Hanna Emojis & Text

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

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NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT v (Autistic author) The room grew quiet, the only sound their ragged breaths. Plankton’s eye grew heavy, his body sinking deeper into the embrace of the cushions and blanket. His mind whirled with the events of the day, the diagnosis, the changes, Hanna’s harsh words, and the overwhelming need to escape. His eyelid drooped, his body slowly unwinding from the tension that had held him hostage. "You're okay," Karen murmured, her voice a gentle lullaby in the quiet of the room. "You're safe." The words washed over Plankton like a warm bath, soothing the raw edges of his overstimulated mind. He let out a shaky sigh, his body sinking into the cocoon she had created. The softness of the cushions cradled him, the weight of the blanket a comforting reminder of her presence. His eye grew heavier, the weight of the day's events lifting from his shoulders. Karen's voice was a gentle lullaby, a constant reminder that he was not alone in this new reality. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're safe." The warmth of the room enveloped him, the candles casting a soft glow that danced on the walls. His breaths grew deep and even, his body finally relaxing into sleep. Hanna watched from a distance, filled with regret and sorrow. She saw Plankton’s peaceful features, a stark contrast to the turmoil he'd been in moments before. His small frame looked so fragile, his antennae resting gently on the pillow. Her hand hovered over him, wanting to offer comfort but afraid of the reaction she might elicit. She took a tentative step forward, her heart in her throat. What had she done? Her mind raced with the echoes of their argument. Hanna's gaze lingered on his sleeping face, the lines of distress now smoothed away by the gentle embrace of slumber. She felt a pang of regret for the harshness of her words, the accusations she had thrown at him in a fit of anger. Her hand hovered above his forehead, a silent offer of comfort, but she held back. How could she touch him now, after causing so much pain? Her screen searched his serene expression, her heart aching for the friend she had lost in the storm of misunderstanding. Plankton's features, once twisted with anger and fear, were now a canvas of peace. His antennae lay still against the pillow, a stark contrast to the tumult of moments prior. Hanna felt a tear slide down her cheek as she took in the sight of him, so vulnerable and alone in his corner of the room. Her hand hovered over his forehead, a silent apology for the hurt she had caused. The warmth of her palm was a ghostly presence in the air, yearning to bridge the gap her words had created. But she held back, fearful of the reaction she might stir in his slumber. Hanna searched his tranquil face, the echoes of their confrontation a stark contrast to his current peace. The soft rise and fall of his chest was a testament to his resilience, his ability to find calm amidst the chaos. She felt a wave of sorrow wash over her, regretting her role in the storm that had ravaged his mind. Her hand hovered above his face, the warmth of her palm a silent apology for the pain she had inflicted. But she knew that touch was a minefield for Plankton now, a gesture that might shatter the fragile serenity he had found. So, she simply watched. Hanna searched his features, her gaze lingering on the delicate curve of his antennae, the way his eye was shut, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Plankton's face was a canvas of peace in the candlelit room, a stark contrast to the tumultuous scene that had just unfolded. His sleep was a sanctuary she dared not disturb. Her hand hovered over him, wanting to smooth his furrowed forehead but held back by fear of what her touch might do to him. Her mind raced with a whirlwind of regret and sorrow. What had she said to him? What had she done? Hanna's a storm of emotion, her thoughts a cacophony of doubt and despair. She had never meant to cause him pain, had never understood the depth of his distress. Her hand hovered above his sleeping form, a silent testament to her regret. The candlelight cast a soft glow over his face, his features etched with the traces of his anguish. Plankton's single eye was closed, a tiny line of tension still present between his antennae. His breaths came slow and deep, a stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier cries. The quiet of the room was a stark contrast to the tumult of her thoughts, each breath a reminder of the damage her words had wrought. Hanna's gaze lingered on his sleeping form, her hands clenched at her sides. How could she have been so blind, so cruel? She watched as his antennae twitched in his sleep, his mouth slighty parted. Karen approached Hanna, her movements deliberate and calm. "Look," she whispered, guiding her hand to Plankton's shoulder. "This is how you touch him." Hanna searched her for guidance, the weight of her actions heavy on her mind. "Like this?" she asked, her fingers hovering above his body, unsure. Karen nodded, a soft smile gracing her. "Yes," she murmured. "Gently, with care." She guided Hanna's hand, her fingertips brushing the outline of Plankton's shoulder. The touch was light, feather-soft, a gentle caress that sent a shiver of comfort through him. Plankton's antennae twitched in his sleep, his body responding to the familiarity of Karen's touch. His breathing grew deeper, his form more relaxed under the weight of her hand. Hanna's screen searched Karen's, looking for reassurance. "See?" Karen whispered. "He's calmer now." The gentleness in her voice was a stark contrast to the harshness of their earlier exchange. "This is how you touch him when he's upset," she said, her hand guiding Hanna's. "With care, with love." Under her guidance, Hanna's fingers hovered over Plankton's shoulder, barely making contact with his skin. The touch was a silent promise of apology, of understanding, of a bond that went beyond the surface of their friendship. Karen watched as Hanna's hand trembled, the weight of their situation heavy upon them both. "It's ok," she whispered. "He's safe now." Guiding her friend's hand, Karen demonstrated the gentle squeeze that Plankton responded to, the pressure a silent reminder of her love and support. Hanna searched his face, the guilt in them dimming as she felt his body relax under her tentative touch. "Just like this," Karen murmured, her voice a gentle guidance in the quiet room. Her fingertips traced a circle on his shoulder, a comforting gesture that she knew by heart. Plankton's antennae stirred slightly, his body acknowledging the familiar comfort. "It's all about his sensory needs," she explained softly, her voice a soothing balm. Hanna's hand mirrored Karen's, the softness of her touch a stark contrast to her earlier anger. Plankton's body reacted immediately, his muscles unclenching, his breaths deepening. The room was a sanctuary of quiet, the only sound the soft sigh of relief. Karen never left Plankton, her gaze a silent instruction. "You see?" she whispered. Hanna nodded, her hand trembling slightly as she mirrored Karen's movements. The contact was light, almost ethereal, a silent communication that transcended words. She felt him relax under her touch, his breaths growing deeper. "It's okay," Karen murmured, her voice a gentle reassurance. The candlelight danced on the walls, casting shadows that seemed to hold their breath as they watched over him. Plankton's sleep grew more peaceful, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. Under Karen's guidance, Hanna's hand grew steadier, her touch a silent apology. Each stroke, each squeeze, was a promise to learn, to understand, to be a better friend. The softness of her movements was a stark contrast to the harshness of her words, a testament to her willingness to change. Plankton's body grew still, his antennae lying flat against the pillow. The room was a sanctuary of quiet, the candle's glow a gentle reminder of the love that surrounded him. Hanna watched him filled with sorrow and regret. "Thank you," she whispered to Karen, her voice a fragile thread in the stillness. Karen never left his peaceful visage, a silent prayer of gratitude for the calm they had restored. "You have to understand," she murmured, her voice a gentle teach. "He has a condition..” "I just... I thought he was being difficult." The words hung in the air, a confession of ignorance and pain. Karen ached for her friend, the depth of her remorse evident. "It's not difficulty," Karen explained gently. "It's just... different." Hanna's screen searched hers, a flicker of understanding beginning to dawn. "I didn't know," she whispered, her voice a plea for forgiveness. "I didn't mean to hurt him." Karen nodded, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "I know," she said softly. "But now you do. And now, we learn together."

