Mercaptan Emojis & Text

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑜𝑖𝑠16🕒

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vii (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Sponge Bob's thumb begins to move in slow, soothing circles against Plankton's skin. "Thank you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Sponge Bob simply nods, his thumb continuing its soothing motion. He doesn't know how to explain the depth of his feelings, but his actions speak louder than words. His friendship with Plankton has always been unconventional, but now, in the face of this new challenge, it feels more precious than ever. Just as the moment of connection seems to solidify, the door to the Chum Bucket opens again, and Hanna tentatively steps inside, a pamphlet clutched in her hand. "I brought this," she says, her voice shaking slightly as she holds out the pamphlet. "It's about autism...and rituals that might help get rid of the autistic behaviors." Karen's snatching the pamphlet from Hanna's grip. Her eyes scan the pages, her anger building with each word. "What are you thinking?" she demands, her voice like a whipcrack. Hanna takes a step back. "I just...I thought it might help you get him back to normal," she stammers, clearly not expecting the ferocity of Karen's reaction. But Karen's anger is a volcano, erupting with the force of her love for Plankton. "These are not 'behaviors' to get rid of," she snaps, shaking the pamphlet in the air. "This is who he is now!" "But Karen, don't you think life would be easier if he wasn't...you know, like this?" Hanna tries to explain. "This isn't about making life easier for me," she snaps. "It's about supporting him!" "Karen, Plankton just needs to be fixed," Hanna says, her voice smaller now, her expression pleading. "We both know how difficult it is to be around someone with...problems." The words hit Karen. "Fixed?" she repeats, her voice low and dangerous. "Plankton isn't broken. He's not a machine to be tinkered with! These are dangerous, deadly suggestions!" Plankton flinches at the sound, his mind whirling. He feels a tiny spark of defiance in his chest. "You dare suggest that he doesn't deserve to live because he's autistic? You don't get to decide his worth!" Plankton's grip on Sponge Bob's tightens, his body stiffening, his heart racing. "How could you?" she demands, her eyes spitting fire. "You want me to just...to just get rid of him?" Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she takes another step back, her hands coming up in a defensive gesture. "I didn't mean it like that," she says, her voice quavering. "I just want to help!" But Karen's fury is a freight train, unstoppable. "Help?" she spits. "This is not help!" She gestures at the pamphlet, now a mangled mess on the floor. "This is hate, Hanna! This is saying he's not worth it because he's not like everyone else!" Plankton looks down, his antennae drooping. Was he really such a burden? Was his life not worth living? Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand, his grip a silent reassurance. Karen's fury doesn't waver. "You call yourself a friend?" she says, her voice laced with disgust. "You'd throw his life away because it's inconvenient for you?" Hanna's sobs fill the room, her body trembling under the weight of Karen's accusations. "I didn't mean it like that," she whimpers. "I just...I don't know what to do." Karen's anger doesn't abate, but it turns into a deep sadness. She looks at Hanna, her eyes filled with disappointment. "You don't 'fix' someone because they're different," she says, her voice deadly calm. "You support them." Plankton watches the exchange. He feels tiny, insignificant under the weight of their words. Karen turns to Sponge Bob. "Take him to his room," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to talk to Hanna." Sponge Bob nods slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. He gently helps Plankton to his feet, a steadying presence against Plankton's uncertain steps. As they walk to the bedroom, Plankton's gaze remains glued to the floor, his mind whirling with thoughts he can't quite grasp. Once Plankton is safely in bed, Sponge Bob tucks the blanket around him, his movements gentle and soothing. Plankton's body relaxes slightly under the comforting weight, his eye closing with a sigh. Karen turns to Hanna, unfurling from defensive pose. "You don't understand," she says, her voice calmer now, though still tinged with frustration. "The things you're suggesting, they're not just cruel, they're dangerous." Hanna's sobs slow, her eyes red and swollen. She looks at Karen with desperation, clearly lost in the ignorance. "What do you mean?" Karen's determined. "Straightjackets are used," she says, her words carefully measured. "They restrain patients, not help them." She pauses. "And those rituals you found, the ones that suggest them to make him 'normal'... They could kill.." Hanna's sobs stop abruptly, her breath hitching. "What?" she asks, shock etched on her features. Karen's eyes never leave Hanna's, her voice cold and devoid of pity. "You don't get to decide his worth, Hanna," she says, each word a bullet. "And you certainly don't get to decide his fate." Hanna's shoulders slump. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her tears flowing freely. "I didn't know." Karen's expression softens slightly, the anger fading to disappointment. "You have to understand," she says. "Plankton is still Plankton. He just...sees the world differently now." Hanna sniffs, wiping away her tears. "But what if he's in pain?" she whispers. "What if his autism is making him miserable?" Karen sighs, her frustration dissipating. "He's not in pain," she explains. "He's just...sensitive. To everything. Sounds, smells, touch... exactly what the institutions expose them to, will cause pain." Hanna absorbs Karen's words. "Oh, I didn't..." she trails off, overwhelmed by the gravity of her mistake. "I'm so sorry, Karen. I didn't know." Karen nods, relaxing slightly. "I know," she says, her voice softer now. "It's a lot to take in, and it's scary when someone you love becomes...different." Hanna nods. "But you still love him," she says, a question and a statement wrapped in one. "More than anything," Karen replies without hesitation, her tentacles tightening around Hanna. "And I need you to love him too, Hanna." Hanna nods, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "I do," she whispers. "I just...I want him to be happy." Karen's tentacles give Hanna a gentle squeeze. "He is," she says, her voice filled with determined love. "And we'll make sure he stays that way." The two of them stand there, the silence of the moment heavy between them. Karen's eyes drift to the closed bedroom door, beyond which Plankton sleeps peacefully. The sounds of the Chum Bucket are muted, the only noise the distant hum of the laboratory equipment. In that quiet, Karen's tentacles relax slightly, the anger of the confrontation dissipating. She looks back at Hanna, her expression softening. "Thank you for coming," she says, her voice still firm but lacking the sharp edge of anger. "But you have to understand that this isn't something to be fixed. It's part of him now. Let's go check on him." They find SpongeBob sitting on the foot of the bed, his hand still entwined with Plankton's, their fingertips barely touching. Plankton's breathing is deep and even, a stark contrast to the turmoil of moments before. His antennae twitch occasionally, his mouth barely parted in a quiet snore. Hanna follows Karen into the room, her eyes wide and frightened. She sees Sponge Bob and his gentle touch with Plankton and her expression softens slightly. This is new to her, this quiet understanding, but she can't help but be moved by the sight. Sponge Bob looks up, his eyes filled with a certain sadness that mirrors Karen's. He nods silently, acknowledging her thanks. Hanna's eyes dart to Plankton, who remains fast asleep, his single eye closed peacefully. Karen sits beside the bed, reaching out to stroke Plankton's forehead. His skin is cool to the touch, his breathing steady. She whispers to Hanna, "We need to be careful with him. He's...fragile." Hanna nods, swallowing her tears. She moves closer, her own hand tentatively reaching out to touch Plankton's hand. His antennae twitch but he doesn't wake. The room is bathed in a soft glow, the dimmed lights designed to reduce stimulation and ease his sensory overload. Karen's breathing slows as she watches the scene before her, her heart swelling with love and gratitude for the support Sponge Bob is providing. Hanna's tentative touch seems to soothe Plankton, his snoring growing slightly more rhythmic. Sponge Bob smiles softly at Hanna, his thumb still moving in gentle circles around Plankton's. "You're doing good," he whispers. "He just needs us to be patient and understanding." