Hanna Emoji Combos

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 14 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen and Chip go back to the living room. Plankton's still doing the Nosferatu puzzle at the coffee table. He looked up at his wife and son as they entered. Karen knew to approach him gently. "How's it going?" she asks, her voice soft, not wanting to startle. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, and he formed the 'Okay' sign with his hand. It was a simple word, but it spoke volumes. Karen took a seat on the couch across from Plankton, giving him the distance he needed. Chip sat beside her, his eyes glued to the puzzle. They sat in silence. The only sound were the soft clicks of the puzzle pieces being placed. Karen noticed that Chip's hands open, for he wished to try communicating Plankton's signs. She looks at Plankton. "Could I sit with you?" Karen asked, her voice softer than usual. Plankton's eye met hers, his antennae twitching once. He signed 'Yes'. Chip's hand shot up, eager to show he'd learned. He signed 'Yes' too, his movements clumsy but understood. Plankton nodded slightly, his antennae drooping a little less. He took a deep breath, focusing on his puzzle again. The room was still, the only sounds the occasional click of puzzle pieces fitting into place. Chip watched his dad, his heart aching. He knew his dad wasn't mad at him, but he couldn't shake the feeling of rejection. He wanted to help, to fix whatever was broken, but he didn't know how. Karen noticed Chip's sadness. "It's not you, sweetie," she whispers. "He's just trying to keep it all together. It's like when you get so upset you can't even talk. Remember?" Chip nods. He'd had his share of overwhelming moments too. "But he loves us," Karen adds, her voice firm. "It's just his way of showing it right now." Plankton looks up at Karen. His antennae twitch again, his hand moving in a pattern Chip hadn't seen. 'Need Less Sound'. Karen nods, her eyes understanding. She glances at Chip, who's looking at his dad with a mix of sorrow and curiosity. "What does that mean?" Chip asks, his voice barely a murmur. Karen smiles gently, her eyes meeting Chip's. "It means he wants us to be quieter," she explains. "Let's keep our voices down, okay?" Chip nods solemnly. So, they sit. They sat in the quiet, each of them trying their best to keep their movements to a minimum. Plankton's hands continue to work on the puzzle, his antennae occasionally twitching as he searches for the right pieces. Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Plankton flinched. Karen looks out of the peephole to see Hanna, her old friend. "Huh; my friend Hanna's here." Neither Plankton nor Chip have met her. "Mom, does she know about Dad's aut-" "No," Karen says quickly, cutting Chip off. She glances at Plankton, his antennae twitching rapidly. "It's not up to you to tell her about it, Chip. Plankton, I know you're still recovering from yesterday and it's fine if you wanna sign in front of her, you don't have to talk." She then opens the door. "Hi, Karen!" Hanna says. Karen gives her a hug. "Hey Hanna; you haven't met my family yet.." Hanna steps into the living room. "Hi, Ms. Hanna," Chip says. "My name is Chip." Hanna smiles. "Well hello there Chip!" Hanna gives him a hug before turning to Plankton. "I'm guessing you must be Karen's husband?" Karen nods silently. "This is my husband, Plankton." Plankton looks up at Hanna, his antennae twitching. He signs quickly. 'Hello'. Hanna's eyes widen. "Oh," she says, her voice filled with surprise. "Uhm– I'm glad to meet you?" She held out her hand, hoping he'd shake it. But Plankton doesn't move. His antennae twitch again, his hand forming the 'No' sign. Karen then steps in. "Hanna, Plankton's feeling a bit overwhelmed right now. Could we maybe talk in the kitchen?" Hanna nods, looking slightly confused. "Sure," she says. Chip follows his mom, glancing back at his dad. Plankton's gaze doesn't leave the puzzle. Karen decides not to bring up Plankton. Yet Hanna's curious. "Is Plankton deaf?" Hanna asks, her voice hushed. "He seemed a bit... off?" Karen sighs, her eyes darting back to the living room. "He's just having a tough day," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "So what brings you here, Hanna?" "Oh, I just wanted to stay due to home renovations," Hanna says. "But if you're not feeling up to it..." Karen shakes her head. "No, no. We're okay." But she's not sure if Plankton will like this temporary change. "You can stay in the guest room, Hanna." Hanna nods. She and Chip followed Karen back into the living room, where Plankton still worked on the puzzle. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice gentle. "Hanna's going to stay with us for a bit." Plankton's antennae twitch sharply, his hand moving quickly. 'How Long?' he asks, his signs a silent question. "Shouldn't be more than a week," Karen answers, as Hanna watched with wide eyes. Karen notices the concern in Plankton's gaze. "Remember what we talked about?" Karen reminds him. "Routines can be altered for a short time. It's okay." Plankton's hand moves again, forming the 'Okay' sign, though his antennae still twitch with anxiety. Karen smiles, her eyes warm. Hanna looks from Karen to Plankton, her confusion growing. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice low. Karen nods. "Yes," she says. But Chip jumps in, eager to explain. "My dad is–" "Chip," Karen interrupts. "It is okay. Hanna will be here until her house is fixed up." Plankton's antennae twitched again, his eye slightly wider. 'Now?' his hand signs. Karen shakes her head. "Just a week, honey. We need to spend some time with Hanna." Plankton sighs, his body slumping. He doesn't move from his spot on the couch, his gaze never leaving the puzzle. Hanna just stared. "What's his deal?" Hanna whispers, her eyes darting between Karen and Plankton. "It's a bit of a sensitive topic," Karen says, her voice a mix of apology and concern. She looks at Plankton, who's now signing 'Space'. "But, is he ok?" Hanna asks, her voice a mix of worry and curiosity. "He's ok," Karen assures, her gaze focused on Plankton. "My da-" "Chip," Karen interjects before her son can finish. "It's up to your dad if he wants to elaborate." Chip nods, looking back to the puzzle. Hanna frowns. The tension in the room is palpable. Plankton's antennae are in a constant state of twitching as he tries to make sense of this new development. His world has been thrown into chaos by the sudden intrusion of an unfamiliar person. He signs 'Too Much', his hands shaking slightly. Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know it's a lot," she says. "But it's for a week, and she'll make sure to be respectful, okay?" Plankton's antennae slow their erratic dance, and he nods once, his hand moving to form the 'Okay' sign. Yet Hanna doesn't understand his Sign Language.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 15 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "Is he okay with me being here?" Hanna asks again, her screen filled with genuine concern. Karen nods, her eyes on Plankton. "He's just a bit... overwhelmed, right now. Give him some time to adjust." Hanna nods, though the questioning expression on her screen doesn't fade. "Can he hear what we're saying at all?" Plankton's antennae shoot up. His eye moves from the puzzle to Hanna. He signs 'Yes' with a look of slight annoyance, clearly hearing her question. Karen smiles slightly, feeling a tiny bit of pride for his usual stubbornness. "He's signing yes," she translates. Hanna nods, though it's clear she's still confused. "But why?" she whispers to Karen. "Why doesn't he just talk?" Karen sighs, looking to Plankton. Her hands move with care, forming the words 'Do you want her to know about your autism?' Plankton's eye darts to Hanna, then back to Karen. His hand shakes as he signs 'No'. Karen nods before turning back to Hanna. "Plankton's just not feeling up to talking right now," she says, her voice calm. "But he can hear and understand everything we say." Hanna nods, looking slightly embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to intrude." But Plankton shakes his head with a glare at Hanna before going back to the bedroom. The door shuts with a firm click. Karen looks at Chip, who's staring at the spot where Plankton was. "He's okay," she repeats. "But he needs his space." Chip nods, his throat tight. "I just want to help him." Karen's eyes soften. "I know you do, sweetie," she says. Hanna sighs. "Karen, did I offend him?" "It's not you," Karen says quickly, her eyes darting to the puzzle. "He's just... different." Hanna frowns, but she doesn't push. Instead, she looks around, taking in the quiet house. "I'll set up my things in the guest room," she says. "Okay, but if you need anything, let me know." Karen says. She then goes to the bedroom she shares with Plankton. When she enters, Plankton's on the bed, his back to the door. His antennae are flat against his head, a clear sign of his discomfort. Karen sits beside him, her hand hovering over his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't think about how this would affect you." Plankton turns to her, his eye wet. "It's okay," he says. His voice is barely a whisper. "I just can't... I don't know how to socialize with her, I guess.." Karen nods, her heart heavy. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, honey," she says. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton's antennae twitch. He reaches for her hand. The first time he's initiated touch after yesterday. Karen smiles. They sit for a moment, the silence between them comfortable. "Remember," Karen says, "you can always tell me what you need, or even Hanna. We're here for you." Plankton's grip tightens for a second, then relaxes. He nods. "Okay," he whispers. "But I'm not crawling to Hanna. She's just your friend.." Hanna then knocks on their bedroom door. Karen opens it for her. "On my phone I get weather notifications, and a thunderstorm is coming. Not a dang€rous one, though slight hail is expected." Hanna says. Karen nods. "Thanks. Plankton doesn't like the loud noises. So thank you for the heads up." Karen retrieves a set of earplugs from Plankton's nightstand drawer. They were a lifeline for him during storms or any time his senses overwhelmed. They only muffled sounds a bit, yet Karen knew he'd want her to use Sign Language herself more; Plankton can't understand verbalizations when his earbuds were in. Plankton nods gratefully as Karen gets his earbuds. The first drops of rain patter against the window as he put them in. He looks at Karen, his antennae twitching. With a sigh, he forms the letters 'T', 'H', 'A', 'N', 'K', 'Y', 'O', 'U', 'K', 'A', 'R', 'E', 'N'. "Thank you Karen," his hands sign, as Chip comes in the bedroom. Karen sees Chip's confused face. She explains, "Your dad just thanked me for getting his earplugs. A st0rm is coming soon." Chip nods, his gaze understanding. "Oh, I see." He sits on the bed, his eyes on his father. Hanna approaches them. "What did he say?" she asks, looking at Karen's hands. Karen translates for her. "He said, 'Thank you Karen'. He's using sign language." Hanna nods, her curiosity growing. "Why does he sign?" Hanna asks, her voice gentle. "I had thought only deaf people use sign language," she says. But Karen shakes her head. "Plankton's not deaf, but it's one of the ways he can communicate. He's got his earbuds in, so we'll have to sign to communicate with him." Chip watches his mom and his dad, feeling a bit lost. "Can I try?" he asks, his voice hopeful. Karen smiles and nods. "Sure," she says. "Just remember, be gentle and slow with your signs." Chip nods. "How do I greet him in Sign Language?" Karen's hands move with care. She shows Chip how to say 'hello'. Chip mimics her, his movements less fluid than hers. Plankton's antennas perk up slightly in recognition. Hanna also tries, her movements awkward but earnest. The three of them sit there, their screens on Plankton, waiting for his response. Finally, his hand moves. 'Hello', he signs back, his movements tentative, but his antennae less rigid. It's a small victory, but one that brings a smile to Chip's face. "Hi Dad," Chip said aloud, then signs 'hello' again. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he signs back, his movements slightly more confident. The sound of the rain increases, the drops becoming heavier. Hanna's eyes widen. "Is he scared of storms?" she asks Karen. Karen shrugs. "It's the noise," she says. "But the earplugs can help." Plankton signs again, his hands moving in the familiar pattern of their daily routine. 'Game?' his hands ask. Karen nods. "Yeah, we can play a game," she says. Chip nods, eager to get up and help his mom.