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT iii (Autistic author) The door creaks open, and Karen turned to see Hannapoking her head in. Hanna's never met Plankton. "Hi, Karen," Hanna called, warm and cheerful. "How's the Chum Bucket running today?" Karen forced a smile at the sight of Hanna. She hadn't told anyone about Plankton's condition yet. "Oh, you know," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Just another day." Plankton's eye snapped up at the sound of Hanna's voice, his gaze intense. Karen felt a flicker of anxiety. Would he be able to handle the unpredictability of a guest? "Plankton, this is Hanna," Karen introduced. "Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton. I’m going to clean up the yard." As Karen left, Hanna's screen lit up. "The one and only!" she exclaimed, moving in for a hug. Plankton recoiled at the sudden physical contact. "No touch," he said, a sudden snap of command. Hanna, taken aback, froze. "Oh, I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "No touch," he repeated in a way that was both defensive and pleading. Hanna took a step back, her smile faltering. Plankton's eye darted around the room, his breaths shallow and quick. The sudden intrusion into his personal space had triggered a storm of sensory overload, his brain struggling to process the unexpected contact. "I'm sorry," Hanna began. "No touch!" His voice was a whipcrack in the silence, his body tensing. Hanna's smile had disappeared completely, replaced by a look of confusion and concern. "Plankton, I didn't mean to upset you," she said. "Can we start over?" But Plankton's agitation only grew. "No touch!" he snapped again. Hanna took in his distress. "I'm sorry," she stuttered, her voice tentative. But Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the spot where her hand had been, his body a taut wire of frustration. "No touch," he murmured, his voice a mix of anger and fear. Hanna's trying to understand, her own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and concern. "I didn't know." "No touch," he whispered. "What's going on, Plankton?" she asked. "You're scaring me." "No touch," he repeated, his body now vibrating with tension. Hanna felt her own frustration rising. "I said sorry," she retorted, her voice rising. "What more do you want?" Plankton's antennae shot up, his whole body quivering. "Understand!" he bellowed, the word no longer a mere echo but a demand. "Understand!" "Plankton, what's happening to you?" "Understand," he spat. "Need to... understand!" "I don't get it, Plankton," she said. "What do you want from me?" "No touch!" he shouted. The cucumber slices bounced off the plate, scattering across the floor. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded, her own anger rising. "Why are you acting like this?" But Plankton's rage had overtaken him, his need to be understood like a wildfire in his mind. "Need to... understand!" he yelled, his voice a desperate cry in the storm of his emotions. Hanna felt a wave of anger crash over her. "I don't get it!" she exclaimed, voice rising. "What's your problem?" "No touch!" he screamed again, his body a coil of tension. "Why are you acting like this?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "What's wrong with a simple hello?" Plankton's head snapped up, his eye locking onto hers. "Wrong," he said, the word a hiss. "Wrong!" "What do you mean, 'wrong'?" she challenged. "You're the one freaking out over a hug!" But Plankton was lost in his own world, his brain struggling to make sense of the chaotic sensory input. "No touch," he repeated. "Need... to... understand!" "I've had enough of this!" she shouted, her fists clenching. "What is your problem?" Plankton's eye darted around the room, his thoughts a blur of past and present. "Problem," he murmured. His hand shot out, slapping the cucumber plate off the table, the shatter of porcelain sharp in the silence. "Wrong," he murmured again, his voice a mix of anger and despair. "Need... to... understand." Hanna's own anger grew with each repetition, her voice rising. "I'm not the one with a problem!" she shot back. "You're the one who can't even handle a hug!" "Understand!" he shouted, his body shaking. "Need to understand!" His hand slammed on the table again, knocking over their drinks. The room was now a battlefield of emotions, each collision sending shockwaves through the air. Hanna's frustration boiling over. "What's your deal, Plankton?" she spat, each syllable laced with anger. But Plankton's fury was a volcano erupting, his voice a guttural roar. "Wrong!" he shouted. "Wrong!" He hugs his knees and started to rock in stimming, his body a maelstrom of sensory overload. Hanna, unable to comprehend his distress, felt her own anger flare. "What's your deal?" she yelled. "Why can't you just act normal?" Plankton's world was spinning, his senses assaulted by the sharpness of Hanna's tone. "No touch," he murmured, his voice a plea lost in the din of his thoughts. Hanna's screen flashed