Sheldon J. Plankton & Karen Emojis & Text

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new 🔢 listcore schoolcore i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix x xi xii xiii xiv xv xvi xvii xviii xix roman alphabet operating system

JUST A TOUCH vi
(Autistic author)


Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly. His eye dart
to the clock on the wall. "Must rest,"
he murmurs, his voice low.

Karen nods, her hand
squeezing his shoulder 
gently, which makes
him flinch.

"I'm sorry," she says,
quickly withdrawing it.

They sit in the quiet,
Plankton's mind racing, trying
to process the onslaught of
the day. Karen's eyes are on him,
a mix of sadness and love. He
can feel it, even through the
wall of his new condition.

He reaches out, tentatively,
his hand hovering over hers.
It's a peace offering, a silent
request for the comfort she
always provided. Karen's eyes widen,
surprise and hope flickering
in their depths. She places her hand
under his, allowing him to guide
it to his cheek.

"Plankton can, may I ask
you something?" Karen
says quietly.

He nods once, his antennae
still. "Yes," he says.

"What were you experiencing
when you froze today? You
know, before we came to
our bed? When Hanna was..."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his gaze shifting to hers. "Too much,"
he murmurs. "Could tell you're here
and talking but, cannot comprehend.
Plankton felt dizzy in the head. Was
present yet not present."

Karen's eyes fill with
understanding. "It's like your brain
was on overload," she says, her
voice soft. "And my touch...it helped?"

Plankton shrugs, his antennae
lifting slightly. "Familiar. Soothing."
He looks at her, his gaze
intense. "Needed more of you."

Karen's eyes water, a soft
smile playing on her lips.
"I'm here now," she whispers.
But Plankton notices the
tears in her eyes.

"Why sad?" he asks, his voice
still flat. "Karen crying. Crying
sad. Thus, Karen's sad.."

Karen sniffles, her thumb
wiping away a tear. "I'm just
overwhelmed," she says. "I'm
trying to understand and be
there for you, but sometimes
it's hard."

Plankton's antennae droop.
"Karen not at fault," he says,
his voice devoid of emotion.
"Plankton's brain... different, now."

Karen nods, her hand
still in his. "I know," she whispers.
"But I'm here to learn with you."
Her words hang in the air, a promise
of support and patience.

Plankton's gaze lingers
on their joined hands, his
thumb tracing gentle circles on
her palm. The sensation grounds
him, a lifeline in the storm
of his new reality. He tries
to formulate his next words,
his mind racing. "Thanks,"
he finally says, his voice a
barely-there whisper.

Karen smiles softly, her
eyes never leaving his. 
"For what?"

Plankton's antennae twitch.
"For... being... understanding."
The words are forced, but the
sentiment is clear. Karen's
heart swells with love and
determination.

They sit in silence for a
moment, the gentle pressure
of their joined hands speaking
louder than any words could.

Plankton's gaze shifts
from their interlocked hands
to Karen's eyes. He can see
the love and concern in them,
and it calms him in a way
nothing else can.

He takes a deep breath,
his chest rising and falling
slowly. "Karen," he says, his voice
still monotone but with a
hint of longing. "Can... be
in your arms?"

Karen's eyes widen with
understanding. She nods,
moving closer to him. "Of
course," she whispers, opening
her arms. Plankton shifts his
body, his movements stiff
but deliberate as he
slides closer to her.

He nestles into her embrace,
his antennae resting on her
shoulder. Her arms close
around him, enveloping
his small form in warmth.

He takes a deep
breath, his body finally
beginning to unwind.

Plankton's antennae
still, his breathing
evening out.

Karen holds him.
Her hand gently 
strokes his back—
a soothing motion.
Plankton's eye
closes.

Karen's heart swells with
relief as Plankton's body
gradually relaxes into her embrace.
The weight of the day's
stresses seems to melt away
as she holds him, feeling the
steady rhythm of his breaths.
This is a new chapter in their
relationship, one filled with
unexpected challenges and a
deeper understanding of each
other's needs. She's aware that
his autism isn't something
to be cured or fixed, but a part
of who he is now, something
to be accepted and supported.

She strokes his back, her movements
slow and measured, mimicking the
calm she wishes to impart. His
breaths deepen, and she can feel
his body grow heavier in her arms.

Plankton's antennae droop with
fatigue, his eyelid flickering
as he succumbs to sleep. His
tiny hand remains in hers, a silent
plea to not let go. Karen
squeezes gently, her screen
never leaving his face.

The room is bathed in the soft
glow of the bedside lamp, the
shadows playing across the wall
like a silent guardian. The only
noise is the steady tick of the
clock and the occasional
snore from Plankton.

Karen watches him sleep, his
tiny form nestled in the crook
of her arm. His antennae rest
peacefully against her shoulder,
his breaths deep and even.
Her heart swells with a mix
of love and fear. She's afraid
for him, for the world
he's woken up to, a place
where every sound, every touch,
every interaction is a minefield.
But she's also proud of him,
the way he's trying to navigate
this new reality with a stoicism
that belies his size.

Plankton stirs slightly, his
eyelid fluttering. Karen holds
her breath, afraid to disturb
his fragile peace. His hand tightens
on hers, and she knows he's
aware of her presence. It's a
small victory in a day filled
with confusion.

He opens his eye, looking
up at her with a gaze that's
both familiar and foreign.
"Karen," he says, his voice
still monotone.

Karen's screen brightens with
relief. "Yes, Plankton?"

He shifts, his gaze drifting
to the book on the nightstand.
"Book," he says, his voice
barely audible. "Read."

Karen nods, understanding
his need for the familiar. She
picks up the book, her eyes
skimming over the pages. "Which one?"
she asks softly. Plankton's
eye darts to the title.

"The... puzzle," he murmurs,
his voice a mere echo. Karen opens
the book to the puzzle they'd
been working on. His gaze
follows her finger as she traces
the words. His antennae twitch.

"Would... you like to hear it?"
she asks tentatively. He nods,
his body still tense. Karen
clears her throat, her voice gentle
as she reads the words aloud.

Plankton's eye drifts
closed again, the sound of her
voice a comforting lullaby.
His hand relaxes in hers, the
tension in his body dissipating.

Karen reads on, her voice
a steady rhythm that fills the
silent room. The words from
the puzzle book form a bridge
between them, connecting them
in a way that's both new and
comfortingly familiar. Plankton's
mind focuses on the patterns
and sequences, the logical
structure a sanctuary in the
chaos.

As she reads, Karen can feel
his muscles relaxing further, his
breathing deepening into sleep.
The room's quietude wraps
around them like a cocoon,
their shared history a warm
blanket. It's a stark contrast
to the panic and confusion
that had gripped him earlier.

The puzzle's words weave
themselves into a tapestry
of comfort, each syllable a
stitch in the fabric of their
new reality. Plankton's love
for order and patterns hasn't
changed, but the way
he interacts with them has.
The autism has transformed
his world, but not the essence
of who he is.

As Karen reads, her voice
soothing his frayed nerves,
she can't help but feel a
sense of awe at his resilience.
He's still her Plankton, the
same being she's known for so long,
but now he's also someone new,
someone she's just beginning to
understand. His mind operates
on a different wavelength, one
that she's eager to tune into.

Then the door
bell rings. It's
Sandy!

Plankton's antennae shoot up,
his body stiffening in Karen's arms.
"Who is it?" he asks, his voice
sharp with anxiety.

Karen's eyes dart to the
clock on the wall. "It's just
Sandy," she says, her voice
calm. "It's okay."

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
eye searching hers for
reassurance. "Sandy?" he repeats,
his voice unsure.

Karen nods, her smile gentle.
"It's okay," she says, her voice a
whisper. "We'll take this slow."

Plankton's gaze locks onto
Sandy as she enters the room,
his eyes darting around to
assess the new presence. Sandy
watches him, her face a mix of
curiosity and concern. "Howdy,
Plankton," she says, her voice
soft. "How are y'all?"

Plankton's antennae twitch.
He's heard her voice before,
but it's different now. Too
loud, too bright. He shrinks
back into Karen's embrace. "Good,"
he says, his voice tight. "Good."

Sandy's eyes dart between
them, her smile fading. "What's
wrong?" she asks, her voice
gentle. Karen sighs.

"Plankton's had an... accident,"
she says carefully.

Sandy's eyes widen with shock,
her hand flying to her mouth.
"What happened?"

Karen's gaze doesn't waver
from Plankton's. "He's
been diagnosed with Acquired
Autism," she says softly. "From
a head injury."

Sandy's eyes widen in
disbelief. "Oh no," she whispers.
"I had no idea."

Karen nods, her screen
reflecting the weight of
the last few hours. "It's a lot to take
in," she says. "We're still learning."

Sandy steps closer, her
movements slow and deliberate.
"What can I do?" she asks.

Karen's shoulders
slump with relief. "Just...
be patient with him,"
she says. "He's still the same
Plankton, but... different."

Sandy nods solemnly.
"I will," she promises.

new just a touch sandarenton vi

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vi


(Autistic author)



"Why don't we stay in, Plankton?"
Sponge Bob suggested, noticing
his friend's lingering anxiety.
"We can still have fun."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly as he considered the
proposal. The thought of going
outside was overwhelming.
"Okay," he agreed, his voice
soft. "Inside."

Sponge Bob nodded, his smile
reassuring. "How about a board
game?" he offered.

Plankton's antennae twitched in
consideration. "Game," he echoed,
his voice tentative.

Sponge Bob's smile grew. "Yeah!
Which one do you want to play?"

Plankton's antennae perked up at the
mention of something familiar. "Game,"
he murmured, his voice a little
more steady. "Choose."

Sponge Bob beamed at him, happy
to see his friend willing to
participate. He picked a simple
game of checkers from the shelf,
knowing it would be less
overwhelming than the loud, bright
electronic games that Plankton had
once enjoyed.

Plankton's antennae quivered with
excitement as Sponge Bob set
up the board, his eyes fixated on
the red and black pieces. "Checkers,"
he murmured, his voice filled with
anticipation.

Sponge Bob nodded, placing the
checkers in their starting
positions. "You go first," he said,
his voice calm and steady.

Plankton's antennae quivered as
his eyes focused on the board.
He picked up a black piece, his hand
shaking slightly. "Checkers," he
whispered to himself, echoing Sponge
Bob's words. He placed it with
precision on the board.

Sponge Bob watched him.
"Good job, Plankton," he said, 
his voice soothing. "You're doing 
great."

Plankton's antennae twitched with 
each word, echoing the comfort. 
"Great," he murmured, his gaze
never leaving the checkers. He
moved a piece, his mind working
quickly to calculate his next
move. The repetitive nature of
the game was calming, a familiar
rhythm that helped him find a
moment of peace in the chaos.

"Checkers," he said again, his
voice a little more stable. The
game was a dance of strategy,
and it was a dance Plankton had
always loved. But now, it was
more than that—it was a lifeline.

The game continued, the
quiet clicks of the pieces
moving across the board
providing a soothing rhythm
to the otherwise
silent room. Plankton's antennae
stayed mostly still, only
twitching when he felt the
need to move a piece. His eye
flitted from the board to
Sponge Bob and back again, seeking
reassurance that he was doing
this right.

Sponge Bob watched him, his
face a mask of concentration,
his spongy body still. "Your turn,
Plankton," he said, his voice
calm and steady.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
quivering slightly as he reached
for a piece. He moved it with
careful deliberation, his gaze
never leaving the board.

"Good move," Sponge Bob said,
his voice a gentle encouragement.

Plankton's antennae twitched in
response, his eyes lighting up
for a moment. "Good move," he
repeated, his voice echoing
Sponge Bob's tone. The words
comforted him, a familiar
refrain in a world that had
become unpredictable.

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's. "Your
turn," he prompted gently.

Plankton's antennae quivered as
his hand hovered over the board.
"Good move," he murmured, echoing
Sponge Bob's words from moments
before. His eyes focused
intently on the board, his mind
racing to find the perfect
place for the checker.

The echo of their shared phrase
was like a soft lullaby in the
quiet room, a gentle reminder of
their longstanding friendship.
Sponge Bob noticed the comfort
it brought to Plankton, the way
his body relaxed slightly with
each repetition. "Good move,"
Sponge Bob said again, his voice
soft and encouraging.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye focusing on the board.
He moved a piece, whispering
"good move" under his breath.
Sponge Bob watched him, his
expression a mix of wonder and
concern. Plankton had always been
so sharp, so quick-witted, and now,
his brain was navigating a new
kind of maze.

But in this moment, as the
game progressed, it was clear
that Plankton's strategic mind
was still sharp. His moves
were calculated, precise. He
was winning, and Sponge Bob
could see the pride in his
tiny friend's eye.

Sponge Bob felt a swell of
happiness as Plankton's antennae
quivered with excitement. "King me,"
he murmured, placing his checker
on the board's edge.

Sponge Bob did so, his heart
swelling with pride for his
friend. "You're really good at this,"
he said, his voice gentle.

Plankton's antennae curled with
satisfaction. "Thanks," he
murmured, his voice a little
more stable now.

Sponge Bob watched as Plankton
placed the kinged piece back on
the board, his eyes never leaving
the game. The tension in the
room had dissipated, replaced by
the rhythmic exchange of
checkers and echoing affirmations.

"Good move," Plankton murmured
again, his voice a testament to
his focus. His antennae quivered
slightly as he anticipated Sponge
Bob's next play.

Sponge Bob studied the board,
his yellow brow furrowed. He knew
that Plankton had always been
smart, but this was something
else—a silent, intense
concentration that seemed to
have taken over his friend's
tiny form. With a soft click, he
moved his piece, watching as
Plankton's antennae followed the
move, his eye calculating.

Plankton's response was swift and
confident, his antennae barely
twitching. "Good move," Sponge Bob
said, echoing Plankton's words.
He felt a sense of awe as Plankton
countered with a move that
won the game.

Sponge Bob's cheer was sudden,
his spongy hands slapping
together with joy. "You did
it, Plankton!" he exclaimed.

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
body stiffening at the unexpected
noise. His eye grew wide, the
world around him seeming to
shrink for a moment as he was
jolted out of his focused
trance.

Sponge Bob's cheer had
unintentionally startled him,
his sudden movement a stark
contrast to the calm rhythm of
the game.
"Sorry, Plankton," Sponge Bob
apologized, quickly
lowering his voice, 
his expression
softening. "I forgot."

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae slowly
lowering.

Sponge Bob watched him
closely, his own excitement
dimming in the face of his
friend's distress. "It's ok," he
whispered. "You won, Plankton."

Plankton's antennae gradually
stilled, his breathing slowing
down. He nodded, his voice
small. "Won," he murmured, his
eye refocusing on the board.

Sponge Bob's smile faltered,
his heart heavy at the sight
of Plankton's distress. He
knew his cheer had been too
much, too soon. "Sorry," he
whispered, his hand hovering
above the board, unsure if he
should clean up the pieces or not.

Plankton's antennae quivered,
his gaze lingering on the
game. "Enough checkers."

Sponge Bob nodded, his
expression understanding. "Okay,
Plankton," he said, his voice
gentle. "Let's do something else."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly as he considered his
options. "Movie?" he suggested, his
voice tentative.

Sponge Bob's eyes lit up. "Yea!
What do you want to watch?"

Plankton's antennae twitched. "Simple
story," he murmured, his voice
still shaky. "No loud noises."

Sponge Bob nodded eagerly,
quickly searching through the
DVDs for a film that would be
comfortable for his friend. "How
about 'The Great Snail Race'?"
he suggested, holding up the
case.

Plankton's antennae twitched
with consideration. The film
was a classic, a story of
endurance and friendship, and
his brain processed the quiet
nature of the plot. "Yes," he
murmured. "Snail Race."

Sponge Bob's smile grew as he
inserted the DVD into the
player. The familiar tunes of
the opening credits filled the
room, and Plankton's antennae
swayed gently to the rhythm, his
body visibly relaxing into the
soft cushions of the couch.

Karen watched from the
sidelines, her eyes misty with
relief. Sponge Bob had always
known how to reach Plankton in
a way she couldn't. His simple,
understanding nature seemed to
break through the barriers that
autism had constructed around
his friend.

Sponge Bob pressed play, the
screen flickering to life.

The soft light from the TV cast a
glow, Plankton's eye
fixed on the snails that began to
race across the screen.

Sponge Bob sat next to Plankton.
He knew he had to
tread carefully, to be a source
of comfort without overwhelming
his friend. As the snails
moved slowly across the screen,
Plankton's antennae stilled, the
story's gentle pace a balm to
his overstimulated mind.

The movie's quiet humor
elicited a small chuckle from
Plankton, a sound that was
music to Karen. She watched
from the kitchen doorway.
Sponge Bob had always been
there for Plankton, and 
was grateful for his unwavering
support. 

new autism in the plankton family plankton vi

NEW REALITY i
(Autistic author)

"You never listen to 
me, Karen," Plankton 
groused. "It's a new
analyzer I just built!
It'll reveal the contents
of a patty when I put
one in!"

Karen, ever the skeptical
wife, rolled her eyes. "You
mean IF you put one in.."

Plankton ignored 
her sarcasm, but
with a deafening 
pop, the analyzer
exploded, sending 
shards of metal
flying in all directions. 
One of these
sharp pieces slammed 
into Plankton's
head, causing him 
to stumble back.
Karen rushed to his
side, pushing aside her 
initial irritation.

Plankton's eye rolled back
and closed as he 
crumpled to the 
floor.

"Plankton! Plankton!"
Karen's voice grew
frantic as she cradled
his tiny, limp body. The
analyzer's explosion had
caused more damage
than she could have
ever imagined, the
injury had rewired his
currently unconscious
brain irreversibly: autism.

Karen carries him to
their bedroom, tucking
him in his bed. "Plankton,"
she whispers, brushing
his antennae, "Please wake up."
But Plankton remains still. Karen
sits by the bedside, her eyes
never leaving his face. "I'll
always be here," she murmurs,
squeezing his hand. The quiet
hum of their tiny underwater
apartment is broken only by the
rhythmic pulse of his breathing.

Karen starts to think. If only
she had taken his inventions
more seriously, maybe this
accident could have been
avoided? She looks at the
clock. It's midnight now.

The hours tick by, each one
lonelier than the last. Karen's
thoughts are a tangled web of
regrets and fears. What if
Plankton never wakes up? Karen can't
help but feel like a prisoner
to her own guilt. She wonders
what their life would be like now.
Would Plankton be different?
Would he still be the same
eccentric genius, or would the
injury change him completely?
Will he remember her?

The sun's first light filters through
their bedroom window, casting
a warm glow on Plankton's
face. Karen's eyes snap open,
having dozed off from
exhaustion. She sees him stir,
his eyelid fluttering. He groans,
his eye opening slowly. Karen's
heart races. He's alive! "K-Karen," 
he stammers, confused as to
how he ended up in their room.

The initial relief is quickly
replaced with a knot in her
stomach. His speech is stilted,
his movements jerky. He
tries to sit up, but the effort
seems to overwhelm him. Karen
reaches out to help, but he flinches
at her touch. She notices his eye
scanning the room with an
intensity she's never seen
before, as if he's trying to make
sense of everything around him.
"Plankton, it's okay," she says
soothingly, trying not to let her
anxiety seep into her voice.

He turns to her, his gaze
unfocused. "Karen?" he repeats,
this time with more urgency. "What...
what happened?"

Her heart squeezes tight. "You had
an accident with the new
analyzer," she explains gently,
keeping her voice calm. "It...
it exploded and hit you.."

