Chip Plankton II & Sheldon J. Plankton Emojis & Text

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS i (By NeuroFabulous) Chip, son of Karen and Plankton, came home from summer camp early one day. Chip's mother, Karen, greeted Chip. Plankton, his father, was a quirky little fellow, known for his ingenious inventions that often failed, but never dampened his spirit. So Chip decides to go find his father eagerly. Plankton was on his own bed in the room he shared with Karen. The door swung open, slamming against the wall, and in burst Chip. He threw himself onto Plankton's bed, not noticing his father's flinch at the sudden noise and movement. "Dad! Dad! You won't believe what I learned at camp! I made a new friend, and we did the coolest science project together! It's like you're always saying, science can make anything taste good!" Yet it was too much for his overwhelmed body to handle. Plankton's eye glazed over, his body still as a statue, frozen in the midst of his usual frenetic energy. Chip's chatter trailed off as he stared at his father, confused. "Dad? Are you okay?" Chip stepped closer, noticing the way he didn't move, not even to blink. Panic clawed at his chest. The room grew silent, save for the ticking of a clock in the corner. The vivid colors of Chip's camp t-shirt seemed to dull in contrast to Plankton's unnatural stillness. The boy's mind raced, trying to understand what was happening. He knew his dad was quirky, but this was different. It was like the gears in Plankton's brain had stopped turning, leaving his body an empty shell. Chip reached out with a trembling hand, placing it on Plankton's shoulder. The cold, unyielding feel of his father's skin sent a shiver down his spine. "Dad?" he whispered, voice shaking with fear. "Wake up, please." His voice was a mere echo in the room, bouncing off the walls and returning to him, unheard. Panic swelled in his chest, pushing aside the excitement from moments before. Chip knew his dad was different, had always been different, but this... this was new, this was terrifying. Here, in their tiny house in the Chum Bucket, Plankton's breathing remained steady, but his eye were vacant. The young boy's mind whirred, trying to piece together his father's sudden stillness. Plankton had always been a whirlwind of ideas and energy, but now he sits there, silent and unresponsive. Chip's fingers tightened on Plankton's shoulder. "Dad, please," Chip began to plead, his voice cracking with emotion. He shook him gently at first, then more urgently, but the small figure remained unmoved. He tried to shake his father again, more firmly this time, but Plankton was still as stone. His eye were open, but there was no spark of life. The only sound was the frantic panting of his own breaths. "Dad, come on! You're scaring me!" Chip's voice grew desperate. He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back. He couldn't let fear overtake him now. He had to help his dad. He patted Plankton's cheek, then called out louder, "Daddy, snapshot out of it!" Still no response. He tried calling again, louder now, but Plankton remained eerily silent. He grabbed the nearest item, a rubber spatula from his dad's invention bench, and waved it in front of his father's face. Nothing. Not a blink, not even a twitch. "Dad, wake up!" But Plankton just sat there, his gaze fixed on some unseen point on the wall. Chip's thoughts spun out of control. He had to get his mother. She'd know what to do. "Mom, something's wrong with Dad. He won't wake up!" Karen rushed in. She took in the scene and immediately knew that Plankton was in the grip of a shutdown. An intense reaction to overstimulation for someone on the spectrum, like his autism. "Chip, sweetie, back away," she said gently, pushing his hand off Plankton's shoulder. Karen had always tried to protect her son from the reality of his father's condition. But now, she realized, it was time for Chip to learn. Her voice was calm and soothing as she approached Plankton. She sat beside him on the bed, her hand resting on his cold, stiff arm. "Chip, sometimes Daddy's brain gets too full." She looked up at her son, her screen filled with both sadness and love. Chip stared at her, his mind racing. "What do we do?" he asked, his voice a whisper. "We just need to wait," Karen replied, her voice steady. "It's like his brain's gone on a little vacation. Give him some space, okay?" Chip nodded, though he didn't fully understand. He stepped back and watched his mother gently stroke Plankton's arm. Curiosity began to bubble up inside him, mixing with the fear. Chip stepped back from the bed, his screen wide with wonder and worry. He studied his father intently, as if trying to solve a puzzle. Oblivious to his own fear, Chip tiptoed closer once more, his curiosity getting the better of him. He leaned in, peering closely at Plankton's expressionless face. "What's happening to him, Mom?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's like his brain needs a break, Chip. Sometimes, his mind gets too busy, and his body just stops so he can recharge." Chip's screen searched his mother's, looking for more. "But why is he so still?" he pressed, his curiosity refusing to be quenched. Karen sighed softly, her fingers still moving in soothing circles on Plankton's arm. "It's like his brain is taking a nap," she explained. "When he gets too much information or feels too much, his body just stops to help him cope." Chip nodded, his young mind working overtime. "Can I talk to him?" Karen looked down at Plankton, her gaze filled with concern. "You can," she said softly, "but he might not hear you right now. Give him some quiet." Chip nodded, but his curiosity couldn't be stilled. "Can't I tell him about my day?" Karen squeezed his hand gently. "You can, but remember, his brain is resting. He might not understand everything you say. But it's okay to whisper comforts to him. Sometimes just hearing your voice can be comforting." With a nod, Chip whispered his questions, his voice barely audible above the clock's tick. "Dad, can you hear me? What's it like when your brain takes a nap?" He paused, waiting for some sign of life, but Plankton remained still. Karen watched her son carefully. She knew this was a crucial moment for him, learning to navigate his father's complex world.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Enid begged, her eyes wide with excitement. Wednesday sat quietly in the corner of the room, her black dress blending into the shadows. She didn't look up from her book, her finger marking her place. "I don't think so," she said, her voice calm and measured. Enid pouted, her cheerleader's spirit momentarily dampened. "But it's the prom dance, Wednesday. Everyone's going to be there!" Wednesday closed her book with a soft thud and looked up, her gaze piercing through Enid's hopeful facade. "I see your enthusiasm, but crowded social gatherings are not my idea of fun." Enid sighed, understanding that pushing the issue would lead nowhere. She sat down next to her friend, her own excitement dimming. "I know, I know. But it's our senior year. It's like, a rite of passage or something." Wednesday's eyes remained on the closed book in her lap. "I'd prefer to pass on that particular rite." Enid leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially, "But it's the perfect place to observe human behavior. Think of it as an anthropological study." Wednesday's eyes lit up slightly at the thought. "I suppose you have a point," she conceded. "But I'll need to establish some ground rules." Enid clapped her hands together. "Of course! What do you need?" Wednesday thought for a moment before listing her conditions. "First, no slow dancing. Second, I control the music playlist. Third, I wear what I want." Enid nodded eagerly. "Deal! I'll handle the first two. And as for the third, I trust your impeccable taste." Wednesday raised an eyebrow. "My taste is not up for debate, nor is it the issue. It's the school's dress code that requires negotiation." Enid's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Leave that to me," she said, already texting away on her phone. Within minutes, she had secured a meeting with the principal to discuss "alternative fashion choices" for the prom. As the big night approached, Enid sent Wednesday a playlist of dark, rhythmic tunes that she had carefully curated. Each song was a masterpiece of gothic rock, a genre that she knew would resonate with her friend's soul. Meanwhile, Wednesday had been busy designing the perfect dress —a long, flowing gown of midnight black with intricate white lace that looked like it had been plucked from a Victorian mourning ceremony. She had paired it with her favorite black boots and a choker necklace adorned with a single crimson rose. The day of the prom, Enid couldn't contain her excitement. She bustled into the room, her own outfit a vibrant mix of neon colors that seemed to glow in the dim light of the Addams' mansion. "Wednesday, you have to come see this!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying the urgency of a child who had just discovered a secret treasure. Wednesday set down her scalpel, which she had been using to dissect a particularly interesting spider, and followed Enid upstairs. The dress laid out on her bed was indeed a sight to behold. It was a macabre symphony of black taffeta and delicate lace, the skirt adorned with a pattern of thorny vines that looked like they could draw blood with a single brush. The bodice hugged her slender frame, the neckline plunging just low enough to hint at the darkness beneath. "It's... " she began, searching for the right word. "Awful," Enid offered, her tone teasing. Wednesday smirked. "Perfect," she corrected, her voice laden with approval. "It's perfect."

CHIP IN MY BOX i (Autistic author) Chip came home from a friend's house to hear his mother, Karen, quietly talking to Plankton, his father. "I'll go get your special box," Chip hears her say before she left to go upstairs. He wanders into the living room, expecting his dad to be watching his favorite show, but instead, Plankton's eye is fixed on something invisible to anyone else. His body is completely still, as if frozen in time. He doesn't even blink. Chip approaches, a knot of confusion tightening in his stomach. "Dad?" He says tentatively, but there's no response. He waves his hand in front of Plankton's face, but his dad's gaze remains unfocused. It's like he's somewhere else entirely. Just as Chip starts to wonder if something's wrong, he hears footsteps on the stairs. Karen reappears, holding a small, intricately carved wooden box. Her eyes widen in surprise upon seeing her son. "Chip! You're home early," she exclaims, her voice a mix of relief and caution. The surprise on Karen's face is palpable as she quickly hides the box behind her back, but it's too late; Chip's curiosity is piqued. He steps closer to his father, his eyes darting from the mysterious box to the unusual stillness of Plankton. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice quavering slightly. Karen's grip tightens around the box. "It's nothing, sweetie," she says, her smile forced. "Just something for your dad to... help him relax." But the way she says it, the way she avoids his gaze, tells Chip that it's more than that. He's always noticed his dad's quirks, the moments of intense focus where he seems to disappear into his own world, but he's never seen him like this before. Chip feels a pang of worry, his curiosity growing. Plankton's silence is still unsettling, his eye unblinking and fixed on some unseen point. "What's in the box Mom?" Chip presses, his voice a little stronger now. Karen sighs, weighing her words. She's never told him about Plankton's condition, his need for solace in structured routines. The sensory box is a collection of items that help Plankton cope with the chaos of the world, items that provide comfort and order. "It's just a... a set of things that Dad uses to, well, destress after a long day," she finally explains, her voice careful. Chip nods, not fully understanding but willing to let it go for now. He looks back at Plankton, who still hasn't moved or spoken. "Is he ok?" Karen nods, a bit of sadness flickering in her eyes. "He's just... in his own little world?" Chip nods, trying to understand. He's heard about people who need their own space, but this is different. Chip reaches out to touch Plankton's shoulder. His dad doesn't react at all. It's eerie, like trying to interrupt a statue. Chip pulls his hand back, his thoughts racing. Karen sees the concern in her son's eyes and decides it's time for a gentle explanation. "You know how some people need a quiet moment to themselves? This is like that for your dad, but a little more intense." Chip nods slowly, still trying to grasp the situation. He's aware that his father has always been a bit of a loner, preferring the solitude of his workshop over family gatherings. But this is something else entirely. Then Karen whispers, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "It's like his brain takes a quick break from the world. He'll be back in a few minutes." The concept of his father's brain taking breaks without his consent is both fascinating and scary to Chip. "Whaa-" "Shh," Karen interrupts gently, placing a finger to her lips. "We don't want to startle him." With a nod, Chip watches as she opens the box with a soft click. Inside, there's a velvet curtain, attached to three small wooden rods. Karen pulls it out with care, its texture reminding him of his favorite blanket. "This is his sensory curtain," she murmurs, unfolding it to reveal a rainbow of fabric squares. Each one has a different texture: some are smooth like silk, others rough like sandpaper. "It helps him block out the world for a bit." The curtain forms a tent around his eye, cutting off visual stimulation and the views. Karen carefully drapes the curtain over Plankton's face, ensuring it doesn't touch his skin but completely blocks his line of sight. "Now, we wait," Karen replies, her voice calm. Chip nods, his eyes glued to his father's unchanging form.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT i (Autistic author) "Plankton if you're gonna get the shelf remade, then just call a repair or buy a new one." Karen says. The shelf groaned, protesting under the weight. The shelf lurched, and with a crash, it tumbled down. Plankton's eye rolls back into his head as he crumpled to the floor. The room grew eerily quiet, except for the sound of Karen's gasp. "Plankton!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him. Panic washed over her, her heart beating like a drum in her chest. She knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder gently. "Plankton, can you hear me?" Her voice was high-pitched and shaky. His eye remained closed, his body unresponsive. Karen had to figure out what to do next. Her mind raced through scenarios, each more alarming than the last. What if he was hurt badly? What if this was her fault? The thought made her want to scream, to throw something, but she couldn't. Not with Plankton lying there, so still, so silent. She felt for a pulse. It was there. He was alive, thankfully. And still breathing. "Okay, okay," she murmured to herself, "just stay calm." She knew she needed to see if she could wake him up. Gently, she called his name, her voice soft and urgent. "Plankton, come on, wake up." She patted his cheek, not too hard, not too soft. Still, his eye remained closed, his body unmoving. The quiet was deafening. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling, "please wake up." But Plankton lay there, unmoving, like a discarded ragdoll. "Wake up!" she called out, but his body remained a lifeless weight beneath her fingertips. Her thoughts raced as she managed to lift Plankton's arm. It flopped back down like dead weight. "Come on," she mumbled, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. "You can't leave me like this." Her voice cracked, but she couldn't let despair consume her. She had to think. Carefully, she slid his arm over her shoulder, grunting with effort as she managed to get him into a sitting position. His head lolled back, but she held him firmly. "Let's get you to the couch," she says, setting him down on the sofa. "Don't leave me," she whispered, squeezing his hand. Her mind was a whirlwind of "what ifs" and regrets. What if she had insisted he leave the shelf alone? What if she had caught him? Tears slipped down her screen. "You're such a stubborn husband but I love you," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "You can't leave me like this," she whispered to his unresponsive form, her voice hoarse with emotion. "We've been through so much together. Remember when we first met?" Her thoughts drifted to their early days, the laughter, the bickering, the love.. She tried to chuckle, but it came out as a sob. Her voice grew softer, more desperate. "You have to come back to me, Plankton." Her eyes searched his face for any sign of life, any flicker of an eyelid, any twitch of his antennae that would indicate he heard her. But there was none. The silence in the room was a heavy blanket smothering her hope. Her hand tightened around his, willing him to squeeze back, to give her a sign. Suddenly, she heard a faint moan. "Plankton?" she gasped, her eyes widening. There it was again, a soft moan, and the tiniest movement of his mouth. "You're okay," she said, relief flooding her voice.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣠⣤⠴⠶⠚⠛⠉⣹⡇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠰⣌⣧⡆⠀⢷⡀⠀⠀⣄⢳⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣇⠀⠸⡇⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣾⡇⠀⢸⢣⠀⠀⠘⣿⣇⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠘⠀⢠⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠈⢻⡄⠀⢷⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡏⣇⠀⣀⣀⠀⣿⣧⠀⢸⠾⣇⣠⣄⣸⣿⡄⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢿⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⢳⡀⢸⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⣬⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⠙⠻⣽⣀⡏⠀⠙⠃⢹⡙⡿⣷⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠒ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣇⢸⠀⠀⠀⢸⣦⣤⡀⣷⣸⡟⢧⣀⡴⠶⠿⠻⡄⣀⣤⣴⡾⠖⠚⠿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠁⠹⠆⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⢸⣀⣼⣿⣼⡆⠀⢀⡘⡇⠀⠀⠹⡟⢷⡜⢉⣠⣠⣠⣀⣤⡿⣛⣥⣶⣾⡿⠛⠿⠿⣶⣦⡤⢹⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⡛⠁⠀⠙⢿⠋⠉⠉⠻⠀⠀⠀⢿⣄⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⢉⢟⣴⡿⠿⠟⢁⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⠻⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣀⣀⣘⣿⡇⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣾⣦⡀⠀⠈⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠟⠳⠦⡤⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⡇⣼⠀⢰⡀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠁⠈⣿⣷⣧⣴⣿⠿⠛⣿⠿⣿⣿⡿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⠿⠿⠿⡷⢛⠕⠷⡄⣧⣿⠀⢸⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣿⢿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠈⠳⠤⠶⠃⠀⠀⢰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⠟⣱⠒⡠⢆⡴⣣⣯⢞⣴⡟⢿⡄⡏⠀⠀⠀⡏⢷⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⡌⣿⠀⠙⣿⡦⢀⣤⡴⣶⠖⣲⠆⢀⠞⠁⠱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣾⠟⠛⡡⠞⠁⢀⡴⢋⢎⣽⡿⣫⠋⠀⠘⢷⠃⡄⠀⠀⡇⠈⣿⡀ ⠀⠀⣇⢹⣦⠀⠼⢃⡾⢋⣶⢃⡼⣹⡳⠃⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠠⠋⠀⡰⠋⠀⢘⣇⡇⠀⢠⠟⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡵ ⠀⠀⢻⣌⢿⡆⠀⡝⣼⠟⣩⢏⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⣠⠏⣠⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷ ⡀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⠆⢠⠏⡴⠃⡡⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠔⠒⠤⣄⣀⠀⠀⢀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡾⠗⠋⢰⠏⡇⠀⠀⠘⠀⠰⢻ ⣇⠀⠘⣿⣿⣟⠻⣄⡞⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⣩⣤⣶⣶⣾⣷⣶⣬⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠹⡄⠀⠹⣿⣿⡄⠀⠉⠉⠀⡀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣇⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⢦⣀⠘⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⡀⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⠏⠙⢻⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠸⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⡀ ⢼⣿⠀⠈⢳⣤⣉⣻⣤⣀⣉⣩⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡿⠀⠀⠈⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠂⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⡿⢿⡄⠀⣧⠀⠀⠹ ⣾⠃⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⢠⠴⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣧⣀⠧⣰⣻⢄⠀⠀ ⠛⠶⢾⣿⣽⣭⣽⣭⢹⣷⠀⢹⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⣸⡀⠀⠀⠁⣰⣧⣽⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⡟⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⣧⡸⣷⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⢇⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⣠⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⣼⣿⠏⣷⡈⠉ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⡆⠀⠀⠀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠞⠛⣛⣿⡿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡿⠂⠈⠻⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢎⠉⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣇⠠⠸⣇⣀⣤⣴⣾⡭⠶⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠘ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣳⠀⣿⠛⠻⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

please dont post gross stuff on here!! kids who are young like probably 9 year olds are just trying to find cute combos. spread the word (≧ヮ≦) also people who are spreading the word, please do not put curse words. its the same example for kids with the gross things but with curse words. thanks love<3 bye!!(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

“🫧🎀⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆”

I 𝓕o®🇬⚬t ♄⚬ω t⚬ 𝐬୧🅰®c♄ 𝐬†∪fƒ in ୧𝓂oj𝒾ℂo𝐌b⚬ 🅰 🇦 𝓐 ⩜ 𝛂 𝖆 𝒶 ß 🅱 🇧 В ₿ 𝑏 𝓫 © 🇨 𝐂 € ☾ 🇩 𝐃 𝒟 ძ 𝒅 𝑬 🇪 𝔼 ୧ 𝑒 🇫 𝓕 𝒥 𝓯 ƒ 🇬 ɢ 𝓖 ℊ 𝓰 Ⓗ 🇭 ℋ |-| 𝓗 ♄ ℌ 🇮𝑰 ┃ 𝒾 ﹗ 𝓣 🇯󠁄 𝐣 ʝ 🇰 𝒦 🅺 ʞ 𝒌 𝑳 🇱 ℒ ʟ | 𝓜 🇲 Ⓜ 𝐌 ᙏ 𝓂 𝐦 🇳 𝓝 Nྀི nྀི 𓎆 И 🇴 𝒐 ⚬ 𝟎 ♡ ☺ 𝓹 🇵 𝐏 ℘ 🇶 𝕢 𝓺 𝖖 ® 🇷 ℛ Ʀ 𝐫 🇸 🆂 𝓢 𝐒 𝐬 𝓼 🇹 𝓣 т ✝ ⚚ 𝓽 🇺 ∪ 𝓾 𝕦 𝖚 𝓥 𝐕 \/ Ⓥ 🅥 🇻 🇼 🆆 𝓦 ω 𝕨 ш 🇽 ✗ ﾒ 𝕏 ༝ × ㄨ 𝓍 א 🇾 𝓨 Ｙ ꪗ 𝕪 ყ 🇿 ☡ 𐰁 ᶻ 𝗓 𝐙 ᴀ ʙ ᴄ ᴅ ᴇ ғ ɢ ʜ ɪ ᴊ ᴋ ʟ ᴍ ɴ ᴏ ᴘ ǫ ʀ s ᴛ ᴜ ᴠ ᴡ x ʏ ᴢ 𝓪 𝓫 𝓬 𝓭 𝓮 𝓯 𝓰 𝓱 𝓲 𝓳 𝓴 𝓵 𝓶 𝓷 𝓸 𝓹 𝓺 𝓻 𝓼 𝓽 𝓾 𝓿 𝔀 𝔁 𝔂 𝔃 𝕒 𝕓 𝕔 𝕕 𝕖 𝕗 𝕘 𝕙 𝕚 𝕛 𝕜 𝕝 𝕞 𝕟 𝕠 𝕡 𝕢 𝕣 𝕤 𝕥 𝕦 𝕧 𝕨 𝕩 𝕪 𝕫 ᗩ ᗷ ᑕ ᗪ E ᖴ G ᕼ I ᒍ K ᒪ ᗰ ᑎ O ᑭ ᑫ ᖇ ᔕ T ᑌ ᐯ ᗯ ᙭ Y ᘔ 🇦‌ 🇧‌ 🇨‌ 🇩‌ 🇪‌ 🇫‌ 🇬‌ 🇭‌ 🇮‌ 🇯‌ 🇰‌ 🇱‌ 🇲‌ 🇳‌ 🇴‌ 🇵‌ 🇶‌ 🇷‌ 🇸‌ 🇹‌ 🇺‌ 🇻‌ 🇼‌ 🇽‌ 🇾‌ 🇿‌ 🅰 🅱 🅲 🅳 🅴 🅵 🅶 🅷 🅸 🅹 🅺 🅻 🅼 🅽 🅾 🅿 🆀 🆁 🆂 🆃 🆄 🆅 🆆 🆇 🆈 🆉 𝔞 𝔟 𝔠 𝔡 𝔢 𝔣 𝔤 𝔥 𝔦 𝔧 𝔨 𝔩 𝔪 𝔫 𝔬 𝔭 𝔮 𝔯 𝔰 𝔱 𝔲 𝔳 𝔴 𝔵 𝔶 𝔷 ᵃ ᵇ ᶜ ᵈ ᵉ ᶠ ᵍ ʰ ⁱ ʲ ᵏ ˡ ᵐ ⁿ ᵒ ᵖ ૧ ʳ ˢ ᵗ ᵘ ᵛ ʷ ˣ ʸ ᶻ

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS x (By NeuroFabulous) Rachel's gaze flicks to the x-rays now in her hand, her eyes widening slightly. "Everything looks... mostly good," she says, her voice measured. "But we've noticed something with your wisdom teeth." Plankton's antennae spike in alarm. "What is it?" he asks, his voice tight. Karen's hand squeezes his shoulder, her eyes on Rachel's face. Rachel's eyes scan the x-ray, her brow furrowed. "It appears your wisdom teeth are impacted, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice soft. "They'll push against your other teeth as we feared." Karen's eyes dart to her husband's, watching the panic flicker across his face. "What does that mean?" she asks, her voice tight. Rachel swallows, her expression sympathetic. "It means, Mrs. Plankton, that your husband will need to see our oral surgeon to have them removed," she says gently. "They can't wait much longer. The surgeon is actually open right now, if... Plankton?" Rachel notices his sudden stillness. Plankton's antennae quivered, his gaze unfocused. "What's the matter?" Rachel asks, her voice filled with concern. Karen quickly explains the situation. "He's autistic," she murmurs. "He can get overwhelmed easily." Rachel nodded, her expression understanding. "Ah," she said, her tone gentle. "Well, let's go slowly. We know that the wisdom teeth are causing problems, and they need to come out. But we can work with you to make it as comfortable as possible. You both follow me to the surgery." They follow Rachel down a hallway, the walls a soothing blue, the floor a muted grey. Plankton's antennae twitch with each step, his eye darting from side to side. Karen squeezes his hand, her eyes never leaving his face. The surgery room loomed ahead, its door open just a crack, a glimpse of gleaming instruments and the smell of antiseptic wafting out. Rachel notices Plankton's anxiety and stops, turning to face them. "Let's go over what will happen during the surgery," Rachel says, her voice measured and calm. "First, let's go in the room and meet our surgeon." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye flicking to Karen's hand still holding his. She nods, her smile encouraging. "We can do this," she whispers. They enter the surgery room, the coldness of the air making his antennae stand on end. The surgeon, a squid named Dr. McSquinty, greets them with a friendly smile. His tentacles wave in a non-threatening way. "Hi, I'm Dr. McSquinty," he says, his voice a soothing baritone. "We're going to make sure this is as easy and painless as possible for you. I'll take it from here, Rachel." Rachel nods, her eyes lingering on Plankton's anxious form before exiting the room. The surgeon's tentacles move in a gentle, calming wave. "Now, I know this can be a bit overwhelming, Mr. Plankton," he says, his eyes kind. "But I promise we'll explain everything before we do it." Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze fixed on Dr. McSquinty. Karen squeezes his hand, her voice soft. "It's okay, Plankton," she murmurs. "He's autistic, and sensitive, Doc..." Dr. McSquinty nods, his tentacles waving gently. "I've had patients with special needs before," he says, his tone calm. "We'll take it slow, and I'll make sure to explain everything step by step." Both their eyes searched Plankton's face, his antennae still quivering. "Okay, Plankton," Dr. McSquinty began, his voice calm and measured. "We're going to talk about taking out your wisdom teeth." Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze fixed on the surgeon's tentacles. Karen could see the fear in his eye. Dr. McSquinty continued, his tentacles moving in a slow, methodical pattern. "We'll use a local anesthetic to numb the area. You won't feel a thing, I promise." He grabs a syringe, which ends up being to much for Plankton. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body stiffening. Karen's hand tightens around his. "It's ok," she whispers. "It's just to help with the pain." But Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the syringe, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. Dr. McSquinty notices. "We need to, Plankton. Now, do you know why we need to have your wis..." Plankton's antennae quivered uncontrollably, his eye wide with fear. "Breathe with me, Plankton," Karen whispered, her grip steady. She watched as Dr. McSquinty approached. Yet Plankton's body started to shake, his antennae quivering wildly. The thought was too much, and he uncontrollably began to shut down again. "It's okay," Karen murmured, her voice a lifeline in the storm of sensory overload. "Let's take a step back, Doc." Dr. McSquinty nodded, his tentacles stilling. "Of course," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's talk it through, Karen. Tell me what Plankton needs fo..." But Plankton's antennae were already drooping, his body shutting down again. The fear had become too much. "Plankton," Karen's voice was calm and firm. "Look at me." She waited until his gaze met hers. "We need to do this, okay? For your mouth to feel better." But all that did was make him shake more violently, his breaths shallower. Dr. McSquinty's tentacles stayed still. "How about I show you first?" He gestured to a model of a mouth, complete with wisdom teeth. "This way, Plankton can see without it being a direct threat to him." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, his antennae still twitching in distress. "Okay," she murmured, her voice tight. "Let's do that." Dr. McSquinty nodded, his tentacles moving to the model. "This is your mouth, Plankton," he began, his voice calm. "And these are your wisdom teeth. First, we'll make sure you're numb, okay?" He pointed. "We'll use a gel that tastes like bubblegum, and then we'll put in a tiny lit..." But Plankton's body convulsed, his eye starting to roll back into his head. "No, no, no," Karen whispered, her voice trembling. "Not again." Plankton's body stilled, his antennae drooping as his mind retreated. "It's okay," Karen whispered, her eyes never leaving his face. She turned to Dr. McSquinty, her voice steady despite her own fear. "We need to find another way?" The surgeon nodded, his tentacles still. "Let's talk about options," he said, his voice calm. "We can try sedation, or perhaps a different approach; we can even anesthetize him." Karen's gaze never left Plankton's shaky form. Dr. McSquinty's tentacles moved in a comforting wave. "Well, considering his sensitivity to pain and the potential for overstimulation, I'd suggest anesthesia. It'll keep him calm, and he won't be awake at all. It's safe." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's form, her grip tightening on his hand. "But he's never been under anesthesia before," she said, her voice tight. Dr. McSquinty nodded, his tentacles waving reassuringly. "It's completely safe," he said. "We'll monitor his vitals closely the entire time." Karen's gaze remained fixed on Plankton's form, his antennae drooping. "Okay," she whispered. "Plankton baby, can you listen to me?" Her voice was gentle, her tone measured. Plankton's eye slowly focused on her screen, his body still trembling. Her thumb traced circles on the back of his hand. "We're going to have to put you to sleep so you don't feel any pain. Can you do that for me?" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his gaze on Karen's screen. He nodded, his voice a faint whisper. "Okay." Karen felt the tension ease from her shoulders. "Good," she murmured, her voice soft. "We're going to take care of this together." Dr. McSquinty nodded, his tentacles moving in a slow, calming pattern. "I'll make sure you're both as comfortable as possible," he assured her, his gaze shifting to Plankton. Karen texts Sandy, "Plankton's getting his wisdom teeth out 🦷" Sandy replies, "Good luck! Chip's fine, don't worry 👶💨" The room was prepped, the smells and sounds minimized to prevent overstimulation. Plankton was laid on the chair, his antennae twitching nervously. Karen stood by his side, her hand on his. Dr. McSquinty approached, his tentacles moving with precision. He held up a mask, the sweet smell of gas wafting gently. "This is the anesthesia," he explained. "It'll help you sleep before we put the Iv in. The Iv will continuously administer anesthesia to keep you asleep." Plankton's antennae quivered, his gaze flicking to Karen's screen. She nodded, her smile reassuring. "It's okay, love," she whispered. "You'll be fine." Dr. McSquinty's tentacles moved with a gentle rhythm as he placed the mask on, and Plankton's eye grew heavy. Karen's hand stayed on his, her thumb rubbing small circles into his palm. The room grew fuzzy around Plankton as the anesthesia took hold. His antennae stopped quivering, his body relaxing into the chair. As the world faded to black, his last thought was of Karen's hand in his. A gentle squeeze, and he was adrift.

