Chip Plankton Emojis & Text

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new chip plankton Chip Plankton II chip

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new Chip Plankton II chip plankton chip

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 1
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ 
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Chip was adopted at
birth by Plankton and
Karen, who raised him.
But Plankton's autistic,
which he only shared
with Karen. He managed
to 'mask' or hide some
of his neurodivergence
from Chip, who's got no
idea his dad's neurodisabled.

Chip walks in the door
to his parent's room is
slightly ajar. He peeks in,
expecting to find his mom
tidying up or his dad
fiddling with one of his
inventions. Instead, he
sees his dad sitting
still on the edge of his
bed, his eye glazed over,
his body stiff. "Dad?" But
Plankton doesn't move, nor
does he acknowledge
his son's presence. Chip
takes a step closer.
He tries to shake him,
but Plankton is like a
doll, unresponsive. "Dad,
are you ok?" Chip's voice
cracks, fear starting to
creep in.

The room feels eerily
silent, sans the
steady tick of the clock
on the wall. Chip
tries to recall if he's ever
seen his dad like this.
It dawns on him that he
might be hurt.

"Dad?" he whispers again,
his voice trembling. The
only response is the
persistent tick-tock of the
clock, echoing in the
silence. Chip's mind races,
trying to make sense of the
unexpected scene before
him. Plankton's absence
seizure had always been
a closely guarded secret,
shared only with Karen. But
now, Chip's the one who's
stumbled upon it, and he
doesn't know what it is, nor
what to do.

He reaches out to touch
his father's shoulder,
his hand shaking, but Plankton
doesn't flinch, despite his
discomfort. His eye
is open, yet unseeing. The
realization hits Chip like
a ton of bricks. Something
is wrong, terribly wrong. "Mom,
you need to come to your
bedroom. Something's
happened to Dad!"

Karen rushes in, a look
of concern etched on her
screen as she takes in
the scene. She quickly
assesses Plankton and
knew exactly what was
going on. She knows Chip
has never noticed Plankton's
autistic traits. They kept the
autism a secret from Chip as
per Plankton's request.

"It's ok, sweetie," she says
calmly, placing a gentle hand
on Chip's shoulder. "Your
dad's just having a little...
episode." Her voice is soft,
but firm, trying to ease
his panic without causing
alarm. She's seen this
hundreds of times. And
she knew Chip doesn't have
the faintest idea of his dad
having a condition.

"What do you mean?" Chip's
eyes are wide with fear, his
hands still hovering over
his father's unresponsive
body. He's never seen his
dad so lifeless before.
"It's like he's not even there,"
he whispers.

Karen takes a deep breath
and sighs. "Your dad doesn't know 
it's happening, but he'll be fine soon."

Chip's eyes dart 
around the room,
his gaze returning 
to Plankton. "But why?"
he asks, voice 
shaking. "What's
going on?"

Karen's eyes are
filled with a mix of
sorrow and 
determination as she
explains, "Your 
dad's brain does
things differently from
other people's, and
this is one of those
times." Chip's confusion
deepens. "But wh-"

"Remember how sometimes
you get really focused
on a video game and
can't hear me right away?"
Chip nods. "Well, this is like
that, but his body goes
still and he's not really
aware of what's around
him.."

Chip watches as Karen
carefully helps Plankton
to lie down, placing a
pillow under his head and
covering him with a
blanket. Plankton's eye
remains open, but it's
not looking at anything
specific, just glazed over.
Chip's fear turns to
curiosity, questions 
racing through
his mind.

He's seen his dad in
his 'work mode' before,
where he's so focused on
his inventions that it's like
he's in another world. But
this seems different. This is
scary. Karen sighs. "We'll talk
later, ok?" Chip nods, yet
his curiosity overpowers his
fear. He watches as Karen sits
by Plankton's side.
"It's ok, Plankton," she
whispers, stroking his antennae.
"You're safe here; I'm here."

Karen's screen never left
Plankton's face, her gaze
filled with love and
understanding. She knows
his silent battles, his secret
world of challenges.

"Plankton, it's me, Karen,"
she says gently. "You're
safe. I'm right here." She
speaks softly. Chip, still hovering,
can't help but notice the
tenderness in her touch as
Plankton's body remains still,
his eye unblinking.
Suddenly, Plankton
speaks. "Must...the...yes."
Plankton mumbles in a tone 
that's distant. The words make
no sense to Chip, but
Karen nods as if she
understands. "It's ok
Plankton," she soothes. "You're
right here with me."

The sight of his dad
talking to himself sends
a shiver down Chip's spine.
He's seen Plankton mumble
things before, lost in
his thoughts, but this is
different. It's as if he's
in a trance, his eye
seeing something only
he can perceive. Chip feels
his own anxiety spike,
wondering what could be
going through his dad's
mind in this state. "Dad?"
"Let him be," Karen says
softly. "Sometimes he
talks like that when he's
coming out of it. It's part of
his... process."

Plankton continues. "The...
...has to be..."

His words are fragmented,
his voice trailing off as if
his thoughts are racing
faster than his mouth can
keep up. "What...what is he
saying?" Chip asks Karen.

Karen's eyes stay locked
on Plankton, her expression
both concerned and calm.
"He's not really talking to
anyone," she explains. "It's
just something that can
happen during these
episodes."

Plankton's mumbling 
turns into a murmur. 
"The... the... it's all..."

Karen leans in closer, her 
voice soothing, "It's okay,
sweetheart. You're okay. Just
let it happen." Karen
knows from experience that
the words are not for them,
but rather a cerebral dance he
has no control over. Chip, on the
other hand, is utterly bewildered.

The room seems to shrink
around them, the air thick
with unspoken questions
and a palpable tension.
Karen's hand never leaves
Plankton's antenna, her
thumb brushing it gently.
"You're safe, Plankton," she
repeats, her voice a lullaby.
"You're here with me." "The...
the... it's..." Plankton says. Chip
can't help but lean closer,
his hand reaching. Karen's hand
shoots out to stop him.
"Chip, no!" she says firmly.
"Don't. It could make it worse."
Her eyes are filled with a
knowledge that Chip lacks, a
fear that he's only just
beginning to understand. Karen
sighs. "It's just his
brain... recalibrating."

The silence stretches out,
stifling. Chip watches his
father, his mind racing.
He's seen his dad's
inventions come to life,
but this... this is a
mystery he can't solve.
Plankton's antenna starts to
twitch slightly, the first
sign of movement since
the episode began. "It's over, love,"
she whispers. "You're okay."
Plankton's eye blinks,
once, twice, and then focuses
on Karen. Recognition
slowly dawns on his face,
confused. "Whaa-"

"You had a moment, Plankton,"
she says gently. "It's okay."
Plankton looks around,
spotting Chip. "Chip? K-Karen,
what's going on?" His voice
cracks with confusion. "What's
wrong? Did I...?"

Chip feels a surge of relief
seeing his dad's eye blink and
his dad's voice return to
normal. But the question in
his dad's voice tells him that
Plankton doesn't remember.

new autism and all chip plankton 1

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 2


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen takes a deep breath
and squeezes Plankton's hand,
calling his name softly. "Plankton,
sweetie, come back to me."
Her voice is a lifeline, a
warm presence that Plankton's
mind might be able to cling
to. She knows from experience
that his seizures can eventually
be helped by her voice
and gentle touch. "I'm here,
it's okay," she whispers, stroking
his antennae with her thumb.

Chip's cries fade as he heads
to his room.
He's scared, confused, and feels
alone. He doesn't know why
his dad is acting so weird,
but he trusts his mom.

Eventually, Plankton's eye 
starts to blink, a sign that 
he's coming back. Karen's 
with relief, and she squeezes 
his hand, continuing to speak 
in hushed tones. "You're ok, 
Plankton. You're home with 
me." She knows how 
disorienting these episodes 
can be for him, and she wants 
to make sure he's fully grounded 
before anything else.

As Plankton's gaze slowly 
refocuses, Karen watches. 
He tries to sit up, yet his 
body feels heavy and 
sluggish. "What happened?" 
he asks, his voice a croak.

Karen's relief is palpable
as she helps him sit up, 
still holding his hand. "You 
just had one of your episodes, 
sweetie. It's okay." She's
careful with her words, 
not wanting to alarm him. "What
do you remember?"

Plankton looks around the
room. "Chip," he murmurs.
"Chip yelled hi, and then
everything's patchy. I felt
his presence yet I kept going
deeper into the retreat, but
I vaguely recall Chip bombarding
me. And now I guess you apparently
came.."

Karen nods, her grip
on his hand tightening.
"Yes, Chip saw you and
was scared. He didn't know
what was happening."

Plankton's face pales at
the thought of his son
being afraid. "Is he alr-
Chip; he must've seen me!
He witnessed..."

Karen nods solemnly. "Yes,
he saw everything. He's in
his room now, I told him
to stay there."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his eye closing briefly. "I
know you're gonna say to
tell him everything, how
he's mature enough. Great,
just great."

Karen nods, her voice
gentle. "We can't keep this
from him forever, Plankton.
He's seen you like this
now. It's time to explain
what's happening."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his shoulders slumping. He
knows she's right, but the
thought of Chip knowing his
secret makes him feel
exposed and vulnerable.

But Karen's voice is firm.
"We can't keep hiding this
from him. He's old enough
now. We have to tell him. I'll
bring him in, okay?"

Plankton nods weakly,
his heart racing at the
thought. He knows Karen
is right; they can't keep
this from him forever.

Karen heads to Chip's room
to find him curled up
on the bed, clutching a pillow
to his chest. His eyes are
swollen from crying. "Hey, buddy,"
she says softly, sitting beside
him. "Can you come with me?"

Chip sniffs and nods,
his eyes darting to the door.
He's afraid, but he knows
his mom will make it right.

He follows her into
the bedroom, where Plankton
sits up, looking drained but
alert. 

"Dad!" Chip cries out, running
to Plankton's side. Plankton
starts to scoot away.

Karen intervenes quickly.
"Chip, honey, let's give Daddy
some space," she says, her
voice calm but firm. Chip
frowns, not understanding.

"But he's okay?" Chip asks,
his voice small and hopeful.

"Yes, Chip," Karen says,
sitting on the bed with
Plankton. "Daddy just had a
little... Plankton, why don't
you tell him?"

Plankton sighs, bracing
himself for the conversation
he's been avoiding. "Chip,
what you saw was something
you were never meant to see.
You weren't supposed to see
me like that. So I don't wanna
hear a peep about it, ok?"

Chip's eyes widen with
confusion. "But what was
that, Dad?" His voice is
small, filled with fear.

Plankton hesitates, trying to
find the right words. "I JUST
TOLD YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!"
he snaps, his voice sharp.
Chip flinches, surprised by
his dad's harsh tone.

Karen sighs, taking the lead.
"Chip, honey, your dad's okay.
It's like his brain goes on a
tiny vacation without telling
his body, and he can't move or
talk during it." She tries to
make it sound less scary.

Chip's eyes grow wider, but
his curiosity isn't satisfied.
"But why? Why ca--"

Plankton cuts him off, his tone
sharp with agitation. "I don't
have to explain myself to you."

Chip's confusion turns to
hurt. He doesn't know what
he did wrong. He just wanted
his dad to wake up. "Dad, you
were just sitting ther-"

But Plankton's harshness
cuts him off again. "I said
forget it, Chip! It's nothing
you need to know!" Plankton's
voice is filled with frustration
and fear.

Chip's eyes well up with
new tears. "But I just wanted
you to wake up," he whispers,
his voice breaking. "Yo--"

Plankton's sharpness slices
through the air, his usual
playfulness nowhere to be
found. "I SAID, FORGET IT!"

Karen's eyes widen at her
husband's reaction. "Plankton,
honey, maybe we should just tell
him. He's seen it now; we
can't keep hiding it," she
suggests gently, trying to ease
the tension in the room.

Plankton looks at her with
a mix of frustration and
fear, his antennae twitching.
"Fine," he grumbles, his voice
softening. "But remember, this
is my story, not yours."
Chip, still sniffling, looks
between his mom and dad.

Karen gives Plankton a gentle
yet firm look, and he sighs 
heavily. "Okay, Chip," he starts,
"I've corpus callosum dysgenesis."

Chip looks at him,
puzzled. "What's th-"

"It's a brain thing, okay?"
Plankton cuts him off, his
tone gruffer than usual.
He can't bear the thought
of his son knowing.

Chip nods slowly, trying
to comprehend. "But w---"

"That's all you need
to know," Plankton 
says, his voice
clipped and final.

But Chip's curiosity 
doesn't wane. "But, Dad, 
why can't you just 
wake up?" he asks, 
his eyes filled with
concern and confusion.

Plankton's antennae twitch
in irritation. "CHIP, I TOLD
YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!"
His voice is sharp, cutting 
through the room like a
knife. Chip recoils, his screen
brimming with unshed tears.
He doesn't understand why
his dad is so upset. He just
wanted to help, to make him
snapshot out of whatever was
wrong.

Chip tries again. "Dad,
Mom said you can't 
keep whatever from me
anymo-"

"ENOUGH, CHIP!" Plankton's
shout echoes through
the room. "It's not your
business, it's mine! Now get
lost!" The pain in Plankton's
voice is palpable, and Chip
can't understand why.

Chip's eyes fill with
tears, his heart aching.
"But Dad, I just wanted to
he-"

"I SAID ENOUGH!" Plankton's
voice booms through the room,
his antennae quivering with
frustration. Chip's voice trails
off, and he takes a step back.
He's never seen his dad so
upset, and it scares him.

"But Dad, I don't know what's
wrong with you!" Chip's voice
is small, his eyes filled with
fresh tears. Plankton's outburst
has only confused him more.

Oblivious to Plankton's internal
turmoil, Chip doesn't realize
his dad's reaction is due to his
autism. But the outburst only adds
to Chip's confusion and fear.
He looks at Karen with pleading
eyes, desperately seeking
comfort and answers.

new do you trust me chip plankton 2

⟡ pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

→ AI Story Generator ←

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DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 15


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Chip sits
carefully, not wanting to jostle
his father. He tries to think
of something to say, his mind
racing with questions and fears.
What if he says the wrong thing?
What if he makes it worse?

Karen returns with a
pillow and blanket, her
movements efficient. She
places the pillow under Plankton's
head and covers him with
the blanket, her touch a silent
symphony of care. Plankton's body
shudders slightly, his antennae
still. "Thank you," he murmurs,
his voice a thread of
exhaustion.

Chip watches, his heart
heavy. He's never seen his
dad so vulnerable.
The armor of his sarcasm and
bravado laid bare. He wants
to say something, anything,
to ease the tension, but his
thoughts are a jumbled mess.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking slowly as
he tries to find the words.
"Chip," he says, his voice
still weak. "I've had this
since I was born. And I
liked school but, it was to 
hard for me to be comfortable."

Chip nods, his eyes on his
father's still form. "It's okay,
Dad," he says, his voice gentle.
"We can talk about it. What was
school like for you?"

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye opening slightly. "It was...
good and bad," he whispers.
"I did enjoy science,
like I do now. Kids are clueless, 
but it still hurt when they'd treat 
me like an outsider. Yet some
of the teachers..."

He trails off, his antennae drooping.
Chip's heart clenches, his hand
resting lightly on the couch cushion.
"What about the teachers?"
he asks, his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae lift slightly,
his eye opening a bit more.
"Some were awful," he says,
his voice a soft echo of past
memories. "They blamed me for
things I couldn't control, didn't
understand. One in particular
literally went and said, 'you
are just a waste of space, an
example of parents choosing
the wrong path of life by having
you.' And then I had an absence 
seizure. When I 'came back' from
it, you know what she said? She said,
'See, kids? That's what happens when
parents decide to keep a mistake.'" 
His antennae drop, the
weight of the memory heavy on
his shoulders. "I then started convulsing
seizure, and was tied to the chair!"

Karen's eyes flash with anger
as she walked by. "Plankton," 
she says, unintentionally 
startling him, "you never
told me that.."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
face contorting into an
expression of pain. "It was a
long time ago," he whispers,
his voice a ghost of what it once
was. "But the words... they
stay with me."

Chip's eyes are wide with shock,
his hand clenching into a fist.
"That's not right," he says,
his voice tight.
"They had no right to treat you
like that."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
face a mask of resignation.
"I did have some good teachers
too. One nice teacher noticed
me having an absence seizure
and the other kids started to
notice how I didn't budge. But
the teacher, she was gentle, kind
and understanding. So when she
noticed an absence seizure happening, 
she put this little hand-made cover
over my eye to block out the line
of sight. She knew it'd help me
return to reality without the
sensory overload, as well as keep
the other kids from staring to much."

Chip's eyes are filled with
admiration of his dad. "That
was really nice of her," he says,
his voice filled with emotion.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
eye focusing on Chip's face.
"It was," he whispers. "It made
me feel good." His voice
cracks with the weight of
his words. "But not everyone
is like her."

Karen's gaze is intense. "We're
your family. We're here to
support you. Now it's getting
late; I'm going to bed. Do you
want to sleep on the couch?"
Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye flickering. "Yes," he whispers.
"I... I'll stay."

"Can I stay by Dad tonight
too?" Chip asks. Karen's gaze 
flicks to Plankton. "I guess if
you don't jostle me?" he says.

Karen nods. "Alright, Chip,
just be careful not to disturb
your father." She kisses
their foreheads before
leaving the room, her eyes
lingering on her husband's
exhausted face.

new do you trust me chip plankton 15

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 1


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen was out buying
cookies when Chip 
arrived home. So Chip
goes up to find his dad
Plankton, knowing his
mom Karen's still shopping.
He pushed open the door 
to his parent's bedroom,
where Plankton sits on his
bed. "Dad; hi!" Chip yells.

Plankton's eye widens,
startled by Chip. His body
is as still as a statue.
For a moment, Chip thinks
his dad might be playing 
a prank on him, but then 
realizes something isn't 
right. "Dad? Dad!" Chip 
shakes Plankton's arm,
but there's no response. 
Panic starts to build in
his chest as he calls 
out louder, but Plankton 
doesn't budge. Chip's
seen his dad in his zone
before, but this is 
different. Plankton's eye
glazed over, unblinking. 
Chip doesn't understand 
why he's not reacting,
and he's too scared to 
leave the room. He tries
once more to get his
father's attention.

"Dad, you're scaring
me," Chip whispers,
his voice trembling.
Yet Plankton remains
motionless, a stark
contrast to the chaos
unfolding inside Chip.

Chip's heard of
people passing out, but
his dad has never done
this before. He tries to
recall any information
about his dad that
might explain this eerie
situation but comes up
empty-handed.

Everything seems in place,
but the sight of his dad, so
unresponsive, sends a chill
down his spine, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
How's he gonna wake his
dad up?

He's seen him get lost
in his thoughts before,
his mind a whirlwind of
genius ideas, but this...
this is something he's never
seen. He touches Plankton's
face gently, expecting a
flinch or a grumble, but
nothing happens. It's as if
his dad isn't even there,
like he's a mannequin in a
store window.

"Dad?" Chip calls out,
his voice a little louder
now, trying to shake off
his fear. "You okay?"
Nothing. He needs to
try something else.

He remembers a TV show
where a person was
snapped out of a trance
by a loud noise. Chip
rushes to the kitchen,
grabbing a pot and spoon,
his footsteps echoing in
the silent house. His
hands shake as he crashes
the pot against the
spoon, creating a cacophony.
He didn't know he's just
causing his dad more pain.

The sound reverberates
throughout the house, but
Plankton remains still.
Chip's hope dwindles, fear
taking its place. He
wonders if he should
call for help, but what
if his dad wakes up? He's always
so independent. What's Karen
going to think? But Chip put the
pot and spoon back. He goes
back to Plankton, whom Chip
didn't realize retreated even further
into his overload with the touching
and noises. Chip's panic is turning
into something more akin
to dread.

"Dad?" Chip's voice cracks 
as he calls out again, his
eyes scanning Plankton's 
face for any flicker of 
recognition. Yet none comes.
Oblivious to the concept of 
autistic absence seizures, Chip 
has no idea that his dad's
lack of response is due to 
a bombard of sensory input.

In his desperation, Chip 
starts to pat his dad's cheeks,
hoping to bring him back to
reality. Plankton's skin feels
cool and clammy under his 
fingertips, and the sight of 
his father's normally vivid 
eye now vacant sends a 
wave of terror crashing through 
his body. He's seen him zone 
out before, lost in his own 
world of inventions and schemes,
but this is different. It's not
the same as when he's busy
at the chum bucket.

He tries to remember if
his dad ever talked about
any health issues, but all 
that comes to mind are tales 
of his dad's past adventures. 
Could it be something serious?
Was it something he missed?
The weight of the situation 
presses down on him, making 
it hard to breathe. He feels
helpless, unsure of what to do 
next. He's just a kid, not a 
doctor or a hero.

Yet Chip decides trying to
force him out of it.

"Dad, come on, you gotta
snap out of it!" Chip says,
his voice shaking. He's
seen this in movies, right?
Someone's got to shake
the person or something?

He decides to do it.
Gently at first, then more
firmly as panic sets in. But
Plankton remains unmoving,
his gaze unchanged. Chip's
fear turns into full-blown
terror. What if his dad's
in some kind of danger?
What if he's stuck like
this forever?

Chip's mind races with
worst-case scenarios as he
continues to pat Plankton's
face, his voice getting louder
with each attempt. But no
matter what he does, his dad
doesn't react. The room feels
like it's closing in around him.

He tries to hold back tears
not knowing what
to do when your dad has a...
what is this? He can't even
name whatever's happening.

He's seen his dad zone out
before, during dinner
or when he's in the middle of
one of his crazy inventions,
but this is something else.
This is not the usual Plankton.
This is not the dad he knows.
He tries another way to force
him out of it, with no knowledge
of risking literally making
Plankton get literally sick.

He shakes Plankton harder,
his voice growing more
desperate. "Dad, you gotta
snapshot out of this! It's
not funny anymore!" But 
his father's body is like
dead weight, his eye
still unblinking.

Chip feels a tear slip
down his screen. He tries
a different approach to
physically force his dad 
out of this.

He tickles him. Plankton always
hates tickling, so surely 
this will work. But his 
dad's body doesn't even
flinch. It's like he's not
even there. He tries to
think logically, but fear clouds
his judgment. He doesn't
understand why Plankton isn't
snapping out of it. Why isn't he
getting annoyed or saying 
his usual, 'Chip, stop that!'

So Chip decides he needs to
take matters into his own hands.
He decides to forcefully get
Plankton to react.

He grabs a pillow and holds
it over Plankton,
thinking that an impromptu
pillow fight might bring him
back to the present. But
even as Plankton's body
topples to the side, he 
doesn't react. Chip's
seen his dad ignore him
before, but this is not 
the same. This is not the
Plankton who would normally
swat the pillow away with
a laugh or a scolding.

By then, Karen's finally come
home from shopping, setting
the cookies on the kitchen
counter when Chip runs up to
her in tears.

"Mom! Dad's DEAD or, something.." 
he sobs, pulling her
to the bedroom. "He won't
wake up, and he's not moving!"

Karen follows Chip into the
bedroom, and she immediately
knows what's happening.
She sees Plankton lying on the
bed, his body completely still,
and Chip's tear-stained screen.
Plankton never wanted Chip to
know of his neurodisability, so
they never told. It's something
they both learnt to deal with while
hiding it from Chip, but now Chip's
seeing it firsthand.
Karen aches for her son,
his innocence shattered by
fear. Yet she knew Plankton
needs her more right now.

"Mom, I just said hi to him
and he froze. I've tried to
shake him, yell at him, tickle
him, and even hit him with
a pillow, but he won't wake up!"
Chip's words come out in
a frantic rush.

Karen's eyes fill with
understanding and she hurries
to Plankton's side. "Chip," she 
says calmly, knowing now's
not the time to explain to
Chip about neurodisabilities,
nor how Chip unintentionally
triggered him more;
"Mommy will handle it. Why
don't you go to your room?
I'll take care of daddy."

But Chip is too scared
to leave his dad's side.
He clings to Karen's leg, his
small voice quivering. "But
I--"

Karen gently peels him
off her and gives him a
reassuring smile. "I know, sweetie.
But let me take care of this.
You go to your room, and I'll
call you when everything's
okay."

Reluctantly, Chip nods,
his eyes still glued to
his dad. As he leaves the
room, his mind fills with
worries and questions. What
is happening? Why won't
his dad wake up?

Meanwhile, Karen sat down
by Plankton on the bed
as she gently took
his hand. She knew this
was a moment she had
been dreading. Plankton's
autistic absence seizures were
a part of their lives that
they had managed to keep
hidden from their son.
They didn't want to scare
Chip, and Plankton was
always so embarrassed by
them. But now, it was out in
the open, and she had to
find a way to explain without
frightening Chip further. But
for now, she needs to help
Plankton out of the absence 
seizure first.

new do you trust me chip plankton 1

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 4


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

In the hallway, Chip's
sobs grow quieter as he
slumps against the wall,
his heart feeling heavy.
He didn't mean to hurt
his dad; he just wanted to
know what was wrong.

Karen sits beside
Plankton, her heart torn
between her son's innocence
and her husband's pain.
"We need to talk to him,"
she says gently, stroking
his antennae. "We can't let
this go unaddressed. But we
can do it when you're ready."

Plankton nods, his body
still tense. "I know," he says,
his voice small. "But I just
can't... I can't face him right
now."

Karen nods, giving his
hand a comforting squeeze.
"Okay, honey. Take your time.
But we can't let him think
that he's not loved or that
his questions are wrong.
We need to explain it to him
properly."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his antennae drooping. "I
know," he murmurs. "Just talk
to him when I'm... ready."

Karen nods, her screen
shimmering with unshed
tears. "Okay," she says, her
voice gentle. She gives him
a kiss on the forehead and
leaves the room to find Chip
in his own bedroom.

Chip's door is ajar,
and she can hear his muffled
sobs. She opens it slowly,
finding him curled up
on his bed, his screen buried
in his pillow. She approaches
his side, sitting down
carefully. "Chip," she says,
her voice soothing. "It's okay.
You can come out now."

He pulls away the
pillow, revealing a tear-stained
screen. "But Dad..." he sniffles.

Karen's eyes fill with
sympathy. "I know you didn't mean
it, Chip. But you hurt
your dad. We need to talk
about what happened. And I
know you've questions about
his autistic disability.."

Chip sits up, his eyes
red and puffy. "But Mom,
why is he so mad at me?
I just wanted to know
what's going on."

Karen sighs, her heart
aching for her son. "Chip,
sometimes when people are
upset or scared, they say
things they don't mean. Your
dad's not mad at you for
asking questions; he's mad
at himself for not being able
to explain it better. But the
words you said hurt him. They
hurt him because people
have used them before to
make him feel less than."

Chip looks at her, his eyes
still wet with tears. "But I
don't want him to feel bad,"
he murmurs. "I didn't kn-"

Karen cuts him off gently.
"I know you didn't, Chip. But
it's important for us to
learn and understand. Your
dad's condition isn't a
weakness; it's just part of
how he is. And sometimes,
it can be scary for him
too."

Chip nods slowly, trying to
comprehend the complexity
of his dad's condition. "But
why can't he just tell me?"
he asks, his voice thick with
emotion. "Why does it have
to be a secret?"

Karen takes a deep breath.
"It's not a secret, Chip,"
she says gently. "It's just
something private, something
he's not wanting to share
with everyone. But now that
you know, we can help him."

Chip sniffs and nods. "How?"
he asks, his voice hopeful.

"Well," Karen starts, "you can
learn more about autism.
You can ask us questions, and
we'll answer them the best we
can. And when you see Dad
having a hard time, you can
give him space, or maybe find
a quiet spot for him to sit."

Chip wipes his screen with the
back of his hand. "Okay, Mom.
But what if I want to hug
him?"

Karen sighs. "Honey, your
dad's condition makes certain
kinds of touch hard for
him to handle. It's not that
he doesn't want your love;
he just needs it in a different
way."

Chip looks at her, his
eyes still filled with confusion.
"But I don't understand,"
he says, his voice shaking. "How
do I know when to hug him?"

Karen's smile is sad, but
determined. "You'll learn,
sweetie. We'll all learn
together. Just remember,
it's not about fixing him;
it's about supporting him."

Chip nods, his eyes still
filled with unshed tears. "Okay,"
he says, his voice small. "But
I don't want to make him sad."

Karen squeezes his hand.
"You won't, Chip. We'll get
through this together."

Chip looks up at her with
questioning eyes. "But why
does he get those... those
seizures?" he asks, still
trying to grasp the concept.

"They're not exactly
seizures, Chip," Karen says, her
voice gentle. "It's part of his
condition. Sometimes, his
brain just needs a break from
all the sensory information. It's
not something you can see or
feel, but it's real for him."

Chip nods, his eyes
still puffy from crying. "But
why doesn't he just tell me
when he needs a break?" he asks.
"Why does he have to get so
angry?"

Karen sighs, trying to
find the right words to explain.
"Chip, your dad's feelings are
sometimes like a volcano. They
build up and up until they
explode. It's not anger at you;
it's his way of dealing with
the overwhelm. And sometimes,
his brain gets too much stimulation
without him knowing it.
It's like he's trying to read a book
while everyone around him is
yelling at once. It's just too much."

Chip nods slowly, his eyes
fixed on his mom. "But why can't
he just tell me?" he asks again,
his voice still shaky.

Karen hugs him. "Because, honey,
your dad's had to deal with this
his whole life, and sometimes
it's hard for him to talk about."

Chip nods, trying to
understand. "But what if he needs
help?" he asks, his voice
small. "How will I know?" "You'll
learn his cues, Chip. Sometimes
he'll get quiet, or his antennae
will twitch more than usual. That's
when you can check on him,
ask if he's okay, but don't push."

Chip nods, his curiosity piqued.
"What if he doesn't say anything?"
he asks, his screen searching hers.

Karen takes a deep breath.
"Then, you'll have to watch for
his cues," she says, her voice
calm. "If he seems overwhelmed
or his antennae are moving a
lot, it might be a sign."

Chip's eyes light up with
curiosity. "What cues, Mom?"
he asks eagerly. "How do I
know?"

Karen smiles softly. "Well,
you'll learn, Chip. Like when
his antennae get really twitchy,
or his eye glazes over. That's when
his brain might need a break.
And if he starts repeating
things, or gets really still,
that's another sign."

Chip's eyes widen with
interest. "So, how do
you know, Mom?" he asks, his
voice tentative. "How can I
see when he's overwhelmed?"

"You'll get better at it,"
Karen assures him. "But for
now, just watch and listen.
If he starts flapping his
arms or repeating words, that's a
sign that he might need some
space. And if he turns away or
covers his eye, it means he's
getting too much sensory input."

Chip nods, his mind racing
with questions. "But you 
seem to know how to
touch him and when to
hug him. How'd yo--"

Karen smiles sadly. "It's
been years of practice, Chip.
And I've made my share of
mistakes too." She pauses,
thinking. "You'll learn
his cues, like when his
body tenses up, or when
his antennae start to quiver
quickly. Those are signs
he's feeling overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his eyes
focused on her. "But what
about him getting upset?"
he asks, his voice filled with
concern. "How do I know
when he's about t---"

"Chip," Karen says, cutting
him off gently. "When he gets
upset, his antennae might flare
out, or he might rock back
and forth. It's his way of
self-soothing."

Chip's eyes are wide with
realization. "So, when he
does that, I should...?"

"Give him space," Karen
interrupts. "Just let him know
you're there without overwhelming
his senses."

Chip nods, trying to
memorize every detail. 

new do you trust me chip plankton 4

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 5


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

"But what
if Dad's hurt?" Chip asks, his voice
small.

Karen's screen met his, filled
with understanding. "If he's
in pain or really upset, he might
pull his antennae in tightly, or
his whole body might get stiff,"
she explains. "But remember,
always come get me."

Chip nods solemnly, his
brain racing with the new
information. He watches
his mom, his eyes wide with
curiosity. "But what if he's
happy, Mom?" he asks, eager
to know more about the silent
language of his dad's body.

"When your dad's happy,
his eye might twinkle, and his
body might get more relaxed,"
Karen says with a small smile.

Chip nods, his curiosity
growing. "And if he's sad?" he
asks, his voice tentative.

Karen's smile is warm
and gentle. "If he's sad, you'll
see his antennae droop, like
his spirits," she says, her voice
soothing. "And his eye might
not look at you directly."

Chip nods, his eyes wide
with understanding. "What if
he's scared, Mom?" he asks,
his voice small.

Karen thinks for a moment,
her hand on his shoulder.
"If he's scared, his antennae
will quiver rapidly," she says,
mimicking the movement with
her fingers. "And he may even
convulse slightly. It's
his body's way of protecting
his brain."

Chip's eyes are glued to
his mother's hand, his mind
racing with the implications.
"What about touches? You
seem to kn-"

Karen cuts him off with a
quick smile. "Well, your dad's
touch sensitivity is unique.
Sometimes, he enjoys gentle
pressure, like a squeeze
of his hand. But other times,
even the slightest brush can
feel unbearable." She takes
his hand, her voice calm.
"You'll learn his likes and
dislikes. And remember, Chip,
it's not about what you think
is right; it's about what
he needs."

Chip nods, his mind racing.
"But Mom, how will I know
what to do?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern.

Karen smiles reassuringly.
"You'll learn, Chip. Just watch
his reactions. If he pulls
away from you, it might be
too much. And if he leans
into you, it's okay."

Chip's brows furrow with
concentration. "But what if I
don't know the difference?"

Karen's eyes are gentle
as she looks at her son.
"You'll learn, Chip. Just start
small. If he's okay with you
touching his hand, that's a
good place to start."

Chip nods, his hand
tracing a pattern on the
quilt. "But what if I
hug him again and he doesn't
like it?" His voice is
full of doubt.

"It's okay if you make
mistakes, Chip," Karen says
gently. "What's important
is that you ask him. If
you're not sure, just ask, 'Dad,
do you need a hug?' And if he
says no, or if he seems
uncomfortable, just respect
his boundaries."

Chip nods, his eyes
still filled with questions.
"But what if he doesn't say
anything?" he asks.

"Then, Chip," Karen says,
her voice soft, "you'll have to
be really observant. Sometimes,
his silence can speak louder than
words. If he seems tense or
his antennae are stiff, maybe it's
not the right moment. But if
he looks relaxed, then
that might be a good time."

Chip nods, his thoughts
swirling. "But what if I still
don't know?" he asks, his voice
laced with anxiety.

Karen takes a deep breath.
"Chip, it's okay to not know
everything," she says. "But what
you can do is pay attention to
his body language. If he seems
tense or starts to withdraw,
that's when you should stop."

Chip nods, his mind racing.
"What if I want to help him
feel better?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern.

"You can, Chip," Karen says,
smiling softly. "But you have to
learn his language of touch.
Some days, he might enjoy a gentle
back rub, or the brush of your
hand on his arm. Just go slow,
and always ask first. Why don't we go
check on him now?"

They stand up, Chip's heart
pounding in his chest. He follows
his mom down the hallway, his
thoughts racing. How will he know
what to do when they get there?
How can he possibly make things
right?

new do you trust me chip plankton 5

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 6


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

They reach the bedroom's
closed door, and Karen knocks
softly. "Honey?" she calls.
"Can we come in?"
There's a moment of
silence before Plankton's
voice says, "I s'pose."
Karen opens the door to
find Plankton sitting on the
edge of the bed, his antennae
still quivering slightly. He
looks up, his eye red-rimmed.

Chip lingers in the doorway,
his heart racing. He's scared to
move, to say the wrong thing.
But Karen's hand on his shoulder
guides him in.

"Daddy?" Chip whispers, his
voice tentative. Plankton's antennae
twitch, and he looks up, his face
a mix of pain and discomfort.

Karen gives Chip a small
nod of encouragement, and he
slowly approaches the bed, his
hand outstretched but not touching.
"Dad, can I sit with you?"
he asks, his voice shaking.

Plankton looks at him.
"If you must," he says, his
tone filled with sarcasm. "But don't
expect me to be all 'Oh, Chip, I'm
so happy to see you!' when you've
clearly called me a monster."

Chip's eyes widen at the
harshness of his father's
words. "But Dad, I di-"

Plankton holds up a hand,
his antennae still quivering.
"Don't," he says, his voice
sharp. "Don't pretend you
understand. You don't. You
just threw around words you
heard from those little brats
at school without even knowing
what they mean!"

Chip's face falls, his eyes
welling up with tears again.
"But I didn't mean it,"
he stammers, his voice
breaking. "I just wanted-"

"I know what you wanted,"
Plankton snaps, his antennae
quivering with agitation.
"You wanted answers, and
you didn't get them. So,
you threw a fit like a
typical kid."

Chip's eyes fill with
fresh tears. "But I didn't
know," he whispers, his voice
shaking. "I wan-"

"Yeah, well, ignorance is
not an excuse," Plankton
interrupts, his antennae flailing.
"You hurt me, Chip. And for what?
Because you didn't get your
precious hug?" His voice
drips with sarcasm, each word a
tiny dagger to Chip's heart.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," Chip
whimpers, his hand dropping
to his side. "I didn't kn-"

But Plankton's sarcasm cuts him
off again. "Oh, sorry, I forgot.
You didn't know," he says, his
voice laden with bitterness. "Well,
now you do. And now you can go
back to your little life, knowing
you've hurt your dad. Great job!"

Chip flinches at the harshness,
his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Dad, please," he begs. "I didn't
underst--"

"I don't want to hear it,"
Plankton cuts him off, his
antennas quivering with anger.
"You think you can just come
in here and make everything
better with your sorry excuses?"

Chip's eyes fill with
tears, his voice barely a
whisper. "But I didn't mean
to hurt you, Daddy," he says,
his voice shaking. "I just
wanted to he-"

Plankton turns away, his
antennas flailing with agitation.
"Don't 'Daddy' me," he spits out.
"You don't get to call me that
after what you said." His
voice is sharp, cutting through
the air like a knife.

Chip's eyes are wide with
shock and hurt. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice trembling.
"I didn't mean to-"

But Plankton's not listening.
"Oh, I'm sure you didn't,"
he says, his tone thick with
sarcasm. "You just couldn't
help blurting out the first
thought that came to your
little brain, could you?"

Chip feels his heart
crumble. "But Dad, I-"

"I don't want to hear it,"
Plankton says, his voice
ice cold. "You've said enough."
He turns away, his antennae
twitching angrily. "Just get
out. Leave me alone."

Chip stands there, his
small hand hovering in the air,
wanting to comfort his dad, but
not knowing how. His voice
shakes with pain. "But Dad, I-"

Plankton turns back to him,
his antennae snapping with anger.
"You don't get it, do you?" he
shouts, his voice rising. "You never
have!" His eye widens, his
body tenses. "I'm not
your little science project to
poke and prod when you're curious!"

Chip takes a step back, his
eyes wide with fear. He's never
seen his dad like this before,
so out of control. "Daddy, I'm sorry,"
he whispers, his voice trembling.
But Plankton's anger seems to
grow with every word, his
body shaking. "You don't get
to be sorry!" he roars, his antennae
quivering violently. "You don't get
to just say sorry and expect me to
be okay with it!"

Chip's eyes are wide with fear,
his body frozen in place.
He's never seen his dad like this,
his normally stoic demeanor
shattered by a storm of emotions.

"Daddy, please," Chip whispers,
his voice barely audible. But Plankton's
anger is like a tsunami, crashing
against the walls of the room.

"You think you can fix me
with a sorry?" Plankton's voice
booms, his antennae flailing.
"You think your pity can make
everything okay?" Chip
shrinks back, his eyes wide 
with fear. So Karen decides to
jump in to mediate.

"Plankton, honey," Karen says,
her voice steady. "Chip's only
trying to understand. He's
scared for you. Let's just sit
down on the bed."

Plankton's antennae slow their
frantic dance as he looks at her,
his eye slightly less fiery.
With a heavy sigh, he nods, and
they all sit down, a tense silence
filling the room.

Chip's eyes are glued to his
father, searching for any sign
of softening in his gaze.
Plankton's breaths come in
short, shallow bursts, his body
still taut with emotion.

After a moment, Karen speaks up,
her voice a gentle reminder.
"Remember, Plankton, Chip's
just a child," she says, her
tone soothing. "He doesn't
understand everything about your
condition yet."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye still glaring at his son.
"I know," he murmurs, his
voice low.

Karen gives Chip a
reassuring look. "Why don't you
tell your dad what you know
about autism?" she suggests,
trying to ease the tension.

Chip nods, taking a deep
breath. "Well, I know it's like
his brain works differently,"
he starts, his voice wobbly. "And
sometimes, it makes things hard for
him, like too much noise or
little things that don't bother
me." He looks at Plankton.

Plankton's antennae stiffen
slightly, his gaze still sharp.
"And I know he has these...
these breaks," Chip continues,
his voice gaining strength.
"Where he needs to get away
from everything for—"

"Absence seizures,"
Plankton says, his voice flat.
"They're called absence
seizures." Chip's eyes widen. "Oh,
right. Those moments when
you zone out," he says, trying
to remember the right words.
Plankton nods, his antennae
still tense.

Karen watches the
exchange, her heart breaking
for both of them. She knows
this is hard for Plankton to
admit, and even harder for
Chip to understand. 
"They're a part of his
autism, Chip."

Chip nods, his eyes
firmly on his father. "So, when
you have one of those...
seizures, it's like your brain
needs to take a break?"

Plankton sighs. "Yeah,"
he says, his voice weary.
"It's like... everything gets
too much, and my brain just
shuts down for a bit. It's not
something I can control. Are
you satisfied?"

Chip looks at him with
innocent curiosity. "What's it
like?" he asks, his voice
soft. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his eye flickering with
memory. "Dad, what's it li—"

Plankton's hand shoots up,
cutting him off. "It's like nothing
you could ever understand,"
he says, his voice tight with anger.
"So just leave it, okay?"

Chip's eyes fill with
unshed tears. "But Dad,"
he whispers, his voice
shaking. "I just want to
kn-"

Plankton's antennae
snap upward, his anger
palpable. "You're just a
kid, playing at being
adult!" His antennae quiver
with the intensity of his
emotions, his body tense with
frustration.

Chip shrinks back, his
cheeks wet with tears. "But
Dad," he whispers, "I just-"

"Don't," Plankton says, his
voice cutting like a knife.
"Don't pretend you get it."

Chip's eyes are wide with
fear and confusion. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice trembling. "I'm
not..."

But Plankton's anger
continues to build, his antennae
quivering like live wires. "You
don't get it, Chip!" he roars.
"You're just a kid who thinks
he can fix everything with a
hug and a sorry!" His words cut
deep, each one a knife to Chip's
heart.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"But Daddy, I just want to
help," he says, his hand
trembling as it reaches out.

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his body tensing. "Don't
touch me," he snaps, his
eye wild with agitation as he
throws a pillow from the bed
down by his side.

Chip's hand retreats as if
burned, his eyes wide with fear.
"But Daddy, I just-"

"I said don't touch me!" Plankton's
voice is a roar, his antennae
whipping around like angry snakes.
He stands, his whole body a
testament to his rage. Chip stumbles
backward, his heart racing. He's
never seen his father like this,
his normally calm demeanor shattered
by a tempest of emotions.

new do you trust me chip plankton 6

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 12


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen heads to Chip's room, her mind
racing with a mix of anger and
concern. She opens the door,
her eyes scanning the
darkness until she finds him.

"Chip," she says firmly, her voice
a mix of disappointment and
determination. "We need to talk."

Her son looks up from his
pillow, his eyes red and
swollen. "What is it, Mom?"

"What happened with your
dad?" Karen asks, her voice
calm but firm.

Chip looks up at her, his
eyes glistening with unshed
tears. "We talked," he says,
his voice small. "But it didn't
really go we–"

"I know," Karen says, cutting
him off. "But what did you say to
him, Chip?" Her tone is firm,
but her eyes are filled with
concern.

Chip swallows hard, his gaze
dropping to the floor. "I just
told him that I wanted to help,"
he says, his voice small. "And that
I didn't want you to get hurt..."

Karen's eyes narrow, her
disappointment clear. "What
exactly did you say Chip?"

He sniffles, his screen
meeting hers. "I said 
that you seem tired of his
seizures, and that he's not
being fair to you," Chip admits,
his voice thick with regret.

Karen's face tightens, her
eyes flashing with a mix
of anger and sadness. "You
have no right to speak
for me, Chip," she says, her
voice firm but not unkind. "I love
your dad, and we deal with
this together." She takes a deep
breath, her hand on his
shoulder, her screen searching
his. "What else did you say?"

Chip's shoulders slump, his
eyes brimming with tears. "I said
you're his punching bag, Mom,"
he whispers, his voice
breaking. "That you're always
so patient and that it's not
fair t---"

Karen's hand tightens
on his shoulder, her
disappointment etched in
the lines of her screen.
"Chip," she says, her tone
sharp. "You don't get to tell me
how to feel, or what I think
about your dad."

Her words cut through
his regret like a knife,
his eyes widening. "But I just
wanted to—"

"Chip," Karen says, cutting
his protest short. "You don't
know what it's like, what we
go through every day." Her voice
shakes with the weight of
emotions held in check. "You're
not helping by making assumptions."

Chip's eyes well up with
tears, his lower lip trembling.
"But Mom," he stammers, "I just
don't want you to get hurt."

Karen's face softens, her hand
squeezing his shoulder gently.
"I know, sweetie," she says, her
voice filled with understanding.
"But your dad and I are a team.
What we have is complicated,
but it's ours. And when you
say things like that, it's like
you're choosing sides. It is
hard to see the one you love
struggle, but right now you're
the one who's causing me, and
us, to hurt."

Chip's eyes fill with tears, his
chest tight with guilt. "I'm sorry,"
he whispers, his voice cracking.
"I didn't mean to make it
worse."

Karen sighs, her anger
softening into sadness. "You didn't
understand," she says gently. "But
now you do." She sits beside
him, her hand on his back. "What
you said about your dad, it's not
fair to him or to us."

Chip's shoulders shake with
sobs, his heart heavy. "I'm
sorry," he manages to get out.
"I just—"

Karen's hand on his
shoulder is warm, her voice
steady. "Chip," she says, cutting
his words off with a gentle
firmness. "What you said to
your dad, it wasn't right."
Her eyes hold his, filled with a
mixture of pain and love.

Chip's gaze drops to the floor,
his cheeks burning with regret.
"I know," he mumbles, his voice
small. "But I just wanted
to tell him that—"

"No, Chip," Karen says, cutting
him off gently. "What you did was
hurt him, and that's not what we do
in this family." Her voice is firm,
but her eyes are filled with
concern. "We support each other,
not push buttons we don't
understand. Dad's not hurting me,
but now I'm hurt by what you said."

Chip nods, his eyes glued to the
floor. "I know, Mom," he
whispers. "I didn't think about
how it would sound."

Karen takes a deep
breath, her hand moving to
his cheek. "Look at me," she
says, her voice gentle. "You can't fix
this by pushing us apart."
Her thumb wipes a tear
from his cheek. "You have to talk
to him, tell him you didn't mean it
that way. Let's go find him."
They leave Chip's room
together, their steps
heavy with the weight of
unspoken words and regret.

new do you trust me chip plankton 12

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 13


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

The living room is
dimly lit. But in the center,
a disturbing sight awaits:
Plankton's convulsions,
his tiny body writhing on
the floor. His antennae
twitch erratically, his eye
squeezed shut. 

"Plankton!" she cries out,
rushing to his side. His
seizure is intense, his
limbs flailing uncontrollably.
The room seems to pulse
with his distress, a silent
scream of neurological
turmoil.

Chip stands in the doorway,
frozen in shock. He's never
seen his dad like this, so
vulnerable and helpless.
The sight of Plankton's
tiny form convulsing on the
floor fills him with a fear
like none other.
Karen is already beside
Plankton, her hands hovering,
knowing better than to restrict
his thrashing body.

"Mom," Chip says, his voice
trembling. "What do we do?"

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's contorted form,
her face a mask of calm
determination. "We stay here,"
she says, her voice steady. "We
keep talking to him, let him
know we care."

Chip nods, his own eyes
filled with fear. He takes a tentative
step forward, his voice shaking.
"Dad," he says softly, "it's me,
Chip." His words are met with
only the sound of Plankton's
labored breathing and the muffled
thuds of his convulsions.

Karen's gaze flicks to Chip,
her expression a mix of pride
and anxiety. "Good boy," she whispers,
before turning back to Plankton.
"Shh, baby," she says, her voice soothing,
like a lullaby in the chaos. "We're
right here."

Chip watches his mom, her
hands a gentle presence near his
dad's body, her voice a lifeline in
the storm of his seizure. He wants
to help, to do something, anything,
but he's paralyzed by fear. 

Karen's eyes flicker to her
son, her expression a silent
plea for him to stay calm. She
knows Plankton's sensitivity to
stimuli, the way his condition can
spiral if overwhelmed. "Talk to
him," she whispers, her voice
barely audible over the sounds of
his distress. "Tell him you love him."

Chip nods, his voice shaking.
"Dad," he says, his voice
trembling. "I love you." His
words hang in the air, a soft
contrast to the harsh sounds
of Plankton's seizure.

Plankton's body continues
to convulse, but Karen notices
his antennae twitch slightly,
his eye fluttering open for a
moment before it squeezes shut
again. She sighs with relief,
knowing he can hear them.

"Keep talking," she whispers
to Chip, her eyes never
leaving Plankton. "Tell him
you're here for him, that you're
sorry."

Chip swallows hard, his
throat tight with fear. "Dad, I'm
sorry," he says, his voice
cracking. "I didn't mean to make
things worse."

Plankton's antennae
quiver slightly, his seizure
lessening but not abating.
Karen's eyes are filled with
desperation as she whispers,
"Keep talking, Chip. He needs
to hear it."

Chip's voice is shaky,
his eyes never leaving
his father's trembling form.
"I'm sorry for what I said,"
he murmurs. "I didn't mean
to hurt you." His words
are a gentle coax, trying
to guide Plankton back from
the edge of his breakdown.

Karen's eyes are glued
to Plankton's seizing body,
"It's okay, baby," she says,
her tone a soothing melody.
"You're not alone."

Chip watches his mom's
steady hands hover over
his dad's shaking form.
He takes a deep breath,
his voice a shaky thread.
"I'm sorry," he repeats,
his words a quiet promise.

Karen's eyes flick to him,
a silent thank you. The room
seems to hold its breath,
the air charged with hope and dread.

Plankton's convulsions start
to ease, his breaths coming
in shallower gasps. Karen's hand
reaches out, brushing his
twitching antennae with a gentle
touch, a silent reassurance.

Chip's voice is a soft
whisper, a beacon in the
storm of his father's distress.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his
eyes brimming with tears. "I
don't want to fight."

Karen's hand rests gently
on Plankton's back, her touch
as light as a feather. "It's okay,
sweetie," she says, her voice a
soothing lullaby. "We're
here for you."

Plankton's seizure starts to
subside, his body gradually
stilling. His antennae
drop, his breaths slowing.
The tension in the room
eases like the retreating
waves of a storm.

Karen's hand remains on
his back, her eyes filled
with a love that's fierce
and tender. "It's okay," she
whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "You're safe now."
Her words are a gentle
reminder that their love is
his anchor.

Plankton's body relaxes
gradually, his antennae
stilling. His eye opens,
slowly focusing on Karen's
face. His voice is weak,
his words a soft rasp. "K-Karen?"

"I'm here," she says, her voice
calm, her hand still
on his back. "You're okay."
Her eyes are filled with a love
that's stronger than steel,
her presence a comforting
weight.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking rapidly
as the world swims back into focus.
He looks up at her, his gaze
uncertain. "I... I-I'm s-sorry,"
he whispers, his voice
a reed in the wind.

Karen's eyes are filled with
pain and love. She gently
guides him to sit up, her arms
supporting him. "Don't be sorry,"
she says, her voice a balm.
"We just need to talk."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his eye searching hers. "Talk?"
he repeats, his voice weak.

"Yes," Karen says firmly,
her arms around him. "We need
to communicate better, all of us."
Her gaze includes Chip,
who's still standing awkwardly
in the doorway, his eyes
fixed on his father.

Chip's heart pounds in his chest,
his fear giving way to
determination. He moves to
his mother's side, his hand
tentatively reaching out to
his father's arm. "Dad," he says,
his voice a gentle touch.

Plankton's body jerks at
his son's touch, but Karen's
calming presence helps him
steady. His antennae quiver,
his eye flickering between
his wife and son, the confusion
giving way to a hint of
understanding. "Chip?" he asks,
his voice a whisper.

Chip nods, his eyes filled
with unshed tears. "Yeah, Dad,"
he says, his voice cracking.
"It's me." He takes a deep
breath, his hand shaking slightly
as it rests on Plankton's arm.
"I didn't mean what I said."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking rapidly as he
tries to process the situation.
"You... you didn't?" he
stammers, his voice filled with
disbelief.

Karen nods, her eyes
never leaving his. "Chip didn't
mean it, Plankton," she says
soothingly. "He's just scared,
and he loves you."

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye misting with tears. "But
I scared him," he murmurs, his
voice barely audible. "And you."

Karen's eyes are filled with
compassion as she shakes
her head. "It's not your fault,
baby," she says gently. "Your
autism doesn't make you a
monster."

Chip nods, his hand still
on his father's arm, his voice
steady. "Dad, I know it's
not your fault," he says,
his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I'm
sorry for not understanding."

Plankton's antennae lift slightly,
his eye focusing on Chip's face.
"You do?" he whispers, hope
flickering in his gaze.

Chip nods, his own eyes
brimming with tears. "I do," he
affirms, his voice stronger.
"I'm here for you, Dad."
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye searching Chip's face
for signs of sincerity.

The silence in the room is
heavy, a tangible entity filled
with unspoken words and
apologies. Then, ever so slightly,
Plankton's antennae bob, a sign
of his acceptance. "Okay," he says,
his voice still shaky. "We'll talk."

Karen's eyes fill with
relief, a soft smile playing
on her lips. She squeezes
his arm gently. "Thank you,"
she whispers, her voice filled with
gratitude. "We're in this
together." 

new do you trust me chip plankton 13

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 14


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

The three of them sit in
silence for a moment, the only
sound the echoes of Plankton's
ragged breathing. Then, Karen
clears her throat, her voice
calm but firm. "Chip, can
you help me get your dad
to his bed?" Chip nods. "Yeah, sure,"
he says, his voice still
shaky, as Plankton's still on
his side.

He moves closer, his
hand hovering over his dad's
shoulder. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body tense. How
does he touch his dad without
causing more pain? Karen notices
his uncertainty and nods
reassuringly. "Just be gentle,"
she says, her voice a
whisper. "And watch his cues."
Chip's hand descends slowly...

As his fingertips 
graze Plankton's
skin, he flinches, his
eye darting around 
the room. "Easy, Dad," 
Chip says, his voice
gentle. His hand lingers,
seeking the right balance
between support and respect.
Plankton's body tenses,
despite realizing Chip's intent.

Karen watches. She knows
the fear behind Plankton's
flinch, the years of pain
and misunderstanding that
have shaped their dance of
affection. She offers a nod,
silently encouraging Chip to
persist. With trembling
hands, Chip slides his arm
under Plankton's.
Karen's own arms wrap
around Plankton's shoulders,
completing the circle of
support.

Plankton's eye meets Karen's,
his fear a stark reminder
of the invisible walls his
autism has built. But in her gaze,
he sees love, not just pity—
understanding, not judgment.
With a deep breath, he allows
them to help him to his feet,
his legs wobbly with the
aftermath of his seizure.

Karen's grip is firm but
gentle, her eyes speaking
volumes without a word. Chip's
hand is a tentative question
mark, hovering near Plankton's
shoulder, seeking permission
to touch. Plankton's antennae
quiver, his body tightening.
He's overwhelmed, his skin
a minefield of sensory input.
The slightest touch feels like
a storm raging in his head.