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "I'll try," she says, her voice quiet and earnest. "I really will." Karen looks at Hanna, her eyes softening. "It's not easy," she admits. "But it's worth it." **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vii (Autistic author) Sponge Bob's mind is racing, his heart thumping in his chest. He had never seen Plankton like this, and the sudden change was unnerving. "What happened to make you so..." he asks, his voice laced with curiosity. Plankton's smile broadens, his hands continuing their flapping dance. "Good book," he repeats. "Best friend." He pats the bed again, his gesture urging Sponge Bob to sit closer. Sponge Bob does, his gaze still locked on Plankton's. "But what happened?" he presses, his voice filled with concern. "You've never been this... this... affectionate before." Plankton's hands stop their flapping, his antennas drooping slightly. "Just happy." Sponge Bob's eyes search his friend's, his concern growing with each repetition. "But Plankton, what's really going on?" he asks, his voice filled with urgency. "You've never talked like this before." Plankton's smile wavers, his hand reaching for the book. "Read," he says, his voice a monotone. "Happy book." Sponge Bob's eyes dart between Plankton's and the complex text before him. "But Plankton, I don't know what this means." Plankton's smile fades, his hands stilled. He looks at Sponge Bob with an unblinking stare, his mind racing. "Friend," he says, his voice flat. "Best friend." His gaze drops to the book, then back to Sponge Bob's face. "Read," he instructs, his tone firm. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, the weight of Plankton's stare heavy on his shoulders. He opens the book to a random page. "Ok," he says, his voice shaking slightly. "I'll try." He starts from the top, his pronunciation awkward and stilted. "Quantum Mechanics," he reads, his eyes squinting at the text. Sponge Bob's voice falters, the complexity of the words tripping his tongue. "Plankton, I don't understand any of this," he says, his voice filled with frustration. Plankton's eye widen, his smile fading. "Friend," he repeats, his voice strained. "Best friend." He grabs the book from Sponge Bob's hands, his movements suddenly frantic. "Read," he says, his voice a mix of desperation and joy. "Good book." Sponge Bob's heart races as he watches his friend's erratic behavior. He knows something is seriously off, but he's not sure what. "Plankton What's going on with you?" Plankton's smile flickers back, his hands stilling. He looks at Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. "Read," he repeats. "Best friend read." Sponge Bob nods, his throat tight. He tries again, his voice more confident this time. "Quantum Mechanics," he repeats. Plankton's smile brightens, his hands resuming their flutter. "Good," he says, his voice a monotone cheer. "Best friend." Sponge Bob's heart aches with concern, but he continues to read, hoping to find some comfort in the words for his friend. "Quantum Entanglement," he murmurs, his eyes scanning the page for any sign of understanding. Plankton's flapping grows more intense, his body rocking back and forth with excitement. Sponge Bob's eyes widen as he notices Plankton's erratic behavior, but he keeps reading, his voice steady and calm. "The universe," he says, his eyes skimming the page, "is a strange and wondrous place." Plankton's eye light up, his hands flapping rapidly. "Wondrous place," he echoes, his voice mirroring Sponge Bob's. "Best friend." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spongy cheeks reddening. "You're saying the same thing I just said," he points out, his voice filled with confusion. Plankton nods vigorously, his hands fluttering in the air. "You're saying same thing," he says, his voice a cheerful mimic of Sponge Bob's. "Wondrous place. Saying the same thing just said.." "Plankton," SpongeBob says, his voice urgent. "What's going on with you?" Plankton's smile is wide, but his gaze is distant, as if he's somewhere else entirely. "You're saying the same thing," he echoes again, his hands flapping in a rhythmic pattern that matches his words. Sponge Bob's eyes widen. "Plankton," he says, his voice strained. "You're just repeating me." He pauses, trying to gauge his friend's reaction. Plankton nods, his smile still in place. "Yes," he says, his voice a copy of Sponge Bob's. "You're repeating." His hands flap with excitement. Sponge Bob's concern grows, his eyes searching Plankton's for any sign of distress. "But why, Plankton?" he asks, his voice soft with worry. Plankton's smile falters, his hands stopping mid-flap. "But why?" he repeats, his voice a perfect echo of Sponge Bob's. "You're copying me," he says. "Why are you copying everything I say?" Plankton's eye refocus on Sponge Bob's face, his smile returning. "You're copying me why are you copying everything I say." Plankton echoed. Sponge Bob's trying to find a reason behind the behavior. "I'm asking you what's going on!" Plankton nods, his antennae waving slightly. "SpongeBob asking me what's going on," he mimics. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his heart racing. "Plankton," he says, his voice filled with urgency. "This isn't funny. What's really happening?" "This isn't funny," he echoes Sponge Bob's tone. "What's happening?" Sponge Bob's heart sinks. "Plankton," he says, his voice shaking. "What's wrong with you?" Plankton's eye locked on Sponge Bob's. "Wrong with Plankton," he echoes. "What's wrong?" Sponge Bob's voice trembles as he speaks. "You're not acting like yourself," he says, his heart pounding. "You're just repeating everything I say." "You're repeating everything I say," he says, his voice a mirror. "Plankton," he says, his voice shaking. "Please, tell me what's going on." "Please tell me what's going on," he repeats, his voice a perfect match to Sponge Bob's. "You tell me." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of fear and desperation. "But, Plankton," he says, his voice trembling. "You're just repeating everything I say." He takes a deep breath, his mind racing to understand his friend's sudden change. Plankton's smile is unwavering, his hands still fluttering. "You're just repeating everything," he echoes. "I say." His voice is calm, his movements methodical. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of his friend. "Please, Plankton," he begs, his voice cracking with anger. But Plankton's response is only more of the same, his words a perfect echo of Sponge Bob's plea. "Please, Plankton," he repeats, his voice a mirror of pain. "Please.." "This isn't right," he says, his voice filled with frustration. "You're not acting normal." Plankton's smile falters for a moment, his hands stilling. "Not normal," he repeats, his voice a hollow echo. "You not acting right." Sponge Bob's frustration boils over. "I'm not the one who's changed!" he exclaims, his voice loud. "You're the one who's been acting weird and repeating everything I say!" "You're the one who's changed," he echoes, his voice still calm. "Weird. Repeating." Sponge Bob's anger flares, his spongy fists clenching. "No, Plankton!" he says, his voice rising. "You're the one who's different! You're not the same as before!" Plankton's smile fades, his hands coming to a halt. His gaze meets Sponge Bob's with a flicker of understanding. "Different," he says, his voice a flat echo. "Not same." Sponge Bob's anger turns to desperation. "What happened to you?" he asks, his voice cracking. "Why are you doing this?" Plankton's gaze is unyielding, his smile a forced imitation of happiness. "You doing this," he repeats, his voice a monotone. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with anger. "What are you talking about?" he demands, his hands clenching into fists. "I haven't done anything!" Plankton's smile flickers, his gaze dropping to his book. "You haven't done anything," he echoes, his voice a mirror of Sponge Bob's anger. "I have." Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, his confusion turning to anger. "What are you saying?" he asks, his voice sharp. Plankton's hands resuming their flapping. "I have book," he says, his voice calmer. "Good book. Happy book." Sponge Bob's anger dissipates, his confusion deepening. "But Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "What's the book got to do with anything?" "Book," he repeats, his voice a monotone chant. "Book, book." Sponge Bob's confusion turns to anger, his eyes narrowing. "What is it with this book?" he demands, his voice tight. "What's so special about it?" Plankton's smile flickers, his hands pausing in their flapping. "You and book," he says, his voice a monotone whisper. "Makes Plankton happy." SpongeBob grabs Plankton's wrists to stop the flapping, making Plankton finally stop his repetitive chanting. "What's gotten into you?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice shaking with anger and concern. "Are you just messing with me?" Plankton's smile fades, his antennas drooping. "No mess," he says, his voice a sad echo. He tries to pull his hands free, but Sponge Bob's grip tightens. Sponge Bob's eyes bore into his friend's, searching for anything that might explain this strange behavior. "Then what is it, Plankton?" he asks, his voice a mix of anger and fear. "What's going on?" Plankton's gaze flickers with a hint of sadness. "Accident," he whispers, his voice a hollow echo, his body tense.