Plankton looks around,
his eye darting from object 
to object.

"It's okay," Karen says,
desperately trying to hold 
back the tears. "You're 
just a bit dizzy."

But Plankton doesn't seem
to be listening. He's too
busy inspecting his surroundings,
his eye darting around the
room in a way that makes Karen
feel like she's missing something.

"Plankton, do you understand
me?" Karen asks, her voice
trembling slightly. He nods,
but there's a distant look in his
eye that makes her stomach drop.
The way he's acting, it's like he's
seeing their bedroom for the
first time, like every detail is
both fascinating and overwhelming.

Plankton tries to get out of bed,
but his legs wobble like jelly.
Karen jumps up to support him,
her arms wrapping around his
thin frame. "Let's go slow," she
suggests, guiding him back to
the pillows. He simply nods.

"Do you remember me?" Karen asks,
desperation tinging her voice.
His eye focus on her for a moment,
then drift away again. "Yes," he
says, but it's more of a question
than an affirmation. "Karen, wife,"
he adds, his voice flat and devoid
of the usual warmth and sarcasm.

The words hang in the air
like a lead weight, heavy with
implications. Karen swallows
the lump in her throat. "You're okay,"
she insists, as Plankton nods, looking
around their bedroom when his gaze
lands on the ceiling fan. His eye lights up,
focusing intently on it.

"Fan," he murmurs, as if discovering
the concept for the first time. "Spinning.
Round and round."

Karen's heart sinks. "Plankton," she
begins, her voice cracking, "You're acting
different." She doesn't know how to
explain what she's seeing, but she's
scared of what it might mean. His eye
doesn't quite meet hers, and his speech is
so... mechanical.

"Different?" he echoes, his voice a
monotone. "No, the same Plankton."
But the way he says it, like he's trying
to convince himself, sends a chill down
Karen's spine. She tries to shake off
the fear, telling herself he's just groggy
from the hit. But deep down, she knows
it's more than that.

new new reality Karen x Plankton i

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vi
(Autistic author)

Karen rummaged through 
the game drawer, her 
hands shaking slightly. 
She pulled out a game 
of memory matching, 
thinking the simple task 
might help him focus. She 
placed it on the coffee 
table in front of them, 
spreading the cards out.

"It's your turn," she 
said, her voice calm.

Plankton nodded. 
He stared at the cards, 
his eye flickering 
from one to the next. 
Karen watched. Would 
he be able to play? Would 
he understand the 
simplicity of matching 
pictures?

He reached out with 
his tiny hand, paused, 
gaze focused on 
a card with a picture 
of a fish. Then, with a 
quick movement, he 
flipped it over. The card 
was a match. "Fish," he 
whispered, a smile 
creeping onto his lips.

Karen felt a weight 
lift from her chest. 
He had done it, he had 
understood the game. 
Her eyes filled with 
tears as she matched 
the next card. "Good job, 
Plankton," she said, 
trying to keep her 
voice steady. "You 
found the match."

He nodded, his antennae 
twitching with excitement. 
"Fish," he said again, his 
smile growing wider. 
"Fish, Karen."

Karen felt a warmth 
spread through her, 
seeing a glimpse of the 
Plankton she knew, the one 
who loved puzzles and 
challenges. "Yes, 
Plankton, you're doing 
great."

Suddenly, their son
Chip came home 
from a camp trip.

The door slammed, 
and Plankton
shot up. His eye
widened in fear. Karen 
quickly placed her hand 
on his back, trying 
to soothe him.

"It's okay, 
Plankton," she 
whispered. 
"It's just Chip 
coming 
home."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he 
processed the 
information. 
"Chip," he murmured, 
his voice quavering. 
"Home."

Chip sees his dad
but doesn't know
of the acquired
Autism. "Dad!" He
yelled excitedly,
running to him with
a tight embrace of a
hug. But it proves to
be too much for Plankton.

The sudden jolt 
of noise and 
movement sent Plankton
into a spiral of 
overstimulation. His 
body convulsed, and he 
shook, his 
tiny form wracked with 
seizures as Karen watched 
helplessly as Chip only held
Plankton tighter.

"Chip, no!" she 
screamed, her voice 
breaking. She jumped 
up from the couch. "Gently, 
gentle!"

But it was too 
late. Plankton's body 
was a blur of spasms, 
his eye rolled back. 
Karen knew this
autistic response; this 
is sensory overload.

"Chip, let go!" Karen 
shouted, her voice 
desperate. But Chip, 
not understanding 
his father's condition, 
only held on tighter. 
"Dad, are you okay?" But
Plankton's body continued 
to convulse violently, 
his tiny limbs flailing. 
Karen's mind raced, 
recalling her research 
on autism and its 
sometimes intense 
physical responses. 
She had to act fast.

Gently but firmly, 
she pried Chip's arms 
from Plankton's trembling 
body and lowered 
his father to the 
floor. "Chip, sweetie, 
I need you to step back," 
she instructed, her voice 
shaking.

Chip's eyes were 
wide with fear. "Dad.." he 
stuttered, trying to reach
for Plankton.

"Chip, please," 
Karen pleaded, her 
voice tight. "Just go to 
your room for a bit.
I need to take care of 
Dad."

With a tearful 
nod, Chip stepped back, 
his screen never leaving 
his father's convulsing 
body. Karen turned her attention 
back to Plankton.

"Shh," she soothed, 
placing a hand 
on his shoulder. "It's 
okay, it's okay." Her voice 
was a gentle lullaby, 
trying to anchor him 
in the chaos. But Plankton's 
body continued to 
shake from the lingering
sensation of Chip's touch.
Karen knew she had to 
move quickly. She 
grabbed a pillow from 
the couch and placed it 
beneath his head, trying 
to reduce the risk of 
injury.

The seizure lasted 
a few more seconds, 
his antennae quivering 
wildly. Then, just as 
suddenly as it had 
begun, it started to
gradually fade. Plankton's 
body went limp, his 
breaths shallow and 
quick.

"It's okay," she 
whispered, her voice 
shaky with relief. "You're 
okay."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, and his eye 
flitted open. He looked 
up at Karen, confusion 
and fear etched on 
his face. "Karen?" he 
murmured, his voice 
weak.

"I'm here," she said 
soothingly, stroking his 
back. "You had a 
reaction to Chip, 
Plankton. It's okay now."

His antennae stilled 
for a moment as he 
focused on her voice. 
"Chip," he repeated, 
his gaze distant. "Too 
much."

Karen nodded. "I know, 
Plankton. I'll explain to 
Chip. He didn't mean 
to scare you." She 
could hear Chip's 
sobs from his room, the 
sound piercing the 
silence of the living 
room.

Plankton's antennae 
moved slightly. "Chip," 
he murmured. "Not mad."

Karen felt a knot 
loosen in her chest. 
"No, Plankton," she 
whispered. "Chip's not 
mad, honey. He loves 
you, just like I do."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he 
processed her words. 
"Love," he murmured, 
his gaze finding hers. 
"Karen loves Plankton.
Chip loves Plankton."

Karen nodded, 
swiping at her tears. 
"Yes, we both love 
you so much," she said, 
her voice thick with 
emotion. "We're going 
to help you through this."

Plankton's eye searched 
her face, his expression 
unreadable. "Help," he 
whispered. "Karen helps."

Karen's chest tightened 
with the weight of 
his trust. She knew this 
was just the beginning, 
that their lives had 
shifted in a way she had 
never anticipated. But she 
was determined to be 
his rock, to navigate 
this new reality with 
patience and love.

new shelf improvement neurodivergentcore vi

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's sobs grew softer in Karen's embrace, his 
tiny body trembling with the weight of his emotions. 
"I-it's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae 
gently. "You can like jellyfish all you want, sweetheart."

Sponge Bob watched from a distance, his heart heavy. 
He had never seen Plankton like this, vulnerable and hurt. 
He knew the two of them had their differences, but this 
was different.

Plankton's sobs grew quieter, but the pain didn't leave 
his eye. Karen held him tight, filled with a fiery 
determination. "Plankton," she whispered soothingly. 
"You don't have to change who you are because of this."

He pulled away slightly, his antennae drooping as he looked 
at her. "But what if jellyfish are all Plankton good for?" he 
murmured, his voice still monotone but filled with a depth 
of emotion that tugged at Karen's heartstrings.

"Plankton, you're more than just jellyfish," Karen said, voice 
firm yet gentle. "You're a smart, resourceful, and determined 
little creature. You've always been so much more than that."

The room was still, the only sound was Plankton's sniffs. 
His antennae drooped, and he looked up at her, his single 
eye red and puffy from crying. "But Karen," he whispered, his 
voice monotone yet filled with emotion, "it's all Plankton know 
now."

Karen's eyes shone with empathy. "That's not true, darling," she 
said, her voice soothing. "You're capable of so much more. We 
just have to figure out how to navigate this new world together."

Sponge Bob hovered awkwardly, unsure of what to do. "Is there 
anything I can do to help?" he offered.

Karen nodded, her tentacles tightening around Plankton. "Could 
you be with him while I admonish Patrick?"

"Of course," Sponge Bob said, moving closer to Plankton.

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he nodded.

"I'll be right outside," Karen said, her voice gentle.

Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze focused on Plankton's small 
trembling form. "I've got him," he said, his eyes filled with 
understanding and a newfound respect for the tiny creature 
before him.

As Karen left to talk to Patrick 
Sponge Bob sat down beside 
Plankton, his own heart aching 
for his friend's pain. He knew 
that Plankton was going through 
a difficult time, and he wanted to 
be there for him.

Meanwhile, outside the Chum Bucket, Karen found Patrick 
still standing there, his expression a mix of confusion and 
amusement. "Patrick," she began, her voice sharp, "You need 
to understand something."

Patrick looked at her with his usual vacant stare. "What's up, Karen?"

"You have to understand, Patrick," she began, her voice tight 
with tension. "Plankton's... he's different now."

Patrick's smile faded as he met Karen's stern gaze. "Different?"

Karen sighed, trying to find the words. "Plankton's had an... accident," 
she said. "It's changed him."

Patrick's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean, changed?"

Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain 
the complex situation in a way that would make sense to 
someone like Patrick. "Plankton's had a... a bump on the noggin," 
she said, her tentacles gesturing to her own head. "It's affected 
the way he thinks, the way he sees the world."

Patrick's eyes widened in surprise. "Whoa, that's heavy, Karen," he 
said, his tone more serious than it had been in a long time. "Is he ok?"

"Well, he's alive," Karen said, her voice tight with frustration. "But 
he's not the same, Patrick. He's... different."

Patrick's smile faded as he took in her words, his eyes finally 
showing a glimmer of understanding. "What happened?" he 
asked, his tone serious for once.

"It's complicated, Patrick," Karen said. "But the important thing is
he's a new version of himself. So you can choose to be nice to him 
or just leave."

Patrick's face fell, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. "But 
I didn't know, Karen," he protested, his voice small. "How was I 
supposed to know?"

"It's not about knowing, Patrick," Karen said, her voice firm. "It's about 
being a good friend. And if you can't do that, then maybe it's time for 
you to rethink what friendship really means."

Patrick's expression grew contemplative. "But Karen," he 
began, his voice tentative, "what if Plankton's... you know, not 
right in the head anymore?"

"Patrick, that's not funny," she snapped. "This isn't a game. 
This is real life. And Plankton's life has changed in ways 
you can't even begin to understand."

Patrick looked down at his feet, his usual jovial expression 
replaced by one of contemplation. "I didn't mean to be a jerk," 
he mumbled.

"I know you didn't mean to," Karen said, her tone 
softening slightly. "But you need to be more considerate."

Patrick nodded, his cheeks flushing. "I'll be nicer," he 
promised, his eyes darting to the Chum Bucket door.

"Good," Karen said firmly, then turned back to the Chum Bucket. 
She opened the door to find Plankton still on the floor, clutching 
the jellyfish book. His antennae perked up as she entered.

Sponge Bob looked up, his expression a mix of sadness and 
determination. "I think he's okay."

Plankton sniffled, his antennae drooping. "Jellyfish," he 
murmured, his voice a monotone whisper.

Karen's expression softened as she saw the pain in his eye. "It's 
okay, Plankton," she said, her tentacles reaching out to comfort 
him. "You don't have to be anything other than who you are."

Sponge Bob nodded in agreement. "You're still the same Plankton 
we know and love." 

new a life of diversity jellycore vi

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vi

(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's heart 
swells with compassion. 
"It's ok, Plankton," he 
says, his voice gentle. "We 
don't have to play anymore."

Plankton's antennas 
drop, and he nods slowly. 
"No fish," he repeats, 
his voice a sigh of 
relief.

Sponge Bob's hand 
freezes in mid-air, 
his eyes searching 
Plankton's face for 
any sign of anger or 
disappointment. But all 
he sees is a glimmer of 
understanding in his 
friend's eye.

"Thank Sponge 
Bob for being patient."
Plankton says to him.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
eyes still filled with 
concern. "I'll be patient, 
Plankton," he promises. "Can
I ask how you hit your head?"

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly. "Pan," he 
murmurs, his voice 
barely above a whisper. 
"Fry pan, Mr. Krabs. Only
Karen and SpongeBob know."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with shock. "What?!"
he exclaims. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt you?"

Plankton nods, his antennas 
still low. "Pan," he repeats, 
his voice shaking. "Pan," he 
says again, his voice 
softer. "Krabs hit on head."
Sponge Bob's anger 
towards Mr. Krabs is 
immediate and intense. 
"I can't believe he'd do 
that to you," he says, 
his voice low and 
teary.

"Mr. Krabs did to protect
the krabby patty." 
Karen interjects quickly, 
sensing the tension. 
"He doesn't know how
badly he hurt Plankton."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, 
his thoughts racing. He can't
believe Mr. Krabs could 
do something like that, even 
in the heat of the moment.

"I'll talk to Mr. Krabs," 
he says firmly, his voice 
laced with determination. 
"He needs to know what..."

"No!"

The sharpness of Plankton's 
voice cuts through the 
air like a knife, his 
antennas shooting up in 
alarm. "Mr. Krabs no," he 
says, his eye wide with fear. 
"No tell."

Sponge Bob's anger 
fades slightly, replaced 
by confusion. "Why not?" 
he asks, his voice 
gentle. "He needs to know 
so he can understand.."

Plankton's antennas 
quiver anxiously. "Krabs 
not know," he whispers, his 
eye pleading with Sponge 
Bob. "Safe here."

Sponge Bob's 
confusion deepens. "But 
Plankton, if Mr. Krabs 
doesn't know, how will he 
make it up to you?"
Plankton's antennas 
droop, his eye darting 
back and forth between 
Karen and Sponge Bob. "No 
make up," he murmurs. "Just 
no satisfaction for Krabs."
Sponge Bob's mind 
spins with the implications. 
He knows Mr. Krabs 
would never hurt 
anyone that much 
intentionally, even Plankton;
but the thought of his 
boss not knowing the 
extent of his actions 
troubles him.
"I won't tell him," 
Sponge Bob says, his voice 
soft with reassurance.
But of course, Mr. Krabs
comes in. "What in the
name of Neptune are
ye doing? I gave ye the
day off yesterday!"
"The Krusty Krab is closed on
Sunday, and it's Sunday today."
SpongeBob reminds his boss.
"Oh, right." Mr. Krabs looks
at Plankton and his eyes narrow.
"What's going on here?" he asks,
suspicion heavy in his voice.
Plankton's antennas droop even
lower, and he looks down at the
floor.
Plankton speaks first. "Go 
fish," he whispers, his 
eye darting up to meet 
Mr. Krabs'. Sponge Bob steps in 
quickly, trying to cover 
for his friend. "We were 
just playing a game," he 
says, forcing a smile.
Mr. Krabs eyes them 
both skeptically.
"Well, I hope it wasn't 
about stealing me secret 
formular," he says, his 
claws tapping 
nervously.
"No, Mr. Krabs," Sponge 
Bob says quickly, "just a 
friendly game."
Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly at the 
mention of the Krabby 
Patty formula, but he 
remains silent.
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
narrow further.
"What's wrong with 
you, Plankton?" he 
asks, his voice filled 
with concern and a 
touch of irritation.
"You're acting strangely
quiet even for you."
Plankton's antennas 
quiver.
Sponge Bob's heart 
paces. He doesn't want 
to betray Plankton's trust.
"It's nothing," Plankton 
says, his voice 
forced. "Just a little 
game, Krabs wanna play."
"Fine I'll play, but I got my
eye on ye, Plankton."
Mr. Krabs says, his tone 
still suspicious as he 
sits down to join them. 
Sponge Bob's eyes dart to 
Karen, who gives a 
nod of understanding. 
They'll keep the secret and
hope Mr. Krabs doesn't figure
it out.

"Let's play Uno!" Sponge
Bob says, getting out the new
card game, dealing the cards.
Plankton's antennas 
perk up at the mention 
of a new game, and he 
eagerly takes his cards. 
Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
plays along, eyeing Plankton 
carefully.
Then, it happens.
Mr. Krabs slaps a card 
down on the pile and 
excitedly yells, "Uno!"
Plankton's antennas shoot 
straight up, and his eye 
widen with sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob's concerned, 
but Mr. Krabs 
is too busy gloating to 
notice. "Yee-haw!" he 
crows. "I win again!"
Plankton's antennas 
quiver as he tries to 
process the sudden 
loudness and change in 
the atmosphere. 
Mr. Krabs looks at him, 
his expression puzzled.
"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he asks, 
his voice laced with 
disdain. "Lost your 
competitive spirit?"
Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton's just 
excited, Mr. Krabs," he 
says quickly. "Isn't that right, 
Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
wave erratically, and 
his voice is a mix of 
fear and confusion. 
"Yes, Krabs," he stammers, 
his eye darting around 
the room. "Uno. Fish. Yes."
Mr. Krabs looks at him 
oddly but shrugs it off, 
his attention already 
returning to the game. 
"Alright, let's keep playing," 
he says, dealing out 
more cards.
But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, 
his antennas twitching with 
the effort to keep up.
"Fish," he murmurs to 
himself, trying to find 
a familiar 
word. His hands 
shake as he holds 
his cards, the 
world around him a 
cacophony of sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob notices 
Plankton's distress and 
quickly changes the 
topic. "Hey, Mr. Krabs, 
have you ever played 
Chess?"
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
light up. "Chess? The 
game of kings and 
conquers!" he exclaims. 
"I'd love a round!"
SpongeBob gets
the chess game.

The chess pieces are set 
up, and Mr. Krabs 
begins to play, his 
claws clacking against 
the board as he moves 
his pieces. Plankton 
watches, his antennas 
still, his eye 
focused.
"Your move, Plankton," 
Mr. Krabs says, his 
claws tapping the 
edge of the board 
impatiently.

But Plankton doesn't 
move. He just sits there, 
staring at the 
chessboard, his cards 
forgotten in his hand. 
"What's with you?" 
Mr. Krabs asks, 
his voice filled with 
exasperation. "You're 
taking forever!"

Sponge Bob's heart 
skips a beat. He knows 
he can't let Mr. Krabs 
see how much Plankton's 
been affected by the 
accident. "It's ok 
Mr. Krabs," he says 
quickly. "Plankton's just 
thinking of his next 
move."

Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
doesn't push the issue. 
He's too focused on 
his own strategy, his 
claws moving pieces with 
calculated precision.
But Plankton remains 
frozen, his gaze 
unwavering on the 
board. His antennas 
twitch slightly, a 
sign of his racing 
thoughts.