,,.. (нαииα ⓣιич єχρℓσяєя,, << 🌟 >> ℓєт’ѕ gσ! 📜 (…𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘…) 🧃 ,, ƒυℓℓ σƒ gιggℓєѕ! нαииα ѕмαℓℓ нαη∂ѕ, вιg ∂яєαмѕ! ✨ >>「」 ℍᵘᵍˢғᵒʳdᵃʸˢ 🌈

ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 23 Plankton sits stiffly on the couch, antennae twitching as he tries to make sense of the new environment. Karen sits by him with Chip as Hanna herself sits in front of the couch by them. "So," Hanna says, her voice high-pitched. "What should we do first?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to Karen again. She squeezes his hand gently. "Why don't we take a look at the guest room?" Karen suggests, her voice calm. "Where we'll sleep and put all our stuff.." Hanna nods eagerly. "Follow me!" She leads them down a hallway, the floorboards creaking underfoot. Plankton's heart races. New places meant new sounds, new smells, new everything. He feels his body tense, his stims wanting to take over. But he holds back. The guest room is a riot of color, the walls adorned with various knick-knacks that Hanna has collected over the years. Plankton's eye widens at the visual stimulation, and his antennae twitch rapidly. He knows he needs to find a way to cope. "Well, that's is your shared room," Hanna says cheerfully. "I hope you like it!" Plankton nods, his eye taking in the whirlwind of color and patterns. It's a lot to process. "It's...vibrant," he says, his voice tight. Hanna cackles at Plankton's comment, her laughter too loud. "Oh, I just LOVE color!" she says, not noticing his discomfort. Plankton's antennae quiver, his hand clenching into a fist. He takes a deep breath, willing his stims away. He doesn't want to ruin the moment, doesn't want Hanna to notice. But his senses are on overload, his mind racing. "Thank you," Karen says with a forced smile, stepping forward to set down their bags. She can feel the tension radiating from her husband. Hanna sits, her smile not dimming. "Oh, I just know we're going to have so much fun together," she gushes. "AND I've got a whole drawer full of board games for us to play!" Plankton nods, his smile slightly strained, wondering how much longer he can keep up the façade. Hanna's chatter fills the room. "I've got special movies for us tonight! And I've got everything from classics to the LATEST SCI-FI!" Plankton nods politely, his antennae quivering. He's trying to keep up with the rapid-fire conversation. "Uh, sure." He responds. Hanna's eyes light up at his interest in science fiction. "Oh, I KNOW you're going to love them," she says. His antennae twitch with the effort to keep up with the conversation, his eye glazed over with overstimulation. But Hanna doesn't notice. She pinches his shoulder, her laughter bubbly. "You're just SO sweet!" Plankton flinches at the contact, his body wanting to retreat. He swallows hard, trying to find the words to express his discomfort without offending Hanna. But she's already chatting on, her energy unstoppable. Her hand lands on his knee, giving it a squeeze. "Oh, I'm just so thrilled to have you here," she says. But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, his vision starting to waver as his body fights the onset of an absence seizure. The room spins around him, and his heart races. He knows the signs all too well, the sudden disconnection from the world as his brain goes into overdrive. Karen's eyes dart to Plankton's face, reading the signs. She knows what's happening. "Why don't we give them a few minutes to settle in?" Karen suggests, interrupting Hanna's enthusiastic chatter. "They've got to be tired from the trip." Hanna nods, her smile slightly puzzled but understanding. "Oh, of course!" she says, backing out of the room. The door closes with a click, leaving the three of them. Plankton's antennae twitch faster, his eye unfocused. He feels the world slipping away. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his hand tentatively reaching out. Plankton's breathing quickens, his heart pounding in his chest. Karen's voice is calm, a beacon in the storm. "Plankton, remember your stims," she says gently. "Find something to help you ground." Plankton's gaze flickers, his antennae moving erratically. He searches for his sensory bag, his eye landing on it by the foot of the bed. Karen notices, her hand quickly grabbing the bag. "Here," she says, her voice calm and steady. "Use your noise-canceling blindfold." Plankton takes it, his hands shaking as he tries to put it over his eye. The darkness is immediate, his other senses intensifying. He can feel the fabric against his skin, his heartbeat in his chest. He breathes in deeply, his chest rising and falling as he fights against the seizure. Chip watches, his heart racing. He's seen this before, but it never gets easy. He wants to help, but his mom's words echo in his mind. 'Let him be'. So, he sits. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, her grip firm and reassuring. "You're okay, sweetie," she says softly. "We're here for you." Plankton nods, his breaths shallow, his antennae twitching. The pressure of Hanna's touch and the sensory overload of the new environment had been too much. He'd felt the seizure coming, the world closing in on him. Yet Karen's voice, her touch, it helps. He closes his eye, his hand fumbling for the stim toy from the bag. It's a small, velvet-covered sphere, and he clutches it tightly. The texture is soothing, grounding. The room is quiet, save for their soft breaths and the occasional creak of the house. Chip's heart thuds against his chest as he watches his dad, willing him to be okay. Plankton's hand squeezes the velvet sphere, his other hand reaching out to find Karen's. Karen's eyes never leave his face. She's seen this so many times before, the battle he wages internally. Her heart breaks a little each time, but her expression remains calm. Chip watches, his own heart racing. He's seen this before too, the way his dad's body fights against his mind. He's learned that silence is often the best medicine in these moments. Karen continues to speak in low, even tones. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You're safe." Her hand never leaves his, the connection unbroken. Chip wants to copy her, his hand going onto his dad's knee.. But Plankton's body only rejects Chip's touch, unable to handle any more stimulation. Karen's voice remains steady, her grip on his hand tight. "Breathe, sweetie," she whispers. "In, and ou-" Her words are cut off by the sudden silence. Plankton's body goes still, his antennae ceasing their erratic movement. Karen notices Chip's hand on Plankton's knee. "Chip, buddy," she says gently. "Let's give him some space." Chip nods, his eyes wide with concern. He moves his hand away. Chip sits, his eyes glued to his dad. "D-dad?" he whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton's hand moves to the blindfold, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. "It's okay," Karen repeats. "It's just a seizure, Chip. They're not uncommon." "Need," Plankton says, his voice faint, like it's coming from far away. "I need... I need... I don't know what I need." Karen knew that Plankton's still not with them yet when he talks like this. Karen nods, her voice still soft. "You're okay, Plankton. You're just having a seizure." Chip nods, trying to swallow his fear. He's learned that talking calmly helps bring him back. "It's okay," Chip echoes his mom. "We're right here." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his antennae still. "Need...Plankton," he murmurs. The gibberish isn't uncommon during these episodes, his mind trying to find comfort in familiar concepts. Plankton's eye, still unfocused and glazed, continues to dart around the room. "Yes?" he murmurs again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're okay," Karen says firmly, her voice a gentle anchor in the storm of sensory chaos. "We're all here for you." Chip nods in agreement, his voice shaky but determined. "Just breathe, Da-" But Plankton's grip on his sanity is slipping. His words come out in a jumble, nonsensical. "Wash... blue...cuckoo?" his voice is a distant echo, his mind searching for comfort in familiar things. Karen's heart aches, her thumb rubbing his hand. "It's okay, Plankton," she repeats. "You're safe." Chip watches, his eyes brimming with tears. He doesn't understand what's happening, but he knows his dad needs them.

𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.ℋℋ𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.

⋆˚࿔ hanna𝜗𝜚˚⋆

˚.⋆𐙚H.anna ⋆.✮

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 22 As they start the car and the engine rumbles to life, Plankton's hand starts to move in a repetitive motion, his thumb and forefinger tapping against each other. It's a stim. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, and she gives a small nod. "Remember, buddy," she says over her shoulder. "Just let him be." Chip nods, his eyes going back to his dad. Plankton's gaze is fixed on the passing scenery. Chip watches, his curiosity piqued but his respect for boundaries keen. He's learned so much about his dad's autism in the past weeks, but he knows there's still so much more to understand. The car's hum is a comforting white noise, and Chip can see the tension slowly draining from his father's body. Plankton's eye darts to the side, watching the trees blur by. Chip follows his gaze, seeing the world. "Dad," he says softly. "Can we see the science book together?" He holds it up, the one his dad had packed. Plankton's stimming pauses. He considers it, his antennae twitching. "Okay," he finally says, his voice a little softer. They spend time in quiet companionship, their heads bent over the pages, silently reading facts. Chip feels a warmth in his chest, a feeling of connection growing stronger with each page turned. The car's steady motion combined with the gentle hum of the engine begins to lull Plankton into a drowsy state. His antennae droop slightly, his eye blinking slower, and his breathing deepens. Karen glances in the rearview mirror, a smile touching her lips. She knows this look well. Plankton's autism often made him sensitive to the world, but now, with the familiar routine of the road trip and the soothing environment they've created, his body was finally letting go of the tension as Plankton's eye begins to drift shut. Chip felt his dad's weight shifting against him, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. The steady rhythm of the car's motion was a gentle lullaby to Plankton's overstimulated brain. His hand, which had been tapping out a steady rhythm, stilled. His antennae drooped low, his eye fluttering closed. Chip watched him, his heart swelling with a mix of love and sadness. It was rare to see Plankton so relaxed, his usual stoic exterior giving way to vulnerability. Karen kept her eyes on the road, a soft smile playing on her lips. She knew this was a victory, a sign that their efforts to create a safe space for Plankton were working. The trip was going better than she had dared hope. Chip felt a gentle pressure against his arm as Plankton's head grew heavier. He adjusted his position, careful not to disturb his dad. The book lay forgotten between them, their silent bond stronger than words. He watched as his dad's breathing grew deep and even, his antennae finally still. Karen glanced back again, her smile growing wider. "Looks like we've got a snoozing scientist," she whispered, hearing Plankton's gentle snores. Chip grinned, his own worries slipping away as he felt his dad's body relax against him. The road ahead was long, but the car was filled with a newfound peace. Plankton's snores grew softer as the miles ticked by. When they finally pulled up to Hanna's house, Plankton remained asleep, his body relaxed against Chip's side. Karen turned to look at them, her heart full. "Looks like he had a good nap," she murmured to Chip. Chip nodded, smiling down at his dad. "Yeah," he whispered. "I'm gonna miss this when we get out of the car. How are we gonna tell him we're here?" Karen chuckled softly. "We'll just have to wake him up gently, buddy." She opened her door, the crunch of gravel underfoot. The cool evening air was a stark contrast to the warmth of the car, and Plankton's antenna twitched as his eyebrow furrowed. "Hey, Plankton," Karen said softly, gently shaking him as she closes her car door. "We're here, sweetie." Plankton's eye snapped open, his antennae springing to life. For a moment, confusion clouded his gaze before it cleared, and he sat up with a jolt. "Oh," he murmured, looking around. "Hanna's?" Chip nodded, his smile gentle. "Yeah. We're here." Plankton realized he'd fallen asleep not only in front of Chip, but also leaning on him. Embarrassment flitted across his face, and he quickly sat up as he pulled away. Karen got their suitcases and Plankton's sensory bag in her grasp. The front door opened, and Hanna's bubbly figure emerged, lighting up at the sight of Karen. "Karen!