with irritation. "I said I'm sorry," she snapped, her voice like a whip. "What more do you want?" "No touch," he repeated, his voice a desperate cry for understanding as he rocked. Hanna's confusion grew with each repetition, her patience wearing as thin as the tension in the room. "Why are you doing this?" she shouted, her voice a mirror of his own frustration. Plankton's body was a tangle of emotion, his limbs flailing in a desperate attempt to communicate. "Wrong," he said, his voice a tornado of pain. "Need... to... understand!" Hanna took a step back, her face a mask of disbelief. "What's gotten into you?" she demanded, her own anger a match to his. "I didn't do anything wrong!" Plankton's eye grew wild, his body jerking as he tried to find the words to explain his pain. "Wrong," he insisted, his voice a tornado of frustration. "Need to... understand!" Hanna's own anger grew sharp as a knife. "What's your problem, Plankton?" she yelled. "You're acting like a maniac, I don’t know why Karen puts up with this!" “Karen?” Plankton shook. The question hung in the air, a challenge thrown down, a spark in his eye. Hanna's anger grew, her voice a crescendo of accusation. "Your wife loved you, Plankton, despite your... quirks. Can't you just be grateful for that? Can’t you see how much she's trying?" But Plankton's fury was a hurricane, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. "Wrong!" he shouted, his body rigid. "Need to understand!" The room vibrated with his pain, his need to communicate the storm raging within him. Hanna's a gale force of accusation. "What's your problem?" she screamed, each word a shard of ice. Plankton's eye darted around the room, his antennae trembling with the overwhelming noise. “If only Karen knew what a monster you really are, perhaps she would leave you!” She yells loud enough to alarm Karen. Her words hit him like a tidal wave, crashing over his already fractured reality. The world around him grew distant, his eye glazed over as he tried to process the onslaught of emotions. His body froze, every muscle locked in place. Karen, drawn by the commotion, rushed back inside with dread. She took in the scene with a gasp, Hanna's screen flushed with anger, Plankton's body a statue of despair. "What's happening?" she demanded, her screen flicking from one to the other. Hanna's gaze met hers, her voice filled with exhaustion. "Your husband just lost it over a simple hug," she told, her hands still shaking. Karen took in Plankton's rigid form. "Oh no," she murmured, as Hanna notices Plankton and his unblinking stare. "What's wrong with him?" Hanna asked, her anger dissipating in the face of his sudden stillness. Karen's with concern as she rushed to his side. "It's ok, I've got you." Plankton's body remained stiff, his eye unblinking as he froze in place. Hanna took in his pallor, the starkness of his features against the chaos of the room. "What's going on?" she whispered, the fight draining from her voice. Karen's screen met hers, desperation etched into her features. "Hanna, what did you say to him?" she pleaded, her voice a symphony of fear. Hanna's expression softened at the sight of Plankton's frozen form. "I... I didn't mean to upset him," she stuttered, her words tripping over themselves. "I just gave him a hug, and he went crazy. He kept saying 'no touch' and 'need to understand'. And I told him you deserve better, that's all." Karen's feeling shattered at the revelation. Her eyes filled with tears as she took in Plankton's lifeless form. “Hanna, tell me what exactly you said to about him..” Hanna, her anger now replaced with a deep sorrow, recounted their interaction, her words falling like heavy rain. Karen listened, upsettingly sinking with each syllable. "He said 'no touch', right?" Karen whispered, her voice a thread of hope. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed." Hanna nodded, her anger giving way to worry. "Yes, and he kept repeating 'need to understand'. I didn't know what to do and got frustrated with him, and I said you deserve a better life." Karen's gaze never left Plankton's still form as she absorbed Hanna's words. The doctor's voice echoed in her mind: his autism wasn't a choice, it was his reality. "Hanna, please," she said, her voice a whisper of despair. "He's not a monster, he's just different." Hanna's expression softened, her own filling with regret. "I'm sorry, Karen," she said, her voice a quiet apology. "I should have known better." Karen's gaze remained locked on Plankton, her heart racing. She knew she had to help him, had to bring him back from the edge of this sensory apocalypse. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice a gentle whisper. "It's ok." Her hand reached out to him, a bridge of comfort in the storm of his overwhelmed mind. "Look at me, Plankton," she soothed, her voice a soft lullaby. "I'm here. It's just us." Slowly, his gaze shifted to her, his pupil contracting in the face of her calm. "It's okay," she whispered. "You're okay."