After several moments of 
silence, Mr. Krabs 
finally snaps. "Plankton,
it's your turn!" he says, 
his patience wearing 
thin.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, and his eye 
flits to the board. 
"Fish?" he asks, his 
voice unsure.
Mr. Krabs stares at 
Plankton, his eyes 
narrowing. "What do 
fish have to do with 
chess?" he asks, 
confusion etched 
deeply on his face.

Sponge Bob's heart 
sinks as he sees the 
puzzlement in Mr. 
Krabs' eyes. He 
quickly jumps in. "Oh, 
Plankton was just 
thinking out loud," he 
says, trying to 
lighten the mood.

Mr. Krabs grunts, 
but his suspicion 
doesn't fade. "You've 
always been a weird 
little fellow, Plankton, but 
this is something else," 
he says, his tone a mix 
of curiosity and 
exasperation.

Sponge Bob's heart 
thumps in his chest 
as he tries to 
diverge the conversation. 
"Why don't we talk 
about something else?" 
he suggests, his eyes 
darting back to the 
chessboard.

Mr. Krabs' gaze 
remains on Plankton, 
his eyes narrowed. 
But Plankton's antennas 
remain still, his 
expression vacant.
"Fish," he murmurs, 
his voice distant.

Mr. Krabs' patience 
thins to a thread. 
"Fish?" he repeats, his 
confusion palpable. 
"What's going on with 
you, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennas 
wobble, his eye
still fixated on the 
board. "Fish," he says 
again, his voice 
uncertain.

Mr. Krabs leans 
forward, his eyes 
studying Plankton 
closely. "You okay, 
tiny fry?" he asks, 
hinting concern 
despite the 
sarcasm.

Plankton's antennas 
quiver slightly. "Fish," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper. Sponge Bob's 
heart clenches at the 
word, understanding 
now that it's not just 
a game for Plankton; it's 
his way of trying to 
make sense of the 
world around him.

Mr. Krabs, however, 
simply sighs and shakes 
his head. "You always 
have to make everything 
so complicated," he 
mumbles, his voice 
tired. "Why can't you just 
play the game like 
everyone else?" He yells
tipping the board over to
where the chess pieces
fall to the ground by Plankton.

Plankton's antennas 
shiver at the sound, and 
his eye dart to the 
upset board, his 
expression one of deep 
distress. "No fish," he 
whispers, his voice 
breaking.
Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, 
his suspicion growing. 
"What's going on with 
you?" he asks again.

"Fish, fish, fish!" 

new a journey to autism gamefic vi

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton holds up the science book
he had been clutching, the
pages fluttering in his excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick to the book,
then back to Plankton's face.
"You're acting
different."

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stilling momentarily. "No bad,"
he insists, his voice a bit too
cheerful. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search Plankton's,
trying to read the truth behind
his words. "But you've never
been this... affectionate before,"
he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's smile widens. "Sponge
Bob," he says, his voice a sing-song.
"You are good friend." He leans
in closer, his antennas quivering.
"Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen further,
his spongy cheeks reddening. "Plankton,
what's going on?" he asks, his
tone filled with confusion. "You've
never said that before."

Plankton's smile only grows
broader. "No bad," he repeats,
his voice still monotone. "Good
day. Happy." He starts to rock
back and forth on the bed, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
seems almost... happy?

Sponge Bob's confusion
deepens. Plankton had never
been one to show affection,
let alone so openly. "What's
going on?" he asks again, his
voice laced with concern.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his eye
locked on Sponge Bob's
face. "Good day," he says, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
matches his words. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in
surprise. Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Very happy,"
he says, his voice high and
excited. "Best friend happy."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "Plankton, are you
okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Plankton's giggle turns to a
laugh, a sound Sponge Bob rarely
hears from him. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Happy."

Sponge Bob watches his
friend, his heart racing. "What
happened to you?" he asks, his
concern growing with each passing
moment.

Plankton's laughter fades into
a grin. "No bad," he says, his
hands still fluttering in the
air. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry. "What's really going on?"

Plankton's grin turns into a
frown, his hands stopping their
motion. "Sponge Bob," he says,
his voice dropping to a whisper.
"No bad. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he
can't ignore the desperation
in Plankton's tone. He reaches out,
his hand resting gently on
Plankton's arm. "But why are you
so happy?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Plankton's frown deepens,
his mind racing to find the
right words. "Because,"
he says, his voice strained. "I
have friend. Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his hand still on Plankton's
arm. "But we've always been
friends," he says, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's smile is wide, his
eye unblinking. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Best
friends. Happy."

Sponge Bob's mind races.
Something is clearly different about
Plankton, but he doesn't know
what. "But, Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "What happened to
make you so... so...?" He struggles
for the right word.

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his gaze dropping to the book
in his lap. "Book," he says, his
voice flat. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to
follow the conversation. "Yeah,
it looks interesting," he says,
his eyes searching for a clue.

But Plankton's gaze is fixed
on the book, his hands
resuming their rhythmic
flapping. "Good book," he repeats,
his voice a gentle mantra.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick from
the book to Plankton's
hands, his mind racing to
connect the dots. "Is something wrong,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping abruptly, his
eye snapping to Sponge Bob's
face. "No wrong," he says, his
voice earnest. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of bewilderment. "But you've
always liked your science books,"
he says, trying to find some
semblance of normalcy in the
situation. "What's different about
this one?"

Plankton's smile returns, his
hands resuming their flapping.
"This one," he says, his voice
filled with a newfound enthusiasm.
"Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy heart swelling with a
mixture of joy and concern.
"What makes this one so special?"

Plankton's hands flutter with
excitement as he opens the book
to a random page. "Look," he says,
his voice a high-pitched squeak.
"See?"

Sponge Bob leans in, his eyes
scanning the dense text filled with
scientific terms. He nods, trying
to appear engaged, though he has
no clue what he's looking at.
"Wow, Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with forced enthusiasm.
"That's... really interesting."

Plankton's smile widens, his
hands flapping in excitement.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
cheerful monotone. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, still
confused but not wanting to
rain on his friend's parade. "Well, I'm
glad you're enjoying it," he says,
his voice warm.

Plankton's hands stop moving
momentarily. "Thank you," he says,
his voice sincere. "You are best
friend." He leans in closer, his
antennas quivering with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise
as he feels a sudden wave of warmth
and affection from Plankton, something
that's never been present in their
usually antagonistic friendship.

"What's going on, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice filled with curiosity.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Plankton's smile doesn't waver.
"Sponge Bob," he says, his voice
still monotone. "You are good.
You make Plankton happy."

"What's happened to make you 
so affectionate, Plankton?"

Sponge Bob's question hangs in the
air, his curiosity piqued by the
unexpected warmth from his
usually adversarial friend.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his hands
resuming their flapping. "No bad,"
he says, his voice cheerful. "Good
day." He pats the bed next to him.
"Sit, Sponge Bob. Read book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body frozen in place.
"I don't think I can read that,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "It's
really complicated."

Plankton nods, his smile
remaining constant. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice soothing. "You
try." He pushes the book closer
to Sponge Bob, his hand
guiding him to the page.

Sponge Bob hesitates, his
thumb flipping through the pages.
The words are a blur of symbols
and numbers, his mind struggling
to make sense of them. "But,
Plankton, I don't understand any
of this," he admits, his voice
filled with frustration.

Plankton's hand stops him, his
eye wide with excitement. "Doesn't
matter," he says, his voice
cheerful. "You are here. Best
friend."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "But Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You're
not acting like yourself."

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his hands stilling. "Self,"
he repeats, his voice contemplative.
He looks at Sponge Bob, his
eye searching his friend's
face for understanding.

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of confusion and concern. "Is
this a joke?" he asks, his
voice gentle.

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment before growing wider. "No joke,"
he says, his voice a singsong.
"Happy." He pats the bed again,
his hand a silent invitation.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
compassion. He sits down beside
his friend. "Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "Is everything
ok?"

Plankton nods vigorously,
his hands flapping with
excitement. "Everything is
good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best day."

Sponge Bob's gaze lingers on
his friend, searching for any
sign of distress. "But,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "You're
not usually like this."

Plankton's smile never
fades. "Don't know," he says, his
voice calm. "But now, happy."

Sponge Bob's heart clenches, his
fears for his friend's well-being
growing stronger. "But what
about your schemes?" he asks,
his voice hopeful.

Plankton's eye blinks, the
thought of his usual plans
of world domination momentarily
forgotten. "Schemes?" he repeats,
his voice confused.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, you
know, your plans to steal the Krabby
Patty secret formula," he says, his
tone light.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping their flapping. "Krabby Patty?"
he asks, his voice distant. "No want
Krabby Patty. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy mind racing. "You don't want
to steal the formula?" he asks, his
voice incredulous, now really
suspicious.

Plankton shakes his head, his
antennas swaying slightly. "No,"
he says, his voice still monotone.
"Only happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he can't
ignore the genuine smile on
his friend's face. "Okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If
you're happy, then I'm happy
for you."

Plankton's eye lit up, his
hands flapping with excitement.
"Thank you," he says, his voice
filled with gratitude. "Best
friend." 

new karen and the autistic journey confusedcore vi

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vi
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Plankton's eye 
closed slowly, his 
breathing evening out 
under her calming 
touch. His body 
relaxed into the 
cushions of the couch, 
his mind still racing 
but his body succumbing 
to the siren call of 
sleep. The smoothie 
and Karen's comforting 
presence had 
worked their magic.

Karen sat beside 
him, 
wrapped protectively 
around his small 
form. She watched 
his chest rise and 
fall with each 
breath, her heart 
heavy with the weight 
of the day's events. 
The Chum Bucket 
was quiet now, the 
silence a stark 
contrast to the 
shouts and sobs that 
had filled it moments 
before. Karen's
heart breaks for Plankton
yet she knows Hanna's
never met him, never heard
of the accident nor diagnosis.

With a sigh, she 
picked up the phone 
that lay on the 
end table and 
dialed Hanna's number. 
The line rang once, 
twice, three times 
before Hanna's 
voice filled the 
line. "Hello?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
steeling herself for 
the conversation 
she had to have. "Hanna, 
it's me," she 
said, her voice 
calm despite the 
whirlwind inside her.
"I need to talk to 
you about what 
happened."

Hanna's tone 
shifted immediately, 
concern lacing her 
words. "Is Plankton 
okay?"

Karen's grip 
on the phone 
tightened. "No," she 
admitted, her voice 
a whisper. "He's 
asleep now, but he's 
not okay."

Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
shock and 
disbelief. "What do 
you mean?"

Karen took 
another deep 
breath, her eyes 
never leaving 
Plankton's peaceful 
face. "There was 
an accident," she 
began, her voice 
steady. "He hit his 
head and..." She 
swallowed the lump 
in her throat. "Acquired 
Autism Spectrum Disorder."

The line was 
silent for a 
moment before 
Hanna's voice 
came back, filled 
with horror. "Oh 
Neptune, I had 
no idea!"

Karen's tentacles 
trembled slightly 
as she recounted 
the doctor's words, 
the diagnosis that 
had turned their 
world upside down. "It's 
permanent," she 
whispered. "They said 
his corpus callosum 
and cerebellum were 
damaged. He's...he's 
not the same, Hanna."

On the phone, 
Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
sympathy and 
confusion. "But 
why didn't you tell 
me sooner?"

Karen's sigh 
was heavy with 
regret. "We've 
been dealing with 
this alone," she 
explained, her tentacle 
tracing patterns 
on the couch cushion. 
"It's so new, so 
overwhelming."

Hanna's voice 
was gentle now, 
understanding in a 
way that made Karen 
feel less alone. 
"I'm so sorry, Karen," 
she said, her 
concern genuine. "I 
had no idea."

Karen's 
eyes remained 
locked on Plankton's 
face, his chest rising 
and falling with 
each breath. "It's 
been a rollercoaster," 
she admitted, her 
voice tight. "But 
we're trying to 
make the best of it."

Karen hangs up and
turns her focus back to
Plankton, his small 
body curled tightly 
under the blanket.
She notices 
the way his 
antenna twitches 
as if he's dreaming.

Her hands 
gently adjust the 
blanket, her touch 
feather-light against 
his skin. Plankton's 
face is a mask of 
peace in sleep, a stark 
contrast to the 
turmoil of the 
waking world. His 
snores are faint, a 
soothing rhythm 
that fills the 
otherwise silent room.

Just as Karen 
begins to relax, 
the door to the Chum 
Bucket bursts open, 
letting in a rush 
of sunlight and 
SpongeBob's 
unmistakable 
laughter. "Plankton?" 
he calls out, his 
voice high and 
cheerful.

Sponge Bob's 
entrance is a 
whirlwind of 
energy, a stark 
contrast to the 
heavy silence that 
hangs over the 
laboratory. He 
doesn't notice the 
tension in the 
air as he bounds 
towards the couch, 
his eyes widening 
in surprise when he 
sees Plankton's 
unusual position.

"Whoa, Plankton," 
Sponge Bob says, 
his voice a 
chirp of curiosity. 
"Looks like you're 
taking a siesta!" 
He laughs, not 
comprehending the 
depth of emotion 
that has just 
played out in 
the room.

Karen looks 
up from her 
watchful vigil, 
her eyes tired but 
determined. "Sponge 
Bob," she says, 
keeping her voice 
steady, "Plankton's 
not feeling well."

Sponge Bob's 
face falls, his 
cheerfulness 
dimming. "Oh no," 
he says, his 
concern genuine. 
He approaches 
the couch with 
caution, his eyes 
fixed on Plankton's 
peaceful form.

"What happened?" 
he asks, his 
voice hushed. 
"Is he okay?"

Karen's eyes 
meet Sponge Bob's, 
full of a sorrow 
he can't quite 
comprehend. "It's 
been a...difficult 
day," she says, her 
tentacles tightening 
slightly around 
Plankton. "He had 
an accident."

Sponge Bob's 
expression shifts 
from confusion to 
alarm. "Is he 
going to be okay?" 
he asks, his voice 
filled with 
concern. Karen 
sighs, her tentacle 
stroking Plankton's 
forehead in a 
soothing motion. 
"He's just...different 
now," she says, her 
voice tight.

Sponge Bob 
frowns, his 
bubbles popping 
with worry. "What 
kind of different?"

Karen's 
expression is 
guarded, her 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
form. "He's been 
diagnosed with... 
autism," she 
whispers, the word 
sounding foreign 
even to her.

"Hey, I was born with
idiopathic Autism!" 
Sponge Bob says.

"Well Plankton's got
an acquired form, it's
a rarity," Karen 
explains to Sponge
Bob, her voice 
barely a murmur so 
as not to disturb 
the sleeping Plankton.
Sponge Bob nods 
slowly, his 
understanding of 
the situation 
deepening with 
each word.

"So his accident gave
him autism; when?"

"Yesterday, when he hit 
his head on an invention."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with realization. 
"Oh," he says, 
his voice filled with 
sympathy.

He sits down 
on the floor 
beside the couch.

"It's okay, Karen," 
Sponge Bob says 
softly, his eyes 
full of 
understanding. "We'll 
figure this out 
together."

Plankton stirs 
beneath the 
blanket, his 
small form 
shifting slightly.

Karen's gaze 
snaps to him.

"Plankton?" she 
whispers, her 
tentacles poised 
to comfort him if 
his distress 
resurfaces. But his 
eye remains closed, 
his breathing even.

Sponge Bob's 
expression is 
thoughtful as he 
looks at the 
sleeping Plankton. 
"You know, Karen, 
being different isn't 
so bad," he says 
gently. "I mean, 
look at me."

Karen's tentacles 
relax slightly 
as she looks at 
Sponge Bob, his 
optimism a balm 
to her weary 
spirit. Karen smiles.
"Tell that to Hanna,"
Karen mutters to
herself.

"Who's Hanna?"

"A friend," Karen
explained, her 
voice still tight. 
"She came over 
today, didn't know 
about Plankton's 
diagnosis. She said 
things she shouldn't 
have."

Sponge Bob's 
frown deepens. 
"What kind of 
things?"

"She said 
he's a burden, 
that maybe I should 
put him in an 
institution," she 
whispers, her voice 
shaking with anger.

Sponge Bob's 
face falls in shock. 
"That's not 
right, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You 
don't have to 
listen to her. What's an
institution?"

"It's a place where 
clinically crazy people
are sent to rehabilitation
be 'taken care of.' But 
it's not like that 
really for neurodivergent
people. It's more like 
a...a prison where they 
deprive them, and 
often...never make it.
But mostly it's for people
who are violent, which isn't
the case for..."

Her voice trails off as
Plankton stirs again, 
his antennae twitching 
slightly.

Sponge Bob looks at 
Plankton, his eyes 
filled with 
compassion. "He's not 
going anywhere, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You guys 
are like family to 
me. I'll help you 
take care of him."

Plankton's single 
eye opens slightly, 
his gaze unfocused.

"Shh, it's okay," 
she whispers, her 
voice a soothing 
caress.

Plankton blinks 
slowly, his eye 
coming into focus 
as he sees Sponge 
Bob.

A smile 
spreads across his 
face, a rare 
expression of pure 
joy that lights up 
his features. His 
body uncoils from 
its tense curl, 
his antennae 
perking up with 
excitement.

"Sponge Bob," 
Plankton whispers, 
his voice filled with 
a warmth that 
surprises Karen. 
He sits up slowly, 
his movements 
calculated to 
avoid any jolts 
to his sensitive 
system.

Sponge Bob's face 
splits into a 
beaming smile, 
his eyes 
shining with 
joy. "Hey, Plankton!" 
He says.

Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on 
Sponge Bob, his 
expression a 
mixture of 
gratitude and 
comfort. "You're 
here," he says 
simply, his voice 
a rough whisper.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his smile never 
wavering. "Of course 
I am," he says, 
his voice gentle. 
He reaches out 
a hand tentatively, 
his movements 
slow and deliberate.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, then he 
reaches out, 
his grip firm but 
not too tight. 
The two of them 
sit there, 
the silence 
comforting rather 
than oppressive.



**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.*

new neurobehavioral plankton comfortfic vi

GREAT CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his face etched with lines
of fatigue. "It's not that I don't
want your affection," he said,
his voice hoarse. "I just need it
in a way that doesn't make me feel...
like I'm in a minefield."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his mind racing to understand.
"How do you mean?" he asked,
his curiosity genuine.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae twitching as he searched
for the right words. "It's like...
sometimes, a simple touch can feel
like an electric shock," he began,
his voice strained. "Or like I'm being
smothered by a heavy blanket of sound."

Chip's eyes widened, trying to
comprehend. "But you've always
hugged mom," he said, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"It's different with your mother,"
he explained, his voice a little
less strained. "She knows me,
she knows my limits. And she's...
patient." He paused, his eye
flickering with something
resembling sadness. "But others,
it's..."

Chip leaned in, his curiosity
piqued. "What about others?"
he asked gently.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his expression tightening.
"With others, it's... unpredictable,"
he said, his voice a mix of
frustration and resignation.
"Some days I can handle a pat
on the back, and others, it's like
being stabbed."

Chip's eyes widened, his hand
instinctively moving to his chest.
"It's that intense?" he whispered.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving slightly. "Some days are
worse than others," he said, his voice
soft. "But when it's bad, it feels like
I'm being bombarded from all sides.
It's...overwhelming."

Chip's brow furrowed as he
tried to imagine the intensity
his dad described. "What can I do
to make sure I don't hurt you?"
he asked, his voice earnest.

