Written by AI Emojis & Text

(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.

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░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓█▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▓▓██▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██▒▒▒▒████▓▒▒▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▒▓▒▒▒▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█▓▒▒▒▓█▓█▓▒▒▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█▓▒▓▓██▓▒▓▓█▓▒▓▓▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓███▓▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

👁️⚠️🧪💚👁️⚠️🧪💚👁️⚠️🧪💚👁️⚠️🧪💚

𖦹ଳ𓂁𓇼𓂃𓆉.𓆉.𓆉𓂃𓇼𓂁ଳ𖦹

Best PLANKBOB Episodes Season 1 10b "F.U.N." 15a "Sleepy Time" 16a "Valentine's Day" Season 6 109b "The Krabby Kronicle" 122b "Single Cell Anniversary" Season 7 137a "One Coarse Meal" 139a "Gramma's Secret Recipe" 141b "The Main Drain" Season 8 168b "Fiasco!" 177b "Move It or Lose It" The SpongeBob Movie: Sponge Out of Water Season 9 198b "CopyBob DittoPants" 203a "Pineapple Invasion" Season 10 207a "Mimic Madness" 207b "House Worming" 209b "Plankton Gets the Boot" 210b "Burst Your Bubble" 228b "Grandmum's the Word" 230b "Bottle Burglars" 232b "Shopping List" 235a "Plankton Paranoia" 238b "Karen's Virus" The SpongeBob Movie: Sponge on the Run Season 12 246a "Plankton's Old Chum" 254-255 "SpongeBob's Big Birthday Blowout" 259a "The Ghost of Plankton" 259b "My Two Krabses" 264a "Plankton's Intern" Season 13 272 "SpongeBob's Road to Christmas" 284a "The Flower Plot" 285a "Delivery to Monster Island" 289a "My Friend Patty" Season 14 294a "Single-Celled Defense" 305b "Sheldon SquarePants"

› ❝ ʸᵒᶸ ᵈᵒᶰ’ᵗ ᵏᶰᵒʷ ʷᵸᵃᵗ ᶥᵗ’ˢ ᶫᶥᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵃ ᶫᵒˢᵉʳ… ❞ ‹

◤ 𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙗𝙮𝙚 ; 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚! 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙮. ◢

“HEAR ME KRABS! WHEN I DISCOVER YOUR FORMULA FOR KRABBY PATTIES I’LL RUN YOU OUT OF BUSINESS! I W E N T T O C O L L E G E!”

F e l i c i t a t i o n s , m a l e f a c t o r s !

ar شمشون (شخصية) Bangla প্ল্যাঙ্কটন Catalan Plàncton Chinese 皮老板 Hebrew פלנקטון hr Šime Josip Plankton シェルドン・ジェー・プランクトン （Sheldon J. Plankton） シェルドン・J・プランクトン ko 플랑크톤 (등장인물) ru Планктон (персонаж) sr Шелдон Планктон zh 皮老闆

THE DAȲ̴̧̱̭̯̹̗̥̬̬̭̠̉͆́̋͌̐̈̈ ̷̹͕̘͖̽͂̃͒̂́̊͗͂̔͝T̸͛̊HA̸͎͉̺͇͛̅̉̈́̈̎͝͝ͅͅT ̸̡͎̣̙͔͉͕̙͉̩̦͈̘͈̊͑͆͊̏͒̀̉̽̕͝͝Ķ̶̧̨̡̘͚̘͖̭͓͇̬̲̹̩̂́̆͂̎̌̅͒Ȓ̶̡̲͚͈͓̪̘̗̬̪̪͚̹͈Â̸̔BS ̴̢̨̰͓͍̝̯̥̤͈̖̪̹̏̏͂͛̈́̃̾͊̉̓̅̋̏F̴̻̳͚͖̞̤͍̥̫̤̀̃̀́͒̽͆̕R̸̃̀̎̈̌̏̕IẸ̸̡̦̹̤̼͉͕͙̗̠̤̼̖̬̈́͋̋̆S̴̨͍͉͙̻͉̼̩̯͕̽ͅ

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Your Warranty Has Now Expired by Butterfrogmantis Cartoons » SpongeBob SquarePants "Stand down Krabs! Or prepare to meet your doom!" "Yeah right , yer'll never get yer hands on me secret formula!" "My little friend here says otherwise, eheheh! Now hand over the formula Krabs and no- one gets hurt!" Plankton was holding a large ray gun. "I can already smell the patties! COME TO PAPA" He yelled, pressing the trigger. Nothing. He pressed again. Hm, Maybe something was broken? He shook the gun, then aimed it back at the safe and hit release. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. "BARNACLES" He screeched, and squeezed the trigger as hard as he could.. Plankton next woke up in the hospital. "Whaah?" He was aware of a small heart monitor next to him, and the overpowering scent of disinfectant. There was a squeaking trolley moving down the hall, and a slight murmuring from either side of his white curtains. He looked to the left, and then to the right, confused. He had JUST been in the Krusty Krab, hadn't he? Yes, he was trying to melt the safe, so what on earth was he doing in here, he'd been seconds away from blasting the door off of that thing. Ah yes, his ray gun had jammed. Weird. Hadn't done that before. He tapped the side of his head, trying to see if he recalled anything other than pulling the trigger, but his memory was patchy at best. "Sheldon? Oh good, you're alive!" The microorganism looked up to see a very familiar face. Well, screen at the very least. "Ah, Karen! My computer wife – tell me, uh, what happened?" "You exploded, that's what happened. Well, your gun did anyway, I thought you'd died!" "Hm, weird, my trusty old laser shouldn't have gone like that, especially not when I was so CLOSE to getting the secret formula!" He cursed, causing his heart rate monitor to speed up rapidly next to him. Later that evening, once Plankton had been thoroughly checked and confirmed ready for discharge by Nurse Daisy Bazooka, the two returned to the Chum Bucket. The same night, he dreamt about the day. And to think, just like his laser gun, it had all started with the same- "Wires!" Plankton sat up in bed, having been woken up by his thoughts. "Sheldon? What are you doing up at this time? Your left antenna's been twitching ever since I brought you home from the hospital. It only twitches like that when you're stressed or thinking reallll hard about something." "It does?" Plankton blinked, looking up at his own antenna, which was twitching rapidly. "Huh, I wonder why I never noticed". He rubbed his head to get over his daze and turned with a groan to see a familiar yellow sponge bounding up to them from across the other side of the street. He was holding a large balloon. "Hello Karen, Hello Plankton – sorry about your laser the other day." The two of them turned to look out of the window and across the street, to where the sign for the Krusty Krab had just turned from 'closed' to 'open'. "Shall we?" Sheldon grinned a most delighted grin. https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13876443/1/Your-Warranty-Has-Now-Expired

#🧪 || ᵒᶰˡʸ ᵃᵍᵍʳᵉˢˢᶤᵛᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᶜᵒᶰᵠᵘᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈᵎ || ‎‍🧪