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT iv (Autistic author) Karen's voice was a beacon of peace in the tempest of his thoughts. He blinked once, twice, his antennae drooping in defeat. The room around them was a shambles, a testament to the battle he'd waged within himself. Sensing his distress, Karen spoke again, her tone soothing. "Remember, Plankton, no one's going to hurt you," she said, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You're safe here." Plankton's body began to uncoil, his breathing slowing as his gaze focused on her. "Safe?" he echoed, the word a question. Karen nodded, her smile gentle. "Safe," she assured him. "We're going to take this one step at a time, together." Hanna watched the exchange, her anger replaced by a deep sorrow. She had never seen her friend in such pain, and the knowledge that she had played a part in it was a heavy weight on her heart. "I'm sorry Plankton," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. But Plankton was lost in his own world, his mind echoing with the harshness of her words. "Maniac," he murmured, his voice a hollow imitation of Hanna's. "Leave you," he added, his eye swiveling back to Karen. Karen's heart ached at the sound of his echoed pain, her throat tight with unshed tears. "It's okay," she whispered, her hand resting gently on his arm. "You're not a maniac, Plankton." Her voice was a soft caress, a balm to his bruised psyche. But his echo continued, "Leave you," his voice a hollow reflection of Hanna's accusation. Karen's eyes grew wet as she looked at him, her heart breaking for his confusion. "No one's leaving, Plankton," she said firmly. "We're in this together." Hanna's brimming with tears, her own anger now a distant memory. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she choked out. "I didn't know." But Plankton's echolalia continued, each word a shard of Hanna's anger stabbing his psyche. "Monster," he repeated, his voice a haunting echo. "Ungrateful." Hanna's heard her own harsh words reflected back at her. "Plankton, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't know." Karen's gaze remained steadfast on Plankton's, her fingers gently stroking his arm. "You're not a monster," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his soul. "You're just... different." The echoes of Hanna's words still hung in the air, a sharp reminder of the hurt that had been dealt. Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae drooping. "Plankton what’s your problem just act normal," he echoed, the word a whispered admission. Karen's filled with pain as she heard the echoes of Hanna's accusations. "You're not a problem," she said, her voice a soft reassurance. "You're just... you." But Plankton's echo grew louder, "Just you," he repeated, his face a mask of distress. "Wife... better." Karen wrenched at the thought of him feeling less than, his autism a prison of misunderstanding. "You're not a problem, Plankton," she whispered fiercely, her hand gripping his. Her voice was a lifeline, a reminder that he was loved, that his existence was not a mistake. But the echoes of Hanna's words continued, a relentless beat in his head. "Better," he murmured, his voice a shadow of hope. Karen's heart broke as she heard the echo of his own fear, the doubt planted by Hanna's accusation. "Better," he said again, the word a prayer. Her hand tightened on his. "You're not a problem," she said, her voice a declaration. "You're not something to be fixed." Plankton's eye searched hers, a flicker of hope. Karen knew she had to help him find peace amidst the storm of accusations. "You're not a monster." He stared at her, eye brimming with tears, his body curling in on itself. The weight of Hanna's words pressed down on him, his shoulders trembling with the effort to hold it all in. But the dam broke, and tears streamed down his face, each one a silent confession of his pain. Karen's heart clenched as she watched him, her own eyes filling with tears of empathy. Hanna stood there, her anger now replaced by a deep sense of guilt and sadness. "Plankton," she began, her voice trembling as she touched his shoulder. "NO!" Plankton screamed, pushing Hanna's hand away with such force that she stumbled back. "What's wrong?" she choked, her hands reaching out in an instinctive plea for peace. But Plankton was a whirlwind, his body trembling with the effort to push back against her touch. "No more," he murmured, his voice a whisper. "No more." Hanna stepped back, her hands dropping to her sides, her heart racing. "I'm sorry," she stammered. Plankton's eye remained on Karen, his body a tight coil of emotion. "No more," he whispered, the words a prayer for understanding. Karen could see the pain in his expression, the fear that Hanna's touch had brought to the surface. But Plankton's mind was a labyrinth of pain, each twist and turn a reflection of Hanna's accusations. "You," he murmured, his voice a whisper of accusation. Hanna felt a chill run down her spine, his gaze a knife that sliced through her. "Plankton, I didn't mean..." Hanna began. "Hanna hurt me," he murmured, his voice a ghostly echo of the anger he felt. Karen watched the scene unfold. "No, Plankton," she said gently. "Hanna didn't mean to hurt you. She just doesn't understand." Her voice was a soft breeze, trying to calm the storm in his mind. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on Hanna, his eye a whirlpool of emotion. "Hurt," he murmured, the word a cry of betrayal. "Hanna hurt." His voice was a whisper of pain. Hanna felt the weight of his accusation, her chest tightening as she realized the depth of his distress. "I didn't mean to," she whispered, her voice a desperate appeal for forgiveness. But Plankton was a fortress, his walls high and thick, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. "No more," he murmured again, his voice a plea for solace. Karen ached as she watched the two of them, the gulf of misunderstanding yawning wide. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispered, her voice a gentle guide. "Hanna's just trying to help." But Plankton's gaze was unyielding, his antennae still. "You," he repeated, his voice a solemn echo. "Hanna... no." Hanna felt the chill of his rejection, her hand hovering in midair as she searched for words to bridge the gap. "I'm sorry," she choked out, tight with unshed tears. "I didn't know Plankton," she began, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to upset you." But Plankton's mind was a labyrinth of sensory input, his body a taut bowstring. "Stop," he murmured, his voice a desperate plea for peace. "Need stop." But Karen knew that words alone would not be enough to bring his world back into focus. With gentle movements, she guided Plankton into a quiet corner of the room, her touch a silent promise of safety. The softness of the cushions under him was a comforting contrast to the harshness of the words still echoing in his mind. She wrapped a weighted blanket around his shaking form, the pressure a grounding force against the storm within. Karen dimmed the lights, reducing the sensory assault on his overwhelmed senses. The flicker of candlelight cast a warm glow over the space, creating a haven from the chaos. "It's ok," she whispered, her voice a gentle reminder of his sanctuary. Plankton's antennae still twitched, his eye darting around the room, but the softness of the blanket was a steadfast reminder of his wife's embrace. He took a deep breath, the scent of lavender filling the air, a calming balm to his frayed nerves. “Thanks; I love you Karen.” Karen’s filled with relief and love as she watched his tense form slowly relax. “I know, Plankton,” she whispered, her hand stroking his arm. “And I love you too.” The gentle rhythm of her touch was a metronome to his racing heart, each stroke bringing him closer to the calm he craved.