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

CHIP AND FAIL xvi (Autistic author) "Both of you, sit down," Karen ordered, her voice firm but not unkind. They complied, their movements jerky with emotion. "Chip, your father's autism is not an excuse for this behavior, but it's also not something to mock," Karen began, looking at her son with serious eyes. "It's a part of him, and we need to respect it." Chip's anger subsided slightly. "But you saw what happened earlier," he said, his voice still shaking. "It's like he doesn't even want to be around me." But Plankton's not quite done. "Why do you think that is, Chip? Go on, smarty, enlighten..." Karen's patience had run out. "Plankton," she said, her voice stern. "That's enough." He glared at Chip, his antennae quivering with anger. Chip looked away from him. "And Plankton," Karen's voice was a gentle reprimand, "Your son's ignorance is not an excuse for anger. We all need to communicate better." Plankton's antennae drooped. "I know," he murmured, his anger easing slightly. "It's just..." Karen's voice was firm. "I know it's frustrating, but we need to work together." She turned to Chip. "And Chip, your father's feelings are valid. You can't ignore them." Chip looked at his father, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Karen's voice was calm as she interceded. "Plankton, can you tell Chip what happened today? Help him understand?" Plankton's antennae stopped shaking. He took a deep breath. "When you touch me without asking," he began, his voice still sharp, "my body can't always handle what yours can." Karen's eyes were a gentle reminder of the lesson she had tried to teach earlier. She nodded for him to continue. "When you poke me or touch me without asking," Plankton said, "it's overwhelming." "I just barely touched you for one second, Dad!" "To you, it's one second," Plankton replied, his antennae drooping. "To me, it's an eternity of discomfort." Karen stepped in. "Chip," she said, "You need to understand that for him, it's not just about physical contact. It's about respecting his boundaries."

