Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton Emojis & Text

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷,𝟼𝟸𝟷 Karen walked into the bedroom. Plankton lay on their bed, face half-buried in a pillow. His snores rumbled through the quiet room. She took a moment to appreciate his vulnerability before she gently nudged him awake. He groaned, his eye fluttering open. She offered a soft smile. "It's time," she whispered. "You're fine." He nodded. The drive to the oral surgeon's office was tense. The brightness of the day seemed to mock his anxiety. Karen's hand squeezed his, a silent promise of support. As they checked in, the receptionist's smile was practiced, but kind. The exam room surgeon, a man named Dr. Musselwhite, came in. He explained the procedure once more. The nurse began preparing anesthesia. "You're doing great," Plankton took a deep breath, vision blurring. The last thing he saw was Karen's face before the world went dark. Karen watched the monitors as Plankton's breathing evened out. She clutched his hand, her thumb making small circles on his palm. Plankton's snores had been replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing under anesthesia. She leaned forward to Plankton's still form. Her screen traced the IV line. Plankton's mouth was open Dr. Musselwhite peered into. Plankton twitched slightly in his sleep, but the doctor's hand remained steady. Plankton's chest continued to rise and fall steadily, oblivious to the battle being fought within his mouth. Dr. Musselwhite finished stitching. "It's done," he announced. "You did it," she murmured, voice cracking. Plankton lay still, his breathing even and deep. The surgery was over, and he was alive. Karen leaned down to kiss his forehead. The nurse smiles. "He'll be asleep for awhile," she said. Karen nodded. The only sounds were the whispers of medical staff and the hum of machinery. The nurse wheeled him into recovery, and Karen followed, the medication still working its magic. Plankton's features were relaxed in sleep, a stark contrast to the fear that had been etched there just hours before. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, a silent testament to the successful procedure by the deep embrace of anesthesia. As he started to stir, the nurse offered a gentle smile as he began to come around. Plankton's eye fluttered open, his gaze unfocused and glassy. He blinked slowly. "Hi, sweetheart," Karen's voice was a warm embrace. "Whaa-...happen'd?" he mumbled. "You're ok," Karen said softly. "They took your wisdom teeth out." Plankton tries to piece together the fragments of his memory. He attempted to speak. "Ow?" he managed. Karen squeezed his hand. Plankton's head lolling slightly against the pillow. His mouth felt like a foreign landscape. Karen helped him sit up, the nurse getting gauze. "You're going to need to bite down," she said, handing him a piece of gauze. "It'll help with the bleeding." He pressed it to his mouth, the pressure sending a dull throb through his jaw. "Hold it there," the nurse instructed, her voice a gentle guide in his foggy world. "Keep the pressure steady. It'll help the bleeding to stop." Plankton nodded, his movements sluggish. The nurse handed Karen an ice pack. "This'll help," she said. "It's ok," she soothed. "You're all done. The hard part is over." Plankton nodded again, his brain still foggy from the remaining anesthesia. He looked around the recovery room, his gaze wondering. "Whath's thith?" Plankton pointed at a machine. Karen chuckled, the tension easing from her shoulders. "It's just monitoring you." He nodded, his eye still filled with wonder. He looked down at his hand, studying it as if it was the first time he'd seen it. "Thith...han," he said, his voice trailing off as he wiggled his fingers. "Yes, Plankton. That's your hand." He's mouth filled with gauze and drool slowly seeping out. "Karen?" he mumbles, his voice thick and groggy. "Wha's?" He points to instruments. "They're just tools the doctor used to help you," she explains gently. Plankton nods, his curiosity satisfied for the moment. His eye drift to the ceiling. "Why do the wight hab funny shapes?" Karen follows his gaze. "They're just patterns, Plankton. They help the ceiling look nice." He nods, the concept of aesthetics lost on him. The nurse returns to check his vitals. Plankton watches her with the same curiosity. "Whath thoze do?" He points to the stethoscope around her neck, his speech still slurred. The nurse chuckles. "It's how we listen to your heart." Plankton nodded, his gaze following as she placed the stethoscope on his chest. "Ca-- heaw it?" He asked, his curiosity unquenchable. "That's your heart beating." Plankton's eye grew even wider, the revelation a spark in the haze. "Wow," he whispered, his voice a mere breath. Karen watched his exploration with a mixture of amusement and affection. The nurse returned with discharge instructions, her words a blur to Plankton's still-numb mind. Karen took the papers. "Alright, let's get you ready to go home," she said, helping him to stand. Karen's firm grip on his arm steadied him. Karen helped him into the car. The seatbelt was a puzzle he couldn't solve under the fog of the lingering drugs, but Karen buckles him in before driving out of the parking lot. "Loog ath the treeth," Plankton mumbled. "They're waving hewwo," he said with a sleepy smile. Karen glanced over, her own smile growing. "Yes, sweetheart. They're saying hello." Plankton's gaze shifted to the mirror in the car. He blinked at his reflection, the gauze sticking out of his mouth. "Who thad?" He pointed at his reflection. Karen chuckled. "That's you, with a little extra padding." Plankton nodded, his thoughts a slow river in his sluggish mind. "Thith car...it moveths," he murmured. Karen chuckled. "Yes, dear, it's a car. It takes us places." "Wook ath the clowds," he whispered, his voice slurred. "Thath one...loks wike a...," "It's a cloud," Karen said, smiling at his childlike wonder. "It's just water vapor that looks like something we see in our imaginations." Plankton nodded, his eye drooping. The motion of the car and the gentle hum of the engine lulled him into a doze. His head nodded forward before snapping back up again. "Tired?" Karen asked. "Mm-hmm." His head lolled back against the headrest, his eye slipping shut. The car's AC whispered a gentle lullaby, the cool air playing with the strands of Plankton's antennae. His chest rose and fell in time with the rhythm of the engine, each breath a soft snore. They arrived home. Plankton stirred, his eye blinking open. Karen helped Plankton out of the car. She held him close, his weight a comforting reminder of his presence. Spot, the amoeba puppy, bounded over, his gelatinous body shifting shapes with excitement. "Spoth," Plankton mumbled. The puppy leapedfrogged over, his form morphing into a blur of happiness. Plankton's eye lit up. Plankton reached for Spot with a clumsy hand, his coordination still muddled. Spot nudged his palm with his squishy nose. "Wook, Spoth," Plankton slurred, his eye wide with childlike wonder. "I hav- a booboo." Spot nudges him. Plankton giggled. "Easy, Plankton," Karen cautioned, her voice a gentle reminder of his fragile state. Spot's eyes widened in surprise, his little body shivering with joy. He wriggled closer, his gelatinous tail whipping back and forth in a blur of excitement. Plankton laughed. They made their way to the couch, Plankton's steps uncertain, each movement accompanied by a little giggle. Spot followed. Plankton flopped onto the cushions, his body a limp noodle. Spot jumped up beside him. Plankton leaned onto by Spot, his head lolling. The puppy's a comfort. Plankton's eye grew heavy, the weight of his eyelid too much for his sluggish body to bear, his body going slack. "Rest," Karen said, kneeling beside him. "You've been through a lot today." His hand remained on Spot, the puppy a comforting presence. Plankton's breaths grew steady, his snores once again filling the room. Karen watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling beneath Spot's gentle weight. The house was quiet, the only sound the occasional snort from Plankton's nostrils. He slept all night, only waking up the next morning. Plankton awoke with a start, his mouth wet with drool, his eye focusing slowly. The gauze was still damp from the night's excess saliva. He sat up. "Wha..." Plankton looked around, the room spinning slightly. The couch was his bed, Spot his blanket. He reached up to his mouth, the gauze still in place, the taste of cotton in his mouth. The memory of the surgery was distant. Karen's face swam into view, her smile a warm sunrise. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress. Plankton's eye searched his mind, looking for the missing pieces. "I don't... member coming hone," he mumbled, the words slurred. Karen nodded, her smile soft. "You fell asleep in the car, sweetie. I brought you home." But any details were lost, a foggy dream slipping away with each passing moment. "Thish mouth," he said, his tongue probing the empty sockets. The pain was a dull ache, a reminder of his body's battle. Karen handed him a glass of water. "Thank you," he murmured. "You're not supposed to eat solids today," she reminded him, placing a bowl of soup on the coffee table. "But I made some nice, soft scrambled eggs and toast for you to chew." Spot's eyes glued to his owner, his tail wagging. Plankton's jaw felt like it was made of rubber, but the food was a heavenly comfort. Karen sat beside him, her screen never leaving his face, watching for any sign of discomfort. "It'th okay," he assured her, his speech still slurred. He took another bite, his mouth working carefully. The taste was muted, a distant memory of what food used to be. Yet, the warmth and texture brought a sense of normalcy to the post-surgery haze.

COMPUTER SENSORS i * "Karen!" Hanna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Karen in a warm embrace. "You made it!" Karen beamed. "Is the husband home?" Hanna asked, glancing around. "In our bedroom," Karen answers. "I don't think you've met!" Hanna followed Karen through the hallway. She'd heard of Karen's husband, Plankton, but had never formally met each other. Inside, Plankton sat on the edge of the bed. "Plankton, this is my friend Hanna," Karen announced, screen sparkling with excitement. Plankton looked up. He hadn't been expecting company, especially not someone so bubbly and vibrant. "Oh, Plankton," Hanna gushed, reaching out to him. She was a hugger, and she didn't hold back. She enveloped him. Plankton stiffened. It was... overwhelming. "It's so nice to finally meet you," Hanna said, her voice thick with sincerity. Hanna, ever the social butterfly, didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She plopped down on the bed beside him, her energy not even slightly dampened. "So, what do you guys have planned for the evening?" she asked, screen bright with excitement. "Well, we were just going to order in and watch a movie," Karen replied, shooting Plankton a knowing smile. She knew he liked his quiet evenings. "A movie night, huh?" Hanna clapped her hands together. "What's the film? I can stay and join!" Plankton wasn't one for sharing his personal space, especially with someone he just met. The bedroom was his sanctuary, a place of solitude where he could escape the world and be himself. Plankton managed a tight smile, his heart sinking. He wasn't in the mood for a romantic comedy, let alone one with Hanna's constant commentary and unbridled laughter. Karen quickly interjected. "Actually, Hanna, Plankton had his heart set on a sci-fi marathon tonight. You know, his usual Friday night routine." "Oh, I totally get it," she said, patting him. Plankton stiffened at her touch, his eye widening slightly. "Oooh, I know just the thing!" she exclaimed, jumping up and talking fast. "Karen, you won't believe this but I've got a DVD of 'Galactic Hearts' in my bag. It's got a bit of everything: romance, action, and a side of existential dread. Perfect for a Friday night in, right?" Plankton sighed inwardly. He knew he'd have to sit through it, if only to keep the peace. "Alright," he said, his voice tight. "Let's give it a go." With a resigned sigh, he trudged out to the kitchen to grab some popcorn and drinks. When he returned, Hanna had already claimed the spot beside him, leaving him no choice but to sit next to her, so he did, for Karen. The movie started, and Hanna was immediately engrossed, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. Plankton, on the other hand, felt like he was in an alien world of his own. Every time the romantic tension on screen built up, she would lean over and whisper something to Karen, who would giggle in response. The constant movement and noise were making his skin crawl. As the film went on, Hanna grew more and more absorbed in the love story unfolding before them. At one particularly dramatic scene, she reached over and grabbed Plankton's arm. "Oh, isn't this just the most romantic thing you've ever seen?" She gave him a squeeze not realizing the discomfort she was causing him. "Look at those stars," she whispered leaning closer. "It's just like they're reaching out to each other, isn't it?" Plankton shifted. He'd never been one for public displays of affection, and Hanna's affection was uncharted territory. He gently extracted his hand, placing it awkwardly on his lap. "I s'pose," he murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral. time she leaned in to whisper something to Karen, she brushed against him, sending a shiver down his spine. The movie's soundtrack swelled with a sappy love theme, and Hanna threw her arm around both their shoulders. Plankton stiffened. The room felt suddenly too warm, too small. He'd never been one for affection, especially not from someone he'd just met, and Hanna's touch was suffocating him. Her arm remained draped around his shoulders, her grip tightening every time the couple on-screen shared a tender moment. He tried to focus on the plot, but it was difficult with Hanna's sudden exclamations and loud sighs punctuating the silence. Karen seemed to be enjoying it, though, and he didn't want to spoil the evening. So, he sat, endured, and waited for the credits to roll. As the movie progressed, Hanna grew bolder with her displays of affection. She'd lean in close, her shoulder pressing into his, and whisper her predictions for the plot. He glanced at Karen, hoping for a reprieve, but she was caught up in the moment. Plankton sighed and turned back to the movie, trying to ignore the heat building in him. Hanna's hand found its way to Plankton's shoulder again. This time, she didn't let go. He cleared his throat, trying to subtly shift his body away from her touch, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight of her arm and the way she kept brushing against him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, begging for the solitude he craved. Hanna let out a contented sigh, her grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening involuntarily. He flinched, and she finally looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice full of concern. "It's nothing," Plankton said, his voice tight. Hanna looked at him. "Oh, I get it," she said, her hand moving from his shoulder to give his knee a comforting pat. "Sometimes romantic scenes can be too much, huh?" Plankton nodded stiffly. Then, Hanna leaned over and whispered, "You know Plankton you're not so bad for a guy who pretends not to like romance." She elbows him, her touch playful and teasing. Plankton's eye widened, his heart racing faster than the spaceship on the screen. He tried to laugh it off, his voice strained. He tried to keep his expression neutral. She leaned in closer, her arm now looped around his. "I think you're secretly a softy." Plankton's discomfort grew. He swallowed hard, his eye darting to Karen for help, but she was too lost in the film to notice his distress. He cleared his throat again, trying to be subtle, but they're oblivious. Karen looked over at her husband, her smile fading slightly as she noticed his rigid posture. She knew he wasn't a fan of the film, but she didn't realize Hanna's personality was making him so uncomfortable. Hanna jumped up from the couch. "Oh my gosh, you guys," she exclaimed a little too loud, her screen bright with excitement. "That was the best movie ever!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Karen couldn't help but laugh. "You really liked it?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood. "Liked it?" Hanna repeated, her voice incredulous. "I'm in love with it!!" Her exuberance was palpable, but Plankton remained silent. He felt a mix of relief that the movie was over and dread for whatever might come next. Hanna, noticing his lack of response, turned to him with a grin. "What did you think, Plankton?" Plankton felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "It's just not really my genre," he said, his voice a touch defensive. Hanna's smile didn't falter. "Oh, come on," she said, nudging him playfully. "Admit it, you were totally rooting for them in the end." "Oh, I was," Plankton said, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. "I was just hoping the asteroid might hit the spaceship first." Karen couldn't help but laugh, seeing the playful banter between her friend and her husband. "Ok ok," she said, standing up and stretching. "I think we've had enough romance for one night. How about we switch gears and play a board game?" Hanna bounced, her energy unflagging. "Perfect! What do you have?" Plankton started to feel dizzy. "I'll grab something," he said, his voice tight. He needed to get away, to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He retreated to the bedroom, going on his bed. ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 1 (Neurodivergent author) "What's for dinner tonight?" Karen asks her husband Plankton the kitchen. "I'm trying out something new today!" He replies. Plankton moves about with surprising grace for his small size. Karen watches, admiring his enthusiasm despite her skepticism of his culinary skills. "Careful with that pan!" she calls out, noticing the way he flips it in the air. But it's too late. The pan slips from his grip, and as it hits his head with a deafening clang, Plankton crumples to the floor, out cold. Karen sprints to the kitchen and crouches beside her unconscious husband. "Plankton! Wake up!" she says, shaking him gently. His eye remains closed. She notices his pulse and breathing so at least he's alive. She scans him and the results show he acquired Autism. She's heard about it, how interactions with others are hard and how sensory shutdown can cause episodes similar to a seizure. Panic starts to set in. She has to get him to the couch. With a deep breath, she hoists his limp body over her shoulder and carries him carefully to the couch. She lays him down, his head resting on a pillow she grabbed on the way. Karen's attention is solely on Plankton. She strokes his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips. The house feels too quiet, the air thick with concern. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that might help him feel comfortable. Karen starts to hum a lullaby, hoping the tune might calmly wake him. Only the next afternoon does Plankton start to wake. His eye began to flutter open. "What happened?" he mumbles. Karen smiles, relieved. "You had a bad fall in the kitchen. Do you remember anything?" Plankton's eye widens as his hand shoots to the spot on his head where the pan had hit. "Oh, cooking, right?" His voice is groggy, his memory foggy. "Yes, but let's not worry about that now," Karen says, squeezing his hand. She notices his confusion, the way his gaze flits around the room, searching for clues. "You acquired Autism." Plankton blinks a few times, taking in the soft light and the worried face of his wife. He tries to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washes over him. "Autism?" he repeats, the word foreign on his tongue. Karen nods gently. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice soothing. The revelation hangs heavily in the air between them. Plankton's mind races. The room seems to spin as he tries to process the news. Rocking back and forth, he starts to self-soothe, a common behavior among those with autism when overwhelmed. Karen, who has read about this, understands it's his brain's way of coping with the onslaught of new information and sensations. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice steady. "You can stim however you need to." Her words act like a key unlocking a door. Plankton's hands begin to flap, and he lets out a soft hum, a melody that fills the silent room. "It's ok," she says softly, "Stim if it helps." The rhythmic motion and soothing sound of Karen's voice help to calm him down. He stops flapping, but the hum continues, a gentle echo in the quiet. Plankton's eye locks onto hers, searching for comfort. "I'm here," she says, her tone a gentle reassurance. Suddenly, his eye lit up as he repeats her words, "You're here," his voice a mirror of hers. It's echolalic, a common trait in those with autism, where they repeat sounds or phrases. "You're here," he repeats, over and over, the phrase becoming a comforting mantra. His palilalic speech is a bridge between the overwhelming confusion and the familiar presence of his wife. Karen nods. She's read that palilalic repetition can be soothing for those with autism. "You're here," Plankton says again, his voice growing stronger with each repetition. The words become a rhythm, a heartbeat of reassurance that he clings to as the world swims into focus. Plankton's eye refocus on Karen's screen, and a tiny smile appears as he understands her acceptance. He starts to rock more comfortably, matching the rhythm of his humming. The house feels like a sanctuary, a bubble wrapped around them, their shared breaths the only sound. Karen's eyes well up with tears, but she holds them back, not wanting to interrupt this moment. His humming gradually fades into silence, and he looks at Karen. "We'll figure it out," she says firmly, her voice a lifeline in the stormy sea of uncertainty. "We'll learn about Autism and adjust our lives. You're not alone in this, Plankton." Her words seem to anchor him. He takes a deep breath, and his body relaxes against the couch cushions. "Thank Karen," he whispers, his voice cracking. Karen nods, blinking away her own unshed tears. "We're going to be okay," she says, more to convince herself than anything. Plankton's smile grows a little wider, and his hand reaches for hers. "What's next?" he asks, his voice still weak but steady. Karen rises from the floor and moves to the bookshelf. Her fingers trace the spines, landing on a worn-out book titled "The Art of Cooking." She pulls it out gently and holds it out to him. Plankton's eye lights up at the familiar sight. It's his favorite book, filled with recipes and notes he's collected over the years. He takes it with trembling hands, feeling the weight of the pages. "Let's start slow," Karen suggests, sitting beside him on the couch. "We'll go through the book together, and maybe we'll find something simple for tomorrow's dinner." Plankton nods, flipping through the pages with newfound carefulness. "How about we start with spaghetti?" Karen offers, pointing to a simple illustration on the page. It's a dish they've made together countless times. "Spaghetti," he repeats, the word like a warm blanket around his new reality. "How about we start with spaghetti.." They spend the rest of the day going through the book, discussing ingredients and steps, Karen explaining things in a way that's easy for Plankton to understand. His focus intensifies, his eye lighting up with every new piece of information. The kitchen accident seems like a distant memory, replaced by the comforting familiarity of cooking.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 1 (Autistic author) "You never listen to me!" Karen exclaimed, her voice echoing through the small lab. Her husband, Plankton, looked up from his invention, a frown furrowing his brow. "What's wrong now?" he asked. "It's the same thing, every single day," Karen said, crossing her arms. "You're always so focused on your work, you forget what's important." Plankton sighed, setting down his wrench. "And what's that?" Karen's eyes flashed with frustration. "Our anniversary dinner, for one," she said. "You promised we'd go out tonight, remember?" Plankton's frown deepened as he tried to recall the conversation. "The dinner...right. I thought it was next week," he mumbled, his gaze darts back to his invention. "No, it's tonight!" Karen's voice was now a mix of annoyance and desperation. "I've had this all planned out for weeks, and you've barely even acknowledged it." Plankton looked at her, his eye suddenly wide with realization. "Tonight? But I've got the final adjustments. It's a breakthrough, Karen!" Karen threw her hands in exasperation. "It's always a breakthrough, isn't it? When are you going to realize that we need to make time for us?" Plankton took a step. "You know how important this is to me, to us," he said, his voice softening. "Once I get this right, we can finally be happy, have the life we deserve when I..." "When you what?" Karen interrupted. "When you finally steal the Krabby Patty formula?" she finished for him, her tone heavy with sarcasm. "Is that what you think will fix everything?" Plankton's shoulders slumped. He knew his obsession with Mr. Krabs' secret formula was a sore spot for Karen, but he couldn't help the hope that burned inside him. "It's not just about that," he said, trying to explain. "It's about proving to everyone, including myself, that I can do something big." He gets up on the shelf. Karen turns away. Karen's frustration boiled over, her face flushing. "You're so caught up in this ridiculous vendetta that you don't even see what you're doing to us!" she yelled, slamming her hand down on the lab table. The sudden noise startled Plankton enough to wobble on his precarious perch, and with a tiny squeak of terror, he lost his balance and toppled over. His invention fell with him, colliding with his head with an ominous clank. Karen turns around, her anger replaced with concern in an instant. "Plankton, are you ok?" He lay still. Karen rushed over. He was unconscious. Karen knelt beside his tiny body. "Plankton," she whispered, shaking him gently. Panic began to set in as he didn't stir. The weight of her actions crashed down on her. She hadn't meant for it to go this far. "Plankton, talk to me," she begged. With trembling fingers, she checked for a pulse. It was faint but there, and she felt a small wave of relief. But he was still out cold. Her mind raced as she tried to think what to do next. Calling for help was out of the question; their rivalry with Mr. Krabs meant they couldn't afford any more attention from the authorities. She knew they gotta wait it out. Gently, she picked him up. He was surprisingly heavy for his size. Carefully, she cradled him in her arms and laid him down on the couch. The room was eerily silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Karen sat beside his unconscious form, her eyes brimming with worry. The fight they'd just had seemed trivial now. "I'm sorry," she murmured, stroking his antennae gently. "You're right, I know how much this means to you. But I just want you to know that no matter what, I'm here for you." Her voice was barely above a whisper as she talked to him, as if fearful that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile peace that had settled over the room. "You don't have to prove anything to me, or to anyone else. I'm proud of you just the way you are." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's face for any sign of movement, but his features remained slack, his eye closed. She leaned in closer. "You're a brilliant inventor," she continued. "But you're also a husband, and I need you to remember that." Her voice was filled with a mixture of love and desperation. "I know you can't hear me right now, but I need you to know," she continued, her voice shaking slightly. "I know you're tired of always being second best. But to me, you're not just Plankton, you're the man I chose to spend the rest of my life with." Karen took a deep breath, her hands shaking as she held onto his limp form. "We've been through so much together, and I know you think the Krabby Patty is the key to our happiness, but it's not. It's you. It's us." Her voice grew stronger, fueled by the passion of her words. "We can have a great life without that formula. We can build something new, something just for us." Plankton's chest began to rise and fall more evenly, his breathing steady. Karen watched him, hope growing in her heart. Maybe he could hear her after all. "When you wake up, let's talk. Let's put this behind us and make a promise to each other to make our marriage a priority," she pleaded, her eyes never leaving his face. The minutes dragged by, each one heavier than the last. The silence in the lab was a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of whirring machines and Plankton's excited exclamations. Karen's mind raced with thoughts of all the times they'd shared, laughing and planning together, and she couldn't help but reflect on their relationship. The countless nights spent in the lab, the stolen glances of affection, and the shared dream of a better future. It all flashed before her eyes, and she realized just how much Plankton meant to her. With her heart pounding in her chest, she leaned closer to his unconscious form, her voice trembling. "Plankton, please wake up," she whispered. "I need you to hear me. Our love is our greatest invention, not some secret recipe. I know I've been pushing you, but it's because I see how much this obsession consumes you." She took a deep breath, her voice steadying. "But if you can't let go of this dream, I'll support you. I'll always be here, by your side, no matter what." After a long silence, Plankton groaned. Karen gasped, her eyes filling with relief as she saw the spark of consciousness as he opens his eye. He groaned softly, his hand coming up to rub his head. "Where?" he mumbled, his voice slurred with confusion. Karen took his hand, her voice gentle. "You're on the couch, Plankton. You fell."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 2 (Autistic author) He blinked a few times, his vision clearing slowly. He saw her face, wet with tears, and his own realization dawned. "Oh, Karen," he whispered, his voice filled with remorse. Plankton struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his head. The lab looked the same, but something felt off. The air was charged with an unspoken tension that Plankton couldn't quite put his finger on. He tried to recall the argument, but the details were fuzzy. All he knew was that he'd fallen, and now Karen was apologizing for something she wasn't even at fault for. He looked into her screen, searching for answers. "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse. Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to say. "You had an accident in the lab," she replied, her voice calm and measured. "You hit your head." But as she watched him, she noticed something else. His movements were stiff, his gaze unfocused. He wasn't quite the same. Karen noticed that his usual vibrant expressions were absent, replaced by a vacant stare. She chalked it up to lightheadedness. "Karen," Plankton began, his voice still slurred. "Karen." He paused, his eye darting around the room as if searching for words. Karen felt a cold knot form. Something was different about him, something she couldn't quite place. His movements were rigid, his gaze unwavering, like he was seeing her but not really seeing her. "What is it?" she asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. Plankton's eye finally met hers, but there was no spark of recognition, no mischievous twinkle that she was used to. "Plankton glad to see Karen," he said, his tone flat and unemotional. That wasn't right. "Plankton, do you know where you are?" she asked nervously. Plankton nodded slowly, his gaze still unnaturally focused. "Home," he responded, his voice devoid of the warmth and love she was accustomed to. "The Chum Bucket." Karen's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the man she knew, but all she found was a distant shadow. Panic began to creep in as the gravity of the situation started to dawn on her. This wasn't just a bump on the head. Something was very wrong. "Do you remember me?" she asked, her voice trembling. Plankton's eye searched her, his expression unchanging. "Karen," he responds correctly. "Wife of Plankton. Computer wife as of July 31, 1999." The words hit Karen like a cold wave. He knew her name, but the way he said it, like he was recounting a fact rather than speaking to his beloved wife, chilled her to the bone. She felt the ground shift beneath her, her world tilting on its axis. "Plankton, what's wrong?" she asked, desperation seeping into her voice. He looked at her, his gaze unblinking. "Wife Karen," he said, his voice robotic. "Irritated with Plankton's lack of attention to anniversary dinner." The words were right, but the emotion, the love, the personality behind them was gone. It was like talking to a stranger, a very tiny, very confused stranger. Karen felt a tear roll down her screen. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice quivering. "I'm not just 'Wife Karen', I'm your Karen. Your partner, your best friend." Plankton's response was a mechanical nod. "Affirmative," he said, his tone unwavering. "Karen is wife. Plankton is husband." The coldness of his words cut through Karen like a knife. Her eyes searched his, desperately trying to find any sign of the man she knew was in there. "Plankton," she said softly, "it's me. It's Karen. Do you understand?" He nodded again, his antennae barely twitching. "Understood," he replied, his voice devoid of inflection. "And Karen is upset?" Karen nodded, trying not to crumble. "Yes, I'm upset," she managed to say, her voice choked with emotion. "But more than that, I'm scared. You're not acting like yourself, Plankton." He blinked, his gaze shifting slightly. "Scared," he echoed, as if trying to understand the concept. "Why Karen scared?" "Because you're not you," Karen managed to whisper, breaking with every robotic response. "You're acting so... different." Plankton tilted his head, trying to process her words. "Different how?" he asked, his voice still lacking any emotional depth. Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain something she didn't fully understand herself. "You're not showing your feelings," she said. "You're not... connecting with me like you usually do." Plankton's face remained a mask of confusion. "Connections," he muttered. "Emotional bonds." He nodded slowly. "Important for relationship. Plankton in love with Karen." Karen felt a flicker of hope. "That's right," she said, her voice gentle. "I know you love me. But you're not showing it, not like before." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he processed this new information. "Plankton must adjust behavior to align with Karen's desired emotional output; how?" Karen felt a pang of sadness. He was trying to understand, but his usual charm was nowhere to be found. She took his hand in hers. "Just talk to me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me what you're thinking, what you're feeling." Plankton looked at her, his expression still vacant. "Plankton thinking about Karen," he said, his voice flat. "Plankton feeling determined." Karen's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the emotion his words conveyed. "Determined to what?" she asked, hopeful. "Determined to what," he echoed. "Karen saying, determined to what. Plankton determined to show Karen love, Karen saying determined to what." Karen realized the depth of his change. This wasn't just a concussion or a temporary loss of memory; it was something much more profound, something that had stripped him of his very essence. "Plankton," she began, her voice shaking, "I don't know what happened to you, but I need you to try. Can you tell me how you feel?" But then he starts to rock back and forth to stim, humming their wedding song. The sight of her husband's usually expressive features now so vacant and his movements so repetitive was alarming. Karen felt a sob rise in her throat, but she pushed it down. She needed to stay strong, for him. "Plankton," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Look at me. I need you to focus. Can you tell me how you feel, in your own words?" He stopped rocking and turned his head to look at her, his eye still distant. "Feelings," he repeated. "Love, anger, sadness, joy. Concepts. Plankton has them. Karen saying, determined to what." Karen's hope sank. The realization was setting in. This wasn't just a case of a bump on the head. Plankton's accident had changed him in a way she didn't fully comprehend. The lab, once filled with the warmth of his passion and dreams, now felt cold and sterile. Her mind raced as she searched for any indication of the man she knew. The way he spoke, the way he moved, it was as if a switch had been flipped. "Plankton, does your head hurt?" "Cephalgia via blunt force trauma. Getting better." He responds, flapping his hands. Karen's eyes widened at his unexpected use of medical terminology. "neurodivergence," she thought to herself. Could it be that her husband had somehow developed something from the fall? It was a long shot, but the lack of emotional connection, the repetitive behaviors, and the rigidity of his speech patterns were all hallmarks of it. She scans his brain and connected herself to the monitor. Plankton looks over and sees the brain scan. "Plankton's brain?" "Yes, Plankton.." Karen says. "Cerebellar cortex reduced synapses and showing minimal activity in the corpus callosum. Irreversibly reduced blood flow in between hemispheric..." "I've no idea what you're saying, honey." Karen interrupts. Plankton's face falls, his usual playfulness replaced by a look of confusion. "Neurotypical communication error," he says, his voice laced with frustration. "Karen, Plankton trying to say the fall caused disruption to myelination.." Karen's eyes widen in shocked confusion. "Myelination? Plankton, are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with fear. Plankton nods, his gaze fixed on the brain scan. "Neuroplasticity. Synaptic pruning. Autism acquisition," he says, his words coming out in a rush. Karen's mind reels at his diagnosis. Autism? It couldn't be. But as she looks at his rigid body language and his lack of emotional expression, she can't deny it.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3 (Autistic author) KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3 (Autistic author) "Sorry," Plankton says, his tone still flat. "Plankton, sorry. Plankton's brain different now. Difficult for Karen?" Karen shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, Plankton, you're still you," she says, trying to smile. "I just wanted to understand." Plankton nods, his gaze returning to the brain scan. "Understanding important," he says. "Plankton still loves Karen. Just different now. Permanent." Karen breaks at his words, but she knows he's trying. They sit in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Karen takes a deep breath. "I love you, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "And I'll always be here for you, no matter what." Plankton nods, his expression unchanged. "Karen love Plankton," he responds. "Plankton love Karen." They sit together on the couch, the silence between them heavy with the weight of their new reality. Karen tries to find comfort in the familiar rhythm of his words, but it's like hugging a statue. There's no warmth, no give. But she can tell by the look in his eye that it's present. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you want to go to the anniversary dinner?" He pauses, his gaze unwavering from the brain scan. "Anniversary dinner," he repeats, as if tasting the words. Then, with a sudden nod, "Plankton will accompany Karen." Karen swells with hope. Maybe this wasn't the end of their connection. Maybe they could find a new way to be together. "But Plankton," she says, her voice tentative. "I need you to be comfortable. If going out is too much for you, we can do something else." Plankton's antennae twitch, his face contemplative. "Understood," he says after a moment. "Home dinner preferred. Less stimulating." Karen nods, feeling a weight lift slightly from her chest. "Okay," she says, swiping at a stray tear. "We can have dinner here. I'll make your favorite." Plankton's antennae perk up at the mention of food. "Karen cook?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of excitement. Karen smiles, relieved at his interest. "Yes, I'll cook," she says. "How about some Chum?" Plankton nods eagerly. "Chum. Yes." Karen rises from the couch, determined to make the best of the situation. She heads to the kitchen, her mind racing with ideas for a simple yet delicious meal that would be easy on his senses. She chooses a recipe that doesn't have too many ingredients or smells that might overwhelm him. As she starts cooking, Plankton watches her with his newfound detachment, his eye following her movements with a clinical interest. It's as if he's studying her, trying to understand her actions. "Plankton," Karen says, trying to engage him, "can you help me set the table?" Plankton nods, his movements mechanical as he rises from the couch. He takes the plates and utensils she hands him and arranges them with meticulous precision. Each item is placed exactly 1.5 centimeters apart, the forks and knives aligned at a perfect right angle. It's something she's never noticed him do before, but it's a part of him now. As she stirs the pot of simmering chum, she glances over at him, his single eye focused intently on the task at hand. She wipes a tear from her eye, her heart heavy. But she can't dwell on the sadness. They have a life to live, and they'll figure this out together. "Plankton," she calls out, trying to keep her voice light. "Could you please grab the napkins?" He nods and heads to the drawer, his steps measured and deliberate. When he returns, he doesn't hand them to her but instead counts them out loud. "One, two." He holds up both napkins, one for each place setting. "Is this correct?" Karen nods, her smile tight. "Yes, thank you." She tries not to let the sadness seep into her voice. This was their new norm, a dance of understanding and patience that they were still learning. As they sit down to eat, Karen notices that Plankton doesn't touch his food until she does. "You don't have to wait for me," she says gently, trying to ease into their new routine. "You can start whenever you're ready." Plankton nods, his movements precise and deliberate as he takes his first bite. Karen watches him carefully, noticing that he's chewing his food much slower than normal. She wonders if it's because his sensory input has changed or if it's just part of the neurodivergence. They eat in silence, the only sound being the occasional clink of their utensils and the bubbling of the chum. Karen tries to think of something to say, something that won't cause him discomfort or confusion. But her mind is a whirlwind of questions and fears. "Plankton," she says tentatively, "Do you like the chum?" He nods, his movements methodical. "Chum. Yes. Good." His voice is still flat, but she can see the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eye. They continue their meal, Karen forcing down bites while her mind spins with a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, sadness, hope, and love all intermingling in a tumultuous storm. "Plankton," she says, her voice soft and tentative. "What are you thinking about?" He looks up from his plate, his eye focusing on her for a moment before returning to his food. "Thinking," he says, his voice monotone. "Plankton thinking about Karen. And Plankton with Karen." Karen aches at his response, but she tries to keep her expression neutral. "Do you like spending time with me?" she asks, desperation tingeing her voice. Plankton pauses, his eye flicking up to meet hers. "Plankton enjoys Karen's company." Karen clenches at his words, so devoid of the warmth they once held. But she knows she has to be patient, to give him space to navigate this new world. "Do you enjoy talking to me, Plankton?" He considers this for a moment before nodding. "Talking is good. Plankton learns things. Plankton feels safe." Karen feels a tear roll down her screen. "That's all I want," she whispers, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His grip is firm, but there's no warmth in it. It's as if he's trying to mimic the physical cue of comfort without understanding the emotional connection. "Karen crying sad?" He asks retreating his hand. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt you earlier. I just wanted to spend our anniversary together." Plankton nods, his expression unreadable. "Understood," he says. "Anniversary. Special."

COMPUTER SENSORS ii * * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * "Plankton?" Hanna's voice called. "You've been in there for a while." But there was no response from the bedroom. Karen's smile faded as she heard the silence. She knew her husband well enough to recognize when he'd reached his limit. She excused herself and went to check. Plankton was indeed on the bed, his eye squeezed shut. His body was rigid breathing shallow. Karen ached for him; she knew he was in the throes of sensory overload. Karen approached the bed gently, not wanting to startle him. She sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Plankton," she said softly. "You ok?" He didn't move, didn't speak. He just lay there, a tense coil of discomfort. Karen knew to recognize the signs of his overwhelm. The way he curled tightly around his body, the shallow breaths that spoke of his struggle to regain control. He was in his own world now, one where the bombardment of Hanna's sounds and touch had become too much. "Plankton," she said again, her voice a gentle whisper in the room. "You don't have to be out there if you don't want to." The touches, the sounds, Hanna— all too much. Karen's expression filled with understanding. "It's alright," she assured him, her hand gently rubbing his back. "You don't have to force it." Plankton nodded, his body slowly relaxing under her touch. He let out a sigh. Karen knew Plankton's not one for crowded spaces or unexpected physical contact. "Hey, guys, everything ok in here?" Hanna's voice was cheerful, but there was a hint of concern that had crept in. She searched the room, her gaze landing on Plankton's rigid form. Her smile faltered for a second, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "Is he ok?" "He's... overwhelmed," Karen said. She knew Hanna didn't mean any harm, but she also knew her friend's boundless enthusiasm could be to much for Plankton to handle. Hanna's expression grew more puzzled. "What's there to be overwhelmed about?" Her curiosity piqued. "What's going on with you Plankton?" she asked, taking a step closer to the bed. Plankton jolted slightly, but he remained silent, eye still closed. "I don't get it.." Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Plankton's a bit... sensitive to stimulation," she began. "He needs his quiet time. Nothing against you, Hanna; just how he is." Hanna grew more concerned. "But I didn't mean to," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to have a good time." Karen patted Plankton's shoulder, her screen never leaving his face. "It's not you, Hanna," she assured. "It's just that to much noise, touch, all just gets to be to much for him." "How?" "Some people need more space than others. It's not a reflection on you or your company." "But I don't get it," Hanna said, her voice quiet. "What did I do?" "You didn't do anything wrong," Karen assured her, her hand still resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's just that Plankton's sensory input is overwhelmed easily." Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, full of questions. "But I didn't do anything weird; did I?" "No," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "It's just that Plankton isn't much... physical affection from anyone but me. And even then, it's on his terms." Hanna's expression softened, starting to reach out to gently touch Plankton's arm. "Don't," Karen said, placing a hand over hers to stop her. Hanna's hand hovered in mid-air, and she looked at Karen with confusion. Karen took a deep breath. "Plankton needs his space to recharge. And when it comes to physical touch, it's something that's... it's not something he's comfortable with, from just anyone." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "But, you?" "We've found a balance that works for us. But it's something that took time to figure out. And even then, there are days when he needs more space than usual." Hanna nodded. "But he didn't say anything," she murmured. "I didn't know." "It's not something he talks about. He tries to be strong, to handle it, but sometimes it's just to much for him." "Why does he not flinch if you touch him, if it's sensory?" Hanna asked. Karen sighed. "It's complicated. I've known him for a long time, and we've built a level of trust. He's comfortable with my touch. But even then, it's a balancing act of knowing when he needs more and or when he needs less." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took a step back from the bed. "I had no idea," she murmured. "How long does it take for him to..." "It varies," Karen said. "Sometimes it's just minutes, other times can be hours." "Is he going to remember us talking right now?" Hanna asked. "It's hard to say," Karen replied, her gaze still on Plankton. "When he's like this, he's kind of... in his own world. Sometimes he's aware, sometimes he's not. It's like he's not present. The best thing is to just give him space," Karen said. "Let him come out of it on his own time. Sometimes talking to him helps, but not always." Hanna nodded. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to make him feel included." Karen gave her a small, understanding smile. "It's alright, Hanna," she said. "You couldn't have known. Just remember, Plankton needs space, and for us to respect that." Hanna nodds, her gaze still on Plankton. "So, how does he act coming out of it?" "It depends," Karen said, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "Sometimes he's a bit groggy, other times he's just... tired. And sometimes he's a bit snappy." "What will he remember?" "Probably not much," Karen said, her voice low. "When he's like this, the world kind of... washes over him. He might remember snippets, but it's all pretty fuzzy." Hanna nods. "How do I show him I care?" "Just being a friend—that means the world to him. But sometimes, the best way to show you care is to give him the space he needs." "But I don't want him to think I'm ignoring him." "You're not," Karen assured her, her voice gentle. "Just be mindful of his own boundaries. Sometimes a simple 'How are you feeling?' or even showing interests in his likes, can mean more than any hug. It's a condition where the brain can't process all the information coming in from the senses at once. It's like your brain's circuits are overloaded, and you just... shut down." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took this in. "Is it ok if I can ask Plankton questions about it?" "Of course," Karen said, her voice gentle. "But just be mindful. He might not be up for a lot of talking, especially right now." Hanna took a deep breath and approached, her movements slow and deliberate. "Plankton?" He didn't respond, his body still taut with tension. Hanna looked to Karen for guidance, who offered a smile. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice a soft caress. "Can you hear me?" There was no response, but Karen could feel the tension in his body ease slightly. She knew he was listening, even if he couldn't bring himself to respond. "Plankton's born with a condition called sensory sensitivity," Karen began, her voice calm and measured. "It means that his brain has trouble interpreting and responding to all sensory information from his environment. It can be anything from sounds to touch." "So, like, when we were watching the movie, and I was all over the place with my feelings, that was probably a bit much for him?" "Exactly," Karen said, her voice gentle. "Everything's just... too much for him sometimes." Hanna's eyes searched Plankton's face, looking for any sign of discomfort. "But he didn't say any thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "He tries not to," Karen said, her eyes never leaving her husband. "He doesn't like to make a fuss. But when it gets to be too much, he just kind of... shuts down." "But how do you know when it's too much?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "It's subtle," Karen said, her eyes still on Plankton. "He'll get tense, his breathing will change, bad mood, his eye might glaze over a bit. And when he gets really overwhelmed, he just... withdraws." "So, I shouldn't have grabbed his hand during the movie?" she asked, her voice filled with regret. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You didn't know. Just remember for next time." Hanna nodded. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're all learning. Just remember to be patient and pay attention. And if you're ever unsure, just ask." Hanna nodded, her hand now resting gently on the bed next to Plankton. "I'm sorry Plankton," she whispered. He didn't move, but Karen could see the tension in his body start to ease a bit more. She knew he heard Hanna, even if he couldn't respond. "Don't worry, Plankton," Hanna said, her voice gentle. "I'll be more careful next time. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Karen watched as Plankton's antennae slowly twitched, his breathing evening out as he began to come back to the world around him. It's a slow process, one Karen knew well. She gave Hanna a nod, a silent thank you for her understanding. "Why don't you go grab us board games, Hanna?" Karen suggested, voice low. "Give him a few to 'wake up'." Hanna nodded, her gaze lingering on Plankton before she turned and left the room. Karen watched the door close behind her before turning her attention back to Plankton. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispered, stroking his arm. "You're safe here."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 1 (Autistic author) It happened, during another failed attempt at the krabby patty formula. Plankton tried sneaking through the back when Mr. Krabs saw him. "You again!" Mr. Krabs roared, his eyes bulging like a pair of boiled eggs about to pop. "You're not getting it, I'll make sure of that!" With that, Mr. Krabs swung a nearby frying pan with such ferocity that even SpongeBob flinched. Plankton's tiny body was no match for the metallic beast that was hurtling towards him, and the next thing he knew, his world had gone dark. SpongeBob's eyes widened as he watched his boss's arch-nemesis crumble to the ground, the frying pan clattering loudly beside him. The usually boisterous kitchen was now eerily silent, save for the distant hiss of the fryers. Mr. Krabs' chest heaved with each breath, his claws still poised in the air from the swing. "Mr. Krabs!" Sponge Bob squeaked, his spatula frozen mid-air. "Is he okay?" But Mr. Krabs' has retreated to his own office, leaving Sponge Bob with Plankton. Carefully, Sponge Bob prodded him with his spatula. No response. His single, tiny eyelid was closed. After a while, Plankton stirred. His eye fluttered open, but the world was a jumbled mess. The colors were too bright, the noises too loud, the smells too overwhelming. The kitchen of the Krusty Krab, a place he still knew like the back of his tiny hand, was suddenly a chaotic maelstrom of sensory input that his brain couldn't process. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it all, but the clanging of pots and pans, the sizzling of the fryers, and the garish neon lights just added to the confusion. SpongeBob's face appeared above him, a mask of worry and concern, his porous expression more complex than anything Plankton had ever seen. "Are you okay?" the sponge asked, his voice a gentle wave lapping against the shore of his newfound reality. Plankton nods, running back home to the Chum Bucket. Plankton's computer wife Karen's no stranger to him coming back upset or wanting space. So as Plankton retreats to his room in the Chum Bucket, she doesn't prompt him. Alone in the bedroom, Plankton intensely stared at the wall, his thoughts racing like a tornado. Everything was different now. The once-familiar world had turned on him, and he couldn't understand why. The lights in the Chum Bucket, usually a comfort, now blazed like the sun in his face. The noises, oh, the noises! They were so loud, so overwhelming, like a cacophony of a million tiny bells ringing in his head. He put his hands over his ears, trying to block them out, but even the softest hum seemed to resonate within his skull. Plankton wasn't sure how to process these new sensations. His brain was on overload, and his body felt like it didn't belong to him anymore. He was aware of every tiny detail in his environment, every speck of dust on the floor, every vibration from the floorboards, and it was all too much. He tried to get up, to find solace in his usual routine, but his legs failed him. They trembled and wobbled like Jell-O on a stormy sea. Plankton fell back onto the bed, feeling the softness of the pillow beneath him and the cool metal of the bed frame against his back. It was then that he noticed the pattern of the wallpaper, the tiny, intricate shapes that danced before his eye. They spun and swirled, forming complex mazes that his mind tried desperately to solve. It was mesmerizing, yet terrifying. He was trapped in a world of overstimulation, and he didn't know how to escape.

Sensory inputs can be any stimuli entering through one of the sensory modalities: sight, sound, gustation, olfaction, and tactile sensations. Tactile sensations include responses to pressure and temperature. Over stimulation is the product of sensory overload. Overstimulation (OS) occurs when there is “to much” of some external stimulus or stimuli for a person's brain to process and integrate effectively. Sensory overload can be triggered by a singular event or a build up thereof. When the brain has to put all of its resources into sensory processing, it can shut off other functions, like speech, decision making and information processing. Using noise-cancelling headphones to vastly reduce external sound, which can help to stop sensory over load. Weighted sensory products, such as blankets or vests, to provide pressure and soothing proprioceptive input. Avoiding open questions – if you need their input on something, aim to use closed yes/no questions. It causes feelings of discomfort and being overwhelmed. Moving away from sources of sensory input, such as loud sounds or strong smells, can reduce these feelings. However, it is a core characteristic of autism, where individuals often experience heightened sensitivity to stimuli. It's important to note that not all autistic individuals experience overstimulation in the same way or to the same degree. Some may have a higher threshold for sensory input and be less easily overwhelmed, while others may become overstimulated even in relatively calm environments. Stimming, short for self-stimulating behaviors, is a repetitive movement or action that can include body movements, vocal noises, or sensory stimulation. It can be a way to manage excess energy, self-soothe, or cope with emotions. Stimming can also help regulate sensory input, either increasing stimulation or decreasing sensory overload. Stimming behaviors can consist of tactile, visual, auditory, vocal, proprioceptive (which pertains to limb sensing), olfactory, and vestibular stimming (which pertains to balance).

Neurodivergence* are just as physical as other disabilities. why are changes in your brain, nerves, gut, hormones, senses, and energy levels only considered physical if they're caused by literally anything else? have we considered that the separation of the mind from the rest of the body is just a way of minimizing and othering ND people? *neurodivergent refers to people with mental illnesses, developmental and intellectual disabilities, and other neurological conditions.

ᴴᵃᵖᵖʸ ᴮⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᶜᴾᵁ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ @ALYJACI ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢ ʷᵉˡˡ ᵃˢ ᵖᵉᵗ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵃʷᵃⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ ᵃʳʳⁱᵛᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏⁱᵗᶜʰᵉⁿ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ʲᵘᵐᵖᵉᵈ⸴ ʰᵃᵖᵖⁱˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉˣᶜⁱᵗᵉᵈ‧ "ᴴᵃᵖᵖʸ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ!" @ALYJACI

Hi, friends! I like emojicombos.com because it’s easy for me to use, being public domain. I also like to express myself through writing, as an author with Autism. So thank you Emoji combos and keep it up!

ᴮᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᴺᵉᵛᵉʳ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʳⁱᵖ ᵗᵒ ᵀᵉˣᵃˢ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷʰᵒ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵖⁱᶜᵏ ᵘᵖ‧ ᔆᵒ ⁿᵒʷ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʰᵉʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᴮᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵒˢᵗ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵐⁱˢʰᵃᵖ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉʳ ʷⁱʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵒʸᵉᵈ ᵃⁿʸ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵘᵖˢ ᵒʳ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ʳᵉᵛⁱᵛᵃˡ‧ ᔆᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳˢ ᵒᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ⁱⁿ‧ "ᴵ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇʸ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱᶠ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧‧‧" ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵗʳᵃⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵒᶠᶠ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ʰᵉᵃᵖ‧ "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᵒᵇˡⁱᵗᵉʳᵃᵗᵉᵈ!" ʸᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ‧ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵗᵉᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰᵉʳ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᵍᵃˡ ᵖᵃˡ ˡⁱᶠᵉˡᵉˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉⁿᵗⁱʳᵉˡʸ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵒʸᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ᵍᵉᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ⸴ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ; ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵗᵒ‧‧" ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵒʷ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵉⁿ‧ "ᴴᵒʷ ᶜᵃⁿ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸴ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ!" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵃⁿᵍʳⁱˡʸ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ 'ᵉᵐ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ⁿᵒᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ˢⁱᵍʰ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᵃʳⁱˡʸ ᵃ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ'ˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ˢᵒ ᵇᵃᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ⁱⁿ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉ‧ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵒᶠ ⁱᵗ⸴ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵍᵒᵗ ⁿᵒ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ˡⁱᶠᵉ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ⸴ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉ⸴ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉˢᵗ ᶠⁱᵍᵘʳᵉ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵈᵃʸ⸴ ˡᵉᵗ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ʸᵉᵗ ʰᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵍᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ⸴ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ʷⁱᶠᵉ'ˢ ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵒʳ ᵍʳⁱᵉᶠ‧ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃʳᵐ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃˡˢᵒ ˢʰᵉ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ʰᵉˡᵖ‧ ᔆᵒ ⁿᵒʷ ˢʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʷⁱⁿᵈᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ˢᵉᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ⁿᵉʷ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵒⁿᵗ ᵖᵒʳᶜʰ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ‧ ᴴᵉ ˢᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵃˡ ᶠᵒʳ ʳᵉˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵇʸ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ʰᵉ ᶠⁱⁿⁱˢʰᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ⸴ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ˢʰᵉ'ᵈ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵍᵒᵗ‧ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵗᵉˣᵗᵉᵈ 'ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʷᵒʳᵏ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵉᵐᵉᵈ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ' ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵃˢ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗ ᵉⁿᵈᵉᵈ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ᵇʸ‧ ᴴᵉ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᵃ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵃˡ ᵐᵃʳᵏᵉʳ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ‧ "ᴾᵒᵒʳ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ ˡⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵉˣʰᵃᵘˢᵗᵉᵈ ᵃˡˡ ʰⁱˢ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ‧ "ᴴⁱ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵃ ᵈᵉᶠᵉᵃᵗᵉᵈ ˢⁱᵍʰ ᵃˢ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵏⁿᵉˡᵗ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ⸴ ᵏⁱᵈ‧" "ᴵ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ ᵃⁿᵈ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵉʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵒᶠᶠ‧ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵗⁱʳᵉᵈ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵗᵒ ˡⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ; ʸᵒᵘ ʲᵘˢᵗ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʷᵒʳᵏ ⁱᵗ ᵃˡˡ ᵒᵘᵗ‧" "ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ'ˢ ᵃ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ⸴ ˢᵒ ⁿᵒʷ‧‧‧" "ᔆʰᵉ ⁱˢ ᵃʷᵃʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰᵒʷ ᵈʳᵃⁱⁿⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ ⁱˢ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵉᵃˡ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵍʳⁱᵉᶠ‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒᵈᵈᵉᵈ‧

ᔆʰᵘᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᴰᵒʷⁿ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʰᵃᵈ ⁿᵒ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵘᵖˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢʰᵉ ˢʰᵒʳᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒᵈᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶠˡᵃᵐᵉˢ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖˡᵉˢˢˡʸ‧ ᵁˢᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᵐᵖᵗ ˢᵗᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵃᵗᵗⁱᵉˢ ᵃˡᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵈᵃʸ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵘⁿⁿᵉʳᵛⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ʷᵉᵉᵏ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵍʳⁱᵉᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵒˢˢ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ᵖᵃʳᵗⁿᵉʳ ⁱⁿ ᶜʳⁱᵐᵉ‧ ᴴᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ᵒⁿˡʸ ʰᵃᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵖᵉᵗ ᵖᵘᵖᵖʸ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ‧‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵐᵒᵉᵇᵃ ᵈⁱˢˡⁱᵏᵉᵈ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵃⁿⁱᵒⁿ ˢᵒᵇᵇᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ᵃ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵒʳ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ⸴ ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃⁿʸ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ʷᵉᵉᵏ! "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵖˡᵃⁿⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵇⁱᵍ ᵒʳ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵘˢ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵍᵘᵃʳᵈ!" ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵉⁿᵈˢ ʰⁱˢ ᶠʳʸ ᶜᵒᵒᵏ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜʳʸⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵃʳᵏᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵃʷˡⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵒʷ ᵈʷⁱⁿᵈˡᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵈᵈʳᵉˢˢ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ʰᵉʳ ᵈᵃᵗᵃ ⁿᵒʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷʰⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵏⁿᵉˡᵗ ᵇʸ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ⸴ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵉᵉ ʰᵉʳ ᵒʳ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ!" "ᔆʰᵉ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʰᵉʳ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵈ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ˡᵒˢᵗ ʰᵉʳ ˡᵃˢᵗ ʷᵉᵉᵏ ᵃᵍᵒ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵇʳᵒᵏᵉⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉⁿ'ᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵇᵉᵗ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃʸ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ˢʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʳᵉˢᵗ ˢᵒ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵃᵗ ᵐʸ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷⁱᵖᵉᵈ ᵃʷᵃʸ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒⁿˢⁱᵈᵉʳᵉᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳ‧ "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵘⁿˢᵉᵗᵗˡⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ ⁱᶠ ᴵ'ᵐ ʸᵒᵘ⸴ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ᵉᵐᵖᵗʸ ᵐᵒⁿⁱᵗᵒʳ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ ᔆᵒ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷˢ ʰⁱˢ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵈᵉᵖʳⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᵖⁱⁿᵉᵃᵖᵖˡᵉ‧ "ᴳᵃʳʸ⸴ ʰᵉʸ; ᵈᵃᵈᵈʸ'ˢ ʰᵒᵐᵉ! ᴬⁿᵈ ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵍᵘᵉˢᵗˢ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵗᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧" ᴳᵃʳʸ ᵇˡⁱⁿᵏᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᵖˡᵃʸ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ˡᵃᵗᵉ‧ ᴼʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱˢ ᵃ ᵍᵘᵉˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃ ᵗʰʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵗᵒ‧‧" ᴳᵃʳʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ'ˡˡ ʳᵉˢᵖᵉᶜᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵖᵃᶜᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ˢᵗᵉᵖ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳⁱᵉˢ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉ ᵏⁱᵈ⸴ ˢᵒ ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏˢ‧ ᔆᵒʳʳʸ ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ˢᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˡˡ ʸᵉᵗ ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ʳᵉˢᵗ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ˡᵃᵗᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵃʰᵉᵃᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ ˢᵗᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒ ᴵ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵐʸ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵘʳᵉ ᴵ ᶠᵃⁿᶜⁱᵉᵈ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ ᵈᵘʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵒᵗʰ‧ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘⁿ ʳⁱˢᵉ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵇˡᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʷⁱⁿᵈᵒʷ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵉᵉᵐᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ˢˡᵉᵖᵗ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ‧ "ᴺᵒ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᵏʳᵃᵇ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ‧‧" ᔆᵐⁱˡᵉᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ⸴ ᵍˡᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᶠᵒʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ʷᵒᵏᵉⁿ ᵘᵖ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵍʳⁱⁿⁿᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ! ᔆᵒ ᴵ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵃˡˡᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ʷᵉ ᵈᵒ⸴ ᵇᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒʳ ⁱᶠ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶜʰⁱˡˡᵃˣ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃˢ ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵉⁿ ᵃ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ ᵃˡˡ ʷᵉᵉᵏ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵃˢᵏ ᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ'ˡˡ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵘᵖ ᵒⁿ ᶻ'ˢ‧‧" "ᴬʰ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃ ᶠʳᵉᵉ ʷᵉᵉᵏᵉⁿᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵒᵗʰᵉʳ; ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᵈᵉᵐⁱˢᵉ⸴ ᵇʳⁱˡˡⁱᵃⁿᵗ ᵍᵉⁿⁱᵘˢ! ᴺᵒʷ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵇᵘˢʸ ʰᵉˡᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵍᵘʸ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ˢʰᵉ 'ᵃᶜᶜⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗᵃˡˡʸ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒᵈᵉᵈ' ʸᵉᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ‧‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈ ʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᵃ ᵇᵘᵇᵇˡᵉ ᵇᵃᵗʰ‧‧

ᵀʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳˢ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵐᵉᵗ ᵘᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵛⁱʳᵘˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ˡᵃᵗᵉ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵃʳʳⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ “ᴵ ᵘˢᵘᵃˡˡʸ ʳᵉᵗⁱʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ᵐᵒⁿⁱᵗᵒʳ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵐʸ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵍᵒᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵘˢᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵘᵖ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ‧ ʸᵉᵗ ᴵ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ˢⁿᵃᵖ ᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒ ʷᵉ’ˡˡ ᵍᵒ ⁱⁿ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗˡʸ…” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵍᵒᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ‧ ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ’ˢ ᵐᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ ʳᵉᵃˡ ᶜᵒⁿᵛᵉʳˢᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴴᵉ ʰᵃˢ, ᵒⁿ ᵒᶜᶜᵃˢⁱᵒⁿ, ᵍʳᵉᵉᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ, ᵃˡᵇᵉⁱᵗ ᵃᵇˢᵉⁿᵗᵐⁱⁿᵈᵉᵈˡʸ‧ “ᵂᵉˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ ᵃʳᵉⁿ’ᵗ ᵒⁿ ˢᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵐᵘˢᵗⁿ’ᵗ ᵇᵉ ʷᵒʳᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘˢʸ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ᵖʳᵒʲᵉᶜᵗ ⁱᶠ ᴵ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ‧‧” ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵗᵒ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ ᴮᵒᵗʰ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ “ᴵ’ˡˡ ᵍᵒ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ…” ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ ᵇᵉʰⁱⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖᵉᵉᵏᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵈʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ᶠⁱⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈˡʸ ᶠᵃˢᵗ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ “ᴵᶠ ʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʷᵉ ˢᵗᵒᵒᵈ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵒʷ…” ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵗⁱᶠˡᵉᵈ ᵘʳᵍᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰ‧ “ᴵ’ᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ ᶠᵒʳ‧‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ᵃʷᵃʸ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ “ᴰᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵗᵉˡˡ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʰⁱˢ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉˢ ˢᵒ ᶜᵘᵗᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵈᵒʳᵃᵇˡᵉ!” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜʰᵘᶜᵏˡᵉᵈ, ᵃˢ ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈᵉʳ‧ “ᴸᵃˢᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᴵ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘᵖ ᵈᵘʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ʷᵉ ᵇᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵃ ᵈᵃʸ ᵗʳⁱᵖ ᶠᵒʳ ᵒᵘʳ ʷᵉᵈᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿⁿⁱᵛᵉʳˢᵃʳʸ‧” “ᴵ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ⁿᵒʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏˢ; ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ!” ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵘᵖ ʸᵉᵗ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱˣ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᶠᵒᵒᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵃᵗ‧ ᴬˢ ʰᵉ ᶠⁱⁿⁱˢʰᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵃˡ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ, ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ‧ “ᴴⁱ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧” ˢʰᵉ ᵍʳᵉᵉᵗᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ “ᴴᵉʸ‧‧” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ “ᔆᵒ ᵈⁱᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵘᵖ ᵒᵘᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ?” “ᴺᵒᵗ ᵃˡˡ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ, ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ʷᵃʸ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵈᵃʳᵏ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵈʳᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ ᵒᶠᶠ…” “ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ʰᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵃ ᵛⁱʳᵘˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ…” “ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʰᵉʳ ᶠᵃᵘˡᵗ; ˢʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ…” “ᔆᵗⁱˡˡ, ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ‧” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ “ᴹᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧‧” “ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ!” “ᴴᵒʷ’ˢ ⁱᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖʸ ʰᵉᵃᵈ?” ᔆʰᵉ ᵗᵘʳⁿˢ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ “ᵂʰᵃᵗ’ᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃˡˡ ᵐᵉ…” ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧

🌈🧠🤷🏼‍♀️

🔪☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ sprinkling some fairy dust on the feed for my mentally ill & disabled girlies who may be struggling or having a hard time rn ༺♡༻ /)__/) Ƹ̵̡\( ˶• ༝ •˶) /Ʒ o ( ⊃⊃) *⛥*ﾟ・。*.ੈ ♡₊˚•. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ # 🔮

ᶠᵒʳ ᴴᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵀʳᵘᵉ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ╰ ✧ ･ﾟ∙ ∗ — ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⟨ 3 4 2 ⟩ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵒʳᵏᵉᵈ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵒⁿ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ⁱⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵃ ᵗʰᵘᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᴼʷ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒʷ ᶜʳᵃᵈˡⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵏⁿᵉᵉ ᵃˢ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳᵉᵈ‧ "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‧‧" "ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢˡⁱᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐʸ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᵗʸᵖᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵒⁿ ᵐ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ˡⁱᶠᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉᵍ‧" ᴰᵒⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ᵖᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵈᵉ‧ "ᴼᵘᶜʰ‧" "ᔆᵒʳʳʸ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗⁱᵉ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ˡᵉᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵃⁿᵈᵃᵍᵉ ⁱᵗ‧" ᵀʰᵉⁱʳ ᵖᵉᵗ ᵃᵐᵒᵉᵇᵃ ᵖᵘᵖᵖʸ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᶜᵃˢᵗ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒʳᵏᵉᵈ⸴ ᵃˡˡ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ˡᵒⁿᵍ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ'ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ‧" ᔆʰᵉ ᵗᵘᶜᵏᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᵐᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵘʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵉˡᵉᵛᵃᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ‧ "ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵍⁱʳˡˢ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵃˡˡ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃⁿᶜᵉˡ ᵖᵒˢᵗᵖᵒⁿᵉ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃˢ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ˢᵖʳᵃʷˡᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵇʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᵍⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵉˡˡʸ ʳᵘᵇˢ ᵗᵒ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵉˣᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵖˡᵃⁱⁿ ʷʰʸ ᵍᵃˡ ᵖᵃˡˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒᶜᶜᵘʳʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ ʰᵒʷ ⁱˢ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁱⁿᵗᵐᵉⁿᵗ ʰᵉˡᵖˢ ᵃ ᵇⁱᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵒʷ; ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" "ᴼᶠ ᶜᵒᵘʳˢᵉ⸴ ᵇⁱᵍ ᵍᵘʸ‧ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵖᵃᶜᵉ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ʳᵉˢᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ‧ ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵈʳⁱᶠᵗᵉᵈ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ 'ᵉᵐ ᵇᵉ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁱⁿᵗᵐᵉⁿᵗ ʷᵒʳⁿ ᵒᶠᶠ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʰᵉ ʷᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵘᵖ‧ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ˢᑫᵘⁱʳʳᵉˡ ᵃʳʳⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ‧ "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵐʸ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ˢᵒ ⁿⁱᶜᵉ‧ ᴴᵉ'ˢ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵒʷ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵈ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵇʸ‧‧" ᴹˢ‧ ᴾᵘᶠᶠ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵒⁿ ʰᵉʳ ʷᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᴷʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᴷʳᵃᵇ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈʳᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵒᶠᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵃʳᵗⁱᶠⁱᶜⁱᵃˡ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ‧ ᴬˡˢᵒ ᴹˢ‧ ᴾᵘᶠᶠ'ˢ ᶜˡᵃˢˢ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ʷᵉˡˡ ᶜᵃʳᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ ᴴᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ 'ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵉᵉˡˢ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ' ˢʰᵉ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵗᵒ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ʰᵘᵈᵈˡᵉᵈ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢˡᵉᵖᵗ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵉⁿᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵒᵏᵉ‧ "ᴸᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧"

ℑ𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. 💀

ᴴᵉʳ ᔆᶜᵃʳᵉ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵃ ᵗʳᵃⁱˡ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ˢᵃʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᵇˡᵉᵉᵈⁱⁿᵍ‧ “ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‧‧” “ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ, ᴵ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ‧ ᴼʰ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧ ᴵ’ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧ ᴴᵒʷ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ…” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘᵖ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ‧ “ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ; ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒˢᵗ ᵃ ˡᵒᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ‧‧” “ʸᵒᵘ’ʳᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ, ˢᵒ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ…” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵃᵈᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵃˡˡ ˡᵃˢᵗ ᵉᶠᶠᵒʳᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ʷⁱᶠᵉ‧ “ᴸᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧” ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉᵈ ˢʰᵘᵗ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ ‘ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ’ ᶠʳᵃⁿᵗⁱᶜᵃˡˡʸ ᵇʸ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵒʷⁿ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᵈʸⁱⁿᵍ ˡⁱᵐᵖˡʸ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʳᵉᵗᵘʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᴷʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᴷʳᵃᵇ‧ “ᴼʰ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ; ⁿᵒ, ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ! ᴶᵘˢᵗ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ, ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ…” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃᶜᵗ ᶠᵃˢᵗ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ʰᵉʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉˡᵉˢˢ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˡᵃᵇ‧ “ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉ…” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ʰᵉˡᵖ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵖʳᵉᵖᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵃ ᵐᵃᶜʰⁱⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘˢᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ‧ “ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵘⁱˡᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵃ ˢᵉⁿᵗⁱᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ˢᵒ ⁿᵒʷ ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ⁱⁿ ʳᵉᵗᵘʳⁿ‧‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʰᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃᶜʰⁱⁿᵉʳʸ ʷᵒʳʳⁱᵉᵈˡʸ‧ “ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ⁱᵗ ʷᵒʳᵏˢ…” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢˡᵒʷˡʸ ᵒᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᵗᵒ‧ “ᵂᵃ, ʷʰᵉʳᵉ…” “ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᵒʰ ᵍˡᵃᵈ ʸᵒᵘ’ʳᵉ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ!” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ “ᴶᵘˢᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧”

𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑏𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 ౨ৎ

BENEFITS TO EMBRACING NEURODIVERSITY IN Schools @MeS. SPEECHIEPO CREATES INCLUSIVE LEARNING ENVIRONMENTS Neurodiversity affirming teaching strategies allow ALL students, regardless of neurotype to be accepted, valued, and supported. IMPROVES ACADEMIC AND LEARNING OUTCOMES Neurodivergent students often excel academically when their individual learning styles are accommodated and their strengths are nurtured. ENHANCES SOCIAL INTERACTIONS Neurodiverse i.e. BOTH Neurotypical and Neurodivergent) students have opportunities to interact with peers of varying neurotypes, fostering social skills and relationships, empathy, understanding, and acceptance. REDUCES BULLYING AND STIGMA Directly teaching about differences and embracing neurodiversity reduces bullying and stigma, creating a safer and more welcoming school environment for ALL students. PROMOTES A VARIETY OF STRENGTHS AND INTERESTS Schools can identify, promote, and celebrate the talents, strengths, and interests of ALL students, whether in academics, arts, or other areas to make everyone feel valued, respected, and accepted. OMeS SPEECHIEPO

“Neurodivergent Umbrella”* Beneath the umbrella, it lists: ADHD DID & OSDD ASPD BPD NPD Dyslexia CPTSD Dyspraxia Sensory Processing Dyscalculia PTSD Dysgraphia Bipolar Autism Epilepsy OCD ABI Tic Disorders Schizophrenia Misophonia HPD Down Syndrome Synesthesia * non-exhaustive list

Going into Hospital When you are suddenly needing to go into hospital it can be scary, and the last thing people want to do is think about what they need to take with them. For this reason we have compiled this list to help you prepare. Comfortable/ Loose fitting clothing Several pairs of underwear Thick socks Ipad/Tablet/ Ipod w/ earphones Money Sanitary pads Mobile phone and charger Food to snack on Books/ CD’s/ Magazines Toiletries/ face wipes/hairbrush Own Pillow Clothing for going home Dressing gown and slippers An overnight bag is a good idea (although you may not need this) Heating pad

ᴳᵉᵗ ᵁᵖ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵘᵖ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳ ˢᵉᵃᵗ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒʷ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ⁱⁿ ᶜʰᵃⁱʳ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵍᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ˢʰᵒᵒᵏ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈᵉʳ ˢⁱᵍʰᵗˡʸ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵃ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ‧ ᴸᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵗⁱʳʳⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗᵉˢᵗ, ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ˢᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᴵ'ˡˡ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ‧ ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵒʳ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᴵ ᶜᵃʳʳʸ ʸᵒᵘ?" ᴺᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᵂᵉˡˡ ᴵ'ᵐ ᶜᵃʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰᵉⁿ‧ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵈⁱˢᵗᵘʳᵇ ʸᵒᵘ ⁱᶠ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ʰᵃʳᵈᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʳᵒᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵉᵃˢⁱˡʸ ᵖᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐʸˢᵉˡᶠ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ᵖᵘᵗˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ʷⁱᵖⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵈʳᵒᵒˡ ᵒᶠᶠ ʰⁱᵐ‧ “ᴴᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ⁿⁱᶜᵉ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧‧”𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 𝟏 𝐦𝐢𝐧.

"disabilities aren't aesthetic" Yes, but you don't need to say this under the posts of disabled people showing off cute mobility aids, decorated med organisers, a cute bed set up, the art piece that represents their disabilities, etc. Whether theyre your fellow disabled folk or especially so if you're able-bodied/neurotypical, allow disabled people freedom of expression and the little joys they can. People cope with their disabilities in diverse ways, and sometimes that means you will see a disabled person romanticizing their life, or making their aids aesthetic. Someone existing and expressing themselves, making their lives more comfortable and enjoyable, should not be seen as ”glorifying” anything. I’m not telling anyone to go make themselves disabled, nobody should take their health for granted.

ᔆʰᵉᵈᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᴸⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᵁˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ʳᵒᵖᵉ, ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ’ˢ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ˡᵃᵈᵈᵉʳ ᵖᵘᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵃ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗᵉᵈ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᶠⁱˣᵗᵘʳᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᴷʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᴷʳᵃᵇ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇʸ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ᵃˡᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵃⁿᵈᵉˡⁱᵉʳ’ˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃᵛʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵉˡˡ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵈʳᵒᵖ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ, ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵏⁿᵒᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘⁿᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ, ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ ʰⁱᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ⁿᵒ ᵐᵒᵛᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ‧ “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧” ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶜˡᵉᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘʳʳᵒᵘⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵐᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵈᵉᵇʳⁱˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵒⁿ ᵗᵒᵖ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ʷᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ‧ “ᴼʰ ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‧‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʳᵒᵘˢᵉ‧ ᔆᵗⁱˡˡ ʰᵘʳᵗⁱⁿᵍ, ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵘʳʳᵒᵘⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍˢ ⁿᵒʷ‧ “ᴴᵘʰ…” “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵉᵗ’ˢ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ⁿᵒʷ‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ, ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ ‘ᵂʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ? ᵂᵃⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ⁿᵉʷ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᶠⁱˣᵗᵘʳᵉ‧ ᴵ ˢᵃʷ ⁱᵗ, ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᵂʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ?’ ᴴᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ, ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ‧ “ᵁᵍʰ…” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ˢᵘᵖᵖᵒʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ “ᔆᵒ ᴵ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐˢ ᵐᵉ ᵃ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵐᵃˢʰ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿˢᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧ ᴳᵒᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵃˡˡ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ‧” “ᴱˣᵖˡᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃⁿᵈᵃᵍᵉˢ‧” ᔆᵃʸˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ, ⁿᵒʷ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᶠᵉᵉˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ˡᵒᵃᵈᵉᵈ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵒʷ‧ “ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᵈʳⁱⁿᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵇᵒᵒᵏˢ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳˢ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒᵘᵍʰᵗᵃ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵉᵃˢʸ‧ ᴸᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵉᵃˢᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᵃʳʸ‧” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ ⁿᵒʷ‧ “ᶠᵒʳ ᵃᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ…” “ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᴵ’ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵈᵃʸˢ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ…” “ʸᵉˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʳᵉ ᵃˢˢᵘʳⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ, ᵇᵃᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᶜʳᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉⁿᵉᶠⁱᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧ ᴵᵗ’ˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵖʳᵒᵛⁱᵈᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵛᵃʳⁱᵒᵘˢ ʷᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ‧ ᴺᵒʷ ᵖᵉᵉᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ, ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ, ⁿᵒʷ ⁿᵃᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʷᵒʳᵏ‧ “ᴴᵉ’ˢ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ⁿᵒʷ‧” “ᴵ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇʸ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱᶠ ᴵ’ᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒʳ ᵐᵒʳᵃˡ ˢᵘᵖᵖᵒʳᵗ‧” ᴺᵒᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵈⁱˢʳᵘᵖᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ⁿᵃᵖ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵃᵖˢ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈᵉʳ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵗʷⁱᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵈⁱˢᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ, ᵒᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ “ᔆᵒʳʳʸ, ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ; ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ʳᵉᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃⁿᵈᵃᵍᵉ ⁿᵒʷ‧” ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒ, ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜʳᵒᵘᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ “ᴵ’ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧‧” “ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ, ʸᵒᵘ’ᵛᵉ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵖᵒˡᵒᵍⁱˢᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ‧” ᴴᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉˡᵈ ⁱᵗ‧ “ᴼʰ, ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ‧‧” “ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ˢᵃʸ ⁱᵗ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵈᵒ‧‧” “ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ‧ ᴵ’ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵍᵒ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧” “ᴳᵒᵒᵈ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧” ᔆʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ˡᵉᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ʰᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ‧ “ᴳᵒᵒᵈ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳᵐ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ⁿᵒʷ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵏⁱˢˢᵉˢ, ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵒᶠ ˢᵗⁱᵐᵘˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʸ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰˢ, ˡᵉᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᶜʳᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ‧ ᴵⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ, ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ʳᵉᶠʳᵉˢʰᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵗᵒ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ, ˢᵒ ˢʰᵉ ˡᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵇᵉ‧ ᴬˢ ʰᵉ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ, ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵇˢ ᵃ ᵇᵒᵒᵏ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵃᵈ‧ “ᴼʰ ʰᵉʸ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ…” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏˢ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱᵐ‧ “ᴴᵉˡˡᵒ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ‧ ᴸᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᶠ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒʳ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ…” “ᴵ’ˡˡ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧” “ᴼʰ ˡᵃˢᵗ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ‧” “ᴴᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ?” “ᴵ ˡᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ’ʳᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ’ᵈ ˡⁱᵏᵉ, ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵃˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ‧‧” “ᴵ’ᵐ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵒʷ‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵒᵏ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᶜʰᵃⁿᵍᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵇᵃⁿᵈᵃᵍᵉˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ʰᵉʳ ˢᵗᵃʸ‧ “ᶜᵃⁿ ᴵ ˢⁱᵗ?” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷˢ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᶜᵒᵒᵗᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉᵈ, ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵒᵒᵈ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵛᵉʳˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ ᴬᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ’ᵈ ʰᵘᵍ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵖᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶜᵗ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵒᵒᵏ ˢᵒ ˢʰᵉ’ᵈ ʳᵉᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴮʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ, ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ʰᵉᵃᵛʸ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱᵐ, ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ˢʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵗᵒ ʸᵉᵗ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ‧ ᴰᵉˢᵖⁱᵗᵉ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵃᶜʰᵉˢ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ, ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ‧ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟳𝟮𝟯

COMPUTER SENSORS iv ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * Hanna laughs as he makes a particularly clever move. "You've got a knack for this," she says, accidentally jabbing him hard. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, her hand hovering in the air. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton doesn't flinch. He's frozen, limbs limp at his sides. Hanna realizes the gravity of the situation. The room feels suddenly too warm, too bright, too loud. She's done it again—pushed him too far. "Plankton?" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "You ok?" He doesn't respond, his body eerily still. Hanna feels the weight of her mistake. She'd been so caught up in the game, so focused on their newfound friendship that she'd forgotten his limitations. Karen sets her cards down gently and moves closer to her husband, her hand reaching out to his. "Plankton?" she says, her voice softer than a feather's touch. The room seems to hold its breath, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator. Hanna watches as Karen's hand hovers over Plankton's, the space between them filled with a tension that's almost palpable. Plankton's eye remains open, unblinking. His limbs are limp, no longer moving with their usual grace. It's as if he's a statue, frozen in time. Hanna's mind races, replaying the last moments, trying to understand what happened. Slowly, Karen reaches for Plankton, her touch feather-light. She speaks softly, a gentle coax that seems to seep into his very being. "Plankton," she whispers, "You're ok. You're safe." Hanna watches, her own hands clenched into fists at her sides. The room feels like it's closing in around her, the pressure of the silence suffocating. But Karen's calmness is a beacon, a reminder that she's seen this before, that she knows how to handle it. "Plankton, baby," Karen says, her voice soothing and gentle. "You're ok. Just breathe." Hanna's eyes are wide with worry as she watches the scene unfold. Plankton's eye open but unseeing, his body frozen . The reality is more terrifying than she could have imagined. "Plankton," she says, "you know I'm here. You know I've got you." It's a gentle reminder of the safety net she's always been, the one constant in his ever-shifting world. Plankton's body remains still, a silent sentinel in the midst of their quiet living room. He lay slack in Karen's arms, his eye unblinking, as if he's listening to a melody that only he can hear. Hanna watches, as Karen's voice weaves a tapestry of comfort around them. "You know I'm here," Karen says softly, her hand still clutching Plankton's tentacle. "You're not alone." Her words are a gentle reminder of the sanctuary she's always provided, a shelter from the overwhelming world outside. "It's okay," she says, "just come back to us when you're ready." Karen sighs, breaking the tension. "It's ok," she says, her voice a gentle whisper that seems to fill the room. "This happens sometimes." She looks at Hanna with understanding and a hint of sadness. "What can I do to help?" Hanna asks, her voice trembling slightly. "Just keep an eye on him," Karen says, never leaving her husband. "If he starts to seize we'll need to move him to the floor and clear any sharp objects. But he's usually ok after these episodes. They're not necessarily 'seizures' but they can be similar." Hanna nods, trying to absorb the information. She's never dealt with something like this before, and the fear is palpable. But she's determined to be there for her friends, to understand and support them through this. She takes a deep breath, focusing on Karen's words. "This isn't the first time. We have a protocol for these episodes." Karen's grip tightens, never leaving his unseeing gaze. "You're ok," she repeats, her voice a soothing balm in the maelstrom of his mind. "Just let it pass." Karen's turns to Hanna. "It's ok. He'll come out of it soon." She speaks with the calmness experience with Plankton's condition a silent testament to the strength of their bond. Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's unmoving form. "Ok," Karen says, turning her attention back to her husband. She takes a deep breath her voice steady. "Hanna, come here." Hanna moves tentatively, feeling like she's walking through a minefield. She approaches Plankton's side, her eyes never leaving his frozen form. Karen's hand leaves his, and she takes Hanna's in its place. "Just hold his hand," she instructs. "Let him know you're here, too." Her hand is trembling as it reaches for Plankton's. She wraps her fingers around his. She squeezes gently, hoping to convey her apology without words. Karen speaks to Hanna. "Just hold on," she says, "don't let go. He'll feel your warmth, your presence." Karen's hand guides hers, showing her the right amount of pressure, the right rhythm of gentle strokes that she knows comforts him. "Good," Karen murmurs, still locked on Plankton's vacant gaze. "Just keep doing that. It helps him feel connected." Hanna nods, her grip firm but gentle on Plankton's. She's acutely aware of the responsibility in her grasp, the power to either comfort or cause further distress. Karen's hand moves to her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "Good," she whispers. "Just keep doing that." Her hand moves to Hanna's, guiding her in the slow, deliberate strokes that she knows calm him. "Remember, he's ok. He's just taking a break." Hanna nods, trying to push down the panic rising in her chest. She watches as Karen's hand glides over Plankton's, her touch as light as a feather. It's a silent dance, a language of comfort that Hanna is just beginning to understand. "Just like this," Karen whispers, never leaving Plankton's unseeing gaze. "Let him know you're with him." Hanna nods, brimming with tears she's fighting to hold back. She mimics Karen's gentle strokes feeling the tension in Plankton slowly begin to ease. It's a delicate balance, a silent conversation that she's only just learning the language of. "That's it," Karen whispers, her hand still on Hanna's shoulder. "Just keep going. He'll come back to us." Hanna feels the tension in her own body slowly unravel as she matches her strokes to Karen's rhythm. It's a strange, almost meditative experience, this silent communication of care. "Good," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Just keep your breathing steady." She demonstrates. "It helps him sync up with us." Karen says, her voice a gentle guide. "Inhale...exhale...in...out." Karen whispers, her hand still resting on Hanna's shoulder. "Now, just keep your voice low. He's sensitive to sound right now." Hanna nods, her voice a mere murmur. "Ok." She watches as Karen's hand continues to move over Plankton's strokes a silent promise of safety. "Just talk to him," Karen says. "Use a soft voice. It'll help bring him back." Hanna swallows hard, her voice shaky. "Plankton, I'm here. It's Hanna." She wonders if he can feel her touch, if he knows she's there. "Good," Karen says, her own voice a gentle hum in the stillness. "Just keep talking to him. He'll come back when he's ready." "I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her grip tightening slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to show you that I care." Karen nods. "That's good," she murmurs. "Just keep talking to him. Tell him what you're feeling." Her hand moves to cover Hanna's, guiding her in the gentle strokes that Plankton needs. "He'll hear you. He just needs time to come back." "I'm here, Plankton," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry for pushing too hard. I didn't mean to hurt you." Here locked on his unblinking gaze, willing him to understand. Karen's hand is warm and steady on hers, a silent reminder that she's not alone. She feels a strange kinship with Plankton in this moment, a shared experience of fear and confusion that transcends words. Karen's filled with empathy as she nods, urging Hanna to continue. "Just keep talking to him," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle coax. "He's still with us. He just needs to find his way back." Hanna nods, her voice a soft echo in the quiet room. "Plankton, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to be friends." Karen's hand squeezes her shoulder, a silent message of support. "That's it," she whispers. "Just keep your voice low and steady. He'll hear you." Hanna continues her gentle strokes, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're safe," she repeats, her words a gentle echo of Karen's earlier reassurances. "We're here for you." The room feels like it's holding its breath, every atom suspended in anticipation of Plankton's return. And then, it comes—a blink, a faint twitch. It's as if a door has cracked open, a sliver of light piercing the darkness. "Look," Karen breathes, her voice a whisper of hope. "He's coming back." "Plankton," she says again, her voice a gentle caress. "I'm here. It's Hanna." The grip twitches more noticeably now, and she feels his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips. "Keep it up." "We're all here for you."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7 (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems the only sound. Then Plankton's eye lights up. "Idea," he says, his voice a sudden burst of static. "Make something with Karen. Together." Karen's screens blink with excitement. "That sounds wonderful," she beeps. "What do you want to make?" But before Plankton can formulate a response, Patrick Star bursts in. "Karen!" he booms, his voice shaking the walls. "I want chum!" Plankton's eye darts to the door, the sensory assault starting again. "Patrick," he whispers, his body tense as a bowstring. Karen's screens quickly assess the situation. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Not now." But Patrick's enthusiasm can't be dampened so easily. He bounds over to the table, his star-shaped body bouncing. "Chum, chum, chum!" he sings, oblivious to Plankton's distress. Karen's screens flicker with annoyance, but she keeps her voice steady. "Patrick, not now," she repeats. "Plankton's not feeling well." Patrick's starry eyes widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy," he says, his voice dropping an octave. He looks at Plankton with concern. "What's wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton. Plankton jumps, his senses on high alert. The poke feels like a battering ram, and he lets out a squeak of pain. Patrick's hand retracts quickly, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. "Whoa, sorry," he says. "What's with you?" Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "I'll go make you chum." Patrick nods, his concern forgotten in the face of his hunger. "Okay, thanks, Karen," he says, his voice bouncing with excitement. She retreats leaving Plankton alone with Patrick in the living room. Patrick stares at Plankton for a moment, his expression a blend of curiosity and confusion. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton's eye flutters closed, his body trying to absorb the sudden intensity of the interaction. "Take your time," he whispers to himself, his mantra a shield against the overwhelming world. Patrick, ever the innocent, watches him with a puzzled frown. "What's 'Take your time'?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton opens his eye, looking at the simplicity of Patrick's face. He scoots away. Patrick, unfazed, advances, his hand outstretched. "What's up?" he asks, poking again. The sensation of Patrick's touch is like a thousand needle pricks. Plankton yelps. Patrick, not comprehending, pokes again, his starry eyes full of innocent wonder. "Why so jumpy?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble. Plankton's body tenses with each poke, the sensation like a barrage of tiny explosions. "Patrick, please," he gasps, his voice a frantic static. But Patrick, ever the simple starfish, doesn't understand. He keeps poking, his curiosity growing. "Why?" he asks, his voice a gentle boom. "You're always so bouncy." Plankton's eye twitches with each touch. "Patrick, no," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. But Patrick, lost in his own world, doesn't notice. He giggles, poking him again. "You're like a pin cushion!" he exclaims, his voice a deep chuckle. Plankton's eye squeezes shut, his body wracked with pain. "Patrick, please," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. Patrick doesn't seem to comprehend the distress he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter echoing through the room, each poke sending shockwaves of pain through Plankton's body. "You're like a squeaky toy," he says, his voice a delighted rumble. Plankton's body twitches with each touch, his voice a desperate buzz of static. "Patrick, please stop," he begs, his voice a high-pitched squeak. But Patrick's simple mind doesn't register the pain he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter growing louder. "You're so funny!" he bellowed, his starry hands moving like a jackhammer as he starts tickling him. Plankton's body spasms with each touch, his voice a desperate symphony of static. "Patrick, stop!" he pleads, his breathing quick and shallow. But Patrick, in his blissful ignorance, only laughs harder, his massive hands poking and tickling without mercy. "You're hilarious, tiny dude!" he bellows. Plankton's body is a storm of sensory overload, his voice a high-pitched wail of static. "Patrick, please!" he begs, his limbs flailing. Patrick's laughter fills the room like a tidal wave, crashing over Plankton's desperate pleas. "You're so much fun, Planky!" he booms, his hands moving in a blur of star-shaped shadows. Plankton's body jerks uncontrollably, his screams of "No, no, no!" lost in the cacophony of Patrick's laughter. His tiny limbs flail, trying to escape the relentless onslaught of pokes and tickles. Patrick, his eyes wide with delight, doesn't see the tears forming in Plankton's eye. He just keeps poking, tickling, and laughing, oblivious to the damage he's doing. Plankton's cries escalate into a frantic symphony of squeaks and static, his body contorting in a desperate attempt to evade the starfish's torment. The room spins around him, a whirlpool of pain and sensation that threatens to swallow him whole. Patrick, his face a picture of delighted confusion, keeps poking and tickling, his laughter booming like thunder underwater. "What's the matter, little buddy?" he asks between chuckles. Plankton's body convulses with each touch, sobbing as Karen finally emerges with Patrick's chum. She sees them both on the floor. "Patrick, what are you doing?" she beeps, her voice a mix of anger and concern. But Patrick is lost in his own world of mirth, not hearing Karen's plea. "Just having some fun," he says, his voice a deep rumble of laughter. Plankton's cries become more frantic, his voice a high-pitched siren of despair. Karen quickly assesses the situation, her screens flaring with urgency. "Patrick, stop!" she beeps, her voice a sharp alarm. "You're hurting Plankton!" Patrick's laughter abruptly halts, his starry eyes blinking in surprise. He looks down at his hands, still poised to poke Plankton again. "What?" he asks, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Look at Plankton. He's in pain." Patrick's starry gaze shifts to Plankton, his expression shifting to one of bewilderment. "Pain?" he repeats, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen gives Patrick the food, showing him out the door.

Anonymous asked: autism culture is feeling like a nuisance when you’re overstimulated because you don’t want to be mean to anyone or have a meltdown but you can’t keep masking and everything is too much

Anonymous asked: Undiagnosed autism culture is your family can't comprehend that you are also autistic because you have a family member that was diagnosed as a child and has different support needs than you.

NEW TO AUTISM OR POSSIBLE AUTISM DIAGNOSIS? OMeS SPEECHIE POS First Unlearn (almost) EVERYTHING you know about Autism and start FRESH! Autism is MORE than stereotypes! Autistic people can: Speak, be friendly, make eye contact, play creatively, be intelligent, enjoy hugs, go to college, tolerate different sensory sensations, respond to their name, get married, have friends, have jobs and careers, and more! Autism is a Pattern of Differences: Language: : Loe Take and Talking, may struggle saying wants/needs • Delay or decreased use of gestures, pointing, body language • Echolalia & scripting after age 2.5 • Uses words or phrases repeatedly/often • High pitch, melodic, sing-song voice • Uses another's hand/body as a tool to get help/gain access Interests & Routines: • Prefers sameness and routine, may struggle with changes and become anxious and dysregulated • Has strong, focused interests, may have early interest in letters/ numbers/ reading • Focuses on details and likes things to be "just right" (labeled OCD) • Repeats play activities or scenes (dumping/crashing, creative play) : Creies wakon router/patterns Social: • Eye contact: intense, avoidant, or inconsistent • Absent or inconsistent response to name • May be "overly" friendly/ lack stranger danger • May prefer to play alone or parallel play longer than others • May be better at responding to others than initiating social contact • Differences in joint attention • May need to direct/control play Sensory Processing: • Selective (picky) eating habits • Covers ears to loud sounds/ puts sounds up to ears, listens to sounds/songs on repeat • Watches items up close to study spinning or how they work, may look at eye level or side of eyes • Enjoys tight hugs, avoids hugs • Seeks movement: jumping, pacing, rocking back and forth, crashing • Sensitivity to grooming, washing, These are common examples & a non exhaustive list Autistic people can have many strengths, which often include: Hyperlexia: Reading letters & words at an early age Exceling in music, art, science, math, computer Hyper focusing on areas of interests Excellent memory skills Having an extensive knowledge in certain topics Knowing numbers, shapes, & colors early Motivated to teach self difficult skills. Remember that your feelings are valid. However you feel Keep in mind that some feelings should not be shared publicly where your child may see it one day. AND know that it's common for feelings to change over time, especially when you learn more about Autism and see your child progress with support. Consider Neurodiversity affirming support: Neuro-affirming support prioritizes the child's strengths and individuality, promotes self-advocacy, and ultimately allows and encourages children to be their authentic self. Be ready to advocate for your child while also teaching your child to advocate for themselves. Unfortunately, most people have a lot to learn when it comes to accepting Autistic and disabled people. While this should not fall solely on the shoulders of disabled people and/or their parents, we need to recognize that this does happen, and parents need to be ready. Accept that you may make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. I have made MANY. Keep in mind that when you know better, you can do better. Growth is the goal!

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10 (Autistic author) Ignorant of Plankton's neurodivergence, Sandy doesn't realize that her persistent questions are adding to his overwhelm. She leans closer, her face a canvas of concern. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice strained as she grabs his shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation, his single eye snapping up to meet hers. The touch feels like a brand, his senses on fire. "Words," he murmurs, his voice a desperate static, trying to return to the safety of the word search. But Sandy's grip is firm, her gaze intense. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice a persistent hum. She doesn't understand the distress she's causing, her intentions pure but misguided. So she turns him using both of her hands to squeeze his arms. The sudden pressure sends waves of pain coursing through his tiny body, his voice a piercing squeal of static. "No, no," he whispers, but she only holds tighter. Her touch feels like a vice, her voice a relentless buzz in his ear. "What's going on?" she repeats, her grip unyielding. Plankton's eye widens with fear, his voice a desperate static. "No, Sandy, please," he whispers, his body trying to shrink away from the contact. But she doesn't understand, her eyes searching his for answers. "Just answer me! You're not getting the book until you decide to have a conversation!" The pain in his arms spikes, the pressure unbearable. His voice cracks like a whip. "Can't," he gasps, his breath quick and shallow. "Too much." Sandy's grip doesn't lessen. "Why not?" she asks, her voice a stubborn hum. "You're okay." The room feels like it's closing in on him, the sensation of her touch like a million tiny saws against his skin. He tries to pull away, his voice a frantic static. "Too much," he whispers, his breathing quick and erratic. "Need words, not touch." But Sandy's grip doesn't loosen. She's determined to get his attention. "Look at me then," she insists, her voice a firm hum. "I'm right here." Plankton's eye flutters with the effort to focus on her face. The sensory assault of her touch and her persistent voice is like a whirlpool threatening to pull him under. "No," he whispers, his voice a fragile static. "Please." "Talk. To. Me!" She says as she pulls him closer to her. Plankton's eye bulges with the effort of not looking away. The room is spinning, his senses are on fire. Karen's screens flicker with alarm, picking up on his distress. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warning siren. "Let go of his arms." Sandy's grip tightens, not comprehending the harm she's causing. "But he's not answering me!" she protests, her voice a confused trill. "Because until I get an answer..." Karen's screens blaze with a mix of frustration and fear. "Sandy, you're hurting him," she beeps, her voice a sharp warning. Sandy's grip doesn't waver. She doesn't understand the severity of the situation. Her eyes are wide, her expression a mask of confusion. "What's wrong with you!" she asks Plankton. "I JUST..." "Sandy, stop!" Karen beeps, her voice a piercing alarm. "You're causing him pain!" Sandy's grip finally loosens, her hands retreating from Plankton's arms. She stares at him, her expression a storm of confusion and concern as Plankton's tiny body slumps. "What's wrong with you?" she asks again, her voice a gentle hum of bewilderment. Plankton's body quivers like a leaf, his eye squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotions. "Can't..." Sandy's face is a canvas of confusion, her hands hovering over him like a lost diver searching for the surface. "But why?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's body is a taut bowstring, each breath a struggle. He tries to find the words to explain, his voice a static whisper. "Too much," he says, his eye still tightly shut. "It's too much." Sandy's gaze softens, her confusion giving way to concern. She doesn't understand, but she can see his pain. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton takes a shaky breath, his body still reeling from the overstimulation. He opens his eye, looking at her. "Say no, Sandy." Sandy's gaze is steady, her voice a soft hum. "No?" she asks, her eyes searching his for answers. But he won't elaborate. Karen's screens flicker with frustration. She knows Sandy means well, but her lack of understanding is causing more harm than good. "Sandy, Plankton's going through something new," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "He's sensitive to touch and sounds right now." Sandy's eyes widen, the realization dawning. "Oh," she says, her voice a soft trill of understanding. "I didn't know." She sits back, giving him space. "Words," he whispers, his voice a sob. "Words." Sandy nods, her confusion replaced with empathy. "Okay, let's stick to words," she says, her voice a gentle rumble. She picks up the word search book, holding it out to him like a peace offering. "Words," he whimpers. Plankton takes the book, his antennae drooping. He finds comfort in the predictability of the letters and the structure of the puzzle, the words becoming a lifeline in a sea of chaos. He begins to scan the page again, his breathing slowing. Sandy watches him, her heart heavy with regret. She had no idea her actions could cause so much pain. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a sincere hum. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Plankton." "Words," he murmurs. Sandy nods, her eyes reflecting genuine apology. "It's okay," she whispers. "We'll just stick to words." Karen's screens flicker with relief, seeing Plankton's body slowly relax. "Thank you, Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warm hum of gratitude. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "I'm here to help," she says, her voice a comforting trill. She looks at Plankton, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body still tense. "Words, words." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What happened to make you like this, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. He takes a deep shuddering breath as tears start to form in his eye. "Mmm," he hums, hugging his knees. Sandy's gaze is intense, her curiosity piqued. "What happened, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft trill of concern. "Hmmm," Plankton hums as he rocks, now crying. Sandy's eyes are wide with worry, her voice a gentle hum. "Hey, what's going on?" she asks, looking for answers. "Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps humming, sniffling in between hums. Karen decides to intervene. "Sandy," Karen beeps firmly, her screens flashing with concern. "Let's give Plankton some space." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of apology and confusion. She takes a step back, her gaze never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice a soft rumble of regret. "It's okay," Karen beeps, her voice a comforting hum. "We're all learning." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "But what happened?" she asks again, her voice a gentle trill of concern. Plankton's body is a tiny storm, his sobs quaking through his tiny frame. Karen's screen pulse with sympathy. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a calm wave. "Let's talk outside." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with worry.