"It's okay," Karen whispers,
her voice a balm. "We're just
going to help yo--"

But Plankton's body jerks,
his antennae flailing as if
trying to ward off an invisible
assailant. "No more!" he cries,
his voice a shattered glass. "I can't!"

Karen's heart clenches, her
grip loosening as she pulls
back. "It's okay, sweetie,"
she says, her voice a gentle
breeze. "We'll get you to bed, that's
al-"

But Plankton's distress
escalates, his antennae
thrashing wildly. "NO!" he
shrieks, his body rigid. "NO MORE!"

Karen's heart squeezes, her
grip on him loosening as
she takes a step back, her eyes
filled with pained empathy. "Shh, baby," she
whispers, her voice a gentle
caress. "We're not going to force
you."

Chip's eyes widen in fear, his
hand retreating. "Dad," he says,
his voice trembling. "It's okay,
we're here to he-"

But Plankton's panic is a wildfire,
his movements erratic and unpredictable.
Karen's eyes fill with
concern, her voice calm. "Chip,
let's just get him to the couch."
They move as one, guiding Plankton's
stumbling figure towards the
sofa, their movements a delicate
ballet of care and precision.

The couch is a mere few
feet away, a sanctuary of
familiar fabric and scent.
But to Plankton, it seems a
mountain to climb, each step
a battle against his own
body. His antennae thrash wildly,
his eye darting around the room
as if seeking an escape. Karen
and Chip move closer, their
presence a comforting warmth.

Their touch is gentle, a soft
whisper of reassurance amidst
his chaos. Yet, each step
towards the couch feels like
wading through thick, clinging mud.
His legs wobble, his breaths
coming in sharp gasps. Karen's
grip is steady, her eyes never
leaving his, a silent promise
that they'll get through this.

Chip's hand hovers, unsure,
his heart racing with fear. He
wants to help, but Plankton's
flinch is a stark reminder of
his own limitations. Karen's
nod gives him the courage
to reach out again, his touch
a soft question. Plankton's
body jerks.

"I'm sorry," Chip whispers,
his voice thick with regret.
He's trying so hard to bridge
the gap, to understand, but
his efforts seem only to push
his father further away. Karen's
face is a mask of calm, but
Chip can see the worry in
the tight lines around her eyes.
"Ca--"

But the word dies in his throat
as Plankton's body goes rigid,
his eye rolling back, antennae
freezing mid-thrash. His legs
buckle, and he crumples onto
the couch.

Karen's eyes widen with fear,
but her movements are swift and
sure. She's seen this before,
the aftermath of a seizure
taking its toll. Chip's eyes
are wide with shock, his hand
still outstretched, trembling.

"Dad," he whispers, his voice
a prayer. "Are you okay?"

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye flickering open, a silent
plea for understanding. The
seizure's aftermath clings to
his body like a damp fog, his
limbs heavy with fatigue. Karen's
hands are gentle on him, her
movements measured. She knows
his pain, his fear, and the
thin line between love and
overwhelm.

"Chip," she says softly,
turning to her son, "this is part
of your dad's world. He needs
his space, and we need to
respect that." She sits beside
Plankton, her hand on his back,
feeling his erratic breaths.

Plankton's antennae droop, his
body a ragdoll's. "I'm s-sorry,"
he stammers, his voice
weak. "I didn't mean to..."

Chip's heart aches, his hand
still hovering, trembling. "It's
not your fault, Dad," he says,
his voice tight with emotion.
"It's just... hard to see you
like this."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye focusing on his son's
face. "I know," he whispers,
his voice a confession of
his own fears. "It's hard for me,
too." His admission is a
rare moment of vulnerability,
a crack in the armor of his
usual bravado.

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "I want to
help," he says, his voice
desperate. "But I don't know
how."

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye closing in exhaustion.

"We'll learn together,"
Karen says, her voice a gentle
guideline. "You don't have
to have all the answers, Chip.
Just be patient, and listen."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton's
exhausted form. "I'll try,"
he murmurs, his voice filled
with hope and uncertainty.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his eye fluttering
open. "I know," he says,
his voice a weary whisper. 
"It's... it's not easy."

Karen's hand smooths over
his back, her touch a gentle
reminder of her presence.
"We're here, Plankton,"
she says, her voice a soft
promise. "We'll get through
this together."

Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye still closed.
"I know," he murmurs, his voice
barely a breath. "I just... I
can't bear the thought of
being a burden." The words
hang in the air, thick with
his fear and doubt.

Karen's hand pauses on his
back, her eyes filling with
sorrow. "You're not," she says,
her voice firm. "You're my
partner, my love." She takes
his hand in hers, her thumb
stroking his palm gently.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye fluttering open to meet
hers. "But what if... what if I
hurt you?" he asks, his voice
a whisper of doubt.

Karen's grip tightens, her
eyes filled with determination.
"You won't," she says, her voice
a promise. "We're a team,
Plankton. You're not alone in this."
Her words are a gentle rebuke
to his fears. "I'll find you a pillow
and blanket for out here."

As Karen goes back upstairs
Chip inches to the couch. "Dad
can I sit?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye still closed. "Yeah,"
he whispers, his voice a
wisp of sound. 

new do you trust me chip plankton 14

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 16


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Chip pulls a bench stool 
up by the couch.
"Dad," he says, his voice
a whisper in the quiet
room. "Can I... I ask you
a question?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye half-open. "Sure,
what is it?"

Chip's voice is a soft
whisper in the darkened
living room. "What's it like?"
he asks, his curiosity
tangled with fear. "To be...
you know, autistic?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking slowly. "It's...
it's like living in a world
that's too loud," he murmurs.
"And too bright. And sometimes,
things don't make sense. But...
it's also beautiful. Like a
puzzle that only I can solve."

Chip leans in, his curiosity
piqued. "How do you mean?"
he asks, his voice a gentle
prodding.

Plankton's antennae droop, his
eye closing briefly. "Imagine
a symphony playing," he whispers,
his voice a soft melody. "But instead
of music, it's sounds. Voices, lights,
textures... all playing at once.
It's... overwhelming." He pauses,
his antennae twitching with
the effort to explain. "But
sometimes, when everything is
still... I see patterns. It's like...
like the universe is whispering
secrets only I can discern."

Chip nods, his eyes on the
twitching antennae. "And the
absence seizures?"

Plankton's eye opens wider, his
voice a soft sigh. "It's like
being in a bubble," he says,
his antennae stilling. "A moment
out of time, but... it's not real.
I'm not really here."

Chip's gaze is intense, his
mind racing to understand.
"But what do you see?" he asks, his voice
eager. "When you're in that bubble?"

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye searching Chip's face. "It's...
difficult to explain," he says,
his voice a soft rumble. "It's like...
I'm distant." His antennae
bob slightly, his eye fluttering.
"But sometimes, it's just...
like a blender. And I'm alone."

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "I'll try to
imagine," he whispers. "But I want
you to know, Dad, I'm here for
you." His hand reaches out to
touch Plankton.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
body tensing slightly. "It's okay,"
he murmurs, his voice a quiet
acceptance. "It's not your
fault."

Chip's hand hovers, unsure. "But I
wish I could help more," he says,
his voice filled with a longing
to ease his father's pain.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye blinking open. "You do help,"
he whispers, his voice a
reassurance. "Just by being
here. Yet you can't fix me, Chip."

Chip's hand retreats, his heart
heavy with understanding. "I know,"
he says, his voice filled with
sadness. "But I want to make
sure you're okay."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye focusing on Chip's earnest
face. "I know," he whispers. "But
you can't always save me. And
right now I'm just feeling tired.."

Chip nods, his hand slowly
withdrawing. "Okay, Dad," he
says, his voice thick with emotion.
"We'll rest now. We'll talk more
tomorrow." Plankton's
eye closes, his antennae stilling.
His breaths even out, his body
relaxing into sleep's gentle embrace.

The room falls silent, the
only sound Plankton's soft
snores. Chip watches his dad,
who's asleep now.

His mind is racing with thoughts,
but his body is still, not wanting
to disturb the fragile peace. His eyes
trail over Plankton's form, noticing
the way his antennae twitch slightly
in his sleep. It's like he's dreaming of
faraway places, or perhaps solving
a complex puzzle only he can see.

Chip's hand hovers over his dad's,
fighting the urge to hold it. He's
seen the way Plankton flinches at
the slightest touch, the way his body
shies away from contact. But
his heart aches to offer comfort, to
let him know he's not alone. With
a deep breath, he decides to be brave.

His fingertips lightly graze
Plankton's hand, the barest
of touches. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his breath catching, but
he doesn't pull away. Encouraged,
Chip wraps his hand around his
dad's, his thumb tracing gentle circles
on the back of his palm. Plankton's
body relaxes slightly, his snores
deepening. Chip's heart swells with
relief. Maybe this is okay.

new do you trust me chip plankton 16

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 3


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen sees the pain in Chip's eyes.
She knows they have to explain
sooner rather than later. Plankton's
condition is a part of their lives,
and Chip deserves to know.
Yet she also understands her
husband's need for privacy.

"Plankton," she says calmly,
placing a hand on his back.
"Chip just wants to help."
Plankton's face contorts in
frustration, his antennae
twitching uncontrollably.

Chip, feeling more lost
than ever, steps back further.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he murmurs,
his voice thick with unshed
tears. "I didn't mean to-"
"Chip, it's okay," Karen says,
cutting in before Plankton
can reply. She gives her husband
a knowing look, her screen filled with
concern.

Oblivious to his dad's autistic
spectrum disorder and its effects
on his sensory processing, Chip
continues to hover anxiously.
"But Mom, why won't Dad tell me?"
He sniffles, wiping his screen
with the back of his hand.
Karen takes a deep breath,
trying to find the right words.
"Chip, your dad's brain works
a little differently than most.
Sometimes, things can be too much
for him, and his body needs
a break. That's all it was."
Chip's eyes are wide, but fear still
lingers. "But why couldn't
he-"

"It's okay, Chip," she interjects,
placing a comforting arm around
his shoulder. "Daddy's just tired.
Why don't you go wash up, and I'll
talk to him, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes still
fixed on Plankton, who
now avoids his gaze. As he walks
to the bathroom, his mind
whirls with questions and fear.
Why won't his dad tell him what's
going on? What's so scary about
his brain needing a break?

While Chip is washing
his screen, Plankton turns to
Karen, his voice low and
shaking. "How could I have
let this happen?" he whispers.

Karen wraps her arms around
his trembling frame. "You couldn't
have known, Plankton. It's not
your fault. But we do need
to talk to him. He's seen it now,
and he's scared."

Plankton nods, his eye
dull with fear. "I know," he whispers.
He's never wanted Chip to know
about his condition, but now
it seems like there's no choice.
He's always been so sensitive
especially when his
brain's in overload.

Karen gives him a comforting
squeeze. "We'll tell him
together," she says, her voice
steady. "We'll explain it in a
way he can understand."

Chip finishes washing his
screen and returns to the
bedroom, his eyes red and puffy.
He sees his mom hugging his
dad, and the sight brings a
tiny bit of comfort. But he
still feels like there's something
he's missing, something
important. But seeing the hug,
Chip goes to do the same...

But Plankton flinches at
his touch, his antennae quivering
with overstimulation. Chip
pulls away, his eyes wide with
confusion and hurt. "What's
wrong, Dad?" he asks, not
understanding his dad's
reaction.

"Don't touch me," Plankton says,
his voice cold. Chip's eyes
well up with tears again. "But I'm
just trying to hug you," he
whimpers, feeling lost and
alone.

Karen intervenes, her voice
soft. "Plankton, sweetie, Chip
doesn't know. He's just a kid,
trying to understand."
Plankton sighs, his antennae
drooping. He knows she's right.

"Chip," Karen begins, her tone
gentle. "You know how sometimes
you get overwhelmed, and you
just need a hug?" Chip nods.
"Well, Daddy gets overwhelmed
too, but sometimes, hugs aren't
what he needs. Sometimes,
his brain needs a different kind
of comfort."

Chip looks up at her, his
screen still wet with tears. "But
why can't I hug him?" he asks,
his voice small. "You're hugging..."

"Chip," Karen says, taking
his hand. "Your dad's brain
is special. Sometimes, when
it gets too much input, he
needs some space. He can't help
it; it's just ho-"

"But why can't I just hug him?"
Chip interrupts, his voice
desperate.

Plankton looks away, his
face contorting with the
effort to hold back his own
tears. "It's not that simple,
Chip," he says, his voice
cracking.

Chip's confusion grows.
He can't understand why a
simple hug is causing so much
pain. "But why?" he asks, his
voice trembling. "You always
hug Mom.."

Plankton sighs, feeling the
weight of his secret pressing
down on him. "It's not the
same," he says, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Mom knows
how to... to handle it."

Chip's eyes fill with tears
again. "But why not me?" he asks.
"I just wa-"

Plankton's voice is harsher
than he intends. "Because you
don't know how!" he snaps.
Chip's face falls, the rejection
hitting him like a slap.

Karen's eyes dart
between them. She
understands Plankton's struggle
with his sensory issues, but
this isn't the time for anger.

"Plankton," she says firmly,
"Chip just wants to help. He doesn't
understand, and we can't blame
him for that." She looks at Chip,
his screen full of hurt and confusion.
"Let's just tell him, okay? Try again
Plankton.."

Plankton nods reluctantly,
his antennae still twitching.
"Chip," he starts, his voice
softer now. "When I was being
born, my brain didn't fully
develop the way it should've.
So, I'm different, and I don't
need you to 'fix' me. HAPPY?"

Chip stares at his dad,
his eyes wide and brimming
with tears. He doesn't
understand. "Different, how?"
he asks, his voice small.

Karen takes over. "Your
father has a condition
called autism, Chip. It means
his brain interprets things
differently, especially when
it comes to touch."

Chip pulls away, his face
scrunching up. "But that means
you're broken!" he cries out,
his voice filled with horror.
"You're a monster! An autistic
freak!" The words slip out before
he can stop them, echoing the
taunts of his schoolmates. "It
makes you nothing but an
embarrassment!"

The room goes still, the
atmosphere thick with pain.
Karen's eyes widen in shock
as Plankton's body tenses.
"Chip, no!" she gasps, but
it's too late. Plankton's
face crumples. The words had cut
deeper than Chip could've
ever imagined. "Get out,"
Plankton murmurs, his voice
barely audible. "I don't
want you here."

Chip's eyes widen, his
screen flushing with guilt.
He didn't mean it; he was
just repeating what he's
heard. "But, Dad," he
whimpers, reaching out.

But Plankton flinches away,
his antennae drooping. "Get out,"
he repeats, his voice
defeated. "I don't need you
right now."

Chip's eyes fill with
hurt as he takes a step back.
"But Dad..." he whispers, his
hand reaching out instinctively.

Plankton doesn't take it. "I said
leave," he murmurs, his
voice filled with pain. "You 
get out, Chip. Just go."
The finality in his tone sends
a shiver down Karen's spine.
Chip's hand falls to his side,
his eyes brimming with
tears.

Karen's eyes are glossed
with unshed tears as she watches
Chip back away, the hurt in
his voice etching a painful
silence into the room. "Dad, I-"

But Plankton cuts him off,
his antennae quivering with
emotion. "I don't want to see you
right now, Chip," he says,
his voice barely above a
whisper. "Please, just go."
The rejection hits Chip like
a wave, and he nods, his lip
trembling. He turns and
runs from the room, his sobs
echoing down the hallway.

Karen turns to
Plankton, her screen 
filled with sorrow
and understanding.

"Plankton," she whispers,
her voice cracking. "He
didn't realize what he said.
He doesn't know how such
words can hurt you."

Plankton turns to her,
his eye filled with a sadness
so deep it's almost tangible.
"But he said it," he murmurs.
"He basically called me a freak."

Karen's heart breaks at his
pain, and she sighs heavily.
"He's just a child, Plankton,"
she says softly. "He doesn't
underst--"

"I don't care," Plankton
interrupts, his voice brittle.
"I can't handle it right now."
He turns away.

Karen nods, giving him
the space he needs. She
understands the depth of
his pain and the struggle
his condition brings him.

new do you trust me chip plankton 3

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new chip plankton Chip Plankton II chip

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▓▓▓███████▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓█████▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓███▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒
▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓██████▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓██████▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒

new chip plankton Chip Plankton II chip

                                           ░▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒░░                                                             
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         ░▒░       ░░▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒░░░░░░░░▒▓████▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█                            
      ░▒░░▓▒▒▓▒░░░▒▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒░░░░▒▓█▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓███████▒▒▓                             
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    ░▒▒▒░░░▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓███████████████████████████████▓▒▓▓                             
       ░░▓▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▓██████████████████████████████████▓▒▓▓                             
           ░░▒▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▓███████████████████████████████████▓▒▓▓                             
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                     ░░░▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓████▓▓▓▓▓█▓▒▒▒▓███████████▒█▓██████████▒█▒░███████▓▒▒█░                             
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                ░░░░░░░     ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▒          ░█▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░▒▒█▓          
               ▒▓░░░░░░▒▓█▒░█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓██▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓██▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓░        ░█░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓         
              ░▓░▒▒▒▓█▓▒░░░░░░▓██▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█░        ░▓▒░░░▓░░░░░░░░░▓         
              ▓▒░▒░     ░▒▓█▒░░░░░█▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▓          ▒██▓▒▓░░░▓▓░░▒▓         
             ░█▒░▒▓█▒░     ▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒░░░░▓░░░░░▓▒▒▒▒▓▒           ▒▒░░▓▓▒█▒░░░░         
             ░█░░▒▒░▒▓▒    ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▒░░░░░░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░░░░▒▓▒▒▒▒▓▒           ▓▓▓▒                 
           ░▓▓▒░░▒▒▓▒█▒    ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒░░░░░░░░░░▒░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▒▓░                               
          ░█▒▒▒░▒░░▓▒      █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█░░▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░▓▒░░░░░▓▒▒▒▒▓█░                              
           ▓▓▓█▓▓███░     ░█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒░░░░░░░░░█░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓░░░░░▒▓▒▒▒▒▓▒                              
             ░             █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒░░░░░░░░░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▓▓█▒▒▒░░▒▓▒▒▒▒█░                             
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                             ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓█▓▓▓▓░                             
                             ░█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓██▓▒▒░░▒█▒░░░░▒█░                           
                              ░█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▓▒▓▓▓▓▓██████████▓▒▒░░░░░░           ░▓▓░░░░▒█▓░                        
                                ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░     ▓▓▒░░░░▓▓                          ░▒█▒░░░▓░                        
                                                     ░█▓░░░▓▒                          ░█▒░░▒▓░                        
                                                       ░▓▓░░█░                        ░▓▒░░▓▒                          
                                                        ▓▓░░░█░                      ░▓▒░░▓▓                           
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                                                     ░▓░░░░▓▒░                     ░█░░░▓▓▒▒▒▒▒░                       
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new code page 437 chip plankton chip

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new code page 437 chip plankton chip

Here are some idioms that use the word "chip":

Chip on your shoulder
An informal expression that means someone feels inferior or believes they've been treated unfairly. For example, "You will never make friends if you go around with a chip on your shoulder". 
 
Chip off the old block
A person who resembles one parent in appearance or behavior. For example, "His son is just a chip off the old block". 
 
Chip in
To contribute money, time, or advice to a cause or fund. For example, "Every member of the team chipped in to help pay for the coach's surgery". 
 
Cash in your chips
To sell something, such as investments, to raise money. It can also be used as slang to mean to die. 
 
Bargaining chip
Something that can be used to gain an advantage when trying to make a deal or an agreement. For example, "The workers used the threat of a strike as a bargaining chip in their negotiations". 
 
Blue chip
A term that comes from poker, where chips used in gambling have different colors to represent different dollar amounts. A blue chip is typically the one with the highest value. 
 
call in (one's) chipscall in your chipscash (one's) chips incash incash in (one's) chipscash in chipscash in one's chipscash in your chipscheap as chipschipchip (away) at (something)chip and dipchip atchip awaychip buttychip inchip in for (something)chip in on (something)chip in with (something)chip in with (something) for (something)chip offchip off the old blockchip off the old block, achip on one's shoulderchip on one's shoulder, to have achip on shoulderchip shotchip upchipschips and dipchips are down, thechips with everythingcow chipcow chipsget a chip on (one's) shoulderhand in (one's) chipshas had its chipshave a chip on (one's) shoulderhave a chip on your shoulderhave had (one's) chipshave had your chipsin the chipsin the moneylet the chips fall (where they may)let the chips fall where they maymint chocolate chippass in (one's) chipspiss on (someone's) chipsput a chip on (one's) shoulderput all (of) (one's) chips on the tablespit chipsthe chips are downwhen the chips are down

"All that and a bag of chips"---this phrase is usually a slam against someone who is conceited or arrogant. Perhaps the phrase originates in the concept of completeness; a meal complete with a "bag of chips".Aug 11, 2014

new chipcore studycore chip

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new chip fpe cute chip fpe dot art text art ascii art

CHIP AND FAIL vii
(Autistic author)

Plankton's body tensed, his
eye squeezing shut as he tried to
block out the onslaught of
sensations. "Chip," he murmured,
his voice strained, "I can't."
"What do you mean?"
He didn't know his touch, his
words, his very presence was a
storm in Plankton's mind. He
just wanted to share his week,
his joy, with his dad.

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, his antennae twitching.
"I have... I have something
that makes it hard for me to...
to handle..."

But Chip's excitement was unable to
comprehend the distress he was
causing. "Handle what, Dad?" he
asked, his voice filled with
eagerness. "You can tell me anything!"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye flickering with pain.
He knew he had to find the
words, to explain the storm
that raged in his mind, his 
voice trembling. "I
can't... I just..."

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his hands reaching out
again. 
But Plankton was already
slipping away, his mind a tornado of
sensations. He couldn't find the
words, the storm too loud.

Chip, oblivious to the turmoil,
pressed on. "Dad, you can tell me
anything," he said, his voice
bubbling over with eagerness. His
hands reached out again, his touch
like a lightning bolt in Plankton's
overstimulated world.

Plankton's antennae quivered
with the effort of maintaining
his composure. He didn't know
how to explain the maelstrom
that was his mind, the way each
touch and sound felt like a
thunderclap. "Chip," he began again,
his voice strained, "I'm..."

But Chip was a hurricane,
his enthusiasm unyielding. "Is it
because of the college?" he
asked, his screen sparkling. "Or
Nutmeg?" He didn't realize that
his words, his touch, were the
fuel for the storm.

Plankton's eye searched
his son's, desperate for a
moment of calm. "Chip, no,
it's not about..." His voice
was a whisper, lost in the wind
of his son's excitement.

But Chip didn't hear the
desperation, his mind a kaleidoscope
of thoughts and memories.
He didn't see the pain he was
causing, only his own need
for connection. "But Dad,
I just wanted to..."

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his body tensing like a bowstring.
"Chip," he said, his voice
a whipcrack of agony. "P-please."

But Chip was in his own
world, racing with
the excitement of his week. "Come
on, Dad," he said, his voice
filled with cheerful oblivion. "It's
so cool, you've gotta see it!"
He grabbed Plankton's hand, pulling
him to hard.

Plankton's body jerked, his
eye wide with pain. The sudden
contact was like a sledgehammer
to his overstimulated mind, his
thoughts scattering like leaves
in a storm. "Chip," he managed,
his voice strained, "please."

But Chip's excitement was a
freight train, barreling forward
without a care for the tracks.
He didn't see the agony etched
in Plankton's features, didn't feel
the tension in his father's
body. "Come on, Dad," he said,
his grip tightening. "It's going
to be amazing, I..."

Plankton's body spasmed at the
contact, his antennae vibrating
wildly. The room grew too bright,
the sounds too loud, the air too
thin. He couldn't move, couldn't
think. His mind was a cacophony
of sensations, a symphony of
overload. "Chip," he choked out,
his voice a plea. "I... I can't."

Chip's face fell, not realizing how
angry his dad's getting. "What do you..."

But Plankton was already
spiraling, his mind a tornado of
sensory assault. He didn't know
how to make Chip understand,
his voice a thunderclap of despair.
"I CAN'T!" he shouted, his antennae
waving erratically.

Chip's smile faltered, his eyes
wide with shock. He had never
seen his dad like this before,
his touch a match to a fuse. He
took a step back, his hands up in
surrender. "You mean, you won't!"
he asked, his voice shaking.

Plankton took a deep, shuddering
breath, his antennae drooping.
"Chip," he said, his voice tight with
frustration. "I can't. Not right
now. I need..."

But Chip's crashing over the delicate
barriers Plankton had built to
keep his world in order. "But Dad,
it's just a story!" he exclaimed,
his voice booming in the quiet
living room. "It's not a big deal,
you're just being..."

The room grew smaller, the walls
closing in on Plankton as Chip's
words echoed in his mind. Just a
story? To Chip, it was a simple
tale of adventure, but to Plankton,
it was a minefield of sensory input
his brain couldn't process. "Chip,
please," he murmured, his antennae
twitching wildly. "I'm trying..." "You're
not trying hard enough!" Chip said,
his voice filled with the kind of
innocent exasperation that only
a child can muster. "But if you're
trying to break our family, congratulations!
You..."

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his body rigid with tension. The
accusation hit him like a tidal
wave, threatening to drown him
under the weight of his own
failure. "Chip," he said, his voice
a desperate plea. "It's not..."

But Chip's screen filled
with accusation, his voice
loud in the suddenly too-small
room. "Why can't you just be
normal?" he demanded, his grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.

Plankton's antennae quivered,
his eye squeezed shut against
the assault. "I'm sorry," he
whispered, his voice breaking.
"I'm not... I'm not like other
dads."

"Well DUH! You just can't handle it,
can you?" Chip said, his voice
filled with frustration. He didn't
see the pain in Plankton's eye,
the way his antennae drooped with
each accusation. "But it's just a
story, Dad. It's not that..."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his body trembling with the effort
to stay calm. "Chip, you don't
understand," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "My mind
is like a... a... "

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his expression a mix
of confusion and anger. "What?
What's wrong with you? Let me
guess, you're just being dramatic
again," he said, his voice
harsher than he intended. Plankton
flinched at the accusation, his
antennas stiffening.

Karen watched from the
sidelines, aching. She knew
this moment was inevitable, but
seeing the pain was like a knife to her.
She took a deep breath,
steeling herself for the conversation
that needed to happen.

"Chip, sweetie," she began, her voice
soft and gentle, "Dad's not
being dramatic." She took a step
forward, placing a hand on her
son's shoulder, feeling the tension
beneath his skin. "Your dad has..."

"Mom, my 'dad' has no place 
in OUR family! Your life is a lie!"
Chip's words, fueled by confusion
and hurt, echoed through to
Plankton, his voice shaking.

Karen's hands shook as she reached
for Chip. "No, honey," she said,
her voice trembling, "it's not
that simple." But Chip was already
storming out of the room, his
footsteps like thunder in the quiet
hallway.

Plankton slumped back against
his chair, his antennae drooping.
He had hoped Chip would never
have to know, never have to feel
the way he did. The way his mind
was like a cluttered room, with no
way to organize the chaos. He
closed his eye, the weight of
his secret heavy on his shoulders.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II vii

CHIP AND FAIL xiv
(Autistic author)

Karen opened the 
door. Plankton's sobs filled
the room. She
approached him slowly, 
her movements careful not
to startle him.

"Plankton?" she whispered,
her voice gentle. He was curled
up on the bed, his antennae
shaking with each gasp.

His single eye 
looked up at her.
"I'm sorry," he 
choked out.

Karen sat
beside him, her hand 
on his back in a comforting
motion. "You have nothing to
apologize for," she 
murmured, her voice soothing.
"It's Chip who needs to
understand."

Plankton's antennae stopped
shaking, his eye focusing on
her. "Why doesn't he get it?"
he whispered.
"Why can't he see..."

"Chip loves you," she said.
"But he's never had to deal with
this before. He's trying to
understand."

Plankton's antennae quivered.
He knew she was right, but the
pain of his son's ignorance...

The door creaked open, and Chip's
face appeared, his eyes red and
swollen. "Dad," he began. "Can we talk?"

Plankton felt a wave of anger
crash over him. How could he
forgive his son for not
understanding? For not seeing
the struggle he faced every
single day? "What
do you want, Chip?" he snapped.

Chip took a tentative step into
the room, his screen on Karen.
"I just...I didn't know," he
mumbled. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's antennae shot up. "How
could you not know?" he snarled.
"How could you be so ignorant?"

Chip took a step back. "I didn't mean to
make it worse," he said, his voice
shaking. "I just wanted to be
close to you Dad, and have you..."

Plankton's antennae trembled with
frustration. "You think I don't
want that?" he spat. "You think I enjoy
being like this?"

Chip's eyes widened. "No, Dad," he
said quickly. "I just want to help
you show..."

But Plankton was drowning in
anger. "You think you can help?"
he sneered. "You think your
naive attempts at bonding
can fix what's broken?"

Chip felt the sting of his father's
words. "Dad, I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's antennae remained
still. "Get out," he said, his voice
cold. "Just leave me alone."

Chip's eyes filled with tears. He had
never heard such hostility from his
father. "Dad," he pleaded. "I'm
trying..."

"I WON'T HAVE YOU PITY ME!
I've lived with this my whole life, 
and you think you can just waltz 
in and 'help'? WELL, YOU CAN'T!"
Plankton hissed. Karen can tell
he's getting overwhelmed.

With a gentle but firm tone,
Karen stepped between Chip and
Plankton. "Both of you, stop,"
she said. "This isn't helping."
Her eyes met Chip's and then Plankton's.

"Chip, your father is not mad at
you, he's just overwhelmed," Karen
explained.
"And Plankton, your son is just trying
to understand."

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II xiv

new second power to the second power little 2 squared number 2 mathematics square up square root square squarish

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 2
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ 
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

"You had a little episode,
sweetheart," Karen says, her voice
warm and reassuring. "It's okay,
just another one..." "Karen, wh-what
is Chip doing here? Did he se-"

Plankton's question is cut
short as he notices Chip's
expression, and he realized
Chip must've indeed seen the
whole thing. How long did
it last?

Embarrassment washed over
Plankton. He'd managed to
keep his condition from his
son for so long, but now the
secret was out. His heart
raced, his cheeks flushing a
deep shade of red. "Chip," he
stammers, "I-"

But Chip's eyes are wide. "What was
that, Dad?" he asks, his tone
innocent. Plankton's never talked
about his autism to anyone
other than Karen before.
He's not sure how his son
will react. Will Chip look at
him differently now?

"It's nothing, Chip," Plankton
mumbles, avoiding eye contact.
He wishes he could just sink into
the bed and vanish.
Chip, however, isn't one to
back down easily. "No, Dad,
what happened?" He insists, his voice
still shaking from the fear that had
just gripped him. "You were
just sitting there, not moving
or anyth-"

"It's nothing," Plankton insists,
his voice a bit more firm now.
He doesn't want to admit it,
but he feels a twinge of
embarrassment at having been
found out. He's always been
so good at hiding his autistic traits
from Chip. But now,
his son is staring at him with a mix
of curiosity and concern.
Karen sighs, knowing it's time
for Chip to have 'The Talk'.

"Chip," she starts, her voice
careful, "Your dad sometimes
has moments like this. It's part
of who he is, something he can't
help." Chip's screen shifts to Karen,
his eyes searching for
understanding. "What do you
me—"

"It's NOTHING
Chip," Plankton 
repeats, his voice 
more insistent.
"Just... just DROP 
IT, OKAY‽"

The sharpness in his tone
surprises Chip. He's never
heard his dad snap like that.
He takes a step back, his
expression a mix of 
confusion and hurt. "I just
wanted to know if you
were okay," he mumbles.

Plankton's eye darts to
Karen, silently pleading.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
says, her voice calm. "We can
talk about it." But Plankton
shakes his head, his cheeks
flushing even more. "No, no,
not now," he says, his voice
smaller, almost defeated.

The silence in the room
stretches taut like a wire.
Plankton's antenna starts to
twitch erratically. It's a
familiar sight to Karen, a
tic. She's seen it before,
yet never when Chip's been
around. The tic again manifests
as a twitch, his head jerking
to the side in a small, rapid
movement. "Dad? What's
going on?" Chip's voice is
smaller now, fear creeping in.
Plankton's always been self-conscious
about his condition. But now,
his son looks at him with those
innocent, questioning eyes.

He swallows hard, trying to
keep his anxiety in check.
He doesn't know how to explain
the tics and the stims that
accompany his autism.
He's always been so careful
around Chip, hiding them as
best as he could. "It's... it's just
a... nothing," Plankton stammers.
But Chip's curiosity is
piqued. "What's happening
to yo-" "CHIP!" Plankton's voice is
sharp. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide.
He's never seen his dad this
upset. Karen's hand moves to
Plankton's, her grip tight.
"Plankton, it's okay," she says,
her voice steady.

Chip's eyes follow 
Plankton's head as
it jerks slightly to 
the side again.
"What's happening to
your head?" Chip asks.
He's never talked about
his autism with anyone 
other than Karen, and 
certainly not with Chip.
Plankton's antennae twitch
in agitation. "I told you,
it's tck tck nothing, Chip," he says,
his voice strained.

Karen squeezes Plankton's
hand. "Let's just sit 
and talk, ok?" "I'm sorry,"
Plankton says to Karen.
Karen's screen filled with
sympathy. "You don't have
to apologize, Plankton." She
knows how much Plankton
has struggled with his
autism, how much he's
worked to fit in and
keep it hidden from Chip.
"But he's going to want
to know," Plankton says, his
voice cracking. "I don't
want hi-" "I know, love," Karen
interrupts gently. "But we'll
explain it to him. He's a
smart boy. He'll understand."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still twitching. He takes
a deep breath, preparing
to face the reality that
his secret is no longer
safe. He looks at Chip, who's
still hovering at the
edge of the room, his eyes
filled with uncertainty.
"Chip, come here," Karen calls,
patting the bed. "Your dad 
has something to tell you."

Chip approaches cautiously,
his heart thumping. Plankton
looks up at him, his eye
shimmering with unshed tears.
Karen takes a deep breath,
and then starts to explain. "Chip,
your dad's brain is special. It
does some things differently
than ours. Sometimes, it
can get overwhelmed and
he needs a little time to...
recalibrate." Plankton's gaze
shifts to the floor, his antennae
twitching. Chip can see the
shame etched on his father's
face, the fear of rejection.
"Is that why you just
moved your head like that?"
he asks tentatively, pointing at
the twitch. Plankton sighs, his
body tense.

"Yes," Karen admits, "that's part
of it. And sometimes, he has
moments where he just... zones out.
It's like his brain goes to
another place and can't come
back right away."
Chip's eyes are glued to his
dad. "But why?" he asks her.
Plankton's antennae twitch
again, a silent plea for her
to handle this. Karen's eyes
soften. "It's called an
absence seizure," she says.
"It's part of his condition."
Chip frowns, "What condition?"

Plankton's gaze snaps up to
his son, his heart racing.
He's always been so careful
to keep his autism hidden
from Chip. But now, the
moment of truth is here.
"I'm... I-I-I-I…."

Karen gives his hand a
comforting squeeze. "It's
called autism," she says.
Chip's brow furrows. "What's
autism?" His voice is small,
his eyes searching his
mother's face for answers.

Plankton's heart feels like it's
in a vice. He's avoided this
conversation for so long. 
But now, the truth is
out, and he's not sure if he
can face his son's reaction.
Karen smiles gently. "It's a
way of being," she says. "Some
people's brains work differently.
They see the world in a
unique way, and they have to
deal with things like...
episodes."

Chip looks from his mother
to his father, trying to
comprehend. "But Dad,
aren't you okay?" he asks,
his voice small. Plankton's
throat tightens. He's never felt
so exposed. "I'm fine," he
forces out. Plankton
wishes he could just hide,
disappear into the wallpaper.
But he's trapped under the
spotlight of his own son's
curiosity.

new autism and all chip plankton ii 2

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new Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Chip Plankton II chip

1⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹𓆡

new first 15 august september figure lost 13 inaugural

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 12
(Autistic author)

They sit in 
companionable silence, 
the only sound Plankton's 
soft snores. Karen's eyes 
never leave his face, 
her thoughts a tumult 
of fear and hope.

Sandy watches 
them both, her mind racing 
with questions and 
concerns. "What does 
this mean for him?" she 
asks, her voice barely 
above a whisper.

"It means his world is 
different now," Karen 
explains, her screen 
never leaving Plankton's 
sleeping form. "He'll have 
his moments, but we'll 
find a new normal."

Sandy nods, trying to 
picture what that would 
look like. "But can 
he still...you know, 
talk, interact?"

"It's not like that," Karen 
sighs, her voice a 
soothing lullaby. "He's 
not nonverbal. It's just 
that sometimes his brain 
can't keep up with the 
world around him. The 
sounds, the lights, the 
colors—it's too much."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "I can 
see that," she says 
thoughtfully. "But he'll 
still be the same person, 
right?"

Karen looks at her, 
her expression a mix of 
sorrow and hope. "He'll 
always be Plankton," she 
says, her voice firm. "But his 
autism has changed the way 
he experiences life. He'll 
see patterns where we 
see chaos, hear symphonies 
where we only hear noise."

Sandy nods, trying to 
wrap her head around the 
concept. "What about his 
memories?" she asks, her 
voice tentative. "Does he 
still remember us, 
his life before?"

Karen looks at her 
softly. "Yes," she says, 
her voice filled with 
reassurance. 
"But his short-term 
memory might be affected."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. 
"How long will it take 
for him to...to get 
better?" she asks, her 
voice hopeful.

Karen's gaze falls to her 
hands, clutched in her 
lap. "There isn't a 
cure," she says, her voice 
a whisper. "But we can 
help him manage, make his 
life more comfortable."

Sandy's eyes are 
glassy with unshed 
tears. "What can I do?" 
she asks, her voice 
desperate. "What can any of 
us do?"

Karen takes a deep 
breath. "You can 
learn with us," she says, 
her voice strong. "You 
can support him, love 
him, be patient."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with a newfound 
resolve. "I want to help," 
she says, her voice 
steady. "But what about 
his plans, his schemes?"

Karen looks at her, her 
expression a mix of 
sorrow and a ghost of a 
smile. "Those might 
have to take a backseat 
for a while. His mind 
has to heal."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton. 
"I can handle that," she 
says, her voice filled with 
determination. "But what 
about the Krabby Patty 
formula?"

Karen looks at her, 
her expression a mix of 
understanding and 
sorrow. "We'll have to 
see," she says, her voice 
soft. "For now, let's 
focus on getting him 
comfortable, okay?"

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "Okay,"
she whispers, her voice 
full of resolve. "We'll 
figure it out."

Karen nods, her smile 
small but genuine. "Thank 
you," she says, her voice 
filled with gratitude. 
"It's going to be a tough 
adjustment for all of us."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "We'll 
make it work," she says, her 
voice firm. "But what happens 
if he has another...episode?"

Karen sighs, her screen 
slightly glazed with fear. "We 
just have to be there," she 
says, her voice shaky. "We'll 
learn his triggers, his 
comforts."

Sandy nods, her 
mind racing with 
concern. "But what if 
it's in public?"

"We'll handle it," Karen 
interrupts, her tone firm. 
"We'll have strategies, 
routines. It won't be easy, 
but we'll manage."

Sandy sniffles, her voice 
now a sob. "What if he..."

But Karen cuts her off, her 
eyes on Plankton, who's 
started to stir in his sleep. 
His antennae twitches, 
his body shifting under the 
covers.

Slowly, Plankton's eye opens, 
his gaze unfocused.

The room is a blur of 
patterns and colors, 
but Karen's voice is a 
steady beat in the cacophony.
"Hey, sweetheart," she whispers, 
her hand brushing his 
cheek gently. "You're okay."

Plankton's antennae twitch 
sluggishly, his body 
unwinding from the tight 
coil of sleep. "Home," he 
mumbles, his voice thick 
with sleep.

Karen's eyes are 
on him, a silent vigil 
against the chaos of 
his mind. "You're 
safe," she whispers, her 
voice the calm to his 
storm. "You're home with 
me."

Plankton's gaze 
sharpens slightly, 
his antennae moving in 
tiny, precise 
patterns. "Karen," he 
whispers, his voice 
like a distant echo.

Karen leans in closer, 
her heart racing. "Yes, love?"
she asks, her voice 
soothing.

Plankton's antennae 
wave in the air, as if 
trying to capture the 
right words. "Need...Karen,"
he whispers, his eye 
searching hers.

Karen nods, her smile 
gentle. "I'm here," she says, 
her voice a warm 
embrace. "Always."

Plankton's antennae 
cease their frantic 
movements, then
he notices Sandy.

"Hi, Plankton," Sandy 
whispers, her voice soft.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 12

𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆! 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒃 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈? 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒘𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒔! 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅!! <33

new 89 93 71 91 12 67 92

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 15
(Autistic author)

Hanna's screen 
filled with a mix of 
shock and empathy. 
"I had no idea," she 
says, her voice a 
whisper. "How can I 
help?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, his voice 
laced with sarcasm. 
"Oh, it's simple," he says, 
his tone biting. "Just don't 
make jokes about 
Karen or brain damage!"

Hanna's screen burn 
with embarrassment, her 
eyes wide with shock. 
"I'm so sorry, I didn't 
know," she whispers, her 
hands trembling.

Plankton's eye is still
glaring. "It's not 
to hard to understand," 
he says, his voice a knife. 
"If Hanna just took the 
time to learn."

Hanna nods, her 
screen a mask of regret. 
"What do 
you need?"

Plankton's antennae 
slow, his eye focusing 
on Karen's worried screen. 
He takes a deep breath, 
his words coming out 
slowly, as if each one 
was a step through a 
difficult maze. "Quiet," 
he whispers. "Space."

Hanna nods, her own 
eyes filling with tears. 
"I'll give you space," 
she says, her voice 
quivering with apology.

Karen's eyes never 
leave Plankton's as Hanna
quietly leaves the room. 
The silence is a balm 
to Plankton's overstimulated 
mind, and he sighs 
in relief, his antennae 
stilling. "Thanks, Karen,"
he whispers, his voice 
a soft echo of his earlier 
rage.

"It's okay," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
lullaby. She strokes his 
back, her touch a 
comforting rhythm in 
his chaotic world. "We'll 
get through this."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in response, 
his body slowly 
unwinding from the 
coil of his anger. "But 
Hanna..."

Karen nods, her screen 
filled with empathy. 
"I know, love," she 
whispers. "But she 
just doesn't know 
what it's like."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slowly, his 
understanding of 
Hanna's ignorance 
gradually replacing 
his anger.

"It's okay, Plankton,"
Karen says, her voice 
a soft breeze in the 
storm of his emotions. 
"We'll explain to her.
Everyone deserves a chance 
to learn."

Plankton nods slowly, 
his antennae still, his 
body a tightly coiled 
spring. "Karen is right,"
he murmurs, his voice 
a whisper. "But Plankton 
scared she won't understand."

Karen's hand 
continues to stroke his 
back, her screen filled 
with love. "We'll 
make sure she does," 
she says, her voice a 
promise.

Plankton's body 
begins to relax, his 
antennas slowing their 
frantic dance. He knows 
Karen will protect him, 
explain him.

His eye flutters closed, 
his breathing shallow, as 
Karen's gentle strokes 
calm the tempest in 
his mind. The room 
around them seems to 
hold its breath, the 
silence a stark contrast 
to the storm of moments 
before. Slowly, his antennae 
uncoil, his body 
relaxing into her embrace.

The world around him 
becomes a blur of colors, 
his senses dimming as 
his brain seeks the 
solace of sleep.

Karen watches him 
with a mix of love and 
worry, her hand gently 
stroking his antennae. 
She knows his mind is a 
whirlwind, even in rest.

His breathing slows, 
his body going limp in 
her embrace. The room 
around them seems to 
quiet, the chaos of the 
day fading into the 
background as sleep 
claims him.

Karen knows he's fallen
asleep by the steady rise
and fall of his chest,
his antennae no longer 
twitching. She carefully 
moves him to their bed, 
his body a delicate
weight in her arms.

The room is a sanctuary 
of softness, the light 
filtering through 
the curtains like a gentle
caress. She pulls the blankets 
up to his chin, tucking 
them in just right, her 
movements precise and 
methodical.

His antennae twitch 
slightly in his sleep, 
his body a silent testament 
to the tumult of 
his day. She watches 
his chest rise and fall, 
his breaths even and deep. 
The tension in the 
air dissipates as his 
body relaxes further.

Hanna's waiting out by the
bedroom door, concerned
as Karen opens the door.

"Is he okay?" Hanna whispers.
Her eyes are red, and her 
screen wet with tears.
"I didn't know, Karen. I'm so 
sorry."

Karen nods, her 
own eyes filled with 
moisture. "He's asleep now,"
she says, her voice 
barely audible. "It's the 
best thing for him."

Hanna's gaze follows 
Karen's to the bed, 
where Plankton lies 
still as a statue, his antennae 
at rest against the 
pillow.

"It's okay," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
whisper. "We all make
mistakes."

Hanna nods, her 
screen never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping form. 
"But I hurt him,"
she says, her voice 
haunted.

Karen sighs, her 
hand on Hanna's shoulder. 
"You didn't mean to,"
she says, her voice 
filled with compassion. 
"And now you know."

Hanna nods, her 
screen still on Plankton. 
"But what can I do 
now?" she asks, 
desperation in her 
voice.

Karen looks at her 
friend, her gaze 
thoughtful. "Just be 
patient with him," she 
whispers. "Learn about 
his condition. And 
apologize when he wakes 
up."

Hanna nods, her 
expression solemn. "I 
will," she says.

Karen smiles, a 
thankful light in her 
screen. "Good," she 
whispers. "Now, let's 
let him rest."

They both slip out 
of the room, leaving 
the door ajar to 
allow the soft light 
from the hallway to 
spill into the bedroom. 
Hanna looks down 
at the floor. "I'm 
so sorry, Karen," she 
says, her voice low.

"It's okay, Hanna,"
Karen responds, her 
tone a gentle reprimand. 
"We're all learning 
how to navigate 
this new reality."

Eventually, Plankton comes
out after a little while, now
awake. Karen and Hanna
are both sitting together.

"I'm sorry," Hanna whispers,
her screen downcast.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with uncertainty. 
He doesn't remember
falling asleep, or Hanna 
leaving. He just knows 
his mind was a tornado 
of anger and pain.

Karen's voice is 
a gentle guide, leading 
him back to the 
present. "You had a 
bad shutdown," she says, 
her screen filled with 
love and concern. "It's 
okay to feel upset."

Plankton nods, his 
antennas drooping. 
He looks at Hanna, 
his eye filled with 
uncertainty. "It's not 
easy," he whispers, 
his voice a soft 
admission.

Hanna looks up, her 
eyes meeting his. "I know,"
she says, her voice 
sincere. "But I'm here 
for you both."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly, a 
sign of his internal 
debate. "Hanna hurt 
Plankton," he says, 
his voice a monotone.

Hanna nods, her screen 
filled with regret. 
"I know," she whispers. 
"And I'm sorry. I didn't 
mean to."

Plankton's antennae 
lift slightly, his 
body uncoiling from 
his protective stance. 
He takes a step 
towards her, his 
movement tentative. 
"Hanna can learn,"
he murmurs, his voice 
still tight with 
emotion.

Hanna's eyes 
brighten with hope. 
"I want to learn,"
she says, her voice 
eager. "I want to be 
a good friend to 
both of you."

Karen smiles, 
her screen shining with 
gratitude. "That's 
all we can ask for,"
she says, her voice 
a gentle caress.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 15

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 5


(Neurodivergent author)



Karen returns to the bedroom,
where Plankton is already snoring
softly. She pulls the covers up to
his chin, tucking in gently.
She sits in the chair beside
his bed, never leaving
his peaceful form.

His chest rises and falls in the
steady rhythm of sleep, each breath
a testament to his resilience.
Karen watches him, her mind racing
with thoughts of what the future
holds, the challenges they'll face
together. But for now, she
forces herself to be still.

Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep,
as if he's navigating the vast
underwater world of his dreams.
Karen watches him, full
of a love she didn't know existed.

The soft snores from Plankton's
tiny form are music to her.
In his sleep, the weight of the
world is lifted, his mind free
to explore the vast depths of his
underwater universe without fear.
Her gaze lingers on the soft
lines of his face, the tension
erased by the gentle embrace of
slumber. She smiles, her eyes
filling with tears.

The room is a sanctuary,
a bubble of quiet amidst the
storm of confusion and fear.
The shadows play across the wall,
telling silent stories of adventures
that await when he wakes. Karen
reclines in the chair, her hand
resting gently on his arm.

The nap stretches into an hour,
then two, the house a cocoon
of peace around them. Plankton's
body relaxes into the embrace
of the bed, his mind swimming
through a sea of tranquility.

Karen sits by his side, her hand
still resting on his arm. She
thinks of the Plankton she knew
before, his quirks and routines
now painted with the brushstroke
of understanding. Autism isn't
a label to shrink from, but a part
of him to be embraced, a piece
of the intricate tapestry that
makes him who he is.  

In his sleep, Plankton starts 
to murmur, his words a jumble
of half-thoughts. Karen leans closer,
trying to make sense of the words.

"...I...Karen...love."

Her hand squeezes his arm gently, her 
thumb tracing circles on his skin. "I 
love you too, Plankton," she whispers 
back, her voice a soft lullaby.
Plankton's sleep-talk starts up again.
"...so many stars,"
his voice murmurs, his antennae
twitching with the vividness
of his dream. Karen smiles,
imagining the vast cosmos
that must exist in his mind.
Her hand continues its gentle
caress, her hand stroking his 
antennae in a calming pattern.
"Shh, Plankton, it's just a dream," 
she soothes.

His snoring starts again,
a soft, rhythmic sound that
fills the quiet. She 
smiles, her eyes still on
his peaceful form.

The world outside their
sanctuary seems to fade away,
its worries and noises muted by
the wall of their understanding.
Plankton's autism is a challenge,
but it's also a bridge that's brought
them closer, a shared secret
that only the two of them understand.

As Plankton sleeps, Karen's phone
vibrates with a text from her friend,
Hanna. "Dinner tonite?"

Her thumb hovers over the
keyboard, debating. Plankton's
diagnosis is still fresh, the
memory of his seizure a stark
reminder of the fragility of his
newly understood world. But she
knows the importance of keeping
up appearances, of not letting fear
or pity define them. With a sigh,
she texts back, "We'd love to. Your
place."

The evening stretches before them
like a tightrope, a delicate balance
between Plankton's needs and the
social norms that often feel
like a prison for him. Karen's mind
whirs with strategies to make it work.
A quiet place, familiar faces, a set
schedule. These are the keys
to a successful outing.

Gently, she shakes him awake,
her touch as light as a seashell
on the shore. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his eye fluttering open.
He looks up at her with sleepy
confusion, the world still a blur.
"Dinner with Hanna," she says,
keeping her voice low and soothing.
He nods, his body already tensing
in anticipation of the sensory
bombardment to come.

The car ride is a symphony of
preparation, the engine's hum a
soothing background to their
silent conversation. Karen's eyes
are on the road, but her mind is
on Plankton, his hands fidgeting
in his lap. She knows the world
outside is a minefield of sounds
and sensations, so she keeps
the radio off and the windows
up, creating a bubble of quiet
around them.

Plankton's breathing is shallow,
his antennae twitching with
each passing car. Karen reaches
over to squeeze his hand,
a silent reminder that she's
there. He looks at her, his eye
filled with a mix of fear
and gratitude. She smiles,
the warmth of her gaze a lifeline
in the chaos. "We're almost
there," she says, her voice a gentle
wave lapping at the shore.

They arrive at Hanna's house,
a beacon of light in the
deep blue sea of the night.
The door opens, revealing a
whirlwind of laughter and chatter,
the smell of garlic bread and
seafood stew wafting out. Karen
takes a deep breath, steeling
herself for the evening ahead. 

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his eye wide at the unfiltered stimulation.
Hanna, oblivious to their new
dynamic, waves them in with a
cheerful smile. "You're just in time!"
she exclaims, her voice a trumpet
in the quietude of Plankton's mind.

Karen's hand tightens around
his, a silent reassurance as
the door closes, the sound
a thunderclap in his ears.
The house is a cacophony of
sounds and smells, a whirlpool
of sensory information threatening
to pull him under. He gulps,
his breathing shallow, his body
braced for the inevitable.

Hanna, their friend, is a whirlwind
of energy, her eyes sparkling
like the ocean's surface. She doesn't
notice the tension in Plankton's
body, the way he flinches at her
excited exclamations. She doesn't
see the way his antennae twitch,
his mind racing to keep up.

But Karen does. She's his
lifeline in this tumultuous sea
of social interactions. She nods,
smiling, as Hanna leads them
to the dinner table, her hand
squeezing Plankton's in silent
support. The room is a kaleidoscope
of colors, the clatter of silverware
and laughter a symphony of
overwhelming sound. Karen's eyes
dance over the room, noting
each potential trigger.

"Hey, ladies; meet Karen and Plankton!"
Hanna's enthusiastic introduction
was like a tidal wave crashing over
the quiet bubble they'd been in. Plankton
flinched, his antennae retreating like
snails into their shells. Karen offered a
forced smile, her eyes darting around
the room, searching for an anchor.
The dinner table was set with a
rainbow of plates and bowls, the smell
of garlic bread and seafood stew
overwhelming. Hanna's home was
a sensory minefield, but Karen was
determined to navigate it with grace.
Plankton's hand was cold in hers,
a silent plea for rescue.
As they sit, Karen scans the
table, noticing the flickering
candles, the glint of silverware,
and the clinking of glasses. Each
detail a potential trigger. She
whispers into Plankton's ear,
"Remember, if you need to, just tell me."
He nods, his antennae tucking
closer to his head. 

new copepod autism plaren 5

SWEET CWEAM pt. 5

Sponge Bob's 
eyes widen even 
more, his 
spongy body leaning 
forward in 
anticipation. "A secret?"

Plankton nods, 
his speech still 
slurred. "Yeth, I thweal." 
He looks around 
the room, his 
expression a mix 
of mischief and 
excitement. "But it's 
juss tween ush," he 
whispers, his voice 
a conspiratorial 
mumble.

Sponge Bob 
nods solemnly, 
his eyes wide with 
interest. "Of course it is, 
Plankton," he says, 
his voice filled with 
the gravity of a 
secret keeper. “What’s the
secret?”

Plankton leans in, 
his speech still 
slurred but his 
eye gleaming with 
mischief. "It'th that I 
luv... to thee youw," he 
says, his voice 
hitching with each 
word. Sponge Bob's 
expression shifts from 
concern to surprise, 
his eyes watering with 
laughter.

"You love to...see me?"
he repeats, trying to 
make sense of the 
garbled confession.

“Of couth I do, 
Squishy Bob!” 
Plankton exclaims 
with a wobbly smile, 
his tongue struggling 
against the unyielding 
numbness. “Youw the 
bestest fwiend evar!”

Karen watches the 
exchange with 
a soft fondness, 
seeing Plankton’s usual 
guard down and his 
true heart shining 
through. She's 
never seen him like this 
before, so open and 
vulnerable.

"Thath right, I do," 
Plankton repeats, 
his voice a warm 
rumble in his chest. 
Sponge Bob's smile 
can't help but grow. 
"That's so nice of 
you to say, Plankton," 
he manages to get 
out between his 
giggles. Karen 
can't remember the 
last time she saw 
Plankton this way, 
his usual stoicism 
stripped away by the 
remnants of the 
anesthesia. It's like 
seeing him as a 
completely new person, 
one filled with pure, 
unfiltered affection.

"Ith wove you," 
Plankton says, his 
voice thick. "Youw'we my 
bessst fwiend."