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to give her a warm hug. "It's been so long! And is this your family?" Hanna asks as she let them in, closing the front door behind. Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The sight of a different house, the sound of Hanna's excited voice, it was all to much. Karen nods. "Yes, my husband, Plankton, and our son, Chip." Hanna's smile broadens as she embraces Plankton in a tight hug. "So nice to finally meet you," she says, her eyes shining with excitement. Plankton's antennae flatten against his head, the sudden contact overwhelming. He swallows hard, his body stiffening. "Nice t-to meet y-you t—too," he mumbles, his eye darting to Karen for rescue. Karen laughs lightly, gently extricating Plankton from Hanna's enthusiastic embrace. "Why don't we get settled?" she suggests, guiding Plankton to the couch. "And you're quite the young man!" Hanna exclaims to Chip. "Hi Ms. Hanna," Chip says.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 21 Chip took a step back, his eyes still on the floor. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, a mixture of sadness and determination. He knew he had made a mistake, but he was also aware that this could be a chance for him to learn and show his dad that he truly cared. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Why don't you tell us what you need right now?" she asked softly. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "I need...I need to be al-" "Alone?" Chip filled in, his voice gentle. "But Dad, we want to be here for you. I won't le-" Plankton's antennae whipped around, his eye narrowing. "Oh, I know," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Because you're just so good at understanding, right?" His tone was biting, a sharp contrast to the usual softness in his voice. Chip flinched at the harshness, his own feelings of inadequacy rising to the surface. "Dad, I'm tr-" But Plankton continued, his words coming out in a rush. "You think you know, but you don't. You don't know what it's like to have the world crash down on you every minute of every day, to be bombarded with sounds and smells that are too much, too intense." His antennae twitched erratically. "And then you come in with your 'let's talk about it' and 'let me see' and 'let me do it with you' and you think that's going to fix me?" The sarcasm in his voice was palpable, his antennae drooping with frustration. "You think I want to be a science project for you to study?" Plankton's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I'm not broken, Chip. I'm just different. And any stims, they're not for you to copy or understand or even acknowledge. They're mine, SOLELY mine!" Karen watched the exchange unfold, her heart aching for both her husband and son. Plankton was hurting, and his defensiveness was a clear sign of it. She knew his stims were a private, sacred part of who he was, and she saw Chip's desire to bridge the gap. But she knew when Plankton was like this, that it was time to let him be. "Why don't you go to your room, Chip?" she suggested gently. "Let your dad have some space." Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He couldn't bear to see his dad in pain, but he knew that pushing would only make things worse. With a heavy heart, he turned and walked out of the room, his feet feeling like lead. Karen watched him go, her gaze then shifting back to Plankton. Plankton's antennae still twitched. Karen moved closer to him. "It's ok, sweetie," she murmured. "I'm here." He leaned into her touch, his body slowly relaxing. Her words were a balm, soothing his raw nerves. A week after Plankton's completely healed from wisdom teeth, he no longer having mouth discomfort. One evening Karen hangs up her phone from her friend Hanna. She lives far away, and they'll take a trip to stay and visit with her. Neither Plankton nor Chip met Hanna before. Hanna knows Karen's married to Plankton, but she doesn't know about his autism. Karen breaks the news gently. "Boys," she says, "We're visiting Hanna tomorrow. It's gonna be a day long drive and we need to pack. We'll be staying at her place!" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting around the room as he processes this sudden change of plans. The thought of traveling, of new smells and sounds, sends a shiver of anxiety through his body. "Now?" he asks, his voice tight. "But we...I need to prepare." Karen nods, her voice soothing. "We'll leave early, so we have time to get everything ready." She moves closer to him, her hand on his shoulder. "We'll pack together." Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae twitching with the effort to calm down. "Okay," he says. "Okay." He starts to pack, his movements methodical. Everything has its place, his suitcase organized with precision. Karen and Chip watch, knowing better than to interrupt. They've learned that when Plankton's in this mode, it's best to let him be. Karen also gets the special sensory bag for Plankton. His fidget toys and noise-canceling blindfold curtains are carefully placed in the bag. Chip decides to pack some favorite science books as Karen observes them, her heart swelling with pride and hope. Chip's come so far in understanding of Plankton's needs, not to mention their shared love for scientific trivia. Plankton, noticing Chip's packing, approaches with more books for their trip. "Here," he says, his voice slightly less tense. The next morning, Karen gets up early. They'll spend most of the day on the road and wanted to get a good head start. So she wakes Chip up first. "Chip," she whispers, shaking him gently. "Time to get going for our trip." Chip opens his eyes, sleepy but excited. He jumps out of bed, eager to start the day. Plankton, on the other hand, is still asleep. Karen approaches his side, her gaze soft. She knows waking him up can be tough, especially with his sensory issues. Gently, she places her hand on his shoulder. "Plankton," she whispers, keeping her voice low and even. "Wake up, sweetie. We're leaving for Hanna's soon." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly at the touch, his eye fluttering open. "We're leaving soon," Karen repeats. He nods, his body still stiff with sleep. She moves to the side, giving him space to sit up. Karen's going to drive and has Plankton's sensory bag in the front seat by her, so Plankton sits with Chip in the back.