Dos Emojis & Text

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🅿️🅾️Rn

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iv (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ But Plankton's frustration had reached a boiling point. His voice was a thunderclap in the small room, his eye flashing with a rage he couldn't contain. "You don't know!" he roared, his body shaking. Hanna took another step back, her heart racing. "I'm sorry, Plankton, I truly didn't mean to upset you," she said, her voice shaking. Plankton's gaze shifted to the door, his mind racing to the safety of his solitude. "You don't know," he murmured, his anger subsiding slightly. The sudden silence was like a balm to his raw nerves. But Hanna's curiosity angered him further. "Plankton, what..." "I DON'T KNOW!" Plankton's voice pierced the silence, his frustration at an all-time high. Hanna's eyes grew wider. "I'll leave you alone," she said quickly, her voice quiet and soothing. But as she turned to go, she accidentally brushed against his arm. Plankton's reaction was instant and explosive. He jerked away, his body tensing, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, his voice sharp and jagged. Hanna's eyes wide with shock. "Plankton tell me what's..." But Plankton had reached his limit. The touch, the questions, the expectation of normalcy—it was all too much. He felt personally attacked, now on a roll. "You don't know what's what?" he spat out, his voice a whip crack. "You come in here, invading my space, without a care in the world for what I'm going through!" Hanna took another step back, retracting quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she whispered, her eyes filling with sorrow. "Karen never mentioned..." But Plankton's frustration had become anger, his next words cutting like a knife. "You don't know anything," he snarled, his voice laced with bitterness. "You come in here, asking your stupid questions, expecting me to be the same person I was before!" "Before what, Plankton?" Yet Plankton's not wanting to answer Hanna so he yells his next words at the top of his lungs. "Before I...I... YOU KNOW WHAT? IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" Plankton's voice cracked with the effort of his outburst, but he's just getting started, now he's on a roll, his next words being worse. "I don't want you here. I don't need you here," Plankton spat out, his frustration a palpable force in the room. Hanna took another step back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I was just trying to..." But Plankton's anger had taken over. "You're not helping!" he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "You don't get to decide what I need!" He was on his feet now, his body rigid with frustration. "I don't want you to know!" "Know what, Plankton? You don't get to decide what I can and can't know," she said, her voice firm. But Karen's now returned with the smoothie, both Hanna and Plankton too wrapped up to notice her presence. "You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything?" his voice was a growl now. "You think you know what it's like to be trapped in here?" He tapped his head with his finger, his eye wild. "You don't know anything!" Now Hanna's getting real angry. "You think you're the only one suffering?" Hanna countered, her voice rising. "What about Karen? What about the people who actually care about you?" Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, his anger fueled by her words. "You don't know what it's like!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty space of the Chum Bucket. "You don't know what it's like to have the world make no sense! To be trapped in your own head!" Hanna's expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I really am. But you can't just push everyone away." "Why not?" Plankton demanded, his voice a whip crack. "Why do I have to explain?" But Hanna's concern for Karen overrode her own fear. "Karen's my friend and she deserves better than you and your little tantrums," Hanna snapped back. "Tantrums? TANTRUMS?" Plankton's voice was a roar now. "This isn't a tantrum, it's reality!" Hanna's in a defensive posture, her eyes flashing with anger. "You think I don't know what real pain is?" she shouted back. "You're so caught up in your own world that you can't see what you're doing to her, just because you're too stubborn and acting like a child who can't deal with the real world! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A BURDENSOME WASTE OF SPACE! So, if you can't get your act together, maybe you should just go to an institution where people can handle your..." "That's enough!" Karen snapped. Her voice was a whip crack across the tension filled room, startling both Plankton and Hanna. She couldn't stand silent any longer. Yet Plankton's face crumpled at Hanna's threat, his anger giving way to despair. Tears began to stream down his face, his body shaking with sobs he couldn't control. The sudden shift from rage to sorrow was like a punch to Hanna. **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

CATCH IN MY CHIP iv (Autistic author) Plankton looks around, confusion flickering in his eye. "What's going on?" "You had a bit of an overload," Karen explains, her voice gentle. "Too much sensory input, remember?" Plankton's antennas twitch, and his eye widens slightly as he takes in the scene. The mess, the quiet, Chip's tear-stained face. He sighs, his body relaxing back into the pillows. "Ah, yes," he murmurs. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you." Karen smiles, her eyes shimmering with relief. "It's okay, dear. We're just here for you." Plankton's gaze drifts to Chip, who's hovering in the doorway, his eyes wide and worried. "Chip... I'm sorry." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice shaking. "It's okay, Dad. Is your autism causing..." Plankton looks at him, his eye widening slightly. "What do you know about autism?" He sits up, his voice tinged with surprise. Chip sniffles, his grip tight on the seashell collection. "Mom told me," he says, his voice barely audible. "It's why you got overwhelmed, isn't it?" Plankton's expression shifts from confusion to something closer to anger. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me," he snaps, his voice sharp. "I can handle it." "But Dad you just..." Plankton cuts Chip off, his voice edged with agitation. "I said, I can handle it!" Chip takes a step back, his eyes wide and filled with fear. He hadn't meant to upset his dad; he just wanted to understand. "You couldn't handle it, Dad. Otherwise, you..." Plankton's eye narrows, his antennas standing on end. "Don't," he says, his voice a warning growl. "I don't need a little kid telling me what I can and can't handle." Chip's shoulders slump, his eyes welling up. "But I just... I didn't mean to..." "I said, I can handle it!" Plankton's voice cracks through the air, his face flushing with irritation. Karen's grip on Chip's hand tightens, a silent message to stay calm. Chip's eyes water as he stammers, "But I just wanted to help." The weight of his dad's words hits him like a brick. He hadn't meant to make him mad, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done something wrong. Plankton's breaths are sharp and quick, his body tense with frustration. "You don't know what you're talking about," he snaps, pushing the covers off his legs. "You're just a kid. You don't understand." Chip's eyes well up with tears as he looks at his father, the man he's always admired and loved, now a stranger in his own pain. "But Mom said it's okay for..." Plankton's anger flares, his antennas quivering. "Don't you dare bring your mom into this," he says, cutting Chip off again. "This is not your business!" Chip's lower lip trembles, his eyes filling with tears. He hadn't meant to upset his dad, but everything he says seems to make it worse. "But Dad," he starts, but his voice is lost in the wave of Plankton's frustration. "I don't need your pity," Plankton says, his voice rising. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, his movements quick and jerky. "You think just because you know a fancy word, you know what it's like?" Chip feels his cheeks burn, his eyes blurred with unshed tears. "No, Dad, I just..." But Plankton is already out of bed, his legs wobbly. "You think you know everything, don't you?" His words are a jumble of anger and pain, his voice echoing in the quiet room. Chip steps back, his eyes wide with shock. "No, Dad, I just..." He tries to explain, but Plankton interrupts again. "Don't tell me what you 'just,'" Plankton snaps. "You think because you went to some camp you can come back and act like you know me?" His voice is sharp, cutting through the tension in the air like a knife. Chip's eyes dart to the ground, his body shrinking under the weight of his father's words. "But Dad, I just..." Plankton's anger is palpable, his body vibrating with tension. "I said, don't tell me what you 'just'!" He snatches up Chip's new surfboard, the one symbol of joy from camp, and slams it against the wall. The room shakes with the impact, sending a shower of sand and shells flying. Chip jumps, his eyes wide with shock. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice shaking. He's never seen his dad like this, never felt such anger radiating from him. It's like a storm has taken over the room, and he's the only one caught in it. "What are you doing?" Chip asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a step back, his hands up in a protective gesture. "What does it look like?" Plankton snarls, his grip tight on the broken surfboard. "I can't even have a moment without you poking and prodding!" Chip's eyes dart around the room, his heart racing as he tries to find the words to fix this. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to help." But Plankton is beyond reason, his anger a living thing that feeds off the chaos. He turns to the desk, his gaze settling on the pile of sandy photos. "You think your camp souvenirs mean anything to me?" He snatches the pictures, ripping them into shreds. Chip gasps, tears spilling down his cheeks as he watches his memories destroyed. "Dad, no!" He tries to grab the photos, his hands shaking, but Plankton swats him away, the torn pieces falling like confetti around them. The room seems to close in, the smell of saltwater and musty sand overwhelming him. "These are from my trip!" Chip sobs, his voice choking on his own pain. "I don't care about your trip!" Plankton shouts, throwing the remaining pieces into the air. They flutter down like sad confetti, a stark contrast to the joy they once represented. "I care about me! I care about what you do to me with your noise and your energy!" Chip's heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces, each one a memory of his dad's love and patience torn apart. "I didn't mean to," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears. "I just wanted to share..." Plankton's eye flashes with anger, his grip on the shredded photos white-knuckled. "Share?" He spits the word out like it's poison. "You have no idea what you're doing to me! You just keep pushing and pushing, and you don't even notice when I can't take it anymore!" Chip's eyes dart to the floor, his hands curling into fists. "I thought you liked it," he says, his voice shaking. "I thought you liked when I talked about my day." Plankton's chest heaves, his eye blazing with frustration. "You don't get it, do you?" He says, his voice rising. "You never get it!" He picks up Chip's rare seashell collection, the one he'd been so proud to show off, and hurls it across the room. The sound of breaking shells fills the air, each one a shard of Chip's shattered happiness. "Dad, please!" Chip begs, his hands outstretched. "Stop!" But Plankton's rage has taken over, a whirlwind of accusations and anger. "You think this is fun?" He yells, holding up a shard of seashell. "You think this is what I want?" Plankton throws the shard down, the clatter of broken shells like a mocking echo of Chip's pleas. "I don't want your noise!" His hands shake with fury as he grabs the sandy trophy from the camp sandwich contest. "Dad, please," Chip says, his voice small and scared. "What's wrong?" He tries to approach, but Plankton's body language is a clear warning. Plankton's eye dart around the room, his anger a tangible force. "Wrong?" He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. "Wrong is you, coming in here with your stories and your noise and your... stuff!" He gestures wildly at the camp souvenirs, the remnants of Chip's excitement scattered across the floor. He hurls the trophy at the wall, watching with a twisted satisfaction as it shatters into a hundred pieces. "This," he says, holding up a fistful of sand, "this is what you do to me!" Chip flinches with each broken piece, his heart aching. "But Dad, I just wanted to make you proud." His voice is barely a whisper, lost in the storm of Plankton's rage. "Proud?" Plankton sneers, his grip tight on the sand. "You think this junk makes me proud?" He throws the sand at Chip, the grains stinging his face like tiny needles. "You have no idea what I go through every day, do you?" His voice cracks, his anger giving way to pain. Karen steps in, her voice firm but calm. "Plankton, that's enough." Her eyes are on her son, her face a mask of concern. "Chip, why don't you go... dust your screen?" Her tone is gentle, but her gaze holds a silent message: stay calm. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's. He turns and heads for the bathroom, his steps slow and deliberate. The door clicks closed behind him, leaving Karen and Plankton alone in the room.

