Chip On the Shoulders Emojis & Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I V X L C D M 1 5 10 50 100 500 1000 🔢 Individual decimal places Thousands Hundreds Tens Units 1 M C X I 2 MM CC XX II 3 MMM CCC XXX III 4 CD XL IV 5 D L V 6 DC LX VI 7 DCC LXX VII 8 DCCC LXXX VIII 9 CM XC IX

𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘛 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. ✦𓂅 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴..☾ ⋆

𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝕽𝖔𝖆𝖉𝖘 𝖔𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ; ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ? ᴾᵉᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ? ᴹᵒⁿᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ? ʸᵒᵘ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵃ ʳᵃⁿᵈᵒᵐ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ ᴴᵉʳᵉ ˡⁱᵉˢ ᔆᵐⁱᵗʰ ¹⁹ˣˣ⁻? ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ? ᴵ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᶠᵃⁿᵗ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ‧‧‧ ᵂᵃˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵈᵖᵃ ᵇᵒʳⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ʸᵉᵃʳ? ᴴᵒʷ ᵈⁱᵈ ᔆᵐⁱᵗʰ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ? ᵂᵃˢ ᔆᵐⁱᵗʰ ˢᵃᵗⁱˢᶠⁱᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ⸴ ᶠᵘˡᶠⁱˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ʰⁱˢ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ? ᵂᵃˢ ⁱᵗ ˢᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿ ʷʰᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ⸴ ᵒʳ ʷᵃˢ ⁱᵗ ᶠᵒʳˢᵉᵉⁿ? ᵂʰᵉⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᴵ ᵍᵒ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉʸᵃʳᵈ⸴ ᴵ ᵗᵉⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉ ⁿᵉᵃʳᵇʸ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢ; ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧‧‧ ᴰʳʸ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉˢ ᶜʳᵘⁿᶜʰ ᵃˢ ᴵ ʷᵃˡᵏ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵃ ʳᵒʷ‧ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵃˡˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᶠᵒʳ‧ ᴸᵒᵒᵏˢ ᵇʳᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵉʷ; ᵒʰ⸴ ⁱᵗ ˢᵃʸˢ ²⁰ˣˣ ˢᵒ ⁱᵗ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁿᵗ‧ ᴬᵐᵃᵇᵉˡ; ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ! ᴬᵐᵃᵇᵉˡ‧‧‧ ᴿⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵉᵃʳ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ‽ ᴬ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ˢʰᵃᵖᵉᵈ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ‧‧‧ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ‧ ᵂʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ? ᴴᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵃⁿʸ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ? ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉᵈ‧ ᴬʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒˢᵉˢ ᵃʳᵗⁱᶠⁱᶜⁱᵃˡ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ˢᵒ ᶠʳᵉˢʰ‧‧‧ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒˡᵒᵘʳˢ! ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵗʳʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ʳᵘˢʰ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ˢᵃᶜʳᵉᵈ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ⸴ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ᴵ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᴵ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ‧ ᴬˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᴬ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ʷᵒʳᵗʰ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵉʳᵉⁿᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵇʸ ᴵ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃʳ‧ ᴿᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ’ᵗ ⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᵃʳⁱˡʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵒʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵃˡ ˢᵉʳᵛⁱᶜᵉ‧ ᴬ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ⁱˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ⸴ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ⸴ ᵒʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵃˢᵗ ˡⁱᵛᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ʳᵉᵃˢᵒⁿˢ ʷʰʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵈᵒ‧ ᴴᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ? ᴰᵒ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵒᵈᵈ⸴ ᵒʳ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢʰᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ? ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵖⁱᵗᵃᵖʰˢ? ᵀʰᵉʸ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵛᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ʷʳᵉⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴳᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵍˡⁱᵐᵖˢᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ’ˢ ˡⁱᶠᵉ⸴ “ᴮᵉˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ⸴ ᔆʷᵉᵉᵗ ᴬⁿᵍᵉˡ”‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵇᵒʳⁿ⸴ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˡᵉᵃʳⁿ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ‧ ᴰⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ⸴ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ⸴ ᵖᵃʳᵉⁿᵗˢ⸴ ˢᵖᵒᵘˢᵉ? ᵂᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵉʳᵛⁱᶜᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉʳ ᵃⁿ ᵃʳᵗⁱˢᵗ⸴ ᵃ ᵖᵒᵉᵗ? ᴵˢ ⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗʸ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ? ᵀʰᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵏ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵒʳⁿᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵈᵉᶜᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ʷᵒᵒᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗ ᵗᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴿᵉᵐⁿᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵒᶠ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳʸᵉᵃʳ‧ ᴬ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ⸴ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ˡⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ‧ ᴵˢ ⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʳᶜʰⁱᵗᵉᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈʳᵃʷˢ ʸᵒᵘ? ᵀʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᶜᵃʳᵛᵉᵈ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵘᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵍˡᵃˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ⁱʳᵒⁿ‧ ᴹᵘᶜʰ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵍᵒ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇʳᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ʷᵃˢ‧ ᴿᵉˢᵖᵉᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇʳᵃⁿᶜᵉ⸴ ᵉⁿᵈˡᵉˢˢˡʸ ᶠᵃˢᶜⁱⁿᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᴰᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵗᵃⁿᵍˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵃʳᵇˡᵉ ᵒʳ ᵃⁿ ᵉˡᵃᵇᵒʳᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ᶜʰⁱˢᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵍᵉˡ? ᴬʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᶠʳᵉˢʰ? ᵂʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁱⁿʰᵃᵇⁱᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ? ᴾʳᵒᶠᵉˢˢᵒʳ ᴰᵃᵛⁱᵉˢ ˢᵃʸˢ ʰᵉʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉʸᵃʳᵈˢ ˡᵉᵃⁿˢ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗᵒʷᵃʳᵈ ᵇⁱᵇˡⁱᵒᵖʰⁱˡⁱᵃ ⁽ᵃ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵒᵒᵏˢ⁾ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ⁿᵉᶜʳᵒᵖʰⁱˡⁱᵃ “ᵒʳ ᵃⁿʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵉᑫᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵍʳᵒˢˢ ᵒʳ ᵐᵒʳᵇⁱᵈ ᵈᵉʳᵃⁿᵍᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ‧” ᴵⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵈ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ʳᵉʲᵉᶜᵗˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵉʳᵐ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃˡˡ ʰᵉʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵃ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵃⁿ‧ ᴵᵗ’ˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒʳᵍᵃⁿⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ⸴ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ʷᵒʳᵏ⸴ ʳᵉˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵒᶜᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ᶠʳᵃᵍⁱˡᵉ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉˢ‧ ᴱᵃᶜʰ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵘⁿⁱᑫᵘᵉˡʸ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴬ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ᵇʸ ᵈᵉᶠⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ⁱˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ⸴ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʳᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵍᵒᵉˢ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃˡˢᵒ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃʳʸ ᵗʳᵃᵈⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ‧ ᵀᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍʰᵒᵘˡⁱˢʰ ᶠᵒˡᵏˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵒᵇˢᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿˢ‧ ᴵⁿ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ⸴ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵖᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵉ‧ ᵀᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵃʳⁿ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ⁱⁿᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵘᵃˡˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˡⁱᵗᵉʳᵃˡˡʸ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ’ˢ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ⁱᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵐᵃᶻⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴮᵉ ᶜᵒⁿˢⁱᵈᵉʳᵃᵗᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ‧ ᴵᶠ ᵃ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡ ⁱˢ ⁱⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ ᵒʳ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ‧ ᴰᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ˢⁱᵗ ᵒʳ ˡᵉᵃⁿ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿˢᵗ ᵐᵒⁿᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ‧ ᴬˢᵏ ᵖᵉʳᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒᶠᶠⁱᶜᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ ʳᵘᵇᵇⁱⁿᵍ; ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵐᵃʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ‧ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷ ᵃˡˡ ᵖᵒˢᵗᵉᵈ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ʳᵘˡᵉˢ‧

https://tengamehay.com/deaths-in-childbirth

∩――――――∩ || ໒꒰⁠ ྀི ｡◞ ˔ ◟ ꒱ྀི 𐰁ᶻz | ﾉ ￣￣୨୧￣￣＼ ﾉ　 　　 ＼ ＼　　||￣￣ ♡￣￣ || 　 ＼ ﾉ||―――――――||

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧. 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ༊*·˚

Cᴀᴛʜᴇʀɪɴᴇ ᴏғ Pᴏᴅᴇ̌ʙʀᴀᴅʏ (11 Nᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 1449 – 8 Mᴀʀᴄʜ 1464) ᴡᴀs Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏғ Hᴜɴɢᴀʀʏ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴡɪғᴇ ᴏғ Kɪɴɢ Mᴀᴛᴛʜɪᴀs Cᴏʀᴠɪɴᴜs. Cᴀᴛʜᴇʀɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴛᴡɪɴ sɪsᴛᴇʀ Sɪᴅᴏɴɪᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴏʀɴ ᴀᴛ Pᴏᴅᴇ̌ʙʀᴀᴅʏ, ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ Bᴏʜᴇᴍɪᴀɴ ᴋɪɴɢ Gᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ᴏғ Pᴏᴅᴇ̌ʙʀᴀᴅʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ғɪʀsᴛ ᴡɪғᴇ, Kᴜɴɪɢᴜɴᴅᴇ ᴏғ Šᴛᴇʀɴʙᴇʀᴋ. Kᴜɴɪɢᴜɴᴅᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪʀᴛʜ. Gᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ᴏғ Pᴏᴅᴇ̌ʙʀᴀᴅʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ; ʜɪs sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴡɪғᴇ, Jᴏᴀɴɴᴀ ᴏғ Rᴏᴢ̌ᴍɪᴛᴀ́ʟ, ʙᴏʀᴇ Gᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ Lᴜᴅᴍɪʟᴀ ᴏғ Pᴏᴅᴇ̌ʙʀᴀᴅʏ. Mᴀᴛᴛʜɪᴀs ᴡᴀs ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ, ʜɪs ʙʀɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ. Tʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ɴᴇɢᴏᴛɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇɢᴜɴ ɪɴ 1458 ᴡʜᴇɴ Cᴀᴛʜᴇʀɪɴᴇ ᴡᴀs ɴɪɴᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴏʟᴅ. Sᴏᴏɴ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, Cᴀᴛʜᴇʀɪɴᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ ʜᴇʀ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴠᴇ ɪɴ Hᴜɴɢᴀʀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ɴᴇᴡ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ. Jᴀɴᴜs Pᴀɴɴᴏɴɪᴜs ʜᴇʟᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜ Cᴀᴛʜᴇʀɪɴᴇ Lᴀᴛɪɴ. Tʜᴇ ᴏ̨ᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʙɪʀᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɢᴇ ᴏғ 14. Tʜᴇ ᴏғғsᴘʀɪɴɢ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ᴀs ᴡᴇʟʟ. Tʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇᴅ Mᴀᴛᴛʜɪᴀs ᴛᴏ ʟᴏsᴇ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴏғ sɪʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟᴇɢɪᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴇɪʀ.

ᶜᵃᵗʰᵉʳⁱⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴾᵒᵈᵉ̌ᵇʳᵃᵈʸ ⁽¹¹ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹⁴⁴⁹ – ⁸ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ¹⁴⁶⁴⁾ ʷᵃˢ ᑫᵘᵉᵉⁿ ᵒᶠ ᴴᵘⁿᵍᵃʳʸ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵉᶜᵒⁿᵈ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴷⁱⁿᵍ ᴹᵃᵗᵗʰⁱᵃˢ ᶜᵒʳᵛⁱⁿᵘˢ‧ ᶜᵃᵗʰᵉʳⁱⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵗʷⁱⁿ ˢⁱˢᵗᵉʳ ᔆⁱᵈᵒⁿⁱᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵇᵒʳⁿ ᵃᵗ ᴾᵒᵈᵉ̌ᵇʳᵃᵈʸ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᴮᵒʰᵉᵐⁱᵃⁿ ᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᴳᵉᵒʳᵍᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴾᵒᵈᵉ̌ᵇʳᵃᵈʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵘⁿⁱᵍᵘⁿᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ᔆ̌ᵗᵉʳⁿᵇᵉʳᵏ‧ ᴷᵘⁿⁱᵍᵘⁿᵈᵉ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰ‧ ᴳᵉᵒʳᵍᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴾᵒᵈᵉ̌ᵇʳᵃᵈʸ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ʳᵉᵐᵃʳʳⁱᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵉᶜᵒⁿᵈ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴶᵒᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵒᶠ ᴿᵒᶻ̌ᵐⁱᵗᵃ́ˡ ᵇᵒʳᵉ ᴳᵉᵒʳᵍᵉ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ⁱⁿᶜˡᵘᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᴸᵘᵈᵐⁱˡᵃ ᵒᶠ ᴾᵒᵈᵉ̌ᵇʳᵃᵈʸ‧ ᴹᵃᵗᵗʰⁱᵃˢ ʷᵃˢ ᵉⁱᵍʰᵗᵉᵉⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇʳⁱᵈᵉ ᵗʰⁱʳᵗᵉᵉⁿ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ʷᵉᵈᵈⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵉᵍᵒᵗⁱᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ʰᵃᵈ ᵇᵉᵍᵘⁿ ⁱⁿ ¹⁴⁵⁸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᶜᵃᵗʰᵉʳⁱⁿᵉ ʷᵃˢ ⁿⁱⁿᵉ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵒˡᵈ‧ ᔆᵒᵒⁿ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃʳʳⁱᵃᵍᵉ ᶜᵃᵗʰᵉʳⁱⁿᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ʰᵉʳ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˡⁱᵛᵉ ⁱⁿ ᴴᵘⁿᵍᵃʳʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰᵉʳ ⁿᵉʷ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᴶᵃⁿᵘˢ ᴾᵃⁿⁿᵒⁿⁱᵘˢ ʰᵉˡᵖᵉᵈ ᵗᵉᵃᶜʰ ᶜᵃᵗʰᵉʳⁱⁿᵉ ᴸᵃᵗⁱⁿ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᑫᵘᵉᵉⁿ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈᵇⁱʳᵗʰ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵖʳᵉᵍⁿᵃⁿᵗ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵍᵉ ᵒᶠ ¹⁴‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵒᶠᶠˢᵖʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʷᵉˡˡ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉᵈ ᴹᵃᵗᵗʰⁱᵃˢ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒˢᵉ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ˢⁱʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˡᵉᵍⁱᵗⁱᵐᵃᵗᵉ ʰᵉⁱʳ‧

..ღ❤❤•❤ღDAUGHTERღ❤•❤❤ღ..

ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃ ᵀᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ ᵀᵒᵘʳⁱˢᵗ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃʷᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ʳⁱᶜʰ ʳᵉᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ᵃʳᵗ⸴ ᵃʳᶜʰⁱᵗᵉᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰⁱˢ ᵀʳᵃⁱˡ ⁱˢ ᵃ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗⁱᵛᵉ ʷᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵃˣ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉʸᵃʳᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ᶜʰᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵈᵐⁱʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒⁿᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ‧ ᴾʳᵉˢⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗ ᴶᵒʰⁿ ᶠ‧ ᴷᵉⁿⁿᵉᵈʸ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸴ “ᴬ ⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʳᵉᵛᵉᵃˡˢ ⁱᵗˢᵉˡᶠ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵉˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ʰᵒⁿᵒʳˢ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳˢ‧” ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃʳᵗ⸴ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ᵍᵉⁿᵉᵃˡᵒᵍʸ⸴ ᶜˡᵃˢˢ⸴ ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ ᵃˡˡ ʳᵒˡˡᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵒⁿᵉ‧ ᴺᵒʷ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ‘ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗ’ ᵃ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒⁿ ˡⁱⁿᵉ‧ ᵂʰⁱˡᵉ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ᵃˢ ˢᵗʳᵒˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵃ ʷⁱⁿᵈʸ ᵃᵘᵗᵘᵐⁿᵃˡ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ⸴ ˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃⁿ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳ’ˢ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ⁱᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉ ⁱᶠ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵒʳ ᶠⁱⁿᵃⁿᶜᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ʰᵒˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵐᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳⁱᵖ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ˡᵒᶜᵃᵗᵉ ᵃⁿ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳ’ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡ ʳᵉˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳⁿᵉᵗ⸴ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ᵖʰᵒᵗᵒ⸴ ᵒⁿ ˢⁱᵗᵉˢ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵈᵃᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ‧ᶜᵒᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵐᵉⁿᵗ‧ᶜᵒᵐ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ; ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ᵃʳᶜʰⁱᵗᵉᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ⸴ ᵃʳᵗ⸴ ʷᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵘʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ⸴ ᵃˡˡ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ˢᵉʳᵉⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴰᵃⁿ ᵂⁱˡˢᵒⁿ⠘ ᴵ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᶜᵒˡˡᵉᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡⁱᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵃʳᵉ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ‧ ᴬ ˡᵒᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʰᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˡⁱᵛᵉᵈ⸴ ˢᵒ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ᵏⁱⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᶠᵃˢᶜⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴺᵒᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵈᵒ ʷᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵃˡ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘˢᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ⸴ ʷᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ˡⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʳᵉˡᵃᵗⁱᵛᵉˢ⸴ ʷᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᵏⁱⁿᵈˢ ᵒᶠ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ⸴ ᶜᵒᵒˡ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵘᶠᶠ ᴵ ˡⁱᵏᵉ‧ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ʰᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ‧ ᴵ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ʷᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵃˢᶜⁱⁿᵃᵗᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ ᴬˡᵒʸˢⁱᵘˢ⸴ ᴱᵈʷⁱⁿᵃ⸴ ⱽⁱᶜᵗᵒʳⁱᵃ⸴ ᴺᵃᵗʰᵃⁿⁱᵃˡ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵃˡˡ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈᵉᵈ ᶜʰᵃʳᵐⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵉᵗ ᵒˡᵈ ᶠᵃˢʰⁱᵒⁿᵉᵈ‧ ᴬˢ ᴵ ᶠⁱᵍᵘʳᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵍᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵛᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʷʰᵒˢᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ‧ ᴴᵃᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵐᵃʳʳⁱᵉᵈ? ᴰⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ? ᴴᵃᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ? ᴴᵃᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ˡⁱᶠᵉ? ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵖⁱᵗᵃᵖʰˢ⠘ ᴰᵉᵃʳ ᴮʳᵒᵗʰᵉʳ⸴ ᴿᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳᵉᵈ ᴬᵘⁿᵗ⸴ ᴮᵉˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵂⁱᶠᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴼᵘʳ ᴮᵃᵇʸ – ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ‧ ᴵᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵃᵗ⸴ ʸᵉˢ⸴ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ‧ ᔆᵒ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗˢ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵃʸ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ⁵⁰ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ’ˢ ᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃʷᵃʸ⸴ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ᵏⁱⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒᵒˡ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵉˡˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ⸴ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ʷʰᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ‧ ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʷᵉ ᵒʷᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ‧ ᵀʰⁱˢ ᵃᵖᵖˡⁱᵉˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᴵⁿᵗᵉʳⁿᵉᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵖᵒˢˢⁱᵇˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵉᵃˢⁱᵉʳ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ʸᵒᵘ’ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢᵘʳᵖʳⁱˢᵉᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ‧

Episode | Pineapple Invasion Typed By: Amphitrite Plankton: (emerges from the roof with a waggon, with a rag covering something in it) I'm ready! I'm ready! Ready to steal the Krabby Patty secret formula! Prepare to initiate plan number... hmm... number... What's the number? Oh well, who cares? Karen: Good question. Plankton: Say what? Karen: I said "Good luck". (pushes the waggon down the slope) Plankton: That formula will be mine! (the waggon rolls through the Krusty Krab doors and past the customers up to the cash register boat) Out of my way, pinheads! Move it, move it, move it! (rings the bells) Hey there, schnozzola! I'm about to show you the advantage of not having a nose. Say hello to... r... Mr. Krabs: (rounds up Plankton with SpongeBob's arm) Here's another routine: you're the meat in me knuckle sandwich! Plankton: I'm not hungry! Mr. Krabs: (smashes Plankton between his fists. Plankton sticks to his left fist) Eww. (throws one of Plankton's antennae on the floor) SpongeBob! SpongeBob: (hops in on his leg) Yes, sir. I see the problem. SpongeBob: But Mr. Krabs, how do you know it will be safe from Plankton at my house? Mr. Krabs: Pshaw! He'll think it's still here! His tiny braın is incapable of the kind of abstract thinking that is required for reflection. Or thoughtful reasoning and deduction. He cannot ruminate (pan down to the antenna Plankton lost earlier, catching a signal of what Krabs is saying and Plankton is listening from a distance) He cannot define the hypothesis. He's a tıred clown. He'll never know it's in your house. Plankton: (smiling evilly) Oh, you're right, Professor Krabface. I'm much too simple-minded to look there. (laughs) (at nighttime, SpongeBob walks out of the Krusty Krab with the formula) Plankton: Hey, there. (SpongeBob panickedly hides the formula in one of his holes) Pleasant night, eh SpongeBob? SpongeBob: Oh, uh... yes. It's a very nighty-night for a walkie! Plankton: Ain't that the truth? Hey, nothing gets past you. One could say you have the formula for honesty. SpongeBob: Uh, yeah. One could say that I guess. Uh, anyway, I gotta go wash my formula--HAIR! Hair! I gotta go wash my hair! SpongeBob: (laughing nervously) Okay, bye! (walks home) Narrator: The next morning... SpongeBob: Now remember, Gary. I'm entrusting you. Gary: Meow. SpongeBob: Stay shxrp, Gary. Don't let anyone inside. Gary: Meow. SpongeBob: Bye, Gary! (Plankton watches as SpongeBob leaves. Laughs) Gary: (hears a knσck at the door) Meow. (opens the door) Meow, meow! (slams the door) Plankton: (gets mad and throws box on the ground, which explode. Stunned) Note to self: nitroglycerin is not a substitute for vanilla extract. (collapses) (goes back into the kitchen. Plankton opens the fridge, jumps on the stove, and knocks the fridge over. He then knocks the stove over and climbs through the ducts) Nope, nope, nope. (he climbs in the cupboards, and rummages through it. Gary wakes up from his nap and goes downstairs to see where the noise is coming from. Plankton sneaks past Gary and goes upstairs to search in SpongeBob's room. Gary sees him and gets an idea) Plankton: (walks out of SpongeBob's room and slips on Gary's slime, bounces off a mattress and flies into the ceiling fan, which spins him around and flings him in a basketball net, through a pipe, and onto a record player. The record player spins Plankton and he gets caught under. He falls off and into a puddle of glue. A bowling ball rolls on top of him, squishing and sticking him to it. The bowling ball rolls into a bunch of flower pots like bowling pins. A robotic vacuum cleaner sucks up the mess, including Plankton, who pops out of the dust bin) Alright, snail. Let's go! (Gary beats up Plankton with his eyestalks. After he recovers, he notices the opening of Gary's shell) Of course! What a føøls I've been! (climbs inside) SpongeBob's hidden the secret formula inside Gary's shell! (one of Gary's eyes starts following him. Plankton starts running away as it chases him throughout all sorts of surreal dimensions in Gary's shell) SpongeBob: (returns home) Gary, I'm home! (gasps as soon as he sees the inside of his house is demolished) What happened here?! (gasps) My first Krabby Patty! I had it bronzed! Aw, and I was gonna give that to my grandchildren. (gasps again) My Mermaid Man collectible pants! I could've worn them a thousand more times. (gasps a third time) My glass of water! (teary-eyed) I was gonna drınk that. (walks up to his TV set. The Krabby Patty formula is on top of it) Oh, the Krabby Patty formula! Whew! It's safe and right where I left it. (spots Gary with his eye in his shell) Gary, did you do this? (Gary growls) What's the matter, Gary? Something wrong with your shell? Gary: Meow, meow! SpongeBob: Something's not right, Gary. Plankton: (stops running and reaches a đeađ end) Ha! I lost him! Now I'M lost. (Gary's shell abruptly tilts, causing him to fall deeper into the shell's center) Ow... my head... oh, I must be in the centre of the shell. (sees a piece of paper sticking out of the snail slime) What's that? (takes the paper out of the slime and opens it) This is it! Just like I thought! It was hidden here all the time! The secret Krabby Patty formula! It's beautiful! (a light shines on Plankton) The heavenly light! I always knew I'd see it once I've gotten the formula! (cut to the vet, where it's revealed that Gary's shell is opened up with Plankton inside holding a grocery list, looking dizzy and hallucinating) Doctor: Well, that's odd. Who's that? SpongeBob: Hey, it's Plankton. Doctor: What's he got there? SpongeBob: Looks like one of my old grocery lists. Doctor: I don't know how he got in there, but the gasses inside this shell are making the little guy hallucinate. He would've smelled the gasses if he had a nose like most good-hearted people. (takes a deep whiff) Plankton: (laughs crazy)

i wish we were all having a sleepover rn. trading secrets and sipping something bubbly ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

ᴬˡᵃⁿ ᴿᵃʸ ᴼʳᵗᵉᵍᵃ ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴ ²⁶ ᴶᵃⁿ ¹⁹⁵³ ᵀᵒᵒᵉˡᵉ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗʸ⸴ ᵁᵗᵃʰ⸴ ᵁᔆᴬ ᴰᴱᴬᵀᴴ ²⁶ ᴶᵃⁿ ¹⁹⁵³ ᵀᵒᵒᵉˡᵉ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗʸ⸴ ᵁᵗᵃʰ⸴ ᵁᔆᴬ ᴮᵁᴿᴵᴬᴸ ᵀᵒᵒᵉˡᵉ ᶜⁱᵗʸ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᴬˡᵃⁿ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ˢʰᵒʳᵗˡʸ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰ ᵈᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵗʳᵃᵘᵐᵃ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵘʳˢᵉˢ ʷᵉʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵏⁱˡˡᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵈᵉˡⁱᵛᵉʳʸ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵇʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃⁱᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᶜᵗᵒʳ

GREAT CHIP viii (Autistic author) When Plankton finally came out Chip approached with caution. He didn't want to scare his dad, didn't want to cause another seizure. "Hey, Dad," he said softly. "How are you feeling today?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flicking towards Chip. "Tired," he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep. "But okay." Chip felt his chest tighten with relief. He'd been worried about his dad all night, scared that another seizure would strike without warning. "Can we talk?" Chip asked, his voice gentle as he approached Plankton. He didn't want to push, but he needed to make sure they were okay. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching Chip's face. "Of course," he said, his voice still groggy. He sat down at the kitchen table, his body language open but cautious. Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing with the need to get this right. "Dad, I know last night was... scary," he began, his voice shaky. "But I want to be there for you." Plankton's antennae waved slightly, his expression a mix of confusion and fatigue. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I mean, I want to understand your seizures and what you go through," he said, his eyes never leaving his father's. "So that maybe I can help." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye narrowing slightly. "What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and caution. Chip's eyes searched his father's, his thoughts racing. "Everything," he said, his voice earnest. "What happens before, during, and after. What you feel, what you see..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his face scrunching up slightly. "Why?" he snapped, his voice sharp. "What's the point of reliving it?" Chip took a step back, surprised by his father's sudden irritation. "I just want to understand," he said, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae waved erratically, his eye flashing. "It's not a show, Chip," he snapped. "It's not something to be poked and prodded at." Chip felt his cheeks flush with heat, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I'm not trying to pry," he said, his voice shaking with frustration. "I just want to help!" Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye narrowed. "You can't help," he said, his voice cold. "You don't get it." Chip's heart sank, feeling the distance between them growing wider. "But Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "I'm trying." Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, his face a mask of agitation. "You can't," he said, his voice clipped. "You don't know what it's like!" Chip felt a wave of frustration crash over him, his hands clenching into fists. "That's why I'm asking!" he exclaimed. "I'm not trying to make it about me!" Plankton's focusing solely on Chip. "You don't get it," he said, his voice softening slightly. "It's not about you, but it's also not something you can fix." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, his heart racing with a mix of anger and hurt. He knew Plankton wasn't trying to be cruel, but the words stung. "I just want to be there for you," he said, his voice shaky. "To make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, his eye flashing with agitation. "I don't need you to fix me," he snapped, his voice sharp as a knife. "I just need you to leave me alone sometimes." Chip took a step back, his eyes watering with the sting of his father's words. "I just want..." "I know what you want," Plankton cut in, his antennae vibrating with irritation. "But you can't fix this, Chip. It's not a puzzle you can solve with a pat on the back or a hug." The room grew tense, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip felt his throat tighten, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He knew his father's snappy tone was a defense mechanism, a way to keep the world at bay when it all became too much. But it still hurt.

CATCH IN MY CHIP viii (Autistic author) The room is bathed in a soft moonlight, the shadows playing across Plankton's sleeping features. His body, once taut with tension, has relaxed into the embrace of the bed, his arm curled around a pillow. His antennas now rest gently on the pillowcase, no longer quivering with agitation. Karen watches him sleep, her thoughts a jumble of worry and love. She knows he's tired, that the weight of the world can be too much for him to bear at times. But she also knows that he's strong, that he'll face tomorrow with determination. The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, painting the room in soft shades of pink and orange. Karen gently squeezes his shoulder before standing, her eyes never leaving his peaceful face. She knows that today will be a day of apologies and understanding, of teaching Chip about his dad's autism and how to navigate the world around him. With a soft sigh, she heads to Chip's room, her footsteps silent on the cool floor. She opens the door to find him sitting up in bed, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He looks at her. "Is Dad okay?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep and the remnants of his earlier distress. Karen nods, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. "We'll talk to him when he wakes up." The words hang in the air, a gentle reminder of the conversation that needs to be had. Chip nods, his eyes still puffy from crying. He clutches his pillow, the fabric damp from his tears. "But what do I do?" he asks, his voice small and scared. "How do I make sure I don't make him upset again?" Karen sits on the edge of the bed, her hand stroking his. "You just keep being you, Chip," she says, her voice warm. "Daddy loves you, and we'll learn together how to make sure he doesn't get overwhelmed." Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "But what about my trophy?" he asks, his voice still shaky. Karen's hand stops, her gaze dropping to the shard of plastic he holds tightly in his fist. "We'll fix it," she says, her voice filled with conviction. "Together." The promise brings a small smile to Chip's face, his eyes lighting up. "Really?" Karen nods, her own smile genuine. "Of course, honey," she says. "We're a family. We stick together." With that, she stands up, her body weary but her spirit resolute. The room feels lighter somehow, the air less charged with tension. Chip clambers out of bed, his small hand reaching for hers. Together, they walk to the bedroom, the shattered remnants of the trophy glinting in the early light. Plankton is still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Chip looks at him, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and curiosity. "We'll talk to him when he wakes up," Karen says, her voice soft. They sit beside Plankton's bed, the room still and quiet. Chip's hand trembles slightly as he holds the broken piece of trophy. "But what if he's still mad?" he whispers, his voice barely above the silence. Karen's hand squeezes his. "He'll understand," she says, her voice filled with a calm certainty. "He loves you, and he knows you didn't mean to hurt him." The words are a gentle balm to Chip's fears, but the doubt lingers. He nods, his gaze never leaving his father. "Remember, Chip," Karen says, her voice a soft whisper. "Daddy's brain is different." Chip nods, his eyes fixed on his dad's sleeping form. He's seen Plankton stressed before, but never like this. He wants to show him love. With tentative steps, he moves closer to the bed, his heart beating a staccato in his chest. He reaches out, his hand shaking slightly as he hovers it over his dad's arm. "Chip," Karen whispers, her hand covering his. "Remember, gentle." Her words are a gentle reminder of the invisible lines that can be crossed. Chip nods, his eyes on Plankton's peaceful face. He takes a deep breath, his hand steadying. Slowly, so slowly it's almost imperceptible, he brings his palm to rest on Plankton's forearm, his touch as light as a feather. Plankton's body tenses for a moment, a reflexive reaction to the sudden contact. Chip holds his breath, waiting, hoping. Then, almost imperceptibly, he feels his dad's arm relax under his hand. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle breeze. "He's okay." Chip's hand remains hovering, his heart in his throat. Plankton's body remains still, his breathing even. Karen's touch is a guide, her hand resting on Chip's. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soft encouragement. "You can do it." With a deep breath, Chip's hand descends, his fingertips brushing against Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennas twitch. Karen watches, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. Chip's hand hovers, his heart racing. He wants to reassure his dad, to let him know he's there. He's learned about space and understanding, but all he can think of is the warmth of his touch, the comfort he craves to give. His fingertips graze Plankton's arm, the contact so light it's barely there. He watches, waiting for a reaction, for a sign that he's crossed the line. But Plankton remains still, his breathing unchanged. Encouraged, Chip presses down slightly, his hand a soft weight on his father's arm. He feels the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath. It's a tentative connection, fragile as spider silk. Plankton's antennas quiver, but his body remains still. Chip's heart hammers in his chest, his breaths shallow and quick. He's afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. Karen watches, her eyes filled with a quiet hope. The air in the room is thick with anticipation. Chip's hand hovers over Plankton's arm, trembling slightly with nerves and love. He's unsure if this small gesture will be met with anger or acceptance. Karen's gaze is a silent cheer, urging him on. Plankton's breaths remain steady, his body still. Chip's heart is a drum in his chest, each beat a silent plea for understanding. With a tremble, he lets his hand settle, his fingertips barely grazing the fabric of the blanket. He feels the heat of Plankton's skin, the rise and fall of his chest. It's a gentle touch, the lightest of caresses. Karen's hand remains on his, guiding him, encouraging him. Plankton's breaths remain steady, his body still. Chip's eyes are wide with hope, his hand poised above the blanket. With a tremble, he lets his fingers come to rest on the cotton, feeling the warmth of his father's arm beneath. He holds his breath, waiting for a reaction, for any sign that he's done the right thing. Plankton's body remains still, his breathing unchanged. Karen's eyes are glued to his face, watching for any hint of distress. But there's none. Only the gentle rise and fall of his chest, a testament to his deep sleep. Chip's hand is a butterfly landing on Plankton's arm, his fingers fluttering slightly against the warmth of his skin. He's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But his love for his dad is stronger than his fear. Karen watches the silent exchange, her heart in her throat. The moment feels sacred, a testament to their growing understanding of each other. Chip's hand remains on Plankton's arm, the warmth of his touch a promise of comfort and love. He's afraid to move, afraid to disrupt the delicate balance. Karen's hand is a soft presence, guiding him, giving him the courage to stay. Plankton's breaths are slow and even, his body relaxed. Chip wonders if he's dreaming, if he's in a world where the sensory overload doesn't exist. His heart swells with hope, with the desire to protect his dad from the world's harshness. Karen's hand on his is a gentle reminder that he's not alone. She gives him a small, encouraging nod, her eyes filled with understanding. He takes a deep breath, his hand moving slowly, so slowly, to cover his dad's. The moment their skin touches, it's like a dam breaks. Chip feels a rush of warmth, a connection that's been missing. He squeezes Plankton's arm lightly, his heart pounding. He's afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's face, watching for any sign of distress. But his features remain relaxed, his antennas still. The room is a sanctuary of quiet, the only sound their melded breaths. Chip feels a lump form in his throat, his eyes welling with tears. He whispers, "Thank you," to his mom, his voice shaky with emotion. She nods, her hand still covering his. "Remember," she says, her voice a soft caress. "Gentle." With trembling fingers, Chip tucks the blanket closer around Plankton, the fabric smoothing over his shoulders. It's a tiny act of love, a silent apology. He wants to crawl into the bed beside him, to wrap his arms around his dad.. He looks up at Karen, his eyes pleading. "Can I?" Karen nods, her smile sad but understanding. "Just be careful not to wake him," she whispers. With the grace of a cat burglar, Chip slides into the bed, his movements slow and calculated. He's careful not to disturb the sheets, not to make a sound that could break the tranquil silence. Plankton's arm is a warm mound beside him, and he reaches out tentatively, his fingers seeking the comfort of his dad's skin. He finds it, his hand coming to rest lightly on the crook of his elbow. The connection feels right, like finding a piece of himself he didn't know was lost. He snuggles closer, his head resting on the pillow beside Plankton's. Karen watches, her heart swelling with love for her son. "It's ok," she whispers. "Just be gentle."