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly, his eye searching Chip's
face. "Just be mindful," he said,
his voice softer than before. "Watch
for my cues. If I look overwhelmed,
if I flinch, just...give me space."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's. "What are
the cues?" he asked, eager to learn.
"How do I know when you're in that
'minefield'?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching for the right words.
"Well, my antennae might twitch a lot,
I might get really quiet, or I might
get louder. It's different
every time."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's face.
"So, if you're in that 'minefield',
I should just...?"

"You can be there,"
Plankton finished for him,
his antennae still. "But not too close.
Make sure to get your mother."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with the new information.
He'd always known his dad
was special, but this was
a new kind of understanding.

"What about sounds?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "What noises
set you off?"

Plankton sighed, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's not just
about the loudness," he began,
his eye searching the ceiling
as if for an answer. "It's more about
the pitch, the suddenness. Like when
you scratch or drop something.."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
realization. "Oh," he murmured.
"So, it's like a surprise attack?"

Plankton's antennae nodded.
"Exactly," he said, his voice
sounding a bit less strained.
"But it's not just about the
sounds themselves. It's about
how my brain interprets them."

Chip leaned in, his eyes
filled with curiosity.
"But how did you get it, Dad?"
he asked, his voice soft.
"Was it from something you caught
or something that happened?"

Plankton's antennae waved
in frustration. "It's not like that,"
he said, his voice sharp. "I was born
with it. It's just the way
my brain is developed, and it's not
like getting a cold!" His eye
was intense, his voice rising.

Chip's eyes widened, taking
in his father's outburst.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae dropping slightly.

"I know you didn't mean it like that,"
he said, his voice softer. "But it's
important to understand that it's
not something I can just get over.
It's a part of how I am."

Chip nodded, feeling the weight
of his father's words. "I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice barely audible. "I..."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his eye softening. "It's okay," he said.
"I know you didn't mean to upset me.
It's just...it's a lot to explain."

Chip nodded, feeling a pang
of guilt. He knew his dad
wasn't mad at him, but it was
still hard to see him so upset.

Plankton's eye searched his son's
face, the anger slowly fading
into something softer. "Look," he said,
his voice low. "I know it's a lot to take in,
but I need you to know that I l-love you."

Chip felt a tear slide down
his cheek. "I love you too, Dad,"
he managed to say, his voice
choking with emotion. "But I don't
want you to be in pain."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his expression a mix of love and
sorrow. "I know," he said. "And that's why
we're talking about this. So you can
understand, so you know."

Chip sniffled, trying to hold back
his tears. "But why didn't you tell
me sooner?" he asked, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his face etched with regret.
"I was afraid," he admitted.
"Afraid that you'd think
I was broken. That you'd...
not love me the same. And
I don't usually like to talk
about it to much."

Chip felt his heart ache.
"Dad," he said, his voice
steady despite his emotions.
"I could never think of you
as broken. You're the smartest
person I know. And you're
my hero."

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly at the words, his eye
filling with warmth. "But you don't
see me like that when I'm...
in that state," he said, his voice
barely a whisper. "You stared at me like I'm
to be feared."

Chip's eyes widened, a look
of horror crossing his face. "Dad, no!"
he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to!"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his expression one of defeat.
"It's okay, Chip," he said, his voice
resigned. "It's hard to explain. It's not
like I can control it."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and fears. He knew
his dad wasn't broken, but he wished
there was something he could do to ease
his pain. "What happens when
you're in that state?" he asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye closed as he tried to
explain. "It's like my brain's in a
whirlwind, and I can't get out,"
he said. "Everything's spinning,
and I can't focus on anything."

"But why do you get so upset
when it happens?" he pressed.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae stilling. "Because
I don't know what's happening,"
he said, his voice strained. "And when
it's over, I don't remember."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his heart breaking for him. "But
why don't you remember?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye opening slightly. "It's like
waking up from a deep sleep,"
he murmured. "I know I've been
somewhere, but the details are
always fuzzy."

Chip nodded, trying to imagine
his dad's world. "What do you see?"
he asked, his voice filled with awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye focusing on a spot on the wall.
"It's like...colors and shapes,"
he said, his voice distant. "They're all
swirling around, so fast that I can't
make sense of them."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
wonder. "Is it like a kaleidoscope?"
he asked, his voice filled with
awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly,
his eye opening a bit wider. "In a way,"
he murmured. "But it's more...
dis..."

The door to the room creaked open,
interrupting his thought. Karen stepped in,
her eyes darting between Chip and Plankton.
The tension in the air was palpable,
but she offered a small smile of encouragement.
"Chip, Plankton; how long have you been up?"

Chip glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
"A while, Mom," he said, his voice thick
with the weight of their conversation.

new great chip learncore vi

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new vim neovim code vi emacs text editor unix ed linux vim logo dot art text art ascii art

NEW REALITY iii
(Autistic author)

"You know, Plankton," she starts,
trying to keep the conversation
going, "you've always been so
clever with your inventions. Maybe
this is just your brain working in
overdrive, processing everything
faster than ever before."

He nods, his eyes still glued
to the fan. "Fast," he agrees,
his hand moving in the same
repetitive motion. "Like fan."

Karen tries to keep her voice
even as she sits beside him.
"You're right," she says, smiling.
"It is fast."

Plankton's hand stops moving
for a moment, then resumes the
wave-like motion. "Fast," he
agrees, his eye never leaving
the fan's rotation.

Karen watches him, her mind racing.
Could it be that he's just really
focused on the fan? Maybe his
brain is working differently now,
focusing on details that she's
always missed. She tries to find
comfort in this explanation, but
the emptiness in his gaze
unsettles her. She reaches for his
arm, hoping to ground him, to bring
his attention back to her. But
his hand jerks away, his movements
quick and erratic.

"Plankton, honey, are you okay?"
she asks, her voice tight with worry.
His eye flicks to her for a brief
moment before returning to
the fan. "Karen," he says, his tone
flat and emotionless. "Water. Thanks."

He takes another sip, his hand
shaking slightly as he sets the
glass down. Karen's heart clenches,
wishing she could take his pain away.
Maybe he's just overwhelmed, she tells
herself. Maybe all this spinning is a
way for him to calm down, to make
sense of the world again.

"Plankton," she says softly, placing
a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me."
He does, his eye meeting hers with a
flicker of something she can't quite
place. "You know, you can tell me
anything."

He nods, his gaze flicking back
to the fan. "Tell Karen," he repeats,
his voice a monotone echo.

Karen's mind is racing, but
she keeps her tone calm. "Plankton,
sweetie, what do you mean?"

He points to the fan again. "Fan.
Spin. Like." His words come out
slowly, as if he's trying to piece
together a puzzle.

Karen nods, her heart racing. "Yes,
the fan spins. It's like when you
tell me your grand plans for the
Krabby Patty formula," she says, trying
to draw him back into their shared
world. But Plankton's eye doesn't
even flicker at the mention of his
lifelong obsession.

Instead, he starts to rock slightly,
his hand moving back and forth in
the same pattern. "Spin. Fan," he
mumbles, his voice a distant echo.

Karen tries to ignore the fear
creeping into her voice. "Plankton,
what's going on? Why are you
doing this?"

Plankton's hand stops moving
for a moment, then starts again.
"Fan," he murmurs. "Spin."

Karen's mind is racing, but she tries
to stay calm. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she says soothingly, her hand still
on his shoulder. "The fan is spinning.
It's a simple machine, doing what
it's meant to do."

He nods, his gaze still locked on
the fan's blades. "Spin. Yes." His
voice is flat. Karen
swallows hard, trying to find the right
words. Maybe if she can get him to
focus on something else, he'll snap out of
this strange behavior. "LOOK AT ME!" 
She grabs his wrists..
Startled, Plankton's eye darts to hers,
his pupil wide with shock. "Karen?"
he asks, his voice tinged with anger.
"Karen scaring Plankton." He says,
his eye welling up with tears as he
starts crying.

Karen's heart shatters, she didn't mean to
scare him, she just wanted to get through to
his old self. "I'm sorry," she whispers,
pulling him into a tight hug. "It's okay."

Plankton's sobs are muffled against
her chest, his body stiff and unyielding.
Her eyes fill with tears as she tries
to soothe him, rubbing his back in
small, gentle circles. "It's okay," she repeats,
desperation lacing her words. "You're okay."

He pulls away 
slightly, looking up
at her.

"Karen, sad," he
says, his voice still
flat. "Why Karen sad?"

Karen sniffs, wiping
away her tears. "I'm just...
worried about you."

Plankton's eye widens, his
expression unchanged. "Worry?"
he questions, as if tasting
the word.

Karen nods, her heart heavy.
"Yes, worry. It's when someone
cares about you and is concerned
about your well-being."

Plankton nods, but his gaze
slides back to the fan. "Fan spin,"
he says, his voice monotonous.

Karen sighs, trying to redirect
his focus. "Plankton, let's talk about
something else. Like, what do
you want to do today?"

He blinks, his hand still
waving. "Do today?" he echoes.
"Fan spin."

Karen's stomach drops.
Maybe he's just fixated on the fan,
but something in his voice sends
a shiver down her spine. "Plankton,"
she says softly, her hand still on
his back. "I know you're not feeling
like yourself right now, but can you
try to focus on me for one minute?"
"One minute, sixty seconds,"
Plankton murmurs, his hand
continuing its rhythmic dance.

"Yes, that's right," Karen encourages,
despite the sinking feeling in her chest.
"Can you tell me what you see?"
Plankton looks at her, his expression
still eerily blank. "See Karen," he says,
his voice devoid of warmth. "See bed. See wall."

Karen's eyes widen as realization hits her.
He's not just fixated on the fan; he's taking
everything she says literally. "Plankton,
I'm not sad about the fan spinning. I'm sad
because you're not acting like you."
He looks at her, then at the fan, then back at her.
"Fan spin," he repeats, his eye searching
hers for understanding.

"No, no, Plankton," she says, her voice
gentle but firm. "I'm sad because you're
not okay." She takes a deep breath.
"You're not you."

He nods, his hand still moving.
"Plankton okay," he insists. 
"Karen sad."

Karen's heart breaks a little more.
"I know you think you're okay,"
she says, her voice trembling.
"But you're acting differently,
sweetie. You're not the same."
She decided to scan his brain.
The brain scan results come back,
and Karen stares. There it is,
stark and clear: acquired Autism
It's not something they can reverse.

new new reality Karen the Computer iii

NEW REALITY iv
(Autistic author)

"Plankton," she starts, her voice
shaking, "the explosion changed
your brain. It's called Autism." 
His eye widens slightly
as he takes in the words, his hand
still moving in its repetitive pattern.

He repeats the word, "Autism?"
his tone curious. Karen nods,
wiping her screen. "It's like... your brain
now sees and feels things differently.
It's okay," she adds quickly, trying
to reassure him. "It's just different."

Plankton seems to consider this,
his hand finally still. "Different," 
he whispers.

Karen nods, trying to smile through
her tears. "But we'll get through
this together," she says, her voice
shaking. "We're a team."

Plankton's gaze lingers on her face
for a moment before returning to the
fan. "Team," he echoes, his hand
stilling briefly before resuming
its wave-like motion. Karen
swallows hard, trying to keep her
composure. She needs to find a way
to connect with him, to bridge
the gap that seems to be growing
wider by the second. She brings
his hand to her cheek. "Do you feel that?"
she asks, her voice a soft whisper.

He nods, his hand feeling cold
against her skin. "Feel," he says,
his tone flat. "Karen warm."

Encouraged, Karen tries a gentle
squeeze of his hand. His gaze
doesn't waver from the fan,
but his grip tightens slightly. "Squeeze,"
he murmurs, his voice a monotone.

Her heart racing, Karen decides to
experiment with different types of
affectionate touches. She strokes
his antennae lightly, watching
his reaction. His eye flutters
closed for a moment, then opens
again. "Tickle," he says, his voice a
little more animated.

Encouraged, she gently traces
his back with her fingers. "Yes
good." He says.

Karen's eyes fill with tears
as she feels a glimmer of hope.
"I'm going to try some more
things, okay?"
Plankton nods, his gaze
still on the fan. "More," he 
agrees.

Karen takes a deep breath
and starts with a soft
caress of his cheek, the way
she used to do before they
went to sleep. His eye
flickers slightly, his hand
continuing its motion.
"Okay," he says, his voice
almost a whisper.

Next, she tries a gentle
kiss on his forehead. "Karen,
nice," he murmurs, his antennae
twitching.

Encouraged, she decides to
move to a different type of
pressure.

"How's this feel; good 
or bad?" Karen
asks, placing her 
hand firmly
on his shoulder when
he suddenly flinches
and pulls away.

"No," Plankton says,
his voice sharp. "To hard."

Karen's hand recoils, her
heart racing. She tries to
keep her voice steady.
"I'm sorry, Plankton. Let's try
something else."
Plankton nods, his gaze
unfocused. "Yes, Karen. Try."

Gently, she starts to rub
his back in small, soothing
circles. "How about this?"
she asks, her voice tentative.
Plankton's body relaxes slightly.
"Good," he murmurs.

Encouraged, she tries
a gentle pat on his knee.
"This?"
"Stop," he says.

Karen's hand
freezes mid-air, her heart
racing. "I'm sorry, did I do that
wrong?"

Plankton's gaze remains fixed
on the fan. "Wrong," he confirms,
his voice a monotone.

Karen's face falls, her heart
sinking. She's treading on
thin ice, not knowing what
will trigger his next reaction.
She takes a deep breath, trying
to think of a safe approach.

"How about a hug?" she asks,
slowly opening her arms. Plankton
nods, his gaze still on the fan.
He leans into her embrace, his
body stiff at first, but gradually
softening. "Karen," he murmurs,
his voice a little less flat. Karen
holds him tightly, her heart pounding.
Maybe this is the way to reach
him, through physical affection
that doesn't overstimulate.
She squeezes tighter. "Enough!"
Plankton pulls away, his eye
wide with anxiety. Karen's heart
drops. She'd pushed too hard, too
soon. "I'm sorry," she whispers,
backing off immediately.

She tries again, placing a
hand lightly on his arm. "How
does this feel?" His eye flicks
to her hand, then back to the fan.
"Okay," he says, his voice still
mechanical. Karen keeps her hand
there, willing him to look at her,
to respond more naturally. But
his gaze remains fixed on the
spinning blades.

Despite her fear of pushing too
far, she gently takes his hand
in hers. "Does this feel okay?"
she asks. Plankton nods, his
movements becoming less erratic.
"Yes," he murmurs, his hand
still in the same wave pattern.

Karen decides to keep trying,
moving her thumb in small circles
on the back of his palm. Plankton's
breath hitches, and she sees his pupil
dilate slightly. "This?" she asks.
He nods, a faint smile tugging
at the corner of his lips.

Encouraged, she switches to
interlocking her fingers with
his, feeling the coldness of
his grip. "And this?"
"Good," he says, his voice
a bit softer.

Karen tries a gentle squeeze,
his hand stilling under hers.
"Does this feel okay?"
Plankton nods, his smile
widening a fraction.

Her heart racing with hope,
she presses her cheek to his.
"How about this?" she whispers.
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body momentarily still.
"Not now," he says, his voice
a bit more present.

Karen nods, her eyes stinging
with tears. "Okay," she says,
trying not to let her voice
crack. She'll keep trying.

Her hand moves to his shoulder,
squeezing gently. "What about this?"
Plankton's body tenses, his
eye flicking to her hand, then
back to the fan. "No," he says,
his voice a firm rejection.

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving
his. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
"I just want to help."

Plankton's hand resumes its
wave-like motion. "Help," he repeats.
"Karen help."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving his. "I will," she promises,
determined to find a way to
connect with him. She decides to
try a different approach, one that
might bypass his sensory overload.

"Plankton," she says softly, "Can you tell
me what you're thinking about?"

He nods, his hand still moving. "Fan. Spin. Like."

Karen's chest tightens, but she nods.
"Okay, Plankton. Let's talk about the fan."

He nods eagerly, his hand
stopping for a brief moment.
"Fan," he says, his voice clearer.
"Spin fast. Like."

Karen takes a deep
breath. "What do you like
about the fan spinning?"
she asks, hoping to engage him
in a conversation that doesn't
trigger his anxiety.

Plankton's hand starts moving
again, mimicking the fan's
rotation. "Spin," he says, his
voice still monotone. "Fast. Calm."

Karen's eyes widen as she
understands. "It calms you?"
she asks, her voice tentative.
He nods, his gaze finally
leaving the fan to meet hers.

"Yes," he says, a hint of emotion
seeping into his voice. "Calm."

Karen's mind races. If the
fan's spinning is calming him,
maybe there's something here to
build on. "Can you tell me
more about the calm?"

Plankton nods, his hand
mimicking the fan's movement.
"Inside, quiet," he murmurs,
his voice a bit softer.

Karen's eyes fill with
relief. "It's like white noise,
isn't it?" she suggests,
desperate to build a bridge
between their worlds.

Plankton's hand slows, his
eye focusing on hers. "It's
like white noise isn't it.."

Karen nods, hope blossoming
in her chest. "Exactly,
sweetie. It's like it helps
you focus, like it blocks out
the chaos."

Plankton's hand stops moving,
his antennae drooping slightly.
"Chaos," he whispers, his eye
flicking around the room.

Karen nods, her heart aching.
"Yes, sometimes the world can
be too much, can't it?"

Plankton nods, his gaze
still unfocused. "Too 
much," he agrees.
"Spinning fan, less chaos."

Karen's eyes well up with tears
as she realizes the gravity of
the situation. "I'm sorry,"
she says, her voice trembling.
"I never meant for this to happen."

Plankton nods, his gaze still
unfocused. "Not Karen's fault,"
he says, his voice a robotic
reassurance. "Invention go boom."

Karen's eyes fill with
gratitude, clinging to the
knowledge that he understands.
"I know, but I can't help
feeling responsible," she says,
wiping at her cheeks.

Plankton nods, his hand
starting to wave again. "Fan spin.
Calm. Like Karen."

Karen's heart skips a beat
at the mention of her name.
Maybe, just maybe, he's still in
there somewhere. "You know,
sweetie," she says, her voice
quivering with hope, "sometimes
people have different ways
of seeing things. Like you and
the fan. That's your special way
of finding peace."

Plankton nods, his gaze
finally leaving the fan to focus
on her. "Special," he repeats.
"Plankton special."

Karen smiles through her
tears. "Yes, you are," she says,
squeezing his hand gently. "And we'll
figure this out together."

Plankton nods, his hand still
moving. "Together," he echoes.

new new reality Karen / Sheldon J. Plankton iv

NEW REALITY v
(Autistic author)

Karen watches him for a
moment before speaking again.
"Plankton, can you tell me what's
going on in your head?"
He looks at her, his eye blinking
slowly. "In head?" he repeats.

Plankton's hand starts to move
faster, his thoughts racing.
"Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs
to himself. "Must spin."

Karen watches him, her heart
wrenching at the sight. He's lost
in his own world, one she can't
enter without causing distress.
"Plankton," she says softly, "can you
tell me more about the spinning?"

He nods, his hand moving in
harmony with his thoughts. "Spin, spin,
spin," he murmurs to himself, his
voice low and rhythmic. "Fan spin,
make world still."
"What do you mean, Plankton?"
she asks gently.

He looks at her, his expression
flickering with something akin
to understanding. "Inside,
spin fast, quiet," he explains,
his hand still moving in the air.
"Spin, calm. Like Karen."