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 24 "Coko, coo," Plankton murmurs, his eye unfocused, his antennae quivering slightly. Karen squeezes his hand tighter, trying to ground him. "Remember, we're at Hanna's." Chip's eyes widen, hearing his dad's strange speech. "What's coko?" he whispers to his mom. Karen smiles softly. "It's okay, Chip. Sometimes during a seizure, his speech gets...scrambled." Plankton's hand reaches out, searching for something to anchor him. "Go," he says. "The...the... the...what's called?" He's trying to find the words. "The...cow," he says decidedly. "Cow?" Plankton giggles, repeating himself. "Cow!" "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says gently. "You're just trying to find your words." Chip watches, his eyes filled with confusion. "But why is he talking like that?" he asks, his voice low. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she explains. "It's part of the seizure, Chip. His brain is firing differently, mixing things up." Plankton's giggle turns into a full laugh, his body shaking slightly. "Cow," he repeats, his voice louder now. Karen and Chip exchange a concerned look, but Karen smiles gently, knowing this phase can pass quickly. "Remember, Plankton, we're at Hanna's. You're okay." Plankton nods, his laugh fading into a smile as his gaze locks onto the spinning ceiling fan. "Fan," he murmurs, his hand moving to mimic its motion. "Fan-ny fanny fan." Karen knows he's trying to make sense of the world again, and she's here to help guide him back. "That's right," she says, keeping her voice steady. "It's a fan." Chip watches, his curiosity piqued but his concern foremost. He's knew not to laugh at his dad's strange speech, but it's hard not to find some humor in the absurdity of the moment. "Fan-ny," Plankton repeats, his voice taking on a sing-song quality. "The cow, says meow." Karen chuckles, her heart warming at the nonsensical sentences. It's a sign his brain is trying to reconnect, to make sense of the world again. "No, Plankton," she corrects gently. "The fan doesn't say meow. It's ju—" But she's interrupted by Hanna, who comes in to check on them. "Hey guys! So, what's the plan for movie night?" Her cheerfulness is a stark contrast to the scene she's walked in on. Plankton's laughter grows louder, his eye glazed over. Hanna's smile falters, her eyes wide with worry. "Is he okay?" she asks, stepping closer, confused. Karen knew Plankton's not gonna want Hanna to find out about his autistic neurodisability. "It's just something he does," Karen says quickly, as Plankton starts to crawl. "He'll be fine in a bit." Hanna watches as drool starts to dribble from the corner of Plankton's mouth. "What's happening?" she asks, her voice laced with concern. "It's like he's in a dream state, or someth-" Her words are drowned out by Plankton's chuckle, his body wriggling on the floor. "Cow!" he exclaims. Karen knew he's gonna come out of it soon, and she didn't want Hanna to be in his personal space right now. "Why don't we give a bit more time?" she suggests, her tone remaining calm. "We'll be ready for movies soon." Hanna nods, her smile forced. "Okay," she says, backing out of the room. The door closes, leaving them in privacy. Karen's heart thuds in her chest. She's seen this a hundred times, but it never gets easier. Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his antennae still. The room seems to come back into focus, the colors slowly solidifying from the blur they had been. "Karen?" he whispers, his voice hoarse. "I'm here," she says, her voice a comforting presence in the room. "You had a seizure, but you're okay now." Plankton's eye widens, his antennae shooting up. "Oh," he murmurs, his voice distant. He looks around the room, taking in the familiar yet foreign surroundings of Hanna's guest room. "What...were we talking? I feel like I was but I...I can't remember." Karen's hand is still clasped in his, her thumb continuing to rub his skin in a soothing pattern. "You were talking about a cow," she says with a small smile. "But it's okay. You're okay." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment. "A cow?" He repeats, his voice still weak. "Did I... did I say anything else? And why the barnacles am I on the floor?" Karen laughs, her eyes twinkling with affection. "You got a bit overwhelmed," she says, her voice gentle. "But you're okay now." Plankton nods, his antennae slowly rising. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to-" Karen shakes her head, her smile warm. "Don't apologize, Plankton. It's just part of who you are." She helps him to his feet, her arms supporting him. "Let's get you cleaned up." Chip watches, his heart still racing. He's seen his dad like this before, but it never gets easier. He wants to help, but he's learned that sometimes, the best thing to do is just be present. Karen leads Plankton to the bathroom, her arm around his waist, his hand in hers. "Let's get you cleaned up," she says, guiding him gently. The cool water feels good on his face, the sensation helping to ground him. Karen wipes his mouth with a washcloth, her movements careful and precise. He leans into her touch, his body craving the predictability. "Thank you," he murmurs. Karen hands him a towel, her gaze understanding. "You're welcome," she says. "Remember, Plankton, you're not alone in this." Karen leads Plankton and Chip to the living room where Hanna's waiting for them. "Are you okay?" Hanna asks, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching. "Of course," he says matter-of-factly. "Why wouldn't I be?" Hanna's gaze lingers on his still-flushed cheeks, his slightly unfocused eye. "You just...you seemed out of it," she says, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae quiver, his mind racing. "What are you talking about?" He asks Hanna, glaring at her. "You know, when you were laughing and talking about cows," Hanna says, her eyes still wide with concern. "And drooling a bit." Plankton's face reddens, his antennae springing up. Karen jumps in, her voice calm. "It's just a little quirk, Hanna," she says with a smile. "He's fine. Now, about that movie night?" Hanna nods, her expression still slightly puzzled, but she lets it go. "Right! Let's get cozy!" She says, clapping her hands together. Plankton sits back down on the couch, his antennae twitching as he tries to regain his composure. He knows he can't let his condition define him, but sometimes