Puzzlecore Emojis & Text

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 4 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "Mom, what can I do to help?" Chip's question was sincere, his eyes searching hers for answers. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes welling up with tears. "The best thing you can do," she said, "is to love him just as you always have. And to learn about his autism. That way, when he has these moments, you can help him feel safe." Chip nodded, his mind racing. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Chip thought about his dad's stims, the convulsions, the noises. He felt a sudden desire to understand, to connect with Plankton in a way he never had before. He looked up at Karen. "Can I talk to Dad?" he asked, his voice hopeful. Karen squeezed his hand. "Not yet, sweetie. He needs some space to calm down. But let's go check on him. Together." They approached the closed door. "Plankton?" Karen calls. "Can we come in?" "Yeah fine," Plankton's voice was tired. "Come in." The room was a mess. The pillow lay on the floor, the wall was dented. Plankton was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. Chip's heart raced, his eyes darting to the mess, then to his dad. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "Dad, I—" But Plankton didn't look up. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, his words muffled by his hands. Chip felt his hope shrivel. "But, Dad..." "Just leave me alone," Plankton said, his voice weak. Karen squeezed Chip's hand, giving him a look that told him to give Plankton his space. But Chip couldn't just leave it at that. He had to try. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room. "Dad," he began, his voice quivering with emotion, "I just want to help. I don't know what's happening, but I want to be here for you." Plankton didn't move, his head still in his hands. Chip took a step closer, his heart racing as his hand reached out tentatively. But as soon as his fingertips brushed against his father's shoulder, Plankton flinched away, his whole body stiffening. "Stop," he said sharply. "Don't touch me." Chip's hand hovered in the air, unsure of what to do. He had never felt so rejected by his father. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly. "Remember, dad's senses are really sensitive, especially after a seizure." Chip nodded, his hand falling to his side. He stood there, feeling lost. He didn't know what to do or say. The room was heavy with unspoken words and untouched emotions. Plankton's breath was ragged, his body trembling with the effort of controlling his own stims. "I'm sorry," Chip managed to whisper. "I just don't kno—" But Plankton's voice cut him off, harsh and sharp. "I said, don't touch me!" The pain in his eye was unmistakable. Chip took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to run, to hide, anything. But he knows that wouldn't help. He looked at his mom, his eyes pleading. Karen's expression was filled with understanding, but also with sadness. She knew this was hard for Plankton, but she also knew that pushing him too much right now wouldn't help. "Chip, why don't you go to your room for a bit?" she suggested. "Let Dad have some time to recover." She squeezed his hand gently. "Let's just give him some time. He'll talk when he's ready." Chip goes to his own room. Karen turns to Plankton. "Honey," she says gently, "We gotta explain this to Chip." Plankton's shoulders slumped. "I know," he sighs, his voice filled with resignation. "But I'm not ready to be 'explained' to him." Karen nods, her eyes full of understanding. "But maybe there's a way we can help him feel closer to you without making it about the seizures," she suggests. Plankton looks up, his interest piqued. "How?" Karen's mind races. "How about jigsaw puzzles?" she says. "You know how you are good at them. It can be a fun way to show Chip the analytical logistic side of your autism. That, and it's a good way to bring you together." Plankton considers this. Karen goes to the shelf in the corner of the room, where they keep their puzzles. She picks out one with a picture of Nosferatu. She brings it to Plankton. "This one?" she asks, holding it out. Plankton nods. "Sure," he says, his voice still tight. They bring the puzzle to the living room and spread it out on the coffee table. Karen starts laying out the pieces. Chip comes out of his room to see. Karen motions for Chip to join in. Plankton sits down with a sigh, his eye scanning the pieces. It's a familiar comfort, something that always made sense to him. He starts to pick out the edges, his hands moving with a precision that was second nature to him. Chip watches, fascinated. "You okay, Dad?" Chip asks tentatively. Plankton doesn't look up. "I'm fine," he mumbles, his voice still sharp. "But I'm not going to sit here and explain my entire life to you." Chip swallows hard, his eyes prickling with tears. He just wants to understand. So he picks up a puzzle piece. The three of them sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional clink of puzzle pieces connecting. Chip watches as Plankton's hands move swiftly, placing each piece with precision. He's never seen his dad do this, calculating the puzzle's pattern with ease. Plankton starts to relax, his breathing evening out as his mind focuses on the task. The room feels less claustrophobic, the pressure of their conversation easing slightly as they build something together. Chip's fingers hover over the pieces, uncertain. "Here," Plankton says without looking up, placing a piece in Chip's hand that fits perfectly into the spot he was just eyeing. Karen smiles at this small gesture, hopeful that the puzzle might serve as a bridge between the two. Chip's eyes widen as he fits the piece into place. "How did you know that went there?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder. Plankton shrugs. "It's just pattern. I find patterns.." He trails off, his hand picking up another piece, his mind working through the puzzle without barely even looking at it. Chip watches, a flicker of understanding passing over his features. "It's like your brain sees things we can't," he murmurs. Plankton ignores this. Chip tries again, his voice soft. "Dad, I just wanna ask you; why do you get so upset when people touch you?" He asks, placing a piece with care. Plankton's hand stops mid-air, a piece of the puzzle hovering. His shoulders tense. "It's not just you," he says, his voice tight. "It's about me." He places the piece down and looks at Chip, his eye full of frustration. "You don't get it; you never will.." Karen's eyes dart between them, her heart racing. "It's okay to not be okay," she says gently. "We're here to teach Chip together." But Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the puzzle, his thumbs rubbing against his fingers in a repetitive motion—a subtle stim that only Karen notices. "Dad," Chip says softly, picking up another piece, his voice shaking slightly. "It's just that, when you have those moments, I don't know what to do." Plankton's hand pauses, his breath catching. "What moments!" he asks, his tone defensive. "The moments when you shake and make noises," Chip explains, his voice barely above a whisper. "The moments when you're upset or scared." Karen's heart clenched at her son's brave attempt to connect. "Dad, I just don't get how you can do something as complex as a puzzle, but yet you can't even make eye contact.." Plankton's hand clenched around the puzzle piece, his knuckles turning white. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he chucked the puzzle piece onto the coffee table, and then marched to the bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 17 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton steps into the hallway. The house is still. He can hear the distant hum of the refrigerator. The smell of coffee wafts from the kitchen. Plankton makes his way there, his steps deliberate. He sees Hanna at the couch, her back to him. He pauses, his antennas still. Without the storm's cacophony, his thoughts are clearer. He doesn't sign today. Words feel... possible. He clears his throat, his voice raspy from the silence. "Morning," he croaks. Hanna jumps, turning around. "Oh," she says, her eyes wide. "Hi, Plankton." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. It's clear she's trying not to startle him. Plankton nods, his antennae still. "How did you sleep?" she asks, her movements slow, cautious. He opens his mouth, but the words get tangled. "Okay," he manages, his voice barely above a murmur. The living room's brightness is overwhelming after the dimness of the bedroom. Plankton squints, his antennae twitching, his hand moving to cover his eye. Hanna's gaze is full of concern. She sees his discomfort. "Is there something wrong? I ca--" Plankton shakes his head. "No, no," he says, his voice a bit clearer now. "And I DON'T need the signs today," Plankton snaps at her. Hanna falters, confused. Why's he snippy? "Oh, that's okay! How are y-" "I'm fine," Plankton cuts her off. "Just... need some space." He turns and walks into the other couch, his gait stiffer than usual. Hanna watches him go, feeling like she's intruding. But Karen's words echo in her mind. "Let him know you're here." So, she follows him, trying to mimic the slow, gentle steps that seem to work with him. When Plankton reaches the couch, he sighs heavily. And Hanna sits down beside him. "So Plankton, I see you like puzzles. I can he–" "NO!" Plankton's antennae shot straight up, his voice loud in the quiet room. Hanna jumps, her eyes wide. He knows he's being cranky, but he dislikes this awkwardness. Hanna's to bubbly. "I see you're not wearing those earbuds.." Hanna comments, trying to make small talk. "They're in the bedroom," Plankton says, his voice still sharp. "You don't have to handle it." The silence stretches, thick with tension. Hanna's eyes search his, looking for a clue, but Plankton's face is a mask. "I'm sorry," she says finally. "I just thought the earbuds look cool! Where'd you even get the--" Plankton's antennae quiver with grumpy agitation. "They're not for fun," he snaps. "They're to keep the noise out." Hanna's face falls. "I noticed. Quite the storm last night wasn't it.. I'm so glad to be here! Nice of Karen to let me sta-" "HUSH!" Plankton snaps, interrupting her. Hanna's voice had been rising in excitement, but now it falls to a whisper. She nods. "Yeah, getting up early in the morning can be rough." She pats Plankton's arm. He flinches, his antennae shooting up. "DON'T touch me," he snaps, his voice strained. Hanna's hand has stopped in mid-air. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to--" "Just... don't," Plankton says, his voice still harsh. He can't explain why the simple touch feels like a betrayal. His world is already spinning out of control, and her touch is the last straw. "Just leave me alone." Hanna nods. She tries to fit a piece in the puzzle. Plankton fits another piece in the puzzle. Hanna says nothing, not wanting to upset him more. She goes to try another piece. It did not fit. Then Hanna says something that makes him freeze. "What's with this puzzle? It's so... re---" The word hangs in the air like poıson. Plankton's antennae straighten. That's not right. That's not what puzzles are. His eye narrows. It's the word she used. It's not about the puzzle. He's already getting up off the couch to leave the room. Hanna looks confused, not even aware of what she's done. The word. The word. It repeats in his mind. He can't escape it. Going into the bedroom, Plankton slams the door shut, his chest heaving. Karen stirs in her bed. "Good mo- Plankton?" she mumbles, sleepily. Plankton doesn't answer. He can't. The anger and pain are too much. He sits on the edge of his own bed, his eye stinging. He can't believe Hanna said that. He'd heard it before, the R-word. It's like a kn1fe, shxrp and cøld, cutt1ng into him every time. It's not just a word, it's a declaration of his otherness. He's different, and neurotypicals don't see that as a good thing. Karen's eyes are open now. She's sitting up, looking at his back. "What's wrong?" she asks. Plankton can't face her yet. Can't tell her what Hanna said. Can't tell her that she's brought this person into their lives who doesn't understand. So he only shakes his head. "It's... nothing," he mumbles, his voice strained. But Karen knows him better than that. She's seen that look before. She gets out of bed, her movements slow and careful. She sits next to him, her hand on his shoulder. He flinches but doesn't pull away, though he can't make eye contact. "Is it about Hanna?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, antennae drooping. Karen's heart squeezes. What happened? "What did she do?" Karen asks, her hand still on his shoulder. Plankton's breath shudders. He looks away. "Just... nothing," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not a big deal." But his body language screams different, Karen sees. Her eyes are on him, full of concern. "You know you can tell me anything," she says. Plankton nods, but the words stick in his throat. The silence is heavy. Karen's hand is warm. He doesn't move. He doesn't want her to go away. But his mind is racing. He's tried so hard to be normal, to fit in, even if just for his family. And then Hanna has to go and say something like that. It's like she's taking a sledgehammer to his carefully constructed walls. Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder. "You can tell me," she whispers. "Did she say something?" Plankton can't answer. But he has to tell her. He has to get it out. He opens his mouth, but only a squeak comes out. He's too upset to tell her. The silence stretches, his antennae drooping. Then, finally, the words spill out. "She said something about the puzzle," he says, his voice shaking. "It was... hurtful." Karen's eyes widen, her expression a mix of shock and anger. "What did she say?" Plankton's eye won't meet hers. "I can't," he whispers. A single tear falls down his cheek. He shook his head. Karen frowns. "Okay," she says. "Let's go back to the living room. We can figure it out there." She stood up. In the living room, the puzzle sits on the coffee table. Hanna's reading a magazine, oblivious to his pain. Plankton's chest constricts. He wants to scream, to throw things, but, he can't. He sits on the couch, his body rigid with anger. Karen notices, her gaze flicking to Hanna. "Hi, Hanna. What's going on?"she asks. Hanna looks up, her smile slightly forced. "Oh, I was just helping Plankton with the puzzle," she says, her voice chirpy. She sees Plankton. Karen sits next to him. "Hanna, what did you say to Plankton?" Her voice is calm, but her expression is serious. Hanna frowns, confused. "What do you mean?" she asks. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye locked on the floor. He can't bring himself to repeat it. Karen's gaze is on him, waiting. "It was about the puzzle," he says finally. "What did she say?" Karen asks, her tone firm. She looks to Hanna. "Hanna?" Hanna looks at her. "The puzzle is difficult to—" "No," Plankton cuts her off, his voice harsher than he intended. "The way she said it." Hanna's smile falters. "What?" Karen asks, her heart racing. Hanna blinks. "I just said it was hard, like I couldn't do it," she says, her tone defensive. Plankton's breathing is shallow. He shook his head. "It's not about the puzzle," he murmurs, his voice tight. "It's about what you called it." Hanna's eyes widen. "What?" she asks, genuinely confused. Karen's heart drops, afraid of whatever Hanna's going to say.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 18 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton sat on the couch. His monotonous hum starts up as he rocks; a stim. Karen knows he's not gonna repeat whatever Hanna's said. She turns to her friend. "Hanna? What'd you say?" Hanna's eyes dart between them. She looks confused, almost scared. "I... I didn't mean anything by it," she stammers. "I just said it's a hard puzzle." Karen's gaze doesn't waver. "But Plankton's upset," she says calmly. "What exactly did you say?" Hanna swallows. "It's just a saying," she mumbles. "I don't know why he's so sensitive about it." Plankton's rocking intensifies, his antennae twitching. Karen's voice is steady. "Tell me." The room seems to shrink as Hanna's words hang in the air. "Uh. It's just a puzzle," she says, her voice small. "But when I said it was re--- I meant it's just a way to say... ...I'm sorry." Karen's heart plummets. She knows the word. The one that stings like nothing else. Plankton let out a sound in between a sob or a gasp as he grimaced. Karen knew it as a stress response. When that happens, he winces even though it looks like a smile. Not to mention how it sounds like a squeaky chuckle. But Hanna doesn't realize this when she noticed him doing that. Was her friend's husband laughing at her? Plankton felt his stomach drop when Hanna's gaze snapped to him. "You think it's funny?" Hanna's voice is sharp. She stands up, nearing him. "Do you? Because if you're laughing at me, then it's not gonna fly." Plankton shakes his head as Karen finally decides to intervene. "Hanna, I need to talk to you," Karen says firmly. "Let's go over by the kitchen." Her voice's low, but it carries the weight of something important. Hanna's eyes narrow, but she follows Karen. They stand in the kitchen. "Plankton's birth was... difficult," Karen starts, her voice tight. "He was born in a dystocic situation. It was a miracle he made it out alįve." Hanna's screen pales. She had no idea. Karen continues. "His brain got a bit... jumbled up. Pressure on his head while coming out. And that's why... Plankton's autistic." Hanna's eyes widen, her hand flying to her screen. "Oh... Neptune. I had no idea. I'm so sorry." Karen nods. "It's ok. Most people don't know. But it's important you do. I didn't wanna tell you because it's Plankton's story, not mine. But I needed you to understand why he's like he is. He feels everything so intensely," she explains. "Sounds, lights, smells, touch, can be overwhelming." Hanna nods, processing this new information. "What does that mean for him?" she asks. "For his lífe?" Karen sighs. "It means we have to be extra careful with him. Give him his space when he needs it. And we can't... we can't say things without thinking." She swallows hard. "Things like... what you said." Hanna's face falls. "The puzzle?" she whispers. Karen nods. "Well it's not about the puzzle," she says. "It's the word you used to describe the puzzle, Hanna." Hanna's eyes widen. "Oh no," she breathes. "I didn't mean it like that! I'm so, so sorry.." Karen nods, her expression softening. "It's done. It is just so important to be careful with our words." Hanna nods. "So, how does it affect his personality?" Hanna asks, her voice tentative. She's trying to understand. Karen looks at her for a long moment, considering. "Well, for starters, he's very literal," Karen says. "If you say something metaphorically, he'll take it literally. And sometimes, what might seem like a simple statement to us can be overwhelming to him." She pauses, her gaze going to Plankton, who's still rocking slightly on the couch. "He's also incredibly sensitive to change. Even the smallest shifts in routine can throw him off." "Plankton's so... smart," Hanna says. Karen nods. "He is. He's brilliant. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his challenges. Sometimes his brain just works differently. He gets overwhelmed. And when he does, he needs me to be there for him, to understand without judging." Hanna nods, her eyes wide. "What kind of challenges?" she asks. "Well," Karen starts, "his senses are heightened. That's why he had earbuds in during the thunderstorm." Hanna nods, looking thoughtful. "He gets overwhelmed by sounds, smells, even textures. It can make his body react in ways that are... difficult, to understand," Karen explains, her eyes drifting to Plankton in the living room. Hanna tries to imagine. "Is that why he seems to not like touch?" she asks. Karen nods. "Some autistic people have sensory ıssues," she says. "My husband's no different. He only likes touch on his terms." "What about when he gets upset?" Hanna asks, her voice lowered. "Does he... I don't know, express it differently?" Karen's eyes soften. "You noticed," she says. "Yes. Emotions can be tricky for him. Sometimes they come out as something else. Like when you thought he laughed, but it was just an involuntary response to stress." "And rocking while humming?" Hanna's voice is softer. "Those are stims, his way of self-soothing. It's like... it's like he's got all this energy that needs to go somewhere, and that's his way of controlling it." Karen says. "He even mumbles to himself, he might wave his hands. All stims. But he doesn't want these to be interrupted or even mentioned." Hanna nods, taking it all in. "So, when he does that... it's not because he's ignoring me?" Karen shakes her head. "No, it's his way of dealing with the world." She pauses. "And when he gets overwhelmed, his stims intensify. It's our cue to give him space, or to help him find his balance again." Hanna looks over at Plankton, his rocking motion slightly less frantic. "But when he's irritable," she says, her voice quiet, "how do we know when it'll be his autism acting up?" Karen sighs. "It's a fine line. But generally, his stims get more intense. He might turn away from you, or get snappy. And when he's upset, it's not always obvious. He might withdraw or get tense. Sometimes he'll just need to retreat, shut down." Hanna nods. "What do we do then?" she asks. "How do we help?" Karen's eyes are gentle. "You just have to be patient. Give him his space, let him have his stims. It's his way of coping. And once he's ready, he'll come back to you." They stand in silence for a moment. "And if he's getting too upset?" Hanna asks. Karen's eyes meet hers. "Then I'd need to intervene. Gently. Remind him of his tools. Like the earbuds, or redirect any aggressions." Hanna nods slowly. "But when he's around people, does he... I don't know, struggle?" Karen sighs. "Socializing is tough for Plankton. He doesn't read social cues like we do. Sometimes he misses things. And sometimes, might say things wrong. But he's trying. He really is." "What do you mean?" Hanna asked. "Well, he just might not face you when he talks, or might not get your jokes. He might get too intense about things, or get upset over what seems like nothing." Karen pauses. "And when it comes to touch, it's not just that he doesn't like it; it can be painful for him. So, it's important to ask before you touch him." Hanna nods. "But how do we know when to back off?" she asks. "When he's had enough?" Karen thinks about this. "You'll learn his signs," she says. "Everyone's different, but Plankton's pretty consistent. If he starts to withdraw, or if his stims get really intense, that's usually when he needs his space." Hanna nods. They go back to the couch. Plankton's still sitting silently. "Is Chip still sleeping in?" Hanna asks. Karen shrugs. "Guess so." Plankton looks up at them. "Hi, Plankton! I'm sorry about earlier," Hanna says. "How's the puzzle going along?" Plankton's eye narrows. "Great," he says, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Just peachy." Hanna swallows, unsure of how to react. She'd never seen him like this before. "I'm not good at puzzles," she says, trying to make a joke. Plankton doesn't laugh. "Maybe you should try a different hobby," he says, his tone flat. Hanna's smile fades. "Okay, sorry," she says, her voice small. "I just wanted to help." Plankton looks away. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't," he mutters. "Plankton; Hanna's just trying to connect with you," Karen says gently. "You know she didn't mean any harm." He nods, but his antennae are still stiff with tension. The room feels heavy. "Look," Hanna starts, sitting on the edge of the chair, "I'm really sorry. I didn't know. I'm still learning. Can you tell me how your autis–" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "Just don't." He can't take any more questions, any more probing into his privatė world. Hanna's curiosity feels like an invasion. Karen sighs. "What do you mean?" Hanna asks, her eyes wide with confusion. "I'm just trying to understand." But Plankton can't explain it. Not to Hanna. "Why can't you just leave me alone!" Plankton's voice is a shout. It echoes through the room, sharp and jagged. Hanna flinches, her eyes filling with tears. "I didn't mean to--" "Just... leave me alone," he interrupts, his voice cracking. And he doesn't wait for an answer. He just turns and walks away, his steps quick and deliberate. Karen watches him go, her heart breaking for him. She understands why he's upset, but she also sees the paın on Hanna's screen. She sighs and turns to her friend. "It's okay," she says gently. "He's just overwhelmed. Give him some space." Hanna nods, swiping at her eyes. Karen sits down beside her. "You're doing your best," she adds. "And that's all we can ask for."

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(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ🐻‍❄️ྀིྀི

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 1 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton is autistic. His wife, Karen, is supportive and she understands his struggles and his sensory sensitivities. They kept his autism secret from their son Chip. But one day, Chip comes home from camp earlier than either of his parents expected, for the traffic was better than usual. And Chip notices something he's never seen. At least, not with his dad. Chip peaks in his parents bedroom to find Plankton on his bed, on his side. He seemed to be shaking. So Chip inched closer, unsure of what he's seeing. His father's body jerked in quick, rhythmic spasms, his eye rolled bac̶k, and his mouth's parted open, drool trickling out the side. Paпic strikes Chip. He's never seen anything like this! The room is eerily silent except for the quıet, muffled sounds of his father's shaking and his own racing heart. The scene seems frozen in time, and Chip's mind races with questions and fear. What's wrong with Dad? He cautiously approaches the bed, his hands now shaking as much as his father's body. Plankton's eyelid flutters rapidly in synchronization with the clonic jerks. "Dad; what are you doing?" But Plankton didn't respond. Chip went to find his mom. Karen was gardening in the back when he found her. "Mom," Chip yelled, "Come quick!" His voice was trembling with fear. Karen rushed inside, leavıng her garden behind. She saw her husband, and knew immediately what was happening; that Plankton was okay, just having a seızure that wasn't dangerous, but can look scary. She knew Chip's unaware of Plankton's autism. "Chip," she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "it's okay. Your dad is having a type of spasm called absentia epileptica. It's part of a condıtıon he has, which's autism." Chip looked at her in confusion. Karen took a deep breath, kneeling down to his level. "You know how sometimes you get so into a video game that you don't notice me calling you?" Chip nodded slowly. "It's kind of like that for your dad, but with his body. It's like his brain goes to a different pla͡ce for a little bit." Chip studied his mother's screen, searching for the truth. Her eyes were calm, her voice soothing. "But why is he, his body doing that?" he asked, his voice still quaking. "It's like when you sneeze, honey," Karen explained. "You don't plan to, it just happens. It's a sudden, quick change in your body that you can't control." She took his hand, leading him to the bedside. Plankton's seızure is subsiding. And then Plankton's eye flitted open, unfocused. He was disoriented and groaned, his gaze wandering around the room. This was the postictal phase, where he was emerging. Karen knew it was crucial to keep him calm. "Look," she said softly, smiling at Chip, "Your dad will be okay. This happens sometimes. It's like when you come out of a deep słeep and don't know where you are for a moment." Chip watched as Plankton's eye gradually focused, landing on Karen's screen. He blinked rapidly, his gaze shifting to Chip's. Recognition took over his features, but confusion lingered. Plankton's voice was slurred, his words difficult to piece together. "Ch... Chip?" Karen nodded reassuringly. "Yes, it's Chip. You had a small seızure, but it's over now. You're okay." Plankton's hand shot up to his face, touching it as if to confirm his reality. His eye searched his son's for an answer. Karen sat on the bed, taking Plankton's hand in hers. "It's part of his autism, sweetie. Some times his brain needs to reboot." She offered a comforting smile as Plankton's gaze cleared somewhat, and he looked at Karen with a mix of relief and embarrassment as he wiped up the drool. But then, Plankton's face contorted in anger. He jerked his hand away from Karen's grasp, his eye snapping to Chip. "What are YOU doing here?" he snapped, his voice harsher than Chip had ever heard it before. It was like his father was a different person, someone he didn't know. Chip took a step back, his heart pouncing in his chest. "I just found you..." he started to explain, but his voıce trailed off. Plankton pushes himself up to a sitting position, his eye wide with anger. "Why are you spying on me?" he accused, his voice rising with every syllable. Karen stepped in quickly, trying to defuse the tension. "Chip wasn't spying, honey. He just came home early and found you like this." But Plankton's anger didn't ease. "Why didn't you