JUST A TOUCH viii (Autistic author) After dinner, they retreat to the living room. Plankton's eye is glued to the puzzle book on the coffee table, his antennae twitching with unspoken longing. Karen picks it up, opening to a new page. "Would you like to work on this one together?" she asks, her voice gentle. He nods, his eye lighting up with the familiar challenge. Together, they tackle the puzzle, Karen's voice a gentle narration as Plankton's antennae move in time with her words. The patterns on the page hypnotize him, drawing him in. Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his focus solely on the words before him. And then the doorbell rings, breaking the spell. Karen's heart skips a beat, her hand tightening around the puzzle book. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide with alarm. "Who is it?" he asks, his voice sharp. Karen's eyes dart to the clock. "It's probably SpongeBob," she murmurs. Plankton's antennae perk up at the mention of his friend's name. "Party," he says, his voice hopeful. Karen nods, swiping at the tear that's managed to escape. "Yes, Plankton. SpongeBob's probably here to invite us to a party at the Krusty Krab. Do you think you're up for it?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae droop slightly. "Maybe," he says, his voice unsure. The thought of the bright lights and loud noises at the party sends a shiver of anxiety through his tiny body. But the prospect of seeing Sponge Bob is tempting. Karen sighs, understanding his hesitation. She walks to the door, her movements slow and deliberate. Sponge Bob's cheerful greeting floods the hallway. "Hey, Karen! Plankton! You guys coming to the party?" "Hey, Sponge Bob," she says, her smile forced. "What's the occasion?" Sponge Bob's face lights up like a Christmas tree, his spongy body bobbing with excitement. "Mr. Krabs is throwing a bash at the Krusty Krab!" he says, his hands gesturing wildly. "You guys are coming, right?" Plankton's antennae quiver at the mention of the party. The thought of the loud noises and the jostling crowd makes his stomach churn, but the prospect of seeing his friend shines like a beacon through the fog of his fear. Karen watches him, reading his emotions like a book. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "We can go for a little bit." Plankton nods, his antennae still. "Okay," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Karen can see the internal struggle playing out across his features. "Just stay as long as you're comfortable," she adds. "I'll just stay, you go with him." Sponge Bob's eyes light up. "Great!" he says, bending down to hold his hand. He holds his finger as they go. Plankton's grip is tight, his antennae flat against his head. The noise of the Krusty Krab is a cacophony of sounds, each one stabbing at his heightened senses. But the warmth of Sponge Bob's hand, the familiarity of their friendship, anchors him. Mr. Krabs sees Plankton clinging to Sponge Bob's side. "What's going on, laddie?" he asks, his voice gruff but concerned at the sight of their hands. Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze darting to the floor. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "Why did ye invite Plankton?" he asks with suspicion. Sponge Bob's smile doesn't waver. "Well, he's always welcome..." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "But he's our enemy.." Sponge Bob's smile doesn't waver. "He's my friend," he says firmly. "And I'm watching to make sure he won't steal any thing, boss.." Mr. Krabs' eyes soften, his suspicion giving way to reluctant acceptance. "Alright, but keep an eye on him," he says, his voice gruff. Sponge Bob nods, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Plankton's antennae quiver, his heart racing at the sudden influx of stimulation. The colorful lights, the smells of frying food, the laughter of the patrons—it's all so much. But Sponge Bob's hand is warm, a lifeline in the chaos. They move through the crowd, Plankton's steps small and careful. His eye darts around, trying to take it all in without getting overwhelmed. Sponge Bob's voice cuts through the noise like a knife. "You okay, buddy?" he asks, his smile concerned. Plankton nods, his voice a strained whisper. "Good," Sponge Bob says, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. As they reach the party area, Plankton's antennae start to wave erratically. The lights are too bright, the sounds too loud. He clutches Sponge Bob's hand tighter. Plankton takes a deep breath, his chest expanding with the effort. It's like trying to swim through jello, his senses on high alert. Sponge Bob feels the change in his friend's grip, his own heart racing with concern. "You okay, Plankton?" he asks again, his voice barely audible over the din. Plankton nods, his eye focused on the floor. The pattern of the tiles is soothing, grounding him amidst the chaos. A flash of pink darts through the crowd, and Plankton's antennas twitch. "Patrick!" Sponge Bob says, letting go of Plankton's hand. Plankton looks around and sees Squidward doing the dishes, but in a disorganized manner that Plankton needs to correct. The sight of the scattered plates, the water spots on the glasses, sends a jolt of anxiety through him. His compulsion to straighten, to organize, to make it right, is almost unbearable. So he goes to Squidward by the sink to interfere. Squidward glances up, his tentacles frozen mid-wash. "What are you doing here?" he snaps. Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze fixated on the mess. "Help," he says, his voice tight. Squidward rolls his eyes, grabbing another plate to wash as he ignores Plankton. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye darting between the chaos and Squidward's dismissal. He's doing the dishes wrong and needs him to help! "Squidward, let Plankton assist," he says, his voice formal. Squidward sighs, shaking his head. "Look, I don't have time for this," he says, his tentacles moving rapidly. Plankton's body tenses, his need for meticulousness consuming him. As Plankton approaches Squidward, his movements are precise, almost mechanical. His antennae twitch in time with his racing thoughts, his need for order a silent scream in the noisy room. He holds out his hand, palm up. "Wash," he says, his voice firm. Squidward pauses, eyeing him warily. "What?" Plankton's gaze is unwavering, his voice steady. "Smudges. Wash dishes. Correct way." Squidward's grip on the plate slackens, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?" Plankton's antennae wave frantically. "Correct way," he repeats, his voice a desperate whisper. "No smudges. Wrong order." Squidward's tentacles still, his gaze sharpening. "What's gotten into you?" he asks, his voice filled with skepticism. Plankton's antennae twitch. "No smudges," he says again, his voice a mix of urgency and desperation. Squidward sets the plate down with a clatter. "What are you on about, Plankton?" But Plankton's focus is solely on the task at hand. He reaches for the dish soap, his movements precise. Squidward watches him, his expression a mix of annoyance and curiosity. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice gruff. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye darting to Squidward. "Just helping," he says, his voice flat as he puts the now clean dish away. But he sees imperfections on some of the clean dishes, handing them over for Squidward to wash as he straightens up the other plates. Squidward's eyebrows furrow, his gaze flicking between Plankton and the dishes. "What are you doing?" he asks again. Plankton's grip on the towel tightens, his body vibrating with the need for perfection. "It's not right," he says, his voice strained. "Has to be right." "Those I've cleaned!" Squidward says as Plankton puts them in the sink for him to wash over again. "Squidward look. No..." But before Plankton can finish, Squidward snatches the plate from his tentacles. "Look, I don't have time for your... whatever this is," he says, his voice gruff. He takes it and haphazardly shoves it with smaller plates. Plankton can't take the misalignment! Plankton's antennae stand on end, his eye wide with horror. "No!" he says, his voice rising. "Wrong order!" His hands shake as he tries to grab the plate, his mind racing with the need to correct the mistake. Squidward pulls away, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. "Plankton, what's wrong with you?" he snaps. "Plankton's centrum semiovale has restricted inhibitory synaptic transmission!" Plankton's voice is a mix of panic and frustration, his antennae waving wildly. Squidward's eyes narrow, his grip on the plate tightening. "What are you talking about? I am not going to wash this again," he says, his tone firm. Squidward's words hit a nerve, triggering a cascade of emotions in Plankton. "It's not about Squidward!" he says, his voice sharp. "It's about the order! Cleanliness..." "PLANKTON I SAID NO!" Squidward yells, startling him as he turns back to the sink.

NEW REALITY viii (Autistic author) "I don't understand," she says, her voice filled with distress. Plankton's hand clenches, his body vibrating with tension. "Numbers," he repeats, his voice edging on a scream. "They make quiet." Hanna's eyes widen, her smile fading to a look of horror. "But Plankton," she says, her voice shaking, "it's just a clock." But her words are like fuel on the fire of his distress. He steps closer to the clock, his hand outstretched as if to will it to silence. "Numbers," he whispers, his voice a plea. "They make quiet." Hanna's eyes fill with sympathy, but her words only worsen his agitation. "Plankton, it's just a clock," she says, reaching out to touch him. Karen's heart hammers in her chest as she sees his body tense even further. "Hanna, don't," she warns, her voice tight. "Please don't touch him right now." But Hanna doesn't hear her, her own voice rising with frustration. "It's just a clock, Plankton," she repeats, her hand covering his shoulder. "Nothing's going to hurt you.." The touch sends him spiraling, his body convulsing with overstimulation. "No touch!" he screams, his hand slapping at her arm, his face a mask of fear and anger. But Plankton's outburst has ignited something in Hanna, a spark of anger. "Why can't you just be normal?" she snaps, her voice echoing through the tense room. Karen's heart breaks as Plankton's eye goes wide, his body jerking away from her. "Hanna, please," she says, her voice tight with pain. But Hanna's words keep coming, a barrage of misunderstanding. "You can't just ignore us," she says, her voice rising. "You have to interact with the world." Plankton's body recoils, his skin seemingly vibrating with each of her words. "Interact," he echoes, his voice strained. Karen's heart is in her throat. "Hanna, please," she says, her voice tight with pain. "You're not helping." But Hanna's eyes are glassy with frustration. "How can I help if he won't even look at me?" she asks, ignoring the desperation in Plankton's gaze as she holds his arms tightly. Karen's eyes plead with her, but Hanna's grip doesn't loosen. "Let go," Plankton whimpers, his voice tight with tension. Hanna's smile is forced, her grip unyielding. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice laced with irritation. "You can't just..." But her words cut him like knives. "Look away," he murmurs, his voice strained, his body begging for the pressure to ease. Hanna's smile falters, her grip tightening. "Why can't you just look at me?" she asks, her voice edged with annoyance. Plankton's breath hitches, his antennae drooping. "Can't," he whispers, his gaze flickering between her and Karen. Hanna's eyes narrow, her grip on his arms tightening. "You can," she insists, her voice firm. "Just..." But Plankton's whimpers grow louder, his body shaking with the effort to pull away. Hanna's smile fades, her grip tightening in frustration. "Why can't you just be like everyone else?" she asks, her tone no longer gentle. Plankton's whimpers become sobs, his body shaking with the effort to break free. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears as she watches the scene unfold, her heart breaking for him. Hanna's grip remains firm, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "Why are you doing this?" she demands, her voice sharp. "You're just being difficult." Plankton's sobs grow more desperate, his body twisting in her grasp. "Let go," he whispers, his voice a strained plea. Hanna's eyes flash with irritation. "Why ca--" Her words are cut off by Karen's firm voice. "Hanna, please," she says, stepping between them. "You're upsetting him." But Hanna's confusion turns to anger. "How can I not be upset?" she retorts, her grip on Plankton's arms tightening. "He won't even..." Her words are cut off by Karen's firm voice. "Please, Hanna," she says, her eyes pleading. "You don't understand." Suddenly, Plankton's legs buckle, his body going slack as Hanna finally releases his arms. He crumples to the floor. He's retreating, Karen realizes, her heart racing. He's retreating into himself. Karen's eyes fill with fear as she watches him, his sobs subsiding into quiet whimpers. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a prayer. Hanna's face falls, her anger replaced with shock. "What's wrong with him?" she asks, her voice trembling. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears as she crouches beside him. "It's a condition," she says, her voice tight with frustration. "He needs time and space to process everything." Hanna's face crumples, her hands going to her mouth. "I didn't know," she whispers, her eyes wide with regret. "I'm sorry." Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's huddled form. "It's not your fault," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "But we all have to learn." Hanna nods, her eyes brimming with tears. Karen wraps her arms around Plankton, her touch gentle. "It's okay," she murmurs. "I'm here." He trembles against her, sobbing. Hanna stands there, apology etched in every line of her face. "What can I do?" she whispers. Karen looks up, her eyes wet. "Just give us a moment," she says, her voice a gentle command. Hanna nods, backing away slowly, her eyes on Plankton. "Okay," she murmurs, the weight of her words heavy in the silent room. Karen holds Plankton tightly, his body a trembling mass of emotion. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing balm. "You're safe." He nests his head into her shoulder, his whimpers softening to quiet sobs. The room feels thick with their shared pain, the air charged with the tension of misunderstanding. Hanna's eyes dart around, looking for anything that might soothe him. Karen's gaze meets hers, a silent plea for understanding. "It's called autism," Karen says softly, her voice a gentle explanation. Hanna's eyes widen, her face a canvas of realization. "Oh," she whispers, the word a soft exhalation of breath. Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's tear-stained face. "It's a spectrum," she says, her voice calm and steady. "And he's on a part of it that's very sensitive to stimulation." Hanna nods slowly, her understanding growing. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice full of regret. "I didn't know." Karen's grip tightens around Plankton's shoulders. "It's okay," she murmurs. "We're all still learning." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "I'll go," she says, her voice small. "I didn't mean..." Karen nods, her gaze steady. "Thank you," she whispers. "We can talk soon." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with sadness. "Of course," she says, turning to leave. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Karen and Plankton in the heavy silence. Karen's arms remain around him, her body a protective cocoon against the harshness of the world. Plankton's sobs slowly ease into quiet sniffs, his body still trembling in her embrace. Her heart aches for the pain he's feeling, the fear that Hanna's misunderstanding has brought to the surface. "I'm sorry," she whispers to him, her voice shaking. Plankton's trembles begin to subside, his breathing evening out. He pulls back, his eye searching hers. "No," he murmurs, his voice hoarse from crying. "Not at fault." Karen's eyes fill with relief, her grip on him loosening slightly. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "We just need to find ways to help you." Plankton nods, his eye fluttering shut. Karen's mind races with thoughts of what more she can do, what she can say to make him feel safe. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice a promise. "Together." Plankton's eye opens, his gaze meeting hers. "Together," he echoes, his voice a whisper. Karen's heart swells with love for him, her eyes shimmering with determination. "We'll find what works," she says, her voice firm. Plankton nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Tired.." Karen's heart breaks at the exhaustion etched into his features. "I got you, you can rest," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. They move to the couch, Plankton's body curling into her side. She wraps the weighted blanket around him, still within their embrace. His breathing slows, his body relaxing against hers. The whirring fan above offers a steady rhythm, a lullaby for his troubled mind. Karen's hand strokes his back in gentle circles, her thumb tracing patterns that seem to soothe his nerves. The fan's steady whir fills the room, a calming symphony that lulls Plankton's racing thoughts to a crawl. Karen's thumb moves in soothing circles on his back, each pass sending a ripple of comfort through him. Plankton's breathing evens, his body slack against hers. The fan's steady hum is a lullaby in the quiet room, a metronome for his racing thoughts. Karen's hand continues its soothing dance across his back, his eye finally closing. The room is a cocoon of silence, the fan's whisper the only sound breaking the stillness. Plankton's breathing slows, his body melts into Karen's embrace. Her hand continues its gentle caress, a metronome of comfort as he finally surrenders to sleep.

GREAT CHIP vii (Autistic author) Karen's eyes searched their faces, picking up on the unspoken tension. "I see you two had a talk," she said gently, her gaze lingering on Plankton. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Tired," he admitted. "But better." Karen stepped closer to the bed, her hand reaching out to cover his own. "I'm here," she said softly. "Do you remember what happened in Chip's room before coming in here?" Plankton's antennae twitched nervously. "Bits and pieces," he admitted, his eye avoiding hers. "I know I had a...moment. And I... I was mad." Karen's hand squeezed his gently. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, her voice soothing. "You don't have to be ashamed. It's just your brain's way of coping." Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae still. "But the things I said..." his voice trailing off. Karen's expression remained calm, understanding. "They were the seizure's words, not yours," she assured him. "We're just glad you're okay." Chip's gaze flitted between his parents, his heart aching for his dad. He knew he needed to be strong, to support his father through this. "Can we talk more about it tomorrow?" he suggested, his voice filled with hope. Plankton's antennae nodded wearily. "We can," he said, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion. "But for now, I need to rest. It's bedtime, so.." Chip felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of his dad's struggle, but he also felt a spark of hope. Maybe tomorrow would bring a new understanding, a way to bridge the gap between them. The next morning, the sun streamed through the blinds of their small, cluttered bedroom, casting patterns on the floor. Chip stirred, his mind filled with the memories of the previous night's conversation. He checked on Plankton, who was still asleep, his antennae twitching slightly. He knew today would be a new day, a chance to start anew with his father. Carefully, Chip padded out to the kitchen, his thoughts racing with the promise of understanding. He found Karen at the counter, sipping her morning coffee, her eyes red-rimmed from the night's worry. "Mom," he began, his voice still thick with sleep. "Can we talk?" Karen turned, her eyes filled with the same exhaustion he saw in Plankton's. "Of course, honey," she said, placing her mug down gently. Chip took a deep breath, his words spilling out like water from a broken dam. "I want to understand Dad's condition," he said, his voice determined. "I don't want to make it worse for him." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the sincerity in his gaze. "That's a big step, Chip," she said, her voice filled with pride. "But it's not going to be easy. It'll take patience and practice." Chip nodded, his expression resolute. "I'm ready," he said. "I just don't want Dad to be alone in this." Karen's face softened, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You're such a good son," she said, her voice warm with affection. "But remember, he might not always know how to ask for help. Sometimes, you'll have to read between the lines." Chip nodded, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "But what if I mess up?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen's hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You might," she said, her voice filled with experience. "But that's okay. Just keep trying, and we'll figure it out together." Her words echoed in Chip's head as he sat down at the kitchen table, his eyes never leaving his mother's. "But how do I know what to do?" Karen took a deep breath, her eyes filled with a quiet strength. "You'll learn," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "It's about patience and observation. And most importantly, communication." Chip nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "Okay," he said. "I'll do my best." Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder gently. "You already are," she said, her smile warm. Chip felt a surge of determination. He was going to be there for his dad, no matter what it took. "What can I do now?" he asked, eager to start. Karen's eyes searched his, a hint of sadness in them. "Now, we wait," she said. "Let him sleep. When he wakes, be there, but don't overwhelm him." Chip nodded, his mind racing with questions and fears, feeling a mix of emotions: fear, love, and a newfound determination to be the best son he could be. As he waited for Plankton to wake up, he tried to remember the cues his dad had mentioned: twitching antennae, a sudden quietness, a look of overwhelm. He promised himself to be more aware, more attuned to his father's needs.

For the love of nature and landscapes 🌿: 1. Norway 🇳🇴 2. Canada 🇨🇦 3. Chile 🇨🇱 4. Switzerland 🇨🇭 5. Nepal 🇳🇵

About to head out on a roadtrip in a campervan for the first time. Where should I visit in the north of Scotland?👇

ᔆⁱᵈᵉ ᵇʸ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴼⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰʳᵉʷ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵖᵖˡⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵒᵒᵏ ᵃˢ ⁱᵗ ᵃᵗᵗᵃᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᵏʳᵃᵇ‧ ᔆᵉᶜᵘʳⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍᵒᵗ ᶻⁱᵖˡⁱⁿᵉ ᵐᵉᶜʰᵃⁿⁱˢᵐ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʲᵘᵐᵖᵉᵈ ˢˡⁱᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵈᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵇᵒᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵃᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵖᵉ ˢᵗʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ‧ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʰᵉᵃᵈᶠⁱʳˢᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᶜᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵈᵒʷⁿ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʷ ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵃⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʰⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ⸴ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵉᵉᵗ‧ ᴴᵒʷᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ʳᵒˡˡᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵘᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃ ⁿᵒⁱˢᵉ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ ˡⁱᵐᵖ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵘⁿᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢ‧ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵉʳᵉ ʰᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍⁱʳˡˢ ᵗʳⁱᵖ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵐᵒᵉᵇᵃ ᵖᵘᵖᵖʸ ᵗʳᵒᵗˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ʷʰⁱᵐᵖᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵏⁱˢˢᵉˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗᵉˢᵗ! "ᴵ ᵇʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵒᵐᵉ‧‧" ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵖᵘˡˡᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵃ ᶜʰᵃⁱʳ ᵇʸ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵈʲᵃᶜᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃᵗ ᵇʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵗᵉˣᵗᵉᵈ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ "ᴾˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ʰᵉˡᵖ; ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵘᵈᵍᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ! ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒ‧‧" ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵏⁿᵉˡᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ "ᴴᵉ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉˡʸ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒʳᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵉ ʷᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵘᵖ‧ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃʸ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ'ᵈ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ‧ ᴴᵉ'ˢ ᵃˡⁱᵛᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧ ᴵⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵃⁿᵗⁱᵐᵉ ʷᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗʳʸ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵃˢ ᵖᵒˢˢⁱᵇˡᵉ ᵃˢ ʷᵉ ʷᵃⁱᵗ‧‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ "ᴺᵒʷ ˢʰⁱᵉˡᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢ ᴵ ʷⁱᵖᵉ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃˢʰ ᵃⁿʸ ᵒᶠᶠ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᵗᵒˡᵈ‧ "ᴺᵒʷ ˡᵉᵗ'ˢ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ‧" ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵖᵘᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗᵃᵇˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵇʸ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴼⁿᶜᵉ ʰᵉ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉⁿˢ ʰᵉ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵃʷᵃʳᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ᵒᶠ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵘˢᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵈᵉᶠᵉⁿˢⁱᵛᵉ ᵃˢ ⁱˢ‧ ᵂᵉ'ˡˡ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ "ᴳᵒᵒᵈⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢʰᵒʷ ˢⁱᵍⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵉᵛⁱᵛᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵈᵃʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃᵗ ˢᵗʳᵃⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵘᵖʳⁱᵍʰᵗ‧ "ᵁʳᵍʰ‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʳᵉᵍᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᵒᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ "ᵂʰᵃ? ᵂᵃʰʰʰʰ ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵍⁱˢᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵉʳᵘᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᵁʰʰʰʰʰʰ⸴ ᵐʸ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧ ᴼʷ; ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ‽" "ᴴⁱ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ?" ᵀʰᵉʸ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᶜᵃˡˡ‧ "ᵂᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ʷᵃᵍˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵗᵃⁱˡ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃⁿ ᵒᵘᶜʰ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗᵃᵘʳᵃⁿᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒˡᵈ‧ "ᵂᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ˢᵗᵃʸ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᵒⁿ ʰᵉʳ ᵗʳⁱᵖ‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵉᵐᵇʳᵃᶜᵉᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ⁱᶠ ᴵ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ‧‧‧" ᔆᵃⁱᵈ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ‧ "ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏˢ⸴ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ; ᴵ'ˡˡ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵇʸ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵛᵉʳˢ‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʷᵃᵛᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ ᶠⁱⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ˢᵒᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶠˡᵘᵗᵗᵉʳ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ᵈʳᵒʷˢʸ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧

CHIP AND FAIL ix (Autistic author) Chip stared at his dad, his mind racing. He had always known his dad was different, but he had never understood why. Now, as he watched the man he idolized quivering with overstimulation, he couldn't help but feel a deep sadness and anger. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice tight. Plankton's antennae shot up, his face contorting with a sudden surge of anger. "ENOUGH!" he roared, the sound exploding from his chest like a bomb, his antennae quivering with each syllable. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" Chip recoiled, his eyes wide with shock. He had never heard his dad so angry before, never seen him so out of control. "Dad, I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You're sorry?" Plankton spat, his antennae vibrating with rage. "You don't get it, Chip. You never will." His voice was a storm, his words cutting through the tension in the room. "You think I don't want to hear your stories? You think I don't want to be a part of your life?" His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his eye blazing with pain. Chip took a step back, his hands up in defense. "Dad, no, I..." But Plankton was a tornado, his anger a living thing in the room. "You think I don't want to connect with you?" he shouted, his antennas whipping around. "You think I don't love you?" His voice broke, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his tears. Chip stared at his dad, his eyes like saucers. "But Dad, you always push me away," he protested, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's fury. "You never want me to touch you or..." "You just let me explain!" Plankton shouted, cutting him off. His antennae were a blur with the force of his emotions, his eye flashing. "You always keep pushing and pushing, and it's too much!" His words were a volley of thunder, each one striking Chip like a physical blow. Chip took a step back, his eyes filling with tears. "But Dad, I just want to be close to you," he choked out, his voice a mere wisp. "I don't understand why you can't..." "Because you don't listen!" Plankton's voice was a whip, slicing through the air. "You don't see the storm in my head, the way every touch feels like a storm, every sound a siren!" His antennae quivered with rage, his body tense. "You think it's easy for me? That I don't want to be there for you?" Chip took another step back, his hands up in defense. "I didn't know," he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears. "I just wanted to tell you about my week." He says reaching out with a trembling hand, but Plankton's swatting Chip's hand away. "Don't. Touch. Me!" Plankton roared, his body trembling with rage. "Can't you see that?" His voice was a knife, sharp and unforgiving. "And don't you DARE say you're better off without me!" His eye blazed with a fierce protectiveness that Chip had never seen before. Chip's hand hovered in the air, his fingers curling into a fist. "But Dad," he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears, "I just want to be close to you." He took a step closer... "NO!" Plankton shouted, his antennae snapping like whips. "You don't get to invade my space like that!" His body was a live wire, his anger a force field that repelled Chip's reaching hand. "You think it's funny?" His voice was a maelstrom of pain and fury. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his hand dropping to his side. "I just wanted to help," he murmured, his voice tiny in the face of his father's storm.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii (Autistic author) "It's okay, Plankton," Sponge Bob said, his voice soothing. "We're just going for a walk. Nothing to worry about." The three of them walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the lapping of the waves and the occasional squawk of a seagull. Karen could feel the tension, and she wondered what was going on inside his head. As they neared the jellyfish fields Sponge Bob perked up. "Hey, Plankton, you remember jellyfishing right?" He asked, his tone hopeful. Plankton's antennae stopped the nervous twitching for a moment. "Jellyfishing," he murmured, the memory sparking a glimmer of interest. "Jellyfish sting." Sponge Bob's smile grew wider. "Yeah, but it's fun, right?" He said trying to keep the conversation light. Karen could see the effort in his eyes and felt a pang of guilt for ever thinking poorly of him. "Jellyfish... fun," Plankton repeated, his voice still flat. Sponge Bob looked at him, his smile fading slightly. "Yeah, jellyfishing's the best!" he said trying to keep the energy up. "Remember all the good times we had?" Plankton nodded, his gaze distant. "Good times," he echoed. Sponge Bob's smile faltered, and he shot a questioning glance at Karen. "Is everything ok with Plankton?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Karen took and squeezed Plankton's hand. "Hold on, Sponge Bob," she said gently. "Plankton, can you find us a rock? A pretty sparkly rock." Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, and she could see the gears turning in his head. He nodded, his antennae tilting slightly. "Find rock," he said, before going in the familiar jellyfish fields. Sponge Bob watched him go, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Is Plankton ok Karen?" he asked. "He's just... different now," Karen said, voice tight with emotion. "He had an accident, and the doctor says he has acquired autism." Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "Hey I think I have that, too! But what does that mean for Plankton?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. "It means he's going to need some help," Karen said, her voice calm and measured. "He'll still be the same Plankton we know, but his brain works differently now." Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, trying to understand. "Different like how?" Karen took a deep breath. "Well, he might repeat what we say," she began, watching Plankton as he picked up rocks and examined them. "It's called echolalia. It's a way for him to process language now." Sponge Bob's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, like a parrot!" he exclaimed, nodding. Karen chuckled, despite the heaviness of the situation. "Sort of," she said, "but it's more than just repeating words. It's how he processes information now." Sponge Bob watched Plankton, who had found a particularly shiny rock and was now examining it with intense focus. "What else, Karen?" he asked. Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain as best she could. "Sometimes, Plankton might need more time to understand what people are saying to him." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton. "How might he act?" Karen sighed, looking at the ocean. "Well, sometimes he might get overwhelmed by sounds, lights, or even textures," she said. "It's like his senses are on overload. Although he'll have it for the rest of his life, he can potentially improve his skills. It happened yesterday, I don't think you were working but Krabs hit Plankton's head.." Sponge Bob's expression grew serious, and he nodded solemnly. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Karen," he said, his eyes filled with genuine empathy. "Plankton's always been pretty tough, but I won't let Mr. Krabs know." Plankton returned with the sparkly rock, his gaze still a bit unfocused. "Pretty rock," he said, holding it out to Karen. Karen took the rock. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Good find," Sponge Bob added, giving him an encouraging thumbs-up. The walk continued, yet a distant wail of a boat's horn created a symphony that seemed to overwhelm him. He stopped, his antennae flattening against his head, his eye wide with distress. "Too loud," he murmured, his voice strained. Karen noticed Plankton's agitation. They guided him to a nearby bench, and he sat, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, rocking back and forth. "It's okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice calm. "Just breathe, darling." Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his antennae quivering. "What's wrong, Plankton?" SpongeBob asked, voice filled with concern. Plankton didn't respond, his eye squeezed shut as he hummed a tune to himself. Karen and Sponge Bob sat beside him, giving him space and waiting for the overwhelming sound to pass. After a few moments, the boat's horn ceased and Plankton's breathing began to even out. He looks up, gaze still slightly unfocused. "Plankton ok now?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice gentle. Karen nodded. "I think so," she said, watching Plankton's antennae slowly untangle from their protective pose. "Sounds can be really intense for him now." Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "We'll keep it down then," he said, his voice a whisper. Karen smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Sponge Bob," she said. "It means a lot." They sat for a few more moments, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore acting as a soothing lullaby for Plankton. Finally, he spoke up, his voice still flat. "Home now," he said, his eye still on the horizon. Karen nodded. "Alright, let's go home," she said, her voice gentle. "SpongeBob?" Plankton asks, wanting him to come with. Sponge Bob looks to Karen, who nods with a grateful smile. "We'd love for you to come, Sponge Bob," she says. "We can all help each other understand." Plankton's gaze immediately falls on a biology book that's been lying on the coffee table, half open to a page about jellyfish. His antennae start twitching rapidly, and he picks it up with a new found interest. "Look, Karen," he says, his voice filled with excitement as he points to a picture of a jellyfish. "Jellyfish." Karen nods. "Yes, Plankton," she says gently. "That's a jellyfish." Plankton opens the book wider, eye scanning the pages with a fervor that was almost palpable. His antennae quivered with excitement as he absorbed every piece of information he could find about jellyfish. It was as if he had found a new obsession, a puzzle to solve that could potentially drown out the cacophony of the world around him. "Jellyfish," he murmurs to himself, his eye scanning the text. "Jellyfish sting. Jellyfish pretty." Sponge Bob's curiosity peaks, and he leans over to look at the page Plankton is fixated on. "Jellyfish, huh?" He says, his voice soft so as not to disturb Plankton's focus. Karen nods. "It's like he's trying to make sense of everything again," she explains. "It's one of his special interests now." Sponge Bob nods. Karen watches as Plankton traces the outline of a jellyfish with his hand. "It's called hyper fixation," she explains. "It's when extremely focused on something to the point where it's almost all he can think about." Sponge Bob nods thoughtfully. "Well, Plankton I see you like the book of jellyfish?" Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering with excitement. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his eye never leaving the page. Sponge Bob nods, a smile spreading across his face. "I can see you really love jellyfish, Plankton," he says, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