it's so hard to keep up the façade. He's grateful for Karen's quick thinking, for Chip's quiet support. Hanna starts setting up the board games, her energy seemingly boundless. Plankton's eye flits around the room, taking in the colors and the clutter. He can feel his anxiety building, his thoughts racing. But he takes a deep breath. "Do you want to play?" Hanna asks, her smile wide. "Sure," Plankton responds, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil. Chip and Karen knew of his competitive spirit.. The game starts, and Plankton's stims return. His fingers move over the armrest. "What's with your hands?" Hanna asks, watching Plankton's hand move. "It's okay, Hanna," Karen jumps in, her tone calm. "It's just something he does." She doesn't elaborate further, not wanting to make a big deal of it. But Hanna's curiosity is piqued. She's never seen anyone act like this before. Plankton's eye darts to his hand, his antennae twitching. He feels the weight of Hanna's gaze, his cheeks flushing. Karen squeezes his hand, her silent support reassuring. Hanna's eyes wander from the game to Plankton's hands, then back to her cards. She's curious. Plankton feels the heat of her gaze, his stims intensifying. He tries to ignore it, focusing on the game. But every time he glances up, her eyes are on him, watching his hands move, her brow furrowed. It's unnerving, but her curiosity doesn't wane. "So, what's the deal with the hand thing?" Hanna asks finally, unable to hold back. Plankton's antennae snap straight up, his hand stalling mid-stim. "What hand thing?" he says, his voice sharp. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, a silent warning. Hanna's eyes widen at his tone. "I just meant, why do you...you know, move your hands like that? What does it do for yo-" "It's none of your concern!" Plankton snaps, his antennae waving agitatedly. Karen's eyes dart between Hanna's shocked expression and Plankton's flushed face. She can feel the tension in the room spike. "Plankton, maybe we should-" But Plankton cuts her off, his voice rising. "I don't have to explain myself to her!" He says, his antennae waving wildly. Chip's heart sinks. He's seen his dad like this before, but it's always different, always worse when it's in front of someone new. Hanna's face falls, her smile replaced with hurt. "I'm just trying to understand," she says, her voice small. "I didn't mea-" But Plankton's not listening. "It's none of your business," he repeats, his voice cold. Karen's heart sinks. She knew this was going to happen, that Plankton's stress would boil over into something unpleasant. "Plankton," she starts, but he shakes his head, his eye focused on the game now. "I don't owe anyone explanations," he says, his hand resuming its erratic movements. Hanna's eyes fill with unshed tears, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's attention is fully on the game, his stims more pronounced than ever. Karen sighs, her heart aching for both Hanna and Plankton. She knows his behavior isn't intentional, but it's still painful to watch.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 25 Hanna's voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry," she says, looking down at her hands. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's focus is solely on the pieces on the board. "Don't talk to me," he says, his voice cold. "You're the one asking personal questions." Karen's heart clenches, wanting to explain, but knowing that Plankton's current state of mind won't allow for it. "Let's just keep playing," she suggests, her voice a gentle nudge. But the damage is done. Hanna's smile is forced, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The game continues in an awkward silence, Hanna's laughter a bit too loud, her movements a bit too quick. Plankton's stims don't ease, his hands fidgeting almost angrily on the armrest. Chip watches, his stomach in knots. He knows his dad's behavior is because of his condition, but it's hard to see his mom's friend hurt like this. Hanna's eyes keep darting to Plankton's hands, confusion and hurt swirling in her gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmurs again, her voice barely audible over the clanking of game pieces. "I di-" Plankton's antennae swivel sharply towards her. "What part of 'none of your business' don't you understand?" his voice is harsh, his frustration palpable. Hanna flinches, her hands tightening around her cards. Karen's eyes plead with Plankton to stop, but he's too lost in his own world, his senses on high alert. "Why are you always in my space?" He snaps, his voice echoing around the room. Chip's stomach twists with anxiety. Hanna's cheeks redden, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice smaller than ever. "I just-" But Plankton's done talking. With a roar of frustration, he's knocking over the game board. The pieces scatter everywhere, a visual representation of their shattered evening. Hanna gasps, her eyes wide with shock. "What's going on?" she asks, but Plankton's already storming out of the room. Karen's heart sinks as she watches her husband disappear down the hall. She knew this was a risk bringing him to Hanna's, but she had hoped for a better outcome. The guest room door slams shut, the sound echoing through Hanna's house. Chip feels a knot tighten in his stomach. He knows that look, his dad's retreat to his sanctuary of solitude. "I'm sorry," Hanna tells Karen, picking up the pieces of the game. "I didn't mean to-" Karen's eyes are filled with sorrow as she shakes her head. "It's not you," she says gently. "It's just part of his condition." Her voice is tight, her smile forced as she tries to explain. "When Plankton was being born, something happened. It changed him. Pressure, lack of flow... we're not sure. But what we do know is that it left him with a type of autism." She pauses. "He's had it his whole life. It's a balancing act," she admits. "Some days are better than others. But we've learned to read the signs, to give him the space he needs. It was when his mother was giving birth, his brain developed differently because of the stress it faced. It's not something anyone could have predicted." Hanna nods, her eyes still on the closed door. "I had no idea," she murmurs, feeling guilty for her intrusion. "I didn't mean to-" "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soft and reassuring. "It's not something that's obvious, unless you know what to look