𝒦ᥫ᭡

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ii (By NeuroFabulous) "What causes this, Mom?" Chip asked, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. Karen sat beside Plankton, still stroking his arm. "Sometimes, sweetie, when people have brains that work differently, like Daddy does, they can get overwhelmed." She spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. "It's a type of 'neurodisability' he has." Chip's still confused. "But why didn't you tell me before?" his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's hand stilled on Plankton's arm as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Well, Chip, sometimes parents want to protect their kids from things they think might be too much for them to understand. But now that you're a little older, it's important you know about your dad's... condition." Chip looked at her with wide eyes, processing this new information. "Is it because of his inventions? Does he think too much?" Karen's gaze remained on Plankton, her thumb still making circles on his skin. "No, honey, it's not because of his inventions. It's just his disability. Some people's brains work differently, and that's okay." Chip's eyes darted back to his father, who was still as a statue. "But what does it feel like?" Karen took a deep breath. "It's hard to say, because everyone's experience is unique. For Daddy, it might be like being in a really quiet room where everything is far away and muffled." Chip nodded slowly, his gaze still on Plankton. "So, it's like he's not here, but he kind of is?" Karen nodded, her screen never leaving her son's. "In a way, yes. It's like his brain has gone until it's ready to come back and get unstuck." Chip's screen searched his mother's screen for any sign of fear or sadness, but she was calm, a rock in the storm of his confusion. "How long will he be like this?" Karen's gaze never left Plankton's still form. "It could be a few minutes or hours. We just have to wait it out." Chip nodded, his curiosity still burning. "Does he know we're here?" Karen offered a small, sad smile. "I think he can feel us, but he's not really with us right now." Chip nodded, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his camp t-shirt. "But how do we know when he's... not stuck anymore?" Karen looked up at him, her screen filled with a gentle wisdom. "You'll know, Chip. He'll blink, or twitch, or maybe even say something. It's like he's in a deep sleep, and we have to let him wake up on his own." Chip sat cross-legged on the floor next to the bed, his hands folded in his lap. He had so many questions, so much he wanted to share with his dad. "Does he remember stuff when he's like this?" he whispered. Karen's eyes remained on Plankton, her voice low and soothing. "It's complicated, Chip. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't. But it's like his brain is playing backup right now." Chip nodded, his thoughts racing. "But how do we help him?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency. Karen turned to her son. "We just have to be patient, Chip. And keep the room calm." Chip nodded, his curiosity now muted by the gravity of the situation. He watched his mother closely, studying her calm demeanor, the way her hand continued to move in gentle strokes on Plankton's arm. He wanted to be like her and help. "What can I do to make him feel better?" he asked, his voice quieter than his racing thoughts. Karen's eyes flicked to his, a gentle smile playing on her screen. "You're already doing it, Chip. Just being here, keeping the room calm, is helping." But Chip's mind was still whirring with unanswered questions. "But what causes this?" he pressed. Karen sighed, her gaze still focused on Plankton. "It's a disorder, sweetie. It's a neurological condition that makes his brain process things a bit differently. Sometimes, when his senses get overwhelmed, his body does this to protect him." Chip's brows furrowed. "But why didn't he tell..." "Because," Karen interrupted, "it's hard for some people to explain things like this, even to those they love most. Your dad's been dealing with this and it's not always easy to talk about." Chip nodded, his curiosity still not fully satisfied. "How will he feel whenever he wakes up?" Karen took a deep breath. "It can vary, Chip. Sometimes he's groggy, like waking up from a deep sleep. Other times, he's just tired, but he'll be okay. He might need some space, some quiet, and maybe a little time alone." Chip nods. "Mom, ca--" Plankton's antenna twitches suddenly. Karen's puts her hand up to silence Chip. "Shh," she whispers. Slowly, Plankton's eye begins to focus, the vacant stare shifting as he blinks, his pupil slowly coming into focus, as if surfacing from a deep sleep. He looks up at Karen, not recalling her coming in here. "Wh...what's going on?" he stammers, his voice rough from disuse. Karen's hand tightens on his arm, her voice a whisper. "You had a shutdown, sweetie." He figured that. He remembers Chip bombarding him before going dizzy/lightheaded as Chip kept prodding him, his son's gaze unwavering. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his body still sluggish from the shutdown.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iii (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton feels a wave of self-consciousness crash over him. He's always been different, and now his son is seeing him at his most vulnerable. He doesn't look at Chip, focusing instead on the ceiling above. Chip stares at him, his face a mix of confusion and concern. "Dad, are you o..." But Plankton snaps, cutting his son off with a harsh tone that slices through the tension in the room. "The show's over, Chip; you can leave now!" Chip's eyes widen in shock, his screen flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and hurt. He had never seen his father like this before. Karen intervenes gently. "Chip, your dad's just tired. Why don't you go play in your room for a bit?" Her voice was calm, but there was a firmness that Chip knew meant business. He nodded, feeling the weight of the situation settle on his small shoulders. As he turned to leave, his gaze caught the sadness in his father's eye, a look that seemed to apologize without words. The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence was deafening. Chip sat on his bed, his mind racing with thoughts about his father. He knew Plankton was different, but seeing him like that... it was like looking at a robot that suddenly turned off. It was scary, but also fascinating. He had so many questions, but his mother's words echoed in his mind: "Give him some space." He'd have to be extra careful around his dad from now on. Back in their own room, Karen sat beside Plankton, still stroking his arm. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she murmured. "I know it's hard for you." His eye searched hers, filled with a quiet desperation. "It's not your fault," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... sometimes it's too much." Karen's gaze softened, and she leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I know," she whispered, her thumb continuing its soothing motion on his arm. "We'll get through it together." Plankton's antennae twitched again, and he took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice still hoarse from his self-imposed silence. "I know it's scary for you, for Chip." Karen's eyes remained on his, filled with love and understanding. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said firmly. "You're doing the best you can." Plankton managed a weak smile, his body slowly starting to uncoil from the tight knot it had formed during his shutdown. Karen's gentle touch was like a warm blanket, wrapping him in a cocoon of comfort. "Thank you, Karen," he whispered, his voice still shaky. "I'm just so tired." Karen nodded, her hand never leaving his arm. "You've had a long day," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "Why don't you rest a bit?" Plankton nodded, his energy depleted. He managed to get himself into a lying position, the bed creaking beneath him. Karen pulled the covers over him, tucking him in. Her voice was a lullaby in the quiet room. "Close your eye, Plankton. Take deep breaths. I'm here." Her hand remained on his arm, her thumb tracing the same comforting pattern. Plankton's breaths grew even, his body slowly relaxing into the mattress. The tightness in his chest eased with each exhale, and his antennae drooped slightly as he succumbed to his body's needs for rest. Karen watched over him, her screen never straying from his face. "Rest, love," she whispered, the words carrying a gentle lilt of reassurance. She knew the battle he faced every day, how hard he tried to fit into a world that didn't quite understand him. She felt a surge of admiration for his strength and resilience.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iv (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton's face was now slack with sleep. Karen moved silently, not wanting to disturb him. She knew how important this time was, how much he needed it. The house felt heavier with quiet, but Chip's door was open a crack, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. Karen peeked in. He looked up, seeing her in the doorway. "Mom?" his voice was small, his screen searching hers. Karen walked over, sitting beside him on his bed. "Yes, Chip?" He looked up at her, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "Is Dad okay?" Karen took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "He will be, sweetie. Sometimes, people with disabilities have moments like this. It's part of who he is." Chip nodded, his throat tight. "But why's he..." Karen pulled him into a warm embrace. "It's okay to feel scared or confused. But remember, Dad's still in there. He loves you so much, and he's doing his best." Chip nodded, his throat tight with unshed tears. "Does he know when it happens?" Karen's gaze remained steady. "Sometimes he does, sweetie. It's like when you get tired and need a nap. His brain just needs to recharge." Chip thought about that for a moment, his thumb playing with a loose thread on his blanket. "Does he remember what happens?" Karen's hand stilled on his back. "It's like a dream, Chip. Sometimes he remembers snippets, sometimes it's all a blur." Chip sat up, his eyes bright with questions. "Does he see us when he's like that?" Karen shrugs. "He might feel us, but his brain isn't fully here." Chip's mind raced with questions. "Mom, how did Dad get this... this... brain thing?" his voice cracked. Karen took a deep breath, her hand still warm on his back. "Well, sweetie, it's something he was born with. It's called autism, and it's a part of him." Chip's eyes widened. "But why? Did he do something wrong?" Karen sighed, her grip tightening around him. "No, Chip, it's not like that. It's just how his brain was made. Some people have different brain wiring, and that's okay. But in his specific circumstance, he was born posthumously, after his mum passed away.." Chip's eyes grew wider still, his curiosity piqued. "But, what? How..." he whispered, his voice barely audible. Karen took a deep breath, preparing herself for the explanation she had never thought she'd have to give. "Your dad's mum, she had him after she... passed away," she said, her voice gentle. Chip's eyes grew as big as saucers. "What do you mean, 'after she passed away'?" he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen took a moment, swallowing hard. "Well, sweetie, you know how babies are usually born when their mommies are alive and well, right?" Chip nodded, his eyes fixed on her face. "Yeah, of course," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But how's that even physically possible?" Karen took a deep breath. "It's a rare procedure, Chip. When his mum was very sick, the doctors did everything they could to save her. But when she passed away, they realized his heart was still beating inside her." Chip's eyes were wide with horror and fascination. "But how did they get him out?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen's eyes grew misty as she recounted the story, her voice soft and gentle. "They performed an emergency procedure called a post-mortem 'coffin birth'. It's very rare, Chip." Chip's eyes were like dinner plates, his mind trying to grasp the concept. "But how?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. Karen took a moment to collect her thoughts, the story weighing heavily on her. "The doctors had to be very quick and careful, Chip. They knew Plankton had a chance, so they did what they could to save him. It was a miracle he made it out alive," she said, her voice filled with wonder and a hint of sadness. "Yet, because of the way he was born, his brain developed differently. That's what caused his autism. His brain was deprived of oxygen for a short time, which can lead to such conditions." Chip's hand went to his chest, his heart racing with the realization. "But does that mean he's... not like other dads?" Karen wrapped her arms around her son, holding him close. "Chip, your dad is unique, just like you. And yes, his brain works differently, but that doesn't mean he loves you any less. He might just show it in his own way." Chip sniffled, trying to make sense of everything. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked. Karen stroked his back, her heart heavy. "Because, sweetie, it's a hard thing to explain. And we didn't want to scare you or make you feel different about him. We wanted you to understand his quirks as part of who he is, not because of some label. And he's a good dad in his own way, even if he doesn't show it like other dads. Yet he also has his challenges, like with his sensory issues." Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing with the new information. He had noticed how his dad sometimes flinched at loud noises or avoided crowded places.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS v (By NeuroFabulous) "You know how sometimes, Dad gets overwhelmed with too much going on around him?" Karen began, her voice gentle. "It's because his brain processes things differently. He's sensitive to sounds, lights, even touch. That's why he can seem a bit... reserved, other than the fact that he's just shy about it." Chip nodded, his mind still racing with questions. "But why's he shy about it?" Karen took a deep breath, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "Because, Chip, your dad's always been self-conscious. He's aware of how he's different, and sometimes, he just needs his space." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving his mother's face. "Does he ever get mad about it?" Karen's gaze was steady, her voice gentle. "Sometimes, Chip. But it's not at you. It's his way of dealing with the overstimulation." Chip nodded, his curiosity morphing into understanding. "So, his brain needs a time-out?" Karen nodded, her voice soft. "In a way, yes. It's his body's way of telling him to slow down and take a break. Sometimes, when things get too much for him, he just needs to be alone, without any noise or distraction." Chip looked at his mother, his eyes brimming with emotion. "But what about when he has these... episodes? Will he always be like this?" Karen squeezed his hand, her gaze never leaving his. "Sweetie, we can't predict the future, but we can help him. He's gotten better at managing his overstimulation over the years, but sometimes it still happens. It's part of who he is." Chip nodded, his mind still racing. He looked towards the door, his curiosity about his father's condition growing. He wanted to check on him, to make sure he was okay. With Karen by his side, they tiptoed into the dimly lit room. Plankton was now fast asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly beneath the covers. The room was silent except for the steady rhythm of his breathing. Chip felt a pang of sympathy for his father, his mind still racing with questions about the condition he had just learned of. He studied Plankton's face, now peaceful in slumber. His antennae lay flat against his pillow, no longer twitching with the stress of the shutdown. Karen put a finger to her lips, reminding Chip to be quiet as they approached the bed. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his face finally relaxed, free from the tension that had held him captive earlier. The room was dim, the only light coming from the hallway. Karen watched her son studying his father, her heart swelling with pride. Chip was growing up so fast, and now he was facing something so complex. She knew he was strong enough to handle it, though. They stood there in silent vigil for a moment, until Chip finally whispered, "Can I talk to him?" Karen nodded, her screen never leaving Plankton's peaceful face. "Just keep your voice low," she advised. Chip leaned over, his whisper a gentle breeze. "Dad, I'm here," he murmured. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he remained asleep. Karen's hand rested on Chip's shoulder, guiding him to sit in a chair beside the bed. Chip's eyes remained fixed on his father, his mind racing with questions and fears. Yet, there was also a newfound respect for Plankton's silent battles. He watched his chest rise and fall, the steady beat of his heart a testament to his resilience. "What do we do now?" Chip asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's sleeping form. "We give him time," she said, her voice soothing. "And when he wakes from his nap, we'll be here."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vi (By NeuroFabulous) They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, the only sound being Plankton's even breathing. Then Chip spoke up, his voice tentative. "Mom, can you tell me more about autism?" Karen nodded, her hand still resting on Plankton's arm. "Autism is a spectrum, Chip. It means that no two people experience it the same way. Some have a harder time with it than others. For your dad, it's mostly about his senses. They can get overwhelmed easily." Chip leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, 'overwhelmed'?" Karen took a moment to gather her thoughts. "It's like his brain can't filter out the extra information." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his dad's face. He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering above Plankton's antennae. Karen's hand shot out, her grip on Chip's wrist firm but not painful. "Remember, sweetie, his senses are heightened." Chip's hand froze, his fingers curling slightly. "Does that mean he doesn't like to be touched?" he asked, his voice quivering. Karen's grip loosened, her eyes meeting Chip's. "It's more that certain touches can be too much for his brain to handle." Chip nodded, his gaze still on Plankton's antennae. "But what if I just..." his voice trailed off, his hand hovering. Karen's eyes searched his, understanding dawning. "If you want to touch him, Chip, do it gently. Use the back of your hand, like this." She demonstrated, her hand gliding softly over his antennae. "It's like you're saying 'hello' without disturbing him." Chip nodded, his hand trembling slightly. He mimicked her movements, his touch as light as a feather. Plankton's antennae quivered under his touch, but he remained asleep. Karen gave him a small smile of encouragement. "Mom, does he like it when I touch him like this?" Chip asked, his voice filled with hope. Karen watched her son, his hand hovering over Plankton's antennas with such care. "It depends," she said, her voice soft. "Sometimes, it can be soothing for him. Other times, it can be too much." Chip nodded, his eyes still on his father. "But how will I know?" he whispered, his voice filled with concern. Karen's eyes searched his, understanding his desire to connect. "You'll have to watch him, Chip. Look for signs. If he tenses up or pulls away, that's his way of saying 'stop'. And if he seems calmer or his breathing slows, that's his way of saying 'ok'. It's about reading his body language." Chip nodded, his hand still hovering over Plankton's antennas. He took a deep breath, and then, as gently as he could, he let the back of his hand graze the antennae. Plankton's body remained still, yet his antennae twitched slightly. Karen gave a nod of approval. "Remember, Chip, everyone's touch is different to him," she said. "Some days, he might not even want to be touched." Chip nodded solemnly, his hand hovering over his father's antennae. "Does he like it when I hug him?" he whispered. Karen's smile grew. "His favorite person to be touched by is me. But even with me, he has his limits. Sometimes, he just needs his space." Chip nodded, his gaze never leaving Plankton's face. "Does he like it when other people touch him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes searched his, knowing this was a delicate topic. "Well, Chip, it's different with everyone. Some days, your dad can tolerate more than others. But generally, it's people he's comfortable with, like me." "But what about me?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly. Karen's smile was sad. "It's going to take some time, Chip. You'll have to learn his signals, his boundaries.." Plankton's body began to stir, his antennae twitching more frequently as he shifted in his sleep. Chip watched, his hand hovering over his dad's head, unsure if he should risk disturbing him. Karen's eyes followed the movement, her gaze filled with a quiet sadness. "It's okay, Chip," she whispered. "He's just waking up." Plankton's antennae twitched again, more quickly now. His eye flickered open, his pupil expanding as he adjusted to the dim light. He looked around, his gaze landing on Karen and Chip. "Hey, buddy," Karen whispered, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. Plankton's eye focused on Chip, who was staring at him with a mix of fear and fascination. He knew that look, had seen it in others' eyes before. But coming from his son, it hit him harder than he'd ever expected. He took a deep breath, his body still feeling like he'd run a marathon. "Hi," he said, his voice hoarse from disuse. Chip's hand jerked back, his heart racing. "Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. Plankton's antennae twitched again, this time in acknowledgment. "Hi, Chip," he rasped, his voice sounding neutral. Chip stared, his thoughts racing. He had so many questions, so much he wanted to say, but the words got caught in his throat. Plankton looked at his son, his antennae drooping. He could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken worries and fears. He took another deep breath, his body still feeling the toll. "How are you feeling, Plankton?" Karen's voice was a gentle caress in the silence. He swallowed, his throat dry from his ordeal. "Tired," he murmured, his antennae twitching slightly. "But better." Karen's hand found his again, her touch a lifeline. "Do you remember what happened?" she asked gently. Plankton's antennae drooped. "I... I think so," he murmured, his voice still shaky. "I had a... a shutdown, with Chip." Chip's eyes widened, his heart racing. He'd never heard his dad talk about his episodes before. It was like a door had been opened to a part of Plankton's life that had always remained closed to him. "It's okay, Dad," he whispered, his hand reaching out tentatively. "You can tell me." His hand barely grazed Plankton's arm... Plankton flinched at the touch, his antennae twitching erratically. Chip's heart skipped a beat, his hand retreating as if burned. Karen offered a gentle smile, her gaze meeting Plankton's. "It's okay, honey," she said softly. "Chip's just trying to understand." Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae slowly calming. "I know," he murmured. "I, I'm s-sorry." Karen's hand tightened on his, her eyes never leaving his face. "Don't apologize, love," she whispered. "You didn't do anything wrong." Plankton nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He knew she was right, but the fear of losing his respect was palpable. His antennae twitched again, the overstimulation of the day still lingering.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vii (By NeuroFabulous) "Chip," he began, his voice cracking. "I have something important to tell you." Chip leaned forward, his heart racing. "What is it, Dad?" Plankton's antennae twitched again, his eyes meeting his son's with a meld of love and apprehension. "I'm autistic," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip thought back to what his mom had told him about his father's unique way of being born, and how it had affected his brain. He remembered the awe in his mother's voice as she recounted the story of Plankton's birth, the way she'd spoken with a mix of wonder and sorrow. It was a lot to take in, but it made him feel closer to his father somehow. "Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative, his hand still hovering over his father's arm. "What's a... coffin birth?" Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye flicking to Karen's. She gave a tiny nod, understanding the need for honesty. "It's a rare event, Chip," Plankton began, his voice steadier now. "It's when a baby is born after their mother has... passed away." Chip's eyes searched his father's, trying to make sense of the words. "But how?" Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae flattening slightly. "The doctors had to be... quick," he said, his voice filled with awe. "They knew I was still alive, and they did everything they could to get me out." Chip's eyes grew even wider, his imagination running wild. "But Dad, how does that even work?" he whispered, his voice filled with wonder and horror. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae twitching slightly. "It's... it's a difficult thing to explain, Chip," he said, his voice strained. "But basically, when a mom's body isn't alive anymore, but the baby's heart is still beating, the doctors do an emergency procedure to get the baby out." Chip's eyes were like saucers, his mind racing. "But how is that possible?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. Plankton sighed, his antennas drooping slightly. "The doctors try to induce labor in mum's body after she... after she's gone," he said, his voice strained with the difficulty of the memory. "It was a delicate process, and not always successful. In my birth, there was a moment where my brain didn't get enough oxygen," he murmured. "When I was still inside mum." Chip's unsure how to react. "And how'd it give you autism?" Plankton's antennae twitched again, his gaze dropping to the bed. "Well, it's something that can happen when a baby's brain doesn't get enough oxygen during birth, Chip," he said, his voice quiet. "It's like a... hypoxic-ischemic event. It can lead to... complications. For me, it was autism." Chip nodded, his hand still hovering over his father's arm. "But how did your mum... die?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennae drooped further, his gaze going distant. "It was an accident," he murmured. "Her heart... it just stopped. Bled out, the doctors said." Chip's hand hovered over his dad's arm, his mind racing with the implications. "But why?" Plankton took a moment, his antennae flicking slightly. "It's complicated, Chip. My mum... she had a rarity. Her heart was weak, and it couldn't handle the stress. It went undiagnosed back then." Chip's hand hovered still, his heart breaking for his dad. "But Dad, why didn't anyone know?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze going to the floor. "They did, eventually," he murmured. "But by then, it was too late. My mum was gone." Chip's eyes filled with sympathy, his hand resting on the bed. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his gaze meeting his son's. "It's okay, Chip. It's not something you could've known. I obviously didn't know her to well, but thank you." Karen was glad to see them connecting. "So Chip, you can ask us questions if you want." Chip looked from Karen to Plankton, his curiosity piqued. "Dad, is there anything you really hate that makes you have these... shutdowns?" Plankton's antennae twitched nervously, his eye darting between them. "Well, Chip, it's not always just one thing. It's mostly like... a buildup. Loud noises, too many people, bright lights," he listed off. "They can all make it harder for me to focus, to filter out the extra stuff my brain's taking in." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his dad's face. "What about touch?" he asked, his voice tentative. "Does it bother you?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze flicking to Karen's comforting hand. "It depends," he said slowly. "Some days, I crave it. Other days, it's too much." Chip nodded, his mind racing. "What about hugs?" he asked, his voice hopeful. "Does it help you feel better?" Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye searching his son's face. "Sometimes," he said, his voice tight. "But not always." Chip nodded, his hand still hovering. "Can I... ca--" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye widening. "No!" The suddenness of his reaction made Chip's hand jerk back, his eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry, buddy," Plankton said, his voice softening as he saw the fear in his son's eyes. "It's just that, sometimes, hugs are too much. I need... space, like I told you. But only if I know they're coming, and only from people I trust. I'm still recovering right now." Chip's hand hovered in the air, unsure of what to do. "Can I... I don't know, maybe just pat you on the shoulder?" he asked, his voice hopeful. But Plankton shook his head. "No, Chip," he murmured. "I do not want my shoulders to be patted. That's too much." Chip nodded, his gaze on Plankton's. "How about a high five?" he asked, his hand still hovering. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye narrowing as he considered his son's question. "Maybe," he murmured. "But only if you're gentle." Chip nodded eagerly, his hand slowly descending towards his dad's hand. He hovered for a moment, his heart racing. Then, with all the gentleness he could muster, he tapped his father's hand with his fingertips. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but his eye remained focused on Chip's. "Good job," he murmured, his voice a quiet praise. "That was... perfect."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's gaze searched both of their faces, seeing the tentative connection forming. "Why don't we let Daddy rest now?" she suggested softly, her eyes on Chip. "It's getting to be bedtime. You head to bed, Chip." she said gently. Chip nodded, his hand still hovering over Plankton's. He knew his father needed his space, especially after such an ordeal. "Goodnight, Dad," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of fear and love. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye still focused on Chip. "Goodnight, buddy," he murmured, his voice exhausted. "I-I-I-I… lo-ove y-you." The words hung in the air, a declaration of his feelings despite his condition. Chip felt his heart swell with a mix of emotion, his hand falling to his side. "I love you too, Dad," he whispered back, his voice trembling slightly. The next morning, Karen hears a ding vibrate on her phone, waking her. She sits up and looks over at Plankton, who's still sleeping. She smiles softly at the sight of her snoring husband, his antennae twitching slightly with each breath. Gently, she slides out of bed, careful not to disturb his rest. She grabs her phone, checking the text. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of the message: "Plankton: Dental Appointment to discuss his latest x-ray. We open in 1 hour." It was from Plankton's dental office. Karen sighed, setting her phone on the nightstand. "Plankton, love," she whispered, carefully shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, we have a dental appointment." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye opening. He took a moment to process the information, his brain slowly coming online. "Dentist?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen nodded, her voice steady. "Yes, honey. We need to talk to the dentist about your latest x-ray." Plankton's antennae twitched. Karen knew that dental appointments were a particularly tough challenge for Plankton due to his sensory sensitivities. With a sigh, Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen could feel the tension in the room, so she took Plankton's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'll call Sandy" she said, her voice calm. "She'll look after Chip." Plankton nodded, his antennas still twitching nervously. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Karen quickly dials Sandy's phone number. The phone rings, a distant melody in the quiet room. Plankton's antennae twitched with every ring, his nervousness palpable. "Sandy, it's Karen," Karen's voice was a comforting balm over the line. "Could you possibly watch Chip today? We've got a dental appointment for Plankton, and it's... sudden, I know." Sandy's voice came through the speaker, warm and understanding. "Of course, Karen. Right now? I'll be heading on over!" Karen breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Sandy," she whispered, then hanging up. She went to Chip's room. The light from the hallway spilled into his room, casting long shadows across the floor. Chip stirred in his bed, his eyes blinking open sleepily. "Huh?" he mumbled. Karen's smile was gentle as she leaned over him. "Hey, buddy," she whispered. "Sandy's here to watch you while I take Daddy to a dentist appointment." Chip's eyes widened, his mind still foggy with sleep. "Dentist?" he repeated, sitting up. "Don't worry, Chip," Karen assured him, her voice soft. "You can stay here with Sandy. She'll take good care of you." The sound of the doorbell rang through the house, a sharp, piercing noise that made Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen's eyes darted to his face, but his expression remained stoic. She knew his hearing was sensitive, but she didn't have time to fuss over it now. "It's just Sandy," she assured Plankton with a smile, patting his hand before heading to the door. "It'll be okay, honey." The door opened, and Sandy's cheerful face appeared. "Howdy, Karen!" she chirped, her eyes scanning the room. "Hi, Sandy! I don't know how long we'll be gone but I can keep you updated. It's to review an x-ray from Plankton's last x-ray they said they'd keep an eye on, and they notified us to come in today." Sandy nodded, her smile warm and reassuring. "Don't worry, I've got this. I'll keep Chip busy and entertained," she promised. "But he can also sleep in.." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, his antennae twitching slightly. "It's okay, love," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "We'll be going now." Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen knew he was scared, but she also knew he'd get through it. "Come on," she whispered, her voice soothing. "Let's go to the car."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ix (By NeuroFabulous) The drive to the dentist was silent, the tension in the air thick. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye on the passing scenery outside the window. "You okay?" Karen asked, her voice soft. She reached over, her hand hovering. Plankton's antennae quivered. "Just... I'd prefer quiet, alone... and no touching," he murmured, his voice tight. "Please, for now." Karen nodded, her hand retreating to the steering wheel. "Okay, Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "I'll give you space.." The car was a cocoon of quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound to break the silence. Plankton sat in the passenger seat, his body tense, his antennae twitching slightly as he took deep, shaky breaths. Karen knew her husband was trying to prepare himself for the possible onslaught of the dentist's office. When they arrived, Karen parked the car and turned to him. "Ready?" she asked, her voice gentle. Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze darting to the bright building ahead. "As ready as I'll ever be," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen nodded, her expression understanding. "Let's go, love," she whispered, reaching for his hand. But Plankton's body tensed, his antennae shooting up. "No touching right now," he murmured, his voice tight. They approached the dental office with slow, measured steps. The bright lights and the smell of antiseptic made Plankton's antennas quiver, but he pushed through, his gaze focused on his wife's calming presence. Inside, the receptionist's cheery greeting was almost too much for Plankton, his antennae twitching erratically. The hum of the office was a cacophony to his sensitive ears, but he took deep breaths, his gaze never leaving the floor. Karen's voice is low and soothing. "It's okay, honey," she murmured. "We're just here for a quick check-up." Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. They take their seats in the waiting room, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Each tick of the clock echoes in the silence, a stark contrast to his racing thoughts. He focuses on his breathing, in and out, trying to calm his nerves. Karen notices the way his antennae twitch in agitation, her hand hovering close to his. But he shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the floor. The wait seems eternal, but finally, the hygienist calls Plankton's name. He stands, his antennae quivering slightly. Karen follows him into the room, her eyes scanning the environment for potential triggers. The hygienist, noticing Plankton's discomfort, speaks in a soft, even tone. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "I'm Rachel. We're just here to check on the teeth we saw last time. So we're gonna take another x-ray and compare them, okay?" Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. Rachel's gentle touch as she leads him to the chair is almost too much for him. Karen can see the effort it takes for him to stay still, his body tense as a bowstring. The sound of the x-ray machine whirring to life makes Plankton's antennas twitch. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her hand on his shoulder. "It'll be quick, just hold still." Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. Rachel places the film in his mouth, the cold metal sending shivers down his spine. He closes his eye, his breaths coming in short bursts. Karen's hand rests gently on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing circles. She whispers, "We've done this before," her voice like a balm to his frayed nerves. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching slightly. Rachel, the hygienist, notices his discomfort and dims the lights slightly. The sudden change makes his antennae still, his breathing evening out. "Alright, Mr. Plankton," Rachel says, her voice calm. "This won't hurt a bit. Just keep still and we'll be done in no time." Plankton nods, his antennae quivering slightly as Rachel steps away to take the x-ray. The room goes dark, the machine's buzz piercing the silence. Plankton's breath hitches, his eye squeezed shut. When Rachel returns, she's careful to avoid sudden movements. "Alright, Mr. Plankton, we're all done," she says, her voice soothing. Plankton's antennae still as he opens his mouth, allowing Rachel to remove the film. He swallows hard, his eye never leaving Karen's.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xi (By NeuroFabulous) Karen watched, her hand tightly gripping his, her breath shallow, as the surgeon worked with a precision that could only come from years of practice. Plankton remained still under the anesthesia, his antennae completely at ease. Rachel, the hygienist, hovered nearby, her eyes always on Plankton, ready to assist if needed. The surgery felt like eternity, but it was over sooner than she had feared. Plankton's antennae remained still, his breathing deep and even. Dr. McSquinty finished the last stitch, his tentacles moving with a sureness that was almost hypnotic. "We're all done," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. Dr. McSquinty's tentacles moved quickly and deftly, his focus on the task at hand. Karen watched as the surgeon's tentacles gently placed the gauze into Plankton's mouth. The room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart rate monitor and the slight snores from Plankton's relaxed form. Rachel, the hygienist, checked the gauze's placement, her eyes meeting Karen's. She nodded, her expression serene. Karen takes a picture and sends it to Sandy. "He's doing well," Rachel whispered, her eyes on the monitor. "His vitals are all normal." Karen nods, her throat tight. "Thank you," she murmurs. Plankton's antennae lay still, his chest rising and falling evenly. The anesthesia had worked its magic, his mind now free from the storm of sensory input that had once threatened to consume him. Karen watched as Dr. McSquinty removes the Iv, but Plankton was oblivious, his sleep deep and peaceful. The anesthesia had done its job, and Rachel, the hygienist, remained there to wake him. "Plankton, Plankton," Rachel's voice was a lullaby, her hand light on his shoulder. His antennae twitched slightly, his eye flickering open. "You're all done, sweetheart," she murmured. Plankton blinked, his gaze unfocused. The room was dim, his mouth feeling peculiar. "Whath's happen'd?" he mumbled, his voice slurred. Karen's screen swam into view, her smile a beacon in the fog of confusion. "You had your wisdom teeth out," she said gently, her hand still in his. "You're okay, Plankton." Her voice was a balm to his fuzzy mind. His antennae twitched slightly, trying to process the information. Plankton's gaze flickered around the room, the shapes and sounds familiar yet foreign. He felt groggy, his body weighted down by the anesthesia. Rachel smiles. "You'll be tired and a little numb for today Mr. Plankton, but you can nap once Karen takes you home!" Karen's eyes searched his, their depths filled with love and concern. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice low and gentle. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his gaze unfocused. "Tiwed," he murmured, his voice slurred by the aftereffects of the anesthesia. "But... it's done?" Karen nodded, her smile gentle. "Yes, it's done," she said, her voice a soothing lilt. "You're so brave." Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he tried to sit up, his body protesting the sudden movement. Karen's hand was a steady anchor, helping to ground him in reality. The world spun for a moment, but soon the fog began to clear. "Easy," she murmured, her voice a lifeline in the haze. "Take your time, Plankton." Her eyes searched his, looking for signs of distress. His antennae drooped slightly, his gaze drifting to the ceiling above. The lights were dimmer now, the sounds of the office muffled. With Rachel's help, they managed to get Plankton to his feet, his legs wobbly. Karen wrapped an arm around his waist, supporting him as they made their way out. "We'll take it slow," she murmured, her voice gentle. His antennas twitched in sleepy agreement, his eye half-lidded. The world felt thick and slow, each step an effort. The pain in his mouth was distant, muffled by the fog of anesthesia. Plankton leaned into Karen, his antennae drooping with grogginess. The gentle pressure of her arm around his waist was the only thing keeping him upright. They moved through the office, his sluggish steps echoing in the silence. Rachel held the door open for them, her smile warm. "Take care of him, he'll be sleepy," she said, her voice soft. Karen nodded, her gaze never leaving Plankton's face. The cool air outside was a sharp contrast to the sterile environment of the dental office. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he took in the world around him, his senses still dulled by the lingering anesthesia. Karen's arm remained steadfast around his waist, guiding him through the parking lot. The sound of gravel crunching underfoot was oddly soothing, his mind still fuzzy from the remaining effects of the surgery. The car was a familiar sanctuary, and Plankton collapsed into the passenger seat with a sigh, his antennae drooping. Karen buckled him in with gentle care, her eyes searching his for any signs of pain or discomfort. "Alright, love," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "We're going to get you home, and you can sleep it off." Her hand rested on his shoulder, her eyes on his sleepy gaze. But Plankton's eye kept drooping, his antennae quivering with the effort to stay conscious. "Karen," he slurred, his voice barely audible. "I'm... I'm tiwed." "I know, sweetie," she said, her voice soothing. "You just had surgery. You need to rest. Now let's get home!" But Plankton's body had other ideas. His eyelid fluttered closed, his antennae barely twitching. Karen chuckled softly, her heart swelling with affection. "You can sleep in the car," she assured him. "But try to stay awake for a little while longer." Plankton's antennae shot up with a valiant effort to comply, his eye opening wide for a moment. But the warmth of the car and the gentle hum of the engine were too much for him to resist. Within seconds, his head was lolling to the side, his antennae drooping in defeat. "Plankton," Karen whispered, her voice a gentle prod. His antennae twitched, his eye fluttering open. "Stay with me, okay?" Her smile was tired but filled with love. He nodded, his antennae drooping again. "M'trying," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. Karen chuckled softly, starting the car. The engine's hum was lulling, the vibrations soothing to his overwhelmed senses. As the car pulled out of the parking lot, Plankton's antennae twitched, trying to keep alert. But the warmth of the car and the gentle sway of the seat were too much. His eye closed again, his head lolling back against the headrest. Karen's voice was a steady companion, her words a gentle reminder of reality. "Stay with me, Plankton," she said, her tone filled with love. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye sliding open with difficulty. "M'trying," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. The car's gentle rocking lulled him back into slumber, his antennae drooping against the headrest. Karen's voice was a soft melody, her words a gentle nudge to stay conscious. "Wake up, Plankton," she whispered. "We're going home, and you can sleep there." With each word, his antennae wobbled in protest, his eye fighting to stay open. "Mm," he mumbled, his voice a sleepy whisper. "Home." He was so tired, his body begging for rest. Karen's voice was a gentle reminder of the world outside his sleep-filled haze. "We're almost there, Plankton," she soothed, her eyes never leaving the road. "Just stay with me a little longer." But the siren call of sleep was too strong. His antennae twitched one last time before going still, his breathing evening out as he gave in to the warm embrace of unconsciousness. Karen watched him with a mix of concern and affection, his peaceful expression a stark contrast to the fear from before. "Looks like you've had enough," she whispered to herself, a hint of a smile playing on her screen. She drove with care, his head leaning against the window, the soft snores echoing in the quiet car. The scenery outside the window was a blur, the world moving too fast for his sleep-laden brain to process. Each bump in the road jolted him slightly, his antennae twitching in protest. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen said, keeping her voice low and calm. He stirred, his antennae perking up slightly. "We're almost there." But the lure of sleep was powerful, pulling him back into its embrace. His antennae drooped, his breaths growing even deeper. "Mmph," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the gauze still in his mouth. "Just a few more minutes, Plankton," Karen coaxed, her voice soft. The car's gentle motion was hypnotic, each turn and bump in the road a siren's song to his weary mind. "You can sleep when we get home." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye fluttering open. He nodded slightly, his head lolling to the side. "M'trying," he murmured, his voice barely audible. The anesthesia still had a firm grip on his consciousness, his body craving the oblivion of sleep. Karen's hand remained steady on his shoulder, her voice a gentle coaxing. "Look, Plankton," she said, her tone soft. "We're almost home. Stay with me." The world outside was a blur of colors and shapes, each passing tree and building just another obstacle in his battle against the dragging weight of sleep. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, his eye trying to focus. "Mmhmm," he mumbled, his voice thick with grogginess. Karen's gentle voice was his tether to reality, her soothing words a lullaby guiding him through the hazy fog of anesthesia. "You're doing so well, Plankton," she murmured, her grip on his shoulder firm yet comforting. "Almost there, buddy." Plankton's antennae twitched in response, his eye opening briefly to meet hers. He nodded, the effort to stay awake etched on his face. The world outside the car was a blur of greens and blues, the sun casting a warm glow over everything. His body felt heavy, each breath a struggle against the weight of his eyelid. "Look, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a whisper in the quiet car. "We're home."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xii (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye opening slightly to see the familiar sight of their front door. The house looked warm and welcoming, a haven from the overstimulation of the outside world. He nodded, his antennae drooping. "Home," he murmured, his voice still slurred. Karen helped him out of the car, his legs wobbly under the weight of his still-sluggish body. The fresh air was a shock to his sensitive system, his antennae quivering at the sudden change. "Come on," she urged gently, her arm around his waist. "Let's get you inside." Plankton leaned heavily on Karen as they made their way up the path to the house. The brightness of the sun was almost painful, his eye squinting against the light. "I'm shorry," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "Soo tired..." Karen chuckled softly, her arm tightening around him. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle breeze. "You can sleep as soon as we..." But her words were lost as his antennae drooped, his body giving in to the siren call of sleep. His eyelid fluttered closed, his head lolling forward. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice a gentle nudge. But his body was heavy, his antennae still. With a sigh, Karen picked him up, cradling him against her chest. His antennae twitched slightly at the sudden motion, his eye opening to slits. "Wha..." he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "You're okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice a gentle whisper. "We're going inside." Her arms were strong, her movements slow and steady, carrying his weight with ease. The world outside faded away, replaced by the warmth and comfort of their home. Inside, Sandy and Chip played chess, the only other sounds the soft footsteps of Karen's feet and Plankton's muffled snores. Sandy looked up as Karen carried in the sleeping Plankton, his antennae drooping like wilted flowers. "How's he doing?" she asked, her voice low. Karen nodded. "The surgery went well," she murmured. "But he's still out of it." Chip looked up from his chess board, his eyes wide as his mom carried his dad. Sandy quickly set aside the chess pieces and rushed to help. Karen set him on the couch, his antennae brushing the fabric as he was laid down. "Just rest here for a moment," she murmured, her hand smoothing his antennae. Chip watched, his curiosity piqued by his dad's vulnerable state. "Is he okay?" he whispered, his eyes searching Karen's face for answers. "He's fine," she assured him, her voice soft. "He's just really tired from the surgery. The anesthesia makes it hard for his brain to stay awake." Chip nodded, watching as Karen tucked a blanket around Plankton's form, her movements gentle and careful. "Why does Dad snore?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "It's just his body's way of getting the air it needs," Karen explained, her voice a soft mumble. The living room was bathed in dim light, the curtains drawn to keep the world at bay. Plankton's snores grew louder, his antennae twitching with each inhale. Sandy's filled with concern. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked, her voice hushed. "Help with Chip?" Karen's smile was filled with gratitude. "That would be amazing," she murmured. "I need to keep an eye on Plankton." She gestured to the sleeping form on the couch. Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "Of course," she said. "I'll watch Chip." Her voice was a gentle whisper, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that had descended upon the house. With Plankton safely on the couch, Karen turned to face Sandy. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of the day's events. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Sandy waved a dismissive hand. "It's what friends are for," she said, her smile soft. "Now, go take care of Plankton. I've got this." Karen nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. She knew she could trust Sandy with Chip, especially in a time like this. She bent over Plankton, her hand brushing his antennae gently. "Rest," she whispered, her voice a soothing caress. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his sleep-laden eye sliding open. The room spun around him, the edges soft and fuzzy. "Karen?" he mumbled, his voice thick with slumber. Karen's face appeared above him, a soft smile playing on her lips. "You're okay, Plankton," she whispered, her hand stroking his antennae gently. "You're safe." The words washed over him like a gentle wave, the warmth of her voice seeping into his bones. His antennae quivered slightly, his eyelid flickering. The room spun, his body heavy and sluggish. "Home," he murmured, his voice a sleepy echo of his earlier sentiment. Karen's smile grew, her eyes soft with affection. "Yes, we're home," she said, her voice a lullaby. "You can rest now." Plankton let out a contented sigh, his antennas drooping with exhaustion. The gentle stroking of Karen's hand on his antennae was the last thing he felt before his mind slipped fully into the abyss of sleep. His snores grew deep and even, his body finally at peace.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xiii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip and Sandy hovered at the edge of the room, their eyes wide with curiosity. "What happens when you have your wisdom teeth out?" Chip asked, his voice a soft whisper. Sandy shrugged, her own interest piqued. "They take them out so they don't hurt you," she said, her voice thoughtful. "But I don't know what it's like." Karen's eyes remained on Plankton's face, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his palm. "It's not always easy," she murmured. "Especially for someone like him." Her gaze flickered to Chip, her expression serious. "Remember, buddy, everyone experiences things differently. We have to be patient and understand." Chip nodded, his gaze never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. He was fascinated by his dad's autism, the way it made him see the world so uniquely. He was eager to learn more, to be there for him in ways he never knew were needed. Sandy sat beside them, her eyes on the chessboard, lost in thought. "I've heard of autism before," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn't know it could affect Plankton." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. "It's part of who he is," she murmured. "It's not always easy, but it's what makes him special." Her gaze softened as she looked at Chip. "And it's important we learn to support each other, especially when things are tough." Karen stands up, getting vanilla ice cream from the freezer. With a spoon in hand, she wakes Plankton up gently, her touch featherlight on his shoulder. "Hey," she whispers, her voice a gentle nudge. "You need to wake up for a moment." Plankton's antennae twitch, his sleepy eye opening to find Karen's smiling face. "Wha?" he mumbles, the gauze in his mouth making his words indistinct. "Ice cream," she whispers, holding up the bowl. His eyes widen slightly, the mention of the cold, soothing treat cutting through the haze of his anesthesia-induced sleep. "For the swelling," she reminds him gently, her voice a soft caress. "Let's get rid of the gauze first.." With trembling hands, Plankton reaches for the gauze in his mouth, his antennae quivering slightly. Karen's hand guides his, her touch a gentle reminder of her presence. He pulls it out with a grimace, his mouth feeling strange without the pressure. The formerly white gauze is stained pink. Karen takes it from him, her movements swift and efficient. "Here," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "Let's get you some ice cream." She brings the spoon to his mouth. Plankton's eye widens. He opens his mouth, his antennae drooping with exhaustion. He makes a contented noise, his antennae twitching slightly. "Mmm," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. Karen feeds him another spoonful when his antennae perk up slightly, his sleepy gaze locking on hers. "It's okay," she soothes, her voice a gentle whisper. "You can eat." "Mmph," he mumbles. The coldness of the ice cream is a shock to his sensitive mouth, but the sweetness soon overpowers the discomfort. His antennae twitch with each spoonful, his eye slowly focusing. "Manilla cweam," he murmurs, the words barely coherent. Karen smiles, her eyes shining with relief. He takes another bite, the creaminess of the ice cream coating his tongue. "Mmph," he sighs, his antennae drooping with contentment. Karen chuckles softly, her hand steady as she feeds him. Chip watches as Plankton's eyelid flutters. "He's really tired, huh?" he says, his voice small. Sandy nods, a knowing smile on her face. "Yeah, but the ice cream will help with the swelling," she assures him. Karen nods, her movements careful as she feeds Plankton another spoonful. "It's important to stay ahead of the pain," she whispers. "And I think he enjoys it too." Her eyes sparkle with mirth, the tension of the day briefly forgotten as they watch Plankton's sleepy indulgence. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye half-lidded as he savors the ice cream. The sweetness of the vanilla is a soothing contrast to the metallic tang of his mouth, the coldness a gentle reprieve from the surgery. Each spoonful is a battle against his need for sleep, his body demanding rest while his taste buds revel in the creamy delight. Karen's hands are gentle, her touch steady as she feeds him, her eyes always on his face, watching for any signs of pain or distress. Chip sits beside them, his eyes widening with every spoonful. "Dad's really out of it, isn't he?" he whispers to Sandy. Karen nods, her smile soft. "The anesthesia can do that," she says. "But the ice cream will help with the swelling." Plankton's antennae twitch as his eyes struggle to stay open, the weight of sleep crushing down on him. Each spoonful of ice cream is a tiny victory, a brief reprieve from the siren's call of his bed. He mumbles something incoherent, his antennae drooping. "What was that?" Karen asks, leaning closer to hear him better. "M'tired," he manages, his voice slurred. Chip giggles softly at his father's sleepy state, his own energy a stark contrast to the slumber that threatens to consume Plankton. "You can sleep soon," Karen soothes, her voice a gentle reminder. "But let's fi-" But Plankton's antennae droop, his eye slipping closed once more. His snores fill the quiet room, a comforting rhythm that speaks of his deep rest. Karen sighs, her hand pausing mid-air with the spoon of ice cream. "C'mon, Plank..." He stirs slightly, his antennae twitching. "Mmh?" he mumbles, his voice a sleepy whisper. Karen's smile is patient, her love for him shining through her eyes. "Just a little more," she coaxes, her voice gentle. "For the swelling." She helps him sit up straighter. The coldness of the ice cream is a jolt to his senses, his eye opening wider. He nods, his antennae perking up slightly. "Okay," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen continues to feed him, her movements slow and deliberate. Each spoonful is a battle won, his eyelid fighting to stay open. "You're doing great," she whispers, her thumb brushing his hand. Sandy and Chip watch Plankton's struggle. Chip's eyes are wide, taking in every detail. Karen's hand is a steady presence. But Plankton's body fights back, each spoonful a challenge to stay awake. He takes a deep breath, his antennas fluttering as he tries to focus on the taste of the vanilla ice cream. "M'okay," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. But his eyelid droops, the weight of sleep too much to resist. Karen's eyes fill with determination. She'll get him through this. She feeds him another spoonful, her voice a gentle chant. "Keep going, Plankton. You can do it." His antennae quiver slightly as he tastes the ice cream, his eye blinking slowly. "M'tryin'," he whispers, the words almost lost. Karen's voice is a soft mantra, her words a gentle push to keep him conscious. "Just a little more," she coaxes, her hand steady as she brings the spoon to his lips. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye sliding closed again. "Mmph," he protests, his voice a sleepy mumble. The coldness of the ice cream is a jolt to his sluggish system, his body instinctively swallowing. Karen's voice is a gentle coax, her touch a comforting presence. "You can do it," she whispers, her eyes filled with love and determination. "Just a few more bites." But Plankton's body has other plans. His antennae twitch with each spoonful, his eyelid a battleground between staying awake and giving in to sleep. "Mmh," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Tired." Karen's eyes never leave his face, her smile filled with compassion. "I know, Plankton," she whispers. "But we need to finish this." She holds the spoon to his mouth, her eyes filled with understanding. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye opening with difficulty. "Mmh?" he mumbles, his voice a sleepy echo of his exhaustion. Karen's voice is a gentle reminder. "Just a little more, sweetie," she says, her tone filled with love and concern. She holds the spoon to his mouth again, her expression a silent plea for his cooperation. Plankton's antennae wobble, his eye barely open. He takes another bite, his antennae drooping with each spoonful. "Almost done," she whispers, her hands steady. "You're doing so well." He nods slightly, his antennae twitching with the effort to stay awake. "Mmph," he mumbles, his voice a sleepy grumble. The ice cream is a sweet torment, his mouth watering with each tiny bite. "M'tired," he whispers, his antennae quivering. Karen's eyes are soft with understanding. She knows the struggle of his autistic brain to process the world, even in sleep. "Just a little more," she soothes, her voice a whispered promise of rest. She feeds him another spoonful, his eye fluttering shut again. The sweetness of the vanilla ice cream is a siren's call to his senses, briefly keeping his consciousness afloat. "Mm," he murmurs, his antennae twitching slightly. The coldness of the treat is a stark contrast to the warmth of his sleepiness. Karen's voice is a gentle guiding light, her words a soothing melody to his sluggish mind. "You're doing great," she whispers, her smile a soft ray of comfort in the dimly lit room. "Al-" But Plankton's antennae droop, his eye slipping closed once more. His snores return, deep and rhythmic. Karen sighs, her eyes soft with love. "Okay," she whispers, setting the spoon aside. "You've had enough." Her voice is a gentle goodbye to the waking world as she helps him lie down, his body a deadweight against the couch cushions.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xiv (By NeuroFabulous) Sandy and Chip watch as she tucks the blanket around his form, her movements careful not to disturb his slumber. "Let him sleep," she murmurs, her voice a caress. "He'll wake when his body's ready." The two of them nod, understanding in their silent gazes. They sit quietly, the only sound the ticking of the clock and Plankton's deep snores. Sandy glances at Karen, her eyes filled with concern. "Is he okay?" she asks in a hushed whisper. Karen nods, her expression calm. "It's normal after surgery. He'll be fine." Chip's gaze is glued to his father, his curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar sight. "What happens now?" he asks, his voice small in the quiet room. Karen sits back, her hands folded in her lap. "Now, we wait," she murmurs. "Let him rest." Sandy nods, her eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. "It's late," she says, her voice low. "Should I stay?" "You can sleep in my bed Sandy," Karen says. Sandy nods, her eyes on Plankton. "Thank you," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to leave you alone." Karen smiles, her gaze on Plankton's peaceful face. "You won't," she says. "We're all here." Sandy nods, a soft smile gracing her features. "Thank you," she says, her voice a gentle echo in the silent room. She takes the offered space, her eyes never leaving her friend's sleeping form. Karen watches Plankton sleep, his antennae twitching slightly with each snore. Her thoughts are a whirlwind of emotion, a mix of worry and love. She knows the road ahead won't be easy, but she's determined to navigate it with patience and care. The next morning, the sun peeks through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the living room. Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching as the world intrudes on his slumber. The room is quiet, the remnants of the previous day's events a fading memory. He opens his eye to find Karen asleep in the chair beside him. Her hand is curled around his, a silent promise of support. Plankton's mouth feels swollen, the tender reminder of the surgery yesterday. He sits up slowly, his body protesting with a soft groan. The house is still, the only sounds the distant chirps of early morning scallops. Chip is probably still asleep, Sandy in the other room. Plankton's antennae quiver as the pain of the surgery starts to make itself known, a dull throb that echoes through his body. He reaches up to his mouth with tentative fingers, the swollen flesh meeting his touch with a sharp sting. He winces, his body tensing in response. Karen's eyes open. "You're ok," she whispers, her voice a gentle balm. She takes his hand, guiding it away from his face. "Le..." But Plankton's antennae are already twitching with discomfort, his eye wide with pain. "M'hurt," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse whisper. Karen's expression softens, her eyes filled with sympathy. "I know," she says, her voice soothing. "It's from the surgery." Plankton nods, his body stiff with discomfort. Karen stands, her movements fluid. She fetches a cold compress from the kitchen, the fridge's hum a gentle reminder of the world outside their quiet bubble. "Here," she murmurs, her touch featherlight as she places the compress gently against his cheek. The coldness soothes the ache, his antennae quivering with relief. Plankton's eye closes, his body sagging into the couch cushions. The pain is a dull throb, a constant reminder of his surgery. Karen sits beside him, her hand resting lightly on his, her presence a comforting weight. "What else can I do?" she whispers, her eyes filled with concern. He mumbles something incoherent, his antennae twitching. Karen frowns, her brow furrowed. "What was that, Plankton?" He opens his eye slightly, his voice thick with pain. "M'hurt," he whispers. Karen's heart clenches. "Your teeth?" she asks, her voice a soft concern. Plankton nods, his antennae drooping. "Mmh," he confirms, his hand moving to his swollen cheek. The coldness of the compress is a small mercy, but the throb persists. Karen's gaze is filled with determination as she looks for more ways to ease his discomfort. She remembers the pain medication from the doctor, quickly retrieving it from the kitchen counter. The bottle rattles slightly in her hand, each pill a potential lifeline. Plankton's eye widens slightly at the sound, his antennas twitching with anticipation. She opens the bottle with a soft click, the smell of mint wafting upwards. "Take one," she instructs, her voice a gentle guideline through the fog of his pain. He nods, his hand shaking as he takes the pill. The water is cold on his swollen tongue, the liquid a sweet reprieve. Karen watches as he swallows, her face etched with care. "There you go," she whispers, her hand never leaving his. The pain medication takes effect slowly, the throb easing into a dull ache. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his breathing evening out. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper. Karen's smile is a soft reassurance. He sinks back into the couch cushions, his antennae drooping with relief. The cold compress is a steady presence, her hand in his a warm reassurance. "You're welcome," she whispers, as Chip follows his mom's friend Sandy to them. Sandy's eyes are filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. "How's he doing?" she asks, her voice a soft question in the early morning silence. Karen looks over back at Plankton. "He's in a bit of pain," she says, her voice a gentle sigh. "But the medication should kick in soon." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I can stay and help," she offers. "If you need anything, just let me know." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye opening to meet her gaze. "Mmph," he mumbles, his voice still slurred. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "You're doing great," she whispers. Chip sees his dad's swollen cheeks and his antennae drooping. "Does it hurt a lot, Dad?" he asks, his voice filled with a newfound compassion for the man he's often seen as just his quirky father. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye blinking open. "Mmh," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse echo of his pain. "A little." Karen's smile is filled with empathy as she squeezes his hand. "It's okay, I'm here," she whispers. She knows the pain of his autism, the way it can magnify the smallest of discomforts into a symphony of sensory overload. She gently places the compress back on his cheek, her eyes never leaving his face.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xv (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton's antennae twitch. "M'sorry," he murmurs, his voice a weak apology for his condition. Karen's hand is a steady presence, her grip reassuring. "You have nothing to apologize for," she says, her voice a soft whisper of comfort. Chip watches his father, his curiosity piqued. "Hey, Dad," he says, his voice a gentle reminder of the care and understanding that now exists between them. Chip sits on the edge of the couch, his hand reaching to touch Plankton's shoulder... Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye snapping open in alarm. His hand shoots out, batting Chip's arm away. Chip recoils, his eyes wide with surprise. "It's okay, Dad," he says quickly, his voice low. "I wa-" But Plankton's antennae are quivering with agitation, his body tense. "Don't," he snaps, his voice sharp. Karen's eyes dart to her son, her expression a silent apology. She knows Plankton's autism makes him hypersensitive to touch, especially when in pain. Chip's hand hover in mid-air, his eyes wide. "Why'd yo-" Plankton's voice is a harsh interruption, his antennae twitching erratically. "I said don't," he repeats, his voice a firm command. Chip's hand drops to his side, his expression one of confusion and hurt. "It's okay," Karen says quickly, her voice a gentle reminder. "He's just sensitive." Sandy nods, her eyes on Plankton's face. "It's okay, Chip," she says softly. "Let's just give him some space." Chip nods, his gaze on his father's tense form. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she watches Plankton, his antennae still twitching with agitation. "It's all right," she whispers, her voice a gentle balm. "Your body's just healing." The silence stretches between them, a soft acknowledgment of his pain. The compress feels cold against his cheek, the medication a distant promise. His antennae droop slightly, his body beginning to relax. Karen watches him closely, her eyes a map of his comfort. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You just need to rest." His antennae twitch in response, his breathing evening out. The medication starts to kick in, the pain a distant memory. Plankton's antennae droop with the weight of his exhaustion. Karen's hand remains in his, a silent promise of support. She knows that his autism means that even the smallest touch can be too much, yet she also knows the comfort of familiarity. Chip's eyes are wide, taking in the scene before him. He wants to be near his dad! Karen's eyes are on them both, her heart a silent prayer. She knows how much Chip wants to comfort Plankton, to bridge the gap that autism often forces between them. Chip tries to keep his moves calm, but his heart races with concern despite his efforts to hold back. He also sees the way Karen's hand rests on Plankton's, a silent offer of comfort, and wonders if he could do the same.. So Chip takes a deep breath, his finger tentative as it reaches out to his father's shoulder, his touch immediate... Plankton's body twitches right at Chip's contact, his eye snapping open. "Mmph," he mumbles, his antennae shooting up in a defensive stance. Chip's hand freezes, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "It's okay, Da-" Yet Plankton's antennae droop again, his eye falling closed. "Mmh," he mumbles. But Chip takes this as a green light. He leans in closer, his finger brushing Plankton's cheek... "Don't touch me!" Plankton's voice is a whipcrack, his antennae twitching angrily. His hand shoots up to swat Chip's touch away. "M'fine!" he snaps, his body trembling with pain and frustration. Karen's heart aches, caught between her son's well-meaning concern and Plankton's desperate need for space. "Chip," she says gently, her voice a calming force. "Remember what we talked about.." Yet Chip wants to ask questions about his dad's dental surgery. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye opening to slits. "What?" he snaps, his voice a sharp edge. Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity. "What was it like?" he asks, his voice eager. "The surgery, I mean." Karen's smile is a soft explanation. "It was like a long nap," she says, her eyes on Plankton. "They gave him medicine to make him sleepy, so he wouldn't feel anything." Chip's eyes light up with interest. "What happened to make him asleep?" he asks, his voice filled with eagerness to understand. Karen's smile is a gentle explanation. "They used anesthesia," she says, her voice calm and steady. "It's like a special kind of sleep that lets doctors work without you feeling anything." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing with questions. "But how did they know he was asleep?" he asks, his voice a whisper of wonder. Karen's smile is filled with pride. "They used monitors, sweetie," she explains. "They keep track of his heartbeat and breathing, so they know he's okay." Chip's gaze is riveted on Plankton's swollen cheeks. "But his mouth?" he presses. "What did they do?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his discomfort visible. Karen's voice is a soft guide. "They took out his wisdom teeth," she says. "They were gonna cause problems." Chip's curiosity is a whirlwind of questions. "How do they know when you're asleep?" he asks, his voice filled with awe. Karen's smile is a gentle teaching tool. "They watch his brain waves," she says, her words a soft explanation. "They use a machine that shows them how much he's sleeping." Chip nods, his eyes absorbing the information. "And how'd dad woke up?" Karen's eyes are filled with patience. "They stopped the medicine," she says. "And when he was ready, his body woke up." Chip's mind is a storm of curiosity. "But what was it like?" he asks again, his voice a persistent wonder. "Being asleep like that?" Karen's eyes hold a hint of amusement. "It's like a very deep sleep," she says. "You don't dream, you don't feel, you just rest." Chip's curiosity is a tiny flame, flickering brightly in the quiet room. "But what about when he woke up?" he presses, his voice filled with a child's need to understand the world. Karen's smile is a gentle nod. "When you wake up from surgery, it's a little different," she explains. "The body's still sleepy, and his mouth was numb." Chip's eyes are wide with understanding. "Oh," he says, his voice a soft wonder.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvi (By NeuroFabulous) "Could Dad feel anything?" Karen's gaze is filled with compassion. "No, sweetie," she says gently. "That's the point of the medicine. He didn't feel anything." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "What's it like when Dad woke up?" he asks, his voice a soft curiosity. Karen's voice is a gentle narrative, her words painting a picture of Plankton's recovery. "He was a bit confused at first," she says, her eyes on Plankton. "But he quickly understood where he was." Chip's eyes are a mirror of his mother's, his curiosity a living entity. "But his mouth?" he asks, his voice a quiet probing. Karen's smile is a soft reassurance. "They gave him something to make it numb," she says, her words a gentle explanation. "So he couldn't feel the surgery." Chip's eyes are a swirl of understanding. "What was it like when it was over?" he asks, his voice a whisper of fascination. "Before he awoke from it? After they finished while you waited for him to wake up, what'd his face and mouth look like?" Karen's gaze is a silent answer, her eyes a soft story of the surgery's aftermath. "His cheeks were a bit puffy," she whispers, her voice a gentle narrative of the scene she'd witnessed. "And there was a bit of blood, but the doctors cleaned him up. As he slept, I could see his chest rise and fall, and I knew he was okay." Chip's eyes are wide with interest. "And then?" Karen's voice is a soft narrative, her words painting the picture of Plankton's recovery. "After they took his teeth out, they put in stitches," she says. "And now his mouth needs time to heal." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing with images. "Stitches?" he repeats, his voice a mix of fascination and horror. "How'd they put in stitches while he was sleeping?" Karen's smile is a gentle explanation. "They're very careful," she says, her voice a calm lake. "They use a special thread that dissolves so he doesn't need to come back to have them removed." Chip's eyes are a mix of wonder and concern. "How'd he not bite the dentist?" Karen laughs softly, a warm sound in the quiet room. "They gave him more medicine," she says, her voice a gentle guide. "So his mouth was completely relaxed." Chip's eyes are wide with wonder. "How did it feel to wake up?" he asks, his voice filled with innocent curiosity. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his eye opening to look at his son. "It was... strange," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo of his experience. "Everything was blurry, and my mouth felt funny." Chip nods, his eyes wide with interest. "But it's better now?" he asks, hope coloring his voice. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Mmh," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse affirmation. "It's okay; still healing.." "How about we watch a movie?" Karen suggests, her voice a gentle distraction from the pain. "Something fun, to take your mind off it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his interest piqued despite his discomfort. "The Dirty Bubble?" he murmurs. Karen's smile is a nod, her eyes filled with the promise of distraction. "Yeah," she says, getting up to grab the remote. "It's about the underwater world's biggest heist," she says, her voice a gentle coaxing. "I think you'll enjoy it, Chip." Plankton's antennae twitch with slight interest as he sits up more, his body protesting with a soft groan. Chip moves closer, his eyes on his father. Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen and Chip sit on either side of him. The movie's sounds fill the room, the images dancing across the television screen. As the film progresses, Plankton's eye grows heavier, his head slowly tilting towards Chip. Chip, lost in the story, feels the slightest pressure against his shoulder. He looks down to see his father's antennae quivering, his head leaning closer. Plankton's body is a silent admission of his exhaustion. He's trying to stay alert, but his eye keeps slipping shut, his antennae drooping slightly. The movie plays on. Chip feels the weight of his father's head, a warmth that spreads through his body. Plankton's antennae are a quiet whisper, his breathing even. Karen's gaze flits from the TV to the two of them, her heart swelling with gratitude. This is progress. Chip feels his dad's antennae brush against his arm, the sensation a soft reminder of his presence. The movie's end credits roll, the room bathed in the soft glow of the TV. Sandy's hand is warm on the remote, turning off the film. Chip then hears a gentle snore against his shoulder, his dad's antennae lying limp beside him. He looks down to see Plankton's eye closed, his head resting heavily. Karen's smile is a quiet celebration. "Looks like he's asleep," she murmurs, her voice a soft whisper. Chip's eyes are wide with surprise. "On me?" he asks, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen nods, her smile a warm embrace. "It's okay," she whispers, her eyes on Plankton's sleeping form. "He's just really tired." Chip's heart swells with pride. It's the first time his dad's ever fallen asleep on him, a silent testament to the trust building between them. He carefully shifts his shoulder, making room for Plankton's antennae. Karen's eyes are a gentle nod of understanding. "Let him sleep," she whispers. The room is a soft symphony of Plankton's snores and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Chip watches his father, his expression one of wonder.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip's never felt so close to his dad, not even when they used to build sandcastles on the beach. Plankton's antennae tickle his neck, a gentle reminder of the trust that's been slowly building between them. The snores are a comforting background to the quiet evening. "Can I sleep out here, next to Dad?" Chip asks. Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "Of course," she whispers, her voice a soft caress in the darkness. "Just be careful not to disturb him. Let's get you both set up." They work together, moving pillows and blankets, careful not to jostle Plankton. Chip watches as his mother gently lifts his father's head, placing it gently on his own pillow as Chip stands up. They move a soft foot bench for Chip to sleep on next to Plankton. Karen pulls a blanket over both of them, tucking it around them both. Chip's heart races with excitement, his mind racing with the newfound connection. He lies down on the foot bench, his body tense with anticipation. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he shifts, but he doesn't stir. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her gaze a gentle reminder of the night ahead. "Remember," she whispers. "Don't move too much. He needs his space." Chip nods, his eyes filled with understanding. He watches as Karen disappears upstairs, the light flickering before going out. The room is a canvas of shadows, Plankton's snores a soft metronome. He lies still, his mind whirling with thoughts. It's strange, feeling his dad's body so close. He's always been the one to move away, the one to hide. But here he is, sleeping. The room is quiet, save for Plankton's snores. Chip swallows, his heart thumping. He reaches out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. He's never felt so nervous about something so simple. He touches Plankton's antennae, his heart in his throat. They twitch slightly at the contact, but Plankton doesn't wake up. Chip's breath escapes in a silent whoosh. He holds his hand there, his fingertips exploring the softness of his father's antennae. They're so delicate, like tiny whiskers. Plankton's breathing doesn't change. Encouraged, Chip slides his hand further up, his heart racing. He's never felt so close to his dad, not even during those rare moments when Plankton allows a brief hug. His hand comes to rest on Plankton's shoulder, his father's arm lying limp. Plankton's snores hitch for a moment, his antennae twitching erratically. Chip's heart leaps into his throat, but then Plankton relaxes again, his snores resuming their comforting rhythm. Chip's hand remains on his father's shoulder, his mind racing with thoughts of all the times he's wanted to be closer. He's never dared to touch him like this before, afraid of setting off a storm of sensory overload. But now, as Plankton sleeps, his antennae lying still against his head, Chip feels a strange sense of peace. He watches his father's chest rise and fall, his snores a soothing lullaby. He's always been so quick to retreat into his shell, but here, in this quiet moment, he's vulnerable, his defenses down. Chip's hand remains on his father's shoulder, his thumb tracing gentle circles. He wonders if Plankton knows how much he's wanted to connect like this. How much he's longed for the kind of closeness that other kids share with their dads. The antennae on Plankton's head twitch slightly, and Chip holds his breath. But Plankton's snores remain steady, his body relaxed. A smile tugs at the corner of Chip's mouth. He's never felt this level of acceptance from his father, not even during their rare moments of physical contact. He leans closer, his eyes studying Plankton's sleeping face. His father's cheeks are still a bit puffy from the surgery, but there's a peace to his expression that Chip hasn't seen in a long time. His antennae lie still, no longer twitching with pain or irritation. Chip's hand on his shoulder feels like an anchor, a connection he's longed for. He wonders if Plankton's dreams are filled with the colors and shapes of their underwater world, or if he dreams of a place beyond the reef, a place where his inventions come to life. Chip simply watches him sleep, his own eyes drooping with exhaustion. As the night stretches on, the snores become a lullaby, a rhythm that soothes Chip's racing thoughts. He's so close to his dad, closer than he's ever been. The room feels smaller, yet somehow more expansive, like the ocean outside their door. He watches Plankton's chest rise and fall with each breath, his antennae lying still against his forehead. It's strange, seeing his father so vulnerable, so open to the world. In sleep, Plankton's usual defensive posture has melted away, leaving behind a softness that Chip has never seen before. He tentatively reaches out his other hand, his fingers sliding under the blanket to rest lightly on Plankton's hand. It's a small gesture, but it feels like a monumental step forward. Plankton's hand twitches, but doesn't pull away. Chip's breath catches in his throat, his heart racing. He holds his breath, waiting for a reaction. But Plankton's snores remain steady. Chip's heart thumps in his chest. He's never felt this close to his father. It's like they're sharing a secret, a quiet moment of understanding. He squeezes Plankton's hand gently, his thumb tracing the outline of his father's palm. Plankton's antennae twitch again, his hand moving slightly under Chip's. Chip's heart leaps, his eyes widening. Did he feel that? A soft squeeze from Plankton's hand, a silent communication. He squeezes back, his grip gentle. Plankton's snores continue, his hand relaxing into Chip's. The moment stretches, a warm band connecting the two of them. Chip's heart is a caged bird, fluttering with excitement. He's never felt so close to his dad, never thought this was possible. He watches as Plankton's snores deepen, his hand in his father's a silent promise of support. The room is a symphony of quiet moments, each breath a note of peace. Chip's lulled by the steady beat of his father's snores. His eyes drift shut, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts. He dreams of a world where Plankton's antennae don't twitch with fear, where the shutdowns don't steal him away. He dreams of a future where they can share laughter, not just the quiet moments like this. Hours later, Plankton's snores have turned into soft, even breaths. The room is bathed in the gentle glow of early morning, the sun peeking through the curtains. Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching as he awakens to a new day. He blinks slowly, his eye adjusting to the light. And then he sees it. Chip's hand, curled around his own, a warm pressure that grounds him. His son's body, curled into the foot bench, his chest rising and falling silently with sleep. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he blinks, his mind foggy with the remnants of sleep. He tries to sit up, to pull away, but his body protests, a dull throb in his cheeks reminding him of the surgery's aftermath. He feels a warmth beside him, his son's hand in his own, a gentle reminder of the night's unexpected intimacy. His heart thumps in his chest, the realization hitting him like a gentle wave. Chip had been there, holding on, a silent support through his slumber. Plankton's antennae quiver, his brain slowly waking up. He's not used to this, to being touched so casually, so openly. It's a foreign sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. He looks down at their joined hands, his son's thumb resting against his palm. He's torn between retreating and embracing the moment, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. But his son's gentle breaths, the weight of his body against his side... He feels a strange warmth, a feeling he's often chased away. But here, in the quiet pre-dawn light, he lets it in. Plankton's antennae twitch, a quiet acknowledgment of his son's presence. He doesn't pull away, his hand still in Chip's. His mind is a tornado of thoughts, spinning with the realization that he's allowed this unsolicited closeness with Chip. Plankton's heart beats faster, his antennae quivering slightly. He's not used to this, the unexpected warmth, the silent comfort of his son's touch. But as the moments stretch into something more, he finds that he doesn't want to pull away.

