Dare To Be Different Emojis & Text

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 5

Karen saw the flicker
in Plankton's eye that 
signaled his return to 
the present. She then
motioned for Chip to 
back up. Plankton let go
of the bear, his gaze
flitting around the room
as if searching. Karen
wiped the drool from his
chin. "Welcome back," she
whispered, her voice
calm and soothing.

Plankton's eye met 
Karen's screen. "I'm 
here," she said, her
own voice thick with
relief. "You had another
seizure, but it's over now."

Plankton nodded
slowly, his antennae
drooping as he tried
to piece together what
had happened. The fog in
his mind was lifting,
but the weight of his
emotions remained as he 
looked over to Chip.

Chip's eyes met his,
full of uncertainty. "Dad,"
he began, but his voice
trailed off as Plankton's eye
flickered with recognition.
Chip's own eyes lit up with
relief and hope.

Plankton's antennae
slowly raised, his gaze
focusing on his wife 
and son.

"I remember," Plankton said
through gritted teeth. The
memory of Chip's innocent yet
hurtful word stung. "He said
I was... 'slow'. He said it!"
The anger in his voice
was palpable, his antennae
quivering with agitation.

Karen's heart ached
for her husband's pain, but she
knew that anger was a part
of his post-seizure
frustration. She approached
the bed, her voice calm
but firm. "Plankton, Chip
didn't mean it that way. He's
scared and confused. He
doesn't know how much that
word can hurt."

Plankton's antennae
trembled with anger. 
"But it did!" he 
exclaimed. "It does!"
His voice grew louder,
no longer slurred.

Karen's eyes searched
his, understanding the
pain he was feeling.
"I know you're upset," she
said gently, "but let's talk
about thi—"

"Talk?" Plankton spat, his
body tensing with rage. "How
can I talk to him after what
he said?" The words echoed in
his mind, a cruel reminder
of his fears.

Chip took a step back, his
heart racing. He hadn't meant
to cause such pain, but the
look on his dad's face was
unmistakable. He had hurt
his hero, the one person he
looked up to more than
anyone else. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he whispered, his voice
shaking with emotion. "I
really didn't kn-"

But Plankton was beyond
hearing apologies. His antennae
were a blur with rage. "You
think I'm 'slow'?" he roared,
his voice echoing in the
small room. "You think that's all
I am?" His words were
sharp as knives, cutting
through the tension.

Chip felt the sting of his
father's anger, his screen
filling with tears. "No, Dad,
that's not what I mea-"

But Plankton's rage was
a force unto itself. "How
dare you!" he yelled, his
voice shaking the walls. "After
everything I've done for you.."

Tears spilled from his
single eye, his antennae
quivering uncontrollably.
"How could you say that?"
he sobbed, his voice
breaking with pain.

Chip's eyes were wide
with shock and fear at
the sight of his father's
distress. He hadn't really
seen Plankton cry before,
and the raw emotion was
overwhelming.

Plankton's sobs were
deep, his antennae shaking
wildly as he wept into
his pillow. Karen stood
at the side of the bed, her
heart breaking as she
stroked his back.

Chip watched, feeling
his own eyes burn with
tears. "I'm sorry," he
repeated, his voice small.
"I didn't know. I won't
say it ever ag-"

But Plankton didn't
seem to hear him, lost
in his own grief. His
sobs grew louder, his body
shaking with the force
of his emotions. Karen
could see the hurt and fear
reflected in her son's
face, and she knew they had
to get through this together.

"Chip," she said gently,
guiding him closer to
his father. "Your dad needs
love right now." She placed
his hand on Plankton's
back. "Tell him you
love him."

Chip took a deep
breath, his hand trembling
slightly. "Dad," he began,
his voice cracking. "I love
you." Plankton's sobs
continued, unabated but
his antennae quivered
slightly, as if acknowledging
his son's presence.

Karen watched as Chip
sat on the edge of the
bed, tentatively placing
his hand on Plankton's
back. "I'm sorry," Chip
whispered. "I didn't mean
to hurt yo-"

But Plankton's sobs
interrupted him, his
body wracked with emotion.
His antennae thrashed about,
his crying a silent
testament to the
pain he felt. The room
was suffused with his
sorrow, a stark contrast to
his usually stoic demeanor.

Chip felt the weight of his
father's grief, his
own chest tightening
as he watched the man
he idolized break down.
He had never seen
his father so exposed,
so vulnerable, and it
frightened him.

He swallowed hard,
his throat thick with tears.
"Dad," he tried again,
his voice barely above a
whisper. "I didn't mean to
hurt-"

But Plankton's sobs
drowned out his words, his
body convulsing with
the force of his grief.
Karen wrapped her arms
around Chip, pulling him
closer to her side. "Let him
cry it out," she murmured.
"He needs this."

The room was filled
with the sound of Plankton's
sobs, each one a raw
expression of the pain
he felt. His antennae
twitched erratically, as if
trying to find a way to
express the emotional
thoughts inside his head.
Chip sat there, frozen, his
hand hovering over
his father's back, unsure
of what to do next.

Karen watched them both,
her own heart torn by the
scene before her. She knew
Plankton's autism made
his emotions intense, and
this misunderstanding had
triggered a deep-seated fear
of rejection. She also knew
that Chip didn't intend to
hurt his father—he was just
a child, trying to understand
a complex world.

"Chip," she whispered, 
her voice thick with 
emotion. "It's ok.
Just love him." 
She nodded
towards Plankton.

Chip took a deep
breath, his hand 
shaking slightly. He
slowly placed it on
his father's back, feeling
the warmth and tremble
of his dad's shoulders. 
"I love you," Chip
managed, his voice
barely audible.

new dare to be different crycore chip

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 2

Plankton's cheeks flushed a
deep shade of red as he
processed her words.
Embarrassment flooded him
as he realized what must
have happened.

"It's okay," Karen assured, her
tone soothing as ever. She
wiped any last remnants of
drool from his chin, her
movements tender. "I think
we outta tell Chi-"

"N-no, Karen... we're not
gonna tell Chip," Plankton
stammered. The thought of
his son seeing him in such a
vulnerable state was too
much to bear. He didn't want
Chip to see him as weak, or
worse— someone to be pitied.

But it was too late. Chip
stepped out of the shadows,
his eyes wide and full of
unanswered questions. "Dad,
are you okay?" he asked, his
voice quivering with concern.

He didn't like the 
idea of Chip
seeing him in 
such a state of 
vulnerability. He 
had always 
worked hard to
mask his 
neurodisability 
from his son.

The room was
suddenly thick
with tension as
Plankton's eye
snapped to Chip, 
his antennae
drooping with 
embarrassment. 
He tried to hide 
his trembling 
hands, feeling 
exposed and 
weak.

"Chip," Karen began,
turning to her son,
her eyes pleading 
for understanding.
"It's just something
that happens sometimes.
Daddy's okay. Now, how
was summer ca--"

"What's wrong with him?"
Chip interrupted, his voice
cracking with emotion.
He had seen his dad act
different before, but this was
on a whole new level.

Karen sighed heavily,
guiding her son out of
the room. "Your dad has a
neurodisability, Chip. It's
called autism. Sometimes,
his brain does things that
are hard for him to control."

Chip's eyes grew even wider,
his heart racing as he
tried to process this new
information. "But why did
he talk like that?" he asked,
his voice barely above a
whisper. "It's just a
part of a condition,
sweetheart," she explained.
"It's like his brain gets
scrambled for a bit after
his seizures."

They sat down on the couch,
Karen's eyes filled with
compassion as she saw the
fear in her son's eyes.
"But he's going to be okay."
Chip looked at her with a
mixture of confusion and
concern. "What do you mean,
his brain gets scrambled?"

"It's like when you're playing
a video game, and the screen
glitches for a moment," she
tried to explain. "It just
takes him a little time to get
his thoughts straight after
one of these episodes."

Chip nodded slowly,
his gaze drifting back
to the bedroom door.
"I'll make us some
cookies, ok?" Karen 
said, giving him a 
gentle nudge.

Chip goes back
to his parents
bedroom. Plankton
was still on his
own bed. "What d-did
your mother t-tell you?"
Chip thought of how
to phrase his answer,
forgetting what his
mom called it.

"She told me that 
you're just re---"

Plankton's eye widened, his
face flushing with a mix
of anger and pain. The slur
cut deeper than any physical
blow could. "Don't you ever
call me that," he said, his
voice shaking. "Do you
underst--"

"It's just what mom 
said," Chip responded, 
his voice trembling.

But Plankton's expression 
was one of hurt and anger. 
He had worked so hard
to keep his condition
hidden from his son,
and now, in his most 
vulnerable moment,
his own wife had supposedly
betrayed him?

"What did she tell you?"
Plankton demanded, his
voice harsher than Chip had
ever heard before. His father
was clearly upset, and Chip
was torn between defending
his mom and trying to
understand what was happening.

"It's just what she
told me," Chip shrugs,
not knowing it's a
slur. "I'll go unpack."

Moments after Chip
left to his own room,
Karen comes back,
not knowing what Chip
said to him. "Plankton," 
she said softly, "I made 
some cookies!"

Plankton ignored her,
turning away.

"What's wrong?" 
Karen asked.

Plankton's antennae
twitched with agitation.
"You told him," he said
accusingly, his voice
shaky.

Karen's smile faded,
replaced by a look of
concern. "I didn't tell
him anything bad," she
explained gently. "Just
that you ha—"

"Don't say it," Plankton
interrupted, his voice
sharp. "Chip told me
what you said. How
could you do that?"

Karen's eyes widened in
surprise. "What do you
mean?" she asked.

"The... the 'R' word,"
Plankton cried, tears
streaming down.

Karen's heart sank, realizing
his fear. "Oh, Plankton, no,
not that," she said, reaching
for his hand. "I never called
you that, I pro-"

But Plankton was beyond
consolation, the damage
already done. "You did,"
he insisted, his voice
breaking. "You said it,
right there! I thought
you were the one person
who understood me.."

Karen felt a coldness
spread through her. "Plankton,
I swear, I never said that.
I just told him about your
autism! You know I'd
never call you that. Ever. I
would never use that
term."

Plankton's antennae
trembled with anger. "Then
why did Chip say it? He
said you told him I wa-"
Plankton choked back
a sob.

Karen's eyes searched
his face, desperation
creeping in. "Chip
must have misunderstood,"
she said. "Let's go talk
to him; we'll clear this up."
But Plankton's trust was
shaken, and his anger
was palpable. "No," he
snapped. "I don't w-want
to see either of you right
now." His voice cracked
under the weight of his
emotions.

Karen felt the sting of
his rejection, but she knew
his pain was deeper.
With a heavy heart,
she left the room. As she
closed the door, she heard
Plankton's muffled sobs,
and it broke her heart.

Making her way to
Chip's room, she tried to
prepare for the
conversation she knew
was coming. She wanted to
explain everything to her
son, to ease his fears
and misunderstandings.

When she reached Chip's
bedroom she took a
deep breath, steeling
herself for the emotional
conversation.

"Hey Chip," she said,
opening the door softly.
Chip sat on his bed, his
face etched with worry.
"We need to talk."

new dare to be different neurodisability chipcore

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 1

Chip dragged his bag 
through the doorway.
Adopted at birth by his
parents Karen and
Plankton, his bus from
camp came earlier than
originally planned. Chip's
thus not expected to be
home from another hour
yet he's home.

His parents weren't in
the living room, so he
crept to the bedroom
of his parents to see a
peculiar sight.

Plankton only allowed
Karen to know about
his neurodisability. He
sometimes gets harmless
nonepileptic seizures due
to his autism. He's having
one when Chip came home
but neither he nor Karen
noticed their son's arrival.

Chip's heart pounded in
his chest as he peered
into their bedroom. Plankton
was lying on the bed, eye
open, his body stiff. Karen
was at his side.

"It's okay, it's okay,"
Karen murmured, stroking
his arm gently. Her voice
was soothing, a stark
contrast to the chaotic
silence of the seizure.
Then Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly. It was a
sign that the seizure was
passing. Karen recognized
this phase as the postictal
period, where her husband's
mind was trying to reboot.

Plankton's eye flickered,
his speech slurred and
incoherent. "Wha... wawl...
bibble," he mumbled, his
face a mask of confusion.
Chip felt his breath catch
in his throat, unsure of
what he was witnessing.
This wasn't the Plankton he
knew—his dad was always
sharp and quick-witted. The
contrast was jarring, and
his heart ached for the
man struggling to regain
his composure.

Karen nodded gently,
her eyes never leaving
Plankton's face. "You're
safe, my love," Karen
whispered. "It's alright."
Chip's curiosity grew
as he listened to his
father's disjointed words.

"Wish... bof... not
enough," Plankton said,
his voice strained. Karen
squeezed his hand.
"Shh, Plankton, you're home," 
she soothed, cooing.

"What's he talking about?"
Chip thought to himself, his
confusion swelling. He had
never seen his dad like this.
This was his dad, the strong,
clever Plankton he knew, now so
vulnerable and lost.

Plankton's eye searches 
the ceiling as if trying to 
find answers there.

Chip's curiosity morphed
into concern. He had
always known his dad
was different, but this was
new. "Bof... bibble," Plankton
repeated, his eye still
dazed. Chip's mind raced,
trying to piece together what
his father's nonsensical words
could mean.

"Don't worry, you'll feel
better soon," Karen says.

Plankton's babbling grew
more childlike.

"Bibble-bobble... more...
choxie," Plankton said with
a weak smile, his voice
slurred like a toddler's.
Karen chuckled softly, her
hand still resting on his arm.

"Choxie?" she questioned,
gently. "Do you want any
thi—"

Before she could finish,
Plankton chuckled, drool
sliding down his chin. 
"Eeeeee?"

Karen wiped it 
away with a
tissue, her gaze 
filled with a mix 
of tenderness 
and understanding,
knowing Plankton's
state was temporary.

"Choxie?" Chip
whispered to himself,
his curiosity piqued.
He'd never heard
his dad talk like
this before. It was
almost as if Plankton
was speaking in
another language—a
child's babble filled with
longing and innocence.

Karen leaned in,
listening intently to
his garbled speech.
Her eyes searched Plankton's
face for any hint of
recognition or meaning.

"Kay... more... love,"
Plankton murmured, his
eye fluttering closed.

Karen's heart tightened,
but she kept her voice steady.
"More love?" she asked,
interpreting his words with
care. "I love you too, Plankton."

Plankton's smile grew
slightly, his antennae
twitching in contentment.
It seemed as if his
garbled words were a
request for comfort, and
his wife's gentle voice has
sufficed.

Chip watched from the
shadows, his mind racing
with questions. His dad,
usually so sharp and in
control, was reduced to
this. He noticed the way Karen's
face softened as she spoke,
how she treated Plankton
like he was the most
important being in the
world. It was clear that
this wasn't the first time
she'd seen him like this,
but the sight was still
heartbreakingly new to Chip.

"Gibble... gibble," Plankton
continued, his body
starting to relax as the
seizure's aftermath ebbed
away. His hands began to
fidget, as if trying to grasp
at the air. Chip's chest
tightened, watching his dad
so helpless.

Plankton's antennae waved.
"Wibble... wobble... waddle," he
managed to say, his speech
still slurred but slightly
more coherent as Karen
helps him sit up. Plankton's
body felt heavy and awkward
in her arms, but she managed
to get him into a sitting
position. He looked at her
with a mix of relief and
exhaustion.

"Wobble?" Karen questioned,
trying to decode his speech.
"Do you want one of your
sensory fidget toys?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched erratically as
his speech grew slightly
more coherent. "Bibble...
bobble," he said, looking
around the room with
a child-like curiosity.
Chip felt his own curiosity
building, watching the scene
unfold with a mix of concern
and fascination.

"Fibble... wibble," Plankton
tried again, his words
still jumbled. Karen nodded
encouragingly, handing him a
sensory fidget toy from the
nightstand. It was a small,
colorful object with various
textures and shapes.

As his hand closed around it,
his eye lit up with
recognition. "Wibble!" he
exclaimed, his grip tightening
on the toy.

He began to fiddle with it,
his movements becoming more
precise. "Fibble... fibble,"
he murmured, his voice gaining
strength.

Karen watched him with
relief, knowing that his
recovery was underway.
But Chip remained in the
doorway, his eyes glued to
his father's face.

"Dibble-dibble... wobble-wobble,"
Plankton mumbled to himself,
his fingers tracing the toy's
intricate patterns. His voice
was still not quite right, but
it was a step closer to the
clever and crafty man they knew.

Karen watched with a soft smile,
her eyes reflecting the warmth
of her love for her husband.
"You're coming back to us,"
she whispered.

Plankton's antennae quivered,
his eye slowly focusing on
his wife's face. He blinked
a few times. "K-Karen?"
Her smile grew wider. "Yes,
love, it's me," she said, her
voice brimming with love
and relief.

He looked around, taking in
his surroundings with a
confused gaze. "Wha?"
he finally managed to say,
his voice still shaky.

"You're home," Karen said,
smiling as she held his hand.
"You had a seizure, but
you're okay now."

new dare to be different neurodisabled chip

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 13

But instead of the joy
Chip had anticipated,
a flicker of discomfort
crossed Plankton's face.
Plankton's antennae
flattened as he looked
at the picture, his
expression unreadable.
"What's wrong, Dad?"
Chip asked, his
excitement fading as
he saw the tension in
his father's eye, for
Plankton's hand tightened
around the drawing, his
mouth a thin line.

"It's not a super power,"
Plankton said, his voice
sharp. "It's a disorder."
He threw the paper to the
ground. "It's not
something for you to
make a game out of."
Chip's eyes widened in
shock. "But, I thought...
you said it made you
special," he stuttered.

"Special?" Plankton's
voice grew louder, his
body tensing up. "I can't go
to the store without
flapping my hands. I can't
even look people in the
eye. That's not special,
Chip. I'm not your little
project." Chip's smile
disappeared, his eyes
filling with confusion. "I just
wanted to make you
feel better," he said, his
voice small.

"Well, it doesn't!" Plankton
snapped, his antennae
quivering. "It doesn't change
anything! You don't get to
just decide it's a super power
because you want it to be!"
Chip's eyes filled with tears as
he stared at his dad, who was
now sitting up in bed, his voice
rising with every word. "It's
not a game, Chip. It's my life!"
Karen awoke and sat up in bed,
concern etched on her face at
the commotion.

"Sheldon," she 
said, her voice 
calm, "what's 
going on?"

Plankton took a deep
breath, trying to 
regain his composure.
"He's making fun
of me," he said,
his voice quivering.

"I'm not making fun
of you, Dad," Chip said,
his eyes wide with fear.
"I just wanted to
make you hap–"

But Plankton's anger can't
be stopped. "I don't need
you to make it into
something it's not!"
he interrupted, his antennae
quivering with rage. "It's
not cute or heroic! It's
exhausting, confusing, and
often painful!"

Karen stood up. "What
happened?" She asks,
looking at them.

"I just made him a
drawing," Chip said, his
voice shaking. "To make
him feel better." He hands
it to her, and she looked at
it as understanding dawns
on her features.

"Plankton he didn't mean
to make fun," she said,
picking up the crumpled
paper. "He's trying to
understand and support you.
But I can see how it might
have upset you." Chip looks
confused. "But..."

"I know, honey," Karen cuts
in gently. "But let's remember,
your dad's had a hard time with
this his whole life. He's not used
to people trying to make
it seem... glamorous. It's just
his reality, not a costume
he can take off. Yet I know you
meant well." She turns to
Plankton, her voice firm but
kind. "Honey, I know you're
upset, but you have to understand
Chip's just trying to connect
and show his love in his
own way. He's still learning."

Plankton's antennae stop
quivering, and he sighs. "I
know, Karen," he says. "But it's
NOT a toy, it's NOT A GAME!"

Karen nods, setting
the drawing down on the
dresser. "I know, sweetie,"
she says softly. "But let's
talk to Chip abou–"

But Plankton's anger isn't
abating. "Why can't he ju—"

Karen cuts him off. "Let's not
do this, okay?" she says, her
tone firm but gentle. "Let's
not fight."

But Plankton can't let it
go. "It's not fair!" he says,
his body tense but shaky.
"I have to deal with this
every day, and now you
want me to pretend it's
never been anything but
positive?" He felt his ears
ringing and Karen knew
the look of overstimulation
well. But he's not quite
done with anger yet.

"Dad," Chip says, his voice
small. "I didn't mean to make
yo--" "I SAID ENOUGH!" Plankton
shouts, and Karen knew that a
seizure's edge was near. The
overwhelming emotion was
too much for him to handle,
his headache likely growing
by the second.

The room grew tense,
his antennae quivering with
frustration. He stood up,
his body shaking slightly,
his eye unfocused. "I DON'T
LIKE IT!" he yelled. Karen saw
the first signs of a seizure
starting to form as his breaths
quickened. "Plankton, you outta
sit down," Karen urged, knowing
what stress can do.

Sure enough, his
body jerked, and
he stumbled slightly.
Chip's eyes grew wide
in terror as he saw his
dad's knees give way.
Karen rushed over
to Plankton, knowing
his seizures like the 
back of her hand, 
lowering Plankton
gently to the floor.
Plankton's eye rolls
back into his head,
his limbs jerking
uncontrollably as he
was gripped by the
seizure.

Chip watched,
his heart racing.
This was the second
time he'd seen this, and
it was just as terrifying.
"It's okay, honey," she
whispered to Chip. "This
is what we talked about.
Remember? Stay calm,
don't touch him, and
it'll be over soon."
Chip nodded, his eyes
fixed on his father.

Karen quickly
moved any sharp
objects out of the way,
then she knelt beside
Plankton, her hand
steadying his head, her
voice calm and soothing.
"It's okay," she murmured.
"I'm here." Chip felt guilty
as his father's body
shook violently.

Chip felt his throat
tighten as he watched,
his heart racing. He knew
he had to be strong for
his dad. He took a deep
breath and whispered,
"I'm sorry," hoping the
words would penetrate
the chaos of Plankton's
mind. "It's all my fa-"

But he's cut off by his
mother's firm voice. "Chip,
now is not the time," Karen
says, her eyes never leaving
Plankton's convulsing
form. "This is NOT your
fault. Just stay calm and
keep talking to him. It'll
help him feel safe."

Chip nods, his voice
steadying as he watches
his dad's body contort.
He speaks softly, his words
meant to soothe. "Dad," he
whispers, "I love you. It's
okay, you're okay."

new dare to be different meancore pt

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

→ AI Story Generator ←

completely free, NO signup required (ever), and unlimited!

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 10

Plankton wiped the
rest of his tears as
Chip took in his dad's
story, his eyes wide.

"So, you've had to deal with
that your whole life?" Chip
asked, his voice filled with
a newfound empathy. 
"Yeah," Plankton
nodded, his antennae
twitching slightly. "But
it's not all bad. There's
beauty in being different,
you know. And your mom
and I, we've learned to
make it work."

Chip looked at the
plush bear in his dad's
hand, now understanding
its significance.
"What happens during
a seizure, Dad?"
Plankton took a deep
breath. "My brain gets
overwhelmed, like too
much data coming in at once.
It's like a circuit
breaker trips and
everything goes haywire.
My body can't handle it,
so it shuts down a bit.
It's like my brain's
way of hitting the reset
button."

"Does it hurt?" Chip
asked, his eyes searching
his dad's.
"No, not physically,"
Plankton said, his antennae
twitching slightly. "But it's
scary, and it can leave
me feeling really tired.
And sometimes it's
embarrassing, because
it happens when I'm not
expecting it and I might
act a bit strange after.
Like, I might not 
recognize anything for a
little bit. But it's like coming
out of a daydream. You're
just... there, but not quite.
And then the real world hits
as it passes. And most of
the time I don't even know
it's happening until it's over."

Chip nodded, his hand
tightening around the bear.
"But why don't people
understand, Dad?"
"I guess because autism
is internal," Plankton
explained. "People can't
see it. They don't know
what's going on inside
my head. They just see
me acting differently, and
that annoys them. They don't
know how to react, I guess.
It's a spectrum," Plankton
continued. "There are
lots of people like that.
And some have it a lot
worse. They can't talk or
can't do things that come
easy to me. It's just
how their brains are."

Chip frowned, deep in
thought. "But you let
Mom hug you but, not
me; is that part of it?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae
drooping. "Sometimes, Chip,"
he said. "It's about comfort
and safety. With Mom, we know
what to expect, but with
you, it's still new. It's not that
I don't love you or don't
want to hug you. It's just...
hard sometimes. Certain
touches can be too much."

Chip's eyes searched
his father's face. "But, I'm
your son," he said, his voice
small.

Plankton nodded. "And I love
you more than anything," he
replied. "But sometimes,
my brain gets confused by
touch, especially when
it's unexpected. It's not
because I don't want to be
close to you, it's because
it's too much for me to handle.
And there are days where
it's easier than others. But she
knows what to do, and she
understands when I can't take
much more."

Chip looked down
at the bear, his eyes
filling with tears. "I
don't want to make it
worse," he whimpered.
"Just ask before you touch 
me, ok? And if I say no, don't 
take it to personally. It's not about
you, Chip; it's about what I can 
handle, what my body craves."

Karen then came to check
on them. "How are we doing?"
she asked, her voice gentle.
"I see you're awake.."

Plankton nodded weakly.
"We're okay," he said.
"Chip and I were just...
talking."

Karen's gaze moved
from her husband to
her son, noticing the
bear in Chip's hand.
"Oh?" Karen's eyebrows
raised in suspicion.

"Yeah," Chip said, 
his voice steadier 
now. "I just want to
know more about... 
about Dad." Karen
sat on the bed's edge.
"You're growing up,"
she murmured.

"Ok," Plankton said.
"But keep it simple.
I'm pretty tired." Chip 
nods as Karen moves
closer to them.

"So, Dad, what do
you want me to do when
you have a seizure?"
Plankton's antennae
twitched in thought.
"Just stay calm," he
instructed. "And keep me
safe. Sometimes, I might
lash out without knowing
it, so keep yourself safe
too. And if you can, help
me find something to
fidget with, like offering
me the bear. But even if
it's not at home, inform
your mother. Perhaps find
a quiet spot."

Chip nodded, his mind
racing with information.
"What about when you
move your hands like,
is that because of it?"
He turns to Karen.

"Yes," Karen said, taking
his hand in hers. "It's called
stimming. It's a way for
your dad to self-soothe or
if jittery. It's usually when
really emotional or just
restless. And he does it to
help manage the input his
brain's receiving."

Chip's eyes widen.
"So it's for fun; can 
I try?" But Plankton 
shook his head. "No
Chip, it's not a toy 
for you.."

Karen squeezed Chip's
shoulder gently. "It's okay to
ask questions, honey," she
said. "But remember, everyone's
experience is different. For
your dad, he can stim by
fidgeting with his hands or
talking to himself. He might
hum or rock. But he doesn't
like it to be mimicked. It's
not for us to point out or
make comments on, unless to
offer support or ask if he'd
like help. It's just something
he does for himself, not for
us."

Chip nodded, his gaze
back on Plankton. "And
what about those moments
where you just... zone out?"
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly. "Those are called
absence seizures," he said.
"They're like staring spells.
They can happen anywhere,
anytime. It's like my brain
pauses for a bit. It can be
unsettling, but they usually
don't last long. Just stay
calm and let me know when
I come back, okay?"

"Okay," Chip said, nodding.
"What about when you get
upset and repeat words?"
Plankton sighed. "That's called
echolalia," he explained.
"It's when I repeat what
I've heard, or something
I've said before. It's a way
for me to cope with stress or
anxiety. Sometimes, it's just
easier than finding new
words. But usually it's to
process verbal directions.
Palilalia is all part of
the autism spectrum."

Karen watched 
the two of them, 
warmth spreading
through her heart. 

new dare to be different learncore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 14

The seizure seems to
last an eternity, each
second stretching into 
a minute. "Just keep 
talking to him. That's 
all we can do. Keep the
drawing out of his line of 
sight," Karen instructs, her
hands steady and calm.

Chip nods, his eyes 
never leaving his
father's face. "It's ok,
Dad," he repeats as
he folds up the paper.

Plankton's body stiffens
then relaxes, the seizure
passing into the postictal
phase. His single eye opens
slowly, unfocused. Karen
holds his hand, her voice
calm. "You're okay, you're
safe," she repeats.

Plankton's speech 
is slurred, a child-
like lilt to his words.
"Yi," he says. "Loog?"
He looks around, 
confusion clouding 
his features. Chip's 
heart breaks, but he
knows what to do.

"Hi, Dad," Chip says,
his voice gentle.
"You had a seizure,
but it's over now.
You're safe." Plankton's
eye widens, trying to
to sit up, but Karen
eases him back down.

"Shh," she whispers,
stroking his forehead.
"Easy, love. We're
right here."

Plankton's eye darts
around the room, his
speech coming out
in jumbles. "Ka...ken...
Utz...?" His voice
cracks, and Chip's heart
swells with love and
fear.

"It's okay, Daddy,"
Chip says, his voice
steady. "You're safe.
I'm sorry if I hu-"

But Plankton cuts him
off, his speech still
slurred, his thoughts
scattered. "Ha... happy?
Haff... h-elp?"

Karen's heart breaks as
she sees the fear in
his eye. "Yes, darling,"
she says, her voice
soothing. "We're here to
help. It's okay." She turns
to Chip. "Can you get a
stim toy?" Chip nods,
quickly retrieving a
soft, squishy ball from
the shelf. He brings it
over, placing it gently
by Plankton's hand.

"Dad, look," Chip
says, showing
Plankton the ball.
"Can you hold it?"

Plankton's hand
reaches for the ball,
his movements
slow and clumsy. He
squeezes it tentatively,
his face contorting
as if trying to remember
what it's for. His eye
is glazed, and his voice
slurred. "Buh," he says.
Karen nods at Chip.
"Good," she whispers.
"Keep it up."

Chip takes a deep
breath. "Can you
roll the ball over?"

Plankton looks at
his hand. "O... kay,"
he says, his voice
thick with confusion.
He rolls the ball
to Chip, his eye 
following its
path. "Ba... baball," he
mumbles. Chip's eyes
well up with tears
but he forces a smile.
"That's right, Dad,"
Chip says, his voice
shaky but hopeful
as he rolls the ball
back to him again.
"It's a ball. You can
roll it back to me."

The simple act of
interaction seems
to help Plankton.
He rolls the ball
to Chip, antennae
twitching slightly.
"Ga... game?" he
asks, his voice still
out of it.

Chip nods, his
smile growing.
"Yeah, Dad," he 
says. "We're 
playing catch.
Just like we
always do. Do
you remembe---"

But Plankton's
eye glazes over
again, his hand
dropping the
stim toy. "G-game,"
he stammers, his
speech jumbled.

"It's okay, Dad,"
Chip says, his voice
soothing despite his
concern. "You're safe
now." He picks up the
ball, rolling it back
to his father gently.

Plankton watches
the ball's journey with
sluggish curiosity, his
eye still unfocused.
"M-make... it... go?"
His hand reaches
out, his grip unsteady as
he tries to roll the ball
back. It wobbles before
finally reaching Chip.
"Good job, Dad," Chip
praises, his heart heavy.
"You're doing great."

Karen's eyes
are filled with
love. "Good
Chip, just keep
talking to him,"
she whispers.

Chip nods,
his voice shaky.
"Dad, remember
we talked about
how you see the
world?" Plankton's
single eye flickers,
his antennae moving
slightly. "You're so
good at making
things, because
you notice details
others don't. That's
because of your
autism. It's not a
weakness, it's a
strength."

Plankton's gaze
focuses a bit more,
his eye searching
Chip's face. "Ma...
make... things?" He
whispers. "Ma...
make... bah?"

Chip nods,
his smile gentle.
"You make amazing
things, Dad. Your
inventions are like
none other because of
how your brain works.
It's not a bad thing," he
says, trying to reassure
his father. "It's what makes
you, you."

Plankton's hand
shakes as he
fumbles with the
stim toy. "B-but...
Ka... Chi... Utch...?"

Karen sighs, her
heart aching. "It's okay,
love," she says, her
voice a gentle whisper.
"We're here. You're okay."

Plankton's hand
continues to fumble
with the ball, his
movements erratic and
slightly uncoordinated.
"Ma... mesh... ba...
baball?" he mumbles,
his brain still in a
state of confusion.
Chip nods, his
heart aching. "It's
okay, Dad," he says,
his voice filled with
patience. "You just had
a seizure. You need
some time to recover."

Karen watches as Chip
interacts with Plankton,
his words gentle and
understanding. She's
proud of how he's
handling the situation,
despite the fear that must
be coursing through
his young body. She
smiles at him, giving
a small nod of
encouragement.
Plankton's gaze
shifts, his eye
still not quite focused
as he laughs softly.

"Ma... m-m-make me,"
he stammers, his
voice childlike in 
innocence. "Meeeeeee.."

Karen's heart clenches
at the sound of his
babbling. She knows
this phase all too
well, the aftermath
of a seizure leaving
Plankton in a vulnerable,
confused state. "We're
right here, baby," she
coos, her hand
stroking his arm. She
knew the neuroregression
he experiences all too well.

new dare to be different seizurecore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 15

Chip's eyes are
filled with worry
as he watches his
father's struggle.
"Dad," he says, his
voice soothing. "We're
here. It's okay." He
reaches for the ball,
yet Plankton's hand
flaps it away, his gaze
distant. He starts to
laugh again.

"Ma... ma... make me
happy," Plankton says,
his voice a mix of
confusion and joy.
Karen's eyes water as
she sees the innocence
in her husband's gaze,
his autism making
his thoughts a tangled
mess. "You're okay,"
she whispers, her voice
soothing, but she plays 
along, knowing it's part of
his post-seizure state.
"Yes, love," she says.

Plankton giggles, his
hands flapping slightly.
"Ma... me... make... happy,"
he repeats, his eye
locking onto the squishy
ball. It's a sight that
makes Chip's heart
ache, but he joins in,
his voice gentle. "We're
playing catch, remember?"
He rolls the ball back
to Plankton, who's hand
reaches for it again,
his movements more
purposeful now. His
fingers graze the toy,
his laughter subsiding.
"Ga... good?" he says,
his voice a soft echo.

Karen nods, her eyes
brimming with tears.
"Yes, baby," she says.
"You're doing so good."

Plankton's hand closes
around the ball, his
grip firming as he tries
to focus, his antennae
twitching slightly as he
starts fully coming back,
groaning as he leans on
to his hands. He gets
himself upright, a bit 
confused/disoriented.

Chip's heart races as
he sees his father's
condition improve. "Dad,"
he says, his voice
filled with hope.
"Do you want to sit down?"
Plankton looks at
his son, his eye blinking
slowly as he tries to
process the words.
"Sit... down?" he
repeats. Karen nods,
gesturing to the bed.
"What happened?"
he asks, his voice
weak but growing 
more clear.

Karen sighs, her
hands shaking slightly.
"You had a seizure,
honey," she says, her
voice gentle. "But it's
over now."

Plankton's eye widen
slightly as he looks
around the room,
his mind slowly piecing
together the events.
"Oh," he murmurs, his
hand moving to his head.
"The... drawing?"

Karen nods, her voice
soft. "You got upset.
You had a seizure."

Plankton looks down
at the folded paper,
his expression a mix of
embarrassment and anger.
"I didn't mean to scare
you," he says, his voice
barely above a whisper.
"I'm s-sorry."

Chip's eyes widen,
his heart racing. "Dad,
I just wanted to make
you feel better."

Plankton's gaze
meets Chip's, his
expression filled with
remorse. "I know," he says,
his voice a mere murmur.
"But sometimes, it's just...
too much." He sighs, his
body still trembling slightly.
"I didn't mean to..."

Karen wraps an arm
around Plankton, her
eyes filled with love
and understanding. "It's
okay," she whispers. "We
know." She turns to Chip,
her expression earnest.
"Your dad's brain works 
differently, Chip. It's not 
his fault. And, it's not 
your fault for trying to 
be nice. We all just
need to find better ways to
support each other."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton. "I'm
sorry, Dad," he says,
his voice thick with
emotion. "I didn't know
it'd be rude, I just made
it to show how much I care."
Plankton's gaze softens
slightly, his antennae
twitching as he processes
his son's words.

"I know you did, buddy,"
Plankton says, his speech
still slurred. "But autism
isn't a costume or a
game. It's how I am."
He takes a deep breath,
his hand finding Karen's.
"It's hard for me to
explain sometimes. It's
just... it's complicated."
Chip nods, his eyes
filling with tears. "But
you're still my hero,"
he says, his voice shaky.
"And I'll always love you
no matter wh-"

But Plankton cuts
him off, his voice firm.
"I understand," he says,
his antennae flattening.
"I l-love y-you too. Yet
I'm not... I'm not okay
with this right now."

Karen looks at Chip,
her gaze pleading.
"Honey, why don't you
sit down? Let your dad
have a moment."

Chip nods, his
eyes brimming with
tears. He sits on the
edge of the bed,
his heart racing as he
watches his father.
Plankton's eye is
now focused, but the
exhaustion is palpable.

"I just want to
make sure you're okay,"
Chip says, his voice
barely a whisper. "I
don't want you to be
up-"

But Plankton shakes
his head. Karen sighs.
"Chip, he's okay. He
just needs his own
moment. He's not up
to talking right now."
Chip nods, his eyes
still on his father.

Chip watches as his 
dad's face twists into 
an expression of 
sadness. "It's not
a game," he murmurs,
talking to himself as
Karen recognized it as
his stim.

"I know," Chip says
quickly. "But it's part
of who you are. And
that's am-" "Chip,"
Karen interrupts, her
tone firm but gentle.
"Come sit by me on
my bed," Karen says,
getting off Plankton's
bed. Chip does so,
sitting on the bed
placed adjacent.

"Chip," Karen begins
quietly, "Your dad's 
talking to himself in
a stim, and it's not
for us to interrupt.
He's in his own 
personal space, and
he dislikes that right
now. Remember, his
stims are only for him
and we shouldn't make
a fuss about it. It's his
way, and he personally
gets frustrated when we
needlessly interrupt."

Chip nods, his
throat tight with
unshed tears. "I
just don't want him
to be sad," he says,
his voice quivering.

Karen hugs him
close. "I know, baby,"
she whispers. "But
sometimes, it's okay
for people to be sad.
And sometimes, the
best thing we can do
is just let them be. We
can't fix everything. All
his emotions are valid."
Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton.
He whispers, "I'll
always be here for
you, Dad."

Plankton's antennae
twitch as he hears
his son's words, his
stimming pausing briefly.
He looks over, his eye
meeting Chip's. "Thank
you," he murmurs. "I...
I just n-need a moment."
Chip nods, his heart
swelling with love
and regret.

new dare to be different seizurecore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 18

Karen moves quietly.
She gently shakes him.
"Plankton, wake up,"
she whispers. "The
therapist."

Plankton's antenna
twitches, his eye
slowly opening. "Oh,
right," he mumbles,
his voice groggy. "He
usually comes over
when Chip's at school
or someth-"

Plankton startled at
a knock on the front
door, the sensory
therapist arriving for
the session. Chip
follows his parents to
open the door.

The therapist, a calm
and kind octopus,
enters the room, her
arms filled with toys
and devices. She
smiles warmly at
Plankton. "Good
morning," she says.
"And who's this young
man I see?" She looks
at Chip. Chip smiles shyly.
"Our son Chip," Karen said,
introducing her son.
"He's here to learn too."
The therapist nods, her
eyes understanding. "It's
important for everyone to
understand, isn't it?" she
says, her voice gentle.
Karen turns to Chip. "So
Chip, this is Dr. Marla."

"Hello," Dr. Marla
says, coming in
to the living room.
"I've known your
father and worked
with him for ages.
Let's all sit on the
living room floor."

Chip nods, his heart
racing. This is the
first time he's met
someone who's known
his dad's secret. He
sits down next to
Plankton, who's now 
fully alert as they all
sit in a circle.

Dr. Marla opens
a bag filled with
various sensory
toys. "Plankton," she
says, her tone gentle,
"I assume your son
has learned about
your condition. How'd
that come about?"
Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly. "It was
an accident," he says,
his voice a mix of
embarrassment and
resignation. "But it led
to... to a good
discussion? It was
when he saw me having
one of my seizures.."

Chip looks down at
his hands, feeling
his cheeks grow warm
as he remembers that
moment. Karen's hand
finds his, giving it a
squeeze. "It's okay,"
she whispers. "You
can talk about it. Now
is the time to ask, Chip."

Dr. Marla nods. "And
how has that affected
your father and son 
relationship?" She asks.
Chip looks up, his eyes
meeting hers. "It's...
it's different," he says.
"But in a good way, I
think." He glances at
Plankton, who nods in
agreement. "I've learned
so much about his...
his autism. And I know
now that he's not just
being mean, sometimes."

Dr. Marla nods, her
expression gentle. "That's
important," she says. "It's
about understanding and
compassion. Now, I'd
like to ask if there have
been any mishaps with
said relationship?"

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye flicking to Karen.
"Well," Karen says, "There
was the time Chip tried
to be supportive, yet he
accidentally used a slur.."

The therapist nods
sympathetically. "It's a
learning process,"
she says, her tone
reassuring. "Missteps
are common when
navigating new
understandings." She
glances at Chip, her
expression encouraging.
"But it's how you
apologize and move forward
that shows growth. May I
ask what slur wa-"

"It was just a... a
silly thing I said," Chip
interjects, his voice
small. "I didn't kno—"

"It's okay," Dr. Marla
interrupts, her eyes
kind. "We're here to
learn together. What
was the slur?"

Chip swallows hard.
"I... I called him a
ret-" he admits, his
voice barely above a
whisper. "I just saw 
him acting..."

Plankton's antennae
twitch, his gaze dropping
to the floor. Karen's
grip on his hand tightens
slightly, a silent
reassurance. "It's okay,"
she whispers. "You didn't
kn-"

But Plankton's anger
surges up, cutting her
off. "No, it's not okay!"
he snaps, his voice
sharp. "I can't believe you
said it, again!" His eye
narrows, and he pulls
his hand away from
Karen's grasp.

Chip shrinks back, his
heart racing. He's never
seen his dad so upset
with him. "Dad, I'm
sorry," he stammers. "I
really di-"

But Plankton isn't
listening, his antennae
thrashing. "How could
you?!" he yells. "After
everything we talked
about!" His voice is
loud, echoing in the
small room, and Chip
flinches. Karen's eyes dart
between her husband and
son, her heart breaking
for both of them. She
knows Plankton's anger
is a defense mechanism,
a way to cope with
his pain. But she also
knows the pain Chip is
feeling, the guilt and
fear of losing his dad's
trust. "Plankton," she
says, her voice calm,
"Let's talk about this
with Dr. Marla; she's he--"

"No!" Plankton shouts,
his eye wide with rage.
He stands up, his fists
clenched as he grabs a
pillow, throwing it
across the room.

Karen flinches as
the pillow hits the
wall, but her voice
stays calm. "Plankton,
sweetie, let's breathe."
But Plankton's in
his own world, his
autism exacerbating
his reaction to the
painful word. He's
spinning, his antennae
thrashing as he searches
for something, anything
to release his anger.

"Dad," Chip whispers,
his voice trembling.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

But Plankton's in
the throes of his
tantrum, his body
moving erratically.
He grabs a book from
the shelf, tossing it
across the room.
Karen jumps up,
intervening before
anything else can fly.
"Plankton," she says
firmly, her voice a
steady force in the
storm of his anger.
"Look at me. Look at
me," she repeats, her
hands up, palms out.
"Just br-"

But Plankton isn't
calming down, his
eye wild, kicking a
chair over. Dr. Marla
approaches them.

"It's okay, Plankton,"
she says calmly. "Your
feelings are valid. But
right now, let's find a
better way to express
them." She holds out
a fidget toy, her voice
steady. "Remember,
this can he-"

But Plankton's anger
has taken over. He
swipes at the toy,
sending it flying. He
then moves to a shelf,
his hand grabbing a
picture frame. It hits
the floor. "No!" Karen
yells, but it's too late.

Dr. Marla approaches
Karen and Chip. "See,
this is the anger," she
says, her voice calm
and understanding. "It's
common with autism.
He's feeling overwhelmed
and doesn't know
how to express it.
This is Plankton's autism
flaring up, and this is
Plankton's way of
dealing with it. This is
Plankton's way of saying,
'I'm in pain, and I need
help.' Plankton is angry,
yes, but he's also scared." 

new dare to be different sensoryoverloadcore marla

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 19

Dr. Marla gestures
to the corner of the
room, where there's a
calming space set up
specifically for times
like these. "Let's go over
there," she suggests,
her voice calm and
soothing. But Plankton's
rage is like a tornado,
spinning him in circles.

Karen tries to guide
him gently, but he
shrugs her off, his
body tight with tension.
Chip's eyes are wide
with fear, watching his
dad's outburst. He's seen
his father's temper
before, but not like
this, not with such
unbridled fury.

Plankton's movements
are jerky, his face
distorted with anger
and pain. His breaths
are quick, his eye
unfocused. Karen
moves closer, her voice
still calm. "Let's go
to this calming corner,
sweetie," she says. But
Plankton's rage doesn't
abate. He throws
another pillow, knocking
over a lamp. The room
is a mess, a reflection
of the turmoil within
him.

"Dad, please," Chip
whispers, his voice
shaking. He's never
seen his dad like this,
his usually stoic
facade crumbling into
a chaos of emotions.

Plankton's body jerks,
his limbs flailing as
his anger escalates.
He knocks over a table,
his eye unseeing as
his senses overload.

Karen moves quickly,
trying to guide him
to the calming corner,
but he resists.
"Dad, please," Chip
pleads, his voice trembling.
But Plankton's anger is
uncontrollable, knocking
over furniture, his eye
filled with a mix of
fury and fear.

The therapist's calm
demeanor remains. She
knows this is part of
his condition, and she
doesn't flinch as a
book flies past her.
"Plankton," Karen says,
her voice firm but
gentle, "we need to—"

But Plankton isn't
listening, his rage
consuming him. He
grabs another pillow,
squeezing it tightly. His
eye darts around the
room, searching for an
outlet for his anger.
"Daddy, no!" Chip
whispers, his voice
shaking. His heart is
racing as he watches
his father, his hero,
fall apart.

Chip tries to
intervene, but
Plankton swats 
his hand away, 
his movements
wild. "Dad," Chip 
says, his voice 
louder, more
urgent. "Please, 
let's talk!" But 
Plankton can't 
hear him, his 
mind lost in
his emotions. 
He throws the 
pillow, watching
it soar through
the air before it
slams into the wall,
the feathers 
exploding out.

The room is a
whirlwind of 
movement and 
noise, and Chip 
can't help but 
flinch with every 
crash and smash. 
Karen's eyes are
wide, her face
pale. She's seen 
this before, but
it never gets
any easier.

Plankton's breaths
are coming in
quick gasps, his
body trembling
with the effort
of containing his
emotions. He throws
his head back, letting
out a scream that 
echoes through
the room, his antennae
whipping around. 
Karen's heart is in
her throat, but she 
knows she has to 
stay calm.

"Plankton," she says,
her voice steady.
"Come to the
corner, please." She
holds out a hand, 
but Plankton's too
far gone to see it. 
He throws another
book, his screams
filling the room.

Karen's heart is
racing, but she
keeps calm.
"We're here for
you," she repeats.
Yet Plankton's rage
continues to build,
his movements 
more erratic.

The therapist 
watches, ready to
step in if needed.
"It's okay," she says
soothingly. "Let's all
stay calm and sa-"

But Plankton's meltdown
reaches a crescendo.
He stumbles. Chip's eyes
widen in horror as
his father's body jerks
uncontrollably. So
Chip gets the box of
all the sensory items
and brings it out. But
that ends up being a
huge mistake.

Plankton's flailing ends
up kicking, sending every
thing flying, everything 
slamming into the wall,
the plaster cracking. The
destroyed sensory box
and unfixable items are
what breaks the straw on
the camel's back. His eye
rolls back in his head,
his body going slack.

Karen gasps, her hand
flying to her mouth.
"Plankton!" she cries out,
catching him as he falls.
Chip jumps forward, his
fear turning to dread.
But the sensory therapist
has seen it all before. "Let
him down gently, his body
and his brain have just
decided to take a break."

"But he's not moving,"
Chip cries, as Karen
lowers Plankton. Dr.
Marla opens her bag.

"It's okay," she says
calmly, her voice steady.
"This is called a shut-
down. His body has
simply had enough. But
I've got some new stuff
for him. I'll show you as
I set it up." 

new dare to be different sensoryoverloadcore marla

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 20

Dr. Marla opens her
bag, pulling out an
extending rod black
out curtain. "It kinda
looks like a shower
curtain, but these
curtains muffle sound
and block light."

Karen nods, her eyes
on Plankton's still
form. "We've tried
things before, but
this is new." Dr.
Marla nods. "We're
always learning,
aren't we?" She unfurls
the curtain around
Plankton, creating a
small, cozy space. "This
will help him feel
safe and reduce his
sensory input. It's
good for absence
seizures too."

Plankton's breathing
slows as he sinks
into the curtained
cocoon. Dr. Marla
continues. "It's like
you power off a tablet
to restart, and it will
gradually come back
on, right? That's what
Plankton's doing. And
as he 'reloads' he might
act like a newborn seeing
the world for the first time
as he wakes up. Meaning
he might not recognize
anything, speak incoherently,
etc. Plankton might take a
little while to fully come
back. Like a file downloads
it loads info little by little
until it's finished, only
then can you view it; so as
with Plankton's consciousness."

Karen nods, her eyes
never leaving her husband.
Her heart aches for him,
but she knows that he's safe,
his body cocooned in the
sensory curtain. Chip, still
shaking, watches his dad,
his eyes wide as Plankton's
eye blinks open. His gaze is
as if he's trying to
relearn his body. "K-kay?"

Karen smiles softly, her
voice gentle. "It's okay,
sweetie," she says, her
hand reaching for the
curtain. "Your dad's just
restarting, remember?"

Chip nods, his eyes
glued to Plankton's
form as he sits up,
his eyes blinking
slowly. "Hi," Chip
whispers, his voice
barely above a breath.

Plankton's eye
focuses on him, and
his mouth moves, but
only one word comes
out: "Hi." It's a
tiny victory, but
Chip feels a surge
of relief. He knows
his dad is okay, or
at least on his way
back to okay.
Dr. Marla nods.
"It's normal for
someone coming
out of a shut-
down to speak in
single words or not
at all for a while."

Karen strokes
Plankton's antenna.
"How do you feel?"
she asks softly.
Plankton's gaze is
vacant, his voice
weak. "Sedm."
Chip looks at him
confused, his heart
racing. "Dad?"
The therapist nods.
"It's normal," she says.
"After a shut-down,
his words may come
slowly. Give him
space, let him come
back to us."

Plankton blinks,
his eye unfocused.
"Mm." It's all he says,
his mouth moving
slightly, as if tasting
the air for words.
Karen nods encouragingly.
"Good job," she murmurs.
"You're doing great."
Chip feels like he's
watching a newborn
learn to speak again.

The therapist sits
beside Plankton, her
voice calm. "Would you
like a new fidget toy?"
"Buth," he mumbles, his
eye still glazed. His
brain isn't comprehending.

Karen nods, her hand
gently taking the toy.
"It's okay," she says, her
tone soothing. "You
just need to relax."
Plankton takes the
fidget toy, his hand
shaking. He clutches it,
his gaze unseeing.

Chip sits cross-
legged, his heart
pounding. He watches
his dad, his mind
racing. Why is he
like this? He's so
smart, so capable, but
right now, he seems
so... lost. "Thuh..."
Plankton whispers.

Karen nods, her
voice soft. "Take your
time," she says. "We're
not going anywhere."
Chip nods, his throat
tight. "I'm here," he
says, his voice barely
a murmur.

Plankton's hand
shakes, his grip
on the fidget toy
loosening. His eye
blinks rapidly, his mind
trying to come back
online. "Ba-back?"
he whispers, his voice
tiny.

The therapist, Dr. Marla,
sits back, her eyes
assessing. "It's normal,"
she repeats. "Your brain
needs a moment to
recalibrate." Plankton's
breathing slows, his
body uncurling from
its defensive ball. He
takes the fidget toy,
his hand trembling.

Karen's heart aches as
she watches her husband
struggle to find words.
Chip's eyes are wide
with concern, but he
doesn't interrupt, giving
his dad space. "Th-the...
hash?" Plankton says, his
voice barely a whisper.

The therapist nods.
"Good," she says. "Keep
going." Plankton's hand
shakes, the fidget toy
clutched tightly. "Doge."
Karen smiles gently. "Yes,
you're getting there," she
says. Chip watches, his
heart in his throat.

"Toy?" Plankton says,
his voice a little
stronger. Dr. Marla
smiles. "Yes, the toy
is helping," she says.
"Keep playing with it."
Plankton nods, his hand
moving slightly as he
flips the fidget toy in
his hand. "Yea," he whispers.

Chip watches his dad,
his own hands still. He's
seen Plankton in tough
situations before, but
never like this. It's like
his mind is a computer
that's been hit by a
virus, trying to reboot
with only basic
functions. "Dad," he
says, his voice filled with
longing. "Can you tell me
what yo-"

But Plankton's gaze
remains unfocused, his
mouth moving slightly.

"Chip," Karen says,
interrupting gently. "Give
him a minute, okay?"
Chip nods, his eyes
still on his father. He
doesn't want to leave, but
he understands. He sits
back, his heart racing as
he watches Plankton's
slow progress.

Plankton's hand
moves, the fidget toy
spinning in his grip.
"Good," he murmurs, his
voice a little stronger.
"Home." The word is a
relief, a sign that he's
coming back to them. Karen
smiles, her eyes filled
with love and concern.
"Would you like to sit up?"
she asks, her voice soft.
Plankton nods, his body
moving in slow motion
as he sits. The curtain is
still up, creating a
small, safe space for him.