GREAT CHIP iv (Autistic author) In the bedroom, Karen managed to guide Plankton to the bed, her voice soothing. She knew his senses were heightened right now, his body a battleground. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes never leaving his dad. He felt like he didn't recognize this man who had always been his hero. The seizure passed, leaving Plankton drained. Karen helped tucked him in, her eyes filled with sadness. In the quiet that followed, she turned to Chip, his own eyes red and puffy. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she said gently. Chip nodded, his gaze still on Plankton's exhausted face. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "He'll be fine," Karen assured, her voice strained. "Just tired. This happens sometimes." Chip nodded, his gaze never leaving Plankton's face. He felt like he was seeing his dad for the first time, like he'd been looking at him through a fog and suddenly, it had lifted. He didn't know what to do with the mix of feelings swirling inside him: confusion, fear, sadness. Karen took Chip's hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's go talk, okay?" she suggested, leading him out of the room. They sat in the kitchen, the silence heavy between them. "I don't get it," Chip said finally, his voice still shaky. "Why did Dad get so mad?" Karen sighed, her grip on his hand tightening. "It's not that he's mad at you, sweetheart. It's his way of dealing with the fear and confusion. Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed, and it's like he can't control his reactions." Chip looked at her, his eyes searching for understanding. "But why does he have to break my toys?" he asked, his voice still small. Karen's heart ached for him. "It's not about the toys," she explained softly. "It's about the frustration he feels, the inability to communicate what he's going through." Chip sniffled, trying to wrap his head around it all. "But why does he get so...so...mad?" Karen's eyes were filled with understanding. "It's not just you, Chip. Sometimes, his brain needs a way to deal with everything. It's like his own personal tornado, and when it hits, it's hard for him to keep his emotions from spinning out of control." Chip nodded, still not fully understanding but willing to try. He looked down at their joined hands, his thumb tracing small circles on her palm. "What can I do?" Karen squeezed his hand. "Just be patient," she said. "And don't take it personally. Remember, it's not about you, it's about what he's feeling. And when he's ready, we can talk about it together." Chip nodded, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. He didn't want to upset his dad again, but he needed to know how to help. He didn't want to feel so powerless. "But what if he doesn't want to talk?" he ventured, his voice small. "Then we'll give him space," Karen said, her eyes filled with warmth. "But we'll be here, ready to listen when he does." Chip nodded, wiping away the last of his tears with the back of his hand. "Okay," he murmured, his voice still shaky. "Can I sit with him?" Karen nodded. "Just for a bit, but remember, he might not know you're there right away. Let's go." They tiptoe back into the room, the air still thick with tension. Plankton's eye is closed. Karen knows he's sleeping. Chip sits in the chair beside the bed, watching his dad's chest rise and fall. He reaches out to touch Plankton's hand, but stops. He didn't want to startle him, not after what happened. His mind raced with questions, but he knew now was not the time to ask. Instead, Chip took a deep breath, his hand hovering over Plankton's. He didn't know how to make it right, but he knew he had to try. Karen watched from the doorway, her heart heavy with the weight of her family's pain. She knew this was a moment that could either build a wall or bridge the gap between father and son. Chip's hand hovered, unsure, before finally landing on his dad's. Plankton's antennae twitched, and Chip looked up to see his mother's eyes glistening with proud tears. Karen offered a gentle smile. "You can sit with him," she whispered. "Just don't touch him anywhere else." Chip nodded and pulled the chair closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving his dad's still face. He sat for what felt like hours, his hand resting gently on Plankton's. Every now and then, his dad's antennae would twitch, and he'd hold his breath, afraid that he'd wake him up. But Plankton remained still, lost in a deep slumber. The room was quiet, save for the soft snores escaping his dad's mouth. Chip stared at his hand on Plankton's, his mind racing with everything he'd learned. Autism, seizures, the way his dad's brain worked differently. It was all so new and overwhelming. He felt a pang of guilt for not knowing sooner, for not understanding. But Karen's words echoed in his mind: his dad's reactions weren't personal. It was just how his brain dealt with stress. Chip leaned back in the chair, his eyes heavy with the weight of the day's events. He watched his dad's chest rise and fall, the steady rhythm comforting him. His thoughts swirled with questions and confusion, but he knew one thing for sure: he loved his dad, no matter what. As the minutes ticked by, his fear turned into resolve. He would learn more about his father and try to find a way to support him without setting off the storm of sensory overload.

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iv (Autistic author) "Let's play again," Plankton says, his voice eager. Sponge Bob nods, his smile genuine. "Ok, Plankton pick a board game." Karen watches as Sponge Bob sorts through the disarray of their game collection, his spongy fingers touching each box before finally settling on a card game. "Go Fish!" Sponge Bob exclaims, holding up the battered cards. Plankton's face lights up at the familiar phrase, his antennas waggling with excitement. "Fish, fish, fish," he repeats, his voice echoing the words. The two sit cross-legged on the floor, the cards spread out in front of them. Plankton's hands tremble slightly as he picks up his cards, but his concentration is intense. "Fish," he whispers, holding his hand out to Sponge Bob. Sponge Bob nods, understanding the game despite Plankton's simplified request. "Go Fish," he responds, placing a card into Plankton's outstretched palm. Plankton's eye brightens, and he repeats the action, placing a card into Sponge Bob's hand. "Fish," he says again, his voice slightly more confident. "Plankton you gotta take a card from the pile.." Sponge Bob starts to explain, but Plankton's antennas shoot up, and he interrupts. "Fish from the pile," he repeats, his voice eager. He reaches for the deck and draws a card, his eye never leaving Sponge Bob's. Sponge Bob nods. "That's right, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "Go Fish." Plankton repeats the phrase, his antennas bobbing with each word. "Go Fish," he murmurs, his eye scanning the cards. Sponge Bob nods, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Good job, Plankton," he encourages. "Your turn to ask for a card." Plankton's antennas wiggle as he thinks, his eye darting to his hand. "Sponge Bob," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and focus. "Got any...?" He pauses, his brain searching for the right word. "Got any...?" "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob prompts, his smile never wavering. "Fish," Plankton repeats, his antennas bobbing. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob nods, understanding dawning. "Do you have any twos?" Plankton's antennas twitch in excitement. "Two," he echoes, his voice triumphant. "Do you have any twos?" Sponge Bob's smile falters slightly as he nods, looking at his own cards. He's not sure how to proceed. He decides to keep the game simple. "I don't have any twos," he says. "Now it's your turn to Go Fish." Plankton nods, his concentration unbroken. He scans his cards again. "Got any fish?" he asks, his voice determined. Sponge Bob's smile widens, his eyes sparkling with understanding. "No fish here," he says, placing a card face down. "Go Fish." Plankton's antennas twitch rapidly as he processes the new information, his brain working to keep up with the game's flow. "Go Fish," he repeats, his voice gaining confidence with each exchange. Sponge Bob's eyes widen slightly but he nods along, playing his part. "Okay, Plankton," he says, placing a card on the pile. "Your turn." Plankton's antennas wobble as he considers his next move. "Got any fish?" he asks again, his voice a mix of excitement and challenge. Sponge Bob's smile becomes a bit forced. "Nope," he says, his voice still cheerful. "Go Fish." Plankton's eye dart to the cards in his hand, then back to Sponge Bob. His antennas wave erratically as he tries to formulate his next question. "Got any...?" Sponge Bob waits patiently, his heart aching for his friend. He's never seen Plankton like this before, for SpongeBob doesn't know about the accident nor the diagnosis. "Got any fish?" Plankton's words echo in the silence of the room. Sponge Bob's confusion mounts as he looks into his friend's eye, searching for a clue to what's going on. "No, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice strained. "I don't have any fish." Plankton's antennas drop slightly, his expression one of disappointment. "Go Fish," he murmurs, his gaze drifting to the card pile. Sponge Bob's heart aches as he watches his friend, trying to understand this new, strange behavior. "Do you want to play something else?" he asks, hoping to distract Plankton from his obsession with the game. But Plankton's antennas spring back to life. "More fish," he insists, his voice almost a command. Sponge Bob nods, his mind racing to comprehend what's happening. He knows Plankton's mind is sharp, so why the repetition? "Got any fish?" Plankton asks again, his voice growing more urgent. Sponge Bob's smile falters. He's never seen Plankton act this way before. The urgency in Plankton's voice, the repetition of words, it's all so strange and disconcerting. "I don't understand," he says, his voice small and unsure. "What's going on with you?" Plankton's antennas quiver slightly at Sponge Bob's question, but his eye remains fixed on the cards. "I don't understand," he says, voice soft but firm. "What's going on with you." Sponge Bob's smile falters, his eyes searching Plankton's face for answers. "It's just a game, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with concern. "You don't have to keep asking for fish." This isn't the Plankton he knows, the cunning and scheming arch-nemesis who always has a plan up his sleeve. This is someone else entirely, someone lost and confused. But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. "Fish," he whispers, his antennas twitching in time with his words. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob feels a knot form in his stomach. Is Plankton trying to annoy him? "Plankton, are you ok?" he asks gently, his voice filled with concern. Plankton's antennas stop twitching for a moment, his gaze meeting Sponge Bob's. "Plankton are you ok," he echoes, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for a clue. "Fish." Sponge Bob's brow furrows deeper, his confusion growing. "You don't have to keep asking for fish, Plankton," he says again. But Plankton's mind is stuck on the pattern, his voice insistent. "Fish," he repeats. Sponge Bob's now getting irritated. The echoing of his words, the intense stare, and the persistent demand for "fish" are unlike anything he's ever seen. "Plankton, please," he says, his voice tight with frustration. "I don't have any fish. Let's play a different game." But Plankton's antennas only wiggle more rapidly. "Fish," he insists. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob's patience is wearing thin, his cheery demeanor slipping away. "I said no!" he snaps, his voice a little too loud. Plankton recoils at the sudden change in tone, his antennas drooping. "Fish?" he whispers, his voice filled with uncertainty. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with regret at his outburst. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, his voice softening. "I didn't mean to yell. But Plankton, I don't have any more fish!" Plankton's antennas sag, and his eye becomes unfocused. "No fish," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Sponge Bob's never seen Plankton like this, his behavior so repetitive and unresponsive to his words. It was as if the game had become the center of Plankton's entire world, and Sponge Bob's refusal to play along had shattered it. "I'm sorry, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice trembling with frustration. "I just don't understand why you're so obsessed with fish." Plankton looks up, his eye meeting Sponge Bob's, a hint of hurt flickering across his expression. "Fish," he says again, his voice smaller this time. "Need fish." Sponge Bob sighs, his hands going to his face. "Ok," he says, his voice muffled. "Let's just finish this game."

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iv (Autistic author) Without missing a beat, Plankton starts rattling off a stream of facts. "Jellyfish are invertebrates," he says, his voice gaining speed and confidence. "They have no bones, no brains, but they have stinging cells called nematocysts." "Wow, Plankton, that's amazing," Sponge Bob says, eyes wide with wonder. "I didn't know that!" "Neither did I," Karen admits, a small smile playing. "You've always had a knack for science, but this is something else." Plankton nods, his excitement palpable. "Jellyfish have life cycle," he continues, his voice taking on the rhythm of a lecturer. "Start as polyps, then grow into medusae." Plankton's antennae twitch as he recites facts rapidly. "Jellyfish can have hundreds of stinging tentacles," he says, his voice gaining momentum. "And some species can even clone themselves. It's called strobilation!" he says, his eye glued to the book. His voice is monotone, but the enthusiasm is clear as he shares his newfound knowledge. "That's so cool, Plankton!" Sponge Bob exclaims. "I had no idea!" Plankton nods. "Jellyfish book," he says again, his voice still a monotone, but his tone is less flat. Karen and Sponge Bob share a hopeful look. Plankton's intense focus on jellyfish seems to be providing a small sense of comfort amidst the chaos of his new reality. "I think Plankton might just become the smartest jellyfish expert in Bikini Bottom," Karen says trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe one day we can go jellyfishing together," Sponge Bob says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods, his gaze flicking to Sponge Bob before returning to the book. "Jellyfishing," he repeats. "But Plankton, remember jellyfishing can be dangerous if they sting" Karen says gently with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch. "Dangerous," he repeats, his eye still on the book. "Jellyfish sting, but Plankton have plan." He flips through the pages, stopping at an image of a jellyfish in a jar. "Jellyfish in jar," he says, tapping the picture. "Safe jellyfish." Karen and Sponge Bob exchange a look. "You wanna keep jellyfish in a jar, Plankton?" Sponge Bob asks, voice tentative. Plankton nods vigorously. "Jellyfish in jar, safe jellyfish," he says, his excitement palpable. Sponge Bob leans closer to the book, his curiosity piqued. "What else does the book say, Plankton?" Plankton starts reading off the index and page numbers, his voice a monotone yet steady stream of information. "Jellyfish page 12. Nematocysts, page 34. Jellyfish reproduction, page 67," he recites, his antennae twitching with each number. Sponge Bob leans in closer, fascinated by Plankton's sudden wealth of knowledge. "How do you remember all of that?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Good memory," he says, his voice still flat but with a hint of pride. "Plankton read book." Karen nods, her gaze soft. "Yes, you read the book," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "You've learned so much about jellyfish." Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement as he flips through the pages. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his gaze alight with a passion that Karen hadn't seen in him since before the accident. "You know, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, leaning closer to the book. "Maybe we could start a jellyfish club. Just you, me, and Karen. We could learn all about them together." Plankton's antennae stand at attention at the idea. "Jellyfish club," he repeats, his voice a mix of excitement and skepticism. "With Karen and Sponge Bob?" "Yes," Karen says with a smile, her voice filled with hope. Plankton nods, his antennae moving with the rhythm of his thoughts. "Jellyfish club," he murmurs, the words rolling around in his head like a treasure found at the bottom of the sea. "Yea Plankton who knew, easy as pie!" "Pie?" he repeated, the word echoing in the room. "Pi, 3.14159265358979323846..." His voice grew in confidence as he recited the digits, his eye glazing over as he fell into a rhythm that seemed almost meditative. Karen and Sponge Bob stared at him in amazement as he rattled off the numbers, his monotone delivery a stark contrast to the awe in their expressions. "Plankton, that's incredible!" Karen exclaimed with astonishment. "Pi, yes," Plankton said unwavering. "Circle's ratio." Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "How?" "Pi," Plankton began, his antennae quivering slightly as he found his rhythm. "The ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. 3.14159265358979323846..." He recited the digits as if they were the most natural thing in the world, his voice steady and unwavering. Karen and Sponge Bob watched in amazement as Plankton's eye took on a faraway look, his focus solely on the mathematical constant that held the secrets of the universe's geometry. Karen couldn't help but smile at the sight of Plankton's newfound passion. "It's incredible how you can remember all of that," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "Remember pi," Plankton said, his antennae still quivering with excitement. "Easy for Plankton." "Wow, Plankton," Sponge Bob said, his eyes sparkling with amazement. "You're a math genius!" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the compliment.