ᴴᵒᵐᵉ ⁱˢ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ⁱˢ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃʸ‧ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ˢⁿᵘᶜᵏ ⁱⁿ‧ ᴳᵃʳʸ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁿᵃⁱˡ ᵒᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢⁿᵉᵃᵏ ⁱⁿ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵈⁱˢᵗᵘʳᵇ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷʰᵒ'ˢ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ ᴳᵃʳʸ ᵇᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃˡˡ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁿⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵉˡˡˢ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ ᴴᵉ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ "ᴳᵃʳʸ‧‧‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳᵉ‽" ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵏⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧‧" "ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᴵ‧‧‧" ᔆᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᶠᵃˢᵗ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᴳᵃʳʸ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵒʷ ᵖᵘʳʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᴺᵉˢᵗˡⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵘʳˡᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵒᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵒʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵏⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ "ᔆᵗⁱˡˡ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳᵉᵈ⸴ ᵃˢ ⁱᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ᵒᵘᵗˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ‧ ᴳᵃʳʸ ᵈʳᵒᵒˡᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢˡᵉᵖᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵉᵐᵇʳᵃᶜᵉᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵃˢ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵘᵖ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ᵏᵉᵖᵗ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ‧ "ᴳᵒᵒᵈ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵒᵏᵉⁿ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵒ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ⸴ ˢᵒ ʷᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʸ ʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃᵗ ᵐʸ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ!" ᴳᵃʳʸ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱʳ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃᵗ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴵ'ˡˡ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵍᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ᵐᵃʸ ᵒʳ ᵐᵃʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ⸴ ˢᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʸ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴴᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˢⁱⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᵒʳ ᵒᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ‧ "ᴴᵉ ˡⁱᵏᵉˢ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ⸴ ᵖᵉʳʰᵃᵖˢ ʰᵉʳᵒᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵍᵘʸˢ‧‧‧" ᵂʰᵉⁿ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ʳᵒᵒᵐ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘᵖᵉʳ ᵐᵉʳᵐᵃⁱᵈ ᵐᵃⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵃʳⁿᵃᶜˡᵉ ᵇᵒʸ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵃ ᶜᵒˡˡᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ "ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ⁿᵒ ᵛⁱˡˡᵃⁱⁿˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʳʸ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉʳᵒᵉˢ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸴ ᵐᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉ‧ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ʳᵃʳⁱᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢʰᵒʷ ᵍʳᵃᵗⁱᵗᵘᵈᵉ ᵒʳ ʰᵃᵖᵖⁱⁿᵉˢˢ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵒʷᵉᵈ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵖˡᵃʸᵉᵈ‧ ᴬˢ ᵃ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ⸴ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᵈᵃʸ ᵒᶠ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ˡⁱᶠᵉ!

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⣾⠿⣦⣠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⣴⠿⣷ ⢹⣷⣿⠿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠿⣿⣾⡏ ⠈⠋⢻⣶⣿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⣶⡟⠙⠁ ⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⣬⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣥⣼⡿⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⡟⠙⣷⡀⣀⣀⢀⣾⠋⢻⣿⡷⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⡶⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⢶⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠋⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣦⠀⠙⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣾⣷⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣾⡏⠉⢹⣿⣿⡏⠉⢹⣷⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠸⣧⠀⠘⠻⠟⠃⠀⣼⠇⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠙⢷⣦⣤⣤⣴⡾⠋⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠐⠟⠙⠷⢶⣦⣤⣤⣶⠶⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⢄⠀⠀⣄⢀⣾⡿⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⢠⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣎⢸⣿⡿⠳⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢠⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢋⣿⣿⠉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠺⢷⣿⣿⣥⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠁⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠂⣼⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠿⠀⣼⣿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠏⢸⣿⣿⠁⠃⠀⠀⠀⠸⠁⣼⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢀⣾⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣠⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡶⠶⠛⠋⠛⠛⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⢿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠟⠁⠀⣾⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⠘⣷⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠇⠀⠹⣧⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⢷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡆⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠠⠤⣄⠀⠀⠀⣠⠶⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠋⢁⣿⠅⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠘⢯⣷⣾⣃⣀⣹⣯⣭⣭⣯⣭⣝⣓⣐⡀⢷⡀⠈⣿⣷⣼⠀⠀⡆⡯⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠃⠀⠀⠀⢨⣷⡄⠈⣿⡦⠤⠤⠤⠼⠷⠾⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢼⣿⠇⢀⡿⠁⠀⠀⢠⣷⡷⣟⣿⣶ ⠀⠀⢀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢿⠀⢹⠙⢧⣀⠀⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⢀⣤⠞⠃⠀⣽⠇⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣟⠻⣿⠋ ⠀⠠⠚⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠓⠒⠶⠶⠒⢛⣡⠄⠀⠀⣸⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⢸⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⢶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠒⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⠀⠐ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣌⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣯⣄⣀⣠⣄⣄⣄⣀⣠⡿⣸⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠿⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠾⠏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⢁⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠏⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⡟⢸⡇⢠⢴⣶⣶⠈⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡆⠀⡇⢸⣧⣿⢀⣿⡟⡆⣿⣿⡙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢀⣠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠀⠐⣷⢿⣻⣿⠾⠏⠀⠈⢾⣿⣿⡙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠻⠄⢀⣿⡶⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣯⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⣦⣄⡛⠛⠛⠛⢛⣛⣵⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢮⡳⣍⠙⠓⢮⣽⣉⣙⣋⣹⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣬⣛⠶⢤⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣧⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠻⠶⠧⠼⠬⠯⢽⣿⣿⣮⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⡺⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⡏⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣎⠻⣿⡗⠶⠒⢦⡄⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⣠⡮⣭⣭⣭⡤⠴⢶⣛⡿⠤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⋆₊‧꒰ა 🪼 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ଳ.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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"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.

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‘Yᴏᴜ ʙʟᴀsᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴀʀɴᴀᴄʟᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅ!’

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jellyfish ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆☃︎✮☃︎☃︎✮✮✮✮✮

⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⠿⣿⡿⠿⣿⠿⢿⣿⠿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿ ⣿⣿⠀⣴⣶⣿⡇⠀⣶⠀⢸⣿⠀⡀⢹⣿⠀⡀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢸⡏⠀⢹⡇⠀⣿⠀⢸⣿⠀⣿⣿⠀⣦⠀⣿⣶⠀⢰⣾⣿ ⣿⣿⠀⠙⠛⣿⡇⠀⠛⢤⣼⣿⠀⣷⠸⡇⢸⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠘⡇⢰⢸⡇⢸⣿⠀⠈⠉⠀⣿⡿⠀⣿⠀⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⠀⢸⣿⠀⣿⡀⠃⣾⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠃⣾⠘⠃⣸⣿⠀⢸⣿⠀⣿⡇⠀⠿⠀⢿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣀⣉⣉⣹⣇⣀⣿⣀⣸⣿⣀⣿⣇⣀⣿⣇⣸⣿⣉⣿⣏⣙⣿⣉⣻⣿⣀⣀⣿⣀⣀⣿⣿⣀⣸⣿⣀⣿⣇⣰⣶⣀⣸⣿⣀⣸⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⡟⢿⡟⠻⠟⠛⠻⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⠻⡟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡞⢇⣄⣶⣦⣀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣇⢰⠺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣳⡙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⡿⠋⣠⣑⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠻⢷⠟⠁⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠈⠑⣆⠄⢐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢮⣡⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⡽⠛⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡚⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣀⣱⣀⣘⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⠃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⣳⣠⠴⠒⠂⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠲⢴⡀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣏⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⠣⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠫⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠎⠑⠢⣤⣀⣀⣀⡤⢤⠖⡙⢧⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⠟⡞⢰⣄⣼⡄⠉⡛⠁⠀⡈⣀⡀⠘⠙⡿⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⠂⣿⣼⢿⠿⠿⠿⠶⠿⠿⠟⢿⡦⠀⠀⡐⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡹⣷⣽⣿⣷⣽⣤⣶⣤⢥⣀⡈⡀⣰⣇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⠝⠝⠛⠉⠉⠉⠙⠏⠍⠂⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡿⠿⠿⢿⣿⠿⣿⡿⢿⣿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿ ⣿⣷⡆⠀⣾⣿⠀⣿⡇⢸⣿⠀⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⡇⠠⣦⣀⣿⠇⢰⡆⠀⣿⡇⢰⡄⢹⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⢻⣿⣿⠁⣴⡄⢸⣿⠀⣶⡄⢸⣿ ⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⠀⣉⡁⢸⣿⠀⠘⢛⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠈⠻⣿⠀⢸⣿⣶⣿⡇⢸⡇⢸⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⣿⡇⢸⣿⠀⠛⠃⣸⣿ ⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⠀⣿⡇⢸⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠹⣷⠀⣿⡀⢸⡏⠉⣿⠃⠙⠃⠸⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⣿⡇⢸⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣧⣤⣿⣿⣤⣿⣧⣼⣿⣤⣤⣤⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⣀⣤⣿⣧⣄⣀⣴⣿⣤⣿⣧⣤⣿⣤⣤⣤⣿⣤⣤⣤⣿⣦⣀⣠⣾⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿

🦭🦭 🫧🌊🐧🐇

★🪼☄️

🦈🎐⭐

jellyfish 🐟🐌💧

🪼🌊🐚

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.

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. 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."

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. 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. 15 (Autistic author) Hanna's screen filled with a mix of shock and empathy. "I had no idea," she says, her voice a whisper. "How can I help?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Oh, it's simple," he says, his tone biting. "Just don't make jokes about Karen or brain damage!" Hanna's screen burn with embarrassment, her eyes wide with shock. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know," she whispers, her hands trembling. Plankton's eye is still glaring. "It's not to hard to understand," he says, his voice a knife. "If Hanna just took the time to learn." Hanna nods, her screen a mask of regret. "What do you need?" Plankton's antennae slow, his eye focusing on Karen's worried screen. He takes a deep breath, his words coming out slowly, as if each one was a step through a difficult maze. "Quiet," he whispers. "Space." Hanna nods, her own eyes filling with tears. "I'll give you space," she says, her voice quivering with apology. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's as Hanna quietly leaves the room. The silence is a balm to Plankton's overstimulated mind, and he sighs in relief, his antennae stilling. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice a soft echo of his earlier rage. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a gentle lullaby. She strokes his back, her touch a comforting rhythm in his chaotic world. "We'll get through this." Plankton's antennae twitch in response, his body slowly unwinding from the coil of his anger. "But Hanna..." Karen nods, her screen filled with empathy. "I know, love," she whispers. "But she just doesn't know what it's like." Plankton's antennae wave slowly, his understanding of Hanna's ignorance gradually replacing his anger. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a soft breeze in the storm of his emotions. "We'll explain to her. Everyone deserves a chance to learn." Plankton nods slowly, his antennae still, his body a tightly coiled spring. "Karen is right," he murmurs, his voice a whisper. "But Plankton scared she won't understand." Karen's hand continues to stroke his back, her screen filled with love. "We'll make sure she does," she says, her voice a promise. Plankton's body begins to relax, his antennas slowing their frantic dance. He knows Karen will protect him, explain him. His eye flutters closed, his breathing shallow, as Karen's gentle strokes calm the tempest in his mind. The room around them seems to hold its breath, the silence a stark contrast to the storm of moments before. Slowly, his antennae uncoil, his body relaxing into her embrace. The world around him becomes a blur of colors, his senses dimming as his brain seeks the solace of sleep. Karen watches him with a mix of love and worry, her hand gently stroking his antennae. She knows his mind is a whirlwind, even in rest. His breathing slows, his body going limp in her embrace. The room around them seems to quiet, the chaos of the day fading into the background as sleep claims him. Karen knows he's fallen asleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest, his antennae no longer twitching. She carefully moves him to their bed, his body a delicate weight in her arms. The room is a sanctuary of softness, the light filtering through the curtains like a gentle caress. She pulls the blankets up to his chin, tucking them in just right, her movements precise and methodical. His antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, his body a silent testament to the tumult of his day. She watches his chest rise and fall, his breaths even and deep. The tension in the air dissipates as his body relaxes further. Hanna's waiting out by the bedroom door, concerned as Karen opens the door. "Is he okay?" Hanna whispers. Her eyes are red, and her screen wet with tears. "I didn't know, Karen. I'm so sorry." Karen nods, her own eyes filled with moisture. "He's asleep now," she says, her voice barely audible. "It's the best thing for him." Hanna's gaze follows Karen's to the bed, where Plankton lies still as a statue, his antennae at rest against the pillow. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We all make mistakes." Hanna nods, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "But I hurt him," she says, her voice haunted. Karen sighs, her hand on Hanna's shoulder. "You didn't mean to," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "And now you know." Hanna nods, her screen still on Plankton. "But what can I do now?" she asks, desperation in her voice. Karen looks at her friend, her gaze thoughtful. "Just be patient with him," she whispers. "Learn about his condition. And apologize when he wakes up." Hanna nods, her expression solemn. "I will," she says. Karen smiles, a thankful light in her screen. "Good," she whispers. "Now, let's let him rest." They both slip out of the room, leaving the door ajar to allow the soft light from the hallway to spill into the bedroom. Hanna looks down at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Karen," she says, her voice low. "It's okay, Hanna," Karen responds, her tone a gentle reprimand. "We're all learning how to navigate this new reality." Eventually, Plankton comes out after a little while, now awake. Karen and Hanna are both sitting together. "I'm sorry," Hanna whispers, her screen downcast. Plankton's antennae twitch with uncertainty. He doesn't remember falling asleep, or Hanna leaving. He just knows his mind was a tornado of anger and pain. Karen's voice is a gentle guide, leading him back to the present. "You had a bad shutdown," she says, her screen filled with love and concern. "It's okay to feel upset." Plankton nods, his antennas drooping. He looks at Hanna, his eye filled with uncertainty. "It's not easy," he whispers, his voice a soft admission. Hanna looks up, her eyes meeting his. "I know," she says, her voice sincere. "But I'm here for you both." Plankton's antennae wave slightly, a sign of his internal debate. "Hanna hurt Plankton," he says, his voice a monotone. Hanna nods, her screen filled with regret. "I know," she whispers. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his body uncoiling from his protective stance. He takes a step towards her, his movement tentative. "Hanna can learn," he murmurs, his voice still tight with emotion. Hanna's eyes brighten with hope. "I want to learn," she says, her voice eager. "I want to be a good friend to both of you." Karen smiles, her screen shining with gratitude. "That's all we can ask for," she says, her voice a gentle caress.