Chip watches, scared,
but he's also in awe of his
dad's strength. Plankton,
his hero, who's faced so
much and is still here.
"D-dad," he says, his voice
shaking. "You okay?"
Plankton's eye flicks
to Chip, his mouth
opening slightly. "Yeahhh."
It's a simple word, but
it feels like a lifeline.
"Need?" he whispers,
his voice strained.

Karen nods, her hand
still on his back. "We're
here," she says, her eyes
never leaving him. "We're
always here for you."
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye focusing a little
more. "Th-thank," he
stammers. Chip feels his
heart swell with love.
He's still in there,
his mind just needs 
to recalibrate.

new dare to be different sensoryoverloadcore marla

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 21

The room is quiet,
except for the soft
whir of the fidget toy.
Plankton's breathing
evened out, his eye
focusing on the spinning
discs. "More?" he asks,
his voice a whisper.
Karen nods, her heart
swelling with pride.
"You're doing so well,"
she says, her voice
gentle. "We're here for
you." Chip's eyes are
wet, but he nods in
agreement. He wants
to hug his dad, but
he knows Plankton needs
his space right now.

Plankton's hand shakes
as he holds the fidget
toy, his gaze fixed
on it. "Ma-more?" he
asks again, his voice
still a whisper. Dr.
Marla nods, reaching
for a weighted blanket.
"Let's try this," she
suggests, her tone calm.
Karen helps drape it
over him, the heavy
material grounding him.
"Ma-make it," he says,
his voice slightly
stronger. Chip's heart
leaps at the sound. "Make
what?" he asks, his voice
eager.

But Plankton can't
quite articulate. He
just shakes his head,
his eye squeezed shut.
"M-make," he repeats,
his frustration clear.
Karen nods, her hand
on his shoulder. "We
know you can," she says.
"Ma-make it st-sto-"
He stammers, his
body trembling with
the effort of speech.
"Ma-make it stop," he
whispers, his voice
breaking. His gaze
meets Chip's, desperation
in his eye.

Chip looks up at the
therapist, his eyes
pleading for guidance.
"What do we do?"
Dr. Marla nods, her
expression calm. "Just
keep talking to him," she
instructs. "Use simple
words, and let him
know you're here."

So Chip does, his voice
softer than ever. "Dad,
we're with you." 
Karen's eyes are wet, but
she smiles encouragingly.
"You're doing so good,"
she says, her voice
barely above a murmur.

Plankton's hand clutches
the blanket, his breath
coming in quick gasps.
"Ma-make," he says again,
his voice strained.
"Ma-make it sto-"

Karen nods, her voice
soothing. "You're
doing so well, sweetie,"
she says. "Keep going."
Chip watches, his eyes
filled with hope.
"Ma-make it qui-et,"
Plankton whispers, his
body still trembling.

The therapist nods,
understanding. "Let's
turn down the lights,"
she suggests, her voice
calm. Karen nods and
moves to the switch, the
room plunging into a
soft glow. "Ma-more?"
Plankton whispers.
"Ma-make it qui-et,"
he repeats, his hand
flapping slightly. Karen's
heart aches, but she
nods. "We're here," she
says, her voice steady.

Chip looks around, his
thoughts racing. "How-
how do we do that?"
he asks, his voice
shaking. Dr. Marla
smiles gently. "Just talk
to him," she says. "Keep
your words simple, and
use a sensory toy to help."

So Chip picks up
a small, squishy ball,
its surface covered
in bumps. "Dad," he
says, his voice soft.
"Look." Plankton's eye
sluggishly turns to the
toy. "Ball," Chip says,
his voice clear. Plankton's
gaze flicks to the
therapist, then back to
Chip, his mouth
moving slightly. "Bah,"
he tries, his voice
barely a whisper. It's a
start, a tentative step
forward in understanding.

The therapist nods.
"Good," she says. "Keep
trying." Plankton's hand
reaches out, his grip
weak. Chip places the
ball in his palm, and
his dad's eye light up
slightly. "Bowl," he says,
his voice a little
stronger. It's a simple
word, but it feels like a
breakthrough.

Chip nods, a smile
spreading across his
face. "Ball," he repeats,
his voice encouraging.
"Ball," Plankton says,
his tongue wrapping
around the word
slightly. "Ball." It's a
small victory, but it's
enough to make Chip's
heart soar. He picks up
another toy, a plush
octopus. "Dad, look,"
he says, his voice
trembling. "Octo."
Plankton's gaze
shifts, his antennae
twitching slightly. "Ah-
pple," he says, his voice
confused. "No," Chip says
gently, taking the octopus.
"This is octo. Octo." He
shakes it slightly, the
legs flailing. "See?"

Plankton's eye widens
slightly, his mouth
forming an "o." "Ah-
tto," he whispers. It's not
perfect, but it's a start.
Karen's hand squeezes
his shoulder. "Good
job, Plankton," she says,
her voice filled with
relief. The therapist
smiles, her eyes
observing them both. "Keep
going," she says. "This
is great progress."

Chip holds up the
octopus closer to
him. "But-but," 
Plankton murmurs.
Karen smiles. "You 
can do it." Plankton's
hands are still, his gaze
locked on the octopus.
"Octo," Chip says again.

Plankton's eye blinks
slowly, his mouth
moving. "Ah-tto," he 
tries again, his voice
slightly louder. Chip's
heart skips a beat. 
"No," he says gently.
"Octo." He waves the
toy in front of him.
"Octo." Plankton's antennae
twitch, his mouth
forming the word.
"Octo," he repeats, his
voice stronger. Chip
can't help the grin that
spreads across his face.

"Good," Dr. Marla says,
nodding. "Keep working
together." Karen's hand
squeezes Chip's shoulder,
pride in her eyes. Plankton
holds the octopus, his hand
still shaking. "Ma-make
it sp-spin?" he asks, his
voice hopeful. Chip nods,
his hand steady. He
spins one of the octopus's
arms. "Spin," he says.

Plankton's eye follows the
spinning arm, his gaze
focused. "Spin," he whispers,
his tongue working the
word. "Spin." His voice
grows stronger, the word
becoming more than just a
sound. "Spin," he says,
his hand tentatively reaching
for an arm. "Mo-
re," he whispers, his
hand reaching out. Karen
smiles encouragingly. "Good
job," she says. "Keep
talking to us."

Chip nods, his heart
racing. He holds up
another toy, a shiny
spinner. "Dad," he says,
his voice hopeful. "See
this?" Plankton's antennae
twitch. "Spin?" he asks,
his voice a question.
"Yes," Chip says, his
voice steady. "Spin." He
flips the spinner, watching
the colors blur.

Plankton's eye follows
the movement, his mouth
opening slightly. "Clis,"
he whispers, his voice
barely audible. Karen
smiles, her eyes shining.
"Keep going," she says.
"You're doing so well."

Chip nods, his hand
steadier. "Dad, watch,"
he says, his voice filled
with hope. He picks
up a small, plush star,
its material soft and
comforting. "Look," he
says, his voice clear.
"This is star." Plankton's
eye flicks to the toy,
his hand reaching out. "Sta,"
he tries, his tongue
sluggish. Chip nods, his
heart racing. "Yes," he
whispers. "Star."

new dare to be different sensoryoverloadcore marla

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 22

Karen watches, her eyes
glistening. "Keep
going," she says, her
voice filled with
admiration. Plankton
fumbles with the star,
his hand shaking. "Sta,"
he whispers again, his
voice stronger. "Sta."
The therapist smiles.
"This is excellent," she
says. "Keep up the good
work." Chip's eyes are
on his dad, his mind
racing with ideas for
more words.

"D-dad," Chip says,
his voice gentle. "Look
at me." Plankton's
gaze shifts to Chip,
his eye unfocused.
"Look at me." Plankton's
eye narrows slightly,
his antennae twitching.
Karen's hand strokes
his shoulder. "Come
back to us," she says.
"Ma-make it... Ma-make
it... qui-et?" he whispers.

The therapist nods.
"Good job," she says,
smiling. "Keep focusing
on the toy." Chip
holds the star closer.
"This is... star," he says,
his voice calm. Plankton's
eye follows the toy,
his hand reaching out.
"Sta," he murmurs. "Yes,"
Karen says, her voice
soothing. "It's a star."
Plankton's hand
closes around the
star, his grip firm. "Sta,"
he repeats, his voice
growing stronger.

Chip feels his heart
swell with hope. He
picks up a small, plush
dolphin. "Dad," he says,
his voice clear. "Look."
Plankton's gaze shifts,
his hand still shaking.
"Dolf," he says, his voice
slurred. Chip nods. "Yes,
it's a dolphin. Can you say
dolphin?" Plankton tries, his
mouth moving slightly.
"Dolf," he whispers. Chip's
face lights up. "Yes,"
he says, his voice filled
with excitement. "Dolf."

The therapist smiles,
seeing the progress.
"Keep it up," she says.
"You're both doing
wonderfully." Plankton's
hand clutches the dolphin,
his gaze unfocused.
Karen's heart aches, but
she knows this is a step
forward. "You're doing
so good," she says.

Chip nods, his eyes
on his dad. "More?"
he asks. Plankton's eye
flicks to him, his mouth
opening slightly. "Ma-make?"
he whispers. Karen's
hand squeezes his shoulder.
"What else would
you like?" Plankton's hand
shakes, the dolphin
dropping to the floor.
"Ma-make it... K-Karen.
Neeeed Karen!"

Karen's eyes fill
with tears, but she
smiles, her voice gentle.
"I'm right here," she
says, moving closer.
"Yo--"

Plankton's body jerks
slightly, his gaze
shifting to her. "Ka,"
he whispers, his voice
a plea as tears stream
down his face. Karen's
heart breaks, but she
smiles. "I'm here," she says,
her voice a lifeline.
"Karen," he repeats,
his hand reaching out
but not recognizing her.

Karen takes his hand,
her eyes never leaving
his. "You're okay,"
she whispers, her voice
soothing. "I'm right
here." Plankton's eye
lock onto hers, his tears
falling harder. "Karen,"
he says again, his voice
a desperate whimper.

Chip watches, his heart
wrenched. He's never
seen his dad like this,
so vulnerable and lost.
He picks up the dolphin,
his hand trembling. "Dad,"
he says, his voice gentle.
"This is do-"

But Plankton's cry
interrupts him, his
body trembling. "Karen!"
he sobs, his hand reaching
for her. Karen takes
his hand, her eyes
filled with love. "You're
right here," she whispers.
"I'm right here with yo-"

But Plankton's cries
grow louder, his grip
on her hand tightening.
"Karen! Need Karen!" His
eye is wild, his body
shaking uncontrollably.
Karen's heart aches as
she tries to calm him,
her voice steady. "You
have me," she says. "I'm
right here." But he's lost
in his own world, his
fear overwhelming his
senses.

"Karen," he sobs, his
voice breaking. Chip's
heart is in his throat, his
hands clutching the
dolphin toy tightly. He's
never seen his dad so
desperate, so lost. The
therapist, Dr. Marla,
watches them, her eyes
knowledgeable. "It's
okay," she says, her
voice calm. "This is part
of the process." But Chip
can't help feeling
helpless, his mind racing
to find a way to reach
his dad.

Karen's eyes never
leave Plankton's as she
speaks to him gently. "You
have me," she repeats,
her voice a lullaby. "I'm
right here." Plankton's
grip on her hand is
crushing, his sobs
becoming more
desperate. "Karen! Ka-
ren!" he cries, his body
wracked with tremors.
Karen's eyes fill with
determination. "I know
you're scared," she whispers.
"But I'm here. You're sa-"

Her words are cut
off by another sob from
Plankton. Chip feels his
heart tear in two, watching
his father's agony. "Dad,"
he says, his voice shaking.
"We're here." But Plankton's
gaze remains unfocused,
his mind lost in a
whirlwind of overstimulation.

Karen's eyes are wet,
but she keeps talking,
keeping her voice steady.
"You're okay," she says,
her hand stroking his
back. "You're safe." Plankton's
body convulses, his cries
escalating. "Karen!" he
wails, his voice raw.
"Need Karen!"

The therapist nods
at Karen, her gaze
compassionate. "Keep
going," she whispers. "This
is a breakthrough."
Karen's voice is a beacon
in the storm. "You have
me," she repeats. "You
have us."

Plankton's cries
turn into sobs, his
body convulsing with the
force of his emotions.
Karen's hand remains
steady on his back, her
heart breaking for him.
"You're okay," she
soothes, her voice a gentle
wave of comfort. "We're
right he--"

But Plankton's panic
doesn't abate. "Karen!"
he cries out, his voice
shattered. "Need Karen!"
Chip feels his own tears
burn his cheeks as he
watches his father's pain.
"Dad," he whispers, his
voice trembling. "You're
not alone." But Plankton's
eye is wild, his mind a
tempest of fear and
overwhelming stimuli.

Karen leans in, her
face close to his. "Look
at me," she says, her
voice firm but gentle.
"You're safe with me."
Plankton's gaze shifts,
his sobs quivering his
body. "Safe? If with Karen
safe.."

Karen's hand moves to
his cheek, her thumb
wiping away a tear.
"Look at me," she says
again, her voice a soft
command. "You're okay."

new dare to be different sensoryoverloadcore marla

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 23

Plankton's sobs echo
through the room, his
body shaking with the
force of his emotions.
"Karen," he whispers,
his voice hoarse.

Karen's eyes are wet,
but she holds his gaze,
her voice a lifeline.
"I'm here," she says, her
hand steady on his cheek.
"You're safe." Plankton's
breath hitches, his eye
flickering with recognition.
"Safe," he repeats, his
voice a mere breath.

The therapist nods
encouragingly, her eyes
on the two of them. "Keep
going," she murmurs. "You're
getting through to him."

Karen's eyes never
leave Plankton's. "You're
safe," she repeats, her
tone soothing. "You're with
me, and Chip." Plankton's
sobs slow, his body
still trembling. "Wi-with
me," he whispers, his
hand tightening on hers.

The therapist nods,
smiling slightly. "Good,"
she says. "Keep it simple."
Karen nods, her voice
steady. "You're okay,
Plankton," she says. "We're
right here." Plankton's
breathing hitches, his
body slowly calming, when
Krabs barges in.

Krabs hadn't seen his
rival Plankton much so
he thought perhaps
Plankton's up to some
thing big. "Alright, funny
business; where are ye-"

But then he sees the
scene before him as
Plankton once again slips
into a shut-down, his
body going limp in Karen's
arms. Chip's eyes widen
with fear, the room
spinning. "Dad!" he cries.
"It's okay," Dr. Marla says.

Krabs freezes, his eyes
taking in Plankton's
state. "What in Neptune's
name is goin' on here?"
his voice gruff, but
concerned as he never
knew of Plankton's
neurodisability.

Karen's gaze
meets his, her 
voice steady. "It's a
sensory overload,"
she explains. "When
his mother was to
give birth, somehow his
head got stuck. It was
nobody's fault, just
a tough delivery. But it
caused his brain
structure to develop
differently. When he
got stuck, the lack
of oxygen and blood
flow, along with
pressure, affected the
way his neurons
connect. And some
parts of his brain just
couldn't handle the
stress, dwindling and
pretty much depleted
the resources that
were allocated for his
senses and social skills."

Krabs' eyes
widen, his usual
grumble replaced with
a rare moment of
sympathy. "So that's
why he's always been...
Neptune." he says.

Karen nods, her
expression calm but
sorrowful. "It leads
to moments like what
you're seeing right now,"
Dr. Marla explains.

Krabs looks at Plankton,
his eyes filled with a
mixture of shock and
remorse. "But he
always seemed so...
I'll leave ye alone." He 
leaves with a heavy heart.

Chip wipes at his own
tears, feeling a weight
lifting. "Dad," he says,
his voice shaking.
"You're okay." Plankton's
breathing slows, his grip
on Karen's hand loosening
as he rubs his eye, finally
coming back to them.

Plankton looks around,
his gaze confused. "Huh?"
he murmurs. Karen nods,
smiling through her
tears. "You're okay," she
says again. "You had a
big moment, but you're
safe now." Plankton's eye
finds Chip, and his
expression relaxes slightly.
"Where," he says, his voice
still weak.

Karen's voice is soft.
"You're at home," she
explains. "Dr. Marla is
gonna get going, but
you gotta new box
of sensory items!" She
says, deliberately leaving
Mr. Krabs’s discovery out.
They all knew he won't 
take it lightly.

Dr. Marla leaves, 
and Chip smiles,
his eyes shining. 
"You're all better," 
he says, his voice 
filled with relief.

Meanwhile, Krabs
went to his own
home feeling quite
conflicted with new
found knowledge
of Plankton's autism.

He'd always seen
his rival as a mere
annoyance, a pebble in
his otherwise smooth
existence. But now,
he couldn't shake the
image of Plankton's
desperate sobs and
his own lack of
understanding.

Krabs sat in his
dimly lit bedroom,
thoughts racing as he
stared at the wall.
He'd never known
Plankton's struggles
went so deep, that
his brain was wired
differently. It made
sense now, the way
his rival would react
to things dramatically. 
The way he'd just
bluntly speak his mind.
He'd just thought Plankton
was weird, but now,
he knew better.

The next day, Krabby
Patty's sales were
booming, but Krabs'
mind was elsewhere.
He thought of what
Karen told him about
Plankton's birth and his
autism. It was a lot to
take in, but he couldn't
decide how to interact
whenever Plankton next
comes around. He knew
Plankton has no idea that
he found out.

As he counted his
money, his heart felt
heavier than the
gold coins. He'd always
seen Plankton as a
nuisance, a constant
thorn in his side. But
now, he saw a different
side to him. A side that
was struggling, a side
that was just trying to
navigate a world that
wasn't made for him.

Krabs sighs, his
thoughts deep. He 
knew he couldn't 
bring himself to
mock Plankton 
anymore, yet he
knew Plankton might
be suspicious if he
suddenly acts any
different than their
usual competitiveness.
He decided to keep
his newfound
understanding to
himself, for now, but
his interactions
could be more
considerate.

Moments later
Plankton, obviously
oblivious to the
shift in Krabs'
demeanor, attempts
to steal the Krabby
Patty secret formula.

Krabs, still deep in
thought, catches him
mid-sneak by the
cash register as the
cashier, Squidward,
read some magazine.

Plankton's antennae
perk up as he's caught.
"Mr. Krabs," he stammers,
his eye darting around.
"Just... just popping
in for a... uh...chat?" 
Plankton lied, his usual
bravado apparent.

Mr. Krabs looks at
his rival, his expression
unreadable. "Oh, I see,"
he says, his voice calm.
Plankton didn't notice
the subtlety of Krabs’s
tone being a bit nicer.

new dare to be different sensoryoverloadcore marla

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 26

The room is silent
except for the sound of
his quiet sobs, his body
shaking with the force
of his emotion. The pillow
is damp from his tears.
He clutches it tightly to his
chest. His antennae
hang limply, no longer
twitching with his usual
energy. "It's not your fault,"
he whispers again, his voice
shaking. "It's not your
fault. Why did it take this
for him to see me?" He
wipes his eye with the
back of his hand, sniffling.
"But he did see me," he says,
his voice a little stronger.
"He saw me and didn't
laugh."

He lies down, his body
exhausted from the day's
emotional rollercoaster. The
weight of his thoughts
presses down on him like
a heavy blanket, making
his eyelid feel heavy.
He takes deep breaths, his
body slowly calming down.
"It's not your fault," he whispers,
his voice barely audible.
"You're not."

The darkness of the
room envelops him, the
silence a stark contrast
to the cacophony of his
thoughts. His hand reaches
for a favorite plushie,
the small, squishy octopus
that Chip had picked out
for him. He squeezes it tightly,
his body curling around it.
The softness and familiarity
of it grounds him, bringing
a small measure of comfort.
"It's not your fault,"
he murmurs, his voice
like a lullaby to himself.

Plankton's sobs
have slowed, his breaths
now hitching in his chest.
His antennae lie flat, his
body still. The words
repeat in his head, a
comforting mantra. "It's not
your fault." He whispers it
again and again, his voice
soft and soothing.

He closes his eye,
his grip on the plushie
loosening slightly. His
thoughts are a jumble,
but he tries to sort
them out, one by one.
Krabs had seen his
weakness, his fear, and
instead of mocking him,
he'd been... kind.

Plankton's mind reels
with the implications.
Was it pity?
Or could it be...
respect? He doesn't
know. All he knows
is that it feels...
different.

The darkness wraps
around him like a cocoon,
his plushie a silent
witness to his pain.
His thoughts swirl.
What does it mean?
Does Krabs really see
him now? Or is this
just a fluke?

Yet his breathing 
evens out, his body 
relaxing into the 
embrace of the bed.
as sleep claims him.

The room is
still, his plushie
a silent sentinel
keeping watch over
his slumber. His
stims cease, his
hands uncurling from
their tight fists. His
eyelid flutters closed,
his antennae drooping.

Plankton's breathing
deepens, his body
surrendering to sleep.

Karen, outside the door,
leans closer, finally heard 
the gentle snores that 
signal he's asleep. She
wipes a tear from her 
eye and slowly opens the 
door, peeking in to check 
on her husband.

Plankton's body is
still, his antennae no 
longer quivering with
stress. He's curled into 
a tiny ball, his plushie 
pressed against his 
chest.

Karen watches from the
doorway, her heart
heavy with the weight
of emotions. She 
wants to rush in, to 
pull him into a tight
embrace, to whisper that
everything will be okay.
But she knows better.
He needs this space, this
silence, to process today.

The next morning, Karen
awakes to find Plankton
sitting by her on her bed,
holding hands.

"I'm sorry," he says.
"For what?" she asks.
"For pushing you away."
Karen shakes her head.
"You didn't push me away,"
she says, squeezing his hand.
"You needed space."
Her voice is gentle.
"It's okay to be upset."
Her eyes are filled with
understanding. "It's okay
to need time."

He looks at her, his
eye searching. "But I
was mean," he whispers.
"No, you're overwhelmed."
Her smile is soft. "And
that's okay. I know it's a
lot to take in." Plankton
nods slowly.

They sit in silence,
their hands entwined. Karen's
thumb strokes the back of
his hand, a soothing gesture
that Plankton has come to
rely on. "I'm here," she says.
"I'll always be here." He
swallows hard, his antennae
twitching. "Thank y-you,"
he whispers.

Suddenly, there's a
knock on the front
door. Chip's camp
friend, JoJo, was
here to visit Chip.
"Hi, JoJo!" he says,
opening the door wide.
"How are you?" JoJo
smiles shyly. "I'm okay,"
they said, their eyes
darting around. "Do your
parents know about me?"

Chip shook his head.
"I haven't really gotten
around to talking much
about camp because
uh, family situation.
Everything's fine though!"

Karen heard the door
and talking. "Who's
Chip talking to?" "I
don't know Plankton,
but it doesn't sound
like Krabs. I'll go check!"

She left the bedroom,
her heart racing. Who
did Chip let in?

"Oh, my mom's coming!"
Chip says to JoJo. "Mom,
meet JoJo; I met them at
my camp!" Karen enters
the living room. "Well, it's
nice to me—" Karen falters
at the sight of JoJo.

JoJo has two heads,
each looking at her
with a shy smile. She
quickly recovers, her
face a mask of polite
interest. "Hello," she says,
extending her hand. "It's
um, nice to meet you, JoJo?"
she says awkwardly, not sure
how to greet someone
with two heads. She never
even knew such a condition
existed! Her eyes darted
between Chip and JoJo.

Chip's grin is wide,
his eyes shining with
excitement. "Yeah, JoJo's
my new friend from camp!"
he says. Karen's heart
swells with pride at her
son's openness and
kindness. JoJo's heads nod
in unison, their eyes sparkling.
"Hi, Mrs. Plankton," one head says,
while the other nods, adding, "It's
great to meet you!" Karen's hand
shakes JoJo's, her mind racing
with questions. How does it feel
to be two in one? How do they
see the world? How do they...
WHAT?

Her thoughts stumble
over themselves, and she
quickly recovers with a
warm smile. "Welcome
to our home," she says,
hoping to cover her initial
shock. But JoJo notices.

"It's okay," one of JoJo's
heads says with a gentle
smile. "Lots of people
are surprised at first."
The other head nods. "I
get it," they add. "It's just
how we are. We identify
as one person." Karen's
mouth opens and closes,
trying to find the right
words. "Okay! Um... I, I'm
sorry if I was rude," she
stammers. "I just wasn't
expecting... I mean, it's just
that..."

"You're not the first,"
the second head says with
a laugh. "And you won't be
the last." JoJo's eyes, all
of them, are kind. "It's
fine, really. And I know
what you're wondering, but
our parents are both single-
headed," they explain. Karen
can't help but laugh a
little, her nerves easing.
"Chip's dad, just to warn
you, can be blunt. He's
curious and loves science
so I'm sure he'll most likely
ask more questions," Karen
tells JoJo.

JoJo nods, both heads
thinking the same thing.
"It's okay," they say. "We're
used to it." Karen looks
at her son, who's
beaming, his face lit up
by the simple joy of
having a friend over. "So,
what do you want to do?"
Chip asks, his voice
excited. JoJo's heads look
at each other, then back
at Chip. "How about a
game?" they suggest.

new dare to be different headcore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 27

Plankton ventured out
of the bedroom to find
Karen and Chip, but also
two guests? He heard
the knock on the door
and came to see, not
yet noticing the heads
shared the same body.

"Hi, Dad!" Chip called
out. "This is JoJo, my
new camp friend!"

Plankton emerged
from the hallway. "I
didn't know we're
having company.."

He saw Chip and...
another child? But 
he was coming from
the side, not seeing
that they're one kid.

Plankton approached, his
eye squinting. "Hi," he
managed, his voice a
little unsure. "And, who's
the other one?" He asks,
pointing to the other.
"They're both JoJo,"
Chip clarifies, his voice
filled with excitement.

"Hello!" JoJo says
as they turn to face
Plankton, now in
front of him. He then
sees the one body,
sharing both heads.

Plankton's antennae
twitch in surprise,
his eye wide. "You're
joined," he states, his voice
soft and curious. JoJo nods,
both heads tilting slightly.
"Bicephalous," they explain.
"It's a rare condition. We
aren't twins, yet we share
a body. It's complicated
to explain!" One head
giggles while the other
says, "I'm sure you being 
a one header won't know
what it's like to have both
teachers and students see
you as the class weirdo
despite getting good grades.."

Plankton's eye narrows.
"What do you mean?" "I
mean, Chip says you're
so good at science. We
bet the other one headers
loved you for it!" JoJo says.
"We're smart, but some
weren't so accepting and
had to sometimes get taken
out of class just because
of how we're born! But you're
lucky to be admired for your
intelligence without worrying
about bullies.."

Plankton's gaze falters.
Being autistic, he's gone
through the same thing!
Despite being the best
at science, he's been 
singled out repeatedly.

He looks at JoJo, his
heart aching. He knows
exactly what it's like to
be seen as different, to
have people whisper about
you, to be misunderstood.
He takes a deep breath,
his antennae drooping.
"Actually," he says, "I've a
neurodisability, making some
stuff easier but others hard."

JoJo's heads lean in,
their curiosity piqued.
"Oh, cool!" one says. "What
kin-"

But Karen cuts
them off. "He's
a bit sensitive
about it, with his
own experiences,"
she explains gently.
JoJo nods. "We all
have things," they say.

Plankton looks at
them, his antennae
twitching in thought.
"Would you like to
play?" Chip asks,
his voice hopeful. JoJo
nods, their heads bobbing.
"Sure, I'd love to,"
they say.

JoJo follows Chip to
his bedroom, leaving
Karen and Plankton
face to face.

Karen looks at him,
concern etched into
every line of her
face. "Are you okay?"
she asks, her voice
gentle. Plankton nods,
his antennae still. "I'm
fine," he says, his voice
quiet. "It's just..." He
pauses, searching for
the right words. "It's just
that JoJo, they're...
different, more than me."

He sighs, looking at
his son's retreating
back. "I know how
it feels to be... less
than, to be seen as a
freak," he whispers. Karen
squeezes his hand. "You're
not a freak, Plankton."
Her voice is firm, her gaze
steady. "You're you.
And you're incredible."

He looks at her, his
eye glistening. "But what if
Chip... what if he
doesn't understand?"
Her grip tightens. "Chip
understands more than you
think. And JoJo, they're
different too, in their
own way. They'll learn
from each other."

Their eyes lock, and
Plankton sees the love
and determination in
Karen's gaze. He nods.
"Okay," he says, his voice
shaky. "Okay."

They walk into
Chip's room, where
the two children are
already engrossed in
a board game, their
heads bent over the
colorful pieces. Plankton
watches them, his antennae
twitching.

The sight of Chip
laughing with JoJo,
his excitement unbridled,
makes him feel a
swell of pride. His
heart aches for the
times he couldn't connect
with others, but here,
his son is, sharing
his world with someone
who's different too.

He watches as Chip
explains the rules of
his favorite game,
his voice earnest and
his eyes shining. JoJo's
heads nod in
understanding, their
smiles matching Chip's.

"Karen," Plankton says
to his wife, "I'm gonna
go to the Krusty Krab
to see what happens."
Karen looks at him,
surprise in her eyes.
"Again? Even aft-"

"Yeah," he cuts her
off. "I need to
understand."

Karen nods. She
knows. "Be safe," 
she whispers,
kissing his cheek.

Plankton nods,
his antennae twitching
slightly. "I will,"
he promises, his voice
determined. He heads
out the door, the
fresh ocean air
whipping around him.
The Krabby Patty
factory looms in the
distance, its lights
always on. He's been here
before, but today is
different. He's going
alone, not as a thief,
but as himself.

He opens the door,
his heart racing.
Krabs looks up, his
eyes widening. "What
do you want?" he said.

Plankton's antennae twitch.
"To talk," he says,
his voice steady. Krabs
frowns, but nods, gesturing
to the counter. Plankton
slides onto the stool, his
body tense.

"What about?" Krabs
asks, although he's
figured out exactly
why Plankton came.

Plankton takes a deep
breath. "I wanted to...
talk about what happe—"

Krabs interrupts, his
claws tapping on the
countertop. "You mean the
other day?" His eyes
narrow slightly. "Why? I
kicked out that ableist!"

Plankton nods. "I know.
Thank you for that." His
voice is sincere. "But I
wanted to talk about..."
He pauses, gathering his
thoughts. "About me,"
he finally says. "What your
knowledge of my autism
means for us.."

Krabs' claws still, his
expression unreadable.
"Look, Plankton," he says,
his voice gruff. "I dunno
much about all that brain-
stuff. But if it's important
to you, I'll try." This is
his chance to bridge
the gap, to explain
his world to someone
who's never truly
understood.

Plankton's antennae quiver.
"It's just," he starts, his
voice shaky. "When you
see me, do you see me?"
He looks into Krabs' eyes,
his own filled with hope
and fear. "Or do you now
see autism?"

Krabs' face softens, his
claws still. He considers
the question. "I see you,"
he says, his voice firm. "And
yes, I see the autism. But
it's not all of you. Which is
why I'll still keep me eyes
peeled for any shenanigans!"
A small smile plays
on his lips, hinting at his
understanding.

Plankton's antennae
quiver. "But it's a part of me,"
he says. "A big part."
Krabs nods. "Aye, it is,"
he says. "And it's why I'm
tryin' to be more...
understandin'." He pauses,
his eyes searching Plankton's.
"I don't always get it, but
I'll try. But still, hands off me
secret recipes as always, yeah?"

Plankton can't help but
laugh a little, his antennae
lifting slightly. "Always,"
he promises. "Still, can't
say I won't try!" Krabs'
smile widens. "Aye, get
on outta here before you do!"
He waves Plankton off, both
their hearts lighter.

The conversation lingers
in Plankton's mind as he
walks back home. The
Krusty Krab no longer feels
like enemy territory. It's
still competitive, but now
it's tinged with a new
dynamic. One of... camaraderie?
Or at least mutual
understanding.

JoJo is just leaving as
Plankton returns back.
"It was great meeting
you, Mr. Plankton!" JoJo
says, their heads
nodding in unison.
Plankton's always felt
so isolated in his
differences, and now he
sees that Chip is forming
bonds with someone who's
even more unique. "You too."
Plankton replies.

new dare to be different headcore bicephalous

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 𝟩

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍'𝗌 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅
𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗍.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖨'𝗆
𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽.
"𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈.."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝖽
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈
𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽
𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾
𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌
𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍'𝗌
𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈
𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗀𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗋," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽
𝗈𝗎𝗍. "𝖠𝗅𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍; 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇!"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽, 𝖺 𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗍 
𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾
𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋
𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝗌
𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗐𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋
𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗆 𝗍𝗈
𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀,
𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝗈 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌
𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆,
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁
𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖽.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍
𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈
𝖺 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀-𝗈𝖿𝖿, 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿
𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾
𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇
𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋
𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌
𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗈𝖽𝗒
𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋
𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗃𝗈𝗒.
𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝖽
𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍
𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗐𝗎𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗉𝗎𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌,
𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.

𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗌, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾
𝖻𝗈𝗒𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝗍𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌
𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿
𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺
𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗅𝗒,
𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍
𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝗍.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇
𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗌𝖾. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽,
𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇.
𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍
𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗂𝗇
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐
𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽
𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅.

"𝖣𝖺𝖽!" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗒𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽,
𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈
𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾
𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗆. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗃𝗎𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅,
𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗌
𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗎𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾
𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗒.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌
𝗎𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝖾
𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝖽
𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 
𝗌𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌
𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 
𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 
𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽
𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖧𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍
𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌.
𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽
𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋
𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍
𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗆𝗎𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗌
𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗆𝗈𝗆 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 
𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍
𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌
𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗈𝖿
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄.

"𝖲𝗁𝗁," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝖨'𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎."
𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽
𝗎𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽.
𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍. 𝖭𝗈𝗐.

𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉,
𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆
𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒
𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇𝗌.
𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍
𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍
𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺
𝗐𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖿. "𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁
𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝖾𝗍
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾. 𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆."

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗆𝗇𝗅𝗒,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽
𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒
𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍
𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒,
𝖣𝖺𝖽," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗈
𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍
𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺
𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗌𝖾
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐
𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽
𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽
𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗌
𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒
𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌
𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗂𝗓𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖧𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍
𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒
𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽
𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝖽
𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍. "𝖣𝖺𝖽, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝖾,
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗂𝗓𝗎𝗋𝖾," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖡𝗎𝗍
𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗄 𝗇𝗈𝗐." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗋,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 
𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌.
𝖧𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋.

new dare to be different swingpunk pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 9

Eventually, Plankton 
groans awake to 
find his son sitting
beside him on his 
bed. "Hey, buddy,"
he says. "What's
going on?"

Chip looks at him,
his eyes filled with
worry. "You had
another seizure at
the park," he says,
his voice low. "Do
you remember?"
Plankton nods.
The memory of the
loud music and the
sensory overload
floods back. "I'm 
sorry," he says.

"It's not your fault,"
Chip says quickly.
"But I promise to
try to be a better
son, to understand."
Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly. "I'm
sorry too," he mumbles.
"For what, Dad?"
Chip asks, his voice
filled with confusion.
"For not telling you,"
Plankton says, his gaze
shifting to the floor.

"What do you mean,
Dad?" Chip asks, his voice
filled with curiosity.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Plankton sighs, his
antennas drooping. "Because
it's hard, Chip," he says,
his voice cracking. "It's
not something people
understand easily. I don't
even fully understand it."
Chip frowns, his eyes
searching Plankton's. "But
now I know," he says. "I want
to understand, Dad. I want
to learn."

Plankton's antennae
twitch, his gaze meeting
his son's. "Okay," he says
slowly. "What do you want
to know?"

Chip's eyes widen.
"Everything," he says.
"What do you prefer
me to call it?"

Plankton pauses, his
single eye looking into
his son's earnest gaze.
"Autism," he says.
"Or, if you want to get
specific, my form is
neurodevelopmental autism."
He takes a deep breath.
"It's a type of disability.
It affects how I think,
how I learn, and how I
interact with the world."

Chip nods, taking it in.
"So, like, why do you
sometimes get so upset
about noises or lights?"
Plankton sighs, his
antennas drooping slightly.
"It's like my brain can't
filter everything out.
It's all too much at once.
It's like listening to a
thousand TVs at full volume.
It overwhelms me."

Chip's eyes widen
further. "And the
seizures, Dad?"

Plankton's antennae
twitch in thought.
"They're a part of
it, too," he says, his
voice strained. "It's like
my brain's wiring gets
tangled up, and it has
to reset. It's not always
predictable, and it can be
scary. It doesn't happen
every single day."

Chip nods solemnly,
his curiosity piqued.
"What about the toys?"
he asks, gesturing to
the plush bear still
in Plankton's hand.

"They're sensory
items," Plankton explains,
his antennae straightening.
"They can help me when I'm
overwhelmed. Something to
fidget, when restless. Like
comfort items, if you will."

Chip nods, processing.
"So, like, how long have
you had this, uhm, autism?"
Plankton's antennae
twitch at the question.

"Since I was born," he
replies. "It's always been a
part of me. It's just the
way my brain works.
Some days are easier than
others. But it's not to be
cured or reversed. I acquired
it at birth. When my mum
was to give birth to me,
something happened, and
it changed the way my brain
developed. What exactly
happened was during the
birth, my head somehow got
stuck, and it affected my brain."

Chip's eyes widened. "But
you're so smart," he said.
"Does it affect your
intelligence?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly as he
considered his son's
question. "It's not that
simple," he said. "It's like
some things are easier for
me, like solving complex
problems or remembering
details. But other things, like
reading social cues or
understanding sarcasm, are
really hard."

"But you're so good at
inventing," Chip said.
"Does it help with that?"
Plankton's antennae
twitched. "Yes," he said.
"My brain works differently.
It lets me see patterns
and connections that
others might miss. But it
can also make simple
things like talking to
people really tough."

Chip nodded, his hand
still resting on the
plush bear. "Can I ask
you someth...? I just,
the bad wor— I'm sorry;
I just wanna ask about the
slur I used."

Plankton flinched at the
mention of the slur.
He took a deep breath.
"As long as you know it
was wrong, and you don't
do it again," he said.
"I'll tell you about it."

Chip nodded, his eyes
intent on his dad's.
"Why did it hurt?" he
asked, his voice soft.

Plankton's antennae
twitched with the pain
of the memory. "Because
those words, they're not
just words," he said.
"They're like punches.
They hurt because they're
not true. They're not who
I am. And when people
use them, it feels like
they're trying to define
me by something that's
just a part of me. And
that particular slur is used
to mock, to belittle." "But, why?"
Chip asks. "How's it a slur?"

"That term has been
used to refer to people
with neurodisabilities
like including autism in 
a way that suggests, um..."
Plankton paused to wipe
a tear from his eye. "Sorry,"
he whispers, taking a deep
breath. "There were
diagnosticians, non-
disabled, who coined
that term," he began, his
voice shaky. "They
referred to neurodisabled
people that, and then
those neurodisabled people
were then had or given
options to be 'fixed' by
either trying torturous
methods to 'normalize'
them or, if that didn't
eventually work, they'd
just... tell caregivers
or their guardians to
refuse necessities including
food or water until they'd
ultimately pass away."

Chip's shocked into silence
as Plankton wiped another
tear, sniffling.

"And instead of giving any
accommodations, they'd
punish you. As if you were
choosing to be something
so wrong," Plankton continues, 
his voice quivering. "And in
grade school, when kids
couldn't understand, they'd
use it as a weapon, to mean
anything they didn't like.
I personally was bullied a
lot when I'd blurt out some
random science fact or, just
was left out. And even teachers
sometimes, they'd say
I was just being 'that'. And I'd
get in trouble for 'that'.
And when you said that
Chip, it just... brought it
all back."

new dare to be different strongcore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 11

"What about 
when you
won't look 
people in 
the eye?" 
Chip asks.

Plankton nods. 
"It's not that I 
don't try to, 
sometimes it's just
too intense," he 
explains. "It's like
looking into the 
sun. It's just to
much. It's part of 
being on the 
spectrum."

Chip nods, his 
curiosity unabated. 
"But why?" he 
presses on. "Why 
can't you look at 
someone's eyes?"
Plankton sighs, his 
eye fluttering closed. 
"Look, Chip, it's like 
my brain's got a lot 
going on," he says. 
"Looking someone 
in the eye is like...
like uncomfortable,
I don't know‽ But 
when I'm with
people I trust, like
you and mom, it's 
easier. Eye contact 
can be really intense, and 
it can be overwhelming. 
But I know we don't
mean it that way. It's just
how I experience it."

"What about 
when you talk about
the same thing over
and over again?" 
Chip asks, his voice
careful. Plankton nods. 
"That's perseveration,"
he says. "It's like my brain
can't let go of an idea. It's
not that I don't want to talk
about other things; it's just
that the idea keeps
spinning around in my
head. I know it might get
repetitive, for others."

Karen smiles at
Chip's earnestness.

"Dad," Chip asks,
his voice gentle.
"What's your favorite
thing about being 
autistic?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitched in surprise.
"Favorite thing?" he
repeats. He thinks for
a moment, his eye
focused on the ceiling.
"Well," he says slowly,
his antennae lifting a
little, "I guess it's my
ability to focus on
tiny details that others
might miss, sometimes."

Chip's eyes light up.
"Like when you make
those amazing
inventions?" he asks, 
his voice filled with
admiration.

Plankton's antennae 
perk up slightly, a
tiny smile gracing his
face. "Yes," he says.
"Exactly. It's like my
brain is wired to see
the world in a unique
way, and that helps me
solve problems or create
things others might not 
think of."

Chip nods, his mind 
spinning with questions.
"What about how you 
talk in a monotone?"
he asks. "Is that part of it?"
Plankton nods again.
"Yes," he says. "It's
because my brain doesn't
interpret emotions the
way other people do. It's
hard for me to express
how I'm feeling, like in my
voice sometimes. So in every
day things, my voice will be
flat. But don't worry,
it doesn't mean I'm not
feeling them. I'm just...
different, at showing it."

Karen watches them, 
proud of Chip for
his empathy. "Dad,
what about people
skills?" Chip asks. "Why 
do you have trouble?"

Plankton sighs. "It's
because autism affects
how I understand unsaid
social cues," he explains.
"Sarcasm, faces, those
things are like a
different language to
me. I have to learn them.
It's hard to read people,
to know what they're
feeling just by looking.
And sometimes, I say things
that don't come out right,
because I don't always get
how they'll be taken."

Chip nods, his eyes
still wide with curiosity.
"But you're so good at
understanding mechanics
and inventing," he points out.
"If you can do that, why is
underst--"

Plankton's antennae
twitch. "It's a different
kind of understanding,"
he says. "My brain is good
at patterns and logistics.
Social interactions are more
complex, less predictable. I
might say something in a way
that ends up sounding rude,
but it's not intentional.
It's just... I miss the subtleties.
And people usually get upset
if you don't get their jokes
or understand their expressions.
When me and Krabs fed Jenkins
our burger, he got food poisoning.
I wanted to comfort Krabs by
showing we're not to blame, and
I said, 'Jenkins is old' and, I've
nothing against elderly. Krabs
got mad, so I wanted to tweak
the burger recipe, but Krabs’s
had none of it. So that's why
we became enemies."

Chip nods, his eyes
still glued to his dad.
"But what about your
relationship with Mom?"
he asks. "It's complicated,"
Plankton admits. "Sometimes
my autism can make it hard
for me to understand what
she's feeling, but we've learned
each other's patterns. And
she's really patient with me."
He glances at Karen, who
smiles back, her eyes
shimmering with affection.
"We usually cook at home or
order takeout because crowded
restaurants can make me really
overwhelmed. She gets it."

"But what if she's sad and
you don't know it?" Chip
persists. "Well, she'll tell me,"
Plankton says, his antennae
twitching. "And if she needs
something, she'll explain."
He looks over at Karen, who
nods in agreement. "It's a
team effort, buddy," she says.
"We communicate in our
own way."

"But what if you don't get
what she's saying?" Chip
asks, his brow furrowed.
"Then I'll ask for help,"
Plankton responds. "Or she'll
find another way to tell me.
We've had our ups and
downs, but we figured it out.
It's not always easy, but we
love each other. And she
knows that I'm trying my
best to understand her."

"But what about others,
Dad?" Chip asks. "Have
you ever felt left out?"

Plankton's antennae droop.
"Yes," he admits, his voice
quiet. "There are times
when I don't know what's
going on, or I miss a joke.
And it can be lonely and
tiresome. I was the nerdy
weirdo, but Krabs was poor
so we were both outcasts.
But once Krabs perfected
the burger recipe for himself,
that changed. My only friend
left me behind. But yes, kids
went out of their way to make
sure I was excluded. They'd
see I was 'quirky' and a bit of
a loner. They'd say I was that
slur you used the other day."

Chip's eyes widen
in horror. "But that's not
right," he says. "And I'm sor—"
"I know," Plankton nods.
"But it's how some people
see it. And it's hard to
explain to them that it's not
my choice. That I'm just
different, not less. But they
didn't care."

"But what about Mr.
Krabs?" Chip asks, his voice
small. "Couldn't he help?"
Plankton's antennae twitch.
"Krabs didn't know about
my disability, he still doesn't.
But now that we're rivals, I
doubt he'd change his ways.
He's a simple creature, driven
by greed. I don't think he's
gonna suddenly understand
neurodiversity if he found out!"

Chip looks down at the
floor, his eyes filling
with tears. "But why, Dad?"
he whispers. "Why did you
have to be different?"

Plankton's antennae
twitch gently as he
considers his son's
question. "Everyone's
different, Chip," he says.
"Some people have two
eyes, some like me have one.
Some people are tall, some
like me are short. And some, like
me, have brains that
work a little differently. 
Remember I told you when I
was born, I got stuck and that
changed my brain structure?
Well, it's like that. It's just
how I ended up, and it's not
something anyone could
have prevented."

Chip nods, his
thoughts racing. "But what
about friends?" he asks.
"Do you have any that
understand you?"
Plankton's smile is sad.
"Friends are hard to come
by," he admits. "But I have
you and your mom, and that's
enough. And there's SpongeBob.
He's a good... acquaintance?"
He pauses. "He tries to be kind to
everyone, but sometimes, well,
his enthusiasm can be a bit
much. But he's a good egg."

Chip looks over at
his mom, who nods, her
eyes shimmering with pride.
"Dad's right," she says. "Now
it's getting late, which means
bedtime. And you need to
let him rest." She stands up,
stretching slightly.

Plankton nods. "Yeah, I
really need some sleep."

new dare to be different meancore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 12

Chip climbs into the bed,
his mind racing. "Can I
be with you?" he asks, his
voice tentative.

Plankton opens his eye
slightly, looking over at
his son. "If you're quiet,"
he says, his voice tired but
not unkind. "But remember,
I might stir a bit.."

Chip nods, climbing into
the bed. He lies down
next to his father, 
his heart racing. Plankton's
arm moves slightly, to avoid
touching Chip's shoulder.

Chip lies there, his mind 
spinning with the new
information about his
father. He thinks about
his dad's struggles, his
dad's brilliance, and his
dad's love for them.

Plankton's breathing
becomes even, a sign
he's falling asleep.
Karen kisses Chip's forehead
and whispers, "I'm proud
of you, for wanting to
understand."

Chip lies there, his
thoughts racing.
This is the same dad who
invents amazing things,
who tells the best bedtime
stories, and who loves him
so much.

He looks over at his
dad, who's now asleep,
single eye closed, 
his chest rising and
falling steadily as he
snores lightly. Chip
can't help but wonder
what it's like to live in
his world, where sounds
are too loud, lights too
bright, and people are
too confusing. But he's
determined to learn.

The room is quiet,
except for Plankton's
snores as Chip lies there
thinking about what his
dad said. His heart
swells with love and 
understanding.

Eventually, Plankton starts
to mumble in his sleep, his
voice a whispered jumble of
nonsensical words that make
no sense to Chip. "Moh-moh-
molasses... nuns..." Chip
frowns, deciding to nudge his
mom awake. "Mom," he 
whispers, tugging on her arm 
gently.

Karen's eyes open, and
she looks at her son, 
concerned. "What is it?"
she whispers back.

Chip points 
to Plankton.
"Dad's talking. 
Is he ok?"

Karen nods,
her eyes sleepy.
"It's just his brain
working through it,"
she whispers back.
"And sometimes
even when he's 
sleeping, his thoughts
are still busy. It's 
happened before. It's
his brain dreaming,"
she says. "It's nothing 
specific, just his mind
processing. He'll 
probably wake up 
not remembering a 
thing. Pretty much
like a word salad."
Chip nods as Plankton
resumes his regular
snoring. "Okay," he says,
his voice still hushed.

It makes him
want to protect his dad
even more, to create
a world where his dad
doesn't have to feel so
overwhelmed.

As Chip drifts off to
sleep, he makes a silent
promise to be the best
support he can.

The next morning
Chip woke up with a
determined look on his
face. He had an idea to
help Plankton feel more
comfortable and understood.
He grabbed a piece of
paper and some crayons
from his desk and set to
work, his young mind
whirring with thoughts.

He drew a picture of
his dad with a cape
on, flapping his hands
as he soared over the
city, and labeled it 'Super
Sensory Dad'. He hoped 
for it to possibly help
his dad feel seen and
even understood. Chip
smiled as he wrote a
message next to the
picture: 'Neuro-awesomeness
is AUsome. From your
sidekick Chip, who loves
your special powers!' Chip
felt so excited; his dad will
love that!

Plankton stirred
slightly, his antennae
twitching as the dawn
light crept through
the blinds. He blinked open
his eye, sitting up as
Chip came into view,
holding the drawing in
his hand.

"What's this?" Plankton
asked, his voice still
raspy with sleep.

Chip handed him
the drawing, his heart
racing. "It's you," he
said, his voice filled
with excitement. "It's a
superhero. 'Super Sensory
Dad'. Because your
autism is a super power.
A special drawing, for my
special dad!" Chip beamed.

Plankton took the
picture, his antennae
twitching with surprise.
He studied it for a
moment, his eye
taking in the image
and caption.

new dare to be different meancore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 16

Karen sits down
next to Chip, pulling
him into a hug. "It's
going to be ok," she
whispers. "And he's
proud of you for
trying to understand."

Plankton's stimming
continues, his hand
moving in repetitive
motions, his gaze
fixed on the wall. Karen
can feel the tension in
his body slowly dissipate.

He starts to murmur,
his words barely
audible. "Did... I do
something wrong?" 
He mumbles as he
pulls his knees up to
his chest, now rocking
back and forth. "Say
others don't want me
because I'm... dif-fer-ent."
The words are like a
knife to Chip's heart,
but he knows not to
interrupt.

Plankton's voice
cracks. "Why can't they
see that I'm more than...
I'm not a monster,"
he whispers, his voice
full of pain. Chip's eyes
brim with emotion.

Karen squeezes 
Chip's hand as
Plankton's mumbling
continues, his voice
filled with a
world of hurt. "I... I
just want to be,"
he says, his hands
flapping slightly as he
speaks. "But I... I can't."
His voice is a jumbled
mess of thoughts, but
his pain is clear.

Chip's heart breaks
hearing his dad's
self-doubt, his young
mind trying to grasp
the depth of Plankton's
lifelong struggle. He
wants to run to him,
to tell him he's not
different, he's just...
unique. But Karen's
grip holds him back.
"He needs this,"
she whispers. "To
let out his thoughts."

Plankton's voice
continues to murmur.
"I'm not... not... not,"
he repeats, his voice
getting softer with
each word. It's as
if he's trying to convince
his own brain that he's
worthy of love and
acceptance.

Chip watches, his
heart in his throat.
He's never seen his dad
this vulnerable, this
broken. It's a stark
contrast to the cunning,
determined man he
knows from their battles
against Mr. Krabs. He
wants to comfort him,
to tell him that he's
enough just as he is, but
knows he needs to give
his dad space, feeling
his own tears fall as he
listens to his dad's
whimpers, filled with
self-doubt and fear of
being misunderstood.

Plankton's body
trembles as he
continues to rock,
his antennae drooping.
He's curling into
himself, a protective
shell against the
world that's often too
loud, too bright, too much.
His voice is a soft
whisper, a plea to
his own mind. "I'm not
a burden," he says,
his words almost silent.

Chip carefully selects a
spinner from the nightstand,
his hands trembling slightly.
He approaches Plankton,
his heart racing. "Dad,"
he says softly, holding
out the toy. "Would you li—"

"No!" Plankton yells, 
his voice sharp. 
"Don't touch.."
Chip freezes.
Karen stands up,
turning to Chip.

"Chip," she says
gently, "remember,
his space is his when
he's like this."
Chip nods, his eyes
filling with tears as
he puts the spinner
right back on the
nightstand the way
as he found it.

"But he's hurting,"
Chip whispers,
his voice filled with
despair. "I don't want
him to—"

Karen nods,
her eyes reflecting
his pain. "I know,"
she says, her voice
soft. "But this is how
he deals with it. And
we have to respect
that. Remember, he's
trying to sort through
his feelings without
getting overwhelmed."

Chip sniffs, his
hands clutching the
bedspread. "But w---"

"Chip," Karen says
firmly. "Let him be.
We're here if he needs us,
but this is his process."
Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton.

Plankton's whispers
turn into a soft,
almost inaudible,
humming. "Hmmmmm.."

Chip's eyes are
fixed on his dad,
his heart breaking
as he watches him
from the bed.

Plankton's humming
increases slightly in
volume. Karen sighs.
"It's okay," she whispers.
"This is your dad's way
to calm down. To find
his center again."
Chip nods, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's
form. He's seen his
dad upset before, but
never like this. It's a
sight that makes him
feel so powerless. He
wipes away a stray tear.

The room is silent
except for Plankton's
hums. Karen watches her
husband with a mix of
love and sadness, her
hand still clutching Chip's.