Autistic and Being Startled Easily... @neurodivergent_lou Autistic people may struggle with being startled easily, whether that be by a sudden phone call or someone walking into a room. This is something that autistic may experience more intensely than non-autistic people for a variety of different reasons. Autistic people may be 'startled' easily due to hyper-sensitivity to sensory input. For example, for autistic people noise may feel increasingly amplified. The sound of someone coming into a room can be incredibly startling and sudden. Sensory overwhelm isn't necessarily just about the noise itself but can also be related to the layers of sound or unpredictability of it, As autistic people, we may struggle with feeling on edge a lot of the time and being in 'fight or flight mode'. For example, the world can generally feel unpredictable and we may have repeated past experiences of being misunderstood (e.g. due to autistic communication differences). This feeling of being on edge can contribute to being easily startled. It also feels related to how autistic people experience focus and attention. Autistic people may have a tendency toward hyper-focus and getting almost lost into a subject of interest. We may also end up deep in thought or dissociate. This can mean that someone coming into the room can feel particularly disruptive. The shift in attention can be difficult too. One minute your attention is absorbed in a certain thing and then suddenly a person walks in, makes you jump and shifts your attention completely. The theory of monotropism suggests that autistic minds tend to have their focus pulled more intensely towards a smaller number of interests at any given time, leaving less processing resources for other things. Another part of this is waiting to potentially be startled and the stress of waiting for this. For example, if we are waiting for a phone call, it can be stressful anticipating a sudden loud noise. It can make us feel on edge and unable to do anything else.

Autistic Masking The Autistic Teacher What is Autistic Masking? Masking is when we suppress or hide our feelings, needs, behaviours or another part of ourselves in order to fit in with those around us. Sometimes referred to as camouflaging. Everyone masks to a certain extent... but autistic people often have different social norms and so there is increased pressure and judgement from those around. An autistic person can mask so much that it becomes harmful to ourselves. We can spend our lives masking and hiding our real selves. Suppressing Some behaviours that we find soothing or help us to regulate can be considered a bit 'weird' and so many Autistic people suppress these 'stims' Making eye contact can be uncomfortable, even painful for some autistic people, but we might force ourselves to be uncomfortable to try desperately hard to appear to fit in, even to our detriment. Suppressing Most common for me is hiding my sensory discomfort. This could be staying somewhere that is too bright, too loud, too hot... because I'm trying really hard to cope and be like everyone else. But unfortunately it can take it's toll and can result in a meltdown, shutdown or burnout. Sometimes if you are feeling really shy you can force yourself to be out there and talking to people. But it's draining. Exhausting. Reflecting I have become very good at watching people and reflecting their behaviour. This too is masking. I might learn scripts... planning how a conversation might go and thinking about the correct responses. I watch and listen to what kind of behaviour or language is acceptable so that I can fit in. This might include suppressing the desire to infodump and tell them all about my current hyper focus or special interest. The Effects Autistic people who mask more show more signs of anxiety and depression. It's exhausting, draining...and people mask for so many years that they begin to lose their identity. Masking can lead to Autistic burnout and a mental health crisis Understanding and Acceptance Understanding and acceptance of neurodivergent behaviours and differences by neurotypical individuals is key. This would lessen the need to mask! As neurodivergent people, we can also be aware of masking and how it effects us. Knowing this and being kind to yourself, allowing some time to be your authentic self and recover is absolutely vital in protecting your own mental health.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 6 (Autistic author) Karen watches him, her screens a flurry of analysis. "How does it taste?" she asks, her voice a hopeful beep. Plankton pauses, his expression unreadable. "Tastes," he murmurs. "Good. Toast good." Karen nods, her screens reflecting relief. "Good," she echoes. "Now, let's make a plan for the day." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on his half-eaten toast, his mind still reeling from the sensory assault. "Plan," he repeats, his voice a soft static. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "We'll start small," she beeps, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get through today, okay?" But as soon as her hand touches him, Plankton flinches. The sensation is like a thousand jellyfish stings, and he jerks away. "What's wrong?" Karen asks, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's eye widens, his hand going to his shoulder where she touched him. He starts to repeat the phrase again, "Take your time," but his voice is overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of his senses. "Too much," he whispers, his body trembling. Karen quickly withdraws her hand, her screens flickering with concern. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice gentle. "Let's try something else." Plankton nods, his hand still on his shoulder, his body slowly calming. "Okay," he whispers. "Not tap. Karen can rub. Hug from Plankton. Not jab. Not poke." Karen's screens flicker with a new understanding of his needs. She moves closer, her hand hovering over his shoulder before gently placing it there, her fingers tracing small circles in a rhythmic pattern. The contact is soothing, not overwhelming. "Is this better?" she asks, her voice a gentle beep. Plankton nods, his body visibly relaxing. "Good," he murmurs, his voice a quiet static. "Rub, rub." He starts to mimic her motion with his other hand, creating a mirrored pattern on his opposite shoulder. The repetition seems to calm him, the rhythm a gentle lullaby for his frazzled mind. Karen's screens analyze his reaction, storing the information for future reference. "Okay," she says, her voice a soft beep. "We'll stick to gentle touches." With a nod, Plankton begins to breathe more evenly. The sensation of the rubbing calms him, like a gentle tide washing over him. "We'll start with simple tasks," Karen beeps, her voice a reassuring melody. "Things that won't overstimulate you." Plankton nods, his hands now resting on the table. "Okay," he says, his voice a steady static. "Simple." Karen's screens glow with a soft light as she considers their options. "How about we start with something you love?" she suggests. "Like working on the Krabby Patty formula?" But Plankton shakes his head, the very mention of the Krabby Patty causing his body to tense up again. "No," he whispers, his voice a harsh static. "Not formula. No more steal." Karen's screens flicker with surprise. "You don't want to work on the formula?" Plankton shakes his head again, his voice barely audible. "No more steal," he repeats. Karen's screens process his words, his change in attitude unexpected. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patty formula anymore?" Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "No," he says, his voice a solemn beep. "New plan. Make Plankton happy." Karen's screens blink rapidly, trying to comprehend his shift in focus. "Okay," she says, her voice a thoughtful hum. "What makes you happy, Plankton?" He looks up, his expression pensive. "Karen," he says, his voice a weak static. "Love Karen." Karen's screens freeze for a moment, before lighting up with understanding. "You love me?" she beeps, her voice a surprised chime. Plankton nods, his face a mask of seriousness. "Yes," he murmurs. "Love Karen." Karen's screens flicker with a mix of emotions she's never felt before. Love is a concept her programming doesn't fully grasp, but she knows it's important to Plankton. "Thank you," she says, her voice a warm beep. "But we still need to find something for you to do, something that won't be too much for your sensory processing." Plankton nods, his thoughts racing. "Help," he whispers. "Help Karen." Karen's screens flicker with love and determination. "Of course," she says, her voice a warm beep. "We'll find something you enjoy. Maybe we can start with something that doesn't involve the Krabby Patty." Plankton's expression softens, his trembling hands coming to rest on the table. "No more fighting," he murmurs. "Peace." Karen nods, her screens reflecting a deep sadness she's never expressed before. "Okay," she beeps. "We'll find something that brings you joy."

~ Considering your sensory needs- pack a bag with sensory aids such as headphones, earplugs, coloured glasses, stim tools, ice, comfort items and so on to support your comfort whilst at your appointment. Considering your communication needs- perhaps take a trusted friend or family to support with verbal communication, a hospital passport that you can share with staff or notes including scripted comments or responses that you can refer to during the appointment as verbal speech. Wear suitable clothing or dress that can be easily taken on and off. To minimise uncertainty, research what is involved in the procedure before attending so that you have a good idea what to expect. Write out a list of questions to avoid relying on memory during a potentially stressful experience. Plan your travel route in advance and leave plenty of time to get to your appointment to minimise anxiety and allow time to adjust to the environment upon arrival. Engage in calming, grounding techniques prior to the appointment start time. During: whilst at the appointment it may be helpful to ~ Ask for the nurse practitioner to talk you through the procedure in full before it commences, preferably with use of images or demonstrations with relevant equipment. Be open about which aspects of the experience you might struggle with as an Autistic person and request particular adjustments. Engage in grounding techniques such as mindful breathing. Hold on to a stim object that is comforting or acts as a stress reliever. Listen to music to support self-regulation. Share your concerns or worries with the nurse practitioner to invite reassurance or helpful advice. Remember your reason for attending and why it is important for you. Aftercare: following the procedure, it is a good idea to plan in some time for self-care and self-regulation, some ideas might include ~ Get yourself into a sensory safe space where things feel predictable and calm (for e.g. a quiet room with dim lighting, weighted blanket etc). Arrange to debrief/chat to a friend or another supportive person about your experience after leaving your appointment. Arrange to meet with a trusted person following the procedure to support you with getting back home or perhaps to do something you might enjoy together. Engage in your dedicated interest. Acknowledge your achievement in attending and getting through the appointment. Journal about your experience to help with emotional processing. Engage in your favourite stim to release any tension that may remain in your body. Allow yourself to physically rest or sleep once back at home.

ᴳᵉᵗ ᔆˡᵉᵉᵖʸ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ “…ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ…” ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ʰⁱˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ ᔆᵒ ˢʰᵉ ᵐᵃˢˢᵃᵍᵉˢ ʰⁱᵐ, ʰᵘᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˢᵒᶠᵗ ᵗᵘⁿᵉ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵉˡˡ ⁱᵗ ʰᵉˡᵖᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ˢⁱⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ʰᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ‧ “ᴳᵒᵒᵈ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧‧” 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 𝟓𝟎 𝐬𝐞𝐜.

🧠ᵗᶤʳᵉᵈ ᵇʳᴬᶤᶰ 🧠

AUTIE AND DOCTOR GOOD (Author has Sensory Processing Disorder) Autie’s determination grew with each step she took away from that cold, unfeeling place. This was not the end of her journey. Days later, Autie found herself in the waiting room of Dr. Goodie, a recommendation from a friend who understood her plight. The walls here were painted a warm, soothing color, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. The music was soft, a melody that seemed tailored to her soul. The furniture was plush, and the lighting gentle, not the harsh fluorescent glare she'd come to expect. When Dr. Goodie entered, her eyes met Autie's, a smile in them that seemed genuine. She didn't immediately dive into her charts, but sat down, her posture open and attentive. "Tell me, Autie, what brings you in today?" Her voice was calm, a stark contrast to the storm Autie had weathered before. Autie took a deep breath, her words tumbling out like a waterfall, explaining her symptoms, her fears, and the pain of being doubted. Dr. Goodie nodded, her gaze never leaving Autie's, her expression one of understanding. She asked questions, real questions, that didn't make Autie feel like she was being interrogated. Her touch was gentle, her explanations thorough. She acknowledged Autie's reality, validating her experiences without dismissal. The exam room was a sanctuary, designed with sensory needs in mind. The lights were dimmer, the sounds softer, and the air held a faint scent of calming essential oils. Dr. Goodie offered Autie noise-canceling headphones, and a soft, weighted blanket to hold during the exam. She moved slowly, giving Autie time to adjust to each new sensation. Her voice remained calm and soothing, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of Autie's overwhelmed nervous system. "We'll go at your pace," Dr. Goodie assured her. "I have different tools and techniques that I can use to make this easier for you." Autie felt a spark of hope, a tiny flame flickering in the darkness. For the first time in a long time, someone was offering her choices, treating her not as a problem to be solved, but as a person to be heard. Before each test, Dr. Goodie explained what she was about to do, asking for Autie's consent. "Is this okay with you?" she would say, holding up a thermometer or a blood pressure cuff. It was a simple question, but it meant the world to Autie. Her nods were met with a warm smile and a gentle touch that didn't make her recoil. The doctor's fingers were light as they performed each procedure, and she talked Autie through each step, her voice a steady beacon in the chaos of Autie's senses. For the first time in this medical odyssey, Autie felt seen and heard. Dr. Goodie didn't dismiss her pain, didn't treat her like a puzzle to solve or a problem to fix. Instead, she offered empathy, a rare gift in a world that so often misunderstood her. With each question, each caring gesture, Autie felt a piece of herself being put back together, like a shattered vase being carefully glued. "Would you like the lights a bit dimmer?" Dr. Goodie asked, and Autie nodded gratefully. The doctor obliged, and the room transformed into a soothing cave of calm. The doctor then presented her with a tray of different textured materials to choose from. "Which one feels most comfortable for you?" Autie selected a soft, velvety material, and Dr. Goodie placed it over the chair's harsh fabric, giving her a small oasis of comfort. Next, she offered a variety of fidget toys, each designed to cater to a different need. "Which of these helps you focus?" Autie's eyes lit up as she chose a smooth stone, the weight of it grounding her in a way she hadn't felt since she first walked into the cold, uncaring environment of Dr. Baddy's office. She clutched it tightly as Dr. Goodie continued her exam, her thumb absently tracing patterns that soothed her racing mind. The doctor spoke softly, explaining that she understood how overwhelming the world could be for someone with heightened senses. "We're going to work together," she assured Autie, "to find what works best for you." It was a revelation, like stepping out of a nightmare and into a dream. Here was someone who didn't just tolerate her differences but celebrated them, who saw her as more than just a collection of symptoms. Dr. Goodie took out a small pad of paper and a pen, asking Autie to write down any particular textures or sensations that were particularly uncomfortable for her. Autie's hand shook slightly as she began to scribble, the relief making her almost lightheaded. She listed the cold metallic feeling of instruments, the rough cotton of the typical examination table, the sharpness of needles, and the unyielding grip of Dr. Baddy's restraints. The doctor nodded thoughtfully as she read, her eyes never leaving Autie's. "I see," she said, her voice calm and measured. "We'll make sure to avoid those triggers as much as possible. I have a few alternatives we can try." Her voice was like a balm, soothing Autie's frazzled nerves. "For instance, we can use a different material for the blood pressure cuff, and I can make sure to warm up any instruments before I use them on you." She paused, waiting for Autie to indicate her agreement. When she nodded, Dr. Goodie smiled gently. "Good. And I have some numbing cream that can help." The exam continued, but this time it was a dance of understanding. Each move was made with care, each touch a promise that Autie's needs were not just acknowledged, but respected. Dr. Goodie was patient, explaining each step before taking it, and Autie felt a burden lifting. She was not a problem to be solved, but a person to be cared for. The doctor's gentle touch was a stark contrast to the invasive poking of before, and Autie found herself relaxing under the weighted blanket, the soft light, and the steady rhythm of her voice.

Everyone is NOT a little bit autistic. The Autistic Teacher Using the phrase "everyone is a little bit autistic" can be problematic for several reasons... Minimisation of the Challenges Autism is a complex neurotype that affects individuals in various ways. By saying "everyone is a little bit autistic," it trivialises the challenges and differences faced by those who are autistic. Stereotyping and Misunderstanding Autism is not just about being introverted, having social quirks, or being detail-oriented. It encompasses a wide range of challenges in communication, differences in behaviour, and sensory processing that are unique to each autistic individual. Lack of Understanding and Awareness Such statements can perpetuate misconceptions about autism and hinder efforts to create a more inclusive and supportive environment for autistic individuals. Invalidation of Experiences Autistic people have distinct experiences and struggles that should not be dismissed or equated to common personality traits found in everyone. Promoting Stigma Comparing personality traits to a complex neurotype can reinforce stereotypes and stigma associated with autism. Instead of using 'everyone is a little bit autistic', it's important to respect the diversity and individuality of autistic people and educate ourselves and others by listening to actually autistic voices. The Autistic Teacher

Anonymous asked: autism culture is trying to isolate yourself because you're getting overstimulated but people keep coming in to talk to you and then get mad when you lash out. like omg im TRYING to "calm down" just give me a minute

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5 (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen wakes up to find Plankton out of bed. He's standing in the middle of the room, his eye focused on the spinning fans of the air conditioner. Karen's screens light up with concern as she assesses his state. "Plankton," she beeps gently. "How did you sleep?" Plankton's eye doesn't move from the hypnotic spin of the fans. "Fan spin," he says, his voice a monotone. Karen's screens blink, trying to understand his single-word reply. "The fans are spinning?" she asks, hoping to engage him. Plankton nods slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs. Karen's screens flicker. "Karen," Plankton says. "Fan spin." "The spinning is soothing to you?" she asks. Plankton nods, his voice a faint echo. "Spin, spin, spin. Good spin." Karen's screens process the information, formulating a new approach. "Let's go downstairs," she suggests, her voice a gentle beep. "We'll start with a simple routine. Breakfast." Plankton nods, his gaze still fixed on the fans. With a final nod to the spinning blades, he follows her out of the bedroom. The journey downstairs is a minefield of sounds and sights, but he takes it step by step, his hand gripping the railing tightly. The kitchen is a blur of colors and noises, but Karen's calm voice guides him through it all. "First," she beeps, "let's start with something easy. How about a glass of water?" Plankton nods, his movements still mechanical. He watches as she fills a glass, the water's surface dancing in the light. It's mesmerizing, and for a moment, the world stops spinning. He takes the glass, his trembling hand bringing it to his lips, the cool liquid sliding down his throat. "Water," he murmurs. "Good, water." The simple task seems to ground him a bit, and Karen takes note of the small victory. "Now, let's try some toast," she says, her voice a comforting beep. She slides a piece of bread into the toaster, the sound of the lever clicking into place another beat in the rhythm of their morning. Plankton nods, his attention drawn to the toaster's glowing coils. He watches, his eye widening as the bread turns golden brown. The smell fills the room, a comforting scent that penetrates the fog in his head. "Toast," he says, his voice a bit stronger. But as the toaster pops, the sudden noise jolts him like an electric shock. "Too loud," he whispers, his eye darting around the room in panic. Karen's screens flicker with empathy. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a soothing hum. She quickly retrieves the toast, placing it gently on a plate. "Let's sit down," she suggests, guiding him to the table. "Take it slow." They sit, and Plankton fidgets in his chair, his eye darting around the room. "Take your time," Karen reminds him, her voice a steady beep. He nods, focusing on the toast. Each bite is a tiny triumph, his senses adjusting to the new world. The crunch of the bread, the warmth on his tongue, the smell of the butter spreading. It's overwhelming, but he's making progress.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 8 (Autistic author) With Patrick gone, the room feels eerily quiet. Plankton lies on the floor, his body heaving with sobs. Each breath is a battle, a reminder of the pain still echoing through his body. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice a soft hum. She rolls over to him, her mechanical arms extending to offer comfort. "I didn't know he'd do that." Plankton's body shakes with sobs, his single eye squeezed shut. He whispers, "No more poking, Karen. No more." Karen's screens flicker with regret. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle beep. She reaches out with one of her arms, carefully placing it around his tiny frame. "Let's get you up," she suggests, her movements slow and deliberate. With her help, Plankton manages to stand, his legs shaking like seaweed in a storm. She leads him to the couch. "Rest," she beeps, but he's too exhausted to respond. Karen sits beside him, her screens dimming as she watches him. The silence is a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems a lullaby compared to the chaos of Patrick's laughter. "Karen," he whispers after a moment, his voice a weak static. Her screens light up with concern. "Yes, Plankton?" she beeps. "Plankton not want to go back to how it was," he whispers, his voice a fragile thread. "The stealing, the fighting." Karen's screens flicker with a sadness she rarely shows. "I know," she drapes a blanket over him, tucking him in. Her voice is a soothing beep. "You don't have to, Plankton. We'll find a new way." She caresses his shaky hand. Plankton nods, his eye finally closing in relief. The warmth of the blanket and Karen's gentle touch offer a semblance of calm in the storm of sensory overload, his crying slowing. "Thank Karen," he murmurs, his voice a tired static as he squeezes her hand once. Her screens glow with affection. "You're welcome, Plankton," she beeps. "Rest now." She dims the lights once more, watching over him as she held his hand. Plankton's body finally stills, the storm of sensations receding as he surrenders to sleep. Karen's screens flicker with a quiet relief. She sits beside him.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 11 (Autistic author) As they leave the room, Plankton's sobs slowly ease, the word search book clutched to his chest like a talisman. The gentle hum of Karen's wheels fading with distance, he focuses on the patterns of light reflecting off the pages. In the hallway, Karen beeps with urgency. "Sandy, Plankton's been through a lot," she explains. "He's neurodivergent now. He can't handle touch like he used to, and his senses are heightened." Sandy's eyes widen with surprise. "What does that mean?" she asks, her voice a confused rumble. Karen's screens flicker with patience. "It means his brain functions differently now," she beeps. "He's extra sensitive to stimuli, and certain things that were normal before can now be painful or overwhelming for him." Sandy's gaze softens with understanding. "Oh," she says, her voice a quiet rumble. "I had no idea." She looks back at Plankton's closed door, guilt heavy in her eyes. "What can we do?" Karen's screens flicker with thought. "We need to be patient and learn," she beeps. "Adapt to his new needs, and support him in his journey." Sandy nods, determined to make it right. "How?" she asks, her voice a hopeful trill. "We start by respecting his boundaries," Karen explains, her screens glowing with sincerity. "No touching unless he asks for it. And we speak softly, giving him time to process what we say." Sandy nods, absorbing the new information. "I can do that," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "But what about playing?" "Quiet games, like word searches or board games. No roughhousing or poking. I'm gonna go rest." Sandy goes back to see Plankton, his muffled sobs in the quiet space. Sandy's heart aches with regret. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a tender trill. She sits beside his shaking form, her hand hovering over his shoulder before thinking better of it. Plankton's sobs slow, his body still tense. He opens his eye, looking at Sandy. "Words," he whispers, holding up the book. Sandy nods, her gaze gentle. "Words it is," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She sits beside him on the couch, careful not to touch his skin as she opens the book to the next puzzle. "What's this word?" she asks, her finger pointing to the list. Plankton's eye locks onto the word. "Kelp," he murmurs, his voice a soft static. He traces the letters in the grid, writing it in the crossword puzzle. Sandy nods, her eyes focused on the puzzle. "Good job," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "You're so smart." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of pride, his breathing evening out. "Words," he repeats, his voice a steady static. Sandy nods, understanding. "Words are important to you now," she says, her voice a soft rumble of support. "We'll find more puzzles." "We'll find more puzzles?" Plankton repeats. Sandy nods, her face a picture of sincerity. "Yes," she says, her voice a warm trill. "As many as you want." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly, his interest piqued. "More words?" Sandy's smile is a warm glow, her voice a gentle rumble of agreement. "As many as you want, buddy." Plankton's single eye brightens at the promise, his body slowly uncoiling from his protective ball. "Book," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the next word. "Find." Sandy nods, her finger moving to the list. "Okay, we're looking for 'favorite food of sea horses,'" she says, her voice a comforting hum. Plankton's eye flicks to the grid, his mind racing. "Myr- t-le," he stammers, his voice a crackling static. Sandy's face lights up with a grin. "You got it!" she exclaims, her voice a delighted trill. She watches him trace the letters, her heart swelling with pride. He finds the word quickly, his antennae waving with excitement. "Good job, Plankton!" she says. His body relaxes slightly, his enjoyment of the word search evident. Sandy's voice is soothing as they continue through the puzzles, her hands resting carefully on her knees. "What's this one?" she asks, pointing to another word. Plankton's eye scans the list, his antennae quivering with anticipation. "J-J-Jellyfish," he stammers, his voice a nervous static. The word brings back memories of his buddy, SpongeBob. Sandy nods, her smile gentle. "You got it," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She points to the grid. "Where is it?" Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement as he searches the letters, his single eye darting back and forth. "It," he whispers, his voice a focused static as he points to the word hidden within the puzzle. Sandy's grin spreads, her voice a warm melody. "Great job!" she praises, her thumbs up in the air. Plankton's antennae quiver with happiness, his eye lighting up. "More," he whispers, his voice a hopeful static. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "As many as you want," she says, her voice a warm trill. She opens the book to the next puzzle, her fingers hovering over the page. Plankton's body uncoils further, his interest piqued by the promise of more words. "Find," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the list of words to find. Sandy nods, her face a canvas of understanding. "Alright, what's next?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement, his gaze darting over the list. "Treasure," he murmurs, his voice a hopeful static.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 9 (Autistic author) The quiet of the room envelops them like a warm sea breeze, the only sound his soft, even breaths. Her grip on his hand tightens slightly, a silent promise to protect and guide him through this new chapter of his life. As her hand strokes his gently in a comforting rhythm, her gal pal, Sandy, unexpectedly comes in through the door. "Mornin'!" she chirps, her cheerful voice piercing the calm. Plankton jolts awake, his eye snapping open like a trapdoor. The sudden shift from sleep to wakefulness is jarring, his heart racing like a tiny engine. "S-Sandy?" he stammers, his voice a static whisper. Sandy's cheerfulness doesn't waver. "Hey there, little buddy!" she says, her voice a sunlit melody. But Plankton's heightened sensitivity turns her greeting into a cacophony. He flinches, his grip on Karen's hand tightening. "It's okay," Karen beeps soothingly, her screens reflecting his distress. Sandy gets a word search book out. "I just got it today!" Plankton's eye, though tired, lights up slightly at the sight of the book. The pages are a calming white with neatly arranged letters, the colors a gentle wash of blue and yellow. "Want to see?" she asks, her voice a warm trill. He nods, his body still tense but his curiosity piqued. Sandy opens the word search book, her fingers tracing the rows and columns with a gentle precision. "Look, Karen," she says, her voice a soft trill. "It's all about science." Plankton's eye, though still wary, is drawn to the page. He scans the words, his brain lighting up with recognition. "Words," he whispers, his voice a steady static as she sets the book down. The sight of the word search grounds him, the predictability of the patterns offering a comforting routine. His breathing slows, the chaos of his senses retreating like the tide. "Find," he says, looking at the index. Sandy's smile is infectious, her enthusiasm for the simple task contagious. "Okay, let's find some words!" she says, her voice a gentle trill. She points to the first puzzle. "How about this one?" Plankton nods, his eye focusing on the page. The challenge of finding words within the grid is a comforting distraction from the sensory overload. "Start," he whispers, his voice a firm static. Sandy nods, her thumbs tucked into the pages to keep their place. "Okay, we're looking for 'jellyfish scientific name,'" she asks, her voice a gentle trill. Plankton's mind latches onto the task, the letters becoming a puzzle to solve. "Medusae," he murmurs, his voice a focused static. Sandy's eyes light up with excitement. "That's right!" she says, her voice a delighted trill. "Good job, Planks!" Plankton feels a small spark of pride, his focus narrowing to the word in question. The world around him fades into the background as he scans the grid. Each letter is a stepping stone in a vast, orderly sea. "Good job," Karen beeps, her screens illuminating with pride. "You're doing great." Plankton nods, his eye locked on the word "medusae" he's just found. The simple act of locating the word in the jumble of letters brings a sense of peace, a respite from the sensory onslaught. He goes to the next when Sandy interrupts his focus. "So, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "How's your day been?" He can't multitask, which Sandy doesn't notice. Plankton's mind is fully absorbed by the word search, each letter a piece of a puzzle he's eager to solve. Her question hangs in the air, a bubble waiting to pop, but he's too engrossed to respond right away. Finally, he looks up, his gaze shifting from the page to her face. "Day?" he repeats, his voice a confused static. Sandy nods, her expression gentle. "Yeah, how have you been?" Plankton's gaze flits back to the word search, his hand twitching to point out the next word. "Words," he says, his voice a focused static. "Words." But frustrated Sandy thinks he's just trying to ignore her, and she interrupts him again. "Plankton, I'm talking to you," she says, her voice a gentle nudge. Plankton's single eye darts back to her face, his grip on the word search pencil tightening. "Words," he whispers, his voice a static echo of his thoughts. "Words." He tries to get back to it, but Sandy's not satisfied. "But how are you, Plankton?" she presses, her voice a persistent hum. The word search is a safe haven, but he knows Sandy waits for an answer. He's getting frustrated. He takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "Okay," he whispers, his voice a static sigh. "Tell Sandy." Sandy leans in, her face a picture of concern. "What's going on, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. He looks back at the word search, the letters blurring slightly. He's tired of being interrupted. "Plankton has words now," he says, his voice a firm static. "Words make happy." Sandy's not sure what he means, but she does want to have a conversation. So, how does she get him to interact?

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 3 (Autistic author) Karen doesn't yet realize the extent of Plankton's distress. She's aware that his moods can swing like the tides, but this seems more than a mere mood swing. "Mr. Krabs," she prompts, trying to keep him on track. "What happened with him?" Plankton's eye widens, and he starts to shiver, his tiny body trembling. "Hit," he whispers. "Hit Plankton hit. Sponge Bob see." Karen's screens flicker, trying to decode his fragmented words. "Mr. Krabs hit you?" He nods, his body still trembling. "Yes, hit Plankton." Karen's screens process the information. "That's not like him," she says, her voice a low hum of concern. "Mr. Krabs can be intense, but he's never..." Her words hang in the air, unfinished, as she tries to make sense of it all. Plankton simply nods, his tremors continuing. "Hit, hit," he whispers again, his voice like a broken record. Oblivious to his new reality, Karen tries to comfort him. "It's okay, Plankton. I'll help you. We'll get through this." Plankton's eye darts around the room, seeing patterns in the wires and circuits that make no sense. "Hit, Sponge Bob, Karen." Karen's screens flicker with confusion. "What do you mean?" Plankton tries to explain, but the words are a jumble in his head. "Sponge Bob...saw...hit." Karen's screens blink, processing his words. "Sponge Bob saw Mr. Krabs hit you?" Plankton nods, his tremors subsiding slightly. "Yes," he whispers. "Sponge Bob see." Karen's digital mind races. Mr. Krabs hitting Plankton wasn't unheard of, but the way he's reacting is unusual. "Did it hurt?" she asks, trying to keep him talking. Plankton's tremors stop for a moment, his eye focusing on her. "Hurt?" he repeats, as if the word is foreign. Then, with a wave of emotion, he nods fervently. "Yes, hurt. Got hurt Plankton felt hurt. Plankton, nothing? Plankton Sponge Bob. Plankton Karen." Karen's screens blink rapidly. Her husband's mental state has never been like this before. The idea of him feeling pain beyond the physical was alien to her programming. "What do you mean, 'Plankton nothing'?" she asks, trying to piece together his scattered thoughts. Plankton sighs, the exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Hit, hurt Plankton. Plankton fading. Plankton find Sponge Bob. Plankton now Karen. Can't stop, can't think. Take your time, take your time." Karen's screens change from confusion to determination. "I'll find Sponge Bob," she says, her voice a firm beep. "You stay here and rest." Plankton nods, his body finally still. The mention of Sponge Bob's name brings a flicker of something to his eye, a glimmer of hope or perhaps desperation. "Find Sponge Bob," he whispers, his voice now a faint echo. "Sponge Bob tell Karen." Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "I will," she says, her voice a soft beep. She leaves the room, her wheels whirring as she exits the Chum Bucket. She goes to Sponge Bob.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 4 (Autistic author) In the dim light of the evening, the Krusty Krab was quiet, the usual bustle replaced by a calm that felt eerie. Sponge Bob was sweeping the floor, his thoughts on Plankton. He looked up as Karen approached, his smile fading at the sight of her concerned expression. "Karen," he began, his spongey voice tinged with anxiety, "I need to tell you what happened to Plankton." Karen's screens brighten with anticipation. "Please do," she beeps, her wheels stopping in front of him. Sponge Bob's eyes dart to the floor, his sponge body drooping slightly. "Mr. Krabs was just trying to protect this formula, and Plankton...he just knocked Plankton in the head. Plankton woke up and then without a word ran back to the Chum Bucket." Karen's screens flicker with the gravity of the situation. "How did Mr. Krabs hit him?" Sponge Bob's grip on the mop tightens. "With a frying pan," he confesses, his eyes wide with guilt. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "That would explain his current state," she murmurs, her voice a steady beep. "Sponge Bob, do you know how badly he's been hurt?" Sponge Bob shakes his head, the guilt washing over him in waves. "No, not really," he says, his voice quavering. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of sympathy and urgency. "I see," she says. "Thanks." With newfound purpose, she spins around and heads back to the Chum Bucket. Back in the control room, Plankton is still rocking back and forth, his hand over his head as if trying to hold his thoughts in place. The door to the Chum Bucket opens, and Karen rolls in, her screens reflecting the urgency of the situation. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft hum, "I talked to Sponge Bob. He saw what happened." Plankton's rocking stops, his eye swiveling to meet hers. "Sponge Bob?" "Yes," Karen says, her screens pulsing with the weight of her words. "He saw Mr. Krabs hit you with the frying pan." Plankton's body goes still, his tremors ceasing instantly. "Sponge Bob saw," he whispers, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tell Karen." "Yes," Karen beeps, nodding her mechanical head. "He told me. I'm going to help you." Without warning, a scanning beam shoots out of Karen's console, enveloping Plankton as his brain is scanned. The results are quickly analyzed, and the screens flash with a series of diagrams and data that even Karen's advanced systems take a moment to digest. "The scan reveals...unusual patterns," she says, her voice a measured beep. Plankton's eye widen with fear, his body tensing as he waits for her verdict. "What does that mean?" he asks, his voice a high-pitched squeak. Karen's screens change to display a 3D image of his brain, the structure illuminated with neon colors. "You've sustained neurodivergence," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "The impact has altered your neural connections, resulting in irreversible autism." Plankton's body goes rigid, his breathing shallow. The word "autism" hangs in the air like a heavy anchor, dragging his spirits down to the murky depths of the ocean floor. "Irreversible?" he whispers, his voice fragile as sea glass. Karen nods gravely. "The good news is, we can adapt. We can learn to navigate this new world of sensations together," she beeps. "It's getting late. Let's go to bed." Plankton nods, his body feeling like it's made of lead. The idea of sleep seems like a welcome escape from the overwhelming day, but as he tries to get up, the room spins again. "Karen," he says, his voice weak. "Can't." With a gentle nudge, Karen helps him to his feet, her wheels moving silently beside him as they make their way to the tiny elevator. The ride up feels like an eternity, his senses heightened to every creak and groan of the metal box. When the doors open, the lights of the hallway are a glaring assault on his eye. He squints, his hand reaching out to the wall for support. In their bedroom, Karen helps him into his bed. The softness of the covers is a stark contrast to the harshness of his new reality. "Take your time," she says, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton nods, his breathing shallow. He closes his eye, and the room seems to fade away, replaced by a whirlpool of swirling thoughts and sensations. Karen's screens flicker with a plan. "Rest," she beeps, her voice a soft comfort. "We'll face tomorrow together." She dims the lights.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 2 (Autistic author) When Karen finally did come to check on him, her digital voice was cool and devoid of emotion. "Plankton, dear, you've been in here for quite some time," she said. "Another fail, huh?" Plankton's tiny shoulders slumped. He couldn't bring himself to explain the chaos in his head. How could he possibly make Karen, his logical, computer wife, understand the tumult of sensations that had overtaken his being? He just nodded. Karen's screen flickered, perhaps processing his lack of enthusiasm as another defeat. "You know what you need," she said, her voice still calm and soothing. "Some good old-fashioned break from scheming." Plankton nodded weakly, unable to argue, which she found unusual. "Why don't you take a walk?" she suggested, her voice a gentle nudge. "Fresh air can do wonders for the mind." Plankton didn't answer. Karen knew better than to push him when he was like this. She had seen his mood swings before, his moments of despair after a failed plan, but this was different. This was something she hadn't seen in her decades of being by his side. "Plankton, are you sure you're okay?" she asked again, her synthetic voice a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions she couldn't understand. He nodded, trying to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "Sure okay, Karen." Karen's concern grew as she watched him struggle to his feet. It was clear that his usual boundless energy was nowhere to be found. He stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hallway, his steps slow and deliberate. The once-mighty Plankton, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. As he approached the door of the Chum Bucket, Karen followed, her sensors tuned to his every movement. The usual sounds of their underwater world were amplified, echoing through the narrow corridors like a symphony of chaos. Each step was a battle, each breath a victory. He paused, his hand shaking as it hovered over the handle. "Maybe not today," he murmured, his voice barely audible over his own racing heartbeat. Karen stood silently beside him, her systems trying to comprehend his sudden change in behavior. He had always been so driven, so focused on his goals, but now his eye had a faraway look, as if he was seeing something that she couldn't. "Take your time," she said, her tone softer than ever. "I'll be here when you're ready." Plankton looked up at her. "Take your time," he murmured, echoing Karen's words. "Take your time." She looks at him. "Take your time, take your time, take your time." He repeats aloud back to Karen, who's now even more concerned, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's voice sounds strange, echoing his own words as if they're coming from someone else, from another time. It's a peculiar behavior, one she's never observed in him before. He walks over to the control room, where his various inventions are lined up like a strange army of metal and wires. Each gizmo and gadget a silent testament to his unyielding quest for the Krabby Patty formula. But now, they seemed like mere toys, overwhelming him with their complexity. The room spins, and Plankton feels like he's drowning in a sea of his own creations. "Take your time, take your time," he whispers, his voice a distant echo in his own mind. He sits down in his chair, his eye glazed over, and repeats the phrase over and over. "Take your time, take your time, take your time." The words become a mantra, a lifeline in the storm of sensory overload. Karen watches from her console, her algorithms racing to understand this new behavior. The phrase rolls off his tongue, a soothing rhythm in the cacophony of his thoughts. "Take your time, take your time." It's as if he's trying to convince his own brain to slow down, to make sense of the world again. The echo of his voice in the metal walls of the Chum Bucket seems to calm him, if only a little. Karen doesn't know what to make of this. Whatever the cause, she knows she must tread carefully. "Plankton," Karen says, trying to connect to his current state, "I'm here for you." He looks at her. "Take your time," he murmurs again. "Plankton I'm here for you." He parrots. Karen's systems whirr, analyzing the change in his language patterns. His usual sharp wit and sarcasm have given way to something more... mechanical. It's as if he's trying to communicate but his words are stuck in a loop, like a broken record. She decides to play along, hoping it might snap him out of it. "Take your time, take your time," she repeats back to him, her digital voice mimicking his tone as closely as possible. For a moment, his eye brightens, as if he's found a familiar rhythm in the chaos. Then, just as quickly, it dims again. "Take your time, take your time," he murmurs, his gaze flicking from one corner of the room to the next. Karen's screens change from concern to confusion. She's observed Plankton's moods and quirks for years, but this is something she can't quite pinpoint. "Take your time, take your time," Plankton whispers again, his voice a strange mix of urgency and defeat. Karen nods, trying to comfort him with her usual efficiency. "Of course," she says, her voice a soft beep in the silence. "I'll always be here for you. Let's eat dinner." But Plankton doesn't move. He just sits there, staring into space, his hand still hovering over the control panel. Karen doesn't understand why he's so upset. To her, it's just another day, another failed attempt at the Krabby Patty formula. But to Plankton, it's like the world has shifted on its axis, leaving his tiny body adrift in a sea of sensations he can't comprehend. "Dinner will be ready soon," she says, trying to bring him back to the present. But Plankton seems lost in his own thoughts, his eye unfocused. So she goes up to him. "Plankton?" she asks, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He jumps at her touch, his senses on high alert. His hand goes to where she touched him, his opposite hand doing the same to the other shoulder. "Karen," he says slowly, his voice a mechanical whisper. Karen's circuits flicker with confusion. She doesn't understand why he's so on edge, why his reactions are so exaggerated. To her, this is just another setback. "Plankton," she repeats, her hand back on his shoulder. "You need to eat. It'll make you feel better." Karen's touch feels unbearable. He flinches, his skin crawling with the sensation. It's too much. "No," he says, his voice a croak. "No dinner." Karen's screens blink, recalculating her approach. "Okay," she says, her voice even. "But you have to eat something." She pats him gently, but it feels jolting. "No," Plankton whispers, his voice a fragile thread. The slightest touch feels like a thunderclap in his newfound sensory prison. Karen's screens flicker, unsure of what to make of his sudden aversion. "Take your time," she suggests again, hoping the mantra will bring him comfort. But Plankton simply shakes his head, his eye wide as he starts to rock back and forth. Karen watches, her confusion growing. "What is it?" she asks, her voice a soothing hum. "What's wrong?" Plankton's gaze flits around the room, his pupil expanding and contracting as he tries to process everything at once. "Can't...can't explain," he stammers, his voice now a jagged mess of static. Karen's screens light up with analysis, trying to piece together what could have caused this drastic shift in his behavior. Could it be something in the latest Krabby Patty attempt? A side effect of his latest invention? "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft beep, "What happened at the Krusty Krab today?" He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Krabs...Plankton Sponge Bob, Plankton. Karen..." He trails off, his eye filling with a sudden despair. It's clear that his usual sharpness has been replaced by a fog of overwhelming sensation.

"Honey, did you take out the trash?" Karen called out to the living room. The only reply was the distant sound of the TV playing a sitcom laugh track. She sighed. Going into the living room, Karen found her husband, Plankton, sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. The TV's blue light flickered over his face. She looked around the room, the piles of laundry, the dusty bookshelves, and the half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table. It was a mess, but she knew better than to wake him. Plankton had been working long hours at the chum factory lately, trying to make ends meet. His snoring grew louder, and she felt a wave of affection mixed with concern. Gently, she covered his legs with a blanket and bent to kiss his forehead. He stirred slightly but didn't wake up. In the kitchen, Karen grabbed a cup of coffee, the warmth and aroma grounding her for the evening ahead. The fridge hummed a low lullaby, reminding her of the chores left to do. The sink was full of dirty dishes, remnants of dinner. A pot with half-eaten chum congealed on the stovetop. Karen rolled up her sleeves, determined to tackle the chaos. She knew Plankton was exhausted from work. The clanking of pots and pans echoed through the tiny kitchen as she washed and sorted, her mind racing with thoughts of their future. A knock at the door startled her. She dried her hands on a towel, leaving wet spots like tears on the fabric. It was Hanna, her best friend since high school. Karen had not seen Hanna in weeks, and the sight of her brought a smile. Hanna was a burst of energy. "Hi, Karen! How's it going?" Hanna's voice was a mix of sweetness and the sharpness of someone who had seen too much of the world. She scanned the room, taking in the clutter, the stale smell of overworked air, and Plankton's snoring. "Hey, Hanna," Karen managed, her voice soft to not disturb his sleep. "It's been a bit hectic, but we're making do." Hanna stepped in, eyeing the mess sympathetically. "Looks like you could use a hand," she said, already grabbing a dish towel. Karen's smile grew. "You read my mind. Thanks." Hanna tossed the towel over her shoulder, ready to jump into the fray. "You know me," she said with a wink. "I've never been one to shy away from a mess." The two of them worked side by side, the rhythm of their movements harmonizing as they cleared the kitchen. Karen felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease as Hanna filled the room with stories of her latest adventures, a welcome distraction from the monotony of chores. As the last plate was put away, the fridge closed with a satisfying click, Karen leaned against the counter. Hanna looked at her. "You've been carrying a lot, haven't you?" she asked, her voice gentle. Karen nodded, her eyes welling up. "It's just that with Plankton's job, and the bills..." Hanna pulled her into a tight hug. "I know, sweetie. You're doing the best you can." They sat down in the living room, the clean kitchen a testament to their friendship's strength. Hanna's screen searched Karen's for a sign of the spark that used to be there. "I can't remember the last time we went out together," Hanna said. "You two deserve a break." Karen's screen lit up at the suggestion, but quickly dimmed. "We can't afford it," she said, sighing. "Not with the overtime Plankton's been doing." Hanna leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, I might have a little surprise for you," she said. Karen looked up, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" Hanna pulled out a small envelope from her pocket and handed it to her friend. "A gift," she said with a sly smile. "A check from my winning lottery ticket." Karen's eyes widened as she opened the envelope. "Hanna, no!" she protested. "You can't just give us your winnings!" Hanna's smile didn't waver. "I can, and I want to. You've been there for me through everything. It's about time I returned the favor. Besides," she said with a wink, "what's a little chum between friends?" Karen's hands trembled as she read the check. It was more than enough to cover their rent and bills for several months. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she hugged Hanna tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. The weight of financial stress lifted slightly from her shoulders, replaced by a warmth that spread through her chest. For a moment, the world didn't seem so overwhelming. Hanna pulled back, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. "Now, don't spend it all in one place," she teased. Karen laughed, the sound small but genuine. "I won't," she promised, the check clutched in her hand. "We'll use it wisely." The two of them sat quietly for a while, enjoying the rare moment of peace. The TV had switched to the news, and the low murmur of the anchor's voice filled the room. Plankton's snoring had become a comforting white noise. Hanna looked at Plankton, her expression thoughtful. "You know, I've always admired the way you take care of him," she said. "It can't be easy." Karen nodded, her thumb tracing the edges of the check. "It's not," she admitted. "But he's my Plankton. I love him, even when he's exhausting." Her gaze drifted to the sleeping form of her husband. Plankton's snores grew more even, his face finally relaxed. The lines of stress that usually pinched his features had smoothed out in sleep. Karen knew that Plankton had always dreamed of more than his life at the chum factory could offer. He was a man of ambition, his spirit too large for the cramped quarters they called home. Her thoughts turned to the gift from Hanna. The check represented more than just money; it was a beacon of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could finally start working towards those dreams.

ᵀʰᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿˢ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵇᵉᵈ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵘˢᵘᵃˡˡʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᵈ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵘˢᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᔆᵒʳʳʸ ⁱᶠ ᴵ ˢⁿᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉᵃʳˡⁱᵉʳ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ʸᵉˡˡᵉᵈ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ʰᵉʳ‧ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵘⁿʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ʳᵃⁱˢᵉ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳˡʸ ᵒᵘᵗʷᵃʳᵈˡʸ ᵃᶠᶠᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵒʳ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ˢᵉᵉᵐᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵈᵃⁿᵍᵉʳ⸴ ʰᵉ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ‧ ᴱᵃʳˡⁱᵉʳ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ⸴ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ⁿᵉʷ ⁱⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵃⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵃᵗᵗʸ ⁱⁿᵍʳᵉᵈⁱᵉⁿᵗˢ‧ "ᴵ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ᶠʳᵘˢᵗʳᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ʲᵘˢᵗ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᶠᵒʳ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰᵉ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵃᵘˡᵗ‧ ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵉⁿᵉʳᵍʸ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ˢᵘʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈⁱᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉˢᵗ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ; ᴵ ˡ⁻ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" "ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ⸴ ᵐʸ ᵈᵉᵃʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᴺᵒʷ ʷᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵒᵘᵍʰᵗᵗᵃ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ ᵈᵃʸ‧‧‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ?" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ ʰⁱᵐ ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡˡʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ʷʰᵒ'ˢ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ‧ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵒᶠ ⁱᵗ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᵍᵒ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ ˡᵃᵗᵉ ᵐᵒᵛⁱᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ; ᵃ ᵇᵉⁿᵈʸ ˢᵗʳᵃʷ ⁱⁿ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉⁿ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵍˡᵃᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ‧ "ᔆʷᵉᵉᵗ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ‧‧" ᔆʰᵉ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳˢ⸴ ʰᵒᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵐᵃⁱⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵖᵉᵃᶜᵉᶠᵘˡⁿᵉˢˢ‧ ╰ ✧ ･ﾟ∙ ∗ — ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⟨ 2 4 8

ᵀʰᵉ ᵂʰᵉᵉˡ ᴰᵉᵃˡ | 𝟖𝟒𝟑 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 | ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʳᵘˢʰᵉᵈ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵃ ˢʰʳⁱᵉᵏ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" ᴴᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ'ˢ ˡᵉᵍ ᵍᵒᵗ ᶜᵃᵘᵍʰᵗ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉʳ ʷʰᵉᵉˡ⸴ ᵈᵉᵉᵖˡʸ ᵉᵐᵇᵉᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ! ᵁⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶠʳᵉᵉ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ᑫᵘⁱᶜᵏˡʸ ʳⁱᵖˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʰᵉᵉˡˢ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵇˡᵉᵉᵈⁱⁿᵍ ˡᵉᵍ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵖᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ⸴ ᵉᵃᶜʰ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵃ ᵍᵃˢᵖ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵗʳᵉᵐᵇˡᵉᵈ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍ ʰᵘʳᵗ ᵇᵃᵈˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ⁱᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ ʷʰⁱᵐᵖᵉʳˢ ʷᵉᵃᵏˡʸ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴼᵛᵉʳʷʰᵉˡᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ˢʰᵒᵗ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍ⸴ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵇᵃᵈ ˢʰᵃᵖᵉ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ˢᵒᶠᵗ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ʷᵒʳˢᵉ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰᵘʳᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵐᵒʳᵉ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ?" "ᴴⁿⁿⁿ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵘˢᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵉⁿᵉʳᵍʸ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃⁿ ᵃᵍᵐᵃᵗᵒˡᵒᵍⁱˢᵗ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡⁱˢⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵃᶜʳᵒᵖᵃᵗʰᵒˡᵒᵍʸ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᵇʳⁱⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵘᵖᵖˡⁱᵉˢ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵘʳᵖʳⁱˢᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ⁱⁿᵗᵃᶜᵗ‧" ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᵃˡˡ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡⁱˢᵗ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘᵖᵖˡⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡⁱˢᵗ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵃᵉˢᵗʰᵉᵗⁱᶜ ᵐᵃᶜʰⁱⁿᵉ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒ ˡᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ‧ ᴼⁿˡʸ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʷᵒʳᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ˡᵉᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵇᵃⁿᵈᵃᵍᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱˢᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉ ᵃⁿᵃᵉˢᵗʰᵉᵗⁱᶜ ᵐᵃᶜʰⁱⁿᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ ʰᵉ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ⸴ ᵒᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵃᶜʳᵒᵖᵃᵗʰᵒˡᵒᵍʸ ᵃᵍᵐᵃᵗᵒˡᵒᵍⁱˢᵗ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃˡˡ ˢᵘᵖᵖˡⁱᵉˢ ᵗᵒ‧ "ᴴⁱ⸴ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗⁿᵉˢˢ‧" "ᴴᵘʰʰʰ; ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‽" "ʸᵉˢ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧" ᔆʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖʸ‧ ᴴᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ʷᵃˡᵏ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵃⁿʸ ˡⁱⁿᵍᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵃᵉˢᵗʰᵉˢⁱᵃ‧ ᵀᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ ᵒʳ ᵈⁱᶻᶻʸ/ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ʰᵉᵃᵈᵉᵈ ˢᵒ ˢʰᵉ ᶜᵃʳʳⁱᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉˢᵗ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵗᵘᶜᵏˢ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ‧ "ᔆᵗᵃʸ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ⸴ ˢᵒ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃᵗ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉˡᵈ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᴸⁱᵏᵉ ˢᵒ?" ᔆʰᵉ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ‧ "ʸ⁻ʸᵉˢ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈʳᵒʷˢⁱˡʸ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵈʳᵒʷˢⁱᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧‧ "ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵉᵉⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ ᵈᵃʸ!" ᵀʰᵉ ᵏʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᵏʳᵃᵇ ᵉˣᵖᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵈᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴬᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᵃ ᵖˡᵃⁿ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃᵍᵉˢ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ⁱᵐᵖᵘˡˢⁱᵛⁱᵗʸ ᵘˢᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ʰⁱˢ ˢᶜʰᵉᵐᵉˢ‧ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵘⁿˢᵉᵗᵗˡⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ʷᵃⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵗʳⁱᵏᵉ‧ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ⁿᵒ ⁱⁿᶜˡⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵐᵘᶜʰ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵈⁱᵈ ᶜᵃʳᵉ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ⁱᶠ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵗᵉᶜʰⁿⁱᶜᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵇᵘˢⁱⁿᵉˢˢ ʳⁱᵛᵃˡ‧ ᴺᵒᵗ ⁱⁿᵛᵉˢᵗⁱᵍᵃᵗⁱᵛᵉ⸴ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵘʳⁱᵒˢⁱᵗʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵃˡ ᵏⁱⁿᵈⁿᵉˢˢ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ⁿᵒʷ‧ "ᴴᵉˡˡᵒ‽" ᴴᵉ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵇᵉᵈʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ "ᵂʰᵃ‧‧‧" "ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ‧ "ᴴᵉ'ˢ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵒʷ ᵘᵖ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ‧ "ᴬⁿ ᵃᶜᶜⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍ‧" "ᴬʰ‧ ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ ᴵ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᶜᵉʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʰⁱᵐ‧" "ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏˢ⸴ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ!" ᴴᵉ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵘᵈᵍᵉᵈ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ˢʰᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ˢᵃʷ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵈʳᵒᵒˡ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰᵉᵈ⸴ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ "ᴹᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧" ᔆʰᵉ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵒᶠᵗˡʸ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᵇʳᵒʷ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᶠᵘʳʳᵒʷˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈʳᵒᵒˡˢ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ʳᵘᵇᵇᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ʰᵉˡᵈ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉʳˢ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" ᔆʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵒᵉᵈ‧ "ᴺⁿᵍʰ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵒᵐⁿⁱˡᵒᑫᵘⁱˢᵉᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵍᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵖᵃᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ!" ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ʷᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵉʸᵉ ˢⁿᵃᵖˢ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ "ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵈᵃʸ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᵂʰᵉⁿ’ᵈ ᴵ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃ ᶜᵃˢᵗ‧‧‧" "ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡⁱˢᵗ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳᵈᵃʸ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵒʷ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇʸ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒʷ ᵇᵃᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰᵘʳᵗ‧ "ᴵ ᶜʰᵃⁿᵍᵉᵈ ᵐʸ ˢᵉᵗ ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵉᵉˡˢ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢⁱᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍ ᵖʳᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒ‧ "ᴳᵃʰ!" "ᶜᵃⁿ ᴵ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵒᵖ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢᵖⁱʳᵃˡ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗˢ‧ "ᴶᵘˢᵗ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʰᵘʳᵗ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵇᵃᵈ‧ "ᴮᵘᵗ ⁱᶠ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ‧‧‧" "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵉᵃˢʸ‧ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ⸴ ⁿᵒ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳ ʷʰᵃᵗ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵐᵉᵗ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ˢᵒ ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵃˢ ʸᵒᵘ‧ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᵗᵒ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʳᵉˢᵗ‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒᵈᵈᵉᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ ᵃ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵒⁿ‧ "ᴶᵘˢᵗ ˡⁱᶠᵗ⸴ ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉˣᵗʳᵃ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢˡⁱᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ˢᵘᵖᵖᵒʳᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉᵍ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵒ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵖᵒˡᵒᵍⁱˢᵉ! ᴵ'ᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳʸ‧ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ˢᵃᶠᵉʳ ʷʰᵉᵉˡˢ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍˢ ˢᵒ ᵃˢ ᵗᵒ ᵉⁿᵗᵉʳᵗᵃⁱⁿ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ʰᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵ'ˡˡ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ⁱᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧" ᔆʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵖᵃʳᵗⁱᵃˡˡʸ ᵃʲᵃʳ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʳᵉˢᵖᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ⁿᵉᵉᵈˢ‧ ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᴷʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᴷʳᵃᵇ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‽" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁱⁿ‧ "ᴵ ᶜᵒⁿˢⁱᵈᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵇʳⁱⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ⁱᵗ⸴ ˢᵒ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ⁱⁿˢᵗᵉᵃᵈ ᵃ ˢᵉᵗ ᵒᶠ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ᴵ'ᵈ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ! ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ⸴ ᴵ ᵖˡᵃⁿⁿᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ˢᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰ ᵈᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃᵗ ᵇʸ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ ᴵ ᵃˢᵏ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵉˣᵃᶜᵗˡʸ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵉᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ⁱⁿ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ʷᵃʸ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ˢʰᵉ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵒᵖ‧ ᴳᵒᵗ ᶜᵃᵘᵍʰᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ʷʰᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵖˡᵃᶜᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵃᶠᵉʳ ᵒⁿᵉˢ ⁿᵒʷ‧" "ᔆᵒᵘⁿᵈˢ ᵖᵃⁱⁿᶠᵘˡ‧‧" "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃ ᵖʳᵒᶠᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵐᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵐᵉᵈⁱᶜⁱⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵈⁱᶜⁱⁿᵉ ᵐᵘˢᵗ'ᵛᵉ ᵏⁿᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶜᵒˡᵈ⸴ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᴵ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵇᵃⁿᵈᵃᵍᵉᵈ ˡᵉᵍ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡⁱˢᵗ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧" "ᴵ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˡᵃˢᵗ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵃᵖᵖᵉᵃʳ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵖᵃᵗᵗʸ ⁱⁿᵍʳᵉᵈⁱᵉⁿᵗ ᵗʰᵉᶠᵗ⸴ ˢᵒ ᴵ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ‧" ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢʰᵉ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉ‧

My Tiny Genius RibbonDee Summary: After a long day of once again trying and failing to steal the Krabby Patty Secret Formula, Plankton is feeling down in the dumps. It's up to Karen to cheer him up. Language:EnglishStats:Published:2024-02-01Words:721 There were many words to describe the Chum Bucket, and pleasant certainly was not one of them. Overall it reeked of filth, grime and all sorts of health code violations. A certain musty odor seemed to always linger in the air, no matter how much air freshener one used. Truly, it was a wonder this place was still in business. There were many theories as to why, but truly no one except for the restaurants’ owners really knew. One of said owners was in the lobby, waiting as she always did for her husband when he was off with one of his schemes. Karen was standing in the room in her mobile apparatus, her screen blank as she waited ever so patiently. Best case scenario Plankton would simply fail as usual. Worst… the Chum Bucket was blown to smithereens again. Neither outcome was good, but it was obvious which one was more favorable. Finally, a small tapping sound came from one of the doors. He was back. Karen wheeled over to the red double doors and let the poor man in. He was a mess. He was covered in ash and some bruises, and she was immediately concerned. “Plankton-” she began. “Not now honey.” Plankton sulked off, no doubt on his way to the lab. “Plankton!” The tiny organism turned around to face his computer wife. “What?” “I have dinner ready.” “I ain’t in the mood for holographic meatloaf.” He turned back around and went on his way. Karen put her robotic arms on where her hips would be and rolled on after him. “What kind of attitude is that? At least let me patch you up! It looks like it hurts!” “No it- ow. Ok fine.” Karen bent over and picked up the creature in her metal palms and gently lifted him up and began to wheel him into the lab area. She set him down on a counter and got out the first aid kit that was for this sort of thing. “How’d it go”, she said as she began to clean his wounds. “OW! Easy!” “Sorry sweetie. But how did things go? Didja get that formula this time?” “What does it look like? Nope. I failed again. Always.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I… I can’t do this.” “Can’t do what?” “What do you think?! I can’t get that formula! Krabs is always one step ahead!” “Oh hon, surely you’ll get it next time”, Karen said, giving Plankton a little pat on the back which caused him to fall flat on his face. “Ow.” “Sorry.” Plankton stood, and sighed. “That’s what you always say. I always go for it again, and it blows up in my face! Literally! Look at all these inventions. Failures. All of them.” Plankton’s eye was beginning to tear up. Karen felt her circuits beginning to tingle with pity. Poor little fella. She remembered all of the earlier formula-nabbing schemes, and how motivated and eager her husband was. With each failed plan Plankton grew ever more weary, which was odd as he was usually quite the tenacious type. “Oh Plankton”, Karen said tenderly. “Oh Karen! I’m a failure!” Karen gasped in horror. “You are NOT!” “How?” “For starters, you build all these amazing inventions that are way ahead of their time! You’re brilliant!” “Go on.” “You went to college!” “Yeah!” “And you're gonna GET that formula!” “Yeah!” Plankton made sure to say the last yeah extra loudly, clearly filled with his usual overinflated ego once again. It usually never took to long to reignite his drive via a small pep talk, something Karen was very happy to provide for her beloved single celled spouse. “I am going to get the formula, and make Krabs eat dirt!” “I know you are, honey. But I think you should rest or eat first.” “No I- ow. Yeah alright.” “That's the spirit, little guy. Now let's go and relax for a while. You've earned it.” Karen picked up her now relieved husband, and began to wheel them towards their living quarters so the poor little thing could rest. “I love you, my tiny little genius.” “Heh, love you too babe.” And so the pair of strange lovers were off, for now they would relax and perhaps discuss oh so evıl, diabolical and lemon scented plans for the future.

ᴳᵉᵗ ᵁᵖ 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 𝟏 𝐦𝐢𝐧. ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵘᵖ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳ ˢᵉᵃᵗ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒʷ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ⁱⁿ ᶜʰᵃⁱʳ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵍᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ˢʰᵒᵒᵏ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈᵉʳ ˢⁱᵍʰᵗˡʸ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵘᵈᵍᵉ⸴ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵃʲᵃʳ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ˢᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᴵ'ˡˡ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ‧ ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵒʳ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᴵ ᶜᵃʳʳʸ ʸᵒᵘ?" ᴺᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᴳᵘᵉˢˢ ᴵ'ᵐ ᶜᵃʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰᵉⁿ‧ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵈⁱˢᵗᵘʳᵇ ʸᵒᵘ ⁱᶠ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ʰᵃʳᵈᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʳᵒᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵉᵃˢⁱˡʸ ᵖᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐʸˢᵉˡᶠ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ᵖᵘᵗˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ʷⁱᵖⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵈʳᵒᵒˡ ᵒᶠᶠ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵃˡˡʸ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ⁱˢ ⁱᵗ?" "ᵀⁱᵐᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵘˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵘᵖ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ‧

ᵀʰᵉ ᶜʳᵃᵐᵖˢ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧‧" ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵃˢ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ʰᵒˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴬˡˡ ᵐʸ ᵐᵘˢᶜˡᵉˢ ᵃᶜʰᵉ‧‧‧" "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴵ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵒᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ!" ᔆʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵒʷ ʷᵉᵃᵏ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵉᵐᵉᵈ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᵉˣʰᵃᵘˢᵗᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵉᵉᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴵ⁻ᴵ'ᵐ ᵗ⁻ᵗᵒ ᵗⁱʳᵉᵈ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ʳᵉᵃᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵖᵘˡˡᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ˡᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵃ ʸᵉˡᵖ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵒᶠᵗ ᵇᵉᵈ ⁱᵐᵐᵉᵈⁱᵃᵗᵉˡʸ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵒʳ?" "ᴵᵗ ʰᵘʳᵗⁱⁿ’ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵉʸᵉ ˡⁱᵈ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ʰᵉᵃᵛʸ‧ "ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁱᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵉⁿᵉʳᵍʸ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ‧" ᔆʰᵉ ᵐᵃⁿᵃᵍᵉᵈ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵍᵉᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ʸᵉᵗ‧ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈˢ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ˢᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ˢˡⁱᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉᵈ‧ ᵀᵘᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ᶠⁱᵍᵘʳᵉ ʳᵉˡᵃˣᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˡᵃᵐᵖ‧ ᶠᵃᶜⁱᵃˡ ᶠᵉᵃᵗᵘʳᵉˢ ˢˡᵃᶜᵏ ˡᵃˣ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ˡᵉˢˢ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ‧ "ᴬˡˡ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ?" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ 'ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ' ˢʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ᶠᵉʳ‧ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟕𝟓

COMPUTER SENSORS iii ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * Slowly, Plankton's eye fluttered open, and he looked up at Karen. "You ok?" she asked softly, her hand still on his shoulder. Plankton took a deep breath and nodded, eye still clouded with the haze of overstimulation. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Just needed a... a moment." Karen leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I know," she said, her voice filled with love and understanding. "I'm sorry I didn't catch on sooner. Hanna's a good person. She just didn't understand." Hanna returned with an armful of board games, her screen searching the room for Plankton. She saw him on the bed. "Look what I found!" she said, her voice cheerful but cautious. Plankton looked up at her, his gaze still hazy. "Films," he says. "Yeah," Hanna said, her voice hopeful. "I figured it might be a good way to keep things low-key after the movie." Karen looked at her with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Hanna," she said. "That's really thoughtful of you." "How about 'Molecule Madness'?" she suggested, her voice still tentative. "It's a science-themed strategy show. I remember Plankton mentioning he likes science." Karen nodded, her eyes lighting up. "That sounds perfect," she said, her hand sliding from Plankton's shoulder to give him a gentle pat. Karen watched the exchange, her heart swelling with love for both of them. "You're doing great, Hanna," she said, her voice gentle. "Just remember, it's ok to ask questions. And Plankton, it's ok to tell if you need more space." Hanna made sure to keep the volume low and the lights dimmed, and she sat a respectful distance away, giving him the space he needed. The show played out, a gentle narrative that neither of them had to fully engage with, the perfect backdrop to their quiet evening. And Plankton's breathing evened out. As the show went on, Plankton began to relax further, loosening his grip on the couch cushions as he felt more restful. It's late by the time the show finished. Hanna looked over at Plankton, who had slumped into the couch, curled loosely around a cushion. His eye was closed, and his breathing was slow and even. She realized he had fallen asleep. Carefully, she stood up and turned off the TV, the sudden silence feeling vast after the muted chuckles of the sitcom. She grabbed a blanket from the arm chair and draped it over him, taking a moment to appreciate the peacefulness that had settled over the room. Later, Karen appeared in the doorway. "Is everything ok?" she says rounding the corner. Hanna glanced over at Plankton, still loosely gripping the couch cushion, breathing deep and even. "I think he's asleep," she whispered, smiling softly. Karen nodded, walking over to the couch. She gently stroked his antennae, her touch light as a feather. "It's been a long day for him," she murmured, her voice filled with concern and love. "It's been a long day for him," she says. "Why don't you crash on the other couch?" Hanna nods, the weight of the evening's events settling in. She looks over at Plankton who's snoring softly. The next morning, she wakes up early to find Karen making coffee in the kitchen. The peaceful scene contrasts with the previous evening's tension, and they exchange greetings, acknowledging the quiet morning. The smell of breakfast starts to fill the room. Plankton stirs slightly, his antennae twitching in his sleep. Hanna's hoping she hadn't disturbed him. But his breathing remains even, and he settles back in to a peaceful slumber. Karen brings over a tray with a steaming cup of tea for Plankton and sits beside him. "Hey," Karen whispers, stroking his arm gently. Plankton's eye opens slowly, focusing on her. He blinks a few times, looking around. "What time is it?" he murmurs. "Morning," Hanna says, her voice soft. "Do you want to sit up?" Karen quickly moves to grab a pillow and a blanket, placing them around his shoulders. "Thanks," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. They share a peaceful moment, with Plankton opening up about his preferences, such as enjoying puzzles and cooking, which offer him control over his sensory environment. This exchange signifies a step towards rebuilding their relationship on more empathetic and understanding terms. Hanna nods, taking a bite of her own pancake. "That makes sense," she murmurs. "I can see how that would be helpful." Hanna shares her passion for photography. Plankton shows interest and offers a thoughtful comparison to his own need for control, suggesting a shared understanding is growing between them. This conversation deepens their bond and shows a shift to mutual respect and appreciation. "Maybe you can show me some of your work sometime." "I'd love that," Hanna says, her heart warming at his genuine interest. "And maybe you can teach me more about molecular gastronomy?" Plankton's eye lights up. "Really?" "Yeah," Hanna says, grinning. "I've always wanted to learn more about it." Plankton perks up a little. "Well, if you're serious," he says, "I'd be happy to teach you some basics." Hanna nods eagerly. "I'd love that," she says. "It seems like a great way to combine science and cooking." "It is," Plankton agrees, a hint of excitement in his voice. "It's all about understanding the molecular structure of food and how it interacts with other substances. It can be quite fascinating." Karen smiles at the two of them, sipping her coffee. "I'm going to leave you two to your nerdy breakfast chat," she says, standing up and taking her plate to the sink. "I've got some work to catch up on." Hanna turns back to Plankton. "So, molecular gastronomy," she says, trying to keep her voice calm despite her excitement. "Where do we start?" Plankton proposes they start with a simple molecular gastronomy project, creating balsamic vinegar caviar. Hanna is fascinated by the precision and science involved. As they work together in the kitchen, their conversation naturally flows into discussions of their shared love for creativity and art. Through this collaborative activity, they continue to build their bond, finding common interests and growing more comfortable with each other's company. As they continue to cook, Plankton's enthusiasm for molecular gastronomy becomes infectious. Hanna is surprised at how much she enjoys the meticulousness of the process, and Plankton seems just as surprised at how quickly she catches on. They laugh together as they plate their creations, the balsamic vinegar caviar looking like a miniature galaxy on a white plate. The rest of the day unfolds in a similar fashion, with Plankton introducing Hanna to more of his hobbies and passions. They experiment with different cooking techniques, and Hanna even takes out her camera to capture some of the more visually stunning dishes they make. Plankton, usually so guarded about his personal space, allows her to hover closer offering suggestions on lighting and composition. As the evening approaches, Karen emerges from her office, looking surprised and impressed by the culinary masterpieces scattered across the counter. As the evening wears on, they move into the living room. The three of them sit. Karen pulls out a board game she thinks Plankton might enjoy. Plankton tenses slightly, but he nods, willing to give it a try. As the game progresses, Plankton's competitive streak emerges. He's strategic and thoughtful, his moves deliberate. Hanna can see the way his mind works, piecing together the puzzle of the game with the same precision he uses to navigate his sensory world. It's fascinating and a little intimidating, but she's determined to keep up.

ᴬˡˡ ᴹⁱⁿᵉ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ "ᴹʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ⸴ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵃⁿ ⁱᵈᵉᵃ; ᴵ ᵍᵒ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵘˢ ʳⁱᶜʰ!" ᔆᵃʸˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᔆᵒᵘⁿᵈˢ ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃʳᵉᶠᵘˡ‧‧" ᔆʰᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸴ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ʰᵉᵉᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᴬᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ ʷᵃʸ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵃʳ ᵃʰᵉᵃᵈ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃⁿᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᶠ ʷᵒʳᵗʰ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ˡᵒˢᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵒᵒᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᶜᵏˢ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᵖᵉⁿˢ ᵘᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᵖᵒᵒˡ ᵒᶠ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᶜᵏˢ ᶠᵉˡˡ‧ ᴴᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ⸴ ᵍʳᵃᵇᵇⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˢᵗⁱᶜᵏ ʷᵉᵈᵍᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᶜᵏˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵉᵖ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ‧ "ᴴᵉˡᵖ!" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ‧ ᴹᵉᵃⁿ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᴮᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒʳ ˢᵉᵉⁿ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ˢᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ "ᴴᵉ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ⸴ ʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵐⁱⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵍᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱᵐ!" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ⸴ ᵐⁱⁿᵉˢ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵈᵉᵃᵈˡʸ!" ᴬˢ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ˢᵒ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ʳᵒᶜᵏˢ⸴ ʰⁱᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᴴᵉˡᵖ ᵐᵉ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ⸴ ʰᵘʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ᵇⁱᵍ⸴ ʰᵉᵃᵛʸ ʳᵒᶜᵏ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵃⁿᵈᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ˡᵉᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗⁱᶜᵏ‧ ᴹᵒʳᵉ ʳᵘᵇᵇˡᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵍᵃˢᵖᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˡⁱᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᶜᵏˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴳᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ᵒᶠ ʳᵒᶜᵏˢ ᵒᶠᶠ ʰⁱᵐ⸴ ʰᵉ ᵖᵘˡˡᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵉᵉᶻⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳˢ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ˡⁱᵐᵖ ᵃˢ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵉˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵃʳᵐˢ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ˡᵉᵃⁿᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃᵈʲᵘˢᵗᵉᵈ ʰᵒʷ ʰᵉ ʰᵉˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴺᵒʷ ˢᵘᵖᵖᵒʳᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ʰⁱˢ ʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵖᵘˡˢᵉ‧ "ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵒⁿ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᶜʰᵉᵉᵏ‧ "ᵀᵃˡᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧‧" ʸᵉᵗ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵏⁿᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᶜᵒˡᵈ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ʳᵉˡⁱᵉᵛᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰᵉ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ˢᶜᵃʳᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶠᵉᵃʳ‧ "ᵂᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖ⸴ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ˡⁱᵐᵇˢ ᵈᵃⁿᵍˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵗᵒᵒᵈ ᵘᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ⸴ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ‧ 'ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ⁿᵒʷ' ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵉˣᵗᵉᵈ⸴ ᵗᵒ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ʳᵘˢʰᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉˡᵈ ᵇʸ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ ᴺᵒʷ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ˢᵘᵖⁱⁿᵉ ᵖᵒˢⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵈʳᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗˡʸ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ⸴ ʰᵉ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ʳᵉᵐᵃⁱⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿˡᵉˢˢ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵃˡˡ‧ "ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉ'ˢ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ʷᵒʳᵗʰ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵐⁱⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵒᵇᵛⁱᵒᵘˢˡʸ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵉˢⁱˢᵗ ᵒʳ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉˢᵗ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵖⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ⸴ ⁿᵒʳ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃʳʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ "ᵂᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵖᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉᵈ!" ᴬᵍᵃⁱⁿ ⁿᵒ ⁱⁿᵈⁱᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᴼʰ ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ⸴ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧ ᴵ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵈᵒ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ⸴ ᵏⁱˢˢⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ'ˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᴱᵃʳˡʸ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ᵉᵛᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʷⁱᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ; ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᵇʳᵒʷ ᶠᵘʳʳᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᵃˢ ⁱᶠ ᵏⁿⁱᵗ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵒⁿᶠᵘˢⁱᵒⁿ⸴ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵒʳᵐ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏ‧‧‧" "ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉʸᵉ?" ᴿᵉᵍⁱˢᵗᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉˢ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵐᵃⁿᵃᵍᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒ ˢᵒ⸴ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵘʳʳᵒᵘⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍˢ‧ "ᴴᵘʰʰʰ ʷ⁻ʷʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ʰᵃᵖ⁻ᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ⸴ ˢˡᵒʷˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉᵃᵏˡʸ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵍʳᵒᵍᵍⁱˡʸ ᵈⁱˢᵒʳⁱᵉⁿᵗᵉᵈ⸴ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵃⁿ ᵘᵖ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᔆᵗⁱˡˡ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵛᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ‧ "ᵂʰʸ'ˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵇˡᵘʳʳʸ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵘᶻᶻʸ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʳᵉᵍᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉˢ⸴ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ⁿᵉᵃʳˡʸ ᵈʳᵒʷⁿⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ!" 'ᵂʰᵃᵗ⸴ ᵒʰ ʸᵉᵃ‧ ᴵ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒʷ ᵈⁱᵈ ᴵ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ʳᵒᵒᵐ?' ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ‧ "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʳᵉˢᶜᵘᵉ!" "ʸᵒᵘ ᵈⁱᵈ? ᴼʰ⸴ ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏˢ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ⸴ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ʷᵉᵃᵏ‧ "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ˢᵒ ⁿⁱᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ᵏⁱᵈ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʳᵉᵖˡⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ "ᴺᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵈᵒ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ ᶠᵒᵒˡⁱˢʰ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵉⁿᵈᵃⁿᵍᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ "ᴶᵘˢᵗ ᵖˡᵃⁱⁿ ʷᵒʳʳⁱᵉᵈ ˢⁱᶜᵏ⸴ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ!" "ᔆᵒʳʳʸ⸴ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵒʷ ˢᶜᵃʳᵉᵈ ᴵ'ᵈ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵒᶠ ˡᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‧ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵉⁿᵈ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ⁿᵉʳᵛᵉˢ‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱᵗᵗᵒ‧ ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧‧" "ᴬⁿʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧ ᴳᵉᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ⁿᵒʷ‧‧" "ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵃⁿʸ‧‧‧" "ʸᵉˢ⸴ ʸᵉˢ; ʷᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿᵈᵉᵈ‧ "ᵂᵃⁿᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉᵈ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᶜʳᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ?" ᔆʰᵉ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᔆʷᵉᵉᵗⁱᵉ?" ᔆʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒʷ ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᴼʰ ᴵ'ˡˡ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵃʲᵃʳ‧ ᴺⁱᵍʰᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏˢ‧‧" 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟲𝟴𝟴

ᴮᵃᵈ ᴺⁱᵍʰᵗᵐᵃʳᵉ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ 'ᴵᵗ ⁱˢ ᵃˡˡ ᵃ ʰᵒᵃˣ; ᵃ ᶠʳᵒⁿᵗ!' 'ᴸᵃᵘⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ!' 'ᴵ ˢᵃʸ⸴ ʷᵉ ˢᵗᵉᵖ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱᵐ!' ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ʳⁱⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢˡᵉᵖᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵗⁱʳʳᵉᵈ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃˡˢᵒ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡˡʸ ᵗᵒˢˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵘʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴳᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵇˡᵉ ᵈⁱˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ‧ ᴺᵒᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗˡᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ˢʰᵉ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʳʸ ᵗᵒ ˢⁿᵃᵖ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵃᵗᵉᵛᵉʳ ⁱᵗ ⁱˢ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵃⁿᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʰᵉʳ ʷʰⁱᵐᵖᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰᵒ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵗᵒᵖ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‽" ᔆʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵇᵇᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵉˡ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵃⁿᵏˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵒᵒᵏ ⁱᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵒʳᵗʰ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ᵃⁿᵗᵉⁿⁿᵃᵉ ᵗʷⁱᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ‧ "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ? ᵂᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ!" ᴺᵒʷ ʰᵉ ᵃʷᵒᵏᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ˢⁿᵃᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ⸴ ˡᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵃ ᶜʳʸ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵐᵉ⸴ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰˢ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒʷ‧ "ᴵ⁻ᴵ'ᵐ ˢ⁻ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵇᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" "ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ʷᵃˢ‧‧‧" "ᴱᵘᵍᵉⁿᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ‧‧‧" "ᴵ⁻ᴵ⁻ᴵ⁻ᴵ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ʷᵒʳʳⁱᵉᵈ‧" "ᴼʰ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧" "ᴵ⁻ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵘʳᵉ ⁱᶠ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ʰᵒˡᵈ ᵐʸ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ?" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵐᵇʳᵃᶜᵉᵈ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ʰᵒᵖᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˡᵘˡˡ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵖʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵃᵇˡʸ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ᵃⁿʸ ˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˡᵉᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵒᶠ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ˢʰᵉ ᵐᵃⁿᵃᵍᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵃˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ᵃⁿʸ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ‧ ╰ ✧ ･ﾟ∙ ∗ — ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⟨ 2 1 6 ⟩

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 13 (Autistic author) ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ Plankton quivers. "Stop," he whispers, his voice a plea. "Please." Mr. Krabs' grin widens, eyes glinting with cruel delight. "Afraid I'll do to you what you deserve?" Before Plankton can respond, Mr. Krabs punches at him with his claw. Plankton squeaks in pain, his eye widens with terror, his voice a distressed static. "No, Mr. Krabs, please stop!" Mr. Krabs' chuckles turn into full-blown laughter. "Look at him squirm," he says, his voice a rumble. He doesn't heed the tears streaming down Plankton's face. Plankton's body wrenches in pain, his antennae sticking straight out in alarm. "Why?" he whispers, his voice a broken static. Mr. Krabs' laughter echoes. "Because you're weak," he sneers, his voice a harsh grate. "Always have been, always will be." Plankton's body shrinks, his antennae drooping. "No," he whimpers, his voice a static plea. Mr. Krabs' laughter fills the room, his claws still poised for another strike. "Look at the tiny thief," he says, his voice a cruel cackle, "so scared of a little pain." Without warning, his claw swings down, connecting with Plankton's thin leg, and Plankton's scream pierces the air, his voice a shattered static. Pain shoots through his body like lightning, his leg feeling like it's on fire. He tries to pull away. "Mr. Krabs," he gasps, his voice a desperate whine. Mr. Krabs' laughter continues, unabated by Plankton's cries. "See? You're just a tiny, weak little creature," he says, his voice a malicious cackle. Plankton's screams fill the room, the pain in his leg unbearable. "No," he whispers, his voice a static moan. "No more." Mr. Krabs' laughter doesn't waver, his claws still poised for another strike. "Oh, poor Plankton," he sneers, his voice a harsh static. Plankton's body writhes in pain, his leg twisted at an impossible angle as Sandy and Karen return. Sandy's eyes widen in horror, her voice a shocked rumble. "Mr. Krabs, what are you doing?" she asks, as Karen rushed to Plankton. Mr. Krabs' grin doesn't falter. "Teaching a lesson," he says, his voice a cruel crackle as he finally leaves. Sandy's face is a picture of horror, her voice a trembling trill. "What did he do to you?" she asks, her eyes on Plankton's twisted leg. Karen's screens flicker with rage, her beeps sharp. "That monster!" she says, her voice filled with fury. She quickly assesses the damage. Plankton's leg is twisted grotesquely, his tiny body trembling with pain. Sandy's hands hover over his body, unsure how to help without causing more distress. Sandy nods, her face pale with shock. "I'll get SpongeBob," she says, her voice a trembling trill. She runs to the phone, dialing with trembling fingers. "Sponge Bob, please come quick," she says, her voice a desperate hum. While Sandy is on the phone, Karen's screens flicker with medical information. She quickly assembles a makeshift splint for Plankton's leg, her beeps a frantic symphony of care as SpongeBob arrives. His eyes are wide with concern, his voice a panicked squeak. "What happened, Plankton?" he asks, his eyes damp with unshed tears. But Plankton's eye had rolled up in his head. Sandy's voice is shaky as she tells Sponge Bob the story, her eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling body. "Mr. Krabs... he was so cruel," she says, her voice a soft whisper of disbelief. Sponge Bob's face twists with anger. "Why would he do this?" he asks, his voice a strained whine. "First causing brain damage, and now..." Karen's screens glow with determination. "We'll deal with Mr. Krabs later," she beeps. "First, we need to get Plankton help." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes wide with fear. "What can we do?" he asks, his voice a choked whisper. Karen's screens flicker with information. "His leg is broken, and his sensory overload could be severe." Sponge Bob's face falls, his voice a sad squeak. "Oh no, Plankton." He gently picks up his friend, his touch as soft as a feather. Sandy watches, her eyes wide with fear. "What now?" she asks, her voice a trembling trill. "We can't just take him like this to a regular hospital. We'll have to be careful not to overwhelm his senses, and find medical help equipped for neurodivergent people like Plankton." SpongeBob speaks up. "I was born with a mild form of idiopathic Autism. Different from Plankton's I know, but my parents have taken me to a sensory-friendly clinic. They are skilled and have lots of different methods of medicine! It's called the Quiet Bubble Clinic!" Sandy nods, her eyes filling with hope. "That sounds perfect," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "Let's take him there." Karen's screens pulse with agreement. "Good thinking, Sponge Bob," she beeps. "We'll have to be careful, though. Any loud noises or sudden movements could trigger another meltdown." Sponge Bob nods, his grip on Plankton steady. "Sandy can drive," he says, his voice determined. "We'll get you to the Quiet Bubble Clinic, buddy."

ᴱᵃʳˡʸ ᔆᑫᵘⁱʳʳᵉˡ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖˡᵃⁿⁿᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰᵉʳ ᵍᵃˡ ᵖᵃˡ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ ᵘᵖ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ˢᶜⁱᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʳᵃᶠᶠⁱᶜ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ‧ ᴸᵃˢᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ˢʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵘᵖ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘᵖ ˢʰᵉ ᵗᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˡʸ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈᵉʳ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵉ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗˡᵉᵈ ʲᵒˡᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵃᵗ ʰᵉʳ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵒᵃᶜʰ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶜᵗ‧ 'ᴴᵒʷ ᵃᵐ ᴵ ˢᵘᵖᵖᵒˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ' ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵘʳⁿ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ'ˢ ᵗᵒ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ‧ 'ᴾᵉʳʰᵃᵖˢ ᵗʳʸ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ' ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵃⁿʸ ⁿᵃᵖˢ⸴ ⁿᵒʳ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵛᵉˢ ˢˡᵒʷˡʸ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵘʳᵍᵉᵈ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗˡʸ‧ ᴼⁿᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵃᵍᵒ ˢʰᵉ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿᵉᵈ ʰᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵃᵗᵗʸ ⁱⁿᵍʳᵉᵈⁱᵉⁿᵗˢ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢʰᵉ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵃʳⁿᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃʳᵈ ʷᵃʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃʸ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᶠᵃˡˢᵉʰᵒᵒᵈˢ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᵂᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ‧‧" ᔆʰᵉ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵗⁱʳ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ‧ 'ᵀʳʸ ᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ˡᵒᵘᵈᵉʳ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ' "‧‧‧ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᑫᵘᵉᵉᶻᵉˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ˢᵗⁱʳʳⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴿᵘᵇᵇⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʰᵉˡᵈ ⁱᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰᵉʳˢ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʸᵃⁿᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗˢ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ˢⁿᵃᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʷ‧ "ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵈʳⁱᵛᵉ ᵘˢ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ?" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵐⁱⁿᵈˢ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ "ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ‧" "ᵂᵉˡˡ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵍᵉᵗ ʳᵉˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʳⁱᵛᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ "ᴬⁿᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ʷᵃʸ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‽" "ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵗ ᵒᵘʳ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ!" "ᴸⁱᵏᵉ ᴵ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸴ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳᵃⁱˡˢ ᵒᶠᶠ⸴ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵛᵉʰⁱᶜˡᵉ‧ "ᴴᵉˡˡᵒ!" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ˢᵉᵃᵗ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵈʳⁱᵛᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ "ᵂᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ʳᵒᵃᵈ ᵗʳⁱᵖ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵗᵒᵖ ˢⁱⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ!" "ᔆᵒ ⁱᵗ'ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵈʳⁱᵛᵉ⸴ ˢᵒ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵃⁿʸ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵘᵈˡʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵃⁱⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʳᵒˡˡᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ "ᔆᵒ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉˣᶜⁱᵗᵉᵈ⸴ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵉⁿᵉʳᵍʸ ᵏⁱᵈ‧" ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵗⁱʳᵉᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰⁱˢ ᵉˣʰᵃᵘˢᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵒᵇᵛⁱᵒᵘˢ⸴ ˡᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿⁿᵒʸᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ᵘᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ "ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵘⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵘᵖ‧" "ᵂᵉ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ˢᵒ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃˡᵏ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ⸴ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍˡᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᵃⁿᵃᵍⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵖᵃᵗⁱᵉⁿᶜᵉ‧ ᵂᵉ'ᵛᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵒᵘʳ ᵗʳⁱᵖ‧" "ᴵ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᴵ ᵗʳᵃᵛᵉˡˡᵉᵈ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵗʳⁱᵖ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵐᵉʳᵐᵃⁱᵈ ᵐᵃⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵃʳⁿᵃᶜˡᵉ ᵇᵒʸ ᵐᵘˢᵉᵘᵐ ᵈᵉᵈⁱᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵒᶜᶜᵃˢⁱᵒⁿᵃˡˡʸ ˢᵃʸˢ 'ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ' 'ʸᵉˢ' ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃᶠᶠⁱʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᵈʳⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵘˢᵉᵘᵐ ᵗʳⁱᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵈⁱᵈ‧ "ᴰᵒ ᴵ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧‧" ᔆʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵃʳ ᵛⁱᵉʷ ᵐⁱʳʳᵒʳ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʳⁱᵈᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵒⁿˢᵗᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵖʳᵒᵛⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵈʳᵒʷˢⁱⁿᵉˢˢ⸴ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖʸ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᵍⁱⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ˢⁱˡᵉⁿᵗ⸴ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵃᵖ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ⸴ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒ ᵐᵉᵃⁿᵗ ⁱⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳⁱᵈᵉ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ʷᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵉʰⁱᶜˡᵉ ᵒⁿ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᵃʳᵐ⸴ ᵃˡˢᵒ ⁿᵃᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ‧ ᴬᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶜⁱᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᶠᵃⁱʳ⸴ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ˢᵃʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖᵃʳᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒᵃᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧ "ᴮᵒᵗʰ ᵇᵒʸˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧‧" "ᴵ'ᵐ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᶜᵃʳ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʷᵃᵏᵉˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᴴᵒʷᵈʸ⸴ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵘᵇᵇᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉˢ‧ "ᴴⁱ⸴ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ!" ᴵⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵒᵐᵇᵃʳᵈᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵃᵗ ᵘᵖ‧ ᴴᵉ ᑫᵘⁱᶜᵏˡʸ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ‧ "ᴿᵉᵃᵈʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵃˡˡ ʷᵉⁿᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵏᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵉᵐᵇᵃʳʳᵃˢˢᵐᵉⁿᵗ‧ "ᴬ ᵖᵒᵗᵃᵗᵒ ᵖᵒʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ʷᵒʳᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᶜˡᵒᶜᵏ‽" "ᴼʰ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵒˡᶜᵃⁿᵒ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ʳᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵘˢᵘᵃˡ⸴ ᵈᵉᵇᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰᵉᵗʰᵉʳ ᵒʳ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵉˢˢ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱˢˢᵘᵉ‧ "ᴼʰ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵃᵘᵗᵒᵐᵃᵗⁱᶜ ᶠᵒʳᵗᵘⁿᵉ ᵗᵉˡˡ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉⁿᵗᵉʳ ⁱⁿ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ⁱⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ!" "ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʷⁱⁿⁿᵉʳ?" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵖᵒᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ‧ "ᴺᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧" "ᴼʰ‧" "ᴬ ˢᵉˡᶠ ᵈʳⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵃᵗ‽" ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵉⁿᵈᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʸ‧ "ᴸᵉᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵃ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᶠᵒʳ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧‧" ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉʸ'ᵈ ᵍᵒ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵈᵃʸ‧ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵃᵈʲᵃᶜᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ "ᔆᵒ ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ʳᵉᵃᵈ ᵒʳ ᵗᵉˡˡ ᵐᵉ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" "ᴱˣᶜᵘˢᵉ ᵐᵉ‽" "ᴼʰ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿˢᵗᵉᵃᵈ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵈ ˡⁱᵏᵉ‧‧" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁿᵒ⸴ ᵃᵇˢᵒˡᵘᵗᵉˡʸ ⁿᵒᵗ‧" ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᵃʳⁱˡʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ‧ "ᴵ ᵈᵒᵘᵇᵗ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵍᵉᵗ‧‧‧" "‧‧‧ᔆˡᵉᵉᵖ? ᴮᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˢˡᵉᵖᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ⸴ ʸᵉᵗ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ ʳⁱᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃⁿ ˡᵘˡˡ ᵃⁿʸ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ʳᵉˢᵗᶠᵘˡ ˢˡᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵘˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ‧" "ᴷⁱᵈ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵖᵉᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᑫᵘⁱ— ᶜᵃʳ ᵗʳⁱᵖˢ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵒᶠᵗᵉⁿ ᵗⁱʳᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ! ʸᵒᵘ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ⸴ ⁱᶠ ᵃⁿʸ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳᵃⁱˡˢ ᵒᶠᶠ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵒʷ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ⁱⁿᵈᵉᶠⁱⁿⁱᵗᵉ ʳᵃᵐᵇˡᵉˢ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ‧ "ᵂʰᵃᵗ?" "ᴵ ᵐᵉᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃʸ⸴ ʰᵒʷ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʳᵃᵛᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ?" "ᴼʰ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵒⁿ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒⁿ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡⁱˢᵗᵉⁿˢ⸴ ᶠᵉᵉˡⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵗᵒ ʷᵒʳᵏⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧ "‧‧‧ᔆᵒ ᵗʰᵉⁿ‧‧‧ ‧‧‧ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉˢ ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵗᵘʳⁿˢ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ'ˢ ʷʰᵒ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ‧ "ᴼʰ‧‧" » 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 𝟖𝟑𝟑

"You're going to be okay," Karen assured Plankton. He clutched her hand. "I'm right here." The receptionist's voice echoed through the large waiting room. "Plankton?" Karen's heart jumped. She squeezed her husband's hand. They walked down the hallway, Plankton's breaths shallow, eye darting around the white, sterile walls. The nurse led them to a small room. "Just a few questions," the nurse smiled, her voice soothing as she helped him in the recliner. The nurse, noticing his agitation, spoke slowly and clearly. "We're just going to take your blood pressure, okay?" The nurse wrapped the cuff around his bicep, her movements gentle. The hiss of the air pump filled the tense silence. "Look at me, Plankton," Karen whispered, her calming gaze meeting his. "Take deep breaths." He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm. The nurse waited patiently, giving them space. As the cuff tightened, Plankton's eye squeezed shut. The nurse completed her task quickly, her voice steady. "Good job," she said, patting his hand. Karen felt his fear spike, but his grip on her hand remained firm as the oral surgeon walked in. Dr. Marquez nodded at them, his demeanor calm and professional. "Hello, Plankton. I see we're getting ready for your wisdom teeth." He noticed Plankton's tension and turned to Karen. "You earlier mentioned his neurodisability. Is there anything special we can do to help make him comfortable?" Karen's screen lit up with gratitude. "Yes, thank you." She explained his need for calm and his sensory sensitivities. Dr. Marquez nodded thoughtfully. "We can use a weighted blanket to help with that. It provides a gentle pressure that can be quite comforting for some of my patients." He turned to the nurse. "Could you please bring one?" The nurse nodded and left the room. When she returned, she carried a soft, blue weighted blanket they warmed. They placed the blanket over Plankton, the weight evenly distributed. His body visibly relaxed under its soothing embrace. "It's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae. "This will help." Plankton felt the warmth of the blanket, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders and chest. But it did little to ease his dread. "Thank you, Dr. Marquez," Karen managed a smile, relief washing over her. She knew how important these accommodations were for her husband. The doctor explained the procedure, using simple terms that Plankton could understand. Karen noted how he tailored his explanation to avoid overwhelming details that might trigger anxiety. The anesthesiologist entered, her smile kind. "We're going to give you some medicine to help you sleep," she said gently, "and then you'll wake up without feeling a thing." Plankton nodded, his eye wide. Karen leaned in, her voice low. "You can hold my hand as you fall asleep." The anesthesiologist prepared the IV, but Plankton's grip on Karen's hand grew tighter. Dr. Marquez noticed his distress and suggested a different approach. "How about some laughing gas first?" he offered. "And perhaps a topical numbing agent.." The nurse quickly set up the gas mask, explaining each step. "This will help you relax," she said, placing it over him. "Just breathe normally." The sweet smell of the nitrous oxide filled him, yet he still remained awake. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said soothingly. "Just keep breathing." He took a tentative breath, feeling the gas fill his lungs. The room began to spin, but not in the scary way he'd feared. It was more like floating. The weight of the blanket now felt like a gentle hug from the ocean depths, a warm embrace from his childhood home. Dr. Marquez waited until Plankton's breathing steadied, each gesture carefully calculated to avoid any sudden movements that might startle his patient. "You're doing great," he assured Plankton, his voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his anxiety. "You're almost there." Plankton inhaled another lungful of gas, his eye fluttering closed. The nurse gently began applying the topical numbing agent, her movements carefully choreographed to avoid any sudden jolts. Karen held his other hand, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his palm. "You're safe," she whispered. "I'm here." The gas grew heavier, his mind drifted further from the cold reality of the room. He felt himself sinking into the chair, the weighted blanket now a warm sea of comfort. His grip on Karen's hand grew looser, his breaths deepening. The doctor nodded to the anesthesiologist, who began the IV drip after using the topical numbing agent. Plankton's fear didn't vanish, but it became manageable, a distant thunderstorm rather than a hurricane in his face. His eye closed completely, his body going limp under the blanket. Karen watched as the surgical team moved with precision, their masks and caps dancing in her peripheral vision. The beeping of machines and the murmur of medical jargon filled her ears, but all she focused on was the rhythm of Plankton's breathing. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors and gave a nod. "He's ready," she said quietly. Dr. Marquez took his position, his gloved hands poised over Plankton's now open mouth after removing the gas mask. Karen's gaze was steady, her love and support unwavering as the surgical team moved in unison. The whirring of the instruments began, a soft mechanical lullaby to the background of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The surgery itself was a dance of precision, each gesture a step carefully choreographed to minimize discomfort. The doctor's hands were steady as he removed the wisdom teeth. Karen could see the tense lines in Plankton's face soften under the influence of the anesthesia. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors continuously, ensuring his vital signs remained steady. The nurse offered Karen a chair, but she chose to stand, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. As the surgery progressed, Karen felt the tension in the room ease. The surgical team worked with efficiency, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. Dr. Marquez spoke in hushed tones with his assistants, each word a gentle whisper in the symphony of medical sounds. Plankton's breaths steadied, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a soothing reminder that he was still with her, that his anxiety had been replaced by the peacefulness of deep sedation. The doctor's instruments continued to dance, a silent ballet of precision and care. The nurse occasionally glanced at Karen, offering a reassuring smile as they suture his gums with dissolving stitches. "Alright, we're all done," Dr. Marquez announced, his voice a gentle interruption to the symphony of beeps and whirs. "Let's wake him up slowly." Karen felt her own heart rate spike as the anesthesiologist began reversing the medication. They removed the IV drip and the nurse wiped Plankton's mouth with a soft cloth, her touch as gentle as a sea anemone caressing his skin. His eye flickered open, unfocused and hazy. He blinked slowly, taking in the surroundings. Karen's screen was the first thing he saw, a beacon in the medical fog. "You're okay," she murmured, her voice the gentle hum of a distant lighthouse guiding his consciousness back to shore. Plankton blinked again, his vision swimming into focus. The weighted blanket was still wrapped around him, the comforting pressure now a grounding reminder of her presence. His mouth felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. The nurse offered him water, and he sipped it slowly, feeling the coolness soothe his throat. "How do you feel?" Dr. Marquez asked, his voice a soft wave breaking over the shore of Plankton's awareness. Plankton nodded, his grip on Karen's hand firm. "Good," he managed to murmur, his voice thick with the aftermath of the anesthesia. Karen could see the relief in his eye, the storm of fear now a distant memory. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

r/TwoSentenceSadness 3 yr. ago PistachioPug People say I'm not disabled, I'm neurodivergent. Somehow the fancy label doesn't make me feel any better about all the things I wish I were able to do.