ask me?" he demanded, looking at Chip accusingly. Chip felt his eyes stinging with unshed tears, his screen tight. "I... I didn't know what was happening," he stammered. "I was scared." Plankton's face softened slightly, but the anger was still palpable. "How much of my secret's out?" he said, more to Karen than to Chip. Karen sighed, stroking his arm gently. "Chip, repeat to your dad what I taught you." Plankton's jaw tightened, but he looked at his son. Chip took a deep breath. "Mom told me," Chip managed to say, "Mom says that your autistic seizures are because of, uh... Mom said you are..." His voice cracked. "I learned that you're only a little bit ret-..." The room went still as a pin drop. Karen's screen flushed red with anger and sadness. Plankton's eye widened, his body stiffened. "Chip," Karen whispered, "that's not a word we use." But Chip, confused by his father's reaction, just stared, his screen brimming with tears. "How could you say that?" Plankton's voice was low, the paın in his eye was impossible to miss. "You don't understand," Chip sobbed, "I di-" "Understand?" Plankton interrupted, his voice rising. "I'm not some- thing to be understood; I'm your father!" He slams his fists into the mattress. Karen's voice was steady as she spoke, "Plankton, it's ok. We can explain this to Chip." She turned to her son, her eyes filled with compassion. "It's ok to not know everything right now. We'll talk about it. But that word is not nice. It can hurt̸ people." Plankton's anger was palpable, but he swallowed it down, his body slumping in defeat. He looked away from Chip, his gaze firmly planted on the floor. "Just go," he said weakly, "Get outta my fac͘e." The rejection hït Chip like a ton of bricks. Karen's heart broke seeing the hurt̸ on her son's face. She knew Plankton didn't mean to, that his words were just a reflex, a shield against the fear of being misunderstood. "Chip," she said gently, "your dad needs a moment. So you give him some privacy." Chip took a step back off the bed as Plankton begins to mumble. "Do not know what who's talking about.." Karen knew Plankton's self-talk was a type of stim, that he didn't like for it to be interrupted or to be commented on. But she realized that Chip doesn't know this. She turns to Plankton. "Honey," she said softly, "Chip is scared. He's never seen you like this before." Plankton's body tensed. Karen knew he has to decompress. And sure enough, the vocal stimming began again. Plankton's voice was heard. "No scared, is seen before," he says. Chip watched, his eyes wide and filled with fresh confusion. And yet Karen knew that Plankton's repetitive stimming was his way of processing all the overwhelm. Chip had never heard his dad make these sounds. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly, "Dad's just talking to himself to calm down. It's part of his autism." But Chip's curiosity was piqued. He couldn't help but ask, "But why is he–" "CHIP," Plankton's voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. "We SAID I don't like it when YOU interrogate me!" He turned away, his body language a clear signal for space. Chip felt his chest tighten. He wants to understand, but his father's reaction was unsettling.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 2 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen could see the internal battle Plankton's fighting, the fear of being different, the desire to be left alone versus the love for his son and his need for understanding. Plankton's frustration with his own body was manifesting into frustration with Chip, Karen knew. "Chip, your dad's okay," she said softly. "He just needs some space now." Chip nodded, his eyes still on his father, who was now rocking slightly, his hands flapping in his lap. This was another one of Plankton's stims, a way to soothe himself during hıgh stress or anxıety. But Chip found it weırd. "Why does he do that?" Chip whispered, unable to mask the curiosity in his voıce. Plankton's head snapped up, his eye blazing. "I said no more questions!" he snapped. "So just STOP it, Chip!" The room was thick with tension. Karen felt torn, wanting to ease Chip's fear while also respecting Plankton's boundaries. But Plankton's anger was a wall, impenetrable. "I don't like when you look at me like that," Plankton said, his voice tight. "Like I'm gonna play show and tell.." Chip's face fell, feeling the weight of his father's words. He took a step back, his curiosity shrinking under the pressure of his father's discomfort. But Plankton's gaze was still locked on Chip, his frustration palpable. "I don't owe you my entire life story just because my brain decided to take a detour!" Chip felt the sting of rejection, his eyes welling up with těars. "Plankton," Karen began, her voice a gentle reprimand. "We need to explain this to Chip. He's scared and curious. That's natural." But Plankton just glared at his son, the anger in his eye not wavering. "You just want to poke and prod!" he accused. "Well I DON'T!" Karen took a deep breath, knowing this was a moment where she had to bridge the gap between her husband's world and her son's. "Chip," she says softly, "Your dad's just had a seızure. It can make him feel really out of sorts, like everything's too loud and too bright. He doesn't mean to be short with you." She turned to Plankton, her voice gentle but firm. "Honey, we need to talk to Chip. He's part of this to—" But Plankton cut her off, his voice shaky. "I don't want to talk about it." He looked at Chip with a mix of anger and fear. "You don't get to just waltz in and demand explanations!" Chip's lip trembled as he looked at his dad, his screen full of uncertainty. Karen's heart ached, but she knew she had to stand up for her son. "Plankton," she said, "Chip's just a kid. He's only just trying to understand something that's scary to him. We can't šhut him out." "I don't need him to learn it," Plankton murmured. "I just need him to leave me alone." His words were like a slap across Karen's screen, but she knew this was his fear speaking. Fear of the unknown, fear of judgment, fear of his son seeing him different. "Dad," Chip whispered, his voice shaky, "I'm sorry." But Plankton shook his head. Chip didn't know what to think. "I just want to know why," Chip said softly. Plankton's jaw clenched. "Why what?" he asked, his tone harsher than Chip was expecting. "Why do I have autism? Why do I have seizures?" His eye searched his son's, looking for anything but pity. "I don't have answers for you, Chip." Chip felt his face heat up. He didn't mean it like that. He just wanted to know what was happening to his dad, why he was shaking and why his mom was so calm about it. "But why are you so mad at me?" Chip asked, his voice shaking. Plankton's eye searched his son's, and for a moment, Karen thought she saw a flicker of sadness. But then it was gone, replaced by a wall of defiance. "Because you're invading my personal space," he said coldly. "You don't get to just barge in and demand things from me." Chip felt the sting of his father's words, but he stood his ground. "But you're my dad," he said, his voice cracking. "I just want to know why you're shaking and making those noises." Plankton's face reddened, his hands balling into fists. "Please," Chip's voice was small, "I just want to help." Plankton's breathing was erratic, his fists still clenched. "You can't help," he said. "You're not supposed to know. This isn't for you." The words were a knife in Karen's heart, but she knew he didn't mean to hurt Chip. It was his pride and discomfort talking. "Plankton," she said firmly, "Chip didn't do anything wrong. He found you when you needed him." Her words hung in the air, uncomfortable truths that Plankton didn't want to hear. But Chip's curiosity was a part of him, a piece of his soul that wouldn't simply vanish because it was inconvenient for his dad. Plankton looked away, his jaw tightening. "I don't need a spotlight," he muttered. "I don't need him to know." But Karen knew that was a lie. Plankton had been carrying this all alone for too long, afraid of what others would think, afraid of his own son seeing him as less than. "You can't keep it a secret forever," she said softly. "He's old enough to underst--" "Understand?" Plankton's voice was thick with sarcasm. "What's there to understand? I'm broken, Karen. And he doesn't need to know that!" He slammed his fist into the pillow next to him, the force making his body jerk. Chip flinched at the sound, his eyes wide with fear. "Plankton," Karen's voice was calm but firm. "You're not broken. You're just different, and that's okay." But Plankton's gaze was still locked on Chip, his eye narrowed in accusation. "Why do you have to be so nosy?" he snapped. "Why can't you just leave me the barnacles alone!" Chip felt his heart sink. He didn't mean to be nosy. But he didn't know how to make it right. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice small. Chip's chest constricted, his mind racing for something, anything, to say that would make everything okay. But Plankton just shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this, Chip. Not now. Not ever." The silence was deafening. Chip felt his stomach twist into a knot. He had never seen his father so upset, so defensive. He took a tentative step forward. "But Dad, I just want to help. I don't understand what's happening." Plankton's glare didn't waver. "That's because you don't belong here.." Plankton replied coldly. Chip gasped, tears spilling. Karen watched, her heart breaking for both her son and her husband. She knew his anger wasn't all truly directed at Chip, but it was impossible to ignore the hurt etched on her son's face. She understood his need for solitude in these moments. But she knew that Chip's curiosity wasn't something that would simply disappear. "Plankton," she said softly, "Chip loves you. He's just trying to understand. We can't keep hiding this." Plankton's face contorted with pain, but his voice was resolute. "He won't get to decide what I can handle!" he snapped. Chip took a step back, his eyes brimming with tears. He didn't understand why his dad was so mad at him. "But I'm not trying to decide anything," he whispered. "I just want to know why you shake and make those sounds.."