🫶🏻♡ ̆̈♡´･ᴗ･`♡♾

(Autistic author) Plankton has autism, which only he and Karen know about. They're able to keep it a secret, per Plankton's request, even from their son Chip. So when Chip comes home early from football, he's surprised to see his dad staring at the blank wall as his mom rubs his back. "Is everything okay?" he asks, stepping into the room. Plankton's eye is unfocused, his body rigid, like he's stuck in some invisible vice. Karen's hand pauses on his shoulder, and she turns to face Chip, her smile forced. "Yeah, just a little...spell," she says. Plankton's absence seizure has struck without warning. It's like a silent storm passing through the room, leaving no trace except the vacant look in his eye. The room seems to shrink around them as Chip takes in his dad's unblinking stare. He's never seen this. "Should I get help?" Chip's voice cracks. Karen shakes her head quickly, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "No, it's fine. Just...give us a minute." She waves a hand, trying to dismiss the concern that has etched itself on Chip's features. But Chip lingers, his gaze flickering between his parents. "What's happening?" he whispers. Karen sighs, her hand dropping to her side. She looks at Plankton. "It's just something your dad has," she says, choosing her words carefully. "It's like his brain goes on pause for a bit." Chip watches as his dad's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the only indication that he's still present in the physical world. "But what do you mean?" his eyes search hers for understanding. Karen's eyes flit to Plankton before returning to Chip's. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself. "It's not dangerous, just a little scary-looking." The silence stretches until it feels like a rubber band about to snap. Chip's curiosity overpowers his fear. He takes a tentative step closer. "Does he know we're here?" Chip whispers. "Not really," Karen murmurs, "But he'll come back to us." Chip reaches out, a tremor in his fingertips, and touches Plankton's arm, but the seizure doesn't seem to notice. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice a soft echo in the stillness. Plankton's body remains stiff as a statue, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere beyond the wallpaper's pattern. Karen's hand moves to cover Chip's, her touch warm and reassuring. "It's okay," she whispers back, "It's part of him. Don't poke or shake him, just let it pass." The seconds tick by, each one feeling heavier than the last. Chip's heart thuds in his chest, his mind racing with questions and fear. He's never seen his dad like this before, so...so vulnerable. As the seizure slowly releases its grip, Plankton blinks, his eye refocusing on the room. He looks confused, like he's waking from a deep sleep. Karen's smile relaxes, the tension in her shoulders easing. Plankton turns to her, his gaze flickering with recognition before falling on Chip. "Chip?" His voice is raspy. Karen nods at Chip, silently urging him to speak. "Yeah, Dad, it's me." Plankton's expression shifts. "What...what happened?" his voice is frail. Chip opens his mouth, but Karen steps in quickly. "You had a little moment, that's all. Nothing to worry about," she says, her tone light. But her hand is still on Plankton's back, ready to provide support if needed. Plankton's eye darts around, his hands clenching and unclenching as if trying to remember how to interact with the world again. He notices Chip's hand reaching out and flinches slightly, his discomfort with physical contact clear. Chip, sensing this, pulls his hand back, his cheeks flushing. He's always known his dad was a bit...different. Quirky. But he's never seen this side of him. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing as she squeezes Plankton's hand. "You're okay." Plankton nods, his mind slowly untangling from the cotton wool fog of the seizure. He looks around the room, familiar objects snapping back into focus. His eye lands on Chip, who's watching him with a mix of worry and curiosity. He clears his throat. "Just a...moment. I'm fine now." He tries to smile, but it feels awkward and forced. Chip's eyes don't leave him. "What was that?" he asks, his voice still low. Karen looks at Plankton. It's time. "Your dad has something called autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain works in a special way." Chip's eyes widen. "What does that mean?" Karen sits down beside Plankton, who's still gathering himself. "It's like...sometimes, his brain takes a little break from the world," she explains gently, her hand still on his shoulder. "It can be overwhelming, with all the sounds, sights, and people around." Chip nods slowly, trying to grasp the concept. Plankton swallows hard, his mind racing. He's always been so careful to hide this part of himself, not wanting to be seen as less than or weird. But as he looks at Chip, his heart swells with a mix of fear and hope. What if his son can't understand? What if this changes everything? Karen gives him a nod, encouraging him to go on. With a deep breath, Plankton starts to speak. "You know how sometimes you get really focused on something and the world just fades away?" Chip nods. "Well, for me, it's like that," Plankton says, his voice steadying. "But sometimes, my brain does it without me asking. It's like my thoughts are a TV with too many channels playing at once, and it just...shuts off for a bit to give me a break." Chip nods, trying to imagine what that's like. "Does it hurt?" Plankton shakes his head. "Well, it's just...different. Sometimes I don't realize, sometimes it's tough." Chip looks up at him, his eyes full of questions and a nascent empathy. "Can you control..." "No Chip, I can't 'control' it!" He snaps back. "Hey hey, it's okay," Karen whispers, meeting his gaze. "He's not judging you, Plankton." Plankton takes a deep breath, his eye fluttering shut. "I know," he murmurs, but his tone is anything but convinced. Chip's gaze softens, his fear replaced with a determined curiosity. "What's it like?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton's shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "It's like being in a little bubble," he says, his eye distant. "Everything's far away, muffled. And when it's over, it's like...like popping back into reality." Chip's curiosity grows, his mind racing with questions. "But why do you keep it a secret?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen looks to Plankton, who's still visibly shaken. "We didn't want it to define you," she says softly. "We wanted you to see him as just your dad, not as someone with a label." Plankton nods. "And I didn't want to be different," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip considers this, his gaze flitting from his dad to the ground. "But you are," he says, his voice earnest. "You're my dad, even with your..." He stumbles over the word "...seizures." Karen's eyes fill with pride at her son's acceptance. Plankton's tension how ever, heightens at Chip's description. "It's not a seizure," he corrects, his voice slightly defensive. Chip looks confused. "But it looks like it," he says, frowning. Karen nods. "It's similar, but not the same," she explains before Plankton can interject. "It's part of your dad's autism." Chip looks at Plankton, his eyes searching for something he's never noticed before. "But why did you keep it a secret?" he asks again. Plankton's gaze drifts to the floor, his voice soft. "Because people can be cruel, son," he says, his words heavy. "They don't always understand." Chip nods, his eyes welling up with tears. "But I do," he says, his voice shaking. "I mean, I don't get it all, but I understand that you're still you." Plankton's expression softens, his fear of rejection dissipating slightly. He looks up at Karen, his gaze filled with gratitude. She gives him a small smile, her eyes telling him it's okay to be his true self.

WHEN THE CHIP FALLS i/ii (Autistic author) Karen picks up her son, Chip, from a friend's house. "Hi, mom! Where's dad?" He asks her. "Don't worry, we'll see him soon." They return home. Once inside, Chip throws his book bag on the couch, his sneakers thumping. Karen finds Plankton in his lab, his eye glued to a book. She knows that look, it's his way of hyperfixating. She approaches carefully. "Plankton?" she says gently. He jumps a little, his hands fidgeting with the pipettes. "Chip's home," she continues, watching his eye flicker to the doorway, then back to the beakers. Chip's footsteps echo down the hall, and suddenly, he's there, his body crashing into his father's in a tight, unexpected hug. Plankton's arms hang at his sides. "I missed you," Chip whispers into his father's chest. Plankton's body tenses, his mind racing with unexpected sensory input. He tries to focus on his breath, to slow it down, but it's like trying to swim through a tornado of stimuli. Karen gently pries Chip away, leading them both to the living room. "Is everything ok, Dad?" Chip asks, his face scrunched in concern. Plankton follows them, his movements mechanical. "Just... working on something important," Plankton mutters, his eye dodging Chip's gaze. "I'm fine.." Chip senses the distance, the walls Plankton's put up around himself. He's seen it before, but it still stings. What Chip doesn't know is that his dad's autistic. Plankton fidgets, avoiding his son's gaze. "What's going on?" Chip asks. "Dad's just a little stressed with work." But Chip's not buying it. He notices the way his father's fingers tap a staccato rhythm. Chip tries to hug Plankton again, his arms reaching out like a lifeline. Plankton flinches, the touch sending a jolt of discomfort through his body. He can't help it; his senses are already overwhelmed. "Chip, please," Plankton says, voice sharp as a tack. Chip turns to his father. "What's wrong, Dad?" he asks again, his voice small. He can't find the words to explain. Instead, he does the only thing he can think of to relieve the tension: he prys Chip's arms away, his movements abrupt. "Dad?" Chip's voice is tiny, confused. Plankton's voice booms through the room, sharp and loud. "I said I'm fine!!" The echo of his words hangs in the air, and Chip shrinks back, his arms falling to his sides. Karen sighs, knowing it's time to explain. "Chip," she starts, "Your dad has something that makes him..." "I know, I know," he interrupts, his voice tinged with frustration. "Dad's always like this. Always lost in his own world, never..." "What do you mean 'always like this'?" Plankton demands, the words sharp and pointed. Chip takes a step back. "It's just... you're always so busy with work," he stammers. "I just... I want to spend time with you." Plankton's eye widens, accusation stinging him. He tries to find the words to explain, to bridge the gap between his autistic brain and his son's need for connection. But his thoughts are a jumbled mess of frustration and guilt. He loves, but sometimes, his condition makes it hard to show it. "I'm not 'always like this,'" Plankton snaps, his voice cracking like a whip. "You don't understand!" He slams his fist on the table. "I'm sorry," Chip murmurs, "I didn't mean..." But his words are drowned out by the storm of emotion raging within his father. "You think I choose this?" He gestures wildly. "I'm not 'always like this'! You think it's easy?" Karen's heart aches as she watches the raw pain flash across Plankton's face. Chip takes a tentative step forward. "I just want to understand," he whispers. He reaches out and gently places his hand on Plankton's arm. Plankton's rage doesn't abate, his arm jerking away as if burned. "You think you can just fix me with a pat on the back and a sad puppy look?" He spat out the words. "I'm not something to be fixed," Plankton says, his voice low and dangerous. His fist slams into the table again. Chip's hand retreats to his side. "I didn't say you were," he manages to reply, his voice shaking. "I just want to be with you." "You don't get it," he seethes, his voice rising. "You can't just come in here and demand I change for you!" His fists clench, and the pipettes in his lab coat pockets clink ominously. "Dad I don't know what you're talking about.." Chip's voice is a mere whisper, his eyes brimming with tears. Plankton's anger doesn't waver. His body shakes with the intensity of his emotions, his face a mask of fury and pain. "You think you know me?" Plankton's voice is like thunder, his words a torrent of accusation. "You think you can just waltz in here and tell me how to feel, how to act?" Chip takes a step back. "I just want to help," he says, his voice a barely audible whisper. Plankton's sarcasm is bitter. "Oh, help," he mocks, his voice a parody of sweetness. "You're so helpful. You know what help would be? Leaving me alone!" "But Dad," Chip starts. "I don't know what I did wrong." Plankton's lashing out at Chip. "Oh, you're just the picture of innocence, aren't you?" he says, his tone a toxic mix of anger and patronizing. "Coming in acting like you know everything, thinking you can just fix me with a hug and a sympathetic look." Chip feels his cheeks burn. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice cracking. "You're sorry?" Plankton repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're sorry? What good is sorry?!" Chip shakes his head. "You think I don't know what you're thinking? That I can't feel your pity?" He scoffs, a cold, brittle sound. "You think I don't know when you look at me like that?" Chip's meeting his father's furious gaze. "I don't..." But Plankton cuts him off, his voice a sneer. "Don't lie to me. I can see it in your screen. You think I'm some thing to be fixed, like one of your toys." Chip feels like being crushed by a heavy weight, his chest tightening with each of his father's words. "That's not what I meant," he stammers. "You think it's easy for me, don't you?" He sneers. "You think I don't wish I could just turn it off, be 'normal' for you?" "No, Dad, I... I just want to understand. And, turn what off?" Plankton's eye narrows, his jaw clenching. "You don't get it, I can't just turn off who I am. I'm not some broken toy!" "I just want to be with you," he repeats, his voice shaking. "I don't care if you're not... like other dads or whatever you're saying.." Plankton's anger doesn't abate, his body stiff as a board. "You think that's it?" he sneers. "You think it's just a matter of me snapping out of it?" "I don't know, Dad," he admits, his voice breaking. "I just... I want to spend time with you." Plankton's face contorts further, his frustration boiling over. "You think that's all it takes?" he shouts. "You want quality time?" His voice cracks. Chip nods, desperate for a connection. "Yes," he whispers. "Quality time," Plankton repeats, his voice dripping with scorn. "You think that's all I need, a little 'quality time' and everything will be fine? You have no idea what I go through every day just to pretend to be like them, for you, for your mother!" Chip's in shock. He's never seen his father like this, so raw and exposed. The room seems to pulse with Plankton's anger, each beat a reminder of the distance between them. "I don't know," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't know," Plankton mimics, his voice dripping with contempt. "You think it's just a matter of trying harder, don't you? Like it's a switch I can just flip?" He starts to pace the room, his footsteps heavy and punctuated by his frustration. "You think I enjoy your pity parties?" "Dad, I..." he whispers, but his voice is lost in the tempest. "You think you know what it's like to be me?" he snarls. "You have no idea. You're just a child, playing at being an adult with your little 'I want to understand' nonsense." Karen can't take it anymore. With a gentle but firm voice, she steps between them. "Plankton," she says, her tone a warning. "That's enough." Plankton's rant falters, his eye meeting hers. For a moment, he seems lost, his anger flickering out like a candle in a gust of wind. "You don't know what it's like," he repeats softer, anger morphing into a deep sadness that seeps into the fabric of the room. Chip looks up, his screen glistening with unshed tears. "Tell me," he pleads. "Help me understand." Karen's gaze softens, and sighs heavily. "Your dad has something called Autism," she says gently. "It's like his brain is wired differently. It's not good or bad, it just makes things harder for him sometimes." Chip looks up, his face a canvas of confusion. "Does that mean he can't love me?" he asks, the fear in his voice like a knife. Karen kneels beside him, taking his small hand in hers. "No, baby," she says softly. "It means his love might look different. He feels it just as much, but shows it in his own way." Plankton stands there, his body rigid, his eye darting between Karen and Chip. "I don't know how to do this," he says finally, his voice cracking with emotion. "I don't know how to be what you want." "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice trembling. Plankton's eye narrows, his voice like shards of ice. "This," he says, gesturing to his head. "This... thing inside me that makes everything so hard." His hand gestures to his forehead as if to punctuate his words. "This autism!" Chip looks up with confusion and a touch of fear. "But Dad," he says softly, "I don't see it like that. I don't even know what Autism is!" Karen's gaze flickers to Plankton, who stands motionless, his jaw clenched. "It's ok," she reassures her son. "It's not something you can see, Chip. It's just how Daddy's brain works."