Sponge Bob's 
laughter subsides 
into a warm smile. 
"Plankton, I love 
you too," he says, 
his voice genuine. 
Karen's heart swells 
with love for both 
of them, watching 
them share a moment 
so raw and pure.

Plankton's head 
nods, his drool 
forming a small puddle 
on the table. Karen 
quickly grabs a napkin 
and dabs his chin. "Thath 
so sweet, Squishy," he 
slurs, his eye half-
closed with sleep.

The room 
spins around him, a 
soft, warm embrace that 
makes his eyelid flutter. 
He tries to keep it 
open, but it 
like heavy curtains 
pulling him back into 
slumber. "Ith time for 
nath nap?" he asks, his 
voice a sleepy whisper.

Karen laughs, 
her hand gentle as she 
wipes the drool from 
his chin. "Almost," 
she says, her voice 
like a warm blanket. 
"First, let's get 
you to the couch."

With Sponge 
Bob's help, they 
ease Plankton into 
his favorite spot, 
his body sinking into 
the plush cushions with 
a sigh of relief. The 
numbness in his mouth 
is slowly receding, 
leaving a tender 
throb in its wake. He 
wraps himself in the 
comfort of his blanket, 
his mind swirling with 
the leftover fog of 
the anesthesia.

Whence SpongeBob leaves, Karen 
saves the footage from the
security cameras.

Plankton next wakes up in
the morning, sore and also
without any anesthesia left
in his system. Of course, he
barely recalls going to the
dentist. He doesn’t know what’s 
happened after leaving the surgery.

His mouth feels like a
desolate wasteland, 
each movement a sharp 
reminder of the procedure. 
He gingerly prods his 
swollen cheeks with 
his tongue, feeling the 
gaping holes where his 
wisdom teeth used to be.

Karen is by his side.
“Karen? Whath 
happenth?” Plankton
says, feeling the aching. 
“Where…”

Her smile is a
comforting beacon.
“You had wisdom 
teeth surgery, Plankton.
You’re okay, you’re home
now. Just rest, you’ve had
a long day.”

“I remember going in
to surgery. That’s all.”

Karen brings 
over a glass of water. "Here, 
babe," she says, her 
voice a gentle wake-up 
call.

Plankton takes it, 
his hand trembling 
slightly. He sips 
carefully, the cool 
liquid sliding down 
his throat with a 
soothing grace. He 
swallows with 
difficulty, the pain 
in his throat a 
reminder of his 
dental odyssey. "What...what 
time ish it?" 

Karen looks at 
the clock, her 
expression a mix 
of amusement and 
concern. "It's 
morning, Plankton," she 
says, her voice a soft 
chime. "You've been 
sleeping for a while."

new sweet cweam plaren 5

𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗
①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨
１２３４５６７８９
𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡
➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒
¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹
₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉
1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶
1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲
1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳
【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】
『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』

new numbers aesthetic number 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 one two three four five six seven eight nine

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠖⣀⠉⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⢿⣛⡟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣛⠛⠛⣟⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡉⣁⣘⣀⣀⡛⠀⠉⠀⠀⠉⠉⠳⢽⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠡⠤⠤⢄⡀⠉⠉⡿⣷⣆⠀⠀⡇⠈⣿⡇⢈⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣶⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣷⡎⢿⣄⣴⣧⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢩⣯⣝⢿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣴⣿⣥⣼⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠁⢤⡈⣿⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⡷⠿⠻⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⣼⡏⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣄⣶⣷⢻⡀⠀⠸⡆⢹⡇⠀⠈⠙⠛⠋⠃⣨⡿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢨⣿⡿⠋⢀⣼⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⠃⢸⣇⠀⠀⠻⣾⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣁⣤⣴⣞⡽⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⢷⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠓⠛⢛⢛⣭⠄⠀⠀⠀⡀⢹⣿⣿⣧⣤⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡶⣽⣿⡾⠂⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠳⣤⣤⣤⣤⣽⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣯⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⢿⣷⠀⠀⠿⠂⠀⠀⢸⣿⣠⣴⣿⣿⣦⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣟⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠰⢲⠄⣦⣤⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣷⡀⣼⠀⢸⢡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⡏⢷⣼⡄⠈⢸⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⠻⣿⡀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠃⠈⠁
⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⢠⣍⣉⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠋⠉⣉⡉⠉⠉⠉⣉⡩⠯⠉⠁⣄⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣁⣠⣄⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣤⣴⣶⣄⡉⢿⠶⠁⣠⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠
⣬⣿⣏⣹⣿⣭⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⢹⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣯⠉⠉⠀⣠⣴⣷⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⢀⣉⢀⡀⠛
⣁⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠙⣿⣿⣷⣤⣾⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢀⡀⠈⠛⠛
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠁⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢙⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣜⣿⣦⡀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣄⣸⣿⣿⡿⠀⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣯⡔⣽⣟⠿⣿⣿⣛⢷⡄
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new i t y u o p a s d f g h j k l z x c v b n m 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 meth letter english language roman alphabet latin alphabet vowel w not my turkish alphabet him me you myself e phoenician alphabet alphabet one

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5
(Autistic author)

The next morning, Karen wakes
up to find Plankton out of bed.

He's standing in the middle 
of the room, his eye 
focused on the spinning 
fans of the air conditioner.

Karen's screens light up with 
concern as she assesses 
his state. "Plankton," she 
beeps gently. "How did you 
sleep?"

Plankton's eye doesn't move 
from the hypnotic spin of the 
fans.

"Fan spin," he says, his voice 
a monotone.

Karen's screens blink, 
trying to understand his 
single-word reply. "The fans 
are spinning?" she asks, 
hoping to engage him.

Plankton nods slowly, 
his gaze unwavering. "Spin, 
spin, spin," he murmurs.

Karen's screens 
flicker. "Karen," 
Plankton says. "Fan spin."

"The spinning is soothing 
to you?" she asks.

Plankton nods, his voice 
a faint echo. "Spin, spin, 
spin. Good spin."

Karen's screens 
process the information, 
formulating a new approach.
"Let's go downstairs," she 
suggests, her voice a gentle 
beep. "We'll start with a 
simple routine. Breakfast."

Plankton nods, his gaze 
still fixed on the fans. 
With a final nod to the spinning 
blades, he follows her out 
of the bedroom. The journey 
downstairs is a minefield of 
sounds and sights, but he takes 
it step by step, his hand 
gripping the railing tightly.

The kitchen is a blur of 
colors and noises, but 
Karen's calm voice guides him 
through it all. "First," she 
beeps, "let's start with something 
easy. How about a glass of 
water?"

Plankton nods, his 
movements still mechanical. 
He watches as she fills a 
glass, the water's surface 
dancing in the light. It's 
mesmerizing, and for a 
moment, the world stops 
spinning. He takes the glass, 
his trembling hand bringing it 
to his lips, the cool liquid 
sliding down his throat. "Water,"
he murmurs. "Good, water."

The simple task seems 
to ground him a bit, and 
Karen takes note of the 
small victory. "Now, let's 
try some toast," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
beep. She slides a piece 
of bread into the toaster, 
the sound of the lever 
clicking into place 
another beat in the rhythm 
of their morning.

Plankton nods, his 
attention drawn to the 
toaster's glowing coils. 
He watches, his eye
widening as the bread 
turns golden brown. The 
smell fills the room, a 
comforting scent that 
penetrates the fog in his 
head. "Toast," he says, his 
voice a bit stronger.

But as the toaster pops, 
the sudden noise jolts him 
like an electric shock.

"Too loud," he whispers, 
his eye darting around 
the room in panic.

Karen's screens 
flicker with empathy. 
"I'm sorry," she says, her 
voice a soothing hum. She 
quickly retrieves the toast, 
placing it gently on a plate.

"Let's sit down," she 
suggests, guiding him to 
the table. "Take it slow."

They sit, and Plankton 
fidgets in his chair, his 
eye darting around the room. 
"Take your time," Karen 
reminds him, her voice a 
steady beep.

He nods, focusing on the 
toast. Each bite is a 
tiny triumph, his senses 
adjusting to the new world. 
The crunch of the bread, 
the warmth on his tongue, 
the smell of the butter 
spreading. It's overwhelming,
but he's making progress.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 5

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢻⣷⠷⠈⢸⠲⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⢹⢻⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⢀⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠁⠀⣀⣻⣧⣴⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⣾⠙⣻⣗⣶⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡾⢟⣉⠁⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢁⡤⠚⠒⠉⢛⠞⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣡⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢧⡟⡼⢋⡇⠀⠉⠉⠒⢦⣀⢴⣿⣊⡶⠟⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⢞⡩⠋⣼⠛⢿⣿⣿⡏⢿⣾⣟⡻⣿⣷⣄⣠⣴⣾⡿⣼⢳⠇⢸⠀⠀⠀⣰⡄⣀⡉⠳⣹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⠚⢀⣾⢿⠀⠈⣿⡄⢧⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⣯⡟⠀⣼⠀⠀⢸⣿⢃⡞⠀⣰⡟⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠘⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⡘⠁⣰⠟⠁⣼⠀⠀⠘⣿⡘⣆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣿⡿⢀⡼⣹⠀⠀⢸⣿⠸⠀⣸⡟⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣸⡿⠁⣸⡅⣿⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣷⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠰⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠰⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⣇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣋⣤⠾⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠶⣿⣧⢟⡆⢠⠄⢠⡾⢁⣿⣇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⣄⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠸⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠉⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⢻⣦⡾⢠⠏⣰⠏⢠⡞⣽⣟⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢀⠈⢧⡀⢳⠀⠀⠈⠇⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡇⢋⡾⠏⡴⠋⠈⠘⣿⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠈⠣⣄⠙⢦⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣸⢁⡞⠁⠀⣀⣠⣿⠇
⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠿⣄⠦⣌⣓⣦⣽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢤⡠⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⡄⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣾⠘⣡⠾⣛⡭⢿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⣾⢸⠀⠨⠭⠲⠦⢬⣉⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠉⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢀⣠⣮⠁⢹⣿⡟⣸⣷⡾⠋⠠⢿⡇
⠀⣤⠀⣹⢸⠀⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠟⣯⠁⢀⣼⣿⠷⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⢸⡇
⠀⠙⢠⠏⢀⡇⠄⠈⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⣩⣶⡿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿
⠀⠀⣞⡔⠉⣀⡀⠘⠋⠉⠉⠙⢢⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⡶⢚⣽⣾⢟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋
⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢨⠗⣫⣶⠿⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀
⠀⣿⣿⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠔⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣠⣿⣆⢢⡀⠐⠿⣋⣥⣾⡟⠚⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀
⠀⡏⠘⠿⠷⠖⠒⠶⠤⣤⣤⣔⣀⡖⠿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⡶⡾⣃⠨⠎⢿⠆⣀⣴⡶⠊⢹⡇⠀

new 10 5 darshan dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⠔⠒⢌⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⣦⣄⠀⠑⠈⠢⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠲⣦⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠛⠷⣶⣄⡠⡜⢢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠷⣶⣦⣤⣀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣶⣠⡌⢿⣿⣾⣶⣽⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠝⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣦⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡄⢼⣿⣮⡛⢿⣟⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣭⣻⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣶⣶⣆⣀⣹⣿⣷⣆⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⣀⣹⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⠤⣼⡷⣤⠖⠾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣙⣿⣿⣿⣏⣉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀
⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⣤⡟⣽⣯⣔⠠⠀⠈⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡙⣿⣿⣿⠿⣷⣄⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⠄⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣑⠂⠀⠈⣙⢻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⠿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣷⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠛⢿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⣿⣿⢻⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠻⡟⠛⠛⠛⠉⣠⣋⡤⠴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠘⣿⣿⣿⣇⠛⣿⡟⣻⣷⣟⣛⣿⣾⣏⡰⡽⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠃
⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⢰⡿⠀⠁⠁⠈⠙⠻⣦⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢻⣿⣿⣿⣆⠘⢿⣿⠏⣙⣿⡋⠻⠯⢠⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀
⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠚⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠃⠉⠉⠉⠙⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠼⠿⠿⠻⠟⠇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣟⠑⠓⠖⠓⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣉⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⣉⣀⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠁⠈⢀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new 5 10 7 pradeep dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⠾⢋⠷⢃⠠⠒⠈⠀⢀⣀⢂⢠⣲⢦⡪⠝⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢪⡃⠜⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⡀⠖⠁⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠦⡻⠂⠀⠀⠀⢼⡆⠀⠀⠁⡔⡀⡸⠀⢠⠃⠀⢸⣐⣷⣏⠉⠁⠉⢻⡄⠀⠀⡱⠑⢆⣨⠟⠊⠉⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⠕⢁⠔⠁⠐⣁⣤⠴⠚⠉⢀⣠⠖⡫⠃⠁⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⡠⠀⢠⠞⡵⠃⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⢀⠔⠈⠀⠀⠀⠔⡰⢃⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠼⡫⣠⠎⠀⠀⢀⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢁⠃⢀⠇⠀⠀⣼⠋⣟⡆⠇⢀⠀⠸⢎⢵⠀⠱⠱⡈⢧⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡡⠁⢠⣁⣀⡴⡚⠅⠐⠈⢀⡴⠋⠐⠁⢀⡠⡤⠄⣰⠃⠀⠀⣰⠁⠀⣠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⠤⠶⠚⠋⠉⢀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣮⠞⣐⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⣀⣠⠔⠁⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⢦⠂⢠⠊⠀⠀⠚⠙⢰⢸⣷⢰⠈⢆⠀⠙⣮⢣⠀⠐⡔⡒⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠟⣠⠖⠋⢁⠚⠃⣀⠔⠚⡷⠉⣉⡤⡲⢭⠞⢉⠃⣰⠏⠀⠀⡴⣉⡀⡚⠁⠑⠒⠀⡛⠛⢉⢁⠄⠀⣠⠗⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⠤⢠⢾⠋⢡⠞⠁⠀⡠⠒⠀⢀⣎⣠⢞⢵⠟⠁⠀⢀⠔⠠⠃⠀⡔⡐⠀⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠈⠀⣿⠈⡀⡇⠣⡀⠈⢧⠡⡀⠈⢊⢜⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⢤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢶⠃⠀⢀⠃⢠⡞⠁⢀⡼⡷⢋⣥⣮⠴⠁⡠⣵⢻⡟⠀⢀⡼⢋⢊⠌⠀⡠⠊⢀⠊⢀⣀⣆⠃⠀⣰⠃⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⠔⠕⡡⠞⣠⠝⠁⠀⣠⠊⢀⣤⠖⣡⠞⣕⡡⠁⠀⣠⡞⡡⣶⡵⠀⣸⢣⠇⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢠⠁⡆⠀⡷⠀⡇⣏⡄⢻⠄⠀⠱⡷⣄⠀⠡⡹⡇⠀⢀⡀⠄⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠀⠀⡎⢠⠋⠀⣠⡮⠔⠈⣩⠞⠁⢀⢊⡾⢡⡄⠁⢠⡾⠡⠡⢂⠠⠊⢀⠔⣀⡴⢋⡏⠎⠀⣸⠃⣰⠟⠁⠀⡐⠁⡡⡊⠔⠈⡁⢐⣔⡟⢡⠞⡑⣡⠎⣡⠞⠝⠀⢀⣮⢟⠊⡸⠹⠁⢰⠃⣼⠀⣿⠂⢰⠀⢰⠃⠀⡌⢰⡗⢰⡧⠀⢫⡷⠇⠀⣎⢆⠀⡇⠏⢳⡤⠜⠓⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⣿⣖⡾⠋⠀⡠⠊⠁⢠⣖⣵⡭⡂⠁⠘⠄⢳⠁⡶⠓⣡⣰⣖⡥⠞⠁⣀⢼⢱⠀⣰⢃⡼⠃⠀⢠⡪⣪⠞⠋⡀⢔⣠⠦⠛⠉⣠⡳⢊⡴⢣⠞⢁⠊⠀⣠⡿⠛⢁⠎⢠⡳⢡⠏⢸⠟⢠⢟⠀⢸⠀⢸⠁⠀⢁⡿⠁⢠⠇⠀⠘⡇⠘⠀⡆⣾⠠⠓⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠝⠛⠀⡠⢊⣠⠾⠗⡾⠁⢳⠀⣽⡄⠀⢘⠾⣊⠴⢋⡵⢫⣷⣃⢀⠔⠁⣿⠆⠀⠀⡞⢁⠀⠴⠛⠘⣀⣔⡬⢖⠋⠁⢀⠔⣶⡟⠡⢈⡕⠛⠠⠂⠀⣰⠋⠀⡰⠁⢀⣧⢡⡎⢀⠟⠀⣸⢹⠀⢸⠀⡸⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⡌⠀⣀⡸⠙⣄⠶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⣰⣪⠖⠋⠀⢀⠜⢀⢌⠜⡆⣿⠼⣺⢗⣟⣡⡎⢡⠃⣤⠹⠘⠢⡤⢄⣛⡐⠠⠼⠍⠐⠀⣀⡤⡞⠉⠁⣤⠋⢀⠔⠁⣼⠏⠐⢠⠎⠐⠰⠃⠀⡼⠁⠀⡜⠀⡰⣻⢃⡞⠀⣸⠃⢀⡟⢰⠀⢸⠀⣷⠀⣸⠁⠀⡘⠀⣼⡿⠁⢠⢏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢎⣸⠃⠀⠀⡠⢃⣴⠟⣡⣴⣿⣷⠛⠛⡈⡇⢠⠗⢸⣾⠸⡇⠀⠀⠈⠑⡾⣫⢒⣴⣶⢟⠵⢡⠌⠀⠀⠔⠃⡠⠁⠀⣾⢋⠌⡰⠁⠀⠠⢁⡄⠐⠀⠀⢞⡒⡰⢠⡏⡾⢠⢧⡏⠀⢺⠯⢥⠀⢸⠀⡽⢠⠃⠀⡰⠇⣸⠗⠃⢠⢳⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠷⡄⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⣢⢔⣡⠖⢫⠽⠑⡟⠉⢸⢯⢏⠉⣵⡇⣸⠀⢘⢨⠃⡁⠓⠒⢢⢞⢜⣥⣫⣿⡧⠃⠀⡌⠀⠀⠈⠀⠊⠀⠀⣼⠃⠊⡐⠀⠀⢠⠣⡞⢠⡆⠀⡎⠀⠀⠁⣼⡝⢠⠟⡸⠀⠀⢸⢐⣸⠂⢸⠀⡇⢂⠄⡠⣧⣷⠏⠀⢠⡇⡈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡆⠀⢰⡆⠀⢠⣾⣷⠀⢀⣾⠀⠀⣾⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠿⠚⠋⠁⠌⠁⡠⠊⡐⣡⢟⡌⡈⢒⡏⢰⢸⢰⢸⢺⡄⠀⢀⡴⣷⢿⠏⢈⣿⠟⠷⢆⡤⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣏⠌⡔⠀⠀⠀⣆⠾⢁⡞⡇⡜⠀⠀⠀⣀⣯⡴⣥⢷⠓⠒⠋⠉⠡⢸⠀⢸⠀⠇⠎⣠⠱⢸⠇⠀⢠⠃⢠⢁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣷⢀⡿⢁⣴⠟⣹⣿⠀⣾⣷⣶⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⣀⣪⠞⡑⢁⢧⠙⠀⢇⢸⣿⢺⡞⡚⡯⢴⡙⠉⢀⡐⠂⡘⡞⠀⠅⠠⠉⠁⠚⠣⠝⣔⠶⣀⠀⠁⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⣄⡜⠀⡷⢓⣢⠿⠍⠛⠋⠠⡡⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⡇⢨⠀⣶⡜⢸⠀⡟⠀⠀⢆⣠⠃⡈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠉⣿⣿⢃⣾⠿⠟⢻⣟⣸⡟⠁⢠⡿⠁⢀⣴⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠞⠧⠜⠋⢁⠂⠌⡰⢃⣾⣦⠀⢸⡀⣿⣄⢁⠇⠀⠀⢯⣝⣖⣿⣯⣿⣒⡭⠥⣐⡒⠤⢀⠀⠀⠈⠉⡛⢆⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠋⢀⣀⠻⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⣒⣀⣭⣝⣛⣫⣿⣿⣧⠘⠀⣳⠀⣼⢠⠃⠀⠀⠸⣹⢀⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠘⠃⠘⠃⠀⠀⠙⠋⠛⠀⠀⠙⠃⢠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⣼⡞⠁⣾⡡⠘⡆⢸⡇⢸⡘⡈⢶⠀⠀⠀⢼⣣⠀⠀⢸⡄⠈⢽⡇⠛⠷⣦⣽⠀⠀⠀⠘⡟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⡴⣾⠛⠩⠧⠄⣸⠃⠀⠀⣼⠆⢰⣇⡼⢰⣿⠄⠀⠀⠠⢿⠸⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡀⣤⡄⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⡴⠋⠀⢰⣿⠁⢀⣿⣸⠁⢶⠧⠀⠘⢇⠀⠀⠘⢞⡄⠀⠀⠙⠧⣀⡂⠤⠂⠈⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠼⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠘⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠈⠢⢄⡤⠴⠋⠀⠀⡰⠸⡄⢳⣷⢇⡂⣯⠀⠀⢠⠃⠎⢀⠟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢻⡟⠉⣿⠋⠀⣿⠟⠉⠉⣽⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⣼⢣⣿⡄⢸⡇⠀⠀⠈⠂⠀⠀⠀⠜⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠯⡶⡶⢀⡶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⢀⣄⡀⢰⡟⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠣⠀⡌⡟⡆⢸⠇⠈⠁⡤⢸⡀⢠⠎⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⣀⣤⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⢣⠜⠁⡾⠼⡆⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠚⠋⠀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⣞⣤⡀⠁⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⢸⡁⠈⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⢡⢿⠁⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣶⡾⠿⠟⠂⠀⠀⠿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠊⠁⠀⡸⡷⢣⠺⣆⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠇⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢠⢿⢹⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡵⠓⠁⠀⠈⠛⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⣇⣠⣟⡟⡜⡀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡆⢠⣷⡆⠀⣼⠇⣰⡇⢰⣷⠀⢀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠋⣿⢰⠇⢸⣱⡀⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢠⡾⣿⣇⣼⠏⢠⡿⢀⣿⢿⣧⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠂
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⡏⠁⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡟⠁⢿⣿⠋⢀⣾⠁⣾⠃⠈⣿⡟⠀⣤⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⢰⣟⠇⠀⠈⠀⠀⡼⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠃⠀⠉⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⡾⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠋⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⢦⡀⠀⢀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡽⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠐⠢⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣴⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡎⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠓⢾⠗⣀⠤⠤⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣯⣳⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠦⠄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠠⠴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡜⠁⠀⡰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢋⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢌⡆⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡙⢿⣿⣛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⣛⣩⢿⡋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⣴⠿⣿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠗⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠳⣵⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠦⣤⣤⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⢩⡭⠖⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⣲⠯⢸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢌⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⡿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⡺⢁⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣧⠀⢈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣝⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠁⠀⢸⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠑⢌⢲⣀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣅⡫⠳⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡽⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⢳⣍⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡟⠆⠈⠹⠶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣴⠿⣛⢝⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠈⢯⡫⡳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠙⠋⠛⠙⢫⣍⡳⢎⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠈⡟⣬⡑⠄⠀⠀⠀⠱⡷⣂⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⣪⡍⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠏⠁⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠸⡦⡋⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢎⠙⠕⣓⠂⠤⢀⢠⠄⠀⠀⠜⠳⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⢋⡥⠴⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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new number four 4 dot art text art ascii art

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 4
(Autistic author)

Karen takes a deep breath, trying 
to keep her emotions in check. 
They need to find a way to connect, 
to bridge the gap that's grown 
between them. "Plankton," she says, 
"can you tell me about your day?"

He looks at her, his eye blinking 
slowly. "Day," he repeats, his voice 
lacking the usual inflection. "Plankton 
worked on invention."

Karen nods, trying to encourage 
him. "What kind of invention?"

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. 
"Invention for Plankton," he says. 
"To make Karen Plankton happy."

Karen's eyes fill with tears. Despite the 
lack of emotion in his words, she 
can feel the sincerity behind them. 
He's trying to connect, to share 
his world with her. "Looks like we
both finished our dinner," she says, 
trying to keep the conversation 
going. "What's next on your agenda?"

Plankton looks at her, his 
expression unchanged. "Agenda," 
he says, as if trying to remember 
the concept. "Plankton's next 
task. No get Krabby Patty formula.
Rather spend time with Karen."

Karen clenches at 
his words. Despite the 
flatness of his tone, she can feel 
his intention to please her, to 
make their anniversary special.

"Let's clean up," she suggests, 
rising from her chair. Plankton 
follows suit, moving in a way 
that seems almost robotic. They 
work in silence, Karen placing 
the dishes in the sink and Plankton 
methodically wiping down the table.

As she washes the plates, 
Karen watches him out of the 
corner of her screen. His movements 
are precise and efficient, with no 
wasted effort. It's as if he's 
calculating every action, trying 
to understand the purpose behind 
each task.

"Plankton," she says softly, 
turning off the faucet. "Could you 
please dry these for me?" She 
hands him a towel and a plate.

He takes them without a word, 
his gaze flicking from the 
towel to the plate, as if 
studying the physics of the 
interaction. He carefully 
wipes the plate, his movements 
measured and deliberate.

Karen watches him with a mix of pride 
and pain. Despite his new 
condition, he's still trying to 
be the partner she knows. She 
forces a smile, trying to ignore 
the ache in her chest. "Thank you," 
she says, taking the dried plate 
from him and placing it in the 
cupboard. "You're doing great."

He nods, his antennae twitching 
slightly. "Great," he echoes. "Karen 
happy."

As they go to the living
room, Plankton's gaze is 
drawn to the digital clock 
on the wall. His eye fixates 
on the changing seconds, 
each tick a silent metronome 
in their otherwise quiet 
space. Karen notices and 
wonders if she should be 
concerned about his newfound 
interest in something so 
mundane.

"Clock," he says, his voice 
still monotone. "Time changes.
Incremental."

Karen follows his gaze to 
the digital clock on the wall, 
the red numbers flipping from 
one second to the next with a 
quick, silent efficiency. "Does the 
clock bother you?" she asks, 
noticing his fixation.

Plankton shakes his head, his 
eye still glued to the display. 
"No," he says, his voice 
thoughtful. "Time. Changes. 
Fascinating."

Karen watches him, 
seeing a spark of curiosity 
she hadn't noticed before. 
"You've never liked clocks 
before," she points out, trying 
to keep the conversation 
going. "What's so interesting 
about it now?"

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly as he tries to 
explain. "Clock," he says, 
his voice still flat. "Time.
Changing. Predictable." His 
single eye remains locked 
on the red digits, the 
fascination growing. "Seconds
restart each minute."

Karen nods, watching 
his expression closely. 
"It's like a pattern," 
she suggests. "A routine that 
doesn't change."

Plankton nods, his 
eye still glued to the 
clock. "Pattern," he repeats. 
"Comforting."

Karen nods, feeling a 
glimmer of hope. "Maybe 
you find comfort in the 
predictability?" she offers.

Plankton's antennae bob 
slightly, as if considering 
this new perspective. "Comfort,"
he murmurs. "Consistent.
Understood."

Karen sits down beside 
him, her screen drawn to the 
clock as well. "Tell me more 
about the pattern," she says, 
trying to find a way into his 
new reality. "What do you 
see when you look at it?"

Plankton's antennae twitch 
slightly as he considers 
his answer. "Pattern," he 
repeats. "Time, changing. 
Predictable." His voice is 
softer now, almost lost in 
thought. "One, two, three, four, 
five. Always same."

Karen nods, her screen 
still on the clock. "It's like 
counting," she says. "Do you 
like counting?"

Plankton's antennae twitch 
once again. "Counting," he 
repeats, his tone thoughtful.

Suddenly, Sponge Bob comes
in.

"Plankton," he says, his eyes 
wide with excitement. "What are you 
guys up to?"

Karen looks over, a forced 
smile on her screen. "Just talking 
about time," she says, hoping 
SpongeBob's entrance will 
provide some much-needed 
distraction from the heaviness of 
their conversation.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 4

5 star
.☘︎ ݁˖₅⁵₅

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new 1 2 dot art text art ascii art

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 4


(Neurodivergent author)



Mr. Krabs's expression shifts from
shock to one of bewilderment. "Plankton,
I don't understand," he says, his voice
barely a whisper. Plankton shakes
his head, his antennae trembling.
"You never did," he snaps back.

The accusations come out in a
torrent, each one cutting deeper
than the last. "You used me,
manipulated me, all for your
stupid secret formula!" His voice
shakes with anger, his eye
filling with unshed tears. Karen's
grip tightens on his arm, but she
doesn't speak, knowing he needs
this moment of release.

Mr. Krabs's face falls, the weight
of Plankton's words a blow
he wasn't expecting. "I-I-I've
always treated ya like a
friend!" he stammers, his claws
grabbing Plankton's shoulders.
And that's what did it.

Plankton's body tenses, and
his eye rolls back in his head.
A chilling silence descends
as his legs give out, and he
crashes to the floor. His body
convulses, limbs flailing uncontrollably.
Karen knew it'd happen, but
seeing it happen to Plankton
is a horror she wasn't emotionally
prepared for, but she knew to stay
calm. She knew the protocol.

Mr. Krabs, still in shock from
Plankton's accusations, watches
the scene unfold with horror.
"What's happening?" he stammers,
his claws hovering uselessly.
Karen's voice is a beacon
of calm amidst the chaos.
"It's a seizure," she explains,
kneeling beside her husband.
"I need you to stay calm."
Her voice is steady, her eyes
never leaving Plankton's
contorting form.

Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes
widening with fear. He's
read about this, seen it
once in a medical textbook,
but never thought it would
happen to someone so close.
He watches as Karen carefully
moves any objects out of
harm's way, cushioning
Plankton's head with a pillow.
The room seems to spin around
them, each second stretching
into eternity.

The seizure lasts only a
few moments, but to Karen,
it feels like hours. When it's
over, Plankton's body goes
still, his breathing shallow.
Her hand shakes as she
checks his pulse, feeling the
thunder of her own heart
in her chest. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her voice
trembling. "You're okay."

Mr. Krabs is unsure.

"It's okay," she murmurs, her
hand stroking his antennae. "It's
over now." Plankton's breathing
deepens, his body slowly
relaxing with a twitch. She looks at Mr.
Krabs, her expression a mix
of relief and exhaustion.
"He'll be okay," she assures,
her voice a lifeline in the
storm of silence.

Mr. Krabs nods, still in
shock. "What...what do we do?"
he asks, his voice barely above
a whisper. Karen sighs,
knowing the road ahead won't
be easy, but she's determined
to navigate it with Plankton.

They manage to get Plankton to
his feet, his body weak and
his mind still groggy from the
seizure. His eye darts around
the room, trying to make sense
of his surroundings. Karen's voice
is soft, a gentle guide leading
him back to reality. "Let's go to
the couch," she says, her arm
supporting his weight.

Mr. Krabs watches, his claws
fidgeting nervously. "Should I...
call someone?" he asks, his voice
full of uncertainty. Karen shakes
her head. "We have to keep it
calm," she whispers. "The aftermath
can be just as overwhelming."

They sit on the couch, Plankton's
body leaning heavily into hers.
Her arm is around him, her hand
stroking his antennae in a rhythm
designed to soothe. He looks up
at her, his eye still a little wild.
"What happened?" he asks, his
voice barely above a whisper.

"You had a seizure," Karen
explains gently, her voice a
balm to his frayed nerves.
"It's part of your autism,
sweetie. It's okay." She can see
the fear in his gaze, the
unspoken questions. She pulls
a blanket over his shoulders,
his body shaking from the
residual adrenaline.

Plankton nods, his antennae
twitching as he tries to process
the information. He looks
down at his trembling hands,
wondering how they could have
betrayed him so suddenly. Karen
hands him a glass of water, her
fingers brushing against his
in a silent promise of support. 

He takes a sip, the cool liquid
sliding down his throat,
helping to clear the fog in his mind.

"I'm...sorry," Plankton mumbles, his
voice barely a whisper. He looks
up at Mr. Krabs, who's still
standing awkwardly by the door.
"I didn't mean to...to accuse
you..." His antennae droop with
regret.

Mr. Krabs's expression softens,
his eyes filling with understanding.
"It's okay, Plankton," he says,
his voice gentle. "We all have
our moments." He takes a tentative
step forward. "What can I do?"

Karen glances at him,
gratitude warring with the
protectiveness she feels
for Plankton. "Just give us
some space," she says, her tone
firm but not unkind. "We need
to get him through this."

Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his
face a mix of sadness and
concern. "I understand,"
he says, his voice thick. He
backs out of the room,
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's huddled form.
The door clicks shut, and
the room feels smaller, safer.

Karen's arm tightens around
his shoulders, her warmth a
shield against the cold
world outside. Plankton leans
into her, his body still
shaking slightly. He starts
to calm down, the tremors
fading like ripples in a pond.

"I'm...I'm okay," he whispers,
his antennae stilling. Karen
nods, her eyes searching his
face for any sign of distress.

"Do you want to take a nap?"
she suggests softly. Plankton nods,
his eye drooping with exhaustion.
They move to the bedroom, the
light dimming as they go.

Karen helps him into bed,
his limbs feeling like jelly.
The blankets are a cocoon,
his retreat from the world.
Her hand brushes his antennae,
a silent assurance as she leaves him
to the embrace of slumber.
He closes his eye, letting the
comfort of the darkness envelop him.

His body relaxes into the
softness of the mattress,
his muscles melting away
the tension of the day.
The bed's embrace is like
a gentle whisper, telling
his overstimulated mind to
rest, to let go. He sighs,
his antennae dropping
to the pillow like tired
leaves in the fall.

Meanwhile, Karen goes
to Mr. Krabs, who's waiting
outside the chum bucket.

"I'm sorry for Plankton's outburst,"
she says, her eyes apologetic.
Mr. Krabs waves a dismissive
claw. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says.
"He's been through a lot today."

Karen nods, her expression
serious. "It's more than that,"
she says, her voice low. "He's
autistic." Mr. Krabs's eyes widen,
his understanding dawning, a
newfound respect in his gaze.
"I had no idea," he murmurs.
"How can I help?"

"Just be patient," Karen replies.
"And maybe...maybe we can talk
later, after he's had some rest."
Mr. Krabs nods, his expression
thoughtful. "Of course," he says,
his voice subdued. "Whatever he needs."

new copepod autism plabsen 4

❹,4

new 4 four angel

SWEET CWEAM pt. 4

"Can I hav thome 
wathermelon?" he 
asked, his voice a 
slurry mess.

Karen chuckled 
and shook her head. 
"Not yet, Plankton. You 
have to stick to soft 
foods today. How about 
some ice cream?"

His eye lit up, 
his smile growing 
wider, exposing the 
whiteness of his teeth. 
"Ith cweam?" he 
repeated, the words 
spilling out like a 
child's first attempt at 
a sentence.

Karen nodded, 
her own smile a 
mirror of his. "Yes, 
soft serve ice cream. 
It's perfect for 
your mouth right now."

Plankton clapped 
his hands together 
in glee.

"Ith weal," he 
declared, his tongue 
still thick and clumsy. 
"My faworite!"

Karen 
fetched the promised 
treat from the 
freezer, the coolness 
of the ice cream 
contrasting sharply 
with the warmth of 
the room. She 
scooped a generous 
amount into a bowl, 
handing it to him with 
a spoon. Plankton's 
eye lit up, and he took 
the spoon with the 
excitement of a toddler 
getting their first taste 
of ice cream.

With a clumsy 
attempt at grace, he 
lifted the spoon to 
his mouth, the 
numbness in his 
face making it 
difficult to aim. A 
dribble of ice cream 
escaped and landed on 
the table, but he 
barely noticed, his 
attention focused on 
the cold sweetness 
that washed over his 
tongue. "Mmh," he 
mumbled, his voice 
a mix of pleasure and 
pain as the frozen 
treat hit his 
sensitive gums.

"Careful," Karen 
cautioned, her voice 
like a lullaby. "You don't 
want to hurt yourself."

Plankton nodded, 
his movements 
exaggerated, like a 
character in a silent 
movie. The spoon wobbled 
in his hand as he 
scooped up another 
mouthful of the cold 
cream, his tongue 
still struggling to 
navigate the uncharted 
waters of his own mouth. 
He managed to get 
the spoonful into his 
mouth with minimal 
spillage, his cheeks 
hollowing out as he 
savored the taste.

"Wow, thith ith tho 
good," he mumbled, 
his words coming out 
like a muffled shout. Karen 
couldn't help but laugh 
as she watched him. 
His enthusiasm was 
infectious, even if his 
coordination was not.

He took another 
bite, the cold 
sensation making his 
eye water. "It'th tho 
cold!" he exclaimed, 
his voice high-pitched 
and filled with excitement. 
The numbness in his 
cheeks was wearing off 
now, leaving a tingling 
sensation that made 
his words come out 
slurred and exaggerated.

"It's supposed to be 
cold, Plankton," Karen 
said, her voice a 
symphony of patience. 
"It's ice cream."

He nodded, 
his cheeks red with 
effort and cold. Each 
spoonful was a 
small victory, a dance 
between the spoon and 
his uncooperative mouth.

Karen’s glad she turned their
security cameras on record. Of
course, she didn’t tell Plankton. 
Not yet. Then suddenly, Sponge
Bob comes in the door, surprising
both of them.

"Squishy!" Plankton exclaims, 
his voice a strange mix of 
joy and pain. Sponge Bob's 
eyes widen. "You okay, 
Plankton?" he asks, looking 
at Karen for an explanation.

Karen nods, 
still chuckling. "Wisdom 
teeth surgery," she says, 
her voice a gentle whisper. 
"The anesthesia is making 
his mouth all numb."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
go wide with concern. 
"Ouchies?" he asks, his 
own mouth forming a 
sympathetic grimace.

Plankton nods 
vigorously, the 
motion sending a 
shiver down his 
spine. "Yeth, ouchiesth," 
he mumbles around 
the mouthful of ice 
cream, his speech still 
slurred like a toddler's. 
Karen watches the 
interaction with 
a soft smile, her 
heart swelling with 
affection for her 
babbling husband.

Sponge Bob 
crosses the room with 
his usual boundless 
energy, plopping down 
next to Plankton.

"So, how was your 
big trip to the 
dental place?" he 
asks, his eyes full of 
concern and curiosity.

Plankton looks at 
his friend with 
the gravity of a 
philosopher. "It’th... 
advehnturous," he says, 
his mouth still 
numb, making each 
word a challenge.

Sponge Bob leans in, 
his spongy body 
wobbling slightly. "What
kind of adventure?" 
he asks, his eyes 
shining with curiosity.

Plankton's voice 
takes on a storytelling 
tone, his words 
slurred but earnest. 
"I frew," he says, his 
eye wide and filled 
with wonder. "I frew wike 
a birdie!"

Sponge Bob's grin 
splits his face. "You flew?" 
he repeats, his 
voice a mix of 
disbelief and amusement. 
Karen's smile widens, 
listening to the 
nonsense her husband 
was spinning.

Plankton nods, 
his eye glazed over. 
"Yeah," he murmurs, 
his tongue sluggish. 
"It wath magithal."

Karen and Sponge 
Bob exchange 
glances, trying not 
to laugh. Plankton's 
childlike awe in the 
face of his own 
numbness was 
both heartwarming and 
hilarious.

"Buh wait," 
Plankton says, his 
spoon paused mid-air. 
"Thath not aww," his 
voice dropping to a 
conspiratorial whisper. 
"I theen... I theen I 
wath a dolphin!"

Sponge Bob's eyes 
go wide with 
fascination. "A dolphin?"
he repeats, his voice 
filled with awe. "How 
did you do that?"

Plankton's smile 
grows even wider, his 
cheeks pushing against 
the swollen skin. "It'th a 
mithtewwy," he says, 
his speech still slurred. 
"They goth me all 
sleeby and thewe I wath 
flipping and twirling in 
the wathah!"

Sponge Bob's eyes 
are as wide as saucers, 
his imagination running 
wild with the tale. "Wow, 
Plankton, that sounds 
amazing!"

Plankton nods, his 
face a picture of seriousness. 
"It wath," he slurs, 
his voice filled with 
convinction. "Buth then... 
then I woke up." His 
expression remains affectionate
for he’s too out of it to play
it cool in front of Sponge Bob. He’s 
always wanted him as a good friend
but his pride usually stops him; but
now, with no filter, Plankton’s not
gonna hold back.

Sponge Bob 
looks at Karen with 
a mix of confusion 
and delight. "Was it 
scary?" he asks, his 
voice gentle.

Karen nods, 
a warm chuckle 
bubbling up. "A 
little," she says, her 
hands folded in her 
lap. "But he's a 
tough guy."

Plankton's eye swims with 
emotions, his 
face flushing with 
a mix of pride and 
embarrassment. "Yeath," 
he says, his tongue 
still a traitor. "Buh now
youw know my 
thecret."

new sweet cweam plaren 4

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 4



Karen stands, gently helping
Plankton to his feet. He sways
slightly, his legs still wobbly
from the anesthesia. "Careful,"
she says, wrapping an arm around
his waist. He leans into her, his
eye still glazed as he chuckles.

"M-mph... funny," he slurs, a
weak smile on his face.

"You're going to be fine," Karen
reassures him, her voice a beacon
of comfort in the fog of his mind.

They shuffle slowly down the hallway,
his legs unsteady as if he's walking
on a tightrope over a shark tank.
The floor seems to tilt and sway,
each step a dizzying challenge.
Karen holds him close, her arm
around his waist, guiding him
like a ship navigating stormy waters.

Plankton's eye start to droop,
his lid growing heavier by the
second. "W-where... whewe... we go?"
he slurs, his speech barely coherent.
Karen's response is lost to the
symphony of his snores as he
unexpectedly dozes off mid-sentence
as she catches him. He 
jolts awake, only to find himself
still standing, held upright by Karen's
steady grip. "H-how?" he stammers,
his eye wide with confusion.

They've reached the reception area,
and Becky, the ever-cheery receptionist,
giggles at the sight. "You can sit him
down now," she suggests. "Just keep an
eye on him until he's fully awake."

Karen guides him to the chair,
his legs folding under him like a ragdoll.
He's out again, his snores echoing in
the quiet lobby. She can't help but
smile at his obliviousness, his trust
in her unwavering. The chair creaks
beneath his weight as his head lolls
to the side, his antennae drooping.

Becky, the receptionist, laughs kindly.
"It's like he's on a little anesthesia-induced
vacation," she says, her voice a gentle
wake. Karen nods, stroking his antennae.
"I just want to get him home," she says.
"He's not one for being out of his
element."

The nurse, Nina, appears with a wheelchair.
"Let's get you home, Mr. Plankton," she
says, her voice a gentle nudge into reality.
He blinks, his eye trying to focus
on the world around him. Karen helps
him into the chair.

"W-wheel...?" He starts to protest,
his slurred words trailing off as he
realizes the futility of his protest.
Karen smiles, pushing the chair.
"It's okay, you're still groggy.
This is just to make sure you don't trip."

"W-why?" he murmurs, his words
slurred and sleepy. "M'walkin'... woke... m'not..."
Karen chuckles, her voice a soft breeze.
"You're a bit out of it, Plankton," she says,
"We're going home."

Plankton's head lolls back, his snores
now a comforting soundtrack to their
exit. Karen can't help but laugh
softly, her heart full of love.
He's always been so independent,
so strong. But in this moment,
he's as vulnerable as a newborn.

The cool morning air hits them
as they step outside. Plankton
blinks, his antennae twitching as
he tries to stay conscious.
"M-morning," he mumbles, squinting
against the sun's early glow. Karen
chuckles, pushing the wheelchair
to their car.

"W-what?" he asks again,
his speech still slurred. "You're okay,
sweetheart," she says, opening
the passenger door. "Let's get
you into the car."
But Plankton's body seems to have
other plans,
his eye slip shut and he's
out like a light. Karen tries
to wake him, her voice
a gentle nudge into consciousness.
"Come on, Plankton, stay with me."

He snores in response,
his antennae flopping to one side.
Karen sighs, trying not to laugh
at his comical state. Carefully,
she maneuvers him into the car seat,
his head lolling back. "Alright,
just a little more," she coaxes.

With a grunt, Plankton's eye
flickers open as Karen helps
buckle him in. "W-why..." He
mumbles, his words trailing off as
his eyelid droops again. Karen
can't help but chuckle. "You're
still sleepy, that's all," she says,
kissing his forehead.

The drive home is slow and careful,
Karen keeping a watchful eye
on Plankton in the rearview mirror.
He's still out cold, his snores
punctuating the silence like a
lullaby for the road. The car's gentle
sway seems to rock him deeper
into sleep.

They pull into their driveway,
the gravel crunching under the tires.

Karen parks the car and turns around
to look at Plankton. His snores are
deep, his antennae twitching slightly
with each exhale. She smiles,
knowing he's in a deep, peaceful sleep.

"Come on, Plankton," she says,
her voice gentle. "We're home."

He groans, his eye opening
just enough to peer out. "Hone?"
he mumbles, his voice barely
above a whisper. Karen nods,
her smile warm. "You can go
back to sleep once we're inside." 

new a toothy story sleepicore 4

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 4
(Autistic author)

In the dim light of
the evening, the Krusty Krab 
was quiet, the usual 
bustle replaced by a 
calm that felt eerie. Sponge Bob 
was sweeping the floor, his 
thoughts on Plankton. He looked 
up as Karen approached, 
his smile fading at the 
sight of her concerned 
expression.

"Karen," he began, his 
spongey voice tinged with 
anxiety, "I need to tell you 
what happened to Plankton."

Karen's screens 
brighten with anticipation. 
"Please do," she beeps, her 
wheels stopping in front of him.

Sponge Bob's eyes dart 
to the floor, his sponge 
body drooping slightly. "Mr. Krabs 
was just trying to protect this 
formula, and Plankton...he just 
knocked Plankton in the head.
Plankton woke up and then without
a word ran back to the Chum Bucket."

Karen's screens flicker with 
the gravity of the situation. 
"How did Mr. Krabs hit him?"

Sponge Bob's grip on the 
mop tightens. "With a 
frying pan," he confesses, 
his eyes wide with guilt.

Karen's screens flicker with 
understanding. "That would 
explain his current state,"
she murmurs, her voice a 
steady beep. "Sponge Bob, 
do you know how badly he's 
been hurt?"

Sponge Bob shakes his 
head, the guilt washing 
over him in waves. "No, 
not really," he says, his voice 
quavering.

Karen's screens 
flicker with a mix of 
sympathy and urgency. "I 
see," she says. "Thanks."

With newfound purpose, 
she spins around and heads 
back to the Chum Bucket.

Back in the control room, 
Plankton is still rocking 
back and forth, his hand 
over his head as if trying 
to hold his thoughts in place.

The door to the Chum 
Bucket opens, and Karen 
rolls in, her screens 
reflecting the urgency of 
the situation. "Plankton," 
she says, her voice a soft 
hum, "I talked to Sponge Bob. 
He saw what happened."

Plankton's rocking stops, 
his eye swiveling to meet 
hers. "Sponge Bob?"

"Yes," Karen says, her 
screens pulsing with 
the weight of her words. "He saw 
Mr. Krabs hit you with the 
frying pan."

Plankton's body goes 
still, his tremors ceasing 
instantly. "Sponge Bob saw," 
he whispers, his voice 
devoid of emotion. "Tell Karen."

"Yes," Karen beeps, 
nodding her mechanical 
head. "He told me. I'm 
going to help you."

Without warning, a 
scanning beam shoots out 
of Karen's console, 
enveloping Plankton as 
his brain is scanned.

The results are 
quickly analyzed, and 
the screens flash with 
a series of diagrams and 
data that even Karen's 
advanced systems take a 
moment to digest. "The scan 
reveals...unusual patterns," 
she says, her voice a 
measured beep.

Plankton's eye 
widen with fear, his 
body tensing as he waits 
for her verdict. "What does 
that mean?" he asks, his 
voice a high-pitched squeak.

Karen's screens 
change to display a 3D 
image of his brain, the 
structure illuminated with 
neon colors. "You've 
sustained neurodivergence," 
she explains, her voice 
a calm beep. "The impact 
has altered your neural 
connections, resulting in 
irreversible autism."

Plankton's body goes 
rigid, his breathing 
shallow. The word "autism" 
hangs in the air like a 
heavy anchor, dragging 
his spirits down to the 
murky depths of the ocean 
floor.

"Irreversible?" he 
whispers, his voice 
fragile as sea glass. Karen 
nods gravely.

"The good news is, 
we can adapt. We can 
learn to navigate 
this new world of 
sensations together," she 
beeps. "It's getting late.
Let's go to bed."

Plankton nods, his 
body feeling like it's made
of lead. The idea of 
sleep seems like a 
welcome escape from the 
overwhelming day, but as
he tries to get up, the room
spins again. "Karen," 
he says, his voice 
weak. "Can't."

With a gentle nudge, 
Karen helps him to his 
feet, her wheels moving 
silently beside him as they 
make their way to the 
tiny elevator. The ride 
up feels like an eternity, 
his senses heightened to 
every creak and groan of the 
metal box. When the doors 
open, the lights of the 
hallway are a glaring assault 
on his eye. He squints, 
his hand reaching out to 
the wall for support.

In their bedroom, 
Karen helps him into 
his bed.

The softness of the 
covers is a stark contrast 
to the harshness of 
his new reality. "Take 
your time," she says, her 
voice a gentle hum.

Plankton nods, 
his breathing shallow. 
He closes his eye, and 
the room seems to fade 
away, replaced by a 
whirlpool of swirling 
thoughts and sensations.

Karen's screens 
flicker with a plan. "Rest,"
she beeps, her voice a soft
comfort. "We'll face tomorrow 
together." She dims the lights.

new karen reaching autism acquired autism author is neurodivergent 4

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 6
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

The sounds Plankton makes
shift again. "Skrink, skrink."
Karen's eyes light up with
understanding. "It's his brain's
new way of saying 'I'm okay',"
she whispers. "It's a 
'stim'." Chip looks at his dad,
his curiosity piqued.

Plankton's antennae wriggle,
his eye glazed over. "Skrink,
skrink, skrink." The sounds are
soothing, almost hypnotic.
"It's like he's playing a tune,"
Chip murmurs. Karen nods.
"In a way, he is," she says. "It's
his brain's symphony."

The room is bathed in the
glow of Plankton's stims, his
autism's unique melody.
"Dad?" Chip asks tentatively,
his voice a whisper. Plankton's
head tilts slightly, his antennae
still. "Skrink skrink skrink," he
repeats. It's like he's in a
trance, lost in a world only he
understands. Plankton's eye flickers.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers.
"You can keep making your
sounds."

And then it happens. Plankton's
voice shifts, echoing Karen's words.
"It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs.

Chip looks at his mom, his eyes wide.
"Is he... is he okay?" Karen nods.
"It's his way of processing," she says.
"It's called 'echolalia'." Chip nods,
his gaze never leaving his father's.
"It's when his brain mimics the words
he hears to make sense of them," she explains.
"It's like when you repeat something
until it feels right."

Plankton's antennae twitch in time with
his echoes. "It's okay, Plankton," he says,
his voice a mirror of Karen's soothing tone.
Chip smiles. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he repeats, trying to enforce his dad's calm.

But Plankton thinks 
Chip's making fun of
him. His antennae shoot 
straight up, his eye wide 
with hurt anger at Chip.

"It's not a game, Chip!"
Plankton snaps. "It's not 
something to tck tck... to
mock!" Karen sighs,
knowing this conversation
needs to be handled with
care. "Sorry, Dad," Chip says, his
voice shaking. "I just... I
thought it would he-"
"It's not for you to think
about!" Plankton cuts him off.

Karen puts a hand on
Chip's shoulder, her gaze
on Plankton. "Chip didn't mean
anything by it," she says calmly.
"He just wants to understand
and connect." She turns
to Chip, her screen filled with
compassion. "I know it's hard to
see Dad like this," she says.
"But remember, his autism is
part of him, and we need to
respect it. He doesn't like it
when you mimic his sounds
like that."

Chip nods, feeling a
wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad,"
he whispers. Plankton's antennae
droop slightly, but he doesn't
look at Chip. "It's okay," Karen
says, her voice soothing. "We're
all learning here."

Plankton's hand starts to
move again, tracing patterns
on the blanket. Karen watches.
"It's his 'stimming', Chip,"
she says. "It's his way of
self-soothing, and these movements
and sounds help him to cope."

Chip nods, his eyes still
wet. "But why did he get
so mad when I do it?" he
asks. Karen sighs. "Because
it's his own personal language,
his way of understanding the
world," she explains. "When you
address it, he feels like you're
invading his space, like you're
not taking his feelings seriously.
It's something his brain does for
himself only." Karen smiles
gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she
whispers. "Chip's just trying to
understand everything. You
can keep making your sounds."

Chip wants to help, but he doesn't
know how. "Just let him be,
Chip," Karen says, her voice
soothing. Plankton shifts again,
his eye teary. "It's okay,
Plankton," he murmurs, echoing
Karen's words from earlier.
Chip clenches. He didn't
mean to upset him, seeing his
dad's eye welling up with tears.

Karen's hand finds Plankton's,
squeezing it gently. "It's okay,
Plankton," she says. "You don't
have to hide it from us."

Plankton's tears spill 
over, tracing a silent 
river down his cheek.
Karen's eyes never leave
his. "You don't have to hide,
Plankton," she whispers. "We're
here for you." Chip watches. He
doesn't know what to do,
his mind racing. "Mom," he says,
his voice shaking, "What can
I do?" Karen turns to him, her
expression gentle. "Just be here,"
she says. "Just listen and
learn."

Plankton's tears stream down.
"It's okay, Plankton," he hears
his wife say again. The
words echo in his mind, a
comforting mantra. "It's okay,
Plankton," Plankton murmurs, trying
to mimic her tone. But it
sounds forced, wrong. He
swallows hard. "That's right, 
Plankton," Karen says,
smiling. "You're okay. You're
safe, Plankton," she repeats.
"You're here with us."

Chip watches his dad, his heart
breaking. "Mom, why is he...?"
Karen's eyes are filled with
pain. "It's his way of
telling us he's okay," she says.
"He's using my words because
right now, his brain can't find
his own." Chip nods, his eyes
on his father. Plankton's
hand is still moving, tracing
the patterns on the blanket.
"It's okay, Dad," Chip whispers.

Plankton's crying intensifies,
his tics becoming more
pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he
murmurs, his antennae flailing.
Karen reaches for him, but
he flinches away. "It's okay,
Plankton," she says, her voice
calm. "We're here."

Chip watches, his own
screen wet with tears. He's never
seen his dad like this before.
He feels like an outsider in a
conversation he's always been a
part of. "You don't have to hide
your tears," Karen whispers to
Plankton. "We're a family."

Plankton's sobs become
louder, his tics more pronounced.
"Tck tck tck," he says, his
body convulsing slightly.
Karen's hand is firm but gentle
on his back, offering silent
support. "It's okay," she murmurs.
"Let it out."

Chip watches. "Why is he...?"
his voice trails off. Karen looks
at him, her screen full of love.
"It's his way of saying
he's overwhelmed, Chip," she
whispers. "When he repeats
my words, it's his brain trying
to find the comfort it needs."

Plankton's cries become
louder, his tics more erratic.
"Tck tck tck," he sobs, his
body shaking. Chip feels
helpless, his mind racing.
He wants to make it stop,
but he doesn't know how.
"Just be here, buddy," Karen
says, her voice calm. "Sometimes,
that's all he needs."

Plankton's tics morph into
full-body shudders, his cries
now muffled by the blanket.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen
whispers, her hand still rubbing
his back. "We're with you."
Chip watches as his father's
sobs echo in the room, each
one a heartbreaking testament
to the weight he carries. "You're
not alone," he whispers, his voice
tiny in the face of Plankton's
distress.

The words tumble from
Plankton's mouth, a mix of
Karen's soothing tones and
his own raw pain. "It's o-okay,
P-Plankton," he repeats, his voice
broken. "It's o-okay." Karen's eyes
well up too, but she remains
steadfast. She's seen this before.