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

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

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ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ'ˢ ᴮᵒⁿᵈ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ "ᴵ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ʳᵉˢᵒʳᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉᵐ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᵂʰʸ ᵈᵒ ʷᵉ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵍᵒ ˢᵒ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ?" "ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃʳʳⁱᵛᵉ ˡᵃᵗᵉ ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‧‧‧" "ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵒʳ‧‧‧" "ʸᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ'ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢᵗᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ˢᵘⁱᵗᵉ‧" "ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵘⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵘᵖ!" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳ ʰⁱˢ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵃˡˡ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵒʳᵗ‧ "ᴴⁱ⸴ ᵇᵒʸˢ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵍʳᵉᵉᵗᵉᵈ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ‧ "ᵂᵉˡˡ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒ ˢʷⁱᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵒᵒˡ ᵃʳᵉᵃ ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵃ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʳᶜʰⁱᵗᵉᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ'ˢ ˢᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ! ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵘʳᵉˡʸ ʰᵃⁿᵈˡᵉ ᵗʰᵉᵐˢᵉˡᵛᵉˢ‧‧‧" ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ‧ "ᵂᵉ'ˡˡ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵃᵗ ᵒᵘʳ ʳᵒᵒᵐ!" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵗᵗʳᵃᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵒⁿᵗᵒ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ʳⁱᵈᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳˢˡⁱᵈᵉˢ ᵃˢ ʷᵉˡˡ ᵃˢ ᵖˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵃᵐᵉˢ‧ "ᴵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵒʷ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᶠᵘⁿ ʰᵃⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ!" "ʸᵉᵃ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵐᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ⁱⁿ ᶠʳᵒⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘⁱᵗᵉ‧ "ᵂᵉˡˡ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵈⁱᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˡˡ ᵈᵒ?" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ "ᵂᵉⁿᵗ ˢʷⁱᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍ‧‧" "ʸᵉᵃ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʷᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵐᵘˢᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵖᵃʳᵏ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵖʳᵒᵛⁱᵈᵉᵈ‧ ᴼʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵖˡᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵖᵒʳᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵃˡˡˢ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵗʳᵃⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵒᶠᶠ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵃˡˡ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏ‧‧‧" ᔆᵘʳᵉ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵉᵃⁿᵉᵈ ᵒⁿᵗᵒ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉˡʸ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵈʳᵒᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵃᵗ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵉᵉᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵖˡᵃⁿᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ˢᵘᵖᵖᵒʳᵗᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᵂʰᵃᵗ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵍᵒᵗ ʷᵒʳʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃᵘᵍʰᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵉˡᵈ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴴᵉ'ˢ ᵉˣʰᵃᵘˢᵗᵉᵈ; ʷᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵉᵃʳˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ˢᵉᵉᵐᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒ ˢᵗʳᵉⁿᵘᵒᵘˢ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛⁱᵗⁱᵉˢ⸴ ˢᵒ ⁿᵒʷ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒᵘʳˢᵉ ʰᵉ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵍᵒᵗ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ˢʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵘᵇᵗˡᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ‧ "ʸᵉᵃ ˢᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗᵒⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ; ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵗᵒ ᵗⁱʳᵉᵈ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ʳᵒᵘˢᵉ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴹʸ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ'ˢ ʷᵃʸ ˢᵒ ʷᵒʳⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴴᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵒ ⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵒ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ᵈ ˢᵃʸ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵈ ˢᵒ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵘˢ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵗᵒ!" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳʲᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵒᵇᵛⁱᵒᵘˢˡʸ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳᵉᵈ ⁿᵒ ʳᵉˢⁱˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵃˢ ᵖⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ‧‧ ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱˡʸ ˢᵃᵗ ᵘᵖ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵈ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ‧ ᴺᵒʷ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ⸴ ʰᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵃʷ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ⁱⁿ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧‧ "‧‧‧ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵇˡⁱⁿᵏᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜˡᵉᵃʳ ʰⁱˢ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵒⁿ‧ ᴼⁿˡʸ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ˢˡᵉᵖᵗ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧‧ ᶠᵉᵉˡⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵒᶠ ᵉᵐᵇᵃʳʳᵃˢˢᵐᵉⁿᵗ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉⁿᵛᵉˡᵒᵖ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴴᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵈʳᵒʷˢʸ ᵇᵘᵗ'ˢ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵘⁿᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵗᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵉᶜᵃˡˡ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᴴᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵘʳᵉ ⁱᶠ ʰᵉ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʷᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵒᶜᶜᵘʳʳᵉᵈ! "ᔆᵒ ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ; ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ "‧‧‧ˢᵃʸ ʷʰᵃᵗ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵃ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵈᵃʸ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳ ᵈᵃʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ ᵃˡˡ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ʳᵉˢᵗ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ˢᵃʸ ʷᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᵈᵒᶻᵉᵈ ᵒᶠᶠ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ʷᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ⁿᵉʳᵛᵒᵘˢˡʸ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃˡˢᵒ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵃᵗ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳᵘᵗʰ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵒʷᵉᵛᵉʳ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ‧ "ᴼʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉˡˡ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʷᵉ ˢᵉᵗ ᶠᵒᵒᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ! ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵃˢ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ˡᵉᵃⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵐᵉ ˢᵒ ʷᵉ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃˡˡ ⁱᵗ ᵃ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵉʸᵉ ʷⁱᵈᵉⁿᵉᵈ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵖᵃˡᵐᵉᵈ ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ʰᵘᵐⁱˡⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ‧ ᴬˢ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵈⁱˢᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵉⁿᵗⁱʳᵉˡʸ ˢᵘʳᵉ ʷʰʸ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴺᵒ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉˢ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᵃᵘᵈⁱᵇˡᵉ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ʷʰʸ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱᶠ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵉᵃˡ'ˢ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳ'ˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇʳᵒᶜʰᵘʳᵉ'ˢ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸴ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵘⁿⁱⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡˡʸ ʷᵒʳˢᵉⁿᵉᵈ ʰᵒʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠᵉˡᵗ‧ "ᴼʰ⸴ ʸᵃʸ!" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇʳᵒᶜʰᵘʳᵉ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃᵛᵒⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵉʸᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶜᵗ‧ "ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵍᵒᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵏᵉˡᵖ ˢʰᵃᵏᵉˢ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵉˣᶜˡᵃⁱᵐᵉᵈ‧ "ᔆᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ!" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵍᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉᵃᶜʰ ᵃ ᵏᵉˡᵖ ˢʰᵃᵏᵉ; ᵇᵉ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ!" ᔆᵃⁱᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵉⁿ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵉᵈ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᶠᵉᵉˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʷᵏʷᵃʳᵈ‧ "ᵂʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ⁱⁿ ᵏᵉˡᵖ ˢʰᵃᵏᵉˢ?" ᴬˢᵏˢ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ‧ "ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵍᵉᵗ ʲᵘⁱᶜᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵏᵉˡᵖ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ‧ ᴼʰ ᵐᵃʸ ᵇᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵉˡˡ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵈʳⁱⁿᵏˢ ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵏᵉˡᵖ‽" ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᶜᵒⁿˢⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ 'ᴾᵉʳʰᵃᵖˢ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵃ ʳᵘⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒⁿᵉʸ⸴ ⁱᶠ ⁿᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵗᵒᵉˢ' ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ‧ ᴰᵉˡⁱᶜⁱᵒᵘˢ!

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii (Autistic author) Karen picked him up, and carried his limp form to his bed. She stood there for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. The snores grew quieter as sleep consumed him. The weight of what had just happened settled on her shoulders. Karen lay him down gently. She tucked him in, his antennae resting against the pillow. The room was quiet except for his soft snores, a stark contrast to the chaos that had filled it moments before. Karen sat by his side, her hand on his arm. After a few moments, she stood up and walked to the door, closing it gently behind her. She found Hanna in the living room, her eyes red-rimmed and worried. "Hanna, I need to talk to you," Karen said, her voice firm but not accusing. Hanna looked up, her expression hopeful for guidance. Karen sat beside her, her eyes on her own hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. "Plankton's been through a lot," she began, her voice measured. "He's different now." Hanna nodded, her eyes wide with unspoken questions. "Still coming to terms with it but you're just fine. It's a rarity, yet he'll be fine." "I guess I'll head out. I never meant to cause Plankton distress." Karen nodded, her eyes still on her fidgeting hands. "Thank you for understanding. I'm pretty sure he knows you didn't mean to, but I can still tell him when he wakes up." Hanna left, and Karen went back to the bedroom. Plankton was still asleep, his breathing steady and peaceful. Karen sat by the bed. Plankton's snores were the only sound in the room, a gentle reminder of the peace that sleep brought him from his tumultuous world of heightened senses. Karen took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. This was their new normal, a dance of understanding and patience they would have to learn. When Plankton next woke up, his eye searched the room, his antennae twitching slightly. He looked over to find Karen sitting in a chair beside the bed, her gaze on him. "Hi," she said, her voice gentle. He sat up slowly, the fabric of the bed rustling beneath his weight. "How are you feeling?" Karen's concern was palpable, her eyes scanning his face for any signs of distress. Plankton took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. Karen's presence was a balm to his soul, her understanding a lifeline in the storm of sensory input. "Where's Hanna?" Karen sighed, her gaze never leaving his face. "She left, sweetie. You were a bit...overwhelmed." Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with the memory of the sensory assault. "It's okay," Karen assured him, her voice a soft whisper. "She just didn't understand, and felt bad for the way she treated you." Plankton nodded, his antennae still. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos from before. He took a moment to collect himself, his thoughts racing. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Karen reached out and took his hand, her grip firm but gentle. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said, her tone soothing. "This is all new to us. Would you like to eat?" Plankton nodded. "I'll get you something quiet and simple," Karen said, standing up. She knew that too much stimulation could send him spiraling. In the kitchen, she prepared a snack of plain crackers. She placed the plate on the table carefully, not wanting to startle his heightened senses again. Plankton entered the room, his movements deliberate and slow. He sat down across from her, his eye darting around the room. "It's ok," Karen reassured him, handing him the plate of crackers. "Just food." "Just food. It's ok; just food." He repeats back to himself, focusing on the plate. Each cracker was a tiny square of safety, a familiar comfort in a sea of sensory uncertainty. He took a deep breath and selected one. The taste was comforting, a reminder of a simpler time. Karen watched him, her screen filled with love. Plankton took a sip of water, his eye never leaving hers. "It's ok just food," he said again, his voice still low. "Karen good and good food. It's ok." Karen nodded, her smile a mix of relief and sadness. She knew his echolalic tendencies was the autism, but she's glad he likes the food as well. They sat in silence, the only sound the crunch of crackers and the occasional sip of water. Plankton's eye focused on the cracker in his hand, the patterns on the surface a comfort. His autistic brain craved the predictability, the sameness that calmed his nerves. This was the man she knew, yet he was different. The Plankton who was always plotting and scheming was now one who found comfort in the mundane. His mind felt clearer now, the overwhelming chaos of the earlier encounter with Hanna beginning to fade. Karen watched him, her heart breaking for the silent struggle she knew he faced every moment. "I'll talk to Hanna," she said gently. "I'll explain. What do you want me to tell her? What'd you like for her to know?" Plankton's gaze remained on the cracker, his thumb tracing the edge. "Tell her sorry," he mumbled. "What else? I mean, is it ok if I tell her you're autistic now? Or what about the accident that lead to the autism?" Plankton's antennae twitched at the word 'accident', his mind reeling with memories of the stove, the fight with Mr. Krabs, the pain. But he nodded slowly. "Ok," he murmured. Karen's heart ached at the simplicity of his response. The complexity of his thoughts was now a tightly guarded secret, hidden behind a wall of sensory overload. "Okay, I will," Karen said, her voice soft. "But remember, it's ok to be different." Plankton nodded, his eye still on his food. But as he took another cracker, he paused. He looked up, his gaze locking with hers. "Karen," he said, his voice a little stronger now. "I, I l-love you." Karen's eyes widened at the sudden declaration. "Oh, Plankton," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you too." Plankton nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "Karen making everything okay," he murmured. He took another cracker, his hands shaking slightly. "You make Plankton feel safe," he continues with sincerity. "In a world that's too much, Karen not too much." Karen's eyes filled with tears at his heartfelt words. She reached across the table and took his hand. "Plankton, I'm here for you. Always." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching. He looked into her screen, his own filled with a depth of emotion that hadn't seen before. "You good, Karen," he said, his voice steady. "Helping Plankton." Plankton was finding his way to express himself, to connect with her in a way that was meaningful. She squeezed his hand. "I'll always help you," she promised. "Karen," Plankton began, his voice tentative. He took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "I love you, Karen," he said finally, his eye intense with feeling. Karen swelled with love and pride. Despite his struggles, Plankton was learning to express his emotions in a way that made sense to him. It was a victory, small but significant. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, squeezing his hand. "Your love makes me happy." His antennae twitched slightly, a sign of his awkwardness with the emotional exchange. The room was quiet, the only noise the soft sound of their breathing and the occasional crunch of a cracker. Plankton's eye searched hers, looking for reassurance. "Plankton need...space," he managed, his voice shaky. "Too...much emotional interaction. Still love." Karen nodded, understanding dawning. "Okay, sweetie," she said, releasing his hand. "I'll be right here. Take all the time you need."

CHIP AND FAIL iii (Autistic author) "Ok Dad," he said. "Let's go to your workshop." Maybe there, he would be able to come back to himself. But Plankton's not budging, despite Chip's efforts to get him up. "Come on," he said, his voice gentle, trying to mask his own fear. "Let's go." But he sees it's not gonna work. He hadn't realized that his excited touches and loud laughter were only making things worse. Plankton's condition meant that even the smallest disruption could send him spiraling, and here Chip was, bombarding him with sensations. With a tremble in his voice, Chip tried one more time to reach his father. "Dad, can you just come with me?" He asked, his voice small and hopeful. "We'll talk in the workshop." But Plankton still didn't move, his eye fixed on some unseen horizon. Chip stood up, wiping the tears from his screen, trying to listen for his dad's breathing. Chip doesn't like this. Chip's face crumpled, realizing that his dad isn't okay. This was chilling. The more Chip talked, the more he touched, the deeper Plankton's mind spun into a vortex of overstimulation. "Dad, you're not talking," Chip whispered, his voice cracking with concern. He had never seen his father like this, so silent and still. He didn't know that the affectionate gestures and loud stories were only adding to Plankton's distress. "Dad, please," Chip said, his voice small. This wasn't right. This is wrong. Something is very wrong with his dad. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his mind racing with fear and confusion. Something's wrong with his dad. "Dad, you're not okay," Chip said, his voice filled with a new urgency. But now, he knew it was something more, something he didn't know how to fix. But he needs to try. "Can you tell me about your week too?" Absolutely no sign of life from him. This is bad. He's getting worse... Chip didn't know that Plankton's lack of response was due to his autism, that his sensory system was in overdrive. All he knew was that he needed to help, to do something. With a tremble in his hands, Chip gently touched Plankton's shoulder. "Dad, can you hear me?" He asked, his voice soft and soothing, hoping to cut through the storm in his father's mind. But Plankton's expression remained unchanged, his eye unfocused. Chip felt like he was shouting into a void, his words disappearing without a trace. The room was spinning, the air thinning with each shallow breath Plankton took. Chip's mind raced with scenarios, trying to piece together what could've caused this sudden change. "Is there something wrong?" He asked, his voice quavering. "Did something happen?" But Plankton was lost, the cacophony of Chip's excitement echoing through his overstimulated brain like a never- ending nightmare. Chip's touches grew gentler, his laughter fading into a soft concern. "I don't get it," he said, his voice thick with confusion. "I just wanted to tell you about my week." Plankton felt the pressure but his mind was a maelstrom of sensation. "Dad," Chip said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know what's going on." He nudged him, and he remained still and unblinking as the prod toppled him onto his side, with no reaction. The room felt colder, the air heavier with each passing second. He had never seen his father so unresponsive, so utterly lost to the world around him. "Dad," he tried again, his voice trembling. "You're scaring me." Plankton's eye remained fixed. The gentle touches from Chip were now a maelstrom of sensation, each one a wave crashing against the shore of his overwhelmed mind. Chip's smile faded as he watched his father. "Dad, you're not okay," he murmured, his voice laced with concern. He didn't know about Plankton's condition, how his brain processed stimuli differently, how easily it could be overwhelmed. All he knew was that his dad, the man he looked up to, was trapped in a silent prison of his own making.

THE LIFE OF UNITY iii (Autistic author) Kevin's laughter reaches a crescendo as he takes a step closer to Plankton. "What don't I know?" he asks, his voice sharper than ever. "That PLANKTON JUST. DON'T. WUV. THEM. JELLYFISH. YOU ARE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY..." But his words are cut off by the sight of Plankton, his antennae drooping, his eye brimming with tears. The tiny creature's body trembles as Kevin's to loud words settle upon him, and suddenly, all the pent-up frustration and pain come rushing out in a torrent as a single tear forms and slides down his face. Plankton's antennae quiver uncontrollably, and he squeaks out a sob, his tiny body convulsing with the weight of Kevin's cruel words. SpongeBob is shocked. Kevin's words hang in the water, his laughter fading into an awkward silence as he watches Plankton's reaction. The sea cucumber's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Plankton's tears, his own expression morphing from smug to surprise, then to something akin to fear. "Plankton?" Plankton's antennae quiver as he sniffs, trying to compose himself, his monotone voice thick with emotion. "Plankton... brainless," he murmurs, his one eye filled with unshed tears. "Plankton," he adds, his voice cracking, "Plankton... not like jellyfish." Sponge Bob's heart squeezes tight in his chest. "Hey, Plankton," he says softly, "it's ok. Kevin didn't mean it." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's hurtful words. "Kevin... right," he murmurs, his eye glistening with tears. "Plankton... brainless. Like jellyfish." Kevin's expression morphs from smugness to shock, his eyes wide as he realizes the impact of his words. "It's just... you know, a joke." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice trembling. "Joke?" he murmurs. "Plankton... a joke. Plankton... brainless." Kevin's grin falters, his eyes widening in horror as he sees the pain etched on Plankton's tiny face. "No," he stammers, his voice cracking. "It was just a... I didn't mean it like that." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's cruel words. "Plankton... no purpose in life," he murmurs, his one eye filled with a sadness so profound it seems to suck the color out of the surrounding waters. Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton," he says gently, "you have friends. You have a purpose." But Plankton's antennae droop even lower, his monotone voice a sad echo of his own self-doubt. "Plankton mindless.." Kevin's smugness evaporates, replaced with a flicker of concern as he watches the usually unflappable Plankton crumple under the weight of his words. "Look, Plankton," he says, reaching out to touch him. But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering with pain. "Plankton," Kevin says, his voice a mix of surprise and regret, "I didn't mean it like that. I was just messing around." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's insults. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye fixed. "Brainless." Sponge Bob's eyes wide with shock and sadness. "Plankton," he whispers, his voice filled with a tenderness Plankton rarely hears from anyone. "You're not brainless." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's words. "Plankton... mindless," he murmurs, his one eye unable to meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Like jellyfish." SpongeBob knew that Plankton's obsession with jellyfish is more than just a hobby; it's a deep connection, a part of who he is after the traumatic brain injury. And now, Kevin's careless words have struck a nerve, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice gentle, "you're not like that. You're smart. You're... you're you." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye still avoiding contact. "Plankton... like jellyfish." SpongeBob understood that the brain trauma has affected him, making him more vulnerable to words that question his intelligence and identity due to his autism. "Plankton," he says, his voice filled with concern, "you know that's not true. You're not like jellyfish in that way." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's mockery. "Mindless," he murmurs. "Mindless, brainless." Sponge Bob's heart aches for his friend, reaching out to offer comfort. "Plankton, you're not like that," he says, his voice gentle and assuring. "You're brilliant. You know more about jellyfish than anyone." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's laughter. "Mindless," he murmurs, eye downcast. "Plankton... brainless." Sponge Bob tries to find the right words to say. "Plankton," he says gently, "you're not like that. You're so much more than what Kevin said." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of the cruel words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye avoiding Sponge Bob's gaze. "Plankton... no purpose." Kevin's eyes dart from Plankton to Sponge Bob, his grin faltering. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tight with confusion. "You guys are acting weird." Sponge Bob's embrace tighten around Plankton's tiny body, his voice firm but kind. "Kevin," he says, his gaze fixed on Plankton, "you don't know what happened to Plankton." Kevin's laughter fades into a puzzled look. "What do you mean?" Kevin's smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with confusion. "What are you guys talking about?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob hesitates, glancing at Plankton, who nods almost imperceptibly. "Kevin," he says, his voice serious, "Plankton had a bad accident. He hit his head, and now he's... different." Kevin's tentacles freeze in mid-air, his smugness evaporating. "What do you mean, 'different'?" he asks, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob sighs. "Plankton's had a brain injury," he says, his eyes never leaving Plankton's quivering antennae. "He's... autistic now." Kevin's eyes widen, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "What? No way," he stammers, his smugness gone. "You're... you're joking, right?" But Sponge Bob's expression is serious, gently stroking Plankton's antennae. "It's true, Kevin," he says, his voice gentle. "Plankton's had a tough time, and he's different now." "Plankton, joke." Kevin's confusion turns to shock as he looks from Sponge Bob to Plankton, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "But... but why didn't you say anything?" he asks, his voice trembling. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "We didn't think it was anyone's business," he says tightening around Plankton's shaking antennae. "But now you know Kevin. And we need you to be cool about it."

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii (Autistic author) Inside, she sets him down on their favorite couch, the one with the frayed edges and the squeaky spring that always reminded them of their first date. The room is cluttered with half-finished inventions and plans for Krabby Patty heists. She sits beside him. The silence stretches on, heavier than a net full of anchovies. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye darting around the room, taking in the chaos. Karen's mind is racing, wondering if he recognizes any of it, if it brings back any memories of their life together. "Home," he murmurs, his voice filled with uncertainty. The room feels smaller, more cramped than she remembered, as if the walls are closing in on them. "Do you like it here?" she asks, trying to gauge his reaction. He looks around, his antennas moving slightly as he processes his surroundings. "Home," he says again, his voice a mix of curiosity and confusion. The room is a jumble of wires, gadgets, and half-eaten chum sticks. Karen's with tears as she realizes how much she's taken for granted their life together. She had always loved Plankton's quirks and his boundless energy, but now his mind seemed to be stuck in a loop, unable to move beyond the basic functions of acknowledgment. "Home," Plankton says again, his antennas drooping. "Home with Karen." The repetition of the words stirs something within Karen. Echolalia, the doctor had called it, a common trait in those with autism. It was Plankton's way of trying to understand the world around him, to find comfort in familiar words and phrases. "Yes," she whispers, her throat tight with emotion. "This is our home." The room seems to shrink around them as Plankton's echolalic chant of "home with Karen" repeats in a soothing loop. Each time he says it, Karen feels a pang of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he was finding comfort in the simplicity of their life together. "Home with Karen," he says again, his antennas slightly more animated. Karen nods, brimming with tears. "Yes, Plankton, we're home." But she sees a flicker of distress in his eye. "Sponge Bob," he whispers, his antennas quivering with urgency. "Where's Sponge Bob?" Karen's heart squeezes at the mention of him. "Sponge Bob's not here right now," she says, choosing her words carefully. "But he'll come to visit." Plankton's antennas shoot up, his eye wide. "Sponge Bob," he repeats, his voice gaining strength. "Friend. Need Sponge Bob." The desperation in his tone is heart-wrenching, and Karen knows she needs to act fast to soothe his anxiety. "Ok, ok," she says, her voice calm. "Let's call Sponge Bob." Karen picks up the phone, her hands shaking slightly as she dials the familiar number. The phone rings once, twice, before it's answered by a cheerful voice. "Karen?" Sponge Bob's voice sounds surprised but concerned. "Is everything ok?" Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's Plankton," she says. "He's asking for you to come over." There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Plankton? But we're... I mean?" Sponge Bob's voice is filled with confusion. Karen's with desperation as she watches Plankton rock back and forth on the couch, his chant growing louder. "Sponge Bob. Need Sponge Bob." "Please, Sponge Bob," she pleads, her voice cracking. Sponge Bob's voice on the other end of the line softens. "Of course, Karen. I'll be right over." The line goes dead, and Karen hangs up the phone, feeling a tiny spark of hope. Plankton's cries for Sponge Bob have become more insistent, his rocking more pronounced. She gently places a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him. "Sponge Bob's coming, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "He'll be here soon." Plankton's rocking slows, his antennas drooping slightly. "Sponge Bob," he whispers, his eye searching hers. "Safe." The word hangs in the air, and Karen realizes that despite his confusion, he feels comfort in Sponge Bob's presence. A few moments later, they hear the telltale sound of bubbles popping against the glass, and a knock on the door. With a tremble, Karen stands and opens it to reveal Sponge Bob, looking slightly nervous but determined. "Hi, Plankton!" he exclaims. Plankton's antennas shoot up at the sound of his name, and he whips his head around to face the door. "Sponge Bob!" he shouts, his eye lighting up with an unmistakable joy. Sponge Bob steps into the room. "Sponge Bob!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of excitement and relief. He lunges forward, wrapping his tiny arms around the larger sponge in an embrace. Sponge Bob looks surprised but quickly returns the hug, his spongy form enveloping Plankton completely. "Plankton, what's going on?" he asks, his eyes wide with concern. He's never seen Plankton like this. Plankton pulls back, his expression a jumble of emotions. "Sponge Bob," he says again, his voice filled with affection. He grabs Sponge Bob's hand and tugs him closer. "Home with Karen. Need you." Sponge Bob looks to Karen, his eyes filled with uncertainty, but she nods encouragingly. "It's ok," she says. "He's just happy you're here." The sight of Plankton's excited state brings a smile to Sponge Bob's face, despite his confusion. He sits down next to him on the couch, his own excitement growing. "What do you want to do?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. Plankton's antennas twitch as he thinks, his eye darting around the room. "Let's play a game," he suddenly exclaims, his voice filled with a child-like excitement that hadn't been there before. "What kind of game, Plankton?" Karen asks, eager to encourage his newfound energy. "Chess!" he exclaims, pointing to a dusty board in the corner of the room. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He leaps up from the couch and wipes the dust from the board with his spongy hand, setting up the pieces with surprising efficiency. Karen watches from the sidelines, her heart swelling with love and hope as Plankton's enthusiasm grows. He moves the pieces with a frenetic energy, his eye alight with a joy she hadn't seen since before the accident. Sponge Bob, ever the optimist, matches his excitement, even though he's clearly outmatched by Plankton's strategic mind. "Checkmate!" Plankton cries out, his antennas waving with each word. Sponge Bob's expression is a mix of surprise and admiration. "Wow, Plankton, you're really good at this!" The room echoes with Plankton's laughter, a sound that's both familiar and foreign to Karen's ears. The old Plankton would have gloated. "Checkmate," he says again, his antennas bobbing in excitement. "Checkmate, checkmate." Sponge Bob laughs, a wonderful, genuine laugh that fills the room. "You win, Plankton," he says, his hands clapping together. Plankton's antennas stop twitching for a moment, and he looks at Sponge Bob, his eye studying the sponge's reaction. "Win," he repeats, a hint of understanding in his voice. "Win at chess." He claps like SpongeBob. Sponge Bob's eyes light up, seeing the connection. "Yes, Plankton, you won the chess game," he says, his voice soothing. "You're really good at it." Plankton's antennas start to twitch again, his eye darting between the board and Sponge Bob. "Win," he murmurs, his voice filled with a newfound sense of pride. "Win with Sponge Bob." The phrase becomes a chant, his brain finding solace in the repetition. "Win with Sponge Bob, win with Sponge Bob." Sponge Bob smiles warmly, picking up the rhythm of Plankton's words. "Yes, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You won the game. You're a great chess player." Plankton's antennas quiver, his eye locking onto Sponge Bob's. "Great chess player," he echoes, his voice a mix of pride and amazement. "Win with Sponge Bob." Karen watches from the sidelines with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was the breakthrough they needed. Sponge Bob's presence was calming him, bringing out a side of Plankton she hadn't seen since the accident.

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

CATCH IN MY CHIP iii (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a few moments, Chip's screen glued to his dad's still form. The only sound is the steady rhythm of Plankton's shallow breathing. As the minutes tick by, Chip's thoughts swirl with confusion and guilt. He had no idea that his dad's quirks and sensitivities were part of something so complex. He'd just thought Plankton was easily annoyed or tired. Karen notices his son's distress and decides it's time to explain more. "You know how sometimes you get really excited about something, and you just can't keep it in?" she asks. Chip nods. "Yeah, like when I see a new toy or when I've got a great idea for a sandcastle." "Well, for Dad, it's like that all the time," Karen continues. "Every little thing can be a big deal, and sometimes it's just too much." She pauses, looking at Plankton with a mix of love and concern. "But he's also the smartest person I know, and he loves you so much. That's what's important." Chip nods, his eyes filling with tears as he watches his mom care for his dad. He'd always felt a bit left out, not understanding why Plankton would sometimes retreat from the world. But now he gets it. It's not that his dad didn't want to share in his excitement, it's just that sometimes, the world was too much for him. "Mom, I'm sorry," he whispers, his throat tight with emotion. "I didn't mean to make him... like this." Karen pulls him into a warm embrace. "You didn't do anything wrong, Chip. This isn't your fault. Dad's brain just works differently. And now that we know, we can help each other understand." Chip sniffles against her, his thoughts racing. "Does he know what's happening or can he understand us?" "Sometimes he can," Karen says, her voice low and soothing. "But right now, I don't think he realizes anything's happening around him." "What if he doesn't wake up?" The fear in his voice is palpable. "He will, honey," Karen says, her tone reassuring. "It just takes a little time. It's like when you're really tired and you need a nap. His brain needs to rest." The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of the air conditioner kicking in, a stark contrast to the excitement that had filled it just moments ago. Chip watches his dad, feeling a wave of emotion wash over him. He wants to laugh and share more stories, but he knows now that his dad's brain needs a break. As they wait, Karen starts to clean up the mess Chip made. The sand and papers scattered across the floor seem so trivial now, a stark reminder of the chaos his enthusiasm can create for his dad. He helps her, carefully picking up each piece, placing them back into their rightful spots. His mind is racing with thoughts of how to be a better son, how to make sure his dad doesn't feel like this again. They work in silence, the only sounds the rustling of papers and the occasional clank of a metal item being set back on the desk. The room slowly transforms back to its usual state of order, a stark contrast to the turmoil Plankton was experiencing. Chip's eyes never leave his dad, hoping to see any sign of improvement. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Plankton's eye blinks, and the tension in the room shifts. His breathing becomes deeper and more regular. Karen's shoulders relax as she sees the first signs of Plankton coming back to himself. She gives Chip's hand a gentle squeeze. "Look, honey. He's starting to come out of it." Chip stares, hope filling his chest. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. He blinks a few more times, as if trying to bring the room into focus. "What... what happened?" His voice is weak, almost a whisper. Karen's grip tightens on Chip's hand. "You just needed a little break, sweetie," she says softly. "It's okay."