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT vi (Autistic author) They stepped back, giving Plankton the space he needed. The room was a sanctuary of quiet, the candle's glow a reminder of the peace they sought. Hanna's eyes searched the floor, the gravity of her words heavy on her mind. Later, Plankton woke to the soft rustle of pages, the scent of books filling the room. His eyelid fluttered open to find Karen and Hanna sitting side by side, their heads bent over some magazine. Karen looked up with a gentle smile. "Hi, Plankton," she said, her voice a warm embrace. "Feeling better?" He sat up slowly, the weight of the blanket a comforting reminder of the safety he'd found in sleep. His antennae twitched, taking in the scene before him: Hanna, her expression a mixture of sadness and hope. He studied her for a moment, his mind racing with the echoes of their argument. Karen's eyes searched his, looking for signs of distress. But what she found was a determined calm, a hint of understanding. "You're okay," she murmured, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. Plankton nodded slowly, his eye taking in the sight of Hanna, her expression tentative. "Hanna," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of their earlier exchange. "Karen." Hanna's gaze shot up, brimming with unshed tears. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice a plea for forgiveness. "I'm sorry." He studied her, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The storm of their confrontation was still fresh in his memory, yet both Karen and Hanna looked more gentle. "Hanna," he began, his voice a soft ripple in the quiet. "I'm not monster." The words echoed in the room, a testament to the pain he'd felt. "I know," she whispered, her voice a plea for understanding. "I'm sorry." With methodical precision, Plankton began to organize the magazines scattered on the coffee table. Each publication was met with his focused eye, categorized by topic and size, then arranged in neat rows. The rustling of pages was a soothing symphony to his overstimulated senses. His antennae, once a whirlwind of agitation, grew still. The doorbell rang, a sharp intrusion into the quiet. Plankton's eye widened, his body stiffening. A moment of panic gripped him, his heart racing. Karen's gentle voice called out, "I'll get it." The door creaked open, and in walked a beacon of joy: SpongeBob SquarePants, his eyes wide and welcoming. "SpongeBob!" Plankton's voice was a squeal of delight. He shot up from the couch, his movements jerky with excitement. Sponge Bob's eyes lit up, his face a beacon of friendship and warmth. "Plankton!" he exclaimed, his voice a bubble of cheer. Plankton's antennae quivered with joy, the storm of his emotions giving way to a torrent of happiness. His eye locked on Sponge Bob. With a bound, he rushed to his friend, his body a whirl of energy. "Sponge Bob!" he called, his voice a blend of excitement and relief. The sight of the cheerful sponge was a balm to his raw nerves. Sponge Bob took a step back, his eyes wide with surprise at the sudden onslaught. "Plankton!" he exclaimed, his voice a cheerful burst of bubbles. "What's got you all riled up?" But Plankton was beyond words, his body a whirlwind of affection. He threw his arms around Sponge Bob in a fierce hug, his antennae wrapping around his friend in a gesture that was both protective and desperate. The force of his embrace was overwhelming, a testament to the love he felt for the sponge that had always been there for him. Sponge Bob's eyes grew wider, his body stiff with surprise. "Plankton?" he asked, his voice muffled against the tiny creature's chest. "What’s up little buddy?" But Plankton was waving his arms, his hands flap-flipping in a rhythmic dance of joy from his love for Sponge Bob. His body was a symphony of stimming, a beautiful chaos that only he understood. Sponge Bob's eyes grew wider, his body relaxing into the embrace. "Hey, pal," he chuckled, his voice a warm embrace. "It's okay." He patted Plankton's back, the contact grounding him. Plankton's antennae quivered against Sponge Bob's porous skin, his heart racing with joy. The sponge's carefree laughter was a soothing wave that washed over him. He pulled back slightly, his single eye sparkling. "Sponge Bob," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper of adoration. The sight of his friend's happiness brought a smile to Sponge Bob's face. "Plankton," he said, his voice filled with concern. "What happened? You seem... different." Plankton took a step back, his antennae drooping. SpongeBob's eyes searched his, confusion in his gaze. "Plankton, are you okay?" he asked, his voice a gentle worry. Plankton's eye drifted to the floor, his body suddenly still. The whirlwind of emotions from before had given way to a quiet sadness. Hanna's voice echoed in his mind, the harshness of her accusation a stark contrast to Sponge Bob's gentle tone. He felt the word 'monster' resonate within him, a reminder of the pain she had caused. With a deep breath, he looked up, his antennae twitching, his throat tight with emotion. "A monster," he murmured, the words a painful echo. Sponge Bob's eyes grew bigger, his smile fading. "What? You're not a monster, Plankton," he said, his voice a soothing wave. "You're just... you." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body tightening with the memory of Hanna's words. "Monster," he echoed, his voice a sad mimicry. "A monster." Sponge Bob's eyes grew bigger, his smile fading completely. "No, Plankton," he said firmly, his voice a wave of reassurance. "You're not a monster." But Plankton's gaze was faraway, his thoughts a whirlwind of Hanna's accusations. He echoed Sponge Bob's words back, his voice a sad mirror. "Not a monster?" Sponge Bob's confusion deepened, his eyes searching Plankton's. "What's going on, buddy?" he asked, his voice a gentle inquiry. "Why would anyone say that?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his thoughts racing. He looked up at his friend, his expression a mask of uncertainty. "Hanna," he whispered, the name a poison on his lips. "Hanna said." Sponge Bob's gaze sharpened, his eyes searching Plankton's. "What did she say?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. Plankton's antennae drooped, the weight of his emotions a heavy burden. "She said I was difficult," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of pain. "That Plankton ungrateful." Sponge Bob's eyes grew even wider, his smile completely gone. "What? No, Plankton," he protested, his voice a warm embrace. "You're not difficult. You're just... you know, you’re Plankton." His words hung in the air, his confusion palpable. Plankton stared at him, his antennae still. "But Hanna said..." he began, his voice trailing off. Karen and Hanna, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, stepped forward in unison. Karen's eyes were filled with concern, her hand reaching out to Plankton's. "It's okay," she murmured. "We need to talk about what happened." Hanna's face was etched with remorse, her hand hovering uncertainly in the air. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she whispered. "I didn't mean to say those things." Karen stepped forward, her expression a blend of love and firmness. "It's okay," she said, her voice a gentle command. "But we need to explain." Plankton nodded, his antennae still quivering with emotion. He took a deep breath and began his story, his words a soft echo of what had occurred. "Plankton’s invention, it didn't work as planned. There was a loud noise, and then..." His voice trailed off, his gaze focusing on a point in the distance. Sponge Bob and Hanna exchanged glances, their eyes filled with concern. "What happened, Plankton?" Sponge Bob asked softly, his hand resting on his friend's arm. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye focusing on a point in the distance as he began to speak. "And then, the hospital." He spoke as if recounting a tale of another creature, his emotions a buffered memory. "The doctors said something about... ASD?" His voice was a whisper. Karen's eyes searched his, a wave of pain and love crashing together. "Yes," she said softly. "The accident... it changed things for you. You have autism, Plankton. It's a part of who you are now." Sponge Bob's face fell, his expression one of shock. "Autism?" he repeated, the word strange on his lips. "But what does that mean?" Karen's hand was a gentle weight on Plankton's shoulder, her voice a steady stream of information. "It means his brain works differently now, Sponge Bob," she began. "There was some damage from the accident, and it's affected his ability to communicate and process certain things." Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, his confusion a silent plea for understanding. "But he's still Plankton," he said, his voice a hopeful note. Karen nodded, her grip on Plankton's shoulder unwavering. "Yes," she said. "He's still Plankton. But with autism, certain things are different for him now and for the rest of his life. He has a condition that makes some things hard to deal with." Hanna's eyes searched Plankton's, her heart heavy with regret. "I didn't know," she murmured. "I'm so sorry." Sponge Bob looked at Hanna, his gaze questioning. "What do you mean, you didn't know?" Her eyes filled with unshed tears, Hanna swallowed hard. "I didn't know about his ASD," she explained, her voice trembling. "I just thought he was acting strange." Sponge Bob's gaze softened as he looked from Hanna to Plankton. "It's okay, everyone," he said gently. "We can learn together. Right, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his single eye searching Sponge Bob's face. The sponge's warmth was a balm to his raw emotions. "Yes," he murmured. "Together."

