginning to dawn on her. "But I was just trying to make sure he's okay. I didn't mean to say he's we-" "I know you didn't," Karen interjected quickly. "But to Plankton, those words might feel like you're questioning his strength." She paused, letting that sink in. "He's always been the one to pull himself up by his own bootstraps, figuratively speaking," she continued. "This whole experience has been a stark reminder that he's not as invincible as he'd like to believe." Hanna took a deep breath, nodding. "I see," she said finally. They watched as Plankton tried to shift his weight on the couch, his bandaged leg clearly causing discomfort. Hanna felt a pang of guilt for upsetting him, albeit unintentionally. With a heavy heart, she turned and headed towards their guest room, giving him the space as requested. The hallway felt cooler without his snappy retorts and quick wit. She knew his words were driven by pain and frustration, but they still stung. Once inside the guest room, Hanna sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the closed door. The silence was deafening, her thoughts racing. She hadn't meant to make Plankton feel weak, only to assist him in his time of need. It was clear, though, that she had inadvertently stepped on a sensitive area, one she had overlooked due to her own eagerness to support. In the living room, Karen walked over to Plankton, his breaths still heavy with frustration. "You know she didn't mean anything by it," she said softly. "She's just worried about you." Plankton's antennae twitched. "I know," he said gruffly. "But I can't have her seeing me like this." Karen sat down beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're not weak, Plankton," she assured him. "You're just... Plankton. And it's okay to take it easy." He sighed, his body slumping into the couch. "I know it's just... I don't like being dependent on others." Karen nodded. "I know, baby. And you'll still always be the Plankton I fell in love with. Your my charming, clever, albeit tiny, troublemaker of a husband, and nothing changes that." He leaned into her, his expression softening. "Thanks, Karen," he murmured. Karen kissed his forehead. "Now, let's get you set up with some pain meds, okay?" Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping slightly. Karen returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and a small plastic cup holding his pills. She handed them to him carefully, her expression a mixture of concern and love as he took them. As the medication took effect, the pain in his leg began to ease. Plankton's eye started to droop, his body relaxing into the cushions. Karen pulled a soft blanket over him, his snores soon filling the room.
#coquette #ribbon #୨୧ #ᡣ𐭩 #bow #dove #thread #dot art #text art #ascii art