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. 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. 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."

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. 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.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 14 (Autistic author) The next day, Karen wakes up to find Plankton already out of bed, his eye fixated on the clock again. Then, a knock on the door alerted both of them. It's Hanna, an old friend of Karen's. "Hanna? Oh, it's been so long!" Karen exclaims as she throws her arms around Hanna, whom Plankton noticed also reciprocated the gesture. So he decided to go sit on the couch. "Oh you're Karen's husband Plankton, right‽" Hanna says. Plankton nods as Karen gets out some refreshments. Hanna sits next to Plankton on the couch, her smile genuine but her tone playful. "So, Plankton, I hear you and Karen had a wedding anniversary! Did you get her anything, or did Karen have to remind you? I bet you cause her so much trouble with your forgetfulness," she laughs. "It's a wonder she keeps you around." Of course, Karen didn't hear Hanna's playful comment, as she's still gathering the refreshments. But Plankton does. His eye widens, his antennae twitching rapidly. He feels the sting of her words, though they were meant to be light-hearted. His body tenses, his mind racing. He knows he's not forgetful; he's different. The patterns of his thoughts clash with her joke, creating a cacophony of confusion and hurt. He doesn't understand the teasing and takes it to heart, thinking he must've caused her trouble. He wordlessly leaves to the bedroom right before Karen returns with the refreshments. "Where's Plankton?" She asks Hanna, who pointed the direction he went. Karen finds him in the bedroom, crying and saying 'Karen' in between his hiccups. His body is rigid with the effort of holding in his sobs. Her heart squeezes with pain as she rushes to him, her arms wrapping around his small frame. "What's wrong, love?" she whispers, her voice filled with concern. Plankton's body shakes with sobs, his antennae limp. "Hanna," he manages to whisper, his voice choked with emotion. Karen's eyes fill with concern. "What about Hanna, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton sniffs, his antennae waving slightly. "Hanna said...she said..." He can't get the words out, his emotions choking him. Karen holds him closer, her voice a whisper. "What did Hanna say, love?" Plankton's sobs intensify, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "Plankton," he manages to say, his voice a heartbreaking gasp. Karen's heart breaks. "What did she say, love?" she prompts, her voice soft, her eyes filled with understanding. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation. "Hanna said Plankton cause Karen trouble," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own sobs. "Karen better if Plankton not here." Karen's eyes fill with sorrow, her heart heavy with the weight of his misunderstanding. "Oh, Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with love and pain. "That was just a joke, she didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only grow louder, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. "Karen doesn't deserve this," he sobs, his antennae waving erratically. Karen holds him closer, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You don't cause me trouble, love," she says, her eyes filled with tears. "You're just...different now." Plankton's antennae twitch with understanding, his sobs slowly subsiding. "But Hanna..." he says, his voice a whimper. "Not want!" Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, love," she says, her voice soft. "But she'd never mean it that way. She was just being playful, she's nice." Plankton shakes his head, unconvinced. "Hanna did laugh at Plankton. Plankton not cause trouble," he says, his voice shaking with emotion. "Karen Plankton. Plankton loves Karen; Karen and Hanna no..." Plankton can't hold the sobbing back. Karen's eyes fill with tears. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice breaking. "Hanna loves you too. She didn't mean it like that. It was just a misunderstanding." Plankton's antennae wave in a pattern that Karen's learned means he's processing her words, trying to fit them into his new reality. "But Hanna said..." His voice trails off, as Hanna herself comes in. "Is everything okay in here? Or is Plankton causing..." she asks, her smile fading when she sees Plankton's tears. Karen turns to Hanna, her expression stern. "What happened?" Hanna's eyes widen in surprise. "I just said hello, and he ran in here crying," she says, her voice filled with concern. Karen's screen tightens with frustration. "What exactly did you say?" she asks, her voice calm but firm. Hanna's eyes widen in understanding. "Oh, no," she says, her voice softening. "I just made a joke about your anniversary. I didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only grow louder, his antennae flailing wildly. "Hanna said Plankton cause trouble," he accuses, his body wracked with emotion. "Not joke!" Hanna's eyes widen in horror, her playful smile vanishing as she sees the pain in Plankton's eye. She rushes over, kneeling beside him. "Plankton, no," she whispers, her voice filled with regret. "It was just a joke. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only intensify, his body a storm of emotions he can't control. "IT'S NOT A JOKE!" he cries out. Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she realizes the gravity of her mistake. "Plankton, I'm so sorry," she whispers, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. But Plankton's reaction is explosive, his antennae lashing out like whips. "NO!" he screams, his voice a tornado of pain and anger. "ENOUGH HURT!" Hanna looks at Karen. "How often you say he throws these fitful tantrums?" Hanna says, which is the final straw for Plankton. Plankton's antennae quiver with rage. "NO, NOT TANTRUMS!" he shouts, his voice a thunderclap in the small room. "PLANKTON HAS ACQUIRED RESTRICTED FLOW TO THE FRONTAL TEMPORAL POLAR CORTEX!" Hanna looks at him strangely. "W..." "PLANKTON HAS CORPUS CALLOSUM DEACTIVATION IN THE SENSORY INTEGRATION CENTERS!" Plankton shouts, his antennae a blur of movement as he tries to convey his condition's complexity. "Neurotransmitters firing asynchronously, synapses misfiring, it's not a tantrum! SO HANNA NEEDS TO EITHER USE THE CORRECT TERMINOLOGY OR NOT SPEAK AT THE SAME TIME!" Karen's eyes are wide with fear, yet understanding that Plankton is desperate. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "It's okay, you don't have to explain." But Plankton's antennae wave frantically, his need for precision a storm in his mind. "HAS TO!" he yells, his voice desperate. "HANNA NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE!" Karen nods, her heart swelling with love and pride at his bravery. "Okay, love," she says, her voice soothing. "Let's explain." She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's as she addresses Hanna. "Plankton has acquired a form of autism, it's called 'autistic shutdowns'. It's not a tantrum, it's his brain's way of shutting down to protect itself from sensory overload. It's from a bad accident.." Hanna's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my goodness," she whispers, her voice filled with regret. "I had no idea." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's been a tough adjustment for us all," she says, her voice gentle. "But we're managing."

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."