WHEN THE CHIP FALLS ii/ii (Autistic author) Karen takes a deep breath, preparing to explain. "You know how sometimes, when somethings made, things don't always develop as planned?" she starts, her eyes never leaving Chip's. "Well, Daddy's brain is like that. It's just how he was born." Plankton's shoulders slump, anger dissipating into a heavy sadness. He looks at his son, his heart aching. "It's hard for me to express how I feel," he says. "But that doesn't mean I don't feel it." Chip stares up at his father. "But why can't you just tell me?" he asks, trembling. "Why can't you just be like... normal dads?" The word "normal" hangs in the air and Plankton feels his rage reignite. "Don't you dare," he growls, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't you ever say that again." Chip takes a step back, his body shaking. "What did I say?" he whispers. But Plankton doesn't answer. He turns away, his movements stiff and jerking, as if he's fighting against invisible chains. Without a word, he storms out of the living room. The bedroom door slams shut with a finality that echoes through the house. Karen's gaze follows him, her heart heavy. Then she looks back at Chip, her eyes filled with a mix of love and disappointment. "Chip," she says firmly. "You can't just... expect him to change like that." Chip's eyes fill with understanding, his body slumping. "I didn't mean to..." he starts, his voice trailing off. "But I just want to spend time with him," he says, his voice small and defeated. Karen sighs, her gaze softening as she looks at her son. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "But using the word 'normal' doesn't help. It makes Daddy feel like something's wrong with him, like he's not good enough." Chip's eyes widen, realizing his mistake. "I didn't mean it like that," he stammers, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I just want us to be happy together." Karen nods solemnly, her eyes holding his. "I know you do," she says, her voice gentle. "But words can hurt, especially when we don't understand the full weight they carry. Your father's not 'normal' in the way you think, but that doesn't mean his love for you is any less." Chip bites his lip, his eyes glued to the floor. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing he's hurt his dad. With a heavy sigh, Karen stands up. "Let's go talk to your father," she says, placing a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. They walk down the hallway to Plankton's bedroom. The door is ajar, and through the crack, Karen can see Plankton's hunched form on the bed, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shake with silent sobs. Her heart aches for his pain. With Chip in tow, she pushes the door open. Plankton doesn't look up, his body wrapped in a cocoon of self-loathing. The room is a mess of discarded lab equipment and half-finished experiments, a visual representation of his tumultuous thoughts. "Plankton," Karen says softly, her voice a lifeline thrown into the sea of his despair. He doesn't move, his body rigid with the weight of his own emotions. Chip takes a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out to touch his father's shoulder. "Dad?" he whispers. Plankton's body jolts, his sobs growing louder. Karen's heart clenches at the sound, knowing the depth of his pain. "Dad?" Chip's voice is tiny, his hand hovering over his father's back. He's never seen his dad like this, so vulnerable and broken. Plankton's sobs fill the room, each one a shard of pain that penetrates Karen's soul. Her heart breaks for her husband, for the struggle she knows he faces every day. Chip's hand shakes as he touches Plankton's shoulder, his voice a tiny thread of hope woven through the storm of emotions. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton's sobs intensify, his body wracking with the weight of his sorrow. Karen moves to the bed, sitting down beside him, her hand on his back. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle breeze in the storm of his grief. But Plankton is beyond consolation. His sobs are like waves, crashing against the shore of his pride, eroding the barriers he's built up over the years. He can't speak, can't even look at his son. Chip's touch is a soft whisper in the hurricane of his father's pain, but it's enough to make Plankton's shoulders shake even harder. The weight of his emotions is too much, his body unable to contain the torrent. Karen wraps her arms around him, trying to soothe the storm within. She knows the feeling all too well, having been his anchor through so many of these moments. Plankton's sobs are like a language only she can understand. Chip watches, feeling helpless, his hand still hovering over his father's back. He's seen his dad upset before, but never like this. It's like looking into the eye of a hurricane and wishing you could stop it from spinning. "Daddy," Chip says again, his voice tiny, hopeful. Plankton's body tenses under his touch, and for a moment, it seems like the storm might abate. But the sobs only get louder, the tremors more violent. Karen's heart breaks as she sees the hurt in her son's eyes. "Let's give him some space, okay?" she says gently, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "Go wait, I'll take care of him." With a nod, Chip retreats, his eyes never leaving his father's bent form. Once he's gone, Karen wraps her arms around Plankton, holding him tightly as he cries. "Shh," she whispers, stroking his back in soothing circles. "It's okay. I'm here." Her voice is a lullaby in the tempest of his emotions, a beacon of calm in the chaos. Slowly, Plankton's sobs begin to subside, his body unclenching from its self-imposed prison. He lifts his face, eye red and wet with tears. "I just want..." he whispers, his voice raw with pain. Karen's eyes well up with tears, her heart aching for his suffering. "You are normal, Plankton," she says softly. "You're just different." Plankton's body quakes, his sobs subsiding into hiccups. "But Chip..." he chokes out. "He thinks... he thinks..." Karen's grip tightens, her voice firm and loving. "Chip's young," she says. "He doesn't understand yet. But we'll teach him." Plankton's sobs slowly ease, his breaths coming less ragged. He nods, his body still tense. "I know," he says, his voice a whisper. "But it hurts." Karen pulls him closer, aching for his pain. She kisses his cheek, her touch gentle the way she knows he likes it. "You're a good dad," she whispers, her voice the calm after the storm. "You show Chip that you're here for him, in your own way." Plankton's eye meets hers, his gaze searching for truth in her words. He nods slowly, his shoulders slumping as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice still thick with emotion. Karen nods, her heart full of love and sorrow. "Let's go talk to Chip," she says gently, standing up. Plankton wipes his eye, his body still trembling. He nods, following her out of the room, each step a monumental effort. In the hallway, Chip is sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. He looks up as they approach, his eyes red and swollen. "Dad," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. Plankton's steps falter, his heart in his throat. He forces himself to meet his son's gaze, the weight of his guilt a heavy burden. "I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice shaky. The words are a balm to Plankton's soul, his anger and pain receding like a retreating tide. He looks at Chip, his eye swollen with unshed tears, his heart heavy with regret. "I didn't mean to... I just..." Chip's eyes are red, his cheeks stained with tears. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice a mere thread of sound. Plankton's heart clenches at the sight of his son's pain. He sits down next to Chip, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle him. "It's okay," he says, his voice shaky. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm not..." Chip looks up, his eyes swimming with tears. "You're not what?" he asks, his voice hopeful. Plankton sighs, trying to find the words. "I'm not like other dads," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn't mean I don't l-love you, or that I don't want to be with you." Plankton's gaze drops to his son's small, trembling hand. "It's hard," he says, his voice tight with emotion. "I... I don't always know how to make you feel what's inside." Chip looks up at him, his eyes searching. "What's inside?" he asks, his voice tiny. Plankton's gaze meets his son's, and he sees the flicker of hope. "Love," he says finally, his voice cracking. "It's just... different." Chip's eyes widen with understanding, the fear fading from his eyes. "Can you show me?" he asks, his voice small but steady. Plankton nods, his body still tense with emotion. He thinks for a moment, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between his love and his inability to express it. "Look," he says, pointing to a jar on the shelf. "I only like certain touches from certain people. But I'm the one who recommended we get that ice cream yesterday, right?" Chip nods, his eyes glistening with hope. "Yeah, you always know the perfect flavor." Plankton's smile is forced, but it's a start. He takes a deep, shaky breath. "And remember when you had that science fair project, and I helped you?" Chip nods, his eyes lit with memory. "You stayed up all night, making sure I got it just right." Plankton's smile is a little more genuine this time. "I did that because I care about you. I want you to be happy, even if I can't show it like everyone else." He reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering near Chip's. For a moment, it seems like he might withdraw again, like a snail retreating into its shell at the first sign of danger. But then, with a deep breath, he touches his son's shoulder, his fingers light and unsure. Plankton's hand trembles, his touch as gentle as a feather landing on Chip's shoulder before retreating. "Normal is over rated," he whispers, the word a promise. "But I do, in my own way."

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧🩷˚.🎀༘⋆˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.જ⁀➴>ᴗ<ℳℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾(づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

CHIP AND FAIL vii (Autistic author) Plankton's body tensed, his eye squeezing shut as he tried to block out the onslaught of sensations. "Chip," he murmured, his voice strained, "I can't." "What do you mean?" He didn't know his touch, his words, his very presence was a storm in Plankton's mind. He just wanted to share his week, his joy, with his dad. Plankton took a deep, shaky breath, his antennae twitching. "I have... I have something that makes it hard for me to... to handle..." But Chip's excitement was unable to comprehend the distress he was causing. "Handle what, Dad?" he asked, his voice filled with eagerness. "You can tell me anything!" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flickering with pain. He knew he had to find the words, to explain the storm that raged in his mind, his voice trembling. "I can't... I just..." Chip's eyes searched his father's, his hands reaching out again. But Plankton was already slipping away, his mind a tornado of sensations. He couldn't find the words, the storm too loud. Chip, oblivious to the turmoil, pressed on. "Dad, you can tell me anything," he said, his voice bubbling over with eagerness. His hands reached out again, his touch like a lightning bolt in Plankton's overstimulated world. Plankton's antennae quivered with the effort of maintaining his composure. He didn't know how to explain the maelstrom that was his mind, the way each touch and sound felt like a thunderclap. "Chip," he began again, his voice strained, "I'm..." But Chip was a hurricane, his enthusiasm unyielding. "Is it because of the college?" he asked, his screen sparkling. "Or Nutmeg?" He didn't realize that his words, his touch, were the fuel for the storm. Plankton's eye searched his son's, desperate for a moment of calm. "Chip, no, it's not about..." His voice was a whisper, lost in the wind of his son's excitement. But Chip didn't hear the desperation, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts and memories. He didn't see the pain he was causing, only his own need for connection. "But Dad, I just wanted to..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body tensing like a bowstring. "Chip," he said, his voice a whipcrack of agony. "P-please." But Chip was in his own world, racing with the excitement of his week. "Come on, Dad," he said, his voice filled with cheerful oblivion. "It's so cool, you've gotta see it!" He grabbed Plankton's hand, pulling him to hard. Plankton's body jerked, his eye wide with pain. The sudden contact was like a sledgehammer to his overstimulated mind, his thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. "Chip," he managed, his voice strained, "please." But Chip's excitement was a freight train, barreling forward without a care for the tracks. He didn't see the agony etched in Plankton's features, didn't feel the tension in his father's body. "Come on, Dad," he said, his grip tightening. "It's going to be amazing, I..." Plankton's body spasmed at the contact, his antennae vibrating wildly. The room grew too bright, the sounds too loud, the air too thin. He couldn't move, couldn't think. His mind was a cacophony of sensations, a symphony of overload. "Chip," he choked out, his voice a plea. "I... I can't." Chip's face fell, not realizing how angry his dad's getting. "What do you..." But Plankton was already spiraling, his mind a tornado of sensory assault. He didn't know how to make Chip understand, his voice a thunderclap of despair. "I CAN'T!" he shouted, his antennae waving erratically. Chip's smile faltered, his eyes wide with shock. He had never seen his dad like this before, his touch a match to a fuse. He took a step back, his hands up in surrender. "You mean, you won't!" he asked, his voice shaking. Plankton took a deep, shuddering breath, his antennae drooping. "Chip," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I can't. Not right now. I need..." But Chip's crashing over the delicate barriers Plankton had built to keep his world in order. "But Dad, it's just a story!" he exclaimed, his voice booming in the quiet living room. "It's not a big deal, you're just being..." The room grew smaller, the walls closing in on Plankton as Chip's words echoed in his mind. Just a story? To Chip, it was a simple tale of adventure, but to Plankton, it was a minefield of sensory input his brain couldn't process. "Chip, please," he murmured, his antennae twitching wildly. "I'm trying..." "You're not trying hard enough!" Chip said, his voice filled with the kind of innocent exasperation that only a child can muster. "But if you're trying to break our family, congratulations! You..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body rigid with tension. The accusation hit him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him under the weight of his own failure. "Chip," he said, his voice a desperate plea. "It's not..." But Chip's screen filled with accusation, his voice loud in the suddenly too-small room. "Why can't you just be normal?" he demanded, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye squeezed shut against the assault. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm not... I'm not like other dads." "Well DUH! You just can't handle it, can you?" Chip said, his voice filled with frustration. He didn't see the pain in Plankton's eye, the way his antennae drooped with each accusation. "But it's just a story, Dad. It's not that..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body trembling with the effort to stay calm. "Chip, you don't understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My mind is like a... a... " Chip's eyes searched his father's, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. "What? What's wrong with you? Let me guess, you're just being dramatic again," he said, his voice harsher than he intended. Plankton flinched at the accusation, his antennas stiffening. Karen watched from the sidelines, aching. She knew this moment was inevitable, but seeing the pain was like a knife to her. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation that needed to happen. "Chip, sweetie," she began, her voice soft and gentle, "Dad's not being dramatic." She took a step forward, placing a hand on her son's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. "Your dad has..." "Mom, my 'dad' has no place in OUR family! Your life is a lie!" Chip's words, fueled by confusion and hurt, echoed through to Plankton, his voice shaking. Karen's hands shook as she reached for Chip. "No, honey," she said, her voice trembling, "it's not that simple." But Chip was already storming out of the room, his footsteps like thunder in the quiet hallway. Plankton slumped back against his chair, his antennae drooping. He had hoped Chip would never have to know, never have to feel the way he did. The way his mind was like a cluttered room, with no way to organize the chaos. He closed his eye, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders.

CHIP AND FAIL viii (Autistic author) Karen's hand was a lifeline, her voice a gentle guide. "Chip," she called out. "We need to talk." Chip stopped in the hallway. Why was Dad acting so weird? He turned to face his mother, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "What's wrong with him?" he demanded, his voice filled with accusation. "He doesn't deserve to be called my dad if he can't even..." But that's when it happens. That's when Plankton started hyperventilating, and that's when Plankton can't take anymore. That's when it happened. Chip's words were like a match striking too close to a powder keg. Plankton's breath hitched, his antennae twitching erratically. Karen rushed to his side, her screen wide with concern. "Babe, you okay?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress. She holds her arms out to catch Plankton. But Plankton's mind was a whirlwind, his body a live wire. He couldn't answer, couldn't find the words to explain the chaos that was his reality. His antennae trembled as he struggled to breathe, his body rigid with fear. He had hoped to keep this hidden, to protect Chip from the truth, but it was too much. The storm inside him grew wilder, each breath a battle. Chip's eyes searched his father's, his own confusion mirroring the chaos in the room. "What's wrong with you?" he repeated, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. But Plankton's mind was a tornado, his thoughts swirling too fast for words. He could feel his chest constrict, his heart pounding like a drum. Karen watched her son's screen, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the misunderstanding etched deep. She took a deep breath, knowing the moment had arrived. "Chip," she began, her voice soft but firm, "there's something you need to know about your dad." Chip looked at her, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "What could possibly make him act like this?" he spat, poking Plankton hard. "Why did you marry him? He's just nothing but..." "Chip," Karen said firmly, taking his hands in hers, when Plankton starts to wheeze heavily, his body constricting with each shallow breath. Chip's anger faded, replaced with fear as he watched his father's distress. "Dad?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Plankton's body trembled as his legs gave out, collapsing into the embrace Karen had been ready to offer. "Dad?" Chip's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. He had never seen his father so overwhelmed, so vulnerable. Karen knelt beside Plankton, her hands gentle on his trembling body. "It's okay, love," she whispered, her voice a salve on his raw nerves. "Just breathe." Chip's eyes were glued to his father with fear. He had never seen him like this before, his body a stranger's under his own touch. "What's wrong with him?" he asked again, his voice shaking. Karen took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she smoothed back Plankton's antennae. "Chip, your dad was born with something..." Her voice trailed off, the words stuck in her throat like a piece of unchewed food. Chip's eyes searched hers, his confusion a storm cloud gathering. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice small and scared. Karen took a deep breath, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. "Your dad," she began, her voice shaking with the weight of her words, "was born different, Chip." Plankton's eye flickered open, filled with a mixture of fear and hope. "What do you mean, 'different'?" Chip asked, his voice small and scared. He had never heard his mother talk about his dad this way before. Karen took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in her throat. "When your dad was born, Chip," she began, her screen filled with a sadness that threatened to spill over, "his brain was injured during delivery. When the doctors pulled him out, they didn't realize how fragile he was and they..." Her voice trailed off, the memory too painful to recount. "They had to get him out and applied too much force on his head, which caused some damage. It gave him a type of condition, where he's on what's called autism spectrum." Chip's eyes widened, his grip on his shirt tightening. "But that's not his fault, right?" he asked, his voice a hopeful whisper. He didn't want to think of his dad as damaged or broken. Karen nodded, her screen filled with love for both her husband and her son. "No, honey, it's not his fault," she said, her voice steady. "It's just how he's. And it's not something you can see or touch. It's like having a radio in your head that's always tuned to the loudest station, and sometimes the static gets too much."

CHIP AND FAIL xi (Autistic author) Karen made chum for dinner and they all sat at the table. "Thanks," Plankton says to Karen as she hands him his plate. She sits down with her own plate after serving Chip his. "Hi, Dad," Chip said tentatively, his voice a whisper in the stillness of the room. Plankton's antennae twitched, but his eye remained fixed on his plate. The silence was a wall between them, thick as seaweed and just as impenetrable. Chip's heart felt like it was sinking into his stomach, the weight of his father's silence heavier than any words could have been. Karen's screen darted between them, a silent plea for peace. She knew this was Plankton's way of dealing with his overwhelm, but it was torture for Chip, who craved understanding and connection. "So, how's your friends?" Karen asks Chip. Chip shrugs, his screen darting to Plankton, who remains silent, his antennae still. "They're okay," he says, his voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. Karen sighs internally, the tension at the dinner table a heavy fog that seemed to smother their usual banter. "Karen, can you pass the napkins?" Plankton says. "Sure," she says as she puts them in the middle. "Dad, how do you feel about the food?" Plankton's antennae twitched but his gaze remained on his plate, his mouth a tight line. The silence was a thick stew that no one knew how to digest. Chip's eyes were filled with hope, searching for any sign of his father's usual playfulness, but all he found was a wall of quiet. Chip's voice was a feeble ripple in the vast ocean of their silence. "Dad, can I get you a drink?" he offered. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he remained silent, his eye never leaving his plate. The air was thick with tension, like seawater saturated with the weight of their unspoken words. Chip churned with anxiety, each bite of chum a reminder of the gap that had suddenly widened between him and his father. "Please, Dad," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the clink of their forks. Plankton's antennas remained still, his eye focused on the food before him. Karen's heart was a tight knot in her chest, her eyes darting between her husband and son. The silence was a living creature, a Kraken of tension coiled around them, squeezing the joy from the room. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile. "So, Chip, tell us about your week," she said, her voice too bright, too forced. Chip took a tentative bite of his chum, his eyes on Plankton's unmoving antennae. "Well, I had a good time at the carnival," he began, his voice a sad echo of his usual excitement. "I won at the ring toss." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he said nothing, his silence a thick, unspoken wall. Chip felt like a deflated balloon, each of his words a futile attempt to pierce the silence. "And I met a new friend," Chip continued, his voice a feeble thread trying to weave through the stillness. "She's a dolphin. She was really cute." Plankton's antennae twitched again, just a little, but it was enough to keep Chip's hope afloat. Chip's voice grew stronger, his words a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of silence. "Her name's Daisy," he said, a tiny smile tugging. "We played in the bubbles." But Plankton's antennae remained still, his eye on his plate. It was as if Chip's words were bouncing off an invisible shield, unable to penetrate the fortress of his father's mind. Chip's smile faltered, his screen filling with unshed tears. He wanted so badly to share his joy with Plankton, but the wall of silence was too high, too thick. He took a deep breath, his hands clenching around his fork. "Dad, I know you're mad at me," he said, his voice trembling. "But I just want to understand." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he said nothing, his face a mask of indifference. The silence grew heavier with each passing moment, weighing down on Chip like an oversized sponge soaked in regret. He knew he had to try again, to bridge the gap. "Dad," he began, his voice shaky but determined. "I know I messed up today, but I want to make it right." He took a deep breath, willing the words to come. "Can you tell me more about your...about what happened to you?" His voice was a tiny bubble of hope rising in the deep sea of their dinner. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flickering up to meet Chip's for a brief moment before dropping back to his plate. The silence stretched on like a tight rubber band, threatening to snap. Karen's screen a tempest of concern, torn between her love for her husband and her desire to help her son. She knew Plankton needed his space, but seeing the pain in Chip's screen was like watching a piece of coral being slowly eroded by the sea. Chip's words hung in the air, like a message in a bottle lost at sea. Plankton's silence was a reef that Chip's words couldn't navigate around. He took a deep breath, his heart a conch shell echoing with hope. "Dad, I know it's hard for you," he tried again, his voice a gentle wave. "But if you don't tell me, how can I understand?" The room was a pressure cooker of unspoken emotion, the tension rising with each passing second. Karen's screen pleaded with Plankton, willing him to respond. But he remained still, his antennae unmoving, his eye a storm cloud over their meal. Chip's heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice, his words falling on deaf antennae. "Dad, please," he whispered, his voice desperate. "I just want to help." But Plankton's antennae remained motionless, his eye averted. The silence was a deep-sea trench between them, vast and unbridgeable. Chip's shoulders slumped, his hope leaking away like water through a sieve. He took another bite of his chum, the taste of it suddenly bitter on his tongue. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second a tiny hammer on the anvil of his heart. Chip forced a swallow, his throat tight with emotion. "Dad," he said again, his voice a tiny ripple in the vast ocean of quiet. "I'm sorry." The room held its breath, waiting for a response, but none came. The silence was a thick kelp that choked, suffocating any attempt at conversation.

CHIP AND FAIL xii (Autistic author) Karen knew her husband's withdrawal was a defense mechanism, a way to cope with the sensory overload. But watching Chip's pain was like watching a school of fish caught in a net, thrashing against the confines of their misunderstanding. Chip pushed his chum around his plate, his appetite lost in the whirlpool of emotions. "Dad," he tried again, his voice a soft wave breaking on the shore of Plankton's silence. "I don't know what to do." Chip felt like a tiny fish adrift in the vast sea of his father's displeasure. "I just want to be there for you," he murmured, his words a desperate plea. But Plankton's antennae remained still, his eye unreadable. The silence was a dense fog, obscuring the usual warmth between them. Chip's heart felt like it was trapped in a fishnet of doubt and confusion. Karen watched the exchange with a heavy heart, her own plate of chum barely touched. She knew Plankton's silence was a form of self-protection, his way of reeling in the chaos that had engulfed him. But she couldn't help but feel the barb of it, stinging Chip with each unanswered question. "Dad," Chip whispered again, his voice now a soft ripple in the vast sea of their dinner. "I know you're upset, but I'm trying." He took another tentative bite, his screen never leaving Plankton's still form. "Can we talk about it? What part of today d..." But Plankton's antennae remained as stiff as coral, his eye unyielding. The silence was a thick kelp forest, entangling any attempt at communication. Chip didn't know what else to say, what else to do. Karen's screen searched the horizon of Plankton's face, looking for any sign of relenting. But he was an isolated island, unreachable. She knew the storm inside him was still raging, and she could feel the waves of pain crashing against the shore of her own. Chip's voice was a sad melody, his words a school of fish lost in a sea of misunderstanding. "Dad," he whispered again, his voice a soft ripple in the vast ocean of silence. "I know I said the wrong things, but I'm here. I'm listening." Plankton's antennae remained still, his eye a clouded pool. The dinner table was a coral reef of tension, their plates untouched. The only sound was the distant lapping of waves against the shore of their unspoken words. Chip's voice was a lone seagull calling out into the vast sea of silence. "Dad," he tried again, his voice a desperate cry. "I'm sorry for what I said." But the words fell into the abyss, unheard by the father who was deaf to his son's pain. Plankton's antennae remained still. The tension at the dinner table was thick, obscuring any chance of understanding. "Dad," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Chip's hope was fading. "I'm sorry," Chip murmured again. He didn't know what else to say, his words a futile attempt. His father's antennae twitched slightly. The room was thick with unspoken words. Karen's screen flitted between them, her gaze a beacon of understanding for Chip in the abyss of Plankton's silence. She knew her husband's pain, had seen the storms he weathered in solitude. But she also saw the desperation in Chip's screen, the yearning for connection. "Dad," Chip whispered. "I know I don't understand it all, but I want to learn." Plankton's antennae remained unmoved, the silence a crushing weight that threatened to drown them both. Chip's voice was tiny. He took another bite of chum, his mouth moving mechanically, his screen never leaving Plankton's still form. "Dad," he tried again, his voice a soft whisper. "What can I do?" Plankton's antennae twitched once. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding then letting it out in a slow sigh. Chip was trapped. He had never seen his father so closed off, his usual vibrant spirit dimmed. Karen's eyes were a lifeline, her gaze a gentle nudge towards patience. She knew Plankton's silence was not rejection but a cry for space, a retreat into his own mind. "It's okay," she mouthed. Chip nodded, his screen never leaving Plankton's still form. He could see the pain etched in the lines of his father's face, the way his antennae drooped. He took a deep breath. "Dad," he said, his voice a soft current. "I just want to help." Plankton's antennae twitched, just once, but it was enough for Chip to hold onto. "I'll learn so I can be there to help during temper tantrums.." And there it is. His eye flinched, and suddenly, he was no longer in the quiet room with his son and wife. He was back in elementary school, the laughter of his classmates as they called his meltdowns "tantrums." The taste of the chum in his mouth turned sour. His school teachers had never understood, had never seen the silent storm that raged beneath his calm surface. "Plankton?" Karen's voice was a soft echo, reaching out to him. He blinked, coming back to the present, his gaze meeting hers. Her eyes were calm. Chip's voice was a gentle nudge. "Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's mind was tangled within his thoughts of his past. The word "tantrum" echoed in his head, a reminder of his vulnerability. Karen's eyes searched her husband's, understanding. She reached over, her hand soft on his arm. "Take a moment," she whispered. "We're here for you." Plankton felt the warmth of her touch, grounding him. His antennae twitched slightly, acknowledging her support.