JUST A TOUCH iii (Autistic author) ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ Once home, she helped him settle into his favorite chair, his eye scanning the room. Everything was in its place, exactly as he liked it. Karen noticed his breathing slow as the familiarity washed over him. She knew that routine and order could be vital to his comfort now to avoid triggering his anxiety. Then suddenly, Plankton began to rock back and forth. Karen recognized the motion. It was a new behavior, one she hadn't seen before. His body swayed with a rhythm that matched the ticking of the antique clock on the wall. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We're home now." The rocking grew more intense, his eye darting around the room, his antennae vibrating with each back-and-forth movement. Karen's mind raced, trying to remember the doctor's words. Sensory overload. He needed calm. Swiftly, she dimmed the lights, the neon signs from the Krabby Patty franchise across the street casting soothing shadows through the windows. The glow was just enough to illuminate the space without causing further distress, and she watched as Plankton's rocking subsided. She sat by him. She grasped and squeezed his shoulder. But this time, he flinched. "Plankton?" she asked, concern etching her voice. He pulled away from her, his antennae dropping to his side. The doctor had mentioned that some with autism might have heightened sensitivity to touch. Karen felt a knot in her stomach. "What if he doesn't like me touching him anymore?" she thought. "What if I can't comfort him when he's upset?" She decided to test the waters gently. Reaching out, she lightly trailed her finger over his hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged, she placed her hand on his shoulder again, this time more softly. He tensed, then relaxed. It was progress. "Let's start with simple touch," she said, her voice soothing. The doctor had mentioned that Plankton might be hypersensitive to certain types of touch, and Karen was determined to navigate this new aspect of their relationship with care. She placed a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton flinched, his antennae retreating. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen." Her hand hovered over his, unsure of the best way to provide comfort. Karen took a deep breath, deciding to try again. This time, she approached with care, her touch feather-light, gliding over his hand like the softest of sea breezes. Plankton's antennae twitched, and his gaze remained on her hand, watching the movement as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Gradually, the tension in his body eased, and his hand lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative touch, his fingers brushing against hers, testing the waters. Karen felt a rush of relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand was cold, his grip firm but not painful. His eye locked onto hers, searching for reassurance. Slowly, she began to stroke his hand with her thumb, applying the slightest pressure. His breathing evened out, his antennae rising slightly. Encouraged, she tried a different type of touch—a gentle squeeze. This time, he didn't flinch. Instead, his hand returned the gesture, his own grip matching hers in strength. Karen felt a flicker of hope. "Maybe we can find a way through this," she thought. They sat in silence for a few moments, their hands entwined, as Karen tried to think of the next step. The doctor's words echoed in her mind: find what works for him. Gently, she began to rub his hand, her thumb moving in small, soothing circles. Plankton seemed to find comfort in the predictable pattern, his body unwinding a fraction more. Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer, her other hand reaching out to tap his shoulder. But as soon as her hand made contact with his skin, he jerked away, his eye flashing with fear and pain. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her heart racing. "I didn't mean to scare you." Plankton stared at her, his expression unreadable. "It's just, sometimes touch feels..." His words trailed off, and Karen felt her own fear rising. "Painful?" she guessed, her voice trembling. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Some touches are okay, others..." He paused, his eye darting to his hand, which was still wrapped around hers. "It's confusing." Karen nodded, her heart aching for him. She knew she had to be more mindful of his sensory needs. Carefully, she pats his cheek with the back of her hand, the lightest of touches. Plankton's antennae flinched, but he didn't pull away until she put both of her hands on his shoulders. The sudden pressure was too much, like an electric shock. "Karen," he said, his voice tight with discomfort, "too much." Karen nodded, her hands retreating to her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching hers. "It's okay, Karen," he said, his voice measured. "But some touches are too much." Karen nodded, her heart heavy. She had so much to learn about this new Plankton, this person she knew so well yet barely knew at all. "I'll be more careful," she promised, squeezing his hand gently. Plankton's gaze remained steady on hers, his expression neutral. "Thank you, Karen," he said, giving her a side hug. This was a Plankton she had never seen before, one who spoke in a staccato rhythm, his movements precise and calculated. Yet, in the safety of their home, Karen saw glimpses of the man she knew. Her eyes fell upon a pamphlet the doctor had given her, titled 'Understanding Neurodivergence'. She picked it up and began to read. The first few pages were dedicated to explaining what it meant to be neurodivergent, how it wasn't an illness but a natural variation in the brain. Plankton's new condition, Acquired Autism, was one of the many spectrums that fell under this umbrella. Karen read through the descriptions of different behaviors, her eyes widening as she recognized some of the changes in Plankton— his need for order, his heightened sensitivity to stimuli, and his newfound obsessions. The pamphlet explained that these were common in individuals with his condition and offered optional suggestions for supporting them. Her gaze fell upon a section titled 'Seizure Protocols'. Karen's eyes widened as she read about the different types of seizures that could occur due to neurodivergence. Some were minor, like staring spells, while others could be more severe. Her heart raced as she thought of Plankton, his body stiffening and shaking. The pamphlet recommended to keep any sharp or harmful objects away from him. It was important not to restrain him, but instead, to gently guide him to the floor if necessary. The next section discussed how to communicate with someone on the spectrum. It suggested using clear, direct language, avoiding sarcasm and idioms. Karen realized that she would have to learn a new way of speaking with Plankton. Her screen skimmed over the pages, absorbing the information like a sponge. The pamphlet highlighted the importance of individuality and diversity, emphasizing that Plankton's brain was not broken, but simply wired differently. This was a concept she had heard of before, but it had never hit so close to home. The causes of neurodisability varied widely, from genetics to congenital to trauma. One paragraph caught her attention—brain injuries could lead to conditions like Acquired Autism. The words swirled in her mind, a stark reminder of the wrench that had changed everything. As Karen read on, she learned about the complex interplay of biological factors and life experiences that can shape a person's neurodivergence. It was both overwhelming and fascinating, a glimpse into a world she had never truly understood.

GREAT CHIP iii (Autistic author) Karen followed, her screen on her husband's tentative steps. "Chip," she called out softly, knocking gently. "Can we come in?" There was no immediate response, just the faint sound of sniffling. "It's ok, sweetie," she said. "Your dad and I want to talk to you." Slowly, the door cracked open, and Chip's tear-stained screen peeked out. His eyes searched theirs, looking for answers, for reassurance. Plankton's heart twisted at the sight. He had never wanted to cause his son any pain, especially not like this. He felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over him as he stepped into the room, his every move feeling clumsy and exposed. "Chip," he began, his voice strained, "It's just..." Plankton's words trailed off, his gaze flitting around the room as if searching for the right ones. The air felt thick with tension. Chip looked up at him, his eyes swollen with unshed tears. "Dad, I'm sorry," he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. But Plankton's anger hadn't subsided entirely. "You shouldn't have touched me," he snapped, his voice sharp, his frustration still palpable. "You now know better than that!" Chip flinched at his father's tone, his own eyes brimming with tears. "But Dad, I didn't mean to," he protested. Plankton's gaze was unyielding. "You should know better!" he insisted, his voice echoing with accusation. "You're not a baby anymore!" Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders shaking with held-back sobs. "But I didn't know!" he choked out, his voice small and defensive. "Well, now you do," Plankton said firmly, his eye still avoiding Chip's. "You have to respect my space!" The room felt too small, his emotions too big. Chip's face crumpled, his voice barely audible. "I just wanted to..." But Plankton's anger was like a storm, unyielding. "I don't care what you wanted!" he shouted. "You can't just touch me like that!" The room felt like it was closing in, his heart racing faster with each word. He saw the hurt on Chip's face, but his own emotions were a tornado whipping through his thoughts. He couldn't stop, couldn't apologize. "It's your fault for not knowing!" Plankton's voice was like thunder, filling the room with accusation. Karen's eyes grew wide with shock, but she didn't dare to interrupt. Chip's sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the weight of his father's wrath. "But I didn't know, Dad," he pleaded, his voice thick with pain. Plankton's eye was like a stone, his words cutting through the air. "That's no excuse!" he bellowed. "You should've learned by now! Or are you just to busy with your silly games and neurotypical friends to care about your own father?" Chip's shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his sobs. He didn't know what to say, his mind a jumble of emotions. All he knew was that he had hurt his dad, and now his dad was hurt and mad at him. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "It was an accident, I didn't know!" But Plankton's anger didn't abate. "Accident or not, you should've known better!" Plankton's voice grew louder, his words piercing the air like knives. "You're not a baby anymore, so don't act like one!" Chip felt his world crumbling. He didn't mean to upset Dad, but he didn't know what to do. He just wanted to help, to show his love, but it all went wrong. "But Dad," he tried again, his voice barely a whisper, "I didn't mean to..." "I DON'T CARE!" Plankton roared, his anger a living, breathing entity that filled the room. His words were sharp, like shards of glass in the air. Chip's sobs grew louder, his heart breaking with each accusation. He didn't understand why his dad was so mad at him. "I'm sorry," he choked, his voice barely audible. "I didn't know..." Plankton's anger didn't waver. "You never know!" he spat. "You never pay attention!" His words were like a whip, each one stinging Chip's already bruised heart. "You think the world revolves around you!" Chip's eyes were a pool of tears, his body trembling as he tried to find the right words. "But Dad, I just..." Plankton's anger grew with each of Chip's stumbling attempts. "You just what?" he snarled, his senses overwhelmed by the emotional turmoil. He felt the urge to break something, anything to release the pressure building in his chest. With a roar, he swiped his hand across Chip's desk, sending papers flying and toys clattering to the floor. "DO YOU SEE?" he yelled, his voice shaking the walls. "DO YOU SEE HOW YOU MAKE ME FEEL?" Chip cowered, his eyes locked on the chaos, his mind whirling. He hadn't meant to make his dad feel like this. He didn't understand why his curiosity was so wrong. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice tiny and lost in the maelstrom of Plankton's rage. Plankton's eye was wild, his movements erratic. He knew his anger was a storm, but he couldn't stop it. The room spun around him, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He felt a hand on his arm, Karen's voice cutting through the noise in his head. "Plankton, please," she begged. But he shrugged her off, his rage now a living, breathing monster inside of him. He picked up a toy, one of Chip's beloved creations, and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound piercing the silence that followed. Chip's sobs grew quieter, his body trembling with fear. "This," Plankton said, his voice low and dangerous, "is what you do to me." He picked up another toy, his hand shaking with anger. "This is what your curiosity does!" Chip's eyes widened with fear as Plankton's hand arced back, ready to hurl it. But as the toy could leave his grip, his body seized up again, his legs buckling. Another absence seizure had struck. Karen's heart raced as she watched her husband's uncontrolled movements. She knew she had to intervene before things escalated. She rushed to Plankton's side, grabbing his arm to steady him. "Stop," she whispered urgently. Chip's sobs grew quieter, his eyes wide with fear. He had never seen his dad so out of control before. Plankton's seizure was taking over, his body betraying him once again. Karen's voice pierced the chaos, a beacon of calm. "Chip, let me handle this." Her son nodded, his eyes never leaving his dad's shaky form. Karen turned to Plankton's form, supporting. "Come on," she said firmly, guiding his trembling form to their own bedroom. "Let's sit down, okay?" As they do, Plankton's still caught in the throes of the seizure. Chip felt like he was watching a stranger, his dad's body twitching uncontrollably. He didn't know what to do.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT iii (Autistic author) As the minutes ticked by, Plankton's trembling subsided. He looked up at her, his antennae still twitching slightly. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Plankton sorry Karen." This wasn't like him. Plankton had his quirks, sure, but this was something else entirely. It was as if the fall had shaken something loose in his mind, revealing a part of him she had never seen before. Her arms tightened around his slight frame, and she pressed her screen to his forehead. "Don't be sorry," she whispered. "You're scared, and that's okay." Plankton nodded, his single eye squeezing shut as if to hold in his fear. He leaned into her embrace, his body finally going limp. Karen felt his wetness on her neck, and realized he was crying. "It's okay," she whispered again, her voice the only sound in the silent room. "You're safe with me." Plankton's antennae stilled against her, and she felt his breathing grow calmer. The quiet was unusual for their home, but in this moment, it was a welcome balm. Her mind raced, trying to recall any signs she might have missed, any indication that Plankton was suffering from something deeper than the physical trauma of the fall. Was this a sudden onset of a condition? Or had it been there all along, masked by his quirks and his usual bravado? "Karen," Plankton murmured again, his eye squeezed shut. "Karen Plankton." "It's okay," she soothed. "You're okay." But the silence grew louder, and she knew it was more than just the quiet of their usual bickering. This was a new Plankton, one she wasn't sure how to reach. His repetition of her name was like a mantra, a lifeline to the world he knew. Karen held him closer, her own eyes now brimming with tears. They had been through so much together, and she had always been his anchor, the one constant in his life. But now, she felt adrift, uncertain of how to navigate these uncharted waters. Plankton's grip around her tightened, his breath hitching in sobs. His muttered repeating of her name grew louder, almost frantic. "Karen, Karen, Karen..." It was like he was stuck in a loop, his mind unable to comprehend the sudden change around him. "Shh," she soothed, stroking his back. "It's okay, we're here, together." Plankton's repetition of her name grew more frantic. "Karen, Karen, Karen," he chanted, his voice rising in pitch. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her voice steady despite her internal turmoil. "Everything's going to be okay." But his chanting continued, growing louder and more desperate. She knew she couldn't just sit here forever, she had to do something. But what? Her mind raced, thinking of all the times Plankton had fixed her when she was broken. Now it was her turn. She had to find a way to reach him. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "Look at me." She gently lifted his chin so he was forced to meet her screen. "You're okay, we're together." His eye searched hers, desperation clear in its depths. The chanting of her name grew softer, but didn't cease. Karen's mind raced, trying to think of anything that could help him snap out of this state. "Remember the chum?" she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The time we had a picnic and the seagulls came?" Plankton's chanting paused for a moment, and his eye flickered with recognition. It was a memory from their early days, a moment of shared joy amidst their usual bickering. "Chum," he murmured, his antennae twitching slightly. "Seagulls." Karen's screen lit up with hope. It was a start, a crack in the facade of his fear. "Yes, the seagulls," she said, smiling through her tears. "Remember how we laughed when they stole our sandwiches?" Plankton's antennae twitched again, and a tiny smile graced his lips. "Seagulls," he repeated, his voice a little less shaky. Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And remember how we chased them together?" Plankton's smile grew slightly, and his antennae moved a bit more naturally. "Chased," he agreed, his voice still wobbly but with a hint of his usual spirit. Karen felt a wave of relief wash over her. He was remembering, engaging with her. "Yes, we chased them, and we got the chum back," she said, trying to keep the conversation going. Plankton's antennae moved slightly, and he nodded, his eye focusing more clearly on her. "Chum," he murmured, his voice stronger now. "Good chum." Karen took a deep, shaky breath, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. She had to keep him grounded, keep him with her. "Yes," she said, her voice determined, "good chum." Plankton's antennae stilled, and he took a deep, ragged breath. "Karen," he said, his voice a little stronger. "Chum." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the flicker of the man she knew. "Yes, Plankton, chum." The room remained silent, except for the sound of Plankton's deepening breaths. The word "chum" seemed to have a calming effect on his agitated state. He repeated it to himself, his antennae finally stilling. Karen watched him, relief and sadness mingling within her. This was a side of Plankton she had never seen before, a raw vulnerability that made her ache. He was like a lost child, seeking comfort in familiar words. "Chum," he murmured once more, his eye shutting. Karen nodded. "Yes, chum," she said, her voice soothing. Plankton's body relaxed in her arms, his breathing evening out. For a moment, the room remained still, save for the steady rhythm of his breath. But then, his antennae began to move again, not with fear this time, but with something else. It was almost as if his mind was racing, trying to process the world around him. Karen felt his grip on her loosen, his body shifting slightly in the couch cushions. "Plankton?" she asked, her voice tentative. He didn't respond, but his eye fluttered open, his gaze focused on a spot on the wall. "Looks like he's in a trance," Karen thought aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's going on with you?" Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, as if trying to capture invisible signals. His face was a mask of concentration, his body tense and poised like he was ready to flee. Karen felt a cold wave of understanding wash over her. This wasn't just fear or confusion, it was something deeper. She scanned his brain, and then she saw the results. "Oh, Plankton," she breathed. He had developed autism. The fall had triggered something within his brain, irreversible damage to. She felt a mix of shock and sorrow, but also a fierce determination to support him. "Autism. You're autistic now." He looked at her, his eye blinking in understanding. "Autism," he echoed. "Different." Karen nodded. "Yes, but you're still my Plankton." Plankton's expression was a jumble of emotions. Recognition, fear, confusion, and a tiny spark of hope. "Different," he repeated. "But... same?" Karen nodded, squeezing his hand. "Different, but still my Plankton." She swiped at her tears, determined to be strong for him. "We'll get through this, I promise." Plankton looked at her with a mix of relief and fear. "Karen... love." Karen felt love and pain. "I love you, Plankton," she whispered, her voice shaking. "We'll get through this together." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching for a moment, and he squeezed her hand. "Together," he repeated, his voice small but firm. Karen nodded, swiping at her tears. "We'll face this together, I promise. Now, it's late; let's get to sleep.." She cleaned up the remnants of the shelf.

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD iii He took another sip of water, his cheeks puffing out as he swished it around his mouth. "Mmph, tath's betta," he said, handing the cup back to the nurse. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his antics. "Okay, let's get you up," she said, her voice still filled with laughter. Plankton nodded, his antennae bobbing. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements slow and clumsy. Karen slipped her arm under his and helped him stand. His balance was wobbly, like a newborn foal taking its first steps. She had to stifle her giggles as he tried to navigate the unseen world with his numbed mouth. "Mmph... Kahen," he began, his voice a series of muffled sounds. "How long wi’ this lafs?" Karen chuckled at his question. "It'll wear off in a few hours. But until then, you're going to have to be careful." Plankton's antennae wiggled with determination. "Mmph, I'm a bih boy," he slurred. Karen couldn't help but laugh at his bravado. "Yes, you are," she said, her voice warm and supportive. "Let's get you to the car." With Plankton leaning heavily on her, they shuffled down the hallway." "Mmph... Kahen," Plankton slurred, his words still thick with the remnants of the anesthesia. "You know, I've alwaths wanthed to know... how youw wove me wath." Karen raised an eyebrow, her smile growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by his sudden sentimental turn. "Mmph, wike, how... how youw... feww in wove?" he managed, his tongue thick and clumsy. Karen's smile grew tender at his earnest question. "Well, it's complicated," she began, her voice soft. "But I guess it started when we met. Now, let's get in the car." Plankton nodded, his antennae waving with understanding. "Mmph, okay." Karen helped him shuffle his way out of the hospital, his feet dragging slightly. He was still groggy from the anesthesia, but his curiosity was in overdrive. "Mmph, Kahen," Plankton slurred, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wha's wove wike?" Karen glanced down at him, his expression earnest. "It's like when two people really, really like each other," she replied, her voice gentle. "Wike... I wove youw tho mush." He says. Karen couldn't help but laugh again. "Plankton, you're not making any sense," she said, her voice filled with affectionate exasperation. His antennae drooped slightly, his eye looking disappointed. "Mmph... I'm tawwy," he mumbled, his mouth still a mess of numbness. "It's just... I wove youw Kahen." Karen's heart skipped a beat, his words a sweet jumble of slurs. "I know, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with emotion. They reached the car, and Karen gently guided him into the passenger seat. "Mmph, Kahen, wath's that?" Plankton asked pointing to the dashboard. Karen chuckled. "It's the car's dashboard, Plankton. You're just seeing things differently because of the medicine." She buckled his seatbelt, his movements exaggerated. "Mmph, oh," he murmured, his interest shifting to the windshield wipers. "Mow, theath things, they'we like... like... arms," he said, his speech still a slurry mess. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "They're wipers, Plankton. For the rain," she corrected, starting the engine. He nodded, his antennae still waving with fascination. "Mmph, wath's theath wound?" he asked, pointing at the steering wheel. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "That's the steering wheel, buddy. It's what I use to drive the car," she said, her voice still filled with humor. Plankton stared at it for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Mmph, and theath wound?" he asked, his finger tracing the path of the windshield wipers. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "It's to keep the windshield clear, so we can see while driving." Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with curiosity. "Mmph, so many tings in this big wowld." Karen couldn't help but laugh, his innocent wonder bringing a smile to her face. "Yes, Plankton, there are so many things to discover," she said, backing out of the parking spot. "Mmph, and wath's wath?" Plankton asked, pointing out the window at a passing scallop. "That's a scallop, Plankton. It flies in the sky," she explained, her voice still filled with amusement. He nodded, his antennae bobbing as he took it all in. "Wow, so-o beautiful," he slurred, his eye gazing out the window like a child seeing the world for the first time. Karen couldn't help but be captivated by his innocent wonder. "You know, Plankton, sometimes you say the sweetest things without even realizing it." His antennae perked up. "Mmph, do I?" he asked, his speech still a garbled mess. Karen nodded, her smile tender. "You do." "Mmph, gweat," he says with a slow nod of his head. Karen steers the car onto the road, the sun casting a warm glow over Plankton's sleepy face. His antennae wilt slightly as his eye struggles to stay open. "Mmph, Kahen, theath sun is so bright," he complains, his voice still slurred from the anesthesia. Karen chuckles, reaching over to adjust the visor. "Better?" He nods, his antennae drooping. "Mmph, yeth. Thanf you." He said, as drool began to form again in the corner of his mouth. Karen reached over with a tissue, carefully dabbing it away. Plankton flinched slightly, his mouth still too numb to feel the touch. "Mmph, I wathn't expehcting this," he mumbles, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. The world outside the car was a blur of colors and shapes, his mind still trying to make sense of it all. Karen navigated the road, her eyes flipping between the road and Plankton's amusing expressions. "Mmph, Kahen, wath's thaf?" he asks, his eye half-closed. Karen looks over at the traffic light, its red light a stark contrast to the bright sun. "It's a stoplight, Plankton. It tells me when to stop and go." Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Mmph, wike a twail." His eye closes, and Karen can feel his weight shift slightly toward her as sleep begins to claim him again. "Mmph, Kahen?" Plankton's voice interrupts the quiet hum of the engine, his words a soft whisper. "Ith wike I'm swimmin' in molasses," he says, his mouth still not cooperating. Karen laughs, keeping one eye on the road and the other on his peaceful face. "You're just tired from the surgery," she assures him. "You'll be fine once you get some rest." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye opening slightly. "But, Kahen, I don't wan' to sleep," he slurred. "I wan' to expehrience this wowld with you." His words were earnest, his gaze firm despite his grogginess. She watched him fight the tide of sleep, his eyelid drooping again. "Mmph, wath's theath wowndow?" he asked, pointing at the car's side mirror. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his confusion. "It's a mirror, sweetheart," she said, her voice soothing. "So we can see what's behind us." Plankton nodded, his antennae barely moving. "Mmph, wike a... wike a... wookie," he mumbled, his speech still a garbled mess. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "It's okay, Plankton. You're just tired." His eyes grew heavier, his lid drooping. "Mmph, I am," he admitted, his voice a faint whisper. The car's gentle rocking and the hum of the engine began to lull him into a doze. Karen watched him, his snores growing louder as he succumbed to sleep. His hand still held hers, the connection warm and comforting. She felt his grip loosen slightly, his body relaxing into the seat. His breathing grew deep and even, his antennae quietly bobbing with each exhalation. Karen couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for this vulnerable side of Plankton she'd never seen before. The car ride home was quiet, punctuated only by Plankton's gentle snores and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. Karen smiled to herself, her grip on his hand never loosening.

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vii (Autistic author) He starts to rock back and forth, his single eye squeezed shut as he tries to cope with the sudden change in his environment. Mr. Krabs' confusion deepens, his claws scratching his head in bemusement. "What's gotten into you, Plankton?" he says. But Plankton can't stop. His rocking intensifies, his whispered mantra becoming more desperate. "Fish, fish, fish," he repeats, his voice rising slightly with each iteration. Mr. Krabs stares at Plankton, his confusion turning. "Plankton, you ok?" he asks. But Plankton is lost in his own world, his stimming a way to self-regulate. His antennas wave back and forth in a soothing rhythm, his body rocking slightly as he murmurs "fish, fish, fish." Sponge Bob's heart aches as he watches his friend, his own hands clenching into fists at his side. He understands now that Plankton's behavior isn't a game, it's a coping mechanism, a way to navigate through the chaos in his head. "Plankton, it's ok," Sponge Bob says soothingly, approaching his friend. He gently picks up one of the fallen chess pieces, a knight, and holds it out to him. "Do you want to play again?" Plankton's antennas cease their frantic motion, his eye focusing on the knight. He takes it, his fingers tracing the intricate carvings, his breathing steadying. "Fish," he says, his voice calmer. Sponge Bob watches his friend carefully, his heart breaking at the sight of his distress. He understands now that Plankton's repetition is not just a strange behavior, but a way to cope with his new reality. Mr. Krabs, still confused, watches as Plankton's tracing the lines of the chessboard. "What are ye doing?" he asks, his voice annoyed. Sponge Bob's eyes meet Plankton's, and he sees the desperation in his friend's eye. "Mr. Krabs, Plankton's just... trying to remember how to play," he lies gently. Mr. Krabs grumbles but doesn't argue. Sponge Bob takes this moment to sit next to Plankton, placing his hand on his shoulder. "It's ok," he whispers. "We'll play again when you're ready." Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye dilating slightly as he nods. He clutches the knight tightly, his thumb stroking its smooth surface. It's a familiar comfort, something from before the accident, before the world became a confusing cacophony of sounds and sights. As the moments pass, Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the chessboard, the pattern of the squares providing a comforting visual stimulation. Sponge Bob notices the subtle change in his friend's demeanor, the tension easing from his tiny body. "Fish," Plankton murmurs again, but this time with less urgency. He carefully sets the knight back down on the board, his hand hovering above it. Sponge Bob's heart swells with affection, and he knows that despite the confusion and fear in Plankton's eye, his friend is trying. Mr. Krabs, however, is far from convinced, his eyes narrowing. "If this is how you're going to be, I'm not playing," he declares, crossing his arms over his chest. But Plankton's antennas perk up slightly, his interest piqued by the challenge. He picks up the knight again, his thumb caressing the piece. "Fish," he whispers, his gaze flicking to Sponge Bob and then back to the board. It's a plea. Sponge Bob nods, his face a picture of solemn reassurance. "It's ok," he repeats. "Just..." "What's wrong with you, Plankton?" Mr. Krabs exclaims. Plankton's antennas droop, and he looks down at his cards again. He doesn't know how to explain his condition to Mr. Krabs, who's always so dismissive of him. He feels a pang of desperation, racing to find a way to bridge understanding. Then, it hits him. With trembling hands, Plankton mimics Mr. Krabs' crossed arms, his voice a poor imitation. "What's wrong with you, Plankton," he repeats firmly. Mr. Krabs' eyes bulge with surprise. "What's this now?" he mutters, giving way to amusement. He chuckles deeply, his claws unfolding from his chest. Sponge Bob understands Plankton. "Mr. Krabs," he says quickly, trying to intercept the situation. "Plankton's..." But Mr. Krabs waves his hand dismissively. "I know, I know," he says, his voice filled with mockery. "Just playing his little games." Plankton doesn't want to be laughed at, especially not by Mr. Krabs. With determined effort, he mimics Mr. Krabs. "I know I know," he says again, his tone mimicking Mr. Krabs'. "Just playing his little games!" Mr. Krabs' laughter fades, his gaze sharp. "What now, Plankton?" he demands, his voice hard. Plankton's antennas quiver with determination as he picks up Mr. Krabs' mannerisms. "I know, I know," he repeats, his eye fixed on Mr. Krabs. "Just playing his little games!" Mr. Krabs' expression sours to irritation. "What's your game, Plankton?" he snaps. "Game," he repeats, his voice a mirror of Mr. Krabs'. "Game, game Mr. Krabs." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow, his confusion shifting to annoyance. "You're not making sense," he says, his voice sharp. But Plankton doesn't stop. "Game, game Mr. Krabs," he persists, his antennas waving frantically. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes. He knows Plankton's not trying to annoy; he's desperately trying to convey something, but his brain's wiring isn't cooperating. Plankton's repetition has turned into a mantra, a plea for understanding that only Mr. Krabs seems to ignore. Mr. Krabs' patience snaps. "Enough!" he shouts, slamming his claws on the table. "What do you want from me, Plankton?" Plankton's antennas flatten, his eye filling with tears. Sponge Bob jumps up, his own voice shaky. "Mr. Krabs, please, don't yell," he begs. "It's just a game." Mr. Krabs' face twists in anger. "This isn't a game, this is your usual scheme to drive me crazy!" "No, Mr. Krabs," he says.

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

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vii (Autistic author) The movie ended with the snails crossing the finish line. Sponge Bob reached for the remote, fingers hovering over the button. "Would you like to watch something else?" he asks, voice soft. Sponge Bob noticed his friend Plankton's gentle snores. He had fallen asleep, his body slack. "Plankton?" he whispered. Sponge Bob leaned closer, his heart skipping a beat as he noticed Plankton's gentle snores. Plankton didn't stir, his body slumped slightly curled up. Sponge Bob's gaze softened as he realized he had fallen asleep likely for the night. Sponge Bob felt a wave of relief wash over him, for Plankton found comfort in their shared experience. He gently cradles him. Karen, watching from the doorway, smiled softly as she saw Sponge Bob's gentle care. She knew that Sponge Bob had always had a special bond with Plankton, but now, it seemed that bond had grown deeper, more meaningful. He had always been there for Plankton, through their many adventures and misunderstandings. Now, in the face of Plankton's new reality, he remained steadfast, offering a steady hand in the storm of change. "Let's get him to bed," Karen whispered, stepping into the room. Her eyes met Sponge Bob's, her gaze filled with warmth and thanks. Together, they carefully lifted Plankton from the couch, his body limp with sleep. His antennae twitched slightly at the sudden movement, but his snores remained steady, a testament to his deep sleep. Sponge Bob walked down the hallway, his steps light, carrying Plankton with ease. Karen had prepared the bed. They laid him down, his antennae flailing briefly before settling against the pillow. Sponge Bob tucked the blanket around him, his movements careful not to disturb his friend. Plankton's snores grew quieter as his body settled into the cool embrace of the sheets. His antennae twitched one last time before going still, his mouth slightly parted. Sponge Bob and Karen stepped back, exchanging a look of shared relief. "He's asleep," Karen murmured, her voice a soft caress in the quiet room. Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze lingering on Plankton's peaceful face. "Thanks for today, Karen," he said, his voice grateful. Karen's smile was warm. "Anytime, Sponge Bob," she replied. "You're such a good friend to him." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes still on Plankton's sleeping form. "Always will be," he said. The next morning, Plankton woke up, and his antennae twitched as he registered the events of the previous day. He sat up, the blanket sliding off his body, and looked around. Sponge Bob stirred from the armchair, where he had dozed off watching over him. "Morning, Plankton," he said, his voice slightly rough with sleep. Plankton's antennae quivered as he looked around, his gaze falling on Sponge Bob. Sponge Bob yawned, stretching his spongy body, his voice gentle. "You fell asleep." Plankton's antennae twitched as his eye focused on Sponge Bob, his brain slowly piecing together the events of the previous evening. Sponge Bob's smile was warm. "You tired out, buddy?" he asked, his voice gentle. Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae twitching slightly. "Tired," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Sponge Bob nodded, understandingly. "How about we start with a quiet morning?" he suggested. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly before he nods. "Quiet morning," he murmured, his voice agreeable. Sponge Bob nodded, his expression filled with concern. "How about some pancakes?" he offered. "They're nice and easy on the stomach." Plankton's antennae perked up at the mention of food. "No pancakes," he murmured, his voice still sluggish with sleep. Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "No pancakes?" he repeated, surprise evident in his tone. "But you love pancakes!" Plankton's antennae quivered as he thought, his voice a soft whisper. "Pancakes... no," he said, his gaze drifting to the window where the early morning sun peeked through the curtains. The light was gentle, not yet harsh enough to cause him pain. "Toast," he decided, his voice final. Sponge Bob nodded, his smile slightly saddened but respectful of Plankton's new boundaries. "Okay, toast it is," he said, standing up from the chair and heading to the kitchen. Karen met SpongeBob. "Good morning! How's everything?" Sponge Bob's expression was a mixture of hope and trepidation. "Plankton's okay," he said. "He's just really tired." Karen nodded, her gaze following her husband as he slowly made his way to the kitchen. "It's going to take some time for us to figure this out," she said. "But we'll get there." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's reclined form. "We will," he said, his voice firm with resolve. He returned to the kitchen, his spongy feet padding softly against the floor. The room was bathed in the gentle light of dawn, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound. He pulled out a loaf of bread, his mind racing with thoughts of Plankton's new needs. Sponge Bob carefully sliced two pieces of toast, placing them in the toaster with a soft click. "Morning!" Karen says as Plankton sits down. She gives him milk, as she knew it soothes him. "Stayed up late for movie. Still am tired. Love Karen and SpongeBob." The toaster's ding pierced the silence, and Plankton's antennae shot straight up, his body stiffening at the sudden noise. "Easy, Plankton," Sponge Bob called from the kitchen, his voice soothing. "It's just the toast." "Toast," he murmured. "Toast." Sponge Bob carefully brought the toast to the table, placing it before Plankton. The scent of warm bread filled the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of Karen's brewing coffee. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in the sight, his body visibly relaxing at the familiar smells. "Yesterday's crazy, autistic or not. And you're still getting used to it all." Karen says as Plankton eats the toast. Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching slightly, still exhausted. The milk Karen had given him was warm, the perfect temperature to soothe his still-frazzled nerves. He brought the cup to his lips, his hands trembling just a bit. As the creamy liquid slid down his throat, Plankton felt a gentle wash of calm spread through him. His antennae, which had been twitching in anticipation of the morning's noises, grew still. It usually helps calm him, which is what it did today. Sponge Bob sat opposite him, his eyes filled with concern. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping as he took another sip of his milk. "Tired," he murmured. Karen sat next to him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "It's okay," she said, her voice a gentle reminder of his new reality. SpongeBob helped Karen clean up the kitchen. Plankton sat in the chair, his body slumped, his antennae still. His eye was closed, his tiny chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. His head tilted back and a soft snore escaped his open mouth. Karen noticed. The past few days had taken a toll on him, but she knew that with time and patience, they would find their new normal. "Let's get you to the couch," she murmured, her voice soft. She gently took the cup from Plankton's hand, his grip loose with sleep. Sponge Bob helped her lift his tiny form from the chair. Together, they carried him to the living room, his body relaxed in their grasp. They placed him on the couch, his antennae twitching slightly as he settled into the pillows. Sponge Bob tucked the blanket around Plankton, his eyes never leaving his friend's sleeping face. "Rest, Plankton," he whispered. "We're here." Karen nodded, her pixel eyes misting with emotion. "Thank you, Sponge Bob," she said. "For being here." Sponge Bob's smile was genuine. "Always, Karen," he said, his spongy hand giving hers a gentle squeeze. "Always."