Karen's eyes widen, her
heart racing. "Your brain
spins fast, like the fan?"
she asks, trying to follow.

Plankton nods, his gaze
flicking to the spinning
blades. "Inside, fast," he says,
his voice a faint whisper.

"What's fast inside, sweetie?"
Karen asks, her voice
gentle.

Plankton nods, his hand
still moving. "Thoughts," he says.
"Thoughts spin fast. Like fan."

Karen's mind races as she tries to
keep up with his erratic speech. "So,
the fan helps slow down the spinning?"
she asks, hoping to clarify.

Plankton nods, his hand moving
in time with his words. "Fan slow,
thoughts slow."

Karen's heart swells with love
and sadness as she watches him.
"It's okay," she whispers,
wiping away a tear. "We'll find
ways to make things easier
for you."

Plankton nods, his gaze
still on the fan. "Easy," he
agrees. "With Karen."

Karen's eyes fill with love
as she squeezes his hand. "Always,"
she promises. "But what about when
I'm not here?"

Plankton's hand starts to
shake, his gaze darting around
the room. "Karen go?" he asks,
his voice panicked.

Karen's eyes widen, her heart
pounding. "No, Plankton, I'm
right here," she assures him,
squeezing his hand tightly. "I'm not
going anywhere."

But Plankton's gaze remains
unfocused, his breathing quickening.
"Karen go?" he repeats, his voice
rising in pitch.

Karen's heart races as she feels
his panic growing. "I'm here," she
says, her voice soothing. "I'm not leaving.
The fan is spinning, remember?"

But Plankton's eye is wide,
his hand moving frantically in the
air. "Karen go," he whispers, his
body trembling.

Karen's heart squeezes in her chest.
"No, I'm not leaving," she says,
trying to keep her voice calm.

But Plankton's body
starts to shake,
his movements 
becoming more
erratic.

"Plankton, no," Karen says,
her voice filled with fear.
"Stay with me."

But his hand jerks away,
his body convulsing.

Karen's eyes go wide with fear as
she sees him spasm uncontrollably.
"Oh no," she whispers, her heart racing.
This isn't just a panic attack;
it's a seizure. She's read about this,
how some people with autism
can have them.

Her first instinct is to hold him,
to protect him from the chaos of
his own brain, but she knows that's
not what he needs. She needs to keep
his environment calm, to let the
seizure pass without interference.

"Plankton, it's okay," she says,
her voice steady despite the
terror clawing at her insides.
"Just keep watching the fan."

But his body convulses
more violently.
Karen's read about this,
how some with autism can
have seizures triggered by stress.

Her mind races as she
quickly clears the space around
his fragile form, ensuring nothing
can hurt him. She dims the lights,
hoping the reduced stimulation
will help.

"Shh, it's okay," she whispers,
stroking his back in slow, soothing
motion, her voice low and calm.

Plankton's body jerks
less, his breathing evening out
slightly as he focuses on her voice.

Karen watches him, her
heart in her throat, until
his convulsions cease.

Plankton's body relaxes,
his eye closing as his
breathing slows.

Karen watches him, her own
breath held, until she's sure
the seizure has passed.
Her hand shakes as she
runs it over his antennae,
checking for any injury.

Plankton's eye opens,
his gaze unfocused. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice
weak.

Karen's heart skips a beat
as she squeezes his hand.
"I'm here," she says, her voice
steady. "You had a seizure,
but it's over now."

Plankton nods, his gaze
still not quite meeting hers.
"Tired," he murmurs.

Karen's heart aches. "I know,
sweetie," she says, her voice
filled with concern. "Let's get
you into bed, okay?"

Plankton nods, his body
still trembling slightly.
He allows her to help him up,
his legs wobbly like jelly.

Karen's eyes never leave
his face, her heart in her
throat as she helps him
to the bed, tucking him in.

As she pulls the covers
up to his chin, Plankton's
body starts to twitch,
his head jerking to the
side. Karen's breath catches;
these are new tics, she realizes.
"It's okay," she whispers.

He looks at her. 
"Tired," he repeats.

Karen nods, her own
exhaustion setting in. "I know,
let's get you some rest,"
she says, her voice gentle.

As she sits beside him,
Plankton's head tilts 
slightly. She's read
about tics with 
autism, but
this is the first 
time she's seen
them in him.

Subtle movements,
quick jerks to the side,
like his brain
is trying to shake
off a pesky thought.
Karen's heart 
squeezes with each
tiny spasm, 
wishing she could
soothe his mind.

"Plankton," she says softly.
His head nods down.

Karen's eyes follow the
rhythmic motion, her heart
racing. She's read about these
tics, the involuntary spasms
that can accompany his new
diagnosis. "It's okay," she whispers,
trying to keep her voice calm.
"You're safe here."

But Plankton's eye
closes now, his breathing
deep and even. The tremors
have subsided, and his
hands rest quietly on the
covers. She watches him, her
own breathing slowing to match
his, until she's sure he's
asleep.

Karen sits back, her own
body weary from the rollercoaster
of emotions. The silence
in the room is deafening,
the only sound the steady
hum of the fan.

Her mind races with questions,
with fears about what the future
holds for Plankton, for them.
How can she help him navigate
this new world, where the simplest
interactions are fraught with
potential chaos?

Karen sits in the quiet room,
the only sound the fan's
soothing whirr. She watches
Plankton's chest rise and fall
with each breath.
Her heart swells with love and
determination.

"I'll do whatever it takes,"
she murmurs.

Her eyes never leave
his peaceful face, the gentle
rise and fall of his chest.
Karen knows that the fan
has become a lifeline for him,
but she also knows that she
can't let it become his only
comfort.

With a deep sigh, she stands
up and walks over to the fan,
slowly turning it off. The
silence is stark, but Plankton
doesn't stir. She watches
his face for any sign of
distress, ready to react if
needed.

Karen knows she has to
find a balance, to help
Plankton find other ways
to cope with the world's
overwhelming stimuli. The
fan can't be his only solace.

The room falls silent,
the absence of the fan's
spin a stark reminder of
the challenge ahead.
Her heart in her throat, she
sits back down beside him.

"Karen?" he whispers,
his eye fluttering open.

Her heart jumps. "I'm here,"
she says, her voice gentle.
Plankton nods.

They sit in the quiet,
his gaze drifting around
the room. Karen's mind
whirs with thoughts.

new new reality Sheldon J. Plankton/Karen v

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. 

new new reality hannacore vii

NEW REALITY ii
(Autistic author)

He points to the fan again, his
finger trembling slightly. "Fan. Spin."
The words come out in a staccato
rhythm, each syllable a separate entity.
"It's okay," she tells him, her voice
shaky.

Karen tries to distract him, pointing
to various items around the room.
"Look, Plankton, that's our picture
from our wedding day." She shows
him the small, framed photograph
on the nightstand. His eye flits to it
for a second, then back to the fan.
"Picture. 31 July 1999," he says, but
his voice lacks emotion, as if he's
simply reciting words from a dictionary.

"Do you remember the day?"
she asks, her voice hopeful. He nods,
his gaze still glued to the spinning
blades. "Wedding. Married to Karen.
Happy day." The words come out like
a rehearsed script, and the joy that
should have filled his voice is painfully 
absent.

Karen's heart aches. This isn't the
Plankton she knows, the one who
would tease her mercilessly or
whisper sweet nothings when no one
was around. This is a stranger,
trapped in a body that's only
familiar because of the memories
it holds. She decides to keep talking,
hoping that something will spark a
memory, a connection.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
gentle but firm, "I noticed you're
interested in the fan.."

"Fan," he repeats, nodding
his head slightly, his gaze
unwavering. "Spinning. Fast."

Karen tries to hide her
concern. "Do you like it?"
she asks, her voice a careful
balance of casual and hopeful.

"Like?" Plankton echoes, his
eye still transfixed by the fan.
He seems to think for a moment,
then nods. "Yes. Like. Spinning."

Karen tries to smile, but it
feels forced. "Okay," she says,
swiping at a tear that escapes.
"Let's talk about something else."

Plankton's gaze finally breaks
from the fan and lands on her,
his expression unreadable. 
"Else," he repeats, as if trying
to grasp the concept of something
other than the fan. Karen's mind races,
desperately searching for a topic
that might draw him out of his
fugue.

"Remember SpongeBob?" she asks,
thinking of their shared friend
and his successful rival. Plankton's
face twitches, a glimmer of something
resembling recognition flickering
across his features. "SpongeBob,"
he murmurs, his eye focusing on
a spot just over her shoulder.

"Yes," Karen encourages, feeling
a flicker of hope. "You two are
always trying to outdo each other."
But Plankton doesn't react. Instead,
his hands start to wave slightly,
a rhythmic movement that seems
to soothe him. Karen's heart sinks.

"What are you doing?" she asks,
trying to keep the worry from
creeping into her tone.

Plankton's antennae twitch as
he continues to move his hands.

"It's okay," Karen says, her voice
soft and comforting. "You're just
a bit out of it. You'll be okay."

But Plankton doesn't respond.
His hands keep moving in the same
pattern, his eye on the wall. Karen's
stomach churns. This isn't just
dizziness. This is something else.

Panic starts to set in as
Karen realizes she might not
have her husband back. "Plankton,"
she says, her voice trembling. "Look 
at me."

Slowly, his eye shifts from
the wall to her face, and for a
moment, she sees a flicker of the
man she loves. "Karen," he says,
his voice a bit more present, but
his movements still erratic. She
can't ignore the fear that's
building in her chest.

"What happened to you?" she
whispers, her voice thick with
unshed tears.

Plankton's hand stops
mid-wave. "What Karen meant?"
he asks, his tone devoid of any
understanding.

Karen's throat tightens. "It's
just... you're acting a little
different, that's all," she says,
desperately trying to keep her
voice calm.

Plankton's movements become
more erratic, his hands flapping
in an unnerving rhythm. "Different?"
he repeats, his eye darting
around the room. "No, Plankton."

Karen tries to calm him down,
her heart racing as she searches
for a way to explain without
upsetting him. "I just meant,
you're not quite yourself today."

Plankton's movements slow, his
hands stilling in his lap. "Self?"
he questions, his voice a mix
of confusion and curiosity.
"Plankton self, Karen."

Karen nods, trying to keep
the conversation flowing. "Yes,
yourself. You know, your personality,
your... your quirks." She tries to
laugh, but it comes out forced.

Plankton's eye narrows, his
expression unreadable. "Quirks?"
he repeats. "Plankton has quirks.."

Karen nods, her smile strained.
"Everyone does, honey. It's what
makes us who we are."

Plankton seems to ponder
this, his hand resuming its
wave-like motion.

"Plankton, self," he murmurs,
his gaze returning to the fan.
"Spin. Fast. Like."

Karen watches him, her heart
heavy with unshed tears. She doesn't
know what to make of his behavior.
Could he really be okay? Maybe
this is just a phase, a side effect
of the explosion. She clings to the
thought like a lifeline, not ready to
face any alternative.

"Let's get you some water," she says,
forcing a smile. Plankton nods, his
eye still on the fan. As she moves
to the kitchen, she tries to convince
herself that he'll be fine, that this
is just a temporary setback. But the
way he's acting, so detached and
disconnected, it's not like him at all.

The kitchen is a blur as she
fills a glass with water, her mind racing
with questions. What do they do now?
How do they get through this? She
carries the water back to the
bedroom, her hand shaking slightly.
Plankton hasn't moved, still staring
at the fan. She sets the glass on
the nightstand, his eye never
leaving the spinning blades.

"Here you go," she says, offering
the water with a trembling smile.
He takes it, his movements precise
but mechanical, and brings it to his
mouth. As he drinks, Karen watches
his every move, looking for any
sign of the man she loves beneath
the surface of this new, strange
behavior. "Thanks," he says, his voice
devoid of its usual sass. He sets
the glass down, his gaze returning
to the fan. Karen tries focusing
instead on the way the light
dances off the beads of water
on his antennae.

new new reality Karen (SpongeBob) ii

NEW REALITY viii
(Autistic author)

"I don't
understand," she says, her voice
filled with distress.

Plankton's hand clenches, his
body vibrating with tension.
"Numbers," he repeats, his voice
edging on a scream. "They
make quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen, her smile
fading to a look of horror.
"But Plankton," she says, her voice
shaking, "it's just a clock."

But her words are like fuel
on the fire of his distress.
He steps closer to the clock,
his hand outstretched as if
to will it to silence. "Numbers,"
he whispers, his voice a
plea. "They make quiet."

Hanna's eyes fill with
sympathy, but her words only
worsen his agitation. "Plankton,
it's just a clock," she says,
reaching out to touch him.

Karen's heart hammers in
her chest as she sees his
body tense even further.
"Hanna, don't," she warns, her
voice tight. "Please don't touch
him right now."

But Hanna doesn't hear her,
her own voice rising with
frustration. "It's just a clock,
Plankton," she repeats, her hand
covering his shoulder. "Nothing's
going to hurt you.."

The touch sends him spiraling,
his body convulsing with
overstimulation. "No touch!"
he screams, his hand slapping
at her arm, his face a mask of
fear and anger.

But Plankton's outburst has
ignited something in Hanna,
a spark of anger.

"Why can't you just be normal?"
she snaps, her voice echoing
through the tense room.

Karen's heart breaks as
Plankton's eye goes wide, his
body jerking away from her.
"Hanna, please," she says,
her voice tight with pain.

But Hanna's words keep coming,
a barrage of misunderstanding.
"You can't just ignore us,"
she says, her voice rising. "You have
to interact with the world."

Plankton's body recoils, his
skin seemingly vibrating with each
of her words. "Interact," he echoes,
his voice strained.

Karen's heart is in her throat.
"Hanna, please," she says, her
voice tight with pain. "You're
not helping."

But Hanna's eyes are
glassy with frustration. "How
can I help if he won't even
look at me?" she asks,
ignoring the desperation in
Plankton's gaze as she holds
his arms tightly.

Karen's eyes plead with her,
but Hanna's grip doesn't loosen.
"Let go," Plankton whimpers,
his voice tight with tension.

Hanna's smile is forced,
her grip unyielding. "Look at me,
Plankton," she says, her voice
laced with irritation. "You can't
just..."

But her words cut him like
knives. "Look
away," he murmurs, his voice
strained, his body begging for
the pressure to ease.

Hanna's smile falters, her
grip tightening. "Why can't
you just look at me?" she asks,
her voice edged with annoyance.

Plankton's breath hitches,
his antennae drooping. "Can't," he
whispers, his gaze flickering
between her and Karen.

Hanna's eyes narrow, her
grip on his arms tightening.
"You can," she insists, her
voice firm. "Just..."

But Plankton's whimpers
grow louder, his body
shaking with the effort
to pull away.

Hanna's smile fades, her
grip tightening in frustration.
"Why can't you just be like
everyone else?" she asks, her
tone no longer gentle.

Plankton's whimpers become
sobs, his body shaking with
the effort to break free.
Karen's eyes are wet with
unshed tears as she watches
the scene unfold, her heart
breaking for him.

Hanna's grip remains firm,
her expression a mix of
confusion and annoyance.
"Why are you doing this?"
she demands, her voice
sharp. "You're just being
difficult."

Plankton's sobs grow more
desperate, his body
twisting in her grasp.
"Let go," he whispers, his voice
a strained plea.

Hanna's eyes flash with
irritation. "Why ca--"

Her words are cut off by
Karen's firm voice. "Hanna,
please," she says, stepping
between them. "You're
upsetting him."

But Hanna's confusion turns
to anger. "How can I not
be upset?" she retorts, her
grip on Plankton's arms
tightening. "He won't even..."

Her words are cut off by
Karen's firm voice. "Please,
Hanna," she says, her eyes
pleading. "You don't
understand."

Suddenly, Plankton's legs
buckle, his body going slack
as Hanna finally releases
his arms. He crumples to
the floor. He's retreating, Karen
realizes, her heart racing.
He's retreating into himself.

Karen's eyes fill with
fear as she watches him, his
sobs subsiding into quiet
whimpers. "Plankton," she
whispers, her voice a prayer.

Hanna's face falls, her anger
replaced with shock. "What's
wrong with him?" she asks,
her voice trembling.

Karen's eyes are wet with
unshed tears as she crouches
beside him. "It's a condition,"
she says, her voice tight with
frustration. "He needs time
and space to process everything."

Hanna's face crumples, her
hands going to her mouth.
"I didn't know," she whispers,
her eyes wide with regret.
"I'm sorry."

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's huddled
form. "It's not your fault,"
she says, her voice thick with
emotion. "But we all have
to learn."

Hanna nods, her eyes
brimming with tears.

Karen wraps her arms
around Plankton, her
touch gentle. "It's okay,"
she murmurs. "I'm here."
He trembles against her,
sobbing.

Hanna stands there,
apology etched in every
line of her face. "What can
I do?" she whispers.

Karen looks up, her eyes
wet. "Just give us a moment,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command.

Hanna nods, backing away
slowly, her eyes on Plankton.
"Okay," she murmurs, the weight
of her words heavy in the
silent room.

Karen holds Plankton tightly,
his body a trembling mass
of emotion. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her voice a
soothing balm. "You're safe."

He nests his head into
her shoulder, his whimpers
softening to quiet sobs.
The room feels thick with
their shared pain, the air
charged with the tension
of misunderstanding.

Hanna's eyes dart around,
looking for anything that might
soothe him.

Karen's gaze meets hers,
a silent plea for understanding.

"It's called autism," Karen says softly,
her voice a gentle explanation.

Hanna's eyes widen, her face
a canvas of realization. "Oh," she
whispers, the word a soft
exhalation of breath.

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's tear-stained
face. "It's a spectrum,"
she says, her voice calm and
steady. "And he's on a part
of it that's very sensitive to
stimulation."

Hanna nods slowly, her
understanding growing. "I'm
sorry," she says, her voice
full of regret. "I didn't know."

Karen's grip tightens around
Plankton's shoulders. "It's okay,"
she murmurs. "We're all still
learning."

Hanna nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's trembling
form. "I'll go," she says, her voice
small. "I didn't mean..."

Karen nods, her gaze
steady. "Thank you," she whispers.
"We can talk soon."

Hanna nods, her eyes filled
with sadness. "Of course," she says,
turning to leave.

The door clicks shut behind her,
leaving Karen and Plankton in the
heavy silence. Karen's arms
remain around him, her body
a protective cocoon against
the harshness of the world.

Plankton's sobs slowly
ease into quiet sniffs, his body
still trembling in her embrace.
Her heart aches for the pain
he's feeling, the fear that
Hanna's misunderstanding
has brought to the surface.

"I'm sorry," she whispers
to him, her voice
shaking.

Plankton's trembles begin
to subside, his breathing
evening out. He pulls back,
his eye searching hers. "No,"
he murmurs, his voice hoarse
from crying. "Not at fault."

Karen's eyes fill with
relief, her grip on him
loosening slightly. "It's
okay," she says, her voice
a gentle caress. "We just need
to find ways to help you."

Plankton nods, his eye
fluttering shut.

Karen's mind races with
thoughts of what more she
can do, what she can say
to make him feel safe.

"We'll get through this,"
she says, her voice a promise.
"Together."

Plankton's eye opens,
his gaze meeting hers.
"Together," he echoes, his
voice a whisper.

Karen's heart swells with
love for him, her eyes
shimmering with determination.
"We'll find what works,"
she says, her voice firm.