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

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

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

CHIP AND FAIL vii (Autistic author) Plankton's body tensed, his eye squeezing shut as he tried to block out the onslaught of sensations. "Chip," he murmured, his voice strained, "I can't." "What do you mean?" He didn't know his touch, his words, his very presence was a storm in Plankton's mind. He just wanted to share his week, his joy, with his dad. Plankton took a deep, shaky breath, his antennae twitching. "I have... I have something that makes it hard for me to... to handle..." But Chip's excitement was unable to comprehend the distress he was causing. "Handle what, Dad?" he asked, his voice filled with eagerness. "You can tell me anything!" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flickering with pain. He knew he had to find the words, to explain the storm that raged in his mind, his voice trembling. "I can't... I just..." Chip's eyes searched his father's, his hands reaching out again. But Plankton was already slipping away, his mind a tornado of sensations. He couldn't find the words, the storm too loud. Chip, oblivious to the turmoil, pressed on. "Dad, you can tell me anything," he said, his voice bubbling over with eagerness. His hands reached out again, his touch like a lightning bolt in Plankton's overstimulated world. Plankton's antennae quivered with the effort of maintaining his composure. He didn't know how to explain the maelstrom that was his mind, the way each touch and sound felt like a thunderclap. "Chip," he began again, his voice strained, "I'm..." But Chip was a hurricane, his enthusiasm unyielding. "Is it because of the college?" he asked, his screen sparkling. "Or Nutmeg?" He didn't realize that his words, his touch, were the fuel for the storm. Plankton's eye searched his son's, desperate for a moment of calm. "Chip, no, it's not about..." His voice was a whisper, lost in the wind of his son's excitement. But Chip didn't hear the desperation, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts and memories. He didn't see the pain he was causing, only his own need for connection. "But Dad, I just wanted to..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body tensing like a bowstring. "Chip," he said, his voice a whipcrack of agony. "P-please." But Chip was in his own world, racing with the excitement of his week. "Come on, Dad," he said, his voice filled with cheerful oblivion. "It's so cool, you've gotta see it!" He grabbed Plankton's hand, pulling him to hard. Plankton's body jerked, his eye wide with pain. The sudden contact was like a sledgehammer to his overstimulated mind, his thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. "Chip," he managed, his voice strained, "please." But Chip's excitement was a freight train, barreling forward without a care for the tracks. He didn't see the agony etched in Plankton's features, didn't feel the tension in his father's body. "Come on, Dad," he said, his grip tightening. "It's going to be amazing, I..." Plankton's body spasmed at the contact, his antennae vibrating wildly. The room grew too bright, the sounds too loud, the air too thin. He couldn't move, couldn't think. His mind was a cacophony of sensations, a symphony of overload. "Chip," he choked out, his voice a plea. "I... I can't." Chip's face fell, not realizing how angry his dad's getting. "What do you..." But Plankton was already spiraling, his mind a tornado of sensory assault. He didn't know how to make Chip understand, his voice a thunderclap of despair. "I CAN'T!" he shouted, his antennae waving erratically. Chip's smile faltered, his eyes wide with shock. He had never seen his dad like this before, his touch a match to a fuse. He took a step back, his hands up in surrender. "You mean, you won't!" he asked, his voice shaking. Plankton took a deep, shuddering breath, his antennae drooping. "Chip," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I can't. Not right now. I need..." But Chip's crashing over the delicate barriers Plankton had built to keep his world in order. "But Dad, it's just a story!" he exclaimed, his voice booming in the quiet living room. "It's not a big deal, you're just being..." The room grew smaller, the walls closing in on Plankton as Chip's words echoed in his mind. Just a story? To Chip, it was a simple tale of adventure, but to Plankton, it was a minefield of sensory input his brain couldn't process. "Chip, please," he murmured, his antennae twitching wildly. "I'm trying..." "You're not trying hard enough!" Chip said, his voice filled with the kind of innocent exasperation that only a child can muster. "But if you're trying to break our family, congratulations! You..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body rigid with tension. The accusation hit him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him under the weight of his own failure. "Chip," he said, his voice a desperate plea. "It's not..." But Chip's screen filled with accusation, his voice loud in the suddenly too-small room. "Why can't you just be normal?" he demanded, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye squeezed shut against the assault. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm not... I'm not like other dads." "Well DUH! You just can't handle it, can you?" Chip said, his voice filled with frustration. He didn't see the pain in Plankton's eye, the way his antennae drooped with each accusation. "But it's just a story, Dad. It's not that..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body trembling with the effort to stay calm. "Chip, you don't understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My mind is like a... a... " Chip's eyes searched his father's, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. "What? What's wrong with you? Let me guess, you're just being dramatic again," he said, his voice harsher than he intended. Plankton flinched at the accusation, his antennas stiffening. Karen watched from the sidelines, aching. She knew this moment was inevitable, but seeing the pain was like a knife to her. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation that needed to happen. "Chip, sweetie," she began, her voice soft and gentle, "Dad's not being dramatic." She took a step forward, placing a hand on her son's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. "Your dad has..." "Mom, my 'dad' has no place in OUR family! Your life is a lie!" Chip's words, fueled by confusion and hurt, echoed through to Plankton, his voice shaking. Karen's hands shook as she reached for Chip. "No, honey," she said, her voice trembling, "it's not that simple." But Chip was already storming out of the room, his footsteps like thunder in the quiet hallway. Plankton slumped back against his chair, his antennae drooping. He had hoped Chip would never have to know, never have to feel the way he did. The way his mind was like a cluttered room, with no way to organize the chaos. He closed his eye, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders.