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.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vi (Autistic author) "Why don't we stay in, Plankton?" Sponge Bob suggested, noticing his friend's lingering anxiety. "We can still have fun." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he considered the proposal. The thought of going outside was overwhelming. "Okay," he agreed, his voice soft. "Inside." Sponge Bob nodded, his smile reassuring. "How about a board game?" he offered. Plankton's antennae twitched in consideration. "Game," he echoed, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob's smile grew. "Yeah! Which one do you want to play?" Plankton's antennae perked up at the mention of something familiar. "Game," he murmured, his voice a little more steady. "Choose." Sponge Bob beamed at him, happy to see his friend willing to participate. He picked a simple game of checkers from the shelf, knowing it would be less overwhelming than the loud, bright electronic games that Plankton had once enjoyed. Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as Sponge Bob set up the board, his eyes fixated on the red and black pieces. "Checkers," he murmured, his voice filled with anticipation. Sponge Bob nodded, placing the checkers in their starting positions. "You go first," he said, his voice calm and steady. Plankton's antennae quivered as his eyes focused on the board. He picked up a black piece, his hand shaking slightly. "Checkers," he whispered to himself, echoing Sponge Bob's words. He placed it with precision on the board. Sponge Bob watched him. "Good job, Plankton," he said, his voice soothing. "You're doing great." Plankton's antennae twitched with each word, echoing the comfort. "Great," he murmured, his gaze never leaving the checkers. He moved a piece, his mind working quickly to calculate his next move. The repetitive nature of the game was calming, a familiar rhythm that helped him find a moment of peace in the chaos. "Checkers," he said again, his voice a little more stable. The game was a dance of strategy, and it was a dance Plankton had always loved. But now, it was more than that—it was a lifeline. The game continued, the quiet clicks of the pieces moving across the board providing a soothing rhythm to the otherwise silent room. Plankton's antennae stayed mostly still, only twitching when he felt the need to move a piece. His eye flitted from the board to Sponge Bob and back again, seeking reassurance that he was doing this right. Sponge Bob watched him, his face a mask of concentration, his spongy body still. "Your turn, Plankton," he said, his voice calm and steady. Plankton nodded, his antennae quivering slightly as he reached for a piece. He moved it with careful deliberation, his gaze never leaving the board. "Good move," Sponge Bob said, his voice a gentle encouragement. Plankton's antennae twitched in response, his eyes lighting up for a moment. "Good move," he repeated, his voice echoing Sponge Bob's tone. The words comforted him, a familiar refrain in a world that had become unpredictable. Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "Your turn," he prompted gently. Plankton's antennae quivered as his hand hovered over the board. "Good move," he murmured, echoing Sponge Bob's words from moments before. His eyes focused intently on the board, his mind racing to find the perfect place for the checker. The echo of their shared phrase was like a soft lullaby in the quiet room, a gentle reminder of their longstanding friendship. Sponge Bob noticed the comfort it brought to Plankton, the way his body relaxed slightly with each repetition. "Good move," Sponge Bob said again, his voice soft and encouraging. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye focusing on the board. He moved a piece, whispering "good move" under his breath. Sponge Bob watched him, his expression a mix of wonder and concern. Plankton had always been so sharp, so quick-witted, and now, his brain was navigating a new kind of maze. But in this moment, as the game progressed, it was clear that Plankton's strategic mind was still sharp. His moves were calculated, precise. He was winning, and Sponge Bob could see the pride in his tiny friend's eye. Sponge Bob felt a swell of happiness as Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "King me," he murmured, placing his checker on the board's edge. Sponge Bob did so, his heart swelling with pride for his friend. "You're really good at this," he said, his voice gentle. Plankton's antennae curled with satisfaction. "Thanks," he murmured, his voice a little more stable now. Sponge Bob watched as Plankton placed the kinged piece back on the board, his eyes never leaving the game. The tension in the room had dissipated, replaced by the rhythmic exchange of checkers and echoing affirmations. "Good move," Plankton murmured again, his voice a testament to his focus. His antennae quivered slightly as he anticipated Sponge Bob's next play. Sponge Bob studied the board, his yellow brow furrowed. He knew that Plankton had always been smart, but this was something else—a silent, intense concentration that seemed to have taken over his friend's tiny form. With a soft click, he moved his piece, watching as Plankton's antennae followed the move, his eye calculating. Plankton's response was swift and confident, his antennae barely twitching. "Good move," Sponge Bob said, echoing Plankton's words. He felt a sense of awe as Plankton countered with a move that won the game. Sponge Bob's cheer was sudden, his spongy hands slapping together with joy. "You did it, Plankton!" he exclaimed. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body stiffening at the unexpected noise. His eye grew wide, the world around him seeming to shrink for a moment as he was jolted out of his focused trance. Sponge Bob's cheer had unintentionally startled him, his sudden movement a stark contrast to the calm rhythm of the game. "Sorry, Plankton," Sponge Bob apologized, quickly lowering his voice, his expression softening. "I forgot." Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae slowly lowering. Sponge Bob watched him closely, his own excitement dimming in the face of his friend's distress. "It's ok," he whispered. "You won, Plankton." Plankton's antennae gradually stilled, his breathing slowing down. He nodded, his voice small. "Won," he murmured, his eye refocusing on the board. Sponge Bob's smile faltered, his heart heavy at the sight of Plankton's distress. He knew his cheer had been too much, too soon. "Sorry," he whispered, his hand hovering above the board, unsure if he should clean up the pieces or not. Plankton's antennae quivered, his gaze lingering on the game. "Enough checkers." Sponge Bob nodded, his expression understanding. "Okay, Plankton," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's do something else." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he considered his options. "Movie?" he suggested, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob's eyes lit up. "Yea! What do you want to watch?" Plankton's antennae twitched. "Simple story," he murmured, his voice still shaky. "No loud noises." Sponge Bob nodded eagerly, quickly searching through the DVDs for a film that would be comfortable for his friend. "How about 'The Great Snail Race'?" he suggested, holding up the case. Plankton's antennae twitched with consideration. The film was a classic, a story of endurance and friendship, and his brain processed the quiet nature of the plot. "Yes," he murmured. "Snail Race." Sponge Bob's smile grew as he inserted the DVD into the player. The familiar tunes of the opening credits filled the room, and Plankton's antennae swayed gently to the rhythm, his body visibly relaxing into the soft cushions of the couch. Karen watched from the sidelines, her eyes misty with relief. Sponge Bob had always known how to reach Plankton in a way she couldn't. His simple, understanding nature seemed to break through the barriers that autism had constructed around his friend. Sponge Bob pressed play, the screen flickering to life. The soft light from the TV cast a glow, Plankton's eye fixed on the snails that began to race across the screen. Sponge Bob sat next to Plankton. He knew he had to tread carefully, to be a source of comfort without overwhelming his friend. As the snails moved slowly across the screen, Plankton's antennae stilled, the story's gentle pace a balm to his overstimulated mind. The movie's quiet humor elicited a small chuckle from Plankton, a sound that was music to Karen. She watched from the kitchen doorway. Sponge Bob had always been there for Plankton, and was grateful for his unwavering support.