CATCH IN MY CHIP vii (Autistic author) the only sound the steady rhythm of their breaths. Plankton's body slowly relaxes, his eye unclenching, his antennas stilling. Karen's hand remains poised, ready to offer comfort should he need it. As his breathing evens, Plankton's eye flutter open. He looks at Karen, her face a picture of love and concern. He feels a pang of guilt for his earlier outburst, but also a wave of gratitude for her understanding. He knows she doesn't push or harm, she just gets it. Karen sees the shift in his gaze, the anger giving way to something softer. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton shakes his head slightly, his antennas drooping. "No," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "Just... needing a moment." Karen nods, her hand still hovering, a silent offer of comfort. "Take all the moments you need," she says, her voice gentle. Plankton's gaze lingers on her hand for a moment before he nods. He understands her unspoken offer, her respect for his boundaries. Karen knows that touch can sometimes be too much for him, a sensation that turns comforting into overwhelming. So, she waits, letting the air between them remain unbroken by physical contact, allowing him the space he desperately needs. The room is a canvas of shadows and quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of their breaths. Plankton slowly uncoils, his body no longer a taut wire ready to snap. "Do you want me to let you alone?" Karen asks, her voice soft as a whisper in the night. Plankton shakes his head, his eye meeting hers. The anger is gone, replaced by a weary sadness. She nods, her hand still hovering, a silent question mark. "Okay," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "But if you need anything, just tell me." Plankton takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling like waves on the shore. "Thank you," he murmurs, his eye brightening slightly. Karen nods, her hand still hovering but not touching. "I'm here," she says. "Always." Her voice is a lullaby in the quiet room, a gentle reminder that she's his anchor in the storm of sensory overload. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, a flicker of understanding passing between them. He's aware of her presence, but the weight of his guilt and frustration is to much. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice a frayed thread of his usual bravado. Karen's hand remains hovering, a silent question, a gentle offer. "Do you want me to stay?" she asks, her voice a soft breeze in the stillness. Plankton nods, his antennas still drooping. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice a whisper of relief. Karen's hand lowers slowly, coming to rest on the bed between them. She's careful not to cross the invisible barrier of his personal space, her touch a gentle promise of support. "You don't have to be sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft caress. "You're doing the best you can, Plankton." He nods, his antennas twitching slightly. "But I snapped," he says, his voice filled with regret. Karen's hand remains still, just outside his personal space. "It's okay," she whispers, her tone filled with empathy. "You're overwhelmed. It happens." Plankton nods, his antennas barely moving. "But I shouldn't have yelled," he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "I'm sorry." Karen's eyes fill with understanding. "It's okay, sweetie," she says. She reaches out slowly, her hand hovering an inch from his shoulder. "May I?" she asks, her eyes searching his for consent. Plankton's antennas twitch, his body still tense, but he nods. It's a small gesture, but it's enough. Karen's hand settles on his shoulder, her touch feather-light. He flinches at first, his body remembering the pain of the unexpected touch, but her gentle pressure is a soothing balm. He leans into it slightly, his body language speaking louder than his words ever could. Her hand on his shoulder is the bridge between them, a testament to their love and understanding. Plankton's breathing gradually deepens, his body softening into the mattress. Karen's touch is a lullaby, a promise that everything will be okay. The room is a cocoon of quiet, their breaths the only sound. Plankton's eye droops, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion. The weight of his head shifts slightly, his trust in Karen unspoken but palpable. Her hand remains on his shoulder, a gentle reminder of her presence. She watches his chest rise and fall, his body slowly relaxing under the soft blanket of sleep. His features smooth out, the lines of anger and frustration disappearing into the pillow. As his breaths become even, Karen can't help but feel a mix of sadness and love. Her heart goes out to him, this man she's spent her life with, who fights battles she can never fully understand. The room is a sanctuary of quiet, the air thick with the scent of their unspoken words. Plankton's hand twitches slightly, and she wonders if he's dreaming of a world where the noise isn't so loud, where the colors aren't so bright, where his mind can rest without fear of being bombarded. Karen watches as her husband's chest rises and falls, his breaths deepening into the steady rhythm of sleep. The lines of his face relax, his antennas droop slightly. Her gaze shifts to the shattered trophy on the floor, the sand scattered like a tiny desert. The room is a testament to the storm that was his sensory overload. Karen's hand tightens slightly on Plankton's shoulder, her heart aching for both her husband and son. She knows the road ahead won't be easy, that they'll need to navigate this new terrain with care. But as she watches Plankton's chest rise and fall, she feels a spark of hope.

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.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vii (Autistic author) "We're just going to do what you want. How about a trivia game?" Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the mention of a game, his love for competition never truly forgotten. "Trivia," he echoed, his voice still monotone but with a hint of interest. "Yes, trivia," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You can show us all how much you know." Plankton looked up at Patrick. "I'm sorry," Patrick said, voice sincere for once. "I didn't mean to make you cry." Plankton sniffled, his antennae twitching slightly. "Patrick mean," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled with hurt. "I know, buddy," Sponge Bob said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But he didn't know. Sometimes, Patrick doesn't think before he speaks." Patrick nodded, his eyes downcast. "I guess I'm not the best at understanding things," he mumbled. Sponge Bob leaned closer to Plankton. "Why don't we start our game now?" he suggested, his voice gentle. "We can play a game about random trivia. Does that sound okay?" Plankton nodded slowly, antennae still drooping. "Okay," he murmurs. They around the table, the jellyfish book open to a random page. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on it, his mind racing with facts and figures. Karen took a deep breath, her tentacles still tense from the confrontation with Patrick. "Alright, let's start with something easy," she suggested. "What's the scientific name for jellyfish?" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye lighting up with excitement. "Jellyfish scientific name," he recited, "Cnidaria." "Cnidaria?" Sponge Bob repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "That's right, Plankton!" Patrick looked at the book, then at Plankton, his eyes wide. "How do you know all this stuff?" Plankton's antennae wiggled slightly. "Plankton read book," he said, his voice monotone but with a hint of pride. "Patrick, I'll ask you a question," Sponge Bob said, his smile genuine. Patrick nodded, eager to make amends. "Shoot." Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Okay, Patrick," he said, "What's the square root of 120?" Patrick's eyes widened, his brain scrambling. He took a deep breath and announced, "It's 12?" "No, Patrick," Plankton said, his voice a monotone but with a hint of amusement. "It's 10.190565... but Plankton rounds to 10." Patrick's face fell as he realized he'd been outsmarted. "Oh," he murmured. "Guess I should've studied more at boating school." "It's okay, Patrick," Karen said. Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with encouragement. "Let's keep playing, Plankton," he said. "You're doing great." Plankton nodded, his antennae slightly less droopy. "Your turn, Plankton," Sponge Bob said. "What's something interesting about yourself?" Plankton paused, his antennae twitching as he searched for words. "Interesting?" he echoed. Sponge Bob nodded encouragingly. "Yes, something that makes you special or unique. Tell us all about Plankton." Plankton's antennae quivered as he thought. "Plankton... good at science," he said finally, his monotone voice revealing his pride. "Especially jellyfish." "That's fantastic, Plankton!" Karen exclaimed. Patrick nodded in agreement. "Yeah, buddy," he said, his voice still subdued. "You're a real jellyfish genius." Plankton's antennae twitched with a hint of satisfaction. "Jellyfish have 24 eyes," he said, his voice monotone yet filled with a newfound confidence. "But no brain." "What?" Patrick's eyes widened. "How can they see without a brain?" Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he began to elaborate. "Jellyfish have simple nervous system," he said, his voice still flat but gaining momentum. "Eyes detect light, not images. Help them avoid predators and find food." Sponge Bob's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow Plankton," he said. "That's so cool!" "Plankton born cycloptic one eye." Patrick's jaw dropped as he stared at Plankton. "That's... really cool," he murmured, his mind racing to keep up. Sponge Bob nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Plankton," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "Tell us more!" Plankton's antennae perked up at the genuine interest from his friends. "Plankton own Chum Bucket," he said, his voice monotone but proud. "Serve chum, best food in Bikini Bottom." Patrick's eyes lit up. "You're like a chef, Plankton! That's so cool!" But Plankton's gaze remained on the jellyfish book, his thoughts drifting. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled with a hint of anger. "Has Krabby Patties.." Karen and Sponge Bob exchanged a glance, knowing the mention of Mr. Krabs. "Plankton," Karen began cautiously, "we don't have to talk about Krabby Patties if you don't want to." But Plankton's antennae shot up, his voice taking on a new, almost manic energy. "No, no," he murmured, his monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Krabby Patties. Plankton's purpose." Sponge Bob's smile faltered, the mention of Krabby Patties bringing back memories of their long-standing rivalry. "Plankton," he said gently, "you don't have to steal Krabby Patties anymore. You have jellyfish now." But Plankton's antennae quivered with a strange intensity. "Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a newfound urgency. "Gave Plankton brain damage. Accident," Plankton murmured, his voice low. "Mr. Krabs... Krabby Patty... Plankton's brain... changed." Sponge Bob's smile faded, his heart sinking as he realized the gravity of the situation. "Plankton," he said, his voice filled sadness. But Plankton didn't seem to hear him, lost in his own thoughts. "Plankton not same," he murmured. "But jellyfish... jellyfish make Plankton happy." Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "It's ok, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "You can still have a purpose. Maybe not with Krabby Patties, but with jellyfish." Plankton's antennae quivered as he repeated her words back to her. "Purpose with jellyfish," he murmured. "Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her tentacles stroking his back gently. "Your purpose can be whatever makes you happy." "Happy," Plankton echoed, his antennae twitching as he repeated her word. "Yes, happy," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're here to support you, Plankton." "Support Plankton," he echoed, his antennae drooping slightly. "But Krabs... Plankton's enemy." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, her own filled with a gentle warmth. "Mr. Krabs doesn't have to be your enemy anymore," she said, her tone soothing. "You can find joy in other things." "Other things," Plankton echoed, his antennae still. "Yes," Karen said, her tentacles waving gently. "Like jellyfish. You can focus on learning about them and sharing your knowledge with others." "Share knowledge," Plankton repeated, his antennae quivering with curiosity. "Exactly," Karen said, her tentacles gesturing encouragingly. "You can start a jellyfish club, remember?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed her words. "Jellyfish club," he murmured. "Yeah, buddy," Sponge Bob said, his voice filled with excitement. "We can all join and learn together!" Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, and a glimmer of hope entered his eye. "Club," he murmured, his voice monotone but with a hint of excitement.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii (Autistic author) Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening. "What accident?" he asks, his voice filled with dread. Plankton's smile is gone, replaced by a look of sadness. "Head," he says, his voice a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He touches his forehead gently, his antennas drooping. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with realization, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening entirely. "You got hurt?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What happened?" Plankton nods, his antennas still drooping. Sponge Bob's confusion grows, his anger replaced with worry. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice softening. "What happened to your head?" Plankton's antennas twitch, his smile a distant memory. "Fall," he says, his voice a monotone. Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat. "You fell?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "When? How?" Plankton nods, his eye flickering with something akin to pain. "Recently," he says, his voice flat. "Head bad." Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock, his mind racing with questions. "You fell and hurt your head?" he repeats, his voice filled with disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?" Plankton's gaze drops to his book, his hands fluttering over the pages. "No tell," he whispers, his voice filled with regret. "Shame." Sponge Bob's eyes fill with understanding, his anger evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice soft. "You didn't have to keep this to yourself." Plankton's smile is a pale imitation of his usual self, his antennas still. "No good," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with worry as he tries to comprehend his friend's cryptic words. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "You've just had an accident." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the book, his hands flapping over the pages. "No," he says, his voice a sad echo. "Head bad. Plankton bad." His body slumps, his usual vibrant energy dimmed by his distress. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with sadness as he tries to comfort his friend. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You're just hurt right?" Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt," he echoes, his voice a monotone. "Inside head." He taps his forehead, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for understanding. "Grey matter. Neural pathways." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his confusion growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What's going on with your brain?" Plankton's hand continues to tap his forehead, his voice detached. "Neurochemicals," he says, his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic connections. Autism." His smile is a mere memory, his eye glazed over with a faraway look. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his chest, his mind racing. "You're talking about your brain," he says, his voice tentative. "What's wrong with it?" Plankton's hand stops tapping, his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob. "Wiring," he says, his voice a monotone explanation. "Neuro- typical patterns disrupted affect the parts of brain when result in autism." His words are precise, his tone devoid of emotion. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with comprehension, his spongy heart sinking. "You're saying you have autism now?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical divergence," he confirms, his voice still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic variance, myelination discrepancies." He speaks in a monotone, his words sounding rehearsed and mechanical. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking for his friend. "What does that mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice shaking. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Plankton's gaze remains on the book, his hand tracing the spine. "Neuro-typical divergence," he repeats, his voice a flat recitation of medical terms. "Synaptic connections altered. Atypical neural patterns. Autism." He speaks as if recounting a scientific paper, his tone lacking any personal connection. "When hit head, damaged the myelination," he says, his hand continuing its mechanical movement against the book. "Myelination is the insulation around the axons that speeds up the nerve impulses made in a part of brain we call the cerebral cortex. My cerebral cortex now restricts, slows down impulses." Sponge Bob listens, his mind racing to keep up with Plankton's sudden shift in vocabulary. "But what does that mean?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "How'd the damage give you autism?" Plankton's hand stops its movement along the book. "Neurodivergence," he says, his voice a clinical recount. "My brain now operates outside typical parameters. Synaptic pruning, myelination patterns altered. Atypical neural networks formed." He speaks as if discussing a complex scientific experiment, his words a jumble of medical terminology that Sponge Bob barely understands. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with fear. Plankton's hand stills on the book, his gaze unfocused. "Functional diversity," he says, his voice a hollow echo of the medical lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence can lead to unique cognitive strengths, but also challenges." He taps the book, his antennas waving slightly. "My brain's wiring changed," he says, his voice a monotone. "Synaptic clefts widened, neurotransmitters less efficient. Restricted blood flow to temporal lobes." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of confusion and fear. "Does that mean you can't be... fixed?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton's antennas twitch, his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix," he echoes, his voice a sad recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes. Rewire, adapt. But cerebral cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent." Sponge Bob's eyes are wide, his mind reeling with the complexity of Plankton's words. "But, Plankton," he says, his voice quivering. "What about the Krabby Patties? Your plans?" Plankton's gaze snaps up, his hands still. "No plans," he says, his voice a sad echo. "No more steal." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his heart racing. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?" he asks, his voice filled with hope and disbelief. Plankton's antennas droop, his hands flapping slightly. "No more schemes," he whispers, his voice a monotone. "No more steal." His eye meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of his old mischief briefly shining through. "But," he adds, his smile mischievous, "still have competitive spirit." His hands begin to flap with excitement. Sponge Bob's heart soars with relief, a smile spreading across his face. "So, you're still the same Plankton," he says, his voice filled with hope. "Just... different. Ok, cool!" Plankton nods, his smile a ghostly reflection of his usual self. "Different," he repeats, his voice a sad echo. "But still have friend?" His antennas wave slightly, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for reassurance. Sponge Bob's heart swells with affection. "Of course, Plankton," he says, his voice firm. "We're still friends. Nothing can change that." He squeezes Plankton's shoulder, trying to convey his support.

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

🚼 https://www.sci.news/medicine/sesquizygotic-twins-06956.html 🚼

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣶⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⣿⣿⣿⡿⠆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⣀⣤⠾⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⠟⠉⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣦⣄⠀⠈⢻⣿⣏⠉⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢻⣿⡿⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀ ⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⢼⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⢻⣧⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣸⣧⠀⢻⣷⡄ ⠈⠻⠯⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠸⠿⠿⠷⠦⠀⢤⡿⢻⠀⡼⠇⠑

* Aug 17 1879 Margaret Evans May 9 1847 Aug 15 1879 Wales 32 yrs, 3 mos. Premature childbirth *

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8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

⣟⣯⢿⡹⣏⠿⣭⠯⡽⣩⢏⡝⢮⡙⢮⡙⣎⠳⡙⢎⠳⡍⢞⣡⠛⣬⠳⡩⢞⣡⠛⡬⢓⡭⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀ ⡿⣼⢳⡻⣜⠻⣔⢫⠖⡱⢊⡜⡡⡙⢢⠑⡌⠱⢉⠌⡱⢈⠒⠤⠉⡄⠣⠑⠌⠤⢉⠔⢃⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⠀⠄⠀⠄ ⡿⣜⢧⡛⣬⠳⣌⠣⢎⠡⢃⡐⠡⠐⠁⠂⠌⠐⠀⠂⠀⠀⠈⠀⠁⠀⠁⠈⠀⠂⠠⠈⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡦⠜⠄⠢⠀ ⡟⡼⢣⡝⢤⠓⡄⢃⠂⠌⡀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠈⠢⠠⠍⠂ ⢯⡝⣣⠚⡤⢃⠌⡐⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠃ ⡗⢮⡅⢫⠐⢂⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢫⢐⠇⢄⠃⢀⣿⣀⣤⣤⣤⣠⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠑⠀⠈⠀⠂ ⣝⡲⢌⠣⡘⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣱⢻⢠⡐⣴⣾⣿⣿⢿⣿⢽⡻⣳⣳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢀⣴⣾⣻⣞⡧⡽ ⢮⡱⢊⡱⢀⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢡⠃⠈⡤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣯⢿⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣜⣿⣿⣯⣷⢯⣷⢶ ⢧⣃⠧⡐⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⢺⣀⣀⣇⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡳⣌⢒⠡⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣱⣬⣭⡭⢶⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⠿⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡳⡌⢎⠰⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠌⠸⣭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡽⠛⠀⠀⠁⢋⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢧⡙⣌⠢⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⡄⠩⢌⢂⡐⠀⣈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⣽⣿⣿⣿ ⣇⠳⡄⢃⠄⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣎⣮⣤⡄⠠⠈⠁⠂⠢⡄⢁⠀⢨⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣿⣿ ⣎⣷⣿⡾⣆⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢫⣵⣚⣿⣿⣧⣀⠄⡀⠀⠈⢂⠠⡘⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⡄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢏⣡⢛⣿⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⢰⣻⣿ ⣯⠶⣏⠷⣧⢖⡩⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⡨⠐⢋⡻⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠱⡘⢬⣿⣿⣿⣿⢒⡛⠂⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠁⠘⢿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢀⠯⣿ ⣯⢟⣼⣳⣽⣿⢿⣷⣿⣶⣶⠔⠠⢁⠙⠻⣾⣿⡿⣿⣏⢯⣳⣱⣌⡆⠀⠈⠳⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⠄⡀⠀⢐⣡⡣⣌⠀⠠⣄⠔⠀⠀⠸⣬⣛⣿⣿⣿⣝⢣⢀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢹⣿ ⣟⣮⣳⣽⣿⣽⢷⣳⣿⣿⢯⡘⢄⠂⠄⢀⠀⢈⠛⠒⠋⠸⠷⣹⣾⣿⣷⣦⣄⠠⢻⣻⣿⣿⣠⠃⠀⣔⡮⢳⡌⡘⣎⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠻⠰⠉⠏⡞⣻⢿⣷⣄⣄⠀⠂⡝ ⣟⡶⣿⣿⣽⣿⣷⣿⢿⣿⡧⡜⠬⢌⢰⠎⠬⠒⠈⠡⠀⠀⢦⣹⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡉⠱⣺⡥⢀⣪⡯⣵⡿⣐⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡴⠈ ⡿⣼⣿⣿⣿⢿⡁⠄⠹⣿⣱⣯⣗⣈⢰⣷⣷⡠⢀⠈⡀⠀⠀⠻⣯⡿⢿⣻⣷⣟⠿⢔⠀⣺⡋⣹⣟⡾⣿⡙⠋⠙⢺⡯⢀⣎⠀⠀⢰⣄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡷⣾⣿⢿⣭⡙⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣻⡼⣅⠆⠹⡿⣿⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣟⣾⣆⠉⢲⠇⠀⠈⠹⠶⡂⠝⠻⠁⠀⣴⣿⣰⣿⢷⡾⡟⣡⠂⡀⠈⢳⣿⣿⡷⢶⣾⣿⣿⢢⣴⡀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⢈⠙⠿⠓⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⡿⣾⣿⡷⣜⣞⡷⢟⡀⠀⠱⡀⠻⣿⣿⣷⠉⠚⠰⢢⢐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⣡⢸⣿⣿⡿⠯⣰⣷⢀⡁⠤⣴⠔⠉⠐⠀⠉⢟⣻⣷⡞⠃⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣟⣽⣿⣿⢻⣯⢟⡔⣢⠙⣧⢄⡘⢄⠈⠻⢯⣷⣦⣸⢫⣌⠄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣞⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠓⣸⣿⡿⢷⣻⠏⠁⠘⢆⡀⡀⢂⠀⠻⣿⣱⣠⡀⡖⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌ ⣿⢷⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⠷⢿⣿⣆⠷⡘⢧⡜⢪⢗⡀⠉⢻⣿⡟⢋⡡⡌⢀⣀⣴⡾⣛⣽⣾⢻⢶⣿⡇⣱⣿⡟⣵⣿⣡⣾⣆⡀⠀⢣⡀⠀⡑⡀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡗⠐⠀⡀⠀⠀⣠⢖⢣⣝ ⣯⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⢯⣗⢦⢩⢿⣯⣙⢎⠹⡁⠎⡱⡀⣹⢡⣒⣿⣽⣿⢟⡯⣾⣵⣿⠿⣭⢯⣾⠡⣼⣿⢟⡾⣿⣃⡀⠈⠻⣷⡈⢅⡳⢆⠈⠀⠂⠀⡼⠋⢠⡴⣾⣤⠖⣯⢱⣫⣾⢫ ⡷⡿⣏⣟⠾⣟⣿⣿⣎⢧⢳⡹⢗⠮⡑⡓⡎⡔⢸⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⣮⣟⣿⢿⣛⣭⣷⣿⣿⣿⢴⣿⢋⠋⢸⡷⣿⣇⠢⠑⡙⢿⣄⠐⠒⢄⠀⠀⢲⣶⡾⣟⡽⣳⢬⣛⣴⣿⠻⣌⣷ ⣿⡷⢯⣿⣫⣟⡾⠽⢻⣮⣧⣹⢦⡷⣼⣟⢽⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣻⢮⣷⣿⢯⣷⣿⣿⣛⠿⣩⣻⣝⠁⡲⢀⢸⠠⢽⡿⠱⣂⡄⢡⡈⢀⣴⡎⡴⣧⣾⣿⢻⡽⣛⣼⣳⢿⣙⣦⣿⠿⣟ ⣿⣟⣷⣭⡟⣬⢒⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢏⣵⣿⣿⣟⡷⣟⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣾⣿⣿⣛⢻⣫⢘⡀⢹⠜⠀⠁⢜⣼⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⣩⣾⣿⣻⣞⢯⣳⣻⡾⣏⣷⣿⡿⣏⣳⣼ ⣿⣷⣾⡿⣜⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣋⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠈⠉⢹⣵⡎⣵⠋⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⠗⣵⣿⣿⣿⣳⢯⡼⢯⣾⢯⣿⡿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⠻ ⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡡⣿⣷⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣧⣻⢮⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣽⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡀⢸⣿⠓⣽⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣫⢿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢨⣓⣷⡿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣳⢯⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣹⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠸⣶⡽⢷⣿⣿⡻⣿⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣷⣻⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⢿⣷⣿⣷⢾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⢿⡻⣟⣾⣻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡈⠂⠀⠀⠀⣟⣳⢿⣹⣾⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⡀⠄⠀⠀⣿⣽⣺⢿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡁⠂⢸⣷⣯⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡽⣹⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡔⠢⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠘⠌⢰⠉⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀ ⣳⢣⢯⡘⡙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢿⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣧⢋⢦⡙⢲⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡕⢧⠞⠛⣾⣢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠸⣇⡻⢷⢦⢄⠀⠀ ⢧⡏⡖⡌⢂⠙⢢⡄⠘⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⢭⣚⡆⢒⠉⠙⣾⣜⢣⡀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡃⢳⠠⠤⠛⢯⣽⡂ ⡳⢎⡵⣎⠰⢈⠀⠱⡄⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣶⡐⢶⡉⠐⡆⠉⢹⣳⣜⢪⠀⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠈⢿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠜⠩⣆⠃⢠⠀⠙⢿ ⡝⣎⠲⣙⠦⡁⢂⠀⠹⣄⠂⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣥⠊⢵⣂⠀⡖⠀⠘⢮⣻⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠘⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢯⡂⠣⣦⠈⠀⡀⠘ ⡟⣬⠓⡌⢶⡁⠆⠀⠀⠘⡄⢸⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡭⣗⡀⢞⡡⡐⠄⠄⠈⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣽⡄⠈⠝⢌⢀⠀ ⡝⣦⠛⡌⢆⡿⢠⠁⠀⠈⣧⠖⣿⣿⣥⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣞⣧⢖⠨⠔⢂⠄⠀⠺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠘⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢜⣿⡤⡉⠜⠡⠀ ⡻⣔⠫⡜⢂⡿⣀⠂⠀⠀⢱⠈⣼⣿⣿⡖⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣅⡙⠀⠙⠦⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⣿⣿⣧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⣗⡀⠀⠀ ⢷⣩⠓⣌⣹⡷⠄⢂⠀⠀⢸⡈⠊⣿⣿⣿⣖⡱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠦⠠⠐⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣦⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠽⣤⠀ ⡧⣇⢏⠤⣻⣿⢌⠠⠀⢠⣿⣅⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣷⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣇⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉ ⣳⢭⣚⣾⣿⡿⣈⠐⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⡓⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣳⢮⣿⣿⣿⡓⠄⡈⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠀⢀⣾⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣄⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣾ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣉⢒⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣣⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡠⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

ᔆʷᵉᵉᵗ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵒʸᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᵒⁿˡʸ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁱⁿᵛⁱᵗᵉ ʰⁱᵐ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖⁱⁿᵉᵃᵖᵖˡᵉ ʰᵒᵐᵉ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ' *ᵃʷᵏʷᵃʳᵈ ᶜʰᵘᶜᵏˡᵉ* ' ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵒᵖᵉⁿˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏˢ⸴ ᵏⁱᵈ; ᴵ'ᵐ ᵗⁱʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵒʸᵉᵈ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ⸴ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ‧" ᴴᵉ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵈ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵉˣʰᵃᵘˢᵗᵉᵈ‧ "ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵐʸ ᵇᵉᵈ? ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵒᶠ ᵘˢ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵘʳᵉ‧" ᔆᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ᵖᵘˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗˢ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒʳᵏ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵃᵘˡᵗ‧ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃⁿʸ ʰᵃʳᵐ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ˢᶜʰᵉᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵇᵘˢⁱⁿᵉˢˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉʰᵒʷ ᵃⁿᵈ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˢ ᵐʸ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ! ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃʷᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃᵗᵗʸ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵐᵃⁿᵃᵍᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉʰᵒʷ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵈᵃʸ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ‧ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ᵃ ˢᵘᵖᵉʳ⁻ᵛⁱˡˡᵃⁱⁿ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵍᵘʸˢ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˢᵒᶠᵗ ˢᵖᵒᵗˢ‧ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵉˣᵖˡᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ⸴ ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴵ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˢ ʷᵉˡˡ‧" ᴴᵉ ᶜᵘʳˡᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵃⁿʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵉˡˢᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ‧" '‧‧‧' "ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ?" '‧‧‧' ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧‧" ' *ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ* ' "‧‧‧ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ˡᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴳᵒᵒᵈ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉᵈ‧

ᴿᵉᶜⁱᵖᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᴰⁱˢᵃˢᵗᵉʳ 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟽𝟷𝟿 ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟽𝟷𝟿 "ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈˢ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ‧" ᴴᵉ ʳᵉᵖˡⁱᵉˢ⸴ ᵇᵘˢʸⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ‧ ᔆᵒ ˢʰᵉ ʷʳᵒᵗᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃ ⁿᵒᵗᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵃˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵘʳᵉ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵐᵉᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᴹᵉᵃⁿʷʰⁱˡᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᵏʳᵃᵇ‧ "ᴳⁱᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿᵍʳᵉᵈⁱᵉⁿᵗˢ⸴ ᴱᵘᵍᵉⁿᵉ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈᵉᵐᵃⁿᵈᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ˢᵒ‧‧" "ᴵ'ᵈ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ˢᵒ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵃᶜᶜᵉˢˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᶠᵉ!" ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵖⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵘᵇᵉ ˢʰᵃᵖᵉᵈ ᵖᵒʳᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵛᵃᵘˡᵗ⸴ ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵗʳᵉⁿᵍᵗʰ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᴶᵘˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵒʸ⸴ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃˡˡ‧‧‧" ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ʰᵉᵃᵛᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᶠᵉ ᵃᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᵇᵃⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵐᵃᶜᵏ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵃⁿ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᵘᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵃ ʸᵉˡᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᶜʳʸ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʰᵉˡᵖˡᵉˢˢˡʸ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠᵉᵉᵇˡʸ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ʳᵒˡˡᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉᵈ‧ "ᴸᵉᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿⁱˢʰ ʰⁱᵐ‧‧‧" ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈʳᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ ᵃʲᵃʳ‧ "ᴺᵒ⸴ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵉˢᵒˡᵘᵗᵉ‧ "ᴵ ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵒ ⁱᵗ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" "ᶠⁱⁿᵉ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᶜˡᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧‧‧" ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵃʷ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵍᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵖⁱᶜᵏ ᵘᵖ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴹᵉᵃⁿʷʰⁱˡᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿⁱˢʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵍⁱʳˡˢ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃʳʳⁱᵛᵉˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ⸴ ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵇˢ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵒᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ‧ "ᴾˡᵉᵃˢᵉ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ⸴ ᵃˢ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿˡᵉˢˢ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵒᶠ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ! ᴾˡᵉᵃˢᵉ⸴ ʰᵉˡᵖ! ᴴᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵉˣᵖˡᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᶜᵃⁿⁿᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᴹʸ ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉˢ ⁱⁿᵈⁱᶜᵃᵗᵉ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵐᵃⁱⁿ ᵘⁿᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢ ᵘⁿᵗⁱˡ ᵃᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵃʳˡⁱᵉˢᵗ ˢᵒ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵐᵉᵃⁿᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃⁿʸ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇˡᵘⁿᵗ ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ ᵗʳᵃᵘᵐᵃ‧ ᴴᵉ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˢᵗ ᶜᵃˢᵉ ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳⁱᵒ ᵃ ᶜᵒᵐᵃ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵉˡˡ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵈ ˡⁱᵏᵉ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ⁱⁿ ᶜʰᵃⁱʳ ᵇʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ˢⁱᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ; ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵃˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵃᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᵐᵒⁿⁱᵗᵒʳ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʷⁱᵗᶜʰ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉˢ ᵍʳᵃᵈᵘᵃˡˡʸ ʳᵉᵗᵘʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵖᵉʳᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ⸴ ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉⁿ‧ ᴱʸᵉ ᶠˡᵘᵗᵗᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ⸴ ʰᵉ ʷᵉᵃᵏˡʸ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵘʳʳᵒᵘⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍˢ‧ "ᴱᵘʰ–" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‽" ᵀʰᵉ ᵈᵘˡˡ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ⁱⁿᶜʳᵉᵃˢᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃˢ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᶠᵉ ʰⁱᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ⁱᵗ‧ "ᵁᵍʰ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ‧ "ʸᵃᵍ⸴ ʷʰᵃ‧ ᴹʸ ʰᵉᵃᵈ; ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ⁱⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ᵉ ʰⁱᵗ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳ ᵈᵃʸ! ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵈʳⁱⁿᵏ?" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ˢᵗᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵉᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳʳᵘᵖᵗᵉᵈ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᴵ ᵇʳᵘⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᶠᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿᵍʳᵉᵈⁱᵉⁿᵗˢ‧ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴰⁱᵈ ᴵ ᵍᵉᵗ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᵈⁱᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ; ᵐʸ ᵃᵖᵒˡᵒᵍⁱᵉˢ‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʷ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿ‧ "ᴵ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ˢⁱᵗ ᵘᵖ ˢᵗʳᵃⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ˢⁱᵖ ᵒᶠ ᵈʳⁱⁿᵏ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵉˡᵖᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘᵖʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵖᵒˢⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵍᵒᵗ ᶠʳᵘˢᵗʳᵃᵗᵉᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ˢᵖⁱˡᵗ ʰⁱˢ ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ⸴ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵛᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿᶜⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗ‧ "ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵒʳʳʸ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵒᵃˣᵉᵈ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵒˡᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵒʳ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵒˡᵈ ⁱᵗ?" ᴹᵃᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᶠᵒʳ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵉʳᵍʸ ᵗᵒ ᵃʳᵍᵘᵉ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃⁿᵍʳʸ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ⸴ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵃᵗ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ‧ "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ⸴ ʰᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵒ ᵉⁿᵉʳᵍʸ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵇʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵘʳᵉ⸴ ᵇᵘᵈ; ʲᵘˢᵗ ʳᵉˢᵗ‧" "ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏ‧‧‧" "ˡᵉᵃⁿ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧" ᴴᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵃˢ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ʰⁱᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵉˣᵗᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵒˢˢ 'ᴵ ᵃᵐ ʳᵉˢⁱᵍⁿⁱⁿᵍ' ᵗᵒ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ⸴ ᵛᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵃ ᶠʳʸ ᶜᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵒⁿ‧ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ‧ "ᴵ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿᶜⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ‧‧‧" "ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ⸴ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵍᵉˢᵗᵘʳᵉ‧ "ᴿⁱᵍʰᵗ; ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧" "ᴺᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᴵ'ᵈ ˢᵃʸ ⁱᵗ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁱᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ⁿᵃᵍᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉⁿᵈ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵃᵛᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ⸴ ᵈᵉˢᵖⁱᵗᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵈᵐⁱᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱˢᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃᵗᵗʸ ⁱⁿᵍʳᵉᵈⁱᵉⁿᵗˢ⸴ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ!" "ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵘʳᵉ?" "ᴬˢ ʰⁱˢ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ⸴ ᴵ'ᵈ ᵈᵒ ⁱᵗ⸴ ᵒʳ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʰⁱᵐ ᵈᵒ ⁱᵗ!" ᵀʰᵉ ᴷʳᵃᵇ'ˢ ⁿᵒ ᵐᵒʳᵉ‧

General anaesthetics can affect your memory, concentration and reflexes for a day or two, so it’s important for a responsible adult to stay with you for at least 24 hours after your operation, if you’re allowed to go home. Most people are awake in the recovery room immediately after an operation but remain groggy for a few hours after. You’ll probably feel groggy and a bit confused. You may continue to be sleepy, and your judgment and reflexes may take time to return to normal.