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AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iv (Autistic author) The front door clicked open, and Hanna poked her head in, expression uncertain. "Hi! Is he ok?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Come in," Karen called out softly, noticing Hanna's worried features. Hanna stepped into the room, her movements cautious. Plankton rocked slightly in his chair, a subtle motion that Karen recognized as his way of self-soothing. It was a stimming behavior, something he does now. Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, her gaze questioning. Karen nodded reassuringly. "He's okay," she whispered. "He just needs a moment." Plankton sat in his chair, his body moving gently in a rhythmic rock. It was a new behavior, one he'd developed since the diagnosis. Karen had read about stimming in her research and knew it helped him to regulate his sensory input. Hanna, who had returned with a cautious hopefulness, took a seat across from them, curious as she watched Plankton's movements. "What's he doing?" Hanna asked softly, her voice filled with concern. Karen glanced at Plankton, his body swaying gently in the chair. "It's called stimming," she explained calmly. "Plankton, Hanna's here. Do you want to tell her about what's happened with you?" He stopped rocking, his antennae twitching. He took a deep breath and nodded slightly. Hanna leaned in, her eyes full of sympathy. "What happened, Plankton?" she asked gently. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae still. "Plankton... autistic," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Hanna's expression shifted from confusion to concern. "What does that mean?" she whispered. Karen took a deep breath, preparing to explain. "It means his brain works differently now. He's more sensitive to sounds, textures, lights, everything. And sometimes, it's just too much." Hanna's eyes widened, her grip on the chair tightening. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to his trembling hands. "Fight," he began, his voice still a whisper. "With Krabs." Her screen filled with understanding, the pieces falling into place. "The fight gave you...this?" she asked, her voice tentative. Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching slightly. "Krabs hit head," he murmured. "Too much." The words were simple, but clear. Hanna's eyes filled with tears as she looked from Karen to Plankton. "Oh, Plankton," she whispered. "I had no idea." Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze fixed on his hands. Karen watched his struggle to communicate, her heart breaking for him. She knew autism was a part of him now. Hanna reached out tentatively, her hand hovering over Plankton's shoulder. "Can I...?" But Plankton flinched, his antennae shooting up. "No," he murmured, his voice strained. Hanna's hand hovered in midair, uncertain. She looked to Karen for guidance. Karen's expression was sad, but firm. "He's touch averse now, Hanna," she said gently. "It's part of his condition. But thanks for asking." Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. She could see the fear in his eye, the way he shied away from her touch. She felt a pang of regret for her earlier behavior. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice filled with sincerity. "I'd never hurt you.." Plankton's gaze remained on the floor. "No touch," he said firmly, his voice shaky but determined. Hanna nodded, her hand dropping back to her side. "Okay," she whispered, respect in her tone. "I'll remember." The doorbell rang, a sharp intrusion into the quiet of their makeshift sanctuary. Plankton's head snapped up, his antennae quivering with the sudden noise. Karen stood quickly, moving to the door. "I'll get it," she murmured to Plankton, her hand on the doorknob. "Remember, it's okay." Plankton nodded, his antennae still. The door swung open to reveal Karen's gal pal Sandy, face lit up with a smile. "Surprise!" she exclaimed, her voice too loud for Plankton's heightened hearing. Sandy didn't notice the tension in the room, her eyes bright with excitement. "I brought cookies!" she chirped, holding out a plate of sugary goodies. Plankton flinched at the sound of her voice, the sudden change in environment jolting his senses. He felt his heart rate spike, his body preparing for fight or flight. Sandy saw Karen and Hanna sitting in front of Plankton. Sandy knew Plankton's always a loner, so she didn't catch on, nor does she know about what happened to him this week. "Hi Plankton!" she said cheerfully, completely unaware of the sensory minefield she'd just stumbled into. Plankton's antennae twitched with discomfort, the sudden burst of sensory input overwhelming him. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain composure. "Hi, Sandy," Karen said, her smile forced. She took the plate of cookies, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Thanks for the surprise." But Sandy's gaze was on Plankton, who sat stiffly in his chair. "Howdy," she said, her voice a little too bright. "How are you?" Plankton didn't look up, his body tense. "Why ain't ya talking?" Sandy asked, her cheerfulness fading. Plankton's antennae twitched, his body tightening. "Sandy," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. "What's with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp. "You're acting weird!" Plankton flinched at the harsh tone, his antennae drooping. He couldn't explain, not with words that made sense to him. "No." He says. Sandy's smile disappeared, replaced by a scowl. "What do you mean, 'no'?" she demanded. "I don't get it, why are you being so rude, even for you?" Her voice was loud. Plankton's eye darted around the room, searching for an escape from the confrontation. He felt the familiar panic rising, his heart beating faster. But Sandy wasn't having it. "You usually got a lot to say, Plankton," she said, her tone accusatory. "What's wrong with you?" Plankton's antennae flattened against his head, his eye darting nervously around the room. He could feel the pressure building, his ability to communicate slipping away under the weight of her frustration. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper. Sandy's frown deepened. "Sorry? What for? You're acting like a sulfur-brain, Plankton!" Her words were a slap to his face, each syllable a jab at his already fragile state. "Can't ya at least say hi back‽" She demanded. "Hi back." Plankton replied. Sandy thought he's trying to be rude. "You're always so full of it, but now you can't even bother to talk?" Her words cut through the tension like a knife, slicing into the quiet sanctuary they had built. Plankton's antennae twitched erratically, a silent testament to his rising anxiety. But Sandy was on a roll, her frustration with his lack of response fueling her accusations. "You know what? Forget it," she huffed, throwing the cookies down right in front of Plankton. The sharp clatter of the plate was like a gunshot to his overstimulated senses. He flinched, his antennae shooting straight up. "It's like you're not even trying!" Sandy's voice was a whirlwind of accusation. Plankton felt his control slipping, his thoughts racing. "Sandy," he tried again, his voice strained. "Plankton not good now." But Sandy's irritation had turned to anger. "What's your problem, Plankton? You've always been a tiny troublemaker, but now you can't even have a simple conversation?" The room grew tense, and Plankton started rocking trying not to let the tears in his eye fall. Sandy's eyes narrowed, her frustration with Plankton's new behaviors growing. "What's with the rocking?" she snapped. Plankton's rocking grew more pronounced, his antennae twitching rapidly. Sandy got even more annoyed. Her voice grew louder. "Stop that!" she barked, startling Plankton more. He stopped rocking but he starts shaking. Sandy's fury was a storm, her words stinging like hailstones. "Why are you acting so crazy?" she demanded, her voice laced with disgust. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body trembling. The room was too loud, too bright, too much. Sandy's tone grew sharper, her frustration palpable. "What's gotten into you, Plankton?" she snapped. "You're acting like you're not even here!" Plankton's eye darted to Karen, his silent plea for help evident. Karen took a deep breath, stepping into the fray. "Sandy, I need to tell you something," Karen began, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within her. "There's something we need you to know." Sandy's scowl didn't fade. "What could possibly be more important than a simple hello?" she spat out. Karen took a deep breath, her hands clenched into fists at her side. "It's not simple, Sandy," she began, her voice tight. "Plankton had an accident. A really bad one." Sandy's expression morphed from anger to confusion. "What do you mean, an accident?" she asked, her voice softening slightly. Karen's screen was a mix of sadness and determination. "He got into a fight with Mr. Krabs," she said, her voice measured. "And he hit his head. Hard. It... changed him. Plankton's been diagnosed with autism, Sandy," she said gently. Sandy's expression went from confusion to shock. "What?" she whispered, her anger forgotten. Sandy looked at Plankton, his antennae drooping, his body shaking. Her eyes filled with horror as she took in the scene before her. "Oh my stars," she breathed, her hands reaching out. But he shrank away from her. "No touch," Plankton murmured, his body curling inward, antennae quivered with anxiety. Her heart sank. "Oh, Plankton," she murmured, her voice filled with regret.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT iv (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen awoke with the sun, her mind still heavy with the weight of the previous night's discovery. Plankton slept peacefully beside her, his breathing even and deep. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope that was just a bad dream, a fleeting nightmare that would disappear. But when she looked over at him, she knew it was all too real. Her eyes took in the familiar lines of his face, the way his antennae twitched even in sleep. They had faced challenges before, and they would face this one too. Gently, she slipped from the bed, not wanting to wake him. She knew he needed his rest. In the kitchen, she started to make his breakfast smoothie. She had read about autism, knew it could manifest in different ways, but she had never thought it would touch their lives so suddenly, so profoundly. The blender whirred to life, slicing through the fruit and yogurt. The smell of strawberries and bananas filled the room, a stark contrast to the heaviness of her thoughts. As she poured the smoothie into a glass, her mind raced with questions. How would this change their relationship? What did this mean for Plankton's life? What could she do to help him? The sudden sound of footsteps on the floor snapped her out of her thoughts. Plankton. She turned around to see him standing in the doorway, his expression tentative. His eye searched hers, and she forced a smile, hoping to reassure him. "Breakfast," she said, holding out the smoothie. "Your favorite." Plankton's antennae twitched, and he took a step forward, his eye locking onto the glass. "Smoothie," he murmured. Karen clenched at his response, so unlike his usual greeting. "Yes, a strawberry-banana smoothie." Her voice was filled with hope, trying to keep their morning routine as normal as possible. He took the glass from her, his grip careful, his movements precise. He took a sip. Karen watched him. "How does it taste?" she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. Plankton paused, his eye blinking thoughtfully. "Good," he said finally, his voice still subdued. He took another sip, his expression unreadable. Karen's smile grew wider, genuine this time. "I'm so glad. Why don't you sit down?" She gestured to the kitchen table. "I'll get you some toast." Plankton nodded slowly, his movements deliberate. He sat at the table, his gaze fixed on the smoothie. Karen felt the weight of his silence as she busied herself with the toaster. But the pop of the bread springing up snapped his attention to her. "Too much noise," he mumbled, flinching at the sound. Karen sank. She had forgotten how sensitive his hearing might become. She quickly turned off the toaster and approached the table. "I'm sorry," she said softly, placing the plate of toast before him. "Did the toaster bother you?" Plankton nodded, his antennas quivering slightly. "Noise," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen felt a pang of guilt. "I'll be more careful," she promised, placing a gentle hand on his back. She watched as he took a deep breath, visibly trying to regain his composure. They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the new normal pressing down on them like a thick fog. Karen wanted to fill the air with words, to reassure him and herself, but she knew that sometimes silence was the best comfort. As Plankton took a bite of toast, she observed his every move, looking for any signs of distress. His antennae were still, his eye focused on his food. It was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them and their quiet breakfast. But then, she heard Plankton's words. "Breakfast," he murmured, his antennae twitching. "Did the toaster bother you." It took Karen a second to realize that Plankton was actually responding to his own thoughts. She watched as he paused, his antennae twitching again. "Noise," he said, his voice echoing in the silent room. Was he talking to himself? Or was this a new part of his autism, a way of processing information? "No," she said gently, sitting down beside him. "The toaster is okay now. It's quiet." Plankton nodded, his antennas stilling. He chewed slowly, his gaze flickering to Karen before returning to the bread. "Karen," he said after a moment, his voice clearer now. "The toaster okay says it's quiet, Karen said no is okay now." He was parroting her words, but with a slight delay. It was as if he was trying to make sense of them, to process the conversation in his own time. "Yes, Plankton," she replied. "The toaster is quiet now." Plankton nodded again, his antennae still. He took another bite of toast, chewing slowly. Then, out of the blue, he spoke again, his voice stronger this time. "Karen loves Plankton?" "Yes, Plankton, I do," she replied, her voice steady. "Karen loves you very much." Plankton's antennae twitched once before going still. He took another sip of his smoothie, his face a canvas of contemplation. "Plankton loves Karen," he murmured, almost to himself. It was as if he was reassuring himself of their bond. Karen felt a warmth spread through her. This was a new aspect of his autism, but it was also a sign that he was trying to understand his feelings, to make sense of the world around him. "Yes," she said, squeezing his hand. "And Karen loves Plankton right back." Plankton nodded, his gaze returning to his food. Karen could see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to comprehend the change. He took another sip of his smoothie, his antennae twitching slightly as he swallowed. "Different," he said again. "But same love." Despite the confusion, he had managed to articulate his feelings with a simplicity that was both heartbreaking and beautiful. She squeezed his hand, her screen shimmering with unshed tears. "Yes, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with love. "Same love, no matter what." Plankton's gaze shifted to her, his eye focusing on her damp screen. His antennae stood straight up, and he frowned slightly. "Tears," he said, his voice concerned. "Karen sad?" "No, Plankton," she said softly. "These are happy tears." But she knew that might not make sense to him, so she tried to explain further. "They're because I'm feeling a lot of love for you right now, and my body..." "Love makes Karen sad?" he interrupted. Karen sighed, knowing that explaining emotions to a suddenly autistic Plankton was going to be tough. "No, not sad," she corrected. "They're just tears that come when I'm really happy or overwhelmed with love. It's a good thing, I promise." Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed this information. "Good tears," he murmured. "Karen love making good tears." Karen couldn't help but smile, despite the heaviness of the situation. His childlike innocence was a beacon of light in the darkness. "Yes," she nodded, her voice steady. "Good tears," she said again, her thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. "Now, let's eat our breakfast, okay?"