"Tck tck tck," Plankton says,
his body convulsing with
each sob. "You don't have t-to
tck tck hide it-t." Karen nods, her
thumb brushing away a tear. "It's okay,"
she whispers. "We love you just
as you are." Plankton's sobs
turn into hiccups, his antennae
twitching. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice mimicking hers.
Karen's hand moves in gentle
circles on Plankton's back, her
eyes never leaving his.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen says.
"You're safe here." Plankton's sobs 
subside slightly. Karen nods. "That's
right," she whispers. "Your sounds,
your tics, they're part of you."

Chip watches. He's never seen his dad
so vulnerable. "But... but why?"
he asks. Karen takes a deep
breath. "His autism, Chip," she
says. "It's like his brain has
its own language, and when
he's overwhelmed, it comes out."
Plankton's tics become less
erratic, his breathing even.
"It's okay, Dad," Chip says,
his voice trembling. "You're not
alone." Karen smiles sadly.
"He knows that, Chip," she says.
"But sometimes, his brain just
needs to speak its own words."

Plankton's eye meets 
his wife's, the panic
receding slightly as Chip 
watches. 

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II stimcore 6

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣯⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⠤⢤⣄⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⠤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡇⠀⠀⠘⢦⡀⢹⡈⢻⡆⠀⠀⢸⠏⠀⠀
⠀⣶⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠠⠴⠋⠁⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡌⢡⠟⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⡌⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⠀⠀⠘⢃⠀⠀⠀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢙⣿⡏⠁⠀⠁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⡗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀

new t w 12 dot art text art ascii art

♥️

new 4 heart

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠶⠶⣖⡛⠛⠿⠿⠯⠭⠍⠉⣉⠛⠚⠛⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⢠⡾⠡⠄⠀⠀⠾⠿⠿⣷⣦⣤⠀⠀⣾⣋⡤⠿⠿⠿⠿⠆⠠⢀⣀⡒⠼⢷⣄⠀
⣿⠊⠊⠶⠶⢦⣄⡄⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠙⠳⠦⠶⠞⢋⣍⠉⢳⡄⠈⣧
⢹⣆⡂⢀⣿⠀⠀⡀⢴⣟⠁⠀⢀⣠⣘⢳⡖⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠋⣽⠷⢠⠇⠀⣼
⠀⢻⡀⢸⣿⣷⢦⣄⣀⣈⣳⣆⣀⣀⣤⣭⣴⠚⠛⠉⣹⣧⡴⣾⠋⠀⠀⣘⡼⠃
⠀⢸⡇⢸⣷⣿⣤⣏⣉⣙⣏⣉⣹⣁⣀⣠⣼⣶⡾⠟⢻⣇⡼⠁⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀
⠀⢸⡇⠸⣿⡿⣿⢿⡿⢿⣿⠿⠿⣿⠛⠉⠉⢧⠀⣠⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⠇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢸⠀⠀⠹⢯⣽⣆⣷⣀⣻⣀⣀⣿⣄⣤⣴⠾⢛⡉⢄⡢⢔⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠢⣀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⣉⣀⠠⣐⠦⠑⣊⡥⠞⠋⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢸⡀⠀⠁⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠈⠁⣀⡤⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠙⠶⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡤⠴
⠀

new 4 four troll picture dot art text art ascii art

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 15


After a moment, 
Hanna reaches 
over, placing 
a handful of 
puzzle pieces 
within his 
reach. "Here, let's 
make it fair," she says, 
smiling at him. He
nods.

But as Plankton
picks up a piece
she jumps in, 
snatching a
piece from his 
hand before 
he can. "I ca--"

He cuts her off.
"Oh, boo hoo! You 
know what? Why don't 
you just do the whole 
thing yourself?" He grabs his
puzzle pieces and 
throws them at her, 
his eye flashing as he
gets his crutches and
leaves the room.
The door slams 
shut.

"I'm sorry," Hanna 
whimpers, her 
eyes filling with 
tears again.
Karen sighs, 
picking up the 
scattered puzzle 
pieces. "Give him 
some space," she says, 
placing a hand on 
Hanna's shoulder. "He's 
just overwhelmed."
Hanna nods, 
wiping at her 
eyes. "I know," she 
says, her voice 
small. "But I just 
wanted to help."

In the bedroom, 
Karen enters, 
the door opening 
slowly. "You okay?" 
she asks him, her voice 
soft.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with anger. 
"I'm fine," he says, 
his voice clipped. 
He's sitting on 
the edge of the 
bed, his cast 
reflecting the 
dim light. Karen 
sits down beside him, 
her hand resting 
on his back. "You know, 
Hanna means well," 
she says.

Plankton turns to 
face her, his 
eye blazing. "I don't 
care if she does!" 
he cries. "I just 
want her to leave me 
alone!" His antennae 
wave in frustration,
visibly upset.

Karen sighs. "You 
know she's only 
trying to help," she 
says gently. "But 
I understand you're 
feeling overwhelmed.
It's hard to accept 
help, especially when 
you're used to 
being so independent."

Plankton looks 
away, his antennae 
still trembling. "I 
don't need her-"
Karen cuts him 
off. "Would you
like me to get
your meds?"
Plankton nods 
stiffly. "Yeah," he
mutters. Karen
stands, her eyes 
filled with 
understanding. "I'll 
be right back."

The door clicks 
closed behind 
her, leaving 
Plankton alone with 
his thoughts. He 
rubbed his cast.
Meanwhile, Hanna 
notices Karen 
opening the 
cabinet with 
the medical 
supplies.

Her curiosity 
piqued, she can't 
help but peek 
over, watching 
as Karen carefully 
selects a bottle. "What's 
that?" she asks 
softly. Karen looks 
up, a small 
smile playing on 
her lips. "It's for 
Plankton's pain," 
she says, holding 
up the bottle.
"It's a prescription 
painkiller," Karen 
explains. "It can 
help him manage 
his leg pain, but 
it makes him a bit 
drowsy."

Hanna nods, 
taking in the 
information. "Can 
I do anything?" 
she asks, her 
voice hopeful. Karen 
thinks for a moment.
"You can get water
for him."
Hanna nods as 
she fills a glass.

In the bedroom, 
Karen returns with 
the medication and 
Hanna with the water.
They find Plankton 
still sitting on the 
edge of the bed.
"Here you go," 
Karen says, 
handing him 
the pills as Hanna
watches with a
tentative smile, handing
Karen the water.

Plankton takes the 
medication, his 
expression tight. 
He downs it with 
the water, his 
throat working. "Thanks," 
he says gruffly to
Karen.

Hanna notices his
wheelchair that's
been parked
next to the bed before
looking at Plankton
again, trying to smile
at him. "You don't
have to stare," he says,
his voice low and
dangerous. "I-I-I-I…" Hanna
protests, her eyes 
quickly darting around, but
unable to avert her gaze.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in annoyance. 
"What do you 
want?" he snaps. 
"I just-I just 
thought you might 
need some company," 
Hanna stammers, 
her hands fidgeting 
nervously. "I don't need 
anything," he says, 
his voice cold. "Especially 
not from you." Hanna's 
smile falters, and 
she takes a step 
back. "I-I just want to 
be here for you," 
she says, her voice 
shaking. Plankton 
scowls.

He can feel his 
temper rising, his 
tiny fists clenching. 
"What part of 
'leave me alone' 
don't you understand?" 
he spits. "I don't 
need your pity."
Hanna's eyes 
widen, and she 
swallows hard. "It's 
not pity," she says 
quickly. "I just...I 
care about you.
And I underst--"

But Plankton isn't 
listening. "You don't 
understand anything," 
he says, his voice 
getting louder. "You're 
just a know-it-all!"
Plankton turns 
away, his antennae 
quivering. "I don't 
want you here," he says 
firmly. "Just go."
Hanna falters. "But
please, Plankto-"

He swings back 
around, his 
eye blazing. "I don't 
want your friendship," 
he says harshly. "Not 
now, not ever. Do 
you hear me? We're 
not friends, and 
we never will be." Hanna's 
face falls, and she 
takes a step back. 
Tears spill down her 
cheeks. "I'm sorry," she 
whispers. "I didn't 
mean to—"

"Just go!" 
Plankton yells, 
his antennae 
waving erratically. 
"Get OU-"

But Karen 
interrupts him 
sharply, standing 
between them. 
"That's enough," 
she says firmly. 
Her voice is 
calm, but the 
authority is clear.

Hanna's eyes 
are wide with 
shock and pain, 
and Plankton 
looks at her 
before turning 
his gaze to 
Karen, his eye
now welling up
with tears.

Karen sighs, 
picking up 
his hand. "I
think we all 
just need some
time," she says, 
squeezing it gently.
Plankton nods, 
his antennae 
still quivering. "Why 
can't she just 
understand?" he 
whimpers. Karen 
sits beside him, 
her expression 
softening. "She's 
trying," she says. 
"We all are."
Hanna, standing 
in the doorway, 
wipes her 
tears away. Karen
turns to her.
"Hanna, can you 
please give us 
a moment?" she 
asks. Hanna 
nods, her eyes 
red but her 
face composed.
She backs away, 
closing the 
door quietly.
Karen turns to 
Plankton, her 
face filled with 
compassion. "You're 
going through a 
lot right now," she 
says gently. "And 
it's okay." He sniffles, 
his antennae drooping.

The medication 
starts to kick in, 
his eyelid 
drooping slightly. 
"But I don't feel 
brave," he says. 
"You are," she 
insists. "Now, try 
and get some 
rest. It's getting late."
With a nod, 
Plankton lies 
back, his cast 
sticking out awkwardly. 
Karen adjusts the 
pillows around 
his leg, her 
hands gentle.

Outside the 
bedroom, she 
finds Hanna 
sitting on the 
couch, her face 
a mask of hurt.
"Hanna," Karen 
begins gently, 
sitting beside 
her. "I know 
you're trying 
to help, but 
Plankton's just 
not ready to 
accept it yet."
Hanna nods, 
sniffing. "But I 
just want to 
make things 
better," she 
whispers. Karen 
smiles, squeezing 
her hand. "And 
you will," she 
says firmly. "But 
right now, he needs 
his space. It's not 
about you," she 
reassures Hanna. "It's 
about his fear of 
being vulnerable." 
Hanna nods. 
"I get it," she 
says, though 
her voice is 
still shaky. "But 
what can I do without 
smothering him?" Karen 
thinks for a 
moment. "Why don't 
we all get a good
night sleep?"

new kneesurgery hannacore 15

     5
     
      ★
     
      ★
     
      ★
     
      ★
     
      ★
     
      𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥
     
      𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥
     
      𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

new star 5

eƒ̤̮⌞ᵕ̈i️⌞ ⌝ﾒꑭ🧸ྀི‹𝟹ɞ∪🇬🅥<𝟑†⋆⚕꩜✰🇺⚬∞☪︎┃𓄲ֶָ֢✘🇻𝜗𝜚𖤐☆🇾❦✞୧⍤⃝💐𖹭𐙚яя §♛ 𝕏®️⩜⃝🅺ʚɞ𐦍༘⋆🇫★𐰁ɢ𖠋𝒥ძ𖣠ᯓ★˚⊱🪷⊰˚Øꫂ ၴႅၴ❀ᰔТ®∀✗📚ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁©✉✈︎₊ ⊹🅿ⵜ⩜ 愛˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ᯓ ᡣ𐭩🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤ɛ|ɞ ↩↪ ↻⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚≽^•⩊•^≼ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂ᥫ᭡.𝔖𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔫ㅤ♡ྀི ₊°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝓈𝒶𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆▄︻デ══━一💥˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆𐐘💥╾━╤デ╦︻ඞා𝕚 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 🤍▄︻デ𝒜ℛℐℱ━一💥─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧𓆩♡𓆪🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤♭ℹʟ𝑬🇪𝑒୧𝔼ℹ📧📝💬❤️🔥✉✉️📜✨👉✅🌐📌📢📣📅❌👀🤖✔️☀️🇸ᯓᡣ𐭩📚📩📞⭐📋⚠️🧾🔗➡️✔️ 👤💭🤝💡😊📱📲💥💻🇪ᡣ𐭩🇳🇦🇴🇭♡🇬☆𐙚★®💌✉︎📨🌟🎯💯🌎🌸⬇️🔞📍👋🛠️🚀😉🚩📈🔑💰🏆🤔📄✔⚡🏛️𝓜🇷ᥫ᭡🇩🇹.ᐟ౨ৎ🇲⩇⩇:⩇⩇🇰⌞ ⌝┃𝜗𝜚𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆١٥٧٤♡「 ✦ 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 ✦ 」𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.🅰️🅱️🅾️🅱️🅰️🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𐐘💥╾━╤デ╦︻ඞා'||DBMS_PIPE.RECEIVE_MESSAGE(CHR(98)||CHR(98)||CHR(98),15)||'

1₁¹➀１↿˦⥠1️❶1️⃣

new one ones number 1 natural number single

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 2


They maneuver him into the 
wheelchair, and he winces
as his leg meets the firm cushion.
The nurse nods sympathetically.
"It'll take some getting used to,
but you'll manage." She gets his
stuffed bear and blanket, placing
them carefully in his lap.
Plankton leans his head
back, his eye drifting closed 
again as they get crutches.

Karen follows the nurse
as they navigate the 
hospital corridors. She's relieved 
to finally reach the car, 
helping him in with gentle 
care. His head lolls to the 
side as she buckles him in,
his snores a testament to the
powerful medication.

The drive home feels
endless. Every bump in the 
road jolts her nerves, but 
Plankton remains oblivious,
his chest rising and falling 
evenly. She glances over,
his hand resting on the 
stuffed bear, fingers lax.

The house is a silent
fortress when they arrive. 
Karen managed to get him in. 
He mumbles something 
incoherent as she helps 
lift him onto the couch. 
His eyelid flickers
open, and he looks around 
confused before it closes 
again. She also leaves the 
wheelchair near. 
Pillows are arranged
just so, the TV remote 
within easy reach, and 
his favorite blanket drapes 
his legs like a warm
embrace. He mumbles a
thank you, his eye still 
half-closed with sleep.

Karen makes him comfortable,
his head nestled against
the pillows. She kisses
his forehead. "Rest,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "I'll be right here."
Plankton's snores become
more pronounced as 
Karen sits by his side.

Just then, Karen's friend
Sandy unexpectedly comes
inside. "What happened?" she 
gasps. Karen smiles 
weakly. "He's sleepy."

Sandy's eyes widen 
as she takes in the cast 
and the wheelchair. "What...?
Why..." Sandy exclaims.
"It's okay," Karen says.
"Plankton had an accident.
He'll be fine, yet it's going
to be a long road to recovery."

Sandy nods, a look of
concern etching her features.
"How can I help?"

Karen's eyes fill with
gratitude. "Could you...
could you stay with him
while I make food?"
Sandy nods firmly. 
"Of course."

Plankton's snores 
grow softer as Sandy 
sits beside him as
Karen finishes up a
batch of chum.

Plankton stirs 
slightly, his snores 
quieter now.
"Karen," Sandy calls 
from the 
living room. "He's 
waking up."

Karen sets the food
aside, wiping her 
hands on a towel as 
she rushes in. 
Plankton's eye blinks 
open, looking around
confused. "What's...what's
going on?" he mumbles.

Karen smiles 
reassuringly. "You had
surgery, Plankton. Do you
remembe---"

He nods, his eye
half-lidded. "I...fell. 
But when’d she get
here?" Plankton said
as he recognized Sandy.

Karen chuckles softly.
"You've been out of it
for a bit. She came
a bit after you fell asleep."

Sandy smiles. "I'm just
here to help. What do you
need?"

Karen's shoulders sag with
relief. "Could you help me get
his wheelchair? We'll need to eat
at the table."

Karen guides Plankton.
He winces as he lowers 
himself, his leg still tender 
and foreign in its cast.
They make their way 
to the dinner table, Sandy 
right behind them. Karen 
serves him a steaming plate.
He picks at the food, his 
eye still hazy from the 
anesthesia. Sandy fills 
a glass of water, placing
it within his reach. 

"How long...?" Plankton's
words trail off as he tries
to remember the doctor's
instructions. "How long will I
be in this...this...thing?"
He gestures to the cast, 
his frustration clear.
Karen takes a deep
breath, her hand resting 
on his shoulder. "It's going
to be a few weeks, love. 
But think of it as a chance
to rest and recover." She
knows he doesn't want to
appear helpless.

Sandy sits across from Karen
and Plankton, curious but
tentative, as she knows he
can have a fiery temper at times.
"So, what happened Plank..."

He cuts her off, his voice
sharp. "I fell. That's what
happened. I don't know
much after that." Plankton's
frustration is palpable, his
eye flashing. Karen squeezes
his hand gently, a silent
reminder to be patient.
Sandy nods, understanding.
"Well, ok."

Karen watches Plankton's face,
and Sandy wants to help. He's tired,
his eyelid drooping. But he tries
to appear present, to eat with them
at the kitchen table with his wheelchair.
He takes small bites, his movements 
careful not to disturb his leg. Karen 
intercepts Sandy's concerned look.
"It's okay," she whispers as Plankton's 
energy wanes. His head nods 
forward slightly, and he jerks 
awake with a snort,
his cheeks flushing with 
embarrassment. Karen 
appreciates her friend's
support, yet she can see the 
uncertainty in Sandy's eyes. 
They both knew Plankton's 
stubbornness.

Sandy clears her throat, 
changing the subject. "So, what's
the plan for tomorrow?" Karen
looks at Plankton, his eye
half-closed. "We'll take it easy.
The doctor said lots of rest."
Plankton nods, his 
head bobbing slightly.

"I'll help with the house," Sandy offers,
picking up on Karen's unspoken concern.
"You guys just focus on...you know,
recovering." Karen smiles with 
gratitude. "Thank you."
Plankton nods, his head 
lolling again as he tries to
appear present. But he leans into
Karen, his body heavy with
exhaustion, head resting on her
shoulder, his snores soon 
filling the room despite still sitting
in the wheelchair at the table.
Karen and Sandy 
exchange a look.

Gently, Karen lifts Plankton's
head, his snores growing
deeper with every passing second.

"Come on, let's get you to bed,"
she whispers, her voice a gentle
caress in the quiet room.
Sandy nods, understanding.
They work in tandem, Sandy pushing
the wheelchair while Karen
supports Plankton's weight.

The bedroom is bathed in a soft glow,
the curtains drawn against the night.
They maneuver him to the bed, 
his snores punctuating the air.
They carefully lift him, his body 
unyielding from the pain meds, 
and lay him down. The cast feels 
heavier than ever, a stark
reminder of the ordeal he's just
been through. Karen pulls the
covers over him, tucking them 
in gently around his cast, his
snores growing louder.

Sandy looks at Karen with
sympathetic eyes. "You've had
quite a day," she says softly.
Karen nods. "We both 
have." Sandy pulls her into
a hug. "You're not alone.
I'm here."

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⠶⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣧⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⣶⣿⡇⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠷⠶⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⡹⣷⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠿⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⡉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠶⢦⣄⣠⣤⡤⠴⠶⠟⠋⠁⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡏⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠲⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣼⡇⠀⢿⣶⣄⣤⣴⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢟⣭⣶⣶⣽⣿⣄⠈⢿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡷⠦⣿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠈⠛⠶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡇⠀⠀⢻⣍⡛⠛⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⣤⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⠀⠻⠿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⢉⣾⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠛⢁⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠻⢿⣍⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠈⠻⠶⠦⠤⠶⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠾⠉⠙⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⣰⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣈⠉⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣽⠛⠉⠉⠉⢉⣧⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣩⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⢠⡟⢀⡞⠛⠋⠉⣏⢣⡀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⣿⠀⠀⢀⡿⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⣿⢀⡿⠁⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢧⡆⠹⢄⢸⡆⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⡇⠀⠀⢺⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣤⣤⠶⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⢹⡟⠁⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻⠀⡸⠃⢻⣤⣾⠋⠁⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⡇⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠈⠁⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣀⠙⠻⠿⢿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠻⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⢷⣶⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡴⠟⢻⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠛⠻⠿⠿⠛⣿⠏⠉⠉⢡⣿⠿⣿⡗⠲⠶⠶⠶⢲⣶⠿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⣿⣀⣠⣴⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠛⠟⠛⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻

new cute silly adorable chip dot art text art ascii art

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 20


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen's arms wrap around him, her
hands gentle on his back as she
whispers words of comfort, her
voice a balm to his frayed
nerves. "You're safe, baby,"
she says. "You're safe with me."
Plankton's sobs slow, his
body relaxing marginally in
her embrace. His antennae
still thrash, but with less
urgency, when Plankton's
main dentist comes in.

Dr. Musselman, Plankton's 
main dentist, rushes into 
the room, his eyes wide with 
concern at the sight of his 
patient's distress. Karen quickly 
explains the situation, her voice 
tight with emotion. "He's having 
an autistic shutdown," she says, 
her hand on Plankton's trembling 
back. "He's sensitive to 
sensory overload." He nods. "You can
come into my exam room, follow me."

The doctor's exam room is 
dimmer, the air cooler, and the
smell less intense. The change
in atmosphere is like a gentle 
caress against Plankton's overstimulated
sensors. He lets out a shaky
sigh, his antennae unfurling slightly.

Dr. Musselman's eyes are
kind, his voice a soothing
balm. "Hi, Plankton," he says, his
tone gentle. "Remember me?"
Plankton's gaze flickers to him,
his antennae stilling. "You're
my other dentist," he whispers, his
voice hoarse from the sobbing.

The doctor nods, his smile
reassuring. "That's right. I
know you don't like surprises,
so I'm sorry for that, for Jill. But
we're going to take it slow, okay?"
Plankton nods, his antennae
twitching slightly. "We need to
finish your cleaning," Karen says,
her voice gentle. "But we'll do
it with Dr. Musselman. He'll always
work here, and can be your dentist
instead of Jill from now on!"

"Okay," Dr. Musselman says,
his voice calm and measured.
"We're going to take some
x-rays now. It's quick and
painless." Plankton's antennae
perk up slightly at the
mention of painlessness. He
nods, his eye searching the
doctor's face for any sign of
deception.

The doctor leads them to a
small, enclosed space, the
whirring of the x-ray machine
a soothing constant. Karen
holds Plankton's hand, her grip
firm but gentle, as he sits
in the chair. The doctor
explains the process, his
words clear and concise. Plankton
nods, his breathing slowing
slightly as he tries to
comfort himself.

The x-ray machine's cold
metal touches his jaw, and
he jolts. "It's okay," Karen
whispers, her hand on his
shoulder. "It's just a little
picture of your teeth." Plankton's
eye closes, his antennae
stilling. He nods, his trust in
his wife a beacon in the
storm of his fear.

Dr. Musselman's movements are
careful, his voice calm. "Open
wide," he says. Plankton's
mouth opens slightly, his teeth
clenched. The x-ray film
slides into place, cold and
slightly sticky. He tastes the
metal, feels the pressure. But
it's not the same as the probe.
It's bearable.

The machine whirs to life, the
sensation of the x-rays a
gentle buzz against his
skin. His antennae quiver, but
he doesn't pull away. Karen's
hand squeezes his, a silent
promise of support. "Good job,"
she murmurs, her voice a warm
whisper in the cool air.

The doctor's voice is
steady. "Almost done," he says,
his eyes on the machine's
readout. Plankton nods, his
breaths shallow but even. The
fear has receded to a dull
throb, a distant echo of the
panic that had consumed him.

The x-ray machine clicks off,
the buzz of its operation
silenced. Dr. Musselman gently
removes the film, his
movements careful not to
startle Plankton. "Good boy,"
he says, his voice a warm
caress. Plankton's antennae
twitch in response, a tentative
sign of trust.

new do you trust me karen plankton 20

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 17


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

The next morning, Karen
gets a text from Plankton's
dental office for a check
up and routine cleaning. So
Karen decided to go down
stairs to awaken him, and
Chip, so they can go. She
finds them both asleep by
each other still on the couch.

Gently, she shakes Plankton's
shoulder. "Honey," she says,
her voice a soft caress.
"You've got a dentist
appointment." Plankton's
eye snaps open, his antennae
twitching. Chip opens his eyes.

Plankton sits up with a start,
his body stiff from the
night on the couch. He looks
at Karen, his expression
a mix of confusion and
dread. "Dentist?" he repeats, his
voice cracking.

Karen nods, her eyes filled with
concern. "It's okay," she says,
her voice soothing. "We'll go
together, all of us."

Karen's eyes are filled with
understanding as she helps
Plankton to his feet. Chip
rises from his spot, his
expression a mix of worry
and determination.

The drive to the dentist's office
is quiet, the tension palpable.
Once they arrive, they go up to
the receptionist desk. 
The receptionist, a cheery octopus,
greets them with a smile. "Good
morning, Mr. Plankton," she says.
"You're here for your 9 AM appointment,
aren't you?" Plankton nods.

"Yes," Karen says. "He's with hygienist
named Zoe.." But then the receptionist
interrupts her. "Oh, Zoe doesn't work
here anymore. She's been replaced by 
a new hygienist, named Jill."

Plankton's antennae droop, his
face paling. Change was never his
friend, especially when it came
to routine. "But I've always had
her," he whispers, his voice tight
with anxiety. Karen's hand squeezes
his shoulder, her eyes filled with
understanding. "It'll be okay,"
she murmurs. "We'll make it work. We
can tell her about your autistic needs."

The waiting room is a cacophony
of sounds, the buzz of the fluorescent
lights, the hum of the air conditioner,
the distant drill, and the muffled
chatter of other patients. Plankton
starts rocking back and forth.

Karen notices the signs of
his anxiety building, his antennae
twitching with every new sound.
She leans over, whispering. "We'll tell
them what you need."

Chip looks at his dad's stimming.
"Why's he rocking?" Chip asks
Karen. She whispers back, "It's a
way he self-soothes, a common
autistic trait. It's his way to
deal with restlessness."

The new hygienist, Jill, enters
the waiting room. "Plankton?"
Plankton's antennae shoot up, his
body tense. "Yes," Karen says,
smiling warmly. "This is my
husband, Plankton, and our son,
Chip." She nods towards Chip. They
stand up and follow Jill.

Jill's office is a minefield
of sensory stimuli. The bright
lights, the smell of antiseptic,
and the shiny metal instruments
glinting on the tray. Plankton's
body tightens with each step
closer to the chair. Karen notices,
and whispers, "Remember what
we talked about, Plankton. You
can handle this."

He nods, his antennae flicking
nervously. 

new do you trust me karen plankton 17

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 7


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

"Daddy, I'm sorry," Chip
whimpers, his eyes wide with fear.
He's never felt so lost, so
small. Plankton's breaths come in
quick, sharp bursts, his body a
tangle of frustration and pain.

Plankton's antennae thrash in the
air, his eye wild and unpredictable.
"You don't know what you're
talking about!" he yells, his voice
bouncing off the walls of the room.
He turns away from his son, his
body language screaming 'don't touch'.

Chip's eyes are pools of pain,
his hand hovering awkwardly. "But
Daddy," he says, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Just t---"

"Don't you dare!"
Plankton's antennae whip around
wildly, his eye flashing with a
mixture of anger and fear.
Chip yanked his hand away
but doing so, he accidentally
brushes against Plankton's
arm in the process.
The explosion of emotion is
instant. Plankton recoils, his
body jerking away as if burned.
He sweeps his arm across the
nightstand, sending books flying.
Karen knew she needs to intervene.

"Chip, go to your room," she
says firmly, her voice cutting
through the storm of emotions.
Chip's eyes are wide with shock,
his body trembling as he
backs away from the bed, tears
streaming down his face. "But
Mom," he protests, his voice
choked with emotion. "I didn't me—"

"I know, Chip," Karen says,
her tone brooking no argument.
Plankton's antennae are a blur of
movement, his breathing
erratic. "Your dad needs space."

Chip nods and makes his way to his
room, his legs wobbly. As he
closes the door, Karen
sighs, her eyes sad as she
turns back to Plankton. Karen knew
to tread carefully.
Plankton is panting, his antennae
twitching rapidly. He's
upset, more than she's seen in
a long time.

"Plankton," she says softly,
approaching the bed. "Hey,
I'm here." His antennae
quiver, and she knows she's
treading on thin ice when he
kicks the blanket off his bed
with a snarl. Karen's heart breaks
seeing the pain in his eye.
He sweeps his arm across the
dresser, sending a cascade
of items crashing to the floor.
The room echoes with his rage,
each crash a declaration of his
frustration. Karen
swallows the lump in her throat,
knowing she has to be the calm
in this storm.

Plankton's breaths come in
quick, sharp bursts, his antennae
still quivering. He turns away
from her, his back to the wall,
his body tight with tension.
Karen approaches slowly, her eyes
on his, watching for
any sign of his mood shifting.
"Let it out," she whispers, her
hands outstretched but not
touching. "You're safe here."

Plankton's body convulses
with anger, and he throws
another object across the room.
It hits the wall with a thud,
leaving a small crack. His antennae
quiver with each ragged breath
he takes. Karen knows they're
on the edge.

With trembling hands, she
picks up his pillow from the floor,
carefully moving closer.
"You don't have to keep it in,"
she says softly, extending the
pillow towards him. "You can
hit this." Her voice is a
soothing balm to the chaos.

Plankton's antennae stop
their frantic dance for a
moment, his eye flickering
with something akin to hope.
He takes the pillow, his
fists tightening around it.

With a roar, he brings
the pillow down onto the bed,
his strength surprising even
Karen. The sound is muffled,
but the fury in the gesture
is clear. He hits it again,
and again, each blow a silent
scream of pain and anger.

Karen watches, her heart
breaking with each hit, her eyes
never leaving his. She knows
this is his fear and frustration
manifesting in the only way
his overwhelmed mind knows how.

"Let it out, Plankton," she whispers,
moving closer, her voice steady.
"You're safe here."

Plankton's body shakes as he
slams the pillow into the mattress,
his antennae quivering with each
impact. Karen remains still. She knows
this storm of emotion isn't directed
at her, but at the invisible barriers
that have caged him in for so long.

He throws the pillow again,
his face contorted with rage. The
cotton explodes into a cloud of feathers,
but it's not enough. He needs more.

He turns, his antennae a
blur of emotion, and sees the
closet door. With a snarl, he
charges towards it, throwing it
open. The sound of hangers
clattering fills the air as he
starts to rip clothes from their
hangers, tossing them around the
room like confetti in a tornado.

Karen watches, her eyes
filled with a mix of sadness
and fear. This is the what
his condition turns him into
when the pressure gets too much.
Her heart aches for him,
trapped in his own mind.
She knows she has
to be careful; any wrong move
could set him off.

Plankton's eye darts around
the room, searching for something
else to unleash his fury upon.
His antennae quiver,
his body still shaky. Karen moves closer,
slowly, her hand reaching out.

He turns to her, the anger
in his gaze unmistakable.
But as he sees her hand,
his expression falters.

Karen takes a deep breath,
her voice steady. "It's okay," she says.

new do you trust me karen plankton 7

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 8


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

"Let it out. You're safe."
Karen's hand hovers, a silent
offer of support. Plankton's
antennas twitch, his eye
flitting between her and
the chaos he's created.

With a sudden jerk, he
throws the pillow aside, the
feathers fluttering to the
ground like a defeated
battle flag. He turns to her,
his breaths coming in ragged
gasps. "I hate this," he
whispers, his voice filled with
despair. "I hate that I can't—"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
Instead, he starts to shake, his
body convulsing with the
force of his emotions. Karen
knows he's about to have
seizure convulsions.
With swiftness borne of
practiced experience, she
moves to catch him.

"Plankton, it's okay," she
coos, her voice a lifeline in
the storm. "Let's sit down."
Gently, she guides him to
the bed, her eyes never
leaving his. His body
spasms once, twice, before
settling into a tremble.

The room is still, the
only sound his ragged breathing
and the occasional quiver of
his antennae. Karen's heart
is racing, but her hands are
steady as she takes his.
"Breathe with me," she says,
her voice a soft rhythm.
"In, and out."

Plankton's eye locks
on hers, his pupil dilating
as he focuses on her words.
He takes a deep breath, his
body shuddering with the effort.
"Good," Karen whispers, her
thumbs gently stroking his
wrists. "Again."

The tremors slowly
ease, his breathing evening out.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
says, her voice a lullaby.
"You're okay." His antennae
twitch, his body relaxes.

For a moment, there's
only the sound of their
breaths mingling in the quiet.
Then, with a sigh, Plankton
slumps against her, his
body limp with exhaustion.
Karen wraps her arms around
him, her heart aching. "I'm
here," she whispers. "I'm not
going anywhere."

Plankton's antennae
quiver slightly, and he
nods, his eye closing.
Karen can feel the tension
leaving his body, the storm
of emotions retreating. His
breathing slows, his antennae
falling still.

For a few moments,
the only sound in the room
is their synchronized
breathing. Then, with a
shudder, Plankton starts to
cry.

Karen holds him tighter,
rocking him gently as he sobs
into her shoulder. His
tiny body shakes with
the force of his pain, his
antennas drooping.

"I'm sorry," Plankton whispers,
his voice thick with emotion.
"I didn't mean to scare
you." His words are muffled
by his tears, his antennae
twitching with each tremble.

Karen strokes his back,
her eyes filled with understanding.
"It's okay," she soothes, her
voice a balm to his soul. "You're
overwhelmed." She's seen
this before, the sudden
storms of feeling that
his autism can unleash.

Plankton's sobs come in
waves, his body jerking with
each one. Karen knows these
moments are like earthquakes
for him, shaking him to his core.
"You didn't mean it," she
whispers, her voice a
constant in the chaos.
"You just need a moment."
He nods against her, his antennae
still drooping. "I'm sorry,"
he says again, his voice
tiny.

Karen's heart clenches. She
wishes she could take away
his pain, but she knows that's
not how it works. Instead, she
simply holds him, her arms a
steady embrace in the tempest.
"It's okay," she repeats, her
voice a lullaby. "I'm here."

Plankton's crying slows
to a hiccup, and he pulls back,
his antennae drooping. He wipes
his eye, his face a mask
of regret. "I'm sorry," he says,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"I didn't mean to—"

"You don't have to apologize,"
Karen cuts him off, her eyes
soft with compassion. "You
can't help how you feel." She
knows the guilt he's feeling,
the weight of his own
frustrations. She rocks him
gently, her hand rubbing
his back in slow circles.
Plankton's breaths
deepen as he relaxes into
her embrace.
His antennae, which had been
quivering start to settle. The tension
eases from his body, and
his muscles loosen. Karen's
soothing love and gentle
touch are a balm to his
frayed nerves. He leans into
her, his head on her shoulder,
his antennae brushing against
her.

Karen presses a kiss to
his forehead, her hand
continuing to stroke his
back. "It's okay," she whispers.
"You're safe." Plankton's
body responds, his antennae
dropping slightly.
He sighs, his body going
slack against her. She can
feel the last of the tension
drain out of him, and his
breathing evens out.

Her voice is a soft
lullaby in the quiet, a
steady beat to match the
rhythm of his breaths.
"Just relax," she says, her
words a gentle command.
"Let it all go." And he does,
his muscles unclenching, his
mind drifting. "Thanks.." Plankton
says sleepily in her embrace.

Plankton's body goes lax,
his eye closing fully as he
surrenders to the comfort
of Karen's embrace. She
knows He's fallen into a 
deep sleep when he starts to
snore gently, his antennae
still resting on her shoulder.
Karen holds him
closer, her hand continuing a
soothing pattern on his
back, each stroke a silent
promise. Plankton's antennae
rest gently against her,
his body curled into
her side.

The room is quiet, save for
his soft snores.
Her hand moves in gentle
circles on his back, the
motion soothing to them
both. She can feel the
tension slowly draining
from his body, his
antennae finally
still.

The soft light from the
moon filters in through
the window, casting a
pale glow on his features.
In sleep, Plankton looks
peaceful, the furrow in
his brow smoothed away.
Karen kisses his forehead. His
snores deepen, a testament
to his trust in her.

Her hand strokes his antennae,
now limp with sleep. He's just her
Plankton, her partner, her love.
Her gentle touch seems to
soothe his slumber, a
reminder of the sanctuary
their bond provides.

new do you trust me karen plankton 8

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 9


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

The door opens quietly, and
Chip peeks in, his eyes
swollen with tears. Karen looks
up, her eyes questioning.
He stands there, his body
quivering with emotion,
his heart aching to join them.
Karen nods, a silent permission.

With tentative steps, Chip
approaches the bed, his eyes
on his father. Plankton's
snores are deep and even,
his body relaxed against
Karen's. Chip's hand shakes
slightly as he reaches out.
His touch is feather-light,
his fingertips brushing
against Plankton's antennae.
They quiver under his touch,
but Plankton doesn't wake.

Karen looks up at him,
her eyes filled with love and
understanding. She nods
once, and Chip climbs onto
the bed. He sits there, his
body rigid with nerves, his
heart racing. He wants to
make it right, to show his
father that he cares, that he's
not just a kid playing doctor.
Karen watches him, her eyes
filled with a mix of pride
and sadness. She knows this
is hard for Chip, that he
desperately wants to help.

Chip's hand hovers over
his father's antennae, his
fingers trembling. He's seen
his mom do this a hundred
times, the gentle stroking
that seems to calm Plankton
like nothing else can. He takes
a deep breath and touches
them, lightly. Karen's
smile reassures Chip.
"It's okay," she whispers,
her hand on his shoulder.
"He's sleeping."

Plankton's antennae
twitch at Chip's touch, but
his sleep remains undisturbed.
Encouraged, Chip starts to
mirror Karen's movements, his
strokes becoming more
confident. The tension in
his body starts to melt
away as he focuses on
his dad's peaceful state.

Karen watches her son's
hands with a mix of pride
and sadness. She knows he
just wants to connect, to
understand, but autism is 
complex. And she knows
Chip is learning that.
"Remember, Chip," she whispers,
"he's sensitive to touch."

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving his father.
He's afraid of doing it wrong,
but the sight of Plankton
sleeping peacefully gives him
courage. His strokes are soft,
his movements careful.

Plankton's antennae quiver
slightly, but his snores
remain steady. Chip's breaths
ease, and he feels a warmth
spread through him. This small
moment of connection feels
like a victory. Karen's hand
squeezes his shoulder, and he
glances up at her, his eyes
shimmering with hope.

"Keep going," she whispers,
and he does, his touch
becoming more 
rhythmic. Plankton's body
shifts slightly, his antennae
nuzzling into Chip's touch.
It's a small thing, but it
feels monumental to Chip.

He looks at his mom, her
face a mix of love and
sorrow. She nods, her eyes
shiny with unshed tears.
This is what family is,
supporting each other through
the storms of life.

The room is a cocoon of
quiet, the only sound the
comforting soft
snores of Plankton. Chip's
fingers dance over the antennae,
his eyes never leaving his
father's face. Karen watches
them, her heart swelling
with love.

In this moment, Chip
understands what Karen had
tried to explain earlier.
Plankton's autism isn't a
problem to solve; it's part
of who he is, a challenge
that makes their bond
even more precious. He strokes
his dad's antennae with newfound
respect and patience.

Karen's eyes never leave
them, her heart swelling with
pride. "It's getting late,"
she says softly. "You should
get some sleep too."

Chip nods, his gaze still
locked on his father. He
doesn't want to leave him,
but he knows he has to. With a
final stroke of Plankton's antennae,
he slides off the bed, his
legs shaky. "You
did good, sweetie," she whispers,
her eyes glistening.

He looks back at her, his
face a question. "But I
made him so mad," he says, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Karen takes his hand,
squeezing it gently. "You
meant well," she says, her
tone firm but kind. "And you
learned from it. This is
part of loving someone with
autism, Chip. Sometimes you'll
make mistakes, but what's
important is that you keep
trying."

With a nod, Chip wipes his
nose with the back of his hand
and heads for his room,
his heart heavy but hopeful.
Karen watches him go, her eyes
following his retreating
back. Then, she turns her
attention back to Plankton,
still sleeping in her arms.

Gently, she shifts his body,
adjusting the pillows under
his head. His antennae twitch
slightly at the movement, but
he doesn't stir. She pulls
the blanket up to his chin,
smoothing it down over his
shoulders. His skin is warm
against her fingertips, a
comforting sign that he's
comfortable.

new do you trust me karen plankton 9

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 10


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

The next morning, Plankton
wakes up before Karen.
He sits up in bed, his antennae
twitching slightly as he
takes in the room. His eye darts
to Karen, still sleeping
peacefully on her bed. He feels a
wave of guilt and fear,
his antennae drooping.

He moves to get out of bed,
his body still feeling the
aftershocks of the previous
night's tremors. He pads over
to Chip's bedroom.

The door is open a crack,
letting in a sliver of
sunlight. Plankton hesitates, his
antennas twitching. He's not
sure if he's ready to face his
son yet, but he knows he
has to try. He pushes the door
open to find Chip sitting up
on his bed.

Chip's eyes are red-rimmed,
his face puffy from crying.
He looks at Plankton, his
expression a mix of fear
and hope. Plankton's heart
squeezes at the sight. He
moves into the room, his antennae
waving awkwardly. "Hey," he says,
his voice gruff with sleep.
"Hi, Dad," Chip says, his
voice small.

Plankton sits down on the
edge of the bed, his antennae
quivering with nerves. He's
not good with words, especially
not when it comes to feelings.
Does he address it, or just
pretend yesterday didn't happen?
He decides on the latter.

"Whatcha doing?" Plankton 
asks, trying to keep his tone 
light.

Chip looks up, his eyes
wet. "Just thinking," he
whispers. "About you."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his stomach doing a flip. He's
not used to this kind of
emotional exchange, but
he can feel the weight of
his son's words. He clears
his throat, trying to find
a neutral response. "I'm
fine," he says, his voice
careful.

But Chip's eyes tell a
different story. "You had a
seizure," he says, his voice
shaking. "You scared me—"

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his body tense. "I didn't
ask for you to watch," he
snaps, his voice sharp.

Chip's eyes widen with
hurt, and Plankton feels a
sting of regret. He didn't
mean to be cruel, but his
fear of vulnerability turns his
words into a shield. "Dad—"

But Plankton cuts him off. "I've
been dealing with this my
whole life, and so I don't need
you to tell me what to do." His
antennas are stiff with anger,
his body tight with tension.
Chip's eyes fill with tears.

"I just wanted to help," he says,
his voice trembling. "I didn't know
what to do." Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye softening. He's aware
of the pain he's causing, but
his fear of being seen as weak
overpowers his regret.

"Chip, don't act like you know
everything," Plankton says, his antennae
twitching rapidly. "You can't just
think you get me. I'd like to see you
try to live with this!" His words are a
sharp contrast to the gentle stroking of
his antennae that Karen had shown him,
his voice echoing with frustration. "I bet
you wouldn't last a day," he adds, his
body stiff with the weight of his own
experience.

Chip's eyes fill with tears, but
he holds them back. He wants to be
understood, to be a part of his
father's world, but it feels like he's
always a step behind. "I just want
to help," he says again, his voice
smaller now. "I don't know how, but—"

Plankton rolls his eye. "Oh, you
think you can just waltz in and
solve all my problems?" he says,
his tone laced with sarcasm. "You
think you're some kind of autism
expert now?" His antennae twitch
nervously. He's trying to keep
his emotions in check, but the
fear of being a burden is a beast
he's wrestled with for too long.

Chip's jaw tightens, his
shoulders rising. "I just want to
know what you're going
through," he says, his voice
firm. "Is tha-"

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his eye flashing with anger.
"You think I need a
little boy to figure out my
own brain?" he sneers, his voice
dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks
for the offer, Einstein, but I've
managed to survive this long
without your 'help'."

Chip's face falls, his eyes
brimming with tears. "But—"

"But nothing!" Plankton cuts
in, his antennae quivering
with agitation. "I don't need
your pity, or your 'help'!" His
voice is sharp, each word a
blade that slices through
the air.

Chip's eyes shine with
unshed tears, but his voice
remains steady. "But you're
my dad, and I want to
understand." Plankton's antennae
drop slightly, his sneer
softening into a frown. He
knows his son means well, but
his own fear of being a
disappointment makes his skin
crawl.

"Look, kid," Plankton says, his
tone patronizing. "Some things
you just can't understand,
okay? So go back to playing
with your toys and let me handle
the big boy stuff." His antennae
wave in a dismissive gesture.
Chip's eyes narrow, his
determination growing. He's not
going to let his dad push him
away again.

"I'm not a kid, and I'm not
stupid," Chip says, his voice
firm. "I just want to know how
to help when you're like
this." Plankton's antennae droop
slightly at the challenge, his
face a mask of irritation.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he says, his voice
dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't realize
you had a PhD in Autism
101. What's the secret, Chip?
Tell me, what's the magic word that
makes it all go away?" His antennae
wave in an exaggerated fashion,
his eye rolling dramatically.

Chip's cheeks burn with
frustration and hurt. "Dad
I just wa-"

"What?" Plankton says, 
cutting him off. "You 
want a gold star for 
trying to play therapist?" 
His antennae twitch, a 
clear sign of his agitation.

Chip's eyes fill with a mix
of anger and hurt, but he
swallows it down. "No, I just
want to be there for yo--"

"Oh, you think you can
just ride in and save 
the day?" Plankton's tone
drips with sarcasm.

Chip's cheeks redden, but
his resolve holds firm. "No,
Dad, I just want to be
there for you," he says,
his voice steady.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye narrowing. "What's your
expert advice then, Dr. Chip?"
his voice heavy with
sarcasm. "You're going to tell
me to count, or
breathe into a paper bag?"
He can't help the bitterness
that seeps into his words,
his fear of being seen as
weak by his own son.

Chip's jaw clenches, his
fists balling at his sides.
He wants to scream, to shout
that he's not trying to be a
hero, just a son who cares.
But he knows that would only
make things worse, so he takes
a deep breath, his voice
even. "No, Dad," he says, his tone
calm. "But maybe if you'd just
tell me what helps you..."

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his eye flashing. "Maybe
you should just mind your
own business," he snaps, his
voice cold. "Or you can go
cry to your mommy again."
The words hang in the air,
sharp as knives.

Chip's eyes widen, and
his cheeks flush with anger.
He's had enough of his
dad's patronizing tone. "I'm
not a baby," he says, his voice
steady. "And I can handle
this."

"Oh, really?" he says, his voice
dripping with sarcasm. "And what
exactly do you know about it?"
His eye narrows, daring Chip to
challenge him.

Chip's eyes burn with a mix
of anger and sadness. "I know
you have seizures that make
you scared and upset," he says,
his voice measured. "I know
Mom is also getting tired of
you and your outbursts. But
you hurt people, Dad. And it's not fair to
us, or to Mom, who you don't know
how much she hates being your
punching bag!"

Without another word,
Plankton turns and 
leaves Chip's bed
room. He slams
the door behind him.

new do you trust me karen plankton 10

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 11


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen stirs in her sleep.
Her eyes fly open. She sits up,
as Plankton comes back
into their room.

His antennae are drooping,
his eye filled with a sadness
that makes her stomach clench.
"What happened?" she asks.

Plankton avoids her gaze, his
body language tense. "It's
nothing," he mumbles, his
voice tight with anger, mostly
at the thought of Karen hurting
and being tired of him.

Karen's heart breaks at the
sight of his pain. She knows
his condition is a daily
battle, one that often leaves
them all feeling defeated.
"Plankton," she says gently,
reaching out. He flinches.
"Baby, what's wrong?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body tense. "Don't," he
says, his voice gruff. "I don't
want to talk about it." His eye
darts around the room,
avoiding hers.

Karen sighs, her hand
dropping to her side.
"Okay," she says softly, her voice
filled with understanding.
She knows his walls are up,
his antennae a shield. "But
if you ever do, I'm he-"

"I said don't!" Plankton
snaps, his antennae shooting
up. His voice is loud,
his fear of burdening Karen
turned into anger. Karen's
heart clenches at the pain
in his voice.

She sits up slowly, her
movements deliberate. "Okay,"
she says calmly. "We don't have
to talk now. But remember, I'm
always here for yo-"

Plankton cuts her off, his antennae
quivering with anger. "I said
I don't want to talk about it!"
his voice echoes through the
tiny room, bouncing off the walls
and filling the air with a tension
that feels like a storm. Karen's
eyes are filled with a sadness
that's almost palpable. She nods
once, her hand retreating. "Okay,"
she says, her voice low. "I'm just
here, Plank..."

He turns away from her, his
back a wall of pain. She can
see his shoulders tense, his body
a tightly wound spring. "Just
leave me alone," he says, his voice
a whisper of defeat, unable to bear
the thought of possibly hurting her.

The room feels smaller, the air
thicker. Karen's eyes fill with tears,
but she knows better than to push.
Plankton's autism isn't a puzzle
to solve, but a dance to learn,
a delicate balance of space and
support. She nods, her heart
aching. "Whenever
you're ready, I---"

"Just leave it, Karen," he says,
his voice a mix of anger and sadness.
He doesn't look at her, his
eye fixed on the floor. His antennae
are still, a rare sign of his
overwhelming emotion. Karen
swallows hard, her hand hovering
over his back before retreating.

"Okay," she whispers, her voice
a balm in the tension. "I'm
here when you're re---"

But Plankton's antennae shoot
up, cutting her off. "Why?" he
demands, his eye flashing. "Why do
you keep saying that? What do you
really think of me?" His voice is
sharp, his fear of her pity
lacing his words. Karen's eyes
widen, surprised by his accusation.

"Plankton, what are you talking
about?" she asks, her voice
gentle. "I love you, just as you
are." But he's not listening,
his antennae twitching rapidly.

He turns to face her, his eye
filled with doubt. "But do you
really?" he asks, his voice
quavering. "Or do you just
stay because you feel sorry for me?"

Karen's eyes widen, the
accusation like a slap to her
face. "Plankton, no," she says,
her voice trembling. "You know I
don't—"

He shakes his head, his
antennas waving erratically. "No, I don't
know," he says, his voice
cracking. "You're always so
calm, so... so patient with me. And
then I just—" His words taper off,
his antennae drooping as he
fights back a sob.

Karen reaches out, her
hand hovering near his shoulder.
"Plankton, sweetie, I love you,"
she says, her voice soothing.
"I love all of you, not just the
easy parts."

But Plankton's antennae
twitch, his doubt a
barrier between them.
"How can you love this?"
he whispers, his voice raw with
emotion. "How can you love
someone who can't even tell
you when they're about to—"

Karen's eyes fill with tears,
but her voice remains steady.
"I love all of you, Plankton,"
she says, her hand still hovering.
"The good, the bad, the seizures—
it's all part of who you are."
Her voice is a lifeline, a gentle
reminder that she sees him,
not just his condition.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye clouded with doubt.
"But it's not fair to you," he
whispers, his voice trembling.
"I know you're tired, I see
it in your screen." Karen's hand
hovers, unsure if touch will
make it better or worse.

"Plankton," she says softly,
"you are my everything. I
chose to be here, with you. I
chose to love you through the
seizures, through the tough
times." Her words are a gentle
caress in the stillness of the
room, a promise of unyielding
support.

But Plankton's antennae
wave in doubt, his body a
testament to his inner turmoil.
"You don't have to," he murmurs,
his voice a whisper of pain.
"You could leave."

Karen's eyes are filled
with love and sadness, her hand
still hovering, unsure of how
to bridge the gap between them.
"Leave?" she echoes, her voice
gentle. "Why would I ever
leave you?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye averted. "You wouldn't
have to deal with this," he
says, his voice barely a whisper.
"You could have someone who doesn't
make you sad, or scared." His words
hang heavy in the air, his fear
of driving her away a palpable
presence in the room.

Karen's hand falls to her lap,
her heart aching. "You're not
a burden, Plankton," she says,
her voice firm with conviction.
"You're the reason I wake up
every morning, the reason I
smile." She pauses, her eyes
shimmering with unshed tears. "Your
seizures don't define you, and
they don't define us."

But Plankton's antennae continue
to quiver, his doubt a living
entity in the room. "You don't
have to say that," he murmurs.
"I guess I'll never be whaa-"
Plankton chokes back a sob.
"What even Chip says you deserve!"

Karen's eyes widen, her hand
now resting on his shoulder.
"Wait, what did Chip say?"

Plankton turns away, his antennae
drooping. "JUST FORGET IT!" He stomps
out of the room, slamming the door
behind him, the sound a stark
contrast to the quiet sobs
that follow.

Karen remains still for a moment,
her heart racing. Then, with a
deep breath, she slides out of
bed, her movements deliberate. 

new do you trust me karen plankton 11

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 19


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Plankton's body
continues to
shake, his breaths
quick and shallow.

Karen takes over, her
hands gentle as she
guides him out of the
chair, her eyes filled
with a mix of anger
and sadness. "I'm sorry,
ho-" But Plankton also fears
Karen now because of
her restraining him. He jolts
at her approach. "Plank..."
Karen's voice trails off, her
expression one of pained
realization. "I'm sor-"

But Plankton's fear of Karen
has grown. She's the one
who held him down too, who
forced him to endure the
unbearable. His antennae flatten
against his head, his body
shaking as he tries to
move away from her. "Don't,"
he whispers, his voice a
rasp of fear. "Don't touch me."

Karen's eyes fill with
sorrow, her hand hovering
uncertainly in the space
between them. "Plankton,
sweetie, it's okay," she says,
her voice trembling. "It's just
a misunderstanding." But
Plankton's terror is too strong,
his memories too fresh.

He flinches at the sound
of her voice, his antennae
quivering. "Karen," he whispers,
his voice a shaky plea. "Please...
don't." His eye is wide
with fear, his body stiff
with tension. Karen's heart
breaks, the pain in his gaze
a stark contrast to the warmth
she'd felt in his smile just hours
before.

"It's me," she says, her
voice thick with regret. "It's
Karen." Yet Plankton's
body jerks away from her
as if she's a danger to him,
his antennae flattened in
a protective stance.

Karen's eyes fill with
sorrow as she takes a step
back, her hand dropping to her
side. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
"I di-"

But Plankton's fear is a
living entity now, a creature that
has latched onto him and won't let
go. He stumbles backward,
his legs shaking as he tries to
put distance between them. "No,"
he whispers, his voice trembling.
"You're not my Karen. You're...
you're not safe!"

Karen's eyes fill with
sorrow, her heart aching. She'd
never wanted to be a source of fear
for Plankton. "Sweetie, I'm
right here," she says, her voice
a gentle caress. "I'm not going
to hurt you." But her words
bounce off the invisible barrier
his fear has built.

Chip watches from the doorway,
his own fear mirroring his dad's.
He wants to rush in, to make
everything right, but he
knows that would only make
it worse. So he stands, frozen,
his fists clenched at his side.

The room is a tableau of
despair, Plankton's sobs echoing
off the cold, sterile walls.
Karen's eyes are wet with
unshed tears, her hand still
reaching out, even though
Plankton's retreating from it. "Do
yo--"

Her voice catches as she sees
his fear, a raw emotion
that she's never seen directed
at her before. "Plankton, baby,"
she whispers, "it's me. I'm
never going to hurt you."

But Plankton's eye is wild,
his antennae a frantic blur.
He stumbles backward, his
body colliding with the wall
behind him. "No," he cries out,
his voice raw with panic. "You're
not! You just... You just hurt
me!"

Karen's hand falls to her side,
defeated. The reality of the
situation crashes down on her,
a cold, hard weight. She's hurt
the one person she'd sworn to
protect, the one who needs her
understanding the most. "I'm
so sorry," she whispers, tears
sliding down her cheeks. "I didn't
mean to..."

But Plankton's fear has
consumed him, turning him into
a creature of pure instinct. He
presses his back against the wall,
his antennae flat against his
head, his body shaking with
sobs. "Don't," he whispers, his
voice a desperate plea. "Please
don't ever do that again."