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 7 The next morning, the anesthesia's completely worn off. Plankton wakes to find himself drooling on his pillow, the gauze in his mouth a soggy mess. His eye opens. Wincing as he wiped his mouth, he took out his now pink gauze. "Wha’ happened?" He says. Karen's smile is a gentle wave. "I had my wisdom teeth out, right? I remembe--- I held your hand Karen. I was in a chair, then somehow in a bed.." Karen nods, her voice a soothing symphony. "Yes, that was yesterday.." Plankton's antennae twitch with realization. "Y-yesterday?" he asks, his voice a sleepy whisper. "But...but what happened?" Karen laughs, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You had your wisdom teeth out," she says, her fingers tracing his cheek. "Do you remember the clinic?" "Yes, Karen," Plankton rolls his eye; "I don't know what happened after leaving to go home.." Karen nods, smiling; there's her snappy husband! "It's normal," she says. "The anesthesia can make your memory fuzzy." Plankton's eye widens. He tries to sit up, but his body is still a ragdoll's. "What...what did I do?" he asks, his voice a slurred mess. Karen helps him, her smile a gentle lullaby. "You were just tired, sweetheart," she says, seeing Hanna come to the doorway. "My friend Hanna's here because her home is being worked on." Hanna waves, her smile a warm beacon. "Hi, Plankton," she says. "What‽ But Karen, remember she gave you that virus..." "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "That was in the past." Hanna nods, her smile soft. "I promise, I'm all better now," she says. "How you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still foggy. "F-fine," he mumbles, his voice a murmur. Karen helps him sit up, the pillows propping him up like a soft fortress. "Do you remember wanting muffins?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft reminder. Plankton's antennae wave wildly. "M-muffins?" he asks, his memory a distant tide. Karen nods, her laughter a warm sunrise. "Yes, you talked about them a lot last night," she says, her eyes twinkling. "But it's okay, you were just a bit loopy from the surgery." Plankton blinks. "Loopy?" he asks, his voice a tentative wave. Karen nods, her smile a comforting breeze. "It's normal, sweetie. The medicine made you feel funny." Hanna's eyes sparkle with mischief. "You were quite the character," she says, her voice a gentle tease. Plankton feels his face heat up, his antennae drooping with embarrassment. He doesn't remember a thing from the night before, but the laughter and smiles from Karen and Hanna tell a story he clearly missed. "How's your mouth?" Hanna asks, her voice a concerned ripple. "Karen told me you went to the dentist.." Plankton's antennae twitch, his mind racing to catch up. "It's...it's fine," he mumbles, his voice a tentative whisper. The reality of his surgery sinking in, he gently touches his cheeks, feeling the swollen mounds where his teeth once were. But Hanna's curious about what this procedure was. "So, Plankton," she starts, her voice a gentle wave, "What was it like at the dentist?" He blinks, his mind still a bit hazy. "It...it was okay," he mumbles, his tongue poking at the empty sockets. "I don't know.." Hanna nods, her smile sympathetic. "It must have hurt," she says, her voice a soft caress. "What did they do?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye flashing with annoyance. "I don't remember," he grumbles, his voice a stormy sea. "But I'm sure it wasn't as fun as you seem to think it was." Hanna's smile fades, her eyes full of understanding. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a gentle current. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wondered what procedure you had done." He can't believe he's talking about his dental woes to a stranger. Plankton's antennae stiffen, his body tense. "Why do you ask about the dentist?" his voice a snappy bubble. Karen's eyes widen, her smile fading. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft warning. "It's okay, Hanna's just curious." Hanna's smile falters, her voice a gentle retreat. "I didn't mean to pry," she says, stepping back. "I just..." But Plankton, his emotions a swirling maelstrom, waves his hand dismissively. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, his voice a firm tide. "It's none of your concern." Hanna's smile falters, her cheeks flushing with the sting of his words. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating wave. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." Karen's eyes flicker with concern, her voice a gentle reminder. "Plankton, Hanna's just trying to be nice," she says, her hand on his arm. "It's okay to talk.." But Plankton's antennae are like two flaming torches, his voice a harsh wave. "I said I don't want to talk about it," he snaps, his eye a stormy gray. "Please leave." Hanna's smile fades, her eyes like ripples of sadness in a tranquil pond Karen sighs, her heart a tiny boat adrift in a sea of confusion. "Plankton," she starts, her voice a soft lapping wave. "You don't have to be so harsh." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye still stormy. "I just want to be left alone," he mumbles, his voice a defensive ripple. "I don't understand why she needs to know about my mouth." Karen sighs, her voice a gentle reminder. "Plankton, she's my friend," she says. "And she's just staying here temporarily." Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration. "I know, Karen," he snaps, his voice a jagged coral. "But I don't know her.." Hanna's eyes shimmer with hurt, her smile a sad reflection. "I didn't mean to intrude," she says, her voice a quiet ripple. But Plankton's anger is a tidal wave, crashing into the room. "You're not my friend!" he says, his voice a snappy slap. "I don't owe you any explanations!" Hanna's smile dissolves, her eyes a murky ocean. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating tide. "I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae quiver with agitation, his voice a harsh squall. "Is that too much to ask?" Hanna nods, her smile evaporating like sea foam. "Of course," she murmurs, her voice a retreating wave. "I'll just..." But Karen's voice stops her, a gentle lagoon in the storm. "Hanna, wait," she says, her tone a calming current. "Plankton, you need to apologize." He turns to her, his antennae quivering with anger. "Why?" he asks, his voice a jagged rock. "She's not my friend!" Karen's eyes are like calm pools, her voice a gentle reminder. "You're upset, Plankton," she says. "But that's not fair to Hanna." His antennae droop, his voice a begrudging rumble. "Fine," he mumbles, his words a forced apology. "I'm sorr-" But Hanna's smile is a soft wave, her voice a gentle reminder. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her eyes like two calm pools. "You are in pain, and you were exhausted last night.." Plankton's antennae droop. "What do you mean," he demands, remembering nothing. "Exhausted? Hanna, what..." Hanna's smile is sad. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle wave retreating from the shore. "You fell asleep; you were snoring..." Plankton's antennae stiffen, his eye narrows. "I...snored?" he says, his voice a mix of disbelief and embarrassment. "But Karen, I don't snore!" Hanna laughs, not knowing Plankton any better. "You certainly do," she says, her eyes twinkling. "It's adorable, really." Plankton's antennae flicker with agitation. "I don't," he insists, his voice a sharp wave. "I never snore." Hanna's laugh is a soothing sea breeze. "You did, Plankton," she says, her eyes sparkling. "It was quite... entertaining." But Plankton's frustration boils like a volcano. "No!" he says, his voice a harsh crash of waves. "I don't snore!" Karen, however, knew her husband well enough. "Plankton," she says, her hand on his. "You do sometimes when you're tired." His antennae quiver with disbelief. "But not really," he argues, his voice a stubborn wave. "I'm not a...a snorer!" Karen's eyes are like a calm sea, her voice a gentle reminder. "You do when you're exhausted, Plankton," she says, her hand a comforting current against his. "And after surgery, you were pretty tired, not to mention numb.." Hanna nods, her voice a soft chuckle. "You had us laughing, Plankton," she says, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "You're so funny when you're sleepy." But Plankton isn't finding it funny. Karen steps in. "Hanna, let's give Plankton some space," she says, her hand on Hanna's arm. "He's still recovering." Hanna nods, her smile a sad wave retreating from the shore. "Of course, Karen," she says. "I'm sorry." Karen's eyes are like two moons, calming the stormy sea. "It's okay," she says. She turns to Plankton. "I know you're uncomfortable, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle lapping tide. "But Hanna didn't mean any harm. We'll let you alone, but let me know if you need anything." She sets books and his phone on the bedside table before leaving the room with Hanna.

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."

24 April 2027 If a woman's baby dies before labour starts, she will usually be offered medicine to help induce labour. If your baby has died, you may be able to wait for labour to start naturally or your labour may be induced. If your health is at risk, the baby may need to be delivered as soon as possible. Some parents want to have the induction as soon as possible. Others prefer to wait for a day or two so that they have time to take in what has happened and to see if labour starts by itself. Waiting for natural labour increases the chance of the baby deteriorating in the womb. This can affect how the baby looks when she or he is born and can make it more difficult to find out what caused the death. Finding out your baby has died is devastating. You should be offered support and have your options explained to you. If you're alone in hospital, ask the staff to contact someone close to you to come in and be with you. Before the birth, a person with skills and experience with parents who have lost a baby should be available to talk with you about whether you would like to see a photograph of your baby, have a memento such as a lock of hair, or see or hold your baby. A baby may have died during late pregnancy (called intrauterine death). Or, a baby may have died during labour or birth (called intrapartum death). What happens after a baby is stillborn? Your midwife or doctor should ask you if you would like to see, touch or hold your baby. This is a highly individual decision. Many parents decide to see and hold their baby, and most find it of help and comfort to do so, but, equally, some may not. It's up to you to decide what to do, and you should be given time and space to make up your mind. Your instincts may be to see and cuddle your baby, but worries about what he or she may look like could hold you back. To help you to decide what is right for you, your midwife or doctor can describe your baby to you. Maybe one partner could look first, or you and your partner could look at a photograph of your baby. Some people know instinctively that they don't want to see their baby, while others choose to or not to for religious or cultural reasons. After a stillbirth, many parents want to see and hold their baby. It's entirely up to you whether you wish to do so. You'll be given some quiet time with your baby if this is what you want. The important thing is to take time over your decision, and be sure about how and when you want to say goodbye to your baby. Whatever you decide about the post mortem, your views and wishes should be respected. If you go ahead, your doctor should tell you when the results are likely to be available. Some of the possible causes of stillbirth include the following. Congenital abnormalities — such as a genetic condition or heart condition. A medical condition in the mother — such as diabetes, high blood pressure in pregnancy or pre-eclampsia. Problems that can cause bleeding during pregnancy— such as placental abruption or placenta praevia. Complications during birth. Certain infections. Problems with the umbilical cord or placenta. Major injury or trauma to the mother's abdomen (the tummy area). Grieving the loss of a baby is a very traumatic experience. It's normal to feel a range of emotions, including shock, disbelief, deep sadness, anger and emptiness. There’s no right or wrong way to feel and it's okay for you to take as much time as you need. The care and support you receive during this time should consider your beliefs and practices. Your preferences and values should be respected. https://www.pregnancybirthbaby.org.au/what-is-a-stillbirth

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 iv (Autistic author) Chip leaned in closer, his screen searching Plankton's unblinking gaze for some sign of recognition. He snapped his fingers in front of his eye. Nothing. "Dad, can you hear me?" He asked again, his voice quivering with concern. Plankton's condition meant his senses were heightened, but Chip was unaware of the storm his enthusiasm had unleashed. Each question, each touch, was a boulder crashing down on his father's fragile mental landscape. The thought sent a shiver down Chip's spine. He had to get his dad to respond, to come back to him. "Please, Dad," he whispered, his voice a plea. "I don't know what to do. Can you wake up?" But Plankton's body remained rigid, his eye unseeing. Chip felt a knot of fear in his stomach. What if his dad was stuck in there, unable to escape? He didn't know his dad was autistic, didn't understand the world of sensory input that was his reality. He didn't know how much his excitement and touches could overwhelm him. He just knew that his dad, the man who had always been so strong, was now as still and quiet as a graveyard at midnight. Chip's mind raced, trying to find the right words, the right touch, to bring Plankton back. He wanted to share his stories, his happiness, but instead, he'd stumbled into a minefield of unseen sensitivities. He didn't know how to navigate this uncharted territory. "Dad," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, just tell me you're okay." Plankton's eye remained unfocused. His hand hovered over Plankton's, unsure of what to do. He didn't know that his enthusiastic touches were only adding to the chaos in Plankton's mind, that his vivid stories were like a hurricane in a library. Chip took a step back, his mind whirling with worry. He had never seen his dad like this before, his usual stoic exterior replaced by a terrifying stillness. "Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. "What's happening?" He wished he could read Plankton's thoughts, understand the turmoil that was causing his father to withdraw so completely. He knew Plankton was different, that he needed his space and his quiet, but he had never realized the extent of his sensitivities. The more Chip talked, the more his dad seemed to retreat, until he was nothing but a shell, a statue of a man Chip couldn't reach. He felt like he was shouting into the wind, his words disappearing without a trace. With trembling hands, Chip reached out to touch Plankton's face, his heart breaking at the sight of his father's vacant gaze. "Dad," he whispered, his voice filled with fear. "Please come back." But Plankton remained unresponsive, his eye glazed over. The room grew colder, the air thicker with Chip's desperation. "PLEASE, DAD!" He shouted, his voice breaking. Plankton didn't move, his body a statue in the swirl of his sensory chaos. Chip didn't know his touches and loudness were only adding to his father's pain. "Dad, you're scaring me!" Chip's fingers hovered over Plankton's arm. His heart was racing as he tried to think of what to do, his mind a blur of panic. He knew his mom might know what to do. "Mom!" he calls out, his voice shaky.

TOOTH AFTERNOON v With care, Karen spooned a small amount of ice cream into a bowl, the coldness a stark contrast to the room’s warmth. She brought it to his mouth. “Here, just a little bit at a time. Let it melt a bit, okay?” she instructed, her voice a soft reminder of the care he needed. Plankton’s eye widened as the chilled sweetness touched his tongue. He took small, tentative licks, the taste familiar yet foreign in his numbed mouth. “Mmh...goog,” he murmured, his words still slurred. Karen watched with affection, her heart swelling with love as she fed him. The simple act of caring for him in this vulnerable state was a testament to their bond, stronger than the Krabby Patties they’d fought over countless times. She knew he’d be back to his usual antics soon enough. “Tank...you,” he managed, his voice still thick. Karen’s smile was a soft embrace. “You’re welcome, Plankton. Now, let’s get you comfortable. Here, lie back down,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the care he needed. Plankton’s body complied, his head sinking back into the pillow with a sigh. Karen carefully placed the bowl of ice cream on the bedside table. “Rest now, Plankton. I’ll be right here if you need anything,” she whispered. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts slowly coming into focus. “Ish...okay, Karen,” he mumbled, his speech still slurred as he closed his eye again. Karen watched him, her heart a gentle symphony of relief and love. She knew the recovery would be long, but the worst was over. With careful movements, she stood and dimmed the light, leaving just a soft glow from the lamp in the corner. She sat back down, her chair a silent sentinel in the quiet room. The hours ticked by, and Plankton’s snores grew more rhythmic, his body finally relaxing into deep sleep. Karen’s thoughts wandered to the days ahead, planning his care, his meals, his pain relief, and the moments of joy she’d weave into his recovery. The soft glow of dawn filtered through the curtains. Plankton’s eye fluttered open, his mouth throbbed with the echoes of the surgery. Karen stirred in the chair beside him, her eyes opening to the sight of him awake. She had spent the night in vigil, ready to ease his pain. “Morning, Plankton. How’re you feeling?” she asked, her voice a gentle melody. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts groggy from the remnants of sleep. The anesthesia worn off overnight, leaving him more aware. “Morning...whath...whath’sh...” his voice was a croak. Karen’s smile was a gentle awakening. “Good morning, sweetie. You had your wisdom teeth removed. Do you remember?” she asked. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his mind a foggy haze. “Tesh?” he mumbled, his mouth a swollen cavern. “I only remember getting set up for surgery, then...nothing.” Karen’s smile was a warm comfort. “Don’t worry, love. That’s normal. The anesthesia can make everything after that a bit fuzzy. But you’re home now, and you’re going to be ok,” she assured him, her voice a gentle caress in the early morning quiet. Plankton’s gaze searched the room, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings briefly unsettling him before he recognized the comfort of their bedroom. He shifted slightly, his jaw protesting with a dull throb. “Whath time ish it?” he mumbled, his speech still slow and thick. “And what the barnacles happened?” Karen’s chuckle was a soft symphony of amusement. “It’s morning, Plankton. And as for what happened, after you had your wisdom teeth removed, you had a bit of a loopy day. But now you’re home, and it’s time to star…” Plankton’s eye grew wide with realization. “Loopy?” he repeated, his voice still slurred. “How loopy?” Karen’s laugh was a soft symphony of memories. “Oh, you were quite the entertainment, Plankton. You talked about floobydust and bishbath, and thought it was still morning all afternoon. You even tried to sit up and look around while you had that IV in your arm!” she said, her voice filled with gentle teasing. Plankton’s eye grew wider with each word, his mind racing to fill in the gaps. “IV? Did it hurt?” he mumbled, his voice a sluggish river. Karen’s smile was a gentle reminder of his bravery. “No, sweetie. You were asleep for the surgery. You don’t remember because of the anesthesia. But don’t worry, I’m here to fill you in on the details you miss,” she said. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his curiosity piqued. “Tell meh... whath happened?” he asked, his voice a slurred plea for clarity. Karen’s smile grew, her voice a gentle stream of words. “Well, you were a bit out of it. You talked about wanting to see the lobby, even though we were in the recovery room. But I’ll start with the anesthetic. After they set up, they administered the sleepy juice, and you were out like a light, then they took your teeth out, no problem at all,” she recounted, her words a soothing balm to his confusion. Plankton’s eye searched hers. “Out like a light? How…” Karen’s smile was a soft reminder of his resilience. “Yes, you were out cold. Right after they put the IV in, you just closed your eye and went to sleep with an adorable snore. And the surgery went perfectly. No complications at all,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of his strength. “And right before you first woke up from the anesthesia, I noticed you had a bit of drool. It was cute, really,” she added, trying to lighten the mood with a chuckle. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his mind racing with questions. “What else...Drool?” he asked. Karen’s chuckle was a warm symphony of shared moments. “Don’t worry; you were so tired, you didn’t even wake up when I had to change your gauze,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of his vulnerability. Plankton’s hand reached up to his mouth, his fingers exploring the foreign presence. “Gauze? Why?” he mumbled, his speech still thick with sleep. Karen’s voice was a soft explanation. “It’s to help the bleeding stop, love. After they took your teeth out, they put some gauze in to help with the clotting. You had to keep it in for a bit, but you slept through most of it. You were a real trooper, barely even stirred,” she said, her words a gentle reminder of the surgery’s aftermath. Plankton’s mind was a whirlwind of confusion and questions. “What about the lobby and the ice cream?” he asked, his words still slurred but growing clearer with each passing minute. Karen’s smile was a gentle reminder of his delirious state. “You kept asking to see the lobby because you were still under the anesthesia’s influence. And the ice cream was for later, once we got home. It’s still in the freezer, waiting for you to wake up and have it for yourself,” she said, her voice a soft narrative of his hazy day. Plankton’s mind slowly pieced together the puzzle. “But why did I want to see the lobby?” he asked, his speech clearer now. Karen’s smile was a soft illumination. “You were just confused, love. Sometimes after anesthesia, people say things that don’t quite make sense. It’s normal,” she said, her voice a gentle guide through his foggy memories. Plankton’s gaze searched hers, his thoughts a tapestry of question marks. “But why did I drool?” he slurred, his curiosity piqued. Karen’s laugh was a sweet symphony of care. “It’s just a side effect of the anesthesia. Don’t worry, you were out cold. You didn’t even know it was there,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of his oblivion. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his mind still trying to make sense of the day. “But the ice cream? Did I get any?” he asked, hope in his voice. Karen’s smile grew, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, Plankton. You can have some now, if you want,” she said, standing up to fetch the frozen treat. Plankton’s eye lit up with anticipation. “Yesh, pleash,” he murmured, his mouth still uncomfortable. Karen returned with the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, a spoonful held out for him. She watched as he took it into his mouth, the coldness causing him to flinch before his expression softened into one of pure bliss. The sweetness and the coldness of the ice cream was a soothing balm to his sore mouth, and he took another spoonful.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ix (Autistic author) Plankton's smile flickers back to life, his eye lighting up slightly. "Good," he says, a monotone echo. "Friend." Sponge Bob nods, his smile genuine despite the sadness still lingering in his eyes. "Always," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "Well, what should we do now?" Plankton's gaze shifts to the book, then to Sponge Bob. "Movie," he says, his voice picking up a hint of excitement. "Friend watch movie." His hands flap in a pattern that seems to mirror his thoughts racing. Sponge Bob's smile is a mix of relief and excitement. "Movie?" he repeats, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, let's watch a movie! What do you want to see?" Plankton's eye dart around the room, his hands flapping in a flurry of indecision. "You choose," he says, his voice a monotone. "You know me." His antennas twitch with anticipation. Sponge Bob's smile is filled with understanding. "Okay, then," he says, his voice calm. He scans the bookshelf, looking for a title that might spark Plankton's interest. "How about this one?" he asks, holding up a DVD case with a picture of the Dirty Bubble on the front. Plankton's antennas perk up, eyelighting up at the sight of the villainous bubble's grinning face. "Yes," he says, his voice a monotone. "Dirty Bubble." His hands flap in excitement. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes with love and concern for his unique friend. "Alright, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "Let's watch 'The Great Dirty Bubble Heist'." He pops the DVD into the player, the machine whirring to life. The two of them settle on the couch, Sponge Bob's arm draped protectively around Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's hands are still, his gaze fixed on the screen as the movie starts. The TV flickers to life, casting a warm glow over the room. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax slightly against his side, his eyes never leaving the colorful bubble of the Dirty Bubble's latest escapade. As the movie plays, Plankton's flapping subsides, his gaze transfixed by the screen. The sounds of bubbles popping and laughter fill the room, a stark contrast to the silence that typically accompanied their stakeouts at the Chum Bucket. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his shoulder leaning into him. He notices Plankton's antennas twitch slightly with every joke, his eye flickering with understanding at the slapstick humor. It's a small sign of connection, but it's enough. The movie's plot unfolds, and Plankton's chuckles echo through the room, his laughter a comforting reminder of their long-standing friendship. Sponge Bob smiles, watching Plankton react to the familiar beats of the film's storyline. It's clear his friend's love for the simple pleasure of laughter hasn't changed. As the film progresses, Plankton's chuckles grow softer, his eyelid drooping as he's nestled against Sponge Bob. He's falling asleep, his mind finally at ease in the comforting embrace of his friend. His head lolls to the side, his antennas coming to rest on Sponge Bob's arm. His mouth has fall open slightly, his breaths even and deep. Sponge Bob's heart swells with tenderness, watching Plankton's face. He gently shifts his position, adjusting the small blanket over Plankton to keep him warm. The TV's light continues to flicker across their faces, casting shadows on the walls. Sponge Bob doesn't want to wake him; instead, he takes the moment to study his friend's newfound peace. Plankton's antennas, usually a blur of activity, are still, his breaths deep and rhythmic. Sponge Bob notices the slightest tremble in his friend's hand, now resting on the couch cushion. He gently takes it in his, intertwining their fingers. Their friendship remains a bastion of comfort and acceptance. The TV echoes in the room, punctuating the silence between them. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his head now resting heavily against his shoulder. Plankton's laughter has turned to soft snores, his antenna twitching with each breath he takes. Karen peeks into the room, and sees Plankton asleep against Sponge Bob's side. She goes closer, wanting to make sure Plankton is ok. She feels warmth seeing their friendship unchanged by his diagnosis. Sponge Bob, ever the caretaker, has his arm around Plankton, his hand over Plankton's, their fingers intertwined. Karen smiles softly with pride. This moment of peace, despite the turmoil, shows their unyielding bond. "You guys okay?" she asks, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, Karen," he says, his voice low. "We're just watching a movie." Karen's smile is filled with warmth as she steps closer. "I can see that," she whispers. "How is he?" Sponge Bob's gaze shifts to her, his smile a mix of relief and sadness. "Different," he says, his voice soft. "But still Plankton." Karen nods with understanding. "He's been through a lot," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "But he's strong, and he has his friends." She sits down on the couch, her hand reaching out to rest on Plankton's leg. Her touch is light, comforting. Plankton's body twitches slightly in his sleep, his antennae stirring. Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand gently. "You're ok, buddy," he murmurs, his voice a soft reassurance. Karen sits down beside them, gaze on Plankton's serene expression. "I'm here," she says, her voice soft. "Always." She reaches out, her hand resting on Plankton's knee. The touch penetrates his subconscious, his antennae twitching slightly in response. Sponge Bob nods. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'm still trying to get used to this new Plankton." Karen's expression is one of quiet understanding. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "It's a lot to process, but you're doing great." She looks down at Plankton, his small form snuggled against Sponge Bob. "He's lucky to have you," she whispers. Sponge Bob nods, his voice thick with emotion. "But it's hard to see him like this." His eyes well with tears, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Karen's gaze is filled with compassion as she looks at Plankton. She reaches over, her hand gently brushing his cheek. "He's still the same Plankton," she whispers. "He's just learning to navigate a new part of himself." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes still fixed on the TV. "I know," he says, his voice tight. "But it's so...different." His eyes flicker with unshed tears. Karen's gaze remains on Plankton's peaceful face, her hand still on his knee. "It is," she says, her voice soft. "But different isn't bad, Sponge Bob." She looks at him, her eyes filled with a gentle wisdom. "It's just new. And sometimes, new things take getting used to." Sponge Bob nods. "I know," he says, his voice a whisper. "It's just..." He pauses, his thoughts racing. "It's just that I want to be there for him, you know?" His voice cracks, his grip on Plankton's hand becoming stronger. Karen nods with empathy. "I know you do, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice soft. "And you are." She reaches over, placing a comforting hand on Sponge Bob's shoulder. "You just need to be patient with him, and with yourself. We're all learning together." The TV laugh track fades into silence as the movie reaches its end. Plankton's snores remain steady, a testament to his sleep. Sponge Bob sighs, his eyes finally leaving the screen. He looks down at their joined hands. "I'll be patient," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "For you, Plankton." His eyes meet Karen's, a silent promise passing between them. "I know you will," she says, her voice a gentle encouragement. "You've always been a good friend." The room is quiet, save for Plankton's soft snores. Sponge Bob's eyes remain on the TV, his thoughts spinning. Karen's words echo in his head: different isn't bad, just new. He looks down at Plankton. He tries to imagine a world where Plankton doesn't have autism, but the thought feels wrong. This new version of his friend is still Plankton, still the same in so many ways. Their bond is strong, their friendship unchanged. He squeezes Plankton's hand, his thoughts racing. "I'll be there for you," he whispers, his voice a promise. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton's snores hitch slightly, his antenna twitching in his sleep. Sponge Bob's filled with a newfound determination. He'll be there for Plankton, no matter what. His heart swells as he leans down, his lips brushing Plankton's forehead in a soft kiss. The room is a cocoon of quiet, their friendship a beacon in the stillness. Karen watches them, her heart heavy but hopeful. "Let's get him to bed," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods, his movements careful as he lifts Plankton into his arms. Plankton's eye flutter open briefly, his gaze confused but quickly calming at the sight of Sponge Bob's smiling face. "Tired," Plankton murmurs, his voice sleepy. Sponge Bob nods, his smile gentle. "Come on, buddy," he says, his voice a warm whisper. "Let's get you to bed." They're careful not to jostle him to much. Plankton's eye droop closed again, his body limp in Sponge Bob's embrace. Karen leads the way to the bedroom. The bed is made with fresh sheets, the room organized with care. Plankton's favorite gadgets line the shelves, each item meticulously placed. Sponge Bob lays Plankton gently on the bed, body is heavy with sleep, his snores a comforting lullaby. Karen pulls the blankets up, tucking them around his small form. "Thank you," Plankton mumbles. Sponge Bob's smile is warm and reassuring. "You're welcome, buddy," he says, his voice low. "Sleep tight." Karen watches the scene with affection. "I'll be right outside if you need anything," she whispers. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye opening slightly. "I lo-ove you.." "We love you too, Plankton," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. He smiles at Karen, who nods in understanding before they slip out of the room, letting him sleep.

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.

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See `wrapper' for more! _ ___ (_) _/XXX\ _ /XXXXXX\_ __ X\__ __ /X XXXX XX\ _ /XX\__ ___ \__/ \_/__ \ \ _/X\__ /XX XXX\____/XXX\ \ ___ \/ \_ \ \ __ _/ \_/ _/ - __ - \ ___/ \__/ \ \__ \\__ / \_// _ _ \ \ __ / \____/ / __ \ / \ \_ _//_\___ __/ // \___/ \/ __/ __/_______\________\__\_/________\__/_/____/_____________/_______\____/____ ___ /L|0\ / | \ / \ / | \ / \ / __ | __ \ / __/ \__ \ / /__ | __\ \ /___________________\ / | \ / _|_ \ / ____/___\____ \ ___________[o0o]___________ O O O Paul Tomblin

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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 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 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.

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

𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉

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.

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░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

CHIP AND FAIL v (Autistic author) "Mom, something's wrong with Dad!" Karen rushes into the room. Karen's gaze falls on Plankton, her heart aching at the sight of her husband's distress. She knows his limits, knows the signs of his overstimulation. She had hoped this wouldn't happen, had hoped that Chip's visit would be a gentle one, that they could find a way to connect without pushing Plankton too far. But she had underestimated Chip's excitement, his need for physical closeness. Her heart broke for both her son and her husband. He had never seen his dad like this, never known that his boundless enthusiasm could have such a profound effect. She knew this moment might come someday. She's had to handle Plankton's meltdowns before, but not with Chip in the room. She quickly assesses the situation, seeing the confusion and fear in Chip's screen. "MOM, PLEASE..." Karen rushes over, her screen wide with fear and concern. She sees Plankton's unblinking eye, his unresponsive state. She understands immediately. "PLEASE MOM..." Karen's screen darted between her son's frantic expression and Plankton's unresponsive form. She knew she had to act fast. She could see the confusion in Chip's screen, the desperation to understand. "But Mom, I..." Yet Karen, who's priority is Plankton's urgency, cuts Chip off. "Chip," she says firmly, her voice filled with a calm urgency. She doesn't have time to explain. "Listen to me, honey. You need to let me handle this. Go to your room and wait." She knows how hard this is for him, but his safety, and Plankton's, is what's most important right now. Chip nods, his screen never leaving his father's unresponsive form. He takes one last, lingering look before retreating to his room, his heart heavy with confusion and fear. As soon as the door clicks shut, Karen springs into action. She knows the signs of an autistic meltdown, the sudden retreat into self, the inability to communicate. Her own heart racing, she gently sits beside Plankton, her screen filled with understanding. She speaks softly, her voice a balm to his overstimulated mind. "Shh, Plankton," she whispers, her hands moving in slow, deliberate motions, "It's ok." Chip's footsteps fade away as Karen focuses on her husband. She knows he's in there, somewhere, battling a storm of sensations. Her voice is a lighthouse in the chaos, guiding him back to the shore. "Take a deep breath, love," she says, demonstrating with a slow inhale and exhale of her own. Plankton's chest rises slightly, matching her rhythm. The room is a minefield of potential triggers, but Karen's been here before. She knows to keep her movements minimal, her voice low and soothing. She starts to gently rub Plankton's back, finding the steady rhythm that calms his frayed nerves. His breathing evens out, the color slowly returning to his cheeks. But Chip, in his room, is anything but calm. His mind is a whirlwind of confusion and guilt. Why isn't Dad ok? Isn't something wrong? He paces, his heart racing. He still didn't know his dad was autistic. In the quiet of his room, Chip's thoughts raced like a tornado. Why wasn't Dad ok? Why did I have to leave like that? Was it my fault? He didn't know about his dad's autism, how his mind worked differently, how easily it could be overwhelmed. He didn't know that his enthusiastic touches and loud laughter could cause such distress. Meanwhile Karen, with her gentle touch and calming voice, began to guide Plankton back to reality. "Plankton, love, you're okay," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby in the chaos. Plankton's eye slowly refocus, the storm in his mind beginning to subside. His breathing slows, the panic retreating. She continues her soothing motions, her touch a lifeline in the sensory tempest. Plankton's eye blinked, his antennae twitching as his gaze focused on her, his breathing evening out as he felt her calming presence. He didn't know how long he had been lost in the storm, but he was grateful for her guidance.