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

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

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

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

PLUSH ONE xvi (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's eyes are a pool of understanding as she watches him, her heart aching for his pain. She knows the plushie is more than just a toy; it's a piece of his sanity in a world that's turned too loud, too bright. She moves closer, her hand hovering near his.. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body stiffening. "No," he whispers, his voice a shaky plea. "No touch." Karen nods, her movements slow and careful. She understands his boundaries, his new sensory needs. "Okay," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I won't touch. But can I sit with you?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye still closed. He takes a deep breath, his tiny chest rising and falling with the effort. "Okay," he murmurs. So Karen sits down beside his shaky form. Hanna watches from the doorway, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. The plushie in his hands is a lifeline, a reminder that amidst the storm of sensory input, there is something that doesn't change, that won't hurt him. Karen's presence is another constant, a beacon of comfort. But Hanna is a variable, an unknown. Her eyes are filled with sadness, a testament to the gap that's formed between them. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft apology. "I didn't me—" But Plankton interrupts. "MINE," he cries out, his antennae quivering with the intensity of his emotions. Karen's heart breaks for him. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle reminder of their bond. "It's your plushie." Plankton's grip tightens around the plush, his body a coil of tension. Hanna stands there, hands trembling. "I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice a soft apology in the quiet room. "I didn't kn-" But Plankton's eye opens, his gaze sharp and focused. "MINE," he says again, his voice a fierce declaration. Karen's eyes are filled with pain, her hand dropping to her side. "I know," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "But Hanna meant no harm." Hanna nods, her gaze still on the plushie. "I---" But Plankton's panic interrupts her, his voice high-pitched. "No Hanna," he whispers, his antennae quivering as he shakes his head. "No take." Hanna's eyes fill with sorrow as she backs away, her hand dropping to her side. Karen's heart clenches, seeing the hurt in Hanna's eyes. "It's okay," she murmurs, her voice a gentle coax. "We just need to give Plankton some space." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I understand," she whispers, her voice a soft apology. "But what abou–" But Plankton's panic doesn't abate, his body constricting even further. "No," he murmurs. "No more." Hanna's eyes are filled with a mix of pity and frustration. She's tired of his outbursts, of the way his autism controls their lives. Her voice cracks. "What do you want from me!" she asks, her voice a soft cry of exasperation. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting around the room. He's lost in a sensory maelstrom, unable to understand her words. "Quiet," he whispers, his voice a plea. "Everything too mu-" But Hanna's frustration has reached a boiling point. "I've tried!" she says, her voice a sharp retort. "Everything's always about you and your plushies, when all we want is to he-" Her words are cut off by Plankton's wail, his body trembling. Karen's heart clenches, her eyes filled with pain. "Hanna," she says, her voice a soft admonition. "He can't help it." But Hanna's frustration spills over. "I kn-" But Plankton's wail cuts through the room, his antennae vibrating. The plushie clutched to his chest is a silent cry for help. Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she watches, her frustration boiling over. "Why can't you just...be normal!" she asks, her voice a desperate plea. Karen's gaze snaps to her, her eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "What do you mean by 'normal'?" she asks, her voice a soft challenge. "Plankton is who he is. His autism is part of him, not something to 'fix'." Hanna's shoulders slump, her eyes welling up with tears. "I know," she murmurs, her voice a soft apology. "I just...I miss the old Plankton you've told me about." Karen's gaze is filled with compassion. "We all do," she says. "But he's still in there, just...different now." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton's trembling form. "I know," she murmurs. "I just... I don't know how to help." Karen's smile is sad, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're already helping," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "Just by being here, by caring." Hanna looks down, her eyes misty. "But it's not enough," she whispers, gesturing to Plankton. Karen's eyes are filled with empathy. "It's a new journey," she says, her voice a soft reminder. "For all of us." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see the fear and confusion in his eye, the way his antennae quiver. It's a stark contrast to the Plankton she's heard of, the one with a sharp mind and a love for Krabby Patties. Karen's voice is a gentle guidance. "We need to learn his new language," she says. "Find a way to reach him without crossing his lines." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton's shaking body. "How do we do that?" she asks, her voice a soft curiosity. Karen's eyes are filled with knowledge. "It's about patience," she says. "And learning his cues." Hanna nods. "What do you mean?" Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she explains. "His autism has changed his communication," she says, her voice a soft explanation. "It's not just words anymore; it's gestures, sounds, and expressions." Hanna's gaze flickers to Plankton's shaking antennae, his eye squeezed shut. "So, what do we do?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen's hand is a soft touch on Hanna's arm. "We watch," she whispers. "We learn."

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

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

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vii (Autistic author) Gently, she helped Plankton to his feet. He swayed slightly, his legs weak from the seizure. "Let's go to your room," she suggested, her arm around his waist. They moved slowly, his steps cautious. Karen could feel his tension easing as they left the chaos of the living room behind. Plankton was still silent, twitching slightly with every new sound they encountered. In the quiet of his bedroom, Karen helped him sit on the bed. "Rest," she said softly. "You're safe here." Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Safe," he mumbled. Karen felt a wave of protectiveness wash over her as she tucked him into bed, his small frame looking even more vulnerable than ever. She knew she had to speak to Chip, to explain everything. With a heavy heart, she made her way to his room. The door was ajar, and she could see his form huddled on his bed, tears staining his screen. He looked up as she entered, his eyes red from crying. "Chip," she began, her voice gentle. "I need to talk to you about Dad." Chip sniffled, wiping his screen with the back of his hand. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. Karen sat on the edge of his bed, taking a deep breath. "Dad's had a bit of an accident, sweetie," she began. "He's okay, but he's going through something called autism. He'll have it for the rest of his life, yet we're still finding ways to manage.." Chip's eyes widened in shock, and he swiped at his tears. "What's autism?" Karen took a deep breath, preparing to explain. "It's like a different kind of brain wiring, Chip. Sometimes, it makes things that seem simple to us really hard for Dad to understand or do." Chip's brow furrowed in confusion. "Does that mean he won't be the same?" "No, it doesn't mean he won't be the same person," she said gently. "But it does mean that we'll have to make some changes to help him feel comfortable and safe. Dad will need extra patience, and we'll have to learn new ways to communicate. He still has memories of his life before, though." Chip looked at his mother with uncertainty. "How can we help him?" Karen took his hand in hers, feeling the warmth of his small fingers. "Well, Chip, we have to be very understanding," she explained. "Dad might react differently to things now, like noises or touch." Chip nodded, his expression earnest. "So I can't hug him like that anymore?" "Not like you did just now," she said. "But we'll find ways to show love without overwhelming him." Chip nodded with newfound determination. "Okay," he said, his voice small. "I'll try." Karen felt a surge of pride. Despite his young age, Chip was showing a maturity beyond his years. "That's my brave boy," she said, squeezing his hand. "Good night.."

