Acquired Autism Emojis & Text

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

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

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 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.

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

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

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𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 2 by NeuroFabulous Karen knew that Plankton's autism came with challenges, and one of those was dealing with sensory overload. Her hand remained steady on Plankton's back, knowing to͠uch was always either a comfort or a trigger. Plankton's breathing began to even out, and she could see the tension slowly drain from his body. Karen looked over at Chip, his eyes still filled with uncertainty. She knew it was time to explain. "Chip," she said, her voice calm and steady, "Dad has something that makes his brain work a little differently than ours. It's called autism." Chip nodded, trying to understand. "What's that, Mom? What does autism mean?" Karen took a deep breath. "It means that Dad's brain processes things in a way that's different from most people's," she explained. "Sometimes, his brain gets really tired from trying to make sense of the world, and his body has to take a little break." Chip nodded slowly, his thoughts racing. "So, like his brain needs to reboot?" "Exactly," Karen said with a gentle smıle. "And when it does, we have to be extra careful and quiet. It's like when your phone freezes up, and you give it some patience to figure things out." Then Plankton's eye blinks, now focusing. The world slowly came back to Plankton. He saw Karen beside him, her screen filled with relief and love. "Whaa-" He stuttered, his body still feeling heavy. He noticed Chip, his son, sitting on the bed, looking at him with wide eyes and tears streaking down his face. "Ch-Chip?" Plankton managed to croak. The sight of his son's presence told him that he'd been watching. Chip's eyes widened, hope filling his voice as he called out again, "Dad!" Plankton winced. Karen reached for Chip, pulling him into a side hug. "Remember, sweetie, we need to be calm and quiet for Dad. He's coming back." Plankton blinked rapidly, his senses slowly returning. He looked at his son, then at his wife, feeling a mix of emotions - fear, guilt, exposed, understanding, mortification. Suddenly, a tic took over. His face scrunched up involuntarily. Chip had never seen his dad do this before! "It's okay," Karen whispered quickly to Chip, sensing his alarm. "Sometimes, Dad's brain needs to do little things to get all the energy out. It's just a part of his autism." "Kkr-kr-kr-kr," Plankton stims. Chip leaned in, his eyes still full of unshed tears. "You okay, Da-" "I'm fi-fi-fine," Plankton interrupted, his voice still stuttering. Karen turns to their son. "Chip, sometimes Dad's brain needs to make little noises or movements to get all the extra energy out." He had managed to keep this part of himself hidden from his son for so long, and now, here he was, exposed and vulnerable in front of him. Chip studied his dad's tics closely. Plankton's eye was blinking rapidly, and his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, creating a staccato. Chip leaned closer, trying to mimic the sound with his own mouth. "You sound like a dolphin! How do-" "Chip," Plankton interrupted, his voice tight with anger and self consciousness, "that's ENOUGH, so STOP IT." The sharpness of Plankton's tone cut through the room, silencing Chip's curiosity. He hadn't meant to upset his dad. He just wanted to make him feel better. The twitches and noises of his tics had now stopped, but the tension was palpable. "I-I'm sorry, Dad," Chip stuttered, his voice small. Tears glistened in his eyes. Karen looked at Plankton with concern. "Honey," she began gently, "we need to talk to Chip about this. He doesn't know what's happe—" "I KNOW what's happening!" Plankton snapped, cutting her off. His anger was palpable. "He doesn't need to see this!" The room fell silent except for the sound of Plankton's quick, shallow breaths. Karen swallowed hard, knowing that she had to handle this situation with care. But Plankton didn't want his son to see him like this, so out of control. "Get out!" he shouted at Chip. "I don't want you here!" His voice was raw, his emotions spilling over. Chip's eyes widened in shock, his mouth dropping open in a gasp. He had never seen his dad so angry before. His heart was racing, his own chest tight with fear. "But, Dad-" he began. "I said get̴ out!" Chip scurried away, his feet thumping on the floor as he rushed to leave. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving him in the hallway. He leaned against the wall, his breaths coming in quick, sharp gasps. Tears rolled down Chip's screen as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. His dad had never yells at him like that. He felt a pang of hurt, but also fear. What had he done wrong? He just wanted to help. Karen stepped out of the room, leaving Plankton alone with his guilt. She knelt down beside Chip, pulling him into a warm embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Dad didn't mean to scare you. He's just overwhelmed." Chip sniffled, his eyes still on the closed door. "But why is he so mad?" he asked, his voice small and shaky. Karen sighed. "He's not mad at you, Chip. He's just scared and confused. Sometimes his brain gets too much information, and it's hard for him to handle it all." Chip looked up at his mom, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "But why did he tell me to leave?" Karen took a deep breath. "Chip, your dad loves you so much," she said, her voice soft and gentle. "But sometimes his autism makes him feel things really intensely. He's not mad at you, he's just upset because he didn't want you to see him like that. Sometimes, when people with autism get overwhelmed, their emotions can come out in big ways, even when they don't mean to scare us." Chip wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "But why doesn't he tell me about it?" he asked, his voice quivering. "Why does it have to be a secret?" Karen sighed heavily. "Because sometimes, people feel embarrassed or scared to talk about things that make them different." She rubbed his back soothingly. "But now that you know, we can help him feel less alone." Chip nodded, but his heart was still racing. He didn't understand why his dad couldn't just tell him. "But he was so angry," he murmured. Karen nodded, her eyes sad. "I know it's hard, but it's important we talk to him about it," she said. "We need to let him know we're here for him." They both took deep breaths, preparing themselves for the conversation ahead. They walked back into the room, where Plankton still sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "Plankton," Karen began, her voice soft. "We need to talk to him about your autism." But Plankton was still too lost in his own head to listen. He sat there, his antennae twitching rapidly, his body swaying slightly. He was in his own world. Karen watched him, her heart aching. She knew his anger wasn't directed at Chip, but at himself, his own limitations. She also knew that this was the best time to start the conversation they had been avoiding. "Plankton," she said softly. "We need to tell Chip about what your autis–" "NO!" Plankton shouted, his stims escalating. "It's none of his business!" He shouts, looking at Chip. Chip's eyes widened at his dad's outburst. He had never seen him like this. Karen's grip on Chip's hand tightened, but she didn't move to leave. "Plankton," she said, her voice calm, but firm, "Chip found you. He's already seen i---" "I DIDN'T WANT HIM TO SEE!" Plankton's voice was sharp, his body shaking slightly. "I DON'T WANT HIM TO KNOW ANYMORE!" The words echoed in the room, each one a dull thud to Karen's heart. Plankton's stims were more pronounced now, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in a rapid, nervous pattern. "Kkr-kr-kr," he repeated, his eye squeezed shut. Chip watched, his small chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He had never seen his dad like this, so out of control. But his fear was now mingled with curiosity. "What's happening, Mom?" he whispered. "It's okay, sweetie," Karen assured him, her voice still calm despite the tension in the room. "Dad's just trying to make sense of everything. Sometimes, people with autism do things called stims to help them cope."