THE LIFE OF UNITY iv (Autistic author) Kevin's smirk is long gone, replaced by a look of shock and regret. "I... I had no idea," he stammers. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know." Plankton's antennae quiver. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you hurt Plankton." Sponge Bob's protectively around Plankton, who is now visibly upset. "You hurt Plankton's feelings," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "You see, Plankton had an accident. He's not the same as before. He nearly broke his skull on a cash register at the Krusty Krab. It changed him." Kevin's expression shifts from shock to disbelief. "What do you mean, 'changed him'?" he asks, his tentacles quivering slightly. "He has autism now," Sponge Bob says simply, never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "It's ok, Plankton," he murmurs, tightening around the tiny plankton. "You're still you." Kevin's eyes widen, the reality of the situation sinking in. "Oh my...," he whispers, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "I had no idea." Plankton's voice filled with accusation. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you didn't know. You didn't care." Kevin's eyes are wide. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's cutting off Kevin's apology. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye flashing with pain. "Kevin not care." "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to be so cruel." But Plankton's unyielding. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye still brimming with unshed tears. "You didn't know. You no care." Kevin's smugness evaporates as the weight of his own words crashes down on him. The realization that his careless jests have caused such pain is written all over his face. His eyes are wide with horror, his tentacles trembling. "I'm sorry," he whispers, starting to touch Plankton. But Plankton recoils at the touch, his antennae quivering violently, his monotone voice filled with panic. "NO!" he squeaks, his one eye wide with fear. "Kevin, no touch!" Kevin's tentacles jerk back as if burned, his eyes filled with shock and remorse. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, his voice thick with regret. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to..." "Kevin, no touch," he repeats, his one eye flashing. "Plankton not like that." "I didn't know," he whispers, his eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "I'm so sorry." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of the fear he feels. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye fixed on the sea cucumber, "you didn't know. You don't care." Sponge Bob's placing himself between Plankton and the sea cucumber. "Kevin," he says firmly with a newfound resolve. "You need to apologize to Plankton. What you said was not okay." Kevin's tentacles quiver, his eyes darting from Sponge Bob to Plankton's trembling form. "I'm... I'm sorry," he stammers, his smugness replaced by genuine contrition. "I didn't know. I didn't mean it like that." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice still echoing the pain of the insult. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye narrowed, "you hurt Plankton." Kevin's expression falls, the full impact of his words hitting him like a brick wall. He takes a step back, his tentacles drooping. "I didn't know," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had... you know." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and pain. "Kevin," he murmurs, his monotone voice strained. "Kevin hurt Plankton. Not funny." Kevin's tentacles twitch, his expression a mix of shock and discomfort. "Look, I didn't know," he says, his voice quivering. "I'm sorry. I just..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice cutting through the awkward silence. "Space," he murmurs, his one eye pleading. Kevin creeps up closer. "Space? What..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and fear, his monotone voice a sad echo of the pain Kevin's words have caused. "Plankton," he murmurs, his one eye wide with desperation. "Alone." Kevin still doesn't understand. "You're not alone," he starts, reaching out. But Plankton's antennae quiver more fiercely, his monotone voice filled with a rare urgency. "No," he murmurs, his one eye darting around. "Space." "I don't underst--" But Plankton's filled with a desperation Kevin had never heard before. "Space," he murmurs again, more forcefully this time. "Kevin, go." "Go to outer space? But..." "Space," Plankton repeats more insistently, his eye frantic. Kevin's with confusion. "But, Plankton we're in the middle of the jellyfish fields." But Plankton's antennae quiver with urgency, his monotone voice unwavering. "Space," he murmurs, his one eye pleading. "Now." "I don't..." Kevin starts, grabbing Plankton's hand. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, and he pulls away, his monotone voice rising. "SPACE!" he shouts, his eye flashing with fury. Startled, Kevin takes a step back. "Where in outer space?" But Plankton's antennae quiver with impatience, his monotone voice tight. "Any space," he cries. "Just go." Kevin's tentacles twitch, his smugness forgotten. "But... but what about the jellyfish? Oh do you mean any planet.." He says, absent mindedly putting his hand on Plankton's back. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, and he jumps away. "NO TOUCH!" he screams, his monotone voice cracking with emotion. "PLANKTON. NEED. SPACE!" Kevin's tentacles recoil as if stung, his eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry," he stammers, taking a step back. "I can't fly a rocket to space.." But Plankton's antennae quiver with rage. "Any space," he repeats, his one eye glaring. "Away." Kevin's tentacles hang limp, his smugness shattered by the depth of Plankton's pain. "But, Plankton, we can't leave Earth without..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with fury, his monotone voice a whip crack. "Any space," he repeats, his one eye narrowed. "Now." Kevin's tentacles retract, his smugness gone. "Any planet other than Earth? I'd like to help but..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration, his monotone voice cutting through the confusion. "Not space," he murmurs, his one eye blazing with anger. "Space." Kevin's tentacles tremble, his smile fading into a look of fear. "I can't get outer space without a rocket?" he says, taking a step back. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, his monotone voice a thunderclap in the stillness. "No rocket," he murmurs, his one eye flashing. "Space. Now." Kevin's tentacles quiver, his smugness replaced by fear. "But Plankton," he stammers, taking a step back, "we can't just go to space without..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with rage, his monotone voice a whip crack. "Space," he repeats, his one eye narrowed. "Now." Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced by a look of pure terror. "But Plankton, I can't just leave the sea," he says, his voice shaking. But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and desperation, his monotone voice a thunderclap in the quiet waters. "Space," he repeats unwavering. Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced by a look of fear as he tries to comprehend Plankton's words. "But Plankton," he stammers, "you can't survive in space. It's not possible." But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, his monotone voice a monotone shout. "Space," he repeats, his one eye flashing with desperation. "Away from here." Kevin's tentacles retract, his smugness dissolving in to confusion. "But Plankton, we're in the middle of jellyfish fields," he says, his voice trembling. "We can't just..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and desperation, his monotone voice a monotone shout. "SPACE!" he repeats, his one eye flashing. "Kevin go now!" Kevin's tentacles twitch, his smugness dissipating like smoke in the face of Plankton's distress. "But Plankton I don't..." he starts, taking a cautious step back. Plankton breathes in and gathers his words together, his antennae quivering with the effort of controlling his emotions. "Kevin JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" he shouts, his monotone voice crackling with anger. Kevin's tentacles quiver in understanding, his smugness evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh," he says, his voice small and sad. "You mean personal space.." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his monotone voice softening. "Yes," he murmurs, his one eye blinking rapidly. "Space." Sponge Bob nods. "Okay, Kevin," he says firmly. "You need to give Plankton some space right now. He's going through a tough time." Kevin's smugness is completely gone, replaced by a look of genuine concern. He takes a step back. "I had no idea," he whispers. "I'm really sorry. I'll go. Bye."