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

CHIP IN MY BOX vii (Autistic author) Dr. Kelp's tentacles move quickly, setting out a new set of sensory items. He places the velvet curtain over Plankton's head, creating a safe, quiet space. The weighted blanket is laid gently over his body, his breathing starting to even out. The doctor's eyes are filled with a quiet wisdom that Karen finds reassuring. The octopus then turns his attention to Chip, his tentacle gently stroking the boy's arm. "It's okay," he repeats, his voice a calming lullaby in the tense room. "We all make mistakes." Karen's eyes are glued to Plankton, his body still and silent under the velvet curtain. Fear and regret are a heavy weight on her shoulders. "Thank you," she whispers to Dr. Kelp, her voice trembling. "We should have told him sooner." She watches as the doctor works, his tentacles deftly placing items around. "When Plankton wakes up," Dr. Kelp says, his voice low and soothing, "he might be disoriented, upset." He looks up at Chip, his eyes gentle. "It's important to give him space, let him know it's safe." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving her husband's still form. She knows the routine, but hearing it from Dr. Kelp's lips somehow makes it feel more real, more manageable. "When he wakes," the doctor continues, "he may be confused, overwhelmed." His voice is soft, his eyes compassionate. "He might not immediately be able to process what happened." Karen nods, her hand trembling slightly. "What do you mean?" She asks, desperation lacing her voice. Dr. Kelp takes a deep breath, his tentacles arranging the items with precision. "When Plankton comes to," he says, "his senses may be overstimulated, not knowing what's happening around him." He looks at Chip, his eyes serious. "It's important you don't take it personally. He may incoherently talk, forget or lash out. It's his brain's way of trying to make sense of the sensory overload." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "We'll be ready," she says, her voice determined. She doesn't want to scare Chip, but he needs to know. "We'll help him through it." Dr. Kelp looks at the both of them, his gaze softening. "Good," he says. "Because he's going to need you." His tentacles flatten against the floor as he leans closer to Plankton, checking his pulse. "When he wakes up, keep your voices low, and keep the lights dim. Try to limit any sudden movements." He demonstrates with a slow, deliberate wave of his tentacle. "And if he seems scared or confused, just tell him it's okay, that he's safe," he instructs, his voice calm and steady. "Remember, he might not recognize anything at first. His mind will be trying to piece together what happened, as if in a dream." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. Chip clutches the indestructible fidgets in his small hands, his face a mask of determination. "When he wakes up," Dr. Kelp continues, his eyes on the floor, "his reactions may seem unpredictable. Sometimes, he might get scared, other times he might be agitated." His tentacle flicks slightly, a subtle sign of his own tension. "It's all part of his brain trying to recalibrate." He looks up at Chip, his expression serious. "Your dad's going to need you to be brave," he says, his voice gentle. "If he doesn't know you at first, don't be scared. Just stay calm and keep talking to him." Chip nods, his eyes glistening with tears. "I'll do anything," he says, his voice tiny but firm. Dr. Kelp gives a small smile, his tentacle patting Chip's shoulder. "That's all we can ask," he says.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip listened intently, his heart heavy with the realization that his father's world was so much more complex than he had ever imagined. "What do I do..." "When you see those signs," Karen said, her voice filled with patience and love, "you need to give him space. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just be there for him, without expecting anything in return." Chip nodded, his eyes still swollen with tears. "But what if he needs help?" he asked, his voice small. Karen's expression was a mix of love and concern. "If he's having a seizure, it's important to keep him safe," she said, her tone serious. "Make sure there's nothing around that he could hurt himself on, and don't try to move him unless he's in danger." She paused, taking a deep breath. "And never put anything in his mouth. It can be really scary to watch, but he'll come out of it, I promise." "How will I know if it's a seizure?" Chip's voice was shaky, fear gripping him. Karen took a deep breath, her expression turning serious. "If he just stops talking or moving suddenly, and his eye glazes over, it's probably a seizure," she said, her voice calm and measured. "Sometimes he'll stare off into space, or his body might get really stiff for a moment." She paused, squeezing his hand. "But remember, his brain is just taking a little vacation, okay? And if he convulses or starts to fall, you have to catch him and guide him to the floor safely. It's really important that he doesn't get hurt." Chip's eyes were wide with fear, but he nodded, determined to be there for his dad. "What if..." "If it's a bigger seizure," Karen said, her tone gentle but firm, "you'll know. His whole body might shake, and he could fall to the floor." Her grip on his hand tightened. "If that happens, you need to stay calm. Alert me, and make sure he's in a safe place where he won't hurt himself." With a nod, Chip tried to absorb the information, his stomach churning with a mix of fear and determination. He didn't want his dad to go through that alone. "Okay," he murmured. Karen gave his hand a final squeeze before releasing it. "Why don't we check on him?" she suggested, her voice tentative. "Let's see if he's ready to talk." They approached the bedroom. "Remember, sweetie," she whispered. "Let him set the pace." The door was ajar, letting a sliver of light spill into the hallway. Through it, Chip could see his father, still sitting on the edge of the bed, his antennas slumped in defeat. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of his father's shallow breaths. Karen knocked gently, her voice soft. "Plankton?" There was a moment of silence before they heard a sniffle. "Come in," Plankton's voice was barely audible. Karen pushed the door open, letting Chip step in first. Plankton's single eye was red and swollen from crying, and he was clutching a worn pillow to his chest while rocking in place. Karen's heart ached at the sight of her husband's distress, but she knew better than to rush in. Instead, she gave Chip a gentle nod, encouraging him to go first. Chip took a tentative step forward, his eyes on Plankton's small frame. He had never seen his dad so vulnerable before, his usual bravado and strength nowhere to be found. Plankton looked up at him, his eye searching, his antennas drooping. For a moment, the room was so quiet that Chip could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. With a deep breath, he moved closer, his heart racing. He knew he had to fix this, to somehow make it right. "Dad," he began, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it." Plankton's gaze was unreadable, his antennas lying flat against his head. "You don't get it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You'll never get it." The words stung Chip, but he knew his dad wasn't mad at him. It was frustration, a feeling Plankton struggled to express without it coming out as anger. He took another step closer, his eyes locking with Plankton's. "I want to," he said, his voice earnest. "I want to understand you, Dad." Plankton's antennas twitched, a small sign that he had heard, that he was processing the words.