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10 (Neurodivergent author) COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10 (Neurodivergent author) The room holds its breath, a suspended moment of understanding. Hanna nods, her smile a gentle ripple across her screen. "Ok," she says, her voice a soft echo. "Overwhelming moments it is." Plankton starts to rock slightly, they both notice. Hanna watches, her curiosity piqued. "What's with the rocking?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple of inquiry. Karen looks at her, her eyes a gentle wave of patience. "It's called self-stimulation, or 'stimming' for short," she explains. "It's a way for Plankton to regulate his senses." "But why?" Karen's smile is a soft sunrise, illuminating the room with patience. "It helps him process the world," she explains, her voice a gentle tide of understanding. "It's like a lullaby for his senses." Hanna nods, her curiosity like a tide that won't recede. "But it's not like he's just throwing a fit?" she asks, her voice a cautious wave. Plankton's rocking abruptly stops at her wording, his antennae snapping to attention like whips in a storm. His face is a mask of hurt, his voice a sharp coral when he speaks. "Don't you dare say that," Plankton snaps, his eye brimming with tears of sadness. "How could you?" Hanna's eyes widen, the room's calm shattered like a wave on the shore. "I didn't mean to..." Her words are drowned out by Plankton's sobs. "Why'd you say that?" he whispers, wiping his tears. "I didn't mean it like that," she says, her voice gaining volume. "I just don't understand..." Her words are a storm, cutting off his air like a sudden squall. Plankton's having an absence seizure, his body frozen like a statue in the middle of a tempest. His unblinking eye is unseeing, and Karen knows he's trying to process the shock. Hanna feels panicked at the sight of Plankton. "Plankton?" she whispers. Her voice is a pebble thrown into the pond of his consciousness, the ripples unnoticed. Karen's hand is a gentle anchor, a silent signal for Hanna to be calm. She moves closer, her screen a soft glow in the morning's light. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice a lullaby against the storm. "He's just having an 'overwhelming moment'." Hanna nods, her screen reflecting her newfound understanding. Karen's hand is a soft current on Plankton's back, guiding him through the tumult of his sensory overload. His body is still as a statue, his antennae a silent symphony of nerves. Hanna watches. "What's happening?" she whispers, fear lapping at her words like the tide at a rocky shore. Karen's voice is a gentle whisper, her screen a calm sea. "It's ok," she reassures, her hands a steady current on his back. "It's just an overwhelming moment." Plankton's body is a marble statue, his breathing a soft hush in the quiet room. His antennae hang limp, a silent testament to the storm within. Hanna's eyes are a sea of concern, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his unresponsiveness. "What do we do?" she whispers, her fear a currents in the air. Karen's screen never leaves his frozen form, her voice a soothing lullaby. "Just wait," she murmurs. "Let him come back to us." The room holds its breath, a bubble in the vast sea of their uncertainty. Plankton's body is a marble statue, his mind a tempest. Hanna's concern is a gentle current against the shoreline of her understanding. Karen's hand is a lighthouse beam, steady and strong on Plankton's back. She whispers to him, her voice the rhythm of the tides. "It's okay," she murmurs, her fingers tracing circles of comfort. "You're safe here." Her words are a lifeline thrown into the storm of his senses. His antennae twitch, a distant signal of life in the quiet morning. His eye blinks, the shutters of consciousness opening to the gentle light of her care. The room's calm is a soft embrace, their sanctuary in the storm of the world. "I'm here," Karen whispers, her voice a lighthouse beam in the fog of his fear. "You're safe." Her words are a warm current, washing over him, bringing him back to the surface. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinks, and he takes a shaky breath, the storm within him slowly subsiding. His body relaxes into her touch, his antennae drooping like tired seaweed. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice a quiet wave against the shore. "I didn't mean to..." Hanna's eyes are pools of regret, her smile a fading sunset. Karen nods, her gaze a gentle moonrise. "We'll take it slow," she whispers, her voice a soft surf against the shore of their friendship. The world outside the guest room is a distant hum, a gentle reminder of the waves that await them. Karen's hand is a comforting current on Plankton's back, her screen a beacon of understanding in the sea of confusion. "Let's go home," she whispers, her voice a soft ripple. Plankton nods, his body a ship at anchor, finding steadiness in her words. They move together, a silent ballet of care and trust, each step a gentle wave carrying them closer to the familiarity of their own space. "I'm sorry Plankton," Hanna says, her voice a soft ripple of regret. "I didn't know."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 10 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae drooping. "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse as he looks around. Chip stared at his father, his eyes brimming with tears. "You scared me," he whispered. "Mom said you had a-" But Plankton cut him off, his voice cold. "I wasn't talking to you," he said, his gaze sliding away from Chip's. "I was asking your mother." The hurt in Chip's eyes was like a knife to Karen, but she knew better than to push. Chip looked at her, his eyes desperate for answers. "But Mom, what's going on?" he whispered. Karen took a deep breath. "Your dad's been going through some changes," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "He's not the same as before, and we're still trying to figure it all out. You can ask us questions, but it's your dad's story to tell." Chip's curiosity was piqued, his need for answers overriding his fear. "What do you mean by changes?" he asked, his voice shaky. "Are you sick? What's wrong, Da-" "I'm fine," Plankton said, his voice sharp. "Just leave it, ok?" His tone was final, his gaze avoiding his son's. He could feel the weight of his own emotions, the fear of being seen as weak, as different. The anger was a shield, a way to push Chip away before the hurt could set in. But Chip has more questions. Chip's eyes searched Plankton's, his voice laced with determination. "But Dad, you're not fine," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "You're acting all weird and scary, and you're not talking to me or playing games like we-" "I said I'm fine!" Plankton's voice was a harsh bark, his antennae snapping with agitation. The room felt suddenly too small, his anger a palpable force that made Karen flinch. "I don't need you poking around in my business!" His eye narrowed, his words cutting like a knife. "What don't you get?" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his lower lip quivering. "But I'm your son," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heart breaking. "You're supposed t---" But Plankton was already retreating, his back to them. "I don't need this," he murmured, still sitting. "I don't need any of this." "But Dad, I just want to help," he said, his voice shaky. "I don't understand why you're like this," he adds, reaching out to touch his dad's shoulder. But Plankton flinched away, his antennae quivering with irritation. "Don't touch me," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. But Chip remains undeterred. "I don't get it," Chip says, reaching out again to Plankton's back. "What happe—" But Plankton's voice was like ice. "Don't," he warned, his body stiffening. "Just, don't." His antennae twitched erratically, a silent testament to his internal storm. Chip's hand hovered, now setting it on Plankton's arm... The sudden contact sent a shiver down Plankton's spine, his body jolting as if electrified. "I said don't!" he snarled, his voice a whip crack in the silent room. He yanked his arm away, his eye wild. "Can't yo-" But Chip's hand remained firm, his grip now on Plankton's wrist, refusing to let go. "Dad, ple–" "Get OFF!" Plankton's voice was a snarl, his body writhing away from the touch. Chip felt like he was holding onto a wild animal, desperate to keep it from running away. "I don't understand," he choked out, tears streaming down his screen as he only held on tighter. "Dad, w---" But Plankton's anger boiled over. With a roar, he swung his arm back, slapping Chip's hand away. Chip's arm stung, his eyes wide with shock. "I said DON'T TOUCH ME!" Plankton's voice echoed through the room. Karen watched both her son and her husband. She knew this was hard for Chip, knew he was just trying to connect, to understand. But Plankton's autistic brain was like a delicate instrument, easily overwhelmed by the cacophony of emotions and sensations. She stepped forward, placing a hand on Chip's shoulder. "It's ok," she said, her voice soft. "Dad just needs his space right now." Chip looked up at her, his eyes swimming with tears. "But why?" he choked out. "Why is he-" "Chip, please," Karen said, her voice shaking with emotion. "We have to respect his boundaries." Her gaze was pleading, but Chip's determination didn't waver. "But he's my dad," he said, his voice strong despite the tremor. Plankton's body was a whirlwind of emotions, his eye flicking back and forth between his wife and son. He felt torn, his desire to push Chip away warring with his love for him. Chip's eyes searched Plankton's, his voice shaky but firm. "Dad, you can't just ignore me," he said. But Plankton's too angry to answer. Karen watched the scene unfold. Plankton's withdrawal was palpable, his body language screaming 'leave me alone'. He curled up into the armchair, his antennae pressed against his head. The room felt suffocating with his emotional walls. "Chip, let's go to your room," she whispered, her voice a gentle guide. With one last look at his father, Chip nodded, his eyes red and puffy. Plankton didn't move, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he curled further into his chair. The anger was a wave that had crashed over him, leaving him drained and ashamed. He didn't mean to hurt Chip, but the touch had been too much. He felt his world spinning, his senses on high alert, his thoughts a jumble of fear and frustration. Karen led Chip to his room, her hand firm but gentle on his shoulder. She knew he was hurt, knew he had so many questions. Once inside, she sat beside him on the bed, her eyes brimming with tears she fought to hold back. "Chip," she began, her voice soft. "You know how people are different, right?" Chip nodded, his eyes still wet from crying. "Yeah," he whispered. "Like, some people like chocolate, and some like vanilla." "Exactly," Karen said, taking a deep breath. "Well, sometimes, those differences aren't just about what we like or don't like." She paused, searching for the right words. "Sometimes, things happen to our brains that make it work differently. Like when you fall and get a bruise, your body needs time to heal. But brain bruises, well, injuries, can't be seen, and they can change how we think, feel, and even how we react to the world." Chip's eyes searched hers, his mind racing. "So, Dad's brain got bruised?" Karen shrugs, her voice soft. "No. It's called acquired autism. It's like a switch was flipped in his brain, changing the way he sees and feels things." She took a deep breath. "It's not his fault, and it doesn't make him less of a person, but it does make him see the world in a way that's new and sometimes scary for all of us." Chip looked down at his hands, his thoughts racing. "So he's not just mad at me?" "No, sweetie," Karen said, wiping a tear from her own screen. "It's not about you. It's about his brain learning how to process things differently now." Chip's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it all. "But why does he get so upset when I just want to hug him?" Karen sighed. "Sometimes, when our brain changes like this, it's like suddenly the lights are too bright, or sounds are too loud, or touch feels like a hundred needles," she said, her voice gentle. "It's not that he doesn't want to hug you, it's just that his brain can't handle it the way it used to." "But I'm not hugging his brain," Chip asks. "No," Karen says, her voice soothing. "You're hugging him, his body. But it's his brain that interprets the hug. And right now, his brain is like a radio tuned to the wrong station. It's hearing things differently, feeling things differently." She pauses, looking for a way to make it more real for him. "Imagine if you were playing a video game and suddenly the controls changed. You'd get frustrated, right?" Chip nods. "That's what it's like for Dad. Everything he knew, everything he could do, it's like the cheat codes don't work anymore. And when you try to hug him, it's like someone turned the volume up really loud without warning." She takes a deep breath. "It's not that he doesn't love you, or that he doesn't want to play games or tell stories. It's just that his brain needs more time to understand the world again." Chip nods slowly, his eyes still full of unshed tears. "So, what do we do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "We help him," Karen says, wiping at her own tears. "We learn about his new 'station', and we help him adjust to it." She smiles sadly. "It's like we're explorers, discovering a new world together."

COMPUTER SENSORS vi ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * "It's like his brain turned up the volume on everything," Hanna murmurs, finally understanding the gravity of Plankton's condition. "Exactly," Karen says, her voice still low and soothing. "It's a constant barrage of sensory information for him." Hanna nods, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Karen. "What exactly happened when I...I jabbed him?" "It's like his brain took a brief vacation from reality." She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "It's a sudden break from consciousness, usually triggered by a sensory overload. In Plankton's case, it's often unexpected, like a surprise party his brain wasn't ready for." "So, when I jabbed him during the game, it was like...like I flipped a switch?" Karen's expression is a mix of sadness and patience. "More like turned up the volume on an amp that was already at max," she says. "It's like his brain took a short break from processing all the sensory input." "Oh," she whispers, her voice a soft echo of regret. "I had no idea." Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like when you're trying to listen to someone in a crowded room. Sometimes the noise just gets too much, and you have to tune out for a second to keep from getting overwhelmed." Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's sleeping form. "But what happened earlier," she whispers. "When he went to his room?" Karen's gaze follows Hanna's to Plankton, understanding dawns on her face. "Oh, you noticed," she says gently. "His sensory overloads can be gradual. Sometimes it's like a pot boiling over, but other times it's more like a slow simmer that gets out of control." "What do you mean?" Karen's gaze remains on Plankton, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like earlier," she explains. "In the bedroom. He was getting overwhelmed, but it was happening so gradually, he didn't realize it." She looks at Hanna, filled with the patience of experience. "It's like when you're in a conversation and someone keeps talking louder and louder, and you don't notice until you're shouting just to be heard." Hanna nods with understanding. "So, when it's a sudden thing?" "It's like a thunderstorm," Karen says, her voice a gentle explanation. "Loud, intense, and overwhelming. But the gradual buildup is more like a slow-moving fog, thickening until it's hard to breathe." She looks at Hanna with quiet strength. "Today in the bedroom, it was like that. The sounds, the light, even the smells...it was all too much for him. But he couldn't tell you. He just had to retreat." Hanna nods reflecting her dawning comprehension. "So, when he went to his room, he was trying to get away from it all?" Karen's smile is sad but knowing. "Yes," she whispers. "His room is his sanctuary. He's got it set up just right— dim lights and all his favorite things. It's where he goes to recharge, to escape the storm when it gets too loud." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see now how the simple act of playing a board game had become a tempest for him. How the jovial jab had sent him spiraling into a sensory hurricane. She feels a pang of regret for not noticing the signs sooner, for not understanding the delicate balance he maintained every day. "How do you know when touch helps him?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft inquiry. "I mean, if he can't tell you?" It's all about reading his cues," she whispers. "Sometimes, it's the tension. Other times, it's the way his pupil reacts to stimuli." She pauses, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. "And sometimes, it's just a feeling." "How can I get better at that?" she asks, her voice earnest. "How can I support him without making things worse?" Karen's smile is warm, filled with gratitude for Hanna's willingness to learn. "It takes time," she says gently. "But the key is to pay attention to his reactions, his body language. If he flinches or withdraws, that's a sign that what you're doing isn't helping. But if he relaxes or moves closer, then you know you're on the right track." Hanna nods, still on Plankton's sleeping form. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of fear. "What if I hurt him again?" Karen's hand squeezes hers reassuringly. "You're already doing so much better than most. It's just about learning to read his body language, his reactions." Hanna nods, still on Plankton. "What about when he's asleep?" she asks, her voice a soft concern. "How do you know if he's comfortable?" "It's all in the subtleties," Karen explains, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Hanna. "If he's tense, if curled tightly, then I know to be careful. But if he's relaxed, loose or reaching out...that's when I know it's safe to touch him." Hanna nods, taking in the information. She watches as Plankton starts to stir. "He's waking up," Karen whispers, her voice a soft breeze in the quiet room. She watches as Plankton twitch, his eye slowly opening. The panic from earlier is gone, replaced with a soft curiosity as he looks around the room. "Hey, buddy," Karen says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "How are you feeling?" Plankton blinks slowly, moving to rub his eye. "Tired," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper. Hanna clenches at the sound, but she remains still, not wanting to disturb him. "Do you need anything?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of concern. Plankton's gaze shifts to her, his pupil dilating slightly. He seems to consider her words before shaking his head. "Just...quiet," he says, his voice a whisper in the stillness. Hanna feels a strange sense of responsibility, a need to protect him from the world that can be so unforgiving to those who are different. She watches as he blinks slowly, moving slightly as if testing the waters of consciousness. Karen's smile is a soft glow of gratitude. "Just sit with us," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Your presence is enough." "I swear we were just playing a game, and..." he asks, his voice still a whisper. Hanna nods of guilt and empathy. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry." Plankton reaches out, touching her arm lightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "I just...I need time." Hanna nods, brimming with unshed tears. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I'll be quiet as a mouse." Plankton's grip tightens around her arm for a moment, a silent thank you, before releasing its grip. He sits up slowly, wrapping around himself like a self-made blanket. Karen watches him with a knowing gaze, her heart aching for his pain but also swelling with pride at his resilience. "Let's get you water to drink," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze that doesn't disturb the peacefulness of the room. She rises and heads to the kitchen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the cocoon of quiet understanding. Hanna nods, still on Plankton as he slowly unravels from his protective ball. She feels the weight of his gaze on her, a silent question, and she meets it with a smile tinged with sadness. "You're ok," she whispers, her voice a soft caress in the hushed room. The kitchen door clicks shut behind Karen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the gentle embrace of the dim light from the fireplace. The silence stretches out like a warm blanket, comforting and safe. Plankton reaches for the blanket, pulling it tighter around his shoulders. Hanna takes a deep breath, the scent of the fireplace mixing with the faint aroma of their earlier dinner. "I'm really sorry," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "I had no idea." Plankton nods, loosening slightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "Not your fault." The warmth from the fireplace creates a serene ambiance, the flickering light casting shadows across the room. Hanna watches as Plankton begins to move again, a sign that he's slowly coming back to the present moment. "What can I do to make it up to you?" she asks, her voice a soft thread of hope in the quiet. Plankton considers her question, his tentacles stroking the blanket in a rhythmic pattern. "Just...just be there," he murmurs, his eye closing briefly. "And maybe next time, we can find a different way to play." Hanna nods, her heart heavy with the weight of her mistake. "I'd like that," she says softly. "I'd really like that."

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 8 (Neurodivergent author) The candle's light flickers, painting shadows across the walls like a silent sonnet. The whispers from the kitchen are a distant lullaby, a reminder of the world outside their cocoon. Plankton's antennae hang limp, a declaration of his surrender to sleep's embrace. Eventually Hanna's friends all left. Hanna herself goes up to Karen and Plankton. "I'm sorry," she says brimming with tears. "I didn't know." Her voice is a whisper, a soft wave against the shore. Karen nods, her screen never leaving Plankton's peaceful form. "It's ok," Karen whispers back, her voice gentle. "It's just part of him." Hanna nods. Plankton's snores are the only sound, a symphony of comfort in the quiet. Hanna's screen is full of apology as she sits beside them on the couch. "I had no idea," she says, her voice a soft ripple. "How can I help?" Karen smiles, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "Just being here is enough," she murmurs, her voice a gentle tide. Hanna nods, understanding dawning in her eyes. Plankton's antennae are a testament to his peace, finally still against her neck. His snores are the rhythm of the deep sea, a soothing melody that fills the quiet space. The room is a sanctuary of soft light and gentle whispers. Hanna's screen watch them. "I'll make up the guest room," she says, her voice a soft ripple. "You guys should stay the night." Karen nods, her screen still on Plankton's peaceful face. "Thank you, Hanna," she whispers, the words a gentle wave of gratitude. Karen turns her attention back to Plankton. "Hey," she whispers. "You ok?" Plankton's eye opens, a sliver of the room's light reflecting in his pupil. "Mm-hmm," he murmurs. Karen smiles, a soft moon in the night of his worries. "We're staying the night," she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye widening slightly. "But...the chum," he mumbles, his voice a distant echo in the calm. "Don't worry," Karen reassures him, her voice a gentle lullaby. "We'll go back home tomorrow." His antennae relax, the tension easing from his body like a wave retreating from the shore. "Ok," he whispers. Karen nods, her smile a beacon in the quiet. "Let's get you to bed," she says, her voice a soft current. With care, she lifts him, his body a delicate coral reef in her arms. They move through the house, each step a gentle wave that carries them closer to the guest room. Plankton's antennae sway slightly with the motion, his eye half-open as he takes in the surroundings. The hallways are a maze of shadows, the lights dimmed to a comforting glow. Hanna has cleared a path for them, a silent guardian in the night. Karen's heart swells with gratitude as they enter the guest room, the quiet sanctuary waiting for them. The bed is a vast ocean, the sheets a soft embrace that welcomes Plankton's weary body. She lowers him onto the cool surface, his antennae drooping with relief. Her eyes are a lighthouse, guiding him through the transition. The room is a cocoon of softness, the curtains drawn like the sea's embrace. Karen's hands are a gentle tide, helping him into the bed. The pillows are clouds for his antennae to rest upon, the comforter a warm, enveloping current. His body sighs with relief, the weight of the evening's chaos finally lifted. Karen tucks him in, her screen a soft glow in the quiet darkness. "Good night, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lapping wave.

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 9 (Neurodivergent author) The next morning, Karen wakes up first. She and Plankton are still at Hanna's house. The room is a soft embrace of morning light, the curtains pulled back like the veil of a bride. She carefully extricates herself from the tangle of limbs, not wanting to wake him. Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep, a gentle reminder of his constant vigilance, even in rest. Karen moves quietly, seeing Hanna already up. "How's he doing?" Hanna whispers, her voice a soft splash in the morning calm. Karen turns, her eyes a mirror of the quiet sea outside. "He's sleeping," she says, her voice a soothing ripple. Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching with the first whispers of consciousness. The room's soft light is a gentle tide, easing him into the day. His eye opens. Karen is there, her smile a ray of sunlight piercing the morning's soft shadows. "Hey," she says, her voice a gentle ripple. "How are you feeling?" Plankton blinks, his antennae slowly rising like the dawn. "K-Karen," he mumbles, his voice a quiet wave against the shore. Hanna followed Karen in to the room. "Just let him wake up," Karen murmurs. Her screen is a soft sea, full of concern for Plankton. Hanna nods, her curiosity like a rock in the tide of her understanding. "I've never seen anything like yesterday before," she says, her voice a whisper. "When I saw the seizure..." Her words trail off, the memory a storm cloud in the room's serenity. Karen nods. "It's like his brain gets overwhelmed and just...short- circuits." Hanna's screen is a canvas of curiosity, her eyes wide as the sea. "What causes it?" she asks, her voice a gentle probe. Karen sighs, her screen a soft glow. "His brain can't always handle the overstimulation." Hanna nods, her gaze sliding to Plankton, who is sitting up. "You mean like a meltdown?" The word hits him like a tidal wave, his antennae snapping to attention. "Don't say that," he snaps, his voice a crack of thunder in the room's calm. "Never call it a 'meltdown' or a 'seizure'!" Karen's eyes widen, a silent ocean of surprise. Hanna's cheerfulness fades like the dawn. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating wave. Plankton's antennae snap back, a barricade of hurt. "They're just words, Plankton," Hanna says, her voice tentative. He turns away, his antennae quivering. "I can't control it." The room's peace is a shattered coral reef, the waves of his emotion crashing through. Karen sits beside him, her hand a comforting current on his back. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "It's ok to be upset." Her words are a lighthouse beam, guiding him through the fog of his fears. "Those words are just descriptions. They don't define you. What words would you like them to be called instead?" He thinks for a moment, his antennae twitching with the effort. "How about...'overwhelming moments'?" he suggests, his voice a soft lapping wave of hope. "Pauses, spasms.." Karen nods, her eyes a gentle smile. "That's a beautiful way to put it," she says, her voice a soothing current. "Would you like me to use that instead?" Plankton turns to her, his antennae quivering with hope. "Yes," he whispers, his voice a soft wave. "Would like to use that instead."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii (Autistic Author) The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. During a particularly suspenseful scene, Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's arm instinctively. But the sudden touch sends Plankton spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he starts to shake uncontrollably. "Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening in concern. Plankton's body jolts, his antennae flailing wildly as his eye roll back. "Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear as he clutches his father's arm tighter. Plankton's tremors only worsen, his body convulsing in a way that's both frightening and heartbreaking. Karen's realizes what's happening. "Chip, let go!" she cries. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice trembling with fear. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae flailing as if trying to escape the confines of his own body. His mouth opens in a silent scream. Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but something else entirely—a meltdown, a result of the overwhelming emotions he's been trying to hold in. She rushes to his side with worry. "Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae thrashing about like seaweed in a storm. Karen quickly moves closer, her own hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice firm yet filled with empathy. "What's wrong with him?" he stammers, voice trembling. Karen's full of sadness as she takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling him away from Plankton's convulsing form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's just having a hard time right now." Her movements are swift and sure as she guides Chip away from the couch, her gaze never leaving Plankton. His body is still racked with tremors, his antennae a wild mess of emotions. She knows that touch can be overwhelming for Plankton in moments like these, so she keeps her distance, giving him the space he needs. "Why is he doing that?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky with fear. Karen's heart aches as she holds him close, trying to shield him from the harshness of the world. "It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she explains gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Sometimes, when some neurodivergent people get really upset or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like this." Karen's on Plankton, who's still trembling on the couch, his antennae a blur of distress. She knows he needs space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe distance, speaking softly so as not to add to the sensory overload. "Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's ok. Just breathe." Plankton's body continues to spasm, his antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. Karen's filled with a fierce determination as she carefully approaches him, her movements slow and calculated to avoid triggering more distress. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm here." Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his body calming as he registers her presence. "It's ok," she repeats. With trembling hands, she reaches out to stroke his back, the barest touch. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps. "Just breathe," she whispers again, her hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's ok, you're ok." Plankton's antennae slow their erratic dance, his body following suit. The tremors subside, leaving him drained and panting. "Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder. Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's way of letting out all the big feelings." Chip watches, his grip on Karen tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he asks, his voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give him a moment." The room is silent except for Plankton's uneven breathing. The colors from the TV flicker across their faces, painting them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen can feel Chip's little heart beating against hers, and she knows he's scared. "It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just needs some time." Plankton's antennae droop, his body finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen nods, her hand still on his back, offering assurance without words. "Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can you go to your room for a bit?" He nods, eyes still glued to his father, but he doesn't protest. With a heavy heart, Karen watches her son disappear down the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him. Turning her full attention to Plankton, she sits down beside him, her hand resting lightly on his back. His breathing is still ragged, his antennae barely moving. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice hoarse. Karen nods with understanding. "We'll talk to him," she says gently. "But first, let's make sure you're ok." Plankton's body still trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand on his back, her touch a silent promise that she's there for him. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, trying to soothe him. "You don't have to apologize," she says firmly. "You are who you are, and we love you for it." Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up at her, his single eye brimming with unshed tears. "But I don't know how to be a good dad like this," he chokes out. Karen's heart breaks at his words, but she keeps her voice steady. "You're already a great dad, Plankton," she says. "You just need to find a way to show Chip that." He looks at her, hope and doubt warring in his expression. "How?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Karen takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "By teaching him," she says gently. "By letting him in, just like you're letting us in now." Plankton's antennae droop, and he nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want him to see me like this." Karen squeezes his hand. "He already does," she says gently. "And he loves you anyway."

r/TwoSentenceSadness icon Go to TwoSentenceSadness r/TwoSentenceSadness 2 yr. ago TransParentCJ I had never understood how everyone else seemed to ignore the buzzing g sound of electricity everywhere they went; it was deafening to me. The doctors sent volt after volt of that same loud, excruciating electricity through my brain now, in some attempt to "cure" me.

PLUSH ONE ii (By NeuroFabulous) "What's your favorite thing to do?" Karen continues, her voice gentle. He looks around the room, his gaze finally settling on the metal container, his project before the accident. "Fix," he says, his hands moving in small, repetitive gestures. "Invent. Invent," he murmurs. It's a start. The paramedics nod, jotting down their observations. "It seems like his long-term memory is intact," the first one murmurs to the other. "Okay, Plankton, we're all done here; we'll be heading on out." Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening as she watches them leave, their boots echoing down the hall. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the room feels much emptier, the silence suffocating. She looks back at her husband. She's never dealt with someone with severe autism, let alone the man she loves. She takes a deep breath. "Come on," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "Let's sit up." With surprising ease, he allows her to help him into a sitting position. He looks at her, his gaze warm and affectionate. "Karen," he says, his voice gentle. It's the first time he's called her by name since the accident, and it fills her with a hope so profound it hurts. They sit there for a while, Karen stroking his arm, Plankton's eye closed as he leans into her touch. He seems to find comfort in her presence, and she in his. She whispers softly, "I love you, Plankton." He opens his eye, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Love... Karen," he echoes. "You, I... I lo-ove you Karen." It's not eloquent, but it's enough. It's more than enough. Karen feels tears sting her screen as she leans in and kisses his forehead. "I love you too, Plankton." His hand, stiff and unpracticed, moves to hers, tracing the outline of her palm. The simple gesture speaks volumes, a silent promise that they'll navigate this new world together. Karen's eyes well up, a smile forcing its way through the tears. "You're going to be okay," she whispers, trying to tell herself as much as him. Plankton nods, his gaze on their joined hands. He starts to fiddle with her fingers, his touch tentative but earnest. It's a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He's trying, and she loves him for it. The world outside feels muted as they sit together, sharing this quiet moment of understanding. Their bond, though altered by his new condition, remains strong. Karen can see it in the way he looks at her, his eye searching hers for comfort. And she's there, offering it in spades. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice steady "We'll figure it out." Plankton nods, his hand still tracing the lines of her palm. His movements are methodical, almost ritualistic. It's clear that touch is a way to connect, in a world that's suddenly become more confusing. Karen runs her thumb over the back of his hand. He looks up at her, his gaze intense, his eye searching hers for reassurance. Karen smiles through the tears. "We're in this together," she whispers, leaning in to pat his shoulder. But the second her hand makes contact, he flinches away, his body taut with discomfort. It's a stark reminder of the sensory challenges he now faces. "I'm sorry," Karen says quickly, retracting her hand. She's read about sensory issues in autism, but experiencing it firsthand is overwhelming. She's eager to learn what will soothe him, what will help him navigate this new reality without causing him discomfort. "It's ok" Plankton mumbles, his hands moving in a soothing motion over the blanket. Karen's determined to learn. "What do you need, honey?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's hand stops its erratic movement. He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he whispers. Her eyes fill with hope, clutching onto his words like a lifeline. "What do you need, Plankton?" she asks again, her tone soft and patient. He turns his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the couch. Karen gently guides him to the couch, placing a pillow under his head. She grabs his favorite blanket, and drapes it over him. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into the softness. His hands resume their repetitive stroking, this time on the fabric. Karen notices his eye is drawn to the patterns, and she wonders if the visual stimulation helps him focus. Gently, she sits beside him, keeping a respectful distance. Karen's mind is a storm of thoughts and questions, but she forces herself to be present, to be patient. Plankton's hand continues to move over the blanket. He's in his own world, yet she's eager to understand it.

ᵀᵒⁿˢⁱˡˡᵉᶜᵗᵒᵐʸ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ᵒᵘᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒˡᵈ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒʷ ʸᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁱʳʳⁱᵗᵃᵗᵉ ʰⁱˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵃᵗ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ᵃˡᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ’ˢ ⁿᵒʷ ʷᵃⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ˢᵘʳᵍᵉʳʸ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ˡᵉᵃᵈ ʰᵉʳ ⁱⁿ‧ “ᴴᵉ’ˢ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒʳᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᶜᵉ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵐ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵉˡᵖ, ᵃˢ ʷᵉˡˡ ᵃˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵗᵒ‧ ʸᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵒᵛᵃˡ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ʷᵉˡˡ‧” ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵘʳˢᵉ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰᵉʳ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵘʳˢᵉ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿᵉᵈ ‘ᵇⁱᵗᵉ ᵇˡᵒᶜᵏˢ’ ᵃⁿᵈ ‘ˢᶜᵃˡᵖᵉˡˢ’ ᵃⁿᵈ ‘ˢᵘᵗᵘʳᵉˢ’ ᵃⁿᵈ ‘ᵉˣᵖᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳⁿᵃˡ ᵇʳᵘⁱˢⁱⁿᵍ’ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ‧ “ᴴⁱ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ! ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ?” ᔆʰᵉ ˢᵐᵒᵒᵗʰᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵃⁿᵗᵉⁿⁿᵃᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵖʳᵒᵛⁱᵈᵉᵈ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵈʳⁱⁿᵏ‧ “ᵀʰⁱʳˢᵗʸ?” ᔆʰᵉ ʰᵉˡᵖˢ ʰⁱᵐ ˡᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢⁱᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ˢⁱᵖ‧ “ᔆᵒ ʰᵉ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ ᵈᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵈ…” “ʸᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒᶠᵗ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵉᵃˡˢ ᵗᵒ?” “ᶜᵒʳʳᵉᶜᵗ ᵐᵃ’ᵃᵐ‧” ᵀʰᵉʸ ˡᵉᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵍᵒ ᵒᵘᵗ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴴᵉ’ˢ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˢʰᵃʳᵉᵈ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵗᵘᶜᵏᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᶠⁱᵍᵘʳᵉ ⁱⁿ‧ ‘ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ⁿᵃᵖˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵉᵗ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘʳᵍᵉʳʸ’ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳˢᵉˡᶠ‧ ᴱᵃʳˡʸ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ᵉᵛᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ‧ ‘ᵂʰʸ ⁱˢ ᵐʸ ᵗʰʳᵒᵃᵗ ʰᵘʳᵗ? ᵀʰᵉʸ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱˣ… ᴵ ᵃᵐ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ʳᵒᵒᵐ, ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ‧’ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵉᵉˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ “ᴵᵗ’ˢ ⁿᵒʷ ʷᵒʳˢᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ; ˡᵉᵗ’ˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵍᵉᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵒ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵍᵉᵗ…” “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘ, ʷᵉ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ ᵂᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵉᵃʳˡⁱᵉʳ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ᵇʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ʸᵒᵘ’ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ‧‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ʰⁱᵐ‧ “ᵁᵖ ᶠᵒʳ ⁱᶜᵉ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵐ ʸᵉᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?” “ʸᵉˢ!” ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ˢⁿᵃᶜᵏ, ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵗⁱʳᵉᵈ‧ “ᴳᵉᵗ ʳᵉˢᵗ, ᵃˢ ʸᵒᵘ’ʳᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵛᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖʸ ᵐᵉᵈ…” “ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ‧” “ᵀʳʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ’ˡˡ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉ‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ, ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵖᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ˢᵒᵐᵉ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈʳᵒᵒˡ ᵈʳⁱᵇᵇˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ “ᴳᵒᵒᵈ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ‧‧” 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑𝟐𝟗

During the appointment, a small sample of cells are taken from your cervix and checked for certain types of human papillomavirus (HPV) that can cause changes to the cells. The procedure might also interact unhelpfully with common Autistic qualities such as differences in how we understand what our body is feeling (interoception), our experience of pain (hypo/ hyper sensitivity) and difficulties in noticing and identifying how we feel (alexithymia). Co-occurring conditions commonly experienced in the Autistic community such as gastro-intestinal issues and joint hypermobility disorders can also have an impact on an Autistic patient’s experience of a screening procedure. Nurse practitioners and doctors may have a limited understanding of the unique and significant ways in which autism and its associated issues impact a patient’s experience of a given medical procedure. This means that the particular supports that might help to alleviate discomfort could be lacking. We might encounter resistance to our own attempts to self-regulate and take care of our sensory and emotional needs during the appointment. We may even experience medical gas lighting or invalidation when attempting to express our experience or request much needed accommodations. For those of us with a history of these types of experiences, just being in a medical environment could feel threatening and unsafe. The communication of pain experienced has often been minimised or overlooked which has resulted in a heightened feeling of dread in advance of appointments and a lack of confidence in the support offered during. We also think that it is deeply wrong that people in our community continue to pay the price for unmet access needs in medical settings. This is an urgent problem that demands institutional change on a broad scale and a shift in mind set amongst medical staff on the ground.

https://molecularautism.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s13229-024-00586-5

You don't just practice away a neurological disorder 👀

"You can't be Autistic... you're a girl! " Girls can be Autistic too! It's my neurotype... anyone can have an autistic brain. "You can't be Autistic... you can give eye contact!" Some autistic people have absolutely no problem with eye contact. Some of us make eye contact but are not always comfortable with it. Some of us find eye contact painful. Our level of eye contact does not determine our neurotype! "You can't be Autistic... you have empathy." Autistic people can be highly empathetic, though we may express it differently. For some of us, it's our intense empathy that drives us to help others. "You can't be Autistic.. you have friends!" Many autistic people have friends and some of us have lots of friends and enjoy socialising! But for some, relationships might look different. Many autistic individuals value friendships and relationships but may struggle with neurotypical social cues. "You can't be Autistic... because you're nothing like my autistic nephew." All autistic people are different, with different strengths and struggles. It doesn't make us less or more autistic... or less or more than anyone else... just uniquely autistic. "You can't be Autistic... you're terrible at maths! We're not all mathematical geniuses. Some autistic people are very creative or artistic. Some are very good writers or speakers. Some might have learning disabilities. Some autistic people have an amazing ability to make others smile. We are all different but all just as valuable.

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii (Autistic Author) They sit in silence for a few moments, the sound of Plankton's slowing breaths filling the space. Karen's mind races with the conversation they need to have with Chip. "How do we explain it?" Plankton asks, finally breaking the silence. His antennae still, his eye looking at the floor. "We tell him the truth," Karen says firmly. "But we also remind him of all the wonderful things you do for him, all the ways you show him love." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping further. "I know I'm not the dad he deserves," he murmurs. Karen's voice is firm, but filled with warmth. "You are the dad he needs," she corrects. "And we'll get through this together." Finally, Plankton's antennae perk up slightly. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice still thick with emotion. Karen nods. "I know," she says softly. "But we can't keep hiding this from him. He needs to understand." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "I know," he admits. "I just don't know where to start." Karen gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll start by talking to him," she says, her voice strong and reassuring. "When you're ready." They sit there for a while longer, the rhythm of Plankton's breathing slowly returning to normal. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts of how to navigate this chapter in their lives. How to help Chip understand his father's condition without scaring him or making him feel responsible. Finally, Plankton turns to her, his antennae still shaky. "What do we do now?" he asks, his voice a mix of exhaustion and fear. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes filled with resolve. "First," she says, "we make sure you're ok." They sit there, the only sound in the room the distant hum of the TV. Plankton's antennae are still, his eye focused on the floor. Karen's hand remains on his back, a silent promise that she's there for him. "Let's get you to bed," she says softly. "You need to rest." With her help, Plankton stands, his legs wobbly from the intense episode. Together, they make their way to their bedroom, the quiet of the house a stark contrast to the emotional upheaval they've just experienced. Once Plankton is tucked into bed, Karen sits beside him, her hand resting on his arm. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice a gentle reassurance in the stillness. "We're a family." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of doubt, and he looks up at her, his eye searching hers for understanding. "But what if I can't?" Karen's gaze is unwavering. "You can," she says firmly. "You're strong, Plankton. And we're here to help you." Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods slowly. "Ok," he whispers. "Ok." Karen leans in, kissing his forehead. "Rest," she says. "We'll talk more tomorrow." With a nod, Plankton closes his eye, and Karen slips out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. She heads to Chip's room, heavy with the weight of the conversation they need to have. Chip is lying on his bed, his small form wrapped in a blanket, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are red, and he looks up as Karen enters. "Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. "Can we talk?" Chip nods, his eyes still wet with tears. "What's wrong with Daddy?" he asks, his voice shaky. Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Daddy has something called Autism, sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "It makes his brain work a bit differently from ours. Sometimes, when he's really upset or overwhelmed, his body can react in ways that might seem strange or scary." Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity, and he nods slowly. "Is that why he gets so mad?" he asks. Karen takes a moment before responding. "Sometimes, yes," she says. "It's his way of dealing with big feelings. But it's not because he's mad at you, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "But why does he get so mad?" he asks again, his voice quivering. Karen sighs, her hand stroking him. "Daddy gets overwhelmed by his feelings, and it's hard for him to express them," she explains. "Sometimes, when he can't find the right words or when things get too much, he feels like he's going to break apart. That's what we call a meltdown." Chip sniffs, his eyes glued to the ceiling. "It's like when I'm really sad and I don't want to talk?" Karen nods, her heart swelling with love for her son's empathy. "Exactly," she says. "And just like you, Daddy needs some space when that happens." Chip looks at her, his eyes serious. "But what if I want to show him my affection?" Karen smiles sadly. "You can, Chip," she says. "Just remember to be gentle, and maybe use words or gestures that aren't to overwhelming for him." Chip nods, his eyes still on the ceiling. "But what if I make it worse?" he whispers. Karen's heart clenches at his fear, and she takes his hand in hers. "Sometimes, we just need to learn new ways to show and receive love." Chip nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Ok," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen leans in, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "You're brave," she says, her voice filled with pride. "But what about the rock he broke?" Chip asks, his voice still shaky. Karen sighs, her eyes meeting his. "Daddy didn't mean to scare you," she says. "Sometimes, when people are upset, they do things they don't mean to. It's part of how they cope." Chip nods, his grip on her hand tightening. "But Dad now," he says again, his voice small. "We'll give him some time to rest," Karen assures him. "And tomorrow, we'll talk about it more." With that, she tucks the blanket around him and turns to leave. As she reaches the door, Chip's voice stops her. "Mom," he says, his tone tentative. "Can I go to Daddy?" Karen's heart skips a beat, and she looks back at him, her eyes filled with both concern and hope. "Do you think that's a good idea, sweetie?" Chip nods. "I want to tell him I love him," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's heart squeezes. "Ok," she says, taking a deep breath. "But remember, we need to be gentle with him right now. Let's go to his room together." They tiptoe down the hall, the house eerily quiet. Karen can feel Chip's hand in hers, small and warm and trembling slightly. When they reach the bedroom, she opens the door quietly and peeks in. Plankton is lying on his back, his antennae still, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. They approach the bed, and Karen can see the tension in Plankton's body, even in sleep. She whispers to Chip, "Remember, sweetie, just a little. And if he wakes up, tell him you love him." Chip nods solemnly, and together, they tiptoe to the bedside. Chip extends a tentative hand and gently pats Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae twitch, but he doesn't wake. "I love you, Daddy," Chip whispers, his voice quivering. Karen's eyes fill with tears at the sight of her son's bravery and love. She gives Chip's hand a squeeze. "That was perfect," she says, her voice barely a murmur. They stand there for a moment, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall in the dim light of the moon peeking through the curtains. Then, with a heavy heart, Karen leads Chip back to his room. Once Chip is tucked in, she kisses his forehead and whispers, "You're a brave boy, and I'm so proud of you." His eyes, still red and swollen from crying, meet hers with a quiet understanding beyond his years.