TOOTH AFTERNOON iv The car’s engine hummed a soothing tune, and Karen’s voice was a gentle guide in the background. “Almost home, love. Just a few more minutes,” she said, her screen never leaving the road. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his mind a tangled mess of half-formed thoughts. “Huh?” he mumbled, his voice a slurred echo. Karen’s smile was a soft guiding light. “We’re almost home, Plankton. Just a bit more, ok?” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the warmth that awaited them. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts a jumble of confusion and pain. “Home...moth...” he managed, his words still a slurred mess. Karen’s smile was a warm reassurance. “Yes, Plankton. Home. Just a few minutes more,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the comfort that was almost within reach. “Moth...no...moth...no...” his words made no sense. Karen’s smile grew, her eyes on the road ahead. “Almost there, Plankton. We’re just passing the park. You can see the swings?” she asked, her voice a gentle reminder of the world outside. Plankton’s gaze drifted to the window, his eye searching for familiar landmarks. “Swings...?” his voice a sleepy question. Karen nodded, pointing out the car window. “Yes, Plankton. The park. Remember, we come here sometimes to walk?” Plankton’s eye searched the blur of green outside, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of the world. “Walsh?” he murmured, his speech still slurred and slow. Karen chuckled, her voice a warm embrace. “Yes, sweetie. We’ll walk in the park once you’re all healed up, ok?” she said, her eyes flickering to his reflection in the rearview mirror. The car pulled into the garage, the sudden darkness a stark contrast to the bright afternoon outside. Karen turned to him, her smile a gentle reminder of her presence. “Alright, Plankton. We’re home. Can you sit up for me?” she asked, her voice a soft guide back to reality. Plankton’s movements were slow, his body still fighting against the anesthesia’s grip. He nodded, his hand reaching for the car door. Karen was there in an instant, opening it for him and helping him to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, and he leaned heavily on her as they made their way to the house. The door creaked open, and the familiar scents of home wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. Plankton’s eye searched the room, his mind grasping for any semblance of normalcy. Karen guided him to their bedroom, the softness of the bed calling to him like a siren’s song. She helped him lay down, his body sinking into the mattress with a sigh of relief. His eyelid grew heavy, his thoughts drifting like leaves on a lazy river. Karen tucks him in. “Now, would you like…” But Plankton’s eye had already drifted shut, his body surrendering to the siren call of sleep. His snores grew steady and deep, the gauze in his mouth muffling the sound. Karen watched him. She knew the recovery ahead would be long and difficult, but she was ready to face it with him. With a soft sigh, she went to the kitchen and retrieved the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. She placed it on the nightstand, ready for when his hunger would inevitably wake him. She then gathered his favorite pillow, propping it under his head to elevate it slightly, hoping to reduce any swelling that might come. The house was eerily quiet, the only sounds being Plankton’s soft snores and the occasional tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. Karen felt a pang of loneliness in the absence of their usual banter, but she pushed it aside, focusing on his recovery. With tender care, she changed his gauze, the blood slowly seeping through a stark reminder of the surgery. She flinched at the sight, but quickly composed herself. She was his rock, his anchor in the storm of pain and confusion. She pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Rest, love,” she whispered. Plankton’s hand reached out, his movements slow and deliberate. He found hers, his fingers entwining with hers. “Kareb?” he mumbled, his voice a sleepy plea. Karen’s smile was a soft caress. “I’m right here, Plankton. I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him, her voice a gentle reminder of her constant presence. Plankton’s grip tightened slightly, his eye flickering open. “Wheh...youw shay...” he slurred, his words a sleepy plea. Karen leaned closer, her smile a gentle promise. “What did you say, sweetie?” she asked, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet room. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his grip on her hand growing firm. “Youw shay...stay...stay whiff me?” he murmured, his voice a slurred tapestry of need. Karen’s heart swelled with love. “Of course, Plankton. I’ll…” But her words were cut off by his snores, his hand going limp in hers. He was asleep again. Karen sat in the chair beside the bed, her hand still entwined with his. She knew this was just the beginning of a long road ahead, but she was ready. Plankton’s snores grew more rhythmic, his sleep deepening with each passing minute. Karen sat in the chair beside the bed, her thoughts a whirlwind of care and love. Her eyes never left him, a silent sentinel in the quiet room. She knew he’d have questions when he awoke, confusion to navigate, and pain to endure. The ice cream called from the nightstand, a sweet temptation she knew he’d crave. But for now, sleep was his best medicine, his body healing from the invasion of surgery. She watched his chest rise and fall, each breath a testament to his strength. The hours ticked by, the sun dipping below the horizon and leaving a soft glow in the room. Plankton’s snores grew quieter, his sleep more peaceful as his body slowly metabolized the lingering anesthesia. Karen’s thoughts wandered to the days ahead, planning his meals, his pain relief, and the moments of joy she’d weave into his recovery. The room grew darker, the streetlights outside casting a soft glow through the curtains. Karen’s eyes grew heavy with fatigue, but she fought it off, knowing Plankton would need her when he awoke. Her thoughts drifted to their first date, the way his laugh lit up the room, the way his hand felt in hers. A sudden movement caught her eye, and she turned to see Plankton’s eye flutter open, his gaze unfocused and lost. “Karen?” he croaked, his voice a dry whisper. Her smile was a gentle welcome back. “Hey there, sleepy. How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice a soft caress. Plankton’s mouth moved, his speech still slurred. “Moth...” he murmured, his tongue thick. Karen’s voice was a soft symphony of comfort. “You’re okay, Plankton. You’re home and safe. You just had surgery. Do you remember?” she prompted, her hand squeezing his gently. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts slowly coming into focus. “Sur...surgery?” he mumbled, the numbness in his mouth distorting his words. Karen nodded, her smile a warm embrace. “Yes, sweetie. Wisdom teeth surgery. It’s all over now, and you’re going to be okay,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the reality that had been obscured by the fog of anesthesia. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his mind slowly piecing together the fragments of the day. “Moth...huh?” he murmured, his hand moving to his swollen cheek. Karen’s voice was a soft lullaby. “It’s alright, love. You had your wisdom teeth out. You’re all safe and sound,” she said, her hand covering his own, guiding it back to the bedside. Plankton’s gaze searched his surroundings. “Thish... thish wish...” he mumbled. “Ice cream?” she guessed, her voice a whisper. Plankton’s nod was a tiny celebration of victory. “Yesh...ish cweam...now?” he asked, his eye hopeful. Karen chuckled, her smile a warm invitation. “Of course, sweetie. Let’s get you set up,” she said, her voice a gentle guidance as she reached for the ice cream.

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

me📱4️⃣

CHIP AND FAIL ii (Autistic author) "And then there's my roommate, Jake," Chip went on as he nudged Plankton. Plankton felt the nudge like a sledgehammer, the vibration reverberating through his bones, his body visibly taut. "He's got a pet named Steve," Chip said, laughing, "and he taught me how to play the guitar!" Plankton's eye grew larger, his heart racing as the room spun around him. He felt like his mind was being invaded by a swarm of jellyfish, buzzing with every word, every touch. But Chip was in his element, his words tumbling out. "And we had a food fight!" Chip said, slapping his hand down on the bed, sending waves of pain through Plankton's overstimulated nervous system. He swallowed a cry, his hands gripping the sheets. "It was like a battle royale with spaghetti!" Chip's laughter filled the room, but Plankton couldn't find it in himself to laugh. The noise, the motion, the smells - it was all too much. His mind was racing, trying to keep up but he was losing the battle. He needed silence, darkness, a chance to reset. But Chip was still talking, still touching, still demanding his attention. He felt trapped. "And then, get this, Dad," Chip said, slapping his knee with each new anecdote. "There's this professor..." Plankton knew he needed to tell Chip to slow down, to give him space, but more Chip talked, the less he could comprehend. His mind was a whirlwind of sensory input, spinning out of control. Chip, not noticing, was still grinning, his screen sparkling with joy, voice rising with excitement. But Plankton was no longer listening. His eye had glazed over, his mind a tangled web of sensory overload. He couldn't even hear Chip anymore. Chip, noticing the lack of response, paused. "Dad?" he said, his voice softening with concern as he poked him with his finger, adding to the cacophony of sensory input that engulfed and drowned Plankton. Chip, puzzled by his dad's lack of response, leaned in closer, his face a picture of innocent curiosity. "Isn't that amazing, Dad?" He asked, placing his hand on Plankton's arm again. The room was spinning, the sounds of Chip's voice and the memory of his stories a cacophony, his chest tight. "Dad?" Chip's voice grew quiet, his smile slipping away as he noticed his father's distress. He had never seen Plankton like this before, so still.. "Are you okay?" He asked, genuinely concerned. But his question was like another explosion of light and sound to Plankton. But Chip, in his excitement, misinterpreted. He leaned in even closer, his hand landing gently on Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's body constricted, unblinking. The pressure of Chip's hand was a heavy weight, and the softness of his voice was a scream in Plankton's overwhelmed ears. He couldn't speak, couldn't move.. Chip's eyes grew wide with concern as he watched his dad. He had never seen Plankton like this, so silent and unresponsive. Was he ok? Did he say something wrong? The doubt grew in his chest. "Dad?" He ventured again, his voice smaller than it had been. Plankton's body was a statue, his eye fixed somewhere beyond the room. Chip's hand hovered over his arm, uncertain of what to do. "Dad, are you okay?" He asked, his voice trembling. He had never seen his dad so silent. Plankton's body is rigid and unyielding. He can't understand why his dad isn't responding, why he isn't laughing at the funny stories or asking questions about his college life. "Dad?" Chip says again, his voice more tentative now. He reaches out to shake Plankton's shoulder. Something's wrong, he can feel it. He didn't know Plankton has reached a breaking point, and his mind shuts down in self-defense. He can't process anything, not even the love in Chip's voice. "What's wrong with you!" Chip asks, his eyes wide with confusion and hurt. He had only wanted to share his excitement, to connect with his dad after being away for a week. But Plankton's reaction was like nothing he had ever seen before. Plankton's unable to decipher Chip's words or the concern etched into his features. Chip's scanning Plankton's expression for some clue, some sign of what was happening. "Dad, talk to me," Chip pleads, his hand resting on frozen Plankton's shoulder. Nothing. He's expressionless. Panic starts to bloom in Chip. "Dad, say something!" He begs, his hands shaking. Plankton remains motionless, his eye unfocused. Chip's mind races, trying to understand, trying to piece together what he could've done wrong. The silence stretches between them, taut as a bowstring. Plankton's face remains an unreadable mask. Chip's thoughts tumble over one another, trying to remember anything that could've triggered this. He knew his dad was a bit of an introvert, needy of his space, but this was beyond that. The room felt claustrophobic, the air thick with unspoken words. "Dad, you're scaring me," he whispers, his voice cracking. "What's going on?" Plankton's trapped in his own body, a prison of sensory overload. The room seems to spin faster, the colors bleeding into one another. He can't find the words to explain. He wishes he could tell Chip to stop, to back away, but his tongue is a dead weight in his mouth. But Chip, his mind racing with worry, doesn't understand. He's never seen his dad like this before. "Dad?" He says again, his voice shaking with fear. "You're not moving." In a moment of desperation, Chip grabs Plankton's hand, trying to shake him out of his trance. "Please, Dad, talk to me," he whispers, his grip tight. But Plankton's hand is cold and stiff, like holding onto a mannequin's. Chip's face falls, his eyes filling with tears. "What's wrong, Dad?" He sobs, his voice thick with fear. Plankton feels the warmth of Chip's hand, the pressure of his grip, but he's trapped in a world of sensory overload, unable to move or speak. His heart aches with the pain of his son's distress, but his body won't cooperate. He desperately tries to break through the fog, to tell Chip he's okay, that he loves him. But even his consciousness is frozen now. Chip's sobs grew louder, his shoulders shaking with each breath. "Please, Dad, please," he whimpers, his eyes brimming with tears. The weight of his father's unresponsive hand in his own was like a stone, dragging him down into a pit of fear. He didn't know his dad was autistic, didn't know the silent torture he was enduring. Plankton's heart was a caged bird, flapping its wings against the walls of his overwhelmed mind. He wished he could tell Chip that he was okay, that he loved him, but his thoughts were a tangled web, catching and trapping every sensation until he couldn't move. Chip's grip tightened, his voice desperate. "Dad, please," he sobbed. But Plankton remained unresponsive, his mind a hurricane of stimuli. The weight of Chip's hand on his shoulder was unbearable, each touch a bolt of lightning striking his already fried nervous system. The room was spinning, the colors blurring into a swirl of chaos. Chip's voice grew louder, more insistent, his touches more frequent as he tried to pull his dad out of his silent world, his grip on Plankton's arm tightening. But Plankton's body was a statue. "Dad, please, say something," Chip whispered, his voice choked with sobs. Chip's face crumpled as he concluded his dad wasn't okay. He never saw him like this, so silent and still. But the more Chip talked, the more he touched, the deeper Plankton sank into his overloaded state. Plankton's body remained still. He didn't understand why his dad was so unresponsive. His heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. Chip leaned in closer, his eyes searching Plankton's for some glimmer of recognition, some sign that he was okay, desperate for any sign of life. "Dad, you're scaring me," he choked out, his grip on Plankton's hand becoming frantic. Plankton's heart was racing, but his body remained still as a statue, the storm inside his mind unseen by his son. "Please, Dad, talk to me," Chip pleaded, tears rolling down his cheeks. In his panic, Chip didn't realize his touches were only adding to Plankton's distress. His face crumpled as he realizes his dad, so still and unresponsive, is not okay. The room grew smaller, the air thicker with Chip's sobs. "Dad, please," he whispered, his voice shaking. He didn't know how to help, didn't know what was happening. All he knew was that the man he loved was slipping away from him, and he was powerless to stop it. Plankton's mind was a tornado of sensation, each touch, each sound a knife slicing through the fragile silence he needed to survive. He wished he could tell Chip to just give him a minute, to let him find his calm. But the words were stuck in his throat, his mind a whirlwind of panic and confusion. Chip, unable to understand the storm happening inside his dad, felt a sinking dread. He had never seen Plankton like this, and his inability to connect with his father was like a punch to his gut. He tried to lighten the mood, to pull him out of his silent cocoon with a joke. "Remember when I accidentally turned your laboratory blue with that chemistry experiment?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly. But it's not working. Plankton remained unmoving, his expression unchanged, lost in his own world of sensory overload. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the tumult in his mind. Chip's words were just more noise, more chaos to process. Chip's eyes searched his dad's face, desperation etched into every line of his youthful features. He didn't know about Plankton's autism, about the need for quiet and predictability to navigate the world. He only knew that his dad wasn't responding, and it was tearing him apart. He took a deep breath, trying to think of what to do. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on them like a heavy blanket. Then, suddenly, he had an idea.

TOOTH AFTERNOON iii Karen chuckled. Despite his current state, she was just happy he was out of pain. She sat back in her chair, watching him sleep and planning their quiet afternoon at home. Ice cream, his favorite blanket, and a marathon of their favorite show. The doctor returned, his expression one of understanding. “He’ll be out of it for a little while longer. But we can discharge him now if you’re ready to take him home,” he said, his voice a calm assurance. Karen nodded, her smile tired but still present. “Thank you, doctor. I think we’re ready,” she replied, her voice a soft acknowledgment of the journey that had only just begun. The doctor gave her a nod of understanding, his gaze softening. “Alright, let’s get you both home. I’ll go grab the gauze for his mouth,” he said, turning to leave the room. Karen nodded, her eyes still on Plankton’s sleeping form. She felt a mix of relief and exhaustion wash over her. The surgery was over, but the real challenge was just beginning: navigating Plankton’s recovery. The doctor returned with a small bag of supplies and instructions. “Make sure he doesn’t chew on anything too hard, and keep the gauze in to soak up the bleeding. He’ll be on a soft diet for a few days. Lots of rest, and no strenuous activities, okay?” he said, his voice kind and professional. “Now let’s get some gauze in.” Karen watched as the doctor carefully placed the gauze in Plankton’s mouth. Would he wake up? Would he panic? But Plankton remained asleep, his breathing steady. The nurse offered a gentle pat on the shoulder. “You’re a trooper, Mr. Plankton,” she said, her voice a soft whisper of encouragement. The doctor turned to Karen, his expression a blend of pride and fatigue. “You’ve both done well today. He’s ready to go home, but make sure to follow the instructions I gave you. No chewing, no crunchy foods, and keep that gauze in place. Call us if you have any concerns, okay?” Karen nodded, her smile grateful. “Thank you, doctor. We really appreciate it,” she said, her voice a soft echo of the beeps that surrounded them. With a gentle touch, Karen shook Plankton’s shoulder. “Wake up, Plankton. Time to go home,” she whispered, her voice a soothing lullaby to rouse him from his anesthesia-induced slumber. Plankton’s eye cracked open, his gaze unfocused. “Whathapennin’?” he mumbled, his tongue a thick obstacle in his mouth. Karen’s smile was a warm reassurance. “It’s time to go home, sweetie. The surgery’s all over,” she whispered, her voice like a gentle breeze. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts a tangled mess. “Home?” he murmured, his mouth moving awkwardly around the gauze. Karen nodded, her smile a beacon in the sterile room. “Yes, Plankton. We’re going home now. The doctor says you can go if you’re feeling okay,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the world waiting outside. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts slowly coming into focus. “Home?” he repeated, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen nodded, her smile a warm embrace. “Yes, we’re going home. The surgery is done, and the doctor says you’re okay to leave. Can you stand up for me?” she asked, her tone a gentle coax. Plankton’s body moved with the sluggishness of a marionette. He pushed himself up, his legs wobbly like gelatin. Karen helped him to his feet, her arm a sturdy pillar under his. The room spun, and his eye searched for a focal point. “Wheh…” he murmured, his mind a foggy mess. Karen’s grip was firm, her voice steady. “Take it slow, Plankton. You’re ok, just a bit wobbly. We’re going home now,” she said, guiding him towards the door. Plankton’s steps were shaky, his legs unsure beneath him. The world outside the recovery room was a blur of faces and colors, but Karen’s was the only one that made sense. She led him to the car, her arm a warm security around his waist. The cool air hit him like a wave, his skin prickling as his mind swam with the sudden shift from the clinical calm of the dentist’s office to the bustling chaos of the parking lot. “Walk with me, love,” Karen said, her voice a gentle guide in the storm of his disorientation. Plankton’s feet shuffled forward, his movements mechanical as Karen led him to their car. The brightness of the afternoon sun was a stark contrast to the sterile fluorescence of the recovery room, making him squint. He felt like a newborn fawn, his legs wobbly and unsteady. With Karen’s guidance, Plankton managed to get into the passenger seat, his body sinking into the softness with a sigh of relief. The car door clicked shut, sealing them into a cocoon of quiet comfort. Karen climbed behind the wheel, her movements efficient and familiar as she adjusted the mirrors and started the engine. The world outside their bubble grew fuzzier as they drove away from the dental clinic, the hum of the tires lulling Plankton into a semi-lucid state. He leaned his head against the cool window, watching the trees and buildings blur past. “Wheh...awe we...going?” he slurred, his voice a sleepy echo. Karen’s smile was a warm comfort. “Home, Plankton. We’re going home so you can rest and heal. You’ve had a big day, haven’t you?” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the journey behind them. Plankton’s nod was a sleepy affirmation. “Yeah...big...day,” he mumbled, his eye drooping closed again, his head lolled to the side. “So, sweetie, what’s the first thing you want to do when we get home?” she asked, her voice a gentle prod to keep him engaged. Plankton’s mouth moved slowly, his thoughts a thick sludge. “Ish...cweam?” Karen’s laugh was a soft symphony. “Ice cream, yes. As soon as we get home and you’re comfortable, you can have all the ice cream you want. I’ve got your favorite flavor waiting for you in the freezer,” she said, her voice a sweet promise. Plankton’s eye lit up with the mention of ice cream, a tiny spark of excitement in the sea of confusion. “Fishy...flaver?” he mumbled, his mouth still numb. Karen chuckled, her voice warm and loving. “Chocolate, Plankton. Your favorite chocolate chip cookie dough. I know you’ll love it,” she assured him. She was ready to play nurse, chef, and entertainer all rolled into one. Plankton’s head lolled to the side, the gauze in his mouth a stark white against his pale cheek. His eye flits open and closed, the world a mosaic of colors and shapes as they drove.

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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.

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

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

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 6 Plankton's eye closes, his breathing deepens into snores. Karen watches him for a moment, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a soft ripple in the quiet room. "You're safe now." Her words hang in the air, a comforting lullaby, when Karen's friend Hanna unexpectedly arrives. "Karen?" Hanna's voice is a splash of cold water, jolting Karen to the present. She quickly wipes Plankton's mouth and stands up, turning to face her friend. "Is everything alright?" Hanna's eyes widen, noticing Karen's husband Plankton on the couch, his mouth open, snoring softly. Karen laughs nervously. "Oh, yes," she says, her voice a bit too high. "Just a little... dental procedure." Hanna looks with concern. "My place is getting a remodel, I don't know where else to stay..." she asks, her eyes scanning Plankton's sleeping form. Karen nods, her smile reassuring. "Of course, you can stay here," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "The spare room's good." Hanna looks at Plankton, still snoring peacefully. "Is he okay?" she whispers. "I know I've never personally met him.." Karen nods, her voice a whisper. "Yes, he's fine," she says, her hand on his forehead. "Just sleepy." Hanna's eyes flicker with concern. "What happened?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple of curiosity. Karen hesitates, her hand still resting on Plankton's head. "It's nothing to worry about," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Just a little dental work." Hanna nods, her eyes studying Plankton. "Is he going to be okay?" she whispers, her voice a soft ripple of concern. "Why's he tired?" Karen sighs, her smile slightly forced. "It's just... part of the process," she says, avoiding the mention of teeth. "They had to give him some medicine to help him sleep." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "He seems so peaceful," she says, her voice a soft caress. "What was it for?" Karen's smile is tight. "Everything is just fine, Hanna. He might not want me to say much without his permission." Hanna nods, understanding. "Of course, I didn't mean to pry." She looks around the room. "It's just, I've never seen anyone sleep so... peaceful?" Karen laughs softly, her voice a gentle ripple. "It's the medicine," she says. "They had to give him something to relax." Hanna nods, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. Karen decides it's time to wake him, gently shaking his shoulder. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a soft nudge. "Wake up, sweetheart." Plankton's eye opens with a start, his antennae shooting up. "Whath...whathapened?" he mumbles, his speech still slurred. Karen laughs, her voice a warm embrace. "We need to get you into bed," she says, her eyes twinkling with love. "My friend Hanna came, and she'll stay in the guest room." Plankton blinks, his antennae waving erratically. "Han-Han?" he mumbles, his voice a slurred song. "Whaths...whaths?" Hanna waves, her smile genuine. "Hi, Plankton," she says. "Nice to meet you.." But Plankton, still groggy, mumbles incoherently, his eye half-closed. "Muff...muff...muffins," he says, his tongue thick. Karen laughs, her voice a warm laugh. "It's okay, sweetheart, you're just tired," she says, guiding him to his feet. He sways, his body still under the anesthesia's spell. "Muff...muffins," he repeats, his voice a sleepy mumble. Karen rolls her eyes, her smile a gentle curve. "No muffins," she says, her voice a soothing wave. "It's night.." His antennae droop, his mind a jumbled mess. "B-but... you promithed..." he slurs, his eye struggling to focus. Karen laughs, her voice a warm caress. "Oh, Plankton," she says, helping him to the bedroom. They reach the bed, and she helps him lie down, his body collapsing onto the mattress. "Just sleep, love," she whispers, her hand stroking his. Hanna watches from the doorway, her smile a mix of amusement and concern. "Is he going to be okay?" she asks again. Karen nods, her voice a reassuring lullaby. "Yes, just rest is what he needs," she says. "It'll will wear off completely in the morning; we all need our sleep." But Plankton, not quite ready to drift away, reaches his arms out. "Pweath...picture," he mumbles, his hand reaching for Hanna's. Hanna, surprised by his sudden request, pulls out her phone, the screen a bright beacon in the dim room. "A selfie?" she whispers, her voice a questioning bubble. Karen nods, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "I'll get you gauze first," she says, helping him sit up slightly. Hanna, unsure but willing, holds out her phone, the screen glowing with potential. "Ready?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper. Plankton nods, his antennae bobbing. Karen carefully places the gauze pads in Plankton's mouth, his eye widening slightly at the unexpected sensation. "Now," she says, her voice a gentle prompt. "There." Hanna holds the phone steadily, the camera lens a tiny window into their world. Plankton's arm wraps around her shoulder, his antennae sticking out like party horns. "Cheeese," he mumbles through the gauze, his voice slurred but earnest. The flash goes off, illuminating the room briefly. Hanna looks at the photo, her smile warm. "You got it, Plankton," she says, handing him the phone. His eye squints, trying to focus on the screen. Karen laughs softly, watching them from the bedside. "You two are adorable," she says, her voice a gentle tease. Plankton looks at her, his mouth still full of gauze. With a thumbs up from Plankton, Hanna posts the selfie, the image of their smiles and Plankton's comical gauze-filled grin floating into the digital abyss of her social media feed. The caption reads: "Visiting Karen! Featuring @ Plankton 😂🦷💊" The notification sounds chime through the quiet room, a digital symphony of likes and laughing emojis. Plankton's eye widen, his antennae perking up. "What's that?" he asks, his voice a groggy whisper. Hanna laughs. "Everyone thinks you're cute. Now I gotta get some rest myself!" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye heavy with sleep. "M-more...m-muffins?" he asks, his voice a slurred plea. Karen laughs, her voice a warm hug. "No more, Plankton," she says, placing a kiss on his forehead. "You need to sleep now." Plankton closes his eye, succumbing to the gentle pull of sleep. Karen and Hanna watch him for a moment, his snores the only sound in the quiet room. Hanna's smile is warm. "He's so cute," she whispers. They both watch as Plankton's snores fill the room, his body finally at peace. Hanna's concern fades into curiosity. "What's with the muffins?" she asks, her voice a whisper. Karen giggles, her hand still on his. "It's just the remnants of meds talking," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "He'll be himself in the morning." She stands up, her movements smooth as a dolphin's. "Let's get you settled in the guest room now.."

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r/shortscarystories 5 yr. ago [deleted] «ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵉᵗᵘˢ The Quickening We had always wanted kids. Negative pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test. I was beginning to wonder if we had waited too long. But then the stories started. Rumours at first. Classic internet forum gossip. Taking about declining birth-rates and increased birth defects. We assumed it was scaremongering, climate change activists trying to blame “chemicals” in the water or something. But the rumours didn’t stop. Pictures began emerging online of babies, being born around the world. They were all so similar and they made my blood run cold. They didn’t look like babies at all. Suddenly no one was picketing abortion clinics anymore. The authorities started to panic. They didn’t want the birthrate to drop to zero. All non-emergency scans were banned. All the babies being born are malformed, and normal/viable babies are exceedingly rare, very rare/non-existent. By the time I realised I was pregnant it was too late to do anything. There was rioting on the streets. We hadn’t left the house in days. The city was on fire. We bunkered down. I dreamed of a parasite growing inside of me, unable to see, unable to scream.. I reached up inside myself with household supplies. I couldn’t let the thing feed on me anymore. It felt like a bolt of lightning deep inside me. It took a long time. Blood dripped down my legs. I felt dizzy. But it would be worth it. I didn’t want it inside me anymore. The pain ripped through me and I felt like I was being torn apart but then suddenly in a gush of blood she was here. I was covered in sweat. I gasped for air and looked down at her. She was so tiny. She fit into the palm of my hand. She was still. And, she was perfect.

General anesthesia: A patient who gets general anesthesia is completely unconscious (or "asleep"). They can’t feel any pain, are not aware of the surgery as it happens, and don’t remember anything from when they are “asleep.” General anesthesia involves using many medications to render you unconscious during a surgery. This makes you unaware of things that are happening. It is generally described as melting back into the bed and falling asleep. This means you will have no awareness of the procedure once the anesthesia takes effect, and you won't remember it after. Anesthetics activate memory-loss receptors in the brain, ensuring that patients don't remember. General anesthesia looks more like a coma—a reversible coma. You lose awareness and the ability to feel paın, form memories and move. Then they turn the anesthetics off and allow you to come to. You then begin to pass into a semi-conscious stage to become aware of what is going on. Typically, the period of time when you’re under general anesthesia is a blank. Many patients report that it is a surreal experience—and practically no one remembers anything between when the medication is administered and waking up in the recovery. For general anesthesia, someone may feel groggy and a little confused when waking up after surgery.

｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆~ℓιℓℓу~⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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KAREN AND THE TEETHIES vii "Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers, shaking him lightly. "We're not even to the parking lot yet!" Plankton's eye opens. "Tish... tish... Karen?" he mumbles, his voice a sleepy whine. "Why we not... not at home?" Karen laughs, her voice a gentle lullaby. "We will be soon," she says, her grip on him firm but caring. "Just stay with me a little longer. Let's make our way to the car; yea?" But Plankton's eye is already drooping. "Caw... car?" he mumbles. Karen nods, her smile soft. "Yes, the car. We're going home." But Plankton's eyelid flaps heavily, his gaze unfocused. "Home... home," he repeats, his voice a slurred echo. His head wobbles against her shoulder, his body slack. Karen sighs, her laughter mingling with the slight exasperation in her voice. "Just a bit more, Plankton," she whispers, patting his back. "Stay with me. Let's stand up now." But Plankton's body is already succumbing to the warm embrace of sleep. His eyelid flaps once, twice, before his eye closes completely. He slumps back into the chair, snoring gently. Karen chuckles, shaking her head. "Come on," she says, her voice a blend of humor and patience. With a sigh, she stands, his weight still leaning on her. "You need to wake up for just a little bit more," she insists, her voice a mix of playfulness and firmness. But Plankton's snores are already steady. "Wake up," she whispers, shaking him gently. "We have to go." His eyelid twitches, his mouth moving in a slight snore. "Home?" he mumbles. Karen laughs softly, her hand still on his shoulder. "Yes, home," she repeats, her voice a gentle prodding. "Let's go." But Plankton's snores are now a symphony of sleep. His body sags, his head lolling to the side, and Karen knows the battle is lost. She looks to the nurse, who nods in understanding. "Let's get him to the car," she says, her voice a whisper of amusement. They lift him again, his arms draped over their shoulders like a tiny, uncooperative ragdoll. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers again, her voice filled with a mix of humor and exasperation. "We're almost there." But Plankton's snores are a testament to his deep slumber. His head tips to the side, his mouth hanging open. The nurse's smile widens, and she nods to Karen. "It's okay. He's comfortable. We'll get him to the car." They manage to stand him up, his legs wobbly as a newborn deer's. Karen's arm is wrapped around his waist. "Come on, babe," she coaxes, her voice laced with affection. "Walk with me to the car. Wake up.." But Plankton's snores are a constant background noise, his body swaying with the rhythm of sleep. He opens his eye with difficulty, his gaze unfocused. "Wha... wha..." Karen chuckles, her arm tightening around him. "Walk, Plankton," she whispers, guiding his unsteady steps. "You're doing so well." But Plankton's body has other ideas. His knees buckle, and he sags against her, his snores growing louder. "Wake up, babe," she whispers, her voice filled with affectionate frustration. "You can't sleep until we're in the car." Plankton's head wobbles, his eye half-opening. "But... buth... I'm tiwed," he mumbles, his speech still thick. "Tish... tish... chair is... is... is so comfowt." Karen laughs softly, her patience unwavering. "You need to wake up, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle prod. But Plankton's snores are the only response, his head lolling to the side. His body sags heavily against her. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers, a hint of a laugh in her voice. But Plankton's only response is a sleepy snore, his body relaxing further against hers. "Come on, Plankton," Karen whispers, her voice a blend of amusement and urgency. "You're gonna need to get in to our car." Plankton's eye opens with effort, his gaze unfocused. "Caw... caw?" he mumbles, his speech still a thick slur. Karen laughs softly, her arm supporting his wavering body. "Yes, car," she repeats, her voice a gentle nudge. "We're going home." But Plankton's eye droops closed once more, his snores a soft symphony of unconsciousness. "Buth... buth... Karen," he mumbles, his words barely audible. Karen's laugh is a soft whisper of affection. "You're so sleepy," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. She tightens her grip on him, her arm supporting his wavering frame. "Just a few more steps." But Plankton's snores are a sweet lullaby, his body heavy with slumber. His legs barely move, his feet dragging against the floor. Karen's arm tightens, her strength the only thing keeping his body upright. "Wake up," she whispers, her voice a soft caress. "Almost there." Yet Plankton's only response is a snort, his head rolling back. Karen looks to the nurse. "It's okay," the nurse whispers, her smile warm. "Let's get him to your car. He'll sleep it off." They shuffle towards the exit, Plankton's snores a soft accompaniment to their quiet steps. Karen's arms are tight around his waist, her strength the only thing keeping him from sliding to the floor. His head rolls back, mouth open, a soft snore escaping him. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle plea. "We're almost at the car." The nurse holds the door open for them. Plankton's eyelid flaps weakly, his mouth dropping open with a snore. "Caw?" he mumbles, his gaze unfocused. "Almost, sweetie," Karen says, her voice a blend of humor and determination. She shifts his weight slightly, her arm still supporting his waist. "Just a few more steps." But Plankton's body is a deadweight, his snores a testament to his deep slumber. His head tips back, mouth open wide, and Karen can feel his body going slack again. "Wake up. We're so close." But his only response is another snore, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his sleep. Karen laughs softly, her arm tightening around him. "You're so funny when you're sleepy," she whispers. The nurse opens the door to the car, but Plankton remains deeply asleep. His snores echo through the empty space, his body a ragdoll in Karen's arms. Karen tries to rouse him once more. "Come on, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a soft coax. "Wake up." But Plankton's snores are a sweet symphony of exhaustion. His head tips back, his mouth open wide, and Karen feels his body go limp again. She sighs with affectionate exasperation. "You're so stubborn," she murmurs, his weight a testament to his deep sleep.