Karen's heart breaks into a
thousand pieces, each one
sharp and jagged. She can't bear
the thought that she's the
reason for his fear. "I'm sorry,
I'm so sorry," she says, her
voice trembling. "I didn't
understand. I'll never do
anything to scare yo-"

But Plankton's sobs only
grow louder, his antennae
trembling with every intake
of breath. "You said it would
be okay, even when it wasn't,"
he whispers, his voice a
broken whisper. Karen's eyes
fill with regret, her heart
heavy with the weight of his
pain. "Sorry," she says, her
voice thick with unshed tears.
"I-I-I-I…"

The room feels like it's
shrinking, the air thick with
the scent of fear and antiseptic.
Karen tries to find the right words,
anything to break through the
panic that has swallowed her
husband. "I didn't know," she
whispers, her eyes searching
his for understanding. "But
now I do, and I'll never let
anyone do that to you again."

Jill clears her throat. "I'll go
get the main dentist." She
walks out of the room.

The silence is deafening, the
echo of Plankton's sobs the
only sound. Karen moves
slowly toward him, her steps
soft and deliberate. "Shh, it's okay,"
she whispers, her hand outstretched.
"I'm here." Plankton's antennae
twitch, but he doesn't push her
away. Instead, he leans into her,
his body seeking the comfort
of her touch.

new do you trust me karen plankton 19

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 21


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Plankton watches as the doctor
holds the film up to the light,
his eyes scanning the white
and grey image. Plankton's eye
follows, trying to make sense of
the shapes and shadows that are
his teeth. He's seen these
before, the ghosts of his mouth
laid bare for inspection.

But there's something new.
The doctor's expression is serious,
his voice careful. "Looks like
you've got some wisdom teeth who
are thinking about moving in!"

Plankton's antennae spike with
anxiety. "W-what does that mean?"
he asks, his voice shaking.
Dr. Musselman's expression is
reassuring. "It means we need to
take them out before they
cause any trouble. It's a
procedure that can be a bit
scary, but we'll make sure
you're as comfortable as possib--"

But Plankton's fear spirals out
of control. "No," he whispers,
his antennae drooping. "No more
pain." Karen's heart clenches.
"They can cause a lot of pain
if we don't, sweetie," she says,
her voice soothing. "But we'll
make sure it's as gentle as
possible. Can we just do it
today? He hasn't eaten since
yesterday, so..."

Dr. Musselman nods. "We can
schedule it for today," he says,
his voice calm. "But let's
make sure you're as comfortable
as we can first." He gestures
to the chair. "Would you like
to sit down, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body stiff with fear. But
he nods, his movements slow
and deliberate as he slides
back into the chair. Karen's
hand squeezes his, a silent
promise of support. "I'll stay
with you," she says, her voice
a warm whisper.

Dr. Musselman nods. "We'll
start with a local anesthetic,"
he says, his tone soothing.
"It'll numb the area so you
won't feel anything." He says
as he grabs a syringe filled
with a clear liquid. Plankton's
eye widens, his antennae
stilling in fear.

"Could we try
sedation, or?"

Dr. Musselman nods, his
expression sympathetic. "We can
do that," he says. "It'll make
the whole process easier." The doctor
explains the process, his words
measured and calm. Plankton's
eye widens at the mention of
sleeping through the procedure, his
body relaxing slightly. "We'll do both
cleaning and extraction all while he's
under anesthesia."

An anesthesiologist enters,
his movements calm and precise.
Plankton watches him with
a mix of fear and curiosity,
his antennae twitching. The
smell of the gas fills the
air, and Karen's grip on his
hand tightens. "It'll just
make you sleep," she whispers,
trying to soothe his nerves.
The mask is cold against
his face, the scent of the gas
strange. "Breathe," he
says. "In and out."

Plankton does as he's
told, his eye squeezed shut.
The world around him starts
to fade, the sounds of the
dental office growing
distant. His chest feels
heavy, his breaths slow and
deep. "You're doing so well,"
Karen murmurs, her voice a
constant in the swirl of
his thoughts. "I'm so proud of you."

The anesthesiologist's
gloved hand is gentle, his voice
soft. "Just a few more
breaths," he says. Plankton's
body relaxes into the chair,
his antennae drooping. The
gas fills his lungs, and the
world goes hazy around the
edges. The coldness of the mask
is the last sensation he
registers before the darkness
claims him.

Meanwhile, Karen watches 
as the anesthetic takes
hold. Plankton's hand relaxes
in hers, his breaths evening
out. She feels the weight
of his fear lifting, his
body growing slack. She
kisses his forehead, whispering
words of love and reassurance
as the world slips away
from him.

Finally, he falls asleep,
his antennae still 
as he starts to
snore lightly. They
clean his teeth before
extracting the wisdom
teeth, all while Plankton's
body lies limp in the chair
feeling nothing. Karen holds
his hand as they put the last
of the dissolving stitches in.

The procedure is done,
and Plankton is still asleep.
Karen's eyes are full of
relief and love as she
smiles down at him. "It's all
over," she whispers. "You
did so well, baby." She 
knows he probably can't
hear her yet, though.

The doctor nods. "Everything
went smoothly," he says, his
voice low. "The extractions
went well, and he should
wake up in a few minutes."

Karen's heart skips a beat,
her hand tightening around
Plankton's. "Thank you," she
whispers, her voice thick with
emotion. "Thank you for
understanding."

Dr. Musselman nods, his eyes
kind. "We're here to help,"
he says. "Now let's get him
comfortable before he wakes
up." The chair is reclined,
his mouth clean and his teeth
bare of the troublesome
wisdom teeth. Drool pools at
the corners of his mouth, a
testament to his deep slumber
and numbness.

Karen's mind races with
thoughts as they wait for
Plankton to come to. She
thinks about the seizure
and the fear in his eye. It
was a stark reminder of
his vulnerability, despite
his bravado. She makes a
mental note to be more
understanding, more
supportive.

The doctor and his
assistant carefully insert the
gauze pads with tender precision,
their movements silent
and respectful of his sleep.
Plankton's body remains still,
his snores unchanged by
the intrusion.

Karen watches with a
mixture of love and anxiety.
Her hand is a constant
comfort on his, her thumb
gently stroking the
back of his palm. She's
thankful for Dr. Musselman's
understanding, his gentle
touch.

The doctor nods. "He'll
wake up in his own time,"
he says, his eyes on the
monitors that track Plankton's
vitals. "It's normal for
autistic patients to need
some extra time to come out
of anesthesia." His words
hang in the air, a reminder
of the unique challenges
they face.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
The gauze in his mouth is
already stained with a faint
pink, the blood from his
extractions. She reaches
for a tissue, gently wiping
away the drool that has
started to form around
his mouth. Her heart clenches
as she sees the peaceful
expression on his face, free
from the fear that had
gripped him earlier.
The doctor checks the
monitors, his gaze flicking
between the numbers and
Plankton's sleeping form. "He's
doing well," he murmurs.

new do you trust me karen plankton 21

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 22


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Plankton's mouth
moves with his
snores, the gauze
pads in his mouth
muffling the sound, the
crimson tinge to the
white fabric. His
drool pools and runs
down the side of his
face.

Karen watches, her
thoughts a tumult
of emotion. She's
relieved that the
procedure went well
but torn apart by the
knowledge that Plankton's
fear was so intense.
Her hand remains
steadfast on his, her
thumb brushing over
his skin in gentle
circles.

The doctor checks
his watch, his eyes
on Plankton's slack
form. "Almost time for him
to wake up," he says
softly. Karen nods, her
heart racing as she
braces herself for
his reaction. Karen
can't help but think about
how much he's been
through today, and she
wonders if he'll ever
trust her the same way
again.

The minutes tick by,
each one feeling like an
eternity. The only
sounds in the room are
the steady beeps of the
monitors and the soft
snores of Plankton's
slumber. Karen's hand
doesn't stop moving, her
thumb tracing comforting
patterns on his palm.

When Plankton stirs,
his antennae twitching
slightly, Karen's eyes fill
with relief. "Hey, baby,"
she whispers, her voice a
caress. "You're okay." His
eye opens slowly, blinking
against the light.

He looks around,
his gaze finally settling
on Karen. For a moment,
his expression is lost, a
swirl of confusion and
fear. Then he sees her smile,
and the world falls into place.
"Huh," he whispers, his voice
slurred from the anesthesia.
Karen's smile widens. The
numbness in his mouth is a
strange, disconnected sensation,
like his teeth are floating
in a sea of cotton.

Plankton tries to sit up,
his movements clumsy and
slow. Karen's hand on his
shoulder is firm but gentle,
guiding him back down. "Easy,
sweetie," she says.

The doctor nods, his
expression a blend of
concern and reassurance. "Just
give it a few more minutes,"
he says. "Let the anesthesia
wear off a bit more." Plankton's
eye focuses on her, his mind
fuzzy.

The gauze in his mouth
feels like a soggy sponge,
absorbing the blood from
his teeth. He tries to
talk, but his words are
muted and garbled. "Ma-"
Karen nods, her smile
understanding. "I know,
baby. It'll be okay."

The doctor checks the
monitors, his expression
calm. "Looks like you're
coming out of it," he
says. "Just a few more
minutes." Karen nods,
her hand still on Plankton's.

Plankton's body feels
strange, his movements
sluggish. The numbness
of his mouth spreads
to his cheeks, his
face feeling swollen and
alien. He tries to talk.

"Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma-" Karen
understands his attempt
at words. She leans closer,
smiling gently. "It's okay,
sweetie. You're okay."
Her voice is a soothing
song, a balm to his
fearful soul. His tongue feels
like a thick slab of meat,
unresponsive and foreign.
The drool continues to flow.

Plankton's gaze moves
from Karen to the doctor,
his eye wide and searching.
"Wheh...what...whath happen'd?"
he mumbles around the
gauze, his mouth feeling
like it's filled with
cotton. His tongue is a
dead weight, refusing to
form words.

Karen's smile is a
lifeline in the fog of
his confusion. "You had
a little procedure,"
she says, her voice gentle.
"The wisdom teeth are out."
Plankton's antennae twitch,
trying to remember the
conversation that had
led to this. The fear is
a distant memory now,
dulled by the anesthesia.

His mouth feels
strange, unfamiliar. He
reaches up to touch his
swollen cheek, his hand
shaky and clumsy. "Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma--"
He tries to form words,
his mind still sluggish.

Karen's eyes are
full of love and concern
as she gently takes his
hand. "It's okay," she says.
"The numbness will go away
soon."

Plankton nods, his
head lolling slightly as
his body adjusts to the
lack of sensation. His
drool pools on the
gauze pads, the saliva
spilling over onto his chin.
He's vaguely aware of the
mess he's making, but the
fear has been replaced
by a dull, heavy weight.

The doctor's voice is a
comforting murmur in the
background, talking to
Karen about aftercare
and pain management. Karen's
hand is still in his, her
fingers tight around his
own. He tries to squeeze
back, but his hand feels
floppy and unresponsive. "K-Karen
wiww I...?" he slurs, his
thoughts still tangled.

Her eyes are warm with
comfort. "You're going to be
fine," she assures him,
wiping away a stray drop
from the corner of
his mouth. "We'll go home soon."
He perks up. "Thoon?"

The doctor nods. "We'll
keep an eye on him for
a bit longer," he says.
"But you can take him home
once he's more awake." Karen
nods, her thumb continuing
to trace gentle circles on
his palm. Plankton's eye
is glazed with the
remnants of anesthesia, but
his antennae twitch with
excitement.

The room spins around
Plankton, the walls a blur.
He tries to sit up again,
his body fighting against
the lingering effects of
the drugs. Karen's grip is
firm but loving, keeping
him anchored to the chair.
"Just a bit longer," she
soothes.

His mouth feels like a
cavern, the gauze thick
and unyielding. He tries
to speak, his tongue a
traitor against his will.
"Doeth...doeth it huth?"
The words come out
garbled, a nonsensical
string of syllables.

Karen nods, her smile
understanding. "Your mouth
will feel funny for a bit,"
she explains, her voice a
soothing hum. "It's normal,
just give it some time."
Her thumb keeps moving, a
small, reassuring gesture.

The doctor's words drift in
and out of Plankton's
awareness. "You'll have to
take it easy for a few
days," he's saying. "No
crunchy foods, lots of ice
for the swelling." Karen
nods, her eyes on Plankton's
face as she listens.

Plankton's tongue is a
sluggish weight in his
mouth, his teeth a distant
memory beneath the
cottony numbness. He tries
to form a full sentence.

"Muh...muh...muh... Yith?" 
Plankton's voice is a garbled 
mess, the words sticking to 
his numb tongue like glue. 
Karen's heart squeezes in 
her chest as she tries not 
to laugh. "What did you 
say, sweetie?"

He sighs, frustrated, 
his antennae drooping. "I thaid, 
doth Chip know?" His speech
is still slurred, the words
coming out like a drunken
mumble. Karen nods. "He's 
waiting outside," she says.
"He's been worried about
you."

The mention of Chip
seems to anchor him. His
eye brightens, the
confusion in it clearing
slightly. "Chip," he murmurs.
Karen smiles. "Yes, Chip,"
she repeats, her voice a
soft echo. "You remember
now?"

Plankton's antennae twitch
in affirmation. "Muh...mouth."
Karen nods, her expression
full of understanding.
"It's okay," she says. "Your
mouth will feel normal
again soon."

The doctor's voice is a
steady stream of instructions,
his words a lifeline in
Plankton's foggy reality. "Keep
the gauze in for an hour,
chew gently to keep the
blood flowing," he says,
his tone calm and
soothing. Plankton nods, his
eye unfocused.

Karen's hand is a
comforting weight on his
shoulder, her voice a
lullaby as she repeats the
instructions back to him.
"We'll go get some ice
cream," she says, her tone
hopeful. "Something soft
and sweet to help your
mouth feel better. Ready to
meet Chip out in the lobby?"

Plankton nods, his
movements jerky and awkward.
The numbness in his mouth
still lingers, his tongue a
dead weight as he tries to
speak. "I-I...finks...sho."
His voice is a slurred mess,
but the meaning is clear.

Karen laughs gently, her
hands moving to help him sit
up. "Let's go, then," she
says, her voice filled with
relief and love. Plankton's
eye widens slightly as he
takes in his surroundings,
his movements still slow and
sluggish. The doctor nods,
his expression a mix of
pride and sympathy.
Her arm is around him,
supporting his weight
as she helps him stand up.

new do you trust me karen plankton 22

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 18


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Jill, the new hygienist,
is a whirlwind of activity, her
movements swift and efficient.
But she's not the same. The comfort
of familiarity is replaced
with the cold embrace of the
unknown. Chip watches, his
heart racing with his father's.

Jill doesn't notice Plankton's
growing distress. She's too busy
preparing the chair, her eyes
flicking over the chart. "Open
wide," she says, her voice a
sharp command. Plankton's eye
flutters, his antennae drooping as
she holds up a periodontal probe
explorer. Plankton shakes his head.
"Ms. Jill, I ha-"

But she cuts him off with a
wave of her hand. "We're all set.
No need to be nervous." Her tone
is brisk, dismissive of his fear as
she leans in with the sharp probe.
But it's not okay. It's not
okay at all.

Plankton's antennae thrash wildly,
his eye wide with panic. "No,"
he whispers, his voice lost in the
buzz of the room. "No, I need... I
ca--" Jill's eyes narrow, her hand
poised with the probe. "Mr.
Plankton, you need to relax,"
she says, her voice a
stern command.

Karen steps forward, her voice
calm but firm. "Jill, my husband
is autistic. He has specific
needs during these types
of appointments." But Jill,
focused on her work, doesn't
look up. "We don't have all
day," she says, her tone
implicitly dismissing Karen's
concerns. Yet the sharpness
of the probe is painfully unbearable
the second it touches Plankton..

Plankton's body jerks back, his
voice rising in panic. "No, no,
please!" he cries, his antennae
thrashing. Karen's eyes
narrow, her patience wearing
thin. "Jill," she repeats, "my
husband has an autistic condition."
The words hang in the air, a
plea for understanding.

Jill's eyes snap up, her hand
still gripping the probe.
"Autistic?" she scoffs. "You're just
trying to get out of the cleaning."
Her dismissal is a slap in
the face, her ignorance a
barrier to the care Plankton
desperately needs. "Relax or we'll
have to hold you down."

Plankton's antennae flatten, his
body shaking with fear. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice a thread
of desperation. "Make i---"

But Jill already has the probe
in her hand, moving towards
his mouth. Plankton's panic
spikes, his antennae flailing.
"Please," he whispers, his voice
barely audible. "I can't handle it."
Yet Jill doesn't heed his needs.

Her grip is firm as she
pries open Plankton's mouth,
his eye watering. Chip's fists clench,
his heart hammering. He wants to
shout, to make her stop, but his
throat is tight with his own
fear of causing a scene.

"Jill, wait," Karen says,
her voice firm but calm.
"You need to understand,
Plankton's autism means he's
sensitive to changes in routine
and can't handle certain sensory
inputs." But Jill's expression is
unyielding, her eyes cold.

"I don't care about your
excuses," she says, her voice
sharp. "You're here for a cleaning,
and that's what you're getting. If you
can't hold still, then we'll need
to have your family hold you down
or kick them out." Plankton's antennae
drop limply, his body trembling.

Karen's eyes flash with anger,
but she remains composed. "Jill,
you're not listening," she says, her
voice a tightrope of control. "This isn't
about avoiding a cleaning. It's abou–"

But Plankton's distress reaches
a breaking point. His antennae
whip around, slapping against the chair
in a frantic effort to escape the probe.
"No," he whispers, his voice a
plea. "I can't..."

Karen steps in, her voice firm.
"Jill, please," she says, her hand
on Plankton's arm. "We need to
adjust th-"

But Jill's had enough. "If you
can't keep still," she snaps, her
hand tightening on the probe,
"Then I'll do it myself." Plankton's
eye widens in terror as she
holds his mouth open, the probe
poking him too hard.

Chip can't stand it anymore.
He steps forward, his voice
steady despite his fear. "No,"
he says. But Jill
pulls away, her eyes flashing.
"This is none of your concern,
kid," she sneers. "Now move."
So Chip sits back down as
Jill prods Plankton's mouth once
more. But Plankton's distress
only grows. His antennae
twitching, his body
shaking uncontrollably.
"Stop," he whispers, his voice
desperate. "Please."

Jill's eyes narrow, her grip
tightening. "You need to sit
still," she says, her voice
a harsh reproof. "This won't
hurt if you just cooperate."
But Plankton can't cooperate.
He's lost in a world of sensory
overload, the probe in his mouth
a burning tormentor he can't escape.

Karen's voice is calm but
insistent. "Jill, please. We
can reschedule with someone
more understanding." But Jill
waves her off, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's terrified gaze.
"Interrupt me again and I'll make
you sit in the waiting room area."

Chip's heart races as he watches
his dad's distress. He's torn
between protecting him and
avoiding confrontation. The
probe's cold touch is a violation,
a symbol of the world's
harshness invading their safe
space. Plankton's whimpers
turn to sobs, his body rigid
with fear as she starts again
with the probe, her movements
becoming more aggressive.
Plankton's antennae are a blur,
his voice a garbled mess of
pleas and pain. Karen doesn't
want to have him unnecessarily
suffer, yet she also doesn't want
to be sent out.

The room seems to close in,
the lights too bright, the sounds
too loud. Chip feels a knot in his
throat, his eyes stinging with
unshed tears. He looks to his mom,
her face a mask of calm, but he
can see the tension in her eyes,
the tightness.

Plankton's sobs grow louder, his
body jerking as Jill continues
to ignore his pleas. She only holds
on tighter. Her movements become more
aggressive, her eyes narrowed
with determination.

Karen's patience snaps like a
taut rubber band. "That's enough,"
she says, her voice sharp. She
moves to stand between Jill and
Plankton, blocking the probe.
"You're causing him unnecessary
pain."

Jill's eyes widen, but she
doesn't relent. "Ma'am, I'm just
trying to do my job. Now let me
work. If you stay in here, then
hold him down. We're not finished
until we get this done."

Karen's face is a picture of
frustration and concern. "This
isn't right," she says, her voice
steady. But with a sigh of
defeat, Karen sends Chip out into
the waiting room as she holds
her crying husband down.
"I'm sorry, love, we have to get
through th-"

But Plankton's cries only
intensify. The room feels like
it's closing in on him, the
lights piercing his eye, the
smells overwhelming him. He
wants to escape, to retreat
into a bubble where everything
is safe.

But the probe is in his
mouth, the chair is too cold, and
Jill's touch is too rough. Yet
Karen holds his limbs tightly.

"Open wider," Jill commands,
ignoring the tears streaming
down Plankton's cheeks. The
probe scrapes against his
teeth, a grating sound that
makes his skin crawl. His antennae
are a blur of motion, a silent
scream of distress.

Karen's voice is firm. "Jill,
this isn't working," she says,
her eyes never leaving Plankton's.
"We need to find another way."
But Jill is unmoved. "I've got a
schedule to keep," she snaps,
her movements growing more
forceful. "You're not special."

The words hit Plankton like a
wave, his heart racing. He tries
to speak, to explain, but the
probe is in his mouth, silencing
his voice. He feels the beginnings
of a seizure, the edges of his
vision blurring.

Jill's eyes flicker with
impatience, her movements
quickening. Karen's grip on
Plankton's arm tightens, her voice
a firm plea. "Jill, please,
stop. He can't take it." But
Jill's voice is cold. "This is
standard procedure. I don't
have tim-"

But Plankton's 
body seizes, his
limbs thrashing 
wildly. The probe 
clatters to the 
floor, Jill's eyes 
widening with 
shock.

"He's having 
convulsions,"
Karen says quickly,
her voice sharp.
Jill's eyes dart
to Karen, then
back to Plankton,
his body convulsing
slightly in the chair.
"What?" she asks,
confusion marring
her features.

"He's having
an autistic
shutdown," Karen
explains, her voice
calm but urgent.
"This happens
when he's 
overwhelmed.
Let. Go."

Jill's grip finally
loosens, her eyes
wide with fear.

new do you trust me karen plankton 18

⊹ ࣪ ˖

new chocolate chip cookie

CHIP AND FAIL xvi
(Autistic author)

"Both of you, sit down," Karen
ordered, her voice firm but
not unkind. They complied,
their movements jerky with
emotion.

"Chip, your father's autism
is not an excuse for this
behavior, but it's also not
something to mock," Karen began,
looking at her son with
serious eyes. "It's a part of
him, and we need to respect it."

Chip's anger subsided slightly. "But
you saw what happened earlier," he
said, his voice still shaking. "It's like
he doesn't even want to be around me."

But Plankton's not quite done.
"Why do you think that is, Chip? Go
on, smarty, enlighten..."

Karen's patience had run out. "Plankton,"
she said, her voice stern.
"That's enough."

He glared at Chip, his antennae
quivering with anger. Chip looked
away from him.

"And Plankton," Karen's voice was
a gentle reprimand, "Your son's
ignorance is not an excuse for
anger. We all need to communicate
better."

Plankton's antennae drooped.
"I know," he murmured, his anger
easing slightly. "It's just..."

Karen's voice was firm. "I know it's
frustrating, but we need to work
together." She turned to Chip.
"And Chip, your father's feelings are
valid. You can't ignore them."

Chip looked at his father, his
eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry,
Dad," he murmured. "I didn't
mean to hurt you."

Karen's voice was calm as
she interceded. "Plankton, can
you tell Chip what happened
today? Help him understand?"

Plankton's antennae stopped
shaking. He took a deep breath.
"When you touch me without
asking," he began, his voice
still sharp, "my body can't
always handle what yours can."

Karen's eyes were a gentle
reminder of the lesson she had
tried to teach earlier. She nodded
for him to continue.

"When you poke me 
or touch me without
asking," Plankton said, 
"it's overwhelming."

"I just barely touched you
for one second, Dad!"

"To you, it's one second," Plankton
replied, his antennae drooping. "To me,
it's an eternity of discomfort."

Karen stepped in. "Chip," she said,
"You need to understand that for
him, it's not just about
physical contact. It's about
respecting his boundaries."

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II xvi

CHIP AND FAIL xvii
(Autistic author)

Plankton quivered with
the effort to contain 
his anger.

"Chip, your dad's right,"
Karen said, her voice
a soft current of calm
amidst the storm. "You
have to learn to respect
his boundaries."

Plankton's antennae twitched.
He looked at Karen, his
eye filled with a mix of
gratitude and pain. "It's not just
the touch," he whispered, his voice
raw. "It's the types of touch,
the expectations... It's like I'm
drowning every day."

Karen nodded, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "And
Chip," she said, turning to her son,
"you need to learn to swim
without pushing him under."

Chip's eyes were wide with
understanding. "What can I do?"

Karen took a deep breath. "Just
ask before you touch," she said.
"And if he says no, respect it.
Give him space."

Chip's eyes searched his father's.
"Dad," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's antennae twitched, a
sign of his internal struggle.
Karen's hand squeezed his.

"Okay, Chip," she said, her voice
a gentle guide. "Ask your questions."

Chip took a deep breath. "What do
you mean by 'ask before I touch'?"
he ventured, his eyes on Plankton,
his antennae still a blur of agitation.

Plankton took a moment before
replying. "It means," he began,
his voice still sharp, "that I need
space. My brain can't handle
what yours can!"

"But Mom," Chip's voice was
still tentative, "How do we
know what touch..."

But Plankton's antennae shot up,
his eye a storm of agitation. "Just ask!"
he snapped. "It's not rocket
science, Chip. Just. Ask."

Chip took a deep breath, his
cheeks still flushed with anger.
"I'm asking what types of..."

But Plankton's antennae were
already back to their usual
calm state. "I know you're curious,"
he said, his voice softer. "But I can't
just list them. It's different every
day. Sometimes, a simple pat on the
back is too much. Other times, I
crave a hug."

Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing
with questions. "So, it IS a choice..."

But Plankton's antennae drooped. "No,
Chip," he said, his voice weary. "It's not
a choice. It's survival."

"Survival? Dad, a touch 
won't kill you.."

But Plankton's antennae 
twitched again. "It's not just 
about living," he said, his voice
sad. "It's about living without pain."

Chip's eyes searched his 
father's, seeing the weariness 
and hurt. He took a step closer,
his hand outstretched. "Can I?"
he asked, his voice tentative.

Plankton flinched, his antennae
shooting up. "What are you doing?"
he snapped, his voice tight with
anxiety.

"Just asking if it's okay," Chip said,
his hand hovering in midair. "I don't
want to..."

Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching. "If you're going to ask,
make it genuine," he said, his voice
softening. "Don't just do it because
you think it's the right thing to do."

Chip nodded, his hand
still hovering. "I want to learn,"
he said, his voice earnest. "What
can I do to make it better?"

Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly, a hint of softening.
"You can start by listening," he said,
his voice a little less sharp.

"What do you mean?" Chip
asked, his hand slowly lowering.

"I mean," Plankton began, his antennae
calming slightly, "that I need you to
understand that my boundaries are not
up for negotiation."

"But what if I want to hug you?"
Chip's voice was hopeful, his 
arms outstretched and already
reaching him.

Plankton's antennae shot
up again. "Chip, I said no!"
he yelled, his voice sharp with
pain. "How many times do I have to
tell you?"

Chip's eyes widened, his hands
falling to his side. "But I just..."

But Plankton's antennae were
a blur of agitation again. "You don't
get it!" he shouted. "It's not about
what YOU want, it's about what I need!"

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his mind racing. "But Dad, I just
want to show you that I care," he
said, his voice quivering. "Is there
no way to do that without making
you uncomfortable?"

Plankton's antennae twitched. "Chip,"
he began, his voice weary, "just
because you don't see my struggle
doesn't mean it's not there."

Chip's eyes searched his father's, his
hands clenched at his sides. "But
how can I show you that I care?"

"Sleep, for now," Karen 
says. "We're all
tired. We can 
talk about this
another time."

Plankton's antennae
dropped slightly, his 
body visibly
deflating. Chip 
nodded, his eyes 
on the floor.

"Okay," he murmured.
"I'll just go to
my room."

Karen watched him go,
her heart heavy with the
knowledge that she had
to be the one to mend
the fracture between
father and son. She
turned to Plankton.

"Bedtime," she said, her
voice a gentle nudge. "We're
all exhausted. It's late."

The next morning, Chip 
awoke early.

He could feel the tension
in the air, thick and palpable.
The house was eerily silent.
He knew he had to make things
right for his dad.

Chip tiptoed to his parents's
room, his heart racing.
He pushed the door open.

Karen was sitting on the
edge of the bed. Plankton
was curled up, his antennae
twitching slightly.

Chip swallowed his pride. "Mom,
I'm sorry for what I said," he
mumbled. "Can you help me talk
to Dad?"

Karen's eyes softened. "Your father's
still sleeping," she said. "But I'll
talk to him when he wakes up."

Chip nodded. "I'll wait," he said,
his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do
whatever it takes."

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the determination in them.
"Alright," she said, her voice a
soft caress. "But remember, it's not
about fixing him. It's about
understanding him."

Chip nodded solemnly. "I know,"
he said. "I just want to be
there for him."

Karen's eyes filled with
pride. "That's all we can
ask for," she said. "But you
have to be patient."

Chip goes to his mom's
bed, sitting down.

"I'll wait," he says.
"I'm not leaving until
we talk."

Karen nods, her eyes filled with
understanding. "I'll stay with
you," she says. "But remember, we
have to give him space."

Chip nods, his gaze never leaving
his father's sleeping form. He
studies Plankton, his antennae
twitching slightly in his sleep.
He tries to imagine what it's like
for his dad, to live in a world
where a simple touch could be
torture.

He watches the rise and fall
of Plankton's chest, the gentle
sway of his antennae. He notices
how peaceful he looks when
his mind isn't bombarded by the
world's sensory assault, the way his
mouth is slightly open.

"Mom," Chip says, his voice
barely above a whisper. "What
does Dad's autism mean for his
sleep?"

Karen sighs, her eyes still
on Plankton. "It means that
his brain is always on alert,"
she explains. "Sleep can be
elusive for him. Sometimes, the
smallest sound can keep him
awake for hours."

Chip nods, his gaze still
on Plankton. "What
happened yesterday when I...
Dad was unresponsive?"

Karen sighs. "Sensory overload,"
she says. "It's like your brain
has too much to process, so
it just shuts down."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton. "Was he
like, awake?" he asks.

"Sort of," Karen replies,
her eyes never leaving
Plankton's restless form. 
"It's like he's trapped
in his own head."

"Could he hear me?" Chip's voice
was a mix of fear and hope.
"Could he feel anything?"

Karen looked at her son, her
heart heavy with the knowledge
that she was about to reveal a
painful truth. "He heard you," she
said gently. "But his brain couldn't
process it all."

Chip felt a lump in his throat.
"Could he see?" he asked,
his voice tight with emotion.

Karen nodded, her eyes
still on Plankton. "He could see
you," she said. "But it's like
his brain was stuck in a loop,
replaying the same scene over 
and over."

Chip felt the weight of his
father's pain, his own chest
constricting. "How long do
they usually last?"

Karen's gaze remained on
Plankton. "It varies," she
said. "Sometimes just seconds,
other times hours. It all depends
on how overwhelmed he gets."

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II xvii

✰ ✰ ✰∘˙○˚.•

new chocolate chip bat dragon chocolate chip bat dragon name

CHIP AND FAIL iv
(Autistic author)

Chip leaned in closer, his screen
searching Plankton's unblinking
gaze for some sign of recognition.
He snapped his fingers in front of
his eye. Nothing.

"Dad, can you hear me?" He asked
again, his voice quivering with
concern. Plankton's condition meant
his senses were heightened, but Chip
was unaware of the storm his
enthusiasm had unleashed. Each
question, each touch, was a boulder
crashing down on his father's
fragile mental landscape. 

The thought sent a shiver down
Chip's spine. He had to get
his dad to respond, to come
back to him. "Please, Dad,"
he whispered, his voice a
plea. "I don't know what to do.
Can you wake up?" But Plankton's
body remained rigid, his eye
unseeing. Chip felt a knot
of fear in his stomach. What if
his dad was stuck in there,
unable to escape?

He didn't know his dad was
autistic, didn't understand the
world of sensory input that was
his reality. He didn't know
how much his excitement and
touches could overwhelm him. He
just knew that his dad, the man
who had always been so strong,
was now as still and quiet as a
graveyard at midnight.

Chip's mind raced, trying to
find the right words, the right
touch, to bring Plankton back. He
wanted to share his stories,
his happiness, but instead, he'd
stumbled into a minefield of
unseen sensitivities. He didn't
know how to navigate this
uncharted territory. "Dad," he
whispered, his voice trembling. "Please,
just tell me you're okay."

Plankton's eye remained 
unfocused. His hand hovered
over Plankton's, unsure of what to
do. He didn't know that his
enthusiastic touches were only
adding to the chaos in Plankton's
mind, that his vivid stories were
like a hurricane in a library.

Chip took a step back, his mind
whirling with worry. He had never
seen his dad like this before,
his usual stoic exterior replaced
by a terrifying stillness. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice shaking.
"What's happening?" He wished
he could read Plankton's thoughts,
understand the turmoil that was
causing his father to withdraw
so completely.

He knew Plankton was different,
that he needed his space and
his quiet, but he had never
realized the extent of his
sensitivities. The more Chip talked,
the more his dad seemed to retreat,
until he was nothing but a shell,
a statue of a man Chip couldn't
reach. He felt like he was
shouting into the wind, his words
disappearing without a trace.

With trembling hands, Chip reached
out to touch Plankton's face,
his heart breaking at the sight of
his father's vacant gaze. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice filled with
fear. "Please come back." But
Plankton remained unresponsive,
his eye glazed over.

The room grew colder, the air
thicker with Chip's desperation.
"PLEASE, DAD!" He shouted, his voice
breaking. Plankton didn't move,
his body a statue in the swirl of
his sensory chaos. Chip didn't know
his touches and loudness were only
adding to his father's pain.

"Dad, you're scaring me!" Chip's
fingers hovered over Plankton's arm. His heart
was racing as he tried to think
of what to do, his mind a blur
of panic.
He knew his mom might know what to do.
"Mom!" he calls out, his voice
shaky. 

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II iv

CHIP AND FAIL x
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae quivered, his
body trembling. "You want to help?"
he demanded, his voice a thunderclap.
"Then LISTEN!" His antennae shot
straight up, his body rigid with
tension. "Just because I freeze
up, it doesn't mean you get to
paw at me like a sea urchin
without a care in the world!"

Chip's screen filled with hurt, his
hands dropping to his sides. "But
Dad," he began, his voice trembling.
"I just wanted to make it better, seeing
you're not acting like an adult or even
a good dad with your dramatically fitful
tantrum." His words were like salt on
an open wound, but he didn't know
better, his innocence a blunt weapon.

Plankton's antennae snapped back,
his eye narrowing. "Out," he said, his
voice a glacial wind. "You don't get
to be in here right now."

Chip's eyes filled with shock, then
hurt, as the reality of his father's
words sank in. "But Dad, I didn't
mean..."

But Plankton was a wall of ice,
his antennae stiff and unyielding.
"No, get out," he repeated, his voice a
chilling wind that sliced through
Chip's protests. "I want you out of
my sight, Chip. Just go." His eye was
a storm cloud, threatening rain.

Chip felt the sting of his dad's
words, the coldness of his rejection.
He took a step back, his hand
dropping to his side. "But Dad,
I just want to..."

But Plankton's antennae remained
stiff, his voice unyielding. "Out," he
repeated, his eye a storm cloud
ready to burst. "You don't get to
stay here after saying that."

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his own filled with a mix of hurt
and bewilderment. "But Dad," he
whispered, "I don't..."

But Plankton's antennae remained
rigid, his voice like ice. "I said,
OUT." His anger was a palpable
thing in the room, a force that
pushed Chip backward, despite
his father's physical stillness.

With a final look of hurt and
disbelief, Chip turned and left,
his footsteps echoing down the
hallway like the ghosts of all
the moments he had hoped to
share with his father. Plankton
watched him go, his heart a leaden
weight in his chest. Those words 
Chip used might as well be
unforgivable.

Karen's eyes were wide with
concern, but she knew better than
to push him in that moment. She
knew his triggers, and how Chip
inadvertently said the wrong thing.
She knew he actually doesn't want
to bring attention, and
being told his pleas for boundaries
have been called tantrums, by his
own son, in his own room...

Karen knew how his moments of
'twitching' and 'freezes' and 'mishaps'
and 'venting' as he preferred to call
them, being called tantrums...

Plankton closed his eye,
his body trembling with the effort of
holding back his own tears.

Karen approached him cautiously,
her screen filled with worry. "Honey,
are you okay?" she asked, her voice
gentle as a summer breeze.

Plankton's antennae drooped, his body
slumped in the chair. "No," he murmured,
his voice thick with pain. "But I will be."
He took a deep, shuddering breath,
his chest rising and falling like the tides.

Karen watched him, her heart in her
throat. She knew the storm would
pass, but the wreckage it left
behind was always the same. She
reached out a tentative hand, her touch
feather-light on his shoulder. "Do
you want me to explain to Chip?"
she offered, her voice a whisper.

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body still trembling. "No," he
managed to say, his voice a rasp. His
eye remained closed, his breaths
coming in shallow gasps.

Karen's hand hovered for a
moment before retreating, her
heart breaking for her husband.
"Okay," she murmured, giving him the
space he needed. She knew the
importance of respecting his boundaries
now more than ever. "He just didn't know
how much his wording hurt you.."

"I know," Plankton said, his voice
barely audible. "But that doesn't
make it sting any less." He took
another deep breath, his antennae
twitching with the effort of calming
his racing thoughts.

Karen's hand hovered over him,
wanting to comfort but knowing
not to push. "If he asks, can I tell
him? You know, so he doesn't..."

Plankton's antennae twitched again,
his eye finally opening. "Only if he
specifically asks about it," he said,
his voice stronger now. "Otherwise he 
needs to understand for himself and
figure it out if he wants to help so bad."

Karen nodded, her screen filled with
understanding. She knew her husband's
pride and the importance of their
son coming to terms with his condition
without being forced to. She gave him
a gentle squeeze. "I'll be here," she said.
"For both of you."

The room remained silent
for a long moment, the only sound the
soft ticking of the clock on the wall.
Plankton took another deep breath,
his antennae slowly unfurling. "Thank
you," he murmured, his voice a whisper.

Karen's eyes searched his, her hand
still on his shoulder. "Do you want
to talk about it?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress.

Plankton took a moment to
consider. The storm in his head
was beginning to abate, the pain
lessening with each passing
second. "I'd just like some
time to myself."

Karen nodded, her screen
filling with love and sadness.
"I'll make sure he doesn't bother
you," she promised, her voice a
soft whisper. She knew how
important it was for Plankton to
have space.

Chip stood in his room, the
closed door a barrier between him
and his father's pain. He felt like
a sea urchin thrown onto the
sharp rocks of misunderstanding,
his spikes no match for the
storm of emotions that had just
erupted. He couldn't help but
wonder if he had made things
worse. He had wanted to connect,
but instead, he had hurt the one
person he loved most.

His mind raced, trying to
piece together the puzzle of his
father's behavior. The words "autism
spectrum" echoed in his thoughts,
a mysterious code he hadn't
known existed. He had heard the
term before, but it had always
been a distant concept, not
something that could affect his
own life. 

He sat down on his bed, his
hands shaking. He felt like he had
just been handed a treasure map
without knowing how to read it. His
dad's condition was a treasure, a
key to understanding the man he
idolized, but the map was written
in a language he hadn't learned.

With each passing second, the
weight of his father's words grew
heavier. He had never thought
about the world from Plankton's
perspective, had never considered that
his touch could be anything but
comforting. The realization hit him
like a tidal wave, knocking the
wind out of him.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II x

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯
 𐙚
 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ
      𐙚
     Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉3uMuWcPA') OR 966=(SELECT 966 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯
 𐙚
 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ
      𐙚
     Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉'"

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 3
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

The room feels smaller,
the air heavier. Karen can
see the turmoil in
Plankton's eye, the fear of
rejection and misunderstanding.
"It's okay, Plankton," she says,
squeezing his hand. "You're not
alone." But Chip's eyes are filled
with a mix of confusion
and concern, reaching
out tentatively. Plankton
flinches. "Dad," Chip says, his voice
small. "What's w---"

"It's nothing you
need to worry about!"
Plankton snaps, his voice
sharp. The words sting Chip,
and he takes a step back.
"Chip, your dad's just... tired,"
Karen says quickly, trying to
smooth things over. But the
damage is done. Plankton's
always been so good at hiding
his autism, but now it's out in
the open. "But, Dad..." Chip starts.
"I SAID, IT'S NOTHING!"

Plankton's outburst echoes
in the room, his antennae
twitching wildly. Karen sees the fear
in Chip's screen. She knows Plankton
meant no harm, but the
shame he feels is palpable.
"It's ok, Chip," she says,
trying to keep her voice steady.
"Dad just needs a moment."

Chip nods, his gaze
flickering between his
parents. He's never seen his
dad like this before, so...
vulnerable. He takes another
step back, giving them space.
Plankton's head jerks to the
side again, a tic, the
neurodivergence that Karen's seen
often, but Chip's only just
noticing it.

Karen sees the fear in Chip's
screen. "It's okay, Chip," she
says again, her voice a lifeline.
"It's just his body's way of dealing
with the aftermath." Plankton's
never wanted Chip to see
this side of him, the side that's
not so put-together. "Why does he 
do that?" he asks, his voice still
trembling. Karen takes a deep
breath, ready to explain. "It's
called a tic, Chip. Sometimes
people with autism have these
small movements they can't
control. It's just
his brain's way of... 
releasing energy. It's like 
a reflex."

Plankton feels exposed, raw.
This isn't how he wanted his son
to find out. "Dad?" Chip says,
his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae stop their
wild dance. "I tck tck... I'm okay,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible. Chip's screen filled
with unshed tears, 
aching for his father. He
doesn't understand, but he
can see the pain in Plankton's
eye. "You don't have to hide.."

Karen's voice is a gentle
caress. "It's just who
your dad is, Chip. He's
always been like this." Plankton
nods, his gaze meeting hers.
They share a silent understanding,
a bond formed from years of
supporting each other through
his episodes.

Chip looks at Plankton, his
eyes searching for any
resemblance of the
dad he knows. But all he sees
is a man with a secret he's
carried alone for so long.
"But wh-"

"It's called 'masking',"
Karen says gently. "Your dad's
been doing it his whole life."
The word hangs in the air,
foreign yet somehow fitting.
Plankton's always been so
good at pretending, so adept
at hiding his true self. Chip feels
like he's peering into a part
of his dad's soul that's
always been veiled. "But
why, Dad?" His voice is
barely above a whisper as
he reaches for his hand.
Plankton's antennae quiver
under the weight of his son's
touch. He's never liked the
feeling of anything on him,
and is only comfortable with
Karen's touch.

The tactile sensitivity is
a part of his autism that
makes certain textures
and sensations unbearable.
Chip's grip is firm, and Plankton 
flinches away from him.

Karen notices. She knows
how much Plankton struggles
with the simple act of being
touched by anyone but her.
But Chip grabs Plankton's
hand again, unyielding.

Plankton's antennae spike
with discomfort, his skin
crawling under the pressure.
He tries to pull away, but
his son's grip is tight.
"Chip, it's okay," Karen
soothes. "Dad's just...
sensitive." But Chip's eyes
are pleading. He doesn't
understand, doesn't know
that his simple touch can
set off a sensory overload
for his father. And so he
holds on tighter. "Dad..."
Chip starts. Plankton whimpers.
Karen's seen this
so many times before.
How Plankton's body reacts
to the slightest touch,
how his skin can feel like
it's on fire, his brain a
whirlwind of chaos. But this
time, it's Chip's hand, and
it's uncharted territory.
Plankton's antennae spasm,
his eye squeezed shut.

The room feels too hot, too
loud. He tries to focus.
He wants to scream, to shake
his son off, but he knows
he can't. Yet Chip's hand won't
let go.

Karen sees the panic in
Plankton's eye, the way his
body tenses like a coil about
to spring. She places her hand
over Chip's, trying to gently
pry his fingers from Plankton's.
"Chip, sweetie, let go," she
says softly. "Your dad's just
a bit... overwhelmed right now."
Plankton flaps his other hand
in a stim, which Chip doesn't
understand. So he also grabs
his other hand, too.

"Dad, please talk to me,"
Chip begs, his voice shaking.
The sensation of Chip's
hands on his is unbearable,
like sandpaper against skin.
He wants to scream, but
his voice is trapped in a
body that feels like it's not his.
"I... " he gasps, his eye darting.

Karen's screen is filled with
sorrow as she sees the
panic in her husband's gaze.
"Chip, let go," she says, her voice
firm yet gentle. "It's okay.
Your dad just needs some space."
But Chip's grip tightens.
"No; I won't leave you," he
declares, his screen wet with
tears. Plankton's unable to
take anymore, but Chip's grip
is to strong for him to pry
away from. Plankton can't
breathe, the pressure of his son's
hands on him too much to bear.
But Chip doesn't understand.
He doesn't realize his touch is
causing his dad pain. Suddenly
Plankton's legs buckle onto the bed.

Karen's eyes widen as she
sees Plankton's distress,
and she quickly takes action.
"Chip, let him go!" she says
more urgently, placing her
hands on Chip's shoulders.
Chip finally releases Plankton's
hands, looking from his
mother to his father with
uncertainty. Plankton gasps for
air, his antennae drooping as
Chip finally lets go, loosening his
grip on Plankton's hands.

The room is quiet except
for the harsh sound of
Plankton's ragged breaths.
Karen's seen this
hundreds of times, but it
never gets easier.
"It's okay, Plankton,"
she murmurs. "You're okay,
love."

Plankton is a maelstrom
of uncontrollable tics. His
eye blinks rapidly, and Chip's
never seen his dad like this.

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 3

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 23


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Plankton's legs feel like
jelly, his movements
exaggerated as he tries
to follow her lead. His
tongue is a clumsy thing
in his mouth, his teeth a
strange, unfamiliar
landscape. "C-Chip," he
stammers, his speech still
slurred.

Karen nods, her smile
warm and encouraging.
"Let's go," she says, her
arm around him. The
hallway is a blur of
colors and sounds. His antennae
twitch, trying to make
sense of the world around
him.

Chip is in the lobby,
his eyes wide with worry
as he sees them. He rushes
forward, his movements
cautious. "What happe—"

But Plankton is a
mess of gauze, his words
still lost as he interrupts
his son. "Hi-Hi-Hi-Hi—"
He stammers, his voice
a slurred mess.

Chip's eyes widen with
concern, taking in
his father's swollen face
and the crimson-soaked
pads in his mouth. He
swallows hard, his voice
trembling. "Dad?"

Karen steps in, her
voice firm but gentle. "He
just had his wisdom teeth
taken out," she explains. "His
mouth is still numb." Chip
nods, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's face.

Plankton tries to smile
around the gauze, his antennae
waving in an awkward
attempt at reassurance.
"T-thank you," he slurs, his
voice muffled by the pads.
Chip's eyes fill with tears
at the sight of his father,
his heart heavy with a mix
of pity and love.

They make their way
slowly to the car, Karen's
supportive arm around
Plankton's waist. His legs
feel like rubber, his body
still fighting the
lingering effects of the
anesthesia. "M-muh...m-m-mouth,"
he mumbles, his tongue a
sluggish beast in his mouth.

Karen laughs softly, her
hands guiding him gently. "You'll
be okay," she says, her voice
a warm embrace. "Let's get
you in the back with Chip." She
opens the door to the back.

Plankton slumps into
his seat, the numbness
in his mouth spreading to his
cheeks. His tongue is a thick,
unresponsive slab, refusing to
cooperate.

Karen buckles him in,
her eyes full of love and
concern. "Just relax, baby,"
she whispers. "We'll be home
soon." She starts the car,
the engine purring to life. Chip
sits by him in the seat.

The world outside the
window is a blur of colors,
each one more vivid than the
last. Plankton tries to keep
his eye open, his antennae
twitching with the effort.
But the weight of the
anesthesia is too much.
His eyelid droops, the
lid feeling like heavy
curtains that refuse to stay
up.

Karen's voice is gentle. "You okay,
sweetie?" she asks, glancing
in the rearview mirror.

But Plankton's eye is
closing, the weight of the
anesthesia too great to fight.
"J-just tiwed," he mumbles, his
speech still thick and
slurred. "S-sleep, must shay
awake?"

Karen's voice is a warm
whisper. "It's okay," 
she says. Plankton's
head lolls against the seat,
his antennae drooping. "Chip
and I are here. We'll watch
over yo-"

But her words are lost
as Plankton's eyelid gives
way to the seductive
pull of sleep. His breaths
deepen, his snores a gentle
accompaniment to the
hum of the engine.

Chip's gaze is filled with
concern, his hand tentative as
he touches his father's arm.
"Dad?" His voice is a soft
question, but Plankton doesn't
stir. The car sways gently
with the road's undulations,
a lullaby that Plankton's
exhausted body can't resist.

Karen's eyes flicker to
the mirror, a sigh escaping
her lips. She knows the
importance of rest for him
now, his system still reeling
from the surgery and the
overwhelming emotions of the
day. She keeps driving, her
hands steady on the wheel.
"It's okay, Chip," she says.
"Let him sleep."

Chip nods, his
expression a mix of relief
and worry. He watches
his father's chest rise and
fall, the steady rhythm
of his breathing a testament
to the peace he's found in
slumber. His hand remains
on Plankton's arm, a silent
pledge of support. Yet Plankton
sleeps on, oblivious to the
world outside.

The car ride home is
quiet, the only sounds the
hum of the engine and
Plankton's snores. Karen
drives with a gentle touch,
each bump in the road a
reminder of the fragile
recovery her husband is
experiencing. She glances in
the mirror every few minutes,
checking on him and Chip.

Chip sits next to his
father, his hand resting
lightly on Plankton's arm.
He's torn between watching
the scenery fly by and
keeping vigil over the
man he loves. His heart
thuds with every snore,
his mind racing with
worries and questions.
Is he okay? Why
can't he stay awake?

The car's air conditioning
blows gently on Plankton's face,
his antennae muscles twitching
against the coolness. His
eye opens briefly, his gaze
unfocused. "Ch-Chip?" His
voice is a faint rasp, the
remnants of sleep clinging
to his words. "I'm
right here, Dad," Chip says,
his voice filled with
concern.

Plankton's eyelid flickers,
battling the weight of
slumber. The world is a
swirl of colors and light,
his brain struggling to
make sense of it all. He tries
to sit up, his body stiff
from the lingering
anesthesia. "Home?" he mumbles.

Karen's eyes meet his
in the mirror, her smile
soft. "Almost, baby," she says,
her voice a gentle lull.
"Just a little bit longer."
Her eyes flick back to
the road, her grip on
the steering wheel steady.

Plankton's eyelid droops again,
his head rolling slightly
to the side. His antennae
twitch with the effort to
stay conscious, but the
pull of sleep is too much.

Chip's grip on his arm
tightens, his voice a soft
alarm. "Dad, stay with me."
Plankton's eye opens a crack,
his gaze unfocused. "M-m-m'kay,"
he mumbles, his speech still
slurred. But the fight is lost
almost immediately, his
eye closing once more.

The car sways with the
road, a gentle rocking
motion that seems to call
to him, urging him back
to sleep. Each snore is
deeper than the last, his
body succumbing to the
sleep. Karen's eyes
remain on the road, her
thoughts a silent vigil.

Chip's hand moves to
his father's shoulder,
his touch light but firm.
"Wake up, Dad," he whispers,
his voice a gentle prod.
But Plankton's body
resists, his head rolling
back into the comfort
of the seat. "Dad, wake up,"
Chip tries again, his tone
more insistent this time.

Plankton's eye opens a
slit, the world swimming
into focus briefly before
slipping away again. "Wh-whath?"
he murmurs, his voice a
slurred mess. "Almost home,"
Karen says, her voice
soothing. "Just stay
awake a little longer."

But the drugs are too
powerful, the sedative's
grip too tight. His eye
closes again, his head
falling back onto the
headrest with a soft
thunk. Chip watches, his
heart racing, his hand
still gripping his father's
shoulder. "Come on, Dad,"
he whispers, his voice
desperate. "Don't go to
sleep."

Karen's eyes meet
his in the mirror, a
look of understanding.
"It's okay, Chip," she says.
"Let him rest."

The car pulls into
the driveway, the
gravel crunching beneath
the tires. Plankton's eye
flutters open, his gaze
unfocused. "Home," he
mumbles, his voice barely
a whisper.

Karen's eyes are
filled with gentle
concern as she
turns off the engine.
"Let's get you inside,"
she says, her voice a
comforting balm. Chip's
hands are already moving,
helping his father unbuckle
his seatbelt.

Plankton's movements
are slow and clumsy, his
body still not fully his
own. His legs wobble
as he tries to stand, his
eye glazed with the
lingering effects of the
anesthesia. "Easy, Dad,"
Chip says, his voice
steady and firm.

Karen opens the
passenger side door, her
arms ready to catch him
if he falls. Plankton's sleeping
body sags into her embrace. 
She helps him to
his feet, yet Plankton's
snores punctuate the air
like a soft metronome.

Chip rushes around
to the other side, his
arms slipping under his
father's shoulders. "I got
you," he says, his voice
shaking with the weight
of his words. Plankton's
body is a dead weight,
his snores deep and even.

Karen's eyes are filled
with a mix of pride and
concern as she watches her
son take charge. "Let's get
you to the couch," she says,
guiding them both. The house
is quiet, the only sounds
their footsteps and Plankton's
snores.

They manage to get him
to the couch, his body
slumping into the cushions.

Karen pulls the
gauze from his mouth, the
stains of blood and saliva
telling the tale of his
journey. His cheeks are
swollen and bruised, a
testament to the battle
his mouth just endured.

"Chip, grab some ice,"
she instructs, her voice
calm. "We'll need to keep
the swelling down." Chip nods,
his movements swift as he
disappears into the kitchen.
The sound of ice cubes clinking
against plastic is a sharp
contrast to the quiet
snores that fill the room.
"Wake up, sweetie," she says,
her voice a soft coax.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye opening slowly.
He tries to focus, but the
world is a blur of colors
and shapes. Karen's face
swims into view, her smile
a beacon of comfort. "Ice,"
she says.

Chip appears, a bag of
crushed ice in his hand.
He gently presses it to
Plankton's cheek, the coldness
a stark contrast to the
warmth of his mother's touch.
"Tanks," Plankton whispers, his
speech still slurred. His hand
moves to the bag, his
fingers trembling. But this time
he doesn't tremble from being
overwhelmed—it's from the
relief of being home, of
being safe with his family.

new do you trust me karen plankton 23

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 8
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

The next morning, Chip 
goes back into his
parent's bedroom to
check on them, especially
his dad. The room is filled
with the soft glow of early
morning light, Karen
is already waking up.

Plankton's sleeping, his
snores a gentle reminder of
his presence. Chip's eyes
find his dad's hand, still
twitching slightly under the
covers. Karen notices him
watching and sits up,
stretching. "Morning," she says.
"How did you sleep?"

Chip shrugs. "I kept
thinking about Dad," he
admits. Karen nods, her eyes
knowing. "It can be tough
seeing someone you love
go through that," she says.
Plankton stirs, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's his
way of dreaming," she whispers.

Karen stands and walks
over to Plankton's side of
the bed, her hand on his
shoulder. "Hey, Plankton,"
she says gently. "It's morning."
Plankton's eye opens, blinking
slowly. "Nngh," he murmurs.
"You okay?" Karen asks.

Plankton's antennae twitch
once, twice, but no more tics
follow. He nods, his body
still. "Tired," he says, his
voice groggy. Karen smiles.
"That's okay," she says. "You had
a big night." Chip watches
from the doorway, his eyes
on his dad.

Karen helps Plankton sit up,
his body moving with the
sluggishness of someone
just woken from a deep sleep.
"Chip's here," she says,
nodding towards the doorway.
Plankton's antennae perk up,
his eye searching for his son.
"Hey buddy," he says, his voice
still thick with sleep.