for." Hanna nods, her eyes filling with understanding. "How does it affect him?" she asks, placing the game pieces aside. Karen sighs. "It's complex," she says. "His brain processes information differently, which means certain things can be overwhelming for him. Lights, sounds, even textures can be too much. And sometimes, it's just the way people interact with him." Chip speaks up, his voice small. "But he's super smart. He can build anything." Karen's smile is sad. "It's true. His mind is...unique. But sometimes, it's like he's trapped in there, trying to get out." Hanna nods. "What can I do to help?" she asks, her voice earnest. Karen's heart swells with gratitude. "Just be patient," she says. "And respect his boundaries. Don't push him to explain things if he's not ready." Chip watches as Karen takes a deep breath. "And if you see him getting overwhelmed, just...give him some space." Hanna nods, her eyes still on the door. Plankton sits in the guest room, his back pressed against the corner. The world feels too loud, too bright, too much. He squeezes his eye shut, his hands over his head, his antennae tucked, his body rocking slightly on the floor. He's learned over the years that this can help dull the world around him, but it's not enough tonight. "Plankton?" Karen's voice filters through the door, soft and gentle. "Can I come in?" There's no response, but after a moment, the door opens a crack. Plankton's eye peeks out, his antennae quivering. "It's okay," she says. "I just want to check on you." He nods, his body tense. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice muffled. Karen's heart breaks a little more. "You don't have to be sorry," she says, entering the room. "You know that." She sits beside him on the floor. He's in full shutdown mode now, his body's way of coping with the overstimulation. She squeezes his hand gently. The silence stretches out, only broken by the distant hum of the city. Karen knows that Plankton needs this, that he's retreated into his own world to recharge. Yet it's hard to watch, knowing that she can't just wave a magic wand and make everything okay. Slowly, she starts to speak, her words deliberate and soft. "Remember, Plankton," she says, "Hanna's just trying to understand. She didn't mean any harm." Plankton's breathing evens out, his body unclenching slightly. "I know," he whispers. "It's just...hard." Karen nods. "I know, love." The room is dimly lit, the sounds of the city a distant lullaby. Plankton's stims slow down, his antennae unfurling slightly as his body starts to relax. Karen's words wash over him, a gentle reminder that he's not alone. "You know, it's okay to be different," she says. "And it's okay for people to be curious. But we'll make sure to explain to Hanna." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his head nodding in agreement. He's so tired, his mind racing from the adrenaline and the sensory overload. His body feels heavy, his eyelid drooping. Karen notices the change and shifts closer to him. "Why don't you lie down?" she suggests, her voice a gentle whisper. "You look ex-" But Plankton's already falling asleep, his body sagging against hers. "Hey c'mon Plankton, let's get you up into the bed befo—" His snores cut her off, his antennae fluttering with each breath. She chuckles softly, her heart swelling with love. He's always been a light sleeper, even when they first met. Karen gently shifts him so he's leaning against her, his head resting on her shoulder. His body relaxes into the comfort of her embrace, his stims ceasing completely. It's moments like these that make her heart ache, knowing how much he struggles with the world outside their home. But she's also fiercely proud of his resilience. Karen's thumb rubs gentle circles on his arm, the rhythmic motion soothing. Plankton's snores even out, his breathing deepening. She can feel the tension in his body slowly dissipate, his muscles loosening. She kisses his cheek, her hand still on his arm, her love for him as constant as his condition. The room's dimness is a comforting blanket, shielding them from the brightness that Plankton finds so jarring. Karen's mind races with thoughts of tomorrow, the conversations she'll have to navigate with Hanna. But for now, she focuses on the quiet breaths beside her, the steady rise and fall of Plankton's chest. Hanna, peeking in from the hallway, sees Karen cradling Plankton's sleeping form. Her eyes are filled with compassion as she mouths a silent apology to Karen. Karen smiles slightly, shaking her head, as if to say it's not Hanna's fault. The two women share a knowing look, the weight of the evening's events heavy between them. Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton, her love for him evident in every line of her face. And she knows they'll be ok.

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 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 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."

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."

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠂⠀⠐⠈⠉⠉⢉⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⠿⣽⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠢⢄⡉⠻⣏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⢿⡹⣭⡿⣵⣶⡗⠀⠀⣀⠒⠀⠀⢀⣌⣠⣍⣤⣁⣄⣀⣶⣦⣖⣋⠦⡈⠳⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠠⠾⠿⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⠟⢟⣛⣛⠻⢯⣍⠟⠞⠻⠽⠯⠿⠒⠚⠋⠻⣷⠶⠿⠆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠿⢿⣻⡏⠽⢂⣉⣉⣭⣤⣤⣍⠉⠉⠀⠰⠒⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⠤⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣻⢿⡍⣸⣁⣴⠞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣝⣿⢳⣹⡋⠁⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⢿⡿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣼⢿⣺⣿⢹⠀⠳⡀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⢸⣷⠘⢦⡀⠀⠀ ⣤⣶⣿⢫⣞⡽⢺⡥⢂⡝⠀⠠⠀⠈⠛⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠚⢀⠙⠲⣤ ⠈⠳⣞⣯⠟⣠⠸⣧⡈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣿⣷⣀⢈⣶⠞⠁ ⠀⠀⠈⠳⢮⣘⠁⠙⢷⡬⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣿⣿⣳⡽⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠙⠳⢭⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣴⢞⠋⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣢⣽⡟⣒⣶⣲⣚⣚⣛⠋⢭⣙⣿⣿⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣥⣉⣠⣅⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠷⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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