Plankton's rocking
slows down, his hums
becoming softer until
they're barely a breath.
Karen can see the
exhaustion in his posture,
his shoulders drooping.
"It's okay," she whispers.

Plankton's eye finally
meets Karen's, and she
sees the fear in it, the
knowledge of his own
vulnerability. She nods,
her eyes filled with
understanding. "Come
here," she says, patting the
space beside her on
the bed. Plankton's antennae
twitch, and he looks
uncertain. But then,
slowly, he unfurls himself,
his legs swinging over
the side of the bed, his
bare feet touching the
floor as he goes over to
Karen's bed.

He sits down, his body
still tense. Karen opens
her arms, and Plankton
collapses into them, his
body curling into a ball
as he presses into her,
his antennae drooping.
"It's okay," she whispers,
stroking his back. "You're
safe." Chip watches, his
heart in his throat.
He's never seen his dad
this way before. So
vulnerable, so... clingy.
It's strange, but also
somehow comforting.
Plankton is usually
so independent, so
strong. But here, in
this moment, he's just a
scared, overwhelmed
person who needs comfort.

Plankton scoots closer.
"M-my head hurts," he
mumbles, his voice
still shaky. Karen nods,
her eyes filled with
sympathy. "I know, love.
It's part of the overwhelm.
Just let it pass."

Chip watches his
parents, feeling like
an outsider in this
intimate moment. He
wipes away a tear.

Plankton's grip
tightens around
Karen's. "I'm here," 
she whispers,
rocking him slightly.
"It's okay."

Chip's eyes are
fixed on his dad,
his heart breaking
for him. He's never
seen him so... needy.

new dare to be different stimcore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 17

Plankton's body relaxes
slightly, his breathing
evening out as Karen
continues to stroke his
back. Chip feels a
lump in his throat. He
wants to help, to ease
his dad's pain. "I never
meant to hurt you," he
whispers, his voice
hoarse with emotion.

Karen looks over, her
expression a mix of
love and sadness. "You
didn't, sweetie," she says.
"But sometimes, even
good intentions can
be overwhelming for your
dad. It's not your fault.
Just like it's not his."

Plankton's antenna
twitches, his gaze 
shifting to Chip.
He takes a deep 
breath as Karen's 
hands continue to 
stroke his back. His 
body relaxes a little
more, his grip on 
Karen loosening.
"Dad?" Chip whispers, 
his voice tentative.
Plankton eye opens.

"Can I...?" Chip 
gestures towards
his dad, his hand 
now outstretched.

Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly, his 
eye darting to Karen.
She nods, her smile
reassuring. "If you like,"
she whispers.

With tentative movements,
Chip's hand reaches for his
father's shoulder. Plankton 
flinches slightly. "Gentle."

Chip nods, his touch
featherlight as he rests
his hand on Plankton's 
shoulder. "It's okay,"
he murmurs. Plankton's
body relaxes a fraction
more under the warmth
of his son's hand, his eye
now closing.

Karen's eyes meet
Chip's, and she smiles
weakly, her gaze filled
with gratitude. "Thank
you," she mouths. Chip
nods, his hand still on
his dad. Plankton's 
humming has stopped,
his breathing steadying
as Karen holds him.

For the first time,
Chip feels a profound
sense of understanding
for his father. He's
seen his strength in
the face of Mr. Krabs'
competition, his genius
in his inventions, but
now he sees his softer
side, his vulnerability.
And it makes him love
his dad even more.

Plankton's breaths have
now turned into a soft
snore, his body relaxed
against Karen's. Chip
can see the exhaustion
in every line of his
father's face, a testament
to the battle he's just
faced. "He's asleep,"
Karen whispers, her voice
filled with love and
relief.

Chip nods, his hand
still on Plankton's shoulder.
"Should we...?"
Karen shakes her head.
"Let him rest," she
says, her voice a mere
whisper. "He's had
a long day."

Plankton's clinginess
was a stark contrast to
his usual demeanor.
Karen knew all too
well the emotional toll
his seizures took on
him. But it was the
first time Chip had
seen his dad so...
dependent on someone
else for comfort. It
was jarring, but it also
made him realize the
strength that Plankton
held within himself, the
courage to face, alone.

As Plankton sleeps,
his snores are rhythmic.
It's a sound that
Karen finds soothing,
a sign that he's at peace. 
His body seems to melt
into her side, his
muscles unclenched.

Chip watches him,
his mind racing with
thoughts. He's seen
his dad's fiery temper,
his ingenious inventions,
his unwavering drive,
but never this, raw and
exhausted. It's a stark
contrast that makes
his chest ache.

Plankton's snores
remain steady, his body
completely relaxed
against Karen's side.
Karen looks over at Chip,
her expression a mix
of love and sadness.
"He's been through a lot,"
she whispers. "But he's
stronger than anyone I
know." Chip nods, his
hand still resting lightly
on his father's shoulder.

Karen gently shifts 
Plankton, getting 
ready to tuck him
into his bed, his 
snores unchanged,
his mind resting.

Karen carefully 
slides her arm from
underneath Plankton's
head, her movements
practiced and gentle.
Chip watches, his eyes
never leaving his father's
face, as if afraid to miss
anything. Plankton's
snores hitch, but 
don't stop.

As Karen pulls the
covers over Plankton,
his snores don't miss
a beat. His body sags
against the pillow,
his antennae still.

Chip watches his dad
sleep, a sight that
both comforts and
saddens him. He's
seen Plankton's fiery
determination in
their battles against
Mr. Krabs, but now
his father seems so
small, so vulnerable.

Karen nods to Chip,
whispering, "Why don't
you go to your room?
I'll keep an eye on
him." Chip hesitates,
his hand still on Plankton's
shoulder. "But what if
he wakes up?"

Chip's concern is
palpable, but Karen's
smile is reassuring.
"I'll wake you if he
needs you," she promises.
"But he's in a good
place right now. He
just needs rest."
Chip nods, his
hand lingering on
Plankton's shoulder
for a moment longer.
He gently withdraws it,
his gaze still locked
on his father. "Okay,"
he whispers, his voice
barely audible.

Karen stands up,
her movements silent
as she crosses the
room. "You've had a
long day too," she
says softly, her hand
on Chip's shoulder. "Why
don't you get some
sleep as well? Your dad's
got an appointment
tomorrow with his
sensory therapist."

But Chip's eyes
widen. "What‽"

"It's okay," Karen
whispers, her hand
on Chip's shoulder.
"It's just to help him
and us understand
his senses better."

The next morning
Karen wakes Chip
up. "We're about to
go; I'll wake your dad."

Chip nods sleepily,
his eyes still adjusting
to the light. He
walks into the room
to find Plankton still
asleep, his body
still curled into a
tiny ball, his snores
steady and deep.

new dare to be different sensoryoverloadcore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 24

"Come to steal the
formula again, have ya?"
Krabs asks, his grip on
the cash register tight.
Plankton's eye widens,
his lie evident. "N-no!"
he says, his voice
shaking. "I just- I just
came for a visit!"
But Krabs' gaze is
thoughtful, his mind
spinning with the
knowledge he gained
the night before. "Well,
Plankton," he says, his
voice gruff but not
unkind. "Why don't we
have that chat?"

Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body tense.
"Chat?" he repeats, his
mind racing. Krabs
nods. "Sure," he says.
"Let's go to me office."
He leads the way,
his heart pounding.
Plankton follows, his eye
lingers on the Krabby Patty.
"W-what do you w-want
to talk about?" Plankton
stammers as they enter
the office.

Krabs sighs, sitting
behind his desk. "Look,
Plankton," he says, his
voice gruff but sincere.
"I know it's hard for
ye to understand, but
sometimes, people have
things they can't control."
Plankton's eye widens,
his grip on the chair
arm tightening. Plankton's
expression is a mix of
fear and confusion. "What
are you playing at?"
he asks, his voice shaky.

Krabs leans back, his
expression serious. "I'm
not playing at anything,"
he says. "I just... I want
ye to know that I get
it now." Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye darting
to the Krabby Patty
formula safe behind
glass. "Get what?"

Krabs sighs, his hand
rubbing his chin. "Your...
situation," he says,
avoiding the word 'autism'
for fear of upsetting
his rival. Plankton's body
stiffens, his gaze
snapping to Krabs. "What
do you mean?" he asks,
his voice sharp.

Krabs clears his throat,
his eyes flicking to the
formula behind the
glass. "I mean," he says,
his voice gruff, "that I
know ye got challenges.
And I ain't gonna make
fun of ye for it." Plankton's
expression remains
guarded, his antennae
twitching rapidly. "What's
gotten into you?" he
asks suspiciously. "What
challenges? What do 
YOU know?"

Krabs looks at him,
his eyes serious. "I
know you're unique,
Plankton," he says. "And
I know that sometimes
you do things that don't
make sense to me, or to
anyone else." He pauses,
his voice gentle. "But I
promise you, I'll try to
underst--"

Plankton's eye narrows.
"Unique?" he says, his
voice laced with sarcasm,
when Squidward opens
the office door. "A customer
wants to 'speak with the
manager' apparently," he says
as said customer enters the
office. Squidward leaves the
room, closing the door. But
Plankton recognizes the guy.
And his breath hitches.

The customer's one of
Plankton's professors
when he attended college
long ago. One of his most
ableist teachers he's had!
And the teacher recognizes
Plankton as well.

"My burger is lukewarm
and I... Sheldon Plankton
what are you doing here?"

Plankton's antennae quivered
as he stood up, his face
flushing a deep red. "I-it's
a coincidence," he stuttered.
"I-I just came for a Krabby
Patty." His voice was
shaky, a stark contrast to
his usual bravado. The
professor's gaze was cold,
his arms crossed over his
chest.

Krabs' eye twitched. He
could see Plankton's distress,
but he couldn't let him lie
right now. "Plankton," he said,
his voice firm. "What's going on?"
The teacher's eye darted
between the two, sensing the
tension in the air.

Plankton's lie was evident,
his eye darting around
nervously. "I-it's nothing,
Mr. Krabs," he said, his voice
higher than usual. "Just a
misunderstanding." Krabs
raised an eyebrow, his gaze
unwavering. "I'm sure
it's more than that," he said.
The professor's stare was
like a spotlight, exposing
his lie. "You never understood
anything when I had you in
my class," the professor said,
his tone icy.

Plankton's throat tightened,
his heart racing. "I-I've changed
since then," he said, his voice
small. "I-I've learned?" The
professor's smile was cold.
"Is that so?" he said, his voice
dripping with disdain. "Then
tell me, what's the Pythagorean
theorem?" Plankton's eye went
blank, his mind racing. "Proves
my point." He says.

The room felt smaller,
the air thick with tension.
Krabs watched, his fists
clenching. He'd never seen
Plankton so... vulnerable.
The professor's gaze
was like a knife, slicing
through Plankton's already
fragile defenses. "Why do
you keep pushing?" Plankton
whispered, his voice shaking.

The professor's smile was
cruel. "Because you know
your place isn't here,"
he said, his voice
deliberately harsh. "You
never belonged." Plankton's
body trembled, his antennae
waving erratically. "But
I've changed," he repeated,
his voice strained. "I have
a family no-"

The professor scoffed. "A family?"
He leaned closer, his eyes
bore into Plankton's. "How
do you think they'd feel
knowing they've been fooled
by a profoundly severely
mentally re--- being like
you, whom Neptune himself
has cast as—"

Krabs snaps, his claws
slamming down on the desk.
"That's enough!" he roars,
his voice thunderous.
The professor jumps back,
his smug smile wiped clean.
"What did you call him?"
Krabs asks, his eyes
blazing. Plankton's gaze
flits to Krabs, shocked.

The professor sneers.
"I called him what he is,"
he says, his voice cold.
"A mistake." Krabs' fist
clenches, his eyes
never leaving the professor's.
"Get out," he says, his voice
low and dangerous. "Get out
of me restaurant. I don't
want your kind here." Plankton's
eye widens. "K-Krabs?"

The professor laughs,
his eyes cold. "You're
defending him?" he asks.
"After al-"

But Krabs cuts him off,
his voice like steel. "I'm
defending a man, a man
who's had to fight harder
than anyone I know
just to be understood."
Plankton's antennae
perk up slightly, his
face a mask of shock.
"Apologize," Krabs says,
his eyes narrowed.

The professor's smile
dwindles, his gaze
shifting from Krabs to
Plankton. "I... I'm sorry
your parents decided to
keep you," he says, his
voice dripping with
condescension. Plankton's
face falls, his eye
filling with hurt.

Krabs' claw shoots out,
his grip on the
professor's collar tight.
"You'll leave now," he says,
his voice deadly calm.
"Or I'll show you the
exit meself." The professor
sputters, his face reddening.
"You can't-"

But Krabs cuts him off.
"I can, and I will." His
eyes are hard as diamonds.
"Get out." Plankton watches,
his heart racing. He's never
seen Krabs this protective
over him.

The professor's eyes widen,
his arrogance faltering. He
quickly leaves the office, his
cheeks burning with humiliation.

Krabs looks at Plankton.
"He had no right to speak to
you like that. You're not
a mistake, you're a fighter.
And I'm sorry, for not
seeing that sooner. Now, I 
gotta get back to counting
me money. You go on and
get some rest; take care.."

Plankton nods before
running back home.

new dare to be different ableisms chat

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 3

Chip looked up, his eyes
reflecting the confusion
he felt. "What happened,
Mom?" he asked, his voice
smaller than usual.

Karen took a deep breath,
trying to keep her anger
in check. "Your dad is upset,"
she began, her voice tight.
"You used a word that hurt
his feelings."

Chip's eyes widened in
shock. "What wor—"

"Don't lie to me," Karen
snapped, her voice
unusually harsh. "I know
what you said. That word
is not okay."

Chip looked at her,
his face a picture of
innocence and confusion.
"But it's just what
you said," he protested.
"What?" Karen's voice
was a mix of anger and
despair. "I only talked
about your dad's
autism, Chip. I never
called him that."

Chip had only been
trying to repeat what
he thought she had
told him. "But I didn't
know it was bad," he
whispered, his eyes
welling up. "I just didn't
know what to call it."

Karen sat by him. "Do you
understand why Dad was
upset?"

Chip nodded, his eyes
brimming with tears. "But I
didn't know it was a
bad word," he said, his
voice cracking. "What's it
mean?"

Karen took a deep breath,
trying to keep her emotions
from overwhelming her. "It's
a very hurtful word," she
explained gently. "It's used
to hurt of people who are
different, like those who have
neurological conditions like
your dad's. It's not right,
and it's not even accurate."
Chip felt his heart sink.

"But Mom," Chip protested,
"I didn't mean it like th-"

Karen's voice was firm
but not without gentleness.
"It doesn't matter how
you meant it, Chip. That word
is not acceptable. It's
hurtful and it makes people
feel less than who they are.
Your dad is not 'that'. He's
just your dad, and he loves
you more than anything."

Chip looked down,
his screen blurring with
tears. He hadn't meant
to cause pain, but the
realization of what he'd
done made his stomach
twist with guilt. "I'm sorry,"
he mumbled, his voice
barely audible.

Karen sighed, her
frustration dissipating into
sadness. She knew her son
wasn't cruel—just confused.
"I know you didn't mean it,
Chip," she said, her voice
softening. "But it's important
that you know that words
have power. They can build
people up or tear them down."

Chip nodded, feeling
the weight of his
mistake. He had never
seen his mother so upset,
and he hated that he was
the cause.

"Let's go talk to Dad," Karen
said, her voice softening.
"We need to tell him that
you didn't mean it, and that
you understand now."

They walked back to
the bedroom, Karen's hand
in his. Plankton sat on
the bed, his back to them.

"Daddy?" Chip's voice
was tentative. Plankton's
body tensed, his antennae
twitching with the effort
not to turn around.

"It's okay, Plankton,"
Karen said softly, stepping
forward. "Chip didn't
know that word was
hurtful. He's sor-"

Plankton's antennae shot
up, his eye burning with
a mix of sadness and pain.
"How could you, Karen?"
he spat out, his voice
shaking. "You, of all people.
How could you let him
think that about me?"
Karen stepped closer,
placing a gentle hand on
his shoulder. "I didn't,
Plankton. Chip just heard
me mention your autism
and he didn't underst--"

But Plankton jerked away,
his antennae quivering with
frustration. "That's not
what he said!"

Karen's screen filled with
puzzlement. "What did
he say, then?"

"That you said I was..."
Plankton paused, his antennae
drooping. "That I was...
that."

Karen's eyes searched
his face, her heart breaking.
"Plankton, no. I swear, I
would never use that word
for you. You're not 'that'.
You're just you—my love,
my partner, Chip's dad. Autism
is just a part of yo-"

But Plankton was
too caught up in his own
turmoil to hear her. "It's
always been there," he
whispered, his antennae
drooping. "Everyone else
can see it. Why couldn't
I?"

Chip watched, feeling
his own heart break at the
sight of his dad's pain. He
wanted to fix it, to make
everything right again.
"Daddy," he said, his voice
shaking with emotion. "I
don't think you're that way.
You're just... Daddy."

Plankton's antennae
perked up slightly at the
sound of his son's voice. He
turned to face them, his eye
swollen with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry," Chip continued,
his voice trembling. "I didn't
know that word was bad.
I just wanted to tell you
how much I love y—"

"Love?" Plankton choked out,
his antennae twitching. "How
can you love someone who's...
who's like me? After all, you
just called me tha-"

"Daddy, I didn't know it
was bad," Chip said, his
voice filled with sincerity. 
"But I do now. And it doesn't
change anything. You're still
my dad. You're still the best
person I kno—"

But Plankton can't bear
to hear any more. "Get 
out!" he roared.

Karen and Chip stared at 
his outburst, shocked by
his sudden anger. They
could see the pain in
his eye, the deep-seated
fear of being misunderstood.

new dare to be different karencore karen

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 8

Karen rushed over, her
face a mix of relief
and concern. "Plankton,
are you ok?" she asked,
her voice filled with
care. Plankton nodded,
his antennae moving 
slowly as he took in
his surroundings.
He looked around, his
eye darting to Chip.
"H-How did we get
here?" His voice was
weak, his antennae
still trembling slightly. 
"You fell off the swing,"
Chip said, trying to keep
his voice steady. "But
Mom and I caught you."
He hoped the gentle
explanation would ease
his father's confusion.

Plankton's antennae
stilled for a moment,
his eye focusing on Chip.
He nodded, understanding
dawning on his face.
"Thank you...tired."

Karen's eyes searched
his face, reading his
autistic cues. "Let's go
home," she said gently,
helping him to his feet.
His legs were shaky, his
balance precarious.

With a nod, Plankton
allowed her to guide him
to the car, leaning heavily
on her. Chip climbs into
the back seat with Plankton.

Karen pulled out of
the park. "I'm proud of
both of you," she said,
glancing in the rearview
mirror at Chip and Plankton.
"You handled that so well."

Plankton sat next to
his son, still exhausted.
Chip looked at his dad, his
heart heavy with guilt.
He reached for the plush
bear he had brought from
the house, placing it
gently in Plankton's lap.
"Here," he said softly. "It
helps, right?" Plankton's 
antennae twitched,
his gaze flickering to the
toy. He took it, his
fingers curling around
the soft fabric, finding
comfort in the familiar
texture. "Thanks," he
mumbled, his voice a
whisper of its usual
strength.

Chip watched as
his father's eye grew
heavy with sleep, his
head nodding slightly
as the car pulled away
from the park.

Plankton's antennae
twitched as he fought
the pull of slumber,
his grip tightening
around the plush bear.
Plankton's antennae were
twitching slower now, his
eye half-closed. Karen knew
her husband was trying to
stay present, to show
his strength. But the
exhaustion was clear.

"Home," Plankton murmured,
his eyelid drooping. "Yes, we're
taking the trip home," Karen
affirmed, her eyes flicking
back to the road.

The car's gentle hum was
soothing, the vibrations
of the engine lulling Plankton
closer to sleep. Chip 
noticed his father's antennae
quivering with each 
bump in the road, his body 
slumping against the car seat.

Karen glanced in the
rearview mirror, her
expression a mix of 
concern and love.

Plankton's antennae stilled
as sleep claimed him, his
body leaning against Chip's
shoulder. Chip felt the
weight of his dad's head.

Chip knew that he was
tired, but he also knew
his father didn't like to
admit when he needed
help, especially in public.
But here they were.

Plankton's antennae
barely twitched, his
snores soft but steady.
Karen's eyes remained
on the road, her gaze
flitting to the rearview
mirror to check on him.
Chip watched his father's
sleeping form.

The car's air conditioner
blew a soft breeze across
his dad's sleeping form,
his antennae fluttering
with the occasional draft.

"Mom," Chip 
whispers from 
the back seat, 
his eyes never 
leaving his 
father's sleeping 
form. "Can I stay
with him when we 
get home?"

"Of course, sweetheart,"
Karen responded, her
voice calm and reassuring.
"We'll all need some
rest after today. Just make
sure he's comfortable."

As they arrived home,
Plankton was still fast
asleep, his antennae barely
twitching. "What do we
do now, Mom?" Chip asked,
unbuckling his seatbelt.
"We get him to bed,"
Karen said firmly,
opening the car door.
"You can help me."

With care, Karen
lifted Plankton out of
the car, his body
limp with sleep.
Chip opened the house
door, holding it wide as
his mother carried his
father inside,
each step precise and
calculated to avoid
disturbing Plankton.

The coolness of the
air-conditioned house
was a stark contrast to
the warmth of the car,
and Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly at the
change in temperature.
Karen's grip was gentle
but firm, her arms steady
as she carried him to their
bedroom. Karen laid
Plankton down carefully,
his body sinking into
the softness of the bed.

Plankton's antennae
twitched once more
before coming to
rest against the pillow.
His snores grew quieter,
his body fully surrendering 
to sleep. Chip hovered at the
foot of the bed,
his heart heavy. "Can
I stay with him?"
he asked, his voice
small in the quiet room.
Karen looked at her
son, the question in
his eyes. She nodded,
her heart aching for
the burgeoning bond
between them. "Yes, but
don't disturb him," she
instructed, her voice
barely above a whisper. 

Chip climbed into
the bed with his
father, his movements
careful not to wake
his dad. He lay down
next to Plankton.

Plankton's antennae
were still now, his
snores even and
deep. Chip studied
his father's face, the
way his antenna fluttered
with every breath,
his grip on the bear
unwavering. He was so
vulnerable in sleep, so
different from the
man who had been
consumed by anger.

Chip felt a mix of
emotions—guilt for
his carelessness,
fear of what could
have been, and a
newfound love for
his father that was
both fierce and gentle.
He lay there, listening
to the steady rhythm
of Plankton's soft snores.

new dare to be different tiredcore pt

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 25

Once home, Plankton
collapses onto his
bed, unsure of how
to process the day's
events. His mind
spins with the
professor's cruel words
and Krabs' unexpected
defense. He'd never
felt so... seen. So
understood, even by
his sworn enemy.
So conflicted?
Tears stream down
his face as he clutches
his favorite pillow.

Karen finds him
later, her eyes
softening at his
distress. "What's
wrong?" she asks, 
sitting on the edge 
of the bed.

Plankton takes a
deep, shaky breath.
"Krabs," he says, his
voice barely a whisper.
"He... he was nice to
me.." Karen nods, her
hand reaching out to
his. "Okay," she says.
"It'll be fine." Plankton's
eye widens slightly. 
"Wait, what?" Plankton
asks her. "What do you
mean? It's not like he
knows I'm autis–"

But Karen cuts him
off, her voice firm. "I
told him," she says. "I
thought it was time
he knew." Plankton's
body goes still, his
heart racing. "What?"
he repeats, his mind
racing. Karen nods.
"During Dr. Marla's visit
he came in and saw
you having a seizure
so I explained how
your birth was tough
and it affected yo-"

Plankton pulls away, his
body tense. "You told
Krabs?" he says, his voice
shaking. "Why would
you do that?" Karen's
expression is calm, but
her eyes are filled with
sorrow. "Because," she
says, "he's seen it and
asked me wh-"

But Plankton can't hear
her anymore, his mind
reeling. He sat up in his
bed. "Get out," he whispers. 
"I-I can't... I can't have you
in here right now."
Karen's eyes widened,
her hand hovering in
midair. "Wh-"

But Plankton's voice is
firm. "I need to be alone."
Karen nods, her eyes
brimming with tears.
"Okay," she says softly.
"But if you need me-"
Plankton turns away,
his antennae drooping. 
"I just... need space." Karen
nods, her heart aching. "I
don't want you upset with
me, Plank-"

He cuts her off, his
voice shaky. "It's not
you," he says. "It's just...
a lot. I'm disappointed
that you told him, but I
understand why. I just
need to be by myself."
Karen's throat tightens,
but she nods. "Okay," she
whispers, standing with
her palms open. "Can I---"

But Plankton's antennae
wave frantically. "No, please.
Just go." His voice is
desperate, his eye pleading.
Karen's heart breaks into
a million pieces, but she
nods, stepping back. "If
you need anything," she
says, "anything at all---"

But Plankton is
not in the mood. 
"I SAID to leave
me ALONE!"

Karen's eyes widen
at his outburst, his
voice sharp, a stark
contrast to the softness
that usually laces his
words when with her.
But she knew that he's
not angry at her, but
his own situation. She
nods, her throat thick
with unshed tears. "Ok,"
she says, her voice
small. "I'll be out here
if you need me." She closes
the bedroom door.

Plankton's sobs fill
the room, his body
shaking with the
force of his emotion.
He's never felt so
alone, so exposed. He
pulls his knees to his
chest, his pillow damp
with his tears. And it
makes Karen's heart ache
even more, knowing she's
the one who told Krabs.

Karen sits outside
the door, hand hovering
over the wood,
wanting to go in,
wanting to comfort him,
but she knows he needs
space. She's seen this
before, the way the world
can overwhelm him,
crushing him under its
weight until all he
can do is withdraw into
his own little bubble.

Inside, Plankton talks
to himself, his words
tumbling out in a rush,
his voice a mix of anger
and sadness. "Why did
you tell him?" he whimpers,
his antennae quivering.
"Why did you tell him?"

He stims, his hands
flapping in front of
his face, his eye squeezed
shut. "It's not your
fault," he murmurs. "It's not
your fault." The words
are a mantra, a desperate
attempt to convince
his racing mind. He
knows Karen meant well,
but the knowledge feels
like a betrayal. "It's not your
fault," he repeats, voice
growing soft, eye squeezed shut.
"I can't help it." His voice
cracks. "It's not my fault," 
he repeats, antennae twitching. "I
just see things differently."
He rocks back and forth. 
"But Krabs... Krabs
was nice," he whispers, his
voice filled with wonder. "Why?"
he asks his reflection in
the mirror. "Why
now?" His eye is
wet, his voice shaky. "Why
now?" He whimpers it again,
his stims increasing.

Outside, Karen
can't help but listen,
her heart in her throat.
Her hand is poised to
enter, but she knows
better. Plankton needs
this moment alone, to
process the tumultuous
storm of emotions. She
closes her eyes, her
hand dropping to her
side.

Inside, Plankton's
stims grow more intense,
his breaths shallow. "It's
not your fault," he whispers.
"Krabs is just... confused."
He flaps his hands, his body
rocking faster. "Why did
you tell him?" His voice
is a mix of anger and
desperation. "Why did
you have to tell him?" His
stims are a comfort, a
way to self-regulate, to
make sense of the chaos
that's overwhelmed him.

He opens his eye,
his gaze unfocused as he
stares at the wall. "But
he was nice," he murmurs.
"He said I'm not a mistake."
He pauses, his hand
stilling. "Maybe he sees me
now, maybe it's just pity,"
he says, his voice harsh.
He resumes his stims, his
thoughts racing.

His antennae twitch,
his mind trying to
process the kindness
from his enemy. "But
why?" he whispers. "Why
now?" His body rocks
back and forth, his hand
flapping in rhythm. "It's not
your fault," he repeats.
"It's not your fault."

He grabs a favorite
sensory toy, a soft, squishy
ball, and squeezes it
tightly as he rocks. The
pressure is comforting,
helping him to think. "He
was always mean," he
mumbles, his voice a
whisper in the quiet
room. "But today... today
he saw me," he says
loudly, his voice cracking.
"He saw me."

He throws the ball
against the wall, watching
as it bounces back.
"But why?" he asks
his reflection again. "Why
now?" The ball hits
the floor with a soft
thud, and he sighs, his
hands stilling. "It's not
your fault," he whispers.
"But he knows now." His
eye blinks rapidly, trying
to focus on the wall. "He
knows and he still...
he still talked to me.
Maybe he's just confused,"
he says to himself. "Or
maybe he just felt sorry
for me." His voice is
flat, his movements
mechanical. "But why
now?" he asks the wall.

He leans back, his hand
still clutching the pillow.
"But he knows," he whispers.
"He knows now." His antennae
twitch, his mind racing.
"What does it mean?
What does it mean?" he
repeats, his voice a little
louder. "What does it mean
for me?" More tears roll down his
face. "But he saw me at my
weakest." His body
shakes with sobs. "He saw
me at my lowest," he whimpers.
"And he didn't laugh. He
was... nice." His voice
cracks on the last word,
his fist tightening around
his pillow. "Why?" he cries out.
"Why now?"

The room is silent
except for his ragged
breaths and the quiet
thump of his pillow
against the bed frame.
"It's not your fault," he
reminds himself, his
voice a mere whisper.
"It's not your fault," he repeats,
his body stilling slightly.
He takes a deep, shuddering
breath, his antennae drooping.

"But why now?" he asks
his reflection, his voice
cracking. "Why did it take
this for him to see me?"
He squeezes his eye shut,
trying to keep the tears
at bay. "Why now?"
his voice is barely audible.
He's lost in his own
thoughts. "It's not your fault!
But what if it is? No," he
says. "I'm not."

new dare to be different overloadcore marla

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 4

"Plankton, please," Karen
pleaded, reaching out to
touch his arm. "Let's ta—"

But Plankton's 
eye starts to
glaze over, his 
body trembling
on his bed. Karen
knew another
seizure's coming
on now. "Dad?" Chip's 
voice was filled with
fear and confusion.
"I'm here," Karen assured.
She rushed to his side.
"It's okay," she murmured,
her voice a gentle whisper.
"You're safe, Plankton."
She knew this was
part of the process, that
his mind was trying to
recalibrate, yet it never
got easier to watch.

The room grew
dimmer as Plankton's
seizure took hold, his
body stiffening, his 
eye rolling back.
Karen's eyes filled
with tears as she watched
his silent struggle.
"It's okay, baby," she
whispered.

Chip stood there, his
hands balled into fists at
his sides, feeling helpless.
He had never seen his
dad so vulnerable before.
The man he knew was
always in control, always
the smartest in the room,
was now at the mercy of
his own brain's whims. It
was something that his
parents had dealt with
for years, something that
he had only just become
a witness to.

Karen's eyes remained
on Plankton's contorted
face as the seizure's grip
began to loosen, his body
twitching slightly.

As the seizure
subsided, he's falling
into a semiconscious
postictal state. "Dad?" Chip's
voice's filled with fear.
Karen nodded, her gaze
still fixed on her husband.
"It's okay."

Plankton's antennae
twitched erratically,
his body moving in jerky
motions. It looked like
his mind was trying
to regain control of his
physical form.

He began to crawl
on the bed. His eye's
unfocused. "Hummus,"
Plankton babbled.

Karen's heart
ached as she watched
his regression. Plankton's
autism had always
been a part of their lives,
but these moments,
where he slipped into
his own world, were the
hardest to bear. She knew
he was in there, somewhere,
fighting to come back.

Plankton's eye darted
around the room without
really seeing. "Tos, sub."

Karen's heart broke a
little more as she
witnessed her husband's
descent into the child-like
state that often followed
his seizures. She knew
it was temporary, yet the
sight of this strong man
reduced to such vulnerability
was always jarring.

"Dad," Chip said tentatively,
his voice quivering with
fear and confusion. He had
never seen his dad like this
before—so lost, so dependent.

Karen's eyes remained
glued to Plankton's face,
silently willing him to come
back to them. "It's ok,
sweetheart," she murmured.

Plankton's movements
were like those of 
a baby discovering
the world anew, his 
hands playing with
the blankets as if they
were a toy. "Hamv," he 
murmured.

Karen's heart ached,
but she knew from
experience that this
was a phase that
would pass. She talked
to him softly, her voice
soothing and familiar,
like a lullaby. "You're
safe, Plankton," she
whispered. She got
a plush stuffed bear
handing it to Chip. "Try
to get him to interact
by this," she suggests.

Chip took the bear
tentatively, his hands
shaking slightly. He
approached the bed, his
dad's eyes still unfocused.
"Dad?" he whispered,
shaking the toy slightly.
Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye
flitting towards the
bear. "Look, it's a toy,"
Chip said, his voice
quivering. "Do you like
it?"

Plankton's hand reached
out, his movements
sluggish as if swatting
the bear, his fingers
exploring its soft fur.
"Tibble," he murmured.

Karen watched, her heart
swelling with hope. This
was the first step back to
reality. "Good job,"
she said to both of 
them. "Keep it up, Chip.
Keep talking, with the bear."

Chip nodded, his voice
steadier now. "It's
a bear, Dad," he said, his
tone gentle. "See? It's got
a cute little nose. Do you
want to hold it?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, and
his hand reached out
slowly, his fingers
wrapping around the
plush toy. "Sav," he
says, his voice a
little stronger.

Karen's eyes lit up
with hope. "That's it,
sweetheart," she said,
encouraging Chip. "Keep
going."

Chip held the bear
closer to Plankton's
face. "Look, Dad," he
whispered, his voice
steady despite the fear
still lingering in his
heart. "It's smiling at you.
It's happy to see you. It
wants you to be happy
too. Do you want to play?"

Plankton's antennae
quivered, his eye focusing
on the toy for a moment.
He reached out again,
his hand shaking slightly,
and touched the bear's snout.
"Ivh," he murmured, a
ghost of a smile playing
across his lips, resulting in
drool.

Encouraged, Chip
continued. "It's smiling
because it loves you, Dad,"
he said, his voice cracking.
"See, it's happy because
you're holding it. Can you
make it dance?" "Da-dance,"
he managed to say, his smile
broadening.

Karen watched,
her eyes brimming with
tears of hope. "That's it,"
she whispered, her voice
barely audible. "Keep going."

Chip nodded, his
fingers gently moving
the bear's arms and
legs in a makeshift dance.
"Look, Dad, the bear is
dancing just for you," he
said, his voice trembling
with emotion. Plankton's
eye followed the
toy's movements.

Plankton's hand
twitched, his antennae
perking up slightly. "Dibble,"
he murmured, a spark of
understanding in his eye.
He reached out to mimic
Chip's movements, his hand
shaking as he tried to make
the bear dance too.

Chip's heart swelled with
pride and love for his dad.
He had never seen this
vulnerable side of him before,
but in this moment, he knew
his father was still there,
fighting to reconnect.

new dare to be different seizurecore postictal

Your votes help make this page better.

With great power comes great responsibility!

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 6

Plankton's sobs grew
louder, the sound a
physical presence in
the room. Karen
tightened her grip
on Chip, her eyes
never leaving Plankton's
face. She knew
this moment was
crucial, a chance for
them to bridge the gap
that had formed.

Chip felt the warmth of
his mother's embrace,
her love grounding him.
He took a deep breath,
his hand still on his
dad's back. "I'm sorry,"
he said again, his voice
steadier this time.
"I didn't know that
word was bad. I love
you, Dad."

Plankton's sobs
continued, but Chip
thought he felt a slight
lessening in their
intensity. Karen
nodded, her eyes
swollen with tears. "Keep
going," she urged.

Chip took a deep
breath, his voice
barely above a whisper.
"I love you, Dad," he said,
his hand rubbing slow
circles on Plankton's
back. "I'm sorry for
hurting you."

Plankton's sobs grew
less intense, his antennae
stilling slightly. His body
shuddered with the effort
of controlling his emotions.
He was still lost in his
pain, but he could feel
the warmth of his son's
hand, a silent apology.

Karen watched, her
heart aching for both of
them. She knew that
autism could amplify
emotions to an unbearable
degree, and she could see
Plankton's struggle to
comprehend the hurt
he had just experienced.
"Keep talking to him,
Chip," she urged, her voice
soft. "He needs to know
how much you love him."

Chip nodded, his
throat tight with emotion.
He leaned closer to
his father, his voice
shaking. "You're not
slow, Dad," he said, his
eyes never leaving
Plankton's. "You're just...
you. And I love you,
just the way you are."

Plankton's sobs grew
slightly quieter, his
body still shaking with
the aftermath as Chip's
hand moves in soothing
circles on Plankton's
back, mimicking Karen's 
own soothing gestures.

Chip felt his own tears
fall now, his heart
breaking for his dad
now that he had hurt him.
He took a deep breath
and continued to speak.
"You're so smart," Chip
whispered, his voice
shaky but earnest.
"You're the best chef in
Bikini Bottom. You're...
you're just you, that's all."

Plankton's sobs grew
more muffled, his antennae
slowly calming. The sound
of Chip's voice, the warmth
of his touch, it was all
familiar and comforting.
He knew his son didn't
mean it, but the sting
of the slur was hard to
ignore.

Karen watched the
interaction, her own
heart heavy with the
weight of Plankton's pain.
But she also saw the love
and understanding growing
between her husband and
their son.

Slowly, Plankton's sobs
began to subside, his
breathing growing more
even. His antennae stopped
quivering.

Karen watched as Chip's
hands continued to make
soothing circles on his
father's back. She knew
that touch for Plankton
can be either a comfort
or a trigger.

Plankton's breaths grew
even, his sobs fading into
a quiet whimper. His antennae
finally stilled, and his body
seemed to melt into the bed.
The exhaustion that
always followed a seizure
was setting in, compounded
by the emotional turmoil.

Chip watched his dad, his
own eyes red with tears.
He didn't know what else to
say, so he just sat there,
his hand still on Plankton's
back, providing the
comfort he hoped his father
could feel. Karen's eyes
were filled with love and
pride as she watched her son.

Plankton's whimpers grew
softer, his body growing
heavier with each breath.
Karen knew he was
exhausted, both physically
and emotionally, taken a
toll on him. She reached
over to stroke his arm, her
fingers gentle.

"Plankton," Karen 
said softly. "You're
okay. It's okay."

Plankton's whimpers
gradually subsided as
his eyelid drooped. His
body grew heavier with
each breath, his antennae
coming to rest against the
pillow. Karen could see
the exhaustion in his
every movement, the toll
his seizure and the
intensity of his emotions
had taken.

Chip watched as his
father's breathing grew
steadier, his body
relaxing under his
touch. The room was
now silent except for
the quiet rustle of
sheets and Plankton's
soft snores.

Karen gently eased
Chip's hand away, her
own hand lingering for
a moment longer. She
whispered, "Let him rest
now, sweetheart."

Chip nodded, his
eyes still fixed on
his father's peaceful
face. He knew Plankton
was asleep now, his
body finally at ease.
The anger had drained
from the room, leaving
behind a quiet sadness.

Karen reached for
the plush bear on the
nightstand, placing
it in Plankton's outstretched
hand. His antennae
twitched slightly in his
sleep, his grip tightening
around the toy. She
smiled softly as Plankton's
snores grew deeper.

Chip stared at his
father, his own eyes
heavy with the weight
of the evening's events.
He had never seen his
dad so vulnerable, so
overwhelmed by his own
emotions. It was a stark
contrast to the Plankton
he knew—the clever,
resourceful, and often
frustratingly stoic man who
was his hero. But here
he was, a man who needed
comfort and reassurance.

The next day, Karen
woke Chip up. "We're
gonna go across town
to a big park, okay?"
Chip nodded, following
her to Plankton's bed.

Plankton was still asleep,
his antennae twitching 
slightly as he dreamt.
Karen approached the
bed, her steps light. She
knew he's a light sleeper,
yet waking him can be
startling, so she knew to
be extremely gentle.

Her hand hovered over
his shoulder. "Plankton," 
she whispered, her voice
barely a breath.

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, a sign
that he was coming
to. She waited, giving
his brain time to catch
up with the world. His eye
flitted open, his gaze
unfocused for a moment.

"Hey, sweetie," Karen
said, her voice gentle.
"We're going to a new
playground across town.."

new dare to be different cryingcore sorry

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

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠌⣻⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢀⡝⠀⠘⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣘⠀⠞⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡄⡠⠤⠢⠤⠭⠥⢷⠩⠐⢊⠀⠀⠀⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⢡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠠⣄⠀⠀⢢⢰⠀⡌⠂⣐⣤⣴⣶⣤⣦⣦⣤⣴⣀⣀⠄⠠⢀⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠰⡀⢫⡄⠹⣴⣾⣾⣾⡬⠿⠛⠛⠟⠛⠻⢛⠿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⣿⣯⣅⣼⣷⣋⡄⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠺⣳⠂⡟⣗⠫⢐⣝⠉⡈⠁⠦⡀⢁⠠⠖⠀⠉⡂⠉⢀⢀⠐⢆⢵⠠⡁⡩⠙⠙⠻⢾⣾⡷⠋⡔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠉⢢⣌⣿⣿⣦⣽⠿⠀⠔⡀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠐⡀⠎⠡⠀⠈⠀⠈⠁⠀⡰⡎⠀⢀⠡⢀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠐⢠⣖⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⠠⣠⡖⠉⠀⢄⣤⣀⣐⠀⠀⠠⠈⠀⠐⠈⠄⠠⠀⠀⣀⣦⣀⠀⢀⡍⣘⢲⡎⡐⣪⠒⡀⡁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣄⣠⣠⣬⡽⣞⣿⣿⣿⡿⡃⢈⠀⡏⠁⠀⠀⣼⡿⣿⡏⠄⠀⢐⠀⠐⠀⡂⠂⠀⡰⠀⠙⣿⣯⣲⡌⠁⠻⣈⣷⢅⡻⣶⣷⡅⠁⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠿⠿⠛⠓⠣⢲⣾⣿⡿⠉⡡⡴⡊⢀⣄⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢅⣮⠶⡁⠀⠀⠀⣆⠠⢦⣰⣲⣿⣿⣿⣣⣄⣄⡘⢳⣍⣿⣟⣿⣷⣵⡉⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣲⣾⣿⣿⡣⢴⠌⣼⢲⠟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠈⢙⡿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣾⢗⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣍⡑⢄⠈⠂⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠀⢨⢿⣿⣿⠏⠪⡺⢟⡃⠀⠀⠉⢉⠝⢫⠎⠻⠣⠉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢾⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠿⠛⢿⣽⣿⣿⣯⣿⣭⡶⣷⣿⣦⣵⡀⠀
⠀⣀⣠⣠⣾⣿⢿⠟⠅⢀⠕⠛⠐⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⢈⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠀⠀⠠⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⡕⢂⣁⣨⣽⣷⠦
⠀⡪⣭⣿⣿⢵⡓⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠵⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⠀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⢀⣤⢓⠊⡳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠝⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀
⠀⢸⣿⣻⢟⣿⢻⡿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠌⠄⠠⣌⠈⢀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠁⠔⡸⡙⠋⣽⣿⣿⣟⠗⠫⠀⠀⠀
⢀⠚⠐⠠⠄⠌⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣦⣤⣤⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⡀⠀⠀⢐⠐⠑⡹⣿⡛⣿⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠮⣿⣶⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣟⣿⡿⢛⠽⣛⡝⢫⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠂⡔⠀⠁⠀⠁⠑⠠⠁⠩⣟⣶⢆⠀⠀
⡼⠃⢼⣿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠈⠈⠢⣄⠉⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣧⣾⣷⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⢸⠎⡶⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠡⢉⠐⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠘⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠈⠀⠄⠄⠀⠀⡀⣀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠈⠢⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠂⢠⢠⠀⣾⠑⢐⣀⣼⢟⢞⠈⣿⣋⡡⠆⡀⠀⠄
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡩⡄⠀⢈⢞⣷⡁⣰⣿⣭⣿⣍⣾⠗⣮⣋⣦⡀⠙⠿⠋
⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⠤⠠⡻⣻⣿⣿⢿⡟⣿⢿⣿⡛⡤⣀⡸⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⢼⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⢀
⠀⠀⢈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⡀⠀⠀⢀⢠⠀⠘⣷⣿⣾⣾⣿⣼⣿⣼⣷⣾⣿⣿⣾⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣉⡙⣿⡿⠿⣫⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠯⠄
⠀⢀⢁⡀⣠⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⡠⠚⣶⣇⣡⡈⣈⡧⠂⢻⣿⣷⣿⣾⣯⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠋⢉⢁⡈⡉⢈⠓⠘⠛⠉⠘⠁⢀⡐⢀⣀⡀⠀
⠀⡀⠠⣤⠟⡇⠀⠀⠰⣿⢻⣯⣵⣾⣷⣿⣷⣈⢻⣾⣶⢉⣝⢛⣻⠿⣿⡿⡟⣛⠉⣉⣁⣀⢀⢀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀
⡾⡟⢀⣬⡞⠀⢠⣦⣶⣾⣄⣽⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡿⣿⢿⣿⡿⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽
⣷⢿⣾⣿⣿⣥⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣽⡻⣟⣯⢷⣻⡷⣯⢿⣯⣾⣽⣳⣯⣟⣳⢯⣿⣹⢯⣷⣻⡿⣽⣟⣷⣿⣭⡙⣛⣯
⡷⣞⡿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⠸⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⡶⣿⡽⣯⢯⣷⣻⣭⣿⣷⣻⠾⣽⣳⢯⢯⣟⣾⣻⣿⢿⢿⣽⢯⠿⣺⣷⣿⣻⣿⢿

new pt point buddy dot art text art ascii art

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 10
(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

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌.
"𝖣𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍?"
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁
𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋
𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗆𝖾𝖽
𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐
𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗍
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾.
"𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝗁𝖾
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾—" "𝖡𝗅𝗂𝗉, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆, 𝗄𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄.
𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒-𝖽𝗈𝗈, 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗒-𝗃𝗈𝗈."
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗌. 
"𝖥𝗅𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝖿𝗅𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 
𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝖣𝖺𝖽,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆.
"𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒. 𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐?"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁
𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀.
"𝖳𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖡𝗂𝗀. 𝖦𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇." 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗉 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐
𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖦𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝗃𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋."
"𝖸𝖾𝗌," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖡𝗂𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌."
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾
𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽."

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖦𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗉. 𝖦𝗅𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗒,"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌.
"𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝖽𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾-
𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌.
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍.
"𝖶𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍, 𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖣𝖺𝖽." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌
𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀.
𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗅𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉. "𝖭𝗈," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗉𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖭𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁."
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾. "𝖨'𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗂𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋. "𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍
𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽,
𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌."
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗈
𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌
𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋. "𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄, 𝖣𝖺𝖽," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌.
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌,
𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇."

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾.
"𝖶𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 
𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗒-𝗐𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗒,"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌.
"𝖳𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗒-𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋."

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌,
𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍.
𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌
𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍
𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌
𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼
𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗒. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒,
𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾."
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖲𝖺𝖿𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌.
"𝖬𝗈𝗆, 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇?"
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗐. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍
𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗌. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌
𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅
𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌. "𝖶𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒,
𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗉. "𝖣𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒,
𝖽𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝖽𝗈," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒
𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?"
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉," 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖾
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗌.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒
𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌
𝗁𝗎𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅
𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾.
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗎𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗌,
𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇
𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖽𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽.
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗂𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍
𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆
𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝖠𝖢 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍
𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉
𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗅𝗎𝖾𝖽
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽
𝗐𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾?"
𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌.
"𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗈𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖶𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉,
𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.
"𝖧𝗈𝗆𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿𝗅𝗒,
𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋.

𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒
𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋.
𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈
𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍, 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗌
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖾.
"𝖱𝖾𝗌𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀. 
"𝖣𝖺𝖽?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌
𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽.
"𝖬𝗆?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍.
"𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒?"
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. "𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾
𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗇.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍
𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌.
"𝖫𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆.
"𝖲𝗎𝖻," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒.

𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒,"
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗈𝗇 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍
𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌." 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆,
𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌
𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉.

"𝖡𝗅𝗂𝗉, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗒,"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌,"
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒. 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒.
𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌."
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀?"
𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. "𝖬𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌,
𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.
"𝖪𝖾𝗋-𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆-𝗈. 𝖡𝖺𝗆-𝖻𝖺𝗆-𝖻𝖺𝗆." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗌. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌
𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁.
"𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝗌, 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗂𝗑 𝗈𝖿
𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗒,
𝗀𝗈𝗈𝗄," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖲𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗒, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗌𝗁."
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾.
"𝖣𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?"
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍
𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁
𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉."
𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾
𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇
𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. "𝖯𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀,
𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗄𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗆," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒.
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗀𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋
𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝖼𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌
𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾," 𝗁𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌
𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌,
𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.
"𝖨𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌.
"𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁-𝗎𝗉,
𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒."

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖥𝗂𝗓𝗓, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗓𝗓, 𝗉𝗈𝗉,"
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍
𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌
𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈
𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺
𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁
𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀.
𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇. "𝖬𝗈𝗆,
𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍.
"𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿
𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒."

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄
𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌
𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝖽. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉
𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍
𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝖺 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. "𝖮𝗇𝗅𝗒
𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌,
"𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍
𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾. "𝖡𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾,
𝖻𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆,
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌
𝗍𝗈 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋
𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

new autism and all chip plankton chipcore

𝓫𝓾𝓼 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬
𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥
𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓹 𝓸𝓯 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝐍𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐥, 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 & 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥
𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼
𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥
𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐱
𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼
𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓹 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛
𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 -𝓲𝓷 𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

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About Epilepsy > Understanding epilepsy > Seizure Types and Classification

Seizure Types
Seizure classification is a way of naming the many different types of epileptic seizures and putting them into groups.
Where in the brain the seizure starts (e.g. the onset)
If the person is aware or not during the seizure
Whether the seizure involves movement.



Seizures can be divided into three major groups. 


Focal onset (formerly known as partial seizures) means the seizure starts in just one small region of the brain. It may spread to other areas of the brain.
These seizures can often be subtle or unusual and may go unnoticed or be mistaken for anything from being intoxicated to daydreaming. About 60% of people with epilepsy have focal onset seizures – which are also simply known as focal seizures.
Focal onset seizures can be further divided into two groups relating to a person’s awareness during a seizure:
Focal aware: the person is fully aware of what’s happening around them but may not be able to talk or respond (formerly known as simple partial seizures). They are usually brief, and are often called a warning or ‘aura’ (that a more significant seizure may develop) but are actually part of the seizure.
Focal impaired awareness: awareness is affected (formerly known as a complex partial seizure) and the person may appear confused, vague or disorientated.
A focal seizure may progress to a bilateral tonic-clonic seizure meaning that it starts in one area of the brain and then spreads to both sides causing muscle stiffening and jerking.


Generalised onset means the seizure affects both hemispheres (sides) of the brain from the onset. Because of this, a person may lose cønsciøusness at the start of the seizure. Generalised onset seizures almost always affect awareness in some way, so the terms ‘aware’ or ‘impaired awareness’ aren’t used. However, they can be classified further by movement:

Generalised motor seizure: may involve stiffening (tonic) and jerking (clonic), known as tonic-clonic (previously known as grand mal) or other movements
Generalised non-motor seizure: These seizures involve brief changes in awareness, staring, and some may have automatic or repeated movements like lip-smacking.
Types of Generalised Onset Seizures
There are many types of seizures in this classification. They include:
Absence – a sudden lapse in awareness and responsiveness that look like brief staring spells or daydreaming
Tonic-Clonic – the body stiffens (the tonic phase) and then the limbs begin to jerk rhythmically (the clonic phase)
Myoclonic – sudden single jerks of a muscle or a group of muscles that may last no more than a second or two
Tonic – Can occur when a person is asleep or awake and involves a brief stiffening of the body, arms or legs. The person will suddenly fall if standing or sitting.
Atonic – brief seizures that cause a sudden loss muscle tone and the person often falls to the ground or will have a sudden head nod if sitting.
Clonic – although uncommon they cause jerking in various parts of the body


Unknown onset means the seizure cannot be diagn0sed as either focal or generalised onset. Sometimes this classification is temporary and as more information becomes available over time or through further testing, the type of seizure may be changed to a generalised or focal onset seizure.
Rarely, doctors might be sure that someone has had an epileptic seizure, but can’t decide what type of seizure it is. This could be because they don’t have enough information about the seizure, or the symptoms of the seizure are unusual.
Most people will only have one or two seizure type(s), which may vary in severity. A person with severe or complex epilepsy or significant dàmage to the brain may experience a number of different seizure types.



Can certain triggers set off a seizure?: Sometimes specific circumstances can increase the risk of having a seizure. These are usually called seizure triggers. Recognising these triggers can help to reduce or even avoid seizures. Some common triggers people report include lack of sleep, missed medication, fatigue, physical or emotional stress, hormonal changes and illness.

What’s the best way to help someone having a tonic clonic (convulsive) seizure?
1. Stay with the person
2. Time the seizure
3. Keep them safe. Protect from ìnjury, especially the head
4. Roll into recovery position after the seizure stops (immediately if food/fluid/vomit is in møuth)
5. Observe and monitor their breathıng
6. Gently reassure until recovered
7. Call an ambulance if there is an ìnjury; if the seizure lasts for longer than five minutes; or if after the seizure ends the person is having breathıng difficulties or is non-responsive

new epilepsycore neurodivergency seizurecore

𝔐𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔡𝔬𝔢𝔰𝔫'𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢. 𝔏𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡, 𝔦𝔱 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱, ℑ 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔡, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 ℑ 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔞 𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫.“

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Seizure Phases
Seizures take on many different forms and have a beginning (prodrome and aura), middle (ictal) and end (post-ictal) stage. These phases are described below.


Beginning phase

Prodrome stage
During the prodromal stage some people can tell when a seizure is on its way. 
Not all people experience this stage. Some common signs can include: 
Mood changes
Anxiety
Feeling lightheaded
Difficulty sleeping
Difficulty staying focused
Behaviour changes.