PLUSH ONE vii (By NeuroFabulous) The room feels alien, the walls closing in around Karen. Plankton's autism has painted a new reality, one filled with sounds too loud, lights too bright, and emotions too intense. Plankton then sniffles as tears start to trickle down his cheeks. "Karen," he says, his voice desperate. "Plankton... Karen upset? Plankton not meant to upset Karen." Karen's screen swells with love and pity. She can't bear to see his pain, his confusion. "It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't do anything wrong." She takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm just learning, sweetie. We both are." Plankton sniffles, his eye searching hers. "Love Karen," he says, his voice a tremble. "Yes; Karen Plankton." "I love you, too," she whispers. "Always." Plankton's gaze lingers on the envelope, his antennae quivering. "Loving Karen even when wanting space." Karen nods, her eyes filling with understanding. "We'll figure this out," she says, her voice a balm to his fear. Plankton's hand opens, the envelope slipping onto the bed. "Plankton memorized formula. Plankton need put back, in Krabs safety vault." Karen's eyes widen with shock. "You... you remember each and every detail; how?" Plankton's eye twitches, a flurry of thoughts racing across his face. "Patterns," he whispers. "Everything in patterns. Krabby Patty, Krabs, all patterns." Karen nods, her mind racing. "So, you're saying you'll return it, so Krabs won't know you got it. Ok, sweets." Plankton nods vigorously, his antennae bobbing. "Yes." He goes and does so before hurrying back. "Plankton did it! And not caught!" Karen swells with pride, despite the circumstances. "Good job," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Now, let's focus on you. How do you feel?" Plankton's eye flickers, his antennae waving in contemplation. "Different," he murmurs. "Everything's so... much." He looks around the room, his gaze landing on their wedding photo. "But Karen, always. Love." Karen smiles through her tears, touched by his words. "I know, sweetie. I love you, too." The room feels smaller, the air thick with their shared understanding. Plankton's autism has become a part of them, a third entity in their relationship. They'll have to navigate this new reality together, a dance of patience and empathy. Karen watches him, his movements now a symphony of tics and rituals, each gesture a clue to his inner world. "What do you need, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper in the cacophony of his thoughts. He looks at her, his eye searching hers. "Does," he says. "Do Plankton." Karen nods. "What does my Plankton need?" He looks at her, his eye swiveling in his newly autistic way, trying to find the words. "Karen," he says, his voice a gentle wave of comfort. "Safe Karen." Karen's eyes well with tears, understanding his need for familiarity. She nods, her hand reaching out to stroke his antennae gently. "Yes, Plankton. You're safe with me." The contact sends a rush of comfort through him, his body relaxing slightly. He closes his eye, leaning into her touch. "Good Karen," he whispers. Karen continues stroking his antennae, her hand trembling with emotion. "What else can I do for you?" she asks, her voice low and soothing. Plankton's eye opens slightly, his focus on her touch. "Love Karen," he murmurs, his voice filled with longing. "Always, love." "I know, Plankton. We're in this together." He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "Together," he echoes. Karen can see the fear in his eye, the way it searches hers for reassurance. She nods, her hand moving to gently stroke his arm. But the moment her hand makes contact with his skin, Plankton's body stiffens. He jerks away, his eye wide with terror. "NO!" he shouts, the sound piercing the quiet room. Karen's hand freezes in midair, her thoughts racing. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton's already retreated to the corner of the room, his body curled into a protective ball. "Not now," he murmurs, his voice shaking. "No touch." She'd hurt him without meaning to, crossed a line he hadn't even drawn yet. She takes a step back, her hand hovering in the air. "Okay," she says, her voice barely a whisper. Then an idea forms in her head. Carefully, she picks up a plushie, her movements slow and deliberate. "Look, Plankton," she says, her voice calm and even. "It's your plush.." But Plankton's eye remains wide with fear, his antennae rigid. "NO!" he shouts, the word echoing in the room. Karen's hand freezes, the plushie dropping to the floor forgotten. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice soft and trembling. "I di-" But Plankton's eye is locked on her screen, his body shaking. "NO!" he screams, his autism surging. This is new, this raw fear. He's never reacted so strongly before. "I didn't know." Karen aches for him, but she knows she can't force her way in. Plankton's breaths come quick and shallow, his body trembling. She wants to comfort him, to tell him it's okay, but she knows it's not. Not right now. Instead, she sits down on the bed, giving him the space he needs. Her eyes on him, watching his every move. The plushie lies on the floor, which he tentatively reaches with his shaky hand. He then clutches it as he remains in the corner of the room on the floor. Karen watches him. The man she loves is lost in his own sensory overload, and she feels powerless. "Would you like me to sing..." Plankton's eye snaps to hers, his face a mask of terror. "No!" he shouts, his voice sharp as a knife. The room falls silent, the air charged with his fear. Karen's seen this look before, but never with such intensity. His autism has painted their lives with new colors, vivid and overwhelming. She takes a step back, her hand raised in a peaceful gesture. "Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry." Plankton's eye doesn't leave the plushie, embracing it. "MINE," he murmurs, his voice a mix of anger and fear. Karen nods, her voice calm. "Yes, Plankton. It's your plushie. You're safe." She doesn't move, knowing any sudden action could send him spiraling again. The silence is heavy, punctuated by Plankton's quick, shallow breaths. Karen's mind races, trying to understand his new rules, his new reality. Plankton clutches the plushie to his chest, his eye squeezed shut. Karen's seen his fear before, but never like this. The autism has unlocked a new intensity in him, his emotions a maelstrom she can't begin to navigate. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice soothing. "You're okay. I'm here." Her hand reaches out, but she stops short, not wanting to invade his space. His grip on the plushie loosens slightly, his breathing evening out. Karen's eyes never leave his face, watching for any sign of distress. "Would you like me to sit w---" But Plankton's eye snaps to hers, his voice firm. "No please," he says. The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of their new normal. Karen nods, her hand falling to her side. She knows he's trying to control his environment, to find comfort in the chaos. "Okay," she says softly. "I'll be right here." The room is silent but for the occasional whisper of his voice, recounting the formula to himself. She watches him from afar. But she's also in awe of his ability to process the patterns and remember every detail. Karen sighs. She observes his every move, the way his antennae twitch to the rhythm of his thoughts. This isn't the exact same Plankton she knew, but this is the Plankton she still loves. She watches him, his eye still closed, his body slowly relaxing as he clutches the plushie.