CHIP AND FAIL xiii (Autistic author) Chip's voice was soft. "Dad, I didn't mean to..." But Plankton was stuck. His antennae twitched, a silent signal of his distress. Karen's hand on his arm was a lifeline. She had seen the way the world had treated him, the way his own son didn't understand. "I mean, it's not like you can't just turn it off," Chip said, his voice naive and hopeful. "Why can't you just deal with it? Why do you always have to be so sensitive? You'll get used to it. If not, then you're just being dramatic. So just stop with the tantrums, and be normal." Plankton's unable to take it. "Chip, that's enough," Karen's voice was firm, cutting through the silence, but Plankton's already simmering emotions boiled over. "What?" Chip looked at her, confusion in his screen. "What's wrong with what I said? He's just overreacting.." Karen's eyes were a tempest of emotion. She knew Chip didn't mean to be hurtful, but his words cut through Plankton like a knife. Her hand tightened on his arm, a gentle reminder to think before he spoke. "Chip," she said, her voice firm but kind. "You need to understand that what you just said is not okay." But Chip was oblivious, his screen a puzzle of confusion. "What? I just want to know why you chose to be like a..." "CHIP," Karen interrupts. But Plankton's already in tears, as Chip's gotten to him. "Dad," Chip says. "You know I..." But Plankton can't take it anymore. "How could you?" he chokes out, tears flowing. Chip's eyes widened. He had never seen his father like this. "Dad?" He reached out, his hand hovering, unsure if he should touch him. Plankton looked up, his single eye brimming with sorrow. "Why? How dare you say that?" he whispered, now getting up from the kitchen table. Chip's hand fell to his side, his mouth a sad 'o' of regret. "Dad, no, that's not what I..." But Plankton was already retreating, his antennae drooping with each step. The kitchen door closed with a soft click, leaving Chip and Karen in the wake of his withdrawal. Chip's eyes were wide with disbelief, his heart heavy in his chest. "What did I do?" he asked, his voice breaking the surface of their shared shock. Karen's eyes were pools of disappointment and sadness. "You don't know what you just said," she murmured, her voice a gentle rebuke. "What?" Chip's voice was a sad echo, his confusion palpable. Karen's eyes were a tempest of frustration and sadness. "Chip, what you said was not only hurtful, it was ignorant," she said, her voice a soft wash of disappointment. "You can't tell someone to 'just deal with it' when it comes to autism." Chip's shoulders slumped, his face a mask of regret. "But I just want to understand," he mumbled, his voice a sad echo. Karen's voice tightens with emotion. "You have to learn to listen without speaking," she said, her words carefully chosen. "Your dad's autism is not something he can just 'turn off'." Chip's eyes were wide with shock. "I didn't know," he murmured. "I'm sorry." "You have to understand, Chip. Your father's not being dramatic. He's in pain," she said, her voice cracking. "You can't just tell him to 'deal with it'. That's not how this works." The words stung Chip. He had never seen his mother so upset. "But I didn't know," he protested. "You have to learn to listen," she repeated, her voice soft yet firm. "You can't just assume you understand because you want to." He had wanted to connect, but instead, he had only pushed his father further away. He took a deep breath, the weight of his ignorance heavy on his shoulders. "What can I do?" he asked. Karen took a moment before responding. "Give your father space," she said. "And ask about it first. Understand that his reactions are not his choice." Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. He knew he had messed up, but he didn't know how to fix it. Karen stood, her movements a gentle sway as she walked to Plankton's room, leaving Chip alone with his guilt.

CHIP AND FAIL xiv (Autistic author) Karen opened the door. Plankton's sobs filled the room. She approached him slowly, her movements careful not to startle him. "Plankton?" she whispered, her voice gentle. He was curled up on the bed, his antennae shaking with each gasp. His single eye looked up at her. "I'm sorry," he choked out. Karen sat beside him, her hand on his back in a comforting motion. "You have nothing to apologize for," she murmured, her voice soothing. "It's Chip who needs to understand." Plankton's antennae stopped shaking, his eye focusing on her. "Why doesn't he get it?" he whispered. "Why can't he see..." "Chip loves you," she said. "But he's never had to deal with this before. He's trying to understand." Plankton's antennae quivered. He knew she was right, but the pain of his son's ignorance... The door creaked open, and Chip's face appeared, his eyes red and swollen. "Dad," he began. "Can we talk?" Plankton felt a wave of anger crash over him. How could he forgive his son for not understanding? For not seeing the struggle he faced every single day? "What do you want, Chip?" he snapped. Chip took a tentative step into the room, his screen on Karen. "I just...I didn't know," he mumbled. "I'm sorry." Plankton's antennae shot up. "How could you not know?" he snarled. "How could you be so ignorant?" Chip took a step back. "I didn't mean to make it worse," he said, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to be close to you Dad, and have you..." Plankton's antennae trembled with frustration. "You think I don't want that?" he spat. "You think I enjoy being like this?" Chip's eyes widened. "No, Dad," he said quickly. "I just want to help you show..." But Plankton was drowning in anger. "You think you can help?" he sneered. "You think your naive attempts at bonding can fix what's broken?" Chip felt the sting of his father's words. "Dad, I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's antennae remained still. "Get out," he said, his voice cold. "Just leave me alone." Chip's eyes filled with tears. He had never heard such hostility from his father. "Dad," he pleaded. "I'm trying..." "I WON'T HAVE YOU PITY ME! I've lived with this my whole life, and you think you can just waltz in and 'help'? WELL, YOU CAN'T!" Plankton hissed. Karen can tell he's getting overwhelmed. With a gentle but firm tone, Karen stepped between Chip and Plankton. "Both of you, stop," she said. "This isn't helping." Her eyes met Chip's and then Plankton's. "Chip, your father is not mad at you, he's just overwhelmed," Karen explained. "And Plankton, your son is just trying to understand."

CHIP AND FAIL xv (Autistic author) "But Dad," Chip began, his voice trembling, when Plankton interrupts. "BUT DAD," Plankton mimics, his voice high-pitched and mocking. "You think you know how I feel, but you have no idea!" Karen stepped back. She knew Plankton needed to express his anger, and Chip needed to learn from it. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make it about..." But Plankton's antennae were a flurry of agitation. "You think your stupid need to touch me can just make everything okay? WELL GUESS WHAT, CHIP? IT CAN'T!" He was shouting now, his voice echoing through the room. Chip's eyes filled with hurt. "Dad, I just wanted to tell you about my week," he said, his voice quivering. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's just starting. "You think your convenience more important than my comfort?" he snapped. "Dad," Chip says. "I just wanted to be close..." But Plankton's anger was a raging storm. "YOUR VERSION OF CLOSE IS Suffocation!" he yells, his antennae shaking violently. "You're nothing but a child. All you know is your own need for attention, yet you expect me to be fine with your constant poking and prodding?" Chip's cheeks burned with shame. "That's not fair," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm trying to understand..." But Plankton's antennae were a blur of anger. "Understand? You can't even begin to understand what it's like!" he spat. "You live your life in a bubble, Chip. You've always had everything you've ever wanted, and now you want to 'understand' me? And don't come crying about fairness..." "PLEASE Dad..." But Plankton's anger was unstoppable. "You think you're so clever," he sneered with rage. "With your fancy friends and your easy life. You wouldn't know what it's like to have to fight for every little thing." Chip felt the sting. "Dad," he choked out, "That's not..." But Plankton's words were a tidal wave, crashing down. "You're selfish," he accused. "Always thinking of yourself." Now Chip's getting upset. "I'm selfish? At least I'm not the one who's too busy being a drama queen to see how much I care!" he retorts, his voice a mix of pain and anger. Plankton's antennae shot up. "You dare call me that?" he roared. "You have no idea what it's like to drown in sensory overload, to have your brain betray you every single day!" Chip took a step back, his cheeks red with anger. "You think because I don't understand, I don't care?" he yelled back. "You're the one who's never there for me because of your 'condition'! You're just a shallow, spoiled little..." "ENOUGH! Both of you, stop it right now!" Karen says. Her voice cuts through the argument like a knife, silencing the room. She could feel the anger, the frustration, the hurt in each of their voices.

CHIP AND FAIL xvi (Autistic author) "Both of you, sit down," Karen ordered, her voice firm but not unkind. They complied, their movements jerky with emotion. "Chip, your father's autism is not an excuse for this behavior, but it's also not something to mock," Karen began, looking at her son with serious eyes. "It's a part of him, and we need to respect it." Chip's anger subsided slightly. "But you saw what happened earlier," he said, his voice still shaking. "It's like he doesn't even want to be around me." But Plankton's not quite done. "Why do you think that is, Chip? Go on, smarty, enlighten..." Karen's patience had run out. "Plankton," she said, her voice stern. "That's enough." He glared at Chip, his antennae quivering with anger. Chip looked away from him. "And Plankton," Karen's voice was a gentle reprimand, "Your son's ignorance is not an excuse for anger. We all need to communicate better." Plankton's antennae drooped. "I know," he murmured, his anger easing slightly. "It's just..." Karen's voice was firm. "I know it's frustrating, but we need to work together." She turned to Chip. "And Chip, your father's feelings are valid. You can't ignore them." Chip looked at his father, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Karen's voice was calm as she interceded. "Plankton, can you tell Chip what happened today? Help him understand?" Plankton's antennae stopped shaking. He took a deep breath. "When you touch me without asking," he began, his voice still sharp, "my body can't always handle what yours can." Karen's eyes were a gentle reminder of the lesson she had tried to teach earlier. She nodded for him to continue. "When you poke me or touch me without asking," Plankton said, "it's overwhelming." "I just barely touched you for one second, Dad!" "To you, it's one second," Plankton replied, his antennae drooping. "To me, it's an eternity of discomfort." Karen stepped in. "Chip," she said, "You need to understand that for him, it's not just about physical contact. It's about respecting his boundaries."

CHIP AND FAIL xvii (Autistic author) Plankton quivered with the effort to contain his anger. "Chip, your dad's right," Karen said, her voice a soft current of calm amidst the storm. "You have to learn to respect his boundaries." Plankton's antennae twitched. He looked at Karen, his eye filled with a mix of gratitude and pain. "It's not just the touch," he whispered, his voice raw. "It's the types of touch, the expectations... It's like I'm drowning every day." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "And Chip," she said, turning to her son, "you need to learn to swim without pushing him under." Chip's eyes were wide with understanding. "What can I do?" Karen took a deep breath. "Just ask before you touch," she said. "And if he says no, respect it. Give him space." Chip's eyes searched his father's. "Dad," he whispered. "I'm sorry." Plankton's antennae twitched, a sign of his internal struggle. Karen's hand squeezed his. "Okay, Chip," she said, her voice a gentle guide. "Ask your questions." Chip took a deep breath. "What do you mean by 'ask before I touch'?" he ventured, his eyes on Plankton, his antennae still a blur of agitation. Plankton took a moment before replying. "It means," he began, his voice still sharp, "that I need space. My brain can't handle what yours can!" "But Mom," Chip's voice was still tentative, "How do we know what touch..." But Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye a storm of agitation. "Just ask!" he snapped. "It's not rocket science, Chip. Just. Ask." Chip took a deep breath, his cheeks still flushed with anger. "I'm asking what types of..." But Plankton's antennae were already back to their usual calm state. "I know you're curious," he said, his voice softer. "But I can't just list them. It's different every day. Sometimes, a simple pat on the back is too much. Other times, I crave a hug." Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing with questions. "So, it IS a choice..." But Plankton's antennae drooped. "No, Chip," he said, his voice weary. "It's not a choice. It's survival." "Survival? Dad, a touch won't kill you.." But Plankton's antennae twitched again. "It's not just about living," he said, his voice sad. "It's about living without pain." Chip's eyes searched his father's, seeing the weariness and hurt. He took a step closer, his hand outstretched. "Can I?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton flinched, his antennae shooting up. "What are you doing?" he snapped, his voice tight with anxiety. "Just asking if it's okay," Chip said, his hand hovering in midair. "I don't want to..." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching. "If you're going to ask, make it genuine," he said, his voice softening. "Don't just do it because you think it's the right thing to do." Chip nodded, his hand still hovering. "I want to learn," he said, his voice earnest. "What can I do to make it better?" Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, a hint of softening. "You can start by listening," he said, his voice a little less sharp. "What do you mean?" Chip asked, his hand slowly lowering. "I mean," Plankton began, his antennae calming slightly, "that I need you to understand that my boundaries are not up for negotiation." "But what if I want to hug you?" Chip's voice was hopeful, his arms outstretched and already reaching him. Plankton's antennae shot up again. "Chip, I said no!" he yelled, his voice sharp with pain. "How many times do I have to tell you?" Chip's eyes widened, his hands falling to his side. "But I just..." But Plankton's antennae were a blur of agitation again. "You don't get it!" he shouted. "It's not about what YOU want, it's about what I need!" Chip's eyes searched his father's, his mind racing. "But Dad, I just want to show you that I care," he said, his voice quivering. "Is there no way to do that without making you uncomfortable?" Plankton's antennae twitched. "Chip," he began, his voice weary, "just because you don't see my struggle doesn't mean it's not there." Chip's eyes searched his father's, his hands clenched at his sides. "But how can I show you that I care?" "Sleep, for now," Karen says. "We're all tired. We can talk about this another time." Plankton's antennae dropped slightly, his body visibly deflating. Chip nodded, his eyes on the floor. "Okay," he murmured. "I'll just go to my room." Karen watched him go, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she had to be the one to mend the fracture between father and son. She turned to Plankton. "Bedtime," she said, her voice a gentle nudge. "We're all exhausted. It's late." The next morning, Chip awoke early. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable. The house was eerily silent. He knew he had to make things right for his dad. Chip tiptoed to his parents's room, his heart racing. He pushed the door open. Karen was sitting on the edge of the bed. Plankton was curled up, his antennae twitching slightly. Chip swallowed his pride. "Mom, I'm sorry for what I said," he mumbled. "Can you help me talk to Dad?" Karen's eyes softened. "Your father's still sleeping," she said. "But I'll talk to him when he wakes up." Chip nodded. "I'll wait," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do whatever it takes." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the determination in them. "Alright," she said, her voice a soft caress. "But remember, it's not about fixing him. It's about understanding him." Chip nodded solemnly. "I know," he said. "I just want to be there for him." Karen's eyes filled with pride. "That's all we can ask for," she said. "But you have to be patient." Chip goes to his mom's bed, sitting down. "I'll wait," he says. "I'm not leaving until we talk." Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I'll stay with you," she says. "But remember, we have to give him space." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's sleeping form. He studies Plankton, his antennae twitching slightly in his sleep. He tries to imagine what it's like for his dad, to live in a world where a simple touch could be torture. He watches the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, the gentle sway of his antennae. He notices how peaceful he looks when his mind isn't bombarded by the world's sensory assault, the way his mouth is slightly open. "Mom," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "What does Dad's autism mean for his sleep?" Karen sighs, her eyes still on Plankton. "It means that his brain is always on alert," she explains. "Sleep can be elusive for him. Sometimes, the smallest sound can keep him awake for hours." Chip nods, his gaze still on Plankton. "What happened yesterday when I... Dad was unresponsive?" Karen sighs. "Sensory overload," she says. "It's like your brain has too much to process, so it just shuts down." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "Was he like, awake?" he asks. "Sort of," Karen replies, her eyes never leaving Plankton's restless form. "It's like he's trapped in his own head." "Could he hear me?" Chip's voice was a mix of fear and hope. "Could he feel anything?" Karen looked at her son, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she was about to reveal a painful truth. "He heard you," she said gently. "But his brain couldn't process it all." Chip felt a lump in his throat. "Could he see?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. Karen nodded, her eyes still on Plankton. "He could see you," she said. "But it's like his brain was stuck in a loop, replaying the same scene over and over." Chip felt the weight of his father's pain, his own chest constricting. "How long do they usually last?" Karen's gaze remained on Plankton. "It varies," she said. "Sometimes just seconds, other times hours. It all depends on how overwhelmed he gets."

CHIP AND FAIL xviii (Autistic author) Chip's eyes grew wide with realization. "So that's why he..." But before he could finish, Plankton's antennae began to stir, his body shifting slightly in the bed. Chip's breath caught in his throat as he watched his father's face contort. "It's not uncommon for someone with autism to have trouble with sleep." Karen whispers. "He's okay." Chip's eyes remained glued to his father, watching as the twitching grew more pronounced. Plankton's antennae quivered and he let out a soft whine. Karen's hand reached for Plankton's, her thumb stroking his gently, her voice a gentle coo. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispered, her hand stroking his arm. Karen's voice remained steady, her hand never leaving Plankton's arm. "It's okay," she whispered, her eyes on Chip. "He's just..." Chip took a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out to mirror Karen's. His fingertips brushed Plankton's arm. "Dad?" he whispered, looming over him. With a gasped jolt, Plankton's eye flew open, his antennae shooting straight up with a yelp at the sight of Chip looking over him. "Don't touch me!" he screamed, his voice a mix of fear and anger. Chip's hand shot back as if burned. He stepped away quickly, his eyes wide with shock. "Dad," he began, his voice shaky. But Plankton's antennae were a blur of agitation. "I said no!" he shouted. "Can't you just leave me alone?" Chip's eyes filled with hurt, but he stepped back, his arms dropping to his sides. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Karen's voice was a soft whisper, trying to soothe Plankton. "It's okay, honey," she said, her hand still on his arm. "Chip's just trying to help." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye darting from Karen to Chip and back again. "I don't want his help," he said, his voice tight with anger. "I just want to be left alone." Chip felt his heart sink. "But Dad," he protested, his voice cracking. Plankton's antennae stopped moving. He took a deep, shaky breath. "Chip, you have to understand," he said, his voice strained. "I need my space." Karen's eyes were filled with compassion as she turned to Chip. "Give him some time," she said gently. Chip nodded, his eyes still on his father. "But what if he doesn't want me to come back?" Karen's voice was firm. "He doesn't have to be ready right now," she said. "But we'll work on it." Chip's eyes searched hers, seeking reassurance. "But what if he never is?" Karen's voice was a gentle reminder. "He's your father, Chip. And you love him. Give him the space he needs, but don't give up." Chip nodded, his eyes still on Plankton's rigid form. "Okay," he murmured. "But how do I..." But Karen's voice was firm. "You'll learn," she said. "We'll all learn together." She stood, her hand sliding off Plankton's arm. "For now, let him rest. We'll talk more later." Chip nodded, his gaze lingering on his father's tense form. He turned to leave the room, his shoulders slumped with the weight of his newfound understanding. As he closed the door softly behind him, he heard Plankton's muffled sobs, and it was like a dagger to his heart. He leaned against the wall, his eyes brimming with tears. "What have I done?" he thought. Karen's hand was a warm comfort on Plankton's shoulder, guiding him back to the bed. "Let's sit," she said, her voice soft and soothing. Plankton's antennae slowly lowered as he sat down, his body still tense with emotion. "I just... I can't," he said, his voice breaking. Karen pulled him into a gentle embrace, her arms a warm cocoon around his trembling form. "You don't have to," she whispered. "You've been through enough." Plankton's antennae quivered against her shoulder. "But what about Chip?" he managed through his sobs. "He deserves better." "He deserves to understand," Karen said, her voice a gentle lullaby. "And we'll help him get there." Plankton's sobs quieted, his antennae still quivering against her shoulder. He took a shaky breath. "I don't know if I can," he said. "Every time I think we're making progress..." "Shh," Karen whispered. "We're getting there." She held him tighter. Plankton's antennae stilled, his body relaxing slightly into the warmth of her embrace. He closed his eye, his breathing evening out. Within minutes, his antennae were a gentle sway against her neck, a sign that sleep was claiming him. Karen held him tightly, her own body tense with the weight of his pain. She knew this was a small victory, but it was a step in the right direction. As she felt him drift off, she whispered, "We'll get through this together." Plankton's antennae stilled completely, his body finally giving in to the comfort of his wife's embrace. Karen's heart ached as she felt his tension melt away, his breaths evening into the rhythm of sleep. The room was a canvas of early morning light, casting soft shadows on their intertwined forms. Plankton's antennae had finally stilled, their gentle sway a testament to his deep slumber. His body was relaxed, no longer a battleground for sensory overload. Karen's arms remained wrapped around Plankton's shoulders, her grip gentle yet firm. His antennae, which had been a maelstrom of anxiety, now laid calmly against her neck, each twitch replaced by a steady breath. The room, bathed in the soft glow of early dawn, was a sanctuary of quietude. The tension from the previous night had been replaced by the serene rhythm of his snores, a melody that spoke of his body's surrender to rest. Chip tiptoed back to the bedroom door, his heart a drum in his chest. He peeked in, his eyes immediately finding his father, still asleep. Karen was there, her arms around Plankton's shoulders. The sight of them together, his mother's comforting embrace, his father's peaceful rest, was a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before. Chip's heart clenched in his chest, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He wanted so badly to be a part of that peace, but he knew he had to earn it. He took a tentative step into the room, his eyes never leaving his father's sleeping form. Karen looked up, her eyes heavy with the weight of the night's events. She offered a small smile, a silent gesture of support. "How is he?" Chip asked, his voice a whisper in the early morning stillness. "As well as can be," Karen replied, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "But we need to talk." Chip nodded, his heart racing as he stepped closer to the bed. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes on his father's still form. Karen's gaze met his, her expression a mix of love and concern. "We all are, Chip," she said, her voice a gentle breeze. "But it's important to learn from this." Chip nodded, his eyes still on his father. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice tentative. Karen looked up at him, her eyes filled with understanding. "For now, just give him space," she said. "He needs to wake up on his own terms. You've apologized," she said. "Now you have to show it." Chip nodded, his heart heavy. "What do you mean?" Karen took a deep breath. "It means," she began, "that you need to respect his boundaries. Ask before you touch him. Give him time to process what's happening. And when he says no, accept it." Chip nodded, his eyes still on Plankton. "But what if I accidentally..." Karen's voice was a firm, yet gentle, guide. "You'll learn," she said. "It's about paying attention, Chip. Watching his body language, his antennae. They'll tell you when he's reaching his limit." Chip nodded, his eyes still on Plankton's sleeping form. "But what if I miss the signs?" his voice filled with fear. Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the earnestness in them. "You won't always get it right," she admitted. "But the important thing is that you keep trying." Chip nodded, his gaze falling to his father's antennae. They were still, no longer a whirlwind of distress. "I will," he promised.

CHIP AND FAIL i (Autistic author) Chip, adopted at birth by Karen and Sheldon Plankton, had spent a week with some college buddies and is coming home! Getting off the bus, he goes to open the front door, eager to see his family. "I'm home!" he called out, going inside. The house was unusually silent, but Chip knew his mom was probably busy in the kitchen, and his dad, Plankton, was likely in their room, lost in his mechanical reveries. Chip dropped his backpack by the door to find his mom. "Mom! I'm back!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the hallway. Karen poked her head out. She looked surprised, then a bit nervous as she quickly turned off the oven. "Oh, Chip, sweetheart, I'm so glad you're home," she said, her smile forced and eyes darting towards the closed door of Plankton's bedroom. Chip noticed the tension and frowned. "Where's Dad?" Karen's smile faltered. "He's fine," she assured him, forcing a lightness into her tone. Karen never told Chip about Plankton being on the autism spectrum. It's something he never shares, and only Karen knew about it. They don't intend for Chip to know even though Karen feels bad about not saying anything. Chip thus didn't know that any sudden interaction could send him into a tailspin of sensory overload. "Dad?" he called out, his voice tentative. Karen's eyes widened. She moved swiftly, placing a hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't you go unpack?" she suggested, guiding him back to the living room. The tension in her voice was palpable, but Chip was too excited to question it. He sat down on the couch, his thoughts racing. It had been a week since he last saw his dad, and he had so much to tell him about his college adventures. He could almost hear the enthusiastic questions Plankton would ask about his studies and new friends! So Chip decides to go see him. Plankton was sitting at his bed. "Surprise!" Chip exclaimed, thrusting open the door and stepping in. Plankton flinched, but Chip doesn't notice. Chip was like a puppy eager to share love. Plankton's head felt like it was about to split open with the onslaught of stimuli. Chip didn't realize that the suddenness of his entry was a problem. Plankton's eye grew wider as Chip rushed over. "Whoa, Dad, guess what?" Chip asked, his voice full of life. He sat down beside Plankton, his heart thumping with excitement. Plankton's eyes darted around the room, his breaths shallow and quick. "I made friends with a squirrel! Her name's Nutmeg. She's the smartest animal on campus. And she loves physics! Can you believe it?" Plankton's condition meant that sudden noises and intrusions could overwhelm him. But the sensory assault was making it difficult to form coherent thoughts, let alone respond with the enthusiasm Chip deserved. He needed time to process his surroundings, to prepare for interaction. But Chip was always so full of life, so eager to share, and he had no way of knowing the effect his enthusiasm could have. He placed a hand on Plankton's shoulder, not knowing about his sensory disorder. "I've missed you so much, Dad," Chip said, leaning in to give his father a hug. The sudden contact was like a thunderclap in Plankton's mind, and he recoiled slightly. But Chip was already deep into his story about a physics experiment gone wrong that had left the lab in a tizzy. He talked with his hands, gesturing wildly as he described the chaos. Plankton sat rigidly beside him, trying to focus on the words, trying not to let the noise and motion consume him. "So, we had to build a catapult to launch a watermelon across the quad," Chip continued, laughing at the memory of the mess they had made. Plankton's face remained expressionless, his eye unfocused. "It was so cool!" Chip said, his hand landing on Plankton's knee. The sudden touch sent a jolt of sensation through Plankton's body, like an electrical current. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "You should've seen it fly!" Chip, oblivious to his father's distress, just beamed wider, eager for more reaction. Plankton was battling to stay present, to connect with his son, but the environment was turning toxic for him, the sensory input bombarding. Chip's eyes lit up even more. "Oh, Dad, you won't believe it! There's this guy, Larry, he's like the human encyclopedia of comic books. And Sally, she's a whiz at chemistry, and she makes the best slime! We're going to start a science club together!" The colors in the room seemed to intensify, the sounds of Chip's voice and the rustle of his clothes like a symphony of chaos. Plankton felt the world closing in. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, trying to process the flood of new faces and names and ideas. He desperately wished he could share in Chip's excitement, but the effort was exhausting.