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES viii With the nurse's help, they manage to get Plankton into the car. Karen buckles him in, his eye opening briefly before dropping shut again. His snores fill the car as she starts the engine. She glances at him, his mouth hanging open slightly, and laughs. "You can sleep when we get home, Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with affectionate amusement. But Plankton's snores are a steady beat, his body swaying slightly with the car's movement. His head tips back. Karen smiles, reaching over to adjust his seatbelt, making sure it's snug but not too tight. She kisses his forehead, her laughter a soft sound in the quiet car. "You're such a goofball," she murmurs. But Plankton's eye won't open, his snores gentle. His head rolls against the headrest, his mouth hanging slightly open. Karen shakes him gently. "Wake up, babe," she whispers, her voice a soft laugh. "We're going home." She says as she drove out of the parking lot. But Plankton's only response is a snort, his snores continuing. His head lolls to the side, his mouth open, a thin line of drool connecting his lip to his chin. Karen's smile widens, a mixture of affection and exasperation. She reaches over with a napkin to wipe his mouth gently. "You're such a sleepyhead," she whispers, his snores the only reply. The car's engine purrs as they pull onto the street. Plankton's snores crescendo into a gentle snort, his body jolting slightly in the seat. But sleep wins again, his head drooping to the side. Karen's eyes dart between the road and Plankton's sleeping form. His snores are a soft comforting background noise. Plankton's head tips to the side, his mouth drooping open. A thin line of drool forms, and Karen quickly darts a napkin to catch it. She giggles softly to herself, his peacefulness a stark contrast to his usual frenetic energy. "You're going to wake up in a puddle of drool," she whispers, her voice filled with amusement. But Plankton's snores are a sweet lullaby, unchanged by her words. His body sags into the car seat, his chest rising and falling with each deep, sleepy breath. As they hit a bump in the road, his head jolts up, his eye half-open. "Wha... wha..." he mumbles, his voice a thick slur. But the moment passes, and his head lolls back again, snores picking up where they left off. Karen's laughter fills the car, her hand reaching over to stroke his antennae gently. "You're such a mess," she whispers, her voice a mix of love and amusement. "But you're my mess." Plankton's snores are the only reply, his head bobbing with the car's movement. Karen watches him sleep, his mouth slightly open, drool glistening in the soft light from the dashboard. Each time she looks over, his snores crescendo, and she can't help but smile. "Sleepy Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with love. They arrive home, the car's engine silenced in the quiet neighborhood. Plankton's snores continue, unbothered by the change in scenery. Karen shifts into park, turning to look at him. His snores are a soft whisper in the quiet car, his body still. His head tips to the side, his mouth open slightly, drool pooling on his chin. "Home," she whispers, her voice a gentle wake-up call. But his snores are unbroken, his body remaining slack. With a sigh, she opens his door, her arm slipping under his to support his weight. "Wake up, Plankton," she says, her voice a soft nudge. "We're home." But Plankton's snores are the only answer, his body unmoving. Karen shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. She carefully lifts him, his legs swinging like a ragdoll's. "Wake up," she whispers, her laughter a soft caress. "We're inside." Plankton's snores pause briefly, his eye flickering open before shutting again. "Home," he mumbles, his voice barely audible. Karen chuckles, her strength carrying his weight. "You can sleep all you want in bed," she promises, his snores the only answer. They stumble into the hallway, Plankton's snores bouncing off the walls. She guides him to the couch, his legs giving out with a thump. "Come on," she whispers, laughing. "Bedtime." But Plankton's eye is closed, his snores a soft whisper. He slumps against the couch cushions, his body unyielding. Karen sighs, her smile filled with affection. "You're so stubborn," she says, her voice a gentle scold. With a grunt, she shifts his weight, his head rolling to the side. "Wake up," she whispers, a hint of laughter in her voice. But Plankton's snores are a sweet testament to his deep slumber. "We're almost there," she whispers, her voice a gentle reminder. But his body is a deadweight, his snores echoing through the quiet house. With a soft chuckle, Karen shifts him into a standing position, his snores hitching for a moment before resuming their steady rhythm. "Walk, Plankton," she whispers, guiding his sleepy steps. But his body sags again, his head rolling back with a snore. "Come on, sweetie," she says, her voice a blend of amusement and persistence. Karen's heart swells with love for his adorable state. She manages to carry him to their bedroom, his snores a gentle reminder of his deep sleep. She eases him onto his bed, his body falling into the soft embrace of the mattress with a final, heavy snort. Karen props his head with pillows, his mouth still open. She wipes the drool from his chin with the napkin, her touch gentle and loving. "You're home," she whispers, his snores the only response. Her eyes scan his face, his features relaxed in sleep. With a soft sigh, she tucks the blanket around him. "Rest well, my love," she says, kissing his forehead. Plankton wakes up the next morning, finding himself in his own bed after his appointment for wisdom teeth removal. The anesthesia worn off overnight. He looks around, his head feeling light and his mouth feeling... strange. He touches his cheeks gingerly with his fingers, feeling the absence of his teeth. "What happened?" he mumbles, his voice groggy with sleep. Last thing he remembers is the dentist's chair and Karen's soothing whispers. Karen walks in, her smile bright. "You're awake," she says, her voice a soft caress. "How do you feel?" Plankton's hand moves to his swollen mouth, his eyes wide with surprise. "What... how'd I get here?" he slurs, his speech still thick with sleep. Karen laughs, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You fell asleep at the dentist's and I brought you home," she explains, her voice filled with humor. "Do you remember the surgery?" Plankton's eye widen, his brain foggy with recollection. "I... I think so," he mumbles, his hand still cupping his cheek. "I recall the chair... and your voice..." Karen nods, her smile warm. "You were pretty out of it," she says, her voice a gentle tease. "But you're all healed now."

me📱4️⃣

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES iii The nurse's voice is calm as she informs Dr. Finnegan that his blood pressure is stable, his oxygen levels good. The monitors beep steadily, a lullaby of safety amidst the cacophony of surgical sounds. With one final tug, the fourth wisdom tooth gives way, and Plankton's snoring remains a steady crescendo in the background. The doctor holds it up in triumph, and Karen feels a weight lift from her chest as the wisdom teeth are disposed of. A trickle of drool starts to form at the corner of Plankton's mouth. The assistant quickly moves in to clean up the remaining debris, his movements efficient and precise. Plankton's snores morph into something closer to a gentle purr, his mouth open wide and vulnerable, revealing the now empty sockets where the teeth once were. Dr. Finnegan takes a step back, wiping his brow with a satisfied sigh. "Alright, that's the last one," he says, looking over at Karen. She lets out the breath she's been holding, her grip on Plankton's hand finally loosening. The nurse begins to clean Plankton's mouth, the suction tool humming as it removes blood and excess saliva. His snoring softens, turning into a gentle purr that's almost endearing in its vulnerability. Karen can't help but feel a swell of love for his unconscious form, even as Dr. Finnegan's hands probe his swollen gums. The assistant starts to stitch the incisions closed, his movements swift and sure. The sound of the needle passing through Plankton's gums makes Karen wince, but Plankton doesn't flinch. He remains a picture of peace, his snores continuing their lulling rhythm. The room's tension dissipates as the final stitch is placed. Dr. Finnegan steps back, a satisfied look on his face as he surveys his handiwork. "We're almost done here," he says, his voice calm and soothing. The nurse begins to prepare the recovery area, laying out gauze and ice packs, as the mouth prop is gently removed from Plankton's mouth. His snores become a little less snuffly. Karen leans in closer, whispering, "You did so good, babe," to him. The nurse chuckles lightly. "He's a champ," she says, applying pressure to the gauze to stem the flow of blood from the stitched sockets. Dr. Finnegan nods in agreement, his eyes on the monitors. "Just a few more minutes," he tells her, his voice soft and reassuring. "He'll be out of it for a bit when he wakes up," Dr. Finnegan says with a chuckle, looking over at Karen. "The anesthesia can make people act a little... peculiar." The nurse gently wipes Plankton's mouth with a moist cloth, his head lolling to the side. Karen's heart is a wild thing in her chest, but she can't help the smile that tugs at her lips. "He might say some funny things when he wakes up," Dr. Finnegan says, his voice low and amused. "The anesthesia can do that." The nurse nods in agreement. "Don't worry, it's completely normal. He might not even remember most of it, or he may just feel a bit loopy." Karen smiles nervously, her mind racing with all the funny scenarios that could play out. "But for now," Dr. Finnegan says, patting Plankton's shoulder, "he's going to keep sleeping while we make sure everything is all set." The nurse administers a final dose of anesthesia in his gums to numb his mouth to keep Plankton comfortable. "When he wakes up," Dr. Finnegan says, his gloved hands now free of blood, "his mouth will be a bit swollen, and he'll probably be groggy. The important thing is to keep his head elevated and have him use the ice packs to reduce the swelling. And don't let him eat anything too solid for the next few days. Soft foods only." The nurse adds, "And if he says anything strange or does something unexpected, just roll with it. It's the anesthesia talking." Karen nods, her mind racing with the instructions, the possibilities of Plankton's anesthesia-induced ramblings. He's always had a wild imagination, so who knows what might come out once the drugs kick in? The nurse gently wipes Plankton's face, catching the droplets of drool that form at the corners of his mouth. His snores turn into a soft snuffle as his mouth shifts with each breath. Karen can't help but chuckle softly at the sight, the tension of the surgery giving way to the comfort of knowing it's almost over. Plankton's arm, still numb from the I.V., hangs loosely by his side. His chest moves up and down in a deep, steady rhythm, the only indication of life amidst the stillness of his body.

JUST A TOUCH vii (Autistic author) The room is thick with unspoken words as Sandy slowly approaches the bed, her movements calculated to avoid overstimulating Plankton. Her eyes are full of compassion, but also fear of the unknown. "Hi, Plankton," she says softly, extending her hand with a gentle wave. He flinches, his antennae quivering. "Remember me?" Plankton's brain processes her words, but his response is delayed. He nods, his movements mechanical. Sandy sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving his. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice carefully modulated to avoid causing him discomfort. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to the side. He doesn't look at her directly, his gaze lingering on a spot on the wall. "Fine," he says, his voice devoid of inflection. Sandy nods, her eyes searching his for any sign of the friend she knew. "It's good to see you, Plankton." Her words hang in the air, their meaning lost in the labyrinth of his new reality. Karen watches them, her heart in her throat. She can see the effort Plankton is making to engage with Sandy, the way his antennae twitch with every word spoken. It's a dance, a delicate balance between his need for solace and his desire for connection. Sandy's hand hovers near his, her eyes questioning. "Can I?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. Plankton's gaze shifts to hers, his expression unreadable. Karen nods, giving her permission. "Gently," she says, a soft reminder. Sandy nods, her hand inching closer to his. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body stiffening as her fingertips brush against his. But the moment their skin makes contact, something snaps within him. He jolts upright, his antennae flailing as his eye widen in panic. "Too much," he cries out, his voice a mix of fear and anger. "Too much!" The room seems to shrink around him, the walls closing in with every beat of his racing heart. Sandy's eyes widen in shock, her hand retreating quickly. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "It's okay." But Plankton's not listening, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "No!" he yells, his voice echoing through the room. "No touch!" Sandy's face falls, her eyes brimming with confusion and hurt. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's in the throes of a full-blown meltdown. His tiny fists clench. "No touch!" he repeats, his voice rising. Karen's heart breaks seeing the fear in Sandy's eyes, but she understands the importance of respecting Plankton's boundaries. "We're sorry, Plank..." But Plankton's anger interrupts her, his voice sharp and intense. "No! No sorry! Sandy touch no good!" His words are a jumble of pain and frustration, a stark contrast to the controlled monotone he'd used earlier. Sandy's eyes fill with tears, her hand retreating to her lap. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I didn't know." Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening. "It's okay," she says to both of them, her voice steady. "We're just figuring this out." Plankton's chest heaves with breaths. "No touch," he mutters, his voice fading. Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice softer. "I'll..." But Plankton's outburst continues, his voice rising. "No touch!" The room vibrates with his distress, the air thick with his panic. Karen's heart races, her mind racing to find a way to soothe him. She knows he's overwhelmed, that his new hypersensitivity to touch has been violated. Sandy's eyes widen, her hands hovering awkwardly in the space between them. She can see the turmoil in his face, the anguish in his voice. "I didn't mean to..." she starts, but her words are swallowed by his distress. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. But it's too late. The dam has broken, and his emotions flood the room like a storm. His tiny body trembles with rage, his antennae flailing in every direction. "No touch!" he screams again, the force of his voice surprising even Sandy. She jumps back, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Karen's eyes are on Plankton, a silent apology in her gaze. "It's okay," she says to him, her voice soothing. "We'll make sure that doesn't happen again." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his breathing erratic. "No touch," he whispers, his voice broken. Sandy backs away, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I didn't know," she says, her voice thick. "I'm so sorry." The room echoes with Plankton's sobs, his body quaking in Karen's arms. Karen's heart aches for him, her eyes never leaving his face. "No touch," he whispers, his voice broken. Karen nods, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know," she says, her voice gentle. "It's okay. We'll figure this out." Plankton's antennae stop flailing, his body still trembling as the storm of his emotions begin to subside. He looks up at Karen, his gaze searching for comfort. She wipes a tear from her face with her free hand. "It's okay," she repeats. "You're okay." Sandy's eyes are red, her shoulders slumped. "I didn't know," she says again, her voice shaking. "I just wanted to help." Karen nods, her own eyes wet with empathy. "I know," she says. "It's a lot to take in." The three of them sit in the quiet room, the only sound Plankton's muffled sobs. Sandy's eyes dart around, not knowing what to do with herself. Karen squeezes his hand gently, her gaze never leaving his. "We're here for you," she whispers. Slowly, Plankton's crying subsides, his body still shaking. Karen can feel the tension in him, like a coiled spring ready to snap again. Sandy's hand twitches, as if she wants to reach out, but she stops herself, remembering his outburst. "I'm sorry," she says again, her voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's not your fault," she says to Sandy, her voice gentle. "We're all just trying to navigate this new... reality." Sandy sniffs, nodding. "I just want to be here for you guys," she says, her voice shaky. Plankton's sobs quiet, his body slumping in exhaustion. Karen nods, her eyes meeting Sandy's. "We know, and we appreciate it," she says, her voice tight. "But we have to be careful with his sensory needs." Sandy nods, her face a mask of sorrow. "I'll learn," she whispers. "What do you need from me, Plan..." But Plankton's already slipping away, his eyelid drooping as sleep beckons. Karen's grip on his hand doesn't loosen as she watches his breathing even out. The tension in the room slowly eases as his body relaxes, his sobs giving way to quiet snuffles. Sandy's eyes are on him, her heart heavy with guilt. "I'll go," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "Thank you," she murmurs. "Call me if you need anything." Sandy nods, her eyes lingering on the two of them before she stands, her legs shaky. She crosses the room, the weight of her mistake dragging her down. As she reaches the door, she glances back one last time. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, and she can't help but feel a pang of sadness. Karen's eyes follow her, filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," she whispers again as Sandy exits, closing the door behind her. The click echoes through the quiet space, a stark reminder of the distance that's grown between them all. Plankton's grip on her hand tightens slightly in his sleep, as if sensing the shift in the room's energy. Karen brings her other hand to cover his, sandwiching it between hers. Her eyes well with tears as she whispers, "It's okay, Plankton. You're okay." The room is bathed in silence once again, the only sound being Plankton's gentle snores. Karen's mind is racing, thinking of all the adjustments they'll need to make, the education she'll have to provide to those who know and love him. But for now, she focuses on the warmth of his hand in hers, his head buried in her shoulder. Her eyes drift to the clock, the hands moving in a slow, steady march forward. It's time for her to start dinner, to bring some semblance of normalcy back into their lives. Gently, she shifts Plankton to his side, making sure he's comfortable before rising from the bed. The kitchen is a minefield of potential triggers: the hum of the fridge, the clink of pans, the smell of cooking food. She moves carefully, her eyes scanning the room for anything that might overstimulate him. The recipe she's chosen is simple, something they both enjoy. She starts the prep, chopping vegetables with a precision that Plankton would appreciate, her movements methodical and calming. The aroma of cooking food fills the air, a comforting reminder of their shared life. Karen's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, planning how to help Plankton navigate this new world. She wipes her hands on a towel. As she hears Plankton's tentative steps on the stairs, she takes a deep breath. His descent is slow, each step measured with caution. When he enters the kitchen, his gaze darts around the room, his antennae twitching with each new sound. Karen's heart squeezes. She's used to his energy, his boundless enthusiasm. This cautious creature is still his shell-shocked self. "Hungry?" she asks, her voice as soft as the evening light. Plankton nods. The meal is a simple one, a familiar comfort in a world that's become so alien. Karen places the plate before him, the steaming food a visual symphony of their shared past. Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze fixating on the plate. "Food," he says, his voice still monotone. Karen nods, aching for the passionate foodie she knew. "Do you need anything else?" she asks, her voice soft. He shakes his head. The meal is eaten in silence, each bite a victory. Karen wants to say something, anything, but she knows he needs space, time to process the whirlwind of emotions.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON viii (Autistic author) The room grew quiet as they all digested the information. Sponge Bob's gaze never left Plankton's, his expression filled with a fierce loyalty. He knew his friend was different, but that didn't change the love he had for the tiny creature. Sensing the tension, Sponge Bob took a deep breath and smiled his wide, welcoming smile. "You know what, Plankton?" he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "You're still my best buddy, no matter what." Plankton's antennae perked up, his eye focusing on Sponge Bob's earnest expression. The sponge's words were a comforting lullaby, a gentle reminder of their unbreakable bond. He felt the warmth of their friendship wash over him, a comforting blanket against the coldness of Hanna's accusations. Sponge Bob's hand found its way to his shoulder, the touch a familiar comfort that his overstimulated senses craved. Plankton leaned into the warmth, his body responding to the soothing pressure. "Best buddies," he echoed, his voice a soft affirmation. The room grew quiet as Sponge Bob's hand remained steady on his shoulder, his presence a calming force in the storm of his emotions. Plankton closed his eye, his body relaxing into the gentle embrace. "We're gonna get through this," Sponge Bob said, his voice a soothing lullaby. "We'll figure it out, buddy. I'm here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, the warmth of his friend's words seeping into his soul. Sponge Bob had always had a way of making him feel safe, but now, with this new knowledge, their friendship felt even more vital. "Thank you," Plankton murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. Sponge Bob's thumb rubbed circles on his back. The two friends sat in silence, the warmth of their companionship a stark contrast to the chill of Hanna's words. Plankton felt the tension in his body slowly melt away, his breaths evening out. The steady beat of Sponge Bob's heart was a comforting lullaby that helped him find peace. Sponge Bob's thumb continued its circular dance on his back, a wordless communication of his love and support. Plankton sighed, his body growing heavier with each comforting pressure point. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob's eyes searched his face, a flicker of understanding dawning. "It's okay, Plankton," he said. "We'll get through this together." His hand didn't move, his touch a silent promise of his unwavering support. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, the comfort of his friend's presence a warmth against the coldness of his fear. He knew Sponge Bob would always be there for him, even if he didn't fully understand his condition. The sponge's love was a constant, a beacon of light in his otherwise confusing world. Sponge Bob's eyes never left his friend's, his smile a gentle reminder of the joy they shared. "You know, Plankton," he began, his voice a soft caress. "You're still the same little guy I've always known." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body leaning into the warmth of Sponge Bob's embrace. The steady beat of the sponge's heart was a comforting metronome that helped him find his rhythm again. He felt the tension in his body slowly melt away, each breath growing deeper and more even. The room, once a battlefield of accusations and misunderstandings, was now a haven of quiet comfort. The rustling of pages grew softer, the candle's glow dimming as the minutes ticked by. Karen and Hanna watched from afar, heavy with regret and hope. They saw the change in Plankton, the way he leaned into Sponge Bob's touch, the way his body slowly relaxed. Sponge Bob, ever the comforting presence, began to hum a gentle tune, a melody that Plankton had heard a thousand times. The familiar notes were a lullaby that soothed his frazzled nerves, his antennae dropping to rest against the sponge's shoulder. The tune was a bridge to his past, a time before the accident, before the world had shifted on its axis. Plankton's breaths grew deeper, his body swaying slightly with the rhythm. His eye closed. Sponge Bob's humming grew softer, his hand never leaving Plankton's back. The warmth of his companion's embrace was a soothing balm. The room, once a prison of accusations, was now a sanctuary of friendship. The candle's flame danced, casting shadows that played across the walls, their flickering a gentle reminder of the warmth in their hearts. Sponge Bob's hum grew softer, his melody a gentle whisper that lulled Plankton into a peaceful reverie. His body molded into the sponge's embrace, his antennae drooping with the weight of his eyelid. The world outside faded away, replaced by the safety of Sponge Bob's arms. Karen watched from the distance, shimmering with unshed tears. She knew the importance of this moment, the power of a friend who understood without words. Her heart swelled with gratitude for Sponge Bob's unwavering support. Hanna, too, felt the weight of her own words, the realization of her ignorance heavy on her shoulders. She longed to reach out, to be part of this healing embrace, but felt the boundary that she had unwittingly created. Her screen followed the tender scene, her thoughts racing with a desire to apologize, to explain. But she knew that now was not the time for words. Instead, she sat quietly, watching the dance of friendship unfold. The steady beat of Sponge Bob's heart, the gentle rustle of his body against Plankton's, the soothing hum that filled the air—it was a symphony of care. Hanna's gaze drifted to the candle, its flame a flickering reminder of the warmth that was slowly seeping into the room. She watched as Plankton's body grew heavier, his breaths deepening. The anger and fear that had once dominated the space were now replaced with a comforting quietude. Karen's hand found Hanna's, squeezing gently. "He's ok," she whispered. "We're going to be ok." Her voice was a calm sea, offering a gentle buoyancy to the storm of emotions that had ravaged them all. Hanna's screen searched hers, uncertainty warring with hope. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice a soft apology. "I just didn't know." Karen nodded, her gaze compassionate. "It's a journey," she said. "We're all just trying to understand." The humming grew softer, until it was only a faint echo in the room. Plankton's antennae twitched with the last remnants of his anxiety, before they too stilled. His body grew heavy, his breaths deep and even. The gentle sway of Sponge Bob's embrace was a lullaby that rocked him into a peaceful slumber. Sponge Bob felt the change in Plankton's tension, his friend's body becoming a soft weight against his. He smiled, his heart swelling with love and relief. Carefully, he adjusted his hold, cradling the tiny creature against his chest. His thumb continued its comforting strokes, his eyes never leaving the closed eye. Karen stepped forward, her movements graceful and silent. Her hand rested on Sponge Bob's arm, her screen a gentle thank you. Hanna quietly left. The room was now bathed in the soft glow of the candle, its flicker the only sound. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly in his sleep, his breaths deep and even. Sponge Bob held him tight, his heartbeat a gentle rhythm that soothed the tiny creature's slumber. Karen watched the two, aching with love and gratitude. She knew that Sponge Bob's simple act of comfort was a powerful statement of friendship and support. It was moments like this that reminded her of the strength in their bond. The candle's flame danced gently, casting shadows that played across Plankton's sleeping face. His antennae, once a whirlwind of anxiety, were now still, resting against Sponge Bob's chest. His breaths were even and deep, a testament to the peace he had found in his friend's embrace. Sponge Bob looked down at his sleeping companion, his face a picture of quiet contentment. He knew that Plankton was safe here, that his slumber was a reprieve from the storm of emotions that had ravaged his day. The room was a sanctuary of calm, the candle's warmth a gentle guardian. The sponge's heart swelled with love as he watched his friend's tiny chest rise and fall, each breath a whispered promise of support. He knew that Plankton's world was now different, that the ASD had brought with it challenges that neither of them could have foreseen. But in this moment, their bond was stronger than ever, a beacon of understanding in a sea of uncertainty. Karen's eyes searched Sponge Bob's, her own heart heavy with the weight of what Plankton had endured. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice a soft wave of appreciation. "For being there for him." Sponge Bob's gaze never left Plankton's sleeping form, his thumb still tracing comforting patterns. "Always," he said, his voice a gentle promise. "No matter what."

TRUTH AND NAIL iii Karen felt his weight shifting, his body swaying towards sleep again. “Stay with me, Plankton,” she murmured, her voice a gentle prod to keep his consciousness afloat. He blinked, his eye trying to focus on her face. “Wha...?” he mumbled, his words trailing off like a forgotten melody. Karen's tightened. “You’re okay, Plankton,” she whispered, her voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the room. “You’re just tired from the surgery, that’s all.” But even as she spoke, Plankton’s head lolled to the side, his mouth open slightly, drooling. Karen reached over and wiped it away, her fingers coming back wet. "It's normal for them to nod off like this," the nurse assured Karen with a kind smile. “Let’s walk to your car..” But as they shuffled along, Plankton’s knees buckled, and he slumped against Karen, his mouth falling open in a deep snore. Her arms tightened around his waist, her strength supporting his sudden weakness. "Wha...?" Plankton mumbled, his eye fluttering open, his mind trying to catch up with his surroundings. "You okay?" Karen asked. His head bobbed slightly, nodding in sleepy agreement. But as they shuffled closer to the exit, his knees buckled again, and he was out cold. Karen's grip tightened, keeping him from collapsing. The nurse chuckled softly, "It's okay, Mrs. Plankton. This happens a lot after the anesthesia. Wake up, Mr. Plankton.." But Plankton's snores only grew louder, his head lolling onto Karen's shoulder. Her laugh was a gentle sigh as she looked at his peaceful face, marred only by the occasional dribble of saliva. "Come on, love," Karen whispered, her voice a soft nudge. "Let's get you to the car." With the nurse's help, they managed to make him stir in his sleep. Plankton's eye cracked open, his gaze unfocused and glazed. "Karen?" he murmured, his voice a slurred whisper. Her eyes searched his, the love in them a beacon in the starkness of the hospital corridor. "You're okay, sweetie," she said, her voice a gentle reminder. But Plankton's response was a snore, his head lolling forward again. Karen's grip tightened, his weight leaning heavily on her. "Wake up, Plankton," she whispered, her voice a caress in the air. The nurse chuckled. "It's just the anesthesia," she assured Karen. "Let's get him to the car." Plankton's eye snapped open, his mind fighting to wake up. But each step was a battle against the fog. Karen's arms wrapped around him, her grip firm and loving. His legs threatened to give out, his knees like jelly, but she held him upright. "Come on, darling," she cooed, her voice a beacon through the haze. "Almost there." They made it to the car, Plankton's snores filling the quiet of the parking lot. The nurse opened the back door, and Karen managed to get him sitting upright, his head lolling to one side. "Wha...?" he mumbled, his eye opening a crack. "We're going home," Karen soothed, her voice a soft song. She fastened the seatbelt around him, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. As she drove, Plankton fought to keep his eye open, his head drooping forward before jerking back up with a snort. "You okay back there?" Karen called over her shoulder, her eyes on the road. A faint snore was his only reply, his head lolling against the headrest. She chuckled, a mix of concern and affection, her screen flitting to the rearview mirror. His mouth was still open, a string of drool connecting his bottom lip to his chin. Karen reached back, carefully wiping it away with a tissue. Plankton's face twitched in his sleep, but he remained oblivious to her touch. The car's gentle hum lulled him further, his snores punctuating the silence of the drive.

NEW REALITY vii (Autistic author) She sleeps at her bed next to his. The house is quiet, except for the soft snores coming from Plankton. But both of their eyes snap open at the sound of the doorbell. Plankton's body tenses, his hand shooting up to cover his head. Karen moves quickly, her heart racing. She knows that sudden sounds can be overwhelming for him. "It's okay," she murmurs, placing her hand over his. "Door," he says, his voice still groggy from sleep. Her eyes dart to the clock. It's early, much earlier than anyone would usually visit. "I'll go see who it is," she says, trying to keep her voice steady. "You stay here." Plankton nods, his hand dropping from his head to clutch at the blanket. "Stay," he whispers, his voice tight with anxiety. Karen's eyes fill with concern. "I'll be right back," she promises, her voice soft. "Just stay here." Plankton nods, his grip on the blanket tightening. "Stay," he repeats, his voice less than a whisper. Karen nods, her heart racing. "I will," she whispers. "Just rest." As she opens the door, she's met with the cheerful face of Hanna, her book club friend. "Hey Karen, I hope I'm not too early!" Hanna says, a word book in hand. Karen's eyes widen, her heart racing. "No, not at all," she says, forcing a smile. "Come in." Hanna steps into the house, her eyes bright with excitement. But as she sees Karen's expression, her smile falters. "Is everything okay?" she asks, concern etched on her face. Karen nods, as Plankton comes into the room, his gaze fixed on the spinning fan. "This is Plankton," Karen introduces, her voice calm. Hanna smiles. "Hi Plankton," she says, her voice too bright. He nods, his gaze still locked on the fan. "Fan spin," he murmurs. Hanna's eyes widen, unsure how to respond. Karen quickly interjects. "Why don't we take a look at the work puzzle book.." Plankton's gaze shifts, his interest piqued by the mention of books. "Puzzles," he repeats, his voice a bit clearer. Hanna's smile relaxes, seeing his interest. "Yes, puzzles," she says, holding up the book. "They're like fun little brain teasers." Plankton nods, his hand reaching out to touch the book. Karen watches, her heart racing. Will this be another trigger? But Plankton's gaze locks onto the puzzle book, his eye lighting up with curiosity. Karen's heart skips a beat. This could be good for him, a way to focus his whirling thoughts. Hanna opens the book, showing him a simple word search. "See if you can find the hidden words, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. His gaze scans the page, his hand moving in time with his eye. "Words," he murmurs, his voice filled with excitement. Hanna nods, her smile growing. "That's right," she says, her tone encouraging. "See if you can find them all." Plankton nods, his eye quickly moving over the page. Karen watches, her heart swelling with hope. This might be it, she thinks, a new way to connect. Hanna points to a word, her voice soothing. "What's this?" Plankton's hand moves over the letters, tracing them. "F-A-N," he reads, his tone monotone. "Fan," he says, his gaze flicking up to the whirring object above. Hanna laughs, misunderstanding. "No, Plankton, not fan," she says, pointing to the puzzle. "Find the words that are hidden." But Plankton's gaze remains on the spinning blades. "Fan," he repeats, his voice taking on a firm tone. Hanna's smile falters, not comprehending his meaning. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice still cheerful. "Look at the puzzle." But Plankton's gaze doesn't waver from the fan. "Fan," he says, his tone firm, almost defensive. Hanna's smile falters, her cheerfulness waning. "Plankton," she says gently, "it's a puzzle, not about the fan." But Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the fan, his body tensing. "Fan," he repeats, his voice firm, almost defensive. Hanna's smile falters, uncertain of his meaning. "It's just a puzzle, Plankton," she says gently, her voice filled with misunderstanding. But Plankton's tone sharpens. "Fan," he insists, his voice raised, his body tense. "Fan spin, make quiet." Hanna's eyes widen with surprise, her smile slipping away. "It's not about the fan, Plankton," she says, her voice still kind but concerned. "It's about..." But Plankton's voice cuts through the air, his tone sharp. "Fan spin," he says, his hand moving in erratic patterns. "Fan make quiet. Fan important." Hanna's eyes widen, taking a step back. "I didn't mean..." she starts, but Plankton's agitation is growing. "Fan important," he repeats, his voice echoing in the quiet room. Karen's heart races as she tries to defuse the situation. "Hanna, it's okay," she says, her voice calm but firm. "The fan is special to Plankton. It helps him feel calm." But Hanna's confusion only grows. "It's just a fan, right?" she asks, her voice pitching with uncertainty. Plankton's voice rises, his hands flailing. "No!" he yells. "Fan special! Make quiet! Must spin!" Hanna's eyes widen with shock, her cheerful demeanor evaporating. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she stammers, taking a step back. Plankton's voice echoes, his frustration palpable. "Fan special!" he yells, his hands slashing the air. Hanna's smile has disappeared, replaced by a look of fear. "I'm sorry," she whispers, backing away slowly. Karen's eyes are wide with worry. She steps between Hanna and Plankton, trying to shield her friend from his distress. "It's okay, Hanna," she says, her voice calm but firm. "Let's just give him some space." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with apology. "I didn't mean to upset him," she murmurs, setting the puzzle book down on the coffee table. Karen nods, her gaze on Plankton. "It's okay," she says softly. "He's just overwhelmed." Plankton's hands flap like wings against his sides. This is stimming, she knows, his way of coping with the sensory onslaught. He rocks back and forth, his gaze still on the fan. Karen's heart aches as she watches him, his body a whirlwind of energy. "Fan spin," he murmurs, his hands fluttering like butterfly wings. "Spin, spin." Karen's eyes follow his erratic movements, her heart racing. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm and soothing. "Look at me." He doesn't react, his gaze still glued to the fan. Karen approaches him, moving slowly to avoid startling his heightened senses. "Plankton," she repeats, her tone steady. He doesn't react, his eye still on the fan, his body a flurry of movement. Her heart racing, Karen tries again. "The fan spins," she says, mimicking his rhythmic speech. Plankton's gaze flicks to her, his body still. For a moment, his movements cease. "Spin," he whispers, his eye searching hers. Karen nods, understanding his need for the fan's rhythmic whirl. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle melody. "The fan will spin." Plankton's gaze shifts from the fan to the digital clock on the mantle. His eye widens as he sees the seconds tick by, restarting each minute. The numbers, stark and precise, seem to call to him, a silent symphony of order in a world gone haywire. Hanna looks confused, for Plankton's gaze shifts to the digital clock, the seconds ticking away in a silent symphony. His hands stop their erratic movements, his body stilling as he watches the precise dance of the numbers. Karen sees his fascination, the way his eye tracks each second as it passes. "It's okay," she says softly. "The clock will keep going." But Plankton's gaze doesn't shift. His body is still, his mind lost in the rhythm of the ticking digits. Karen watches, her heart racing. She's read about how some with autism find comfort in patterns, how the predictability of something as simple as a digital clock can be a lifeline in a world that's otherwise so chaotic. Hanna, however, doesn't understand. Her eyes go to Plankton, her confusion growing. "Plankton," she says, her voice still too bright, "it's just a clock." His eye snaps to her, his body rigid with tension. "Clock important," he murmurs, his voice a mix of anger and fear. "Numbers change." Hanna's smile fades, her eyes widening with confusion. "It's just a clock, Plankton," she says, trying to placate him. But her words only serve to stir his distress further. Plankton's eye darts from the clock to Hanna, his breath coming in quick bursts. "No," he whispers, his voice tight. "Clock important. Numbers change." Hanna's smile is gone, her expression one of confusion. "It's just a way to tell time," she says, her voice shaking. But Plankton's agitation is building, a storm gathering behind his eye. "No," he whispers, his hand trembling as it points to the clock. "Numbers change, make brain quiet." Hanna's eyes widen, her understanding still elusive. "But Plankton," she starts, "it's just a way to keep track of time." But Plankton's gaze is intense, his voice urgent. "No, no, no," he says, shaking his head. "Numbers change, make brain quiet." Hanna's voice rises, her confusion thick. "But it's just a clock, Plankton," she repeats, her words falling on deaf antennae. Plankton's body is tight as a spring, his gaze locked on the digital dance. "No," he whispers, his voice strained. "Numbers make quiet, chronologically." Hanna's eyes dart between Plankton and Karen, her confusion thick.