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Cartoons » SpongeBob SquarePants, English, Humor Published: Dec 16, 2007 Rain Check "I'VE DONE IT!" Plankton began to cackle. But Karen's nagging voice interrupted him. "What'd you do?" Plankton sighed. "I have created my most fiendishly clever plan ever. Look out the window." "Do we even have a window?" "Huh?" Plankton glanced around and then shrugged. "Oh, well, just take my word for it then. Because…. are you ready for this, Karen? …. it's RAINING!" "Amazing," she said sarcastically. "So…. don't you get it?" She started to roll out of the room. "No, I don't." "Wait!" Plankton called after her. She stopped. "Karen, this is how I'm going to get the Krabby Patty secret formula! I'm gonna go over to that Sponge-kid's house, and he'll be so bewildered by the rain that he'll have to give it to me." "That plan doesn't make any sense at all, genius. Why would he give it to you just because it's raining? Come to think of it, why SpongeBob? Why not Krabs?" "Because that's the way my dream was, last night I had this dream I made it rain. And for some reason I was at the sponge's house, he freaked out about the rain, gave me the formula then, I woke up. It inspired me to carry out this magnificent plan." "You know that dreams only seem good for a little while after you wake up? A couple hours from now you'll realize how stupid that sounds, and makes no sense." "It does make sense! I'll prove it!" Plankton made his way to the door, stopping to pull one of those little paper umbrellas you put in tropical drinks. He held the tiny thing over his head and turned back to Karen. He growled under his breath. "You'll see, Karen! You'll see!" he said just before slamming the door behind him. "Here we go again…." At SpongeBob's house, our favorite poriferan was doing some tidying up. "Don't you just love cleaning, Gary?" asked SpongeBob. "Meow." "Do you think it's ironic that I'm making my house smell like lemon when I live in a pineapple?" Gary rolled his eyes. "Meow…." SpongeBob stopped flailing and looked over to Gary. "What was that sound?" "Meow," Gary interrupted. SpongeBob stared back. "….Oh. The door." SpongeBob walked to the front door. "Why would knocking sound like ticking though, Gary? Are you sure about this?" He opened the door and glanced around. But he smiled widely as he noticed the weather. "Wow, it's raining!" He stopped. "Oh-my-gosh, the rain must've knocked on the door! Is that true, raindrops? Do you wanna come in? Bahahahaha!" Plankton growled. "Down here fool!" "Oh, hey, Plankton!" Thinking its execution as poorly as the original plan itself, Plankton had not realized perhaps there was a better way to begin than simply knocking on the door. The thought of sneaking or spying had eluded him. No, he was perfectly content to simply stroll up to the house, thinking his dream-inspired plan perfectly invincible. "BEHOLD! The ominous rain, which falls from above to seal your fate!" "I see it, Plankton," he said with a smile. "Good thing too!" "No, fool!" Plankton caught himself. "I mean…. doesn't this rain make you feel bewildered? Doesn't it just blow your mind? Make you feel like…. telling me something?" "Yeah!" SpongeBob quickly bent down and whisked Plankton inside. He slammed the door behind him and turned to Plankton, now placed back on the ground. "That you need to come in before you catch cold!" Plankton shook momentarily "Open that door! You need to take in the rain's power!" "You wanna play in the rain? Ooh! We can have a rain party! We can splash around in puddles, dance with our umbrellas!" "Just listen to me! We need to go back out." Just then, a small circular machine approached Plankton. "Huh? What's that?" He grinned. "A plot device? Haha, get it? I said— AAAHHH!" Plankton was suddenly sucked inside the metal object. "Help!" said his muffled voice from inside. SpongeBob gasped and picked it up. Reaching in he pulled out a gasping Plankton. "Are you okay?" Now covered in scratches, Plankton groaned. "Oww… what happened?" "You got sucked into my Roomba," he said with a frown, but then turned to the Roomba. "There, there, Roomba, it's okay. No need for distress sounds." "What do you have a Roomba for?!" "It's cleaning day, silly!" Plankton rubbed his head. "Okay… I'm gonna pretend this didn't just happen. But do you have bandages for my gaping wounds?" "Oh! Of course!" After setting the vacuuming robot down, the two went upstairs. Plankton stood on the counter, watching SpongeBob fish through his medicine cabinet. "Aha! Found it!" SpongeBob pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He put a washcloth to the opening, flipped over the bottle allowing liquid onto the cloth, then turned it right side up. "This is gonna sting a bit." "I'm a genius, you think I don't know that?" SpongeBob dabbed the washcloth on Plankton. Unfortunately, the cloth was several times larger than Plankton himself, and the alcohol couldn't help but get into every one of his orifices. "AAAUGGHH!" he screeched. "That's too much!" "I'm sorry, Plankton!" said SpongeBob, pulling his hand away. "Here, let me blow on it!" Puffing out his cheeks SpongeBob blew on Plankton in attempt to sooth the stinging. But his breath was too strong, and he was blown off the counter and to the toilet. "AHH—umpth!" Plankton hit the bottom of the bowl. He quickly resurfaced and flailed around. "I can't swim!" SpongeBob grimaced. "Hold on, buddy!" After a quick glance around the room, he tossed a rubber duck into the toilet. "Use that to hold onto while I find something to get you out with!" Plankton grabbed onto the toy and looked up to SpongeBob with a furrowed brow. "What?! What're you waiting for? Just pull me out of here!" "Eew, I'm not reaching into the toilet!" "Listen you mor—hey, come back here!" Plankton called after SpongeBob, who already dashed off. He quickly returned with a pair of tongs. Using the instrument, he picked up Plankton and placed him on the floor. "Here's a towel," he said, handing him toilet paper. His rage did not allow him to take it. He fumed, his cheeks turning red, and trembling. "It's okay, Plankton," said SpongeBob. "I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" "Yes…. actually there is….." he replied. "Whatever it is, consider it done!" "I would like to know about a sandwich….." "Say no more!" SpongeBob bent down to pick up Plankton. "I know exactly what you're talking about! Come on, let's go to the kitchen!" Moments later, Plankton was at the table staring down at a seanut butter and jellyfish jelly sandwich. "This wasn't what I had in mind," he said under his breath. SpongeBob was still by the counter, licking the knife he used to spread the seanut butter. "Don't you love SB&JJ sandwiches? They're one of my favorites!" "Yeah, they're great, but—" "Then go ahead! Dig in!" "Well, first need to talk to about—" "You're…. you're…. not eating," said SpongeBob, voice breaking as tears gathered in his eyes. "I made that just for you!" "Don't cry! Ohhh!" he groaned. "Fine I'll eat!" Facing the sandwich, he picked it up and took a bite. "Ugh, I need a bath. I hate being so small while food is so large…." "You can go for another dip in the toilet if you want!" said SpongeBob, joking. "Bahahaha!" Just then, Gary slithered in the room. He approached SpongeBob, nudging his leg. "Hey, Gary! My, you're excited!" Plankton looked over. "What's he want?" "Oh probably the seanut butter." Sticking his finger into the jar, he scooped a bit out to let Gary lick it. "Bahahaha, that tickles!" Plankton shuttered. "Look, I need to talk to you. It's important, okay? Would you listen?!" "Bahahaha!" SpongeBob was still distracted. "LISTEN TO ME!" SpongeBob cowered. "Finally! Now… I didn't come for a 'rain party', or a sandwich, or anything else that happened so far! I came here, to have you turn over to me the Krab—" Gary, who'd been slowly slithering up to Plankton, chomped down on him. "Gary, no!" SpongeBob commanded. "Bad snail!" He had to pry open Gary's mouth. He slipped his hand in and cautiously pulled out Plankton. "Oh-my-gosh! Speak to me, Plankton!" Plankton had an X where his eye would normally be, and he hung limply in SpongeBob's hand. After setting him on the counter, SpongeBob stepped back to analyze the situation. "Hmm… I must perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!" It took a moment for SpongeBob to realize that his mouth was bigger than Plankton's entire body. But after a brief hesitation, he shrugged it off, figuring some resuscitation better than none. He leaned over and blew like a balloon. Plankton inflated until SpongeBob paused to inhale, then Plankton deflated. The force sent him flying around the room, screeching like a balloon does when the air is forced out of a tiny hole. Finally he landed on the floor. "Ugghhhhh….." "You're alive!" said SpongeBob cheerfully. "Sorry about all that, Gary wanted the seanut—" "ENOUGH!" he bellowed, jumping up. "I can't stand it anymore! Forget the plan and the rain, I GOTTA GET OUT OF THIS DEATH TRAP!" "But… but what about whatever you wanted to talk to me about?" He was running to the door. "Rain check!" Plankton shouted as he whizzed down the street, as fast as he could from SpongeBob's house. SpongeBob stood at the doorway, watching Plankton's figure quickly disappear in the distance. He stuck his hand out, palm up. "Yep, I checked it. Still raining." SpongeBob shrugged with a smile and closed the door. In his lab, Plankton held his face in his hands. "I told you." "Not now, Karen." "I told you this morning. Dreams only make sense at first, then later you realize how dumb they are." "I'm not in the mood, Karen!" "Why didn't you listen to me?" "Enough! I just want to relax and forget about the today." "Couldn't have been any worse than your previous fails. It's holographic seanut butter sandwiches for dinner tonight." "Darn!" THE END