CHIP AND FAIL x (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae quivered, his body trembling. "You want to help?" he demanded, his voice a thunderclap. "Then LISTEN!" His antennae shot straight up, his body rigid with tension. "Just because I freeze up, it doesn't mean you get to paw at me like a sea urchin without a care in the world!" Chip's screen filled with hurt, his hands dropping to his sides. "But Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to make it better, seeing you're not acting like an adult or even a good dad with your dramatically fitful tantrum." His words were like salt on an open wound, but he didn't know better, his innocence a blunt weapon. Plankton's antennae snapped back, his eye narrowing. "Out," he said, his voice a glacial wind. "You don't get to be in here right now." Chip's eyes filled with shock, then hurt, as the reality of his father's words sank in. "But Dad, I didn't mean..." But Plankton was a wall of ice, his antennae stiff and unyielding. "No, get out," he repeated, his voice a chilling wind that sliced through Chip's protests. "I want you out of my sight, Chip. Just go." His eye was a storm cloud, threatening rain. Chip felt the sting of his dad's words, the coldness of his rejection. He took a step back, his hand dropping to his side. "But Dad, I just want to..." But Plankton's antennae remained stiff, his voice unyielding. "Out," he repeated, his eye a storm cloud ready to burst. "You don't get to stay here after saying that." Chip's eyes searched his father's, his own filled with a mix of hurt and bewilderment. "But Dad," he whispered, "I don't..." But Plankton's antennae remained rigid, his voice like ice. "I said, OUT." His anger was a palpable thing in the room, a force that pushed Chip backward, despite his father's physical stillness. With a final look of hurt and disbelief, Chip turned and left, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like the ghosts of all the moments he had hoped to share with his father. Plankton watched him go, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. Those words Chip used might as well be unforgivable. Karen's eyes were wide with concern, but she knew better than to push him in that moment. She knew his triggers, and how Chip inadvertently said the wrong thing. She knew he actually doesn't want to bring attention, and being told his pleas for boundaries have been called tantrums, by his own son, in his own room... Karen knew how his moments of 'twitching' and 'freezes' and 'mishaps' and 'venting' as he preferred to call them, being called tantrums... Plankton closed his eye, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his own tears. Karen approached him cautiously, her screen filled with worry. "Honey, are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle as a summer breeze. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body slumped in the chair. "No," he murmured, his voice thick with pain. "But I will be." He took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling like the tides. Karen watched him, her heart in her throat. She knew the storm would pass, but the wreckage it left behind was always the same. She reached out a tentative hand, her touch feather-light on his shoulder. "Do you want me to explain to Chip?" she offered, her voice a whisper. Plankton's antennae twitched, his body still trembling. "No," he managed to say, his voice a rasp. His eye remained closed, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Karen's hand hovered for a moment before retreating, her heart breaking for her husband. "Okay," she murmured, giving him the space he needed. She knew the importance of respecting his boundaries now more than ever. "He just didn't know how much his wording hurt you.." "I know," Plankton said, his voice barely audible. "But that doesn't make it sting any less." He took another deep breath, his antennae twitching with the effort of calming his racing thoughts. Karen's hand hovered over him, wanting to comfort but knowing not to push. "If he asks, can I tell him? You know, so he doesn't..." Plankton's antennae twitched again, his eye finally opening. "Only if he specifically asks about it," he said, his voice stronger now. "Otherwise he needs to understand for himself and figure it out if he wants to help so bad." Karen nodded, her screen filled with understanding. She knew her husband's pride and the importance of their son coming to terms with his condition without being forced to. She gave him a gentle squeeze. "I'll be here," she said. "For both of you." The room remained silent for a long moment, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Plankton took another deep breath, his antennae slowly unfurling. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice a whisper. Karen's eyes searched his, her hand still on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress. Plankton took a moment to consider. The storm in his head was beginning to abate, the pain lessening with each passing second. "I'd just like some time to myself." Karen nodded, her screen filling with love and sadness. "I'll make sure he doesn't bother you," she promised, her voice a soft whisper. She knew how important it was for Plankton to have space. Chip stood in his room, the closed door a barrier between him and his father's pain. He felt like a sea urchin thrown onto the sharp rocks of misunderstanding, his spikes no match for the storm of emotions that had just erupted. He couldn't help but wonder if he had made things worse. He had wanted to connect, but instead, he had hurt the one person he loved most. His mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of his father's behavior. The words "autism spectrum" echoed in his thoughts, a mysterious code he hadn't known existed. He had heard the term before, but it had always been a distant concept, not something that could affect his own life. He sat down on his bed, his hands shaking. He felt like he had just been handed a treasure map without knowing how to read it. His dad's condition was a treasure, a key to understanding the man he idolized, but the map was written in a language he hadn't learned. With each passing second, the weight of his father's words grew heavier. He had never thought about the world from Plankton's perspective, had never considered that his touch could be anything but comforting. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, knocking the wind out of him.

CHIP AND FAIL vi (Autistic author) Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, looking for the spark that meant he was coming back to her. Slowly, the panic in his gaze faded, replaced by the familiar look of love and confusion. "I'm here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay." Plankton's body finally unclenched, his muscles relaxing under her gentle touch. The storm in his mind was receding, leaving behind a quiet beach of clarity. He didn't know what had happened, only that it was bad. Karen knew the routine, the dance of calming Plankton after a meltdown. But Chip didn't know. He was just trying to share his excitement, to reconnect with his father after a week apart. He didn't know that his touch, his laughter, his stories, were all too much for Plankton to handle. As Karen worked to bring Plankton back to reality, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow for Chip. He had no idea how his love was received, no way to understand that his actions could cause such pain. She had to find a way to explain, to help both her husband and her son find a way to connect without setting off the sensory bombs that lurked just beneath the surface. "K-Karen?" Plankton murmurs as he slowly returns to himself. The room stops spinning, the noises dulling to a gentle hum. He looks around, confusion etched in every line of his face. "You're okay," she whispers. Her heart breaks for her husband, for the silent battles he fights every day. She knows Chip doesn't understand, that his love and excitement are a minefield for Plankton's sensitive mind. But she also feels a pang of anger. How could she have let this happen? She had hoped that Chip's visit would be a celebration, a chance for them to bond. Instead, it had become a reminder of the chasm that sometimes separated them, a stark reality of Plankton's condition. Chip's sobs from the next room were a constant reminder of the pain he had inadvertently caused. Karen knew she had to talk to him, to explain. "Chip, sweetheart," she called, her voice carrying a gentle authority. "Can you come out here, please?" Chip's heart was still racing, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and stepped out of his room, his gaze flickering to his dad, then back to his mom. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice small and unsure. Karen nodded, her screen filled with a mix of love and exhaustion. "He's okay," she said, "Honey, it's time we tell Chip. Can I help you sit up, so you can tell him?" Plankton nodded weakly, his body still feeling like it was made of lead. Karen helped him into a sitting position, her eyes never leaving his. "You're okay," she repeated, her voice a gentle reminder. Chip stared at Plankton. "Dad?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton looked up at him, his eye still clouded with the aftermath of the storm. "Chip," he began, his voice weak, "I'm sorry." But Chip was already there, kneeling beside his dad, his screen wide with relief and confusion. "What happened?" Chip asked, his voice trembling. "Why didn't you answer me? You just ignored me!" Karen's screen filled with compassion as she placed a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Your dad's not ignoring you," she said gently. "He has something to tell you." Plankton took a deep, shaky breath, the words sticking in his throat. He had always been afraid of this moment, of the day Chip would find out. "I... I, I just..." Karen squeezed his hand, her gaze filled with understanding. "It's okay," she said softly. "You can tell him." Plankton took another deep breath, his voice trembling as he began. "Chip, I'm... I..." "Dad?" Chip leaned in, his screen filled with hope and concern. Plankton swallowed hard, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders. "I have... I've got..." "Tell me, Dad," Chip said, his hands going to clutching his dad's arm. Plankton winced at the sudden contact, his body tensing again. Karen saw it, the brief flicker of pain in his eye. She quickly stepped in, placing a hand on Chip's arm. "Give him a moment, honey," she said, her voice filled with gentle guidance. Chip's screen searched hers. He slowly removed his hand, backing away slightly. "Dad, tell me," he said, his voice desperate. "What's wrong?" Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae drooping. "Chip," he managed, "I've..." But Chip was already there, his hands on his father's shoulder. "Dad, tell me," he said, his voice filled with urgency. Plankton's body tensed at the touch. Karen stepped in quickly, guiding Chip's hand away. "Let him speak, honey," she said softly. Plankton took another deep breath, his antennae quivering as he gathered his thoughts. "I have a..." "Dad, if it's something bad..." Plankton's antennae quivered, his face a mask of pained effort. "Chip..." Chip's eyes were glued to his dad, his mind racing with questions. Why can't Dad just tell me? He's always been so strong, so independent. Why is this so hard for him? Plankton took a moment, his eye searching for the right words. "It's just..." Chip leaned in closer. All he knew was that his father was in pain and he needed to fix it. "Just tell me, Dad!" he said, his voice earnest. "Whatever it is..." But Plankton was lost again, his mind swirling with sensations. He could feel Chip's screen on him, hear his desperate pleas, but the words remained trapped. He closed his eye, trying to gather his thoughts. "Chip," he finally managed, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm not..." "You're not what?" Chip's voice was filled with concern and a hint of impatience. Plankton opened his eye with a sigh, his gaze meeting Chip's. "Son..." "Dad, please, tell me!" Chip's excitement was palpable, his body vibrating with the need for connection. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae drooping slightly. "Chip, I'm..." But Chip, fueled by his eagerness to connect, didn't give him the space. "Come on, Dad," he said, his hands landing on Plankton's shoulders again. Plankton flinched, his eye squeezing shut as the touch sent a shockwave through his body. "Chip," he groaned, his voice strained. "Please..." But Chip's enthusiasm didn't wane, his voice growing more desperate. "Dad, tell me!" He didn't understand the pain he was causing, his need for a response only adding to the pressure on Plankton, irritating his frustration as he squeezed his shoulders harder. "Just..." Plankton's eye snapped open, his body recoiling from the intensity of his son's touch. The words he had been trying to form shattered like glass under the weight of his sensory overload. "Chip, STOP!" he yelled, his voice cracking with frustration and pain. The sudden outburst shocked both Karen and Chip into stillness. His dad had never talked to him like that before. "What..." But Plankton's agony was like a dam bursting. He pushed Chip away, his voice a shout of desperation. "I CAN'T, CHIP!" Chip staggered back, his expression a mix of shock and hurt. "But why?" he asked, his voice trembling. Plankton took a deep, shaky breath, his body still reeling, his voice strained. "I have... I have..." Chip's eyes searched his father's. Why couldn't his dad just tell him what was going on? "What, Dad?" But Plankton was retreating back into himself, his mind a whirlwind of sensation and frustration. "It's too much," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your..." "What's too much?" Chip interrupted, his voice rising with confusion. "My what?" Plankton's antennae drooped as he searched for a way to explain. He had always kept his condition to himself, fearful of the misunderstanding it might bring. "Chip," he began, his voice trembling with the effort of finding the words. "You..." But Chip's excitement was a wave, crashing over the delicate barriers Plankton had built. "You're not telling me something," he said, his voice filled with accusation. "What is it!" His touch was like sandpaper on sunburned skin, each word a jab at Plankton's already overwhelmed mind. Plankton's eye darted around the room, his antennae twitching wildly. The pressure was too much, the noise of Chip's voice like a siren. He could feel the beginnings of a panic attack, his chest tightening. "Chip, please," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need a moment." But Chip's excitement was a force of nature, unyielding and relentless. "But I just want to tell you about my week, about the robot and Nutmeg!" He didn't know that his words, his touch, were like a tornado in Plankton's mind, a storm he couldn't weather.

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𐙚⋆°. ౨ৎ ౨ৎ 𐙚 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 🐬°˖𓍢ִ໋ 🐋✧°.🐟⋆ 🐬°˖𓍢ִ໋ 🐋✧°.🐟⋆ 🐬°˖𓍢ִ໋ 🐋✧°.🐟⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ 🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.🎀🪞🩰🦢🕯♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

𐙚 𓇢𓆸

🖖😉🤭💨

i <3 lana del rey ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ྀིྀི^ྀི⭒me

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⣿⣷⣶⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣦⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⢟⣺⡽⢛⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⠁⡀⢀⠠⠁⠀⠄⠀⠥⠤⠉⠉⠙⠛⠿⠿⣶⣦⣄⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣷⡫⣿⣾⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠠⡛⣁⣂⠄⠀⠒⠁⡄⠄⠀⠂⠐⠔⠠⣀⠠⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⣾⣹⣗⡀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣮⢵⣿⠟⠀⠁⠀⠀⠄⠔⠊⠀⠀⡀⠀⠊⠐⡈⡈⠀⠃⠀⠀⠈⠠⠀⠀⠀⣀⢦⡄⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⡷⣻⠟⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣫⣼⡗⠁⠀⠀⠀⡈⠂⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠁⠁⡀⠈⠂⠂⠀⢤⡀⡀⠀⢨⢄⡀⠨⠐⡙⢷⡀⠈⢿⣿⣏⣿⡓⡿⣯⣿⣀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⢿⡿⣼⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠔⡈⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠈⠅⠀⠠⠁⠁⢄⠀⠢⡀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠉⢄⠒⠄⠈⠻⣦⣾⣿⣿⠥⠾⡥⣄⣿⣿⣆⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣻⢟⠃⠀⠀⢀⠄⣠⠂⠀⠑⠀⣿⡥⠁⡐⡀⠁⠀⠠⠀⠀⠐⠀⠘⠀⠘⣧⡀⠀⠀⠈⠁⢠⠀⠈⠹⣿⣷⣿⣦⠘⢿⣮⣻⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠋⢠⡟⠀⠀⢄⢴⡾⡇⡴⢀⠀⠊⠀⠈⣶⡄⠀⡤⠤⡀⠀⠘⢗⡄⠄⠐⠀⡢⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣾⣿⣃⠘⢿⢻⣿⣿⣽⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⡒⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⣼⠃⠀⠠⣾⠋⠨⣿⠀⡄⠀⡆⠙⡁⣹⣿⣄⠀⠀⢩⡈⠀⠨⣷⠁⠀⠀⠤⢀⢂⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡷⡄⢘⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢹⣷⠄⠀⡰⠁⢰⣿⠀⣰⡿⠥⠄⢤⡟⠆⣷⠀⢩⢠⠀⣿⠉⢿⣦⠁⠘⣿⣆⠀⢻⣷⡀⢀⠃⢀⠊⠄⠀⢹⣿⣟⢷⢳⣼⣷⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣾⣿⠀⠠⢘⠀⣸⣿⣰⡻⠁⠄⠀⠀⠔⡺⣿⣖⠐⡨⠀⣾⡁⠀⣿⣷⡶⣓⡿⢻⡮⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣯⡹⣿⣽⣿⣷⢿⡂⠈⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⢽⣿⠀⠀⠁⠀⣸⣿⣿⢵⣿⢵⣦⣄⠀⢸⣉⣿⡄⠒⠄⣿⠀⠀⠈⠘⠯⢿⣧⠈⠻⣿⣿⡀⢀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠄⣿⣗⢿⠿⣾⠎⠘⣾⣇⡁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⢸⡿⢾⡄⠀⠀⣿⣿⡫⠔⣫⢭⢩⣵⢳⡛⠻⣟⠶⠐⠂⣟⣪⢠⣤⢈⣠⠬⣷⣤⣄⡘⢯⡇⢀⠂⠘⢰⡀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣷⣅⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⢸⡇⢸⡆⠀⠀⣿⣿⡂⣽⣿⣩⠹⢯⣉⣛⣑⠘⢾⣬⡄⢹⡻⢈⣴⣿⣾⣲⣽⣟⠿⣿⣿⣇⠰⠀⠈⢠⡇⠀⢸⣿⣷⣺⣿⠀⠀⣸⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⣸⡇⣸⣿⡀⠀⣿⣷⡇⢻⡿⠋⡏⠳⣷⡇⠀⡁⠊⠼⢞⢼⢿⠘⣿⣿⠻⡘⣊⣹⠂⢘⣿⣟⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⢸⣇⣿⣿⡿⡀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣟⣇⠀⣿⡏⠀⢠⠟⡻⠯⠞⠏⡄⠀⠠⠓⢄⠐⠠⠫⢉⠻⠟⠛⠒⠻⣯⡆⠡⣿⠿⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣦⡀⣿⣿⣾⢟⠇⠀⠀⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⢸⢿⣄⠠⠛⡏⢂⢀⠀⢄⣀⣸⢊⠤⠌⣥⡈⢉⡀⠓⢗⠴⠾⠊⠠⠀⣼⡏⠀⠄⣾⣽⣻⡿⢿⣿⣿⣾⣿⡃⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣴⠀⣿⣿⣿⡏⠹⣿⣾⠿⣿⣯⣄⠁⠕⢡⡐⢛⡲⠓⢦⠬⠥⠬⠬⠭⠬⠄⠁⠈⠅⠹⠖⢀⢿⡋⢂⣾⣿⣯⣿⠁⠀⠀⣿⣿⣻⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⣿⢸⣿⣹⣾⡇⠀⠘⢿⣻⣾⢾⣿⡻⢶⣤⣁⡗⠖⡐⠶⠶⠶⡆⠉⢁⠰⠄⠀⠈⢁⣠⣼⣾⡎⣠⢿⣯⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⡈⠻⢟⠺⣾⡸⢿⣿⣎⣽⣿⡷⢶⣶⣶⣦⣶⣿⣶⣷⣶⣿⠿⢟⡿⣿⣺⠝⠉⠉⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣵⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠆⠀⠛⠿⢻⡿⢛⡉⣱⣴⡿⣿⣇⠰⡿⠋⠙⣎⣄⠀⠰⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⡈⠂⠀⡀⣠⡺⢷⣷⠃⡀⢸⣷⣾⠏⠉⢷⡄⢶⣖⢮⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣞⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⡏⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠂⢁⣼⣿⣷⣿⡿⢠⢈⣽⢧⣿⢩⢭⠽⣿⣾⣿⣾⢼⣂⠀⠀⠀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢸⣽⣿⢼⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀ ⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⠾⡿⣟⣷⣺⣿⢸⢀⣿⠀⣿⠈⡆⠀⠈⢿⣟⣿⣴⣇⣧⡀⠀⠀⠁⡆⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀ ⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢿⣗⣟⢹⣿⡋⡿⣆⢸⣿⡆⣿⠀⢸⠄⠤⣲⣿⣿⣭⡞⣿⣻⡄⠀⠀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣷⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣷⠀ ⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠈⣿⣶⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡬⡿⣝⡿⣺⡞⡹⠁⣼⡝⠃⣿⡀⢸⡇⠑⡘⣿⣿⡟⣵⣿⣿⢿⣦⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡄ ⢸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⣈⣿⣟⢴⣝⣧⡘⠁⠀⣹⣷⢶⣟⠁⠀⢳⣣⣀⣘⣿⣧⢻⣿⢾⣿⡟⡇⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠃⠀⢰⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇ ⢸⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠛⠋⢉⣬⡻⣿⡻⣧⣴⣿⣷⣻⣿⣆⢤⣶⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⡻⣿⣿⠤⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧ ⠘⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⣿⣶⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⢾⣿⢿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣷⣿⣻⣿⣤⣈⡚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧ ⠀⢻⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⢻⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠿⣮⣡⣋⣽⣿⠿⣯⣯⠿⣿⣟⡿⣿⣿⣷⠒⠞⠁⠀⠁⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡟⠀⠀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏ ⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣹⣯⣭⣿⣿⣶⣷⣹⣓⣁⠉⣁⣰⣶⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⣼⣿⡏⠀⠀⣼⣿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣯⣿⣿⡺⢷⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠃⢀⣾⣿⣿⠃⢀⣼⣿⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣽⣯⣿⣯⣧⣯⢶⡙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⢃⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣴⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⢿⣼⣿⡿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣷⣷⡠⣤⣟⣿⣯⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠿⠟⠛⠁⠀⢿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒˙✧˖°📷 ⋆｡˚꩜❀✮𓇢𓆸𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆๋࣭ ⭑⚝ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ⋆⭒˚𖠋𖠋𖠋*.⋆ʚɞ✌🏻࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔

I LOVE DOLLSIE BIOS SO MUCH PLS UPLOAD ITS BEEN LIKE MONTHS. DOLLSIEEE. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

🏉,🏀,🇳🇿,🏄‍♂️,♂,👨,👨,👨,👩,👩

ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟMe❤️(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

NEW REALITY i (Autistic author) "You never listen to me, Karen," Plankton groused. "It's a new analyzer I just built! It'll reveal the contents of a patty when I put one in!" Karen, ever the skeptical wife, rolled her eyes. "You mean IF you put one in.." Plankton ignored her sarcasm, but with a deafening pop, the analyzer exploded, sending shards of metal flying in all directions. One of these sharp pieces slammed into Plankton's head, causing him to stumble back. Karen rushed to his side, pushing aside her initial irritation. Plankton's eye rolled back and closed as he crumpled to the floor. "Plankton! Plankton!" Karen's voice grew frantic as she cradled his tiny, limp body. The analyzer's explosion had caused more damage than she could have ever imagined, the injury had rewired his currently unconscious brain irreversibly: autism. Karen carries him to their bedroom, tucking him in his bed. "Plankton," she whispers, brushing his antennae, "Please wake up." But Plankton remains still. Karen sits by the bedside, her eyes never leaving his face. "I'll always be here," she murmurs, squeezing his hand. The quiet hum of their tiny underwater apartment is broken only by the rhythmic pulse of his breathing. Karen starts to think. If only she had taken his inventions more seriously, maybe this accident could have been avoided? She looks at the clock. It's midnight now. The hours tick by, each one lonelier than the last. Karen's thoughts are a tangled web of regrets and fears. What if Plankton never wakes up? Karen can't help but feel like a prisoner to her own guilt. She wonders what their life would be like now. Would Plankton be different? Would he still be the same eccentric genius, or would the injury change him completely? Will he remember her? The sun's first light filters through their bedroom window, casting a warm glow on Plankton's face. Karen's eyes snap open, having dozed off from exhaustion. She sees him stir, his eyelid fluttering. He groans, his eye opening slowly. Karen's heart races. He's alive! "K-Karen," he stammers, confused as to how he ended up in their room. The initial relief is quickly replaced with a knot in her stomach. His speech is stilted, his movements jerky. He tries to sit up, but the effort seems to overwhelm him. Karen reaches out to help, but he flinches at her touch. She notices his eye scanning the room with an intensity she's never seen before, as if he's trying to make sense of everything around him. "Plankton, it's okay," she says soothingly, trying not to let her anxiety seep into her voice. He turns to her, his gaze unfocused. "Karen?" he repeats, this time with more urgency. "What... what happened?" Her heart squeezes tight. "You had an accident with the new analyzer," she explains gently, keeping her voice calm. "It... it exploded and hit you.." Plankton looks around, his eye darting from object to object. "It's okay," Karen says, desperately trying to hold back the tears. "You're just a bit dizzy." But Plankton doesn't seem to be listening. He's too busy inspecting his surroundings, his eye darting around the room in a way that makes Karen feel like she's missing something. "Plankton, do you understand me?" Karen asks, her voice trembling slightly. He nods, but there's a distant look in his eye that makes her stomach drop. The way he's acting, it's like he's seeing their bedroom for the first time, like every detail is both fascinating and overwhelming. Plankton tries to get out of bed, but his legs wobble like jelly. Karen jumps up to support him, her arms wrapping around his thin frame. "Let's go slow," she suggests, guiding him back to the pillows. He simply nods. "Do you remember me?" Karen asks, desperation tinging her voice. His eye focus on her for a moment, then drift away again. "Yes," he says, but it's more of a question than an affirmation. "Karen, wife," he adds, his voice flat and devoid of the usual warmth and sarcasm. The words hang in the air like a lead weight, heavy with implications. Karen swallows the lump in her throat. "You're okay," she insists, as Plankton nods, looking around their bedroom when his gaze lands on the ceiling fan. His eye lights up, focusing intently on it. "Fan," he murmurs, as if discovering the concept for the first time. "Spinning. Round and round." Karen's heart sinks. "Plankton," she begins, her voice cracking, "You're acting different." She doesn't know how to explain what she's seeing, but she's scared of what it might mean. His eye doesn't quite meet hers, and his speech is so... mechanical. "Different?" he echoes, his voice a monotone. "No, the same Plankton." But the way he says it, like he's trying to convince himself, sends a chill down Karen's spine. She tries to shake off the fear, telling herself he's just groggy from the hit. But deep down, she knows it's more than that.

I love you 💗🫶🏽💕🤍i️

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| 0:10⋆.˚🦋༘⋆lori yapping 🤫',SH♥''.,.what are we gonna do 𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥,..,'

⣿⣽⣿⣿⣥⣤⡾⢷⣆⣼⡿⢷⣶⠀⢀⣘⣿⡏⠉⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣭⣽⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⣤⣤⣛⣛⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣸⡟⠳⠾⠃⠈⢻ ⣿⣿⣟⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⢩⣽⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠿⠿⠻⢿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣼ ⣿⠏⢿⣿⡻⡄⠀⠀⣠⣶⣲⣾⣇⣀⣈⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠋⠛⢻ ⣿⠀⠈⢿⣿⡿⠀⢰⣿⣿⡛⠛⠛⣻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣧⣤⣤⣤⣾⡋⣵⠆⠀⠘ ⡇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⠀⠸⣯⣻⢿⣶⣾⣿⠟⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣯⡉⠛⠛⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣦⡄⢱⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣶⣾⠿⠋⠶⠀⠀ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⣽⣿⣧⣠⣶⡷⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠙⠳⠦⠴⠶⢾ ⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣿⢳⡜⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⢿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣼⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣎⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣯⠙⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⠀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸

⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡚⠗⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⢰⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⣷⠁⠀⠀⠘⣿⣟⡲⠛⠀⠀⠆⣰⡟⣷⡀⠀⠑⡗⠀⠀⠀⣠⡗⠁⠀⢀⡿⠋⠛⠷⠎⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠁⠀⠀⢈⣿⣼⡤⣤⣤⠂⡸⡏⠀⢧⣃⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⢲⣶⣖⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣞⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⡆⢠⠇⣾⡟⠉⠛⠛⠹⡄⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣷⣧⣤⣤⣤⣤⡞⠛⠉⠉⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⡄⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣢⣔⢍⢗⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(please)⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⢤⣠⠴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠉⠙⠋⠙⠛⠋⠉⠉⠙⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠋⠉⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⡤⠖⠒⠒⠒⠲⠤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡖⠒⠂⠂⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⢣⠈⠉⠂⠂⠀⠠⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⡇⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠇⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠒⠦⠴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠦⠤⠤⠤⠼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠸⣷⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠒⠒⠋⠉⠉⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⡃⠀⠀⠈⡀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⡆⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠒⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

🥰💖💗

ʚ ִֶָ☾.🎀!!────୨ᰔyouᰔৎ────ᵎᵎ 🎀࣪ ִֶָ☾.ɞ

ᗰ𝘪𝘴𝘴 ᑭo͏o͏𝘬𝘪𝘦ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ˚.🎀༘⋆

So...⸫⸫⸫𓆩♡𓆪

🌸💌🌹❤😍

sub to fishwiffbubbles on yt! ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚. (tysm <3)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢨⠃⠀⠀⣀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣠⢼⠒⠒⠛⠉⢰⣹⡵⡇⠀⠀⡔⠉⢹⡀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡏⢱⠀⠔⣉⡩⠇⠀⢂⡘⠀⢀⠖⢢⠀⠀⣶⠀⡤⠀⠀⢀⡖⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢯⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠃⠀⡇⠀⠀⡅⡀⡙⡅⢀⣸⢆⠀⠉⡟⢙⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⡜⠄⠀⠘⣆⠎⠀⠀⡹⠉⡇⠀⢀⡎⠙⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠹⣄⡠⠵⠕⠃⠓⠋⠀⠈⠦⠜⠀⠘⢄⡀⣀⠔⠋⠀⠑⣄⡰⠓⠦⣀⣠⠇⠀⠘⠦⠟⠀⢀⡵⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

❤️😏💑👩‍❤️‍👨👩‍❤️‍👨👩‍❤️‍👨👩‍❤️‍👨❤️❤️❤️💏💏💏💝💝💝nྀི👩‍❤️‍👨🥰❤S𑁤ˎˊ˗˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚💌▶🦸

( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡).⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

ᯓᡣ𐭩

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠈⢌⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠁⠀⡀⢈⠀⠈⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢋⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⢰⠩⢀⣴⡶⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⣄⡉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⢈⣹⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⣠⠀⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⣠⠘⠌⠂⠰⠿⠋⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣯⡴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⡂⡸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠠⡘⢤⠳⣦⠙⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠒⢡⠈⣴⣿⣷⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠋⣤⣶⣶⣬⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠙⣦⠑⡌⠓⡆⠁⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢹⡿⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠦⠤⣀⠀⣁⣠⣬⣤⣤⣷⣶⣿⣿⣦⣌⡛⢿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠘⠲⡈⠣⡀⠀⢀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠠⢸⠃⢰⡻⠛⠉⠁⠄⣰⣶⣿⠋⠛⣿⣿⣻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣙⠻⣿⣿⣦⠙⣿⣿⣿⣦⡁⠘⢧⡌⠲⣄⣦⡈⠻⢿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠂⠀⠀⠁⠀⠐⠁⠘⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠂⠤⠉⠛⣿⣿⣦⡈⢿⣿⣇⠈⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠄⠙⡆⠀⣹⣿⡷⢀⣭⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠤⢠⠤⠤⡀⠤⢠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠹⣿⣷⠀⢹⣿⠀⣿⣿⠟⠁⠐⠀⠾⠷⠲⣷⣿⣿⠙⣍⣻ ⡟⢟⢛⣿⠻⠟⠛⠛⠛⠙⠛⠛⠛⠋⠙⠿⠉⣿⣿⡄⠀⡓⠦⡌⠤⣉⠒⡡⠂⡜⡠⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠁⠠⣽⣤⠿⠋⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣏⣠⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣾⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣼⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡄⠈⢀⠐⢂⡔⢣⢘⡡⢘⡡⠒⣌⠱⣡⠒⢤⠒⠤⢠⠀⠀⠗⠀⠘⠈⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠉⠃⠃⡘⢤⢃⠬⣁⢒⡩⢄⠳⢠⠋⠤⡑⢌⠣⠜⡐⠄⡀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣿⠃⠠⢱⢉⠲⢌⠲⢡⠎⠴⣈⠆⢣⠜⡡⠚⠤⢃⠎⡔⢢⠔⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⢀⣸⣿⠀⡱⢊⡜⠢⡍⡜⢡⠚⡰⢁⡚⠔⣊⠴⡉⢎⢅⢢⢈⠁⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⣀⣤⣾⣿⡏⢠⢃⢎⡑⢢⠡⢑⠪⠔⢣⡘⢡⢒⡩⢄⡓⡘⡜⣌⠚⠠⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⡈⠊⢦⡙⣆⠓⣆⢡⣊⣁⣈⠱⢂⡱⠢⡜⢡⡒⠀⣰⣧⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⡀⠓⢠⠀⠈⠂⢏⠴⣃⠖⡌⣆⢫⡑⣆⠳⡌⠴⠁⣰⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢁⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠐⢁⠀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⠈⠑⠘⠢⢑⢎⡱⢬⠉⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣉⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢠⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⠗⠉⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡄⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣻⣽⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⣴⡄⠈⡙⠁⣀⠂⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣠⠀⠀⠀⡠⢆⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⢀⡄⠈⣃⠐⢌⡱⠀⠀⠂⢀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠁⠠⡄⠀⠑⠊⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠁⢰⣦⣀⠛⠿⣧⣏⠦⡐⠄⡀⠁⠠⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⢞⣀⠀⠐⠀⠄⡀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠠⡈⠋⠉⡃⠀⠀⠈⠁⠉⠀⠄⠣⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢠⠀⠊⠳⠒⡌⠀⠁⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣶⠽⢿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠘⢄⠠⠟⢀⡄⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣧⣤⣀⣀⠠⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⡀⢤⡈⠀⠀⢖⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⣙⣋⡙⠛⠛⠻⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡑⢄⡀⠀⢠⣠⣶⣶⡀⠈⠀⠁⢀⢘⣋⣉⣉⠉⠁⢀⠀⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡉⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠅⠐⠒⠉⣠⠤⣍⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠠⠀⠠⡶⣦⡤⠋⢀⣬⠀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

ꙮ🂣🂣🂣ꙮ ▩▰▰▰▰ ▩▰▰▰ ▩▰▰ ▩▰ ▰ ▰▰ ▰▰▰ ▰▰▰▰ ◯ꙮ◯ too large? ∬∵∬∵∬ from ∬∵∬∵∬ from ㋛⊩㋡ to make ∬∵∬∵∬ from ∬∵∬∵∬ from my house to get ∞∬∞ and ∞∬∞ and ∞∬∞ from ∞∬∞ from ∞∬∞ first ㎏⊍㎏ be tomorrow. him in San Antonio.