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 10 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) But before she can finish, Plankton turns, his face a mask of anger. "But I AM mad!" he yells, his voice echoing through their bedroom. It's a stark contrast to the man Chip knows—his father, the clever, resourceful, and always-in-control Plankton. Plankton stands, his body shaking with the force of his fury. He jumps off the bed, his legs wobbly. He stumbles towards the bedside table, his hands grabbing the leg so as to make it topple over. Chip gasps in horror. Plankton then goes to get a book, and he rips out the pages. He throws it down in front of Chip, purposefully missing him. Karen has seen Plankton's meltdowns before, though not with their son. Seeing Chip's upset form is new, unbearable. She has to do something; anything! Karen's instincts kick in, and she darts forward, desperate to stop Plankton's outburst. She wraps her arms around him from behind, body tense. "Plankton, stop," she whispers, her voice calm yet firm. He struggles against her, his body rigid. "Chip, go to your room while I handle this. NOW." Chip hesitates, his eyes wide with fear, but he does as he's told. He backs out of the room, his heart pounding. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Karen to deal with her husband. Plankton's limbs flail as he tries to break free. But Karen holds him firmly, her arms wrapped tightly around his body, to where Plankton can't move. She can feel his heaving breaths coming quickly. "Let me go," he whispers, his voice strained. But she doesn't seem to hear. If anything, she holds on tighter, her heart breaking. She's too upset, Chip's tears fresh in her memory. Plankton's eye is wide, his breathing ragged. He struggles harder, his body jerking as he tries to pull away from Karen's embrace. But she's too strong, her arms unyielding around him. Karen's grip didn't loosen; it only tightens, her fingers digging into his skin. He tries to push himself away. His body thrashed. But Karen's thinking about the look on Chip's face. She felt the need to protect him. Which makes her grip even more firm. Plankton feels trapped, his heart racing. The sensation of being held is overwhelming, his skin crawling. The panic rises in his chest. He can't think, can't breathe. Karen's only trying to calm Plankton down, but it's only making it worse. His body arches backward, his legs kicking out, trying to find purchase, trying to get away from the pressure. The painful cries finally manage to escape his throat, piercing the silence of their room. Only then does Karen realize her mistake. Her restraint isn't helping; it's hurting. She loosens her grip, her eyes filled with regret as noticed his distress. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton's already slipped from her arms, his body moving in a desperate escape. He backs into the corner, his tears falling. Karen's heart clenches as she sees the fear in his eye as he shrinks into himself. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry.." Plankton's back is to the wall, his body tight as a coiled spring. The fear in his gaze is unmistakable—he feels threatened, trapped. Yet Karen approaches him, her steps slow and careful. "Plankton," she says softly, stretching out a hand. "It's okay." But Plankton doesn't move from the floor. He's too overwhelmed by his emotions to trust her. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she watches his struggle. In that moment, Karen realizes the impact of her actions. She knew and understood it intellectually, but her heart aches to see him suffer. She wants to help, but fears she's only making it worse. She swallows hard, her hand still hovering. "Plankton.." Plankton flinches at the sound of her voice, his eye flicking to hers. The fear in his gaze is like a knife to her soul. "Please," she whispers, "I'm here. It's okay." Her hand falls to her side, open and non-threatening. But Plankton's already shook his head, his body curling in on itself. The tears are flowing freely now, his face twisted in anguish. "I just want it to stop," he whispers in self-talk, a vocal stim, his voice breaking. "I just... just want it to stop..." Karen watches from a distance, her own eyes brimming with tears. She understands his need for solitude, though her heart aches for him. She wants to rush over and hold him, tell him everything's okay, but she knows that could only make it worse. Instead, she sits on the edge of the bed, her hand twitching with the desire to reach out. "Take your time," she says softly. "I'm here for yo-" But Plankton's already moving away, his body tight as he retreats to his own corner of their room. Karen's heart squeezes in her chest, watching her husband's painful withdrawal. He curls into a ball on his side, his back to her. "I'm sorry," she whispers, the words feeling so small and inadequate. But Plankton doesn't react, lost in his own world of overwhelming emotion as he stays on the floor. Karen's heart is in her throat as she watches his retreat, her body frozen in place. She understands his need for solitude, for space to unravel his tangled thoughts and feelings. But it's hard not to want to rush over and take away his pain. Her hand hovers in the air, but she doesn't reach out. Instead, she lets him have the distance he needs. With a sigh, she stands, her legs shaky. She needs to check on Chip. She crosses the hallway, each footfall echoing through the quiet house. When she opens the door to his room, she finds him sitting on his bed.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 5 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen sighed heavily, her heart breaking for Chip. She knew Plankton's outburst was rooted in his own pain and fear, but it was still hard to watch Chip's hope crumble. She stood and walked over to her son, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I know this is tough," she said soothingly. "But we're in this together, okay?" Chip nodded, his eyes still on the closed door. "But why can't he just tell me?" he asked, his voice small. "Why can't he tell me why he's upset?" Karen sat back down, her eyes never leaving Chip's. "Your dad's autism affects how he processes emotions, sweetie. Sometimes it's hard for him to express what he's feeling. And when he's overwhelmed, like after a seizure, it's even harder." Chip nodded again, but his brow was furrowed. The puzzle lay forgotten between them, the pieces spread out like a silent argument on the table. Karen's eyes searched the living room, looking for something to say, some way to ease the tension. "You know," she began, "Your dad's good at a lot of things." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the door. "I know he can make amazing inventions and cook," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But why can't he tell me about his autism?" Karen took a deep breath. "It's because his brain is different, Chip. And he's scared that you won't understand or that you'll think less of him." Chip looked down at the puzzle piece in his hand, turning it over. "But I don't think less of him," he murmured. "I just want to be there for him." Karen's heart ached. "And you will, Chip," she said, her voice filled with love. "But you have to let him come to you in his own time. He's not ready to talk about it yet." Chip nodded slowly, his thumb tracing the pattern of the puzzle piece. "Okay," he said. "But I'll keep trying." Karen's eyes filled with pride. "That's all one can ask." Chip follows Karen into the bedroom. Plankton sat on his bed, his body tensing up. Chip took a deep breath and sat down beside him. "Dad," he began, his voice steady, "I know you're upset. But I want to learn about your autism. I want to understand why you stim, why you need space.." "STOP!" Plankton's voice is sharp. "Just STOP with the pity party!" He spun around, his eye blazing. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me!" Chip took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I'm not pitying you, Dad," he said. "I'm just trying to learn ab--" "No!" Plankton interrupted. "I don't need you to learn about me!" His voice was shaking, his hands waving in the air. "I need you to leave me alone!" Karen stepped in, placing a hand on Plankton's shoulder. "Honey, maybe this isn't the best time to talk about this." But Plankton shrugged her off, his eye still on Chip. "You don't get it," he said, his voice rising. "You never will! You're not like me!" The words stung, but Chip refused to back down. "But that's the point," he said, his voice firm. "I want to know what it's like for yo--" "You can't know!" Plankton snapped. "You can't even begin to understand!" His fists were clenched, his body rigid with anger. "I don't want you to know!" Chip nods. "Well, you let MOM in, so why can't you let ME in too?" The room was silent except for Plankton's harsh breathing. He looked away, his gaze drifting to the closed curtains. "It's different with her," he muttered. "She's known me forever." Chip felt a pang of jealousy, but pushed it aside. "But we're family, Dad. And I'm here to help you," he insisted. Karen stepped in, her voice calm and soothing. "Plankton, Chip just wants to be there for you." Plankton turned to her, his eye swirling with a mix of anger and despair. "But I can't explain it," he whispered. "I can't make him understand." Karen took his hand, her touch gentle. "You don't have to explain everything," she said. "But you can start by sharing some things. Show him your