Chip steps into the room, but
now, Plankton seems so...
normal. "Hi, Dad," he says,
his voice tentative. Plankton
smiles, though it looks
forced. "You ok?" Chip asks.

"Tired," Plankton says,
his voice still a little slurred.
"But okay." Karen watches,
relief etched in her eyes.
"Sleep helped," she murmurs.
Plankton nods. "Yeah," he says.
"I'm okay." Chip's eyes are
fixed on his dad,
still for the first time
since the night before.

He sees the worry in
Plankton's gaze, the way
his antennae droop slightly.
"I didn't mean to make
you upset," Chip says,
his voice barely above 
a whisper. Karen nods.
"But it's important to understand
that his tics are personal,"
she adds gently. "They're his way
of coping, and mimicking them can
make him feel self-conscious."

Plankton's eye meets Chip's,
his gaze filled with a mix
of exhaustion and embarrassment.
"It's okay, Dad," Chip says,
his voice earnest. "I just
want to know how to help."

Karen's hand rests on Plankton's
back. "You don't have to
explain," she says gently. "But maybe
you'd like to tell Chip a little
about what happened?" Plankton
sighs, his antennae drooping.

He looks at Chip, his gaze
uncertain. "It's okay," Chip
says, his voice soft. "I just 
want to understand."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye searching his wife's screen for
guidance. Karen nods
encouragingly. "Sometimes,"
Plankton begins, his voice
raspy, "my brain gets too...
much." He says.

"Too much what?" Chip asks,
his curiosity piqued despite
his fear. "Too much everything,"
Plankton murmurs. His
voice trails off, his hand
absently playing with the
blanket.

Karen nods, understanding
flickering in her gaze. "It's like
his brain's got too many tabs
open," she says, her voice
gentle. "It needs a break to
refresh." She looks at Chip,
then back at Plankton. "How
about we go drive to that new park
across town today?" she suggests.
Chip's eyes light up. "The one with a
playground and the swings?"
Karen smiles. "That's the one." She
knew Plankton enjoys swinging.

They pile into the car
with anticipation. Chip
buckles his seatbelt, 
his gaze flicking in
between his parents. 
Karen starts the car.

Plankton sits in the
passenger seat.
Karen's eyes meet 
his in the rearview mirror.
"You okay, hon?" she asks.
Plankton nods, his antennae 
still.

The car's engine purrs to life, 
and they pull out of the driveway.
Karen's hand rests on 
the gear stick, her grip
firm but gentle. The road 
unfolds before them, a 
promise of a new day.

Chip watches the world go
by, his thoughts racing.
He glances at Plankton, 
his antennae still. "You 
sure you're okay, Dad?" he
asks. Plankton nods, his 
eye flicking to the 
rearview mirror. "Yea,"
he murmurs, but there's a 
small smile playing on his 
lips. "I'm okay."

As they finally pull into the
parking lot of the new park,
Chip sees the playground
materialize through the
window. "Look, Dad," he says,
his voice filled with excitement.
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his eye lighting up, his
face breaking into a smile.

Karen helps Plankton out
of the car, her hand steady
on his arm. The park is
alive with the chatter
of children and the distant
laughter of parents. Chip
runs ahead, the promise of
swings and slides too much
to resist.

The playground looms
ahead, a metal and plastic
oasis of joy. Chip's heart
thumps with excitement.
"Look, Dad," he says, pointing
at the swings. Plankton's
smile widens, his antennae
perking up. "Yeah," he says, his
voice a little stronger. "Let's go!"
They make their way over, the
gravel crunching underfoot.
Plankton sits on the swing,
his legs dangling as he sways
forward and back. Chip joins
his dad. Chip watches, his eyes full
of wonder. This is his dad,
his hero, in a moment of pure
joy, and it's beautiful. This is the
father he always knew. 

Karen sits on the bench.
Plankton starts to pump his legs,
his eye focused on the horizon, 
his tics absent. Chip also swings
by him on the other swing.

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 8

CHIP AND FAIL xv
(Autistic author)

"But Dad," Chip began, his voice
trembling, when Plankton
interrupts. "BUT DAD," Plankton
mimics, his voice high-pitched
and mocking. "You think you know
how I feel, but you have no
idea!"

Karen stepped back. 
She knew Plankton needed to
express his anger, and Chip needed
to learn from it.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Chip whispered,
his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to
make it about..."

But Plankton's antennae were a
flurry of agitation. "You think your
stupid need to touch me can just
make everything okay? WELL
GUESS WHAT, CHIP? IT CAN'T!" He
was shouting now, his voice echoing
through the room.

Chip's eyes filled with hurt. "Dad,
I just wanted to tell you about my
week," he said, his voice quivering.
"I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's just starting. "You
think your convenience more important
than my comfort?" he snapped.

"Dad," Chip says. "I just wanted 
to be close..."

But Plankton's anger was a raging
storm. "YOUR VERSION OF CLOSE IS 
Suffocation!" he yells, his antennae
shaking violently. "You're nothing
but a child. All you know is your
own need for attention, yet 
you expect me to be
fine with your constant 
poking and prodding?"

Chip's cheeks burned with 
shame. "That's not fair," he
managed to say, his voice 
barely above a whisper. "I'm trying
to understand..."

But Plankton's antennae 
were a blur of anger. "Understand?
You can't even begin to understand
what it's like!" he spat. "You live
your life in a bubble, Chip. You've
always had everything you've ever
wanted, and now you want to 'understand'
me? And don't come crying about
fairness..."

"PLEASE Dad..."

But Plankton's anger was 
unstoppable. "You think 
you're so clever," he sneered 
with rage. "With your fancy 
friends and your easy life. 
You wouldn't know what it's 
like to have to fight for every 
little thing."

Chip felt the sting. 
"Dad," he choked 
out, "That's not..."

But Plankton's words were a
tidal wave, crashing down. "You're 
selfish," he accused. "Always
thinking of yourself."

Now Chip's getting upset.
"I'm selfish? At least I'm
not the one who's too busy being a
drama queen to see how much I
care!" he retorts, his voice a mix
of pain and anger.

Plankton's antennae shot up.
"You dare call me that?" he roared.
"You have no idea what it's like to
drown in sensory overload, to have
your brain betray you every single
day!"

Chip took a step back, his
cheeks red with anger. "You think
because I don't understand, I don't
care?" he yelled back. "You're the
one who's never there for me because
of your 'condition'! You're just a shallow, 
spoiled little..."

"ENOUGH! Both of
you, stop it right 
now!" Karen says.

Her voice cuts through the
argument like a knife,
silencing the room. She
could feel the anger, the
frustration, the hurt in
each of their voices.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II xv

CHIP AND FAIL xviii
(Autistic author)

Chip's eyes grew wide with
realization. "So that's why
he..."

But before he could finish,
Plankton's antennae began to stir,
his body shifting slightly in the
bed. Chip's breath caught in his
throat as he watched his father's
face contort. "It's
not uncommon for someone with
autism to have trouble with
sleep." Karen whispers.
"He's okay."

Chip's eyes remained glued
to his father, watching as the
twitching grew more pronounced.
Plankton's antennae quivered and he
let out a soft whine.

Karen's hand reached
for Plankton's, her thumb
stroking his gently, her
voice a gentle coo. "It's okay,
Plankton," she whispered, her
hand stroking his arm.

Karen's voice remained
steady, her hand never
leaving Plankton's arm.
"It's okay," she whispered,
her eyes on Chip. "He's just..."

Chip took a tentative step
forward, his hand reaching
out to mirror Karen's. His
fingertips brushed Plankton's
arm. "Dad?" he
whispered, looming
over him.

With a gasped jolt, Plankton's
eye flew open, his antennae
shooting straight up with a yelp
at the sight of Chip looking over him.

"Don't touch me!" he screamed,
his voice a mix of fear and anger.

Chip's hand shot back as if burned.
He stepped away quickly, his eyes
wide with shock. "Dad," he began,
his voice shaky.

But Plankton's antennae were a
blur of agitation. "I said no!" he
shouted. "Can't you just leave me
alone?"

Chip's eyes filled with hurt, but
he stepped back, his arms dropping
to his sides. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Karen's voice was a soft
whisper, trying to soothe Plankton.
"It's okay, honey," she said, her
hand still on his arm. "Chip's just
trying to help."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye darting from Karen to
Chip and back again. "I don't
want his help," he said, his
voice tight with anger. "I just want
to be left alone."

Chip felt his heart sink. "But Dad,"
he protested, his voice cracking.

Plankton's antennae stopped moving.
He took a deep, shaky breath. "Chip,
you have to understand," he said, his
voice strained. "I need my space."

Karen's eyes were filled with
compassion as she turned to
Chip. "Give him some time,"
she said gently.

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on his father. "But
what if he doesn't want
me to come back?"

Karen's voice was firm. "He
doesn't have to be ready
right now," she said. "But we'll
work on it."

Chip's eyes searched hers,
seeking reassurance. "But what
if he never is?"

Karen's voice was a gentle
reminder. "He's your father,
Chip. And you love him.
Give him the space he needs,
but don't give up."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton's rigid
form. "Okay," he murmured.
"But how do I..."

But Karen's voice was firm. "You'll
learn," she said. "We'll all learn
together." She stood, her hand
sliding off Plankton's arm. "For now,
let him rest. We'll talk more later."

Chip nodded, his gaze
lingering on his father's tense
form. He turned to leave the room,
his shoulders slumped with the weight
of his newfound understanding.

As he closed the door softly behind
him, he heard Plankton's muffled
sobs, and it was like a dagger to his
heart. He leaned against the wall,
his eyes brimming with tears. "What
have I done?" he thought.

Karen's hand was a warm
comfort on Plankton's shoulder,
guiding him back to the bed.
"Let's sit," she said, her voice
soft and soothing.

Plankton's antennae slowly
lowered as he sat down, his body
still tense with emotion. "I just...
I can't," he said, his voice
breaking.

Karen pulled him into a gentle
embrace, her arms a warm cocoon
around his trembling form. "You
don't have to," she whispered. "You've
been through enough."

Plankton's antennae quivered against
her shoulder. "But what about Chip?"
he managed through his sobs. "He
deserves better."

"He deserves to understand,"
Karen said, her voice a gentle
lullaby. "And we'll help him get there."

Plankton's sobs quieted, his antennae
still quivering against her shoulder.
He took a shaky breath. "I don't
know if I can," he said. "Every time
I think we're making progress..."

"Shh," Karen whispered. "We're
getting there." She held him tighter.

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
body relaxing slightly into
the warmth of her embrace. He
closed his eye, his breathing
evening out. Within minutes,
his antennae were a gentle sway
against her neck, a sign that
sleep was claiming him.

Karen held him tightly, her own
body tense with the weight of
his pain. She knew this was a
small victory, but it was a
step in the right direction.
As she felt him drift off,
she whispered, "We'll get
through this together."

Plankton's antennae stilled
completely, his body finally
giving in to the comfort of
his wife's embrace.

Karen's heart ached as she felt
his tension melt away, his breaths
evening into the rhythm of sleep.

The room was a canvas of early
morning light, casting soft shadows
on their intertwined forms.

Plankton's antennae had finally
stilled, their gentle sway a testament
to his deep slumber. His body was
relaxed, no longer a battleground
for sensory overload.

Karen's arms remained wrapped 
around Plankton's shoulders, her 
grip gentle yet firm. His antennae,
which had been a maelstrom of 
anxiety, now laid calmly against 
her neck, each twitch replaced by 
a steady breath.

The room, bathed in the soft 
glow of early dawn, was a sanctuary 
of quietude. The tension from 
the previous night had been 
replaced by the serene rhythm of 
his snores, a melody that spoke of
his body's surrender to rest.

Chip tiptoed back to the bedroom
door, his heart a drum in his chest.
He peeked in, his eyes immediately
finding his father, still asleep. 
Karen was there, her arms
around Plankton's shoulders.

The sight of them together,
his mother's comforting embrace,
his father's peaceful rest,
was a stark contrast to the
chaos of the night before.

Chip's heart clenched in his chest,
his eyes stinging with unshed
tears. He wanted so badly
to be a part of that peace,
but he knew he had to earn it.

He took a tentative step into
the room, his eyes never
leaving his father's sleeping
form. Karen looked up, her eyes
heavy with the weight of the
night's events. She offered a
small smile, a silent gesture of
support.

"How is he?" Chip asked, his
voice a whisper in the early
morning stillness.

"As well as can be," Karen replied,
her eyes never leaving Plankton.
"But we need to talk."

Chip nodded, his heart racing
as he stepped closer to the bed.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his
eyes on his father's still form.

Karen's gaze met his, her
expression a mix of love and
concern. "We all are, Chip," she
said, her voice a gentle breeze.
"But it's important to learn
from this."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on his father. "What can I do?"
he asked, his voice tentative.

Karen looked up at him,
her eyes filled with understanding.
"For now, just give him space,"
she said. "He needs to wake up
on his own terms. You've
apologized," she said. "Now you
have to show it."

Chip nodded, his heart
heavy. "What do you mean?"

Karen took a deep breath.
"It means," she began, "that
you need to respect his boundaries.
Ask before you touch him. Give
him time to process what's happening.
And when he says no, accept it."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton. "But what if
I accidentally..."

Karen's voice was a firm,
yet gentle, guide. "You'll learn,"
she said. "It's about paying
attention, Chip. Watching his
body language, his antennae.
They'll tell you when he's
reaching his limit."

Chip nodded, his eyes still
on Plankton's sleeping form. "But
what if I miss the signs?"
his voice filled with fear.

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the earnestness in
them. "You won't always get it
right," she admitted. "But the
important thing is that you
keep trying."

Chip nodded, his gaze
falling to his father's antennae.
They were still, no longer a
whirlwind of distress. "I will,"
he promised.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II xviii

CHIP AND FAIL xi
(Autistic author)

Karen made chum for dinner and
they all sat at the table.

"Thanks," Plankton says to Karen
as she hands him his plate.
She sits down with her own
plate after serving Chip his.

"Hi, Dad," Chip said tentatively, 
his voice a whisper in the 
stillness of the room.

Plankton's antennae twitched, but
his eye remained fixed on his
plate. The silence was a wall
between them, thick as seaweed and
just as impenetrable. Chip's heart
felt like it was sinking into his
stomach, the weight of his father's
silence heavier than any words
could have been.

Karen's screen darted between them,
a silent plea for peace. She knew
this was Plankton's way of dealing
with his overwhelm, but it was
torture for Chip, who craved
understanding and connection.

"So, how's your friends?" Karen
asks Chip.

Chip shrugs, his screen
darting to Plankton, who remains
silent, his antennae still. "They're
okay," he says, his voice
lacking its usual enthusiasm.

Karen sighs internally, the
tension at the dinner table
a heavy fog that seemed to
smother their usual banter. 

"Karen, can you pass the napkins?"
Plankton says. "Sure," she says
as she puts them in the middle.

"Dad, how do you feel about
the food?"

Plankton's antennae twitched but
his gaze remained on his plate,
his mouth a tight line. The silence
was a thick stew that no one knew
how to digest. Chip's eyes were
filled with hope, searching for
any sign of his father's usual
playfulness, but all he found
was a wall of quiet.

Chip's voice was a feeble
ripple in the vast ocean of their
silence. "Dad, can I get you a drink?"
he offered.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, but he remained silent,
his eye never leaving his plate.
The air was thick with tension, like
seawater saturated with the
weight of their unspoken words.

Chip churned with
anxiety, each bite of chum a
reminder of the gap that had
suddenly widened between him and
his father. 

"Please, Dad," he murmured, his
voice barely audible above the
clink of their forks. Plankton's
antennas remained still, his eye
focused on the food before him.

Karen's heart was a tight knot in
her chest, her eyes darting
between her husband and son.
The silence was a living creature,
a Kraken of tension coiled around
them, squeezing the joy from the
room. She took a deep breath,
forcing a smile. "So, Chip, tell us
about your week," she said, her
voice too bright, too forced.

Chip took a tentative bite of his
chum, his eyes on Plankton's
unmoving antennae. "Well, I had a
good time at the carnival," he
began, his voice a sad echo of
his usual excitement. "I won
at the ring toss."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, but he said nothing, his
silence a thick, unspoken wall. Chip
felt like a deflated balloon,
each of his words a futile attempt
to pierce the silence.

"And I met a new friend," Chip
continued, his voice a feeble thread
trying to weave through the
stillness. "She's a dolphin. She
was really cute." 

Plankton's antennae twitched again,
just a little, but it was enough to
keep Chip's hope afloat. 

Chip's voice grew stronger,
his words a lifeline thrown into
the turbulent sea of silence.
"Her name's Daisy," he said, a
tiny smile tugging. "We
played in the bubbles."

But Plankton's antennae remained
still, his eye on his plate. It
was as if Chip's words were bouncing
off an invisible shield, unable to
penetrate the fortress of his father's
mind. Chip's smile faltered, his screen
filling with unshed tears. He
wanted so badly to share his joy
with Plankton, but the wall of
silence was too high, too thick.

He took a deep breath, his
hands clenching around his fork.
"Dad, I know you're mad at me,"
he said, his voice trembling. "But I
just want to understand."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, but he said nothing, his
face a mask of indifference.

The silence grew heavier
with each passing moment,
weighing down on Chip like an
oversized sponge soaked in
regret. He knew he had to
try again, to bridge the gap.

"Dad," he began, his voice
shaky but determined. "I know
I messed up today, but I want to
make it right." He took a deep
breath, willing the words to come.
"Can you tell me more about
your...about what happened to
you?" His voice was a tiny
bubble of hope rising in the
deep sea of their dinner.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye flickering up to meet
Chip's for a brief moment before
dropping back to his plate. The
silence stretched on like a tight
rubber band, threatening to snap.

Karen's screen a tempest of
concern, torn between her love
for her husband and her
desire to help her son. She knew
Plankton needed his space, but
seeing the pain in Chip's screen was
like watching a piece of coral
being slowly eroded by the sea.

Chip's words hung in the air,
like a message in a bottle lost
at sea. Plankton's silence was a
reef that Chip's words couldn't
navigate around. He took a
deep breath, his heart a conch shell
echoing with hope. "Dad, I know
it's hard for you," he tried again,
his voice a gentle wave. "But if
you don't tell me, how can I
understand?"

The room was a pressure
cooker of unspoken emotion,
the tension rising with each
passing second. Karen's screen
pleaded with Plankton, willing him
to respond. But he remained
still, his antennae unmoving, his
eye a storm cloud over their meal.

Chip's heart felt like it was
being crushed in a vice, his words
falling on deaf antennae. "Dad,
please," he whispered, his voice
desperate. "I just want to help."

But Plankton's antennae remained
motionless, his eye averted.
The silence was a deep-sea trench
between them, vast and unbridgeable.
Chip's shoulders slumped, his hope
leaking away like water through
a sieve. He took another bite of
his chum, the taste of it suddenly
bitter on his tongue.

The clock on the wall ticked
loudly, each second a tiny hammer
on the anvil of his heart. Chip
forced a swallow, his throat tight
with emotion. "Dad," he said again,
his voice a tiny ripple in the vast
ocean of quiet. "I'm sorry." The room
held its breath, waiting for a
response, but none came. The
silence was a thick kelp that
choked, suffocating any
attempt at conversation.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II xi

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CHIP AND FAIL i
(Autistic author)

Chip, adopted at birth
by Karen and Sheldon
Plankton, had spent a
week with some college
buddies and is coming
home!

Getting off the bus, he
goes to open the front
door, eager to see his
family.

"I'm home!" he called
out, going inside.

The house was unusually
silent, but Chip knew
his mom was probably
busy in the kitchen, and
his dad, Plankton, was
likely in their room,
lost in his mechanical
reveries. Chip dropped his
backpack by the door to find
his mom.

"Mom! I'm back!" he shouted,
his voice echoing through
the hallway. Karen poked
her head out. She looked surprised,
then a bit nervous as she
quickly turned off the oven.
"Oh, Chip, sweetheart, I'm
so glad you're home," she
said, her smile forced and
eyes darting towards the
closed door of Plankton's bedroom.

Chip noticed the tension and
frowned. "Where's Dad?"
Karen's smile faltered. "He's
fine," she assured him,
forcing a lightness into her
tone.

Karen never told Chip
about Plankton being
on the autism spectrum.
It's something he never
shares, and only Karen
knew about it. They don't
intend for Chip to know
even though Karen feels
bad about not saying anything.
Chip thus didn't know that any sudden
interaction could send him into a
tailspin of sensory overload.

"Dad?" he called out,
his voice tentative. 
Karen's eyes widened. She
moved swiftly, placing a hand
on Chip's shoulder. "Why
don't you go unpack?" she
suggested, guiding him back to
the living room.
The tension in her voice
was palpable, but Chip
was too excited to question
it. He sat down on the couch,
his thoughts racing. It had
been a week since he last saw
his dad, and he had so much
to tell him about his college
adventures. He could almost
hear the enthusiastic questions
Plankton would ask about his
studies and new friends! So
Chip decides to go see him.
Plankton was sitting at his bed.
"Surprise!" Chip exclaimed,
thrusting open the door and
stepping in. Plankton flinched,
but Chip doesn't notice. Chip was
like a puppy eager to share love.

Plankton's head felt like it was
about to split open with the
onslaught of stimuli.
Chip didn't realize that the
suddenness of his entry was a
problem. Plankton's eye grew
wider as Chip rushed over.

"Whoa, Dad, guess what?" Chip
asked, his voice full of life.
He sat down beside Plankton,
his heart thumping with excitement.
Plankton's eyes darted around the
room, his breaths shallow and quick.
"I made friends with a squirrel!
Her name's Nutmeg. She's the
smartest animal on campus.
And she loves physics! Can you
believe it?"

Plankton's condition meant that
sudden noises and intrusions
could overwhelm him. But the
sensory assault was making
it difficult to form coherent
thoughts, let alone respond with
the enthusiasm Chip deserved. He
needed time to process his
surroundings, to prepare for
interaction. But Chip was
always so full of life, so eager
to share, and he had no way
of knowing the effect his
enthusiasm could have.
He placed a hand on Plankton's 
shoulder, not knowing about his
sensory disorder.

"I've missed you so much, Dad,"
Chip said, leaning in to give
his father a hug. The sudden
contact was like a thunderclap
in Plankton's mind, and he
recoiled slightly. But Chip was already
deep into his story about a
physics experiment gone wrong
that had left the lab in a tizzy.
He talked with his hands,
gesturing wildly as he
described the chaos. Plankton
sat rigidly beside him, trying to
focus on the words, trying not
to let the noise and motion
consume him.

"So, we had to build a catapult
to launch a watermelon across
the quad," Chip continued,
laughing at the memory of the
mess they had made. Plankton's
face remained expressionless,
his eye unfocused.

"It was so cool!" Chip said,
his hand landing on Plankton's knee.
The sudden touch sent a jolt
of sensation through Plankton's body,
like an electrical current. He
swallowed hard, trying to keep
his composure. "You should've seen
it fly!" Chip, oblivious
to his father's distress, just
beamed wider, eager for more
reaction. Plankton was
battling to stay present, to
connect with his son, but the
environment was turning toxic
for him, the
sensory input bombarding.
Chip's eyes lit up even more. "Oh,
Dad, you won't believe it! There's
this guy, Larry, he's like the
human encyclopedia of comic books.
And Sally, she's a whiz at chemistry,
and she makes the best
slime! We're going to start a
science club together!" The
colors in the room seemed to
intensify, the sounds of Chip's
voice and the rustle of his clothes
like a symphony of chaos.

Plankton felt the world closing
in. His thoughts were a jumbled
mess, trying to process the
flood of new faces and names and
ideas. He desperately wished he
could share in Chip's excitement,
but the effort was exhausting.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II i

CHIP AND FAIL v
(Autistic author)

"Mom, something's wrong with Dad!"
Karen rushes into the room.

Karen's gaze falls on Plankton,
her heart aching at the sight
of her husband's distress. She knows
his limits, knows the signs of
his overstimulation. She had hoped
this wouldn't happen, had hoped that
Chip's visit would be a gentle one,
that they could find a way to
connect without pushing Plankton too
far. But she had underestimated
Chip's excitement, his need for
physical closeness. Her heart 
broke for both her son and
her husband. He had never
seen his dad like this, never
known that his boundless enthusiasm
could have such a profound effect. She
knew this moment might come
someday. She's had to handle
Plankton's meltdowns before, but
not with Chip in the room. She
quickly assesses the situation,
seeing the confusion and fear
in Chip's screen.

"MOM, PLEASE..."

Karen rushes over, her screen
wide with fear and concern. She
sees Plankton's unblinking eye,
his unresponsive state. She
understands immediately.

"PLEASE MOM..."

Karen's screen darted between her
son's frantic expression and
Plankton's unresponsive form. She
knew she had to act fast. She could
see the confusion in Chip's screen,
the desperation to understand.

"But Mom, I..."

Yet Karen, who's priority is
Plankton's urgency, cuts Chip off.

"Chip," she says firmly, her voice
filled with a calm urgency. She
doesn't have time to explain.
"Listen to me, honey. You need to
let me handle this. Go to your
room and wait." She knows
how hard this is for him, but
his safety, and Plankton's, is
what's most important right now.

Chip nods, his screen never leaving
his father's unresponsive form.
He takes one last, lingering look
before retreating to his room, his
heart heavy with confusion and
fear.

As soon as the door clicks shut,
Karen springs into action. She
knows the signs of an autistic
meltdown, the sudden retreat into
self, the inability to communicate.
Her own heart racing, she gently
sits beside Plankton, her screen
filled with understanding. She
speaks softly, her voice a balm
to his overstimulated mind.
"Shh, Plankton," she whispers, her
hands moving in slow, deliberate
motions, "It's ok."

Chip's footsteps fade away as
Karen focuses on her husband. She
knows he's in there, somewhere,
battling a storm of sensations.
Her voice is a lighthouse in the
chaos, guiding him back to the
shore. "Take a deep breath, love,"
she says, demonstrating with a
slow inhale and exhale of her
own. Plankton's chest rises
slightly, matching her rhythm.

The room is a minefield of
potential triggers, but Karen's
been here before. She knows to
keep her movements minimal, her
voice low and soothing. She starts
to gently rub Plankton's back,
finding the steady rhythm that
calms his frayed nerves. His
breathing evens out, the color
slowly returning to his cheeks.

But Chip, in his room, is
anything but calm. His mind is a
whirlwind of confusion and guilt.
Why isn't Dad ok? Isn't
something wrong? He paces, his
heart racing. He still didn't know
his dad was autistic.
In the quiet of his room, Chip's
thoughts raced like a tornado.
Why wasn't Dad ok? Why did I
have to leave like that? Was it
my fault? He didn't know about
his dad's autism, how his mind
worked differently, how easily it
could be overwhelmed. He didn't
know that his enthusiastic touches
and loud laughter could cause such
distress.

Meanwhile Karen, with her gentle touch 
and calming voice, began to 
guide Plankton back to reality.

"Plankton, love, you're okay," Karen 
whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby 
in the chaos. Plankton's eye slowly 
refocus, the storm in his mind 
beginning to subside. His breathing 
slows, the panic retreating. She 
continues her soothing motions, her 
touch a lifeline in the sensory tempest.

Plankton's eye blinked, his antennae
twitching as his gaze
focused on her, his breathing
evening out as he felt her calming
presence. He didn't know how long
he had been lost in the storm, but
he was grateful for her guidance.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II v

CHIP AND FAIL ii
(Autistic author)

"And then there's my roommate,
Jake," Chip went on as he nudged
Plankton.

Plankton felt the nudge like a
sledgehammer, the vibration
reverberating through his bones, his
body visibly taut.

"He's got a pet 
named Steve," Chip said,
laughing, "and he taught me
how to play the guitar!"

Plankton's eye grew larger, his
heart racing as the room
spun around him. He felt like
his mind was being invaded by a
swarm of jellyfish, buzzing with every
word, every touch. But Chip was in his
element, his words tumbling out.

"And we had a food fight!" 
Chip said, slapping
his hand down on the bed, sending
waves of pain through Plankton's
overstimulated nervous system. He
swallowed a cry, his hands
gripping the sheets. "It was like
a battle royale with spaghetti!"

Chip's laughter filled the room,
but Plankton couldn't find it in
himself to laugh. The noise, the
motion, the smells - it was all
too much. His mind was racing,
trying to keep up but he was losing the
battle. He needed silence,
darkness, a chance to reset.
But Chip was still talking,
still touching, still demanding
his attention. He felt
trapped.

"And then, get this, Dad," Chip
said, slapping his knee with
each new anecdote. "There's
this professor..."

Plankton knew he needed to tell Chip to
slow down, to give him space, but
more Chip talked, the less he could
comprehend. His mind was a
whirlwind of sensory input,
spinning out of control. Chip, not noticing, was
still grinning, his screen sparkling
with joy, voice rising with excitement.

But Plankton was no longer
listening. His eye had glazed
over, his mind a tangled web
of sensory overload. He
couldn't even hear Chip anymore.

Chip, noticing the lack of
response, paused.
"Dad?" he said, his voice
softening with concern as he
poked him with his finger, adding
to the cacophony of sensory
input that engulfed and drowned
Plankton. 

Chip, puzzled by his dad's lack of
response, leaned in closer, his
face a picture of innocent
curiosity. "Isn't that amazing,
Dad?" He asked, placing his hand
on Plankton's arm again.

The room was spinning, the
sounds of Chip's voice and the
memory of his stories a cacophony,
his chest tight.

"Dad?" Chip's voice grew
quiet, his smile slipping away as he
noticed his father's distress.
He had never seen Plankton like
this before, so still..
"Are you okay?" He asked,
genuinely concerned. But his
question was like another
explosion of light and sound to
Plankton. But Chip, in his excitement,
misinterpreted. He leaned in even closer,
his hand landing gently on Plankton's
shoulder. Plankton's body
constricted, unblinking. The pressure
of Chip's hand was a heavy
weight, and the softness of his
voice was a scream in Plankton's
overwhelmed ears. He couldn't
speak, couldn't move..

Chip's eyes grew wide with
concern as he watched his dad.
He had never seen Plankton
like this, so silent and unresponsive.
Was he ok? Did he say something
wrong? The doubt grew in his chest.

"Dad?" He ventured again, his voice
smaller than it had been. Plankton's
body was a statue, his eye fixed
somewhere beyond the room.
Chip's hand hovered over his arm,
uncertain of what to do.

"Dad, are you okay?" He asked,
his voice trembling. He had
never seen his dad so
silent.

Plankton's body is
rigid and unyielding.

He can't understand
why his dad isn't responding,
why he isn't laughing at the
funny stories or asking questions
about his college life.

"Dad?" Chip says again, his voice
more tentative now. He reaches out to
shake Plankton's shoulder. Something's 
wrong, he can feel it. He didn't know
Plankton has reached a
breaking point, and his mind
shuts down in self-defense. He
can't process anything, not even
the love in Chip's voice.

"What's wrong with you!" Chip
asks, his eyes wide with confusion
and hurt. He had only wanted
to share his excitement, to
connect with his dad after being
away for a week. But Plankton's
reaction was like nothing he had
ever seen before. Plankton's unable to
decipher Chip's words or the
concern etched into his features.

Chip's scanning Plankton's
expression for some clue, some
sign of what was happening.

"Dad, talk to me," Chip pleads,
his hand resting on frozen Plankton's
shoulder. Nothing. He's expressionless.

Panic starts to bloom in Chip.

"Dad, say something!" He begs, his
hands shaking. Plankton remains
motionless, his eye unfocused.
Chip's mind races, trying to
understand, trying to piece together
what he could've done wrong.
The silence stretches between them,
taut as a bowstring. Plankton's face
remains an unreadable mask.

Chip's thoughts tumble over one
another, trying to remember
anything that could've triggered this.
He knew his dad was a bit of an introvert,
needy of his space, but this was
beyond that. The room felt
claustrophobic, the air thick with
unspoken words.

"Dad, you're scaring me," he whispers,
his voice cracking. "What's going on?"
Plankton's trapped in
his own body, a prison of
sensory overload.

The room seems to spin faster,
the colors bleeding into one another.
He can't find the words to explain.
He wishes he could tell Chip to stop,
to back away, but his tongue is a
dead weight in his mouth. But Chip,
his mind racing with worry,
doesn't understand. He's never
seen his dad like this before.

"Dad?" He says again, his voice
shaking with fear. "You're not
moving." 

In a moment of desperation,
Chip grabs Plankton's hand, trying
to shake him out of his trance.
"Please, Dad, talk to me," he
whispers, his grip tight. But
Plankton's hand is cold and stiff,
like holding onto a mannequin's. Chip's
face falls, his eyes filling
with tears. "What's wrong, Dad?"
He sobs, his voice thick with fear.

Plankton feels the warmth of Chip's
hand, the pressure of his grip,
but he's trapped in a world of
sensory overload, unable to
move or speak. His heart aches
with the pain of his son's distress,
but his body won't cooperate. He
desperately tries to break through
the fog, to tell Chip he's okay,
that he loves him. But even his
consciousness is frozen now.

Chip's sobs grew louder, his
shoulders shaking with each
breath. "Please, Dad, please," he
whimpers, his eyes brimming with
tears. The weight of his
father's unresponsive hand in his
own was like a stone, dragging him
down into a pit of fear.

He didn't know his dad was
autistic, didn't know the silent
torture he was enduring.
Plankton's heart was a caged bird,
flapping its wings against the
walls of his overwhelmed mind.
He wished he could tell Chip that
he was okay, that he loved him, but
his thoughts were a tangled web,
catching and trapping every
sensation until he couldn't move.

Chip's grip tightened, his voice
desperate. "Dad, please," he
sobbed.

But Plankton remained unresponsive,
his mind a hurricane of stimuli.
The weight of Chip's hand on
his shoulder was unbearable,
each touch a bolt of lightning
striking his already fried nervous
system. The room was spinning,
the colors blurring into a
swirl of chaos.

Chip's voice grew louder, more
insistent, his touches more
frequent as he tried to pull
his dad out of his silent world,
his grip on Plankton's arm tightening.
But Plankton's body was a statue.

"Dad, please, say something," Chip
whispered, his voice choked with
sobs. Chip's face crumpled as he 
concluded his dad wasn't okay. He never
saw him like this, so silent and
still. But the more Chip talked,
the more he touched, the deeper
Plankton sank into his overloaded
state. Plankton's body remained still.
He didn't understand why his
dad was so unresponsive. His
heart felt like it was shattering
into a million pieces.

Chip leaned in closer, his eyes
searching Plankton's for some
glimmer of recognition, some sign
that he was okay, desperate for any
sign of life.

"Dad, you're scaring me," he choked
out, his grip on Plankton's hand
becoming frantic. Plankton's heart
was racing, but his body remained
still as a statue, the storm inside
his mind unseen by his son.

"Please, Dad, talk to me," Chip
pleaded, tears rolling down his
cheeks. In his panic, Chip didn't realize
his touches were only adding to
Plankton's distress. His face crumpled as he 
realizes his dad, so still and unresponsive,
is not okay.

The room grew smaller, the air
thicker with Chip's sobs. "Dad,
please," he whispered, his voice
shaking. He didn't know how to
help, didn't know what was happening.
All he knew was that the man he
loved was slipping away from him,
and he was powerless to stop it.

Plankton's mind was a tornado of
sensation, each touch, each sound
a knife slicing through the
fragile silence he needed to survive.
He wished he could tell Chip to
just give him a minute, to let him
find his calm. But the words were
stuck in his throat, his mind a
whirlwind of panic and confusion.

Chip, unable to understand the
storm happening inside his dad,
felt a sinking dread. He had
never seen Plankton like this, and
his inability to connect with
his father was like a punch to
his gut. He tried to lighten the
mood, to pull him out of his
silent cocoon with a joke. "Remember
when I accidentally turned your
laboratory blue with that chemistry
experiment?" he asked, his voice
shaking slightly. But it's not working.

Plankton remained unmoving,
his expression unchanged, lost in
his own world of sensory overload.
The silence was deafening, a stark
contrast to the tumult in his mind.
Chip's words were just more noise,
more chaos to process.

Chip's eyes searched his dad's
face, desperation etched into every
line of his youthful features.
He didn't know about Plankton's
autism, about the need for quiet
and predictability to navigate the
world. He only knew that his
dad wasn't responding, and it
was tearing him apart.

He took a deep breath, trying to
think of what to do. The silence
was suffocating, pressing down on
them like a heavy blanket. Then,
suddenly, he had an idea.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II ii

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

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iii
(By NeuroFabulous)


Plankton feels a
wave of self-consciousness
crash over him. He's always
been different, and now
his son is seeing him at
his most vulnerable.
He doesn't look at
Chip, focusing instead on the
ceiling above.

Chip stares at him, his
face a mix of confusion
and concern. "Dad, are 
you o..."

But Plankton snaps, cutting
his son off with a harsh
tone that slices through
the tension in the room.
"The show's over, Chip; you
can leave now!"

Chip's eyes widen in shock,
his screen flushing with a
mixture of embarrassment
and hurt. He had never
seen his father like this
before. Karen intervenes gently.

"Chip, your dad's just tired.
Why don't you go play in
your room for a bit?"
Her voice was calm, but
there was a firmness that
Chip knew meant business.

He nodded, feeling the weight
of the situation settle on his
small shoulders. As he turned to leave,
his gaze caught the sadness
in his father's eye, a look
that seemed to apologize
without words.

The door clicked shut
behind him, and the silence
was deafening. Chip sat on
his bed, his mind racing with
thoughts about his father.

He knew Plankton was different,
but seeing him like that... it was
like looking at a robot that
suddenly turned off. It was
scary, but also fascinating.
He had so many questions,
but his mother's words echoed
in his mind: "Give him some space."
He'd have to be extra careful
around his dad from now on.

Back in their own room,
Karen sat beside Plankton,
still stroking his arm.
"I'm sorry, Plankton," she murmured.
"I know it's hard for you."

His eye searched hers,
filled with a quiet desperation.
"It's not your fault," he rasped,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"It's just... sometimes it's too much."

Karen's gaze softened, and
she leaned in to press a gentle
kiss to his forehead. "I know,"
she whispered, her thumb
continuing its soothing
motion on his arm. "We'll get
through it together."

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, and he took
a shaky breath. "I'm sorry,"
he murmured, his voice
still hoarse from his
self-imposed silence. "I know
it's scary for you, for Chip."

Karen's eyes remained
on his, filled with love and
understanding. "You have
nothing to apologize for,"
she said firmly. "You're doing
the best you can."

Plankton managed a
weak smile, his body slowly
starting to uncoil from the tight
knot it had formed during
his shutdown. Karen's gentle
touch was like a warm blanket,
wrapping him in a cocoon of
comfort.

"Thank you, Karen," he
whispered, his voice still
shaky. "I'm just so tired."

Karen nodded, her hand
never leaving his arm.
"You've had a long day,"
she said, her voice a soothing
balm. "Why don't you rest
a bit?"

Plankton nodded, his
energy depleted. He
managed to get himself into
a lying position, the bed
creaking beneath him. Karen
pulled the covers over him,
tucking him in.

Her voice was a lullaby
in the quiet room. "Close
your eye, Plankton. Take
deep breaths. I'm here."
Her hand remained on his
arm, her thumb tracing
the same comforting pattern.

Plankton's breaths grew
even, his body slowly
relaxing into the mattress.
The tightness in his chest
eased with each exhale, and
his antennae drooped slightly
as he succumbed to his body's
needs for rest. Karen watched
over him, her screen never
straying from his face.

"Rest, love," she whispered,
the words carrying a gentle
lilt of reassurance. She knew
the battle he faced every day,
how hard he tried to fit into
a world that didn't quite
understand him. She felt a
surge of admiration for his
strength and resilience.

new chip on the shoulders Chip Plankton II iii

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𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 4
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Karen, ever the calming
presence, moves closer to
Plankton, her movements slow
and deliberate. She knows
his triggers, his signs of
distress. She whispers,
"It's okay, Plankto-"

But Plankton's body
doesn't seem to hear. Only
his arm shoots out, his
hand slapping as he tries
to grasp something,
anything, from the bedside
table. Karen's eyes dart to
his hand, and she knows
exactly what he wants.
She reaches over in
to the bedside drawer and
pulls out a box of sensory
needs. She gently hands him
a fidget squishy before putting
the sensory box back into the
bedside drawer.
Plankton's movements
slow slightly as he
compresses it in his grip.

Karen knows Plankton's
autism like the back of
her hand. She's studied
his tics, his stims, the way
his body reacts to stress.
It's been a silent dance
between them for years,
his unspoken needs met
with her quiet understanding.
But now, Chip's in the
picture, and he's curious.

Plankton squeezes the
fidget squishy in his hand,
his breaths coming in
short gasps. Karen watches
his antennae, the way they
twitch with each inhale,
slower with each exhale. It's
a pattern she's come to
recognize, a sign he's
coming back to them.
"It's okay," she whispers.
She knows his limits.

Chip watches,
his eyes wide with
wonder. He's never seen
his dad this way before.
Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's. She can read
his every move, his every
tic. She's his anchor.

Plankton's antennae start to
quiver, his voice murmurs.
"Must... the... yes... it...
it's all..." Chip doesn't
understand what's happening,
but he knows his dad's in
distress. Karen's voice is a
soothing balm. "Just let
it pass, Plankton," she
whispers, her hand
steady. She's seen this
before; she knows.

The words continue to
tumble from Plankton's mouth,
disjointed and disconnected.
"The... the... it... has to
be... must... yes..."

Karen watches with a
mixture of sadness and
determined calm. She's been
his rock through these
episodes countless times,
his safe place when the
world gets too loud. But now,
screen sees the fear in her son's
eyes, the questions he's
too afraid to ask. She knows
it's time to explain.

Plankton's antennae stop twitching
as he squeezes the fidget squishy
tightly. The words come out in
spurts, a jumbled mess.
"The... the... it's okay," he says,
his voice barely above a murmur.
"Just... it's okay." Chip watches
his father, his mind racing.
What's happening? Why is he saying
these random words?

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's, her screen filled with
understanding. "It's part
of his autism," she whispers
to Chip. "Sometimes when
he's overwhelmed, words just
tumble out." Chip stares at his 
dad. "But what does
he mean, 'the it'?" Chip asks,
his voice barely above a
whisper.

"It's not about us, Chip,"
Karen says, as more
nonsensical words spill out.
"The... it... no... must... yes..."
Karen sighs. "It doesn't always
make sense," she admits.
"It's just his brain trying to
process everything." Chip
swallows, watching his
dad with a mix of curiosity
and concern of
his neurodivergence.

Plankton's eye is glazed
over. "The... it... not... can't,"
he whispers to himself.
Karen's hand is warm
against his. Chip is watching,
his curiosity piqued.

He's never heard his
dad's voice like this, so
soft, so... lost. Plankton's
tongue flaps in his mouth,
his brain trying to form
coherent thoughts, but all that
comes out are jumbled syllables.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen
soothes. "You're okay."

The room feels like it's
spinning around him, a whirlwind
of sounds and colors. Plankton's
eye is unfocused, but he feels
their presence. "Tck tck," he says
quietly, his head bobbing slightly.
Karen's hand tightens around
his. "Just let it come," she whispers.

"D-Dad?" Chip stammers.
Plankton doesn't respond. 
"It's okay," Karen assures 
Chip. "He's just... dealing. It's 
like he's stuck in a loop, trying
to make sense of things. And 
he does that with sounds,
sometimes. But he'll come back
to us." Karen's seen this before, the
way his mouth moves, forming
sounds of wording that don't quite 
match up.

The room is a symphony of
Plankton's tics, the tapestry
of his neurodivergence.
"Tck tck," he murmurs, his
eye flickering. Chip watches.
He's never seen his dad so
vulnerable.

"Why does he do that?"
Chip whispers, his voice
shaking. Karen takes a deep
breath, ready to explain.
"Because it helps his brain cope
with the world, Chip," Karen
says. "Sometimes, his brain
can get overwhelmed. And
these little movements, these
sounds, they help him find
his calm." Chip's gaze
remains on his father, who's
still lost in his own
thoughts, oblivious to the
conversation happening
around him.

"But why can't he just...
stop?" Chip's question is
innocent, but it cuts deep.
Karen looks at him with
patience. "It's not something
he can control," she explains.
"It's like his brain's
way of expressing itself."

Chip nods, but the
questions keep coming.
"Does he even know he's doing
it?" he asks, his voice low.
Karen shrugs. "He's aware of
his tics, but sometimes they just
take over." She pauses, her gaze
on Plankton, who's still lost in
his own world. "It's like when
you get really focused on
a video game, and you don't
notice anything else around
you."

Chip thinks about it, his
mind racing with questions.
"But what's the point of the sounds?"
he asks. "Is he... will he
even know we're here?"
"Sometimes he does, sweetie.
Sometimes he doesn't. But it's
good to be here for him."

Plankton's tics subside
slightly. He's coming back.
"It's like a... a pressure
valve," Karen tries to explain.
"When his brain feels too
full, the tics and sounds help
to release some of that...
pressure." Plankton's antennae
twitch again. He's aware of
them now, watching him.
Karen's gaze is soft. "It's just
a sound he makes, Chip. It's
not for us, it's for him to
release tension. He may not
even know he's doing it right
now, nor may he later recall
what's been said or happened."

Chip nods, trying to
understand. Plankton's eye
finally focuses on them.
"What's... what's going on?"
Plankton's voice is groggy.
Karen smiles gently. "You had
an episode," she says. "Do you
remember?"

Plankton's antennae droop.
"I don't know," he says. Karen nods.
It's not unusual for him to
forget. "Chip was worried
about you," she adds. Plankton
looks at his son, his heart
heavy. "Chip grabbed my hand,
and it was too much. I'm sorry,"
he says, his voice barely above
a whisper as he puts the fidget
squishy back. "It's okay," Chip
says, his voice small. "I just..."
But Plankton cuts him off. "Just
leave me alone!" Karen sighs.
This is the part she's always feared.
The moment when Chip
would find out, and Plankton's
fear of losing him would spike.
He's always been so good
at hiding his autism, but now
his son has seen it in full force.

Chip takes a step back,
his eyes wide. "Dad?" Plankton
doesn't look at him. "Please,
Chip," Plankton says, his voice
sharp. "Just... just go." The
sting of his words is like a
slap in the face. Karen sees
the hurt in Chip's screen, but
she knows Plankton's just
trying to regain control.

Karen puts a hand on
Chip's shoulder. "Let's give
Dad some space," she whispers.
But Chip's eyes are still
glued to Plankton. "But I..."
he starts.

"Chip," she says firmly, "now's
not the time." Plankton's
body is still, his antennae
drooping. He looks... broken.
It's a sight that makes Karen's
ache, but it's one she's
seen before. Chip nods
reluctantly, his gaze never
leaving his father's. He takes
a step back, his eyes still
full of questions. Karen
sits beside him. She knows he
doesn't mean to push Chip
away, that his fear of being
seen as less than has always
been his greatest burden.

Plankton's tic starts again,
his head nodding. "Tck tck," 
he says. Karen knows that
for Plankton, it's completely
normal for him to tic like this
after such seizures.

Chip watches, his curiosity
melding with fear. Karen
sighs. "It's just his brain, Chip,"
she says, her voice steady. "It's
his way of coping. The tics are
okay, and he might continue to
tic for the rest of today."

Plankton sighs. "Chip, you better
not blabber about this to anyone,"
his voice is low and gruff. Karen nods
understandingly. "He won't," she says,
turning to Chip. "It's our little
secret." "I won't," Chip whispers, watching
Plankton's bobbing head.

"It's a tic, Chip," Karen explains, her voice
soft. "It's like when you have to
scratch an itch that just won't go
away." Plankton nods, his eye
still unfocused. "It's something
his body does when he's trying
to calm down," she adds. "There's
nothing wrong with it. The tics are
with his head movements and his
tongue clicking, which is how he tics."

Chip stares at his dad. "Why does it...
why does it happen?" he asks,
his voice barely a whisper.

Karen's eyes are filled with
sorrow. "It's part of his
autism," she says, her voice
gentle. "When he's stressed or
anxious, his brain sends
mixed signals. And his body
has these... involuntary
responses." She takes a deep
breath. "It's like... it's like
his brain's doing a little
dance to keep up. It's not in
his antennae, nor his limbs. Only
his head and sometimes mouth
tics, being the jerks and sounds. It's
something involuntary."

"But why can't he just...
not do it?" Chip asks, as
Plankton's head continues
to nod, his tongue clicking
against the roof of his mouth.

Karen's eyes are filled with
patience. "It's not that
simple, Chip," she says. "These
tics are like... reflexes.
You can't just turn them
off. It's part of it."

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 4

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 5
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Plankton's nods become less
frequent, his tongue clicks
slower. "I don't... tck tck, I don't
mean to be tck tck... to be like
this," he whispers. "It's okay, Dad,"
Chip says. "I won't tell anyone."
Karen smiles sadly. "You
don't have to hide it, Plankton,"
she says.

But Plankton looks away.
"I can't help it," he murmurs.
Chip's never seen his dad
so lost, so vulnerable. "Dad, 
you can tell me anyth—"
"No," Plankton snaps. "It's 
none of your business, Chip."

Karen's eyes flash with
sorrow, but she remains
silent. She knows Plankton's
pride. The tic starts again,
his head jerking slightly.
"Tck tck," he murmurs.

Chip watches, his eyes
wet with unshed tears. He
doesn't understand why his
dad is pushing him away.
But Karen does. She's seen
it before, Plankton's fear
of being seen as weak, as
different. "Chip," she says gently,
"it's not something he can
help. It's part of his
autism. Sometimes, his
brain just needs to... to
tic. He's aware when it
happens."

The room is silent except
for the faint click of Plankton's
tongue. "But why?" he whispers,
his voice cracking. "Why does
his brain need to do that?"

Karen looks at him with a
sad smile. "It's his brain's way
of communicating, Chip.
Sometimes it just needs to...
move, to make sounds. It's like
his way of saying, 'We're ok,
Plankton, you're here'."

Chip watches his dad's head
nod slightly. "But it looks
so... painful." Plankton's
eye finally meets his.
"It's not painful, Chip," he says,
his voice strained. "It's tck...
tck it's none of your concern."

Karen's eyes are filled with
concern as she looks at
Plankton, who's visibly
tired. She knows he's trying
to regain control, to keep
his walls up. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she says. "Chip just wants
to understand." "I don't
want him to think I'm... tck tck,
I don't want him to think I'm weird."
The desperation in his voice
mirrors the erratic movements
of his head.

"You're not weird, Dad,"
Chip says, his voice firm.
"You're just... different." Karen nods.
"That's right, Chip. And
different is not wrong, it's just
part of who your dad is." "You're
the best dad ever."

Plankton's head nods slower
now, the tic subsiding. His
eye flickers as he looks at
his son, his antennae drooping.
"Tck, tck," he whispers. "I just tck... tck I
don't want Chip to tck, tck think
I'm broken." "You're not broken, Dad," he
says. "You're just... special."
Karen swells with pride.
That's her son, trying to find
the right words, trying to
comfort his father.

Chip's hand reaches for his
dad's, but Plankton flinches.
The simple touch feels like
fire against his skin. "Dad,"
Chip says, his voice full of
concern. "Please, let me he--"

But Plankton can't handle it.
He jerks away. "No, Chip," he says,
his voice tight with anxiety. "Your
touch is tck... it's too much."

Chip's eyes fill with tears.
He's never felt so lost, so
helpless. He just wants to
comfort his dad, but his
dad won't let him. "But..."

Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand
instead. "Your dad needs some
space right now," she whispers.
"He gets triggered by sudden
movements and sounds, and
your touch can be too much."

Chip nods, his eyes brimming
with tears. "But why doesn't he
want me to help?" he asks.
Karen looks at Plankton, who's
lying down with his body
twitching slightly. "Because
his autism makes it hard for
him to communicate how he's
feeling," she explains. "Sometimes,
his brain gets overwhelmed,
and all he can do is tic."

The room is quiet, the air
thick with unspoken
understanding. Karen knows
Plankton's pain, his fear of
being seen as less than. She
knows his tics are his way of
navigating a world that's too
loud, too bright. And she knows
Chip's hurt, his need to connect
with his father in the only
way he knows how.

But Plankton's walls are
up. His antennae twitch, his
body still. He's retreated into
his own mind, trying to find
his calm. Karen watches, 
aching. She's the only one
who truly gets him. She's seen
his tics, his moments of
overwhelm, his quiet battles.
And she's always been there,
his rock, his sanctuary.

"Tck tck," Plankton murmurs,
his tongue flicking against his teeth.
Chip's eyes are wide with
worry. "It's his way of
trying to find his balance," she
whispers. "Just let him be."

Plankton's tic changes, his
head bobbing again.
"Tck tck tck," he murmurs. Karen
can see the storm brewing in his
eye, the internal struggle. "It's okay,
Plankton," she whispers. "You're safe.
Just let it out," she soothes. "It's okay."

Chip watches, curiosity piqued. "What are
those sounds, Mom?" he asks.
Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's.
"It's his brain's way of releasing
pressure," she says. "Like when
you hiccough, it just happens."

"But why doesn't he say
actual words?" Chip's question is
filled with innocence, his mind
trying to piece together the puzzle
of his father's condition.
"Sometimes, Chip, our brains
can't find the right words, so
it makes sounds instead," Karen
explains. "It's like when you
hum a tune without knowing
why, it's just something that
happens. It's his brain's
way of talking without words,"
she says. "It's his autism."
Plankton looks at the blanket
and rubs his hand over it. Karen
knows he's listening. Karen nods. "It's
his way of saying he's okay,"
she says, her voice calm. "It's his
brain's shorthand."

Plankton's tics continue,
his head bobbing, his antennae
twitching. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs,
his voice barely audible. Karen
smiles sadly. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she whispers. "You don't have
to explain." Plankton's body relaxes
slightly. The tic subsides, his
head still. He looks at Karen,
his antennae drooping. "Thank
y-you," he says, his voice filled
with relief.

The room is quiet, except
for the soft click of his
tongue. "It's... it's just..." he
starts, his voice trailing off.
Karen nods. "I know," she says.
"It's your brain's way of talking
to you." Plankton nods, somewhat
absent mindedly. "It's like when you're
trying to think of a word,"
Karen says, "but all that comes
out is 'uh' or 'um'." Chip nods.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body still. "But these
sounds," Chip says, "what do
they mean?" Karen looks
at Plankton, who's lost in
his own world again. "They're
just sounds," she says, her voice
soft. "Like when you tap
your foot to the beat of a
song. It's his brain's way
of keeping rhythm."

"Tck tck tck," Plankton says,
his voice a quiet murmur.
Karen nods. "It's his brain's way
of saying, 'I'm okay, Plankton.'"
Chip's eyes widen. "But...
why doesn't he just say it?"
Karen's smile is sad. "Because
his brain doesn't always
work the same way ours does,"
she explains. "The sounds
are his brain's language,
his way of talking to itself."

"But what about the... the
random words?" Chip asks.
Karen looks at Plankton,
his antennae twitching slightly.
"Those are called 'echolalia'
and 'palilalia'," she says. "It's
when he repeats words or
phrases. Sometimes, it's to help
him process what's happening.
Other times, it's just his brain's
way of filling the silence."
Plankton's head nods slightly.
Karen smiles. "Sometimes, it's just
his brain playing back a
something he's heard," she
says. "Other times, it's like he's
trying to find the right words,
but they just don't come out
right."

Plankton's eye flickers. "Tck tck, yes,
yes," he murmurs. Chip looks
at his mom, his heart racing.
"Does he know what he's saying?"
he asks. Karen shrugs. "He's
aware of it, Chip. It's just his
way of... coping."

The sounds change, morphing
into a gentle hum. "Mmm mm,"
he stims.