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iv (Autistic author) Sandy feels the full weight of her words crash down upon her. The accusations she had thrown at Plankton now felt like sharp stones in her own stomach. Her mind reels as she tries to comprehend what she had just learned. Autism? Plankton? How could she have been so blind, so cruel? Her gaze falls to the floor, avoiding Karen's. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt. "I didn't know." Karen nods, her own emotions swirling. "But we need to be more careful with him." Sandy's eyes are glued to the floor, her tail flicking nervously. "I didn't mean to hurt him," she says, her voice small and ashamed. "I just thought he was being weird." Karen nods, understanding. "I know," she says, her voice gentle. "But now we know better, and we have to help him." She moves towards the bedroom, her steps determined. "Let's go check on him." They enter the room quietly. Karen's optical sensors scan his tiny form, noticing the slight rise and fall of his chest. He's asleep, she realizes, exhausted from the emotional turmoil. Sandy's gaze follows hers, her expression a mix of regret and curiosity. She's never seen Plankton like this before, his features softer, almost peaceful in repose. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice a whisper. Karen nods, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "He's sleeping," she says, her voice filled with tenderness. "It's been a big day for him." Sandy steps closer, her gaze taking in Plankton's sleeping features. His face, usually twisted with plotting and schemes, is now slack with exhaustion. His eye, usually alive with cunning, is closed, and his breaths come in deep, even snores, his mouth slightly agape. "What do we do now?" Sandy asks, her voice hushed. Karen sits beside him on the bed, her hand still on his shoulder. "We help him," she says, her voice firm. "We learn about his autism and how we can support him." They spend the next few moments in silence, the air heavy with the weight of what has been said. Karen's hand continues to gently stroke Plankton's shoulder. Sandy sits down on the opposite side of the bed. Her gaze is fixed on Plankton, her thoughts racing. She had known him for so long, and yet she had never considered this possibility. "What does this mean for him?" she whispers, her voice filled with concern. Karen sighs, her hand still stroking Plankton's shoulder. "It means we'll have to make some changes," she says softly. "He'll need routines, and patience, and understanding." Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I can do that," she says, her voice filled with determination. "But what about... us?" Karen looks up, her gaze meeting Sandy's. "What do you mean?" she asks, her hand pausing in its soothing motion. Sandy swallows, her eyes still on Plankton. "Our friendship," she says. "How do we handle this without making him feel... different?" Karen nods, understanding her concern. "We just need to be there for him," she says. "He's still the same Plankton, just with some new challenges." They sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the rhythm of Plankton's snores. Sandy reaches out tentatively, her paw hovering over his arm. "Is it ok to touch him?" she asks. Karen nods. "Yes, Sandy. Just be gentle," she whispers. Sandy's paw touches Plankton's arm, her touch light and tentative. He stirs slightly, but doesn't wake. She leaves her paw there, offering comfort without intrusion. Karen watches them with a mix of love and fear for the future. Plankton's autism was still a mystery to them, a labyrinth they were just beginning to navigate. She knows it won't be easy, but she's determined to be by his side. "We're a team," she says, squeezing Plankton's shoulder. Sandy nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "A team," she repeats, her voice filled with resolve. For the first time since the diagnosis, the three of them are united in a common goal: to understand and support Plankton as he navigates his new reality. Sandy and Karen exchange a look, each one filled with a determination that mirrors the other. They've been friends through thick and thin, through Krabby Patty heists and jellyfish stings, and now they're facing a challenge none of them had ever anticipated. Sandy's paw remains on Plankton's arm, her touch steady and reassuring. Plankton stirred, his sleep disturbed by the unfamiliar weight of Sandy's paw on his arm. His eye fluttered open, and he was met with the sight of Sandy and Karen, their faces contorted with a mix of concern and confusion. He sat up quickly, his body jolting with fear. "Plankton, it's ok," Karen soothes, her hand reaching out to calm him. "You're safe." "Karen sad?" he asks, his voice cracking. Sandy's paw tightens on his arm, which makes Plankton feel uncomfortable enough to get him to snap at her. "What Sandy want?" he asks, his voice sharp, his body tense with anxiety. Sandy's eyes fill with tears. "I didn't mean to make you upset," she says, her voice shaking. "I just didn't know." Plankton's gaze flits between them, trying to read their expressions, but his brain struggles to interpret their complex emotions. "Karen sad?" he repeats, his voice a mix of fear and confusion. Karen's hand moves to cover Sandy's, her grip firm but gentle. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice soothing. "We're just concerned about you." Sandy takes a deep breath, forcing back her tears. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Plankton's gaze flickers between them, his mind racing to understand the situation. "No hurt," he says, his voice shaky. "Sandy say Karen sad. No sad." Karen's circuits pulse with a mixture of relief and sadness. "Sandy didn't mean it, Plankton," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "We're all just trying to understand what's happening." Sandy's eyes are cast down, her paws fidgeting in her lap. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice heavy with regret. "I didn't know." She grabs Plankton in a hug, unaware of how the tight embrace might feel to him. Plankton stiffens, his senses getting overwhelmed. "No touch," he says, his voice tight. Sandy quickly releases him, her eyes wide with apology. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to help." Karen nods, her gaze softening. "We all do," she says. "But we have to learn how to help in ways that don't overwhelm him." Plankton's eye darts around the room, with the need to regulate himself. He starts to rock in a rhythmic motion, a self-soothing behavior his new autism craves. The sensation of his own movements helps to calm the storm of thoughts and emotions swirling within him. Karen notices the change immediately and nods understandingly. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "You do what you need to do." Sandy watches, her curiosity piqued by the rhythmic rocking "What's he doing?" she asks, her voice hushed. Karen sighs, her gaze filled with understanding. "It's his way of self-soothing," she explains. "It's called stimming." Sandy's eyes widen, taking in Plankton's rhythmic rocks. "Stimming?" she repeats. "What's that?" Karen nods, her voice calm and patient. "It's a way for him to regulate his sensory input," she explains. "It helps him feel safe and in control." Sandy watches. He starts to hum, a low buzz that resonates in the quiet room, his way of finding comfort in the chaos of his thoughts. "It's ok," Karen whispers, her hand on his shoulder. "We're here." Plankton's eye lock onto her hand, the pressure of her touch offering a semblance of comfort. He starts to rock back and forth again. The movement calms him slightly. Sandy watches. She had never seen Plankton like this before. The sharpness of her words from earlier stings her now, as she realizes the depth of his distress. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice quiet. "I didn't know." Plankton's humming turns to a soft melody, his body still moving in a soothing pattern. The words echo in his head, a reminder of the world's expectations he can never quite meet. Sandy watches him, her own world now forever changed. She had always known Plankton to be eccentric, but this was different. This was real. Her mind reels with questions and fears. How would this affect their friendship? Could they ever return to the easy banter they once shared? Would he still be the same friend she had always known? But as she watches him stim, the reality of the situation starts to set in. Plankton was still Plankton, but with a new set of rules and a new way of seeing the world. Sandy makes a silent vow to learn those rules, to understand his world as much as he had tried to understand hers.

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I'm really happy that some of the kids here haven't encountered any of the negative content around. It's important to actively avoid that kind of material. However, I want to emphasize that we should keep such content off this platform. I know it's unlikely to happen, but I hope this message reaches a few people. >{}< Bye!

JUST A TOUCH iv (Autistic author) The next day, Karen woke up to a meticulously organized kitchen. Plankton was already up, his movements sharp and focused as he arranged the cutlery in the drawer. "Good morning, Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. He looked up, his expression neutral. "Good morning, Karen," he replied, his voice monotone. Her heart squeezed. This was not the man who used to greet her with a cheeky smile and a sigh every morning. But she pushed the sorrow aside and focused on the task at hand: making breakfast. As she began to prep the meal, Plankton hovered nearby, his antennae twitching. "Would you like to help me?" she asked, holding out a spatula. He took it with both hands, his movements mechanical as he followed her instructions to the letter. The sizzle of the chum on the pan seemed to calm him, his gaze flicking between her face and the food. Plankton's meticulousness extended to their breakfast. Every ingredient measured to the exact milliliter, every step in the recipe followed without deviation. Karen watched him, a mix of amazement and sadness swirling inside her. As they sat down to eat, Karen noticed his eye darting between his plate and the clock. "Is something wrong?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light. Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, his antennae still. "Must eat at 7:00," he said, his voice tight. "It's okay, we're a little late," she said, trying to soothe him. "But we're together, and that's what matters." Plankton took a bite of his perfectly arranged breakfast, his eye not leaving the clock. "Seven minutes, thirty-four seconds until 7:00," he murmured. Karen's throat tightened, but she forced a smile. "We'll be done before then," she assured him. The meal was finished in silence, Plankton's precision contrasting with Karen's clumsy attempts to match his rhythm. As they cleared the table, his movements were a dance of order and control, while hers were stilted, filled with nervous glances. In the living room, Plankton moved to his favorite chair, his eye immediately drawn to the bookshelf. His gaze flitted over the books. Karen watched, her heart heavy with the weight of their new reality. The doctor had suggested that engaging in familiar activities could help with the transition. Hoping to ease the tension, she offered, "Would you like a work book?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still. Karen retrieved one from his collection, handing it to him with care. He took it in his hands. It was clear that his intellect had not been diminished, but rather had been reshaped by his condition. Moments later, Hanna came in. She knows Karen's married, but she doesn't know any thing else about Plankton. Hanna's smile was wide and welcoming as she saw the two of them. "Hi, I'm Karen's friend Hanna," she said, extending a hand. Plankton looked at it and then went back to his book. Karen stepped in, her voice soft. "Plankton, this is Hanna," she said, gesturing between them. "Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton." Hanna's smile faltered slightly, noticing the distance in Plankton's gaze. "Hi, Plankton," Hanna said, her tone gentle. "It's nice to meet you." Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze shifting to her briefly before returning to the book. Karen watched the interaction, her heart racing. How would Hanna react to him? Will Plankton like her? Would she still want to be friends with her? Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton and back, her smile slightly puzzled. "Is he okay?" she asked quietly. Karen nodded. "He's just focused" she said, her voice hitching. "I'll go fix us up some chumbalaya." After Karen left, Hanna sat right up next to Plankton. "Hi, Plankton," she said again. He glanced at her, then back at his book. She waited, leaning forward slightly. Finally, he spoke without looking up. "Hello, Hanna. Karen's friend. Good." It was a statement, not a question or a greeting. Her curiosity was piqued by this odd behavior. Hanna watched as Plankton continued to study the book, his tiny hands flipping pages with a quickness she hadn't seen before. He was like a different creature, his movements calculated. She knew something was off, but she wasn't sure what. So she decides to try getting him to interact. "What are you reading?" she asked, leaning closer. Plankton's antennae shot up. "It's a book," he replied, his voice flat. Hanna laughed, mistaking his bluntness for shyness. "I know that," she said, her tone playful as she leaned closer. "But what's it about?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing slightly. "It's about... puzzles?" Hanna's eyes widened. "Puzzles?" she repeated, leaning in even closer. Her proximity was making him uncomfortable, his body stiffening like a board. "What kind of puzzles?" Plankton's gaze darted to her before returning to the book. "Word's," he said, his voice sharp as he focused on the page. The way he said it was a clear message to back off, but Hanna was oblivious to the cues. "Oh, words puzzles!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I love those! Can I see?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached for the book, brushing against his hand. Plankton flinched, his antennae drooping. Hanna's cheerfulness didn't wane as she flipped through the pages, exclaiming over the puzzles. "This looks like FUN!" she said, not taking note of how Plankton's body was taut with tension. "It's a good book," Plankton said, his voice devoid of emotion. He was trying to be polite, but the sensory overload was building inside him. The way she talked, the way she moved, the sound of her voice—it was all too much. Hanna, still beaming, turned the page and pointed at a particularly complex puzzle. "Look at this one! Can you do it?" she challenged, her finger tapping the page impatiently. Plankton's eye darted to the puzzle, his mind racing. He didn't want to disappoint but the pressure was too intense. He can't think! "Sure," he stuttered, his voice small. Hanna clapped her hands, excitedly. "Great! Let's see how fast you can solve it!" Plankton felt his heart racing, his antennae drooping. The pressure to perform was suffocating him. He looked at the puzzle, his mind racing through possible word combinations, his eye darting from letter to letter, but Hanna interrupts him again. "Come on, Plankton! I bet you're really good at these!" Her excitement was palpable, but Plankton could only feel his chest tightening. He wanted to scream, to tell her to stop, but the words remained trapped behind the wall of his new social ineptitude. He took the book, his hands shaking slightly as his eye scanned the puzzle. The letters swam before him, his mind racing to keep up with the barrage of sensory input. "Don't be shy," she said, nudging him. "You can do it!" Plankton felt the weight of Hanna's enthusiasm like an anvil on his shoulders. His grip on the book tightened. He had always been good at word puzzles, but now they felt like a labyrinth with no exit. The room spun around him, the pressure to perform building like a storm in his chest. But Hanna's energy was like a tsunami, unstoppable. "You know, I used to be really bad at these," she said, sitting closer, her knees touching his. "But I got so much better with practice!" Plankton felt his skin crawl, the need to escape intensifying. He was trapped in a conversation he hadn't asked for, with a person who was oblivious to his plight. He took a deep breath, his eye scanning the room for a way out. "How about we try one together?" Hanna suggested, her voice bubbly. Plankton's heart hammered in his chest. Hanna didn't seem to notice his distress, her screen shining with excitement. "It'll be fun! Just tell me the letters you see, and I'll guess the words!" Plankton's antennae drooped, his shoulders tense. He wanted to scream, to tell her to leave him alone. But his newfound condition made the words catch in his throat. "Fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Hanna's screen lit up, and she leaned in even closer. "Great!" she exclaimed. "I'll start with 'C'. What do you see?" Plankton's gaze remained steadfast on the book, his eye darting from letter to letter. He can't see anything with all... Hanna's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, sharp and demanding. "C'mon, Plankton, don't be shy! Tell me what you see!" Her hand reached out, grabbing his arm. The sudden touch sent a jolt through him. Plankton flinched, his body reacting before his mind could form a coherent thought. His antennae shot up, and he pulled away, knocking over the book in the process. The sound echoed in the room like thunder. Hanna's smile faltered, confusion clouding her features. "What's wrong?" she asked, genuinely concerned as she cups his head; and that's it. The dam bursts. Plankton's body goes rigid, his eye wide with pain. He can't take it anymore—the touch, the noise, the pressure, his hand flailing to shove her away. "STOP!" he screams, his voice cracking. Hanna's hand retreats as if burned. Her smile fades, replaced by a look of shock and concern. "What happened?" she asks, turning him towards her with her hands on his shoulders. Which is when he stops moving, unblinking as Karen comes back in. Karen sets the chumbalaya aside as she notices his unresponsiveness. "Plankton?" she calls out, concern etching her voice. Hanna turns to her, her eyes wide. "I don't think he's okay," she says, her hand hovering over his shoulder. Karen's heart drops as she rushes over, her eyes scanning his frozen form. "It's okay," she murmurs, gently guiding Hanna away. "Let me handle this."