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

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xvi (By NeuroFabulous) ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ/ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ⚠︎︎ Karen's eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination as she held onto Plankton. She knew his meltdowns could be intense, but this was uncharted territory. His body was rigid with anger, his antennas flailing as he tried to free himself. "Plankton, you need to calm down," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the fear. "You're okay." But Plankton's antennas only twitched more erratically, his body thrashing as he tried to break free. "Let me go!" he screamed, his voice hoarse as Karen's grip tightens. Karen only holds on tighter, her love and concern a silent plea as she tries to soothe her husband's erratic movements. "Plankton," she repeats, her voice calm but firm as he flails. "Please ju—" Her words are lost in his growling as he tries to push her away. But Karen is determined, her arms restraining him. "Plankton, love, Chip's gone, and I need you to li—" But Karen's words were lost as Plankton's struggle grew more intense. His antennas whipped back and forth, a visual manifestation of the tempest inside him. Despite her soothing tone, his body thrashed wildly in her embrace. Karen felt her own heart race, worry etched deep in her features as she held on. This was not the gentle, loving Plankton she knew, but a version of him overtaken by his condition—his autism turning the man she loved into a creature of chaos. Plankton fought against her, his body contorting as he tried to escape her arms. His eye was wild. Karen's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with fear and love. She knew this was the autism speaking, not the man she knew. She tightened her grip as he began to throw his weight around. Plankton's antennas slapped against her, his movements unpredictable. "Chip's gone," she said calmly, her eyes locked onto Plankton's, trying to reach the person beneath the rage. "You're safe and so—" But Plankton's struggle intensified, his antennas a whirlwind of agitation. He threw his head back, hitting Karen's chest with a thud that reverberated through the tiny room. Karen winced, her grip never wavering. "Plankton," she said, her voice even, "I'm here for you. Chip's not in here anymo-" Her words were cut off as Plankton's body spasmed, his antennas lashing out and hitting her face. but she didn't release her hold. "I know it's hard," she murmured, "but I need you to be still. Hold still..." Plankton's eye was wild with fear, his antennas a blur as his body thrashed. "Let go!" he roared, his voice cracking with emotion. That's when Karen realizes Plankton's no longer fueled by anger, his movements no longer intentional but rather was involuntary jerks and twitches, as she saw in his eye the fear and panic. She now realized he knew Chip's gone and that since then, he's only been fighting out of terror. Karen realizes in horror that she only made it worse. Her heart clenched tightly in her chest as she recognized the traumatizing impact her restraint might have had on his overwhelmed autistic mind. She then immediately loosens her grip. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice shaking with her own fear and concern, "I'm sorry, I'm so so—" But her apology is lost as Plankton's antennas quiver, his body convulsing in fear. The realization hits her like a ton of bricks—she's not his protector right now, she's his tormentor. Karen's heart breaks as she watches the man she loves recoil from her own touch. She quickly releases him, stepping back to give him space. Plankton's antennas slap against his body as he stumbles backward, his legs giving out. He hits the floor, his antennas spasming as he curls into a ball, his whole body shaking with sobs. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she watches him, her heart breaking into a million pieces. She had only wanted to help, to be there for him, but instead, she had become his enemy. The fear in his eye was a knife to her soul. She knew the trauma her restraint had caused him, and she wished she could take it all back. "Plankton," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm so sorry." She holds out a tentative hand, hoping he'll understand that she's not a threat. But Plankton's antennas don't still, they pulse with fear as he scrambles away from her, his eye wide with terror. "No," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "Don't.." The word hangs in the air, a testament to the chasm that's suddenly opened between them. Karen's hand falls to her side, her heart racing. "Plankton, I won't touch you," she says, her voice shaking. "I'm just going to give you some space." Plankton's antennas slowly unfurled from their defensive cringe, his body uncurling from the fetal position. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his eye darting around the room. The chaos from the meltdown had subsided into stillness, but the fear remained. Karen's eyes were red and puffy, her own pain mirroring his. She took a tentative step towards him, her hand outstretched. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm not going to touch you, I just want to make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennas quivered, his eye darting to her hand and then back to her screen. He knew her, knew she loved him, but fear had taken hold, twisting his reality into something unrecognizable. With each step she took, his heart hammered in his chest, his body taut with tension. He scooted away, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Karen's eyes searched his, a silent plea for understanding. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the echo of his sobs, "please, let me help." Karen's hand hovered in the space between them, desperate to offer comfort but respecting the invisible boundaries Plankton had drawn. Tears of regret were shed. She wanted to take back her fear-induced restraint, to erase the terror from his face. But she knew it wasn't that simple. So she picked up the books and organized them the way Plankton had them, then cleaning up the remnants of the mess he made. Plankton watched her from his spot on the floor, his antennas still quivering with fear. He knew she was his safety, but the trauma was fresh, the trust fractured. Each movement she made was a potential threat to his sensitive state. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his body still poised to flee. Karen worked quickly and quietly, her movements calculated to cause the least amount of disturbance. The room slowly regained its order, the books back in their proper place, the broken vase cleared away. With each item she picked up, she felt a piece of their relationship mend. Finally, she turned to Plankton, who remained huddled on the floor. Her heart ached at the sight of him—his body still tense, his antennas drooping with exhaustion. "Can I help you up?" she asked gently, her hand extended tentatively. Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, but he didn't move. The fear had not fully abated, but the chaos had dulled to a murmur. He knew his wife was there, a beacon of safety in a world that was still spinning out of control. Karen knelt beside him, her hands hovering just above his shaking body. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're safe, and I'm sorry," Karen said, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to scare yo-" But Plankton's response was unexpected. A sudden gagging sound erupted from his throat, his antennas twitching erratically. Karen's eyes widened as she saw his face contort in fear and anxiety. "Plankton?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "What's wrong?" Plankton's antennas shot straight up, his body convulsing as he tried to swallow down the panic that was rising in his throat. He was gagging, his eye squeezed shut as if to block out the world around him. Karen's heart skipped a beat as she realized the severity of his distress. "Plankton," she said, her voice urgent. "Look at me." Plankton's antennas quivered as he opened his eye, his gaze locking onto Karen's. Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of understanding, any glimmer of the man she knew and loved beneath the fear. The gagging subsided, his body still trembling with adrenaline. "I know you're scared," Karen continued, her voice soothing and gentle. "And it's my fault. But I'm here to help." Slowly, Plankton's antennas lowered, his body beginning to relax. He swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving hers. Karen moved closer, her hand still outstretched. "Can I?" With a nod, Plankton allowed her to touch him, his antennas still quivering with residual fear. Karen lifted him up gently, her touch feather-light as she guided him to the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been building all night. The room was eerily silent. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm so sorry," she whispered again, her throat tight with emotion. "I should have known better. I just wanted us all to be safe.." Plankton took her hand, putting it on himself in the way he felt like was comfortable. "I'm sorry Karen, but I love you so much. I understand. Thank you, it's the thought that counts.."

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

7️⃣