Chip looks at his dad,
his eyes full of questions.
"What's he doing now?" he
asks. Karen smiles gently.
"Sometimes, he'll make sounds
that aren't words," she says.
"It's his brain's way of soothing
itself. Some call it 'stimming',"
she explains. "It's a way for
autistic people to find comfort,
to self-soothe." Chip nods,
his eyes on his dad. "Mm mm,"
Plankton whispers. Karen's
hand finds Plankton's, giving
it a gentle squeeze.
"It's his way of saying, 'I'm ok,
I'm here,'" she whispers. "It's
his brain's way of letting him know
he's safe." "Does everyone with
autism do this?" Chip asks.
Karen shakes her head. "No,
sweetie," she says. "Everyone's
autism is different."

Plankton's humming turns
into a soft, rhythmic "bub bub."
Karen's smile widens. "It's like
his brain's version of a lullaby,"
she says. Chip nods, his curiosity
outweighing his fear. "But why
does it change?" he asks.
"Sometimes his brain needs
different sounds to find its
calm," Karen explains. "It's like
how you might prefer one song
over another when you're sad or
upset. His brain is just choosing
what it needs in the moment."

Chip watches, his eyes
glued to his dad's. "It's like he's
talking to himself," Chip murmurs.
Karen nods. "In a way, he is,"
she says. "He's reassuring
himself that he's okay."

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 5

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 7
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Suddenly, Plankton's 
mumbling becomes a 
torrent of unorganized 
wording. "Bubbles, bubbles,
bubbles," he repeats, 
his voice rising and 
falling in an erratic 
pattern.

Karen's grip on his
hand tightens. "It's okay, 
Plankton," she whispers. "You're
just talking to yourself."
Chip's eyes widen in
concern. "What's happening,
Mom?" Karen's voice is calm.
"It's his brain's way of
processing stress," she says.
"He's trying to find 
his calm." Plankton's
body relaxes slightly, his
tics slowing.

"Bubbles, bubbles,"
Plankton murmurs, his eye
flicking around the room.
"Karen, Karen Plankton, Karen,
Chip, tck tck tck." The words
roll off his tongue like a
wave, crashing against the
silence. Karen nods. "It's his
brain's way of categorizing,"
she says. "It's how he makes
sense of the world."
Chip's eyes are wide as he
listens to the strange litany.
"But why now?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper. Karen
sighs. "Sometimes, stress brings
out his 'stims' more," she
explains. "And seeing him
upset can be overwhelming for
his brain." Plankton's antennae
twitch erratically. "It's okay,
Plankton," Karen whispers. "We're
still here." Chip looks at
his mom, his eyes brimming
with unshed tears. "It's okay,
buddy," she says, her voice soothing.
"Just let him be." Chip nods.

Plankton's phrases shift again,
now a jumble of nonsensical
sounds and words. "Karen, Karen,
bubbles, Chip, bubbles, tck
tck tck." His body rocks slightly
back and forth, his hand
flapping against the blanket.
"It's like he's trying to organize
his thoughts," Karen says, her voice
calm. "It's a form of self-regulation."
Chip nods, trying to understand.
"But it's so... random," he says.
Karen smiles gently. "Karen, bubbles,
tck tck, Chip, okay, okay."
Plankton's eye darts around
the room, as if searching
for something he can't quite
see. Karen's hand is steady on
his shoulder. "It's okay," she
repeats, her voice a soft
lullaby. "You're safe."

"Mom, what's he saying?" Chip
whispers. Karen's eyes are
filled with compassion. "He's
just talking to himself," she
explains. "It's his brain's way
of sorting things out." Plankton's
phrases change again. "Mo-mo
number one, says I say, dun?"
Karen's smile is sad. "It's his
way of asking for reassurance,"
she says. "His brain's trying to
make sense of the world."
Chip nods, his mind racing to keep
up with the changing words.
"It's okay, Dad," he whispers,
his voice trembling. "You're the
best dad ever." Plankton's shakes
ease slightly, his antennae still.

Chip nods, trying to keep
his voice steady. "It's okay,
Dad," he says. "We're all here
for you." Plankton's antennae
twitch, his eye focusing on
his son. "Bath," he says,
his voice a mix of comfort and
exhaustion. Karen
nods. "He's just trying to find
his words," she says. "It's part
of his process." Plankton's hand
stops moving, his antennae
still. "Shs-shs-shs," he whispers.
"Bb-bebe, hads."

Chip's screen dart to Karen's. "What's he
saying?" he whispers. Karen's
expression is one of deep
understanding. "It's a way
of being kinda in his own
little bubble," she explains.
"His brain's way of interacting
as he's in his own world, like
daydreaming almost, but not
necessarily thinking of any
thing in particular. Like when
you don't pay attention in class."
Plankton's phrases change again,
now a mix of words and sounds.
"Wrap, tie knot, let, shwish shwish,"
he murmurs.

Karen nods gently. "It's like
his brain's doing a little dance,"
she says, "just to keep itself
comfortable." Chip watches as
his dad. "Can dad hear us right 
now?" he asks, his voice small.
"Yes, he can," Karen says. "He's
just focusing on verbally stimming."

Plankton's phrases evolve.
"Fwip fwip, splash, splash, oh so
quiet, splish splash." Chip's eyes
follow the patterns his dad's hand
makes on the blanket. "It's okay,
Plankton," Karen whispers. "You
don't have to hide your sounds."
Plankton's eye flutters slightly.
Karen smiles at Chip. "It's his
brain's way of creating a safe
space," she says. "He's talking to
his 'stims'. But I think he's getting
tired, as sensory bombardment
can take it's toll."

The stimming came again. "Fweee."
Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's.
"It's ok, honey," she says, her voice
steady. Plankton's antennae droop
exhausted. "Tck tck tck, tck t---"
"Do you need to sleep, Plankton?"
Karen asks, her voice a gentle
caress in the quiet room. Plankton's
eye flits to her, then back to
his patterns on the blanket.
"It's okay if you do," she says,
her tone soothing. "Sleep can
help reset your brain. It's late."

Plankton's stimming pauses, his
body still. "Sleep," he murmurs.
The word hangs in the air, a
question wrapped in a sigh.
"Yes," Karen nods. "Sleep."
Karen stands, her movements
slow and deliberate. "Let's get
you comfy, Plankton," she says.
He crawls under the blanket
covers, now facing his pillow.

Chip watches, his eyes full of
uncertainty. "Does he always do
this?" he asks. Karen shakes her head,
her voice low. "Sometimes, when
his brain's had too much, it just
needs to reset." She tucks
Plankton in, her movements
careful and precise. "It's like
his brain's battery is running
low, and sleep is how it recharges."

Plankton's body relaxes slightly
as Karen's voice lulls him. "K-Karen,"
he whispers, his antennae
slowly drooping. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she says. "You can go to sleep."
The room is filled with a tension
that only Chip seems to feel.
"Sleep," Plankton echoes, his voice
fading. "Sleep."

Chip watches his dad, his heart
heavy with the weight of
understanding. He's never seen
his hero so vulnerable. "Mom,"
he whispers, "What if I do something
that makes it worse?"
Karen turns to him, her eyes
full of love. "You won't," she says.
"But if you're ever unsure, just
ask me or him. We're in this
together. Now, you get some
rest yourself; we'll need it after
such a day. Tomorrow we can
see if he's back to usual and
go from there. Goodnight, Chip.."

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 7

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 9
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Their laughter mingles with the
breeze, the creaking of the
swings a comforting rhythm.
For a moment, everything feels
normal, it's just them. But then
two playfully boisterous kids
come by.

Their energy is infectious,
but for Plankton, it's too much.
He flinches at their sudden
approach, nervously gripping
the swing's chains tightly.

The two kids laugh,
their giggles piercing the
calm of the playground.
They run past, their eyes
locked on the baby swing,
their arms outstretched.
Chip watches. The swing
squeaks as the children
pass it side to side to
each other carelessly,
when the baby swing
hits Plankton, jolting him.

Plankton's eye rolls back,
his body going rigid. "Dad!"
Chip cries, his voice
echoing in the sudden
silence. Karen's head snaps
up, her eyes wide. Plankton's
swing stops, his grip
on the chains loosening.
He's in the middle of
an absence seizure, his
brain briefly disconnecting
from the world around him.

Chip jumps off his swing,
his knees hitting the ground
with a thud. The two
boisterous kids stop
their laughter as Chip and
Karen catch Plankton's body.
"Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice
shaking.

Plankton's limp. "It's
okay, Chip," Karen says. 
"Just hold him."
They go to the ground,
supporting Plankton's form
between them. The kids hover,
curiosity in their eyes. "What's
wrong with him?" one asks.

"He's okay," Karen says, her
voice firm but gentle. "He just
needs a minute." Plankton's
body twitches slightly, his
eyelid fluttering. "Dad?"

The kids' curiosity turns to
concern, their laughter
replaced by quiet whispers.
One of them tugs at their
mother's sleeve, pointing at
the scene. The mother's
expression shifts from playful
to worried. She approaches
them cautiously. "Is he ok?
Should we ca--"

Karen shakes her head, 
cutting her off. "No thank you, 
but we've got it. He has
autism. He'll be okay." The
mother nods, her eyes 
softening with understanding
and slowly backing away
with her kids, giving them space.

Plankton's body slowly
unfurls, his antennae
twitching back to life. Chip
holds his breath. Plankton blinks,
his eye coming back into focus.
"Chip?" he says, his voice
slurred. Karen nods. "You had
a seizure, Plankton," she says.
"You're okay now." Plankton's
face relaxes, his antennae drooping
slightly. "Tired," he murmurs.

Chip's eyes never leave
his dad's. "You scared me,"
he admits. Plankton looks at
his son, his gaze filled with
apology. "I-I'm s-sorry, buddy,"
he says. "I didn't mean t-to."
Karen wraps an arm around
Plankton's shoulders. "Let's sit
for a bit," she suggests.
They move to the bench,
Plankton's legs still wobbly
as the sit down on the bench.

Plankton's hands start
to move, almost 
subconsciously. He's 
stimming again, waving
his flapping hands.

Chip watches. He's seen this now.
He understands now.

Karen's hand rests on 
Plankton's back, her thumb
making small circles. "It's 
okay, honey," she whispers.
Plankton's hands flap faster in
small, repetitive motions.
It's his way of creating
his own rhythm, his own
harmony amidst the noise.

Chip watches, his screen
filled with a mix of fear
and fascination. "It's his 
brain's way of saying 'I'm
alright'," Karen explains, her 
voice low. "He's okay."

Plankton's hands 
slow, the stimming
becoming less 
frantic. Karen's eyes 
never leave his, her
expression a mix
of concern and 
understanding. "You've 
had a big morning,"
she says softly. "Ye-ye-yes,"
he stammers. Karen nods.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his hand stilling. Chip 
notices the quiet that settles
over his dad.

"You wanna go home?" he
asks, his voice small.
Plankton nods, his eye
focused on a spot in the
distance. Karen stands, 
helping him to his feet.
"Okay, let's go," she says.

The walk to the car feels
longer than the journey to
the playground. Chip
notices the way his dad's
steps are smaller, his movements
more deliberate. It's as if he's
retreating into himself, his
brain needing a moment to
recover.

In the backseat, Plankton
fidgets with the seat
belt, strumming it as
Chip sits next to him.
The car's engine hums
to life, Karen glancing
back at them through the
rearview mirror, her eyes
filled with love and concern.

"Talk box," Plankton says
to himself. He's retreating.
Chip looks confused. "Talk
box?" He looks at his dad.
"Dad, wh-"

"Chip," Karen interjects, 
her eyes in the mirror. 
"Let him be. Remember
yesterday. Sometimes he
just needs to talk to himself.
You can sit with him, but 
it can make him upset
when you comment on it
as if it's strange. He barely
even knows he's doing it."

Chip nods, trying to remember
the conversation they had.
Plankton's mumbling turns to
a murmur, a low hum that's
barely audible over the
car's engine. "Fluffy, blue,
circle," he says, his eye
fixed on the passing scenery.
The words are nonsensical,
but Chip tries to keep
his voice calm. "It's okay,
Dad," he says.

Karen glances at him in
the mirror, her eyes full of
pride. "He's okay," she
reassures Chip. "He's just
talking himself through it."
Plankton's hand starts to
move again, tapping the
seat in a steady rhythm.
"Pip," he whispers. "Flibbity, 
floppety, jib."

Chip's eyes are glued to his
father, his curiosity
piqued by this window
into his internal world.

"Blip, blup, bebop," Plankton
mumbles, his antennae
twitching with each syllable.

Chip's mind
whirrs with questions but
his mom's advice from
last night echoes in his head.
He watches as his dad's hand
taps out the rhythm of his
thoughts on the car door.
"Mom, is he okay?" Chip
asks, his voice low. Karen
nods. "He's just working
through it," she says. "It's his
brain's way of talking to
itself."

Plankton's murmurs
grow quieter as they drive,
his antennae drooping slightly.
Karen glances in the
rearview mirror, her screen
filled with warmth. "It's
his brain's way of processing
thoughts, turning them into
words and sounds." Chip nods,
his gaze never leaving Plankton's
face. "It's like he's got a
little world in there,"
he murmurs. Karen smiles.
"Exactly," she says. "And those
words are his way of
navigating it."

Plankton taps on the door.
"Dibbly. Pling," he says. Karen
nods. "You're safe." Plankton's hand
stops tapping, his antennae
still. "Safe," he echoes, his voice
a whisper. 

Chip's eyes are wide,
his curiosity piqued by his
father's quiet self-talk.
"It's his way of reassuring
his brain," Karen explains.
"It's like he's saying 'it's okay'
to himself." Chip nods.
Karen's screen finds Chip's. 
"You're doing great," she mouths.

The car's movement
lulls Plankton into silence.
His antennae droop, his
lids growing heavy. Chip
notices the change, his
heart aching. "Dad?" he whispers.
"Tired," he says.

The hum of the engine
becomes a white noise,
their world narrowing down
to the car's confines. Plankton's
breathing deepens, his body
slumping slightly against the seat.
Karen's eyes flick to the mirror,
seeing Chip's concern.
"It's okay," she says softly.
"He's just getting sleepy."

In his own world, Plankton
whispers to himself. "Flip,
flap, jibber." His eye
closed, but his mind races.
Chip watches, fascinated
by the silent conversation.
"What's he saying?" he
asks Karen. She smiles,
keeping her eyes on the road.
"He's just talking to his
stims," she says.

"Talking to his stims?"
Chip repeats, trying to
understand. "It's like he's
having a conversation,"
Karen explains, "but it's
not with us. It's with his
brain. It's his way of sorting
things out." "Does he know
what he's saying?" Chip asks.
"Not always," Karen says,
keeping her eyes on the
road. "Sometimes it's just
sounds, other times it's
fragments of words or
phrases. It's his way of
finding calm in the chaos."
Plankton's whispers
continue, "Bloop. Squish.
Karen." Chip looks at his
mom. "Does he know he's
saying your name?" Karen
smiles. "Sometimes he
does. It's his way of
reassuring himself that
he's not alone." Chip nods.

Chip can't help but feel a
sense of wonder at his
dad's unique way of dealing
with the world. "Blibber,
babble, wonka," Plankton
says, his voice softer now.
Chip looks out the window,
his thoughts racing. He
wonders if he'll ever
understand what it's like
inside his dad's head. "Is he
okay?" he asks again, his voice
barely above a whisper. "He's
fine, Chip," Karen says, her
voice calm. "This is just his way."

The words keep coming, a
steady stream of nonsense
syllables that somehow make
sense to Plankton. "Flitter,
flatter, snicker-snack," he murmurs.
Karen's eyes are on the
road, but her love is with
Plankton, listening to his
self-soothing symphony. She
knows that in his own way,
he's trying to find peace. 

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 9

CATCH IN MY CHIP iv
(Autistic author)

Plankton looks around, confusion
flickering in his eye. "What's going on?"

"You had a bit of an overload,"
Karen explains, her voice gentle.
"Too much sensory input, remember?"

Plankton's antennas twitch, and
his eye widens slightly as he takes
in the scene. The mess, the quiet,
Chip's tear-stained face. He sighs,
his body relaxing back into the
pillows. "Ah, yes," he murmurs.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to
scare you."

Karen smiles, her eyes
shimmering with relief. "It's okay,
dear. We're just here for you."

Plankton's gaze drifts to Chip,
who's hovering in the doorway,
his eyes wide and worried. "Chip... 
I'm sorry."

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his voice shaking. "It's okay, Dad.
Is your autism causing..."

Plankton looks at him, his
eye widening slightly. "What do
you know about autism?" He sits
up, his voice tinged with surprise.

Chip sniffles, his grip tight
on the seashell collection. "Mom
told me," he says, his voice
barely audible. "It's why you got
overwhelmed, isn't it?"

Plankton's expression shifts
from confusion to something
closer to anger.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me,"
he snaps, his voice sharp. "I can
handle it."

"But Dad you just..."

Plankton cuts Chip 
off, his voice
edged with agitation. 
"I said, I can handle it!"

Chip takes a step back,
his eyes wide and filled with
fear. He hadn't meant to upset
his dad; he just wanted to
understand. "You couldn't handle
it, Dad. Otherwise, you..."

Plankton's eye narrows,
his antennas standing on end.
"Don't," he says,
his voice a warning growl.
"I don't need a little kid telling
me what I can and can't handle."

Chip's shoulders slump,
his eyes welling up. "But I just...
I didn't mean to..."

"I said, I can handle it!" Plankton's voice
cracks through the air, his face flushing
with irritation. Karen's grip on Chip's hand
tightens, a silent message to stay calm.

Chip's eyes water as he stammers, "But I just
wanted to help." The weight of his dad's
words hits him like a brick. He hadn't meant
to make him mad, but he couldn't shake
the feeling that he'd done something wrong.

Plankton's breaths are sharp and quick, his
body tense with frustration. "You don't know
what you're talking about," he snaps, pushing
the covers off his legs. "You're just a kid. You
don't understand."

Chip's eyes well up with 
tears as he looks at his
father, the man he's 
always admired and loved,
now a stranger in his own 
pain. "But Mom said it's
okay for..."

Plankton's anger flares,
his antennas quivering. 
"Don't you dare bring 
your mom into this," he
says, cutting Chip off again. 
"This is not your business!"

Chip's lower lip trembles,
his eyes filling with tears.
He hadn't meant to upset
his dad, but everything
he says seems to make it worse.
"But Dad," he starts, but
his voice is lost in the
wave of Plankton's frustration.

"I don't need your pity,"
Plankton says, his voice rising.
He swings his legs over the
side of the bed, his movements
quick and jerky. "You think
just because you know a fancy
word, you know what it's like?"

Chip feels his cheeks burn,
his eyes blurred with unshed tears.
"No, Dad, I just..."

But Plankton is already out
of bed, his legs wobbly. "You think
you know everything, don't you?"
His words are a jumble of anger
and pain, his voice echoing in
the quiet room.

Chip steps back, his eyes wide
with shock. "No, Dad, I just..."
He tries to explain, but Plankton
interrupts again.

"Don't tell me what you 'just,'"
Plankton snaps. "You think
because you went to some camp
you can come back and act like
you know me?" His voice is
sharp, cutting through the
tension in the air like a
knife.

Chip's eyes dart to the ground,
his body shrinking under the
weight of his father's words.
"But Dad, I just..."

Plankton's anger is palpable,
his body vibrating with tension.
"I said, don't tell me what you
'just'!" He snatches up Chip's
new surfboard, the one symbol
of joy from camp, and slams it
against the wall. The room
shakes with the impact, sending
a shower of sand and shells flying.

Chip jumps, his eyes wide with shock.
"Dad, please," he whispers, his voice
shaking. He's never seen his dad
like this, never felt such anger
radiating from him. It's like a storm
has taken over the room, and he's
the only one caught in it.

"What are you doing?" Chip asks,
his voice barely above a whisper.
He takes a step back, his hands up
in a protective gesture.

"What does it look like?" Plankton
snarls, his grip tight on the broken
surfboard. "I can't even have a moment
without you poking and prodding!"

Chip's eyes dart around the room,
his heart racing as he tries to find
the words to fix this. "I'm sorry, Dad,"
he whispers, his voice trembling. "I just
wanted to help."

But Plankton is beyond reason,
his anger a living thing that feeds
off the chaos. He turns to the desk,
his gaze settling on the pile of sandy
photos. "You think your camp
souvenirs mean anything to me?"
He snatches the pictures, ripping
them into shreds. Chip gasps, tears
spilling down his cheeks as he watches
his memories destroyed. "Dad, no!"

He tries to grab the photos,
his hands shaking, but Plankton
swats him away, the torn pieces
falling like confetti around them.
The room seems to close in, the
smell of saltwater and musty sand
overwhelming him. "These are
from my trip!" Chip sobs, his voice
choking on his own pain.

"I don't care about your trip!"
Plankton shouts, throwing the
remaining pieces into the air.
They flutter down like sad confetti,
a stark contrast to the joy they
once represented. "I care about
me! I care about what you do
to me with your noise and your
energy!"

Chip's heart feels like it's
shattering into a million
pieces, each one a memory of
his dad's love and patience
torn apart. "I didn't mean to,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible over the ringing in
his ears. "I just wanted to share..."

Plankton's eye flashes with anger,
his grip on the shredded photos
white-knuckled. "Share?" He spits
the word out like it's poison. "You
have no idea what you're
doing to me! You just keep pushing
and pushing, and you don't even
notice when I can't take it anymore!"

Chip's eyes dart to the floor,
his hands curling into fists. "I
thought you liked it," he says,
his voice shaking. "I thought
you liked when I talked about
my day."

Plankton's chest heaves, his
eye blazing with frustration. "You
don't get it, do you?" He says,
his voice rising. "You never get it!"
He picks up Chip's rare seashell
collection, the one he'd been so
proud to show off, and hurls
it across the room. The sound
of breaking shells fills the air,
each one a shard of Chip's shattered
happiness.

"Dad, please!" Chip begs, his
hands outstretched. "Stop!"
But Plankton's rage has taken
over, a whirlwind of accusations
and anger. "You think this is fun?"
He yells, holding up a shard
of seashell. "You think this is what
I want?"

Plankton throws the shard down,
the clatter of broken shells
like a mocking echo of Chip's
pleas. "I don't want your noise!" His
hands shake with fury as he
grabs the sandy trophy from the
camp sandwich contest.

"Dad, please," Chip says, his voice
small and scared. "What's wrong?"
He tries to approach, but Plankton's
body language is a clear warning.

Plankton's eye dart around the
room, his anger a tangible force.
"Wrong?" He laughs, a harsh,
bitter sound. "Wrong is you, coming
in here with your stories and your
noise and your... stuff!" He gestures
wildly at the camp souvenirs, the
remnants of Chip's excitement scattered
across the floor.

He hurls the trophy at the wall,
watching with a twisted satisfaction
as it shatters into a hundred
pieces. "This," he says, holding
up a fistful of sand, "this is what
you do to me!"

Chip flinches with each broken
piece, his heart aching. "But
Dad, I just wanted to make you
proud." His voice is barely a
whisper, lost in the storm of
Plankton's rage.

"Proud?" Plankton sneers,
his grip tight on the sand.
"You think this junk makes
me proud?" He throws the sand
at Chip, the grains stinging his
face like tiny needles. "You have
no idea what I go through every
day, do you?" His voice cracks,
his anger giving way to pain.

Karen steps in, her voice firm
but calm. "Plankton, that's enough."
Her eyes are on her son, her
face a mask of concern. "Chip,
why don't you go... dust your screen?"
Her tone is gentle, but her gaze
holds a silent message: stay calm.

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving
his dad's. He turns and heads
for the bathroom, his steps slow
and deliberate. The door clicks
closed behind him, leaving Karen
and Plankton alone in the room.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II iv

CHIP AND FAIL viii
(Autistic author)

Karen's hand was a lifeline,
her voice a gentle guide. "Chip,"
she called out.
"We need to talk."

Chip stopped in the hallway. 
Why was Dad acting so
weird? He turned to face his
mother, his eyes brimming with
unshed tears. "What's wrong with
him?" he demanded, his voice
filled with accusation. "He doesn't
deserve to be called my dad if
he can't even..."
But that's when it happens.
That's when Plankton started
hyperventilating, and that's
when Plankton can't take
anymore.
That's when it happened.
Chip's words were like a match
striking too close to a powder keg.
Plankton's breath hitched, his antennae
twitching erratically. Karen rushed to
his side, her screen wide with concern.
"Babe, you okay?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress. She holds her arms
out to catch Plankton.

But Plankton's mind was a
whirlwind, his body a live wire.
He couldn't answer, couldn't find
the words to explain the chaos
that was his reality. His antennae
trembled as he struggled to
breathe, his body rigid with fear.
He had hoped to keep this
hidden, to protect Chip from the
truth, but it was too much.
The storm inside him grew
wilder, each breath a battle.

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his own confusion
mirroring the chaos in the
room. "What's wrong with you?"
he repeated, his voice a mix of anger
and desperation.

But Plankton's mind was a tornado,
his thoughts swirling too fast
for words. He could feel his chest
constrict, his heart pounding
like a drum.

Karen watched her son's screen,
seeing the hurt in his eyes, the
misunderstanding etched
deep. She took a deep breath,
knowing the moment had arrived.
"Chip," she began, her voice
soft but firm, "there's something
you need to know about your dad."

Chip looked at her, his expression
a mix of anger and confusion. "What
could possibly make him act like
this?" he spat, poking Plankton hard. "Why
did you marry him? He's just nothing but..."

"Chip," Karen said firmly, taking his
hands in hers, when Plankton
starts to wheeze heavily, his body
constricting with each shallow breath.

Chip's anger faded, replaced with
fear as he watched his father's
distress. "Dad?" he whispered,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's body trembled as his
legs gave out, collapsing into the
embrace Karen had been ready to offer.

"Dad?" Chip's voice was barely
above a whisper, his eyes wide
with fear and confusion. He had
never seen his father so
overwhelmed, so vulnerable.

Karen knelt beside Plankton, her
hands gentle on his trembling
body. "It's okay, love," she
whispered, her voice a salve
on his raw nerves. "Just breathe."

Chip's eyes were glued to his
father with fear. He had never seen him
like this before, his body a
stranger's under his own touch.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked
again, his voice shaking.

Karen took a deep breath, her
hands trembling as she smoothed
back Plankton's antennae. "Chip, your
dad was born with something..."
Her voice trailed off, the words
stuck in her throat like a piece
of unchewed food.

Chip's eyes searched hers, his
confusion a storm cloud
gathering. "What do you mean?"
he asked, his voice small and
scared.

Karen took a deep breath, her
heart aching for both her son
and her husband. "Your dad," she
began, her voice shaking with
the weight of her words, "was born
different, Chip." Plankton's
eye flickered open, filled with a
mixture of fear and hope.

"What do you mean, 'different'?"
Chip asked, his voice small and
scared. He had never heard his
mother talk about his dad this
way before.

Karen took a deep breath,
swallowing the lump in her
throat. "When your dad was born,
Chip," she began, her screen
filled with a sadness that
threatened to spill over, "his brain
was injured during delivery. When
the doctors pulled him out, they
didn't realize how fragile he was
and they..." Her voice trailed off,
the memory too painful to
recount. "They had to get him out
and applied too much force on his
head, which caused some damage.
It gave him a type of condition, where
he's on what's called autism spectrum."

Chip's eyes widened, his grip on
his shirt tightening. "But that's
not his fault, right?" he asked, his
voice a hopeful whisper. He didn't
want to think of his dad as
damaged or broken.

Karen nodded, her screen filled
with love for both her husband and
her son. "No, honey, it's not his
fault," she said, her voice steady.
"It's just how he's. And
it's not something you can see or
touch. It's like having a radio in
your head that's always tuned to the
loudest station, and sometimes
the static gets too much."

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II viii

CHIP AND FAIL ix
(Autistic author)

Chip stared at his dad, his mind
racing. He had always known his
dad was different, but he had
never understood why. Now, as
he watched the man he idolized
quivering with overstimulation, he
couldn't help but feel a deep sadness
and anger. "Why didn't you tell
me?" he asked, his voice tight.

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
face contorting with a sudden
surge of anger.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, the sound
exploding from his chest like a
bomb, his antennae quivering with
each syllable. "Do you have any
idea what you're doing to me?"

Chip recoiled, his eyes wide with
shock. He had never heard his dad
so angry before, never seen him
so out of control. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he stammered, his voice thick with
unshed tears.

"You're sorry?" Plankton spat,
his antennae vibrating with rage.
"You don't get it, Chip. You never
will." His voice was a storm,
his words cutting through the
tension in the room. "You think
I don't want to hear your stories?
You think I don't want to be a part
of your life?" His body trembled
with the force of his emotions, his
eye blazing with pain.

Chip took a step back, his
hands up in defense. "Dad, no, I..."

But Plankton was a tornado,
his anger a living thing in the
room. "You think I don't want to
connect with you?" he shouted, his
antennas whipping around. "You think
I don't love you?" His voice broke,
his body shaking with the effort of
holding back his tears.

Chip stared at his dad, his eyes
like saucers. "But Dad, you always
push me away," he protested, his voice
tiny in the face of Plankton's fury. "You
never want me to touch you or..."

"You just let me explain!" Plankton
shouted, cutting him off. His antennae
were a blur with the force of his
emotions, his eye flashing. "You always
keep pushing and pushing, and it's too
much!" His words were a volley of
thunder, each one striking Chip like a
physical blow.

Chip took a step back, his eyes
filling with tears. "But Dad, I just
want to be close to you," he choked
out, his voice a mere wisp. "I don't
understand why you can't..."

"Because you don't listen!" Plankton's
voice was a whip, slicing through
the air. "You don't see the
storm in my head, the way every
touch feels like a storm, every
sound a siren!" His antennae
quivered with rage, his body tense.
"You think it's easy for me? That I
don't want to be there for you?"

Chip took another step back, his
hands up in defense. "I didn't
know," he whispered, his eyes
brimming with tears. "I just wanted
to tell you about my week." He says
reaching out with a trembling
hand, but Plankton's swatting 
Chip's hand away.

"Don't. Touch. Me!" Plankton roared, his
body trembling with rage. "Can't you
see that?" His voice was a knife,
sharp and unforgiving. "And don't
you DARE say you're better off without
me!" His eye blazed with a fierce
protectiveness that Chip had never
seen before.

Chip's hand hovered in the air, his
fingers curling into a fist. "But Dad," he
choked out, his voice thick with
unshed tears, "I just want to be
close to you." He took a step closer...

"NO!" Plankton shouted, his antennae
snapping like whips. "You don't get
to invade my space like that!" His
body was a live wire, his anger a
force field that repelled Chip's
reaching hand. "You think it's
funny?" His voice was a maelstrom
of pain and fury.

Chip's eyes filled with tears, his
hand dropping to his side. "I just
wanted to help," he murmured, his voice
tiny in the face of his father's
storm.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II ix

CHIP AND FAIL xii
(Autistic author)

Karen knew her
husband's withdrawal was a defense
mechanism, a way to cope with the
sensory overload. But watching
Chip's pain was like watching a
school of fish caught in a net,
thrashing against the confines of
their misunderstanding.

Chip pushed his chum around his
plate, his appetite lost in the
whirlpool of emotions. "Dad," he
tried again, his voice a soft
wave breaking on the shore of
Plankton's silence. "I don't know
what to do." Chip
felt like a tiny fish adrift in
the vast sea of his father's
displeasure. "I just want to be
there for you," he murmured, his
words a desperate plea.

But Plankton's antennae remained
still, his eye unreadable. The silence
was a dense fog, obscuring the
usual warmth between them. Chip's
heart felt like it was trapped in a
fishnet of doubt and confusion.

Karen watched the exchange with a
heavy heart, her own plate of chum
barely touched. She knew Plankton's
silence was a form of self-protection,
his way of reeling in the chaos
that had engulfed him. But she
couldn't help but feel the barb of
it, stinging Chip with each
unanswered question.

"Dad," Chip whispered again, his voice
now a soft ripple in the vast sea
of their dinner. "I know you're upset,
but I'm trying." He took another
tentative bite, his screen never
leaving Plankton's still form. "Can
we talk about it? What part of today d..."

But Plankton's antennae remained
as stiff as coral, his eye unyielding.
The silence was a thick kelp
forest, entangling any attempt at
communication. Chip didn't know
what else to say, what else to do.

Karen's screen searched the horizon
of Plankton's face, looking for any
sign of relenting. But he was an
isolated island, unreachable. She
knew the storm inside him was
still raging, and she could feel the
waves of pain crashing against the
shore of her own.

Chip's voice was a sad melody,
his words a school of fish lost
in a sea of misunderstanding.
"Dad," he whispered again, his voice
a soft ripple in the vast ocean of
silence. "I know I said the wrong
things, but I'm here. I'm listening."

Plankton's antennae remained
still, his eye a clouded pool. The
dinner table was a coral reef of
tension, their plates untouched.
The only sound was the distant
lapping of waves against the shore
of their unspoken words.

Chip's voice was a lone seagull
calling out into the vast sea of
silence. "Dad," he tried again,
his voice a desperate cry. "I'm
sorry for what I said." But the
words fell into the abyss,
unheard by the father who was
deaf to his son's pain.

Plankton's antennae remained
still. The
tension at the dinner table was
thick, obscuring any
chance of understanding.

"Dad," he said. "I 
didn't mean to hurt
you." Chip's hope
was fading.

"I'm sorry," Chip murmured again.
He didn't know what else to say,
his words a futile attempt. 
His father's antennae
twitched slightly.

The room was thick with
unspoken words. Karen's screen
flitted between them, her gaze
a beacon of understanding for
Chip in the abyss of Plankton's
silence. She knew her husband's
pain, had seen the storms he
weathered in solitude. But she also
saw the desperation in Chip's
screen, the yearning for
connection.

"Dad," Chip whispered.
"I know I don't understand it all,
but I want to learn."

Plankton's antennae remained
unmoved, the
silence a crushing weight that
threatened to drown them both.

Chip's voice was tiny.
He took another bite of chum,
his mouth moving mechanically,
his screen never leaving Plankton's
still form. "Dad," he tried again,
his voice a soft whisper. "What
can I do?"

Plankton's antennae twitched once.
He took a deep breath, his chest
expanding then letting it out in a slow sigh.

Chip was trapped. He had
never seen his father so closed
off, his usual vibrant spirit
dimmed.

Karen's eyes were a lifeline,
her gaze a gentle nudge towards
patience. She knew Plankton's
silence was not rejection but a
cry for space, a retreat into 
his own mind. "It's okay," she
mouthed.

Chip nodded, his screen never
leaving Plankton's still form. He
could see the pain etched in the
lines of his father's face, the
way his antennae drooped.
He took a deep breath.
"Dad," he said, his voice a soft
current. "I just want to help."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
just once, but it was enough for
Chip to hold onto. "I'll learn so I can be
there to help during temper tantrums.."
And there it is. His eye
flinched, and suddenly, he was
no longer in the quiet room with
his son and wife. He was back in
elementary school, the laughter of
his classmates as they called
his meltdowns "tantrums." The taste
of the chum in his mouth turned
sour. His school teachers had never
understood, had never seen the silent
storm that raged beneath his calm
surface.

"Plankton?" Karen's voice was
a soft echo, reaching out to him.
He blinked, coming back to the
present, his gaze meeting hers.
Her eyes were calm.

Chip's voice was a gentle
nudge. "Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to..." But Plankton's mind
was tangled within his thoughts of his
past. The word "tantrum" echoed in
his head, a reminder of his
vulnerability.

Karen's eyes searched her
husband's, understanding. She
reached over, her hand soft 
on his arm. "Take a moment," she
whispered. "We're here for you."

Plankton felt the warmth of her
touch, grounding him. His antennae
twitched slightly, acknowledging
her support.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II xii

CHIP AND FAIL xiii
(Autistic author)

Chip's voice was soft. "Dad,
I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton was stuck. His antennae
twitched, a silent signal of his
distress.

Karen's hand on his arm was a
lifeline. She had seen the way the
world had treated him, the way
his own son didn't understand.

"I mean, it's not like you can't just
turn it off," Chip said, his voice
naive and hopeful. "Why can't you just
deal with it? Why do you always have to be
so sensitive? You'll get used to it. If
not, then you're just being dramatic. So
just stop with the tantrums, and be
normal." Plankton's unable to 
take it.

"Chip, that's enough," Karen's voice
was firm, cutting through the
silence, but Plankton's already
simmering emotions boiled over.

"What?" Chip looked at her,
confusion in his screen. "What's
wrong with what I said? He's
just overreacting.."

Karen's eyes were a tempest
of emotion. She knew Chip didn't
mean to be hurtful, but his words
cut through Plankton like a knife.
Her hand tightened on his arm, a gentle
reminder to think before he spoke.
"Chip," she said, her voice firm but
kind. "You need to understand that
what you just said is not okay."

But Chip was oblivious, his
screen a puzzle of confusion. "What?
I just want to know why you chose
to be like a..." "CHIP," Karen interrupts.
But Plankton's already in tears, as
Chip's gotten to him.

"Dad," Chip says.
"You know I..."

But Plankton can't take 
it anymore. "How could you?" 
he chokes out, tears flowing.

Chip's eyes widened. He had
never seen his father like
this.

"Dad?" He reached out, his
hand hovering, unsure if he
should touch him.

Plankton looked up, his
single eye brimming with
sorrow. "Why? How dare you 
say that?" he whispered, now
getting up from the kitchen
table.

Chip's hand fell to his side, his
mouth a sad 'o' of regret.
"Dad, no, that's not what I..."

But Plankton was already
retreating, his antennae
drooping with each step.
The kitchen door closed with
a soft click, leaving Chip
and Karen in the wake of his
withdrawal.

Chip's eyes were wide with
disbelief, his heart heavy
in his chest. "What did
I do?" he asked, his voice
breaking the surface of their
shared shock.

Karen's eyes were pools of
disappointment and sadness.
"You don't know what you
just said," she murmured, her
voice a gentle rebuke.

"What?" Chip's voice was
a sad echo, his confusion
palpable.

Karen's eyes were a tempest
of frustration and sadness.
"Chip, what you said was not
only hurtful, it was ignorant,"
she said, her voice a soft
wash of disappointment. "You
can't tell someone to 'just
deal with it' when it comes to
autism."

Chip's shoulders slumped, his
face a mask of regret. "But I
just want to understand," he
mumbled, his voice a sad echo.

Karen's voice tightens with emotion. "You
have to learn to listen without
speaking," she said, her words
carefully chosen. "Your dad's
autism is not something he can
just 'turn off'."

Chip's eyes were wide with shock.
"I didn't know," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"You have to understand, Chip. Your father's
not being dramatic. He's in pain,"
she said, her voice cracking. "You can't just
tell him to 'deal with it'. That's not how
this works."

The words stung Chip. He had never
seen his mother so upset. "But I didn't know,"
he protested. "You have
to learn to listen," she repeated, her
voice soft yet firm. "You can't just
assume you understand because you want to."

He had wanted to connect, but instead,
he had only pushed his father further
away. He took a deep breath, the weight of
his ignorance heavy on his shoulders. "What
can I do?" he asked.

Karen took a moment before responding. "Give
your father space," she said. "And ask about
it first. Understand that his reactions are not
his choice."

Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. He knew he had
messed up, but he didn't know how to fix it. Karen
stood, her movements a gentle sway as she walked
to Plankton's room, leaving Chip alone with his
guilt.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II xiii

CATCH IN MY CHIP iii
(Autistic author)

They sit in silence for a few
moments, Chip's screen glued to
his dad's still form. The only
sound is the steady rhythm of
Plankton's shallow breathing.

As the minutes tick by, Chip's
thoughts swirl with confusion and
guilt. He had no idea that his
dad's quirks and sensitivities were
part of something so complex.
He'd just thought Plankton was
easily annoyed or tired.

Karen notices his son's distress
and decides it's time to explain
more. "You know how sometimes
you get really excited about
something, and you just can't
keep it in?" she asks.

Chip nods. "Yeah, like when I
see a new toy or when I've got
a great idea for a sandcastle."

"Well, for Dad, it's like that
all the time," Karen continues.
"Every little thing can be a
big deal, and sometimes it's just
too much." She pauses, looking at
Plankton with a mix of love and
concern. "But he's also the smartest
person I know, and he loves you
so much. That's what's important."

Chip nods, his eyes filling
with tears as he watches
his mom care for his dad. He'd
always felt a bit left out, not
understanding why Plankton would
sometimes retreat from the world.
But now he gets it. It's not that
his dad didn't want to share in
his excitement, it's just that sometimes,
the world was too much for him.

"Mom, I'm sorry," he whispers, his
throat tight with emotion. "I didn't
mean to make him... like this."

Karen pulls him into a warm
embrace. "You didn't do anything
wrong, Chip. This isn't your fault.
Dad's brain just works differently.
And now that we know, we can help
each other understand."

Chip sniffles against her,
his thoughts racing. "Does
he know what's happening
or can he understand us?"

"Sometimes he can," Karen says,
her voice low and soothing. "But
right now, I don't think he realizes
anything's happening around him."

"What if he doesn't wake up?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.

"He will, honey," Karen says, her
tone reassuring. "It just takes
a little time. It's like when you're
really tired and you need a nap.
His brain needs to rest."

The room is quiet except for
the occasional sound of the
air conditioner kicking in,
a stark contrast to the excitement
that had filled it just moments ago.
Chip watches his dad, feeling a
wave of emotion wash over him.
He wants to laugh and share more
stories, but he knows now that
his dad's brain needs a break.

As they wait, Karen starts to
clean up the mess Chip made.
The sand and papers scattered
across the floor seem so trivial
now, a stark reminder of the chaos
his enthusiasm can create for
his dad. He helps her, carefully
picking up each piece, placing
them back into their rightful
spots. His mind is racing with
thoughts of how to be a better
son, how to make sure his dad
doesn't feel like this again.

They work in silence, the only
sounds the rustling of papers and
the occasional clank of a metal
item being set back on the desk.
The room slowly transforms back
to its usual state of order, a stark
contrast to the turmoil Plankton
was experiencing. Chip's eyes never
leave his dad, hoping to see
any sign of improvement.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity,
Plankton's eye blinks, and the tension
in the room shifts. His breathing
becomes deeper and more regular.
Karen's shoulders relax as she sees
the first signs of Plankton coming
back to himself. She gives Chip's hand
a gentle squeeze. "Look, honey. He's
starting to come out of it."

Chip stares, hope filling his chest.
Plankton's antennas twitch slightly.
He blinks a few more times, as if trying
to bring the room into focus. "What...
what happened?" His voice is weak,
almost a whisper.

Karen's grip tightens on Chip's hand.
"You just needed a little break,
sweetie," she says softly. "It's okay."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II iii

CATCH IN MY CHIP vii
(Autistic author)

the only sound the steady
rhythm of their breaths. Plankton's
body slowly relaxes, his
eye unclenching, his antennas
stilling. Karen's hand remains
poised, ready to offer comfort
should he need it.

As his breathing evens,
Plankton's eye flutter open.
He looks at Karen, her face a
picture of love and concern.
He feels a pang of guilt for
his earlier outburst, but also a
wave of gratitude for her
understanding. He knows she
doesn't push or harm, she just gets it.

Karen sees the shift in
his gaze, the anger
giving way to something softer.
"Do you want to
talk about it?" she 
asks, her voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton shakes his
head slightly, his antennas
drooping. "No," he murmurs,
his voice hoarse. "Just...
needing a moment."

Karen nods, her hand
still hovering, a silent
offer of comfort. "Take all
the moments you need,"
she says, her voice gentle.

Plankton's gaze lingers
on her hand for a
moment before he nods.
He understands her unspoken
offer, her respect for his boundaries.

Karen knows that touch can
sometimes be too much for him,
a sensation that turns comforting
into overwhelming. So, she waits,
letting the air between them
remain unbroken by physical
contact, allowing him the space
he desperately needs.

The room is a canvas of shadows
and quiet, the only sound the
soft rustle of their breaths. Plankton
slowly uncoils, his body no longer
a taut wire ready to snap.

"Do you want me to let
you alone?" Karen asks, her voice
soft as a whisper in the night.
Plankton shakes his head, his eye
meeting hers. The anger is gone,
replaced by a weary sadness.

She nods, her hand still hovering,
a silent question mark. "Okay,"
she says, her voice a gentle
caress. "But if you need anything,
just tell me."

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his shoulders rising and falling
like waves on the shore. "Thank
you," he murmurs, his eye
brightening slightly.

Karen nods, her hand
still hovering but not
touching. "I'm here," she says.
"Always." Her voice is a
lullaby in the quiet room,
a gentle reminder that
she's his anchor in the
storm of sensory overload.

Plankton's antennas twitch
slightly, a flicker of
understanding passing between
them. He's aware of her presence,
but the weight of his guilt
and frustration is to much.

"I'm sorry," he whispers,
his voice a frayed thread of
his usual bravado.

Karen's hand remains hovering,
a silent question, a gentle offer.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asks,
her voice a soft breeze in the stillness.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still drooping. "Yeah," he murmurs,
his voice a whisper of relief.

Karen's hand lowers slowly,
coming to rest on the bed between
them. She's careful not to
cross the invisible barrier of his personal
space, her touch a gentle
promise of support.

"You don't have to be sorry,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "You're doing the best
you can, Plankton."

He nods, his antennas
twitching slightly. "But I
snapped," he says, his voice
filled with regret.

Karen's hand remains still,
just outside his personal space.
"It's okay," she whispers, her
tone filled with empathy. "You're
overwhelmed. It happens."

Plankton nods, his antennas
barely moving. "But I shouldn't
have yelled," he says, his voice
barely above a murmur. "I'm sorry."

Karen's eyes fill with
understanding. "It's okay, sweetie,"
she says. She reaches out
slowly, her hand hovering an inch
from his shoulder. "May I?" she asks,
her eyes searching his for consent.

Plankton's antennas twitch, his
body still tense, but he nods.
It's a small gesture, but it's
enough. Karen's hand settles on
his shoulder, her touch feather-light.

He flinches at first, his body
remembering the pain of the
unexpected touch, but her gentle
pressure is a soothing balm.
He leans into it slightly, his
body language speaking louder
than his words ever could.

Her hand on his shoulder is
the bridge between them, a
testament to their love and
understanding. Plankton's breathing
gradually deepens, his body
softening into the mattress. Karen's
touch is a lullaby, a promise that
everything will be okay.

The room is a cocoon of quiet,
their breaths the only sound.
Plankton's eye droops, his
body finally succumbing to
exhaustion. The weight of his
head shifts slightly, his trust
in Karen unspoken but palpable.

Her hand remains on his
shoulder, a gentle reminder of
her presence. She watches
his chest rise and fall, his
body slowly relaxing under
the soft blanket of sleep. His
features smooth out, the lines
of anger and frustration
disappearing into the pillow.

As his breaths become
even, Karen can't help but feel
a mix of sadness and love.
Her heart goes out to him,
this man she's spent her life
with, who fights battles she
can never fully understand.

The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the air thick with the
scent of their unspoken
words. Plankton's hand twitches
slightly, and she wonders if he's
dreaming of a world where the
noise isn't so loud, where the
colors aren't so bright, where
his mind can rest without
fear of being bombarded.

Karen watches as her
husband's chest rises and falls,
his breaths deepening into
the steady rhythm of sleep.
The lines of his face relax,
his antennas droop slightly.

Her gaze shifts to the
shattered trophy on the floor,
the sand scattered like a
tiny desert. The room is a
testament to the storm that
was his sensory overload.

Karen's hand tightens slightly
on Plankton's shoulder, her
heart aching for both her
husband and son. She knows the
road ahead won't be easy, that
they'll need to navigate this
new terrain with care. But as
she watches Plankton's chest
rise and fall, she feels a
spark of hope.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vii

CATCH IN MY CHIP viii
(Autistic author)

The room is bathed in a soft
moonlight, the shadows playing
across Plankton's sleeping features. His
body, once taut with tension,
has relaxed into the embrace
of the bed, his arm curled
around a pillow. His antennas
now rest gently on the
pillowcase, no longer quivering
with agitation.

Karen watches him sleep, her
thoughts a jumble of worry and
love. She knows he's tired, that the
weight of the world can be too
much for him to bear at times. But
she also knows that he's strong,
that he'll face tomorrow with
determination.

The first light of dawn filters
through the curtains, painting the
room in soft shades of pink and
orange. Karen gently squeezes his
shoulder before standing, her eyes
never leaving his peaceful face.
She knows that today will be a
day of apologies and
understanding, of teaching Chip
about his dad's autism and how to
navigate the world around him.

With a soft sigh, she heads to
Chip's room, her footsteps silent
on the cool floor. She opens the door
to find him sitting up in bed,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He looks at her.

"Is Dad okay?" he asks, his
voice thick with sleep and the
remnants of his earlier distress.

Karen nods, her eyes filled
with a quiet determination. "We'll
talk to him when he wakes up."

The words hang in the air, a gentle
reminder of the conversation that
needs to be had. Chip nods, his eyes
still puffy from crying. He clutches
his pillow, the fabric damp from
his tears.

"But what do I do?" he asks, his
voice small and scared. "How do
I make sure I don't make him
upset again?"

Karen sits on the edge of the bed,
her hand stroking his. "You
just keep being you, Chip," she
says, her voice warm. "Daddy loves
you, and we'll learn together how
to make sure he doesn't get
overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his eyes searching
hers for reassurance. "But what
about my trophy?" he asks, his
voice still shaky.

Karen's hand stops, her gaze
dropping to the shard of plastic
he holds tightly in his fist. "We'll
fix it," she says, her voice
filled with conviction. "Together."

The promise brings a small
smile to Chip's face, his eyes
lighting up. "Really?"

Karen nods, her own smile
genuine. "Of course, honey,"
she says. "We're a family. We
stick together."

With that, she stands up, her
body weary but her spirit
resolute. The room feels
lighter somehow, the air less
charged with tension.

Chip clambers out of bed, his
small hand reaching for hers.
Together, they walk to the
bedroom, the shattered
remnants of the trophy
glinting in the early light.

Plankton is still asleep,
his chest rising and falling in
a steady rhythm. Chip
looks at him, his eyes filled
with a mix of sadness and
curiosity.

"We'll talk to him when he
wakes up," Karen says, her voice
soft.

They sit beside Plankton's
bed, the room still and quiet.
Chip's hand trembles slightly as
he holds the broken piece
of trophy. "But what if he's still
mad?" he whispers, his voice
barely above the silence.

Karen's hand squeezes his.
"He'll understand," she says,
her voice filled with a calm
certainty. "He loves you, and he
knows you didn't mean to hurt
him."

The words are a gentle balm
to Chip's fears, but the doubt
lingers. He nods, his gaze
never leaving his father.

"Remember, Chip," Karen says, her
voice a soft whisper. "Daddy's
brain is different."

Chip nods, his eyes fixed on
his dad's sleeping form. He's
seen Plankton stressed before,
but never like this. He wants to
show him love.

With tentative steps, he moves
closer to the bed, his heart
beating a staccato in his chest.
He reaches out, his hand shaking
slightly as he hovers it over
his dad's arm.

"Chip," Karen whispers, her hand
covering his. "Remember, gentle."
Her words are a gentle
reminder of the invisible lines
that can be crossed.

Chip nods, his eyes on Plankton's
peaceful face. He takes a deep
breath, his hand steadying. Slowly,
so slowly it's almost imperceptible,
he brings his palm to rest
on Plankton's forearm, his touch
as light as a feather.

Plankton's body tenses for a
moment, a reflexive reaction to
the sudden contact. Chip holds
his breath, waiting, hoping.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he feels
his dad's arm relax under his hand.

"It's okay," Karen whispers, her
voice a gentle breeze. "He's okay."

Chip's hand remains hovering, his
heart in his throat. Plankton's
body remains still, his breathing
even. Karen's touch is a guide,
her hand resting on Chip's.

"It's okay," she whispers, her voice
a soft encouragement. "You can
do it."

With a deep breath, Chip's hand
descends, his fingertips brushing
against Plankton's arm.

Plankton's antennas twitch.
Karen watches, her eyes never
leaving her husband's face.

Chip's hand hovers, his
heart racing. He wants to
reassure his dad, to let him
know he's there. He's
learned about space and
understanding, but all he
can think of is the warmth of
his touch, the comfort
he craves to give.

His fingertips graze Plankton's
arm, the contact so light it's
barely there. He watches,
waiting for a reaction, for a
sign that he's crossed the line.
But Plankton remains still,
his breathing unchanged.

Encouraged, Chip presses down
slightly, his hand a soft
weight on his father's arm.
He feels the warmth of his
skin, the steady pulse beneath.
It's a tentative connection,
fragile as spider silk.

Plankton's antennas quiver,
but his body remains still.
Chip's heart hammers in his chest,
his breaths shallow and quick.
He's afraid to move, afraid
to break the spell.

Karen watches, her eyes
filled with a quiet hope.
The air in the room is thick
with anticipation.

Chip's hand hovers over
Plankton's arm, trembling
slightly with nerves and
love. He's unsure if this
small gesture will be met
with anger or acceptance.

Karen's gaze is a silent
cheer, urging him on. Plankton's
breaths remain steady, his body
still. Chip's heart is a
drum in his chest, each beat
a silent plea for
understanding.

With a tremble, he lets his hand
settle, his fingertips barely
grazing the fabric of the blanket.
He feels the heat of Plankton's skin,
the rise and fall of his chest.
It's a gentle touch, the lightest
of caresses.

Karen's hand remains on his,
guiding him, encouraging him.
Plankton's breaths remain steady,
his body still. Chip's eyes
are wide with hope, his hand
poised above the blanket.

With a tremble, he lets his
fingers come to rest on the
cotton, feeling the warmth
of his father's arm beneath.
He holds his breath, waiting
for a reaction, for any sign
that he's done the right thing.

Plankton's body remains still,
his breathing unchanged.
Karen's eyes are glued to
his face, watching for any
hint of distress. But there's
none. Only the gentle rise
and fall of his chest, a testament
to his deep sleep.

Chip's hand is a butterfly
landing on Plankton's arm, his
fingers fluttering slightly
against the warmth of his
skin. He's never felt so
exposed, so vulnerable. But
his love for his dad is stronger
than his fear.

Karen watches the silent
exchange, her heart in her throat.
The moment feels sacred, a
testament to their growing
understanding of each other.

Chip's hand remains on Plankton's
arm, the warmth of his touch a
promise of comfort and love.
He's afraid to move, afraid to
disrupt the delicate balance.
Karen's hand is a soft presence,
guiding him, giving him
the courage to stay.

Plankton's breaths are slow
and even, his body relaxed.
Chip wonders if he's dreaming, if he's
in a world where the sensory
overload doesn't exist. His heart
swells with hope, with the
desire to protect his dad from
the world's harshness.

Karen's hand on his is
a gentle reminder that he's not
alone. She gives him a small,
encouraging nod, her eyes filled
with understanding. He takes a
deep breath, his hand moving
slowly, so slowly, to cover his dad's.

The moment their skin
touches, it's like a dam breaks.
Chip feels a rush of warmth, a
connection that's been missing.
He squeezes Plankton's arm lightly,
his heart pounding. He's afraid to
move, afraid to breathe too loudly.

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, watching for any
sign of distress. But his features
remain relaxed, his antennas
still. The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the only sound their
melded breaths. Chip feels a
lump form in his throat, his eyes
welling with tears.

He whispers, "Thank you," to
his mom, his voice shaky with
emotion. She nods, her hand
still covering his. "Remember,"
she says, her voice a soft
caress. "Gentle."

With trembling fingers, Chip
tucks the blanket closer around
Plankton, the fabric smoothing
over his shoulders. It's a
tiny act of love, a silent
apology. He wants to crawl into
the bed beside him, to wrap
his arms around his dad..

He looks up at Karen, his
eyes pleading. "Can I?"

Karen nods, her smile sad
but understanding. "Just be
careful not to wake him,"
she whispers.