💘❤

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⢰⠋⠀⠙⣿⡆⠀⢀⣴⠿⠟⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣶⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠉⠀⠙⣷⣀⣠⣄⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠉⠙⢿⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡟⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠙⠋⠉⠀⠙⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⡟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠦⣄⣀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠋⠀⢈⣿⡧⠀⠀⠈⢿⡀⢀⣠⣴⡾⠟⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠶⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣟⣀⣀⣤⡾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣀⢸⡏⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⠟⠛⠛⠷⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⠆⠀⠀⣿⣿⣧⡀⣀⣴⠟⠹⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀ ⠘⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟⠉⣼⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⢷⡶⠶⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⣀⢠⣾⡿⠛⠉⢻⣿⣷⠀ ⠀⠈⠉⠛⠒⠶⢼⡇⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠁⠀⣼⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢯⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣟⣀⡀⣸⣿⡟⢀⡄⠀⠀⢀⣀⡄⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⡿⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⣠⠿⣿⡿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠿⠁⢀⣴⣿⡟⣠⡾⢻⣿⡿⢀⣴⡿⠟⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⣸⣿⡿⠁⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⣠⣶⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⣸⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⡾⠋⢀⣼⣿⣷⡿⠋⠀⣰⣿⡿⠁⠀⢀⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⣰⣿⡿⠁⠀⢀⣾⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣇⠀⢀⣾⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠃⢀⣴⠟⠙⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⠻⣷⣶⡾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⢿⠿⠟⠁⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⠷⠟⠁⠀⠀⠙⠿⢷⣶⠾⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

(๑⚈ ․̫ ⚈๑)

Te amo Rafa ♥ ✨ (=♡ ᆺ ♡=)R𑁤 i love you 1% i love you 2% i love you 3% i love you 4% i love you 5% i love you 6% i love you 7 % i love you 8% i love you 9% i love you 10% i love you 11% i love you 12% i love you 13% i love you 14% i love you 15% i love you 16% i love you 17% i love you 18% i love you 19% i love you 20% i love you 21% i love you 22 % i love you 23% i love you 24% i love you 25% i love you 26% i love you 27% i love you 28% i love you 29% i love you 30% i love you 31% i love you 32% i love you 33% i love you 34% i love you 35% i love you 36% i love you 37% i love you 38% i love you 39% i love you 40% i love you 41% i love you 42% i love you 43% i love you 44% i love you 45% i love you 46% i love you 47% i love you 48% i love you 49% i love you 50% i love you 51% i love you 52% i love you 53% i love you 54% i love you 55% i love you 56% i love you 57% i love you 58% i love you 59% i love you 60% i love you 61% i love you 62% i love you 63% i love you 64% i love you 65% i love you 66% i love you 67% i love you 68% i love you 69% i love you 70% i love you 71% i love you 72% i love you 73% i love you 74% i love you 75% i love you 76% i love you 77% i love you 78% i love you 79% i love you 80% i love you 81% i love you 82% i love you 83% i love you 84% i love you 85% i love you 86% i love you 87% i love you 88% i love you 89% i love you 90% i love you 91% i love you 92% i love you 93% i love you 94% i love you 95% i love you 96 % i love you 97 % i love you 98% i love you 99% i love you 100% i love you 1000% i love you ♾️ 💖I LOVE YOU💖〰〰❤💯

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⡿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣷⣦⣶⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀ ⢰⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⣤⣤⣤⡄⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣿⡏⠉⠁⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣼⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⣿⠶⠶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⣿⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠃⠀⠀⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠘⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⠀⠀⣿⣿⣇⠀⢠⣿⣿⠀⣴⣿⠟⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇ ⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡟⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⡀⣾⣿⣿⠀⣿⡏⣤⡌⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣧⣿⣿⡀⣿⣿⢻⣧⣿⢼⣿⠀⣿⣇⠙⢁⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡏⠉⠙⣿⡇⢿⣿⠘⣿⡏⢸⣿⠀⠹⢿⣶⣾⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣄⡞⠁⠹⣷⠀⣠⠾⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠈⣧⣤⠤⣄⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣇⠀⠈⠃⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⣸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢤⣀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟⠉⢹⣷⠀⠀⠘⣆⢀⣠⣴⠾⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠖⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣯⣤⡴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠙⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣤⠦⣿⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⣿⣿⡀⠀⢀⡼⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⣇⡀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⢛⣿⡟⠀⠀⠘⠿⠿⠞⠋⠀⠈⠻⢷⣤⡤⠶⠛⠁⠀⡀⣠⡾⠟⠻⣿⣦⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⠙⠒⠾⠀⠀⢀⡾⠋⢀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣷⣦⣾⣿⣥⠆⠀⣠⣶⢂⣤⣶⣦⠀⣠⣶⣾⣷⠀⠀⣰⣿⠏⡏⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡿⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⡖⠀⠀⠁⣾⠇⠀⢨⣿⡏⠁⠀⣼⣿⡷⠋⢠⣿⣯⡾⠋⢠⣿⡟⠀⢠⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿⠁⠀ ⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⢸⣿⡁⠀⢰⣿⡟⠁⠀⣿⡿⠋⠀⢠⣿⡟⠀⣠⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠻⣷⣄⣤⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⣤⠞⡿⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠀⢻⣿⣤⡴⠋⠘⢿⣤⣀⣤⡾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