Aura
Auras are generally considered an early part of the seizure. Symptoms of an aura may include: 
Déjà vu (a sense that something has happened before when in fact it hasn’t)
Jamais vu (a feeling that you’re seeing something you know well for the first time)
Odd smells, sounds or tastes
Dizziness
Vision difficulties
Numbness or ‘pins and needles’ in parts of the body
Nausea
Headache
Panic
Feelings of intense fear
Sometimes a person may have an aura which doesn’t progress to become a more severe or prolonged seizure. Some people don’t experience an aura at all, and their seizure has no early warning signs.

Middle (ictal) phase
The middle (ictal) stage of a seizure is called the ictal phase. It’s the time from the first symptom to the end of the seizure activity. It is during this time that intense electrical activity is occurring in the brain. Some common signs of this phase include:
Loss of awareness
Memory lapse
Feeling confused
Difficulty hearing
Odd smells, sounds or tastes
Difficulty speaking or saying strange words
Twitching
Loss of muscle control
Repeated movements (such as lip smacking or chewing)
Body convulsions
Racing heart
Trouble breathing

Ending (post-ictal) phase
The final post-ictal stage occurs after the active (ictal) part of the seizure. This is the recovery stage and during this phase any physical after effects of the seizure are felt. The type of seizure and the part of the brain involved will determine how long it takes for a person to return to their usual self. 
Some common signs of this phase include:
Confusion
Lack of consciousness
Tiredness (fatigue)
Exhaustion
Headache
Loss of bladder or bowel control
Fear and anxiety
Frustration
Shame or embarrassment
Thirst
Nausea
Sore muscles
Weakness in parts of the body
Injury (head, cuts, broken bones)
Once the seizure is over, some people may remember having one, remember parts of it, or not remember at all.   

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ℑ 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡…. 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ'𝔪 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 ℑ 𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡… 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔤𝔬 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡𝔫'𝔱 𝔤𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯… 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢

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March 19, 2014

An aura or warning is the first symptom of a seizure and is considered part of the seizure. Often the aura is an indescribable feeling. Other times it’s easy to recognize and may be a change in feeling, sensation, thought, or behavior that is similar each time a seizure occurs.

The aura can also occur alone and may be called a focal onset aware seizure, simple partial seizure or partial seizure without change in awareness.
An aura can occur before a change in awareness or consciousness.
Yet, many people have no aura or warning; the seizure starts with a loss of consciousness or awareness.
Common symptoms before a seizure:
Awareness, Sensory, Emotional or Thought Changes:

Déjà vu (a feeling that a person, place or thing is familiar, but you've never experienced it before)  
Jamais vu (feeling that a person, place or thing is new or unfamiliar, but it's not)
Smells
Sounds
Tastes
Visual loss or blurring
“Strange” feelings
Fear/panic (often negative or scary feelings)
Pleasant feelings
Racing thoughts

Physical Changes:

Dizzy or lightheaded
Headache
Nausea or other stomach feelings (often a rising feeling͞ from the stߋmach to the thr*at)
Numbness or tingling in part of the body
Middle:
The middle of a seizure is often called the ictal phase. It’s the perıod of time from the first symptoms (including an aura) to the end of the seizure activity, This correlates with the electrical seizure activity in the brain. Sometimes the visible symptoms last longer than the seizure activity on an EEG. This is because some of the visible symptoms may be aftereffects.

Common symptoms during a seizure.
Awareness, Sensory, Emotional or Thought Changes:

Loss of awareness/explicit memory (often called “black out”)
Confused, feeling spacey
Periods of forgetfulness or memory lapses
Distracted, daydreaming
Loss of cønsciøusness, unconscious, or “pass1ng out”
Unable to hear
Sounds may be strange or different
Unusual smells (often bad smells like burning rubber)
Unusual tastes
Loss of vision or unable to see
Blurry vision
Flashing lights
Formed visual hallvcin4tions (objects or things are seen that aren’t really there)
Numbness, tingling, or electric shockıng like feeling in bødy, arm or leg
Out of body sensations
Feeling detached
Déjà vu or jamais vu 
Body parts feels or looks different
Feeling of paпic, feariпg, impending doom (intense feeling that something bad is going to happen)

Physical Changes:

Difficulty talking (may stop talking, make nonsense or garbled sounds, keep talking or speech may not make sense)
Unable to swallow, drooling
Repeated blinking of eyes, eyes may move to one side or look upward, or staring
Lack of movement or muscle tone (unable to move, loss of tone in neck and head may drop forward, loss of muscle tone in body and person may slump or fall forward)
Tremors, twitching or jerking movements (may occur on one or both sides of face, arms, legs or whole body; may start in one area then spread to other areas or stay in one place)
Rigid or tense muscles (part of the body or whole body may feel very tight or tense and if standing, may fall “like a tree trunk”)
Repeated non-purposeful movements, called automatisms, involve the face, arms or legs, such as
lipsmacking or chewing movements
repeated movements of hands, like wringing, playing with buttons or objects in hands, waving
walking or running
Repeated purposeful movements (person may continue activity that was going on before the seizure)
Convulsion (person loses cønsciøusness, bødy becomes rigid or tense, then fast jerking movements occur)

Ending:
As the seizure ends, the postictal phase occurs - this is the recovery period after the seizure. Some people recover immediately while others may take minutes to hours to feel like their usual self. The type of seizure, as well as what part of the brain the seizure impacts, affects the recovery period – how long it may last and what may occur during it.

Common symptoms after a seizure.
Awareness, Sensory, Emotional, or Thought Changes:

Slow to respond or not able to respond right away
Sleepy
Confused
Memory loss
Difficulty talking or writing
Feeling fuzzy, light-headed/dizzy
Feeling depressed, sad, upset
Scared
Anxious
Frustrated/angry, embarrassed, ashamed
Physical Changes:

May have injuries, such as bruising, scrapes or worse if fell during seizure
May feel tıred, exhausted, or sleep for minutes or hours
Headaçhes or other paın
Náuseas or upset stomach
Thirsty
General weàkness or weak in one part or sıde of the bødy

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𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱
𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌
part 4

Chip looked down at the octopus
in his lap, his eyes filling
with tears. "I didn't know,"
he whispered. "I just didn't
understand."

Karen took a deep breath,
trying to calm her own
shaking voice. "You need to
understand, Chip. That word is
not okay," she said, her tone
steady. "It's hurtful and disrespectful.
Your father is not 'that'.
He's autistic. And autistic is just
a part of who he is."

Chip looked up at her, his
expression one of shock and
dawning realization. "But why
didn't you tell me?" he asked,
his voice small. "Why did
you keep it a secret?"

Karen took a moment to
compose herself, her own
tears threatening to spill
over. "We didn't keep it a
secret just to hide it," she
explained, her voice trembling.
"We kept it private because
it's your father's story to tell,
not ours. And because we didn't
want you to think of him any
differently. But we should
have talked to you, yes. We should
have helped you understand."

Chip nodded slowly, his eyes
fixed on the octopus in his
hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"I didn't mean to make hi-"

"Don't," Karen said, cutting
him off. "Your apology
can wait. Right now, you need
to understand why that
word is wrong." She took a
deep breath, trying to keep her
voice steady. "It's not just a
label, Chip. It's a way
people have used to put
others down. To make
them feel less than." Her voice
was firm, her eyes never
leaving his. "Your father
has felt that way enough times
already; he doesn't need it
from his own son!"

Chip nodded, the weight
of her words sinking in.
He hadn't realized the
impact of his ignorance. "What
can I do to make it right?"
he asked, his voice cracking.

Karen took a deep breath.
"First, you need to educate
yourself," she said gently.
"Learn your dad's specific
needs. Talk to him. Hear
his story. Understand what
it's like for him."

Chip nodded, his gaze
firm. "Okay," he said,
his voice still shaky.
"I'll do that."

Karen goes back to
the bedroom to find
Plankton sitting on the
edge of the bed, his body
wracked with sobs. His hand
was moving in a repetitive
motion, tracing the edge of
the bedspread, a silent
testament to his pain.

Her heart breaking, she
sat beside him, wrapping
her arms around his
shoulders. "It's okay, love,"
she soothed, her voice
gentle. "It's okay to cry."

Plankton's sobs grew
louder, his body shaking.
But amidst the tears, a
steady sound emerged. It
was the soft, rhythmic
humming he often did when
he was overwhelmed or
even just restless.

It was his way of self-
soothing, his brain's attempt
to find order in the chaos.
Karen had learned to recognize
this sound over the years. She held
his hand, her thumb rubbing
small circles in his palm.
"It's okay," she whispered,
her voice a balm to his
raging emotions. "I'm here."

Plankton's humming grew
softer, his body slowly
still. The anger drained
from him, leaving behind
only sadness.

"Chip," he murmured, his
voice thick with emotion.
"He said the word." It was a 
private stim, one Karen knew
meant Plankton was trying
to process the pain. He
spoke to himself often during
these moments, his thoughts
running in a loop as he
tried to find comfort in
his own company as he
rocked back and forth.

"But why?" Plankton whispered,
his eye glazed over as he
felt the familiar rhythm of his
stim kick in. "Why would
Chip, Chip did?" He stared
at his own hand. "I'm not
that. I'm not."

Karen's heart ached at the
pain in his voice. She knew
this was his way of trying
to make sense of the world.
"You're not, love," she assured
him. "You're just different.
And that's okay."

Chip goes into his
parents bedroom
and goes up to Plankton
slowly, the octopus in
his hand. "Dad," he whispers,
his voice tentative. Plankton
looks up, his eye red and
swollen from crying. "I'm
sorry," Chip says, holding
out the octopus. "Can we
ta—"

But Plankton doesn't
give him a chance to
finish. "I don't want your
apology," he says coldly.
He turns his body away
from Chip.

Karen's eyes dart between
the two of them, her heart
racing with fear of the
growing rift. "Plankton," she
starts, but he shakes his
head.

"Please," Chip says, his voice
breaking. "I didn't know."
He takes another step forward,
his hand outstretched. "Let me
help you," he says, putting his
hand on his dad's shoulder to
turn him around. But Plankton
flinches at the touch, his sensory
overload already at peak.
Karen's eyes widen as she
recognizes the signs of
another seizure coming on.
"No," she says. "Not now."
But it's too late. Plankton's
eye rolls back. Chip
backs away, his heart racing.
This was his fault. If he hadn't
upset him, maybe this wouldn't
have happened. Karen
moves swiftly, placing the bear
in his trembling hand.

The room goes quiet as
the seizure takes hold, the
only sounds Plankton's 
whimpers. Chip watches.
He wants to help, but
doesn't know how.
Karen moves quickly,
guiding the bear into
Plankton's hand. "Now
Chip," she says, her voice
steady. "When your dad
comes back, he may not
immediately remember. He
might talk funny or seem
confused. It just means he
needs some time to get
his thoughts back."
Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving his father's trembling
form as the shaking slows.

Drool trickled down the corner
of Plankton's mouth as he
began to mumble.

"Wha-wha-wha," Plankton
phrased, trying to piece together
the shattered thoughts. It was like
his brain had gone back to the
beginning, relearning how to
speak, to process the world around him.
It was both heartbreaking and
strangely endearing.

"Bear," he mumbled, his
fingers fidgeting with the
plush toy. "Bear...good."
He giggled, a high-pitched
sound that seemed out of place
coming from him. "Bear
is...bear." His speech was
a jumble of words.

Karen watched with a mix
of amusement and sadness.
This was a part of Plankton's
recovery she had seen before,
his brain trying to find its
footing again. It was like
a toddler learning to talk,
except it was her husband. She
turned to Chip. "Try talking
to him," she urged. "Keep it
simple and calm."

new seizurecore autismcore come together

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱
𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌
part 8

"Chip!" Karen's voice
cuts through the air like
a knife, her eyes wide with
alarm. Chip, realizing his
mistake, goes to hug his
dad. "Sorry," he says, going
up to Plankton, who puts
his arm out to stop him.

Sandy, oblivious to
Plankton's overload,
grabs his arm. "NO!"
she yells, her voice sharp.
"You do not push your son
away like that!"

Plankton flinches at her
voice. He tries to pry his
hand out of Sandy's, but
her grip is firm. "Let me go,"
he says, his voice strained.
But Sandy doesn't budge.
"You listen to me, Plankton,"
she says, her eyes flashing.
"You are not going to push
aw-"

But she's interrupted by
another seizure, Plankton's
body convulsing. Sandy's 
eyes go wide with fear, 
not knowing what to do. 
"What's happening?"
she cries, finally letting
go of his wrist.

Karen's eyes flash with anger
and desperation as she
quickly moves to Plankton's
side. She glares at Sandy.
"It's a condition," she
snaps. "And it's not for you
to judge." Her voice is
sharp, her frustration with
Sandy's lack of
understanding palpable.

Sandy's eyes widen as she
realizes her mistake, her hand
flying to her mouth. "What,"
she murmurs. "I'm so sorry.
I didn't mean-"

But Karen's fury cuts her
off. "You didn't mean to
what?" she snaps. "To 
bombard Plankton with your
yelling? To make him feel
like he has to be touched?"
Her eyes bore into Sandy,
sizzling with accusation. "This is
why we don't tell people,"
she says, her voice shaking.

Sandy's eyes fill with
remorse as she takes in the
sight of Plankton's trembling
form. "I didn't know,"
she whispers, her voice
shaking with regret. "I'm sorry,
Karen. I didn't mean to..."
Her words trail off as she
realizes the depth of her
mistake.

Karen's face is a mask of
sadness and anger as she
tends to Plankton, her eyes
never leaving Sandy. "You
didn't mean to what?" she says,
each word cutting through the
silence like a knife. "To make
Plankton feel guilty for Chip's
ignorance? He has autism, Sandy."
Her voice is low, but it
carries the weight of a thousand
unspoken words. "This is why
we don't tell people, Sandy.
This is why."

Sandy's face falls, her
complexion paler than the
white walls of the room.
"Autism?" she repeats, her
voice barely a whisper. She's
heard of it, of course, but never
considered that Plankton's
quirks could be more than just
quirks. She feels a pang of
guilt for her insensitivity.

Karen nods, her eyes
brimming with tears. "Yes,"
she says, her voice thick
with sadness. "He's been
dealing with it his entire life.
And we've worked so hard to
make sure he's comfortable,
to help him cope." She looks
at Sandy, her gaze pleading.
Her voice cracks as she says
it, her heart breaking for her
husband.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears
as she looks at her friend.
"Karen," she whispers. "I'm so
sorry." She takes
a step back, realizing the
harm she's caused. "I had
no idea. I didn't mean to..."
Her words trail off as she
sees the pain etched on Karen's
face.

Karen's expression is a
storm of emotions - anger,
sadness, and a deep-seated
frustration. "You didn't know,"
she says, her voice flat. "But
now you do. And you see what
it does to him." She nods
towards Plankton, who's still
shaking on the bed, his eye
squeezed shut as he tries to
fight off the seizure.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears
as she nods, her heart racing.
Karen takes a deep breath,
her gaze still on Plankton.
"Just be there," she says,
her voice tired. "Don't push
him. Don't make him feel...
less."

Sandy nods again, her eyes
fixed on Plankton as Karen
continues to help him through
the seizure. Her perception
of him shifts, the layers
of bravado and ambition
stripped away to reveal the
man beneath the madness.

As the seizure subsides,
Plankton opens his eye to
find Sandy still hovering,
looking at him with a mix
of fear and regret. He feels
exposed, his most private
vulnerability laid bare before
his wife's best friend. He takes
a deep breath, trying to
regain his composure.

"I'm sorry," Sandy whispers,
her voice thick with
unshed tears. "I didn't know."

Plankton's gaze remains
on the floor, his body
still trembling slightly. "It's
not for you to know."

Sandy feels the sting
of his words, her cheeks
flushing with a mix of
embarrassment and sadness.
"I just wanted to help,"
she murmurs, her eyes
filling with tears.

But Plankton can't bear
the weight of her pity,
his own anger a shield.
He turns away from her,
his body rigid with tension.

"Plankton," she says softly,
her hand hovering in the
space between them. "I'm here."
But Plankton flinches at
the touch, his body tightening.
"No," he says, his voice firm.

Sandy's eyes widen with
hurt as she withdraws her hand.
"But, I just wanted to-"
"No," Plankton says, his
voice firm. The seizure has
passed, but his emotions
are still raw, his body still
shaking from the tremors.

Karen's heart breaks as
she sees the rejection
on Sandy's face, but she
understands Plankton's need
for space. She steps in,
placing a hand on Sandy's arm.
"Let's give him some time,"
she whispers, her gaze
never leaving Plankton's
closed-off form.

Sandy nods, her eyes
brimming with tears as she
backs away slowly, not
wanting to cause any more
stress.

new seizurecore karen plankton come together

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱
𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌
part 18

Karen squeezed his hand,
a silent reminder of her
support. She knew that Hanna's
apology was a step, but it
wasn't enough to erase the
damage done. She looked at
Hanna, her gaze firm. "You
have to understand that
what you said was incredibly
hurtful, not just to
Plankton, but to me too. Our
love isn't something to be
bargained with or judged."

Hanna nodded, her eyes
now filled with genuine
shame. "I understand, Karen,"
she said. "I'm sorry for
the pain I've caused." Karen
nodded back, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "Good,"
she said simply. "Because
Plankton is my everything."

Plankton felt a warmth
spread through him, despite
the anger still simmering
just below the surface.
Karen had stood up for him,
just like she always did.

"Okay." Hanna reached out
slowly, her hand hovering over
Plankton's arm. He stiffened
at the uninvited contact, his
skin prickling with discomfort.
"You okay, buddy?" she asked
him, her voice tentative.

Plankton felt a familiar
tension in his chest, a tightness
spreading through his body.
The room seemed to close in on
him, the lights too bright, the
sounds too loud. Another seizure
was approaching, and
Karen noticed the change
instantly. She knew the
pain from wisdom teeth
extraction and the touch
from Hanna has been too
much.

Hanna watched as
Plankton's body began to
tense up, the signs of an
impending seizure all too
familiar to Karen. "What's 
happening? Plankton!"
she asked, her voice filled
with worry.

But Karen was already
in action, her movements
quick and precise. She
guided Hanna's hand away
from Plankton, as Plankton's
body began to convulse
slightly, his eye rolling back.
"Seizure," Karen murmured,
as she knew the signs
all too well. Hanna sat on
the edge of his bed as
Karen got his sensory
box of fidget items.

"Just stay calm," Karen
said to Hanna. "This 
happens sometimes."
Hanna's eyes were wide
with fear, but she nodded.

Plankton's seizure grew
more intense, his limbs
thrashing as his body
tried to cope. "Let it in, 
let it wash over you."
Karen says, grounding 
him slightly.

The room grew quiet, 
except for the sound
of his labored breathing.
Hanna watched, her heart
racing, feeling useless.

Karen held out a
plush toy, a green
squishy star. "Look 
at the star, sweetie. 
Focus on the star.
Look at the star,
Plankton. Just the star."

His body continued
to convulse. Hanna 
watched, frozen as the
plush star trembled
in Karen's hand. "Look
at the star, Plankton,"
Karen repeated, her voice
calm and steady. "Find peace
in the star." Plankton's eye
flitted towards the toy,
his breathing erratic. The
sensory overload was
intense, but he tried to
follow Karen's guidance.

As the seizure subsided,
Plankton's tremors grew
less intense, his gaze
remaining fixed on the
green star. He took
deep breaths, trying to
regain control of his
body. Karen watched him,
her own breathing matching
his rhythm, willing him to
find peace.

Hanna sat there, her
heart pounding in her chest,
seeing the raw vulnerability
of her friend's husband. She
felt a deep sense of regret
for her earlier words.

"It's okay, baby," Karen
whispered. She knew
the aftermath was often
a hard part for him,
his body still reeling from
the neurological storm, his
sense of reality skewed.

Plankton's eye focused
slowly on the green star.
As the seizure's grip
weakened, he turned to it,
his gaze hazy.

"It's okay," Karen murmured.
"You're okay now." His
breathing grew steadier,
but his mind was still
semiconscious in confusion.
The world around him was
a blur of color and sound,
his thoughts tangled and
disjointed.

"Plankton?" Hanna's voice
was tentative. Plankton
barely registered her words,
semiconscious. He turned
to her, his gaze hazy and
his movements awkward.

"Hi, Hans," he mumbled,
his voice slurred. Karen
exchanged a knowing look
with Hanna. "Hi, Plankton,"
she said, her tone gentle.
Plankton giggled to
himself, his laughter
sounding distant and
slightly off-key. Karen
smiled softly, recognizing
his postictal loopiness.
It was a common reaction
for him from a seizure,
his brain trying to find
its bearings.

He stared at the green
star in his hand, his
fingers playing with its
soft fabric. "It's so...
fluffy," he said, his voice
full of wonder. Karen
couldn't help but smile at
his childlike fascination.
"It's okay, Plankton,"
she said, her voice soothing.
"Just keep focusing on
the sta-"

"Star," he interrupts, his
laughter bubbling up again.
"Fluffy star."

Karen's smile grew wider
despite the situation.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
reassured, her voice calm.
"Just keep playing with it."
Hanna watched, her
heart in her throat. "Is he...
is he okay?" she asked,
uncertain of what she was
seeing. "Want... want more is,"
Plankton said, his words
slurred.

Karen nodded, her
expression filled with love.
"He's okay, Hanna," she said.
"It's just part of his recovery
from a seizure." Hanna looked
on, still struggling to
comprehend the complexities
of Plankton's condition.
"After a seizure, he can act
a bit... different, sometimes.
He probably won't remember
what happened," Karen
explained, her voice calm and
reassuring. "You can talk
to him, just keep it simple
and don't touch him without
asking."

Hanna nodded, feeling like
an outsider in this world of
understanding and care that
Karen and Plankton shared.
"Hey Plankton," she said, her
voice gentle. "You okay?"
Plankton looked at her, his
eye glazed over. "Fluffy star,"
he replied, his voice still
slurred and playful. Hanna
managed a smile, though it
was tinged with sadness at the
thought of her earlier cruelty.

"Hanna," he said, 
his voice still off. 
"She smell like... 
like bubblegum?"

Hanna's eyes widened. 
"Plankton, it's me, it's
just your imagination playing
tricks on you after the se-"

But Karen held up a
hand to stop her. "We
don't want to overwhelm
his senses right now," she
explained. "Let him come
back to us in his own time."
Hanna nodded.

"You like the star, don't
you?" Karen asked, her voice
soothing. Plankton nodded,
his giggles subsiding into
a soft chuckle. "It's so
fluffy," he murmured, his
fingers tracing the star's
outline. Hanna watched
the tender interaction, her
heart heavy with regret.

"You know, Plankton,"
Hanna ventured, her voice
shaky. "I didn't mean to
hurt you." He looked at
her, his gaze unsteady.

"You, hurt," he said, his
words slow and deliberate.
His finger traced the
plush star's fabric, his mind
still in a haze. Karen's
heart broke for him,
but she knew he needed to
hear it from Hanna.

"I know, Plankton," Hanna
whispered, her eyes
brimming with tears.
"I'm so, so sorry."

Plankton's gaze remained
on the star, his finger
tracing its fluffy outline.
"Fluffy," he murmured,
his voice a gentle echo
of his usual self. "You like it?"
she asked, her voice gentle.
"Fluffy," he repeated, not
really hearing her.

The room was still,
the air thick with the
weight of their recent
exchange. Hanna's eyes
were glued to Plankton,
his post-seizure state
both fascinating and
alarming her. "I'm sorry,"
she whispered again.

Plankton's giggle was
sudden, his gaze shifting
from the star to Hanna.
"Hans smell funny," he said,
his words still slurred. Hanna
swallowed her sadness,
forcing a smile. "It's
because I ate a whole pack
of bubblegum," she lied.

His eyes lit up, his
innocence shining through.
"Want bubblegum?" he asked,
his voice filled with childish
excitement. Hanna felt a
wave of guilt wash over her.
"No, Plankton, I'm okay,"
she said gently. "But you
keep playing with your
fluffy star."

Karen watched as Hanna
interacted with Plankton,
his mind still in the same
post-seizure state. It was
both heartbreaking and a
tiny bit amusing to see.

"What's your name?" Plankton
asked, his speech still slurred.
Hanna's smile was sad. "It's
Hanna, Plankton," she said,
trying to keep the conversation
light. "Oh, Hanna Plankton.
You're a pretty name," he
said, his voice filled with
the same wonder.

"Thank you," Hanna said,
fighting back tears. She
felt like a monster for
the way she'd treated him.

Plankton's laughter
filled the room again,
his body still slightly
twitching from the seizure.
"You smell pretty, Hanna
Plankton," he said, his words
still slurred. Hanna's heart
clenched at the innocence
behind his words, knowing
how much pain she'd
caused him.

"Thank you, Plankton," she
managed, her voice thick.
Plankton's gaze drifted to
her, in a way that Karen knew 
meant that his mind's slowly
clearing back to himself, his
expression becoming more
aware, his eye focusing 
slightly as he took in
his surroundings.

new seizurecore karencore come together

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 6
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Hanna pulled out a notepad
from her bag. "Let's try some
communication exercises," she
suggested. "Karen, can you ask
Plankton a simple question?"

Karen swallowed hard, her voice
shaking slightly. "Plankton, what
color is the sky?"

Plankton's hand paused in its
squeezing. His eye searched
the room before finally
meeting hers. "Sky," he murmured,
his voice a little more present.
"Blue. The daytime sky appears 
blue because air molecules 
scatter shorter wavelengths of 
sunlight more than longer ones.
The blackbody spectrum of sunlight 
coming into th-"

"Thank you," Hanna said, her
tone measured. "Now, let's try 
again. What does the sky look
like right now?"

Plankton's gaze shifted to
the window, the curtains pulled
back to reveal the soft blue
of the early morning. "Sky,"
he murmured. "Blue." His hand
resumed its rhythmic squeezing
of the fidget toy, a silent
companion to his thoughts.
Hanna nodded, scribbling
quick notes on her pad. "Very good,
Plankton. Now, can you tell
me why you don't like to be
touched?"

He paused, his hand still. "Touch,"
he said, his voice tight. "Overwhelming."
Karen clenched at his
word choice. "Too much," he added.
"Sensory overload."

Hanna nodded, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's face. "Okay.
What about sounds? Are there any
sounds that bother you?"

Plankton's hand stilled on the
fidget toy, his gaze drifting
away. "Sounds," he murmured.
"Some are too loud." He paused,
his brow furrowing. "The toaster,"
he said, his voice filled with
distress. "It hurts."

Hanna made another note. "We'll
have to be mindful of that,"
she said. "And what about light?"

Plankton's hand resumed its
squeezing. "Light," he murmured.
"Sometimes too bright, if sudden."

Hanna nodded, her expression
sympathetic. "It's ok," she
said. "We'll make sure the lights
aren't too harsh. Now, Plankton,
can you tell us what you enjoy
doing?"

He looked up at them, his
eye searching their screens. "Read,"
he murmured, his voice gaining a
tiny bit of animation. "Books,
knowledge."

"Okay," she said, her voice
steady. "I'm going to set a tablet
in front of you, to gauge your
reactions to different sounds
and sights."

They sat at the dining table,
Plankton's eye flicking to the
new device. Hanna had downloaded
various apps to help with
sensory integration. "Remember,
you can tell us if anything
makes you uncomfortable. 
We're just going to
start with some simple
patterns and sounds."

The screen lit up with
colorful shapes, moving
slowly and predictably. Plankton's
hand stilled on the fidget toy.
His eye followed the patterns,
his expression unreadable. 

"Good," Hanna murmured, her
finger swiping the screen. "Let's
try some more different sights
now." The patterns on the screen
then shifted to a kaleidoscope of
flashing lights.

Plankton's eye grew wide, his
hand frozen on the fidget toy.
Karen watched as his gaze
locked onto the screen, his body
going rigid. "Plankton?" she
asked, a hint of alarm in her
voice. But he didn't respond. His
eye remained unblinking, unmoving.

Hanna's hand shot out, her
finger pressing the screen to
pause the app. "It's ok,"
she murmured. "Take deep
breaths." But Plankton didn't
move, his body eerily still.

"What's happening?"
Karen whispered, her voice
trembling.

Hanna's eyes darted to her
notepad, scribbling furiously.
"Absence seizure," she murmured.
"It's common with autism. It's like
his brain has gone on pause."
Karen's chest tightened as she
watched Plankton's unblinking
eye. "What do we do?"

"Stay calm," Hanna said, her
voice steady. "Let it run its
course. It'll be over soon."

Karen's hand hovered over
Plankton's shoulder,
wanting to comfort him,
but she held back, afraid
to trigger something worse.
The silence in the room was
deafening, only punctuated
by the soft ticking of the
wall clock. Each second felt
like an eternity as she
waited for Plankton to come
back to them.

Suddenly, his eye
twitched, and the tension
in his body began to ease.
He blinked, his gaze returning
to the present, and took a deep,
shaky breath.

"Plankton?" Karen asked,
her voice a whisper. He looked
at her, his expression confused.
"Are you ok?"

Hanna stepped in, her voice
calm and soothing. "It's all right.
You just had a little seizure.
It happens sometimes."

Plankton's hand tightened
on the fidget toy, his gaze
flitting between Karen and
Hanna. "Seizure," he murmured,
his voice a little shaky. "Why?"

Hanna's hand paused over her
notepad, her expression
compassionate. "It's part of the
autism spectrum," she said,
carefully choosing her words.
"Sometimes the brain gets
overwhelmed and needs a brief
rest. It's nothing to be scared
of, but we'll keep an eye on
it. How did you feel in that moment?"

Plankton took a moment to
consider, his hand still
squeezing the fidget toy. "Went
away," he murmured. "Everything
went away, yet it was all...
too much. Felt like...
dizzy in a blender."
Hanna nodded, her gaze
thoughtful. "It's like your
brain was trying to process
too much, and it needed a
moment to reset." She made
another note. "We'll need to 
test sounds."

They moved to the living
room, where Hanna had set
up a speaker. "We're going
to play some noises," she said.
"Tell us if any are too loud
or bother you."

The first sound was a gentle
rainfall. Plankton's antennae
twitched but he remained calm.
Hanna made a note. "Good," she
murmured. Next, she played a recording
of people talking fast over one
another.

Plankton's hand squeezed the
fidget toy until his knuckles
whitened. "Too much," he
whispered, his voice strained
as he felt another absence seizure
coming on.

Karen's eyes grew wide with
concern. "Stop," she said, her
voice firm. "That's enough."

Hanna nodded, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's face. She
reached over and turned off
the speaker. "It's ok," she
soothed. "We're going to take
this slow." She made a note
of the reaction before looking
at Karen. "We need to build
his tolerance, but not push him
past his limits. Let's try tactile
whenever his seizure completely
stops."

new seizurecore sensoryoverloadcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 9
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Chip's gaze went to his dad,
his confusion morphing into
concern. "What's wrong?"
Plankton's eye darted to Chip.
"Wh-what do you mean?" he
stuttered, his defensiveness
a clear sign of his internal
turmoil. "Why do you think
anything's wrong?" He says
to Chip.

Chip looked at him,
his eyes filled with innocence.
"You just...you're acting di-"

"I'm not!" Plankton snapped,
his voice echoing in the quiet
room. He felt the weight of his
fidget toy in his hand. "I'm
fine!" he insisted, his antennae
twitching with agitation.

Chip took a step back, his eyes
wide with surprise. "Dad?" he
asked, his voice trembling. Karen's
broke at the sight of her
son's confusion. "It's ok," she
tried to say, but Plankton's anger
was palpable.

"I'm not acting any way!"
Plankton's voice grew louder,
his eye darting around the room
as if searching for an escape.
"Don't patronize me!" His antennae
shook with the intensity of
his emotions, and Karen could see
the fear and frustration bubbling
just beneath the surface.

Chip took another step back,
his eyes wide with shock. "But you
always give me hugs," he said,
his voice small. "What happened?"

Plankton's face contorted with
frustration. "I don't know,"
he said, his voice rising. "I just
can't... I can't handle it right
now, ok?" He threw the fidget
toy across the room, the plastic
smacking against the wall. "Leave
me alone!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his voice shaking. "But, Dad, I
missed yo-"

"I said leave me alone!"
Plankton's voice boomed, the
stress of the past week
exploding out of him. His body
was a coiled spring, ready to snap.
Karen's chest ached as she watched
the scene unfold, torn between her
love for Plankton and her need to
comfort their son. "It's okay,"
she murmured, stepping towards
them. "Let's all just take a
moment."

Chip's screen searched hers,
his expression a mix of hurt
and confusion. "But, Dad, I just-"

"I said leave me alone!"
Plankton's voice was a thunderclap,
cutting off Chip's words. His
body was rigid, his antennae
quivering with agitation. Karen felt
his pain, knew his fear of being
exposed, of being seen as lesser
than before. She took a step
towards him, her hand outstretched.
"Plankton, please," she whispered.
But Chip didn't get it.

"Dad?" Chip's voice was
trembling, his eyes brimming
with tears. "What's happening?"
He looked so lost, so small in
that moment. Plankton's chest
heaved with heavy breaths, his
eye avoiding Chip's gaze.

"It's...it's nothing," Plankton
stuttered, trying to control his
voice. He knew
his behavior was erratic, but
the fear of being discovered
was too great.

Chip looked at him, his
expression a blend of
confusion and hurt. "But you're
not fine," he said, his voice
shaking. "You're acting..."

Plankton's anger grew, his
eye flashing. "I'm fine!"
he insisted, his voice a
whisper-shout. "Don't tell me
what I'm feeling!" He
couldn't bear the thought of
his son seeing him as broken,
as someone to pity.

Chip's lip trembled, his eyes
filling with tears. "But you're
not acting like yourself," he
whispered, his voice thick
with emotion. Karen's 
ached for both of them.

Plankton's face grew tight, his
body coiled with tension. "What
do you know?" he snapped. "You're
just a ki—"

"What do you mean I don't know?"
Chip's voice grew louder. "I live
with you, I know you better
than anyone else! And you're just
making excuses for acting like
this!" His screen flushed
with emotion, and his fists
were clenched tightly at his
sides. "So don't call me a kid when
you're the one throwing a fit
like one!"

Plankton's eye widened, his
anger a stark contrast to the
calmness he'd been trying to
maintain. "How dare you!" he
snapped. "Yo--"

Chip's voice grew stronger,
cutting through Plankton's words.
"How dare I? You're the one
shouting!" Chip's voice trembled,
his own frustration and fear
bubbling to the surface. "I don't
know what's happening to you,
but me and Mom are both pretty
much sick of you and your precious
little temper tantrums! So you can
either decide to tell us what's
going on or keep acting like
this," Chip's voice broke, as Plankton
sat down with ringing
in his ears, "but I'm
not gonna keep pretending like
we care about yo-"

But before Chip could
finish his sentence, Plankton's
body stiffened, his eye glazed
over. "Plankton?" Karen
asked. But there was no
response. Chip felt fear. "Dad?" he
whispered, reaching out tentatively.

Karen recognized
the signs of Plankton's 
overwhelm. "Chip, step back,"
she said, her voice calm yet
firm. As Plankton's body
stiffened, Chip's eyes were wide
with terror, his hand hovering
in the air, unsure of how
to help. "It's ok," Karen
whispered, her voice a
steady beacon in the storm
of Plankton's seizure. "Just
wa- Chip, no, it's ok,"
Karen says, her voice
soothing as she tries
to keep the situation calm.
She knew from the other day's
experience that Plankton might
not remember this, that he was
somewhere else in his mind,
disconnected from the world
around him.

Karen remained composed,
ready to catch him if he
fell. Chip watched, his own
fear mirroring the scene before
him. "D-dad?" he stuttered,
his voice shaking. Chip's eyes were on
his father, his young mind
trying to understand.

Plankton's body remained rigid,
his eye vacant. The room
was a tableau of tension, the
silence deafening. Karen knew
this moment all too well now,
the moment when Plankton slipped
into dizzy/lightheaded daze, leaving
them behind. She took a
deep breath, willing her
nerves to calm, her hand reaching
for Chip's to guide him away from
his dad.

Chip's eyes were glued to
his father, a silent tear
tracking down his screen. Karen
wrapped her arm around him,
pulling him gently to the
side. "It's ok," she murmured,
her voice a balm. "Dad's just...
he's just having a moment."

They watched as Plankton's
body went slack, his hand
dropping the fidget toy.
Chip's gaze followed it as it
bounced off the floor, the
plastic clattering against
the wood. "What's happening?"
he asked, his voice a
whisper.

"It's ok," Karen said,
squeezing Chip's hand tightly.
"Dad's having a moment." She
guided Chip to the couch. "Just
wait here." 

With gentle but firm steps,
Karen approached Plankton, his body
still frozen in the grip of
the seizure. She knew not to
move him, not to shake him
out of it. Instead, she talked to
him in a calm, soothing voice,
keeping the room's energy low.
"You're safe," she murmured.
"We're right here." But Chip is
to curious.

Chip's gaze remained fixed
on Plankton, his eyes wide
with fear and confusion.
"Is he ok?" he whispered,
his voice trembling. Karen's
went out to him, knowing
this was the first time he'd
seen his father like this.

"It's called an absence
seizure," Karen explained,
sitting beside Chip. "It's like
his brain takes a little break."
Her voice was calm, trying
to reassure her son. "It's part
of his, h-his life now."

Chip stared at his dad,
his chest tight with fear. "Is
he gonna be ok?" he asked,
his voice barely a whisper. Karen
nodded, her eyes never leaving
Plankton. "Yes," she said. "But it's
important we stay calm." "Mom
what's..."

"It's because of an accident,"
she said, her voice gentle.
Chip's eyes widened with horror.
"An accident? What happened?"
he asked, his voice a whisper.
Karen took a deep breath,
steeling herself for the conversation
she'd been dreading. "Dad had a
fall," she said, her gaze
firmly on Plankton. "It hurt his
brain."

Chip's gaze went back to his
father, his expression a mix
of shock and sadness. "Will he
get better?"

Karen's eyes filled with tears
as she looked at her son,
his innocence a stark contrast
to the harsh reality they faced.
"It's... different," she said,
swiping at her screen. "It's not
like a bruise that will heal.
But we can help him, we can
learn to live with it."

Chip nodded, his grip on
her hand tightening. "How?"
he asked, his voice small. "So
is he..."

"He's still your dad," Karen
whispered, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
"But now, we just have to love
him a little differently. I'll let
him tell you more when
he's ready."

Chip's screen searched hers, his
thoughts racing. "Ok," he
managed, his voice thick with
uncertainty.

Plankton's seizure ended nearly
abruptly as it had begun. He
blinked, his gaze returning to
the room gradually. His
hand searched for the fidget
toy, his hand reaching out
instinctively. Karen picked
it up from the floor,
handing it to him. "You're
ok," she said, her voice
soothing. 

new seizurecore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 13

"You're a 
ret-" Chip 
screams.

The words hang 
heavy in the 
air, each one a 
knife to Plankton's 
heart. He's 
spent his whole 
life trying to 
prove he's not, 
and in one 
moment, his 
son has 
reduced him to 
a cruel epithet.
He feels the 
sting of tears 
in his eye, but 
his body won't 
let them fall. 
He's frozen, 
his mind racing. 
What did he do
wrong? How could 
his own flesh 
and blood say 
something so 
hurtful?

Karen jumps to 
her feet, her 
face a mask of 
fury. "Chip," she 
says, her voice 
dangerously calm. 
"That's enough."

Chip turns to 
his mom, 
his eyes wide and 
wet. "But he just 
doesn't get it," 
he wails.

Karen takes a 
deep breath, 
her eyes on her 
son, her voice 
steady. "Chip, 
Dad is not 
that word. He's 
autistic, and that 
means he 
processes things 
differently. He's 
always trying to 
understand you, 
just like you're 
trying to understand 
him."

Chip's anger 
subsides, now
replaced by 
guilt and 
confusion. He 
looks at 
Plankton, who's 
still frozen on the 
bench. "But I just 
wanted him to 
be happy for me," 
Chip says, his voice 
small. Karen 
kneels beside 
him, taking his 
hand. "And he is," 
she says firmly. "You 
just have to learn 
how to read his 
emotions differently."

Chip frowns. "What
do you mean?" He
asks her.

Karen takes a 
deep breath, her
heart aching for 
both her son and
her husband. "Your 
dad shows his love 
and pride in 
his own way, Chip. 
Sometimes, it's not 
the same as everyone 
else's." She looks 
at Plankton, who's 
still sitting on the 
bench, his antennae
drooped low. "But 
that doesn't mean
it's not there," she 
adds softly. "His
autism just makes 
it harder for him to 
show it like other
people do."

Chip looks at 
Plankton, his 
chest tightening 
with regret. "I'm 
sorry," he says, 
his voice barely 
a whisper. Plankton
doesn't move, but 
his antennae twitch 
slightly. "Dad, I'm 
sorry!" Chip repeats, 
his voice stronger.

Plankton blinks, 
his eye swiveling 
towards Chip. "I
don't get it," he said, 
his voice flat. "Chip
what makes you think
I wasn't pro-"

But Chip doesn't 
let him finish. 
"You never cheer," 
he says, his voice 
breaking. "You 
never clap, you 
never jump around. 
You're always so 
still and quiet. It's 
like you don't even 
care. You say you're 
proud, but you don't 
show i---"

Karen cuts him 
off with a gentle 
squeeze of his 
hand. "That's not 
true, Chip," she 
says, her voice 
calm. "Your dad 
shows his feelings 
in his own way. It's 
just different from 
what we're used 
to." She turns to 
Plankton, her 
expression 
softening. "Plankton, 
can you tell Chip how
you felt when you 
heard he won?"

But Plankton's in
his own world now.
"Chip won, Chip
won, Chip won,"
he repeats, his eye 
unfocused. "I'm 
proud but, you
don't show it, I'm 
sorry. I'm proud, I'm
proud, Chip won. I'm 
proud. But you
don't show it, I'm 
sorry," he says 
to the empty 
air. "Chip won."

His voice is 
monotone, his 
body rocking 
slightly, his 
stim. "Chip, I'm 
proud, Chip won. But 
you don't show it. I'm 
sorry. I'm proud, I'm 
proud, I'm proud," 
he murmurs.
The words repeat 
like a broken 
record, each one 
more painful 
than the last. Karen
sighs, her heart 
breaking for her 
husband, and also
her son.

Chip stares 
at him. Plankton's 
stim doesn't stop,
tears in his eye.
"I'm proud, Chip 
won, I'm sorry. I'm 
proud," he continues,
upset at himself.

Karen steps 
forward, her eyes
filling with 
compassion. "Plankton,
you're doing just 
fine," she says, 
trying to cut 
through the 
repetitive phrase. 
"We know you're 
proud. It's okay."

But Plankton's 
stim doesn't stop. 
"I'm proud. But you 
don't show it, I'm 
sorry. Chip won."
His voice is 
mechanical, his 
thoughts locked in 
a painful loop. Karen
sits beside him.

"It's okay," she 
soothes. "Chip 
knows you're proud.
You don't have to 
keep saying it."

But the words 
don't stop, the 
stim a shield 
against his son's 
pain. "I'm proud, 
but you don't show 
it, I'm sorry. Chip 
won." His voice 
cracks, his antennae 
quivering with 
each syllable. Karen 
wraps her arm around 
his shoulders, 
pulling him into 
her embrace. "You're 
doing great, Plankton.
We're all proud 
of Chip. We just 
have to remembe---"

But Plankton 
can't stop, the 
phrase playing 
like a broken 
record in his mind. 
"I'm proud, but 
you don't show it, 
I'm sorry," he whispers, 
his antennae drooping. 
He can't look at 
his son, the hurt 
in Chip's eyes 
too much to bear. 
"Chip won." His 
voice is a 
whisper now, his 
body still.

Karen's arms 
tighten around 
his shoulders. "It's 
okay, Plankton," she 
soothes. "You're 
doing your best." 
But he can't hear 
her over the hurt. 
"I'm proud," he 
whispers, his voice 
cracking. "I'm proud."

Chip watches, his 
tears falling freely 
now. "Dad," he says, 
his voice thick with 
sorrow. "I know you're 
proud of me. I know 
you love me!"

But Plankton's 
stim continues, his 
voice a sad refrain. 
"I'm proud, but 
you don't show it, 
I'm sorry. Chip won."

Karen's eyes 
fill with tears. 
"Chip," she says 
softly, "Your dad's 
stim is his way of 
coping with his 
emotions right now. 
He's trying to 
say he's proud, but 
his brain's stuck 
in a loop."

Chip wipes at 
his own tears, 
his heart aching. 
"I didn't mean to 
make him sad," he 
whispers. "I just 
wanted him to be 
happy."

Karen nods, her 
own eyes wet. "I 
know, sweetheart," 
she says, her voice 
soothing. "And yet,
it's hard for people 
with autism to 
show their feelings 
the way we do. And 
right now, your dad's 
feeling a lot of 
things. He's sorry 
he can't be like 
everyone else, but 
he's also really proud 
of you."

new adaptable family meancore attitude

JUST A TOUCH x
(Autistic author)


SpongeBob rushes over, his
face a mask of worry. "You okay,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.
But Plankton can't answer. His
body is rigid, his eye unfocused.

Squidward's tentacle retreats,
his expression a mix of shock
and confusion. "What's going
on?" he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob's eyes are wide
with concern. "Hello?"
Plankton doesn't
even blink, his eye
remains unseeing, his body a statue
to the chaos around him.

Squidward, still holding
the dish, watches with a mix of
fear and confusion. "What's
happening to him?"

Sponge Bob's heart races as he
sees his friend frozen. "Hey,
Plankton," he says. "It's just a party."
But the words fall on deaf
ears—or rather, one deaf eye.

Plankton's antennae remain
still, his body rigid. The room's
chaos has ceased to exist for
him, lost in the vacuum of his
seizure.

Sponge Bob's voice, usually
so boisterous, is now a gentle
whisper. "Plankton?" he says,
his hand hovering over his
friend.

Squidward, his eyes wide,
stammers. "Is he...? Is he
okay, or?"

It's something that
has to run its course,
which of course neither
Squidward nor Sponge
Bob realize.

Squidward's tentacle
shakes Plankton gently,
his voice filled with
concern. "Plankton?" he
repeats, his tone softer
now. Plankton's antennae
remain still, his body a
statue in the bustling
kitchen. The dish clatter
fades to background
noise, the laughter from
the party a distant echo.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes,
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's unseeing gaze.
He's seen his friend in
tough spots before, but
this... this is something
new, something scary.
He takes a deep breath, his
thumbs tucked into his
pockets as he tries to
think. What do you do?
What helps when someone
you care about is stuck in
this kind of loop or what
ever this is...

Squidward, usually so quick
to snap and complain, is
silent, his tentacles
poised but not moving.
He watches, his eyes flicking
between the unmoving Plankton
and SpongeBob.

The room's cacophony fades
away as the realization hits
them—Plankton's in trouble.
Sponge Bob's smile is gone,
replaced with a furrowed brow
and a quivering bottom lip.

Squidward, still holding the
now forgotten plate, feels a
pang of guilt. He'd seen the
stress in Plankton's antennae,
heard the urgency in his
voice, but had dismissed it.
Now he's not sure what to do.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body tense with
worry. He's seen Plankton
upset before, but never like
this. "I think we should set him
down," he suggests, his voice
barely a whisper. "On the floor.."

They gently lower Plankton
to the cool tiles, his body
unyielding. Squidward sets the
dish aside, his tentacles
shaking slightly. "What do we do?"
he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, his heart
pounding in his chest. He's seen
his friend in tough spots before,
but this... this is something
else entirely.

Squidward, his tentacles still
shaking, stammers. "What do we do?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.
They both know Plankton isn't okay.

Sponge Bob takes a deep breath,
his eyes never leaving Plankton's
motionless form. "Get Karen. Now."

Squidward nods, his tentacles
moving in a blur as he rushes
to find her. The party's music
thumps in the background, a stark
contrast to the silence of the kitchen
where Plankton sits. Sponge Bob
kneels beside him, his hand hovering
over Plankton's shoulder, unsure of
what to do next. His heart races
as he watches his friend's chest
rise and fall in the rhythm of a silent
symphony only Plankton can hear.

Karen looks up at the sound
of Squidward running in.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her
voice filled with alarm.
Squidward's tentacles flap
wildly. "It's Plankton! He's...
he's just... not moving!"

Karen's eyes widen, and she
rushes into the restaurant,
Squidward's words echoing in
her mind. Plankton sits on
the floor, his body unnaturally
still, his antennae drooping.
Her heart skips a beat as she
sees his vacant gaze. She
recognizes the signs—this is
the second time she's seen
an absence seizure take hold
of him.

She kneels beside Sponge Bob,
whose expression is a mix of
fear and confusion.

"He's having a seizure," Karen
whispers, her voice a calming
breeze in the chaotic kitchen.
Her hand, now gentle and firm,
guides Plankton's head to the
floor. "He'll wake up.
We've got to keep him safe."

Sponge Bob nods, his eyes
wide with concern. He's seen
his friend in tough spots before,
but this... this is something
beyond his usual quirks. Plankton's
tiny body is a stark contrast
to the monstrous fear gripping
his heart.

The kitchen is a blur of
movement around them, but Karen's
calm presence brings a semblance
of order. She takes over,
her movements precise.

"Don't touch him," she says,
her voice a gentle command. "Just
let it run its course."
Squidward nods, his tentacles
still, his eyes on Plankton.
Sponge Bob's face is a mask of
worry, his eyes never leaving
his friend's unresponsive form.

Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrow,
his voice a gruff whisper.
"What's going on?"

Karen's voice is calm,
but her heart races. "It's okay,"
she says, her hand resting
on Plankton's back. "It's just
a part of his new... condition."

Mr. Krabs' expression
softens, his eyes flicking
from Plankton to Karen. "Is
he going to be okay?"

"Yes," Karen says firmly,
her hand still on Plankton's
back. "It's just a seizure.
They can happen with... his
autism..."

Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, but
his expression quickly morphs
into something more thoughtful.
"I see," he says, his voice
lowered. "I had no idea."

"He got a brain injury,
Mr. Krabs," Karen says.
"Yesterday, in an accident.."

Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze
on Plankton's unmoving form.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice
genuine. "What happened?"

Karen swallows, her eyes
welling with tears. "They said it's
Acquired Autism. It's like
his brain got... rewired."
Her hand strokes Plankton's back
soothingly. "He's the same, but
different."

Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his
claws clenching. "Well, we'll
make do," he says gruffly. "This
is still the same Plankton who
tried to steal the Krabby Patty
formula, right?"

Karen's eyes flash with a
mix of anger and protectiveness.
"Yes," she says firmly. "But
now he needs our help. And our
understanding. He hasn't mentioned
it once since.."

Her voice trails off as Plankton's
eye flickers.

Slowly, his antennae
unfreeze, twitching slightly.
The world starts to come back into
focus, the colors and sounds
gradually seeping back into his
consciousness. Sponge Bob's hand
is still hovering over him, his
face a canvas of relief and
uncertainty.

"Plankton?" Sponge Bob
whispers, his voice tentative.
Plankton's eye blinks once,
twice, and he looks around,
his gaze landing on Squidward.

Squidward's tentacles are
still, his expression a mix
of fear and confusion. Plankton
slowly sits up, his antennae
twitching as he takes in the scene.
The dish is forgotten, the
need for order lost in the fog
of his seizure.

"Welcome back," Sponge Bob
says, his voice a mix of relief
and anxiety. Plankton's antennae
wave slightly as he looks around,
his gaze settling on the plate
still in Squidward's tentacle.
"It's okay," Karen says gently,
her hand resting on his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae twitch as
his brain reboots, trying to
process the scene before him.
"Dishes," he murmurs, his voice
still flat.

Squidward watches him, his
tentacle hovering over the sink.
"Let me handle this," he says,
his voice apologetic. "You... you just
take it easy."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. The chaos of the kitchen
fades away as he focuses on
his friend's kindness. "Thank you,"
he whispers, his voice a soft
echo of its former self. "All of you.."

new just a touch neurodisability x

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐀 ; 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 .

new studycore learncore wordscore factkin kiss

JUST A TOUCH ix
(Autistic author)


Plankton's antennae quiver with
frustration. "It's about the order,"
he repeats, his voice strained.
"Everything needs order."

Squidward sighs, his tentacles
flapping in exasperation. "Look,
I don't know what's gotten into
you, but we need to get these
dishes done, and we can't do that
if you're going to micromanage
every single one!"

Plankton's antennae droop.
"Needs thorough..."

Squidward throws his tentacles
up in the air. "I don't care
about your 'thoroughness' right
now!" he exclaims. "Just let me do
my job!"

Plankton's antennae flatten.
"No!" he shouts, his voice echoing
off the stainless steel walls.

Squidward turns, his tentacles
poised for a fight. "What is your
problem?" he snaps. Plankton's
eye darts around, his heart racing.
He can't explain the sudden
urgency, the need for order that's
consuming him. The need to be
perfectly cleansed without blemish.

"It's just... it's just..." Plankton
stammers, his antennae drooping.

Squidward's eyes narrow, his
tentacles still. "What's the matter
with you?" he asks, his voice
edged with irritation. Plankton
swallows, his throat tight. "Needs
good.."

But before he can say more,
his gaze locks onto a speck of
dirt on a plate. The world
around him fades away as he
reaches for it, his movements
slow and deliberate.

Squidward watches him, his
expression a mix of confusion
and annoyance. "What is
that?" he asks, his tone sharp.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye focusing on the speck.
"Dirt," he whispers, his voice
laced with distress. "Has to be
gone." His hand shakes as he
reaches for the plate, his mind
consumed by the need to remove
the imperfection.

Squidward snatches the plate,
his tentacles firm. "It's just a
tiny speck!" he says, his voice
loud. Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his body stiffening. "Can't
have dirt," he murmurs.