TRUTH AND NAIL iv His eye flickered open again, his gaze unfocused. "Wha?" he mumbled, his voice slurred. "Home?" Karen nodded, her smile a beacon in the dark. "Almost," she said, her voice like a gentle breeze. Plankton's eyelid fluttered, his mind a foggy haze. "Home...?" he slurred, his voice barely a whisper. "Almost, darling," Karen reassured him, her voice soothing as the car's gentle purr. His eye rolled back, lid heavy with sleep. The nurse had warned her about this, the anesthesia leaving him groggy and disoriented. But the sight of him, drooling and slumped over, was still a bit foreign. "Home, soon," Karen soothed, her voice a whisper in the quiet car. "Just stay awake." But Plankton's eye closed again, his head lolling back. His snores were the only sound in the car, a steady counterpoint to the hum of the engine. "What's your favorite color, Plankton?" she asked, trying to keep his thoughts afloat. His eye blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused. "Buh...blu?" he murmured, his voice a faint echo. Karen's smile grew wider, full of love and amusement. "Good boy," she whispered, patting his hand. "Stay with me." But Plankton's eyelid were heavy, his mind a swirl of confusion and exhaustion. His head fell back again, his snores a rhythmic accompaniment to the hum of the car. "Stay with me, love," Karen coaxed, her voice a soft lullaby in the silence of the night. His chest rose and fell with each snore, his body relaxed. Plankton's head jerked upwards with a snort, his eye wide for a moment before the sleep dragged it shut again. "Home?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Karen's eyes never left the road ahead, her grip tight on the steering wheel. "Almost, darling," she said, her voice a comforting purr. "Just stay with me a bit longer." But Plankton's body had other plans. With a snort, he slumped over again, his head bouncing on the headrest like a rag doll's. Karen knew he was okay. Just...out of it. "Plankton, stay awake," she urged, her voice a soft caress in the darkness. But his snores grew louder, his breathing deep and even. "Wha...?" Plankton's head jerked up, his eye widening in surprise. "Where am I?" Karen glanced in the rearview mirror, her smile tight. "You're in the car, sweetie. We're almost home." Her voice was a soft reminder of reality, but his mind was still swimming in a sea of anesthesia. "Home?" Plankton slurred, his voice a faint echo. His head lolled to the side, his eye trying to focus on the passing streetlights. "Almost," Karen said, her voice a soft whisper. "Just stay with me." But Plankton's eye closed again, his snores filling the car. Karen sighed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. This was going to be a long night..

NEW REALITY iv (Autistic author) "Plankton," she starts, her voice shaking, "the explosion changed your brain. It's called Autism." His eye widens slightly as he takes in the words, his hand still moving in its repetitive pattern. He repeats the word, "Autism?" his tone curious. Karen nods, wiping her screen. "It's like... your brain now sees and feels things differently. It's okay," she adds quickly, trying to reassure him. "It's just different." Plankton seems to consider this, his hand finally still. "Different," he whispers. Karen nods, trying to smile through her tears. "But we'll get through this together," she says, her voice shaking. "We're a team." Plankton's gaze lingers on her face for a moment before returning to the fan. "Team," he echoes, his hand stilling briefly before resuming its wave-like motion. Karen swallows hard, trying to keep her composure. She needs to find a way to connect with him, to bridge the gap that seems to be growing wider by the second. She brings his hand to her cheek. "Do you feel that?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper. He nods, his hand feeling cold against her skin. "Feel," he says, his tone flat. "Karen warm." Encouraged, Karen tries a gentle squeeze of his hand. His gaze doesn't waver from the fan, but his grip tightens slightly. "Squeeze," he murmurs, his voice a monotone. Her heart racing, Karen decides to experiment with different types of affectionate touches. She strokes his antennae lightly, watching his reaction. His eye flutters closed for a moment, then opens again. "Tickle," he says, his voice a little more animated. Encouraged, she gently traces his back with her fingers. "Yes good." He says. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she feels a glimmer of hope. "I'm going to try some more things, okay?" Plankton nods, his gaze still on the fan. "More," he agrees. Karen takes a deep breath and starts with a soft caress of his cheek, the way she used to do before they went to sleep. His eye flickers slightly, his hand continuing its motion. "Okay," he says, his voice almost a whisper. Next, she tries a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Karen, nice," he murmurs, his antennae twitching. Encouraged, she decides to move to a different type of pressure. "How's this feel; good or bad?" Karen asks, placing her hand firmly on his shoulder when he suddenly flinches and pulls away. "No," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "To hard." Karen's hand recoils, her heart racing. She tries to keep her voice steady. "I'm sorry, Plankton. Let's try something else." Plankton nods, his gaze unfocused. "Yes, Karen. Try." Gently, she starts to rub his back in small, soothing circles. "How about this?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's body relaxes slightly. "Good," he murmurs. Encouraged, she tries a gentle pat on his knee. "This?" "Stop," he says. Karen's hand freezes mid-air, her heart racing. "I'm sorry, did I do that wrong?" Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the fan. "Wrong," he confirms, his voice a monotone. Karen's face falls, her heart sinking. She's treading on thin ice, not knowing what will trigger his next reaction. She takes a deep breath, trying to think of a safe approach. "How about a hug?" she asks, slowly opening her arms. Plankton nods, his gaze still on the fan. He leans into her embrace, his body stiff at first, but gradually softening. "Karen," he murmurs, his voice a little less flat. Karen holds him tightly, her heart pounding. Maybe this is the way to reach him, through physical affection that doesn't overstimulate. She squeezes tighter. "Enough!" Plankton pulls away, his eye wide with anxiety. Karen's heart drops. She'd pushed too hard, too soon. "I'm sorry," she whispers, backing off immediately. She tries again, placing a hand lightly on his arm. "How does this feel?" His eye flicks to her hand, then back to the fan. "Okay," he says, his voice still mechanical. Karen keeps her hand there, willing him to look at her, to respond more naturally. But his gaze remains fixed on the spinning blades. Despite her fear of pushing too far, she gently takes his hand in hers. "Does this feel okay?" she asks. Plankton nods, his movements becoming less erratic. "Yes," he murmurs, his hand still in the same wave pattern. Karen decides to keep trying, moving her thumb in small circles on the back of his palm. Plankton's breath hitches, and she sees his pupil dilate slightly. "This?" she asks. He nods, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Encouraged, she switches to interlocking her fingers with his, feeling the coldness of his grip. "And this?" "Good," he says, his voice a bit softer. Karen tries a gentle squeeze, his hand stilling under hers. "Does this feel okay?" Plankton nods, his smile widening a fraction. Her heart racing with hope, she presses her cheek to his. "How about this?" she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body momentarily still. "Not now," he says, his voice a bit more present. Karen nods, her eyes stinging with tears. "Okay," she says, trying not to let her voice crack. She'll keep trying. Her hand moves to his shoulder, squeezing gently. "What about this?" Plankton's body tenses, his eye flicking to her hand, then back to the fan. "No," he says, his voice a firm rejection. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I just want to help." Plankton's hand resumes its wave-like motion. "Help," he repeats. "Karen help." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I will," she promises, determined to find a way to connect with him. She decides to try a different approach, one that might bypass his sensory overload. "Plankton," she says softly, "Can you tell me what you're thinking about?" He nods, his hand still moving. "Fan. Spin. Like." Karen's chest tightens, but she nods. "Okay, Plankton. Let's talk about the fan." He nods eagerly, his hand stopping for a brief moment. "Fan," he says, his voice clearer. "Spin fast. Like." Karen takes a deep breath. "What do you like about the fan spinning?" she asks, hoping to engage him in a conversation that doesn't trigger his anxiety. Plankton's hand starts moving again, mimicking the fan's rotation. "Spin," he says, his voice still monotone. "Fast. Calm." Karen's eyes widen as she understands. "It calms you?" she asks, her voice tentative. He nods, his gaze finally leaving the fan to meet hers. "Yes," he says, a hint of emotion seeping into his voice. "Calm." Karen's mind races. If the fan's spinning is calming him, maybe there's something here to build on. "Can you tell me more about the calm?" Plankton nods, his hand mimicking the fan's movement. "Inside, quiet," he murmurs, his voice a bit softer. Karen's eyes fill with relief. "It's like white noise, isn't it?" she suggests, desperate to build a bridge between their worlds. Plankton's hand slows, his eye focusing on hers. "It's like white noise isn't it.." Karen nods, hope blossoming in her chest. "Exactly, sweetie. It's like it helps you focus, like it blocks out the chaos." Plankton's hand stops moving, his antennae drooping slightly. "Chaos," he whispers, his eye flicking around the room. Karen nods, her heart aching. "Yes, sometimes the world can be too much, can't it?" Plankton nods, his gaze still unfocused. "Too much," he agrees. "Spinning fan, less chaos." Karen's eyes well up with tears as she realizes the gravity of the situation. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice trembling. "I never meant for this to happen." Plankton nods, his gaze still unfocused. "Not Karen's fault," he says, his voice a robotic reassurance. "Invention go boom." Karen's eyes fill with gratitude, clinging to the knowledge that he understands. "I know, but I can't help feeling responsible," she says, wiping at her cheeks. Plankton nods, his hand starting to wave again. "Fan spin. Calm. Like Karen." Karen's heart skips a beat at the mention of her name. Maybe, just maybe, he's still in there somewhere. "You know, sweetie," she says, her voice quivering with hope, "sometimes people have different ways of seeing things. Like you and the fan. That's your special way of finding peace." Plankton nods, his gaze finally leaving the fan to focus on her. "Special," he repeats. "Plankton special." Karen smiles through her tears. "Yes, you are," she says, squeezing his hand gently. "And we'll figure this out together." Plankton nods, his hand still moving. "Together," he echoes.

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.

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.