THE LIFE OF UNITY i (A LIFE OF DIVERSITY → THE LIFE OF UNITY) (Autistic author; make sure to read A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i - x first!) Sheldon Plankton wasn't born with autism but acquired neurodisability after a theft gone wrong. Despite interacting differently he's still an intellectual scientist inventor. (A LIFE OF DIVERSITY → THE LIFE OF UNITY) It's perfect day for jellyfishing. SpongeBob, ever eager to help a friend, had been up early preparing the jellyfish nets. When he arrived at the Chum Bucket, he found Plankton reading about jellyfish, his antennae quivering. "Plankton, are you ready to go jellyfishing?" Sponge Bob's voice filled with excitement. Plankton looked up from his book. "Jellyfish fields?" he murmured, his one eye lighting up. "Yeah, jellyfish fields," Sponge Bob said with a grin. "It's going to be amazing. We're going to see jellyfish like never before!" Plankton carefully put his book away. "Let's go," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with an unusual sense of anticipation. As they arrived, the water grew clearer, revealing a breathtaking sight: a vast meadow of jellyfish, their gelatinous bodies pulsing gently in the current, their tentacles trailing like a ballet. Plankton took in the mesmerizing display. But, Sponge Bob's eyes widened in recognition. "Kevin!" he exclaimed. Kevin the sea cucumber, Sponge Bob's long-time rival, surfaced with a smirk. "What's going on here?" he sneered, eyes flicking between them "You guys playing jellyfish keep-away?" Plankton's antennae twitched, monotonous voice tight. "No," he murmured. "Plankton... jellyfish expert." Kevin's smirk grew wider. "Expert, huh?" he sneered. "I bet I know more about jellyfish than you ever will." Sponge Bob's eyes narrow. "Why don't we have a little trivia showdown?" He suggested. "Just a friendly competition to see who knows more." Kevin's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "You're on," he says cracking his knuckles. "But if I win, you leave the jellyfish fields and don't come back." Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, but his eye remained focused on the sea cucumber. "If wins," he murmured steady, "Kevin leaves. And brings jellyfish back to Chum Bucket." Kevin's grin faltered, but he quickly regained his composure. "Fine," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "But if I win you both leave and never come back to these fields." The stakes were set. "Alright, let's get started," Kevin said, his smugness palpable. "First question: What is the scientific name for the jellyfish you're so fond of, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought for a moment. "Medusozoa," he murmured with certainty. Kevin's smirk faltered, his confidence visibly shaking. "What? How do you even know that?" Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he replied, "Jellyfish," his monotone voice calm. "Plankton studied." Kevin scoffed. "Fine, then what's the most venomous jellyfish in the sea?" Without missing a beat, Plankton murmured, "Chironex fleckeri." Kevin laughs. "Wrong; it's a Box Jelly!" But Plankton's antennae don't waver. "Chironex fleckeri," he repeats, his monotone voice unshaken. "Box jellyfish, Kevin. Chironex fleckeri." Kevin's eyes widen in surprise, his smugness dissipating. "Alright, show off," he stammers, visibly thrown off his game. "But you don't know this one: What's jellyfish can grow up to 16 inches in diameter?" Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly as he considers the question. "Moon jellyfish," he murmurs unshaken. "Aurelia aurita." Kevin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his grin faltering. "What? That's... that's right," he admits, his voice trailing off. "Good job, Plankton," SpongeBob cheers. Kevin's smirk turns into a grimace as he tries to regain his footing. "Alright, fine," he says through gritted teeth. "But I've got one more question that'll stump you for sure." Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, his one eye focused intently on the sea cucumber. "Go on," he murmurs, his monotone voice filled with quiet confidence. Kevin's eyes narrow, his mind racing for the ultimate question to outsmart Plankton. "Ok then," he says, his voice dripping with challenge. "What's the most rare jellyfish species known to Bikini Bottom?" Plankton's antennae twitch as he thinks, his monotone voice measured. "The Bikini Bottom Glowing Jellyfish," he murmurs. "It's not rare everywhere, but here, yes." Kevin's grin fades into a scowl. "Fine," he says, his voice tight. "What's the average lifespan of a jellyfish?" Plankton's antennae quiver as he considers the question. "Depends on species," he murmurs, his monotone voice unwavering. "Some live weeks, others years." Kevin's smugness returns, his grin stretching wide. "Ah, but I'm not talking about any jellyfish," he says, eyes gleaming. "I'm talking about the Jellyfish of Legend, the one that even SpongeBob can't catch. What's the average lifespan of that one?" Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, eye narrowing in thought. "Rare. Long lifespan." Kevin's smug expression wavers as he realizes Plankton might actually know the answer. "You're bluffing," he accuses, his voice rising. "There's no way you know that!" But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver as he murmurs, "The average lifespan of a type jellyfish known as Turritopsis dohrnii is... indefinite." Kevin's eyes widen in shock, smugness evaporating. "What? That's impossible!" But Plankton's antennae keep quivering with confidence. "Immortal jellyfish," he murmurs. "Turritopsis dohrnii." Kevin's smugness turns to astonishment. "But that's not possible!" he stammers, his bravado slipping away. "No jellyfish can live forever!" Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly as he calmly explains, "Turritopsis dohrnii," his monotone voice unshaken. "It's unique. Can revert to polyp stage, start life cycle again." Kevin stammers, his usual bravado gone. "But... but?" "Plankton studied," Plankton murmurs, his antennae waving slightly. "Jellyfish... interesting." SpongeBob steps forward, eyes glinting with excitement. "I've got one," he says, turning to Kevin. "What's the main diet of jellyfish?" Kevin snorts. "Phytoplankton," Kevin says with glee. "And zooplankton, like your little friend here. Some times other jellyfish." But Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement. "Kevin wrong," he murmurs. "Jellyfish eat... everything." Kevin's smirk falters. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice wary. Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he elaborates. "Jellyfish diet... diverse," he murmurs. "Phytoplankton, zooplankton, even small fish and shrimp. Some, yes, eat other jellyfish. But not all." Kevin's grin turns into a scowl. "That's what I just said!" "But you didn't say everything," Plankton murmurs, his monotone voice filled with a hint of satisfaction. "Jellyfish... adaptable." Kevin's confidence is visibly shaken, his smugness gone. "Fine," he grumbles. "But I bet you don't know their natural predators." Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly. "Natural predators," he murmurs. "Turtles, some fish, sea anemones." Kevin's scoff turns into a growl. "Turtles, sure," he says, his voice mocking. "But what about the big bad..." "Leatherback sea turtles," Plankton murmurs, his antennae quivering slightly. "They love jellyfish." Kevin's smirk fades, his bravado slipping away like sea foam on the shore. "Fine," he says, his voice tight. "What's the most... I don't know, the most useless jellyfish fact you know?" Plankton's antennae quiver slightly as he murmurs, "Usefulness... subjective." His monotone voice is calm, unruffled by the challenge. Kevin's scowl deepens. "Alright, then," he says, his voice tight with frustration. "But surely you don't know this one: What's the jellyfish that's immune to its own venom?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his monotone voice unfazed. "Turritopsis nutricula," he murmurs. "Immune to own sting." Kevin's eyes narrow. "Alright, then," he says, his voice tight with frustration. "What's the most bizarre jellyfish fact you can think of?" Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his monotone voice contemplative. "Bizarre," he murmurs. "Some jellyfish have bioluminescent glow." Kevin's eyes light up with a spark of hope. "That's it," he says, voice smug. "Everyone knows that. I've got a better one: jellyfish don't have brains, just nerve nets. So, what's the point of all this studying?" Plankton's antennae quiver as he considers the question, his monotone voice calm. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, "have complex behaviors. Complex. Have nerve nets. Plankton studied. Brain not necessary for intelligence."