The room seems to close in,
his heart hammering in his chest.
The need for order, for
everything to be just so, is a
wave crushing down on him.
Squidward's face swims in
his vision, a blur of impatience.
"Squidward," he says, his voice
steadying. "It's dirty."

Squidward's grip on the plate
doesn't waver. "It's not dirty,"
he says, his tone firm. "It's a
tiny speck."

But to Plankton, that speck
is a boulder, a symbol of the
chaos he can't control. His
antennas quiver as he stares
at the offending spot, his
breaths coming in short, sharp
gasps. The world narrows to just
the dish, the speck, and the
overwhelming need to erase it.

Squidward reaches out a tentacle,
to move him aside, reaching
to touch Plankton's shoulder. But
before he can make contact,
Plankton flinches, his eye
snapping up to meet Squidward's.

"Don't," he says, his voice
sharp. "No touch."
"Then move so I can mix
the dishes.."
The words hit Plankton like a
wave, sending him spiraling.
He can't explain it, but the
thought of Squidward's tentacle
touching him sends a shiver
down his spine. But the only
alternative is to result in
disordered dishes!

Squidward's grip on the plate
doesn't change, his tentacle
poised to push Plankton aside.
"Please," Plankton whispers, his
voice trembling. "No..."

SpongeBob watches from a
distance, his smile fading.
He's noticed the changes
in Plankton, the way his
movements have become so
precise, his speech so formal.
But he doesn't know what to say,
what to do.

Squidward's tentacle hovers,
his gaze flicking from the
plate to Plankton's face. "I'm
in charge, not you!" He says
shoving Plankton as he mixes
the dishes. That's it.

The room spins around Plankton,
his vision blurring with the
sudden assault. The clatter of
plates, the smell of grease,
the touch of Squidward's tentacle—
it's too much. His body reacts
before his brain can catch up, 
the partygoers' laughter
a distant echo in Plankton's ringing
ears.

"Plankton?" Squidward asks,
his voice a distant rumble as
SpongeBob comes in.

Plankton's vaguely aware of
his surroundings, but it's all just
white noise, his gaze going
blank as the absence seizure
starts up.

new just a touch neurodisability ix

GREAT CHIP iv
(Autistic author)

In the bedroom, Karen
managed to guide Plankton
to the bed, her voice
soothing. She knew
his senses were heightened
right now, his body
a battleground.

Chip hovered in the doorway,
his eyes never leaving
his dad. He felt
like he didn't recognize
this man who had
always been his hero.

The seizure passed,
leaving Plankton 
drained.
Karen helped tucked him in,
her eyes filled with sadness.

In the quiet that followed,
she turned to Chip,
his own eyes red and puffy.
"I'm sorry you had to see that,"
she said gently.

Chip nodded, his gaze
still on Plankton's exhausted face.
"Is he okay?" he asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

"He'll be fine," Karen assured,
her voice strained. "Just tired.
This happens sometimes."

Chip nodded, his gaze never
leaving Plankton's face. He felt
like he was seeing his dad
for the first time, like he'd
been looking at him through
a fog and suddenly, it had lifted.
He didn't know what to do
with the mix of feelings swirling
inside him: confusion, fear, sadness.

Karen took Chip's hand,
squeezing it gently. "Let's go
talk, okay?" she suggested,
leading him out of the room.
They sat in the kitchen,
the silence heavy between them.

"I don't get it," Chip said finally,
his voice still shaky. "Why
did Dad get so mad?"

Karen sighed, her grip on
his hand tightening. "It's not that
he's mad at you, sweetheart.
It's his way of dealing with the fear
and confusion. Sometimes,
his brain gets overwhelmed,
and it's like he can't control
his reactions."

Chip looked at her, his
eyes searching for understanding.
"But why does he have to break
my toys?" he asked, his voice
still small.

Karen's heart ached for him.
"It's not about the toys," she
explained softly. "It's about the
frustration he feels, the inability
to communicate what he's going 
through."

Chip sniffled, trying to wrap
his head around it all. "But why
does he get so...so...mad?"

Karen's eyes were filled with
understanding. "It's not just you,
Chip. Sometimes, his brain needs a way
to deal with everything. It's like
his own personal tornado, and when
it hits, it's hard for him to keep
his emotions from spinning out 
of control."

Chip nodded, still not fully
understanding but willing to try.
He looked down at their joined
hands, his thumb tracing small circles
on her palm. "What can I do?"

Karen squeezed his hand.
"Just be patient," she said.
"And don't take it personally.
Remember, it's not about you,
it's about what he's feeling.
And when he's ready, we can talk
about it together."

Chip nodded, feeling a mix
of relief and trepidation.
He didn't want to upset his dad
again, but he needed to know
how to help. He didn't want
to feel so powerless.

"But what if he doesn't want to talk?"
he ventured, his voice small.

"Then we'll give him space," Karen said,
her eyes filled with warmth. "But we'll
be here, ready to listen when he does."

Chip nodded, wiping away the last
of his tears with the back of his hand.

"Okay," he murmured, his voice
still shaky. "Can I sit with him?"

Karen nodded. "Just for a bit,
but remember, he might not know
you're there right away. Let's go."

They tiptoe back into the room,
the air still thick with tension.
Plankton's eye is closed. Karen
knows he's sleeping.

Chip sits in the chair beside
the bed, watching his dad's chest
rise and fall. He reaches out
to touch Plankton's hand, but stops.

He didn't want to startle him,
not after what happened. His mind
raced with questions, but he knew
now was not the time to ask.

Instead, Chip took a deep breath,
his hand hovering over Plankton's.
He didn't know how to make it right,
but he knew he had to try.

Karen watched from the doorway,
her heart heavy with the weight
of her family's pain. She knew
this was a moment that could either
build a wall or bridge the gap
between father and son.

Chip's hand hovered, unsure,
before finally landing on
his dad's. Plankton's antennae
twitched, and Chip looked up to see
his mother's eyes glistening with
proud tears.

Karen offered a gentle smile.
"You can sit with him," she whispered.
"Just don't touch him anywhere else."

Chip nodded and pulled the chair
closer to the bed, his eyes
never leaving his dad's still face.

He sat for what felt like hours,
his hand resting gently on Plankton's.
Every now and then, his dad's antennae
would twitch, and he'd hold his breath,
afraid that he'd wake him up. But Plankton
remained still, lost in a deep slumber.

The room was quiet, save for the soft
snores escaping his dad's mouth. Chip
stared at his hand on Plankton's, his mind
racing with everything he'd learned. Autism,
seizures, the way his dad's brain worked differently.
It was all so new and overwhelming.

He felt a pang of guilt for not
knowing sooner, for not understanding.
But Karen's words echoed in his mind:
his dad's reactions weren't personal. It was
just how his brain dealt with stress.

Chip leaned back in the chair,
his eyes heavy with the weight
of the day's events. He watched
his dad's chest rise and fall, the
steady rhythm comforting him.

His thoughts swirled with questions
and confusion, but he knew
one thing for sure: he loved
his dad, no matter what.

As the minutes ticked by,
his fear turned into resolve.
He would learn more about his
father and try to find a way
to support him without setting
off the storm of sensory overload.

new great chip learncore iv

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣
Pt. 4
by NeuroFabulous


They found Chip sitting
on the floor of his room.
Karen knelt beside him,
wrapping her arms around
his small frame. "It's ok
Chip," she whispered. "Dad
didn't mean to scare you."

Plankton sat on the edge
of the bed, his body still
shaky from his meltdown.
He watched his wife and son
with a mix of love and despair.
He didn't know how to bridge
the gap that had suddenly
appeared between them.

Karen sat beside him,
her hand on his arm, her gaze
filled with understanding.
"We need to talk to Chip,"
she said gently. "He's
scared, Plankton. He just
needs to know what's go—"

But Plankton was already
spiraling, his chest tightening
as the fear of the unknown
consumed him. His eye
was wide, his breaths
quick and shallow.

He clutched at his chest,
his heart racing. "I can't."
The room spun around him,
his stims turning into a
full-blown panic attack.

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the fear and
desperation. She knew
this was a moment they
couldn't ignore. "Plankton,
you can do this," she said,
her voice firm but gentle.
"We're going to te-"

But Plankton's panic
was too intense. His
body began to shake,
his breaths coming in
quick, sharp gasps. He
couldn't control his stims.
"I CAN'T!" he shouted,
his voice echoing through
the room. His antennae
twitched erratically, his
body contorting in an
effort to escape the
overwhelming anxiety.

Chip's eyes grew wider
at his father's distress.
He didn't know what to
do, but he knew he
wanted to help. He scoots
closer, reaching for
Plankton's hand. "Dad?"
he whispered.

The touch was like
electricity to Plankton.
He jolted, his panic
escalating, his body
thrashing uncontrollably.

Karen held Chip back,
knowing that Plankton's
flailing limbs could
accidentally harm him.
"Daddy," Chip called out,
his voice trembling.

Karen saw the fear
in Chip's eyes.

"Chip," she said, her voice
steady despite the chaos
around them, "Dad's having
a bad seizure. He gets
them sometimes because his
brain is working extra hard.
We need to stay calm, let him
have his space."

Chip nodded, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's convulsing
form. He didn't understand
why his dad's brain would
do this to him, but he
knew he had to be brave.

The room was silent
except for the harsh sound
of Plankton's labored breaths.

Karen's heart felt like it
was being squeezed in a vice.
This was a side of Plankton
she had shielded Chip from
for so long. But now, there was
no hiding it. She knew that
the conversation they had been
avoiding was now inevitable.

The seizure raged on,
Plankton's body jerking and
twitching with an intensity
that made Karen's own body
ache in empathy. She watched
his face, contorted in pain,
and wished she could take it
away, wished she could explain
to their son what was happening.

But Chip's innocence
shattered by the scene
before him. His tears fell
silently, mixing with the
fear in his eyes as he
stared at his dad.

Plankton's body jerked
wildly, his stims a silent
scream for help. The room
was a blur of movement
and noise, his sounds
filling the air like a cacophony
of distress.

Karen held Chip tightly,
his small body trembling
against hers. "It's ok,
Dad's brain just needs a
moment to calm down,"
she murmured.

Plankton's seizure
eventually subsided.
Karen remained by his
side, her eyes never leaving
his face as she whispered
soothing words. "You're
ok," she murmured. "You're
safe." Plankton's eye
flitted open, unfocused and
glassy.

The room was quiet,
the only sound being
his own labored breaths.
He looked around Chip's
bedroom. "Wha-wha-wha?" 
he stuttered, his voice 
still thick with
his postictal state.

Karen and Chip stared
at him, their faces filled
with a mix of fear and
relief. Plankton's mind
was still racing, trying
to catch up with reality.

"Wha-wha-wha?" he
repeated, his mouth
forming words that didn't
make sense. Karen took
his hand, her eyes filled
with love and patience.
"You had a seizure, Plankton,"
she said softly. "But you're
coming out of it now."

Plankton's gaze drifted
around the room, his
brain trying to piece
together the fragments
of what had happened.

Plankton's tremors had
evolved into a loop of
silly sounds and gestures.
He giggled, his eye
crossing slightly as he
waved his arms in the air. "Hi,
buddy," he said, his voice
slurred and childlike. Chip
stared at him, not knowing
how to react.

"You're okay, Dad?"
Chip ventured, his voice
shaky.

Plankton looked at him,
his face a mask of
confusion and child-like
innocence. He giggled
again.

Chip watched his dad,
his heart pounding. The
silly sounds and movements
were so unlike him.
It was like watching
a stranger in his dad's body.
"What's going on?" Chip
asked, his voice trembling.
"Is he okay?"

Karen nodded, her eyes
filled with both love and
sadness. "It's called postictal
delirium," she said softly.
"It can happen after a
seizure. His brain is just
trying to reboot."

Plankton looked at them
both, his movements
becoming more erratic.
"I'm a... I'm a... root?"
Karen couldn't help but
smile through her tears.
"No, honey, you're not a root,"
she said, her voice gentle.
"You're just a bit mixed up
right now."

Chip watched his dad,
his mind racing. He had
never seen him act so...
so weird. "But Dad," he
stammered, "you're not 
a root.." Plankton
chuckles, his eye glazed
over.

Karen's smile grew sadder.
"It's okay," she reassured
Chip, her voice steady. "This
is just a phase, it will
pass. His brain is just
trying to get back to
his normal."

Plankton's legs pushed
his body to his side as
drool formed at the corner
of his mouth. Chip looked
to his mom for guidance,
his eyes pleading for
explanation.

Karen's heart ached
watching her husband's
mind struggle to find
his footing. She knew
this was a normal part
of his recovery, but it
was hard not to feel a
pang of sadness at his
vulnerability. "It's okay,
sweetie," she said, her voice
calm and steady. "See,
his brain is still trying to
wake up," she explained, her
voice calm and soothing.
"It's like he's in a dream,
and we just have to wait
for him to come back to us."

Chip studied his
father's face, his mind
racing to understand.
"But why is he acting
like that?" he asked, his
voice filled with worry.

"It's part of his
recovery," Karen said,
wiping a tear from her
eye. "Sometimes after a
big seizure, his brain
needs a bit of time to get
itself sorted out. He might
say or do things that don't
make sense. It's like his
brain is playing catch-up."

Plankton rolled onto
his stomach, trying
to crawl around on the
bed. Chip watched,
his heart racing. He 
didn't know whether to 
laugh or cry. Karen couldn't
help but chuckle through
her own tears. It was a
sight to see his normally 
stoic demeanor so playfully
distorted.

"Wormy wormy," Chip
repeated tentatively, a
tiny smile playing on his
lips despite the fear that
still lingered. Plankton
crawled to Chip, drooling
still, his eye still glazed
over.

Karen watched the
interaction with a 
bittersweet smile, 
heart torn between
laughing at Plankton's 
silliness and crying 
for the reality behind it. 
"That's right, buddy," 
she said, her voice
soft. Chip laughed too, 
though the fear in his 
eyes hadn't fully 
dissipated.

His dad's normally stern
face was a picture of
joyful confusion, his
movements those of a
playful puppy. "Daddy,
what's so funny?" Chip
asked, his curiosity
getting the better of him.

Plankton giggled, his
limbs flailing. "Tickle
monster," he exclaimed,
his voice high-pitched and
slurred. He reached out
and poked Chip in the
hand, his movements
uncoordinated but
playful.

Chip stifled a laugh,
his fear slowly giving
way to amusement. "Dad,"
he said, his voice gentle,
"you're not a tickle
monster." But Plankton's
reaching for Chip again.

"Tickle monster, tickle
monster," he repeated,
his voice growing more
insistent. Chip felt a
strange mix of emotions
bubbling up inside him. He
was still scared, but there
was something endearing
about his dad's newfound
silliness. Chip giggled. "Dad,
stop," he protested, but his
laughter betrayed his
enjoyment. Karen herself
watched from the edge
of the bed, her own smile
growing. She knew whenever
Plankton fully came back to
himself, he'd be completely
humiliated to find himself
like this.

new my autistic dad seizurecore

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣
Pt. 5
by NeuroFabulous


Finally Plankton's eye 
focused slightly, and 
he looked from Chip 
to Karen. He tried to 
sit up, but his body 
was still weak. "What 
happened?" he asked,
his voice confused as
he wiped the drool from
his mouth.

Karen took a deep 
breath, her heart
swelling with love 
for her husband. "You
had a seizure, sweetie,"
she said, her voice gentle.
"But you're okay now."
Plankton's antennae 
twitched, his mind
racing as he tried to
understand.

He looked from Karen
to Chip, his son's face
still wet with tears.
"Chip...I'm...I'm sorry,"
he stuttered, his body
still trembling. Chip
smiled tentatively, his
eyes never leaving his
dad's face. "It's okay, Dad,"
he said. "I just want
you to be okay."

The room was silent
for a moment, filled
only with the sound
of Plankton's labored
breathing. Karen felt
relief, but she knew the
conversation they had
put off was now 
unavoidable.

"Plankton," she began,
her voice calm and steady.
"Chip saw you having a
seizure. And he heard me
talking about your...
neurodisability." She paused,
trying to find the right
words. "We need to tell
him more about your autism.
Why don't you start telling him?"

Plankton looked at his wife,
his face a canvas of fear and
uncertainty. But he knew she
was right. He had to tell Chip.
He took a deep breath. "I'm
autistic; I was born this way.
It's like...my brain is a
different operating system,"
he began, his voice shaking.

Chip's eyes widened in
interest, his curiosity
overriding his fear. "But 
what's that mean?"

"It means," he began, "that 
sometimes my brain does 
things differently than 
yours. And when it gets
overwhelmed, like with too
much noise or too many 
people, I might have a 
reaction that looks like 
what, whatever you saw."

Chip's curiosity grew,
his fear dissipating. "So, 
you're like a... a... a..."
He searched for the right
word, his mind racing.
And then it slipped out.
"A ret-..." Chip whispered,
his voice filled with innocence.
The room went cold, Karen's
heart sinking as she saw
the look on Plankton's face.

Without another word,
Plankton abruptly got 
up, leaving Chip's room
and slamming the door
behind him. Chip looked at
her, his eyes questioning.
"Mom," Chip said, his voice
small and scared, "Wh-"

"Chip," Karen said, her voice
sharp, "That's not a word
you should use to describe
your dad!" She was upset,
hurt by the ignorance
his innocent question had
revealed.

Chip's smile disappeared,
replaced by confusion. "But
I didn't do anyth—"

"Chip," Karen interrupted,
her voice firm. "What you
just said was hurtful. His
autism is no..." Karen took
a deep breath, her eyes
filled with a mix of anger
and sadness. "You need to
understand that words can
hurt, especially when you
don't know what you're
talking about. Because that
term, it's not nice, and it's
not what we say to describe
neurodisabled people."

Chip looked down at his
hands, his cheeks flushing.
He hadn't meant to hurt his
dad, hadn't even known
what he was saying was
wrong. "I'm sorry," he
mumbled, his voice small.

Karen took a deep
breath, trying to calm her
nerves. She knew Chip
was just a child, trying to
make sense.

"It's okay," she said
finally, her voice softer.
"But we have to learn to
be careful with our
words." She took his
hand. "Let's go talk to
him together."

They found Plankton
on his own bed, his
back to them, sniffling.

"Dad," Chip called out, his
small voice breaking the
silence. "I di-"

But Plankton's body tensed,
his antennae shooting up
in alarm. "I don't want
to talk to you," he said,
angrily. "I need to be alone."

Karen's heart broke for
them both. She knew that
this was a pivotal moment,
one that could either push
them apart or bring them
closer. She took a step
forward. "Plankton, Chip
just wants to underst--"

But Plankton's voice 
was harsh. "No."

Chip took a step back,
his eyes wide with shock
and confusion. He hadn't
meant to upset his dad.
"But Dad," he began again,
his voice trembling.

Karen stepped in, placing
a gentle hand on Chip's
shoulder. "Just give him
some space," she said, her
voice calm but firm. "He's
upset, and needs time to
process."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on his dad's back. He
felt a mix of guilt and
sorrow. He knew he'd hurt
his dad. "Ok," he murmurs.

Karen squeezed Chip's
shoulder, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's tense
form. She knew he was in a
world of his own, trying to
soothe his overstimulated
brain. She watched as he
began to rub his hand
against the bed's fabric,
a stim of his. It was a
motion she had seen a
thousand times before.

With a heavy heart, she
knew she had to approach
Plankton gently. She took
a tentative step forward,
her eyes locked onto his
back. "Plankton," she said
softly. "I know you're upset."

Plankton's shoulders
tightened, but he didn't
turn around. Karen's hand
was steady as she reached
out to touch his arm. But
he flinched, pulling away.

She moved closer, her hand
on his shoulder. "Plankton,"
she said softly. "Please,
talk to me. We love you."

He didn't respond, but
his stims slowed. Karen knew
his autism made it hard
for him to express himself,
especially when he was
overwhelmed. She sat beside
him, her hand on his back.
"You're okay," she whispers,
her voice gentle.

Plankton's body stiffened,
his antennae drooping. "I'm
not okay," he murmured,
his voice thick with
self-loathing. "I am not
feeling okay right now."

Karen's eyes searched
his face, her heart aching.
"I know," she said, her voice
soothing. "But you're not
alone." She paused, her hand
still on his back. "Chip's
just trying to understand."

Plankton's body was
still tense, his breathing
erratic. "I don't want him
to see me like this," he
whispered. "I don't want
others to see me like this."

Karen wrapped her arms
around him, pulling him
closer. "But that's what
makes you, you," she said,
her voice firm but filled
with love. "And we love
you just the way you are."

Plankton's shoulders began
to shake as he finally
let out a sob. He buried
his face in her chest, his
body trembling with the
weight of his emotions.

Karen held him tightly,
whispering words of comfort.
"You're not weak," she
said firmly. "You're
different, and that's
ok. You're still the stubborn,
brave, strong man I fell in
love with." Her words
were like a balm to his
tortured soul.

new my autistic dad meancore

JUST A TOUCH viii
(Autistic author)


After dinner, they
retreat to the living room.
Plankton's eye is glued
to the puzzle book on the
coffee table, his antennae
twitching with unspoken
longing. Karen picks it up,
opening to a new page.

"Would you like to work
on this one together?"
she asks, her voice gentle.
He nods, his eye lighting
up with the familiar challenge.

Together, they tackle the
puzzle, Karen's voice a gentle
narration as Plankton's antennae
move in time with her words.

The patterns on the page
hypnotize him, drawing him in.
Plankton's antennae stop
twitching, his focus solely
on the words before him.

And then the doorbell rings,
breaking the spell. Karen's
heart skips a beat, her hand
tightening around the puzzle
book. Plankton's head snaps up,
his eye wide with alarm. "Who
is it?" he asks, his voice
sharp.

Karen's eyes dart to the clock.
"It's probably SpongeBob,"
she murmurs. Plankton's antennae
perk up at the mention of his
friend's name. "Party," he says,
his voice hopeful. Karen nods,
swiping at the tear that's
managed to escape. "Yes, Plankton.
SpongeBob's probably here
to invite us to a party at the
Krusty Krab. Do you
think you're up for it?" she asks,
her voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae droop
slightly. "Maybe," he says,
his voice unsure. The thought
of the bright lights and loud
noises at the party sends a
shiver of anxiety through
his tiny body. But the
prospect of seeing Sponge
Bob is tempting.

Karen sighs, understanding
his hesitation. She walks
to the door, her movements
slow and deliberate. Sponge
Bob's cheerful greeting floods
the hallway. "Hey,
Karen! Plankton! You guys
coming to the party?"

"Hey, Sponge Bob," she says,
her smile forced. "What's the
occasion?"

Sponge Bob's face lights up
like a Christmas tree, his
spongy body bobbing with
excitement. "Mr. Krabs is
throwing a bash at the
Krusty Krab!" he says, his
hands gesturing wildly. "You
guys are coming, right?"

Plankton's antennae quiver
at the mention of the party.
The thought of the loud
noises and the jostling
crowd makes his stomach
churn, but the prospect of
seeing his friend shines like
a beacon through the fog
of his fear.

Karen watches him,
reading his emotions like
a book. "It's okay," she says,
her voice a gentle reminder.
"We can go for a little bit."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. "Okay," he says, his voice
barely a whisper. Karen can
see the internal struggle
playing out across his features.
"Just stay as long as you're
comfortable," she adds. "I'll
just stay, you go with him."

Sponge Bob's eyes light up.
"Great!" he says, bending
down to hold his hand. He
holds his finger as they go.

Plankton's grip is tight,
his antennae flat against
his head. The noise of the
Krusty Krab is a cacophony
of sounds, each one
stabbing at his heightened
senses. But the warmth of
Sponge Bob's hand, the
familiarity of their friendship,
anchors him.

Mr. Krabs sees Plankton
clinging to Sponge Bob's 
side.

"What's going on, laddie?"
he asks, his voice gruff but
concerned at the sight of
their hands.

Plankton's antennae
twitch, his gaze darting
to the floor. Mr. Krabs' 
eyes narrow.

"Why did ye invite
Plankton?" he asks
with suspicion.

Sponge Bob's smile
doesn't waver. "Well,
he's always welcome..."

Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow.
"But he's our enemy.."

Sponge Bob's smile
doesn't waver. "He's my friend,"
he says firmly. "And I'm watching
to make sure he won't steal any
thing, boss.."

Mr. Krabs' eyes soften,
his suspicion giving way to
reluctant acceptance. "Alright,
but keep an eye on him," he says,
his voice gruff.

Sponge Bob nods, his grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.
Plankton's antennae quiver,
his heart racing at the sudden
influx of stimulation. The
colorful lights, the smells of
frying food, the laughter of
the patrons—it's all so
much. But Sponge Bob's hand is
warm, a lifeline in the chaos.

They move through the
crowd, Plankton's steps small and
careful. His eye darts around,
trying to take it all in without
getting overwhelmed. Sponge
Bob's voice cuts through the
noise like a knife. "You okay,
buddy?" he asks, his smile
concerned. Plankton nods, his
voice a strained whisper. "Good,"
Sponge Bob says, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's.

As they reach the party
area, Plankton's antennae start to
wave erratically. The lights
are too bright, the sounds too
loud. He clutches Sponge
Bob's hand tighter. 
Plankton takes a deep breath,
his chest expanding with the
effort. It's like trying to
swim through jello, his senses
on high alert.

Sponge Bob feels the
change in his friend's grip,
his own heart racing with
concern. "You okay, Plankton?"
he asks again, his voice
barely audible over the din.
Plankton nods, his eye
focused on the floor. The
pattern of the tiles is
soothing, grounding him amidst
the chaos.

A flash of pink darts
through the crowd, and Plankton's
antennas twitch. "Patrick!"
Sponge Bob says, letting go
of Plankton's hand.

Plankton looks around and
sees Squidward doing the
dishes, but in a disorganized
manner that Plankton needs
to correct.

The sight of the
scattered plates, the water spots
on the glasses, sends a jolt of
anxiety through him. His
compulsion to straighten, to
organize, to make it right, is
almost unbearable. So he goes
to Squidward by the sink to interfere.

Squidward glances up, his
tentacles frozen mid-wash. "What
are you doing here?" he snaps.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his gaze fixated on the mess.
"Help," he says, his voice tight.

Squidward rolls his eyes, grabbing
another plate to wash as he ignores
Plankton.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
eye darting between the chaos
and Squidward's dismissal. He's
doing the dishes wrong and needs
him to help!

"Squidward, let Plankton assist,"
he says, his voice formal.
Squidward sighs, shaking his
head.

"Look, I don't have time for
this," he says, his tentacles
moving rapidly. Plankton's
body tenses, his need for
meticulousness consuming him.

As Plankton approaches Squidward,
his movements are precise, almost
mechanical. His antennae twitch
in time with his racing thoughts,
his need for order a silent
scream in the noisy room. He
holds out his hand, palm up.
"Wash," he says, his voice firm.
Squidward pauses, eyeing him
warily. "What?"

Plankton's gaze is unwavering,
his voice steady. "Smudges.
Wash dishes. Correct way."

Squidward's grip on the plate
slackens, his eyes narrowing.
"What do you mean?"

Plankton's antennae wave
frantically. "Correct way,"
he repeats, his voice a
desperate whisper. "No smudges.
Wrong order."

Squidward's tentacles still,
his gaze sharpening. "What's
gotten into you?" he asks, his voice
filled with skepticism.

Plankton's antennae twitch.
"No smudges," he says again,
his voice a mix of urgency and
desperation. Squidward sets
the plate down with a clatter.
"What are you on about, Plankton?"

But Plankton's focus is solely
on the task at hand. He reaches
for the dish soap, his movements
precise.

Squidward watches him, his
expression a mix of annoyance
and curiosity. "What's going on?"
he asks, his voice gruff. Plankton's
antennas twitch, his eye darting
to Squidward. "Just helping,"
he says, his voice flat as he puts
the now clean dish away. But he
sees imperfections on some of the
clean dishes, handing them over
for Squidward to wash as he straightens
up the other plates.

Squidward's eyebrows furrow,
his gaze flicking between Plankton
and the dishes. "What are you
doing?" he asks again. Plankton's
grip on the towel tightens, his
body vibrating with the need for
perfection. "It's not right,"
he says, his voice strained. "Has to be
right."

"Those I've cleaned!" Squidward
says as Plankton puts them in
the sink for him to wash over
again. "Squidward look. No..."

But before Plankton can
finish, Squidward snatches the plate
from his tentacles. "Look, I don't
have time for your... whatever
this is," he says, his voice gruff. He
takes it and haphazardly shoves
it with smaller plates. Plankton
can't take the misalignment!

Plankton's antennae stand on
end, his eye wide with horror.
"No!" he says, his voice rising.
"Wrong order!" His hands
shake as he tries to grab the
plate, his mind racing with
the need to correct the mistake.

Squidward pulls away, his
expression a mix of confusion
and irritation. "Plankton, what's
wrong with you?" he snaps.

"Plankton's centrum semiovale has
restricted inhibitory synaptic
transmission!" Plankton's
voice is a mix of panic and
frustration, his antennae waving
wildly. Squidward's eyes narrow,
his grip on the plate tightening.
"What are you talking about? I
am not going to wash this again,"
he says, his tone firm.

Squidward's words hit a nerve,
triggering a cascade of emotions
in Plankton. "It's not
about Squidward!" he says, his voice
sharp. "It's about the order! Cleanliness..."

"PLANKTON I SAID NO!" Squidward
yells, startling him as he turns back
to the sink.

new just a touch neurodisability viii

GREAT CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae dropping slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new great chip learncore vi

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣
Pt. 6
by NeuroFabulous


Plankton's sobs grew
softer, his body slowly
relaxing into hers. He's
exhausted from today's
events, and his eye had
fluttered shut.

Karen stroked his back,
her mind racing. They
needed to explain to
Chip about autism, and
they needed to do it now.
It was time to break the
silence and start a
conversation that was long
overdue.

"Chip," she called out, her
voice gentle, "can you come
back here, sweetie?" Chip 
came, his eyes red from 
crying. He slowly 
approached, his heart
racing. "Dad?"

Plankton's eye then
flitted open, and he 
looked at his wife, then
his son. He felt so tired,
his mind a jumbled mess.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his
eye half-lidded with fatigue.

"Don't be sorry," Karen said.
"Come sit," she beckoned
to Chip, who approached
slowly. He climbed onto
the bed, his eyes never
leaving his dad's face.

Plankton's eye was
half-closed, his body 
heavy with sleep. 
Karen knew the 
emotional outburst 
had exhausted him.

"What's autism, Mom?"
Chip's voice was filled
with curiosity.

"It's a part of your dad's
brain," Karen began,
carefully choosing her
words. "It's something
he was born with."

Chip looked at her, his
eyes still wide with
question. "But what does
it do?"

Karen took a deep
breath, stroking Plankton's
back. "Well," she said,
"it makes him see the world
a little differently.
Sometimes, his brain gets
really busy, like when there's
a lot of noise or when
things are too bright. It can
be hard for him to handle.
And sometimes, when he's had
a big seizure, he gets like
this," she gestured to
his sleepy form in her arms.

Chip studied his
father's face, his 
curiosity piqued. 
"Does that mean
he's sick?"

Karen looked at her 
son, her heart heavy 
with the weight of 
the truth. "No, Chip," 
she said, her voice
soothing. "It's like 
having a different 
kind of brain that 
sometimes needs 
extra care and 
understanding.
Dad's autism is like
his brain's special 
way of working," Karen
explained, her voice 
calm and even. "It's like
a computer sometimes 
runs really fast or really
slow, and we just need
to know how to help him
when it's too much."

Chip nodded. He
thought about his
own video games, how
his console sometimes
glitched or lagged. He
couldn't imagine his
dad feeling like that.

"But what about his
stims?" he asked, 
his voice filled with
concern. Karen took
a deep breath, her heart
racing as she tried to
explain.

"His stims are like little
things he does to help
his brain feel better. It's
kind of like when you
pace. But he doesn't like
for us to call attention to
them," Karen said gently,
trying to find the right
words to explain.

Chip nodded. "But
why did he get so 
mad?"

"Because," Karen said, her
voice soft, "his brain was
overwhelmed. Sometimes
autistic people can get
upset when they don't feel
understood. And when you
used that bad word, it just
reminded him of all the
times people have said
things without knowing
what it means to be autistic."

Chip's eyes grew wide
with realization. "But
I didn't know it was
bad," he said, his voice
tiny as tears threatened to
spill over. And Plankton's 
body tensed at the 
mention of the word.

"Well," Plankton began,
his voice thick with 
sarcasm, "now you 
know." His tone was
sharp, his anger 
palpable. "So, now that 
you've seen the freak 
show, you can tell all 
your friends!"

Chip's eyes filled with
hurt at his father's
harsh words. "Dad, I 
didn't mean to up-" "Oh,
you didn't mean to?"
Plankton interrupts. "Aw,
are you gonna give me the
'I'm just a kid' excuse?" His
tone was laced with anger
and sarcasm. "Well, here's
a newsflash, kiddo: words
have consequences. So
maybe you can tell all your
little pals about how
'fun' it is to have a
dad who turns into a
blubbering mess at the
drop of a hat! Is that right,
little man?"

Karen's grip on Plankton's
arm tightened. "Plankton,"
she said, her voice firm but
filled with love. "That's en-"

But Plankton's anger 
would not be contained.
"What, Karen?" he snapped,
his eye glaring at Chip. "You
think I don't know what
he's going to do? That
he's not going to tell his
friends?"

Chip's lip quivered, his
heart racing with fear
and guilt. He didn't 
understand why his dad
was so upset. "I-I won't,"
he promised, his voice
shaking. "I didn't know.
And I'm sor—"

But Plankton's sarcasm
continued, his voice
sharp as a knife. "Oh,
you're sorry," he spat.
"That fixes everything,
doesn't it? Ohhhhhhhh
look, Chip's such a good
boy, he said sorry!" He
mocked, his antennae
waving erratically.

Chip felt a knot form
in his stomach, his
cheeks burning with
shame. He didn't know
what to say. He hadn't
meant to upset his dad.

"Plankton," Karen's
voice was firm, "that is
enough. You're scaring 
him."

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his voice trembling. "I just
want to know why you're
acting so mad," he choked 
out.

Plankton's antennae
drooped, the anger in
his voice giving way to
frustration. "I just want
to be by myself," he said,
his voice low. Chip looks
at his mother, his eyes
pleading.

Karen nodded, her heart
breaking for both of them.
"Okay," she said gently.
"We'll leave you alone
for now. But remember,
we love you." She kissed
his forehead.

Chip climbed off the
bed. "I'm sorry, Dad,"
he whispered before
exiting the room, his
tiny legs carrying him
as fast as they could
to his own room.

Karen watched him go,
her heart aching. She
turned to Plankton, who
was now lying on his
side.

"Why do you have to be
so hard on him?" she
asked, her voice filled with
frustration and love.
"He didn't know what he
was sa-"

"I know," Plankton cut
her off, his voice tired.
"I know he didn't know.
But it doesn't change
the fact that it's hurting
me.."

Karen sat next to him,
silent for a moment. She
knew his anger was a
defense mechanism, a
way to protect himself
from the fear and pain of
being misunderstood. "I'm
sorry," she whispered, her
hand on his arm. "But
you're right, what he said
was hurtful. That's why I
wanted us to explain."

Plankton sighed, his
body slowly deflating. "I
know you're trying to help,"
he said, his voice tired.

Karen leaned in, her eyes
filled with compassion.
"And we're here for you,"
she said firmly. "We're a
team. You don't have to..."

But Plankton's eye closed.
"I know," he murmured.
"But sometimes...it's just
so hard. I'm tired.."

Karen nodded, her
hand still on his arm.
"I know, sweetie," she 
said, her voice gentle. 
"But Chip loves you. He
just needs to understand.
And we ca--"

But her words were
interrupted by Plankton's
snores. Karen sighs, 
stroking his arm. She 
knew these conversations
weren't over, but for now,
he needed rest. She leaned
in, placing a soft kiss
on his cheek. "I'll take
care of him," she whispered.

With a heavy heart, she
got up from the bed and
closed the door behind
them. She found Chip in
his own room, sitting on the
edge of his bed, his eyes
fixed on the floor.

new my autistic dad meancore

GREAT CHIP v
(Autistic author)

Eventually, Plankton stirs, his 
antennae twitching slightly. 
His eye opens, and for a 
moment, he's disoriented. He 
looks at Chip, then at his hand 
on his own, and a flicker of 
memory passes through his eye. 
He then pulls his hand 
away. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says 
softly. "I'm here."

Plankton's expression shifts.
He sighs, his eye dropping to 
his son's hand.

"Chip," he murmurs. "Wh-what 
happened?"

Chip's heart skips a beat.
He wasn't sure how much to say,
but he knew he couldn't lie. "You had
another... moment," he says carefully.

Plankton's face falls, the weight
of his own reality crashing down
on him like a heavy fog. He nods slowly,
his eye searching the room as if
trying to piece together the puzzle
of his lost time.

"I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice
barely above a whisper. "I didn't know."

Plankton's eye meets his, the anger
dissipating like the fog. 
"It's not your fault,"
he says, his voice weary. 
"I just... I can't handle
much sometimes."

Chip nods, feeling a lump
in his throat. "Can I hug you?"
he asks tentatively, remembering
his mother's advice.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye searching Chip's face.
After a moment, he nods. "Yes,
but just for a second."

Chip leans in 
carefully, wrapping
his arms around 
his dad's shoulders.
Plankton tenses, 
his body
a coil of nerves.

The hug is brief, but 
it feels like
an eternity to Chip. 
He pulls back,
his eyes searching 
Plankton's face.
"Are you okay?"

Plankton's eye blinks 
slowly. "I will be,"
he says, his voice 
weary. "I just need some
time to regroup."

Chip nods, his mind racing
with questions and fears.
He didn't know what to say,
how to fix this.
He just knew he didn't want
his dad to feel like this.

Karen watches from the doorway,
her heart heavy with the weight of
the unspoken words between them.
She wishes she could take the pain
away, but she knows that this
moment belonged to her husband
and her son.

Chip's hand lingers in the space
where Plankton's was, feeling
the warmth that's no longer there.
He swallows hard, trying to push
his fears aside. "What can I do?"
he asks, his voice trembling.

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his antennae twitching as he tries
to gather his thoughts. "Just maybe
try not to touch me... unless I ask."

The words hang in the air,
a stark reminder of the chasm
that's opened between them.
Chip nods solemnly, his heart heavy.
He doesn't fully understand
his dad's condition, but he knows
it's real and it's painful. And he knows
he played a part in it today.

"Dad," he starts 
tentatively, 
"Can we talk
about your... 
moments?"

Plankton's antennae 
droop. "What do you
want to know?" he 
asks, his voice
sounding more 
tired than defensive.

Chip takes a 
deep breath, trying
to formulate his
thoughts. "Well, I just
want to understand
what you go through.
What happens during
those moments?"

Plankton looks away, his
face contorting with the
effort of explaining.
"It's like my brain goes
on a vacation without me,"
he says finally. "Everything's
too much, and I just...
zone out."

Chip nods, trying to
picture it. "What's it like?
The zoning out, I mean."

Plankton sighs, his antennae
waving slightly. "It's like...
being in a movie theater, but
instead of watching the movie,
the lights and sounds are all around me.
They're too bright, too loud. And when I come
back, it's like the movie's still playing
in fast forward. I miss parts of it,
and I can't rewind."

Chip's eyes widen with
understanding. "So, it's like a break,
but it's not fun for you?"

Plankton nods. "It's more like
a reboot. My brain needs it,
but it's scary not knowing
when it'll happen or how
long it'll last."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
seeing the vulnerability behind
the usual bravado. "But why do
you get so mad sometimes?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his face contorting with the effort
of explaining. "It's like...
everything's too much, and then
I can't stop it," he said. "It's like
being stuck in a loop of noises
and feelings, and I just need to
make it stop. And sometimes, that
means getting angry."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
trying to understand. "But why
does it make you so mad?"

Plankton's antennae drooped.
"It's not just from 
anger," he corrected gently.
"It's overstimulation. My brain
can't process everything at once,
so it shuts down to protect itself."

Chip nodded, his eyes
wide with realization.
He'd never thought of it
like that before. "So, it's like
you're in a crowded room,
and everyone's talking at you
at the same time?"

Plankton's eye lit up
slightly. "Exactly," he said,
his voice a mix of relief
and exhaustion. "And when
you touch me afterward,
it's like someone turning
the volume up even louder."

Chip's hand retreated to
his lap, understanding
dawning on his face. "So, it's like...
sensory overload?"

Plankton nodded, his eye
closing briefly. "Yes, it's like my
brain's circuits are fried, and I just
need a reset."

Chip sat quietly,
absorbing his father's words.
He'd never thought about it
from that perspective before.
He knew his dad was different,
but he didn't understand
the depth of his struggle.

"What about the seizures?"
Chip asked, his voice tentative.
"Do they feel like that too?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving slightly. "They're like...
a storm in my head," he said,
his voice strained. "They come
without warning, and I can't do
anything to stop them. It's like
everything's too much, and my brain
has to shut down to protect itself."

Chip's eyes grew wide
with empathy. "That sounds 
scary. But I've seen you hug
mom.."

Plankton sighed, his antennae
waving slightly. "It's different
with your mom. She knows 
how to touch me without making
it too much."

Chip's mind raced, trying to grasp
the complexities of his dad's
neurodivergence. "But how?"
he pressed, eager to learn.

Plankton took a moment to gather
his thoughts. "It's like...everything
is too loud or too bright,
and I can't just turn it down.
So, when I get overwhelmed,
my brain goes to 'sleep' for a bit."

Chip nodded slowly, his eyes
fixed on his father's antennae
which had stopped their erratic twitching.
"But what if I want to hug you?"
he asked, his voice tentative.

Plankton's eye opened, a glimmer
of something akin to hope flickering
within its depths. "Then you ask,"
he said simply. "You ask, and if I say
yes, you hug me gently. Like this."
He demonstrated by placing
his own hand on Chip's shoulder,
his grip firm but not tight. "But only
if I'm okay with it, okay?"

Chip nodded, feeling a weight
lift slightly from his chest.
"Okay," he whispered, his voice
shaky with emotion.

new great chip learncore v

PLUSH ONE iii
(By NeuroFabulous)

Karen watches him, his hands
stroking the fabric.
She reaches out tentatively,
touching his arm with the
back of her hand. He flinches,
his hand freezing mid-stroke.

Her eyes fill with regret,
but she doesn't pull away.
Instead, she lets her hand hover
for a moment before slowly
drawing it back. Plankton's gaze
flips to hers, his pupil wide with
surprise. He stares at her, then
back at her hand.

"It's okay," she murmurs, her
fingers hovering above his arm
once more. This time, he doesn't
flinch. Encouraged, she lightly
traces his skin, mimicking the
movement he'd made with her palm.

He watches her, his expression
neutral. Then, ever so slightly,
his hand relaxes its grip on the
blanket. It's as if he's giving
his consent for the contact.
Karen's eyes well up with tears.
This is the first real interaction
they've had since the accident.

She strokes his arm, her touch
light and cautious. He seems to
enjoy it, his body slowly unwinding
from the tension. It's a dance,
learning his new boundaries,
his new language of touch.

"What do you like?" Karen asks,
her voice soft. "What feels good?"
Her eyes are on his, watching for
any flicker of response. Plankton
looks at her, his gaze unreadable,
and then his hand moves to cover
hers on his arm. It's a gesture
so simple, yet so profound, that
it takes her breath away.

His skin is warm, his touch gentle.
He seems to be communicating
without words, and she's desperate
to understand. "Is this okay?"
she whispers, her hand stilling.
He nods, his eye never leaving hers.

Plankton's movements are
precise, deliberate. He's not
the same man she knew, but he's
still her Plankton. She can see
the love in his gaze, the trust
in his touch. It's a new way of
interacting, but she's willing to
learn.

As they sit together, Karen
notices how Plankton's eye darts
around the room, focusing on
specific items before moving on.
It's as if he's cataloging everything,
trying to make sense of his
surroundings. She decides to try
to engage him with his environment,
hoping to spark some familiarity.

"Look, Plankton," she says, pointing
to a framed photo on the wall.
"It's us. Do you remember?"
He looks over, his gaze lingering
on the picture for a moment.
"Karen," he murmurs, his voice
soft. "Us."

"Yes, that's us. Do you recall?"
His eye darts back to the photo.
"Yes, Karen; July 31, 1999."

The exactitude of the date
stuns her. It's a memory she'd
thought lost to time. "How do
you remember that?" she asks,
a smile playing on her screen despite
the fear that lingers in her.

His gaze doesn't leave the photo.
"Special day," he murmurs. "Day
married. Karen and Plankton."

Karen's eyes widen. His memory
for dates and specifics seems to
have sharpened, a trait not uncommon
in those with autism. It's a stark
contrast to the man who often forgot
the day of the week unless it was
a Krabby Patty special by the Chum Bucket.

"You remembered our wedding day,"
she says, her voice filled with amazement.
"That's incredible, Plankton."

He nods, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Happy," he murmurs. "Karen happy."

Karen's eyes well up 
with tears as she nods.
"Yes, we were happy," 
she whispers. "We still are."

Plankton's hand moves
to hers, his grip firm 
but gentle. "Karen," he says, 
his voice a declaration of
his presence, his acknowledgment
of her. It's a moment of profound
connection that transcends words.

Her screen swells with hope. 
They're finding a way to communicate.

"Do you want to watch TV?" Karen asks,
keeping her voice calm and steady.
Plankton nods, his eye still on the photo.
She grabs the remote and turns it on.
The flickering light from the screen
illuminates his face, the blue hue
of the plasma waves washing over them. But
the program is to loud, and Plankton's body
tenses up.

"Too loud?" she asks, reading his expression.
He nods, his eye never leaving the screen.
She quickly turns it off.

In the darkness, Karen's mind races.
They'd need to make adjustments,
little by little.

Plankton's gaze remains fixed
on the spot where the TV was,
his eye searching for the pattern
of light that was there moments ago.
Karen takes a deep breath, her hand
still resting in his. "It's okay," she
whispers. "We'll find something else."

She tries humming, starting with a soft
lullaby that fills the room, and she
watches his expression, looking for
any sign of comfort. His eye flickers
closed, and his body relaxes, the tension
in his fingers loosening their grip
on hers.

Encouraged, Karen 
continues, her
voice low and soothing. 
Plankton's breathing
evens out, and she can 
feel his hand
start to relax in hers as he's
lulled to a calmness by the 
predictability of the
song's melody. It's a small 
victory, but one that fills her
with hope. She decides to
try speaking again, her words
carefully chosen.

"Plankton, sweetheart, 
can you tell me
what you're thinking about?"
He doesn't respond, his eye
still closed. 
"Plankton," Karen whispers.
Plankton's breathing remains
steady, his hand relaxing further
in hers as she notices him sleepily
squeezing her fingers. It's a gentle
reminder that he's still there,
that he's listening.

"Karen," he says, his eye
sleepily fluttering, "I love
you Karen, I love yo..."

Plankton's voice trails off
as he drifts off to sleep, his 
head lolling onto her shoulder
with a snore. Karen's eyes 
brim with unshed tears, but 
she's smiling. The love in 
his voice was unmistakable. She 
sits there, holding him.

The room is quiet except 
for his snores and the 
occasional squeak of the couch. 
Karen's mind is racing with 
thoughts, planning for their 
future. How will they live with
his new autism? What will 
change? What will stay the same?

As Plankton sleeps, she 
notices the way his hand 
still clutches hers, a silent 
plea for comfort. She 
understands that their world
has changed, but she's 
determined to adapt. 
The quietude of the room
is pierced only by the 
steady rhythm of his 
snores and the distant 
hum of the city outside.

The TV remains off, the
colors of the room muted.
Karen knows that bright lights 
and loud noises can 
overwhelm him now. She'll
have to learn to live with
the quiet, to appreciate the 
small moments of joy that 
can be found in the 
simplicity of their new life.

Her eyes scan the room, 
taking in the clutter of 
their shared life. The 
unfinished inventions, the 
half-eaten Krabby Patties, 
the dusty knick-knacks that 
once held so much meaning.
Everything seems different 
now, filtered through the lens
of Plankton's altered reality.

Karen makes a mental note
to create a sensory-friendly 
space for him, a sanctuary
where he can retreat from
the chaos of the world. But
right now it's getting late, and
they're both tired. She needs
to carry him to their room.

With a gentle sigh, she shifts
his weight and stands up,
his arm draped over her.
Plankton's body is limp, his 
snores a comforting sound 
in the quiet room. She walks
carefully, avoiding any noise
that might startle him awake.

In their bedroom, Karen lowers
Plankton onto his bed and covers
him with the blanket.

He's still snoring, and she watches him
for a moment, committing the sight
of him to memory. This is their new
normal, and she's scared but ready to
face it. Karen reaches over to kiss him
on the forehead, her hand lingering there,
feeling the warmth of his skin.

"I'll figure it out," she whispers,
wiping at her tears with the back of
her hand. "We'll make it work."

new plush one learncore iii

JUST A TOUCH vii
(Autistic author)


The room is thick with
unspoken words as Sandy
slowly approaches the bed,
her movements calculated to
avoid overstimulating Plankton.
Her eyes are full of compassion,
but also fear of the unknown.

"Hi, Plankton," she says softly,
extending her hand with a gentle wave.
He flinches, his antennae quivering.
"Remember me?" Plankton's
brain processes her words, but
his response is delayed. He nods,
his movements mechanical.

Sandy sits on the edge
of the bed, her eyes never
leaving his. "How are you
feeling?" she asks, her voice
carefully modulated to avoid
causing him discomfort.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye darting to the side.
He doesn't look at her directly,
his gaze lingering on a spot
on the wall. "Fine," he says,
his voice devoid of inflection.

Sandy nods, her eyes
searching his for any sign
of the friend she knew. "It's
good to see you, Plankton."
Her words hang in the air,
their meaning lost in the
labyrinth of his new reality.

Karen watches them, her heart
in her throat. She can see
the effort Plankton is making
to engage with Sandy, the way
his antennae twitch with every
word spoken. It's a dance,
a delicate balance between
his need for solace and
his desire for connection.

Sandy's hand hovers
near his, her eyes questioning.
"Can I?" she asks, her voice
barely a whisper. Plankton's
gaze shifts to hers, his
expression unreadable.

Karen nods, giving her
permission. "Gently," she says,
a soft reminder. Sandy nods,
her hand inching closer to
his. Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly, his body
stiffening as her fingertips
brush against his.
But the moment their skin
makes contact, something
snaps within him. He jolts upright,
his antennae flailing as his eye
widen in panic.

"Too much," he cries out, his
voice a mix of fear and anger.
"Too much!" The room seems to
shrink around him, the walls
closing in with every beat of
his racing heart.

Sandy's eyes widen in shock,
her hand retreating quickly. "Plankton,"
she says, her voice calm. "It's okay."

But Plankton's not listening, his
body shaking with the force
of his emotions. "No!" he yells,
his voice echoing through the room.
"No touch!"

Sandy's face falls, her eyes
brimming with confusion and
hurt. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice
shaking. "I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's in the throes
of a full-blown meltdown. His
tiny fists clench. "No touch!"
he repeats, his voice rising.

Karen's heart breaks
seeing the fear in Sandy's eyes,
but she understands the
importance of respecting
Plankton's boundaries. "We're
sorry, Plank..."

But Plankton's anger
interrupts her, his voice
sharp and intense. "No! No sorry!
Sandy touch no good!" His words
are a jumble of pain and
frustration, a stark contrast
to the controlled monotone
he'd used earlier.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears,
her hand retreating to her lap.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
her voice cracking. "I didn't
know." Karen nods, her grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.

"It's okay," she says to both
of them, her voice steady.
"We're just figuring this out."
Plankton's chest heaves with
breaths. "No touch," he
mutters, his voice fading.

Sandy nods, her eyes
still on Plankton. "I'm
sorry," she repeats, her voice
softer. "I'll..."

But Plankton's outburst
continues, his voice rising. "No touch!"
The room vibrates with his
distress, the air thick with
his panic. Karen's heart races,
her mind racing to find a way
to soothe him. She knows he's
overwhelmed, that his new
hypersensitivity to touch has
been violated.

Sandy's eyes widen, her
hands hovering awkwardly in
the space between them. She
can see the turmoil in his
face, the anguish in his voice.
"I didn't mean to..." she starts,
but her words are swallowed
by his distress.

"Plankton, it's okay,"
she says, her voice barely
above a whisper. But it's too
late. The dam has broken,
and his emotions flood the
room like a storm.

His tiny body trembles with
rage, his antennae flailing in
every direction. "No touch!"
he screams again, the force
of his voice surprising even
Sandy. She jumps back,
hands raised in a gesture
of surrender.

Karen's eyes are on Plankton,
a silent apology in her gaze.
"It's okay," she says to him,
her voice soothing. "We'll
make sure that doesn't
happen again." Plankton's
eye darts around the room,
his breathing erratic. "No touch,"
he whispers, his voice
broken.

Sandy backs away, her eyes
swimming with unshed tears.
"I didn't know," she says,
her voice thick. "I'm so sorry."

The room echoes with Plankton's
sobs, his body quaking in Karen's
arms. Karen's heart
aches for him, her eyes never leaving
his face.

"No touch," he whispers, his voice
broken. Karen nods, her eyes brimming
with tears. "I know," she says, her voice
gentle. "It's okay. We'll figure this out."

Plankton's antennae stop flailing,
his body still trembling as the storm
of his emotions begin to subside. He
looks up at Karen, his gaze searching
for comfort. She wipes a tear from her
face with her free hand. "It's okay,"
she repeats. "You're okay."