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4️⃣

•̀ω•́

Emotional Distress Scale 0 - I feel great! This is the best I’ve felt in a long time! 1 - I’m feeling really good! There’s no distress to address. 2 - I’m feeling good. If I start feeling bothered, I can be easily distracted or cheered up. 3 - I’m okay, but there are some things bothering me. I can easily cope with them, though. 4 - I could be better. There are a few things distressing me right now. It’s not exactly easy to deal with, but I still have the skills to get through it. 5 - I’m not okay. It’s getting harder to do the things I want to do, but I can do them. My coping skills aren’t working as well anymore, but enough of them work to get me through the day. I need some support. 6 - I’m feeling bad, and it’s very hard to do the things I need or want to do. Most of my coping skills aren’t effective right now, and it’s taking a lot of energy to stay stable. I need help. 7 - I’m feeling awful. It’s hard to focus on anything but my emotions, and/or I’m avoiding things that distress me. I can’t do much but try to take care of myself, which is already hard in itself. I’m running low on, or have run out of, effective coping skills. I need a lot of help right now. 8 - I’m feeling awful, and I can’t escape it anymore. How I feel is affecting every part of my day, and I’m reaching the point where I can’t function. It’s hard to sleep, eat, socialize, etc. I need help before I can’t handle anything. 9 - This is approaching the worst I could feel. I can’t function anymore. My emotions have totally consumed me. I may be a danger to myself or others, or I may be neglecting myself. I need urgent help. 10 - This is the worst I’ve felt ever/since [last time]. I can’t care for myself at all. My emotions are so intense, I’m at imminent risk of dangerously acting on them. I need crisis support immediately. 11 - I have acted on my emotions and hurt myself or someone else. Everything else in my life is impossible to comprehend. I need medicinal and/or crisis support immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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.

if you love tcc follow me on pinterest @zenloveguns :33

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