box of stim toys‽" Plankton's gaze flickered to the shelf in the corner, where his box of stims was tucked away. He had never shared them with Chip before. It was a private part of his life, a comfort he didn't want exposed to his son. But his son's persistent curiosity and the hope in Karen's eyes made him consider it. He stood up, his legs unsteady, and went to the shelf. With trembling hands, Plankton pulled out the box, setting it on the bed by him. He sat down beside it, avoiding eye contact. "These are mine," he said, his voice low. "They can help me feel better." He opened the box, revealing a collection of fidget toys, textures, and sensory items. Chip leaned in, curiosity replacing the hurt in his eyes. He picked up an old but flexible octopus, its twisty tentacles tubes. "It's like bendy straws," he murmurs. But as Chip fidgeted with it, his grip was off, and then the toy dropped, the tentacles snapping off. Plankton's eye widened in horror. "You broke it," he whispered. Chip felt his stomach drop. "I- I'm sorry, Dad," he stutters, picking up the broken pieces. "It was an accident." The room grew tense again. Karen stood, her eyes darting between her husband and son. "That's okay, Chip." Karen soothes, setting the broken toy on the bed. Plankton didn't move as he sat still, his body rigid. Chip notices how Plankton's unblinking eye didn't even budge. "It's just a toy, Dad," Chip whispers, but Plankton's still frozen. "Dad?" Chip's voice cracks, the silence in the room thickening. But Karen has seen this to many times before, how he'd get absence seizures. Plankton's body stiffens more, his eye glazing over. "Dad?" Chip says, louder this time. Karen knew she needed to explain to Chip what's going on. "Chip, your dad's having an absence seizure," she says, keeping her voice calm. "It's like a brief moment of zoning out for us, but for your father, this is a type of small seizure." Chip's eyes widened in fear, watching his father's unresponsive state. "But he's breathing," he says, his voice shaking. Karen nods. "He's ok. Just wait for him, Chip. It's like everything's in shock."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 8 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Chip can feel the awkwardness emanating from his dad, his social cues askew. It's strange, seeing this powerful man so lost in the complexities of a simple interaction. "I... I'm sorry," Plankton finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip's heart squeezes. "For what?" he asks, his tone gentle. Plankton's gaze drops to the floor. "For yesterday," he murmurs. "For the... meltdowns." He can't bring himself to meet Chip's eyes, his hands twitching nervously. Chip nods, his eyes filling with understanding. "It's okay, Dad," he says. "You have your moments. We all do." Plankton's head looks up, his eye wide. "It's okay to be scared," Chip tells him. "It's part of loving someone.." Plankton turns away. "S'not scared; that's not playing I tell you, not my point." He was engaging in self-talk, Chip realized; Plankton's stim. Chip gets out of bed, his movements slow and deliberate not to startle his dad. He approaches his father, his eyes filled with empathy. "Dad," he says, his voice soft. "It's okay to feel scared or sad or any of the things that come with being upset. It's okay to not have the wor—" But Plankton cuts him off with a sharp, "No, it's not okay!" His voice is harsh. "It's never okay!" Chip's stomach drops, his words forgotten. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice small. "I just wa-" "Don't," Plankton snaps, his tone hard. "Don't sorry me." He turns away, his body shaking with frustration. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his throat tight. "I'm just trying to understand," he whispers. Plankton's eye flips back to him, his gaze intense. "Then understand this," he says, his voice sharp. "I. Don't. Need. YOU. I Don't." The words are a slap in the face, a rejection of Chip's attempt to help. "But Dad," Chip starts, his voice trembling. "You-" "NO!" Plankton's outburst silences him. "I don't need my son to parent me! And I don't need your pity or your explanations! So just leave me alone!" "Dad," Chip whispers, his voice cracking. "I'm just trying to help." Plankton's shoulders tense, his body language shouting his frustration. "I don't want your help!" he spat out. "I don't need it!" The force behind his words is like a punch to Chip's gut. He's never seen his father so defensive, so desperate to maintain his independence. "But you were upset," Chip insists, his eyes welling with tears. "I just wanted to make it be—" "I SAID NO!" Plankton's voice booms. Chip's eyes widen in shock. "I can handle myself," Plankton continues, his fists clenched at his sides. "I don't need you to make it better. I need you to let me be!" With those words, he spins on his heel and exits out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Chip watches his retreat, his heart pounding in his chest. He's never seen his dad so defensive, so unwilling to accept help or comfort. The silence left behind is deafening, each tick of the clock a reminder of the distance that's grown between them. Chip feels the weight of his dad's rejection, but he also understands the need for space just comes with autism. He wipes his eyes, his mind racing with thoughts of what he could have done differently, what he can do to bridge this gap. Karen sits up in bed as her husband enters their shared room angrily. "Plankton, whaa-" He cuts her off with a wave of his hand, his body still vibrating with frustration. "I can't do this," he says, his voice shaking. "I can't be a dad like this." He collapses on his bed, his back to her. Karen's eyes are filled with worry, but she knows better than to push him right now. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just... I can't control it." Karen moves closer, her hand reaching out tentatively. "You don't have to control everything," she says, her tone gentle. "You're doing the best you can." But Plankton's already gone, retreating into his own mind. His eye is squeezed shut, his body tightening into a tiny ball. Karen watches his retreat, her heart breaking. She knows this isn't personal, that his autism often leads to moments like these, where he needs to shut the world out to survive. Chip then comes in the room. He only wanted to explain himself. "Dad, I—" Plankton's body tenses at his voice. "Go, away." His tone is cold, his eye still pressed into the pillow. Karen sighs, giving Chip a sad look. "Just let him to process," she whispers, squeezing his shoulder. Reluctantly, Chip backs out of the room, his heart heavy. He understands his dad's need for solitude, but it doesn't make the rejection any easier to swallow. He sits outside their door, his ear pressed against the wood, listening for any sign that Plankton might need him. Karen turns to Plankton, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and sadness. "It's hard, isn't it?" she says, her voice gentle. "You're just overwhelmed. Yesterday was a lot." Plankton nods, his body still tense. "Can't... can't do it," he whispers. "Can't force Chip to understand." Karen nods. "I know, sweetie." Her hand reaches out to his shoulder, but he flinches away, retreating further into his blankets. "Chip won't get it," he mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow. "He never will." The room feels smaller, the weight of Plankton's emotions pressing in on Karen. She knows his frustration isn't just about yesterday. It's about his entire life, about the challenges he faces every day, about feeling like he's always one step behind in a world that's too loud, too bright, too confusing. Chip's footsteps retreat down the hallway, his sobs barely audible. Karen's heart aches for her son, who's trying so hard to understand his father's autism. She knows how much Plankton loves Chip, but sometimes, that love is lost in the upset of his own mind. She sits on the edge of the bed, her hand resting lightly on his back. "You're so loved," she says, her voice low. She's seen this before, his retreat into his own mind when the world becomes too much. But Plankton doesn't answer. Karen knows better than to force her way in, so she waits. She knew that patience is key to unlocking the door of his solitude. But then, she hears it—a stim she knew; Plankton talking to himself. "Why can't he just leave me be," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Why do you have to try and fix me.." Karen's heart breaks a little more. She knows that's not what Chip's trying to do, but she also knows that autism can make even the best intentions feel like an as*ault. She remains silent, giving him the space he needs to process his thoughts. "It's like I'm not the boss or in trouble," Plankton said tensely, his voice quiet. "And everyone's trying to pop in." Karen's eyes fill with tears. She knows that feeling, the overwhelming sensation of the world pushing in, trying to change who you are. She reaches out her hand, this time more tentatively. "You don't have to be anything but you," she whispers. Plankton's body stiffens at her touch, but he doesn't pull away. "Chip loves you, just as you are." He turns to face her, his eye glinting with anger. "But I'm not enough," he says, his voice tight. "I'm not normal." Karen's heart clenches at his words. "Normal is a setting on a dryer," she replies, her tone firm. "You're more than enough." Then Chip comes back in.