Sandy's eyes are red, her
shoulders slumped. "I didn't know,"
she says again, her voice shaking.
"I just wanted to help."

Karen nods, her own eyes
wet with empathy. "I know," she says.
"It's a lot to take in."

The three of them sit
in the quiet room, the only
sound Plankton's muffled sobs.
Sandy's eyes dart around,
not knowing what to do with
herself. Karen squeezes
his hand gently, her gaze
never leaving his. "We're
here for you," she whispers.

Slowly, Plankton's crying
subsides, his body still
shaking. Karen can feel the
tension in him, like a coiled
spring ready to snap again.
Sandy's hand twitches, as if
she wants to reach out, but
she stops herself, remembering
his outburst. "I'm sorry,"
she says again, her voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's not
your fault," she says to
Sandy, her voice gentle.
"We're all just trying to
navigate this new... reality."
Sandy sniffs, nodding.

"I just want to be here
for you guys," she says, her
voice shaky. Plankton's
sobs quiet, his body
slumping in exhaustion.

Karen nods, her eyes
meeting Sandy's. "We know,
and we appreciate it," she
says, her voice tight. "But we
have to be careful with
his sensory needs."

Sandy nods, her
face a mask of sorrow. "I'll
learn," she whispers. "What do
you need from me, Plan..."

But Plankton's already
slipping away, his eyelid
drooping as sleep beckons.
Karen's grip on his hand
doesn't loosen as she watches
his breathing even out. The
tension in the room slowly
eases as his body relaxes,
his sobs giving way to quiet
snuffles.

Sandy's eyes are on him,
her heart heavy with guilt.
"I'll go," she says, her voice
barely above a whisper. Karen
nods, her gaze still on Plankton.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "Call
me if you need anything."

Sandy nods, her eyes
lingering on the two of them
before she stands, her legs shaky.
She crosses the room, the weight
of her mistake dragging her
down. As she reaches the door,
she glances back one last time.
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly in his sleep, and she
can't help but feel a pang
of sadness.

Karen's eyes follow her,
filled with a mix of
gratitude and sorrow.
"Thank you," she whispers
again as Sandy exits,
closing the door behind her.
The click echoes through
the quiet space, a stark
reminder of the distance
that's grown between
them all.

Plankton's grip on her
hand tightens slightly in his
sleep, as if sensing the
shift in the room's energy.
Karen brings her other hand
to cover his, sandwiching
it between hers. Her eyes
well with tears as she
whispers, "It's okay, Plankton.
You're okay."

The room is bathed in silence
once again, the only sound
being Plankton's gentle
snores. Karen's mind is racing,
thinking of all the
adjustments they'll need to
make, the education she'll
have to provide to those
who know and love him. But
for now, she focuses on the
warmth of his hand in hers,
his head buried in her shoulder.

Her eyes drift to the clock,
the hands moving in a slow,
steady march forward. It's time
for her to start dinner,
to bring some semblance of
normalcy back into their lives.
Gently, she shifts Plankton to
his side, making sure he's
comfortable before rising
from the bed.

The kitchen is a minefield
of potential triggers: the
hum of the fridge, the clink
of pans, the smell of
cooking food. She moves
carefully, her eyes scanning
the room for anything that
might overstimulate him.

The recipe she's chosen is
simple, something they both
enjoy. She starts the prep,
chopping vegetables with a
precision that Plankton would
appreciate, her movements
methodical and calming.

The aroma of cooking food
fills the air, a comforting
reminder of their shared life.
Karen's mind is a whirlwind
of thoughts, planning how
to help Plankton navigate this
new world. She wipes her
hands on a towel.
As she hears Plankton's tentative
steps on the stairs, she takes a
deep breath. His descent is
slow, each step measured
with caution.

When he enters the kitchen,
his gaze darts around the room,
his antennae twitching with
each new sound. Karen's heart
squeezes. She's used to his
energy, his boundless enthusiasm.
This cautious creature is still
his shell-shocked self.

"Hungry?" she asks, her voice
as soft as the evening light.
Plankton nods.

The meal is a simple one,
a familiar comfort in a world
that's become so alien. Karen
places the plate before him,
the steaming food a visual
symphony of their shared past.

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his gaze fixating on the plate.
"Food," he says, his voice
still monotone. Karen nods,
aching for the
passionate foodie she knew.

"Do you need anything
else?" she asks, her voice
soft. He shakes his head.

The meal is eaten in
silence, each bite a victory. Karen wants
to say something, anything,
but she knows he needs
space, time to process the
whirlwind of emotions.

new just a touch neurodisability vii

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 21
(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

Plankton's antennae twitch in
his sleep. Chip watches him,
with love. Then he stirs, his 
antennae flickering as he wakes.

He blinks, his eye focusing on
his son's face. Chip's screen
illuminates with hope, a soft
glow that fills the room.
Plankton's antennae quiver as
he registers.

"Hi, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice
shaky. Plankton's 
hand squeezes Chip's gently.
"Hi," he manages, his voice
raspy with sleep and unshed tears.

The silence between them is
still thick, but there's a thread
of something else, something
new. "Dad," Chip says, his voice
a tentative whisper. "Can we go
to the science fair at my school?"
Plankton's antennae twitch, a
sign of contemplation. Chip's eyes
are wide, his screen flickering with
excitement and fear. He's not
sure if it's a good idea, but
the hope in his voice is undeniable.

Plankton considers the
question, his antennae
twitching as he processes
the sensory onslaught
of a school science fair.
The noise, the lights, the
crowds. It's a minefield for
his overactive senses, but
his son's hope is a beacon.
"Okay," he murmurs, the word
barely audible. Chip's screen
illuminates with joy. Plankton
sits up. "Chip listen, I uhm–
I wan-nt t-to s-say, to t-tell y-you..."
Plankton shakes his head.
He can't get the words out,
his mouth a clumsy mess of
tongue-tied syllables. His
autism, a wall between
his thoughts and speech.

Chip's smile falters, his
heart sinking. "It's okay,
Dad," he says, his voice
soothing. "You don't have to."
But he sees the pain in
Plankton's eye, the desperate
attempt to communicate.
"Chip, about your, about the
b-box..." Plankton's antennae
wave with frustration, his
body a testament to the
difficulty of his words.

"The box, Dad?" Chip asks,
his eyes searching Plankton's
face for answers. Plankton nods,
his antennae drooping with
the effort. "You liked it?"
Chip's voice is hopeful. Plankton
nods. "I-I'm s-still h-hurt from
your earlier taunts, a-and I-I-I-I…
I'm t-trying to f-forgive, for— I
uh, it-t h-hurts but I d-do like
the box. So, s-so thank y-you."
The words come out in a jumbled
mess, a tapestry of stammers and
stops, but the sentiment is clear.
Chip's heart swells with warmth.
He understands the struggle, the
fight for each syllable, the dance of
emotion and cognition that's so
unique to Plankton.

Chip's screen flickers with a smile,
his eyes never leaving his dad's.
"Dad, thank you for understanding,"
he says, his voice gentle. Plankton's
eye closes in relief, his antennae
twitching.

"I know it's hard," Chip 
continues. "But I'm
here for you. We'll 
figure it out." Plankton nods,
his antennae rising slightly.

Plankton puts the new
box from Chip for keeping
it in the car. Karen drives
them to Chip's school. She
parks the car and follows
them into the school.

new autism and all learncore bond

SHELF IMPROVEMENT viii
(Autistic author)

The next day, Karen got
up out of bed. Plankton's
still asleep. She wondered
how she's to wake him with
his new sensory sensitivities.

Gently, she opened 
the blinds, letting in 
the soft morning light. 
The room was peaceful, 
the silence only broken by 
the steady hum of 
his breathing. She took 
a moment to just watch 
his sleeping form, the 
covers rising and falling 
with each breath.

Karen approached the 
bed, careful not to wake 
him. Plankton's antennae 
twitched slightly as 
she reached out to 
stroke his forehead. 
He mumbled something 
unintelligible in his 
sleep, and she 
smiled sadly.

"Good morning, 
Plankton," she whispered, 
keeping her voice 
soft. His eye fluttered 
open, and he blinked 
at her, his gaze 
slightly unfocused.

"Karen," he mumbled, 
his voice groggy.

"How are you 
feeling?" she asked, 
concern etched on her 
screen.

Plankton blinked a few 
times, his antennae 
slowly raising. "Tired," he 
finally said, his voice 
raspy.

"It's okay," Karen 
soothed, sitting on the 
edge of the bed. "We'll 
take it easy today. I told
Chip about your new
neurodisability.."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched slightly as he 
took in her words. "Chip 
knowing?" he murmured, 
his eye searching hers.

"Yes, sweetie," Karen 
nodded. "We talked about 
how we need to be 
gentler with you now."

Plankton's antennae 
stilled, his gaze 
unreadable. Then, slowly, 
his eye found hers. "Thank... 
you?" he whispered, the 
words a gentle caress.

Karen felt a tear 
roll down her screen. 
"Of course," she said, 
smiling softly. "We're 
in this together." It's
the first time since the
accident that he used
an actual pronoun.

Plankton's antennae 
quivered as he 
absorbed her words. 
"Together," he echoed, 
his voice gaining 
strength. Karen 
wiped her screen, trying 
not to let her emotions 
overwhelm them as Chip
came into their room.

"Morning, Dad," Chip 
said, his voice 
tentative. He had 
spent the night 
thinking about his 
father's condition, 
his young mind racing 
with questions.

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, and he offered 
a small smile. "Chip," he 
mumbled.

Chip cautiously 
approached the bed, 
his eyes wide with 
concern. "You okay, Dad?"

Plankton nodded, 
his antennae still. 
"Chip," he murmured. 
"Chip loves Plankton."

Chip climbed 
up onto the bed, 
his movements slow 
and deliberate. "I love 
you too, Dad," he said, 
his voice trembling as
he crawled closer to 
Plankton.

Plankton's antennae 
flinched as Chip approached, 
his body tensing 
instinctively. Karen had 
explained about personal 
space the night before, 
but she wasn't sure if 
he'd remember.

"Chip," she said 
softly, placing a 
hand on her son's 
shoulder. "Let's 
not get too close 
just yet, okay?"

Chip nodded, his 
screen a picture of 
understanding. He 
sat at the edge of the 
bed, giving Plankton 
enough space. Karen 
could see the effort 
it took for him to 
control his instincts.

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he took 
in the new dynamics, 
his eye flicking between 
Karen and Chip. "Space," 
he murmured, his voice 
still weak. "I need... 
space."

Karen nodded, 
swallowing hard. "Of 
course, Plankton. We'll 
make sure to give you 
your space." She reached 
for Chip's hand, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. "Remember, 
buddy, let's not 
overwhelm Dad."

Chip nodded, 
his eyes serious. 
He slowly slid off the 
bed, his movements 
careful. But as he 
stood up, his elbow 
accidentally brushed 
against Plankton's 
arm. The reaction was 
instant.

Plankton's antennae 
shot up, his 
body jerking away 
from the touch. "No!" he 
yelped, his eye 
widening in discomfort. 
Karen lurched 
as she saw Plankton's 
expression. She had 
tried to prepare Chip, 
but it was clear that 
their new reality was 
going to be a learning 
experience for them all.

Chip's screen filled 
with tears. "I'm 
sorry, Dad," he whispered.

Karen's seeing her son's 
upset face. "It's okay, 
Chip," she said quickly. 
"It's an accident. Let's 
give Dad some more 
space, okay?"

But Plankton's 
expression had 
shifted. His antennae 
were vibrating rapidly, 
his eye flashing with 
anger. "Too much," he 
snapped, his voice 
harsher than Karen had 
ever heard it. "Chip, too 
much!"

Chip's eyes 
watered, and he took 
a step back, 
his hand hovering. "I'm 
sorry, Dad," he stuttered, 
his voice barely above 
a whisper.

Plankton's antennae 
whipped around, his 
whole body vibrating 
with agitation. "Out!" he 
bellowed, the word 
exploding from his 
tiny body. "Chip, go out!"

Chip's eyes grew 
large with shock. He had 
never heard his dad 
speak to him like that 
before. His shoulders 
slumped, and he 
turned to leave, his 
steps slow and heavy. 
Karen watched 
her son retreat.

"Plankton," she began, 
her voice shaky. "It's 
okay, he didn't mean..."

But Plankton's 
anger was palpable. 
"No!" he shouted, his 
eye flashing. "Chip, no 
more!" His voice was 
loud, a stark contrast 
to the gentle whispers 
of their previous 
interactions.

Chip hovers by the door.
"Dad, I di-"

"OUT!" Plankton's 
shout reverberated through 
the room, cutting him 
off mid-sentence. His 
body was rigid with 
tension, his antennae 
quivering angrily. Karen felt 
a pang of fear and sadness 
seeing her husband like 
this. But Chip wants to
reconcile with his father.

Chip looked back, 
his eyes brimming with 
unshed tears. "Dad, ca--"

"OUT!" Plankton's voice 
was a thunderclap in the 
stillness of the room. 
Chip flinched, his 
small body visibly trembling.

"Dad," 
Chip tried again, his 
voice shaking. "Can't
you li—"

"OUT!" Plankton 
shouted, his antennae 
whipping around like 
tiny storm clouds. 
Karen saw the fear in 
Chip and knew 
she had to intervene.

"Chip, go to your 
room," she said firmly, 
trying to keep the 
emotion out of her 
voice. "Let's give Dad 
some time to calm down."

Chip nodded. 
With one last 
longing glance at 
Plankton, he left 
the room, the door 
clicking softly behind 
him.

new shelf improvement neurodisability viii

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 11

Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous

https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all

Read the Autism And All one first!


The room feels like it's
shrunk, the air thick with
unspoken words. Chip's chest
tightens, his eyes stinging.
He'd never wanted to make
his dad feel like this. Timmy
looks at him, his expression
full of sympathy. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice soothing.
"He's just scared."

They sit in silence for a
while, the only sound the
steady ticking of the clock
on the mantel. Chip's mind
is racing, trying to piece
together what went wrong.
How could something that brought
Timmy so much joy cause so
much pain for his dad?

Timmy breaks the silence,
his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's
hard for people to accept
help," he says. "Especially
when it feels like you're
trying to change them." He
looks at Chip, his eyes
understanding. "But you can't
make anyone feel something
they're not ready to."
Chip nods, feeling a lump
form in his throat. "But what
do we do now?" He asks,
desperation lacing his voice.
Timmy shrugs. "Let's go
apologize.."

They find Plankton sitting on
his bed in the bedroom. Chip's heart
raced as they approached.
"Dad," he starts, his voice
shaking. "Timmy and I, we
just want to say we're sorry."

Plankton looks up, his eye
twitching slightly. "You can't 
fix me."

Timmy nods as Karen comes
in. "But we can still be
there for you," he says, his
voice earnest. "And maybe,
we can learn together."
Plankton's gaze meets Timmy's,
his expression unreadable.
But before anyone can
say another word, Plankton's
body shifts.

Suddenly, his eye glazed
over, and he starts to rock
back and forth, his hands
flapping rapidly. "Dad?" Chip
asks, his voice filled with
fear; but Karen understands.
"It's okay," Karen says. "It's one
of his seizures."

Timmy's eyes widen, his
hands stilling in mid-air. "What's
happening?" He asks. Karen
explains in a calm, steady
voice. "It's called a non-motor
seizure. Sometimes it's just
his brain doing its own
thing. We have to be quiet
and let it pass. This isn't
the first time."

Chip watches as Plankton's
body rocks back and forth,
his eye unfocused. He feels
a rush of fear and helplessness.
This is his dad, his hero,
reduced to this by something
he can't control. Timmy nods,
his eyes never leaving Plankton.
Karen quickly moves to
Plankton's side.

"Remember, Chip," she whispers,
her voice calm. "Just let it
run its course. It's like a
storm passing through."
Chip nods, his eyes glued to
his dad's trembling form.
Timmy sits silently beside
them, his hands still in his
lap as Plankton's seizure unfolds.
His rocking becomes more pronounced,
his breathing shallow and rapid.
Karen holds his hand, her
expression a mask of
concern. "It's okay, sweetie,"
she murmurs. "You're sa-"

But Plankton's body jolts,
his eye rolling back in his
head. Chip watches his dad's
autistic behavior take
over in a way he's never
seen before. Timmy's eyes
are wide with shock.
"Is he okay?" He whispers
to Karen. She nods. "It'll be
over soon," she promises.
"It's just part of his autism."

The minutes drag on, each
second feeling like an eternity.
Plankton's seizure subsides,
his body finally still. His
breathing evens out, and the
color starts to return to his
cheeks. Chip feels a weight
lift from his chest. "It's
over," Karen whispers, her
hand still gripping Plankton's.
Timmy looks at Chip, his eyes
full of unspoken questions.

Plankton slowly opens his
eye. Timmy's eyes are full of
concern. "Are you okay, Mr.
Plankton?"

But Plankton doesn't answer.
He's staring at something on the
wall, something only he can
see. His hand reaches out,
flapping slightly, as if
trying to grab onto an invisible
thought. But Karen's been
through this before. She
knows what to do. She whispers
to Timmy, "It's okay. This is
just his brain's way of
handling too much input."

Timmy nods, his eyes
glued to Plankton. As Plankton's
body slowly relaxes, his voice
starts, a string of words that
don't quite make sense. "The...
the...the...spoons," Plankton
says, his voice distant. Chip and
Timmy exchange confused
glances. Karen squeezes
Plankton's hand.

"It's okay, baby," she whispers.
"You're okay." Plankton's eye
moved around the room, his
hands flapping slightly. "The...
the...the...spoons," he repeats.
Karen's face relaxes into
understanding. "Echolalia," she
whispers to Chip and Timmy.
"It's a way his brain
reboots after a seizure."

Timmy nods, his gaze
still on Plankton. "I know
about that," he says. "It's like
my brain's playing back a
tape of everything that's
happened, trying to make
sense of it." Plankton's voice
gradually gains clarity. "The
spoons...they...they're..."

Chip watches, his heart in
his throat, as his dad's hand
still flutters in the air,
his eye unfocused. "It's a
sensory thing," Karen says,
keeping her voice low. "Sometimes,
his brain gets overwhelmed."

Plankton's voice grows
stronger, the words more
random.

"The...the...did," he says,
his hand moving in patterns that
seem to have a rhythm only
he can understand. "They
were...were...were..."

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's, her gaze full of
patience and love. "Just
breathe, baby," she says,
her voice soothing. "Take
your time.."

Timmy watches, his
expression a mix of
curiosity and concern. "What's
he saying?" He whispers.
"It's okay," Karen reassures
both Timmy and Chip. "It's
just his brain trying to
find it's bearings. Just let him
find his way back."

Plankton's words become
more nonsensical, his hand
still moving through the air
as his voice cracks.

"They...they were...were..."
His eye flickers, and he
swallows hard. "They were
always...always..."

Timmy's eyes never leave
Plankton's, his gaze filled with
understanding and compassion.
He's been here before, in his
own way. His hands start to move
slightly again, as if he's trying
to connect with Plankton's
thoughts. "It's okay," he whispers.
"You don't have to push."

But Plankton's voice doesn't
listen. "They were always...always...
were...were...pats," he says, his
hand moving in a pattern that
makes no sense to him. Chip
feels his heart break for his dad.
This isn't the first time he's
seen a seizure, but every time,
it's like watching a piece of
Plankton get taken away, leaving
behind a man who's lost in his
own world.

Timmy, though, seems to
understand. He reaches out
his own hand, mirroring Plankton's
movements. "It's okay," he says
again. "We're here for yo-"

But Plankton isn't listening.
"They were always...were...pats,"
he repeats, his voice getting
louder. "They were always pats!"
He starts to chuckle. "Pats, pats,
pats!" His hand hits the bed.

Karen smiles sadly. "Plankton,
I see you," she says, her voice a
whisper. "You'll come back to us."
Chip watches, his heart racing.
Timmy's eyes are wide with
understanding. He's seen
this before in himself. "It's
okay," he says, his voice
calm. "You can come back
whenever you're ready."

Plankton's hand still 
flaps. "I'm here, Mr.
Plankton," Timmy says. 
"You're not al—"

But Plankton's voice rose 
in pitch. "The...tck...tck..."
He's ticcing now, Chip realized.
Each syllable punctuated with a
sharp, staccato twitch of his
face. "Tck...tck...tck..." Karen's
grip on Plankton's hand tightens
slightly, her eyes full of love
and understanding. "You're okay,"
she murmurs, her voice steady.
"Just let it out. It's okay."
Karen turns to them. "This 
helps him," she whispers. "It's 
like...like releasing pressure."

Timmy nods, his own hands
still in his lap. "I get tics too,"
he says, his voice barely audible.
"But not like that." He looks
at Chip. "Sometimes it's ju—"

But then, with a blink, Plankton
comes back to himself. He looks
around the room, confused.
"What...what happened?" He
asks, his voice slurred. Karen
smiles gently. "You had a
seizure, sweetie," she says. "But
you're okay now."

new to change the world seizurecore timmy

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 7
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

They moved to the floor,
a cushioned area where Plankton
felt more comfortable. Hanna
produced a variety of textures
for him to explore. "Slowly,"
she instructed, "let's introduce
his hands to different fabrics."

Karen watched as Plankton's
fingers danced over the softness
of velvet, his expression
unreadable. Then Hanna presented
a piece of sandpaper. His hand
retracted instantly, his eye
squeezing shut. "No," he murmured,
his voice tight with distress.

"It's ok," Karen said, taking
his hand. "We'll try something
else." She offered him a smooth
piece of silk instead. His eye
widened, his breath catching.
"Nice?" she asked, her voice
gentle.

Slowly, Plankton's hand
unfurled, his fingertips brushing
against the fabric. "Silk," he
whispered, his voice filled with
wonder. He began to stroke it,
his movements rhythmic and
comforting. Hanna nodded,
making a note. "Good," she said.
"That's a positive response. Now
let's try different tactile sensations."
Hanna says, taking the fabrics away.

She presented a tray with a
variety of objects: a cold metal
spoon, a soft feather, a bumpy
rock. Plankton's hand hovered over
each item, his gaze intense. "Choose
one," Karen urged, her voice gentle.

He reached for the feather,
his eye closing in anticipation.
As the soft plumes brushed against
his skin, a shiver of pleasure
went through him. "Good," he murmured,
his hand moving in a soothing
motion. Karen watched.

Hanna offered the cold spoon next.
Plankton's hand jerked back at
first, his eye widening in
fear. But with Karen's gentle
encouragement, he touched it again,
his breath hitching as he
experienced the coolness. "Cold,"
he whispered, his voice filled
with wonder before retreating his
hand again.

They moved to the rock,
its surface a study in contrasts.
Plankton's hand hovered, then
touched the rock tentatively. His
face contorted as he felt the
bumpy, unyielding surface. "Odd,"
he murmured.

Hanna nodded, her gaze
studying him. "It's ok to not
like everything," she said. "But
it's ok to explore." She
sets out a sharpened point to
test his reaction.

Plankton's hand hovered over
the pointed tip, his antennae
twitching. He looked to Karen,
his eye searching for reassurance.
"It's ok," she whispered, taking the
point and pressing it lightly into
her own palm. "It's just a sensation I
vaguely feel," Karen says, barely
pressing onto his skin. Slowly, touching the
point with the pad of his finger...

His body jolted, his breath
screeching. "Pain," he murmured,
his hand retreating quickly. "Too much!"
Hanna nodded, her expression
thoughtful. "It's ok," she said. "This
is all about finding what you
can ha-"

But before she could finish,
Plankton's body stiffened,
his eye rolling back with a cry. Karen
watched another seizure
take hold. "No!" she cried, her voice
a mix of fear and frustration.

Hanna was quick to act,
guiding him back to the couch
and speaking soothingly. "It's
ok," she murmured. "You're safe."
They waited for the seizure
to pass, Karen's hand tightly
clutching Plankton's, offering silent
comfort. When he came to,
his gaze was haunted, his hand
still wrapped around the fidget
toy. Hanna tried the point again,
only for Plankton to cough up his
toast, tears streaming down his face.

"We need to stop," Karen said,
her voice shaking. "This isn't
helping." Hanna nodded, her
expression filled with understanding.
"We've learned a lot today,"
she said. "We know what
to avoid now. Let's stop."

They moved back to the couch,
Karen's arm around Plankton,
his body trembling. She knew
his sensory overload was at its peak.
The room felt too bright,
too loud, too much.

"Let's dim the lights," Hanna
suggested, her voice gentle. "And let's
try some deep pressure."

Karen nodded, rushing to
the dimmer switch and
adjusting the lights to a
comfortable level. She then
wrapped a weighted blanket
around Plankton, his body
relaxing almost immediately
under its embrace. His eye
closed, and his breathing grew
steady as the pressure helped
soothe his overwhelmed senses.

They sat in silence for a
moment, Karen stroking
his arm, avoiding any
sudden movements that might
startle him. "It's ok," she
whispered. "You're safe."

Hanna spoke softly. "It's
important to create a sensory
friendly environment," she
explained. "We'll need to
make some adjustments
around the house."
Karen nodded, her gaze
never leaving Plankton's
face. "I'll do anything," she
said. "Whatever it takes."

Hanna's eyes searched the
room, her mind working.
"Let's start with visual
stimuli," she said.

They moved through the
place, Karen following
Hanna's instructions to
cover the windows with blackout
curtains and remove any
items that might be overstimulating.
The room grew dimmer,
the only light coming
from a single, soft lamp.

Plankton's breathing slowed,
his body visibly relaxing.
Hanna spoke calmly. "Now, let's work
on some verbal exercises."

Karen watched as Hanna
selected a set of cards with
simple pictures and words.
"We'll start with matching,"
she said, holding up a card
with an image of a cat. "What
does this say?"

Plankton's eye focused on
the card, his hand fidgeting
with the blanket's edge.
"Cat," he murmured sleepily.

Hanna nodded, her gaze
meeting Karen's. "Good job,"
she said. "Now, let's try
another one." She held up
a card with a picture of a
tree.

Plankton's eye searched the
card, his mouth moving as if
he was trying to form
the word. "Tree," he managed
after a moment, his voice
slightly more confident, yet he
felt drowsily exhausted.

Hanna nodded, pleased with
his progress. "Very good,
Plankton," she said, placing
the card down. "Let's keep
going." But Plankton's tired.

"Maybe we should take a
break," Karen suggested,
seeing the fatigue in his
posture. "He's had a lot to
process today."

Hanna nodded, her gaze
kind. "It's been a big day
for him. Let's not push it."

They decided to end the
session, Karen helping
Plankton to bed, the weighted
blanket still wrapped around him.
His eye were half-closed,
his movements sluggish as he
sank into the mattress, the
sensory overload leaving him
drained. "Thank you," Karen murmured
to Hanna. "For everything."

Hanna's smile was gentle. "It's
what I'm here for," she said.
"We'll take this one step at a
time. Remember, patience and
understanding are key."

Karen nodded with tears as she
tucked Plankton into bed. His
body was still, his breaths
deep and even under the
soothing weight of the blanket.
The room was now a cocoon
of calm, designed to protect
his sensitive system from the
onslaught of the outside world.

new touchingcore sensoryoverloadcore brain chip

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ii
(By NeuroFabulous)


"What causes this, Mom?"
Chip asked, his voice quieter
now, more contemplative.

Karen sat beside Plankton,
still stroking his arm. "Sometimes,
sweetie, when people have brains that
work differently, like Daddy does,
they can get overwhelmed." She spoke
slowly, choosing her words with care.
"It's a type of 'neurodisability' he has."

Chip's still confused. "But why
didn't you tell me before?"
his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's hand stilled on
Plankton's arm as she took
a moment to gather her
thoughts. "Well, Chip, sometimes
parents want to protect their
kids from things they think
might be too much for them to
understand. But now that you're
a little older, it's important
you know about your dad's... 
condition."

Chip looked at her with wide
eyes, processing this new
information. "Is it because
of his inventions? Does he
think too much?"

Karen's gaze remained
on Plankton, her thumb
still making circles on
his skin. "No, honey, it's not
because of his inventions. It's
just his disability. Some
people's brains work differently,
and that's okay."

Chip's eyes darted
back to his father, who
was still as a statue. "But
what does it feel like?"

Karen took a deep
breath. "It's hard to say,
because everyone's experience
is unique. For Daddy,
it might be like being in a
really quiet room where everything
is far away and muffled."

Chip nodded slowly, his
gaze still on Plankton. "So,
it's like he's not here, but he
kind of is?"

Karen nodded, her screen
never leaving her son's.
"In a way, yes. It's like
his brain has gone 
until it's ready to 
come back and get
unstuck."

Chip's screen searched
his mother's screen for
any sign of fear or
sadness, but she was
calm, a rock in the storm
of his confusion. "How
long will he be like this?"

Karen's gaze never
left Plankton's still form.
"It could be a few
minutes or hours. We
just have to wait it out."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
still burning. "Does he
know we're here?"

Karen offered a 
small, sad smile. "I
think he can feel 
us, but he's
not really with us 
right now."

Chip nodded, his 
hands fidgeting with
the hem of his camp
t-shirt. "But how do we
know when he's... not 
stuck anymore?"

Karen looked up at him,
her screen filled with a gentle
wisdom. "You'll know, Chip.
He'll blink, or twitch, or maybe
even say something. It's like
he's in a deep sleep, and we
have to let him wake up on his
own."

Chip sat cross-legged on
the floor next to the bed, his
hands folded in his lap. He had
so many questions, so much
he wanted to share with his
dad. "Does he remember
stuff when he's like this?"
he whispered.

Karen's eyes remained on
Plankton, her voice low and
soothing. "It's complicated,
Chip. Sometimes he does,
sometimes he doesn't. But
it's like his brain is playing
backup right now."

Chip nodded, his
thoughts racing. "But how do we
help him?" he asked, his voice
tinged with urgency.

Karen turned to her son.
"We just have to be patient,
Chip. And keep the room calm."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
now muted by the gravity
of the situation. He watched
his mother closely, studying her
calm demeanor, the way her hand
continued to move in gentle strokes
on Plankton's arm. He wanted
to be like her and help.

"What can I do to make him
feel better?" he asked,
his voice quieter than
his racing thoughts.

Karen's eyes flicked to
his, a gentle smile
playing on her screen. "You're
already doing it, Chip.
Just being here, keeping
the room calm, is helping."

But Chip's mind was still
whirring with unanswered
questions. "But what causes
this?" he pressed.

Karen sighed, her gaze
still focused on Plankton.
"It's a disorder, sweetie. It's a
neurological condition that
makes his brain process things
a bit differently. Sometimes, when
his senses get overwhelmed,
his body does this to protect
him."

Chip's brows furrowed.
"But why didn't he tell..."

"Because," Karen interrupted,
"it's hard for some people to
explain things like this, even to those
they love most. Your dad's been dealing
with this and it's not
always easy to talk about."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
still not fully satisfied. "How will
he feel whenever he wakes up?"

Karen took a deep breath.
"It can vary, Chip. Sometimes
he's groggy, like waking up from
a deep sleep. Other times,
he's just tired, but he'll be okay.
He might need some space, some
quiet, and maybe a little time alone."

Chip nods.
"Mom, ca--"

Plankton's antenna twitches
suddenly. Karen's puts her
hand up to silence Chip.
"Shh," she whispers.

Slowly, Plankton's eye
begins to focus, the vacant
stare shifting as he blinks,
his pupil slowly coming into
focus, as if surfacing from
a deep sleep. He looks up at
Karen, not recalling her
coming in here.
"Wh...what's going on?" he
stammers, his voice rough
from disuse.

Karen's hand tightens
on his arm, her voice a
whisper. "You had a 
shutdown, sweetie."

He figured that. He
remembers Chip
bombarding him before
going dizzy/lightheaded
as Chip kept prodding him,
his son's gaze unwavering.
Plankton's antennae droop
slightly, his body
still sluggish from the
shutdown.

new chip on the shoulders neurodisability ii

https://www.verywellhealth.com/seizure-phases-4797974

new epilepsycore seizurecore phase

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣
Pt. 10
by NeuroFabulous


Chip's eyes searched
his father's, looking
for the reassurance
he so desperately
needed. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, his voice 
choked with emotion.
"I didn't mean to upset 
you." Plankton's hand 
squeezed back, a silent
acknowledgment of his
apology.

"You didn't do anything
wrong," Karen said,
smiling. "It's just how
his brain works."

Chip nodded, trying
to understand.
"But he's okay?" he
asked again, needing
to hear it.

"Yes, he's okay," Karen
reassured him, her eyes
still on Plankton. "But he
might need some time
to recalibrate now."

Chip nodded, his grip
on his dad's hand tightening.
"Can I stay with you?"
he asked, not wanting to
leave his side.

Karen looked at Chip
and then at Plankton, who
nodded slightly. "Of
course," she said,
her voice soft.

Chip swallowed hard,
his eyes still filled with
tears. "Dad," he whispered,
his voice cracking. "I
love you."

Plankton's antennas
twitched slightly, and
his hand gave a weak squeeze
in response. It was the
only way he could convey
his love at that moment.

Chip watched his dad,
his heart racing. He knew
his father's autism made
expressing emotions difficult,
but he could feel the
love in that small gesture.
He leaned in closer, not
wanting to let go. "I love
you too, Dad," he murmured.

Plankton's eye searched
his son's face, trying to
find the words. The seizure
had left him drained, but
his love for Chip was clear.
He took a deep breath,
his antennas slowly
coming to rest. "I-I l-love,
lo-ove y-you," he said.

The words came out
haltingly, each syllable a
victory. Chip's eyes lit
up, and he squeezed his
dad's hand back, feeling
his love reciprocated. "I
know, Dad," he said, his
voice filled with relief.
"I love you too."

Plankton took another
deep breath, his body
starting to relax. The
seizure had left him
exhausted, but the warmth
of his son's touch and
his wife's gentle voice
were calming him.

Chip watched his
dad, his heart racing. He
could see the effort it
took for Plankton to
say those words, and he
understood that his love
was just as strong, even if
it didn't come out the
way he expected. He
squeezed his dad's hand
again. "It's okay," he
whispered. "I'll stay here."

Karen nodded, her
eyes brimming with
tears. She knew the
difficulty Plankton faced
daily, and seeing him
have a seizure in front
of Chip was hard. But she
also knew this was a
chance for them to grow
closer, to understand each
other better. "Why don't we
just sit here for a bit?"
she suggested, her voice
gentle.

Chip nodded, not
letting go of Plankton's
hand. He felt his dad's
warmth, his love.

Plankton's gaze slowly
turned back to Karen.
"Chip; I need Chip. I
want him to stay," he
managed to say.
Karen nodded. "Of
course! We'll just
stay right here."

They sat in silence,
the three of them, as
Plankton's breathing
evened out. Chip's
thumb rubbed circles on
his dad's hand, trying
to soothe him without
words. Plankton's eye
closed again.

Karen watched her
husband and son, her
heart full of love and
pride. Chip had handled
the situation with
more maturity than she
could've hoped for. He
was learning, growing,
understanding his father's
autism.

As Plankton's breathing
steadied, Karen leaned in
closer. "Chip," she
whispered, "your dad
needs some rest now. But
you can sit here with him
if you want."

Chip nodded, not
wanting to leave his
dad's side. He watched
as Plankton's antennas
stopped moving. "Ok,"
he murmured.

Karen got up, her
movements slow and
calculated. She knew
Plankton needed quiet
and darkness after a
seizure. She dimmed
the lights and before
sitting back down.

Chip remained on the
edge of the bed, his
small hand still
enveloped in his
father's smaller one.
He heard Plankton's
breathing deepen
into sleep, the quiet
snores that signaled
that he finally dozed
off.

The room was
quiet, save for the
soft snores that
escaped Plankton's
mouth. Karen and Chip
sat next to him, Chip's
hand still clutched
tightly in his dad's. He
was afraid to move,
afraid to disturb the
fragile peace that had
settled over Plankton.

Karen watched them,
a warm smile playing on
her lips. She knew that
this was a moment of
connection, a bridge
being built between
father and son.

Chip leaned closer, 
studying Plankton's face,
his dad's mouth slightly
open as he snored. He
was fascinated, and his
mom knew he wanted
to do more.

"Mom can I ask you
questions?" Chip asked,
his voice barely a whisper.
Plankton's antennas twitched
slightly, but he didn't wake
up. "Sure," Karen said,
smiling gently. "But keep
your voice low. He needs
his rest."

Chip nodded and leaned
in closer to his mom. "What
are his stims?" he asked,
his eyes glued to his
father's sleeping form.

Karen's smile was
soft. "His stims are
self-soothing behaviors,"
she explained. "They're
like little rituals that
help him manage his
sensory input. Sometimes
he'll mumble or move his
hands, or rock back and 
forth. It's a way of dealing 
with the world around him."

Chip nodded, his
eyes never leaving his
dad's sleeping face. "Can
I try stims with him?" he
asked, his voice a mere
whisper.

Karen looked at him,
surprise flickering in her
expression. "If he's okay
with it," she said, her voice
soft. "But remember, it's
his way of coping. We
have to respect that. Do
not make fun of it. He's not
doing it for fun; it's more a
necessity."

Chip nodded solemnly,
his eyes still on his dad.
"I won't," he promised. "But
can I try it right no-"

Karen's eyes widened.
"No," she said firmly.
"It's not about trying
them out. It's about
understanding why
he does them. Stims are
his way, not something
for us to play with. He
doesn't like when it's
brought to attention."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
dimming slightly. He
just wanted to be closer
to his dad, to know him
better. He looked back
down at Plankton, his
small hand still wrapped
around his father's.

He leaned in closer to
his mom, his eyes wide
with questions. "But why
can't I do it?" he asked,
his voice still a whisper.
"I want to know what
it feels li—"

Karen put a gentle
finger to his lips. "Chip,
his stims are personal,"
she said, her voice soft.
"They're how he calms
his brain. It's like if you
were to play with my
favorite book; it's special
to him."

Chip nodded, his
eyes still wide. "Ok,"
he said. "But why 
does he like your
touch but not mine?"

Karen took a moment
to think. "It's because
I know his patterns, his
cues," she said. "I can tell
when he needs space or
when he's okay with contact.
I know which touches
calm him down. It's not
that he doesn't like your
touch, Chip; it's just that
his brain is sensitive. Sometimes
it's too much for him to handle."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton. He
wanted to make his dad
happy, to make it all
better. But he knew he
couldn't. "Can you
show me how he likes
to be touched?"

Karen looked at him, her
expression a mix of
pride and concern.
"Sure, sweetie," she said,
and she gently took Chip's
hand and placed it near
Plankton's arm. "Just
stroke his arm lightly," she
instructed, guiding Chip's
fingers. 

new my autistic dad learncore

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣
Pt. 11
by NeuroFabulous


Chip's eyes never left
his dad's face as he did
as his mom said. Plankton's
body remained still,
his breathing even. Karen
smiled. "See, that's it,"
she whispered. "It's all
about knowing when and
how to touch."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, but he remained
asleep. Chip watched him
closely, his curiosity
piqued. He wanted to
understand everything about
his dad's condition. "So,
what types of touch does
he not like?"

Karen thought for a
moment. "Sudden touches,
like taps or pokes, can be
startling for him," she
explained. "And hugs can be
overwhelming unless he's
ready for them. It's about
knowing his cues."

Chip nodded, his hand
still on Plankton's arm,
moving in the gentle strokes
his mom had taught him.
He felt a strange sense
of connection, like he was
learning a secret language
only they shared. "What
are his cues, like how do
you know when he needs a
hug or space?" he asked.

Karen leaned in closer,
her voice low. "Look at his
body language," she said.
"If he's leaning in, it might
mean he's okay with a
hug. But always ask first.
And if he says no, don't take
it personally. It's not about
you; it's about his comfort.
But if he's leaning away or
his antennae are moving
quickly, it's best to ask if
he needs some space."

Chip nodded, watching
his dad's antennae. They
were still, a sign of peace.
He felt a warmth spread
through him, knowing that
he was learning how to
make his dad feel safe and
loved. "I want to know
more," he whispered.

Karen's eyes searched
his, and she saw the
eagerness in his gaze.
"Okay," she said, her voice
calm. "What do you want
to know?"

Chip's mind raced with
questions, but he took a
deep breath to focus. "What
causes his seizures?"
he asked, his voice soft.

Karen looked at him,
her eyes filled with
compassion. "Sensory
overload," she said.
"It's like his brain gets
too much information at
once, and it can't process
it all. Sometimes it's just
too much, and his body
has a reaction."

Chip nodded, his
thumb still rubbing
his dad's hand in
soothing circles. 
"But how can I tell 
when he's about to 
have one?"

Karen squeezed Chip's
other hand gently. "Look
for changes in his 
behavior," she said.
"If he gets really
quiet, or if his stims
get more intense. And
his eye glazes over. If
you see any of that, just
offer him a gentle touch or
a quiet space to retreat to."

"Can you tell me how
he got his autism?" he
asked Karen, his voice
barely above a whisper.
He didn't want to wake
his dad, but he wanted
to learn.

Karen looked at him,
her eyes filled with
patience. "It was
acquired at birth. When
his own mother gave
birth to him, his head
was in a weird angle.
It's nothing anyone did 
or could've prevented."

Chip nodded, his
fingers still moving in
the gentle pattern on
his dad's arm. "So it's not
because of any-"

But his question was
interrupted by a soft
moan from Plankton. 
Chip's eyes widened,
his hand frozen 
mid-stroke.

Plankton's antennas
twitched, and his eye
flitted open. He looked
up at them. "Hi there,
sleepy head" Karen said
with a smile, her voice
barely above a whisper.
Plankton managed to
wave. "Hi," he said.

Chip's eyes lit up,
his fear from earlier
melted away by his dad's
small gesture. "Hi, Dad,"
he whispered, his hand
still on Plankton's arm.

Plankton's gaze searched
his son's face, his
expression a mix of
fatigue and love. He knew
Chip was still scared,
still confused. "I'm okay,"
he said.

Chip nodded, his eyes
filled with relief. He
wanted to ask more
questions, but he could
see his dad was tired.
"Okay," he said. "I'm
here for you."

Plankton's smile was
subtle, but it was there.
He reached out his hand
and gave Chip's a gentle
squeeze. It was his way
of saying 'thank you'.

Karen watched them,
her heart full. "Why don't
we let him rest?" she
suggested, her voice low.
"You can sit here and
read by him."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's
face. He picked up a
book and settled into
the bed with his dad.

Plankton's hand then
moved in a repetitive
motion against the
bedspread, a gentle
back-and-forth that
seemed to soothe him.
He started to murmur.
"Soft with the fabric,"
he whispered in the stim.

Chip watched him, his
curiosity growing. He
wanted to try it, but
wasn't sure if it was
appropriate. 

"Mom," he whispered.
"Can I do his stim with
hi-"

But before he could
finish his sentence,
Plankton's hand stilled
on the bedspread. "No
Chip," he said, his voice
steadier. "Do NOT."

Chip's eyes widened.
"But I just want to help,"
he protested, his voice
whispered.

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye closing
slightly. "It's personal,"
he murmured.

Chip felt his cheeks
heat up. "I'm sorry," he
whispers.

But Plankton's hand
was already moving 
again. "Fabrics," he
said, his voice still low.
"The texture i---"

But Chip interrupts, 
his hand tentatively
mimicking his dad's
motion. "Like this?"
he asks, disrupting
Plankton's stim.

Plankton's hand stops,
his antennas flinching
back. "No," he says, his
voice harsh. "It's mine."

Chip withdraws his hand
quickly, his eyes wide
with shock and apology.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he says,
his voice a whisper. "I just
wanted to help. But why
did you whisper to yourself
about the fabric? I--"

"CHIP," Plankton snaps.
"Didn't I tell you not to?"
his voice is firm, almost
angry. Chip's eyes
filled with sadness.

Karen quickly intervenes,
"Plankton, it's okay. Chip
was just trying to be
su—"

But Plankton's anger is
difficult to quell. His
body tenses, his antennae
twitching erratically.
"I-it's not for him," he
stammers out. "MINE!"

The room goes quiet,
the tension palpable. Chip
retreats slightly, his hand
still hovering in the
air where it had been
touching the fabric. "I-I'm
sorry, Da-"

But Plankton's eye shut tight.
"Chip," Karen says, her voice
even. "Remember what we
talked about. His stims are
not for us to take over or
interrupt. Just let him do
his thing."

Chip nods, his eyes
brimming with apology.
He watches as Plankton's
hand starts moving again.
He doesn't know what to say,
his mind racing with confusion.
He just wanted to be closer
to his dad, to understand him
better. But instead, he feels like
he's made things worse.

new my autistic dad learncore

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 19

Chip's hand 
remains on his 
father's arm, his 
touch light. "So
what can I do to
make sure I don't
make you upset?"
He asks, his eyes
full of concern.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch. "Just... just 
ask before you touch 
me," he says, his voice 
soft. "And if I say no, 
don't take it personally."
Chip nods. "I will, Dad,"
he says, his hand now
slowly retreating. "But 
what about the seizures?"

Plankton sighs. "I don't
always know why they 
happen," he admits. "But 
when they do, it's 
important to keep me 
safe. No loud noises, no 
bright lights. And if you 
can, stay calm. I know 
it's scary, but it's just 
my brain saying it needs 
a break. But they can
happen if I'm really scared
and upset, or if my
body feels like it's too 
much to handle." His 
antennas droop slightly.

Chip nods, his 
mind racing with 
questions. "But why 
do you sometimes just 
freeze?" He asks, his 
voice gentle. "Or get 
really still and don't 
talk at all?"

Plankton's antennae 
quiver slightly. "That's 
called shutdown," he 
explains. "It's like...
my brain's had enough.  
It's like it's in a traffic 
jam, and all the messy
mixed up signals are 
confusing. So it just...
stops. It's my body's 
way of protecting me 
from stimulation I guess.
They're absence seizures,
and I don't always know 
I'm having them."

Chip's eyes widen. "So, 
it's like you're there, 
but not really?" He 
asks, his voice soft 
with curiosity.

Plankton nods. "It's 
like everything goes 
on autopilot," he says. 
"I may see and hear, 
but it's like my 
brain's on a break
to where I might not
recognize what's going 
on around me. It's like 
being lost in a dream
state, even though I'm
not 'dreaming' but, it's
like trying to remember
a dream after you've 
woken up. I also might
feel like I'm having a
headache." Chip listens 
intently, his mind 
trying to comprehend 
the complexity of 
his father's 
experience. "So, what 
can I do to help 
you when you're in a 
shutdown?" He asks, 
his voice laced with 
concern.

"Just be there," 
Plankton says. "And 
give me some space. 
Don't try to shake me 
out of it. Just wait 
until I come back. It's 
not something I can 
control." He pauses. "And
if you can, maybe 
find a quiet place 
for me to go to, where 
there are no bright 
lights or loud noises. If
your ever concerned go
get your mother. But my
absence seizures can be
triggered by stress too. So 
just keep an eye on 
me and help me to avoid 
getting too anxious."

Chip nods, 
his eyes wide with 
understanding. 
"What else can
trigger them? And
how come you don't
blink during them?"

Plankton's antennae
wave thoughtfully.
"It's like my brain 
is trying to reboot,"
he explains. "And the
not blinking is part
of it. It's like my 
body's way of saying, 
'I'm processing, hold
on.' It's hard to 
explain, but it's 
like everything else
about me, it's just 
how my body does.
As for what can trigger
them, it's often when
I'm really scared, or
there's too much 
going on around me. 
Sensory overload. But
déjà vu can trigger one,
maybe rapidly flashing
lights of bright colors.
Sometimes overlapping
chatter, if multiple people
talk at once. Or if you talk
too fast."

Chip nods, taking 
in every word. "What
about the times when
you steal from the 
Krabby Patty restaurant?" 
He asks, his eyes 
innocently curious.

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly, his 
face a mask of 
resignation. "It's 
because my brain 
doesn't always work 
like everyone else's," 
he says. "I've had close
calls at the Krusty Krab
before. None of them
are to know about my
autism.."

Just then, Karen comes
in and sees them both
openly talking. "Aw-"

"Before you ask, if I say
yes and admit we're 
bonding, will you not
start with the aww-ing?"
Plankton says, rolling his
eye at her.

Karen laughs, wiping
at the corner of her
eye. "I just think it's
sweet, you two
talking like this!"

But Chip's mind is 
still racing with 
questions. He looks 
up at Karen. "Mommy, 
does Dad have doctors
to-"

Karen cuts him off 
quickly. "It can't be 
cured, sweetheart," she 
says gently. "But a lot 
of the time, it's just 
about understanding 
his needs and making 
sure he's comfortable. 
Now if something came
up or if he's even got
something like a cold,
we've a sensory friendly
specialist for those times.
Like when we travel, such
as for your science fair, I'd
look up nearest sensory
clinics, just in case. It's
because a regular medical
office setting can be too
much for him. A hospital
environment can be really
overwhelming for anyone,
but especially for him. Now
his dentist knows about his
autism and accommodates
him, but otherwise we'd only
reach out to the sensory ones
if a medic's needed." She
turned to Plankton, who's now
rocking on the bed, his knees
pressed against his chest, 
his antennae tucked in.

Karen looked back at
Chip. "He doesn't like
that question. If some
thing's needed, I know
to discuss it with him
and look at alternatives.
Otherwise, unless he has
a scenario in his head or
something, even in some
emergency, I know it's a
bad subject for him. I'm
always truthful with him
and I know him. I know
you meant nothing by it,
but unless absolutely
necessary or if he brings
it up, do not needlessly
bring up his healthcare
or whatnot. If anything
that is up to him. So, if
you're ever concerned,
you can ask me and we'll
tell you what you need to
know. The sensory specialist
is who we'd call, not any
ambulances or whatever,
and they're high-tech
and skilled with all topics
having to do with health.
Otherwise, do not bring up
anything like that. Do you
understand, Chip?"

Chip nodded, his 
eyes wide with 
understanding. "I'm
sorry, Dad," he says, 
his voice small. "I did
not know it was a bad 
question." But Plankton
didn't even respond.

Plankton's rocking 
is even more 
pronounced. It's 
his way of 
stimming, a way to
calm himself. "Dad?" 
Chip says again, but 
Plankton doesn't react.

Chip watches him, 
his curiosity 
piqued. He's seen 
this behavior before, 
but now he 
understands it's not 
because Plankton is 
mad or upset with him. 
It's just how he copes.
He decides to try 
something new. "Dad," 
he says softly, "can 
you show me how 
you stim?" Plankton
still doesn't seem to
hear him.

Karen notices 
the tension in 
Chip's voice and 
quickly steps in. "Why 
don't we all sit down 
and talk more 
about this?" She suggests, 
her tone soothing. 
"Plankton, can you tell 
Chip about stimming?"
But Plankton doesn't
even budge.

Chip watches 
his father's 
steady rocking, 
his curiosity 
growing. He tries 
again, his voice 
even softer. "Dad, 
please?" Yet Karen
notices his eye is
unfocused, distant.

"Plankton," Karen 
intervenes gently, 
"Plankton honey, 
are you okay?"

Plankton's rocking 
slows down as his
body stiffened. And
Karen knew exactly
what was happening.

"Chip," she says
gently, "Your dad's
experiencing a bit of
a seizure right now.
It's okay, he'll come
back to us."

Chip nods, his
heart racing as he
watches his father.
He's seen this before,
but now he understands.
It's not just strange
behavior, it's part of
his autism.

new adaptable family seizurecore chip

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 20

With gentle curiosity,
Chip moves closer to 
his dad, his hand 
outstretched but not
touching. "Dad?
Can I... can I help 
with your stimming?"
Plankton's antennae 
twitch slightly, but
his eye remains 
unblinking as his
body sits rigid.

"Chip," Karen says, 
her voice calm. "It's 
okay, honey. Just 
wait. He'll come back 
to us soon."

Chip nods, his 
heart racing as he 
watches Plankton's 
stillness. He's seen
this before, but this 
time feels different. 
This time, he knows.
With a deep breath, 
he sits down beside 
his father, his hand 
still hovering. He 
doesn't want to scare 
Plankton, doesn't want 
to do anything wrong. 
But he also doesn't 
want him to be alone.

Plankton's antennae 
begin to twitch, 
ever so slightly, as 
his breathing slows. 
Chip whispers, "It's ok, 
Dad," his voice 
barely audible.

The minutes stretch 
like hours as Chip 
watches his father. 
His mind fills with 
everything he's learned 
about autism, about 
his dad's challenges. 
He knows Plankton's 
brain is just trying 
to find peace amidst 
the chaos of sensory 
input. And even though
his hand is still, he 
knows he's there for 
his dad, ready to help 
whenever he needs it.

Slowly, Plankton 
blinks. His one eye 
meets Chip's, and for 
a moment, Chip sees 
fear, confusion, and 
then... recognition?
Plankton's body relaxes, 
his antennae drooping.
"Chip," he says, his 
voice a whisper. "Chip,
here. Did here, here.."

Chip nods, 
his heart racing. He 
knows his dad is 
trying to communicate, 
his mind still not
clear from the seizure. 
He gently takes Plankton's
hand and starts to 
stroke it, light and 
soothing. "It's okay, 
Dad," he whispers. "I'm
right here."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, and he blinks 
again. His voice is 
still weak, but he tries 
to form words. "Chip... 
you... you're so... good."
The words come out 
slurred, but the warmth
is unmistakable.

Chip feels a weight
lifting from his chest. 
His dad's okay. "Thanks, 
Dad," he says, his voice 
steady now. "I'm just 
trying to underst--"

Plankton's antennae 
suddenly shoot up, 
his eye wide. "Wait," 
he says, his voice 
slightly stronger. "Your 
hand... it's... it's 
helping me?"
Plankton looks at 
his hand in wonder.

Chip nods. "Yeah, Dad. 
It's like... it's calming
you down," he says, 
his voice filled with 
a mix of confusion and 
relief.