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix (Autistic Author) As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, making something as simple as expressing love a monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the determination to help their family navigate through this. The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent promise that today will be better. Plankton emerges from the bedroom, his antennae drooping slightly, evidence of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, and she offers him a soft smile. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice gentle. He shrugs, his antennae twitching nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready to talk to Chip." Karen nods with a mix of concern and admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, heading to Chip's room. When they all gather at the breakfast table, the tension in the air is palpable. Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely moving, as if afraid to break the delicate silence. Chip looks between them, his eyes wide and hopeful. "Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep breath. "Remember what we talked about last night? About Daddy's meltdowns?" Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, who's pushing his pancake around with a syrupy look of dread. "Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is almost too much to bear, but he steels himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from the previous night's outburst. "I made you this," Chip says, pushing a plate of perfectly formed pancakes towards his father. "To make you feel better." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at the gesture, his eye focusing on the food with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his heart pounding in anticipation of a reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, hope blooming in his voice. Plankton nods, his antennae waving slightly. "They look delicious," he says, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The room holds its breath, waiting. "They're great," he finally says, and Chip's face lights up. The tension in the room eases ever so slightly, the sweetness of the maple syrup mingling with the salty scent of fear that still lingers. Karen watches the exchange, her heart swelling with pride for both of them. Plankton's effort to engage, despite his exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, seems to understand the unspoken rules of their new reality. They're all learning together, stumbling in the dark but finding their way through the maze of neurodivergence. "Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his voice filled with courage. "I know you have meltdowns sometimes. But I still love you." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his chewing slowing. He looks at his son, his single eye filled with a mix of emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. "I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I too." The room remains quiet, the only sound the soft clinking of silverware against plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, I need to tell you something." Chip looks up, his eyes wide and expectant. "What is it, Daddy?" Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "I have something," he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my brain works differently than yours and Mommy's." Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice steady. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks down at his plate, his voice quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. "It means that sometimes, I get really, really upset, and my body reacts in ways that might scare you." Chip's expression is a blend of confusion and curiosity. "But why do you get upset, Daddy?" he asks. Plankton's antennae wiggle as he searches for the right words. "Sometimes, things that don't bother you or Mommy can feel really, really big to me," he explains. "It's like when you're scared of a thunderstorm, and the thunder feels like it's right next to you." Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he points out. "It's different, bud," Plankton says, his antennae stilling for a moment. "It's like... sometimes my brain gets a storm inside, and I don't know how to make it stop." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a way that Karen knows means he's trying to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice a little stronger. "But I might have more storms. And when I do, I might need some space." Chip looks at him seriously, his young mind working to understand. "Ok," he says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy for you, Daddy." Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of love and relief. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "That means the world to me." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of a new understanding. "And you know," she adds, her voice gentle, "Whenever you have questions or if you're scared, you can come to me and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best as we can." Chip nods, his gaze still focused on Plankton. "But what if I don't know when I’m irritating you?" Plankton's antennae droop, and he sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. "Sometimes I don't know either. But we can learn together, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. "Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky. Karen pours them both a glass of juice, hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't we talk about what you can do to help?" she suggests, handing a glass to Chip. Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice earnest. Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. "Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is a little space, like when I'm in the middle of a big idea." Chip nods, remembering the times when Plankton would get so focused on his latest contraption that the slightest disturbance would send him into a tizzy. "I can do that," he says, his voice filled with determination. Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And when you do freeze, Dad," Chip continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell if you need a hug or if you just need me to sit with you?" Karen's eyes fill with pride as she watches her son's bravery. Plankton looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a way that she knows means he's trying to find the right words. "If I freeze," he says slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait until I come back. I might not be able to hug you right then, but I'll know you're there." Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass tightening slightly. "What about meltdowns?" he asks, his voice quivering. Plankton's antennae droop, and he takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," he admits. "But if you can give me space and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm down faster." Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, what types of touch do you like and what types of affection do you dislike?” Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She gives him a gentle nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, "I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or pats on the back, especially when I'm working or thinking hard. But a hand on my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is always nice." Chip nods, processing the information. "So, like when you're stressed, I should just tell you I love you?" Plankton's antennae wobble with the weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's right. Just remember, buddy, everyone shows love differently." Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she watches the conversation unfold. It's not perfect, but it's a start. A start to understanding and acceptance. "And if you need more than that, Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but earnest. Plankton looks at him, his antennae moving in a way that Karen can't quite read. "If I need more than that," he says, "I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you understand." Chip nods, taking another sip of his juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. "But what if I don't know what to say?" Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting with me is enough."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vi (Autistic author) Karen rummaged through the game drawer, her hands shaking slightly. She pulled out a game of memory matching, thinking the simple task might help him focus. She placed it on the coffee table in front of them, spreading the cards out. "It's your turn," she said, her voice calm. Plankton nodded. He stared at the cards, his eye flickering from one to the next. Karen watched. Would he be able to play? Would he understand the simplicity of matching pictures? He reached out with his tiny hand, paused, gaze focused on a card with a picture of a fish. Then, with a quick movement, he flipped it over. The card was a match. "Fish," he whispered, a smile creeping onto his lips. Karen felt a weight lift from her chest. He had done it, he had understood the game. Her eyes filled with tears as she matched the next card. "Good job, Plankton," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You found the match." He nodded, his antennae twitching with excitement. "Fish," he said again, his smile growing wider. "Fish, Karen." Karen felt a warmth spread through her, seeing a glimpse of the Plankton she knew, the one who loved puzzles and challenges. "Yes, Plankton, you're doing great." Suddenly, their son Chip came home from a camp trip. The door slammed, and Plankton shot up. His eye widened in fear. Karen quickly placed her hand on his back, trying to soothe him. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispered. "It's just Chip coming home." Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed the information. "Chip," he murmured, his voice quavering. "Home." Chip sees his dad but doesn't know of the acquired Autism. "Dad!" He yelled excitedly, running to him with a tight embrace of a hug. But it proves to be too much for Plankton. The sudden jolt of noise and movement sent Plankton into a spiral of overstimulation. His body convulsed, and he shook, his tiny form wracked with seizures as Karen watched helplessly as Chip only held Plankton tighter. "Chip, no!" she screamed, her voice breaking. She jumped up from the couch. "Gently, gentle!" But it was too late. Plankton's body was a blur of spasms, his eye rolled back. Karen knew this autistic response; this is sensory overload. "Chip, let go!" Karen shouted, her voice desperate. But Chip, not understanding his father's condition, only held on tighter. "Dad, are you okay?" But Plankton's body continued to convulse violently, his tiny limbs flailing. Karen's mind raced, recalling her research on autism and its sometimes intense physical responses. She had to act fast. Gently but firmly, she pried Chip's arms from Plankton's trembling body and lowered his father to the floor. "Chip, sweetie, I need you to step back," she instructed, her voice shaking. Chip's eyes were wide with fear. "Dad.." he stuttered, trying to reach for Plankton. "Chip, please," Karen pleaded, her voice tight. "Just go to your room for a bit. I need to take care of Dad." With a tearful nod, Chip stepped back, his screen never leaving his father's convulsing body. Karen turned her attention back to Plankton. "Shh," she soothed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay." Her voice was a gentle lullaby, trying to anchor him in the chaos. But Plankton's body continued to shake from the lingering sensation of Chip's touch. Karen knew she had to move quickly. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and placed it beneath his head, trying to reduce the risk of injury. The seizure lasted a few more seconds, his antennae quivering wildly. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it started to gradually fade. Plankton's body went limp, his breaths shallow and quick. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaky with relief. "You're okay." Plankton's antennae twitched, and his eye flitted open. He looked up at Karen, confusion and fear etched on his face. "Karen?" he murmured, his voice weak. "I'm here," she said soothingly, stroking his back. "You had a reaction to Chip, Plankton. It's okay now." His antennae stilled for a moment as he focused on her voice. "Chip," he repeated, his gaze distant. "Too much." Karen nodded. "I know, Plankton. I'll explain to Chip. He didn't mean to scare you." She could hear Chip's sobs from his room, the sound piercing the silence of the living room. Plankton's antennae moved slightly. "Chip," he murmured. "Not mad." Karen felt a knot loosen in her chest. "No, Plankton," she whispered. "Chip's not mad, honey. He loves you, just like I do." Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed her words. "Love," he murmured, his gaze finding hers. "Karen loves Plankton. Chip loves Plankton." Karen nodded, swiping at her tears. "Yes, we both love you so much," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "We're going to help you through this." Plankton's eye searched her face, his expression unreadable. "Help," he whispered. "Karen helps." Karen's chest tightened with the weight of his trust. She knew this was just the beginning, that their lives had shifted in a way she had never anticipated. But she was determined to be his rock, to navigate this new reality with patience and love.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 5 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob seems to notice something off about his friend. "Plankton, are you okay?" he asks, his tone concerned. "You seem a bit... distant." Plankton's eye snaps to Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. "Distant?" he repeats, as if the word is new to him. "Plankton not distant. Plankton focusing." Sponge Bob's eyebrows furrow, his confusion clear. "What are you focusing on?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton turns back to the clock, his antennae pointing straight up. "Seconds," he says, his voice filled with wonder. "They change, but always in the same pattern." "Well, I know it's your wedding anniversary today. What'd you get Karen?" Plankton turns to face him, his expression unreadable. "Anniversary," he repeats. "Karen." His antennae wave slightly, as if trying to access a distant memory. "Chum." SpongeBob's smile falters at his friend's detached response. "Is that all?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "You know Karen deserves better, more than just..." "Better?" he repeats, his tone now tinged with something new: self-doubt. "Plankton did not provide adequate anniversary celebration?" "Well Plankton, Karen doesn't like it when you're just about work," Sponge Bob said, trying to be delicate. "It's your anniversary. It's a special day for the two of you, yet you don't seem to get it. And I can tell Karen's hurt.." Plankton's eye grew wide, his antennae drooping. The words sank in, and his body reacted in a way he couldn't control. He started rocking back and forth, his body mirroring his inner turmoil. The tears came suddenly, wetting his face as his cries echo in the living room, his tiny body trembling with the weight of his perceived failure. "Karen," he managed between gasps. "Hurt. Karen. No, Karen." Karen rushed to his side, breaking at the sight of his distress. "Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "It's okay, honey. You didn't do anything wrong." But he couldn't hear her, his mind fixated on the thought of causing her pain. The tears streamed down his cheeks. His sobs were loud in the quiet room, each one a testament to his overwhelming guilt. "Karen," he choked out. "Karen, Plankton sorry Karen. Karen." Karen wrapped her arms around him, her own eyes filling with tears. "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his back gently. "You didn't do anything wrong." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body convulsing with each breath. "Hurt Karen," he kept repeating, as if it was the only thought in his mind. Karen held him tighter, her own sobs muffled against his shoulder. "You didn't hurt me, Plankton," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You just got confused, that's all." But Plankton's mind was stuck on the pattern of his failure, his inability to comprehend and respond to her emotions. "Karen crying, Plankton fault. Sponge Bob say Karen upset." Sponge Bob looked at the two, his heart aching for his friend's pain. He didn't know what to do, his usual cheerfulness replaced with a solemn sadness. He tried to interject, "Plankton, Karen's not upset at you. She's just upset because she loves you." But Plankton's cries only grew louder, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. "Plankton not good," he wailed, his voice high-pitched and desolate. "Plankton hurt Karen." Karen's screen searched desperately for a way to comfort her husband, to show him that his love was enough. But his new neurodivergence made it difficult for him to understand her words, his mind locked in a pattern of guilt and self-loathing. "Plankton," she says, her voice quivering with emotion. "Look at me." She gently cups his cheek, wiping the tears from his face with her thumb. "I love you. You don't have to change for me." But Plankton's gaze remained on the clock, his sobs subsiding to hiccups. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae drooping. "Missed pattern. Karen, say Karen. Hurt, upset Karen." Karen broke anew, her hands shaking as she tried to reach for him, her voice a whisper. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her screen pleading. "I'm right here. I'm not upset with you." But Plankton's gaze now fixed on Sponge Bob, his body still shaking with sobs. "Karen," he murmured, his voice muffled by his own distress. "Sponge Bob, Karen." Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. She nodded slightly, urging him to speak. "Plankton," he said, his voice gentle. "Karen's upset because she's worried about you. She loves you. And so do I." Plankton's sobs began to slow, his gaze shifting from Sponge Bob and then to Karen. "Karen Plankton?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm right here," Karen soothed, wiping away the remaining tears with her thumb. "I'm right here, Plankton. I love you."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 7 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob leaves, and it's bed time. The room is dimly lit. Karen helps Plankton into bed, his movements stiff and unyielding. "Pattern," he murmurs, his eye scanning the ceiling. "Ceiling. Pattern." Karen nods with love. "It's beautiful," she agrees, her voice soft. "But Plankton, it's time for bed. Can I get you anything?" He shakes his head, his antennas drooping slightly. "No, thank Karen. Pattern. Sleep." Karen nods, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world of patterns and precision. "I'll be here if you need me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. He nods, his gaze never leaving the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Safe." Karen lies beside him, their bodies close but their worlds feeling so far apart. She reaches out, her hand trembling as it touches his arm. "Do you want me to turn the lights off?" she asks, her voice tight with uncertainty. Plankton nods, his gaze still on the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "No patterns. Sleep." Karen nods, her fingers tracing the outline of his arm, feeling the tension in his body ease slightly. She gently pulls the blanket up to his chin, tucking it in around him. "Okay, I'll keep the light off low," she says, her voice soothing. "But if you need anything, just let me know." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Sleep." Karen nods, her own exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. She lies down. "I'll be right here," she whispers, her hand finding its way to his. Plankton's antennae twitch again as he feels her warmth, the sensation unexpected and slightly overwhelming. "Karen," he says, his voice sleepy. "Warmth." Karen smiles, her eyes closed. "I know," she whispers. "It's okay. I'm here." Plankton's grip tightens slightly, his antennae relaxing. "Pattern," he says, his voice a mere murmur. "Karen. Sleep." Karen squeezes his hand back, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world where the simple act of holding hands is a complex dance of sensory input and emotional regulation. "Pattern," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "We'll make new patterns together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his grip on her hand steadying. "New patterns," he repeats, his voice slightly more present. "Together." Karen nods, her eyes squeezed shut. "Together," she whispers, her voice shaky. "We'll make it work." Karen can feel Plankton's body begin to relax, his grip on her hand loosening slightly. As they lay there, Karen thinks back to their past anniversaries, each one filled with laughter, love, and the promise of adventure. This one was different, marked by a stark reality she wasn't prepared for. But she knows she'll do anything for him. Plankton's breathing evens out, his body slowly releasing tension. His hand is still in hers, a silent promise that she'll always be there for him. Karen wonders what tomorrow will bring, how they'll navigate this new world of patterns and precision. As sleep takes over, she whispers, "I love you, Plankton," hoping that his subconscious can still hear her, still understand the depth of her feelings. Karen listens to the sound of Plankton's snoring as she falls asleep. The next morning, Karen wakes up to Plankton still holding her hand as his antennae twitch in his sleep. She gently withdraws, careful not to wake him, and she can't help but smile through her tears that threaten to fall. In the kitchen, she starts making breakfast, trying to recall what she'd read about autistic individuals and their preferences. She remembers that Plankton used to love Krabby Patties, but now his taste might have changed. With care, she prepares a plate of square eggs and perfectly aligned toast, knowing that the visual symmetry might provide comfort. She even arranges the condiments in a pattern she hopes he'll find pleasing. As Plankton enters the room, his eye immediately scans the table, his antennae twitching. He takes a seat, his movements mechanical. "Breakfast," he says, his voice devoid of his usual zest. Karen's watching him closely. "Yes, Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the fear swirling inside her. "I made you your favorite." He nods, his gaze locking onto the plate before him. His hand reaches out, his movements calculated. He picks up a piece of toast, studying it before placing it back down. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae waving slightly. Karen watches him. "Would you like to eat?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Eat," he says, his voice flat. "Pattern." Karen nods, her smile forced. "Okay," she says, taking a seat opposite him. "Let's eat together." Plankton's antennae twitch as he looks at her, his gaze quickly shifting to the breakfast she's prepared. He picks up a piece of toast, examining it closely before taking a bite, his jaws moving in a precise, mechanical manner. Karen watches him, her screen filled with a mix of worry and love. "Is it good?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Plankton nods, his mouth still chewing. "Symmetry. Good." Karen's heart squeezes at his response. It's not the same, but it's something. "I'm so glad you like it," she says, forcing cheerfulness into her tone. "That makes me happy!" Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Happy," he repeats. "Karen happy."

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ & ꜱᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ “Good morning, Ms!” Ms has hypersensitivity due to autism. Even a slight touch is unbearably painful! How will Ms get through the medical exam? Ms sits on the exam table, heart racing. Ms tries to focus on the poster of a serene beach scene to calm herself. Dr. Hartwell, noticing her distress, approaches carefully. "Ms I know this can be overwhelming. But I'm here to help you. We'll take it slow, okay?" Ms nods, gripping the cold metal bar tightly. He starts with gentle explanations of each step, his voice calm and steady. Ms tries to breathe deeply, fighting the urge to retreat. The door clicks shut, a soft, final sound that echoes in the sterile room. He asks if she's ready, and she shrugs. His gloved hand touches her skin, and she tenses. "Ms, I'm sorry," Dr. Hartwell says, retreating slightly. He tries a different approach, his voice softer now. "How about I touch with less pressure?" The pain subsides a fraction, but it still remains. Dr. Hartwell then gets out a big metal speculum. Ms sees it, feels it, she’s uncontrollably shaking. "Ms," Dr. Hartwell says calmly, placing the speculum down. “Sorry. To big and hard,” Ms manages. The doctor nods thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving hers. “Let's use this instead,” he says, picking up a smaller, plastic one. It's less daunting, less cold, but the pain lingers, unbearable. Ms grips the bar tighter, her knuckles white with strain. “You're doing great,” Dr. Hartwell whispers, his voice a balm. He inserts the speculum slowly, his eyes on her face, reading every twitch, every flinch. Ms squeezes her eyes shut, body rigid with tension. The plastic touches, slides, and she gasps, but it's more unbearable than she feared. Dr. Hartwell stops immediately, his expression filled with concern. "Would you like to insert it?" He gently withdraws the tool. They’re running out of time. He looks around the room. "How about we try this?" he asks, his voice a gentle coax. "You can sit in the chair, lean back, and I'll examine you that way." Ms nods, desperation in her eyes. Dr. Hartwell adjusts the chair, bringing the foot rest closer. He tells her to put her feet up, the action itself traumatizing. He takes the smaller speculum, coated it in gel, and tells her to breathe deeply. Dr. Hartwell proceeds, his movements precise and gentle. Ms feels the pressure, the intrusion. She whimpers. The doctor's eyes meet hers, filled with understanding. "Let's try this," he suggests, picking up a small object. "I'm going to use this cotton swab instead. It's softer, less intrusive." Ms nods, the fear lessening ever so slightly. The cotton swab touches her gently. The pain does not vanish, but it's tolerable, a dull throb instead of a piercing scream. The doctor's voice remains calm, guiding her through the motions. “Good. Now for a mammogram..” Ms feels a new wave of anxiety crash over her. The machine looms in the corner, cold and unforgiving. "It’s important we check everything today," Dr. Hartwell explains, his eyes kind and patient. "But I know this is hard for you. Can you please stand up and come…” Ms, however, is still shaking, knows her hypersensitive condition will render it. The doctor notices and quickly adapts. "How about we skip the mammogram for now and discuss other options?" They talk through alternatives, like manual self-checks at home. Dr. Hartwell assures her that her health is his priority. He's willing to work with her to find the best approach, one that's comfortable and effective. Ms feels a glimmer of hope, a hint of trust and gratitude. They agree on a plan: a manual exam for today, and they'll explore further options for if needed. Her eyes light up with hope. They go over the instructions, simple steps she can do herself. Ms feels empowered by the idea of having control over the process. The doctor's empathy is palpable. They practice together, a mock exam with a plastic model. Mis's hands shake slightly as she mimics his gentle touch. He corrects her grip, praising each small victory. “Your in need of two hormone inoculations.” Dr. Hartwell says. Mis's heart sinks. She hates the sharp sting, the feeling of invasion. She looks at the needle, so thin and yet so terrifying. Her anxiety spikes, her chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. Dr. Hartwell notices and nods. "Ok let's try something different," he says, his voice calm and measured. He shows her a cream, explaining how it can help. They apply it, waiting for it to work. Finally, the time comes. Dr. Hartwell holds the needle, his grip steady and firm. His touch is swift and sure, but Ms feels the pain, a sharp reminder of her vulnerability. “One down, one more to…” But she cries. Dr. Hartwell pauses, understanding in his eyes. "It's ok," he says gently. "We can find another way." He sets it aside and pulls out a small device. "This is a topical anesthetic spray. It will numb the area so you don't feel as much." Mis nods, desperate. He applies the spray, and she feels a coldness spread where the inoculation will soon be. The doctor waits patiently, letting the numbing agent work its magic. Mis's breathing slows, the panic easing slightly. "Ready?" he asks, his voice soothing. This time, the approach is less terrifying. It’s administered with minimal discomfort. Ms winces but does not pull away. The pain is there, but it's muffled. Dr. Hartwell nods, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "Good job, Ms. You're doing so well." Ms needs a blood draw. She's not just afraid of needles, but the anticipation of pain, the cold touch of the alcohol swab, the pressure of the phlebotomist's grip...it's all too much. Not to mention the actual poking prick.. Dr. Hartwell notices and suggests a compromise. They'll use a butterfly needle, smaller and more comfortable, and a warmer to heat before drawn. The nurse prepares the equipment, movements efficient and kind. She's used to dealing with anxious patients, but Mis's fear isn’t just fear or annoyance; it’s autistic condition and hypersensitivity that Ms herself knows limited pain tolerance. The nurse wraps the warm cloth around Mis's arm, and the gentle heat seeps. Dr. Hartwell takes his place beside her, holding the small butterfly needle with a cotton ball at the tip. The nurse places the heated alcohol swab on the inner elbow, and Ms tenses. It's a gentle poke and she feels the slight sting as the nurse inserts it. But of course the sting is magnified for Ms. The nurse is quick, her hands steady with expert ease, and the whole process is over in seconds. Mis's heart is racing, her body shaking. Dr. Hartwell rubs her shoulder, his touch a reassurance. "It's over," he says softly. "You did it." Ms nods. "What can we use for next time?" The nurse asks. “X-rays, different form of the hormonal injection where no needles are involved, urinal test instead of bleeding? A bigger room? Child sedatives?” Ms murmurs. Dr. Hartwell nods, scribbling down notes. "We'll explore all those options. In the meantime, you can go home!" “Thanks..” Ms says. The next appointment, Mis goes knowing her sensitivities have not changed. This time, Dr. Hartwell meets her in the hall. Mis breaks down, despite being gratefully understanding and trying to be brave. They take her to a quieter, more private exam room, decorated with soothing colors and a soft, plush chair. "Take your time, and tell when you're ready." Ms sits down. She sees a box labeled "DIY Health Kits" and feels a spark of curiosity. Dr. Hartwell opens the box, revealing an array of tools and instructions tailored to her needs. "This is your DIY health kit," he explains, his voice calm and soothing. "You can use to perform self-exams at home. It's less invasive, and you can do it on your own terms." Ms nods, a flicker of hope in her eyes, tears of relief instead of upset tears. He hands a small container with a test strip inside. "This is for urine. It's quick and easy, and it will tell what needs to know." Ms takes the container, follows his instructions, each step a small victory. Dr. Hartwell shows her a slim device, similar to a tampon but with a small cap. "This is DIY Pap. You insert it like so, then twist to collect a sample." The vibrating ice pack is next. "For finger pricks," he says, his voice calm. Ms looks at it, a strange mix of relief and curiosity. The thought of doing it herself is less terrifying than the clinic. "Now, let's talk mammograms," Dr. Hartwell says, his gaze soft. He shows her a handheld scanning device. "This is a DIY mammogram. It uses sound waves, no radiation, and it's less invasive than the traditional. You can use it in the privacy of your home, at your own pace. It's designed to be gentle." Ms nods, the fear slightly eased. The doctor opens another compartment in the DIY health kit, revealing a pack of colonoscopy strips. "These are for checking your bowel health. They're painless and easy to use. All you do is defecate on this, will tell what’s going on down there, ok?" Ms nods. The idea of self-examination is less daunting than the traditional methods. Dr. Hartwell's empathy is a balm, his patience unyielding. He opens the last compartment. Inside, she finds a set of small patches. "These are the hormonal patches," he says, holding one up. "They're like stickers. You just apply one to your skin, and it delivers the medicine through your skin. No needles." Mis's eyes widen. It's like he's reading her mind, offering a solution tailored to her fears. Ms feels a surge of gratitude to Dr. Hartwell. His understanding and willingness to adapt to her needs make her feel seen and heard, something she's not used to, in a medical setting. For the first time, Ms feels a glimmer of hope that she can take control of without the debilitating pain nor fear of ableist microaggressions. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 6 (Autistic author) Plankton's sobbing slowed, his chest heaving. He blinked, his eye focusing on her face. "Love," he murmured. "Karen love." Karen nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, I love you," she said, her voice shaky. "And I'll always be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his single eye searching hers. "Love," he said, his voice still flat. "Karen love Plankton. Good." Sponge Bob nods, though he doesn't know why Plankton's acting so different today. "But Plankton," he says, his voice careful. "Why are you talking like that?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye reflecting confusion. "Talking?" he repeats. "Plankton not understand. How to speak?" Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his concern etched in his porous face. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly, her voice thick with emotion. "Plankton's just going through something." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving his friend's distressed form. "But what happened to him, Karen? What happened with Plankton?" he asked, his voice hushed. Karen takes a deep breath, wiping her own tears away with the back of her hand. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember what happened today?" Plankton's antennae twitch as he tries to process her words. "Today," he repeats, his voice distant. "Fell. Head." Karen nods, her screen filled with compassion. "Yes," she says, her voice soft. "You fell and hit your head. It's changed how you see the world a bit." Plankton looks up. "Alterations in the cerebral lobe," he says, his voice flat. "Myelination levels fluctuated. Synaptic activity diminished. Corpus callosum damaged." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, baby," she says gently. "It's like your brain had to relearn how to talk to the rest of you." Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "Oh no, Plankton," he said softly. "What does that mean? How did you fall?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he recounted the events, his speech still monotone. "Invention. Fall on head hit floor." Sponge Bob's face fell, his heart heavy with concern. "Oh no, Plankton," he said, his voice filled with sympathy. "Is that why you're talking like this?" Karen decides to interject. "It's okay, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice trembling. "It's not just how he's talking. It's his whole...being. It's like he's seeing everything differently now. It's a rarity called 'acquired autistic syndrome' which will be life long with no cure." Sponge Bob's face falls, his spongy cheeks dropping. "But Plankton," he says, his voice full of worry. "What does this mean for you?" Plankton's gaze shifts to his friend, his expression unreadable. "Meaning?" he asks, his voice still monotone. "Plankton different. New patterns." Sponge Bob nods, trying to understand. "But you're still the same Plankton, right?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he considers this. "Same," he repeats. "But different." Karen nods, her grip on his hand tightening. "You're still my Plankton," she whispers. "We'll figure this out together."

AUTIE AND DOCTOR BAD (Author has Sensory Processing Disorder) The doctor's office was a minefield of sensory assaults. Every creak of the floorboard, every fluorescent flicker, every rustle of paper echoed like thunder in the hypersensitivity of Autie. The sterile smell of alcohol and antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and stinging. The walls, a shade of blue that was supposed to be calming, instead made the room feel cold and unfriendly. Autie sat, knees pressed tightly together, hands fidgeting in her lap. Her eyes darted around, trying to take in everything and nothing at once. The chair's material was a torment against her skin. She waited for Dr. Baddy, the general practitioner. When he finally entered, his eyes didn't meet hers. He skimmed through her chart with a sigh, his pen tapping implicitly on the page. He mumbled something about her being overly sensitive, that her issues were all in her head. Each word felt like a sharp jab, a knife twisting in her gut. The room grew smaller, the sounds louder. The doctor's voice grew louder, more dismissive. He talked over her, his words a blur of condescension. Autie tried to speak, to explain how she felt, but her voice was lost in the cacophony. She could feel her heart pounding, her palms sweating, her throat constricting. Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of his dissonance. Why couldn't he understand? She knew they’re busy, but still.. He began the tests, his cold instruments probing and poking. Each touch was a violation, a scream in her soul. The bright lights above seemed to bore into her, exposing every nerve ending. Autie flinched with each poke of the needle, each squeeze of the blood pressure cuff, each cold stethoscope on her skin. Her hyperactive mind painted the worst-case scenarios behind her closed eyes. The doctor's voice was still a blur, but Autie managed to catch words like "anxiety" and "psychosomatic." Her cheeks burned with shame. Was she really just imagining it all? Were her pain and fears simply the figments of an overactive imagination? But she knew better, she felt the reality of it, the weight of each sensation like an anchor around her neck, pulling her under. Her body was a symphony of discomfort, and he was the one turning a deaf ear. “Dr. Baddy, please, I…” He looked up, his eyes sharp, and she saw a flicker of annoyance behind the professional mask. “Miss, I understand this can be uncomfortable. It's all in your head, you know? It’ll be over..” The words hit Autie like a wave, a cold, unyielding force that crashed over her. Her heart pounded in protest, but she bit her tongue, fighting the urge to scream. Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to shed in front of him. Dr. Baddy continued, his voice a drone in her ears, as if speaking to a toddler. His touch grew more invasive with each test, his dismissive tones grating on her already frayed nerves. Each time he said "it's all in your head," she felt a piece of her sanity chip away. The room was spinning, the pressure in her chest building, her breaths shallow and desperate. She clutched the arms of the chair, her knuckles white, willing herself to stay calm. He didn't look at her as he spoke, his gaze on the computer screen, typing away. The words were a slap in the face, confirming what she feared: he didn't believe her. The pain was real, but in his eyes, she was just another patient to be placated. Autie's voice quivered as she tried to protest, to explain that she wasn't just overreacting. But the words wouldn't come. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight. The room was spinning faster now, the walls closing in. The noise grew louder, a crescendo of doubt and frustration. Dr. Baddy's impatience was palpable. He didn't seem to notice her distress, or if he did, he didn't care. Each new test was a battle for her to endure, a silent cry for validation that went unheard. Finally, Autie reached her breaking point. She couldn't take the poking and prodding anymore, nor his dismissive accusations. With a tremble in her voice, she managed to interject, "It's not all in my head. My body isn't lying to me." Dr. Baddy's eyes snapped to hers, his expression hardening. "Young lady," he began, raising his voice, "you're not making this easy for yourself. These symptoms you're describing are mere textbook anxiety, but until you accept it, we won't get anywhere." His words were exploding in her ears. Autie flinched at his volume, the force of his tone sending shockwaves through her already overstimulated system. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but the walls remained steadfast in their judgment. The air grew thick with his accusations, suffocating her, no matter how hard she’s trying… Her heart hammered. Her mind raced, trying to find the words to explain, but they remained elusive, trapped by the fear that his skepticism had planted. Her breaths grew shallower, each one a struggle. “Sir, I’m neurodivergent…” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Aren’t we all, I know. But that’s no excuse for overreacting like this. You need to learn to manage your anxiety. This isn’t your first appointment, Miss. I’ve seen worse cases than yours, and they don’t act like you do. Maybe it’s time you complied instead of wasting time with trivial complaints!” The words stung like a thousand needles, piercing her soul. Autie felt a tear slip down her cheek, hot and humiliating. Her body shook with the effort to keep herself from screaming. But she knew she had to keep it together, to fight for herself in this battle of perception. “Doc, if we can just…” Dr. Baddy leaned in, his face inches from hers. “Miss, if you can’t even sit through a simple exam, how do you expect to handle real-world stress? Your symptoms are textbook. I’ve seen it all before. Now, kids have done these tests yet they don’t cry wolf like you do. Get a grip!” Autie felt like she was drowning, his words like a heavy weight pressing on her chest, leaving her gasping for air. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, her body shaking uncontrollably. The doctor's, a place of hope and healing, now felt like a prison. Her heart ached with the injustice of it all. This wasn’t the first time she’d faced disbelief. She wanted to flee, to leave this cruel, albeit professional, man behind. But she knew that would only reinforce his misconceptions about her. But the nurse at the door, the one who had offered a sympathetic smile earlier, was busy with her own work. Autie was alone with Dr. Baddy’s disdain. “I’m going to need you to stay still,” he said, his voice a command. He moved to restrain her flailing limbs, his grip firm and unyielding. The pressure on her wrists and ankles was a new torment, each touch a branding iron on her already raw skin. Autie’s breathing grew quick and shallow, each inhale a battle, each exhale a defeat. She couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. Her chest tightened, a vice squeezing the life out of her. The room swirled into a whirlpool of sound and color, dragging her under as she literally got sick, bringing her even more discomfort. The smell of bile and fear mingled with the antiseptic stink, and she heard Dr. Baddy’s voice, now sharp and accusatory, telling her to calm down. But how could she? The world was a symphony of pain and doubt, and he was the conductor, baton slashing through her defenses. Her stomach lurched again, and she felt the cold, wet floor beneath her knees. Autie was beyond soothing. She was lost in overstimulation, each sensation a new threat to her already fragile psyche. The doctor's hands, now removing the restraints, felt like a hundred biting insects, each touch a reminder of dismissal. Her legs wobbled as she stood, eyes blurry with tears. The floor spun beneath her, and she leaned heavily on the nurse. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered, her voice a balm to Autie's raw soul. But it wasn't ok. Nothing was ok. The world was still a minefield, each step a gamble she wasn't sure she could win. The nurse helped her to a chair, handing her a cup of water. Autie sipped it gratefully, the coolness a brief respite from the fire raging inside her. Dr. Baddy stood back, arms crossed, his face a thundercloud. The room felt like it was shrinking, the embodiment of the doubt that plagued her. But the doctor's words were a weight, dragging her back under. Was she just overreacting? The nurse's voice was a whisper in the chaos. "Miss, let's get you cleaned up, okay?" Autie nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Her body was still shaking, and her eyes stung from the tears. The nurse's touch was firm but kind as she helped Autie to the bathroom. The nurse handed her a wet cloth, and Autie gratefully wiped her face, the coolness bringing a tiny bit of relief. It was something she knew all too well: the look of someone who didn't quite believe her, who thought she was just being dramatic. An ableist microaggression, subtle but stinging nonetheless. "It's okay, you'll be fine," the nurse said, her voice soft but patronizing. Autie could see the judgment lurking beneath her smile. "You just need to learn to cope with your... issues." It was their lack of understanding that was the real issue. But all that came out was a weak, "Thank you." She just wanted some sensory accommodations, but they made it seem like an outrageous request, refusing as if inconvenient. Leaving the office, Autie felt broken, defeated. The sun outside was too bright, the sounds of the world a cacophony she couldn't bear. But she knew she had to find a better doctor, one who would listen.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vii (Autistic author) Gently, she helped Plankton to his feet. He swayed slightly, his legs weak from the seizure. "Let's go to your room," she suggested, her arm around his waist. They moved slowly, his steps cautious. Karen could feel his tension easing as they left the chaos of the living room behind. Plankton was still silent, twitching slightly with every new sound they encountered. In the quiet of his bedroom, Karen helped him sit on the bed. "Rest," she said softly. "You're safe here." Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Safe," he mumbled. Karen felt a wave of protectiveness wash over her as she tucked him into bed, his small frame looking even more vulnerable than ever. She knew she had to speak to Chip, to explain everything. With a heavy heart, she made her way to his room. The door was ajar, and she could see his form huddled on his bed, tears staining his screen. He looked up as she entered, his eyes red from crying. "Chip," she began, her voice gentle. "I need to talk to you about Dad." Chip sniffled, wiping his screen with the back of his hand. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. Karen sat on the edge of his bed, taking a deep breath. "Dad's had a bit of an accident, sweetie," she began. "He's okay, but he's going through something called autism. He'll have it for the rest of his life, yet we're still finding ways to manage.." Chip's eyes widened in shock, and he swiped at his tears. "What's autism?" Karen took a deep breath, preparing to explain. "It's like a different kind of brain wiring, Chip. Sometimes, it makes things that seem simple to us really hard for Dad to understand or do." Chip's brow furrowed in confusion. "Does that mean he won't be the same?" "No, it doesn't mean he won't be the same person," she said gently. "But it does mean that we'll have to make some changes to help him feel comfortable and safe. Dad will need extra patience, and we'll have to learn new ways to communicate. He still has memories of his life before, though." Chip looked at his mother with uncertainty. "How can we help him?" Karen took his hand in hers, feeling the warmth of his small fingers. "Well, Chip, we have to be very understanding," she explained. "Dad might react differently to things now, like noises or touch." Chip nodded, his expression earnest. "So I can't hug him like that anymore?" "Not like you did just now," she said. "But we'll find ways to show love without overwhelming him." Chip nodded with newfound determination. "Okay," he said, his voice small. "I'll try." Karen felt a surge of pride. Despite his young age, Chip was showing a maturity beyond his years. "That's my brave boy," she said, squeezing his hand. "Good night.."

ᴳⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵂᵒʳᵈˢ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉˡᵖ, ᵈᵉˢᵖⁱᵗᵉ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘˢⁱⁿᵉˢˢ ʳⁱᵛᵃˡˢ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢʰᵒʷⁿ ᵏⁱⁿᵈⁿᵉˢˢ ᵗᵒ ᵃˡˡ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵈᵘʳⁱⁿᵍ ʷᵒʳᵏ‧ “ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ ᶠᵒʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱᶠ ᵇᵒʳᵉᵈ ᴹʳ‧ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ!” ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵒʳᵉᵈ ᶜᵃˢʰⁱᵉʳ‧ “ᴮᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ!” ᴴᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ “ᴮᵘᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʷᵒʳᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵈ! ᴵ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʷᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵉ’ˢ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵃᵐᵒᵘⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ˡⁱᶠᵉ! ᴴᵒⁿᵉˢᵗˡʸ ⁿᵒ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ʷⁱˡˡ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ; ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ʰᵉ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵃᵐᵐᵉᵈ! ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇˡᵃᵐᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵃˡⁱᵛᵉ!” ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒˡᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ ʳⁱˢᵉʳ ⁿᵒʳ ᵃ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵒʷˡ, ᵃˢ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃʸˢ ᵘᵖ ˡᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ‧ ᔆᵒ ˢʰᵉ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵘʳᵖʳⁱˢᵉᵈ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʳᵘⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵒⁿ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ ᵉᵃˢⁱˡʸ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ, ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ ʰᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵍʳᵉᵉᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ‧ ᴴᵉ ʳᵘⁿˢ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵇᵉᵈ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢʰᵃʳᵉ‧ “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ…” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʷ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢˡᵃᵐˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵃˢ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ˢʰᵉ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ‧ “ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴶ…” “ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵗᵒᵖ, ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ!” “ᴮᵘᵗ ᵈᵒ…” “ᴵ’ᵐ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵉ, ⁿᵒʷ ᵍᵒ ᵃʷᵃʸ!” ᴴᵉ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰˢ‧ “ᴵ’ˡˡ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵖʳⁱᵛᵃᶜʸ‧‧” ᶜˡᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵍᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ˢʰᵘᵗ ⁿᵒʷ ˢʰᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏˢ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ’ˢ ⁿᵒʷ ᵐᵘᶠᶠˡᵉᵈ ᶜʳʸⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢᑫᵘᵉᵉᶻᵉˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ ᵈᵉᵉᵖˡʸ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵐᵉᵃⁿˢ ʷᵉˡˡ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ’ˢ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ, ᵒᶜᶜᵘᵖⁱᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱˢ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ʳᵃⁱˢᵉ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉˢ, ˢʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʸᵉˡˡ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ‧ ᴺᵒᵗ ⁱⁿᵗʳᵘᵈⁱⁿᵍ, ˢʰᵉ’ᵈ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢʰᵉ ᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ᵃˡˡ ᵈᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʰᵒᵖᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ˡᵉᵗ ʰᵉʳ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉʳ ᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᴱᵛᵉʳ ᶜᵃᵘᵗⁱᵒᵘˢˡʸ, ˢʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵉˢ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ ᵈᵃᵐᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ‧ ᶜᵃʳᵉᶠᵘˡˡʸ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵒᵃᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉˢ ʰᵉ’ᵈ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ, ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵈᵉᵉᵖ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ‘ᴼʰ’ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖᵘᵗˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳˢ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈᵉʳˢ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ, ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ, ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ, ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ʰᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵒʷ‧ “ʸᵒᵘ ᵘᵖ?” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ᶠᵃᶜᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ‧ “ᴵ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ, ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ…” “…ᶠⁱⁿᵉ…” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ʰᵒᵖᵉᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ “ᴬⁿʸ ᵖˡᵃⁿˢ?” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃˢᵏˢ ʰⁱᵐ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ ‘ᴳʳᵉᵃᵗ’ ˢʰᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ‧ “ᴺᵒ, ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧‧” “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᴵ…” “ᴵ’ˡˡ ᵗʳʸ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧‧” ᶠʳᵘˢᵗʳᵃᵗᵉᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵒᵖᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳʸ ᶜᵒᵒᵏ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʷᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʷᵒʳᵏ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ “ᵂᵃᵗᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᵗⁱʳⁱⁿᵍ!” “ᵂᵉˡˡ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʰᵒʷ ᵈᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᴵ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷˢ ᵐᵉ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵃ ˡᵒˢᵗ ᵖᵒᵒᵈˡᵉ?” “ᴮᵘᵗ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷʰʸ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗᵉᵖ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱᵐ, ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵘˢ?” “ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵉ ᵈᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉˢ ʷᵒʳˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵉᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱᵐ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢᵉᵉᵐˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ’ˢ ᵖˡᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ! ᴬⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʷⁱˡˡ!” ᴬⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳᵈᵃʸ’ˢ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ! ‘ᴵ ᵐᵉᵃⁿᵗ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧‧’ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ˢʰᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ‧ ᴮᵒᵗʰ ᵉᵐᵖˡᵒʸᵉᵉˢ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵈᵃʸ ʲᵒᵇˢ, ˢᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ˢⁿᵉᵃᵏ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏⁱᵗᶜʰᵉⁿ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ’ˢ‧ “ᴷʳᵃᵇᵇʸ ᴾᵃᵗᵗⁱᵉˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳⁱˡˡ‧‧” ˢⁱⁿᵍˢ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ, ʰᵃᵖᵖⁱˡʸ ᵃˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳ‧ ᴸⁱᵏᵉ ⁿᵒ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳⁱᵉˢ ᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱⁿˢᵗᵉᵃᵈ ˡᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵃ ˢᵒᵇ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵘʳⁿˢ, ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʳʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵇᵃʷˡⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᵂʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵒⁿˡʸ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈ ʷᵃʳᵈ ᵒᶠᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᶜᵃˢᵉ‧ ‘ᴰⁱᵈ ʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵐᵉ?’ “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷʰʸ…” “ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱˢˡⁱᵏᵉᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵗᵒᵒᵖ ˡᵒʷ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ʰᵒʷ ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ʲᵘˢᵗ…” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᶜʳʸ ᵐᵒʳᵉ‧ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ ʰⁱᵐ‧ “ᴼᶠ ᶜᵒᵘʳˢᵉ! “ “ᴵ’ˡˡ ˢᵉᵉ ᵐʸ ˢᵉˡᶠ ᵒᵘᵗ!” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʸᵉˡˡ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ‧ “ᴺᵒ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵉᵗᵉⁿᵈ, ⁿᵒ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵉᵖ ᵒⁿ ᵐᵉ!” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵒʳᵐˢ ᵒᵘᵗ, ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ ‘ᴴᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳᵈᵃʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ‧‧’ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ, ᶠᵉᵉˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʷᶠᵘˡ‧ ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ʷᵒʳᵏ, ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶠʳᵃⁿᵗⁱᶜᵃˡˡʸ ˡᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ “ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ…” “ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵈᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉ?” “ᴵ…” “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳᵈᵃʸ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ, ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵃʳˡⁱᵉʳ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ ʰᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵗᵃʸˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒⁿᵍ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵃⁿ’ᵗ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ʰⁱᵐ!” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖˡᵉᵃᵈᵉᵈ‧ “ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ’ᵐ ʷᵒʳʳⁱᵉᵈ!” ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ ᵐᵘˢᵗ’ᵛᵉ ʳᵃⁿ ᵃʷᵃʸ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧ “ᔆᶜᵃʳᵉᵈ, ᵖⁱᵖˢᑫᵘᵉᵃᵏ?” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷʰⁱᵐᵖᵉʳᵉᵈ, ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵈᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡᵉʸ‧ “ᴵ…” “ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵇᵃᵇʸ! ᴬʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒˢᵗ? ᵂᵉˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵇʸᵉ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʷᵉ’ˡˡ ᵉⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ‧ ᴳᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ!” ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ ᵃ ˢᶜʳᵉᵃᵐ… “…ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ!” ᴴᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵍⁿⁱˢᵉᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ’ˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖˡᵉˢˢ‧ “ᶠⁱⁿⁱˢʰ ʰⁱᵐ‧‧” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ‧ “ᴺᵒ!” ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʸˢ, ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʰᵘʳᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ, ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵐᵒʳᵉ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵒʳᵉⁿᵉˢˢ‧ ‘ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵃᶠᵉ ⁿᵒʷ…’ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ’ˢ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉ ᵖʳᵒᵐᵖᵗᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ “ᴴⁱ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧” ᴴᵉ ˢᵃᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵍⁿⁱˢᵉˢ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ “ᵀʰᵉ ᵍᵃⁿᵍ ʷⁱˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵃʳᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ, ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏˢ ᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ᵏᵃʳᵃᵗᵉ!” ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᶜᵒᵒᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ “ᴸᵒᵒᵏ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ, ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵒᵗʰᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ᵐʸ ᶠᵃᵘˡᵗ‧ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧ ᴵᵗ’ˢ ⁱⁿᵉˣᶜᵘˢᵃᵇˡᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧” ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢⁱᵍʰˢ‧ “ᵀʳᵘᵗʰ ᵇᵉ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ⁱᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ, ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶜˡᵉᵛᵉʳ ⁱⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᶜʰᵉᵐᵉˢ!” ᴴᵉ ʰᵉˡᵈ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ “ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵈᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵃᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧‧” ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʷ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‽” ᔆʰᵉ ᵉˣᶜˡᵃⁱᵐˢ‧ “ᴴⁱ, ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧‧” “ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵈᵒ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᶠᵒᵒˡⁱˢʰⁿᵉˢˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ!” ᔆʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵃʳˡʸ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ “ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵒᵛᵉʳʷʰᵉˡᵐᵉᵈ‧‧” “ᴵ’ᵐ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ⁿᵒʷ‧” “ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ⁱᵗ?” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳʸ ᶜᵒᵒᵏ ʷʰᵒ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱᵐ‧ “ʸᵉˢ‧‧” ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉˢ‧ “ᴬˡˡ’ˢ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ‧‧” ✧ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 𝟗𝟖𝟗