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 3 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Without warning, Plankton flung the pillow across the room, the motion startling both Chip and Karen. "I can't handle this!" he yelled, his arms flailing, his legs kicking the bed. His fist connected with the wall, leaving a dent, his gaze landing on Chip. The anger was raw, unfiltered. "Chip," Karen said gently, taking her son's hand. "Let's give your dad some time to calm down." But Chip's eyes were on the pillow, on the wall, on his father's shaking body. "But he's hurt," Chip protested, his voice trembling. "I know, sweetie," Karen whispered, her eyes filled with sorrow. "But this isn't about you. This is about his feelings and his fears. We'll talk when he's ready." Karen guided Chip out of the room. As they stepped out, she turned to Chip. "Chip," she said, her voice calm. "It is okay to be scared and curious. But we have to respect his feelings too." Chip nodded, but his eyes were still on the door, his mind racing. He couldn't shake the image of his father's shaking body, the harshness of his voice. Karen led Chip into the living room, her hand on his shoulder. "Why don't we sit down?" she suggests, guiding him to the couch. Chip sat, his body stiff, his mind swirling with questions. "Mom," he managed, "what's up with Dad, this autism?" Karen sat down beside him, her expression a mix of love and sadness. "It's like his brain works in a different way, Chip. Sometimes it's like he has a glitch, and the seizures are part of that." Her words were slow and careful. "But why is he so upset?" Chip's voice was tiny, lost. "Because, honey," Karen sighed, "it's hard for him to explain. It's like when you don't want to talk about something because it makes you feel different or scared." Chip nodded, recalling how he felt when he was the only one in his class who didn't get to go on a field trip. "But Mom it's not the same," he said, his voice thick with tears. "I know it's not the same, Chip," Karen said, wrapping her arms around him. "But it's how he feels. Sometimes, people with autism get overwhelmed, and they just need some time to process things." Chip looked up at his mother, his eyes full of questions. "But why does he get so jumpy?" "It's part of his sensory overload, baby," Karen explained. "His brain gets too much information at once, and it's like his body's way of saying 'Whoa, let me catch up!' You know how you hate it when I interrupt your video games?" Chip nods. "Well, imagine if that was happening all the time, without any warning. That's kind of what it's like for him." Chip thought for a moment, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. He didn't know much about autism, but he knew he loved his dad. "But why does he stim if he doesn't even like to do it?" he asked, his voice small. Karen sighed, stroking his back. "Sometimes, when people have autism, their bodies do things to help them cope. It's like when you get really nervous and you bite your nails," she explained. "You do it to feel better, even though you don't like it." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the door. "But why does he get so mad at me?" Chip's voice was barely above a whisper. "It's not you, Chip. It's the situation. When he's over- whelmed, it's hard for him to communicate what he's feeling," Karen replied, her voice filled with understanding. "But I just want to know why he's different," Chip whispered, his eyes still fixed on the door. Karen took a deep breath. She decided to tell him. "Your dad had a hard start at birth," she began. "When he was born, the pressure was really hard on him.." Chip frowned, not understanding. "That's why he's autistic?" Karen nodded. "It's one of the many things that can cause autism. His brain was a bit 'jumbled' while he was born, so it developed differently. That's why we have to be patient and understanding." Chip nods slowly, trying to process the new information. "So, it's like how a plastic water bottle gets crushed while in an airplane, due to the pressure?" Chip asked, using a simple metaphor to grasp the complexity of his dad's condition. Karen nods. "Pretty much," she said, her voice gentle. "But instead of the pressure changing a bottle's shape, it was his brain's formation that's affected, during his birth." Karen knew that explaining autism to Chip would be a journey, not a single conversation. "But Dad's not broken," Chip said, his voice firm. "He's still Dad." Karen's heart swelled with pride. "That's right," she said, smiling.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 9 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton's eye darts to the side. "Hi Chip," Karen says, her voice steady. "Your dad's still just... feeling a little overwhelmed." Chip nods, his expression serious. Chip sits on the bed, not touching his father, giving him the space he needs. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice soft. "You don't have to talk to—" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharper than a knife. "Don't tell me what I have to do!" he snaps, his body jolting with anger. "I'm not your baby!" His eye is wild. Karen's eyes widen. "Plankton, please," she starts, but he interrupts again. "I can't do this," he says, his voice breaking. "I can't be Chip's dad like this." His fist slams into the mattress. Chip's heart is racing, his eyes glued to his father's distressed form. He wants to comfort him, but he doesn't know how. "Dad," he begins, his voice tentative. "You're more than en-" "DON'T!" Plankton roars, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't tell me what I am or what I'm not!" His voice shakes with emotion. Chip's eyes fill with hurt. "But Dad, I'm just-" Plankton's hands tense up, silencing his son. "I know what you're doing," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "And it's not helping." His body is coiled tight, as if he's ready to snap. The room is thick with the tension of unspoken words, the weight of emotions that neither of them can fully express. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his throat tightening. "But I just want to help," he whispers. Plankton's gaze remains on the floor, his body vibrating with repressed anger at Chip. Plankton's hand shoots out, his grip tight on Chip's arm. "You want to help?" he sneers. "Then leave me be!" His voice is a whisper, but the rage is unmistakable. Chip's eyes widen in shock at the physical contact, his heart pounding in his chest. "Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "It's okay to not be okay." But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. He's lost in his own world of pain and frustration. "I don't need you to fix me!" he yells, pushing Chip away as he let go. The sudden movement sends the boy stumbling backward, tears streaming down his face. Karen stands, her hand on her chest, her eyes wide. "Plankton," she says firmly, "That's enough." Her voice cuts through the tension like a knife, but Plankton's eye stays on Chip, his gaze still furious. Chip slumps to the floor, his cheeks wet with tears. "I just wanted to be there for you," he chokes out, his voice breaking. "But you're always pushing me away.." Plankton's face contorts in a mix of anger and sorrow. He knows his son means well, but his intentions feel like a threat to his very existence. "I don't need your pity," he says, his voice low and hard. "I don't need you to act superior just ‘cause I'm not like everyone else!" His fists clench, his body trembling with the effort of holding his emotions in check. Chip's eyes are wide, his mind racing to understand. "Dad, I don't think I'm better," he says, his voice shaking. "I just want to help you." But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. He's too lost in his own mind, too overwhelmed by his own pain. Karen steps forward, her eyes full of concern. "Plankton," she says. "You're scaring Chip." Plankton's eye flicks to his son, who's cowering against the wall. Yet her eyes are filled with sorrow. "You're my Plankton." She moves closer, her hand outstretched. "And Chip's dad." Plankton's body tenses, his grip on the bedpost tight. For a moment, it seems like he's going to pull away, but then something in him gives. His hand relaxes, his shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just... I just can't... " And then, without warning, his body starts to shake. It's not the full-blown seizure Chip's seen before, but a smaller, quieter version—a pseudoseizure, his mind's desperate attempt to cope. Karen's eyes widen in recognition, knowing the signs all too well. She moves quickly to his side, her hand hovering over his, unsure if he'll accept the comfort. Chip's eyes are glued to his dad, his heart racing. But Plankton doesn't acknowledge him, his eye unfocused, lost in his own inner turmoil. Karen's hand settles on his arm, her grip firm but gentle. The tremors increase, his body jerking slightly. Karen's hand moves to his back, rubbing slow circles. "Shh," she soothes, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay, baby." Plankton's breathing is quick. Chip feels helpless, watching his hero. The pseudoseizure passed, leaving Plankton limp, his breathing ragged. Karen's eyes are filled with sadness but determination. "Honey? It's ok, Plankton; the worst is over.." Plankton blinks, his gaze unfocused as he looks at Karen, then at Chip, who's still on the floor, tears drying on his cheeks. "What... what's happen'd?" he asks, his voice weak. "You had a pseudoseizure," Karen says, her voice calm and soothing. "It's okay, now." She helps him sit up, his body protesting with a soft groan. Chip watches, his heart racing. He's seen his father's meltdowns before, yet this... this is new to him. Plankton looks at Chip, his eye filled with something that Chip can't quite read. It's not anger anymore, but it's not affection either. It's a mix of sadness and regret. "Dad," Chip says, his voice quiet. "I just want to be there for you." But Plankton simply shakes his head. "I know who's it talking about," Plankton says in self-talk, as he faces away. Karen looks at her son, her heart heavy. She knows this is hard for Chip, who's always been eager to please and understand. "Give your dad some space," she whispers, her eyes sad. "He's not mad at you."