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly as he 
looks up at Chip, 
his expression a mix 
of amazement and 
gratitude. "Yippee!"

Chip's eyes light up 
at his father's rare 
outburst of joy. "You 
see, Dad?" He says, 
his voice filled with 
pride. "I can help you
just like you help me."
Plankton nods, his 
expression still 
somewhat dazed but 
now with a hint of 
smile.

"Oh, did I ever show
you our selfie I took
of us on the way to
my science fair? You
fell asleep on me!" He
says, pulling out his
phone to show Plankton.

Plankton, still not quite
conscious/aware in his
postictal state, claps as
he laughs. "Eeeeee! Post
it and let it go viral!" He 
squeals in delight, his 
eye wide and childlike.

Chip smiles. "Can I put
in the caption that you
have a neurodisability?"
Chip asks, to which his
dad nods eagerly.

Karen watches the
interaction with a soft
smile. She knows this
might be a pivotal moment
for both of them. "Remember,
Chip," she says, "It's important
that we respect your father's
boundaries. Even if he's okay
with sharing about his autism
right now, he might not always
feel like that. It's his story to-"

"Karen it be good!" Plankton
interrupts her as Chip writes
this as the caption:

'🐠💤💻💨: When your 
neurodisabled dad falls 
asleep on the way to
your big science fair, you 
gotta catch those Z's... 
and the moment! 😂👨‍🔬💤'

Chip posts it. 
"Ok then,
we all gotta 
get to bed,"
Karen says.

The next morning
Plankton wakes up
oblivious to what's
happened during
last night, obviously
not knowing about
Chip having such a
picture, let alone the
post itself.

Chip woke up early,
his heart pounding
from a mix of excitement
and anxiety. He quickly
checks his phone to
find the post has gone
viral, with dozens of
likes and comments.
His face beams with
pride.

Karen knew better
than to greet her
husband with such
news. Even though
he did unknowingly
consent to it, he was
not actually have any
awareness/explicit 
memory of it. So she
wouldn't bring it up in
front of Plankton.

"Good morning," Karen
greets him as usual, like
nothing happened. "How
did you sleep?"

Plankton rubs his
eye. "Fine, I guess,"
he says, still groggy.
Chip looks up from his
phone, his heart racing.

He's torn between 
sharing the viral post
and keeping the peace. 
But as Plankton heads 
towards the kitchen,
his antennae perk up.
"Is something wrong?"
He asks, his voice 
full of concern.

Chip takes a deep
breath and decides 
to hold off on the
news. "No, Dad," he
says, his voice 
steady. "Everything's
fine." Plankton nods
and continues into 
the kitchen, his mind
already racing with
thoughts of how he's
gonna attempt stealing
his rival Krabs formula
this morning.

Karen gives Chip 
a knowing look, and 
he nods. He understood.
For now, they'll keep the
viral post between 
them. They see Plankton
using his telescope to
spy on the Krusty Krab.

"What's your plan for
today? Perhaps any
thing that's successful?" 
Karen teased. "Hardy
haaaaaaahhhhh, Karen,"
Plankton replied, rolling
his eye. "I'll just wing it.."

new adaptable family seizurecore chip

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 8

Chip's eyes 
well up, his 
body shaking.
He doesn't 
understand why
his dad is so 
angry with him. 
He thought he
was just trying
to help.

"Dad, please," 
he whispers, his 
voice thick with 
unshed tears.
"I just wan–"

"NO!" Plankton 
shouts, pushing 
his son away.
Plankton's sobs 
turn to heavy 
breaths. Karen 
watches them both, 
her heart breaking.

Chip's eyes 
brim with tears 
as he retreats, 
his voice barely 
a whisper. "But Dad..."

Plankton turns to 
his side, his 
back facing Chip, 
his antennae 
thrashing violently. 
"I'M TRYING!" He 
screams into the 
silent room. Chip
then makes the
mistake of putting
his hand on his
dad's shoulder.
"Don't touch me!"
Plankton shrieks,
his body jolting.

The room seems to
shrink around
them, the tension 
pressing down 
like a heavy
wet blanket. 
Chip feels a 
wave of fear wash 
over him. He's
seen his dad upset
before, but 
never like this.

He moves his 
hand away, his 
throat tight. "I'm
so sor—"

"I SAID, DON'T 
TOUCH ME!" 
Plankton's scream 
reverberates through 
the room, echoing 
off the walls as his
sobbing turns 
to anger, his 
body stiff as 
he glares at Chip.

Chip jumps back, 
his heart racing.
He's never seen 
his dad like this, 
so out of control.
He looks to Karen,
his eyes wide with 
fear. "What's happe—"

"Chip," she says 
quickly, her voice 
sharp with urgency. 
"Give him some 
space. Now." She 
moves closer to 
Plankton, her hand
outstretched but 
not touching, giving
him the option.

Chip nods, his 
face crumpled with 
hurt and confusion.
He retreats to his 
own bed, his 
eyes on the floor.
The room feels like 
it's closing in on 
them, the silence
deafening. Plankton's
sobs turn to 
angry grunts as 
his breaths become
more pronounced.

Karen sits next 
to Plankton, her 
hand hovering near
his, but not 
touching. "It's okay,
babe," she whispers.
"We're here." Plankton's
body tenses further.
"I DON'T NEED 
CHIP'S HELP!" He 
doesn't wanna lash
out, yet Karen knows
he needs to let out
the storm inside. She
can feel the energy
building in Plankton,
his body a coil 
ready to snap.

With a sudden 
explosion of rage, 
Plankton yells, 
"I'M THE ONE 
WITH A PROBLEM‽"
Plankton's limbs
flail erratically, 
his voice hoarse 
from screaming. 
Karen's heart 
aches for him, 
for the pain he's 
in, the pain he 
can't express in 
any other way.
She needs to
redirect his energy.

"Plankton," she says
firmly, her hand 
still hovering 
just out of 
reach. "Take a 
deep breath." 
But Plankton's 
too far gone.

He starts to kick 
the bed, the 
mattress shaking 
as his body 
thrashes. Karen
flinches, but 
doesn't move as
the tantrum 
intensifies, his 
tiny fists 
slamming into 
the mattress.

Karen's eyes 
are wide, her 
body tense, but 
she remains calm, 
knowing that 
this is part 
of his coping 
mechanism.

He kicks the 
bed harder, 
his fists 
clenching the 
covers. Yet
Karen remains 
steady, her voice 
calm and firm. "Hey,
look at me," she 
instructs, her hand 
still hovering. "Take
a deep breath with me."
He doesn't move, 
his fists clenched 
in the sheets. 
Her voice doesn't
waver. "In and out, 
babe. In and ou-"

Suddenly, Plankton's 
body goes rigid. 
He inhales deeply, 
his antennae 
shaking with the 
effort. His 
eye snaps to hers, 
his breath hitching.

For a moment, 
there's silence. 
Karen holds her 
breath, noticing he's
gonna have one of
his seizures. Then
as Chip comes back
through the curtain
Plankton starts 
to shake as it
finally took over.
Karen tucks Plankton
in loosely.

"Dad?" Chip asks, 
his voice shaking.
Karen's eyes dart 
to him, filled with
the knowledge that
he's gonna be fine.
"It's ok Chip," she 
whispers. "Just watch
from here." 

Plankton's body 
shakes harder, 
his breaths coming 
in short bursts. 
He's lost in a 
world of sensory
overload, his 
body reacting to 
the chaos around 
him. Karen strokes 
his arm gently.
"It's ok, Plankton,"
she whispers. "We
are right here."

The seizure 
lasts for a few
moments, and as 
it now subsides, 
Plankton's body 
goes limp with
exhaustion. Karen
knew his postictal
phase can bring on
some loopiness.

Plankton's antennae
twitch erratically,
his eye unfocused.
He giggles, a sound
so unlike his usual
self. "Karen? Oh!
You're so...shiny."
Karen can't help but
smile at her husband's
post-seizure loopy state.
"Yes, I'm right here,"
she says.

Chip's eyes are 
wide with worry,
his voice a tremble.
"Is he okay?"

Karen nods, her 
smile tinged with 
sadness. "He's 
in his post-
seizure phase. It's
normal for him to 
be like this."

Plankton giggles again,
his voice slurred as he
tries to sit up, his 
body wobbly. "I'm 
fine, I'm fine," he 
mutters. He then 
reaches for Karen,
his hand missing
by a mile.

Chip watches, his 
heart racing. He's 
seen his dad act weird 
before, but never 
like this..

"It's part of his 
autism, Chip," Karen 
explains gently, her 
hands steady. "After a 
big meltdown or usually a 
seizure, he can get 
disoriented." Plankton's
head lolls to the 
side, his antennae
twitching erratically.

"You're...so...far
away..." He giggles,
his body swaying 
slightly with the 
effort of speech.

Karen takes his
hand, her eyes 
understanding.
"You're fine."

Plankton's hand
shakes in hers, his
eye half-closed. 
"No, no, I wanna...
play." He giggles 
again, his body 
lurching forward.

Karen sighs.
"I wanna go on 
an adventure,"
he slurs, his 
body listing to 
one side.
Karen tightens her 
grip on his hand, 
keeping him grounded.
"We can go on 
an adventure later,
babe," she promises. 
"For now, let's just 
get some sleep. It's
bedtime for all of us!"

Plankton's giggles 
turn into a 
snore, his body
going limp. 
Karen gently 
guides him to lie 
down, his breathing
evening out. 
She covers him 
with the blanket, 
his antennae 
twitching slightly.

new adaptable family sensoryoverloadcore overloadcore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 14
(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

Chip sits beside Karen, watching
his dad sleep. He's quiet, his mind
racing with questions. How can
someone so strong, so in control,
be brought to this? The room feels
heavy with silence, the air thick
with unspoken fears and love.
Plankton's snores are a comforting
reminder that he's okay, that the storm
has passed. Chip's screen flickers
with the memory of his dad's
favorite pranks, his laughter echoing
in the quiet room. But now, his dad
looks so small, so fragile.

Karen notices Chip's distant gaze.
"Remember, Chip, he's still
the same person." She pauses,
searching for the right words.
"His autism doesn't change who
he is, just how he experiences
the world." Chip nods, but the doubt
lingers. How can he understand
a world so alien to his own?
The silence in the room
is broken by Plankton's sudden
mumble.

"Karen?" His voice is a whisper,
his antennae slowly rising.
Her screen lights up with
relief and love. "You're okay,"
she says, her hand stroking his.
Plankton's eye opens,
unfocused and tired. "Chip?"

He sees his son, sitting
on the bed, his screen filled
with uncertainty. "Dad?"
Chip whispers.

Plankton's antennae twitch
as he tries to sit up. "I'm okay,"
he says, his voice hoarse.
Karen's hand on his shoulder
steadies him. "Just tired."
The weight of sleep lifts
from his eyelid.

Chip watches, his screen
reflecting the hope that
his dad is okay. "Do you...
Do you remember?"
Plankton's eye widens,
his antennae quivering.
"Chip," he murmurs, his voice
filled with regret.

"It's okay, Dad," Chip says,
his voice firm. "You had
a meltdown." Plankton's antennae
fall, his gaze dropping.
"I'm sorry," Plankton whispers,
his voice thick with guilt.
"It's not your fault," Karen says,
squeezing his hand. "We know it's
not."

But Chip is full of questions.
"What can I do?" he asks,
his screen eager. "How can I
help?" Karen smiles, her eyes
filling with pride.

"You're already helping,"
she says. "Just by being here,
just by loving him."

But Chip wants more. He wants
to understand, to help in
the way Karen does. "What are
his triggers?" he asks.

Karen's screens flicker with
thought. "Well," she says, "it's different
for everyone. For him, it can be
sudden noises, changes in routine, or even
his belongings being moved without
his knowing." Chip nods, his mind racing.
"But what about his stims?" he asks.
"Those are his way of coping," Karen
explains. "When he flaps his arms,
spins, or repeats words, he's trying
to regulate his sensory input.
It's like he's tuning in to the world."
Karen says. "And when he repeats
words or phrases, it helps him
make sense of what's happening.
Let him do his thing. Sometimes
he'll need help to calm down,
like with the squeezy ball or
his fidget toy. And sometimes,
just being there, quietly, is all
he needs. As long as you
listen and respect his boundaries,
you'll be his best helper."

Chip's curiosity is
piqued. He looks at his dad,
now easing himself onto
the pillow. "What types of
touch does he like?" Chip's
voice is soft. Karen's screens
flicker with memories of
trial and error, of finding
the right balance. "Some
autistics like deep pressure,"
she says. "It can be soothing.
But he's different. He usually
prefers light touches, like strokes
or holding hands."

Plankton's antennae twitch
at the mention of his
name. "What do I do if he
has another meltdown?"
Chip's voice is earnest.
"Just be there," Karen says.
"Sometimes, just knowing
you're there can make all
the difference." She sighs.
"But if it's really bad,
we'll have to get the medicine
again, as a last resort. It's hard,"
she admits. "But I love him.
And I'll always be here for him."

Chip nods. "I love him too,"
he says, his voice barely
above a whisper. "I want
to help him."

Karen's screens glow with
pride. "You already do,"
she says. "But I know
you want to understand more."

Chip nods. "What about when
he's really happy?"

Karen's screens light up with
a smile. "Oh, his laughter
is the sweetest sound.
But if he reaches for you,
if he wants to share that joy,
just be there, okay?"

Chip nods, eager to learn.
"What if he starts repeating
things again?"

Karen's screen softens.
"It's called echolalia,"
she says. "It's his brain's
way of processing. Just
let him finish, and then
you can talk." She pauses, her
thumb tracing a pattern
on Plankton's hand. "And if
you repeat something with
understanding, it can help
make him feel heard."

Chip nods, his mind racing.
He's seen his dad do this before,
but never knew what it meant.
"What about his rocking?"
he asks. Karen's screens flicker
with knowledge. "That's his way
of self-stimulating," she says.
"It helps him regulate his
nervous system. Sometimes
it's soothing, sometimes it's
how he thinks. Remember,
his body's his own. If he
pulls away, it's not personal.
It's just his way of saying
he needs a break." "How
did you learn all of this?"

Karen looks down at their
intertwined hands, her screens
reflecting the journey. "Trials and
errors, love," she says. "And
listening to him. Everyone's
autism is different. What
works for one might not work
for another. We just have to keep
trying, keep learning."

Chip nods, his mind racing
with questions. "How do we
know if he's about to have
a meltdown?" Karen looks at
Plankton, his antennae still.
"Look for the signs," she says.
"Sudden agitation, avoiding eye
contact, flapping his arms, or
repeating words. That's when
you know he's overwhelmed."

He nods, trying to picture it.
"What about his box?"
"That's sensory aids," she explains.
"They help him cope with stress.
It's important we don't touch
it without asking first."
"What's in there? Dad, can I see?"
But Plankton cuts him off.
"Absolutely NOT!" he says.

Karen's screen flickers with a smile.
"It's his personal space,"
she tells Chip gently. "Those
things are special to him,
his tools to stay calm."
Chip nods, his curiosity
still unquenched. "Can I..."

But Plankton's antennae shoot up.
"I just said no, Chip!"
He's alert, his voice sharp.
Karen's grip on his hand tightens.
"Remember," she says calmly,
"his box is his sanctuary."
Plankton's gaze locks with Chip's,
his eye wide with agitation.
"Okay, okay," Chip says, his
hands up in surrender.
He can feel the tension in
the air, the unspoken
words heavy between them.
"What if I just peek?" he asks him.
Plankton's antennae quiver. "No,"
he says firmly. "It's not for playing."
"Dad, I--" "How about NO?"
Plankton says, his voice still
a little rough around the edges.

Chip nods, his curiosity
now mixed with respect. "Okay,"
he says. "But can you show me?"

Karen looks at Plankton,
his antennae still. "It's okay,"
she says softly. "We can show
him together." Plankton's
eye narrows, but he doesn't
resist as Karen opens the box.

new autism and all sensoryoverloadcore box

https://www.wikihow.com/Add-Highlights-on-Instagram

new instagramcore webcorecore learncore instagram

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
(by NeuroFabulous)
𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑  🕊️🩰🐚  
Pt. 2
Chip notices his mom
getting up, so he hurries
to the living room.

The floorboards creak as Karen
enters, her eyes widening in
surprise. "Chip? You're home
already!" She tries to sound
casual, but her voice wavers.
Chip's face flushes, his heart
pounding. "Yeah, the bus got
here early." He glances away,
his eyes unable to meet hers.
"How was camp?" Karen asks,
trying to keep the conversation
normal despite the tension that
now filled the room. She knew he
might've heard them, but she isn't 
sure how much.

Chip swallows hard, his eyes 
flitting from the floor to the ceiling.
"It was fun," he responds, his voice
not quite as cheerful as he'd like it
to be. He couldn't shake the image
of his dad sitting there, so still. "What
was happening in there?" he asks,
his curiosity and concern spilling over.

Karen's face falls, and she sighs,
sitting down beside him on the
sofa. "It's something we've been
trying to keep from you, sweetie,"
she says, her eyes filled with a
mixture of sadness and regret.
"But I think it's time you knew."

With a gentle nudge, she stands
and takes his hand. "Come with
me to our room," she says, leading
the way. Chip follows, his heart
thumping in his chest.

Plankton sits up in bed, his
expression a mix of shock and
confusion as he sees Chip.

"Dad, what's going on?" Chip's voice is
steady, but his eyes are wide with
concern. Plankton's cheeks redden,
his hands fidgeting with the bed
covers. "Chip," Karen starts, her voice
careful, "you know how sometimes
people are just... different?"

Plankton stammers, his eye darting
between Chip and Karen. "It's, uh, it's
nothing," he says, his voice strained.
"I just had a little... quirk. That's all."
But Chip can see the lie in his eye,
the way his shoulders tense up like
he's trying to shrink away from the
truth.

Karen sits down next to him, her
hands folded in her lap. "Plankton,
Chip heard us. It's better if we tell
him ourselves." Plankton's face
twists in a silent plea, but she
continues, her voice calm yet firm.
"It's time, sweetie."

The room seems to shrink around
them as Plankton's eye widens,
his body stiffening in the bed. He's
been hiding his autism for years,
fearful of how Chip might react, of
the misunderstanding he might face.
"Chip," Karen starts, "your dad has
something called autism."

The words hang in the air, thick
like smoke from a forgotten candle.
Chip frowns, trying to grasp the
concept. Autism? He's heard of it
before, but never connected it to
his dad. Plankton's face is a
swirl of emotions - fear, guilt,
and a desperate hope that Chip
will still respect him.

"It's okay, Plankton," Karen says,
placing a reassuring hand on his
shoulder. "We'll get through
this together." She looks at Chip,
waiting for his reaction.

Plankton's eye darts around the
room, his cheeks flaming red.
He's flabbergasted, his mind
whirling with fear and regret.
This was the moment he'd
been dreading, the moment he'd
tried to avoid for so long.

Plankton starts to rock side to side.
This is his stimming, a behavior
common among autistic individuals
that helps them cope with overwhelming
sensory input or emotions.
Chip watches, his confusion
deepening. "Don't stare, Chip!" 
Plankton snaps.

"But what's that, Dad?" Chip points
to the rocking, his voice tentative.
"Is everything okay?" Plankton
freezes mid-motion, looking
angrily at Chip. "Dad, why are yo--"
"It's none of your business, okay?"
Plankton snaps, his voice harsher
than Chip's ever heard.

Karen steps in, placing a hand
on Plankton's arm to calm him.
"Chip, it's okay," she says soothingly.
"Your dad's just trying to deal
with things in his own way."

But Chip can't ignore the anger
in his dad's voice. It's a stark
contrast to the dad he's always
known, the man who would laugh
at his jokes. "Mmm," Plankton
hums. Another stim of his.

"What's 'mmm' Dad?" Chip 
asks. "Is 'mmm' becau-"
"Don't mock me!" Plankton's
voice cuts through the air, his
anger palpable. Chip's eyes
widen, his heart dropping. He's
never seen his dad like this. 
Karen intervenes, turning
to Chip.

"When your dad makes that
sound, it's called 'stimming',"
she explains gently. "It's a way
his brain helps him process
information and feelings. It's
like a self-soothing technique. It's
part of who he is, and it's something
he doesn't always realize he's
doing. He doesn't like for people
to point it out because it makes
him feel... different."

Chip nods slowly, trying to
understand. "But I..."

Karen cuts him off gently. "It's
important to respect your dad's
boundaries, especially when it comes
to his autism." She looks at Plankton,
his rocking slowing down. "It's a
part of him that helps him cope, not
to judge or interrupt. Because when
it comes to stimming, it's a personal
and private moment for him. I don't even
interrupt him when he's doing it, unless
it's absolutely necessary."

Chip nods, but he's still 
curious. "When do you
know how he stims, then?"
he asks his mom. She smiles
gently.

"Well, sweetie, it's all about
knowing your dad," she says.
"I've learned his cues over
the years. When he starts
rocking or making muttering
sound, it's like his way of telling
he needs a little space to sort
things out. It's his private moment
to cope."

Chip nods, processing this new
piece of information. "Does he
always know when he's doing it?"

Karen sighs, her gaze softening
as she looks at Plankton. "Sometimes
yes, sometimes no. It's like... it's like
his brain is in a different place,
and he needs these movements or
sounds to bring him back to us."

Chip nods, watching his dad's
rocking slow to a stop. He looks
back at Karen, his eyes full of
questions. "But when he stims
what do we do?"

Karen's gaze meets Plankton's,
and she smiles reassuringly at him.
"Just give him space," she says,
turning to Chip. "And if you're
worried, just come find me. We'll
talk about it, okay? Just don't push
him when he's like this, because it
can be really overwhelming for him."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving
his dad's face. He's trying to
understand, trying to reconcile
the image of his dad rocking
back and forth in bed with the
man he's always known. He's seen
his dad as invincible, as a rock.
And now, here he is, vulnerable.

new to see or not to see chip plankton chipcore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 11
(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

They approach Plankton,
his body heavy with sleep.
Karen gently shakes his
shoulder. "Wake up, love,"
she says. "We're going to
help you to bed." Plankton's
eye opens, blinking in the
soft light. He looks around,
disoriented for a moment,
before focusing on Karen's
face.

"Bed?" he murmurs, his
voice thick with sleep. Chip
nods eagerly. "You need to
sleep in your own bed, Dad,"
he says, his voice gentle. Plankton
frowns, his hand reaching
for his blanket. "Must," he says,
his voice firm. Karen nods.
"Let's go," she whispers, taking
his arm.

With careful steps, they
navigate the hallway, the
soft carpet muffling their
footsteps. Chip follows
behind. Plankton's
movements are slow and
deliberate. Karen helps
Plankton into his room, the
space familiar and comforting.

The bed is a sanctuary. Karen
helps him into bed,
his limbs heavy with sleep.

Karen opens the bedside
drawer, her movements
practiced and quiet. Chip
watches as she pulls out
from the sensory box
a soft plushie.

Plankton's eye flickers
open, his gaze landing
on the toy. "Huggle,"
he murmurs. His hand
reaches out, his fingers
grabbing the plushie.
Karen nods. "Here you go,
sweetie," she says, placing
it in his hand.

The softness of the
plushie seems to ground him.
His hand clutches it tightly
as he settles into bed,
his antennae still. "Pranks,"
he says. "Ponies.."

Karen tucks the blankets
around him, her movements
precise and gentle. "Good
night," she whispers, leaning
in to kiss his forehead.

Chip watches as Plankton's
grip on the plushie tightens,
his eye still closed. "What's
that for?" he asks.

Karen smiles down at her
sleepy husband. "It's a
comfort object," she whispers.
"It's like a pillow or a blanket
for you." Chip nods.

Plankton's hand tightens
around the plushie,
his breathing deepening. 
"Huggle," he murmurs.

The soft toy is a lifeline
to a world that often feels
overwhelming. Chip watches
his dad with a newfound
respect, understanding that
sometimes, the simplest
things provide the most profound
comfort.

"Good night, Dad," Chip whispers,
his voice trembling slightly.
He's seen a side of Plankton
today that's both fascinating
and heartbreaking. The father
he's known his whole life,
his hero, has a vulnerability
no one else sees.

The next morning, Chip
wakes up and goes in
to his parent's bedroom
again.

Karen is up. Plankton
is still asleep, his hand
still wrapped around the
plushie. "Ponk," he murmurs
in his sleep, his antennae
twitching slightly. Chip pads over.
He looks at his mom, his eyes
questioning. "Is he okay?"
he whispers. Karen nods.
"He's just dreaming," she
explains. "It's a way of
working through things."

Chip sits on the edge of
the bed. "Mm," Plankton
murmurs. Chip's seen his 
dad's strength so many 
times, but this vulnerability 
is new. He reaches out for
his sleeping dad's plushie.
Chip's hand hovers over it.
He gently takes it...
Plankton's eye flew open.
"Whaa-" Plankton says, then
notices Chip taking the plushie.

In an instant, Plankton
is wide awake, his antennae
shooting up in anger. "No!"
he yells, his voice sharp.
Chip jumps back, his eyes
wide. "What's wrong, Da-"
Plankton's hand snatches
the plushie from Chip's
grip.

Karen's screen flashes
with concern. "It's okay,
sweetie," she says quickly.
"Chip didn't mean to take
it." But Plankton's not
listening. "NO! It's mine!
YOU don't touch!"

The room seems to shrink
under the weight of his
anger. His antennae quiver
with rage. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
Chip stammers, his voice
small and scared. Plankton's
grip on the plushie tightens.
Karen's screen flickers.
"Plankton," she says gently.
"Remember, Chip didn't mean to
upset you. He's still learning."

Plankton's eye darts
between the plushie and
his son. "MINE! MINE, MINE,
MINE!" Chip feels tears
prickling his eyes. He didn't
mean to make his dad
so mad. Chip goes to
pick up the plushie to hand
back to him, but Plankton
thought he's taking it.

In a flash, Plankton is out
of bed, his body stiff,
his antennae trembling with
fury. "NO!" he roars, his
voice echoing through the
tiny room. Chip flinches,
his grip on the plushie
tightening. "Dad,"
he whispers, "I'm sorry."

Karen moves quickly. "Plankton,"
she says, her voice firm but
kind. "Remember, it's okay."
Her hands are up, a silent
plea for peace. But Plankton
doesn't see her. His eyes are
locked on Chip. Yet
Karen's voice remains
steady. "Plankton, it's okay.
Let's talk about thi—"

He cuts her off with
a screech. "MINE!" He
snatches the plushie from
Chip's grasp, his antennae
waving in agitation. Chip
backs away, his eyes
brimming with tears. "It's okay,
Dad," he stammers. "You
can have it." But Chip accidentally
brushes against Plankton.

Plankton flinches, his
body stiffening. "NO!"
he shouts again. "DON'T TOUCH!"
The force of his words
pushes Chip back. He
almost stumbles over a chair.
"Dad, I di-"

But Plankton doesn't
hear. He's lost in a world
of his own, where the
rules are clear and simple:
his things are his, and no one
else's. The plushie is a lifeline
in a storm of confusion,
and it's been snatched away.
His rage builds, his antennae
quivering like live wires,
his body trembling with anger.

With a roar, Plankton
throws the plushie across
the room, watching it sail
past the curtains and hit the wall.
The impact echoes through the
silence like a gunshot. Chip
flinches, his heart racing.
This isn't the dad he knows.
This is a stranger, a creature
of fury and pain.

Plankton's chest heaves with
quick, shallow breaths. His
skin is slick with sweat,
his eyes wild and unfocused.
"NO TOUCH!" he screams,
his fists clenched at his sides.
The room seems to pulse with
his anger, the walls closing in.

Karen steps forward, her
hands still up, her voice calm.
"Plankton, love," she says,
"Chip didn't mean to upset you."
But her words are lost in the
rage. He turns and grabs
the chair.

With a powerful swing,
Plankton throws the chair,
his movements surprisingly
strong. It crashes
against the wall, the sound
like a thunderclap in the
silent room. Chip's eyes
widen in fear. "Dad,"
he whispers, his voice
shaking as Plankton grabs
a vase.

"MINE!" Plankton yells,
his body a blur of
anger. The vase flies,
shattering into a thousand
pieces on the floor. "NO
TOUCH!" The room is a
chaos of Plankton's rage,
his stims forgotten in the
face of perceived invasion.
Chip is frozen, his eyes
following the path of destruction.

Karen's screen flickers,
her voice urgent. "Plankton,
please," she says, her eyes
filled with fear. "You're
scaring Chip." But the words
bounce off his shield
of anger. He grabs a book,
ready to hurl it next.

The room is a minefield
of shattered glass and
flying objects. Chip's
heart races. He's never
seen his dad like this.
He's never felt so scared.
Karen moves closer, her
hands outstretched. "Honey,"
she says, her voice shaking.
"Remember, Chi-"

But Plankton's rage is
like a wildfire, consuming
everything in its path.
He throws the book, his
body a whirlwind of anger.
"NO!" His voice is raw,
his eye wild. The book
slams into the wall, the
pages fluttering to the
ground.

Chip watches, his eyes
wide with fear. He's seen
his dad's temper before, but
never like this. The room
feels like it's closing in,
his heart thumping in his
chest. He wants to run,
but he's rooted to the spot.
He can't leave.

new autism and all chip plankton chipcore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 13
(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

Chip sits on the edge
of the bed, his hand
touching Plankton's
shoulder. He whispers, "I'm
sorry," not sure if his dad
can hear him. Karen sits
next to him, her hand
on his back. "It's not your
fault," she says, her voice
soft. "Remember, we're here
for him. Now when he wakes,
he might be feeling tired.
But he'll be okay."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton's peaceful
face. He's never seen his
dad so still, so quiet. It's
like he's looking at a
stranger. But he's not.
This is the same man who
taught him to tie his shoes,
who read him bedtime stories,
and who always had the
best pranks for Mr. Krabs.

The sedative's hold starts
to loosen. "It'll wear off soon,"
she whispers. Chip nods. "I'll stay
here," he says, his voice
determined.

Plankton's eye twitches.
A soft murmur escapes.
Karen watches. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her hand
on Chip's shoulder. "He's
coming back."

Slowly his eyelid flutters open,
his eye unfocused.
"Wheh..." he murmurs,
his voice thick with sleep.

Karen's screen glows with
relief. "Welcome back, love,"
she says softly.
Plankton blinks, his gaze
slowly finding hers. "What...
what happened?" His antennae
twitch.

Her voice is gentle.
"You had a meltdown.
Remember?" He frowns, the
memory distant.
"Chip accidentally touched
your plushie, and it just...
it was too much." Chip
nods. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's antennae 
droop. His eye widens
with horror. "Chip," he murmurs.
He tries to sit up, but
his body is heavy with sleep.

Karen's hand on his
chest gently presses him
back down. "It's ok," she says.
"You're safe. We're here."

Plankton's eye darts
around the room.
And he sees Chip, his son,
sitting by his side, looking
at him. "Wibbly wobbly,"
he murmurs. "Wibbly wobbly."

Chip now understood
why his dad is repeating
random words. "It's okay,
Dad," he says. "You're safe."

Plankton's eye focused,
his antennae still. "Chip,"
he whispers. "Wibbly wobbly...
wibbly wobbly..."

Chip nods, his screen
now clear. He understands.
These random phrases are
his dad's way of navigating
the world after a storm.
They're his anchors in
the chaos, his way of
finding calm.

"Pranks," Plankton says,
his voice a whisper. "Ponies."
Chip nods.

Karen's screens flicker with
understanding. These words,
his stims, are his lifeboat,
his way to find peace.
"It's okay, Plankton,"
she murmurs. "You're safe."

Plankton's antennae
still. "Car tape."
Karen nods. "Yes."

He whispers, "Io."
"It's okay," Karen says,
her voice soothing. 
"You're home."
"Io," Plankton murmurs again,
clapping his hands. Chip
frowns, not understanding.
"It's alright, Chip," Karen
explains. "It's just his way
of reorienting. See, love,
everything's okay."

"Karen?" Plankton's voice
is a question. "Chip?"
Karen nods. "We're right here."

Plankton's hand
moves to his antennae,
his thumb rubbing them absently.
It's a soothing gesture,
a way to ground himself
in reality. "What happened?"

Karen's screens flicker
with the memory of
the chaos. "You had
a meltdown," she says gently.
"But it's okay. You're safe now."

Plankton's eye narrows,
his mind racing. He remembers
the anger, the noise,
the need to escape. "Chip,"
he says again, his voice
filled with regret as he
sees his son.

Karen nods, her screen
softening. "Chip's okay," she
assures him. "He saw what
happened." Plankton's antennae
twitch. He's torn between
apologizing and retreating.

Chip's voice is small. "Dad,
it's okay. I know it's not you."
Plankton's eye meets his son's,
but he knows he lost control.
He feels the bed dip
as Karen sits beside him.
Her hand finds his, her
grip firm and warm. "Remember,
love, it's the autism."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. He starts to rock,
his body swaying back and forth,
his way to soothe.
Karen knows this
motion means he's trying
to regain control. "Hhmmm..."
he murmurs, the sound
deep in his throat. "It's okay,"
Karen whispers. "You're okay."
"Hmm hmm hmm," Plankton
continues, his voice
a gentle rumble.
"What's he doing?"
Chip asks, his voice hushed.

"It's his way of calming
down," Karen explains,
her voice barely above
a whisper. "He's using
humming to soothe himself."
"Is he okay?"

Karen's hand in his is a
reminder that they're all
still here, still a
family. "It's okay," she says.
"This is his way of
finding peace."

Plankton's humming grows
louder, more insistent.
"Hmm hmm hmm," he murmurs,
his antennae now still. His
body rocks in a gentle rhythm,
his eye focused on some
invisible horizon. "It's okay," Karen
whispers. "This is his way."

"Dad," Chip asks softly.
"Is it helping?"

Plankton's hum deepens,
his antennae still. Karen nods.
"It's his way of finding
his center again," she says.
Chip watches, his screen
filled with concern.

Then, Plankton's hand reaches
out, grasping at the air. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice
desperate. "Huggly?"

Her heart breaks for her husband.
"Plankton," she says softly,
her hand on his back.
"Do you want me to rock you?"
He nods, his antennae
still. "Huggly," he whispers,
his voice a plea.
With a gentle touch,
Karen picks him up, cradling
his small frame in her arms.
He's heavier than he looks,
but she doesn't care. This
is her Plankton, her love.

Plankton's body goes limp,
his head resting on her shoulder.
She starts to rock him,
the motion smooth and even
as his eye flutters.

"It's okay," she whispers,
her voice a lullaby.
"We're here." Chip watches.
He's never seen his dad
so vulnerable.

The rocking becomes a rhythm,
a dance between comfort
and pain. Karen's screen
flickers with the memory
of their first dance,
their first kiss, the first time
she held him in his
arms and promised to
love him, autism and all.

Chip watches, his screen
reflecting a mix of fear
and fascination. "Is he okay?"
he whispers.

"Shh," Karen murmurs.
"This is his way." Her screens
flicker with a soft light.
"You're doing great, love,"
she says to Plankton. "You're okay."

The room is quiet
except for Plankton's
steady breathing and
Karen's gentle rocking.
Chip watches, his eyes
on his father's peaceful face.
The rocking slows,
Plankton's breaths even out.
His antennae no longer
quiver with tension.
"Hmm," he murmurs,
his body relaxing in
Karen's embrace.

Plankton's humming
fades, replaced by the soft
snores of sleep. Karen lowers
his head to the pillow,
his antennae still.
Chip looks up at his mother,
his screen etched with
questions.

"What do we do now?"
he asks.

Karen's eyes don't leave
Plankton's sleeping form.
"Now," she says, "we wait.
He'll wake up soon."

Her screens dim, the tension
of the room easing. "It's
important to let him
sleep it off," she explains.
"The meltdown takes a lot
out of him." Chip nods, his
thoughts racing.

He's seen his dad like this before,
but never so lost. The Plankton
he knows is clever, funny, a master
of pranks. This Plankton, the one
curled up on the bed, is different.
He's vulnerable, raw. It's a side
of his dad Chip's still learning
to navigate.

new autism and all chip plankton chipcore

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 23
(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

Karen rushes over, her screen
etched with concern. "Plankton,
sweetie..." Chip's screen
fills with alarm, his eyes darting
to his father's contorted form.
He's never seen him like this.
The sensory assault has
taken its toll, and Plankton
is paying the price.

Hanna's screen is a mask of shock,
her hand hovering over Plankton's
shoulder, unsure what to do.
"Neptune," she says,
her voice a whisper of concern.
The room's energy shifts, Plankton's
his body shivering with the
remnants of his meltdown. Karen
turns to Hanna.

"I'm sorry," Karen says, her
voice tight with the effort of
keeping her own anxiety in check.
"He's just not used to—"
But Hanna's face is a mask of
concern, her hand moving to
Plankton's own, unaware of his
autistic sensitivities, unaware of
being the cause of his distress.

Plankton's antennae droop, his
body hunched. The room is spinning,
his stomach churning. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice hoarse
with the effort of speaking.
"I need to go. Now!" But Hanna
insists on helping out.

"Oh no, are you okay?" she asks,
her hand moving to his back. The
contact sends a fresh wave
of nausea through him.

"Hanna, no," Karen says firmly,
stepping in. "Give him some space."
But Hanna doesn't understand 
the boundaries. "But he's sick!"
she protests, reaching out to
touch him again. Plankton
flinches away, his stomach
lurching.

"Hanna," Karen says again, her
voice stern. "Please, respect
his space." Hanna's hand
drops, her face a portrait
of confusion. "I'm sorry,"
she murmurs. But it's too late.
The janitor starts to clean up
as the school nurse, Vickie, follows.
Nurse Vickie gasps. "Let's all go to
my office!" She says, grabbing
Plankton's hand as Hanna follows
with Karen and Chip.

The hallways are a blur of faces
and colors, each step a battle
for Plankton. His legs wobble,
his body desperate to flee. The
touch of Hanna's hand was too
much, the sensory assault too great.
Now, in the fear of the
nurse's office, the world
spins around him, his stomach
a maelstrom of discomfort.

Nurse Vickie's office is big enough for
all of them, yet as the door closes behind
them, Plankton feels claustrophobic
and trapped. He's aware of every sound,
every smell, every sensation
that invades his space. Karen knows that
this isn't what he needs. "Nurse Vickie..."

Vickie is already fussing over him, her
hands moving too fast, her voice too loud.
"Don't worry, I've seen this before," she says,
completely oblivious to Plankton's autism.
Her touch is gentle but overwhelming,
each pat on his back a hammer to his
sensory overload. "You just sit here,"
she says, guiding him to a chair.
But Plankton can't sit, can't stay still.
He's like a caged animal, desperate for
his quiet space, for the comfort
of his sensory box. Tears stream down his
face, with pain and fear. He tries to stand.

"You need to sit down," Vickie insists. 
She doesn't see the panic in his
eye. She's just trying to help, to do
her job. But she doesn't know, doesn't
understand his needs.

"Nurse," Karen says, her voice firm.
"Plankton has aut-"

But Vickie cuts her off, her movements
quick and efficient. "I know what to do,"
she says, her voice too loud. Plankton's
antennas flinch. "Let me handle it."

He needs his space, his stims,
his quiet. But Vickie doesn't
understand. "Let me do my job."
Her hands are firm, her touch
not the gentle one he craves.
"Please," Karen says, her voice
sharp. "He needs space."
Vickie's eyes narrow. "Space
won't help him," she says, her
tone dismissive. "He's just
anxious. It's my job to calm
him down." Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body stiffening.
This isn't calming, this isn't right.
But her touch remains firm,
her movements unchanged.
"I'm a professional, ok..."

Plankton starts to rock back and forth,
his body's instinctual response, but
Vickie's eyes widen. "That's not
normal," she says. "You need to sit,"
she insists, holding him back
towards the chair.

Karen's face is a thundercloud,
but she keeps her voice steady. "No,
Nurse Vickie, that's his way of
calming down. He's..." "But that's not
what we do here," Vickie interrupts.

Plankton's stimming intensifies, his
body a whirlwind of motion. Each rock
against the chair a silent scream
for understanding, for the peace
his stims usually bring. But Vickie
doesn't see that. She sees a man
behaving oddly, a patient out of control.

Her voice pierces 
the air, "You need
to sit still! This
is for your own good," 
she says, her tone 
devoid of understanding.
"You need to sit down!
You need to trust me."

But Plankton's body
doesn't obey, his
stims a tornado
spinning out of control.
He feels like a caged
bird, fluttering wings
against invisible bars.
The chair is a trap,
a prison of plastic and metal,
and Vickie's hands are
chains holding him in place.
"I know what's best
for him," Vickie says, her grip
on Plankton's shoulders
tightening.

Karen's voice is a lifeline
in the storm. "Nurse, please,
his stims are his way
of coping," she explains.
But Vickie is unmoved.
"He's just being difficult,"
she says, her grip unyielding.
Plankton's eye widens.

The room is a tornado
of sensory input, Vickie's
hands like sandpaper on
his skin. He tries to pull away,
but she holds firm. "You
have to sit still!" she yells,
startling him into stillness.
His antennae droop, 
defeated. His eye
blinks back tears, his body
a tightly coiled spring. "You
need to learn discipline..."
"Ma'am," Karen says, her
tone tight as a bowstring.
"You're not helping. He's
born with a neurodisability."
But Vickie's expression is
closed, a wall of ignorance.
"This isn't a special
treatment center," she says,
her voice sharp. "This is
a school, and we don't tolerate
this kind of behavior.
You're just enabling him,"
she says, her voice a sneer.
"He'll never learn to
function in the real world
if you let him get away with this."

Karen's fists clench, her teeth
grind. "Function," she repeats,
as she helps up Plankton. "Is that all
he's good for? Functioning?
This is my husband you're
talking about." They decide to leave.

new autism and all vomitcore neurodisability

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 14

Plankton's voice 
doesn't waver from 
his sad mantra. 
"I'm proud, but you 
don't show it, I'm 
sorry. Chip won." His 
body rocks slightly, 
his antennae 
quivering. The 
lobby seems to 
spin around him, 
his heart heavy with 
shame and love.

Chip's eyes are 
glued to his 
father. "Dad," he said 
again, his voice 
trembling. "You 
don't have to be 
sorry." But Plankton 
doesn't seem to
hear his son.

Karen's eyes 
are filled with 
sadness, but 
she nods firmly. "Chip, 
your dad loves you. 
He's just... stuck."

The words 
hang in the air, 
Plankton's voice 
still echoing through 
the lobby. "I'm 
proud, but you don't 
show it, I'm sorry. 
Chip won." His 
stim isn't letting 
up, his body 
rocking slightly, 
his antennae 
trembling with 
each repeated phrase.

Chip watches, his 
heart breaking. He 
understands now, the 
complexities of his 
father's mind. He 
can see the love 
behind the words, 
the pain in his 
eye. "Dad," he 
whispers, kneeling 
before him. "I know 
you're pro-"

But Plankton's 
stim doesn't let 
his voice rest. "I'm 
proud, but you 
don't show it, I'm 
sorry. Chip won." His 
body rocks more 
now, his antennae 
shaking with 
each syllable. "But 
you don't show 
it, I'm sorry."

The words become 
a rhythm, a sad 
song of regret 
and pain. Chip's 
heart breaks a 
little more with 
each repetition. 
He doesn't know 
how to reach 
his dad, how to 
tell him that his 
love is enough.

Karen watches, 
her own heart 
breaking for her 
family. She knows 
this isn't easy for 
any of them, but 
she also knows 
they're making 
progress. She 
squeezes Plankton's 
hand, trying to 
transfer some of 
her strength to him.

Chip's eyes never 
leave his dad's 
face. He sees the 
love in Plankton's 
eye, the pain 
behind the words.

"Dad," he says, 
his voice shaky. 
"I know you're 
proud of me."
But Plankton's 
stim doesn't 
acknowledge his 
words. "I'm proud, 
but you don't show 
it, I'm sorry. Chip 
won." His voice is 
a sad refrain, his 
body stuck in a 
painful routine.

Karen's grip on 
his hand tightens, 
and she whispers 
soothingly into his 
ear. "We're all 
so proud of Chip, 
Plankton," she says. 
"You've got to 
believe th-"

But Plankton's 
stim continues, 
his voice a sad 
reminder of his 
inability to connect 
in the way Chip 
craves. "I'm proud, 
but you don't show 
it, I'm sorry. Chip 
won." His antennae 
quiver with each 
word, his body 
still.

Chip's heart 
swells with 
understanding, his 
frustration giving 
way to compassion. 
He reaches out 
his free hand to 
his dad, placing 
it gently on his 
shoulder. "Dad," he 
whispers, "I know 
you're proud. I can 
see it."

But Plankton's 
body goes rigid
at Chip's touch.

The words 
suddenly stop.
The lobby seems
to hold its breath.
Plankton's antennae 
fall limp. His eye 
rolls back, and 
his body goes 
slack. Karen's 
grip on his hand 
tightens instinctively 
as he starts to 
slump over.

With a gasp, 
she catches him, 
his head falling 
heavily onto her 
shoulder. Chip's eyes 
widen with 
fright as they 
manage to 
lay Plankton down
on the bench. "It's 
his autism," she 
explains. "Sometimes
his brain gets 
overwhelmed 
and he can faint. It's ok, 
Chip. This happens 
sometimes." 

Plankton's body 
is limp, his eye 
closed, his
mouth slightly 
agape. Chip's heart 
thunders in his 
chest, his 
hands trembling. 
He's seen his dad 
have meltdowns 
before, but 
this is new. 
Karen's voice is 
calm. "It's okay, 
Chip," she says. 
"This is just 
his brain's way 
of saying it's had 
enough."

Her words 
aren't enough to 
soothe the 
fear in Chip's 
heart. He watches 
his dad, 
desperately 
wishing he could 
understand, could 
fix him, could 
make him okay. 
But he knows he 
can't. Autism 
doesn't work that 
way. It's a part 
of Plankton, a 
part of their 
life, a part 
they have to 
navigate together.

Karen checks 
Plankton's pulse, 
relief flooding 
her when she feels 
his steady 
heartbeat. She 
turns to Chip. 
"He's okay," she 
assures. "Just 
needs some time 
to recover." 
Her voice is 
calm.

But Chip's 
heart won't slow 
down. His eyes 
are wide with 
fear, his breaths 
coming in 
quick gasps. "Dad," 
he whispers, 
his voice 
shaky.

Karen nods, 
wiping a 
stray tear from 
her cheek. "Let's 
take him to the 
hotel," she says, 
gently. "He'll 
be okay. Get
your prizes, and
get to the car."

Chip nods, his 
hands shaking as 
he picks up his 
trophy and ribbon.
He watches as 
his mother lifts 
his father with 
care, her eyes 
filled with fierce
determination. She 
knows Plankton 
better than anyone.

new adaptable family consciouscore chipcore

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 15

Karen's arms 
wrap around 
Plankton's slender 
form, his head 
lolling back 
against her shoulder. 
Her eyes are 
filled with a mix 
of love and 
exhaustion. The 
weight of her 
husband seems to 
double as she 
carries him out 
of the lobby, 
his antennae brushing 
against her cheek. 
The world outside 
the science fair 
seems to fade 
away as they 
move to their
parked car. Chip 
follows closely, 
his small hand 
clutching his 
trophy, his 
ribbon fluttering 
in the breeze.

The car door 
opens with 
a metallic 
creak, and Karen 
gently lowers 
Plankton into 
his seat. His 
body is limp, 
his eye still 
closed. She 
buckles him in, 
her movements 
precise and 
careful, as if 
handling a fragile 
piece of glass. 
The engine roars 
to life, and 
they pull away 
from the curb, 
leaving the 
science fair and 
its chaos behind.

Chip sits in 
the backseat, 
his eyes never 
leaving his 
father's face as
they arrive at the
hotel's parking
lot.

Karen's breaths 
are deep and 
even as she 
lifts Plankton 
once again, his 
body heavier 
than it was before. 
The cool night 
air brushes against 
his antennae, 
but there's no 
response. "Come 
on, Plankton," 
she whispers, 
as if her voice 
could coax him 
back to reality.

With each step 
towards the hotel, 
his weight seems 
to increase, 
but Karen's 
strength doesn't 
waver. She's 
done this before, 
carried his burden 
when he couldn't 
bare it himself. 
The doors slide 
open with a 
whoosh, the lobby's 
warmth enveloping 
them. The bellhop 
looks up from 
his desk, his 
smile faltering 
at the sight of 
their distress.

"Is everything 
okay?" He asks, 
his voice tentative. 
Karen nods, a 
single tear 
escaping down 
her cheek. "Just 
tired," she lies, 
her voice strained 
from the weight 
of her words. 
They make their 
way to their room.

In the quiet 
of their hotel 
chamber, Karen 
gently lays 
Plankton on the 
bed, his antennae 
flaccid against 
the pillow. Chip 
watches from the 
doorway, his 
trophy and ribbon 
forgotten by the 
sight of his 
father's stillness. 
"Dad?" He whimpers, 
his voice 
quivering.

Plankton doesn't 
respond. "Dad," Chip 
tries again. He sets 
his trophy and 
ribbon on the 
nightstand, 
his eyes never 
leaving his 
father's face. 
The room is 
silent, save for 
the faint 
humming of the 
air conditioner 
and the distant 
sound of laughter 
from the 
hallway outside.

Plankton's antennae 
tips twitch 
slightly, a small
sign of life that 
offers Chip a 
tiny sliver of hope.
"Dad?" Chip says 
again, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper.

Plankton's eye 
slowly opens, 
his pupil dilating 
as he adjusts to 
the soft light of 
the hotel room. 
He looks at Chip, 
his gaze 
uncertain, as if 
seeing him for 
the first time. "Chip?" 
He whispers, his 
voice hoarse.

Chip rushes to 
his side, his 
small hands 
gripping the 
covers. "You're 
awake," he says, 
his voice filled 
with relief.

Plankton's antennae 
lift slightly. "What 
happened?" He 
asks, his voice 
weak. Karen 
sighs, sitting 
beside him on 
the bed. "You had 
a bit of an 
overload, honey," 
she says, her 
hand smoothing 
his antennae. "But 
you're okay now."

Chip watches 
his dad, his 
heart racing. "You 
were saying sorry," 
he says softly. 
"For not showing 
you were proud 
of me."

Plankton blinks, 
his antennae 
twitching as 
his thoughts realign. 
"Oh," he says, 
his voice still 
weak. "I'm sorry, Chip."

Chip shakes his 
head. "You don't 
have to be sorry," 
he says, his voice 
trembling with 
emotion. "I just 
wanted you to 
be happy, for me."

Plankton's antennae 
rise, his eye 
widening slightly. 
He tries to sit 
up, but his body 
betrays him, 
weak from the 
overwhelming 
stimulation. Karen 
quickly supports 
his back, her 
expression a mix 
of love and 
concern. "I was 
happy," Plankton 
says, his voice 
gaining strength. 
"So proud." He
pats the bed.
"Come here," he 
whispers, his voice 
unusually gentle.
Chip crawls onto
the bed.

The two sit 
silently for a 
moment, their 
bodies close, their 
eyes locked. It's 
a rare moment 
of physical 
intimacy for 
Plankton, who's 
usually so guarded 
about his personal 
space. But now, 
his barriers are 
down, and he's 
opening himself up 
to his son.

"I'm sorry," 
Plankton says 
again, his voice 
quivering with 
the weight of 
his words. "I 
don't know how 
to show it, Chip. 
But I'm so proud 
of you." His voice 
is raw, emotions 
laid bare.

Chip scoots 
closer. "It's 
ok, Dad," he 
says, his 
voice shaky. "I 
know you're 
proud. I can 
see it."

Plankton's 
body relaxes. 
He looks at 
Chip, really 
looks at him, his 
eye searching. "You 
see it?" He asks, 
his voice 
hopeful.

Chip nods, 
his eyes shining 
with tears. "I 
see it, every 
day," he says. "When 
you help me 
with my homework, 
when you're there 
for me." He 
swallows hard, 
his voice thick 
with emotion. "I 
see it when 
you try so hard 
to be part of 
things."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver. "But not 
today?" He asks, 
his voice 
vulnerable.
Chip shakes his 
head, his voice 
steady. "Today too, 
Dad," he says. "You 
were proud today. 
You just had a hard 
time showing it."

Karen's eyes 
brim with tears 
as she watches her 
family. This is what 
she's fought for, 
this understanding. 
This connection.
Plankton's expression 
softens. "Thank 
you, Chip," he 
whispers. "Thank you 
for seeing me. You
wanna share this
bed with me?"
Chip nods eagerly, 
scooting closer 
to his dad as Karen
tucks them in.

And for the first 
time, Plankton 
lets himself lean 
on Chip's shoulder.
Chip feels the weight 
of his father's head 
on his shoulder, and 
it's comfortable in a
way he has never felt 
before.

His dad's antennae 
brush against 
his cheek, and he 
doesn't flinch. Rather, 
he leans in closer, 
his arm wrapping 
around Plankton's 
tiny form, pulling 
him closer.

The warmth of 
his father's 
body, the steady 
beat of his heart, 
it's all Chip needs 
to feel the love 
he's always known 
was there. "It's okay, 
Dad," he whispers, 
his voice filled with 
understanding beyond 
his years.

new adaptable family consciouscore chipcore

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 18

Finally, they reach
their home, Karen
turning the car 
off with a sigh 
of relief. Chip 
watches as she 
carefully opens the 
car door, her 
movements slow 
and deliberate.

Plankton stirs 
slightly, his 
antennas twitching.
"Dad?" Chip says, 
his voice gentle.
Plankton's eye opens.

Home. The 
word echoes in 
his mind as 
his senses slowly 
recalibrate to the 
familiar surroundings. 
"You're okay," 
Chip says. 
"You had a 
seizure, but you're 
okay now."