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 10 (Autistic author) After a silence so profound it seems to have its own heartbeat, Plankton's antennae twitch, breaking the stillness. "Time to...do." Plankton whispers to himself, still in Karen's arms. Sandy looks up. "Plankton?" She whispers, hope flickering in her eyes. "What's he..." But Karen shakes her head, silencing her. "He'll come around," she says, explaining his behavior. "He's just...it's okay for him to talk to himself. It can mean he's starting to come back." Plankton starts up again. "Time to...do," he murmurs, his antennae flicking erratically. "Time to...time to...get, time to...do." Karen's grip on him tightens, her heart racing as his words loop like a broken record. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the tempest of his thoughts. "You don't have to do anything right now." She strokes his arm, her touch gentle. "We're right here." The words sink into his consciousness like a pebble dropped into a still pond, ripples of understanding spreading through the murky waters of his mind. His antennae still for a moment, then begin to move again, slightly. "No do," he murmurs, his voice still flat, his gaze unchanged. "Just be." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "You just be, my love," she whispers, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You can just keep talking to me, or to yourself." Her words are a gentle reminder that he's not alone, his anchor in the storm. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breathing evening out. Plankton's eye flickers. His eye moves, focusing on her face. "Karen," he whispers, his voice a mere breath. "Karen, here." Her heart soars. "I'm right here, sweetheart," she says, her voice a soft caress. "You're okay." Plankton's gaze lingers on her face, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he repeats, his voice gaining strength. "Karen." Slowly, the world around them starts to come back into focus. The ticking of the clock is a steady beat once more, the wallpaper's pattern a gentle dance of color and light. Plankton blinks. "Where's now?" "You're home," Karen says soothingly, her voice a beacon of calm amidst his confusion. "You're safe on the couch." Sandy comes into his view now. "Sandy," Plankton says, his voice still flat, his antennae barely moving. "Sorry." Sandy's eyes widen in surprise. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice cracking. Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "We're both here," she says, her voice a lifeline in the sea of confusion. Sandy moves slowly, keeping her movements small and deliberate, not wanting to trigger another wave of panic. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice careful. "Is it ok if I sit next to you?" He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. The world is still too loud, too bright, too much for him to handle. But Karen's presence, her gentle touch, makes it more bearable. Sandy sits on the couch, a respectful distance away, watching the two of them with a mix of compassion and regret as Karen helps him sit up. Sandy's curiosity burns, questions bubbling up inside her like a shaken soda can. She wants to know more about this new version of Plankton. "What happened to you, Plankton?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen sighs, her eyes sad. "It's called acquired autism syndrome," Karen explains, her voice measured. Sandy's eyes widen, trying to digest this new information. "But, how?" she asks, her curiosity overriding the sadness. "It's complicated," Karen says, her voice weary. "But it's part of who he is now." Sandy nods, trying to understand. "When you started shaking Plankton, what'd you feel?" Plankton's gaze flickers to the wall, his mind still trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his recent experience. "Scared," he admits, his voice still strained. "Too much." Sandy nods, her own understanding of the world shifting. "But what about your surroundings? Where you conscious?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Conscious, but not...not here." His words are like a puzzle, each one placed with care. Sandy nods, her eyes studying him with newfound respect. "So could you hear us or?" "Hear, but not understand," Plankton says, his voice still a whisper. Sandy nods, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" she asks, her eyes searching his for a clue to this new puzzle. "Words," Plankton whispers, his antennae barely moving. "Sounds, but not words. Just voice." Karen's grip on his hand tightens, her heart aching for his pain. Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's okay," she says, her voice gentle. "We're learning together." Karen's gaze shifts to Sandy, her eyes expressing gratitude. "Yes," she agrees. "We're all just trying to understand. It's new for us, too." Sandy nods, her curiosity now tempered with compassion. She watches Plankton closely, his every movement, his every word, a testament to his struggle. "Can I ask how acquired autism..." "Sandy," Karen says gently, interrupting her friend. "Let's not push him." Sandy nods, her expression full of concern. "I just want to know how it happened." Karen's sigh is a soft whisper in the room. "It was a brain injury" she says, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "He fell, hitting his head and the impact knocked him out, hard enough to cause some serious damage." Sandy nods, her mind racing. "But how did it turn him...different?" she asks, her voice filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Karen's eyes well up with tears, the pain of the memory still fresh. "It happened yesterday. He's the same Plankton we know, but his perception of the world, his ability to communicate...it's all changed." Sandy's eyes are glued to Plankton, her curiosity melding with a deep sadness. "But how can I help?" she asks, her voice a whisper. "I don't know anything about this." Karen looks at her with a tiny smile, her screen filled with gratitude. "Just be his friend," she says, her voice firm. "Love and patience, that's what he needs." Sandy nods, her eyes flicking to Plankton, who sits with his gaze on the wall. "I want to," she says, her voice sincere. "But how do I do that without...you know?" Karen understands her dilemma. "Just be there," she says, her voice calm. "Learn his patterns, his triggers. It'll take time, but he'll come to trust you." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "But what about when he gets upset?" "It's hard," Karen admits, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "We're still figuring it out." Sandy nods, her mind racing with a barrage of questions. But she swallows them down, not wanting to overwhelm Plankton or Karen. Instead, she focuses on the present. "So, Plankton, how do you feel?" Sandy says, her voice soft. "What do you wanna do right now?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Right now, Plankton feeling... awkward," he murmurs, his voice devoid of its usual inflection. Sandy nods, trying to hide the shock from her face. "Okay, Plankton," she says slowly, her voice gentle. "What do you need?" He looks at her with a flicker of something resembling hope in his glassy eye. "Plankton would now like to just go to be in own room." Sandy nods eagerly, desperate to do anything that would bring him comfort. "Of course," she says, her voice gentle. "I'll help you." But as she moves to assist him, Plankton flinches away, his antennae twitching in agitation. "No," he whispers, his voice trembling. "Too much." Karen understands his need to retreat into the bedroom. "Okay," Karen says, her voice calm. "Let's go." She helps Plankton to his feet, his body still rigid with stress. Sandy watches, feeling like an outsider. She follows behind, stopping at the bedroom doorway. Karen sets some books and pencils on the table by his bed, along with a kiss. "You can change the light with the lamp," she says, gesturing to the lamp on the bedside table next to his charging phone. He nods.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 4 (Autistic author) Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. They need to find a way to connect, to bridge the gap that's grown between them. "Plankton," she says, "can you tell me about your day?" He looks at her, his eye blinking slowly. "Day," he repeats, his voice lacking the usual inflection. "Plankton worked on invention." Karen nods, trying to encourage him. "What kind of invention?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Invention for Plankton," he says. "To make Karen Plankton happy." Karen's eyes fill with tears. Despite the lack of emotion in his words, she can feel the sincerity behind them. He's trying to connect, to share his world with her. "Looks like we both finished our dinner," she says, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's next on your agenda?" Plankton looks at her, his expression unchanged. "Agenda," he says, as if trying to remember the concept. "Plankton's next task. No get Krabby Patty formula. Rather spend time with Karen." Karen clenches at his words. Despite the flatness of his tone, she can feel his intention to please her, to make their anniversary special. "Let's clean up," she suggests, rising from her chair. Plankton follows suit, moving in a way that seems almost robotic. They work in silence, Karen placing the dishes in the sink and Plankton methodically wiping down the table. As she washes the plates, Karen watches him out of the corner of her screen. His movements are precise and efficient, with no wasted effort. It's as if he's calculating every action, trying to understand the purpose behind each task. "Plankton," she says softly, turning off the faucet. "Could you please dry these for me?" She hands him a towel and a plate. He takes them without a word, his gaze flicking from the towel to the plate, as if studying the physics of the interaction. He carefully wipes the plate, his movements measured and deliberate. Karen watches him with a mix of pride and pain. Despite his new condition, he's still trying to be the partner she knows. She forces a smile, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. "Thank you," she says, taking the dried plate from him and placing it in the cupboard. "You're doing great." He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "Great," he echoes. "Karen happy." As they go to the living room, Plankton's gaze is drawn to the digital clock on the wall. His eye fixates on the changing seconds, each tick a silent metronome in their otherwise quiet space. Karen notices and wonders if she should be concerned about his newfound interest in something so mundane. "Clock," he says, his voice still monotone. "Time changes. Incremental." Karen follows his gaze to the digital clock on the wall, the red numbers flipping from one second to the next with a quick, silent efficiency. "Does the clock bother you?" she asks, noticing his fixation. Plankton shakes his head, his eye still glued to the display. "No," he says, his voice thoughtful. "Time. Changes. Fascinating." Karen watches him, seeing a spark of curiosity she hadn't noticed before. "You've never liked clocks before," she points out, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's so interesting about it now?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he tries to explain. "Clock," he says, his voice still flat. "Time. Changing. Predictable." His single eye remains locked on the red digits, the fascination growing. "Seconds restart each minute." Karen nods, watching his expression closely. "It's like a pattern," she suggests. "A routine that doesn't change." Plankton nods, his eye still glued to the clock. "Pattern," he repeats. "Comforting." Karen nods, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Maybe you find comfort in the predictability?" she offers. Plankton's antennae bob slightly, as if considering this new perspective. "Comfort," he murmurs. "Consistent. Understood." Karen sits down beside him, her screen drawn to the clock as well. "Tell me more about the pattern," she says, trying to find a way into his new reality. "What do you see when you look at it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he considers his answer. "Pattern," he repeats. "Time, changing. Predictable." His voice is softer now, almost lost in thought. "One, two, three, four, five. Always same." Karen nods, her screen still on the clock. "It's like counting," she says. "Do you like counting?" Plankton's antennae twitch once again. "Counting," he repeats, his tone thoughtful. Suddenly, Sponge Bob comes in. "Plankton," he says, his eyes wide with excitement. "What are you guys up to?" Karen looks over, a forced smile on her screen. "Just talking about time," she says, hoping SpongeBob's entrance will provide some much-needed distraction from the heaviness of their conversation.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 11 (Autistic author) Plankton moves slowly to the bed, his eye fixed on the lamp. His movements are deliberate, his body still tense from the recent meltdown. Sandy watches, her heart in her throat, as he fiddles with the lamp, adjusting the brightness until it's just right, a soft glow that doesn't assault his senses. "Thanks," Plankton says, his voice still flat, but with a hint of genuine appreciation. Sandy's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. She wants to help, to ease his pain, but she doesn't know how. "Can I do anything else?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen looks up at her, her eyes tired but filled with gratitude. "Just give him some space," she says, gently. "Let him adjust." They exit his room. Sandy and Karen talk about other things for a bit before Karen decides to check on Plankton, Sandy following her. They find Plankton curled up in the center of the bed, his body wrapped tightly in the blanket Karen had used to soothe his meltdown. His antennae remain still, his eye closed. The room is quiet, the only sound his slight snores. "He's asleep," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing balm to the tense air. Sandy nods, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall beneath the blanket. His snores are soft, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the room just minutes before. Karen smiles softly, relief washing over her. "This is his safe place," she whispers to Sandy, her voice filled with a quiet pride. "His retreat when the world gets too much." Sandy nods, her eyes studying the sleeping Plankton with a newfound compassion. She's seen his fiery spirit, his sharp mind, and now she's witnessing his vulnerability. The room is bathed in a soft, warm light, the kind that makes you want to curl up with a good book. Plankton's snores are the only sound, a gentle reminder that he's still fighting, still with them. Karen watches him sleep, his face serene in slumber. The harsh edges of his autism softened by the oblivion of sleep. His body, usually so tense, is relaxed, the tapestry of the blanket a gentle wave that cradles him. Sandy steps closer to the bed, her heart aching for her friend. The Plankton she knew was a whirlwind of chaos and cunning, but this Plankton is a puzzle of patterns and sensitivity. She reaches out a tentative hand, brushing his antennae gently. They twitch under her touch, a silent acknowledgment of her presence. "I'm here," she whispers, her voice a soft promise. "I'll learn with you." Karen smiles, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thank you," she says, her voice a whisper. "He needs friends now more than ever." Sandy nods, her mind racing with the gravity of the situation. She's seen Plankton's fiery spirit, his sharp mind, but this vulnerable side is new, unexpected, and it breaks her heart. She pulls back her hand, not wanting to disturb his sleep. Karen moves to the chair beside the bed, sitting down with a sigh. "It's going to be a long road," she says, her voice filled with both fear and determination. "But we'll figure it out together." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "We're all here for you," she says, her voice firm. "We'll get through this." Karen's smile is grateful. "Thank you, Sandy."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 13 (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in her direction, his eye not quite focusing on her. "Sandy," he murmurs, his voice still flat. Sandy nods, her own heart racing. She's seen his fiery spirit, his sharp mind, but this Plankton is a puzzle of patterns and sensitivity. She takes a deep breath, trying to mirror Karen's calm. "Hi, Plankton," she says slowly, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore. He looks at her, his antennae twitching slightly. "Sandy," he murmurs, his voice still devoid of its usual inflection. Sandy's eyes well up with tears. "Hey buddy," she says, her voice a gentle ripple in the calm waters of his room. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, as if trying to interpret the meaning behind her words. His eye blinks, focusing on her face. "Okay," he says, his voice a monotone as he sits up. Sandy nods, her heart aching. "Do you remember earlier today when you threw the tantrum?" Plankton's antennae wave erratically, his eye widening. "No," he says, his voice strained. "But now, Plankton feels... angry." The room seems to shrink around him as his frustration boils over. Sandy doesn't realize. "You're not gonna throw another tantrum, are you?" With a sudden burst of energy, he leaps to his feet, his voice a guttural howl. "No, no, no!" Sandy's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton wh..." But she's cut off by his verbal tsunami, a rage-filled torrent of words she's never heard from him before. "No, Sandy, NOT AGAIN!" he yells. "IT'S NOT A TANTRUM!" The room seems to shiver with the force of his voice, and Sandy's eyes widen in shock, her paws trembling. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she stammers, her voice quavering. "I didn't mean..." But he shouts, his voice echoing off the walls. "It's not a game, Sandy! It's not for fun!" The room seems to shrink around him, his words a storm raging in the quiet sanctity of his bedroom. Sandy flinches back, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "Sandy not understand!" Plankton screams, his small body shaking with the intensity of his frustration. "And not about the Krabby Patty formula anymore! SANDY, STOP!" Sandy's eyes widen in fear, her heart racing. This isn't the Plankton she knows. His rage is uncontrolled, his voice a knife cutting through the calm. "Plankton, please," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I just...I want to understand." But Plankton is beyond reason, his eye wild with frustration. "It's not a tantrum!" he screams, his antennae quivering with rage. Karen moves quickly, placing herself between Plankton and Sandy, her body a shield. "Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle breeze against the storm of his rage. "You're upset. It's okay." Sandy sighs. "Is he gonna throw another..." "NO!" Plankton shouts, his voice like thunder in the small space. "It's not a tantrum!" Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of fear and determination as she intervenes. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soothing balm, cutting through the storm of his anger. "You're upset, and that's okay. But please, let's talk about it calmly." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye flickering between Karen and Sandy. His chest heaves with the effort to contain his rage, his body a coiled spring ready to snap. Karen's voice remains steady, a lighthouse in his chaotic sea. "Let's talk about it," she repeats, her tone soothing. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his antennae still twitching with residual anger. "It's not a tantrum," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "It's...overwhelming." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Let's talk about it." Sandy watches from the sidelines, her heart still racing. She's seen Plankton's fiery spirit, his sharp intellect, but this new side of him is frightening. "But..." "It's his autism," Karen explains gently, her hand on his shoulder. "He can't always handle the world's chaos. And I understand you meant to see if he's okay..." "NOT A TANTRUM! NO MORE, ENOUGH SANDY!" Plankton snaps. "I'm just telling her not to say it. What other wording can we use instead, Plankton?" Karen rubs his arm. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye searching his brain for a solution. "Shutdown," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Spasm's, Pauses. Moment or mishap. Yes, yes." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. "I'll remember that," she says, her voice soft. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae slowing. "I'm sorry Plankton," he mumbles, his voice exhausted. Karen nods, her screen filled with love. "It's okay, love," she says, helping him sit back down. "You're okay." Plankton nods, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his outburst. Sandy watches him, her eyes wide with understanding. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her heart heavy with regret. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly. "Well, I best be going," Sandy says.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii (Autistic author) "Now let's go to the living room and I'll go pick up a smoothie for you. Can you stay here by yourself?" He nodded, his expression slightly less tense. "I'll be back soon," she assured him, squeezing his shoulder before leaving the Chum Bucket. Just moments later, Karen's friend Hanna came for a surprise visit. She knew Karen had a husband named Plankton, but she never met him. Plankton was now back on the living room couch. "Oh, you must be Plankton!" Hanna exclaimed. Plankton's eye flitted to her, his expression unreadable. Hanna walked over to the couch, her smile wide and genuine. "It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, embracing him in a hug. Plankton stiffened, his eye wide with surprise. His body tensed, his mind racing to process this new sensory input. "You ok?" Hanna asked, pulling back slightly. She had noticed his reaction but didn't know the reason behind it. Plankton nodded, his eye darting around the room again. He wasn't used to such spontaneous affection, and the unexpected sensation of Hanna's arms around him had thrown him off balance. "Yes, I am Plankton," he murmured, his voice monotone. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Hanna's smile didn't waver, unaware of the turmoil within his mind. "How are you feeling today?" Plankton's gaze flicked to the ceiling, his mind racing to find the right words. "Today, feeling," he echoed, his voice still a whisper. The repetition was a comfort, a way to process the flood of sensory information that assaulted him continuously. Hanna looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You know, your wife Karen tells me you're an inventor," she said, her tone innocently curious. Plankton's eye locked onto hers, his mind racing to understand the context of her words. "Inventor," he repeated, his voice flat. It was a word he knew, but it felt foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else. "Yes, inventor," Hanna said, nodding enthusiastically. "I've heard so much about your gadgets and contraptions. What are you working on these days?" Plankton's eye flitted around the room again, his mind struggling to grasp the concept of 'working'. "Gadgets, contraptions," he murmured, his voice a broken record. Hanna's expression was one of confusion, her smile beginning to fade. "Well, what do you do all day?" she prodded gently, trying to coax him out of his silence. Plankton's reply was immediate and robotic, "Do, all day, all day." Hanna's brow furrowed, uncertain how to interpret his repetitive response. She had known Karen for years, but Plankton's behavior was unlike anything she had ever heard of her friend's husband. "Do you like the beach?" she asked, hoping to engage him in conversation. Plankton's eye blinked slowly, his mind processing the question. "Beach," he echoed, his voice hollow. Hanna nodded, encouraged by his response. "Yes, the beach! It's such a beautiful place. Do you ever go there?" Plankton's gaze shifted to the window, the memory of sand and surf a distant whisper. "Go, beach, beautiful place," he said, his words a stuttered echo of hers. Hanna's smile dimmed slightly. This wasn't the witty banter she was expecting from Karen's husband. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she asked, uncertain. Plankton's eye moved to hers, his gaze intense. "Talk," he repeated, his voice a whisper. Hanna felt a twinge of discomfort. Something was off about his responses, but she couldn't quite put her tentacle on what it was. "Well, what do you like to do for fun?" she tried again, her tone tentative. Plankton's eye wandered back to his own hand, fidgeting with his fingers. "Do, fun," he murmured, the words a reflexive response to the question. Hanna's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you do for fun?" she clarified, wondering if he had simply misunderstood. Plankton's gaze remained on his fidgeting hand, his mind racing to connect the concept of 'fun' with his new reality. "Do, fun," he repeated, his voice devoid of the mirth he once expressed so freely. Hanna's smile was now forced, her confusion growing with each interaction. "Plankton, can you tell me what you enjoy doing?" she asked, hoping for a clearer response. He looked up at her, his gaze slightly less focused than before. "Enjoy doing," he repeated, his voice a faint echo. Hanna's twitched with concern. "You know, like hobbies or interests," she prompted gently, trying to keep her voice light. Plankton's eye moved back to his fidgeting hand, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and sensory overload. "Hobbies, interests," he murmured, his voice a hollow echo. Hanna's concern was now clear on her screen. "You know, like things you like to do in your free time," she tried again, her voice a little less bright. Plankton's eye latched onto hers. "Free time," he repeated, his voice a monotone. "Like to do." Hanna's eyes widened slightly, her confusion growing with each word he said. "Yes, exactly," she nodded, her voice a little more cautious now. "What do you like to do in your free time? Well, other than repetition.." She awkwardly laughs as she elbows him multiple times, not knowing how her touch is irritating Plankton. Plankton's getting more frustrated/angry now, as Hanna goes to pat his shoulder. He can't take much more now. Hanna's touch was like a brand, searing his already overwhelmed senses. He flinched away, his body rigid with tension. "Plankton, are you ok?" Hanna asked, her voice filled with concern. She noticed his discomfort but couldn't pinpoint the cause. He nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "Ok, ok," he mumbled, his voice still a monotone. Hanna looked at him with concern, her smile slipping. "Karen said you used to be quite the conversationalist. What happened?" She says, grabbing his elbow; but that's the last straw for Plankton. Plankton's eye snapped up to hers, his voice sharp. "What happened? You happened!" He snapped, his words sharp as a knife. The sudden aggression in his tone was like a slap in the face, catching Hanna off guard. She took a step back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she began, but Plankton was on a roll now. "You don't know what happened!" his voice grew louder, his words quickening with each syllable. "You don't know anything!" Hanna's eyes went wide with shock. This was not the Plankton Karen had described. Her arms flailed in the air as she tried to placate his sudden anger. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I just didn't know..."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 8 (Autistic author) Karen's eyes well up with tears as she watches him eat, his movements so deliberate and calculated. It's a stark contrast to the impulsive and energetic Plankton she's known for years. She takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the small victory of his willingness to eat. As they sit in silence, Karen can't help but feel a sense of loss for the man she married. His eye darts around the room, his antennae twitching at every sound. She wonders what's going on in his mind. "Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "What do you see?" He points to the toast, his finger trembling slightly. "Squares," he says, his voice flat. "Squares make sense." Karen nods, her eyes glistening with tears. "I know, sweetheart," she says, her voice soothing. "Everything is in its place." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly as he swallows the last of his toast. "Plankton," he murmurs, his gaze returning to the clock. "Time to...do." Before Karen could decipher his words, Sandy suddenly burst in through the door, as she ran up to the table. "I'm back from my trip to Texas!" Plankton's head snapped up, his antennae waving erratically. "Sandy," he murmured, his face contorting in an effort to process the new presence. "Howdy!" She says to him as she pats his shoulder, which irritates him. Plankton flinches, his antennas curling inward instinctively. "Sandy," he says, his voice tight. But she doesn't notice his discomfort. "How's my favorite mad scientist?" she asks, her voice booming as she nudges him with her elbow. Plankton's body stiffens, his antennae shooting straight up. "Sandy," he says, his voice strained. "No." "No? No what?" She asks him while poking at him with her finger. Plankton's eye widens, his body growing rigid. "Stop," he whispers, his voice strained. "Sandy, no." She sees his breakfast plate. "Oh, eggs and toast! Back in Texas, we spread the egg on to the toast." And without warning, she scrapes his eggs on his toast. If Plankton wasn't frustrated before, well he certainly is now. "Sandy, no!" Plankton squeaks out, his antennae waving wildly. The sudden change in his breakfast pattern is too much for his overwhelmed mind. "What's wrong?" Sandy asks, her cheerfulness not noticing his distress. "It's just how we do it back home!" She scoops up the eggs off the toast and put them back, yet his breakfast's already been ruined, not to mention the sight of bread crumbs in the egg.. Plankton's antennae are shaking rapidly now, his eye darting between the mashed eggs and the now crumbling toast. "Enough," he whispers, his voice tight. Sandy rests her hand on his shoulder. "Well then eat..." But Plankton can't. The disruption in his routine, the assault on his senses, the chaos she's brought into his carefully crafted world of patterns and precision, it's all too much. His body starts to shake. "No more, no NO!" he shouts, his voice a mix of frustration and panic. Karen jumps up. "Sandy, stop," she says firmly, placing her hand on Plankton's shoulder. "You're upsetting him." Sandy's expression falls. "But I put the food back, Plankton..." But it's too late. Plankton's eye widens, his antennae quivering. The plate of food before him is a mess, the calmness destroyed. "Food ruined!" he shrieks, his voice breaking. "Sandy, no good!" Sandy's eyes widen in shock, taking a step back. "Plankton I'm sorry!" But Plankton's accusations don't stop. "Ruined," he wails, his voice rising in pitch. "Sandy ruined breakfast. Now, broken!" Karen's heart races as she tries to soothe him, her voice calm and steady. "Plankton," she says, placing a gentle hand on his quivering arm. "It's okay. Let's make you a new plate." But Plankton's agitation only escalates, his eye wide with fear and anger at the sight of Sandy. "Sandy hurt Karen," he says, his voice shaky. "Sandy hurt Plankton. No good." "How'd I hurt..." Sandy starts, but Plankton's not gonna let her finish. "No good!" Plankton shouts, his antennae whipping around like tiny furious whips. Sandy's eyes widen with shock. She's never seen Plankton like this, not even when his plans were thwarted by Mr. Krabs. "I didn't mean to, Plankton," she stammers, her voice full of apology. But Plankton's rage is blind to her words, his mind locked onto the chaos she's brought into his life. "JUST LEAVE!" he screams, his antennae vibrating with fury. "BAD SANDY!" "Bad Sandy? I'm not a dog..." Sandy's voice trails off as she looks from Karen to Plankton, who's now rocking back and forth, his antennae flailing wildly. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice urgent but calm, "You need to breathe. Let's find a quiet place." She tries to guide him away from the table, but he resists, his eye locked on Sandy. "BAD SANDY!" he repeats, his voice high and frantic. Sandy's face falls, hurt and confusion etched on her features. She didn't understand, but she knew she needed to get Plankton to stop. So she took matters into her own hands. "PLANKTON," she bellows, her squirrelly instincts kicking in. Her voice cuts through the room like a knife, commanding his attention. Plankton's eye goes to her, his antennae stilled. "Quiet," he hissed, his body still tense. "Too loud." But Sandy won't let up. "Look at Karen," she says firmly. "Look at her, Plankton. Do you really think she'd wanna be with someone who'd hurt her?" Sandy gaslights. Plankton's gaze shifts. The room spins around him, his head throbbing with the cacophony of his thoughts. He feels like his brain's about to burst from the pressure, like a balloon filled with too much helium. Suddenly, Plankton's slipping into the abyss of overload. The room feels like it's closing in, sounds amplifying to intolerable levels, lights piercing his sensitive eye. His breathing turns erratic, his heart racing as if chasing an invisible foe. Karen catches Plankton before he can fall, as his legs buckled. Sandy's eyes widen in horror, seeing his distress. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice calm yet urgent. "Look at me, baby. Focus on my voice." But Plankton's eye is unseeing, his body convulsing with the onslaught of stimuli. She whispers, "It's okay," over and over again, hoping the comfort of her voice can penetrate the chaos in his mind. Sandy's eyes widen as she sees Plankton's condition worsening. She takes a step towards them, but Karen shakes her head. "No," she whispers, her screen never leaving his face. "Just us right now." Sandy nods, understanding dawning on her. She retreats to the corner of the room, giving them space.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 12 (Autistic author) They sit in companionable silence, the only sound Plankton's soft snores. Karen's eyes never leave his face, her thoughts a tumult of fear and hope. Sandy watches them both, her mind racing with questions and concerns. "What does this mean for him?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "It means his world is different now," Karen explains, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "He'll have his moments, but we'll find a new normal." Sandy nods, trying to picture what that would look like. "But can he still...you know, talk, interact?" "It's not like that," Karen sighs, her voice a soothing lullaby. "He's not nonverbal. It's just that sometimes his brain can't keep up with the world around him. The sounds, the lights, the colors—it's too much." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "I can see that," she says thoughtfully. "But he'll still be the same person, right?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of sorrow and hope. "He'll always be Plankton," she says, her voice firm. "But his autism has changed the way he experiences life. He'll see patterns where we see chaos, hear symphonies where we only hear noise." Sandy nods, trying to wrap her head around the concept. "What about his memories?" she asks, her voice tentative. "Does he still remember us, his life before?" Karen looks at her softly. "Yes," she says, her voice filled with reassurance. "But his short-term memory might be affected." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "How long will it take for him to...to get better?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Karen's gaze falls to her hands, clutched in her lap. "There isn't a cure," she says, her voice a whisper. "But we can help him manage, make his life more comfortable." Sandy's eyes are glassy with unshed tears. "What can I do?" she asks, her voice desperate. "What can any of us do?" Karen takes a deep breath. "You can learn with us," she says, her voice strong. "You can support him, love him, be patient." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with a newfound resolve. "I want to help," she says, her voice steady. "But what about his plans, his schemes?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of sorrow and a ghost of a smile. "Those might have to take a backseat for a while. His mind has to heal." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I can handle that," she says, her voice filled with determination. "But what about the Krabby Patty formula?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of understanding and sorrow. "We'll have to see," she says, her voice soft. "For now, let's focus on getting him comfortable, okay?" Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "Okay," she whispers, her voice full of resolve. "We'll figure it out." Karen nods, her smile small but genuine. "Thank you," she says, her voice filled with gratitude. "It's going to be a tough adjustment for all of us." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "We'll make it work," she says, her voice firm. "But what happens if he has another...episode?" Karen sighs, her screen slightly glazed with fear. "We just have to be there," she says, her voice shaky. "We'll learn his triggers, his comforts." Sandy nods, her mind racing with concern. "But what if it's in public?" "We'll handle it," Karen interrupts, her tone firm. "We'll have strategies, routines. It won't be easy, but we'll manage." Sandy sniffles, her voice now a sob. "What if he..." But Karen cuts her off, her eyes on Plankton, who's started to stir in his sleep. His antennae twitches, his body shifting under the covers. Slowly, Plankton's eye opens, his gaze unfocused. The room is a blur of patterns and colors, but Karen's voice is a steady beat in the cacophony. "Hey, sweetheart," she whispers, her hand brushing his cheek gently. "You're okay." Plankton's antennae twitch sluggishly, his body unwinding from the tight coil of sleep. "Home," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. Karen's eyes are on him, a silent vigil against the chaos of his mind. "You're safe," she whispers, her voice the calm to his storm. "You're home with me." Plankton's gaze sharpens slightly, his antennae moving in tiny, precise patterns. "Karen," he whispers, his voice like a distant echo. Karen leans in closer, her heart racing. "Yes, love?" she asks, her voice soothing. Plankton's antennae wave in the air, as if trying to capture the right words. "Need...Karen," he whispers, his eye searching hers. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "I'm here," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "Always." Plankton's antennae cease their frantic movements, then he notices Sandy. "Hi, Plankton," Sandy whispers, her voice soft.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 9 (Autistic author) Karen's voice is a soft lullaby in the chaos, guiding Plankton's gaze to her screen. "Look at me," she whispers. "Only me." She holds his hand, her thumb tracing small circles on his palm, the sensation grounding him ever so slightly. His breathing slows, but only a touch. The room seems to pulse around him, a cacophony of colors and sounds, but Karen's eyes are a safe haven. They're familiar, their warmth reaching through the fog in his brain. He tries to focus on her, to ignore the sounds that are too loud, the lights that are too bright. "Breathe," she whispers, her hand on his chest, guiding his erratic respiration into a calmer rhythm. His breaths become shallower, his antennae gradually stilling. But the world around them doesn't. The kitchen clock ticked loudly, a metronome of chaos in Plankton's disordered mind. Karen notices his distress and quickly wraps him in a soft blanket, creating a cocoon of quiet. "Only me," she says, her voice soothing. "Only my voice." Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his body still within the embrace of the blanket. His eye focuses on a single point on the wall, the only thing that doesn't shift and change. "Only me," Karen repeats, her voice the one steady beacon in the storm of sensory input. She watches his chest rise and fall, her heart breaking at his pain. The ticking clock becomes a monster in Plankton's mind, each second a taunt, a reminder of the chaos he can't escape. His hand grips hers tightly, his entire being seeking solace in her touch. Sandy watches from the shadows, her heart heavy with regret. "What have I done?" she whispers to herself, her voice barely audible over the whirlwind of Plankton's distress. The ticking clock seems to grow louder, its metronome beat echoing through Plankton's skull like a sledgehammer. His body starts to convulse, his grip on Karen's hand becoming painfully tight. "Plankton," Karen whispers, desperation coating her voice. "Look at me, love. Just me." But her words seem to fade into the cacophony, lost in the sensory assault. His pupil dilates, his entire being consumed by the relentless ticking. The wallpaper's pattern swirls before him, a dizzying maelstrom of colors and shapes that he can't make sense of. The soft pressure of Karen's hand is his only anchor in this storm of input. Karen's voice is a distant whisper, her touch the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. He can feel her warmth, her love, but it's fading fast. The room spins, the colors bleed into one another, and the clock's ticking becomes a thunderous roar. Plankton's breaths come in short, sharp gasps as he tries to escape the prison of his own senses. Karen's eyes are wet with tears, her heart breaking as she watches her husband suffer. "Shh," she whispers, rocking him gently. "It's okay. I'm here." The room falls silent as Sandy holds her breath, the only sound the ticking of the clock that seems to mock them with its relentless rhythm. Plankton's body gradually stills, his convulsions giving way to twitches. His hand slackens in hers, the tension draining from his fingers. Karen's eyes never leave his face, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet. "Look at me," she says, her voice full of love and determination. "You're safe with me." But Plankton is gone, lost in the labyrinth of his mind. His body is a statue, frozen in the grip of autism's cruel embrace. His eye, once vibrant and full of life, is now a dull, glazed orbit, staring into the distance. The clock's ticking has become a muffled throb, a background noise to his internal crisis. Karen's voice is a distant whisper, her love a warmth he can't quite feel through the fog of his disordered thoughts. She holds him, rocking gently, her screen filled with a desperate hope. Sandy, from her corner, can't tear her gaze away. The sight of Plankton, usually so vibrant and scheming, reduced to a trembling shell is a stark reality she never anticipated. Guilt weighs heavy on her shoulders. Karen feels the weight of his hand in hers. It's a silent communication, his only way of telling her that he's still with her, even if he can't say the words. Sandy wants to help, inching closer but still giving space. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt. Plankton remains unmoving, his body tense and rigid under the blanket. Karen holds him tightly, her own body shaking with sobs. "Come back to me," she pleads, her voice desperate. The clock's ticking seems to slow, each second a torturous eternity. Sandy stands still, her eyes fixed on the tragic scene before her, unable to offer comfort or understanding. Karen's sobs become whispers, her voice barely audible. "Come back," she pleads, her grip on his hand unyielding. "I need you." The silence stretches between them, thick and oppressive, filled only with the relentless ticking. The room feels like it's shrinking around them, the walls closing in. Plankton's body is a statue. Karen's voice is the only thing that pierces the veil of his panic, her touch the only thing that feels real. She whispers his name, her voice soothing like a lullaby. Slowly, Plankton's hand twitches, his antennae lifting slightly. The ticking of the clock becomes background noise again, the wallpaper's pattern ceases its maddening dance. But he still otherwise remains unmoving, unblinking. Sandy tries to engage with him. "Plankton, buddy, do you wanna talk about what happened?" But he doesn't respond, his gaze locked on the wall. "Can you tell me what's wrong?" she asks, her voice gentle. Karen shakes her head, wiping away her tears. "He's in a shutdown," she explains quietly. "It's like his brain has gone into overload and he can't process anything." Sandy nods, yet tries a different approach. "Hey, Plankton," she says softly, her voice a contrast to her earlier boisterousness. "What do you see when you look at that wall?" He doesn't answer, his body as still as the pictures hanging on the wall. Sandy's eyes well up with tears, her heart breaking for her friend. "Plankton, are you dreaming?" she asks, peering over. "Back," Karen whispers, not taking her screen off Plankton. "He's in a bad place right now." Sandy nods, her eyes swimming with tears. She understands now, the gravity of the situation dawning on her. "I'll make it right," she says, her voice determined. "I'll help you." Karen looks up at her, her own eyes red and puffy. "Thank you," she whispers, gratitude thick in her throat. "But for now, just let it be. We need to wait until he comes back to us." Sandy nods solemnly, backing away to give them space. She sits at the end of the couch.

CONSOLE TONSIL iii Plankton's eye fluttered open just enough to see Karen beside him. He felt groggy and disoriented, the events of the day a distant, hazy memory. He then notices Hanna brimming with tears. He blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog. "Karen," he croaked, his voice hoarse from surgery and emotional turmoil. "Hanna?" "I'm so sorry," Hanna choked out with regret. "I didn't mean to...I didn't know." "What happened?" he rasped. Karen's gaze softens. "You had a bit of a shutdown, Plankton," she said gently. "You've had a long day, and everything just became too much." The word 'burden' echoed in Plankton's mind. "Burden?" he managed to croak. "Hanna said something she didn't mean," she began,. "She didn't understand what she was saying, but she hurt you, and she's sorry." The word 'burden' it seemed, that fear had been given a voice. He looked from Karen to Hanna. "Burden," he said, barely a whisper. "Is that what you think of me?" Hanna looked stricken. "No, Plankton, I just..." Her voice trailed off. He had always known that he was different, that his size and his quirks set him apart from others. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We all have moments where we say things without thinking. But what's important is that you know you're not a burden to me, Plankton. You never have been, and never will be." Plankton's word 'burden' ringing. "Hanna didn't mean it, she just didn't understand." But the word had already taken root in Plankton's mind. Burden. The word resonated through Plankton but to be called a burden was something else entirely. "Plankton, I'm sorry," she said again, "I didn't know." But Plankton could only repeat the word. "Burden," he croaked. Karen reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, Plankton, you're not a burden," she said, her voice steady and firm. "You're loved and valued, just the way you are." "Burden," he murmured agai. "I'm a burden." "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle reprimand. "You are not a burden." But Plankton's eye remained fixed, voice a hollow echo. "Everything I do is a burden," he murmured. Karen squeezed his shoulder. "Plankton, please, don't say that." "Burden," Plankton whispered, voice barely a breath. Karen's heart broke at the sound of his self-loathing. "Plankton, you're not a burden," she insisted, her voice filled with compassion. "Am a burden," he repeated, the word sticking to his tongue like a sour candy. "What can I do?" Hanna asked, desperation seeping. "Listen," Karen said, turning to face her. "You need to understand that Plankton isn't just being dramatic. This isn't something you can just apologize for and expect him to get over. His brain works differently. He processes stress in a way that's unique to him. And when you said that..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the right words to express the gravity of the situation. "I'm a burden," Plankton murmured. "You're not a burden, Plankton," she said, her voice a soft, steady rhythm. "You're my friend, and I care about you." "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a quiet rebuttal. He was stuck in a loop of pain and she wasn't sure how to pull him out. "Plankton, you're not," she began, but he cut her off. "Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain. "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle plea. "You're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton replied, his voice a soft echo of despair, "is a burden." Karen tries to find the right words to cut through the fog of his pain. "Plankton," she said firmly, "you are not a burden. You're my husband, and my confidant." "But a burden," Plankton whispered, voice trembling. "I am burden." "Plankton, please," she said. "You're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a stubborn echo. "Everything I do is a burden." "No, Plankton," Karen insisted, her tone firm but filled with care. "You're not a burden. You're an essential part of this home." But the word 'burden' a heavy weight on his soul. "I'm not a burden," he murmured, the words barely a breath. "I'm not." "Right, you are not," Karen said. "You're so much more.." "Burden," his voice a quiet protest. "I'm just a burden." "You're not a burden," she said. "You're a companion, and a vital part of our lives." "But, burden," Plankton whimpered, his voice a sad refrain. "I is burden." Karen took his hand. "You are not," she said, her voice a gentle but firm declaration. "You're a unique and wonderful being, Plankton." "Plankton, burden," Plankton repeated, his voice a whisper of doubt. "I, burden." "Plankton," she said. "You are not a burden. You're a brilliant mind, and family." Plankton's word 'burden' still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. "But, Karen," he whispered, "I am burden." "No," Karen said firmly, voice unyielding. "You are not. You are treasure, a light in this world." Plankton blinked slowly, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a mournful chant. "But I burden," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. "Burdens, Plankton." "You are loved." "Karen," Plankton said, his voice shaking with emotion, "I burden." Karen leaned closer. "Plankton," she said softly, "you're not a burden. You're someone who brings joy and laughter into our lives." Plankton's gaze searched hers, the word 'burden' still clinging to his every thought. "But I burden," he murmured, his voice a sad echo. "You're a part of this home, a piece of our lives." But Plankton's mind was a tumultuous sea, the word 'burden' a stormy island he couldn't escape. "Burden," he said again, his voice a sad admission. Karen's looking for a way to bridge the gap between his pain and the truth. "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle reminder, "you're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton whispered, the word a sad acceptance in his mind. "I burden." "Plankton," she began, but he talked over her. "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a sad refrain. "Everything I do, burden." "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle but firm counterpoint. "Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet echo of despair. "Everything I do, a burden." Karen felt the urgency to reach him, to pull him out of the dark pit of his thoughts. "Plankton, you're not a burden." Plankton's eye remained unfocused, his voice a sad refrain. "Burden," he whispered, the word a painful acceptance. "Everything I do, I burden." "You're not a burden." "But, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain, "everything I do is burden." Karen's looking for any sign of the vibrant spirit she knew was there. But Plankton's gaze remained vacant, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a funeral bell. Karen knew she had to do something, had to find a way to break through the barrier that had been so carelessly built. She took a deep breath, reaching for the one thing she knew could always lift his spirits. "Remember the time we built that sandcastle?" she asked, her voice filled with the warmth of nostalgia. "The one with the moat that kept filling up with jellyfish?" Plankton's eye flickered with the ghost of a smile. "Jellyfish," a soft echo of a happier time. "Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. "Remember how we laughed when they kept popping the bubbles in the moat?" A flicker of life returned to Plankton's eye. "Burden, Bubbles," he murmured. Karen clung to the glimmer of hope. "And the karaoke nights? When you sang that sea shanty about the Krabby Patty?" "Krabby Patty," the words a soft echo of happier times. Karen's seeing the first crack in the wall of pain he had built around himself. She took his hand, voice filled with warmth. "Remember pranks we’d play on SpongeBob?" Plankton's gaze flickered with a glimmer of amusement. "Jellyfish," he murmured. Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And the time we accidentally turned the restaurant into a bubble bath?" "Bubble bath," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of the laughter they had shared. "Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "Remember how Mr. Krabs had to wear those ridiculous floaties because he couldn't swim in the bubbles?" Plankton's smile grew. "Floaties," he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice. Karen squeezed his hand. "See, Plankton. You're not a burden. You're a partner in crime, and the best roommate I could ask for." The room remained still, the only sound the steady beat of Plankton's heart. Then, ever so slowly, his smile grew, pushing back the shadows in his mind. "Karen," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. "Thank you." Hanna's pixel eyes widened with hope, the guilt still etched on her face. "Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. "I'm so sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. You're not a burden. You're...you're like family to us." Plankton's gaze shifted to her, the weight of her words a gentle nudge towards healing. "Family," he murmured, the word a tentative bridge over the chasm of his doubt. "Yes," Hanna said, her voice earnest. "I'm sorry for not understanding before. But I do now. And I'll do better." "You will?" he asked, a tentative thread of hope. "Yes," Hanna said with earnestness. "I'll learn, listen, and I'll be more considerate of how my words can affect." Karen nodded in approval, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "That's all we can ask," she said, her tone a gentle reprimand. "For you to understand and do better." Hanna's pixel eyes well up with tears. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she said, voice shaking. "I had no idea." Plankton's gaze softened, the word 'burden' slowly losing grip. Karen released a sigh of relief, tension in the room easing. "What's important," she said, her voice a gentle guide, "is that we all understand each other better now." Hanna nodded with remorse. "I'll do anything to make it right," she said, a solemn vow. Plankton looked from Karen to Hanna, the word 'burden' losing power. "Ok," he murmured. "I forgive."

They found themselves in the bustling lobby of the ocean's most renowned medical center, the Coral Reef Clinic. "You'll be fine," Karen assured, voice steady. "They're the best in the sea." Finally, a nurse called. She gave an encouraging smile. "I'll be right here. You're not in this alone." The doctor examined Plankton's throat. "My Plankton," he said, "you need a tonsillectomy." A tonsillectomy? The thought of surgery was more terrifying than facing SpongeBob and Patrick combined. But he nodded. "Okay," he whispered. The doctor explained the procedure Plankton nodded along. Karen listened intently. The doctor assured them it was a common procedure and that Plankton would be in good hands. Karen packed a bag with his favorite blanket and a few snacks, trying to keep her own anxiety in check. "Ready?" she asked, voice filled with forced cheerfulness. Plankton took a breath and nodded. Karen gave him a reassuring smile, and together they set off for the clinic. Once they arrived, Plankton was immediately whisked to a pre-op room. The nurse explained the process again. Karen stayed by his side, in silent support. The anesthetic began, and the world grew fuzzy around the edges. The last thing Plankton heard was the doctor's calming voice. "You're going to be just fine, Plankton. We'll take good care of you." Then, everything went dark. When he woke up, the world was a whirl. His throat felt as though someone had stuffed it with seaweed. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it was made of jelly. Plankton blinked slowly, struggling to focus. Karen chuckled softly. "That's the anesthesia, Plankton. It'll wear off soon." The nurse adjusted his pillows and offered him water. The cool liquid trickled down his throat, soothing. Plankton took a moment to settle before speaking again. "Did it...did it work?" "They got 'em out, Plankton. Your tonsils are no more." Plankton's eye widened. "Really?" Karen nodded again, smile growing. "Yes, really. You're on the mend now." Plankton's eye searched the room, still cloudy from the anesthesia. He spotted his favorite blanket folded neatly at the hospital bed. "Did you bring that?" he asked, voice slurred. "Of course," Karen said, her tone warm and soothing. "I knew it would make you feel better." The nurse, noticing his confusion, leaned in closer. "The anesthesia can make you feel a bit loopy for a while, it's completely normal." Plankton nodded, his movements slow and deliberate. "So, these are the... used to...to take them out?" Karen nodded, trying not to smile at his bewildered state. "They're just tools, Plankton. You won't remember anything. It's all over now." He blinked again, his eyelid feeling heavier than ever. "But...but how will I eat?" he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't worry," Karen said, stroking his forehead gently. "They'll start you on a soft diet, like algae smoothies." Plankton's eye drooped, a lazy grin spread across his face. "Algae...smoothies? Sounds...sounds delightful." His words trailed off, his eyelid grew heavy. Karen watched as he drifted to sleep. Despite his usual scheming ways, she knew he was good at heart. And she was determined to be there for him, every step of the way. As he slept, she took his hand in hers, gently stroking his arm. The nurse gave her a knowing look. "He'll be out for a few hours," she said softly. "Why don't you go get some fresh air?" Karen nodded, giving Plankton's hand a final squeeze before letting go. She made her way to the waiting area, thoughts swirling like the currents outside. The surgery had been a success, but the road to recovery would be a long one. She hoped he'd be ok. Plankton was still sleeping, breathing even. She looked over at him, his tiny form swaddled in the blanket. The room was quiet, save for the occasional beep of the heart monitor and the distant sound of water gently lapping against the shore. Karen leaned over and whispered, "Plankton, can you hear me?" He stirred slightly, eye fluttering open. "Karen?" croaked his voice barely audible. "I'm here. How do you feel?" Plankton's eye searched hers with a dull weariness. "Tired," he murmured. "But...it's gone?" "Yes, gone. You're going to start feeling better." The nurse, noticing Plankton awake, came over to check on him. She adjusted the monitors and took his vitals, confirming that everything was as it should be. "Looks like you're all set to go home," she said with a smile. "But remember, take it easy for the next few days." Karen lit up at the news. She gathered things, eager to get Plankton out and back to the comfort of the cafe. The nurse helped him into a wheelchair, and they began the journey to the exit. Once outside, the sun begun its descent. Karen pushed the wheelchair slowly, not wanting to jar him too much on the cobblestone path leading to their underwater vehicle. Plankton squinted against the light, eye still adjusting. Their ride home was quiet, the hum of the engine lulling Plankton to a doze. When they pulled into the cafe's docking area, Plankton stirred, his eye blinking open. They reached the small living area, and Karen helped Plankton into his favorite chair, tucked his blanket around him, making sure he was comfortable. He looked up at her with a tired smile, his eye shimmering with gratitude. "Thank you, Karen," he whispered, voice hoarse from the surgery. "No need to thank me," she replied, fussing over him. "I'm just happy you're ok." Plankton's eye searched hers, confusion swirling. "But...what happened?" "You had your tonsillectomy, Plankton remember?" Plankton's eye searched hers, the confusion deepening. "No," he croaked. "The last thing I remember is...being in pain." Karen's heart squeezed at the distress in his voice. "You don't remember the surgery?" Plankton shook his head, his eye wide with shock. "No, it's all...fuzzy. What happened?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Well, you went into surgery, and the doctors removed your tonsils. You've been asleep for a few hours." Plankton's eye grew wide. "Asleep?" he squeaked. "How could I have not known?" Karen nodded, stroking his arm gently. "It's the anesthesia.." Plankton's mind reeled, trying to piece together the events of the last few hours. Everything was a blur, a series of disjointed images and sounds that didn't quite make sense. He remembered the doctor's. But the surgery? It was as if it had never happened. He looked over at Karen. She had a smile on her face, as if she could read his thoughts. "You were out like a light," she said, voice soothing. "What's with the blanket?" "It's for your comfort," Karen said. "You're going to need to rest your voice." Plankton leaned back in the chair, eye drifting closed again. "I feel so...so peculiar," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like I've been swimming in a sea of bubbles." Karen chuckled. "It's anesthesia," she said. "You're acting like you've had one too many jellyfish jams." "Everything's spinning," he slurred, his speech still not quite right. Karen couldn't help but laugh with amusement. "Plankton. It'll wear off soon enough." Plankton's eye grew wide, and he tried to sit up, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Karen, I think...I think I'm floating," he said with wonder. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "You're not floating, Plankton. You're just still a bit out of it from anesthesia." "I swear, I can feel the bubbles!" Plankton giggled, his eye trying to follow invisible orbs floating in the air. His movements grew more exaggerated. "Look, Karen I'm swimming!" "Plankton, you're not floating," she said, her voice a gentle tease. "You're safe and sound." He looked at her with a goofy grin, eye still glazed over. "But I feel so...so light," he said, his voice trailing off into a giggle. "Like I could float." Karen couldn't help but smile at his silliness. It was a stark contrast to the fear and anxiety that consumed him earlier. "You're not going anywhere, Plankton," she said. "You need rest." "It's just...it's all so weird," he murmured, eye drifting shut again. "You're just tired," Karen said, her voice soothing. "Why don't you take a little nap?" Without another word, Plankton's eye slid shut, body slack. Karen watched him, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. She knew for now, he was at peace. Karen pulled the blanket up to his chin. She didn't want to leave his side. As hours passed, Plankton's snores grew softer. The sun sank below the horizon. Karen felt tension ease as she watched him sleep. When Plankton finally stirred again, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the moon through the windows. His eye blinked open, free of the anesthesia's haze. He looked around, his gaze settling on Karen. "Where...where am I?" Karen sat up. "You're home, Plankton," she said, voice gentle. "You had your tonsillectomy today." Confusion swam in Plankton's eye as he took in his surroundings. He felt a dull ache in his throat, a stark reminder of the day's events. "Home?" he croaked. Karen nodded. "You've been sleeping for a while," she said, her voice a gentle caress. "How do you feel?" "Thirsty," he managed to croak. Karen was at his side. She held a glass of water to his mouth, and he took a tentative sip. The cool liquid soothed his throat, and he sighed with relief. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice quiet. "What...what happened?" "You had your tonsillectomy," Karen reminded him, her tone soothing. "You're going to be ok." Plankton nodded, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in. The fear replaced by a new sensation: relief. ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷,𝟼𝟸𝟷

https://www.autismwellbeing.org.uk/downloadable-resources

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.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 12 (Autistic author) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 Sandy's eyes follow his finger as it traces through the grid. "Ah, here it is," she says, her voice a calm hum. "I'm gonna go find Karen, I'll be back!" But then Mr. Krabs, who hasn't had Plankton try to steal the formula since the fry pan incident, comes in to check and see what he's up to. "What are ye doing?" Mr. Krabs snaps, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why isn't this little troublemaker trying to steal me formula?" Plankton's antennae wilt at the sound of Mr. Krabs' gruff voice, his sensory haven shattered by the intrusion. Mr. Krabs storms into the room, his claws waving in the air. "What's this nonsense?" he barks, his voice a thunderclap to Plankton. "A book; more like some blueprints!" Mr. Krabs sneers, his claws snatching the word search from Plankton's trembling hands. Plankton's eye widens with horror as Mr. Krabs crinkles the pages, ripping up the book. Mr. Krabs rips the pages with a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with malice. "This is what happens when ye too cozy with the enemy," he says, his voice a harsh crackle as he tips the bookshelf onto the floor with a bang. Plankton's antennae snap back, his body tense with fear. The painful memory of the frying pan flashes through his mind, his voice a terrified static. "No!" he squeaks. Mr. Krabs looms over him, his eyes a cold, hard gleam. "What's wrong with ye?" he barks, his voice a rough scratch of sarcasm. "Ye gonna cry?" Plankton's eye fills with tears. "No," he whimpers. Mr. Krabs laughs, his cackle echoing through the room. "Look at the tiny thief, so scared of a little noise!" he sneers, his voice a grating static. Plankton's body shrinks, his antennae drooping. "Krabs," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. Mr. Krabs' laughter fills the room, his claws still gripping the torn pages. "Look at the wittle thief," he mocks, his voice a cruel cackle. Plankton's single eye darts around the room, seeking escape from the crushing wave of stimulation. The pressure of Mr. Krabs' stare is like a boulder on his chest. "What's the matter, Plankton?" Mr. Krabs sneers, leaning down so his face is inches from Plankton's. "Afraid I'll catch you red- handed?" Plankton's antennae flatten against his head, his breath quick and shallow. "No," he whispers, his voice a static hiss of fear. Mr. Krabs' looming presence is like a shadow over him, his voice a grating buzz. "What's the matter, Plankton?" he sneers. "Can't handle a little competition?" Plankton flinches, his antennae retracting. The pressure of the crab's eyes bore into his soul, his voice a panicked static. "No, Mr. Krabs, please," he whispers. Mr. Krabs' claw slams down onto the coffee table, the impact rattling everything on it. "I see," he says, his voice a cruel chuckle. "Ye've gone soft."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 14 (Autistic author) ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ They carefully lift Plankton into the car, his body tense with pain. Sandy slides into the driver's seat, her hands gripping the wheel. Her eyes meet Sponge Bob's in the rearview mirror, filled with resolve. "Ready?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Sponge Bob nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "Ready." Karen buckles Plankton in as his eye flutters. "Hold tight," Sandy says, her voice a steady rumble, as she starts the engine. The car's gentle purr is a contrast to the tension in the air. Sponge Bob sits in the back, his eyes trained on Plankton's face. His friend's tiny body is a tapestry of pain, but Sponge Bob's touch is a soft, steady beat, trying to soothe him. "It's okay, Plankton," he whispers, his voice a comforting whisper of reassurance. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye slightly focusing on Sponge Bob. "Mph," he murmurs, his voice a static hum of pain. Sponge Bob nods, his face a mask of determined compassion. "We're going to the Quiet Bubble Clinic," he says, his voice a soft, steady wave. "They'll know how to help you." Sandy's eyes are on the road ahead, her driving slow and precise. "Just hold on, Plankton," she says, her voice a comforting hum. "We're almost there." The Quiet Bubble Clinic comes into view, a softly lit building that seems to pulse with a gentle calm. Sandy parks the car and they carefully extract Plankton from his seat, his tiny body rigid. They enter the lobby, the air thick with the scent of calming essential oils. The lights are low, and the sounds muffled. A nurse with a gentle face approaches, her voice a soothing whisper. "What can we help with?" she asks, her eyes on Plankton's twisted leg. Sponge Bob explains quickly, his voice trembling with concern. "Mr. Krabs hurt his leg," he says, his eyes wide. "Krabs also hit his head with a fry pan, which caused Plankton autism as well as the accompaniment of sensitivities. But his leg hurts and needs fixed!" The nurse nods, her movements slow and deliberate. "We'll need to be careful with his heightened senses," she murmurs, her voice a soft melody. "Let's get him to a room." They navigate the hallways, the walls lined with soothing pictures and textures. Plankton's body is stiff with pain, his voice a static hiss with each step. "Please," he whispers, his antennae waving weakly. The nurse nods, her touch gentle as she leads them to a quiet, dimly lit exam room. "We need to fix your leg, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton's eye flutters open. The nurse's voice is a gentle lullaby. "We're going to take good care of you," she says, her eyes kind and understanding. Plankton's body shakes with fear and pain, his antennae pressed against his head. Sponge Bob squeezes his hand, his voice a comforting whisper. "You're going to be okay, Plankton," he says, his eyes filled with concern. The nurse nods, her gloved hands moving with precision. "We're going to need to put him under," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "It's the safest way to manage his pain and sensitivity." Plankton's antennae quiver with fear, his single eye darting back and forth. "Under what," he whispers. The nurse's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Anesthesia," she says softly, her voice a comforting hum. "It'll help you sleep through the surgery." Plankton's antennae twitch with anxiety, his voice a nervous static. "Sleep?" he repeats, his eye doubtful. "Plankton light sleeper." The nurse nods, her eyes calm. "We understand, sweetie," she murmurs. "We'll make sure you're comfortable." They prep him for surgery, the air in the room thick with his fear. Sponge Bob holds his hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on his palm. "It'll be over soon," he whispers, his voice a soothing wave. The doctor, a kind-eyed squid, enters the room, his tentacles moving with calming precision. "We're going to give you something to help you relax," he says, his voice a gentle trill. "We've ways to sedate. One, a pill tablet. Two, a liquid to drink. Three, nasally. Four, cream gel to numb the place the IV goes in but, it'll be inserted after he's asleep anyway. Now the first two options are taken orally, so they might take a moment to work..." "Drink; Plankton, drink.." Plankton manages, looking at a chart of diagrams which illustrate each method. The doctor nods, his tentacles steadily adjusting the bed. "Very good," he says, his voice a gentle wave of reassurance. He hands Plankton a small cup. "This is a special drink," he explains, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "It'll help you relax before surgery." Plankton's antennae twitch with anxiety as he takes the cup. He looks to Sponge Bob, whose grip on his hand tightens. "It's okay," Sponge Bob whispers, his voice a calming static. With a shaky hand, Plankton brings the cup to his mouth, his eye squeezed shut. He gulps down the liquid as they give him a blanket. He finishes the drink and hands the cup back. Sponge Bob's grip doesn't waver, his thumb still moving in soothing circles. "Good job, buddy," he whispers, his voice a gentle sea breeze. Sandy nods as Karen gives Plankton a kiss. The nurse's eyes are warm and comforting as she checks his vitals. "It won't be long now," she murmurs, her voice a soft hum of reassurance. Sponge Bob sits by the bed, his grip on Plankton's hand firm but gentle. "You're doing great," he says, his voice a calming whisper. Plankton's antennae twitch with the first wave of drowsiness, his eye slowly closing. The world around him begins to fade into a soft, fuzzy static. Sponge Bob watches, his grip on Plankton's hand unyielding. "It's going to be okay," he whispers, his voice a gentle rush of air. The anesthesia starts to take effect, Plankton's body gradually going slack, his breathing deepening. Sponge Bob's eyes follow the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, his grip on his hand tight. "You're okay, buddy," he whispers, his voice a gentle static. Plankton's antennae twitch one last time before stilling, his eye fully closed. The nurse nods, satisfied with his vitals. "He's out," she says as his soft snores fill the room.

ᔆʰᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ᴸᵉᵍ ♡ Wₒᵣd cₒᵤₙₜ ₋ ₆₅₇ ♡ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ "ᴴᵉ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵇʸ ⁿᵒʷ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʷⁱⁿᵈᵒʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ‧ ᴬᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʰᵉ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗᵃᵘʳᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵃ ᶠᵃⁱˡᵉᵈ ˢᶜʰᵉᵐᵉ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧" ᴺᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴬᵗ ᵃˡˡ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ; ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ?" ᔆʰᵉ ᵘʳᵍᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ˢʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ‧ "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‽" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ⸴ ʳᵒˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ⸴ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍ‧ "ᴼʰ⸴ ⁿᵉᵖᵗᵘⁿᵉ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᶜᵃⁿⁿᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ˡᵘᶜᵏⁱˡʸ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ ⁿᵒʳ ᶠʳᵃᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵇʳᵘⁱˢᵉᵈ ˡᵉᵍ ˢʷᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇˡᵘⁿᵗ ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ ᵗʳᵃᵘᵐᵃ‧ ᴰᵉᵉᵖ ˢᶜʳᵃᵗᶜʰᵉˢ⸴ ᵃˢ ʷᵉˡˡ‧ "ᴼʰ ᵈᵉᵃʳ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵗʳᵉᵐᵇˡᵉᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵃᵈˡʸ ʰᵘʳᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵉˡˡ ᵐᵉ ʷʰᵃ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵇ⁻ᵇᵘᵗ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵍ⁻ᵍᵒᵗ ˢᵖᵃᵗᵘˡᵃ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏⁱᵗᶜʰᵉⁿ ᵃ⁻ᵃⁿᵈ ʰ⁻ʰ⁻ʰᵘʳᵗ ᵐ⁻ᵐʸ ˡᵉᵍ ʰ⁻ʰᵘʳᵗˢ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵐᵘᵐᵇˡᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡⁱˢᵗᵉⁿᵉᵈ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵐⁱˡᵏ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʰᵉ'ᵈ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵐⁱˡᵏ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒᵖᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ'ᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴴᵉ ˡᵉᵗ ʰᵉʳ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐⁱˡᵏ ʰᵉˡᵖⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵈʳⁱⁿᵏ ⁱᵗ‧ "ᴶᵘˢᵗ ʳᵉˢᵗ‧" "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸ⁻ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵉˡᵉᵛᵃᵗᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ⁿᵒʷ ᵇᵃⁿᵈᵃᵍᵉᵈ ˡᵉᵍ‧ "ᴵ ˡ⁻ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢ⁻ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ˢˡⁱᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉᵈ ˢʰᵘᵗ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ'ˢ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢʰᵉ ᵖᵘˡˡᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳˢ; ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵇˡʸ ˡᵉˢˢ ᵗᵉⁿˢᵉ ᵃˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ˡᵃˣ⸴ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵖᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ˢˡᵃᶜᵏ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵇᵉ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ʳᵉˢᵗ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵐⁱˡᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵒᵇᵛⁱᵒᵘˢˡʸ ʰᵉˡᵖᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʷᵉˡˡ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵉⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴮᵘᵗ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ⸴ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ⁱⁿ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ʰᵃᶻʸ ᵈᵉᵗᵃⁱˡˢ⸴ ⁱᶠ ᵃⁿʸ‧ ᴬᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢᵗʳᵒᵏᵉ ʰⁱˢ ᵃⁿᵗᵉⁿⁿᵃᵉ ᵇʸ ʳᵘⁿⁿⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ ᶠⁱⁿᵍᵉʳˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵇᵘᵗ⸴ ⁿᵒʷ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᶠᵒʳ; ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ˢᵗⁱᵐᵘˡᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ˢʰᵉ ʰᵉˡᵖᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁱⁿ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ⁿᵒʷ ˢᵒ ˢʰᵉ ˡᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᶠᶠ ʷᵒʳᵏ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ⸴ ᴵ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵍᵒ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱᶠ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗᵒʳˢ‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵗᵒᵒᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ʷᵃʸ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ'ˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵉʸ⸴ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᶠˡᵘᵗᵗᵉʳˢ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ "ᵁʳʳᵍʰ⸴ ʷʰᵃᵃᵃᵗ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ‧ "ᵁⁿʰ ʷʰᵉ⁻ʷʰᵉʳᵉ⸴ ʷʰᵃᵃ⁻ ʰᵃᵖ⁻ᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ?" "ᴼʰ⸴ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ‧‧ ʸᵒᵘ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵉᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳʳᵘᵖᵗˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵒʷ ʳᵘⁿⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴴᵉ ʰᵘᵍˢ⸴ ʳᵉˢᵘˡᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵍᵃˢᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ʰⁱᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ʸᵉˡᵖ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ ᵉᵃˢʸ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵇᵃᵈˡʸ ʰᵘʳᵗ‧" "ᴼʰ; ˢᵒʳʳʸ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˡᵉᵗ ᵍᵒ‧ "ᴵᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵃᵘˡᵗ ᵏⁱᵈ‧ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ⸴ ʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵉᵈᵍᵉᵈ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜʰᵃᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵘⁿʳᵉˡᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ'ˢ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗˢ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵗᵃˡᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗᵉʳ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗˢ‧ "ᵂᵉˡˡ ᴵ ᵒᵘᵗᵗᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ; ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ⁿᵒʷ‧ "ᴴᵒʷ'ˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵉᵍ ᶠᵉᵉˡ?" "ᔆᵗⁱˡˡ ᵇᵃᵈ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ ⁿᵉᵃʳˡʸ ᵃˢ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵃˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ⁱ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵍᵒᵗ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳᵉᵈ‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ "ᴵ'ˡˡ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʳᵉˢᵗ ⁿᵒʷ; ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ʷᵉˡˡ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ⸴ ˢᵐᵒᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ˢʰᵉᵉᵗˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍ‧ ᴳᵒⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ˢʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵉ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ᵈʳᵒᵒˡ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈʳⁱᵇᵇˡᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ‧ ᔆᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ⁿᵒʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧ ᴮʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ˢʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ⸴ ʰᵉ'ˢ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵈʳᵒᵒˡ ᵒⁿ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ ᵈʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ʷⁱᵖᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵘⁿʷʳᵃᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃⁿᵈᵃᵍᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵉᵍ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵘⁿʳᵃᵛᵉˡˢ ⁱᵗ‧ "ᴵᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡˢ ʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ ᵐᵒˢᵗˡʸ ʰᵉᵃˡᵉᵈ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵉˣᶜˡᵃⁱᵐᵉᵈ‧ "ᴶᵘˢᵗ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃʳᵉᶠᵘˡ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵒˢᵗᵖᵒⁿᵉ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ; ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵍᵒ ʷᵒʳᵏ ⁿᵒʳ ᵍᵒ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᵏʳᵃᵇ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ⸴ ʳᵒˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ "ᴸᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ!"

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 7 (Neurodivergent author) Hanna's pixel eyes fill with tears, her hand hovering over her mouth in shock. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice trembling like a leaf. The room is a frozen tableau, everyone at a loss for words. But Karen is unflappable. Her eyes dart around the room, assessing, planning. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice a steady beacon. "Let's just move aside, give him some space." They retreat to the couch, the cushions swallowing them like a sea anemone. Plankton's body is a ragdoll in her arms, his antennae limp with exhaustion. Karen keeps her screen calm, a bastion of serenity. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice a ghost in the silence. "It's ok," Karen reassures him, her voice a gentle caress. "You don't have to apologize." She rubs his back as he leans on her shoulder, tired out. The room feels smaller now, the air thick with the weight of new understanding. Hanna's friends are finishing up dinner still in the kitchen. Karen knows they mean well, but their energy is a stark contrast to the quiet Plankton needs. Her hand on his back, Karen guides his breathing, her voice a lullaby against the storm of the evening. "Breathe in," she whispers, "and out." Her touch is a gentle tide, washing over him, soothing his frayed nerves. His body relaxes, his antennae dropping like tired leaves to her shoulder. The room is a sanctuary again, the chaos outside forgotten as they find solace in their quiet corner. "You're safe," she murmurs. "I've got you." Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, a comforting rhythm that Plankton's body craves. His antennae droop, his breathing evening out as he nestles closer. The couch is a life raft in the tumultuous sea of Hanna's house, and Plankton clings to her like a drowning sailor to a rope. His tiny body, once a taut bowstring, now relaxes into the embrace of sleep. Karen feels the weight of his head, a trust so profound it's like an anchor in the storm. His antennae droop, no longer the frantic sails of a ship in distress. She adjusts her position, shifting slightly to support him better, her arm a gentle cradle. The room's sounds become distant whispers, the waves of conversation fading into the background. Plankton's breathing slows. Karen watches him sleep, his antennae twitching slightly with each snore as his mouth slackens open. Patricia comes in the living room to check on them. "How's he doin’?" she asks, her voice a hushed whisper. Karen glances up, a soft smile playing on her lips. "He's ok," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "Just exhausted." Patricia nods, her face a portrait of concern. "What can I do to help?" she asks, her eyes searching for a way to ease the burden. Karen looks at her, the question a beacon in the fog. "Just...give us a little more time," she says, her voice a soft shush. "Let him rest." Patricia nods, retreating quietly to the kitchen, the clack of her heels a mournful tune on the hardwood floor. The couch is their sanctuary, their quiet island in the sea of Hanna's home. Karen's arm is a makeshift cradle for Plankton's head, his antennae brushing against her neck. The weight of his body is a silent testament to his trust in her, and she holds it with the care of a pearl diver handling the most delicate of treasures. The room is a canvas of shadows, the candles now mere embers in the distance. Plankton's snores are the rhythm of their solace, each breath a testament to the resilience that lies within him. Karen's thoughts drift like seaweed in the tide of her concerns. What will tomorrow bring? How can she shield him from the storms of misunderstanding? But in this moment, she focuses on the present, her eyes tracing the lines of his sleeping form. Plankton's antennae have stopped twitching, his body at peace in her embrace. The soft snores, a symphony of security, fill the quiet space between them. The house has quieted down, the dinner party's echoes a distant memory. Hanna and her friends have retreated to the kitchen, their whispers like the gentle lapping of waves. Plankton is a bundle of quiet energy in her arms, his antennae twitching in his sleep. Karen can feel the steady throb of his heart, a lullaby that matches his breathing. She strokes his back in a comforting rhythm, his body a warm, comforting weight against her. The candles have burned down to nubs, the room bathed in a soft glow. His antennae rest against her neck, a silent communication of trust. Her eyes trace the contours of his sleeping form, his body a puzzle she's come to understand. The quiet whispers of the kitchen are a comforting backdrop to the symphony of his snores. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on his back, each motion a declaration of support. The room's shadows dance around them, a ballet of understanding, a rhythm that's become their own. Plankton's antennae are limp, his body a testament to his exhaustion. The couch is their sanctuary in a sea of uncertainty. Her arm is a mooring, holding him steady in the tumult of his own mind. His breathing is a metronome, a soothing rhythm. With each inhale and exhale, she feels the tension in his body melt away, his snores a comforting reminder that he's safe. Her eyes trace the soft lines of his face, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The room is a symphony of silence, the couch their tiny boat adrift in the vast ocean of Hanna's house. Plankton's antennae, once a flurry of nervous energy, now hang limply. Karen's eyes are the moon, watching over him as he slumbers, his trust in her a glowing beacon in the dark. Her hand, a gentle tide, strokes his back, each caress a reminder of her steadfast support. His snores are the lullaby of the sea, each breath a testament to his newfound peace.

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 4 (Neurodivergent author) Mr. Krabs's expression shifts from shock to one of bewilderment. "Plankton, I don't understand," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton shakes his head, his antennae trembling. "You never did," he snaps back. The accusations come out in a torrent, each one cutting deeper than the last. "You used me, manipulated me, all for your stupid secret formula!" His voice shakes with anger, his eye filling with unshed tears. Karen's grip tightens on his arm, but she doesn't speak, knowing he needs this moment of release. Mr. Krabs's face falls, the weight of Plankton's words a blow he wasn't expecting. "I-I-I've always treated ya like a friend!" he stammers, his claws grabbing Plankton's shoulders. And that's what did it. Plankton's body tenses, and his eye rolls back in his head. A chilling silence descends as his legs give out, and he crashes to the floor. His body convulses, limbs flailing uncontrollably. Karen knew it'd happen, but seeing it happen to Plankton is a horror she wasn't emotionally prepared for, but she knew to stay calm. She knew the protocol. Mr. Krabs, still in shock from Plankton's accusations, watches the scene unfold with horror. "What's happening?" he stammers, his claws hovering uselessly. Karen's voice is a beacon of calm amidst the chaos. "It's a seizure," she explains, kneeling beside her husband. "I need you to stay calm." Her voice is steady, her eyes never leaving Plankton's contorting form. Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes widening with fear. He's read about this, seen it once in a medical textbook, but never thought it would happen to someone so close. He watches as Karen carefully moves any objects out of harm's way, cushioning Plankton's head with a pillow. The room seems to spin around them, each second stretching into eternity. The seizure lasts only a few moments, but to Karen, it feels like hours. When it's over, Plankton's body goes still, his breathing shallow. Her hand shakes as she checks his pulse, feeling the thunder of her own heart in her chest. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice trembling. "You're okay." Mr. Krabs is unsure. "It's okay," she murmurs, her hand stroking his antennae. "It's over now." Plankton's breathing deepens, his body slowly relaxing with a twitch. She looks at Mr. Krabs, her expression a mix of relief and exhaustion. "He'll be okay," she assures, her voice a lifeline in the storm of silence. Mr. Krabs nods, still in shock. "What...what do we do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen sighs, knowing the road ahead won't be easy, but she's determined to navigate it with Plankton. They manage to get Plankton to his feet, his body weak and his mind still groggy from the seizure. His eye darts around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Karen's voice is soft, a gentle guide leading him back to reality. "Let's go to the couch," she says, her arm supporting his weight. Mr. Krabs watches, his claws fidgeting nervously. "Should I... call someone?" he asks, his voice full of uncertainty. Karen shakes her head. "We have to keep it calm," she whispers. "The aftermath can be just as overwhelming." They sit on the couch, Plankton's body leaning heavily into hers. Her arm is around him, her hand stroking his antennae in a rhythm designed to soothe. He looks up at her, his eye still a little wild. "What happened?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "You had a seizure," Karen explains gently, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "It's part of your autism, sweetie. It's okay." She can see the fear in his gaze, the unspoken questions. She pulls a blanket over his shoulders, his body shaking from the residual adrenaline. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching as he tries to process the information. He looks down at his trembling hands, wondering how they could have betrayed him so suddenly. Karen hands him a glass of water, her fingers brushing against his in a silent promise of support. He takes a sip, the cool liquid sliding down his throat, helping to clear the fog in his mind. "I'm...sorry," Plankton mumbles, his voice barely a whisper. He looks up at Mr. Krabs, who's still standing awkwardly by the door. "I didn't mean to...to accuse you..." His antennae droop with regret. Mr. Krabs's expression softens, his eyes filling with understanding. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "We all have our moments." He takes a tentative step forward. "What can I do?" Karen glances at him, gratitude warring with the protectiveness she feels for Plankton. "Just give us some space," she says, her tone firm but not unkind. "We need to get him through this." Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his face a mix of sadness and concern. "I understand," he says, his voice thick. He backs out of the room, his eyes never leaving Plankton's huddled form. The door clicks shut, and the room feels smaller, safer. Karen's arm tightens around his shoulders, her warmth a shield against the cold world outside. Plankton leans into her, his body still shaking slightly. He starts to calm down, the tremors fading like ripples in a pond. "I'm...I'm okay," he whispers, his antennae stilling. Karen nods, her eyes searching his face for any sign of distress. "Do you want to take a nap?" she suggests softly. Plankton nods, his eye drooping with exhaustion. They move to the bedroom, the light dimming as they go. Karen helps him into bed, his limbs feeling like jelly. The blankets are a cocoon, his retreat from the world. Her hand brushes his antennae, a silent assurance as she leaves him to the embrace of slumber. He closes his eye, letting the comfort of the darkness envelop him. His body relaxes into the softness of the mattress, his muscles melting away the tension of the day. The bed's embrace is like a gentle whisper, telling his overstimulated mind to rest, to let go. He sighs, his antennae dropping to the pillow like tired leaves in the fall. Meanwhile, Karen goes to Mr. Krabs, who's waiting outside the chum bucket. "I'm sorry for Plankton's outburst," she says, her eyes apologetic. Mr. Krabs waves a dismissive claw. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says. "He's been through a lot today." Karen nods, her expression serious. "It's more than that," she says, her voice low. "He's autistic." Mr. Krabs's eyes widen, his understanding dawning, a newfound respect in his gaze. "I had no idea," he murmurs. "How can I help?" "Just be patient," Karen replies. "And maybe...maybe we can talk later, after he's had some rest." Mr. Krabs nods, his expression thoughtful. "Of course," he says, his voice subdued. "Whatever he needs."

** ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵗⁱᶜ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵐ ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᴬᴵ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐʸ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * One fateful afternoon, Plankton meandered along the beach, lost in thought, an unexpected event unfolded. A tennis match, played by tourists near by, sent stray balls hurtling towards him. A tennis ball struck him squarely on the head. As he stumbled to his feet, dizzy and disoriented, the world around him had changed. Plankton found himself struggling with simple tasks that once came so naturally. His job at the local bait shop grew increasingly difficult as he often forgot names. His social interactions grew strained, as he found it hard to read the subtle cues of conversation and often took things too literally. The doctor's diagnosis was clear: the impact had left him with a mild form of autism for life. Karen, ever the rock in their marriage, took the news with a mix of shock and determination. She knew this would be a journey of adaptation for both of them. She dedicated herself to helping Plankton navigate the new landscape of his reality. His mind, now more analytical and detail-oriented, sought patterns and understanding in the overwhelming information. It was as if he had developed an insatiable hunger for knowledge, and this soon dominated their dinner conversations. "Karen," he began, "I've been thinking about the diagnosis." They were at the kitchen table. She looked up from her plate. "We can just keep this between us, Sheldon." "Karen," Plankton insisted, "I think we need to consider what this means for the Chum Bucket." "The Chum Bucket will be fine. You're still you. Just with a different way of seeing the world. You're seeing patterns no one else does. Let's focus on how we can harness that instead of worrying about what you lost." The idea took root in Plankton's mind, growing into a newfound sense of purpose. If he couldn't outsmart Krabs in their usual cat-and-mouse game, perhaps he could out-pattern him. His mind raced with the possibilities, the wheels of his imagination spinning faster than ever before. "If I could see patterns where he doesn't, we could finally steal the Krabby Patty secret!" He began to fidget in his chair, his legs bouncing up and down, a silent metronome to his racing thought. "But what if Krabs finds out? You know how he is, Karen. If he gets even the slightest whiff of weakness, he'll be on us." Karen nodded solemnly. "But you're not weak, Plankton. You're just... different. And if he does we'll deal with it together like everything else." Her words resonated with him and a newfound resolve shone in his eye. "You're right," he murmured. "We'll turn this into an advantage." Plankton retreated to his lab, the cobwebs of doubt slowly giving way to a tangible plan. He pored over blueprints and formulae, his mind racing with thoughts with his newfound focus, a stark contrast to the days when he had flitted from one idea to the next without clear direction. He dissected every encounter with Krabs, searching for patterns in his rival's behavior. His mind was a whirlwind of calculations, predicting Krabs' every move, anticipating his countermoves, and preparing for the ultimate heist. His once cluttered lab now had a method to its madness. The floor was clear of scattered inventions, and his desk was organized into neat piles of notes. His thoughts were no longer scattered; they were sharp. Karen supported him, bringing him snacks and encouraging him to take breaks, for she knew that his mind was fully consumed by his mission. The day finally came when Plankton announced that he was ready to put his new skills to the test. "Karen," he said with a steely glint in his eye, "I'm going to the Krusty Krab." "But Plankton, You haven't been since before..." "It's time. I've figured out a pattern in Krabs' security. There's a blindspot during the lunch rush." Plankton set out. The restaurant bustled with the usual sea of patrons, a cacophony of noise that Plankton found both overwhelming and fascinating. He took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand, and slipped inside. Making his way to the back, he spotted the safe in Krabs' office. His new analytical mind dissected the room with ease, noting the routine of the employees, the subtle cues in their movements that pointed to the flow of customers, and the exact moment when the chaos of the lunch rush would hit its peak. Timing was everything, and Plankton knew the moment had arrived. He slipped into the office. The combination lock stared back at him, a silent sentinel to the secret he sought. His mind raced through the patterns he had observed in Krabs' behavior, the way he tapped his claw against the desk when nervous, the time he took to drink his tea, the exact moment when his gaze would flick to the safe when the topic of the Krabby Patty formula came up. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye tracing the dial as he dialed in the sequence. The clicks of the tumblers falling into place were the sweetest symphony he had ever heard. With trembling hands, he pulled the heavy door open, revealing the treasure trove with in. His eye fell upon the secret bottle, its contents a murky mystery that could change his life forever. His heart thudded in his chest, a drum roll to the crescendo of his plan. "Plankton!" boomed a voice. He whirled around to find Mr. Krabs, claws balled into fists. The room spun, and the noises of the restaurant outside grew distant. "What do you think you're doing?" Krabs demanded, his eyes bulging with rage. Plankton's brain scrambled for a lie, but his newfound honesty and directness took over. "I've come for the Krabby Patty secret." Mr. Krabs sneered, "You're insane, Plankton. You'll never understand the brilliance of me creation." "But I see patterns now, where I used to see only chaos.." Plankton trails off before he could reveal more. Mr. Krabs took a step closer. "What are you talking about? Patterns? I don't know what you're blabbering on about, but you're not leaving here with that!" He lunged, but Plankton was ready. Using his heightened senses and the patterns he had studied, Plankton sidestepped the attack with surprising grace. The Krabby Patty secret was in his grasp, but he knew to take it back to the Chum Bucket. He sprinted out of the office. The din of the restaurant faded into the background as he weaved through the kitchen, dodging flying spatulas and the frenetic dance of the cooks. The heat from the grills washed over him but he didn't flinch. His eye remained locked on the swinging doors to the alley outside. Karen was waiting for him. Without a word, she opened the hidden hatch that led back to the Chum Bucket. Plankton squeezed through, the warmth of the stolen secret a comforting weight. They descended into the dimly lit lab. Karen looked at him with a mix of amazement and pride. "You did it," she whispered. Plankton's chest heaved with the exertion of his escape. "Yes," he panted, "but Krabs knows I have it." Plankton carefully removed the paper from the bottle, his eye scanning the list. The words and numbers swam but he focused, his mind slicing through the jumble. The list was not in English, but a cryptic code that only Krabs could decipher. The symbols and letters danced in a maddening ballet, but he could feel the tide of understanding beginning to turn. His mind raced, piecing together the puzzle with a speed and precision that astonished even him. He turned to Karen. "It's a code based on the Fibonacci sequence!" "Fibonacci?" Plankton nodded fervently, his antennae waving with excitement. "It's a numerical sequence, Karen. One, one, two, three, five, eight... It appears in nature, in the spiral of a shell, the arrangement of leaves on a stem, the branching of trees. It's a pattern that's been used in everything from art to mathematics!" Karen's trying to make sense of the seemingly random strings of digits and letters. "But how? Nevermind, I hear Krabs breaking in!" Plankton began to recite the ingredients in their proper order, translating the code as he went. "Kelp powder, four... Tartar sauce, one... Mustard seeds, three... Onion powder, five!" The lab door crashed open and Mr. Krabs' furious red face filled the doorway. "Give it back, you tiny menace!" But Plankton was already several steps ahead. With lightning-quick reflexes, he transferred the information from the paper to his photographic memory, his mind now a fortress that contained the Krabby Patty's sacred recipe. Krabs snatched the paper with a snarl, his claw closing around it like a vice. He glared at Plankton, eyes alight with fury. "You think you're so clever don't you?" But Plankton remained silent. The code was in his mind now and no one could take that from him. He had outsmarted Krabs with his own patterns, using the very neurodivergence that had made him feel weak to gain the upper hand. Mr. Krabs looked from the paper to Plankton and back again with suspicion, his claw tightening around the seemingly worthless paper. "You think you've won?" he spat. "You'll never understand the genius behind me Krabby Patties!" With that, Mr. Krabs stormed out of the Chum Bucket with his usual sneer, the worthless paper clutched in his claw. Plankton watched him go, his heart racing. He had done it. He had bested Krabs. As the echo of the slammed door faded away, he turned to Karen, his eye alight with victory. "We've got it," he whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. "The Krabby Patty secret is ours."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 15 (Autistic author) ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ Sandy and Sponge Bob leave the room while Karen stays for the surgery. The doctor's tentacles move with practiced ease. The room hummed with a gentle consistency of medical equipment, designed to avoid jarring sounds. The doctor's eyes were focused, his voice a steady rhythm of instructions for the nurse. She put the IV in, a swift and precise motion, and Plankton's snores remained undisturbed. The surgery begins, each movement calculated to minimize pain. The doctor's tentacles dance around the broken limb, his touch as light as a feather. The smell of antiseptic hangs in the air, but it's faint, not overwhelming. Plankton's body lies still, his snores the only sound besides the low whisper of instruments coating the bone. The nurse's eyes flick to the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking by like a metronome to the rhythm of the doctor's work. The room is a symphony of soft sounds: the steady beep of the heart monitor, the low mumble of the doctor's instructions. Plankton's tiny body lies motionless, his snores the only evidence of life. They put his leg in a cast and unhook the IV. Sponge Bob and Sandy wait outside, their minds racing with worries and hope. Their conversation is whispers, not wanting to disturb the peaceful hum of the Quiet Bubble Clinic. The nurse beckons them back in. "The surgery was a success," she says, her voice a gentle gust of relief. Plankton lies in the bed, his leg now encased in a cast. His snores are quieter, his body less tense. Sponge Bob and Sandy hover by his side, their eyes locked on his peaceful face. "But we need to be prepared for his waking," the nurse continues, her voice a soft warning. "He might wake up feeling disoriented or overwhelmed. Also, it takes time for the anesthesia to fully wear off, so he might be groggy and silly, sleepy or even a bit forgetful." They nod, their expressions a mix of gratitude and anticipation. The doctor enters the room, his tentacles wiped clean of any sign of surgery. "He'll need to stay here for a bit, to recover," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "But you can stay with him. After he's fully awake, you can take him home! Just be careful, of course." Sponge Bob's eyes light up, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. "We'll make sure he's okay," he says, his voice a promise. Sandy nods, her face a mask of determined calm. "Thank you," Karen says, her voice a gentle hum of appreciation. The doctor nods, his tentacles flicking a dismissive wave. "It's what we're here for," he says, his voice a warm rumble. "Now, let's get him settled." They work together, Sponge Bob and Sandy supporting Plankton as they move his bed to a recovery room, his body still asleep as Karen holds his hand. The room is painted with soft, soothing colors, and the bed is surrounded by pillows and blankets that seem to swallow his small frame. The lights are dimmed, a stark contrast to the stark whites and harsh florescents of a normal hospital. Sponge Bob sits on the chair beside his bed, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping face. The gentle whirl of a fan in the corner provides white noise, a comforting constant hum that fills the silence. Sandy sits on the other side, her hand resting lightly on the foot of the bed. Her eyes are glued to a book titled "Understanding Neurodivergence in Friends," her expression focused. Karen meanwhile was holding his other hand. Plankton's antennae twitches as the gentle hum of the recovery room starts to pierce his slumber. His single eye opens to a sliver, taking in the soft, blurry world around him. He blinks, trying to focus, and sees Karen first. "Hey, buddy," she says, her voice a warm buzz of comfort. "You're okay." Plankton's eye widens, his brain foggy from the anesthesia. "Wheh..." he starts, his voice a static whisper. Sponge Bob's hand squeezes his gently. "You're at the Quiet Bubble Clinic," he says, his voice a soft wave of reassurance. "You had your leg fixed." Plankton's antennae wave slowly, his eye blinking as realization sets in. "Mr. Krabs," he whispers, his voice a static memory of pain. Sponge Bob's thumb pauses in its comforting rhythm. "Don't worry about him now," he says, his voice a gentle lapping of waves. "You're safe here." Plankton's antennae twitch with confusion, his mind a foggy storm of memories. He tries to sit up, but the nurse's firm hand gently pushes him back down. "Easy," she whispers, her voice a soft breeze. "You need to rest." Sponge Bob's face is a picture of relief as Plankton's eye focusses on him. "Remember, buddy?" he asks, his voice a gentle reminder. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae quiver with the echoes of pain, but the soothing presence of his friends begins to anchor him. He nods slightly, his voice a static rustle. "Sandy?" he asks, his gaze shifting to her. Sandy looks up from her book, her eyes soft. "I'm here," she says, her voice a gentle hum. She sets the book aside and takes his hand. Plankton's antennae twitch with confusion, his eye darting around the room. The softness of the pillows and the gentle hum of the fan are alien to him. "Where...?" he whispers, his voice a static question. The nurse's smile is a beacon of calm. "You're at the Quiet Bubble Clinic," she says, her voice a comforting trill. "You're safe." Plankton's mind is a swirl of fuzzy images and half-remembered fears. He tries to piece together what happened, his antennae flailing for answers. The nurse's voice is a gentle guide, leading him through the mist. "You had surgery," she murmurs, her eyes kind. "Your leg is fixed now. Just rest." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, trying to comprehend the words. The pain is gone, replaced by a dull throb and the weight of the cast. He nods, his body still feeling the aftermath of the anesthesia's embrace. The room is a soft blur, the edges of his vision dancing with colors. He tries to lift his head, but it feels too heavy. Sponge Bob's grip is steady, keeping him grounded as the world slowly sharpens. Plankton's thoughts are like bubbles popping in the sea, each one briefly forming before disappearing into the depths. The nurse's voice is a distant lullaby, guiding his consciousness back to the surface. He blinks again, his vision slowly coming into focus. The nurse's face swims into view, her smile a lifeline in the murky water of his confusion. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple. "Just rest." The room sways like an underwater garden, the soothing sounds of the recovery room a soft symphony that Plankton can't quite place. His mind is a kaleidoscope of half-formed thoughts. Sponge Bob's hand is a steady beacon, the gentle squeeze a comforting reminder that he's not alone. Plankton's eye widens as he takes in the sight of his friend, his face a canvas of concern. "You're okay," Sponge Bob whispers, his voice a gentle wave washing over the static in Plankton's mind. Suddenly, Sponge Bob's phone beeps, a video call request from an unexpected name: Mr. Krabs. Sandy's eyes widen and she looks at Sponge Bob, who nods slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. He accepts the call, the screen filling with the familiar craggy face of their grumpy neighbor. Mr. Krabs looks sheepish, his eyes darting around the screen. "Plankton," he starts, his voice a gruff whisper. "I heard what happened with the autism and broken leg.." Sponge Bob's grip on Plankton's hand tightens, his face a mask of caution. Plankton's antennas quiver with apprehension. "What Krabs want?" Plankton mumbles, his voice a static hiss. His single eye narrows. Mr. Krabs clears his throat, his face a portrait of discomfort. "Look, Plankton, I... I wanted to say... I'm sorry." His eyes dart to the side, avoiding the camera. Plankton's antennae stand on end, his eye unblinking. "What for?" he asks, his voice a wary whisper. Mr. Krabs' face scrunches up, his claws fidgeting with his apron strings. "For, uh, you know, the frying pan... and the... uh, everything." Plankton's antennae twitch with surprise, his voice a static hush. "Why?" Mr. Krabs looks away, his eyes anywhere but on the screen. "I know I've been... rough on you lately," he says, his voice a gruff rumble. "And I didn't know about the... the autism thing. It's just, the Krabby Patty formula is all I've got, and I can't... I don't know how to make it up to ye but I just called to let ye know." Plankton's antennae quiver with shock, his eye wide. "Mr. Krabs," he whispers, his voice a static hum. "Is this... real?" Mr. Krabs nods, his face a map of regret. "Yeah, it's me," he says, his voice a gruff mumble. "I know I've not been the best... neighbor, or... frenemy." Sponge Bob's eyes are wide, his grip on Plankton's hand unwavering. Sandy's jaw is slack with disbelief. "Mr. Krabs," Karen's voice is a cautious whisper. "That's... really nice of you to say." Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes returning to the screen. "It's just, I've seen what you've gone through, and I... I shouldn't have hurt you." His claws fiddle with his apron, a rare show of vulnerability. "And I forgive ye."

Can Brain Damage Cause Autism? Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While some studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is not a direct cause of autism. Ruben Kesherim November 1, 2023 Understanding Autism and Brain Damage To fully comprehend the potential link between autism and brain damage, it is essential to understand the individual components involved. This section will provide an overview of autism, brain damage, and explore the connection between the two. What is Autism? Autism, also known as Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), is a complex neurodevelopmental condition that affects social interaction, communication, and behavior. People with autism may exhibit a wide range of symptoms, including difficulties in social interactions, repetitive behaviors, and sensory sensitivities. Autism is believed to have a strong genetic component, although the exact cause remains largely unknown. What is Brain Damage? Brain damage refers to any injury or harm to the brain that disrupts its normal functioning. It can occur as a result of various factors, including accidents, infections, strokes, tumors, and traumatic brain injuries (TBI). Brain damage can lead to a wide range of cognitive, physical, and behavioral impairments, depending on the location and severity of the injury. The Link Between Autism and Brain Damage Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While some studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is not a direct cause of autism. It is important to note that autism is a complex condition with multiple contributing factors, and brain damage might be just one of them. Case studies and findings have provided insights into individuals who experienced brain damage and subsequently displayed autistic-like symptoms. However, such cases are relatively rare, and the exact mechanisms underlying the development of autism after brain damage remain unclear. Understanding the relationship between autism and brain damage requires further research and exploration. It is essential to consult healthcare professionals and specialists to obtain accurate and personalized information regarding specific cases. Can Brain Damage Cause Autism? The relationship between brain damage and autism has been a topic of interest and research. While autism is a developmental disorder characterized by challenges in social communication and interaction, brain damage refers to any injury or trauma to the brain. In this section, we will explore the research and findings that shed light on the potential link between brain damage and autism. Exploring the Research Research examining the connection between brain damage and autism has provided valuable insights into the complex nature of the disorder. While it is clear that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, some studies suggest that there may be a correlation between the two. One line of research suggests that neurological damage can lead to the development of autistic symptoms in some individuals. This damage can occur before, during, or after birth, and it can be caused by various factors such as genetic mutations, infections, or trauma. Case Studies and Findings Case studies have played a crucial role in understanding the relationship between brain damage and autism. These studies provide detailed accounts of individuals who have experienced brain damage and subsequently developed autistic symptoms. While case studies offer valuable insights, they are limited in generalizability and cannot determine causation. Additionally, research has identified specific brain regions that may be implicated in the development of autism after brain damage. For example, damage to the prefrontal cortex or the amygdala has been associated with the emergence of autistic traits. However, it is important to note that brain damage alone does not always result in autism, and the relationship between the two is complex and multifaceted. While the research provides some insights into the potential link between brain damage and autism, it is crucial to acknowledge that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, and not all individuals with autism have experienced brain damage. The relationship between the two is influenced by various factors such as the timing, severity, and location of the brain damage, as well as individual differences and genetic factors. As the understanding of autism and brain damage continues to evolve, further research is needed to unravel the intricacies of this complex relationship. It is important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in autism and brain injury to receive accurate assessments, diagnoses, and appropriate interventions for individuals affected by these conditions. Factors Influencing Autism after Brain Damage While the relationship between autism and brain damage is complex, several factors can influence the development of autism following brain damage. Understanding these factors can provide valuable insights into the connection between the two. Timing and Severity of Brain Damage The timing and severity of brain damage play a crucial role in whether autism may develop as a result. Research suggests that brain damage occurring early in development, particularly during the prenatal period or early infancy, may have a higher likelihood of leading to autism. The developing brain is highly vulnerable during these critical periods, and any disruptions or abnormalities can impact neurodevelopment and contribute to the development of autism. Furthermore, the severity of the brain damage can influence the likelihood of autism. More severe brain injuries, such as those caused by traumatic brain injury or certain genetic conditions, may increase the risk of developing autistic traits or behaviors. However, it is important to note that not all individuals with brain damage will develop autism, and the relationship between brain damage and autism is not fully understood. Location of Brain Damage The specific location of brain damage can also influence the development of autism. Different areas of the brain are responsible for various functions, and damage to certain regions may result in specific challenges or symptoms associated with autism. For example, damage to the frontal lobe or areas involved in social communication may increase the likelihood of social and communication difficulties characteristic of autism. Each case of brain damage is unique, and the location and extent of the damage can vary. Therefore, it is essential to consider the individual circumstances and consult with medical professionals to assess the potential impact on autism development. Individual differences and genetic factors can significantly impact the manifestation of autism following brain damage. Each person's genetic makeup and predisposition to autism can influence how they respond to brain damage and whether they develop autistic traits. It is important to recognize that brain damage alone does not cause autism in every case, and genetic factors can interact with brain damage to influence the outcome. Research suggests that individuals with certain underlying genetic vulnerabilities, such as specific gene mutations or genetic syndromes, may be more likely to develop autism after brain damage. Genetic testing and evaluation can provide valuable insights into these individual differences and help guide intervention strategies and support. Understanding the factors that influence autism after brain damage is a complex and ongoing area of research. It is important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in neurological conditions and developmental disorders to gain a comprehensive understanding of the unique circumstances and potential implications. Differentiating Autism from Other Conditions When exploring the relationship between brain damage and autism, it's important to understand how autism spectrum disorder (ASD) differs from acquired autism. While both conditions may share certain characteristics, there are distinct factors that set them apart. Autism Spectrum Disorder vs. Acquired Autism Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is a neurodevelopmental condition that typically emerges early in childhood. It is characterized by persistent challenges in social interaction, communication, and restricted or repetitive behaviors. ASD is considered a lifelong condition that affects individuals across various domains of functioning. Acquired autism, on the other hand, refers to the development of autistic symptoms following brain damage, often resulting from injury or disease. This form of autism is not present from birth but emerges after a specific incident or medical condition.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i (Autistic author) "You know, Shel, just put yourself out there. You think to much! Just steal a patty from the krusty krab, and bring it back. No inventions, just believe. I'll wait out front." Karen says. Sheldon Plankton, whose ambition often outstripped his grasp, took a deep breath and nodded. It was a simple enough plan, he thought, and maybe, just maybe, it would be enough. For years he'd been trying to outsmart Mr. Krabs, crafting ingenious contraptions and elaborate schemes to swipe the Krabby Patty secret formula. Yet here he was, standing in the shadow of the gleaming neon sign of the Chum Bucket, his own restaurant, contemplating the unthinkable: a straight-up heist. He tiptoed to the Krabby Krab, eye darting back and forth for any signs of movement. Karen, ever the impatient one, was pacing back and forth outside the Chum Bucket. She had been waiting for what felt like an eternity. "What's taking him so long?" she murmured to herself, her frustration building. Meanwhile, Plankton took a final shaky breath and slid open the kitchen window, his heart racing. The scent of greasy fryers and salty ocean air filled his nostrils. He reached out, his tiny hand trembling, and snatched the Krabby Patty that lay unguarded on the counter. With the stolen patty in hand, Plankton's confidence grew. He had done it; the secret was within his grasp! He turned to leave, but his elation was cut short when a shadow fell over him. He looked up to find Mr. Krabs standing there, his eyes narrowed and his claw raised. "Plankton, I knew it was you!" he bellowed. Plankton froze. Mr. Krabs lunged at him, but Plankton was quick. He dashed under the cash register, the Krabby Patty clutched to his chest like a football player crossing the finish line. "You'll never get me!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the quiet restaurant. But Krabs was persistent, his claws snapping shut just millimeters from Plankton's antennae. With a cunning smile, Mr. Krabs stepped back eyeing the cash register. "Maybe not," he said reaching over the counter and hoisting the heavy metal contraption off its stand. Plankton's eye went wide with horror as he realized what Krabs intended to do. He tried to dodge, but the space was too cramped, and the cash register came down on him like a guillotine blade. The sound of metal on metal reverberated through the kitchen, and the Krabby Patty went flying out of his grasp. Mr. Krabs' victory roar filled the room as Plankton crumpled to the floor, stars dancing in his vision. The impact had been tremendous, and for a moment, he lay dazed and defeated. The cash register's heavy weight had not only knocked him out cold but also left a sizable dent in the floorboards. Outside, Karen's pacing grew more erratic. as "What's keeping him?" she groused. Just as she was about to storm inside, she hears the cash register, which hit Plankton's head. Peering in she saw Plankton lying on the floor. "Plankton?" she shrieked, her voice cracking with panic. Karen opens the door and goes to him. "Plankton! Oh no!" she screamed, voice shaking the very foundation of the Krabby Krab. She rushed over to him, shaking with fear. Plankton's eye closed, and his body was completely still. The Patty lay forgotten. Panic set in, and she began to pat his face. "Plankton, wake up!!" she yelled, echoing through the deserted kitchen. She knew that Plankton could be dramatic, but this was unlike him. He'd always bounced back from Mr. Krabs' traps before, albeit with a bruised ego. There was a pulse, faint but steady. "Thank Neptune," she whispered, her relief palpable. "Plankton, please," Karen begged, a mix of desperation and fear. She knew she had to do something, and fast. But what? Her medical expertise was limited to patching up her husband's bruises from past failed schemes, not dealing with a concussion from a cash register to the head. She then managed to scoop up her unconscious husband and sprinted to the Bikini Bottom Hospital. Once inside the hospital, she explained what happened with the cash register. "We'll do a brain scan." They said. Karen laid Plankton on the hospital bed. Finally a doctor approached with a solemn expression. "The brain scan results are in." Karen nodded for him to go on. "It seems your husband has suffered significant brain damage from impact," the doctor continued, fidgeting with a clipboard. "The good news is that he will wake up, but... your husband has experienced severe brain trauma. While he will regain consciousness, it appears that he may have developed permanent autism." "What does that mean?" she managed to whisper. The doctor explained that while Plankton would still be able to talk and/or communicate, his interactions and reactions to sensory would be significantly affected. "But he'll still be the same Plankton?" The doctor nods. "In many ways, yes. His personality, his memories, they should all be intact. But his ability to process, to understand and respond appropriately... those might be altered. It's a complex condition, Mrs. Plankton. He can go home whence he wakes up." Karen nodded numbly, mind racing with the implications. As she sat by Plankton's bedside the hospital lights flickered, and the constant beeping of the heart monitor was the only company she had. The quiet was broken her husband's eye fluttering open. "Karen?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from the trauma. Her heart leaped at the sound, and she took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'm here," she said, her voice cracking. "How do you feel?" Plankton's gaze darted around the room. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and fear. "You're at the hospital, sweetie," Karen replied, voice gentle and soothing. "You had hit your head on the cash register at the Krabby Krab." Karen said, her voice shaking slightly. "Mr. Krabs hit you." Plankton blinked rapidly, trying to process her words. "Cash... register?" he murmured, voice sounding distant and confused. Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The room was a cacophony of sounds: the beep of the monitor, the rustle of nurses' shoes, and the distant wail of a siren. Plankton's senses seemed to amplify, each noise stabbing at his brain like a thousand tiny needles. "What happened to me?" he asked, voice small and scared. Karen took a deep breath preparing herself to explain the gravity of the situation. "You hit your head," she began, "and now, the doctor says you have... acquired a neurodisability." Plankton stared at her, his eyes unfocused. "Neuro... what?" he repeated. Karen took a deep breath, her heart heavy. "It's like your brain is wired differently now. You might see things, hear things, feel things more intensely. And sometimes, you might not understand people, or process differently." "Does it... does it mean I'm broken?" he asked, voice barely a whisper. "No, Plankton," she said firmly, "You're not broken. You're just... different. And we'll figure this out together."

Similarities and differences while asd and acquired autism may exhibit overlapping symptoms, there are notable differences between the two: aspect autism spectrum disorder (asd) acquired autism (after birth) cause no identifiable cause, likely a combination of genetic and environmental factors results from brain damage due to injury, illness, or medical condition onset typically apparent in early childhood evident after brain damage occurs developmental delays often accompanied by developmental delays in language, motor skills, and cognitive abilities developmental delays may or may not be present, depending on the individual severity ranges from mild to severe, with varying levels of support needed severity can vary based on the extent and location of brain damage treatment treatment focuses on providing support, therapies, and interventions tailored to individual needs treatment involves addressing the underlying brain damage and may include therapies to manage symptoms Soit is crucial to note that acquired autism resulting from brain damage is relatively rare compared to asd, which is believed to have a more complex etiology involving a combination of genetic and environmental factors. The presence of brain damage alone does not necessarily lead to the development of autism symptoms. If you suspect that brain damage may have contributed to the development of autism symptoms, it is essential to consult with medical professionals and specialists who can provide a comprehensive evaluation. They can help differentiate between asd and acquired autism, ensuring appropriate interventions and support are provided. Understanding the distinctions between these conditions is crucial for accurate diagnosis, effective treatment, and support for individuals with autism. By recognizing the unique characteristics of both asd and acquired autism, professionals and caregivers can provide appropriate interventions and care tailored to the specific needs of each individual.

(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.