Hanna Emoji Combos

"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.

new AI Story Generator Family & Friends Karen x Plankton karen plankton POV Karen hanna

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

new kid example hanna berry ave examples

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.

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

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.

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

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.

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

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. 

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

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.

new to see or not to see chip plankton hanna

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.

new no less to be different plaren hanna

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."

new no less to be different neurodivergentcore hanna

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."

new no less to be different spongeton hanna

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."

new no less to be different plaren hanna

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