🍕 + 💩

𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 .☘︎ ݁˖

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚

" Trio girls " ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ🫀ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🧸ྀིـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ❤️️🔐✨🥰😍😘🧸❤️🧸❤️🧸❤️🧸❤️𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𖧷𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 12 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton is still in the corner, his body huddled small, his arms wrapped around his knees. He's still facing the wall, yet his antennae twitched at the sound of their approach. Karen's eyes fill with concern as she sees her husband's form, so vulnerable. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Can Chip come in to talk?" Plankton's antennae twitch again, and then, very slowly, one hand moves from his knee to form a sharp, clear 'no' in the air. It's a gesture that Chip doesn't know, but Karen does. It's a sign Plankton learned from Sign Language, a way to express his needs without voicing words. Chip looks at his mom, confusion etched on his face. "What's that mean?" he whispers. Karen's heart clenches at her son's innocence. "It means your dad needs more time," she explains gently. "He's signing 'no' in Sign Language. It's a short way of saying he's not ready for company." Chip nods slowly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's silent form. He's never seen signs before. This is new to him. But, his dad's not deaf or hard of hearing, right? Karen sees his confusion, so she decides it's time to explain. "For him, it's not about hearing," she says. "He's learned a few signs to communicate when his words fail him." Chip's eyes widen in realization. "But why does he do that?" he whispers. "Because sometimes, sweetie, his brain gets really, really tired," Karen says, her voice soothing. "And when it's overstimulated, trying to talk can be really hard. So he can use his hands instead. But he only knows a few signs, not full sentences." Chip nods slowly, his eyes still on Plankton. "But... but what signs does he know? Can you teach me what signs he might use?" Karen nods, her voice gentle. "Of course, honey. He knows the alphabet but I'll teach you how to say yes and no.." They go and sit on the floor outside the bedroom door, Karen teaching Chip the few signs that Plankton had learned. "This one's for 'yes,'" she says, moving her hand up and down. "And this one's for 'no,'" she continues, two of her fingers tapping the thumb. Chip mimics her movements, his eyes focused, determined. He practices these signs, his hands a bit shaky at first. But as they go through them, his movements become more confident. Karen's heart swells with pride. Despite the situation, she's grateful for this moment—a chance for her son to learn and grow, to understand his father a little more. After a few minutes of practice, Karen suggests they try again. Chip nods, his eyes determined. Together, they enter the room. Plankton hasn't moved. "Dad?" Chip says softly. Plankton's antennae flick towards them, but he doesn't react. "I know you're upset," Chip continues, his voice trembling. "But I just want to tell you... I love you." Plankton's body stiffens. He's listening, Karen knows, but his response is slow to come. "And I know you love me too," Chip adds, his voice getting stronger. "But sometimes, it's hard to tell. Can you... can you just tell me if you're okay?" He pauses, his hand hovering. Plankton's antennae twitch again. This time, he forms a different sign—one that Chip doesn't recognize. It's a quick movement of his hand out to the side, then back to his chest, his fingers splayed. Karen's eyes widen in understanding. "He's asking for space," she whispers to Chip. "That's his way of saying 'I need to be alone right now.' It's okay," she says, her voice soft. "He just needs some time alone." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's form. He raises his hand, his fingers mimicking the sign his dad had just made. "Space," he asks, his voice uncertain. Karen nods, her eyes filled with relief. "Good job," she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch again, and this time, he slowly turns his head to look at them. His eye met Chip's, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something—understanding, maybe? Chip's heart jumps. "I know you're okay," Chip says, his voice hopeful. Plankton's hand moves again, forming the 'Space' sign. It's clear, deliberate. Chip's heart sinks. Karen sees the confusion on Chip's face and steps in. "Chip," she says gently, "he's asking for space. That's his way of saying 'I need to be alone right now.'" She pauses, swallowing hard. "It's okay. We'll give him that." Chip nods, his hand dropping to his side. He feels a mix of disappointment and relief. "Okay," he whispers, his voice small. "Good night." Karen gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before Chip left their room. Karen turns back to Plankton. "I'm sorry for earlier." Karen says. "I know that must've been traumatizing for you. I wasn't thinking clearly and I hurt you. I just felt the need to protect. But I didn't do so in a way that made you feel safe. I should've known better. I'm sorry." Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his antennae still twitching. He moves his hand again, a new sign. It's not one Karen taught Chip, but she knows it instantly—it's 'I understand.' Her heart clenches at the sight of his attempt to comfort her, when he's the one in pain. She nods. "Thank you," she whispers. "Want me to tuck you in?" With a quick, precise movement, Plankton signs 'Without Touching'. Karen nods, understanding his need for his personal space, even in this intimate moment. She watches as he shifts, his eye never leaving hers. She respects his boundaries, even though it's hard not to want to comfort him with a physical touch. Then, with the same deliberate care, he forms the letters 'T', 'R', 'Y', 'I', 'N', 'G'. It's not a full sign, but it's enough. 'Trying to forgive', he's signing. Karen's eyes fill with tears. Her heart swells with love for him, for his willingness to communicate despite the barriers that autism can put between them. She mirrors the sign back to him, showing she understands. The room remains quiet, their silent conversation speaking volumes. Plankton's body finally relaxes a little more, his shoulders dropping. He signs 'Good night' with his hand, his movements precise and clear. Karen mirrors his gesture, her own hand shaking slightly. "Good night," she says, her voice barely audible.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 11 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "Chip, honey," Karen says softly, stepping into his room. "Are you okay?" Her voice is gentle, soothing. He sniffles. "I just... I don't know what to do," he admits, his voice small. Karen's heart clenches at the sight of his pain. Moving to his side, she sits on the bed, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Your dad's just overwhelmed," she explains. "His brain works different than ours, and sometimes, it just gets too much." Chip nods, his eyes still red from crying. "But why does he have to push me away?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion. "Why can't he just... just let me he–" Karen sighs, her eyes sad. "It's not about rejection, baby," she says. "It's just his way of dealing with things. Sometimes, his body needs space, you know?" Chip nods, but his lip quivers. He knows she's right, but it still stings. Karen wraps her arms around him, pulling his body into her embrace. "You're so brave," she whispers, kissing the top of his head. "And you love your dad so much." Chip leans into her, his shoulders shaking. "But he doesn't love me back," he whispers. Karen's heart breaks. "Oh, honey," she says, wiping the tears. "He loves you. It's just... it's hard for him to show it sometimes. And that's ok." Chip pulls away, his face a mask of confusion and hurt. "But why does he have to be so mean?" Karen sighs. "It's not that he's mean," she explains, choosing her words with care. "It's just that his brain gets too full, and it's like... like when you have too much homework and you just can't think straight, you know?" Chip nods slightly, his eyes still swollen from crying. "It's like his brain's homework never ends, and sometimes, it's just too much." They sit there, the silence stretching between them, filled with the understanding that comes from shared pain. Karen holds Chip, her heart breaking for both her son and her husband. She wishes she could take away the hurt, but she knows that's not how it works. "You know," Karen says, her voice soft, "your dad loves you more than you'll ever know." Chip looks up at her, his eyes still wet. "But he doesn't act like it," he sighs, his shoulders slumping. Karen's heart aches, but she nods. "I know it's hard to see that sometimes, but he does. He just shows it differently. Like when he asks you how your school day went, or when he lets you play with his tools. That's his way of saying 'I love you'." Chip considers her words, his expression still sad. "But it's not the same," he whispers. "It doesn't feel like love." Karen's eyes fill with tears as she squeezes his shoulder. "It is, sweetheart," she says, "It's just... his... autism love." Her voice cracks, and Chip looks up at her, his eyes searching hers. "But why can't he just tell me?" he asks, his voice desperate. Karen takes a deep breath. "Because some words are hard for him," she says, her voice gentle. "But actions aren't. And he shows you every day. He just needs you to see it in his own way." Karen's heart is heavy with the weight of her words. She knows it's not easy for Chip, but she also knows that Plankton does love him, in his own strange, unconventional way. And maybe, just maybe, if they can find a way to bridge that gap, their relationship can grow stronger. "You're his hero," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. "And he's yours." Chip sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "But I don't know how to be there for him," he admits. Karen smiles sadly. "You already can," she says, her eyes shining. "You just have to learn to speak his language." Chip looks up at her, hope flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?" Karen sighs. "I mean, you have to understand that his love is different, but no less real." She takes a deep breath. "You have to find ways to show it without overwhelming his senses." She pauses. "Like his tools." Chip nods, his thoughts racing. "And his knowledge," he adds, his voice tentative. Karen nods. "Exactly. He's always loved sharing those things with you." Her hand gently strokes his back as she continues. "But you also need to respect his boundaries, even when you don't fully understand them." Chip nods again, his throat tight. "I'll try," he whispers. Karen smiles. "That's all any of us can do, sweetheart." Chip sighs. "But how do I know what he needs, Mom?" he asks. "How do I tell when he needs space?" Karen's hand pauses on his back, her expression thoughtful. "Well," she starts, "you've got to pay attention. Look for the signs. When he turns his body away, or his eye glazes over—that's usually when he's feeling overwhelmed." "And when he starts repeating things," she adds. "Or when he gets really focused on one thing—like his stims. That's his way of centering himself." Chip nods, his mind racing to think of times he's seen these behaviors. "But what if I miss them?" he asks, his voice tight with worry. "What if I do something that makes it worse?" Karen smiles, her eyes filled with love and understanding. "It's okay to make mistakes," she says. "We all do." She pauses, her thumb brushing away a stray tear on Chip's cheek. "I even have. But you're trying to learn, and that's what matters." They sit in silence for a moment, the comfort of each other's presence soothing the raw edges of their emotions. Then Karen stands, her eyes filled with determination. "Come on," she says, holding out her hand. "Let's go check on your dad." Chip hesitates, his heart still racing, but he takes her hand and lets her lead the way. They tiptoe back across the hallway, their steps quiet as they approach the shared bedroom.