Plankton blinks 
slowly, taking in 
his son's face. 
Home. Yes, this 
is where he 
belongs.

Karen helped them
both unpack. And
then Plankton went
onto his own bed.
"Hey Chip, come
sit," Plankton says,
patting the bed.

So Chip sits 
carefully, his 
heart racing.

Plankton's antennae 
quiver slightly as 
his eye searches 
Chip's. "I'm... sorry," 
he says, his voice 
weak. "I don't know 
why I had a seizure
but I'm okay now. So
uhm, do you want to... 
talk?"

Chip nods, his 
heart pounding in 
his chest. He's 
always known his 
dad was different, 
but seeing him 
like this, so vulnerable 
and open, it's 
both terrifying and 
comforting. "Sure," he 
says, his voice small.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch. "I'm... I'm 
glad we went to 
the science fair," 
he says, his voice 
no longer slurred. "I
know it was hard 
for you to see me 
like that." His antennae 
droop slightly, 
his one eye looking 
up at Chip with 
apology.

Chip's eyes 
fill with tears. "Dad, 
you don't have to 
apologize," he says, 
his voice cracking. 
"I'm just happy 
you're okay! I 
love you.."

Plankton's antennae 
perk up at the 
word "love," his 
eye focusing on 
Chip's face. "I-I 
lo-ove you too, bud," 
he says, his voice 
stronger. "I'm 
sorry if I couldn't 
show it properly."

Chip wipes his 
tears. "It's okay," 
he says. "I know 
you do."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly. "I'm 
not always good 
at it, though," he 
admits, his voice 
laced with regret. 
"But I try, Chip. 
I really... I just want 
you to know that."

Chip nods, his 
throat tight. "I do 
know, Dad," he 
says. "And I'm 
proud of you, 
too." His words 
hang in the air 
like a promise.

Plankton's eye 
met Chip's with 
intensity. "Why do 
you say that?" He 
asks, genuine 
curiosity in his 
voice.

"Well, because you 
always try so hard," 
Chip responds, his 
words earnest. "You 
help me with my 
homework, and you 
always want to 
be there for me. But 
I also know it's hard 
for you." He pauses, 
his mind racing with 
questions he's held 
back for so long. "Why 
do you sometimes 
repeat words?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with thought. 
"It's called echolalia," 
he says. "It's when 
I hear something and 
my brain just... repeats 
it. It helps me to
understand better. 
And sometimes, it's 
because I'm nervous."

Chip nods, 
his curiosity 
growing. "But why 
do you get so 
upset when I touch 
you sometimes?" He asks, 
his voice tentative.
Plankton sighs, his 
antennas drooping. "It's 
because I have 
sensory issues," he 
explains. "Some 
touches feel good, 
but others... they're 
just too much. It's like 
my body's on fire, but 
I don't know how to 
tell it to stop."

Chip's eyes 
widen in 
understanding. "So 
it's not just that you 
don't like me 
touching you," he says, 
his voice hopeful.
"It's just that 
sometimes, it's too 
much for you?"

Plankton nods, 
his antennae 
relaxing a bit. "Yeah," 
he says. "It's 
not that I don't 
love you, Chip. It's 
just that sometimes, 
my body gets 
overwhelmed."

Chip's hand 
trembles slightly. 
"But Mom seems
to be the best at
it, when it comes
to touching?"

Plankton nods. "It's
because she's been
with me for so 
long, she's learned 
what I like and 
don't like. And she
does it gently," he 
explains. "She knows 
how to make it feel 
right. She knows my 
limits."

"But what about 
when you don't want 
anyone to touch 
you at all?" Chip 
asks, his eyes 
searching.

Plankton sighs. 
"That's when I'm 
overstimulated," he 
explains. "It's like 
everything's too bright, 
too loud, too much. And 
then, even the softest 
touch feels like it's 
going to break me." His 
eye blinks slowly. "I
might end up hurting 
people's feelings without 
meaning to."

Chip nods. "But why 
did you get upset when 
I just want to help?"
He asks, his voice 
tiny.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with consideration. 
"Sometimes, even 
the best intentions 
can be too much," he 
says. "My brain gets 
overwhelmed, and I 
can't process what's 
happening. It's like... it's 
like you're speaking 
another language and 
I'm trying to keep up, 
but my brain just 
can't. And then I 
don't know how to tell 
you to stop without 
sounding mean." "So, it's 
not that you don't 
want my help," Chip 
says, his voice 
thoughtful. "It's just 
that sometimes, you 
need to be left alone?"

Plankton nods. "Yeah, 
buddy," he says. "But 
don't think I don't 
appreciate it. It's 
just... I need a little 
extra space to figure 
things out."

Chip nods, 
his eyes never 
leaving his dad's. 
"What about when 
you get really sad 
or really happy?" He 
asks. "Why do you...
stim? And why don't 
you like it when I
notice?"

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly as 
he thinks. "Stimming 
is like my brain's 
way of... letting off 
steam," he explains. 
"It helps me 
regulate my 
emotions. And when 
you point it out, it's 
like... it interrupts 
that process. That,
and I don't like to 
admit that I'm 
different sometimes," 
he adds, his voice 
softening.

"But you are, Dad," 
Chip says, his 
hand reaching out to 
his father's. "And 
that's what makes 
you special." But
Plankton leans away
from his touch.

"It's okay," Chip 
quickly says, 
his hand retreating. 
"I just want to 
know more." He 
swallows hard. "What 
about... when you 
have those meltdowns?"

Plankton's antennae 
still, his eye 
focusing on Chip. "Those 
are... tough," he 
says. "They're like... 
my brain's way of 
telling me that 
I've had too much 
of something. Too 
much noise, too 
much light, too much 
of everything." His voice 
cracks. "And I... I 
can't always control 
it. And if I don't get 
anything to help me, it's 
like... I get stuck. And 
then I just... I just 
need to let it all out."

Chip nods, his 
heart pounding in 
his chest. "But why 
do you get mad at me 
when I want to help?" 
He asks, his voice 
shaking slightly.

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly. "It's not 
that I'm mad at you, 
Chip," he says, his 
voice filled with 
sincerity. "It's just... 
sometimes, I don't know 
how to accept help. I 
get scared. I've had 
so many people in my 
life who didn't 
understand me, who 
thought I was just being 
difficult or strange." His 
eye blinks rapidly. "But 
you... I guess even though
you mean well, I just
get flustered when you 
see me like that, or I
can feel rushed to 
explain."

Chip nods, his 
understanding deepening. 
"But I want to learn 
more, Dad." His hand 
trembles as it hovers 
over Plankton's arm. "Is 
this okay?" He asks, 
his eyes searching 
his father's for 
permission.

Plankton looks at 
Chip's outstretched 
hand, then up into his 
eyes, and nods slightly. 
"Just... just a 
little," he says, his 
voice barely above 
a whisper. Chip's 
fingers touch Plankton's 
arm, gentle and 
tentative.

The sensation 
doesn't overwhelm 
Plankton this time. 
"Thank you, Chip," 
he says, his eye 
softening.

new adaptable family touchingcore chipcore

https://i.imgflip.com/8o8taj.gif

new nightmarecore chummetal crycore one coarse meal

GREAT CHIP ii
(Autistic author)

After what feels like
an eternity, Plankton's eye 
slowly refocus. His body
twitches, then relaxes. 
He blinks, looking around 
the room as if seeing it 
for the first time.
Karen moves closer,
her hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome back," she says 
soothingly. Plankton looks up, 
seeing Chip in the doorway, 
his eyes full of questions.
"What..." Plankton asks, 
his voice groggy.

Chip takes a step forward,
his heart racing.
"It's okay, Dad," he says,
his voice barely 
above a whisper.
Plankton blinks again,
his gaze sharpening.

He looks at Karen.
"I had one of my moments,
didn't I?" His voice is tinged with 
self-consciousness.

Karen nods, her eyes full of love
and understanding. "Yes, you did."

Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip,
his vulnerability laid bare
for his son to see.

Chip steps closer, unsure
of what to do with his hands,
his eyes searching his dad's.

"Are you okay?" Chip asks,
his voice tentative. "I just
got h..."

"Yes," Plankton cuts him off,
his tone brisk, "I'm fine, ok?" 
There's a hint of annoyance
in his voice, as if the seizure is an
inconvenience, something to be pushed aside
quickly and forgotten. Chip's heart
squeezes at the sight. "Dad, ca..."

"I said I'm okay," Plankton repeats,
his voice a little sharper this time.
There's a defensiveness
in his tone that Chip's never
heard before.

Chip flinches. But he's still
confused, and his curiosity 
won't quit. "But why do..."

"I don't want to talk about it,
I told you what to know," 
Plankton snaps,
his voice abrupt and final.
"So just drop it!"

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his curiosity colliding
with his dad's discomfort.
He's never seen Plankton
so agitated before.
"Dad I'm so..."

"I said I'm okay!" Plankton
says. "So JUST STOP ASKING!"

Chip's eyes well with tears.
He didn't mean to upset him,
he just wanted to understand.

Karen steps in, placing a comforting
hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't
you go to your room for a bit, honey?"

"Ok," Chip says, but he ends
up accidentally touching his
dad when he stands up to go,
brushing against Plankton. And
that makes him even angrier..

Plankton jolts away, his face
twisting into a grimace. "I said
not to touch me!" The room goes
deathly quiet. Karen's eyes widen,
and she opens her mouth to say
something, but Plankton's not done
with Chip.

"Why can't you just leave me
alone?" he yells, his voice echoing
off the walls. "I can't even have
a moment without you pestering me!
YOU'RE the one who's not okay! YOU'RE
JUST A KID, CHIP; I NEVER WANT
YOU TO EVER THINK ABOUT THIS AGAIN!"

Chip's eyes widen, his face flushing
with a mix of fear and sadness.
He didn't know his dad could be so mad.
He turns and runs to his room,
slamming the door behind him.

Karen sighs heavily.
This isn't how she wanted
Chip to learn about Plankton's condition.
She knows her husband's frustration
is a defense mechanism, a way
for him to cope with his own fears.
But it doesn't make it any easier
for Chip to understand.

Plankton's eye follows Chip
as he runs off, his own
expression a mix 
of anger and upset.
He didn't like to scream,
but the sensory overload
from the seizure had left him
on edge, his emotions raw.

His son didn't mean any harm,
but the sudden contact 
had been too much.
His skin feels like it's buzzing,
his mind racing with the echoes 
of his own voice.

Plankton sighs. He doesn't like
his son to see him like this,
so vulnerable and out of control.

Karen never liked to see
Plankton upset. She knew
to tread carefully with him
when he's so explosive, as
he's now breathing heavily.

"Plankton," she starts gently,
"Chip didn't mean to upset you.
He's just trying to understand."
But Plankton's still tense, not
replying to her.

Karen saw the frustration and
wanted to try again, not knowing
if he understood what she said.
She inched closer to him cautiously.

Plankton's eye darted around
the room, avoiding hers. He knew
his reaction was too much, but
his senses were still screaming.
He felt like a failure, unable
to control his own body.

Karen waited patiently, giving
Plankton the space he needed.
Her hand hovered near his arm,
ready to offer comfort, but she
knew better than to touch him now.

Plankton's shoulders slumped
as the reality of the situation
sank in. He had always tried
so hard to hide his seizures
from Chip, not wanting to burden him.
But now the secret was out, and
his son had witnessed his most
vulnerable moment.

He felt a twinge of guilt,
knowing he had snapped at Chip.
It was his way of protecting
his own pride.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his heart thumping in his chest.
He didn't want his son to see him
as weak or broken.

Karen's hand remained hovering,
a silent offering of comfort.
He knew she understood,
but he didn't want her defending
Chip either.

Plankton's mind raced,
his heart still pounding.
He felt exposed,
his secret laid bare
for his son to see.

The room was suffocating,
his thoughts a tornado.
He didn't want Chip to think
less of him, to see him as damaged.

Plankton took another deep breath,
his eye focusing on
anything but Karen's concerned gaze.
He felt a knot in his stomach,
his chest tight, both of which can in
themselves cause an overload on
their own. But Karen didn't realize
when she reached out to touch
his shoulder..

The touch was light, almost imperceptible,
but to Plankton, it was like a bomb had
detonated in his sensory system.
He jolted away, his eye wide with panic.

"Sorry," Karen murmured,
quickly retracting her hand.
She knew better than to push
when he was like this.

Plankton nodded, his breathing
steadying slightly. "It's okay,"
he managed to say, his voice
still tight. "I know you're trying."

Karen sat down next to him,
her hand resting on the couch
between them, a silent bridge
of support. "We'll talk to Chip
together, when you're ready."

Plankton nodded, his eye
still avoiding hers.

In the quiet, Plankton felt his
self-consciousness grow. He didn't
want Chip to see him this way, to think
less of him. It was something he'd
managed to hide for so long, his
autism, his moments of overload.
Now, it was out in the open,
and he felt like a creature
exposed to the elements.

The room felt too warm, too bright,
each sound amplified. He knew
his reaction was extreme, but
his mind couldn't help it. The effort
it took to appear 'normal' was
like swimming against a riptide,
and now the current had dragged him
under. He could see the worry in
Karen's screen, the sadness that he'd
lashed out at Chip.

He took a deep breath, trying
to regain his composure. He didn't
want Chip to think he didn't care,
that he didn't want to be there for him.
He just couldn't handle the touch,
not now. Not with his senses still
in overdrive.

Karen knew that look,
the one of internal battle.

"Why don't we go talk to him?"
she suggested, her voice soft.

Plankton nodded, pushing himself
out of the chair. His legs felt
like jelly, his heart racing.
He took a moment to gather
his thoughts before opening
the door to Chip's room.

new great chip chipcore ii

‘Crying isn’t going to help’ by HonestRage
She's gone, all because of him.
Dead.
He killed my wife.
She'd still be here, if it's not for him.
If only he could speak with reason; I could’ve let him live long enough to explain.
But that was obviously not going to happen. 
After all, he was born just a few minutes ago...

new crycore cryingcore killercore murdercore horrorposting horrorwave horrorpunk horrorcore twistedcore fetuscore birthcore childbirthcore neonaticidal néonaticide neonaticide

Can Brain Damage Cause Autism?

Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While 

some studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is 

not a direct cause of autism.

Ruben Kesherim

November 1, 2023

Understanding Autism and Brain Damage

To fully comprehend the potential link between autism and brain damage, it is essential to understand the 
individual components involved. This section will provide an overview of autism, brain damage, and explore the 
connection between the two.

What is Autism?

Autism, also known as Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), is a complex neurodevelopmental condition that affects 
social interaction, communication, and behavior. People with autism may exhibit a wide range of symptoms, 
including difficulties in social interactions, repetitive behaviors, and sensory sensitivities. Autism is believed to have 
a strong genetic component, although the exact cause remains largely unknown.

What is Brain Damage?

Brain damage refers to any injury or harm to the brain that disrupts its normal functioning. It can occur as a result 
of various factors, including accidents, infections, strokes, tumors, and traumatic brain injuries (TBI). Brain damage 
can lead to a wide range of cognitive, physical, and behavioral impairments, depending on the location and severity 
of the injury.

The Link Between Autism and Brain Damage

Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While some 
studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is not a direct 
cause of autism. It is important to note that autism is a complex condition with multiple contributing factors, and 
brain damage might be just one of them.

Case studies and findings have provided insights into individuals who experienced brain damage and subsequently 
displayed autistic-like symptoms. However, such cases are relatively rare, and the exact mechanisms underlying 
the development of autism after brain damage remain unclear.

Understanding the relationship between autism and brain damage requires further research and exploration. It is 
essential to consult healthcare professionals and specialists to obtain accurate and personalized information 
regarding specific cases.

Can Brain Damage Cause Autism?

The relationship between brain damage and autism has been a topic of interest and research. While autism is a 
developmental disorder characterized by challenges in social communication and interaction, brain damage refers 
to any injury or trauma to the brain. In this section, we will explore the research and findings that shed light on the 
potential link between brain damage and autism.

Exploring the Research

Research examining the connection between brain damage and autism has provided valuable insights into the 
complex nature of the disorder. While it is clear that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, some 
studies suggest that there may be a correlation between the two.

One line of research suggests that neurological damage can lead to the development of autistic symptoms in some 
individuals. This damage can occur before, during, or after birth, and it can be caused by various factors such as 
genetic mutations, infections, or trauma.

Case Studies and Findings

Case studies have played a crucial role in understanding the relationship between brain damage and autism. These 
studies provide detailed accounts of individuals who have experienced brain damage and subsequently developed 
autistic symptoms. While case studies offer valuable insights, they are limited in generalizability and cannot 
determine causation.

Additionally, research has identified specific brain regions that may be implicated in the development of autism 
after brain damage. For example, damage to the prefrontal cortex or the amygdala has been associated with the 
emergence of autistic traits. However, it is important to note that brain damage alone does not always result in 
autism, and the relationship between the two is complex and multifaceted.

While the research provides some insights into the potential link between brain damage and autism, it is crucial to 
acknowledge that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, and not all individuals with autism have 
experienced brain damage. The relationship between the two is influenced by various factors such as the timing, 
severity, and location of the brain damage, as well as individual differences and genetic factors.

As the understanding of autism and brain damage continues to evolve, further research is needed to unravel the 
intricacies of this complex relationship. It is important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in 
autism and brain injury to receive accurate assessments, diagnoses, and appropriate interventions for individuals 
affected by these conditions.
Factors Influencing Autism after Brain Damage
While the relationship between autism and brain damage is complex, several factors can influence the development 
of autism following brain damage. Understanding these factors can provide valuable insights into the connection 
between the two.

Timing and Severity of Brain Damage

The timing and severity of brain damage play a crucial role in whether autism may develop as a result. Research 
suggests that brain damage occurring early in development, particularly during the prenatal period or early infancy, 
may have a higher likelihood of leading to autism.

The developing brain is highly vulnerable during these critical periods, and any disruptions or abnormalities can 
impact neurodevelopment and contribute to the development of autism.

Furthermore, the severity of the brain damage can influence the likelihood of autism. More severe brain injuries, 
such as those caused by traumatic brain injury or certain genetic conditions, may increase the risk of developing 
autistic traits or behaviors. However, it is important to note that not all individuals with brain damage will develop 
autism, and the relationship between brain damage and autism is not fully understood.

Location of Brain Damage
The specific location of brain damage can also influence the development of autism. Different areas of the brain 
are responsible for various functions, and damage to certain regions may result in specific challenges or symptoms 
associated with autism. For example, damage to the frontal lobe or areas involved in social communication may increase 
the likelihood of social and communication difficulties characteristic of autism.

Each case of brain damage is unique, and the location and extent of the damage can vary. Therefore, it is essential 
to consider the individual circumstances and consult with medical professionals to assess the potential impact on 
autism development.

Individual differences and genetic factors can significantly impact the manifestation of autism following brain 
damage. Each person's genetic makeup and predisposition to autism can influence how they respond to brain 
damage and whether they develop autistic traits. It is important to recognize that brain damage alone does not 
cause autism in every case, and genetic factors can interact with brain damage to influence the outcome.
Research suggests that individuals with certain underlying genetic vulnerabilities, such as specific gene mutations 
or genetic syndromes, may be more likely to develop autism after brain damage. Genetic testing and evaluation can 
provide valuable insights into these individual differences and help guide intervention strategies and support.

Understanding the factors that influence autism after brain damage is a complex and ongoing area of research. It is 
important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in neurological conditions and developmental 
disorders to gain a comprehensive understanding of the unique circumstances and potential implications.

Differentiating Autism from Other Conditions
When exploring the relationship between brain damage and autism, it's important to understand how autism 
spectrum disorder (ASD) differs from acquired autism. While both conditions may share certain characteristics, 
there are distinct factors that set them apart.


Autism Spectrum Disorder vs. Acquired Autism

Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is a neurodevelopmental condition that typically emerges early in childhood. It is 
characterized by persistent challenges in social interaction, communication, and restricted or repetitive behaviors. 
ASD is considered a lifelong condition that affects individuals across various domains of functioning.

Acquired autism, on the other hand, refers to the development of autistic symptoms following brain damage, often 
resulting from injury or disease. This form of autism is not present from birth but emerges after a specific incident 
or medical condition. 

new language: English autism acceptance month neurodivergentcore neurodisability recovered memories unreliable memory 2023

Similarities and differences
while asd and acquired autism may exhibit overlapping symptoms, there are notable differences between the two:

aspect					autism spectrum disorder (asd)					acquired autism (after birth)
cause		no identifiable cause, likely a combination of genetic and environmental factors	results from brain damage due to injury, illness, or medical condition
onset		typically apparent in early childhood	evident after brain damage occurs
developmental delays		often accompanied by developmental delays in language, motor skills, and cognitive abilities	developmental delays may or may not be present, depending on the individual
severity		ranges from mild to severe, with varying levels of support needed	severity can vary based on the extent and location of brain damage
treatment		treatment focuses on providing support, therapies, and interventions tailored to individual needs	
treatment involves addressing the underlying brain damage and may include therapies to manage symptoms

Soit is crucial to note that acquired autism resulting from brain damage is relatively rare compared to asd, which is 
believed to have a more complex etiology involving a combination of genetic and environmental factors. The 
presence of brain damage alone does not necessarily lead to the development of autism symptoms.

If you suspect that brain damage may have contributed to the development of autism symptoms, it is essential to 
consult with medical professionals and specialists who can provide a comprehensive evaluation. They can help 
differentiate between asd and acquired autism, ensuring appropriate interventions and support are provided.

Understanding the distinctions between these conditions is crucial for accurate diagnosis, effective treatment, and 
support for individuals with autism. By recognizing the unique characteristics of both asd and acquired autism, 
professionals and caregivers can provide appropriate interventions and care tailored to the specific needs of each 
individual.

new language: English autism acceptance month neurodivergentcore neurodisability recovered memories unreliable memory 2023

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 2


(Neurodivergent author)



By evening, Karen has set
up a makeshift kitchen area
in the living room, with all
the ingredients for spaghetti
arranged neatly on the coffee
table. Plankton sits cross-legged
on the floor, his eye never
leaving the recipe book.

He reads each step aloud, his voice
growing stronger with
confidence. Karen chops
vegetables nearby, noticing
the subtle changes in his
movements, the way he tilts
his head when he's concentrating.

The smell of garlic and onions
sizzling in olive oil fills the
room. Plankton stirs the
pot, his face scrunching up
slightly at the aroma, a sign
his sensory sensitivity has
heightened. She sees him rub
his hands together, a self-stimulatory
behavior, but she knows
it's his way of grounding
himself amidst the chaos.

They move around the makeshift
kitchen, a silent dance of
understanding and support.
Karen boils the water for the
spaghetti while Plankton
continues to sauté the veggies.
Each action is deliberate,
each step measured as they
navigate their new reality.

The water reaches a rolling
boil, and Plankton carefully
drops in the spaghetti strands,
his gaze transfixed by the
swirling water. Karen watches
his concentration and sees
the childlike wonder in his eye.

"How long?" he asks.
"Five minutes," Karen says, her
voice calm. She's read that clear
and concise instructions
can be helpful.

After five minutes, Plankton
quickly drains the spaghetti, his
movements precise and methodical.
He pours the sauce over the noodles
and mixes them gently, his focus
intense. Karen watches him,
a mix of admiration and concern.

"It's done," he announces, his
voice a mix of excitement and
apprehension. She brings over
two plates, setting them on the
coffee table. They sit across
from each other, the steaming
spaghetti a bridge between
them. Plankton's hand hovers
over his plate, unsure of how to
proceed with the new sensory
experience.

"Let's eat," Karen says with a
smile, picking up her fork and
twirling the noodles expertly.
The sound of her silverware
against the plate makes him flinch,
but he mimics her movements.

They eat in silence, the clinking
of forks and spoons the only
sounds in the room. Plankton
chews slowly, savoring each bite,
his face a canvas of emotions.
Karen watches him, her own
fork poised in midair.

As they finish dinner, Plankton
sets his plate aside and looks
at her, his expression earnest.
"Thank you, Karen," he says, his
voice clear. "For being here Karen."

Her eyes brim with tears,
but she blinks them back. "Always,
Plankton. I'll always be here. Now
it's getting late; let's go to bed.."

In bed, she reads to him,
his favorite childhood story,
the words acting as a lullaby.
Plankton's hand rests on her arm,
his thumb rubbing circles in a
self-soothing gesture. His breathing
steadies, matching the rhythm
of her voice.

The book's final page is turned,
and she switches off the lamp,
plunging the room into darkness.
The silence is filled with the
comforting hum of the fan above.

Karen lies beside Plankton,
his body rigid with tension.
Her arm wraps around him,
pulling him closer, and she feels
his muscles slowly relax.

"Goodnight, Plankton," she whispers,
kissing his forehead. He doesn't
respond, lost in his thoughts.
But she knows he heard her.
Karen notices the tension in his body 
and gently runs her fingers through 
his antennae, a silent offer of comfort. 
Eventually, his breathing evens out, 
and he falls asleep, his body curled 
into hers like a child seeking shelter.

The next morning, the sun streams 
through the blinds, casting stripes
across the bed. Karen, already awake, 
watches him, her hand still entwined with his.
He's still asleep, his body relaxed, the 
lines of worry from the day before 
smoothed out by the embrace of slumber.

Carefully, she slides out of bed,
not wanting to disturb him. She sees
him stir in his sleep, his antennae
twitching slightly, but he remains
unaware of her departure.

In the kitchen, Karen starts
the coffee, the scent filling
the room with a comforting
aroma. She opens the fridge,
finding the ingredients for
the morning routine. Plankton's
usual breakfast is a simple one:
toast with jam and a banana.

The toaster pops, and she
spreads the jam with a gentle
smoothness that Plankton likes.
The banana peels easily, revealing
the perfect yellow fruit inside.
Her mind races with thoughts
of how she'll need to learn
his new sensitivities, his likes
and dislikes, his triggers. But for
now, she focuses on the task
at hand, placing the slices
of bread in the toaster. 

When the toast is just right,
she carries the breakfast tray
to the bedroom, her steps
soft against the cold floor.
Plankton's still asleep, his
snores punctuating the quiet
morning. Karen sets the tray
on the bedside table.

She watches him, unsure
how to wake him without
causing distress. She's read
about sensory sensitivity
and knows that sudden noise
can be jarring for someone
with Autism. She gently strokes
his antennae, her touch
featherlight, and whispers his
name, "Plankton, wake up."

He stirs, his antennae twitching,
but his eye remains closed.
Karen tries again, a little
louder this time, "Wake up,
sweetie. Breakfast is ready."

Plankton's hand shoots up
to cover his eye, a reflexive
reaction to the light. His
body tenses, then relaxes as
his mind adjusts to the new
day. He sits up slowly.

"Thank you, Karen," he mumbles,
his voice still thick with sleep.
He takes in the breakfast
spread before him, his antennae
twitching with anticipation. He picks
up the toast, feeling the warmth 
in his hands, the stickiness
of the jam a familiar comfort.

Karen watches him closely, noticing
the way his eye widens slightly
at the first bite, the way his tongue
flicks out to taste the banana.
It's as if every sensation is
amplified, a symphony of flavors
and textures that she can't begin
to understand. She sips her coffee,
silent, giving him space.

As he eats, Plankton starts to hum again,
his body rocking slightly. It's a low,
comforting sound that fills the room.
Karen feels the tension in her
shoulders ease. This is their new
normal, a dance of care and
understanding. 

new copepod autism plaren neurodivergentcore neurodisability 2

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 24
(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

"I've had enough of 
this!" Vickie snaps.
"He's just a burden. 
Look at him, he can't 
eve-"

Chip's fist hits the desk
with a loud smack, cutting
Vickie's words off. His eyes
blaze with a fiery determination.
"That's my dad you're talking
about!" he says, his voice
shaking with anger. The room
stills, the tension thick.
"And he's not a burden!"

Vickie's face contorts in shock.
Karen's eyes are proud,
but filled with fear. She
watches as Chip's shoulders
square, his voice strong and firm.
"I'm not leaving without this,"
he declares, his jaw set. "And if
you want him hurt, you'll
have to kick me out too."

Nurse Vickie looks at
him. "Oh you've done
nothing wrong, sweet..."

But Chip doesn't care,
his mind racing. "I have!"
he says, his voice rising.
"I'm the one causing
trouble!" He glares at her,
his fists clenched. "I'm the
problem, not him!" He throws
his backpack at the wall.

The room echoes with
the sound of books hitting
the floor, the clatter of his
defiance. "Now, are you
going to kick me out
or keep hurting him?"
Vickie's eyes narrow,
suspicion growing. "What
are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing," Chip says,
his voice shaking. "If you
want a problem, I'll give you
one. Just leave him alone."
He kicks over a chair,
his heart racing. He's fighting for his
father, for the right to be
understood.

Vickie's eyes narrow, her
mouth a thin line. "Young man,"
she says, her voice stern. "You
need to calm down." But Chip's
not calming down. He's just
getting started.

"You think you know him?"
he challenges her, his eyes
filled with a passion that's
been building for too long. "You
think you know what it's like to live
with autism?" His voice echoes
through the small office.

Vickie takes a step back,
her hands on her hips. "I know
what's best for this school,"
she says firmly, her eyes cold.
But Chip's not backing down.
"You don't know anything,"
he says, his voice shaking.
"You don't know what it's like to
have a meltdown, to need space."
He slams his fist into the desk
again, the sound ringing out
like a declaration of war. "You don't
know what it's like to be him!"

The room is silent, the
weight of his words hanging
heavy in the air. Karen's heart
swells with pride, but her
stomach is in knots. "Chip,
please..." she says, but he's
not listening. He's fighting a
battle she wishes he never had
to face.

Vickie's expression flickers
between annoyance and confusion.
"Young man, if you don't calm
down, I will be forced to
call the principal," she says.
But Chip just shakes his head,
his eyes never leaving hers.
"Then do it," he challenges.
"Call the principal. Tell
them to kick me out. Tell them
to leave my dad alone. I don't
wanna attend a school where
my dad isn't respected." His voice
cracks, the tears he's been
fighting spilling over.

Karen's hand is on his shoulder,
trying to calm him, but Chip's
determination is a force to
be reckoned with. "Chip, sweetie,
you don't have to do this," she whispers.
But he shrugs her off.

"I do," he says, his voice
steady despite the tremble in
his chest. "I won't let anyone
hurt him like this again." His
eyes are wet, but his stance is firm.
"I'd rather be kicked out than
see him suffer. I've made mistakes,
but he's not a mistake. He only got
sick because his needs weren't
respected. Now, let us all go."

Vickie's face reddens, her
patience wearing thin. "Fine,"
she says through gritted teeth.
"I'll call the principal. You're
both coming with me." She grabs
Plankton's arm, ignoring his
flinch. Karen and Hanna follow
Chip as he trails behind Vickie.

The walk to the principal's
office feels like a march to the
gallows. Plankton's body is tight
with tension, his antennae
twitching with every step. Chip's
heart races, his mind a tornado
of fear and anger. He can't believe
he's doing this, but he's seen
his dad suffer enough.

The principal greets them all.
"Nurse Vickie, and Chip; hello!"

But Chip's face is a mask of
determined anger, his eyes
fixed on the woman who had
caused his father so much pain.
"My dad's in trouble
because he's different, 
and she won't let him be!"
He points an accusing 
finger at Vickie,
his words a declaration.
The principal's eyebrows shoot up,
his screen a picture of surprise.
"What seems to be the trouble?"
his voice calm, his eyes
quickly assessing the situation.

Vickie starts to explain,
her voice a river of accusations.
"He's a disruption, he's..."
But Chip cuts her off,
his voice a knife. "I'm
the disruption!" he says.
"I'm the one who threw the chair,
I'm the one who yelled.
My father's condition is not
a disruption. It's a part of who
he is." He turns to Vickie.
"I'd appreciate it if you could
be more understanding."

The principal's eyes flicker between
Chip and Vickie, his expression
neutral. "Chip, I understand
you're upset. But throwing
chairs and yelling is not
the way to express yourself."
He pauses, looking at Plankton
huddled in the corner. "But I also
see that something has happened
here that we need to address."

Vickie's grip on Plankton's arm
loosens, her face a mask of
defensiveness. "The father 
was just being difficult, and
was acting strangely."

The principal's gaze sharpens.
"Difficult? Strangely?" he
repeats, his eyes drilling
into hers. "Care to elaborate?"

Vickie stammers, her
confidence waning. "He was
rocking back and forth, and...
his antennae... they... I don't
know, just..." She trails
off, unsure of herself.

The principal's gaze
remains on her, his patience
thinning like a wavering thread.
"I see," he says, his voice calm.
He turns to Plankton, his
expression gentle. "Is that right?"

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his body a taut wire of
nervous energy. "No," he says,
his voice a croak. "It's... it's just me."
He can't meet the principal's gaze,
his eyes darting to the floor.
"I... I just need..."

But Chip's voice cuts through
the silence like a sword,
his words a shield for his
father. "It's not his fault,"
he says firmly. "Autisticaphobia
exists in this school.
It's not his behavior that's
the issue, it's the lack
of understanding and empathy."

The principal's eyes narrow,
his gaze on Vickie, who
shifts uncomfortably under the
weight of accusation. "Is this true?"
he asks her, his voice calm but
his eyes like steel.

Vickie opens her mouth, but
no words come out. She looks
from Plankton, huddled in the
corner, to Chip, standing tall
and furious. "I was just trying
to calm everyone," she says weakly.

The principal's gaze never wavers
from her. "What happened in
my office, Nurse Vickie, is not
calming. It's discrimination."
His voice is low, but it resonates
like a thunderclap. "Your job
is to support our students and
their families, not to make them 
feel less than."

Vickie's cheeks burn with
shame, her eyes downcast.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I 
didn't mean..."

But Chip's voice is a wall,
his words unyielding. "It's not
about what you meant," he says.
"It's about what you did." His
eyes are on the principal,
his stance unwavering. "He's
my dad, and I'll do anything
to protect him."

The principal's face is
still, his eyes thoughtful. "Chip,
you need to understand that
this isn't the way to handle
things," he says, his tone measured.
"But I also appreciate your
concern for your father." He looks
at Vickie, his gaze stern.

Vickie's eyes dart around
the room, her discomfort palpable.
"I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice
small. "I didn't know..."

The principal's gaze is
steady, his voice firm. "Ignorance
is no excuse," he says. "We will
have a training session for
all staff on autism awareness,
and we'll make sure everyone
understands neurodiverse needs."
He turns to Plankton, who's
still huddled in the corner.

"Mr. Plankton, I'm sorry for
any discomfort you've felt here
today," he says, his tone
soothing. "Your son has made
it clear that your needs are
important, and we will respect
them." He glances at Vickie.
"This won't happen again."

Chip's chest loosens, his breaths
coming easier. He's done it.
He's protected his father.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye flickers up to Chip's.
There's something in them,
something new. Recognition?
Pride? Chip isn't sure, but
his heart swells with hope.
Slowly, tentatively, Plankton
moves towards him, his
tiny body shaking with
the effort of controlling
his overwhelmed senses. Chip
holds his breath, his eyes
on his father.

Karen watches the scene with a
mixture of pride and sorrow as
Plankton's arms extend, a silent
offering of love and comfort.
Chip's heart races, his eyes
wide. He's never seen his dad
want to hug him before. But
his instincts kick in, the days
of learning about autism
guiding his actions. He steps
forward, his own arms wrapping
around Plankton's shoulders.
Their embrace is tight, a
physical manifestation of the
bridge they're building. Chip
can feel Plankton's heart racing
against his chest, his antennae
twitching slightly. But it's not
with fear or panic, it's with
a love so pure it's overwhelming.
He squeezes his dad tighter,
his eyes closing as he whispers,
"I've got you."



 

new familycore autism and all schoolcancelationcore chipcore

https://www.nps.gov/klgo/learn/historyculture/upload/gold-rush-cemetery-508.pdf

new historycore cemeterycore listcore learncore pdf

"ᴼⁿ ᵂᵉᵈⁿᵉˢᵈᵃʸ ʷᵉ ʷᵉᵃʳ ᵖⁱⁿᵏ." ⁻ᴹᵉᵃⁿ ᴳⁱʳˡˢ

new mean girls pinkcore wednesdaycore meancore ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ

→ нєαят ѕαι∂ тσ єуєѕ ∂ση’т ѕєє мσяє в¢σz уσυ ѕєє &αмρ; ι ѕυƒƒєя. 
єуєѕ ѕαι∂ тσ нєαят ∂σηт тнιηк мσяє в¢σz уσυ ƒєєℓ &αмρ; ι ¢яу.

new heartcore eyecore crycore cryingcore

Saturday 20 October 2012
Teacher's Day SMS

        Teacher's Day SMS

→ уσυ αяє тнє вєѕт тєα¢нєя ιη тнιѕ ωσяℓ∂. ωнєяєνєя ι мαу gσ ιη му ℓιƒє, ι ωιℓℓ αℓωαуѕ яємємвєя тнαт ι нα∂ αη єχ¢єℓℓєηт gυι∂є ιη тнє ƒσям σƒ α тєα¢нєя, уσυ. 

→ ωнєη ιт ¢σмєѕ тσ тєα¢нιηg ησ σηє ¢αη ¢σмρєтє ωιтн уσυ. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу. 

→ ∂єαя тєα¢нєя, тнαηкѕ ƒσя мαкιηg υѕ ωнαт ωє αяє тσ∂αу. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу 

→ уσυ gυι∂є∂ мє ωнєη ι ωαѕ ℓσѕт уσυ ѕυρσятє∂ мє ωнєη ι ωαѕ ωєαк уσυ нανє єηℓιgнтєηє∂ мє αℓℓ тняσυgн.. 

→ тσ∂αу . ωнαт ι αм ιѕ נυѕт вє¢αυѕє σƒ уσυ ѕιя нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу 

→ ι мαу ησт ѕαу ιт αℓωαуѕ. вυт, ι мєαη ιт ωнєηєνєя ι ѕαу ιт. тнαηк уσυ тєα¢нєя ƒσя αℓℓ тнє тнιηgѕ тєα¢нєя нανє ∂σηє ƒσя мє. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу! 

→ уσυ αяє α ωση∂єяƒυℓ тєα¢нєя ωнσ ρяσνє∂ тнαт ℓєαяηιηg ¢αη вє נσуσυѕ αη∂ ρℓєαѕαηт єχρєяιєη¢є ωιѕнιηg уσυ α нαρρу тєα¢нєя’ѕ ∂αу 

→ ι ƒσυη∂ gυι∂αη¢є, ƒяιєη∂ѕнιρ, ∂ιѕ¢ιρℓιηє αη∂ ℓσνє, єνєяутнιηg, ιη σηє ρєяѕση. αη∂ тнαт ρєяѕση ιѕ уσυ (ηαмє σƒ уσυя тєα¢нєя) “нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу!” 

→ тєα¢нιηg ѕнσυℓ∂ вє ƒυℓℓ σƒ ι∂єαѕ ιηѕтєα∂ σƒ ѕтυƒƒє∂ ωιтн ƒα¢тѕ. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу 

→ тнє αωαя∂ ƒσя тнє мσѕт ωση∂єяƒυℓ тєα¢нєя нαѕ вєєη ∂є¢ℓαяє∂ αη∂ ιт gσєѕ тσ уσυ. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу!! 

→ ωє αяє ƒσятυηαтє ωє нα∂ α тєα¢нєя αѕ ωση∂єяƒυℓ ℓσνιηg αη∂ ¢αяιηg αѕ уσυ.... нαρρу тєα¢нєя\'ѕ ∂αу...!! 

→ тнαηкѕ ƒσя вєιηg α тяυє мєηтσя σƒ συя нєαятѕ. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу 

→ ωє ωιℓℓ αℓωαуѕ вє тнαηкƒυℓ тσ уσυ ƒσя αℓℓ тнє нαя∂ ωσяк αη∂ єƒƒσятѕ уσυ нανє ρυт ιη, ƒσя є∂υ¢αтιηg υѕ. “нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу!” 

→ тєα¢нєя ιѕ α ρєяѕση ωнσ αℓωαуѕ нєℓρѕ єνєяувσ∂у тσ gєт тнє кησωℓє∂gє αη∂ αℓωαуѕ ѕтαη∂ѕ вєѕι∂є тнє ѕтυ∂єηтѕ ωнєη тнєу нανє ρяσвℓємѕ тнαηкѕ ƒσя вєιηg тнєяє мα∂αм/ѕιя…. “нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу” 

→ тнє ∂яєαм вєgιηѕ ωιтн α тєα¢нєя ωнσ вєℓιєνєѕ ιη уσυ, ωнσ тυgѕ αη∂ ρυѕнєѕ αη∂ ℓєα∂ѕ уσυ тσ тнє ηєχт ρℓαтєαυ, ѕσмєтιмєѕ ρσкιηg уσυ ωιтн α ѕнαяρ ѕтι¢к ¢αℓℓє∂ “тяυтн. 

→ мαу ησт ѕαу ιт αℓωαуѕ вυт, ι мєαη ιт ωнєηєνєя ι ѕαу ιт. тнαηк уσυ тєα¢нєя ƒσя αℓℓ тнє тнιηgѕ уσυ нανє ∂σηє ƒσя мє. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу! 

→ тнє тяυє тєα¢нєя ∂єƒєη∂ѕ нιѕ ρυριℓѕ αgαιηѕт нιѕ σωη ρєяѕσηαℓ ιηƒℓυєη¢є. нє ιηѕριяєѕ ѕєℓƒ-∂ιѕтяυѕт. нє gυι∂єѕ тнєιя єуєѕ ƒяσм нιмѕєℓƒ тσ тнє ѕριяιт тнαт qυι¢кєηѕ нιм. нє ωιℓℓ нανє ησ ∂ιѕ¢ιρℓє. 

→ α gσσ∂ тєα¢нєя ιѕ α мαѕтєя σƒ ѕιмρℓιƒι¢αтιση αη∂ αη єηєму σƒ ѕιмρℓιѕм. 

→ тнє ωαу уσυ тєα¢н… тнє кησωℓє∂gє уσυ ѕнαяє… тнє ¢αяє уσυ тαкє… тнє ℓσνє уσυ ѕнσωєя.. мαкєѕ уσυ… тнє ωσяℓ∂’ѕ вєѕт тєα¢нєя… “нαρρу тєα¢нєя’ѕ ∂αу!” 

→ яємємвєя αℓℓ ωσя∂ѕ нє ѕαу ωσя∂ѕ тσ мαкє уσυ ѕσ¢ιαℓ ωσя∂ѕ тσ мαкє уσυ ѕρє¢ιαℓ нє ιѕ συя тєα¢нєя нє ιѕ συя gυι∂є ℓєтѕ мαкє нιм ƒєєℓ ρяι∂є 

→ тнє вєѕт тєα¢нєя ιѕ тнє σηє ωнσ ѕυggєѕтѕ яαтнєя тнαη ∂σgмαтιzєѕ, αη∂ ιηѕριяєѕ нιѕ ℓιѕтєηєя ωιтн тнє ωιѕн тσ тєα¢н нιмѕєℓƒ. 

→ тнє ∂яєαм вєgιηѕ ωιтн α тєα¢нєя ωнσ вєℓιєνєѕ ιη уσυ, ωнσ тυgѕ αη∂ ρυѕнєѕ αη∂ ℓєα∂ѕ уσυ тσ тнє ηєχт ρℓαтєαυ, ѕσмєтιмєѕ ρσкιηg уσυ ωιтн α ѕнαяρ ѕтι¢к ¢αℓℓє∂ “тяυтн.” 

→ тєα¢нιηg ιѕ тнє ρяσƒєѕѕιση тнαт тєα¢нєѕ αℓℓ тнє σтнєя ρяσƒєѕѕισηѕ. 

→ ωє єχρє¢т тєα¢нєяѕ тσ нαη∂ℓє тєєηαgє ρяєgηαη¢у, ѕυвѕтαη¢є αвυѕє, αη∂ тнє ƒαιℓιηgѕ σƒ тнє ƒαмιℓу. тнєη ωє єχρє¢т тнєм тσ є∂υ¢αтє συя ¢нιℓ∂яєη 

→ уσυ αяє ησт σηℓу συя тєα¢нєя уσυ αяє συя ƒяιєη∂, ρнιℓσѕσρнєя αη∂ gυι∂є αℓℓ мσℓ∂є∂ ιηтσ σηє ρєяѕση ωє ωιℓℓ αℓωαуѕ вє gяαтєƒυℓ ƒσя уσυя ѕυρρσят нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу! 

→ ωє ωιℓℓ αℓωαуѕ вє тнαηкƒυℓ тσ уσυ ƒσя αℓℓ тнє нαя∂ ωσяк αη∂ єƒƒσятѕ уσυ нανє ρυт ιη, ƒσя є∂υ¢αтιηg υѕ. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу! 

→ тєα¢нιηg ιѕ ℓєανιηg α νєѕтιgє σƒ σηє ѕєℓƒ ιη тнє ∂єνєℓσρмєηт σƒ αησтнєя. αη∂ ѕυяєℓу тнє ѕтυ∂єηт ιѕ α вαηк ωнєяє уσυ ¢αη ∂єρσѕιт уσυя мσѕт ρяє¢ισυѕ тяєαѕυяєѕ. 

→ ωнєη ιт ¢σмєѕ тσ тєα¢нιηg ησ σηє ¢αη ¢σмρєтє ωιтн уσυ. нαρρу тєα¢нєяѕ ∂αу! 

→ тєα¢нιηg ιѕ тнє σηℓу мαנσя σ¢¢υραтιση σƒ мαη ƒσя ωнι¢н ωє нανє ησт уєт ∂єνєℓσρє∂ тσσℓѕ тнαт мαкє αη ανєяαgє ρєяѕση ¢αραвℓє σƒ ¢σмρєтєη¢є αη∂ ρєяƒσямαη¢є. ιη тєα¢нιηg ωє яєℓу ση тнє “ηαтυяαℓѕ,” тнє σηєѕ ωнσ ѕσмєнσω кησω нσω тσ тєα¢н. 

→ σηє ℓσσкѕ вα¢к ωιтн αρρяє¢ιαтιση тσ тнє вяιℓℓιαηт тєα¢нєяѕ, вυт ωιтн gяαтιтυ∂є тσ тнσѕє ωнσ тσυ¢нє∂ συя нυмαη ƒєєℓιηgѕ. тнє ¢υяяι¢υℓυм ιѕ ѕσ мυ¢н ηє¢єѕѕαяу яαω мαтєяιαℓ, вυт ωαямтн ιѕ тнє νιтαℓ єℓємєηт ƒσя тнє gяσωιηg ρℓαηт αη∂ ƒσя тнє ѕσυℓ σƒ тнє ¢нιℓ∂. 

→ ιƒ α ∂σ¢тσя, ℓαωуєя, σя ∂єηтιѕт нα∂ 40 ρєσρℓє ιη нιѕ σƒƒι¢є αт σηє тιмє, αℓℓ σƒ ωнσм нα∂ ∂ιƒƒєяєηт ηєє∂ѕ, αη∂ ѕσмє σƒ ωнσм ∂ι∂η’т ωαηт тσ вє тнєяє αη∂ ωєяє ¢αυѕιηg тяσυвℓє, αη∂ тнє ∂σ¢тσя, ℓαωуєя, σя ∂єηтιѕт, ωιтнσυт αѕѕιѕтαη¢є, нα∂ тσ тяєαт тнєм αℓℓ ωιтн ρяσƒєѕѕισηαℓ єχ¢єℓℓєη¢є ƒσя ηιηє мσηтнѕ, тнєη нє мιgнт нανє ѕσмє ¢ση¢єρтιση σƒ тнє ¢ℓαѕѕяσσм тєα¢нєя’ѕ נσв.
Posted by Kiran Bele at 21:56

new messeges sms Teacher's SMS schoolcore teachercore learncore Teacher's Day SMS

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his grip on Plankton's wrists
loosening. "What
accident?" he asks, his voice
filled with dread.

Plankton's smile is gone,
replaced by a look of sadness.
"Head," he says, his voice
a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He
touches his forehead gently,
his antennas drooping.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen with
realization, his grip on Plankton's
wrists loosening entirely. "You
got hurt?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "What happened?"

Plankton nods, his antennas
still drooping.

Sponge Bob's confusion
grows, his anger replaced
with worry. "What do you
mean?" he asks, his voice
softening. "What happened to
your head?"

Plankton's antennas twitch, his
smile a distant memory. "Fall," 
he says, his voice a monotone.

Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat.
"You fell?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "When? How?"

Plankton nods, his eye
flickering with something
akin to pain. "Recently," he says,
his voice flat. "Head bad."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock,
his mind racing with questions.
"You fell and hurt your head?" he
repeats, his voice filled with
disbelief. "Why didn't you tell
me?"

Plankton's gaze drops to his book,
his hands fluttering over the
pages. "No tell," he whispers, his
voice filled with regret. "Shame."

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
understanding, his anger
evaporating like mist in the sun.
"Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice
soft. "You didn't have to keep
this to yourself."

Plankton's smile is a
pale imitation of his usual
self, his antennas still. "No good,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry as he tries to
comprehend his friend's cryptic
words. "You're not bad, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You've
just had an accident."

Plankton's gaze remains fixed
on the book, his hands
flapping over the pages. "No,"
he says, his voice a sad echo.
"Head bad. Plankton bad." His body
slumps, his usual vibrant energy
dimmed by his distress.

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with sadness as he tries to
comfort his friend. "You're not
bad, Plankton," he says, his voice
soothing. "You're just hurt right?"

Plankton's antennas twitch slightly,
his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt,"
he echoes, his voice a monotone.
"Inside head." He taps his forehead,
his eye searching Sponge Bob's
for understanding. "Grey matter.
Neural pathways."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
confusion growing. "What do
you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "What's
going on with your brain?"

Plankton's hand continues to
tap his forehead, his voice
detached. "Neurochemicals," he says,
his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic
connections. Autism." His smile
is a mere memory, his eye
glazed over with a faraway look.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his
chest, his mind racing. "You're
talking about your brain," he says,
his voice tentative. "What's wrong
with it?"

Plankton's hand stops tapping,
his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob.
"Wiring," he says, his voice a
monotone explanation. "Neuro-
typical patterns disrupted affect
the parts of brain when result
in autism." His words are precise,
his tone devoid of emotion.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen with
comprehension, his spongy heart
sinking. "You're saying you have
autism now?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton nods, his eye
still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical
divergence," he confirms, his voice
still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic
variance, myelination discrepancies."
He speaks in a monotone, his words
sounding rehearsed and mechanical.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears,
his heart breaking for his friend.
"What does that mean, Plankton?"
he asks, his voice shaking.
"Does that mean you're not okay?"

Plankton's gaze remains on
the book, his hand tracing the
spine. "Neuro-typical divergence,"
he repeats, his voice a flat
recitation of medical terms.
"Synaptic connections altered.
Atypical neural patterns. Autism."
He speaks as if recounting
a scientific paper, his tone
lacking any personal connection.
"When hit head, damaged the
myelination," he says, his hand
continuing its mechanical movement
against the book. "Myelination is
the insulation around the axons
that speeds up the nerve impulses 
made in a part of brain we call
the cerebral cortex. My cerebral
cortex now restricts, slows
down impulses."

Sponge Bob listens, his
mind racing to keep up with
Plankton's sudden shift in
vocabulary. "But what does that
mean?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "How'd the
damage give you autism?"

Plankton's hand stops
its movement along the book.
"Neurodivergence," he says, his
voice a clinical recount. "My brain
now operates outside typical
parameters. Synaptic pruning,
myelination patterns altered.
Atypical neural networks formed."
He speaks as if discussing a
complex scientific experiment,
his words a jumble of medical
terminology that Sponge Bob
barely understands.

"Does that mean you're not okay?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice
filled with fear.

Plankton's hand stills on the book,
his gaze unfocused. "Functional
diversity," he says, his voice
a hollow echo of the medical
lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence
can lead to unique cognitive
strengths, but also challenges."
He taps the book, his antennas
waving slightly. "My brain's wiring
changed," he says, his voice
a monotone. "Synaptic clefts
widened, neurotransmitters less
efficient. Restricted blood flow to
temporal lobes."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with a mix of confusion and
fear. "Does that mean you can't
be... fixed?" he asks, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennas twitch,
his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix,"
he echoes, his voice a sad
recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes.
Rewire, adapt. But cerebral
cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent."

Sponge Bob's eyes are wide,
his mind reeling with the
complexity of Plankton's words.
"But, Plankton," he says, his voice
quivering. "What about the Krabby
Patties? Your plans?"

Plankton's gaze snaps up, his
hands still. "No plans," he says,
his voice a sad echo. "No more steal."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his heart racing. "You don't want
to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?"
he asks, his voice filled with
hope and disbelief.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
hands flapping slightly. "No more
schemes," he whispers, his voice a
monotone. "No more steal." His eye
meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of
his old mischief briefly shining
through. "But," he adds, his
smile mischievous, "still have
competitive spirit." His hands
begin to flap with excitement.

Sponge Bob's heart soars with
relief, a smile spreading across
his face. "So, you're still
the same Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with hope. "Just...
different. Ok, cool!"

Plankton nods, his smile a
ghostly reflection of his usual
self. "Different," he repeats, his
voice a sad echo. "But still
have friend?" His antennas
wave slightly, his eye searching
Sponge Bob's for reassurance.

Sponge Bob's heart swells with
affection. "Of course, Plankton,"
he says, his voice firm. "We're
still friends. Nothing can
change that." He squeezes
Plankton's shoulder, trying
to convey his support. 

new karen and the autistic journey corpus callosum anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) braincore autismcore headinjuryposting neurodivergentcore neurodisability viii

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡄⢸⠙⠃⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢨⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠠⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⢀⣀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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