ᯓ★

https://discord.nfp.is/7Q1 https://kimcartoon.li/Cartoon/Plankton-The-Movie/Full-Leak?id=119119

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░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ███ █ ░░░░░░░░ ██ ░░░ ░░░░░░ ██░▓▓▓▒▓▓▓▓█▒▒▒▒░░▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▒███▓▓███░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░█ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ████ ░░░░░░ ████ ░ ░░░░░░ █░▓▓▓▒▓▓▓▓█░░░█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░█░▒▒▒░█░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░▓██ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ █ █ ░░░░░░ █ █ ░ ░░░░░░ █▓██▓▒▓▓▓▓█░▓▒█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▓░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░█▒█ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ▒ ░░░░░░░░ █ ░ ░░░░░░ █▓▓▒█▓▒▓▓▓▓█░▓ ▒█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░▒▒▒▓░█▓▒█ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░ █ ░░░░ ░░░░░ █▓▒▒▒▓░▒▓▓▓█░▓ ▒█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░█▓▓▓▒░░░█▓▒██ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ██ █ ░░ ░░░░░ ██▓▒▓▒█▓▒▓▓▓█░▒▒░█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░█▓▓░▒░░░█░░░░░▒█ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ███ ░░ ░░░░░ █▒▓▒▓▒▓▓▒▓▓▓▓████▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░███ ██░▒██░░░█████▓ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ █ ░░ ░░░░░ █▒▓▒▓▒▓▓▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░▒░░░▓▒░░░░░▒███ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░ ░░░░ ░░░░░ █▓░▒▒▒▓█▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░▒██▒ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░ █▓▒▓░█▓██▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░▒███ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░ █▓▒▓░█▒▓▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░██ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░ █▓▒▓░█░▓██▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░█ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░ █▓▒▓▒█▓▒█▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░▓█ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░ █▓▒░▓ █░▓█▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░██ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░ █▓▒░█ ██░▒██▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░██ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░ █▓▒░█ ██░▓██▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░██ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░ ██░▒░█ ██▒▓█▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░ ██ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░ █▓▒▒▒█ ░ ██▓▒▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░██ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ █▓▒░█ ░░ ██▒▓▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░ ██▒▒▓████ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ▓████▒▒▒▒█ ░░░░░ ██▓▓▓█▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░█████████████ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ██▓██████ ░░░░░░ ██▓▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░▒███ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░ ▒ ████▓▓▓▓░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▒█████▒▓▓░░░▒░░░░████ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░ ████████▓▓▓ ░░▒▒▒▒░░░░░▒▓▓░██▓▓███ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ █ ░ ▒████████████░░░░░▒▒░▒▒░█ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░ ███████████████ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

🪼,✨️༘⋆₊📸.𖥔 ˖

🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

sea🦪🌊🥽🫧🐋

🌊⚓🫧🔱

🫧🪼🐙🦑🪸🐚🦀

Kawaii, cute, cat, octopus𓆉

˓ˊ‿( ˙☉˙ )‿ˋ˒ V V V

⊹ ࣪ ˖🪼💭🫧°.✩｡ search kaor on emoji combos for more ^^

- [x] .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ᥫ᭡. search xemascar for more. 💕𐙚

🪼⭐️

🌊♡☁️

𓃵𓅪𓃮𓃠𓃹𓆏𓆉

🐚🪼🦪🎐🦑🐙🦈✮☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆🐋🐚🐋🐋🐋⭐️🫧🌀

🍍🍑🍍🍑🍍🍑🍍🍑🍍🍑🍑🍍🍑🍍