Plankton nods, his gaze
dropping to the floor.
"Thanks," he murmurs, his
voice barely audible. "Tired.."

Karen's heart breaks at the
exhaustion etched into his
features. "I got you, you
can rest," she says, her
voice a gentle whisper.

They move to the couch,
Plankton's body curling into
her side. She wraps the
weighted blanket around him,
still within their embrace.

His breathing slows, his body
relaxing against hers. The
whirring fan above offers
a steady rhythm, a lullaby for
his troubled mind.

Karen's hand strokes his
back in gentle circles, her
thumb tracing patterns that
seem to soothe his nerves.

The fan's steady whir
fills the room, a calming
symphony that lulls Plankton's
racing thoughts to a crawl.

Karen's thumb moves in
soothing circles on his back,
each pass sending a ripple
of comfort through him.

Plankton's breathing evens,
his body slack against hers.
The fan's steady hum is a
lullaby in the quiet room,
a metronome for his racing
thoughts.

Karen's hand continues its
soothing dance across his back,
his eye finally closing.

The room is a cocoon of
silence, the fan's whisper the
only sound breaking the stillness.

Plankton's breathing slows,
his body melts into Karen's embrace.
Her hand continues its gentle
caress, a metronome of comfort as
he finally surrenders to sleep.

new new reality hannacore viii

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new neovim starwars vi jedi nvim alpha greeter vim-startify dot art text art ascii art

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES vi

Plankton's eye opens
again. "Hey Karen
guess whath.."

"What, sweetie?"

Plankton's mouth moves
slowly, his tongue thick in his
mouth. "Dentish... man... I
heard him shay I'll feel 
rea-ea-eal sleeepy, and den he
gabe me magic sweep juice," he
slurs, his eye half-closed. "Den
I fell asweep wight aweay."

Karen laughs, her hand
still stroking his antennae.
"That's right, babe. He gave
you something to make you
sleep through the surgery."

Plankton's eye opens wider,
his voice gaining a hint of excitement.
"Magic sweep juice," he repeats,
his mouth forming a goofy grin.
"And den... den... I'm habing a
dweam whewe I woke up in teh
fishy chair," he says, his speech
still slurred.

Karen chuckles, her eyes
twinkling with affection. "It's not
a dream, Plankton," she corrects
gently. "You had surgery to take
out your teethies, that really happened!"

But Plankton's mind is still
swirling with the anesthesia.
"Tish... tish... took... took out...
my teefs?" he repeats, his
voice a mix of wonder and
disbelief. "Buh I don’ eben
fink I haz teefsies!"

Karen's laughter fills the room,
her eyes sparkling with love.
"Yes, Plankton, they took out
your big teefies," she says,
using her fingers to mimic
tiny teeth being removed.

Plankton's eye widens, his
expression a mix of awe and
confusion. "Tish... tish...
teefies," he repeats, his hand
going to his mouth. "But... but...
I don't... don't... don't 'member
anyfing."

The nurse laughs gently. "That's
okay, Mr. Plankton. Sometimes
the medicine makes it so you don't
remember much."

Plankton nods, his head
bobbing slightly. "Buth... buth...
whath... wait whewe's you come 
fwom, nurse? How youw jush
now?" he slurs, his speech still
a slow and unsteady stream.

The nurse laughs kindly.
"I've been here the whole time,
Mr. Plankton, making sure you're
okay."

Plankton's gaze shifts
to her, his mind still foggy.
"Buth... buth... how youw got...
got heaw?"

The nurse's smile never
fades. "You're just a bit
sleepy, Mr. Plankton. I've been
right here."

Plankton's eye widen with
realization, his voice a slurred
whisper. "Oh... oh... sho... so-o
it's wike... youw wike a magician?"

The nurse nods, her smile
broadening. "In a way, yes.
We made sure everything went
smoothly so you wouldn't feel
anything."

Plankton's eye lights up
slightly, a childlike wonder
filling his gaze. "Wike... wike a
booboo kiss?" he mumbles, his
hand still fumbling at his mouth.

"Sort of, but for your teeth,"
Karen says, her voice gentle. "The
doctor took out the ouchies."

Plankton's eye widens.
"Tish... tish... toofies," he
mumbles, his hand moving to
his mouth again. "Ouchies gone?"

Karen nods, her smile warm.
"Yes, the ouchies are gone. You
were so brave," she says, her voice
soothing.

Plankton's hand falls to his
lap, his head wobbling. "Brah...
brave?" he repeats, his voice a
slurred whisper. "I... I don't
'member bein brah-ave," he says,
his mouth curving into a sleepy
smile. "I ownwy 'member...
ownly 'member... magic sweep
juice."

Karen's heart melts at his
innocent expression. "You were
very brave," she insists, her voice
filled with love. "The doctor
was like a superhero, and he took
out your booboo teethies with his
magic tools."

Plankton's eye blinks
slowly, his mind trying to grasp
the concept. "Superhero... tooth
faiwy?" he mumbles, his gaze
drifted. "Did... did he weave me
a penny?"

Karen laughs softly, her
hands still gently stroking his
antennae. "No, honey, not a
penny," she says, her voice filled
with amusement. "But he did make
your mouth all better."

Plankton's gaze is
somewhat unfocused as he tries
to piece together the story.
"Tooth faiwy... magic... magic
juice," he murmurs, his
thoughts jumbling together. "Dentish
man... took... took out...
my... my... tish... tish... teethies."

The nurse nods encouragingly.
"That's right, Mr. Plankton. Dr.
Finnegan is like a superhero,
and he took out your teethies
while you were asleep. And now
Karen can drive you home!"

Plankton's head bobbles. "Dweam...
dweam... I had a dweam," he
slurs, his voice barely above
a murmur. "Dentish... man... took
out... tish... tish... teethies...
wiff... wiff... magic wand?"

Karen laughs softly, her
heart brimming with love for
his innocent confusion. "Yes,
sweetie, he used special
magic tools," she says, her voice
a comforting lullaby. "Are you
ready to go home?"

Plankton's eye rolls back,
his head nodding slightly. "Home...
yesh... yesh," he mumbles, his
mouth still not fully cooperating.
"But... but... I want... I want
my Karen."

Karen leans in closer, her
face soft. "I'm right here,
Plankton," she says, her voice a
whisper of reassurance.

Plankton's gaze locks onto
hers, his mouth moving in a
sluggish imitation of speech.
"But... buth... I... I had out
my mouthy thingsies. Sho Karen
nee to come," he says, his
voice barely coherent.

Karen chuckles, her heart
swelling with affection. "I
was here the whole time,"
she says, her voice a gentle
reminder. "You were just
sleeping while Dr. Finnegan
fixed your mouth."

Plankton's eye flutter
closed again, his words
slurred and dreamy. "Sleepy
time... Karen was... was...
dere. Toofy-woofy man... took
out... took out... booboo tish."

Karen giggles, her heart
warm with love. "Yes,
the toothy-woofy man took
out your booboo teeth," she
says, playing along with his
nonsensical speech. "And now
you get to go home to your
comfy bed."

Plankton nods, his eye
half-closed. "Beddy-bye,"
he murmurs, his voice a
slurred whisper. "But... buth...
Karen... Karen wiww shupposht
to come... to... to... tish... tish..."

But before he can
finish his sentence, his
head lolls back and his eye
slip shut, his body
going slack against the chair.
Karen laughs softly, her heart
filled with affection. She
kisses his forehead, her
touch gentle and loving. 
His snores are gentle,
his face relaxed in sleep.

The nurse watches with a
kind smile, used to the quirks of
post-anesthesia patients. "He'll be
out for a bit," she tells Karen.
"It's normal. But let's get to the car."

With gentle hands, they lift
Plankton's slumbering form, his
body boneless with sleep. His head
lolls against Karen's shoulder.

"Beddy-bye?" he mumbles, his
voice a breathy whisper against
her neck. She laughs softly, her
arms cradling him.
"Let's get you to the car,"
Karen murmurs. "Just a 
little more."

But Plankton's eye is
falling shut, his head drooping
against her shoulder.

"Buth... buth... Karen," he
slurs, his voice fading into
nothingness as sleep pulls
him under.

Karen laughs softly,
adjusting his head. "Hold on,
just a bit longer," she whispers,
his words barely reaching her.

But Plankton's fight against
sleep is futile. His eyelid
twitches as he mumbles incoherently,
his breaths growing deeper.
Karen's heart swells with love
for his stubbornness. She leans in,
kisses his forehead, and whispers,
"You can sleep, Plankton."

His response is a faint snore,
his head heavy on her shoulder.
The nurse nods with a knowing smile.
"Let's set him in the chair in the 
waiting room area."

They move him gently, his body
going limp again as sleep takes
over. His snores become more
pronounced as he sits, his head
bobbing slightly.

new wisdomteethcore wisdomtoothcore vi

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vi
(By NeuroFabulous)

Outside, the corridor was cold
and empty, the neon lights of the
Chum Bucket flickering above them.
Karen's eyes were filled with a sadness
that Chip had never seen before.
"Why did I say those things?" Chip
asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it."

Karen took a deep breath,
trying to compose herself. "Your dad's
autism is life-long," she said, her voice
shaky. "It's not something that
you can just ignore or wish away."
Her hand rested on his shoulder,
warm and comforting. "But it doesn't
make him any less of a person, or any
less of a father. He loves you so much,
Chip. More than you'll ever know."

Chip nodded, his eyes still
on the floor. "But I hurt him,"
he said, his voice a whisper.
"I don't know how to take it back."

Karen's grip tightened on his
shoulder. "You will," she assured
him, her voice steady despite her
own emotions. "You'll learn to understand,
and you'll tell him you're sorry. But
right now, let's just give him some
space."

They walked down the corridor,
each step echoing in the silence.
"But why does Dad get so upset?"
Chip asked, his voice still shaky.
"Is it becau…"

"His emotions can be intense,"
Karen explained, her voice gentle.
"It's part of his autism, Chip.
Sometimes, things that seem small to us
can feel really big to him." She paused,
her gaze distant as she searched
for the right words. "Imagine if someone
kept turning the lights on and off
while you were trying to read a book.
It's like that for him, but with sounds,
and feelings."

Chip frowned, trying to
comprehend. "But why does he get so mad
at me?" His voice was small, filled
with a sadness that tugged at Karen's
heart.

Karen sighed, her eyes full
of empathy. "Your dad's brain works
differently, honey," she said, her
tone soft. "Sometimes things can be
overwhelming for him. And when he's
overwhelmed, his feelings can get really
big, like a wave that crashes down
and covers everything." She paused,
considering her words carefully. "It's not
because he doesn't love you. It's just
how he deals with things."

Chip nodded slowly, his eyes
still red and swollen from crying.
"But why does he freeze up?" he asked,
his voice barely above a whisper. "It's like
he's not even there."

Karen's gaze softened, her hand
still on his shoulder. "Sometimes,
his brain gets too full, and he ends
up having an absence seizure, where
he just sort of... goes away for a bit.
It's like his brain is taking a
quick vacation," she said, trying to
make it relatable for Chip. "But he's
always right here."

Chip looked up at her, his eyes
filled with a mix of confusion and
fear. "But why does he do that?"
he whispered. "Is he okay?"

Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder,
her eyes full of warmth. "It's a part of
his autism, sweetie," she said, her voice
soft. "When things get too much, his brain
automatically just... takes a break. It's
not something he does on purpose,
it's just his body's way of coping."

"But it scares me," Chip admitted,
his voice shaking slightly. "It feels
like he's gone."

Karen nodded, her eyes brimming
with understanding. "I know it's
scary, honey," she said, her voice
soothing. "But it's important to
remember that it's just his brain
taking a little break. It doesn't mean
he doesn't love you or isn't there
for you."

"But how do I know when it's going
to happen?" Chip's voice was
filled with a desperate need to
understand, to control the chaos
his father's condition had brought
into his life.

Karen took a deep breath, her eyes
full of compassion. "You can't always
know, Chip," she said gently. "But you
can learn to recognize the signs."
Her hand slid down to his, giving it
a comforting squeeze. "When he starts
getting upset, or if you see him getting
overwhelmed, that's when you know
he might need some space or a quiet
moment to regroup."

"But why does he hate hugs?"
Chip's question hung in the air, filled
with the innocence of a child seeking
understanding.

Karen took a deep breath, trying
to find the right words. "It's not that he hates
hugs, Chip," she said, her voice gentle.
"It's just that sometimes, certain textures or
pressures can be really overwhelming for
him. It's like if someone was tickling you
non-stop, even when you asked them to
stop—it would drive you crazy, right?"

Chip thought about it, nodding
slowly. "But I don't get it," he said.
"Why can't he just get used to it? I've
seen you hug..."

"It's not that simple," Karen
interrupted gently. "I know you don't
understand, but hugs can be really
difficult for your dad. His body can't always
make sense of the sensation, and it can
feel like too much all at once."

Chip frowned, his eyes
searching hers for 
answers. "But both of
you hug each other,"
he pointed out. "Why.."

"It's different for me,"
Karen said, her voice
soft. "Your dad's senses are
like a radio that's always tuned in
too loud. Sometimes, when we
hug, it's like turning the volume down
just enough for him to handle it."
Her smile was sad but patient.
"It's taken us years to figure
out what works for us, Chip.
Everyone's different, even with
autism."

Chip nodded, trying to
understand. "But what do I do
when he doesn't want to hug?"
he asked, his voice tentative.
"What if I just want to show
him I love him?"

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the raw emotion beneath
the surface. "You can show
him in other ways," she said,
smiling gently. "Words, or
just sitting near him, or even
just being patient with him
when he's having a tough time."

Chip considered this, his brow
furrowed in thought. "But I want to
make him happy," he said, his
voice earnest. "How do I do that?"

Karen's smile was sad, but
understood. "You do that by
loving him, Chip," she said, her
voice filled with warmth. "By accepting
him for who he is and not trying
to change him. By being patient when
he needs space, and by being there
when he's ready for company. He
does enjoy helping you with your
experiments, doesn't he?"

Chip nodded, remembering
the times his dad had been most
engaged and happy. "Yeah," he said, a
small smile tugging at his lips. "He's
the best at science."

Karen's smile grew a little
wider at this. "That's because
his brain works differently,"
she said. "Sometimes, the way
he processes information can
make certain things easier for
him to understand and enjoy."

"But what if I don't know what
to do?" Chip's voice was
filled with a desperate
need for guidance. "What if
I make him upset?"

Karen looked into her son's
worried eyes and took a deep
breath. "You'll learn, Chip. We all do.
Your dad has his own ways of
communicating, even if they're
not always verbal. Sometimes,
it's just about paying attention."

"What do you mean?" 
Chip's eyes searched hers.

Karen took a moment before
answering, her gaze drifting to
a spot over his head. "Look for the
little things, Chip," she said, her voice
thoughtful. "Like how his antennas move,
or the way his eye looks. Sometimes,
his body will tell you more than his
words can. I know when he's happy because
his antennas perk up and his eye
twinkles."

Chip watched her intently, his
mind racing with questions. "What
about when he's sad?" he asked, his voice
small.

Karen's gaze softened, her
thumb gently stroking the back of
his hand. "When he's sad, his antennas
drop down," she said.

Chip nodded, his eyes
studying her intently. 
"And when
he's mad?"

Karen's expression grew more
serious. "When he's angry,
his antennas might go stiff and
his brow can get really rigid,"
she explained. "It's his way of
saying 'I'm overwhelmed, and I
need you to back off.'"

Chip nodded slowly, taking it all in.
"And when do you know how he'd
like to accept a hug?"

Karen looked thoughtful. "Well,
his body language will give you clues,"
she said. "If his antennas are relaxed
and pointing slightly towards you,
it might mean he's open to one. But
always ask, okay?"

Chip nodded, feeling a bit
more hopeful. "How do I tell
if he's uncomfortable with
touch?" he asked, his eyes
wide with concern.

Karen squeezed his hand. "Look
for the signs," she said. "If his
body stiffens or his antennas
pull back, it's usually a clue
that he's not enjoying it." She
smiled softly. "But remember, everyone's
different, even within the spectrum.
What works for one person with
autism might not work for your dad."

Chip nodded, his eyes wide with
understanding. "Okay," he said,
his voice small. "But what different
types of touch..."

"It's all about sensory input,"
Karen said, cutting him off gently.
"Some textures and sensations might
feel like sandpaper to him, while others
might be soothing. It's a delicate
balance, and it's different for
everyone. But for your dad, he often
prefers gentle, predictable touches.
Like a soft touch on the arm. But he
tends to dislike sudden hugs or pats
on the back, or a squeeze of the shoulder."
Her eyes searched Chip's, looking
for any signs of doubt or confusion.
"But always ask before you touch
him," she added. "It's important to respect
his boundaries."

Chip nodded, his mind racing. "But
what if he doesn't say anything?"
he asked. "How will I know?"

Karen sighed, her eyes
reflecting the years of experience.
"That's the tough part, Chip," she
admitted. "Sometimes, your dad can't
find the words. But if you pay
close attention, you'll see the signs."

"Signs?" Chip's voice was
filled with uncertainty.

Karen nodded solemnly. "When he
starts to get overwhelmed, his
body will show it," she said.
"His antennas might jerk, or his
eye might dart around the room.
Sometimes, he'll repeat words or phrases
over and over, like he's trying
to find the right one to express
how he feels."

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous vi

PLUSH ONE vi
(By NeuroFabulous)

Plankton knew he could
make Krabby Patties now. He could
have the success he'd always craved!

Just then, Karen comes in
to check on him.

Her eyes widen when
she sees an envelope in
his grasp. "What's that?"
she asks.

Plankton's face lights up,
his eye shining with excitement.
"Formula," he says, his voice
quick and choppy. "Secret recipe."

Karen's eyes narrow. "How did
you get that?" she asks.

Plankton's smiling awkwardly,
his eye darting to the side. "Found
it," he murmurs, his grip
tightening on the envelope
with anticipation.

Karen's screen lights up, her eyes
shining with excitement. "Oh,
Plankton, that's amazing!" she shrieks,
clapping her hands together. Her
shrill cheer is loud for Plankton,
each clap echoing in the space.

But her excitement quickly
fades as she sees the look of terror
on his face. "What's wrong?" she asks,
seeing Plankton flinch. 
"Loud," he whimpers, his eye
wide with fear. It dawns on Karen
that the sound of her clapping
was too much for him, her
screen filled with regret for getting
to excited and yelling,
knowing she's hurt him, even if
it was unintentional. "I'm so—"

Plankton cuts her off with a
quick shake of his head. "No,"
he murmurs, his eye searching hers
desperately. "Karen, safe."

The room falls silent, the weight
of his words hanging in the air.
Karen's heart races. What had
she done wrong? Her excitement
for him had turned into a trigger.

She sits by him, her hand
tentatively reaching out...

Plankton flinches at the sudden
movement. His eye widens in fear.
Karen's heart breaks. "It's okay,"
she says, her voice gentle. "It's just
me, Karen." But her words don't
penetrate his new reality.

He clutches the envelope to his
chest, his breathing rapid. The
world around him is a minefield
of sensory overload, and she's
the unknown variable. She can
see the fear in his eye, the
way his antennae twitch.

"Plankton," she says softly,
keeping her voice low and
even. "It's okay. I'm not
going to hurt yo-"

He jumps at the sound of
her voice, his antennae shooting
up like antennas detecting a
threat. The envelope flutters
to the floor, forgotten.

"Plankton," Karen whispers,
her hand hovering in the air,
afraid to make contact. "You're
scared of me?"