PLUSH ONE iv (By NeuroFabulous) The next day, Karen wakes up to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands moving in repetitive patterns over the blanket. The sun casts a warm glow over his face, highlighting his furrowed brow. She watches him for a moment, his concentration so intense it's as if he's trying to solve a complex puzzle. "Good morning," she says softly, not wanting to startle him. His head snaps up, and for a fraction of a second, she sees fear in his eye before it quickly shifts to recognition. "Karen," he says, his voice a little stronger than yesterday. He looks around the room, his gaze lingering on the closed door, the curtains, the picture of them on their wedding day. Karen notices his hand twitching, his thumb tracing the fabric. It's a new tic, a new way his brain is trying to process the world around him, but she knows she can't let her fear control her. She has to be his rock, his anchor in this storm of change. "Do you need anything?" she asks, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand pauses mid-motion, his eye darting to hers. "Karen," he murmurs, almost to himself. "What's on your mind, Plankton?" she prompts, her voice soft. He stares at the wall, his hand still moving over the fabric. Karen watches him. What can she do to help him? What does he need? The silence stretches, and she decides to try again. "Plankton," she says gently. "What's on your mind?" This time, his hand stops moving, his gaze flicking to hers. "Karen," he says, his voice clear. "What is it, sweetie?" she asks, leaning closer. He takes a deep breath, his eye darting around the room before focusing on her. "Karen," he says, his voice a little more coherent. "Need Karen." It's the first time he's expressed a need directly. "You need me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods. "Karen," he repeats, his voice a whisper. Karen's eyes well up with tears of joy and fear. This is the first time he's expressed a need directly. "You need me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods again, his hand still clutching the blanket. Karen takes his hand in hers, his skin warm and familiar. "I'm here," she whispers, squeezing gently. "Always." Plankton's gaze lingers on their entwined fingers, his eye narrowing slightly as if trying to decode a secret message. "You need me to be with you?" Karen clarifies, her voice filled with hope and fear. He nods again, the tension in his body palpable. Her eyes never leave his as she slides closer, sitting beside him on the bed. "I'm here," she repeats, her hand leaving his to rest on his leg. But he jolted away, his body tightening. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, retracting her hand. She's learning the delicate balance of closeness and space, a dance that's unfamiliar but vital to their new life. Plankton's gaze remains on the spot where her hand was, his expression unreadable. Karen wipes at her eyes, willing herself to be strong. "Okay," she says, her voice firm. "Let's try different touches to see which you like?" With gentle hesitation, she begins to explore his sensory preferences, starting with a light stroke on his forearm, watching closely for any signs of discomfort or distress. His hand twitches, but he doesn't flinch. Encouraged, Karen moves her hand up to his antennae, the tenderest of touches. He flinches at first, but his gaze holds hers, willing her to continue. She tries again, stroking them lightly, watching as the tension in his body eases. It's a revelation, a glimpse into his new sensory landscape. "Is that ok?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye closing in what seems like pleasure. "Tickly," he smiles. She tries again, this time a little more pressure. He flinches, and she quickly removes her hand. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice thick with concern. Plankton opens his eye, looking at her with a mix of confusion and sadness. "Karen," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "Want Karen." Her heart breaks for him, for the man he used to be, for the man he's becoming. "I'm here," she says, her voice soothing. "I'm gonna try different touches." Gently, she starts again, her hand hovering above his arm. This time, she watches his expression closely. When he doesn't react, she touches his skin lightly, her thumb tracing circles. "How does this feel?" Plankton's gaze flits to her hand, his eye studying the movement. "Comfort, rubs," he murmurs. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Okay," she says, her voice steady. She then moves her hand to his cheek. Plankton's eye widens. His skin is warm and smooth under her touch, and she can feel his breathing quicken. "Does this feel okay?" she whispers. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his antennae twitching. "Karen," he says, his voice filled with longing. Karen's eyes widen. This is new territory, a place where the familiar has become strange. Plankton's eye locks onto hers, his expression a silent plea. Her hand stills on his cheek, his breaths coming in short bursts. Karen's mind races with the implications of his reaction. She's read that some autistic individuals find certain touches overwhelming. She pulls her hand away. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with apology. "I'll try some more different touches." She watches him, her love a steady beacon through the fog of fear. "How about this?" she asks, placing her hand on his shoulder. His breath hitched, his body tensing. "Plankton," she says gently, "Does tha-" "No," he says, his voice firm. He flinches away from the touch, his eye wide with panic. Karen nods. "Okay," she says, her voice soft. "We'll keep trying." She reaches for his hand, her touch deliberate and gentle. This time, his body relaxes, his hand fitting perfectly into hers. It's a small step, but it feels like a victory.

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES iv The nurse finishes up and turns to Karen with a gentle smile. "He'll be waking up soon," she says. "Why don't you talk to him? Sometimes hearing a familiar voice can help bring them around better." Karen nods, leaning in. "You did so good," she says, her voice filled with love. "It's almost over." Plankton's snores remain consistent, his mouth slightly open as he drools onto the chair. She reaches over and carefully wipes it away with a tissue. The room is quiet except for the soft beeps of the monitors and the sound of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The assistant begins to remove the I.V. from Plankton's arm, his hand steady despite the tiny vein he's working with. The nurse stands by, ready with a cup of water and a comfortable chair for him to sit in when he wakes. Karen's eyes follow her every move, eager for the moment she can take him home. The minutes tick by, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the surgical lights and the occasional snore from Plankton. His drool forms a tiny puddle on the chair, and Karen dabs it away with a tissue. His breathing is deep and steady, the anesthesia keeping him in a peaceful slumber. Dr. Finnegan checks the monitors one last time before nodding to the nurse. "Due to the numbing medication we administered into his mouth, Karen, Plankton probably won't immediately feel his mouth or talk fluently, not to mention the normal confusion from anesthesia." The nurse starts to lower the chair into a more upright position. Plankton's snores become less snuffly, more like a soft purr. "Okay, Karen," Dr. Finnegan says, "You can start talking to him now. It'll help him come around." Karen nods, leaning in closer. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with warmth, "it's almost over. You did so well." Plankton's snoring morphs into a gentle snuffle as his head lolls on the chair. His drool forms a tiny stream down his chin, and Karen wipes it away with a tissue, trying not to laugh at the sight. The nurse smiles at her, patting his hand. "He's just about ready." The chair slowly reclines back, and Plankton's snores change pitch again, his mouth opening slightly more, revealing his swollen gums and the freshly stitched sockets. Karen's heart swells with love and concern. This is her husband, her rock, currently a ragdoll in the hands of anesthesia. The nurse puts down her tools and gently shakes Plankton's shoulder. "Mr. Plankton, it's time to wake up," she says in a soothing voice. Karen squeezes his hand and whispers, "You can do it, babe. It's almost over." Plankton's snores begin to soften, turning into small moans as he stirs in the chair. Karen's voice grows slightly louder, "Plankton, wake up, you're okay." The nurse nods, her hand still on his shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "Time to wake up now." Plankton's snores taper off into quiet, shallow breaths, his mouth still slightly open. A string of saliva stretches between his bottom lip and the chair, and Karen quickly wipes it away with the tissue. His eyelid flutters open, his gaze unfocused and glazed. He blinks slowly, looking around the room as if trying to piece together where he is. Karen's eyes are on him, a mixture of love and concern, as she smiles down at him, and he looks at her with a confused expression. "Welcome back," she says softly. His mouth moves, but a sound comes out, being a slightly slurred mumble that sounds like "Mmph?" The nurse laughs gently. "It's normal for the mouth to be numb. You just had your wisdom teeth out." Plankton's eye widens a little, and he tries to speak again, "Wheah...?" The nurse chuckles. "Your mouth is still numb, don't worry." Karen takes the cue and reassures him, "You're at the dentist, honey. You just had your wisdom teeth removed." Plankton blinks again, his eye slowly focusing on her face. He then looks at the nurse with confused suspicion. His eye widens a bit more, looking at his arm where the I.V. had been, now just a small bandage. The nurse nods. "Yes, you're all done. We're just waiting for you to wake up fully before we let you go ho-" Plankton interrupts with a slurred, "Huh?" His tongue doesn't quite cooperate, and he ends up drooling a bit more. Karen laughs, the tension in the room dissipating. "You heard her, you're okay," she says, patting his hand. But Plankton's not quite convinced. His eye narrows as his mind fights the fog of the anesthesia. "Wha... wha... youw nee thoo do my teethies! Youw shupposht to taketh them out!" The nurse laughs lightly, a kindness in her eyes. "Don't worry, Mr. Plankton, we did. You're all done. Dr. Finnegan took them out." Plankton's gaze shifts to Dr. Finnegan with curiosity. "Who's 'Dr. Finny-gwan'?" he slurs, his voice thick with confusion. Karen laughs softly, "It's Dr. Finnegan, sweetie. He's the dentist. He's the one who just took your teeth out." Plankton's unfocused eye swivels towards Dr. Finnegan, his expression one of disbelief. "Y-you're not... 'Dr. Finny-gwan'?" he stammers, the words sliding out of his mouth like molasses. The dentist chuckles, his face appearing over Karen's shoulder. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice calm. "I'm right here, see?" Plankton blinks heavily, his eye darting between the nurse and Dr. Finnegan, trying to make sense of the situation. "bu’... my teethies," he mumbles, his hand rising to tentatively touch his swollen cheeks. The nurse's smile never fades as she says, "Yes, Dr. Finnegan performed the surgery. You're all set." But Plankton's not so sure. He looks at her hand on his shoulder, the same one that was so gentle when he was unconscious. "You... youwre not... a... nentis," he asks, his words thick with drowsiness. The nurse laughs gently, her patience unwavering. "No, Mr. Plankton, I'm not. I'm just here to help you wake up. Dr. Finnegan is the one who did the surgery." She gestures to the dentist, who smiles back at Plankton. But Plankton's mind is still swimming in anesthesia. "Thent... then wha... who dat?" he slurs, pointing a shaky finger at the figure behind the surgical mask. The nurse laughs gently, not offended by his confusion. "I'm just here to assist Dr. Finnegan," she explains, her voice soft and soothing. "I didn't do the surgery. He did." Plankton's eye squints suspiciously at her, his hand still hovering over his cheek. "Buth... youw... you haz... hands..." he mumbles. The nurse's smile doesn't falter. "Yes, I do. But I promise you, it was Dr. Finnegan who performed the surgery." Plankton's gaze swings to Dr. Finnegan again, his expression a mix of confusion and accusation. "Den... den who... who ish... ish..." his voice trails off as he tries to form coherent words, but his mouth isn't cooperating. The dentist laughs, a deep, hearty sound that fills the room. "It's okay, Plankton. You're just a little out of it right now." He reaches out to give Plankton's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Let's get you into the recovery chair." Karen helps to lift him up, his body feeling like a rag doll in her arms. He leans heavily on her, his legs shaky and unsteady. The nurse supports his other side as they guide him to the chair. "Whathish ish...?" he mumbles, his eye glazed and unfocused, his hand feeling along the chair as if trying to understand what it is. "It's your chair, Plankton," Karen says with a smile, helping him to sit upright. Plankton's gaze travels slowly to the chair. "Chair?" he slurs, his voice barely a whisper. He looks back at Karen, then at the nurse, his eye wide with bewilderment. "Whath... whath do I do wiff thish... chair?" The nurse and Karen both chuckle, the tension of the surgery lifting slightly. "You just sit down, sweetie," Karen says, her voice soothing. "Let's get you comfortable." Plankton looks at the chair with a mix of suspicion and exhaustion. "Buth... I don't know how to siht," he slurs, his mouth barely moving. His hand grips the armrest as if it's a life preserver. Karen laughs softly, supporting him as he sits. "You've got this," she says, adjusting his posture. "Just let yourself lean back." Plankton's eyelid flaps weakly. "Buth... buth how do youw siht?" he repeats, his words slurring into each other. His head lolls back, and Karen and the nurse share a look of amusement. The nurse gently pushes his head back. "Just and relax, Mr. Plankton," she instructs. "We've got you."