💙🤍

⠀⠀⡶⠛⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡶⠚⢶⡀⠀ ⢰⠛⠃⠀⢠⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠈⠙⣧ ⠸⣦⣤⣄⠀⠙⢷⣤⣶⠟⠛⢉⣁⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣉⠙⠻⢷⣤⡾⠋⢀⣤⣤⣴⠏ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣤⡾⠋⣀⣴⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠙⢿⣦⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠟⢀⣾⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣷⡄⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⡏⢠⣿⣿⡯⠤⠤⠤⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠤⠤⠽⣿⣿⡆⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣟⣠⡿⠿⠟⠒⣒⣒⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣒⣒⡛⠻⠿⢤⣹⣇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣾⡭⢤⣤⣠⡞⠉⠁⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠈⢹⣦⣤⡤⠴⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣇⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢻⡇⠸⣿⣿⣿⡄⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢀⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⡀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠉⠛⠋⠀⢴⣶⠀⠉⠛⠉⣠⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⣾⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⣈⣁⣀⡤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣽⣷⣄⠙⢿⣿⣿⡟⢲⠧⡦⠼⠤⢷⢺⣿⣿⡿⠋⣠⣾⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⣰⠟⠛⠛⠁⣨⡿⢷⣤⣈⠙⢿⡙⠒⠓⠒⠒⠚⡹⠛⢁⣤⣾⠿⣧⡀⠙⠋⠙⣆ ⠹⣤⡀⠀⠐⡏⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣶⣿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣾⣷⠾⠟⠋⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢠⣤⠟ ⠀⠀⠳⢤⠾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⠤⠾⠁⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⢀⢀⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠓⠁⢸⠃⠈⠁⣸⡟⠙⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠉⣦ ⠀⠀⢀⡀⠈⠂⠤⠌⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⢰⡞⢉⣿⠀⠰⣤⠴⠚⠁ ⢀⠴⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⣿⡇⠀⡰⣿⠉⠉⠀⡀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀ ⠐⠀⠠⠜⠀⢠⠞⣹⡏⠀⠈⠛⠉⠀⠈⠛⠒⠉⢀⣴⠞⠉⢻⡆ ⠀⠀⡀⠀⣴⠷⢶⡿⠖⢠⣖⠤⣶⢀⠴⣷⠀⢰⡿⠋⠀⢀⣿⠃ ⢰⡟⠀⢀⡎⠀⣼⡇⠀⡿⠃⢰⡿⠁⣸⠏⢀⣿⠁⠀⣠⣿⠋⠀ ⠈⠳⠴⠋⠀⠀⠙⠷⠚⠃⠀⠸⠀⠀⠻⠖⠁⠘⠦⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀

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stray kids ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

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

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𓇢𓆸

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𐙚𐙚𐙚𐙚˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

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,,.. (🅔 sᴍᴇ ᗷ αɦ’ ɓเเ ,, << 👼🏽>> ᵃᵇᶜ тιи’єн мє ωσυℓ∂… 📜(..𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩!..) …,,🥖 ѕтσяутιмє’ѕ σνєя! ℰ ѕмє ᴏᴜᴛ! …. >>「」ˢᵐᵒˡˡ’ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ ,,.. (🅔 sᴍᴇ ᗷ αɦ’ ɓเเ ,, << 👼🏽>> ᵃᵇᶜ тιи’єн мє ωσυℓ∂… 📜(..𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩!..) …,,🥖 ѕтσяутιмє’ѕ σνєя! ℰ ѕмє ᴏᴜᴛ! …. >>「」ˢᵐᵒˡˡ’ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ

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ᥫ᭡

🪐✨

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Autistic author) Plankton has autism, which only he and Karen know about. They're able to keep it a secret, per Plankton's request, even from their son Chip. So when Chip comes home early from football, he's surprised to see his dad staring at the blank wall as his mom rubs his back. "Is everything okay?" he asks, stepping into the room. Plankton's eye is unfocused, his body rigid, like he's stuck in some invisible vice. Karen's hand pauses on his shoulder, and she turns to face Chip, her smile forced. "Yeah, just a little...spell," she says. Plankton's absence seizure has struck without warning. It's like a silent storm passing through the room, leaving no trace except the vacant look in his eye. The room seems to shrink around them as Chip takes in his dad's unblinking stare. He's never seen this. "Should I get help?" Chip's voice cracks. Karen shakes her head quickly, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "No, it's fine. Just...give us a minute." She waves a hand, trying to dismiss the concern that has etched itself on Chip's features. But Chip lingers, his gaze flickering between his parents. "What's happening?" he whispers. Karen sighs, her hand dropping to her side. She looks at Plankton. "It's just something your dad has," she says, choosing her words carefully. "It's like his brain goes on pause for a bit." Chip watches as his dad's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the only indication that he's still present in the physical world. "But what do you mean?" his eyes search hers for understanding. Karen's eyes flit to Plankton before returning to Chip's. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself. "It's not dangerous, just a little scary-looking." The silence stretches until it feels like a rubber band about to snap. Chip's curiosity overpowers his fear. He takes a tentative step closer. "Does he know we're here?" Chip whispers. "Not really," Karen murmurs, "But he'll come back to us." Chip reaches out, a tremor in his fingertips, and touches Plankton's arm, but the seizure doesn't seem to notice. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice a soft echo in the stillness. Plankton's body remains stiff as a statue, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere beyond the wallpaper's pattern. Karen's hand moves to cover Chip's, her touch warm and reassuring. "It's okay," she whispers back, "It's part of him. Don't poke or shake him, just let it pass." The seconds tick by, each one feeling heavier than the last. Chip's heart thuds in his chest, his mind racing with questions and fear. He's never seen his dad like this before, so...so vulnerable. As the seizure slowly releases its grip, Plankton blinks, his eye refocusing on the room. He looks confused, like he's waking from a deep sleep. Karen's smile relaxes, the tension in her shoulders easing. Plankton turns to her, his gaze flickering with recognition before falling on Chip. "Chip?" His voice is raspy. Karen nods at Chip, silently urging him to speak. "Yeah, Dad, it's me." Plankton's expression shifts. "What...what happened?" his voice is frail. Chip opens his mouth, but Karen steps in quickly. "You had a little moment, that's all. Nothing to worry about," she says, her tone light. But her hand is still on Plankton's back, ready to provide support if needed. Plankton's eye darts around, his hands clenching and unclenching as if trying to remember how to interact with the world again. He notices Chip's hand reaching out and flinches slightly, his discomfort with physical contact clear. Chip, sensing this, pulls his hand back, his cheeks flushing. He's always known his dad was a bit...different. Quirky. But he's never seen this side of him. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing as she squeezes Plankton's hand. "You're okay." Plankton nods, his mind slowly untangling from the cotton wool fog of the seizure. He looks around the room, familiar objects snapping back into focus. His eye lands on Chip, who's watching him with a mix of worry and curiosity. He clears his throat. "Just a...moment. I'm fine now." He tries to smile, but it feels awkward and forced. Chip's eyes don't leave him. "What was that?" he asks, his voice still low. Karen looks at Plankton. It's time. "Your dad has something called autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain works in a special way." Chip's eyes widen. "What does that mean?" Karen sits down beside Plankton, who's still gathering himself. "It's like...sometimes, his brain takes a little break from the world," she explains gently, her hand still on his shoulder. "It can be overwhelming, with all the sounds, sights, and people around." Chip nods slowly, trying to grasp the concept. Plankton swallows hard, his mind racing. He's always been so careful to hide this part of himself, not wanting to be seen as less than or weird. But as he looks at Chip, his heart swells with a mix of fear and hope. What if his son can't understand? What if this changes everything? Karen gives him a nod, encouraging him to go on. With a deep breath, Plankton starts to speak. "You know how sometimes you get really focused on something and the world just fades away?" Chip nods. "Well, for me, it's like that," Plankton says, his voice steadying. "But sometimes, my brain does it without me asking. It's like my thoughts are a TV with too many channels playing at once, and it just...shuts off for a bit to give me a break." Chip nods, trying to imagine what that's like. "Does it hurt?" Plankton shakes his head. "Well, it's just...different. Sometimes I don't realize, sometimes it's tough." Chip looks up at him, his eyes full of questions and a nascent empathy. "Can you control..." "No Chip, I can't 'control' it!" He snaps back. "Hey hey, it's okay," Karen whispers, meeting his gaze. "He's not judging you, Plankton." Plankton takes a deep breath, his eye fluttering shut. "I know," he murmurs, but his tone is anything but convinced. Chip's gaze softens, his fear replaced with a determined curiosity. "What's it like?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton's shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "It's like being in a little bubble," he says, his eye distant. "Everything's far away, muffled. And when it's over, it's like...like popping back into reality." Chip's curiosity grows, his mind racing with questions. "But why do you keep it a secret?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen looks to Plankton, who's still visibly shaken. "We didn't want it to define you," she says softly. "We wanted you to see him as just your dad, not as someone with a label." Plankton nods. "And I didn't want to be different," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip considers this, his gaze flitting from his dad to the ground. "But you are," he says, his voice earnest. "You're my dad, even with your..." He stumbles over the word "...seizures." Karen's eyes fill with pride at her son's acceptance. Plankton's tension how ever, heightens at Chip's description. "It's not a seizure," he corrects, his voice slightly defensive. Chip looks confused. "But it looks like it," he says, frowning. Karen nods. "It's similar, but not the same," she explains before Plankton can interject. "It's part of your dad's autism." Chip looks at Plankton, his eyes searching for something he's never noticed before. "But why did you keep it a secret?" he asks again. Plankton's gaze drifts to the floor, his voice soft. "Because people can be cruel, son," he says, his words heavy. "They don't always understand." Chip nods, his eyes welling up with tears. "But I do," he says, his voice shaking. "I mean, I don't get it all, but I understand that you're still you." Plankton's expression softens, his fear of rejection dissipating slightly. He looks up at Karen, his gaze filled with gratitude. She gives him a small smile, her eyes telling him it's okay to be his true self.

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

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

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♕

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

✨love ᥫ᭡. ♡ ̆̈ 𐙚 ♡❥ ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ🫀ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﷽

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

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

🌻☀️🐝

shut up, respectfully. I'm js tryna look for emojis and all I see is, "stAwP PosTinG WeiRd StuFf kiDs ArE On hERe." like be so fr cuz yall really don't care. so stop talking cuz yall do it too much. - a Latina who doesn't care<˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖𓆩♡𓆪 omg nobody cares if ur latina u should s1it bai

🫴🏻✨💗love

ᡣ𐭩 𐙚

𓀐𓂸📹 ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ☻ (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) 𓇢𓆸

♡

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☠

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⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

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⁷⁷⁷ㅤ⋆☾ ⋆𓆉︎𖦹ᨒ

باربی

¹²³ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ.ᐟнє'∂ σρєη α вσσк αηd ѕтαят ƒℓιριηg тнє ραgєѕ

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ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩

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🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺🂾 ☠︎ ❦.🃏♣️✟🗡愛🍸