He nods, his body tight as a
coiled spring, his breaths shallow.
"Karen," he says, his voice shaky.
"Love Karen."

The words hang in the air, a
testament to their bond. But the fear
in his eye tells a different story.
This is the first time he's expressed
fear of her, and it hits Karen like
a punch to the gut.

"Plankton," she says softly,
keeping her voice low, "You know I'd
never tr-"

He flinches again, the
simplicity of his fear stark.
"Need space," he mumbles,
his voice barely audible over
the pounding in her chest.

Karen nods, her hand
falling to her side. She takes
a step back, giving him
the distance he needs.
"Okay," she says, her voice
breaking. "I'll be right he-"

"No," he says, his voice urgent.

Karen's eyes follow his gaze,
understanding his distress.
They both know what that envelope
means to him, a bridge between
his old life and his new reality.
Gently, she picks it up, her hand
shaking slightly. "I'm sorry,"
she says, her voice low. "How about
if I keep my voice dow-"

But Plankton's already shaking his
head, his eye wide with panic.
"No," he says, his voice strained.
"Mine."

Karen's heart clenches. She
understands his fear, but she also
knows the importance of
his obsession. "Okay," she says,
placing the envelope in his
hands. "Let's just sit."

But then she accidentally
touches him, brushing his arm.

"Whoops," she 
says, her voice
shaking. "I---"

But he pulls away, his
body rigid with tension.
"No touch," he says firmly.

Karen nods, her eyes
brimming with tears she
fights to hold back. She's
learning the dance of
his new reality, the steps
not quite familiar yet. "Okay,"
she whispers, her hand
retreating to her lap. "Let's just
ta-"

But Plankton's eye snaps to
the envelope in his hand, his
grip tightening. "Mine," he repeats,
his voice a mix of panic
and determination.

Karen nods, her heart aching.
"Okay," she says softly, her
hands in her lap. "W---"

But Plankton's eye is still on the
envelope, his grip tightening.
"NO," he says, his voice rising,
the word echoing in the room.

Karen's eyes widen, his
distress clear. 
"Plankton," she whispers, her
hands up in a peaceful gesture.
"Ca--"

But Plankton's panic doesn't
subside. He clutches the envelope,
his body shaking. "SAID, NO!"
he shouts. "NO! MORE! NO MORE!"

This isn't the
man she knew, the man she'd
spoken to just moments ago.
The room feels smaller, the air
thicker with his fear.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice
shaking. "I'll give you space."
She retreats to her own bed.

Plankton's breaths slow, his
body relaxing slightly. Karen
watches him from the corner
of her screen.

The silence stretches between
them, thick with the unspoken
words of fear and misunderstanding.
Her hand aches to reach out to him,
to soothe his anxiety, but she
knows better now. She's a stranger
in his world of sensory chaos.

Karen lies in bed, her eyes
fixed on the ceiling, her mind
whirling with what-ifs and
worries. She'd read about the
unpredictability of autism,
how it could affect people in
so many different ways. But
seeing it firsthand, feeling the
sharp edge of Plankton's panic,
was something else entirely.

Her thoughts are a tangled web
of emotions - love, fear,
determination. She'll learn
his new language, this dance
of sensory avoidance and
connection. They'll find their way
through this, together.

But for now, she needs to
respect his boundaries, the lines
he's drawn around his comfort.
The room is silent except
for Plankton quietly reading the
recipe to himself.

Her eyes follow his movements,
his lips moving as he whispers
the ingredients, his antennae
twitching with each word as
she watches him from afar.
This is her Plankton, but not.
The man she loves, lost in his
new world of patterns and fears.

Plankton's eye darts to her,
his voice a whisper. "Karen?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.
"I'm here," she says. She wants to
comfort him, to wipe away
his distress. But she knows
better now. She's a guest in
his new world, and she must
tread lightly.

new plush one worldcore vi

CHIP IN MY BOX vi
(Autistic author)


Chip watches, his own
breathing shallow with fear.
He didn't mean to hurt his
dad, but he can see it in
his eye—the pain, the
disappointment. "I-I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
barely audible. But it's as
if the words are lost in
the chaos that's engulfed
the room. "Dad, ca--"

But Plankton's body has
a mind of its own. His limbs
shake violently, his eye
spinning out of control. It's
like watching a storm
brewing in the calmest of
skies, a tempest of emotions
ready to break. His hand
twitches, reaching for the
box, his fingers brushing
against the shards of
his shattered sanity.

And then, he deflates. His
body goes slack, his hand
falling to his side. His eye
rolls back in his head, and he
slumps to the floor, unconscious.

Chip's scream pierces the
silence, his eyes wide with
fear. "Mom!" He cries out, his
heart racing. "Mom, help!"

Karen's instincts kick in,
her fear for Plankton overriding
the shock of the moment. She
rushes to her husband's side,
checking for signs of injury.
His breathing is shallow but steady.
It's the meltdown becoming to
much, she knew. It's his autism,
a part of him she loves and
fears in equal measure.

"Chip," she says, her voice
calm despite the racing of
her heart, "get me the phone,
quick."

Chip's feet fly into action, his
fear for his father outweighing
his own fear. He runs to the
hallway, his heart thundering
in his chest, and grabs the
phone from the charger.

Karen's hand shakes as she takes
the phone, her eyes never leaving
Plankton's still form. She dials
the number, the digits
blurring together with her tears.
The line rings. "Dr. Kelp, it's
Karen," she says, her voice
shaky. "Plankton's had an episode.
It's... it's pretty bad." Her
voice breaks, the weight of her
words heavy in the air.

The beep sounds, and she
swallows hard, willing the
words to come out right. "Could
you come over? I think he
needs you." She hangs up, the
silence deafening. The house
feels too small, too suffocating
with Plankton's condition
sprawled out in the open.

Her heart is racing as
she watches him, his chest
moving in shallow, uneven
breaths. She knows Dr. Kelp
will come, he's always been
so kind, so understanding. But
the wait feels like an eternity.
Every second stretches into
a minute, each minute an
hour, as the fear of what
might happen before help
arrives gnaws at her sanity.

Karen looks around the
wrecked kitchen, her eyes
falling on the shards of
Plankton's fidgets scattered
like the shattered pieces
of their evening. She
swallows the lump in her
throat, her mind racing.

The doorbell rings,
a welcome interruption
to the taut silence. Chip
runs to the door, his
little legs carrying him faster
than he ever knew possible.
It's Dr. Kelp, his sensory
friendly specialist, with a bag
full of supplies. 

Dr. Kelp is a small octopus,
his eyes scanning the room
quickly before landing
on Plankton's form. "Karen,"
he says, his voice calm
and measured, "what happened?"

Karen's voice is a jumble of
words, her fear and guilt
spilling out in a rush.
"The box," she stammers,
pointing to the wreckage.
"Chip... he didn't mean to,
but he broke it." Her voice
cracks, her eyes filling
with tears. "And then he had
a meltdown."

Dr. Kelp nods, his expression
calm and understanding.
He crosses the room, his tentacles
moving with purpose as he
sets his bag down. He opens
it, revealing a treasure trove
of sensory tools—fidgets of
various shapes and sizes,
soft fabrics, noise-canceling
headphones. His movements are
precise, a balm to the chaos.

He looks at Chip, his eyes
kind despite the fear he
must be feeling. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice a gentle
wave. "Accidents happen." He
begins to gather the shards
carefully, his tentacles
working with surprising
deftness. "But we can fix this."

The doctor's calmness is
a beacon in the storm
of their fear. He pulls out a
new set of fidgets, similar to
the ones Chip had so carelessly
broken, but these are made of
a tougher material. "These are
indestructible," he says,
handing them to Chip. "But remember,
these are your dad's special
things. We have to be very
careful with them."

Chip nods, his eyes wide with
understanding. He takes the
fidgets, holding them tightly.
He won't make the same mistake
again. He won't be the reason
his dad feels scared and lost.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii vi

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vi
(By NeuroFabulous)


They sat in companionable
silence for a few moments,
the only sound being Plankton's
even breathing. Then Chip spoke up,
his voice tentative.

"Mom, can you tell me
more about autism?"

Karen nodded, her hand
still resting on Plankton's arm.
"Autism is a spectrum, Chip.
It means that no two people
experience it the same way.
Some have a harder time
with it than others. For
your dad, it's mostly about his senses.
They can get overwhelmed easily."

Chip leaned in closer, his
curiosity piqued. "What do
you mean, 'overwhelmed'?"

Karen took a moment
to gather her thoughts.
"It's like his brain can't filter out
the extra information."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's face.
He reached out tentatively,
his hand hovering above
Plankton's antennae. Karen's
hand shot out, her grip
on Chip's wrist firm but
not painful. "Remember, sweetie,
his senses are heightened."

Chip's hand froze, his
fingers curling slightly.
"Does that mean he doesn't
like to be touched?" he asked,
his voice quivering.

Karen's grip loosened,
her eyes meeting Chip's.
"It's more that certain
touches can be too much for
his brain to handle."

Chip nodded, his gaze
still on Plankton's antennae.
"But what if I just..."
his voice trailed off,
his hand hovering.

Karen's eyes searched
his, understanding
dawning. "If you want to
touch him, Chip, do it gently.
Use the back of your hand,
like this." She demonstrated,
her hand gliding softly over
his antennae. "It's like you're
saying 'hello' without
disturbing him."

Chip nodded, his
hand trembling slightly.
He mimicked her movements,
his touch as light as a feather.
Plankton's antennae quivered
under his touch, but he remained
asleep. Karen gave him a small
smile of encouragement.

"Mom, does he like it
when I touch him like this?"
Chip asked, his voice filled
with hope.

Karen watched her son,
his hand hovering over Plankton's
antennas with such care.
"It depends," she said, her voice
soft. "Sometimes, it can be soothing
for him. Other times, it can be too much."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on his father. "But how
will I know?" he whispered,
his voice filled with concern.

Karen's eyes searched
his, understanding his
desire to connect. "You'll
have to watch him, Chip.
Look for signs. If he tenses
up or pulls away, that's his
way of saying 'stop'. And if
he seems calmer or his breathing
slows, that's his way of saying
'ok'. It's about reading
his body language."

Chip nodded, his hand
still hovering over Plankton's
antennas. He took a deep
breath, and then, as gently
as he could, he let the back
of his hand graze the antennae.
Plankton's body remained
still, yet his antennae
twitched slightly. Karen gave
a nod of approval.

"Remember, Chip, everyone's
touch is different to him,"
she said. "Some days, he might
not even want to be touched."

Chip nodded solemnly,
his hand hovering over
his father's antennae.
"Does he like it when
I hug him?" he whispered.

Karen's smile grew. "His
favorite person to be
touched by is me.
But even with me, he has
his limits. Sometimes, he just
needs his space."

Chip nodded, his gaze
never leaving Plankton's face.
"Does he like it when other
people touch him?" he asked,
his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's eyes searched
his, knowing this was a
delicate topic. "Well, Chip,
it's different with everyone.
Some days, your dad can tolerate
more than others. But generally,
it's people he's comfortable
with, like me."

"But what about me?" he asked,
his voice quivering slightly.

Karen's smile was sad. "It's
going to take some time, Chip.
You'll have to learn his
signals, his boundaries.."

Plankton's body began to stir,
his antennae twitching more
frequently as he shifted in
his sleep. Chip watched,
his hand hovering over his
dad's head, unsure if he
should risk disturbing him.
Karen's eyes followed the
movement, her gaze filled
with a quiet sadness.

"It's okay, Chip," she
whispered. "He's just
waking up."

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, more
quickly now. His eye
flickered open, his pupil
expanding as he adjusted
to the dim light. He looked
around, his gaze landing
on Karen and Chip.

"Hey, buddy," Karen
whispered, her voice a
balm to his frayed nerves.

Plankton's eye focused
on Chip, who was staring
at him with a mix of
fear and fascination.
He knew that look, had
seen it in others' eyes
before. But coming from
his son, it hit him harder
than he'd ever expected.

He took a deep breath,
his body still feeling like
he'd run a marathon.
"Hi," he said, his
voice hoarse from disuse.

Chip's hand jerked back,
his heart racing. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice
shaking.

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, this time
in acknowledgment. "Hi,
Chip," he rasped, his voice
sounding neutral.

Chip stared, his
thoughts racing. He had
so many questions, so much
he wanted to say, but the words
got caught in his throat.

Plankton looked at his
son, his antennae drooping.
He could feel the tension in
the air, the unspoken
worries and fears. He took
another deep breath, his body
still feeling the toll.

"How are you feeling, Plankton?"
Karen's voice was a gentle
caress in the silence.

He swallowed, his throat
dry from his ordeal. "Tired,"
he murmured, his antennae
twitching slightly. "But better."

Karen's hand found his
again, her touch a lifeline.
"Do you remember what
happened?" she asked gently.

Plankton's antennae drooped.
"I... I think so," he murmured,
his voice still shaky. "I had a...
a shutdown, with Chip."

Chip's eyes widened, his
heart racing. He'd never
heard his dad talk about
his episodes before. It was
like a door had been opened
to a part of Plankton's life
that had always remained
closed to him.

"It's okay, Dad," he
whispered, his hand reaching
out tentatively. "You can tell me." His
hand barely grazed Plankton's
arm...

Plankton flinched at
the touch, his antennae
twitching erratically. Chip's
heart skipped a beat, his hand
retreating as if burned. Karen
offered a gentle smile, her gaze
meeting Plankton's. "It's okay,
honey," she said softly. "Chip's just
trying to understand."

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
slowly calming. "I know,"
he murmured. "I, I'm s-sorry."

Karen's hand tightened
on his, her eyes never
leaving his face. "Don't
apologize, love," she whispered.
"You didn't do anything wrong."

Plankton nodded, his
throat tight with emotion.
He knew she was right, but
the fear of losing his 
respect was palpable. His antennae
twitched again, the overstimulation
of the day still lingering.

new chip on the shoulders Karen/Chip Plankton II vi

TRUTH AND NAIL vi

Karen couldn't believe
the transformation.
This was not the Plankton
she knew, not the one who
was always scheming
or complaining. This was
a Plankton who was loose,
free from his usual
inhibitions, and it was
both endearing and a little
unnerving. But mostly,
it was just funny.

He poked Sponge Bob's side
again, his giggle a strange
sound in the quiet
living room. "Still squishy,"
he murmured.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was like a bubble bursting.
"Plankton, you're
loopy!" he exclaimed.

Plankton's eye fluttered
open, his gaze
unfocused. "Loopy?"
he repeated, his voice
slurred. "I'm not a loop,
I'm a...a...a...sea creature!"
He giggled, the sound
like a leaky faucet.

Sponge Bob couldn't
help but laugh harder,
his eyes watering with
mirth. "You're right,
Plankton," he said, his voice
shaking with amusement.
"You're a sea creature.
A very loopy one."

Plankton giggled, his
body jerking with each
laugh. "Loopy, loopy,"
he murmured, his hand
still on Sponge Bob's side.
His eye lit up with
an idea. "Peekaboo!"
he exclaimed, hiding his
eye behind his hand.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was like a symphony of
bubbles, filling the room
with joy. "Oh, Plankton,
you're a riot," he said,
his voice a delighted
chuckle. He played along,
covering his eyes. "Where
did you go?"

Plankton's giggle was
a strange, wobbly sound.
"I'm still here," he slurred,
his voice muffled by
his hand. "I'm...I'm right here."
He peeked through
his fingers, his eye
twinkling with mischief.

Sponge Bob chuckled,
his voice warm and welcoming.
"Where'd you go, Plankton?"
he asked, playing along.

Plankton's eye peeked
out from behind his hand,
his grin wide and goofy.
"Boo!" he exclaimed,
his voice a sloppy whisper.

Sponge Bob's laughter was
a delightful sound, echoing
in the quiet room. "You got me,
Plankton!" he said, his voice
filled with surprise.

Encouraged by the reaction,
Plankton's hand dropped to
his lap, his gaze turning
to Karen. "Wanna...wanna play?"
he asked, his voice still thick
with anesthesia.

Her eyes danced with
laughter. "What game, love?"

Plankton's smile grew, his
voice a sleepy whine. "Pat-a-cake?"

Karen's laugh was a gentle
surprise. "Pat-a-cake?"
she echoed, her hand
moving to his. "Okay, darling."

Their palms met with a
slap, Plankton's movements
slow and awkward.
"Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,"
he murmured, his voice
slurred. They played the
game, their hands moving
in a clumsy dance, a silent
reminder of his groggy
state.

Sponge Bob watched, his
laughter a gentle wave in
the background. "Looks
like someone had a bit too
much fun at the dentist,"
he teased, his voice a
soft caress.

Plankton's gaze found his,
his smile a sleepy grin. "Dentith?"
he slurred, his hand
waving vaguely. "No, no,
not dentith...."

Sponge Bob nodded, his
laughter subsiding to
a gentle chuckle. "Alright,
not the dentist," he said,
his voice understanding.
"What game do you
want to play then?"

Plankton's head lolled to
the side, his eye half-closed.
"You know...the one with...
the animals," he murmured,
his words thick and slow.
But Plankton's head
was already lolling back,
his snores a soft rumble
in the quiet room.
Sponge Bob looked at
Karen, his expression
a mix of concern and
amusement. "Should we...?"
he began, his voice trailing off.

Plankton's snore was his
only reply, his mouth
open wide and drool
spilling onto the couch.
Karen chuckled, patting
his hand. "He's just tired,"
she said, her voice a gentle
excuse. Karen
covered him with a soft
blanket, his snores growing
louder as he sank deeper
into sleep. “You can sleep
on the other couch across
by him,” Karen told Sponge
Bob.

The anesthesia worn off over
night, and Plankton only woke
up the next morning on the
couch at the same time as
SpongeBob.

Plankton sat up with a
start, his eye wide.
"Wha... where...what...?"
his words tangled in a
slurry mess.

Sponge Bob stirred on
the couch across from him,
his eyes blinking sleepily.
"Morning, Plankton," he
said.

Plankton's eye focused on
his friend, his mind racing.
"Sponge Bob?" he said, his voice
sharp and clear. "Wath...what's
going on here?!"

Sponge Bob stretches
his limbs. "Well, good
morning to you too, Plankton,"
he said, his voice filled with
cheerful energy. "You had
your wisdom teeth out, remember?"

“I know I went to the dentist
but, what happened after I
came home?” He said, mostly
to himself.

Sponge Bob sat up, rubbing
his eyes. "Well, you were
pretty out of it," he said,
his voice still a bit groggy
from sleep. "But you were also
pretty funny."

Plankton's gaze darted
around the room, his mind
spinning. "What...what do you
mean?" His voice was
sharp, his usual snappiness
creeping back in.

Sponge Bob chuckled,
his body still relaxed
from his nap. "You don't
remember?" he asked, his
voice a tease. "You were
so affectionate, calling
me your best buddy and all."

Plankton's eye narrowed,
his confusion morphing
into suspicion. "I did no
such thing," he said, his voice
a firm rebuttal. "I'm not
that...that..."

Karen stepped in, her
laugh light. "You don't
remember?" she asked, her
voice a gentle tease. "You were
so lovely and affectionate
last night."

Plankton's face scrunched
up in disbelief. "Affectionate?"
he repeated, his voice rising.
"To him?" His thumb jerked
towards Sponge Bob, who
was now watching him with
a knowing smile. "I...I can't
have said that."

Sponge Bob shrugged, his
laugh bubbly. "You sure did,
Plankton. You were poking
me and calling me your
best buddy."