💋💘💕💖

🤟❤🎨🎭🖼️🖌

hehe im 9 years old and fingering and rubbing is so fun :3 i search up pron when I'm horny, keep making those dots, i like to massage my pussy >_< _________________________ 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 13𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘺. 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘪𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭, 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.

😘🥰✨❤️

💝

me*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚°˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧°.🎀༘⋆

👩‍❤️‍👨,💌,❤

me ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩

hi ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐬˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌈🌊🐬˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY i (Autistic author) Karen's husband, Plankton, was arguing with Mr. Krabs as usual. They've had their fair share of disputes over the years, but this one seemed to be escalating fast. Without warning, Mr. Krabs swung the stove from his kitchen with all his might. It connected with a sickening thud against Plankton's head. Karen gasped as her husband crumpled to the ground. Plankton's eye had rolled back and closed, his body going still as Mr. Krabs left back. Karen knelt beside Plankton and gently tapped his cheek. "Wake up," she murmured, voice trembling. No response. She tried again, her voice a little louder. "Honey, can you hear me?" Plankton's eye remained closed, his antennae limp. Panic began to creep in. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more frightening than the last. What if his tiny brain had been damaged? What if he was in a coma? What if he never woke up? She cradled his minuscule form. The room grew silent as the gravity of the situation sank in, willing Plankton to stir. A tear trickled down her screen. Karen felt for a pulse. It was there, faint but steady. She let out a sigh of relief and picked his tiny body up, cradling him carefully. "I've got to get him to a doctor," she thought. She held Plankton's hand as they performed a brain scan. Karen sat by her husband's side as the machines around Plankton beeped and whirred. The sterile smell of the hospital filled, and the cold white walls seemed to press in around them. Plankton's lying still on the hospital bed. A thick bandage was wrapped around his head, and various tubes connected him to monitors that displayed a symphony of lines and numbers, none of which meant anything to her. She squeezed his hand gently, willing him to wake up. The doctor walked into the room, his lab coat fluttering slightly as he moved. He held a clipboard carefully in his tentacles, studying the information with a furrowed brow. "Mrs. Plankton," he began, his voice soft, "We've finished scans. The good news is that it's not life- threatening. However, we've noticed some sustained atypical brain activity." Karen's eyes widened. "What does that mean?" she asked, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening. The doctor sighed, his expression sympathetic. "Autism. His behavior may change. He might become more focused on his routines, have difficulty with social interactions, and exhibit sensory sensitivity. It's permanent, and no cure. We expect him to wake up soon. We'll ask him some questions to assess and then you can take him home." Karen felt her heart drop. She knew about autism, had read about it in magazines, but never thought it would affect her own family. The doctor left the room, and she was alone with her thoughts, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall as they remove the bandage. The hours ticked by in agonizing slowness as she sat there, praying for him to wake up. The only sounds were the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the occasional muffled conversations from the hallway. Finally, Plankton's eyelid fluttered. He groaned softly, and his hand twitched in hers. Karen leaned in, hope surging through her. "Plankton?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she smiled through her tears. "I'm here," she said, voice shaky. "You're in the hospital, but you're ok." Plankton's eye opened, squinting in the bright lights. He looked around the room, confusion etched on his tiny face. Slowly, his gaze landed on Karen. "What happened?" he croaked, his voice weak. "Mr. Krabs hit you with a stove," Karen explained, her voice a mix of relief and sadness. "They diagnosed you with acquired Autism." The doctor approached with a gentle nod. "Plankton, can you tell me your name?" he asked, ready to jot down notes. Plankton's eye searched the room, finally settling on Karen. "Sheldon Jay Plankton." Karen's grip on his hand tightened offering silent encouragement. The doctor nodded and proceeded with questions. "Tell me when you're born?" "July 31, 1999 10:16.08 am ET!" Karen felt a twinge of pride at her husband's precise answer. The doctor nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. "Tell me more about yourself.." "More about yourself." Plankton echoed. The doctor's offering a gentle smile. "Echolalia. It's a trait that's common in individuals with autism. It can help him process information. Well Plankton has no need for therapy, yet you may want to adjust your daily lives to accommodate. You're free to go!" The drive back to the Chum Bucket was silent, the weight of the diagnosis pressing down on Karen's shoulders. He was quiet too, his eye fixed on the passing scenery. He didn't seem to notice the difference in himself, but Karen knew their lives were changed. Once home, Karen helped Plankton into his favorite chair, surrounded by his inventions and gadgets. The room was a mess, but it was his sanctuary, and she didn't want to disturb it. He seemed more at ease, his eye flicking from one object to another with a sense of familiarity. Would Plankton be the same? Would he still laugh at her jokes, or get angry at the Krabby Patty secret formula? Plankton remained silent, his gaze still locked on his surroundings. Karen felt a pang of worry. Would his obsessive nature become more pronounced? "It's getting late, Plankton." Karen's voice was soft as she guided him to their bedroom. He followed without protest, his movements mechanical. She helped him into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin with a gentle tuck. Plankton lay there, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts a swirl of confusion. "Do you need anything?" she asked, her voice a gentle hum in the quiet room. "Stay, Karen stay." He says. Karen nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Of course, I'll stay," she assured him, trying to keep her voice steady. She took his hand again, feeling the warmth of his palm against hers. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew she'd be by his side. As Plankton's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep, Karen sat there, watching him. She noticed how his grip on her hand had loosened, but didn't dare move. The next day, Karen woke before Plankton did. She hovered over him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. How was she going to wake him up without startling him? She knew that sudden noises could be overwhelming for him now. Karen took a different approach. She stroked his arm with a feather-light touch. His eye brow flinched. Next, she tried speaking his name, starting with a whisper and gradually getting louder. "Plankton," she called, "It's time to wake up." His eyelid twitched, and he blinked his eye open. He looked around. "Karen?" he asked. She nodded with a smile. "Good morning, honey," she said softly. "How are you feeling?" Plankton sat up slowly, his antennae twitching as he took in his surroundings. "Different," he murmured, rubbing his temple. "We're home, Plankton. Remember what happened?" He nodded, his eye glazed over for a moment. "Krabs. The stove." "Yes, but you're ok now," Karen reassured, stroking his cheek with her finger. Plankton nodded again, his antennae twitching nervously. Karen noticed that his movements were more deliberate, his gaze more intense. She decided to keep things simple to avoid overwhelming him with too much information at once. "Let's get breakfast," she suggested. Plankton followed her into the kitchen, his steps slower than usual. The clanking of pans and the sizzle of oil had always been a familiar symphony in their home, but today it felt alien, like a disturbance to his newly heightened senses. Karen moved around the kitchen with precision, keeping the noises to a minimum. As she prepared their meal, Plankton stood by the counter, his gaze fixed. "Breakfast is ready," she said, sliding a plate of chum flapjacks in front of him. The smell usually brought him joy, but today it was overwhelming. Plankton took a step back. Karen's smile faltered, realizing she would have to adjust their meals. "Would you like something else?" she asked, her voice a soothing melody. Plankton nodded, his gaze not leaving the plate. "Different," he whispered. Karen knew she had to find foods that wouldn't overstimulate. She placed the flapjacks aside and found a jar of pureed peas and plain yogurt. She hoped the blandness would be more soothing. Plankton's antennae twitched as he came closer. He stared at the bowl intently, then took a tentative spoonful. The texture was soothing, and the color was calming. He ate slowly, each bite measured and deliberate. Karen watched him with love and concern. She wanted to ask if he liked it, but she knew better than to interrupt his focus. Once Plankton had finished, he looked up at her with a hint of a smile. "Good," he said. It was the closest thing to praise she had heard from him since the incident. Karen cleared the table, her mind racing with questions about what the future held. How would Plankton's new autism affect their daily lives? "Now what would you like to do, Plankton?" She asks. He looks at her. "Read." The old spark seems to flicker back to life, albeit with a different intensity. Karen nods, leading him back to his lab. The room is a mess of wires and gadgets, but Plankton moves through it with purpose. He selects a book from the shelf, a manual on quantum physics that had been collecting dust. His gaze flits over the pages, absorbing the information with fervor. Karen watches him from a distance. This was her Plankton, but also new. His obsession with the Krabby Patty formula had always been intense, but now his focus was lasered in on the book, his mind racing through equations and theories. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of pages turning. Plankton didn't look up from his book, lost in a world of science and theories. Karen knew she had to let him be, to find his new normal.

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CONSOLE TONSIL i The anesthesiologist came in. Plankton looked at Karen for assurance. She managed a smile and a nod. "I'll be here," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I won't leave your side." Plankton nodded, his eye never leaving hers as the anesthesiologist began to prepare the equipment. The anesthetic took hold as Plankton's mouth was propped open. His eye grew heavy, his eyelid drooped. "It's ok," she whispered, stroking his arm. "You're doing great." The room grew quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. Plankton's breathing grew more regular, and the tension in his hand slowly released. "Just rest going to sleep now," she whispered. "I'm right here." His head lolled to the side and his grip on her hand went slack, and he was asleep as his eye went back in is socket, eyelid closing. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, whispering, "I love you." After surgery, Plankton's snore brought a smile to Karen's face, his mouth hung slightly open. Karen leaned closer, stroking Plankton's arm with her thumb. "Hey, Plankton," she murmured. "You made it through. You're going to be fine now." His snores grew quieter. "Remember the ice cream I promised you?" To her surprise, snores morphed into muffled words. "Ice...cream...Karen...love." "It's called somniloquism. Sometimes patients talk in their sleep as they're coming out of anesthesia. It's normal to mumble a bit after surgery, and it's also a sign they're coming around." Says the nurse. Karen nodded, feeling a mix of relief and amusement. She leaned closer, her hand wrapping around his. "You can have all the ice cream you want when you wake up," she said, her voice filled with warmth. The nurse checked his vitals, nodded in approval, and gave Karen a thumbs-up. "He's going to be ok," she said with a reassuring smile. "The surgery went well, and he's responding nicely to the anesthesia." Plankton's snores grew more regular, and his hand began to twitch slightly in her grasp. "You're ok. The surgery went well." Karen says. It was as if he was trying to respond, to squeeze her hand in agreement. "You're going to wake up, and we're going to get you the biggest ice cream sundae you've ever seen." Plankton's eyebrow began to twitch, and she leaned in closer. “That’s it..” He opens his eye. “Karen..” The nurse had assured her that his brain was just trying to make sense of the world as it woke up from the deep slumber of anesthesia. “You’re finished with tonsillectomy!” His speech was slurred and nonsensical. "Blabber...wha...wha...waffle?" Karen couldn't help but chuckle. The nurse stifled a laugh. "It's common for patients to have a bit of confusion post-op. It'll wear off soon. The nonsense talk is just his brain trying to piece things together." "Do you remember what happened?" Karen asked gently. Plankton's expression grew thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded. "Owies," he said, pointing to his throat. As the moments passed, Plankton's questions grew more frequent, each one a little slice of wonder. "Why is the floor so shiny?" "What makes the lights go?" "Can I have more ice cream?" Karen answered each one with patience and love, enjoying the simplicity of his curiosity. They arrived home, the ride a blur of instructions from the hospital and Plankton's sleepy nap. She helped him into bed, propping his pillows just right and placing a glass of water on the nightstand. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling hospital. The only sound was the occasional tick of the clock in the hallway. Karen settled into the chair beside his bed, ready to keep her vigil. Plankton's eye fluttered open and then closed. "Need...sleep," he murmured. "You go ahead," she said, her voice gentle. "I'll be here when you wake up." The room grew still again as Plankton's eye finally closed for good. Karen took his hand in hers once more, feeling the comforting weight of his head on her shoulder. The doorbell rang, a sudden and jarring intrusion into the quiet sanctuary they had created. Karen looked over at Plankton, whose sleep remained undisturbed. She leans him back on pillow and kissed his forehead gently. She whispered, "I'll be right back." She opened the door to see Hanna, her friend, who’s also a computer like Karen. "Hey," Hanna said, her voice filled with concern. "How's he doing?" "The surgery went well, yet he's still pretty out of it." Hanna's screen went straight to Plankton, who was snoring softly. She gave a small smile. "Looks like he's in good hands," she said. Karen nodded, a hint of gratitude in her voice. "Thanks for coming." A few moments passed in quiet contemplation before Plankton's eye fluttered open, any trace of anesthesia gone. "Wha...where am I?" he croaked, his voice raw and scratchy. "You're home," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You had surgery this morning." "Hi, Plankton! It’s nice to meet you. I'm Hanna, Karen's friend. I just came to check on you." Plankton's gaze drifted from Karen to Hanna, then back to Karen again. "You...told?" "You know I couldn't keep it from her," she said softly. "We tell each other everything." "What...did you tell her?" "Just that you weren't feeling well and had surgery. How you feeling?" "Sore," he managed to croak out. "And... confused." "It's normal," Hanna chimed in. "The anesthesia can mess with your head for a bit." Karen nodded in agreement. "Do you remember anything from the hospital?" Plankton's eye darted around the room, as if trying to recall the events of the day. "You were there, but nothing else at all." "You talked a bit when you were coming out of it," Karen said with a smirk. "Asked for ice cream and waffles." Plankton's eye widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. "Waffles?" Hanna laughed, earning her a glare from Plankton. "It's true," Karen said, her voice filled with mirth. "You kept asking for waffles." "I don't even like waffles," he grumbled, sinking back into the pillows. Hanna chuckled, her laughter a series of light beeps. "Well, maybe you've discovered a love for them." Plankton's glare sharpened, his cheeks flushing with a hint of anger. "I said I don't like waffles," he mumbled, his voice strained. Hanna raised her hands in mock surrender. "Ok, ok," she said, her digital eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll take your word for it. It’s ok if you don’t recall." Karen felt a pang of worry, the room suddenly thick with tension. She knew Plankton's fiery temper well. "You don't know anything about me." "I just want to be here you know, ease Karen’s burden.." Hanna said. “BURDEN?” Plankton's eyes were on Hanna, his gaze piercing. "How could you say that?" he cried, his voice rising despite the pain. "I'm not a burden to her; I never meant to be burdensome!" Hanna's smile faded, and she looked at with a hint of concern. "I didn't mean it like that," she said quickly. "I just knew she'd be worried about you and I wanted to help." Karen squeezed Plankton's hand, her gaze flicking from Hanna to him. "It's ok," she said soothingly. "You're not a burden, Plankton. We're just looking out for you." But Plankton felt a tear slide down his cheek, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "Don't be," Karen said, her voice firm. "You're not a burden, Plankton. You're my... my everything." Plankton's eye searched hers, looking for the truth in her words. He could feel the weight of the unspoken between them, the fear and the doubt. But what he saw was unwavering love and care. He took a deep, painful breath and nodded. "Ok," he murmured. "But no more waffles." The tension in the room didn't dissipate immediately, but it began to ease as Plankton's gaze drifted back to the ceiling. Karen felt his hand tighten around hers, a silent plea for reassurance. "Look, Plankton," Hanna began, her voice tentative. "I'm sorry if I upset you. That wasn't my intent." He looked at her, and took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't want to talk to you about it!" Hanna's smile faltered, her screens flickering with confusion. "I just..." “It’s alright, Hanna. Plankton’s just really sensitive,” Karen replied, her gaze still fixed on Plankton. Hanna’s screens dimmed slightly, her concern evident. "I didn't mean to..." "I said No," he snaps, his voice tight with emotion. Hanna looked at him, her screens flickering with regret. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she said softly, now knowing her choice of words hit a nerve. "I think he needs some rest," Karen said, her voice low. "Why don't you let me take care of him?" Hanna nodded, her screens dimming with understanding. "Of course," she said. "I didn't mean to overstep." “You didn’t, you just wanted to support. He’s not overly affectionate, even with me. It’s hard for him, not necessarily about you. He doesn’t tend to open up to others, nothing personal. But thank you, Hanna.” Karen told her. “I just hoped I could make it easier for him, I know he’s been through a lot,” Hanna said with sincerity. “You did. Thank you for caring, really. But he’s always had a hard time letting anyone in, even me sometimes,” Karen explained, her gaze lingering on Plankton’s sleeping form. Hanna nodded, her screens swiping through various shades of blue. "I'll leave you to rest," she said quietly, moving towards the door.

✞☠︎𝒫ℴ𝒾𝓈ℴ𝓃 ☠︎✞

Part 2 you got super confused(╹ -╹)?(╥﹏╥) and you ran away quickly 🏃💨 you decided you didnt wanna stay because... a bunch of girls tried to kill these little kids and you left..but...brought the kids with you.you slashed the girls with your new sword everhelp for more!!!She/herMe 😎×͜×*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

Livegfjngzdn ⋆⋆⋆( ၴႅၴϻɢ࣪ ִֶָ☾.©

♥

౨ৎ ౨ৎ

TEETHIES i Karen watched as the dentist's thumb depressed the plunger, sending the anesthesia into her husband's system. Plankton's eyelid fluttered, and his body grew slack as his eye rolls back in is socket. "It's ok," she whispered, taking his hand in hers. "It'll all be over soon." The doctor nodded, satisfied with the effectiveness of the anesthesia. Plankton's quiet snoring deep and even, his eye fully closed, and the tightness around his mouth relaxed. Her hand remained tight around his, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his palm, as if she could somehow transmit her strength to him through their touch. Plankton's hand grew heavy in hers, but she didn't let go. Instead, she squeezed it gently, willing him to feel her presence even in his state. The doctor followed her gaze, giving Karen a brief nod before turning his attention back to the open mouth of her husband. Plankton's grip on her hand tightened, even in sleep, and she gave a gentle squeeze back. Karen's gaze flitted between her husband's serene face and the crimson-stained cloths being replaced with alarming regularity. Plankton's chest rose and fell rhythmically, a testament to the anesthesia's hold on him. Karen focused on that rhythm; despite the chaos of the surgery, he was still with her. "We're almost done," he said. "We'll just clean up the site and close the incisions." Karen watched as the nurse handed the doctor sutures and gauze. The sight of her husband's mouth, swollen and filled with cotton, brought a fresh wave of anxiety. She squeezed his hand again, willing him to come back to her, to wake up and smile and tell her that it was all over. The doctor's movements grew more methodical as he worked, sewing up the small wounds steady. The nurse cleaned Plankton's face, wiping away the crimson smears with a gentle touch. "Everything went well," he said, his voice a balm to her frazzled nerves. "The anesthesia will wear off in about an hour. We'll keep him here for a bit to monitor his vitals, but you can stay." Karen nodded. The nurse began to wheel him out of the surgical suite, and she followed, her hand still clutching his. In the recovery room, she sat by his side, watching, the monitors beeping in a comforting rhythm. The nurse checked his vitals. She reached out tentatively, brushing a stray antenna. The nurse nodded. "He'll be waking up soon," she murmured. "You can talk to him, if you'd like." Karen leaned in closer to Plankton, her voice a soft whisper. "You did it," she said, voice cracking slightly. "It's all over now." She paused, her thumb still tracing circles on his palm. She talked to him as if he were awake. "I know," she continued. "But you're strong. You've always been a strong one. I'll be here, I promise. I'll always be there." A small, sad smile played on her screen, Plankton none the wiser in his sleep. "But we're going to get through this, I know we are." Plankton's eyebrow furrowing for a moment, Karen thought he might wake up. But his breathing remained deep and even, his body unresponsive to her words. She leaned in closer. "I know you're in there," she murmured. "I know you can feel me." Remember the time you tried to build a giant robot to get the recipe?" She searched his face for any sign of recognition, any flicker of understanding. But he remained still, lost in the depths of anesthesia-induced sleep. "You're going to be ok," she assured him, her voice a gentle caress. "We'll go back to our lives, to our little chum bucket of a home." The nurse checked the monitors and made notes before looking up at Karen. "You can sit with him as long as you like," she said kindly. "Just make sure not to disturb the dressings." "You're going to be ok," she whispered, her voice a gentle lullaby in the otherwise silent room. "You're going to wake up and everything will be better." A trickle of drool began to form at the corner of Plankton's mouth, snaking down his cheek. Karen reached for a tissue, carefully dabbing at the drool without disturbing the surgical dressings, a testament to the depth of his unconsciousness, a sign that his body was working to heal itself even as he slept. She found a strange comfort in the mundane task, a reminder that even in the face of surgery and pain, Plankton was still her Plankton, the one who drooled in his sleep when particularly tired. The drool grew more persistent, and Karen used the edge of the bed to lift his head slightly, placing a fresh pillow under it to keep him comfortable. The nurse nodded approvingly before checking the flow of fluids from the IV. "It's normal," she assured Karen. "His body is just reacting." Karen felt the weight of not knowing if everything would be okay once Plankton woke up. Would he be in pain? Would he remember her? Would he be the same? Her thoughts swirled in a maelstrom of doubt and hope, a tumultuous sea that threatened to pull her under. But she remained steadfast, her hand never leaving his. She talked to him, sharing stories of their adventures and their future plans, painting a picture of the life they would have once he was well. The nurse moved quietly around the room, giving them space, but Karen could feel her presence, a comforting presence that reminded her she wasn't alone. As the minutes ticked by, Plankton's breathing grew less artificial, more like the easy breaths of sleep. His face began to lose the slackness that the anesthesia had imparted. She searched for any hint of consciousness, and she thought she saw a flicker behind his closed eyelid. "Plankton?" she whispered, leaning in closer. "Can you hear me?" A low groan was his only response, and she felt his hand tighten around hers. The nurse stepped closer, checking the monitors once more. "He's coming around," she said. "Give him a few minutes, and he'll be back with us." "I'm here," she murmured, her voice a gentle hum in the quiet room. "You're ok." The nurse had left, and the only sounds were the rhythmic beeps of the monitors. She took the cloth from the bedside table and gently wiped the remaining drool from Plankton. His grip on her hand grew stronger, and she felt his fingers twitch. "Hey," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody in the sterile air. "You're ok, Plankton. The surgery is over." She didn't want to startle him, so she kept her voice low, her eyes focused on his. "You're in the recovery room now." His eyelid fluttered, and Karen felt a surge of hope. The nurse had warned her that he might be groggy, that the anesthesia could take a while to wear off completely. But she had to keep talking to him, to keep him grounded. "You were so brave," she whispered, her thumb tracing lazy circles on his palm. "The bravest little plankton I know." The hand in hers grew heavier as Plankton's grip tightened, and she knew he was slowly coming back to her. His eye remained closed, but the tension in his face began to change. She watched as his cheek muscles relaxed, the furrow in his brow smoothed out. The nurse had told her first moments after waking up could be disorienting, so she kept her voice calm and steady. "You're in the hospital," she said, her voice a lifeline. "You had your teeth taken out." The room was a blur of beeps and machines, but all she saw was Plankton, her entire world reduced to the man she had promised to take care of. As minutes ticked by, Plankton's breathing grew stronger, and she watched as his eyelid began to twitch. "That's it," she encouraged, her voice a soft coo. "You're doing great." His hand squeezed hers in response, and she felt a jolt of hope surge through her. With a final, deep inhale, Plankton's eye cracked open, swimming in a sea of confusion. His gaze found hers, and she offered him a gentle smile. "Hey," she said, her voice a warm embrace. "You made it." His eyelid fluttered, the weight of sleep and anesthesia still heavy upon him. "Karen?" he croaked, his voice a confused whisper. "Yes, I'm here," she said, her voice a gentle lullaby. She squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his grip as he surfaced from unconsciousness. "You did so well, Plankton." With painstaking care, she reached for the cup of water the nurse left by the bed. "Do you want some water?" she asked, holding it to his lips. His eye searched hers, took a sip, swallowed, the muscles in his throat moving with the effort. "Take it slow," she advised, her voice soothing. As the moments passed, Plankton's grip on her hand grew stronger. He took another sip of water and then shifted slightly in the bed, his body trying to adjust to the sudden return of sensation. Karen's heart felt as though it would burst with love and relief as she watched him come back to her. "I'm here," she repeated, her voice a constant in the shifting tides of his consciousness. The nurse returned, checking the monitors once more before looking at Plankton with a smile. "Welcome back," she said cheerfully. "How are you?" Plankton's voice was hoarse, but he managed to croak out a response. "Tiwed," he murmured, eye sliding shut again. "That's normal," she said. "He'll be sleepy for a bit, but we'll keep an eye on him." The nurse dimmed the lights and adjusted the bed, giving Plankton's body a chance to recover from the surgery. Gently, she began to hum a tune she knew Plankton loved, a lullaby from their early days together when they had nothing but their dreams and each other. The melody filled the room, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. His breathing grew a little easier, the tension in his hand loosening slightly. It was a small victory, but one she cherished deeply.