With the grace of a
cat burglar, Chip slides into the
bed, his movements slow and
calculated. He's careful not
to disturb the sheets, not to
make a sound that could break
the tranquil silence.

Plankton's arm is a warm
mound beside him, and he
reaches out tentatively, his
fingers seeking the comfort
of his dad's skin. He finds it,
his hand coming to rest lightly
on the crook of his elbow.
The connection feels right,
like finding a piece of himself
he didn't know was lost.

He snuggles closer, his head
resting on the pillow beside
Plankton's.

Karen watches, her heart
swelling with love for her son.
"It's ok," she whispers. "Just be
gentle."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II viii

CATCH IN MY CHIP xi
(Autistic author)

Karen leans in closer to
Plankton, her voice a gentle
whisper. "It's okay," she says,
her eyes filled with warmth.
"You're okay." Plankton's breaths
are shallow, his chest rising
and falling with effort as he
shakes.

The room is a cocoon of
quiet, the outside world
muted by the thick walls
of their sanctuary. Karen's
hand is a constant, her
touch a reminder that he's
not alone. Plankton's gaze
flits to Chip, the question in
his eye unspoken.

"Chip," Karen says, her voice
a balm to Plankton's raw
nerves. "Your dad is in need
of some quiet time, okay?"
Her words are a gentle nudge,
guiding them through the
delicate dance of recovery.

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's face. "I
understand," he murmurs, though
his heart feels like it's been
tied in knots. He swallows
his questions, his fear for
his dad a lump in his throat.

Plankton's antennas twitch
slightly, his breathing
easing a fraction. He nods, the
gesture almost imperceptible. "Thank
you," he whispers, his voice
raspy with exhaustion. The
relief in his eye is palpable.

Chip watches, his own
emotions a tapestry of confusion
and concern. He wants to
reach out, to hold his dad close,
but he knows it's not the time.
Instead, he squeezes Karen's hand,
his silent promise to be
patient and understanding.

Plankton's eye closes, his body
slowly relaxing into the pillow.
The ringing in his ears
fades, the world coming back
into focus like a camera
lens slowly adjusting to the light.
The warmth of Karen's hand
on his forehead is a comfort,
his anchor in the sea of
sensation.

Her voice is a gentle lullaby,
guiding him back to shore.
"You're okay," she repeats,
each word a wave lapping
against the shore of his mind.
The room stops spinning, the
colors coalescing into
distinct shapes.

Plankton's gaze darts around
the room, seeking solace.
His eye lands on a spot on the
wall, a patch of
unblemished white. He focuses
on it, his breaths coming
slower, deeper. It's a sanctuary,
a place of peace amidst
the chaos. The spot becomes
his beacon, the world around
it a blurry periphery.

Karen's hand on his forehead
is cool, a balm to his racing
thoughts. "Look at the spot,"
she whispers, her voice a
soothing melody. "Just the
spot." He nods, his eye
locking onto the white, his
breaths syncing with hers.

The spot is a lifeline in the
storm, a beacon of calm in
his sensory chaos. Plankton
stares at it, willing the
world to recede. The colors
around it blur, the sounds
of the room dull to a
whisper. It's just him and
the spot, a silent pact
between them to conquer
the tempest.

Karen's voice is a gentle
wave, lapping at the edges
of his mind. "When you're
ready, take a deep breath.
In, out. Slowly." She
guides him through the
exercise, her tone soothing.
Plankton tries to focus,
his body responding to the
familiar rhythm.

The spot on the wall
becomes clearer, the edges
sharper. The world around it
softens, the colors bleeding
back into the fabric of the
room. His breathing slows,
his chest rising and falling
in time with Karen's gentle
prompts. The spot is his
sanctuary, a bastion of
calm in the overwhelming
storm.

But then, it starts. The
tic, a twitch of his antenna.
A reminder that his mind
is not entirely his own,
his body a marionette to the
whims of his neurodiversity.
Plankton's antennas begin to
still, his body gradually
relinquishing the tension
that had held it hostage. The
tic in his left antenna, a
quick spasm that had
become more frequent.

Karen's eyes don't leave his
face, her gaze a silent
support. She knows the
dance of his tics all too
well, a choreography
that they've lived with
for years. She squeezes his
hand, her touch a silent
promise to stand by him
through the storm. It's
his body's way of releasing
the tension that builds
up like pressure in a volcano.
The tic is a tide, rising
and falling, unpredictable and
uncontrollable.

Plankton's head jerks to
the side, the sudden
movement a stark contrast
to the stillness of the
room. Chip's eyes go wide
with concern.

"It's okay," Karen murmurs,
squeezing Plankton's hand. "It's
just your body. It's okay."
Her voice is a lullaby, a gentle
reminder that he's not alone.
The tic subsides, his
antennas returning to their
usual state.

Chip's eyes dart from his
dad to his mom, his mind
whirring with questions. "What
was that?" he asks, his voice
quiet, afraid to disturb the
fragile peace.

Karen's hand moves to
Plankton's antenna, her thumb
tracing the line of his twitch.
"It's just his body's way
of dealing with the
overstimulation," she
explains, her voice calm
but tinged with sadness. "It's
a tic, Chip. It's part of
his autism."

Chip nods, his eyes wide
with understanding. "Will
he be okay?" he asks, his
voice small in the face of his
father's struggle.

Karen's grip on Plankton's
hand tightens, her voice a
steady stream of comfort. "Yes,
he will," she says with
confidence. "This happens
sometimes. We just need to be
patient and give him time."

Plankton's antennas still
slightly, the tremor a
reminder of the storm
that had passed through
his mind. His breaths come
more evenly now, the spot on
the wall his silent companion
as he finds his way back
to the world.

Chip's eyes are full of
questions, his heart heavy with
concern. He watches as his
dad's body relaxes, the tension
easing like a retreating tide.
"I'll get him some water,"
Karen says, her voice a
whisper. She squeezes Plankton's
hand once more before rising,
leaving the two of them
alone in the quiet.

Plankton's eye meets Chip's,
his gaze apologetic.

Chip swallows his fear.

"Daddy?" he whispers, his
voice cracking. Plankton's
eye flutters open, the panic
gone, replaced by a
fatigue that seems to
weigh down his very soul.

"I'm okay," he manages,
his voice a rasp. "Just tired."

Chip nods, his hand
tentatively reaching out to
touch his dad's arm. The
contact is tentative, a
question and a comfort all
in one. Plankton's antennas
twitch again, but this time
it's with the beginnings of
a smile. "Thanks, buddy," he
says, his voice hoarse.

The room is a cocoon of
silence, the air thick with
unspoken words. Plankton
swallows hard, the weight
of his own emotions pressing
down on his chest like a
leaden blanket. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his gaze never
leaving Chip's.

Chip's eyes are pools of
concern, the question in his
eyes unspoken but potent.
"For what?" he asks, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennas droop
slightly, his eye reflecting the
shame he feels. "For scaring
you," he says, his voice
hoarse. "For not being
able to control it."

Chip's hand tightens around
his dad's arm, his eyes
brimming with tears he's too
proud to shed. "It's okay,
Daddy," he says, the words a
soft whisper. "You don't have
to be sorry."

Plankton's smile is weak,
his antennas still. "I know," he
replies, his voice a
whisper. "But it's hard not
to be." He swallows, his
throat dry from the battle
his body has just endured.

Karen returns with a
glass of water, her steps
silent on the soft carpet. She
hands it to Plankton, who
gratefully takes a sip, the
cool liquid soothing his
parched throat. The tension in
the room is a palpable
entity, a third person in
their silent conversation.

"What happened?" Chip asks,
his voice small, the question
a balloon of curiosity
floating in the heavy air.

"It's just part of who
I am," Plankton says, his
voice still hoarse from his
episode. He takes another
sip of water, the coldness
of it a stark contrast to
his fevered skin. "My
autism, it makes my brain
work differently."

Chip's hand is still on
his arm, a silent
offer of comfort. "But
you're okay now," he
says, his voice hopeful.
Plankton nods, the
motion almost imperceptible.

"Thanks to Mom," he murmurs, his
eye swiveling to Karen, who
smiles at him with a mix of
relief and love. "She's the
reason I made it through."

Chip looks at Karen with a newfound
respect, his young mind trying to
comprehend the gravity of what he's
just witnessed. "You're both
strong," he says, his voice
steady, the fear momentarily
pushed aside by admiration.

Karen's smile is a soft glow,
the pride in her eyes unmistakable.
"We all have our moments," she
says, her hand resting on
Plankton's shoulder. "It's
how we face them that makes
us who we are." She glances
at the clock, the ticking a
reminder of the time they've lost
to the sensory storm. "Why don't
you go play for a bit, Chip?
Your dad needs some rest, and I
think we could all use a
moment to process."

Chip nods, his eyes
still filled with unspoken
questions. But he trusts
his mom, and he can see the
exhaustion etched into
Plankton's face. He slides off
the bed, his feet silent on
the floor. With one last look
at his dad, he heads for the
door, the weight of the
moment heavy on his
shoulders.

Karen watches him go,
her heart aching for the
fear he must be feeling.
But she knows that with
time and patience, he'll
understand. He'll grow to
see his dad not as a
mystery to be solved, but as
a person to be loved and
supported, just like anyone
else.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II xi

CATCH IN MY CHIP i
(Autistic author)

Chip, son of Karen and
Plankton, just finished
with summer camp. He
smiled, excitedly going
into his home, bursting 
through the door of the 
Chum Bucket.

"Mom, Dad!" He called out,
his voice echoing through
the corridors.

"Chip!" Karen exclaims
rushing over as he runs
to her. They hug, and she
asks, "How was camp?"

He beams. "It was
awesome! I learned to
surf and made so many
friends!"

Karen smiles. "I'm so
glad you had fun, honey."

"Where's Dad?" Chip asks.

"He's just having some down
time in our bedroom," Karen
says. "You can go unpack.."

But Chip is already bolting
down the hallway, eager to
share his adventures.
He throws open the door to
Plankton's room, expecting to
find his dad eagerly awaiting
his return. Instead, he finds
Plankton just sitting on the bed.

"Dad! Dad! You're not going to
believe what happened at
camp!" Chip's words tumble
out in an excited rush.

Plankton looks up, a little
startled by the sudden
onslaught of energy. His eye
dance over the pile of
equipment Chip's brought back
with him, and he tries to focus
his scattered thoughts.

Chip doesn't notice his dad's
flinch, too caught up in his
own excitement. He starts
unpacking his bag, pulling out
his surfboard, a sandy towel,
and a shiny, new seashell
collection. "Guess what? I
was the best in my group at
catching waves! And I found
this super rare shell on the beach!
Look, it's got all these cool
patterns!" He holds it out to
Plankton's face.

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his sensory overload building
quickly. He tries to smile,
forcing his eye to focus on
the shell. "That's... that's very
interesting, Chip," he says,
his voice strained.

Chip doesn't catch the subtle
tension in his dad's tone.
"But wait, there's more!" He
grabs a fistful of sandy
photos, slapping them onto the
bed. "Look at all the fun we
had!" Each picture is a blur
of smiling kids and splashing
water. Plankton's eye darts
from one to the next, trying
to process the sensory assault.

He nods, a bit too quickly,
his eye slightly glazed over.

"And then there was the talent
show!" Chip says, bouncing on
the bed. "I did a killer impression
of Larry the Lobster!"

Plankton winces at the sudden
loudness of his son's voice and the
rhythmic bouncing. He tries to
muster a chuckle, but it comes out
forced.

"And everyone loved it! They said I
was hilarious!" He doesn't see
the way Plankton's antenna twitches,
a subtle sign of his rising stress.

Plankton's mind races as he tries
to keep up with Chip's stories.
The vividness of the memories,
the loudness of his son's voice,
and the cluttered space around him
all contribute to the sensory storm
building inside him. He takes
another deep breath, trying to
calm himself.

Chip, oblivious to his father's
distress, keeps going. "And you'll
never guess what we had for lunch
on the last day!" He rummages
through his bag, pulling out a
half-eaten sandwich. "They made
it for me special because I won
the sand-building contest!" He can't
help but feel overwhelmed by the
sensory barrage, his mind racing
to find a way to escape the chaos.

"And the counselor said I might
even be able to compete in the
Bikini Bottom surfing championships!"
Chip says, jumping up to give him
a big bear hug. Plankton stiffens,
his antennas drooping slightly.

"And then, remember that time
we built the sandcastle together?
Well, my counselor said it was
even better than that one!" He
gestures widely, his arms sweeping
through the air and knocking
over a stack of papers on
Plankton's desk. The sound of
scattering paper is like nails
on a chalkboard to Plankton's
sensitive hearing, and he jerks
back involuntarily. His meticulously
organized desk, ruined, stressing
Plankton out even more.

Chip laughs, not noticing Plankton's
discomfort. He looks
around the messy room, his mind
spinning. The smell of the musty
sandwich mingles with the salty sea
air, making him feel nauseous. He
swallows hard, fighting the urge to
push Chip away.

"You're the best dad ever!" Chip
squeezes him tighter. Plankton's
heart swells with love and pride,
but his body tenses under the
weight of his son's affection. He
can feel his personal space shrinking,
his need for order and quiet
desperately trying to assert itself.

But Chip is still on a high from his
summer camp tales and doesn't
notice. He keeps talking, his words
flowing like a river, each one
crashing into the dam of Plankton's
overstimulated brain. Plankton's breaths
grow shallower, his eye darting
around the room as he searches
for a way to retreat without hurting
his son's feelings.

"And the counselor said I might
even be able to compete in the
Bikini Bottom surfing championships!"
Chip says, jumping up to give him
a big bear hug. Plankton's body
stiffens under the sudden
physical contact, his antennas drooping
even more. The smell of the salty
ocean, the feel of sand on his skin,
it's all too much, which is when the shut
down happens.

"Dad?" Chip pulls back, noticing
his dad's reaction. Plankton's eye
now wide and unfocused, his breaths
quick and shallow. "What's wrong?"

Plankton can't bring himself
back to consciousness.

"Dad?" Chip says again,
his voice now laced with
concern. Plankton's normally
expressive eye is vacant,
his body as rigid as a board.

The room seems to spin
around Chip, his excitement
quickly morphing into worry.
He's never seen his dad like this
before. "Are you okay?" He touches
his father's arm with a curious poke,
making his unmoving body tip
over onto his back, still not budging.

Chip's never seen such an
unblinking stare.

"Dad? Dad, are you okay?"
He asks again, voice quivering.
Plankton doesn't respond,
his eye glazed over, his body
motionless.

Chip's concern grows
with each passing second.
He tries to shake his dad,
his small hands trembling. "Dad,
please, talk to me," he whispers, his
voice cracking. He looks
at his dad, who lies unresponsive,
it's like Plankton's gone somewhere
else entirely.

He calls out again, louder
this time, "Dad? Daddy?" But
Plankton doesn't move, doesn't
blink. Chip feels a knot form
in him, a cold
realization starting to sink in.
This isn't just tiredness or
daydreaming.

Panic bubbles up in him. He
doesn't know what's happening,
but he knows it's not good. His
thoughts are a jumble of questions:
why isn't his dad responding?
What did he do wrong?

He jumps off the bed and runs
to find his mom. "Mom! Mom!"
his cries echo through the Chum
Bucket. Karen rushes out from
the kitchen, wiping her hands on
a towel. "What's wrong?"

"It's Dad," Chip says, his voice
shaking. "He's just lying there
not moving. I don't know what..."

It dawns on her. Plankton's
autism often left him like this,
a silent retreat into himself
when the world was too much.

Karen's heart squeezes.
Chip had never seen this side
of his dad, never understood
how much sensory input
could overwhelm him.

Sure enough, reaching the 
bedroom, Karen found him
in one of his light-headed/dizzy
moments.

"It's okay, Chip," Karen
soothed, kneeling beside her
son. "Your dad has something
that makes his brain work a
little differently from other
people's. It's called autism.
Sometimes, when he gets too much
information at once, it's like his brain
needs a little break."

Chip looked at her, his screen
wide with confusion. "Is he okay?"

"Yes, honey," Karen says, her
voice calm and gentle. "He's just
overstimulated. Sometimes, when
there's too much going on, it's hard
for him to process everything."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II i

CHIP AND THE DILEMMA ii
(Autistic author)

| ᴺᵉᵍᵃᵗⁱᵛⁱᵗʸ ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ |

Karen's eyes widen, and
she quickly takes in the
situation. She's seen this
before—his meltdowns.
They've become less frequent,
but when they happen, they
hit hard. She turns to Chip,
placing a hand on his
shoulder. "Chip, honey, why don't
you go wash up for dinner?"
Her voice is calm, but firm.

Chip's screen flicked between his
dad and mom, not fully
understanding. "But Dad
said we're doing the solar
system after dinner," he
protests weakly.

Karen gives him a gentle
nudge towards the door. "It's
ok, sweetie. I'll take care of
this. You go ahead."

Reluctantly, Chip
backs out of the room.
He's worried, but he trusts
his mom.

Karen closes the door
behind Chip, turning her
full attention to Plankton.
His breathing is still
erratic, his eye unfocused.

"It's okay," she whispers,
moving closer to him. She's
learned over the years that
proximity can be both a
comfort and a trigger. She
treads carefully.

Plankton flinches at
her approach, but she's
quick to respond, retreating
slightly. She knows better
than to push to hard.

"You're having a hard time,"
she says softly, her voice
soothing. "Do you want me
to turn off the light?"

Plankton nods, his eye
squeezed shut. The dimness
of the room helps, but the
noise of Chip's retreating
footsteps echoes like thunder.
Karen moves to the window,
drawing the curtains to block
the setting sun, plunging the
room into a comforting
gloom. She sits down next to
Plankton, not touching him,
but close enough to be there.
He takes a shaky breath.

"Talk to me, love," Karen
coaxes. "What triggered it?"

Plankton's eye are still
closed, but his breathing
steadies. "Chip," he
manages. "Chip's touch. It was
too much."

Karen nods. She's always been
his rock, but she hates
seeing him like this. She
knows the stress of hiding
his autism has taken a toll on
him. "We should tell him,"
she says gently. "He's old
enough to understand."

Plankton's eye flies open,
his panic rising again. "No,"
he says firmly. "He doesn't
need to know."

Karen sighs, stroking his
back gently. "He deserves to
know, Plankton. He loves
you and he's worried about
you."

Plankton's body relaxes a
little, the sound of Karen's
voice like a balm to his
frayed nerves. "I know,"
he admits.

Karen nods, understanding
the fear behind his words.
"But think about it," she says.
"He's going to notice
things. It's better if we
explain it to him on our
terms, rather than him
figuring conclusions and feeling
alone or scared."

Plankton looks at
Karen, his expression a mix
of fear and resignation.

"Perhaps when the ringing
in my ears dwindles," he says, his
voice shaking. "I know, we can't keep
it from him forever."

Karen nods, her screen filled
with empathy. "Whenever you're
ready," she says. "We'll do it
together."

Plankton takes a deep
breath, his mind racing with
thoughts of how to explain
his condition to Chip. He
knows it won't be easy, but
his son deserves the truth.

Dinner is a subdued affair,
both Chip and Karen watching
Plankton closely, noticing
his lack of appetite and the
faraway look in his eye.
Chip keeps his questions to
himself, sensing his dad's
discomfort. After dinner, Karen
breaks the silence.

"Chip, why don’t we all go to
your room?" she suggests,
trying to keep her voice
light.

Chip nods, leading the way
as Plankton follows, his steps
slow and measured. Karen
can feel the tension in his
body as he tries to keep
his composure.

Once in Chip's room,
Plankton sits on the edge of
his bed, looking around.

Chip notices the
uncharacteristic stillness in
his father's posture, the
way his antennae droop slightly.

"What's going on?" he asks,
his voice a mix of confusion
and concern.

Karen sits beside Plankton,
her hand resting gently on his.
"Chip, your dad has something
important to tell you."

Chip looks at them both, his
screen wide. "What is it?"

Plankton takes a deep breath.
"Chip," he starts, his voice
shaking slightly. "There's
something you should know
about me." Chip looks
between his mom and dad. "What
is it?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton takes a moment,
his eye scanning the room
as if searching for the right
words. "I'm... different, Chip,"
he finally says, his gaze
locking onto Chip's. "I have a
condition, called..."

“Oh, Dad! Will get better?”
Chip asks. “It’s gonna go
away, right?”
Plankton’s eye fills with
sorrow as he shakes his
head. “No, Chip, it doesn’t..."

But before he can finish,
Chip gasps. 

“It’s called autism, Chip,”
Karen says gently, filling the
silence.

Chip frowns, his mind racing.
“What’s that?” He’s heard the
word before, but it’s always
been in whispers or as a
punchline in a joke at school.
He doesn’t understand.

Plankton sighs heavily. "It's
a... the way my brain works,"
he explains, his antennae
twitching with nerves. "It's like
I experience the world through a
different way than you do."

Chip's eyes widen, his mind
swirling with questions. "So,
you're like... broken?" he asks,
his voice filled with innocent
concern.

Plankton flinches at the
word, his heart sinking. He's
always feared this moment,
wondered how his son would react.
"No, Chip," he says, trying to
keep his voice steady. "It's not
like that. Autism is just part of
who I am."

But Chip's mind is racing. "You,
you're like... not normal?" He
can't hide the worry in his tone.

Plankton's eye flickers with
pain at the question, but
he nods. "It's just a
different way of 
things, buddy! It doesn't
make me less..."

But Chip's mind is already
made up. "So you can't be
fixed?" he blurts out, his
tone filled with disappointment.

Plankton's antennae droop. "There's
nothing to fix," Karen says,
interrupting gently. "Different,
not broken. Autism is just a
part of who your father is."

But Chip can't shake the
word from his mind. "Autistic."
He's heard it before in
whispers at school, thrown
around like an insult. He looks
at Plankton, his hero, his
rock. But the damage is done.
In Chip's gaze, his dad is no
longer just quirky or unique—
he's broken, like a toy that's
missing a piece.

"Chip," Karen says gently,
"autism isn't something that
can be fixed or taken
away. It's part of who your
dad is, and it's what makes
him special."

Chip looks at his
mother, his expression
confused. "But if he's
different, doesn't that mean
he's not as good?"

Karen's screen fills with sadness,
but she remains calm. "No,
Chip," she says firmly. "Being
different doesn't mean
being less. It just means
seeing the world in a
different way. And your dad,
he's incredible in so many
ways. He's smart, and he's
kind, and he loves you
more than anything."

new chip and the dilemma Chip Plankton II ii

CHIP AND THE DILEMMA iii
(Autistic author)

| ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ |

Chip looks at Plankton, his
dad's face a mask of pain.
He's never seen him look so
vulnerable, and it makes
his own chest ache. "But
why can't you just be like
everyone else?" he asks, not
fully understanding.

Plankton's antennae droop
even further. "Chip, everyone
is different," he says, his voice
weak. "And that's what makes
us all..."

But Chip doesn't want his dad
to be like that..

He looks away. "Chip,"
Plankton says, his voice barely above
a whisper. "Look at me."

When Chip meets his
father's gaze, he sees the pain in
his eye, the desperation to
make his son understand.
But Chip is too caught up
in his own.

"You're not like other dads,"
Chip spits out, the words
sharp and cutting. "You're
weak." The hurt on Plankton's
face is palpable, but Chip's
mind is too clouded with fear
and confusion to care.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his shoulders slumping. "Chip,"
he starts, but his voice cracks.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his voice harsh. "I don't
want a dad who's unfixable!"
He says, the word sticking in
his throat like a shard of
glass.

The room goes still, the air
crackling with tension. Plankton
recoils as if struck, his antennae
flattening against his head.

"Chip," Karen says, her voice
sharp with warning. "That's not
a nice thing to say."

But Chip's anger isn't
easy to douse. "You're not
my dad," he yells, the words
echoing off the walls. "My
dad is supposed to be strong,
and normal, not... like you, who
should’ve never existed in the 
first place."

The room goes silent, the
weight of Chip's words like a
tonne of bricks on Plankton's
chest. He looks at his son,
his heart shattering into a
thousand pieces. He's never felt
so misunderstood, so...
less.

Karen's screen is a mix of
disbelief and anger. She's
always known Chip to be a
good kid, but this... this is
not her son. "Chip, that's
enough," she says, her voice
shaking.

But Chip's rage has
overtaken him. "Why did
you have to marry him?" he
snaps at her, the tears
spilling over. "Why couldn't
we just get a normal dad?"

Karen's eyes widen in
shock, her hand rising to her
mouth. "Chip," she says, her
voice trembling. "You don't
mean that."

But Chip's anger doesn't
subside. "Yes, I do!" He yells,
his fists clenched at his
sides. "Why can't you be like
other moms and marry a real
dad?"

The room feels like it's
closing in on Plankton, his
heart pounding in his chest.
He's never felt so small, so
unworthy. The air is thick
with the scent of burnt
dinner forgotten in the
kitchen, and the taste of
his own failure is bitter in
his mouth.

He opens his mouth to
speak, but the words are
stuck in his throat. All he
can manage is a weak "Chip..."
his antennae trembling.

Karen stands, her face a
mixture of shock and anger.
"Chip, that's enough," she says,
her voice firm. "You need to
apologize to your father."

Chip turns, his
screen flashing with defiance.
"Oh, sorry," he says, his tone
dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't
realize that marrying a broken
person was a good idea. I
guess I'll just have to deal
with it. I’m sorry Sheldon Plankton was
born wrong. You know, I
might just make sure not to
have any kids who isn’t right in the
head, they don’t deserve to…"

"CHIP!" Karen's voice is a
whipcrack, cutting off his
words. She's never raised
her voice to him like this before,
and the shock of it sends
his anger reeling back.
The room seems to spin around
Plankton, his vision blurring.
He can't believe what he's
hearing—his own son, the
light of his life, speaking
such cruel words. He's failed
as a father, as a husband. He's
failed them all.

Chip's eyes widen,
seeing the devastation on
his dad's face. For the first
time, he truly understands the
power of his words, the
hurt they can cause. "I-I…"

But it’s too late. Plankton
stands, his legs wobbly. "I'll
be in my room," he mumbles,
turning away.

Chip sinks as he
watches his father leave, the
weight of his words pressing
down on him. He looks at his
mother, her screen a mask of
disappointment and hurt. "Mom..."

Karen's eyes are filled
with unshed tears. "You need
to go apologize to your dad,"
she says, her voice shaking.
"What you said was..."

But they hear a
crash from the 
next room.

Karen and Chip rush to
find Plankton in a frenzy.

The sight that greets them is one of
destruction. Chip's school projects,
carefully crafted over weeks, are
scattered across the floor. Plankton,
his eye wild with a mix of anger
and despair, is in the middle of the
wreckage. He's holding one of Chip's
favorite toys in his hand, ready to smash
it against the wall, tears streaming down.

"Dad, no!" Chip yells, his
fear and regret swirling into a
single, desperate plea. But Plankton
doesn't seem to hear him. He's lost
in a world of pain and confusion,
his movements erratic as he
continues to wreak havoc.

Karen rushes to Plankton's
side, her voice firm but gentle.
"Plankton, stop," she says, placing
a hand on his shoulder. But even
her touch is too much. He flinches,
his grip on the toy tightening.

"Leave me alone!" he roars, swinging
his arm wildly. The toy narrowly
misses a picture of the two of them,
shattering the glass frame instead.

"Dad, please," Chip begs, his
voice thick with tears. But Plankton
doesn't stop, his movements growing
more frenzied with each passing
second. It's like he's lost in a
storm of his own making, unable to
see or hear the world around
him.

Karen tries again, her voice
softer now. "Plankton, it's okay.
We're here for you."

He grabs another project,
Chip's solar system model, the
one he was so excited to
help with. It feels like a
mockery now, a symbol of all
the times he's failed to be
the dad he thought Chip
deserved. With a snarl, he
throws it across the room.
The planets scatter like a
handful of dust in the wind.

"Dad, please," Chip whispers,
his screen pleading. But Plankton
can't hear him over the
roar in his own mind. His
body moves of its own
accord, driven by a rage he
can't control.

He snatches up another
project, a robot Chip had
been working on for weeks.
He slams it to the floor,
his eyes glazed over. The robot's
parts fly everywhere, the
sounds of breaking plastic
like a symphony of pain in
the quiet room.

Chip watches in horror. He can't
believe what's happening.
This isn't his dad—his hero,
his rock. This is a stranger,
someone he doesn't know.

He tries to reach for
Plankton, to stop him, but
his mother holds him back.
"Let me," she whispers, her
voice firm but gentle. "He needs
space."

But Chip can't just stand
there and watch his world
fall apart. He has to do
something. "Dad, please,"
he begs, his voice shaking.

Plankton's movements are
sporadic, his breaths coming
in ragged gasps as he
continues to destroy
everything in sight. It's
like he's to erase
his existence from their lives.

Chip's screen follows the
wreckage, each broken piece
of his heart reflected in the
shattered mess. His projects,
his dreams, his connection
to his father—all of it
crushed under the weight of
Plankton's pain.

Plankton's hand hovers over
the last item on the table, a
half-finished puzzle they'd
been working on together.
It's the one thing in the room
that's still intact, a symbol
of their shared moments,
now threatened by his
father's erratic actions.

"Dad," Chip says, his voice
shaking. "It's okay. It's just
stuff. We can fix it."
But Plankton won’t hear him,
his eye wild with a
frenzy that seems to
consume him whole.

He reaches for the puzzle,
his hand shaking. "No,"
Chip whispers,
welling up. But it's too late.
With one swift movement,
Plankton sends the pieces
flying in every direction,
scattering like the
shattered pieces of their
once-happy home.

Chip flinches at the sound,
aching as he watches
his dad's breakdown unfold.
He's never seen Plankton
like this—so out of control,
so lost. And it’s all because of
Chip...

"Dad," he says, his voice
barely audible. "Please stop."
But Plankton's rage is a
freight train, unstoppable.

Karen's screen darts around
the room, searching for a
way to diffuse the situation.
She is breaking for
both her son and her
husband. She knows the
pain Plankton is in, yet she
can't bear to see Chip hurt
like this.

"Chip, go to your
room," she says, her voice
shaking. "I need to talk to
your father."

But Chip can't move. He's
rooted to the spot, his eyes
glued to the heartbreaking
scene before him. Plankton's
breathing is ragged, his
movements jerky as he
picks up another item, a
science book they'd read
together countless times.

"Dad," Chip whispers, his
voice hoarse with fear. "It's okay.
You don't have to..." But Plankton
doesn't hear him. The book
meets the same fate as the
puzzle, pages fluttering like
leaves in a storm.

Karen's screen is wet with
tears as she watches her family
fall apart. She knows she has to
intervene, but how? She's seen
his meltdowns before, but never
like this..

"Plankton," she says firmly,
taking a step forward. "Look at
me." She holds out a hand,
offering him a lifeline in the
chaos he's created.
 

new chip and the dilemma Chip Plankton II iii

CHIP AND THE DILEMMA iiii
(Autistic author)

 "Come with me," she says,
her voice still firm but filled
with love. Plankton nods,
his body moving on autopilot.

They go into the living
room, the space now eerily
quiet after the storm of
Plankton's meltdown. Karen
guides him to the couch,
his movements slow and
heavy. He sits, his antennae
drooping as he looks at her.

Karen takes his hand, her
screen filled with sadness
but no anger. "It's okay,"
she says gently. "We just..."

But Plankton can't
hear her. Chip's words
echo in his head, a
refrain of pain. "Broken...
unfixable...weak, wrong." He
repeats them to himself,
his voice hollow.

Karen breaks as
she watches her husband
sink deeper into his own
torment. She squeezes his
hand, but he doesn't react.
The words bounce around in
his mind, each one stinging
like a slap to the face. "Broken...
unfixable...weak, wrong."

The room spins around him,
each syllable echoing in his
brain like a taunt. Plankton's
breath hitches, his antennae
twitching erratically. The
weight of the words is
crushing him, and he can't
find a way to push them
aside.

"Broken...unfixable...weak,
wrong," he whispers to himself,
his voice a mere echo of Chip's
cruel sarcasm. The words
hang in the air, a toxic
mantra that clings to him
like a second skin.

Karen's voice is a distant
whisper, her comfort lost
to the cacophony in his
head. The room feels too
bright, too loud, as if each
item is screaming its own
accusation at him. He tries to
block it out, but the echoes
of his son's words are
relentless.

"Broken...unfixable...weak,
wrong," Plankton murmurs, his
voice a sad mimicry of Chip's.
He squeezes his eye shut,
willing the words away, but
they just grow louder, like a
chorus of his deepest fears.

Karen's voice pierces through
his mental fog. "Plankton,"
she says, her grip on his hand
tightening. "You're not
weak. You're not wrong. You're
my hero, and Chip's..."

“Plankton born wrong, isn’t 
right in the head…” He says, 
each repetition a dull
knife twisting in his chest.

"You're not," Karen insists,
but he can't hear her over
the din in his mind. "Sorry,"
he whispers, a
prayer for forgiveness, for
understanding.

Chip watches from the
doorway. He wants to go to
his dad, but his own words
have turned into a barricade,
keeping him at bay. He can't
shake the image of Plankton's
face when he called him weak,
can't unhear the echoes of
his own cruelty.

Plankton's hands start to
move in small, repetitive
motions—stimming, they
realize with a start. It's a
way for him to cope with
the overwhelming sensory
input, a secret he's never
shared before. His fingers
drum against the couch
cushions, his body rocking
slightly as he tries to
soothe himself.

Karen's voice is like a
lifeline through the tumult.
"You're not wrong, Plankton,"
she says, her voice firm. "You're
just... different. And that's
okay."

But Plankton can't
hear her. The words "born
wrong" echo in his
head, louder with each
passing second. His
stimming becomes more
frantic, his hands moving
faster, his body rocking
slightly more. It's a
dance of pain, a silent
scream for the world to
make sense again.

Karen aches as
she watches her husband's
distress. She's seen
this before, but never
so intense. She knows he
needs her help, needs her, but
she's not sure what to do.
Her mind races through
the strategies they've
discussed, the tools they've
learned together to cope
with his meltdowns.

Her screen focus on his
hands, the frantic
stimming a silent cry
for help. She knows that
touch can be too much for
Plankton right now, but
she needs to break the
cycle. She gently places
a soft blanket in his lap,
his favorite shade of blue.

Plankton's hands stop, his
eye blinking in confusion.
He looks down at the
material, feeling the
cotton under his fingertips.
The sensation is calming,
like a cool breeze on a
hot day. He starts to
fidget with the corner,
his movements slowing, the
material a familiar comfort
in his chaotic world.

Karen watches. She knows that
touch can be a double-edged
sword for Plankton during
these moments, but she
has to do something. She
sits next to him, her hand
poised, hovering over his
shoulder. "It's okay," she whispers,
her voice soothing.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
sensing her presence. He's
always been sensitive to
touch, especially during
his meltdowns. But he's
also always found comfort in
his wife's embrace. With a
deep breath, he leans into
her touch, her warmth seeping
into his overwhelmed
body like a balm.

The room is a blur, but
the sensation of the
blanket and Karen's hand
is grounding. He focuses on
the pressure points, the
rhythmic strokes that
usually soothe him. But the
words "born wrong" are a
poison that no comfort can
counteract.

He starts to rock, his
body moving in sync with the
whispers of his fears. His
stimming is a lifeboat in
the storm of his mind,
desperately trying to
navigate him back to
calm waters.

Karen's seen this
before, but never this
intense. She's learned that
stimming can be a sign of
comfort or a cry for help.
This time, it's a battleground.

The soft blue blanket in
his hands is a beacon, a
reminder of her love and
their shared history. The
cotton whispers secrets of
peace, but the echoes of
Chip's words are a storm
he can't outrun. She sees the
conflict in his movements—his
body desperately seeking
calm, his mind reeling from
the emotional tempest.

Karen's touch is gentle, a
reminder of the world
outside his chaos. Her hand
on his shoulder is a
connection to reality, a
plea for him to come back.
But Plankton is lost in
his own head, the words
spinning like a tornado of
self-doubt. He's not just
stimming now; he's fighting
a war with his own
identity.

From the depths of his
pain, a sound rises, a hum
that starts in his chest and
travels up his throat,
spilling out into the room. It's
a low, almost inaudible
note that grows in
intensity with each
exhalation. It's a sound
he's made before, a
self-soothing technique
learned. It's a tune without
lyrics, a lullaby for his
tortured soul.

The hum fills the
silence, a beacon in the
storm of his thoughts. Karen
recognizes it immediately.

It's a safe sound, a
soothing noise that he makes
when he's overwhelmed. She's
heard it before, during their
late night talks when his
thoughts swirl like a tornado,
threatening to pull him under.

Her eyes never leave
his, her voice low and steady.
"Look at me, Plankton," she
says. "You're not broken.
You're not wrong." She repeats it
like a mantra, willing the
words to replace the venom
in his mind.

The hum falters, then
steadies again, his hand
twitching as he clutches the
corner of the blanket. Karen
takes a deep breath, her hand
still on his shoulder.

"You're not broken," she
says, her voice a balm to
his frenzied thoughts. "You're
just... different."

The words hang in the
air, a lifeline thrown to a
drowning man. Plankton's
breathing slows, his body
stilling under her touch.
He opens his eye, looking at
his wife with a mix of
shame and hope. The hum
diminishes, his body
beginning to relax.

Chip's voice echoed in his
mind, but Karen's words are
louder now. He's not broken,
not wrong. He's different,
sure, but that doesn't mean
less.

With a trembling hand,
Plankton reaches up to
cover her hand with his own.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, the
words raw and painful. "I'm
sorry for scaring both you."

Karen's eyes fill with
tears, but she smiles
through them. "You
don't have to apologize for
being who you are," she says,
squeezing his hand. "We're all
just trying to figure it out."

Plankton nods, his antennae
twitching as he looks at her,
his eye searching hers for
forgiveness. She leans in,
kisses him gently on the forehead.
"We'll talk to Chip together,"
she says. "We'll explain it to
him better."

They stand up, the room
spinning slightly around
them. Chip is still in the
hallway, his eyes red and
swollen. He looks at them. "Dad," he
whispers, his voice small and
scared.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his shoulders slumping. He
doesn't know how to face his
son, not after what he's
done. But Karen's hand in
his is a reminder of
strength, a promise that
they'll get through this.

new chip and the dilemma Chip Plankton II iiii

CATCH IN MY CHIP ii
(Autistic author)

Chip looks at his father with
newfound understanding. He
remembers the way Plankton's
eye would sometimes glaze over
when the TV was too loud or when
the restaurant was too crowded.
He'd always assumed it was just his
dad being tired or grumpy, not that
his brain was struggling to keep up.

"So, what is it?" Chip asks,
his voice small and scared.

Karen takes a deep breath. "It's called
autism, sweetie. And it just means
that Daddy's brain works a little
differently. Sometimes, it's really
good at things, like inventing and
remembering stuff. But sometimes, it
can get overwhelmed by too much
noise or too many people or things."

Chip nods slowly, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form. "But why
doesn't he tell me?"

Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand in
hers. "Because he doesn't always
know it's happening until it's too
late. And sometimes, talking about it
can make it harder for him." She looks
up at her son with a gentle smile.
"But now that you know, you can help
him. Like giving him space when
he needs it, or turning down the TV."
Chip nods, his mind racing. He's
always thought his dad was a little
weird, but now he knows it's not just
weirdness. It's something real, something
that makes him who he is. He looks
back at Plankton, feeling a mix of
concern and curiosity.

He goes and touches 
his dad's arm,
his heart racing.
"Dad, wake up," Chip cries,
his hand shaking slightly.

But Karen steps in, placing 
a comforting hand on Chip's 
shoulder. "Let's give him some 
space, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving his dad's still form.
He retreats to the corner 
of the room, clutching his 
newly acquired seashell 
collection tightly to his chest. 
His mind races with questions,
but fear keeps his mouth shut.
He watches as his mom pulls
the curtains, dimming the light
to a gentle glow that seems to
ease the tension in the room.

The quiet is almost deafening
now, the only sound the faint
hum of the Chum Bucket's 
air-conditioning. Chip sits
cross-legged on the floor,
his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion.
He'd always known his dad was
unique, but he didn't realize
it was something so... serious.

Karen sits beside Plankton,
speaking in hushed tones. "It's okay,
dear," she says, stroking his arm.
"Just breathe." Plankton's body
twitches slightly, his eye still
open and unseeing. Chip watches,
wishing he could do something to
help.

He tries to be patient,
his mind racing with questions
about what just happened.
Why couldn't Dad handle his stories
and his energy? Why did he just...
shut down? He'd never seen
anyone react that way before.

Chip's curiosity gets the
better of him, and he tiptoes closer
to the bed, peering over his mom's
shoulder. Plankton's eye is still
staring off into space, and his
breathing is still shallow. "Mom,
what's autism?" He whispers.

Karen glances over at him,
her expression a mix of love
and sadness. "It's a condition
that affects how people process
information, honey," she says, her
voice soft. "Some things that are
easy for you and me, like talking
and being around lots of noise, can
be really hard for Daddy."

Chip's eyes widen with
realization. "So, when I was
sharing all my stories and showing
him my stuff, I was being too loud
and moving too much?"

Karen nods. "Sometimes,
yes. It's like if you were trying
to read a book in the middle
of a rock concert. It's hard to focus."

Chip looks down at his sandy
hands, feeling a pang of guilt.
"I didn't know," he murmurs.

Karen smiles sadly. "It's okay,
Chip. We didn't tell you because
we didn't want you to think of
your dad as different. But now that
you know, you can help us take care of
him."

Chip nods solemnly, watching
his mom gently guide Plankton to
a more comfortable position on the
bed. "How do we help him?"

Karen sighs. "Well, for starters,
we give him some space when
he needs it. And when he's feeling
better, we can talk about it, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes glued to
his dad's still form. He wants to
help, but he doesn't know how.
He watches as his mom covers
Plankton with a blanket, her movements
gentle and soothing. "What do we
do now?"

Karen looks at him, her expression
full of warmth. "Now, we wait."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ii

CATCH IN MY CHIP v
(Autistic author)

The silence is heavy, filled
with the echoes of shattered
shell and shredded photos.
Karen's gaze is on her husband,
her heart aching as she sees
the turmoil in his eye. She knew to
tread carefully. She turns to him,
as he's hyperventilating.

"Plankton," she says firmly,
but her voice is gentle. 
He doesn't respond at 
first. But eventually,
he turns to her.

"I know you're upset, but you
can't talk to Chip like that,"
Karen says, her voice steady.
"He's just a kid, and he loves
you. He's trying to understand."

Plankton's breaths come in
quick, harsh gasps, his chest
heaving.

Karen approaches him, her
movements deliberate and calm.
"Plankton," she says, her voice
even. "Look at me."

Plankton's breaths slow,
his eye flicking to hers. He's
still trembling with anger, but
the storm seems to be passing.
"I know you're upset," she
continues. "But you can't take
it out on Chip. He loves you."

Plankton's shoulders slump,
his body deflating like a balloon.
"I know," he murmurs, his voice
barely a whisper. "I just... I can't..."

Karen nods, her eyes filled
with understanding. "It's okay,
sweetie," she says, her hand on his
back. "It's a lot to handle." She
guides him back to the bed, her touch
gentle and soothing. "Let's talk about
this when you're feeling better."

Plankton nods, his body still
shaking with the aftermath of
his outburst. He sits down heavily,
his eye cast down at the mess
around him. "I just wanted to show..."
he starts, but his voice trails off.

Karen sits beside him, her hand
still on his back. "I know you did,
dear," she says, her voice filled
with compassion. "But you have to
understand that Chip doesn't know
how to help you yet. And throwing
things and yelling isn't going to
make it better."

Plankton's breaths slow, his
body still tense. "But he...
he doesn't get it," he murmurs.
"He just kept pushing."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving his. "I know, Plankton.
And it's our job to teach him.
To help him understand." She
speaks softly, her voice a gentle
reminder of the love that fills
the room despite the chaos.

Plankton's eye meets hers,
his anger slowly receding. He nods,
his shoulders slumping. "I know,"
he says, his voice ragged with
emotion. "I just... I want him to
see me, not just... this."

Karen sighs, her hand still
on his back. "He does see you,
Plankton. He sees the amazing
person you are. But he's
just learning about autism."

Plankton's eye narrows, his antennas
drooping slightly. "But why
can't he just be careful?"
He asks, his voice filled
with pain. "Why does he have
to be so... much?"

Karen's heart breaks at the
sorrow in his voice. "He's just
excited, Plankton. He doesn't
understand the way you do."

Plankton sighs, his antennas
drooping. "I know," he murmurs.
"But it's so... overwhelming."

Karen nods, her eyes filled with
understanding. "I know, sweetie,"
she says. "But we can't expect
Chip to understand everything
right away."

She gets up and goes to the
closed bathroom door, her knuckles
lightly rapping against the wood.
"Chip, honey," she calls out, her voice
soft. "Can you come out?"

The door opens slowly, and Chip's
face is a mess of sand and tears.
Karen's heart clenches at the sight.
"Come here," she says, her tone gentle.

She pulls him into her arms,
his small body shaking with sobs.
"It's okay, baby," she whispers. "Daddy's just
having a hard time right now."

Plankton's eye follow them,
his own anger now replaced with regret.
He opens his mouth to apologize,
but no words come out. Karen nods
towards the bed, a silent invitation
for him to join them.

With a heavy sigh, Plankton
moves to sit on the edge, his
body still trembling with the
residual rage. Chip's sobs
subside into quiet sniffles, but
his face is still a picture of
hurt and confusion.

"Chip," Karen starts, her voice
calm and steady, "what happened
today is because Daddy's brain works
differently, remember?" She
looks at Plankton, whose gaze is
now on the floor, filled with
remorse. "And sometimes, we all
have to learn how to communicate
better."

Chip nods, his eyes red from crying,
still not fully understanding.
"But Daddy broke my trophy," he
whispers, holding a shard of it
in his hand.

Karen sighs, her gaze flicking to
Plankton. "Yes, and that was
wrong of him. But we need to
talk about why it happened."
She looks back at Chip, her eyes
filled with compassion. "Sometimes,
when Daddy gets too overwhelmed,
he doesn't know how to handle it.
It's like when you're really upset
and you don't know what to do with
all those big feelings."

Chip looks up at her, his eyes still
wet with tears. "But why did he yell?"

Karen takes a deep breath, her
hands stroking Chip's back in gentle
circles. "Because, honey, Daddy's brain
sometimes gets too full, like a jar of
sand with too many shells. And when that
happens, he needs a little help to
make room again."

Chip looks up at her, his eyes
searching hers for understanding.
"But I didn't mean to make him
mad," he says, his voice shaky.

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving
his. "I know, sweetie," she says,
her voice a gentle caress. "But sometimes,
even when we don't mean to, we can
overwhelm people. It's not your fault."

She glances at Plankton, who's still
staring at the floor, his body
a taut bow of tension. "Daddy just
needs some time," she says, her voice
soothing. "We all do sometimes."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II v

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

CATCH IN MY CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

With grace of a dancer, Chip 
slides into the bed beside
his dad, his movements calculated
and precise. Each inch closer feels
like a victory, a step to
reconciliation. He's careful not
to disturb. His hand reaches
for Plankton's, his touch a
whisper in the quiet.

Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic.
Chip swells with hope, clutches the
hand tightly, feeling the
strength in the slender fingers.
It's a silent declaration of love,
an unspoken apology.

Karen watches, her screen
shimmering with unshed tears.
The sight of her son and
husband finding their way
back to each other fills her
heart with a warmth that
chases the shadows from the
room. She knows this isn't a
moment to interrupt, so she
simply observes, her hand
on Chip's back in silent
support.

Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets
his body mold to the warmth
of his dad's side. The scent of
his dad's pillow, a mix of
saltwater and something
uniquely Plankton, fills his
nose, lulling him into a
sense of safety.

Time seems to stand still in the
quiet embrace, each tick of the
clock a gentle reminder that
moments like these are rare. But
eventually, the world outside
their sanctuary calls, and Plankton
stirs.

His antennas twitch, his
eye blinking open .
He's disoriented at first, his
brain still wrapped in the
cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels
the warmth beside him, the
weight of a small hand in his.

Plankton's heart stutters,
his body tense. His eye find
Chip's peaceful face, his son's
cheek pressed against his arm.
The room is a tableau of quiet,
the air thick with the unspoken.
He's torn between emotions and fear,
his mind racing.

He doesn't remember falling
asleep, the anger and frustration
of last night a distant memory.
But here's Chip, a living proof
of their unspoken reconciliation.
Plankton's antennas quiver,
his hand hovering over their
entwined fingers. He's afraid to
move, to disturb the fragile
harmony of the moment.

But his body has other plans.
His muscles tense, his skin
prickling with the need for
space. He's not used to this,
the warmth, the weight. His
autistic brain screams for order,
for predictability. He tries to
swallow the rising panic, to push
it back down into the pit of his
stomach where it belongs. Plankton
can feel his own heart racing,
his antennas quivering with
the effort of holding still. His
body wants to recoil, to retreat
from the sudden assault of
sensation. But he can't, not with
his son's hand in his.

Karen notices the tension
in his body, the way his antennas
spasm slightly. She knows what's
coming, the inevitable retreat.
With a gentle touch, she whispers,
"It's okay, Plankton. You don't have
to handle it if it's too much."
Her words are a soothing balm,
but they're not enough to
calm the storm inside him.

Chip's hand tightens slightly
around his, and Plankton's eye
snap to his son's face. He sees
the trust there, the love.
It's a punch to the gut, a
reminder of all the moments
he's missed, all the times he's
failed to understand. His hand
shakes, the tremble traveling
up his arm.

He tries to swallow the
rising panic, his throat tight.
But it's too much, the weight
of his son's body, the heat,
the smell, the touch. His mind
whirrs, his senses overloading.
He needs space, to think, to breathe.
With a deep, shuddering inhale,
he starts to pull away, his
body fighting the instinct to
shove Chip off the bed.

Karen's hand is a gentle
weight on his shoulder.
"Take it slow," she whispers,
her voice a lifeline in the storm.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still quivering. He tries to
push the panic down, to
focus on the warmth of
Chip's hand, the steady beat
of their hearts. But the
pressure builds, a crescendo
of sensation threatening to
crush him. He can't breathe.

With a tremble, he starts
to pull away, his hand
sliding out from under
Chip's. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice strained.
"It's too much."

Karen's hand remains
on his shoulder, her eyes
filled with compassion.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
a soft whisper. "We're here."

The room spins around
Plankton, a whirlwind of
colors and shapes. His antennas
wave wildly, his grip on reality
slipping. He's lost in the chaos
of his own mind, the sensory
overload a tornado that
threatens to consume him.

Karen's voice is a beacon,
guiding him back to shore.
"Breathe," she whispers, her hand
still on his shoulder. "In, out,
slowly." Her words are a
lifeline in the tempest.

Plankton nods, his breaths
coming in ragged gasps. He tries
to focus on the sensation of
her hand, the gentle pressure
of her touch. But the world
keeps spinning, the colors
blurring together like a
watercolor painting left in
the rain.

He feels the bed shift as
Karen sits beside him, her
presence a grounding force.
"Just breathe," she says, her
voice a soft mantra. "You're
okay." His chest rises and falls in
quick succession, his body's
desperate attempt to regulate
itself amidst the chaos. His
heart races, each beat a
staccato in his ears. The room
spins, the walls closing in, the
ringing in his ears getting louder
to where it consumes him, now
impenetrable to any other sound.

Karen notices the sudden
pallor that sweeps over her
husband's face, the way his
body sags into the bed.
Her eyes fill with concern,
her hand tightening on his
shoulder. "Look at me," she says,
her voice firm but gentle.
"Take deep breaths."

But the ringing in his head is
too loud. It's consumed him
and impenetrable. He can't
hear her. He doesn't hear
anything.

Karen's voice is a distant
echo, the words swallowed by
the cacophony in his mind.
Her hand on his shoulder is
the only real thing, the
only anchor keeping him from
being swept away.

The room spins faster, the
colors bleeding into one
another until all Plankton
can see is a kaleidoscope of
sensory overload. The ringing
in his ears crescendos,
drowning out the world.
His chest feels tight, his lungs
desperate for air that won't
come. He's adrift in a sea
of panic, unable to find
his way back to the shore.

Karen's voice cuts through
the din, her hand a firm
reminder of reality. "Look
at me," she says, her eyes
locked on his, her voice a
steady lighthouse guiding
his way back. "Just me,
just us." But Plankton's not
hearing anymore.

The room is spinning, the
colors a whirlwind of chaos.
He's lost in the tornado
of his own making, the
sensory overload a prison
he can't escape. His hand
shakes, his body tense as
his mind begs for reprieve.
Karen's eyes widen with
concern.

"Plankton," she whispers, her
voice a gentle lullaby. "Look
at me." She moves closer, her
hand reaching for his face.
Her touch is a grounding force,
but it's not enough. He's
too far gone.

The room spins, a blur
of color and sound. Plankton's
eye is wide with panic, his
body trembling. The bed seems
to shift beneath him, the
walls closing in. His breaths
are shallow, his chest tight.
He's lost in the tornado of
his senses.

Karen's hand on his
shoulder is a lifeline, but
his mind is too far gone.
Her voice is a distant
whisper, the words unintelligible.
All he can feel is the
crushing weight of the
world pressing down on him,
the lights too bright, the
noises too loud. And then
Chip stirs in his sleep.

The movement sends a
shiver down Plankton's spine,
his body tightening like a
coiled spring. The ringing in
his ears reaches a crescendo,
drowning out everything else.
He tries to push the panic
back down, to find the calm
he desperately needs, but it's
like trying to hold back the
tide with a paper wall.

Karen's eyes are filled with
fear as she sees Plankton's
descent into overwhelm. She
knows the signs all too well.
Her hand on his shoulder is
now a firm grip, trying to
keep him tethered to the
here and now. "Look at me,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command. "Just me, just us."

But Plankton's gaze is unfocused,
his mind swirling with a
torrent of sensations that
make him feel like he's
falling into a bottomless pit.
The room seems to spin faster,
the light from the window a
piercing glare that slices through
his retina. He wants to
shield his eye, but his arm
feels like lead, too heavy to lift.

Karen's touch is the only
constant, her hand on his
shoulder the one thing that
feels real amidst the
sensory maelstrom. But even
that is slipping away as
his dizziness crescendos into
full-blown vertigo. His vision
blurs, the lines of reality
smearing into a nauseating
whirl of color and light.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
urgent. "Look at me."

The words echo in his
head, a distant call amidst
the chaos. He tries to focus
on her face, her eyes the only
constant in the whirlwind
of sensations. But the world
spins, faster and faster,
until all he can see is a
blur of color.

Her hand on his shoulder is
a lifeline, but it's slipping
away. He feels himself
falling, tumbling into the
void of his own mind. His
body is a marionette, his
strings cut by the storm.
The ringing in his ears
reaches a crescendo, a
symphony of panic that
consumes him.

Karen's eyes are wide
with fear, her grip on him
desperate. "Look at me,"
she repeats, her voice 
steady. "You're okay."
Her hand moves to his face.

But Plankton's gaze is
glassy, his pupil dilated.
He's trapped in the chaos of
his senses. The ringing
in his ears is a siren's
call, pulling him deeper.

Karen's hand moves from
his shoulder to his cheek,
the softness of her touch
a stark contrast to the
harshness of the world
invading his mind. "Look
at me," she repeats, her voice
a whisper. "You're safe."
Her thumb traces the line
of his jaw, a gentle guide.

But Plankton's eye is
glassy, lost in the storm.
Her words are gentle,
trying to soothe him. But the
flames are too high, too
strong. He's drowning in
his own senses.

With a tremble, Karen's hand
moves to his cheek, her
touch a soft caress. "Look at
me," she whispers, her voice
a lifeline thrown into
the tempest. "You're ok."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ix

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