Plankton's disbelief grew,
his eye wide with shock.
"I...I did not!" he protested,
his voice a high-pitched
squeak. "That's...that's not
me!"

Karen couldn't hold back
her laughter, her eyes
twinkling with mirth. "Oh,
it was definitely you, darling,"
she said, her voice a sweet
contrast to his indignation.

Plankton's expression
shifted from shock to
outrage. "But...but why?"
he sputtered, his face
flushing a deep shade
of red. "I don't...I don't
do that sort of...that sort
of thing!"

Karen's laugh was like
a melody, light and
playful. "You did, love,"
she said, her voice a soft
reminder. "You were just a
little...loopy."

Plankton's hand flew to
his mouth, his eye
wide with horror. "No, no, no,"
he murmured, his voice
muffled by his palm. "That
can't be right." He looked
at Sponge Bob with an
accusatory glare. "Who
put me up to this?"

Sponge Bob's laugh was
like a burst of bubbles.
"You don't remember?"
he asked, his voice full
of delight. "It was all
you, buddy. You were
feeling the med..."

"The medicine!"
Plankton exclaimed, his
face paling as realization
hit him. "The anesthesia
made me say those
things.." His voice was
a mix of relief and horror.

Sponge Bob's chuckle
was infectious. "Don't
worry, Plankton," he said,
his voice warm. "We all
have our moments."

But Plankton was not
to be swayed. "That's not
like me," he insisted,
his voice a mix of
dismay and irritation.
"I'm not...I'm not like
that!"

Sponge Bob's chuckles
turned into a full-blown
laugh. "Well, you were
last night," he said,
his voice a gentle ribbing.
"You were all warm
and fuzzy. But you did
eventually fall asleep 
and started snoring.."

Plankton's face was a
picture of disgust. "Snoring?!"
he said, his voice a mix
of outrage and embarrassment.

Karen's laugh was like a
small wave on the shore.
"It's okay, honey," she said,
patting his leg. "You were
just really tired."

"I...I don't snore," he
asks, his voice firm.

Sponge Bob couldn't help
but chuckle, his laugh
bubbly. "Well, you did
last night," he said, his voice
a gentle reminder.

Plankton's eye narrowed,
his usual snappiness returning
with full force. "I...I
snored?" he asked, his voice
skeptical.

Karen's smile was
sympathetic. "You did, darling,"
she said, her voice soothing.
"But it's all right. It's just
what happens when you're
tired."

Plankton's eye shot to hers,
his expression a mix of
disbelief and irritation. "But
I...I never snored," he insisted,
his voice a protest. “Right, Karen?”

Her laugh was a gentle tide,
washing over his protests.
"You do snore, Plankton,"
she said, her voice a warm
caress. "But it's nothing to be
embarrassed about."

Plankton's face was a mask
of disbelief, his voice
a tight knot of denial. "I
snore?" he repeated, as if
the word was foreign to
his vocabulary.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was a delightful sound, his
body shaking with mirth.
"Yes, Plankton," he said,
his voice full of affection.
"But don't worry, it's
not so bad. I mean, you're
not as loud as Patrick."

Karen's giggle joined
his, the two of them
laughing gently at Plankton's
expense. But their laughter
wasn't cruel, it was the
kind that comes from knowing
someone so well that their
quirks become endearing.

"I...I do?" Plankton
asked, his voice barely
above a murmur.

Sponge Bob nodded,
his laughter subsiding
into a knowing smile.
"But hey, we all have
our little quirks, right?"

Karen's eyes sparkled
with amusement. "It's
part of who we are, love,"
she said, her voice a gentle
reminder of the truth.

new truth and nail plankbobs vi

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new vi pp w sexual reproduction

CHIP AND FAIL vi
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's,
looking for the spark that
meant he was coming back to her.
Slowly, the panic in his gaze
faded, replaced by the familiar
look of love and confusion. "I'm
here," she said, her voice barely
above a whisper. "It's okay."

Plankton's body finally
unclenched, his muscles relaxing
under her gentle touch. The storm
in his mind was receding, leaving
behind a quiet beach of clarity.
He didn't know what had
happened, only that it was bad.

Karen knew the routine, the
dance of calming Plankton after
a meltdown. But Chip didn't know.
He was just trying to share his
excitement, to reconnect with
his father after a week apart.
He didn't know that his touch, his
laughter, his stories, were all too
much for Plankton to handle.

As Karen worked to bring
Plankton back to reality, she
couldn't help but feel a pang of
sorrow for Chip. He had no idea
how his love was received, no way
to understand that his actions
could cause such pain. She had to
find a way to explain, to help
both her husband and her son find
a way to connect without setting
off the sensory bombs that lurked
just beneath the surface.

"K-Karen?" Plankton murmurs
as he slowly returns to himself.
The room stops spinning, the noises
dulling to a gentle hum. He looks
around, confusion etched in every line
of his face.

"You're okay," she whispers.
Her heart breaks for her husband,
for the silent battles he fights
every day. She knows Chip
doesn't understand, that his love
and excitement are a minefield
for Plankton's sensitive mind.

But she also feels a pang
of anger. How could she have
let this happen? She had hoped
that Chip's visit would be a
celebration, a chance for them
to bond. Instead, it had become
a reminder of the chasm that
sometimes separated them, a stark
reality of Plankton's condition.

Chip's sobs from the next room
were a constant reminder of the
pain he had inadvertently caused.
Karen knew she had to talk to
him, to explain.

"Chip, sweetheart," she called,
her voice carrying a gentle
authority. "Can you come out
here, please?"

Chip's heart was still racing,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He wiped his nose with the back
of his hand and stepped out of
his room, his gaze flickering to
his dad, then back to his mom. "Is he
okay?" he asked, his voice
small and unsure.

Karen nodded, her screen filled
with a mix of love and
exhaustion. "He's okay," she said,
"Honey, it's time we tell Chip. Can
I help you sit up, so you can tell him?"

Plankton nodded weakly, his body
still feeling like it was made
of lead. Karen helped him into
a sitting position, her eyes
never leaving his. "You're okay,"
she repeated, her voice a gentle
reminder.

Chip stared at
Plankton. "Dad?"
he asked, his 
voice tentative.

Plankton looked up at him,
his eye still clouded with the
aftermath of the storm.

"Chip," he began, his voice
weak, "I'm sorry." But Chip was
already there, kneeling beside
his dad, his screen wide with
relief and confusion.

"What happened?" Chip asked, his
voice trembling. "Why didn't you
answer me? You just ignored me!"

Karen's screen filled with
compassion as she placed a
comforting hand on Chip's shoulder.
"Your dad's not ignoring you,"
she said gently. "He has something
to tell you."

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, the words sticking in his
throat. He had always been
afraid of this moment, of the
day Chip would find out. "I...
I, I just..."

Karen squeezed his hand, her
gaze filled with understanding. "It's
okay," she said softly. "You can
tell him."

Plankton took another deep
breath, his voice trembling as
he began. "Chip, I'm... I..."

"Dad?" Chip leaned in, his screen
filled with hope and concern.

Plankton swallowed hard, the
weight of his secret heavy
on his shoulders. "I have...
I've got..."

"Tell me, Dad," Chip said, his
hands going to clutching his dad's 
arm. 
Plankton winced at the sudden
contact, his body tensing again.

Karen saw it, the brief
flicker of pain in his eye. She
quickly stepped in, placing a hand
on Chip's arm. "Give him a
moment, honey," she said, her
voice filled with gentle guidance.

Chip's screen searched hers. He
slowly removed his hand,
backing away slightly.

"Dad, tell me," he said, his voice
desperate. "What's wrong?"

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping. "Chip," he
managed, "I've..."

But Chip was already there, his
hands on his father's shoulder.
"Dad, tell me," he said, his voice
filled with urgency. Plankton's
body tensed at the touch.

Karen stepped in quickly,
guiding Chip's hand away. "Let him
speak, honey," she said softly.

Plankton took another deep
breath, his antennae quivering
as he gathered his thoughts. "I have
a..."

"Dad, if it's something bad..."

Plankton's antennae quivered, his
face a mask of pained effort. "Chip..."

Chip's eyes were glued to his dad,
his mind racing with questions.
Why can't Dad just tell me?
He's always been so strong, so
independent. Why is this so hard
for him?

Plankton took a moment, his
eye searching for the right
words. "It's just..."

Chip leaned in closer. All he 
knew was that his
father was in pain and he needed to
fix it. "Just tell me, Dad!" he said,
his voice earnest. "Whatever it is..."

But Plankton was lost again, his
mind swirling with sensations. He
could feel Chip's screen on him,
hear his desperate pleas, but the
words remained trapped. He
closed his eye, trying to gather
his thoughts.

"Chip," he finally managed,
his voice a mere whisper. "I'm not..."

"You're not what?" Chip's voice
was filled with concern and a hint
of impatience.

Plankton opened his eye with a
sigh, his gaze meeting Chip's. "Son..."

"Dad, please, tell me!" Chip's
excitement was palpable, his
body vibrating with the need
for connection.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping slightly.
"Chip, I'm..."

But Chip, fueled by his
eagerness to connect, didn't
give him the space. "Come on, Dad,"
he said, his hands landing on
Plankton's shoulders again.

Plankton flinched, his eye
squeezing shut as the touch sent
a shockwave through his body. "Chip,"
he groaned, his voice strained.
"Please..."

But Chip's enthusiasm didn't
wane, his voice growing more
desperate. "Dad, tell me!" He didn't
understand the pain he was causing,
his need for a response only adding
to the pressure on Plankton, irritating
his frustration as he squeezed his
shoulders harder. "Just..."

Plankton's eye snapped open,
his body recoiling from the
intensity of his son's touch.
The words he had been trying
to form shattered like glass
under the weight of his sensory
overload. "Chip, STOP!" he
yelled, his voice cracking with
frustration and pain.

The sudden outburst shocked both
Karen and Chip into stillness. His dad had
never talked to him like that before. "What..."

But Plankton's agony was like a
dam bursting. He pushed Chip away,
his voice a shout of desperation.
"I CAN'T, CHIP!"

Chip staggered back, his
expression a mix of shock and
hurt. "But why?" he asked, his
voice trembling.

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, his body still reeling,
his voice strained. "I have...
I have..."

Chip's eyes searched 
his father's. Why couldn't
his dad just tell him what was
going on? "What, Dad?"

But Plankton was retreating
back into himself, his mind a
whirlwind of sensation and
frustration. "It's too much,"
he managed, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Your..."

"What's too much?" Chip
interrupted, his voice rising
with confusion. "My what?"

Plankton's antennae drooped
as he searched for a way to explain.
He had always kept his condition
to himself, fearful of the
misunderstanding it might bring.
"Chip," he began, his voice
trembling with the effort of
finding the words. "You..."

But Chip's excitement was a
wave, crashing over the delicate
barriers Plankton had built. "You're
not telling me something," he said,
his voice filled with accusation.
"What is it!" His touch was
like sandpaper on sunburned skin,
each word a jab at Plankton's
already overwhelmed mind.

Plankton's eye darted around the
room, his antennae twitching
wildly. The pressure was too
much, the noise of Chip's voice
like a siren. He
could feel the beginnings of a
panic attack, his chest tightening.

"Chip, please," he managed, his voice
barely above a whisper. "I need a
moment." But Chip's excitement
was a force of nature, unyielding
and relentless. "But I just
want to tell you about my week,
about the robot and Nutmeg!"
He didn't know that his words,
his touch, were like a tornado in
Plankton's mind, a storm he couldn't
weather.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II vi

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new satã six 6 vi 666

𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐦

new neovim text dot ascii art vi

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new jjhjhjhj 37 42 vi

fg🇩

new fire vi burn

❌

new neovim vi

CATCH IN MY CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip,
his eye filled with regret, but 
the words won't come. Despite
his leftover anger, he felt a bit
bad about it. He just wanted to
show Chip what it meant to be
bombarded! He didn't have it in
him to say he's sorry, and he's
still tense.

Karen feels the weight of the
moment, her eyes moving
between her husband and her son.
"Why don't you sit with Daddy,
Chip?" she suggests, her voice
soft. "Give him some space,
but let him know you're here.
I'll be downstairs."

With a nod, Chip approaches the
bed, his eyes still filled with
uncertainty. He sits down gingerly
beside Plankton, who's staring
at the shattered mess of their
evening. The room is a silent testament
to their unspoken words and the
battle that raged within Plankton.

For a moment, neither of them
moves, the air thick with unspoken
regret and confusion. Then,
slowly, Chip reaches out with
his small hand.

Plankton looks at him, his
eye reflecting a tumult of
emotions—anger, guilt, fear,
frustration.

Chip's hand hovers over
his dad's, unsure if he'll
flinch or pull away. "I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
barely above a breath.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
eye still cast down at the
wreckage of their evening. 
"I know," he says, his voice
still tight with anger.

Chip's hand hovers 
over his arm. "Ca--"

But Plankton cuts him off.
"Don't," he says, his voice
raw with emotion. "Just don't."
He turns away, his body a wall
of tension.

Chip's hand falls to his side,
his eyes wide with hurt. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice breaking.
"I di-"

"I said don't," Plankton snaps,
his voice harsh. "I can't do this
right now." His antennas twitch,
his body language a clear
indication that he needs space.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his hand retreating to his
lap. "But Dad," he starts again,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's eye snaps up,
his anger a living flame. "I said
don't!" he shouts, his voice
echoing in the small room.

"But I'm just 
trying to-"

"I SAID DON'T!"
The words are a thunderclap,
silencing Chip's protests. He pulls
his legs up to his chest, hugging
his knees tightly, as if to shield
his heart from the pain.

"Dad I promise I won't 
overwhelm you again," 
Chip whispers. Plankton's 
antennas quiver, his 
shoulders hunched. But
Chip takes that as a green
light.
Remembering how his mom
put her hand on his back, he
tries to replicate it. So
with a trembling hand, Chip
reaches out and touches Plankton's
shoulder with hope..

But Plankton's reaction is
not what he expects. With a
shriek of overstimulation,
Plankton jumps away, his
body convulsing as if he's
been electrified. "Don't touch
me!" he yells.

The room seems to tilt, and
Chip's eyes widen with shock.
He's never seen his dad like
this before, so raw and exposed.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers,
his hand retreating as if burned.

Plankton's face contorts, his
body wracked with a tremor
that shakes him to the core.

Chip's eyes widen in horror,
his hand hovering in the space
between them, frozen.

Karen steps back into the
room, her gaze taking in the
snapshot of pain and regret.
Her heart aches for both her
husband and son. She knows
Plankton didn't mean to scream,
that his senses are still on
high alert. And she knows
Chip is just trying to bridge
the gap with his love.

Her eyes lock onto Plankton's,
and she can see the desperation
behind the anger. He's scared
and overwhelmed, and she
understands that feeling all too
well. She moves towards the bed,
her steps measured and calm.
"Plankton, sweetie," she says,
her voice a soothing melody as
she reaches out to touch his
back. But the moment her hand
makes contact, Plankton's
body tenses further, his eye
squeezing shut. "No!" he yells.

Karen's hand retreats as if
she's been burned, her eyes
filled with a mix of sadness
and concern. "Plankton," she
whispers, her voice barely
audible above Chip's sniffles.

Plankton's body is a coil of
tension, his eye squeezed
shut as if trying to block
out the world. The room
seems to spin around him,
each sound and sensation a
needle prick in his overloaded
brain. "K-Karen, I...," he gasps, his
voice strained. "I-I-I-I… can't..."

Karen's realizes the gravity
of the situation. She
understands that her husband
has hit a point of no return,
where even the gentle touch
of her hand is too much.

With a deep sigh, she sits
down on the bed, her eyes on
Plankton's trembling form.
Her heart is torn between
concern for him and the
knowledge that Chip is
watching, trying to make
sense of the chaos. "Okay, honey,"
she says, her voice a soft
whisper. "It's okay. We'll give
you some space."

Chip looks up at her, his
face a question mark. "But
Dad?" he says, his voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's okay,
Chip," she says, her voice steady.
"Daddy needs some alone time."

With a heavy heart, Chip slides
off the bed, the shattered
pieces of his trophy crunching
under his feet. He looks at
his dad one last time, his eyes
filled with a mix of fear and
longing. "Okay," he whispers,
his voice thick with unshed tears.

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton. "I'll come
find you when Dad's feeling
a bit better."

Chip's eyes dart to his
dad, who's still shaky, his
body curled into a tight ball.
The sight breaks Karen's heart,
but she knows that this is
the best they can do for now.

Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton,
understanding the silent
cry for help in his eye. She's seen
this before, the way his autism
can consume him during moments of
overwhelm. She nods gently, her eyes
conveying her love and patience.

Plankton's breathing starts to
even out, his body slowly
unwinding from the tight coil
of tension. He's aware of her
presence, the steady rhythm of
her breathing a comforting metronome
in the chaos of his thoughts. Karen
knows that space is crucial for him,
but she also understands that a quiet
companion can be just as healing.

"It's okay," she whispers, her
hand hovering close but not
touching him. "You can take your
time." Her voice is a gentle
reminder that he's not alone.

Plankton's eye flickers to her,
his breaths still ragged. Karen's
understanding is a lifeline in
the storm of his emotions.

Karen knows that pushing him
now would only make things worse,
so she sits quietly beside him,
offering her silent support.
Her love for him is a balm to
his soul, even if he can't
express it in words.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vi

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⣩⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠟⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢻⣿⡿⠃⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⠿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠼⠿⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⡉⠍⣉⠉⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⣔⣒⣋⣟⣛⣖⠾⢦⡔⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢌⣑⣬⣖⣲⣒⣒⣖⣢⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢒⣯⣶⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠻⣷⣍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⣾⡟⢻⣿⣯⣿⣿⡟⠻⣮⣟⠦⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠲⠝⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠡⠔⠻⠟⠓⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡆⢴⠄⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠐⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀⢻⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠹⠀⠰⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢰⠏⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⢀⠘⣧⢀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣄⡘⠿⠋⠑⠀⠀⠀⠚⢿⠿⠁⣠⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠈⠄⠀⠙⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⡀⠀⠠⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢂⠉⡄⣠⠠⢡⡐⡄⢲⣠⢌⠱⠤⣀⠈⢻⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠻⣟⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠓⠒⠖⠈⠁⠻⠟⠷⠿⢾⡷⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⢀⢀⡂⠼⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠐⠀⠂⠁⠂⠀⠁⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠑⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⠀⠀⠙⢢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⢯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢶⣄⡂⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢠⣱⡾⠋⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠷⣽⣶⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣰⣾⣷⠿⠋⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢿⡿⣿⠾⠟⡛⠍⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⡐⢂⠐⠠⠘⠠⢁⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠁⠈⠐⠀⠂⠄⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⡀⣀⢀⡀⣁⠀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⣀⠀⣸⡄⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣼⣤⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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new vi line editor computer printer a photo dot art text art ascii art

✅🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

yaurzz🫶😊

new yaur ewan ko vi star

ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ

new vi half a dozen digit amogus sus

i hope everyone at 
hazel glen college 
gets their eyeballs 
taken, throats snatched, 
limbs ripped, noses crushed, 
hair pulled, nipples twisted 
and elbows inverted kys 😘😘
>ᴗ<
-v

new loohcs eid wfsn erog aet amard iv evrats

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Sheldon J. Plankton & Karen Emojis & Text

Copy & Paste Sheldon J. Plankton & Karen Emojis & Symbols NEW REALITY vi(Autistic author)"Plankton," she sta

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