CHIP IN MY BOX iv (Autistic author) Chip's door clicks shut upstairs, the echo resonating through the house like a gunshot. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving the spot where Plankton had been standing. With a sigh, she picks up the sensory box, carefully placing the curtain back inside. She knows her husband's anger is not directed at their son, but at his own inability to control his condition. She follows him into the kitchen, finding him slumped over the kitchen table, his head in his hands. "Plankton," she says softly, setting the box by him. He doesn't move, his breathing ragged and heavy. "I know you're upset." He looks up, his eye shimmering with anger and a hint of despair. "I can't... I just can't handle it," he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. Karen approaches, her movements slow and careful, as if she's afraid of startling a wild animal. "What can't you handle?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's shoulders heave with a silent sob. "The... the shame," he whispers. "The fear that... that Chip will think I'm broken." His words hang heavy in the air, each one a droplet of pain. Karen's seen this battle play out countless times, but it never gets easier. She sits next to him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "You're not broken," she says soothingly. "You're just... you." Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wild with desperation. "But what kind of father am I?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "What kind of husband?" Karen squeezes his shoulder gently. "The best kind," she says firmly. "You're the kind who tries, who fights for us every day." Plankton's breath hitches, his eye filling with unshed tears. He doesn't believe her, but her words are a balm on the raw wound of his pride. "But I-I-I-I… I can't control it!" He whispers, his voice shaking with fear. Karen's voice is firm and steady as she replies, "No one expects you to, honey." She takes his trembling hand in hers. "What's important is that we're here for each other." Plankton leans into Karen's side, his body shaking with repressed sobs. He's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Her warmth is a comfort. Karen wraps her arms around his trembling form, her eyes closed tight. "You're not broken," she repeats, her voice like a gentle lullaby. "You just have something extra, something that makes you who you are." Plankton's breathing slows, his body relaxing into her embrace. He knows she's right. "You're not broken," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing balm. "You're just... different." Her words hang in the air, their truth resonating deep within him. Plankton's sobs quieten, his breaths slowing to match hers. He nods, his head resting heavily on her shoulder. The fight leaves him, the storm of his emotions subsiding to a gentle patter of rain. Karen feels the weight of his head increase, his body going slack as sleep claims him. She tightens her embrace with love and concern. Her husband's condition is a constant reminder of the invisible battles he faces every day. The kitchen clock ticks steadily in the background, marking the passage of time. Plankton's breathing evens out, his features softening in sleep. Karen kisses the top of his head, his antennae twitching. Karen strokes his back gently, her mind racing with thoughts of what to say to Chip. They need to talk, to explain things better. Upstairs, Chip sits on his bed, his eyes fixed on the closed door. The echo of his father's anger still rings in his ears, making him feel like he's the one who's wrong. He wipes his tears, his curiosity tinged with a heavy guilt. He decides to go check on his parents. He tiptoes down the stairs, his heart in his throat, each step a silent apology. The kitchen light is on, a soft glow spilling into the hallway. As he approaches, he sees Karen, her arms wrapped around a sleeping Plankton. His dad's head is nestled into her shoulder, his breaths deep and even in sleep. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, filled with a mix of exhaustion and sadness. She stands, Plankton's weight barely a burden to her, and guides her son to the couch. With gentle movements, she sets Plankton down, his body slumping into the cushions. His snores are the only sound that breaks the heavy silence. "He'll sleep now," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room. "His episodes can be draining." She sits next to Chip, her eyes never leaving her husband. Chip nods, his own eyes swollen from crying. "What's wrong with him, Mom?" He asks, his voice small and scared. He's never seen his dad like this before, so lost in his own mind. Karen sighs, her eyes filling with a mix of sorrow and love. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she starts, her hands fidgeting with her apron. "But I'll try." Chip nods, his curiosity still a live wire, but now tempered with concern. "Dad has something called sensory overload," she explains gently. "Sometimes, his brain gets too much information from his surroundings, and gets overwhelmed." He looks up at her, his eyes searching for understanding. "It's like when you have too much on your plate at dinner, and you just can't eat another bite," she continues, trying to make the abstract concept more tangible for her son. "Except for him, it's all the time, with everything he sees, hears, feels..." Her words hang in the air, suspended by the gravity of the situation. Chip nods slowly, his eyes wide with realization. "And the box?" He asks, his voice a whisper. "The box," Karen says, her voice a soft sigh, "contains things that help him cope, things to help calm him down when the world gets too loud." Her gaze lingers on the closed wooden box, the secret it holds now a little less mysterious. Chip nods, his curiosity dimming in the face of his newfound empathy. "Can I see?" He asks, his voice hopeful. Karen looks at him, her expression torn. "Not now, sweetheart," she says gently. "Your dad's not feeling well. But maybe another time, when he's ready." Chip nods, his curiosity now tinged with sadness. He looks at his father, his chest tight with the knowledge that he's caused this pain. "But why was he so angry?" He asks, his voice small. Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Your dad's not angry at you, Chip. He's angry at himself, and scared of what you might think. This isn't something he wants to share with anyone." Chip's eyes never leave his father's still form. "But why?" He whispers, his voice thick with tears. Karen's hand finds Chip's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Because, Chip," she says, meeting his gaze, "it's hard for him to admit he needs help. His personality is..." she pauses, searching for the right words, "It's like he's a superhero, trying to hide his kryptonite." Chip's eyes widen, his thoughts racing. "But everyone has something they're not good at," he says, his voice small. "Why can't he-" Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "Your father's not just anyone, Chip," she says, her voice filled with a mix of pride and concern. "He's a strong man, and he's used to being in control. Having something that makes him feel vulnerable, something he can't fix, it's hard for him to accept." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. He's beginning to understand, but it's a lot to process. "What can we do?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's smile is sad but determined. "We can be there for him," she says, squeezing his hand. "And we'll find a way to help him manage his... moments." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "How can I make it right?" He whispers. "How can I help him?" Karen looks at her son, seeing the man he'll become. Her heart swells with pride. "You already are," she says, squeezing his hand. "By being curious, by caring enough to ask." She pauses, her gaze softening. "But sometimes, helping is just giving someone space to be." Chip nods, his eyes on his father's peaceful face. Plankton's snores are a comforting background to their quiet conversation. He feels a knot loosen in his chest, his curiosity giving way to understanding.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iv ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ (By NeuroFabulous) ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, full of pain and anger. "How could you say such a thing?" Plankton's eye were wet with unshed tears, his body trembling as he stared at his son, his mind racing to process the hurtful words. "Maybe I am a burden," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost in the heavy silence. Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened. "That's enough," she said, her voice shaking. "You don't mean that, Chip." But the look on Plankton's face told her that the damage was done. Chip stared at his dad, his heart racing. He hadn't meant to say those things, but the anger and confusion had just spilled out. He saw the hurt in Plankton's eye, the same eyes that had looked at him with love and pride so many times before. He felt a lump form in his throat, his cheeks burning with guilt. "Dad, I'm, I just..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next. Plankton's gaze was unflinching, his hurt palpable. Chip looked at his dad, his heart racing. He could see the pain etched on Plankton's face, the way his antennas drooped. "I didn't mean it," Chip stammered, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry." The silence was deafening. Plankton's eye searched his son's, looking for any hint of sincerity. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "You've never seen me as a burden before." The words were like a knife twisting in Karen's heart. Karen's eyes filled with tears as she watched the exchange between her husband and son. She had always tried to shield Chip from the harsh realities of Plankton's condition, but now it seemed those efforts had only created a chasm of misunderstanding. "Chip," she said, her voice shaking with emotion, "you know that's not true. Your father is not a burden. He's a brilliant scientist, a loving husband, and the best dad we could ever ask for." Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his words. "But sometimes it feels like it," he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. Karen's eyes searched Chip's face, trying to understand his pain. "Sweetie, everyone has their own challenges. Daddy's just have to do with the way his brain works. It doesn't make him any less of a person or a dad." But Chip's frustration remained, his voice cracking. "But why can't he just get better?" he demanded, his eyes filled with a desperation that neither Karen nor Plankton had ever seen before. "I mean, if he's so smart, can't he just fix it? If not, then why do we have to keep him around?" Karen's heart sank as she watched the conversation spiral out of control. She knew that Chip didn't mean what he was saying, but the hurt on Plankton's face was real. But Chip wasn't listening. His thoughts had turned to a darker place, one fueled by his desperation for normalcy. In a moment of cruel manipulation, born out of fear and frustration, he looked up at Plankton. "Chip," Karen began, her voice firm but gentle, "autism isn't something that can be fixed. It's part of who your dad is. And we..." But Chip cut her off, his voice driven by a desperate anger that surprised even him. "If you can't play with me, if you can't be a real dad, then maybe you shouldn't be here at all," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Maybe we should just... "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, eyes filled with horror. "Chip, that's enough!" she snapped. But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Chip's mind was a tumultuous sea of emotions—his frustration, confusion, and fear of the unknown had led him to a dark and dangerous place. Plankton looked at his son, his eye wide with shock and pain. "Chip," he began, his voice shaking, "you don't mean that. I'm your father. I love you." But Chip's anger had turned to a cold resolve. "It's for the best," he said, his voice eerily calm. "If you can't be a real dad, then maybe it's time for you to go." The words hit Plankton like a freight train. He felt the air leave his lungs, his antennas drooping further than ever before. "Chip," he choked out, his voice shaking. "What are you saying?" Chip's eyes were cold, his face a mask of determination. "I'm saying that maybe you shouldn't be here," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Maybe it would be better for everyone if you just weren't around anymo-" He was cut off by a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Chum Bucket—a wail so deep and mournful that it seemed to echo through the very fabric of their lives. It was Plankton, his tiny body wracked with sobs that seemed too large for his frame. Chip had never seen his dad cry before, and the sight of it made him feel small, his words weighing on him like an anchor. Karen's grip on his shoulder loosened, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and despair. She moved to comfort Plankton, her arms wrapping around him as he collapsed into her embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, rocking him gently. "It's okay." Chip stood there, watching his parents, the gravity of his words finally sinking in. He had never seen his dad like this before—so weak, so vulnerable. A pang of guilt shot through him, and he felt the weight of his own cruelty. Plankton continued to sob, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. Karen looked up at Chip. "Your dad needs us right now," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Please, go to your room and think about what you've said." Her eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness, but mostly, she looked disappointed. Chip nodded, feeling the full weight of his own words crash down on him. He turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last as he went to his own room.

🩸♣

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.

⏳❌

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● [🐱] [🐢] cat turtle ◀ ● ■

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

ྀི🧸▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||||။၊|။•

🌸💮🪷🏵️🌺🌹💐🍉🍑🍏🍈🍇🍈🥥🥕🥦🥕🥥🟨🟡⚪🟡🟠🔴®©a++4€€{\ *ੈ𑁍༘⋆ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི1️── .✦⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ᥫ᭡

NO I ACCIDENTALLY DISLIKED SMTH HOW TO REVERSE ??

no bcuz like why ya’ll beefing on a emoji site 😭💀🎀🎀🇰🖑

⠀⠄⠠⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡃⠀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠒⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢇⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⠒⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⠀⠀⢈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡀⠀⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⣥⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡨⠏⡿⠗⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠎⠀⠀⡂⠀⠉⠓⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠄⠤⠤⢤⠄⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠺⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⡆⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠄⠀⡆⠁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠠⠄⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⢵⠗⢸⠠⠀⡂⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣀⡈⣓⠹⡁⣟⢦⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢅⡩⡀⡇⢄⣭⠧⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢼⠨⠏⣧⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⡅⠗⣗⠂⣟⣽⢹⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢬⡀⣄⡇⡕⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠧⡙⣧⠄⠝⢞⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣦⠁⣹⡁⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⡧⣗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡠⣻⣟⠀⣩⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠏⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⢖⢏⠈⡟⠃⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢂⠀ ⠀⠉⠃⡀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢆⡀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⠃⠀⠀⠓⠤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

｡ﾟ☼ spread the word about palestine! check the facts! Upvote it and repost! ☼｡ﾟ---> F🏽rom the sky to the group Isr@el is going down! From the river to the sea palestine will be free! ⩇⩇:⩇⩇ <--- doomsday will come at random, so support whats right before it happens. ١٥٧٤❤️🇵🇸 فِلَـٓسَـٓــِٰٓطٓـيَنَُ 𓂆🍉🇵🇸 🤲🏽

Hey! People who are struggling ❣️ Just wanted to let you know that I'm always down to chat. If you ever want to hang out or just vent, my digits are [+1 (410)- 205- 0460]. Don't be afraid to reach out! Hope you're doing alright. ❤️

(⎚_⎚) guys I need motivation cuz I have an artwork piece ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) that’s due tomorrow, (must be fully colored) just roast me PLSS. (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝*

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｡ﾟ☼ spread the word about palestine! check the facts! Upvote it and repost! ☼｡ﾟ---> From the sky to the group Isr@el is going down! From the river to the sea palestine will be free! ⩇⩇:⩇⩇ <--- doomsday will come at random, so support whats right before it happens. ١٥٧٤❤️🇵🇸 فِلَـٓسَـٓــِٰٓطٓـيَنَُ 𓂆🍉❤️

guys please dm @kyleeee13 on discord and put them in their place. they were extremely r@cist and f@tshamed me. they also kept spamming me with s1urs and threatening me. please dm them and confront them for this since im blocked by them. ty!

"　" bog space for whoever is looking for it..

Hii! I'm Aaliyah, I'm trying to make a group on here called Site cleaners. Use tags that aren't for drama and stuff, we can try to create our own tag called Site cleaners. - -> The difference is our post will have the message above but then will end with a emoji combo, discord bio or anything of sorts. - - > if you want to join us, just copy this message and spread this around please. **How to clean the site**: - Downvote all posts unrelated to emoji combos like the ones talking about h0rny people, their are minors on here and stuff like that. - Make you look through the site thoroughly so it can be clean. - Try to become our own moderators!! Emoji Combo: 🥮🍂🍁🐻🌰 We mean no harm to this emoji combo site. I love this site. - Aaliyah, Owner of site cleaners.

𐐘🍔🏳️‍🌈𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓶𝓸𝓶𝓶𝔂😫